III
A TINKER WHO MADE GOOD
Most telegraph operators, young operators especially, have a number of over-the-wire friends. Alex Ward’s particular telegraph chum was Jack Orr, or “OR,” as he knew him on the wire, a lad of just his own age, son of the proprietor of the drug-store in which the town, or commercial, office was located at Haddowville, a small place at the end of the line. The two boys had become warm friends through “sending” for one another’s improvement in “reading,” in the evenings when the wire was idle; but also because of the similarities of taste they had discovered. Both were fond of experimenting, and learning the “why and wherefore” of things electrical.
And not infrequently they got themselves into trouble, as young investigators will.
One evening that summer, the instruments being silent, Jack, at Haddowville, bethought himself of taking the relay, the main receiving instrument, to pieces, to discover exactly how the wire connections in the base were arranged. To think with Jack was to act. Half an hour later his father, entering with an important message, found Jack with the instrument in a dozen pieces.
Mr. Orr viewed the muss with consternation. Then he spoke sharply. “Jack, if that relay is not together again, and working, in five minutes, I’ll take you out to the woodshed!” Needless to say, Jack threw himself into the restoring of the instrument with ardor, while his father stood grimly by. And fortunately the relay was in its place again, and clicking, within the prescribed time.
“But don’t let me ever catch you tinkering with the instruments again,” said Jack’s father warningly, as he gave Jack the message to send. “Another time it’ll be the woodshed whether you get them together or no. Remember!”
Shortly after midnight the night following Jack suddenly found himself sitting up in bed, wondering what had awakened him. From the street below came the sound of running feet, simultaneously the window lighted with a yellow glare, and with a bound and an exclamation of “Fire!” Jack was across the room and peering out.
“Jones’ coal sheds! Or the station!” he ejaculated, and in a moment was back at the bedside, dressing as only a boy can dress for a fire. Running to his parents’ bedroom he told them of his going, and was down the stairs and out into the street in a trice.