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Sugar should always be passed when they are eaten in this way. Orange juice is the extracted juice served in small glasses two-thirds full. Sugar, salt and pepper should be offered with these by the waitress. Watermelon is usually cut in wedges or circles. It should always be served very cold, on a large fruit plate, and with fruit knife and fork.
I remember telling him as we went on over the rough road, between fields of ripened grain, of my watermelon and my dog and my little pet hen. I shall not try to describe that home coming. We found Aunt Deel in the road five miles from home. She had been calling and traveling from house to house most of the night, and I have never forgotten her joy at seeing me and her tender greeting.
"Don't understand," said Horace: "say it in English." "Very much me want um," continued Wampum, in a beseeching tone. "No tell what you call um. E'enamost water, no quite water; e'enamost punkin, no quite punkin." "Poh! you mean watermelon," laughed Horace: "should think you'd remember that as easy as pumpkin." "Very much me want um," repeated Wampum, delighted at being understood; "me like um."
Once upon a time I owned a watermelon. I say once because I never did it again. When I got through owning that melon I never wanted another. The time was 1831; I was a boy of seven and the melon was the first of all my harvests. Every night and morning I watered and felt and surveyed my watermelon.
So, without saying a word to the boys, he ran into the house to ask his grandmother. "What! a whole watermelon, Horace?" "Yes, grandma, we three; me, and Grasshopper, and Wampum." Mrs. Parlin could not help smiling to see how suddenly Horace had adopted a new friend. "You may have a melon, but I think your mother would not like to have you play much with a strange boy."
Those who know what a watermelon is and should be, know that there is none to compare with the melons that are grown in Georgia, no matter what the variety. The same may be said of the wit and humor that belong to Georgia. He was a distiller, and knew his business. One need not be an expert to say the same of Georgia humor.
His father came back from going down-stairs with the doctor, and she told him all that Pony had told her, and it seemed to Pony that his father could hardly keep from laughing. But his mother did not even smile. "How could Jim Leonard tell them that a man would give up his watermelon patch, and how could they believe such a lie, poor, foolish boys?"
"In that hut down by the ash-hopper. Why, looky here. When we was at dinner, didn't you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?" "Yes." "What did you think the vittles was for?" "For a dog." "So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog." "Why?" "Because part of it was watermelon." "So it was I noticed it. Well, it does beat all that I never thought about a dog not eating watermelon.
But Aunt Mehitable had returned to the cabin, and when she reappeared she was holding out to him a cracked saucer on which there was a piece of preserved watermelon rind and a pewter spoon. "Dish yer is de ve'y same sort er preserves yo' mouf use'n ter water fur w'en you wuz a chile," she remarked as she handed the sweet to him.
When he finds a dead cat, rat, dog or chicken, he throws it into a small vat of water, allows it to decompose, and sprinkles the liquid fertilizer thus obtained over his plantation. Watermelon and pumpkin seeds are for him dessert delicacies. He consumes his garden products about half cooked in an American culinary point of view, merely wilting them by an immersion in boiling water.
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