was a telegraph operator when he was
a young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father is! His
story is like something in a book. He--But never mind that. Hark! there
is the instrument going again. It must be dreadfully important. Mr.
Davis is so worried."

"He seems to be, certainly."

"But what shall we do?"

"I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?"

"No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I feel
somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and as if I
must not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . Oh, can't YOU
do something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You are a banker."

"A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man
Davis of your father's illness?"

"No. I thought perhaps Father would not wish it. And I had no
opportunity . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! Who is
it?"

Johnson's voice replied. "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said. "The telegraph
person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his supper. And
there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the message, Miss."

"Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her. "Miss
Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or not, we
should know the particulars. Tell that man--Phineas Cahoon, the depot
master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer and he must wait for
it. Now let's consult that code."

She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil
from the table.

"We must ask him to send all the particulars," I declared. "Look up
'send' in the code, Miss Colton."

She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler knocked
once more.

"He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The
telegraph office closes at eight o'clock."

The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at me.

"What SHALL we do?" she breathed.

I rose to my feet. "Wait, Johnson," I called. "Make that man wait a
moment longer. Miss Colton, I have an idea. Would your father be willing
to--but, that is silly! Of course he would! I'll see Cahoon myself."

I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step of the
colonial portico. He had been invited into the hall, but had refused the
invitation. "I had on my workin' duds," he explained later. "A feller
that's been handlin' freight all the afternoon ain't fit to set on
gold-plated furniture."