“I did. If I quit workin’, I quit eatin’. And that’s bad for me. I tried it once.”
“I see,” said the Little Red Doctor, recognizing a condition by no means unprecedented in local practice. “Couldn’t you get a job in some better climate?”
“Where, for instance?”
“Well, if you knew any one in California.”
“How’s the walkin’?” asked Mayme.
“It’s long,” replied the Little Red Doctor, “seeing” again. “Anyway, you’ve got to have fresh air.”
“They serve it fresh, every morning, right here in Our Square,” Mayme pointed out.
“Good idea. Get up early and fill your lungs full of it for an hour every day.” He gave some further instructions.
Mayme produced a dollar, and delicately placed it on the mantel.
“Take it away,” said the Little Red Doctor. “Didn’t I tell you—”