Flinging the newspaper aside, Ambrose stared into space.
Good God! he exclaimed, and then began to laugh hysterically. . . . He had time to gulp down a swallow of cold coffee before the telephone tinkled again.
Mr. Deacon?
Yes.
This is Elaine Galahad. I want to see you about a part in Spider Boy. . . . The voice possessed a resonant assurance.
Ambrose hung up the receiver at once. After a nervous turn or two about the room he bethought himself of a remedy. He requested the operator not to connect any further speaker without previously announcing his name. While he was dressing, the telephone bell sounded ten or twelve times more. As he listened to the operator repeating unknown name