“You’re right pretty, I think, Hat.”
“Oh, I could daub up, too, and gad with some of that fast gang if I didn’t know it don’t lead nowheres. It ain’t no cinch for a girl to keep her health down here, even when she does live along decent like me, eating regular and sleeping regular, and spending quiet evenings in the room, washing-out and mending and pressing and all. It ain’t no cinch even then, lemme tell you. Do you think I’d have ever asked a gay bird like you to come over and room with me if I hadn’t seen you begin to fade like a piece of calico, just like my sister Lizzie did?”
“I’m taking that iron-tonic stuff like you want and spoiling my teeth—ain’t I, Hat? I know you been swell to me and all.”
“You ain’t going to let up until somebody whispers T.B. in your shell-pink ear; and maybe them two letters will bring you to your senses.”
“T.B.?”
“Yes—T.B.”
“Who’s he?”
“Gee, you’re as smart as a fish on a hook! You oughtta bought a velvet dunce cap with your lunch money instead of that brown poke bonnet. T.B. was what I said—T.B.”
“Honest, Hat, I dunno—”
“For heaven’s sake! Too Berculosis is the way the exhibits and the newspapers say it. L-u-n-g-s is another way to spell it. T.B.”