The Last Laugh

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Leroy started her up. VROOOOOOOOM! He had to have it in full throttle and hold on for all he was worth just to stay on the mountain. The crowd all hollered out, "We'll watch for you, Leroy! "

Now what they all forgot about was Rubarb Golightly, who lived way up at the top of High Windy. Rubarb hadn't been to town in seven years and didn't care if he ever went to town again. He just lived up there with his wife, Samanthy. They did all their own chores and were used to hearing the sounds of birds and bees and things like that. They never even heard tell of a motorcycle.

So that day, when old Rubarb Golightly had just finished his big dinner of biscuits and red-eye gravy, skunk cabbage, poke salad, sowbelly gravy with chitlins, bean pie with possum sauce, and sweet'taters-topped off with some crab-apple pudding and two jawshrinking dill pickles—he sat down on the front porch to take his ease ...when he heard something coming up through the woods. VROOM! VROOM! Rubarb had never knowed a man or a bear or a dog to make a sound like that. Then he saw it coming. That headlight was just a-flashin', that engine just a-spittin'. There were rocks and sticks flyin', dogs rennin', and chickens cacklin', PLK! PLK! PLK!

Rubarb jumped up and hollered, "Samanthy, Samanthy, bring me my gun! "

She ran outside with his big old shotgun. He leveled that thing and fired. BOOM! BOOM! Leroy went flying one way and the motorcycle flew the other.

Samanthy said, "Did you kill it, honey?"

"I don't know," says Rubarb, "but whatever it was, I sure made it turn that boy loose! "

The next story is one thet's often related by the Folktellers, Connie Regan and Barbara Freeman. The two women first heered it from a Down East tale-teller by name of Marshall Dodge, but it were created by Mr. Nat M. Wills way back in the early 1900's. Barbara genially speaks the part of the returnin' gentleman, whilst Connie plays his friend George. The story is knowed as "No News ...or What Killed the Dog". (You kin hear it on one of the Folktellers' albums, White Horses and Whippoorwills.)

A certain Southern gentleman was returning home after recuperating in the mountains for three months. His friend, George, met him on the platform at the station.

"George, has there been any news while I've been away?"

"Oh no, there hasn't been any news."

"No news? Surely, something must have occurred in my absence. I've been gone for most nearly three months, and I'm anxious for any little bit of news you may have."

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