The Telegraph Boy, Jr. Horatio Alger [books on motivation .txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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"Indeed! Have you seen him since you came to the city?"
"I met him as I was on my way here this afternoon."
"Did he speak to you?"
"Yes, sir; though at first he pretended he didn't remember me."
"Just like him. He is a very proud and conceited boy. Did you tell him you were coming to dine with me?"
"Yes, sir. He seemed very much surprised, as I had just told him I was a newsboy. He said he was surprised that you should invite a newsboy to dine with you."
"I would much rather have you dine with me than him. What more did he say?"
"He said he shouldn't think I would like to go out to dinner with such a shabby suit."
"We have removed that objection," said Mr. Bowen, smiling.
"Yes, sir," said Frank; "I think Victor will treat me more respectfully now when he meets me."
"The respect of such a boy is of very little importance. He judges only by the outside."
At an early hour Frank took his leave, promising to call again before long.
"Where can I send to you if you are wanted for a telegraph boy?" asked Mr. Bowen.
"A letter to me addressed to the care of Mr. O'Connor at the lodging-house will reach me," said Frank.
"Write it down for me," said the old gentleman. "You will find writing materials on yonder desk."
When Frank made his appearance at the lodging-house in his new suit, with two bundles, one containing his old clothes, and the other his extra supply of underclothing, his arrival made quite a sensation.
"Have you come into a fortun'?" asked one boy.
"Did you draw a prize in the Havana lottery?" asked another.
"Have you been playing policy?" asked a third.
"You're all wrong," said Dick Rafferty. "Frank's been adopted by a rich man upon Madison avenue. Aint that so, Frank?"
"Something like it," said Frank. "There's a gentleman up there who has been very kind to me."
"If he wants to adopt another chap, spake a good word for me," said Patsy Reagan.
"Whisht, Patsy, he don't want no Irish bog-trotter," said Phil Donovan.
"You're Irish yourself, Phil, now, and you can't deny it."
"What if I am? I aint no bog-trotter—I'm the son of an Irish count. You can see by my looks that I belong to the gintry."
"Then the gintry must have red hair and freckles, Phil. There aint no chance for you."
"Tell us all about it, Frank," said Dick. "Shure I'm your best friend, and you might mention my name to the ould gintleman if he's got any more good clothes to give away."
"I will with pleasure, Dick, if I think it will do any good."
"You won't put on no airs because you're better dressed than the likes of us?"
"I shall wear my old clothes to-morrow, Dick. I can't afford to wear my best clothes every day."
"I can," said Dick, dryly, which was quite true, as his best clothes were the only ones he had.
Bright and early the next morning Frank was about his work, without betraying in any way the proud consciousness of being the owner of two suits. He followed Mr. Bowen's advice, and spent his leisure hours in exploring the city in its various parts, so that in the course of a month he knew more about it than boys who had lived in it all their lives. He told Dick his object in taking these long walks, and urged him to join him in the hope of winning a similar position; but Dick decided that it was too hard work. He preferred to spend his leisure time in playing marbles or pitching pennies.
CHAPTER XI. THE TELEGRAPH BOY.Six weeks later Frank Kavanagh, through the influence of his patron, found himself in the uniform of a District Telegraph Messenger. The blue suit, and badge upon the cap, are familiar to every city resident. The uniform is provided by the company, but must be paid for by weekly instalments, which are deducted from the wages of the wearers. This would have seriously embarrassed Frank but for an opportune gift of ten dollars from Mr. Bowen, which nearly paid the expense of his suit.
Frank, the Telegraph Boy.
Frank was employed in one of the up-town offices of the company. For the information of such of my young readers as live in the country it may be explained that large numbers of houses and offices in the city are connected with the offices of the District Telegraph by machines, through which, at any time in the day or night, a messenger may be summoned for any purpose. It is only necessary to raise a knob in the box provided, and a bell is rung in the office of the company. Of course there is more or less transient business besides that of the regular subscribers.
Boys, on arriving at the office, seat themselves, and are called upon in order. A boy just returned from an errand hangs up his hat, and takes his place at the foot of the line. He will not be called upon again till all who are ahead of him have been despatched in one direction or another.
Frank was curious to know what would be his first duty, and waited eagerly for his turn to come.
At length it came.
"Go to No. — Madison avenue," said the superintendent.
A few minutes later Frank was ascending the steps of a handsome brown-stone residence.
"Oh, you're the telegraph boy," said a colored servant. "You're to go upstairs into missus's sitting-room."
Upon entering, Frank found himself in the presence of a rather stout lady, who was reclining on a sofa.
He bowed politely, and waited for his instructions.
"I hope you are a trustworthy boy," said the stout lady.
"I hope so, ma'am."
"Come here, Fido," said the lady.
A little mass of hair, with two red eyes peeping out, rose from the carpet and waddled towards the lady, for Fido was about as stout as his mistress.
"Do you like dogs?" asked Mrs. Leroy, for this was the lady's name.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Frank, wondering what that had to do with his errand.
"I sent for you to take my sweet darling out for an airing. His health requires that he should go out every day. I generally take him myself, but this morning I have a severe headache, and do not feel equal to the task. My dear little pet, will you go out with this nice boy?"
Fido looked gravely at Frank and sneezed.
"I hope the darling hasn't got cold," said Mrs. Leroy, with solicitude. "My lad, what is your name?"
"Frank Kavanagh, ma'am."
"Will you take great care of my little pet, Frank?"
"I will try to, madam. Where do you want him to go?"
"To Madison Park. He always likes the park, because it is so gay. When you get there you may sit down on one of the benches and give him time to rest."
"Yes, ma'am. How long would you like me to stay out with him?"
"About an hour and a half. Have you a watch?"
"No; but I can tell the time by the clock in front of the Fifth-avenue Hotel."
"To be sure. I was going to lend you my watch."
"Shall I start now?"
"Yes. Here is the string. Don't make Fido go too fast. He is stout, and cannot walk fast. You will be sure to take great care of him?"
"Yes, madam."
"And you keep watch that no bad man carries off my Fido. I used to send him out by one of the girls, till I found that she ill-treated the poor thing. Of course I couldn't stand that, so I sent her packing, I can tell you."
"I will try to follow your directions," said Frank, who wanted to laugh at the lady's ridiculous devotion to her ugly little favorite.
"That is right. You look like a good boy. I will give you something for yourself when you come back."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Frank, who was better pleased with this remark than any the lady had previously made.
Mrs. Leroy kissed Fido tenderly, and consigned him to the care of our hero.
"I suppose," said Frank to himself, "that I am the dog's nurse. It is rather a queer office; but as long as I am well paid for it I don't mind."
When Fido found himself on the sidewalk he seemed disinclined to move; but after a while, by dint of coaxing, he condescended to waddle along at Frank's heels.
After a while they reached Madison Park, and Frank, according to his instructions, took a seat, allowing Fido to curl up at his side.
"This isn't very hard work," thought Frank. "I wish I had a book or paper to read, to while away the time."
While he was sitting there Victor Dupont came sauntering along.
"Halloa!" he exclaimed, in surprise, as he recognized Frank, "is that you?"
"I believe it is," answered Frank, with a smile.
"Are you a telegraph boy?"
"Yes."
"I thought you were a newsboy?"
"So I was; but I have changed my business."
"What are you doing here?"
"Taking care of a dog," said Frank, laughing.
"Is that the dog?"
"Yes."
"It's a beastly little brute. What's its name?"
"Fido."
"Who does it belong to?"
Frank answered.
"I know," said Victor; "it's a fat lady living on the avenue. I have seen her out often with little pug. How do you feel, Fido?" and Victor began to pull the hair of the lady's favorite.
"Don't do that, Victor," remonstrated Frank.
"Why not?"
"Mrs. Leroy wouldn't like it."
"Mrs. Leroy isn't here."
"I am," said Frank, emphatically, "and that is the same thing."
Victor, by way of reply, pinched Fido's ear, and the little animal squeaked his disapproval.
"Look here, Victor," said Frank, decidedly, "you must stop that."
"Must I?" sneered Victor, contemptuously. "'Suppose I don't?"
"Then I shall punch you," said Frank, quietly.
"You are impertinent," said Victor, haughtily. "You needn't put on such airs because you are nurse to a puppy."
"That is better than being a puppy myself," retorted Frank.
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Victor, quickly.
"No, unless you choose to think the remark fits you."
"I have a great mind to give you a thrashing," said Victor, furiously.
"Of course I should sit still and let you do it," said Frank, calmly. "Fido is under my care, and I can't have him teased. That is right, isn't it?"
"I did wrong to notice you," said Victor. "You are only a dog's nurse."
Frank laughed.
"You are right," he said. "It is new business for me, and though it is easy enough I can't say I like it. However, I am in the service of the Telegraph Company, and must do whatever is required."
Victor walked away, rather annoyed because he could not tease Frank.
"The boy has no pride," he said to himself, "or he wouldn't live out to take care of dogs. But, then, it is suitable enough for him."
"Is that dawg yours?" asked a rough-looking man, taking his seat on the bench near Frank.
"No, sir."
"How old is it?"
"I don't know."
"Looks like a dawg I used to own. Let me take him."
"I would rather not," said Frank, coldly. "It belongs to a lady who is very particular."
"Oh, you won't, won't you?" said the man, roughly. "Danged if I don't think it is my dawg, after all;" and the man seized Fido, and was about to carry him away.
But Frank seized him by the arm, and called for help.
"What's the matter?" asked a park policeman who, unobserved by either, had come up behind.
"This man is trying to steal my dog," said Frank.
"The dog is mine," said the thief, boldly.
"Drop him!" said the officer, authoritatively. "I have seen that dog before. He belongs to neither of you."
"That is true," said Frank. "It belongs to Mrs. Leroy, of Madison avenue, and I am employed to take it out for an airing."
"It's a lie!" said the man, sullenly.
"If you are seen again in this neighborhood," said the policeman, "I shall arrest you. Now clear out!"
The would-be thief slunk away, and Frank thanked the officer.
"That man is a dog-stealer," said the policeman. "His business is to steal dogs, and wait till a reward is offered. Look out for him!"
CHAPTER XII. A WAYWARD SON.When Frank carried Fido back to his mistress, he thought it his duty to tell Mrs. Leroy of the attempt to abduct the favorite.
Mrs. Leroy turned pale.
"Did the man actually take my little pet?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. He said it was his dog."
"The horrid brute! How could I have lived without my darling?" and the lady caressed her favorite tenderly. "How did you prevent him?"
"I seized him by the arm, and held him till a
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