essed to Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace, and passed the
hundred doors of Messrs. Rose and Thorn, Martin said: "I'm going to see
what that precious amateur has done about the baby. If he hasn't moved
the girl, I expect to find things in a pretty mess."

Thyme's face changed at once.

"Just remember," she said, "that I don't want to go there. I don't see
the good, when there's such a tremendous lot waiting to be done."

"Every other case, except the one in hand!"

"It's not my case. You're so disgustingly unfair, Martin. I don't like
those people."

"Oh, you amateur!"

Thyme flushed crimson. "Look here!" she said, speaking with dignity, "I
don't care what you call me, but I won't have you call Uncle Hilary an
amateur."

"What is he, then?"

"I like him."

"That's conclusive."

"Yes, it is."

Martin did not reply, looking sideways at Thyme with his queer,
protective smile. They were passing through a street superior to Hound
Street in its pretensions to be called a slum.

"Look here!" he said suddenly; "a man like Hilary's interest in all this
sort of thing is simply sentimental. It's on his nerves. He takes
philanthropy just as he'd take sulphonal for sleeplessness."

Thyme looked shrewdly up at him.

"Well," she said, "it's just as much on your nerves. You see it from the
point of view of health; he sees it from the point of view of sentiment,
that's all."

"Oh! you think so?"

"You just treat all these people as if they were in hospital."

The young man's nostrils quivered. "Well, and how should they be
treated?"

"How would you like to be looked at as a 'case'?" muttered Thyme.

Martin moved his hand in a slow half-circle.

"These houses and these people," he said, "are in the way--in the way of
you and me, and everyone."

Thyme's eyes followed that slow, sweeping movement of her cousin's hand.
It seemed to fascinate her.

"Yes, of course; I know," she murmured. "Something must be done!"

And she reared her head up, looking from side to side, as if to show him
that she, too, could sweep away things. Very straight, and solid, fair,
and fresh, she looked just then.

Thus, in the hypnotic silence of high thoughts, the two young "Sanitists"
arrived in Hound Street.

In the doorway of No. 1 the son of the lame woman, Mrs. Budgen--the thin,
white youth as tall as Martin, but not so broad-stood, smoking a
dubious-looking cigarette. He turned his lack-lustre, jeering gaze on
the visit