FRANK BECOMES A GOOD SAMARITAN.
The close of the month came, and Frank laid aside his uniform. He was a
telegraph 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. Your
services have been very satisfactory, and you have gained an excellent
reputation."
"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 very
popular. They knew of his good fortune, and were disposed to regard him
as 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 glad
to meet any of you. If I am ever able to do a favor to any of you I
will."
"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 an
errand?"
"Tom's sick," said the superintendent. "He's got a fever."
"It's bad for him," said Johnny, "for his mother and sister depended on
Tom'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 I
live in the same block."
"I'll go and see him."
Frank's heart was not hardened by his own prosperity. He knew what it
was to be poor, and could enter into the feelings of the unfortunate
telegraph boy.
Half an hour found him in front of a large tenement-house, in front of
which were playing children of all ages, most of them showing in their
faces that unhealthy pallor which so generally marks a tenement-house
population.
"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, having
laid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the son
of 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 halted
before a door.
"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down the
stairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society do
not often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little of
etiquette or conventionality.
In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorly
clad 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 now
that 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 was
lying.
Tom looked up in surprise and pleasure.
"Is it you, Frank?" he said. "I'm glad you've come to see me. But how
did 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 earning
money for my mother."
"We'll miss Tom's wages badly," said Mrs. Brady; "I can't earn much
myself, 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, in
surprise.
"Yes," said Tom; "but he's come into a fortune, and now he won't have to
work."
"I'm sure I'm glad of his good luck, and it's a great condescension for
a rich young gentleman to come and see my Tom."
"I have come into some money, but not a fortune, Mrs. Brady," said
Frank; "but it does not make me any better than when I was a poor
telegraph boy."
Evidently Mrs. Brady was not of this opinion, for she carefully dusted
with her apron the best chair in the room, and insisted on Frank's
seating 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 know
what 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'd
get my pay reg'lar while I'm sick."
"Then you needn't be troubled, Tom," said Frank, promptly, "for you
shall 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 will
call 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 had
such good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who need
it."
"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, warmly. "I'll get well quick
now. 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'll
remember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend an
evening 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't
be down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'll
soon be well."
"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' in
reg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."
"I will, Tom."
When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big red
hands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to do
with his legs and arms, waiting to see him.
It was his cousin Jonathan.