"Cornbread, buttermilk and good old greasy greens,
They'll put some taller on yore bones.
Cornbread, buttermilk and good old greasy greens,
They'll make yore muscles hard as granite stones.
Dee de deetle deetle dee deetle dee dum deetle..."
(Cornbread & Buttermilk by Ken Curtis)
"FESTUS!"
The hillman jumped as Doc shouted in his ear. "Golly bill, Doc, what's ailin' you? I thought you wuz sleepin'."
"I was until you woke me up. Are you feeling all right?"
Festus looked puzzled. "'Course I am. Why?"
"Well, you're squalling like a sick cat."
"Squallin'!" The hillman glared. "You city folks just ain't got no feelin' for good music, do you?"
"I've heard gunfights that were more musical!"
Festus snorted, pulling on the reins. "Whoa, Popcorn."
Doc looked around. "Why are you stopping?"
"This here's a good place to stop for the night." Festus climbed down and started unbuckling the harness.
Doc got out and stretched. "We must have at least an hour of daylight left."
"And if'n we travel that extry hour we'll find ourselves plum in the middle of a rocky pass. Here we got long grass for sleepin' on, plenty'a dead wood for a fire, and right over yonder they's a little crik with some of the biggest catfish you have ever saw." Festus led the horse to the water and Doc strolled along beside him.
"By golly, Festus, you're right. Look at that fellow!" The old man pointed at a catfish over a foot long and the hillman shook his head.
"That's one of the runty'uns, Doc."
"Runty!" Doc ran his hand over his face and his eyes gleamed. "I'm going to get my fishing pole."
"Now wait a minute, Doc. You start pitchin' them store bought hooks in there'n yore gonna skeer off ever' fish they is. Soon's I water the horse I'll catch us some supper."
"Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you?" Doc started for the buggy, calling back, "I'll have you know I got the latest in lures from old Jonas. This time I'm going to catch supper."