A ship-surgeon utterly stranded can hardly be a very merry soul, and the day before yesterday I was strolling rather disconsolately about the docks, when I saw a stunning yacht come in.  She was a sight to feast one’s eyes on, and until the last moment was under a cloud of sail while her funnel belched black smoke.  For a few minutes I saw some of the smartest handling of canvas it has ever been given me to behold.  As she came on the great, silken, light sails fluttered, shrank and disappeared as if by magic; her headway stopped and the screw ceased its throbbing.  She was just like a grand, white bird folding its wings and going to sleep.  But even before she had ceased to move a boat was overboard and four men were at the sweeps, pulling for shore.  A few minutes later I was passing in front of Simpson & Co., the big ship-chandlers who were the Chandernagore’s agents, when one of the clerks came out and ran towards me.

“Won’t you come in?” he asked, excitedly.  “There is the skipper of that white yacht that just came in who wants a doctor at once, and at any cost.  We supplied that boat after she left dry-dock here, some weeks ago.  She belongs to regular swells, awfully rich people.”

“Is the man hurt or ill?” I asked.

“No, he’s all right.  There is sickness at a little outport, diphtheria, I hear, and they want a man at once.  Money’s no object.”

It really seemed as if a bit of luck might be coming my way, at last.  Indeed I wanted badly to see your dear face again, and that silver hair I think so beautiful, but here was a prospect of sailing away on that stunning little ship and of earning some badly needed money, so that I felt like whooping with joy.  I leaped through the open door and saw a very gold-laced man who was talking very fast to the head of the firm.

“Here’s just the man you want,” said the latter.  “He’s a first-rate young chap who will go anywhere and do anything.  His skipper of the Chandernagore swears by him.  I can send for him, if you like.”

“No time for that,” interrupted the yacht’s captain.  “There is diphtheria at Sweetapple Cove, and a doctor there who is nearly dead with it, I believe.  I’ve sent our mate for all the antitoxine he can buy, and he’s driving around to all the druggists in the place.  We also want a nurse, several nurses, all you can get.  I’m keeping steam up and will start the minute you’re ready.”

“And the remuneration,” suggested Mr. Simpson.

“Anything he wants to ask,” said the captain, hurriedly, turning again to me; “just get a move on you, young man.  Run off and get some nurses; promise any money they want to charge, and I won’t wait over an hour.”

He saw a cab passing in the street and ran out to hail it.

“Here,” he said, “get into this thing and hunt for nurses.”