Settling Day

CHAPTER X
A FRIGHTENED SCOUNDREL

Barker's Creek was several miles from Swamp Creek, and next morning Dr Tom's black boy, aged about forty, and looking ten years older, hitched the ill-groomed horses to the worse-kept buggy.

It was indeed a remarkable turnout, and so the doctor thought as he examined the 'joins' of the harness to see if it would hold out.

The black boy contemplated the whole thing with ludicrous pride, evidently under the impression he had done his duty by both horses and buggy.

The doctor stowed his bag under the seat, together with a suspicious-looking flask, and clambered into the buggy. His weight caused it to heave over in an alarming manner, and when the start took place Dr Tom appeared to be in danger of being hurled from his seat.

He drove slowly, and it was well on towards noon when he arrived at Barker's Creek, and looked around him with an air of disgust.

'What a hole,' he muttered, 'and what beasts these men are.'

Barker's Creek was not an inviting place by any means. It lay in a hollow and was surrounded by a rough, uncleared bush country. Tall, gaunt trees, branchless until near the tops, towered round the place like huge scaffold poles. Their appearance at night was weird, as they were of a slaty white colour, and resembled huge, gaunt spectres. The shanties in which the men lived and the humpies of the blacks were not visible until the visitor was close on to the spot. It was secluded, cut off from the world, and fittingly so.

Some terrible orgies took place here, and the howls and cries of the black gins, when Dalton's men were amongst them, denoted that scenes of brutality were being enacted.

The blacks were herded together like animals, and their humpies were made of the branches of trees suspended, tent-like, on poles, and their resting-places were on the ground.

Numerous stray curs were prowling around, playing with the naked little black children, who had no more intelligence, if so much, as the dogs.

The men of the gang had better accommodation, but it was poor enough, and the only really decent house in the place was Abe Dalton's. It was before this house that Dr Tom pulled up his horses, and, getting out of the buggy, went up the steps on to the verandah. The house, like all the others, was built on piles, and stood a considerable height from the ground; in fact horses were often sheltered beneath.

'Are you in, Abe Dalton?' shouted Dr Tom.

'Yes; come in,' said a gruff voice.

Dr Tom entered and found Abe Dalton lying on a camp bed, groaning and tossing from side to side.

He was a big, powerful man, with a coarse face that would have been red had not constant exposure to all winds and weather made the skin as brown as parchment. His hair was long, black, and ill-kept, and his big hands and feet denoted the coarse blood in his veins.

Dr Tom looked at him, and it dawned upon him that he had been summoned to Barker's Creek under false pretences. It was not a woman and child who needed his aid, but Abe Dalton himself.

'So it was a lie,' he blurted out.

'What's a lie?'

'That hound you sent to me, said a woman and child were ill.'

'Don't you call my men hounds,' growled Dalton.

'I call them by their proper names. Perhaps curs would be better,' said Dr Tom.

Even Abe Dalton winced at the cutting tones.

'I'm devilish bad, doctor,' he said, 'and I was afraid you would not come if I sent for you to attend me. Now you are here, it is not worth while going back without trying your hand on me,' said Dalton.

'You will get no assistance from me,' said Dr Tom. 'I would prefer to kill rather than cure you, and the country would be well rid of you.'

'But I am real bad,' groaned Abe Dalton. 'Can't you see I'm bad?'

'Yes. I never saw a man in a worse state of fever, and other complications. I shall not be at all surprised to hear of your death in a day or two; and, mind you, it will not be an easy death. You will not fall asleep and pass out of the world peacefully. Oh, dear, no. You will struggle and fight and gasp for breath, and eventually choke and go black in the face, but your looks will not matter where you'll go to. It's precious hot at Barker's Creek, but it's a mere trifle to the oven you'll be put into.'

A volley of oaths came from the tormented man, and Dr Tom chuckled to himself.

'I think I have frightened him,' he thought, 'made him a trifle uneasy. He's not as bad as all that, but it will do him good to make him think he is going to peg out.'

'I can cure you, Abe Dalton, but I am not going to try. Not I. I'm not the man to cheat the devil, or anyone else, of his due. You are not a picturesque object now, but this is nothing to what you will be in a day or two. You'll be such a horrible sight that no one will come near you, not even a black gin. And you have a real good, thirsty fever on you, and you'll not be able to get a drop of water. I'll tell you what will happen before the end comes. You'll see things, shadows of your victims, and they'll sit all round you, grinning, and waiting for the end. You are in for a good time, Abe Dalton, and I'll leave you to it,' and Dr Tom moved towards the door.

Abe Dalton was thoroughly frightened and cowed. The perspiration stood in big drops on his grimy forehead, and after lingering there a few moments, started to race down his face like raindrops on a window-pane. He swept them away with his great, horny hand and, turning over with a groan of pain, called out, —

'For God's sake, don't leave me to die, doctor. I ain't fit to die. I daren't die. Come back and I'll do anything for you, give you any money you care to ask for, only come back and save me!'

Dr Tom came back.

'I can't die. I daren't die. I'm afeared,' and the wretched man shuddered and fell back, terror-stricken.

The doctor heard him and stopped. A thought had occurred to him.

'This may be useful in Jim Dennis's case,' he said, and returned to the room.

'So you are afraid to die, Abe Dalton? Don't take God's name in vain, He will not hear you; you have cursed Him all your life, and now you want Him to save you. Stop that shivering, you coward!'

'You'll help me, doctor, you'll help me?' he moaned.

'Yes; I'll help you on one condition,' said the doctor.

'Name it. Any condition you like. I don't care what it is.'

'Swear to me you will not allow any of your gang to injure Jim Dennis, or anything belonging to him.'

Abe Dalton could have howled with rage. He hated Dennis and meant to be even with him.

'You hesitate,' said Dr Tom.

'No, no,' said Dalton. 'I'll swear it. None of my gang shall harm a hair of his head.'

'And not molest anything that is his,' said Dr Tom.

'No. I swear no harm shall come to him or his property,' said Abe Dalton.

'How do I know I can trust you?' asked Dr Tom. 'An oath from such a man is worthless.'

'I'd not dare to take a false oath, when I might die in a couple of days,' groaned Dalton.

Dr Tom thought this probable. Even if Abe Dalton recovered, he might, for once in a way, keep his oath; at anyrate he would risk it, and Jim Dennis would be safe from the gang.

'I am willing to trust you this time,' said Dr Tom. 'I can pull you through; but, mind, if you break your word, I'll never leave you until I have put a halter round your neck. There's evidence enough to hang you on, if it is only hunted up.'

He gave Abe Dalton a draught, and waited until he was asleep, then he went outside and breathed more freely.

A cluster of men, members of Dalton's gang, stood round the buggy. They seemed anxious about their leader, for he was the cleverest of them all, and if he went they knew there would be trouble amongst themselves before another chief was elected. It would be a shooting matter probably, and some of them would lose their lives.

The man Dalton had sent to Swamp Creek to tell Dr Tom a woman and child were ill, stepped forward and said, —

'How is he? Will he pull through?'

'Yes,' said Dr Tom, 'with care; but he must be kept quiet. Now, you fellows, first listen to me. I am doctoring Abe Dalton on one condition, a condition he has sworn to fulfil. He has promised that none of his gang shall molest or harm, in any way, Jim Dennis or his belongings. Do you hear that?'

The men looked sullen. None of them had any liking for Jim Dennis, for he was more than a match for them, and they did not like being beaten.

'What do you say to it?' asked Dr Tom. 'Remember Abe Dalton's life rests upon your answer.'

'We'll keep his promise – eh, mates?' said the man who had already spoken.

The others assented moodily.

'That is well,' said Dr Tom. 'Mind, if any harm comes to Dennis through you, I'll not rest until I see you all hanged. You know me, and you know I am not afraid of you.'

They admired Dr Tom and knew his courage. Not many men would care to come alone to Barker's Creek as he had done many times.

'You're a plucky chap, doctor,' said one of the men.

'It does not require much pluck to face a lot of beggars like you,' was the retort.

'Then the police can't have much of it,' laughed one.

'Some of these days you will find they have plenty of pluck,' said Dr Tom. 'If they were put on your track now, they would be only too glad of the job. It's Sergeant Machinson holds them back, and he'll have to answer for it in due time.'

'Machinson,' laughed one man. 'He's a beauty, he is. Ask him how much Abe Dalton has put into his pocket. It's squaring Machinson that keeps us poor, d – n him!'

Dr Tom pricked up his ears.

This was a nice little bit of information that might come in handy and do his friend Constable Doonan a good turn some day.

'So Machinson fleeces your leader, does he?' said Dr Tom. 'A nice scandal that is, but no one would believe you fellows.'

'We can prove it,' came from two or three of them.

'Can you, indeed?' said Dr Tom. 'A nice lot of beauties you are to give evidence. No sane man would hang a dog on your evidence.'

They growled at him and used powerful language, but he laughed in their faces.

He left them to attend to Abe Dalton, whom he found still asleep.

Dr Tom remained at Barker's Creek all night, and the next day still saw him there.

He did not leave Abe Dalton until he was out of danger, and even that arrant scoundrel could not help feeling grateful for the attention shown him, although gratitude was a stranger to his nature.

CHAPTER XI
'TRY WILLIE'

A few years quickly pass by, and very little change is noticeable in such places as Swamp Creek and on stations like Wanabeen and Cudgegong. The life there was monotonous enough, but there was a kind of fascination about it, and Jim Dennis would not have changed places with any man.

When he had thoroughly recovered from his illness Willie Dennis rapidly became strong, and now at twelve years of age was a fine, healthy lad.

Like his father, he was a good horseman, and already, even at this early age, he could ride any horse on the station. He had, as it were, been born and bred in the saddle, for ever since he could remember he was accustomed to ride about with his father.

It was the lad's ambition to be a jockey, and win a good race for his father. He did not mean to ride for everyone, there was no occasion for that; all he wanted was to be on the back of his father's horses when they ran in races.

Jim went in for breeding blood stock during the past few years, and had several promising youngsters by Seahorse, and Rodney Shaw was rather jealous at Dennis's stock turning out better than his own.

'I was a fool to allow him to mate those mares with Seahorse. I ought to have kept the blood for myself, especially after the trouble it cost me to procure it.' He forgot that, had it not been for Jim Dennis, he would probably have lost the horse altogether.

Rodney Shaw had been to Wanabeen several times, and of late his visits had been more frequent. He was an unprincipled man, and once he coveted anything he tried all in his power to possess it.

Of one thing he envied Jim Dennis, and that was his possession of the half-caste woman Sal. Rodney Shaw laughed at the idea of this woman living under Dennis's protection and being sacred to him. He had been assured such was the case by people who knew the life the owner of Wanabeen led, but he laughed at the assurance and said he knew better than that.

On one occasion he had, in a roundabout way, asked Jim Dennis if he would part with her, and hinted at a consideration. The look Dennis gave him made him quail, and he stammered out a lame excuse that he meant no offence, and that, of course, a black woman could not be regarded in the same light as a white.

'Black Sal has been more faithful to me than the white woman, and for no recompense. She has been a mother to my boy ever since my wife left me.'

Rodney Shaw started, and looked uneasily at the speaker. He had heard but little of Jim Dennis's past life, and the owner of Wanabeen seldom alluded to his troubled matrimonial experiences.

'I did not know you had been married,' he said.

'Yes,' replied Jim, bitterly, and then unburdened himself of his wretched story. It did him good to talk about it sometimes, relieved his feelings and revived his desire for vengeance on the man who had wronged him.

'It would go hard with that man if you came across him?' said Rodney Shaw.

'Yes, it would go hard with him.'

'Perhaps he did not know she was a wife – your wife. She may have deceived him, as she did you.'

'Make no excuses for him,' said Jim Dennis. 'Wife or no wife, he must have wronged her, because he could not marry her. That is enough for me. Only let me come across him, anywhere, and at any time.'

Rodney Shaw was glad he was not that man.

Young Willie Dennis had ridden over to Cudgegong many times, and Rodney Shaw made him welcome. He seemed to like the lad, and enjoyed his prattle. He learned a good deal of the life they led at Wanabeen from him, and gathered that black Sal was indeed a mother to the lad.

In his heart, however, he wished to possess her, and wondered how best to accomplish his end. It would be difficult to attain, but he had in his life overcome many such difficulties, and his victims rued the day they met him.

Country race meetings in those days were carried on with an amount of enthusiasm the ordinary phlegmatic race-goer of to-day would fail to understand.

The whole district for miles round was roused, and there was earnest rivalry between owners of horses to win events for which only a few pounds, or a cup of small value, were given as a stake.

It was mainly through the exertions of Jim Dennis, backed by Dr Tom Sheridan, who acted as secretary, that the Swamp Creek races had become so popular and successful. Two meetings were held during the year, and five events decided on each occasion. The chief interest, however, centred in the Swamp Creek Cup, and this year it was to be of the value of two hundred pounds, and a silver cup.

Rodney Shaw had increased his popularity by giving half this stake, and it had been a comparatively easy matter for the enthusiastic Dr Tom to collect the money necessary to provide for the other event. Jim Dennis had a laudable desire to win this cup, and he had a horse he thought possessed a first-rate chance, if properly and carefully trained.

The difficulty at these meetings was to obtain a good rider, and Jim Dennis wished his son had been a year or two older, and had more experience, so that he might have the mount on Neptune, the horse he thought might win.

Neptune was by Seahorse, and his dam, La Perouse, was one of Jim's best mares. He was a grey, a beautiful colour, and uncommon in race-horses.

'There are not many good greys,' said Jim; 'but once you do get a good one that colour he is generally an out and outer.'

He thought this description applied to Neptune, whose fault was that he inherited a good deal of the temper his sire displayed on a memorable occasion at Wanabeen.

The grey stood sixteen hands high, or a shade over, and was powerfully built, and no fault could be found with his shape in any respect. He was fast as the wind, and, moreover, could stay, and was sound in wind and limb.

If carefully handled he seldom displayed much temper, but it was in him all the same, and great caution had to be exercised to keep it in check.

Neptune had taken a great fancy to Willie, and the lad could do almost anything with him.

It gladdened Jim Dennis's heart to see his boy perched on the grey's back, and he watched them with pride as Neptune went a long, striding gallop with his light burden.

'If I could only persuade myself Willie would not lose his head in the race, I would let him ride the horse, but it is too much to expect a lad of his age to keep cool in the midst of so much excitement. If I put Ben Madsley up, he's as likely as not to ruffle the horse's temper, and then farewell to all chance of winning. I have a good mind to put Willie up and risk it, although I shall be laughed at and called a fool. If he won, the laugh would be on my side, I reckon.'

It wanted a month to the day of the races, and Neptune was doing splendid work, being ridden each day by Willie Dennis.

Jim rode over to Swamp Creek to consult Dr Tom. That worthy man of many occupations was, as usual, glad to see Jim. Since the day he saved Abe Dalton from death, the leader of the gang had kept his word, and Jim Dennis and his belongings had not been molested.

Jim was surprised at this, because he knew how Dalton would feel about him in the matter of rescuing Rodney Shaw's horse from his clutches. He did not know he owed this immunity to Dr Tom, and the doctor took good care he should not learn it from him.

'Well, Jim, and what's the news? How does Neptune fare, and is Willie all right?' said Dr Tom.

'Everything is going on splendidly,' said Jim. 'The horse could not be doing better, and Willie's as fit as a fiddle. I'm in a bit of a fix, though.'

'Not short of money surely?' said Dr Tom.

'No, not that,' laughed Jim. 'There is not much chance of throwing money about freely at Wanabeen.'

'I suppose not,' replied the doctor. 'In Swamp Creek there would not appear to be much chance of spending to the casual outsider's vision, but it's wonderful how the money goes even here. I'm always hard up, and blessed if I know how it happens. What do you think Alf Sniggers asked me this morning?'

'I don't know, could not even make a guess at it,' said Jim. 'He's a funny chap is Sniggers.'

'He owes me an account, and he wanted to know if I'd take a bullock in payment. Now what the deuce is the good of a bullock to me? I couldn't sell it – everyone round here wants to sell, not to buy. There's no chance of eating it, and, being of the wrong sex, there's no milk to be got out of it, and, in fact, it would be on my hands and a perfect nuisance. I explained these little facts to Sniggers, and what do you think he said?'

'Out with it,' laughed Jim.

'The beggar said that any doctor who wouldn't swop a few dirty drugs for a real live bullock must be a fool, and he "wouldn't have nothing more to say to him." Upon my word, Jim, he went away in a high state of indignation, for all the world as though I had done him an injury.'

'Did he settle the account?' asked Jim, laughing.

'Not he. I have put it down in my third volume of bad debts,' said Dr Tom, mournfully. 'But what's your trouble? I was forgetting about that.'

'It's not exactly a trouble, it's a difficulty,' said Jim. 'I don't know who to put up on Neptune in the race. Madsley will ride for me, but he's got a queer temper, and a rider with a nasty temper and a horse with a nasty temper generally have differences. If Madsley and Neptune happened to differ in the race, or just before it, and commenced to argue the matter, there would be no cup or two hundred sovs. for me.'

Dr Tom looked thoughtful, and shook his head.

'I don't think I'd risk putting Madsley up.'

'But who the deuce am I to put up?'

'Willie. Try Willie. Give the little chap a chance. By Jove, Jim, he'll win it, I feel it right here,' and he banged his chest with his fist.

CHAPTER XII
MAINLY CONCERNING A DOG

'It's asking too much of the lad,' said Jim Dennis, in reply to the doctor's suggestion to 'Put Willie up.' 'He's only twelve, and you can't expect him to have the head of a man.'

'But that is just what he has when he is on a horse,' commented Dr Tom. 'The little chap is a splendid rider, and as cool as his dad, which is saying a lot. He'll take a pride in riding Neptune, and Ashworth himself would not frighten the little chap. No, Jim, you can take my word for it, he has an old head on his young shoulders, and if you put him up he will do both himself and the horse justice.'

The doctor's argument coincided with Jim's inclinations, and he did not require much persuading.

'Ride back with me to Wanabeen,' said Jim, 'and we'll break it gently to him. It will be great news for him. He'll not believe it at first.'

'Oh, yes, he will,' said Dr Tom. 'Not believe it! He'll be only too proud to believe it. There's only one thing I envy you of, Jim, and that is the possession of such a lad as Willie. I'm not a marrying man, but I would give a good deal to possess a little chap like him.'

'Shocking, doctor. You ought to know better. Consider your morals,' laughed Jim.

'Oh, you dry up. You know exactly what I mean. I want a companion, such as the lad is to you. I sit and talk for hours at a stretch at my medicine bottles and old Baalim down there,' and he pointed to a sleepy-looking old dog snoring in a corner, half-dingo, half-kangaroo dog, and a dash of other breeds thrown in.

'I'll find you a better dog than that,' said Jim, with a quiet smile, knowing that any reflection cast upon Baalim's character would be indignantly repudiated by his owner.

'Find me a better dog!' exclaimed Dr Tom. 'Where is there a better dog? I wouldn't part with Baalim, not for money down to the extent of volume one of my bad debts library. That dog, let me tell you, Jim Dennis, is a marvel of intelligence. He's a humorous dog. He's about the only dog I ever knew who appreciated my violin playing. I have never known him howl when I am manipulating that instrument.'

'He must be extraordinarily patient,' said Jim. 'Perhaps he has no ear for music.'

'I have no wish to quarrel with you, Jim Dennis,' said Dr Tom, with a lordly air. 'Perhaps you have not heard my latest composition,' and he went off in the direction of his violin-case.

'I am afraid I must be going,' said Jim, innocently.

Dr Tom turned round sharply and said, —

'I'm sure you will like it.'

'I'll take it for granted,' said Jim. 'Please don't rob Baalim of his legitimate amusement. If that dog can stand your violin playing, Dr Tom, I'd never part with him; no other member of the canine race would ever put up with it.'

'I have composed an "Ode to Spring,"' said Dr Tom.

'I should have thought you were owed quite enough without piling up additional debts,' said Jim.

'Seize him, Baalim,' shouted the doctor.

Baalim raised his head, yawned, licked his fore paws one by one, turned over and snarled.

'How long have you had that dog?' questioned Jim, anxious to keep the doctor away from the violin-case.

'Several years. He arrived here one morning casually, on his own account. I shall never forget the inquiring look on his face as he came up those steps. It was the sort of look which conveyed the impression that he was thinking, "I wonder what kind of boots he wears and if he kicks hard?" It was not exactly a frightened look, but the glance of a dog that had seen a good deal of the slings and arrows, I think – the arrows of outrageous fortune. He didn't ask to remain, but he demanded his breakfast in such an appealing manner that I fed him. From that day to this he has never left me. He is a faithful companion, and his breed may be defined as "various." Moreover, he is an ass of a dog, that's why I call him Baalim.'

'Has he many good qualities?' asked Jim.

'He's full of good qualities, but he's a fool to himself. Instead of seeking repose on his mat, he circulates round the Creek on knight-errant adventures. He has fought every dog in Swamp Creek singly and in batches. He not only gets himself into trouble, but he drags me into it along with him. The number of excuses I have made for that dog's behaviour would surprise you. I believe he is grateful. Baalim, are you grateful?'

The dog slowly rose from his recumbent position and waddled up to Dr Tom. He placed his big, shaggy head on the doctor's knee, and looked up into his face. If ever a dog wished to express gratitude in a canine way it was Baalim at that moment.

'What an ugly beggar he is,' said Jim; 'but he looks a real good dog.'

Baalim was ugly, and he seemed to glory in it. He was unlike all other dogs. He had a dirty, yellowish-brown coat, his hair was uneven, it seemed to stick out of him in shreds and patches. His body was long and his legs were short, stumpy, and out of proportion. His tail was useful for whipping off flies, and it resembled the thick part of a stock whip lash. His head was wolfish in shape, and when he smiled, as dogs will smile at strangers, his teeth were ominous. His eyes were the best part of him. They were expressive, and he talked to Dr Tom with them, or, to be more correct, through them, in a most interesting way.

Baalim was a shrewd dog, and he was a bit of a diplomatist. He was an adept at the art of creating quarrels and of patching them up. In his perambulations round the Creek with Dr Tom he found much to interest and amuse him.

When the doctor was attending a patient, Baalim attended to the patient's dog, and these attentions generally ended in a dispute.

He was a particular dog, and after the doctor he bestowed his affections upon Jim Dennis and Constable Doonan.

When Baalim was left in charge of Dr Tom's sanctum no man dare enter it. Any attempt to do so would have been followed by serious consequences.

'Ride back with me, and ask Baalim to attend us,' said Jim.

'He wants a run; it will do him good. Take some of the fat off him.'

'Then you'll return with me?' asked Jim.

'Yes, and take the dog with me. He'll amuse Willie for an hour or two.'

'And to pass the time he can have a battle royal with Towser in the back yard,' said Jim.

Dr Tom shouted for his boy to saddle his horse, and the black fellow soon brought it round to the front.

They were not long before starting, and in due course arrived at Wanabeen.

Willie was out somewhere, and Sal went in search of him. She was not long in finding him, and when the lad heard Dr Tom was there he was overjoyed.

The doctor was as pleased to see him as Willie was to greet him.

'There's some good news for you, Willie,' said Dr Tom.

'What is it?' asked the boy, eagerly.

'How would you like to ride in a race, a real race, not a helter-skelter race with your dad? A dozen horses or more, my lad, and the colours up, and the people shouting and cheering and yelling themselves hoarse.'

'That would be grand,' he replied; 'but it's too good to be true.'

'Not a bit of it; ask your father,' said Dr Tom.

Willie looked at Jim Dennis, and his father said, —

'How would you like to ride Neptune in the cup? Do you think you could manage him?'

The lad clapped his hands.

'Manage him!' he cried. 'Why, I can do anything with Neptune. Will you let me ride him?'

'Yes, my lad, you shall ride him, win or lose. I'll risk it, although you are only a youngster.'

Willie capered with delight and ran outside, followed by the doctor's dog.

'Come along, Baalim,' shouted Willie. 'We'll have a rare romp over this.'

Away they went towards Neptune's box, the dog scampering after him in his usual clumsy fashion.

'Bless the lad, how full of life he is!' said Dr Tom. 'I take quite a fatherly interest in him. I guess he's half mine, because I saved his life.'

'Do you think I shall ever forget it?' asked Jim.

'No, old pal, I don't think you will; but there are people who regard a doctor as a mere instrument, a thing to play upon and tune to their own fancy. If he cures, well and good, and he doesn't get any credit for it, and sometimes no pay. If he fails – well, if it hadn't been for that clumsy, blundering fool of a doctor – you know the rest, Jim.'

'You are a clever fellow, and you are wasting the best years of your life in a hole like Swamp Creek,' said Jim.

'I'm not a clever fellow. I might have been. I had every chance. I drifted, old man, just drifted. Do you know my besetting sin?'

'Didn't know you had any sins,' said Jim.

'I have, and the worst of the lot is a constant "it isn't-worth-the-bother" sort of feeling. If it had not been for that I might have got on. As a medical student I was quick at learning, too quick. Things came so easily to me that I never bothered about 'em. That's not the way to get on. It's the plodders beat all chaps like me.'

'Nonsense!' said Jim. 'You never value yourself at your true worth.'

'I believe you are right, although I'm not conceited enough to let the world think so. By gad, Jim, I'd like a chance, a big chance. Something with danger in it. Something I might risk my life in to benefit my fellow-creatures. Do you know, Jim Dennis, I'm always hovering on the verge of a grand discovery, and it never comes off. When I have it all fixed up nicely, and think this is the thing, the whole blessed fabric topples over, and I am buried in the ruins of my own fancies.'

'But you manage to scramble out of the débris,' said Jim.

'That's just it. I scramble out of the débris and commence to pick up the best part of the breakages. It's the piecing 'em together again, Jim, that troubles a fellow. They never seem to fit in, or to stick together when they are fixed up,' said Dr Tom, dreamily.

Jim Dennis knew Tom Sheridan had grit in him. He knew that no man had a braver heart or nobler courage, if put to the test, but it would be an uncommonly hard test, to bring out those qualities to their fullest extent.

A disappointed man Dr Tom Sheridan certainly was not, nor was he an unhappy man. He was too good for Swamp Creek, and yet it was good for the Creek for him to be there.

'Look at that youngster,' said Dr Tom, suddenly.