It was when Death had seemingly withdrawn his presence a little way that Mackenzie, one morning motioned to Trevelyan to come outside to the entrance of the hospital. He spoke to the point—a necessity taught him long ago when he had first joined the army and helped fight the Asiatic scourge for the men.
"Five cases have broken out ten miles in-country. You know what that means—a general mowing down and spread of the disease unless it is strangled right away! I can't leave the men here, or go any distance from the barracks for fear—"
Trevelyan looked at him squarely and nodded.
"Of course not, and you want me to go?"
"Clarke isn't fit yet, and I couldn't let him go anyway. Could you go?"
"Sure."
"And take charge of things? I'll send you some helpers, and perhaps run over for an afternoon later to see how you're getting on."
"All right. When am I to start?"
"Could you go to-day—now?"
Trevelyan brought his hand up to his forehead suddenly in the old salute, a shadow of a smile in his eyes.