“I haven’t got four dollars,” Org replied, and then ran down the street, waving his arms at an automobile.
The machine stopped and Dr. Moseley leaned out and listened:
“Doctor, I know you ain’t a mule physician, but I just bought a big mule and he’s took sick and if he dies it’ll cost a lot of money to have him hauled off. I ain’t got the money to have him hauled away, and so you must come and keep him from dying.”
“Got any money to pay my doctor’s bill?” the physician asked.
“No, sir.”
“Got any money to pay for medicine to cure your mule?”
“No, sir.”
“Charity patient, by jacks!” the physician grinned.
“No, sir,” Org protested. “Me and my mule will pay. Whenever your automobile breaks down, I’ll let you ride my mule!”
No offer could be fairer, so Org swung up on the foot-board and rode with the obliging physician to the sick-bed of the mule. That able physician had once been all-boy himself, and he understood.