"No, what ails him?"
"Oh, his old mare is going to have a colt."
"Ha, ha!" cried Bräsig, "and it will be a thorough-bred, and the young Herr is to buy it."
"Yes, it is so. But have you had the Podagra, or not?"
"Karl, it is impossible to tell, in this confounded disease, whether it is the proper Podagra, or not. Really, it is all the same, so far as the torment is concerned; but in respect to the causes there is a great difference. You see, Karl, you get the Podagra by good eating and drinking, that is the proper kind; but if you get it only from these infamous, good-for-nothing, double-sewed wax-leather boots, that is the improper kind, and that is what I have."
"Yes, why do you always wear the old things, then?
"Karl, I used to wear them because of my relations with the count, and I cannot throw them away. But what I was going to ask--have you been at the Pastor's to-day?"
"Yes."
"Well, how is it there?"
"Ah, it looks badly, the old Herr is very weak: when he came out of the pulpit the sweat ran down his cheeks, and it was a long time before he got rested, lying on his sofa."