V

BUT THE RESPONSE CLICK DID NOT COME.

Alex shot a glance at the clock, and leaned forward over the instruments, scarcely breathing. There was yet three minutes before the Overland was due at Broken Gap. But she did not stop there, and frequently passed ahead of time. If “B” did not answer the call immediately—

The whir of “B’s” was interrupted, and slowly and deliberately came an “I, I, B.” Alex leaped in his chair, and again strained forward tensely.

“Has 68 passed?” hurled the despatcher.

“Just coming.”

“Stop her! Flag her! Qk! Qk!”

The line opened, as though “B” was about to make a reply, then smartly closed again.

“Stop her! Stop her!” repeated “X.”

There was a leaden, breathless silence, while Alex nervously clenched and unclenched his hands. At last the line again clicked open, and with a characteristic deliberation that caused the nerve-strung boy a moment’s hysterical laugh, “B” announced: “Just got her. She’s slowing in now. What’s up?”

The despatcher at “X” had regained his equilibrium, and in his usual crisp manner he replied: “Take this for Conductor Bedford:

“Bedford: Hold-up apparently planned between Broken Gap and Hadley Corners. Probably on one of the grades of the Little Timbers. Gather a posse quickly, and make sure of capturing them. Report at HC.“(Signed)Jordan, X.”

“(Signed)Jordan, X.”

As “B” gave his “OK” with the stumbling hesitation of blank astonishment, the line again opened. And at the first word the intense strain broke, and Alex sank forward over the table with a convulsive sob.

“Grand, my boy! Grand!” clicked the sounder. It was his father, at Bixton. He had overheard it all.

“Grand! That’s the word,” came the despatcher. “There’s not another operator on the division who would have known enough to do what he did to-day. I guess we won’t bother him any more about his ‘tinkering,’ will we?”

Only half an hour late, the mighty mogul pulling the Overland Limited drew panting to a stop before the little station, and in a moment Alex was surrounded by a crowd of congratulating trainmen and passengers. And when he reappeared after sending the message which notified the despatcher of the train’s safe arrival and of the capture of the two bandits, he was surprised and speechlessly confused by having pressed upon him by the enthusiastic passengers an impromptu purse of seventy-five dollars.

Later in the afternoon Alex was called to the wire by Jack, at Hammerton. “Say, what is all this you’ve gone and done, Al?” clicked Jack enthusiastically. “The afternoon papers here have a whole column story! ‘Please attach statement at once!’”

“Oh, it looks much bigger than it really was,” responded Alex modestly. “And anyway, it came aboutthrough my own carelessness. I ought to have been reprimanded, instead of patted on the back.”

“Nonsense! Those hold-up men would have got you, anyway. If you had seen them coming, they would simply have approached in a friendly way, then got the drop on you. You had no gun.

“But, say,” added Jack mock-seriously, “how is it these real high class adventures always come your way? I’m getting jealous.”

“I can assure you you needn’t be. It’s lots more fun reading about them. Wait and see,” said Alex.

Jack was soon to have his opportunity of “seeing,” though a more disagreeable experience was first to come.

VAN ELECTRICAL DETECTIVE

“Orr, Mr. Black wants you.”

Jack, who was passing through the business department of the Hammerton office, toward the stair which led to the operating room, promptly turned aside and entered the manager’s private room.

“Good morning, Jack. Sit down.

“My boy,” began the manager, “can you keep a secret?”

“Why yes, sir,” responded Jack, wondering.

“Very well. But I must explain first. I suppose you did not know it—we kept it quiet—but the real reason Hansen, the janitor, was discharged a month ago was that he was found taking money from the safe here, which he had in some way learned to open. After he left I changed the safe combination, and thought the trouble was at an end.

“Last Tuesday morning the cash was again a little short. At the time I simply thought an error had been made in counting the night before. This morning a second ten-dollar bill is missing, and the cash-box shows unmistakable signs of having been tampered with.

“Now Johnson, the counter clerk, to whom I hadconfided the new combination (for it is customary, you know, that two shall be able to open a safe, as a precaution against the combination being forgotten)—Johnson is entirely above suspicion. Still, to make doubly sure, I am going to alter the combination once more, and share it with someone outside of the business department. And as you have impressed me very favorably, I have chosen you.

“That is, of course,” concluded the manager, “if you have no objection.”

“Certainly not. I am sure I appreciate the confidence, sir,” said Jack quickly.

“Very well, then. The combination is ‘Right twenty, twice; back nine; right ten.’ Can you remember that? For you must not write it down, you know.”

Jack repeated the number several times; and again thanking the manager for the compliment, continued up-stairs to the telegraph-room.

Two mornings later Jack was again called into Mr. Black’s office. For a moment, while Jack wondered, the manager eyed him strangely, then asked, “What was that combination, Jack?”

“Right ninety—no, right thirty—Why, I believe I have forgotten it, sir,” declared Jack in confusion.

“Perhaps you have forgotten this too, then?” As he spoke the manager took from his desk a small notebook. “I found it on the floor in front of the safe this morning.”

“It is mine, sir. I must have dropped it last night.I worked extra until after midnight, sir,” explained Jack, “and on the way out I chased a mouse in here from the stairway, and when it ran under the safe I dropped to my knees to find it. The book must have fallen from my pocket.

“But what is wrong, sir?”

“The cash-box is not in the safe this morning.”

Jack started back, the color fading from his cheeks as the significance of it all came to him.

“And now you pretend to have the combination entirely wrong,” went on the manager.

Jack found his voice. “Mr. Black, you are mistaken! You are mistaken! I never could do such a thing! Never!”

“I would prefer proof,” Mr. Black said coldly.

Jack caught at the idea. “Would you let me try to prove it, sir? Will you give me a week in which to try and clear myself?”

“Well, I did not mean it that way. But, all right—a week. And if things do not look different by that time, and you still claim ignorance, you will have to go. That is all there is to it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

At the door Jack turned back. “Mr. Black, you are positive you returned the box to the safe?”

“Positive. It is the last thing I do before going home.”

During spare moments on his wire that morning Jack debated the mystery from every side. Finally he had boiled it down to two conflicting facts:

“First: That the box was placed in the safe the night before, and in the morning was gone; and that, besides the manager, he was the only one who could have opened the safe and taken it. And,

“Second: That, of course, he knew his own innocence.”

The only alternative, then, was that Mr. Black had been mistaken in thinking he had returned the box to the safe.

Grasping at this possibility, Jack argued on. How could the manager have been mistaken? Overlooked the box, say because of its being covered by something?

“Why it may be there yet!” exclaimed Jack hopefully. And a few minutes later, relieved from his wire for lunch, he hurriedly descended again to the manager’s office.

“Mr. Black, may I look around here a bit?” he requested.

“Look around? What for?”

“To see if I cannot find something to help solve this mystery,” responded Jack, not wishing directly to suggest that the manager had overlooked the box.

“So you keep to it that you know nothing, eh? Well, go ahead,” said the manager shortly, turning back to his desk.

Jack’s hopes were quickly shattered. Neither on the desk, nor a table beside the safe, was there anything which could have concealed the missing box.

Stooping, he glanced under the table. Something white, a newspaper, leaning against the wall, caught his eye. With a flutter of hope he reached beneath and threw it aside. There was nothing behind it.

Disappointedly he caught the newspaper up and tossed it into the waste-basket. Suddenly, on a thought, he recovered the paper, and opened it. On discovering it was the “Bulletin,” a paper he knew Mr. Black seldom read, the idea took definite shape. And, yes, it was of yesterday’s date!

“Mr. Black,” exclaimed Jack, “this is not your paper, is it?”

Somewhat impatiently the manager glanced up. “The ‘Bulletin’? No.”

“Were you reading it yesterday, sir?”

“Well, I don’t see what you are driving at—but, no. It was probably left here by Smith, one of the express clerks next door. He was in for a while yesterday on some telegraph money-order business. Yes, he did have it in his hand, now I remember. But why?”

At the mention of Smith’s name Jack started, and there immediately came to him a remembrance of having a few days previously seen the express clerk on a street corner in earnest conversation with Hansen, the discharged janitor.

In suppressed excitement he asked, “When was Smith here, Mr. Black? What time?”

The manager smiled sardonically, and turned back to his work. “No; you can’t fasten it on Smith,”he said shortly. “It was after he went out that I returned the box to the safe. But, if it’s any good to you—he was in here from about five-thirty to ten minutes to six, and was talking with one of the boys in the outer office when I left.”

“And Mr. Black, were you outside during the time Smith was in here?”

“No, I—Yes, I was, too. About a quarter to six I was over at the speaking-tube for a minute.

“But enough of this nonsense,” the manager added sharply. “The box was in the safe when I closed it. Don’t bother me any further with your pretense of investigating. I don’t believe it is sincere.”

Despite this cutting declaration Jack turned away with secret satisfaction.

Just outside the office door he made a second discovery—a small one, but one which further strengthened the theory he had formed.

It was a small coal cinder and an ash stain in the shape of a heel, apparently overlooked by a careless sweeper.

They could only have been left by a foot which came from the cellar!

Promptly Jack turned toward the cellar door, and made his way down into the big basement.

Going directly to one of the rear windows, he carefully examined it. The cobwebs and the dust on the sill had not been disturbed for months.

He turned to the second, and instantly emitted a shrill whistle of delight. Its cobwebs had been tornand swept aside, and the ledge brushed almost clean. And evidently but a short time before, for the cleared space showed little of the dust which constantly filtered through the floor above.

“Fine!” exclaimed Jack. “Now I—” He paused. The window was securely latched on the inside!

For several minutes Jack stood, disappointed and mystified. Then, examining the latch closely, he laughed, and grasping it with his fingers, easily pulled it out. It had been forced from the outside, and merely pressed back into the hole.

But its being replaced showed that the intruder had not made his escape that way.

Jack began an examination of the end of the cellar under the express office. And the exit was soon disclosed.

The dividing wall was of boarding, and at the outer end, to facilitate the examination of the gas metres of the two companies, was a narrow door. Ordinarily this door was secured on the telegraph company’s side by a strong bolt.

The bolt was drawn, and the door swung easily to Jack’s touch!

On the farther side all was darkness, however, and Jack returned to the window. As he approached it something on the floor beneath caught his eye. It was a lead-pencil. He picked it up, and with a cry of triumph discovered stamped upon it the initials and miniature crest of the express company. And, more,a peculiar long-pointed sharpening promised the possibility of fixing its actual owner.

Filled with elation, and confident that it was now only a matter of time when he should clear himself, Jack hastened up-stairs, determined to pursue his investigation next door, where he knew several of the younger clerks.

“Hello, Danny,” he said, entering the express office, and addressing a sandy-haired boy of his own age. “Say, who in here sharpens pencils like this?”

“Hello! That? Oh, I’d know that whittle a mile off. We call ’em daggers—Smith’s daggers. Where did you get it?”

“Smith! Who wants Smith?”

Jack turned with a start. It was the clerk himself.

Instantly Jack extended the pencil. “Is this yours, Mr. Smith?” he asked, and held his breath.

“Yes, it is. Where did you find—” Suddenly the clerk turned upon Jack with a look of terror in his face. But in a moment he had recovered himself, and abruptly snatching the pencil from Jack’s hand, proceeded to his desk.

Jack was jubilant. Nothing could have been more convincing of the clerk’s guilt. Following this feeling, however, came one of pity for the unfortunate man; and after a silent debate with himself, Jack followed him.

Placing a hand on the clerk’s shoulder, he said in a low voice:

“Mr. Smith, I have found out about that cash-boxof ours. Now look here, why not confess the wretched business before it is too late, and—”

The clerk spun about. “Cash-box! Business! What do you refer to?”

“Mr. Smith, it was you took our cash-box last night.”

The clerk was colorless, but he only faltered an instant. “What nonsense is this?” he demanded angrily. “I never heard of your cash-box. What do you mean by—”

“Well then, I’ll tell you just how you did it,” said Jack determinedly. “While you were in Mr. Black’s office yesterday afternoon he stepped out and left you alone for a moment. The cash-box was on the table. You immediately saw the opportunity (perhaps Hansen had done the same thing, and put you onto it?)—you saw the opportunity, and threw over the box a newspaper you had in your hand. As you had hoped, not seeing the box, Mr. Black forgot it, and left at six o’clock without returning it to the safe. You made sure of that by remaining about the outer office until he left. And then, after midnight you came down to the office here, forced an entrance into our cellar, and went up-stairs and secured the box.

“I’m sorry—but isn’t that so?”

The clerk laughed drily. “The great Mr. Sherlock Holmes, junior!” he remarked sarcastically. “Rubbish. Run away and don’t bother me with your silly detective theories,” and turned back to his desk.

Jack stood, baffled and surprised.

THE CLERK WAS COLORLESS, BUT ONLY FALTERED AN INSTANT.

“Look here, Orr!” As Smith again spun about a hard look came into his face. “Look here, how do you come to know so much about this business, yourself? Eh?”

Jack uttered an exclamation, and a sudden fear of the clerk came over him. Was Smith thinking of trying to place the blame upon him?

However, further discussion was clearly useless, and he turned away.

The following morning brought quick proof that Jack’s suddenly inspired fear of Smith was too well founded. As he entered the telegraph office Mr. Black called him and handed him a note. “Now what have you to say?” he demanded solemnly.

In a lead-pencil scrawl Jack read:

“Mr. Black: Your yung operatur Orr can tell you sumthin about thet cash box, he was showin the key of the box to sumone yesteday and i saw him. Mebee you will finde the key in his offis cote.“Yours, a frend.”

“Mr. Black: Your yung operatur Orr can tell you sumthin about thet cash box, he was showin the key of the box to sumone yesteday and i saw him. Mebee you will finde the key in his offis cote.

“Yours, a frend.”

“It is the key,” said the manager, producing a small key on a ring. “I recall having left it in the lock.”

Jack stood pale and speechless. Despite the disguised writing and poor spelling, the letter was from Smith, he had not a doubt. But how could he prove it? Truly matters were beginning to look serious for him.

Quickly, however, Jack’s natural spirit of fight-to-the-end returned to him, and handing the letter back, he said, respectfully but determinedly, “Mr. Black, I still hold you to your promise to give me a week in which to prove my innocence. And I’ll prove, too, sir, that this key was placed in my pocket by someone else, probably by the one who really took the box. I believe I know who it is, but I’ll prove it first.”

Reluctantly the manager consented, for he now firmly believed at least in Jack’s complicity; and leaving him, Jack sought the operating-room, to spend every spare moment in turning the matter over in his mind.

What next could he do? If only he could find the box! What would Smith probably have done with it? For it seemed unlikely he would have taken it away with him. Might he not, after removing the money, have hidden it in the cellar? Jack determined to search there; and accordingly, at noon, hastening through his lunch, he descended and began a systematic hunt amid the odds and ends filling the basement.

The first noon-hour’s search brought no result. The second day, returning to the task somewhat dispiritedly, Jack began overhauling a pile of old cross-pieces. There was a squeak, and a rat shot out.

In a moment Jack was in hot pursuit with a stick. The rat ran toward the old furnace, and disappeared. At the spot an instant after, Jack found a hole in the brick foundation, and thrust the stick into it. The stick caught, he pulled, and several bricks fell out.

Dropping to his knees, Jack peered into the opening. A cry broke from him, and thrusting in a hand he grasped something, and drew it forth.

It was the lost cash-box!

Uttering a shout of triumph, Jack leaped to his feet and started on a run for the stair. But suddenly he halted. After all, was he absolutely sure it was Smith who had placed it there? Would the producing of the box prove it?

The question, which had not before occurred to Jack, startled him.

As he stood thinking, half consciously he tried the cover of the box. To his surprise it gave. He opened it. And the box almost fell from his hands.

It still contained the money! And apparently untouched!

But in a moment Jack thought he understood. Smith, or whoever it was, had left it as a clever means of saving themselves from the worst in the event of being found out, intending to return for it if the excitement blew safely over.

Then why not wait and catch them at it?

Good. But how?

Jack’s inventive genius soon furnished the answer. “That’s it! Great!” he said to himself delightedly. “I’ll get down and do it early in the morning. And now I’ll stick this back in the hole and fix the bricks up again.”

Seven o’clock the following morning found Jack carrying out his plan. First conveying to the cellarfrom the battery room two gravity-jars, he placed them in a dark corner behind the furnace. Next, finding an old lightning-arrester, he opened up the hiding-place, and arranged the arrester beneath the cash-box in such a way that on the box being moved the arrester arm would be released, fly back, and make a contact. Then, having carefully closed the opening, he procured some fine insulated wire, and proceeded to make up his circuit: From the arrester, out beneath the bricks, around the furnace, to the battery; up the wall, and through the floor by the steam-pipes into the business office; and, running up-stairs and procuring a step-ladder, on up the office wall, through the next floor, into the operating room. And there a few minutes later he had connected the wires to a call-bell on a ledge immediately behind the table at which he worked. And the alarm was complete.

Although Jack knew that the clerk next door returned from his dinner a half hour earlier than the others in the express office, he had little expectation of Smith visiting the cash-box at that time. Nevertheless, as the noon-hour drew near he found himself watching the alarm-bell with growing excitement.

“There might be just a chance of Smith visiting the box,” he told himself, “just to learn whether I had—”

From behind him came a sharp “zip, zip,” then a whirr. With a bound Jack was on his feet and rushing for the door. Down the stairs he went, three steps at a time, and into the manager’s private office.

“THERE!” SAID JACK, POINTING IN TRIUMPH.

“Mr. Black,” he cried, “I’ve got the man who took the box! Down the cellar! Quick!

“I found the box, with the money still in it, and fixed up an alarm-bell circuit to go off when he came for it,” he explained hurriedly, as the manager stared. In a moment Mr. Black was on his feet and hastening after Jack toward the cellar stairway.

Quietly they tiptoed down. They reached the bottom.

“There!” Jack said, pointing in triumph. And looking, the manager beheld Smith, the express clerk, on his knees beside the furnace, before him on the floor the missing cash-box.

Ten minutes later the manager of the express company, who had been called in, passed out of Mr. Black’s office with his clerk in charge, and the telegraph manager, turning to Jack, warmly shook his hand.

“I am more sorry than I can say to have placed the blame upon you, my boy,” he said sincerely. “And I am very thankful for the clever way you cleared the mystery up.

“You are quite a detective—sort of ‘electrical detective’—aren’t you?” he added, smiling.

And for some time, about the office, and even over the wires, Jack went by that name—the “Electrical Detective.”

VIJACK HAS HIS ADVENTURE

One afternoon a few days following the affair of the missing cash-box Manager Black appeared in the Hammerton operating room, and after a consultation with the chief operator, called Jack Orr from his wire.

“Jack,” said the manager, “there have been some important developments in the big will case on trial out at Oakton, and the ‘Daily Star’ has asked for a fast operator to send in their story to-night. The chief tells me you have developed into a rapid sender. Would you care to go?”

“I’d be glad of the opportunity, sir,” said Jack, delightedly.

“All right. The chief will let you off now, so you will have plenty of time to catch the seven o’clock train. And now, Jack, do your best, for the ‘Morning Bulletin’ is sending its news matter in by the other telegraph company, and we don’t want them to get ahead of us in any way.”

When Jack reached the station, several of the newspaper men, including West of the “Star,” already were there. Among them he saw Raub, a reporterof the “Bulletin,” and with him Simpson, an operator of the opposition telegraph company.

“Why, hello, kid!” said the latter on seeing Jack. “They are not sending you out to Oakton, are they?”

“They are,” responded Jack, with pride. Simpson laughed, and, somewhat indignant, Jack passed on down the platform. On turning back, he noticed Simpson and Raub apart, talking earnestly. As he again neared them, both glanced toward him, and abruptly the conversation ceased. At once Jack’s suspicions were aroused, for he knew Raub had the name of being very unscrupulous in news-getting matters, and that Simpson was not much better. He determined to watch them.

But nothing further attracted his attention, and finally, the train arriving, they boarded it, and made a quick run of the ten miles to the little village. There Jack headed for the local telegraph office.

He found it a tiny affair, in a small coal office on the southern outskirts of the village. Introducing himself to the elderly lady operator, who was just leaving, he went to the key and announced his arrival to the chief at Hammerton.

It was an hour later when West, the “Star” reporter, appeared. “Here you are, youngster,” said he; “a thousand words for a starter. It’s going to be a great story. I’ll be back in half an hour with another batch.”

Promptly Jack called “H,” and soon was clickingaway in full swing. But suddenly the instruments ceased to respond. The wire had “opened.” Jack tested with his earth connection, and finding the opening was to the south, waited, thinking the receiving operator at Hammerton had opened his key. But minute after minute passed, and finally becoming anxious, he cut off the southern end and began calling “B,” the terminal office to the north.

“I, I,” said B.

“Get H on another wire and ask him what is wrong here,” Jack sent quickly. “We are being held up on some very important stuff.”

“H says it is open north of him,” announced B, returning. “We are putting in a set of repeaters here, so you can reach him this way.”

A moment later Jack heard Hammerton calling him from the north, and in another moment he was again sending rapidly.

But scarcely had Jack sent a hundred words when this wire also suddenly failed. When several minutes again passed and no further sound came, Jack leaned back in despair. Suddenly he sat upright. Raub and Simpson! Was it possible this was their work? Was it possible they had cut the wires?

Quickly he made a test which would show whether the breaks were near him. Adjusting the relay-magnets near the armature, he clicked the key. There was not the faintest response. Switching the instruments to the southern end of the wire, he repeated the test, with the same result.

On both ends the break was within a short distance of him. Undoubtedly the wires had been cut!

Jack sprang to his feet and seized his hat. “I’ll find that southern break if I have to walk half-way to Hammerton,” he said determinedly, and leaving the office, set off down the moonlit road, his eyes fixed on the wire overhead.

Scarcely a mile distant Jack uttered an exclamation, and, running forward, caught up the severed end of the telegraph line.

A moment’s examination of the wire showed it had been cut through with a sharp file.

Yes; undoubtedly it was the work of Raub and Simpson, in an effort to keep the news from the “Star,” and score a “beat” for the opposition telegraph company and the “Morning Bulletin.”

“But you haven’t done it yet,” said Jack grimly, turning to look about him. How could he overcome the break in the wire? As the cut had been made close to the glass insulator on the cross-arm, only one of the two ends hung to the ground, and he saw that he could not splice them. And in any case he could not climb the pole and take that heavy stretch of wire with him.

His eyes fell on a barb-wire fence bordering the road, and like an inspiration Alex Ward’s feat with the rails at Hadley Corners occurred to him. Could he not do the same thing with one of the fence wires? Connect this end of the telegraph line (and fortunately it was the Hammerton end), say to the upper strand,then run back to the office and string a wire from the fence in to the instruments?

To think was to act. Dragging the telegraph wire to the fence, Jack looped it over the topmost strand near one of the posts, and wound it about several times, to ensure a good contact. Then on the run he started back for the telegraph office.

As he neared the little building Jack saw a figure within. Thinking the “Star” reporter had returned with further copy, he quickened his steps. At the doorway he halted in consternation. Instead of the reporter were two desperate-looking characters, and on the table beside them a half-emptied bottle and a large revolver.

Jack hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. “What are you men doing here?” he demanded.

“Oh, hello, kiddo! We are the new operators,” said one of them with tipsy humor. “You’re discharged, see? And you git, too!” he suddenly shouted, catching up the pistol. And promptly Jack “got.” A few yards distant, however, he halted. Now what was he to do?

“Oh here you are, eh? Where have you been?” It was West, the “Star” man, and he spoke angrily. “I was here ten minutes ago, and found the office empty, and if the other company could have handled my stuff yours would have lost it. I’ve just been—”

Interrupting, Jack hastily explained, telling of the severed wire, and his plan to bridge the break. Thereporter uttered an indignant exclamation. “It’s Raub’s work, sure as you’re born,” he said hotly.

“But say, youngster, we can’t permit ourselves to be beaten this way. Can’t we do something?”

“We might get some help, and drive the roughs out,” suggested Jack.

“No; we haven’t time. And then they might put up a drunken fight and shoot somebody. Come, think of something else. You surely can get over this new difficulty, after your clever idea for getting around the cut in the wire.”

“I don’t know,” replied Jack doubtfully, glancing toward the office window. “If there was any way of getting the instruments—”

“What could you do with them?”

“We could turn the barn there into an office. I’d run connections out through the back to the fence. It’s just behind.”

“Say—I’ve an idea then! If it wouldn’t take you long to remove the instruments from the table?”

“Only a couple of minutes.”

“Come on,” said West. Leading the way back toward the office, he explained, “I’ll get these beggars out, you hide round the corner, and soon as the way is clear rush in and get your instruments, and duck for the barn. I’ll join you later.”

“How are you going to get them out?” whispered Jack.

“Watch,” said the reporter.

As Jack drew out of sight about the rear of thebuilding his mystification was added to when he saw West pause before the door, stoop and pick up a handful of gravel. But immediately the reporter entered the doorway and spoke his purpose was explained.

“Hello, you two big rummies,” he said in his most offensive tones. “What are you doing here?”

The two men were in a momentarily genial mood, however, and missed the insult. “Why, hello pard, ol’ man,” responded one of them cordially. “Come in an’ make ’self t’ home. Wanta buy a telegraph office? Cheap?”

“Cheap! You are the cheapest article I see here,” replied West, yet more insultingly. “What do you mean by sitting down in respectable chairs? You ought to be tied up in a cow-stable. That’s where you belong.”

There was an angry growl as the two men scrambled to their feet, and peering about the corner Jack saw West back into the door.

“Come on out, you big, overgrown cowards,” shouted the reporter. “I’ll thrash the both of you, with one hand tied behind me!

“And take that!”

With his last words West suddenly threw the gravel full in the faces of the now enraged men, and spinning about, raced off down the road. They stumbled forth, shouting with rage, and one of them fired. The bullet went yards wide, and West ran on. Without further wait Jack darted into the office, in a few minutes had the relay and key from the table, secured some spare ends of wire for connections, and sped for the barn.

LOOPED IT OVER THE TOPMOST STRAND, NEAR ONE OF THE POSTS.

There all was darkness. Entering, a search with matches soon produced a lantern, however. Lighting it, Jack stepped without to discover whether its glimmer could be seen from the direction of the office. As he closed the door West appeared, panting and laughing.

“Well, what do you think of that stunt, youngster?” he chuckled. “Did you get the instruments?”

“Yes. I was out here to learn whether the light of a lantern I found could be seen.”

“Good head! No; it doesn’t show.

“And come on! Here the beggars are again!” West led the way inside, and closed the door behind them.

“Now what, my boy?”

“A table first. Here, the very thing,” said Jack, making towards a long feed-box at the rear of the barn.

As they cleared its top of a pile of harness West asked, “Just what is the scheme here, youngster? I don’t think I understand it.”

“Oh, simple enough. I’ll just run the wires out through that knot-hole, and connect one to the fence and the other to the ground.”

“Simple! It looks different to me,” declared the reporter admiringly. “All right, go ahead. I’ll get down on this box and grind out the rest of my story.”

Already Jack was at work sorting over the oddpieces of wire he had brought. Finding two suitable lengths, and straightening them out, he quickly connected them to the instruments, placed the instruments in a convenient position on the top of the box, and thrust the wire ends through the knot-hole. Then, hastening outside to the rear of the barn, he proceeded to connect one of them to the same strand of the fence wire to which the telegraph line was secured a mile distant. The other he drove deep into the damp earth beneath the edge of the building. And, theoretically, the circuit was complete.

Hurriedly he re-entered the barn to learn the result.

“Well?” said West anxiously.

“There is current, but it’s too weak.” Jack’s voice quavered with his disappointment. “I suppose the rusty splices of that old fence offer too much resistance.

“But I’m not beaten yet,” he exclaimed, suddenly recovering his determination. Turning from the box, he began pacing up and down the floor. “I’ll figure it out somehow if I—oh!” With the cry Jack darted for the door, out, and toward the office.

The intoxicated roughs were again in possession. Quietly he made his way to a dark window adjoining the lighted window of the operating room—the window of a little store-room, where, the local operator had told him, the batteries were located.

The window was unlocked, and with little difficulty he succeeded in raising it. Cautiously he climbed within, and feeling about, found the row of glass jars.Quickly disconnecting two of them, he carried them to the window-sill, clambered out, and hastened with them to the barn.

“Now I’ve got it, Mr. West!” he cried. “I’ll have H again in fifteen minutes!”

West started to his feet. “Can’t I help you?”

“All right. Come on,” said Jack. And ten minutes later, working like beavers, they had transferred to the barn the entire office battery of twenty cells.

In nervous haste Jack connected the cells in series, then to the wire. Instantly the instrument closed with a solid click.

“Hurrah! We win! We win!” cried West, and Jack, springing to the key, whirled off a succession of H’s. “H, H, H, ON! Rush! H, H—”

“I, I, H! Where have you been? What’s the matter?” It was the chief, and the words came sharply and angrily.

“The wire was cut both sides of the village,” shot back Jack. “I think it was Raub and Simpson’s work. And two roughs chased me out of the office with a revolver. Hired by them, I suppose. I’ve fixed up an office in the barn, and am sending for a mile through a wire fence, to bridge the cut.Orr.”

For a moment the chief was too amazed to reply. Then rapidly he said: “Orr, you are a trump! But come ahead with that report now. And make the best time you ever made in your life. I’ll copy you myself.”

And there, in a corner of the big barn, by the dimlight of the lantern, and to the strange accompaniment of munching cattle and restlessly stamping horses, West wrote as though his life depended upon it, and Jack sent as he had never sent before. And exactly an hour later the young operator sent “30” (the end) to one of the speediest feats of press work on that year’s records of the Hammerton office.

Though it was 3A. M.when Jack got back to Hammerton, he found the chief operator at the station to meet him. “I had to come down, to congratulate you,” said the chief. “That was one of the brightest bits of work all-round that I’ve heard of for years.”

“But did we beat them?” asked Jack.

“We assuredly did. For didn’t you know? Those two roughs later went up and cleaned out the other office—the very men who had hired them to disable us! And what with having had a slow-working wire previously, the ‘Bulletin’ didn’t get in more than five hundred words. We gave the ‘Star’ over three solid columns.”

The manager’s congratulation the following morning was as enthusiastic as that of the chief. “And as a practical appreciation, Jack,” he added, “we are going to give you a full month’s vacation, with salary. We think you earned it.”

When Jack returned to his wire one of the first remarks he heard was from Alex Ward, at Bixton.

“Well, old boy,” clicked Alex, “your adventure came, didn’t it. And it has me beaten to a standstill.”

Back to Index Next