'Ye have Mickrobes in ye'er lungs,' he says. 'What's thim?' says I.
'Thim's th' lah grip bugs,' says he. 'Ye took wan in, an' warmed it,'
he says; 'an' it has growed an' multiplied till ye'er system does be
full iv' thim,' he says, 'millions iv thim,' he says, 'marchin' an'
counthermarchin' through ye.' 'Glory be to the saints!' says I. 'Had I
better swallow some insect powdher?' I says. 'Some iv thim in me head
has a fallin' out, an' is throwin' bricks.' 'Foolish man,' says he.
'Go to bed,' he says, 'an' lave thim alone,' he says, 'Whin they find
who they're in,' he says, 'they'll quit ye.'
"So I wint to bed, an' waited while th' Mickrobes had fun with me.
Mondah all iv thim was quite but thim in me stummick. They stayed up
late dhrinkin' an' carousin' an' dancin' jigs till wurruds come up
between th' Kerry Mickrobes an' thim fr'm Wexford; an' th' whole party
wint over to me left lung, where they cud get th' air, an' had it out.
Th' nex' day th' little Mickrobes made a toboggan slide iv me spine;
an' manetime some Mickrobes that was wurkin' f'r th' tilliphone
comp'ny got it in their heads that me legs was poles, an' put on their
spikes an' climbed all night long.
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