Читать книгу Pleiades Club—Telegraphers' Paradise on Planet Mars - J. W. Hayes - Страница 6

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IT WAS certainly a choice gathering of spirits who flocked together at Telegraphers’ Tabernacle to listen to the doings of the boys from Dixie who were members of this honorable body.

Fred B. Moxon, courtly and affable as of old, called the meeting to order.

Mr. Moxon explained that the meeting was called for the purpose of having a pleasant time and everyone was cordially invited to say something.

“Is Bob Irwin, ‘Canada’s fastest man,’ present?” came an inquiry from Dave Ryan.

“No, Bob and Aleck Sinnot went a-fishing this morning down to Hesperian canal, but we expect to see them back very soon.”

“I say, Dave,” queried Kentucky George Ellsworth, “how about that story that Brother Topping tells about you when you were on General Bragg’s staff? Did the General really cease hostilities on a certain occasion till you could be located?”

“Just you read United States history and get better acquainted with me,” testily replied Ryan. But a smile speedily lit up the old war horse’s face when he recognized the president of the meeting.

“Well, if there isn’t Fred Moxon, whom I left in St. Louis in 1875. Glad to see you, old boy; do you remember how you used to paste me when I was down there in Galveston? I tell you what, to take you and fight those native mosquitoes was a bigger job than fighting under General Bragg.”

“Yes, Dave, you remember how that old Long Horn wire used to work and how those repeaters at Denison would rattle? The man in charge of the Denison repeaters went to sleep one night and I could not hear you break.”

“I never broke in my life,” interrupted Ryan.

“That’s right, too,” agreed Moxon, “and the only way I knew you were getting me was to ask New Orleans.”

“Same old stunt,” broke in Cy Whitaker, who just arrived and took a seat in front.

“Why, here is Ed Whitford, is he in our class?” asked “Fid” Powers.

“Yes, he is eligible, for he worked two winters in New Orleans. Let him sit down, as I have one on him,” suggested Dick Babbitt.

“Sit down, Ed, you are welcome at our festive board. I want to tell the boys of the joke you played on me once upon a time.

“I dropped into the Chicago office to get acquainted with the boys and see what new things had been introduced. Whitford was always the master of ceremonies in the Chicago office, doubtless because he could always see a funny side to everything.

“ ‘Look at this big ground wire,’ said Whitford, pointing to the iron pillar, which ran from floor to ceiling, the only obstruction in the big room. ‘Yes, this is the ground wire which grounds every wire in Chicago and ofttimes holds millions of volts. There is enough electricity in the ground wire at this minute to completely annihilate an entire army if applied in the proper way; yes, this ground wire is one of the institutions of Chicago.

“ ‘Want to see some good receiving? Well, come here and witness the finest operator in the world. He can copy 100 words behind, as I will show you.’ ”

“Going up to Jack Carroll, who was receiving a special from Luke Fisher, at Omaha, Whitford grabbed Carroll’s hand, which he shook for two minutes, Fisher sending at top notch speed.

“Releasing his hand, Carroll took up a new sheet and began to copy just as if he had not been interrupted.

“ ‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ ejaculated the spectators, but we did not know that Jack had a time in squaring himself with Luke Fisher to get him to repeat the missing portion.”

“Yes, Ed, you were always on hand like warts when it came to going to the annual reunion of the Old Timers, too,” said Billy West, who arrived at this juncture, high hat and gold-headed cane.

“Glad to see you again, Bill,” shouted many voices.

“Gentlemen, let us quit shop talk for a few minutes and see what the latest is from the seat of the great European battle ground.

“I say, Mr. Chairman, can you tell me if Ethiopia has joined the allies,” questioned Jim Taylor, a recently arrived colored employe from Minneapolis.

“Yes, you bet; I could make out a battalion marching north and they were carrying the national flag of Ethiopia,” remarked Charlie Newton, as he sauntered in.

“What am the flag of Ethiopia?” asked Taylor.

“Why, it is a picture of a watermelon cut in halves on one side of the flag and a ham bone on the other side,” laughingly replied Newton, and a burst of merriment ensued.

“I have been practicing with mirrors,” began Moxon, “and I find that I can bottle up and concentrate enough of the sun’s rays to completely vaporize any intruding battleship 100 miles at sea. We turn on our searchlight, which is equal to a billion candle power and signal for her to turn back. Upon her refusal to do so, the bottled up energy of the sun is turned on and presently a smoke arises which in five minutes is lifted and nothing can be seen of the unfriendly man o’ war.

“I am in telepathic communication with my old partner, Jeff Hayes, who is still a resident of the terrestrial sphere, and we are able to convey much intelligence in this way to each other. I have already given him the dope on this new idea and you will find that the matter will be given the widest publicity on earth.

“I notice we have with us Col. Tally Mann, once of Sherman, Jack Taylor of Galveston, Ed Davis, David Flannery, Charlie Patch, Jim Stacey, Jack McDonald, Jimmie Rust, Jack Sinclair, Jack Graham and Phil Fall.”

At the mention of each name a cheer went up, each gentleman arising and making a graceful bow.

Bob Irwin, “Canada’s fastest,” put in an appearance now with a string of Dollie Varden trout which he stated he had caught over in the Hesperian canal.

“No, I did not subsidize any small boy, either,” warmly remarked Irwin, “for I am a fisherman from way back.”

“Yes, you used to catch catfish on the Mississippi below St. Louis,” said John Topliff as he bobbed to the front.

“I never contradict my chief operator; you taught me that stunt,” retorted Irwin, and all the St. Louis contingent laughed to the echo.

“I never liked that story Dick Babbitt propagated about David Flannery. You remember that one about ‘Jobs and Positions.’ I never liked it and I am going to tell Dick so.”

“I plead guilty,” said Babbitt, adding “and I throw myself upon the mercy of the Court.” This remark was made with mock solemnity, which evoked an “Aw, forgit it” from Davis.

The band, of which Ed Leloup was the leader, discoursed some stirring Southern melodies, after which the meeting took the form of a general social feast, many introductions being made.

There was no bickering, no quarreling, no riotousness on the planet Mars. Surely everyone was supposed to forget all these ere they could remain in peace in this delightful haven of rest.

Everything was so harmonious here that few cared to leave its delightful precincts until lapse of time urged him for a higher climb.

To the lover of music, music was everywhere; to the student of literature, the universe was an open book, always ready to instruct an earnest student; to the inquirer after the arts and sciences, Mars gives ample opportunity for study and advancement, but to the person who makes inquiry after the pleasures of a flesh, a big and emphatic “No” is given. Mars and its inhabitants are built on different lines.

Pardon being asked for and granted for this diversion, Chairman Moxon announced that the next meeting would be held under the auspices of the old Chicago office, which announcement created a whirlwind of applause.

Lara Boone and Hank Spencer then sang, “Oh Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight” and the meeting passed into history.