"They are."
"Ship them to Trinidad."
"That's bully of you, Miss Santa Claus. I want to—" But the wire was dead.
Mitchell grinned. Personality did count after all, and he had proved that it could be projected over a copper wire.
An hour later when Miss Northwestern called him for a price on stay-bolt iron she did not ring off for fifteen minutes, and at the end of that time she promised to take the first opportunity of having another chat. In a similar manner, once the ice had been broken at the C. & E.I., Mitchell learned that the purchasing agent was at West Baden on his vacation; that he had stomach trouble and was cranky; that the speaker loved music, particularly Chaminade and George Cohan, although Beethoven had written some good stuff; that she'd been to Grand Haven on Sunday with her cousin, who sold hats out of Cleveland and was a prince with his money, but drank; and that the price on corrugated iron might be raised ten cents without doing any damage.
On the following afternoon Murphy, the Railroad Sales Manager, stopped on his way past Mitchell's desk to inquire:
"Say, have you been sending orchids to Miss Dunlap over at the Santa Fe? I was in there this morning, and she wanted to know all about you."
"Did you boost me?" Louis inquired. "It won't hurt your sales to plug my game."
"She said you and she are 'buddies' over the wire. What did she mean?"
"Oh, wire pals, that's all. What kind of a looker is she, Mr. Murphy?"