Part 25 (1/2)

”He is a good-looking boy, at any rate,” said Flora, who was less sn.o.bbish than her brother.

”I can't see it,” said Victor, annoyed. ”He looks to me very common and vulgar. I don't see how Mrs. Vivian can be willing to appear with him at a fas.h.i.+onable theatre like this.”

”It's a pity he is a telegraph boy, he is so nice-looking.”

Just then Frank, turning, recognized Victor and bowed. Victor could not afford not to recognize Mrs. Vivian's escort, and bowed in return.

But Victor was not the only one of Frank's acquaintances who recognized him that evening. In the upper gallery sat d.i.c.k Rafferty and Micky Shea, late fellow-boarders at the lodging-house. It was not often that these young gentlemen patronized Wallack's, for even a gallery ticket there was high-priced; but both wanted to see the popular play of ”Ours,” and had managed to sc.r.a.pe together fifty cents each.

”d.i.c.k,” said Micky, suddenly, ”there's Frank Kavanagh down near the stage, in an orchestra seat.”

”So he is,” said d.i.c.k. ”Aint he dressed splendid though, wid kid gloves on and a flower in his b.u.t.ton-hole, and an elegant lady beside him? See, she's whisperin' to him now. Who'd think he used to kape company wid the likes of us?”

”Frank's up in the world. He's a reg'lar swell now.”

”And it's I that am glad of it. He's a good fellow, Frank is, and he won't turn his back on us.”

This was proved later in the evening, for, as Frank left the theatre with Mrs. Vivian, he espied his two old friends standing outside, and bowed with a pleasant smile, much to the gratification of the two street boys, who were disposed to look upon their old friend as one of the aristocracy.

CHAPTER XVI.

FRANK AS A DETECTIVE.

Of course Frank's daily duties were far the most part of a commonplace character. They were more varied, to be sure, than those of an errand-boy, or shop-boy, but even a telegraph messenger does not have an adventure every day. Twice in the next three weeks our hero was summoned by Mrs. Leroy to give her pet dog an airing. It was not hard work, but Frank did not fancy it, though he never failed to receive a handsome fee from the mistress of Fido.

One day Frank was summoned to a fas.h.i.+onable boarding-house in a side street above the Fifth-avenue hotel. On presenting himself, the servant said, ”It's one of the boarders wants you. Stay here, and I'll let him know you've come.”

”All right!” said Frank.

”Come right up,” said the girl, directly after, speaking from the upper landing.

Frank ascended the stairs, and entered a room on the second floor. A gentleman, partially bald, with a rim of red hair around the bare central spot, sat in a chair by the window, reading a morning paper.

”So you're the telegraph boy, are you?” he said.

”Yes, sir.”

”You are honest, eh?”

”I hope so, sir.”

”Because I am going to trust you with a considerable sum of money.”

”It will be safe, sir.”

”I want you to do some shopping for me. Are you ever employed in that way?”

”I was once, sir.”