“Person’s too sick to play, they’re sick enough to have a doctor’s what I say. Playing Xenia to-morrow. Good a stand’s we got. Prolly won’t be able to open there, neither, if you’re sick’s all that.”
“I’ll be able to play to-morrow!” cried Julie, in a high strained voice. “I’ll be able to play to-morrow. To-morrow I’ll be all right.”
“How do you know?” demanded Doc.
Steve turned on him in sudden desperation. “She’ll be all right, I tell you. She’ll be all right as soon as she gets out of this town.”
“That’s a funny thing,” exclaimed Parthy. She swept through the little crowd at the door, seeming to mow them down with the energy of her progress. “That’s a funny thing.”
“What?” demanded Steve, his tone belligerent. “What’s funny?”
Captain Andy raised a placating palm. “Now, Parthy, now, Parthy. Sh-sh!”
“Don’t shush me, Hawks. I know what I’m talking about. It came over me just this minute. Julie took sick at this very town of Lemoyne time we came down river last year. Soon as you and Doc decided we wouldn’t open here because the license was too high she got well all of a sudden, just like that!” She snapped a thumb and forefinger.
Silence, thick, uncomfortable, heavy with foreboding, settled down upon the little group in the doorway.
“Nothing so funny about that,” said Captain Andy, stoutly; and threw a sharp glance at the face on the pillow. “This hot sticky climate down here after the cold up north is liable to get anybody to feeling queer. None too chipper myself, far’s that goes. Affects some people that way.” He scratched frenziedly at the mutton-chop whiskers, this side and that.