"Well, that's mighty important business for me," Udell answered.
"You see--" but Clara interrupted him.

"What's the matter here anyway?" she asked.

"Oh--nothing; only my man is off on a drunken spree, and everybody
wants their stuff at the same time. I worked until two o'clock last
night; that's why I wasn't at your house; and I must work tonight too.
I'm--Yes, there's another;" as the telephone rang. "Hello!--Yes, this
is Udell's job office--We have the matter set up and will send you
proof as soon as possible--I'm sorry, but we are doing the best we
can--Yes--all right--I'll get at it right away--three o'clock--can't
possibly get it out before"--bang! He hung up the receiver.

"I tell you this is making me thin. If you had half the influence at
headquarters that you profess to have, I wish you'd pray them to send
me a printer."

"Why don't you get help?"

"Get help?--Get nothing! I tell you I've prayed, and threatened, and
bribed, and promised, as well as the best prayer-meeting church member
you've got, and I can't get the sign of an answer. Reckon the wire
must be down," he added, a queer shadow of a smile twitching up the
corners of his mouth; "Y-e-s," as the phone rang again. "I wish that
wire was down."

The girl noted the worn look on his rugged face, and when he had hung
up the receiver again, said: "I wish I could help you, George."