him join in it. They waited, in silence, for the call boy.
And when the call boy came, crying “Mr. Thomas Sullivan” the game developed with the most prosperous rapidity. Babbing interrupted the colloquy between the uneasy Sullivan and the boy, and claimed the call. “My name ’s Oliphant. I ’ve been waiting here all morning for a telephone message, and these idiots go around bawling ‘Sullivan! Sullivan!’ when I bet they want Oliphant. If you ’ve no objection, I ’ll take this call Mr. Sullivan—”
“None whatever,” Sullivan said affably. “I ’m sure it ’s not for me.”
“Come on, boy. Show me the ’phone.”
As he passed, he laid his hand on Barney’s shoulder, and gave him a warning squeeze. It was needed, for as soon as he was out of hearing, Sullivan turned to Barney with a plump, suave smile. “Is n’t that Thomas Oliphant of Kansas City?”
Barney nodded cheerfully.
