dependent on their own exertions for a livelihood. The variety of
errands on which they are employed, and their curious experiences, are
by no means exaggerated in the present story. In its preparation the
author has been assisted by an excellent sketch published perhaps a year
since in the "New York Tribune."

HORATIO ALGER, JR.
NEW YORK, Sept. 1, 1879.

THE TELEGRAPH BOY.

CHAPTER I.

A YOUNG CARPET-BAGGER.

"Twenty-five cents to begin the world with!" reflected Frank Kavanagh,
drawing from his vest-pocket two ten-cent pieces of currency and a
nickel. "That isn't much, but it will have to do."

The speaker, a boy of fifteen, was sitting on a bench in City-Hall Park.
He was apparently about fifteen years old, with a face not handsome, but
frank and good-humored, and an expression indicating an energetic and
hopeful temperament. A small bundle, rolled up in a handkerchief,
contained his surplus wardrobe. He had that day arrived in New York by a
boat from Hartford, and meant to stay in the city if he could make a
living.

Next to him sat a man of thirty-five, shabbily dressed, who clearly was
not a member of any temperance society, if an inflamed countenance and
red nose may be trusted. Frank Kavanagh's display of money attracted his
attention, for, small as was the boy's capital, it was greater than his
own.

"Been long in the city, Johnny?" he inquired.

"I only arrived to-day," answered Frank. "My name isn't Johnny, though."

"It's immaterial. Johnny is a generic term," said the stranger. "I
suppose you have come here to make your fortune."

"I shall be satisfied with a living to begin with," said Frank.

"Where did you come from?"

"A few miles from Hartford."

"Got any relations there?"

"Yes,--an uncle and aunt."

"I suppose you were sorry to leave them."

"Not much. Uncle is a pretty good man, but he's fond of money, and aunt
is about as mean as they make 'em. They got tired of supporting me, and
gave me money enough to get to New York."

"I suppose you have some left," said the stranger, persuasively.

"Twenty-five cents," answered Frank, laughing. "That isn't a very big
capital to start on, is it?"

"Is that all you've got?" asked the shabbily dressed stranger, in a tone
of disappointment.

"Every cent."

"I wish I had ten dollars to give you," said the stranger, thoughtfully.

"Thank you, sir; I wish you had," said Frank, his eyes resting on the
dilapidate