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

to "lay them out" more emphatically than before. The lad whose name he did not know lay still, but Rutherford recovered with remarkable quickness, and began struggling to his feet, without paying heed to his hat, which had rolled into the gutter.

"That ain't fair to strike a fellow that way, when he ain't expecting it," growled the assassin. "Why didn't you stand still like a man and not hit below the belt?"

"All right; I give you notice then, friend Rutherford, that I am going for you again, and this time above the belt."

Richmond, finding he must fight, threw up his hands and did his best to guard against the blows whose force he knew so well. He did possess some knowledge of sparring, but so did Ben, who was much the stronger and more active of the two. He advanced straight upon Richmond, made several feints, and then landed a blow straight from the shoulder, at the same time parrying the cross-counter which the lad came near getting in on the face.

It so happened that, at that moment, the other young scamp was in the act of rising, and had got upon his hands and knees. As Richmond was sent spinning backward he came in collision with him, and turned a complete somersault, the air seeming to be full of legs, long hair, hats, and flapping overcoats.

"Murder! help! help! police! police!"

These startling cries were shouted at the top of their voices by the discomfited poltroons, and were heard a long distance on the still night. Suddenly the rattle of running feet sounded on the planks of the bridge, and Ben caught sight of a policeman running toward the spot.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, when he came face to face with Ben, whom he motioned to stop.

"Those two fellows attacked me when I was passing Carter's Alley, and I--well, I defended myself as best I could."

"Oh, Ben, that is you; I didn't know you at first," said the policeman. "This is rather serious business; I'll run 'em in."

Advancing to where the boys were once more climbing to their feet, he grasped each by the collar.

"I'll take you along with me, young gents; this is serious business for you."

They begged piteously to be let off, declaring that it was only a joke, but the officer was inexorable, and marched them to the station house, where they spent the rest of the night, Ben Mayberry having been notified to be on hand at nine o'clock the next morning, when the police justice would make an investigation.


CHAPTER XVI

THE THIRD TELEGRAM

When the father of Rutherford Richmond's friend, at whose house the young Bostonian was visiting, learned the facts, he was indignant beyond description. He declared that Ben Mayberry had served the young scapegraces right, except he ought to have punished both more severely, which was rather severe, as was shown by the blackened eyes and bruised faces.

Ben declined to push the matter on the morrow, as the boys had been punished, and he had proved he was able to take care of himself, as against them, at any time. But the gentleman insisted that he would not permit the matter to drop, unless his son and Rutherford agreed to go to the telegraph office and beg the pardon of the boy whom he learned they had insulted under Mr. Grandin's roof. Rutherford and his friend consented, and they humiliated themselves to that extent. The succeeding day Rutherford went home to Boston, and did not reappear in Damietta until long afterward, when he hoped the disgraceful episode was forgotten.

On the following week Dolly Willard returned to New York, and Ben, for the first time in his life, began to feel as though his native city had lost a good deal of the sunshine to which it was entitled.

"She will visit Damietta again," he said to himself, with just the faintest sigh, "and she promised to write me; I hope she won't forget her promise."

And, indeed, the sprightly little miss did not lose sight of her pledge. It may be suspected that she took as much pleasure in expressing on paper her warm friendship for Ben, as he did in reading the pure, honest sentiments, and in answering her missives, which he did with great promptness.

It was just one week after the memorable night of the party, while I was sitting at my desk, that the following cipher dispatch came over the wires, addressed to G. R. Burkhill, Moorestown:

"Fwfszuijoh hr pl nm ujnf Sgtqdezw bu bnqmdq. Tom."

I passed the message to Ben, whose eyes sparkled as he took it in hand. It required but a few minutes for him to translate it by the method which has already been made known, and the following rather startling words came to light:

"Everything is O. K. On time Thursday at corner."

This unquestionably referred to the same unlawful project outlined in the former dispatches. Mr. Burkhill had not been in the office for months. As yet, of the three telegrams sent him, he had not received one. The first was lost in the river, the second had been on file more than half a year, and we now had the third.

But the latter did not lie uncalled for even for an hour. Remembering the instruction received from the manager, I took a copy of the message, with the translation written out by Ben, to the office of the mayor, where I laid the facts before him. This was on Wednesday, and the contemplated robbery was fixed for the following night. By his direction I sent a dispatch at once to the address of the detective in New York, who, it had been arranged, was to look after the matter.

The reply to this message was the rather surprising information that Detective Maxx had been in Damietta several days, and knew of the contemplated robbery. He was shadowing the suspected party, and if he deemed it necessary, he would call on the mayor for assistance.

While I was absent from the office, who should walk in but Mr. G. R. Burkhill. He greeted Ben with much effusion, shaking him warmly by the hand, inquiring how he got along, and telling him that his niece sent her special regards to him.

"I have been on a trip to New Orleans," he added, "or I would have been down in Damietta sooner, for I like the place."

"The summer isn't generally considered a good time to go so far south," ventured Ben.

"That is true, as relates to Northerners, but I was born in the Crescent City, and have no fear of Yellow Jack; fact is, I have had the confounded disease myself. By the way, have you a message for me?"

"We have two, in fact I may say three, for the copy of the first one that went down the river with me has never been handed you, and one came a day or two after you left."

"I know what they are, so you needn't mind about them. I will take the last, if you please."

"It arrived within the last half hour," explained Ben, as he handed the damp sheet to him.

The boy watched his countenance while Burkhill was reading it. It took several minutes for him to study out its meaning, but he did so without the aid of pencil or paper. A strange glitter came into his gray eyes as the meaning broke upon him, and he muttered something to himself which the lad did not quite catch.

Then he turned to the desk, and was engaged only a minute or two when he handed a return message to Ben, paying for it as the man had done who forwarded the other to him. It was this:

"Uibu rthsr fybdumz Vhkk cf qdzex.

"G. R. Burkhill."

Applying his rule (which compelled him to go to the end of the alphabet, when, for instance, the letter "a" demanded to be represented by a preceding letter), Ben Mayberry very readily translated the cipher as follows:

"That suits exactly. Will be ready.

"G. R. Burkhill."


CHAPTER XVII

DECIDEDLY MIXED

During the summer succeeding the carrying away of the bridge which connected Damietta with Moorestown, it was built in a more substantial manner than before. It was an easy matter, therefore, to cross from one place to another, and carriages and pedestrians went back and forth between the two States at almost every hour of the day. Damietta was a large city, while Moorestown was only a small town; but the latter was pleasantly located and had a large and excellent hotel, where quite a number of guests spent the most sultry months of summer.

In Damietta were three banks, and the cipher telegrams which I have laid before the reader, beyond a doubt referred to one of them, but it was impossible to fix with certainty upon the right one. As a matter of prudence, therefore, it was determined to keep the three under surveillance. The Mechanics' Bank, as it was called before it adopted the national system, stood on the corner, and the general impression prevailed that this was the institution referred to, as it will be remembered that the word "corner" occurred in one of the telegrams.

A few minutes' reflection convinced me that it was utterly out of the question for the intended robbery to succeed. Such desperate projects depend mainly on their secrecy for success. The watchmen in all the banks were instructed to be unusually vigilant, the policemen were apprised of what was suspected, a number of officers were to lounge upon the streets near at hand in citizens' clothes, and Aristides Maxx, one of the most skillful detectives in the metropolis, was engaged upon the case.

The general belief was that the burglars, discovering what thorough preparations were on foot, would not make the attempt. That sort of gentry are not the ones to walk into any trap with their eyes open.

Respecting Detective Maxx, there was much wonderment, and the mayor was vexed that he did not show up. Some doubted his presence in Damietta, but the superior officer of the city felt that courtesy demanded that Maxx should report to him before trying to follow up any trail of his own. If he was with us, he was so effectually disguised that no one suspected his identity.

"I wonder whether that seedy, tramp-like fellow who stole the cipher dispatch, can be Detective Maxx?" said Ben to me on Wednesday night before he started for home.

"It is not impossible," I answered, "for detectives are forced to assume all manner of disguises. He may have chosen to stroll about the city in that make-up."

"But if it is the detective, why did he go to all the trouble of copying off the telegram by sound when he could have got it from us with the translation merely by making himself known?"

"I admit that, if he is a detective, he acts, in