"Now if he is only in," said the boy, going over to the table and giving the call.
"He's there," he said eagerly, holding out his hand for the message.
Durmont handed it to him. His face still held the look of doubt and unbelief as he looked at the crude, home-made instruments.
"Suppose I might as well have hired a horse and taken it into town." But the sputtering wire drowned his voice.
"And get on your wheel and go like blazes. Tell 'em to rush answer. This guy here thinks a colored boy is only an animated shoe-blacking outfit; it's up to us to remedy that defect in his education, see!" Thus sang the wires as Durmont paced the floor.
"I said," began the nervous man as the wires became quiet. "I—" again the wire sputtered, and he couldn't hear himself talk. When it was quiet, he tried again, but as soon as he began to grumble, the wire began to sputter. He glanced suspiciously at the boy, but the latter was earnestly watching his instruments.
"Say," shouted Durmont, "does that thing have to keep up that confounded racket all the time?"
"I had to give him some instructions, you know, and also keep in adjustment."
"Well, I'll get out of adjustment myself if that keeps up."
Durmont resigned himself to silence, and strangely enough, so did the wire. Walking around the room he noticed over the shelf of books a large white sheet on which was printed in gilt letters: