“Not unless you make him. Who was drunk at that barbecue at Jones's Cross Roads last summer!”
“Oh, Mary!”
“Who set up till after Sunday mornin' playin' kyards—. Yes, gamblin'' the last night of last County Cote!”
“Oh, Mary!—All right. I lay down my hand.”
She drew paper and pencil from her little bag and held them out to him.
“Write it down.”
“Ain't my word good enough!”
“If you mean to do it, why are you afraid to write it!”
“I 'm not afraid.”
“Then write it.” She held the paper to him with outstretched arm.