CHAPTER IV.

CHICAGO TAKES A HAND

It was Chicago day on the planet Mars and from every quarter of our nearest starry neighbor came flitting the individuals who at one time or another worked in the Chicago telegraph offices.

It did not matter what company was the employer, railroad or telegraph; all were as welcome as the flowers in May and all felt at home.

There were many familiar faces and it will be our privilege to mention many of the dear denizens of this happy stopping place, where all is peace and harmony and where our telegraph and railroad friends obtain their first taste of heavenly happiness.

Al Baker presided over the meeting and announced that James E. Pettit would be temporary secretary for the Society of the United States Military Telegraph Corps.

“Why not make John Brant secretary for the Old Timers’ association also; it would look so much like olden times,” said Col. John J. Dickey, and the suggestion evoked much applause and presently both gentlemen were at their desks wielding their pens just as they used to do on earth.

_Al Baker’s Speech._

“They used to call me the ‘old preacher’ when I was night chief operator of the Chicago office,” began the president, Mr. Baker.

He was interrupted by Fred Swain, who remarked that they had often heard A. B. Cowan relate incidents showing his tendency toward Biblical lore.

“Yes, I have heard the story,” replied Baker. “It occurred on the occasion of a big storm in Chicago, but we are here today to talk ‘shop’ and I hope we will hear from many of our friends present, for we can tell something interesting, each one of us.

“I have a few preliminary remarks to make and I hope our beloved secretary, Mr. Brant, will report me as correctly as possible.

“I want to convey to the telegraph people on old Mother Earth that it is a psychological fact that if they would only make their profession a life-long business, similar to that of a doctor, dentist, lawyer or minister, their condition while on earth would vastly improve. They should take advantage of all the education obtainable in their line, through reading and studying text books on electrical matters and endeavor to qualify themselves for higher positions which are bound to come.

“It will not be long ere the prevailing company will build into Mexico, and, in fact, cover South America. Those fellows down there need somebody to show them how to telegraph and I guess there would be a great number of good tutors in New York, Chicago and St. Louis, and just fancy the revenue that would be derived.

“The opening of this southern country would give every ambitious and capable man in the service an opportunity of shining as a superintendent or in some other official capacity.

“You remember, boys, how they used to sing after the war of the rebellion a ditty about ‘Uncle Sam is rich enough to buy us all a farm.’

“Well, the telegraph company is rich enough to make all capable men a superintendent in South America.

“Of course you understand, boys,” he continued, “that the subject we are discussing will not interest us personally, for we are all now ‘about our Father’s business,’ but it is a happy thought to know that our loved ones on earth are going to be provided for.”

Mr. Baker’s remarks were greeted with much delighted applause and Secretary Brant stated that he had made a stenographic copy of the same, which he would hand to Fred Moxon, who in turn would transmit it by telepathy to his friend on the terrestrial planet.

“We will now listen to the Chicago Glee Club,” remarked President Baker, and vociferous cheers went up as the forms of Sam Bracken, Al Babb, Jim Delong and Harry Smith appeared, each bearing a harp of a thousand strings.

Some of these gentlemen could not warble a note while on earth, but were now students of music and harmony, and well did they acquit themselves, even indulging their audience in a little rag time.

Al Babb was particularly happy in his illustrative Indian war dances, scalp dances and the like.

Applications for membership into the Chicago branch of the Pleiades Club brought out many hundreds of new and old faces, and as time was no object to them it was decided to hold this as a continuous meeting until everyone was ready to acquiesce in adjournment.

“Boys, I am interested to visit the next ‘mile-post’ in our eternal flight,” remarked “Dad” Armstrong as he came on the platform to shake hands with President Baker.

“I would like to go up to Jupiter for a month or so,” continued Armstrong, but he was interrupted by Ed Whitford, who exclaimed, “Better go a little slow, Dad; you know if you climb upwards you cannot come back, for it is just like the butterfly and caterpillar. You have to keep a-going if you start,” and here Whitford paused and presently sang that good old hymn, “I’m a pilgrim, I can tarry but a while.”

Armstrong, to the delight of the club, concluded to tarry a while longer.

“I notice we have Henry C. Maynard with us today,” said the president. “Will he kindly step to the front?” Cheers rent the air as Mr. Maynard’s familiar figure mounted to the platform.

“I say, Brother Maynard, do you remember the night you told me, along about eleven o’clock, that you could now dispense ‘without’ my services?”

The speaker was Billy Wallace, and his remark occasioned much merriment.

“Oh, yes, I remember very well,” returned Mr. Maynard, “but you know that I did not care so much for the queen’s English as I did to see the ‘C U B’ was promptly handled on the overland.

“I am very glad to see this happy throng,” continued Mr. Maynard, “and I am perfectly willing to have ‘Chicago day’ last for an entire year, for I believe there would not be one dull moment during this period.

“I will have occasion to address you quite often during the meeting.”

“Can you tell me, please, who it was that got ‘and a city’ for ‘audacity’?” questioned J. DeWitt Congdon.

“I am the ‘guilty’ man, for I got that the same night that the young fellow in Galveston reported that Tom Brown, a negro, was found ‘quilty’ of murder,” exclaimed Charley Hazelton, who sat near “c g.”

“We will be glad to hear from Pete Rowe and listen to some of his wild and woolly experiences in Elko, Nev.,” said the president, “but we will hearken first to a song by Les Bradley, who will favor us with ‘Pat Clancey’s Shovel.’” The song was rendered in the most inimitable style by Bradley.