Says I, in a low voice and very confidential, making a trumpet with my hands at his ear—
“I beg pardon, and you mustn’t mind my reminding you, and seeming to meddle, but hain’t you forgot something?”
He studied a second, and says—
“Forgot something? . . . No, not that I know of.”
“Think,” says I.
He thought. Then he says—
“No, I can’t seem to have forgot anything. What is it?”
“Look at me,” says I, “look me all over.”
He done it.
“Well?” says he.