An' your head'll be all het up an' feel as dry as burnt pork.

An' yeh may git a lot 'a other sicknesses, too, by mornin'.
Yeh can't never tell.

Still, I don't much think so.

It's jest a damn' good belt on th' head, an' nothin' more.

Now, you jest sit here an' don't move, while I go rout out th' relief.