The grip germ hates the idea of race suicide.
I discovered shortly after I had sneezed myself into a condition of pale blue profanity that a newly married couple of grip germs had taken a notion to build a nest somewhere on the outskirts of my solar plexus, and two hours later they had about 233 children attending the public school in my medusa oblongata; and every time school would let out for recess I would go up in the air and hit the ceiling with my Lima.
Before daylight came all these grip children had graduated from school and, after tearing down the school-house, the whole bunch had married and had large families of their own, and all hands were out paddling their canoes on my alimentary canal.
By nine o'clock that morning there must have been eighty-five million grip germs armed with self-loading revolvers all trying to shoot their initials over the walls of my interior department.
It was fierce!
When Doctor Leiser arrived on the scene I was carrying enough concealed weapons to start something in Mexico.
The good old pill-pusher threw his saws behind the sofa, put his dip-net on the mantelpiece, and took a fall out of my pulse.
"Ah!" he said, after he had noted that my tongue looked like a currycomb.
"The same to you, Doc," I said.
"Ah!" he said, looking hard at the wall.