CHAPTER XI
TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY
BUT if our hero imagined that working a telephone switchboard in the office of a big law firm was going to be as easy as it was to practice with his chum, Tom was grievously disappointed. Soon after he took his seat in front of the board, with its maze of cords, plugs, holes, cams and push buttons, he had a call for one of the partners. There were three members of the firm, which was known officially as Boise, Keen & Cutler. Mr. Boise was the senior member and Elias Cutler the junior.
It was Mr. Keen, a pleasant middle-aged man, who had hired Tom, and he showed the boy how to make the connections to the telephones in the offices of various members of the firm. There were also three clerks, each one of whom had an instrument.
At first, as it was early morning, only a few calls came in, and these Tom easily managed. The lawyers only had occasion to call up outside parties once or twice, and Tom had no difficulty in getting the desired numbers. But, as the day advanced, and more business began to come in on the wire, the boy soon found he had his hands full.
“I guess it isn’t going to be as easy as I thought,” he said to himself, as he placed plug after plug in the holes, and worked the cams and buttons as fast as he could.
About noon some one called for Mr. Boise, and Tom put the plug of the cord in the hole he thought connected with the instrument on the desk of the head of the firm. Then a call came for Mr. Keen, but, while Tom was making that connection the door of Mr. Cutler’s office opened, and that individual fairly rushed out.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked Tom, rather savagely. “Don’t you know enough to operate a switchboard?”
“Why—why—what’s wrong?” asked Tom innocently.
“Why, you’ve put the party who wanted Mr. Boise on my wire, and you spoilt a long distance call I had to Taunton. Now I’ve got to call up again, and maybe I’ll lose my party. Why don’t you make the right connections?”
“I—I thought I did, Mr. Cutler.”
“Well, thinking so isn’t going to mend matters. Now give the party that’s on my wire to Mr. Boise, and then see if you can get central for me. I never saw such a poor operator,” he murmured, as he went back into his office and slammed the door.
Mr. Boise came out of his office then. He had evidently heard what the junior partner said.
“Try and be a little more careful, Tom,” he remarked kindly. “I know you are new at it, and you’ll get along all right after a while. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. It’s better to be sure than sorry, you know. That’s an old adage, but it’s a good one. Have you changed the party to my wire?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, grateful for the kind manner in which the head of the firm spoke.
Tom could not help being a little nervous, but he kept a good grip on himself, shut his teeth firmly together and resolved to make no more mistakes that day. He was glad when the noon hour came, as he could go out and get something to eat, and, while he was gone, one of the junior clerks operated the switchboard. Tom went to a little restaurant where Charley Grove had promised to meet him.
“Well,” asked his chum, “how’d you make out?”
“Pretty well, I guess. I made a couple of blunders, and Mr. Cutler, the junior partner, scolded me.”
“Aw, don’t mind that. Tell him it was the central girl’s fault.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Aw, how do they know? I always blame the girls. They’re used to it, and, besides, the bosses never see ’em, so it don’t make no difference.”
“I don’t think I’d like to do that. I’ll catch on to it after a while.”
“Sure you will. What are you goin’ to eat?”
Then the boys began to discuss the bill of fare, and were soon enjoying their lunch as only hungry boys can.
“What time do you get through?” asked Charley.
“Five o’clock, Mr. Boise said.”
“How much wages do you get?”
“Nine dollars a week, and I’m to get ten after I’ve been there a while.”
“That’s pretty good, for a start. I’m going to strike the boss for another dollar soon. I’m worth more than ten a week to ’em. Why, there’s thousands of dollars of business goes over my ’phone every hour, and I ought to get more than ten.”
“I hope you do,” said Tom cordially. “But say, Charley, I wish you’d do me a favor.”
“What is it? Want any money? I ain’t got much, ’cause I went to the theatre twice this week.”
“No, it isn’t money. I have enough for a few days yet, until I get paid. But I wish you’d stop at my house, on your way home, and tell my mother I have a good place. She’ll be anxious to know, and I have no way to send her word.”
“Sure, I’ll do it. But ain’t there some place near there you can call up on the wire, and ask ’em to take the message to her? I do that sometimes, when I’m comin’ home late.”
“No, I don’t know of any place but the drug store, and they might charge for sending a message. Besides, maybe the firm wouldn’t like me to use the telephone for my private affairs.”
“Aw, it don’t make any difference to them. They pay for the wire by the year, and you can use it as often as you like. But I’ll stop and tell your mother. I quit at three o’clock. There’s no brokerage business done after that.”
Tom went back to the switchboard, glad to think his mother would know of his success sooner than he hoped to be able to inform her. During the afternoon he acquired more confidence in himself, and, though once or twice he gave central the wrong numbers, from imperfectly catching them as they were repeated by the members of the firm, Mr. Boise and Mr. Keen did not get angry over the errors. Tom was congratulating himself that he was going to get through the day without further offending Mr. Cutler, when that individual called for a certain number.
Tom gave it to central, and, having made the connections threw up the cam, in order not to listen to what was being said. Then he leaned back in his chair, for he was tired, and the receiver of the telephone, which was fastened to his head by a spring clip, that held it in place so he could use both hands, made his ear ache. He wished he could take it off.
One of the black signal disks dropped, and Tom, depressing the cam, to ask what was wanted, heard Mr. Cutler speaking to him.
“There you go again!” exclaimed the irate lawyer. “You have given me the wrong number. I called for one-six-four-three, Chelsea, and you have given me one-four-six-three. That’s a police station. What do I want of a police station?”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Tom. “I’ll get the right number for you.”
“That was my mistake,” came another voice over the wire—the central girl’s voice. “I beg your pardon,” she added.
“That’s all right,” said Tom pleasantly. He wished Mr. Cutler could have heard the explanation, but the lawyer, in disgust, had hung up his receiver until Tom should get him the right connection.
“I thought I didn’t give the wrong number,” mused the boy. “I hope I don’t do anything more to annoy Mr. Cutler. He seems to get angry very easily.”
Tom was glad when it was time to go home, and he found his mother and aunt ready to welcome him, for Charley had told them the good news.
“I’m so glad!” exclaimed Mrs. Baldwin. “This is the best place you’ve had yet.”
“And so refined,” added Miss Ramsey. “I always wanted a lawyer in the family, and now Tom has a chance to be one.”
“I’m afraid it will be a good many years before I can learn law over the switchboard, Aunt Sallie.”
“Oh, but you will have opportunities. I think it is better to be a lawyer than a bookseller.”
“Especially as I haven’t any chance to become a bookseller,” added Tom with a laugh. “Well, mother, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes, Tom; I have just finished some sewing for Mrs. Crawford Leeth. I wish you would take it home, when I have made out the bill. I think she will pay you, for she owes me for some other work, and she promised to settle for it all when I sent this waist home. So please ask her, if she doesn’t offer to give you the money.”
“I will, mother. I suppose I’d better not sit on this, in case the car is crowded,” he added with a smile.
“Mercy sakes, no!” exclaimed his aunt. “It has some valuable lace on it. Be very careful of it, Tom.”
It was quite a long ride to where Mrs. Leeth lived, and it was nearly eight o’clock when Tom arrived. The house was a fine one, in an exclusive residential section, and the door was opened by a colored butler.
“Here’s the dress for Mrs. Leeth,” said Tom.
“I’ll take it,” replied the butler.
“But I want to see Mrs. Leeth,” insisted Tom, who had in mind his mother’s injunction to get the money.
“She am busy.”
“Then I’ll wait,” said Tom firmly, and, holding on to the package, which the butler offered to take from him, he stepped into the hall, and sat down.
“I’ll tell her about it,” promised the colored man, “but she hab some company, an’ I know she won’t see you.”
“You might take her this,” suggested Tom, handing the colored man the bill.
The butler vanished behind some hanging plush portieres, and came back presently to say:
“She’ll be heah immejeet, but she doan’t laik to be ’sturbed when she hab company. She am very indignant.”
“She is, eh?” thought Tom. “So would my mother be if I didn’t come back with the money.”
Presently there was a swish of silken skirts, and a handsomely-dressed woman came into the reception hall where Tom sat.
“Have you brought my dress, boy?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Tom, rising.
“You are more than two hours late with it. I wanted it to wear this evening, and I am much disappointed.”
“I brought it as soon as it was finished. I think there was more work on it than my mother thought.”
“She should learn to calculate better then, and not disappoint her customers. You may lay it on the table there, and tell her I am displeased that it is late.”
“She asked me to bring back the money for it,” said Tom boldly, determined not to be awed by the airs of this society matron. “I gave the butler the bill.”
“Yes, I have it; but it is not convenient for me to pay it now.”
“My mother particularly wished it, Mrs. Leeth.”
“Probably, but I have no change in the house.”
“I can take a check,” said Tom.
“My husband is at his office downtown, and he will not be home until late. I will send your mother a check to-morrow.”
“If you will allow me, I will go down to your husband’s office,” suggested the boy. “You can write him a note, authorizing him to give me a check for the bill. Or you can telephone him,” he added, seeing an instrument in the rear of the hall.
The woman seemed rather annoyed at Tom’s suggestion, but she had no good excuse ready. Rather reluctantly, therefore, she telephoned to her husband at his office, and told him a boy would presently call on him with a bill, for which she requested Mr. Leeth to make out a check.
“Thank you,” said Tom, when Mrs. Leeth had given him the business address of her husband.
“I don’t believe I shall have your mother do any more work for me,” said the handsomely-dressed woman haughtily. “She disappointed me so this evening, by not having my waist here on time.”
Tom said nothing, but he rather thought his mother would not care to work for a customer who was so exacting, and so careless about pay.
Tom was soon at the big office building where Mr. Leeth had a suite of rooms. Though it was nine o’clock there were lights in several of the windows, for, it appeared, some of the tenants were working overtime. Mr. Leeth was agent for a big manufacturing concern.
Tom had to climb several flights of stairs to Mr. Leeth’s office. He found that gentleman in, and soon had received a check, which he knew would please his mother.
“Just receipt the bill,” requested Mr. Leeth.
While Tom was signing his name to the receipt for the money, the office door opened, and some one came in. The boy did not look up to see who it was, but he heard Mr. Leeth exclaim:
“Ah, come right in. I’ve been waiting for you. Did you bring the papers and the cash?”
“Yes, but I had a hard time getting the money. The old doctor is getting rather suspicious of late. I trusted his faulty memory——”
The speaker paused suddenly, evidently in response to a warning gesture from Mr. Leeth, for the newcomer had not observed Tom, who was standing at a desk behind the door.
“Thank you, sir,” said our hero, as he folded up the check, put it in his pocket, and prepared to leave. As he turned he came face to face with Barton Sandow.
It would be hard to say who was the more surprised, the man or Tom. Mr. Sandow started, and seemed about to say something.
“Ah, are you acquainted?” asked Mr. Leeth in surprise.
“I have met Mr. Sandow,” replied Tom, while Dr. Spidderkins’ brother-in-law murmured something unintelligible. Then, as the man who had called Tom a gutter-pup did not notice him, the boy passed out.
“I wonder what he’s doing in there?” our hero thought, as he walked down the dimly-lighted corridors. “And he must have been referring to Dr. Spidderkins, when he spoke of the money and papers. I wonder if the old doctor is safe with those two?” he went on, as he thought of the queer actions of Mr. and Mrs. Sandow, and how incapable the aged physician, with his failing memory, was of looking out for his own interests.
Though he did not know it then, Tom had made quite a discovery that night.