“Best thing for her. Her nerves are overwrought and unstrung. She'll be all right, once she has her cry out. I'll drift around, and jolly her along.”
The doctor presently came up and took a seat beside her.
“Wha—what do you think, doctor?” she sobbed.
“Well, I think it's tarnation hot operating with a big kerosene lamp six inches from your haid,” he said, as he mopped his forehead.
“I mean—will he—get well?”
Lee snorted. “Well, I'd be ashamed of him if he didn't. If he lets a nice, clean, flesh wound put him out of business he don't deserve to live. Don't worry any about him, young lady. Say, I wish I had zwei beer right now, Arlie.”
“You mean it? You're not just saying it to please me?”
“Of course, I mean it,” he protested indignantly. “I wish I had three.”
“I mean, are you sure he'll get well?” she explained, a faint smile touching her wan face.
“Yes, I mean that, too, but right now I mean the beer most. Now, honest, haven't I earned a beer?”