“Step right in,” she invited with a smile. “Lands sakes, you’re drippin’ wet. Come in by the kitchen range and get dried out. You must be perishin’—”
“Thanks. May I use your telephone?” inquired Bill as he spied a wall instrument in the hall.
“Of course you can,” beamed Mrs. Johnson. “There’s a book on the table there.”
“Thank you, I know the number.”
“Going to call up Stoker?” asked Dorothy in a low tone.
“Yes. You and Uncle Abe go into the kitchen and get warm. I’ll be with you in a minute or two.”
But it was not until a good five minutes later that Bill put in his appearance.
“Everything all right?” demanded Dorothy from her seat on a kitchen chair close to the coal range.
“I’m afraid not,” Bill looked worried. “They don’t answer the phone.”