"Pardon me for not rising to meet you, Doctor Kale," he said, feeling his risibles stirring, and endeavoring to maintain a steady countenance. "But I feel much better, thanks to your attention." "Any fool could have washed the dirt off and stuck court plaster on you," growled the caller, still belligerent. "How do you know my name, and who told you you might get up?" "The young man who spent the night with me told me you would call this morning, and I got tired lying in bed with nothing the matter with me--" "Nothing the matter with you! Why, you're burned, and cut, and thumped, and bruised. It's a wonder the Lord let you off alive for being such an idiot. It seems to me you'd have had better sense than to go in a burning stable just to pull out one good-for-nothing horse which don't earn its hay!" "Circumstances were such that I had no other choice," answered Glenning, a bit distantly. "Circumstances!" sniffed Doctor Kale. "Yes, I heard about the circumstances, and when you've lived as long as I have, you won't butt your head into a little hell every time a pretty girl winks!" The blood rushed to John's face, and even Dillard's warning did not serve to check his tongue. "She didn't wink!" he retorted, rather hotly. "But she asked for help, and I gave it to her, as any man would!" The caller cast a sidelong glance at the figure by the table, then stumped over to the bed and sat down upon it. "Tom Dillard told me that you were the new doctor the _Herald_ said was coming here to locate, and that your name was Glenning." "Yes, John Glenning is my name, and my profession is the same as yours." "Well, it's a damn bad one!" ejaculated Doctor Kale. "That is, the profession ain't so bad, but it's a worrisome and unappreciative life. It's a hard way to earn a living, young man, and if you hadn't started in it I'd advise you to try something else, even if it was beating rock on the county road. People expect you to be always ready, day or night, to jump up and run to them, even if you are sick yourself. Then you are the last man they want to pay when it comes time to settle, and they always think you're trying to rob them. I've worn my life away trying to serve them, and they call me a skinflint and a miser because I own one or two nigger shacks and try to save what little I make! You've come to a mighty poor place to make your fortune, and it's a mighty hard life you're beginning." "I've practiced some already, and did not find the work hard, or uncongenial. And I also found people very obliging. But I love the work, doctor, and I suspect that counts for a great deal!" "Love it!" snorted Doctor Kale; "I never did love it! It's slavery--a dog's life! Here, last night, I was coming in from the country tired to death and headed for bed, when that fool Dillard held me up and hauled me up here to work on you! Don't you see? Work, work, work!"