Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“Now,” said the young man, smiling, “let me give you a piece of advice, suggested by my own experience. Don’t drop into any drinking saloon on your way home, or you may fall into the hands of a sharper, as I did.”

“I will remember your caution, sir,” said Paul, smiling.

“It may be safer for you to ride home, as the hour is late.”

“I will do so, sir. Good night and thank you.”

“It seems to me that you are born under a lucky star, No. 91,” said Paul to himself. “In a single evening I have received a sum of money equal to half a year’s wages. If old Jerry only knew it, I should not dare to fall asleep in the same room with him.”

He took the green car whose terminus was the Grand Street Ferry, and in less than half an hour he reached the door of his humble lodging.

He went upstairs and entered the bed chamber – which contrasted so strongly with the handsomely furnished hotel room which he had just left. He expected to find old Jerry fast asleep, but he was mistaken. The old man was lying on his poor bed in a cramped position, his eyes open, moaning piteously.

“What is the matter, Jerry?” he asked, approaching the bed.

“I am sick, Paul,” said the old man. “I – I am feeling very miserable! Do you think I am going to die?”

CHAPTER XXV

OLD JERRY’S WEALTH

Old Jerry certainly did look weak and miserable. His face seemed thinner and paler than usual; his thin gray hair looked quite disordered, and there were dark rings around his eyes.

“You look sick,” answered Paul, pityingly.

“Do you think I am going to die?” asked the old man, tremulously.

“Oh, no, not yet awhile,” answered Paul, in a cheering voice. “But you must have a doctor.”

“No, no; I can’t afford it,” said Jerry, in alarm. “Doctors charge so much. They – they seem to think a man is made of money.”

“Would you rather die,” Paul exclaimed, impatiently, “than pay for a doctor’s attendance? What good will your money do you if you die?”

“You – you might ask the druggist for some medicine to help me. That would be much cheaper.”

“That won’t do you; you need a doctor. If you don’t have one, you may die before morning.”

Jerry was thoroughly frightened now. He made no further resistance, and Paul summoned a doctor having an office on Grand Street.

When he saw Jerry, and felt his pulse, he looked grave.

“I think he is going to have a low fever,” he said.

“Is it catching?” asked Mrs. Hogan, nervously, for Paul had waked her up, and asked her to come in.

The doctor smiled.

“O, no,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed. Pardon me for asking,” he said, turning to Paul, “but does your grandfather – I suppose he is your grandfather – eat regularly and sufficiently?”

“I am afraid not, sir.”

“He has lowered his system, I should judge, by lack of nourishing food, and at present his vitality is very low.”

“I can easily believe it, doctor,” said Paul. “I will speak to you on the subject later. Do you think he is going to have a fever?”

“Yes, a low fever, as I said – the revenge of outraged nature for a violation of her rules.”

“Am I going to die?” asked Jerry, his parchment skin assuming a greenish hue. “I – I want to live; I am not ready to die.”

“That depends on whether you follow my rules.”

“I will if – if you don’t make me spend too much money; I am poor – miserably poor.”

“I will see that your rules are followed, doctor,” said Paul, finding it hard to hide the disgust he felt at this characteristic manifestation of the old man’s miserly disposition.

“I see you are a sensible boy,” said the doctor, approvingly. “Perhaps I had better speak to you privately.”

“Very well, doctor. As we have no other room, will you step into the entry?”

The doctor followed Paul out.

“Before you give your instructions,” said the telegraph boy, “I want to say that Jerry – he is not my grandfather – is a miser, and has deliberately deprived himself of the necessaries of life.”

“Has he money?”

“He has enough, I am sure, to pay what is needful, but it will be hard to get him to spend it.”

“He must have nourishing food, and stimulating medicines, or he cannot recover. His life is at stake.”

“Will he need a nurse?”

“I suppose you can’t attend to him?”

“No; I prefer to attend to my regular business, and hire some one.”

“Then do so, for the old man will require some weeks, at least, to recover from the low point to which he has brought himself.”

“I think I can get Mrs. Hogan to take care of him. You may give her your directions.”

First, however, Paul made the proposal to the good woman. “I’ll see that you are paid,” he said. “If I can’t get the money out of Jerry, I will pay it myself.”

“But, Paul, dear, I wouldn’t want to take the little you have. You’ve no more than enough for yourself.”

“I will show you something, Mrs. Hogan, if you won’t let Jerry know.”

“Shure I won’t.”

Paul produced the hundred dollar bill, and filled the soul of Mrs. Hogan with amazement.