Telephone in the Woods

1905

"I've been reading," remarked a citizen who spends five months of every year in the woods, "that the telephone is a great convenience in the wilderness. The Electrical Review says that throughout the forests, from St. John to Vancouver, the telephone brings the lumber camps into touch with one another, letters are read to lumbermen snowed in 50 or 300 miles from civilization and the human side of life is made warmer and more vivid by this means of communication.

"A telephone does heat up considerably anywhere, especially when it won't work; but I'm inclined to think a telephone in the wilderness is a great nuisance instead of a great convenience. What an angler, hunter or botanist wants of one of the things is more than I can understand. They've got the Adirondacks fixed so that there's a push button in every other tree, and if you stub your toe a waiter'll pop out of the bushes with a champagne cocktail or a telegram. That's all right, perhaps, but why not stay in the Waldorf?

"A telephone in the woods is a good thing for game, though. We had our cabin wired to a village down at the end of the railroad one summer. Never again for me. I'd be dangling for trout. 'John, John,' would come my wife's voice, resounding through the aisles of pine and hemlock. 'What?' I'd say, mad clean through. 'Your Boston brokers want to talk with you a minute.' Or I'd be almost within range of a deer and that same 'John' would come floating on the air from the shanty. 'What?' I'd have to call back, and the deer'd be in the next county. 'New York's waiting; long distance,' the servant would holler. "Line's held open for you.' The only trout I got that season was a tame one I bought of a man who fattens 'em for market, and the only thing I shot was the ace of spades. I tacked it up the last day and blazed at it for spite. And now," he concluded, "when I go into the woods the central office can't find me with a guide and a brass band." — Providence Journal.