at this public arraignment. "May I ask
if you intend to continue this insulting attitude?" "If you mean, do I
expect hereafter to be a live woman and not a parasite--I do."

Mrs. Brewster-Smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering over
the ruts and holes of the path.

Genevieve looked distressed. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "I'm ashamed,
but it _had_ to come out. I--I couldn't stand it any longer. I--beg
everybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh,
dear--" she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward
Mrs. Brewster-Smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow.

"I wouldn't go after her," said E. Eliot. "Of course, you haven't had
experience. You don't know how much self-restraint you've got to build
up, but you're here now, and I'm sure Mr. Glass understands. _He's_
got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on _his_ job, too. He
won't take any stock in Mrs. Brewster-Smith's trying to tie your husband
up to these wretched conditions.

"He's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited district
attorney get into office--even if your husband doesn't yet see that
women have anything to say about it. They may heckle him in order
to force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and the
eight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt his
honesty. When he know's what's what, I guess the public can trust him to
do the right thing. Only he's got to be shown."

As she talked, giving Genevieve time to recover from her upheaval, the
three investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equally
depressing and insanitary. Silence ensued. Occasionally an expression of
commiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party.

Suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another and
another, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. Iron gates in the
surrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out,
grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. The two women and their escort
paused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity.

Around the corner, just ahead, strode a giant of a man, followed by a
red-faced, unkempt, familiar figure--the man in charge of the renting
office. The giant came forward threateningly.

"What youse doing?" he growled. He jerked his jersey, displaying a brass
badge, P. A. Guard.

"Git outer here--git," he called.

Mr. Glass stepped forward, displaying his Health Depa