"Oh, Father--Daddy--what is it!" cried Alice, springing to his arms. "I--I--my----" Mr. DeVere could hardly speak, so hoarse was he. Only a husky whisper came from his lips. "Are you--are you hurt?" cried Ruth. "Shall I get a doctor?" "It--it's my voice!" gasped the actor. "It has gone back on me--I can't speak a word to be heard over the footlights! It's my old trouble come back!" and he sank weakly into a chair. CHAPTER IV DESPONDENCY 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."