"Can't you see he can't speak!" exclaimed Alice, a bit sharply. She
had a better grasp of the situation in this emergency than had her
sister. "Something has happened to him! Was it dust in your throat on
the street?" asked Alice. "Don't answer--wait, Dad! I have some
lozenges. I'll get them for you!"
She was in and out of her room on the instant, with a box of troches,
one of which she held out to her father. He had not moved since
sinking into the chair, but stared straight ahead--and the future
that he saw was not a pleasant one to contemplate.
"Take this, Father," begged Alice, slipping her arm about him, as she
sank to the floor at his feet. "This will help your throat. Don't you
remember what a terrible cold I had? These helped me a lot. Take
one!"
Mr. DeVere shook his head slightly, and seemed about to refuse the
lozenge. But a glance at his daughters' worried faces evidently made
him change his mind. He slipped the tablet into his mouth, and then
straightened up in his chair. Whatever happened to him he knew he
must make a brave fight for the sake of the girls.
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