“Say, old man,” said the friend when greetings had been exchanged, “is it as hot out West as it is here on the lake?”
“Is it as hot out West?” repeated the newly arrived one. “Say, don’t make me laugh. You people here in the Corn Belt don’t know what heat it. Listen, I’ll illustrate to you just how hot it is on the other side of the Rockies. Coming across the Arizona desert day before yesterday I looked out of the car window and I saw a coyote chasing a jack rabbit—and they were both walking!”
§ 88 A Domicile for All Eternity
One of the surest tests of the excellence of a story is whether or not it speedily reaches the stage. Some stories no doubt originate there—born in the minds of patter-comedians or monologists; but the majority I think are built up on a foundation of fact elsewhere and then by adoption go into the theater.
Here is a sample. It had to do with a couple of darkies in Memphis.
One of them, who posed as bad, had just announced his intention of breaking into a chitterling supper where his presence was not desired. His companion followed him to the door.
“I’ll be waitin’ fur you outside yere,” he stated.
“Ef you ain’t gwine in wid me tain’t no use fur you to be hangin’ ’bout,” said the truculent one.
“Oh, yas, dey is,” said the friend. “I’ll wait ’round to carry you to yo’ home after dem niggers in dere gits through wukkin’ on you.”
“Not a chancet!” proclaimed the first negro, vaingloriously; “ ’sides w’ich I ain’t got no home.”