Messenger No. 48

"What's your name?"

"Jethro Lewis."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"Judging from the size I shouldn't say you were over ten."

"My size 's against me, that's a fact; but I can run a good deal faster than some fellers twice as big."

The manager of the District Messenger Station did not attempt to conceal a smile as the boy spoke thus earnestly, and continued the examination by asking:

"Where do you live?"

"Down on East Tenth Street."

"Mother and father alive?"

"Both dead. I'm boardin' with Mammy Showers."

"As a rule we do not employ boys who have no parents."

"Why not? Can't they shinney 'round, jest as well as other fellers?"

"There is no question about that, but we prefer to have some one to look out for them."

"So would I, but there's no use kickin' when a feller can't have all them luxuries," Jet said gravely. "It ain't so awful nice to hustle for yourself with a chance of bein' fired outer the house if the board ain't paid right up to the minute."

"How have you been earning a living?"

"Most any way that come handy. Sometimes I sell papers, an' then agin I black boots. I did think one spell of goin' into the theayter biz, but I couldn't git the right kind of a job. I can dance a good many of them perfessionals way out of sight, but the managers won't hire a performer what ain't got good clothes."

Jet spoke in a business-like tone which evidently pleased the manager, for the latter said, after a short pause:

"I will give you a trial, and--"

"You couldn't do better," Jet interrupted gravely, "for if I can't hump myself ahead of that fat chump over there I don't want a cent," and he pointed to a very fleshy boy who was half asleep on a bench which extended across the rear of the room.

"Here is a cap," the manager continued. "Your number is forty-eight. We'll find a coat which will answer until another is made, and you are to go to work at once. Can you read?"

"Why cert."

"Then study this book of distances so you may know how much to charge for service, and set on that bench until it is your turn to go out."

Jet took the articles and was about to turn away from the desk when a very important question came into his mind.

"How much money are you goin' to give me a week?"

"Four dollars is the regular price for beginners; but there are good chances to advance if you attend to business."

This was evidently satisfactory to new number forty-eight, for he did as directed, and was soon busily engaged studying the tariff of prices, seated beside the fat boy who was now slumbering calmly.

For a short time Jet thought more about financial matters than of his lesson. Mammy Showers charged him a dollar and a half per week for a small room hardly larger than a cupboard, and two meals each day. He would now, providing he did not indulge in too many luxuries while traveling around the city, be able to save two dollars and a half every seven days, and it seemed very much as if he had fairly started on the highway to fortune.

"Well, if they call this work I'd like to have two or three jobs of the same kind." Jet said aloud when he was tired of studying the printed instructions. "I've been here a little more'n an hour, an' haven't been called off the bench once."

This remark appeared to arouse the fat boy to the consciousness of being alive, and on making great effort to sit upright, he noticed Jet for the first time.

"Hello! You're a new feller; I s'pose," he said with a yawn.

"Do you think I look very new?"

"You've jest com here to work, haven't you?"

"The way things look now I've come to set around an' keep the flies offer them young gents as has ter sleep forenoons."

"You'll be glad to do that same thing before you've worked here a week. It's dull now, but wait awhile, an' then see how the fellers have to hump themselves."

"Say, do you ever do very much?" Jet asked gravely.

"I was out on a job yesterday that I didn't get through with till past midnight."

"Do the fellers have to work so late as that?"

"Once in a while. You have to go where the customers send you, an' some of the jobs are funny ones."

"How far have you ever been on an errand?"

"Up to Albany to bring down a dog for a man what was goin' huntin'."

"Did you get him here?"

"Of course I did."

"It must have been mighty rough on the dog."

"Why?"

"'Caus he'd be away from home so long if he wasn't allowed to walk any faster than you can."

"Think you're funny, don't you?" and the fat boy made ready to resume his interrupted nap.

Before Jet could turn his attention to the tariff again the boy at the desk called loudly: "Number forty-eight!" and he went forward quickly, well pleased that something had occurred to break the monotony.

A summons had come from one of the hotels near by, and on answering it he found nothing of more importance than to carry a letter to a certain house in the immediate vicinity, but to Jet it was particularly agreeable work, since he was given ten cents more than the regular fee.

"If all the messages turn out like this one I shall have a mighty good thing of it," he said to himself, in a tone of satisfaction as he returned to the station.

Jet was called upon only twice more during this first day of his new work, and when he went home it was with the pleasing knowledge that he had received as presents fifteen cents.

On the following morning he was at his post so early that some of the "night boys" made sport of him for appearing at such an hour, predicting that in less than a week he would have "sense enough to stay at home till he was wanted."

He was not allowed to remain idle very long, however.

"Number forty-eight!" the man at the desk called sharply, and Jet leaped to his feet.

"Go to No. - East Fourteenth Street. Here is your slip."

Jet took the bit of paper and hurried away at full speed, to find that he had been sent to a bar-room which was by no means noted for bearing a good reputation so far as the honesty of its patrons was concerned.

Seated at one of the tables were two men. The elder, tall and slim, and the other of medium height, but rather fleshy.

"Come here!" the thin man called as the messenger entered, and Jet fancied that the fellow's full beard looked suspiciously heavy and black.

"I wouldn't like to bet that all that hair grew on his face," Jet said to himself, as he approached the table, but he gave the matter no further thought, for it was his business to obey orders, and not criticize his patrons.

"How long will it take you to go to the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fifteenth Street?"

"Not more than ten minutes."

"Take this satchel and give it to a party with red hair who is standing on the northwest corner."

"Suppose there should be more than one?" Jet asked as he took the traveling-bag which was remarkably light in weight although it was apparently stuffed full to bursting.

"The right man will ask your number, and you are to tell him it is one hundred and ten."

"But he can see by my cap that I'm forty-eight."

"Do as I tell you, and never mind about your cap, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"He will give you something to bring back, and you are not to stop on the way, no matter what happens."

"I'm not in the habit of loafing," Jet replied, just a trifle indignantly, and before he could say anything more the short man added impatiently:

"Then don't do it here. Get on about your business, for we want the answer in the ten minutes you promised."

Jet started at once, feeling decidedly hurt at the tone used by the men, and, walking as rapidly as the crowds on the sidewalk would permit, was soon at the appointed place.

A rough booking fellow with a shock of red hair which looked quite as false as the tall man's whiskers, was waiting for him.

"What is your number?" he asked nervously.

"I was told to say one hundred and ten, but that isn't right."

"Give me the bag, and take this back," the man said, as he literally tore Jet's burden from him, and thrust into the boy's hands a paper parcel so heavy that it required all his strength to hold it on one arm.

Jet was on the point of handing this odd acting fellow the slip of paper that it might be signed according to the rules of the office, but before he could so much as take it from his pocket the man had disappeared among the throng.

"I suppose it's all right," he said in a tone of perplexity, "but I wish people would let a fellow do as the boss insists upon."

There was no time for delay if he intended to return within the ten minutes as had been promised, and he hurried away, arriving at the saloon only to be told by the bartender that the gentlemen had left some time previous.

"What am I to do with this?" and Jet held up the paper parcel.

"They said you was to go to this number on the Bowery. I reckon it's one of them cheap lodging houses."

Jet took the card which was held toward him, and, stopping only long enough to read the written words and number, hurried off once more.

This last address was, as the barkeeper had suggested, a small hotel, and on ascending the stairs to the tiny apartment called by courtesy "the office," found the tall man awaiting his arrival.

"I thought you was a boy who didn't do any loafing," the gentleman said gruffly.

"I haven't stopped a minute."

"Who did you hang around chinning with?"

"Nobody."

"Haven't you been talking to that other messenger?"

"Which one?"

"The fellow you met."

"I haven't spoken to anybody except the red-haired man, and he didn't give me a chance to do much talking."

"What is your fee?"

"Twenty-five cents."

"Here's half a dollar. If anybody asks where you have been say that it was to the Stock Exchange. I don't care to have a lot of people talking about my business, and a quarter should be enough to make you hold your tongue."

"Will you sign this slip, sir? the manager wants the distance and time on there."

"Do it yourself, and put it down as I tell you."

Jet obeyed, writing as the stranger dictated, and when he presented himself at the station once more the manager had no reason to believe he had been anywhere except to the Exchange.