Mr. Stillwater put Indiana off his knees and sat by his wife.
"Did I miss you? Not a little bit."
"Your color's pretty bad, father," she said, "and you look dead tired. Perhaps," she rose impulsively, "perhaps you've been laid up."
"No, ma, no," he placed his big hands on her shoulders, forcing her down in her chair. "I haven't been laid up. But I've been feeling mighty queer."
He was immediately overwhelmed by a torrent of exclamations and questions from Mrs. Bunker and Indiana, while his wife sat pale and quiet, with heaving breast.
"No, I don't know what's the matter with me," he answered. "No, I can't describe how I feel. No, I have not been to a doctor, and I'm not going. There, you have it straight. I don't believe in them."
"Pa!" said Indiana, taking a stand in the centre of the room, "I want to say a few words to you."
"Oh, Lord!" thought Stillwater, "When Indiana shakes her pompadour and folds her arms, there's no telling where she'll end."
"I want to ask you if the sentiments which you have just expressed are befitting ones for a man with a family?"
"Mother," said Mrs. Stillwater, "he always takes your advice, tell him he should consult a doctor."