Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

This was an adjoining town, about four miles away.

Reaching the town, the old lady directed Paul to drive her to the office of her lawyer. Finding him in, she said: “You may take the horse to the stable, and come back in an hour. I have some business to attend to.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” said Paul, obediently.

He returned in an hour, but had to wait half an hour longer. Then the old lady came out, and seemed unusually cheerful.

“Paul,” she said, “I have been making my will.”

“I thought it might have been made already,” said our hero.

“So it was, but I have made a new one.”

Paul did not feel called upon to reply.

“I have not forgotten you,” continued Mrs. Granville, kindly.

“Thank you very much,” said Paul, gratefully. “I won’t pretend to be sorry, but I hope it will be a long time before I reap any benefit from it.”

“I am sure of that, Paul,” said the old lady. “You are not selfish and self seeking like Mrs. Mercer and Frost. They were handsomely remembered in my former will, but I had not found them out then.”

When they reached the house, Mrs. Mercer herself opened the door. There was a look of blended mystery and triumph on her face as she admitted them.

“Can I speak with you a minute in private, Mrs. Granville?” she said with a significant glance in Paul’s direction.

“Certainly, Mrs. Mercer. Paul, you may go out and put up the horse.”

“It’s coming,” thought Paul.

“Well, what is it, Mercer?” asked the old lady, as she led the way into her own chamber.

“It’s about that boy, ma’am.”

“About Paul?”

“Yes, ma’am. I know you think him an angel.”

“Well, not quite that, Mercer,” smiled Mrs. Granville.

“At any rate, you think a great deal of him.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I never liked him for my part,” continued the housekeeper, spitefully. “I always distrusted him. I thought him a snake in the grass.”

“Come, Mercer, that’s rather a heavy indictment of the poor boy.”

“I can prove all I say, ma’am,” said the housekeeper. “I thought you were wrong in trusting him.”

“What has he done? Come to the point.”

“You see this, ma’am,” said Mrs. Mercer, producing a breast pin set with pearls.

“Yes, it is mine.”

“Where do you think I found it?”

“Suppose you tell me.”

“In the boy’s bureau drawer, while you were out.”

“How did you happen to be examining his drawer?” asked the old lady, sharply.

“Because from things I have noticed I suspected he meant to rob you. I didn’t expect to find that, I confess, but I did think I should find something. This favorite of yours is nothing but a thief.”

“You may call him, Mrs. Mercer. It is only fair to hear what he has to say for himself.”

Mrs. Mercer needed no second bidding. She hurried to the stables and found Paul occupied in unharnessing the horses.

“Frost,” she said, “just finish unharnessing the horses. Mrs. Granville wants to see this young gentleman.”

Frost obeyed with unwonted alacrity, and Paul quietly followed the housekeeper into the house. He was not particularly alarmed, for he had already put a spoke in the housekeeper’s wheel, though she was quite unaware of it.

“Has Mrs. Granville an errand for me to do?” he asked, suppressing a smile.

“You’ll find out what she wants of you,” returned the housekeeper, tossing her head. “Young man, your course is about run!”

“Is it?” asked Paul, innocently.

He followed Mrs. Mercer into Mrs. Granville’s chamber. The old lady was sitting in her arm chair by the window.

“I’ve brought him, ma’am,” said Mrs. Mercer. “Now you can find out for yourself what a viper he is.”

“Paul,” said the old lady, mildly, “Mrs. Mercer tells me she found this breast pin in your bureau drawer. Do you know anything about it?”

“No, ma’am,” answered Paul, not betraying the slightest confusion.

“Of course he would say so,” remarked the housekeeper.

“Yet, Mrs. Mercer says she found it in your drawer.”

“What was she doing there?” asked Paul.

“Tracking a thief!” answered Mrs. Mercer, spitefully.

“She charges you with stealing the breast pin from my room, Paul.”

“Yes, I do; how did it get into your drawer unless you stole it? Answer me that, Mr. Paul Parton.”

“I suppose you put it there,” returned Paul, calmly.

Mrs. Mercer held up both hands in indignant protest. “Did you ever hear the likes, ma’am?” she ejaculated. “He’s a thief, and unfit to stay in your house.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Mercer,” said Paul, quite coolly, “but didn’t you arrange this little plot against me last evening in conversation with your son?”

“What do you mean?” ejaculated the housekeeper.

“I happened to be in my room, and overheard you.”

“Do you believe this impudent lie, Mrs. Granville?” the housekeeper asked, desperately.

“I have reason to believe Paul,” answered the old lady, “for this breast pin, which you say you found in Paul’s room during my absence, I distinctly remember leaving in my own bureau drawer when I left the house this afternoon.”

Mrs. Mercer was panic stricken. She turned to leave the room, quite overwhelmed, but Mrs. Granville called her back.

“Stay, Mrs. Mercer,” she said, “I have something to say to you.”

CHAPTER XXXV

PAUL RETURNS TO NEW YORK

The housekeeper turned at the bidding of her mistress, and gazed at her in apprehension, waiting for her to speak.

“I wish to speak to you about another matter, Mrs. Mercer. I have made a discovery which reflects seriously upon you.”

“What is it?” asked the housekeeper, nervously.

“Why, it is that for a long time – I don’t know how long – I have been paying Mr. Talbot higher prices for groceries and other articles than he charges any one else.”

“I didn’t know it,” answered Mrs. Mercer.

“Do you mean to say that he imposed upon you?”

“That’s just what I do say,” answered the housekeeper, gaining boldness. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Mrs. Granville eyed her gravely.

“It is too late to impose upon me, Mrs. Mercer,” she said. “I know why he charged me extra prices.”

“He wanted to make money out of you, I suppose.”

“He or some one else. It is useless to misrepresent. I know that this extra sum went into your pocket. Wait,” seeing the housekeeper about to speak. “I learned his usual prices, and with Paul’s help I went over the bills for the last three months, and have discovered how much I have been swindled.”

“It’s his doings, I’ve no doubt,” said Mrs. Mercer, bitterly, referring to Paul.

“You are mistaken; though if it were true it would not help you any. I myself discovered the overcharge, and simply employed Paul to look over the bills with me.”

“Talbot lied!” said the housekeeper, desperately. She could not have expected this denial would benefit her, but she was reluctant to confess her guilt.

“I believe he tells the truth,” returned her mistress. “What have you to say?”

“I can’t say anything; it wouldn’t do any good,” said Mrs. Mercer, sullenly. “You’re so infatuated with that boy that you won’t do me justice.”

“Let me remind you,” said the old lady with dignity, “that Paul has nothing whatever to do with the matter. I think well of him, it is true, and am even attached to him, but your wrong doing commenced before he came, and your senseless jealousy has betrayed you into a disgraceful plot against him. Of course you and your son cannot remain in my employment.”

The housekeeper had not anticipated this. It was a terrible thought that she and Frost must go forth from the home that had known them so long.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Granville,” she pleaded in great agitation. “I will give up all the money I have made out of my purchases on your account – I will, indeed – and more, too, if you insist upon it. Only let me stay! Think of the years I have been in your service!”

“You should have thought of that, Mrs. Mercer. You should have thought of my kindness to you and your son, and rejected the temptation to rob me as you have done.”

“I will give it all back – I told you I would,” said the housekeeper, with feverish lips.

“It’s too late! I have lost confidence in you. You are not the woman I supposed; for a small gain you have thrown away a great prospect. You and your son were down in my will for a handsome sum. This day I have made a new will.”

“And given your property to that boy, I suppose?” said the housekeeper in passionate anger.

“I decline to tell you in what way I have disposed of my money!” returned the old lady with dignity. “And now for the future. You and your son will leave me at the end of this week.”

“I will leave this very day!” exclaimed Mrs. Mercer, angrily.

“You can do as you please, but I should not advise you to do so. You did not wait for my conclusion. You will leave at the end of the week, but if you remain till then, you will not go empty handed. I will not only let you keep what you have wrongfully taken, but in acknowledgment of past services, I will pay you and Frost three months’ wages in advance to keep you until you find new employment.”

“I will stay,” said the housekeeper, sullenly.

“It will be best.”

“Shall you keep this boy with you?” she could not help asking, jealously.

“Probably not long. He will wish to go back to the city.”

This assurance relieved Mrs. Mercer, and almost reconciled her to her own departure.

At the end of the week, however, Mrs. Granville closed her house for a time, employing a neighboring farmer to take care of the land, and went to New York, under Paul’s escort, to make her niece a visit. When she parted with Paul, she placed in his hands a check for one hundred dollars.

“That is for yourself,” she said. “Come and see me every week. You will not lose your time.”

When Paul returned to his old home, he found a great change in old Jerry. He was better in health, though still feeble, but his mind seemed more at rest. Mrs. Hogan was sick, and his daughter in law, Ellen Barclay, was in attendance upon him. To Paul’s increased surprise the two children, Jimmy and Mary, were in the room, and seemed on very good terms with their grandfather.

“You didn’t expect to see me here, Paul,” said Mrs. Barclay.

“No, but I am glad to find you here,” said the telegraph boy, cordially.

“Mrs. Hogan has been sick with a fever, and it was necessary that some one should take her place. So I came.”

“But it must be inconvenient for you to come over from Jersey City every day.”

“I have left Jersey City, and occupy an apartment upstairs.”

“How does old Jerry – Mr. Barclay – look upon you?”

“We are very good friends. I am more used to nursing than Mrs. Hogan, and I make him comfortable.”

“I thought he might be prejudiced against you on account of your husband.”

“He was at first, but we have talked freely about him, and he finds that I, too, am in fear of him. So we have made common cause and he trusts me.”

“I am very glad of it,” said, Paul, earnestly. “It is as it should be; I don’t think Jerry can live long, and you and your children ought to get the benefit of his money.”

“You are a good boy, Number 91. I misjudged you at first. I thought you were plotting for the old man’s money, and so, I am sure, did my husband.”

“You don’t think so now?”

“No, I know you better.”

“It is strange,” said Paul, smiling, “but out in the country, where I have spent the last few weeks, I was suspected of plotting for the property of an old lady by whom I was employed. The housekeeper was very much exercised in mind, and tried to fasten a charge of theft upon me.”

“I hope she was not believed.”

“No; Mrs. Granville knew me better.”

“I wish the lady you mention would leave you something, Paul.”

“I don’t trouble myself with such thoughts. I have good friends, and I am sure that I shall prosper if I keep my health.”

“No one deserves success better.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barclay. I value your good opinion.”

This conversation took place in the entry. Just then the feeble voice of Jerry was heard, calling “Ellen.”

His daughter in law hastened to the bedside of the old man, and attended to his wants. Paul followed her into the room.

Five minutes later a heavy step was heard on the stairs, and the door was opened; all turned to see who was the visitor. The old man uttered a cry of alarm. His eyes were on the door, and he was the first to recognize the intruder.

“James!” he cried.

“You’re right, father,” said James Barclay, gruffly; “I’m glad you welcome me so warmly.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

JAMES BARCLAY REAPPEARS

“Go away! Go away!” ejaculated the old man in terrified accents.

“Couldn’t think of it, father,” said James, throwing himself on the sofa and lighting his pipe. “What, leave you and my wife – how on earth did you find the old man out, Ellen? Now all the family’s together, we’ll live together in peace and happiness. We’ll never desert the old man, will we, Ellen?”

“I wish you would not smoke here, James. It is bad for your father, who has a difficulty in breathing.”

“Oho! You take the old man’s part against me, do you?” said James Barclay, his brow darkening. “You haven’t seen me for weeks, and you begin to jaw already.”

“Ask him to go away, Ellen,” said Jerry, feebly.

“Oh, you’re anxious to get rid of me, are you?” sneered James Barclay. “You would drive me away from my family, would you? Are you still living in Jersey City, Ellen?”

“No, I have taken a room here.”

“That’s right. I’ve no objection. What does the doctor say about the old man? Is he going to die?”

“Hush, James,” said his wife. “How can you be so inconsiderate?”

“Who says I am going to die?” asked Jerry, terrified.

“I hope you will live a good while yet,” said Ellen Barclay, soothingly. “I will take every care of you.”

“I’m not such an old man,” interrupted Jerry. “I ought to live a – a long time.”

“Come, dad, you’re unreasonable,” said James, coarsely. “You’re seventy, if you’re a day. You don’t want to live forever, do you?”

“My own son wants me to die,” moaned Jerry.

“Well, you’ve had your share of life. Ain’t you goin’ to give me a chance?”

“Why will you talk in this way, James?” expostulated his wife, as the old man gave a cry and buried his face in the bed clothes.

“How have I been talking? It’s the truth, ain’t it?”

“You are only making your father worse.”

“Well, if you’re anxious to get rid of me, give me a few dollars, and I’ll stay away till tomorrow.”

“I have no money of my own, James.”

“Then whose money have you?”

“I have some money that Paul gave me to buy necessaries for your father.”

“Then give me some.”

“I have only a little of that left. I must ask Paul for more – ”

“Oh, the telegraph boy’s got the money, has he? Look here, you young rapscallion, I’ll take charge of the old man’s money. I am his son, and I am the proper party to do it. So hand over!”

“I have no money of your father’s. I have been advancing money of my own.”

“That’s too thin. You haven’t got any money of your own.”

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not. However, I’ll give you two dollars if you’ll go away now.”

“Hand it over, then. I won’t come back till tomorrow.”

The old man was in such a nervous condition, that Paul was glad to obtain even such a brief respite as this. He drew from his pocket a two dollar bill, and handed it to James Barclay, who immediately got up and walked towards the door.

“By, by!” he said, “I’ll be back to-morrow.”

“No, no,” said the old man, “I – I don’t want to see you.”

“Now, there’s an affectionate father for you!” said James Barclay, with a mocking smile. “He don’t want to see his only son.”

“You haven’t given him much reason to miss you, James,” said Ellen Barclay, mildly.

“So you turn against me, too, Mrs. Barclay,” said her husband, with a frown. “A nice wife you are, upon my word!”

“Shure you’re a jewel of a husband yourself!” interposed Mrs. Hogan, who had entered during the conversation.

“And you’re the woman who threw hot water upon me, you old jade!” retorted James, his face black with anger. “I’ve a great mind to wring your neck for you.”

He made a step forward, which alarmed Paul, lest he might proceed to carry out his threat.

“Oho!” laughed Barclay. “The kid is going to defend you.”

“And a fine boy he is!” said Mrs. Hogan. “But don’t you trouble yourself, Number 91. I’m a match for the ould brute any time.”

Mrs. Hogan, standing with her arms akimbo, looked thoroughly fearless and undaunted. She was a powerful woman, and, though James Barclay was of course her superior in physical force, he would not have found her an unresisting victim.

“Why don’t he go away?” was heard in a wailing voice from the bed.

“He is going directly,” answered Ellen Barclay, in a soothing voice.

James Barclay’s brow contracted.

“So you’re sowing mischief between my father and me, my lady!” he said. “Well, it’s just what I expected. But don’t you forget one thing! I’m the rightful heir of that old ninny on the bed there, and if anybody tries to cut me out, he’ll find I’ve got something to say about it.”

“That’s a pretty way to talk of your father – as an ould ninny,” said Mrs. Hogan, indignantly.

“Never you mind! It’s none of your business. I suppose you’re looking for a slice of the property yourself.”

“No, I’m not Mr. James Barclay. I’m an honest woman, and can earn my own living.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But I’m not so sure of the telegraph boy. He’s been living on the old man all his life, and he means to be provided for when he dies.”

“I don’t know what your father would have done without him,” said Mrs. Hogan. “He’s worked for old Jerry ever since he was six years old – when his own flesh and blood deserted him. Isn’t it so, Jerry?”

“Yes, Paul is a good boy,” responded Jerry, feebly.

“Oh, no doubt; he’s an angel,” sneered James Barclay. “I say, Number 91, as you seem to have my father’s money, I’ll just mention that I shall want ten dollars tomorrow.”

“I have no money of your father’s, Mr. Barclay, and I shall not be able to advance you the money myself.”

“Well, it’s got to come from some quarter,” said Barclay; “whether he gives it to me, or you, I don’t care, as long as I have it.”

“You ought to earn your own living – you’re big and strong enough,” said Mrs. Hogan, with spirit.

“Thank you; you’re a fine woman,” said James Barclay, mockingly. “If Mrs. Barclay would only be obliging enough to leave me a widower, I might take you for my second wife.”

“And leave me to support you!” retorted Mrs. Hogan. “Thank you for nothing. I’d rather be a widow all the days of my life than to marry you.”

James Barclay laughed.

“And yet some people think me good looking,” he said.

“Then they must be blind; however, it isn’t the way you look, it’s the way you behave that sets me aginst you.”

“That’s a pity; for your sake, my sweet Mrs. Hogan, I might be tempted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Shure, it’s more than one new leaf you’ll need to turn over, I’m thinkin’.”

Paul laughed at this retort, and even the victim of Mrs. Hogan’s sarcasm was forced to laugh, too. Then, greatly to the relief of all present, the unwelcome visitor left the house.

“Shure, I pity you, Mrs. Barclay,” said Mrs. Hogan, sympathetically, “for havin’ such a husband as that. What made you marry him?”

“Because I thought him a different man, but the delusion didn’t last long. Before three months had passed I found that he had married me for a few hundred dollars left me by my aunt. When he had spent them, he treated me with neglect.”

“Shure’s it’s the way wid the men!”

“I hope not with all of them, Mrs. Hogan,” said Paul, smiling.

“No, Paul, I don’t mean you. I wouldn’t mind marrying you if you were old enough.”

“There, I’ve had one offer,” said Paul. “Excuse my blushes!”

CHAPTER XXXVII

JAMES BARCLAY’S SCHEME

James Barclay presented himself the next day, true to his notice, and demanded ten dollars. Paul was not at home, and the only persons to whom he could appeal were his father, his wife, and Mrs. Hogan.

“I haven’t any money, James,” answered Mrs. Barclay, “except seventy five cents, and that I must spend for medicines for your father, and something for his supper.”

“Where did that money come from?” inquired Barclay.

“From Paul.”

“Number 91?”

“Yes.”

“Just as I thought! He’s got my father’s money, and doles it out to you a little at a time.”

“He says it is his own money.”

“That’s a likely story. When could a common telegraph boy get so much money?”

“He isn’t a common telegraph boy! He is a very smart boy.”

“An uncommon telegraph boy, then, if you prefer it. By Jove! I think he is that myself. It isn’t every boy of his age who could so pull the wool over an old man’s eyes as he has.”

“He is a very good boy!” said Mrs. Barclay, who had learned to appreciate Paul, though she was at first inclined to do him injustice.

“So he is – of the kind!” retorted her husband. “If you were not blind you would see that he has got hold of my father’s property, and means to keep the lion’s share of it for himself. When will he be home?”

“Not till six o’clock.”

“And it’s only three. I don’t think I can wait.”

It was fortunate that he did not see the look of satisfaction upon his wife’s face. It would have incensed him, for his temper, as the reader has had occasion to learn, was not of the best.

“Look here!” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “give me the seventy five cents. I’ll make it do till I get a chance to see this telegraph boy.”

“But, James, I really can’t spare it. I need it to buy some supper and medicines for your father.”

“And I need it to buy some supper for myself!” returned her husband, roughly. “There’s plenty more money where that came from.”

“Oh, James! how can you be so hard and selfish!”

“Hard and selfish, just because I don’t want to starve. I s’pose you’d be glad to read my obituary in the paper some fine morning, Mrs. Barclay, eh?”

“Shure she wouldn’t read much good of you, I’m thinkin’,” said Mrs. Hogan.

“Don’t be hard on me, Mrs. Hogan. Remember I’ve promised to marry you, if Ellen, here, ever gives me the chance.”

“Shure thin I hope she’ll live forever. She’s welcome to you, though I wish she had a better husband, as she well desarves, poor dear!”

“I’ll come around again tonight,” was James Barclay’s parting assurance.

“Don’t you come if you’ve got any other business to attind to! We can spare you.”

But James Barclay did come, and was fortunate enough to find Paul at home. There his good fortune ended, however. Paul positively denied having any money belonging to old Jerry, and as positively refused to advance James any money of his own.

“Do you expect me to believe that story, Number 91?” demanded the visitor with lowering look.

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not, but it’s true all the same.”

James Barclay was silent for a moment, and then, considerably to Paul’s surprise, went out without further disturbance. The fact was that a new scheme had occurred to him. He was thoroughly convinced that Paul had his father’s property in his possession. If he could get the telegraph boy into his power – kidnap him, in fact – he would be able to extort from him the money, or learn where it lay concealed.

“Good evening!” he said; “we shall meet again!”

But James Barclay’s plans were frustrated in a tragic way. On leaving the house he met an old acquaintance who proposed to him to join forces in a burglary that evening. Barclay was at the end of his resources and readily agreed. He had so often got off scot free that he was disposed to underestimate the danger incurred. It was destined to be the last crime in which he was to take part. He was surprised at his work by a private watchman, and fatally shot dying almost instantly.

When Paul read in the morning papers the account of Barclay’s tragic end he was shocked, though he could not mourn for one whose life had been a curse to himself and all connected with him. To old Jerry his son’s death was a positive relief, as may readily be imagined.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

CONCLUSION

Three months passed, during which Paul faithfully attended to his duties as a telegraph boy. He was held in high consideration by the superintendent, who was very naturally influenced by the fact that Paul had made so many influential friends.