Skinny grinned a little to be polite, but he didn't like it very well.
"Oh," said she, as soon as she could speak, "it was too—too funny for anything to see you sailing along behind the cow."
"It wouldn't have been so funny if the cow had been running toward you, instead of away from you. You would have laughed out of the other side of your mouth, I guess."
She saw that he was mad about it.
"You mustn't mind my laughing," said she, stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth. "I can't help it. It's a disease."
"A disease?"
"Yes, it's high strikes. When folks have them they can't stop laughing. They laugh when they ought to cry, maybe."
"Sounds like a ball game," said Skinny.
"It's something like that," she told him. "Maybe that isn't it exactly but it's something. I'm better now."
"Oh, well, if it's something that ails you, I suppose it's all right. I'd laugh, too, only I am all out of breath from chasing the cow."