Mr. Maclennan was evidently worried. His broad, good-humoured face, which usually wore a smile indicating content with the world and especially with himself, was drawn into a frown. The muskeg was beating him, and he hated to be beaten. He was bringing in General Manager Fahey to have a look at things. It was important to awaken the sympathy of the General Manager, if, indeed, this could be accomplished. But the General Manager had a way of insisting upon his contracts being fulfilled, and this stretch in Maclennan's charge was the one spot which the General Manager feared would occasion delay.
“There's the hole,” said Maclennan, as they turned down the hill into the swamp. “Into that hole,” he continued, pointing to where the dump ended abruptly in the swamp, “I can't tell you how many millions of carloads have been dumped. I used to brag that I was never beaten in my life, but that hole—”
“Maclennan, that hole has got to be filled up, bridged, or trestled, and we can't wait too long, either.”
The General Manager's name was a synonym for a relentless sort of energy in railroad construction that refused to consider obstacles. Nothing could stand in his way. The thing behind which he put the weight of his determination simply had to move in one direction or other. The contractor that failed expected no mercy, and received none.
“We're doing our best,” said Maclennan, “and we will continue to do our best. Hello! what's this? What's Craigin doing up here? Hold up, Sandy. We'll look in.”
At the door of the hospital Dr. Haines met him.
“Hello, Doctor! What have you got here?”
“Isolation hospital,” replied the doctor shortly.
“What hospital?”
“Isolation.”
“Has Craigin gone mad all at once?”
“Craigin has nothing to do with it. There's a new boss in camp.”
A look of wrathful amazement crossed Maclennan's countenance. Haines was beginning to enjoy himself.
“A new boss? What do you mean?”
“What I say. A young fellow calling himself Dr. Bailey came into this camp three days ago, raised the biggest kind of a row, laid up Craigin with a broken head, and took charge of the camp.” Maclennan stood in amazement looking from Haines to the General Manager.
“Dr. Bailey? You mean Bailey from No. 1? What has he got to do with it? And how did Craigin come to allow him?”
“Ask Craigin,” replied Haines.
“What have you got in there, Doctor?” asked Mr. Fahey.
“Diphtheria patients.”
“How many?”
“Well, we began with eight three days ago and we've ten to-day.”
“Well, this knocks me out,” said Maclennan. “Where's Craigin, anyway?”
“He's down in his own room in bed.”
Maclennan turned and got into the sleigh. “Come on, Fahey,” he said, “let's go down. Something extraordinary has happened. You can't believe that fellow Haines. What are you laughing at?”
Fahey was too much of an Irishman to miss seeing the humour of any situation. “I can't help it, Maclennan. I'll bet you a box of cigars that man Bailey is an Irishman. He must be a whirlwind. But it's no laughing matter,” continued the General Manager, sobering up. “This has a very serious aspect. There are a whole lot of men sick in our camps. You contractors don't pay enough attention to your health.”
“Health! When you're driving us like all possessed there's no time to think of health.”
“I tell you, Maclennan, it's bad policy. You have got to think of health. The newspapers are beginning to talk. Why, look at that string of men you met going out. Of course, the great majority of them never should have come in. Hundreds of men are here who never used either shovel or axe. They cut themselves, get cold, rheumatism, or something; they're not fit for their work. All the same, we get blamed. But my theory is that every camp should have an hospital, with three main hospitals along this branch. There's one at Macleod. It is filled, overflowing. A young missionary fellow, Boyle, has got one running out at Kuskinook supported by some Toronto ladies. It's doing fine work, too; but it's overflowing. There's a young lady in charge there, a Miss Robertson, and she's a daisy. The trouble there is you can't get the fellows to leave, and I don't blame them. If ever I get sick send me to her. I tell you, Maclennan, if we had two or three first-class men, with three main hospitals, a branch in every camp, we'd keep the health department in first-class condition. The men would stay with us. We'd get altogether better results.”
“That's all right,” said Maclennan, “but where are you to get your first-class men? They come to us with letters from Directors or some big bug or other. You've got to appoint them. Look at that man Haines. He doesn't know his work and he's drunk half the time. Dr. Bailey seems to be different. He certainly knows his work and he never touches whiskey. I got him up from the Gap to No. 1. In two weeks' time he had things in great shape. Funny thing, too, when he's fighting some sickness or busy he's all right, but when things get quiet he hits the green table hard. He's a wonder at poker, they say.”
The General Manager pricked up his ears. “Poker, eh? I'll remember that.”
“But this here business is going too far,” continued Maclennan. “I didn't hire him to run my camps. Well, we'll see what Craigin has to say.”
As they drove into the camp they were met by Narcisse, the cook.
“Bo' jour, M'sieu Maclenn'. You want something for hit?”
“Good-day, cook,” said Maclennan. “Yes, we'll take a cup of tea in a few minutes. I want to see Mr. Craigin.”
Narcisse drew near Maclennan and in subdued voice announced, “M'sieu Craigin, he's not ver' well. He's hurt hisself. He's lie on bed.”
“Why, what's the matter with him?”
Narcisse shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, some leet' troub'. You pass on de office you see de docteur.”
“Why, Haines is up at the hospital. We just saw him.”
“Hain!” said Narcisse, with scorn indescribable. “Dat's no docteur for one horse. Bah! De mans go seeck, seeck, he can noting. He know noting. He's get on beeg drunk! Non! Nodder docteur. He's come in, fin' tree, four mans seeck on de troat, cough, cough, sore, bad. Fill up de cook-house. Can't do noting. Sainte Marie! Dat new docteur, he's come on de camp, he's mak' one leet' fight, he's beeld hospital an' get dose seeck mans all nice an' snug. Bon. Good. By gar, dat's good feller!”
The smile broadened on Fahey's face. “I say, Maclennan, he's captured your camp. He's got the cook, dead sure.”
The smile didn't help Maclennan's temper. He opened the office door and passed into Craigin's private room at the back. Here he found Dr. Bailey in charge. As he opened the door the doctor put up his hand for silence and backed him out into the office.
“Excuse me, Mr. Maclennan,” he said, “he's asleep and must not be disturbed.”
Maclennan shook hands with him with a cold “How are you,” and introduced him to Mr. Fahey.
“Is Mr. Craigin ill?” inquired Fahey innocently.
“He has met with a slight accident,” replied the doctor. “He is doing well and will be about in a day or two.”
“Accident?” snorted Maclennan; then clearing his throat as for a speech he began in a loud tone, “Dr. Bailey, I must say—”
“Excuse me,” said the doctor, opening the office door and marshalling them outside, “we'd better go somewhere else if we are going to talk. It is important that my patient should be kept perfectly quiet.” The doctor's air was so entirely respectful and at the same time so masterful that Maclennan found himself walking meekly toward the grub-house behind the doctor, with Fahey, the smile on his face broader than ever, bringing up the rear. Maclennan caught the smile, but in the face of the doctor's quiet, respectful manner he found it difficult to rouse himself to wrath. He took refuge in bluster.
“Upon my word, Dr. Bailey,” he burst forth when once they were inside the grub-house, “it seems to me that you have carried things on with a high hand in this camp. You come in here, a perfect stranger, you head a mutiny, you lay up my foreman with a dangerous wound, with absolutely no authority from anyone. What in the blank, blank do you mean, anyway?” Maclennan was rather pleased to find himself at length taking fire.
“Mr. Maclennan,” said the doctor quietly, “it is natural you should be angry. Let me give you the facts before you pass your final judgment. A man was sent to me from this camp in a dying condition. Diphtheria. I learned there were others suffering here with the same disease. I came in at once to offer assistance. Consulted with Dr. Haines. We came to a practical agreement as to what ought to be done. Mr. Craigin objected. There was some trouble. Unfortunately, Mr. Craigin was hurt.”
“Dr. Bailey,” said the General Manager, “it will save trouble if you will go somewhat fully into the facts. We want an exact statement of what occurred.” The authoritative tone drew Dr. Bailey's attention to the rugged face of the speaker, with its square forehead and bull-dog jaw. He recognized at once that he had to deal with a man of more than ordinary force, and he proceeded to give him an exact statement of all that had happened, beginning with the death of Scotty Anderson.
“That is all, gentlemen,” said the doctor, as he concluded his tale; “I did what I considered was right. Prompt action was necessary. I may have been mistaken, but I think not.”
“Mistaken!” cried Fahey, with a great oath. “I tell you, Maclennan, we've had a close shave. We may, perhaps, explain that one man's death, but if six or eight men had gone out of this camp in the condition in which the doctor says they were, the results would have been not only deplorable as far as the men are concerned, but disastrous to us with the public. Why, good heavens above! what a shave it was! Dr. Bailey, I am proud to meet you,” continued Fahey, putting out his hand. “You had a most difficult situation to deal with and you handled it like a general.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Maclennan, shaking Dr. Bailey warmly by the hand. “The measures were somewhat drastic, but something had to be done. Go right on, Doctor. When Craigin is on his feet again we'll send him out.”
“Mr. Craigin will be quite fit to work in a day or so. But I would suggest that he keep his place. You can't afford to lose a man of his force.”
“Well, well, we'll see, we'll see.”
“Dr. Bailey, I'd like to see your hospital arrangements. Mac will be busy just now and will excuse us.”
The next two hours the General Manager spent in extracting from Dr. Bailey his theories in regard to camp sanitation and the care of the sick. Finding a listener at once so sympathetic and so intelligent, Dr. Bailey seized the opportunity of expatiating to the fullest extent upon the theme which, during the last few months, had been absorbing his mind.
“These camps are wrongly constructed in the first instance—every one that I have seen. Almost every law of sanitation is ignored. In location, in relative position of buildings, the disposal of refuse, the treatment of the sick and injured, the whole business reveals atrocious folly and ignorance. For instance, take this camp. The only thing that prevents an outbreak of typhoid is the cold weather. In the spring you will have a state of things here that will arrest the attention of Canada. Look at the location of the camp. Down in a swamp, with a magnificent site five hundred yards away,” pointing to a little plateau further up the hill, clear of underbrush and timbered with great pines. “Then look at the stables where they are. There are no means by which the men can keep themselves or their clothes clean. Their bunks, some of them, are alive with vermin, and the bunk-house is reeking with all sorts of smells. At a very little more cost you could have had a camp here pleasant, safe, clean, and an hospital ready for emergencies. Why, good heavens! they might at least have kept the vermin out.”
“Oh, pshaw!” said Fahey, “every camp has to have a few of them fellows. Makes the men feel at home. Besides, you can't absolutely drive them out.”
“Drive them out? Give me a free hand and I'll make this camp clean of vermin in two weeks, absolutely, and keep it so. Why, it would pay,” continued the doctor. “You would keep your men in good condition, in good heart and spirits. They would do twice the work. They would stay with you. Besides, it would prevent scandal.”
“Scandal?” The General Manager looked up sharply.
“Yes, scandal. I have done what I could to prevent talk, but down the line they are talking some, and if I am not mistaken it will be all over the East in a few weeks.”
The General Manager was thinking hard. “Look here, young man,” he said, with the air of one who has made up his mind, “do you drink?”
“No.”
“Do you gamble?”
“When I've nothing to do.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Fahey, “a little poker doesn't hurt a man now and then. I am going to make you an offer which I hope you will consider favourably. I offer you the position of medical superintendent of this line at a salary of three thousand a year and all expenses. It's not much, but if the thing goes we can easily increase it. You needn't answer just now. Think it over. I don't know your credentials, but I don't care.”
For answer, Dr. Bailey took out his pocketbook and selected a letter. “I didn't think I would ever use this. I didn't want to use it. But you can look at it.”
Mr. Fahey took the letter, glanced through it hurriedly, then read it again with more care.
“You know Sir William?”
“Very slightly. Met him once or twice in London.”
“This is a most unusual letter for him to write. You must have stood very high in the profession in London.”
“I had a fairly good position,” said Dr. Bailey.
“May I ask why you left?”
Dr. Bailey hesitated. “I grew tired of the life—and, besides—well—I wanted to get away from things and people.”
“Pardon my asking,” said Fahey hastily. “It was none of my business. But, Doctor—” here he glanced at the letter again, “Bailey, you say your name is?”
“They called me Bailey when I came in and I let it go.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Fahey quickly, “Bailey let it be. My offer holds, only I'll make it four thousand. We can't expect a man of your standing for less.”
“Mr. Fahey, I came here to work on the construction. I wanted to forget. When I saw how things were going at the east end I couldn't help jumping it. I never thought I should have enjoyed my professional work so much. It has kept me busy. I will accept your offer at three thousand, but on the distinct understanding that I am to have my way in everything.”
“By gad! you'll take it, anyway, I imagine,” said Fahey, with a laugh, “so we may as well put it in the contract. In your department you are supreme. If you see anything you want, take it. If you don't see it, we will get it for you.”
On their return to the office they found Dr. Haines in Craigin's room with Maclennan. As they entered they heard Haines' voice saying, “I believe it was a put-up job with Tommy.”
“It's a blank lie!” roared Craigin. “I have it from Tommy that it was his own notion to fire that shoe, and a blank good thing for me it was. Otherwise I should have killed the best man that ever walked into this camp. Here, keep your hands off! You paw around my head like a blanked bull in a sand heap. Where's the doctor? Why ain't he here attending to his business?”
“Craigin,” he said quietly, “let me look at that. Ah, it's got a twist, that's all. There, that's better.”
Like a child Craigin submitted to his quick, light touch and sank back in his pillow with a groan of content. Dr. Bailey gave him his medicine and induced him, much against his will, to take some nourishment.
“There now, that's all right. To-morrow you'll be sitting up. Now you must be kept quiet.” As he said this he motioned them out of the room. As he was leaving, Craigin called him back.
“I want to see Maclennan,” he said gruffly.
“Wait till to-morrow, Mr. Craigin,” replied the doctor, in soothing tones.
“I want to see him now.”
The doctor called Mr. Maclennan back.
“Maclennan, I want to say there's the whitest man in these mountains. I was a blank, blank fool. But for him I might have been a murderer two or three times over, and, God help me! but for that lucky shoe of Tommy's I'd have murdered him. I want to say this to you, and I want the doctor here not to lay it up against me.”
“All right, Craigin,” said Maclennan, “I'm glad to hear you say so. And I guess the doctor here won't cherish any grudge.”
Without a word the doctor closed the door upon Maclennan, then went to the bedside. “Craigin, you are a man. I'd be glad to call you my friend.”
That was all. The two men shook hands and the doctor passed out, leaving Craigin more at peace with himself and with the world than he had been for some days.
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