“You should have worried about that before you got in,” I said. “And you will never get out if you do not observe the rules and stop telling folks to bring you beer and pigs’ feet and things you are not supposed to have.”

“You didn’t bring me that Three Feathers I told you to bring,” said Simple. “And the nurse would not let me finish that little old sausage Zarita brought in her pocketbook yesterday. She said it would be a bad example for the rest of the patients in this ward. So I have not broken any rules. But if you gimme a cigarette, I sure will smoke it.”

“I will not give you a cigarette,” I said.

“O.K.,” said Simple. “You will want me to do something for you someday.”

“You have everything you need right here in this hospital,” I said. “You know if you really needed something you are supposed to have, I would bring it.”

“They feed me pretty good in here,” said Simple. “Only one thing I do not like—they won’t let you take your own bath.”

“And what is wrong about that?”

“Well, the morning nurse, she comes in before day A.M. and grabs you by the head. When she gets through scrubbing your ears they feel just like they have been shucked. Ain’t nobody washed my ears so hard since I got out from under my mother.”

“Sleepy-headed as you are, I guess she is just trying to wake you up.”

“And, man,” said Simple, “when she washes your stomach, it tickles. I told her I was ticklish and not to touch me nowhere near my ribs, nor my navel.”

“I do not see why a big husky fellow like you should be ticklish.”

“I do not mind when she rubs my back, though. That alcohol sure smells fine.”

“Reminds you of something to drink, I presume?”

“It do feel sort of cool and good like the last drop of a gin rickey. But I don’t want to think of gin rickey now, pal.”

“I shouldn’t think you would,” I said. “That is why you are here—becoming intoxicated and forgetting your overcoat.”