“Yes, ’m,” said Simmy with singular helpfulness.
“I shall call the police,” Carmel said, taking refuge in that expedient of the law-abiding. She turned the handle of the old-fashioned telephone with which Gibeon is afflicted and gave the number of the Sheriff’s office. A drowsy voice answered presently.
“This is the Free Press,” said Carmel. “Send some deputies at once. Men are coming to wreck this place with sledge hammers.”
“Aw, go on!” said the voice. “Ye can’t play no jokes on me.”
“This is not a joke. It is Miss Lee speaking. I want police protection.”
“Jest a minute,” said the voice, and then another, heavier voice took its place.
“Dep’ty Jenney speakin’. What’s wanted?”
“This is Miss Lee. A crowd of drunken men are coming to mob this office. Send men here instantly.”
“Um!... Somebody’s jokin’ ye, Miss Lee. This here’s a peaceful, law-abidin’ community. Better go back to bed and fergit it.”
“Will you send men here at once?”