Part 15

“Nevertheless, visitors pass daily between your house and Saddler’s Shacks. One of the young men from there delivers bread, often with his bare and probably filthy hands. Two of the women peddle fruit about the neighborhood. What Saddler’s Shacks get in the way of disease, you may easily get by transmission from them. Further, the sanitary arrangements of the shacks are primitive, not to say prehistoric, and, incidentally, illegal. They are within the area of fly-travel from here, so both the human and the winged disease-bearers have the best possible opportunity to pick up infection in its worst form.”

“Ugh!” said Mrs. Sharpless. “I’ll never eat with a fly again as long as I live!”

“Wouldn’t it be a simple matter to have the Bureau of Health condemn the property?” asked Mr. Clyde.

“It would not.” Dr. Strong spoke with curt emphasis.

“Certain features, you said, are illegal.”

“But pull is still stronger than law in this city.”

“Who owns Saddler’s Shacks?” asked Grandma Sharpless, going with characteristic directness to the point.

“Mrs. Carson Searle.”

“Why, then, it’s all right,” asserted Mrs. Clyde. “I know Mrs. Searle very well. She’s a leader in church and charitable work. Of course, she doesn’t know about the condition of the property.”

“She knows enough about it,” retorted Dr. Strong grimly, “to go to the Mayor over the Health Officer’s head, and put a stop to Dr. Merritt’s order for the premises to be cleaned up at the owner’s expense. She wants her profits undisturbed. And now, before the conference breaks up, I propose that we organize the Household Protective Association.”

“Oh, can we children belong?” cried Julia.

“Of course. There are offices and honors enough for all. Mr. Clyde shall be president; Mrs. Sharpless, vice-president and secretary; Mrs. Clyde, treasurer, and each one of the rest of you shall have a committee. Katie, I appoint you chairman of the Committee on Food, and if any more flies get into your kitchen, you can report ‘em to the Committee on Flies, Miss Bettina Clyde, chairman; motto, ‘Thwat that fly!’ Manny, you like to go to the farm; you get the Committee on Milk Supply. Junkum, your committee shall be that of school conditions. Bobs, water is your element. As Water Commissioner you must keep watch on the city reports. I’ll see that they are sent you regularly; and the typhoid records.”

“You haven’t left anything for me,” protested Charley.

“Haven’t I! You’ve got one of the biggest of all jobs, air. If the windows aren’t properly wide when the house is asleep, I want to know it from you, and you’ll have to get up early to find out. If the Street Cleaning Department sweeps the air full of dust because it’s too lazy to wash down the roadway first, we’ll make a committee report to the Mayor.”

Bettina, alias Toots, alias Twinkles, alias the Cherub, trotted over and laid two plump hands on the doctor’s knee.

“Ain’t you goin’ to be anyfing in the play?” she asked.

“I?” said Dr. Strong. “Of course, Toots. Every real association has to have officers and membership, you know. I’m the Member.”

III. REPAIRING BETTINA

“Medicine would be the ideal profession if it did not involve giving pain,” said Dr. Strong, setting a paper-weight upon some school reports which had just come in.

“You’ve been here three months and you haven’t hurt any one yet,” said Mr. Clyde easily.

“No. I’ve been cautious, and perhaps a little cowardly. My place as Chinese doctor has been such a sinecure that I’ve let things go. Moreover, I’ve wanted to gain Mrs. Clyde’s confidence as much as possible, before coming to the point.”

The expression of Mr. Clyde’s keen, good-humored face altered and focused sharply. He scrutinized the doctor in silence. “Well, let’s have it,” he said at length. “Is it my wife?”

“No. It’s Bettina.”

The father winced. “That baby!” he said. “Serious?”

“On the contrary, quite simple. If it is handled wisely. But it means—pain. Not a great deal; but still, pain.”

“An operation?”

Dr. Strong nodded. “Merely a minor one. I’ve sounded Mrs. Clyde, without her knowing it, and she will oppose it. Mrs. Sharpless, too, I fear. You know how women dread suffering for the children they love.”

Again Mr. Clyde winced. “It’s—it’s necessary, of course,” he said.