Yokel

Tom is a yokel.

They love the scenery near their summer home, but have no desire to mix with the local yokels.

“[…] my opinion at once is […] that this [robbery] wasn’t done by a yokel―eh, Duff?” “Certainly not,” replied Duff. “And, translating the word yokel, for the benefit of the ladies, I apprehend your meaning to be that this attempt was not made by a countryman?” said Mr. Losberne with a smile.

[…] and yokels looking up at the tinselled dancers and poor old rouged tumblers, while the light-fingered folk are operating upon their pockets behind.

He eyed the story-teller with unspeakable wonder. His mouth was agape in yokel fashion.

"God damn and blast all you hamfisted yokels!" he was saying. "And you, sir, down there. Take that grin off your face and be more careful, or I'll have you clapped under hatches to sail with us today. Easy, there, easy! Christ, rum at seven guineas an anker isn't meant to be dropped like pig iron!"

I went to New York and bought myself a secondhand stretch limousine twenty-eight feet long, calculated to reduce the most blasé country-club sophisticates to bug-eyed yokels.

You may think that because you live in Brahmpur you have seen the world―or more of the world than we poor yokels see. But some of us yokels have also seen the world―and not just the world of Brahmpur, but of Bombay. […]

Some folk'll never eat a skunk, but then again some folk'll, like Cletus, the slack-jawed yokel.