The record-union., 1899-04-23

from people whom he met about the
fifteen saloons he frequented on his
way from and to his work and this be.
gat him great confidence. One Sun
day night he found a man in McMann's 4
place who talked cribbage to him and
they played violently for 81 a game. AT
2 O'Clock in the morning Mr.. Williams
arose, filed with beer and bad temper
and emptied Of SOC He had lost eight
out of every ten games, and his bump
of self esteem had sunk in until there
was a hollow in his head as big and
deep as an egg cup. The stranger said
nothing as he rose and slapped his
pocket, except:
You will like this game when you
learn it,
That added insult to injury and Will
Jams spent a rolling, tossing, sleepless
night. The next evening as the berett
one was plugging away transcribing
news as fast as it could be sent to him
the victor walked in with a bland smile,
waited for an interlude in the sending,
and introduced himself as Jack Swift,
an old operator from Atlanta.
Il came in to tell you, Williams" he
said, that when you play cards hold
ing them in your left hand, you want
to get out of the habit of telegraphing
their names with your right hand as it
rests on the table,
Williams watched himself when he
played again and he found that when
lost in reflections his right hand would
steal to the table and make in dumb
show the telegraphic signals which
spelled out the cards. This had been go
ing on for six months, but he had not
played with any operators.
Dick HenshaW, who now writes his
| kane ''R. Graeme Henshaw" and lives
| in New York, is a rich man because he
was a skilled operator and had saved
| up $1,000. Waiting one day in the Of
flee of a friend who was the private
secretary of one of the biggest men in
| Wall street, he heard the office called
up. He took his seat at the instrument
and transcribed a lengthy message to
| the speculator, giving the details of a
tremendous corner in American cordage
to- be begun two days later. He sealed
the message, directed it properly and
placed it on the magnate's desk. He
then went down to the Bowery Savings
Bank, drew out his little pile, hunted
up a broker, told him to buy Cordage
and hold on until further instructions.
He made more than SOC 900 on the deal,
and went into the electrical supply
! business
] When Henry West, now dead, was a
railway operator in 1885 he was known
as Fire Box Harry and he got the
| sobriquet in this way: He had been
working for three months at a lonely
little station in Mexico fifty miles from
the Rio Gronde. It was on the line of
the Mexican international road, which
effects a junction with the Mexican
Central near Laredo. They were days
when railway people were regarded
with unfriendly eyes by the natives,
and many Americans lay rotting in
Mexican jails. Things got to a pass
I where the trainmen who Werel so unfOr-
| tunate as to run over a drunken peon
would do almost anything to avoid ar
rest. One night an empty freight train,
bound for Texas, was bowling along
rapidly, and struck a couple of MeXi-
oanS asleep on the track The engineer
stopped as soon as he could and backed
up. The hands found that one of the
men was stone dead. The other was
terribly mangled, but still breathing. 1t
was evident, however, that he would be
dead before morning They pulled SLOW
ly into Las Calientes. where West was
working, told him of the accident, and
asked his advice. He was an ener-