"Martha--there's somethin' wrong with my lung. That's why they thrown me down. They had their doctor from the main office examine me--they'd noticed me coughin'--and he said I'd a spot on my lung or--something. I shouldn't stay here in the city, he said. I must go up in the mountains, away from this, where there's the good air and a chance for my lung to heal, otherwise--" Martha stroked the damp hair away from his temples with her powdery hand. "Well, well!" she said reflectively. "Now, what do you think o' that!" "O, Martha--I can't stand it! You an' the children! It's more than I can bear!" Mrs. Slawson gave the head against her breast a final pat that, to another than her husband, might have felt like a blow. "More'n you can bear? Don't flatter yourself, Sammy my lad! Not by no means it ain't. I wouldn't like to have to stand up to all I could ackchelly bear. It's God, not us, knows how much we can stand, an' when He gets in the good licks on us, He always leaves us with a little stren'th to spare--to last over for the next time. Now, I'm not a bit broke down by what you've told me. I s'pose you thought you'd have me sobbin' on your shoulder--to give you a chanct to play up, an' do the strong-husband act, comfortin' his little tremblin' wife. Well, my lad, if you ain't got on to it by now, that I'm no little, tremblin' wife, you never will. Those kind has nerves. I only got nerve. That's where I'm _singular_, see? A joke, Sammy! I made it up myself. Out of my own head, just now. But to go back to what I was sayin'--why should I sob on your shoulder? There ain't no reason for't. In the first place, even if you _have_ got a spot on your lung, what's a spot! It ain't the whole lung! An' _one_ lung ain't _both_ lungs, an' there you are! As I make it out, even grantin' the worst, you're a lung-an'-then-some to the good, so where's the use gettin' blue? There's always a way out, somehow. If we can't do one way, we'll do another. Now you just cheer up, an' don't let Ma an' the childern see you kinder got a knock-outer in the solar plexus, like Jeffries, an' before you know it, there'll be a suddent turn, an' we'll be atop o' our worries, 'stead o' their bein' atop o' us. See! Say, just you cast your eye on them loaves! Ain't they grand? Appearances may be deceitful, but if I do say it as shouldn't, my bread certainly looks elegant this time. Now, Sammy, get busy like a good fella! Go in an' amuse Francie. The poor child is perishin' for somethin' to distrack her. What with Cora an' Sammy at school, an' Miss Claire havin' the Shermans so bewitched, they keep her there all day, an' lucky for us if they leave her come home nights at all, the house is too still for a sick person. Give Francie a drink o' Hygee water to cool her lips, an' tell her a yarn-like. An', Sammy, I wisht you'd be good to yourself, an' have a shave. Them prickles o' beard reminds me o' the insides o' Mrs. Sherman's big music-box. I wonder what tune you'd play