babel entering the branch centrals that has to be straightened out and each separate series of voice undulations sent on its proper way, to be translated into speech again and poured into the proper ear.  It is no wonder, then, that it has been found necessary to establish a school for telephone girls where they can be taught how to untangle the snarl and handle the vast, complicated system.  In these schools the operators go through a regular course lasting a month.  They listen to lectures and work out the instructions given them at a practice switchboard that is exactly like the service switchboard, except that the wires do not go outside of the building, but connect with the instructor’s desk; the instructor calls up the pupils and sends messages in just the same way that the subscribers call “central” in the regular service.

At the terminal station of a great railroad, in the midst of a network of shining rails, stands the switchman’s tower.  By means of steel levers the man in his tower can throw his different switches and open one track to a train and close another; by means of various signals the switchman can tell if any given line is clear or if his levers do their work properly.

A telephone system may be likened, in a measure, to a complicated railroad line:  the trunk wires to subscribers are like the tracks of the railroad, and the central station may be compared to the switch tower, while the central operators are like the switchmen.  It is the central girls’ business to see that connections are made quickly and correctly, that no lines are tied up unnecessarily, that messages are properly charged to the right persons, that in case of a break in a line the messages are switched round the trouble, and above all that there shall be no delay.

When you take your receiver off the hook a tiny electric bulb glows opposite the brass-lined hole that is marked with your number on the switchboard of your central, and the telephone girl knows that you are ready to send in a call—­the flash of the little light is a signal to her that you want to be connected with some other subscriber.  Whereupon, she inserts in your connection a brass plug to which a flexible wire is attached, and then opens a little lever which connects her with your circuit.  Then she speaks into a kind of inverted horn which projects from a transmitter that hangs round her neck and asks:  “Number, please?” You answer with the number, which she hears through the receiver strapped to her head and ear.  After repeating the number the “hello” girl proceeds to make the connection.  If the number required is in the same section of the city she simply reaches for the hole or connection which corresponds with it, with another brass plug, the twin of the one that is already inserted in your connection, and touches the brass lining with the plug.  All the connections to each central station are so arranged and duplicated that they are within the reach of each operator.  If