“Well, I only mentioned it,” said Mr. Cutler, rather weakly. “Perhaps he’ll do all right, but he makes mistakes.”
“So we all do,” remarked Mr. Boise. “I think Tom will be all right.”
Then the door was closed, and Tom could hear no more. But what he had heard told him two things, one of which he knew before. He was made aware that Mr. Boise was very friendly to him, and he realized that Mr. Cutler had some grudge against him, though what it could be our hero could not imagine.
“It can’t be about the telephone calls,” reasoned the lad, “for I haven’t made but one error on his wire in nearly a week, and that was a small one—cutting him off. He was through, anyhow, for the party on the other end of the wire had said ‘good-by.’ But I’m glad Mr. Boise stuck up for me.”
That afternoon, toward the close of the day’s business, as Tom was sitting in front of the switchboard, idly wondering where the next call would come from, one of the black drops fell. He plugged in a wire, and asked:
“Whom did you wish to speak to?”
Back came the answer, in a voice that startled Tom, for he knew he had heard it somewhere before:
“Is Mr. Cutler in?”
“I’ll connect you with him. Hold the wire,” directed Tom, and he made doubly sure that he put the right plug in the right hole, so that the person could speak to the junior partner.
As soon as this connection was made there came another call, for Mr. Boise. The head of the firm was soon conversing with a client, and then a third drop fell.