But I ain't sick.

No, Miss--ma'am." Billy frowned and shook her head.

Her eyes were on Pete's palpably trembling hands.
"But, Pete, you are sick," she protested.

"Let Eliza do that." Pete drew himself stiffly erect.

The color had begun to come back to his face.
"There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years, an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
Besides, I'm better now.