His pull at the bell was answered by a motherly-looking old lady, who took the message, signed her own name to the receipt book, because she didn’t believe that Mr. Howard had yet come from the academy, and then went up-stairs and laid the dispatch upon the centre-table in a nicely furnished room, propping it up against a book, so that it would be sure to meet the eye of the person for whom it was intended as soon as he entered at the door.
He came a few minutes later—a tall, dark youth, with coal-black hair and eyes, and a countenance so striking, that, when you had taken one look at it, you always wanted to turn and take another. You knew that he was a young gentleman as soon as you put your eyes on him.
He was a favorite with the girls because of his handsome face and figure; with his teachers, because of his studious habits and strict regard for the rules of school; and with his fellows, because of his kindness of heart and his proficiency in every athletic sport.
Frail as he looked, he took the lead of them all. No academy boy had ever taken his measure on the campus, and as for sparring and fencing, his superiority was acknowledged by everybody. He was a good oarsman, a lightning pitcher, a terrific batter, and dead sure of making a double shot on quails or snipe as often as the opportunity was offered. Many a poor student had his money helped out of a tight place; and, although Bob never let one hand know what the other hand did, those who were the recipients of his favors could always tell where they came from.
The companion who followed at his heels was a different sort of boy altogether. He was short and thick-set, and as homely as he was good-natured, and his whole appearance indicated that he had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
His name was George Edwards, and he was janitor of the academy. His lot had always been a hard one—how hard you will see as our story progresses—and George could not remember the time when he had not been dependent upon his own exertions for his daily bread.
Up to the hour he made the acquaintance of Bob Howard, his life had been one fierce and constant struggle with poverty; but, since that memorable afternoon, his pathway had been made smoother for him.
Having introduced our heroes, whom we hope you will like, we will describe the circumstances under which they first met, and then we will go back to the telegrams, which bear an important part in our story.
CHAPTER I.
GEORGE AND HIS UNCLE.
“Well, George, it is either that or the poorhouse.”