Still keeping the revolver pointed at them, the little man took down
the telephone receiver.
"Bob!" whispered Betty. "Oh, Bob, this is dreadful! What will Mrs.
Littell say? And those reporters! If they get hold of this, the
elevator story will be nothing."
Bobby and Louise and Esther and Libbie stood in a forlorn group,
their gaze fixed trustingly on Bob and Betty, whom they trusted to
get them out of this scrape somehow.
As for Bob, he was handicapped by numbers. He could easily have
planned a way to get himself and one girl out of the room, but to
hope to spirit away five substantial maidens under the black eyes
fastened unwaveringly upon him, was too great a problem for quick
solution. He did not fear trouble in establishing their innocence,
but the notoriety accompanying such an episode could not be otherwise
than distinctly unpleasant.
"I suppose that's gold dust in the tray," thought Bob wretchedly.
"Of all the poor luck, to pick out an office with gold dust floating
around as free as air! Why didn't the dub lock it up in his safe?"
The little man was having trouble to get "Central." He jiggled the
hook frantically in flat defiance of all telephone rules, and he
shouted loudly into the transmitter, as though enough noise could
rouse the number he sought.
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