Madden. Well ... here in the house, f'r instance.
Mix. Lord, no, Jim! Yer s' easy goin' it'd be a holy shame f'r any one t' slip anythin' over on y'. [After a short pause. Suspiciously.] W'at y' askin' all these questions f'r, anyways?
Madden. Oh—nothin'.
Mix [struck with an idea.—Starting up from his chair]. I know w'at's bitin' you. You an' Florrie's had a row. [He walks up to Madden and taps his arm familiarly with the back of his hand.] Come on. Own up! [He passes around behind Madden until he stands behind the chair at the left of the table.]
Madden. Well ... we did have a ... a sort of a ... disagreement.
Mix. I bet y' did. Look here, Jim. W'at's a use o' takin' it s' hard?
Madden [gravely]. The trouble is——[He breaks off] I guess I was mostly in the wrong.
Mix [sitting down vehemently]. Tell that to a poodle! I know you an' I know Florrie. I guess I know who'd be in the wrong, all right. She was bad enough w'en y' firs' got sweet on 'r—jus' a lazy fool, ev'n if she did have a pretty face. Gee, how you did fall f'r her face! Moonin' round an' sayin' how wonderful she was! [He chuckles.] An' Florrie twenty-eight years old ... an' jus' waitin' t' fall into yer arms.
Madden. Ed—don't say things like that, even in fun.
Mix. Hell! It's the truth.... But lately Florrie's jus' plain slumped. She's nothin' now but a selfish, lazy pig.