An old married couple stands in line at the post office.

Rosco lifts one foot and shakes it, then the other. "Dern it, Mona, one foot hurts and the other one's goin' to sleep. I'm tired of waiting in line!"

His wife smiles, patiently, as a young man in front of them turns around and looks at Rosco.
"Well, that's what the post office is for," she says, winking at the young man.

Rosco frowns. "What? Waitin' in line?"

"Yes. Makes you humble."

"I don't want to be humble. My brother's the humble one. Soft. Wussy."

"It wouldn't hurt if you had a little humility," she said, squinting at the young man. Then she added, "You shoulda kept up with your brother."

Rosco squints at him, too. "Buddy, unless you want to walk on my feet and eat stuff that civilized humans shouldn't eat, and by that I mean brussel sprouts and calves' liver (shudder) you better turn around and mind your own business."

The young man suddenly bursts out laughing. "Uncle Rosco? I thought that sounded like you! Don't you remember me? Hi, Aunt Mona. He's still at it, I see."

Mona finally crashes through. It's their nephew, Rosco's brother's boy, the one who won Publisher's Clearing House! She laughs, a bit uncertainly. "Ben, is that you? Speak of the devil- just kiddin'. You're all grown up!"

"Yes ma'am. It's me. How yall doin'?'

"Not as good as you," grumbled Rosco. "You a multimillionaire now? How's your old man? Sittin' on easy street?"

Ben looked down. "You haven't talked to Dad, lately, have you? I believe you two had a bet on something."

"Yeah. He won the bet, plus all that money, and he expects me to pay him $50? Fat chance. The old coot always was a selfish tightwad, even as a kid. Wouldn't share for nothin'. Stin-gy!"

Ben looked at his uncle. "Maybe you should've paid up, Uncle Rosco. Before Dad had a stroke, he said if you paid him what you owed him, he'd share half his winnings with you."

Rosco turned pale. "He did?"

"Yeah. But you didn't."