"Wha-- what do you think, doctor?" she sobbed.

"Well, I think it's tarnation hot operating with a big kerosene lamp
six inches from your haid," he said, as he mopped his forehead.

"I mean-- will he-- get well?"

Lee snorted. "Well, I'd be ashamed of him if he didn't. If he lets a
nice, clean, flesh wound put him out of business he don't deserve to
live. Don't worry any about him, young lady. Say, I wish I had zwei
beer right now, Arlie."

"You mean it? You're not just saying it to please me?"

"Of course, I mean it," he protested indignantly. "I wish I had
three."

"I mean, are you sure he'll get well?" she explained, a faint smile
touching her wan face.

"Yes, I mean that, too, but right now I mean the beer most. Now,
honest, haven't I earned a beer?"

"You've earned a hundred thousand, doc. You're the kindest and dearest
man that ever lived," she cried.

"Ain't that rather a large order, my dear?" he protested mildly. "I
couldn't really use a hundred thousand. And I'd hate to be better than
Job and Moses and Pharaoh and them Bible characters. Wouldn't I have