"
"It is, indeed," the young doctor answered, "but perhaps
it is heroic treatment your man needed, for I would infer
that you have been reading the law to someone. Who was
it?"
"Sam Motherwell," the minister answered.
"Well, you had a good subject," the doctor said gravely.
"For aggravated greed, and fatty degeneration of the
conscience, Mr. Motherwell is certainly a wonder. When
that poor English girl took the fever out here, it was
hard to convince Sam that she was really sick. 'Look at
them red cheeks of hers,' he said to me, 'and her ears
ain't cold, and her eyes is bright as ever. She's just
lookin' for a rest, I think, if you wuz to ask me.'"
"How did you convince him?"
"I told him the girl would have to have a trained nurse,
and would be sick probably six weeks, and then they
couldn't get the poor girl off their hands quick enough.
'I don't want that girl dyin' round here,' Sam said."
"Is Mrs. Motherwell as close as he is?" the minister
asked after a pause.
"Some say worse," the doctor replied, "but I don't believe
it. She can't be."
The minister's face was troubled. "I wish I knew what to
do for them," he said sadly.
"I'll tell you something you can do for me," the doctor
said sitting up straight, "or at least something you may
try to do."
"What is it?" the minister asked.
"Devise some method, suggest some course of treatment,
whereby my tried and trusty horse Pleurisy will cease to
look so much like a saw-horse.
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