“The clocks in this building?”
“The same—the same,” said Mike. “Ye see, we’ve had the divil’s own time wid these clocks, but they’re all right now. They’re all together, like people at the pay window on Saturday afthernoon. I wisht I had the wurrud to fit what has happened to thim clocks. They’s a rare wurrud for it, an’ I heard wan of the assistants up in Pendleton’s office spit it out careless like whin he went out to lunch to-day. But thim clocks is near killin’ all av us. They’re run by electricity, an’ the city paid enough f’r thim to have thim right. But not till to-day have they all struck together, like bricklayers on a job wid the contract time limit two days off. To-day they all got busy to wanst, and now they’re runnin’ dead heats. But I wisht I had the wurrud that tells what happened to thim.”
“Didn’t they keep correct time till to-day?”
“They did not,” said Mike, emphatically. “In the Register’s office the clock took itself for a six-cylinder auto goin’ to the Polo Grounds, and rushed the clerks out of the office an hour and a half ahead of time. Up in the Corporation Counsel’s office it was usually 6 o’clock p. m. whin the honest old City Hall clock gave the hour of 10 in the morning. Down in Captain Bell’s office in the tax department the clock made such a record for itself as a liar and a chate that the captain had to hang a paper over the dial. He said he was ashamed to have an honest man look the clock in the face. An’ so it was all around the buildin’. The clock winder wuz doin’ the windin’ by conthract, an’ he near went plumb crazy. But now thim clocks is all right, fur a wonder. But I wisht I had the wurrud that tells what happened. Here comes Captain[Pg 218] Davis, of the armory board. He knows the wurrud that fits thim clocks when they all got together.”
Captain Davis was held up by Mike, who explained what he wanted.
“An’ I’ll buy a perfecto cigar-r-r if ye’ll give me the wurrud that fits thim clocks.”
“I guess you mean the clocks have at last been synchronized,” said the captain, politely.
“That’s it—that’s it—that’s the wurrud!” shouted Mike. “Thim clocks has been syn—syn—syn”—
Mike paused and the joy died out of his eyes.
“Say, captain,” said he, “phwat the divil is the rest of it?”