“I know you do; but I won’t have it. This quarantine is real, and it goes!”
“But suppose you yourself get sick?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I’m all right so far, and I’ll call for help when I need it.”
His tone was imperative, and she obeyed, grumbling about his youth and the value of his life to the service.
“That’s all very nice,” he replied; “but I’m in it, and I don’t intend to expose you or any one else to the contagion.”
“I’ve had it once,” she asserted.
He looked at her, and smiled in recognition of her subterfuge.
“No matter; you’re ailing, and might take it again, so toddle back. It’s mighty good of you, and of Lee, to come—but there isn’t a thing you can do, and here’s the doctor,” he added, as he recognized the young student who passed for a physician in the Fork. He was a beardless youth of small experience and no great courage, and as he approached with hesitant feet he asked:
“Are you sure it’s smallpox?”
Cavanagh smiled. “The indications are all that way. That last importation of Basques brought it probably from the steerage of the ship. I’m told they’ve had several cases over in the Basin.”