Tell Clarice to cook me up a nice little steak with plenty of
fat on it, and some fried potatoes, and a cup of coffee and a few
waffles to come. The Judge he wouldn't get up yet. He looked kind of
mottled and anguished, but I guess he'll pull around all right. I had
the chink take him up about a gallon of strong tea. Say, listen here,
the Judge ain't so awful much of a stayer, is he?"
Burning with curiosity I was to learn what he could tell me of the day
before, yet I controlled myself to the calmest of leisurely
questioning in order not to alarm him. It was too plain that he had no
realization of what had occurred. It was always the way with him, I
had noticed. Events the most momentous might culminate furiously about
his head, but he never knew that anything had happened.
"The Honourable George," I began, "was with you yesterday? Perhaps he
ate something he shouldn't."
"He did, he did; he done it repeatedly. He et pretty near as much of
that sauerkraut and frankfurters as the piano guy himself did, and
that's some tribute, believe me, Bill! Some tribute!"
"The piano guy?" I murmured quite casually.
"And say, listen here, that guy is all right if anybody should ask
you. You talk about your mixers!"
This was a bit puzzling, for of course I had never "talked about my
mixers.
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