Schiller: | Ah! Major Cook. Well, what is it? |
---|---|
Major Cook: | I was wondering how your leg felt today. |
Schiller: | How does that concern you? |
Major Cook:
| Because if you were drinking scotch to kill the pain,
I thought you might offer me a glass. |
Schiller:
| As a matter of fact, Major, my leg is killing me!
Tell me, tell me what's on your mind. |