“I’m dead and in ----,” says the apparation.
It has the voice and eye of Dirty Shirt Jones, but the rest of it don’t
look like him. Right then and there I marks an X after my name for a
temperance vote.
“Yessir, I’m dead,” says the person. “I’ve had delirium tremens enough
times to know that this ain’t it.”
I looks across the room and sees another jigger of the same brand. Then
I starts to get out of bed, intendin’ to head for the door and this
second dirty-faced thing moves right along with me. I’ve been lookin’ in
a mirror. Then I lifts one hand to my face, and it comes away the color
of chocolate. There’s a strong odor of turpentine in the place.
“What in ---- has been happenin’?” I asks.
“Are you Ike Harper?” he asks, kinda awed-like.
“If that’s a mirror, I ain’t,” says I. “Who are you?”
“I used to be Dirty Shirt Jones.”