"No," answered the precise operator. "The line wasn't busy. I was."
"What name are you calling?" asked the telephone-girl over the wire.
"McCohan," the customer answered.
"I beg pardon?" asked the girl.
The man repeated it.
The wire was silent for a moment, then the girl said: "Wait a moment, please. I think the wires are crossed."
"I once knew an eccentric man," stated old Festus Pester, "who when he had got the desired number on the telephone did not demand fiercely, 'Whizz ziss?' Instead he invariably said civilly, 'This is John J. Poppendick, wishing to speak to Mr. Buckover.' His funeral was the largest ever held in the neighborhood where he had resided, and thereat strong men broke down and wept like children, being convinced that they would never again see his like."—Judge.