"I got notings to insure," said Platz, "notings but my vife."
"Well, then," said the insurance man cheerfully, "insure her."
"Nein!" said the farmer, with determination. "If she die, you come out here and say, 'I not give you one tousand dollar. I get you a bigger und a better vife for six hunded.' No, sir, I dakes no more insurance oud!"
You must excuse me if I have to call a temporary halt upon these proceedings and indulge in a little vociferous sneeze, for a cold in the head is no respecter of persons. This is the sneeze, sung in a sad, sobbing minor:
I've got a cold with snuffles in;
What kind of a cold have you?
I've got the kind that makes me sin
By craving fizzes made of gin
And other stuff with bad booze in—
What kind of a cold have you?
I've got the kind that makes one hoarse;
What kind of a cold have you?
To speak requires my utmost force;
My voice is rough, and harsh, and coarse,
And strains its laryngital source—
What kind of a cold have you?
I've got a cold that makes me mad—
What kind of a cold have you?
That makes me reticent and sad,
That puts me plainly to the bad,
The worstest cold I ever had—
What kind of a cold have you?
I suppose you know I was on a tour in Florida and other parts of the Sunny South last winter?