Part 25 (2/2)

”h.e.l.lo!” called Miss Eliot. ”So you did come. I'm glad of it. Let me present Mr. Gla.s.s to you. The department lent him to me for the day. And what do you think of it, now that you can see it?”

”Glad to meet you,” said Genevieve, nodding to the health officer. ”What do I think of it? What does Mr. Gla.s.s think? That's more important. Oh, let me present you--this is Mrs. Brewster-Smith.”

Miss Eliot's face showed no surprise, though her eyes twinkled, but Mr.

Gla.s.s was frankly taken aback.

”Mrs. Brewster--Smith----Brewster--Smith,” he stammered. ”Oh--er--” he gripped his pigskin folio as if about to search its contents to verify the name. ”The--er--the owner?” he inquired.

Alys stiffened. ”My dear husband left me this property. I have never before seen it.”

”I'm very glad,” beamed Mr. Gla.s.s, ”to see that we shall have your co-operation in our efforts to do something definite for this section--and measures must be taken quickly. As you see, there is no sanitation, no trenching, no mosquito-extermination plant. Malaria and typhoid are prevalent; it's all very bad, very bad, indeed. And you'd hardly believe, Mrs. Brewster-Smith, what difficulties we are having with the owners as a cla.s.s. The five biggest have formed an a.s.sociation.

I suppose you've heard about it. They must have made an effort to interest you ”--he stopped short, remembering that her name appeared on the lists of the ”Protective League.”

”Really”--Alys had recovered her hauteur and the aloofness becoming the situation--”I know nothing whatever about what measures my agents have thought it advisable to take.”

Mr. Gla.s.s choked and glanced uneasily at Miss Eliot.

That lady grinned, almost the grin of a gamin. ”You needn't look at _me_, Mr. Gla.s.s. I don't represent Mrs. Brewster-Smith.”

”Oh, I know, I know,” Mr. Gla.s.s hastened to exonerate his companion.

”I believe Miss Eliot declined the honor,” Genevieve's voice was heard.

”I did,” the agent affirmed. She laughed shortly. ”Otherwise you would hardly find me here in my present capacity. One does not 'run with the hare and hunt with the hounds,' you know.”

Alys lost her temper. It seemed to her she was ruthlessly being forced to shoulder responsibilities she had been taught to s.h.i.+rk as a sacred feminine right. Therefore, feeling injured, she voiced her innocence.

”Your husband, my dear Genevieve, has been good enough to administer my little estate. Whatever he has done, or now plans to do, meets with _my_ entire approval.”

The thrust went home in more directions than one. Miss Eliot turned her frank gaze upon the speaker, while she slowly nodded her head as if studying a perfect specimen of a noxious species. Mr. Gla.s.s gasped.

There was political material in the statement. He looked anxiously at the wife of the gentleman implicated, but in her was no fear and no manner of trembling. Instead, the light of battle shone in her eyes.

”My dear Alys,” she said, ”my husband has told you that he is too busy a man to give your affairs his personal attention. He can only advise you and turn the executive side over to another. His experience does not extend to the stock market or to real estate. It is an imposition to throw your burdens upon him. If you derive benefits from owners.h.i.+p, you must educate yourself to accept your duty to society.”

”Indeed!” flared Alys, furious at this public arraignment. ”May I ask if you intend to continue this insulting att.i.tude?” ”If you mean, do I expect hereafter to be a live woman and not a parasite--I do.”

Mrs. Brewster-Smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering over the ruts and holes of the path.

Genevieve looked distressed. ”I'm sorry,” she breathed, ”I'm ashamed, but it _had_ to come out. I--I couldn't stand it any longer. I--beg everybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh, dear--” she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward Mrs. Brewster-Smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow.

”I wouldn't go after her,” said E. Eliot. ”Of course, you haven't had experience. You don't know how much self-restraint you've got to build up, but you're here now, and I'm sure Mr. Gla.s.s understands. _He's_ got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on _his_ job, too. He won't take any stock in Mrs. Brewster-Smith's trying to tie your husband up to these wretched conditions.

”He's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited district attorney get into office--even if your husband doesn't yet see that women have anything to say about it. They may heckle him in order to force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and the eight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt his honesty. When he know's what's what, I guess the public can trust him to do the right thing. Only he's got to be shown.”

As she talked, giving Genevieve time to recover from her upheaval, the three investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equally depressing and insanitary. Silence ensued. Occasionally an expression of commiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party.

Suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another and another, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. Iron gates in the surrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out, grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. The two women and their escort paused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity.

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