"Say, Doc!" I whispered; "there's no use to cut off my leg because
the germs will hide in my elbow."
"Do you feel shooting pains in the cerebellum near the apex of the
cosmopolitan?" inquired the doctor.
"Surest thing you know," I said.
"Have you a buzzing in the ears, and a confused sound like distant
laughter in the panatella?" he asked.
"It's a cinch, Doc," I said.
"Do you feel a roaring in the cornucopia with a tickling sensation
in the diaphragm?" he asked.
"Right again," I whispered.
"Do the joints feel sore and pinched like a pool-room?" he said.
"Right!"
"Does your tongue feel rare and high-priced like a porterhouse
steak at a summer resort?"
"It do!"
"Do you feel a spasmodic fluttering in the concertina?"
"Yes!"
"Have you a sort of nervous hesitation in your hunger and does
everything you eat taste like an impossible sandwich?"
"Keno!"
"Does your nerve centre tinkle-tinkle like a breakfast bell?"
"Right again!"
"Have you a feeling that the germs have attacked your Adam's apple
and that there won't be any core?"
"Yes!"
"When you look at the wall paper does your brain do a sort of
loop-the-loop and cause you to meld 100 aces or double pinochle?"
"Yes, and 80 kings, too!"
"Do you feel a slight palpitation of the membrane of the Colorado
madura and is there a confused murmur in your brain like the sound
of a hard working gas meter?"
"You've got me sized good and plenty, Doc!"
"Do you have insomnia, nightmare, loss of appetite, chills and
fever and concealed respiration in the carolina perfecto?"
"That's the idea, Doc.
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