Alger Horatio Jr.
Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'

CHAPTER XXVI
ELLEN BARCLAY’S DISCOVERY

Mrs. Barclay had only experienced a feeling of relief when her husband failed to return to her. She had grown accustomed to taking care of herself and the children without him, and his presence seemed likely only to impose upon her an additional burden. Though she earned her living in a humble way, she was fairly educated, and could sew neatly, but a brief trial with the needle satisfied her that it would be quite impossible to obtain the comforts of life for three persons in that way. So she had mastered her pride, and entered the lists as a laundress.

“And how are the children, Mrs. Barclay?” asked Mrs. Hogan.

“They are both well, thank God.”

“And do you never hear anything of their father?”

Mrs. Barclay’s face clouded.

“Yes,” she answered, “he came home a few days since, but only stayed one day.”

“Didn’t he bring you any money then?”

“No; he borrowed some from me.”

“It’s a shame, so it is, in a great, strapping man like him to leave you to work for the poor children.”

Mrs. Hogan had never seen Mr. Barclay, or she would have recognized him in the man whom she helped drive away from his father’s room, and was utterly ignorant of the relationship between him and the old man whom she was nursing.

“I don’t know but it’s wrong,” said Ellen, “but I believe I should be happy if I thought he would never come again. He has only brought me trouble, and I dread his influence upon the children; we are better off without him. But how are you getting along yourself, Mrs. Hogan?”

“I’ve no cause to complain,” answered the Irish widow. “I’m well, and Mike and I pick up a living. Just now I’m taking care of a sick man in the room across the entry. It’s an ould man – a kind of miser he is, I surmise – and his name is the same as your own, Mrs. Barclay.”

The name of Barclay is not an uncommon one, but this statement seemed to produce a strong impression on Mrs. Hogan’s visitor.

“An old man named Barclay?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“How old, should you think?”

“I don’t know, but he’s all dried up, and wrinkled. He may be siventy.”

“May I see him?” asked the visitor, eagerly.

“Shure you may go in with me when I give him his medicine.”

Ellen Barclay followed Mrs. Hogan into the opposite room, and looked with strange interest at the wan, emaciated old man stretched out on the bed.

“I’ve brought your medicine for you, Jerry,” said Mrs. Hogan, soothingly.

“Jerry!” exclaimed the younger woman. “Is his name Jerry?”

“Shure it is; and what thin?”

“My husband’s father was named Jeremiah. This may be he.”

“Have you niver seen him?” asked Mrs. Hogan, in surprise.

“Never; I did not know he was living till my husband’s recent visit. Then he spoke of his father’s being a miser, and his expecting to get some money from him.”

“Well, well; if I ever heard the like! As like as not old Jerry is your father in law. I’ll soon see.”

“Jerry, do you want to see your own son?” she asked, bending over, and addressing her patient.

An expression of alarm overspread the old man’s face.

“Don’t let him come in! Keep him away!” he exclaimed.

“Are you afraid of your own son, thin?” asked the nurse.

“He is a bad man; he tried to rob me,” said the old man, looking about him fearfully.

“I do believe it’s that man I threw the bilin’ water on!” exclaimed Mrs. Hogan, in surprise. “What’s your husband’s appearance, Mrs. Barclay?”

“He is tall and thick set, and his hair is inclined to be red.”

“Has he a scar on his right cheek?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the same man I drove away last week, wid the bilin’ water. He was trying to hurt old Jerry, wasn’t he, Jerry?”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the old man. “He’s a bad man, and he wanted to take away all my money, and I’m so poor.”

“Is he so poor?” asked Mrs. Barclay.

“No, it’s only his fancy. He’s what you call a miser; that’s what Paul says.”

“Where is Paul? Paul is a good boy!” murmured Jerry, half unconscious, but his attention arrested by the familiar name.

“Yes, he is a good boy,” repeated Mrs. Hogan. “It’s he that engaged me to take care of Jerry, when he was took sick, and he tould me he’d see that I was paid.”

“How long has this boy been with him? I remember now Mr. Barclay mentioned a telegraph boy. He didn’t seem to like him. I should like to see the boy; perhaps he could tell me something of the old man, and help me to decide whether he is really my husband’s father. On what day did James call here?”

Mrs. Hogan told her.

“It was the day after he left me. You say he got no money?”

“No; but he would if I hadn’t come in.”

“It is strange he has not been here since.”

“No, it isn’t, Mrs. Barclay; he was took in by a policeman, and I expect he’s on the Island.”

Ellen Barclay breathed a sigh of relief. Had her husband been the man he should have been, such news would have brought sorrow and distress. Now she regarded it as an augury of peace. While he was in confinement he would not be able to molest her.

“When can I see this boy, Paul?” she asked.

“Paul is generally at home some part of the evening, though he’s liable to come in at odd times.”

“I will try to come over tomorrow evening, if you think he will be at home.”

“It would be a good thing for you if the ould man has money, as Paul thinks,” said Mrs. Hogan, in a low voice.

“Not if my husband were free,” said Ellen Barclay.

“Thrue for you! He came near murderin’ the ould man. But there’s a dale of virtue in hot water,” added Mrs. Hogan, with a laugh. “He made a mistake when he tackled Bridget Hogan, I can tell him that, now.”

“I shall have to go now, Mrs. Hogan. I left the children alone.”

“Not without a cup of tay. I’m just goin’ to make some for the ould man, and you’re welcome to a cup.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hogan. I know of old that your tea is good.”

“It is that same, if I say so myself.”

“One thing I can’t understand,” said Ellen Barclay, thoughtfully. “You say the telegraph boy pays you for taking care of this old man?”

“Yes, he does.”

“But where does he get the money? Telegraph boys are not usually paid a big salary.”

“That’s thrue; but Paul is such a favorite he gets many presents. He’s an honest boy, and it’s my hope my boy Mike will grow up just loike him.”

“I will see him for myself tomorrow evening. If Jerry, as you call him, is really my father in law, I ought to know it. He seems a very different man from my husband. I can’t see any resemblance between them.”

“That’s not strange, neither. Pat Hogan’s father was a little, dried up shrimp of a man like ould Jerry here, and Pat was five tin, or tin feet five, in his stockings I disremember which.”

“I think it must be five feet ten,” said Ellen Barclay, with a smile.

“No doubt you’re right, ma’am. But just come round tomorrow evenin’ and see Paul, and then, maybe, you’ll find out all you want to know.”

CHAPTER XXVII
JERRY DISCOVERS HIS LOSS

It was not until late in the afternoon that Jerry regained sufficient command of his faculties to observe that his clothes had been removed.

He uttered a cry of alarm which brought Mrs. Hogan into the room.

She found the old man struggling to rise in bed, but without success, so great was his weakness.

“Don’t try to get up, Jerry!” she said, soothingly. “Lie still, there’s a good man!”

“Bring me my clothes!” gasped Jerry.

“And what for do you want your clothes?” asked Mrs. Hogan, supposing that he wished to dress. “Shure the doctor said you must have them taken off. It would be better for you.”

“Bring them to me – quick!” gasped the old man once more.

“Shure, and what will you do with them?”

“Never mind, woman! Bring them to me, or I’ll have you arrested for robbing me.”

“O, that’s it, is it?” retorted the nurse, bridling. “If I couldn’t find anything to stale better’n them, I’d remain honest to the end of my life.”

“If you won’t bring them here, I’ll get up myself.”

“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.”