"Hello! You? Where have you been? What has happened?" "Who is it?" asked Florence, stepping forward. Jones held up a warning hand, and Florence paused. "Yes, yes; I hear perfectly. Oh! You've been working out their new quarters? Good, good! But be very careful, sir. One never knows what may happen. They have been quiet for some time now.... Ah! You can't work the ceiling this time? ... Window over the way. Very good, sir. But be careful." The word "sir" caught Florence's attention. She ran to Jones and seized him by the arm. "Who was that?" she cried, as he turned away from the telephone. "Why?" "You said 'sir.'" Jones' eyes widened. "I did?" "Yes, and it's the first time I ever heard you use it over the telephone. Jones, you were talking to my father!" "Please, Miss Florence, do not ask me any questions. I can not answer any. I dare not." "But if I should command, upon the pain of dismissal?" coldly. "Ah, Miss Florence," and Jones tapped his pocket, "you forget that you can not dismiss me by word. I am legally in control here. I am sorry that you have made me recall this fact to you." Florence began to cry softly. "I am sorry, very sorry," said the butler, torn between the desire to comfort her and the law that he had laid down for himself. "It is very gloomy to-day, and perhaps we are a little depressed by it. I am sorry." "Oh, I realize, Jones, that all this unending mystery and secrecy have a set purpose at back. Only, it does just seem as if I should go mad sometimes with waiting and wondering." "And if the truth must be told, it is the same with me. We have to wait for them to strike. Shall I get you something to read? I am going down to the drug store and they have a circulating library." "Get me anything you please. But I'd feel better with a little sunshine." "That's universal," replied Jones, going into the hall for his hat. Had the telephone rung again at that moment it is quite probable that the day would have come to a close as the day before had, monotonously. But the ring came five minutes after Jones had left the house. "Is this the Hargreave place?" "Yes," said Florence. "Who is it?" "This is Miss Hargreave talking?" "Yes." "This is Doctor Morse. I am at the Queen Hotel. Mr. Norton has been badly hurt, and he wants you and Mr. Jones to come at once. We can not tell just how serious the injury is. He is just conscious. Shall I tell him you will come immediately?" "Yes, yes!" Florence snapped the receiver on the hook. She wanted to fly, fly. He was hurt. How, when, where? "Susan! Susan!" she called. "What is it?" asked Susan, running into the room. "Jim is badly hurt. He wants me to come at once. Oh, Susan! I've been dreading something all day long." Florence struck the maid's bell. "My wraps. You will go with me, Susan." "Where, Miss Florence," asked the maid, alive to her duty.