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"It is no sleep for dis," cried Yonie thickly, pointing to his throat. The doctor sprang from the sleigh. "Let me look at your throat." "It's the docthor, Yonie," explained Tommy, whereupon the Swede submitted to the examination. The doctor turned him toward the east, where the sun was just peeping through the treetops, and looked into his throat. "My man, you go right back to bed quick."
As they drove into the camp the cook came out with some refuse which he dumped down on a heap at the door. The doctor shuddered as he thought of that heap when the sun shone upon it in the mild weather. A huge Swede followed the cook out with a large red muffler wrapped round his throat. "Hello, Yonie!" cried Tommy. "What's afther gittin' ye up so early?"
"No, it will not to bed," replied Yonie. "Big work to-day, boss say. He not like men sick." "You hear me," said the doctor sharply. "You go back to bed. Where's your doctor?" "He slapes in the office between meals. Yonder," said Tommy, pointing the way. "Never mind now. Where are your sick men?" "De seeck mans?" replied the cook. "She's be hall overe. On de bunk-house, on de cook shed.
He opened his bag, took out his syringe. "Here, Yonie, we'll begin with you. Roll up your sleeve." And in three minutes he had given all four an antitoxin injection. "Now, we'll see the doctor. By the way what's his name?" "Hain," said the cook, "dat's his nem." "Haines," explained one of the men. "Dat's what I say," said the cook indignantly, "Hain."
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