The man referred
to above, signed "SY," and he had about as much judgment as a two year
old kid. It didn't make any difference to him whether the weather was
clear or muggy, no matter whether the wire was weak or strong, he'd
pound along like a cyclone. Remonstrance availed nothing, and one night
when he was cutting up some of his monkeyshines, I became very warm
under the collar and told him in language more expressive than elegant,
just what I thought of him, threatening to have our wire chief have him
fired off the wire. He answered:
"Oh! you go to blazes, you big ham. You're too fresh anyway."
The epithet "ham" is about as mean a one as can be applied to an
operator, and I came back at him with:
"Look here, you infernal idiot, I'll meet you some time and when I do
I'm going to smash your face. Stop your monkeying and take these
messages."
"Hold your horses, sonny, what's the difference between you and a
jackass?" he said.
"Just nine hundred miles," I replied.
Further words were useless and in a few minutes he was relieved, but
just about the time he got up he said:
"Say, 'BY,' don't forget you've got a contract to smash my face some of
these days.
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