“I remember seeing that group at Blakeson’s, and the old man was quarrelling then,” Gertrude replied.
“A regular truculent old fellow, I should say, and quite equal to hitting back when he gets the chance. However, he gave me a half-dollar fee for my trouble, so I must not complain of my first paying patient in this part of the world,” the young man said, with a smile.
“Have you come to settle?” Gertrude asked, with the quick sympathy and interest which the native Canadian always feels for a new-comer.
“Yes; I’m going up into a mining district, and have been advised to settle at Bratley, which is on a branch line from Lytton, I believe. Do you know the place?”
He leaned forward as he put the question, and Gertrude was struck by the likeness between him and his child.
“I am going there,” she replied. “But I’m afraid you won’t find much work at Bratley; it is such a small place, only about ten or twelve houses round the depot, and the nearest mines are five miles away, and nearer to Roseneath than Bratley.”
“The question is, whether there is another doctor in Bratley or near it?” he said, setting his square jaw in lines of sterner determination.
“I have never heard of there being one, either at Camp’s Gulch or Roseneath,” Gertrude replied.
“Very well; I shall at least have what they call a sporting chance, then,” he said, his stern face relaxing into a smile, “while those of you who are my friends and well-wishers can occasionally fall ill out of pure neighbourly kindness, so that I can keep my hand in at the gentle art of healing.”
Gertrude laughed; then cradled the child, who had fallen asleep, still closer in her arms.