"Ain't a thing the matter with him, but the lumbago. Keeps on complainin'
of a pain in his back. I never heard of such a hullabaloo about nothin'
in all my life. They'll be havin' me down with smallpox next. How long
you goin' to be here?"
Nance, taking off her hat and coat, announced that she had come to stay.
Mrs. Snawdor heaved a sigh of relief.
"Well, if you'll sorter keep a eye on him, I believe I'll step down
an' set with Mis' Smelts fer a spell. I ain't been off the place fer
two days."
"But wait a minute! Where's Uncle Jed? And Mr. Demry?"
"They 're done bounced too! Anybody tell you 'bout yer Uncle Jed's
patent? They say he stands to make as much as a hundern dollars offen it.
They say--"
"I don't care what they say!" cried Nance, distractedly. "Tell me, did
the children take clean clothes with 'em? Did you see if Uncle Jed had
his sweater? Have you washed the bedclothes that was on Fidy's bed?"
Mrs. Snawdor shook her head impatiently.
"I didn't, an' I ain't goin' to! That there Ike Lavinski ain't goin' to
run me! He took my Fidy off to that there pest-house where I bet they
operate her. He'll pay up fer this, you see if he don't!"
She began to cry, but as Nance was too much occupied to give audience to
her grief, she betook herself to the first floor to assist in the care of
Mrs. Smelts. Illness in the abode of another has a romantic flavor that
home-grown maladies lack.
When Dr. Adair and Isaac Lavinski made their rounds at nine o'clock, they
found Nance bending over a steaming tub, washing out a heavy comfort.
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