But if anybody expected that the appearance of the stout chief would stop the tongues of that rough Bellport crowd they were mistaken. They jeered at the sight of the policeman’s uniform, and matters seemed getting worse than ever.
The Columbia girls huddled up in groups, watching the excited boys argue, while arms were waved, and sticks shaken. Frank had seen all this, and having a sudden inspiration he hurried into the building where the telephone was located.
“I want to get Bellport in a hurry,” he said to the girl who, during these times, had charge of the booth at the sporting field.
“I can do that for you right away; but what number do you want?” she asked; and as Frank looked up from consulting the slender little book that had the names of all the telephone subscribers in the three river towns, he replied:
“Give me 57-L, Bellport, please.”
A minute later she called:
“57-L, Bellport. Here you are!”
“Hello! is this Mr. Lee’s house?” asked Frank, and was immediately electrified by hearing a voice he readily recognized, making reply.
“Yes, who is that talking?”
“Frank Allen, over in Columbia; is that you, Cuthbert?”