About half past seven the next morning, Nannette was going distractedly about the dishevelled kitchen attempting to get a semblance of a breakfast for the irate Eugene and at the same time deal with her two unruly children who half dressed were contending about the cat. The telephone suddenly rang out sharply and Eugene dropped the morning paper with a snap and sprang to take down the receiver, an arrogant frown appearing at once on his face and dominating the anxiety that had been there ever since the evening before: “Hello!” he said insolently in the voice he meant to use for Joyce in case it was Joyce. “Hello!” came back a voice equally insolent with the effect of having been the same word thrown back resentfully. A man’s voice. Eugene was puzzled. “Who are you?” he challenged with a heavy frown. Nannette paused in the kitchen doorway and listened and the children suspended operations on the cat and attended maturely. “Is Miss Joyce there?” The voice held authority, and denied any right to interference by a third party. “Who _is_ this?” demanded Eugene angrily. “A friend of Miss Radway’s,” came the prompt dignified reply. “I wish to speak with Miss Radway.” There was coldness in the tone. The voice had a carrying quality and could be heard distinctly across the room. “There, I told you so!” cried Nannette hysterically, “The whole town will hear of it!” Eugene made a violent gesture with his foot equivalent to telling her to go into the kitchen and shut the door, and Nannette retired out of sight with a listening ear. “Joyce is busy,” said her cousin in a lordly tone. “She can’t be interrupted now. You can leave a message if you like that can be given her when she gets done her work.” “I see,” said the calm voice after a moment of what seemed thoughtful silence, and there came a soft click. “Who is this? Say! Who is this? Operator! Operator! You’ve cut us off. What’s that? Who’s calling? That’s what I want to find out. You cut us off before the man told his name. Look that up and let me know at once where it came from. What’s that? What number? Why that’s your business. You ought to know where a call came from just two minutes ago. You’ll look it up? All right. Get busy then. I have to make a train.” “Who was it?” demanded Nannette appearing wide-eyed with dish cloth in one hand and a piece of burnt toast in the other. “Shut up!” said her husband rudely, “Don’t you see I’m busy? I never saw such service as we have here in this town, can’t find out who a call came from.” “Was it a man calling or a woman?” “A man, of course. Isn’t there always a man where a girl is concerned.” “I never saw a man come to see Joyce,” meditated Nannette wonderingly.