her head toward the back part of the house whence the murmurs
came. At the end of the passage was the little room in which the round
game of cards was played the night before. The door stood open now, and
she looked right into the room.

And this is what she saw:

Wallie Hine was sitting at the table. About him the carpet was strewn
with crumpled pieces of paper. There was quite a number of them littered
around his chair. He was writing, or rather, trying to write. For Archie
Parminter leaning over the back of the chair held his hand and guided it.
Captain Barstow stood looking intently on, but of her father there was no
sign. She could not see the whole room, however. A good section of it was
concealed from her. Wallie Hine was leaning forward on the table, with
his head so low and his arms so spread that she could not see in what
book he was writing. But apparently he did not write to the satisfaction
of his companions. In spite of Parminter's care his pen spluttered.
Sylvia saw Archie look at Barstow, and she heard Barstow answer "No, that
won't do." Archie Parminter dropped Hine's hand, tore a slip of paper out
of the book, crumpled it, and threw it down with a gesture of anger on to
the carpet.

"Try again, old fellow," said Barstow, eagerly, bending down toward Hine
with a horrid smile upon his face, a smile which tried to conceal an
intense exasperation, an intense desire to strike. Again Parminter leaned
over the chair, again he took Wallie Hine's hand and guided the pen, very
carefully lifting it from the paper at the end of an initial or a word,
and spacing the letters. This time he seemed content.

"That will do, I think," he said, in a whisper.

Captain Barstow bent down and examined the writing carefully with his
short-sighted eyes.

"Yes, that's all right."

Parminter tore the leaf out, but this time he did not crumple it. He
blotted it carefully, folded it, and laid it on the mantle-shelf.

"Let us get him up," he said, and with Barstow's help they lifted Hine
out of his chair. Sylvia caught a glimpse of his face. His mouth was
loose, his eyes half shut, and the lids red; he seemed to be in a stupor.
His head rolled upon his shoulders. He swayed as his companions held him
up; his knees gave under him. He began incoherently to talk.

"Hush!" said Parminter. "You'll wake the house. You don't want that
pretty girl to see you in this state, do you, Wallie? After the
impression you made on her, too!