Part 72

“Find out who they are,” said Julia quickly. “Exactly. If you close school to-morrow and scatter the scholars far and wide in their homes, how are we going to find out this essential fact? In their own homes, with no one to watch their physical condition, they will go on developing the illness unsuspected for days, maybe, and spread it about them in the process of development. Whereas, if we keep them in school under a system of constant inspection, we shall discover these cases and surround them with safeguards. Why, if a fireman should throw dynamite into a burning house and scatter the flaming material over several blocks, he’d be locked up as insane. Yet here we propose to scatter the fire of contagion throughout the city. It’s criminal idiocy!”

“If we could only be sure of controlling it in the schools,” said Grandma Sharpless, still doubtful.

“At least we can do much toward it. As a matter of fact the best authorities are very doubtful whether diphtheria is a ‘school disease,’ anyway. There is more evidence, though not conclusive, that measles is.”

“Surely we don’t have to consider measles now, in the face of the greater danger.”

“Most emphatically we do. For one thing, it will increase the diphtheria rate. A child weakened by measles is so much the more liable to catch any other disease which may be rife. Besides, measles spreads so rapidly that it often kills a greater total than more dangerous illnesses. We must prepare for a double warfare.”

“At the Public Health League meeting,” said Mr. Clyde, “the objections to closing the schools came from those who feared that an official acknowledgment that the city had an epidemic would hurt business.”

“A viciously wrong reason for being right,” said the Health Master. “By the way, I suppose that Dr. Mullins will be Acting Health Officer, now that Merritt is unfortunately out of it. Merritt went to the hospital in collapse after the session of the Board of Education at which he appeared, to argue for keeping the schools open.”

“No,” said Clyde. “We’ve blocked Mullins off. But it’s the next step that is troubling me. What would you do, Strong, if you were in control?”

“Put a medical inspector in every school,” answered Dr. Strong instantly. “Send home every child with the snuffles or an inflamed throat. And send with him full warning and instructions to the parents. Have daily inspection and instruction of all pupils.”

“Can you make school children understand?”

“Why not? It is merely a matter of telling them repeatedly: ‘Keep your fingers and other objects away from your mouth and nose. Wash your hands frequently. Brush your teeth and rinse your mouth well. And keep your distance. Remember, that the striking distance of disease is arm’s length.’ Then I would break class every hour, throw open every window, and march the children around for five minutes. This for the sake of improved general condition. Penalize the pupils for any violation of hygienic regulations. Hygienic martial law for war-time.”

“Good!” applauded Mr. Clyde. “So much for the schools. What about the general public?”

“Educate them to the necessity of watching for danger signals; the running nose, the sore throat, the tiny pimples on the inside of the mouth or cheek which are the first sign of measles. Above all, furnish free anti-toxin. Make it free to all. This is no time to be higgling over pennies.”

“I don’t like the principle of coddling our citizens by giving to those who can afford to pay.”

“Better coddled citizens than dead children. Unless you give out free anti-toxin, physicians to families where every dollar counts will say, ‘Oh, it may not be diphtheria. We’ll wait and see, and maybe save the extra dollars.’ Diphtheria doesn’t wait. It strikes. Then there is the vitally important use of anti-toxin as a preventive. To render a whole family immune, where there is exposure from a known case of diphtheria, is expensive at the present rates, but is the most valuable expedient known. It is so much easier to prevent than to cure.”

“All right; I give in. What else?”

“Education, education, education; always education of the public, till the last flame is stamped out. Get the press, first; that is the most direct and far-reaching agency. Then organize public meetings, lectures, addresses in churches and Sunday schools, talks wherever you can get people together to listen. That is what I’d do.”

“Go ahead and do it, then.”

“Easily said,” smiled the Health Master. “Who am I, to practice what I preach?”

“Provisional Health Officer of Worthington,” came the quick answer. “I have the Mayor’s assurance that he will appoint you to-morrow if you will take the job.”

“I’ll do it,” said the Health Master, blinking a little with the suddenness of the announcement, but speaking unhesitatingly, “on two conditions: open schools and free anti-toxin.”

“I’ll get that arranged with the Mayor. Meantime, you have unlimited leave of absence as Chinese physician to the Clyde household.”

“But the Household Protective Association will have to back me,” said Dr. Strong, as the meeting broke up. “I can’t get along without you.”

Swiftly and terribly moves an epidemic, once it has gained headway. And silence and concealment had fostered this onset from the first. Despite the best efforts of the new Health Officer, within a week the streets of the city were abloom with the malign flower of the scarlet for diphtheria and the yellow for measles.

“First we must find out where we stand,” Dr. Strong told his subordinates; and, enlisting the services of the great body of physicians,—there is no other class of men so trained and inspired to altruistic public service as the medical profession,—he instituted a house-to-house search for hidden or undiscovered cases. From the best among his volunteers he chose a body of auxiliary school inspectors, one for every school, whom he held to their daily régime with military rigor.

“But my patients are dying while I am looking after a roomful of healthy children,” objected one of them.

“You can save twenty lives by early detection of the disease, in the time it takes to save one by treatment,” retorted the disciplinarian. “In war the individual must sometimes be sacrificed. And this is war.”

The one bright spot in the early days of the battle was Public School Number Three which the twins and Bettina attended. The medical inspector who had this assignment was young, intelligent, and an enthusiast. Backed by Dr. Strong, and effectively aided by the Clyde children, he enforced a system which brought prompt results. In every instance where a pupil was sent home under suspicion,—and the first day’s inspection brought to light three cases of incipient diphtheria, and fifteen which developed into measles, besides a score of suspicious symptoms,—Julia, or Robin Clyde, or one of the teachers went along to deliver printed instructions as to the defense of the household, and to explain to the family the vital necessity of heeding the regulations until such time as the physician could come and determine the nature of the ailment. Within a week, amidst growing panic and peril, Number Three was standing like an isle of safety. After that time, not a single new case of either disease developed from exposure within its limits, and in only two families represented in the school was there any spread of contagion.