Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1918-04-18
The
Telegraph
Touch"
a.
By Ellis Lee
By Ellis Lee
Copyright, 1917. Western Newspapt


Copyright. 1917. Western Newspaper Union.)
Edison Worth was dreaming of Marie
Duntley, when he should have been
wide awake. Marie was the night CD.
orator at Wolf Springs, forty miles
west, yet he felt as near to her as
though she was the width of a parti.
ton beyond him. Edison had been at
Merrivale in charge of the station fol-
prove-that he could identify the
sender Of half a dozen ticks over the
Wire, through familiarity with the
touch.'
ut isn't the ticks, they are all the
same, plain as the alphabet" Edison
used to say. "But every operator has
a touch essentially his own. It's like
q mannerism in speech. 1t takes an
expert to detect it. I call myself M
So, 1 6 always know who is talking"
Edison had been talking up to an
hour previous, little snatches Of greet.
ing, snappy raillery, to greet re
sponsive brief words that made Edison
sure he was not Indifferent to the
bright, dainty little operator at Wolf
Springs.
"Why, when Marie is on the wire, the
first tick of the call sends a thrill
through me. It's just as if u fingers
met" Edison had told his sister once,
THAT must mean true love, hey, Mag.
gie?' and Maggie had encouraged his
conception with a smiling nod, and Ed,
son was content.
He was all alone, and it was nearly
midnight. He had slipped down in his
chair into a comfort seeking position,
for routine stuff was out of the way,
and there was nothing due on train
detail under an hour, unless special
orders came out. Usually Edison read
or smoked to keep awake. His
thoughts of fair Marie, however. lulled
him into a hazy, pleasant thrall, and
~insensibly he glided into somnolency.
Edison was guilty of a fatal lack of
diligence. If No. 81 on the North
Branch was reported on time, he was
to telegraph the bridge station at
Woodville to hold 81 on the main IN
til the branch train had cleared the
bridge. Orders were due within the
hour. For the hour and beyond it Ed
son slumbered. He awoke with a
start. Such a thing had never hap
pened before. His first glance was at
the clock. He sprang to his feet, a
white horror in his face, his body in
a cold perspiration. Train 81 had
passed eighty minutes agone, and he
had not heard it, and
met on the bridge. Both trains
were late and must have disregarded
signals. Casualties heavy and two
coaches in the river, completely sub.
merged"
A hand of ice seemed to seize his
heart in a crushing grip, his brain
reeled. Before his mental vision there
passed a friThtful picture of carnage
and destruction. For the moment and
for hours latt . Edison Worth was an
insane, irresponsible creature of fran
tic unreason ana impulse.
His first action was to close his ears
to the mOnOtonous drone of what he
reconized as q fragment of a press dis
patch. He dashed from the station
like a being pursued by dreadful phan-
toms. That noon he had received his
monthly salary and it was still intact
in his pocket. He passed the cottage
In which his sister lived, but only in
creased his reckless rate of speed. Its
welcoming lights had no influence to
lure him to shelter, to compassion, to
safety!
Edison tore along the dark country
road until, breathless, exhausted, he
sank to the platform of a railroad
depot on a line going north. A train
came along within the hour. Edison en-
tered it's dimly lighted smoking car
and crouched in the corner Of it's dark
est seat.
"Where to-" challenged the conduc-
tor.
"Terminus," sounded hOarsely in the
parched throat of the new passenger.
He paid the fare, knowing from the
~pretentious amount named that. it was
OYER two hundred miles ahead. One
urging Impulse ulfecteu Hlul-lO yet us
fast and as far from home and friends
and all the world as speedily as pos
sible:
The wilderness, the furtherest out
posts of civilization seemed to beckon
him on-he, an Ishmael, ~accursed Of
all mankind as a murderer! His
crime crushed him. He would bury
himself amid an o%bscurity barren Of
men and homes. He might not be able
familiar poignant reminders of what
had been, what was never to be again.
The pineries-it came to him like an
inspiration as at the end of the first
stage of his journey he took another