"Huh?" grunts the operator, bending over, as she begun to stutter again.
"What's he saying?" somebody asked, but the operator didn't seem to hear him. Then all at once he began to talk in a voice that didn't belong to him.
"Balangiga," he read, "seven-ten A.M. Company—attacked by—bolomen—while at—breakfast. Rifles in quarters. Fought with—dishes and—knives and forks—but—no good—"
"Fought with—dishes and—knives and forks."
"God!" says somebody, and a dozen say, "Shut up."
But the operator didn't seem to mind. "Look out for—yourselves," he read. And then he begun to call out a list of names, very slow, and between each one you could hear the crowd draw a long breath. "Sullivan—Brewster—Fleishart—Nickerson—"
"Is that Tommy Nickerson?" says somebody.
"Shut up," says Terry.