He inserted a plug in the groundplate of the switchboard. Immediately the sounder came to life, closing with a sharp click.
“I call that luck!” grinned Quigley. “Now let’s try that dispatcher. Want to get him on the wire for me?”
Penny nodded and sat down at the desk again. Insistently she sent out the call, “D-S, D-S, D-S.” All the while as she kept the key moving, her thoughts raced ahead. She was afraid that persons had lost their lives in the flood. Property damage was beyond estimate. But catastrophe spelled Big News and she was certain her father would want every detail of the story for the Riverview Star. If only she could send word to him!
“What’s the matter?” Quigley asked, his voice impatient. “Can’t you get an answer?”
Just then it came—a crisp “I—DS” which told the two listeners that the train dispatcher again was on the wire.
Quigley took over, explaining the break in service and giving the dispatcher such facts as he desired. Hovering at the agent’s elbow, Penny asked him if the dispatcher would take an important personal message.
“For the Riverview Star,” she added quickly. “My father’s newspaper.”
“I doubt he’ll do it,” Quigley discouraged her. “This one wire is needed for vital railroad messages. But we’ll see.”
He tapped out a message and the reply came. It was sent so fast that Penny could not understand the code. Quigley translated it as “Okay, but make it brief.”
With no time to compose a carefully worded message, Penny reported the bare facts of the disaster. She addressed the message to her father and signed her own name.