“I was down in Louisiana last month, travelin’ ‘cross country with a friend, when we kinder got lost in a mighty lonesome sort of road just about dark. We rode along a right good piece after sundown, and when we saw a light ahead, I tell you it looked first-rate. We drove up to the light, finding ’twas a house, and when I hollered like a lost calf the man came out and we asked him to take us in for the night. He looked at us mighty hard, then said:
“‘Wal, I reckon I kin stand it if you kin.’
“So we went in and found ’twas only a two-room shanty, just swarmin’ with children. He had six, from four to eleven years old; as there didn’t seem to be but one bed, me an’ Stony wondered what in thunder would become of us.
“They gave us supper, good hog and hominy, the best they had, and then the old woman put the two youngest kids to bed. They went straight to sleep. Then she took those out, laid them over in the corner, put the next two to bed, and so on.
“After all the children were asleep on the floor the old folk went in the other room and told us we could go to bed if we wanted to, and bein’ powerful tired out, we did.
“Well, sir, the next morning when we woke up we were lying over in the corner with the kids, and the old man and the old woman had the bed.”
“Waiter, what have you got?” said May Irwin in one of her plays.
“Well, I’ve got pig’s feet—”
“Never mind telling me your troubles, I want to know what you’ve got to eat?”