“You’re talking nonsense,” she said. “This is a public telegraph office and you, as the operator, are obliged to accept and send any message that is presented and paid for. It isn’t your place to decide whether it is libelous or not, and I demand that you send this telegram at once.”
“I won’t,” he said firmly. “I’m going out, Miss Daring, and must lock up the office; so I’ll trouble you to go.”
She regarded the young fellow questioningly as he took his hat and stepped to the door, waiting for her with his hand on the knob. Then she slipped into his seat at the table and placed her hand on the instrument.
“Here!” he called fiercely. “What are you doing, girl?”
“If you won’t telegraph the governor, I will!” she declared. “Stand back, Dave Hunter, and don’t you dare to touch me or interfere. I’ll save Toby Clark if I have to put you behind the bars in his place, and perhaps there’s where you belong.”
As she spoke she was clicking the little instrument, calling the state capitol. Dave himself had taught her how to do this. The operator now stood motionless beside her, looking down at the courageous girl with unmistakable terror in his eyes. Perhaps her threat awed him; perhaps he had other reasons for not venturing to prevent her extraordinary action.
The answer came in a moment. Fortunately the wire had been free and as soon as she got her connection she began clicking out the message—as dexterously as the regular operator himself might have done.
Dave listened, as motionless as if turned to stone. She demanded a “repeat” and from the other end came the repetition of the message, exactly as the girl had sent it. She answered: “O K,” rose from her chair and calmly asked:
“What are the charges?”
The young man drew his hand across his eyes with a despairing gesture and limply sank into the chair.