Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“O, no,” answered Paul, modestly. “It didn’t take much courage.”

Grace asked Paul a great many questions, and did not seem at all shocked to learn that she was escorted by a common telegraph boy.

“Come, Grace,” said Jennie, after a while, “we can’t have you two monopolize each other. My cousin, Mark, solicits the honor of escorting you. Paul, if you are a very good boy, you may walk with me.”

“Did you know, Miss Grace,” said Mark, “that you were walking with a real telegraph boy?”

“Yes, he told me so.”

“I am surprised that my Cousin Jennie should have invited him here.”

“I am not at all. I think him the handsomest boy at the party.”

“There is no accounting for taste,” rejoined Mark, very much disgusted at this laudation of a boy he despised.

“He is so agreeable, too,” added Grace, with malicious pleasure at her companion’s discomfiture.

“He has plenty of cheek!” said Mark. “He tries to make himself very conspicuous. It would be better taste to stand quietly in a corner.”

Later in the evening, Paul became more conspicuous, and Mark became still more disgusted with him.

CHAPTER XXII

THE YOUNG MINSTRELS

About half past nine Jennie beckoned Paul to come into the back parlor, which was comparatively deserted.

“I am going to ask a favor of you,” she said.

“I shall be glad to do anything you wish,” said Paul, earnestly.

“I am preparing a surprise for the company – something not down in the programme. I ask you to help me because you can sing.”

Paul blushed.

“I don’t call it singing,” he said, modestly.

“I am sure you have a very nice voice, Paul. Now I will tell you what I want. You and I are to dress as Italian street singers – I have a harp on which I can play a little. We will come in as soon as we are ready and surprise the company.”

“Will it be necessary to sing in Italian?” asked Paul, with a smile. “I have forgotten all mine.”

“You know as much as I do. We will sing some of the popular ballads. Here is a list which I have written down. Do you know them?”

Paul looked over the list and selected three which he felt able to sing.

“Very well,” said Jennie, with satisfaction. “You will find your suit ready in your dressing room. I have spoken to one of the boys – Arthur Constable – to go up and assist you. Now, will you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“Yes,” answered Paul, confidently.

“I wonder what Jennie and the telegraph boy are talking about so earnestly!” thought Mark, with a scowl, for he had just noticed their conversation. “I never suspected that Jennie had such low tastes.”

An unpleasant frown gathered on Mark’s face, which he made no attempt to conceal. He was getting to dislike Paul more and more.

Next the two whose intimacy had provoked his discontent left the room, and his anger increased.

Presently, however, Mr. Cunningham entered the room and said, with a smile:

“Young people, I have engaged the services of two Italian minstrels, who will try to entertain you for a short time.”

Instantly there was a hush of expectation, for the announcement was understood literally.

The door was thrown open, and Paul and Jennie entered. Paul wore a suit of black velvet, and a hat also of velvet, in which it must be admitted he looked very handsome. Jennie was attired also in a characteristic national costume, and carried in her hand a harp.

As they entered together most of the company agreed that they made a very attractive picture.

They advanced, hand in hand, till they reached a position at the head of the room. Then Jennie struck her harp, and the two began to sing a favorite melody, their voices according remarkably well.

There was a sound of applause at the end of the first song. Paul bowed, and, taking his hat from his head, gravely made the round of the guests. Pennies were dropped by such as had them.

When Paul reached Mark he was tempted to pass him by, for he saw the scornful smile upon his face, but he did not care to make a scene, and held out his cap to him as well as the rest.

Mark dropped in a penny.

“That’s for the monkey,” he said, in a significant tone. “Keep it yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Paul, with unruffled good humor, for he felt that he could afford to be good natured. “Your liberality is unexpected.”

Mark bit his lips, foolishly taking offense at this good natured retort.

Another song was vociferously called for and given. Then a third was demanded, and the two minstrels retired amid a volley of plaudits.

“That was perfectly charming,” said Grace De Vere, enthusiastically. “What a nice looking boy that Paul Parton is! He looked perfectly lovely in his velvet suit.”

The boy to whom this was addressed was Mark Sterling, and it may well be believed that it was far from pleasing him.

“Are you falling in love with him?” he asked, with a sneer.

“I do believe I am!” answered Grace. “Don’t tell him, though!”

“I am not likely to. The fellow is conceited enough already.”

“Now, Mark, you are too bad. To me he seems remarkably modest.”

“He ought to have more sense than to push himself forward so, being only a telegraph boy.”

“I don’t care what he is; he is very nice and very good looking.”

“I suppose you admire his singing, too?”