‘Heya, Wilbur,’ said Ron, the store owner. ‘Tell me, are you and Myrtle still making fires up there by rubbing stones and flint together?’
‘You betcha, Ron. Ain’t no ‘tother way. Why?’
‘Got something to show you. Something to make fire. It’s called a “match”.
‘Match? Never heard of it.’
‘Watch this. If you want a fire you just do this,’ Ron says, taking a match and striking it on his trousers.
‘Huh. Well, that’s something, but that ain’t for me, Ron.’
‘Well, why not?’
‘I can’t be walking 12 miles every time I want a fire and borrow your trousers.’