"I got a pretty rotten headache, and my stomach's upset, too," he said,
drooping upon the Paxton's fence. "I been gettin' worse every minute.
You and Sadie go by Milla's, Albert, and tell her if I'm not there by
ha'-pas'-seven, tell her not to wait for me any longer."
"How do you mean 'wait'?" Albert inquired. "You don't expect her to come
pokin' along with Sadie and me, do you? She'll keep on sittin' there at
home just the same, because she wouldn't have anything else to do, if
you don't come like she expects you to. She hasn't got any way to _stop_
waitin'!"
At this, Ramsey moaned, without affectation. "I don't expect I _can_,
Albert," he said. "I'd like to if I could, but the way it looks now,
you tell her I wouldn't be much surprised maybe I was startin' in with
typhoid fever or pretty near anything at all. You tell her I'm pretty
near as disappointed as she's goin' to be herself, and I'd come if I
could--and I _will_ come if I get a good deal better, or anything--but
the way it's gettin' to look now, I kind o' feel as if I might be
breaking out with something any minute.
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