It was just at this point that Tommy Tate roused his wrath. Dr. Bailey's
foreboding regarding Maclennan's Camp No. 2 had been justified by a
serious outbreak in early spring of typhoid, of malignant type, to
which Tommy fell a victim. The hospitals along the line were already
overflowing, and so the doctor had sent Tommy to Kuskinook in charge
of an assistant. After a six weeks' doubtful struggle with the disease
Tommy began to convalesce, and with returning strength revived his
invincible love of mischief, which he gratified in provoking the soul
of Orderly Ben Fallows, notwithstanding that the two had become firm
friends during the tedious course of Tommy's sickness. It didn't take
Tommy long to discover Ben's tender spots, the most tender of which
he found to be the honour of the hospital and all things and persons
associated therewith. As to the matron, Tommy ventured no criticism. He
had long since enrolled her among his saints, and Ben Fallows himself
was not a more enthusiastic devotee than he. And not even to gratify
his insatiable desire for fun at Ben's expense would Tommy venture any
liberty with the name of the matron. In regard to the young preacher,
however, who seemed to be a somewhat important part of the institution,
Tommy was not so scrupulous, while as to the hospital appointments and
methods, he never hesitated to champion the superior methods of those
down the line.

It was a beautiful May morning and Tommy was signalizing his unusually
vigorous health by a very specially exasperating criticism of the
Kuskinook hospital and its belongings.

"It's the beautiful hospitals they are down the line. They don't have
the frills and tucks on their shirts, to be sure, but they do the
thrick, so they do."

"I guess they're all right fer simple cases," agreed Ben, "but w'en yeh
git somethin' real bad yeh got to come 'ere. Look at yerself!"

"Arrah! an' that was the docthor, Hivin be swate to him! He tuk a notion
t' me fer a good turn I done him wance. Begob, there's a man fer ye!
Talk about yer white min! Talk about yer prachers an' the like! There's
a man fer ye, an' there's none to measure wid him in the mountains!"

"Dr. Bailey, I suppose ye're talkin' about?" inquired Ben, with fine
scorn.

"Yis, Dr. Bailey, an' that's the first two letters av his name. An' whin
ye find a man to stand forninst him, by the howly poker! I'll ate him
alive, an' so I will."

"Well, I hain't agoin' to say, Mr. Tate," sa