I've got a bad dose of indigestion." "Dat's 'orrible disease! Dere's plaintee riche man die on dat seecknesse.

You better lie down." Doret took the hero of the day by the arm and led him to the rear of the store, where he bedded him on a pile of flour sacks, but he had hardly returned to the bar when Lee came veering out of the dimness, making for the light like a ship tacking towards a beacon.
"What kind of flour is that ?" he spluttered.
"Dat's just plain w'eat flour." "Not on your life," said the miner, with the firmness of a great conviction.

"It's full of yeast powders.

Why, it's r'arin' and risin' like a buckin' hoss.

I'm plumb sea-sick." He laid a zigzag course for the door.
"W'ere you goin' ?" asked Poleon.
"I'm goin' to get somethin' for this stomach trouble.