I'm
speaking of Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down
there and fought the mosquitoes."
The girl's lip curled.
"So that's your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives of
helpless bugs!"
"Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?"
His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an
edge as she had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll
had pressed him too hard. She was startled.
"Perhaps I haven't," she admitted.
"Then it's time you learned. Three American doctors went down into
that pesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory.
Not for a tangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in
battle, but for a theory that might or might not be true. There
wasn't a day or a night that their lives weren't at stake. Carroll
let himself be bitten by infected mosquitoes on a final test, and
grazed death by a hair's breadth. Lazear was bitten at his work,
and died in the agony of yellow-fever convulsions, a martyr and a
hero if ever there was one. Because of them, Havana is safe and
livable now. We were able to build the Panama Canal because of
their work, their--what did you call it?--scrubby peeking into the
lives of--"
"Don't!" cried the girl.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88