The next day he seemed to exist for nothing but the arrival of the mails. But night came, and no response to his letter to Mrs. Fox.
The following morning he tried to get up, but his head was so dizzy that he was forced to drop back on the pillow again. Fortunately he had not locked his door this time, so that when they came to inquire about him, they were able to get in.
It was Roy who came first.
“My mail from the office,” was all Sydney had strength to say when he saw him.
“Yes, I will bring it for you,” replied Roy, and he decided to give up school for the day.
The doctor was summoned again, and prescribed perfect quiet, but after he had gone, Sydney asked so persistently if Roy had come with his letters, that when he did arrive, Mrs. Pell thought that the quickest way to quiet the patient was to let him come in with them.
“I only want to see one of them,” Sydney whispered quickly, as Rex took a seat by the bedside, some dozen letters in his lap.
“Which one, Syd?” asked Roy, gently.
“It is from an old lady—a Mrs. Fox. It will probably be in a plain envelope.”
“Perhaps this is it, then. Shall I open it and see?”