Seth. A cavin'-in shanty an' two acres yuh couldn't grow weeds on.
Lon. A pile o' sand.
Seth [rising; bursting into fire like an apparently dead rocket]. She ain't a goin' t' heve it!
Lon. What?
Seth. I won't let Ma heve it!
Lon. But how yuh goin' t' stop her? 'Twon't do no good t' tear up the will an' testament. It's rec-ord-ed.
Seth. Don't make no difference. She ain't a goin' t' heve that place.
Lon [eagerly]. But how yuh goin'—?
Seth. I don't know. But I'm a goin' t'.
Lon. It ain't hers by rights.