"My business."
"Don't know as you'll ever die o' brain fever."
"Neither will you, if you stay in this country. I wonder you wasn't buried before spring."
"They wasn't no fellers round here handy 'nough——"
"What can we do for you, my friend?" broke in the Major, in some doubt as to the result of the dialogue.
"Nothin', 'bleeged to ye, 'less yer got sumpin's good for cuts; cut my finger sharpnin' a sickle; durn near cut it off an' it's festerin'—see." He exposed the wounded member. If there is anything in life with a tendency to raise one's curiosity, or anything else, I know of nothing more potent than a sick finger at meal time. The stranger was generously determined that none of us should miss the luxury. The Major stared, the ladies turned away, and Joshua, out of all patience, exclaimed:
"Come off the shelf, man, the flies'll eat you up."
The stranger's attention was distracted.
"Whatcher mean? I ain't got no flies on me, mister."