f to another man. The bed creaked when he climbed in. Out
of doors raindrops from the late storm dripped from the trees. Somewhere
over the hills a hound was baying dismally. Frank curled up and slept.

He was awakened by the violent ringing of the telephone bell out in the
hall. He was on his feet when Earle sprang out of bed and hurried
barefoot to it. Even after the man started talking, the echo of that
alarm bell still sounded in the vacant house, up the broad stairs, into
the empty bedrooms above. Earle came back and got into his clothes, his
hands as he laced his shoes trembling a bit. He hurried out of the house
and jumped into the car. Intent on the slippery road ahead, he did not
see the dog's eyes shining wildly in the glare of his lights as he
rounded the curve at the foot of the avenue.

Ears erect, Frank stood for a moment staring at the vanishing rear
light, then dashed frantically after it. He was in the pride of his
strength and endurance. He was the fastest of all bird dogs, the Irish
setter. Yet that mad car drew almost as swiftly away as if he were
standing still in the road staring idly after it. Every muscle
straining, he followed it, until the light melted into the distance.
Even then, nose to the ground, he rushed the trail of those familiar
wheels. At last, panting and frothing, he stopped. The night was silent.
Even the roar had died away--as if it had never been. He looked
bewilderedly around at the dusky fields, the foggy stars. But he
continued to gallop toward the city.

The fingers of the lighted clock above the hospital door pointed to
eleven as Earle ran up the steps. The night was warm, the front door
open, and he hurried down the dim-lighted corridor. A light shone out of
25, and he stepped quickly in.

It was an open room, with a screened portion projecting out on the
porch. In this portion was the bed. The young doctor standing at the
foot glanced at him with a contraction of the muscles about the corners
of the mouth. From the bed over which she leaned Marian raised to him
eyes that told the story. Opposite Marian the nurse was stroking the
little head and chest.

From between the two women came now and then a plaintive, inarticulate
murmuring, a tired echo, it seemed, of what must have been going on
long before he came. The young doctor stepped quietly to him. The fever
had started rising rapidly an hour before, he explained, and the boy had
grown delirious. It was the crisis--