“Hold your tongue, Bill,” said the man who had followed Peter.
“Take some of your own advice,” said Peter, turning quickly, and speaking in a voice that made the man step back. A terrible feeling was welling up in Peter’s heart. He thought of the poor little fever-stricken children. He saw the poor fever-stricken cow. He would like to—to—.
He dropped the arm he had unconsciously raised. “Give me that lantern,” he demanded.
The man hesitated and looked at the others.
“Give me that lantern,” said Peter, speaking low, but his voice ringing very clear.
The lantern was passed to him, and taking it, he walked along the line of cows. He saw several with sores more or less developed. One or two he saw in the advanced stages of the disease, where the tail had begun to rot away. The other men followed him on his tour of inspection, and whispered together nervously. It did not take Peter long to examine all he wanted to see. Handing back the lantern at the door, he said: “Give me your names.”
The men looked nonplussed, and shifted their weights uneasily from leg to leg.
“You,” said Peter, looking at the man who had interfered with him.
“Wot do yer want with it?” he was asked.
“That’s my business. What’s your name?”