Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

“Take the clothes, thin,” said Mrs. Hogan, lifting them gingerly, as though afraid of contamination. “Shure, I wouldn’t give two cents for the lot of ’em.”

She little knew why Jerry valued them, and what a quantity of wealth had been concealed in the soiled garments.

With trembling fingers, and features working with agitation, Jerry took the clothes, and began to feel for his treasures. Alas for the old man! His worst fears were realized. The bank books and certificate of stock had been removed. Not a trace of them was to be found. The poor man, for he was to be pitied, uttered a sharp cry of anguish. The clothes dropped from his nerveless hands, and he fell back on the bed as if stricken with a mortal wound.

“Help! Help! Police!” he ejaculated. “I’ve been robbed.”

“Robbed is it?” inquired Mrs. Hogan, puzzled. “And of what have you been robbed, ould man?”

“There were two savings bank books in the pockets. You’ve taken them!”

“Well, well, if I ever heard the loike!” exclaimed Mrs. Hogan, indignantly. “So you call me a thafe, do you?”

“Give them back to me!” said the old man, imploringly. “I – I am so poor. It will kill me if I lose my money.”

“Two savings bank books, indade!” said Mrs. Hogan. “It’s my belafe you’re an ould humbug, you that have always called yourself so poor. And how much money was there in them?” she asked.

“I – I – no matter. Give me the books, or I’ll send for the police.”

“Go and welcome, this minute, if you please. You ought to know better than to call an honest woman a thafe.”

“Somebody has taken the books,” wailed Jerry.

“Very likely Paul’s taken care of them for you. He was here alone with the clothes.”

“Where is Paul?” demanded Jerry, with peevish eagerness.

“He’s at his work, but I’m expecting him back every minute. If he has taken the books, they are all right. Paul’s an honest boy, and a fine boy.”

“Do you think he would rob me, Mrs. Hogan?” asked Jerry, piteously.

“It’s a shame to be askin’ such a question,” said Mrs. Hogan. “Shure you know Paul wouldn’t demane himself by such an act. But here he is to answer for himself.”

She heard Paul’s step on the stairs, as he came up whistling. Directly afterwards he entered the room.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

“The ould man’s in a great taking about bein’ robbed, Paul,” answered Mrs. Hogan. “He says some savings bank books have been taken from his clothes.”

“Where are they, Paul?” wailed the old man.

“They are safe, Jerry. I took them from your pockets, and the railroad shares, too, and have left them with a Safe Deposit Company, for safe keeping.”

“Are you sure they are safe, Paul?”

“Yes, much safer than they would be here. Of course Mrs. Hogan is honest, but other persons might come into the room.”

“Bring them back to me, Paul. I want to see them.”

“I can if you insist upon it, Jerry. But you are too sick to look after them. Besides, suppose your son should come in some day. He could rob you easily, and you would never see your property again. Shall I show you the receipt for them?”

“Yes.”

Paul drew from his pocket the receipt given him by the Safe Deposit Company, and displayed it to the old man.

“Let me keep this?” said Jerry.

“Yes, if you like.”

This seemed to satisfy him, and he clutched the paper with a deep sigh of relief.

“Shure, and you’ve calmed him down, Paul,” said Mrs. Hogan. “Was it really true about the books?”

“It was really true, Mrs. Hogan. He has a good deal of money, though he doesn’t look it.”

“Thin it’s a fool he is to live as he does, whin he might live like a gintleman.”

“He will never live differently. When he dies it will go to his son, who will get through with it in short order.”

Then Mrs. Hogan told Paul about the visit of Ellen Barclay, and her discovering a relation in old Jerry.

“I wish she might have some of the money. Shure, she nades it with her young children.”

“I would much rather she would have it than his son, who is a ruffian and a burglar.”

“And you’ll help her to it, if you can, Paul?”

“Yes, I will. I don’t want Jerry’s money myself. I am young, and my prospects are good. All I want is that it should go into the right hands.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

JERRY FINDS A NEW RELATION

Ellen Barclay came over the next evening according to appointment, and had an interview with Paul. She had at first been disposed to look upon him with suspicion, as likely to divert Jerry’s money from his legal heirs, but the interview dispelled all such ideas. The telegraph boy was so frank and free spoken, and showed such an interest in helping her, that she was strongly impressed in his favor. He even told her the particulars of his first encounter with her husband, and in what manner he had defeated his plan of gaining possession of Mr. Cunningham’s money.

“Yes,” said Ellen, bitterly, “he is a husband to be proud of.”

“Has he always been as bad?” asked Paul.

“Yes; I had not been married to him a month before I found out that I was wedded to a criminal. He treated me brutally, and I only breathed freely when he was away from home. Within a year from the wedding day, he was condemned to a year’s imprisonment, and at least half the time since he has been in confinement.”

“Leaving you to support yourself, I suppose?”

“Yes, I have had to support myself and the children. Even when he was a free man, he did little or nothing for the family.”

“How did you support yourself?” asked Paul.

“At first I undertook to maintain myself by the needle, but the miserable pittance I received showed me that I must try some other means of support. On inquiry I found that nothing paid as well as fine laundry work for ladies. It was a trial to my pride, for I was well brought up and educated, to take in washing for a living, but I would rather do that than see my children suffer. So I stifled my pride and became a laundress. I was fortunate in securing customers, and I have wanted for nothing, neither have my children – nothing at least that was necessary to comfort. But when my husband came home lately, and proposed to put upon me the additional burden of his support, I became discouraged.”

“I hope better days are in store for you,” said Paul.

“Not while my husband lives, and can find me out,” said Ellen Barclay, sadly.

“Do you wish me to introduce you to your husband’s father?”

“Do you think it will be best?”

“We had better try the experiment at any rate. He may die, and if he does his money ought to go to you.”

“It would be a great relief to me if my children would be provided for.”

“Follow me, then.”

Following Paul, Ellen Barclay went into the chamber occupied by old Jerry.

The old man looked up, noticing Paul only.

“Do you think I will get well, Paul?” he asked.

“Yes, Jerry, if you receive proper care, and have nourishing food.”

“But – I am so poor, Paul.”

“That is a mistake, Jerry, as you and I know.”

“Don’t let any one know of the few dollars I have, Paul.”

“I won’t let your son know; he is the only one of whom you need be afraid. Did you know he was married, and had two children?”

“I – I think he said something of it.”

“Would you like to see his wife?”

“I – I don’t know,” answered the old man, in an uncertain voice.

“This lady is your son’s wife,” said Paul, beckoning Ellen to come forward.

The old man regarded her with an uneasy look. “I hope you are not like James,” he said; “he is a bold, bad man!”

“No one knows that better than I, Mr. Barclay. It was a sad day when I married him.”

“You have found him out, too?”

“Yes, to my sorrow.”

“You won’t try to get my money?” asked Jerry, anxiously.

“No, but I should like to bring my children here to see their grandfather.”

“Are they – like him?”

“No, thank Heaven!”

“Then you may bring them.”

“I will. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, except to keep James away.”

“You have made a good impression on him,” said Paul, when they had left the room together.

“Thanks to you,” said Ellen, earnestly. “You are a good boy, and an unselfish one. Hereafter I shall trust you fully.”

CHAPTER XXIX

A NEW COMMISSION

“If Number 91 is unemployed, send him to No. 75, Windsor Hotel, at eleven o’clock.”

This message came to the telegraph office at which Paul was enrolled.

The superintendent called him to the desk.

“Here is a call for you, Number 91,” he said. “It comes from a lady, Mrs. Louisa Holbrook. Do you know her?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you familiar with the name?”

“No, sir; I never heard it before.”

“She has evidently heard of you. It is now ten o’clock. At half past ten you may start for the Windsor Hotel. If you arrive there before eleven, you may wait till the hour, and then report at the room indicated.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul arrived at the Windsor Hotel at ten minutes before the hour. This magnificent hostelry is situated on Fifth Avenue, and occupies the entire block between Forty Sixth and Forty Seventh Streets. It is built of brick, and has an air of quiet elegance which makes it a favorite with ladies and others who like to be spared the noise and bustle which attend other prominent hotels in the city. On the corner just above stands the luxurious home of Jay Gould, the railroad king. A few blocks above is the great Catholic Cathedral, destined one day to rank among the famous churches of the world. Still further up, on the opposite side, are the stately houses occupied by the Vanderbilt family. These things, however, did not occur to Paul, for he was too familiar with the leading buildings on the avenue to give them a special thought, further than to reflect, “The men who occupy these fine houses were once poor boys – many of them. I wonder whether it will ever be my fortune to live as handsomely!”

It was only a thought, not seriously entertained. Paul wanted to rise, but an active, healthy boy seldom thinks of luxury, or craves it. That comes later, after he has attained manhood.

Paul entered the hotel, and, going up to the office, expressed a wish to see Mrs. Louisa Holbrook.

“Were you sent for?” asked the clerk.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you may go up at once. Here” – to a bell boy – “show this boy up to No. 75, Mrs. Holbrook’s room.”

Though the room was only on the second floor, Paul followed the bell boy into the elevator. At the second landing he got out, and followed the hotel attendant to the door of a room fronting on the avenue. The bell boy knocked, and a voice said, “Come in!”

“It is a telegraph boy, ma’am,” said the servant.

“He may come in, and you can go.”

Paul entered the room – a large and handsome one – and found himself in presence of a lady not much over thirty years of age, with a pleasant face and manner.

“You are Number 91?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I suppose you are surprised that I should have sent specially for you,” the lady said, with a smile.

“I wondered how you came to hear of me,” said Paul.

“That is easily explained. I am a cousin of Mr. Cunningham.”

Paul’s face brightened. It was pleasant to serve any one connected with a family from which he had received so much kindness.

“That explains it,” he said; “all the family have treated me very kindly.”

“I assure you that you stand very high in their estimation,” said Mrs. Holbrook, smiling once more. “My young cousin Jennie was here yesterday, and on learning the nature of my business urged me to send for you.”

“I am very much obliged to Miss Jennie,” said Paul with genuine pleasure, for though too young to be in love, he liked Jennie Cunningham better than any girl he had ever seen.

“It is time I explained the errand on which I propose to employ you,” said Mrs. Holbrook. “You must know, then, that I have an old aunt living at the village of Rockville, in Connecticut. She is advanced in years, and possessed of large wealth. She has a comfortable home, and prefers to keep house rather than live with any of her relatives. She does not live alone, however. She employs a housekeeper, a Mrs. Mercer, whose son, a young man of twenty five, also finds employment on the place. This woman, I have reason to think, is an artful person, who, knowing my aunt to be wealthy, has ingratiated herself with her, and is evidently scheming for her property, or at any rate a handsome share of it. If it were any person who had a rightful claim, I think I may say for myself and my cousins that we would not interfere in the matter, as we are all moderately rich. But we decidedly object to our aunt’s falling into the hands of an artful adventurer like this housekeeper. You are wondering, no doubt, how all this concerns you. I will come to that. Mrs. Cunningham tells me you are a sharp, shrewd boy, and I propose to send you down as a confidential messenger, to look about you, judge of the progress the housekeeper has made in her designs, and, if you see anything wrong, apprise us, or, if there is any chance, open my aunt’s eyes to the real character of the persons she has trusted.”

Paul listened to Mrs. Holbrook’s statement with attention. Some difficulties, however, presented themselves to his mind.

“Unless I am in the house,” he said, “I shall find it difficult to carry out your instructions.”

“You will be in the house. I shall give you a letter to my aunt, saying that you are a boy in whom I am interested, and that I am anxious to have you pass a few weeks in the country. Can you drive a horse?”

“There is nothing I like better,” answered Paul, promptly.

“Can you take care of a horse?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“How did you acquire this knowledge in the city?”

“Not far from where I live is a stable, kept by a man whom I know well; I have been in there a good deal, and helped him when he needed it. Sometimes I would drive out for him.”

Mrs. Holbrook nodded approvingly. “I am glad to hear it,” she said. “My aunt is fond of riding, and has a horse and carriage. She can make you useful in that way, and also as her secretary if she needs any one to write for her, or read to her. I suppose you are equal to such duties?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am not to go as a telegraph boy, I presume?”

“No; have you another suit?”

“Yes, but I am afraid it is not good enough.”

“Then I will fit you out. I may as well write a letter first to my aunt, and then I will see about proper clothes for you. I think I will go to Brokaw Brothers. Can you go with me at once?”

Paul answered in the affirmative.

“What is your name?”

“Paul Parton.”

“A very good name. That will do quite nicely.”

Mrs. Holbrook sat down at the desk, and wrote the following letter:

“My Dear Aunt:

“I am taking a liberty in sending you a boy in whom I am interested, with the request that you will give him a home for a few weeks, if he should be contented. I know you have a large house and plenty of room. I think a young companion will help enliven the house. Paul Parton (that is his name) will be happy to be of service to you in any way. He understands horses, and will drive you out any time, harness and unharness, read to you or write for you, should you require it. I ask you to receive him as a guest, for my sake, but to make him useful.

“I hope, my dear aunt, you are in comfortable health, and in a condition to enjoy life, notwithstanding your advanced years.

“Your affectionate niece,“Louisa Holbrook.”

“There,” said Mrs. Holbrook, after reading the letter to Paul, “I think this will secure you an entrance into my aunt’s house, and should it be read by the housekeeper, as is likely to be the case, it will tell her nothing. Now we will go out and see about getting you a supply of clothes.”

CHAPTER XXX

PAUL’S RECEPTION AT ROCKVILLE

Paul found himself unable to start for Rockville in the afternoon. He was obliged to make arrangements at home for an indefinite absence, and procure from the savings bank a supply of money for current expenses, which he left in the hands of Mrs. Hogan. His outfit was provided by Mrs. Holbrook, who made it as ample as if Paul were the son of a well to do family, instead of a telegraph boy, dependent upon his own exertions for a scanty living in a shabby tenement house.

When his new patroness parted from him, she put a pocketbook into his hands.

“This is not intended for remuneration,” she said, “for I shall pay the telegraph company their usual charges. But I wish you to have money to use, as you may require it.”

“Thank you,” said Paul. “You are very kind.”

“No, I am only considerate and just.”

“Have you any special directions to give, Mrs. Holbrook?”

“None beyond what I have already given. I must trust greatly to your own good judgment and discretion. I am sure I can do so with confidence, after the good report Mr. Cunningham has made of you.”

“Thank you; I will try to deserve your confidence.”

“You may write to me from time to time, when you have anything to communicate.”

Paul promised to do so, and at nine o’clock took a train at the Grand Central Depot for Rockville.

Fairly seated in the cars, he opened the pocketbook given him by Mrs. Holbrook.

It contained three five dollar bills, and five dollars more in small notes.

“Mrs. Holbrook is very liberal,” he reflected, complacently. “It will be a pleasure to be in her service. I am fortunate in finding such good friends.”

Paul was fortunate, but his good fortune was deserved. He always tried to do his duty, was always courteous and obliging, and not afraid to work. Such boys generally find friends. If any of my readers think they are badly treated by their employers, and are poorly provided with friends, let them consider whether they have taken pains to deserve them.

Paul had never traveled, and two hours’ ride on the cars from New York to Rockville, on a pleasant, sunny morning, interested him very much.

He knew very little of the country, having spent most of his time in the lower part of the city. He began to think the world was more beautiful than he imagined.

Finally, the cars came to a stop; the conductor called out “Rockville!” and Paul, with curious anticipation, stepped from the cars upon the platform.

There was the usual crowd around the depot. On the platform stood a man with a whip in his hand, evidently a driver.

“Carriage for the hotel, or any part of the village!” he called out.

Paul stepped up to him and inquired: “Can you tell me how far from here Mrs. Granville lives?”

“The widder Granville?” queried the driver.

“I suppose so. She is an old lady.”

“Just so. Well, she lives about a mile away, on the Plainfield Road.”

“Can you take me there?”

“Well, as you ain’t over and above hefty, I guess the horses can manage it,” added the driver, humorously. “Just hop on. We’ll be starting directly.”

Paul got on the front seat with the driver, feeling disposed to a social chat with that personage. There was but one other passenger, a lady, who was bound for the hotel.

“Are you going to visit the widder?” asked the knight of the whip.

“I am expecting to stay at her house a little while.”

“I suppose you know her?”

“No, I have never seen her. I bring a letter from her niece in New York, Mrs. Louisa Holbrook.”

“I’ve heard tell of her. She was down here a week last summer. I guess she and the housekeeper couldn’t hitch hosses.”

“Mrs. Mercer is the housekeeper, I believe,” said Paul.

“Folks call her the housekeeper. I call her the boss,” said the driver. “She’s got the old lady under her thumb, if all accounts are true.”

“Is she agreeable?”

Amos, the driver, emitted a short laugh. “Wait till you see her,” he said, significantly.

“Do you think Mrs. Granville stands in dread of her?” asked Paul, rather anxiously.

He was beginning to think his task might be a hard one.

“No; the old lady is easy goin’, that is all. If she ever got roused she’d turn out to have a will of her own, or I’m greatly mistaken. Bless your soul, Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t dare to go too far, for she wants the old lady to leave her a good slice of her property. But she gets round her in an underhand way. For instance, if her son wants to go off anywhere, and it isn’t convenient for him to drive the old lady out, Mrs. Mercer persuades her that she isn’t looking well, or that the wind is cold and raw, and she’d better stay at home. I shouldn’t be surprised if she’d get the old lady to make a will in her favor.”

“I wonder what sort of a reception the housekeeper will give me,” said Paul, thoughtfully.

“Very likely she will not be over glad to see you, especially when she knows you’re a friend of Mrs. Holbrook. That lady saw through the housekeeper’s little schemes, and did what she could to put a spoke in her wheel – that’s why she hates her.”

“Well, all I can do is to hope for the best.”

“Be yer expectin’ to stay long?” asked Amos, curiously.

“That depends on whether the housekeeper will let me, from what you tell me.”

“You’ll find it dreadful dull.”

“Perhaps so, but I’m going to offer to drive out Mrs. Granville, and I’m willing to take care of the horse or horses, if she wants me to.”

“Frost will like that, for he’s lazy, and will be glad to get rid of the work.”

“I suppose Frost is the housekeeper’s son.”

“Yes, that’s the one I mean.”

“What sort of a fellow is he?”

“Good enough for those who like him,” answered Amos, dryly. “I don’t.”

“Does he resemble his mother?”

“He’s a chip of the old block, but not half so smart. His mother thinks him an angel, and what she wants the old lady’s property for is not so much for herself as for her son.”

“You think I won’t find him a pleasant companion, then?”

“I know you won’t.”

“Then I hope I shall like Mrs. Granville.”

“She’s a good old lady and awful rich. The only weak thing about her is her trusting the housekeeper.”

“I should think she would prefer to have some relative with her.”

“She won’t get any to stay with her till she discharges Mrs. Mercer. The housekeeper makes herself as disagreeable as possible to any relation, because she’s afraid they will get an influence over the old lady’s mind and interfere with her.”

“Perhaps she may think the same of me.”

“Like as not. You can tell better in a few days. But there’s the house, the big white one on a little hill to the left.”

“It is a very nice one.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a good house. Why shouldn’t it be? The old lady’s got plenty of money.”

“Have you any idea how much?”

“It’s risin’ a hundred thousand dollars, I heard Squire Taylor say once. Squire Taylor is her lawyer, and he’s likely to know.”

“No wonder the housekeeper has designs upon it.”

“Just so – I shouldn’t mind if the old lady would leave me a slice. You might put in a good word for me – Amos Drake – when you get acquainted.”

“I’ll think of it,” answered Paul with a smile. “I owe you something for all the information you’ve given me.”

“That’s all right. You seem a good sort of chap, and you’re welcome.”

Amos drew up in front of the house, and reined in the horses; while Paul descended from the carriage.

“How much is the fare?” asked Number 91.

“Twenty cents.”

“That’s near enough,” said Paul, handing him a quarter.

“You’re a gentleman,” said Amos. “Now I’ll have a cigar when I get back to the hotel.” Paul walked up the path to the front door of the mansion and rang the bell.

In about a minute the door opened, and he found himself confronting a tall, grim looking woman with thin face and figure, and iron gray hair.

“Who are you, and what is your business?” she demanded in a chilly tone. Paul had no doubt in his own mind that it was the housekeeper.

“My name is Paul Parton, from New York, and I have a letter for Mrs. Granville.”

“You can give me the letter.”

“Thank you, but I would prefer to give it to Mrs. Granville – ”

“Humph! Are you one of her relations?”

“No, but I come from Mrs. Holbrook, her niece.”

“Oh,” said the housekeeper, grimly. “Well, I don’t think you can see Mrs. Granville; she’s got a headache, and can’t be disturbed.”

CHAPTER XXXI

A DEFEAT FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER

The housekeeper held the door half way open, and evidently meant to prevent Paul from entering. If he had been less determined, or more easily abashed, he would have given up his purpose. But Number 91 had a will of his own.