“These men have diphtheria, Mr. Craigin, without a doubt, and they ought to be isolated at once.”
“Isolated? How?”
“A separate camp must be built and someone appointed to attend them.”
“A separate camp!” exclaimed Craigin; “I'll see them blanked first! Look here, Haines, let's have no nonsense about this. I'm three weeks, yes, a month, behind with this job here. This blank, blank muskeg is knocking the whole contract endways. We can't spare a single man half a day. And more than that, you go talking diphtheria in this camp and you can't hold the men here an hour. It's all I can do to hold them as it is.” And Craigin went off into an elaborate course of profanity descriptive of the various characteristics of the men in his employ.
“But what is to be done?” asked Haines helplessly.
“Send 'em out to the steel. They're better in the hospital, anyway. It's fine to-day. We'll send every man Jack out to-day.”
“These men can't be moved,” said Dr. Bailey in a quiet voice. “You sent a man out yesterday and he's dead.”
“He was bound to go himself. We didn't send him. Anyway, it's none of YOUR business. Look here, Haines, you know me. I'm not going to have any of this blank nonsense of isolation hospitals and all that blankety blank rot. Dose 'em up good and send 'em out.”
Dr. Haines stood silent, too evidently afraid of the foreman.
“Mr. Craigin, it would be murder,” said Dr. Bailey, “sure murder. Some of them might get through. Some would be sure to die. The consequences to those responsible—to Dr. Haines, for instance—would be serious. I am quite sure he will never give orders that these men should be moved.”