“Shucks, you'll be up an' aroun' in no time.”
“I ain't goin' to git up again.”
“Don't you git stubborn now, Jim.”
A nurse brought in some medicine and the Pope took it with a wry face. The judge reached for his saddle-pockets and pulled out a bottle of white liquor with a stopper of corn-shucks.
“This'll take the bad taste out o' yo' mouth.”
“The docs won't let me—but lemme smell it.” The judge had whipped out a twist of long green and again the Pope shook his head:
“Can't drink—can't chaw!”
“Oh, Lord!” The judge bit off a mouthful and a moment later walked to the window and, with his first and second fingers forked over his lips, ejected an amber stream.
“Good Lord, judge—don't do that. You'll splatter a million people.” He called for a spittoon and the judge grunted disgustedly.
“I'd hate to live in a place whar a feller can't spit out o' his own window.”