“Yes, your wife.” This from several members of the company.
He hurries in, very shaken and frightened.
“What is this?” he demands as he passes the door and is confronted by serious-looking physicians. More we could not hear.
But after a time out he comes for something at the drugstore, then in again. He is in and out two or three times, and finally, before the assembled company and in explanation, wrings his hands.
“I never done nothin’ to make her do this. I never done nothin’.” He pauses, awaiting a denial, possibly, from some one, then adds: “The disgrace! I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t for the disgrace!”
I meet Mrs. Schmick the next day in the hall. She has been indefatigable in her labors.
“Will she die?”
“No, she gets better now.”
“Is he going to behave himself?”
She shrugs her shoulders, lifts up her hands dubiously.