e changed. "Here?" he said. "In this block?"

"Don't you go," she besought. "Don't you go, Mr. Hale. You'll get it."

"Where is it? Answer me at once."

"First-floor front," sobbed the girl. "Mrs. Schwarz."

"Don't wait for me," said the minister to Hal. "In fact you'd better
leave the place. Good-day."

Thus abruptly discarded from consideration, Hal turned to the fugitive.

"Is some one dead?"

"Not yet."

"Dying, then?"

"As good as. It's the Death," said the girl with a strong shudder.

"You said that before. What do you mean by the Death?"

"Don't keep me here talkin'," she shivered. "I wanta go home."

Hal walked along with her, wondering. "I wish you would tell me," he
said gently.

"All I know is, they never get well."

"What sort of sickness is it?"

"Search me." The petty slang made a grim medium for the uncertainty of
terror which it sought to express. "They've had it over in the Rookeries
since winter. There ain't no name for it. They just call it the Death."

"The Rookeries?" said Hal, caught by the word. "Where are they?"

"Don't you know the Rookeries?" The girl pointed to the long double row
of grisly wooden edifices down the street. "Them's Sadler's Shacks on
this side, and Tammany Barracks on the other. They go all the way around
the block."

"You say the sickness has been in there?"

"Yes. Now it's broken out an' we'll all get it an' die," she wailed.

A little, squat, dark man hurried past them. He nodded, but did not
pause.

"I know him," said Hal. "Who is he?"

"Doc De Vito. He tends to all the cases. But it's no good. They all
die."

"You keep your head," advised Hal. "Don't be scared. And wash your hands
and face thoroughly as soon as you get home."

"A lot o' good that'll do against the Death," she said scornfully, and
left him.

Back at the office, Hal, settling down to write his editorial, put the
matter of the Rookeries temporarily out of mind, but made a note to
question his father about it.

Milly Neal's article, touched up and amplified by Hal's pen, appeared
the following morning. The editorial was to be a follow-up in the next
day's paper. Coming down early to put the finishing touches to this, Hal
found the article torn out and pasted on a sheet of paper. Across the
top of the paper was written in pencil:

"_Clipped from the Clarion; a Deadly Parallel_."

The penciled legend ran across the sheet to include, under its caption
a second excerpt, als