Don't blame him. It's natural to him."
That one was confiscated, Strong complaining gently that his friend was
all "fads."
The second message was this:
"Dear Mama: Billy's intoxicated. Awfully sorry. Couldn't be helped. Home
soon."
That one went in spite of Fairfax's efforts, with two cents extra to
pay, which item was the first event of the evening to ruffle Strong's
temper.
"Shame, shame on rich cap'talists like Webster's Union to wring two
cents from poor drunk chap, for lil' word like 'soon'," he growled, and
appealed to the operator. "Couldn't you let me off that two cents?" he
asked winningly. "You're good fellow--good lookin' fellow too"--which
was the truth. "Well, then, can I get 'em cheaper 'f I sen 'em by
quantity? I'll do that--how many for dollar, hey?"
"Five," said the grinning operator, troubled by the irregularity, but
taken by this highly entertaining scheme of telegraphing across the
street. And Rex, his arts exhausted in vain, watched hopelessly while,
one after another, five telegrams were sent to The Montana, a hundred
feet away. The first being short two of the regulation ten words. Strong
finished with a cabalistic phrase: "Rectangular parallelopipedon."
"That'll get even Webster's Union for chargin' me two cents for 'soon',"
he chuckled. "Don't y' wish y' hadn' charged me that two cents, hey?" he
demanded of the operator, laughing joyfully and cocking his hat over one
ear, and the operator and two or three men who stood near could do no
otherwise than laugh joyfully too.
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