The Telegraph Boy

CHAPTER X.
A NEW PROSPECT

"Well, Frank, and how is your business?" asked the old gentleman, when they were sitting at the dinner-table.

"Pretty good, sir."

"Are you making your expenses?"

"Yes, sir; just about."

"That is well. Mind you never run into debt. That is a bad plan."

"I shan't have to now, sir. If I had had to buy clothes for myself, I might have had to."

"Do you find the shirts and stockings fit you?"

"Yes, sir; they are just right."

"I bought half a dozen of each. Susan will give you the bundle when you are ready to go. If they had not been right, they could have been exchanged."

"Thank you, sir. I shall feel rich with so many clothes."

"Where do you sleep, Frank?"

"At the Newsboy's Lodging-House."

"Is there any place there where you can keep your clothes?"

"Yes, sir. Each boy has a locker to himself."

"That is a good plan. It would be better if you had a room to yourself."

"I can't afford it yet, sir. The lodging-house costs me only forty-two cents a week for a bed, and I could not get a room for that."

"Bless my soul! That is very cheap. Really, I think I could save money by giving up my house, and going there to sleep."

"I don't think you would like it, sir," said Frank, smiling.

"Probably not. Now, Frank, I am going to mention a plan I have for you. You don't want to be a newsboy all your life."

"No, sir; I think I should get tired of it by the time I was fifty."

"My friend Thompson, the gentleman who was walking with me when we first saw you, is an officer of the American District Telegraph Company. They employ a large number of boys at their various offices to run errands; and, in fact, to do anything that is required of them. Probably you have seen some of the boys going about the city."

"Yes, sir; they have a blue uniform."

"Precisely. How would you like to get a situation of that kind?"

"Very much, sir," said Frank, promptly.

"Would you like it better than being a newsboy?"

"Yes, sir."

"My friend Thompson, to whom I spoke on the subject, says he will take you on in a few weeks, provided you will qualify yourself for the post."

"I will do that, sir, if you will tell me how."

"You must be well acquainted with the city in all its parts, know the locations of different hotels, prominent buildings, have a fair education, and be willing to make yourself generally useful. You will have to satisfy the superintendent that you are fitted for the position."

"I think my education will be sufficient," said Frank, "for I always went to school till just before I came to the city. I know something about the lower part of the city, but I will go about every day during the hours when I am not selling papers till I am familiar with all parts of it."

"Do so, and when there is a vacancy I will let you know."

"How much pay shall I get, sir, if they accept me?"

"About three dollars a week at first, and more when you get familiar with your duties. No doubt money will also be given you by some who employ you, though you will not be allowed to ask for any fees. Very likely you will get nearly as much in this way as from your salary."

Frank's face expressed satisfaction.

"That will be bully," he said.

"I beg pardon," said the old gentleman, politely. "What did you remark?"

"That will be excellent," said Frank, blushing.

"I thought you spoke of a bully."

"It was a word I learned from Dick Rafferty," said Frank, feeling rather embarrassed.

"And who is Dick Rafferty?"

"One of my friends at the Lodging-House."

"Unless his education is better than yours I would not advise you to learn any of his words."

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"You must excuse my offering you advice. It is the privilege of the old to advise the young."

"I shall always be glad to follow your advice, Mr. Bowen," said Frank.

"Good boy, good boy," said the old gentleman, approvingly. "I wish all boys were like you. Some think they know more than their grandfathers. There's one of that kind who lives next door."

"His name is Victor Dupont, isn't it, sir?"

Mr. Bowen looked surprised. "How is it that you know his name?" he asked.

"We were together a good deal last summer. His family boarded at the hotel in the country village where I used to live. He and I went bathing and fishing together."

"Indeed! Have you seen him since you came to the city?"

"I met him as I was on my way here this afternoon."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes, sir; though at first he pretended he didn't remember me."

"Just like him. He is a very proud and conceited boy. Did you tell him you were coming to dine with me?"

"Yes, sir. He seemed very much surprised, as I had just told him I was a newsboy. He said he was surprised that you should invite a newsboy to dine with you."

"I would much rather have you dine with me than him. What more did he say?"

"He said he shouldn't think I would like to go out to dinner with such a shabby suit."

"We have removed that objection," said Mr. Bowen, smiling.

"Yes, sir," said Frank; "I think Victor will treat me more respectfully now when he meets me."

"The respect of such a boy is of very little importance. He judges only by the outside."

At an early hour Frank took his leave, promising to call again before long.

"Where can I send to you if you are wanted for a telegraph boy?" asked Mr. Bowen.

"A letter to me addressed to the care of Mr. O'Connor at the lodging-house will reach me," said Frank.

"Write it down for me," said the old gentleman. "You will find writing materials on yonder desk."

When Frank made his appearance at the lodging-house in his new suit, with two bundles, one containing his old clothes, and the other his extra supply of underclothing, his arrival made quite a sensation.

"Have you come into a fortun'?" asked one boy.

"Did you draw a prize in the Havana lottery?" asked another.

"Have you been playing policy?" asked a third.

"You're all wrong," said Dick Rafferty. "Frank's been adopted by a rich man upon Madison avenue. Aint that so, Frank?"

"Something like it," said Frank. "There's a gentleman up there who has been very kind to me."

"If he wants to adopt another chap, spake a good word for me," said Patsy Reagan.

"Whisht, Patsy, he don't want no Irish bog-trotter," said Phil Donovan.

"You're Irish yourself, Phil, now, and you can't deny it."

"What if I am? I aint no bog-trotter—I'm the son of an Irish count. You can see by my looks that I belong to the gintry."

"Then the gintry must have red hair and freckles, Phil. There aint no chance for you."

"Tell us all about it, Frank," said Dick. "Shure I'm your best friend, and you might mention my name to the ould gintleman if he's got any more good clothes to give away."

"I will with pleasure, Dick, if I think it will do any good."

"You won't put on no airs because you're better dressed than the likes of us?"

"I shall wear my old clothes to-morrow, Dick. I can't afford to wear my best clothes every day."

"I can," said Dick, dryly, which was quite true, as his best clothes were the only ones he had.

Bright and early the next morning Frank was about his work, without betraying in any way the proud consciousness of being the owner of two suits. He followed Mr. Bowen's advice, and spent his leisure hours in exploring the city in its various parts, so that in the course of a month he knew more about it than boys who had lived in it all their lives. He told Dick his object in taking these long walks, and urged him to join him in the hope of winning a similar position; but Dick decided that it was too hard work. He preferred to spend his leisure time in playing marbles or pitching pennies.

CHAPTER XI.
THE TELEGRAPH BOY

Six weeks later Frank Kavanagh, through the influence of his patron, found himself in the uniform of a District Telegraph Messenger. The blue suit, and badge upon the cap, are familiar to every city resident. The uniform is provided by the company, but must be paid for by weekly instalments, which are deducted from the wages of the wearers. This would have seriously embarrassed Frank but for an opportune gift of ten dollars from Mr. Bowen, which nearly paid the expense of his suit.

Frank was employed in one of the up-town offices of the company. For the information of such of my young readers as live in the country it may be explained that large numbers of houses and offices in the city are connected with the offices of the District Telegraph by machines, through which, at any time in the day or night, a messenger may be summoned for any purpose. It is only necessary to raise a knob in the box provided, and a bell is rung in the office of the company. Of course there is more or less transient business besides that of the regular subscribers.

Boys, on arriving at the office, seat themselves, and are called upon in order. A boy just returned from an errand hangs up his hat, and takes his place at the foot of the line. He will not be called upon again till all who are ahead of him have been despatched in one direction or another.

Frank was curious to know what would be his first duty, and waited eagerly for his turn to come.

At length it came.

"Go to No. – Madison avenue," said the superintendent.

A few minutes later Frank was ascending the steps of a handsome brown-stone residence.

"Oh, you're the telegraph boy," said a colored servant. "You're to go upstairs into missus's sitting-room."

Upon entering, Frank found himself in the presence of a rather stout lady, who was reclining on a sofa.

He bowed politely, and waited for his instructions.

"I hope you are a trustworthy boy," said the stout lady.

"I hope so, ma'am."

"Come here, Fido," said the lady.

A little mass of hair, with two red eyes peeping out, rose from the carpet and waddled towards the lady, for Fido was about as stout as his mistress.

"Do you like dogs?" asked Mrs. Leroy, for this was the lady's name.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Frank, wondering what that had to do with his errand.

"I sent for you to take my sweet darling out for an airing. His health requires that he should go out every day. I generally take him myself, but this morning I have a severe headache, and do not feel equal to the task. My dear little pet, will you go out with this nice boy?"

Fido looked gravely at Frank and sneezed.

"I hope the darling hasn't got cold," said Mrs. Leroy, with solicitude. "My lad, what is your name?"

"Frank Kavanagh, ma'am."

"Will you take great care of my little pet, Frank?"

"I will try to, madam. Where do you want him to go?"

"To Madison Park. He always likes the park, because it is so gay. When you get there you may sit down on one of the benches and give him time to rest."

"Yes, ma'am. How long would you like me to stay out with him?"

"About an hour and a half. Have you a watch?"

"No; but I can tell the time by the clock in front of the Fifth-avenue Hotel."

"To be sure. I was going to lend you my watch."

"Shall I start now?"

"Yes. Here is the string. Don't make Fido go too fast. He is stout, and cannot walk fast. You will be sure to take great care of him?"

"Yes, madam."

"And you keep watch that no bad man carries off my Fido. I used to send him out by one of the girls, till I found that she ill-treated the poor thing. Of course I couldn't stand that, so I sent her packing, I can tell you."

"I will try to follow your directions," said Frank, who wanted to laugh at the lady's ridiculous devotion to her ugly little favorite.

"That is right. You look like a good boy. I will give you something for yourself when you come back."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Frank, who was better pleased with this remark than any the lady had previously made.

Mrs. Leroy kissed Fido tenderly, and consigned him to the care of our hero.

"I suppose," said Frank to himself, "that I am the dog's nurse. It is rather a queer office; but as long as I am well paid for it I don't mind."

When Fido found himself on the sidewalk he seemed disinclined to move; but after a while, by dint of coaxing, he condescended to waddle along at Frank's heels.

After a while they reached Madison Park, and Frank, according to his instructions, took a seat, allowing Fido to curl up at his side.

"This isn't very hard work," thought Frank. "I wish I had a book or paper to read, to while away the time."

While he was sitting there Victor Dupont came sauntering along.

"Halloa!" he exclaimed, in surprise, as he recognized Frank, "is that you?"

"I believe it is," answered Frank, with a smile.

"Are you a telegraph boy?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were a newsboy?"

"So I was; but I have changed my business."

"What are you doing here?"

"Taking care of a dog," said Frank, laughing.

"Is that the dog?"

"Yes."

"It's a beastly little brute. What's its name?"

"Fido."

"Who does it belong to?"

Frank answered.

"I know," said Victor; "it's a fat lady living on the avenue. I have seen her out often with little pug. How do you feel, Fido?" and Victor began to pull the hair of the lady's favorite.

"Don't do that, Victor," remonstrated Frank.

"Why not?"

"Mrs. Leroy wouldn't like it."

"Mrs. Leroy isn't here."

"I am," said Frank, emphatically, "and that is the same thing."

Victor, by way of reply, pinched Fido's ear, and the little animal squeaked his disapproval.

"Look here, Victor," said Frank, decidedly, "you must stop that."

"Must I?" sneered Victor, contemptuously. "'Suppose I don't?"

"Then I shall punch you," said Frank, quietly.

"You are impertinent," said Victor, haughtily. "You needn't put on such airs because you are nurse to a puppy."

"That is better than being a puppy myself," retorted Frank.

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Victor, quickly.

"No, unless you choose to think the remark fits you."

"I have a great mind to give you a thrashing," said Victor, furiously.

"Of course I should sit still and let you do it," said Frank, calmly. "Fido is under my care, and I can't have him teased. That is right, isn't it?"

"I did wrong to notice you," said Victor. "You are only a dog's nurse."

Frank laughed.

"You are right," he said. "It is new business for me, and though it is easy enough I can't say I like it. However, I am in the service of the Telegraph Company, and must do whatever is required."

Victor walked away, rather annoyed because he could not tease Frank.

"The boy has no pride," he said to himself, "or he wouldn't live out to take care of dogs. But, then, it is suitable enough for him."

"Is that dawg yours?" asked a rough-looking man, taking his seat on the bench near Frank.

"No, sir."

"How old is it?"

"I don't know."

"Looks like a dawg I used to own. Let me take him."

"I would rather not," said Frank, coldly. "It belongs to a lady who is very particular."

"Oh, you won't, won't you?" said the man, roughly. "Danged if I don't think it is my dawg, after all;" and the man seized Fido, and was about to carry him away.

But Frank seized him by the arm, and called for help.

"What's the matter?" asked a park policeman who, unobserved by either, had come up behind.

"This man is trying to steal my dog," said Frank.

"The dog is mine," said the thief, boldly.

"Drop him!" said the officer, authoritatively. "I have seen that dog before. He belongs to neither of you."

"That is true," said Frank. "It belongs to Mrs. Leroy, of Madison avenue, and I am employed to take it out for an airing."

"It's a lie!" said the man, sullenly.

"If you are seen again in this neighborhood," said the policeman, "I shall arrest you. Now clear out!"

The would-be thief slunk away, and Frank thanked the officer.

"That man is a dog-stealer," said the policeman. "His business is to steal dogs, and wait till a reward is offered. Look out for him!"

CHAPTER XII.
A WAYWARD SON

When Frank carried Fido back to his mistress, he thought it his duty to tell Mrs. Leroy of the attempt to abduct the favorite.

Mrs. Leroy turned pale.

"Did the man actually take my little pet?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. He said it was his dog."

"The horrid brute! How could I have lived without my darling?" and the lady caressed her favorite tenderly. "How did you prevent him?"

"I seized him by the arm, and held him till a policeman came up."

"You are a brave boy," said Mrs. Leroy, admiringly. "But for you, Fido would have been stolen."

"The policeman said the man was a professional dog-stealer. He steals dogs for the reward which is offered."

"I was sure I could trust you with my pet," said Mrs. Leroy. "You deserve a reward yourself."

"I was only doing my duty, ma'am," said Frank, modestly.

"It isn't everybody that does that."

Mrs. Leroy rose, and, going to her bureau, drew an ivory portemonnaie from a small upper drawer; from this she extracted a two-dollar bill, and gave it to Frank.

"This is too much," said Frank, surprised at the size of the gift.

"Too much for rescuing my little pet? No, no, I am the best judge of that. I wouldn't have lost him for fifty times two dollars."

"You are very liberal, and I am very much obliged to you," said Frank.

"If I send again for a boy to take out Fido, I want you to come."

"I will if I can, ma'am."

For several days, though Frank was employed on errands daily, there was nothing of an unusual character. About eleven o'clock one evening (for Frank had to take his turn at night work) he was sent to a house on West Thirty-eighth street. On arriving, he was ushered into the presence of a lady of middle age, whose anxious face betrayed the anxiety that she felt.

"I have a son rather larger and older than you," she said, "who, to my great sorrow, has been led away by evil companions, who have induced him to drink and play cards for money. I will not admit them into my house, but I cannot keep him from seeking them out. He is no doubt with them to-night."

Frank listened with respectful sympathy, and waited to hear what he was desired to do in the matter.

"The boy's father is dead," continued Mrs. Vivian, with emotion, "and I cannot fill his place. Fred is unwilling to obey his mother. His companions have persuaded him that it is unmanly."

"I would gladly obey my mother if I could have her back," said Frank.

"Is your mother dead, then?" inquired Mrs. Vivian, with quick sympathy.

"I have neither father nor mother," Frank answered gravely.

"Poor boy! And yet you do not fall into temptation."

"I have no time for that, ma'am; I have to earn my living."

"If I could get Fred to take a position it might be a benefit to him," said Mrs. Vivian, thoughtfully. "But the question now is, how I may be able to find him."

"When did you see him last?" asked Frank.

"About three o'clock this afternoon I gave him seventy-five dollars, and sent him to pay a bill. I was perhaps imprudent to trust him with such a sum of money; but for a few days past he has been more steady than usual, and I thought it would show my confidence in him if I employed him in such a matter."

"I should think it would, ma'am."

"But I am afraid Fred fell in with some of his evil companions, and let them know that he was well provided with money. That would be enough to excite their cupidity."

"Who are the companions you speak of?" asked Frank.

"Boys, or rather young men, for they are all older than Fred, of lower social rank than himself. I don't attach any special importance to that, nor do I object to them on that ground; but they are, I have reason to think, ill-bred and disreputable. They know Fred to be richer than themselves, and induce him to drink and play, in the hope of getting some of his money. I have sent for you to go in search of my son. If you find him you must do your best to bring him home."

"I will," said Frank. "Can you give me any idea where he may be found?"

Mrs. Vivian wrote on a card two places,—one a billiard saloon, which she had reason to suspect that her son frequented.

"Now," said Frank, "will you be kind enough to describe your son to me, so that I may know him when I see him?"

"I will show you his photograph," said Mrs. Vivian.

She opened an album, and showed the picture of a boy of seventeen, with a pleasant face, fair complexion, and hair somewhat curly. His forehead was high, and he looked gentlemanly and refined.

"Is he not good-looking?" said the mother.

"He looks like a gentleman," said Frank.

"He would be one if he could throw off his evil associates. Do you think you will know him from the picture?"

"Yes, I think so. Is he tall?"

"Two or three inches taller than you are. You had better take the picture with you. I have an extra one, which you can put in your pocket to help you identify him. By the way, it will be as well that you should be supplied with money in case it is necessary to bring him home in a cab."

Frank understood what the mother found it difficult to explain. She feared that her boy might be the worse for drink.

She handed our hero a five-dollar bill.

"I will use it prudently, madam," said he, "and account to you for all I do not use."

"I trust you wholly," said the lady. "Now go as quickly as possible."

Frank looked at the two addresses he had on the card. The billiard-saloon was on the east side of the city, in an unfashionable locality.

"I'll go there first," he decided.

Crossing to Third avenue he hailed a car, and rode down-town. His knowledge of the city, gained from the walks he took when a newsboy, made it easy for him to find the place of which he was in search. Though it was nearly midnight, the saloon was lighted up, and two tables were in use. On the left-hand side, as he entered, was a bar, behind which stood a man in his shirt-sleeves, who answered the frequent calls for drinks. He looked rather suspiciously at Frank's uniform when he entered.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Have you any message for me?"

"No," said Frank, carelessly. "Let me have a glass of lemonade."

The bar-keeper's face cleared instantly, and he set about preparing the beverage required.

"Won't you have something in it?" he asked.

"No, sir," said Frank.

"You boys are kept out pretty late," said the bar-keeper, socially.

"Not every night," said Frank. "We take turns."

Frank paid ten cents for his lemonade, and, passing into the billiard-saloon, sat down and watched a game. He looked around him, but could not see anything of Fred. In fact, all the players were men.

Sitting next to him was a young fellow, who was watching the game.

"Suppose we try a game," he said to Frank.

"Not to-night. I came in here to look for a friend, but I guess he isn't here."

"I've been here two hours. What does your friend look like?"

"That's his picture," said Frank, displaying the photograph.

"Oh, yes," said his new acquaintance, "he is here now. His name is Fred, isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Frank, eagerly; "I don't see him. Where is he?"

"He's playing cards upstairs, but I don't believe he can tell one card from the other."

"Been drinking, I suppose," said Frank, betraying no surprise.

"I should say so. Do you know the fellows he's with?"

"I am not sure about that. How long has Fred been upstairs?"

"About an hour. He was playing billiards till he couldn't stand straight, and then they went upstairs."

"Would you mind telling him that there is a friend downstairs who wishes to see him, that is, if you know the way?"

"Oh, yes, I live here. Won't you come up with me?"

"Perhaps I had better," said Frank, and followed his companion through a door in the rear, and up a dark and narrow staircase to the street floor.

"It'll be a hard job to get him away," thought Frank; "but, for his mother's sake, I will do my best."