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The Telegraph Boy, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 7. An Invitation To Dinner |
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_ CHAPTER VII. AN INVITATION TO DINNER "Mr. Bowen must be a rich man," thought Frank, as he paused on the steps of a fine brown-stone mansion, corresponding to the number on his card. He rang the bell, and asked, "Is Mr. Bowen at home?" "Yes, but he is in his chamber. I don't think he will see you." "I think he will," said Frank, who thought the servant was taking too much upon herself, "as I come by his appointment." "I suppose you can come into the hall," said the servant, reluctantly. "Is your business important?" "You may tell him that the boy he sent for his umbrella has brought it. He was afraid he had lost it." "He sets great store by that umbrella," said the girl, in a different tone. "I'll go and tell him." Mr. Bowen came downstairs almost immediately. There was a look of extreme gratification upon his face. "Bless my soul, how quick you were!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've only been home a few minutes. Did you find the umbrella at Mr. Peckham's office?" "Yes, sir; it had been found, and taken care of." "Did Peckham say anything?" "He said you were probably afraid to trust it with him over night, but he smiled when he said it." "Peckham will have his joke, but he is an excellent man. My boy, I am much indebted to you." "I was very glad to do the errand, sir," said Frank. "I think you said you were poor," said the old man, thoughtfully. "Yes, sir. When I met you I hadn't a cent in the world." "Haven't you any way to make a living?" "Yes, sir. I could sell papers if I had enough money to set me up in business." "Does it require a large capital?" "Oh, no, sir," said Frank, smiling, "unless you consider fifty cents a large sum." "Fifty cents!" repeated the old gentleman, in surprise. "You don't mean to say that this small sum would set you up in business?" "Yes, sir; I could buy a small stock of papers, and buy more with what I received for them." "To be sure. I didn't think of that." Mr. Bowen was not a man of business. He had an ample income, and his tastes were literary and artistic. He knew more of books than of men, and more of his study than of the world. "Well, my boy," he said after a pause, "how much do I owe you for doing this errand?" "I leave that to you, sir. Whatever you think right will satisfy me." "Let me see, you want fifty cents to buy papers, and you will require something to pay for your bed." "Fifty cents in all will be enough, sir." "I think I had better give you a dollar," said the old gentleman, opening his pocket-book. Frank's eyes sparkled. A dollar would do him a great deal of good; with a dollar he would feel quite independent. "Thank you, sir," he said. "It is more than I earned, but it will be very acceptable." He put on his hat, and was about to leave the house, when Mr. Bowen suddenly said, "Oh, I think you'd better stay to dinner. It will be on the table directly. My niece is away, and if you don't stay I shall be alone." Frank did not know what to say. He was rather abashed by the invitation, but, as the old gentleman was to be alone, it did not seem so formidable. "I am afraid I don't look fit," he said. "You can go upstairs and wash your face and hands. You'll find a clothes-brush there also. I'll ring for Susan to show you the way." He rang the bell, and the girl who had admitted Frank made her appearance. "Susan," said her master, "you may show this young gentlemen into the back chamber on the third floor, and see that he is supplied with towels and all he needs. And you may lay an extra plate; he will dine with me." Susan stared first at Mr. Bowen, and then at Frank, but did not venture to make any remark. "This way, young man," she said, and ascended the front stairs, Frank following her closely. She led the way into a handsomely furnished chamber, ejaculating, "Well, I never!" "I hope you'll find things to your satisfaction, sir," she said, dryly. "If we'd known you were coming, we'd have made particular preparations for you." "Oh, I think this will do," said Frank, smiling for he thought it a good joke. "I am glad you think it'll do," continued Susan. "Things mayn't be as nice as you're accustomed to at home." "Not quite," said Frank, good-humoredly; "but I shan't complain." "That's very kind and considerate of you, I'm sure," said Susan, tossing her head. "Well, I never did!" "Nor I either, Susan," said Frank, laughing. "I am a poor boy, and I am not used to this way of living; so if you'll be kind enough to give me any hints, so I may behave properly at the table, I'll be very much obliged to you." This frank acknowledgment quite appeased Susan, and she readily complied with our hero's request. "But I must be going downstairs, or dinner will be late," she said, hurriedly. "You can come down when you hear the bell ring." Frank had been well brought up, though not in the city, and he was aware that perfect neatness was one of the first characteristics of a gentleman. He therefore scrubbed his face and hands till they fairly shone, and brushed his clothes with great care. Even then they certainly did look rather shabby, and there was a small hole in the elbow of his coat; but, on the whole, he looked quite passable when he entered the dining-room. "Take that seat, my boy," said his host. Frank sat down and tried to look as if he was used to it. "Take this soup to Mr. Kavanagh," said Mr. Bowen, in a dignified tone. Frank started and smiled slightly, feeling more and more that it was an excellent joke. "I wonder what Dick Rafferty would say if he could see me now," passed through his mind. He acquitted himself very creditably, however, and certainly displayed an excellent appetite, much to the satisfaction of his hospitable host. After dinner was over, Mr. Bowen detained him and began to talk of his dead son, telling anecdotes of his boyhood, to which Frank listened with respectful attention, for the father's devotion was touching. "I think my boy looked a little like you," said the old gentleman. "What do you think, Susan?" "Not a mite, sir," answered Susan, promptly. "When he was a boy, I mean." "I didn't know him when he was a boy, Mr. Bowen." "No, to be sure not." "But Mr. John was dark-complected, and this boy is light, and Mr. John's hair was black, and his is brown." "I suppose I am mistaken," sighed the old man; "but there was something in the boy's face that reminded me of John." "A little more, and he'll want to adopt him," thought Susan. "That wouldn't do nohow, though he does really seem like a decent sort of a boy." At eight o'clock Frank rose, and wished Mr. Bowen good-night. "Come and see me again, my boy," said the old gentleman, kindly. "You have been a good deal of company for me to-night." "I am glad of it, sir." "I think you might find something better to do than selling papers." "I wish I could, sir." "Come and dine with me again this day week, and I may have something to tell you." "Thank you, sir." Feeling in his pocket to see that his dollar was safe, Frank set out to walk down-town, repairing to the lodging-house, where he met Dick, and astonished that young man by the recital of his adventures. "It takes you to get round, Frank," he said. "I wonder I don't get invited to dine on Madison avenue." "I give it up," said Frank. _ |
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