“I knew I was a sick man.  I’ve felt it coming on for three months, but I fought it off for Murray’s sake.  Say it’s chicken-pox,” he pleaded.

“Never mind; it’s seldom serious,” Eliza endeavored to comfort the stricken man.

“You wanted a good rest-”

“I don’t.  I want to work.”

“I’ll have to quarantine you, Tom.”

Slater was in no condition for further resistance; a complete collapse of body and mind had followed the intelligence of his illness.  He began to complain of many symptoms, none of which were in any way connected with his fancied disease.  He was racked with pains, he suffered a terrible nausea, his head swam; he spoke bravely of his destitute family and prepared to make his will.  When he left the hospital, an hour later, it was on a stretcher between four straining bearers.

That evening a disturbing rumor crept through the town of Omar.  It penetrated the crowded saloons where the laborers who had quit work were squandering their pay, and it caused a brief lull in the ribaldry; but the mere fact that Tom Slater had come down with smallpox and had been isolated upon a fishing-boat anchored in the creek seemed, after all, of little consequence.  Some of the idlers strolled down the street to stare at the boat, and upon their return verified the report.  They also announced that they had seen the yellow-haired newspaper woman aboard, all dressed in white.  It was considered high time by the majority to leave Omar, for an epidemic was a thing to be avoided, and a wager was made that the whole force would quit in a body as soon as the truth became known.

On the second day Dr. Gray undertook to allay the general uneasiness, but, upon being pressed, reluctantly acknowledged that his patient showed all the signs of the dread disease.  This hastened the general preparations for departure, and when the incoming steamer hove in sight every laborer was at the dock with his kit-bag.  It excited some idle comment among them to note that Dr. Gray had gone down the bay a short distance to meet the ship, and his efforts to speak it were watched with interest and amusement.  Obviously it would have been much easier for him to wait until she landed, for she came right on and drew in toward the wharf.  It was not until her bow line was made fast that the physician succeeded in hailing the captain.  Then the deserters were amazed to hear the following conversation: 

“I can’t let you land, Captain Johnny,” came from Dr. Gray’s launch.

“And why can’t you?” demanded Brennan from the bridge of his new ship.  “Have you some prejudice against the Irish?” The stern hawser was already being run out, and the crowd was edging closer, waiting for the gangplank.

“There is smallpox here, and as health officer I’ve quarantined the port.”