While the doctor was breathing his horse under the willow, a teamster passed with a large sled, on which some bags of grain were piled. He stopped his oxen with a flourish of the goad, and a storm of who—who-o-as, while he held a little conversation.
"Tough teaming this!" he said. "Hard on young cattle; but somebody must go first. Any of the neighbors dangerous out this way, doctor?"
"No," answered the doctor, with a twinkle of the eye.
"Then what on arth brings you out?"
"Wanted a ride, and thought perhaps I could hunt up a patient."
"Wal, now I shouldn't a thought it! Which way are you a going, if I may be so bold?"
"Haven't decided. If you've got a copper in your pocket, toss up. It's all the same to me."
The man took a new cent from his pocket, and balancing it on his thumb nail, he called out——
"Which'll ye have, doctor?"
"Heads."