Soapy water? Best thing on earth. Makes you feel like you has been hollowed out and whittled thin, but it does not leave nothing in you that you would want to wake up with the next morning. Of course, it is not exactly a pleasant treatment while it is going on, but, after it is done, although you could not fight no mess of apes, you could give them a run for their money, if such become necessary.
After some time, Jimmie says in a washed-out voice, "O.K., go ahead. Tell me I am a louse."
Ditsy does not say nothing and I does not say nothing, neither, being busy examining my cuticles.
"I know I am a louse," he continues. "Go on. Get it over with. Go on, tell me I am a louse."
So I says, "You are a louse, period," and I leaves off examining my cuticles and takes up examining Jimmie like he is a rare specimen of garbage that has got in among us while we are occupied elsewhere.
"I was not asking you," Jimmie says, and he looks at Ditsy and Ditsy looks at him and Ditsy does not say nothing.
"I beg your pardon," I says, "I thought you was addressing the general public of which there are several that says you has lost hold of your senses."
"Shut up," Jimmie says. "SHUT UP. I did not ask you to butt in, did I? Why do you not go back where you come from?"
"Sure," I says, "I will be delighted. But when you is handing out your interviews tomorrow do not give the credit for the win to the horse—give it to Ditsy, here. If you win."
"What do you mean 'if'?" Jimmie says. "It is in the bag." He laughs. "Literal," he says. "You and Ditsy need not worry none."