Ben Mayberry was born in Damietta, and his parents, as I have shown, were extremely poor.  He had been a barefooted urchin, who was ready to fight or engage in any reckless undertaking.  As he grew older and became more thoughtful, he assumed better clothing, grew more studious, and, helped by his fine ability and prepossessing looks, became popular.

In addition, his remarkable skill in athletic sports made him well liked among the rougher element, who would have been glad had he consented to “train with their crowd.”

In spite of all this, Ben failed to secure the social recognition to which he was entitled.  Many who would greet him most cordially on the street never thought of inviting him to their homes.  Damietta had been a city long enough to develop social caste, which lay in such distinct strata that there seemed no possibility of their ever mingling together.

I was glad, therefore, when Dolly Willard called at the office and personally invited Ben to attend the party at Mr. Grandin’s, which was one of the most aristocratic families in Damietta.  They were originally from the South, but had lived in the city a long time.

My young friend was somewhat dubious about going, as he had never before been invited to cross the threshold; but there was no refusing the warm invitation of Dolly, who had walked all the way to the office on purpose to secure his presence at the gathering that evening.

Ben Mayberry was proud of Dolly; that is, proud that it had fallen to his lot to befriend such a splendid girl, but there were several things that made him thoughtful.

In the first place, my reader will recall that the cipher telegram which was of such a compromising character was addressed to her uncle.  Ben had hunted out from the files in the office the first disguised message, and it clearly referred to a contemplated robbery of one of the banks in Damietta.  This G. R. Burkhill was a criminal who was playing a desperate game, in which he was likely to lose.

It was unfortunate that he was connected by relationship with Dolly Willard, who was the cousin of the Grandins; but it was certainly impossible that either Dolly, the Grandins, or Mrs. Willard herself, knew the character of the man.  Such was the view Ben took of the matter, adding to himself: 

“I hope he will keep away, and that nothing more of the intended robbery will be heard.  It is now the fall of the year, and they seemed to agree that it was the time when the crime was to be attempted.”

It was one of the grandest children’s parties ever given in Damietta.  Little Dolly Willard had mourned her mother’s loss as deeply as could any child, but those of her years soon rally from affliction, and she was among the happiest of the three-score boys and girls who gathered in the roomy parlors of the Grandin mansion that beautiful night in October.

The wages which Ben Mayberry received enabled him to dress with excellent taste, and, poor as he was, there was none of the sons of the wealthiest merchants in Damietta who was more faultlessly attired that evening.  True, some of them sported handsome gold watches, and one or two displayed diamonds, of which Ben had none, but otherwise a spectator would have placed the young telegraphist on the same social footing with the aristocratic youths around him.

Among the numerous misses present were many dressed with great elegance, and possessing much personal beauty; but Dolly Willard, by common consent, surpassed them all in personal loveliness, while the rich and severe simplicity of her attire showed either the exquisite taste of herself or of someone who had the care of her.

Among such an assemblage of misses and youths there are as many heart-burnings as among their elder brothers and sisters.  Dolly was decidedly the belle of the evening.  Some of the other girls were so envious over her superior attractions that they openly sneered at her, but the aspiring youth were dazzled by the sprightly girl, who attracted them as though she were a magnet and they had a big supply of steel about their persons.

When Ben Mayberry entered the parlor a little late, Dolly was standing among a group of lads who were smiling and bowing, and making desperate attempts to be funny with a view of drawing her attention especially to them.  It was natural that she should be somewhat coquettish, but the instant she caught sight of Ben Mayberry she almost ran to him.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she exclaimed, taking both his hands in hers; “and if you hadn’t, I never, never, never would have spoken to you again.”

Ben unquestionably was a handsome lad.  His bright eyes, his white, even teeth, his slightly Roman nose, his well-shaped head, his clear, bright eye, and his rosy cheeks flushed with excitement, rendered him an attractive figure among the bright faces and well-dressed figures.  His superb physical poise lent a grace to all his movements, while he was self-possessed at the most trying times.

He made a laughing reply to Dolly, who at once seated herself beside him and began chatting in her liveliest style, which was very lively indeed.  To those who approached, she introduced him as the young man who had saved her life the preceding winter, until Ben begged her to make no further reference to it.  Many of the other girls gathered around, and showed their admiration of Ben in a most marked manner.  These were mostly from Boston or New York, who had heard of the young hero, but had never looked upon him before.

Dolly was talking away with lightning speed to Ben, who managed to edge in a word now and then, when a dapper young man of sixteen years spruced forward.

“They are going to form for the lancers, Miss Dolly; I believe I have your promise for my partner.”

“I thank you, Rutherford, but I have changed my mind, and will dance with Master Ben.”

This was a daring and almost unwarranted act on the part of the little empress, for Ben had not yet spoken to her on the matter.  But he was quick to seize the advantage, and, instantly rising to his feet, offered his arm to Dolly, and started toward the dancing-room, as though the whole thing had been prearranged before the other party presented himself.

This act brought him face to face with the disappointed young man, whose countenance flushed with anger.

“Rutherford, this is he who saved my life last winter, Master Ben Mayberry; my friend, Rutherford Richmond.”

The two saluted each other somewhat distantly; and with feelings which it would be hard to describe, Ben recognized the tall, rather callow youth as the Rutherford who stoned him several years before, when he was floating down the river on a log, and to whom Ben in turn had given a most thorough castigation.