"Can you furnish me with a trusty messenger boy for a couple of hours— one, mind you, who is reliable in every sense of the word, and quick-strung, in the bargain?"
This question was addressed to the clerk at the receiving window of a branch office of the Western Union Telegraph Co. in Philadelphia, one morning previous to the opening of the Bi-Centennial celebration in the Quaker City.
The inquirer was a portly man of perhaps fifty years, well-dressed, and the possessor of a short-cropped gray beard, steely-gray eyes, of hawkish intensity, and hair to match his beard.
He had the appearance of being a man who was well-to-do, and who had no cause to complain at the way the world used him.
"All our messengers are out, but if you will wait a moment, probably some of them will be in, and I can supply your wants," the clerk said, gazing at the inquirer through a pair of green goggles.
In the course of ten minutes a messenger-boy entered.
He was a strong, sturdy lad of fifteen, with an open, honest face, a shrewd peering pair of eyes, and wore an expression of good humor.
He was attired in the neat regulation uniform of a W. U. messenger boy, and was rather dashing looking, with his cap cocked a little to one side of his curly head.
"Hillo, Billy!" he cried, tossing his book to the clerk. "What's the next racket? Made a quarter out o' last trip. Jest connect me wi' another sech a job, ef ye please."
The clerk looked over at the man who was waiting.
"Here's a boy that will be likely to suit you, sir." be said; whereupon the gentleman came forward, and gave the boy a criticising glance.
"What's your name?" he asked, sharply.