L. Frank Baum

“ Escondido, the nearest town and post office to El Cajon Ranch, is a quaint little place with a decided Mexican atmosphere. Those California inhabitants whom we call, for convenience, “Mexicans,” are not all natives of Mexico, by any means. ”

“ Pausing awkwardly in the doorway, he first flushed red and then advanced boldly to shake Arthur’s hand.
“Why, Weldon, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he exclaimed in a pleasant voice that belied his rude costume, for its tones were well modulated and cultured. “I’ve been trying to call you up for three days, but something is wrong with the line. How’s baby?”
This last question was addressed to Louise, who shook the youth’s hand cordially.
“Baby is thriving finely,” she reported, and then introduced her friends to Mr. Rudolph Hahn, who, she explained, was one of their nearest neighbors. ”

“ That confounded telephone doesn’t reach you at all.”
“I’m going over to the office to see about that telephone,” said Arthur. “I believe I’ll do the errand while Castro is preparing his compounds. I’m always uneasy when the telephone is out of order.”
“You ought to be,” said Rudolph, “with that blessed baby in the house. It might save you thirty precious minutes in getting a doctor.”
“Does your line work?” asked Louise. ”

“ Sounds sort of patriotic, you know, and it’s not inappropriate.”
“You wrong me,” said the big rancher, squeaking the words cheerfully but at the same time frowning in a way that might well have terrified a pirate. “I’m not a bull and I don’t run. ”