Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Spence, who had been on the night trick most of the years that Speckles was caller, was now chief dispatcher. If he had any friend anywhere, it was Spence, the man at whose elbow he had sat through those long, dark hours of the night that beget confidences, and into whose ears he had so often poured the tales of his cherished aims and ambitions.
Speckles covered the stairs three steps at a time, in his new-found exuberance. Spence looked up from his key and listened as Speckles told his story.
“So you’re Healy’s contribution to economy, eh?” he said when Speckles had finished. “And he won’t take you back?”
“No,” said Speckles.
“Well, that’s pretty rough. But I don’t see how I can help you any, Speckles. I haven’t any rights over Healy, you know.”
Speckles hesitated a moment and fidgeted nervously from one foot to the other. “I know you ain’t,” he began, “but I thought maybe you’d put me on here.”
“W-what!” ejaculated Spence. Then, smothering a laugh at the sight of Speckles’ woebegone countenance, he demanded gravely “You mean dispatching?”
Speckles nodded.
“No, no, Speckles, that would never do. You go back and see Healy. I’ll do what I can for you with him.”
“‘Twon’t do no good,” said Speckles hopelessly. “I’ve asked him twice already.”