That is, if the election should be held. It was highly probable that it would be postponed--the club people ought to be notified at once--Hendricks ought to be told. “I say, Eunice, there’s lots of things to do. I think I ought to telephone the club, and several people. Do you mind?” “No; of course not. Do whatever is right, Mason. I’m so glad to have you here, it takes a load of responsibility off of me. You’re a tower of strength.” “Then do what you can to help me, Eunice. Try, won’t you, to be quiet and calm. Don’t get so wrought up over these things that are unpleasant but unavoidable. I don’t underrate your grief or your peculiarly hard position. The nervous shock is enough to make you ill--but try to control yourself--that’s a goody girl.” “I will, Mason. Honest I will.” Soon after noon Hendricks arrived. He had returned from Boston on an early morning train, and hearing of the tragedy, came at once to the Embury home. At sight of his grave, sympathetic face, Eunice burst into tears, the first she had been able to shed, and they were a real relief to her overburdened heart. “Oh, Alvord,” she cried, hysterically, “now you can be president!” “Hush, hush, Eunice, dear,” he soothed her; “don’t let’s speak of that now. I’m just in from Boston--I hurried over as soon as I heard. Tell me, somebody--not you, Eunice--you tell me, Aunt Abby, how it happened.” “That’s the strange part,” said Elliott, who was sitting at the telephone, and was, at the moment, waiting for a response to a call, “the doctors can’t tell what ailed Sanford!” “What! Can’t tell what made him die!” “No;” Aunt Abby took up the tale, as Elliott turned back to the telephone; “and I think it’s very queer. Did you ever know a man to die, Alvord, and nobody be able to tell what killed him?” “I certainly never did! What had he eaten?” “Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Eunice spoke up; “it must be that something gave way--his heart, or lungs--” “Never! Sanford was a sound as a dollar!” “That’s what Dr. Harper says. They’re--they’re going to have an autopsy.” “Of course. We’d never be satisfied without that. They’ll find the cause that way, of course. Dear Eunice, I’m so sorry for you.” “It’s awful for Eunice,” said Aunt Abby “the excitement and the mystery--oh, Alvord, do let me tell you what I saw!” “What?” he asked, with interest. “Why, it was almost dawn--just beginning to be daylight, and, you know--Dr. Harper says Sanford died about daybreak--he thinks--and I was sort of between asleep and awake--don’t you know how you are like that sometimes--” “Yes.” “And I saw--” “Aunt Abby, if you’re going to tell that yarn over again, I’ll go away! I can’t stand it!” “Go on, Eunice,” and Aunt Abby spoke gently. “I wish you would go to your room and lie down for awhile. Even if you don’t want to, it will rest your nerves.” To her surprise, Eunice rose and without a word went to her own room. Aunt Abby sent Maggie to look after her, and resumed her story.