Train had met Number Six head on.

When the Subject of this Treatise came to, he was propped up on the
front porch of a Farm House with one Leg in Splints and a kind-faced
Lady pressing Cold Applications to the fevered Brow.

He was O.K. except that he would have to lie still for a few Weeks
while the Bones did their Knitting.

The good Country Folk would not permit him to be moved. He was dead
willing to sink back among the White Pillows and figure the Accident
Insurance.

Through the Honeysuckles and Morning-Glories he could see the long
slope of Clover Pasture, with here and there a deliberate Cow, and the
Steeple of the Reformed Church showing above a distant clump of Soft
Maples.

About two hours after emerging from the Trance, he made his customary
Diagnosis and discovered that he was nervously shattered and in urgent
need of a most heroic Bracer. He beckoned to the president of the
local W.C.T.U. and said if they were all out of Scotch, he could do
with a full-sized Hooker of any standard Bourbon that had matured in
Wood and was not blended.

Nurse readjusted his Pillow and told him that as soon as he came out
of the Delirium he could dally with a mug of Buttermilk.

By and by, as he gathered Strength, she would slip him some Weak Tea.

He had heard that in some of these outlying Regions, the Family
Sideboard stood for nothing stronger than Mustard, but this was the
first time he had met Human Beings who were not on visiting Terms with
the Demon Rum.

At the Cocktail Hour he ventured a second Request for any one of the
standard Necessities of Life, but Mrs. Peabody read him a Passage from
the Family Medicine Book to the effect that Liquor was never to be
used except for Snake Bites.

When he ordered the Hired Hand to bring him a large Snake, they gave
him a Sleeping Powder and told inquiring Neighbors that he was still
out of his Head.

Next day he found himself alive, thanks to a wonderful Constitution.

The Samaritans came and stood around his Couch and jollied him and
offered him everything except what he needed.

When he offered to compromise on Drug-Store Sherry, the Daughter of
the Household, Luella by name, brought out a colored Chart showing the
Interior of a Moderate Drinker's Stomach. After that he was afraid to
Chirp.

Even the Cigarette was Taboo among these Good People, although Father
could Fletcherize about 10 cents' worth of Licorice Plug each working
Day.

Far removed from t