"Well, then, Danny," says he, "how would you like to be an Indian?" "Medical?" asts I, "or real?" "Like Looey," says he. I tells him being a medical Injun and mixed up with a show like his'n would suit me down to the ground, and asts him what is the main duties of one besides the blankets and the feathers. "Well," he says, "this camping-out scheme of mine will take a couple of Indians. Instead of paying hotel and feed bills we'll pitch our tent," he says, "at the edge of town in each sweet Auburn of the plains. We'll save money and we'll be near the throbbing heart of nature. And an Indian camp in each place will be a good advertisement for the Sagraw. You can look after the horses and learn to do the cooking and that kind o' thing. And maybe after while," he says, kind o' working himself up to where he thought it was going to be real nice, "maybe after while I will give you some insight into the hidden mysteries of selling Siwash Indian Sagraw." "Well," says I, "I'd like to learn that." "Would you?" says he, kind o' laughing at himself and me too, and yet kind o' enthusiastic, "well, then, the first thing you have to do is learn how to sell corn salve. Any one that can sell corn salve can sell anything. There's a farmhouse right over there, and I'll give you your first lesson right now. Rummage around in that satchel there under the seat and get me a tin box and some corn salve labels." I found a lot of labels, and some boxes too. The labels was all different sizes, but barring that they all looked about the same to me. Whilst I was sizing them up he asts me agin was they any corn salve ones in there. "What colour label is it, Doctor Kirby?" I asts him. Fur they was blue labels and white labels and pink labels. He looks at me right queer. "Can't you read the labels?" he says, right sharp. "Well," I says, "I never been much of a reader when it comes to different kind of medicines." "Corn salve is spelled only one way," says he. "That's right," I says, "and you'd think I orter be able to pick out a common, ordinary thing like corn salve right off, wouldn't you?" "Danny," he says, "you don't mean to tell me you can't read anything at all?" "I never told you nothing of the kind." He picks out a label. "If you can read so fast, what's that?" he asts. She is a pink one. I thinks to myself; she either is corn salve or else she ain't corn salve. And it ain't natcheral he will pick corn salve, fur he would think I would say that first off. So I'm betting it ain't. I takes a chancet on it. "That," says I, "is mighty easy reading. That is Siwash Injun Sagraw." I lost. "It's corn salve," he says. "And Great Scott! They call this the twentieth century!" "I never called it that," says I, sort o' mad-like. Fur I was feeling bad Doctor Kirby had found out I was such a ignoramus.