Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/60

42 shelter tent with the receiver of a service buzzer at his ear.

“Get me the observatory."

(Or didn't we call it B. C. station in those ignorant days?)

After a time the operator passed him the receiver and transmitter.

"It isn't altogether clear, sir."

"Observatory?"

A pause.

“Hello! Hello! Hello! Observatory? Hello! Hello! Hello! (Very low.) My God! (Very high.) Hello Hello! Hello!"

The telephone officer stood by, watching, He made a gesture of disgust.

“Don't say 'Hello!’" he offered. "It's meaningless. It only wastes time. It never gets you anywheres."

If a telephone officer has ever talked to you like that when you held a dead instrument and big things were afoot, you need precisely no analysis of the executive's emotions.

The executive sprang up, casting the offending parts from him. He glanced dangerously at the telephone officer. He, as they say, collected himself.

"I've said 'hello!' all my life," he muttered, "and I'll admit it's never got me less than it has this afternoon.”

“Oh, don't get sore," the telephone officer said breezily.

The executive confided quite in private.

"If you do as well as this at the front the Huns will court martial the first man that hurts you."

“Buzz it," the telephone officer said indifferently.

The executive chained his wrath.

"I'd rather give it to you straight. Want any more?”

"No, no," said the telephone officer pityingly. "I mean your message. The buzzer often goes through when the voice won't."