Two days more—two days more—two days more—those three words kept going through my head as if they were strung on an endless chain.
And then—isn't it always that way in life? Just when you're ready to throw up the sponge and say you're beaten, Bang—it comes!
It came in the shape of a New York call for Azalea.
Like a dream, for I was pretty nearly all in, I could hear the operator's voice:
"That you, Longwood? Give me Azalea, 383."
And then me answering:
"All right. Azalea 383. Wait a minute."
I plugged in and heard that queer grating sound as if the wires were rubbing against each other:
"Hello, New York. All right for Azalea 383."
And then a woman's voice, clear and small.