“Needn’t what?”
“Needn’t bother! ‘Tell Blash he needn’t bother to send the other——’ Are you there, Wallace? Did you get that?”
“Yes! But who is talking? What is—Look here, I don’t understand——”
“Yes, Wallace, I’ll speak more distinctly.—‘Not to bother to send the other seven and a half cents!’”
“What cents? Say, look here! Who is Dick? Dick who? What——”
“Dick Bates,” answered the ghostly voice.
Blash stared for an instant at the instrument. Then he said: “You—you——” in an oddly choked voice, banged the receiver back on the hook and bolted through the door. He was aware that the ticket girl was giggling and that the doorman eyed him amusedly as he hurried into the theatre again and he wondered if they were parties to the hoax. In the darkness at the back of the house he paused and fanned himself with his cap, and as he did so he chuckled.
“Not bad,” he whispered to himself. “Not a-tall bad!”
Then he made his way down the aisle, located his seat after much difficulty and crawled back to it over many legs and feet. Three concerned faces turned sympathetically.