Part 24 (1/2)
Billy leaped up to receive her ladys.h.i.+p, who fatly rolled in, her tarnished hat askew, her torn thrice-dingy silks clutched up in one fat hand.
Lady Hickory gave one cry:
”There he is!”
She pushed Billy aside and rolled over into the visitor's chair.
”Oh, Mr. Joe!”
Joe turned.
”What's up?” he asked.
”Everything's up--I'm dying, Mr. Joe--I need help--I must get to the hospital--”
”Sick?”
”Gallopin' consumption!”
Joe sniffed.
”It doesn't smell like consumption,” he said with a sigh. ”It smells like rum!”
He hustled her out rather roughly, Nathan Slate regarding him with mournful round eyes. Twenty minutes later Nathan came over and sat down.
”Mr. Joe.”
”Yes, Nathan.”
”There's something troubles my conscience, Mr. Joe.”
”Let her rip!”
”Mr. Joe--”
”I'm waiting!”
Nathan cleared his throat.
”You say you're a democrat, Mr. Joe, and you're always saying, 'Love thy neighbor,' Mr. Joe.”
”Has _that_ hit you, Nathan?”
Nathan unburdened, evading this thrust.
”Why, then, Mr. Joe, did you turn that woman away?”
Joe was delighted.
”Why? I'll tell you! Suppose that I know that the cuc.u.mber is inherently as good as any other vegetable, does that say I can digest it? Cuc.u.mbers aren't for me, Nathan--especially decayed ones.”