The Moving Picture Girls | Page 9

to show the white feather before them, even though his heart was quaking with the terrible fear that had come upon him.
"What happened, Dad?" asked Ruth. "Can't you tell us? Oh, I am so worried!"
He tried to smile at her, but it was a pathetic attempt. Then, with an effort, he spoke--so hoarsely that they could barely understand him.
"It--it's my voice," he whispered, gratingly. "Some sort of affection of my vocal chords. You'd better get a doctor. I--I must be better by to-morrow."
"Poor Daddy!" whispered Ruth. "I'll go down stairs and telephone for Dr. Haldon."
"No--not him--some--some other physician. We--we haven't paid Dr. Haldon's bill," said Mr. DeVere quickly, and this time he spoke more distinctly.
"Oh, you're better!" cried Alice in delight, clapping her hands. "I knew my medicine would help you, Dad! It's good; isn't it?"
He nodded and smiled at her, but there was little of conviction in his manner, had the girls but noticed it.
"I know just how it is," went on Alice, and her tone did as much as anything to relieve the strain they were all under. "I caught cold once, and I got hoarse so suddenly that I was afraid I was going to be terribly ill. But it passed off in a day or two. Yours will, Dad!"
Mr. DeVere tried to act as though he believed it, but there was a despondent look on his face.
"I'll slip over and ask Mrs. Dalwood the name of a good doctor," offered Alice. "It's too bad we can't pay Dr. Haldon, but we will as soon as we can. Mrs. Dalwood may know of a good throat specialist nearby."
"Yes, you had better go," said Mr. DeVere in a low voice. "I must be able to go on with the rehearsals to-morrow."
Alice fairly flew across the hall, and the tragic little story was soon told. Mrs. Dalwood, fortunately, did know of a good doctor in the vicinity. He had attended Billy several times, and, while not exactly a throat specialist, was to be depended upon.
"Then I'll go downstairs and telephone for him," said Alice. "Poor daddy is so worried."
"I'll go over and see what I can do," volunteered Mrs. Dalwood. "I have an old-fashioned cough medicine I used for the children."
She took a bottle with her as she slipped across the hall to the flat of her neighbors. Russ went with her, anxious to do what he could.
But Mr. DeVere shook his head as the bottle of simple home remedy was proffered.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Dalwood," he said hoarsely. "It is very kind of you, but I'm afraid to try it. I have had this trouble before, and----"
"You have, Father?" cried Ruth in surprise. "You never told us about it."
"I will--after the doctor comes," he said in a low voice.
Alice came back from using the telephone of the neighbor on the floor below to say that Dr. Rathby would soon be over.
"And then we'll have you all right again, Daddy!" she said, and the merry, laughing light that had disappeared came back into her eyes.
It was rather anxious waiting for the physician, but when he came his cheery, breezy presence seemed to fill them all with hope. He took Mr. DeVere into a room by himself, and made a careful examination. The girls could hear the young doctor's sharp, quick questioning, and their father's hoarse, mumbled replies. Then followed a period of nervous silence, broken by more talk.
Presently physician and patient came out Dr. Rathby looked serious, but he tried to smile. Mr. DeVere looked serious--but he did not smile. That was the difference.
"Well?" asked Ruth, with a sharp intaking of her breath.
"Nothing serious--at least, so far," was the doctor's verdict. "I think we have taken it in time. There is considerable inflammation of the vocal chords, and they have suffered a partial paralysis."
"As bad as that?" gasped Alice.
"Oh, that isn't half as bad as it sounds!" laughed Dr. Rathby. "I have had cases worse than this. Now, I'll leave you some medicine to be used in an atomizer, as a spray, Mr. DeVere, and I want you--in fact as a doctor I order you--to speak as little as possible. Don't use your voice at all, if you can help it--at least not for several days."
He turned to write a prescription, but was startled at the hoarse cry of expostulation from Mr. DeVere.
"But, doctor!" exclaimed the actor, "I--I----"
"There, now, I told you not to speak!" chided the physician, with upraised finger.
"But I have to! I'm an actor--I'm rehearsing a new part. I must use my voice! It's imperative!"
The doctor seemed startled.
"An actor," he said in low tones. "You did not tell me that. I did not understand ... Hm! Yes!"
He thought deeply for a moment.
"You could not take a rest for a week?" he asked.
"A week? No! I