The patient brightened amazingly at the mention of the sanitarium, and was more than willing to go. “I’ve took all kinds of treatment,” he creaked, “but I ain’t never been to no sanitarium, an’ I misdoubt whether they’ve ever had anybody with green insides.
“I reckon,” he added, proudly, “that that wanderin’ pain in my spine’ll stump ’em some to know what it is. Even in the big store where they keep all kinds of medicines, there couldn’t nobody tell me. I know what disease ’tis, but I won’t tell nobody. A man knows his own system best an’ I reckon them smart doctors up at the sanitarium ’ll be scratchin’ their heads over such a complicated case as I be. Send my bed on to Betsey’s but write on it that it ain’t to be set up till I come. ’Twouldn’t be worth while settin’ it up at the sanitarium for a week, an’ I’m minded to try a medical bed, anyways. I ain’t never had none. Get the carriage, quick, for I feel an ailment comin’ on me powerful hard every minute.”
“Suppose,” said Harlan, in a swift aside, “that they refuse to take the patient? What shall we do then?”
“We won’t discuss that,” answered Dick, in a low tone. “My plan is to leave the patient, drive away swiftly, and, an hour or so later, walk back and settle with the head of the repair shop for a week’s mending in advance.”
Harlan laughed gleefully, at which Uncle Israel pricked up his ears. “I’m in on the bill,” he continued; “we’ll go halves on the mending.”
“Laughin’” said Uncle Israel, scornfully, “at your poor old uncle what ain’t goin’ to live much longer. If your insides was all turned green, you wouldn’t be laughin’—you’d be thinkin’ about your immortal souls.”
It was late afternoon when the bed was finally dumped on the side track to await the arrival of the freight train, being securely covered with a canvas tarpaulin to keep it from the night dew and stray, malicious germs, seeking that which they might devour. Uncle Israel insisted upon overseeing this job himself, so that he did not reach the sanitarium until almost nightfall. Dick and Harlan were driving, and they shamelessly left the patient at the door of the Temple of Healing, with his crated bath cabinet, his few personal belongings, and his medicines.
Turning back at the foot of the hill, they saw that the wanderer had been taken in, though the bath cabinet still remained outside.
“Mean trick to play on a respectable institution,” observed Dick, lashing the horses into a gallop, “but I’ll go over in the morning and square it with ’em.”
“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Harlan. “It’s just as well to have two of us, for we won’t be popular. The survivor can take back the farewell message to the wife and family of the other.”