Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

In a trice the two men were grappling, and, losing their balance, tumbled down the stairs, receiving some hard knocks on the way. The result was that both were arrested by a passing policeman, and locked up.

James Barclay, whose burns were severe, was sent to the hospital on the Island, and it was thirty days before he was free to pursue his plans again.

Old Jerry, picking himself up after his narrow escape, carefully counted his gold pieces, and to his great relief found that none were missing.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he learned that his son had been arrested, and determined to deposit his gold in the savings bank, so as to guard against future robbery.

It was about this time that Paul, called up town by some errand, was crossing Madison Square, when he heard his name called.

Looking up he recognized, with no little pleasure the smiling face of Jennie Cunningham.

She was accompanied by a boy of about Paul’s size, fashionably dressed, and wearing an expression of high self appreciation on his rather narrow face.

“How are you, Paul? It’s an age since I saw you,” said the young heiress, cordially, offering her hand.

“I am glad to see you, Miss Jennie,” responded Paul.

“Why haven’t you been up to see us? I have been expecting you for a long time.”

“I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be intruding.”

“Then I’ll tell you once for all, you needn’t be a bit afraid. I want to beat you at dominoes. You beat me last time, didn’t you?”

“I believe so,” said Paul.

“Then I want my revenge. When will you come?”

“Whenever I am invited,” said Paul, smiling.

“That reminds me – how stupid I was to forget it – that I am to have a fancy dress party of young people next Wednesday evening. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“I am afraid I have no clothes fit to wear at a party.”

“O, you are to come in costume. Come as a telegraph boy. That will be the very thing. You’ll act the character naturally, you know, and no one will know that you are a real telegraph boy.”

“I should like very much to come, if I can come in my uniform.”

“That’s just what I want. Mind, then, Wednesday evening, at eight o’clock. What is the number of your office?”

“No. – Broadway.”

“I will send you a regular card of invitation. Then you will be treated just like the rest.”

She was about to turn away when a thought struck her.

“O, I forgot to introduce you to my cousin, Mark Sterling. Mark, this is Paul Parton, the boy who drove off the burglar when papa was gone to Washington. You’ve heard me speak of him?”

“O, yes, I’ve heard of him,” said Mark, coldly. “He behaved in a very creditable way – for a telegraph boy,” he continued, in a patronizing tone.

“Or for any other boy!” rejoined Jennie, quickly. “Really, I look upon Paul quite as a hero.”

“I am afraid I am not entitled to such high praise,” said Paul, modestly.

“You must make allowances for my Cousin Jennie,” said Mark. “She is a girl, and girls are all apt to gush.”

“This particular girl isn’t, Mark,” said his cousin, indignantly. “Have you ever seen the burglar since, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“O, tell me where.”

“On Broadway.”

“Why didn’t you have him arrested?”

“There was no policeman at hand. Besides, I told him that night that if he would go peaceably I would not molest him.”

“Such a promise doesn’t count,” said Mark, in a tone of authority. “You should have called a policeman.”

“My promise always counts!” said Paul, firmly.

“Even if given to a burglar?” said Mark, with a sneer.

“Yes, even if given to a burglar.”

Mark took off his hat mockingly.

“Really, I wasn’t prepared to find such a lofty sense of honor – in a telegraph boy!” he said, with a satirical smile.

“I am afraid you are not very well acquainted with telegraph boys,” said Paul, good naturedly.

He quite understood that Mark meant to sneer at him, but being confident of Jennie Cunningham’s favor, he felt quite indifferent to the opinion of her cousin.

“No,” said Mark, significantly; “I have never had the honor of associating much with that class of – persons.”

“Come, Mark, don’t make yourself so disagreeable,” said Jennie, unceremoniously. “Remember that Paul is a particular friend of mine.”

“Thank you, Miss Jennie,” said Paul, gratefully.

“I was not aware of that,” said Mark, stiffly.

“I am afraid I must be going; my time is not my own,” said Paul. “Good morning, Miss Jennie; good morning, Mr. Sterling.”

Jennie Cunningham responded cordially, but Mark affected not to hear the telegraph boy’s farewell. He was not in the best of humor, having a partiality for his pretty cousin, and being disposed to regard with jealousy any kindness bestowed by her upon other boys. He was foolish enough to venture upon a remonstrance, without reflecting that this was the poorest possible way of recommending himself to the favor of his companion.

“Jennie,” he commenced, “I am very much surprised at the notice you take of that low telegraph boy.”

“Do you mean Paul Parton?”