"
"Now I'll 'tend ter yer, but yer mout let a feller sleep when he
kin."
"Don't you know me?" faltered Martine, overpowered.
"Naw."
"Please tell me your real name, not your nickname."
"Ain' got no name 'cept Yankee Blank. What's the matter with yer,
anyhow?"
"Didn't you ever hear of Captain Nichol?"
"Reckon not. Mout have. I've nussed mo' cap'ins than I kin
reckerlect."
"Are you a hospital nurse?"
"Sorter 'spect I am. That's what I does, anyhow. Have you anything
agin it? Don't yer come 'ferin' round with me less yer a doctor,
astin' no end o' questions. Air you a new doctor?"
"My name is Hobart Martine," the speaker forced himself to say,
expecting fearfully a sign of recognition, for the impression that
it was Nichol grew upon him every moment, in spite of apparent
proof to the contrary.
"Hump! Hob't Ma'tine. Never yeared on yer. Ef yer want ter chin
mo' in the mawnin', I'll be yere."
"Wait a moment, Yan--"
"Yankee Blank, I tole yer."
"Well, here's a dollar for the trouble I'm making you," and
Martine's face flushed with shame at the act, so divided was his
impression about the man.
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