"Evening, Bert," Mr. Daney saluted him pleasantly, and paused long enough to shake the latter's hand. "I saw your ad in the Seattle P.I. this morning. You young dog! Hope you crawl out of that mess all right."
"C'est la guerre," Bert murmured nonchalantly. "Thanks, awfully."
Mr. Daney felt better after that brief interview. He had clasped hands with sin and felt now like a human being.
He went directly to the local telephone office and placed his New York call with the chief operator, after which he sat in the manager's office and smoked until ten o'clock, when New York reported "Ready!"
"You young ladies," said Mr. Daney, addressing the two young women on duty, "may take a walk around the block. Port Agnew will not require any service for the next twenty minutes."
They assimilated his hint, and when he was alone with the chief operator Mr. Daney ordered her to switch the New York call on to Mrs. McKaye at The Dreamerie. Followed ten minutes of "Ready, Chicago." "All right, New York. Put your party on the line!"—a lot of persistent buzzing and sudden silence. Then: "Hello, Port Agnew."
Mr. Daney, listening on the extension in the office of the manager, recognized the voice instantly as Nan Brent's.
"Go on, Mrs. McKaye," he ordered. "That's the Brent girl calling Port Agnew."
"Hello, Miss Brent. This is Donald McKaye's mother speaking. Can you hear me distinctly?"
"Yes, Mrs. McKaye, quite distinctly."