"Sure I'm sure; didn't I--"
"Never mind what you did. Now what's this Mr. Bartlett's full name? Now--now!" he added warningly, "just you answer the question I ask you and leave the rest to me. If you tell the truth you won't get in any trouble."
Pee-wee, somewhat awed, at last subsided. "Mr. James Bartlett," he said.
Pee-wee before the justice of the peace.
Without another word, Mr. Fee drew in his long legs, arose, went over to where a book was hanging, looked in it, then took the receiver from the old-fashioned box telephone on the wall. The party waited, greatly awed by this show of calm efficiency, and ability to get right at the heart of the matter. Pee-wee was particularly elated, for presently his identity and whereabouts would be established and explained. He listened, with growing interest as the justice, unperturbed by delays and mistakes, finally succeeded in securing the desired number.
"This two-four-eight-Bridgeboro?" Pee-wee heard. "Sorry to get you up at this hour. You Mr. James Bartlett? Yes. This is the peace justice at--What? I say this is the peace justice--peace--yes this is the peace justice--justice of the peace--at Piper's Crossroads, Noo York State. What? Yes. Noo York State. Pipes? No Piper's--Piper's Crossroads. Was your automobile stolen? Your automobile. What? I say was your auto--"
"Sure it was stolen," Pee-wee said; "you just mention--"
"Keep still. I say--was your automobile stolen--STOLEN? Well, it's for your sake--what's that? All right."