“Do you know anything about Mike Fink?”
“Yes,” said the pilot; “knew him like a brother.”
“Can you tell me some peculiar incident of his life?” asked the clergyman.
“Well, I don’t know,” replied the pilot, hesitatingly. “Yes, I can. He ate a buffalo robe once.”
“Ate a buffalo robe!” said the clergyman, astonished.
“Certainly, a buffalo robe, with the hair on,” replied the pilot.
“Well, what did he do that for?”
“Why, you see,” said the pilot, resting a moment, to shift his quid of tobacco, “you see, Mike drank so much whiskey that he destroyed the coating of his stomach, and the doctor told him that before he could get well, he would need a new coat for it. Mike thought the thing over, and said, when he had a new coat for his stomach, he would have one that would stand the whiskey; and he made up his mind that a buffalo robe with the hair on it was just the thing, and so he sat down, and swallowed it. He could drink any amount of whiskey after that, and never so much as wink. Fact, now, as true as you are standing here.”
The clergyman turned away, satisfied.