The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1918-01-29
The
Telegraph
Touch
By Ellis Lee

Duntley, when he should have been
wide awake. Marie was the night op-
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 for
two years. He used to boast-and
prove-that he could identify the
sender of half dozen ticks over the
wire, through familiarity with the
touch"
1T isn't the ticks, they are all the
same, plain as the alphabet" Edison
used to say. "But every operator has
touch essentially his own. It's like
a mannerism In speech. 1t takes an
expert to detect it. l call myself one.
So, l 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 our fingers
met" Edison had told his sister once.
"That must mean true love, hey, Mag
gieT' and Maggie had encouraged his
conception with smiling nod, and Ed
son was content.
He was all alone, and 1t was nearly
midnight. He had slipped down In his
chair into 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 hazy, pleasant thrall, and
insensibly he glided into somnolency.
Edison was guilty Of fatal lack Of
diligence. If No. "a on the North
Branch was reported on time, he was
to telegraph the bridge station at
Woodville to hold "a on the main I'M
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 "a had
passed eighty minutes agone, and he
had not heard 1t, and
met on the bridge. Both trains
were late and must have disregarded
signals. Casualties heavy and two
coaches In the river, completely SUBJ
merged"
A hand Of ice seemed to seize his
heart in a crushing grip, his brain
reeled. Before his mental vision there
passed frightful picture Of carnage
and destruction. For the moment and
for hours later Edison Worth was an
insane, irresponsible creature of fran
tic unreason and impulse.
His first action was to close his ears
to the monotonous drone of what he
reconized as fragment of a press dis
patch. He dashed from the station
like 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 its dimly lighted smoking car
and crouched In the corner Of It's dark
est seat.
where tor" 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 1t was
over two hundred miles ahead. One
urging impulse directed him-to get as
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 obscurity barren Of
men and homes. He might not be able
to forget, but he would meet with no
familiar poignant reminders Of what
had bee. 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
train, still headed north. Two rough
ly CARRIED men in a seat In front of him
were discussing their plans and pros
pective destinations-a logging camp
far over the Canadian border.
'They shall be my guides" he re-
Elected. "Surely I can get work, and
work may enable me In time to drive
this awful dread and remorse from my
guilty SOUL"
Certainly it was remote enough from
civilization, the hermit spot he had
chosen. Little danger of his identity
or his crime penetrating this vast soil
tude of nature. When he arrived at
the camp, the foreman of one of thu
logging gangs was glad to engage his
services, for help was scarce that sea
son.
Edison, as Mark Lane, was quarteTed
In a rudely constructed hut with a
mate, a lively genial young fellow
about his own age. They messed at
one of the big eating sheds, but slept
in the ten-by-twelve shack with a mar
row fireplace and some skins for bed
covering Ned Walters strove hard to
break through the reserve of his mate.
And at last he succeeded. Gradually
Edison became so that he longed for
and cherished the companionship. Ned
Walters told of wife and little child,
whom he had been forced to leave to
seek work where he could find it. He
had landed up against the hard servi-
tude of the logging camp. Once q
month he sent to the nearest post Of
fee with the camp messenger his en-
tire salary, to be forwarded to the
loved ones at home. One day he sat
reading and rereading a letter he had
received from his wife. 1t seemed to
Cypress him greatly.
bad news" insinuated Edison In
sympathetic inquiry.
pretty bad" responded Walters
you see, our few sticks of furniture
were mOrtgaged, and they are bringing
the pressure of collection to bear.
can't send enough to run the house ant
release the debt"
"Will that helpT" asked Edison, hand
ing over his pay envelope.
ayes, but"
sMonev is no uSe IN me- I have M