“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know whut his name is, boss—never seed him befo’ in my life.”
“Well, then, what does he look like?”
“I don’t rightly know dat, neither. Hit all happen’ so quick-lak I didn’t got a good look at ’im.”
“Then how do you expect me to find him if you can’t describe him?” asked the puzzled policeman.
“Boss, dat ain’t goin’ be no trouble,” stated the negro. “You jest go lookin’ for the doin’est man they is in Newerleans!”
§ 44 Sauce for the Goose
An East Sider of foreign birth prospered to the extent where he graduated from the ranks of the sidewalk merchants and became a regular business man, with a store and showcases and everything. Also, for the first time in his life he was able to start a bank account.
One day he was engaged on the telephone by the assistant cashier of the bank where he kept his checking fund.
“Mr. Abrams,” stated the cashier, “I called you up to tell you that on the first day of this month your account appears overdrawn $108.”