“Why not? You’ll encounter there a few wild fanatics. I’ll trust your hard common sense to guard you against their proselytizing. You’ll also meet a much larger number of sweet, gentle, and cheerful people, with a sweet, helpful, and cheerful philosophy of life. That’ll help to cure you.” “And what will they cure me of, since you say I have no disease?” “They’ll cure you of turning your mouth down at the corners instead of up.” At this, the mouth referred to did, indeed, turn up at the corners, but in no very pleasant wise. “You think they’ll amuse me?” she inquired contemptuously. “Oh, as for amusement, I’ve arranged for that. You’re bored. Very well, I expected it. It’s a symptom, and a good one, in its place. I’ll get you a job.” “Indeed! And if I don’t want a job?” “No matter what you want. You need it.” “Settlement work, I suppose.” “Nothing so mild. Garbage inspection.” “What!” Louise Ennis closed her eyes in expectation of a qualm of disgust. The qualm didn’t materialize. “What’s the matter with me?” she asked in naïve and suppressed chagrin. “I ought to feel—well, nauseated.” “Nonsense! Your nerves and stomach have found their poise. That’s all.” “But what do I know about garbage?” “You know it when you see it, don’t you? Now, listen. There has been a strike of the city teamsters. Dr. Merritt, the Health Officer, wants volunteers to inspect the city and report on where conditions are bad from day to day. You’ve got intelligence. You can outwalk nine men out of ten. And you can be of real service to the city. Besides, it’s doctor’s orders.” The story of Louise Ennis’s part in the great garbage strike, and of her subsequent door-to-door canvass of housing conditions, has no place in this account. After the start, Dr. Strong saw little of her; but he heard much from Mrs. Clyde, who continued her frequent visits to the Ennis household; not so much, as she frankly admitted, for the purpose of furnishing bulletins to Dr. Strong, as because of her own growing interest in and affection for the girl. And, as time went on, Strong noticed that, on the occasions when he chanced to meet his patient on the street, she was usually accompanied by one or another of the presentable young men of the community, a fact which the physician observed with professional approval rather than personal gratification. “It isn’t her health alone,” said Mrs. Clyde, when they were discussing her, one warm day in the ensuing summer. “These six months seem to have made a new person of her. Trust the children to find out character. Bettykins wants to spend half her time with Cousin Lou.” “You’ve surely worked a transformation, Strong,” said Clyde. “But, of course, the raw material was there. You couldn’t do much for the average homely woman.” “The average woman isn’t homely,” said Mrs. Clyde. “She’s got good looks either spoiled or undeveloped.”