My tongue feels like a shredded-wheat biscuit."
Dirks gave him some water, then turned to go.
"Oh, by the way," he said, "Here's a letter for you that's been laying
around at the factory for a couple of days. Nobody knew where to forward
it."
Like a shot Quin was up in bed and holding out an eager hand. But at
sight of the small cramped writing he lay back on his pillow listlessly.
"It's from Miss Isobel Bartlett," he said indifferently. "Wonder what
she's doing back in town in the middle of the summer."
"I hear they are all back," Dirks said. "The old lady is very ill and
they had to bring her home. If you want anything in the night, just pound
on the wall. I'm going to fetch a doctor if you ain't better in the
morning."
When Dirks had gone Quin opened his letter and read:
_Dear Quin:_
I am rushing this off to the factory in the hope that they have your
address and can get into communication with you at once. Mother has
had two dreadful attacks with her appendix, and the doctors say she
cannot survive another. But she refuses point-blank to be operated
on, and my brother and sister and I are powerless to move her.
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