The Doctor [91]
sacred, and to serve her and to guard her became a religion with Ben. In fact, the Glory of the Kuskinook hospital lay chiefly in this, that it afforded a sphere in which his divinity might exercise her various powers and graces.
It was just at this point that Tommy Tate roused his wrath. Dr. Bailey's foreboding regarding Maclennan's Camp No. 2 had been justified by a serious outbreak in early spring of typhoid, of malignant type, to which Tommy fell a victim. The hospitals along the line were already overflowing, and so the doctor had sent Tommy to Kuskinook in charge of an assistant. After a six weeks' doubtful struggle with the disease Tommy began to convalesce, and with returning strength revived his invincible love of mischief, which he gratified in provoking the soul of Orderly Ben Fallows, notwithstanding that the two had become firm friends during the tedious course of Tommy's sickness. It didn't take Tommy long to discover Ben's tender spots, the most tender of which he found to be the honour of the hospital and all things and persons associated therewith. As to the matron, Tommy ventured no criticism. He had long since enrolled her among his saints, and Ben Fallows himself was not a more enthusiastic devotee than he. And not even to gratify his insatiable desire for fun at Ben's expense would Tommy venture any liberty with the name of the matron. In regard to the young preacher, however, who seemed to be a somewhat important part of the institution, Tommy was not so scrupulous, while as to the hospital appointments and methods, he never hesitated to champion the superior methods of those down the line.
It was a beautiful May morning and Tommy was signalizing his unusually vigorous health by a very specially exasperating criticism of the Kuskinook hospital and its belongings.
"It's the beautiful hospitals they are down the line. They don't have the frills and tucks on their shirts, to be sure, but they do the thrick, so they do."
"I guess they're all right fer simple cases," agreed Ben, "but w'en yeh git somethin' real bad yeh got to come 'ere. Look at yerself!"
"Arrah! an' that was the docthor, Hivin be swate to him! He tuk a notion t' me fer a good turn I done him wance. Begob, there's a man fer ye! Talk about yer white min! Talk about yer prachers an' the like! There's a man fer ye, an' there's none to measure wid him in the mountains!"
"Dr. Bailey, I suppose ye're talkin' about?" inquired Ben, with fine scorn.
"Yis, Dr. Bailey, an' that's the first two letters av his name. An' whin ye find a man to stand forninst him, by the howly poker! I'll ate him alive, an' so I will."
"Well, I hain't agoin' to say, Mr. Tate," said Ben, with studied, politeness, "that no doctor can never compare with a preacher, for I've seen a doctor myself, an' there's the kind of work he done," displaying his wooden leg and foot with pride. "But what I say is that w'en it comes to doin' real 'igh-class, fine work, give me the Reverend Richard Boyle, Esquire. Yes, sir, sez I, Dick Boyle's the man fer me!"
"Aw, gwan now wid ye! An' wud ye be afther puttin' a preacher in the same car wid a docthor, an' him the Medical Superintendent av the railway?"
"I hain't talkin' 'bout preachers an' doctors in general," replied Ben, keeping himself firmly in hand, "but I'm talkin' about this 'ere preacher, the Reverend Richard Boyle." Ben's attention to the finer courtesies in conversation always increased with his wrath. "An' that I'll stick to, for there's no man in these 'ere mountain 'as done more fer this 'ere country than that same Reverend Richard Boyle, Esquire."
"Listen til the monkey! An' what has he done, will ye tell me?"
"Well," said Ben, ignoring Tommy's opprobrious epithet, "I hain't got a day to spend, but, to begin with, there's two churches up the Windermere which--"
"Churches, is it? Sure an' what is a church good fer but to bury a man from, forby givin' the women a place to say their prayers an' show their hats?"
"As I was sayin'," continued Ben, "there's two churches
It was just at this point that Tommy Tate roused his wrath. Dr. Bailey's foreboding regarding Maclennan's Camp No. 2 had been justified by a serious outbreak in early spring of typhoid, of malignant type, to which Tommy fell a victim. The hospitals along the line were already overflowing, and so the doctor had sent Tommy to Kuskinook in charge of an assistant. After a six weeks' doubtful struggle with the disease Tommy began to convalesce, and with returning strength revived his invincible love of mischief, which he gratified in provoking the soul of Orderly Ben Fallows, notwithstanding that the two had become firm friends during the tedious course of Tommy's sickness. It didn't take Tommy long to discover Ben's tender spots, the most tender of which he found to be the honour of the hospital and all things and persons associated therewith. As to the matron, Tommy ventured no criticism. He had long since enrolled her among his saints, and Ben Fallows himself was not a more enthusiastic devotee than he. And not even to gratify his insatiable desire for fun at Ben's expense would Tommy venture any liberty with the name of the matron. In regard to the young preacher, however, who seemed to be a somewhat important part of the institution, Tommy was not so scrupulous, while as to the hospital appointments and methods, he never hesitated to champion the superior methods of those down the line.
It was a beautiful May morning and Tommy was signalizing his unusually vigorous health by a very specially exasperating criticism of the Kuskinook hospital and its belongings.
"It's the beautiful hospitals they are down the line. They don't have the frills and tucks on their shirts, to be sure, but they do the thrick, so they do."
"I guess they're all right fer simple cases," agreed Ben, "but w'en yeh git somethin' real bad yeh got to come 'ere. Look at yerself!"
"Arrah! an' that was the docthor, Hivin be swate to him! He tuk a notion t' me fer a good turn I done him wance. Begob, there's a man fer ye! Talk about yer white min! Talk about yer prachers an' the like! There's a man fer ye, an' there's none to measure wid him in the mountains!"
"Dr. Bailey, I suppose ye're talkin' about?" inquired Ben, with fine scorn.
"Yis, Dr. Bailey, an' that's the first two letters av his name. An' whin ye find a man to stand forninst him, by the howly poker! I'll ate him alive, an' so I will."
"Well, I hain't agoin' to say, Mr. Tate," said Ben, with studied, politeness, "that no doctor can never compare with a preacher, for I've seen a doctor myself, an' there's the kind of work he done," displaying his wooden leg and foot with pride. "But what I say is that w'en it comes to doin' real 'igh-class, fine work, give me the Reverend Richard Boyle, Esquire. Yes, sir, sez I, Dick Boyle's the man fer me!"
"Aw, gwan now wid ye! An' wud ye be afther puttin' a preacher in the same car wid a docthor, an' him the Medical Superintendent av the railway?"
"I hain't talkin' 'bout preachers an' doctors in general," replied Ben, keeping himself firmly in hand, "but I'm talkin' about this 'ere preacher, the Reverend Richard Boyle." Ben's attention to the finer courtesies in conversation always increased with his wrath. "An' that I'll stick to, for there's no man in these 'ere mountain 'as done more fer this 'ere country than that same Reverend Richard Boyle, Esquire."
"Listen til the monkey! An' what has he done, will ye tell me?"
"Well," said Ben, ignoring Tommy's opprobrious epithet, "I hain't got a day to spend, but, to begin with, there's two churches up the Windermere which--"
"Churches, is it? Sure an' what is a church good fer but to bury a man from, forby givin' the women a place to say their prayers an' show their hats?"
"As I was sayin'," continued Ben, "there's two churches