“I rang for the office, sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Blank,” said a man's voice.
“We are connected and when the doctor is out he expects me to be bell-boy,” said Mary, recognizing the voice.
“I see. Will you please tell the doctor when he comes that my little boy is sick this morning and I want him to come down. Will he be back soon?”
“In a few minutes, I think.”
She sat down by the fire. No use to go back upstairs till she had delivered the message. This was a pleasing contrast to the other; Mr. Owen had volunteered his message as if she really had a right to know and deliver it.
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Mary felt reluctant to answer it—it sounded so like the first. And it was not the house call this time, but two rings which undeniably meant the office. But she must be true to the trust reposed in her. She went to the 'phone and softly taking down the receiver, listened; perhaps the doctor had got back and would answer it himself. Fervently she hoped so. But there was only silence at her ear, and the ever present far-off clack of attenuated voices. The silence seemed to bristle. But there was nothing for our listener to do but thrust herself into it.
“Hello,” she said, very gently.
“O, I've got you again, have I! I know I rung the office this time, for I looked in the book to see. How does it happen I get the house?” Ill temper was manifest in every word.
“The office and residence are connected,” explained Mary, patiently, “and when the 'phone rings while the doctor is out, he asks me to answer it for him.”
“I don't see what good that does.”