Wired Love - Ella Cheever Thayer (read any book txt) 📗

Archer, a little curious to see the lady with whom, she was secretly convinced, Quimbv was in love, readily consented to the proposition; and so it came to pass that Nattie was interrupted in an account she was giving "C" of a man who wanted to send a message to his wife, and seemed to think "My wife, in Providence," all the address necessary, by the unexpected apparition of Quimby, accompanied by a stylish and handsome young lady.

"I—I beg pardon, if I—if I intrude, you know," he stammered, beginning to wish he had not done it, as Nattie, with an "Excuse me, visitors," to "C," rose and came forward. "But I—I brought Miss Archer! To make you acquainted, you know."

"I am indebted to you for that pleasure," Nattie said, with a smile, as she took the hand Miss Archer extended, saying,

"I have heard Quimby speak about you so much, I already feel acquainted."

Quimby blushed, and nervously fingered his necktie.

"Such near neighbors—so lonesome—thought you ought to know each other," he said confusedly.

"Yes, I began to fear we were destined never to meet," Nattie replied, as she held the private door open for her visitors to enter, a proceeding contrary to rules, but she preferred rather to transgress in this way, than in manners, and leave her callers standing out in the cold.

"I don't know as we ever should, had it not been for Quimby," said Miss Archer, glancing curiously around the office. "I believe I never was in a telegraph office before. Don't you find the confinement rather irksome?"

"Sometimes," Nattie replied; "but then there always is some one to talk with on the wire,' and in that way a good deal of the time passes."

"Talk with—on the wire?" queried Miss Archer, with uplifted eyebrows. "What does that mean? Do tell me. I am as ignorant as a Hottentot about anything appertaining to telegraphy. Nearly all I know is, you write a message, pay for it, and it goes."

Nattie smiled and explained, and then turning to Quimby, asked,

"You remember my speaking about 'C' and wondering whether a gentleman or lady?"

"Oh, yes!" Quimby remembered, and fidgeted on his chair.

"He proved to be a gentleman."

"Oh, yes; exactly, you know!" responded Quimby, looking anything but elated.

"It must be very romantic and fascinating to talk with some one so far away, a mysterious stranger too, that one has never seen," Miss Archer said, her black eyes sparkling. "I should get up a nice little sentimental affair immediately, I know I should, there is something so nice about anything with a mystery to it."

"Yes, telegraphy has its romantic side—it would be dreadfully dull if it did not," Nattie answered.

"But—now really," said Quimby, who sat on the extreme edge of the chair, with his feet some two yards apart from each other; "really, you know, now suppose—just suppose, your mysterious invisible shouldn't be—just what you think, you know. You see, I remember one or two young men in telegraph offices, whose collars and cuffs are always soiled, you know!"

"I have great faith in my 'C,'" laughed Nattie.

"It would be dreadfully unromantic to fall in love with a soiled invisible, wouldn't it," said Miss Archer, with an expressive shrug of her shoulders.

Nattie colored a little, and answered hastily:

"Oh! it's only fun, you know;" at which Quimby brightened, and Miss
Archer inquired gayly,

"Pour passer le temps?"

Nattie nodded in reply, as she took a message from a lady, who had only a few words to send, but found it necessary to ask about fifteen questions, and relate all her recent family history, concluding with the birth of twins, before being satisfied her message would go all right,—a proceeding that made Quimby stare, and afforded Miss Archer much amusement.

"Oh! that is nothing!" Nattie said, in answer to the latter's significant laugh, when the customer had retired. "Some very ludicrous incidents occur almost daily, I assure you. Truly, the ignorance of people in regard to telegraphy is surprising; aggravating too, sometimes. Just imagine a person thinking a telegraph office is managed on the same principle as those stores where they at first charge double the value of the goods, for the sake of giving people the pleasure of beating them down! It was only yesterday that a woman tried to coax me to take off ten cents, and then snarled at me because I wouldn't, and declared she would patronize some other office next time, as if it mattered to me, except to wish she might! And there was some one calling on the wire with a rush message all the time she was detaining me!"

"They think you ought to be harnessed with a punch, like a horse-car conductor," said Miss Archer, laughing, and added,

"I wish I knew how to telegraph, I would have a chat with your 'C.' I am getting very much interested in him!"

Quimby twirled his hat uneasily.

"But—I beg pardon, but he may be a soiled invisible, you know!" he hinted, seemingly determined to keep this possibility uppermost.

Before Nattie could again defend her "C" a woman, covered with cheap finery, thrust her head into the window.

"How much does it cost to telegram?" she asked.

"To what place did you wish to send?" Nattie inquired.

With a look, as if she considered this a very impertinent question, the woman replied, with a slight toss of her head,

"It's no matter about the place, I only want to know what it costs to telegram!"

"That depends entirely on where the message is going," answered Nattie, with a glance at Miss Archer.

"Oh, does it?" said the woman, looking surprised. "Well, to Chicago, then."

Nattie told her the tariff to that city.

"Is that the cheapest?" she then asked. "I only want to send a few words, about six."

"The price is the same for one or ten words," said Nattie rather impatiently.

The woman gave another surprised stare.

"That's strange!" she said incredulously. "Well"—moving away—"I'll write then; I am not going to pay for ten words when I want to send six."

"That is a specimen of the ignorance you were just speaking of, I presume," laughed Miss Archer, as soon as the would-be sender was out of hearing.

"Yes," replied Nattie, "it's hard to make them believe sometimes that everything less than ten words is a stated price, and that we only charge per word after that number. And, speaking of ignorance, do you know I once actually had a letter brought me, all sealed, to be sent that way by telegraph."

Miss Archer laughed again, and Quimby inquired,

"I—I beg pardon, but did I understand that the last came within your experience?"

"Yes," Nattie replied, "and I had a young woman come in here once, who asked me to write the message for her, and after I had done so, in a somewhat hasty scrawl, she took it, looked it all over critically, dotted some 'i's,' and crossed some 't's,' I all the time staring, amazed, and wondering if she supposed I could not read my own hand-writing, then scowled and threw it down disgustedly saying, 'John never can read that! I shall have to write it myself. He knows my writing!'"

"Can such things be!" cried Miss Archer.

"But," asked Quimby, from his uncomfortable perch on the edge of the chair, "Isn't there a—a something—a fac-simile arrangement?"

"I believe there is, but it is not yet perfected," replied Nattie.

"Ah, well! then the young woman was only in advance of the age," said Miss Archer; "and what with that and the telephone, and that dreadful phonograph that bottles up all one says and disgorges at inconvenient times, we will soon be able to do everything by electricity; who knows but some genius will invent something for the especial use of lovers? something, for instance, to carry in their pockets, so when they are far away from each other, and pine for a sound of 'that beloved voice,' they will have only to take up this electrical apparatus, put it to their ears, and be happy. Ah! blissful lovers of the future!"

"Yes!—I—yes, that would be a good idea!" cried Quimby eagerly; then instantly fearing he had betrayed himself, turned red, and clutched at the mustache that eluded his grasp. Miss Archer looked at him and smiled, and Nattie was about to expound further when she heard "C" asking on the wire,

"N, haven't your visitors gone yet? Tell them to hurry!"

"You wouldn't say so," Nattie responded to him, "if you knew what a handsome young lady one of my two visitors is. We have been talking about you, too."

"Introduce me, please do," said "C."

"What are you doing, now?" asked Miss Archer, watchful of Nattie's smiling face.

Leaving the key open, Nattie explained, to Quimby's unconcealed dissatisfaction; but Miss Archer was delighted.

"Oh! do introduce me! Can you any way?" she said.

Nattie nodded affirmatively, and taking hold of the key, wrote, "She is as anxious as you are. So allow me to make you acquainted with Miss Archer, a young lady with the prettiest black eyes I ever saw!"

"Is she an operator?" asked "C."

"Doesn't know a dot from a dash," Nattie answered him.

"Then tell her in plain language, that this is the happiest moment of my life, and also that black eyes are my especial adoration!"

"What have you been telling him about me, you dreadful girl?" queried Miss Archer, shaking her head remonstratingly when this was repeated to her. "But you may inform him I am delighted to make his acquaintance, and hope he has curly hair, because it's so nice to pull!"

"With the hope of such a happy occurrence, I will hereafter do up my hair in papers," "C" replied when Nattie had repeated this to him. "But do not slight your other visitor."

"Shall I introduce you?" asked Nattie holding the key open, and turning to Quimby, who had betrayed various symptoms of uneasiness while this conversation was going on, and who now grasped his hat firmly, as if to throw it at the little sounder that represented the offending "C," and answered,

"Oh, no! I—really I—I beg pardon, but it's really no matter about me—you know!"

"He says he is of no consequence," Nattie said to "C."

"He!" repeated "C," "a he, is it? Ought I to be jealous? Is it you, or our black-eyed friend who is the attraction?"

Nattie replied only with a ha!

"Is he talking now?" asked Miss Archer, mindful of Nattie's smile, and nodding towards the clattering sounder, at which Quimby was scowling.

"No, some other office is sending business now, so our conversation is suspended," answered Nattie, as much to Quimby's relief as to Miss Archer's regret.

"I shall improve the acquaintance, however," the latter said. "I am very curious to know how he looks, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I do not suppose I ever shall," Nattie answered.

"Then you—I beg pardon, but you never expect to see him?" queried
Quimby, with great earnestness.

"In all probability we never shall meet. I think I should be dreadfully embarrassed if we should," Nattie replied, as she handed the day's cash to the boy who just then came after it. "Face to face we would really be strangers to each other."

Quimby evinced more satisfaction at this than the occasion seemed to warrant, as Nattie noticed, with some surprise, but several customers claiming her attention, all at once, and all in a hurry, she was kept too busy for some time, to think upon the cause.

As soon as she was at leisure, Miss Archer, with the remark that they had made an unpardonably long call, arose to go.

But you must certainly come again, "Nattie said, cordially, already feeling her to be an old friend.

"Indeed I shall," she answered, in the genial way peculiar to her. "You have a double attraction here, you know. Can I say good-by to 'C?'"

"I fear not, as the wire is busy," replied Nattie. "But I will say it for you as soon as possible."

"Yes, tell him, please, that I will see him—I mean, hear the clatter he makes again soon: You, I shall see at the hotel, I hope, now we have met."

"Oh, yes!" Nattie replied. "I am very much indebted to Quimby for making us acquainted."

"Oh! really now, do you mean it?" exclaimed Quimby, with sudden delight. "I am so glad I've done something right at last, you know! Always doing something wrong, you know!" then hugging his hat to his breast, and speaking in a confidential whisper, he added, to the great