“Oh, isn’t she?” sneered Dan. And then there was some more Fourth of July at the other end of the line. Bob waited patiently for it to subside. “Is that all you wanted to talk with me about?” he asked at length. “It is not,” snapped Dan. “Those confounded blankety-blank detectives, some blankety-blank idiot has employed as gardeners about Mrs. Ralston’s place, have arrested that-blankety-blank medical head of the private sanatorium.” “What?” exclaimed Bob jubilantly. “They found him prowling around. He tells the police-station man who he is, but the police-station man won’t believe him.” “Ha! ha!” Bob was glad he could laugh once more, but it was Fourth of July again for Dan. “It isn’t any blankety-blank laughing matter,” he called back. “He’s one of my witnesses and I don’t want to lose him. Lost witnesses enough already!” Furiously. “Well, why don’t you get him out?” said Bob with a gratified snicker. “I tried to, but that blankety-blank station-house man is a blank bullet-head and the blankety detectives insist he shall be held, as they saw him looking through a window. What I want you to do is to come down to the village and help get him out.” “Me?” said Bob loftily. “Me help get him out?” “Yes, you can acknowledge he was after you, an escaped patient.” “Where is he now?” asked Bob. “Cell.” “Well, you tell the station-man for me that he had better put him in a padded room. Ha! ha!” And Bob hung up the receiver. But almost immediately the bell rang again. “Hello!” said a voice. It was the telephone operator. “Is Mr. Bennett still there? Oh! Well, there’s a party on the long distance wants to speak to you.” “Hello; that you, Bob?” came in far-away accents. “It’s me. Who are you?” “Dad.” “Oh, hello, dad!” Bob tried to make his voice joyful. “I called you up to tell you I caught a fifty-seven pounder. Thought you’d like to congratulate me.” Bob did. “They’ve made me a member of the Pius Piscatorials—swell club down here,” continued dad jubilantly, and again Bob did the congratulating act. “By the way, how’s hustling?” went on dad. “I’m hustling all right.” “That’s good. Well, good-by, son. I’ll be short of funds presently, but that doesn’t worry me. I’m having the time of my life. By-by, dear boy.” “By-by, dad, dear.” “Hold on, Mr. Bennett.” It was the telephone operator once more. “There’s another party that’s bound to speak to you, and take it from me I don’t like the sound of his voice. I hope he isn’t like that first party that was talking to you. What us poor girls has to put up with is something shameful, and—All right. Go ahead.” “This is Dickie,” said a voice. “Say! you leave my girl alone. I’ve heard of your goings-on.” “Who told you?” asked Bob. “That Peeping Tom? That maniac-medico?” “I told you before I was going to marry her. You keep off the premises if you know what is good for you.” Dickie was so mad he was childish. “No, you’re not going to marry her,” said Bob.