"You are thinking of the outbreak of typhoid among the hop pickers?"
said Lady Anstruthers. "Mrs. Brent thinks it threatens to be very
serious."
"An epidemic, without a doubt," he answered. "In a wretched unsanitary
place like Dunstan village, the wretches will die like flies."
"What will be done?" inquired Betty.
He gave her one of the unpleasant personal glances and laughed
derisively.
"Done? The county authorities, who call themselves 'guardians,' will be
frightened to death and will potter about and fuss like old women, and
profess to examine and protect and lay restrictions, but everyone will
manage to keep at a discreet distance, and the thing will run riot and
do its worst. As far as one can see, there seems no reason why the whole
place should not be swept away. No doubt Mount Dunstan has wisely taken
to his heels already."
"I think that, on the contrary, there would be much doubt of that,"
Betty said. "He would stay and do what he could."
Sir Nigel shrugged his shoulders.
"Would he? I think you'll find he would not."
"Mrs. Brent tells me," Rosalie broke in somewhat hurriedly, "that the
huts for the hoppers are in the worst possible condition. They are so
dilapidated that the rain pours into them.
Pages:
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774