A SYMPATHETIC HEARING.

Dominion, Volume 22, Issue 72, 18 December 1928, Page 25 (Supplement)

A SYMPATHETIC HEARING.

There was only one public telephonebox on the railway-station platform, Inside of it, and practically touching all sides of it, was a large woman with a noisy hat. Outside of it, leaning wearily against the door, was a small man with a dispirited moustache and a wistful eye. For several minutes I stood there, shifting restlessly upon my feet and ever and anon glancing impatiently at my watch. And then at length I was moved to speech.

“Have you,” said I, addressing the small man, “been waiting long?” The small man nodded gloomily. “Ten minutes,” said he. “Surely then,” I remarked, “the woman can’t be much longer.” A shadow flitted across the small man’s face.

“You can’t never tell,” said he morbidly. “Not with a woman. Once a woman’s chin starts waggin’ there’s nothing as will stop ’er save ’er own free will. An’ that ’appens very seldom.”

“But it’s preposterous!” I exclaimed.

“The woman knows we’re waiting. Surely she must have said all she has got to say by now. It’s very annoying, for my business is rather urgent. As a matter of fact, I added confidentially, “I have a bet to place on a horse in the 3.30.” I glanced at my watch. “And it’s now 3.22.”

“Maybe,” suggested the small man,

“‘you’ll be saving money if yer don’t get it on.” “I doub’t it,” I replied. “You see, the bet is for my wife. I’ve only just remembered It. And experience has taught me that when I omit to back my wife's fancy the horse inevitably wins.”

“Ah,” said the small man, nodding sagely, “that’s different" There was a short silence, broken at length by the twinkle of coins within the call-box. The small man jerked an eloquent thumb over his shoulder. "She’s bookin’ another three minutes,” he observed.

“ !’’ I cried, using a very regrettable word. "The woman should be muzzled!”

“She ought, guv’nor,” agreed the small man, with conviction. “An’ permanent.”

“What the dickens," I fumed, "a woman can find to talk about for ten solid minutes beats me altogether.” I consulted my watch again. It was 3.25.

“Look here,” I said, somewhat diffidently, “I hate asking you, but would you mind if I took next turn? I assure you I won’t take a couple of minutes." “Cert’nly, guv’nor,” said the small man. “As a matter of fact ” “Thanks very much,” I said gratefully. “It’s very good of you.” “That’s all right, guv’nor,” said the small man. “Yer see ” “Just listen to that!” I snarled, as a sound of muffled laughter within the call-box came to our ears. “The confounded woman is laughing!” And then, as another series of fat giggles penetrated through the telephone booth door, the little that remained of my self-control deserted me.

“A woman like that,” I fumed, “should not be allowed to live! She should be gagged and let loose in a room full of parrots, loudspeakers and Marble Arch orators until she was talked to death!”

A sudden gleam lit up the small man’s gloomy eye, and he smacked his lips with unholy relish.

“You’re right,” he agreed emphatically. “Dead right, guv’nor. An’ don’t I know it. Not ’arf! I’ve ’ad twenty years of it.”

I stared at him blankly. “Why,” I stammered, “you— er—< don’t mean you know the lady?” The shadows deepened on the small man’s features. He nodded sadly. And at the same moment the door of the call-box opened.

“My missus, guv’nor,” said the small man in a hoarse undertone.

I felt for ills hand and pressed it sympathetically. “I'm sorry,” I said with simple sincerity, and then sprang inside the tele-phone-box, closing the door smartly behind me.

—Richard W. Bond, in the “Passing Show.”