But she waved her hand again impatiently and listened, engrossed and smiling. "Oh, just because I wanted to hear a human voice, I guess. I'd forgotten what a phone looks like, and so when I heard ... No, I am not a tourist. I'm a neighbor, and I'm the lonesomest neighbor in these mountains.... What?... Oh, down the road in a spooky little valley where there's a log cabin and a trout stream--only I haven't caught any yet. They bite, but they simply _won't_ stay hooked. What?... Oh, just worms, and those fuzzy flies made with a hook on them--_you_ know.... Oh, thanks! I surely do wish you could.... The what?... Oh! well, I don't know, I'm sure. There's an excited young man here who keeps telling me this is _not_ a public telephone booth--do you mean him, I wonder?... He does look something like a fireman, now you mention it. What do you use him for? a signal fire, or something?... Oh! You _do_? Why, forevermore! Is he nice to talk to?... No, I haven't. He just keeps telling me this is _not_ a public ... Oh, I don't! I don't see how anybody could mind him--do you?... Well, of course, a person doesn't look for politeness away up ... Ha-ha--why, does the altitude make a difference? Maybe that's what ails me, then-- That's awfully nice of you, man ... No, never mind what my name is. Don't let's be ordinary. I'm just a voice from the mountain top, and you're just a voice from the valley. So be it.... Without an invitation? I only thanked you ..." "Keep on," interjected Jack savagely, "and you'll have his wife trailing you up with a gun!" "Well--we'll see.... But do come sometime when you can--and bring your wife! I'd love to meet some woman.... Oh, all right. Good-by." With a gloved palm pressed hard over the mouthpiece she turned reproachfully upon Jack. "Now you _did_ fix things, didn't you? Of course, you knew I couldn't be nice to a man with a wife, so you had to go and spoil everything. And I was just beginning to have a lovely time!" "Help yourself," Jack offered with heavy sarcasm. "Don't mind me at all." "Well, he wants to talk to you," she said. She put her lips again to the mouthpiece and added a postscript. "Pardon me, but I held the line a minute while I quarreled with your fireman. You're wrong--I don't find him so nice to talk to. You may talk to him if you want to--I'm sure you're welcome!" Whereupon she surrendered the receiver and walked around the high, map-covered table, and amused herself by playing an imaginary game of billiards with the pointer for a cue and two little spruce cones which she took from her pocket for balls. When Jack had finished talking and had hung up the receiver, he leaned back against the shelf and watched her, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets. He still scowled--but one got the impression that he was holding that frown consciously and stubbornly and not because his mood matched it.