The Last Adam (23 page)

He looked directly at Bates, who was sitting forward in his chair, the light fairly on his pale face, his lips busy with his shaggy moustache ends. "I will, George." He swallowed, and meekly taking the opening, said, "I suppose you mean then—well, that is, I suppose that that's what Geraldine's got?"

"Well, I'm afraid so. I didn't tell you this afternoon because I wanted to get it settled here before it was being passed all around town. Sorry if it's a shock; but you know the way Emma gabs, I guess."

Isaac Quimby, halted for a moment, said now: "Look here, George, you take a pretty high hand, it appears to me. I'm not agreeing to any of that needle stuff. Especially I'm not when you can't show me yet any proof that this is more than some idea you and Verney cooked up. Said yourself you wouldn't know until —"

"Ah, don't be a drivelling idiot; or if you are, try not to show it!" Robert Newell's loud and cruel voice leaped negligently at him. "You vote no; and I vote yes, so we can go home now and let Walter do what he's told. This doesn't seem to concern Truro much, so I haven't any more to say." He stood up.

"Maybe you haven't," rasped out Quimby, infuriated, "but let me tell you the township of New Winton may have something to say when you try to start up your whorehouse next summer. Maybe you'll have something to say to the State police. You better start getting it ready —"

"Listen, Grandpa, don't make me mad. Why, you superannuated little runt, I might forget you had a foot in the grave and knock your face in. You'd better go home to bed."

"That's a fine idea," agreed Clarence. "The rest of us can settle the details —"

"Now let's all calm down," Matthew Herring said. "I have a few questions I'd like you to answer, Doctor, before anyone goes home. Am I right in believing that there must be a source of infection for an outbreak of this sort?"

"You are."

"Has that been located?"

"Yes, by process of deduction. Samples of the water are over at Torrington for bacteriological examination. The typhoid bacillus doesn't live long in ordinary water, but there are more robust organisms which indicate pollution satisfactorily. I imagine they'll find some. If they don't, we'll have to look for something else; but nothing else seems indicated. That reminds me that when Isaac began his objections, I wanted to add that it would be just as well not to drink the water without boiling it. We'll see that people are warned about that."

"I see. Yes, that would seem wise. You inspect the reservoir pretty regularly, don't you, Doctor?"

"Why, yes. I keep an eye on it."

"In spite of that, then, the water has been contaminated in some way?"

"In my opinion."

"I see. This must have been a recent thing, then?"

"Well, it's hard to say. There have been plenty of cases in which the organisms have remained alive all winter, frozen in ice. You can't tell."

"I see. By the way, when did you last make an inspection?"

"Why, I really couldn't say, Herring. Not for some time. There isn't much to inspect. It's well fenced and posted. That's about the most you can do. The Water Board has to look out for the mains and valves. If Eric Cadbury sees anything, I go up and look it over. Nobody's around there. No reason to —"

"Yet somebody must have been. Am I correct?"

"Well, if that's your way of saying that dung from a person harbouring the typhoid bacillus has got into the water, you are."

"How about the construction camp? That's in that general direction, isn't it?"

"It's quite a way back. I don't think it could have any connection, as far as the camp itself is concerned. Some of the men might go wandering around."

"Well, come on, come on," said Robert Newell. "Grandpa and I want to get home."

"One more question, Doctor. Did you ever inspect the camp? I mean, are you in a position to say definitely that there could be no connection?"

"You heard me say it, Herring."

"You haven't answered my question, Doctor."

"H'm," grunted Clarence, "aren't you supposed, as Board of Health, to sort of check up on that, George?"

"I don't know that I am. They got out last Friday. The property belongs to Henry Harris, and I'll go up some time and see that he has it cleaned up, if it needs it. We generally give them a little time. As a matter of fact, I guess you're Tree Warden, Newell. Seems to me it might come under the head of fire prevention—I mean, getting the buildings out of there."

"Well, I don't see it that way, Doc."

"Then, in fact," said Matthew Herring, studying the Coliseum, "you never did at any time inspect the camp or its sanitary arrangements, Doctor?"

"That's right, I never did."

"Suppose, then, we inspect it to-morrow?"

"Who is we?"

"You and I. Walter if he cares to come. Perhaps Eric Cadbury, on behalf of the Water Board."

"I won't have any time to-morrow."

"Perhaps Walter and I could look at it. Or would you rather have somebody from the State Health Department?"

"But, Matthew," Walter Bates said, "why couldn't we wait until Doc Bull could go?"

"Yes. Why the pressing hurry, Herring?"

"I've got this to say —" Quimby had got to his feet.

"It appears to me that there may be some responsibility here. Wouldn't be surprised if Herring were trying to get at that. You were in hurry enough yourself, Doc, about all this injection business. I'm not going to sit around here to-night, but maybe we'd better find out just why, if it's true, Doc Bull didn't bother to do any of these things."

"You're kind of out of temper, Isaac," suggested Clarence. "I don't think Matthew meant any such thing. Nobody but yourself seems to suit you to-night —"

Matthew Herring looked back from the Coliseum. His drawn, sober face was still composed, and he spoke evenly, without emphasis. "I'm afraid that that's what I did mean. Some of you don't seem to have grasped the situation. I think Doctor Bull will agree that typhoid fever in epidemic proportions is a disaster of the first magnitude. He won't question my right to want a complete explanation. If there is any blame to be assigned, we must assign it. Public health may need more attention than we have been giving it."

"Than you have been giving it is right!" George Bull said. "You don't give it any. When something like this happens, you go yowling for help, and who's to blame? Herring, you're at liberty to investigate what you please, when you want to. All we need from you is your signature on the authorizations for expenses. I hope you won't impede matters any more than you can help."

Doctor Verney said: "Back again, Mary." He put his hat, and driving gloves tossed into it, on the table. "Let me take your coat, sir. Mrs. Banning is in her sitting-room, if you'll go right up —" He slipped out of the heavy black fur-lined coat, and she took it. "Oh— this is Miss Valentine, Mary. She's going to be the night nurse —"

"Yes, Doctor Verney. How do you do, ma'am."

"I'll want to give you and Ethel the first injections before I go. We must be as careful as we can. You don't object to taking it, do you?"

"No, indeed, sir. We'll be ready whenever you want."

"Good. We'll go up, Miss Valentine. Mary, will you ask Larry to get Miss Valentine's luggage out of the rumble seat —"

Mr. Banning was standing by the fire in the sitting-room upstairs, and Mrs. Banning arose. "Mrs. Banning, this is Miss Valentine. And Mr. Banning —"

Mrs. Banning said: "I'm afraid you've had a terrible trip, Miss Valentine. Of course you've had supper?"

"Yes, Mrs. Banning. Doctor Verney took care of me."

"Perhaps some coffee after that cold drive. Let me;

have some sent up —"

"You're very kind. If it's no trouble. But—"

"Of course it's no trouble." She lifted the round ear-piece from the hook beside the small enamelled telephone box: "Mary—oh, Ethel. May we have some coffee, please." She hung up the earpiece, turning back. "I've put Miss Stanley in Guy's room—Doctor Verney, how are you going to get on without her? I feel so guilty about letting you leave her here—but I thought I'd put Miss Valentine in the west room; it would be fairly quiet and there won't be sun in the morning. I'll show you now. Larry will have your things there. Miss Stanley's with Virginia. I think that cot has been set up—"

"It has, my dear," said Mr. Banning. "You sit down, I'll show Miss Valentine her room —"

She remained standing, though, turning again to Doctor Verney, and he said: "Mrs. Banning, I don't want you to worry. The reason that I want Miss Stanley to be here, and that I was anxious to get Miss Valentine, is simply that it's mainly a nursing problem, and they're both extremely intelligent. The point is to keep the patient as comfortable as possible and to see that complications don't get a chance to start —"

The phrasing, he felt, was excusable; but what he meant was, to see that complications, when they started, would not be overlooked or misinterpreted.

Mrs. Banning's expression changed, in a kind of disciplined -obedience as she forced her anxiety to yield a little ("Everything is being done —"); but her eyes remained on him, half-pleading for a more absolute and, of course, impossible reassurance. She stood with her remarkable, unconscious light erectness—you could guess the years of chiding and reproof, when a child, when a girl at school—
Don't slouch; a young woman's posture is the real test of her appearance; Lucile, hold your head up!
Finally it succeeded. At forty, it was part of her; even her disquiet had a reserved, inbred politeness. Her distress of mind expressed itself in hardly perceptible small nervous tremors. A great anguish of anxiety broke her speech into short, distracted sentences, but each one finished and precise. In a sense, pride had her on the accustomed rack. Habit, so patiently formed, gave her no choice but steeling herself against any giving-way which might be necessary or even permissible for others. As she accepted without question the privileges, she accepted, too, the exact obligations of being born a New Haven Brooks. Vulgar reliefs were closed to her. Without perfect success, but with all her heart, she held to a tradition, not in the easy right of an established aristocracy, but, if possible, prouder for being less public—the deliberate ascetic superiority of the dying Puritan strains. Make the wilful body do right! Make the doubtful heart fear nothing!

Doctor Verney said: "Typhoid fever, properly cared for, is very rarely a grave matter, Mrs. Banning."

Mr. Banning, leaving Miss Valentine, had gone downstairs; for her luggage hadn't yet appeared. Coming from the room shown her, Miss Valentine was walking up the hall when she saw the door at the far end open and a white uniform step out. "Why, Peg!" Miss Stanley said, "you certainly got here!"

"Three-twenty train from town, by the skin of my teeth. Doctor Verney drove me up from Sansbury."

"Don't touch me, darling. I'm all germy. How are you?"

"Fine. I've got loads to tell you about everyone." She lowered her voice. "Laura, what a lovely house!"

"They're awfully nice people. You'll like it."

"How's the patient?"

"Pretty sick, poor kid. She's got a hundred and four right this minute. You'll have baths all night, I expect. I just finished one. My dear, she's so thin you could weep. Ask the doctor to come in when he can, will you?"

Mr. Banning was coming upstairs now. He had one of Miss Valentine's suit-cases in either hand. "There you are," he said. "Larry seems to be laid up. Everything considered, I think we'd better have him looked at."

2

Into the sunless north light of the Principals office Saturday morning broke the dim scurry of running feet On the worn hard earth of the playground as some game went by the windows. Shouts preceded, squeals and protests followed, the occasional muffled thud of a kicked football.

"All right, Ingraham," Doctor Bull called. "Let's have another batch. Might tell the rest they'll feel better if they don't go running around before they come in." He arranged a score of sealed glass ampules on the table, glanced at Miss Kiernan, who was doubtfully moistening a cotton swab with iodine. "How're you coming, Verney?" —. —.

From the next room, Doctor Verney answered; "All right, Doctor. I think we'll have plenty. I just dropped out one child. She's running quite a temperature —"

Beyond the other door a fresh line of children forming, in hushed, half-apprehensive silence, stretched a little way down the hall; all their left arms bare; their faces indecisive—afraid that it was going to hurt; intimidated by the formidable figure of Doctor Bull at the table. By way of relief, someone pushed someone else, produced an exaggerated protest, a few nervous giggles.

"You stop that, Marty!" Miss Kiernan said. "This isn't any time to rough-house. John, is. everyone here?"

"Except Pete Vogel. He's sick, Miss Kiernan."

"Where's Bess Parry?"

"Oh! Well, I saw her."

"I know," someone volunteered. "Her father came for her. Said he ain't going to let Doc Bull do anything to her. He went to see Mr. Getchell."

"Quiet! Now, the Doctor's ready for you and I want you to come in one at a time. I'll put this on your arm. You'll go to Doctor Bull and get your injection, and out by the other door to Miss Coulthard, who will —"

"I won't let anybody stick me. No, sir! I-—"

"Marty Fell! A big boy like you afraid of a little pin-prick! Why, even little Jane isn't afraid. Are you, Jane?"

"No, Miss Kiernan. I'm not a bit afraid."

"Teacher's pet!" called someone. . "All right, Albert. I heard you. We'll see about that later."

From the door of the assembly room at the centre of the hall, voices sounded. "—and what's more, I'm going to see he don't. You mistook me, Mr. Getchell. I ain't got nothing against this inoculation stuff.
Needn't think I'm a fool —"

Mr. Getchell came in sight, his neat dark clothes and carefully cut upright, greying hair giving an immediate amazing contrast by Joel Parry shuffling beside him. Joel had on a round wool hat of the sort which could be pulled down in severe weather to cover the ears and neck, leaving an oval opening for the face. From under the old mackintosh, dull and stiff with dirt, came the loose, soiled blue legs of a suit of overalls, tucked and buckled into short, heavy rubber goloshes. One hand clutched the arm of his tow-headed, now tearful, daughter Bess; the other rose in incomplete gestures towards Mr. Getchell. "Doc Bull took care of my boy, Joel," he said. "I'll see he don't lay a finger on Bess. This Doctor Verney, now, can do it, if he wants."