"In the language of the range, 'come alive,' Mr.Boyle," she told him.

"Say how-de-do and be nice about it, or I'll see that your coffee is muddy and your bread burned and your steak absolutely impregnable; because I'm here to _stay_, mind you.

Mama Joy and I have possession of your kitchen, and so you'd better--" "I'm just trying to let it soak into my brains," said Billy.

"You're just about the last person on earth I'd expect to see here, hunting eggs like you had a right--" "I _have_ a right," she asserted.

"Your Dilly--he's a perfect love, and I told him so--said I was to make myself perfectly at home.