Enter Rogers and Wife, L., runs against R., and drops orange.)
Rog. Beg pardon, madam! (She never stops.) Cuss it, that gal’s crazy.
Mrs. R. Jim, you must quit swearin’.
Rog. I’m tryin’ my level best. Cuss it isn’t swearin’ at all. Say, Mollie, aint this great?
Mrs. R. What’s great?
Rog. Why, this country an’ everything. Oranges right on the trees till they’re yaller as gold, an’ strawberries in February. (Picks orange from floor.)
Mrs. R. I haint seen any strawberries, Jim. They’re not on the table.
Rog. Well no, of course not. They go north to sell. Ye couldn’t expect to see ’em on the table.
Mrs. R. Why not? What’s the use of havin’ money if it won’t buy things as soon as other people gets ’em an’ as good?
Rog. I reckon that’s right, but ye see these Floridy people figger both ways. The hotel makes ye pay fur the berries jist the same as if ye got ’em an’ then sells ’em fur market. Savvy?