Paul did not fail to meet the appointment at Mr. Cunningham’s office
the next morning. He had no difficulty in getting away, for it was
understood at the office that he was wanted to run an errand and his
time would be paid for.
“You seem to be in with the Cunninghams, Number 91,” said the
superintendent.
“Yes, sir, they are very kind to me,” answered Paul.
“That is well. We like to have boys on good terms with customers. It
increases the business of the office.”
Mr. Cunningham was talking with another gentleman when Paul entered his
office.
“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?”
“No, sir; I live with an old man, and give him two dollars and a half
a week for rent and other expenses. Hereafter I am to give him three
dollars. I should give more, but I pay for my own meals.”
“Then you have no parents living?”
“No, sir; I am alone in the world.”
“Is the old man any relation to you?”
“No, sir.”
“When you need friends to call on you will always be welcome at my
house.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Paul, gratefully, and he decided to avail
himself of the invitation soon. He was anxious to meet Jennie
Cunningham again. Having no sister, he had enjoyed scarcely any
opportunities of meeting girls, except such as sold matches or
papers in the streets, and these, for the most part, were bold and
unattractive.
Mr. Cunningham turned to his desk, and Paul saw that his interview was
over.
He did not like to carry around so much money. He was liable to be
robbed; that he could not afford. So he resolved to go around to the
Bowery Savings Bank and deposit forty dollars, taking out a book. Then
he would feel safe as to that. The ten dollars he had a use for, as he
wished to buy a cheap bureau, or trunk; he had not quite made up his
mind which.
He took the shortest cut to the Bowery Savings Bank. This is one of the
largest and most important savings banks in the city, and its deposits
exceed twenty millions. It is a blessing to thousands of salaried men
and women, mechanics and others, in providing them a safe place of
deposit for their surplus money.
Paul entered the bank, and, going up to the proper clerk, subscribed
the books of the bank, giving his age, and other particulars necessary
to identification; and then, rather to the surprise of the bank
officer, wrote out a deposit check for forty dollars.
“You have just been paid off, I take it,” he said with a smile.
“Yes, sir,” answered Paul.
“Two weeks’ pay, I presume?”
“I earned it in considerably less time than that, sir.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, I earned it all, and ten dollars besides, in one night.”
“Then your business is better than mine. I should be willing to
exchange.”
“It isn’t a steady business,” said Paul.
“What is it?”
“Defending a house from burglars.”
“I am not quite sure how I should like that business; there might be
some risk attending it.”
Paul’s business was completed, and he prepared to go away. The book he
put in his pocket, and took his way back to the office on Broadway.
He began to feel like a young capitalist. Forty dollars may not seem
a very large sum to some of my fortunate readers, but Paul had never
before possessed ten dollars at a time, and to him it seemed a small
fortune.
He had no idea that his visit to the bank was observed by any one that
knew him, but such was the case.
Old Jerry, as the reader already knows, was a depositor at the Bowery
Savings Bank, and this very morning, having a small deposit to make, he
was shambling along the Bowery, when he saw Paul descend the steps with
a bank book in his hand. He was intensely surprised.
CHAPTER X. PAUL LOSES HIS BANK BOOK.
Old Jerry felt outraged at Paul’s withholding money from him for
deposit in the savings bank.
“The--the thieving young rascal!” he muttered to himself, indignantly.
“He is putting my money into the bank, and letting me starve at home,
while he lives on the fat of the land, and lays up money. Me that have
taken care of him ever since he was a little boy, and--and cared for
him like a father.”
Jerry had a curious idea of the way fathers care for their children,
judging from his words. When Paul was only six years old, he had been
sent into the streets to sell matches and papers, and, being a bright,
winning boy, had earned considerably more, even at that tender age,
than many older boys.
At times Jerry had induced him to beg, but it was only for a short
time. Paul had a natural pride and independence that made him shrink
from asking alms, as soon as he was old enough to understand the
humiliation of it. So there was never a time when he had not earned his
own living, and more besides. But Jerry chose to forget this, and to
charge Paul with ingratitude, when he discovered that he had a private
fund of his own.
“I must get hold of that money,” thought Jerry. “I wonder how much Paul
has got.”
There was no way of finding out, unless he got hold of the book, or
inquired at the bank. He decided to do the latter. Accordingly he went
over to the bank, and entering it walked up to the receiving teller.
“Was there a boy named Paul Parton here just now?” he asked.
“Yes; what of it?”
“Did he put some money into the bank?”
“Yes.”
“How much was it?”
“We don’t give information about our depositors,” said the teller. “Is
he your grandson?”
“Yes; that is, he lives with me.”
“You are a depositor also, are you not? I seem to remember your face.”
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“Jeremiah Barclay.”
“I remember now. Why do you want to know about this boy?”
“He ought to have given me the money, instead of putting it into the
bank.”
“We have nothing to do with that. He did not steal it from you, I
presume.”
“No,” answered Jerry, reluctantly. It occurred to him for an instant
to claim that Paul had robbed him, but he was rather afraid that the
telegraph boy would in that case become angry and leave him, and the
sum he had in bank would not pay him for that.
The miser did not suspect that Paul had over five dollars laid up,
having no knowledge of the handsome gift he had received from Mrs.
Cunningham. But even if it were only five dollars, it was sufficient
to excite Jerry’s cupidity, and he decided that he must manage to get
possession of it.
“Then you won’t tell me how much money Paul has in the bank?”
“It is against our rules.”
Jerry felt that he was dismissed, and stumbled out of the bank,
forgetting, in his thoughts about Paul, the business of his own which
had brought him there.
But there was other business for Jerry to attend to that morning. We
are about to let the reader into a secret, which he had hitherto kept
from Paul.
Not far away was a small tenement house which Jerry hired and sublet to
tenants. Every month he called to collect his rents, and the difference
between the rent he paid for the whole building, and the rents he
collected from the tenants, gave him a handsome profit.
It was not rent day, but there were two of the tenants in arrears. One
was a laborer, temporarily out of work, and the other was a poor widow
who went out scrubbing, but was now taken down with rheumatism, and
therefore not able to work.
The old man ascended with painful toil to the third floor, and called
on the widow first.
She turned pale when she saw him enter, for she knew his errand, and
how little chance there was of softening him.
“I hope you have got the rent for me this morning, Mrs. O’Connor,” said
Jerry, harshly.
“And where would I get it, Mr. Barclay?” she asked. “It’s very little
work I can do on account of the sharp pains I have.”
“That’s none of my business,” said Jerry, in a harsh tone. “You will
have to go, then.”
“And would you put me on the street, me and my poor childer?” said the
poor woman, with a troubled look. “I’m afraid it’s the hard heart you
have, Mr. Barclay.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Mrs. O’Connor,” said Jerry, sharply. “I can’t let
you stay here for nothing. I--I’m very poor myself,” he added, with his
customary whine.
“You poor!” repeated the widow, bitterly. “I’ve heard that you’re
rolling in riches, Mr. Barclay.”
“Who--who says so?” asked Jerry, alarmed.
“Everybody says so.”
“Then you can tell ’em they’re very much mistaken.”
“What do you do with all the rent you get from this building, then?”
“I pay it away, that is, almost all of it. I don’t own the building.
I--I hire it, and some months, on account of losses, I don’t make a
cent,” asseverated Jerry. “I--I think I’m a little out take the year
together.”
“Then why don’t you give it up if you don’t make any money out of it?”
“That--that is nothing to the purpose. Once more, Mrs. O’Connor, will
you pay me my rent?”
“How can I when I have no money?”
“Then you must borrow it. I’ll give you till tomorrow, and not a day
longer. Remember that, Mrs. O’Connor, will you not?”
Next Jerry visited the other tenant with rather better success, for he
collected one dollar on account.
He waited eagerly for Paul to come home. He had made up his mind to
explore Paul’s pockets after he was asleep and get possession of his
bank book. With that, as he thought, he would go to the bank and draw
the money that stood in Paul’s name. It would be a theft, but Jerry
did not look at it in that light. He persuaded himself that he had a
perfect right to take the property of the boy who was living under his
guardianship, though, to speak properly, it was rather Paul that took
care of him.
It was rather late in the evening when Paul got home, for every other
evening he was employed. The old man was awake, but pretended to be
asleep. Paul took off his coat and vest, and threw himself on the
lounge, covering himself up with a quilt. His clothes he put on a chair
alongside.
It was not long before he was sound asleep, being much fatigued with
the labors of the day.
Old Jerry got up cautiously from the bed. He, too, was dressed, for
he seldom took the trouble to undress, and cautiously drew near the
lounge. He took up Paul’s coat, and threw his claw-like fingers into
an inside pocket. His eyes sparkled with delight as he drew out the
telegraph boy’s bank book.
“I’ve got it!” he muttered, gleefully. “Paul isn’t any match for the
old man! I--I wonder how much money he has saved up!”
Paul slept on, unaware of the cunning old man’s treachery, and of the
danger to which his little treasure was exposed.