“Your music is good to listen to, Lark-child,” he called back, “and your ears are perfectly good at telling who’s who, but this is a strictly business day, and it is Mr. Singleton I need to speak with.”
“Still holding your job, or asking for your time?” came the mocking voice.
“You bet I’m holding my job, also I am on it, and want the boss.”
“Well, sometimes you know the boys call me the boss. What can we do for you, Mr. Kit Rhodes?”
“I’ll use all three of my Spanish cuss words in a minute, if you don’t be reasonable,” he thundered.
“Is that a bribe?” came sweetly over the wire, and when he muttered something impatiently, she laughed and told him it was not fair to use another language when he had promised Spanish.
“Listen to me, young lady, if I can’t get Singleton on the wire I’ll get on a horse and go up there!”
“And you listen to me, young man, it wouldn’t do you a bit of good, for just now he is nearly having a fit, and writing telegrams about something more important than the horse corrals.”
“There is nothing more important this day and date,” insisted Kit.
“Well, if you were as strictly a white dove advocate as Papa Singleton is, and as neutral, and then saw a full page Sunday supplement of your pet picture fraulein, working for your pet charity and sifting poison into hospital bandages and powdered glass in jellies for the soldiers of the Allies, I reckon you would change your mind.”