Then while I was buttoning Roxanne into a clean dress and the Idol was
carrying out the last mop, the doctor came in the front door. I was so
dirty with the cleaning that I retired to the kitchen and helped the
Idol into his collar and coat and to get his hands clean so he could
hurry on in to help. Uncle Pompey had got his usual violent spell of
asthma and I had just lighted his pipe for him when the Idol came back
to the door of the kitchen.
"You'll have to come, Phyllis," he said, with a smile that took the
anxiety off his face for an instant. "Lovey refuses to let the doctor
touch him without you. Come quick! The doctor says the light is
beginning to go."
I went, soiled dress and crying eyes and hair all rumpled and mussed
with the excitement.
"Phyllie," said Lovelace Peyton, who was sitting up in bed defying
them all, "I ain't a-going to let that doctor touch me 'thout you
stand right here and tell me how it all looks just as he does it.
Don't leave out any bleed that comes, or any blue flesh or nerves or
nothing. You know how, 'cause I have teached you. Neither Doug or Roxy
ain't no good with symptoms.
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