Doctor Luke of the Labrador Part 6

"Fifteen, eight----" said the doctor.

My father's voice changed ominously. "Is you listenin', zur?" he asked.

"Sick, is she?" said the doctor. "Fifteen, ten. I've got you, Jagger, sure ... 'Tis no fit night for a man to go ash.o.r.e ... Fifteen, ten, did I say? and one for his nibs ... Go fetch her aboard, man ... And two for his heels----"

My father laid his hand over the doctor's cards. "Was you sayin'," he asked, "t' fetch her aboard?"

"The doctor struck the hand away.

"Was you sayin'," my father quietly persisted, "t' fetch her aboard?"

I knew my father for a man of temper; and, now, I wondered that his patience lasted.

"Damme!" the doctor burst out. "Think I'm going ash.o.r.e in this weather?

If you want me to see her now, go fetch her aboard."

My father coughed--then fingered the neck-band of his shirt.

"I wants t' get this here clear in my mind," he said, slowly. "Is you askin' me t' fetch that sick woman aboard this here ship?"

The doctor leaned over the table to spit.

"Has I got it right, zur?"

In the pause the spectators softly withdrew to the further end of the cabin.

"If he won't fetch her aboard, Jagger," said the doctor, turning to the dog's master, "she'll do very well, I'll be bound, till we get back from the north. Eh, Jagger? If he cared very much, he'd fetch her aboard, wouldn't he?"

Jagger laughed.

"Ay, she'll do very well," the doctor repeated, now addressing my father, "till we get back. I'll take a look at her then."

I saw the color rush into my father's face. Skipper Tommy laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, now, Skipper David!" he muttered.

"Is I right," said my father, bending close to the doctor's face, "in thinkin' you says you _won't_ come ash.o.r.e?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"Is I right," pursued my father, his voice rising, "in thinkin' the gov'ment pays you t' tend the sick o' this coast?"

"That's my business," flashed the doctor. "That's my business, sir!"

Jagger looked upon my father's angry face and smiled.

"Is we right, doctor," said Skipper Tommy, "in thinkin' you knows she lies desperate sick?"

"Damme!" cried the doctor. "I've heard that tale before. You're a pretty set, you are, to try to play on a man's feelings like that. But you can't take _me_ in. No, you can't," he repeated, his loose under-lip trembling. "You're a pretty set, you are. But you can't come it over me.

Don't you go bl.u.s.tering, now! You can't come your bl.u.s.ter on me.

Understand? You try any bl.u.s.ter on me, and, by heaven! I'll let every man of your harbour die in his tracks. I'm the doctor, here, I want you to know. And I'll not go ash.o.r.e in weather like this."

My father deliberately turned to wave Skipper Tommy and me out of the way: then laid a heavy hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"You'll not come?"

"d.a.m.ned if I will!"

"By G.o.d!" roared my father. "I'll take you!"

At once, the doctor sought to evade my father's grasp, but could not, and, being unwise, struck him on the breast. My father felled him. The man lay in a flabby heap under the table, roaring l.u.s.tily that he was being murdered; but so little sympathy did his plight extract, that, on the contrary, every man within happy reach, save Jagger and Skipper Tommy, gave him a hearty kick, taking no pains, it appeared, to choose the spot with mercy. As for Jagger, he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up his whip, and was now raining blows on the muzzle of the dog, which had taken advantage of the uproar to fly at his legs. In this confusion, the Captain flung open the door and strode in. He was in a fuming rage; but, being no man to take sides in a quarrel, sought no explanation, but took my father by the arm and hurried him without, promising him redress, the while, at another time. Thus presently we found ourselves once more in my father's punt, pushing out from the side of the steamer, which was already underway, chugging noisily.

"Hush, zur!" said Skipper Tommy to my father. "Curse him no more, zur.

The good Lard, who made us, made him, also."

My father cursed the harder.

"Stop," cried the skipper, "or I'll be cursin' him, too, zur. G.o.d made that man, I tells you. He _must_ have gone an' made that man."

"I hopes He'll d.a.m.n him, then," said I.

"G.o.d knowed what He was doin' when he made that man," the skipper persisted, continuing in faith against his will. "I tells you I'll _not_ doubt His wisdom. He made that man ... He made that man ... He made that man...."

To this refrain we rowed into harbour.

We found my mother's room made very neat, and very grand, too, I thought, with the shaded lamp and the great armchair from the best-room below; and my mother, now composed, but yet flushed with expectation, was raised on many snow-white pillows, lovely in the fine gown, with one thin hand, wherein she held a red geranium, lying placid on the coverlet.

"I am ready, David," she said to my father.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall below. It was Skipper Tommy, as I knew.

"Is that he?" asked my mother. "Bring him up, David. I am quite ready."

My father still stood silent and awkward by the door of the room.

"David," said my poor mother, her voice breaking with sudden alarm, "have you been talking much with him? What has he told you, David? I'm not so very sick, am I?"

"Well, la.s.s," said my father, "'tis a great season for all sorts o'

sickness--an' the doctor is sick abed hisself--an' he--couldn't--come."

"Poor man!" sighed my mother. "But he'll come ash.o.r.e on the south'ard trip."

"No, la.s.s--no; I fear he'll not."

"Poor man!"

My mother turned her face from us. She trembled, once, and sighed, and then lay very quiet. I knew in my childish way that her hope had fled with ours--that, now, remote from our love and comfort-alone--all alone--she had been brought face to face with the last dread prospect.