“Who is it, please?”
“I tell you two, t’ree times. It’s Abie. You know me. I got Abie’s Pawnshop on Main Street, near Spring.” His voice drifted away, as though he were talking to some one else. “Well, all right, you talk, then, and tell Mr. Martin come quick, or I have you put in jail.”
Another voice, surprisingly familiar, inquired whether she were Mr. Martin.
“No, this is Miss Martin,” Joan felt important, but puzzled over that voice. “Can I help you?”
“This is Eric Reynolds,” came the answer. “Will you please have some one from your office come over here and help me out. I’m in trouble.”
CHAPTER XIII
ERIC
Eric Reynolds! The winner of the second prize was in trouble and was calling on Joan to help him. Still, he did not know her name was Martin or that she was the girl who had interviewed him at his home a few days ago, when she had informed him that he was one of the winners.
What could the mysterious trouble be? Of course, she must go and help him, if she could, even though he was a sissy. “I’ll come,” she said, and heard Eric’s “Thank you very much,” as he hung up.
She could at least find out what Eric or Abie had wanted with Tim. No use to bother any one in the office with this until she knew more. Probably Abie wanted to give Tim a scolding about something. Cub reporters were always being summoned for all sorts of things. Perhaps something Tim had written for the paper had aroused Abie’s ire. Still, what had Eric to do with it? And what was a rich boy like Eric doing in a pawnshop?
Joan trotted along up Market Street and around the corner on Main. It was just a few blocks to Abie’s Pawnshop. Every one called him just Abie. The shop was in the cheap part of Main Street—the wrong side of Buckeye, which divided the two districts. The shop was a tiny place, crowded with everything from furs to fruit dishes. Three gold balls, a bit tarnished, hung in front, and inside at the right was a wire cage, where Abie, framed by a background of watches and clocks, usually held forth. To-day, however, he was in the center of the shop. Eric Reynolds was there, too, holding a black violin case under his arm.