“That’s it.”
“Tom, you—why, you ain’t in your right mind.”
“Wait—you’ll see.”
“Well, that’s the foolishest thing you could do. Look at pap and my mother. Fight! Why, they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty well.”
“That ain’t anything. The girl I’m going to marry won’t fight.”
“Tom, I reckon they’re all alike. They’ll all comb a body. Now you better think ’bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What’s the name of the gal?”
“It ain’t a gal at all—it’s a girl.”
“It’s all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl—both’s right, like enough. Anyway, what’s her name, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you some time—not now.”
“All right—that’ll do. Only if you get married I’ll be more lonesomer than ever.”