And the man who “must be there himself” was critically ill and unconscious!
The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us. I read it through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
“Do you understand it—now?” she whispered, anxiously.
“Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?”
“I was just wonderin',” drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining room, “if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper. I've got to do it or have my nose and eyes tied up. Havin' all them good things settin' right where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the fidgets.”
“Yes, yes, eat away,” I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton smiled. But my laugh and her smile were but transient.
“Is it—Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?” she asked, indicating the telegram.
“They are very serious; there is no doubt of that.”
The instrument clicked.
“Say, Ros,” said Phin, his mouth full, “this feller's gettin' as fidgety as I was afore I got afoul of this grub. He wants to know what his instructions are. What'll he do?”