One morning I heard the Pittsburgh call given with vigor. It seemed to
me I could divine that some one wished greatly to communicate. I
ventured to answer, and let the slip run. It was Philadelphia that
wanted to send "a death message" to Pittsburgh immediately. Could I
take it? I replied that I would try if they would send slowly. I
succeeded in getting the message and ran out with it. I waited
anxiously for Mr. Brooks to come in, and told him what I had dared to
do. Fortunately, he appreciated it and complimented me, instead of
scolding me for my temerity; yet dismissing me with the admonition to
be very careful and not to make mistakes. It was not long before I was
called sometimes to watch the instrument, while the operator wished to
be absent, and in this way I learned the art of telegraphy.

We were blessed at this time with a rather indolent operator, who was
only too glad to have me do his work. It was then the practice for us
to receive the messages on a running slip of paper, from which the
operator read to a copyist, but rumors had reached us that a man in
the West had learned to read by sound and could really take a message
by ear. This led me to practice the new method. One of the operators
in the office, Mr. Maclean, became expert at it, and encouraged me by
his success. I was surprised at the ease with which I learned the new
language. One day, desiring to take a message in the absence of the
operator, the old gentleman who acted as copyist resented my
presumption and refused to "copy" for a messenger boy. I shut off the
paper slip, took pencil and paper and began taking the message by ear.
I shall never forget his surprise. He ordered me to give him back his
pencil and pad, and after that there was never any difficulty between
dear old Courtney Hughes and myself. He was my devoted friend and
copyist.