The moral of this story may be that it is better to heed the warnings of the "still small voice" before it is driven to the use of the telephone.
A New York lawyer, gazing idly out of his window, saw a sight in an office across the street that made him rub his eyes and look again. Yes, there was no doubt about it. The pretty stenographer was sitting upon the gentleman's lap. The lawyer noticed the name that was lettered on the window and then searched in the telephone book. Still keeping his eye upon the scene across the street, he called the gentleman up. In a few moments he saw him start violently and take down the receiver.
"Yes," said the lawyer through the telephone, "I should think you would start."
The victim whisked his arm from its former position and began to stammer something.
"Yes," continued the lawyer severely, "I think you'd better take that arm away. And while you're about it, as long as there seems to be plenty of chairs in the room—"
The victim brushed the lady from his lap, rather roughly, it is to be feared. "Who—who the devil is this, anyhow?" he managed to splutter.
"I," answered the lawyer in deep, impressive tones, "am your conscience!"