"No; he's asleep."
"Is the doctor still here?"
"Yes."
"I guess I'll step in," said Herman.
The doctor and George Chapman sat beside the hard-coal heater, talking in low voices. The old doctor was permitting himself the luxury of a story of pioneer life. He rose with automatic courtesy, and shook hands with Herman.
"How's the sick man getting on?"
"Vera well—vera well—consederin' the mon is a complete worn-out—that's all—naethin' more. Thes floom-a-didale bezniss of rantin' away on the fear o' the Laird for sax weeks wull have worn out the frame of a bool-dawg."
Herman and Chapman smiled. "I hope you'll tell him that."
"Na fear, yoong mon," said the grim old warrior. "Weel, now ai'll juist be takin' anither look at him."
Herman went in with the doctor, and stood looking on while the old man peered and felt about. He came out soon, and leaving a few directions with Herman and Chapman, took his departure. Everything seemed favorable, he said.