“Why, man,” said the tourist, “you ought to be able to make lots of money shipping green corn to the northern market.”

“Yes, I otter,” was the sullen reply.

“You have the land, I suppose, and can get the seed.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Then why don’t you go into the speculation?”

“No use, stranger,” sadly replied the cracker, “the old woman is too lazy to do the plowin’ and plantin’.”

While the train was waiting on a side track down in Georgia, one of the passengers walked over to a cabin near the track, in front of which sat a cracker dog, howling.  The passenger asked a native why the dog was howling.

“Hookworm,” said the native.  “He’s lazy.”

“But,” said the stranger, “I was not aware that the hookworm is painful.”

“’Taint,” responded the garrulous native.

“Why, then,” the stranger queried, “should the dog howl?”

“Lazy.”

“But why does laziness make him howl?”

“Wal,” said the Georgian, “that blame fool dawg is sittin’ on a sand-bur, an’ he’s too tarnation lazy to get off, so he jes’ sets thar an’ howls ’cause it hurts.”

“How’s times?” inquired a tourist.

“Oh, pretty tolerable,” responded the old native who was sitting on a stump.  “I had some trees to cut down, but a cyclone come along and saved me the trouble.”

“Fine.”

“Yes, and then the lightning set fire to the brush pile and saved me the trouble of burnin’ it.”

“Remarkable.  But what are you going to do now?”

“Oh, nothin’ much.  Jest waitin’ for an earthquake to come along and shake the potatoes out of the ground.”

A tramp, after a day or two in the hustling, bustling town of Denver, shook the Denver dust from his boots with a snarl.

“They must be durn lazy people in this town.  Everywhere you turn they offer you work to do.”

An Atlanta man tells of an amusing experience he had in a mountainous region in a southwestern state, where the inhabitants are notoriously shiftless.  Arriving at a dilapidated shanty at the noon hour, he inquired as to the prospects for getting dinner.

The head of the family, who had been “resting” on a fallen tree in front of his dwelling, made reply to the effect that he “guessed Ma’d hev suthin’ on to the table putty soon.”

With this encouragement, the traveler dismounted.  To his chagrin, however, he soon discovered that the food set before him was such that he could not possibly “make a meal.”  He made such excuses as he could for his lack of appetite, and finally bethought himself of a kind of nourishment which he might venture to take, and which was sure to be found in any locality.  He asked for some milk.

“Don’t have milk no more,” said the head of the place.  “The dawg’s dead.”

“The dog!” cried the stranger.  “What on earth has the dog to do with it?”