"All right, father, all right!" said David.
"'A' richt, a' richt!' ye say. I should say it's a' richt! Here am I, fechtin' wi' the case, an' ye havena lifted a han' to help me. I'm thinkin', but for me, Death wad hae his dart or his scythe into him by noo, an' whar wad his soul be, I should like to ken?"
Max stood up, and began to laugh. "Donner und blitzen! I haf not look at de pite of the snake. Vare is him?"
"On the calf o' his left leg," said McKeel.
Max peered at the place for a few minutes.
"Dat is no more like de pite of a snake dan it is like de pite of a flea!"
"I tell ye," said McKeel, "it was a tiger-snake that bit him. Your remarks are clipped o' common sense."
"Mine friend, Mr. McKeel, I do not pelieve, I say, I do not pelieve he has been pitten at all!"
"What! Do you mean to tell me that he's no been bitten by a snake, when I ken better?"
"No, mine friend! He is dronk! dronk as a man who the fiddle plays."