Where once solitude
had reigned supreme and the spider had spun his web amid the
fast-gathering dust, all was now tumultuous activity. Fifteen busy
operators in eye shades and shirt sleeves took the news hot from the
humming wires and clicked it off to the waiting pool rooms.
"Scarecrow wins by a neck!" cried one, "Blackbird second!"
"Make the odds 5 to 3," shouted a short, ill-favored man, who sat at a
desk puffing a large black cigar. The place buzzed like a beehive and
ticked like a clockmaker's. It had an atmosphere of breathless
excitement all its own. Felix watched and marvelled, wondering if dreams
came true.
The short, ill-favored man strolled over and condescended to make Mr.
Felix's acquaintance. An hour later the three of them were closeted
among the zitherns. At the same moment the fifteen operators were ranged
in a line in front, of a neighboring bar, their elbows simultaneously
elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees.
Felix still had lingering doubts. Hadn't Mr. McPherson some little
paper--a letter, a bill, a receipt or a check, to show that he was
really in the employ of the Western Union? No, said "Mac," but he had
something better--the badge which he had received as the fastest
operator among the company's employees.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117