“Yes, Massa.”
“A drink, please.”
“Reuben!” there was a quaver in his voice now.
“Yes, Massa.”
“Reuben, my friend!” and—Hernando did not ask Reuben his dream. Hernando stirred uneasily, and presently raised himself on his elbow only to fall back with a groan. Instantly Reuben was beside him asking how he felt.
“First rate when I lie still, but the instant I attempt to get up my back seems broken.”
His face indicated that he was anything but well, and his voice sounded thick.
“Is yoah throat soah?” Reuben inquired.
“Not exactly sore. It feels as if it were not a part of my own anatomy.”
Reuben asked Hernando a few questions, examined his throat and quietly said he’d better go for a doctor. “But first let me bring yo’ a cup of coffee,” he added.