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

Edgar uttered an exclamation as he opened it.

"What's the matter, Edgar?" asked his father.

"Just look at this! Here's Mark Mason's picture in the paper!"

"What nonsense you talk!" said Solon Talbot.

"No, I don't. Here is the picture, and here is his name!" said Edgar triumphantly.

Solon Talbot read the account in silence.

"I see," said another Syracuse man coming up, "you are reading the account of the daring attempt to blow up banker Rockwell's office!"

"Yes," answered Solon.

"That was a brave telegraph boy who seized the bag of dynamite."

"Very true!" said Solon, unable to resist the temptation to shine by the help of the nephew whom he had hitherto despised. "That boy is my own nephew!"

"You don't say so!"

"Yes; his mother is the sister of my wife."

"But how does he happen to be a telegraph boy?"

"A whim of his. He is a very independent boy, and he insisted on entering the messenger service."

"Be that as it may, you have reason to be proud of him."

Edgar said nothing, but he wished that just for this once he could change places with his poor cousin.

"I'd have done the same if I'd had the chance," he said to himself.

CHAPTER VII

THE GREAT MR. BUNSBY

"So you have become quite a hero, Mark," said his mother smiling, as Mark entered the house at half-past six.

"Have you heard of it then, mother?" asked the messenger boy.

"Yes, a little bird came and told me."

"I suppose you saw the Evening Globe."

"Yes, I sent Edith out to buy a copy."

"But how did you know it contained anything about me?"

"Because a reporter came to me for your picture."

"That explains it. I couldn't understand how they got that."

"It makes me shudder, Mark, when I think of the risk you ran. How did you dare to go near that terrible man?"

"I knew something must be done or we should all lose our lives. No one seemed to think what to do except myself."

"You ought to have been handsomely paid. The least Mr. Rockwell could do was to give you five dollars."

"He gave me ten, and told me to call at the office next week."

"Then," said his mother relieved, "we shall be able to pay the rent."

"That was provided for already. The young lady I escorted to the theater last evening gave me three dollars over the regular charges for my services."

"Why didn't you tell me before, Mark?"

"I ought to have done so, but I wanted it to be an agreeable surprise. So you see I have thirteen dollars on hand."

"It is a blessed relief. Oh, I mustn't forget to tell you that Mrs. Mack came in this morning to offer to lend me three dollars."

"What! has the old woman become kind-hearted all at once?"

"As to that, I think there is very little kindness in offering three dollars at thirty-three per cent. interest for three days. She was willing to lend three dollars; but demanded four dollars in return."

"It is lucky we shall not have to pay such enormous interest. Now, mother, what have you got for supper?"

"Some tea and toast, Mark."

"We must have something better. I will go out and buy a sirloin steak, and some potatoes. We will have a good supper for once."

At the entrance to the street Mark found Tom Trotter.

Tom's honest face lighted up with pleasure.

"I see you've got into de papers, Mark," he said.

"Yes, Tom."

"I wouldn't believe it when Jim Sheehan told me, but I went and bought de Evening Globe, and there you was!"

"I hope you'll get into the papers some time, Tom."

"There ain't no chance for me, 'cept I rob a bank. Where you goin', Mark?"

"To buy some steak for supper. Have you eaten supper yet?"

"No."

"Then come along with me, and I'll invite you to join us."

"I don't look fit, Mark."

"Never mind about your clothes, Tom. We don't generally put on dress suits. A little soap and water will make you all right."

"What'll your mudder say?"

"That any friend of mine is welcome."

So Tom allowed himself to be persuaded, and had no reason to complain of his reception. The steak emitted appetizing odors as it was being broiled, and when at length supper was ready no one enjoyed it more than Tom.

"How do you think my mother can cook, Tom?" asked Mark.

"She beats Beefsteak John all hollow. I just wish she'd open a eaten' house."

"I'll think about it, Tom," said Mrs. Mason smiling. "Would you be one of my regular customers?"

"I would if I had money enough."

It is hard to say which enjoyed the supper most. The day before Mrs. Mason had been anxious and apprehensive, but to-day, with a surplus fund of thirteen dollars, she felt in high spirits.

This may seem a small sum to many of our readers, but to the frugal little household it meant nearly two weeks' comfort.

The table was cleared, and Mark and Tom sat down to a game of checkers. They had just finished the first game when steps were heard on the stairs, and directly there was a knock at the door.

"Go to the door, Mark," said his mother.

Mark opened the door and found himself in the presence of a stout man, rather showily dressed, and wearing a white hat.

"Is this Mark Mason?" asked the visitor.

"Yes, sir."

The visitor took out a copy of the Evening Globe, and compared Mark with the picture.

"Yes, I see you are," he proceeded. "You are the telegraph boy that disarmed the dynamite crank in Mr. Rockwell's office."

"Yes, sir."

"Allow me to say, young man, I wouldn't have been in your shoes at that moment for ten thousand dollars."

"I wouldn't want to go through it again myself," smiled Mark.

All the while he was wondering why the stout man should have taken the trouble to come and see him.

"Perhaps you'll know me when I tell you that I'm Bunsby," said the stout visitor drawing himself up and inflating his chest with an air of importance.

"Of Bunsby's Dime Museum?" asked Mark.

"Exactly! You've hit it the first time. Most people have heard of me," he added complacently.

"Oh yes, sir, I've heard of you often. So have you, Tom?"

"Yes," answered Tom, fixing his eyes on Mr. Bunsby with awe-struck deference, "I've been to de museum often."

"Mr. Bunsby," said Mark gravely, "this is my particular friend, Tom Trotter."

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Trotter," said Mr. Bunsby, offering his hand.

Tom took it shyly, and felt that it was indeed a proud moment for him. To be called Mr. Trotter by the great Bunsby, and to have his hand shaken into the bargain, put him on a pinnacle of greatness which he had never hoped to reach.

"Won't you walk in, Mr. Bunsby? This is my mother, Mrs. Mason, and this is my sister Edith."

"Glad to meet you, ladies both! I congratulate you, Mrs. Mason, on having so distinguished a son."

"He is a good boy, Mr. Bunsby, whether he is distinguished or not."

"I have no doubt of it. In fact I am sure of it. You already know that I keep a dime museum, where, if I do say it myself, may be found an unrivaled collection of curiosities gathered from the four quarters of the globe, and where may be witnessed the most refined and recherché entertainments, which delight daily the élite of New York and the surrounding cities."

"Yes, sir," assented Mrs. Mason, rather puzzled to guess what all this had to do with her.

"I have come here to offer your son an engagement of four weeks at twenty-five dollars a week, and the privilege of selling his photographs, with all the profits it may bring."

"But what am I to do?" asked Mark.

"Merely to sit on the platform with the other curiosities."

"But I am not a curiosity."

"I beg your pardon, my dear boy, but everybody will want to see the heroic boy who foiled a dynamite fiend and saved the life of a banker."

Somehow this proposal was very repugnant to Mark.

"Thank you, Mr. Bunsby," he said, "but I should not like to earn money in that way."

"I might say thirty dollars a week," continued Mr. Bunsby. "Come, let us strike up a bargain."

"It isn't the money. Twenty-five dollars a week is more than I could earn in any other way, but I shouldn't like to have people staring at me."

"My dear boy, you are not practical."

"I quite agree with Mark," said Mrs. Mason. "I would not wish him to become a public spectacle."

CHAPTER VIII

A SCENE IN MRS. MACK'S ROOM

Fifteen minutes before a stout, ill-dressed man of perhaps forty years of age knocked at the door of Mrs. Mack's room.

"Come in!" called the old lady in quavering accents.

The visitor opened the door and entered.

"Who are you?" asked the old lady in alarm.

"Don't you know me, Aunt Jane?" replied the intruder. "I'm Jack Minton, your nephew."

"I don't want to see you – go away!" cried Mrs. Mack.

"That's a pretty way to receive your own sister's son, whom you haven't seen for five years."

"I haven't seen you because you've been in jail," retorted his aunt in a shrill voice.

"Yes, I was took for another man," said Jack. "He stole and laid it off on to me."

"I don't care how it was, but I don't want to see you. Go away!"

"Look here, Aunt Jane, you're treating me awful mean. I'm your own orphan nephew, and you ought to make much of me."

"An orphan – yes. You hurried your poor mother to the grave by your bad conduct," said Mrs. Mack with some emotion. "You won't find me so soft as she was."

"Soft? No, you're as hard as flint, but all the same you're my aunt, and you're rich, while I haven't a dollar to bless myself with."

"Rich! Me rich!" repeated the old lady shrilly. "You see how I live. Does it look as if I was rich?"

"Oh, you can't humbug me that way. You could live better if you wanted to."

"I'm poor – miserably poor!" returned the old woman.

"I'd like to be as poor as you are!" said Jack Minton grimly. "You're a miser, that's all there is about it. You half starve yourself and live without fire, when you might be comfortable, and all to save money. You're a fool! Do you know where all your money will go when you're dead?"

"There won't be any left."

"Won't there? I'll take the risk of that, for I shall be your heir. It'll all go to me!" said Jack, chuckling.

"Go away! Go away!" cried the terrified old woman wildly.

"I want to have a little talk with you first, aunt," said Jack, drawing the only other chair in the room in front of Mrs. Mack and sitting down on it. "You're my only relation, and we ought to have an understanding. Why, you can't live more than a year or two – at your age."

"What do you mean?" said Mrs Mack angrily. "I'm good for ten years. I'm only seventy-seven."

"You're living on borrowed time, Aunt Jane, you know that yourself. You've lived seven years beyond the regular term, and you can't live much longer."

"Go away! Go away!" said the terrified old woman, really alarmed at her nephew's prediction. "I don't want to have anything to do with you."

"Don't forget that I'm your heir."

"I can leave my money as I please – not that I've got much to leave."

"You mean you'll make a will? Well, go ahead and do it. There was a man I know made a will and he died the next day."

This shot struck home, for the old woman really had a superstitious dread of making a will.

"You're a terrible man!" she moaned. "You scare me."

"Come, aunt, be reasonable. You can leave part of your money away from me if you like, but I want you to help me now. I'm hard up. Do you see this nickel?" and he drew one from his vest pocket.

"Yes."

"Well, it's all the money I've got. Why, I haven't eaten anything to-day, and I have no money to pay for a bed."

"I – I haven't any supper for you."

"I don't want any here. I wouldn't care to board with you, Aunt Jane. Why, I should soon become a bag of bones like yourself. I don't believe you've got five cents' worth of provisions in the room."

"There's half a loaf of bread in the closet."

"Let me take a look at it."

He strode to the closet and opened the door. On a shelf he saw half a loaf of bread, dry and stale. He took it in his hand, laughing.

"Why, that bread is three days' old," he said. "Where's your butter?"

"I – I don't eat butter. It's too high!"

"And you don't care to live high!" said Jack, laughing at his own joke. "I don't care to rob you of this bread, Aunt Jane. It's too rich for my blood. Don't you ever eat anything else?"

"Sometimes," she answered, hesitating.

"I'd rather take my supper at the cheapest restaurant on the Bowery. What I want is money."

Mrs. Mack uttered a little cry of alarm.

"Oh, don't go into a fit, aunt! I only want a little, just to get along till I can find work. Give me twenty-five dollars, and I won't come near you again for a month. I swear it."

"Twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated Mrs. Mack in dismay. "Do you think I am made of money?"

"I don't take you for an Astor or a Vanderbilt, Aunt Jane, but you've got a tidy lot of money somewhere – that I am sure of. I shouldn't wonder if you had five thousand dollars. Now where do you keep it?"

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked the old woman sharply. "No, I haven't, but it looks to me as if you had. But I can't waste my time here all night. I'm your only relative, and it's your duty to help me. Will you let me have twenty-five dollars or not?"

"No, I won't," answered Mrs. Mack angrily.

"Then I'll take the liberty of helping myself if I can find where you keep your hoards."

Jack Minton jumped up from his chair and went at once to a cheap bureau, which, however, was probably the most valuable article in the room, and pulling out the top drawer, began to rummage about among the contents. Then it was that Mrs. Mack uttered the piercing shriek referred to at the end of the last chapter, and her nephew, tramping across the floor, seized her roughly by the shoulder.

"What do you mean by this noise, you old fool?" he demanded roughly.

"Help! Murder! Thieves!" screamed the old woman.

Then the door opened, and Mark Mason burst into the room, followed by Tom Trotter.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Mack?" asked Mark.

"This man is going to rob me," answered the old woman. "Oh, save me!"

"It's a lie!" said Jack Minton. "Just ask this woman who I am. She knows."

"Who is he, Mrs. Mack?"

"It is my nephew, Jack Minton. He – "

"Do you hear that? I'm her nephew, come in to make her a call after a long time."

"What are you doing to her?" demanded Mark suspiciously.

"Trying to stop her infernal racket. You'd think I was murdering her by the way she goes on."

"What made you scream, Mrs. Mack?"

"Because he – he was going to rob me."

"How is that?" demanded Mark sternly.

"None of your business, kid! You ain't no call to interfere between me and my aunt."

"I have if she asks me to."

"He was at my bureau drawers. He told me I must give him twenty-five dollars."

"Supposing I did? It's the least you can do for your own nephew that hasn't a cent to bless himself with."

"Oh, take him away, Mark! He'll rob me first and murder me afterwards, and I'm his mother's only sister."

"You see she admits it. She's rolling in money – "

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Mack, throwing up her hands. "You know I'm poor, Mark Mason."

"No, I don't, Mrs. Mack. I think you've got all the money you need, but you have a right to keep it if you want to. Mr. Minton, you had better leave the room. Your aunt is evidently afraid of you, and, old as she is, your staying here may make her sick."

"It ain't much use living, the way she is. Aunt Jane, I ask you again will you lend me twenty-five dollars?"

"No, no!"

"Will you lend me five dollars?"

"No."

"Are you going to turn your own nephew out into the street without a cent to buy food or pay for a bed?"

He glowered at his aunt so fiercely as he said this that Mark was afraid he might strangle her.

"Mrs. Mack," he said, "you had better give him something if he is in so much need. Since he is really your nephew, you might give him a dollar on condition that he won't trouble you again."

After long persuasion the old woman was induced to do this, though she declared that it would leave her destitute, and send her to the poor-house.

"Now, Mr. Minton," said Mark, "I advise you not to come here again, or I may have to call in a policeman."

"I've a great mind to throw you down-stairs," growled Jack.

"You'd have to throw me too!" put in Tom Trotter.

"I'd do it with pleasure."

Jack left the room and steered his way to the nearest saloon, while Mark and Tom returned to the room beneath.

CHAPTER IX

AN ADVENTURE IN A FIFTH AVENUE STAGE

Mark did not fail to call at Mr. Rockwell's office during the following week.

Nichols, the clerk, who had already shown a friendly interest in him, received him kindly.

"Mr. Rockwell is still confined at his house," he said. "The affair of last week was a great shock to him, and, not being a strong man, he is quite prostrated."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Mark in a tone of sympathy, "but I am not surprised. That is what I read in the papers. Still, as I was asked to call at the office, I have done so."

"I am glad to see you. I hope you are getting along well."

"Oh yes, fairly well."

"How do you like being a telegraph messenger?"

"It will do very well for a boy, but it leads to nothing. I wish I could get into some position where I would be promoted."

"That will come after a while, if you show yourself faithful and reliable."

The next day Mark had a surprise. Walking past the Metropolitan Hotel, not far from Houston Street, he saw a boy just leaving the hotel whose face and figure were familiar.

"Edgar Talbot!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Edgar, turning at the call.

"Yes; how do you happen to visit New York again so soon?"

"We are going to move to New York," answered Edgar. "Father feels that Syracuse is too small a place for a man of his business ability," he added in a consequential tone.

"Are you going to live at the hotel?"

"No. We shall live in a nice flat up town, near the Park."

This was news indeed. Mark felt no interest in any of the family except in Mrs. Talbot, his mother's sister, who alone of all displayed a friendly regard for her poor relatives.

"Mother will be glad to hear of it," he said.

"Why?"

"Because your mother is her only sister, and she will like to call on her."

"Look here!" said Edgar. "I hope you don't expect to be on visiting terms at our house."

"Why not? You are my own cousin, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Edgar, making the admission grudgingly, "but of course there is a great difference in our social positions."

"You mean that you are rich and we are poor?"

"Yes, that's about the size of it."

"I don't care a particle about seeing you, but my mother will be glad to see her sister."

"Oh, well! Mother can call at your – tenement house, now and then, but it would be better that none of you should call on us."

"Why?"

"Because we wouldn't like to let the servants know that we have such poor relations."

"Do you say this on your own account, or did your father tell you this?" said Mark indignantly.

"I know that is the way he feels."

"I don't believe Aunt Mary feels so."

Just then a boy approached whom Edgar seemed to know.

"Good morning," he said hurriedly. "I have an engagement."

Mark felt that he was dismissed, and kept on his way. He hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that his uncle's family was coming to New York. He did not care for Edgar's companionship, nor did he expect to get any of it, but he knew that his mother would like to meet her sister occasionally.

About the middle of the afternoon he found himself riding in a Fifth Avenue stage. The stage was tolerably full. Directly opposite Mark sat an old lady richly dressed, whose means were evidently large. Next to her sat a flashily dressed young man, on whose bosom glittered what might be a valuable diamond stud, conspicuous for its size. He had a diamond ring on his finger, and might easily be mistaken for a banker's son.

All at once Mark noticed some suspicious movements which led him to think that the young man might be quite different from what he appeared. A moment later he saw the young man's hand dive into the old lady's side pocket. Directly afterwards he rose and pulled the strap for the stage to stop. Mark realized that a robbery had taken place. He rose and placed himself between the young man and the door.

"Madam," he said to the old lady, "I think you have been robbed. Feel in your pockets and see."

The old lady, startled, followed Mark's advice.

"My pocketbook is gone!" she said nervously.

"Out of the way, boy!" cried the young man. "I have to get out here."

"Not yet," answered Mark firmly. "Give back the lady's pocketbook."

"Why, you insolent young rascal! What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I say."

"You have insulted me, and I will horsewhip you!" exclaimed the rogue in assumed virtuous indignation.

He seized Mark by the shoulder and was about to thrust him forcibly aside, when a stout, thick-set man rose and ranged himself by Mark's side.

"Young man," he said, "give back the pocketbook as the boy tells you."

"I have no pocketbook."

As he spoke he dexterously dropped it to the floor of the stage.

"Here's your pocketbook, ma'am," said a nurse girl, picking it up.

"Thank you!" responded the old lady, relieved.

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed the dude triumphantly. "Boy, you're too fresh! I am a young man of high family. It is most ridiculous to charge me with stealing."

"I saw you with your hand in the lady's pocket," said Mark calmly.

"It's a lie! But I ought not to be surprised. I know you now. You were sent to the Island last summer for stealing. I remember seeing you on trial at Jefferson Market police court."

Suspicious glances were directed at Mark, for most people are inclined to believe evil of their neighbors – but the stout man only laughed.

"That is too thin, my friend!" he said. "Of course your motive in bringing a charge against this boy is plain.

"Let me out, sir!" stormed the crook.

"Madam, do you wish to bring a charge against this man?"

"No, let him go. I've got my pocketbook back, and that's all I want."

The stout man turned aside, and the adventurer sprang out of the stage and dashed down Thirty-Ninth Street in the direction of Third Avenue.

"I'm very much obliged to you, boy," said the old lady. "Did you really see that young man take my pocketbook?"

"I saw him with his hand in your pocket."

"I'm so sorry. He seemed so nicely dressed, too. I thought he belonged to a rich family."

The stout man laughed.

"My dear madam," he said, "the young men connected with our best families don't dress as flashily as your late companion. He is probably a professional pickpocket. Did you have much money with you?"

"Over a hundred dollars. I was going down town to pay a bill."

"Then you ought to be much obliged to this boy for detecting the thief."

"I am," said the old lady earnestly. "Here, take this," she continued, and she drew a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook.

Mark hung back.

"No, thank you!" he said. "I don't want any pay for that."

"Give me your name and address, then."

Mark had a business card in his pocket, and wrote his name and address upon it.

"Give me your name and address too," said the gentleman who had proved so valuable an ally. "I may need your services some time."

"I don't think I have another card, sir."

"Then take one of mine."

Mark glanced at the card offered him.

Henry SwanWatches, Diamonds, JewelryNo. 185½ Broadway

"Were that young man's diamonds bought at your store," asked Mark, smiling.

"They were only paste. They might deceive a novice, but I saw through them at once. But I must bid you good morning. I have to make a call at the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

A few blocks farther on the old lady got out.

Mark assisted her to the street.