"It sounds like croup to me," she whispers to herself. "It has always
sounded like croup to me. I wonder if it could be diphtheria? I
wonder what I ought to do? But David needs sleep so badly! I'm sorry
I had the company. I told David I was afraid of the child's health.
But David needed the music. Music rested him, he said."

The milk-wagons are rattling along the street once more. Will they
never cease? The man awakes with a start.

"What is that?" he demands. He has just dreamed how he treated 150
people to cigars and drinks on the day Dr. Floddin brought Davy
through. He has been walking with Davy among the animals in Lincoln
Park. "There's Santa Claus' horses," said Davy, of the elks.

There is a loud noise in the room.

"What on earth is it?" he asks. He is only partly awake.

"It is poor little Davy," Esther answers. "Oh, David!" The woman is
sobbing. She herself has awakened her husband.

The man is out of bed in an instant. The room is cold. There is no
stove. There is no stramonium. There is no flaxseed. There is no hot
water.

It is not the lack of these appliances that drives Lockwin into his
panic. He may keep his courage by storming about these misadventures.

But in his heart--in his logic--there is NO HOPE.