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Harrison, Henry Sydnor, 1880-1930

"Queed"

That pallor you got ain't natural
pallor. You're pasty, that's right. I'll bet segars you wake up three
mornings out of four feelin' like a dish of stewed prunes."
"If I do--though of course I can only infer how such a dish feels--it is
really of no consequence, I assure you."
"Don't you fool yourself! It makes a lot of consequence to you. Ask a
doctor, if you don't believe me. But I got your dia'nosis now, same as a
medical man that's right. I know what's your trouble, Doc, just like you
had told me yourself."
"Ah? What, Mr. Klinker?"
"Exercise."
"You mean lack of exercise?"
"I mean," said Klinker, "that you're fadin' out fast for the need of
it."
The two men pushed on up Centre Street, where the march of home-goers
was now beginning to thin out, in a moment of silence. Queed glanced up
at Klinker's six feet of red beef with a flash of envy which would have
been unimaginable to him so short a while ago as ten minutes. Klinker
was physically competent. Nobody could insult _his_ work and laugh at
the merited retribution.
"Come by my place a minute," said Klinker.


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