"So would I," said his uncle; and he probably believed it, though afterwhat had happened it will be rather difficult for the reader to creditit.
The letter was written, but Frank had no desire to return to the oldfarm, and the society of his uncle's family.
"I have got used to the city," he wrote, "and have made a good manyfriends 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 inthe country. I hope to come and see you before long; but, I would preferto live in New York."
"He's gettin' uppish," said Aunt Hannah, who was considerablydisappointed, for she had made up her mind just how much they couldventure to charge for board, and how this would increase their annualsavings.
"I suppose it's natural for a boy to prefer the city," said his uncle.
"If the boy has a chance to handle his money there won't be much of itleft by the time he's twenty-one," said Aunt Hannah. "You ought to behis 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 manof high reputation for integrity. He offered it to Mr. Bowen; but thatgentleman, while congratulating his young friend upon his greatlyimproved prospects, said that he was a man of books rather than ofbusiness, and would prefer that some other person be selected.
The next thing was to resign his place as telegraph boy.
"We are sorry to lose you," said the superintendent. "Your are one ofour best boys. Do you wish to go at once?"
"No, sir; I will stay till the end of the month."
"Very well. We shall be glad to have you."
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 unpleasantpredicament, from no fault of his own, but in consequence of the enmityof 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 regardedherself as his patroness she had come now to look upon him as a memberof the family. Fred had already returned, and Frank, bearing in mindthat he had only been invited to remain during his absence, proposed tofind another home, but Mrs. Vivian would not hear of it.
"No," she said, "Fred needs a young companion, and I prefer you to anyone I know of."
As Fred was of his mother's opinion, Frank readily agreed to stay. Heoccupied a room adjoining the one assigned to Fred, and during his hoursof leisure the two were constantly together.
"I shall be glad when you leave the telegraph office," said Fred. "Thenwe can be together more."
"You may get tired of me."
"If I do I will let you know."
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 apassenger. When a lady who sat between them got out, Haynes moved up, soas to sit next to our hero.
"I see you are still in the telegraph service," he said.
"Yes, sir," answered Frank, briefly.
"I wonder Mr. Hartley didn't offer you a permanent position in hisemploy," said Haynes, with a sneer. "Spies are useful sometimes."
"He may give me a position sometime," said Frank, not regarding thesneer.
"You earned it," said Haynes, unpleasantly.
"Thank you," said Frank, knowing that Haynes would be provoked by hisappearing to accept the compliment in good faith.
Haynes scowled, but said no more. He drew a morning paper from hispocket, and appeared to be absorbed in reading it.
At Canal street Frank rose to leave the car. He had not yet reached thedoor, when Haynes sprang to his feet, followed him quickly, and,grasping him by the arm, said, "Not so fast young man! Give me back mypocket-book."
Frank was struck with amazement.
"What do you mean?" he asked, indignantly.
"I mean that you have relieved me of my pocket-book. Gentlemen," turningto his fellow-passengers, "I demand that this boy be searched."
"You can search me if you like," said Frank. "You know very well thatyour accusation is false."
"I shall be satisfied if you produce what is in your pockets."
"That's fair," said a passenger.
Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. To his dismay he drew out aRussia-leather pocket-book, of which he knew nothing.
"That is my pocket-book, gentlemen," said Haynes, triumphantly. "I cantell you exactly what is in it. You will find two five-dollar bills, atwo and a one. Be kind enough to examine it, sir."
The pocket-book was examined, and, of course, Haynes was correct.
Suspicious glances were directed at poor Frank. Innocent as he was, hewas so overwhelmed by the suddenness of the charge, and the apparentproof of it, that he looked confused and embarrassed.
"You are beginning early, my boy," said a tall gentleman, in a whitecravat,--a clergyman. "It is well that you are checked in the beginningof 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 sometime since to get me into a scrape."
"That story is rather too thin," said Haynes, looking around him with asneer. "You won't find any one here quite verdant enough to believeit."
"There you are mistaken," said a gentleman who was seated directlyopposite to Haynes and Frank. "_I_ believe it."
Haynes scowled at him malignantly.
"I really don't think it very important what you believe, sir. The boyis evidently a professional thief, and you may belong to the same gangfor aught I know. I propose to give him in charge to the next policemanwe meet."
"Do so," said the stranger, coolly. "I shall be present at his trial,and offer some important testimony."
"Indeed!" said Haynes, uneasily. "May I ask what it is?"
"Certainly. _I saw you thrust the wallet into the boy's pocket!_ Of thatI 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 youto enter into such a wicked conspiracy against the poor boy?"
"Mind your own business!" said Haynes, rudely. "It is a lie."
"It is the truth," said the volunteer witness, calmly.
Here a policeman became visible from the car-window, leisurely walkinghis beat on the western sidewalk.
"There's a policeman," said Frank's new friend. "Call him, and have theboy arrested."
"He would be cleared by false testimony," said Haynes, sullenly. "I havemy money back, and will let him go."
"Then," said the stranger, rising, and displaying the badge of adetective, "I shall arrest you on a charge of conspiracy."
Haynes was fairly caught in his own trap.
"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 waswholly against him now.
"O you ould villain!" said a stout Irish woman, "to try to ruin thepoor b'ye. Hangin's too good for you."
This was rather an extreme sentiment; but Haynes saw that he was inperil. He gave an unexpected spring, and, reaching the platform, sprangout, running up a side street.
"Do you know him?" asked the detective of Frank.
"Yes, sir."
"How do you account for his hostility to you?"
Frank briefly recounted the story already known to the reader.
"He can easily be found then."
"I hope you will not arrest him, sir," said Frank. "He has been prettywell punished already, and I don't think he will trouble me again."
"If he does, send for me," and the detective handed Frank his ca
rd andaddress.
"It is fortunate for me," said the telegraph boy, "that you saw him putthe money in my pocket."
"You would have experienced some inconvenience; but the story you havetold me would have cleared you with the jury."
"My young friend," said the clergyman, "I owe you an apology. I toohastily 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. Tosteal is certainly a grave offence,--yet sometimes it is prompted bynecessity; but a deliberate attempt to fasten a false charge upon afellow-creature is vastly more atrocious."
"So it is, sir," said the old Irish woman, nodding assent vigorously. "Iquite agree wid your honor. It is owtracious."
The passengers smiled at the old woman's mistake; but it was clear thatthey 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 beyondhis destination.
He pulled the bell, and, as he got out, he said, "Thank you all fortaking my part."
"We don't quite deserve that," said one of the passengers, after Frankhad 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 ourjudgments."
James Haynes in his hurried exit from the car fully believed that hewould be pursued and arrested. He was relieved to find his fearsgroundless. But he was disappointed at the failure of his scheme. He hadcarefully prepared it, and for several days he had been in readiness tocarry it into execution whenever he should meet Frank. This morning hadbrought 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 ofinjuring Frank because he saw that it would be dangerous to himself. Hedid not remain long in New York, but soon joined his confederate inHartford.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FRANK BECOMES A GOOD SAMARITAN.
The close of the month came, and Frank laid aside his uniform. He was atelegraph boy no more.
The superintendent shook hands with him cordially, and bade him good-by.
"Come and see us sometimes," he said. "I wish you all success. Yourservices have been very satisfactory, and you have gained an excellentreputation."
"Thank you, sir," said Frank. "I have tried to do my duty. Good-by,boys!"
He shook hands with all his young comrades, with whom he was verypopular. They knew of his good fortune, and were disposed to regard himas 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 gladto meet any of you. If I am ever able to do a favor to any of you Iwill."
"I believe you, Frank," said Johnny. "You was always a good feller."
"Where's Tom Brady?" asked Frank, looking about him. "Is he out on anerrand?"
"Tom's sick," said the superintendent. "He's got a fever."
"It's bad for him," said Johnny, "for his mother and sister depended onTom's wages. Poor Tom felt bad because he had to give up work."
"Where does he live?" asked Frank, with quick sympathy.
"No. -- East Fourteenth street," answered Johnny. "I know, because Ilive in the same block."
"I'll go and see him."
Frank's heart was not hardened by his own prosperity. He knew what itwas to be poor, and could enter into the feelings of the unfortunatetelegraph boy.
Half an hour found him in front of a large tenement-house, in front ofwhich were playing children of all ages, most of them showing in theirfaces that unhealthy pallor which so generally marks a tenement-housepopulation.
"Do you know where Mrs. Brady lives?" asked Frank of a girl of twelve.
"Which Brady is it?" asked the girl. "There's three lives here."
"It's Tom Brady's mother," answered our hero.
"Is it Tom, the telegraph boy?"
"Yes."
"I'll show you then. Tom's been sick for some time."
"I know it. I have come to see him."
"Do you know Tom?" asked the girl, in some surprise; for Frank, havinglaid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the sonof a rich man.
"Yes, Tom is a friend of mine. I am sorry he's sick."
Up two flights of rickety stairs Frank followed the girl, who haltedbefore a door.
"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down thestairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society donot often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little ofetiquette or conventionality.
In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorlyclad and care-worn woman.
"What is your wish, young gentleman?" she said.
"I've come to see Tom. How is he?"
"Do you know my Tom?" asked Mrs. Brady, in surprise.
"Yes; is he very sick?"
"The poor boy has got a fever."
"Can I see him?"
"If you'll come into such a poor place, sir. We're very poor, and nowthat 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?"
He had entered the room, and reached the bed on which the sick boy waslying.
Tom looked up in surprise and pleasure.
"Is it you, Frank?" he said. "I'm glad you've come to see me. But howdid you find me out?"
"Johnny O'Connor told me where you lived. How long have you been sick?"
"Three days. It's rough on a poor boy like me. I ought to be earningmoney for my mother."
"We'll miss Tom's wages badly," said Mrs. Brady; "I can't earn muchmyself, and there's three of us to feed, let alone the rint."
"How did you get off, Frank?" asked Tom.
"I've left the office."
"Was this young gentleman a telegraph boy?" asked Mrs. Brady, insurprise.
"Yes," said Tom; "but he's come into a fortune, and now he won't have towork."
"I'm sure I'm glad of his good luck, and it's a great condescension fora rich young gentleman to come and see my Tom."
"I have come into some money, but not a fortune, Mrs. Brady," saidFrank; "but it does not make me any better than when I was a poortelegraph boy."
Evidently Mrs. Brady was not of this opinion, for she carefully dustedwith her apron the best chair in the room, and insisted on Frank'sseating himself in it.
"Have you had a doctor, Mrs. Brady?" asked Frank.
"Yes."
"What does he say?"
"He says that Tom will be sick for three or four weeks, and I don't knowwhat 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'dget my pay reg'lar while I'm sick."
"Then you needn't be troubled, Tom," said Frank, promptly, "for youshall get it regularly."
"They won't give it to me," said Tom, incredulously.
"They won't, but I will."
"Do you mean it, Frank?"
"Certainly I do. I will give you a week's pay this morning, and I willcall every week, and pay you the same."
"Do you hear that, mother?" said Tom, joyfully.
"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 hadsuch good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who needit."
"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, wa
rmly. "I'll get well quicknow. 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'llremember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend anevening with me."
"I'm sure he'll be proud to do the same," said Mrs. Brady.
"I must bid you good-by, now, Tom. Keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and don'tbe down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'llsoon be well."
"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' inreg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."
"I will, Tom."
When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big redhands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to dowith his legs and arms, waiting to see him.
It was his cousin Jonathan.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A COUNTRY COUSIN.
Jonathan was a loose-jointed, heavily built, and awkward boy ofseventeen, 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 tosee you. Are all well at home?"
"They're pooty smart," answered Jonathan. "I thought I'd come down andlook round a little."
"I shall be glad to show you round. Where would you like to go?--toCentral Park?"
"I don't care much about it," said the country cousin. "It's only a bigpasture, dad says. I'd rather go round the streets. Is there any placewhere I can buy a few doughnuts? I feel kinder empty."