You'll keep your promise, won't you, dear boy ?" "Hell, yes!" Casey assured her headily.

It had been close to twenty years since he had been called dear boy, at least to his face.

He kissed the widow full on the lips before he saw that a frown sat upon her forehead like a section of that ridgy cardboard they wrap bottles in.
"Casey, you swore!" "Swore?
Me ?" "I only hope," sighed the widow, "that your other promise won't be broken as easily as that one.

Remember, Casey, I cannot and I will not marry a drinking man!" Casey looked at her dubiously.

"If you mean that syrup--" "Oh, I've heard awful tales of you, Casey dear! The boys talk at the table, and they seem to think it's awful funny to tell about your fighting and drinking and playing cards for money.