"If you'll make a cup of tea," Becky said, "I'll take it up to Aunt Claudia. She's lying down."
"Is you goin' wid her?" Mandy asked.
"To New York? No. She'll want Truxton all to herself, Mandy."
"Well, I hopes she has him," Mandy husked an ear of corn viciously. "I ain' got my boy. He hol's his haid so high, he ain' got no time fo' his ol' Mammy."
"You know you are proud of him, Mandy."
"I ain' sayin' I is, and I ain' sayin' I isn't.
But dat Daisy down the road, she ac' like she own him."
"Oh, Daisy? Is he in love with her?"
"Love," with withering scorn, "_love_? Ain' he got somefin' bettah to do than lovin' when he's jes' fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam?" She beat the eggs for her batter as if she had Daisy's head under the whip. "He fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam," she repeated, "and now he comes home and camps hisse'f on Daisy's do'-step."
Against the breeze of such high indignation, any argument would be blown away. Becky changed the subject hastily. "Mandy," she asked, "are you making corn fritters?"