“Is the old man in, Labe?” he whispered, jerking his head toward the private office, the door of which happened to be shut. Laban looked at him over his spectacles. “Cap'n Lote, you mean?” he asked. “Yes, he's in. But he don't want to be disturbed--no, no. Goin' to write a couple of important letters, he said. Important ones. . . . Um-hm. What is it, Ben? Anything I can do for you?” Kelley did not answer that question. Instead he took a telegram from his pocket. “Read it, Labe,” he whispered. “Read it. It's the darndest news--the--the darnedest good news ever you heard in your life. It don't seem as if it could he, but, by time, I guess 'tis. Anyhow, it's from the Red Cross folks and they'd ought to know.” Laban stared at the telegram. It was not in the usual envelope; Kelley had been too anxious to bring it to its destination to bother with an envelope. “Read it,” commanded the operator again. “See if you think Cap'n Lote ought to have it broke easy to him or--or what? Read it, I tell you. Lord sakes, it's no secret! I hollered it right out loud when it come in over the wire and the gang at the depot heard it. They know it and it'll be all over town in ten minutes. READ IT.” Keeler read the telegram. His florid cheeks turned pale. “Good Lord above!” he exclaimed, under his breath. “Eh? I bet you! Shall I take it to the cap'n? Eh? What do you think?” “Wait. . . . Wait . . . I--I--My soul! My soul! Why . . . It's--it's true. . . . And Rachel always said . . . Why, she was right . . . I . . .” From without came the sound of running feet and a series of yells. “Labe! Labe!” shrieked Issy. “Oh, my crimus! . . . Labe!” He burst into the office, his eyes and mouth wide open and his hands waving wildly. “Labe! Labe!” he shouted again. “Have you heard it? Have you? It's true, too. He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!” Laban sprang from his stool. “Shut up, Is!” he commanded. “Shut up! Hold on! Don't--” “But he's alive, I tell you! He ain't dead! He ain't never been dead! Oh, my crimus! . . . Hey, Cap'n Lote! HE'S ALIVE!” Captain Zelotes was standing in the doorway of the private office. The noise had aroused him from his letter writing. “Who's alive? What's the matter with you this time, Is?” he demanded. “Shut up, Issy,” ordered Laban, seizing the frantic Mr. Price by the collar. “Be still! Wait a minute.” “Be still? What do I want to be still for? I cal'late Cap'n Lote'll holler some, too, when he hears. He's alive, Cap'n Lote, I tell ye. Let go of me, Labe Keeler! He's alive!” “Who's alive? What is it? Labe, YOU answer me. Who's alive?” Laban's thoughts were still in a whirl. He was still shaking from the news the telegraph operator had brought. Rachel Ellis was at that moment in his mind and he answered as she might have done. “Er--er--Robert Penfold,” he said. “Robert PENFOLD! What--” Issachar could hold in no longer.