Alger Horatio Jr.
The Telegraph Boy
CHAPTER XXVI.
A TRAP, AND WHO FELL INTO IT
No one rejoiced more sincerely at Frank's good luck than Mrs. Vivian. Her interest in our hero had increased, and while at first she regarded herself as his patroness she had come now to look upon him as a member of the family. Fred had already returned, and Frank, bearing in mind that he had only been invited to remain during his absence, proposed to find another home, but Mrs. Vivian would not hear of it.
"No," she said, "Fred needs a young companion, and I prefer you to any one I know of."
As Fred was of his mother's opinion, Frank readily agreed to stay. He occupied a room adjoining the one assigned to Fred, and during his hours of leisure the two were constantly together.
"I shall be glad when you leave the telegraph office," said Fred. "Then we can be together more."
"You may get tired of me."
"If I do I will let you know."
Two days afterwards Frank was riding down town in a Sixth-avenue car. Until he had taken his seat he was not aware that James Haynes was a passenger. When a lady who sat between them got out, Haynes moved up, so as to sit next to our hero.
"I see you are still in the telegraph service," he said.
"Yes, sir," answered Frank, briefly.
"I wonder Mr. Hartley didn't offer you a permanent position in his employ," said Haynes, with a sneer. "Spies are useful sometimes."
"He may give me a position sometime," said Frank, not regarding the sneer.
"You earned it," said Haynes, unpleasantly.
"Thank you," said Frank, knowing that Haynes would be provoked by his appearing to accept the compliment in good faith.
Haynes scowled, but said no more. He drew a morning paper from his pocket, and appeared to be absorbed in reading it.
At Canal street Frank rose to leave the car. He had not yet reached the door, when Haynes sprang to his feet, followed him quickly, and, grasping him by the arm, said, "Not so fast young man! Give me back my pocket-book."
Frank was struck with amazement.
"What do you mean?" he asked, indignantly.
"I mean that you have relieved me of my pocket-book. Gentlemen," turning to his fellow-passengers, "I demand that this boy be searched."
"You can search me if you like," said Frank. "You know very well that your accusation is false."
"I shall be satisfied if you produce what is in your pockets."
"That's fair," said a passenger.
Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. To his dismay he drew out a Russia-leather pocket-book, of which he knew nothing.
"That is my pocket-book, gentlemen," said Haynes, triumphantly. "I can tell you exactly what is in it. You will find two five-dollar bills, a two and a one. Be kind enough to examine it, sir."
The pocket-book was examined, and, of course, Haynes was correct.
Suspicious glances were directed at poor Frank. Innocent as he was, he was so overwhelmed by the suddenness of the charge, and the apparent proof of it, that he looked confused and embarrassed.
"You are beginning early, my boy," said a tall gentleman, in a white cravat,—a clergyman. "It is well that you are checked in the beginning of a guilty career."
"Sir," said Frank, "I am as innocent as you are. This man is my enemy, and he must have put the pocket-book in my pocket. He threatened some time since to get me into a scrape."
"That story is rather too thin," said Haynes, looking around him with a sneer. "You won't find any one here quite verdant enough to believe it."
"There you are mistaken," said a gentleman who was seated directly opposite to Haynes and Frank. "I believe it."
Haynes scowled at him malignantly.
"I really don't think it very important what you believe, sir. The boy is evidently a professional thief, and you may belong to the same gang for aught I know. I propose to give him in charge to the next policeman we meet."
"Do so," said the stranger, coolly. "I shall be present at his trial, and offer some important testimony."
"Indeed!" said Haynes, uneasily. "May I ask what it is?"
"Certainly. I saw you thrust the wallet into the boy's pocket! Of that I am willing to make oath."
James Haynes turned pale. There was a sudden change in public opinion. It was he who now had become an object of suspicion.
"Young man," said the clergyman, solemnly, "what could have induced you to enter into such a wicked conspiracy against the poor boy?"
"Mind your own business!" said Haynes, rudely. "It is a lie."
"It is the truth," said the volunteer witness, calmly.
Here a policeman became visible from the car-window, leisurely walking his beat on the western sidewalk.
"There's a policeman," said Frank's new friend. "Call him, and have the boy arrested."
"He would be cleared by false testimony," said Haynes, sullenly. "I have my money back, and will let him go."
"Then," said the stranger, rising, and displaying the badge of a detective, "I shall arrest you on a charge of conspiracy."
Haynes was fairly caught in his own trap.
"This is a put-up job, gentlemen," he said. "Am I to be robbed first, and arrested afterwards for exposing the thief?"
He looked about him appealingly; but in vain. Public sentiment was wholly against him now.
"O you ould villain!" said a stout Irish woman, "to try to ruin the poor b'ye. Hangin's too good for you."
This was rather an extreme sentiment; but Haynes saw that he was in peril. He gave an unexpected spring, and, reaching the platform, sprang out, running up a side street.
"Do you know him?" asked the detective of Frank.
"Yes, sir."
"How do you account for his hostility to you?"
Frank briefly recounted the story already known to the reader.
"He can easily be found then."
"I hope you will not arrest him, sir," said Frank. "He has been pretty well punished already, and I don't think he will trouble me again."
"If he does, send for me," and the detective handed Frank his card and address.
"It is fortunate for me," said the telegraph boy, "that you saw him put the money in my pocket."
"You would have experienced some inconvenience; but the story you have told me would have cleared you with the jury."
"My young friend," said the clergyman, "I owe you an apology. I too hastily assumed that you were guilty."
"It looked like it, sir. You were quite justified in what you said. Mr. Haynes did not appear to relish your remarks to him," added Frank, laughing.
"His crime was greater and meaner than the one charged upon you. To steal is certainly a grave offence,—yet sometimes it is prompted by necessity; but a deliberate attempt to fasten a false charge upon a fellow-creature is vastly more atrocious."
"So it is, sir," said the old Irish woman, nodding assent vigorously. "I quite agree wid your honor. It is owtracious."
The passengers smiled at the old woman's mistake; but it was clear that they agreed with her in sentiment.
Meanwhile the car had been speeding along, and was near its terminus. Frank bethought himself that he had been carried considerably beyond his destination.
He pulled the bell, and, as he got out, he said, "Thank you all for taking my part."
"We don't quite deserve that," said one of the passengers, after Frank had left the car. "I was at first of opinion that the boy was guilty."
"We have been saved from doing a great injustice," said the clergyman. "It should be a lesson to all of us not to be too hasty in our judgments."
James Haynes in his hurried exit from the car fully believed that he would be pursued and arrested. He was relieved to find his fears groundless. But he was disappointed at the failure of his scheme. He had carefully prepared it, and for several days he had been in readiness to carry it into execution whenever he should meet Frank. This morning had brought the opportunity; but it had miscarried.
"But for that cursed detective I would have carried the thing through," he muttered. "He spoiled all. I hate that boy!"
But, though revengeful, Haynes was prudent. He gave up the thought of injuring Frank because he saw that it would be dangerous to himself. He did not remain long in New York, but soon joined his confederate in Hartford.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FRANK BECOMES A GOOD SAMARITAN
The close of the month came, and Frank laid aside his uniform. He was a telegraph boy no more.
The superintendent shook hands with him cordially, and bade him good-by.
"Come and see us sometimes," he said. "I wish you all success. Your services have been very satisfactory, and you have gained an excellent reputation."
"Thank you, sir," said Frank. "I have tried to do my duty. Good-by, boys!"
He shook hands with all his young comrades, with whom he was very popular. They knew of his good fortune, and were disposed to regard him as very rich. Six thousand dollars in a boy's eyes is a fortune.
"Now you're rich, Frank, I suppose you won't notice the likes of us," said Johnny O'Connor.
"I hope you don't think as badly of me as that, Johnny," said Frank, earnestly. "I am not rich; but, even if I were, I should always be glad to meet any of you. If I am ever able to do a favor to any of you I will."
"I believe you, Frank," said Johnny. "You was always a good feller."
"Where's Tom Brady?" asked Frank, looking about him. "Is he out on an errand?"
"Tom's sick," said the superintendent. "He's got a fever."
"It's bad for him," said Johnny, "for his mother and sister depended on Tom's wages. Poor Tom felt bad because he had to give up work."
"Where does he live?" asked Frank, with quick sympathy.
"No. – East Fourteenth street," answered Johnny. "I know, because I live in the same block."
"I'll go and see him."
Frank's heart was not hardened by his own prosperity. He knew what it was to be poor, and could enter into the feelings of the unfortunate telegraph boy.
Half an hour found him in front of a large tenement-house, in front of which were playing children of all ages, most of them showing in their faces that unhealthy pallor which so generally marks a tenement-house population.
"Do you know where Mrs. Brady lives?" asked Frank of a girl of twelve.
"Which Brady is it?" asked the girl. "There's three lives here."
"It's Tom Brady's mother," answered our hero.
"Is it Tom, the telegraph boy?"
"Yes."
"I'll show you then. Tom's been sick for some time."
"I know it. I have come to see him."
"Do you know Tom?" asked the girl, in some surprise; for Frank, having laid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the son of a rich man.
"Yes, Tom is a friend of mine. I am sorry he's sick."
Up two flights of rickety stairs Frank followed the girl, who halted before a door.
"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down the stairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society do not often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little of etiquette or conventionality.
In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorly clad and care-worn woman.
"What is your wish, young gentleman?" she said.
"I've come to see Tom. How is he?"
"Do you know my Tom?" asked Mrs. Brady, in surprise.
"Yes; is he very sick?"
"The poor boy has got a fever."
"Can I see him?"
"If you'll come into such a poor place, sir. We're very poor, and now that Tom's wages is stopped I don't know how we'll get along at all."
"Better than you think, perhaps, Mrs. Brady," said Frank, cheerfully. "Why, Tom, what made you get sick?"
He had entered the room, and reached the bed on which the sick boy was lying.
Tom looked up in surprise and pleasure.
"Is it you, Frank?" he said. "I'm glad you've come to see me. But how did you find me out?"
"Johnny O'Connor told me where you lived. How long have you been sick?"
"Three days. It's rough on a poor boy like me. I ought to be earning money for my mother."
"We'll miss Tom's wages badly," said Mrs. Brady; "I can't earn much myself, and there's three of us to feed, let alone the rint."
"How did you get off, Frank?" asked Tom.
"I've left the office."
"Was this young gentleman a telegraph boy?" asked Mrs. Brady, in surprise.
"Yes," said Tom; "but he's come into a fortune, and now he won't have to work."
"I'm sure I'm glad of his good luck, and it's a great condescension for a rich young gentleman to come and see my Tom."
"I have come into some money, but not a fortune, Mrs. Brady," said Frank; "but it does not make me any better than when I was a poor telegraph boy."
Evidently Mrs. Brady was not of this opinion, for she carefully dusted with her apron the best chair in the room, and insisted on Frank's seating himself in it.
"Have you had a doctor, Mrs. Brady?" asked Frank.
"Yes."
"What does he say?"
"He says that Tom will be sick for three or four weeks, and I don't know what we'll do without his wages all that time."
"That's what troubles me," said Tom. "I wouldn't mind it so much if I'd get my pay reg'lar while I'm sick."
"Then you needn't be troubled, Tom," said Frank, promptly, "for you shall get it regularly."
"They won't give it to me," said Tom, incredulously.
"They won't, but I will."
"Do you mean it, Frank?"
"Certainly I do. I will give you a week's pay this morning, and I will call every week, and pay you the same."
"Do you hear that, mother?" said Tom, joyfully.
"God bless you, young gentleman, for your kindness to us!" said Mrs. Brady, gratefully.
"Oh, it isn't much," said Frank; "I can spare it well enough. I have had such good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who need it."
"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, warmly. "I'll get well quick now. If you ever want anybody to fight for you, just call on Tom Brady."
"I generally do my own fighting, Tom," said Frank, laughing, "but I'll remember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend an evening with me."
"I'm sure he'll be proud to do the same," said Mrs. Brady.
"I must bid you good-by, now, Tom. Keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and don't be down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'll soon be well."
"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' in reg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."
"I will, Tom."
When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big red hands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to do with his legs and arms, waiting to see him.
It was his cousin Jonathan.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A COUNTRY COUSIN
Jonathan was a loose-jointed, heavily built, and awkward boy of seventeen, bearing not the slightest resemblance to his cousin Frank. Still he was a relation, and our hero was glad to see him.
"How are you, Jonathan?" said Frank, cordially. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Are all well at home?"
"They're pooty smart," answered Jonathan. "I thought I'd come down and look round a little."
"I shall be glad to show you round. Where would you like to go?—to Central Park?"
"I don't care much about it," said the country cousin. "It's only a big pasture, dad says. I'd rather go round the streets. Is there any place where I can buy a few doughnuts? I feel kinder empty."
"Do you prefer doughnuts to anything else?" asked Frank, with a smile.
"I hear they're cheap,—only a cent apiece," answered Jonathan, "and I calc'late five or six will be enough to fill me up."
"You needn't mind the expense, cousin; I shall pay for your dinner."
Jonathan's heavy face lighted up with satisfaction.
"I don't care if you do," he said. "I hear you've got a lot of money now, Frank."
"I shall have enough, to make me comfortable, and start me in business."
"I wish I had as much money as you," said Jonathan, longingly.
"You are all right. Some time you will have more than I."
"I don't know about that. Dad keeps me awful close."
"You have all you want, don't you?"
"I've got some money in the bank," said Jonathan, "but I'd like to put in more. I never thought you'd have more money than I."
"You used to tell me I ought to go to the poor-house," said Frank, smiling.
"That's because you was livin' on dad, you know," explained Jonathan. "It wasn't fair to me, because he wouldn't have so much to leave me."
In the country Frank had not found much satisfaction in the company of his cousin, who inherited the combined meanness of both parents, and appeared to grudge poor Frank every mouthful he ate; but in the sunshine of his present prosperity he was disposed to forgive and forget.
Frank led the way to a restaurant not far away, where he allowed his cousin to order an ample dinner, which he did without scruple, since he was not to pay for it.
"It costs a sight to live in the city," he said, as he looked over the bill of fare.
"It costs something in the country, too, Jonathan."
"I wish you'd come and board with dad. He'd take you for five dollars a week, and it will cost you more in New York."
"Yes, it will cost me more here."
"Then you'll come, won't you? You'll be company for me."
Frank doubted whether Jonathan would be much company for him.
"You didn't use to think so, Jonathan."
"You couldn't pay your board then."
"Now that I can I prefer to remain in the city. I mean to go to school, and get a good education."
"How much do you have to pay for board here?"
"I can't tell what I shall have to pay. At present I am staying with friends, and pay nothing."
"Do you think they'd take me for a week the same way?" asked Jonathan, eagerly. "I'd like to stay a week first-rate if it didn't cost nothing."
"I shouldn't like to ask them; but some time I will invite you to come and pay me a visit of a week; it shall not cost you anything."
"You're a real good feller, Frank," said Jonathan, highly pleased by the invitation. "I'll come any time you send for me. It's pretty high payin' on the railroad, but I guess I can come."
Frank understood the hint, but did not feel called upon to pay his cousin's railway fare in addition to his week's board.
"What do you think of that?" asked Jonathan, presently, displaying a huge ring on one of his red fingers.
"Is that something you have bought in the city?" asked Frank.
"Yes," answered his cousin, complacently. "I got it at a bargain."
"Did you buy it in a jewelry store?"
"No; I'll tell you how it was. I was goin' along the street, when I saw a well-dressed feller, who looked kinder anxious. He come up to me, and he said, 'Do you know any one who wants to buy a splendid gold ring cheap?' Then he told me he needed some money right off to buy vittles for his family, bein' out of work for a month. He said the ring cost him fifteen dollars, and he'd sell it for three. I wasn't goin' to pay no such price, and I finally beat him down to a dollar," said Jonathan, chuckling. "I guess that's doing pretty well for one day. He said any jeweller would pay me six or seven dollars for it."
"Then why didn't he sell it to a jeweller him self, instead of giving it to you for a dollar?"
"I never thought of that," said Jonathan, looking puzzled.
"I am afraid it is not so good a bargain as you supposed," said Frank.
Great drops of perspiration came out on Jonathan's brow.
"You don't think it's brass, do you?" he gasped.
"Here is a jewelry store. We can go in and inquire."
They entered the store, and Frank, calling attention to the ring, inquired its probable value.
"It might be worth about three cents," said the jeweller, laughing. "I hope you didn't give much more for it."
"I gave a dollar," said Jonathan, in a voice which betrayed his anguish.
"Of whom did you buy it?"
"Of a man in the street."
"Served you right, then. You should have gone to a regular jewelry store."
"The man said it cost him fifteen dollars," said Jonathan, sadly.
"I dare say. He was a professional swindler, no doubt."
"I'd like to give him a lickin'," said Jonathan, wrathfully, as they left the store.
"What would you do if you was me?" he asked of his cousin.
"Throw it away."
"I wouldn't do that. Maybe I can sell it up in the country," he said, his face brightening up.
"For how much?"
"For what I gave."
"But that would be swindling."
"No, it wouldn't. I have a right to ask as much as I gave. It's real handsome if it is brass."
"I don't think that would be quite honest, Jonathan."
"You wouldn't have me lose the dollar, would you? That would be smart."
"I would rather be honest than be smart."
Jonathan dropped the subject, but eventually he sold the ring at home for a dollar and a quarter.
