“Which other girl?” asked the mellifluous voice over the articulate wire.
“The one who used to answer the ’phone for the Hopegoods,” explained Brickermann.
“Promoted,” came the response, with a merry little laugh.
“And you have her old place?” asked Brickermann, somewhat encouraged.
“Yes; for awhile,” said the same still, small voice at the other end, and it sounded more and more sweetly to the would-be masher.
“Well,” said Brickermann, laughing the while, “I used to know her quite well, and I should like to meet you face to face, if you don’t mind, I am so charmed with the music of your voice I am sure I should be perfectly entranced with the magic of your face.”
[Illustration: “IS ER-ER-MR. HOPEGOOD IN?”]
A merry peal of laughter from the other end greeted this sally. The young man continued:
“I used to come down some days about four o’clock to see Margie. Will you, my Unseen Charmer, grant me the same high favor?”
“Why, certainly! Come any day,” answered the sweet voice which had so strangely bewitched the young man. In ecstasy Brickermann shouted back:
Brickermann hung up the receiver, and, chuckling with delight, he turned to his other duties with the alacrity that a young spring chicken displays when it suddenly discovers a big fat worm.
By three-thirty o’clock he had arranged his toilet, and stood before the mirror giving the finishing twirl to his budding moustache. He brushed his clothing the second time, brushed his hat, and, figuratively speaking, arrayed in purple and fine linen, he sallied forth. He boarded an elevated train bound for the downtown district. On his way down he tried to picture to himself the kind of a girl he should meet at the Hopegoods. Would she be tall or short of stature? Blonde or brunette? Above twenty-one years of age or only sweet sixteen? The quick arrival of the train at Park Place put a period to Brickermann’s reverie. He went tripping across a few blocks to the place where all of his hopes had been centered during the past few hours--in fact, days. Arrived there, he stepped into the front office where “Margie” had formerly presided. It was the same snug and cosy room, but he failed to behold there the eagerly expected young lady. Instead he ran amuck a chubby little boy, with a ruddy face and curly hair, and perhaps not more than fourteen or fifteen years old, sitting in “Margie’s” place.