"He's up to his tricks," said Miss Caroline, contemptuously, to me.
Then, to Clem, seeming to draw courage from my presence, "You be quiet,
there, you lazy, black good-for-nothing, or I'll get some one here to
wear you out!" And Clem was again the vanquished.
"Pneumonia," said Young Doc. "Bad," he added as we stepped into the
drawing-room. "Take lots of care."
I thought it as well that Young Doc had come. Old Doc, though well
liked, boasted that all any man of his profession needed, really, were
calomel and a good knife. Young Doc had always seemed to be subtler.
Anyway, he was of a later generation. I learned that Old Doc had scorned
to make the call, believing that a "nigger" could not suffer from
anything but yellow fever or cracked shins. For this reason he became
genuinely interested in Clem's case as it was later reported to him by
Young Doc.
To the rest of Little Arcady the case was also of interest. Sympathy had
heretofore been with Clem, because Miss Caroline paid him no wages, and
was believed to take what he earned from other people.
Now, however, an important number of persons veered--in wonder if not in
absolute sympathy. That the woman should watch and nurse the black
fellow, apparently with perfect single-heartedness, was not to be
squared with any known laws of human association.
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