It's worth trying, in any
event."
"But there is Jones to consider. The telephone is in his office. What
will he think--"
"Jones is all right," said Sprouse briefly. "Come along. You can call
up from my room." He grinned slyly. "Such a thing as tapping the wire,
you know."
Sprouse had installed a telephone in his room, carrying a wire
upstairs from an attachment made in the cellar of the Tavern. He
closed the door to his little room on the top floor.
"With the landlord's approval," he explained, pointing to the
instrument, "but unknown to the telephone company, you may be sure.
Call him up about half-past ten. O'Dowd may be up at this unholy hour,
but not she. Now, I must be off to discuss literature with Mrs. Jim
Conley. I've been working on her for two weeks. The hardest part of my
job is to keep her from subscribing for a set of Dickens. She has been
on the point of signing the contract at least a half dozen times, and
I've been fearfully hard put to head her off. Conley's house is not
far from Green Fancy. Savvy?"
Barnes, left to his own devices, wandered from tap-room to porch, from
porch to forge, from forge to tap-room, his brain far more active than
his legs, his heart as heavy as lead and as light as air by turns.
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