HAMBO.
No, what? (They all lean together.)
CLARK.
I God, a great big mango … a sweet smell, you know, with a strong flavor, but not something you could mash up like a strawberry. Something with a body to it.
(General laughter, but not obscene.)
HAMBO.
(Admiringly) Joe Clark! I didn’t know you had it in you!
(MRS. CLARK enters from store door and they all straighten up guiltily)
CLARK.
(Angrily to his wife) Now whut do you want? I God, the minute I set down, here you come….
MRS. CLARK.
Somebody want a stamp, Jody. You know you don’t ’low me to bove wid de post office. (HE rises sullenly and goes inside the store.)
BRAZZLE.
Say, Hambo, I didn’t see you at our Sunday School picnic.
HAMBO.
(Slicing some plug-cut tobacco) Nope, wan’t there dis time.
WALTER.
Looka here, Hambo. Y’all Baptist carry dis close-communion business too far. If a person ain’t half drownded in de lake and half et up by alligators, y’all think he ain’t baptized, so you can’t take communion wid him. Now I reckon you can’t even drink lemonade and eat chicken perlow wid us.