“His heart is not in as good condition as I should like to see it,” he told them. “He has not been in vigorous health for some time, as you know. And now the best medicine I can recommend—besides a tonic, for which I will leave you a prescription—is absolute rest and quiet and a mind free from worry.”
He noticed the quick look that passed between Dorothy and Mrs. White at these last words and his eyes seemed to be boring into the former as he asked quietly: “Has Major Dale been subjected to a severe shock during the last two or three days?”
As simply as possible Dorothy told him the facts about Joe. The physician listened with every evidence of sympathy and concern.
“Too bad, too bad!” he murmured at last. “There is no way, I suppose, that word of his father’s condition might be sent to the lad?”
“No, doctor,” answered Dorothy despairingly. “We have not the slightest idea where Joe is!”
The physician nodded soberly and rose to go, leaving behind him a final admonition that, as far as it was possible, the Major’s mind was to be kept free of worry.
“And he might just as well ask us,” remarked Dorothy, as from an upstairs window they watched the doctor drive away, “to give him the moon!”
Mrs. White came and put her arms about Dorothy, and the girl put her head down on her aunt’s shoulder and wept a little.
“It all seems so strange and upside down and tragic, Aunt Winnie,” she said, after a minute, wiping her eyes on a small square of handkerchief. “Always before when anything dreadful like this happened, I have had some idea what I ought to do, but now I am all at sea. Don’t you think,” she added, holding her aunt off from her and looking at her seriously, “that we ought to notify the police, set a detective on his trail, or something?”
Mrs. White looked thoughtful for a moment, but she finally shook her head.