The missing stylus was at last found and "he" squared himself for his grand feat, much to the relief of the very much excited night chief. Fully 400 words had now been sent but "Bogy" looked wise. "I say, my boy," addressing the night chief, "I'm going out for a few minutes, but let him send just the same. I'll keep it all in my head till I get back, and when I return you will see something in the way of telegraphing that you never dreamed of before." Saying this, "Bogy" went out into the dark and--never returned. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT OIL? The firm of Kelly, Dunne & Co. were doing business a quarter of a century ago, and the junior member of that concern, David M. Dunne, was very popular. He made friends and treated them right and they were staunch and loyal. The Portland Ice Company bought a great deal of oil from Mr. Dunne, and notwithstanding all kinds of inducements, no one else could sell oil to the ice company. The foreman of the ice plant swore by the Kelly, Dunne & Co. product and would treat with much brusquesness any drummer who had the hardihood to come to him to dispose of oil. He had full charge of the works and was held strictly accountable for the welfare of the plant. Dr. Charlie Plummer, who was manager for a competitive house, had tried in vain to introduce his wares but the erratic foreman was unswerving in his loyalty to Dunne. A bright young man, named Tony Neppach, a crack salesman, was employed by Plummer and it was Tony's duties to crack all the hard nuts. "I want you to go to the Portland Ice Company and sell them some oil," said Plummer to Neppach one day. "You will see that I will do it," responded Tony and off he put. "Don't come around here with your oil, I don't want it and I don't want to talk to you on the subject. I am satisfied and that's all there is to it," vociferously declared the foreman. "Yes, but you are talking to an oil man now and my oil is far superior to the stuff you have been using," replied the placid Tony. Much talk ensued, Tony protesting that the foreman could not tell the difference between the oil he was using and the product he was endeavoring to sell and offered to set up the cigars for the crowd if he could tell the difference, but if he failed to tell, then the foreman was to give him an order for a barrel of oil. It was the noon hour and some 50 men were witnessing the sale. When the offer was accepted, Tony turned his back to the foreman and produced a bottle of oil from his coat pocket, poured a little in each hand which he showed the foreman, ejaculating, "Now, tell me which is your oil and which is mine." The foreman hesitated, looking at one hand and then the other, finally touching Tony's left hand, triumphantly remarked, "Why, that is my oil." A laugh followed this from the men who saw how the oil had been manipulated and Tony told him that he had his oil in both hands.