"Try that out in the sperm court, you old bull-frog," sais I. "I guess
there is more ile to be found in that fishy gentleman than in me.
Well," sais I, "Doctor, to get back to what we was a talking of. It's
a tight squeeze sometimes to scrouge between a lie and a truth in
business, ain't it? The passage is so narrow, if you don't take care
it will rip your trowser buttons off in spite of you. Fortunately I am
thin, and can do it like an eel, squirmey fashion; but a stout,
awkward fellow is most sure to be catched.
"I shall never forget a rise I once took out of a set of jockeys at
Albany. I had an everlastin' fast Naraganset pacer once to Slickville,
one that I purchased in Mandarin's place. I was considerable proud of
him, I do assure you, for he took the rag off the bush in great style.
Well, our stable-help, Pat Monaghan (him I used to call Mr Monaghan),
would stuff him with fresh clover without me knowing it, and as sure
as rates, I broke his wind in driving him too fast. It gave him the
heaves, that is, it made his flanks heave like a blacksmith's bellows.
We call it 'heaves,' Britishers call it 'broken wind.' Well, there is
no cure for it, though some folks tell you a hornet's nest cut up fine
and put in their meal will do it, and others say sift the oats clean
and give them juniper berries in it, and that will do it, or ground
ginger, or tar, or what not; but these are all quackeries.
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