"Right. 'Doctor, come quick. Pop's——' What now? 'G-o-n-c-r-a-s.' What in the world is that? It must be a kind of sickness. Can't you guess it, Billy?"
Billy puzzled.
"G-o-n-c-r-a-s. I don't know what it means."
"Anyhow," Archie put in, "the next word must be I'm. Don't you think so, Billy? No? Looks like that. Hum-m! Look here, Billy—what's F-E-R-D? What does it sound like?"
"Sounds like feared."
"Of course it does! That's right! 'I'm afeared.' Billy, this is a pretty serious matter. Why should the writer of this be afraid? Eh? You think a woman wrote the letter? Well, she's afraid of something. And that something must be the sort of sickness her father has. Shake your nut, Billy. What sort of sickness could she be afraid of?"
"G-o-n-c-r-a-s. Gon-cras."
"Gon-cras. Gon-cras. Gon-cras."
"Gone," Billy suggested.