The Health bulletin [serial] - University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

THE HEALTH BULLETIN. 275dike. He must go, of course, if thedoctor said, for the doctor knew. Peoplegot well there, and he must getwell. The fight was hard enough whena man was strong. How did one get toArizona? HowHe ran across Casey here. Casey belongedto the bunch that met sometimesfor a glass and a smoke and asocial game together at "Mike's"—onlyonce in a while, though. Casey wasfat and red of face and had allthe insolenceof health."Hard luck, old man!" His heartyslap upon the thin shoulders made hiscompanion wince, but Casey did notsee that. "Got to go, have you? We'llsee if the bunch can help a little. Don'tget fussy." And terrified at the sightof any sort of human emotion, andeven more embarrassed at a display ofhuman gratitude, Casey was off.The "bunch" had helped; the bossand the boys at the shop had helped.They had been glad to give but theyhad not much to spare; and it was nosmall source of pride to them whenthey had collected just exactly seventyfivedollars.Mary could sew enough afterwards,she said; he was not to worry.And now he was in the day coachfor his four day trip, his lunch in a bigbasket beside him. One could not afforda sleeper when tickets cost somuch.Who would believe that it would costso much! He had not known beforehow desperately weary he was. It washard to breathe with the motion of thetrain which shook the piteously thinshoulders. The coal dust made onecough more raspingly. too. To eat wasan effort—why eat, when a man v/as sotired?Hunched into a corner of the seat hesat, a pitiful, broken-chested, shiveringcreature, hot fever touching his cheekswith livid color. He had tried to eatone of the sausage sandwiches whichMary had so carefully packed in withthe cheese and doughnuts. A fewsoiled handkerchiefs and cloths layabout the floor and in the rough plushseat, laden with death-dealing mucusfor the next occupant. John Jones wasnot an uncleanly man. But when onecoughed so hard and so long, it wasnot always easy to be careful. Theporter would not bother. John learnedthat when he called to him one morning,dizzy with that dreadful nauseafrom the car motion. "The companydidn't have anything to do with 'lungers,'there ought to be a law to preventtheir riding at all."If only he dared ask for a drinknow. But perhaps he could reach thecup himself there under the watercooler. It M^as hard to move, harderstill to stagger up the lurching aisle.But the water which he drank in gulpsof thirsty gratitude from the commoncup was most refreshing. Of germs hehad not heard. Of infection he did notdream. The doctor had not said.He pulled himself back to the seatand settled down again into his corner,shaking and spent with the effort.It was there that I found him as Iwas passing through from the Pullman.There was little to do, but he seemedgrateful that anyone should have theinclination to chat with him. It waslonesome, he said, and he was tired.He talked of Mary and the kiddie andof some of the things he hoped to dofor them when he was well—in Arizona,he would get some light jobright away, then Mary need not workso hard. He would be rested after hegot off the train. People always gotwell there.His hungry look as we passed thedepot lunch house at a little way stationsent me out to get a cup of coffeefor him. I came back to find a hushedcompartment, a Negro porter graywith superstitious terror plucking ata shriveled inert heap where JohnJones had lately sat.