"Aren't you the War Off—"
But I clapped on my receiver. In fact I clapped it on so violently that I thought I had silenced the thing for good and all.
A series of tugging ineffective clicks on the part of my bell decided me to investigate. This move on my part was to win me the game.
I took off my receiver and listened. No answer. I banged the rigging. No answer. I banged and thumped.
"Yes, yes," she said rather peevishly, "I am attending to you as quickly as I can. What number do you want?"
"Well," I explained, "as a matter of fact I don't want a number. I only wondered if my line was all right. Sorry you have been terroubled," and I cut her off. One—all.
The third and last game started briskly. In the course of the first ten minutes I was rung up and asked if I was—
1. The Timber Control.
2. Mr. Awl or All.