CHICKEN STEALING


Senator Money of Mississippi asked an old colored man what breed of

chickens he considered best, and he replied:



"All kinds has merits. De w'ite ones is de easiest to find; but de black

ones is de easiest to hide aftah you gits 'em."





Ida Black had retired from the most select colored circles for a brief

space, on account of a slight difficulty connected with a gentleman's

poult
y-yard. Her mother was being consoled by a white friend.



"Why, Aunt Easter, I was mighty sorry to hear about Ida--"



"Marse John, Ida ain't nuvver tuk dem chickens. Ida wouldn't do sich a

thing! Ida wouldn't demeange herse'f to rob nobody's hen-roost--and, any

way, dem old chickens warn't nothing't all but feathers when we picked

'em."





"Does de white folks in youah neighborhood keep eny chickens, Br'er

Rastus?"



"Well, Br'er Johnsing, mebbe dey does keep a few."





Henry E. Dixey met a friend one afternoon on Broadway.



"Well, Henry," exclaimed the friend, "you are looking fine! What do they

feed you on?"



"Chicken mostly," replied Dixey. "You see, I am rehearsing in a play

where I am to be a thief, so, just by way of getting into training for

the part I steal one of my own chickens every morning and have the cook

broil it for me. I have accomplished the remarkable feat of eating

thirty chickens in thirty consecutive days."



"Great Scott!" exclaimed the friend. "Do you still like them?"



"Yes, I do," replied Dixey; "and, what is better still, the chickens

like me. Why they have got so when I sneak into the hen-house they all

begin to cackle, 'I wish I was in Dixey.'"--_A. S. Hitchcock_.





A southerner, hearing a great commotion in his chicken-house one dark

night, took his revolver and went to investigate.



"Who's there?" he sternly demanded, opening the door.



No answer.



"Who's there? Answer, or I'll shoot!"



A trembling voice from the farthest corner:



"'Deed, sah, dey ain't nobody hyah ceptin' us chickens."





A colored parson, calling upon one of his flock, found the object of his

visit out in the back yard working among his hen-coops. He noticed with

surprise that there were no chickens.



"Why, Brudder Brown," he asked, "whar'r all yo' chickens?"



"Huh," grunted Brother Brown without looking up, "some fool niggah lef

de do' open an' dey all went home."



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