"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.

His work was interrupted only by his taking Mrs. Dooley and the two children to the train. That done, Peter walked northwardly and westwardly, till he had nearly reached the river front. It took some little inquiry, but after a while he stumbled on a small shanty which had a sign:

NATIONAL MILK COMPANY.

OFFICE.

The place, however, was closed and no one around seemed connected with it, though a number of milk carts were standing about. Close to these was a long line of sheds, which in turn backed up against a great brewery. A couple of men lounged at the door of the sheds. Peter walked up to them, and asked if they could tell him where he could find any one connected with the milk company.

"The boss is off for lunch," said one. "I can take an order, if that's what you want."

Peter said it was not an order, and began chatting with the men. Before he had started to question them, a third man, from inside the sheds, joined the group at the door.

"That cow's dead," he remarked as he came up.

"Is it?" said the one called Bill. Both rose, and went into the shed.

Peter started to go with them.

"You can't come in," said the new-comer.

But Peter pa.s.sed in, without paying the least attention to him.

"Come back," called the man, following Peter.

Peter turned to him: "You are one of the employees of the National Milk Company?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man, "and we have orders--"

Peter usually let a little pause occur after a remark to him, but in this case he spoke before the man completed his speech. He spoke, too, with an air of decision and command that quieted the man.

"Go back to your work," he said, "and don't order me round. I know what I'm about." Then he walked after the other two men as rapidly as the dimness permitted. The employee scratched his head, and then followed.

Dim as the light was, Peter could discern that he was pa.s.sing between two rows of cows, with not more than s.p.a.ce enough for men to pa.s.s each other between the rows. It was filthy, and very warm, and there was a peculiar smell in the air which Peter did not a.s.sociate with a cow stable. It was a kind of vapor which brought some suggestion to his mind, yet one he could not identify. Presently he came upon the two men.

One had lighted a lantern and was examining a cow that lay on the ground. That it was dead was plain. But what most interested Peter, although he felt a shudder of horror at the sight, were the rotted tail and two great sores on the flank that lay uppermost.

"That's a bad-looking cow," he said.

"Ain't it?" replied the one with the lantern. "But you can't help their havin' them, if you feed them on mash."

"Hold your tongue, Bill," said the man who had followed Peter.

"Take some of your own advice," said Peter, turning quickly, and speaking in a voice that made the man step back. A terrible feeling was welling up in Peter's heart. He thought of the poor little fever-stricken children. He saw the poor fever-stricken cow. He would like to--to--.

He dropped the arm he had unconsciously raised. "Give me that lantern,"

he demanded.

The man hesitated and looked at the others.