Lon [waspishly]. And you didn't use to look like a hag, neither, Padie.
Padie [with a momentary flash]. Drink's poisoning your tongue, too.
Lon [viciously]. Who's drinking? Cain't I take a thimbleful now'n then without all this jawin'?
Padie. You ain't takin' thimblefuls. You're just soakin' it up. You'll be gettin' snakes if you keep on. 'n then, what'll I do? [Resuming her air of weary indifference.] Not that I care so much what you do with yourself—or what becomes of me. Nothing matters.
Lon [petulent and aggrieved]. There you go, actin' abused. How 'bout my rights 'n pleasures? Ain't got none, I s'pose.
Padie. Oh, shut up, you make me sick.
[Hank enters; a ruddy, vigorous, young man, strangely out of place among all this rubbish. He wears a barkeeper's apron and speaks cordially.]
Hank. Howdyedo, folks! Howdye do! Well, this is a kinda rough lay-out fer you-all. Y'see the Stage is due here at five, and stops fer grub, then makes Hollow Eye by about nine, but here 'tis ... [pulls out watch] half an hour of midnight an' I s'pose you ain't et, yet, eh? [Lights the glass lamp.]
Padie. Thanks. We've had sandwiches, but maybe my husband'd like something.
Lon [significantly]. Wet.