Adventures of a Telegraph Boy; or, "Number 91" — John Shaqi
Adventures of a Telegraph Boy; or, "Number 91"Alger, Horatio, Jr.
General
Adventures of a Telegraph Boy; or, "Number 91"
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Orphans -- Juvenile fiction; Telegraph -- Employees -- Juvenile fiction
“Sit down, Paul,” he said in a friendly tone, indicating a chair. “I
shall soon be at leisure, and then I will attend to you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the telegraph boy.
He had to wait about ten minutes. Then Mr. Cunningham’s visitor left
him, and he turned to Paul.
“How is business this morning?” he asked, with a smile.
“This is my first call, sir.”
“Oh, well, no doubt you will have plenty before the day is over.”
“Yes, sir, I am engaged for the afternoon.”
“Indeed! And in what way?”
“I am to go shopping with a lady.”
“Can’t she go by herself there?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so, but she wants me to carry her bundles.”
“Retail merchants generally send them home.”
“Yes, sir, but she once had one miscarry, and now she prefers to take a
boy with her.”
“How do you like that business?” asked Mr. Cunningham.
“It is rather tiresome,” answered Paul, “as the lady is hard to suit
and spends a good deal of time in each store. However, there is one
thing that reconciles me to it.”
“What is that?”
“She is liberal, and always gives me something for myself.”
“That is very considerate of her. I was speaking of that to my wife
this morning.”
“Of what, sir?” inquired Paul.
“We both decided that you were entitled to a present for your brave
defense of the house.”
Now I suppose it would have been the proper thing for Paul to protest
against receiving any present, but I am obliged to record the fact that
he had no objection to having his services acknowledged in that way.
“I only did my duty, sir,” he said, modestly.
“Very true, but that is no reason why I should not show my appreciation
of the service rendered. I suppose you have no bank account?”
“I never got along as far as that, sir,” said Paul.
“Then I won’t give you a check, as it might inconvenience you.”
Paul was a little surprised, for a bank check sounded large, and the
gratuities he usually received seldom reached as high as fifty cents.
Mr. Cunningham drew out his pocketbook, and, taking out three bills,
placed them in Paul’s hands.
Paul’s eyes expanded when he saw that the first bill was a ten. But he
was destined to be still more surprised, for each of the other two was
a twenty. There was fifty dollars in all.
“Is all this for me?” he asked, almost incredulous.
“Yes, Paul.”
“But here are fifty dollars.”
“I am quite aware of it,” said the merchant, smiling. “That is the
exact sum I intended to give you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Paul, warmly. “To me it is a
fortune.”
“Excuse my giving you advice, but I hope you will spend it wisely.”
“I will try to do so, sir. I will put all but ten dollars in a savings
bank.”
“You could not do better. You may in time be able to add to it.”
“I shall try to, sir, when I earn more money.”
“How much do you earn now?”
“With presents, it amounts to six or seven dollars a week--sometimes
less.”
“You can’t save out of that?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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