'No, ma’am, not yet. The dispensary don’t open till nine o’clock.'
Miss Ralston begged him to report again in the afternoon, which he did, standing before her, cap in hand, his sense of importance still dominating over brotherly concern.
'He’s sick, all right,' Bennie reported. 'He don’t eat at all—just drinks and drinks. My mother says he cried the whole morning, when he woke up and found out he’d missed school. My mother says he tried to get up and dress himself, but he couldn’t anyhow. Too sick.'
'Did you have the doctor?' interrupted Miss Ralston, suppressing her impatience.
'No, ma’am, not yet. My father went to the dispensary but the doctor said he can’t come till noon, but he didn’t. Then I went to the dispensary, dinner time, but the doctor didn’t yet come when we went back to school. My mother says you can die ten times before the dispensary doctor comes.'
'What does your mother think it is?'
'Oh, she says it’s a bad cold; but David isn’t strong, you know, so she’s scared. I guess if he gets worse I’ll have to stay home from school to run for the medicines.'
'I hope not Bennie. Now you’d better run along, or you’ll be late.'
'Yes, ma’am. Good-bye.'
'Will you come again in the morning and tell me about your brother?'