“Perhaps they will enlighten us to the best of their ability,” says Pettingill, adjusting his specs. “It will do no harm to inquire.”
“My dear gentlemen,” says the one called Middleton, “may we ask you a question?”
“You can take a chance,” nods Dirty.
“Well—er—before I ask the question it might be well to introduce ourselves. I am Professor Middleton of Boston, and the gentleman with me is Professor Pettingill of Philadelphia.”
“We appreciates it considerable,” says Dirty, solemn-like. “I am of the Jones tribe, from here or hereabouts, and called Dirty Shirt. The person with me is a Harper offspring, called Ike. Where are you from, Ike?”
“There or thereabouts,” says I.
“Exactly,” says Professor Middleton. “Now the question is this: Pettingill and myself are dabbling in a few problems outside of our regular work, and this one has come to our notice: Are sheepherders really insane? Do they acquire insanity from their occupation? Is there anything about a—er—sheep that would cause a normal man to lose his mind, as it were?”
“Yes,” nods Dirty. “It is.”
“Exactly,” says Middleton. “You are following me?”
“I hope nobody sees me if I do,” grins Dirty.