In Weber’s restaurant he folded himself into a telephone booth and said:
“Riverside 7863.”
While waiting for the connection his long fingers manipulated a cigarette. He was more excited than he dared to admit.
What the hell could Dr. Barton, a life-long friend of his father and Pediatrician-in-Chief of the Elijah Wilson even before he was born, have to say which was too confidential to transmit over a hospital telephone?
The operator invaded his curiosity.
“Deposit a nickel. Five cents, please.”
Cub Sterling’s rangy legs began untwisting. He begged:
“Hey! Wait a minute!”
Folding back the door of the booth he bellowed:
“Gimme some nickels, quick, Otto!”