“That’s a guardian to be proud of,” he said, bitterly, as he made his way carefully down the rickety staircase. “Who can blame me for not liking him? I don’t believe I can make up my mind to call him grandfather again. After all, why should I? He is no relation of mine, and I am glad of it.”
[CHAPTER IV.
A STRANGE COMMISSION.]
The life of a telegraph boy is full of variety and excitement. He never knows when he goes to the office in the morning on what errands he may be sent, or what duties he may be called upon to discharge. He may be sent to Brooklyn, or Jersey City, with a message—sometimes even farther away. He may be detained to supply the place of an absent office boy, or sent up town to go out and walk with a child. In the evening he may be directed to accompany a lady to the theater as escort. These are a few of the uses to which telegraph messenger boys are put.
Of course Paul had had his share of varied commissions. But the day after that on which our story opens, a new duty awaited him.
It was about five o’clock that the superintendent called “Number 91.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Paul, promptly.
“You are to go up to No. ——, West Fifty First Street, to spend the night.”
Paul looked surprised.