CHAPTER V.

WHITNEY BARNES TELEPHONES TO THE RITZ.

Glancing up into the solemn face of an unusually good-looking young

man who wore his silk hat at a jaunty angle and whose every detail of

attire suggested that he was of that singularly blessed class who toil

not neither do they spin, Miss Mamie McCorkle, public telephone

operator in the tallest-but-one skyscraper below the Fulton street

dead line, expected to be asked to look up some number in the

telephone book and be generously rewarded for the trifling exertion.

It wasn't any wonder, then, that she broke the connections of two

captains of industry and one get-rich-quick millionaire when this was

what she got:

"Suppose, my dear young lady, that you had a premonition--a hunch, I

might say--that you were destined this current day of the calendar

week to meet your Kismet in petticoats, wouldn't it make you feel a

bit hollow inside and justify you in taking your first drink before

your customary hour for absorbing the same?"

Usually a live wire at repartee, Mamie McCorkle was stumped. With a

captain of industry swearing in each ear and the get-rich-quick

millionaire trying to break in with his more artistic specialties in

profanity, she was for a moment frozen into silence. When she did come

to the surface, she set the captains of industry down where they

belonged, retorted upon the get-rich-quick millionaire that he was no

gentleman and she hoped he would inform the manager she said so and

then raised her eyebrows at the interrogator who leaned against her

desk.

"If that's an invitation to lunch, _No_! I'm already dated," she said.

"If you're trying to kid me, ring off, the line is busy."

"All of which," said the young man, in the same slow, sober voice, "is

sage counsel for the frivolous. I am not. As you look like a very

sensible young woman, I put a sensible question to you. Perhaps my

language was vague. What I meant to convey was: do you think I would

be justified in taking a drink at this early hour of the day to brace

me for the ordeal of falling in love with an unknown affinity?"

"If your language is personal," replied Miss McCorkle, with a

sarcastic laugh, "my advice is to take six drinks. I'm in love with a

chauffeur."

"Good," said the young man, brightly, "and may I ask if it was a

sudden or a swift affair?"

"Swift," snapped Miss McCorkle. "He ran over my stepmother, then

brought her home. I let him in. We were engaged next day. Here's the

ring, one and one-half carats, white!--now, what number do you want?"

"A thousand thanks--get me the Ritz-Carlton, please, and don't break

this ten-dollar bill. I hate change, it spoils the set of one's

pockets."

As Whitney Barnes squeezed himself into the booth, Miss McCorkle

squinted one eye at the crisp bill he had laid before her and smiled.

"There's more than one way," she thought, "of being asked not to

listen to dove talk, and I like this method best."

The shrewd hello girl, however, had erred in the case of Whitney

Barnes, for this is the way his end of the conversation in booth No. 7

ran:

--This the Ritz? Yes. Kindly connect me with Mr. Smith.

--What Smith? Newest one you got. Forget the first name. Thomas Smith,

you say. Well, give me Tom.

--Hello, there, Trav--that is, Tom, or do you prefer Thomas?

--What's that? Came in by way of Boston on a Cunarder? What's all the

row? Read you were in Egypt, doing the pyramids.

--Can't explain over the wire, eh. Hope it isn't a divorce case;

they're beastly.

--Ought to know you better than that. Say, what's the matter with your

little angora?

--Be serious; it's no joking matter. Well, if it wasn't serious how

could I joke about it? You can't joke about a joke.

--I'm a fool! I wonder where I heard that before. Oh, yes--a few

minutes ago. My paternal parent said the same thing.

--Can I meet you at your house? Where is it? I ought to know? I don't

see why, you keep building it over all the time and then go way and

leave it for two years at a stretch. Then when you do come home you go

and live under the----

--Cut that out! My glory, but there is a mystery here.

--Certainly, I don't want to spoil everything.

--Have I an engagement? I should say I have. Just you call up Joshua

Barnes and ask for the dope on it--a whole flock of engagements

bunched into one large contract, the biggest I ever tackled.

--No, I guess it won't prevent me from meeting you. Not unless I

happen to see her on the way uptown.

--Blessed if I know her any more than you. Wish I did, but whoever she

is she's got to be pretty awful horrible nice.

--Have I been drinking? No; but you better have one ready for me. Seen

any of the chaps at the club? What's that? You gave it a wide berth.

This is beginning to sound like a detective novel or a breach of

promise case.

--You don't tell me. Really, I'd never looked at myself in that light

before. Sure, I'm stuck on myself. Head over heels in love with

myself. I'm a classy little party, I am, and you better make the best

of me while I'm here. Where am I going? Nowhere in particular. Just

going to merge my individuality, bite a chunk out of an apple and get

kicked out of the Garden of Eden.

--Now you're sure I'm piffled. No such luck. Trav--that is, Mr.

Smith--Mr. Thomas Smith! Shall I ask for Smith when I drop up at that

little marble palace of yours? No. Oh, Bateato will be there if you

happen to be delayed. How is the little son of Nippon? Oh, that's

good. Five sharp. Tata, Smitty, old chap. By Jove, he's rung off with

a curse----