Читать книгу The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife - Ellen M. Firebaugh - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Ten P.M. The 'phone is ringing and the sleepy doctor gets out of bed and goes to answer it.

“Hello.”

No response.

“Hello!”

Silence.

“Hello!!”

“Is this Doctor Blank?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to come out to my house—my wife's sick.”

“Who is it?”

“Jim Warner. Come just as—”

A click in the receiver.

The doctor waits a minute. Then he says “Hello.” No answer. He waits another minute. “Hell-o!!”

Silence. “Damn that girl—she's cut us off.” He hangs up the receiver and rings the bell sharply. He takes it down and hears a voice say leisurely, “D'ye get them?”

“Yes! What in h-ll did you cut us off for?”

“Wait a minute—I'll ring 'em again,” says the voice, hasty and obliging, so potent a thing is a man's unveiled wrath. She rings 'em again. Soon the same voice says, “Are you there yet, Doctor?”

“Yes, now what is it!”

The voice proceeds and the doctor listens putting in an occasional “Yes” or “No.” Then he says, “All right—I'll be out there in a little bit.” He hangs up the receiver and his wife falls asleep again. The doctor dresses and goes out. The house is in darkness. All is still. In about five minutes Mary is suddenly, sharply awake. A slight noise in the adjoining room! She listens with accelerated heart-beats. The doctor has failed to put on the night latch. Some thief has been lying in wait watching for his opportunity, and now he has entered. What can she do. Muffled footsteps! she pulls the sheet over her head, her heart beating to suffocation. The footsteps grope their way toward her room! Great Heaven! A hand fumbles at the door knob. She shrieks aloud.

“What on earth is the matter!”

O, brusque and blessed is that voice!

“John, you have nearly scared me to death,” she says, sitting up in bed, half laughing and half crying. “But I heard you tell that man you were coming out there.”

“Yes. I told him I was.”

“Well, why didn't you go?”

“I did go.”

“You don't mean to tell me you have been a mile and back in five minutes.”

The doctor flashed on the light and looked at his watch,—“Just an hour since I left home,” he said. Mary gasped. “Well, it only proves how soundly I can sleep when I get a chance,” she said.

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

It is the office ring but Mary hurries at once to answer it.

“Is this Dr. Blank's office?”

“This is Mrs. Blank. But the doctor telephoned me about twenty minutes ago that he would be out for half an hour. Call him again in ten or fifteen minutes and I think you will find him.”

In about fifteen minutes the call is repeated. Mary would feel better satisfied to know that the doctor received the message so she goes to the 'phone and listens. Silence. She waits a minute. Shall she speak? She hesitates. Struggle as she will against the feeling, she can't quite overcome it—it seems like “butting in.” But that long silence with the listening ear at the other end of it is too much for her. Very pleasantly, almost apologetically she asks, “What is it?”

“The doctor hasn't come yet?” says a plainly disappointed voice.

“No—not yet. There are often unexpected things to delay him—if you will give me your number or your name I will have him call you.”

“No, I'll just wait and call him again.” The inflection says plainly, “I don't care to admit the doctor's wife into my confidences.”

“Very well. I am sure it can't be long now till he returns.”

Mary goes back to her chair and ponders a little. Of what avail to multiply words. No use to tell the woman 'phoning that she was willing to take the waiting and the watching, the seeing that the doctor received the message upon herself rather than that the other should be again troubled by it. No use to let her gently understand that she doesn't care for any confidences which belong only to her husband, but Fate has placed her in a position where she has oftentimes to seem unduly interested. That these messages which are only occasional with the one calling are constant with her and that she is only mindful of them when she must be.

“Watch the 'phone.” How thoroughly instilled into Mary's consciousness that admonition was! She did not heed the office ring when it came, but if it came a second time she always went to explain that the doctor had just stepped over to the drug store probably and would be back in a very few minutes. Often, as she stood explaining, the doctor himself would break into the conversation, having been in another room when the first call came, and getting there a little tardily for the second. But occasions sometimes arose which made Mary feel very thankful that she had been at the 'phone. One winter morning as she stood explaining to some woman that the doctor would be in in a few minutes, her husband's “Hello” was heard.

“There he is now,” she said. Usually after this announcement she would hang up the receiver and go about her work. Today a friendly interest in this pleasant voice kept it in her hand a moment. Mary would not have admitted idle curiosity, and perhaps she had as little of it as falls to the lot of women, but sometimes she lingered a moment for the message, to know if the doctor was to be called away, so that she might make her plans for dinner accordingly. The pleasant voice spoke again, “This is Dr. Blank, is it?”

“Yes.”

“We want you to come out to Henry Ogden's.”

“That's about five miles out, isn't it. Who's sick out there?”

“Mrs. Ogden.”

“What's the matter?”

No reply.

“How long has she been sick?”

“She began complaining last night.”

“All right—I'll be out some time today.”

“Come right away, please, if you can.”

This is an old, old plea. The doctor is thoroughly inured to it. He would have to be twenty men instead of one to respond to it at all times. He answers cheerfully, “All right,” and Mary takes alarm. That tone means sometime in the next few hours. She feels sure he ought to go now. Somebody else can wait better than this patient. There was a kind of hesitancy in that voice that Mary had heard before. A woman's intuitions are much safer guides than a man's slow reasoning. She must speak to John. She rings the office.

“Hello.”

“Say, John,” she says in a low voice, “I came to the 'phone thinking you were out and heard that message. I think you ought to go out there right away.”

“Well, I'm going after a little.”

“But I don't think you ought to wait. I'm sure it's—you know.”

“Well,—maybe I had better go right out.”

“I wish you would. I know they'll be looking for you every minute.”

A few minutes later Mary saw him drive past and was glad. Half an hour later the office ring sounded. She did not wait for the second peal. True, John had not said, “Watch the 'phone,” today, but that was understood. Occasionally he got an old man who lived next door to the office to come in and stay during his absence. Possibly he might have done so today. But even if he were there the telephone and its ways were a dark mystery to him and besides, his deafness made him of little use in that direction.

Mary took down the receiver and put it to her ear. A lady's voice was asking, “Who is this?”

Mary knew from her inflection that she had asked something before and was not satisfied with the reply.

“This is Dr. Blank's office?” announced the old man in a sort of interrogative.

“Well, where is the doctor?”

“The doctor,” said the old man meditatively, as if wondering that anybody should be calling for him—“the doctor—you mean Dr. Blank, I reckon?”

“I certainly do.”

“Good Heavens,” thought Mary, “why don't he go on!”

“Why, he's out.”

“Where is he?”

“He went to the country.”

Mary shut her lips tight.

“Well, when will he be back?”

“He 'lowed he'd be back in about an hour or so.”

“How long has he been gone? Maybe I'll get some information after a while.”

Mary longed to speak. Why hadn't she done so at first. If she thrust herself in now it would make her out an eavesdropper. But this was unbearable. She opened her mouth to speak when the old man answered.

“He's been gone over an hour now, I reckon.”

“Then he'll soon be back. Will you be there when he comes?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Then tell him to come up to Mrs. Dorlan's.”

“To Mrs. Who's?”

“Mrs. Dorlan's.”

“I didn't ketch the name.”

“Mrs. Dorlan's, on Brownson street.”

“Mrs. Torren's?”

“MISS-ES—DOR-LAN'S!” shouted the voice.

Mary sighed fiercely and clinched her teeth unconsciously. “I will speak,” she thought, when the old voice ventured doubtingly,

“Mrs. Dorlan's?”

“That's it. Mrs. Dorlan's on Brownson street, will you remember it?”

“Mrs. Dorlan's, on Brownson street.”

“That's right. Please tell him just as soon as he comes to come right up.”

“All right—I'll tell him.”

“Poor old fellow!” said Mary as she turned from the 'phone, “but I don't want to go through any more ordeals like that. It was a good deal harder for me than for the other woman.”

The doctor came down late to dinner. “You got Mrs. Dorlan's message did you?”

“Yes, I'll go up there right after dinner.” He looked at his wife with peculiar admiration.

“How did you know what was wanted with me out in the country?” he asked.

With a little pardonable pride she replied: “Oh, I just felt it. Women have ways of understanding each other that men never attain to. Is it a boy or a girl added to the world today?”

“Neither,” said the doctor placidly, helping himself to a roll.

Chagrin overspread her face. “Well,” she said with an embarrassed smile, “I erred on mercy's side, and it might have happened in just that way, John, and you know it.”

The doctor laughed. “There was mighty little the matter out there—they didn't need a doctor.”

“Are they good pay?”

“Good as old wheat.”

“Then there are compensations.”

Some hours later when the 'phone rang, Mary went to explain that the doctor had 'phoned her he would be out about twenty minutes. But she found no chance to speak. A spirited dialogue was taking place between a young man and a maid:

“Where are you, Jack?”

“I'm right here.”

“Smarty! Where are you!”

“In Dr. Blank's office.”

“What are you there for?”

“I'm waiting for the doctor and to while away the time thought I'd call you up.”

Then it was his ring that Mary had answered. “I ought to hang this receiver right up,” thought she, but instead she held it, her face beaming with a sympathetic smile.

“Are you feeling better today, Dolly?”

“Yes, I'm better.”

“Able to go to the show then, tonight?”

“Yes, I'm able to go.”

Here a thin small voice put in, “No, you're not able! You're not going.”

“Mamma says,—” began a pouting voice.

“I heard what she said,” said Jack, laughing. “Have you been up all day?”

“Most of the day.”

“Can you eat anything?”

“I ate an egg, some toast and some fruit for dinner.”

“That's fine. I'll bring you a box of candy then pretty soon—I'm coming down in a little bit.”

“That will be lovely.”

“Which, the candy or the coming down?”

“The candy, goose, of course.” A laugh at both ends of the wire.

Then Jack's voice. “Well, here comes the doctor. I've got to have my neck amputated now. Goodbye.”

“Good-bye.”

“All's fair in love and war,” said Mary, “and it's plain to see what this is.” Then she hung up the receiver without a qualm.

There were other times when the doctor's wife was glad she had gone to the 'phone, as in this instance.

She had taken down the receiver when a man's voice said, “The doctor just stepped out for a few minutes. If you will tell me your name, madam, I'll have him call you when he comes in.”

Disinterested courtesy spoke in his voice, but Mary was not in the least surprised to hear the curt reply, “It won't be necessary. I'll call him when he comes.”

“I dare say that gentleman, whoever he may be, is wondering what he has done,” thought Mary.

But it was not altogether unpleasant to her to hear somebody else squelched, too!

There came a day when the doctor's wife rebelled. When her husband came home and ate his supper hastily and then rose to depart, she said, “You'd better wait at home a few minutes, John.”

“Why?” He put the question brusquely, his hat in his hand.

“Because I think someone will ring here for you in a minute or two. Some man rang the office twice so I went to the 'phone to explain that you must be on your way to supper and he could find you here.”

“Who was it?”

“I do not know.”

“Thunder! Why didn't you find out?”

Mary looked straight at her husband. “How many times have I told you, John, that many people decline to give their names or their messages to any one but you. I think I should feel that way about it myself. For a long time I have dutifully done your bidding in the matter, but now I vow I will not trample my pride under my feet any longer—especially when it is all in vain. I will watch the 'phone as faithfully as in the past, but I will not ask for any name or any message. They will be given voluntarily if at all.”

“All right, Mary,” said the doctor, gently, seeing that she was quite serious.

“I do not mean to say that most of the people who 'phone are grouchy and disagreeable—far from it. Indeed the majority are pleasant and courteous. But it is those who are not who have routed me, and made me vow my vow. Don't ask me to break it, John, for I will not.”

And having delivered this declaration, Mary felt almost as free and independent as in ante-telephone days.

The doctor had seated himself and leaning forward was swinging his hat restlessly between his knees. He waited five minutes.

“I'll have to get back to the office,” he exclaimed, starting up. “I'm expecting a man to pay me some money. Waiting for the 'phone to ring is like watching for the pot to boil.”

When he had been gone a minute or two, the ring came. With a new step Mary advanced to it.

“Has the doctor got there yet?” the voice had lost none of its grouch.

“He has. And he waited for your message which did not come. He could not wait longer. He has just gone to the office. If you will 'phone him there in two or three minutes, instead of waiting till he is called out again, you will find him.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Blank.” The man was surprised into courtesy.

The clear-cut, distinct sentences were very different from the faltering, apologetic ones, when she had asked for his name or his message twenty minutes before.

Mary's receiver clicked with no uncertain sound and a smile illumined her face.

One day when the snow was flying and the wind was blowing a gale the doctor came hurrying in. “Where is the soapstone?” he asked, with small amenity. His wife flew to get it and laid it on the hearth very close to the coals. “Oh dear! How terrible to go out in such a storm. Do you have to?” she asked.

“I certainly do. Do you think I'd choose a day like this for a pleasure trip?”

“Aren't you glad you got that galloway?” she asked, hurrying to bring the big, hairy garment from its hook in the closet. She helped her husband into it, turned the broad collar up—then, when the soapstone was hot, she wrapped it up and gave it to him. “This ought to keep your feet from freezing,” she said. The doctor took it, hurried out to the buggy, pulled the robes up around him and was gone.

“Eight miles in this blizzard!” thought Mary shivering, “and eight miles back—sixteen miles. It will take most of the day.”

Two hours after the doctor had gone the telephone rang.

“Is Dr. Blank there?”

“No, he is in the country, about eight miles southwest.”

“This is Drayton. We want him at John Small's as soon as possible. How soon do you think he will be back?”

“Not for several hours, I am afraid.”

“Well, will you send him down as soon as he comes? We want him bad.”

Mary assured him she would do so. “Poor John,” she thought as she put up the receiver.

In a few minutes she went hurriedly back. When she had called central, she said, “I am very anxious to get Dr. Blank, central. He is eight miles southwest of here—at the home of Thomas Calhoun. Is there a 'phone there?” Silence for a few seconds then a voice, “No, there is no 'phone at Thomas Calhoun's.”

Disappointed, Mary stood irresolute, thinking. Then she asked,

“Is there a 'phone at Mr. William Huntley's?”

“Yes, William Huntley has a 'phone.”

“Thank you. Please call that house for me.”

In a minute a man's voice said, “Hello.”

“Is this Mr. Huntley?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Huntley, this is Mrs. Blank. You live not far from Thomas Calhoun's, do you not?”

“About half a mile.”

“Dr. Blank is there, or will be very soon, and there is an urgent call for him to go on to Drayton. I want to save him the long drive home first. I find there is no 'phone at Mr. Calhoun's so I have called you hoping you might be able to help me out. Perhaps someone of your family will be going down that way and will stop in.”

“I'll go, myself.”

“It's too bad to ask any one to go out on a day like this—”

“That's all right, Mrs. Blank. Doc's been pretty clever to me.”

“Tell him, please, to go to John Small's at Drayton. I am very deeply obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Huntley,” she said, hanging the receiver in its place.

“Eight miles back home, six miles from here to Drayton, six miles back—twenty miles in all. Four miles from Calhoun's to Drayton, six miles from Drayton home—ten miles saved on a blizzardy day,” she thought in the thankfulness of her heart.

A few minutes later she was again at the 'phone. “Please give me John Small's at Drayton.” When the voice came she said, “I wanted to tell you that the doctor will be there perhaps in about an hour now. I got your message to him so that he will go directly to your house.”

“I'm mighty glad to know it. Thank you, Mrs. Blank, for finding him and for letting us know.”

A terrible drive saved and some anxious hearts relieved. That dear 'phone! How thankful she was for it and for the country drives she had taken with her husband which had made her familiar with the homes and names of many farmers. Otherwise she could not have located her husband this morning. One day like this covered a multitude of tyrannies from the little instrument on the wall.

It was about half past seven. The doctor had thought it probable that he could get off early this evening and then he and Mary and the boys would have a game of whist. He had been called in consultation to W., a little town in an adjoining county, but he would be home in a little bit—in just ten minutes the train would be due.

“O, there goes that 'phone,” said the small boy wrathfully. “Now, I s'pose papa can't get here!”

His mother was already there with the receiver at her ear.

“This is Dr. Blank's residence.”

“No, but he will be here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“To Drayton?”

“Very well. I will give him your message as soon as he gets home. I'm afraid that ends the game for tonight, boys,” putting the receiver up.

“Why, does papa have to go away?”

“Yes, he has to drive six miles.”

“Gee-mi-nee—this dark night in the mud!”

Here a thought flashed into Mary's mind—Drayton was on the same railroad on which the doctor was rapidly nearing home—the next station beyond. She flew to the telephone and rang with nervous haste.

“Hello.”

“Is this the Big Four?”

“Yes.”

“This is Mrs. Blank. Dr. Blank is on the train which is due now. He is wanted at Drayton. When he gets off, will you please tell him?”

“To go on to Drayton?”

“Yes, to Alfred Walton's.”

“All right. I'll watch for him and see that he gets aboard again.”

“Thank you very much.”

The train whistled. “Just in time,” said Mary.

“But how'll papa get back?” asked the smaller boy.

“He's got a tie-ticket,” said his brother.

“Yes, papa would rather walk back on the railroad than drive both ways through this deep mud,” said their mother. “I have heard him say so.”

Another ring.

“Is the doctor there?”

“He has just gone on the train to Drayton.”

“How soon will he be back?”

“In an hour and a half, I should think.”

Mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, “He won't be back for an hour and a half. Do you want to wait that long?”

Another voice replied, “Yes, I'll wait. Tell 'em to tell him to come just as quick as he gets back, though.”

This message was transmitted.

“And where is he to go?”

“To Henry Smith's, down by the Big Four depot.”

A few minutes later Mary had another idea. She went to the 'phone and asked central to give her Drayton, Mr. Walton's house.

In a minute a voice said, “What is it?” It was restful to Mary to have the usual opening varied. Perhaps eight out of ten began with,

“Hello!” The other two began, “Yes,” “Well,” “What is it?” and very rarely, “Good morning,” or “Good evening.”

“Is this the home of Mr. Walton at Drayton?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Blank is there just now, isn't he?”

“Yes, but he's just going away.”

“Will you please ask him to come to the 'phone?”

In a minute her husband's voice was heard asking what was wanted.

“I want to save you a long walk when you get home, John. You're wanted at Henry Smith's down by the Big Four depot.”

“All right. I'll go in to see him when I get there. Much obliged.”

“A mile walk saved there,” mused the doctor's wife, as she joined the two boys, mildly grumbling because they couldn't have their game, and never could have it just when they wanted it. But a few chapters from Ivanhoe read to them by their mother made all serene again.

The Citizens' 'phone was ringing persistently. The doctor's wife had been upstairs and could not get to it in less than no time! But she got there.

“Do you know where Dr. Blank is?” the words hurled themselves against her ear.

“I don't know just at this minute—but he's here in town. I'm sure of that.”

“Why don't he come then!” The sentence came as from a catapult.

“I don't know anything about it. Where was he to go?”

A scornful “Huh!” came over the wire—“I guess you forgot to tell 'im.”

“I have not been asked to tell him anything this morning.”

There was heated silence for an instant, then a voice big with wrath:

“You told me not fifteen minutes ago that you would send him right down.”

“You are mistaken,” said Mary gently but firmly. “This is the first time I have been at the 'phone this morning.”

“Well, what do you think of that!” This was addressed to someone at the other end of the line, but it came clearly to Mary's ear and its intonation said volumes.

“You're the very identical woman that told me when I 'phoned awhile ago that you'd send him right down. It's the very same voice.”

“There is a mistake somewhere,” reiterated Mary, patiently, “but I'll send the doctor as soon as he gets in if you will give me your name.”

“I'll tell ye agin, then, that he's to come to Lige Thornton's.”

“Very well. I'll send him,” and Mary left the 'phone much mystified. “She was in dead earnest—and so was I. I can't understand it.” Glancing out of the window she saw her tall, young daughter coming up the walk. The solution came with lightning quickness—strange she didn't think of that, Gertrude had answered. She remembered now that others had thought their voices very much alike, especially over the 'phone. “If the woman had not talked in such a cyclonic way I would have thought of it,” she reflected.

When the young girl entered the room her mother said, “Gertrude, you answered the 'phone awhile ago, didn't you?”

“About twenty minutes ago. Some woman was so anxious for father to come right away that I just ran down to the office to see that he went.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, dear, but it's little credit we're getting for it.”

She related the dialogue that had just taken place and mother and daughter laughed in sympathy.

“Why, Mamma, we couldn't forget if we wanted to. That telephone is an Old Man of the Sea to both of us—is now and ever shall be, world without end.”

“But did you find your father at the office?”

“Yes, and waited till he fixed up some medicine for two patients already waiting, then shooed him out before some more came in. I wanted to get it off my mind.”

“I'm glad he is on his way. Now stay within hearing of the 'phone, dearie, till I finish my work up-stairs.”

“All right, Mamma, I'm going to make a cake now, but I can hear the 'phone plainly from the kitchen.”

It wasn't long till a ring was heard. Gertrude dusted the flour from her hands and started. “Which 'phone was it?” she asked the maid.

“I think it was the Farmers',” said Mollie, hesitating.

So to the Farmers' 'phone went Gertrude.

“Hello.”

No answer.

“Hello.”

Silence.

She clapped the receiver up and hurried to the Citizens' 'phone.

“Hello.”

“Is this Dr. Blank's?”

“Yes.”

“Is he there?”

“No, he was called—” Here a loud ring from the other 'phone sounded.

“He was called down to—” said Gertrude rapidly, then paused, unable to think of the name at the instant.

“If you will tell me where he went, I'll just 'phone down there for him,” said the voice.

A second peal from the other 'phone.

“Yes, yes!” said Gertrude impatiently. “O, I didn't mean that for you,” she hurried apologetically. “The other 'phone is calling, and I'm so confused I can't think. Will you excuse me just an instant till I see what is wanted?”

“Certainly.”

She flew to the Farmers' 'phone.

“Is this Dr. Blank's?”

“Yes.”

“Good while a-answerin',” grumbled a voice.

“I did answer but no one answered me.”

“Where's the doctor?”

“He's down in the east part of town—will be back in a little bit.”

“Well, when he comes tell him—just hold the 'phone a minute, will you, till I speak to my wife.”

“All right.” But she put the receiver swiftly up and rushed back to the waiting man. She could answer him and get back by the time the other was ready for her.

“Hello, still there?”

“Yes.”

“I've thought of the name—father went to Elijah Thornton's.”

“Thornton's—let's see—have you a telephone directory handy—could you give me their number?”

“Wait a minute, I'll see.” She raced through the pages,—“yes, here it is.”

A violent peal from the Farmers' 'phone. “He'll think I'm still hunting for the number,” she thought, letting the receiver hang and rushing to the other 'phone.

“Hello.”

“Thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. I've had a turrible time gittin' any answer.”

“I've had a turrible time, too,” thought poor Gertrude.

“Tell the doctor to call me up,” and he gave his name and his number.

“All right, I'll tell him.” She clapped the receiver up lest there might be more to follow and sped back.

“Here it is,” she announced calmly, “Elijah Thornton, number 101.”

“Thank you, I'm afraid I've put you to a good deal of trouble.”

“Not at all.”

As she went back to her cake she said to herself, “Two telephones ringing at once can certainly make things interesting.”

One day in mid winter Mary sat half dreaming before the glowing coals. Snow had fallen all through the previous night and today there had been good coasting for the boys and girls.

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

She started up and went to answer it.

“Is this you, Mary?”

“Yes.”

“I'll be out of the office about twenty minutes.”

“Very well.”

Sometimes Mary wished her husband would be a little more explicit. She had a vague sort of feeling that central, or whoever should chance to hear him make this announcement to her so often, might think she requested or perhaps demanded it; might think she wanted to know every place her husband went.

In about half an hour the 'phone rang again, two rings.

John ought to be back. Should she take it for granted? It would be safer to put the receiver to her ear and listen for her husband's voice.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Is this you Dr. Blank?”

“Looks like it.”

“We want ye to come down to our house right away.”

“Who is this?”

“W'y, this is Mrs. Peters.”

“Mrs. Peters? Oh yes,” said the doctor, recognizing the voice now.

“What's the matter down there, grandmother?”

“W'y—my little grandson, Johnny, was slidin' down hill on a board and got a splinter in his setter.”

“He did, eh?”

“Yes, he did, and a big one, too.”

“Well, I'll be down there right away. Have some boiled water.”

Mary turned away from the telephone that it might not register her low laughter as she put the receiver in its place. The next instant she took it down again with twinkling eyes and listened. Yes, the voices were silent, it would be safe. She rang two rings.

“Hello,” said her husband's voice.

“John,” said Mary, almost in a whisper, “for English free and unadorned, commend me to a little boy's grandmother!”

Two laughs met over the wire, then two receivers clicked.

One day Mary came in from a walk and noticed at once, a vacant place on the wall where the Farmers' 'phone had hung. She had heard rumors of a merger of the two systems and had fervently hoped that they might merge soon and forever.

“Look! Mamma,” said Gertrude, pointing to the wall.