It was a crushing blow to Mamma’s hopes and ambitions, and she faced a difficult problem, there by that couch in the grey of morning. Leslie was very ill. This she saw at a glance, and then came the thought: What if she were to die, and just at a time when so much depended upon her? It roused Mamma to instant action. Leslie must not die—not yet.
Papa and Franz were at once awakened, and the situation made known to them. Whereupon Papa fell into a state of helpless, hopeless dejection, and Franz flew into a fury.
“It’s all up with us now,” moaned Papa. “Luck’s turned aginst us.”
“It’s up, sure enough, with your fine plans,” sneered Franz. “I’m goin’ ter take myself out of yer muddle, while my way’s clear.”
“If I wasn’t dealin’ with a pair of fools,” snapped Mamma, “I’d come out all right. The gal ain’t dead yet, is she?”
And then, while Leslie laughed and chattered, alone in the inner room, the three resolved themselves into a council, wrangled and disputed, and at last compromised and settled upon a plan—Papa yielding sullenly, Franz protesting to the last and making sundry reservations, and Mamma carrying the day.
Leslie must have a physician; it would never do to trust her fever to unskilled hands; she must have a physician, and a good one. So said Mamma.
“It ain’t so risky as you might think,” she argued. “A good doctor’s what we want—one whose time’s valuable. Then he won’t be running here when he ain’t wanted. He’ll come an’ see the gal, an’ then he’ll be satisfied to take my reports and send her the medicine. Oh, I know these city doctors. They come every day if you’ve got a marble door-step, but they won’t be any too anxious about poor folks. A doctor can’t make nothin’ out of the kind of talk she is at now, and by the time she gits her senses, we’ll hit on somethin’ new.”
This plan was opposed stoutly by Franz, feebly by Papa; but the old woman carried the point at last.
“I know who we want,” said Mamma confidently. “It’s Doctor Bayless. He’s a good doctor, an’ he don’t live any too near.”