“Is it as hot out West?” repeated the newly arrived one. “Say, don’t make me laugh. You people here in the Corn Belt don’t know what heat it. Listen, I’ll illustrate to you just how hot it is on the other side of the Rockies. Coming across the Arizona desert day before yesterday I looked out of the car window and I saw a coyote chasing a jack rabbit—and they were both walking!” § 88 A Domicile for All Eternity One of the surest tests of the excellence of a story is whether or not it speedily reaches the stage. Some stories no doubt originate there—born in the minds of patter-comedians or monologists; but the majority I think are built up on a foundation of fact elsewhere and then by adoption go into the theater. Here is a sample. It had to do with a couple of darkies in Memphis. One of them, who posed as bad, had just announced his intention of breaking into a chitterling supper where his presence was not desired. His companion followed him to the door. “I’ll be waitin’ fur you outside yere,” he stated. “Ef you ain’t gwine in wid me tain’t no use fur you to be hangin’ ’bout,” said the truculent one. “Oh, yas, dey is,” said the friend. “I’ll wait ’round to carry you to yo’ home after dem niggers in dere gits through wukkin’ on you.” “Not a chancet!” proclaimed the first negro, vaingloriously; “’sides w’ich I ain’t got no home.” “Oh, dat’s all right,” murmured his friend softly. “I’m gwine dig you one.” § 89 The Man Who Was Thursday Two men, strangers to each other, but having something in common in that they had been indulging in potent home brews, fell into a hiccoughy conversation on the back platform of a suburban trolley car whizzing across the New Jersey landscape. “Shay,” inquired Number One, “whuz time is it?” Number Two with difficulty extracted from his fob pocket a watch; but a temporary defect of vision prevented him from making out the position of the two hands. Nevertheless he did his best to oblige. “It’s izactly Thurshday afternoon,” he said. Number One gave a start. “Iz tha’s so?” he murmured in surprised tones. “Well, then, thish is where I hafter get off.” § 90 The Least of His Worries Down in southern Alabama a person of color was fetched into court to be arraigned for his preliminary hearing on a charge of wilful murder. “Mose Tupper,” said the judge, “you are accused here of one of the most serious crimes known to our laws—to wit, the taking of a human life. Are you properly represented by counsel?” “Naw, suh,” said the darky cheerfully. “Well, have you talked to any one about your defense since your arrest?” “I told de sheruff ’bout de shootin’ when he come to my cabin to bring me heah,” said the prisoner. “And have you taken no steps whatever to engage a lawyer?” “Naw, suh,” said Mose. “I ain’t got no money to be wastin’ on lawyers. Dey tell me lawyers is mighty costive.”