The man nodded.
"We'll have a strike here of our own—to-night. All hands. Over three hundred of 'em."
But the girl was devouring the news. As she read, her heart sank, and all hope was completely dashed. The threatening tears overflowed down her cheeks. For the first time in her life she felt utterly helpless.
"But he must, he must, he must come?" she cried desperately. "Don't you understand? It means Mrs. Hendrie's life if he doesn't bring help. Oh, don't sit there staring. Do something. You—you've got to get him here, somehow—with a—a surgeon. Strike? Do you think we can let strikes stand in the way—when her life depends on it? Let him come by 'special'—anything so we get him here. Oh!"
Her hands flung together in an impotent gesture of desperation with her final exclamation, and even the cold heart of the manager was moved.
He leaned forward in his seat.
"Easy, girl," he cried. "You're talking foolish. You got to keep cool, and we'll think this thing out. I guess Mrs. Hendrie's turn was sudden," he said thoughtfully. "And the Doc's let her run to the last before he guessed how things were. It's their way—some of 'em. How long's she got? You see, Hendrie's hung up—same as other folks. It's no use talking of 'specials,' but the wire's still open. Now, see here, if we've got time, maybe he can make it in an automobile. It's up to him, and I don't guess much'll stop him when he knows how things are. You find out what time the Doc gives her, and I'll wire. You see, sometimes these things—— What's that?"
Angus held up a hand and sat listening.
Far away it seemed, a low, soft note droned in through the open window. It was a deep, purring sound like the hum of the wind in overhead telegraph wires.
Suddenly the man sprang from his seat. He went to the outer door and flung it open. The girl followed, and stood beside him. The sound grew louder. At last the man turned. His excitement had given place to his usual taciturn expression. He shook his head ominously.