Kitobni o'qish: «Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'», sahifa 3

CHAPTER VII
PAUL RESOLVES TO MOVE

After Jerry’s unwelcome visitor was well out of the way, Paul returned to the room. He found old Jerry trembling and very much distressed. The old man looked up with startled eyes when he opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you, Paul,” he said, in a tone of relief.

“Who did you think it was?” asked Paul, wishing to draw out the old man.

“I – I have had a visit from a bad man, who wanted to rob me.”

“Who was it?”

“I’ll tell you, Paul, but it’s a secret, mind. It was my son.”

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Nor I. I thought he might be dead, for I have not seen him for twenty years. I am afraid he is very wicked.”

“How did he find you out?”

“I don’t know. He – he frightened me very much. He wanted me to give him money – and I so miserably poor.”

Paul didn’t answer.

“You know how poor I am, Paul,” continued the old man appealingly.

“You always say so, Jerry.”

The old man did not appear to notice that Paul had ceased to call him grandfather.

“And it’s true – of course it’s true. But he wants me to pay him fifty dollars. He is coming back tomorrow.”

“But he can’t get it if you haven’t it to give.”

“I – I don’t know. He was always bad tempered – James was. I am afraid he might beat me.”

“What! Beat his father!” exclaimed Paul, indignantly.

“He might,” said the old man. “He wasn’t a good boy like you. He always gave me trouble.”

“Are you really afraid he will come, grand – Jerry?” asked Paul, earnestly.

“Yes, he is sure to come – he said so.”

“Then I think we had better move to another place where he can’t find us.”

“Yes – yes – let us go,” said the old man, hurriedly. “But, but,” he added, with a sudden thought, “we have paid the rent here to the end of the month. I can’t afford to lose that – I am so poor.”

“It will only be a dollar and a half; I will pay it,” said Paul.

“Then I think I shall go. When shall we leave, Paul?”

“This evening, Jerry, if I can get the time. I may have to stay up town to guard a house where the gentleman is absent, but it isn’t certain. If I do, I will be here early in the morning, before I go to work.”

This assurance seemed to abate the apprehensions of the old man, who, it was evident, stood in great fear of his son. Paul was obliged to take a hurried leave of him in order to have time for lunch before returning to the office.

“Who would have dreamed,” he said to himself, “that the bold burglar whom I encountered last night, was the son of old Jerry? One is as timid as a mouse, the other seems like a daring criminal. I wonder why Jerry never told me that he had a son.”

The discovery that Jerry had such a son made Paul still more unwilling to own a relationship to him. It was bad enough to pass for the grandson of a squalid miser, but it was worse to be thought the son or nephew of a burglar.

The day passed quietly. Paul was not sent out much, on the supposition that he might have to pass another night at the house of Mr. Cunningham.

About seven o’clock he rang the bell of the house in Fifty First Street.

The same servant admitted him. This time she received him with a smile, knowing that he stood high with her mistress.

“Come right in,” she said. “The mistress will see you in the sitting room.”

“Have you had any more visits from burglars?” asked Paul.

“No; may be they’re waiting till night.”

“Has Mr. Cunningham got back?”

“No, but he’s expected at eight.”

Paul was glad to hear this, for he preferred not to remain over night, as he knew that old Jerry would need him.

When Paul entered the sitting room Mrs. Cunningham received him cordially.

“I suppose you have not seen the burglar since,” said Mrs. Cunningham, innocently.

She little dreamed what a discovery he had made, and he did not think it wise to enlighten her.

“He has not called upon me,” answered Paul, with justifiable evasion. “I don’t think I want to meet him again.”

“I hope he will never present himself here,” said the lady.

“He made me a promise that he would not,” said Paul.

“I suppose he wouldn’t mind breaking it.”

“No, but he may conclude that you would be on your guard.”

“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Cunningham, looking relieved. “My husband has telegraphed me that he will be here at eight o’clock, but I don’t want him to run the risk of encountering such a man.”

“Then you won’t need me to remain here?”

“No; but I wish you to stay till Mr. Cunningham returns. He will wish to see you.”

“Certainly, if you desire it,” said Paul, politely.

“My daughter will entertain you,” continued the lady. “Here she is.”

“Good evening, Paul!” said Jennie, cordially extending her hand, as she entered the room.

“Good evening!” responded Paul, brightening up.

“Would you like to play a game of dominoes?”

“I would be very glad to do so.”

“Then we’ll play ‘muggins.’ There’s more fun in that than in the regular game.”

So the two sat down and were soon deeply immersed in the game.

“Do you know, Paul,” said Jennie, suddenly, “I feel as if I had known you for a long time, though it is only about twenty four hours since we met.”

“I feel the same,” said Paul.

“I’m awfully glad they sent you here instead of some other telegraph boy.”

“Perhaps you would have liked another one better?”

“I don’t think I should, but I ought not to say so. It may make you vain.”

“Are boys ever vain? I thought it was only girls.”

“That’s a very impolite speech. I shall have to give you a bad mark!”

“Then I’ll take it all back!”

“You’d better,” said Jennie, with playful menace. “I hope you’ll come up some time when you are not sent for on business!”

“I would like to very much, if your mother is willing.”

“Why shouldn’t she be willing?”

“I am only a poor telegraph boy.”

“I don’t mind that. I don’t see why a telegraph boy isn’t as good as a boy in a store. My cousin Mark is in a store.”

It will be seen that these young people were rapidly coming to a very good understanding. Paul was not in love, but he certainly did consider Jennie Cunningham quite the nicest girl he had ever met.

So the time passed till Mr. Cunningham returned. His wife informed him briefly of what had occurred. They both entered the room together. He was a man of middle age, a very pleasant and easy mannered gentleman.

“Are you the boy who drove away the burglar?” he asked, with a smile.

“Yes, sir, I believe so,” answered Paul.

“Then let me add my thanks to those of my wife. You have done us a great service.”

“I am very glad to have had the chance,” said Paul.

“If you will come to my office tomorrow morning,” continued Mr. Cunningham, “I will thank you in a more effective way. Come at ten o’clock. As you may find it difficult to leave the office otherwise, tell the superintendent that I have an errand for you.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Here is my business card.”

Paid took the card and rose to go.

“Mamma,” said Jennie, “can’t you invite Paul to call and see us sometimes?”

“Certainly,” said the lady, smiling. “After what he has done he ought to have the freedom of the house. We shall be glad to see you as a visitor, Paul,” she said, kindly.

Paul left the house in a flutter of pleasant excitement. He was quite determined to avail himself of an invitation so agreeable.

He crossed over to Third Avenue, and returned by the elevated railway to the home of old Jerry.

CHAPTER VIII
PAUL MOVES TO LUDLOW STREET

In the evening Paul found old Jerry anxiously awaiting him.

“Have you found a new room, Paul?” he asked, eagerly.

“I haven’t had time,” Paul answered, “but I’ll go at once and see about it.”

“James will be here tomorrow,” said the old man, nervously, “and I – I am afraid of him. He is a bad man. He wants me to give him money. You know I have no money, Paul?” he concluded with a look of appeal.

Now Paul knew that old Jerry had money, and he could not truthfully answer as the old man desired him.

“You say so, and that is enough,” he said.

“But it’s true,” urged Jerry, who understood the doubt in Paul’s mind. “How could I get any money? What you give me is all we have to live on.”

“That isn’t much, at any rate.”

“No, Paul, it isn’t much. Couldn’t you give me half a dollar more? Two dollars and a half are very little for me to live on and pay the rent,” whined the old man.

The appeal would have moved Paul if he had not suspected that the old man had a considerable sum of money laid away. As it was, it only disgusted him and made him feel angry at Jerry’s attempt to deceive him.

“Are you sure you get no money except what I give you?” he asked, pointedly.

“What do you mean, Paul?” demanded the old man, looking alarmed. “What gave you the idea that I had any other money?”

“At any rate,” said the telegraph boy, “you haven’t any money to throw away on this son of yours. I have no doubt he’s a bad man, as you say.”

“He was always bad and troublesome, James was,” said old Jerry. “He was always wanting money from the time he was a boy.”

“When he was a boy there was some reason for his asking it, but now he is a man grown, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes.”

“How old is he?”

“James must be nigh upon thirty,” answered Jerry, after a little reflection. “You won’t hire too expensive a room, Paul?” he added. “You know we are poor, very poor!”

“Not unless I am willing to pay the extra cost myself.”

“Don’t do that! Give me the extra money, Paul,” said Jerry, with eager cupidity. “I – I find it hard to get along with two dollars and a half a week.”

“You forget, Jerry,” said Paul, coldly, “that I must have my meals. I can’t live without eating.”

“You eat too much, Paul, I’ve long thought so. It’s hurtful to eat too much. It’s – it’s bad for the health.”

“I’ll take the risk,” said Paul, with a short laugh. “I am not afraid of dying of gout, Jerry, with my present bill of fare.”

“If you wouldn’t mind my going out a few hours every day, and asking kind gentlemen to help me, Paul, we – we could get along better.”

“I won’t hear of it, Jerry,” said Paul, sternly. “If I hear of your going out to beg I will leave you and go off and live by myself. Then there will be no two dollars and a half coming to you every week.”

“No, no, don’t leave me, Paul,” said Jerry, thoroughly alarmed by this threat. “I won’t go out if you don’t want me to, though it’s very, very foolish to stay in, when there are so many kind gentlemen and ladies ready to give money to old Jerry.”

“Besides,” added Paul, “if you go out and stand in the street, your son will sooner or later find you out, and make trouble for you.”

“So he will, so he will,” chimed in the miser, with the old look of alarm on his face. “You are right, Paul, you are right. I must put it off. I – I wish he would go away somewhere – to – to California, or some place a great way off.”

Paul saw that he had produced the effect he intended upon the old man’s mind, and went out at once to look for a new room. He finally found one some half mile farther up town, in Ludlow Street – a little below Grand.

The room was better furnished than the one in which he and Jerry had lived for some years. There was a cheap carpet on the floor, a bed in one corner, and a shabby but comfortable lounge, on which Paul himself proposed to sleep. The rent was two dollars a month more than they had been accustomed to pay, but Paul concluded to say nothing of this to the old man, but quietly to pay it out of his own pocket. It would be but fifty cents a week, and he thought he could make that extra sum in some way. He was beginning to be more fastidious about his accommodations, now that he had seen how people lived uptown.

In fact, Paul was becoming ambitious. It was a very proper ambition, too. He had lived long enough in a squalid, miserable room, and now he meant to be better provided for.

“I am getting older,” he said to himself. “I ought to earn more money. I am sure I can somehow. I will keep my eyes open and see what I can find.”

Paul resolved to buy a bureau, if he could get one cheap, for at present he had absolutely no place in which to keep his small stock of clothing. He did not know exactly where the money was coming from, but he was hopeful, and had faith in himself. He was not waiting for something to turn up, as many lazy boys do, but he meant himself to turn up something.

Having concluded a bargain for the room, paying a dollar down, and promising to pay a further sum on Saturday night when he received his weekly pay, he returned to old Jerry.

“Well, Jerry,” he said cheerfully, “I’ve found a room.”

“Where is it, Paul?”

“In Ludlow Street.”

“Then let us go – at once. James might change his mind, and come round tonight. I don’t want to see him. He is a bold, bad man.”

Paul suggested that they had better not leave word with the neighbors where they were going, as this might furnish a clew to James Barclay, and put him on his father’s track.

Old Jerry eagerly assented to this, and the two started for their new home. They had very little to carry – at any rate, this was the case with the miser, and Paul’s wardrobe was not too extensive for him to carry it all with him at once.

When Jerry saw the room that Paul had engaged he was alarmed.

“This – this is too fine for us, Paul,” he said. “We can’t afford to pay for it. How much is the rent?”

“Six dollars a month,” answered Paul.

“We shall be ruined!” ejaculated Jerry, turning pale.

“It is two dollars more than we paid in the old place,” said Paul, “but it won’t come out of you. I will make a new arrangement with you – I will pay the entire rent, and give you a dollar and a half a week.”

“Make it two dollars, Paul,” said Jerry, in a coaxing tone.

“What are you thinking of? Do you want to starve me?” demanded Paul, sternly.

“I – I am so poor, Paul,” whined the miser.

“So am I,” answered Paul, “but I must keep enough to pay for my meals.”

Jerry saw that it would be useless to contest the point further, and settled himself in his new quarters, rather enjoying the improvement, but groaning inwardly over Paul’s extravagance. Paul threw himself on the lounge, after taking off his coat and vest, and, covering himself with a blanket, was soon sound asleep.

CHAPTER IX
PAUL BECOMES A CAPITALIST

Paul did not fail to meet the appointment at Mr. Cunningham’s office the next morning. He had no difficulty in getting away, for it was understood at the office that he was wanted to run an errand and his time would be paid for.

“You seem to be in with the Cunninghams, Number 91,” said the superintendent.

“Yes, sir, they are very kind to me,” answered Paul.

“That is well. We like to have boys on good terms with customers. It increases the business of the office.”

Mr. Cunningham was talking with another gentleman when Paul entered his office.

“Sit down, Paul,” he said in a friendly tone, indicating a chair. “I shall soon be at leisure, and then I will attend to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the telegraph boy.

He had to wait about ten minutes. Then Mr. Cunningham’s visitor left him, and he turned to Paul.

“How is business this morning?” he asked, with a smile.

“This is my first call, sir.”

“Oh, well, no doubt you will have plenty before the day is over.”

“Yes, sir, I am engaged for the afternoon.”

“Indeed! And in what way?”

“I am to go shopping with a lady.”

“Can’t she go by herself there?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose so, but she wants me to carry her bundles.”

“Retail merchants generally send them home.”

“Yes, sir, but she once had one miscarry, and now she prefers to take a boy with her.”

“How do you like that business?” asked Mr. Cunningham.

“It is rather tiresome,” answered Paul, “as the lady is hard to suit and spends a good deal of time in each store. However, there is one thing that reconciles me to it.”

“What is that?”

“She is liberal, and always gives me something for myself.”

“That is very considerate of her. I was speaking of that to my wife this morning.”

“Of what, sir?” inquired Paul.

“We both decided that you were entitled to a present for your brave defense of the house.”

Now I suppose it would have been the proper thing for Paul to protest against receiving any present, but I am obliged to record the fact that he had no objection to having his services acknowledged in that way.

“I only did my duty, sir,” he said, modestly.

“Very true, but that is no reason why I should not show my appreciation of the service rendered. I suppose you have no bank account?”

“I never got along as far as that, sir,” said Paul.

“Then I won’t give you a check, as it might inconvenience you.”

Paul was a little surprised, for a bank check sounded large, and the gratuities he usually received seldom reached as high as fifty cents.

Mr. Cunningham drew out his pocketbook, and, taking out three bills, placed them in Paul’s hands.

Paul’s eyes expanded when he saw that the first bill was a ten. But he was destined to be still more surprised, for each of the other two was a twenty. There was fifty dollars in all.

“Is all this for me?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“Yes, Paul.”

“But here are fifty dollars.”

“I am quite aware of it,” said the merchant, smiling. “That is the exact sum I intended to give you.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Paul, warmly. “To me it is a fortune.”

“Excuse my giving you advice, but I hope you will spend it wisely.”

“I will try to do so, sir. I will put all but ten dollars in a savings bank.”

“You could not do better. You may in time be able to add to it.”

“I shall try to, sir, when I earn more money.”

“How much do you earn now?”

“With presents, it amounts to six or seven dollars a week – sometimes less.”

“You can’t save out of that?”

“No, sir; I live with an old man, and give him two dollars and a half a week for rent and other expenses. Hereafter I am to give him three dollars. I should give more, but I pay for my own meals.”

“Then you have no parents living?”

“No, sir; I am alone in the world.”

“Is the old man any relation to you?”

“No, sir.”

“When you need friends to call on you will always be welcome at my house.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Paul, gratefully, and he decided to avail himself of the invitation soon. He was anxious to meet Jennie Cunningham again. Having no sister, he had enjoyed scarcely any opportunities of meeting girls, except such as sold matches or papers in the streets, and these, for the most part, were bold and unattractive.

Mr. Cunningham turned to his desk, and Paul saw that his interview was over.

He did not like to carry around so much money. He was liable to be robbed; that he could not afford. So he resolved to go around to the Bowery Savings Bank and deposit forty dollars, taking out a book. Then he would feel safe as to that. The ten dollars he had a use for, as he wished to buy a cheap bureau, or trunk; he had not quite made up his mind which.

He took the shortest cut to the Bowery Savings Bank. This is one of the largest and most important savings banks in the city, and its deposits exceed twenty millions. It is a blessing to thousands of salaried men and women, mechanics and others, in providing them a safe place of deposit for their surplus money.

Paul entered the bank, and, going up to the proper clerk, subscribed the books of the bank, giving his age, and other particulars necessary to identification; and then, rather to the surprise of the bank officer, wrote out a deposit check for forty dollars.

“You have just been paid off, I take it,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, sir,” answered Paul.

“Two weeks’ pay, I presume?”

“I earned it in considerably less time than that, sir.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, I earned it all, and ten dollars besides, in one night.”

“Then your business is better than mine. I should be willing to exchange.”

“It isn’t a steady business,” said Paul.

“What is it?”

“Defending a house from burglars.”

“I am not quite sure how I should like that business; there might be some risk attending it.”

Paul’s business was completed, and he prepared to go away. The book he put in his pocket, and took his way back to the office on Broadway. He began to feel like a young capitalist. Forty dollars may not seem a very large sum to some of my fortunate readers, but Paul had never before possessed ten dollars at a time, and to him it seemed a small fortune.

He had no idea that his visit to the bank was observed by any one that knew him, but such was the case.

Old Jerry, as the reader already knows, was a depositor at the Bowery Savings Bank, and this very morning, having a small deposit to make, he was shambling along the Bowery, when he saw Paul descend the steps with a bank book in his hand. He was intensely surprised.