“Yes. Yes, it must mean that. But why should Mr. Davis be so excited about it? He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone. What does 'We are bad shape' mean? And 'Can deliver only part'?”
“I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. Why don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?”
“Because I can't. Don't you see? I can't. There is no telegraph operator in the house. When we first came Father had a secretary, who could use the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York. Said he was sick of the sight of him. They did not get on well together.”
“But your father must have used the telegraph since.”
“Yes. Father used it himself. He was a telegraph operator when he was a young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father is! His story is like something in a book. He—But never mind that. Hark! there is the instrument going again. It must be dreadfully important. Mr. Davis is so worried.”
“He seems to be, certainly.”
“But what shall we do?”
“I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?”
“No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I feel somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and as if I must not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . Oh, can't YOU do something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You are a banker.”
“A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man Davis of your father's illness?”