The daily business, therefore, opened normally. The elevators shot from floor to floor; the telephones rang; the call-bells buzzed, and all was well. At six o'clock came the scrub-woman; at half past seven the office boys; at eight the clerks; a little later some of the heads; and precisely at nine Malachi McCarthy, as was his invariable habit. As the bulky form of the political boss pushed around the leaves of the revolving door, the elevator starter glanced at his watch. This was not to determine if McCarthy was on time, but to see if the watch was right. McCarthy had recovered his good humor. He threw a joke at the negro polishing the brass, and paused genially to exchange a word with the elevator starter. "Worked until about three o'clock," the latter answered a question. "Got it fixed all right. No, they didn't say what was the matter. Something to do with the wires, I suppose." "Most like," agreed McCarthy. At this moment an elevator dropped from above and came to rest, like a swift bird alighting. The doors parted to let out a young man wearing the cap of the United Wireless. "Good morning, Mr. McCarthy," this young man remarked in passing. "Aren't going into the sign-painting business, are you?" He laughed. "What ye givin' us, Mike?" demanded McCarthy. The young man wheeled to include the elevator starter in the joke. "Air was full of dope most of last night from some merry little jester working a toy, home-made. He just kept repeating the same thing--something about 'McCarthy, at six o'clock you shall have a sign given unto you. It works,' over and over all night. Some new advertising dodge, I reckon. Didn't know but you were the McCarthy and were getting a present from some admiring constituent." He threw back his head and laughed, but McCarthy's ready anger rose. "Where did the stuff come from?" "Out of the fresh air," replied the operator. "From most anywhere inside the zone of communication." "Couldn't you tell who sent it?" "No way. It wasn't signed. Come from quite a distance, though." "How can you tell that?" "You can tell by the way it sounds. Say, they ought to be a law about these amatoors cluttering up the air this way. Sometimes I got to pick my own dope out of a dozen or fifteen messages all ticking away in my headpiece at once." "I know the crazy slob what sent 'em, all right, all right," growled McCarthy. "He's nutty for fair." "Well, if he's nutty, I wish you'd hurry his little trip to Matteawan," complained the operator, turning away.