I
saw as much at dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's nothing whatever where
you're pointing, though you're sweating and trembling with fright like a
scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's Eyes. And I ought to understand
all about them. Come along home with me. I'm on the Blessington lower road."
To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept about
twenty yards ahead--and this, too whether we walked, trotted, or cantered. In
the course of that long night ride I had told my companion almost as much as I
have told you here.
"Well, you've spoiled one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to," said
he, "but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. Now come
home and do what I tell you; and when I've cured you, young man, let this be a
lesson to you to steer clear of women and indigestible food till the day of
your death."
The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed to
derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts.
"Eyes, Pansay--all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach. And the greatest of these three
is Stomach. You've too much conceited Brain, too little Stomach, and
thoroughly unhealthy Eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest follows.
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