“Loch!” cried Jimsy, and leaped forward.
But Loch held him off. “So you are all right?” he said thickly, “Sure you’re all right, Jimsy? I saw you—through the window.”
“Of course I’m all right, old man,” said Jimsy, staring blankly.
“But your message?”
“My message. Loch? Good heavens, I only wired to ask you to send me up a bit of glass for my new butterfly case. And the wire gave out half-way through. Loch, I say. . . . . Loch!”
Loch began to laugh with relief; it was a queer laugh that shook him from head to foot, and he held on to the table for support.
“But what’s happened?” begged Jimsy. “What have you been doing? Loch!”
“Nothing’s happened, kid,” said Loch, soothingly. “Only I thought you wanted me. And so I came—I came—as fast as I could.”
“Look out, sir,” cried Hatch, sharply. But the table was in the way and Jimsy was not quick enough to catch Loch. It was into Hatch’s arms that he fell.