“Say,” he demanded, “what’s the matter with you? I gave you my order once—told you what I wanted. Now, I’m on a diet. Under the doctor’s orders I must always have my eggs eliminated. And I’m going to have them that way here or else some nigger’s going to be looking for a job.” “’Tain’t my fault, suh,” pleaded the waiter. “Hit’s de cook. I tells him jes’ ez plain. I sez, ‘’Liminate a couple of fresh aigs fur a Naw’the’n genelman,’ I sez, an’ ’en he starts argufyin’. An’ he tell me to come on back yere an’ suggest to you——” “Never mind that,” snapped the humorist, now seemingly in a highly indignant state. “You go tell that cook that I want him to fill my order according to instructions or there’ll be trouble.” Once more the waiter sped away. Half a minute later he came through the swinging doors. With him was a large, coal black person in a greasy apron, and with a look of grave concern upon his face. “Whar’s de gen’elman?” asked the newcomer. “Thar he set,” said the waiter, pointing. The cook presented himself at the table and bowed low. “Boss,” he said, “I’se de cook yere an’ I strives to please. But you’ll please, suh, haf’ to ’scuse me reguardin’ yore desires ’is mawnin’ fur ’liminated aigs—an’ tha’s a fact.” “Don’t you know how to eliminate an egg?” demanded the joker. The cook favored him with a winning smile. “Who, me?—w’y to be suttinly, I does. Any other time dem ’liminated aigs’d be settin’ right dar in front of you now, smokin’ hot. But to tell you de truth, boss, dey wuz a flighty nigger gal come foolin’ round de kitchen yistiddy w’ich she rightly didn’t have no business to be there neither; an’ she drapped the ’liminator an’ bruk de handle off of it.” § 54 A Tribute to Moderation It befell in the old days that a mob one night took a negro out of a county jail in southern Kentucky and carried him just across the line into Tennessee and there hanged him at the roadside. As he dangled they riddled him with bullets and then kindled a fire under him with intent to destroy the body. By the light of the mounting flames somebody saw something stirring in a brush pile, close by the scene of execution. He kicked the brush away and dragged out an old colored man, who had been on his way home when he saw the lynchers coming. He had deemed it the part of prudence to take cover immediately. But as luck would have it, he had gone into retirement at the very spot where the mob halted to do its work. Men poked big guns in his face and swore to take his life if ever he dared reveal what he had that night beheld. The old man protested that the whole thing was purely an affair of the white folks, in which he had no concern nor interest. He was quite sure that by daybreak of the following morning all memories of the night would be gone from his mind.