A young fellow who was the crack sprinter of his town�somewhere in the South�was unfortunate enough to have a very dilatory laundress. One evening, when he was out for a practice run in his rather airy and abbreviated track costume, he chanced to dash past the house of that dusky lady, who at the time was a couple of weeks in arrears with his washing.
He had scarcely reached home again when the bell rang furiously and an excited voice was wafted in from the porch:
Foh de Lawd's sake! won't you-all tell Marse Bob please not to go out no moh till I kin git his clo'es round to him?'