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"He has a compound fracture of the tibia," declared the cheerful man. "Oh! My mercy!" ejaculated Mrs. Peckinpaw, shrinking away from the stretcher. "I I didn't kmow Mr. Day drank!" She had evidently heard alcoholism called by so many queer sounding terms that anything she not understand she set down to that dread trouble. But Miss Peckham had run ahead into the house.
Peckinpaw, who was a very old woman and who never spoke to Miss Peckham because of some neighborhood squabble which had happened so long before that neither of them remembered what it was about. "Tain't a fit," she said acidly; "for then they foam at the mouth, or drool. I never knew he had anything the matter with him, chronic." The jolly looking man laughed.
Day and his daughter know what they want," said the cheerful looking man, decidedly. "He wanted to be brought home. Now, my little lady, where shall we put him? All ready, Bill?" "All ready," said Bill, who had the handles at the head of the stretcher. "But what's the matter with him?" demanded Mrs. Peckinpaw again. "Is it ketchin'?"
"Take him right up to his bedroom," she said commandingly to the men with the stretcher. "Well, if that woman's goin' to take hold, they don't need me," said Mrs. Peckinpaw, snappishly, and she retained her stand upon the strictly neutral ground of the sidewalk. Mrs. Arlo Weeks was "all of a quiver," as she herself said. She followed the men as far as the steps and there sank to a seat. "My, my!
"This is no killing matter." But now neighbors began to hurry to them. Children, of course, for Knight Street was well supplied with them. But Mrs. Arlo Weeks and Mrs. Peckinpaw came from across the street, while Miss Peckham appeared from her cottage. "Dear me! Was he picked up that way?" asked Mrs. Weeks, in her high, strident tone. "My Arlo had a fit once " "Tain't a fit," said Mrs.
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