The Telegraph Boy

"Lead me up to her, and say, Can you spare something for my poor, blind uncle?"

Frank complied in part, but instead of "poor, blind uncle" he said "poor, blind man." Mills scowled, as he found himself disobeyed.

"How long has he been blind?" asked the lady, sympathetically.

"For many years," whined Mills.

"Is this your boy?"

"Yes, ma'am; he is my young nephew, from the country."

"You are fortunate in having him to go about with you."

"Yes, ma'am; I don't know what I should do without him."

"Here is something for you, my good man," said the lady, and passed on.

"Thank you, ma'am. May Heaven bless you!"

"How much is it?" he asked quickly, when the lady was out of hearing.

"Two cents," answered Frank, suppressing with difficulty an inclination to laugh.

"The mean jade! I should like to wring her neck!" muttered Mills. "I thought it was a quarter, at least."

In the next store they did not meet a cordial reception.

"Clear out, you old humbug!" shouted the proprietor, who was in ill-humor. "You ought to be put in the penitentiary for begging about the streets."

"I pray to God that you may become blind yourself," said Mills, passionately.

"Out of my store, or I'll have you arrested, both of you!" said the angry tradesman. "Here, you boy, don't you bring that old fraud in this store again, if you know what's best for yourself."

There was nothing to do but to comply with this peremptory order.

"He's a beast!" snarled Mills; "I'd like to put his eyes out myself."

"You haven't got a very amiable temper," thought Frank. "I wouldn't like to be blind; but even if I were, I would try to be pleasanter."

Two young girls, passing by, noticed the blind man. They were soft-hearted, and stopped to inquire how long he had been blind.

"Before you were born, my pretty maid," said Mills, sighing.

"I have an aunt who is blind," said one of the girls; "but she is not poor, like you."

"I am very poor," whined Mills; "I have not money enough to pay my rent, and I may be turned out into the street."

"How sad!" said the young girl, in a tone of deep sympathy. "I have not much money, but I will give you all I have."

"May God bless you, and spare your eyes!" said Mills, as he closed his hand upon the money.

"How much is it?" he asked as before, when they had passed on.

"Twenty-five cents," said Frank.

"That is better," said Mills, in a tone of satisfaction.

For some time afterwards all applications were refused; in some cases, roughly.

"Why don't you work?" asked one man, bluntly.

"What can I do?" asked Mills.

"That's your lookout. Some blind men work. I suppose you would rather get your living by begging."

"I would work my fingers to the bone if I could only see," whined Mills.

"So you say; but I don't believe it. At any rate, that boy of yours can see. Why don't you set him to work?"

"He has to take care of me."

"I would work if I could get anything to do," said Frank.

As he spoke, he felt his hand pressed forcibly by his companion, who did not relish his answer.

"I cannot spare him," he whined. "He has to do everything for me."

When they were again in the street, Mills demanded, roughly, "What did you mean by saying that?"

"What, sir?"

"That you wanted to go to work."

"Because it is true."

"You are at work; you are working for me," said Mills.

"I would rather work in a store, or an office, or sell papers."

"That wouldn't do me any good. Don't speak in that way again."

The two were out about a couple of hours, and very tiresome Frank found it. Then Mills indicated a desire to go home, and they went back to the room in the old tenement-house. Mills threw himself down on the bed in the corner, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Now, boy, count the money we have collected," he said.

"There's ninety-three cents," Frank announced.

"If I had known it was so near a dollar we would have stayed a little longer. Now, get me my pipe."

"Where is it, sir?"

"In the cupboard. Fill it with tobacco, and light it."

"Are you not afraid of setting the bedding on fire, sir?"

"Mind your own business. If I choose to set it on fire, I will," snarled Mills.

"Very well, sir; I thought I'd mention it."

"You have mentioned it, and you needn't do it again."

"What a sweet temper you've got!" thought Frank.

He sat down on a broken chair, and, having nothing else to do, watched his employer. "He looks very much as if he could see," thought Frank; for Mills now had his eyes wide open.

"What are you staring at me for, boy?" demanded his employer, rather unexpectedly.

"What makes you think I am staring at you, sir?" was Frank's natural question. "I thought you couldn't see."

"No more I can, but I can tell when one is staring at me. It makes me creep all over."

"Then I'll look somewhere else."

"Would you like to do some work, as you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take twenty-five cents, and buy some evening papers and sell them; but mind you bring the money to me."

"Yes, sir," said Frank, with alacrity.

Anything he thought would be better than sitting in that dull room with so disagreeable a companion.

"Mind you don't run off with the money," said the blind man, sharply. "If you do I'll have you put in the Tombs."

"I don't mean to run away with the money," retorted Frank, indignantly.

"And when you've sold the papers, come home."

"Yes, sir."

With a feeling of relief, Frank descended the stairs and directed his steps to the Park, meaning to ask Dick Rafferty's advice about the proper way to start in business as a newsboy.

CHAPTER V.

FRANK THROWS UP HIS SITUATION

Frank found his friend on Park Row, and made known his errand.

"So old Mills wants you to sell papers for his benefit, does he?"

"Yes, but I'd rather do it than to stay with him."

"How much has he agreed to pay you?"

"That isn't settled yet."

"You'd better bring him to the point, or he won't pay you anything except board and lodging, and mighty mean both of them will be."

"I won't say anything about it the first day," said Frank. "What papers shall I buy?"

"It's rather late. You'd better try for Telegrams."

Frank did so, and succeeded in selling half a dozen, yielding a profit of six cents. It was not a brilliant beginning, but he was late in the field, and most had purchased their evening papers. His papers sold, Frank went home and announced the result.

"Umph!" muttered the blind man. "Give me the money."

"Here it is, sir."

"Have you given me all?" sharply demanded Mills.

"Of course I have," said Frank, indignantly.

"Don't you be impudent, or I will give you a flogging," said the blind man, roughly.

"I am not used to be talked to in that way," said Frank, independently.

"You've always had your own way, I suppose," snarled Mills.

"No, I haven't; but I have been treated kindly."

"You are only a boy, and I won't allow you to talk back to me. Do you hear?"

"Yes."

"Then take care to remember."

"You've got a sweet disposition," thought Frank. "I won't stay with you any longer than I am obliged to."

Several days passed without bringing any incidents worth recording. Frank took a daily walk with the blind man, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. These walks were very distasteful to him. The companion of a beggar, he felt as if he himself were begging. He liked better the time he spent in selling papers, though he reaped no benefit himself. In fact, his wages were poor enough. Thus far his fare had consisted of dry bread with an occasional bun. He was a healthy, vigorous boy, and he felt the need of meat, or some other hearty food, and ventured to intimate as much to his employer.

"So you want meat, do you?" snarled Mills.

"Yes, sir; I haven't tasted any for a week."

"Perhaps you'd like to take your meals at Delmonico's?" sneered the blind man.

Frank was so new to the city that this well-known name did not convey any special idea to him, and he answered "Yes."

"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "You want to eat me out of house and home."

"No, I don't; I only want enough food to keep up my strength."

"Well, you are getting it. I give you all I can afford."

Frank was inclined to doubt this. He estimated that what he ate did not cost his employer over six or eight cents a day, and he generally earned for him twenty to thirty cents on the sale of papers, besides helping him to collect about a dollar daily from those who pitied his blindness.

He mentioned his grievance to his friend, Dick Rafferty.

"I'll tell you what to do," said Dick.

"I wish you would."

"Keep some of the money you make by selling papers, and buy a square meal at an eatin' house."

"I don't like to do that; it wouldn't be honest."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"I am carrying on the business for Mr. Mills. He supplies the capital."

"Then you'd better carry it on for yourself."

"I wish I could."

"Why don't you?"

"I haven't any money."

"Has he paid you any wages?"

"No."

"Then make him."

Frank thought this a good suggestion. He had been with Mills a week, and it seemed fair enough that he should receive some pay besides a wretched bed and a little dry bread. Accordingly, returning to the room, he broached the subject.

"What do you want wages for?" demanded Mills, displeased.

"I think I earn them," said Frank, boldly.

"You get board and lodging. You are better off than a good many boys."

"I shall want some clothes, some time," said Frank.

"Perhaps you'd like to have me pay you a dollar a day," said Mills.

"I know you can't afford to pay me that. I will be satisfied if you will pay me ten cents a day," replied Frank.

Frank reflected that, though this was a very small sum, in ten days it would give him a dollar, and then he would feel justified in setting up a business on his own account, as a newsboy. He anxiously awaited an answer.

"I will think of it," said the blind man evasively, and Frank did not venture to say more.

The next day, when Mills, led by Frank, was on his round, the two entered a cigar-store. Frank was much surprised when the cigar-vender handed him a fifty-cent currency note. He thought there was some mistake.

"Thank you, sir," he said; "but did you mean to give me fifty cents?"

"Yes," said the cigar-vender, laughing; "but I wouldn't have done it, if it had been good."

"Isn't it good?"

"No, it's a counterfeit, and a pretty bad one. I might pass it, but it would cost me too much time and trouble."

Frank was confounded. He mechanically handed the money to Mills, but did not again thank the giver. When they returned to the tenement-house, Mills requested Frank to go to the baker's for a loaf of bread.

"Yes, sir."

"Here is the money."

"But that is the counterfeit note," said Frank, scrutinizing the bill given him.

"What if it is?" demanded Mills, sharply.

"It won't pass."

"Yes, it will, if you are sharp."

"Do you want me to pass counterfeit money, Mr. Mills?"

"Yes, I do; I took it, and I mean to get rid of it."

"But you didn't give anything for it."

"That's neither here nor there. Take it, and offer it to the baker. If he won't take it, go to another baker with it."

"I would rather not do it," said Frank, firmly.

"Rather not!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "Do you pretend to dictate to me?"

"No, I don't, but I don't mean to pass any counterfeit money for you or any other man," said Frank, with spirit.

Mills half rose, with a threatening gesture, but thought better of it.

"You're a fool," said he. "I suppose you are afraid of being arrested; but you have only to say that I gave it to you, and that I am blind, and couldn't tell it from good money."

"But you know that it is bad money, Mr. Mills."

"What if I do? No one can prove it. Take the money, and come back as quick as you can."

"You must excuse me," said Frank, quietly, but firmly.

"Do you refuse to do as I bid you?" demanded Mills, furiously.

"I refuse to pass counterfeit money."

"Then, by Heaven, I'll flog you!"

Mills rose and advanced directly towards Frank, with his eyes wide open. Fortunately our hero was near the door, and, quickly opening it, darted from the room, pursued by Mills, his face flaming with wrath. It flashed upon Frank that no blind man could have done this. He decided that the man was a humbug, and could see a little, at all events. His blindness was no doubt assumed to enable him to appeal more effectively to the sympathizing public. This revelation disgusted Frank. He could not respect a man who lived by fraud. Counterfeit or no counterfeit, he decided to withdraw at once and forever from the service of Mr. Mills.

His employer gave up the pursuit before he reached the street. Frank found himself on the sidewalk, free and emancipated, no richer than when he entered the service of the blind man, except in experience.

"I haven't got a cent," he said to himself, "but I'll get along somehow."

CHAPTER VI.

FRANK GETS A JOB

Though Frank was penniless he was not cast down. He was tolerably familiar with the lower part of the city, and had greater reliance on himself than he had a week ago. If he had only had capital to the extent of fifty cents he would have felt quite at ease, for this would have set him up as a newsboy.

"I wonder if I could borrow fifty cents of Dick Rafferty," considered Frank. "I'll try, at any rate."

He ran across Dick in City-Hall Park. That young gentleman was engaged in pitching pennies with a brother professional.

"I say, Dick, I want to speak to you a minute," said Frank.

"All right! Go ahead!"

"I've lost my place."

Dick whistled.

"Got sacked, have you?" he asked.

"Yes; but I might have stayed."

"Why didn't you?"

"Mills wanted me to pass a counterfeit note, and I wouldn't."

"Was it a bad-looking one?"

"Yes."

"Then you're right. You might have got nabbed."

"That wasn't the reason I refused. If I had been sure there'd have been no trouble I wouldn't have done it."

"Why not?" asked Dick, who did not understand our hero's scruples.

"Because it's wrong."

Dick shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess you belong to the church," he said.

"No, I don't; what makes you think so?"

"Oh, 'cause you're so mighty particular. I wouldn't mind passing it if I was sure I wouldn't be cotched."

"I think it's almost as bad as stealing to buy bread, or anything else, and give what isn't worth anything for it. You might as well give a piece of newspaper."

Though Frank was unquestionably right he did not succeed in making a convert of Dick Rafferty. Dick was a pretty good boy, considering the sort of training he had had; but passing bad money did not seem to him objectionable, unless "a fellow was cotched," as he expressed it.

"Well, what are you going to do now?" asked Dick, after a pause.

"I guess I can get a living by selling papers."

"You can get as good a livin' as old Mills gave you. You'll get a better bed at the lodgin'-house than that heap of rags you laid on up there."

"But there's one trouble," continued Frank, "I haven't any money to start on. Can you lend me fifty cents?"

"Fifty cents!" repeated Dick. "What do you take me for? If I was connected with Vanderbuilt or Astor I might set you up in business, but now I can't."

"Twenty-five cents will do," said Frank.

"Look here, Frank," said Dick, plunging his hands into his pocket, and drawing therefrom three pennies and a nickel, "do you see them?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's all the money I've got."

"I am afraid you have been extravagant, Dick," said Frank, in disappointment.

"Last night I went to Tony Pastor's, and when I got through I went into a saloon and got an ice-cream and a cigar. You couldn't expect a feller to be very rich after that. I say, I'll lend you five cents if you want it."

"No, thank you, Dick. I'll wait till you are richer."

"I tell you what, Frank, I'll save up my money, and by day after to-morrow I guess I can set you up."

"Thank you, Dick. If I don't have the money by that time myself I'll accept your offer."

There was no other boy with whom Frank felt sufficiently well acquainted to request a loan, and he walked away, feeling rather disappointed. It was certainly provoking to think that nothing but the lack of a small sum stood between him and remunerative employment. Once started he determined not to spend quite all his earnings, but to improve upon his friend Dick's practice, and, if possible, get a little ahead.

When guiding the blind man he often walked up Broadway, and mechanically he took the same direction, walking slowly along, occasionally stopping to look in at a shop-window.

As he was sauntering along he found himself behind two gentlemen,—one an old man, who wore gold spectacles; the other, a stout, pleasant-looking man, of middle age. Frank would not have noticed them particularly but for a sudden start and exclamation from the elder of the two gentlemen.

"I declare, Thompson," he said, "I've left my umbrella down-town."

"Where do you think you left it?"

"In Peckham's office; that is, I think I left it there."

"Oh, well, he'll save it for you."

"I don't know about that. Some visitor may carry it away."

"Never mind, Mr. Bowen. You are rich enough to afford a new one."

"It isn't the value of the article, Thompson," said his friend, in some emotion. "That umbrella was brought me from Paris by my son John, who died. It is as a souvenir of him that I regard and value it. I would not lose it for a hundred dollars, nay, five hundred."

"If you value it so much, sir, suppose we turn round and go back for it."

Frank had listened to this conversation, and an idea struck him. Pressing forward, he said respectfully, "Let me go for it, sir. I will get it, and bring it to your house."

The two gentlemen fixed their eyes upon the bright, eager face of the petitioner.

"Who are you, my boy?" asked Mr. Thompson.

"I am a poor boy, in want of work," answered our hero promptly.

"What is your name?"

"Frank Kavanagh."

"Where do you live?"

"I am trying to live in the city, sir."

"What have you been doing?"

"Leading a blind man, sir."

"Not a very pleasant employment, I should judge," said Thompson, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, have you lost that job?"

"Yes, sir."

"So the blind man turned you off, did he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your services were unsatisfactory, I suppose?"

"He wanted me to pass counterfeit money for him, and I refused."

"If that is true, it is to your credit."

"It is true, sir," said Frank, quietly.

"Come, Mr. Bowen, what do you say,—shall we accept this boy's services? It will save you time and trouble."

"If I were sure he could be trusted," said Bowen, hesitating. "He might pawn the umbrella. It is a valuable one."

"I hope, sir, you won't think so badly of me as that," said Frank, with feeling. "If I were willing to steal anything, it would not be a gift from your dead son."

"I'll trust you, my boy," said the old gentleman quickly. "Your tone convinces me that you may be relied upon."

"Thank you, sir."

The old gentleman drew a card from his pocket, containing his name and address, and on the reverse side wrote the name of the friend at whose office he felt sure the umbrella had been left, with a brief note directing that it be handed to the bearer.

"All right, sir."

"Stop a moment, my boy. Have you got money to ride?"

"No, sir."

"Here, take this, and go down at once in the next stage. The sooner you get there the better."

Frank followed directions. He stopped the next stage, and got on board. As he passed the City-Hall Park, Dick Rafferty espied him. Frank nodded to him.

"How did he get money enough to ride in a 'bus?" Dick asked himself in much wonderment. "A few minutes ago he wanted to borrow some money of me, and now he's spending ten cents for a ride. Maybe he's found a pocket-book."

Frank kept on his way, and got out at Wall street. He found Mr. Peckham's office, and on presenting the card, much to his delight, the umbrella was handed him.

"Mr. Bowen was afraid to trust me with it over night," said Mr. Peckham, with a smile.

"He thought some visitor might carry it off," said Frank.

"Not unlikely. Umbrellas are considered common property."

Frank hailed another stage, and started on his way up-town. There was no elevated railway then, and this was the readiest conveyance, as Mr. Bowen lived on Madison avenue.

CHAPTER VII.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER

"Mr. Bowen must be a rich man," thought Frank, as he paused on the steps of a fine brown-stone mansion, corresponding to the number on his card.

He rang the bell, and asked, "Is Mr. Bowen at home?"

"Yes, but he is in his chamber. I don't think he will see you."

"I think he will," said Frank, who thought the servant was taking too much upon herself, "as I come by his appointment."

"I suppose you can come into the hall," said the servant, reluctantly. "Is your business important?"

"You may tell him that the boy he sent for his umbrella has brought it. He was afraid he had lost it."

"He sets great store by that umbrella," said the girl, in a different tone. "I'll go and tell him."

Mr. Bowen came downstairs almost immediately. There was a look of extreme gratification upon his face.

"Bless my soul, how quick you were!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've only been home a few minutes. Did you find the umbrella at Mr. Peckham's office?"

"Yes, sir; it had been found, and taken care of."

"Did Peckham say anything?"

"He said you were probably afraid to trust it with him over night, but he smiled when he said it."

"Peckham will have his joke, but he is an excellent man. My boy, I am much indebted to you."

"I was very glad to do the errand, sir," said Frank.

"I think you said you were poor," said the old man, thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir. When I met you I hadn't a cent in the world."

"Haven't you any way to make a living?"

"Yes, sir. I could sell papers if I had enough money to set me up in business."

"Does it require a large capital?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Frank, smiling, "unless you consider fifty cents a large sum."

"Fifty cents!" repeated the old gentleman, in surprise. "You don't mean to say that this small sum would set you up in business?"

"Yes, sir; I could buy a small stock of papers, and buy more with what I received for them."

"To be sure. I didn't think of that."

Mr. Bowen was not a man of business. He had an ample income, and his tastes were literary and artistic. He knew more of books than of men, and more of his study than of the world.

"Well, my boy," he said after a pause, "how much do I owe you for doing this errand?"

"I leave that to you, sir. Whatever you think right will satisfy me."

"Let me see, you want fifty cents to buy papers, and you will require something to pay for your bed."

"Fifty cents in all will be enough, sir."

"I think I had better give you a dollar," said the old gentleman, opening his pocket-book.

Frank's eyes sparkled. A dollar would do him a great deal of good; with a dollar he would feel quite independent.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "It is more than I earned, but it will be very acceptable."

He put on his hat, and was about to leave the house, when Mr. Bowen suddenly said, "Oh, I think you'd better stay to dinner. It will be on the table directly. My niece is away, and if you don't stay I shall be alone."

Frank did not know what to say. He was rather abashed by the invitation, but, as the old gentleman was to be alone, it did not seem so formidable.

"I am afraid I don't look fit," he said.

"You can go upstairs and wash your face and hands. You'll find a clothes-brush there also. I'll ring for Susan to show you the way."

He rang the bell, and the girl who had admitted Frank made her appearance.