Amid the confusion, irregular trodden paths led, short-cutting, toward the clattering, grinding munition plants. For a space of at least half an acre around the huge iron buildings the ground, with sinister import, was kept clear of dwellings, but in all directions outside of the inclosure thousands of new yellow-pine shacks testified to the sudden demand for labor. A large weather-beaten signboard at a wired cross-road bore the name of "Kentwood," plus the advice that the office was adjacent for the purchase or lease of the highly desirable villa sites.
The motor drew up and Genevieve alighted. For the first time since their course had been turned toward the unlovely but productive outskirts, Geneviève faced her passengers. Alys' face was pale. Emelene's expression was puzzled and worried, as a child's is worried when the child is suddenly confronted by strange and gloomy surroundings.
"There is some one in the renting office," said Geneviève with quiet determination. "I'll find out. We shall need a guide to go around with us. Emelene, you needn't get out unless you wish to."
Emelene shuffled uneasily, half rose, and collapsed helplessly back on the cushions, like a baby who has encountered the resistance of his buggy strap.
"I—if you'll excuse me, Geneviève, dear, I won't get out. I've only got on my thin kid slippers. I didn't expect to put foot on the pavement this morning, you know."
"Very well, then, Alys!" Genevieve's voice assumed a note of command her mild accents had never before known.
Alys' brilliant eyes snapped. "I have no desire," she said firmly, with all the dignity of an affronted lady, "to go into this matter." "I know you haven't. But I'm going to walk through. I am making a report for the Woman's Forum."
Alys' face crimsoned with anger.
"You have no right to do such a thing," she exclaimed. "I shall refuse you permission. You will have to obtain a permit."
"I have one," Geneviève retorted, "from the Health Department. And—I am to meet one of the officers here."