A tourist in the mountains of Tennessee once had dinner with a querulous old mountaineer who yarned about hard times for fifteen minutes at a stretch.
“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’.”