You women don't want things explained, any more'n Abe here! You prefer hocus-pocus. And nothin' will teach you. Take Rhody! Sees Michaelis flunk his job miserable. Sees Mary go down like a woman shot, hands and legs paralyzed again,—Doctor says, for good, this time. And what does the girl do about it? Spends the night out yonder laborin' with them benighted sick folks, tellin' 'em the healer will make good. Lots of makin' good he'll do!
He points at the ceiling.
A fine picture of a healer he makes.
Martha.
Looking up.
Still as a stone! I'd rather have him ragin' round same as yesterday, like a lion with the epizoötic.
Beeler.
He's a dead one. Rhody might as well give up tryin' to make folks think different.
Martha.
Maybe Rhody holds she's to blame.