His tone was peevish.  Clem himself was not talking as I thought would have been becoming in him.  And there was a definite issue of veracity between him and his mistress.  I went down again, for the room was cold.

“He has some fever,” I said.

“He is a lazy black hound,” said Miss Caroline.

“He says you ordered him to stay in bed—­threatened him and hid his clothes.”

“Oh, never fear but what that fellow will always have an excuse!” she retorted shortly.

Observing that she had a day’s supply of wood at hand, I left, not a little annoyed at both of them.  I missed my coffee.

When I knocked at the door that evening, no one came to admit me.  I went in, hearing Clem’s voice in truculent protest from a large room on the first floor which had been called the room of Little Miss.  I went to the door of this room.

Clem and his bed were there.  We had two physicians in Little Arcady, Old Doc and Young Doc.  Young Doc was now present measuring powders into little papers which he folded neatly, while Miss Caroline stood at hand, cowering but stubborn under Clem’s violence.

“Miss Cahline, yo’ suttinly old enough t’ know betteh’n that.  Ah do wish yo’ Paw was about th’ house—­he maghty quickly put yo’-all in yo’ place.  Now Ah tole yo’ Ah ain’t go’n’ a’ have none o’ this yeh Doctah foolishness.  Yo’ not go’n’ a’ stravagate all that theh gole money on sech crazy doin’s an’ mek us be indigent in ouah ole aige.  What Ah want with a Doctah?  Hanh!  Anseh me that!  Yo’-all jes’ git me a little bit calamus an’ some catnip, an’ Ah do all th’ doctahin’ tha’s advisable.”  All this he brought out with difficulty, for his breathing was by no means free.

“He’s up to his tricks,” said Miss Caroline, contemptuously, to me.  Then, to Clem, seeming to draw courage from my presence, “You be quiet, there, you lazy, black good-for-nothing, or I’ll get some one here to wear you out!” And Clem was again the vanquished.

“Pneumonia,” said Young Doc.  “Bad,” he added as we stepped into the drawing-room.  “Take lots of care.”

I thought it as well that Young Doc had come.  Old Doc, though well liked, boasted that all any man of his profession needed, really, were calomel and a good knife.  Young Doc had always seemed to be subtler.  Anyway, he was of a later generation.  I learned that Old Doc had scorned to make the call, believing that a “nigger” could not suffer from anything but yellow fever or cracked shins.  For this reason he became genuinely interested in Clem’s case as it was later reported to him by Young Doc.

To the rest of Little Arcady the case was also of interest.  Sympathy had heretofore been with Clem, because Miss Caroline paid him no wages, and was believed to take what he earned from other people.