The officious quarantine guard was still walking up and down in front of the Hopkins residence. To a single inquiry, this voluble functionary volunteered the information that the baby was all right now, but the lady herself was very sick with scarlet fever. Hopkins was most crazy, no trained nurses could be had for love nor money, the doctor was coming three times a day, and did I know that Mrs. Hopkins was some kind of a foreign Dago, and the whole outfit "queer?"
Hopkins was in trouble; I pushed open the gate and started up the walk.
"Hey, young feller, where yer goin'," demanded the guard.
"Into the house, of course."
"D'ye know if you go in ye got to stay for the next two weeks?"
"Perfectly."
"Then go on, you darned fool."
And I went on.
Hopkins met me, hollow-eyed and haggard.
"Chum," said he, "you've come to prison, but I'm glad. Help is out of reach. If you can take care of Maddie, the girl will do the cooking and I will—I will do my duty."