Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

Old Jerry got up cautiously from the bed. He, too, was dressed, for he seldom took the trouble to undress, and cautiously drew near the lounge. He took up Paul’s coat, and threw his claw-like fingers into an inside pocket. His eyes sparkled with delight as he drew out the telegraph boy’s bank book.

“I’ve got it!” he muttered, gleefully. “Paul isn’t any match for the old man! I – I wonder how much money he has saved up!”

Paul slept on, unaware of the cunning old man’s treachery, and of the danger to which his little treasure was exposed.

CHAPTER XI

AT THE SAVINGS BANK

Old Jerry laid down Paul’s coat, and opened the bank book, of which he had just obtained possession. He was eager to ascertain how much Paul had saved up.

“Forty dollars!”

He could hardly believe his eyes.

How in the world could Paul have managed to save up forty dollars?

“Forty dollars!” exclaimed old Jerry, gleefully. “I’m in luck for once. Of course it belongs to me. I am Paul’s guardian, and have a right to his earnings. He shouldn’t have kept it from me. I – I will go to the bank and draw it all tomorrow. Then I will put it in in my own name. That will make it all right.” And old Jerry rubbed his hands joyfully.

After this theft, for it can be called by no other name, Jerry did not sleep much. He was too much excited by the unexpected magnitude of his discovery, and by his delight at adding so much to his own hoards. Then, again, he was afraid Paul might wake up, and, discovering his loss, demand from him the restitution of the book.

Generally Paul rose at six o’clock, as this enabled him to get his breakfast and get round to the telegraph company at seven. He generally waked about fifteen minutes before the hour, such was the force of habit.

This morning he woke at the usual time, but old Jerry had got up softly and left the room twenty minutes before.

Turning over, Paul glanced toward the bed in the corner, and was surprised to see no signs of the old man.

“Jerry gone out already!” he said to himself, in amazement “I wonder what’s come over him. I hope he isn’t sick.”

Paul didn’t however borrow any trouble, for he concluded that Jerry had got tired of his bed, and gone out for a morning walk.

He lay till seven, and then, throwing off the quilt, rose from the lounge. He was already partly dressed, and only needed to put on his coat. Then, with a cheerful smile, he felt for his bank book, which he had placed in the inside pocket of his coat.

It was not there!

He started, and turned pale.

“Where is my bank book?” he asked himself in alarm.

Then it flashed upon him.

“Old Jerry has taken it!” he said, sternly, “and has slunk off with it before I am up. That’s why he got up so early. But I’ll put a spoke in his wheel. I’ll go to the bank and give notice that my book has been stolen. He shan’t draw the money on it, if I can prevent it.”

But Paul was unable to carry out his intention of calling at the bank at the hour of opening, in order to give notice of his loss. On reporting for duty at the telegraph office, he was sent over to Jersey City, where he was detained until eleven o’clock. He felt uneasy, and thought of asking to have some other boy assigned to the duty, but it so happened that the superintendent was not in an amiable frame of mind, and he knew that his request would not be granted.

Meanwhile, about five minutes after the bank was opened, old Jerry shambled in, and, sitting down at a table, wrote out an order for forty dollars in favor of Book No. 251,610 signing it “Paul Parton.”

This he took to the desk of the cashier.

“Please give me the money on this,” he said.

The cashier eyed him sharply.

“Are you Paul Parton?” he demanded.

“N-no,” faltered the old man; “I am Paul’s guardian.”

“Did you put in this money for him?”

“N-no.”

“Did he write this order?”

Old Jerry would have had no scruples about asserting that it was written by Paul, but he knew that the statement would at once be recognized as false, as he had himself written it in the presence of the cashier.

“N-no,” he admitted, reluctantly; “but it makes no difference; Paul is busy, and can’t come. He’s a telegraph boy. H-he wanted me to draw it for him.”

It will be seen that old Jerry’s conscience was elastic, and that he had no scruple about lying.

“That won’t answer,” replied the cashier, eying the old man suspiciously. “It is not according to our rules.”

“I – I want to use the money – that is, Paul does,” remonstrated old Jerry, disappointed.

“That makes no difference.”

“I – I’ll get Paul to write an order,” said Jerry, as he left the bank.

“That old man stole the boy’s book,” thought the cashier. “Now he is going home to forge an order in the boy’s name.”

That is exactly what old Jerry meant to do. He thought it best however, to wait till afternoon.

Meanwhile, at twelve o’clock, Paul, then for the first time able to get away, hurried into the bank, breathless.

“I want to give notice that my bank book has been taken,” he said, panting.

“Your name, please?”

“Paul Parton.”

“Number of book?”

“No. 251,610.”

“Your book was presented two hours since by an old man, who handed in an order for all the money.”

The perspiration gathered on Paul’s brow.

“Did you give it to him?”