THE MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CROW'S NEST
Mr. Maclennan was evidently worried. His broad, good-humoured face, which usually wore a smile indicating content with the world and especially with himself, was drawn into a frown. The muskeg was beating him, and he hated to be beaten. He was bringing in General Manager Fahey to have a look at things. It was important to awaken the sympathy of the General Manager, if, indeed, this could be accomplished. But the General Manager had a way of insisting upon his contracts being fulfilled, and this stretch in Maclennan's charge was the one spot which the General Manager feared would occasion delay.
“There's the hole,” said Maclennan, as they turned down the hill into the swamp. “Into that hole,” he continued, pointing to where the dump ended abruptly in the swamp, “I can't tell you how many millions of carloads have been dumped. I used to brag that I was never beaten in my life, but that hole—”
“Maclennan, that hole has got to be filled up, bridged, or trestled, and we can't wait too long, either.”
The General Manager's name was a synonym for a relentless sort of energy in railroad construction that refused to consider obstacles. Nothing could stand in his way. The thing behind which he put the weight of his determination simply had to move in one direction or other. The contractor that failed expected no mercy, and received none.
“We're doing our best,” said Maclennan, “and we will continue to do our best. Hello! what's this? What's Craigin doing up here? Hold up, Sandy. We'll look in.”
At the door of the hospital Dr. Haines met him.
“Hello, Doctor! What have you got here?”
“Isolation hospital,” replied the doctor shortly.
“What hospital?”