“Ras—Ras!” came Mrs. Livermore’s disapproving voice.
Again the guests laughed, this time more heartily.
“Well—ain’t it true, folks?” he asked.
“Sure, Ras!”
“You bet.”
Just then the rural telephone, which was attached to the kitchen wall, rang five short rings.
“That’s our call,” Livermore said to his wife. “Tell ’em to come a jumpin’, we hain’t even started yet.”
When she had answered the telephone she whispered something to her husband.
“All right,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to call our old friend, Doctor Horne. He’s wanted at onct down the Graham road, at Bob Lombard’s. I guess maybe the baby has swallowed a carpet tack.”
“Thanks, Ras,” came Horne’s voice from outside. “Don’t let me interrupt your speech!”