"
The doctor looked at him hard. "I wish I had a son like you," he
remarked.
"My father is an army surgeon; he's been through the cholera scourge in
India twice. I never could have looked him in the face again if I hadn't
seen Snooks through," said Con, simply.
"Well, you can look him in the face now all right, boy!" the doctor
replied, gravely. "Say good-bye to your sick friend, for we've brought a
tent and you are to be soaked in disinfectants and put into quarantine.
No more of this pest-shack for you, my boy."
So Con went back to shake hands with "Snooks," who said very quietly: "I
can't even say 'Thank you,' as I want to; I guess the best way to thank
a pard is to live it, not speak it. I ain't said a prayer for years till
the day you came here, and I've prayed night and day, _real_ prayers,
that you wouldn't get this disease. Maybe that'll show you, pard, that
I've started to be a new man."
"Yes, that shows," answered Con confidentially, and with another
handclasp, he left for his little tent, with a great faith in his heart
that the sick man's prayers would be answered.
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