WIRED LOVE:
A ROMANCE
OF
DOTS AND DASHES
BY
ELLA CHEEVER THAYER.
"The old, old story,"--in a new, new way.
DEDICATION.
DEDICATED
TO
THE MEMORY
OF A DEAR
FRIEND BUT FOR WHOM THIS LITTLE
WORK HAD NEVER BEEN
[Transcriber's Note. The dedication was printed in American Railroad
dialect of Morse. It cannot easily be represented in ASCII as it
requires dashes of different lengths]
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. Sounds from a Distant "C."
II. At the Hotel Norman
III. Visible and Invisible Friends
IV. Neighborly Calls
V. Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence
VI. Collapse of the Romance
VII. "Good-By"
VIII. The Feast
IX. Unexpected Visitors
X. The Broken Circuit Reunited
XI. Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled
XII. Crosses on the Line
XIII. The Wrong Woman
XIV. Quimby Accepts the Situation
XV. One Summer Day
XVI. O. K.
WIRED LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
SOUNDS FROM A DISTANT "C."
-... -- .-.. -.
Just a noise, that is all.
But a very significant noise to Miss Nathalie Rogers, or Nattie, as she
was usually abbreviated; a noise that caused her to lay aside her book,
and jump up hastily, exclaiming, with a gesture of impatience:--
"Somebody always 'calls' me in the middle of every entertaining
chapter!"
For that noise, that little clatter, like, and yet too irregular to be
the ticking of a clock, expressed to Nattie these four mystic letters:--
"B m--X n;"
which same four mystic letters, interpreted, meant that the
name, or, to use the technical word, "call," of the telegraph office
over which she was present sole presiding genius, was "B m," and that "B
m" was wanted by another office on the wire, designated as "X n."
A little, out-of-the-way, country office, some fifty miles down the
line, was "X n," and, as Nattie signaled in reply to the "call" her
readiness to receive any communications therefrom, she was conscious of
holding in some slight contempt the possible abilities of the human
portion of its machinery.
For who but an operator very green in the profession would stay _there_?
Consequently, she was quite unprepared for the velocity with which the
telegraph alphabet of sounds in dots and dashes rattled over the
instrument, appropriately termed a "sounder," upon which messages are
received, and found herself wholly unable to write down the words as
fast as they came.
"Dear me!" she thought, rather nervously, "the country is certainly
ahead of the city this time! I wonder if this smart operator is a lady
or gentleman!"
And, notwithstanding all her efforts, she was compelled to "break"--that
is, open her "key," thereby breaking the circuit, and interrupting "X n"
with the request,
"Please repeat."
"X n" took the interruption very good-naturedly--it was after
dinner--and obeyed without expressing any impatience.
But, alas! Nattie was even now unable to keep up with this too expert
individual of uncertain sex, and was obliged again to "break," with the
humiliating petition,
"Please send slower!"
"Oh!" responded "X n."
For a small one, "Oh!" is a very expressive word. But whether this
particular one signified impatience, or, as Nattie sensitively feared,
contempt for her abilities, she could not tell. But certain it was that
"X n" sent along the letters now, in such a slow, funereal procession
that she was driven half frantic with nervousness in the attempt to
piece them together into words. They had not proceeded far, however,
before a small, thin voice fell upon the ears of the agitated Nattie.
"Are you taking a message now?" it asked.
Nattie glanced over her shoulder, and saw a sharp, inquisitive nose, a
green veil, a pair of eye-glasses, and a strained smile, sticking
through her little window.
Nodding a hasty answer to the question, she wrote down another word of
the message, that she had been able to catch, notwithstanding the
interruption. As she did so the voice again queried,
"Do you take them entirely by sound?"
With a determined endeavor not to "break," Nattie replied only with a
frown. But fate was evidently against her establishing a reputation for
being a good operator with "X n."
"Here, please attend to this quick!" exclaimed a new voice, and a tall
gentleman pounded impatiently on the shelf outside the little window
with one hand, and with the other held forth a message.
With despair in her heart, once more Nattie interrupted "X n," took the
impatient gentleman's message, studied out its illegible characters, and
changed a bill, the owner of the nose looking on attentively meanwhile;
this done, she bade the really much-abused "X n" to proceed, or in
telegraphic terms, to
"G. A.--the."
"G. A." being the telegraphic abbreviation for "go ahead," and "the" the
last word she had received of the message.
And this time not even the fact of its being after dinner restrained "X
n's" feelings, and "X n" made the sarcastic inquiry,
"Had you not better go home and send down some one who is capable of
receiving this message?"
Now it would seem as if two persons sixty or seventy miles apart might
severally fly into a rage and nurse their wrath comfortably without
particularly annoying each other at the moment. But not under present
conditions; and Nattie turned red and bit her nails excitedly under the
displeasure of the distant person of unknown sex, at "X n." But no
instrument had yet been invented by which she could see the expression
on the face of this operator at "X n," as she retorted, and her fingers
formed the letters very sharply;
"Do you think it will help the matter at all for you to make a display
of your charming disposition? G. A.--the--."
"I am happy to be able to return the compliment implied!" was "X n's"
preface to the continuation of the message.
And now indeed Nattie might have recovered some of her fallen glories,
being angry enough to be fiercely determined, had not the owner of the
nose again made her presence manifest by the sudden question:
"Do you have a different sound for every word, or syllable, or what?"
And, turning quickly around to scowl this persevering questioner into
silence, Nattie's elbow hit and knocked over the inkstand, its contents
pouring over her hands, dress, the desk and floor, and proving beyond a
doubt, as it descended, the truth of its label--
"Superior Black Ink!"
And then, save for the clatter of the "sounder," there was silence.
For a moment Nattie gazed blankly at her besmeared hands and ruined
dress, at the "sounder," and at the owner of the nose, who returned her
look with that expression of serene amusement often noticeable in those
who contemplate from afar the mishaps of their fellow beings; then with
the courage of despair, she for the fourth time "broke" "X n," saying,
with inky impression on the instrument,
"Excuse me, but you will have to wait! I am all ink, and I am being
cross-examined!"
Having thus delivered herself, she turned a deliberately deaf ear to "X
n's" response, which, judging from the way the movable portion of the
"sounder" danced, was emphatic.
"A little new milk will take that out!" complacently said the owner of
the nose, watching Nattie's efforts to remove the ink from her dress
with blotting-paper.
"Unfortunately I do not keep a cow here!" Nattie replied, tartly.
Not quite polite in Nattie, this. But do not the circumstances plead
strongly in her excuse? For, remember, she was not one of those
impossible, angelic young ladies of whom we read, but one of the
ordinary human beings we meet every day.
The owner of the nose, however, was not charitable, and drew herself up
loftily, as she said in imperative accents,
"You did not answer my question! Do you have to learn the sound of each
letter so as to distinguish them from each other?"
Nattie constrained herself to reply, very shortly,
"Yes!"
"Can you take a message and talk to me at the same time?" pursued the
investigator.
"No!" was Nattie's emphatic answer, as she looked ruefully at her dress.
"But your instrument there is going it now. Ain't they sending you a
message?" went on the relentless owner of the nose.
At this Nattie turned her attention a moment to what was being done "on
the wire," and breathed a sigh of relief. For "X n" had given place to
another office and she replied,
"No! Some office on the wire is sending to some other office."
The nose elevated itself in surprise.
"Can you hear everything that is sent from every other office?"
"Yes," was the weary reply, as Nattie rubbed her dress.
"What!" exclaimed the owner of the nose, in accents of incredulous
wonder. "All over the world?"
"Certainly not! only the offices on this wire; there are about twenty,"
was the impatient reply.
"Ah!" evidently relieved. "But," considering, "supposing you do not
catch all the sounds, what do you do then?"
"Break."
"Break! Break what? The instruments?" queried the owner of the nose,
perplexedly, and looking as if that must be a very expensive habit.
"Break the circuit--the connection,--open the key and ask the sending
office to repeat from the last word I have been able to catch!"
Then seeing unmistakable evidence of more questions in the nose, Nattie
threw the ink-soaked blotting-paper and her last remnant of patience
into the waste basket, and added,
"But you must excuse me, I am too busy to be annoy--interrupted longer,
and there are books that will give you all the information that you
require!"
So saying, Nattie turned her back, and the owner of the nose withdrew
it, its tip glistening with indignation as she walked away. As it
vanished, Nattie gave a sigh of relief, and sat down to mourn her ruined
dress. Whatever may have been her previous opinion, she was positive now
that this was the prettiest, the most becoming dress she had ever
possessed, or might ever possess! Only the old, old story! We prize most
what is gone forever!
"And all that dreadful man's--or woman's--fault at X n!" cried Nattie,
savagely. Unjustly too, for if any one was responsible for the accident,
it was the owner of the nose.
But not long did Nattie dare give way to her misery. That fatal message
was not yet received.
Glancing over the few words she had of it, she read; "Send the hearse,"
and then she began anxiously "calling" "X n."
"Hearse," looked too serious for trifling. But either "X n's"
attention was now occupied in some other direction, or else he--or
she--was too much out of humor to reply, for it was full twenty minutes
before came the answering,
"X n."
At which Nattie said as fiercely as fingers could, "I have been after
you nearly half an hour!"
"Have you?" came coolly back from "X n." "Well, you're not alone, many
are after me--my landlord among others--not to mention a washerwoman or
two!"
Then followed the figure "4," which means, "When shall I go ahead?"
"Waxing jocose, are you?" Nattie murmured to herself, as she replied:
"G. A.--hearse--"
"G. A.--_what?_"
"Hearse," repeated Nattie, in firm, clear characters.
To her surprise and displeasure "X n" laughed--the circumstance being
conveyed to her understanding in the usual way, by the two letters "H
a!"
"What are you laughing at?" she asked.
"At your grave mistake!" was "X n's" answer, accompanied by another "Ha!
To convert a _horse_ into a hearse is really an idea that merits a smile!"
As the consciousness of her blunder dawned upon her, Nattie would gladly
have sank into oblivion. But as that was impossible, she took a fresh
blank, and very meekly said,
"G. A.--horse--!"
With another laugh, "X n" complied, and Nattie now succeeded in
receiving the message without further mishap.
"What did you sign?" she asked, as she thankfully wrote the last word.
Every operator is obliged to sign his own private "call," as well as the
office "call," and "O. K." at the close of each message.
"C." was replied to Nattie's question.
"O. K. N. B m," she then said, and added, perhaps trying to drown the
memory of her ludicrous error in politeness, "I hope another time I
shall not cause you so much trouble."
"C" at "X n" was evidently not to be exceeded in little speeches of
this kind, for he--or she--responded immediately,
"On the contrary, it was I who gave you trouble. I know I must certainly
have done so, or you never could have effected such a transformation as
you did. Imagine the feelings of the sender of that message, had he
found a hearse awaiting his arrival instead of a horse!"
Biting her lip with secret mortification, but determined to make the
best of the matter outwardly, Nattie replied,
"I suppose I never shall hear the last of that hearse! But at all events
it took the surliness out of you."
"Yes, when people come to a hearse they are not apt to have any more
kinks in their disposition! I confess, though," "C" went on frankly, "I
was unpardonably cross; not surly, that is out of my line, but cross. In
truth, I was all out of sorts. Will you forgive me if I will never do so
again?"
"Certainly," Nattie replied readily. "I am sure we are far enough apart
to get on without quarreling, if, as they say, distance lends
enchantment!"
"Particularly when I pride myself upon my sweet disposition!" said "C."
At which Nattie smiled to herself, to the surprise of a passing
gentleman, on whom her unconscious gaze rested, and who thought, of
course, that she was smiling at him.
Appearances are deceitful!
"I fear you will have to prove your sweetness before I shall believe in
it," Nattie responded to "C," all unaware of what she had done, or that
the strange young gentleman went on his way with the firm resolve to
pass by that office again and obtain another smile!
"It shall be my sole aim hereafter," "C" replied; and then asked, "Have
you a pleasant office there?"
"I regret to say no." Then looking around, and describing what she
saw--"a long, dark little room, into which the sun never shines, a crazy
and a wooden chair, a high stool, desk, instruments--that is all--Oh!
And me!"
"Last but not least," said "C;" "but what a contrast to my office! Mine
is all windows, and in cold days like this the wind whistles in until my
very bones rattle! The outward view is fine. As I sit I see a stable, a
carpenter's shop, the roof of the new Town Hall that has ruined the
town, and--"
"Excuse me,"--some one at another office on the line here broke in--and
with more politeness than is sometimes shown in interrupting
conversations on the wire--"I have a message to send," and forthwith
began calling.
At this Nattie resumed her interrupted occupation of bewailing her
spoiled dress, but at the same time she had a feeling of pleased
surprise at the affability of "C" at "X n."
"I wonder," she thought, as she took up her book again, and tried to
bury the remembrance of her accident therein, "I do wonder if this 'C'
is _he_ or _she!_"
Soon, however, she heard "X n" "call" once more, and this time she laid
her book aside very readily.
"You did not describe the principal part of your office--yourself!" "C"
said, when she answered the "call."
"How can I describe myself?" replied Nattie. "How can anyone--properly?
One sees that same old face in the glass day after day, and becomes so
used to it that it is almost impossible to notice even the changes in
it; so I am sure I do not see how one can tell how it really does
look--unless one's nose is broken--or one's eyes crossed--and mine are
not--or one should not see a looking-glass for a year! I can only say I
am very inky just now!"
"Oh! that is too bad!" "C" said; then, with a laugh, "It has always been
a source of great wonder to me how certain very plain people of my
acquaintance could possibly think themselves handsome. But I see it all
now! Can you not, however, leave the beauty out, and give me some sort
of an idea-about yourself for my imagination to work upon?"
"Certainly!" replied Nattie, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that
"C" knew not of. "Imagine, if you please, a tall young man, with--"
"C" "broke" quickly, saying,
"Oh, no! You cannot deceive me in that way! Under protest I accept the
height, but spurn the sex!"
"Why, you do not suppose I am a lady, do you?" queried Nattie.
"I am quite positive you are. There is a certain difference in the
'sending,' of a lady and gentleman, that I have learned to distinguish.
Can you truly say I am wrong?"
Nattie evaded a direct reply, by saying,
"People who think they know so much are often deceived; now I make no
surmises about you, but ask, fairly and squarely, shall I call you Mr.,
Miss, or Mrs. 'C'?"
"Call me neither. Call me plain 'C', or picture, if you like, in place
of your sounder, a blonde, fairy-like girl talking to you, with pensive
cheeks and sunny--"
"Don't you believe a word of it!"--some one on the wire here broke in,
wishing, probably, to have a finger in the pie; "picture a hippopotamus,
an elephant, but picture no fairy!"
"Judge not others by yourself, and learn to speak when spoken to!" "C"
replied to the unknown; then "To N.--You know the more mystery there is
about anything, the more interesting it becomes. Therefore, if I envelop
myself in all the mystery possible, I will cherish hopes that you may
dream of me!"
"But I am quite sure you can, with propriety be called _Mr._ 'C '--plain,
as you say, I doubt not," replied Nattie. "Now, as it is time for me to
go home, I shall have to say good-night."
"To be continued in our next?" queried "C."
"If you are not in a cross mood," replied Nattie.
"Now that is a very unkind suggestion, after my abject apology. But,
although our acquaintance had a _grave re-hearse_-al, I trust it will have
a happy ending!"
Nattie frowned.
"If you will promise never to say '_grave_,' '_hearse,_' or anything in the
undertaking line, I will agree never to say 'cross!'" she said.
"The _undertaking_ will not be difficult; with all my heart!" "C"
answered, and with this mutual understanding they bade each other
"good-night."
"There certainly is something romantic in talking to a mysterious
person, unseen, and miles away!" thought Nattie, as she put on her hat.
"But I would really like to know whether my new friend employs a tailor
or a dressmaker!".
Was Nattie conscious of a feeling that it would add to the zest of the
romantic acquaintance should the distant "C" be entitled to the use of
the masculine pronoun?
Perhaps so! For Nattie was human, and was only nineteen!