"I--I--my----" Mr. DeVere could hardly speak, so hoarse was he. Only
a husky whisper came from his lips.
"Are you--are you hurt?" cried Ruth. "Shall I get a doctor?"
"It--it's my voice!" gasped the actor. "It has gone back on me--I
can't speak a word to be heard over the footlights! It's my old
trouble come back!" and he sank weakly into a chair.
CHAPTER IV
DESPONDENCY
Startled and alarmed the two girls hastened to the side of their
father. They flitted helplessly about him for a moment, like pretty,
distressed birds. As for Mr. DeVere, his hand went to his aching
throat as though to clutch the malady that had so suddenly gripped
him, and tear it out. For none realized as keenly as he what the
attack meant. It was as though some enemy had struck at his very
life, for to him his voice was his only means of livelihood.
"Oh, Father!" gasped Ruth. "What is it? Speak! Tell us! What shall we
do?"
"It--it's--" but his voice trailed off into a hoarse gurgle, and
signs of distress and pain appeared on his face.
"Oh, tell us! Tell us!" begged Ruth, clasping her hands, her blue
eyes filling with tears.
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