“All's fair in love and war,” said Mary, “and it's plain to see what this is.” Then she hung up the receiver without a qualm.

There were other times when the doctor's wife was glad she had gone to the 'phone, as in this instance.

She had taken down the receiver when a man's voice said, “The doctor just stepped out for a few minutes. If you will tell me your name, madam, I'll have him call you when he comes in.”

Disinterested courtesy spoke in his voice, but Mary was not in the least surprised to hear the curt reply, “It won't be necessary. I'll call him when he comes.”

“I dare say that gentleman, whoever he may be, is wondering what he has done,” thought Mary.

But it was not altogether unpleasant to her to hear somebody else squelched, too!

There came a day when the doctor's wife rebelled. When her husband came home and ate his supper hastily and then rose to depart, she said, “You'd better wait at home a few minutes, John.”

“Why?” He put the question brusquely, his hat in his hand.

“Because I think someone will ring here for you in a minute or two. Some man rang the office twice so I went to the 'phone to explain that you must be on your way to supper and he could find you here.”

“Who was it?”

“I do not know.”

“Thunder! Why didn't you find out?”

Mary looked straight at her husband. “How many times have I told you, John, that many people decline to give their names or their messages to any one but you. I think I should feel that way about it myself. For a long time I have dutifully done your bidding in the matter, but now I vow I will not trample my pride under my feet any longer – especially when it is all in vain. I will watch the 'phone as faithfully as in the past, but I will not ask for any name or any message. They will be given voluntarily if at all.”

“All right, Mary,” said the doctor, gently, seeing that she was quite serious.

“I do not mean to say that most of the people who 'phone are grouchy and disagreeable – far from it. Indeed the majority are pleasant and courteous. But it is those who are not who have routed me, and made me vow my vow. Don't ask me to break it, John, for I will not.”

And having delivered this declaration, Mary felt almost as free and independent as in ante-telephone days.

The 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.”

“How soon will he be back?”

“In an hour and a half, I should think.”

Mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, “He won't be back for an hour and a half. Do you want to wait that long?”

Another voice replied, “Yes, I'll wait. Tell 'em to tell him to come just as quick as he gets back, though.”

This message was transmitted.

“And where is he to go?”

“To Henry Smith's, down by the Big Four depot.”

A few minutes later Mary had another idea. She went to the 'phone and asked central to give her Drayton, Mr. Walton's house.

In a minute a voice said, “What is it?” It was restful to Mary to have the usual opening varied. Perhaps eight out of ten began with,

“Hello!” The other two began, “Yes,” “Well,” “What is it?” and very rarely, “Good morning,” or “Good evening.”

“Is this the home of Mr. Walton at Drayton?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Blank is there just now, isn't he?”

“Yes, but he's just going away.”

“Will you please ask him to come to the 'phone?”

In a minute her husband's voice was heard asking what was wanted.

“I want to save you a long walk when you get home, John. You're wanted at Henry Smith's down by the Big Four depot.”

“All right. I'll go in to see him when I get there. Much obliged.”

“A mile walk saved there,” mused the doctor's wife, as she joined the two boys, mildly grumbling because they couldn't have their game, and never could have it just when they wanted it. But a few chapters from Ivanhoe read to them by their mother made all serene again.

The Citizens' 'phone was ringing persistently. The doctor's wife had been upstairs and could not get to it in less than no time! But she got there.

“Do you know where Dr. Blank is?” the words hurled themselves against her ear.

“I don't know just at this minute – but he's here in town. I'm sure of that.”

“Why don't he come then!” The sentence came as from a catapult.

“I don't know anything about it. Where was he to go?”

A scornful “Huh!” came over the wire – “I guess you forgot to tell 'im.”

“I have not been asked to tell him anything this morning.”

There was heated silence for an instant, then a voice big with wrath:

“You told me not fifteen minutes ago that you would send him right down.”

“You are mistaken,” said Mary gently but firmly. “This is the first time I have been at the 'phone this morning.”

“Well, what do you think of that!” This was addressed to someone at the other end of the line, but it came clearly to Mary's ear and its intonation said volumes.

“You're the very identical woman that told me when I 'phoned awhile ago that you'd send him right down. It's the very same voice.”

“There is a mistake somewhere,” reiterated Mary, patiently, “but I'll send the doctor as soon as he gets in if you will give me your name.”

“I'll tell ye agin, then, that he's to come to Lige Thornton's.”

“Very well. I'll send him,” and Mary left the 'phone much mystified. “She was in dead earnest – and so was I. I can't understand it.” Glancing out of the window she saw her tall, young daughter coming up the walk. The solution came with lightning quickness – strange she didn't think of that, Gertrude had answered. She remembered now that others had thought their voices very much alike, especially over the 'phone. “If the woman had not talked in such a cyclonic way I would have thought of it,” she reflected.

When the young girl entered the room her mother said, “Gertrude, you answered the 'phone awhile ago, didn't you?”

“About twenty minutes ago. Some woman was so anxious for father to come right away that I just ran down to the office to see that he went.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, dear, but it's little credit we're getting for it.”

She related the dialogue that had just taken place and mother and daughter laughed in sympathy.

“Why, Mamma, we couldn't forget if we wanted to. That telephone is an Old Man of the Sea to both of us – is now and ever shall be, world without end.”

“But did you find your father at the office?”

“Yes, and waited till he fixed up some medicine for two patients already waiting, then shooed him out before some more came in. I wanted to get it off my mind.”

“I'm glad he is on his way. Now stay within hearing of the 'phone, dearie, till I finish my work up-stairs.”

“All right, Mamma, I'm going to make a cake now, but I can hear the 'phone plainly from the kitchen.”

It wasn't long till a ring was heard. Gertrude dusted the flour from her hands and started. “Which 'phone was it?” she asked the maid.

“I think it was the Farmers',” said Mollie, hesitating.

So to the Farmers' 'phone went Gertrude.

“Hello.”

No answer.

“Hello.”

Silence.

She clapped the receiver up and hurried to the Citizens' 'phone.

“Hello.”

“Is this Dr. Blank's?”

“Yes.”

“Is he there?”

“No, he was called – ” Here a loud ring from the other 'phone sounded.

“He was called down to – ” said Gertrude rapidly, then paused, unable to think of the name at the instant.

“If you will tell me where he went, I'll just 'phone down there for him,” said the voice.

A second peal from the other 'phone.

“Yes, yes!” said Gertrude impatiently. “O, I didn't mean that for you,” she hurried apologetically. “The other 'phone is calling, and I'm so confused I can't think. Will you excuse me just an instant till I see what is wanted?”

“Certainly.”

She flew to the Farmers' 'phone.

“Is this Dr. Blank's?”

“Yes.”

“Good while a-answerin',” grumbled a voice.

“I did answer but no one answered me.”

“Where's the doctor?”

“He's down in the east part of town – will be back in a little bit.”

“Well, when he comes tell him – just hold the 'phone a minute, will you, till I speak to my wife.”

“All right.” But she put the receiver swiftly up and rushed back to the waiting man. She could answer him and get back by the time the other was ready for her.

“Hello, still there?”

“Yes.”

“I've thought of the name – father went to Elijah Thornton's.”

“Thornton's – let's see – have you a telephone directory handy – could you give me their number?”

“Wait a minute, I'll see.” She raced through the pages, – “yes, here it is.”

A violent peal from the Farmers' 'phone. “He'll think I'm still hunting for the number,” she thought, letting the receiver hang and rushing to the other 'phone.

“Hello.”

“Thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. I've had a turrible time gittin' any answer.”

“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.

 
“Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
One telephone is taken away!”
 

she chortled in her joy.

(The small boy of the household had been reading “Alice” and consequently declaiming the Jabberwock from morning till night, till its weird strains had become fixed in the various minds of the household and notably in Gertrude's.)

“It will simplify matters,” said her mother, smiling, “but liberty is not for us. That tuneful peal will still ring on,” and as she looked at the Citizens' 'phone the peal came.