Doc finished smoothing the plaster of paris and regarded his work with satisfaction. "There you are, good as new."

Ma Smalley stared at the old man and exclaimed in dismay, "Doc, I don't mean to tell you your business but do you call that good as new? How am I supposed to get anything done with that big heavy thing on my leg?"

"Well, you're not going to get much done for the next four or five weeks, Ma. You've got a broken leg and you're just going to have to let it mend."

"I have a house to run! I've got boarders! There's food to be cooked and clothes to be washed..." She was gathering steam and Doc held up his hand.

"I get the point. Well, you'll just have to have someone come in and help you out until you're back on your feet."

"Do you know of anybody?"

"No, I don't." The old man ran his hand over his face, frowning. Then he brightened. "Ma, I've got an idea. I'll be right back."