Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
“Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he can't. He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em before—these spells—but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away.”
“Nonsense!” cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
“Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,” stammered Eliza, gratefully. “You see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have to stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times, she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if—if you could get along—”
“Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's sick!”
“Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin',” sighed Eliza.
From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
“Pete is ill,” she was saying to herself. “I don't like the looks of it; and he's so faithful he'd come if—” With a little cry Billy stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair. “Calderwell—and he's coming to dinner!” she moaned.
For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to the telephone and called the Annex.
Aunt Hannah answered.