Part 8 (1/2)
HIS MOTTO
LOTTIE BURRELL DIXON
”But I can't leave my business affairs and go off on a fis.h.i.+ng trip now.”
The friend and specialist who had tricked John Durmont into a confession of physical bankruptcy, and made him submit to an examination in spite of himself, now sat back with an ”I wash my hands of you” gesture.
”Very well, you can either go to Maine, now, at once, or you'll go to--well, as I'm only your spiritual adviser, my prognostications as to your ultimate destination would probably have very little weight with you.”
”Oh, well, if you are so sure, I suppose I can cut loose now, if it comes to a choice like that.”
The doctor smiled his satisfaction. ”So you prefer to bear the ills of New York than to fly to others you know not of, eh?”
”Oh, have a little mercy on Shakespeare, at least. I'll go.”
And thus it was that a week later found Durmont as deep in the Maine woods as he could get and still be within reach of a telegraph wire. And much to his surprise he found he liked it.
As he lay stretched at full length on the soft turf, the breath of the pines filled his lungs, the lure of the lake made him eager to get to his fis.h.i.+ng tackle, and he admitted to himself that a man needed just such a holiday as this in order to keep his mental and physical balance.
Returning to the gaily painted frame building, called by courtesy the ”Hotel,” which nestled among the pines, he met the youthful operator from the near-by station looking for him with a message from his broker.
A complicated situation had arisen in Amalgamated Copper, and an immediate answer was needed. Durmont had heavy investments in copper, though his business was the manufacture of electrical instruments.
He walked back to the office with the operator while pondering the answer, then having written it, handed it to the operator saying, ”Tell them to rush answer.”
The tall lank youth, whose every movement was a protest against being hurried, dragged himself over to the telegraph key.
”'S open.”
”What's open?”
”Wire.”
”Well, is that the only wire you have?”
”Yep.”
”What in the world am I going to do about this message?”
”Dunno, maybe it will close bime-by.” And the young lightning slinger pulled towards him a lurid tale of the Wild West, and proceeded to enjoy himself.
”And meanwhile, what do you suppose is going to happen to me?” thundered Durmont. ”Haven't you ambition enough to look around your wire and see if you can find the trouble?”
”Lineman's paid to look up trouble; I'm not,” was the surly answer.
Durmont was furious, but what he was about to say was cut off by a quiet voice at his elbow.
”I noticed linemen repairing wires upon the main road, that's where this wire is open. If you have any message you are in a hurry to send, perhaps I can help you out.”
Durmont turned to see a colored boy of fifteen whose entrance he had not noticed.