“Oh, I know how to use a telephone all right.”

“Now, the main thing is to get Central,” said Mr. Yollop imperturbably.  “Sometimes it is very difficult to wake them after two o’clock A.M.  Just jiggle it if she doesn’t respond at once.  Seems that jiggling wakes them when nothing else will.”

Mr. Yollop, very tall and spare in his pajamas, stood behind the burly Mr. Smilk, the dangling disc almost touching the latter’s hunched up shoulders.

“This is a devil of a note,” quoth Mr. Smilk, taking down the receiver.  “Makin’ a guy telephone to the police to come and arrest him.”

“I wish I had thought to close that window while you were hors de combat,” complained Mr. Yollop shivering.  “I’ll probably catch my death of cold standing around here with almost nothing on.  That wind comes straight from the North Pole.  Doesn’t she answer?”

“No.”

“Jiggle it.”

“I did jiggle it.”

“What?”

“I said I jiggled it.”

“Well, jiggle it again.”

“Rottenest telephone service in the world,” growled Mr. Smilk.  “When you think what we have to pay for telephones these days, you’d think—­hello!  Hell—­lo!”

“Got her?”

“I thought I had for a second, but I guess it was somebody yawning.”

“Awning?”

“Say, if you’ll hold that thing around so’s I can talk at it, you’ll hear what I’m saying.  How do you expect me to—­hello!  Central?  Central!  Hello!  Where the hell have you been all—­hello!  Well, can you beat it?  I had her and she got away.”

“No use trying to get her now,” said Mr. Yollop, resignedly.  “Hang up for a few minutes.  It makes ’em stubborn when you swear at ’em.  Like mules.  I’ve just thought of something else you can do for me while we’re waiting for her to make up her mind to forgive you.  Come along over here and close this window you left open.”

Mr. Smilk in closing the window, looked searchingly up and down the fire escape, peered intently into the street below, sighed profoundly and muttered something that Mr. Yollop did not hear.

“I’ve got a fur coat hanging in that closet over there, Cassius.  We will get it out.”

Carefully following Mr. Yollop’s directions, the obliging rascal produced the coat and laid it upon the table in the center of the room.

“Turn your back,” commanded the owner of the coat, “and hold up your hands.”  Then, after he had slipped into the coat:  “Now if I only had my slippers—­but never mind.  We won’t bother about ’em.  They’re in my bed room, and probably lost under the bed.  They always are, even when I take ’em off out in the middle of the room.  Ah!  Nothing like a fur coat, Cassius.  Do you know what cockles are?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, never mind.  Now, let’s try Central again.  Please remember that no matter how distant she is, she still expects you to look upon her as a lady.  No lady likes to be sworn at at two o’clock in the morning.  Speak gently to her.  Call her Madamoiselle.  That always gets them.  Makes ’em think if they keep their ears open they’ll hear something spicy.”