I can remember as though it were yesterday the day that Lincoln was assassinated. I was a small youngster, but the event was printed into my brain. I know that news of this world-shaking event passed but slowly out into the country. There were lonely farms out among the hills where farmers did not know of Lincoln’s death for days. There was no way of quick communication. I thought of that during the last deciding baseball game between the Giants and the Yankees. Seated in our farmhouse beside his little radio ’phone, my boy could even hear the crack of the bat against the ball. He could hear the roaring of the crowd and the growl of “Babe” Ruth when the umpire called him out on strikes. And all this marvellous change has come about during my life! You may perhaps imagine the feelings of the deaf when they realize that they are shut away from such wonderful things. But modern life is so efficiently strung upon wires that even the deaf must at times make use of the telephone. Some of our experiences in selecting proxies to represent us at the wire are worth recording. Every deaf man who takes even a small part in modern business must make some use of the ’phone or be helplessly outdistanced in the race. In the West they tell of a Mexican who wanted to get a message to his sweetheart. They offered him his choice between the telegraph and the telephone, and explained the difference. He chose the telephone without hesitation, for he “wanted no man in between.” The deaf man must have some one “in between,” and usually it is a matter of nice judgment to choose the person to occupy that position. From choice the deaf will take the telegram; they can read it, and the fact that each word costs a certain sum of money means a brief message. If telephone messages were paid for in the same way, all the world would gain in brevity of expression, or else the income taxes of telephone companies would soon pay the national debt.