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The gold and silver refiners, the diamond-merchants and wholesale jewellers, in this quiet street, were a very superior class of people, and you might dispose of a handful of gold chains and bangles without any fear that one or two of them would find their way into the operator's sleeve during the process of weighing. The great Mr.
Maroon him at a cross-roads, with five hours until train time, and he'd have the operator's first name in ten minutes and be learning the Morse alphabet, after which he would rush up to his new friend's house to see the babies or to pass judgment on a Holstein calf or a Black Minorca brood. It is the tremendously human quality, more than anything else, that gets him across.
The F-94 closed in until it was within 200 yards of the target; then the pilot pulled up, afraid he might collide with whatever was out in the night sky ahead of him. He made another pass, and another, but each time the bright spot on the radar operator's scope just stayed in one spot as if something were defiantly sitting out in front of the F-94 daring the pilot to close in.
"It is nearing the time." "I wonder if he will have any tidings for us?" "I certainly hope so." The wish was uttered with deep sincerity. A speculation was forming in the young operator's mind as to how he was going to pacify the irascible gentleman before him should no tidings come. "Since I'm here I believe I'll drop down and wait until you get into touch with the Siren."
When he left the cab of his engine the next forenoon at Poquette, he saw the furred figure of Colonel Ward in front of his carry camp a sort of half-way station for the timber operator's itinerant crews. The lawyer was at his elbow. Parker ignored their presence. A half-hour later the young engineer had established his Spinnaker terminal point, and was running his lines.
The operator's head appeared to be gliding out of my range of vision; then the windows of the north-bound train slid past, faster and faster. A melancholy grace-note from the dog, a jolt, and I turned around, appalled. "This train is going," I stammered, "and you are on it!" Miss Barrison sprang up and started towards the door, and I sped after her.
"Not in that direction to-night," he said, with a strained laugh, "the wires are cut." Chad almost reeled in his saddle then the paper was whisked from the astonished operator's hand and horse and rider clattered up the hill. At head-quarters the Commandant was handing the negro's note to a staff-officer. It read: "YOU HANG THOSE TWO MEN AT SUNRISE TO-MORROW, AND I'LL HANG YOU AT SUNDOWN."
Whipping open one of the choice razors, and drawing the strop as if it were a short Roman sword, Sam made the Sheikh wince a little as the sharp blade was made to play to and fro and from end to end, changing from side to side, and with all the dash and light touch of a clever barbel, being finished off by sharp applications to the palm of the operator's hand.
"Look here, Welton," he demanded abruptly when he had reached that operator's private office, "how much of a cut are you going to make this year?" "About twenty million," replied Welton. "Why?" "Just figuring on the drive," said Orde, nodding a farewell. He had the team harnessed, and, assuming his buffalo-fur coat, drove to the offices of all the men owning timber up and down the river.
It positively made one's mouth water to see them, and only the rows of wires on the wall, converging into the switchboard, and from thence to the operator's desk, where the little telegraph instruments were so soon to click messages back and forth, could convince one that the jars contained only "juice," as operators always call the electric current.
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