Alger Horatio Jr.
Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy

CHAPTER X
AN IMPORTANT COMMISSION

"No. 79!" called the superintendent.

Mark Mason came forward to receive his commission. He had been sitting on a bench with several other telegraph boys, awaiting a call.

"Do you know Henry Swan, jeweler?" asked the superintendent, referring to a paper in his hand.

"Yes, sir; that is, I met him lately in a Fifth Avenue stage."

"He has sent for a telegraph boy, No. 79 preferred."

Mark smiled with pleasure.

"I am glad he remembers me," he said.

"You may go there at once."

Mark put on his cap and went to the jeweler's store. As he entered, Mr. Swan, who was crossing from one side of the store to the other, recognized him.

"You see I haven't forgotten you," he said.

"I am glad of that, sir."

"The boy in my employ has sent word that he is sick. It is necessary for me to supply his place. In my business fidelity and sharpness are requisite. I knew that you possess these traits, and as I don't want to experiment with a new boy of whom I know nothing, I sent for you."

"I will try to meet your wishes, sir."

"To begin with, have you another suit? I don't want you to wear the uniform of a telegraph boy while you are in my employ."

"Yes, sir. Shall I go home and get it?"

"On the whole, no. I will give you an order on a clothier in Fulton Street for a new suit."

"You are very kind, Mr. Swan," said Mark in astonishment. "I have done nothing to deserve such kindness."

"Not yet," answered the jeweler pleasantly; "but perhaps you may soon. Take this note to Knight Brothers, and you will have no trouble."

This was the note.

"Knight Brothers, Fulton Street:

"Fit out this boy with a nice suit and send the bill to me.

"Henry Swan."

Mark lost no time in visiting the clothiers.

"What can I do for you, young man?" asked the salesman.

"This note will explain," said Mark.

The salesman opened and read it.

"It will be all right," he said. "Mr. Swan gets his clothes here, but he has them made to order. Do you want one made to order or ready made?"

"Ready made. I want to put it on to-day."

"Come up-stairs then."

In twenty minutes Mark left the store attired in a nice eighteen dollar suit. He would have selected a cheaper one, but the salesman overruled him.

"Mr. Swan never buys a cheap suit or inferior article," he said. "In the letter he wishes you to have a nice suit, and we must follow directions."

"I don't want to abuse his generosity."

"You won't. He is a very liberal man. He is teacher of a class of five poor boys in a mission Sunday-school. Last Christmas he sent them all in here for new suits."

"If that is the case," said Mark, "I shall feel easier."

When he reappeared at the jeweler's Mr. Swan regarded him with critical approval.

"You have made a good selection," he said.

"I hope I didn't go too high for the suit, Mr. Swan. I wanted to order a cheaper one, but the salesman wouldn't let me."

"The salesman was right," said the jeweler smiling. "I am satisfied. And now to your work. I have a request from a lady up town to send her a couple of diamond rings to select from. She professed to be on her way from Brooklyn and to be in haste. She is, she says, staying at the house of a friend at No. 282 West Forty-Seventh between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. She is to go away to-morrow and would like to make choice of a ring to-day."

Mark was rather surprised to hear this full account from the jeweler. As he was only to take the part of an errand boy he didn't see the necessity for it. He was soon enlightened.

"Now," proceeded the jeweler, "I am of the opinion that this lady is a clever swindler. I believe she wants to get hold of the rings, and carry them off without paying for them."

"Then you won't send them to her, I suppose."

"I would not if I were absolutely sure that she is a fraud, but this I don't know. She may be a bona fide customer, and if so I should like to sell her a ring."

"How can you find out, sir?"

"I hope to do so with your help."

CHAPTER XI
MR. HAMILTON SCHUYLER IS ASTONISHED

The jeweler took from his case two diamond rings. They were large, brilliant, and showy.

"How do you like the appearance of these rings?" he asked.

"They are beautiful!" exclaimed Mark admiringly.

"Don't you think the lady would admire them?"

"I should think so, sir."

"What should you think they are worth?"

"A hundred dollars apiece," guessed Mark.

"If the diamonds were genuine, one would be worth three hundred and fifty dollars and the other four hundred."

"Are they not genuine?" asked Mark in surprise.

"Paste, my boy, paste. The gold, however, is real. Instead of being worth the sum mentioned, one is worth perhaps three dollars and a half, the other four dollars."

"But I shouldn't think it would be worth your while to keep false diamond rings."

"Nor would it if all persons were honest. I never sell them. I only sell genuine jewelry. I will let you understand the use I mean to make of them. These two rings I mean to have you carry to Mrs. Montgomery on Forty-Seventh Street."

"But suppose she takes them for genuine?"

"Then I will make them so. In other words, I will take out the paste diamonds and replace them with real stones. If on the other hand any fraud is intended it won't benefit her much."

"Very well, sir. I think I understand."

"You must to a certain extent exercise your own discretion. I judged from the observations I made the other afternoon that you are a boy who possesses that important quality."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"I will tell you what made me suspect the woman of whom I have spoken. First, the name. She calls herself Mrs. Philip Montgomery. It sounds like a fictitious name. Again, she is a stout, rather common-looking woman, with a florid complexion and larger features. Now Montgomery is an aristocratic name. Again, she says she is from Buffalo. Swindlers generally hail from some distant city. Then again, it is rather suspicious that she should be in such haste.

"The purchase is an important one, and the amount to be paid – she herself fixed the approximate value – is considerable. You would think she would wish to inspect my stock carefully before making a selection. Instead of this she only asked to have two rings sent up to her of the value of three or four hundred dollars, and she would make choice of one of them."

"It does look rather suspicious, sir."

Mr. Swan gave Mark some further directions, and the latter started up town on the Eighth Avenue horse cars, which he took on the lower side of the Astor House.

"This is new business to me," thought Mark. "I feel an interest to see this Mrs. Montgomery. If she is planning to entrap me, she won't make as much as she anticipates."

Mark had the rings, each in a little morocco case, carefully laid away in the inside pocket of his coat.

When they reached Canal Street, to Mark's surprise, his cousin Edgar entered the car. He did not recognize Mark at first, the latter no longer wearing the messenger's uniform.

"How do you do, Cousin Edgar?" said Mark.

Edgar turned sharply around.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "Please don't call me cousin."

"I am just as much ashamed of the relationship as you are," responded Mark with a comical smile.

"That is impertinent. Besides it isn't true. Have you been discharged from the telegraph service?"

"No; what makes you think so?"

"Because you are not wearing the uniform."

"I am working for a party that doesn't want me to wear it while in his service."

"Who is it?"

"I don't feel at liberty to tell."

"Oh, just as you like. Isn't that a new suit?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it."

"Business seems to be pretty good with you. How much did it cost?"

"Eighteen dollars."

"Is it paid for?"

"Of course it is."

"I didn't know but you might have bought it in installments."

"I don't have to do that."

"Yet you pretended a little while since that you and your mother had hard work to get along."

"Business is looking up."

Edgar got out at Twenty-Third Street. Mark kept on till he reached Forty-Seventh Street. He walked toward Seventh Avenue, and finally stood in front of the house in which the customer for the diamond rings was staying. It was a plain three-story residence with nothing peculiar about it. Mark rang the bell, little suspecting what was in store for him.

A boy of about seventeen, shabbily dressed, answered the bell.

"Is Mrs. Montgomery at home?" asked Mark, referring to a card.

"I guess so," answered the boy.

"I should like to see her."

"All right! I'll go up and ask."

The boy left Mark standing in the doorway, and went up-stairs.

He returned in a very short time.

"You're to come up," he said.

Mark followed him up the staircase and into a back room. It was scantily furnished. There was a lounge on one side of the room, and a cabinet bed on the other. These, with three chairs and a bureau, constituted the furniture.

"Just step in here," said the boy, "and I'll call Mrs. Montgomery."

Mark took a seat on the sofa and awaited the arrival of the lady.

He did not have long to wait. The door opened, but the lady he expected did not appear. Instead, a young man entered whom Mark instantly recognized as the person who had left the Fifth Avenue stage under suspicious circumstances on the day when the old lady was robbed of her pocketbook.

Mark started and wondered if the recognition was mutual. It did not appear to be.

"You're the jeweler's boy, I believe?" said the newcomer languidly.

"I came from Henry Swan."

"Exactly, and you have brought two diamond rings with you?"

"Yes."

"All right! You can show them to me."

Mark's suspicions were aroused and he felt that he had need of all his shrewdness. He was very glad now that the diamonds were paste and the rings of little value.

"Excuse me," he said, "but I was told to deliver the rings to Mrs. Philip Montgomery.

"Yes, that's all right. Mrs. Montgomery is my aunt."

"I should like to see her," persisted Mark.

"Come, boy, you're too fresh. It'll be all the same if you hand the rings to me."

"I don't think so. Isn't Mrs. Montgomery at home?"

"Yes, but she has a severe headache and cannot see you at present."

"Then perhaps I had better call again."

"No you don't. I am a gentleman and won't permit you to insult me."

"What do you want to do?"

"To take the rings up to my aunt. If she likes them, or either of them, she will send you down a check."

Mark reflected a moment. Remembering that the rings were not valuable, he decided to show them.

"Here are the rings!" he said, producing them from his pocket.

The young man opened the small caskets, and his eyes lighted up with satisfaction when he saw the glittering rings.

"What is the price?" he asked, looking up.

"That ring is three hundred and fifty dollars, the other is four hundred."

"Seven hundred and fifty together."

"Yes."

"I will show them to my aunt. Perhaps she may decide to keep both."

"You won't be long?" asked Mark, as the young man left the room.

"No, I'll be back as soon as my aunt decides."

Left alone Mark began to think over the situation. His recognition of his unprincipled acquaintance of the Fifth Avenue stage convinced him that some fraudulent scheme was being carried out. Mrs. Montgomery was probably a confederate of the young man who had just left the room.

"Is he going up-stairs or down?" thought Mark.

He listened, and thought he heard the front door open and shut. It occurred to him to open the door of the chamber and look down-stairs.

He started to do this, but to his surprise found that the door was fastened in some way. He had not heard a key turned in the lock. Possibly there was an outside bolt.

"What object can they have in keeping me a prisoner?" he asked.

Should he ring the bell and summon a servant? If he did so, he would have to leave the house in a state of uncertainty. No! he decided to wait and let further events throw a light on the mystery.

Meanwhile the young man who had possessed himself of the rings left the house, for it was he who had descended the stairs and gone out into the street. He bent his steps to the nearest pawnshop on Eighth Avenue, and taking out one of the boxes, said in a nonchalant voice:

"What will you loan me on this magnificent diamond ring?"

The pawnbroker took the box, and drawing out the ring held it up in the best light. He examined it through a magnifying glass, and a gleam of intelligence flashed in his face.

He returned to the counter, and scrutinizing the young man who had presented it asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "What do you want to borrow on the ring, my friend?"

"Two hundred dollars," answered the customer promptly.

"Humph!" said the pawnbroker with an amused smile, "two hundred dollars is a large sum of money."

"Yes, but the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars. I am asking a little more than half price."

"So! the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars! Did you pay that price for it?"

"No, the ring does not belong to me."

"Then to whom does it belong?"

"To my aunt, Mrs. Philip Montgomery."

"I do not know the lady. Does she live in the city?"

"No, she lives in Buffalo."

"And she sent the ring to you?"

"Yes, she sent it to me. She is in want of a little money, and did not like to ask her husband for it, for he might not be pleased. So she wants to borrow money on this ring which was given her by her brother at the time of her marriage."

"So, so! And your aunt would like me to lend her two hundred dollars on the ring?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think you will have to carry it to some other pawnbroker, my friend!"

"I don't mind taking a little less," said the young man, who was anxious for more than one reason to realize on the ring at once.

"How much now do you call a little less?"

"Well, say a hundred and seventy-five dollars. Probably my aunt will be able to redeem it in a few weeks."

"If I give you a hundred and seventy-five dollars," laughed the pawnbroker, "I think your aunt will let me keep it for good."

"As to that," said the young man impatiently, "I can make no promises. How much will you give on it?"

"I might give you a dollar and a half," answered the pawnbroker composedly.

"A dollar and a half!" exclaimed the young man, clutching at the counter for support. "A dollar and a half on this magnificent diamond ring, for which my aunt paid three hundred and fifty dollars! What do you mean?"

"I mean not to be cheated, my friend. How much do you think this magnificent ring is worth?"

"I have told you what it cost."

"My friend, you are very much mistaken. The ring cost only three dollars or three and a half."

"What do you mean?" gasped the visitor, turning pale.

"I mean that it is not diamond, but paste."

"But – it came from a jeweler of great reputation. Surely you have heard of Mr. Henry Swan."

"Yes, I have heard of Mr. Swan. If you will bring him here, and he will say that the diamond is real, I will see if I can't give you more."

"Wait!" said the customer hurriedly, drawing out the other casket. "Look at this ring, and tell me what it is worth."

The pawnbroker took it to the window and examined it attentively.

"That may be worth four dollars," he answered, after a brief pause.

"And is this stone false also?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Then I won't pawn either. Here, give me back both rings."

"Here they are."

"I am afraid you are not a good judge of diamonds. I am sure they are real."

"Go somewhere else, my friend, and satisfy yourself. If you can find any one in my line who will give you five dollars for either, you had better take it and call yourself a fortunate man. Will you leave your name?"

"My name is Hamilton Schuyler, and I live on Second Avenue."

"It is a very good name, my friend. I think you must belong to the Four Hundred."

"I do," answered Schuyler haughtily.

"It is a pity you should have to pawn your aunt's diamonds, and such diamonds!" chuckled the pawnbroker.

But Mr. Schuyler had already left the shop, and was hurrying along the avenue to another of the same class at which he had occasionally had dealings.

CHAPTER XII
MR. SCHUYLER HAS A BAD TIME

"I shall have to stay here till I am let out," thought Mark.

He didn't worry particularly, as he knew that even if the rings were kept they would not involve his employer in any serious loss.

In about half an hour he heard steps ascending the stairs, then he heard a bolt shoved back, and he was not surprised when the young man, whose name he did not know, entered the room. He noted, not without amusement, that his face betrayed dissatisfaction.

"What does your aunt think of the rings?" asked Mark ingenuously.

"Look here, young fellow!" said Schuyler, sitting down and glaring at the messenger, "you've played a pretty trick on me!"

"What kind of a trick?" asked Mark, arching his eyebrows.

"Those rings are not diamond rings."

"What are they, then?" asked Mark in assumed surprise.

"Paste – bogus!" answered Schuyler scornfully.

"Are you sure of that, Mr. – ?"

"Schuyler."

"Mr. Schuyler."

"Yes. I took them round to a – jeweler, and had him test them."

"It must be a mistake," murmured Mark.

"It is a very strange mistake, then, for a first-class house to make," rejoined Schuyler in a tone of sarcasm.

"So it is. They must have given me the wrong rings," said Mark innocently.

"My aunt is very much disappointed. She wanted to start this evening for Buffalo."

"I thought she lived in Syracuse."

"She is going to visit her son in Buffalo," explained Schuyler with ready wit.

"I am really sorry. If she would go down to the jeweler's with me, or if you would, the matter could be set right at once."

Mr. Hamilton Schuyler thought over this suggestion, and on the whole regarded it favorably.

"I will go down in about an hour," he said. "You can explain matters to Mr. Swan. Just think if my aunt had taken the rings and paid full price for them, and not found out till she got to Buffalo that they were not genuine!"

"In that case Mr. Swan would have paid her the money or exchanged the rings."

"I hope so."

"Perhaps you had better hand me back the caskets, and I will carry them back to the store."

Mr. Schuyler returned the boxes to Mark, who opened them to see if the rings were inside.

"You will go down in an hour then?" he said.

"Yes, or – upon second thought you had better come right back with the genuine rings. I have an appointment at the Windsor Hotel, but will be back to receive them."

Mark understood why Schuyler did not care to go to the jeweler's. He could not get possession of the genuine rings without paying for them, whereas, if Mark should bring them, he could carry out his original plan and retain them by stratagem.

Schuyler accompanied Mark to the front door.

"Now hurry down and back," he said. "My aunt is anxious to catch the evening train."

"Very well, Mr. Schuyler."

At this moment Schuyler noted for the first time a familiar look in Mark's face.

"Haven't I seen you before?" he asked abruptly.

"Very likely," said Mark with self-possession. "Perhaps you have been in the store."

"No; my aunt called there, but I did not. You look very much like some boy I saw recently," and Schuyler wrinkled up his forehead in the vain endeavor to place Mark.

"I hope I remind you of a good-looking boy," he said, laughing.

"I see it now. You look like a telegraph boy I recently met in a Fifth Avenue stage."

"I should like to see him, but I shouldn't think you'd remember a common telegraph boy."

"He was impertinent to me, that is why I remember him," frowned Schuyler. "I hope to meet him alone some time. I will give him a lesson he won't be likely to forget."

"Then I'm glad I'm not the boy you mean. Good day!"

"Good day. Hurry back as fast as you can."

When Mark re-entered the jewelry store Mr. Swan advanced to meet him.

"Well," he said, "how did you make out?"

"I've got the rings with me."

"Did you see Mrs. Montgomery?"

"No, but I saw a young man who claimed to be her nephew."

"What did he say about the rings?"

"He left me alone in a back room on the second floor. When I went to the door I found that it was locked. But I didn't trouble myself. I concluded that he had gone out to pawn or sell the rings. He returned in half an hour quite angry, and told me he had ascertained that the diamonds were not genuine."

"Why did you think he went out to pawn or sell them?"

"Because I recognized him."

"You recognized him?"

"Yes, as the young man in the Fifth Avenue stage who robbed an old lady of her wallet."

"The day that we first met?"

"Yes, sir."

The jeweler looked surprised.

"Didn't he recognize you?"

"He asked if we hadn't met before. He said there was something familiar in my face. Finally, he said I reminded him of an impudent telegraph boy he had fallen in with. He wants to meet that telegraph boy alone," added Mark with a smile.

"He has had his wish."

"Yes, but luckily for me he didn't recognize me."

"How did you explain about the rings being false?"

"I said you had probably made a mistake."

"I see you are quick-witted. Well, was that satisfactory?"

"He expects me to bring back the genuine rings this afternoon, as his aunt wants to leave the city this evening."

"I think he will have to wait. Perhaps it may be as well to notify him that she needn't put off her journey on that account. I don't want to spare you to go there again, however."

"There's a boy I know out on the street," suggested Mark. "He would be glad to go."

"Who is it?"

"Tom Trotter, a friend of mine. He's a good boy, though he's only a bootblack."

"Is he reliable?"

"Yes, sir; I will answer for him."

"Very well. Call him in."

Mark went to the door and called "Tom! Tom Trotter!"

Tom looked around and recognized Mark.

"You ain't left de telegraph, have you, Mark?" he said.

"No, but I'm working here for a day or two. Would you like to go up town on an errand?"

"Yes," answered Tom with alacrity. "Will I be paid?"

"Of course. Can't you leave your blacking box somewhere and get your face and hands washed?"

"Yes, Mark; there's a small s'loon near by, where I hang out sometimes. Just wait for me and I'll be back in a jiffy."

Tom reappeared in a very short time with his appearance greatly improved by the application of cold water and soap.

"Mr. Swan," said Mark, smiling, "this is Mr. Thomas Trotter, the young gentleman I spoke to you about."

"Oh, stow that, Mark!" expostulated Tom; "I ain't Mr. Trotter. I'm Tom."

"Mr. Trotter," said the jeweler, smiling, for he had a sense of humor, "I have a letter here which I wish you to take to the address named."

"And to walk, sir."

"No; I will give you ten cents for car fare, and when you return and make your report you shall be paid for doing the errand."

"All right, governor."

Tom started up town, and in due time reached the house on Forty-Seventh Street.

He rang the bell, and the door was opened by the hall boy already referred to.

"Is Mr. Schuyler at home?" asked Tom. "I've got a letter for him."

Mr. Schuyler, who was anxiously awaiting Mark's return, came out of a room to the left of the hall. When he saw Tom he looked disappointed.

"I was expecting a boy from Mr. Swan's jewelry store."

"That's where I come from."

"Did you bring the rings?" asked Schuyler eagerly.

"I don't know nothin' about no rings," answered Tom. "I've brought you a letter."

"Give it to me quick."

He opened the letter, and this is what he read with contracted brow.

"Mr. Hamilton Schuyler:

"When I called here this morning I recognized you as the young man who stole an old lady's pocketbook in a Fifth Avenue stage not long since. Of course I knew that this was another scheme of yours to get hold of money that did not belong to you. If you had been all right I would myself have brought back the real diamond rings which your aunt wished to buy. Tell her not to put off her journey to Buffalo, as Mr. Swan has made up his mind not to send them."

"Yours as ever,

"A. D. T. 79."

"Then it was the telegraph boy, after all!" ejaculated Schuyler in a rage. "I only wish I had known it. Are you a friend of – the telegraph boy?"

"Am I a friend of Mark Mason? I should smile."

"Step in a minute, then!" said Schuyler, with an assumed friendliness.

As the unsuspecting Tom stepped inside the hall, the young man began to shower blows on his shoulders with a cane that he snatched from the hat rack.

Tom was for a minute dazed. Then his wits returned to him. He lowered his head and butted Schuyler in the stomach with such force that the latter fell over backwards with an ejaculation of pain.

Then Tom darted through the open door, but paused on the steps to say, "With the compliments of Tom Trotter."

Schuyler picked himself up, uttering execrations, and looked for the boy, but he was gone!