“Liver trouble,” says he, diagnosin’ himself. “Spots before m’ eyes, dizziness and kinda sluggish-like.”
He does look kinda pale and walks antegodlin’.
“How comes you to git them there symptoms?” asks Dirty.
“Ignorance,” says Hassayampa. “I tried to take a bale of hay away from Exhibit A of the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Meanin’ Gunga Din?”
“That accordion-skinned thing,” says Hassayampa painful-like, kinda pluckin’ at his Adam’s apple. “I ain’t jist right in m’ mind yet. It grabbed me by the slack of the pants and took m’ pants plumb off while I’m still in the air. Them kinda shocks ain’t noways good for the human form. Then the — thing slapped me across the face with my own pants and knocked me plumb across the stable and into the oat-bin. I ain’t been right since.”
“You ort to read up on things like that,” says Dirty.
“Read? What in — can a man read at a time like that?”
“Wasn’t there no directions with ’em?” I asks.
“No. Direction don’t mean nothin’ to a thing like that, Ike. Do you want to gaze upon ’em?”