"Mr. Porshinger, this is Miss Chamberlain," said a particularly sweet voice, when he had answered.
"Yes, Miss Chamberlain, how do you do?" said he.
"I want to know if you won't come over to Criss-Cross this afternoon and join us at tea, and stay for dinner and the night? Mr. Woodside has been exceedingly nice and says he will excuse you—now you be equally nice and come, won't you?"
"Why certainly, certainly—I shall be delighted," Porshinger responded; "but I can't stay the night. I'm going back to town on the midnight train. I must be there early in the morning."
"That's very good of you—we shall be glad to have you for the evening—at five o'clock then—good bye, Mr. Porshinger!"
Porshinger hung up the receiver and went slowly out to Woodside, who was smoking like a chimney.
The latter glanced at him with a shrewd smile.
"Getting on, aren't you?" he remarked.
"I don't know whether I'm getting on or getting under," Porshinger replied.
"You're getting both, I should say. It won't be long until they have you under hack with the rest of the men."