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Show Wrecked Romance. Maxwell was nearly an hour late. I wandered impatiently around the lobby, and when another page failed to find liim I entered the telephone booth to make an attempt at reaching him. On the pad in front of the instrument instru-ment was written, "Call Plaza ." Suddenly a wild, delirious impulse seized me. I would call up the number num-ber and see what happened. "Give me Plaza ." The line buzzed a moment, was si-lent si-lent and then I heard a soft "Hello." Such a voice! Clear as the song of the nightingale; as soft as a babbling bab-bling brook, limpid and tender. It was vibrantly, breathlessly eager, and yet there 6eemed to be a note of suppressed sup-pressed anxiety and emotion. "Hello," I answered, and then tentatively. ten-tatively. "It's good to hear your voice again." But the same glorious, musical note came floating back: "Soft pedal and ten cents, please, before I give you your number." And then the awful, awful truth was out. The pompadoured, gum-chewing hotel operator had the voice. Ex-ihange. |