“May I——” began the boy, in a shaky voice.
“Certainly; answer it,” said the manager, without looking up.
“Poor boy,” murmured Millie as Jack almost staggered out of the private office. “I feel so sorry for him,” and she looked as if she wanted to cry.
“What’s the matter with your messenger?” asked Mr. Warren.
“Nothing that I know of,” replied Mr. Bishop, in surprise. “Why?”
“Why, he looked as if he was going to faint just now.”
“I didn’t observe it; maybe he’s sick. He didn’t say anything about feeling bad. So the bottom has fallen out of L. S., eh?”
In the meantime Jack reached the ’phone and grasped the receiver in a mechanical way.
“Well?” he shouted, hoarsely.
“That you, Jack?”