was stronger, clearer. His hand grew more unsteady.

"Yes," he replied in the best voice he could muster. "Yes--this is
Captain Jones. Who is it, please?"

There was a silence.

"Tell me, please," he managed to say. "Is it--?"

The voice came faintly back, "Why it's--Ann."

The keenest joy he had ever known swept through him. To be followed by
the most piercing fear. The voice was so faint--so unreal--what if it
were to die away and he would have no way to get it back!

It seemed he could not hold it. For an instant he was crazed with the
sense of powerlessness. He felt it must even then be slipping back into
the abyss from which it had emerged.

Then he fought. Got himself under command; sent his own voice full and
strong over the wire as if to give life to the voice it seemed must
fade away.

"Ann," he said firmly, authoritatively, "listen to me. No matter what
happens--no matter what's the matter--I've got something you must hear.
If we're cut off, call up again. Will you do that? Are you listening?"

"Yes," came Ann's voice, more sure.

"I've got to see you. You hear what I say? It's about Katie. You care a
little something for Katie, don't you, Ann?"

It was a sob rather than a voice came back to him.

"Then tell me where I can find you."

She hesitated.

"Tell me where you're living--or where I can find you. Now tell me the
truth, Ann. If you knew the condition Katie was in--"

She gave him an address on a street he did not know.

"Would you rather I came there? Or rather I meet you down town? Just as
you say. Only I _must_ see you tonight."

"I--I can't come down town. I'm sick."

His hand on the receiver tightened. His voice, which had been almost
harsh in its dominance, was different as he said: "Then I'll come
there--right away."

There was no reply, but he felt she was still there. "And, Ann," he said,
very low, and far from harshly, "I want to see you, too."

There was a little sob in which he faintly got "Good-bye."

He sank to a chair. His face was buried in his hands. It was several
minutes before he moved.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Children seemed to spring up from the sidewalk and descend from the roofs
as his cab, after a long trip through crowded streets with which three
months before he would have been totally unfamiliar, stopped at the
number Ann had given. All the way over he had been seeing children: dirty
children, pale-faced children, children munching at things and c