if you get her out of bed this time o' night? It's after three."

"I know the number. Yes, she'll be sore at first, but--Hello
Central?" He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, so that Mr.
Yollop could not hear. "Give me Plaza 00100. Right." Turning to Mr.
Yollop, he announced as he sank back into the chair comfortably:

"It's an apartment. We'll probably have quite a long wait. I've
found it takes some little time to wake the head of the house and
get him to the 'phone. And say, he's the darndest grouch I've ever
tackled. Get's sore as a crab. But we've got him where we want him.
He knows darned well if he kicks up a row, she'll quit and his wife
couldn't get anybody in her place for love or money these days. I
was sayin' only the other night--" Again lowering his voice: "Is
this Plaza 00100? ... I want to speak to Yilga, please." ... Raising
his voice considerably: "Here, now, cut that out! ... Well, it IS
important. ... Course, I know what time o' night it is. ... Yes,
it's a damned outrage an' all that, but--what? ... All right, I'll
hold the wire. Tell her to hustle, will you?"

"I wish I had shot you, Smilk, when I had the chance," said Mr.
Yollop sadly. "This is abominable, atrocious. Getting a man out of
bed at half-past three! It's unspeakable, Smilk!"

"She's a light sleeper," mused Mr. Smilk aloud, dreamily.

"What say?"

"Don't bother me. I'm thinkin'!"