 I can't say that, Gibby. Why not? I can't pronounce it. Let's just say goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Oh, another thing. My lawnmower. What about your lawnmower? McGee never returned it, and I'm going to need it in Summerfield. Now, wait a minute, Gildersleeve. You know very well that ain't your own lawnmower. It is, too. You borrowed it. It was mine, and you borrowed it. That broken-down clover clipper has changed hands oftener than the world's wrestling championship.