“Well, I knew he shouldn't go. But he wanted to go himself, and the foreman would have him out.”
“There are at least four men going about the camp—they are now in the cook-house where the breakfast is being prepared—who are suffering from a severe attack of diphtheria.”
“What do you propose? What can I do in this cursed hole?” said Dr. Haines petulantly. “No appliances, no means of isolation, no nurses, nothing. Beside, I have half a dozen camps to look after. What can I do?”
“Do you ask me?” The scorn in the voice was only too apparent. “Isolate the infected at least.”
Haines swore deeply to himself while, with trembling hand, he poured out a cupful of whiskey from a bottle standing on a convenient shelf. “Isolate? How can I isolate? There's no building in which—”
“Make one.”
“Make one? Young man, do you know what you are talking about? Do you know where you are? Do you know who is running this camp?”
“No. But I do know that these men must be isolated within an hour.”
“Impossible! I tell you it is impossible!”
“Dr. Haines, an inquest upon the man sent out from this camp last night would result in the verdict of manslaughter. There was no inquest. There will be on the next man that dies if there is any neglect.”