“I wish you did,” she observes.
Generally disgusted, you slam the trumpet up and return to your chair. The instant you are seated the bell clangs again; and you fly up and demand to know what the thunder they want, and who the thunder they are.
“Don’t speak so loud, we can’t hear you. What do you want?” is the answer.
“I don’t want anything. What do you want? Why do you ring me up, and then not answer me? Do leave me alone, if you can!”
“We can’t get Hong Kongs at seventy-four.”
“Well, I don’t care if you can’t.”
“Would you like Zulus?”
“What are you talking about?” you reply; “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Would you like Zulus—Zulus at seventy-three and a half?”
“I wouldn’t have ’em at six a penny. What are you talking about?”