“I’ll test here,” he suggested, clamping a set of claws into the wires which came through the molding and entered the ringing-box.
“Hello!” he said. “Hello, this you, Saidee? Say, Saidee, give me Franklin Official, seventeen. Yes ... all right! Hello! This you, Tupper? Say, Tupper, I went over the junction-box in the alley back of the house. Everything O. K. there. I’ll go over the leads in the house. Loose connection somewhere, I guess.”
A clicking of tools followed as the lineman selected a pair of pliers. They rattled over the binding-posts at the receiver. They tightened the connections. He went over the transmitter, and then every inch of the exposed wiring. He removed the cover of the ringing-box and examined the connections. Replacing this cover, he rose with a puzzled expression.
“All right,” he said to Stockbridge, who was standing with his back turned. “It’s all right here, sir. I don’t find a thing. See—it’s all right.”
The trouble-hunter lifted the receiver from the hook. “Hello,” he said in a low voice. “Hello, Saidee. Say, Saidee, what number is this on your board?”
The lineman glanced around the room. His eyes widened. He whistled with naïve admiration. “Hello,” he said softly. “Yes ... Gramercy Hill 9763. That’s right. O.K. Tell Franklin Official—tell Tupper that I took forty minutes on the job. Forty minutes at time and a half. Don’t forget that. Yes ... bridle—everything, all right, Saidee. See you later.”
The trouble-hunter reached for his satchel. He hitched it over his shoulder.
“Hold on!” said Drew. “What was the trouble? Why couldn’t we get Central?”
“You can search me—sir. It wasn’t in this room, mister. That’s a Western-Union cinch!”
“Where was it?”