by Clee Garson
to leave again, but at that moment the telephone booth in thecorner shook from side to side and Mike stepped out, face red withwrath.
"I'd like to get my hands on that guy, the wisenheimer!" he growled."Hah! Practical jokes, eh?"
Again I stopped at the door.
"What's wrong this time?" I demanded. "Or is it still the State'sAttorney you're frothing about?"
"Some guy," Mike thundered explosively, "just called to say he wantedto talk to Hitler and Mussolini. Wise guy, hah, the louse!"
"Hitler and Mussolini?" I demanded. "Who was it?"
"Wouldn't I like to know," Mike exclaimed redly. "Wouldn't I just liketo know!" He made a grasping gesture with his two big fists,indicating what he would do to the party if he did know.
Mort had put down the newspaper and had been listening to Mike'sexplosion.
"Don't bust your buttons, Mike," Mort advised. "It's probably just oneof our customers having a gag."
"Bum gag, I say. If they wanta gag whyn't they gag funny?" Mikesnorted angrily. "Talk to Hitler and Mussolini, eh? Huh!"
And at that juncture, the telephone rang again. Mort looked up, thenlooked at me and winked. He turned to Mike, who'd started wrathfullyfor the booth.
"Hold it, chumly," Mort said. "I'll answer this one. If it's the jokeragain I can handle him better than you can."
* * * * *
Mort walked nonchalantly over to the booth, took down the receiver,and turned to wink again at me.
"Hello," Mort said.
Obviously the voice on the other end of the wire said something. Mortgrinned.
"They ain't here," Mort said, grinning more widely. "No. Not either of'em. Adolf sleeps late and don't get down until noon. Benito is outhaving himself a milkshake. Who'll I tell 'em called? Huh? What'sthat? You call back? But who'll I tell 'em called? Huh? Gab--Gabby?What?"
Mort put the receiver back on the hook and turned back to us, steppingout of the booth.
"The joker said to tell Adolf and Benito he'd call back later. Ididn't get his name, but it sounded like Gabby. Smart joe, thisGabby."
Mike was glaring. "Gabby, eh? Gabby, Gabby, Gabby," he scratched hisred head frowningly. "Who do I know named Gabby?"
"Skip it," Mort advised smilingly. "It wouldn't be the right monicker,anyway."
Mike muttered dourly, moving back behind the counter. Suddenly hestopped.
"You see the morning paper?" he asked his partner in suddenrecollection. "You see about that louse State's Att--"
"Yeah, I read it," Mort cut him off. "It'll blow over, even if theyget away with it. But they might not even get away with it. It'sillegal."
Mike beamed for the first time since I'd seen him that morning.Obviously he was pleased to have his own legal judgment upheld by hispartner.
"You think so? That's what I thought." He turned to me. "Isn't thatwhat I thought?" he demanded.
"Did you call for the morning line check on the tracks yet?" Mortasked, changing the subject.
Mike shook his head. "I was waiting for a few phone bets to come in,first," he said.
"How many come in so far?" Mort asked.
Mike suddenly looked at his wrist watch and swore. "None!" heexclaimed. "None and it's already after ten!"
Mort looked alarmed. "You mean the phone ain't rang with a bet sinceyou been down?"
"Only time the phone rung was with that practical joker, twicet. Youheard 'em," Mike declared.
"But by this time we generally have a couple dozen bets in from thephones!" Mort exclaimed. "This is bad. Whatcha think goes?"
"Goes?" Mike exclaimed indignantly. "How should I know what goes?"
Mort suddenly clapped his palm to his brow. "Maybe it's got somethin'to do with that news story!"
"About the State's Attorney gonna check the phone lists?" Mikedemanded.
"Yeah."
Mike thought this over. "No," he decided. "Couldn't be. Not so soon,yet. Tomorrow, maybe, but not so soon."
Mort calmed down a little. "You're right there," he said. "It wouldn'tbe so soon."
"Maybe this is a bad day," I broke in. "Maybe your customers justaren't betting this morning."
Mort and Mike looked at me as if I were crazy, which possibly I was.Two dozen steady horse players don't all stop at once, if ever.
Mike was as sorely troubled as Mort.
"We got at least couple dozen bets acrosst the counter already thismorning," he said. "But no phone bets."
"Maybe the damn thing is _actually_ out of order," Mort groaned,glancing at the telephone.
"Then how did we get them two calls from the joker?" Mike demanded."No. That phone ain't no more outta order than I am."
"You're right. I forgot those calls," Mort acknowledged.
* * * * *
And at that moment the telephone rang again. Mort looked at Mike. Mikelooked at Mort. Both wet their lips.
"Ordinary days that joker might be funny," Mort said. "But now I'mthinking this isn't an ordinary day. I'm thinking it's not as funny asI first thought."
He crossed to the telephone booth, jerked the receiver from the hook,and bellowed into the mouthpiece.
"Hello!"
There was a brief pause in which someone said something to him fromthe other end of the wire.
"Listen!" Mort suddenly exploded. "Nothing is funny three times, wiseguy. I wish you would take your Hitler-Mussolini gag and--" at whichpoint he described what he wanted the caller to do with the gag. Then,slamming the receiver back into the hook, Mort stormed out of thebooth.
"Same guy?" Mike demanded, his veins bulging in his thick, freckledneck.
"Same guy," Mort said grimly. His lips were tight. "He asked if wecould get Hitler and Musso to the phone in a hurry. He said theconnection was getting weaker and weaker, and he was afraid itwouldn't hold out much longer."
"The connection?" I broke in, puzzled.
Mort looked on the verge of apoplexy. "The connection from where hewas calling to earth, the wise guy said!" he exploded. "If we couldonly trace that call I'd break that no-good's neck!"
Mike and Mort evidently took turns acting as sobering influence oneach other.
"Now we don't wanta get too riled," Mike pointed out with surprisingsense. "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 changesfor 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 thetelephone from the hook. But he only half completed his dialing. Itbroke off as he uttered a choking curse.
"Listen you!" Mike suddenly bellowed, the echoes in the booth almostknocking it over. "Get the hell offa this line! Howdja get on in thefirst 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 anear-splitting racket as the big bookie smashed the receiver back intothe hook and turned purple faced toward us.
"The gag artist!" he raged. "The same damn wise guy. TheHitler-Mussolini smart aleck. He was waitin' on the line. He hadn'thung up. He told me he hadda wait on the line, cause he didn't darebreak off the connection. He said it was too hard to make inna firstplace. He said he hoped we didn't mind if he waited until we got Adolfand Benito on the wire fer him!"
* * * * *
By now Mort was spluttering, and this time neither partner seemed tohave a calming effect on the other. They were both raging, boilingmad.
"I'll call the cops!" Mike bellowed. "That's what I'll do!" He beganto pace up and down. "I'll have that guy electrocuted!"
"I'm going out," Mort stormed, "and get the operator onna 'notherphone. I'll report that so-and-so, and they'll trace him down throughthe
telephone company!"
He started for the door. Mike grabbed his arm.
"Waita minute!" he exclaimed. "We can't do that!"
Mort tore his arm from his partner's grasp. "What's stopping us?"