"Don't try irony, Dick. I feel like murder. Think of it! All this time she's been hating me; and now it's making her weep; think of it—Jack—weeping!"
"Why, you're a child, Pierre. Go back and take her in your arms and tell her you're going to make her go to the dance."
"Take her in my arms? She'd stab me, there's that much of the devil in her. Don't grin at me and keep chuckling like an utter ass. What's up, Dick?"
"Don't you see? No, you don't, but it's so plain that a baby of three years could understand. She's in love with you."
"With me?"
"With Red Pierre."
"You can't make a joke out of Jack with me. You ought to know that."
"Pierre, I'd as soon make a joke out of a wildcat."
"Grinning still? Wilbur, I'm taking more from you than I would from any man on the ranges."
"I know you are, and that's why I'm stringing this out because I'm going to have a laugh—ha, ha, ha!—the rest of my life—ha, ha, ha, ha!—whenever I think of this—ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"