extension of the sense of touch or of sense interplay that even more intimately involves the entire sensorium. The child and the teenager understand the telephone, embracing the cord and the ear-mike as if they were beloved pets. What we call "the French phone," the union of mouthpiece and earphone in a single instrument, is a significant indication of the French liaison of the senses that English-speaking people keep firmly separate. French is "the language of love" just because it unites voice and ear in an especially close way, as does the telephone. So it is quite natural to kiss via phone, but not easy to visualize while phoning. No more unexpected social result of the telephone has been observed than its elimination of the red-light district and its creation of the call-girl. To the blind, all things are unexpected. The form and character of the telephone, as of all electric technology, appear fully in this spectacular development. The prostitute was a specialist, and the call-girl is not. A "house" was not a home; but the call-girl not only lives at home, she may be a matron. The power of the telephone to decentralize every operation and to end positional warfare, as well as localized prostitution, has been felt but not understood by every business in the land. The telephone, in the case of the call-girl, is like the typewriter that fuses the functions of composition and publication. The call-girl dispenses with the procurer and the madam. She has to be an articulate person of varied conversation and social accomplishments since she is expected to be able to join any company on a basis of social equality. If the typewriter has splintered woman from the home and turned her into a specialist in the office, the telephone gave her back to the executive world as a general means of harmony, an invitation to happiness, and a sort of combined confessional-and wailing wall for the immature American executive. The typewriter and the telephone are most unidentical twins