“He’s kinda up against it, don’tcha know it. I suggested that he get yore wife to nurse this sick man. She sure could do a good job of it, and I feel sorry for the doc.”
Big Medicine stared at Hashknife and looked at Lucy.
“No,” he said gruffly. “Lucy don’t need a job.”
“It ain’t that,” assured Hashknife. “The doc knows that she don’t need the money.”
But Big Medicine shook his head.
“No, I need her here, Hartley.”
“Well, all right,” said Hashknife. “I just mentioned it.”
Big Medicine said little during the meal. He seemed doubly thoughtful, and his eyes were often turned toward Hashknife, as if wondering why Hashknife should concern himself with this stranger.
From the living-room came the squeaky strains of “The Holy City.” Musical Matthews, the last to arise, was having his “morning’s morning,” as usual. No one commented on it, as they were all used to it by this time.
Sleepy looked up from his breakfast and caught Wanna’s eye. She smiled at him and he dropped an egg off his knife onto his lap. Hashknife saw the egg fall and gave Sleepy a reproachful look. Wanna giggled and turned back to the stove.