Somebody laughed.

And when the fiddler, peering into the front room, remarked to the pianist, "It's Burning Daylight," the waltz-time perceptibly quickened, and the dancers, catching the contagion, began to whirl about as if they really enjoyed it.

It was known to them of old time that nothing languished when Burning Daylight was around.
He turned from the bar and saw the woman by the stove and the eager look of welcome she extended him.
"Hello, Virgin, old girl," he called.

"Hello, Charley.

What's the matter with you-all?
Why wear faces like that when coffins cost only three ounces?
Come up, you-all, and drink.