Deacon Jemes (interrupting): “What Little Billy an’ fox tails got ter do wid dis rebate?”
Damon Danridge: “Uncle Reubin, dis is de rash-nal part ub my discose.”
Uncle Reubin: “Is you layin’ de foundation, Damon?”
Damon: “Ezactly so; precisely!”
“Well, Little Billy he say, ‘Strange ter me Noahy didn’ pizin dem shirks in de yark, an’ strange, gre’t ez he wuz, he didn’ hab mo’ ’fluence wid de Petracks.’
“‘Erboutin’ what?’ sez I.
“‘Well,’ sez Little Billy, ‘why did dey meck de animals’ tails so curisome? Why did dey gib uh fox long hyah so uh fly kyant bite he skin, an’ uh long bushy tail dat ain’ no use ter him?’
“Kase when de fields is frosty, de houn’s feel good, an’ his tail git wet—jes’ full ub fros’ an’ dew—den dar’s sho’ ter be uh kilt fox, an’ den Mars Nickey will say, not pursidderin’ de wet tail, ‘Da ain’ no red fox on uth kin git erway fum meh houn’s.’
“Brudderin, dis is uh gre’t subjec’. Now, teck uh pig fuh instinct, dat we lubs ter eat; dat ain’ ornry like uh fox, yet he’s made fuh de flys ter pester! His leetle curly tail is not much bigger dan uh goose quill, an’ not mo’n harf ez long; uh tail he kyant switch when de blue-tail fly dribes him in de ribber.
“‘Well,’ sez I, ’s’posen de fox hab de pigtail; it would breck up fox huntin’; dey nebber cud ketch him den! Mo’n dat, de Bible say Sampson went out an’ kotch 300 foxes an’ tern ’em tail ter tail, an’ lit deah tails wid uh torch, den sot ’em loose an’ dey run ’mong de cawn an’ craps ub de Flistines an’ buhn ’em up. Now, s’spose Sampson, sted ub takin’ 300 foxtails, tuck 300 pigtails—sot dem uh fire. Da wud uh bin uh pow’ful lot ub squeelin’, dat’s all!’