Speak to him?
God! he wouldn't 'a' coughed on him! He wouldn't 'a' let him clean the cuspidors at the bank! Why, if he'd 'a' just seen him standin' in FRONT the bank he'd 'a' had him run off the street.

And yet all Tracy was doin' every day of his life was workin' for that cigarette boy! Tracy thought it was for the bank; he thought he was givin' his life and his life-blood and the blood of his brain for the bank, but he wasn't.
It was every bit--from the time he went in at seventeen till he died in harness at eighty-three--it was every last lick of it just slavin' for that turned-up-nose, turned-up-pants cigarette boy.

AND TRACY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME! He died, not ever havin' heard it, though he chased him off the front steps of his house once.

The day after Tracy died his old-maid daughter married the cigarette--and there AIN'T any Tracy bank any more! And now"-- his voice rose again--"and now I got a cigarette son-in-law!" Gurney pointed to the flourishing right hand without speaking, and Sheridan once more returned it to the sling.
"My son-in-law likes Florida this winter," Sheridan went on.

"That's good, and my son-in-law better enjoy it, because I don't think he'll be there next winter.