Ted sprang to answer the call.
“Yes. Ted. Yes, she is. Who is it, please? Just a minute.”
He turned, putting his hand over the transmitter: “Pat, Norman Young wants to speak to you.”
“Good Heavens!” responded his cousin, getting up so suddenly that her chair toppled over backwards and fell to the floor with a loud crash.
“He’ll think I’m throwing you to the phone,” commented Ted with a grin.
“Hush! You wanted to speak to me? What? He is? Why, how should I know?”
Pat was nervously clenching and unclenching her left hand as she talked, and frowning heavily.
“Certainly not! He’s probably out for the evening, and I don’t see that you or anybody else has a right to meddle with his things.”
“Don’t burn up, Pat,” advised her cousin.
“Well, perhaps,” she admitted grudgingly to the man at the other end of the telephone. “Certainly. No, you may not; my cousin will take me home. Goodbye.”