Part 37 (1/2)
”Last year we got only the pickings,” remarked Ellis.
”Last year your owner wasn't the son of the committee's chairman.”
”By the way, Dad, I'll have to resign that secretarys.h.i.+p. Every minute of my spare time I'm going to put in around this office.”
”I guess you're right. But I'm sorry to lose you.”
”Think how much more I can do for the celebration with this paper than I could as secretary.”
”Right, again.”
”Some one at the breakfast,” observed Hal, ”mentioned the Rookeries, and Wayne shut him up. What are the Rookeries? I've been trying to remember to ask.”
The other two looked at each other with raised eyebrows. As well might one have asked, ”What is the City Hall?” in Worthington. Ellis was the one to answer.
”h.e.l.l's hole and contamination. The worst nest of tenements in the State. Two blocks of 'em, owned by our best citizens. Run by a political pull. So there's no touching 'em.”
”What's up there now; more murders?” asked the Doctor.
”Somebody'll be calling it that if it goes much further,” replied the newspaper man. ”I don't know what the official _alias_ of the trouble is. If you want details, get Wayne.”
In response to a telephone call the city editor presented his lank form and bearded face at the door of the sanctum. ”The Rookeries deaths?” he said. ”Oh, malaria--for convenience.”
”Malaria?” repeated Dr. Surtaine. ”Why, there aren't any mosquitoes in that locality now.”
”So the health officer, Dr. Merritt, says. But the certificates keep coming in. He's pretty worried. There have been over twenty cases in No.
7 and No. 9 alone. Three deaths in the last two days.”
”Is it some sort of epidemic starting?” asked Hal. ”That would be news, wouldn't it?”
At the word ”epidemic,” Dr. Surtaine had risen, and now came forward flapping his hand like a seal.
”The kind of news that never ought to get into print,” he exclaimed.
”That's the sort of thing that hurts a whole city.”
”So does an epidemic if it gets a fair start,” suggested Ellis.
”Epidemic! Epidemic!” cried the Doctor. ”Ten years ago they started a scare about smallpox in those same Rookeries. The smallpox didn't amount to shucks. But look what the sensationalism did to us. It choked off Old Home Week, and lost us hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
”I was a cub on the 'News' then,” said Wayne. ”And I remember there were a lot of deaths from chicken-pox that year. I didn't suppose people--that is, grown people--died of chicken-pox very often: not more often, say, than they die of malaria where there are no mosquitoes.”
”Suspicion is one thing. Fact is another,” said Dr. Surtaine decisively.
”Hal, I hope you aren't going to take up with this nonsense, and risk the success of the Centennial Old Home Week.”
”I can't see what good we should be doing,” said the new editor.
”It's big news, if it's true,” suggested Wayne, rather wistfully.