Directly several men emerged from one of the lawyer's offices which made up three sides of Court Square. None of them wore coats, and one was without either coat or vest. From the remainder of his apparel he was evidently a farmer. An old man with a long, white beard, holding in his hand a staff longer than himself. He was much excited, for he hopped about in a bird-like way, wagging his whiskers and scratching his head and ever and again thumping the earth with his staff. An altercation was evidently in progress among the men, and the voice of the old fellow was always loudest. He was plainly insisting upon a point which was meeting with some resistance. Another party now joined the group, and Glenning at once recognized Doctor Kale. As he made his appearance, the old fellow with the rod danced up to him with a gesture almost threatening and began a loud-voiced harangue. Doctor Kale was obdurate. He shook his head and thumped about, and remained firm. He of the long whiskers was rapidly working himself up to the fighting point, when a man who had been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him by the arm, and pointed across the street to a point directly beneath the window where John sat. What he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned Doctor Kale, grasped the arm of another member of the party, and the three at once started across the road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door it was opened hurriedly, and the men trooped in. "There he is!" grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on a tour around the walls of the room, sniffing his wrath, and ignoring the necessity of any sort of an introduction. "I want a doctor! I ain't sick 'n' my fam'ly ain't sick, but Dink Scribbens took with the small-pox las' night 'n' me 'n' my folks has to pass his door ever' time we come to town! That ol' hippity-hop (indicating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) 's skeered to go, though he never caught anything in his life!" "I'm not afraid!" promptly fired back Doctor Kale. "I've waited on small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, measles, and every skin disease you ever heard of, but I'm not going to give my time to these damned paupers! Paupers 've got no business gettin' sick!" "Are these people--paupers?" asked John, addressing the question to the third man, who up to this time had maintained silence through necessity. He was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon his face the marks of conviviality. He came forward heavily, and held out his hand.