[Padie shrugs indifferently, and fixes her hair. As she turns toward Hank, the light for the first time falls full on his face. Padie stares fixedly at him, and half rises, with a little cry.]
Lon [with a quick, startled glance at Hank, speaks to her in a sharp, threatening voice]. Padie! Sit down! Are you gittin' plumb loco drivin' out so late in autymobiles? [To Hank, apologetically.] You kinda flustered us, mister, cause you have a little the look a friend of ourn that died suddint. Mournful case. Pardner o'mine. No, you're not much like. He was tall, heavy-built and lighter complected. Must a been consid'ble older, too.
Padie [almost in a whisper]. No.
Lon. Older, I say. My wife's kinda wrought up by this here little spell of travelin'.
Hank [sympathetically]. Oh, you're not used to it, eh?
Padie [slowly and deliberately]. We've been at it—[draws out the word into a burden] years.
Lon [impatiently]. That is, off'n on, m'dear. Only off'n on.
Padie [monotonously]. All the time.
Hank [trying to be a little jocose to break the oppressive atmosphere]. Should think you might hanker after yer own nest, lady.
Padie [rising rudely]. Well, just keep your thoughts!