The Southern darky is usually willing enough, but painfully dilatory in accomplishment. The foreman of a quarry called to Zeb, the general utility man, and directed him to go across the road to the blacksmith shop and bring back a drill which had been left there for sharpening. Zeb shuffled out of sight, and after a lapse of half an hour, shuffled back lazily into view. The indignant foreman called to him sharply:
“Here, you Zeb! Where’ve you been all this time?”
The darky grinned placatingly.
“Why, boss,” he explained, “I hain’t been—I’se gwine!”