Come, my friend, git on your clothes and accouterments, fer Mrs.Anderson is a-dyin' or a-lettin' on to be a-dyin' fer a drink of ginseng-tea or a corn-sweat or some other decoction of the healin' art.

Come, I fotch two hosses, so you shouldn't lose no time a saddlin' your'n, though I don't doubt the ole woman'd git well ef you never gin her the light of your cheerful count'nance.
She'd git well fer spite, and hire a calomel-doctor jist to make you mad.

I'd jest as soon and a little sooner expect a female wasp to die of heart-disease as her." [Illustration: "FIRE! MURDER!! HELP!!!"] The head of Dr.Ketchup had disappeared from the window about the middle of this speech, and the remainder of it came by sheer force of internal pressure, like the flowing of an artesian well.
Dr.Ketchup walked out, with ruffled dignity, carefully dressed.

His immaculate clothes and his solemn face were the two halves of his stock in trade.

Under the clothes lay buried Ketchup the blacksmith; under the wiseacre face was Ketchup the ignoramus.