MUNDANE MUSINGS

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 2, 24 March 1927, Page 4

MUNDANE MUSINGS

THE TALE OF THE TELEPHONE Strange, isn’t it, liow a mere instrument of steel and wires can affect one, changing one’s entire personality! Is it because the person at the other end can’t see one? You may lib as brazenly as possible, but the deluded being at the other end of the line can’t see your betraying countenance, and your specially sweetened voice completely deceives him. Weaklings become brave men over the telephone. Let them bluster as they will, it’s perfectly safe, for the man at the other end must take a taxi before he can give them a black eye. Yes, telephones can inspire you with more than mortal courage. You can ask for a rise over the telephone, knowing full well that you would sag at the knees if you tried to do it in the office—not only that, but if trouble should arise afterwards, it’s perfectly easy to say that you didn’t say what you did say! It’s an easy matter to murmur gently that “the line was so very indistinct!” I dial 79-00000. When the girl answers I demand to be put through to the editor. I don’t say “if he can spare a minute,” or, “I’ll ring later if he’s busy,” or anything meek like that

. . . not a bit of it! I just say in a quiet, firm voice, “Tell him that I am on the line.’ Just like that! As though I were at least a Royal Highness! “Yes, Miss Higgs,” says he presently, in his usual harsh, awe-inspiring voice, that carries an unspoken “now-no-non-sense-from-you, young-woman,” kind of threat.

“Mr. Jones,” I say, still calmly, “I’ve ;iust received your letter, but I can’t possibly take two guineas a column for those articles. Why it’s absurd! 1 never got paid less than five guineas. Let me explain to you ...” And I explain to him. I elaborate on my expert knowledge ... I casually enlarge on my vivid descriptive style, and I romance to him about what other editors have paid me, and he is obliged to listen, being too much of a gentleman to pretend he’s been cut off:. In the end he gives in, possibly to stem the flow of my narrative.

Could I say a word of this kind if I went to see him? No! In the editorial sanctum some hideous, unseen force compels me to fawn upon him. I almost kiss his hand when he offers me half as much as I am accustomed to get.

And all because I really have no moral courage whatever! Praise be for the blessed gift of the telephone. Of course, it doesn’t necessarily affect every one in the same way. There are many folk, usually excellent liars, who are incapable of speaking anything but the truth when they put the magic disc to their ear,—it would seem that some awful spell had been cast upon them!

“Do come to dinner to-morrow night!” comes over the line in the sugary voice of some one who has always bored them to tears.

“Oh ... er ... I ... I ... ” stammers the miserable being, suddenly smitten with candour.

“You said you could? Splendid! At seven o’clock, then!” chants the enemy gleefully. “Delighted!” says the victim, as she hangs up the receiver, and miserably wonders why she couldn’t say “No” to an invitation she’s refused without a moment’s hesitation in the street or by letter.

One of the worst examples of thi kind of complex was a girl who max ried a man she could hardly bear tb sight of, simply because he asked he to lunch, dine and finally to marry hii all over the telephone. Into that bas instrument, she, poor dear, was quit incapable of saying, “No, thank you! H.M.