The doctor lifted his head. “Folks felt like you, maybe, before the days of William Harvey. Yes, years before Ambrose Paré. Dan, I’m thinking you never heard of Ambrose Paré. Yes, before Jenner came along with his small-pox vaccine, they were saying the same thing. I’d like to see this far future, if I could.”

“It won’t be better. Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of potions and cure-alls.”

Duffey sighed. He began to polish the stained nap of his silk hat. “I’m thinking of them. Oh, they’ll have ways for Emmy Funk’s tumor and for Quagger’s gizzard, if that’s what ails him.”

Bale swung around and stared defiantly at Duffey. “Where did you see Elmer Quagger?”

“In my office. He came.”

“This morning?”

“Why not? It’s a burning sensation, he says, and much gas to bother him. I wondered about his pylorus … more likely it’s bowels. I came near trying a purgative enemata, but gave him oil instead.” He returned Dan’s gaze, mildly but shrewdly. “You leaped like a goat when I said his name. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen out with your brother Copperhead.”

Dan made a smile of sorts. “Your humor is more than quaint, Doctor Duffey. Sometimes it smells to high heaven.”

“I wish I knew what was worrying you.”

“Possibly my status as a Copperhead.”

“That’s not it, indeed. I’ve been accused as a Disunionist myself … Quagger has changed his lodgings,” Duffey added.

Dan said nothing.

The doctor gazed kindly at an orange thicket of tiger lilies beyond the fence. “He used to live with the Frielings. But they asked him to move, Saturday, and I don’t know where he’s living now. And did you hear what they’re telling about Quagger and the rebels?”

Bale stood up. He exhaled deeply, and jammed his hands into the pockets of his pantaloons. “No. And what’s more, you will not hear me ask.”

“He talked about the misfortunes of Governor Vallandigham, and the rebel officers said that Vallandigham was a traitor and the Yankees ought to have shot him. And all black Republicans. Poor Quagger—north and south hates him alike, but if you’d prefer me not to talk of it, I won’t. There’s no need for you to fizz up the way you do, Daniel, boy.”

The silence lay between them, stupid and unwieldy … Old Salt was not tied. He took an explorative step or two; the buggy squeaked. “Whoa,” Duffey called, and the horse stopped. The doctor set his hat on the back of his head and stood up. He looked squarely into Dan’s eyes. “He asked me a question,” he said, “about you.”

“Who did?”