“Oh, certainly!” she said, grimly. “Who is it, Jimmy? Not you or Wally?”
“No such luck,” said her brother. “It’s a chap I met last night; he’s just out of a convalescent home, and a bit down on his luck.” His voice died away in a complicated jumble of whir and buzz, the bell rang frantically, and Norah, like thousands of other people, murmured her opinion of the telephone and all its works.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“B-z-z-z-z-z!” said the telephone.
Norah waited a little, anxiously debating whether it would be more prudent to ring up herself and demand the last speaker, or to keep quiet and trust to Jim to regain his connexion. Finally, she decided to ring: and was just about to put down the receiver when Jim’s voice said, “Are you there?” in her ear sharply, and once more collapsed into a whir. She waited again, in dead silence. At last she rang. Nothing happened, so she rang again.
“Number, please?” said a bored voice.
“Some one was speaking to me—you’ve cut me off,” said Norah frantically.
“I’ve been trying to get you for the last ten minutes. You shouldn’t have rung off,” said the voice coldly. “Wait, please.”
Norah swallowed her feelings and waited.
“Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!—oh, is that you, Norah?” said Jim, his tone crisp with feeling. “Isn’t this an unspeakable machine! And I’m due in three minutes—I must fly. Sure you can have Hardress? He’ll get to you by the 6.45. Are you all well? Yes, we’re all right. Sorry, I’ll get told off horribly if I’m late. Good-bye.”