A knowing look came slowly into Billy’s face.
“H’m. So that was what Miss West called here about day before yesterday.”
“Get in there and write your story,” said Bruce shortly, and again sat down before his typewriter.
Billy stood rubbing his head dazedly for a long space, then he slowly moved to the door. He opened it and paused.
“Oh, I say, Arn,” he remarked in an innocent tone.
“Yes?”
“After all,” he drawled, “it would make an interesting dramatic situation, wouldn’t it?”
Bruce whirled about and threw a statesman’s year book, but young Harper was already on the safe side of the door; and the incorrigible Billy was saved from any further acts of reprisal being attempted upon his person by the ringing of Bruce’s telephone.
Bruce picked up the instrument.
“Hello. Who’s this?” he demanded.