“There’s more than one way,” she thought, “of being asked not to listen to dove talk, and I like this method best.”
The shrewd hello girl, however, had erred in the case of Whitney Barnes, for this is the way his end of the conversation in booth No. 7 ran:
––This the Ritz? Yes. Kindly connect me with Mr. Smith.
––What Smith? Newest one you got. Forget the first name. Thomas Smith, you say. Well, give me Tom.
––Hello, there, Trav––that is, Tom, or do you prefer Thomas?
––What’s that? Came in by way of Boston on a Cunarder? What’s all the row? Read you were in Egypt, doing the pyramids.
––Can’t explain over the wire, eh. Hope it isn’t a divorce case; they’re beastly.
––Ought to know you better than that. Say, what’s the matter with your little angora?
––Be serious; it’s no joking matter. Well, if it wasn’t serious how could I joke about it? You can’t joke about a joke.
––I’m a fool! I wonder where I heard that before. 36 Oh, yes––a few minutes ago. My paternal parent said the same thing.