“Who did he call up?” asked Tom.
“Why, that fellow you were telling me about—Mr. Leeth. But I couldn’t hear what he said, as I had to take care of a lot of calls from customers then. We have five trunk lines on our switchboard. How many have you?”
“Only three. Say, do you suppose there’s any truth in what you told me, about Sandow wanting to get hold of Dr. Spidderkins’ money?”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” answered Charley easily. “You could take most anything you wanted away from Doc. Spidderkins now, and he wouldn’t know it, if you gave him a book to look at. He’s daffy on books, every one says.”
“But he’s a very fine old gentleman.”
“You bet he is. Better that Barton Sandow. I wish I had a chance to call Sandow down, for being so fresh with me,” added Charley, for the matter of the telephone call seemed to rankle in his mind.
“He called me a mean name, once,” said Tom, telling of the day when he had gone into Sandow’s office, to look for work.
That afternoon, just before closing time, Mr. Boise, the head of the law firm, came out to the switchboard.
“How are you getting on?” he asked Tom, pleasantly.
“Pretty well, sir.”