He made a long visit at St. Jacobs, and found that his little sweetheart was dead to the world. She had taken the veil, and so shut herself away from the world that had ever seemed hard and heartless to her. It was with a sense of pride and a shade of sadness that the agent at St. Jacobs said good-bye to his _protégé_, who boarded the Highland accommodation with a heart full of hope and a ticket for Denver. CHAPTER XIII McGUIRE LEARNS TELEGRAPHY OMAHA hung out the first flag on young McGuire as he hurried westward in the wake of the Star of Empire. Looking far into the future he saw the necessity of learning the language of the wire that had just been stretched across the plains. There were schools of telegraphy, but he chose the office, and, having shown good letters and a disposition to work, he was given employment, or rather an opportunity to learn the business. Being accustomed to office work he soon fitted in, and made friends with all the operators, which helped him greatly. The present General Manager of the great line that at that time had just been opened to the Rocky Mountains, it is said, was one of the old employees who gave aid and encouragement to the young railroader: and the venerable President of the Gould system in the West recalls with pride that Tom McGuire was once an operator in his office at Omaha. To be sure there are many, many more who rocked the cradle of our hero, but of these above mentioned we know. The successful railway man is often amazed at the number of officials who “made him,” just as the great writer is constantly crossing the trail of the man who “discovered” him. When McGuire had mastered the key he was given a station. He was duly appointed station-master, ticket agent, operator, yardmaster, head switchman, and superintendent of the windmill and water tank at Plainfield, far out on the plains. Carefully and tenderly the superintendent of telegraph broke the news to the young man that he would have to sleep in the depot, and would, until some enterprising caterer opened a hotel, be obliged to do his own cooking. The depot had “filled” walls, the superintendent said, so there would be little danger. Upon inquiry, the young man learned that the station was built of boards, outside and inside, with four inches of sand between them. “What’s that for?” asked McGuire. “Oh, to keep out the cold and--things. But you must not rely wholly upon that. You must work and sleep in your six-shooters and keep your rifle in easy reach, day and night.” McGuire believed, until it was too late to back out of an ugly job, that the superintendent of telegraph was only having fun with him. Three days later, when the west-bound passenger train stopped at Plainfield, the new station agent stepped off. The express messenger kicked off a bundle of bedding and a few boxes of supplies, some flour and bacon, and a small cook stove.