“He won't, eh? You just wait till you see him do it. Haines will give the orders right enough.” Craigin's laugh was like the growl of a bear. “There's a reason, ain't there, Haines? Now you hear me. Those men are going out to-day, and so are you, you blank, blank interferin' skunk.”
Dr. Bailey smiled sweetly at Craigin. “You may call me what you please just now, Mr. Craigin. Before the day is over you won't have enough names left. For I tell you that these men suffering from diphtheria are going to stay here, and are going to be properly cared for.”
Craigin was white. That this young pale-faced stranger should presume to come into his domain, where his word was wont to run as absolute law, filled him with rage unspeakable. But there were serious issues at stake, and with a supreme effort he controlled the passionate longing to spring upon this upstart and throttle him. He turned sharply to Haines.
“Dr. Haines, you think these men can go out to-day?”
Haines hesitated.
“You understand me, Haines; these men go out or—”
Haines was evidently in some horrible dread of the foreman. A moment more he paused and then surrendered.
“Oh, hang it, Bailey, I don't think they're so terribly ill. I guess they can go out.”
“Dr. Haines,” said Craigin, “is that your decision?”
“Yes, I think so.”