The Telegraph Messenger Boy by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read for 12 year olds TXT) 📕

the coin back from him.

"Confound it! Take this, then; won't you?"

As he spoke he banged down a large, red apple on the counter, and looked almost savagely at Ben, as if daring him to refuse it.

The boy did not decline, but picking it up, said:

"Thank you; I am very fond of apples. I will take this home and share it with my mother."

"The next time I come to town I'll bring you a peck," and with this hearty response the farmer stumped out of the door.

I had been much amused over this scene, especially when Ben showed me the astonishing message the farmer had prepared to send his daughter.

Ben laughed, too, after the old gentleman was beyond hearing.

"It's a pleasure to do a slight favor like that. I think I feel better over it than Mr. Jones does himself."

"I think not," said I; "for it so happens that instead of that gentleman being Farmer Jones, he is Mr. Musgrave, the district superintendent, who took a fancy to find out whether his operators are as kind and obliging as they should be, I am quite sure you lost nothing that time by your courtesy and accommodating spirit."


CHAPTER XII

A CALL

I have spoken of Ben Mayberry's fondness for athletic sports, and the great benefit he gained from the exercise thus obtained. When business permitted, I visited the ball grounds, where his skill made him the favorite of the enthusiastic crowd which always assembled there. He played shortstop, and his activity in picking up hot grounders and his wonderful accuracy in throwing to first base were the chief attractions which brought many to the place. He was equally successful at the bat, and, when only fourteen years old, repeatedly lifted the ball over the left-field fence--a feat which was only accomplished very rarely by the heaviest batsmen of the visiting nines.

There were many, including myself, who particularly admired Ben's throwing. How any living person can acquire such skill is beyond my comprehension. Ben was the superior of all his companions when a small urchin, and his wonderful accuracy improved as he grew older.

To please a number of spectators, Ben used to place himself on third base, and then "bore in" the ball to first. In its arrowy passage it seemed scarcely to rise more than two or three feet above the horizontal, and shot through the air with such unerring aim that I really believe he could have struck a breast-pin on a player's front nine times out of ten. I never saw him make a wild throw, and some of his double plays were executed with such brilliancy that a veteran player took his hand one day as he ran from the field, and said:

"Ben, you'll be on a professional nine in a couple of years. Harry Wright and the different managers are always on the lookout for talent, and they'll scoop you in."

"I think not," said the modest Ben, panting slightly from a terrific run. "I am a little lucky, that's all; but though I'm very fond of playing ball I never will take it up as a means of living."

"There's where your head ain't level, sonny. Why, you'll get more money for one summer's play than you will make in two or three years nursing a telegraph machine. Besides that, think of the fun you will have."

"That's all very good, and I can understand why baseball is so tempting to so many young men. But it lasts a short time, and then the player finds himself without any regular business. His fingers are banged out of shape; he has exercised so violently that more than likely his health is injured, and he is compelled to work like a common laborer to get a living. Ten years from now there will hardly be one of the present professionals in the business, I'm sure."

"I guess you ain't far from the fact, but for all that, if I had the chance that you have, I would be mighty glad to take in all the baseball sport I could."

But Ben was sensible in this respect, and steadily refused to look upon himself as training for the professional ball field. In looking back to that time, I am rejoiced that such is the fact. There are many of my readers who recall the popular players of years ago--McBride, Wright, Fisler, Sensenderfer, McMullen, Start, Brainard, Gould, Leonard, Dean, Spalding, Sweeney, Radcliffe, McDonald, Addy, Pierce, and a score of others. Among them all I recall none still in the field. Some are dead, and the rest are so "used up" that they would make a sorry exhibition if placed on the ball field to-day.

Ben Mayberry was a swift and skillful skater, and in running there was not a boy in Damietta who could equal him. It was by giving heed to these forms of healthful exercise, and by avoiding liquor and tobacco, that he preserved his rosy cheeks, his clear eye, his vigorous brain, and his bounding health.

"Why, how do you do, Ben?"

The lad looked up from his desk in the office, one clear, autumn day, as he heard these words, and I did the same. There stood one of the loveliest little girls I ever looked upon. She seemed to be ten or eleven years of age, was richly dressed, with an exuberant mass of yellow hair falling over her shoulders. Her large, lustrous eyes were of a deep blue, her complexion as rich and pink as the lining of a sea shell, and her features as winsome as any that Phidias himself ever carved from Parian marble.

Ben rose in a hesitating way and walked toward her, uncertain, though he suspected her identity.

"Is this--no, it cannot be----"

"Yes; I am Dolly Willard, that you saved from drowning with my poor mamma last winter. I wrote you a letter soon after I got home, but you felt too important to notice it, I suppose."

And the laughing girl reached her hand over the counter, while Ben shook it warmly, and said:

"You wrote to me? Surely there was some mistake, for I never got the letter; I would have only been too glad to answer it. Maybe you forgot to drop it in the office."

"I gave it to Uncle George, and told him to be careful and put it in the mail, and he said he did so when he came home, so it was not my fault. But I am visiting at my cousin's in Commerce Street, at Mr. Grandin's----"

"I know the place."

"They are going to have a grand party there to-night, and I've come down to ask you to be sure and be there."

"I am delighted to receive your invitation, but----"

"You can go," said I, as Ben looked appealingly toward me.

"Thank you, sir. Yes, Miss Dolly, I count upon great pleasure in being present."

"If you don't come, I'll never speak to you again," called the pretty little miss as she passed out of the door.

"I am sorry and troubled about one thing," said Ben to me, when we stood together. "This Uncle George of Dolly's is the G. R. Burkhill who received that cipher dispatch. I am satisfied he is a villain, and there's trouble close at hand."


CHAPTER XIII

AT THE GRANDIN MANSION

Ben Mayberry was born in Damietta, and his parents, as I have shown, were extremely poor. He had been a barefooted urchin, who was ready to fight or engage in any reckless undertaking. As he grew older and became more thoughtful, he assumed better clothing, grew more studious, and, helped by his fine ability and prepossessing looks, became popular.

In addition, his remarkable skill in athletic sports made him well liked among the rougher element, who would have been glad had he consented to "train with their crowd."

In spite of all this, Ben failed to secure the social recognition to which he was entitled. Many who would greet him most cordially on the street never thought of inviting him to their homes. Damietta had been a city long enough to develop social caste, which lay in such distinct strata that there seemed no possibility of their ever mingling together.

I was glad, therefore, when Dolly Willard called at the office and personally invited Ben to attend the party at Mr. Grandin's, which was one of the most aristocratic families in Damietta. They were originally from the South, but had lived in the city a long time.

My young friend was somewhat dubious about going, as he had never before been invited to cross the threshold; but there was no refusing the warm invitation of Dolly, who had walked all the way to the office on purpose to secure his presence at the gathering that evening.

Ben Mayberry was proud of Dolly; that is, proud that it had fallen to his lot to befriend such a splendid girl, but there were several things that made him thoughtful.

In the first place, my reader will recall that the cipher telegram which was of such a compromising character was addressed to her uncle. Ben had hunted out from the files in the office the first disguised message, and it clearly referred to a contemplated robbery of one of the banks in Damietta. This G. R. Burkhill was a criminal who was playing a desperate game, in which he was likely to lose.

It was unfortunate that he was connected by relationship with Dolly Willard, who was the cousin of the Grandins; but it was certainly impossible that either Dolly, the Grandins, or Mrs. Willard herself, knew the character of the man. Such was the view Ben took of the matter, adding to himself:

"I hope he will keep away, and that nothing more of the intended robbery will be heard. It is now the fall of the year, and they seemed to agree that it was the time when the crime was to be attempted."

It was one of the grandest children's parties ever given in Damietta. Little Dolly Willard had mourned her mother's loss as deeply as could any child, but those of her years soon rally from affliction, and she was among the happiest of the three-score boys and girls who gathered in the roomy parlors of the Grandin mansion that beautiful night in October.

The wages which Ben Mayberry received enabled him to dress with excellent taste, and, poor as he was, there was none of the sons of the wealthiest merchants in Damietta who was more faultlessly attired that evening. True, some of them sported handsome gold watches, and one or two displayed diamonds, of which Ben had none, but otherwise a spectator would have placed the young telegraphist on the same social footing with the aristocratic youths around him.

Among the numerous misses present were many dressed with great elegance, and possessing much personal beauty; but Dolly Willard, by common consent, surpassed them all in personal loveliness, while the rich and severe simplicity of her attire showed either the exquisite taste of herself or of someone who had the care of her.

Among such an assemblage of misses and youths there are as many heart-burnings as among their elder brothers and sisters. Dolly was decidedly the belle of the evening. Some of the other girls were so envious over her superior attractions that they openly sneered at her, but the aspiring youth were dazzled by the sprightly girl, who attracted them as though she were a magnet and they had a big supply