Courtship by Telegraph.

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 42, 20 April 1901, Page 19

Courtship by Telegraph.

IHAYk often been asked whether w c telegraph operators in busy offices are able to pay attention to the sense of the messages which we aro all day receiving and despatching, or whether (as is said to be the case with copying clerks) we fall into the habit ot performing it like machines, without any conscious appreciation of tho meaning of the words which we transmit Speaking for myself and for those of my fellow -opeiators with whom I have discussed the matter, I should say that almost always the truth lies in the latter alternative. Sometimes, however, one is able to read between the lines of messages less uninteresting than mere business despatches. Any number of amatory telegiams aro sure to pass through your hands. Most of them (as I have already said) will be received, or despatched, by you with callous unconsciousness. But once perhaps in fifty times your mind will condescend to interest itself in one of those romantic messages. A case in point (it occurred to myself) is before me now , and, as, I think you may find it both amusing and instructive, I will make bold to relate I was then employed as a telegraph clerk in one of the larger offices. One morning a young man came up to the counter and handed me in a message. He was a well-dressed, good-looking young fellow, with a pleasant, ingenuous face H& handed me in his message with an elaborate though hopelessly futile affectation of nonchalant indifference. Poor young gentleman' His voice distinctly trembled as he said "I want to pay the reply. I took and read the message. My mind, as it chanced, was then very much awake. This was his telegram "Miss Maud Hampton, 218 Regencyterrace, St. John's Wood. Meet me, I implore you, Albert Memorial, 6 this evening. Wire reply to this P.O.— "One and sixpence halfpenny," I replied, looking up at lum through tho wire screen. His boyish face was fresh and good to look at, and his embarrassed blushes did not ill-become him by any means. He handed me a coin, and I gave him his change. Then, raising his hat politely, he went away. In a minute, however, he was back again. "I say, you'll— you'll send that wire at once, won't you ?" „11 I assured him that it would be despatched without delay "I thought of calling in about an hour for the answer," he said. "Do you think it will be here by then f "Oh, I expect so," I answered. "But it depends, of course, on whether there is any delay at the other end. It there is none, it should be back before that." And, again raising his hat, he went away. . When he returned, at the end ot an hour, I had just received the answer. It was addressed to Reginald Peel, care of our office, and was extremely short and sweet "Shan't.— Maud." When he came I handed it to him— of course without any comment. He tore it open eagerly. He turned very pale He crushed the telegram in his hand, and thrust it into his coat pocket But even in his mortification and disappointment he was not forgetful ot his politeness Again he raised his hat to me, and hastily quitted the office. 1 did pity him very much indeed. It was three or four days before 1 saw him again and then he brought another message addressed to the same lady. It ran this „ "Won't you even write?— Reggie. "I will pay the answer," he said (his expression of face was quite painfully woe-begone), "and I will caJl for it here later on." "Very well, I replied. He did not, this time, go away quite immediately, but, leaning his elbows on the counter, and casting furtive glances to his right and left to make sure that no one was near enough to hear him, he murmured, with nervous rapidity , , "I say, I'm glad it's you, and not any of the others, who have taken my message again. You're not the sort to make fun of a fellow over an— affair ot this kind, are you?" "Indeed, no'" I assured him On the contrary, I am very sorry— l mean it is no business of mine, and I see nothing whatever to make fun of. "Thanks awfully," he murmured, with a grateful look, and speakina; even faster and more neivouslv than before. "I spotted you as the light sort T J hked your face, you know I will call by-and-bye for the answer." Tho answer, when it came, made me really very angry indeed with the unknown Maud. It ran thus "No, I won't — Matjd " He called soon afterwards, and 1 handed it to him. He read it. I s>aw him set his teeth tight, as if repressing some exclamation of pain and chagrin. I did feel dreadfully sorry for him He was such a boy, and ho took it all bo

to heart' I suppose I must have expressed my sympathy by my looks At any rate, he said to me, in his ingenuous, natural way "I say, it's awfully good of »ou, who are a perfect stranger, to — feel for me. They — my friends, I mean — all laugh at me about it. They call me a fool for persisting in a hopeless attachment. But I don't care. I shall never love any girl but her. You— you must think it rather strange," he went on hurriedly, and with artless confidence, "my tlegraphing to her like this but she won't see me when I call, and she won't answer my letters. So the only way of getting her to notice me was to send her a reply-paid wire. You see how she has answered me. But it doesn't make any difference. I love her just the same , and I would rather have a cruel reply from her than no reply at all — I would, upon my soul'" Then this ingenuous boy lover lifted his hat to me and was gone. Two days later he came again. He handed in another message for Maud. I noticed that his face was pale, set, determined, as of one who has taken a desperate resolve. The wording of his telegram confirmed this impression — 'Will you marry me or won't you? If you refuse I will propose to the very first girl I meet. Wire reply.—Reggie." I took it and read it through. "You — you see what I've said to her, he lemarked. "The fact is, I'm so miserable that I can't stand it any longer. And this must settle it one way or the other. If she really cares for me, she — she won't drive me to marry some other girl, will she?" •'Perhaps not. But isn't it rather a rash threat?" I could not help saying. "It may be. I don't care. If she loves me, she won't drive me to it • and if she doesn't love me, then it won't matter. Nothing will matter." he answered, in gloomy desperation. "You'll send it off at once, won't you? And I'll call again for the reply." I despatched the message. I awaited the reply in positive suspense. I felt so awfully sorry for the poor- lovelorn boy. The reply came. I quite wished that I had Miss Maud handy, so that I could have boxed her ears soundly for being so cruel and insolent to him. "No, I won't. Propose to the first girl you meet, and welcome. — Maud." He came. I gave him the heartless reply. He tore it open. He scanned it. "By heaven," he exclaimed, in savage determination, "I'll take her at her word ! I wall— l will !" He turned and hurried away. He had gone as far as the door when he came back. There was now a curious 100k — a look of puzzled embarrassment on his handsome face. "I say," he began, confusedly, bending over the counter toward me, and speaking in low, rapid tones, "you know what I told her I'd do if she refused me? And — and I mean to do it. But — well, you see — in fact — I mean to I am to be as^as good as my word, I saw after receiving her reply and if I am to be as — as good as my word, I ■ — 'hem — I've got to — to propose to you." He blushed furiously as he stammered out these last words, and averted his gaze in the utmost embarrassment. I could not help smiling. The humour of how it was. He did not want to propose to me, but he felt in honour bound to carry out his threat, more especially as I myself was acquainted with its exact terms and had been a witness of his fixed resolve to execute it. However, I could easily extricate him from that little dilemma. "Very well," I said, laughing. "In order to satisfy youi sense' of honour, you may propose to me. You need not be afraid that I shall take advantage of you. Ask me to marry you. I will lefuse. You have done what you threatened, and there's an end of it." But he did not jump at this simple method of evading the consequences of Ins rash undertaking so readily as I had expected. "The fact is," he said quickly, "I — I thought that if I was engaged to — to another girl, Maud might be sorry when she found that she had lost mo, and — and — well, you see, it might bring her aiound, and all might come right." "Rather rough on the other girl, though," I replied, smiling, "to throw her over and go back to Maud." "Ah, you don't quite understand me'" he murmured. "I thought that if I could find some — some kind, sympathetic girl, of the right sort, who — who wouldn't mind pretending to be engaged to me, I— l might " But at this critical point my attention was claimed bv other senders of telegrams, and so his remarks were brought to a nrematurc conclusion. He did just say, however "I'd — I'd like to talk this over with you. You have taken a kind interest in the affair. When — when do you leave off work ?" "Not until eight o'clock," I replied.

"May 1 wait tor you then at the corner of the street?" His request was made so pathetically that I had not the heart to refuse. I nodded assent. It was perhaps ill-ad-vised of me, but he looked so unhappy, and I was so sorry for him. When I reached the corner of the street, soon after 8 p.m., there he was, sure enough, waiting for me. "Let us go into the park," he said. "We can talk there quietly." We went into the park and i>atdo\vn. It was a beautiful summer evening, but only a few people were about. We had our seats to oui selves. "You — you remember what I was saying to you this afternoon?" he began, with an awkward, nervous air. "Oh, yes," I replied. "You said that you wanted to find some girl of the right sort who would pretend to be engaged to you in order to make your — your sweetheart sorry that she had lost you, and so to bring things out all right." "Yes— yes' That is it!" he said hurnedly. "I say, don't be vexed, but I've been thinking that, as you have been so kind in taking an interest in me, and as you're the — the sort of girl I feel that I can trust, perhaps you wouldn't mmd — I mean you might — might let me pretend that I was — was engaged to you !" "But we are strangers," I protested, "and although, of course, I feel flattered by your expression of confidence. still — well, I really do not see that I can put myself in such a false position. "Are you afraid of my not acting on the square with you?" he cried, in disappointed tones. "Not in the least. I have no doubt of your honour. But a girl, such as I am, living alone, must needs walk very circumspectly." He sat for a minute or two after that, looking straight n front of him. Then suddenly he blurted out • "I say, don't — don't be angry with a fellow, but if there was to be no — no humbug about it — if it were to be a — a real engagement?" "What do you mean?" I demanded. "I — I — oh, hang it! I can't keep up this — this shamming any longer. I must tell you the fcruth. Those — those telegrams to Maud were all bunkum." "All what !" I ejaculated. "All bunkum," he repeated. "The fact is — oh, hang it, I hardly know how to explain! But — well, I couldn't help it, you know. I—lI — I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, three weeks ago ; and don't be angry with a fellow, but I'm such a shy, awkward, bungling fool when it comes to lovemaking that I hadn't the courage to — to go about it in the straightforward way. Besides, I was afraid that, even if I could screw up cheek to address you you'd only think me an impertinent puppy, and sliut me up. So I hit upon a — a dodge for getting you to take an interest in me, and be sorry for me, and to serve as an — an introduction. My brother helped mo. and — T say, are you awfully angry with a fellow?" I was so paralysed with astonishment that I actually let him gather me in his arms, and when he slipped a ring upon my finger, I was too much taken back to resist . and the engagement held good till our wedding. — London "Truth."