“Switch on up here, Mike. I'll talk.” He caught up the instrument, as Shirley dropped to his knees beside him, to swing the horn into place.
“What's that?” he shouted over the wire. “Yes, shure it is—What's that you say?—I don't get you, cull—You want to speak to the girl?—What girl?—Talk louder. Hire a hall!—Say, I ain't no mind reader! Speak up.”
Over the instrument came the phrase once more: “Can you hear me now?”
It was the man's voice! Shirley was exultant.
“Yes, I hear you. What do you want?”
“I want to call for my sister, if you're going to let her go. I want—”
An inspiration prompted Shirley to press down the prongs of the receiver. The connection was stopped, and the superintendent turned upon him angrily.
“You spoiled that, you nut! We was just about to find out who her brother was—say, who are you, anyway?”
“There, don't you worry. That makes another call certain. Don't you see? That's what I'm playing for. But here comes Van Cleft, who will tell you I am all right.”
The millionaire entered the hallway before any serious altercation could arise. He greeted Shirley warmly and introduced him to Pat Cleary. The man was mollified.