United States or São Tomé and Príncipe ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
She heard her name paged by a corridor-crier and was called to the telephone, where her husband's voice told her that there was a big upset at the office and he dared not leave. He forgot to be tender in his endearments, and he forgot to explain to her that he was talking in a crowded office with an impatient boss waiting for him and a telephone-girl probably listening in.
Are you the telephone-girl that I'm talking to?" "Indeed I'm not," said Maisie with considerable haughtiness. "Please get off the line." And then to Tabs, "Are you still there, Lord Taborley? This is Mrs. Lockwood. Can't you postpone some of those engagements so that we can meet to-day?" At that moment the girl at the switch-board took a hand.
At whatever hour of the day you happened to call, you would always find three wistful individuals seated side by side with their eyes on the tiny ante-room where sat the office-boy, the telephone-girl, and Mr Goble's stenographer.
This was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with Senator Bissell. Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was on his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was lowered and betrayed almost human interest.
There is a telephone-girl over in the central station, wherever that is, who certainly is beautiful if the voice is a true index. Her tones are dulcet, and her voice is so mellow and well modulated that I visualize her as another Venus. I suspect that, when she began her work, some one told her that her tenure of position depended upon the quality of her voice.
Conniston sprang to his feet. Hapgood smiled his satisfaction. "The old gent is as prompt as the very deuce, God bless him!" Conniston hurried after the boy into the house, leaving Hapgood beaming. "Mr. Conniston?" the telephone-girl was asking. "Yes, I'm Conniston. You have the answer?" "Yes. Shall I read it to you?" "Please." "It's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "But it's paid.
I asked, excusably nettled, and stepping to the telephone, I took the receiver from its hook. "Give me the manager's office, please," I requested, watching my visitor. "Is this the manager? This is Mr. Bayne speaking, Room four hundred and three. I've found a man investigating my trunk a foreigner, a German." An exclamation from the manager, and from the listening telephone-girl a shriek!
S. Herbert Ross boomed out of his office, explaining the theory of advertising to a gasoleny man in a pin-checked suit as they waddled to the elevator. The telephone-girl hurried back to connect up a last call, frowned while she waited, yanked out the plug, and scuttled away a creamy, roe-eyed girl, pretty and unhappy at her harassing job of connecting nervous talkers all day.
Word Of The Day