Yollop

by George Barr McCutcheon

"That's the way," complimented Mr. Yollop.

"By gosh, nobody ever wanted the police more than I do at this minute," gulped Mr. Smilk. He was perspiring freely. "Hello! Police headquarters? ... Hustle someone to—to—(over his shoulder to Mr. Yollop, in a whisper,)—quick! What's the number of this,—"

"418 Sagamore Terrace."

Into the transmitter: "To 418 Sagamore Terrace, third floor front. Burglar. Hurry up!"

Telephone: "What's yer name?"

Smilk, to Yollop: "What is my name?"

Mr. Yollop: "Crittenden Yollop."

Smilk, to telephone: "Crittelyum Yop."

Telephone, languidly: "Spell it."

Smilk: "Aw, go to—"