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Updated: May 1, 2025
Throbbing with nervousness I waited to hear the familiar click of the receiver at the other end. I could hear the Redfield switchboard receive the call, and put in the plug to connect with our wire. In imagination I could see the telephone against the wall in the old hallway at Sabine Farm.
Out on his sleeping porch she looked over his rows of press buttons, his switchboard that from his bed connected him with every part of the ranch and most of the rest of California, his phonograph on the hinged and swinging bracket, the orderly array of books and magazines and agricultural bulletins waiting to be read, the ash tray, cigarettes, scribble pads, and thermos bottle.
Don't think our luck will turn yet. Just remember the horseshoe I picked up on the street in Mobile," urged Tom. "Yes," Jack assented, "that's a fact. And, by the way, where did you put that horseshoe? I haven't seen it since." "I hung it up on the switchboard lamp bracket," said Tom. "Well, it isn't there now," declared Jack.
"Well!" she flared. "Do you suppose that anything bigger was ever done in this world than getting these things these generators and water-wheels and the corrugated iron for the roof, and the door-knobs and tiles and standards and switchboard, and everything else, up to the top of the ridge from Emville and down this side of the ridge? I see that never occurred to you!
Her father nodded and his lips moved as he repeated her words in a whisper. "I have it now. You must put the instrument under the telephone switchboard table," he directed. "Pile up a waste-basket, or something that is handy to keep it out of view. I have already adjusted enough fresh cylinders to record at least one hour of conversation.
"You may go," ordered Long, and, as his man left, he moved over closer to the switchboard. He was listening eagerly and also watching an indicator that told the numbers of the rooms which called, as they flashed into view. Just as a call from "509" flashed up, Long slipped the rings off his little fingers and loosened the white rats on the telephone switchboard itself.
The grim switchboard flashed its metallic face in cryptic, sphinx-like immobility. She seated herself on a stool and donned the bright earpiece. She looked at the mouthpiece. She had never looked at one so closely before. It was wide and black, pimpled with usage; inert; dead; almost sarcastic in its unfeeling curves.
He watched the tall figure with its always present odor of tsin-tsin blossoms move forward in a few indecisive steps, then back again, considering. The smile and the easy words were a camouflage, surely but for what? "Nothing important at all." Dr. Ku Sui repeated pleasantly. "Come. I will show you. Friday if I may so address you over on that switchboard you will find a small lever-control.
There was another improvement too, the Post Office type switchboard was replaced by two wooden desk mounted units, each fitted with 10 switches and indicator lights. Every switch and light combination was connected to a gun site or a searchlight station and any combination of sites could be called individually or simultaneously.
You know what a risk you are taking, to connect me with this case like that, don't you?" "I never even breathed it to myself. I told no one." "Follow me up to the telephone room." Shirley hurried through the grill, to the switchboard, near which stood the booths for private calls. He called to one of the operators. "Here, let me at that switchboard."
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