Talk of false alarms! I was so disappointed thinking I’d got something for Mr. Whitney, that I sat crumpled up in my chair sulking, and right in the middle of my sulks came the second call. It was Long Distance again—Toronto. "I wonder what Toronto wants with her," I thought as I jacked in, and then, leaning my elbow on the desk listened, not much interested. Three sentences hadn’t passed before I was as still as a graven image, all my life gone into my ears. "Is that you, Carol?" I could just hear it, a fine little thread of sound as if it came from a ghost in the other world. "Yes—who’s speaking?" "It’s I—J. W. B." Barker’s initials! My heart gave a leap and then began to fox trot. If I had any doubts, her answer put an end to them. I could hear the gasp in her breath, the fright in her voice. "You? What are you doing this for?" "There’s no danger. I’m careful. Did you get my letter?" "Yes, this morning." "Will you come?" "Are you sure it’s all right? Have you seen the papers here?" "All of them. Don’t be afraid. I’m taking no risks. Are you coming?" "Yes." "When?" "I can leave tonight. There’s a train at eight." "Good. I’ll meet you and explain everything. Do as I said in the letter. I’ll be there." "Very well—understand. Please ring off. Good-bye." For a moment I sat thinking. She was going to Toronto to meet Barker by a train that left at eight, and it was now half-past five. There was no use trying to trace the call—I knew enough for that—so I got Mr. Whitney’s office and told him, careful, without names. He was awful pleased and handed me out some compliments that gave me the courage to ask for something I was crazy to get—the scoop for Babbitts. It would be a big story—Barker landed through the girl he was in love with. I knew they’d follow her and could Babbitts go along? I don’t have to tell you that he agreed, making only one condition—if they were unsuccessful, _silence_. O’Mally, who was up from Philadelphia, would go. Babbitts could join him at the Grand Central Station. I took a call for the _Dispatch_, found Babbitts and told him enough to send him home on the run—but not much; there’s too many phones in those newspaper offices. It was nearly seven when I got there myself, dragged him into our room, and while I packed his grip gave him the last bulletins. He was up in the air. It would be the biggest story that had ever come his way.