It seemed that one evening, about three weeks ago, a certain soldier
on leave had been lounging against the counter, close to the glass
screen. On the other side of the screen the apparatus was clicking
merrily while Miss Yorke, the telegraph clerk, despatched a message.
And all at once the soldier, who was well versed in the code, began to
recite the message aloud. The postmaster peremptorily ordered him to
stand away from the counter. An altercation ensued, and the soldier
became so impudent that the postmaster threatened to put him outside
the door. "Oh," said the soldier, "it'd take a many such as you to put
me out."

"Did he say so? Really now!" And Mr. Ridgett looked at Dale
critically. "I take it he was a heavyweight, eh?"

"He gave me my work," said Dale; "and I was all three minutes at it.
But _out_ he went."

"Really now!" and Mr. Ridgett smiled.

"I had stopped Miss Yorke from operating. And I started her again
within four minutes. That was the time, and no more, the message was
delayed. That was the time it took me to renew the service with the
confidence and secrecy provided by Her Majesty's Regulations. And I
ask you, how else could I have acted? Was I to allow a telegram
consigned to my care to be blabbed out word for word to all the
world?"

"Were there many people in the office just then?"

"Two. But that makes no difference. If it had been only one--or half a