Rog. Eatin’ fish. We’ve had ’em three times a day ever sence we’ve been in Floridy. I reckon we’ll haf to eat all the fish in Injun river, an’ there’s a slew of ’em. Wy, a man told me this mornin’ ’at sometimes they was so thick in the river that ye couldn’t row a boat. Oars jist slipped over solid fish as if the river was greased.
Mrs. R. Jim, that man took you fur a tenderfoot.
Rog. Mebbe so. As I don’t know much about Floridy I couldn’t dispute him, but I up an’ told him about that time the mountain lions were so plenty in the Gunnison country ’at we had to kick ’em away from round the fire afore we could git breakfast, an’ we couldn’t tell when it thundered fur their infernal roarin’. I put that at him as a sort of a feeler.
Mrs. R. Jim, I’m sick o’ the whole business.
Rog. (With feeling.) Say now, Mollie, ye don’t mean it. On yer weddin’ trip an’ tired of it? (Caressing her.) Mollie, ye don’t mean me too, do you?
Mrs. R. (Smiling.) No, Jim, I don’t mean you, but I’m tired bein’ stared at an’ pointed out.
Rog. Wy Mollie, d’ye s’pose they’re onto our racket?
Mrs. R. Jim, your slang is dreadful. Can’t you drop a little of it. Of course everybody can see that we are bride and groom.
Rog. How on earth can they tell?
Mrs. R. Humph! An’ you that spoony—