The Telegraph Boy

"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."

CHAPTER XIII.

A TIMELY RESCUE

As Frank entered the room he hastily took in the scene before him. Round a table sat three young men, of not far from twenty, the fourth side being occupied by Fred Vivian. They were playing cards, and sipping drinks as they played. Fred Vivian's handsome face was flushed, and he was nervously excited. His hands trembled as he lifted the glass, and his wandering, uncertain glances showed that he was not himself.

"It's your play, Fred," said his partner.

Fred picked up a card without looking at it, and threw it down on the table.

"That settles it," said another. "Fred, old boy, you've lost the game. You're another five dollars out."

Fred fumbled in his pocket for a bill, and it was quickly taken from his hand before he could well see of what value it was. Frank, however, quickly as it was put away, saw that it was a ten. It was clear that Fred was being cheated in the most barefaced manner.

Frank's entrance was evidently unwelcome to most of the company.

"What are you bringing in that boy for, John?" demanded a low-browed fellow, with a face like a bull-dog.

"He is a friend of Fred," answered John.

"He's a telegraph boy. He comes here a spy. Fred don't know him. Clear out, boy!"

Frank took no notice of this hostile remark, but walked up to Fred Vivian.

"Fred," said he, thinking it best to speak as if he knew him, "it is getting late, and your mother is anxious about you. Won't you come home with me?"

"Who are you?" asked Fred, with drunken gravity. "You aint my mother."

"I come from your mother. Don't you know me? I am Frank Kavanagh."

"How do, Frank? Glad to see you, ol' feller. Take a drink. Here, you boy, bring a drink for my frien', Frank Kavanagh."

The three others looked on disconcerted. They were not ready to part with Fred yet, having secured only a part of his money.

"You don't know him, Fred," said the one who had appropriated the ten-dollar bill. "He's only a telegraph boy."

"I tell you he's my frien', Frank Kav'nagh," persisted Fred, with an obstinacy not unusual in one in his condition.

"Well, if he is, let him sit down, and have a glass of something hot."

"No, I thank you," said Frank, coldly. "Fred and I are going home."

"No, you're not," exclaimed the other, bringing his fist heavily down upon the table. "We won't allow our friend Fred to be kidnapped by a boy of your size,—not much we won't, will we, boys?"

"No! no!" chimed in the other two.

Fred Vivian looked at them undecided.

"I guess I'd better go," he stammered "There's something the matter with my head."

"You need another drink to brace you up. Here, John, bring up another punch for Fred."

Frank saw that unless he got Fred away before drinking any more, he would not be in a condition to go at all. It was a critical position, but he saw that he must be bold and resolute.

"You needn't bring Fred anything more," he said. "He has had enough already."

"I have had enough already," muttered Fred, mechanically.

"Boys, are we going to stand this?" said the low-browed young man. "Are we going to let this telegraph boy interfere with a social party of young gentlemen? I move that we throw him downstairs."

He half rose as he spoke, but Frank stood his ground.

"You'd better not try it," he said quietly, "unless you want to pass the night in the station-house."

"What do you mean, you young jackanapes?" said the other angrily. "What charge can you trump up against us?"

"You have been cheating Fred out of his money," said Frank, firmly.

"It's a lie! We've been having a friendly game, and he lost. If we'd lost, we would have paid."

"How much did he lose?"

"Five dollars."

"And you took ten from him."

"It's a lie!" repeated the other; but he looked disconcerted.

"It is true, for I noticed the bill as you took it from him. But it's not much worse than playing for money with him when he is in no condition to understand the game. You'd better give him back that ten-dollar bill."