“You bet I will. And Hi, I’ve got a trouble that’s much worse than toothache.”
“Have you, Sam—for sure?”
“For sure I have, Hi. Now if you had a terrible trouble what would you do? I’ve told you where to go to get a toothache cured, but where would you go if—if everything you cared for seemed tumbling to pieces?”
Hi came up close to Sam. He had forgotten about his toothache, and he looked at Sam with his ferret eyes, in which the tears had now gathered.
“Sam,” he said under his breath, “I know about your trouble. I’ve heard of it. And—and you know your people have gone away. They’ve gone over the mountain, I reckon. Why, Sam, if I was in trouble like that I’d go straight to Mr. Summers.”
“But he’s the Methodist preacher, you know, and my folks are Baptists.”
“What’s the difference?” cried Hi defiantly. “I don’t see no difference. Anyway, if Mr. Summers was a Populist I’d go to him just the same.”
Sam was surprised to hear himself laughing.
“I will,” he declared, and he and Hi tramped on toward town. At the dentist’s office Sam started to turn in with Hi, but Hi stopped him.