From the other end of the wire came:
“This is the Rivulet Club. Mr. Waters wishes to speak to Mr. E. H. Merriwether. Personal matter.”
“He's engaged just now. Will any one else do?”
“No. Say it is Mr. Waters—about Mr. Tom Merriwether.”
People resorted to all manner of tricks and subterfuges to speak to Mr. E. H. Merriwether—deluded people who thought they could get what they wished if only they could speak to Mr. Merriwether himself. They never succeeded. He was too well guarded by highly paid experts who prevented the waste of his precious time. But the telephone operator knew her business. She switched the would-be conversationalist on to the private secretary's line, saying: “Mr. Waters, Rivulet Club, wishes to speak to Mr. E. H. in regard to Mr. Tom Merriwether.”
“I'll talk to him,” hastily said the private secretary.
“Hello, Mr. Waters! This is McWayne, Mr. Merriwether's private secretary. Has anything happened to Tom that—Oh! Yes—of course! At once, Mr. Waters.”
McWayne then had the operator put Mr. Waters on Mr. E. H.'s wire.
“Who?” said the czar of the Pacific & Southwestern. “Waters? Oh yes. Go ahead!”
And Mr. E. H. Merriwether heard, in a young man's voice: