Halsey: Youre a mess. Here, Layman. Get some trash an start a fire.
Layman fumbles around, finds some newspapers and old bags, puts them in the hearth, arranges the wood, and kindles the fire. Halsey sets a black iron kettle where it soon will be boiling. Then takes from his hip-pocket a bottle of corn licker which he passes to Kabnis.
Halsey: Here. This’ll straighten y out a bit.
Kabnis nervously draws the cork and gulps the licker down.
Kabnis: Ha. Good stuff. Thanks. Thank y, Halsey.
Halsey: Good stuff! Youre damn right. Hanby there dont think so. Wonder he doesnt come over t find out whos burnin his oil. Miserly bastard, him. Th boys what made this stuff—are y listenin t me, Kabnis? th boys what made this stuff have got th art down like I heard you say youd like t be with words. Eh? Have some, Layman?
Layman: Dont think I care for none, thank y jes th same, Mr. Halsey.
Halsey: Care hell. Course y care. Everybody cares around these parts. Preachers an school teachers an everybody. Here. Here, take it. Dont try that line on me.
Layman limbers up a little, but he cannot quite forget that he is on school ground.
Layman: Thats right. Thats true, sho. Shinin is th only business what pays in these hard times.