"Lemme see: she's that fat nigger woman that lives in a three-roomed
house--"
"I'll show you the way," said Peter. "She's very ill."
The half-dressed man shook his head.
"No, Ca'line Siner owes me a five-dollar doctor's bill already. Our
county medical association made a rule that no niggers should--"
With a drying mouth, Peter Siner stared at the man of medicine.
"But, my God, Doctor," gasped the son, "I'll pay you--"
"Have you got the money there in your pocket?" asked Jallup,
impassively.
A sort of chill traveled deliberately over Peter's body and shook his
voice.
"N-no, but I can get it--"
"Yes, you can all get it," stated the physician in dull irritation. "I'm
tired of you niggers running up doctors' bills nobody can collect. You
never have more than the law allows; your wages never get big enough to
garnishee." His voice grew querulous as he related his wrongs. "No, I'm
not going to see Ca'line Siner. If she wants me to visit her, let her
send ten dollars to cover that and back debts, and I'll--" The end of
his sentence was lost in the closing of his door.
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