Part 8 (1/2)

”You will report it to the Health Board?” asked Peter.

”When I'm up there,” said the doctor. ”Not that it will do any good. But the law requires it”

”Won't they investigate?”

”They'll investigate too much. The trouble with them is, they investigate, but don't prosecute.”

”Thank you,” said Peter. He shook hands with the parents, and went upstairs to the fourth floor. The c.r.a.pe on a door guided him to where Bridget Milligan lay. Here preparations had gone farther. Not merely were the candles burning, but four bottles, with the corks partly drawn, were on the cold cooking stove, while a wooden pail filled with beer, reposed in the embrace of a wash-tub, filled otherwise with ice. Peter asked a few questions. There was only an elder brother and sister.

Patrick worked as a porter. Ellen rolled cigars. They had a little money laid up. Enough to pay for the funeral. ”Mr. Moriarty gave us the whisky and beer at half price,” the girl explained incidentally. ”Thank you, sir. We don't need anything.” Peter rose to go. ”Bridget was often speaking of you to us. And I thank you for what you did for her.”

Peter went down, and called next door, to see Dr. Plumb's patients.

These were in a fair way for recovery.

”They didn't get any of the milk till last night,” the gray-haired, rather sad-looking doctor told him, ”and I got at them early this morning. Then I suspected the milk at once, and treated them accordingly. I've been forty years doing this sort of thing, and it's generally the milk. Dr. Sawyer, next door, is a new man, and doesn't get hold quite as quick. But he knows more of the science of the thing, and can make a good a.n.a.lysis.”

”You think they have a chance?”

”If this heat will let up a bit” said the doctor, mopping his forehead.

”It's ninety-eight in here; that's enough to kill a sound child.”

”Could they be moved?”

”To-morrow, perhaps.”

”Mrs. Dooley, could you take your children away to the country to-morrow, if I find a place for you?”

”It's very little money I have, sir.”

”It won't cost you anything. Can you leave your family?”

”There's only Moike. And he'll do very well by himself,” he was told.

”Then if the children can go, be ready at 10:15 to-morrow, and you shall all go up for a couple of weeks to my mother's in Ma.s.sachusetts. They'll have plenty of good food there,” he explained to the doctor, ”gra.s.s and flowers close to the house and woods not far away.”

”That will fix them,” said the doctor.

”About this milk. Won't the Health Board punish the sellers?” Peter asked.

”Probably not,” he was told ”It's difficult to get them to do anything, and at this season so many of them are on vacations, it is doubly hard to make them stir.”

Peter went to the nearest telegraph, and sent a dispatch to his mother.

Then he went back to his office, and sitting down, began to study his wall. But he was not thinking of a pair of slate-colored eyes. He was thinking of his first case. He had found a client.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CASE.

Peter went to work the next morning at an hour which most of us, if we are indiscreet enough to wake, prefer to use as the preface to a further two to four hours' nap. He had spent his evening in a freshening of his knowledge in certain munic.i.p.al laws, and other details which he thought he might need, and as early as five o clock he was at work in the tenement district, asking questions and taking notes. The inquiry took little skill The milk had come from the cart of a certain company, which pa.s.sed daily through the locality, not to supply orders, but to peddle milk to whoever cared to buy. Peter had the cart pointed out that morning, but, beyond making a note of the exact name of the company, he paid no attention to it. He was aiming at bigger game than a milk cart or its driver.