Etiquette by Telephone

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 440, 15 September 1904, Page 8

Etiquette by Telephone

XT AHB SAIHtTOV LOXVXLL.

ACBOWD of suburbanites swarmed toward the -waiting train. On its outermost fringe came the Little Gray Nun, as the Young Man had already named her; but she nam sot meek or holy, or nuinish as afl, and only her clothes and her hat were gray. She walked lightly, springily, on her toes, and she was radiant and smiling. To look at her, one would say she might be a bride or a young mother with a baby waiting out there in the suburbs somewhere. But the Young Man refused to entertain either of these suppositions. * She was the Little Gray Nun, spinster. He had been watching her for 15 minutes. Suddenly he saw the radiance of her face tarnish and a minute beginning of horror dawn in her eyes—lor he was an observing young man. He saw her searching her chatelaine bag, then her gray skirts, as if a pocket might have been hidden in them by mistake. Then he saw the horror itself spread from her eyes over her piquant little face. The Little Gray Nun, then, was in trouble. "She has lost something," the Young Man sighed, as if the loss were his own. He took two giant strides forward, then stopped. The Little Gray Nun was talking to the conductor. He could not hear her Toice, but the conductor's was strident, and might have been booming through a megaphone. "Sorry, miss, but it can't be done —contrary to our rules 'n' regulations. Sorry I ean't put you through." Whatever the Little Gray Nun answered was lost in the echoes from the megaphone, but as she turned away the offended dignity of her carriage was marred by the tremulous nutter of her small, gray-gloved hands. She walked now, heavily, ou her heels.

"I beg your pardon." Tie Young Man raised his hat courteously. ""Bit fellow in the brass ;toni|jjfite there said anything inting, jSpeiVs just time ff*j3ae to ,jak hia bones for him b«f*>"fe the , > : /r starts. Beg pardon, but you*ll JSpe to tell me^juick!" -'Oh," dimpled jthe Little Gray Nun, L.j spite .of, herself. "Oh, no, please *"on't! He me that—that—why, that jjfa *Tes?" tapped the Young Man impatiently, though the courtesy of his lifted bat and interested face was perfect. But there was so little time —it takes time* to break a fellow's insolent bones for him. The engineer was already awaiting the conductor's signal. ' "He only said he—couldn't let me ride home without a ticket. I've lost my purse, but of course I should ■end back the money to-morrow. I'm not a tramp I" "The brute! 11l have him reported at headquarters—it's going!" ."And I'm not on it!" groaned the ■Little Gray Nun. "And this is Chubby's birthday, and I always frost his cake!" Then there was a baby out there where the train was going? It was not Little Gray Nun, spinster? But the Young Man held his ground valiantly. 1 She was a woman, anyway, and in distress.

"But that conductor will b« just as horrid as this one. I wouldn't ask another conductor to let me ride free if I had to stay away from home all night—except—oh, I forgot poor little Chubby! I could de almoft anything for Chubby!"

"There's another train le*Tes in three quarters of an hour," he said, encon ragingly.

That was always the way with jroung mothers. The Young Man felt the romance of things slipping through his fingers. But he plunged his hand into his pocket and drew out a fat little silrer-purse. "Then do this for Chubby," he smiled, holding it out to her. "I haven't any -«« ed for it, you know. It's —er —in my way. I use a mileage, myself." The little Gray Nun recoiled. The dimples froze in her cheeks and her chin. Her small, well-set head lifted and lifted —Scott, man, do you see how tall the Little Gray Nun is growing! > "Thank you—let ire pass, please," the Little Gray Nm said, frigidly. And he stood looking after her in

stupid, surprise. Put his !«.. had he? By George, she looked aa if she had a job for the conductor this time! ** "I'll try another tack," he muttered. "The little thing has got to be befriended somehow, or Bubby or ' Chubby or will \ have to eat his birthday cake withI out any frosting. Never I" He overtook her in the waiting-room. I beg | your pardon," he said; "I don't want : to bore you,' but if you'd accept the \ loan of a mileage book—l don't need [ mine. It's in my—er, that is—l J mean —oh, say, you'll take it, won't ! you?" he burst out, boyishly. Tlie I Little Gray Nun was vanquished. The j dimples trooped back again. • "But we haven't been introduced, I she murmured. "How could I? We ; don't even know each other'B names." j "Sure," he said gloomily. He had I not thought of that. "But ther • I ought to be a way—let's get the fie i pot mammy to do it. Tell her who I we are, you know. Mammies are all ways ready to accommodate." The Little Gray Nun's laugh in jr . eyes followed his to the comfortable, black face of the fat Aunt Chloe across the room. "It would be fun," she cried, but, instantly she was grave and proper again. "If we had a' mutual friend—" -"The mammy's a friend of everybod—"

"But I don't know a soul In this city except Cousin Althea." "Jones or—er Pettengill?" the Young man said, eagerly. "I know Joneses and Pettingills to burn." The Little Gray Nun's dignity had again come back. She drew away a tiny space. "Smith," she said, primly, "Cousin Althea Smith. I should go right up to her house if it wasn't ; for Chubby." He laughed aloud in • his relief. j "Oh, I know Smiths 1" he cried. ! slathers—er, I mean quantities of { 'em." "I am not aware that you have : the honor of knowing my Smith," she responded, crisply. It did not look promising. The Young Man had a mind to give it up. But the Little Gray Nun needed championing, and then there was Chubby—always Chubby. "He's the only little nephew I've got in the world," murmured the Little Gray Nun, as if in answer to lis thought. "And hell nev-er be six years old again if he lives a hundred years!" Nephew —nephew? Had he heard »right? The Young Man felt the romance of things in his grasp again. if Chubby was a nephew, Heaven uless him! —then what were obis taclea? A sudden inspiration was born in the Young Man's brain. He motioned toward a seat near by. "Won't you sit down?" he said. "And would you mind naming over some of your friends at home?" He did not realize that he did not know | her own name yet, or the name of j "home." \ "At home?—in Buttonwood, you • mean? Oh, tkeres grandfather and I Uncle Job and Uncle Sam —" ! "Their last names, I mean. or Kobinson or So-and-so, you knowl" "Why, of course! What a stupidf" She ran over a list of surnames rapidly. He caught at one as at a straw. "Scott—J. Bradley?" he cried. "Yes, James Bradley." ..*' "Broker?"

"Well, he was. He's broken now, poor man! He stays right at home." "Telephone connection?" "In his house, you mean? Why, ye-es—yes, 1 know there is." "Then we're all right. We'll get Mr. J. Bradley Scott to introduce us. He used to be Jonathan -to my father's David. Be you mind comingtrfver to the central office? Just across the street?" --—*_ Buttonwood was called 'Then Mr. J. Bradley Scott. |sg&£ ' "Hello! That you, Brad? Know my voice? What? Yes, sir, same old sixpence! Yes,\Berhp—last steamer. Dad? He's all No, not a professorship, unless you've got one up your sleeve for me—But, Uncle Brad, I say! There's a young lady here waiting to speak to you. She wants to be introduced to me—oh, I mean 1 want to b&introdrieed to her, you know. We've got to be introduced, and you're the man to do it. She's going to speak now." "HelloI" called the Little Gray Nun, clearly. "Do you know me, Mr. Scott? Not Dolly? Then I'll never speak to you again—oh, you do know me? Well, I'm on my way home, you know —you haven't seen Chubby to-day, have you? It's his birthday. What? iiirthday —six years old. I've got to get home to frost the cake, and I've lost my pocketbook. There's a lovely young m —oh, I mean there's a young man here who wants to lend ae his mileage, but we haven't been introduced. It's a dreadful scrape, for there's Chubby's cake, you know. '.Vhat? Both of us stand up here?" dhe motioned to the Young Man. **\Vell, we're here. Oh, yes, I can hear you —Yes. Yes, he says he can, too." They stood there an instant together, while across 27 miles Mr. J. rfradley Scott introduced them. Both faces were grave, but all four eyes were dancing. At the proper time and in the proper way they touched lingers and bowed to each other politely, 't was over. "Now, we're all right," cried the Young Man, briskly. "And there's the whistle of our train. We've got to run for it." The conductor tore oif. milenge for wo and left them then to the tender aercies of little Dan Cupid. Little •camp! it is amazing ;,Lc amount of work he can get into ;i 27-mile run!— i-adies' World. New York. ( Hcr-artte. Repartee Ht.uT m..!.es a man's rep. ;:t. ,;<;:i ir t-atise.s Lira to lose his job, ~C;>»-;igfi Daily X;— •