"I been wearing the same old thing ever since I was born," continued Cora, disregarding her mother’s irrelevant remark, continuing her lamentation as if it had not been interrupted. "Which shows it was good mater’al to begin with," retorted Martha. "Ann Upton’s mother prob’ly buys cheap goods with no wear in ’em." "She don’t either. It’s just she wants to have Ann stylish. _You_ don’t care a bit if I ain’t stylish." "Certaintly I don’t. I got other things on my mind. I don’t care a fig if you’re stylish or not. I never was much on style myself, an’ I get along all right. I mixed with the best s’ciety in New York City, I can tell you, young lady. Nobody coulda went to the houses o’ tonier folks than I did, an’ was made welcome too, an’ don’t you forget it. An’ the complaints, if I missed a day! You’d be surprised! These young ladies that think o’ nothin’ but style, you can take it from me, their outsides is all there is to’m. They got nothin’ else to think of, an’ nothin’ to think of it with, if they had it." "Well, I don’t care, I wisht you was like Mrs. Upton!" "Now, what do you think o’ that! D’you hear what Cora says, father? Cora don’t like the style o’ mother you picked out for her. She’s just fairly disgusted with your taste in ladies." Sam Slawson did not hear, or, if he heard, did not heed, and Cora proceeded, unabashed: "Mrs. Upton does her own work, an’——" "That all? Most anybody could do their own work, seems to me. That’s dead easy. It’s when you do your own work, an’ sever’l other people’s besides, that you’re ap’ to be some occupied," observed Mrs. Slawson. "Well, I don’t care what you say, I just think I might have a new dress—Dutch neck, with short sleeves." "Before you wanta wear a Dutch neck, you got to _have_ a Dutch neck. _You_ ain’t a modern bathroom, that you must show you got exposed pipes. Better cover up your bones, an’ think less about what you’re wearin’. I got more to do than waste time fussin’ about such trivolous things, so you better make up your mind you’re goin’ to skip this fashion." "Well, I wisht you’d make me a new dress," wailed Cora, returning to her muttons undaunted. "You ain’t too busy. Last night, before I went to bed, I saw you _sittin’ down_, an’ you weren’t doin’ anythin’, either, only mendin’ Sammy’s pants." Sam Slawson raised his head. "That’s right, Cora. Make your mother be busy! She don’t work hard enough, as it is. Get a hump on, mother! Get a hump on." "If I get another hump on, besides the one I already got, I’ll be a drumederry," observed Mrs. Slawson imperturbably, while Cora left the room in tears, her sense of injury swelling beyond her power of control, when her father’s irony proved he was siding with "mother" against her. "The next time Cora gets fresh, and calls you down, Martha, I just wish you’d turn her over to me, and let me give her what she deserves," suggested Sam, as soon as the door was shut.