“Of course you will. Come on, now, we’ll practice some more.”
Which the two boys did, for an hour longer, Charley giving Tom actual practice calling up newspaper offices to ask about certain events.
“The newspaper fellows are all right,” declared Charley. “They’ll tell you anything they can, and never kick, ’cause they know people are liable to give ’em tips on stories. And you want to be awful polite to customers that call up, ’cause they might report you if you wasn’t. But don’t let them central girls jolly you. Sometimes they’ll keep you waiting five minutes for a number. Just tell ’em what you want, an’ say you want it quick.”
“I guess I could get along,” answered Tom, “if I only had a place to get along in. I mean a job like yours.”
“Oh, you’ll git it in time,” declared Charley confidently.
As it was getting close toward six o’clock, when the office building in which Charley worked was to be closed for the night, the boys left, Tom arranging to come as often as he could to take lessons on how to manipulate a switchboard.
During the next two weeks he had frequent occasion to take advantage of Charley’s tutoring, for, search as he did, Tom could find no permanent position. He had several places for a day or so at a time, and managed to earn a little money running errands for the second-hand book dealer, but he did not make much more than his expenses.
Had it not been that Mrs. Baldwin and her sister had plenty of sewing to do, the little family would have been sorely pressed for money.
“It’s discouraging; isn’t it, Tom?” said his mother one night, when he had come home from a hard day tramping about.
“Well, I’m getting sort of hardened to it,” was his plucky answer. “Maybe I’ll get a job to-morrow, mother.”