“An’ I’m telling ye she isn’t.”
“Is there a Mr. Sorez there–––”
“Oh, the man who is just after comin’? Wait a minute now,” he put in more civilly, “an’ I’ll see, sor.”
Wilson breathed once more. He started at every fairy clicking and jingle which came over the waiting line.
“Waiting?”
He almost shouted his reply in fear lest he be cut off.
“Yes! Yes! waiting. Don’t cut me off. Don’t–––”
“Is this you?”
The voice came timidly, doubtingly––with a little tremor in it, but it was her voice.