The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife. Ellen M. Firebaugh

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.”