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'And there's mighty little time to lose but I know what to do. When I lived over-harbour with Mrs. Wiley, years ago, Will Crawford's kid died of dipthery croup, in spite of two doctors.
"And then if any ketchin' disease does break out, like the dipthery did last year," Mavity Bence said one evening as she walked home with Johnnie, "hit's sartin shore to go through 'em like it would go through a family." Johnnie looked curiously at the dirty yards with their debris of lard buckets and tin cans. Space air, earth and sky was cheap and plentiful in the mountains.
"Instead of going to parties in thin shoes and cobweb frocks: I wonder they don't all take the dipthery. And then they set up till morning. I couldn't ever stand that: I'd be laid up with sick headache every time. Besides, they eat them unhealthy oysters and Charlotte rooshes, and such like: no wonder so many people get the dyspepsy. Yes, I think Gertrude had better take Mr.
There she stood, cool and composed, looking down at my baby, with those, weird white eyes of hers, as she might look at a choking kitten. I had always disliked Mary Vance and just then I hated her. "'We have tried everything, said poor Susan dully. 'It is not ordinary croup. "'No, it's the dipthery croup, said Mary briskly, snatching up an apron.
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