Indeed, mere language of any kind would fall short of the
requirements of the case. A hatchet and a gun are the only
intermediaries through which you could convey your meaning by this
time. So you give up all attempt to answer back, and meekly mention
that you want to be put in communication with four-five-seven-six.
"Four-nine-seven-six?" says the girl.
"No; four-five-seven-six."
"Did you say seven-six or six-seven?"
"Six-seven--no! I mean seven-six: no--wait a minute. I don't know
what I do mean now."
"Well, I wish you'd find out," says the young lady severely. "You
are keeping me here all the morning."
So you look up the number in the book again, and at last she tells
you that you are in connection; and then, ramming the trumpet tight
against your ear, you stand waiting.
And if there is one thing more than another likely to make a man
feel ridiculous it is standing on tip-toe in a corner, holding a
machine to his head, and listening intently to nothing. Your back
aches and your head aches, your very hair aches. You hear the door
open behind you and somebody enter the room. You can't turn your
head. You swear at them, and hear the door close with a bang. It
immediately occurs to you that in all probability it was Henrietta.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123