"You aint a goin' to do that?" said the farmer.
"That was my intention. Why not?"
"You aint fit for it, no ways! Can't you stop here one night and be peaceable?"
"Yes, both," said his guest smiling. "But if I do not go, I must send," he added after a minute's silence, during which perhaps some feeling of weakness came in aid of the doctor's orders.—"And I do not think it would hurt me to go."
"Send!" said Mr. Simlins—"there's lots to send. Here's Reuben, and Sam Stoutenburgh—the boys aint gone yet—and here's me. Who do you want to send to?"
"I want to send for two or three things out of my room. Reuben can go—and Sam may sit here with me, if you will sleep any better for it, Mr. Simlins. That is what you must do," he said with a look of warm interest and kindness.
"Sleep!" growled Mr. Simlins. "It's about all I'm good for!" (Which was not at all Mr. Simlins' abstract judgment concerning himself—purely comparative, on the present occasion.) "Well—you tell Reuben what you want him to do, and he can take the brown mare—Jem'll have her ready—and I'll send Sam to you; and after I get rid of all creation, I'll come myself. You'd think all creation was just made, and the chips about!"
After which setting forth of the state of his affairs Mr Simlins went forth.
"I guess, sir," said Jem Waters when he had done his task with the mare, "I guess I'd as good sleep in the front porch to-night. 'Cause if there'll be one here, there'll be forty."
"What'll the forty do?"