Billy Topsail, M.D.: A Tale of Adventure With Doctor Luke of the Labrador

by Norman Duncan

  CHAPTER XXIV

  _In Which Bob Likely, the Mail-Man, Interrupts Doctor Luke's Departure, in the Nick of Time, with an Astonishing Bit of News, and the Ice of Ships' Run Begins to Move to Sea in a Way to Alarm the Stout Hearted_

  Doctor Luke, having finished his professional round of the Candlestickcottages in good time, harnessed his dogs, with the help of BillyTopsail, soon after noon next day. Evidently the folk of Amen Islandwere well. They had been frivolous, no doubt--but had not been caught atit. Amen Island was to be omitted. Doctor Luke was ready for the trailto Poor Luck Harbour on the way south. And he shouted a last good-bye tothe folk of Candlestick Cove, who had gathered to wish him Godspeed, andlaughed in delighted satisfaction with their affection, and waved hishand, and called to his dogs and cracked his whip; and he would havebeen gone south from Candlestick Cove on the way to Poor Luck and OurHarbour in another instant had he not caught sight of Bob Likely comingup the harbour ice from the direction of the Arctic floe that was thenbeginning to drive through Ships' Run under the impulse of a stiffeningbreeze from the north.

  It was old Bob Likely with the mail-bag on his back--there was no doubtabout that; the old man's stride and crooked carriage were everywherefamiliar--and as he was doubtless from Amen Island, and as he carriedthe gossip of the coast on the tip of his tongue, of which news ofillness and death was not the lest interesting variety, Doctor Luke,alert for intelligence that might serve the ends of his work--DoctorLuke halted his team and waited for old Bob Likely to draw near.

  "From Amen, Bob?"

  "I is, sir. I'm jus' come across the floe."

  "Are they all well?"

  "Well, no, sir; they isn't. The Little Fiddler is in mortal trouble. Ifears, sir, he's bound Aloft."

  "Hut!" the Doctor scoffed. "What's the matter with the Little Fiddler?"

  "He've a sore finger, sir."

  The Doctor pondered this. He frowned--perplexed. "What sort of a sorefinger?" he inquired, troubled.

  "They thinks 'tis mortification, sir."

  "Gangrene! What do you think, Bob?"

  "It looks like it, sir. I seed a case, sir, when I were off sealin' onthe----"

  "Was the finger bruised?"

  "No, sir; 'twasn't bruised."

  "Was it frost-bitten?"

  "No, sir; 'twasn't the frost that done it. I made sure o' that. It comefrom a small cut, sir."

  "A simple infection, probably. Did you see a line of demarcation?"

  "Sir?"

  "It was discoloured?"

  "Oh, ay, sir! 'Twas some queer sort o' colour."

  "What colour?"

  "Well, sir," said Bob, cautiously, "I wouldn't say as t' that. I'd jus'say 'twas some mortal queer sort o' colour an' be content with mylabour."

  "Was there a definite line between the discolouration and what seemed tobe sound flesh?"

  Bob Likely scratched his head in doubt.

  "I don't quite mind," said he, "whether there was or not."

  "Then there was not," the Doctor declared, relieved. "You would not havefailed to note that line. 'Tis not gangrene. The lad's all right. That'sgood. Everybody else well on Amen Island?"

  Bob was troubled.

  "They're t' cut that finger off," said he, "jus' as soon as little Terrywill yield. Las' night, sir, we wasn't able t' overcome his objection.'Tis what he calls one of his fiddle fingers, sir, an' he's holdin'out----"

  "Cut it off? Absurd! They'll not do that."

  "Ay; but they will, sir. 'Tis t' be done the night, sir, with the helpo' Sandy Lands an' Black Walt Anderson. They're t' cotch un an' hold un,sir. They'll wait no longer. They're afeared o' losin' little Terryaltogether."

  "Yes; but surely----"

  "If 'twere mortification, sir, wouldn't you cut that finger off?"

  "At once."

  "With an axe?"

  "If I had nothing better."

  "An' if the lad was obstinate----"

  "If an immediate operation seemed to be advisable, Bob, I would have thelad held."

  "Well, sir," said Bob, "they thinks 'tis mortification, sir, an' notknowin' no better----"

  "Thank you," said the Doctor. He turned to Mild Jim Cull. "SkipperJames," said he, "have Timmie take care of the dogs. I'll cross Ships'Run and lance that finger."

  * * * * *

  Dusk fell on Amen Island. No doctor had happened across the Run. Nosaving help--no help of any sort, except the help of Sandy Lands andBlack Walt Anderson, to hold the rebellious subject--had come.

  At Candlestick Cove Doctor Luke had been delayed. The great news of hisfortunate passing had spread inland overnight to the tilts of RattleRiver. Before the Doctor could get under way for Amen Island, an olddame of Serpent Bend, who had come helter-skelter through the timber,whipping her team, frantic to be in time to command relief before theDoctor's departure, drove up alone, with four frowsy dogs, and desiredthe extraction of a tooth; but so fearful and coy wasshe--notwithstanding that she had suffered the tortures of the damned,as she put it, for three months, having missed the Doctor on hisnorthern course--that the Doctor was kept waiting on her humour an houror more before she would yield to his scoldings and blandishments.

  And no sooner had the old dame of Serpent Bend been rejoiced to receiveher recalcitrant tooth in a detached relationship than a lad ofTrapper's Lake trudged in to expose a difficulty that turned out to beneither more nor less than a pitiable effect of the lack of nourishment;and when an arrangement had been accomplished to feed the lad well andstrong again, a woman of Silver Fox was driven in--a matter thatoccupied Doctor Luke until the day was near spent and the crossing ofShips' Run was a hazard to be rather gravely debated.

  "You'll put it off, sir?" Skipper James advised.

  The Doctor surveyed the ice of Ships' Run and the sky beyond AmenIsland.

  "I wish I might," said he, frankly.

  "I would, sir."

  "I--I can't very well."

  "The floe's started down the Run, sir."

  "Yes-s," the Doctor admitted, uneasily; "but you see, Skipper James,I--I----"