in one was a table, containing the ordinary telegraphic apparatus, before which sat a young lady strangely resembling Miss Nattie Rogers, with her face beaming with smiles, and her hand grasping the key. In the other, a young man with a very battered hat knelt before the sounder on his table, while behind him an urchin with a message in his hand stared unnoticed, open-mouthed and unheard; far above was Cupid, connecting the wires that ran from the gentleman to the lady.
"What nonsense!" murmured Nattie, laughing to herself; but she put the picture away in her writing desk as carefully as she might some cherished memento.
CHAPTER V.
QUIMBY BURSTS FORTH IN ELOQUENCE.
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HAT young lady over there acts very strangely. She is not crazy, is she?" inquired a gentleman who stood leaning against the counter over the way, and looking across at Nattie.
"I don't know what to make of her," the pre-
