“You see what comes of trying to hush this kind of thing up,” said the doctor sternly. “You keep the patient down here instead of having him taken away and the ship disinfected, and now all these other poor fellows have got it.”
“What?” screamed the skipper, as the crew broke into profane expressions of astonishment and self-pity. “Got what?”
“Why, the small-pox,” said the doctor. “Got it in its worst form too. Suppressed. There’s not one of them got a mark on him. It’s all inside.”
“Well, I’m damned,” said the skipper, as the crew groaned despairingly.
“What else did you expect?” inquired the doctor wrathfully. “Well, they can’t be moved now; they must all go to bed, and you and the mate must nurse them.”
“And s’pose we catch it?” said the mate feelingly.
“You must take your chance,” said the doctor; then he relented a little. “I’ll try and send a couple of nurses down this afternoon,” he added. “In the mean time you must do what you can for them.”
“Very good, sir,” said the skipper brokenly.
“All you can do at present,” said the doctor as he slowly mounted the steps, “is to sponge them all over with cold water. Do it every half-hour till the rash comes out.”
“Very good,” said the skipper again. “But you’ll hurry up with the nurses, sir!”