My blundering apology and evident embarrassment deepened Miss Cullen's
blush five-fold, and she explained, hurriedly, "I found I was tired,
and so, instead of writing, I went to my room and rested."
I suppose any girl would have invented the same yarn, yet it hurt me
more than the bigger one she had told on Hance's trail. Small as the
incident was, it made me very blue, and led me to shut myself up in my
own car for the rest of that afternoon and evening. Indeed, I couldn't
sleep, but sat up working, quite forgetful of the passing hours, till
a glance at my watch startled me with the fact that it was a quarter
of two. Feeling like anything more than sleep, I went out on the
platform, and, lighting a cigar, paced up and down, thinking of--well,
thinking.
The night agent was sitting in the station, nodding, and after I had
walked for an hour I went in to ask him if the train to Phoenix had
arrived on time. Just as I opened the door, the telegraph instrument
began clicking, and called Ash Fork. The man, with the curious ability
that operators get of recognizing their own call, even in sleep, waked
up instantly and responded, and, not wishing to interrupt him, I
delayed asking my question till he should be free. I stood there
thinking of Madge, and listening heedlessly as the instrument ticked
off the cipher signature of the sending operator, and the "twenty-four
paid." But as I heard the clicks ..... .... which meant ph, I suddenly
became attentive, and when it completed "Phoenix" I concluded Fred was
wiring me, and listened for what followed the date.
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