Part 42 (1/2)

”Goin' to be hotter.”

”Afraid so.”

”Rough on th' kiddies, an' ice goin' up. Which reminds me I sent on the mixture you ordered for little Hazel Bowker.”

”Good,” nodded Ravenslee.

”And the pills to Mrs. Sims.”

”Good again.”

”An' the sleeping-draught for old Martin Finlay.”

”Good once more.”

”Won't last long, old Martin, I guess. Never been the same since little Maggie drowned herself, poor child. What d'ye want this morning?”

”First to pay for the medicine,” said Ravenslee, laying a five-dollar bill on the counter, ”and then the use of your 'phone.”

”Right there,” said the chemist, nodding toward a certain shady corner, where, remote from all intruding bustle, was a telephone booth into which Ravenslee stepped forthwith and where ensued the following one-sided conversation:

Ravenslee. ”h.e.l.lo!”

Telephone. ”Buzz!”

Ravenslee. ”h.e.l.lo, Central, give me Thirty-three Wall, please.”

Telephone. ”Ting-a-ling--buzz!”

Ravenslee. ”d.a.m.n this 'phone--what? No, I said Double-three Wall.”

Telephone. ”Buzz! Ting! Zut!”

Ravenslee. ”Sounded different, did it? Well, I want--”

Telephone. ”Buzz! Zut! Ting!”

Ravenslee. ”Thanks. h.e.l.lo, that Thirty-three Wall? Dana and Anderson's Office? Good! I want to speak with Mr. Anderson--say Mr.

Ravenslee.”

Telephone. ”Zing!”

Ravenslee. ”Thanks. That you, Anderson?”

Telephone. ”Pang!”

Ravenslee. ”Thanks--very well! What the devil's wrong with this instrument of torment--can you hear me?”