—"No, malaria."
"I've been married five years, and I've got a bushel of children."
"How's that?"
"My name is Peck. I've got four children. Don't four pecks make a bushel?"
The weary desert stretched for miles. Stretched for sheer weariness. Not a drop of water was in sight.
Then it was that the traveler had an inspiration.
He wrung his hands.