The Telegraph Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.Читать онлайн книгу.
well, he'll save it for you."
"I don't know about that. Some visitor may carry it away."
"Never mind, Mr. Bowen. You are rich enough to afford a new one."
"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."
"If you value it so much, sir, suppose we turn round and go back for it."
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.
"Who are you, my boy?" asked Mr. Thompson.
"I am a poor boy, in want of work," answered our hero promptly.
"What is your name?"
"Frank Kavanagh."
"Where do you live?"
"I am trying to live in the city, sir."
"What have you been doing?"
"Leading a blind man, sir."
"Not a very pleasant employment, I should judge," said Thompson, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, have you lost that job?"
"Yes, sir."
"So the blind man turned you off, did he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your services were unsatisfactory, I suppose?"
"He wanted me to pass counterfeit money for him, and I refused."
"If that is true, it is to your credit."
"It is true, sir," said Frank, quietly.
"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."
"Thank you, sir."
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.
"All right, sir."
"Stop a moment, my boy. Have you got money to ride?"
"No, sir."
"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.
"He thought some visitor might carry it off," said Frank.
"Not unlikely. Umbrellas are considered common property."
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.
He rang the bell, and asked, "Is Mr. Bowen at home?"
"Yes, but he is in his chamber. I don't think he will see you."
"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?"
"Yes, sir; it had been found, and taken care of."
"Did Peckham say anything?"
"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."
"I was very glad to do the errand, sir," said Frank.
"I think you said you were poor," said the old man, thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir. When I met you I hadn't a cent in the world."
"Haven't you any way to make a living?"
"Yes, sir. I could sell papers if I had enough money to set me up in business."
"Does it require a large capital?"
"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."
"To be sure. I didn't think of that."
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?"
"I leave that to you, sir. Whatever you think right will satisfy me."
"Let me see, you want fifty cents to buy papers, and you will require something to pay for your bed."
"Fifty cents in all will be enough, sir."
"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.
"I am afraid I don't look fit," he said.
"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."
He rang the bell, and the girl who had admitted Frank made her appearance.
"Susan," said her