Always deferential to the South, it obediently pigeon-holes the telegram,
to await some official person, then, knowing that a delay of weeks will
probably convert it into so much waste paper, it writes a "duplicate,"
and goes outside to send it "bush" by the first traveller it can find.
If no traveller is at hand, the "Line" is "called up" and asked if any
one is going in the desired direction from elsewhere; if so, the
"duplicate" is repeated "down the line," but if not, a traveller is
created in the person of a black boy by means of a bribing stick of
tobacco. No extra charge, of course. Nothing IS an extra in the
Territory. "Nothing to do with the Department," says the chief; "merely
the personal courtesy of our officers." May it be many a long day before
the forgotten shipment of red tape finds its way to the Territory to
strangle the courtesy of our officers!
Nothing finds itself outside this courtesy. The Fizzer brings in great
piles of mail-matter, unweighed and unstamped, with many of the envelopes
bursting or, at times, in place of an envelope, a request for one; and
"our officers," getting to work with their "courtesy," soon put all in
order, not disdaining even the licking of stamps or the patching or
renewing of envelopes.
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