The bell, which had stopped for an instant, started up afresh as they entered the room. Bob Somers made a dash toward the instrument, and took the receiver from the hook.
“Hello, hello!” he called, in anxious tones.
“Hello, hello!” came an answer. “Ha, ha!”
It was a familiar voice.
“Willie—Willie Sloan!” cried Bob. “Where in the dickens are you, Willie?”
“Ha, ha! Did you fellows get my note, Somers?”
“Yes—yes!”
“Which one was the maddest?”
“Oh, quit that, Willie. Tell me where you are.”
“In a corkin’ nice room. But you wouldn’t like it—hasn’t got a single cobweb; can’t write your name on the dust, either. Say——”