The Spectacles of Authority

"W-why, yes."

"Somebody trying to get you on the long-distance 'phone."

"Me? 'Phone?"

She was trembling. "Something's happened to Milt. He needs me!" She
could not manage her voice, as she got the operator on the farmers'-line
wire, and croaked, "Was some one trying to get Miss Boltwood?"

"Yes. This Boltwood? Hotel in Kalispell trying to locate you, for two
hours. Been telephoning all along the line, from Butte to Somers."

"W-well, w-will you g-get 'em for me?"

It was not Milt's placid and slightly twangy voice but one smoother,
more decisive, perplexingly familiar, that finally vibrated, "Hello!
Hello! Miss Boltwood! Operator, I can't hear. Get me a better
connection. Miss Boltwood?"

"Yes! Yes! This is Miss Boltwood!" she kept beseeching, during a long
and not unheated controversy between the unknown and the crisp operator,
who knew nothing of the English language beyond, "Here's your party. Why
don't you talk? Speak louder!"

Then came clearly, "Hear me now?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Miss Boltwood?"

"Yes?"

"Oh. Oh, hello, Claire. This is Jeff."

"Jess who?"

"Not Jess. Jeff! Geoffrey! J-e-f-f! Jeff Saxton!"

"Oh!" It was like a sob. "Why--why--but you're in New York."

"Not exactly, dear. I'm in Kalispell, Montana."

"But that's right near here."

"So am I!"

"B-but----"

"Out West to see copper interests. Traced you from Yellowstone Park but
missed you at Butte. Thought I'd catch you on road. You talking from
Barmberry's?"

The woman who had hailed her was not missing a word of a telephone
conversation which might be relative to death, fire, elopement, or any
other dramatic event. Claire begged of her, "Where in the world am I
talking from, anyway?"