“Wall, it is a certain, a deadly poison.”
“Haint there no help for me?” sez Josiah.
“Yes,” sez the man, “You must drink from the Live-forever spring, at the other end of the village. That water has the happy effect of neutralizin’ the poisons of the Immortal spring. If anything can save you that can. Why,” sez he, “folks that have been entirely broke down, and made helpless and hopeless invalids, them that have been brung down on their death-beds by the use of that vile Immortal water, have been cured by a few glasses of the pure healin’ waters of the Live-forever spring. I’d advise you for your own sake, and the sake of your family, who would mourn your ontimely decese, to drink from that spring at once.”
“But,” sez Josiah, with a agonized and hopeless look, “I can’t drink no more now.”
“Why?” sez the man.
“Because I don’t hold any more. I don’t hold but two quarts, and I have drinked 11 tumblers full now.”
“Eleven glasses of that poison?” sez the man.
“Wall, if it is too late I am not to blame. I’ve warned you. Farewell,” sez he, a graspin’ holt of Josiah’s hand. “Farewell, forever. But if you do live,” sez he, “if by a miricle you are saved, remember the Live-forever spring. If there is any help for you it is in them waters.”
And he dashed away, for another stranger wuz approachin’ the seen.