“Here is the bottle, sir,” he said, meekly.
“Thank you. Now bring a spoon which you will find on the table.”
Burns did so.
“Now pour out a teaspoonful, which I will take.”
“I am glad to be of service to you. Don’t you want an attendant while you are sick?”
“There would not be enough for you to do. I have a son at work in the mines who is here morning and night, and he gives me all the care I require.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” thought Burns. “The son may be dangerous.”
“Then, sir, I will bid you good-by. I will pray for your recovery.”
“Thank you. The prayers of the righteous avail much. Are you righteous?”
“It isn’t for me to say, sir. I don’t want to boast.”