CHARLEY went into one of the inner offices, where there was a telephone connected with the switchboard.
“Now when you see that little black thing drop,” he called to Tom, “you want to take up one of these plugs, which are attached to wires, though they call ’em cords, and plug it into the hole under where the black thing drops.”
“What’s that black thing?” asked Tom.
“That’s the visual signal. There’s a buzzer that goes with it, but I cut the buzzer out, because it makes my head ache,” answered Charley, who was rather free and easy in his manners and talk. “Then,” he went on, “you want to take off the receiver, ’cause there ain’t no head and ear piece here, and listen to get the number. When I tell you a number you want to repeat it to central. And say, don’t let them central girls bluff you. Some of ’em are too tart. Think you understand now? If you do I’ll try you out.”
“Go ahead,” answered Tom, and Charley closed the door.
Presently the “little black thing” dropped. Tom pulled up a plug and inserted it into the proper hole.
“Get me one-eight-two-seven, Oxford,” called Charley over the wire. Tom repeated the number to the central girl.
In a moment he heard the girl’s voice over the wire:
“One-eight-two-seven, Oxford, doesn’t answer.”
“Aw, what ye givin’ us!” exclaimed Charley, “cutting” into the conversation. “Ring ’em again, Flossie.”
“I’ll give you the manager,” came the girl’s voice over the wire again, and there was a frigid tone in it.
“Say, she must be a new one on this circuit,” remarked Charley to Tom through the instrument. “The regular girl don’t care if you have a little joke with her. Guess I’d better go slow. Listen now.”
Soon a man’s voice was heard asking what was wanted, and Charley, talking back to him said he was sure there must be some one in at the number he called.
“The operator will try again for you,” said the manager.
Soon Tom heard a voice he recognized as that of a boy asking:
“What’s the matter? What ye ringin’ that way fer?”
“Hello, Pete!” called Charley. “That you?”
“Sure. This you, Charley?”
“Of course. Say, ain’t you stayin’ kinder late?”
“Yep. The boss went off, an’ left me a lot of letters to copy. What you doin’ in your office?”
“Oh, I’m teachin’ a friend of mine how to run the switchboard. Let me introduce you to him. Hey, Tom Baldwin, that’s my friend, Pete Lansing, on the other end of the wire.”
“Glad to meet you,” answered Tom, thinking this was a novel form of introduction.
“Same to you. Keep the change!” exclaimed Pete with a laugh. He seemed to be the same jolly sort of a lad Charley was. “Call me up again. I’ve got to get these letters done to put in the mail,” he added.
“So long!” called Charley.
“Good-by,” supplemented Tom, and then a click in the receiver told that Pete had disconnected.
“See how it’s done?” asked Charley, coming from the inner room.
“A little,” answered Tom.
“Now it’s different when some one calls up, and wants a member of the firm,” went on his mentor. “If central would only ring up I’d show——”
Just then one of the black signals fell.
“Here comes a call now,” said Charley. “It’s just in time. Here, you take up a plug from right under the drop, and you jab it in the hole. Then you throw this little cam or handle down, and you ask ’em who they want. Go ahead now.”
Tom listened, and heard a distant voice asking if this was the brokerage firm in whose office the boys were.
“Yes,” replied Tom.
“Is Mr. Simpson in?” the voice asked.
“He wants Mr. Simpson,” whispered Tom to Charley.
“Tell him he’s gone for the day,” was the telephone boy’s answer. “Ask him if he wants to leave any message. If he does I’d better take it.”
Tom did as he was told, but the man on the other end of the wire said he would call up in the morning.
“Pull out the plug,” directed Charley, when the drop fell once more. “He’s done. Now, if he had wanted one of the partners, all you’d have to do would be to take up the other cord, plug it into the hole connected with the particular ’phone on that’s wanted, and punch the button opposite the hole. That rings a bell in whatever office is wanted. See how easy it is?”
“I don’t think it’s very easy,” remarked Tom, “but maybe I’ll learn it after a while.”
“Of course you will. Come on, now, we’ll practice some more.”
Which the two boys did, for an hour longer, Charley giving Tom actual practice calling up newspaper offices to ask about certain events.
“The newspaper fellows are all right,” declared Charley. “They’ll tell you anything they can, and never kick, ’cause they know people are liable to give ’em tips on stories. And you want to be awful polite to customers that call up, ’cause they might report you if you wasn’t. But don’t let them central girls jolly you. Sometimes they’ll keep you waiting five minutes for a number. Just tell ’em what you want, an’ say you want it quick.”
“I guess I could get along,” answered Tom, “if I only had a place to get along in. I mean a job like yours.”
“Oh, you’ll git it in time,” declared Charley confidently.
As it was getting close toward six o’clock, when the office building in which Charley worked was to be closed for the night, the boys left, Tom arranging to come as often as he could to take lessons on how to manipulate a switchboard.
During the next two weeks he had frequent occasion to take advantage of Charley’s tutoring, for, search as he did, Tom could find no permanent position. He had several places for a day or so at a time, and managed to earn a little money running errands for the second-hand book dealer, but he did not make much more than his expenses.
Had it not been that Mrs. Baldwin and her sister had plenty of sewing to do, the little family would have been sorely pressed for money.
“It’s discouraging; isn’t it, Tom?” said his mother one night, when he had come home from a hard day tramping about.
“Well, I’m getting sort of hardened to it,” was his plucky answer. “Maybe I’ll get a job to-morrow, mother.”
He had said that every night for the past two weeks.
But the next day something happened. While Tom was at his breakfast the door bell rang, and, answering it, the while wondering who the early caller could be, Tom saw Charley Grove.
“Hello, Tom,” greeted his chum. “Had your breakfast? Come on, hurry up.”
“What’s the matter? A fire?”
“I’ve got a chance to get you a job.”
“A job? Where?”
“In a lawyer’s office. I’ve been keeping watch of the ads. in the paper, and this mornin’ there’s one in for a boy in the same building where I am. A big firm of lawyers want a boy to manage their private telephone exchange. Hurry up down and get it.”
“Maybe they want some one who is more experienced than I am.”
“What? With me t’ recommend you?” asked Charley incredulously. “Aw, come on. Hurry up!”
Filled with delightful anticipations Tom hurried. Charley took him to the office in question, which was on the tenth floor of a big building on Washington Street. Early as it was there were several boys in the corridor, waiting for the place to open.
“We’re too late,” said Tom.
“You’ve got as good a show as any of ’em. You’ll git a chance t’ see one of the lawyers, and when you do, jest up and tell him you was my assistant. They know it takes a good boy to work a board in a broker’s office.”
“But I wasn’t your assistant.”
“Well, tell ’em I taught you. That’ll do.”
Charley had to leave Tom, to go to his own duties, and a little later, the offices of the law firm were opened. The boys were admitted in turn, and at last it came Tom’s chance.
Luckily he kept his head, and answered the questions the lawyer asked him so intelligently, and told so frankly just what had been his telephone exchange experience, that the lawyer remarked encouragingly:
“I believe you’ll do.”
Tom’s heart gave a bound. Fortunately he had several good letters of recommendation, and, after a few more details had been settled, our hero found himself engaged to take charge of the switchboard in the private exchange of the big law firm, the boy who had previously managed it having been discharged for incompetency.
“Won’t mother be glad!” exclaimed Tom, and he wished he could hurry home and tell her, but as the firm needed an operator at once, Tom had to start right in. At last he had what he felt was a good position.