“Hello!” he said. “Hello! This is Blashington!”
“Hello! Is that you, Mr. Blashington?” asked a faint voice from what seemed hundreds of miles away.
“Yes. Who is talking?”
“Mr. Wallace Blashington?”
“Yes! Who——”
“Of Parkinson School?”
“Yes! What—who——”
“Hold the line, please. Baltimore is calling.”
Then followed silence. Blash wondered. He tried to think of someone he knew in Baltimore, but couldn’t. He felt decidedly nervous without any good reason that he knew of. Through the glass window he saw the doorman watching him interestedly. Beside him the girl who sold tickets pretended deep absorption in a magazine and chewed her gum rhythmically, but Blash knew that she was finding the suspense almost as trying as he was. After what seemed to him many minutes a voice came to him. It might have been a new voice, but it sounded to Blash much like that of the first speaker.
“That you, Wallace!”