Done nothin' but feed him all night long. Seems to be mighty exhaustin' work to tend a sick baby.
Beeler.
Does he think it'll live?
Martha.
Not likely. But he thinks he will, if fed reg'lar.—What do you call that trance the baby's in?
Beeler.
Doctor calls it comy. Spelled it out for me: c-o-m-a, comy.
Beeler goes out on the porch and disappears. Martha continues her task of tidying up the room. Michaelis enters from the stair, carrying his hat and a foot-traveller's knapsack. Martha regards him with curiosity, tempered now by feminine sympathy with the defeated.
Martha.
Good morning, sir.