“And are you happy?”
He wrinkled up his brows and smiled.
“What age d’ you think I am? Seventy-six!”
“You look as if you’d live to be a hundred.”
“Can’t expect it! My health’s good though, ’cept for these.”
Like wind-bent boughs all the fingers of both his hands from the top joint to the tip were warped towards the thumb.
“Looks funny! But I don’t feel ’em. What you don’t feel don’t trouble you.”
“What caused it?”
“Rheumatiz! I don’t make nothin’ of it. Where there’s doctors there’s disease.”
“Then you think we make our ailments, too, as fast as we make remedies?”