“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
twenty-five minutes. During this period both sat mute.
“Stop,” said Poldhu suddenly, and sent no more.
The man on the cliff, Micky knew, was knocking the ashes out of his pipe and snapping off the green electric light preparatory to turning in. The, air was quiet, except for the Hohenlohe, which was trying to flash a belated commercial over the Pavonia to the Berlin.
“MPA de DKV”—“MPA de DKV”—“MPA de DKV”—“Warum antwortest du nicht?” (“Why do you not answer?”) insisted the Hohenlohe.
Then he tried the Pavonia, but Micky shut off his coherer, threw his receiver on the desk, and took one of the cigarettes from the box with a grunt of disgust.
“Let him holler!” he mumbled.
“Who?” asked Cloud.
“That chap on the Hohenlohe!” answered Micky. “He ’s one of those conscientious fellers that never sleep. Well, how do you feel?”
Cloud puffed nervously at his cigarette, tried to answer, and looked helplessly at Micky. Ut-130
