Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“She is liberal, and always gives me something for myself.”

“That is very considerate of her. I was speaking of that to my wife this morning.”

“Of what, sir?” inquired Paul.

“We both decided that you were entitled to a present for your brave defense of the house.”

Now I suppose it would have been the proper thing for Paul to protest against receiving any present, but I am obliged to record the fact that he had no objection to having his services acknowledged in that way.

“I only did my duty, sir,” he said, modestly.

“Very true, but that is no reason why I should not show my appreciation of the service rendered. I suppose you have no bank account?”

“I never got along as far as that, sir,” said Paul.

“Then I won’t give you a check, as it might inconvenience you.”

Paul was a little surprised, for a bank check sounded large, and the gratuities he usually received seldom reached as high as fifty cents.

Mr. Cunningham drew out his pocketbook, and, taking out three bills, placed them in Paul’s hands.

Paul’s eyes expanded when he saw that the first bill was a ten. But he was destined to be still more surprised, for each of the other two was a twenty. There was fifty dollars in all.

“Is all this for me?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“Yes, Paul.”

“But here are fifty dollars.”

“I am quite aware of it,” said the merchant, smiling. “That is the exact sum I intended to give you.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Paul, warmly. “To me it is a fortune.”

“Excuse my giving you advice, but I hope you will spend it wisely.”

“I will try to do so, sir. I will put all but ten dollars in a savings bank.”

“You could not do better. You may in time be able to add to it.”

“I shall try to, sir, when I earn more money.”

“How much do you earn now?”

“With presents, it amounts to six or seven dollars a week – sometimes less.”

“You can’t save out of that?”

“No, sir; I live with an old man, and give him two dollars and a half a week for rent and other expenses. Hereafter I am to give him three dollars. I should give more, but I pay for my own meals.”

“Then you have no parents living?”

“No, sir; I am alone in the world.”

“Is the old man any relation to you?”

“No, sir.”

“When you need friends to call on you will always be welcome at my house.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Paul, gratefully, and he decided to avail himself of the invitation soon. He was anxious to meet Jennie Cunningham again. Having no sister, he had enjoyed scarcely any opportunities of meeting girls, except such as sold matches or papers in the streets, and these, for the most part, were bold and unattractive.

Mr. Cunningham turned to his desk, and Paul saw that his interview was over.

He did not like to carry around so much money. He was liable to be robbed; that he could not afford. So he resolved to go around to the Bowery Savings Bank and deposit forty dollars, taking out a book. Then he would feel safe as to that. The ten dollars he had a use for, as he wished to buy a cheap bureau, or trunk; he had not quite made up his mind which.

He took the shortest cut to the Bowery Savings Bank. This is one of the largest and most important savings banks in the city, and its deposits exceed twenty millions. It is a blessing to thousands of salaried men and women, mechanics and others, in providing them a safe place of deposit for their surplus money.

Paul entered the bank, and, going up to the proper clerk, subscribed the books of the bank, giving his age, and other particulars necessary to identification; and then, rather to the surprise of the bank officer, wrote out a deposit check for forty dollars.

“You have just been paid off, I take it,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, sir,” answered Paul.

“Two weeks’ pay, I presume?”

“I earned it in considerably less time than that, sir.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, I earned it all, and ten dollars besides, in one night.”

“Then your business is better than mine. I should be willing to exchange.”

“It isn’t a steady business,” said Paul.

“What is it?”

“Defending a house from burglars.”

“I am not quite sure how I should like that business; there might be some risk attending it.”

Paul’s business was completed, and he prepared to go away. The book he put in his pocket, and took his way back to the office on Broadway. He began to feel like a young capitalist. Forty dollars may not seem a very large sum to some of my fortunate readers, but Paul had never before possessed ten dollars at a time, and to him it seemed a small fortune.

He had no idea that his visit to the bank was observed by any one that knew him, but such was the case.

Old Jerry, as the reader already knows, was a depositor at the Bowery Savings Bank, and this very morning, having a small deposit to make, he was shambling along the Bowery, when he saw Paul descend the steps with a bank book in his hand. He was intensely surprised.

CHAPTER X