News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1893-11-16

| DuL LueSSdSeS COuUlnu6u W COule
and go, increasing rather than de-
creasing in frequency. People in the
| neighborhood fell into the habit ol
saying to friends in distant parts OF
the city, when leaving a question
open: "Just telephone me when you
make up your mind. l haven't tel
ephone myself, but the Joneses have,
and they are very obliging about let
ting me use it,"
So the fact that the telephone was
owned by an obliging family circu-
lated almost as rapidly as if it had
| been a lie.
There were times when Mrs. Jones
hadn'6 the face to ask Susan to stop
her work and carry these messages,
so she carried them herself-tryingt to
keep up her self-respect by combining
an errand of her own in the same
direction. There were a few mes
sages, however, which remained for
ever Indignantly shut within the tele-
phone, as, for instance, that of the
little girl, which came in a shrill, pip
ing voice.
MRS. Jones, will you send your
servant over to Mrs. Graham's to
ask Milly where she got that perfect
ly delicious delight she gave me the
other day, and tell her to be quick
about it, please, for I'm waiting?"
And another which came in chuffy,
distorted, conversational English
regular ''chappie" " English, very hard
to understand, but which she finally
Strengthened out into: " | say there
-aw-oh-is that you, Mr.. Jones &?
Sorry to trouble you, but would you
be so awfully good as to send word
to Mrs. Bruce-aw-that I'm awfully
cut up about it, but | won't be able
to dine there tonight? Aw-Iw would
not trouble you, but it's so aw-
fully hot | can't go around to ex-
plain to her, you know. Thanks,
awfully." The telephone was closed,
and the awfully-cut-up young man,
whose sole claim on Mrs. Jones was
that they had once met at a party,
was left to be healed by time.
He had for company IN his fate the
enthusiastic ctennis-player, who, in the
summoned Mrs. Jones.
"I want to speak to Flanagan,
the gardener"
This is not Flannigan's tele-
phone"
And who is speaking
MRS. Jones'"
"Oh, well, Mrs. Jones, | can give
my message to you, Just as well. |
want to tell Flanagan to come and
roll the tennis ground at once. He
will understand. Tell him right
away, please"
Flanagan does not live here"
"Well, you can send him word, I
suppose" in a surprised and offended
voice, "to oblige lady. 1t is Miss
Mortimer who is speaking" and
there was an impressive silence. Mrs
Jones remembered Miss Mortimer as
a high-stepping young lady whom
she had met at friends house and
who had given her an impression of
taking an inventory of her So Mrs.
Jones took pleasure in replying,
"Miss Mortimer probably does not
know that she is addressing a pri-
vate telephone. Good day."
But it was Jones, the luckIess
Jones, who seemed set aside for the
cruel bufetiDg of the telephone pub
lie. One night, which he will ever
point to us as the widest and wettest
night he has known, he had settled
himself into his most comfortable
chair, with a pile of new magazines
beside him, when he was disturbed by
a summons from the telephone He
responded with readiness, for he was
rather expecting a call from his part
ner, and to his cheerful "HellO, old
fellow; I'm here" came, in a splut-
tering and wind-tossed voice, viii
you please tell Mrs. Goodson that as
it is too stormy her daughter will not
go home tO-night?"
Jones returned and confronted his
wife, and for time words refused to
come.
"Well, this is a little too much
Now think of an unknown voice bark
ing to me to go out into a storm like
this and tell the Goodsons that their
daughter will not be at home to-
nightl'
The Goodsons lived Just six squares
away.
"And what will you do, dear? Why
didn't you say plainly that you
would not and could not 60 out into
a storm like this-that they must
send a messenger"
"They shut me off without giving
me time to answer.
"Well, call them up. Call them up
at once"
"Jane, please have some sense.
How do 1 know where Miss Goodson
has gadded off to? How do | know
what number to call up?'
"Well, | just wouldn't CO."
ooh, I'll have to. They are friends,
and if they are expecting that girl of
theirs home tonight and she doesn' t
come, Mrs. Goodson will go out of
her mind"
SO Jones drove himself forth, clad
in righteous Indignation and water
proof coat. The cold rain lashed him
and the wind belabored his umbrella,
and he was more than once obliged
to pause under friendly pOrches to
get his breath. At last the home of
the Goodsons was reached, and spent
and weary he staggered up the steps.
Goodson himself opened the door.
"Hello, Jones, you're no fair
weather friend, indeed. Come in,
come in.
"No, Pm too wet" lie answered,
pointedly, land he felt like adding
land too mad.) 81 only came to
tell you that Miss GoodsOn won't be
at home tonight"
"My daughter? She is at home.
Don't you hear her playing on the
piano now? Come into the vestibule,
any way"
Jones walked in, with the rain
streaming from his coat.
"Katie" called Mr.. Goodson to
his wife. "Here is Jones, come to
say that Julia won't be at home to-
night"
"What?" demanded Mrs. Good
son, appearing in the halland regard
ing Jones as if he were mild sort of
lunatic; Julia is at home" "