§ 17 Absolutely No Hurry About It
One chilly evening in the early part of March the sheriff entered the county jail and addressing the colored person who occupied the strongest cell, said:
“Gabe, you know that under the law my duty requires me to take you out of here to-morrow and hang you. So I’ve come to tell you that I want to make your final hours on earth as easy as possible. For your last breakfast you can have anything to eat that you want and as much of it as you want. What do you think you’d like to have?”
The condemned man studied for a minute.
“Mr. Lukins,” he said, “I b’lieves I’d lak to have a nice wortermelon.”
“But watermelons won’t be ripe for four or five months yet,” said the sheriff.
“Well, suh,” said Gabe, “I kin wait.”