Rog. Then it’s me that makes ye tired, an’ my ways. (Sadly.) Mollie, you don’t know what you have said. Ye’re ashamed o’ me.
Mrs. R. No, I am not, Jim. I am not ashamed of anything, but I am disgusted. People talk nice to our faces and laugh at us behind our backs.
Rog. Why, cuss ’em. I could buy the whole caboodle of ’em.
Mrs. R. No, ye couldn’t, Jim. These people have money, and what’s more, they are used to it, and get the worth of their money travelin’. We don’t.
Rog. Worth o’ their money! How does that old skate git the worth o’ his money who goes trottin’ round with what he calls a vally de shamber to put his clothes on? Mollie, I never want nobody puttin’ my clothes on me. Why, it aint decent. When I git as wuthless as that cuss, I want ’em to take me out an’ lynch me.
Mrs. R. But when that man orders anything, the waiters get it at once.
Rog. So they do fur us. I plunk down a dollar an’ they git a gait on.
Mrs. R. An’ they laugh at ye afterwards.
Rog. (Angry.) Laugh at me! How d’ye know?
Mrs. R. I’ve overheard them.