The Project Gutenberg eBook of THE TELEGRAPH BOY, by BY HORATIO ALGER, Jr.

The "Telegraph Boy" completes the series of sketches of street-life in New York inaugurated eleven years since by the publication of "Ragged Dick." The author has reason to feel gratified by the warm reception accorded by the public to these pictures of humble life in the great metropolis. He is even more gratified by the assurance that his labors have awakened a philanthropic interest in the children whose struggles and privations he has endeavored faithfully to describe. He feels it his duty to state that there is no way in which these waifs can more effectually be assisted than by contributing to the funds of "The Children's Aid Society," whose wise and comprehensive plans for the benefit of their young wards have already been crowned with abundant success.

The class of boys described in the present volume was called into existence only a few years since, but they are already so numerous that one can scarcely ride down town by any conveyance without having one for a fellow-passenger. Most of them reside with their parents and have comfortable homes, but a few, like the hero of this story, are wholly dependent on their own exertions for a livelihood. The variety of errands on which they are employed, and their curious experiences, are by no means exaggerated in the present story. In its preparation the author has been assisted by an excellent sketch published perhaps a year since in the "New York Tribune."

THE TELEGRAPH BOY.

CHAPTER I.

A YOUNG CARPET-BAGGER.

"Twenty-five cents to begin the world with!" reflected Frank Kavanagh, drawing from his vest-pocket two ten-cent pieces of currency and a nickel. "That isn't much, but it will have to do."

The speaker, a boy of fifteen, was sitting on a bench in City-Hall Park. He was apparently about fifteen years old, with a face not handsome, but frank and good-humored, and an expression indicating an energetic and hopeful temperament. A small bundle, rolled up in a handkerchief, contained his surplus wardrobe. He had that day arrived in New York by a boat from Hartford, and meant to stay in the city if he could make a living.

Next to him sat a man of thirty-five, shabbily dressed, who clearly was not a member of any temperance society, if an inflamed countenance and red nose may be trusted. Frank Kavanagh's display of money attracted his attention, for, small as was the boy's capital, it was greater than his own.

"It's immaterial. Johnny is a generic term," said the stranger. "I suppose you have come here to make your fortune."

"Not much. Uncle is a pretty good man, but he's fond of money, and aunt is about as mean as they make 'em. They got tired of supporting me, and gave me money enough to get to New York."

"Twenty-five cents," answered Frank, laughing. "That isn't a very big capital to start on, is it?"

"Is that all you've got?" asked the shabbily dressed stranger, in a tone of disappointment.

"Thank you, sir; I wish you had," said Frank, his eyes resting on the dilapidated attire of his benevolent companion. Judging from that, he was not surprised that ten dollars exceeded the charitable fund of the philanthropist.

"My operations in Wall street have not been fortunate of late," resumed the stranger; "and I am in consequence hard up."

"Sometimes," was the reply. "I have lost heavily of late in Erie and Pacific Mail, but it is only temporary. I shall soon be on my feet again."

"My career has been a chequered one," continued the stranger. "I, too, as a mere boy, came up from the country to make my fortune. I embarked in trade, and was for a time successful. I resigned to get time to write a play,—a comedy in five acts."

Frank regarded his companion with heightened respect. He was a boy of good education, and the author of a play in his eyes was a man of genius.

"No; Wallack said it had too many difficult characters for his company, and the rest of the managers kept putting me off, while they were producing inferior plays. The American public will never know what they have lost. But, enough of this. Sometime I will read you the 'Mother-in-law,' if you like. Have you had dinner?"

"Yes," answered the stranger. "Once I boarded at the Astor House, but now I am forced, by dire necessity, to frequent cheap restaurants. Follow me."

"Montagu Percy," was the reply. "Sorry I haven't my card-case with me, or I would hand you my address. I think you said your name was not Johnny."

As the oddly assorted pair crossed the street, and walked down Nassau street, they attracted the attention of some of the Arabs who were lounging about Printing-House square.

Though he was willing to avail himself of Mr. Percy's guidance, he was not ambitious of being regarded as his nephew.

"Heed not their ribald scoffs," said Montagu Percy, loftily. "Their words pass by me 'like the idle wind,' which I regard not."

"Who painted your nose, mister?" asked another boy, of course addressing Frank's companion.

"They are beneath contempt," he said. "It is ever the lot of genius to be railed at by the ignorant and ignoble. They referred to my nose being red, but mistook the cause. It is a cutaneous eruption,—the result of erysipelas."

"I am not a drinking man—that is, I indulge myself but rarely. But here we are."

So saying he plunged down some steps into a basement, Frank following him. Our hero found himself in a dirty apartment, provided with a bar, over which was a placard, inscribed:—

"Lunch at this establishment is free," said Montagu; "but you are expected to order some drink. What will you have?"

"All right; I will order for you, as the rules of the establishment require it; but I will drink your glass myself. Eat whatever you like."

Frank took a sandwich from a plate on the counter and ate it with relish, for he was hungry. Meanwhile his companion emptied the two glasses, and ordered another.

"I don't know about that. You've been in here and taken lunch more than once without drinking anything."

Frank incautiously handed him his small stock of money, which he saw instantly transferred to the bar-tender.

The bar-keeper nodded, and Percy, transferring his attention to the free lunch, stowed away a large amount.

Frank observed with some uneasiness the transfer of his entire cash capital to the bar-tender; but concluded that Mr. Percy would refund a part after they went out. As they reached the street he broached the subject.

"But I would rather you would give me back a part of my money. I may not see you again."

"Give me back ten cents, then," said Frank, uneasily. "That was all the money I had."

"I am really sorry, but I haven't a penny about me. I'll make it right to-morrow. Good-day, my young friend. Be virtuous and you will be happy."

Frank looked after the shabby figure ruefully. He felt that he had been taken in and done for. His small capital had vanished, and he was adrift in the streets of a strange city without a penny.

CHAPTER II.

DICK RAFFERTY.

"I've been a fool," said Frank to himself, in genuine mortification, as he realized how easily he had permitted himself to be duped. "I ought to have stayed in the country."

Even a small sum of money imparts to its possessor a feeling of independence, but one who is quite penniless feels helpless and apprehensive. Frank was unable even to purchase an apple from the snuffy old apple-woman who presided over the stand near by.

Looking up, Frank recognized one of those who had saluted Percy and himself on their way to the restaurant.

There was something significant in the young Arab's tone, which led Frank to inquire, "Do you know him?"

Frank was inclined to be angry, but he had the good sense to see that his new friend was right. So he said good-humoredly, "I suppose I am. You see I am not used to the city."

"It's just such fellows as you he gets hold of," continued the boot-black. "Didn't he make you treat?"

"Yes," he said aloud. "I hadn't but twenty-five cents, and he made me spend it all. I haven't a cent left."

"Whew!" ejaculated the other boy. "You're beginnin' business on a small capital."

Dick Rafferty was a good-natured boy, although rough, and now that Frank had appealed to him for advice he felt willing to help him, if he could.

"Hold up!" said Dick. "All them things aint goin' to do you no good in New York. People don't keep cows as a reg'lar thing here."

"And there aint much room for plantin' corn and potatoes. Maybe you could get a job over in Jersey."

"I wish somebody would lend me some money," said Frank; "I'd pay it back as soon as I'd sold my papers. I was a fool to let that fellow swindle me."

"That's so," assented Dick; "but it's no good thinkin' of that now. I'd lend you the money myself, if I had it; but I've run out my account at the Park Bank, and can't spare the money just at present."

"Yes, I had to. Father and mother both died, and I was left to take care of myself."

"You took care of yourself when you were only eight years old?" asked Frank, in surprise.

"Then I ought to make a living, for I am fifteen,—a year older than you are now."

"Oh, you'll get along when you get started," said Dick, encouragingly. "There's lots of things to do."

"Is there anything to do that doesn't require any capital?" inquired Frank, anxiously.

"Of course they will. You jest hang round the ferries and steamboat landin's, and when a chap comes by with a valise or carpet-bag, you jest offer to carry it, that's all."

"I came in by the Hartford boat myself, to-day," said Frank. "If I'd thought of it, I would have begun at once."

"Only you wouldn't have knowed the way anywhere, and if a gentleman asked you to carry his valise to any hotel you'd have had to ask where it was."

"I'll show you round a little, if you want me to," said Dick. "I shan't have anything to do for an hour or two."

So the two boys walked about in the lower part of the city, Dick pointing out hotels, public buildings, and prominent streets. Frank had a retentive memory, and stored away the information carefully. Penniless as he was, he was excited and exhilarated by the scene of activity in which he was moving, and was glad he was going to live in it, or to attempt doing so.

"When I am used to it I shall like it much better than the country," he said to Dick. "Don't you?"

"I don't know about that," was the reply. "Sometimes I think I'll go West;—a lot of boys that I know have gone there."

"Oh, there's a society that pays boys' expenses, and finds 'em nice homes with the farmers. Tom Harrison, one of my friends, went out six weeks ago, and he writes me that it's bully. He's gone to some town in Kansas."

"It would be something new to you; but I've lived in the country all my life, I'd rather stay here awhile."

"It's just the way a feller feels," said Dick philosophically. "I've bummed around so much I'd like a good, stiddy home, with three square meals a day and a good bed to sleep on."

Frank became thoughtful. Life in the city seemed more precarious and less desirable than he anticipated.

"I don't know whether I'd better sleep at the Astor House or Fifth avenue," said Dick.

"Of course I don't. You're too fresh. Don't get mad," he continued good-naturedly, seeing the flush on Frank's cheek. "You'll know as much about the city as I do before long. I shall go to the Newsboys' Lodgin' House, where I can sleep for six cents."

"I wish I had six cents," said Frank. "If I could only get work I'd soon earn it. You can't think of anything for me to do, can you?"

"Yes," he said, "I can get you a job, though it aint a very good one. I wonder I didn't think of it before."

"I don't like it much," said Frank, slowly, "but I must do something. After all, it'll be he that's begging, not I."

"I'll take you right round where he lives," said Dick. "Maybe he'll go out this evenin'. His other boy give him the slip, and he hasn' got a new one yet."

CHAPTER III.

FRANK FINDS AN EMPLOYER.

A stone's throw from Centre street stands a tall tenement-house, sheltering anywhere from forty to fifty families in squalid wretchedness. The rent which each family pays would procure a neat house in a country town, with perhaps a little land beside; but the city has a mysterious fascination for the poorer classes, and year after year many who might make the change herd together in contracted and noisome quarters, when they might have their share of light and space in country neighborhoods.

It was in front of this tenement-house that Dick halted, and plunged into a dark entrance, admonishing Frank to follow. Up creaking and dilapidated staircases to the fourth floor the boys went.

"Here we are," said Dick, panting a little from the rapidity of his ascent, and began a vigorous tattoo on a door to the left.

"Is this where the blind gentleman lives?" asked Frank, looking around him dubiously.

"He isn't much of a gentleman to look at," said Dick, laughing. "Do you hear him?"

Frank heard a hoarse growl from the inside, which might have been "Come in." At any rate, Dick chose so to interpret it, and opened the door.

The boys found themselves in a scantily furnished room, with a close, disagreeable smell pervading the atmosphere. In the corner was a low bedstead, on which lay a tall man, with a long, gray beard, and a disagreeable, almost repulsive, countenance. He turned his eyes, which, contrary to Frank's expectations, were wide open, full upon his visitors.

"What do you want?" he asked querulously. "I was asleep, and you have waked me up."

"Yes, the young rascal! He's given me the slip. I expect he's robbed me too; but I can't tell, for I'm blind."

"Yes; but I can't pay much. I'm very poor. I don't think the place will suit you."

"Nor I either," said Dick, frankly. "I'd rather make a living outside. But I've got a boy with me who has just come to the city, and is out of business. I guess he'll engage with you."

"I told him you'd want him to go round on a collecting tour with you every day," said Dick.

"I can do that," said Frank, cheerfully, reflecting that this would be much more agreeable than accompanying the old man round the streets.

"I supposed you'd say that," retorted the blind man, with a sneer. "They all do; but a good many will steal for all that."

"Of course I needn't," said Mills, sharply; "but I am not afraid. If you take any of my money I shall be sure to find it out, if I am blind."

"What's that?" asked the blind man, suspiciously. "What are you two whispering about?"

"Not much," answered Dick, laughing. "I'm dead-broke. Haven't you got any money, Mr. Mills?"

"I have a little," grumbled the blind man; "but this boy may take it, and never come back."

"I don't like him at all, Dick," said Frank, decidedly. "I wish I could get something else to do."

"You can, after a while. As you have no capital you must take what you can get now."

Dick showed him where he could buy the articles he was commissioned to purchase; and Frank, after obtaining them, went back to the tenement-house.

Mills scrupulously demanded the change, and put it back into his pocket. Then he made Frank pour out the ale into a glass. This he drank with apparent zest, but offered none to Frank.

"Ale isn't good for boys," he said. "You can cut the bread, and eat two slices. Don't cut them too thick."

The blind man ate some of the bread himself, and then requested Frank to help him on with his coat and vest.

"I haven't taken any money to-day," he said "I must try to collect some, or I shall starve. It's a sad thing to be blind," he continued, his voice changing to a whine.

"What if they are?" said Mills, testily. "I cannot see. When I go out I close them, because the light hurts them."

CHAPTER IV.

"PITY THE BLIND."

"What difference does that make, you little fool?" said the blind man, roughly. "Are you ashamed to own me as your uncle?"

Frank felt obliged, out of politeness, to say "No;" but in his own mind he was not quite sure whether he would be willing to acknowledge any relationship to the disagreeable old man whom he was leading.

They reached Broadway, and entered a store devoted to gentlemen's furnishing goods.

"Charity for a poor blind man!" whined Mills, in the tone of a professional beggar.

"Look here, old fellow, you come in here too often," said a young salesman. "I gave you five cents yesterday."

"I didn't know it," said Mills. "I am a poor blind man. All places are alike to me."

In the next they were more fortunate. A nickel was bestowed upon the blind mendicant.

"That's better than nothing, but we ought to do better. It takes a good many five-cent pieces to make a dollar. When you see a well-dressed lady coming along, tell me."

Frank felt almost as much ashamed as if he were himself begging, but he must do what was expected of him. Accordingly he very soon notified the blind man that a lady was close at hand.

Frank complied in part, but instead of "poor, blind uncle" he said "poor, blind man." Mills scowled, as he found himself disobeyed.

"Two cents," answered Frank, suppressing with difficulty an inclination to laugh.

"The mean jade! I should like to wring her neck!" muttered Mills. "I thought it was a quarter, at least."

"Clear out, you old humbug!" shouted the proprietor, who was in ill-humor. "You ought to be put in the penitentiary for begging about the streets."

"Out of my store, or I'll have you arrested, both of you!" said the angry tradesman. "Here, you boy, don't you bring that old fraud in this store again, if you know what's best for yourself."

"You haven't got a very amiable temper," thought Frank. "I wouldn't like to be blind; but even if I were, I would try to be pleasanter."

Two young girls, passing by, noticed the blind man. They were soft-hearted, and stopped to inquire how long he had been blind.

"I have an aunt who is blind," said one of the girls; "but she is not poor, like you."

"I am very poor," whined Mills; "I have not money enough to pay my rent, and I may be turned out into the street."

"How sad!" said the young girl, in a tone of deep sympathy. "I have not much money, but I will give you all I have."

"May God bless you, and spare your eyes!" said Mills, as he closed his hand upon the money.

"That's your lookout. Some blind men work. I suppose you would rather get your living by begging."

"So you say; but I don't believe it. At any rate, that boy of yours can see. Why don't you set him to work?"

As he spoke, he felt his hand pressed forcibly by his companion, who did not relish his answer.

When they were again in the street, Mills demanded, roughly, "What did you mean by saying that?"

The two were out about a couple of hours, and very tiresome Frank found it. Then Mills indicated a desire to go home, and they went back to the room in the old tenement-house. Mills threw himself down on the bed in the corner, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"If I had known it was so near a dollar we would have stayed a little longer. Now, get me my pipe."

He sat down on a broken chair, and, having nothing else to do, watched his employer. "He looks very much as if he could see," thought Frank; for Mills now had his eyes wide open.

"What are you staring at me for, boy?" demanded his employer, rather unexpectedly.

"What makes you think I am staring at you, sir?" was Frank's natural question. "I thought you couldn't see."

"No more I can, but I can tell when one is staring at me. It makes me creep all over."

"Then take twenty-five cents, and buy some evening papers and sell them; but mind you bring the money to me."

Anything he thought would be better than sitting in that dull room with so disagreeable a companion.

"Mind you don't run off with the money," said the blind man, sharply. "If you do I'll have you put in the Tombs."

With a feeling of relief, Frank descended the stairs and directed his steps to the Park, meaning to ask Dick Rafferty's advice about the proper way to start in business as a newsboy.

CHAPTER V.

FRANK THROWS UP HIS SITUATION.

"You'd better bring him to the point, or he won't pay you anything except board and lodging, and mighty mean both of them will be."

"I won't say anything about it the first day," said Frank. "What papers shall I buy?"

Frank did so, and succeeded in selling half a dozen, yielding a profit of six cents. It was not a brilliant beginning, but he was late in the field, and most had purchased their evening papers. His papers sold, Frank went home and announced the result.

"Don't you be impudent, or I will give you a flogging," said the blind man, roughly.

"You've got a sweet disposition," thought Frank. "I won't stay with you any longer than I am obliged to."

Several days passed without bringing any incidents worth recording. Frank took a daily walk with the blind man, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. These walks were very distasteful to him. The companion of a beggar, he felt as if he himself were begging. He liked better the time he spent in selling papers, though he reaped no benefit himself. In fact, his wages were poor enough. Thus far his fare had consisted of dry bread with an occasional bun. He was a healthy, vigorous boy, and he felt the need of meat, or some other hearty food, and ventured to intimate as much to his employer.

Frank was so new to the city that this well-known name did not convey any special idea to him, and he answered "Yes."

"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "You want to eat me out of house and home."

Frank was inclined to doubt this. He estimated that what he ate did not cost his employer over six or eight cents a day, and he generally earned for him twenty to thirty cents on the sale of papers, besides helping him to collect about a dollar daily from those who pitied his blindness.

"Keep some of the money you make by selling papers, and buy a square meal at an eatin' house."

Frank thought this a good suggestion. He had been with Mills a week, and it seemed fair enough that he should receive some pay besides a wretched bed and a little dry bread. Accordingly, returning to the room, he broached the subject.

"I know you can't afford to pay me that. I will be satisfied if you will pay me ten cents a day," replied Frank.

Frank reflected that, though this was a very small sum, in ten days it would give him a dollar, and then he would feel justified in setting up a business on his own account, as a newsboy. He anxiously awaited an answer.

"I will think of it," said the blind man evasively, and Frank did not venture to say more.

The next day, when Mills, led by Frank, was on his round, the two entered a cigar-store. Frank was much surprised when the cigar-vender handed him a fifty-cent currency note. He thought there was some mistake.

"Yes," said the cigar-vender, laughing; "but I wouldn't have done it, if it had been good."

"No, it's a counterfeit, and a pretty bad one. I might pass it, but it would cost me too much time and trouble."

Frank was confounded. He mechanically handed the money to Mills, but did not again thank the giver. When they returned to the tenement-house, Mills requested Frank to go to the baker's for a loaf of bread.

"But that is the counterfeit note," said Frank, scrutinizing the bill given him.

"That's neither here nor there. Take it, and offer it to the baker. If he won't take it, go to another baker with it."

"No, I don't, but I don't mean to pass any counterfeit money for you or any other man," said Frank, with spirit.

"You're a fool," said he. "I suppose you are afraid of being arrested; but you have only to say that I gave it to you, and that I am blind, and couldn't tell it from good money."

"What if I do? No one can prove it. Take the money, and come back as quick as you can."

Mills rose and advanced directly towards Frank, with his eyes wide open. Fortunately our hero was near the door, and, quickly opening it, darted from the room, pursued by Mills, his face flaming with wrath. It flashed upon Frank that no blind man could have done this. He decided that the man was a humbug, and could see a little, at all events. His blindness was no doubt assumed to enable him to appeal more effectively to the sympathizing public. This revelation disgusted Frank. He could not respect a man who lived by fraud. Counterfeit or no counterfeit, he decided to withdraw at once and forever from the service of Mr. Mills.

His employer gave up the pursuit before he reached the street. Frank found himself on the sidewalk, free and emancipated, no richer than when he entered the service of the blind man, except in experience.

CHAPTER VI.

FRANK GETS A JOB.

Though Frank was penniless he was not cast down. He was tolerably familiar with the lower part of the city, and had greater reliance on himself than he had a week ago. If he had only had capital to the extent of fifty cents he would have felt quite at ease, for this would have set him up as a newsboy.

"I wonder if I could borrow fifty cents of Dick Rafferty," considered Frank. "I'll try, at any rate."

He ran across Dick in City-Hall Park. That young gentleman was engaged in pitching pennies with a brother professional.

"That wasn't the reason I refused. If I had been sure there'd have been no trouble I wouldn't have done it."

"Oh, 'cause you're so mighty particular. I wouldn't mind passing it if I was sure I wouldn't be cotched."

"I think it's almost as bad as stealing to buy bread, or anything else, and give what isn't worth anything for it. You might as well give a piece of newspaper."

Though Frank was unquestionably right he did not succeed in making a convert of Dick Rafferty. Dick was a pretty good boy, considering the sort of training he had had; but passing bad money did not seem to him objectionable, unless "a fellow was cotched," as he expressed it.

"You can get as good a livin' as old Mills gave you. You'll get a better bed at the lodgin'-house than that heap of rags you laid on up there."

"But there's one trouble," continued Frank, "I haven't any money to start on. Can you lend me fifty cents?"

"Fifty cents!" repeated Dick. "What do you take me for? If I was connected with Vanderbuilt or Astor I might set you up in business, but now I can't."

"Look here, Frank," said Dick, plunging his hands into his pocket, and drawing therefrom three pennies and a nickel, "do you see them?"

"Last night I went to Tony Pastor's, and when I got through I went into a saloon and got an ice-cream and a cigar. You couldn't expect a feller to be very rich after that. I say, I'll lend you five cents if you want it."

"I tell you what, Frank, I'll save up my money, and by day after to-morrow I guess I can set you up."

"Thank you, Dick. If I don't have the money by that time myself I'll accept your offer."

There was no other boy with whom Frank felt sufficiently well acquainted to request a loan, and he walked away, feeling rather disappointed. It was certainly provoking to think that nothing but the lack of a small sum stood between him and remunerative employment. Once started he determined not to spend quite all his earnings, but to improve upon his friend Dick's practice, and, if possible, get a little ahead.

When guiding the blind man he often walked up Broadway, and mechanically he took the same direction, walking slowly along, occasionally stopping to look in at a shop-window.

As he was sauntering along he found himself behind two gentlemen,—one an old man, who wore gold spectacles; the other, a stout, pleasant-looking man, of middle age. Frank would not have noticed them particularly but for a sudden start and exclamation from the elder of the two gentlemen.

"It isn't the value of the article, Thompson," said his friend, in some emotion. "That umbrella was brought me from Paris by my son John, who died. It is as a souvenir of him that I regard and value it. I would not lose it for a hundred dollars, nay, five hundred."

Frank had listened to this conversation, and an idea struck him. Pressing forward, he said respectfully, "Let me go for it, sir. I will get it, and bring it to your house."

The two gentlemen fixed their eyes upon the bright, eager face of the petitioner.

"Not a very pleasant employment, I should judge," said Thompson, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, have you lost that job?"

"Come, Mr. Bowen, what do you say,—shall we accept this boy's services? It will save you time and trouble."

"If I were sure he could be trusted," said Bowen, hesitating. "He might pawn the umbrella. It is a valuable one."

"I hope, sir, you won't think so badly of me as that," said Frank, with feeling. "If I were willing to steal anything, it would not be a gift from your dead son."

"I'll trust you, my boy," said the old gentleman quickly. "Your tone convinces me that you may be relied upon."

The old gentleman drew a card from his pocket, containing his name and address, and on the reverse side wrote the name of the friend at whose office he felt sure the umbrella had been left, with a brief note directing that it be handed to the bearer.

"Here, take this, and go down at once in the next stage. The sooner you get there the better."

Frank followed directions. He stopped the next stage, and got on board. As he passed the City-Hall Park, Dick Rafferty espied him. Frank nodded to him.

"How did he get money enough to ride in a 'bus?" Dick asked himself in much wonderment. "A few minutes ago he wanted to borrow some money of me, and now he's spending ten cents for a ride. Maybe he's found a pocket-book."

Frank kept on his way, and got out at Wall street. He found Mr. Peckham's office, and on presenting the card, much to his delight, the umbrella was handed him.

"Mr. Bowen was afraid to trust me with it over night," said Mr. Peckham, with a smile.

Frank hailed another stage, and started on his way up-town. There was no elevated railway then, and this was the readiest conveyance, as Mr. Bowen lived on Madison avenue.

CHAPTER VII.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

"Mr. Bowen must be a rich man," thought Frank, as he paused on the steps of a fine brown-stone mansion, corresponding to the number on his card.

"I think he will," said Frank, who thought the servant was taking too much upon herself, "as I come by his appointment."

"I suppose you can come into the hall," said the servant, reluctantly. "Is your business important?"

"You may tell him that the boy he sent for his umbrella has brought it. He was afraid he had lost it."

"He sets great store by that umbrella," said the girl, in a different tone. "I'll go and tell him."

Mr. Bowen came downstairs almost immediately. There was a look of extreme gratification upon his face.

"Bless my soul, how quick you were!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've only been home a few minutes. Did you find the umbrella at Mr. Peckham's office?"

"He said you were probably afraid to trust it with him over night, but he smiled when he said it."

"Peckham will have his joke, but he is an excellent man. My boy, I am much indebted to you."

"Oh, no, sir," said Frank, smiling, "unless you consider fifty cents a large sum."

"Fifty cents!" repeated the old gentleman, in surprise. "You don't mean to say that this small sum would set you up in business?"

"Yes, sir; I could buy a small stock of papers, and buy more with what I received for them."

Mr. Bowen was not a man of business. He had an ample income, and his tastes were literary and artistic. He knew more of books than of men, and more of his study than of the world.

"Well, my boy," he said after a pause, "how much do I owe you for doing this errand?"

"Let me see, you want fifty cents to buy papers, and you will require something to pay for your bed."

"I think I had better give you a dollar," said the old gentleman, opening his pocket-book.

Frank's eyes sparkled. A dollar would do him a great deal of good; with a dollar he would feel quite independent.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "It is more than I earned, but it will be very acceptable."

He put on his hat, and was about to leave the house, when Mr. Bowen suddenly said, "Oh, I think you'd better stay to dinner. It will be on the table directly. My niece is away, and if you don't stay I shall be alone."

Frank did not know what to say. He was rather abashed by the invitation, but, as the old gentleman was to be alone, it did not seem so formidable.

"You can go upstairs and wash your face and hands. You'll find a clothes-brush there also. I'll ring for Susan to show you the way."

"Susan," said her master, "you may show this young gentlemen into the back chamber on the third floor, and see that he is supplied with towels and all he needs. And you may lay an extra plate; he will dine with me."

Susan stared first at Mr. Bowen, and then at Frank, but did not venture to make any remark.

"This way, young man," she said, and ascended the front stairs, Frank following her closely.

She led the way into a handsomely furnished chamber, ejaculating, "Well, I never!"

"I hope you'll find things to your satisfaction, sir," she said, dryly. "If we'd known you were coming, we'd have made particular preparations for you."

"I am glad you think it'll do," continued Susan. "Things mayn't be as nice as you're accustomed to at home."

"That's very kind and considerate of you, I'm sure," said Susan, tossing her head. "Well, I never did!"

"Nor I either, Susan," said Frank, laughing. "I am a poor boy, and I am not used to this way of living; so if you'll be kind enough to give me any hints, so I may behave properly at the table, I'll be very much obliged to you."

This frank acknowledgment quite appeased Susan, and she readily complied with our hero's request.

"But I must be going downstairs, or dinner will be late," she said, hurriedly. "You can come down when you hear the bell ring."

Frank had been well brought up, though not in the city, and he was aware that perfect neatness was one of the first characteristics of a gentleman. He therefore scrubbed his face and hands till they fairly shone, and brushed his clothes with great care. Even then they certainly did look rather shabby, and there was a small hole in the elbow of his coat; but, on the whole, he looked quite passable when he entered the dining-room.

Frank started and smiled slightly, feeling more and more that it was an excellent joke.

"I wonder what Dick Rafferty would say if he could see me now," passed through his mind.

He acquitted himself very creditably, however, and certainly displayed an excellent appetite, much to the satisfaction of his hospitable host.

After dinner was over, Mr. Bowen detained him and began to talk of his dead son, telling anecdotes of his boyhood, to which Frank listened with respectful attention, for the father's devotion was touching.

"I think my boy looked a little like you," said the old gentleman. "What do you think, Susan?"

"But Mr. John was dark-complected, and this boy is light, and Mr. John's hair was black, and his is brown."

"I suppose I am mistaken," sighed the old man; "but there was something in the boy's face that reminded me of John."

"A little more, and he'll want to adopt him," thought Susan. "That wouldn't do nohow, though he does really seem like a decent sort of a boy."

"Come and see me again, my boy," said the old gentleman, kindly. "You have been a good deal of company for me to-night."

"Come and dine with me again this day week, and I may have something to tell you."

Feeling in his pocket to see that his dollar was safe, Frank set out to walk down-town, repairing to the lodging-house, where he met Dick, and astonished that young man by the recital of his adventures.

"It takes you to get round, Frank," he said. "I wonder I don't get invited to dine on Madison avenue."

CHAPTER VIII.

A NEWSBOY'S EXPERIENCES.

Frank slept that night at the lodging-house, and found a much better bed than he had been provided with by his late employer. He was up bright and early the next morning, and purchased a stock of morning papers. These he succeeded in selling during the forenoon, netting a profit of thirty cents. It was not much, but he was satisfied. At any rate he was a good deal better off than when in the employ of Mr. Mills. Of course he had to economize strictly, but the excellent arrangements of the lodging-house helped him to do this. Twelve cents provided him with lodging and breakfast. At noon, in company with his friend Dick, he went to a cheap restaurant, then to be found in Ann street, near Park row, and for fifteen cents enjoyed a dinner of two courses. The first consisted of a plate of beef, with a potato and a wedge of bread, costing ten cents, and the second, a piece of apple-pie.

"That's a good square meal," said Dick, in a tone of satisfaction. "I oughter get one every day, but sometimes I don't have the money."

"Well, so I could; but then you see I save my money sometimes to go to the Old Bowery, or Tony Pastor's, in the evenin'."

"I would like to go, too, but I wouldn't give up my dinner. A boy that's growing needs enough to eat."

"I guess you're right," said Dick. "We'll go to dinner together every day, if you say so."

About two o'clock in the afternoon, as Frank was resting on a bench in the City-Hall Park, a girl of ten approached him. Frank recognized her as an inmate of the tenement-house where Mills, his late employer, lived.

"Do you want to see me?" asked Frank, observing that she was looking towards him.

Frank was rather surprised, but concluded that Mills had difficulty in obtaining a boy to succeed him. This was not very remarkable, considering the niggardly pay attached to the office.

"Tell him that I don't want to come back," said Frank, promptly. "I can do better working for myself."

"He says if you don't come back he'll have you arrested for stealing money from him. You mustn't be mad with me. That's what he told me to say."

"I don't blame you," said Frank, hotly; "but you can tell him that he is a liar."

"I don't know how it is, but he can go right up to where you are just as well as if he could see."

"So he can. He's a humbug and a fraud. His eyes may not be very good, but he can see for all that. He pretends to be blind so as to make money."

"If he tries that I'll expose him for wanting me to pass a counterfeit note. I never took a cent from him."

"Let him. If he had treated me decently I would have stayed with him. Now I'm glad I left him."

Mills was indeed furious when, by degrees, he had drawn from his young messenger what Frank had said. He was sorry to lose him, for he was the most truthful and satisfactory guide he had ever employed, and he now regretted that he had driven him away by his unreasonable exactions. He considered whether it would be worth while to have Frank arrested on a false charge of theft, but was restrained by the fear that he would himself be implicated in passing counterfeit money, that is, in intention. He succeeded in engaging another boy, who really stole from him, and finally secured a girl, for whose services, however, he was obliged to pay her mother twenty cents every time she went out with him. Mean and miserly as he was, he agreed to this with reluctance, and only as a measure of necessity.

As he became more accustomed to his new occupation Frank succeeded better. He was a boy of considerable energy, and was on the alert for customers. It was not long before his earnings exceeded those of Dick Rafferty, who was inclined to take things easily.

"'The Scalpers of the Plains.' There's five men murdered in the first act. Oh, it's elegant!"

"Cause I'm dead-broke—busted. That's why. I aint had much luck this week, and it took all my money to pay for my lodgin's and grub."

"Of course I do; but it aint no use. My credit aint good, and I haint no money in the bank."

"Yes, it's rather high up; but a feller with good eyes can see all he wants to there."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Dick. You have been a good friend to me, and I'll take you at my expense."

"You're a reg'lar trump. We'll have a stavin' time. Sometime, when I'm flush, I'll return the compliment."

So the two boys went. They were at the doors early, and secured a front seat in the gallery. The performance was well adapted to please the taste of a boy, and they enjoyed it exceedingly. Dick was uproarious in his applause whenever a man was killed.

"I'll tell you what, Frank," said Dick; "I'd like to be a hunter and roam round the plains, killin' bears and Injuns."

"No, I would rather live in New York. I would like to make a journey to the West if I had money enough; but I would leave the hunting to other men."

Dick, however, did not agree with his more sensible companion. Many boys like him are charmed with the idea of a wild life in the forest, and some have been foolish enough to leave good homes, and, providing themselves with what they considered necessary, have set out on a journey in quest of the romantic adventures which in stories had fired their imaginations. If their wishes could be realized it would not be long before the romance would fade out, and they would long for the good homes, which they had never before fully appreciated.

When the week was over, Frank found that he had lived within his means, as he had resolved to do; but he had not done much more. He began with a dollar which he had received from Mr. Bowen, and now he had a dollar and a quarter. There was a gain of twenty-five cents. There would have been a little more if he had not gone to the theatre with Dick; but this he did not regret. He felt that he needed some amusement, and he wished to show his gratitude to his friend for various kind services. The time had come to accept Mr. Bowen's second dinner invitation. As Frank looked at his shabby clothes he wished there were a good pretext for declining, but he reflected that this would not be polite, and that the old gentleman would make allowances for his wardrobe. He brushed up his clothes as well as he could, and obtained a "boss shine" from Dick. Then he started for the house on Madison avenue.

"There are too many spots of blacking on them, Dick. As I'm a newsboy, it wouldn't look appropriate. I shall have to make mine answer."

CHAPTER IX.

VICTOR DUPONT.

As Frank was walking on Madison avenue, a little before reaching the house of Mr. Bowen he met a boy of his own age, whom he recognized. Victor Dupont had spent the previous summer at the hotel in the country village where Frank had lived until he came to the city. Victor was proud of his social position, but time hung so heavily upon his hands in the country that he was glad to keep company with the village boys. Frank and he had frequently gone fishing together, and had been associated in other amusements, so that they were for the time quite intimate. The memories of home and past pleasures thronged upon our hero as he met Victor, and his face flushed with pleasure.

"Why, Victor," he said, eagerly, extending his hand, "how glad I am to see you!"

Frank forgot that intimacy in the country does not necessarily lead to intimacy in the city, and he was considerably surprised when Victor, not appearing to notice his offered hand, said coldly, "I don't think I remember you."

"Don't remember me!" exclaimed Frank, amazed. "Why, I am Frank Kavanagh! Don't you remember how much we were together last summer, and what good times we had fishing and swimming together?"

"Yes, I believe I do remember you now," drawled Victor, still not offering his hand, or expressing any pleasure at the meeting. "When did you come to the city?"

Victor scanned Frank's clothes with a critical, and evidently rather contemptuous, glance.

"How do you happen to be in this neighborhood? I suppose you sell papers down-town."

"I know one," said Frank, smiling, for he read Victor's thoughts; "but my invitation comes from Mr. Bowen."

"You must excuse my mentioning it, but I should hardly think you would like to sit down at a gentleman's table in that shabby suit."

"Perhaps if you'd mention what you think of it," said Frank, somewhat nettled, "he would recall the invitation."

"Oh, it's nothing to me," said Victor; "but I thought I'd mention it, as I know more of etiquette than you do."

"You are very considerate," said Frank, with a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

Frank could not help thinking a little about what Victor had said. His suit, as he looked down at it, seemed shabbier than ever. Again it occurred to him that perhaps Mr. Bowen had forgotten the invitation, and this would make it very awkward for him. As he waited for the door to open he decided that, if it should appear that he was not expected, he would give some excuse, and go away.

"Mr. Bowen invited me to come here to dinner to-night," began Frank, rather nervously.

"Yes, you are expected," said Susan, very much to his relief. "Wipe your feet, and come right in."

"You are to go upstairs and get ready for dinner," said Susan, and she led the way to the same chamber into which our hero had been ushered the week before.

"There won't be much getting ready," thought Frank. "However, I can stay there till I hear the bell ring."

As he entered the room he saw a suit of clothes and some underclothing lying on the bed.

"Yes, put them on, and when you come down to dinner Mr. Bowen will see how they fit."

"Is it a present from him?" asked Frank, overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude, for he could see that the clothes were very handsome.

"Well, they aint from me," said Susan, "so it's likely they come from him. Don't be too long, for Mr. Bowen doesn't like to have any one late to dinner."

Susan had been in the service of her present mistress fifteen years, and was a privileged character. She liked to have her own way; but had sterling qualities, being neat, faithful, and industrious.

"I wonder whether I am awake or dreaming," thought Frank, when he was left alone. "I shouldn't like to wake up and find it was all a dream."

He began at once to change his shabby clothes for the new ones. He found that the articles provided were a complete outfit, including shirt, collar, cuffs, stockings; in fact, everything that was needful. The coat, pants, and vest were a neat gray, and proved to be an excellent fit. In the bosom of the shirt were neat studs, and the cuffs were supplied with sleeve-buttons to correspond. When Frank stood before the glass, completely attired, he hardly knew himself. He was as well dressed as his aristocratic acquaintance, Victor Dupont, and looked more like a city boy than a boy bred in the country.

"I never looked so well in my life," thought our young hero, complacently. "How kind Mr. Bowen is!"

Frank did not know it; but he was indebted for this gift to Susan's suggestion. When her master told her in the morning that Frank was coming to dinner, she said, "It's a pity the boy hadn't some better clothes."

"Yes; and they are almost worn out. They don't look fit for one who is going to sit at your table."

"I will call at Baldwin's, and order some ready-made; but I don't know his size."

"He's about two inches shorter than you, Mr. Bowen. Tell 'em that, and they will know. He ought to have shirts and stockings, too."

"So he shall," said the old man, quite interested. "He shall have a full rig-out from top to toe. Where shall I go for the shirts and things?"

Susan had a nephew about Frank's age, and she was prepared to give the necessary information. The old gentleman, who had no business to attend to, was delighted to have something to fill up his time. He went out directly after breakfast, or as soon as he had read the morning paper, and made choice of the articles already described, giving strict injunctions that they should be sent home immediately.

When our hero came downstairs Mr. Bowen was waiting eagerly to see the transformation. The result delighted him.

"Why, I shouldn't have known you!" he exclaimed, lifting both hands. "I had no idea new clothes would change you so much."

"Then I thank you, Susan," said Frank, offering his hand to the girl, as she entered the room.

Susan was pleased. She liked to be appreciated; and she noted with satisfaction the great improvement in Frank's appearance.

"You are quite welcome," she said; "but it was master's money that paid for the clothes."

From that moment Susan became Frank's fast friend. We generally like those whom we have benefited, if our services are suitably acknowledged.

CHAPTER X.

A NEW PROSPECT.

"Well, Frank, and how is your business?" asked the old gentleman, when they were sitting at the dinner-table.

"I shan't have to now, sir. If I had had to buy clothes for myself, I might have had to."

"I bought half a dozen of each. Susan will give you the bundle when you are ready to go. If they had not been right, they could have been exchanged."

"I can't afford it yet, sir. The lodging-house costs me only forty-two cents a week for a bed, and I could not get a room for that."

"Bless my soul! That is very cheap. Really, I think I could save money by giving up my house, and going there to sleep."

"Probably not. Now, Frank, I am going to mention a plan I have for you. You don't want to be a newsboy all your life."

"My friend Thompson, the gentleman who was walking with me when we first saw you, is an officer of the American District Telegraph Company. They employ a large number of boys at their various offices to run errands; and, in fact, to do anything that is required of them. Probably you have seen some of the boys going about the city."

"My friend Thompson, to whom I spoke on the subject, says he will take you on in a few weeks, provided you will qualify yourself for the post."

"You must be well acquainted with the city in all its parts, know the locations of different hotels, prominent buildings, have a fair education, and be willing to make yourself generally useful. You will have to satisfy the superintendent that you are fitted for the position."

"I think my education will be sufficient," said Frank, "for I always went to school till just before I came to the city. I know something about the lower part of the city, but I will go about every day during the hours when I am not selling papers till I am familiar with all parts of it."

"About three dollars a week at first, and more when you get familiar with your duties. No doubt money will also be given you by some who employ you, though you will not be allowed to ask for any fees. Very likely you will get nearly as much in this way as from your salary."

"It was a word I learned from Dick Rafferty," said Frank, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Unless his education is better than yours I would not advise you to learn any of his words."

"You must excuse my offering you advice. It is the privilege of the old to advise the young."

"Good boy, good boy," said the old gentleman, approvingly. "I wish all boys were like you. Some think they know more than their grandfathers. There's one of that kind who lives next door."

"We were together a good deal last summer. His family boarded at the hotel in the country village where I used to live. He and I went bathing and fishing together."

"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."

"He said he shouldn't think I would like to go out to dinner with such a shabby suit."

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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 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.

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.

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.

"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?"

"I hope the darling hasn't got cold," said Mrs. Leroy, with solicitude. "My lad, what is your name?"

"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. 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?"

"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.

"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."

"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.

Victor, by way of reply, pinched Fido's ear, and the little animal squeaked his disapproval.

"You are impertinent," said Victor, haughtily. "You needn't put on such airs because you are nurse to a puppy."

"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?"

"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."

"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.

"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.

"What's the matter?" asked a park policeman who, unobserved by either, had come up behind.

"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."

"If you are seen again in this neighborhood," said the policeman, "I shall arrest you. Now clear out!"

"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.

"The horrid brute! How could I have lived without my darling?" and the lady caressed her favorite tenderly. "How did you prevent him?"

"You are a brave boy," said Mrs. Leroy, admiringly. "But for you, Fido would have been stolen."

"The policeman said the man was a professional dog-stealer. He steals dogs for the reward which is offered."

"I was sure I could trust you with my pet," said Mrs. Leroy. "You deserve a reward yourself."

Mrs. Leroy rose, and, going to her bureau, drew an ivory portemonnaie from a small upper drawer; from this she extracted a two-dollar bill, and gave it to Frank.

"Too much for rescuing my little pet? No, no, I am the best judge of that. I wouldn't have lost him for fifty times two dollars."

For several days, though Frank was employed on errands daily, there was nothing of an unusual character. About eleven o'clock one evening (for Frank had to take his turn at night work) he was sent to a house on West Thirty-eighth street. On arriving, he was ushered into the presence of a lady of middle age, whose anxious face betrayed the anxiety that she felt.

"I have a son rather larger and older than you," she said, "who, to my great sorrow, has been led away by evil companions, who have induced him to drink and play cards for money. I will not admit them into my house, but I cannot keep him from seeking them out. He is no doubt with them to-night."

Frank listened with respectful sympathy, and waited to hear what he was desired to do in the matter.

"The boy's father is dead," continued Mrs. Vivian, with emotion, "and I cannot fill his place. Fred is unwilling to obey his mother. His companions have persuaded him that it is unmanly."

"If I could get Fred to take a position it might be a benefit to him," said Mrs. Vivian, thoughtfully. "But the question now is, how I may be able to find him."

"About three o'clock this afternoon I gave him seventy-five dollars, and sent him to pay a bill. I was perhaps imprudent to trust him with such a sum of money; but for a few days past he has been more steady than usual, and I thought it would show my confidence in him if I employed him in such a matter."

"But I am afraid Fred fell in with some of his evil companions, and let them know that he was well provided with money. That would be enough to excite their cupidity."

"Boys, or rather young men, for they are all older than Fred, of lower social rank than himself. I don't attach any special importance to that, nor do I object to them on that ground; but they are, I have reason to think, ill-bred and disreputable. They know Fred to be richer than themselves, and induce him to drink and play, in the hope of getting some of his money. I have sent for you to go in search of my son. If you find him you must do your best to bring him home."

Mrs. Vivian wrote on a card two places,—one a billiard saloon, which she had reason to suspect that her son frequented.

"Now," said Frank, "will you be kind enough to describe your son to me, so that I may know him when I see him?"

She opened an album, and showed the picture of a boy of seventeen, with a pleasant face, fair complexion, and hair somewhat curly. His forehead was high, and he looked gentlemanly and refined.

"He would be one if he could throw off his evil associates. Do you think you will know him from the picture?"

"Two or three inches taller than you are. You had better take the picture with you. I have an extra one, which you can put in your pocket to help you identify him. By the way, it will be as well that you should be supplied with money in case it is necessary to bring him home in a cab."

Frank understood what the mother found it difficult to explain. She feared that her boy might be the worse for drink.

"I will use it prudently, madam," said he, "and account to you for all I do not use."

Frank looked at the two addresses he had on the card. The billiard-saloon was on the east side of the city, in an unfashionable locality.

Crossing to Third avenue he hailed a car, and rode down-town. His knowledge of the city, gained from the walks he took when a newsboy, made it easy for him to find the place of which he was in search. Though it was nearly midnight, the saloon was lighted up, and two tables were in use. On the left-hand side, as he entered, was a bar, behind which stood a man in his shirt-sleeves, who answered the frequent calls for drinks. He looked rather suspiciously at Frank's uniform when he entered.

The bar-keeper's face cleared instantly, and he set about preparing the beverage required.

Frank paid ten cents for his lemonade, and, passing into the billiard-saloon, sat down and watched a game. He looked around him, but could not see anything of Fred. In fact, all the players were men.

"Oh, yes," said his new acquaintance, "he is here now. His name is Fred, isn't it?"

"He's playing cards upstairs, but I don't believe he can tell one card from the other."

"About an hour. He was playing billiards till he couldn't stand straight, and then they went upstairs."

"Would you mind telling him that there is a friend downstairs who wishes to see him, that is, if you know the way?"

"Perhaps I had better," said Frank, and followed his companion through a door in the rear, and up a dark and narrow staircase to the street floor.

"It'll be a hard job to get him away," thought Frank; "but, for his mother's sake, I will do my best."

CHAPTER XIII.

A TIMELY RESCUE.

As Frank entered the room he hastily took in the scene before him. Round a table sat three young men, of not far from twenty, the fourth side being occupied by Fred Vivian. They were playing cards, and sipping drinks as they played. Fred Vivian's handsome face was flushed, and he was nervously excited. His hands trembled as he lifted the glass, and his wandering, uncertain glances showed that he was not himself.

"That settles it," said another. "Fred, old boy, you've lost the game. You're another five dollars out."

Fred fumbled in his pocket for a bill, and it was quickly taken from his hand before he could well see of what value it was. Frank, however, quickly as it was put away, saw that it was a ten. It was clear that Fred was being cheated in the most barefaced manner.

"What are you bringing in that boy for, John?" demanded a low-browed fellow, with a face like a bull-dog.

"He's a telegraph boy. He comes here a spy. Fred don't know him. Clear out, boy!"

"Fred," said he, thinking it best to speak as if he knew him, "it is getting late, and your mother is anxious about you. Won't you come home with me?"

"How do, Frank? Glad to see you, ol' feller. Take a drink. Here, you boy, bring a drink for my frien', Frank Kavanagh."

The three others looked on disconcerted. They were not ready to part with Fred yet, having secured only a part of his money.

"You don't know him, Fred," said the one who had appropriated the ten-dollar bill. "He's only a telegraph boy."

"I tell you he's my frien', Frank Kav'nagh," persisted Fred, with an obstinacy not unusual in one in his condition.

"No, you're not," exclaimed the other, bringing his fist heavily down upon the table. "We won't allow our friend Fred to be kidnapped by a boy of your size,—not much we won't, will we, boys?"

"I guess I'd better go," he stammered "There's something the matter with my head."

"You need another drink to brace you up. Here, John, bring up another punch for Fred."

Frank saw that unless he got Fred away before drinking any more, he would not be in a condition to go at all. It was a critical position, but he saw that he must be bold and resolute.

"Boys, are we going to stand this?" said the low-browed young man. "Are we going to let this telegraph boy interfere with a social party of young gentlemen? I move that we throw him downstairs."

"You'd better not try it," he said quietly, "unless you want to pass the night in the station-house."

"What do you mean, you young jackanapes?" said the other angrily. "What charge can you trump up against us?"

"It's a lie! We've been having a friendly game, and he lost. If we'd lost, we would have paid."

"It is true, for I noticed the bill as you took it from him. But it's not much worse than playing for money with him when he is in no condition to understand the game. You'd better give him back that ten-dollar bill."

"You are strong enough to do it," said Frank, exhibiting no trace of fear, "but I think you would be sorry for it afterwards. Come, Fred."

Though Frank was so much younger and smaller, there was something in his calm, self-possessed manner that gave him an ascendency over the weak, vacillating Fred. The latter rose, and, taking our hero's arm, turned to leave the room.

"Let him go," said the leader, who had been made uneasy by Frank's threat, and saw that it was politic to postpone his further designs upon his intended victim. "If he chooses to obey a small telegraph boy, he can."

"My friend, Frank Kavanagh!" repeated Fred, drowsily. "I'm awful sleepy, Frank. I want to go to bed."

"I say, boy," said the leader, uneasily, "that was all a lie about the ten-dollar bill. You didn't see straight. Did he, Bates?"

"Nothing will be done about it," he said, "if you will let Fred alone hereafter. The money you have won from him belongs to his mother, and, unless you keep away from him, she will order your arrest."

"You're altogether too smart for a boy of your size," sneered the other. "Take your friend away. We don't care to associate with a milksop, who allows himself to be ordered around by women and children."

Fortunately Fred was too drowsy to pay heed to what was being said; in fact he was very sleepy, and was anxious to go to bed. Frank got him into a cab, and in twenty minutes they safely reached his mother's house in Thirty-eighth street.

"O Fred," she said, "how could you stay away so, when you know how worried I get? You have been drinking, too."

"Yes, you may go up. I will lead the way to his chamber. Afterwards I want to speak to you."

"Where did you find him?" asked Mrs. Vivian, when Frank with some difficulty had prepared his charge for bed.

"In the billiard-saloon to which you directed me. He was upstairs playing cards for money. They were cheating him in the most outrageous manner."

"Not all; but they would soon have done so. Here is his pocket-book, which I just took from his pocket."

"There are twenty dollars left," said 'Mrs. Vivian, after an examination. "They must have secured the rest. O my poor boy! Would that I could shield you from these dangerous companions!"

"I told them that, if they came near him, hereafter, you would have them arrested for swindling your son out of money belonging to you."

"No; I made him think I was an old acquaintance of his. Besides, he was feeling sleepy."

"You have acted with great judgment for so young a lad," said Mrs. Vivian. "I wish Fred had a companion like you to influence him for good. Where do you live?"

"I won't keep you any longer to-night," she said, "for you must be tired. You will hear from me again."

"Oh," said Frank, "I nearly forgot. Here is the balance of the money you handed me for expenses."

Though Frank had paid for the cab, there was a balance of nearly two dollars in his hands which he was very glad to keep.

CHAPTER XIV.

FRANK MAKES AN EVENING CALL.

The next day Frank chanced to meet Mrs. Vivian in the street. She recognized him at once.

"He slept well, and woke much refreshed this morning. He is a good boy naturally, but unable to withstand temptation. I have decided to send him to the country for a few weeks, to visit a cousin of about his own age. There he will be secure from temptation, and will have a chance to ride. I would have sent him away before, but that it would leave me alone in the house. You told me last evening that you had no boarding-place."

"I am afraid I shouldn't be a match for an able-bodied burglar," said Frank, smiling.

"Perhaps not; but you could summon a policeman. When can you come and see me about this arrangement?"

"Very well; I will expect you. Fred will not go away till to-morrow, and you will have a chance to see him under more favorable circumstances than last evening."

Mrs. Vivian bade him good-morning, very favorably impressed with his manners and deportment.

Frank looked upon the proposal made him by Mrs. Vivian as a piece of great good-fortune. In his new position, excellent as were the beds at the lodging-house, he found it inconvenient to go there to sleep. Once or twice, on account of the late hour at which he was released from duty, he was unable to secure admittance, and had to pay fifty cents for a bed at a hotel on the European system. He had for some time been thinking seriously of hiring a room; but the probable expense deterred him. At Mrs. Vivian's he would have nothing to pay.

In the evening he changed his uniform for the neat suit given him by Mr. Bowen, and about eight o'clock rang the bell of the house in Thirty-eighth street.

"I am glad to see you, my young friend," said Mrs. Vivian, glancing with approval at the neat appearance of her young visitor. "Fred, this is the young man who brought you home last night."

"I am much obliged to you," said Fred Vivian, offering his hand to Frank. "I am ashamed of having been found in such a place."

"I don't think the young men with you were very much your friends," said Frank; "I detected one in cheating you."

"I don't mean that, though I presume they did; but you handed a ten-dollar bill to one of them, and he took it as a five."

"And I had been treating that fellow all the afternoon! I gave him a good dinner, too."

"Are you surprised at such treatment from such a person?" asked his mother. "I should have expected it."

"I will never notice the fellow again as long as I live," said Fred, who seemed a good deal impressed by his companion's treachery. "Why, it's nothing better than robbery."

"Let it go, my son. I am willing to lose it, if it severs all acquaintance between you and your unworthy companions."

"That was to induce you to come with me," explained Frank. "I hope you will excuse the deception."

"Certainly I will. I had been drinking so much that it was quite necessary to treat me as a child; but I don't mean to be caught in such a scrape again."

"My mother tells me that you are going to take my place while I am in the country," said Fred, turning to Frank.

"I shall be very glad to do so," said our hero. "I never had such a good home before."

"Not hard, but sometimes when I have been kept pretty busy, I get tired towards night."

"I might like it for about half a day, but all day would be too much for me. However, I am too old for such a position."

Fred had no false pride, and though he knew that Frank was in a social position considerably below his own, he treated him as an equal. Those who are secure of their own position are much more likely to avoid "putting on airs" than those who have recently been elevated in the social scale. Frank was destined that same evening to see the contrast between true and false gentility.

It so happened that Victor Dupont, already mentioned, was an acquaintance and former school-fellow of Fred Vivian. It also chanced that he selected this evening for a call, as the Vivians stood very high socially, being an old family. Victor was rather proud of his acquaintance with them, and took occasion to call frequently.

As he was ushered into the room he did not at first recognize Frank in his new clothes.

"Victor, this is a friend of mine, Frank Kavanagh," said Fred, introducing his two visitors. "Frank, let me introduce my old school-fellow Victor Dupont."

"We must have gone fishing together at least a dozen times," said Frank, quietly.

"How in the world did the fellow thrust himself in here?" said Victor to himself. "They can't know his low position."

In the amiable desire of enlightening the Vivians Victor took an early opportunity to draw Fred aside.

"I know that he is a poor boy; but some of our most prominent men were once poor boys."

"You will probably be surprised to hear that your old acquaintance is to live here while I am in the country. I am going away to-morrow to spend a few weeks with my cousin."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Victor, in surprise and annoyance. "Perhaps he is to be here as an errand boy?" he suggested, evidently relieved by the idea.

"Hadn't you better tell your mother that he was once a newsboy? She might recall the invitation."

"It would make no difference with her. It seems to me, Victor, you are prejudiced against Frank."

"No, I am not; but I like to see newsboys and telegraph messengers keep their place."

"That isn't what I meant. How can you associate with such a boy on an equality?"

"I don't believe he gets more than three or four dollars a week," said Victor, contemptuously.

Victor saw that he could do Frank no harm, and was forced, out of policy, to treat our hero with more politeness than he wished.

When Frank rose to go, Mrs. Vivian desired him to send round his trunk, and take possession of his room the next day.

"She doesn't suspect that I never owned a trunk," thought Frank. "I will buy one to-morrow, though I haven't got much to put in it."

CHAPTER XV.

AT WALLACK'S THEATRE.

The next day Frank devoted what small leisure he had to the purchase of a trunk, in which he stored his small supply of clothing, leaving out, however, the clothes in which he made his first appearance in the city. These he gave to his friend, Dick Rafferty, to whom they were a welcome gift, being considerably better than those he usually wore. Dick might, out of his earnings, have dressed better, but when he had any extra money it went for some kind of amusement. He was one of the steadiest patrons of the Old Bowery, and was often to be seen in the gallery of other places of amusement. He was surprised to hear of Frank's intended removal from the lodging-house.

"I say, Frank," he said, "you're gettin' on fast. Here you are, goin' to live in a tip-top house up-town. You'll be a reg'lar swell."

"That shows you don't know me, Dick. I shall be glad to notice you whenever we meet."

"I don't see why I can't be in luck too," said Dick. "I wish I could find some rich lady to give me a room in her house."

"I know I aint got a genteel look," said Dick, surveying his well-worn clothes, soiled and ragged; "but it wouldn't be no use if I was to dress in velvet."

"Not very. There's a black spot on each cheek, and one on the side of your nose, and your chin looks a little shady."

"I suppose it is rather hard," Frank admitted; "but you won't be a boot-black always, I hope."

"I'd just as lieves give it up for bankin', or cashier of a savings-bank," said Dick. "Them's light, genteel kinds of business, and don't dirty the hands."

"Well, Dick, if I hear of an opening in either line I'll let you know. Now I must go and buy a trunk."

"I never expect to get as far as a trunk," said Dick. "I shall feel like a gentleman when I can set up one. It wouldn't be no use to me now. I'd have to stuff it with rocks to make a show."

"Poor Dick!" thought Frank as he left his friend. "He takes the world too easy. He hasn't any ambition, or he wouldn't be content to keep on blacking boots when there are so many better ways of making a living. If I ever get a chance to give him a lift I will. He aint much to look at, but he's a good-hearted boy, and would put himself to a good deal of trouble to do me a favor."

It was not much trouble to pack his trunk. Indeed, he had scarcely enough clothing to fill it one-third full.

"I may have to adopt Dick's plan, and fill it with rocks," said Frank to himself. "Some day I shall be better supplied. I can't expect to get on too fast."

The room assigned to Frank was a small one; but it was neatly furnished, and provided with a closet. The bed, with its clean white spread, looked very tempting, and Frank enjoyed the prospect of the privacy he would have in a room devoted to his sole use. At the lodging-house, though his bed was comfortable, there were sixty to eighty boys who slept in the same room, and of course he had no more rights than any other.

"I do not breakfast till that hour; but I will direct the cook to have a cup of coffee and some breakfast ready for you at seven."

"Certainly. Did you think I was going to send you out to a restaurant?" inquired Mrs. Vivian, smiling.

"I am very much obliged to you; but I am afraid it will inconvenience the cook to get me an early breakfast."

"I am glad to see you so considerate of others. I can answer for Mary, however, who is very obliging. You can get lunch outside, as I suppose it will be inconvenient for you to leave your duties to come so far as Thirty-eighth street."

Two days after he had taken up his residence in his new quarters Frank was called upon to render a very agreeable service.

"I have two tickets for Wallack's theatre for this evening," said Mrs. Vivian. "Will it be agreeable for you to accompany me?"

"Then you shall be my escort. When Fred is at home he goes with me; but now I must depend on you. Have you a pair of kid gloves?"

Frank was obliged to confess that he had not. In fact he had never owned a pair in his life.

"I will give you a pair of mine. Probably there is little difference in the size of our hands."

Somehow Frank in his new life seemed always running across Victor Dupont. That young gentleman and his sister sat in the row behind Mrs. Vivian and her youthful escort, but did not immediately become aware of it.

"Why, Victor," said his sister, who had been looking about her, "there is Mrs. Vivian in the next row. Who is that nice-looking boy with her? It can't be Fred, for he is larger."

Victor turned his glance in the direction of Mrs. Vivian. His surprise and disgust were about equal when he saw the country-boy he had looked down upon, faultlessly attired, with neat-fitting gloves, and a rose in his button-hole and looking like a gentleman.

"Then you can marry him if you like. That boy is a telegraph messenger. I used to know him in the country. A few weeks ago he was selling papers in front of the Astor House."

"He is a good-looking boy, at any rate," said Flora, who was less snobbish than her brother.

"I can't see it," said Victor, annoyed. "He looks to me very common and vulgar. I don't see how Mrs. Vivian can be willing to appear with him at a fashionable theatre like this."

Just then Frank, turning, recognized Victor and bowed. Victor could not afford not to recognize Mrs. Vivian's escort, and bowed in return.

But Victor was not the only one of Frank's acquaintances who recognized him that evening. In the upper gallery sat Dick Rafferty and Micky Shea, late fellow-boarders at the lodging-house. It was not often that these young gentlemen patronized Wallack's, for even a gallery ticket there was high-priced; but both wanted to see the popular play of "Ours," and had managed to scrape together fifty cents each.

"Dick," said Micky, suddenly, "there's Frank Kavanagh down near the stage, in an orchestra seat."

"So he is," said Dick. "Aint he dressed splendid though, wid kid gloves on and a flower in his button-hole, and an elegant lady beside him? See, she's whisperin' to him now. Who'd think he used to kape company wid the likes of us?"

"And it's I that am glad of it. He's a good fellow, Frank is, and he won't turn his back on us."

This was proved later in the evening, for, as Frank left the theatre with Mrs. Vivian, he espied his two old friends standing outside, and bowed with a pleasant smile, much to the gratification of the two street boys, who were disposed to look upon their old friend as one of the aristocracy.

CHAPTER XVI.

FRANK AS A DETECTIVE.

Of course Frank's daily duties were far the most part of a commonplace character. They were more varied, to be sure, than those of an errand-boy, or shop-boy, but even a telegraph messenger does not have an adventure every day. Twice in the next three weeks our hero was summoned by Mrs. Leroy to give her pet dog an airing. It was not hard work, but Frank did not fancy it, though he never failed to receive a handsome fee from the mistress of Fido.

One day Frank was summoned to a fashionable boarding-house in a side street above the Fifth-avenue hotel. On presenting himself, the servant said, "It's one of the boarders wants you. Stay here, and I'll let him know you've come."

"Come right up," said the girl, directly after, speaking from the upper landing.

Frank ascended the stairs, and entered a room on the second floor. A gentleman, partially bald, with a rim of red hair around the bare central spot, sat in a chair by the window, reading a morning paper.

"Let me see,—I want some linen handkerchiefs and some collars. Are you a judge of those articles?"

"However, I suppose you know a collar from a pair of cuffs, and a handkerchief from a towel," said the stranger, petulantly.

"Now let me see how many I want," said the stranger, reflectively. "I think half-a-dozen handkerchiefs will do."

"And the collars—well, half-a-dozen will do. Get them of good quality, size 15, and pay whatever is asked."

"I think not, this morning. I have a headache, or I would go out myself," explained the stranger. "I live up the Hudson, and I must go home this afternoon by the boat."

"No; I leave that to your judgment. A large store is likely to have a better assortment, I suppose."

The stranger drew out a pocket-book, which appeared to be well filled, and extracted two bills of twenty dollars each, which he passed to Frank.

"This is too much, sir," said the telegraph boy. "One of these bills will be much more than sufficient."

"Never mind. I should like to have them both changed. You can buy the articles at different places, as this will give you a chance to get change for both."

"No," said the stranger, hastily, "I would rather you would pay them for goods. Shopkeepers are bound to change bills for a customer."

"I don't see what difference it makes to you as long as they are changed," thought Frank. However it was not his business to question his employer's decision.

Sixth avenue was not far distant, and as Frank was left to his own choice he betook himself hither on his shopping tour. Entering a large retail store, he inquired for gentleman's linen handkerchiefs.

"I think they will do," said Frank, after examination. "I will take half-a-dozen."

Several small boys were flitting about the store in the service of customers. One of them made his appearance.

"Have you nothing smaller?" asked the girl, noticing the denomination of the bill.

She put the bill between the leaves of a small blank book, and handed both that and the goods to the boy.

Presently the cash-boy came back, and the proprietor of the store with him. He was a portly man, with a loud voice and an air of authority. To him the cash-boy pointed out Frank.

"You have not answered my question. However, I will answer yours. The bill is a counterfeit."

Frank looked surprised, and he understood at a flash why he had been trusted with two of these bills when one would answer.

"I have nothing to do with that," said the telegraph boy. "I was sent out to buy some articles, and this money was given me to pay for them."

"Have you got any other money of this description?" asked the trader, suspiciously.

"I must know where you got this money," said the merchant. "You may be in the service of counterfeiters."

"You might know, from my uniform, that I am not," said Frank, indignantly. "I once lost a place because I would not pass counterfeit money."

"I have a detective here. You must lead him to the man who supplied you with the money."

"I am quite willing to do it," said our hero. "He wanted to make a tool of me. If I can put him into the hands of the law, I will."

"That boy is all right," said a gentleman standing by. "The rogue was quite ingenious in trying to work off his bad money through a telegraph messenger."

"If he has not changed his appearance. It is easy to do that, and these fellows understand it well."

Reaching the house, Frank rang the bell, the detective sauntering along on the opposite side of the street.

The girl came down directly, with the information that Mr. Stanley had gone out.

"That is queer," said Frank. "He told me to come right back. He said he had a headache, too, and did not want to go out."

As he spoke, his glance rested on a man who was lounging at the corner. This man had black hair, and a full black beard. By chance, Frank's eye fell upon his right hand, and with a start he recognized a large ring with a sparkling diamond, real or imitation. This ring he had last seen on Mr. Stanley's hand. He crossed the street in a quiet, indifferent manner, and imparted his suspicions to the detective.

He approached the man alluded to, who, confident in his disguise, did not budge, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said, "Mr. Stanley, I believe."

"You are mistaken," said the man, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant way, with a foreign accent, "I am M. Lavalette. I do not know your M. Stanley."

"I am afraid you are forgetful, monsieur. I beg pardon, but do you wear a wig?" and with a quick movement he removed the stranger's hat, and, dislodging his black wig, displayed the rim of red hair.

"This is an outrage!" said the rogue, angrily; "I will have you arrested, monsieur."

"I give this man in charge for passing counterfeit money," said the detective. "The next time, Mr. Stanley, don't select so smart a telegraph boy. He recognized you, in spite of your disguise, by the ring upon your finger."

It only remains to add that Stanley was convicted through Frank's testimony. He proved to be an old offender, and the chief of a gang of counterfeiters.

CHAPTER XVII.

FRANK MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

Frank was more fortunate than the generality of the telegraph boys in obtaining fees from those who employed him. He was not allowed to solicit gifts, but was at liberty to accept them when offered. In one way or another he found his weekly receipts came to about seven dollars. Out of this sum he would have been able to save money, even if he had been obliged to pay all his expenses, that is by the exercise of strict economy. But, as we know, he was at no expense for room or board, with the exception of a light lunch in the middle of the day. Making a little calculation, he found that he could save about four dollars a week. As it had only been proposed to him to stay at Mrs. Vivian's while Fred was in the country, it seemed prudent to Frank to "make hay while the sun shone," and save up a little fund from which he could hereafter draw, in case it were necessary.

So when he had saved ten dollars he presented himself at the counter of the Dime Savings-Bank, then located in Canal street, and deposited it, receiving a bank-book, which he regarded with great pride.

"I begin to feel like a capitalist," he said to himself. "I am rather better off now than I was when I led round old Mills, the blind man. I wonder how he is getting along."

As Frank entered Broadway from Canal street, by a strange coincidence he caught sight of the man of whom he had been thinking. Mills, with the same querulous, irritable expression he knew well, was making his way up Broadway, led by a boy younger than Frank.

"Look out, you young rascal, or you will have me off the sidewalk," Frank heard the blind man say; "I'll have a reckoning with you when I get home."

"You are getting careless, that's what's the matter," said Mills, harshly. "You are looking in at the shop windows, and neglect me."

"Don't you contradict me!" exclaimed the blind man, grasping his stick significantly. "Pity a poor blind man!"

"I have had so many boys—most of them good for nothing—that I don't remember you."

"Hush!" said the blind man apprehensively, lest some one should hear Frank. "There was some mistake about that. I remember you now. Do you want to come back? This boy doesn't attend to his business."

Frank laughed. Situated as he was now, the proposal seemed to him an excellent joke, and he was disposed to treat it as such.

"Why, the fact is, Mr. Mills, you fed me on such rich food that I shouldn't dare to go back for fear of dyspepsia."

"I live better now," said Mills. "I haven't had any boy since, that suited me as well as you."

"Thank you; but I am afraid it would be a long time before I got rich on the wages you would give me."

"I'll give you fifty cents a week," said Mills, "and more if I do well. You can come to-day, if you like."

"Why, you will be rich," said the blind man, enviously. "I don't think I get as much as that myself, and I have to pay a boy out of it."

"Come along, boy!" said Mills, roughly, to his little guide. "Are you going to keep me here all day?"

"Well, I have got through. He has deserted me. It is the way of the world. There's nobody to pity the poor, blind man."

"Here's five cents for old acquaintance' sake. Mr. Mills," said Frank, dropping a nickel into the hand of the boy who was guiding him.

"Thank you! May you never know what it is to be blind!" said Mills, in his professional tone.

"If I am, I hope I can see as well as you," thought Frank. "What a precious old humbug he is, and how I pity that poor boy! If I had a chance I would give him something to save him from starvation."

Frank walked on, quite elated at the change in his circumstances which allowed him to give money in charity to the person who had once been his employer. He would have given it more cheerfully if in his estimation the man had been more worthy.

Frank's errand took him up Broadway. He had two or three stops to make, which made it inconvenient for him to ride. A little way in front of him he saw a boy of fourteen, whom he recognized as an errand-boy, and a former fellow-lodger at the Newsboy's Lodging-House. He was about to hurry forward and join John Riley,—for this was the boy's name,—when his attention was attracted, and his suspicions aroused, by a man who accosted John. He was a man of about thirty, rather showily dressed, with a gold chain dangling from his vest.

"I should like to," answered the boy, "but I am going on an errand, and can't spare the time."

"It won't take five minutes," said the young man. "It is only to take this note up to Mr. Conant's room, on the fourth floor of this building."

"Of course you can. It won't take you two minutes. Here is the ten cents. I'll hold your bundle for you while you run up."

"All right!" said the errand-boy, and, suspecting nothing, he surrendered his parcel, and taking the note and the dime, ran upstairs.

No sooner was he out of sight than the young man began to walk off rapidly with the bundle. It was an old trick, that has been many times played upon unsuspecting boys, and will continue to be played as long as there are knavish adventurers who prefer dishonest methods of getting a living to honest industry.

In this case, however, the rogue was destined to disappointment. It may be stated that he had been present in the dry-goods store from which the parcel came, and, knowing that the contents were valuable, had followed the boy.

No sooner did Frank understand the fellow's purpose than he pursued him, and seized him by the arm.

"What do you want of me?" demanded the rogue, roughly. "I am in a hurry and can't be detained."

"I want you to give me that bundle which you are trying to steal from my friend, John Riley."

"I mean that I heard your conversation with him, and I know your game. Come back, or I will call a policeman."

"There, take the bundle," he said, tossing it into Frank's arms. "I was only going for a cigar; I should have brought it back."

When John Riley came downstairs, with the letter in his hand,—for he had been unable to find any man named Conant in the building,—he found Frank waiting with the parcel.

"Holloa, Frank! Where's that man that sent me upstairs? I can't find Mr. Conant."

"Of course you can't. There's no such man in the building. That man was a thief; but for me he would have carried off your bundle."

"Don't give up a bundle to a stranger again," said Frank. "I'm only a country boy, but I don't allow myself to be swindled as easily as you."

"I wish that chap would come here again," said Johnny, indignantly. "But I've come out best, after all," he added, brightening up. "I've made ten cents out of him."

CHAPTER XVIII.

A RICH WOMAN'S SORROW.

As Frank looked around him, and noted the evidences of wealth in the elegant furniture and rich ornaments profusely scattered about, he thought, "How rich Mrs. Graham must be! I suppose she is very happy. I should be if I could buy everything I wanted."

It was a boy's thought, and betrayed our hero's inexperience. Even unlimited means are not sure to produce happiness, nor do handsome surroundings prove wealth.

Five minutes later an elderly lady entered the room. She was richly dressed, but her face wore a look of care and sorrow.

"I have sent for you," she said, at length, "to help me in a matter of some delicacy, and shall expect you not to speak of it, even to your employers."

Frank's statement was correct. The business entrusted to telegraph messengers is understood to be of a confidential nature, and they are instructed to guard the secrets of those who make use of their services.

"I find it necessary to raise some money," continued the lady, apparently satisfied, "and am not at liberty, for special reasons, to call upon my husband for it. I have a diamond ring of considerable value, which I should like to have you carry, either to a jeweller or a pawnbroker, and secure what advance you can upon it."

Mrs. Graham drew from her pocket a small box, containing a diamond ring, which sparkled brilliantly in the sunshine.

"Eight hundred dollars!" echoed Frank, in wonder. He had heard of diamond rings, and knew they were valuable, but had no idea they were so valuable as that.

"Nothing near its value, of course, nor is that necessary. Two hundred dollars will be as much as I care to use, and at that rate I shall be able the sooner to redeem it. I believe I will tell you why I want the money."

"It is best, for I shall again require your services in disposing of the money."

The lady sat down on the sofa beside Frank, and told him the story which follows:—

"I have two children," she said, "a daughter and a son. The son has recently graduated from college, and is now travelling in Europe. My daughter is now twenty-six years of age. She was beautiful, and our social position was such that my husband, who is a proud man, confidently anticipated that she would make a brilliant match. But at the age of nineteen Ellen fell in love with a clerk in my husband's employ. He was a young man of good appearance and character, and nothing could be said against him except that he was poor. This, however, was more than enough in Mr. Graham's eyes. When Lawrence Brent asked for the hand of our daughter, my husband drove him from the house with insult, and immediately discharged him from his employ. Ellen was high-spirited, and resented this treatment of the man she loved. He soon obtained a place quite as good as the one he had lost, and one day Ellen left the house and married him. She wrote to us, excusing her action, and I would gladly have forgiven her; but her father was obdurate. He forbade my mentioning her name to him, and from that day to this he has never referred to her.

"I am now coming to the business in which you are to help me. For years my son-in-law was able to support his wife comfortably, and also the two children which in time came to them. But, a year since, he became sick, and his sickness lasted till he had spent all his savings. Now he and his poor family are living in wretched lodgings, and are in need of the common necessaries of life. It is for them I intend the money which I can secure upon this ring."

"I shall be still more glad to help you," he said, "now that I know how the money is to be used."

"Thank you," said the lady. "You are a good boy, and I see that I can trust you implicitly."

"I shall take the best care of it," said Frank. "Where would you advise me to go first?"

"I hardly know. If I wished to sell it I would carry it to Tiffany; but it was purchased there, and it might in that case come to my husband's ears. There is a pawnbroker, named Simpson, who, I hear, is one of the best of his class. You may go there first."

"I suppose I shall have to give some name," said Frank, "in order that the ticket may be made out."

"No; my husband might be at home, and it would arouse his suspicions. At twelve o'clock I will meet you at Madison Park, at the corner opposite the Union League Club House. You can then report to me your success."

He went at once to the pawnbroker mentioned by Mrs. Graham. But for his uniform he would have been questioned closely as to how he came by the ring; but telegraph boys are so often employed on similar errands that the pawnbroker showed no surprise. After a careful examination he agreed to advance two hundred dollars, and gave Frank the money and the ticket. When Frank gave his own name, he said, "That is your name, is it not?"

"Have you got the money?" asked Mrs. Graham, anxiously, as Frank made his appearance.

"That is well. Now I shall be able to relieve my poor daughter. I cannot bear to think of her and her poor children suffering for the lack of bread, while I am living in luxury. I wish Mr. Graham was not so unforgiving."

Mrs. Graham drew out a card, on which she had pencilled her daughter's address. It proved to be a tenement-house on the east side of the city, not far from Fourteenth street.

"I wish I could go myself," said Mrs. Graham, sadly; "but I do not dare to do so at present. Give Ellen this money, with my best love; and say to her that a month hence I will again send her the same sum. Tell her to keep up good courage. Brighter days may be in store."

The errand was to his taste; for he was about to carry help and comfort to those who needed both.

CHAPTER XIX.

A MESSENGER OF GOOD TIDINGS.

There stands a large tenement-house on East Fourteenth street, five stories in height, and with several entrances. Scores of barefooted and scantily attired children play in the halls or on the sidewalk in front, and the great building is a human hive, holding scores of families. Some of them, unaccustomed to live better, are tolerably content with their squalid and contracted accommodations; but a few, reduced by gradual steps from respectability and comfort, find their positions very hard to bear.

On the third floor three small rooms were occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Morgan, and their two children. She was the daughter of Mrs. Graham, and had been reared in affluence. How she had incurred her father's displeasure has already been told. He had been taken sick some months before, his little stock of money had melted away, and now he was unable even to pay the small expenses of life in a tenement-house.

Just before Frank made his appearance there was sadness in the little household.

"If you don't, I don't know what will become of us all. We shall be thrust into the street. Even this squalid home will be taken from us."

"Isn't there enough to make me despondent, Ellen? I can see now that I did very wrong to marry you."

"How different a position you would have occupied if I had not dragged you down! You would still be living in luxury."

"More trust, perhaps. Do you know, Robert, I think we are on the eve of good fortune?"

Thinking that it might be some humble neighbor, on a borrowing expedition, Mrs. Morgan opened the door. Before her stood our hero in his uniform.

"From my mother? Robert, do you hear that?" said the poor woman, in a voice of gladness. "Here is a messenger from my mother. Didn't I tell you there was good luck in store for us?"

Mr. Morgan did not answer. He waited anxiously to hear what Frank had to communicate.

"Your mother sends you her love, and fifty dollars," continued Frank. "She hopes to call soon herself."

"A month hence you may expect a similar sum," said Frank. "I suppose I shall bring it. Shall I find you here?"

"No," said he. "Let us get out of this neighborhood as soon as possible. Can't you find a respectable place to-day?"

"Yes," said his wife. "I shall be glad to move. I saw some neat rooms on West Twentieth street on Monday. They will cost us but little more, and will suit us better."

"Then you may send it under cover to me, and I will see that she gets it privately," said Frank, who had received instructions to that effect from Mrs. Graham.

When Frank had left the room the little household seemed quite transformed. Hope had entered, and all looked more cheerful.

"We are provided for, for two months, Robert," said his wife. "Is not that a piece of good luck?"

"Yes, indeed it is," he answered heartily. "Before that time I can get to work again, and with health and employment I shall not need to ask favors of any one."

"Your father is a hard man. He will never forgive you for marrying a poor man. He would punish you by starvation."

"He is very proud," said Mrs. Morgan. "I was an only daughter, you know, and he had set his heart upon my making a brilliant marriage."

"As I did not care to do. I preferred to make a happy marriage with the man of my choice."

In the afternoon Mrs. Morgan went out, taking one of her children with her. She went to the rooms on West Twentieth street, and, finding them still vacant, secured them, paying a month's rent in advance, as her mother's timely gift enabled her to do. Before the next evening they were installed in their new home, and Mrs. Morgan sent a note to her mother, under cover to Frank, apprising her of the removal.

Two days later Frank received a summons to the house on Madison avenue. He obeyed, thinking he should probably be sent with some message to Mrs. Morgan.

"My husband has been stricken with paralysis," she said. "It is terribly sudden. He went out yesterday, apparently in vigorous health. He was brought home pale and helpless."

"Yes; you can go at once to my daughter, and summon her to her father's bedside."

Frank was surprised, remembering how obdurate Mrs. Graham had described her husband to be.

"You look surprised," she said; "but sickness often produces a great change in us. My husband's pride has given way. His affection has returned; and it is at his request that I send for Ellen."

Frank had come to feel a personal interest in the family, and he gladly set out for the modest home in West Twentieth street. He felt that it was pleasant to be a messenger of reconciliation.

"It has come at last,—the time I have looked forward to for so long," said Ellen Morgan, clasping her hands. "Robert, do you feel equal to looking after the children while I am gone?"

"Yes, Ellen. Go at once. God grant that your father's heart may be softened, for your sake. For myself I am content to live in poverty; but I don't like to see you suffer."

On reaching her father's chamber she was shocked by his changed appearance; but her heart was gladdened by the wan smile that lighted up his face, assuring her that she was welcome. From the doctor she received the assurance that her father was in no immediate danger. Indeed, he expressed a confident hope that Mr. Graham would rally from his present attack, and be able to go about his business again, though caution would be required against undue excitement or fatigue.

The doctor's prediction was verified. Mr. Graham recovered; but his old pride and obduracy did not come back. He became reconciled to his son-in-law, and provided him a well-paid position in his own mercantile establishment, and provided rooms in the Madison-avenue mansion for the little family whom Frank had first visited in the squalid tenement-house in Fourteenth street, and the glad voices of children made the house no longer lonely.

"You must call and see us often," said Ellen Morgan to our hero. "I shall always remember you as the messenger who brought us good tidings at the darkest hour in our fortunes. We shall always welcome you as a friend."

CHAPTER XX.

A NEW JOB, AND A LETTER FROM HOME.

One morning an elderly gentleman entered the office in which Frank was employed, and sought an interview with the superintendent.

"I want a smart boy for detective work," he said. "Have you one you can recommend?"

The superintendent cast his eyes over the line of boys, and called Frank. Our hero's recognition of the disguised counterfeiter by his ring had given him a reputation for shrewdness.

"I think this boy will suit you," he said. "Do you wish him to go with you now?"

He was not long in exchanging his uniform for the neat suit given him by Mr. Bowen. Thus attired, he presented himself in Mr. Hartley's counting-room. The merchant surveyed him with approval.

The Merchant Surveyed with Approval.

"You will enter my service as errand-boy," he said. "You will be sent to the post-office, the bank, and on similar errands, in order not to excite suspicion of the real object of your presence. Keep your eyes open, and I will take an opportunity of explaining to you later what I wish you to do."

"Mr. Haynes," said the merchant, calling a thin, sallow young man, "I have engaged this boy as an errand-boy. Has any one been to the post-office this morning?"

"I had already mentioned my nephew to him. I am surprised he said nothing to me about engaging a boy."

Frank said nothing, feeling no particular interest in the matter. As he was only filling temporarily the position of errand boy, it made little difference to him whether he was acceptable to Mr. Haynes or not.

In the course of the day Mr. Hartley handed Frank a card, containing the street and number of his residence, with a pencilled invitation to call that evening.

Seated alone with the merchant in his back parlor, the latter said, "I have invited you here because I could not speak with you freely at the store. How do you like Mr. Haynes?"

"There is no good reason that I know of," said Frank; "but I think his manner is disagreeable."

"Our instincts are often to be trusted," said the merchant, thoughtfully. "I confess that I myself don't like Haynes, nor do I feel implicit confidence in him, though he has been eight years in the service of our house. He is outwardly very circumspect, and apparently very faithful, but there is something in his eye which I don't like."

Frank had noticed this, but Mr. Hartley's remark called fresh attention to its furtive, crafty expression.

Frank's curiosity was aroused, naturally enough. He wondered what Mr. Haynes had to do with his mission. He did not have long to wait for information.

"I will come to the point," said Mr. Hartley, after a pause. "I am an importing merchant, and deal, among other articles, in silks. During the last year I have discovered that some one is systematically robbing me, and that parts of my stock have been spirited away. The loss I have sustained is already considerable, and unless the leakage is put a stop to, I may as well give up business. You can now guess why I have engaged you. No one will suspect an errand boy of being a detective, while a man would very probably excite distrust, and put the rogue on his guard."

"It must be some one in my employ," he said. "The man who, more than any other, has facilities for robbing me is the man of whom I have spoken to you."

"Yes, Mr. Haynes. He holds an important position, and enjoys special privileges. On the other hand, so far as I can learn, he lives in a sober, inexpensive way, quite within his salary, which is liberal. He is prominently connected with an up-town church, and it seems very improbable that he would be guilty of robbery, or breach of trust; yet there have been such cases before. At any rate, I cannot wholly divest myself of suspicion."

"To watch Mr. Haynes carefully, both in and out of the store, to ascertain whether he has any unexplained expenses, or any questionable companions. I want to know how he spends his time out of the office. It may be that the result of my investigation will be to his credit. It may be that he is all that he seems,—a reputable member of the church and of society, with nothing against him but an unpleasant manner. Should this be the case, I shall be glad to correct my suspicions, and give him back my confidence. In that case, we must look elsewhere for the rogue who is robbing me."

"No, only to follow Haynes, and find out all you can about him. Use great care in doing it, not to arouse his or any one else's suspicion. I will find an opportunity for you to make your reports."

When Frank got home, he found a letter awaiting him from his country home. It was in answer to one which he had written to his uncle, Deacon Pelatiah Kavanagh, in reference to a trunk which had belonged to his father.

My dear Nephew,—I am glad to learn that you are making a living in the city. It is much better that you should earn your own living than to be a burden upon me, though of course I would not see you suffer. But a man's duty is to his own household, and my income from the farm is very small, and Hannah and I agreed that we had little to spare for others.

There is an old trunk, belonging to your deceased father, in the attic. It contains some old clothes, which may be made over for you, and so save you expense. I would use them myself, and allow you for them, but your father was a much smaller man than I, and his clothes would not fit me. I will send the trunk by express to the address which you gave me. Of course I shall expect you to pay the express, as I have no interest in it, or its contents.

Your cousin Jonathan has left school, and is working on the farm. I feel so glad that he has no extravagant tastes, but inherits the careful and economical habits of his mother and myself. I am sure he will never waste or squander the little property which I hope to leave him.

"I don't believe he will," thought Frank, "for he is about as mean as his mother, and that is saying a good deal."

Reading this letter, it would hardly be supposed that the writer owned ten thousand dollars in stocks, bonds, and mortgages, over and above an excellent farm. Such, however, was the worldly position of the man who sent Frank to the city in quest of a living, because he could not afford to provide for him. With some men prudence is a virtue; with Deacon Pelatiah Kavanagh it was carried so far as to be a positive defect.

CHAPTER XXI.

FRANK'S FIRST DISCOVERY.

So far as Frank could observe, Mr. Haynes was an active, energetic salesman. He appeared to understand his duties thoroughly, and to go about them in a straightforward manner. So far as his personal habits were concerned, they seemed irreproachable. He was neatly but plainly dressed, wore no jewelry, and carried a plain silver watch, which, when new, probably did not cost over twenty dollars.

Frank had no difficulty in ascertaining where he lived. It was in a brick house, on Waverley place, very unpretentious and certainly not fashionable. In order to find out how much he paid for his accommodations Frank visited the house on pretence of being in search of board.

"We have a hall bed-room on the third floor, at five dollars a week, including board," said the landlady. "How would that suit you?"

"I may have a friend board with me," said Frank. "In that case we should need a large room. Have you any vacant?"

"There is the front room on the third floor. We would let it to two gentlemen at eleven dollars for the two."

"Oh, dear, no. He has been with us for several years. We should be sorry to lose him. Last Christmas he gave my daughter a present of a nice silk-dress pattern."

"I don't believe he paid anything for the silk," thought he. "I wish I could find out."

"His expenses seem very moderate for a man in his position," thought Frank. "I wonder if he makes any investments."

Fortune favored our hero in the prosecution of his inquiry. Keeping Haynes in sight, as was his custom, he observed that the latter, in pulling out a handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his coat, had brought with it a letter also. Frank, quickly and unobserved, picked it up, and when he was alone looked at the address. It was directed to James Haynes, at his residence in Waverley place. On the envelope was the printed address of a real-estate broker in Brooklyn.

Frank knew that there was at that time considerable speculation in Brooklyn real estate, and he examined the letter. It ran thus:—

Our hero was elated by the discovery he had made, and he sought an interview with Mr. Hartley.

"Have you discovered anything?" asked the merchant, noticing the eager look of his young detective.

Without attaching especial importance to the fact, Frank answered, "I have found out that Mr. Haynes owns a house in Brooklyn."

"Indeed!" said Hartley, quickly. "But," he continued more slowly, "he might buy one with the money saved from his salary."

"I would rather not tell you," said Frank, who was not quite sure whether Mr. Hartley would sanction his examination of a private letter. "You may be sure that it is true."

"Very well; I will rest contented with that assurance. I will leave you to work in your own way. Your information is important, for it seems to show that Mr. Haynes has made investments beyond his ability, if he were dependent upon his savings alone."

"That is what I thought," said Frank. "I must try to find out where he gets this extra money."

"If you do that, and prove my suspicions correct, I will make you a handsome present, besides paying the company regular rates for your services."

CHAPTER XXII.

FOLLOWING UP A CLUE.

This is not a detective story, and I shall not, therefore, detail the steps by which our young hero succeeded in tracing out the agency of Haynes in defrauding the firm by which he was employed. It required not one week, but three, to follow out his clues, and qualify himself to make a clear and intelligible report to Mr. Hartley. He had expressly requested the merchant not to require any partial report, as it might interfere with his working unobserved. Towards the end of the third week he asked an interview with Mr. Hartley.

"You speak confidently," said his employer; "but surmise will not do. I want proof, or I cannot act."

"I will tell you what I have discovered," said Frank; "and I leave you to judge for yourself."

"Yes; and a very good customer. He is frequent in his orders, and makes prompt payments. I wish I had more like him."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Hartley, in genuine surprise. "How can a customer who buys largely, and pays promptly, be undesirable?"

"No; but even if he is I have to thank Mr. Haynes for securing me so excellent a customer."

Hartley spoke confidently, evidently believing that Frank was on the wrong tack.

"I have noticed," said Frank, "that when goods are packed to go to Mr. Davis, Mr. Haynes personally superintends the packing, and employs one particular man to pack."

"I don't understand what he can have to conceal. If Davis is his brother-in-law, it is natural that he should feel a special interest in filling his orders."

"I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Haynes were a partner as well as a brother-in-law of Mr. Davis."

"That may be true; though I don't know why you should conjecture it. Admitting that you are right, I don't know that I have any right to object. I should like it better, however, if I were frankly told by Mr. Haynes of this circumstance."

"I will tell you what I think I have discovered," continued Frank. "The cases that are shipped to Mr. Davis not only contain the goods he has ordered, but valuable silks that he has not ordered, and does not propose to pay for."

"I see, I see," exclaimed Mr. Hartley, a light dawning upon him for the first time. "I was stupid not to comprehend your meaning earlier. What warrant have you for suspecting this?"

"First, your steady losses of goods; next, the ease with which Mr. Haynes, in his position of trust, could carry out this plan. Why should he superintend the packing of Mr. Davis's goods, alone of all your customers?"

"There is weight in what you say, Frank. You are certainly an extraordinary boy. You have shown so much shrewdness that I now ask your advice. What steps shall I take to ascertain whether Mr. Haynes is really guilty of what we suspect him?"

"There is an order now being filled for Mr. Davis," answered Frank. "When the order is filled, can't you open the case, and find out whether the contents correspond exactly to the bill?"

"The very thing. To facilitate matters I will send Mr. Haynes to Brooklyn on a confidential errand. Fortunately there is a matter that will give me a good excuse for doing so. Go back to your post, and when Mr. Haynes appears to be at liberty send him to me."

"You sent for me, sir?" he said, a little uneasily; for, when conscience accuses, the mind is always apprehensive.

"Yes, Mr. Haynes," said the merchant, in his usual tone. "Have you any objection to go to Brooklyn for me, on a confidential errand?"

"None in the world, sir," said Haynes, relieved. "I shall be glad to take the trip this fine morning. It is almost too pleasant to remain in-doors."

"Thank you; I will give you your instructions, and shall be glad to have you go at once."

It is not necessary to our story that we should know the nature of the errand on which Haynes was sent. It served the purpose of getting him out of the way.

When the suspected clerk was fairly on his way Mr. Hartley went to the packing-room, and looked about him till he discovered the case addressed to

"Open this case," said he to one of the workmen. "There was a mistake recently in sending some goods to Davis, and I wish to compare these with the bill."

"I think they are all right, sir," said the man addressed. "Mr. Haynes saw them packed."

"Mr. Haynes will not be responsible for any mistake," said Mr. Hartley. "I would rather see for myself."

The case was opened, and the merchant discovered about two hundred dollars' worth of silk, which was not included in the bill.

Mr. Hunting filled one of the most important positions in the establishment. To him his employer explained the nature of his discovery.

"Mr. Hunting," he said, "I wish you to see and attest the fraud that has been attempted upon me. This case was packed under the special charge of Mr. Haynes."

"For several years, I suspect. Mr. Haynes has, no doubt, found it very profitable."

CHAPTER XXIII.

BROUGHT TO BAY.

Mr. Haynes had a private reason for accepting readily the commission to visit Brooklyn. It occurred to him at once that it would give him an excellent chance to call on his real-estate agent, and confer with him upon future investments. For James Haynes had the comfortable consciousness that he was a prosperous man. Month by month, and year by year, he was adding largely to his gains, and while he was still a young man he would be rich, if all went well.

Of course this meant if his peculations remained undiscovered. Why should they not be? He plumed himself on the skill with which he managed to rob his employer. He was no vulgar bungler to break into the store, or enter into an alliance with burglars. Not he! The property he took was carried off openly before Mr. Hartley's very eyes, and he knew nothing of it. He did not even suspect that he was being robbed. This is what Mr. Haynes thought; but, as we know, he was mistaken. Even now he was in a net; but did not know it.

After attending to Mr. Hartley's commission Haynes went to see his broker. The conversation he had with the broker was of a very encouraging character. He was congratulated upon his investments, and assured that they would pay him handsomely.

"A year or two more of life as a clerk, and I will throw off the yoke," he said to himself. "I must be worth at least fifteen thousand dollars now, apart from any rise in the value of my investments. When I reach twenty-five thousand I will resign my position, and go to Europe. I shall than possess an income adequate to my simple wants."

Here Haynes made his report. Mr. Hartley listened with an abstracted air, for his thoughts were upon the defalcation of the man before him.

Finishing his statement, James Haynes turned to leave the office, but his employer called him back.

"Wait a minute, Mr. Haynes," he said, gravely. "I wish to ask you one or two questions."

"I believe we have transactions with a party in Hartford, with the firm-name of H. L. Davis & Co.?"

"Yes, sir. I wonder where he heard that?" Haynes asked himself. "Is there any trouble? Is he behind in his payments?" inquired the clerk.

"I insisted on that," said Haynes, in a satisfied tone. "I didn't want you to lose by any connection of mine."

"And you are quite sure that I have lost nothing by Mr. Davis?" demanded the merchant, regarding Haynes intently.

"You have personally seen to the packing of Mr. Davis's goods, I believe, Mr. Haynes?"

"After you started for Brooklyn, I had the case opened, and found some patterns of silk not included in the bill."

"Mr. Haynes," said his employer, sternly, "you may as well drop the mask of innocence. I have been robbed systematically for the last three years, and I now understand how it was done. You and Davis, between you, have plundered me in an exceedingly ingenious manner. It will go hard with you before a jury."

"You won't have me arrested!" exclaimed Haynes, his pallor indicating his dismay.

"I—though I do not admit that your charge is correct—I am willing to make over to you the greater part of my property, to avoid the scandal of a trial."

"That will not do, Mr. Haynes. Were I to accept this upon such a ground, you could rightfully bring against me a charge of blackmail."

"You must write out a confession of your guilt, which I shall put among my private papers, and not make public unless necessary, and in addition you must make over to me property to the amount of ten thousand dollars. It will not make up my losses, but I will accept it as restitution in full."

Against this James Haynes most strongly protested, alleging that the sum demanded was far beyond the amount of his purloinings; but finally he yielded, being privately resolved to make his brother-in-law pay one-half of the forfeiture.

"You will leave my service at the end of the week, Mr. Haynes," said his employer, "and during next week you must attend to the transfer."

"How did he find out?" said Haynes to himself, as with grave face he went about the duties of the place he was so soon to leave. "If I could find out, I would have my revenge."

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN OPEN ENEMY.

Frank remained with Mr. Hartley till the guilty clerk left the establishment. This was at the special request of the merchant, who did not care to let Mr. Haynes suspect who had been instrumental in bringing his guilt to light.

"I suppose you have no further use for me, now, Mr. Hartley?" said the telegraph boy.

"I want to make you a present, in addition to the wages which you receive from the office," said Mr. Hartley.

Mr. Hartley drew from his desk a five-twenty government bond, of one hundred dollars, and handed it to our hero.

"Do you mean all this for me?" asked Frank, quite overwhelmed by the magnitude of the gift.

"It is not more than you deserve. I might have given you the money value of the bond; but I give it to you in this shape, because I hope you will keep it as an investment. It will yield you six dollars interest annually in gold. I hope the time will come when you will have more interest in the same way."

"You are richer in the qualities which have won you this acknowledgment. How do you like the telegraph service?"

"Yes, sir; I would like to be in some mercantile business, where I might work my way up. In a few years I shall be too old for a telegraph boy, and then I shall be out of place."

"I will relieve your fears on that score. In six months I shall make some changes in the list of employees. When that time comes I will find a place for you."

"There is nothing I should like better, sir," said Frank, his face flushing with pleasure.

"I am satisfied that you will make a useful and intelligent clerk. Until I want you, remain where you are. The discipline of your present office will do you no harm, but will help qualify you for usefulness and success in the mercantile career."

"Thank you, sir. Now I have something to look forward to I shall work much more cheerfully."

Frank went back to the office, and resumed his ordinary duties. One day he was riding down Broadway in a stage, when he became sensible that he had attracted the attention of a gentleman sitting opposite. This led him to scan the face of the man who was observing him. He at once recognized Mr. Haynes.

The stage was not full, and the latter came over, and took a seat next to the telegraph boy.

"Because he had no further occasion for my services. Why did you leave him?" asked Frank, in turn.

Our hero thought that he had answered questions enough by this time, and signified as much to his questioner.

"Then you can ask Mr. Hartley, or the superintendent of my office. Good-morning, sir, I get out here."

Frank pulled the strap, and got out. But he was not rid of his questioner. Haynes got out too, and walked beside our hero.

"There was a difficulty between Mr. Hartley and myself, occasioned by a base and groundless charge, concocted by some enemy. I believe that you had something to do with this."

"I must refer you to Mr. Hartley for information," said Frank. "I have an errand in here;" and he entered a store in the lower part of Broadway.

"That boy was a spy upon me. I have learned all I cared to. I owe you a debt of gratitude for this, Frank Kavanagh, and mean to pay the debt."

When Frank came out he thought it possible that Haynes might be waiting for him; but the disgraced clerk was gone.

"I suppose he would injure me if he had a chance," thought the telegraph boy. "I won't give him the chance if I can help it."

CHAPTER XXV.

WHAT THE OLD TRUNK CONTAINED.

Mention has been made of an old trunk belonging to Frank's father, which, had been forwarded to him from the country by his Uncle Pelatiah. It may be mentioned here that our hero's father had been agent of a woollen mill in a large manufacturing town. For a considerable number of years he had been in receipt of a handsome salary, and had lived in good style, but still within his income. He was naturally supposed to possess a comfortable property.

His death was sudden. He was thrown from a carriage, and, striking his head upon the curbstone, was picked up senseless, and died unconscious. Upon examining into his affairs his administrator was unable to find any property beyond what was needed to pay the few debts he left behind him. So it came about that Frank was left a penniless orphan. His Uncle Pelatiah was his nearest relative, and to him he was sent. Pelatiah Kavanagh was not a bad man, nor was he intentionally unkind; but he was very close. All his life he had denied himself, to save money; and in this he had been ably assisted by his wife, who was even closer and meaner than her husband. It may readily be supposed that it was very disagreeable to both husband and wife to have a penniless nephew thrown upon their care and protection.

"How could your brother be so thoughtless and inconsiderate as to use up all his money, and leave his son destitute? Didn't he have a handsome income?"

"You don't say so!" ejaculated his wife. "He'd ought to have saved two-thirds of it. I declare it's scandalous for a man to waste his substance in that way."

"My brother was allus free with his money. He wasn't so keerful as you and I be."

"I should think not, indeed. We don't begin to spend half as much as he did, and now he comes upon us to support his child."

"Right? It's outrageous!" exclaimed Mrs. Kavanagh, energetically. "I declare I have no patience with such a man. It would only be right to send this boy Frank to the poor-house."

"The neighbors would talk," protested Pelatiah, who was half inclined to accept his wife's view, but was more sensitive to the criticism of the community in which he lived.

"Let 'em talk!" said his more independent helpmate. "It isn't right that this boy should use up the property that we have scraped together for his cousin Jonathan."

"We must keep him for a while, Hannah; but I'll get rid of him as soon I can consistently."

With this Mrs. Kavanagh had to be satisfied; but, during her nephew's stay of two months in the farm-house, she contrived to make him uncomfortable by harsh criticisms of his dead father, whom he had tenderly loved.

"You must have lived very extravagant," she said, "or your father would have left a handsome property."

"Oh, of course!" sneered his aunt. "You must be brought up as a young gentleman. Our Jonathan never had any such chances, and now you're livin' on him, or about the same. I suppose you kept an extravagant table too. What did you generally have for breakfast?"

So Aunt Hannah continued her catechising, much to Frank's discomfort. She commented severely upon the wastefulness of always having pastry for dinner.

"We can't afford it," she said, emphatically; "but then again we don't mean to have our Jonathan beholden to anybody in case your uncle and I are cast off sudden. What did you have for dinner on Sunday?"

"Ice-cream!" ejaculated Aunt Hannah, holding up both hands. "No wonder your father didn't leave nothin'. Why, we don't have ice-cream more'n once a year, and now we can't afford to have it at all, since we've got another mouth to feed."

"I am sorry that you have to stint yourself on my account," replied Frank, feeling rather uncomfortable.

"I suppose it's our cross," said Mrs. Kavanagh, gloomily; "but it does seem hard that we can't profit by our prudence because of your father's wasteful extravagance."

Such remarks were very disagreeable to our young hero, and it was hard for him to hear his father so criticised. He supposed they must have lived extravagantly, since it was so constantly charged by those about him, and he felt puzzled to account for his father's leaving nothing. When, after two months, his uncle and aunt, who had deliberated upon what was best to be done, proposed to him to go to New York and try to earn his own living, he caught at the idea. He knew that he might suffer hardships in the new life that awaited him, but if he could support himself in any way he would escape from the cruel taunts to which he was now forced to listen every day. How he reached the city, and how he succeeded, my readers know. We now come to the trunk, which, some time after its reception, Frank set about examining.

He found it was filled with clothing belonging to his father. Though a part were in good condition it seemed doubtful whether they would be of much service to him. It occurred to him to examine the pockets of the coats. In one he found a common yellow envelope, bearing his father's name. Opening it, he found, to his great astonishment, that it was a certificate of railroad stock, setting forth his father's ownership of one hundred shares of the capital stock of the said railway.

Our hero was greatly excited by his discovery. This, then, was the form in which his father had invested his savings. What the shares were worth he had no idea; but he rejoiced chiefly because now he could defend his father from the charge of recklessly spending his entire income, and saving nothing. He resolved, as soon as he could find time, to visit a Wall-street broker, by whom he had occasionally been employed, and inquire the value of the stock. Two days afterwards the opportunity came, and he availed himself of it at once.

"They are quoted to-day at one hundred and ten," answered the broker, referring to a list of the day's stock quotations.

"Do you mean that each share is worth a hundred and ten dollars?" asked Frank, in excitement.

"Rather more; for the last semi-annual dividend has not been collected. To whom do they belong?"

"Then some legal steps will be necessary before you can take possession, and dispose of them. I will give you the address of a good lawyer, and advise you to consult him at once."

Frank did so, and the lawyer wrote to Uncle Pelatiah to acquaint him with the discovery. The news created great excitement at the farm.

"Perhaps we might; but these shares are worth almost six thousand dollars. That's a good deal of money, Hannah."

"Invite Frank to come back and board with us. He can afford to pay handsome board, and it seems better that the money should go to us than a stranger."

"You'd better write and invite him to come. I allus liked the boy, and if we could have afforded it, I'd have been in favor of keepin' him for nothing."

"So would I," said his uncle; and he probably believed it, though after what had happened it will be rather difficult for the reader to credit it.

The letter was written, but Frank had no desire to return to the old farm, and the society of his uncle's family.

"I have got used to the city," he wrote, "and have made a good many friends here. I don't know yet whether I shall take a business position, or go to school; but, if the latter, the schools here are better than in the country. I hope to come and see you before long; but, I would prefer to live in New York."

"He's gettin' uppish," said Aunt Hannah, who was considerably disappointed, for she had made up her mind just how much they could venture to charge for board, and how this would increase their annual savings.

"If the boy has a chance to handle his money there won't be much of it left by the time he's twenty-one," said Aunt Hannah. "You ought to be his guardian."

"He has the right to choose his own guardian," said Uncle Pelatiah. "He'll take some city man likely."

Frank did, in fact, select the lawyer, having learned that he was a man of high reputation for integrity. He offered it to Mr. Bowen; but that gentleman, while congratulating his young friend upon his greatly improved prospects, said that he was a man of books rather than of business, and would prefer that some other person be selected.

"We are sorry to lose you," said the superintendent. "Your are one of our best boys. Do you wish to go at once?"

Three weeks yet remained till the close of the month. It was not long, but before the time had passed Frank found himself in a very unpleasant predicament, from no fault of his own, but in consequence of the enmity of the clerk whom he had been instrumental in displacing.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A TRAP, AND WHO FELL INTO IT.

No one rejoiced more sincerely at Frank's good luck than Mrs. Vivian. Her interest in our hero had increased, and while at first she regarded herself as his patroness she had come now to look upon him as a member of the family. Fred had already returned, and Frank, bearing in mind that he had only been invited to remain during his absence, proposed to find another home, but Mrs. Vivian would not hear of it.

"No," she said, "Fred needs a young companion, and I prefer you to any one I know of."

As Fred was of his mother's opinion, Frank readily agreed to stay. He occupied a room adjoining the one assigned to Fred, and during his hours of leisure the two were constantly together.

"I shall be glad when you leave the telegraph office," said Fred. "Then we can be together more."

Two days afterwards Frank was riding down town in a Sixth-avenue car. Until he had taken his seat he was not aware that James Haynes was a passenger. When a lady who sat between them got out, Haynes moved up, so as to sit next to our hero.

"I wonder Mr. Hartley didn't offer you a permanent position in his employ," said Haynes, with a sneer. "Spies are useful sometimes."

"Thank you," said Frank, knowing that Haynes would be provoked by his appearing to accept the compliment in good faith.

Haynes scowled, but said no more. He drew a morning paper from his pocket, and appeared to be absorbed in reading it.

At Canal street Frank rose to leave the car. He had not yet reached the door, when Haynes sprang to his feet, followed him quickly, and, grasping him by the arm, said, "Not so fast young man! Give me back my pocket-book."

"I mean that you have relieved me of my pocket-book. Gentlemen," turning to his fellow-passengers, "I demand that this boy be searched."

"You can search me if you like," said Frank. "You know very well that your accusation is false."

Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. To his dismay he drew out a Russia-leather pocket-book, of which he knew nothing.

"That is my pocket-book, gentlemen," said Haynes, triumphantly. "I can tell you exactly what is in it. You will find two five-dollar bills, a two and a one. Be kind enough to examine it, sir."

Suspicious glances were directed at poor Frank. Innocent as he was, he was so overwhelmed by the suddenness of the charge, and the apparent proof of it, that he looked confused and embarrassed.

"You are beginning early, my boy," said a tall gentleman, in a white cravat,—a clergyman. "It is well that you are checked in the beginning of a guilty career."

"Sir," said Frank, "I am as innocent as you are. This man is my enemy, and he must have put the pocket-book in my pocket. He threatened some time since to get me into a scrape."

"That story is rather too thin," said Haynes, looking around him with a sneer. "You won't find any one here quite verdant enough to believe it."

"There you are mistaken," said a gentleman who was seated directly opposite to Haynes and Frank. "I believe it."

"I really don't think it very important what you believe, sir. The boy is evidently a professional thief, and you may belong to the same gang for aught I know. I propose to give him in charge to the next policeman we meet."

"Do so," said the stranger, coolly. "I shall be present at his trial, and offer some important testimony."

"Certainly. I saw you thrust the wallet into the boy's pocket! Of that I am willing to make oath."

James Haynes turned pale. There was a sudden change in public opinion. It was he who now had become an object of suspicion.

"Young man," said the clergyman, solemnly, "what could have induced you to enter into such a wicked conspiracy against the poor boy?"

Here a policeman became visible from the car-window, leisurely walking his beat on the western sidewalk.

"There's a policeman," said Frank's new friend. "Call him, and have the boy arrested."

"He would be cleared by false testimony," said Haynes, sullenly. "I have my money back, and will let him go."

"Then," said the stranger, rising, and displaying the badge of a detective, "I shall arrest you on a charge of conspiracy."

"This is a put-up job, gentlemen," he said. "Am I to be robbed first, and arrested afterwards for exposing the thief?"

He looked about him appealingly; but in vain. Public sentiment was wholly against him now.

"O you ould villain!" said a stout Irish woman, "to try to ruin the poor b'ye. Hangin's too good for you."

This was rather an extreme sentiment; but Haynes saw that he was in peril. He gave an unexpected spring, and, reaching the platform, sprang out, running up a side street.

"I hope you will not arrest him, sir," said Frank. "He has been pretty well punished already, and I don't think he will trouble me again."

"It is fortunate for me," said the telegraph boy, "that you saw him put the money in my pocket."

"You would have experienced some inconvenience; but the story you have told me would have cleared you with the jury."

"My young friend," said the clergyman, "I owe you an apology. I too hastily assumed that you were guilty."

"It looked like it, sir. You were quite justified in what you said. Mr. Haynes did not appear to relish your remarks to him," added Frank, laughing.

"His crime was greater and meaner than the one charged upon you. To steal is certainly a grave offence,—yet sometimes it is prompted by necessity; but a deliberate attempt to fasten a false charge upon a fellow-creature is vastly more atrocious."

"So it is, sir," said the old Irish woman, nodding assent vigorously. "I quite agree wid your honor. It is owtracious."

The passengers smiled at the old woman's mistake; but it was clear that they agreed with her in sentiment.

Meanwhile the car had been speeding along, and was near its terminus. Frank bethought himself that he had been carried considerably beyond his destination.

He pulled the bell, and, as he got out, he said, "Thank you all for taking my part."

"We don't quite deserve that," said one of the passengers, after Frank had left the car. "I was at first of opinion that the boy was guilty."

"We have been saved from doing a great injustice," said the clergyman. "It should be a lesson to all of us not to be too hasty in our judgments."

James Haynes in his hurried exit from the car fully believed that he would be pursued and arrested. He was relieved to find his fears groundless. But he was disappointed at the failure of his scheme. He had carefully prepared it, and for several days he had been in readiness to carry it into execution whenever he should meet Frank. This morning had brought the opportunity; but it had miscarried.

"But for that cursed detective I would have carried the thing through," he muttered. "He spoiled all. I hate that boy!"

But, though revengeful, Haynes was prudent. He gave up the thought of injuring Frank because he saw that it would be dangerous to himself. He did not remain long in New York, but soon joined his confederate in Hartford.

CHAPTER XXVII.

FRANK BECOMES A GOOD SAMARITAN.

The close of the month came, and Frank laid aside his uniform. He was a telegraph boy no more.

"Come and see us sometimes," he said. "I wish you all success. Your services have been very satisfactory, and you have gained an excellent reputation."

He shook hands with all his young comrades, with whom he was very popular. They knew of his good fortune, and were disposed to regard him as very rich. Six thousand dollars in a boy's eyes is a fortune.

"Now you're rich, Frank, I suppose you won't notice the likes of us," said Johnny O'Connor.

"I hope you don't think as badly of me as that, Johnny," said Frank, earnestly. "I am not rich; but, even if I were, I should always be glad to meet any of you. If I am ever able to do a favor to any of you I will."

"It's bad for him," said Johnny, "for his mother and sister depended on Tom's wages. Poor Tom felt bad because he had to give up work."

"No. — East Fourteenth street," answered Johnny. "I know, because I live in the same block."

Frank's heart was not hardened by his own prosperity. He knew what it was to be poor, and could enter into the feelings of the unfortunate telegraph boy.

Half an hour found him in front of a large tenement-house, in front of which were playing children of all ages, most of them showing in their faces that unhealthy pallor which so generally marks a tenement-house population.

"Do you know Tom?" asked the girl, in some surprise; for Frank, having laid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the son of a rich man.

Up two flights of rickety stairs Frank followed the girl, who halted before a door.

"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down the stairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society do not often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little of etiquette or conventionality.

In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorly clad and care-worn woman.

"If you'll come into such a poor place, sir. We're very poor, and now that Tom's wages is stopped I don't know how we'll get along at all."

"Better than you think, perhaps, Mrs. Brady," said Frank, cheerfully. "Why, Tom, what made you get sick?"

"Is it you, Frank?" he said. "I'm glad you've come to see me. But how did you find me out?"

"Three days. It's rough on a poor boy like me. I ought to be earning money for my mother."

"We'll miss Tom's wages badly," said Mrs. Brady; "I can't earn much myself, and there's three of us to feed, let alone the rint."

"I'm sure I'm glad of his good luck, and it's a great condescension for a rich young gentleman to come and see my Tom."

"I have come into some money, but not a fortune, Mrs. Brady," said Frank; "but it does not make me any better than when I was a poor telegraph boy."

Evidently Mrs. Brady was not of this opinion, for she carefully dusted with her apron the best chair in the room, and insisted on Frank's seating himself in it.

"He says that Tom will be sick for three or four weeks, and I don't know what we'll do without his wages all that time."

"That's what troubles me," said Tom. "I wouldn't mind it so much if I'd get my pay reg'lar while I'm sick."

"Then you needn't be troubled, Tom," said Frank, promptly, "for you shall get it regularly."

"Certainly I do. I will give you a week's pay this morning, and I will call every week, and pay you the same."

"God bless you, young gentleman, for your kindness to us!" said Mrs. Brady, gratefully.

"Oh, it isn't much," said Frank; "I can spare it well enough. I have had such good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who need it."

"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, warmly. "I'll get well quick now. If you ever want anybody to fight for you, just call on Tom Brady."

"I generally do my own fighting, Tom," said Frank, laughing, "but I'll remember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend an evening with me."

"I must bid you good-by, now, Tom. Keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and don't be down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'll soon be well."

"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' in reg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."

When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big red hands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to do with his legs and arms, waiting to see him.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A COUNTRY COUSIN.

Jonathan was a loose-jointed, heavily built, and awkward boy of seventeen, bearing not the slightest resemblance to his cousin Frank. Still he was a relation, and our hero was glad to see him.

"How are you, Jonathan?" said Frank, cordially. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Are all well at home?"

"They're pooty smart," answered Jonathan. "I thought I'd come down and look round a little."

"I shall be glad to show you round. Where would you like to go?—to Central Park?"

"I don't care much about it," said the country cousin. "It's only a big pasture, dad says. I'd rather go round the streets. Is there any place where I can buy a few doughnuts? I feel kinder empty."

"I hear they're cheap,—only a cent apiece," answered Jonathan, "and I calc'late five or six will be enough to fill me up."

"I don't care if you do," he said. "I hear you've got a lot of money now, Frank."

"I've got some money in the bank," said Jonathan, "but I'd like to put in more. I never thought you'd have more money than I."

"That's because you was livin' on dad, you know," explained Jonathan. "It wasn't fair to me, because he wouldn't have so much to leave me."

In the country Frank had not found much satisfaction in the company of his cousin, who inherited the combined meanness of both parents, and appeared to grudge poor Frank every mouthful he ate; but in the sunshine of his present prosperity he was disposed to forgive and forget.

Frank led the way to a restaurant not far away, where he allowed his cousin to order an ample dinner, which he did without scruple, since he was not to pay for it.

"It costs a sight to live in the city," he said, as he looked over the bill of fare.

"I wish you'd come and board with dad. He'd take you for five dollars a week, and it will cost you more in New York."

"Now that I can I prefer to remain in the city. I mean to go to school, and get a good education."

"I can't tell what I shall have to pay. At present I am staying with friends, and pay nothing."

"Do you think they'd take me for a week the same way?" asked Jonathan, eagerly. "I'd like to stay a week first-rate if it didn't cost nothing."

"I shouldn't like to ask them; but some time I will invite you to come and pay me a visit of a week; it shall not cost you anything."

"You're a real good feller, Frank," said Jonathan, highly pleased by the invitation. "I'll come any time you send for me. It's pretty high payin' on the railroad, but I guess I can come."

Frank understood the hint, but did not feel called upon to pay his cousin's railway fare in addition to his week's board.

"What do you think of that?" asked Jonathan, presently, displaying a huge ring on one of his red fingers.

"No; I'll tell you how it was. I was goin' along the street, when I saw a well-dressed feller, who looked kinder anxious. He come up to me, and he said, 'Do you know any one who wants to buy a splendid gold ring cheap?' Then he told me he needed some money right off to buy vittles for his family, bein' out of work for a month. He said the ring cost him fifteen dollars, and he'd sell it for three. I wasn't goin' to pay no such price, and I finally beat him down to a dollar," said Jonathan, chuckling. "I guess that's doing pretty well for one day. He said any jeweller would pay me six or seven dollars for it."

"Then why didn't he sell it to a jeweller him self, instead of giving it to you for a dollar?"

They entered the store, and Frank, calling attention to the ring, inquired its probable value.

"It might be worth about three cents," said the jeweller, laughing. "I hope you didn't give much more for it."

"I'd like to give him a lickin'," said Jonathan, wrathfully, as they left the store.

"I wouldn't do that. Maybe I can sell it up in the country," he said, his face brightening up.

"No, it wouldn't. I have a right to ask as much as I gave. It's real handsome if it is brass."

Jonathan dropped the subject, but eventually he sold the ring at home for a dollar and a quarter.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CONCLUSION.

After he had accompanied his cousin to the depot, where he took the cars for home, Frank met Victor Dupont, on Madison avenue.

"I am much obliged to you for your interest in my affairs, Victor; I don't mean to go to work at all at present,—I am going to school."

"Some thousands of dollars,—enough to support me while I am getting an education."

"You are awfully lucky," said Victor, evidently annoyed. "Are you going to live with the Vivians?"

It so happened that Frank entered himself as a scholar at the school where Victor was a student, and was put in the same class. Frank at once took a higher place, and in time graduated with the highest honors, while Victor came out nearly at the foot.

Frank did remain with the Vivians; they would not hear of his leaving them, nor would they permit him to pay any board.

"You are a companion for Fred," said Mrs. Vivian, "and you exert a good influence over him. Having your company, he does not wish to seek society outside. You must let me look upon you as one of my boys, and accept a home with us."

Against this, Frank could urge no objection. He was offered a home far more attractive than a boarding-house, which his presence made more social and attractive. Having no board to provide for, the income of his little property was abundant to supply his other wants, and, when he left school, it was unimpaired.

It was a serious question with our hero whether he would continue his studies through a collegiate course. He finally decided in the negative, and accepted a good position in the mercantile establishment of Mr. Hartley. Here he displayed such intelligence and aptitude for business that he rose rapidly, and in time acquired an interest in the firm, and will in time obtain a junior partnership. It must not be supposed that all this came without hard work. It had always been Frank's custom to discharge to the utmost of his ability the duties of any position in which he was placed. To this special trait of our hero, most of his success was owing.

Our hero had the satisfaction of giving a place to his companion in the telegraph office, Tom Brady, who was in time able to earn such a salary as raised his mother and sister above want. Frank did not forget his old street comrade, Dick Rafferty, but gave him a position as porter, Dick's education not being sufficient to qualify him for a clerkship. He even sought out old Mills, the blind man, to whom he had small reason to feel grateful; but found that the old man had suddenly died, leaving behind him, to the surprise of every one who knew him, several hundred dollars in gold and silver, which were claimed by a sister of the deceased, to whom they were most acceptable.

Here end the experiences of the Telegraph Boy. He has been favored above most of his class; but the qualities which helped him achieve success are within the reach of all. Among the busy little messengers who flit about the city, in all directions, there are some, no doubt, who will in years to come command a success and prosperity as great as our hero has attained. In a republic like our own, the boy who begins at the bottom of the ladder may in time reach the highest round.

FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold.—"Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls."

A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.—From "Writing Stories for Boys," by Horatio Alger, Jr.

RAGGED DICK SERIES.

TATTERED TOM SERIES.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. Second Series.

CAMPAIGN SERIES.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. First Series.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. Second Series.

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.

PACIFIC SERIES.

ATLANTIC SERIES.

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES.

NEW WORLD SERIES.

VICTORY SERIES.

FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES.

GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY.

HOW TO RISE LIBRARY.

THE JOHN C WINSTON COS POPULAR JUVENILES

HARRY CASTLEMON BOOKS

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writing one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent to the New York Weekly, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work—the other boys had been out skating on the brick-pond—I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete.—Harry Castlemon in the Writer.

GUNBOAT SERIES.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.

SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.

FRANK NELSON SERIES.

ROUGHING IT SERIES.

ROD AND GUN SERIES.

GO-AHEAD SERIES.

WAR SERIES.

HOUSEBOAT SERIES.

AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES.

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of the great body of humanity.

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late Our Young Folks, and continued in the first volume of St. Nicholas, under the title of "Fast Friends," is no doubt destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, "Step Hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his lesson in school.

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to do.—Scribner's Monthly.

JACK HAZARD SERIES.

CHARLES ASBURY STEPHENS.

This author wrote his "Camping Out Series" at the very height of his mental and physical powers.

CAMPING OUT SERIES.

Left on Labrador; Or, the Cruise of the Schooner Yacht "Curlew." As Recorded by "Wash."

FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILES FOR GIRLS

One often hears the above quoted. These books have stood the tests of time and careful mothers, and will be of the greatest interest to girls of all ages. Free from any unhealthy sensationalism, yet full of incident and romance, they are the cream of the best girls' books published.

WAYS AND MEANS LIBRARY. By Margaret Vandegrift.

STORIES FOR GIRLS.

HONEST ENDEAVOR LIBRARY. By Lucy C. Lillie.

MILBROOK LIBRARY. By Lucy C. Lillie.

RECENT SUCCESSES

The following, though of recent date, have at once reached such a height of popularity that they can already be classified as standards.

HURLBUT'S STORY OF THE BIBLE told for YOUNG AND OLD

by Rev. Jesse Lyman Hurlbut, D.D.

A Veritable "Arabian Nights" of Entertainment Containing 168 Complete Illustrated Stories

THE BIBLE MADE FASCINATING TO CHILDREN.—The heroes and the noble men and women of the Bible are made to appear as living, acting people. The book is an original work, and in no sense an imitation. It has been in preparation for a number of years.

THE DISTINGUISHED AUTHOR.—Dr. Hurlbut has long been associated with, and director of, the Sunday School work of one of the largest denominations, and he has been more closely associated with the detail work of the Chautauqua movement than has any other man. He is also well known as a writer.

REMARKABLE FOR THE BEAUTY AND NUMBER OF ITS ILLUSTRATIONS.—There are sixteen pictures in color prepared for this work by the distinguished artist, W. H. Margetson, and reproduced with the beauty and attractiveness of the artist's original work. There are also nearly 300 half-tone engravings in this remarkable book, which is as original in the selection of its illustrations as it is in its stories.

"It is a needed and original work. Not an imitation."—Christian Advocate, New York.

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"It is a beautiful book. I hope every family in the land will secure 'Hurlbut's Story of the Bible,'"—General O. O. Howard.

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