XXXII
Er maybe dead o' winter—makes no odds to Doc,—he's got
To face the weather ef it takes the hide off! 'cause he'll not
Lie out o' goin' and p'tend he's sick hisse'f—like some
'At I could name 'at folks might send fer and they'd never come!
XXXIII
Like pore Phin Hoover—when he goes to that last dance o' his!
That Chris'mus when his feet wuz froze—and Doc saved all they is
Left of 'em—"'Nough," as Phin say now, "to track me by, and be
A advertisement, anyhow, o' what Doc's done fer me!—
XXXIV
"When he come—knife-and-saw"—Phin say, "I knowed, ef I'd the spunk,
'At Doc 'ud fix me up some way, ef nothin' but my trunk
Wuz left, he'd fasten casters in, and have me, spick-and-span,
A-skootin' round the streets ag'in as spry as any man!"
XXXV
Doc sees a patient's got to quit—he'll ease him down serene
As dozin' off to sleep, and yit not dope him with mor-pheen.—
He won't tell what—jes 'lows 'at he has "airn't the right to sing
'O grave, where is thy victery! O death, where is thy sting!'"
