ON THE SWEENY WIRE
A party telephone wire is like a political picnic—lots of strangers onthe ground and all full-fledged listeners-in. And Belle Sweeny, therace-track gambler’s widow, found her neighbors’ conversationirresistible, but, sad to relate, almost as disastrous.
A telephone inspector was in the Sweeny apartment, looking over theinstrument. Mrs. Sweeny stood by, evidently suspicious, and watched theman as he worked. Sometimes telephone inspectors turned out to beevil-disposed persons, bent on loot. If one’s back were toward them,they would deftly collect whatever property happened to be available anddecamp. So Mrs. Sweeny gave this man no opportunity at all to develop aburglarious streak, but watched his every move.
At last he finished brushing out the transmitter, tapping here and therewith an inquisitive finger, tightening contact screws and the like, andwent his way. His observer, now off duty, made her way to the Boarder’srooms for a chat.
“Good mornin’,” she said, as she entered.
He returned the greeting and offered her a chair.
“Thanks,” said she, seating herself. “One of them telephone fellers wasjust here, fixin’ the thing. I been watchin’ him. You don’t find metakin’ chances on parties that comes around like that, bein’ flatworkers. Not me!”
“It’s best to be careful,” agreed the Boarder.
“That’s what my Danny usta tell me b’fore he was shot,” she continued.“We was on a party line then⸺” She broke off abruptly, as if memoryhad flashed a message. “Say,” she resumed, “was you ever a party liner?”
“A what?” the Boarder asked.
“A party liner,” came the repetition. “You’re one when you and three orfour other people all listens to what each other says on the phone,b’cause they’re on the same line and can. Anybody that would listen likethat would peek through a keyhole—and I never met nobody that wouldn’tlisten. After you’ve been a party liner for a while, you’ve got more ofa rubberneck disposition than a’ astronomer. You watch a show frombeginnin’ to end, through op’ry glasses, b’cause it makes you thinkyou’re peekin’ at somethin’ on the sly. It’s a worse habit thanwhis’lin’ through your teeth; but there’s times when it comes in handyfor some folks. The fine young one I had almost put Mr. Dan Sweeny andwife down and out.”
“I suppose the telephone company got after you?” the Boarder hazarded.
“You don’t get no coupon with that guess.” Mrs. Sweeny assured him.“Nothin’ like that happened; but somethin’ else did. Me and Danny seenour bank roll all made up and ready to go on in a disappearin’ act. Itwas a scary time for me, I tell you, mister.”
The boarder left off whittling the end of a pencil and began to makehimself comfortable.
Mrs. Sweeny continued:
“About that time Danny had had a fallin’ out with a feller named ‘Mikethe Wop’ that was workin’ at one of them race-track books. My husban’wouldn’t stand for somethin’ he done, and told him so. They quarreledsomethin’ outrag’ous; but afterward they made it up. Danny brought himout to dinner, and we treated him real stylish, like he was in thelegislature and willin’ to be bought on the racin’ question. But thatthere Mike wasn’t no kind of a man. He had a low, backbitin’disposition—he said he had Si