“‘Who are you?’
“‘Tom Edison.’
“‘And who on earth might Tom Edison be?’
“The young man explained that he had been ordered to report at the Boston office, and was finally told to sit down in the operating room, where his advent created much merriment. The operators made fun of him loudly 24 enough for him to hear. He didn’t care. A few minutes later a New York operator, noted for his swiftness, called up the Boston office. There was no one at liberty.
“‘Well,’ said the office chief, ‘let the new man try him.’
“Edison sat down and for four hours and a half wrote out messages in his clear round hand, stuck a date and number on them, and threw them on the floor for the office boy to pick up. The time he took in numbering and dating the sheets were the only seconds he was not writing out transmitted words. Faster and faster ticked the instrument, and faster and faster went Edison’s fingers, until the rapidity with which the messages came tumbling on the floor attracted the attention of the other operators, who, when their work was done, gathered around to witness the spectacle. At the close of the four and a half hours’ work there flashed from New York the salutation:
“‘Hello!’
“‘Hello yourself!’ ticked Edison.
“‘Who are you?’ rattled into the Boston office.
“‘Tom Edison.’