“I don’t think I’d like to do that. I’ll catch on to it after a while.” “Sure you will. What are you goin’ to eat?” Then the boys began to discuss the bill of fare, and were soon enjoying their lunch as only hungry boys can. “What time do you get through?” asked Charley. “Five o’clock, Mr. Boise said.” “How much wages do you get?” “Nine dollars a week, and I’m to get ten after I’ve been there a while.” “That’s pretty good, for a start. I’m going to strike the boss for another dollar soon. I’m worth more than ten a week to ’em. Why, there’s thousands of dollars of business goes over my ’phone every hour, and I ought to get more than ten.” “I hope you do,” said Tom cordially. “But say, Charley, I wish you’d do me a favor.” “What is it? Want any money? I ain’t got much, ’cause I went to the theatre twice this week.” “No, it isn’t money. I have enough for a few days yet, until I get paid. But I wish you’d stop at my house, on your way home, and tell my mother I have a good place. She’ll be anxious to know, and I have no way to send her word.” “Sure, I’ll do it. But ain’t there some place near there you can call up on the wire, and ask ’em to take the message to her? I do that sometimes, when I’m comin’ home late.” “No, I don’t know of any place but the drug store, and they might charge for sending a message. Besides, maybe the firm wouldn’t like me to use the telephone for my private affairs.” “Aw, it don’t make any difference to them. They pay for the wire by the year, and you can use it as often as you like. But I’ll stop and tell your mother. I quit at three o’clock. There’s no brokerage business done after that.” Tom went back to the switchboard, glad to think his mother would know of his success sooner than he hoped to be able to inform her. During the afternoon he acquired more confidence in himself, and, though once or twice he gave central the wrong numbers, from imperfectly catching them as they were repeated by the members of the firm, Mr. Boise and Mr. Keen did not get angry over the errors. Tom was congratulating himself that he was going to get through the day without further offending Mr. Cutler, when that individual called for a certain number. Tom gave it to central, and, having made the connections threw up the cam, in order not to listen to what was being said. Then he leaned back in his chair, for he was tired, and the receiver of the telephone, which was fastened to his head by a spring clip, that held it in place so he could use both hands, made his ear ache. He wished he could take it off. One of the black signal disks dropped, and Tom, depressing the cam, to ask what was wanted, heard Mr. Cutler speaking to him. “There you go again!” exclaimed the irate lawyer. “You have given me the wrong number. I called for one-six-four-three, Chelsea, and you have given me one-four-six-three. That’s a police station. What do I want of a police station?” “I’m sorry,” murmured Tom. “I’ll get the right number for you.”