rrassing--for it was the time of cholera, just before the
annual rise of the Nile. Fielding Bey, the skipper, had not taken his
little daughter, for he had none; but he had taken little Dicky Donovan,
who had been in at least three departments of the Government, with
advantage to all.

Dicky was dining with Fielding at the Turf Club, when a telegram came
saying that cholera had appeared at a certain village on the Nile.
Fielding had dreaded this, had tried to make preparation for it, had
begged of the Government this reform and that--to no purpose. He knew
that the saving of the country from an epidemic lay with his handful
of Englishmen and the faithful native officials; but chiefly with the
Englishmen. He was prepared only as a forlorn hope is prepared, with
energy, with personal courage, with knowledge; and never were these more
needed.

With the telegram in his hand, he thought of his few English assistants,
and sighed; for the game they would play was the game of Hercules and
Death over the body of Alcestis.

Dicky noted the sigh, read the telegram, drank another glass of claret,
lighted a cigarette, drew his coffee to him, and said: "The Khedive is
away--I'm off duty; take me."

Fielding looked surprised, yet with an eye of hope. If there was one man
in Egypt who could do useful work in the business, it was little Dicky
Donovan, who had a way with natives such as no man ever had in Egypt;
who knew no fear of anything mortal; who was as tireless as a beaver,
as keen-minded as a lynx is sharp-eyed. It was said to Dicky's discredit
that he had no heart, but Fielding knew better. When Dicky offered
himself now, Fielding said, almost feverishly: "But, dear old D., you
don't see--"

"Don't I?--Well, then,

"'What are the blessings of the sight?--
Oh, tell your poor blind boy!'"

What Fielding told him did not alter his intention, nor was it
Fielding's wish that it should, though he felt it right to warn the
little man what sort of thing was in store for them.

"As if I don't know, old lime-burner!" answered Dicky coolly.

In an hour they were on the Amenhotep, and in two hours they were on the
way--a floating hospital--to the infected district of Kalamoun. There
the troubles began. It wasn't the heat, and it wasn't the work, and it
wasn't the everlasting care of the sick: it was the ceaseless hunt for
the disease-stricken, the still, tireless opposition of the natives, the
remorseless deceptio