The doctor smiles like I was a child or a idiot.
"My friend," he says, "we, the general's personal physicians, have listened to that hallucination of his for months. We are always the six who have ruined him! It grows tiresome, but is quite harmless. I—"
"But the jack—the hundred grand for fightin' Young?" I howled, interruptin' him. "Where do we get that?"
"My dear sir," says the doctor, lookin' at me in alarm, "is it possible that you are also mentally deranged?"
"I would advise the gentleman to file a claim with the Government," butts in another of the doctors, "which pays for all the general's reasonable expenditures."
"D'ye think there's any chance of me collectin'?" I asked him wildly.
"About the same day!" murmurs the American doctor thoughtfully.
"What d'ye mean the same day?" I says, crazy with rage.
"The same day the Gulf of Mexico turns into malted milk!" says the doctor, and turns to a grinnin' servant: "Pedro, show the gentleman out!"
