Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“But I will pay for it.”

“Oh, Paul, you will die in the poorhouse if you are so wasteful. The money that you have spent at that eating house would bring joy to the heart of your old grandfather.”

“Look here,” said Paul, who could not bring his mind to calling the old man grandfather, as he had often done before. “It’s no use talking. You may starve yourself if you want to, but I don’t mean to. I’m going out to supper now. If you go with me I’ll pay for your supper, and it shan’t cost you a cent. I am sure you would like a good cup of tea.”

For an instant an expression of longing crept over the face of the old miser, but it was soon succeeded by a look of cunning and greed.

“It would cost eight cents, wouldn’t it, Paul?” he said.

“Yes, but that isn’t much. If you’d like a plate of roast beef and a cup of tea, I’ll buy it for you. They will cost only eleven cents. So put on your hat, and we will go out together.”

“Wait a minute, Paul,” said the old man. “Would you mind giving me the money instead – eleven cents?”

“No, I don’t mind, but I would rather you would go out with me. How do you expect to keep soul and body together without anything but dry bread and cold water?”

“I’m so poor, Paul; I can’t afford anything better,” whined old Jerry.

“I see it’s no use talking to you,” said Paul, in a vexed tone. “Well, if you prefer to have me give you the money, here it is.”

He took from his pocket a dime and a penny, and passed it over to the old man.

Old Jerry chuckled, and a smile crept over his wrinkled features, as he eagerly clutched the coins.

“Good boy, Paul!” he said. “That’s right, to be kind to your poor old grandfather.”

“Well, I’m going out to supper,” said Paul, abruptly, for it was painful to him to witness this evidence of the old man’s infatuation. “I’ll be back soon.

“That’s a guardian to be proud of,” he said, bitterly, as he made his way carefully down the rickety staircase. “Who can blame me for not liking him? I don’t believe I can make up my mind to call him grandfather again. After all, why should I? He is no relation of mine, and I am glad of it.”

CHAPTER IV

A STRANGE COMMISSION

The life of a telegraph boy is full of variety and excitement. He never knows when he goes to the office in the morning on what errands he may be sent, or what duties he may be called upon to discharge. He may be sent to Brooklyn, or Jersey City, with a message – sometimes even farther away. He may be detained to supply the place of an absent office boy, or sent up town to go out and walk with a child. In the evening he may be directed to accompany a lady to the theater as escort. These are a few of the uses to which telegraph messenger boys are put.

Of course Paul had had his share of varied commissions. But the day after that on which our story opens, a new duty awaited him.

It was about five o’clock that the superintendent called “Number 91.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Paul, promptly.

“You are to go up to No. – , West Fifty First Street, to spend the night.”

Paul looked surprised.

“To spend the night?” he repeated.

“Yes, the head of the household has been called away for a day or two, and there is no man in the house. Mrs. Cunningham is timid, and has sent for a boy to protect the house against possible burglars.”

The superintendent smiled, and so did Paul.

“I guess I can do it,” he said.

“Very well, you will report at the house about seven o’clock.”

“Can I go home and tell grandfather? He might be alarmed if I didn’t come home.”

“Yes; I will give you an extra half hour for supper.”

At seven o’clock Paul rang the bell of a handsome brown stone mansion on West Fifty First Street.

The door was opened by a servant girl.

“I was sent for by Mrs. Cunningham,” said Paul.

“Yes, the missis is expecting you. Come right in!”

Paul observed, as he followed the girl upstairs into a sitting room on the second floor, that the house was very handsomely furnished – and came to the natural conclusion that the occupants were rich.

“Just take a seat, and I’ll tell the missis,” said the girl.

Paul sat down in a plush covered arm chair, and looked about him admiringly. “I wonder how it must seem to live in such a house as this,” he reflected. And then his thoughts went back to the miserable tenement house in which he and his grandfather lived, and he felt more disgusted with it than ever, after the sight of this splendor.

His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of a pleasant faced lady.

“Are you the boy I sent for?” she asked, with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Paul, respectfully, rising as he spoke.

“I suppose you know why I want you,” proceeded the lady.

“Yes, ma’am; I was told there were only ladies in the house, and you wanted a man to sleep here.”

“I am afraid you can hardly be called a man,” said the lady with another smile. “Still you are not a woman or girl, and I shall feel safer for having you here. I am afraid I am a sad coward. What is your name?”

“Paul – Paul Parton.”

“That is a nice name.”

“My husband has been called to Washington,” she added, after a pause, “and will be absent possibly ten nights. Knowing my timidity, he recommended my sending for a messenger boy. I may say, however, that I have some reason for alarm. Two houses in this block have been entered at night within a month. Besides, through a thieving servant, who was probably a confederate of thieves, it has become known that we keep some valuables in a safe in the library, and this may prove a temptation.”

At this moment an extremely pretty girl of fourteen entered the room, and looked inquiringly at Paul.

“Jennie,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “this is Paul Parton, who is to protect and defend us tonight, if necessary.”

Jennie regarded Paul with a smile.

“Won’t you be afraid?” she asked.