"How long have you been sick?" he asked.
"Two weeks off 'n' on, I reck'n," answered the man.
"How long have you been in bed?"
"Tuk bed yistiddy."
"You should have been in bed ten days, at least. You're pretty sick, my man."
A shadow of alarm flashed over the bestial countenance.
"I won't die, doc, will I? Yo' don't mean I'm gunta die!"
In his eagerness he grasped the sleeve of the figure kneeling beside him.
"You've got to cyore 'im, doc!" wailed the woman. "I can't live 'ithout my man!"
She walked about wringing her hands.