"Persimmons?" echoed another.
"Persimmons? What in thunder does Joe Bunker want with persimmons?" responded a third.
"Persimmons!" all three chimed.
"Persimmons," says one, "are not used in law proceedings, anyhow."
"Nor in gospel, even, provided Joe has got into that," responded another.
"Persimmons are not medicinal."
"They are not chemical."
"Persimmons are no part, or ingredient, in art, science, law, or religion; now, for what does Joe Bunker, counsellor at law, want us to forward, without delay, persimmons?"
Well, they couldn't tell; in vain they reasoned. Joe's letter was very brief, strictly to the point, and that point was—persimmons! In the first place, it is not everybody that knows exactly what persimmons are, where they come from, and what they are good for. One of Bunker's friends had lived in the South; he knew persimmons; it occurred to him that possums, and some human beings, especially the colored pop'lation, were the only critters particularly fond of the fruit. Webster was consulted, to see what light he cast upon the matter: he informed them that "Persimmon was a tree, and its fruit, a species of Diospyros, a native of the States south of New York. Fruit like a plum, and when not ripe, very hard and astringent (rather so), but when ripe, luscious and highly nutritious."
"Well, there," said one of Bunker's friends, "I'll bet Joe's sick; persimmons have been prescribed for his cure, and the sooner we send the persimmons the better!"