“Malaria?” repeated Dr. Surtaine.  “Why, there aren’t any mosquitoes in that locality now.”

“So the health officer, Dr. Merritt, says.  But the certificates keep coming in.  He’s pretty worried.  There have been over twenty cases in No. 7 and No. 9 alone.  Three deaths in the last two days.”

“Is it some sort of epidemic starting?” asked Hal.  “That would be news, wouldn’t it?”

At the word “epidemic,” Dr. Surtaine had risen, and now came forward flapping his hand like a seal.

“The kind of news that never ought to get into print,” he exclaimed.  “That’s the sort of thing that hurts a whole city.”

“So does an epidemic if it gets a fair start,” suggested Ellis.

“Epidemic!  Epidemic!” cried the Doctor.  “Ten years ago they started a scare about smallpox in those same Rookeries.  The smallpox didn’t amount to shucks.  But look what the sensationalism did to us.  It choked off Old Home Week, and lost us hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“I was a cub on the ‘News’ then,” said Wayne.  “And I remember there were a lot of deaths from chicken-pox that year.  I didn’t suppose people—­that is, grown people—­died of chicken-pox very often:  not more often, say, than they die of malaria where there are no mosquitoes.”

“Suspicion is one thing.  Fact is another,” said Dr. Surtaine decisively.  “Hal, I hope you aren’t going to take up with this nonsense, and risk the success of the Centennial Old Home Week.”

“I can’t see what good we should be doing,” said the new editor.

“It’s big news, if it’s true,” suggested Wayne, rather wistfully.  “Suppression of a real epidemic.”

“Ghost-tales and goblin-shine,” laughed the big doctor, recovering his good humor.  “Who’s the physician down there?”

“Dr. De Vito, an Italian.  Nobody else can get into the Rookeries to see a case.  O’Farrell’s the agent, and he sees to that.”

“Tip O’Farrell, the labor politician?  I know him.  And I know De Vito well.  In fact, he does part-time work in the Certina plant.  I’ll tell you what, Hal.  I’ll just make a little expert investigation of my own down there, and report to you.”

“The ‘Clarion’s’ Special Commissioner, Dr. L. Andre Surtaine,” said Ellis sonorously.

“No publicity, boys.  This is a secret commission.  And here’s your chance right now to make the ‘Clarion’ useful to the committee, Hal, by keeping all scare-stuff out of the paper.”

“If it really does amount to anything, wouldn’t it be better,” said Hal, “to establish a quarantine and go in there and stamp the thing out?  We’ve plenty of time before Old Home Week.”

“No; no!” cried the Doctor.  “Think of the publicity that would mean.  It would be a year before the fear of it would die out.  Every other city that’s jealous of Worthington would make capital of it and thousands of people whose money we want would be scared away.”