"But what have I got?" asts Hank.

"You have spinal meningitis," says the doctor,
never batting an eye.

"Will this here cure me?" says Hank.

"It'll cure ANYTHING," says the doctor.

Hank he says, "Shucks," agin, but he took the
bottle and pulled the cork out and smelt it, right
thoughtful. And what them fellers had stopped
at our place fur was to have the shoe of the nigh
hoss's off hind foot nailed on, which it was most
ready to drop off. Hank, he done it fur a regula-
tion, dollar-size bottle and they druv on into the
village.

Right after supper I goes down town. They
was in front of Smith's Palace Hotel. They was
jest starting up when I got there. Well, sir, that
doctor was a sight. He didn't have his duster
onto him, but his stove-pipe hat was, and one of
them long Prince Alferd coats nearly to his knees,
and shiny shoes, but his vest was cut out holler fur
to show his biled shirt, and it was the pinkest shirt
I ever see, and in the middle of that they was a dia-
mond as big as Uncle Pat Hickey's wen, what was
one of the town sights. No, sir; they never was a
man with more genuine fashionableness sticking