“Perhaps not,” said Mrs. Clyde. “Don’t you think, Doctor, that children are liable to catch all sorts of things in the public schools?” “Unquestionably.” “More so than in private schools, aren’t they?” “Hum! Well, yes; since they’re brought into contact with a more miscellaneous lot of comrades.” “Which is exactly why I have insisted on our sticking to the regular schools,” put in Mr. Clyde, with the air of quiet decisiveness. “I want our children to be brought up like other children!” The mother shook her head dubiously. “I wish I were sure it is the right place for them.” “You ought to be sure. I might even say—if you will forgive the implied criticism—that you ought to be surer than you are.” Alarmed at his tone, the mother leaned forward. “Is there anything the matter at Number Three?” “Several things. Nothing that you need worry about immediately, however. I’ve been talking with some of the teachers, and found out a few points. Charley’s teacher, for instance, tells me that she has a much harder time keeping the children up to their work in the winter term than at other times.” “I remember Charley’s tantrums over his arithmetic, last winter,” said Grandma Sharpless. “My head felt funny. Kinder thick,” defended Charley. “That is bad,” said Dr. Strong, “very bad. I’ve reported the teacher in that grade to Dr. Merritt, the Health Officer.” “Reported teacher?” said Charley, his eyes assuming a prominence quite startling. “What for?” “Starving her grade.” Mrs. Clyde fairly bounced in her chair. “Our children are not supposed to eat at school, Dr. Strong.” “Starving her grade,” continued the doctor, “in the most important need of the human organism, air.” “How do you reach that conclusion?” “Evidence and experience. I remember in my college days that the winter term was considered to be the most difficult in every year. The curriculum didn’t seem to show it, but every professor and every undergraduate knew it. Bad air, that’s all. The recitation rooms were kept tightly closed. The human brain can’t burn carbon and get a bright flame of intelligence without a good draft, and the breathing is the draft. Now, on the evidence of Charley’s teacher, when winter comes percentages go down, although the lessons are the same. So I asked her about the ventilation and found that she had a superstitious dread of cold.” “I remember Miss Benn’s room,” said Julia thoughtfully. “It used to get awful hot there. I never liked that grade anyway, and Bobs got such bad deportment marks.” “Both of the twins had colds all the winter they were in that room,” contributed Grandma Sharpless. Up went Dr. Strong’s hands, the long fingers doubled in, in a curious gesture which only stress of feeling ever drove him to use.