oth.

"Same guy?" Mike demanded, his veins bulging in his thick, freckled
neck.

"Same guy," Mort said grimly. His lips were tight. "He asked if we
could get Hitler and Musso to the phone in a hurry. He said the
connection was getting weaker and weaker, and he was afraid it
wouldn't hold out much longer."

"The connection?" I broke in, puzzled.

Mort looked on the verge of apoplexy. "The connection from where he
was calling to earth, the wise guy said!" he exploded. "If we could
only trace that call I'd break that no-good's neck!"

Mike and Mort evidently took turns acting as sobering influence on
each other.

"Now we don't wanta get too riled," Mike pointed out with surprising
sense. "The gag artist prob'ly wants we should get mad like this.
We'll forget 'em. I'll call for the morning line and the odd changes
for the first races."

Mort drummed his fingers on the cigar showcase, cooling himself off.
Mike marched over to the telephone booth and wedged himself inside.
With one big red finger, he dialed a number rapidly after he took the
telephone from the hook. But he only half completed his dialing. It
broke off as he uttered a choking curse.

"Listen you!" Mike suddenly bellowed, the echoes in the booth almost
knocking it over. "Get the hell offa this line! Howdja get on in the
first place?"

Mort stopped drumming his fingers and glanced startledly at the booth.
Crimson began to return to his face.

"What's up?" he shouted. He started toward the booth. I followed him.
We could hear Mike spluttering incoherently inside. Then there was an
ear-splitting racket as the big bookie smashed the receiver back into
the hook and turned purple faced toward us.

"The gag artist!" he raged. "The same damn wise guy. The
Hitler-Mussolini smart aleck. He was waitin' on the line. He hadn't
hung up. He told me he hadda wait on the line, cause he didn't dare
break off the connection. He said it was too hard to make inna first
place. He said he hoped we didn't mind if he waited until we got Adolf
and Benito on the wire fer him!"

* * * * *

By now Mort was spluttering, and this time neither partner seemed to
have a calming effect on the other. They were both raging, boiling
mad.

"I'll call the cops!" Mike bellowed. "That's what I'll do!" He began
to pace up and down. "I'll have that guy electrocuted!"

"I'm going out," Mort stormed, "and get the operator onna 'nother
phone. I'll report