Carl Brickermann, a collection clerk in an uptown bank, in his
accustomed daily routine found it necessary, among other things, to call
by telephone the downtown brokerage firm of Hopegood & Co. One day he
missed the familiar feminine voice which had usually responded to his
calls. But the new voice seemed sweeter and much more passionately
penetrating. For two or three days Brickermann was puzzled, not only
because of the change at the other end of the ’phone, but also because
of the strange and unaccountable fascination which the new voice
possessed for him. At length one day, almost in desperation, he turned
aside from his regular business inquiries to ask:
“Where’s the other girl?”
“Which other girl?” asked the mellifluous voice over the articulate
wire.
“The one who used to answer the ’phone for the Hopegoods,” explained
Brickermann.
“Promoted,” came the response, with a merry little laugh.
“And you have her old place?” asked Brickermann, somewhat encouraged.
“Yes; for awhile,” said the same still, small voice at the other end,
and it sounded more and more sweetly to the would-be masher.
“Well,” said Brickermann, laughing the while, “I used to know her quite
well, and I should like to meet you face to face, if you don’t mind, I
am so charmed with the music of your voice I am sure I should be
perfectly entranced with the magic of your face.”
[Illustration: “IS ER-ER-MR. HOPEGOOD IN?”]
A merry peal of laughter from the other end greeted this sally. The
young man continued:
“I used to come down some days about four o’clock to see Margie. Will
you, my Unseen Charmer, grant me the same high favor?”
“Why, certainly! Come any day,” answered the sweet voice which had so
strangely bewitched the young man. In ecstasy Brickermann shouted back:
“I’ll be down this afternoon.”
Brickermann hung up the receiver, and, chuckling with delight, he turned
to his other duties with the alacrity that a young spring chicken
displays when it suddenly discovers a big fat worm.
By three-thirty o’clock he had arranged his toilet, and stood before the
mirror giving the finishing twirl to his budding moustache. He brushed
his clothing the second time, brushed his hat, and, figuratively
speaking, arrayed in purple and fine linen, he sallied forth. He boarded
an elevated train bound for the downtown district. On his way down he
tried to picture to himself the kind of a girl he should meet at the
Hopegoods. Would she be tall or short of stature? Blonde or brunette?
Above twenty-one years of age or only sweet sixteen? The quick arrival
of the train at Park Place put a period to Brickermann’s reverie. He
went tripping across a few blocks to the place where all of his hopes
had been centered during the past few hours--in fact, days. Arrived
there, he stepped into the front office where “Margie” had formerly
presided. It was the same snug and cosy room, but he failed to behold
there the eagerly expected young lady. Instead he ran amuck a chubby
little boy, with a ruddy face and curly hair, and perhaps not more than
fourteen or fifteen years old, sitting in “Margie’s” place.
Brickermann was visibly embarrassed. He did not know where to begin or
what to say. He twitched nervously at the glove which he carried in his
hand, and finally he stammered:
“Is--er--Mr. Hopegood in?”
“No, sir,” said the boy. “Can I be of any service to you?”
Brickermann’s face turned blood red, and great drops of perspiration
stood out upon his forehead. The accents of the little boy startled him,
for they were the same that had been wafted to him almost daily along
the wire and with which he thought he had been enamored. In the midst of
his confusion he managed to say, hoping almost against hope that his
identity had not been discovered:
“Well, er--er--I’ll call again.”
And, without waiting to hear the Unseen Charmer speak again, he hastily
retired with as good grace as was possible under the circumstances.