came hardest on poor Quimby, who,
between his jealousy when the two were communicating, his inability to
understand what was being said, and the impossibility of sleeping with
such a clatter in the room, lost his appetite, and invoked anything but
blessings on the head of "that Morse man," who had made such things
possible.

Cyn had no intention of being left out in the cold, and making Jo join
her, began the study of telegraphy, and the two hammered away
incessantly. It began to be observable, about this time, that Jo was
very willing to be led about by the nose by Cyn. Why, was not so
apparent; perhaps because there was no romance in it.

Cyn learned the quicker of the two, and she was soon able, slowly and
uncertainly, to "call" Nattie, ask her to come over, or impart any
little information, but was always driven frantic by the attempt to make
out Nattie's reply, however slowly written. Cyn tried to induce Quimby
to overcome the horrors of those little black marks, the alphabet and
their sounds, but he recoiled from the effort as hopeless.

However, whenever they made candy, as they often did, he had an
opportunity of distinguishing himself, that he did not fail to improve.
On the first occasion, so uneasy was he about a quiet conversation Clem
and Nattie were having, that he absently put the mass of candy he had
been pulling, into his pocket to cool. It _did_ cool, but he sold the coat
afterwards, to a boy at the office.

Next time, he forgot to grease his hands, and stuck himself so together,
that they had the utmost difficulty in getting him apart, but, as he
said,

"It's no matter, I--I am used to it, you know!"

He capped the climax, however, by accidentally dropping a large handful,
warm, on top of Celeste's head, aggravating the offense by telling her
to "go quick and soak her head;" which, although it was what she
eventually did, was too much like a certain slang phrase much in vogue,
for human nature to endure; and giving him an angry look, the only one
on record ever given by her to a man, she rushed from the room, and was
seen no more that evening.

After this exploit, whenever molasses candy was on the programme, they
made a rule that Quimby should sit in the corner, on the old familiar
stool, and not move until all was over--a rule to which he submitted
meekly.

But he was not happy. In truth, all his joys in these days were mixed
with alloy, between the pointed monopoly of Celeste-who, of lat