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ELLO, Central. Give me two-o-two-eight, please."

"Is this two-o-two-eight?"

There was a sound of confusion at the other end of the wire as the telephone receiver clicked—a mixture of tortured piano and riot and rough house combined, out of which a harsh voice sounded.

"W-e-l-l?"

"This is Mr. Clark."

"Who?"

"Mr. Clark. I—"

"Well, what in the hell do you want? Shoot it out."

I finally succeeded in making my identity clear, and the voice softened perceptibly. What I really did want was to deliver a very important telegram to an undergraduate student.

There is little doubt that the telephone