"But, doctor!" exclaimed the actor, "I—I——"

"There, now, I told you not to speak!" chided the physician, with upraised finger.

"But I have to! I'm an actor—I'm rehearsing a new part. I must use my voice! It's imperative!"

The doctor seemed startled.

"An actor," he said in low tones. "You did not tell me that. I did not understand ... Hm! Yes!"

He thought deeply for a moment.

"You could not take a rest for a week?" he asked.

"A week? No! I have been 'resting' enough weeks as it is. I must go on with this. I've had it before. It has passed away. Can't you give me something that will enable me to go on—some medicine that will act quickly? I must be at rehearsal to-morrow."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders as though to clear himself from all blame.

"Well, if you have to—you have to, I suppose," he said. "I understand. I can give you an astringent mixture that will shrink the chords, and may relieve some of the inflammation. It may enable you to go on—but at the risk of permanent injury to your throat."

"Oh!" exclaimed both girls.

"Never mind!" responded Mr. DeVere, hoarsely. "I—I must risk the future for the sake of the present. I cannot give up this engagement. I must keep on with the rehearsals. Give me something speedy, if you please, Doctor. I'll—I'll have to take the chance."

"I am sorry," spoke Dr. Rathby. "But of course I understand. I have a mixture that some singers have used with good effect. I'll try it on you. You can use it several times to-night, and on your way to rehearsal stop in at my office in the morning, and I'll swab out your throat. That may help some."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor. You don't know what this means to me. I—I feel better already."

"I'm afraid it's only temporary relief," returned the physician. "But there. Don't worry. Get that filled and see what effect it has. Then come and see me in the morning."

He wrote the prescription and hurried away, nodding to the girls.

"I'll get it filled," offered Ruth, and she could hardly keep back a sigh as she looked at the scanty supply of money in the household purse. As she was going out to the drug store she met Russ in the hallway.

"Is he any better?" the young moving picture operator asked.

"I think so," answered Ruth. "But isn't it too bad? Just when everything looked so bright."

"Oh, well, it will come out all right, I'm sure," spoke Russ. "Don't you want to come to see our show to-night? We've got some fine pictures. I'm going down a little early to get the reels in shape."

"We very seldom go to the 'movies,'" answered Ruth. "Though I have seen some I liked."

"We have some fine ones," went on Russ.

"Better come on down. I'll get you a pass in!" and he laughed genially.

"Not this time," answered Ruth gently. "I must get back and help Alice look after my father. Thank you."

She left him at the corner, and he passed on whistling softly and thinking of many things.

Mr. DeVere seemed better when Ruth got back with the medicine. And when his throat was sprayed he could talk with less effort. But his tones were still very husky, and it was evident that unless there was a great improvement in the morning he would hardly be able to go to rehearsal.

"I'm glad the show doesn't open until next week," he said with a smile. "I'd never be able to make myself heard beyond the first three rows. But I'll surely be better by the time we open."

"What did you mean by saying you had this same trouble before, Dad?" asked Alice.

"Well, it did come on me last summer, when I was taking my little vacation," he replied. "It wasn't quite as bad as this, though."

"You never told us," accused Ruth.

"No, I didn't want to worry you. It passed over, and I'm sure this will."

Mr. DeVere spoke little the next morning. Perhaps he did not want his daughters to know how very hoarse his voice was. He left for the doctor's before going to the theater, and most anxiously did the girls await his return.

"There he is!" exclaimed Ruth at length, late that afternoon.

"But he's earlier than usual!" said Alice. "I wonder——"

Mr. DeVere fairly staggered into the room. His face was white as he sank into a chair Alice pushed forward.

"Daddy!" exclaimed the girls.

He shook his head mournfully.

"It—it's no use!" he said, and they could barely make out his words. "My voice failed completely. I—I had to give up the rehearsal," and he covered his face with his hands.

CHAPTER V

REPLACED

For a few moments the two girls said nothing. They simply stood there, looking at their father, who was bowed with grief. It was something new for him—a strange rôle, for usually he was so jolly and happy—going about reciting odd snatches from the plays in which he had taken part.

"Does—does it hurt you, Daddy?" asked Ruth softly, as she stepped closer to him, and put her hand on his shoulder.

He raised himself with an effort, and seemed to shake off the gloom that held him prisoner.

"No—no," he answered in queer, croaking tones, so different from his usual deep and vibrant ones. "That's the odd part of it. I have no real pain. It isn't sore at all—just a sort of numbness."

"Did it come on suddenly?" asked Alice.

"Well, it did yesterday—very suddenly. But this time I was hoarse when I started to rehearse and it kept getting worse until I couldn't be heard ten feet away. Of course it was no use to go on then, so the stage manager called me off."

"Then he'll wait until you're better?" asked Alice.

Her father shrugged his shoulders.

"He'll wait until to-morrow, at any rate," was the hesitating answer.

"Didn't going to the doctor's office help any?" asked Ruth.

"For a few minutes—yes. But as soon as I got to the theater I was as bad as ever. I had some of his spray with me, too, but it did little good. I think I must see him again. I'll go to his office now."

"No, he must come here!" insisted Ruth. "You shouldn't take any chances going out in the air, Father, even though it is a warm spring day. Let him come here. I'll go telephone."

She was out into the hall before he could remonstrate, had he had the energy to do it. But Mr. DeVere seemed incapable of thinking for himself, now that this trouble had come upon him.

Dr. Rathby came a little later. He had a cheery, confident air that was good for the mind, if not for the body.

"Well, how goes it?" he asked.

"Not—very well," was Mr. DeVere's hoarse reply.

"I'm afraid you'll have to do as I suggested and take a complete rest," went on the doctor. "That's the only thing for these cases. I'll take another look at you."

The examination of the throat was soon over.

"Hum!" mused the physician. "Well, Mr. DeVere, I can tell you one thing. If you keep on talking and rehearsing, you won't have any voice at all by the end of the week."

"Oh!" cried the girls, together.

"Now, don't be frightened," went on the doctor quickly, seeing their alarm. "This may not be at all serious. There is a good chance of Mr. DeVere getting his voice back; but I confess I see little hope of it at the present time. At any rate he must give himself absolute rest, and not use his voice—even to talk to you girls," and he smiled at them.

"I know that is going to be hard," the doctor went on; "but it must be done sir, it must be done."

"Impossible!" murmured Mr. DeVere. "It cannot be!"

"It must be, my dear sir. Your vocal chords are in such shape that the least additional strain may permanently injure them. As it is now—you have a chance."

"Only a chance did you say?" asked the actor, eagerly.

"Yes, only a chance. It would be