tory. They're payin'
grand for overtime."

Genevieve looked at the thin shoulders and narrow chest of the girl,
noted her growing pallor and wondered how long such a physique could
withstand the strain of hard work and overtime. She sighed. Something of
her thoughts must have shown in her face, for the girl reddened and
her lips tightened. Without another word she slammed the door in her
visitor's face.

Mrs. Brewster-Smith cackled thin laughter.

"That's what you get for interfering," she jeered, so angry with her
hostess for this forced inspection of her source of income that she
was ready to sacrifice the comforts of her extended visit to have the
satisfaction of airing her resentment.

"Poor soul!" said Genevieve. "Thirty a month!" Her eyes ran over the
rows of crowded shacks. "The owners must get together and do something
here," she said. "These conditions are simply vile."

"It's probably all these people are used to," Alys snapped, "And,
besides, if they went further into town it'd cost them the trolley both
ways, and all the time lost. It's the location they pay for. Mr. Alien
told me not two months ago he thought rents could be raised."

"If you all co-operate," Genevieve continued her own line of thought,
"you could at least clean the place and make it _safe_ to live in, even
if they haven't any comforts."

Her face brightened. Around the corner came the strong, solid figure of
Miss Eliot; behind her trotted a bespectacled young man who carried a
pigskin envelope under his arm and whose expression was far from happy.

"Hello!" called Miss Eliot. "So you did come. I'm glad of it. Let me
present Mr. Glass to you. The department lent him to me for the day. And
what do you think of it, now that you can see it?"

"Glad to meet you," said Genevieve, nodding to the health officer. "What
do I think of it? What does Mr. Glass think? That's more important. Oh,
let me present you--this is Mrs. Brewster-Smith."

Miss Eliot's face showed no surprise, though her eyes twinkled, but Mr.
Glass was frankly taken aback.

"Mrs. Brewster--Smith----Brewster--Smith," he stammered. "Oh--er--" he
gripped his pigskin folio as if about to search its contents to verify
the name. "The--er--the owner?" he inquired.

Alys stiffened. "My dear husband left me this property. I have never
before seen it."

"I'm very glad," beamed Mr. Glass, "to see that we shall have
your co-operation in our efforts to do something definite for