There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh, But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day! Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was _whisky!_ Wurgler--well, He et morphine--ef actions shows, and facts' reliable! But Sifers--though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit When you _git_ Sifers one't, you've got _a doctor_, don't fergit! He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.-- But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions--as The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has. He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin. Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps. Make anything! good as the best!--a gunstock--er a flute; He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root, Durin' the Army--got his trade o' surgeon there--I own To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! An' glued a fiddle one't far me--jes' all so busted you 'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new! And take Doc, now, in _ager_, say, er _biles_, er _rheumatiz_, And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! Er janders--milksick--I don't keer--k-yore anything he tries-- A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead; A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head! First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from "Puddlesburg," and then This little red-head, "Burnin' Shame" they call him--Dr. Glenn. And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,-- I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let me Send Sifers--bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!" "Well," says she, "Light out!" she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid 'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did! He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he, "My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" I got him there.--"Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," Sifers said, "But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?" And there's Dave Banks--jes' back from war without a scratch--one day Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.-- His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And Jake Dunn starts far Sifers--feller begs to shoot him far God-sake. Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At Big Bear-- Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there."