“What's the matter with the Keiths? They're as nice folks as come to South Harniss.”
“Of course they are.”
“Well, then! And you're as good as they are, ain't you?”
“I hope so. Uncle Shad, why don't you wear a white flannel suit in hot weather? Mr. Keith, Sam's father, wore one at the church garden party the other day.”
The Captain stared at her. “Why don't I wear—what?” he stammered.
“A white flannel suit. You're as good as Mr. Keith, aren't you?”
“I guess I am. I don't know why I ain't. But what kind of a question's that? I'd look like a plain fool tagged out in one of them things: anyway, I'd feel like one. I don't belong in a white flannel suit. I ain't no imitation dude.”
“And I don't belong in Sam Keith's yacht. At least Mr. Keith and Edna would feel that I didn't. I don't want to be considered an imitation, either.”
Shadrach shook his head. “You ain't like anybody else,” he said. “You're a funny girl, Mary-'Gusta.”
“I suppose I am; but I'm not as funny as I should be if I tried to BE somebody else. No, Uncle Shad, you'll just have to bear with me as I am, funniness and all.”