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The Telegraph Messenger Boy; or The Straight Road to Success, a fiction by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 10. Farmer Jones |
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_ CHAPTER X. FARMER JONES
Under such circumstances it will be seen that it was my duty to communicate with the general manager of the company, which I proceeded to do without delay. In reply, he instructed me to place myself in communication with the mayor of the city, whose province it was to make provision against what certainly looked like a contemplated crime. This instruction was carried out, and the mayor promptly took every means at his command to checkmate any movement of the suspected party. He arranged to shadow him by one of the best detectives in the country, while I agreed to notify him of the contents of any more suspicious telegrams passing over the wires. It need hardly be said that the friends of Ben Mayberry and myself took care that his exploit on the memorable winter night should not pass by unnoticed. The single daily paper published in Damietta gave a thrilling account of the carrying away of the bridge, and the terrible struggle of the boy in the raging river--an account which was so magnified that we laughed, and Ben was angry and disgusted. One of the best traits of the boy was his modesty, and it was manifest to everyone that this continued laudation was distasteful to him in the highest degree. The cap-sheaf came when one of the metropolitan weeklies published an illustration of the scene, in which Ben was pictured as saving not only the mother and daughter, but the horse as well, by drawing them by main force upon an enormous block of ice! There was not the slightest resemblance to the actual occurrence, and the picture of our young hero looked as much like me as it did like Ben, who would have cried with vexation had not the whole thing been such a caricature that he was compelled to laugh instead. But the general manager received a truthful account from me, together with the statement that Ben Mayberry alone deserved the credit for deciphering the telegram which foreshadowed an intended crime. Corporations, as a rule, are not given to lavish rewards, but the letter which the manager sent to Ben was more highly prized than if it had been a gold watch studded with diamonds, or a deed for the best house in Diamietta. His heart throbbed when he read the warm words of praise from the highest officer in the company, who told him to continue faithfully in the path on which he had started, and his reward was certain. That letter Ben to-day counts among his most precious prizes, and nothing would induce him to part with it. The best thing about this whole business was the fact that Ben never lost his head through the profusion of compliments from those in authority. He realized that the straight road to success lay not through accidental occurrences, which may have befriended him, but it was only by hard, painstaking, and long-continued application that substantial and enduring success is attained. Ben was always punctual at the office, and never tried to avoid work which he might have contended, and with good reason, did not belong to him. His obliging disposition was shown by his volunteering to deliver the message which nearly cost him his life. The duty of the telegraphist is very confining, and so exacting that the most rugged health often gives way under it, and persons take to other business before completely broken up. But this debility is often the fault of the operators themselves, who sit bent over their desks, smoking villainous cigarettes or strong tobacco, who ride in street cars when they should gladly seize the chance to walk briskly, and who, I am sorry to say, drink intoxicating liquors, which appear to tempt sedentary persons with peculiar power. Ben Mayberry had none of these baneful habits. He lived a long distance from the office, and although the street cars passed within a block of his home, I never knew him to ride on one, no matter how severe the weather might be. Besides this, he belonged to a baseball club, and, in good weather, when we were not pushed, managed to get away several times a week during which he gained enough vitality and renewed vigor to last him for days. One particularly busy afternoon, just as Ben had finished sending off a lengthy dispatch, someone rapped sharply on the counter behind him, and turning, he saw an honest-looking farmer, who had been writing and groaning for fully twenty minutes before he was ready to send his telegram. "Can you send that to Makeville, young man?" "Yes, sir," answered Ben, springing to his feet, and taking the smeared and blotted paper from his hand. "Jist let me know how much it is; I s'pose it ain't more than twenty or thirty cents. There ain't much use in sending it, but Sally Jane, that's my daughter, was anxious for me to send her a telegraphic dispatch, 'cause she never got one, and she'll feel proud to see how the neighbors will stare." Ben had started to count the words, but he paused, and repressing a smile over the simplicity of the man, said: "It is very expensive to send messages by telegraph, and it will cost you several dollars to send this----" "Thunderation!" broke in the indignant old man, growing red in the face. "I won't patronize any sich frauds." He started to go out, when Ben checked him pleasantly. "It will be too bad to disappoint your daughter, and we can arrange to send her a message with very little expense. There are many words here which can be left out without affecting the sense. Please run your pen through these, and let me look at it again." _ |
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