“Here comes a call now,” said Charley. “It’s just in time. Here, you take up a plug from right under the drop, and you jab it in the hole. Then you throw this little cam or handle down, and you ask ’em who they want. Go ahead now.” Tom listened, and heard a distant voice asking if this was the brokerage firm in whose office the boys were. “Yes,” replied Tom. “Is Mr. Simpson in?” the voice asked. “He wants Mr. Simpson,” whispered Tom to Charley. “Tell him he’s gone for the day,” was the telephone boy’s answer. “Ask him if he wants to leave any message. If he does I’d better take it.” Tom did as he was told, but the man on the other end of the wire said he would call up in the morning. “Pull out the plug,” directed Charley, when the drop fell once more. “He’s done. Now, if he had wanted one of the partners, all you’d have to do would be to take up the other cord, plug it into the hole connected with the particular ’phone on that’s wanted, and punch the button opposite the hole. That rings a bell in whatever office is wanted. See how easy it is?” “I don’t think it’s very easy,” remarked Tom, “but maybe I’ll learn it after a while.” “Of course you will. Come on, now, we’ll practice some more.” Which the two boys did, for an hour longer, Charley giving Tom actual practice calling up newspaper offices to ask about certain events. “The newspaper fellows are all right,” declared Charley. “They’ll tell you anything they can, and never kick, ’cause they know people are liable to give ’em tips on stories. And you want to be awful polite to customers that call up, ’cause they might report you if you wasn’t. But don’t let them central girls jolly you. Sometimes they’ll keep you waiting five minutes for a number. Just tell ’em what you want, an’ say you want it quick.” “I guess I could get along,” answered Tom, “if I only had a place to get along in. I mean a job like yours.” “Oh, you’ll git it in time,” declared Charley confidently. As it was getting close toward six o’clock, when the office building in which Charley worked was to be closed for the night, the boys left, Tom arranging to come as often as he could to take lessons on how to manipulate a switchboard. During the next two weeks he had frequent occasion to take advantage of Charley’s tutoring, for, search as he did, Tom could find no permanent position. He had several places for a day or so at a time, and managed to earn a little money running errands for the second-hand book dealer, but he did not make much more than his expenses. Had it not been that Mrs. Baldwin and her sister had plenty of sewing to do, the little family would have been sorely pressed for money. “It’s discouraging; isn’t it, Tom?” said his mother one night, when he had come home from a hard day tramping about. “Well, I’m getting sort of hardened to it,” was his plucky answer. “Maybe I’ll get a job to-morrow, mother.” He had said that every night for the past two weeks.