Poor Miz Mildred, Dorothy's mama, been laying in that nursing home in the midst of all them smells for about a month now. Last night they hooked her up to a breathing machine. We went by to see her, me and Dorothy, and she were real pitiful. Pitiful looking, all yellow and dry looking, and pitiful sounding, wheezing and gasping. And that machine were making sounds too. They had to put a little jar with water in it ahead of the tube coming into her nose, cause they said the oxergen would dry her mouth and nose out. Once again when we tried to leave she didn't want to let go of Dorothy's hand. Dorothy would probably stay there all the time, day and night, but it's against the rules. I reckon poor ole Miz Mildred ain't gonna be with us much longer. Then what's Dorothy gonna do. I been thinking about asking her to stay at the big house and I'll go back to my lake cabin. She could sell her place and have money to live on for a long time.
Of course, she ain't got nothing to worry about for money as long as my oil wells keep pumping.
Tomorrow: Dorothy Says No
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