“Some lectures on hygiene might not be amiss in Number Three,” said Mr. Clyde.
“That’s what medical school inspectors are for—to teach the teachers. The Board of Education should be getting it started.”
“What are you doing over there, Twinkles?” said Mr. Clyde to Bettina, who had slipped from his knee and was sliding her chubby fist along the window-pane.
The child looked around. “Thwat that fly,” she explained with perfect seriousness.
“She has heard the other children talking about the fly-leaflets that have been scattered around. Where’s the fly, Toodles?”
“Up they-arr,” replied Bettina, pointing to a far corner of the pane where a big “green-bottle” bumped its head against the glass. “Come down, buzzy fly.”
“Now, where,” cried Mrs. Clyde, in despair, “do you suppose that wretched creature came from? I’m so particular always to keep the rooms screened and darkened.”
“Please’m, it might have come from the kitchen,” suggested Katie. “There’s a plenty of ‘em there.”
“And before that it came from your next-door neighbor’s manure-heap,” added Dr. Strong. “That particular kind of fly breeds only in manure. The fact is that the fly is about the nastiest thing alive. Compared to it, a hog is a gentleman, and a vulture an epicure. It loves filth, and unhappily, it also loves clean, household foods. Therefore the path of its feet is direct between the two—from your neighbor’s stable-yard to your dinner-table.”
“Disgusting!” cried Mrs. Clyde.