But Omo's grandfather only shook his head. "You're a plucky boy, Omo," he said, "but you'll never be able to do it. How can a boy of seven earn anything?"
"Well, I can try, can't I?" said Omo. "You can't do anything if you don't try."
So pulling his cap down over his curls, and tucking some bread and cheese into his pocket, he set off for town. But when he arrived at the doctor's office he found that the waiting room was crowded with people, and that he would have to wait his turn.
"Oh, dear," he sighed, as he sat down next to a little old lady with a frilled bonnet on her head, "this is most unfortunate. My grandfather ought to be attended to right away."
"Well, he won't get attended to right away," said the old lady, "I can tell you that! This doctor charges by the length of time you wait in his office, so he never hurries. I've been here three months."
"Three months!" cried the boy. "Oh, I couldn't possibly wait three months, or even three days. I'm in a hurry! I've got to earn enough money to pay the rent of our cottage, or the ogre who owns it will turn me into a dumpling and eat me."
And when he said that everybody in the waiting room twisted about and looked at him. "He seems to have a fever," they said.
"See here," said the old lady, "are you sure you're not sick instead of your grandfather?"
"I'm perfectly well!" exclaimed Omo, indignantly.
"Then you must be joking," responded the other.