a place is not all right," says a man who spends the
greater part of his time visiting business houses and talking with
business men, "the chances are that it is not worth while to go inside."

There are three ways of getting inside: by letter (which has a chapter
to itself), by the front door, and by telephone. And there are more
complaints against the telephone way than either or both the others,
which is perfectly natural, since it is the most difficult to manage. In
the first place, it requires good behavior from three people at the same
time, and that is a good deal to expect. Secondly, they cannot see one
another--they are like blind people talking together--and no one of them
can do his part unless the other two do theirs. In the third place, the
instrument is a lifeless thing, and when something goes wrong with it it
rouses the helpless fury inspired by all inanimate objects which
interfere with our comfort--like intermittent alarm clocks, collar
buttons that roll under the furniture, and flivvers that go dead without
reason in the middle of country roads. In each case whatever one does
has no effect. The alarm clock continues to ring (unless one gets out of
bed to shut it off, which is worse than letting it ring), the collar
button remains hid in the darkest part of the room, the flivver remains
stuck in the muddiest part of the road, and the telephone is worst of
all, for the source of the trouble is usually several miles away and
there is no means of getting at it.

The telephone is a nuisance--no one denies it--but it is a necessity
also--no one denies that, either--and one of the greatest conveniences
in an age of great conveniences. Some of the disagreeable features
connected with it cannot be done away with but must be accepted with as
much tranquility as we can master, like the terrific noise which an
aeroplane makes or the trail of smoke and cinders which a railway train
leaves behind. The one who is calling, for instance, cannot know that he
is the tenth or eleventh person who has called the man at the other end
of the wire in rapid succession, that his desk is piled high with
correspondence which must be looked over, signed, and sent out before
noon, that the advertising department is waiting for him to O. K. their
plans for a campaign which should have been launched the week before,
that an important visitor is sitting in the library growing more
impatient every minute, and that his temper has been f