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She was in Washington; Kennicott was in Gopher Prairie, writing as dryly as ever about water-pipes and goose-hunting and Mrs. Fageros's mastoid. She was talking at dinner to a generalissima of suffrage. Should she return? The leader spoke wearily: "My dear, I'm perfectly selfish.
Fageros's, in the hollow there, and I don't believe it's real good. Figuring to dig my own well this fall." One scarlet word was before Carol's eyes while she listened. She fled to Kennicott's office. He gravely heard her out; nodded, said, "Be right over." He examined Bea and Olaf. He shook his head. "Yes. Looks to me like typhoid."
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