As if by way of a commentary on his words, a small boy on a bicycle rode up with a telegram.
Sybil opened it. She read it, and looked at Ruth with large eyes.
“From the office,” she said, handing it to her.
Ruth read it. It was a C. D. Q., an S.O.S. from the front; an appeal for help from the forefront of the battle. She did not understand the details of it, but the purport was clear. The battle had begun, and Bailey was needed. But Bailey lay sleeping in his tent.
She handed it back in silence. There was nothing to be done.
The second telegram arrived half an hour after the first. It differed from the first only in its greater emphasis. Panic seemed to be growing in the army of the lost leader.
The ringing of the telephone began almost simultaneously with the arrival of the second telegram. Ruth went to the receiver. A frantic voice was inquiring for Mr. Bannister even as she put it to her ear.
“This is Mrs. Winfield speaking,” she said steadily, “Mr. Bannister’s sister. Mr. Bannister is very ill and cannot possibly attend to any business.”
There was a silence at the other end of the wire. Then a voice, with the calm of desperation, said: “Thank you.” There was a pause. “Thank you,” said the voice again in a crushed sort of way, and the receiver was hung up. Ruth went back to Sybil.
The hours passed. How she got through them Ruth hardly knew. Time seemed to have stopped. For the most part they sat in silence. In the afternoon Sybil was allowed to see Bailey for a few minutes. She returned thoughtful. She kissed Ruth before she sat down, and once or twice after that Ruth, looking up, found her eyes fixed upon her. It seemed to Ruth that there was something which she was trying to say, but she asked no questions.