“It is, Joe. It must be,” insisted Jim earnestly. “The whole thing is too opportune to be merely coincidence. That grin that passed between Hupft and McCarney this morning——”
“And all the time we’re talking here,” groaned Joe, “Mabel may be—— Great Scott, Jim, we’ve got to act!”
“Now what?” asked Jim anxiously, as he followed his chum toward McRae’s office.
“I’m going to find a ’phone and see if I can call Riverside,” said Joe tersely, over his shoulder.
“Now you’re talking turkey,” said Jim, to which commendation Joe merely grunted.
They had the office to themselves for the time being and they made good use of it. At the telephone, his face still drawn, a look of keen anxiety in his eyes, Joe put in his call for Riverside.
Then came the long sickening wait. Moments, hours, it seemed to Joe, went by. Finally came back the answer that it was impossible to get the number wanted in Riverside. Half an hour had gone by! A valuable half hour wasted!
“I can’t stand this, Jim,” Joe cried, an agony of apprehension in his voice. “What is the losing of a game compared with Mabel? Good-by. I’m gone.”