"Who is it?" she cried sharply--"and what do you want?"
Of all persons in the world, this was the last one whom either Sylvia or
Thomas desired to see. Neither answered. Nothing dismayed, Mrs. Elliott
advanced down the walk. Her carpet-slippers flapped as she came.
"Come on, Joe," she called over her shoulder to her less intrepid spouse.
"Are you goin' to leave me alone to face these desperate drunkards,
lurchin' around in the dead of night, an' makin' the road unsafe for
doctors who might be out on some errand of mercy--they're the only
_respectable_ people who wouldn't be abed at this hour of the night. You
better get right to the telephone, an' notify Jack Weston. He ain't much
of a police officer, to be sure, but I guess he can deal with bums like
these--too stewed to answer me, even!" Then, as she drew nearer, she gave
a shriek that might well have been heard almost as far off as
Wallacetown, "Land of mercy! It's Sylvia an' Thomas!"
Thomas cowered. No other word could express it.
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