I had been three months in the hospital before I began to suspect that I
would never get over my skin disease so long as I wore the tattered and
patched striped trousers which had been handed to me on my arrival.
Therefore I begged the hospital keeper for permission to get a new or at
least a clean pair. He told me to go downstairs to the head keeper's
desk. The reception I got from the head keeper was not surprising, but
his sudden burst of anger and his intemperate language puzzled me not a
little. As soon as I approached him he turned around sharply and
shouted: "What the h---- do _you_ want?"
Before I had time to complete my request he interrupted me, and shaking
his fist at me, yelled: "A pair of trousers! What do you think of that
dude in the hospital wanting a new pair of trousers! Go on back to your
hospital, you dirty bum. You ----! Get out!"
I turned back slowly without answering, trying meanwhile to puzzle out
how I could represent two such different social extremes in the mind of
the irate keeper--a dude and a dirty bum!
When I related the incident to my hospital keeper, he shook his head and
declared the head keeper an uncouth, stupid animal, and promised to
speak about it to the Deputy. Next day a runner brought me a brand new
pair of striped trousers, which looked quite becoming and a good fit
after the rags I had worn for so long.