nt operator on the line, to
whom the romance of telegraphy had long ago given place to the
monotonous, poorly-paid, everyday reality.

And it came to pass that "C" soon shared all her daily life, thoughts
and troubles. Annoyances became lighter because she told him, and he
sympathized. Any funny incident that occurred was doubly funny, because
they laughed over it together, and so it went on.

That "good-night, dear," previously unchallenged, became a regular
institution and still, on account of those long miles between them,
Nattie made only a faint remonstrance when his usual morning salutation
grew into "Good-morning, little five-foot girl at B m!" then was
shortened to "Good-morning, little girl!"

And all this time it never occurred to them that excepting "N" was for
Nattie, and "C" for Clem, they knew really nothing about each other, not
even their names.

Thus the acquaintance went on, amid much banter from the
before-mentioned "Em.," and interruptions from disgusted old settlers.

It was by no means to the satisfaction of Quimby, that Miss Rogers
should thus allow the telegraphic world to supersede the one in which he
had a part. That intimacy with Miss Archer, of which he had dreamed, as
a means of improving his own acquaintance with her towards whom his
susceptible heart yearned, did not make even a beginning. In fact, what
with Nattie being engaged all day, and stopping after hours for a quiet
talk with "C," and Miss Archer having many evening engagements, the two
had never even met. And how a young man was to make himself agreeable in
the eyes of a young lady he only caught a glimpse of occasionally, was a
problem quite beyond solution by the brain of Quimby.

Two or three times, in his distraction of mind, he had stood in very
light clothing, about Nattie's hour of returning home, full twenty-five
minutes at the outer door of the hotel, with a cold wind blowing on him.
But Nattie, utterly unconscious of this devotion, was enjoying the
conversation of "C;" and so at last, half frozen, poor Quimby was
compelled to retreat, his object unaccomplished. He would willingly have
wandered about the halls for hours, and waylaid her, had it not been
that the fear of those two terrific ones, Miss Kling and Mr. Fishblate,
"catching him at it," prevailed over all other considerations. As for
going to her office, Quimby, in his bashfulness, dared not even walk
through the street containing it, lest she should penetr