“Talk!” roared the Captain. “Talk! Use what wind you've got for that! What's happened? Sing out!” “He's--he's all alone there!” panted Mr. Chase. “He won't speak, scurcely--only moans. I don't know's he ain't dead!” “Who's dead? Who? Who? Who?” The irate Shadrach seized his steward by the collar and shook him, not too gently. “Who's dead?” he bellowed. “Somebody will be next door to dead right here in a minute if you don't speak up instead of snortin' like a puffin' pig. What's happened?” Isaiah swallowed, gasped and waved a desperate hand. “Let go of me!” he protested. “Zoeth--he--he's down in a heap on the kitchen floor. He's had a--a stroke or somethin'.” “God A'mighty!” cried Shadrach, and bolted out of the door. Mary followed him and a moment later, Mr. Chase followed her. The store was left to take care of itself. They found poor Zoeth not exactly in a heap on the floor of the kitchen, but partially propped against one of the kitchen chairs. He was not unconscious but could speak only with difficulty. They carried him to the bedroom and Isaiah was sent on another gallop after the doctor. When the latter came he gave his patient a thorough examination and emerged from the sickroom looking grave. “You must get a nurse,” he said. “This is likely to last a long while. It is a slight paralytic stroke, I should say, though what brought it on I haven't the least idea. Has Mr. Hamilton had any sudden shock or fright or anything of that sort?” He had not, so far as anyone knew. Isaiah, being questioned, told of Zoeth's coming in for dinner and of his--Isaiah's--handing him the morning's mail. “I fetched it myself down from the post-office,” said Isaiah. “There was a couple of Hamilton and Company letters and the Wellmouth Register and one of them circulum advertisements about So-and-So's horse liniment, and, and--yes, seems to me there was a letter for Zoeth himself. He took 'em all and sot down in the kitchen to look 'em over. I went into the dinin'-room. Next thing I knew I heard him say, 'O God!' just like that.” “Avast heavin', Isaiah!” put in Captain Shadrach. “You're way off your course. Zoeth never said that. That's the way I talk, but he don't.” “He done it this time,” persisted Isaiah. “I turned and looked through the doorway at him and he was standin' in the middle of the kitchen floor. Seems to me he had a piece of white paper in his hand--seem's if he did. And then, afore I could say a word, he kind of groaned and sunk down in--in a pile, as you might say, right on the floor. And I couldn't get him up, nor get him to speak to me, nor nothin'. Yet he must have come to enough to move after I left and to crawl acrost and lean against that chair.”