Molly went straight to the telephone booths in the basement corridor. By good fortune, the haughty being who presided at the switchboard was hovering about waiting for a long distance call from a “certain party” in New York.
That she alone in all the world was concerned in this call and that she wished to have this corner of the globe entirely to herself for the full enjoyment of it were very evident facts when Molly asked for “Fern-16-Wellington.”
“I’m not working to-day,” announced the operator shortly, arranging her huge Psyche knot at the mirror beside her desk.
Molly looked into the girl’s implacable face. No feminine appeal would melt that heart of stone, but perhaps the magic name of man might fix her.
“Would you do it to oblige Professor Green? I have an important message for him.”
“I guess that’s different,” announced the owner of the Psyche knot, with a high nasal accent. “Why didn’t you say so at first? I guess Professor Green is about the nicest gent’man around here.”
Sitting down at the switchboard, she slipped on the headpiece with a professional flourish. Then, with a hand-quicker-than-the-eye movement, she pushed several organ stops up and down, stuck the end of a green tube into a hole and remarked in a high pitched voice that had great projective powers:
“Wellington Exchange? Hello! Yes, I know it’s Christmas. On hand for a long distance, are you? Oh, you-u-u. Well, say, listen. To oblige a certain party—a very attractive gent’man—call up ‘Fern-16-Wellington.’”
Then there was a detached monologue about a certain party in you know where—same gent’man that was down Thanksgiving time. Suddenly, with professional alertness, the telephone girl stopped short.
“Fern-16-Wellington? Here’s your party. Booth 3,” she added to Molly, in a voice so radically different that Molly had a confused feeling that the young person who operated the Wellington switchboard might be a creature of two personalities. She retired timidly to the booth.