Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy

When he reappeared at the jeweler's Mr. Swan regarded him with critical approval.

"You have made a good selection," he said.

"I hope I didn't go too high for the suit, Mr. Swan. I wanted to order a cheaper one, but the salesman wouldn't let me."

"The salesman was right," said the jeweler smiling. "I am satisfied. And now to your work. I have a request from a lady up town to send her a couple of diamond rings to select from. She professed to be on her way from Brooklyn and to be in haste. She is, she says, staying at the house of a friend at No. 282 West Forty-Seventh between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. She is to go away to-morrow and would like to make choice of a ring to-day."

Mark was rather surprised to hear this full account from the jeweler. As he was only to take the part of an errand boy he didn't see the necessity for it. He was soon enlightened.

"Now," proceeded the jeweler, "I am of the opinion that this lady is a clever swindler. I believe she wants to get hold of the rings, and carry them off without paying for them."

"Then you won't send them to her, I suppose."

"I would not if I were absolutely sure that she is a fraud, but this I don't know. She may be a bona fide customer, and if so I should like to sell her a ring."

"How can you find out, sir?"

"I hope to do so with your help."

CHAPTER XI

MR. HAMILTON SCHUYLER IS ASTONISHED

The jeweler took from his case two diamond rings. They were large, brilliant, and showy.

"How do you like the appearance of these rings?" he asked.

"They are beautiful!" exclaimed Mark admiringly.

"Don't you think the lady would admire them?"

"I should think so, sir."

"What should you think they are worth?"

"A hundred dollars apiece," guessed Mark.

"If the diamonds were genuine, one would be worth three hundred and fifty dollars and the other four hundred."

"Are they not genuine?" asked Mark in surprise.

"Paste, my boy, paste. The gold, however, is real. Instead of being worth the sum mentioned, one is worth perhaps three dollars and a half, the other four dollars."

"But I shouldn't think it would be worth your while to keep false diamond rings."

"Nor would it if all persons were honest. I never sell them. I only sell genuine jewelry. I will let you understand the use I mean to make of them. These two rings I mean to have you carry to Mrs. Montgomery on Forty-Seventh Street."

"But suppose she takes them for genuine?"

"Then I will make them so. In other words, I will take out the paste diamonds and replace them with real stones. If on the other hand any fraud is intended it won't benefit her much."

"Very well, sir. I think I understand."

"You must to a certain extent exercise your own discretion. I judged from the observations I made the other afternoon that you are a boy who possesses that important quality."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"I will tell you what made me suspect the woman of whom I have spoken. First, the name. She calls herself Mrs. Philip Montgomery. It sounds like a fictitious name. Again, she is a stout, rather common-looking woman, with a florid complexion and larger features. Now Montgomery is an aristocratic name. Again, she says she is from Buffalo. Swindlers generally hail from some distant city. Then again, it is rather suspicious that she should be in such haste.

"The purchase is an important one, and the amount to be paid – she herself fixed the approximate value – is considerable. You would think she would wish to inspect my stock carefully before making a selection. Instead of this she only asked to have two rings sent up to her of the value of three or four hundred dollars, and she would make choice of one of them."

"It does look rather suspicious, sir."

Mr. Swan gave Mark some further directions, and the latter started up town on the Eighth Avenue horse cars, which he took on the lower side of the Astor House.

"This is new business to me," thought Mark. "I feel an interest to see this Mrs. Montgomery. If she is planning to entrap me, she won't make as much as she anticipates."

Mark had the rings, each in a little morocco case, carefully laid away in the inside pocket of his coat.

When they reached Canal Street, to Mark's surprise, his cousin Edgar entered the car. He did not recognize Mark at first, the latter no longer wearing the messenger's uniform.

"How do you do, Cousin Edgar?" said Mark.

Edgar turned sharply around.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "Please don't call me cousin."

"I am just as much ashamed of the relationship as you are," responded Mark with a comical smile.

"That is impertinent. Besides it isn't true. Have you been discharged from the telegraph service?"

"No; what makes you think so?"

"Because you are not wearing the uniform."

"I am working for a party that doesn't want me to wear it while in his service."

"Who is it?"

"I don't feel at liberty to tell."

"Oh, just as you like. Isn't that a new suit?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it."