"Your friend seems somewhat facetious," remarked Surgeon-Major Peel.
"Yes, they are all friends of mine. They all know me: if they don't, their friends do. This man is a type of what I have to deal with."
Then they settled down to the business on which the Peels had called.
"If you have the necessary supplies," said the Parson, "a private hospital is the thing. There is a great deal of sickness now. The typhoid is getting bad; too many living in the manner of our friend at the church. Food poor and badly-cooked, general uncleanness; hard trails and stampedes."
The Parson conducted the new-comers to their boat, and left them satisfied and almost contented. Alice asked him, as he was taking his leave, if he knew John Berwick; but had for answer, No. She wanted to inquire at the post-office; but could not get near enough on account of the long lines of men standing before the wickets, postal affairs being in a state of chaos. It was evidently more than possible that John had not received her letters, or, at any rate, the communication which told of her coming.
On the morrow the Peels, giving fulfilment to their intentions, secured a building in Dawson; and so St. George's Private Hospital came into being.
It was a matter of much detail. Help and assistance of every kind was enormously dear. They had changed their money into gold dust, and each carried a "poke." Alice was astounded when she reckoned the equivalent of the charge made by the man who brought their heavy luggage. Half an ounce of dust meant thirty shillings. There were no idle hands in Dawson; it was the hum of industry, except with the loungers at the water front.
Alice worked hard, and her work brought distraction. Now she was near John Berwick—at least, she ought to be, but had heard of so many cases of drowning, deaths by fever and scurvy in that terrible country, that she could only fear possibilities, and eagerly scan every face she met. She stared into the faces of men of uncouth beards and matted greasy hair; and, as was the custom of the country, her gaze was returned. All seeing her, wondered what had brought this fragrant, gentle English girl to Dawson. She was so different from the women of the underworld, hitherto the only representatives with one or two exceptions of womanhood in that place. Her fresh complexion contrasted with their painted cheeks; her simple grace with their brazenness and vulgarity. "Oh, it was pitiful!"
In the shops—wherever she went—she asked about John Berwick. Only once was she in some measure successful.
"I think there was a fellow by that name bought a bill of goods and said he would be back for them later, one day, not long ago. He must be living near Dawson," said the man.