“That ain’t anything. The girl I’m going to marry won’t fight.”
“Tom, I reckon they’re all alike. They’ll all comb a body. Now you better think ’bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What’s the name of the gal?”
“It ain’t a gal at all — it’s a girl.”
“It’s all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl — both’s right, like enough. Anyway, what’s her name, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you some time — not now.”
“All right — that’ll do. Only if you get married I’ll be more lonesomer than ever.”