“Why, this Consolidated Company is owned by Colonel Dodd and his politicians—­and they own all the city and town water systems in this state,” said the doctor, no longer interested in his patient—­exploding with the violence of imprudent youth.  “They boss mayors, the aldermen, the politicians—­boss the governor himself.  That’s because they’ve got the machine and the money.  They’ve got a lot of money, because they won’t wake up and spend it to lay lines far enough to tap the lakes in the hills.  They tap these rotten rivers at our back doors, pump poison through the mains, sell it at prices that yield them twenty percent dividends.  They say the water is all right—­and back it up with analyses.  I say it’s all wrong.”

“And you damnation doctors are letting this go on—­letting folks drink poison—­telling us when it’s too late!” shouted Farr, purple replacing the white in his face.

“Well, the folks up-town who have got wisdom and the money buy spring-water and mineral water.  All the doctors don’t agree that the river is responsible for the typhoid.  With the governor and the legislature bossed by Dodd and his associates, and the city governments tied up by them, and the banks taking orders from the syndicate in case any town or an independent company tries to borrow money and install a water system, and the mill corporations and the tenement-block owners all in cahoots, a crusader who expected to get anywhere in politics or make money out of his business would stand a fine and dandy show, now wouldn’t he?  And the most of us in this world are trying to get ahead either in business or in politics.”  He snapped the catch of his little black case.  “Forget what I have said, you two.  I hold my job through politics.  I’m apt to talk too much when I get started.  But don’t drink city water, no matter if Colonel Dodd’s analyses do give it a clean bill.”

Farr caught him at the door, restraining him with a heavy hand.

“You stay here, don’t you let that baby die.  By the gods, she sha’n’t die!”

“My staying will do no good, my friend.  The little girl is death-struck already.  It’s quick work with the children.  Sometimes we can bring the grown folks through.  Get another doctor, if you feel like it, but I’ve got to keep moving—­there are lots of folks waiting for me in these tenements.”

He shook off Farr’s hand and hurried away.

Old Etienne stood by the bedside, gazing down on the little sufferer, closing and unclosing his shriveled hands as if he were grasping at straws of hope, dragging the depths of his soul for reassurance even as he dragged his rake in the black waters of the canal.

“The whippersnapper lied about her.  Because she’s a baby he won’t bother,” stormed Farr.  “I’ll ransack this town for doctors—­I’ll find one who knows his business.”  He tiptoed to the bed and laid tender palm against the child’s cheek.  “I say her face isn’t as hot as it was,” he persisted.  “Where can I find a doctor with gray whiskers, Etienne?  That young fool doesn’t know.”