“Yas’r.” The chat languished until reopened by Ike on other lines. “You has er fine view, Misto Elgin, an’ you has got fine trees an’ you has got fine aiah.”
The farmer chuckled. “If you’d a bin ’round here yesterday afternoon when I cleaned out the well I’ll bet the air would have made you sick at your stomach, boy.”
“How cum?” Ike demanded sharply, his eyes rolling white with anxiety.
“The old hole was full of dead reptiles and varmints. I got a skunk, a rabbit, two frogs and three snakes out and a couple of things so far gone I couldn’t tell ’em. Gorry but they stunk.”
“You ’spec’ dey mek dat water bad?” pleaded Ike, in a voice pathetic in its intenseness.
“Water with things like that in it is deadly pizen, I cal’late,” the farmer told him, with a shudder at his own repulsive memories.
Ike leaped to his feet hurriedly. Fear lifted him “’Scuse me, Sar,” he murmured, as if he had been suddenly taken ill. A moment later, discovering the medical man resting in the shade of a great tree, the negro approached him with an air of indifference tempered with respect. For all that he knew this might be a dreaded “night doctor”–one of those fearful beings who steal about in the late hours of the night despoiling sepulchers and seizing late strollers for the benefit of science. It is obviously unwise to irritate such characters, lest evil befall one.
“Dis is er fine day, Doc,” Ike suggested.
“Yes.”
“Doc, do pizen hit er man suddin?”