The cable

CIS resumed her place at the long table, and slipped what she called “her bridle” around her head with the cheerful philosophy customary to her at this end of her eight-hours’ employment. She had somewhere in the back of her brain a suppressed consciousness that there were pleasanter ways for attractive and lively youth to spend an evening, but this was “her job.” “My job” summed up in Cis’s mind and on her tongue a whole unformulated, yet distinct code of duty. What was one’s job must be done, that was clear enough, and done well, no shirking, still more, no neglect. If one took a job, fidelity was implied in its acceptance: “Take it or leave it, but if you take it, take it down to the ground,” Cis would have put it. She despised a shirker and a slacker; she “played the game straight,” whatever game she entered upon. “Her job” stood for the flag in a soldier’s hand, the pledge of an obligation. “If you take a man’s money deliver the goods,” Cis told another girl who was not serving well her employer’s interests. It was not a bad code to steer by, as far as it went; if it did not imply supernatural motives, it was a good foundation upon which to build them.

The girl who had taken Nan’s place while Cis was out, was by no means Nan; she was an unattractive person to Cicely. Indeed, there was no other girl in the room for whom friendly Cis, who felt kindly disposed to them all, ready to oblige and amuse them, cared in the least. Cicely, who had been graduated from high school, and Nan, the devout little product of the parochial school, were better educated than any of their companions. Neither Cis nor Nan had time, nor desire for much reading; they were far from being cultivated girls, but they were well taught, and they found little to attract them in the foolish interests, badly expressed, the tiresome conversation of their working mates.

So when Cis resumed her place, she nodded in return to the nod from the bobbed hair now beside her; said a few words which set the girl to whom they were spoken, off into a giggle, and turned her attention to her switchboard, as a hint that business only was her end in view.

In this uptown exchange early evening calls were many; there would not have been the opportunity for talk, had Cis desired it, which she and Nan usually found in the afternoon. Cis plugged-in rapidly; answered questions—rather more than was her office—corrected errors, untangled the difficulties of the old gentleman who turned in many calls every night and regularly called wrong numbers, till nine o’clock was recorded on the wall clock regulated by telegraph from Washington, and Cicely Adair drew a long breath.

“One more hour!” she said aloud. “Went fast to-night!”

“Someone meetin’ you, Cis?” asked her neighbor.

Cicely shook her head. “I’m the cat that walks by herself,” she said lightly. “Not a man will bother with me—but, as to that, none will bother me going home, so it works good and bad!”

“Yes, I guess so!” her neighbor derisively replied. “Pity ’bout you! Us girls are on to you, Miss Adair! The fellers’d tumble for you if you didn’t jack ’em up!”

“Fiddlesticks! But I won’t have anyone calling for me; puts you under obligations,” said Cis impatiently.

“You said a mouthful!” the girl endorsed her, then added significantly: “I got one comin’ after me, but I don’t get off till one, Q. T. Dang’rous goin’ alone at that littlest hour!”

The girl laughed and Cis looked disgusted, drawing away with a slight, involuntary movement before she recalled herself. Then she said:

“One is a lot later than ten, more than the four hours later. Glad you’ve someone to see you safe, Mimi.”

Cicely turned back to her switchboard, refusing to share the humor of Mimi’s being escorted home, and as she did so she received a call.

“I’d like to get 12, the Boulevard, if you please,” a voice said.

Cicely said sharply: “What number did you say?”

She recognized the voice and the peculiar form of its call. It was the oily, yet sub-acid voice which Cis had said was like maple syrup beginning to ferment, the voice which she distrusted, the voice of sweet Jeanette Lucas’ betrothed, to whom her marriage was imminent.

“What number did you say?” Cicely therefore said sharply; could he have possibly mistaken his call? Parkway 58 was the Lucas call, and this, Boulevard 12—Why, in the name of all that was good and loyal was this Herbert Dale calling Boulevard 12?

“I’d like to get 12, the Boulevard,” repeated the suave voice, this time with its sub-acid quality less submerged.

Cicely plugged-in for the required number, but her wits were working quickly, her warm heart was beating fast, sending the blood up to her bright hair with a generous, pitying indignation for the girl whom she admired at a distance, whom she had set up in a sort of shrine as the ideal maiden.

Cicely was not in the habit of indulging curiosity by “listening in”; indeed, she felt little curiosity as to other people’s affairs, but now what she felt was not curiosity, but a burning sympathy for that other girl. Therefore she listened in. Only a few moments did she listen to the conversation between Herbert Dale, on one end of the wire, and someone at Boulevard 12 on the other. She heard enough to satisfy her that her favorite theory of voices being indicative had a solid foundation in fact. She jerked herself away from her eavesdropping, let her hands fall into her lap, nervously twisting her fingers, her head bowed as she rapidly examined herself as to what she meant to do about it.

“For the love of Pete, Cis Adair, your face’s redder’n your hair; you’re all red! You listened in! What’s up?” cried her neighbor, putting out her hand to follow Cicely’s example.

“Keep off! It’s my business!” ordered Cicely sharply, and the girl thought it better to abandon her plan, warned by the flash in Cis’s eyes.

“Just hold your tongue, Mimi, a bit; I’ve got to think,” Cis added, and again Mimi obeyed her.

“She won’t thank me,” Cis told herself. “Not now, anyway; may later. But it’s not a square deal to keep her in the dark. If she chooses to go on with him, it’s her business, but she ought to have the chance to choose; that’s it! She’s no sort of idea. She’s a little idiot if she marries him, knowing he can’t be trusted when such a girl’s that has set the 10th for the wedding. But that’s her affair. I’ll not deal straight with her if I don’t let her in on what I know. It’ll hit her hard, poor kid, but it might be worse, only she won’t see that now. It will cost me my job. Mimi’s sure to tell Amelia; she’s thick with her. I’ll be giving her my scalp, sure and certain. Well, what of it? What’s my job, beside the whole life of a mighty fine girl? Mimi may hold her tongue—No, she won’t! Well, if it makes me pay, what’s that to do with the rights of it? I’d take it pretty cruel if another girl didn’t stand by me in Miss Lucas’ place. I’m going to do it!”

Cicely set her plug in Parkway 58; her hand trembled as she did so. Mimi, watching intently, saw it shake. She was suspicious. To let anyone in on a wire to listen to a conversation was to break one of the fundamental laws of the company.

Mimi suspected that Cicely Adair was breaking that law now.

“Is this Miss Lucas? Miss Jeanette Lucas?” Cis asked. “Please hold your receiver. I’m connecting you on a wire. It’s something you must hear. Go ahead.”

Then Cis dropped her face into her hands and sat quite still, as if she were waiting for the stroke of fate. No stroke fell, however; the call for Boulevard 12 was rung off; Cis noted the excess rate, which was considerable, and notified the public station whence the call had come, of the amount due. She half expected to be called by Jeanette Lucas, impersonally, as “Central,” but no such call came, and when the office clock pointed to ten, Cicely arose, doffed her “bridle,” and turned to Mimi.

“See here, Mimi,” she said, “I never did think there was much use in asking a girl for a solemn promise to keep a secret. If you tell her you don’t want something told she won’t tell it, if she’s white; if she’s any other color all the promises this side of Jericho won’t stop her talking. Now, of course you know I did something to-night that’s dead against the rules, but I tell you that it was the only decent thing to do, and whatever happened I knew I had to do it, and I’d do it again this minute, because it was right. I’ve had time to think it over, and I’m surer every instant that I did the square thing. That’s all I can tell you, or anyone, because the rest is none of our business. I don’t want you to tell a living soul what you saw and heard; I ask you not to. And that’s all I can do about it. If you keep your tongue between your teeth I’ll not forget it of you, and I’ll do you a good turn the first chance I get. Signed: Cicely Adair.”

Mimi laughed. “Sent special? All right; I got it. Say, Cis, Amelia ’n me ’s pals, but I’m not with her ’bout you. She’s jealous, that’s what’s eatin’ ’Melia. I ain’t; I don’t haf to be! I won’t tell. It’s a rich one, but I won’t tell; honest, cross m’ heart! The comp’ny wouldn’t do a thing to you if they heard it, I’ll tell the world! Don’t you worry, Cis; I like you; you’re a great one. I’ll never give you away, don’t you fret! Gee! What d’you s’pose ’Melia’d do to you if she had you down like this! She says you think you’re the cat’s miauw. She’d give you a miauw, I’ll say she would!”

“Thanks, Mimi. It’s straight of you to keep this to yourself. Good night,” said Cis, and went away. “Little snipe! Sure she’ll tell Amelia!” she thought as she walked rapidly down the quiet street.

The next day passed without anything unusual to mark it, to Cicely’s surprise. She felt that anything and everything were imminent, but nothing more exciting befell her than being one bag of peanuts short in her noon distribution to her gamin friends, owing to the unforeseen appearance of Tony Caprioli’s little brother, who had to be compensated with a nickel. It was a perfectly satisfactory substitute, Cis found to her relief, mainly because Tony divided his peanuts with the young Luigi, who thus came out well ahead of the game.

The second day, however, Cicely’s bright head fell under the guillotine, a martyr to a certain kind of nobility which makes the figure of the guillotine not unsuitable.

When Cis came into the office, nearly ten minutes ahead of her schedule, there fell upon all the girls that significant hush which eloquently declares by its silence that the newcomer has been the subject of conversation up to the moment when the door swung. Amelia’s face was red beyond and additionally to the paint which frankly adorned her cheeks and lips; she looked malevolent and triumphant. Nan was flushed, almost purpling; her eyes were nervously excited and tearful. All the other girls looked uncomfortable, and most of them looked regretful, Cis was glad to see, for she instantly knew what had happened.

“I’m workin’ double shift, Cis; no need you settin’ down. I’m doin’ your shift till the next orders. You’re to go to th’ office soon’s you show up,” said Amelia gloatingly.

“Well, they were slow about it!” exclaimed Cis swinging around. “I thought I’d hear this yesterday.”

“Oh, Cis, Cis, dear!” moaned Nan.

“Nobody’s to blame but yourself, Cis Adair! Mimi didn’t want to tell on you, but when she tol’ me, I said she’d ought to come out with it, not let nice girls that kep’ the rules get looked at crooked for what they wouldn’t do, not for nothin’. What I say is, it’s easy rule to keep; simply tend to your own bus’nuss. Listenin’ in ain’t what int’rusts me; it don’t girls that’s got gentlemen friends an’ ev’rything. I’ll do your work to-day, Cis Adair, but the comp’ny won’t let me overdo long, I’ll tell the world! You’re wanted in the office, Cis Adair, an’ it’s a cinch you’re not wanted elsewheres!” Amelia delivered her speech explosively.

Cis laughed lightly as she went toward the door.

“Do you honestly think that I didn’t know precisely what would happen when I—when I—danced, would you call it? I knew what the fiddler would cost,” she said. “Don’t weep for me, Amelia! Nancy, stay down and have supper with me, will you? I’ll be waiting for you in the drug store.”

Nan nodded, speechless, and Cis went off, without outward sign of perturbation, to meet the manager of this office, who had always been her friend, as he had proved in many trifling ways.

“Ah, Miss Adair, I’m sorry to have to see you to-day, and for the reason which made me summon you. Please be seated,” he said. “I think you must know that reason?”

“Not much use in play-acting, Mr. Singer, so I’m not going to pretend I don’t! Yes, I know,” said Cis.

“One of our subscribers reported to us yesterday that a girl in our exchange had connected another of our subscribers with a conversation which he was holding. This action has, justly, too, infuriated the gentleman whose conversation was thus overheard. He has demanded that we find and properly punish the offending operator. Her action has led to the most disastrous consequences, in fact to great loss and grief to the gentleman—”

“No! Has it, though?” cried Cis almost springing to her feet. “Then she was game; she did have sense enough to throw him down!”

“Evidently, Miss Adair, your action was intended to work harm to the gentleman. Do you know him personally, or the subscriber whom you connected with his wire?”

Mr. Singer, Cis felt sure, was controlling a desire to laugh.

“No, indeed, but when a nice girl is getting fooled—”

“Now, Miss Adair, that will do. Let us avoid open allusions. Knowing you, I am inclined to think that you acted from a sort of mistaken chivalry; that you yielded to an impulse to save another girl from what you feared would be greater sorrow than you were inflicting upon her. You see, I give you full credit for good, even for rather fine motives, and I acknowledge that it is refreshing to find a girl with ideals such as this reveals. But it won’t do, Miss Adair, it won’t do! The telephone company is not in business to guard morals, nor its subscribers’ welfare; it is in business to transmit messages and to see that their privacy is secured to their subscribers. You have broken one of the fundamental, inviolable rules of your office, and there is nothing for me to do but dismiss you.” Mr. Singer ended with regret in his voice.

“Sure, Mr. Singer!” Cis agreed. “I knew it would come out, and I’d be thrown down. Sorry, but I’d do it right over again this minute.”

“I quite believe that!” Mr. Singer allowed himself a sound of laughter in his throat that did not pass his lips. “You have been a good operator, Miss Adair; quick, yet patient; faithful, punctual, and—until now—highly honorable. I’m exceedingly sorry to lose you, sorrier to dismiss you. I wish that you had not felt it necessary to load your gun and take a shot at birds, which were, after all, not in your field.”

“If you had a daughter, or a sister, a nice, a lovely girl, all innocent and—and well, white, Mr. Singer, wouldn’t you give her a chance to keep out of a regular sell, wouldn’t you put her wise and let her have her chance, at least? I bet you would, and I did!” cried Cicely.

Mr. Singer arose, holding out his hand in farewell, not otherwise replying to Cicely’s question.

“Good-bye, Miss Adair, and good luck. If I can be of use to you, let me know. But in your next position keep to your rules, and don’t let your imagination lead you into quixotic scrapes,” he said. “The cashier will give you your check. I’ll gladly recommend you to anyone whom you may send to me, but I cannot condone your disobedience here.”

“Of course not!” Cis heartily agreed. “Thanks, Mr. Singer. I knew I’d lose my head, so don’t feel sorry about it. You know red heads get through worse thickets than this one. You’ve been downright dandy to me; much obliged, honest! Good-bye; sorry to say it to you, but I’m glad about the rest of it.”

“We had a little difficulty in identifying the offender, but at last we did so, through one of the girls whose friend had been a witness to your imprudence,” said Mr. Singer, politely holding the door open for his unrepentant employee to leave him.

“There weren’t many between whom to choose; all you had to do was to ask me; I’m on till ten on that section. I’d have told you I did it, if you’d asked me,” said Cis, halting in the doorway.

“You certainly would have, Cicely the Sincere!” cried Mr. Singer, and this time he laughed aloud.

Nan hurried from the exchange at five o’clock sharp, and around to the drug store where Cicely was awaiting her.

“We don’t eat to-night in the Tel. Restaurant, Nancy Bell; we eat at Hildreth’s, one of his regular old ripping platter suppers: lobster; little necks sitting around him; broiled finan haddy, relishes—who minds being a Catholic on Friday when she’s got the price of Hildreth’s about her?” cried Cis, seizing Nan’s hand and tucking it into her arm. “Drew my last check from the Tel. Co., so it’s on me, and a treat at Hildreth’s, just to celebrate!”

“Oh, Cis, Cis, what are you going to do next?” sighed Nan, yielding, yet disapproving this extravagance.

“After the supper? I hadn’t thought. Movie? But we don’t care for movies!” Cis pretended to meditate.

“You know I don’t mean that! What sort of work will you try for? Where will you go—”

Cis interrupted her by whistling blithely, as well as any boy could whistle, as indifferent as a boy to passers-by: “Oh, boys, where do we go from here?”

“Wait till after lobster, Nan, and I’ll tell you,” Cis then said, seeing Nan’s real distress.

“Oh, that means something that would spoil my appetite!” cried prophetic Nan.

After a delicious supper in the famous sea-food specialty restaurant, to which Cis did fuller justice than Nan, Cis lay back in her chair, her small cup of black coffee before her, her eyes on the contorted shoulders of the ’cellist of the orchestra of four pieces which “helped float the fish,” Cis said.

“Going to tell me?” hinted Nan.

“I hate to, Nan, because I know you’ll hate it, and so do I, when I think of you. But I’m going to get out of here, altogether; I’m going to Beaconhite to try my luck,” announced Cicely.

“Beaconhite! Whatever for?” gasped Nan.

“Never could tell you,” said Cis airily. “Always wanted to try that little city. Spells its name so crazy, that’s one reason; must have been Beacon Height once, of course. I always had an idea I’d like it; it’s hustling, yet settled. I’ve some money saved up; not much; enough to carry me on till I get to earning, and I’m dead sick, dead tired of here! Not tired of you, little Nan, but of the place. I think I’d better move up a square or two; ’tisn’t good to cork up too much fermentation. Honest, Nan, it’s lucky I’ve not taken up that vitamine bug they’re all rushing so! If I ate yeast cakes, like the rest of ’em, I’d fly to pieces! I’m going to Beaconhite and show it what a red-haired girl can do to it! Nanny, don’t look so sorry! And don’t cry, dear! That lobster shell had enough salt water, and too much hot water!”

“You’ll forget all about me, and I love you dearly, Cis,” faltered Nan.

“I’m just as fond of you as you are of me, nice little Silly!” cried Cis. “Only I’m not keen on mushiness. You’ve got to allow me one virtue: I stick when once I’m stuck; no waving around to this solid body! We’ll be just as good friends, and we’ll get together again, here or there, but it’s the truth, Nan; I’ve got to break off, and break out new, or my red hair’ll blaze up like a fire balloon, and there’ll be no more of Miss Adair! I hated to tell you, but I’m glad it’s done! If this hadn’t happened in the office I’d have left next October; now it has happened, I’m going right off—or sooner.”

“Right off? How soon, Cis?” faltered Nan.

“This is Friday; don’t you think Monday is a good day to start a new record? First day of the week, first week day of the week, and washing day?” Cis suggested.

“I don’t suppose any other day would be easier,” admitted Nan. “Will you stay with me Sunday night, start from my house? Oh, Cis, Cis! There are only two days before Monday, and I never dreamed, never once dreamed this morning that I’d ever lose you!”

“I’m not dreaming it now, Nanny dear. We’re friends for keeps. You can’t lose me; I’m not that sort. Come along, Nan. I’m fed up on lobster, and I’m much more fed up on those fiddlers three—like Old King Cole’s. But I seem to miss a jolly old soul in this crowd of two!”

Cis jumped up, paid the reckoning, and tucked Nan under her arm after her usual custom, her height and Nan’s being adapted to this arrangement.

Thus they left the restaurant, Cis humming an old song which she had picked up from one of her elders: “You can’t lose me, mah Honey,” as appropriate to her assurance, to Nan, and as if she had not a care in the world.