“Well, Chickasaw, old feller,” said Judge Priest, “how goes it? Feelin' a little bit easier than you was, ain't you?” The invalid groaned emptily before answering in wan and wasted-away tone. “Billy,” he said, “ef you could 'a' saw me 'long 'bout half past two this mornin', when she first come on me, you'd know better'n to ask sech a question as that. First, I wus skeered I wus goin' to die. And then after a spell I wus skeered I wusn't. I reckin there ain't nobody nowheres that ever had ez many diff'runt kinds of cramps ez me and lived to tell the tale.” “That's too bad,” commiserated the judge. “Was it somethin' you et or somethin' you drunk?” “I reckin it wus a kind of a mixture of both,” admitted Mr. Reeves. “Billy, did you ever make a habit of imbibin' these here milk punches?” “Well, not lately,” said Judge Priest. “Well, suh,” stated Mr. Reeves, “you'd be surprised to know how tasty they kin make jest plain ordinary cow's milk ef they take and put some good red licker and a little sugar in it, and shake it all up together, and then sift a little nutmaig seasonin' onto it--you would so! But, after you've drunk maybe three-four, I claim you have to be sorter careful 'bout whut you put on top of 'em. I've found that much out. “I reckin it serves me right, though. A country-jake like me oughter know better'n to come up here out of the sticks and try to gormandise hisse'f on all these here fancy town vittles. It's all right, mebbe, fur you city folks; but my stomach ain't never been educated up to it. Hereafter I'm a-goin' to stick to hawg jowl and cawn pone, and things I know 'bout. You hear me--I'm done! I've been cured. “And specially I've been cured in reguards to these here little pizenous fishes that look somethin' like sardeens, and yit they ain't sardeens. I don't know what they call 'em by name; but it certainly oughter be ag'inst the law to leave 'em settin' round on a snack counter where folks kin git to 'em. Two or three of 'em would be dangerous, I claim--and I must 'a' et purty nigh a whole school.” Again Mr. Reeves moaned reminiscently. “Well, from the way you feel now, does it look like you're goin' to be able to come to the blow-out to-night?” inquired Judge Priest. “That's the main point. The boys are all countin' on you, Chickasaw.” “Billy,” bemoaned Mr. Reeves, “I hate it mightily; but even ef I wus able to git up--which I ain't--and git my clothes on and git down to the Richland House, I wouldn't be no credit to yore party. From the way I feel now, I don't never ag'in want to look vittles in the face so long ez I live. And, furthermore, ef they should happen to have a mess of them there little greasy minners on the table I know I'd be a disgrace to myse'f right then and there. No, Billy; I reckin I'd better stay right where I am.”