"You mustn't say you are going to die, Tobe," Mary faltered, huskily, still gently stroking his hand. Beads of perspiration were on his sallow brow, and with her handkerchief she wiped them away. "The doctors say that if you go to Atlanta, to Doctor Elliot's sanatorium, he can—"
"I've given that up." He smiled faintly. "The money ain't in sight an' never will be. Besides, they only want to experiment on me. I know my condition better than they do. Surgical skill may be all right in many such cases, but mine has stood too long. I hain't afeard to die, Miss Mary, but I am sorry my going will be so serious for Ken an' Martin. Do you know, I was to blame chiefly. I was the one that furnished the whisky for that racket. I got it from a moonshiner I know. That is between you an' me, Miss Mary, for I broke the law when I went to his secret still an' got it without reportin' him."
CHAPTER XIX
Mary remained twenty minutes longer, and when she was going out at the gate she met Doctor Harrison, who had just alighted from his buggy and was hitching his horse to a portable strap and iron weight near the fence. He doffed his straw hat and smiled from his genial, bearded, middle-aged face and twinkling blue eyes.
"So you've turned nurse, have you?" he jested. "Well, I'm glad you came, for more reasons than one."
"You think it was right, then?" she answered.
"Decidedly, Miss Mary. At such a time as this we should not listen to gossip, but simply act humanely."
"I hardly knew what to do, for some persons thought that it would look as if I—I admitted that my brothers were—"
"I know," the doctor broke in, "but, nevertheless, I'm glad you put that aside. If I were on a jury—" He hesitated, as if he realized that he was on ground forbidden by due courtesy to her feelings. "Well," he started anew, "it can't possibly do any harm, and I am sure you will feel all the better for it."