Part 24 (2/2)

Alys' face crimsoned with anger.

”You have no right to do such a thing,” she exclaimed. ”I shall refuse you permission. You will have to obtain a permit.”

”I have one,” Genevieve retorted, ”from the Health Department. And--I am to meet one of the officers here.”

Mrs. Brewster-Smith's descent from the tonneau was more rapid than graceful.

”What are you trying to do?” she demanded. ”Genevieve, I don't understand you.”

”Don't you?”

The diffident girl had suddenly a.s.sumed the incisive strength of observant womanhood.

”I think you _do_. I am going to show you your own responsibilities, if that's a possible thing. I'm not going to let you throw them on George because he's a man and your kin; and I shan't let him throw them on an irresponsible agent because he has neither the time nor the inclination to do justice to himself, to you, nor to these people to whom he is responsible.”

She waved a hand down the muddy, jumbled street.

The advent of an automobile had had its effect. Eager faces appeared at windows and doors. Children frankly curious and as frankly neglected climbed over each other, hanging on the ragged fences. Two mongrel dogs strained at their chains, yelping furiously. Genevieve crossed to the little square building bearing a gilt ”office” sign. There was no response to her imperative knock, but a middle-aged man appeared on the porch of the adjoining shack and observed her curiously.

”Wanta rent?” he called jeeringly.

”Are you in charge here?” Genevieve inquired.

”Sorter,” he temporized. ”Watcha want?”

”I want some one who knows something about it to go around Kentwood with us.”

”What for?” he snarled. ”I got my orders.”

”From whom?” countered Genevieve.

”None of your business, as I can see.” He eyed her narrowly. ”But my orders is to keep every one nosin' around here without no good raison _out_ of the place--and I don't think _you're_ here to rent, nor your friend, neither. Besides, there ain't nothin' to rent.”

Mrs. Brewster-Smith colored. The insult to her owners.h.i.+p of the premises stung her to resentment.

”My good man,” she said sharply. ”I happen to be the proprietor of North Kent wood.”

”Then you'd better beat it.” The guardian grinned. ”There's a dame been here with one of them fellers from the town office.”

”Where are they now?” questioned Genevieve sharply.

”Went up factory way. But if you _ain't_ one of them lady nosies, you'd better beat it, I tell you.”

Genevieve looked up the street. ”Very well, we'll walk on up. This is North Kentwood, isn't it?”

”Ain't much choice,” he shrugged, ”but it is. You can smell it a mile.

Say, you lady owner there”--he laughed at his own astuteness in not being taken in--”you know the monikers, don't you? South Kentwood, 'Stinktown'; North Kentwood, 'Swilltown'?” He grinned, pulled at his hip pocket and, extracting a flat gla.s.s flask, took a prolonged swig and replaced the bottle with a leer.

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