“In the taxi? That’s where you left it, you foolish child,” interrupted Ruth.
“How, oh how, can I get it? I must have it. I have to play,” groaned Dorothy.
“Run! Run and telephone. Call up the New York Taxicab Company,” breathlessly exclaimed Ruth. “Oh, oh, Dorothy, I must go! I must! I just must, yet how can I leave you here—but I have got to sing now. Oh, I am all out of breath.”
“Stop talking, you dear girl, and go and sing your best so as to make them give you an encore, anything to gain more time for me. Now go!” And Dorothy kissed her and pushed her forward.
Running down the length of the room, she flew into a telephone booth, and hastily searching out the number called up Columbus 6,000.
“Hello, hello,” called Dorothy, frantically. “Hello! Is—has—a man come back with a violin in his taxicab—I must have it! I have to play! Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver, and sat back despondently. The cab had not returned in which she had ridden to the hall.
“Oh, what shall I do! No violin and my turn to play next. What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?”
“Miss Calvert,” called the boy. “Your turn next.”
“Oh, dear,” moaned Dorothy, “see if you can borrow an instrument for me from one of the musicians in the orchestra.”