“How d’do, Ezry?”
“How d’do boys?” After awhile he continued: “Wa-all, I’ve killed my hog.”
“That so? How much did he weigh?”
Farmer Evans stroked his chin whiskers meditatively and replied: “Wa-all, guess.”
“’Bout three hundred,” said one farmer.
“No.”
“Two seventy-five?” ventured another.
“No.”
“I guess about three twenty-five,” said a third.
“No.”