“Fwom feah, you know; feah.”
“Oh,” sez I.
Agin he jabbed that cane of hisen into his mouth, and sez he, not offerin’ to help me a mite, but standin’ off and eyin’ me like a one-eyed owl: “Are you shuah you have not sustained any sewious injuwy?”
“Yes,” sez I, “I hain’t hurt much, I could git up if I had a little mite of help.”
“Youh fouh ahm now, can you waise it?”
I reached out my arm, feelin’ considerable like a horse, or mebby it would be more proper if I should say I felt some like the old mair, she had sunthin’ the matter with her fetlock. And he continued as he stood there with all the willowy grace of a telegraph pole, and as tall as one, so it seemed to me:
“Do you feel any pain like basilah menigitis, you know? Do you feel any uneasiness in youah pewicardium?”
Follerin’ his train of idees almost onbeknown to myself, I sez faintly, “I never knew till this minute that I had one, but I guess it is pretty middlin’ comfortable; I am obleeged to you.”
“Oh, I feel welieved if you haven’t injured youah pewicardium, for that would have been almost suah to bwing on basilah menigitis.”
I give up that I wouldn’t git no help from him, and I sez, “If you would just go to that house ahead and tell Hamen Smith’s folks that I have come I would be glad.”