“Matter with me! Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's somethin' the matter with other folks, I tell you that! Doctor Quimby's been there twice already, and the telephone's been goin', and--and--My time! you ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as white as--as--WHERE did I put that letter?” His “pawing” became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and seized him by the arm. “Stop it, I tell you!” she commanded. “Stop it! Who's sick? Whose telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about? Answer me! Stop that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this minute!” She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor. From it fell an envelope. Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it. “There 'tis!” he exclaimed. “By time! I was scart I'd lost it! Read it, Ros! read it!” He handed me the envelope. It bore my name. I tore it open--took out the sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows: “Dear Mr. Paine: “Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble. I think you, perhaps, can help us both. Will you come over at once? PLEASE do. “Hastily yours, “MABEL COLTON.” “And--and--” panted Lute, “she told me to tell you to please hurry. And you'd ought to seen her face! She--” I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited bearer of the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out of the dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion. CHAPTER XXI It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main entrance. From the open windows of the servants' quarters came the sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the front door. Before I could push the button of the electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, peered out at me. Most of his dignity was gone. “Is it you, Mr. Paine?” he asked, anxiously. “Come in, sir, please. Miss Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir.” I entered the hall. “What is it, Johnson?” I asked, quickly. “How is Mr. Colton?” The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head dubiously. “He's awful ill, sir,” he whispered. “The doctor's been with him for an hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible. It's awful, sir, ain't it!” His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general demoralization of the household. And from one of the rooms above came the sobs of a hysterical woman. “Brace up, man,” I whispered in reply. “This is no time for you to go to pieces. Where is Miss Colton?” “She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her.” He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her voice speaking from the head of the stairs. “Who is it, Johnson?” she asked, in a low tone. “It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel.”