“The baby's better, isn't it?”
“Oh, the baby's all right, but I want a prescription for myself.”
“What sort of prescription?”
“I have to take a long ride in the morning, driving cattle, and I want a prescription for a pint of whiskey.”
Mary listened for her husband's reply. It came.
“Jenkins, I have taken many a long ride through dust and heat, through rain and snow and storm, and I never yet have had to take any whiskey along.”
“Well, I have a little trouble with my heart and—”
“The trouble's in your head. If you'd throw away that infernal pipe—”
“Oh, it's no use to lecture me on that any more.”
“Very well, your tobacco may be worth more to you than your heart.”