"The doctor's right, of course," he answered. "I wish my wife weren't
coming back."
"Dey are a remember," ventured Wutzler, timidly. "A warnung."
The others, as though it had been a point of custom, ignored him. All
stared down, musing, at the vacant stones.
"Then the concert's off to-morrow night," mocked Heywood, with an
unpleasant laugh.
"On the contrary." Gilly caught him up, prompt and decided. "We shall
need all possible amusements; also to meet and plan our campaign.
Meantime,--what do you say, Doctor?--chloride of lime in pots?"
"That, evidently," smiled the handsome man. "Yes, and charcoal burnt in
braziers, perhaps, as Pere Fenouil advises. Fumigate."--Satirical and
debonair, he shrugged his shoulders.--"What use, among these thousands
of yellow pigs?"
"I wish she weren't coming," repeated Gilly.
Rudolph, left outside this conference, could bear the uncertainty no
longer.
"I am a new arrival," he confided to his young host. "I do not
understand. What is it?"
"The plague, old chap," replied Heywood, curtly. "These playful little
animals get first notice. You're not the only arrival to-night.
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