"Something's wrong, David." "I hope it is something that can be easily mended." "I'm afraid it can't." Jonathan looked at him queerly. "I'm afraid the damage has been done. Will you please go to the shop and see if Smith is anywhere around?" David departed, to return with the word that Smith was gone. "Ah! I'm sorry. I owe him an apology and some amends. A little while ago I lost my temper and did him an injustice, when he needed to be helped. I had no excuse. But it hurts to be disappointed in a man." Jonathan looked queerly at David again. "In any one, David." "I have found that out," answered David. Jonathan picked up some papers. "If you will excuse me now--I have some work--" David took the hint promptly, with the feeling that somehow he had been the one to disappoint his friend. That hurt as deeply as it puzzled. That afternoon Jonathan went out for two hours. When he returned he summoned Esther to his office. "Miss Summers," he began abruptly, "how is the voice?" "I'm afraid--" "You must be afraid of nothing," he interrupted. "I'm afraid," she repeated quietly, "I have come to a standstill. Some days I feel as if I could sing forever, then the very next day one easy little song will seem too much. And if I am in a draft for a minute or get caught in a shower, my throat gets sore and hoarse at once. It doesn't seem to get any stronger." "Probably it won't until you do the right thing. I took the liberty of talking to Doctor Jenkins. He says the trouble is all with your general health. You'll have to build it up. So--so you must get away from this office, that takes up your time and strength, and live as much as possible outdoors and grow strong." "But I can't do that. I can't afford it and I can't impose on my aunt." "Could you afford it if you had a good church position?" "Yes. But I'm not ready for that. I couldn't fill it. No church would want me, with a voice so uncertain--" "The Second Presbyterian is looking for a new contralto. I have asked them to give you a trial. Will you sing for them?" "When?" "At the vespers service next Sunday afternoon." "But I can't do that. It's too soon. It wouldn't be fair to them, even if I should sing well at the trial. I--I'm afraid I've been letting you expect too much--" Her face had grown whiter than usual. "But you can." Jonathan was very earnest. "You must believe--you must _believe_ you can. You must make up your mind to sing your very best next Sunday. If they hear you at your best, they'll be glad to have you, even if your voice is a little uncertain at first. And you must get away from this office." "You mean my work here isn't good enough--that you want to get rid of me?"