CHAPTER XVIII

AN ALARMING REPORT

The excitement first came to Will Phelps when one night he was returning to his room from his dinner in the fraternity house.  The house, together with four or five other similar houses, was situated in the same street with the dormitory, but was distant a walk of seven or eight minutes, and there was usually a crowd of the college boys to be seen on the village street three times a day when they passed to or from their boarding places.

On this particular evening Will chanced to be alone, and as he went on he perceived Mott approaching.  He had had but little to say to the fellow since the escapade, and now as he recognized the sophomore his feeling of anger or disgust arose once more, and he was inclined to pass him with only a light nod of recognition.

But Mott was not to be so lightly turned aside or ignored, and as he saw Will he stopped, and his manner at once betrayed the excitement under which he was laboring.

“Have you heard the news, Phelps?” he demanded.

“I haven’t heard anything,” replied Will coldly.

“You haven’t?  Well, you ought to.  It’s all over college now.”

“What’s all over college?”

“Why, the report of the typhoid.”

“What?” demanded Will, instantly aroused.

“I mean what I say.  And there are all sorts of reports about what’s to be done.  Some say the faculty have decided to shut up shop for a few weeks, and some say they’ve sent for experts, and I don’t know what all.”

“Who are the fellows that are down with it?”

“Schenck—­”

“Peter John?” demanded Will sharply.

“Yes, and there are seven others.  He’s the only freshman; there are two sophs, two juniors, and one senior.  Wagner is the senior.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re all in the infirmary, and the whole shop has been quarantined.”

“When was it found out?”

“Only to-day, this afternoon, I think.  You see all eight have been under the weather for a while, and the doctor here thought it was first one thing that ailed them and then another.  Last night or this morning they had a consultation, and decided that every one of the eight had typhoid fever.  It’s a great go, isn’t it?”

“And you say Peter John is one?”

“Sure.”

“Is he in the infirmary?”

“Yes, every one of them is there.”

“Is he very much sick?”

“Can’t tell yet, but he’s sick enough.”

“Can anybody see him?” inquired Will thoughtfully.

“No.  There isn’t any one allowed in the building except the nurses, doctors, and the families of the fellows, that is, when they come.  I understand that word has been sent to all the families, and nurses have already been engaged, and that some of them are on the ground now.”

“It’s terrible!” said Will with a shudder.