Joe Curtis was so tumultuously happy for the rest of that afternoon that it was necessary for Miss Knight to reprove him on no less than three occasions.
Virginia called again upon Mr. Wilkins after leaving the hospital. Her business with the lawyer was speedily dispatched, and upon her departure for home, Hezekiah presented himself before Obadiah for conference.
The manufacturer glanced at his counsel and indicated a seat. “I was on the point of sending for you,” he told Hezekiah, and in a characteristic way went right to the matter upon his mind. “The river water is bothering somebody again. They have started that old row about the chemicals and dyes in the waste from the dye-house at the mill poisoning the water. The State Board of Health is trying to tell me that it makes the water unfit for consumption in the towns below and is responsible for certain forms of sickness which have appeared.”
“That’s bad.” Hezekiah looked at the ceiling.
“What’s bad?” demanded Obadiah with asperity.
“The sickness,” the lawyer explained thoughtfully.
“Oh, I thought you meant the waste from the dye-house,” snarled Obadiah.
“Well, isn’t that bad, too? I certainly am glad that South Ridgefield doesn’t take the water for its supply below your mill. I shouldn’t care to drink it, would you?” Hezekiah could be frank.
“What I want to drink is not the question,” snapped Obadiah, raising his voice a tone. The attitude of his attorney had aroused his displeasure.
“No,” Hezekiah went on, “it’s what you can make the other fellow drink which interests you.”