! 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 visitors.

"Who d'you want?" he said. "If it's the girl, she's gone away, and left
no address."

"I want Mrs. Hughs," said Martin.

The young man coughed. "Right-o! You'll find her; but for him, apply
Wormwood Scrubs."

"Prison! What for?"

"Stickin' her through the wrist with his bayonet;" and the young man let
a long, luxurious fume of smoke trickle through his nose.

"How horrible!" said Thyme.

Martin regarded the young man, unmoved. "That stuff' you're smoking's
rank," he said. "Have some of mine; I'll show you how to make them.
It'll save you one and three per pound of baccy, and won't rot your
lungs."

Taking out his pouch, he rolled a cigarette. The white young man bent
his dull wink on Thyme, who, wrinkling her nose, was pretending to be
far away.

Mounting the narrow stairs that smelt of walls and washing and red
herrings, Thyme spoke: "Now, you see, it wasn't so simple as you
thought. I don't want to go up; I don't want to see her. I shall wait
for you here." She took her stand in the open doorway of the little
model's empty room. Martin ascended to the second floor.

There, in the front room, Mrs. Hughs was seen standing with the baby in
her arms beside the bed. She had a frightened and uncertain air. After
examining her wrist, and pronouncing it a scratch, Martin looked long at
the baby. The little creature's toes were stiffened against its mother's
waist, its eyes c