the tintype in his hand the reporter hurried to the office of the journal he represented, leaving Mrs. Mason in a state of wondering perplexity.
Within an incredibly short time hundreds of newsboys were running through the streets crying "Extry! Extra! A dynamite crank at the office of Luther Rockwell, the great banker!"
Mark Mason was returning from a trip to Brooklyn, when a newsboy thrust the paper in his face.
"Here, Johnny, give me that paper!" he said.
The boy peered curiously at him.
"Ain't you Mark Mason?" he asked.
"Yes; how did you know me?"
"Your picture is in the paper."
Mark opened the paper in natural excitement, and being a modest boy, blushed as he saw his picture staring at him from the front page, labeled underneath "The Heroic Telegraph Boy." He read the account, which was quite correctly written with a mixture of emotions, among which gratification predominated.
"But where did they get my picture?" he asked himself.
There was also a picture of the dynamite crank, which was also tolerably accurate.
"I must take this home to mother," said Mark, folding up the paper, "Won't she be surprised!"
About the same time Solon Talbot and Edgar were in the Grand Central Depot on Forty-Second Street. Their visit was over, and Mr. Talbot had purchased the return tickets.
"You may buy a couple of evening papers, Edgar," said his father.
One of them selected was the Evening Globe.
Edgar uttered an exclamation as he opened it.
"What's the matter, Edgar?" asked his father.
"Just look at this! Here's Mark Mason's picture in the paper!"
"What nonsense you talk!" said Solon Talbot.
"No, I don't. Here is the picture, and here is his name!" said Edgar triumphantly.
Solon Talbot read the account in silence.
"I see," said another Syracuse man coming up, "you are reading the account of the daring attempt to blow up banker Rockwell's office!"
"Yes," answered Solon.
"That was a brave telegraph boy who seized the bag of dynamite."
"Very true!" said Solon, unable to resist the temptation to shine by the help of the nephew whom he had hitherto despised. "That boy is my own nephew!"
"You don't say so!"
"Yes; his mother is the sister of my wife."
"But how does he happen to be a telegraph boy?"
"A whim of his. He is a very independent boy, and he insisted on entering the messenger service."
"Be that as it may, you have reason to be proud of him."
Edgar said nothing, but he wished that just for this once he could change places with his poor cousin.
"I'd have done the same if I'd had the chance," he said to himself.
CHAPTER VII.
THE GREAT MR. BUNSBY
"So you have become quite a hero, Mark," said his mother smiling, as Mark entered the house at half-past six.
"Have you heard of it then, mother?" asked the messenger boy.
"Yes, a little bird came and told me."
"I suppose you saw the Evening Globe."
"Yes, I sent Edith out to buy a copy."
"But how did you know it contained anything about me?"
"Because a reporter came to me for your picture."
"That explains it. I couldn't understand how they got that."
"It makes me shudder, Mark, when I think of the risk you ran. How did you dare to go near that terrible man?"
"I knew something must be done or we should all lose our lives. No one seemed to think what to do except myself."
"You ought to have been handsomely paid. The least Mr. Rockwell could do was to give you five dollars."
"He gave me ten, and told me to call at the office next week."
"Then," said his mother relieved, "we shall be able to pay the rent."
"That was provided for already. The young lady I escorted to the theater last evening gave me three dollars over the regular charges for my services."
"Why didn't you tell me before, Mark?"
"I ought to have done so, but I wanted it to be an agreeable surprise. So you see I have thirteen dollars on hand."
"It is a blessed relief. Oh, I mustn't forget to tell you that Mrs. Mack came in this morning to offer to lend me three dollars."
"What! has the old woman become kind-hearted all at once?"
"As to that, I think there is very little kindness in offering three dollars at thirty-three per cent. interest for three days. She was willing to lend three dollars, but demanded four dollars in return."
"It is lucky we shall not have to pay such enormous interest. Now, mother, what have you got for supper?"
"Some tea and toast, Mark."
"We must have something better. I will go out and buy a sirloin steak, and some potatoes. We will have a good supper for once."
At the entrance to the street Mark found Tom Trotter.
Tom's honest face lighted up with pleasure.
"I see you've got into de papers, Mark," he said.
"Yes, Tom."
"I wouldn't believe it when Jim Sheehan told me, but I went and bought de Evening Globe, and there you was!"
"I hope you'll get into the papers some time, Tom."
"There ain't no chance for me, 'cept I rob a bank. Where you goin', Mark?"
"To buy some steak for supper. Have you eaten supper yet?"
"No."
"Then come along with me, and I'll invite you to join us."
"I don't look fit, Mark."
"Never mind about your clothes, Tom. We don't generally put on dress suits. A little soap and water will make you all right."
"What'll your mudder say?"
"That any friend of mine is welcome."
So Tom allowed himself to be persuaded, and had no reason to complain
