"Hello! How are you for pigs' feet to-day?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pigs' feet! How many yer got?"
"This is the public library. Did you call for us?"
"Who? The what? No; I'm trying to get Packer and Pickleums. I don't want no public library. What's the matter with that girl at central? This is the third time—"
His conversation ended abruptly as the receiver was hung up. Miss Patterson was soon called again. Mrs. Pomfret Smith was once more unto the breach.
"Miss Patterson? I've remembered some more about that book, now. It had a bright red cover and the name of it was printed in gilt letters. It was about so high—oh, I forgot, you can't see over the telephone, can you? Well, it was about as big as books usually are, you know, and it was quite thick—oh, it must have had a hundred or two hundred pages—perhaps more than that, I am not sure. And the front picture was of a girl—the heroine, I guess, and a man, and he had his arms around her and she was looking up into his face. Now, you can remember what book it was, can't you, Miss Patterson?"