"All your husband needs now, Mrs. Bannister, is rest. See that he is
kept quiet. That's all there is to it."
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.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315