"And yet Mark Mason, who is little more than a beggar, can afford to ride! And last evening he was at the theater in company with a fashionable young lady. Telegraph boys must get higher pay than he said."
"Perhaps, Edgar," suggested his father with an attempt at humor, "you would like to become a telegraph boy yourself."
"I'd scorn to go into such a low business."
"Well, I won't urge you to do so."
Meanwhile Mark continued on his way in the cab. As he passed City Hall Park Tom Trotter, who had just finished shining a gentleman's boots, chanced to look towards Broadway. As he saw his friend Mark leaning back in the cab, his eyes opened wide.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed. "How's that for puttin' on style? Fust thing you know Mark Mason will have his name down wid de Four Hundred!"
It did not occur to Mark to look at the paper given him by Mr. Rockwell till he got out of the cab.
This was what he read:
MR. NICHOLS: Give this boy ten dollars.
Luther Rockwell.