On the Sweeny wire

by Charles R. Barnes

ON THE SWEENY WIRE

By Charles R. Barnes

Author of “The Sweeny Motor Car,” “Mr. Sweeny: Financier,” Etc.

A party telephone wire is like a political picnic—lots of strangers on the ground and all full-fledged listeners-in. And Belle Sweeny, the race-track gambler’s widow, found her neighbors’ conversation irresistible, but, sad to relate, almost as disastrous.

A telephone inspector was in the Sweeny apartment, looking over the instrument. Mrs. Sweeny stood by, evidently suspicious, and watched the man as he worked. Sometimes telephone inspectors turned out to be evil-disposed persons, bent on loot. If one’s back were toward them, they would deftly collect whatever property happened to be available and decamp. So Mrs. Sweeny gave this man no opportunity at all to develop a burglarious streak, but watched his every move.

At last he finished brushing out the transmitter, tapping here and there with an inquisitive finger, tightening contact screws and the like, and went his way. His observer, now off duty, made her way to the Boarder’s rooms for a chat.

“Good mornin’,” she said, as she entered.

He returned the greeting and offered her a chair.

“Thanks,” said she, seating herself. “One of them telephone fellers was just here, fixin’ the thing. I been watchin’ him. You don’t find me takin’ chances on parties that comes around like that, bein’ flat workers. Not me!”