FLAMING YOUTH
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Going over on the train he had time for scalding meditations. Monain Trenton! At the Marcus Groot Hotel. When she was supposedly visiting the Barhams at their Philadelphia apartment. And all this atmosphere of secrecy thrown about it by the unknown man. But was he unknown? The voice had seemed dimly familiar to Osterhout. Surely, he had heard it before. Feverishly he mustered in his mind Mona’s admirers, canvassed them over, vacillated between this and that one, and shook with a jealous and amazed rage which horrified while it tore at him, as Sidney Rathbone hurried up the platform to
meet him. But in a moment he had mastered himself. “Thank God, you’re here!” “How is she?” “A good deal easier. She’s been terribly ill.” “Heart?” “Yes. She wouldn’t let me call any local physician.” “When was she taken?” inquired Osterhout as he stepped into the waiting taxi. “This morning. About eight o’clock.” In his anxiety Rathbone was beyond any considerations of concealment; the revelation was absolute when, at the
hotel, he took Osterhout directly to the suite of rooms, as one having the right. Mona greeted the newcomer with a smile, grateful, pleading, pitiful. Mutely it said: “Don’t be too harsh in your judgment of me.”
Hardening himself to his professional state of mind,
Osterhout made his swift, assured, detailed examination.
“What’s the verdict?” whispered Mona. “You'll be all right,” he He nodded encouragingly. said reassuringly. From his case he produced some pel~
lets.
“Not an opiate?” she asked rebelliously.
talk to you.”
“I want to
