"Jee-whiz!" said the boy. "You've hurt yourself."
"That's right," Jeff replied.
"How did it happen?"
"The plug crossed his feet in the dip yonder, and rolled plum over me. Say--do you want to earn an honest dollar?"
The adjective was emphasised, for none knew better than Jeff that the foothills harboured queer folk. The boy nodded.
"You must get a buggy, sonny."
"A buggy? Anything else? As if buggies grew in the brush-hills!"
Just then Jeff's sanguine complexion turned grey, and his eyes seemed to slip back into his head. The boy perceived a bulging pocket, out of which he whipped a flask. Jeff took a long drink; then he gasped out: "Thunder! you was smart to find that flask. Ah-h-h!"
"You're in a real bad fix," said the boy.
"I am in bad shape," Jeff admitted. "If I'd known I was going to lose the use o' myself like this, I wouldn't ha' been so doggoned keen about my friend leavin' me."