"Yes," her husband's valet admitted. "She is a slave of the telephone."
"Of the flying speech?"
"Yes, madam, call it that, of the flying speech." He was desperate to escape from a situation unprecedented in his entire career. "Come, I will show you, madam. This slave of the flying speech is yours to command both by night and day. If you wish, the slave will enable you to talk with your husband, Mr. Morgan…"
"Now?"
Parker nodded, arose, and led her to the telephone.
"First of all," he instructed, "you will speak to the slave. The instant you take this down and put it to your ear, the slave will respond. It is the slave's invariable way of saying 'Number?' Sometimes she says it, 'Number? Number?' And sometimes she is very irritable.
"When the slave has said 'Number,' then do you say "Eddystone 1292,' whereupon the slave will say 'Eddystone 1292?' and then you will say, 'Yes, please'…"
"To a slave I shall say 'please'?" she interrupted.
"Yes, madam, for these slaves of the flying speech are peculiar slaves that one never sees. I am not a young man, yet I have never seen a Central in all my life. Thus, next, after a moment, another slave, a woman, who is miles away from the first one, will say to you, 'This is Eddystone 1292,' and you will say, 'I am Mrs. Morgan. I wish to speak with Mr. Morgan, who is, I think, in Mr. Bascom's private office.' And then you wait, maybe for half a minute, or for a minute, and then Mr. Morgan will begin to talk to you."
"From miles and miles away?"