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

      “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.