“See here, Joe,” he said, slowly, “you can’t go off half-cocked like this. We’ve got to talk this matter over a bit.”
Joe turned a haggard, impatient face to him.
“Talk it over! Are you crazy, Jim?” he cried. “And while we’re talking it over, Mabel may be—dying! For the love of Pete, Jim, get out of my way.”
“Not till you calm down and use your head a bit,” retorted Jim determinedly. “Three minutes won’t make any difference one way or another, and that’s all it will take me to say——”
“Oh, for the love of Pete, say it then and have it over!” exploded Joe, taking out his watch. Jim saw that his hand was shaking as he opened it. “I’ll give you just three minutes.”
“Listen,” cried Jim, an imperative hand on Joe’s arm. “There’s something phony about that telegram, Joe. Of course I can’t prove it, but I’d be willing to stake my reputation on it just the same.”
“Phony!” repeated Joe softly. He put the watch back in his pocket and stared at Jim as though he were seeing him for the first time. “What makes you think that?”
“From the fact that it isn’t signed,” Jim explained hurriedly, fearful of losing Joe’s attention. “And from the fact, also, that it comes at a time when your absence would be a horrible handicap to the team. Get me, old boy?”
“Yes, I get you,” admitted Joe. “But, good gracious, man, don’t you see, I can’t afford to take a chance? This may be all as you say. I admit that this may be a clever, sure-fire scheme to lure me away at the pinch.”