thing of a mystery even to the members of his own profession.
Many of the younger operators knew him only as a symbol, a genius
behind a key, or as a hand. Professionally speaking, it was his hand
that made his personality unique and enviable. There was a queer
vitality in the signals sent into the air from a wireless machine when
his strong white fingers played upon the key; his touch was as familiar
to them as the voice of a friend.

There was a general simmering down of coastwise gossip in the
static-room when the frosted glass door of the Chief's office closed
behind him. Voices trailed off into curious whisperings. Then--

"But great guns, man, I need you!" boomed the cranky voice of the Chief.

Followed then the low hum of Peter Moore as he explained himself.

"Makes no difference!" the Chief roared. "Can't get along without you.
Short handed. Gotta stay!"

In irritation the Chief always abbreviated his remarks quite as if they
were radiograms to be transmitted at dollar-a-word rates.

The truth then dawned and burst upon those ardent listeners in the
static-room. Peter Moore was resigning! It was incredible.

A more daring head pressed its audacious ear against the snowy glass.
This was a fat, excitable little man, long in the service, but destined
forever, it seemed, to hammer brass in the Panama intermediate run. A
skillful operator, but his arm broke, as wireless men say, whenever
faced by emergency. He distinctly heard Peter Moore state in a voice
of emotion: "Too much China. God, man, I'll be smuggling opium next!"

"Rubbish!" the Chief snorted.

The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence.

"Want a shore station for a while?"

"Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered.

"You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is a
winning combination. The old cities--new faces--freedom----"

"I'm tired."

"Pah! You've only begun. When does the _Vandalia_ clear for China?"

"Thursday night."

"I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in a
new operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member--Thursday noon."

The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in the
pale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encountering
the blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainly
toward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at him
Moore went to the outer