Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“Yes, if that is the fellow’s name.”

“Then I wish you to understand that he is not a low boy.”

“What do you know of him? What do you know of his family?”

“Nothing, except that he has neither father nor mother living.”

“Probably they were low persons.”

“Why probably?”

“You know well enough that nice boys don’t become telegraph messengers.”

“Paul is a nice boy,” asserted Jennie, with spirit.

“You seem to be infatuated with him,” said Mark, shrugging his shoulders.

“Because I treat him with common politeness?”

“Didn’t you invite him to your party next Wednesday?”

“Suppose I did?”

“Do you think it suitable to have a boy like that among your guests?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t believe your mother will approve of it.”

“My mother invited Paul to spend the evening whenever he had time.”

This rather took Mark by surprise. He could not very well say anything in condemnation of his aunt, though he chose to lecture his cousin.

“I hope you won’t expect me to take any notice of him,” he said, with dignity.

“O, I don’t think he will insist upon it. I will take care that he feels himself at home.”

Mark did not venture to say more, but walked beside his cousin in a disgusted frame of mind. I am afraid he was really jealous of Paul, whom, against his will, he was forced to admit to be a very good looking boy.

CHAPTER XXI

THE FANCY DRESS PARTY

Paul might have hesitated about accepting the invitation to attend a fashionable party if he had not been on such cordial and friendly terms with his young hostess and her family. He was sure to be kindly treated by them and by the majority of the guests who very properly follow the lead of their entertainers. He foresaw that Mark would snub him if he had an opportunity, but for this he cared little. It was clear that Mark was foolishly puffed up with an idea of his own consequence, and had been accustomed to look with scorn upon all who were not on the same social plane as himself.

Paul had for some time been thinking of ordering another and newer uniform, and thought it good policy to do so at once, that he might have the new suit to wear for the first time at Jennie Cunningham’s party. It is the custom for boys to obtain them from the company, paying by installments, or regular weekly deductions from their pay.

The next morning some surprise was excited at the office by the receipt of a square envelope, of perfumed French paper, directed to

PAUL PARTON, A. D. T., No. 91

“A love letter, I suppose,” said the chief, with a smile, as he handed the note to Paul.

Paul opened it, and, having no reason for secrecy, passed it to the superintendent.

“An invitation to a fancy dress party!” said that official, in surprise. “You seem to be pretty thick with the Cunninghams, Number 91.”

“They are very polite and kind,” said Paul.

“I suppose you are trying to ingratiate yourself with the young lady.”

“I am too young to think of that,” answered the telegraph boy, very sensibly.

“Shall you accept the invitation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You must go in fancy dress.”

“I have already decided to go as a telegraph boy.”

“Then you knew of this before?”

“I met Miss Jennie yesterday in Madison Square, and was told she meant to invite me.”

“You are a lucky boy.”

“So I think, sir.”

From that time Paul was treated with greater consideration in the office, the chief regarding him as a protege of the Cunninghams. This was an advantage, for he was now employed on the most agreeable and desirable commissions that came to the office.

On Wednesday morning Paul said to old Jerry: “I shall be home late tonight, Jerry.”

“Why, Paul? Will you be kept at the office?”

“No; I am to attend a party.”

Jerry opened his eyes.

“A party! Where, Paul?”

“In Fifty First Street. It is a fancy dress party.”

“But how came they to invite you?”

“They employed me on one occasion, and have treated me in a friendly way since.”

“I don’t understand it, Paul. Is it a – a rich family?”