He ran a thumb and forefinger lightly down the furry leg. “No, just a bruise,” he said. “No, little cat, you’re all right,” he added for the small patient’s benefit, giving another little tap on its head. “Julie, have you got any fly-netting? That’s what I stopped for when I saw your shop was open.”
“How’s the flu, doctor?” Mrs. Anderson interposed. “Any fresh cases?”
“Half a dozen, an’ not near enough people to nurse the sick ones,” he answered. “The Chapin family’s the worst. The father died last night and Mrs. Chapin and the boy are just as bad off as they can be—nobody in the house to help, an’ the neighbors not doin’ as much as they might on account of the boy’s record. Maybe I could get you to go out there and lend a hand for a day or so,” he said, looking at Mrs. Anderson.
“Not me,” she retorted promptly. “I’m scared to death of the flu—I’d run a mile from it—an’ more’n that, I wouldn’t turn my hand over for that boy after the way he disgraced the whole county in camp.”
Julie put the kitten down and stood up. “I’ll go with you right away, doctor,” she said. “I’ve got my things here in the suit-case, an’ I’ll get the fly-netting.”
He looked at her. “It’s hard work, Julie,” he said. “You’ve never been very stout, you know. Do you reckon you can stand it?”
“I can stand anything now,” she told him.
“Things are in right much of a mess out there,” he hesitated.
“Then that’s where I belong,” she answered.