CHAPTER VI.

CALIFORNIA ELECTS A PRESIDENT

While the telegraph boys of Chicago were enjoying themselves and making merry, a great noise was heard up the line, and a cloud of dust was discernible, acting as a precursor of the California contingent, who had just learned of the recent election on Earth and desired to share their honors with their brothers there.

“You’ve got to come to California if you want to elect a president,” exclaimed Commodore R. R. Haines, so long known to the fraternity during his life at Los Angeles.

“California creates wonders and now it is going into competition with Ohio and is developing presidents,” sang out James Gamble, and at the mention of his name, there came a mighty applause from all in the grand stand and bleachers.

“I am glad that California is diversifying its products, for if we are to give to the world only our product of native sons we will be having too much competition from among our oriental neighbors,” quoth Frank Jaynes, handsome and blithe as ever.

“Well, we have come to celebrate California’s part in the election of 1916 and let us do it up right,” interrupted Geo. Senf, “and I believe the Chicago club will excuse us for butting in.”

“Welcome, Gentlemen,” said President A. L. Baker, “and we invite you cordially to sit at our merry round table and partake of the intellectual feast which we always have to offer a brother telegrapher.”

Among the California contingent came a number who had visited San Francisco, tarried awhile and returned to the effete East. Some flippantly remarked that they “beat” it East.

Among this number were the following gentlemen: Jeff Prentice, John Moreland, Harry Converse, David Crawford, John Yontz, William Skinner, George Millar, James Farrell, William Cohen, W. J. Wallis and many other bright lights in the telegraph sky.

Dr. O. P. S. Plummer, the first telegraph superintendent in Oregon and dear old James H. Guild, were there hob-nobbing and both bright and happy.

“I am figuring on getting up a telegrapher’s tournament up here on the planet Mars,” said Johnnie Henderson.

“Are you figuring upon giving your audience an exhibition of ‘slow’ sending?” asked Billy Dumars, but John denied the soft impeachment and declared that he believed the talent up in Mars would put the earthly inhabitants to the blush, and the idea was taken up and talked over until everyone was enthused. The day of the tournament was fixed for Washington’s birthday.

“I will show them how I used to send in the spring of ’73,” said Marsh Greene.

“Yes, and I will give them an illustration of fast work, right off the reel, as I took it from C. F. Stumm for the edification of Professor Morse,” exclaimed Louis A. Somers, as he carelessly toyed with a very noticeable medal pinned to his coat lapel, bearing some mystic telegraphic symbols.

It being all settled about the tournament, its date and place, the club resolved itself into its original form and several hours were devoted to getting acquainted with the president-makers and welcoming them to this haven of rest.

“Bug” sending versus hand sending was taken up and discussed, the old-timer advocating the old style and giving his reasons therefor, but this was all dissipated when a coterie of “bug” men rallied to the support of their favorite weapon, giving some startling illustrations of the efficacy of their machine.

“It puts you on your mettle,” cried one. “You never know till you make the sense if it is going to be ‘pome,’ ‘home’ or ‘some.’ It keeps your brain active and working and does not allow you to get mentally lazy with your work, which, unhappily, is too much the case with all telegraph operators.”

“You have your nerve to make such a statement, but I really believe you are more than half right after all,” said George Baxter, “for I know myself that it is easier to sleep than to think.”

“Yes, and it is more blessed to send than to receive,” broke in Al Stoner, who had been an interested listener to the discussion.

“Yes, the ‘bug’ has come to stay until I have improved my flash light key, which will send and do its own receiving at the rate of 1,000 messages an hour,” interposed Nick Burke, and his audience smiled a little bit unbelievingly.

“We will have a song from H. C. Maynard,” but he asked to be excused, as he believed he was getting signals from the Earth.

“Oh, nothing but echoes from Verdun, you ought to know that,” said Albert J. Desson as he came in arm and arm with Dan C. Schull, both of Cleveland.

Some unthinking people may wrongfully accuse the writer of a seeming levity in dealing with the people who have gone before, but they are certainly in error, for that is furthest from his intentions.

Our once earthly friends dwell in a different thought, with different aspirations and desires, none of which is of the Earth, earthy. They retain only their happy state of consciousness, and have no remorse or nuts to crack, on this side of Jordan.

Much favorable comment was heard about the Christmas present given the employes by the prevailing earthly telegraph company and many complimentary remarks were made concerning the present organization and its management

“The telegraph is in its infancy,” remarked Gen. Anson Stager, “and I have been taught many things I never dreamed of in my philosophy, Horatio, and I am willing to admit we were all asleep to the business end of the telegraph in 1876, but it is coming now and the only rival of the telegraph will be Uncle Sam and his fast mail.

“New usages will constantly be made of the telegraph, new innovations instituted, a more modern system of delivery will be found and speed will be added to efficiency and accuracy.

“I remember when we thought gross earnings of seven millions were startling and it is hard to realize that the present figures show nearly ten times that amount. Well, good luck go with it,” and Gen. Stager took William Orton’s arm for a stroll down to nature’s canal, hard by.

The San Francisco boys sang, “It is a long way to California,” and it seemed evident that they wanted to talk more about California’s share in electing a president than ordinary shop talk.

“Do you think the company will further increase the boys’ salaries in California because that state elected the president?” asked Bob Hamilton.

“Well, they certainly should, because there is nothing too good for California,” replied Ed. Fleming, who was on hand with Thomas Reynolds, taking in the sights.

“Sure thing,” said Johnny Lowrey, who strolled in at this time. “You are right, there is nothing too good for a native son.”

“Gentlemen,” said President Baker, “there is only one thing that we cut out up here on the planet Mars, and that is all mention of politics. Religion we will discuss at any time, because we know that religion is nothing more than getting acquainted with your Maker.”

“Those are my sentiments, Mr. President,” said D. W. Knapp, who had just arrived on a late California express and who proceeded to shake hands with the old San Francisco friends.

“I have much to tell you of an interesting character,” said President Baker, “but I find that the California boys have taken away most of our audience to go down to the canal to see the sights, so we will call this meeting temporarily adjourned.”