“Nobody has, Mr. Sayter. Mr. Toote has fever.”
“Temperature one hundred and five this morning,” said Mrs. Browne. “The third attack this year.”
“And the Archie Campbells are going home on sick leave,” added Helen. “Poor Mr. Campbell is down with abscess of the liver. There’s a great deal of sickness about.”
“Not more than usual; it’s a deadly time of year,” Mr. Sayter remarked. “You heard about Bobby Hamilton?”
“Hamilton seedy?” inquired young Browne. “I saw him riding a fine beast the day before yesterday—he looked fairly fit. Hamilton’s a very knowing chap about horses, he’s promised to look after a pony for my wife.”
“You’ll have to get somebody else, I’m afraid.”
“Hamilton’s not——”
“Yes. Went to the funeral this morning. Fine chap. Awful pity. Cholera.”
“And Mrs. Hamilton is at home!” exclaimed Helen.
“With another baby. Yes. Four now, Hamilton told me last hot weather. He’d been seedy, and I was urging him to take furlough.”