"Well, well," he cried in quick, impatient tones, "what is it? What's the matter?"
"Is that you?" came the faint echo of a woman's voice.
"Who is this, please?"
"Jim, don't you know my voice! It's Nan!"
"I didn't recognize it. You spoke so queerly. What is it, Nan?"
"For heaven's sake come at once. Cal was taken dangerously ill at two o'clock. The doctors have been with him every moment. He doesn't get any better. He keeps calling for you. He insisted on my telephoning. I'm frightened. I want to see you. Please come?"
"At once, of course, I'll be there in half an hour—three quarters at the most."
"Thank you," she gasped, and hung up her receiver.
Stuart's cab whirled up town through rivers of humanity pouring down to begin again the round of another day. At Fourteenth, Forty-second, Fifty-ninth, Sixty-sixth and Seventy-second the crash and roar of the subterraneous rivers caught his ear as the black torrents of men and women swirled and eddied and poured into the depths below. In all the hurrying thousands not one knew or cared a straw whether the man of millions in his silent palace on the Drive lived or died. To-morrow morning it would be the same, no matter what his fate, and the next day and the next.
"A strange old world!" he mused as his cab swung into the Drive and dashed up to the great house. A liveried servant opened the iron gates wide. He was evidently expected. The chauffeur threw the little cab up the steep turn with a rush. He sprang out and entered the hall with quick silent tread.