"And you?" asked the surgeon.
"For God's sake," cried Burke, his voice breaking into frenzy, "give me something to do, something to do!"
"All right, old man," answered Huntington, showing no surprise. "Throw us a rope."
Burke threw a rope. A case was tied to it and hauled on deck.
"Chlorodyne," announced the surgeon.
The rope was thrown back. A demijohn was hauled up, then another, and another.
"Carbolic," shouted Huntington. "Disinfect the boat."
"All right; good-by," said Burke.
The doctor waved his hand, and the launch churned away.
The day was heavy with heat. The wind had died, the sea was glazed, and the tin roofs of Manila glistened white. A torpor fell from the brazen heavens, and all day Burke struggled beneath it in a frenzy of toil. When he had cleaned the boat thoroughly, he arranged the little cabin into a hospital. Almost immediately it had its occupant. A boy was down. Jerry laid him on his cot, pried his teeth open with his knife, and poured some chlorodyne between them; then walked to the mainmast, and soon to the watchers on shore the leprous banner rose against the gory
