"Clo'es, huh. Helluva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'es then instead of this here now lingery?"
"Because lingery is a certain kind of clo'es, you ignorant Jack.
Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?"
"I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear me whistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell me petticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inch wide. I've seen too many washin's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah. And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an apron round my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me to fly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yards and yards like a balloon."
"Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't make petticoats of this tatting stuff. They use it for trimming like."
"Trimming on the petticoats?"
"And the lingery."
"But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing."
"Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand?
Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats.
See?"
"I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say lingery at me again I won't let you introduce me to yore girl."
"She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening.