"If there is nothing I can do here then I ought to resume my search for work," he replied, sturdily. "Now that I cannot take my mother away with me, there is nothing for me to do but to find employment here and face our enemies as best I can."
She opposed him there also. "Don't do that—not now. Wait. I have a plan. I'll not go into it now, but when you come back, if there is no change, we will all go home and I will explain."
The young people had risen and were starting toward the door when an imperative, long drawn-out rapping startled them.
"That's no reporter's rap. There is authority in that," remarked Mrs. Joyce, as she hurried to the door.
A very tall man with a long gray beard stood there. "Good-day, madam," he began, in a husky voice. "I hear that my friend, Mrs. Ollnee, is sick, and I've come to see about it. I'm her friend these many years and of her faith, and I think I can be of some assistance."
Mrs. Joyce dimly remembered having seen him in the house before, so she replied, very civilly, "Mrs. Ollnee lies in what seems to be deep trance, although the doctors say that life is extinct."
"Will you let me see her?" he inquired. "I know a great deal about these conditions. My daughter was subject to them."
"You may come in," she said, for his manner was gentle. "This is her son, Victor."
Victor was vexed by the stranger's intrusion, but could not gainsay Mrs. Joyce.
"My name is Beebe, Doctor Beebe," he explained. "Mrs. Ollnee has given me many a consoling message, and I believe I've been of help to her. You're her son, eh?"