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 passed 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 passing between two rows of cows, with not more than space enough for men to pass each other between the rows.  It was filthy, and very warm, and there was a peculiar smell in the air which Peter did not associate 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.