There came a burst of Elizabethan profanity from the little skipper, but it was drowned by the shout from shore as the full meaning of the situation finally came home.  Then the waiting men made a rush for the ship.  She had not touched as yet, however, and the distance between her and the pier was too great to leap.  Above the confusion came Brennan’s voice, through a megaphone, commanding them to stand back.  Some one traitorously cast off the loop of the bow line, the ship’s propellers began to thrash, and the big steel hull backed away inch by inch, foot by foot, until, amid curses and cries of rage, she described a majestic circle and plowed off up the sound toward Hope.

By a narrow margin the physician reached his hospital ahead of the infuriated mob, and it was well that he did so, for they were in a lynching mood.  But, once within his own premises, he made a show of determined resistance that daunted them, and they sullenly retired.  That night Omar rang with threats and deep-breathed curses, and Eliza Appleton, in the garb of a nurse, tended her patient cheerfully.

To the delegation which waited upon him the next morning, Dr. Gray explained the nature of his duties as health officer, informing them coolly that no living soul could leave Omar without incurring legal penalties.  Since he could prevent any ships from landing, and inasmuch as the United States marshal was present to enforce the quarantine, he seemed to be master of the situation.

“How long will we be tied up?” demanded the spokesman of the party.

“That is hard to say.”

“Well, we’re going to leave this camp!” the man declared, darkly.

“Indeed?  Where are you going?”

“We’re going to Hope.  You might as well let us go.  We won’t stand for this.”

The physician eyed him coldly.  “You won’t?  May I ask how you are going to help yourselves?”

“We’re going to leave on the next steamer.”

“Oh, no you’re not!” the marshal spoke up.

“See here, Doc!  There’s over two hundred of us and we can’t stay here; we’ll go broke.”

Gray shrugged his broad shoulders.  “Sorry,” he said, “but you see I’ve no choice in the matter.  I never saw a case of smallpox that looked worse.”

“It’s a frame-up,” growled the spokesman.  “Tom hasn’t got smallpox any more than I have.  You cooked it to keep us here.”  There was an angry second to this, whereupon the doctor exclaimed: 

“You think so, eh?  Then just come with me.”

“Where?”

“Out to the boat where he is.  I’ll show you.”

“You won’t show me no smallpox,” asserted one of the committee.

“Then you come with me,” the physician urged the leader.

“So you can bottle me up, too?  No, thank you!”

“Get the town photographer with his flashlight.  We’ll help him make a picture; then you can show it to the others.  I promise not to quarantine you.”