"Joseph," he said, "methinks I know how it is! I have felt that way heap often. Ugh! Sick all over."
Joe grunted.
"Nothing worth living for."
Another grunt.
"Much rather be dead with the beautiful daisies growing on my grave than living in such misery."
Again a grunt.
"Internal organs all out of gear, stomach on a strike, head bigger than a barrel. Are those the symptoms, Joseph?"
"Much so," confessed old Joe.
"Joseph, you have my sympathy. You've never been to college, but you have received part of a college education. I have taken my degree in that branch. I'm a P. M. of J. C.—Past Master of Jag Carriers. But I have reformed, and now 'lips that touch wine shall never touch mine.' Joseph, I would reclaim you.[Pg 276] I would woo you tenderly from the jag path that leadeth to destruction. It is broad and inviting at first, but toward the finish it is rough, and hubbly, and painful to travel. Pause while there is yet time. My heart yearns to save you from destruction. Listen to the pearly words of wisdom, that drop from my sweet lips. Shun the jag juice and stick to the water-wagon. Heed this advice and your days shall be long ere you pass to the happy hunting-grounds."
"Heap talk a lot," said Joe; "no say anything. Make Injun lot sicker!"