"Jim Carpenter speaking," came his voice presently.
"Good evening, Mr. Carpenter," I replied, "this is Bond of the San Francisco Clarion."
I would be ashamed to repeat the language which came over that telephone. I was informed that all reporters were pests and that I was a doubly obnoxious specimen and that were I within reach I would be promptly assaulted and that reporters would be received at nine the next morning and no earlier or later.
"Just a minute, Mr. Carpenter," I cried as he neared the end of his peroration and was, I fancied, about to slam up the receiver. "Don't you remember me? I was at Leland with you and used to work in your laboratory in the atomic disintegration section."
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Bond, Mr. Carpenter."
"Oh, First Mortgage! Certainly I remember you. Mighty glad to hear your voice. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you, Mr. Carpenter. I would not have ventured to call you had I not known you. I didn't mean to impose and I'll be glad to see you in the morning at nine."
"Not by a long shot," he cried. "You'll come up right away. Where are you staying?"
"At the El Rey."