Presently he was back.
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Cokesbury says he can't possibly come and please to give me the message."
By that time I was getting mad.
"You ought to get double pay, for you seem to be a District Messenger boy as well as a butler. If it's not too much trouble would you mind telling me what Mr. Cokesbury's friends do when they want a word with him over the phone?"
"They tell the butler who they are and what they want, ma'am. That's the orders in this house. Good-bye."
When Babbitts and I were sitting at a table in a little dago joint near Broadway, I couldn't help but tell him what I'd been doing.
He looked at me with his eyes as big as half-dollars and then began to laugh.
"Well, what do you make of that? Spending your holiday and your nickels rounding up a lot of men that rounded themselves up weeks ago."
"I want to get that voice."
"But everyone of them have proved that voice couldn't be theirs."