About one came another ring.
“We've both been asleep, Doctor, but I've been up fifteen minutes trying to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. He says it's too damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow.”
“Tell him I say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor.”
“I don't know what to do. I can't make him take it.”
“You'll have to let him alone for awhile I guess, maybe he'll change his mind after awhile.”
At three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone.
“Doctor, he just will not take it,” the voice was now quite distressed. “I can't manage him at all.”
“You ought to manage him. What's a wife for? Well, go to bed and don't bother him or me any more tonight.”
But early next morning Silas' wife telephoned again.
“I thought I ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet.”