He sniffed contemptuous.
"No," says he, "he's short and fat."
"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin' back to the buggy; the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, mister."
He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' me all the way to the gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door wa'n't fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was some surprised to see me there.
"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"
"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern of him. "But—"
"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.
"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically all right. I wanted him to get up and walk, but he wouldn't."
"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn't walk for you; but I'll bet I can make him fly."
Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that room. The sufferer from fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder hard as I could.