3. The Timber Control (again).
4. The London Diocesan Church Schools. (At this point I rather lost my head and answered, "D—— the London Diocesan Church Schools.")
My impiety offended the Bishop (I assume it was a Bishop), and he, rather unfairly, must have incited the gods to take sides against me. In a lucid interval, while I was doing a call of my own, the operator, without giving me any warning, switched me on to the supervisor. This must have been an inspiration from Olympus. However I was equal to the emergency; nay, took advantage of it. Experience has taught me that it is always best to talk to the person you get, whether you want that person or not. So I explained to the supervisor that I was a busy man, although the rumour which ascribed to my shoulders the War Office, the Timber Control and the L.D.C.S. was, at the moment, unfounded.
She played up magnificently; took my number, my name, my address, the date, the time of the day, how many times I had been rung up, whom by and when, and was going to ask me the date of my birth and whether I was married or single, when I protested. Then she calmed down and said she would have my line seen to.
The game seemed to be going well; but again I was beaten by a swift stroke. My bell rang.
"Telephone Engineering Department speaking," it said. "We have received a report that your line is out of order. We are sending a man and hope he will finish the job before luncheon."
This was the end, as anyone knows who has ever got into the clutches: of the Telephone Engineering Department.
"Please," I said (my spirit was quite broken)—"please, for God's sake, don't send a man. Not this morning at any rate. Put it off, there's a good fellow."
"But I thought there was something wrong—"
"Oh, no, not at all. It's a hideous mistake. My line never behaved better in its life. It's a positive joy to me."