Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy

While Mark was passing through these exciting scenes Mrs. Mason went about her daily duties at home, anxiously considering how the rent was to be paid on the following day. Mark had not told her of his gift from Maud Gilbert, intending it as a surprise.

As she was washing the breakfast dishes, there was a little tap at the door. To her surprise, the visitor turned out to be Mrs. Mack, of the floor above, to whom Mark had applied for a loan without success. As Mrs. Mack seldom left her room, Mrs. Mason regarded her with surprise.

"Come in and sit down, Mrs. Mack," she said kindly.

She had no regard for the old woman, but felt that she deserved some consideration on account of her great age.

"I hope you are well," said Mrs. Mason.

"Tollable, tollable," answered the old woman, glancing curiously about the room, as if making an inventory of what it contained.

"Can't I give you a cup of tea? At your age it will be strengthening."

"I'm not so very old," said the old woman querulously. "I'm only seventy-seven, and my mother lived to be eighty-seven."

"I hope you will live as long as you wish to. But, Mrs. Mack, you must make yourself comfortable. Old people live longer if they live in comfort. Will you have the tea?"

"I don't mind," answered Mrs. Mack, brightening up at the prospect of this unwonted luxury.

She did not allow herself tea every day, on account of its cost. There are many foolish people in the world, but among the most foolish are those who deny themselves ordinary comforts in order to save money for their heirs.

The tea was prepared, and the old woman drank it with evident enjoyment.

"Your boy came up yesterday to borrow three dollars," she began then, coming to business.

"Yes, he told me so."

"He said he'd pay me Saturday night."

"I—I was afraid he might not pay me back, and I can't afford to lose so much money. I'm a poor old woman."

"Mark would have paid you back. He always pays his debts."

"Yes; I think he is a good boy. If I thought he would pay me back, I—I think I would lend him the money. He offered to pay me interest."

"Yes; he would pay you for the favor."

"If—if he will pay me four dollars on Saturday night I will lend him what he wants."

"What!" ejaculated Mrs. Mason. "Do you propose to ask him a dollar for the use of three dollars for two or three days?"

"It's—it's a great risk!" mumbled Mrs. Mack.

"There is no risk at all. To ask such interest as that would be sheer robbery. We are poor and we can't afford to pay it."

"I am a poor old woman."

"You are not poor at all. You are worth thousands of dollars."

"Who said so?" demanded Mrs. Mack in alarm.

"Everybody knows it."

"It's—it's a mistake, a great mistake. I—I can't earn anything. I'm too old to work. I don't want to die in a poorhouse."

The old woman looked disappointed. She had thought of the matter all night with an avaricious longing for the interest that she expected to get out of Mark, and she had no thought that her offer would be declined.

"Never mind about business, Mrs. Mack!" said Mrs. Mason more kindly, as she reflected that the old woman could not change her nature. "Won't you have another cup of tea, and I can give you some toast, too, if you think you would like it."

An expression of pleasure appeared on the old woman's face.

"If—it's handy," she said. "I don't always make tea, for it is too much trouble."

It is safe to say that Mrs. Mack thoroughly enjoyed her call, though she did not effect the loan she desired to make. When she rose to go, Mrs. Mason invited her to call again.

"I always have tea, or I can make it in five minutes," she said.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am; I will come," she said, "if it isn't putting you to too much trouble."

"My dear child, she is old, and though she is not poor, she thinks she is, which is almost as bad. If I can brighten her cheerless life in any way, I am glad to do so."

About one o'clock a knock was heard at the door. Mrs. Mason answered it in person, and to her surprise found in the caller a brisk-looking young man, with an intelligent face. He had a note-book in his hand.

"Is this Mrs. Mason?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir."

"Your son is a telegraph boy?"

"Yes."

"No. 79?"

"Yes, sir. Has anything happened to him?" she asked in quick alarm.

"I bring no bad news," answered the young man with a smile. "Have you a photograph or even a tintype of your son, recently taken?"

"I have a tintype taken last summer at Coney Island."

"That will do. Will you lend it to me till to-morrow?"

"I represent the Daily Globe, Mrs. Mason. His picture is to appear in the evening edition."

"But why should you publish Mark's picture?"

"Because he has distinguished himself by a heroic action. I can't stop to give you particulars, for I ought to be at the office now, but I will refer you to the paper."

With the tintype in his hand the reporter hurried to the office of the journal he represented, leaving Mrs. Mason in a state of wondering perplexity.

Within an incredibly short time hundreds of newsboys were running through the streets crying "Extry! Extra! A dynamite crank at the office of Luther Rockwell, the great banker!"

Mark Mason was returning from a trip to Brooklyn, when a newsboy thrust the paper in his face.

"Here, Johnny, give me that paper!" he said.

The boy peered curiously at him.

"Ain't you Mark Mason?" he asked.

"Yes; how did you know me?"

"Your picture is in the paper."

"But where did they get my picture?" he asked himself.

There was also a picture of the dynamite crank, which was also tolerably accurate.

"I must take this home to mother," said Mark, folding up the paper. "Won't she be surprised!"

About the same time Solon Talbot and Edgar were in the Grand Central Depot on Forty-Second Street. Their visit was over, and Mr. Talbot had purchased the return tickets.

"You may buy a couple of evening papers, Edgar," said his father.

One of them selected was the Evening Globe.

Edgar uttered an exclamation as he opened it.

"What's the matter, Edgar?" asked his father.

"Just look at this! Here's Mark Mason's picture in the paper!"

"What nonsense you talk!" said Solon Talbot.

"No, I don't. Here is the picture, and here is his name!" said Edgar triumphantly.

Solon Talbot read the account in silence.

"I see," said another Syracuse man coming up, "you are reading the account of the daring attempt to blow up banker Rockwell's office!"

"That was a brave telegraph boy who seized the bag of dynamite."

"Very true!" said Solon, unable to resist the temptation to shine by the help of the nephew whom he had hitherto despised. "That boy is my own nephew!"

"You don't say so!"

"Yes; his mother is the sister of my wife."

"But how does he happen to be a telegraph boy?"

"A whim of his. He is a very independent boy, and he insisted on entering the messenger service."

"Be that as it may, you have reason to be proud of him."

Edgar said nothing, but he wished that just for this once he could change places with his poor cousin.

"So you have become quite a hero, Mark," said his mother smiling, as Mark entered the house at half-past six.

"Have you heard of it then, mother?" asked the messenger boy.

"Yes, a little bird came and told me."

"I suppose you saw the Evening Globe."

"Yes, I sent Edith out to buy a copy."

"But how did you know it contained anything about me?"

"Because a reporter came to me for your picture."

"That explains it. I couldn't understand how they got that."

"It makes me shudder, Mark, when I think of the risk you ran. How did you dare to go near that terrible man?"

"You ought to have been handsomely paid. The least Mr. Rockwell could do was to give you five dollars."

"He gave me ten, and told me to call at the office next week."

"Then," said his mother relieved, "we shall be able to pay the rent."

"That was provided for already. The young lady I escorted to the theater last evening gave me three dollars over the regular charges for my services."

"Why didn't you tell me before, Mark?"

"I ought to have done so, but I wanted it to be an agreeable surprise. So you see I have thirteen dollars on hand."

"It is a blessed relief. Oh, I mustn't forget to tell you that Mrs. Mack came in this morning to offer to lend me three dollars."

"What! has the old woman become kind-hearted all at once?"

"As to that, I think there is very little kindness in offering three dollars at thirty-three per cent. interest for three days. She was willing to lend three dollars; but demanded four dollars in return."

"It is lucky we shall not have to pay such enormous interest. Now, mother, what have you got for supper?"

"We must have something better. I will go out and buy a sirloin steak, and some potatoes. We will have a good supper for once."

At the entrance to the street Mark found Tom Trotter.

Tom's honest face lighted up with pleasure.

"I see you've got into de papers, Mark," he said.

"Yes, Tom."

"I wouldn't believe it when Jim Sheehan told me, but I went and bought de Evening Globe, and there you was!"

"I hope you'll get into the papers some time, Tom."

"There ain't no chance for me, 'cept I rob a bank. Where you goin', Mark?"

"To buy some steak for supper. Have you eaten supper yet?"

"No."

"Then come along with me, and I'll invite you to join us."

"I don't look fit, Mark."

"Never mind about your clothes, Tom. We don't generally put on dress suits. A little soap and water will make you all right."

"What'll your mudder say?"

"That any friend of mine is welcome."

"How do you think my mother can cook, Tom?" asked Mark.

"She beats Beefsteak John all hollow. I just wish she'd open a eaten' house."

"I'll think about it, Tom," said Mrs. Mason smiling. "Would you be one of my regular customers?"

"I would if I had money enough."

It is hard to say which enjoyed the supper most. The day before Mrs. Mason had been anxious and apprehensive, but to-day, with a surplus fund of thirteen dollars, she felt in high spirits.

This may seem a small sum to many of our readers, but to the frugal little household it meant nearly two weeks' comfort.

The table was cleared, and Mark and Tom sat down to a game of checkers. They had just finished the first game when steps were heard on the stairs, and directly there was a knock at the door.

"Go to the door, Mark," said his mother.

"Is this Mark Mason?" asked the visitor.

"Yes, sir."

The visitor took out a copy of the Evening Globe, and compared Mark with the picture.

"Yes, I see you are," he proceeded. "You are the telegraph boy that disarmed the dynamite crank in Mr. Rockwell's office."

"Yes, sir."

"Allow me to say, young man, I wouldn't have been in your shoes at that moment for ten thousand dollars."

"I wouldn't want to go through it again myself," smiled Mark.

All the while he was wondering why the stout man should have taken the trouble to come and see him.

"Perhaps you'll know me when I tell you that I'm Bunsby," said the stout visitor drawing himself up and inflating his chest with an air of importance.

"Of Bunsby's Dime Museum?" asked Mark.

"Exactly! You've hit it the first time. Most people have heard of me," he added complacently.

"Oh yes, sir, I've heard of you often. So have you, Tom?"

"Mr. Bunsby," said Mark gravely, "this is my particular friend, Tom Trotter."

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Trotter," said Mr. Bunsby, offering his hand.

Tom took it shyly, and felt that it was indeed a proud moment for him. To be called Mr. Trotter by the great Bunsby, and to have his hand shaken into the bargain, put him on a pinnacle of greatness which he had never hoped to reach.

"Won't you walk in, Mr. Bunsby? This is my mother, Mrs. Mason, and this is my sister Edith."

"Glad to meet you, ladies both! I congratulate you, Mrs. Mason, on having so distinguished a son."

"He is a good boy, Mr. Bunsby, whether he is distinguished or not."

"I have no doubt of it. In fact I am sure of it. You already know that I keep a dime museum, where, if I do say it myself, may be found an unrivaled collection of curiosities gathered from the four quarters of the globe, and where may be witnessed the most refined and recherché entertainments, which delight daily the élite of New York and the surrounding cities."

"Yes, sir," assented Mrs. Mason, rather puzzled to guess what all this had to do with her.

"But what am I to do?" asked Mark.

"Merely to sit on the platform with the other curiosities."

"But I am not a curiosity."

"I beg your pardon, my dear boy, but everybody will want to see the heroic boy who foiled a dynamite fiend and saved the life of a banker."

Somehow this proposal was very repugnant to Mark.

"Thank you, Mr. Bunsby," he said, "but I should not like to earn money in that way."

"I might say thirty dollars a week," continued Mr. Bunsby. "Come, let us strike up a bargain."

"It isn't the money. Twenty-five dollars a week is more than I could earn in any other way, but I shouldn't like to have people staring at me."

"My dear boy, you are not practical."

Fifteen minutes before a stout, ill-dressed man of perhaps forty years of age knocked at the door of Mrs. Mack's room.

"Come in!" called the old lady in quavering accents.

The visitor opened the door and entered.

"Who are you?" asked the old lady in alarm.

"Don't you know me, Aunt Jane?" replied the intruder. "I'm Jack Minton, your nephew."

"I don't want to see you—go away!" cried Mrs. Mack.

"That's a pretty way to receive your own sister's son, whom you haven't seen for five years."

"I haven't seen you because you've been in jail," retorted his aunt in a shrill voice.

"Yes, I was took for another man," said Jack. "He stole and laid it off on to me."

"I don't care how it was, but I don't want to see you. Go away!"

"An orphan—yes. You hurried your poor mother to the grave by your bad conduct," said Mrs. Mack with some emotion. "You won't find me so soft as she was."

"Soft? No, you're as hard as flint, but all the same you're my aunt, and you're rich, while I haven't a dollar to bless myself with."

"Rich! Me rich!" repeated the old lady shrilly. "You see how I live. Does it look as if I was rich?"

"Oh, you can't humbug me that way. You could live better if you wanted to."

"I'm poor—miserably poor!" returned the old woman.

"I'd like to be as poor as you are!" said Jack Minton grimly. "You're a miser, that's all there is about it. You half starve yourself and live without fire, when you might be comfortable, and all to save money. You're a fool! Do you know where all your money will go when you're dead?"

"There won't be any left."

"Won't there? I'll take the risk of that, for I shall be your heir. It'll all go to me!" said Jack, chuckling.

"I want to have a little talk with you first, aunt," said Jack, drawing the only other chair in the room in front of Mrs. Mack and sitting down on it. "You're my only relation, and we ought to have an understanding. Why, you can't live more than a year or two—at your age."

"What do you mean?" said Mrs Mack angrily. "I'm good for ten years. I'm only seventy-seven."

"You're living on borrowed time, Aunt Jane, you know that yourself. You've lived seven years beyond the regular term, and you can't live much longer."

"Go away! Go away!" said the terrified old woman, really alarmed at her nephew's prediction. "I don't want to have anything to do with you."

"Don't forget that I'm your heir."

"I can leave my money as I please—not that I've got much to leave."

"You mean you'll make a will? Well, go ahead and do it. There was a man I know made a will and he died the next day."

This shot struck home, for the old woman really had a superstitious dread of making a will.

"You're a terrible man!" she moaned. "You scare me."

"Yes."

"Well, it's all the money I've got. Why, I haven't eaten anything to-day, and I have no money to pay for a bed."

"I—I haven't any supper for you."

"I don't want any here. I wouldn't care to board with you, Aunt Jane. Why, I should soon become a bag of bones like yourself. I don't believe you've got five cents' worth of provisions in the room."

"There's half a loaf of bread in the closet."

"Let me take a look at it."

He strode to the closet and opened the door. On a shelf he saw half a loaf of bread, dry and stale. He took it in his hand, laughing.

"Why, that bread is three days' old," he said. "Where's your butter?"

"I—I don't eat butter. It's too high!"

"And you don't care to live high!" said Jack, laughing at his own joke. "I don't care to rob you of this bread, Aunt Jane. It's too rich for my blood. Don't you ever eat anything else?"

"Sometimes," she answered, hesitating.

"I'd rather take my supper at the cheapest restaurant on the Bowery. What I want is money."

"Oh, don't go into a fit, aunt! I only want a little, just to get along till I can find work. Give me twenty-five dollars, and I won't come near you again for a month. I swear it."

"Twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated Mrs. Mack in dismay. "Do you think I am made of money?"

"I don't take you for an Astor or a Vanderbilt, Aunt Jane, but you've got a tidy lot of money somewhere—that I am sure of. I shouldn't wonder if you had five thousand dollars. Now where do you keep it?"

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked the old woman sharply. "No, I haven't, but it looks to me as if you had. But I can't waste my time here all night. I'm your only relative, and it's your duty to help me. Will you let me have twenty-five dollars or not?"

"No, I won't," answered Mrs. Mack angrily.

"Then I'll take the liberty of helping myself if I can find where you keep your hoards."

"What do you mean by this noise, you old fool?" he demanded roughly.

"Help! Murder! Thieves!" screamed the old woman.

Then the door opened, and Mark Mason burst into the room, followed by Tom Trotter.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Mack?" asked Mark.

"This man is going to rob me," answered the old woman. "Oh, save me!"

"It's a lie!" said Jack Minton. "Just ask this woman who I am. She knows."

"Who is he, Mrs. Mack?"

"It is my nephew, Jack Minton. He——"

"Do you hear that? I'm her nephew, come in to make her a call after a long time."

"What are you doing to her?" demanded Mark suspiciously.

"Trying to stop her infernal racket. You'd think I was murdering her by the way she goes on."

"What made you scream, Mrs. Mack?"

"Because he—he was going to rob me."

"How is that?" demanded Mark sternly.

"None of your business, kid! You ain't no call to interfere between me and my aunt."

"He was at my bureau drawers. He told me I must give him twenty-five dollars."

"Supposing I did? It's the least you can do for your own nephew that hasn't a cent to bless himself with."

"Oh, take him away, Mark! He'll rob me first and murder me afterwards, and I'm his mother's only sister."

"You see she admits it. She's rolling in money——"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Mack, throwing up her hands. "You know I'm poor, Mark Mason."

"No, I don't, Mrs. Mack. I think you've got all the money you need, but you have a right to keep it if you want to. Mr. Minton, you had better leave the room. Your aunt is evidently afraid of you, and, old as she is, your staying here may make her sick."

"It ain't much use living, the way she is. Aunt Jane, I ask you again will you lend me twenty-five dollars?"

"No, no!"

"Will you lend me five dollars?"

"No."

He glowered at his aunt so fiercely as he said this that Mark was afraid he might strangle her.

"Mrs. Mack," he said, "you had better give him something if he is in so much need. Since he is really your nephew, you might give him a dollar on condition that he won't trouble you again."

After long persuasion the old woman was induced to do this, though she declared that it would leave her destitute, and send her to the poor-house.

"Now, Mr. Minton," said Mark, "I advise you not to come here again, or I may have to call in a policeman."

"I've a great mind to throw you down-stairs," growled Jack.

"You'd have to throw me too!" put in Tom Trotter.

"I'd do it with pleasure."

Mark did not fail to call at Mr. Rockwell's office during the following week.

Nichols, the clerk, who had already shown a friendly interest in him, received him kindly.

"Mr. Rockwell is still confined at his house," he said. "The affair of last week was a great shock to him, and, not being a strong man, he is quite prostrated."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Mark in a tone of sympathy, "but I am not surprised. That is what I read in the papers. Still, as I was asked to call at the office, I have done so."

"I am glad to see you. I hope you are getting along well."

"Oh yes, fairly well."

"How do you like being a telegraph messenger?"

"That will come after a while, if you show yourself faithful and reliable."

The next day Mark had a surprise. Walking past the Metropolitan Hotel, not far from Houston Street, he saw a boy just leaving the hotel whose face and figure were familiar.

"Edgar Talbot!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Edgar, turning at the call.

"Yes; how do you happen to visit New York again so soon?"

"We are going to move to New York," answered Edgar. "Father feels that Syracuse is too small a place for a man of his business ability," he added in a consequential tone.

"Are you going to live at the hotel?"

"No. We shall live in a nice flat up town, near the Park."

This was news indeed. Mark felt no interest in any of the family except in Mrs. Talbot, his mother's sister, who alone of all displayed a friendly regard for her poor relatives.

"Mother will be glad to hear of it," he said.

"Why?"

"Because your mother is her only sister, and she will like to call on her."

"Why not? You are my own cousin, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Edgar, making the admission grudgingly, "but of course there is a great difference in our social positions."

"You mean that you are rich and we are poor?"

"Yes, that's about the size of it."

"I don't care a particle about seeing you, but my mother will be glad to see her sister."

"Oh, well! Mother can call at your—tenement house, now and then, but it would be better that none of you should call on us."

"Why?"

"Because we wouldn't like to let the servants know that we have such poor relations."

"Do you say this on your own account, or did your father tell you this?" said Mark indignantly.

"I know that is the way he feels."

"I don't believe Aunt Mary feels so."

Just then a boy approached whom Edgar seemed to know.

"Good morning," he said hurriedly. "I have an engagement."

About the middle of the afternoon he found himself riding in a Fifth Avenue stage. The stage was tolerably full. Directly opposite Mark sat an old lady richly dressed, whose means were evidently large. Next to her sat a flashily dressed young man, on whose bosom glittered what might be a valuable diamond stud, conspicuous for its size. He had a diamond ring on his finger, and might easily be mistaken for a banker's son.

All at once Mark noticed some suspicious movements which led him to think that the young man might be quite different from what he appeared. A moment later he saw the young man's hand dive into the old lady's side pocket. Directly afterwards he rose and pulled the strap for the stage to stop. Mark realized that a robbery had taken place. He rose and placed himself between the young man and the door.

"Madam," he said to the old lady, "I think you have been robbed. Feel in your pockets and see."

The old lady, startled, followed Mark's advice.

"Out of the way, boy!" cried the young man. "I have to get out here."

"Not yet," answered Mark firmly. "Give back the lady's pocketbook."

"Why, you insolent young rascal! What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I say."

"You have insulted me, and I will horsewhip you!" exclaimed the rogue in assumed virtuous indignation.

He seized Mark by the shoulder and was about to thrust him forcibly aside, when a stout, thick-set man rose and ranged himself by Mark's side.

"Young man," he said, "give back the pocketbook as the boy tells you."

"I have no pocketbook."

As he spoke he dexterously dropped it to the floor of the stage.

"Here's your pocketbook, ma'am," said a nurse girl, picking it up.

"Thank you!" responded the old lady, relieved.

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed the dude triumphantly. "Boy, you're too fresh! I am a young man of high family. It is most ridiculous to charge me with stealing."

"It's a lie! But I ought not to be surprised. I know you now. You were sent to the Island last summer for stealing. I remember seeing you on trial at Jefferson Market police court."

Suspicious glances were directed at Mark, for most people are inclined to believe evil of their neighbors—but the stout man only laughed.

"That is too thin, my friend!" he said. "Of course your motive in bringing a charge against this boy is plain.

"Let me out, sir!" stormed the crook.

"Madam, do you wish to bring a charge against this man?"

"No, let him go. I've got my pocketbook back, and that's all I want."

The stout man turned aside, and the adventurer sprang out of the stage and dashed down Thirty-Ninth Street in the direction of Third Avenue.

"I'm very much obliged to you, boy," said the old lady. "Did you really see that young man take my pocketbook?"

"I saw him with his hand in your pocket."

"I'm so sorry. He seemed so nicely dressed, too. I thought he belonged to a rich family."

The stout man laughed.

"Over a hundred dollars. I was going down town to pay a bill."

"Then you ought to be much obliged to this boy for detecting the thief."

"I am," said the old lady earnestly. "Here, take this," she continued, and she drew a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook.

Mark hung back.

"No, thank you!" he said. "I don't want any pay for that."

"Give me your name and address, then."

Mark had a business card in his pocket, and wrote his name and address upon it.

"Give me your name and address too," said the gentleman who had proved so valuable an ally. "I may need your services some time."

"I don't think I have another card, sir."

"Then take one of mine."

Mark glanced at the card offered him.

Henry Swan.
Watches, Diamonds, Jewelry.
No. 185½ Broadway.

"They were only paste. They might deceive a novice, but I saw through them at once. But I must bid you good morning. I have to make a call at the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

A few blocks farther on the old lady got out.

Mark assisted her to the street.

"You're a very polite boy," she said. "You've done me a great favor. You had better take the five dollars I offered you."

"No, thank you, madam. I will wait till I have a chance to do you another service."

He did not resume his seat in the stage, having an errand on Eighteenth Street. As he was passing Lord & Taylor's store, he heard his name called.

Turning in some surprise he saw Maud Gilbert, the young lady he had escorted to Daly's Theater, leaving the store.

"How do you do, Mark?" she said, extending her hand with a smile.

"Very well, thank you, Miss Gilbert."

"Didn't I see your picture in the Evening Globe a short time since?"

"Yes, I believe so," answered Mark, blushing.

"In connection with Mr. Rockwell, the banker?"

"Yes."

"No, Miss Gilbert."

"I have, and he is home on a vacation from Exeter Academy. If you have no engagement on Thursday evening call and I will introduce you."

"I shall be delighted to do so Miss——"

"Maud," suggested the young lady smiling.

"No. 79!" called the superintendent.

Mark Mason came forward to receive his commission. He had been sitting on a bench with several other telegraph boys, awaiting a call.

"Do you know Henry Swan, jeweler?" asked the superintendent, referring to a paper in his hand.

"Yes, sir; that is, I met him lately in a Fifth Avenue stage."

"He has sent for a telegraph boy, No. 79 preferred."

Mark smiled with pleasure.

"I am glad he remembers me," he said.

"You may go there at once."

Mark put on his cap and went to the jeweler's store. As he entered, Mr. Swan, who was crossing from one side of the store to the other, recognized him.

"You see I haven't forgotten you," he said.

"I am glad of that, sir."

"I will try to meet your wishes, sir."

"To begin with, have you another suit? I don't want you to wear the uniform of a telegraph boy while you are in my employ."

"Yes, sir. Shall I go home and get it?"

"On the whole, no. I will give you an order on a clothier in Fulton Street for a new suit."

"You are very kind, Mr. Swan," said Mark in astonishment. "I have done nothing to deserve such kindness."

"Not yet," answered the jeweler pleasantly; "but perhaps you may soon. Take this note to Knight Brothers, and you will have no trouble."

This was the note.

"Knight Brothers, Fulton Street:

"Fit out this boy with a nice suit and send the bill to me.

"Henry Swan."

Mark lost no time in visiting the clothiers.

"This note will explain," said Mark.

The salesman opened and read it.

"It will be all right," he said. "Mr. Swan gets his clothes here, but he has them made to order. Do you want one made to order or ready made?"

"Ready made. I want to put it on to-day."

"Come up-stairs then."

In twenty minutes Mark left the store attired in a nice eighteen dollar suit. He would have selected a cheaper one, but the salesman overruled him.

"Mr. Swan never buys a cheap suit or inferior article," he said. "In the letter he wishes you to have a nice suit, and we must follow directions."

"I don't want to abuse his generosity."

"You won't. He is a very liberal man. He is teacher of a class of five poor boys in a mission Sunday-school. Last Christmas he sent them all in here for new suits."

"If that is the case," said Mark, "I shall feel easier."

When he reappeared at the jeweler's Mr. Swan regarded him with critical approval.

"You have made a good selection," he said.

"I hope I didn't go too high for the suit, Mr. Swan. I wanted to order a cheaper one, but the salesman wouldn't let me."

Mark was rather surprised to hear this full account from the jeweler. As he was only to take the part of an errand boy he didn't see the necessity for it. He was soon enlightened.

"Now," proceeded the jeweler, "I am of the opinion that this lady is a clever swindler. I believe she wants to get hold of the rings, and carry them off without paying for them."

"Then you won't send them to her, I suppose."

"I would not if I were absolutely sure that she is a fraud, but this I don't know. She may be a bona fide customer, and if so I should like to sell her a ring."

"How can you find out, sir?"

The jeweler took from his case two diamond rings. They were large, brilliant, and showy.

"How do you like the appearance of these rings?" he asked.

"They are beautiful!" exclaimed Mark admiringly.

"Don't you think the lady would admire them?"

"I should think so, sir."

"What should you think they are worth?"

"A hundred dollars apiece," guessed Mark.

"If the diamonds were genuine, one would be worth three hundred and fifty dollars and the other four hundred."

"Are they not genuine?" asked Mark in surprise.

"Paste, my boy, paste. The gold, however, is real. Instead of being worth the sum mentioned, one is worth perhaps three dollars and a half, the other four dollars."

"Nor would it if all persons were honest. I never sell them. I only sell genuine jewelry. I will let you understand the use I mean to make of them. These two rings I mean to have you carry to Mrs. Montgomery on Forty-Seventh Street."

"But suppose she takes them for genuine?"

"Then I will make them so. In other words, I will take out the paste diamonds and replace them with real stones. If on the other hand any fraud is intended it won't benefit her much."

"Very well, sir. I think I understand."

"You must to a certain extent exercise your own discretion. I judged from the observations I made the other afternoon that you are a boy who possesses that important quality."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"I will tell you what made me suspect the woman of whom I have spoken. First, the name. She calls herself Mrs. Philip Montgomery. It sounds like a fictitious name. Again, she is a stout, rather common-looking woman, with a florid complexion and larger features. Now Montgomery is an aristocratic name. Again, she says she is from Buffalo. Swindlers generally hail from some distant city. Then again, it is rather suspicious that she should be in such haste.

"It does look rather suspicious, sir."

Mr. Swan gave Mark some further directions, and the latter started up town on the Eighth Avenue horse cars, which he took on the lower side of the Astor House.

"This is new business to me," thought Mark. "I feel an interest to see this Mrs. Montgomery. If she is planning to entrap me, she won't make as much as she anticipates."

Mark had the rings, each in a little morocco case, carefully laid away in the inside pocket of his coat.

When they reached Canal Street, to Mark's surprise, his cousin Edgar entered the car. He did not recognize Mark at first, the latter no longer wearing the messenger's uniform.

"How do you do, Cousin Edgar?" said Mark.

Edgar turned sharply around.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "Please don't call me cousin."

"That is impertinent. Besides it isn't true. Have you been discharged from the telegraph service?"

"No; what makes you think so?"

"Because you are not wearing the uniform."

"I am working for a party that doesn't want me to wear it while in his service."

"Who is it?"

"I don't feel at liberty to tell."

"Oh, just as you like. Isn't that a new suit?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it."

"Business seems to be pretty good with you. How much did it cost?"

"Eighteen dollars."

"Is it paid for?"

"Of course it is."

"I didn't know but you might have bought it in installments."

"I don't have to do that."

"Yet you pretended a little while since that you and your mother had hard work to get along."

"Business is looking up."

A boy of about seventeen, shabbily dressed, answered the bell.

"Is Mrs. Montgomery at home?" asked Mark, referring to a card.

"I guess so," answered the boy.

"I should like to see her."

"All right! I'll go up and ask."

The boy left Mark standing in the doorway, and went up-stairs.

He returned in a very short time.

"You're to come up," he said.

Mark followed him up the staircase and into a back room. It was scantily furnished. There was a lounge on one side of the room, and a cabinet bed on the other. These, with three chairs and a bureau, constituted the furniture.

"Just step in here," said the boy, "and I'll call Mrs. Montgomery."

Mark took a seat on the sofa and awaited the arrival of the lady.

Mark started and wondered if the recognition was mutual. It did not appear to be.

"You're the jeweler's boy, I believe?" said the newcomer languidly.

"I came from Henry Swan."

"Exactly, and you have brought two diamond rings with you?"

"Yes."

"All right! You can show them to me."

Mark's suspicions were aroused and he felt that he had need of all his shrewdness. He was very glad now that the diamonds were paste and the rings of little value.

"Excuse me," he said, "but I was told to deliver the rings to Mrs. Philip Montgomery.

"Yes, that's all right. Mrs. Montgomery is my aunt."

"I should like to see her," persisted Mark.

"Come, boy, you're too fresh. It'll be all the same if you hand the rings to me."

"Yes, but she has a severe headache and cannot see you at present."

"Then perhaps I had better call again."

"No you don't. I am a gentleman and won't permit you to insult me."

"What do you want to do?"

"To take the rings up to my aunt. If she likes them, or either of them, she will send you down a check."

Mark reflected a moment. Remembering that the rings were not valuable, he decided to show them.

"Here are the rings!" he said, producing them from his pocket.

The young man opened the small caskets, and his eyes lighted up with satisfaction when he saw the glittering rings.

"What is the price?" he asked, looking up.

"That ring is three hundred and fifty dollars, the other is four hundred."

"Seven hundred and fifty together."

"Yes."

"I will show them to my aunt. Perhaps she may decide to keep both."

"You won't be long?" asked Mark, as the young man left the room.

Left alone Mark began to think over the situation. His recognition of his unprincipled acquaintance of the Fifth Avenue stage convinced him that some fraudulent scheme was being carried out. Mrs. Montgomery was probably a confederate of the young man who had just left the room.

"Is he going up-stairs or down?" thought Mark.

He listened, and thought he heard the front door open and shut. It occurred to him to open the door of the chamber and look down-stairs.

He started to do this, but to his surprise found that the door was fastened in some way. He had not heard a key turned in the lock. Possibly there was an outside bolt.

"What object can they have in keeping me a prisoner?" he asked.

Should he ring the bell and summon a servant? If he did so, he would have to leave the house in a state of uncertainty. No! he decided to wait and let further events throw a light on the mystery.

"What will you loan me on this magnificent diamond ring?"

The pawnbroker took the box, and drawing out the ring held it up in the best light. He examined it through a magnifying glass, and a gleam of intelligence flashed in his face.

He returned to the counter, and scrutinizing the young man who had presented it asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "What do you want to borrow on the ring, my friend?"

"Two hundred dollars," answered the customer promptly.

"Humph!" said the pawnbroker with an amused smile, "two hundred dollars is a large sum of money."

"Yes, but the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars. I am asking a little more than half price."

"So! the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars! Did you pay that price for it?"

"No, the ring does not belong to me."

"Then to whom does it belong?"

"To my aunt, Mrs. Philip Montgomery."

"I do not know the lady. Does she live in the city?"

"No, she lives in Buffalo."

"And she sent the ring to you?"

"So, so! And your aunt would like me to lend her two hundred dollars on the ring?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think you will have to carry it to some other pawnbroker, my friend!"

"I don't mind taking a little less," said the young man, who was anxious for more than one reason to realize on the ring at once.

"How much now do you call a little less?"

"Well, say a hundred and seventy-five dollars. Probably my aunt will be able to redeem it in a few weeks."

"If I give you a hundred and seventy-five dollars," laughed the pawnbroker, "I think your aunt will let me keep it for good."

"As to that," said the young man impatiently, "I can make no promises. How much will you give on it?"

"I might give you a dollar and a half," answered the pawnbroker composedly.

"I mean not to be cheated, my friend. How much do you think this magnificent ring is worth?"

"I have told you what it cost."

"My friend, you are very much mistaken. The ring cost only three dollars or three and a half."

"What do you mean?" gasped the visitor, turning pale.

"I mean that it is not diamond, but paste."

"But—it came from a jeweler of great reputation. Surely you have heard of Mr. Henry Swan."

"Yes, I have heard of Mr. Swan. If you will bring him here, and he will say that the diamond is real, I will see if I can't give you more."

"Wait!" said the customer hurriedly, drawing out the other casket. "Look at this ring, and tell me what it is worth."

The pawnbroker took it to the window and examined it attentively.

"That may be worth four dollars," he answered, after a brief pause.

"And is this stone false also?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Then I won't pawn either. Here, give me back both rings."

"I am afraid you are not a good judge of diamonds. I am sure they are real."

"Go somewhere else, my friend, and satisfy yourself. If you can find any one in my line who will give you five dollars for either, you had better take it and call yourself a fortunate man. Will you leave your name?"

"My name is Hamilton Schuyler, and I live on Second Avenue."

"It is a very good name, my friend. I think you must belong to the Four Hundred."

"I do," answered Schuyler haughtily.

"It is a pity you should have to pawn your aunt's diamonds, and such diamonds!" chuckled the pawnbroker.

"I shall have to stay here till I am let out," thought Mark.

He didn't worry particularly, as he knew that even if the rings were kept they would not involve his employer in any serious loss.

In about half an hour he heard steps ascending the stairs, then he heard a bolt shoved back, and he was not surprised when the young man, whose name he did not know, entered the room. He noted, not without amusement, that his face betrayed dissatisfaction.

"What does your aunt think of the rings?" asked Mark ingenuously.

"Look here, young fellow!" said Schuyler, sitting down and glaring at the messenger, "you've played a pretty trick on me!"

"What kind of a trick?" asked Mark, arching his eyebrows.

"What are they, then?" asked Mark in assumed surprise.

"Paste—bogus!" answered Schuyler scornfully.

"Are you sure of that, Mr.——?"

"Schuyler."

"Mr. Schuyler."

"Yes. I took them round to a—jeweler, and had him test them."

"It must be a mistake," murmured Mark.

"It is a very strange mistake, then, for a first-class house to make," rejoined Schuyler in a tone of sarcasm.

"So it is. They must have given me the wrong rings," said Mark innocently.

"My aunt is very much disappointed. She wanted to start this evening for Buffalo."

"I thought she lived in Syracuse."

"She is going to visit her son in Buffalo," explained Schuyler with ready wit.

"I am really sorry. If she would go down to the jeweler's with me, or if you would, the matter could be set right at once."

Mr. Hamilton Schuyler thought over this suggestion, and on the whole regarded it favorably.

"In that case Mr. Swan would have paid her the money or exchanged the rings."

"I hope so."

"Perhaps you had better hand me back the caskets, and I will carry them back to the store."

Mr. Schuyler returned the boxes to Mark, who opened them to see if the rings were inside.

"You will go down in an hour then?" he said.

"Yes, or—upon second thought you had better come right back with the genuine rings. I have an appointment at the Windsor Hotel, but will be back to receive them."

Mark understood why Schuyler did not care to go to the jeweler's. He could not get possession of the genuine rings without paying for them, whereas, if Mark should bring them, he could carry out his original plan and retain them by stratagem.

Schuyler accompanied Mark to the front door.

"Now hurry down and back," he said. "My aunt is anxious to catch the evening train."

"Very well, Mr. Schuyler."

At this moment Schuyler noted for the first time a familiar look in Mark's face.

"Very likely," said Mark with self-possession. "Perhaps you have been in the store."

"No; my aunt called there, but I did not. You look very much like some boy I saw recently," and Schuyler wrinkled up his forehead in the vain endeavor to place Mark.

"I hope I remind you of a good-looking boy," he said, laughing.

"I see it now. You look like a telegraph boy I recently met in a Fifth Avenue stage."

"I should like to see him, but I shouldn't think you'd remember a common telegraph boy."

"He was impertinent to me, that is why I remember him," frowned Schuyler. "I hope to meet him alone some time. I will give him a lesson he won't be likely to forget."

"Then I'm glad I'm not the boy you mean. Good day!"

"Good day. Hurry back as fast as you can."

When Mark re-entered the jewelry store Mr. Swan advanced to meet him.

"Well," he said, "how did you make out?"

"I've got the rings with me."

"Did you see Mrs. Montgomery?"

"No, but I saw a young man who claimed to be her nephew."

"He left me alone in a back room on the second floor. When I went to the door I found that it was locked. But I didn't trouble myself. I concluded that he had gone out to pawn or sell the rings. He returned in half an hour quite angry, and told me he had ascertained that the diamonds were not genuine."

"Why did you think he went out to pawn or sell them?"

"Because I recognized him."

"You recognized him?"

"Yes, as the young man in the Fifth Avenue stage who robbed an old lady of her wallet."

"The day that we first met?"

"Yes, sir."

The jeweler looked surprised.

"Didn't he recognize you?"

"He asked if we hadn't met before. He said there was something familiar in my face. Finally, he said I reminded him of an impudent telegraph boy he had fallen in with. He wants to meet that telegraph boy alone," added Mark with a smile.

"He has had his wish."

"Yes, but luckily for me he didn't recognize me."

"I said you had probably made a mistake."

"I see you are quick-witted. Well, was that satisfactory?"

"He expects me to bring back the genuine rings this afternoon, as his aunt wants to leave the city this evening."

"I think he will have to wait. Perhaps it may be as well to notify him that she needn't put off her journey on that account. I don't want to spare you to go there again, however."

"There's a boy I know out on the street," suggested Mark. "He would be glad to go."

"Who is it?"

"Tom Trotter, a friend of mine. He's a good boy, though he's only a bootblack."

"Is he reliable?"

"Yes, sir; I will answer for him."

"Very well. Call him in."

Mark went to the door and called "Tom! Tom Trotter!"

Tom looked around and recognized Mark.

"You ain't left de telegraph, have you, Mark?" he said.

"No, but I'm working here for a day or two. Would you like to go up town on an errand?"

"Of course. Can't you leave your blacking box somewhere and get your face and hands washed?"

"Yes, Mark; there's a small s'loon near by, where I hang out sometimes. Just wait for me and I'll be back in a jiffy."