"You're a good lad, McTee—a fine fellow. Stand by me. You'd never guess how my brain is on fire; the old devil of a soothsayer was right. But that message you sent will bring those deadheaded doctors to life. Ah, McTee, if I were only there for a minute in spirit, I could restore her to life—yes, one minute!"
"Of course you could. But in the meantime, for a change of thought, suppose you finish that order you were about to write out and send to Campbell."
"What order?"
"About Harrigan."
"Who the devil is Harrigan?"
McTee drew a deep breath and answered quietly: "The man you ordered to work in the hole. Here's the paper and your pen."
He placed them in the hands of the captain, but the latter held them idly.
"It's the frail ones who are carried off by the white plague. Am I right?"
"No, you're wrong. The frail ones sometimes have a better chance than the husky people. Look at the number of athletes who are carried away by it!"
"God bless you, McTee!"