Then I got to wonderin' about this old-maid poetess. Was she through for the night, or did she work double shifts? If she wasn't any nearer sleep than I was she might think up half a dozen substitutes for Ethelbert before mornin'. Would she insist on springin' each one on me as they hit her?
Maybe she was gettin' ready to call me again now. Should I pretend not to hear and let her ring, or would it be better to answer and let on that this was Police Headquarters?
Honest, I got so fidgety waitin' for that buzzer to go off that I could almost hear the night operator pluggin' in on our wire.
And then a thought struck me that wouldn't let go. So, slippin' out easy and throwin' on a bath-robe, I sneaked downstairs to the back hall 'phone, turned on the light, and hunted up Miss Leroy's number in the book.
"Give her a good strong ring, please," says I to Exchange, "and keep it up until you rouse somebody."
"Leave it to me," says the operator. And in a minute or so I gets this throaty "Hello! "
"Miss Leroy?" says I.
"Yes," says she. "Who is calling?"
"Ballard," says I. "I'm the fond parent of the nameless baby. And say, do you still stick to Ethelbert?"
"Why," says she, "I—er——"