“Your friend. The man I seen you standing outside my window with last night. The man you were talking to, darn you! Cloudy McGee!”
“The bank examiner!” exploded Amos. “He—he said he was.”
“He is,” said the sheriff. “He’s examined a lot of ’em.”
The real bank examiner and the marshal walked outside, halting on the edge of the sidewalk, where they grinned at each other.
“You ought to take something for that cold,” said the examiner. “The first thing you know you’ll be having pneumonia.”
“Dod be.” The officer shook his head. “You can’t scare be do more. All by life I’be been scared of pneumonia. Never had the nerve to visit a doctor. Bud I seen one today. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Fuddy, ain’t id? I feel twedy years you’ger.”
“What did he say was the matter with you?”
“Hay fever.”
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the February 10, 1926 issue of Short Stories Magazine.