cornpone

The Harvard man went back into the kitchen and sat down at a rickety table covered with a red-checked oil-cloth. On it were spread the spoiled ham, a dish of poke salad, a corn pone, and a pot of weak coffee.

Her southern accent was rich as molasses, and she really did, without affectation, call everyone ‘y'all’, but the cornpone was camouflage. A tough, clever mind was evident in her penetrating gaze […]