Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy

"No I must live here in New York. My business will be here."

"I thought New York property came high, Mr. Talbot."

"So it does but I propose to go high."

"I suppose you will have to pay as much as twenty thousand dollars for a desirable house."

"Twenty thousand dollars! what are you thinking of?"

"Why, our house in Syracuse was sold for ten thousand dollars, and I thought you might have to pay twice as much here."

"I should say so, Mrs. Talbot. I am in treaty for a house costing forty-five thousand dollars."

Mrs. Talbot was astonished.

"I had no idea you could afford to pay so much for a house, Solon," she said.

"My dear, I am afraid you underrate my business abilities. I haven't said anything to you about my business success, but I have been making money lately. Yes, I feel that I can afford to pay forty-five thousand dollars for a house."

"Where is the house situated?"

"In West Forty-Seventh Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. That's a fine block – a good many fashionable people live there."

"I don't know whether I shall feel at home among them."

"I mean, Mrs. Talbot, that you shall take a high place in New York society. As my wife you will be entitled to such."

"I am not ambitious in that way. I should rather be able to see Ellen often than to receive fashionable people."

"Ahem, Mrs. T. You must remember that Ellen lives in a very poor way, and it would do you harm to have it known that she is your sister."

"You would not have me repudiate my own sister?" said Mrs. Talbot, half indignantly.

"Well, no, not exactly repudiate her, but you can receive her early in the morning when no one is likely to be here. You must remember also that Mark, her son, has been, and perhaps still is, a common telegraph boy, whom we couldn't have coming freely to the house and claiming relationship with Edgar."

"I think Mark is a pretty good fellow," said Edgar unexpectedly.

It was only the previous evening that Mark had got him out of trouble.

"This is a little surprising in you, Edgar," said Solon Talbot, arching his brow. "I thought you looked down upon him."

"I did, but I have changed my opinion of him."

"He is a poor working boy."

"He may be a working boy but he has more money than I. He always seems to have plenty of it."

"Probably somebody has paid him some money, and he carries it all around with him. Have you seen him since he returned from his journey?"

"Yes, father."

"Has he gone back to the telegraph office?"

"No, he says he shan't go back."

"Has he any position?"

"No he is not working just now."

"He is a foolish boy. He will spend the little money he has, and then, when he wants to go back to the telegraph office, they won't receive him."

"I am glad you are on better terms with Mark, Edgar," said Mrs. Talbot regarding her son with unusual favor.

"Don't be influenced too much by what your mother says, Edgar," said his father, "social distinctions must be observed."

For once Edgar was not influenced by what his father said. He was not wholly bad, and Mark's friendly service in rescuing him from the clutches of Hamilton Schuyler had quite changed his feelings towards his cousin. Then the timely loan of five dollars had also its effect.

This was the day for the meeting of the two sisters at Arnold & Constable's. Mrs. Talbot informed her sister of her husband's plan.

"I think Mr. Talbot must be getting along very well," she said. "He told me this morning that he is negotiating for a fine brown stone house on West Forty-Seventh Street. He is to pay forty-five thousand dollars for it."

"That is a large sum."

"Yes; I had no idea when we lived in Syracuse that Solon was so rich. He says that I underrated his business abilities."

"Do you know if he has met with any recent business success?"

"No; he never tells me particulars."

Mrs. Mason thought she could guess where the forty-five thousand dollars were coming from, and on her return she told Mark what she had heard.

"He must be going to sell the stock," said Mark.

"Can we stop him?"

"No, as executor he would have the right to do this, but we must arrange to share the proceeds. I will see our lawyer, and ask him what is best to be done."

At this moment there was a knock at the door. Mark opened it, and there stood Tom Trotter in his new uniform. "I've got a message for you, Mark," he said.

"Who is it from?"

"From Mr. Rockwell."

"Let me see it."

The message was brief.

"Come round to my office, I want to see you.