Читать книгу Grit A-Plenty - Dillon Wallace - Страница 4

A FORTNIGHT passed, after the evening when Doctor Joe had spoken to Thomas of the mist in Jamie’s eyes, before he appeared again at The Jug. It was early morning, and the family were at breakfast when he breezed in, without knocking—for in that country folk do not knock as they enter, and every one is welcome at all times.

“Well! Well!” he exclaimed. “Just in time, and I’m as hungry as an old grampus. What is it? Fried whitefish! Margaret, you must have expected me and read my mind, for I’d rather have fried whitefish for breakfast, the way you cook them, than anything else I can think of!”

“Then I’m glad I cooked un,” laughed Margaret. “But you likes most anything we ever has.”

“That’s true, because you cook everything so well,” complimented Doctor Joe, seating himself by Jamie. “I’m not much of a cook myself, you know.”

“You’re a rare fine cook, now, I thinks,” broke in David. “I always likes your cookin’ when I eats un.”

“Anybody’s cooking is good to a husky, healthy lad like you,” laughed Doctor Joe.

“We’re wonderful glad t’ see you, Doctor Joe,” said Thomas. “I’ve been wonderin’, now, why you didn’t come over this fortnight. The boys pulled over to Break Cove yesterday lookin’ for you, fearin’ you might be ailin’.”

“And didn’t find me!” exclaimed Doctor Joe, helping himself liberally to fish. “Well, the day after I was here I left for Fort Pelican to meet the mail boat and get some medicines that I thought I might need in the winter from the mail boat doctor, and to mail an important letter. How have you all been?”

“Not so bad—except Jamie,” said Thomas. “His eyes are growin’ mistier.”

“Eh!” ejaculated Doctor Joe, looking down at Jamie. “Mistier, are they? That’s what I’m here about—mostly—to see what we can do about that mist. We’ll have a look at the eyes pretty soon, Jamie.”

“I’m thinkin’ ’tis truly a mist fallin’ thick, and holdin’ thick all the time,” declared Jamie.

“We’ll see about that! We’ll see!” said Doctor Joe.

And after breakfast he again looked carefully into Jamie’s eyes, and again asked Jamie many, many questions, and then walked out with Thomas where they could talk alone.

“And what you think’n now of Jamie’s eyes?” asked Thomas anxiously.

“’Tis a strange disease, and a serious one,” said Doctor Joe. “Inside everybody’s eyes there’s a fluid forms. When the eyes are healthy the fluid keeps working away naturally through small outlets. If the outlets for the fluid get stopped, there’s no way for it to escape, and it fills up inside until it presses on the eyes, and the sight begins to fail, and after a time if the fluid is not let out the eyes go blind. There’s only one way to cure the complaint, and that is by a difficult and delicate operation for the purposes of opening the passages and drawing the fluid out and relieving the pressure.”

“Do you mean—cuttin’ the eyes open?” asked Thomas in dismay.

“Yes,” said Doctor Joe, “and the cutting has to be done just right, or it fails. I once knew a surgeon who sometimes succeeded in performing the operation successfully, but he was in New York—a long, long way from here. The letter I posted the other day in Fort Pelican was for this doctor. I wrote to ask if he is still in New York, and if he is there if he will operate on Jamie’s eye if we take the lad to him.”

“Suppose, now, he’ll do the cuttin’, how can we ever get Jamie to he?” asked Thomas.

“I’ll take him on the mail boat. We can’t get away this fall, though, for it isn’t likely I’ll get an answer before the Christmas mail, after the boat has made her last fall trip. But,” continued Doctor Joe, “I hope Jamie’s eyes will not be too misty by spring. If he loses his sight before spring there’ll be no use operating, for then the sight can’t be brought back.”

“And if—if the doctor cuts un—and he fails—what’ll happen to Jamie then?” asked Thomas fearfully.

“He’ll be blind,” said Doctor Joe. “But if the doctor doesn’t do the cutting Jamie will surely go blind. This is the only chance to save his sight.”

“An’ supposin’,” asked Thomas, “you gets no answer from the great doctor, will Jamie have to go blind all his life?”

“Let us hope he’s there—let us pray he is,” said Doctor Joe.

“But suppose—suppose he’ll not be there. Be there no one else?” Thomas insisted.

“I—don’t know,” admitted Doctor Joe. “I don’t know. Once I knew another surgeon—a young man—who performed such operations, but he went wrong and lost his skill and had to stop operating. I’d not like to trust Jamie with him. But we’ll hope the great doctor is in New York.”

They stood in silence for a little.

“Poor little lad! Poor little lad!” sighed Thomas, finally.

“’Tis hard,” sympathized Doctor Joe, who was fond of Jamie. “And there’s another thing, Thomas,” he continued. “You and I must catch more fur this year than we ever caught before, for there’s the mail boat and another steamer to pay the passage on, and they charge a good deal. Trowbridge & Gray pay good prices for fur, and pay cash. Let us hope one of us will catch a silver fox. We’ll need it. I’ll put in all I earn to help save Jamie’s sight.”

“Aye,” said Thomas, “We’ll do our best, and—Doctor Joe—I’m wonderful thankful to you.”

“Thomas, I owe it to you to do everything I can for Jamie, even if I didn’t want to do it so much for Jamie’s own sake,” and Doctor Joe’s voice was strangely husky. “You’ve helped cure me of a dreadful disease—I hope I’m cured—I pray God that I am—but I still need your help and friendship to make me strong.”

“Me—cure you of something?” asked Thomas, mystified. “I was never givin’ you medicine, or curin’ you of any ailment!”

“Yes—the best kind of medicine—your friendship—when I came here, and ever since. Some day I’ll tell you about it, but not now—not yet, Thomas Angus. Now we must think of Jamie, and do our best.”

“Aye, and do our best,” said Thomas.

Thomas Angus had always done his best with cheerful heroism, and how he hoped now to improve upon the best is hard to guess. Down on The Labrador every man must do his best all of the time if he would keep the flour barrel filled and run no debt with traders. In that stern land there can be no idling or wasting of time, and men work as though it were a joy, and the folk endure hardships without ever knowing they are hardships, and are happy, too, withal. Life there is grim and real.

Every boy and every girl, too, learns early to do his or her part, and accept what comes without complaint.

Young lad though he was, Jamie heard Doctor Joe’s verdict bravely, and accepted his affliction as one of the ups and downs of life. Until now he had been hoping each night when he went to sleep that when he opened his eyes in the morning he would find that the mist had lifted while he slept. Now this hope was gone. But there was still the hope that some day the great doctor to whom Doctor Joe had written, would cut the mist away, and hope is a wonderful thing for the building of courage.

“Keep your grit, lad,” said Thomas. “Doctor Joe says you’ll find th’ mist gettin’ thicker and th’ world growin’ darker for a time, and I’m thinkin’ you’ll need grit a plenty. Grit’s a great thing t’ have—a stout heart like a man’s, now, and plenty o’ grit, is a wonderful help.”

“I’ll keep my grit, whatever,” declared Jamie, “an’ I’ll keep my heart stout, like a man’s.”

“That’s fine now! I’m proud o’ my fine, brave lad!” encouraged Thomas. “I’ll be bound Doctor Joe’ll find a way sooner or later, by hook or by crook, t’ lift th’ mist.”

The fishing season was at an end, and Thomas and the boys had made a good catch. They had nearly enough salmon and trout salted in barrels to pay for their winter’s supply of flour and pork, in barter, at the post. This had never happened before, but this year there had been an uncommon run of salmon.

“We’ll load un in th’ boat and take un to the post tomorrow,” said Thomas, as they sat at tea on the evening when the last barrel was headed. “’Tis a clever catch, and we has un when we needs un th’ most.”

“And I hopes,” said David, dipping a spoonful of molasses into his tea, “’Twill be a fine year for fur, and us and Doctor Joe’ll sure get th’ fur t’ pay for Jamie goin’ for th’ cure.”

“Pop’ll get th’ fur—Pop and Uncle Joe,” broke in Andy. “Pop’s a wonderful hunter.”

“We’ll get un if ’tis t’ be got,” declared Thomas. “Oh, aye, we’ll get un.”

“There comes Doctor Joe,” Andy announced, as Doctor Joe, walking up from the landing place, passed the window, singing in a rich tenor voice:

“I wonder, now,” said Thomas, “if ’taint true—that song Doctor Joe is singin’.”

Just then the door opened and in walked Doctor Joe himself.

“Always just in time!” he exclaimed.

“Set in! Set in!” said Thomas heartily, visibly cheered by Doctor Joe’s coming.

“That I will,” accepted Doctor Joe. “I was lonely at Break Cove alone, and I pulled over in the skiff for a chat, and to spend the night—and to have a look at Jamie’s eyes.”

It was always a treat to have Doctor Joe with them for a night. When he and Thomas lighted their pipes in the evening, and the big box stove was crackling cheerily, he thrilled them with stories of other and far-off lands. Thomas was no less interested than Margaret and the boys in his wonderful tales of the great outside world, and of the great city in which he had once lived—of the mighty buildings that towered high, high up into the skies—of the rushing railway trains—and their wonderful speed—of people so numerous that they crowded one another on the streets, and where you might meet thousands and thousands of people and never know one by name, and where half a hundred families might live in a single house.

“I’d like wonderful well t’ have a look at un,” said Thomas, “but I wouldn’t want t’ have t’ stay long in such a place. There wouldn’t be room t’ stretch.”

“No,” agreed Doctor Joe, “you wouldn’t care to stay there.”

“And how’s th’ huntin’?” asked David. “Seems like there wouldn’t be game enough for ’em all t’ hunt, and I’m wonderin’, now, how they gets their meat.”

Then Doctor Joe had to tell them about cattle and sheep, the great stock ranges and stock yards, and how the animals were butchered and the meat sold.

“I wouldn’t want t’ eat th’ meat of animals I raised up like that,” declared Margaret. “’Tis wonderful hard and cruel t’ tie un up like that and kill un. They don’t have a chance t’ get away, like th’ deer has here.”

“But there are plenty of people there,” said Doctor Joe, “who eat the meat every day without giving a thought to that, but who think it very cruel to hunt and kill deer and other wild animals.”

“But th’ deer and wild game has a chance t’ get away and save themselves,” insisted Margaret. “The poor cows and sheep don’t have a chance at all. There must be wonderful strange folk in th’ world t’ think ’tis wrong t’ hunt deer.”

“I’m thinkin’,” suggested Thomas, “that th’ Lard puts cows and sheep in th’ world for people t’ kill and t’ eat when they needs un. ’Tis right for th’ folk there t’ kill th’ cows and sheep t’ get meat. ’Tis right for us here t’ kill deer and such game as we can, t’ eat. We couldn’t live without un. ’Tis th’ different ways th’ Lard has of givin’ them meat an’ givin’ us meat.”

“That’s sound reasoning,” observed Doctor Joe.

And so they talked until bedtime, and then, at Thomas’s request Doctor Joe read aloud from the scriptures, and Thomas offered an evening prayer, for on The Labrador, where there are no churches, but where folk live near to God, their Christian faith is great, and they do not forget to give thanks for their blessings, and to worship Him.

Then Doctor Joe spread his blankets upon the floor, for in that country visitors and travelers carry their beds with them, and there is welcome and room enough for all in every house.

“I’ll stay and help you load your fish,” suggested Doctor Joe, when they had eaten breakfast the following morning. “You’ve two good, stout helpers, but an extra one, I take it, won’t be in the way.”

“’Twill be a great help,” said Thomas. “The boys finds th’ barrels heavy liftin’, and an extra hand would help us wonderful much.”

“And get un done quicker,” suggested David, “and then we’ll get away to th’ post on this tide.”

“All right,” said Doctor Joe, “let’s go to it.”

Below the house Thomas had built of stones and logs a short jetty, which served as a wharf for loading and unloading his big boat. The barrels of fish were rolled down to the jetty, and the boat brought alongside.

“Now,” said Thomas, “’twill be easy work. Davy and Andy can roll the barrels to us, Doctor Joe, whilst you and I lifts un down into the boat and stows un. They’re a bit heavy, but we can manage without troubling with a rope t’ lower un down, and ’twill save time.”

“All right,” agreed Doctor Joe. “Let them come, boys.”

“Aye,” laughed Davy, “we’ll let un come fast as ever you and Pop can lift un.”

And so they were doing well enough, and making quick work of it, until the last barrel came, and the boat was so crowded with cargo that the standing room for Thomas and Doctor Joe was narrow and cramped.

“Have you a good footing there?” asked Doctor Joe, when the barrel was balanced on the end of the jetty and they were ready for the lift.

“’Tis all right,” said Thomas, “let her come.”

And then Thomas slipped, and though Doctor Joe did his best to prevent it, the barrel crashed down upon Thomas’s leg, and when Doctor Joe and David lifted it and released him, Thomas discovered that he could not stand upon the leg.

“She’ll soon be all right,” said Thomas. “She’s just numbed a bit with the weight.”

“Let me feel of it,” suggested Doctor Joe, proceeding to examine the leg.

“Aye, feel of un, and rub th’ numbness out,” said Thomas.

“Too bad! Too bad!” exclaimed Doctor Joe, presently. “The leg is broken.”

And so indeed it proved.

Doctor Joe and the boys carried Thomas to the house and laid him in his bunk. Then Doctor Joe cut some sticks of proper length and size and wrapped them with pieces of old blanket, and with David’s[Pg 31]

[Pg 32] help set the leg and deftly bound the splints into place with bandages which Margaret had quickly prepared under his direction as he worked.

“There you are,” he said, finally, standing up and surveying his work. “Does it feel comfortable, Tom?”

“Not so bad,” answered Thomas. “Will th’ lashin’s hold, now?”

“I’ll warrant that!” assured Doctor Joe.

“And is she like t’ be straight and stout again when she heals?” asked Thomas anxiously.

“Straight and stout as ever she was,” promised Doctor Joe, “but you’ll have to lie still for a month or six weeks, and then you’ll be on crutches for a time. I’ll look after you, Tom.”

“And I can’t go to my trappin’ grounds, then, before th’ New Year, whatever?” Thomas asked anxiously.

“No—not before the New Year—whatever—nor after the New Year—not this winter—I’m afraid,” said Dr. Joe, reluctantly.

A shadow passed over Thomas’s face, but he said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” sympathized Doctor Joe.

“’Twere a blessin’ you were here t’ mend un,” said Tom.

“Yes,” agreed Doctor Joe, “it was well I was here to set it.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much if ’tweren’t for Jamie,” continued Thomas. “How, now, can we ever get th’ money t’ pay th’ lad’s way t’ have th’ great doctor cure him?”

But this was a question Doctor Joe could not answer, and he was sorely troubled.

“Pop,” said Jamie, who had come close to his father’s bed, “we’ll keep our grit, both of us, now.”

“Aye, lad, we’ll keep our grit, you and me,” and there was a choke in Thomas’s voice as he reached for Jamie’s hand, which Jamie gave him after passing it before his eyes in a vain effort to brush the mist away, which was a habit with him of late.