“When are you lookin’ fer ’em back?” inquired Mr. Connors courteously. The branch was made of hard wood and it was a very knotty bit of timber; the length of time he might be required to occupy it was interesting.
The rustic mind runs to loquacity. The woman found herself explaining in more detail than the circumstances required.
“My husband is the minister. My son is the justice of the peace. They have both gone up the river, but the boat is due at the landing in an hour or so—unless it is late. You might as well wait a while and see them.”
Mr. Connors groaned from the depths of his soul. In an hour or so, unless the boat was late!
“Lady,” pleaded Mr. Connors in his most ingratiating voice, “I come here lookin’ fer a doctor, see? W’en a guy goes ter git a doctor, it ain’t right ter butt in an’ stop him. Dat’s de way it looks ter a man up a tree, lady.”
The woman ventured no opinion. She merely closed the door.
“Lady!” shouted Mr. Connors in his most humble and winning manner. “Lady!”
The door opened again.
“Well, what is it?”
“Lady, I come here to git help fer a guy dat’s lyin’ on de railroad track wid a busted slat. He ain’t got nobody ter look after him. If you keeps me up here dere ain’t no tellin’ what’ll happen ter de pore afflicted feller.”