The manager informed the chief that “Bogy” was all right, that if he did no good he would do no harm, and to let him continue his work.
“Bogy” worked all day and evening and clear up into the night, only stopping when there was nothing left for him to do.
The soft side of a bench was a tempting bed for this weary traveler, and, as he liked to sleep near the tick of the telegraph instruments, permission was granted him to take the bench into the battery room.
Several days slipped by, “Bogy” working night and day. He certainly enjoyed working; it was a pastime with him.
Saturday came, and with it the usual pay-day and “Bogy” received his emoluments with the rest of the men.
“I want you on at 6 P. M. tonight,” said the chief operator, “you will take the Associated Press news tonight.”
“I’ll be here when the clock strikes 6 and I’m going to show you something in the line of telegraphing the like of which has never been performed here before,” and “Bogy” assumed a very important air.
He was on hand promptly and sat down to the San Francisco wire, where Billy Williamson was displaying his musical Morse. It was coming very fast, but beautiful as an opera to listen to.
Picking up the manifold sheets, he discovered the carbons were not straight and he began to adjust them, San Francisco sending right along.
“I say,” began the night chief, “when are you going to start in to copy? You are now 100 words behind.”