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Moving Picture Girls, The

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<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> <h3>DESPONDENCY</h3> Startled and alarmed the two girls hastened to the side of their father. They flitted helplessly about him for a moment, like pretty, distressed birds. As for Mr. DeVere, his hand went to his aching throat as though to clutch the malady that had so suddenly gripped him, and tear it out. For none realized as keenly as he what the attack meant. It was as though some enemy had struck at his very life, for to him his voice was his only means of livelihood. "Oh, Father!" gasped Ruth. "What is it? Speak! Tell us! What shall we do?" "It—it's—" but his voice trailed off into a hoarse gurgle, and signs of distress and pain appeared on his face. "Oh, tell us! Tell us!" begged Ruth, clasping her hands, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Can't you see he can't speak!" exclaimed Alice, a bit sharply. She had a better grasp of the situation in this emergency than had her sister. "Something has happened to him! Was it dust in your throat on the street?" asked Alice. "Don't answer—wait, Dad! I have some lozenges. I'll get them for you!" She was in and out of her room on the instant, with a box of troches, one of which she held out to her father. He had not moved since sinking into the chair, but stared straight ahead—and the future that he saw was not a pleasant one to contemplate. "Take this, Father," begged Alice, slipping her arm about him, as she sank to the floor at his feet. "This will help your throat. Don't you remember what a terrible cold I had? These helped me a lot. Take one!" Mr. DeVere shook his head slightly, and seemed about to refuse the lozenge. But a glance at his daughters' worried faces evidently made him change his mind. He slipped the tablet into his mouth, and then straightened up in his chair. Whatever happened to him he knew he must make a brave fight for the sake of the girls. It would not do 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 have been 'resting' enough weeks as it is. I must go on with this. I've had it before. It has passed away. Can't you give me something that will enable me to go on—some medicine that will act quickly? I must be at rehearsal to-morrow." The doctor shrugged his shoulders as though to clear himself from all blame. "Well, if you have to—you have to, I suppose," he said. "I understand. I can give you an astringent mixture that will shrink the chords, and may relieve some of the inflammation. It may enable you to go on—but at the risk of permanent injury to your throat." "Oh!" exclaimed both girls. "Never mind!" responded Mr. DeVere, hoarsely. "I—I must risk the future for the sake of the present. I cannot give up this engagement. I must keep on with the rehearsals. Give me something speedy, if you please, Doctor. I'll—I'll have to take the chance." "I am sorry," spoke Dr. Rathby. "But of course I understand. I have a mixture that some singers have used with good effect. I'll try it on you. You can use it several times to-night, and on your way to rehearsal stop in at my office in the morning, and I'll swab out your throat. That may help some." "Oh, thank you, Doctor. You don't know what this means to me. I—I feel better already." "I'm afraid it's only temporary relief," returned the physician. "But there. Don't worry. Get that filled and see what effect it has. Then come and see me in the morning." He wrote the prescription and hurried away, nodding to the girls. "I'll get it filled," offered Ruth, and she could hardly keep back a sigh as she looked at the scanty supply of money in the household purse. As she was going out to the drug store she met Russ in the hallway. "Is he any better?" the young moving picture operator asked. "I think so," answered Ruth. "But isn't it too bad? Just when everything looked so bright." "Oh, well, it will come out all right, I'm sure," spoke Russ. "Don't you want to come to see our show to-night? We've got some fine pictures. I'm going down a little early to get the reels in shape." "We very seldom go to the 'movies,'" answered Ruth. "Though I have seen some I liked." "We have some fine ones," went on Russ. "Better come on down. I'll get you a pass in!" and he laughed genially. "Not this time," answered Ruth gently. "I must get back and help Alice look after my father. Thank you." She left him at the corner, and he passed on whistling softly and thinking of many things. Mr. DeVere seemed better when Ruth got back with the medicine. And when his throat was sprayed he could talk with less effort. But his tones were still very husky, and it was evident that unless there was a great improvement in the morning he would hardly be able to go to rehearsal. "I'm glad the show doesn't open until next week," he said with a smile. "I'd never be able to make myself heard beyond the first three rows. But I'll surely be better by the time we open." "What did you mean by saying you had this same trouble before, Dad?" asked Alice. "Well, it did come on me last summer, when I was taking my little vacation," he replied. "It wasn't quite as bad as this, though." "You never told us," accused Ruth. "No, I didn't want to worry you. It passed over, and I'm sure this will." Mr. DeVere spoke little the next morning. Perhaps he did not want his daughters to know how very hoarse his voice was. He left for the doctor's before going to the theater, and most anxiously did the girls await his return. "There he is!" exclaimed Ruth at length, late that afternoon. "But he's earlier than usual!" said Alice. "I wonder——" Mr. DeVere fairly staggered into the room. His face was white as he sank into a chair Alice pushed forward. "Daddy!" exclaimed the girls. He shook his head mournfully. "It—it's no use!" he said, and they could barely make out his words. "My voice failed completely. I—I had to give up the rehearsal," and he covered his face with his hands. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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