Still, there is a detail or two connected with this matter which ought perhaps to be mentioned.And now, having smoothed the way with the compliment, I will venture them.The head corpse in the York Harbor office sent me that telegram altho (1) he knew it would reach me too late to be of any value; (2) also, that he was going to send it to me by his boy; (3) that the boy would not take the trolley and come the 2 miles in 12 minutes, but would walk; (4) that he would be two hours and a quarter on the road; (5) and that he would collect 25 cents for transportation, for a telegram which the he knew to be worthless before he started it.
From these data I infer that the Western Union owes me 75 cents; that is to say, the amount paid for combined wire and land transportation--a recoup provided for in the printed paragraph which heads the telegraph-blank.
By these humane and Christian stages we now arrive at the complaint proper.We have had a grave case of illness in the family, and a relative was coming some six hundred miles to help in the sick-room during the convalescing period.It was an anxious time, of course, and I wrote and asked to be notified as to the hour of the expected arrival of this relative in Boston or in York Harbor.Being afraid of the telegraph--which I think ought not to be used in times of hurry and emergency--I asked that the desired message be brought to me by some swift method of transportation.By the milkman, if he was coming this way.But there are always people who think they know more than you do, especially young people; so of course the young fellow in charge of this lady used the telegraph.And at Boston, of all places! Except York Harbor.
The result was as usual; let me employ a statelier and exacter term, and say, historical.
The dispatch was handed to the h.c.of the Boston office at 9 this morning.It said, "Shall bring A.S.to you eleven forty-five this morning." The distance traveled by the dispatch is forty or fifty miles, I suppose, as the train-time is five minutes short of two hours, and the trains are so slow that they can't give a W.U.telegram two hours and twenty minutes start and overtake it.
As I have said, the dispatch was handed in at Boston at 9.The expected visitors left Boston at 9.40, and reached my house at 12 noon, beating the telegram 2 solid hours, and 5 minutes over.
The boy brought the telegram.It was bald-headed with age, but still legible.The boy was prostrate with travel and exposure, but still alive, and I went out to condole with him and get his last wishes and send for the ambulance.He was waiting to collect transportation before turning his passing spirit to less serious affairs.I found him strangely intelligent, considering his condition and where he is getting his training.I asked him at what hour the telegram was handed to the h.c.in Boston.He answered brightly, that he didn't know.
I examined the blank, and sure enough the wary Boston h.c.had thoughtfully concealed that statistic.I asked him at what hour it had started from Boston.He answered up as brightly as ever, and said he didn't know.
I examined the blank, and sure enough the Boston h.c.had left that statistic out in the cold, too.In fact it turned out to be an official concealment--no blank was provided for its exposure.And none required by the law, I suppose."It is a good one-sided idea," I remarked;"They can take your money and ship your telegram next year if they want to--you've no redress.The law ought to extend the privilege to all of us."The boy looked upon me coldly.
I asked him when the telegram reached York Harbor.He pointed to some figures following the signature at the bottom of the blank--"12.14.
"I said it was now 1.45 and asked--
"Do you mean that it reached your morgue an hour and a half ago?"He nodded assent.
"It was at that time half an hour too late to be of any use to me, if Iwanted to go and meet my people--which was the case--for by the wording of the message you can see that they were to arrive at the station at 11.45.Why did, your h.c.send me this useless message? Can't he read?
Is he dead?"
"It's the rules."
"No, that does not account for it.Would he have sent it if it had been three years old, I in the meantime deceased, and he aware of it?"The boy didn't know.
"Because, you know, a rule which required him to forward to the cemetery to-day a dispatch due three years ago, would be as good a rule as one which should require him to forward a telegram to me to-day which he knew had lost all its value an hour or two before he started it.The construction of such a rule would discredit an idiot; in fact an idiot--I mean a common ordinary Christian idiot, you understand--would be ashamed of it, and for the sake of his reputation wouldn't make it.What do you think?"He replied with much natural brilliancy that he wasn't paid for thinking.
This gave me a better opinion of the commercial intelligence pervading his morgue than I had had before; it also softened my feelings toward him, and also my tone, which had hitherto been tinged with bitterness.
"Let bygones be bygones," I said, gently, "we are all erring creatures, and mainly idiots, but God made us so and it is dangerous to criticise."Sincerely S.L.CLEMENS.
