Blanche: Clayton! Baby brother!
Clayton: Sister! Oh, my, look at you all gussied up. Prettier than a spring-bloomin' peach tree on a dewy April morning.
Blanche: Well, you oughtta talk, all fresh-scrubbed and rosy-cheeked like a country parson at a September hoedown.
Dorothy: Why do I get the feeling they had a maid named Honeybee when they grew up?