but how’s that? didn’t he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that! he might as well have kicked me, and done with it. maybe he did kick me, and i didn’t observe it, i was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow. it flashed like a bleached bone. what the devil’s the matter with me? i don’t stand right on my legs. coming afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out. by the lord, i must have been dreaming, though—how? how? how?—but the only way’s to stash it; so here goes to hammock again; and in the morning, i’ll see how this plaguey juggling thinks over by daylight."