CHAPTER 3WHEN I came down from the Pennimans’, shortly after three o’clock, Estaphine, my colored maid, greeted me at the door, her eyes like inverted white saucers with a dab of brown gravy in the center.
“Mistah Richuhd Wyndham, he telephone, Doctuh. He says ol’ Miss Nettie’s been took right bad and will yo’ come roun’ soon as yo’ gets home.”
I was as much astonished at that news as Estaphine was, but being of a superior race I was able to conceal my surprise.
“Very well,” I said.
That wasn’t enough for Estaphine. She followed me into my office and puttered about, moving chairs and wiping things off. I glanced over my engagement book and made a note of the state of Weems’s twins’ whooping cough.
“Ah sure hopes Miss Nettie ain’ real sick,” she said hopefully.
Considering the state s
