She spoke of these things to Dr. Winston when he came over about eight o'clock that evening. But he shook his head.
"I'm afraid nothing can save your father, my child," he said. "There's only one chance in a thousand he might get well, if we operated. And there's only one surgeon in the United States who ever had any success with that sort of operation."
"But if there is one!" cried Linda, eagerly jumping to the tiny hope his words suggested. "We must get that surgeon! Who is he? Where is he?" She was talking rapidly, excitedly, almost incoherently.
"He is a Dr. Lineaweaver. A marvelous man. But I happen to know he is away on his vacation now."
"Where does he go?"
"That I don't know."
"But you know where he lives?"
"Yes. St. Louis."
"Then won't you please call his home and find out where he is, and I'll go for him as soon as I get my plane back."
The doctor shook his head sorrowfully.