cery stores and delicatessens and flat buildings full of clamorous families shrieking for food. Then that buzz; Miss Severns on her feet and out of the office; the door shut and, as I spoke, I heard Jerry's voice:
"Steve!"
"Old fellow, hello! Where are you?"
That was a foolish question, I knew before I got it out. He disregarded it entirely.
"Put your mind on Winton Scofield, Steve. Don't let him ride home in his own car to-night; make him take a taxi."
"Why?" I cut in before taking time to think. Of course, Jerry could not tell me. It was perfectly plain from his voice that, wherever he was, he had only a few seconds in which to speak to me; and if anything was plainer, it was that his situation precluded explanations.
"Make him!" Jerry repeated quickly. "And don't let him know he's being made. Don't say a word of this to any one, whatever happens!"
And the wire at the other end went dead; but I continued to hold the receiver until central's voice briskly inquired, "Number, please?"
So I hung up and sat staring down on the pile of correspondence about potatoes and beans and canned cherries; but my world was no waste of
