o had
been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him by the arm, and pointed
across the street to a point directly beneath the window where John sat.
What he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned Doctor Kale,
grasped the arm of another member of the party, and the three at once
started across the road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps
climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door it was opened
hurriedly, and the men trooped in.

"There he is!" grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on a tour around the walls
of the room, sniffing his wrath, and ignoring the necessity of any sort
of an introduction.

"I want a doctor! I ain't sick 'n' my fam'ly ain't sick, but Dink
Scribbens took with the small-pox las' night 'n' me 'n' my folks has to
pass his door ever' time we come to town! That ol' hippity-hop
(indicating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) 's skeered to go,
though he never caught anything in his life!"

"I'm not afraid!" promptly fired back Doctor Kale. "I've waited on
small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, measles, and every skin disease you
ever heard of, but I'm not going to give my time to these damned
paupers! Paupers 've got no business gettin' sick!"

"Are these people--paupers?" asked John, addressing the question to the
third man, who up to this time had maintained silence through necessity.
He was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon his face the
marks of conviviality. He came forward heavily, and held out his hand.

"I'm Joe Colver, county judge," he said, dragging his words as though
each was anchored in his chest. "Uncle Billy Hoonover come in a while
ago sayin' the Scribbenses had small-pox. I don't know whether he knows
what he's talkin' about or not, but they live in our county and it's our
duty to investigate it and if necessary put a quarantine on 'em." He
smiled laboriously as he continued. "We usually give cases like this to
the young fellers. The old hosses git above it, you know. If you'll go
and take charge I'll promise the county'll allow you a reasonable fee.
And you'll save Uncle Billy Hoonover a fit of some kind if you'll go
pretty quick."

"Fit!" shrilled Uncle Billy, prancing up and down. "Who wouldn't have a
fit with the ketchin' small-pox under his nose? Tell me that?"

"I'll go, judge," said Glenning; "where do they live?"

"Under my nose!" reiterated Uncle Billy. "A crick 'n' a narrer fiel'
'twixt them 'n' me! The win' could blow it right in my d