Sigsby. (Pauses.)
Jawbones. That is, if this election is going to be fought fairly, that our side should be provided with ’at-pins.
Sigsby. (Grunts.) Tell Mrs. Chinn to keep that chop warm.
(He goes out.)
Ginger. (She begins to giggle. It grows into a shrill hee-haw.)
Jawbones. (He looks at her fixedly.)
Ginger. (Her laugh, under the stern eye of Jawbones, dies away.)
Jawbones. Ain’t no crowd of you ’ere, you know. Nothing but my inborn chivalry to prevent my pulling your nose.
Ginger. (Cowed, but simmering.) Chivalry! (A shrill snort.)
Jawbones. Yus. And don’t you put a strain upon it neither. Because I tell you straight, it’s weakening.