Free e-text of "'Doc.' Gordon" by Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman.
The man grunted and took a swallow of coffee.
"Where do you work?" asked James.
"None of your d---- business!" retorted the other man unexpectedly. "Where do you work yourself?"
James stared at him, then he burst into a roar. For a second the man's surly mouth did not budge, then the corners twitched a little.
"What in thunder are you mad about?" inquired James. "I am going to work for Doctor Gordon in Alton, and I don't care a d---- where you work." James spoke with the most perfect good nature, still laughing.
Then the man's face relaxed into a broad grin. "Didn't know but you were puttin' on lugs," said he. "I am about tired of all those damned benefactors comin' along and arskin' of a man whot's none of their business, when a man knows all the time they don't care nothin' about it, and then makin' a man take somethin' he don't want, so as to get their names in the papers." The man sniffed a sniff of fury, then his handsome blue eyes smiled pleasantly, even with mischievous confidence into James's, and he swallowed more coffee.
"I am no benefactor, you can bet your life on that," said James. "I don't mean to give you anything you want or don't want."
"Didn't know but you was one of that kind," returned the man.
"Why?"
The man eyed James's clothes expressively.
"Oh, you mean my clothes," said James. "Well, this suit and overcoat are pretty fair, but if I were a benefactor I should be wearing seedy clothes, and have my wallet stuffed with bills for other folks."
"You bet you wouldn't," said the other man. "That ain't the way benefactors go to work. What be you goin' to do at Doc Gordon's?"
"Drive," replied James laconically.
"Guess you can't take care of hosses in no sech togs as them."
"I've got some others. I'm going to learn to doctor a little, too, if I can."
The man surveyed him, then he burst into a great laugh. "Well," said he, "when I git the measles I'll call you in."
"All right," said James, "I won't charge you a red cent. I'll doctor you and all your children and your wife for nothing."
"Guess you won't need to charge nothin' for the wife and kids, seein' as I ain't got none," said the man. "Ketch me saddled up with a woman an' kids, if I know what I'm about. Them's for the benefactors. I live in a little shanty I rigged up myself out of two packin' boxes. I've got 'em on a man's medder here. He let me squat for nothin'. I git my meals here, an' I work on the railroad, an' I've got a soft snap, with nobody to butt in. Here, Mame, give us another cup of coffee. Mame's the girl I want, if I could hev one. Ain't you, Mame?"
The girl, who was a blonde, with an exaggerated pompadour fastened with aggressive celluloid pins, smiled pertly. "Reckon I h'ain't no more use for men than you hev for women," said she, as she poured the coffee. All that could be seen of her behind the counter was her head, and her waist clad in a red blouse, pinned so high to her skirt in the rear that it almost touched her shoulder blades. The blouse was finished at the neck with a nice little turn-over collar fastened with a brooch set with imitation diamonds and sapphires.
"Now, Mame, you know," said the man with assumed pathos, "that it is only because I'm a poor devil that I don't go kerflop the minute I set eyes on you. But you wouldn't like to live in boxes, would you? Would you now?"