“Is that you, Bunny? I reckon I must have fell asleep,” said the sufferer weakly.
“Say, Bob, I want you should shake hands with Mr. Severance.”
Bob raised himself with apparent difficulty on one elbow, and extended his hand.
“How are you, Bob?” continued Mr. Bunny with anxious solicitude. “But I can see it's painin' you something awful!”
“Folks, I've spraint my leg,—mebby she's broke—” and Bob groaned.
“You want a doctor—” said Johnny. Mr. Bunny and the sufferer exchanged significant glances.
“Folks, it ain't my leg that's hurtin' me most,—it's here—” and Bob rested his hand on the bosom of his shirt.
“Stomach?” said Johnny innocently.
“Sh,—heart!” said Bunny quickly.
“My feelin's are raisin' hell inside of me. This spraint leg ain't nothin'.” But Mr. Graham groaned lustily. “Mebby if you two was to help me, I could manage to hobble to my shack.... No, stranger”—to Johnny, as they set out—“I don't want no doctor. He might set my leg, but he couldn't cure me. Folks, I'm hard hit where no pills can ever get to.”