seems to bother him a great deal lately," and for a moment a shadow crossed Dave Porter's face. "I really think he ought to have a doctor."
"Won't he have any?"
"No. He says he can't afford it, and besides he would rather doctor himself."
"He's just a bit off, isn't he?" went on Ben, with a curious look at his companion. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, Dave," he added, hastily. "But that's true, isn't it? I heard some men downtown talking about it."
"I don't know what you mean by 'off,'" answered Dave. "He is rather peculiar, but so are lots of other folks around here."
"He isn't any relation to you, is he?"
"No."
"How long have you lived with him?"
"About six years."
"Then you ought to know him pretty well, Dave."
"I do—after a fashion. He's a hard man to understand. Sometimes he is cheery and talkative and then again he will say but little all day."
"He hasn't been able to do much on the farm this summer, I suppose?"
"Hardly anything, Ben. I've had to do what was done."
"It's rather rough on you."
"Oh, I haven't minded it," was Dave Porter's
