The
little boy with the big glasses and the shiny shoes, and the
weak lungs.
"Sorry," she replied, promptly, "but I'm afraid it's
impossible. I'm leaving the office early, and I'm swamped."
Which was a lie.
"This evening?"
"I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a
rule."
"Too tired to drive?"
"I'm afraid so."
A brief silence. Then, "I'm coming out there to see you."
"Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl.
I'm terribly sorry, but I can't----"
"Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you
it will be over your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him.
I'm coming. Good-by."
"Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!"
A jiggling of the hook. "Number, please?" droned the voice
of the operator.
Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her
work, lips compressed, a frown forming a double cleft
between her eyes.
Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in
his card, as she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that
it was the wrong kind of card.
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