The door was locked, and so numb and
clumsy were his fingers that he found it hard to force it open. Once
on the inside, he felt that the struggle was nearly over. This was the
end. Using the railway's private phone, he astonished the telegraph
operator in Fort Morgan by cutting in on him and asking him to run
across to the nearest garage with a call for a service car.
For a long moment the operator was speechless. Did you ever hear of
insolence like that? He told Prince to get off that wire and keep his
hands away from railway property or he would land in the pen. Then he
went back to his work. But Prince cut in on him again. Finally the
operator referred him to the station master and gave him the
connection. But the station master refused to meddle with any such
irregular business. This was against the law, and station masters are
strong for law and order. But Prince was persistent. At last, in
despair, they connected him with the district superintendent.
"Who in thunder are you, and what do you want?" asked the
superintendent in no gentle voice.
"I want some of those sap-heads of yours in Fort Morgan to take a
message to the garage, and they won't do it," yelled Prince.
"Say, what do you think this is? A philanthropic messenger service?"
ejaculated the superintendent.
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