"Or can they?" he wondered aloud. "Where's that news story?"
I pointed to the paper on the counter and he stepped over to it. I started to leave again, but at that moment the telephone booth in the corner shook from side to side and Mike stepped out, face red with wrath.
"I'd like to get my hands on that guy, the wisenheimer!" he growled. "Hah! Practical jokes, eh?"
Again I stopped at the door.
"What's wrong this time?" I demanded. "Or is it still the State's Attorney you're frothing about?"
"Some guy," Mike thundered explosively, "just called to say he wanted to talk to Hitler and Mussolini. Wise guy, hah, the louse!"
"Hitler and Mussolini?" I demanded. "Who was it?"
"Wouldn't I like to know," Mike exclaimed redly. "Wouldn't I just like to know!" He made a grasping gesture with his two big fists, indicating what he would do to the party if he did know.
Mort had put down the newspaper and had been listening to Mike's explosion.
"Don't bust your buttons, Mike," Mort advised. "It's probably just one of our customers having a gag."