“Canadian telegraph office?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s no good, Mr. Yates. Them Canadians couldn’t telegraph all you’ve written in two weeks. I know ‘em,” said the boy with infinite scorn. “Besides, the Government has got hold of all the wires, and you can’t get a private message through till it gets over its fright.”
“By George!” cried Yates, taken aback, “I hadn’t thought of that. Are you sure, boy?”
“Dead certain.”
“Then what’s to be done? I must get through to Buffalo.”
“You can’t. United States troops won’t let you. They’re stopping everybody—except me,” he added, drawing himself up, as if he were the one individual who stood in with the United States Government.
“Can you get this dispatch through?”
“You bet! That’s why I came back. I knew, as soon as I looked at you, that you would write two or three columns of telegraph; and your paper said ‘Spare no expense,’ you remember. So says I to myself: ‘I’ll help Mr. Yates to spare no expense. I’ll get fifty dollars from that young man, seeing I’m the only person who can get across in time.’”
“You were mighty sure of it, weren’t you?”