me the game.

I took off my receiver and listened. No answer. I banged the rigging.
No answer. I banged and thumped.

"Yes, yes," she said rather peevishly, "I am attending to you as
quickly as I can. What number do you want?"

"Well," I explained, "as a matter of fact I don't want a number.
I only wondered if my line was all right. Sorry you have been
terroubled," and I cut her off. One--all.

* * * * *

The third and last game started briskly. In the course of the first
ten minutes I was rung up and asked if I was--

1. The Timber Control.

2. Mr. Awl or All.

3. The Timber Control (again).

4. The London Diocesan Church Schools. (At this point I rather lost my
head and answered, "D---- the London Diocesan Church Schools.")

My impiety offended the Bishop (I assume it was a Bishop), and he,
rather unfairly, must have incited the gods to take sides against me.
In a lucid interval, while I was doing a call of my own, the operator,
without giving me any warning, switched me on to the supervisor. This
must have been an inspiration from Olympus. However I was equal to the
emergency; nay, took advantage of it. Experience has taught me that it
is always best to talk to the person you get, whether you want that
person or not. So I explained to the supervisor that I was a busy man,
although the rumour which ascribed to my shoulders the War Office, the
Timber Control and the L.D.C.S. was, at the moment, unfounded.

She played up magnificently; took my number, my name, my address, the
date, the time of the day, how many times I had been rung up, whom by
and when, and was going to ask me the date of my birth and whether I
was married or single, when I protested. Then she calmed down and said
she would have my line seen to.

The game seemed to be going well; but again I was beaten by a swift
stroke. My bell rang.

"Telephone Engineering Department speaking," it said. "We have
received a report that your line is out of order. We are sending a
man and hope he will finish the job before luncheon."

This was the end, as anyone knows who has ever got into the clutches:
of the Telephone Engineering Department.

"Please," I said (my spirit was quite broken)--"please, for God's
sake, don't send a man. Not this morning at any rate. Put it off,
there's a good fellow."

"But I thought there was something wrong--"

"Oh, no, not at all. It's a hideous mistake. My line never behaved
better i