At last, in despair, he tried to think of other doctors. He thought of telephoning to Jonesboro. Just as he decided he must turn away there came a stirring in the dead house, a flicker of light appeared on the inside now here, now there; it steadied into a tiny beam and approached the door. The door opened, and Dr. Jallup's head and breast appeared, illuminated against the black interior.
"My mother's sick, Doctor," began Peter, in immense relief.
"Who is it?" inquired the half-clad man, impassively.
"Caroline Siner; she's been taken with a—"
The physician lifted his light a trifle in an effort to see Peter.
"Lemme see: she's that fat nigger woman that lives in a three-roomed house—"
"I'll show you the way," said Peter. "She's very ill."
The half-dressed man shook his head.
"No, Ca'line Siner owes me a five-dollar doctor's bill already. Our county medical association made a rule that no niggers should—"
With a drying mouth, Peter Siner stared at the man of medicine.