Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'. Horatio Alger Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      At seven o’clock Paul rang the bell of a handsome brown stone mansion on West Fifty First Street.

      The door was opened by a servant girl.

      “I was sent for by Mrs. Cunningham,” said Paul.

      “Yes, the missis is expecting you. Come right in!”

      Paul observed, as he followed the girl upstairs into a sitting room on the second floor, that the house was very handsomely furnished – and came to the natural conclusion that the occupants were rich.

      “Just take a seat, and I’ll tell the missis,” said the girl.

      Paul sat down in a plush covered arm chair, and looked about him admiringly. “I wonder how it must seem to live in such a house as this,” he reflected. And then his thoughts went back to the miserable tenement house in which he and his grandfather lived, and he felt more disgusted with it than ever, after the sight of this splendor.

      His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of a pleasant faced lady.

      “Are you the boy I sent for?” she asked, with a smile.

      “Yes, ma’am,” answered Paul, respectfully, rising as he spoke.

      “I suppose you know why I want you,” proceeded the lady.

      “Yes, ma’am; I was told there were only ladies in the house, and you wanted a man to sleep here.”

      “I am afraid you can hardly be called a man,” said the lady with another smile. “Still you are not a woman or girl, and I shall feel safer for having you here. I am afraid I am a sad coward. What is your name?”

      “Paul – Paul Parton.”

      “That is a nice name.”

      “My husband has been called to Washington,” she added, after a pause, “and will be absent possibly ten nights. Knowing my timidity, he recommended my sending for a messenger boy. I may say, however, that I have some reason for alarm. Two houses in this block have been entered at night within a month. Besides, through a thieving servant, who was probably a confederate of thieves, it has become known that we keep some valuables in a safe in the library, and this may prove a temptation.”

      At this moment an extremely pretty girl of fourteen entered the room, and looked inquiringly at Paul.

      “Jennie,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “this is Paul Parton, who is to protect and defend us tonight, if necessary.”

      Jennie regarded Paul with a smile.

      “Won’t you be afraid?” she asked.

      “No, miss,” answered Paul, who was instantly impressed in favor of the pretty girl whose acquaintance he was just making.

      “I’m not easily frightened,” he answered.

      “Then you’re different from mamma and me. We are regular scarecrows – no, that isn’t the word. I mean we are regular cowards. Still, with a brave and strong man in the house,” she added, with an arch smile, “we shall feel safe.”

      “I hope you will be,” said Paul

      “It is still early,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Have you had your supper, Paul?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “We shall not retire before ten – Jennie, you can entertain this young gentleman, if you like.”

      “All right, mamma – if I can – that is, if he isn’t hard to entertain. Do you play dominoes, Paul?”

      “Yes, miss.”

      “O, don’t call me miss – I don’t mind your calling me Jennie.”

      The two sat down to a game of dominoes, and were soon on the friendliest possible terms.

      After a while, seeing a piano in the room, Paul asked the young lady if she played.

      “Yes; would you like to hear me?”

      “If you please.”

      After three or four pieces, she asked – “Don’t you sing?”

      “Not much,” answered Paul, bashfully.

      “Sing me something, won’t you?”

      Paul blushed, and tried to excuse himself.

      “I don’t sing any but common songs,” he said.

      “That’s what I want to hear.”

      After a while Paul mustered courage enough to sing “Baby Mine,” and another song which he had heard at Harry Miner’s.

      They were not classical, but the young lady seemed to enjoy them immensely. They were quite unlike what she had been accustomed to hear, and perhaps for that reason she enjoyed them the more.

      “I think you sing splendidly,” she said.

      Of course Paul blushed, and put in a modest disclaimer. Still he felt pleased, and decided that Jennie Cunningham was the nicest girl he had ever met.

      “But what would she say,” he thought, “if she could see the miserable place I live in?” and the perspiration gathered on his face at the mere thought.

      At ten o’clock Mrs. Cunningham suggested that it was time to go to bed.

      “Paul, you will sleep in a little bedroom adjoining the library,” she said.

      “All right, ma’am.”

      “Come with me and I will show you your bedroom.”

      It was a pleasant room, though small, and seemed to Paul the height of luxury.

      “Shall I leave with you my husband’s revolver?” asked the lady.

      “Yes, ma’am, I would like it.”

      “Do you understand the use of revolvers?”

      “Yes; I have practiced some with them in a shooting gallery.”

      “I hope there will be no occasion to use it. I don’t think there will. But it is best to be prepared.”

      Paul threw himself on the bed in his uniform in order to be better prepared to meet any midnight intruder.

      “It won’t do to sleep too sound,” he thought, “or the house might be robbed without my knowing it.”

      He was soon fast asleep. It might have been because he had the matter on his mind that about midnight he woke up. A faint light had been left burning in the chandelier in the library. Was it imagination on Paul’s part that he thought he heard a noise in the adjoining room? Instantly he was on the alert.

      “It may be a burglar!” he thought, with a thrill of excitement.

      He got up softly, reached for the revolver, and with a stealthy step advanced to the door that opened into the library.

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