I have a telephone--a simple unpretentious toy, just like the next one.
Sometimes I think it must be exceptional, but anon I hear other
telephoners talking, and I realise that theirs too have the same
repertory of pretty mannerisms.
Especially I found matter for complaint _re_ Wilmer. Especially Wilmer
found matter for complaint _re_ me. Wilmer and I are friends and
neighbours. No doubt the people at the exchange had made a note of it.
For, if ever I rang up Wilmer, he, they told me, answered not. And, if
ever Wilmer rang up me, I, they told him, was engaged. To discover that
these things were not so, it was only necessary for the ringer to step
across the road; nay, even a shout from the garden was sufficient.
Having matter for complaint, we complained. After that nothing could
redeem us in the ears of our exchange. Formerly we got through to each
other once in four shots. Thereafter the blockage was complete.
So we laid our plans.
One evening at half-past eight I rang up the exchange. "I want 4792
Marble Arch," I began.