Kitobni o'qish: «Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'», sahifa 12
CHAPTER XXXVI
JAMES BARCLAY REAPPEARS
“Go away! Go away!” ejaculated the old man in terrified accents.
“Couldn’t think of it, father,” said James, throwing himself on the sofa and lighting his pipe. “What, leave you and my wife – how on earth did you find the old man out, Ellen? Now all the family’s together, we’ll live together in peace and happiness. We’ll never desert the old man, will we, Ellen?”
“I wish you would not smoke here, James. It is bad for your father, who has a difficulty in breathing.”
“Oho! You take the old man’s part against me, do you?” said James Barclay, his brow darkening. “You haven’t seen me for weeks, and you begin to jaw already.”
“Ask him to go away, Ellen,” said Jerry, feebly.
“Oh, you’re anxious to get rid of me, are you?” sneered James Barclay. “You would drive me away from my family, would you? Are you still living in Jersey City, Ellen?”
“No, I have taken a room here.”
“That’s right. I’ve no objection. What does the doctor say about the old man? Is he going to die?”
“Hush, James,” said his wife. “How can you be so inconsiderate?”
“Who says I am going to die?” asked Jerry, terrified.
“I hope you will live a good while yet,” said Ellen Barclay, soothingly. “I will take every care of you.”
“I’m not such an old man,” interrupted Jerry. “I ought to live a – a long time.”
“Come, dad, you’re unreasonable,” said James, coarsely. “You’re seventy, if you’re a day. You don’t want to live forever, do you?”
“My own son wants me to die,” moaned Jerry.
“Well, you’ve had your share of life. Ain’t you goin’ to give me a chance?”
“Why will you talk in this way, James?” expostulated his wife, as the old man gave a cry and buried his face in the bed clothes.
“How have I been talking? It’s the truth, ain’t it?”
“You are only making your father worse.”
“Well, if you’re anxious to get rid of me, give me a few dollars, and I’ll stay away till tomorrow.”
“I have no money of my own, James.”
“Then whose money have you?”
“I have some money that Paul gave me to buy necessaries for your father.”
“Then give me some.”
“I have only a little of that left. I must ask Paul for more – ”
“Oh, the telegraph boy’s got the money, has he? Look here, you young rapscallion, I’ll take charge of the old man’s money. I am his son, and I am the proper party to do it. So hand over!”
“I have no money of your father’s. I have been advancing money of my own.”
“That’s too thin. You haven’t got any money of your own.”
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not. However, I’ll give you two dollars if you’ll go away now.”
“Hand it over, then. I won’t come back till tomorrow.”
The old man was in such a nervous condition, that Paul was glad to obtain even such a brief respite as this. He drew from his pocket a two dollar bill, and handed it to James Barclay, who immediately got up and walked towards the door.
“By, by!” he said, “I’ll be back to-morrow.”
“No, no,” said the old man, “I – I don’t want to see you.”
“Now, there’s an affectionate father for you!” said James Barclay, with a mocking smile. “He don’t want to see his only son.”
“You haven’t given him much reason to miss you, James,” said Ellen Barclay, mildly.
“So you turn against me, too, Mrs. Barclay,” said her husband, with a frown. “A nice wife you are, upon my word!”
“Shure you’re a jewel of a husband yourself!” interposed Mrs. Hogan, who had entered during the conversation.
“And you’re the woman who threw hot water upon me, you old jade!” retorted James, his face black with anger. “I’ve a great mind to wring your neck for you.”
He made a step forward, which alarmed Paul, lest he might proceed to carry out his threat.
“Oho!” laughed Barclay. “The kid is going to defend you.”
“And a fine boy he is!” said Mrs. Hogan. “But don’t you trouble yourself, Number 91. I’m a match for the ould brute any time.”
Mrs. Hogan, standing with her arms akimbo, looked thoroughly fearless and undaunted. She was a powerful woman, and, though James Barclay was of course her superior in physical force, he would not have found her an unresisting victim.
“Why don’t he go away?” was heard in a wailing voice from the bed.
“He is going directly,” answered Ellen Barclay, in a soothing voice.
James Barclay’s brow contracted.
“So you’re sowing mischief between my father and me, my lady!” he said. “Well, it’s just what I expected. But don’t you forget one thing! I’m the rightful heir of that old ninny on the bed there, and if anybody tries to cut me out, he’ll find I’ve got something to say about it.”
“That’s a pretty way to talk of your father – as an ould ninny,” said Mrs. Hogan, indignantly.
“Never you mind! It’s none of your business. I suppose you’re looking for a slice of the property yourself.”
“No, I’m not Mr. James Barclay. I’m an honest woman, and can earn my own living.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But I’m not so sure of the telegraph boy. He’s been living on the old man all his life, and he means to be provided for when he dies.”
“I don’t know what your father would have done without him,” said Mrs. Hogan. “He’s worked for old Jerry ever since he was six years old – when his own flesh and blood deserted him. Isn’t it so, Jerry?”
“Yes, Paul is a good boy,” responded Jerry, feebly.
“Oh, no doubt; he’s an angel,” sneered James Barclay. “I say, Number 91, as you seem to have my father’s money, I’ll just mention that I shall want ten dollars tomorrow.”
“I have no money of your father’s, Mr. Barclay, and I shall not be able to advance you the money myself.”
“Well, it’s got to come from some quarter,” said Barclay; “whether he gives it to me, or you, I don’t care, as long as I have it.”
“You ought to earn your own living – you’re big and strong enough,” said Mrs. Hogan, with spirit.
“Thank you; you’re a fine woman,” said James Barclay, mockingly. “If Mrs. Barclay would only be obliging enough to leave me a widower, I might take you for my second wife.”
“And leave me to support you!” retorted Mrs. Hogan. “Thank you for nothing. I’d rather be a widow all the days of my life than to marry you.”
James Barclay laughed.
“And yet some people think me good looking,” he said.
“Then they must be blind; however, it isn’t the way you look, it’s the way you behave that sets me aginst you.”
“That’s a pity; for your sake, my sweet Mrs. Hogan, I might be tempted to turn over a new leaf.”
“Shure, it’s more than one new leaf you’ll need to turn over, I’m thinkin’.”
Paul laughed at this retort, and even the victim of Mrs. Hogan’s sarcasm was forced to laugh, too. Then, greatly to the relief of all present, the unwelcome visitor left the house.
“Shure, I pity you, Mrs. Barclay,” said Mrs. Hogan, sympathetically, “for havin’ such a husband as that. What made you marry him?”
“Because I thought him a different man, but the delusion didn’t last long. Before three months had passed I found that he had married me for a few hundred dollars left me by my aunt. When he had spent them, he treated me with neglect.”
“Shure’s it’s the way wid the men!”
“I hope not with all of them, Mrs. Hogan,” said Paul, smiling.
“No, Paul, I don’t mean you. I wouldn’t mind marrying you if you were old enough.”
“There, I’ve had one offer,” said Paul. “Excuse my blushes!”
CHAPTER XXXVII
JAMES BARCLAY’S SCHEME
James Barclay presented himself the next day, true to his notice, and demanded ten dollars. Paul was not at home, and the only persons to whom he could appeal were his father, his wife, and Mrs. Hogan.
“I haven’t any money, James,” answered Mrs. Barclay, “except seventy five cents, and that I must spend for medicines for your father, and something for his supper.”
“Where did that money come from?” inquired Barclay.
“From Paul.”
“Number 91?”
“Yes.”
“Just as I thought! He’s got my father’s money, and doles it out to you a little at a time.”
“He says it is his own money.”
“That’s a likely story. When could a common telegraph boy get so much money?”
“He isn’t a common telegraph boy! He is a very smart boy.”
“An uncommon telegraph boy, then, if you prefer it. By Jove! I think he is that myself. It isn’t every boy of his age who could so pull the wool over an old man’s eyes as he has.”
“He is a very good boy!” said Mrs. Barclay, who had learned to appreciate Paul, though she was at first inclined to do him injustice.
“So he is – of the kind!” retorted her husband. “If you were not blind you would see that he has got hold of my father’s property, and means to keep the lion’s share of it for himself. When will he be home?”
“Not till six o’clock.”
“And it’s only three. I don’t think I can wait.”
It was fortunate that he did not see the look of satisfaction upon his wife’s face. It would have incensed him, for his temper, as the reader has had occasion to learn, was not of the best.
“Look here!” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “give me the seventy five cents. I’ll make it do till I get a chance to see this telegraph boy.”
“But, James, I really can’t spare it. I need it to buy some supper and medicines for your father.”
“And I need it to buy some supper for myself!” returned her husband, roughly. “There’s plenty more money where that came from.”
“Oh, James! how can you be so hard and selfish!”
“Hard and selfish, just because I don’t want to starve. I s’pose you’d be glad to read my obituary in the paper some fine morning, Mrs. Barclay, eh?”
“Shure she wouldn’t read much good of you, I’m thinkin’,” said Mrs. Hogan.
“Don’t be hard on me, Mrs. Hogan. Remember I’ve promised to marry you, if Ellen, here, ever gives me the chance.”
“Shure thin I hope she’ll live forever. She’s welcome to you, though I wish she had a better husband, as she well desarves, poor dear!”
“I’ll come around again tonight,” was James Barclay’s parting assurance.
“Don’t you come if you’ve got any other business to attind to! We can spare you.”
But James Barclay did come, and was fortunate enough to find Paul at home. There his good fortune ended, however. Paul positively denied having any money belonging to old Jerry, and as positively refused to advance James any money of his own.
“Do you expect me to believe that story, Number 91?” demanded the visitor with lowering look.
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not, but it’s true all the same.”
James Barclay was silent for a moment, and then, considerably to Paul’s surprise, went out without further disturbance. The fact was that a new scheme had occurred to him. He was thoroughly convinced that Paul had his father’s property in his possession. If he could get the telegraph boy into his power – kidnap him, in fact – he would be able to extort from him the money, or learn where it lay concealed.
“Good evening!” he said; “we shall meet again!”
But James Barclay’s plans were frustrated in a tragic way. On leaving the house he met an old acquaintance who proposed to him to join forces in a burglary that evening. Barclay was at the end of his resources and readily agreed. He had so often got off scot free that he was disposed to underestimate the danger incurred. It was destined to be the last crime in which he was to take part. He was surprised at his work by a private watchman, and fatally shot dying almost instantly.
When Paul read in the morning papers the account of Barclay’s tragic end he was shocked, though he could not mourn for one whose life had been a curse to himself and all connected with him. To old Jerry his son’s death was a positive relief, as may readily be imagined.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CONCLUSION
Three months passed, during which Paul faithfully attended to his duties as a telegraph boy. He was held in high consideration by the superintendent, who was very naturally influenced by the fact that Paul had made so many influential friends.
But the time was coming when he would no longer be Number 91.
One night he received a note signed Eliot Wade, asking him to call in the evening at the Albemarle Hotel. He presented himself promptly, and was cordially greeted by the young man from St. Louis, to whom he had rendered an important service.
“I am glad to see you, Paul,” said the young man.
“And I am glad you have not forgotten me, Mr. Wade.”
“There was no danger of that. Well, Paul, I have come to New York for the purpose I mentioned to you – that of starting a branch establishment here.”
“Have you secured a store, sir?”
“Yes, I shall be located at – Broadway.”
“That is a fine location.”
“I hope it will prove so. And now, Paul, are you engaged – in business, I mean?” he added, smiling.
“I am still a telegraph boy – Number 91.”
“Will you resign your position, and enter my service?”
“Willingly, sir. In a year or two I shall be too old for a telegraph boy, and it will be well to learn some business. I suppose you will not want me for some time.”
“On the contrary, I need you at once. There will be a good deal of work attendant upon getting started, and I shall find plenty of work for you.”
“I shall be glad to begin next Monday, sir. I don’t want to leave the telegraph office without notice.”
“Very well; let it be so. Will twelve dollars a week satisfy you at first?”
“Do you really mean it, Mr. Wade?” asked Paul, in surprise.
“Certainly.”
“But I shan’t earn so much.”
“Leave that to me,” said the young man, smiling. “I intend to have you earn that sum, and more next year.”
Paul expressed his gratitude, and immediately gave notice at the telegraph office that he was about to leave.
“I expected it, Number 91,” said the superintendent, “knowing what powerful friends you had secured. I am sorry to lose you, but I wish you success and prosperity in your new business.”
Paul thought best to make some change in his residence. He had already secured a separate room for himself in the old tenement house, Jerry’s sickness making it necessary. Now he persuaded old Jerry to pay the rent of a modest flat up town, to which he and James Barclay’s family removed. Paul hired a room not far away.
The location was not far from Central Park, and the better air and diet very much improved the health of the old man, who has become less miserly, and finds comfort in the society of his son’s family.
Paul makes frequent calls on Mr. Cunningham, who receives him as a valued friend. Whether Paul’s partiality for Jennie Cunningham will lead to anything when he gets older, I must leave the reader to conjecture. It must be remembered that he is no longer a telegraph boy, but a rising young business man.
Mrs. Granville retains her partiality for him, and makes no secret of the fact that she has remembered Paul in her will. Paul would be surprised if he knew the legacy he is to receive; but he wisely keeps the matter out of his thoughts, and earnestly hopes the old lady may live many years yet.
It is rather a curious circumstance that Mark Sterling is employed as a boy in the same establishment where Paul is a clerk.
When Mark applied for the place he was not aware that the telegraph boy, upon whom he had looked down so scornfully, was also employed there. When he found it out, and that Paul was above him, he was tempted to resign; but the place was a good one, and he decided to wait awhile. He feared Paul would retaliate upon him, but he was soon undeceived.
The ex telegraph boy treated him so cordially, and showed such an obliging spirit, that Mark was won in spite of himself, and the two became friends. I have no doubt that the improved social condition of Paul, and the prospect that Mrs. Granville would leave him a legacy, influenced Mark. At any rate, he has now become a friend of Number 91.
The telegraph boys who used to serve in the same office with Paul are proud to point him out as a graduate of the office, and his rise in life encourages them to hope for future advancement.
“I have had many boys in the office,” said the superintendent on a recent occasion, “but never one that came up to Number 91.”
