“Well?”—Pete never said “hello.”
“Hello. Is that you, Pete?” called Billy's voice agitatedly. “Is Uncle William there?”
“No, Miss Billy.”
“Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?”
“He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram—they're all out.”
“Yes, yes, I know HE'S out,” almost sobbed Billy. “Dear, dear, what shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!”
“Yes, Miss; where?” Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful.
“To the Boylston Street subway—on the Common, you know—North-bound side. I'll wait for you—but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here.”
“Alone! Miss Billy—in the subway at this time of night! But, Miss Billy, you shouldn't—you can't—you mustn't—” stuttered the old man in helpless horror.
“Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't be alone,” appealed Billy.