Even though I was born and brought up a city man, I admire the farmer and honor his efforts. What, after all, would we do without wheat and corn and flax and barley and radishes and so on? But same time, a lot of those hicks have no manners or dignity. Like this fellow.
He rushed right across the sidewalk from where he'd been putting in the afternoon holding up the front of the Red Ball Grocery Store, I remember it was—and say, that's one of the best chains of grocery stores in the country—and he bawls:
"Hey, you hit my car!"
"I'm quite aware of the fact," I says, coldly—the big bum!—if he thought he could frighten me! And so I got out, and looked things over, and I'd just bumped his spare tire, on the back, the least little bit.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he says.
"What am I going to do about it?" I says.
"Yes, what're you going to do about it?"
"Well, inasmuch and considering as I haven't
