Dan, The Newsboy

"Have you any coats and vests that will fit this young gentleman?"

"Young gentleman!" repeated Samuel, mechanically, glancing at Dan in silent hatred.

"That means me, Samuel," said Dan, mischievously. "Samuel is an old friend of mine, Mr. Grant."

"I think we can fit him," said Samuel, by no means relishing the task of waiting upon his young opponent. "Take off your coat, young feller."

"Don't be too familiar, Samuel. You may call me Mr. Mordaunt," said Dan.

"I'll be – if I do," muttered the young man.

Dan took off his coat, and tried on the one submitted to his inspection. He afterward tried on the vest, and they proved to be a good fit.

"Do they suit you, Dan?" asked Mr. Grant.

"Yes, sir, they fit as well as if they had been made for me."

"What is the price of these articles, young man?" asked Mr. Grant.

"Twelve dollars," answered Samuel.

"He'll take eight," suggested Dan, in a low voice.

Mr. Grant knew well enough the ways of Chatham street merchants to appreciate the suggestion.

"That is too high," he said, quietly.

Samuel, who was trained to read customers, after a glance at Mr. Grant's face, prepared to reduce the price.

"We might say eleven," he said, meditatively. "Shall I put them up?"

"Not at that price."

"You don't want us to give 'em away?" said Samuel, in the tone of one whose reasonable demands had been objected to.

"There is no fear of that, I apprehend," returned Mr. Grant, dryly.

"I've no objection, I'm sure," remarked Dan, on his own account.

"I'd make a few remarks to you, young feller, if you were alone," he read in the eyes of the indignant salesman, and Dan enjoyed the restraint which he knew Samuel was putting upon himself.

"You are still asking too much," said the customer.

"What'll you give, sir?" asked Samuel, diplomatically.

"Eight dollars."

"Eight dollars! Why the cloth cost more than that!" protested Samuel.

"The work didn't cost you much, I presume."

"We pay the highest prices for work in this establishment, sir," said Samuel, hastily.

He forgot that Dan knew better.

"So they do, Mr. Grant," said Dan. "They pay twenty cents apiece for making vests."

"We pay more than that to our best hands," said Samuel.

"You told me you never paid more," retorted Dan.

Mr. Grant interrupted this discussion.

"Young man," said he, "I will give you eight dollars for the clothes."

"Say nine, sir."

"Not a cent more."

As the regular price was eight dollars—when they couldn't get any more—Samuel felt authorized to conclude the bargain without consulting Mr. Gripp.

"Shall I do up the clothes?" he asked.

"No," said Dan, "I'll wear 'em. You may put up my old ones."

Samuel felt it derogatory to his dignity to obey the orders of our hero, but there was no alternative.

The bundle was placed in Dan's hands.

"Now write me a receipt for the price," said Mr. Grant.

This was done.

Mr. Grant counted out six dollars and eighty cents.

"I have an order upon you for the balance," he said.

"I don't understand," ejaculated Samuel.

"Your principal owes my young friend, or his mother, one dollar and twenty cents for work. This you will receive as part of the price."

"I must see Mr. Gripp," said Samuel.

Mr. Gripp came forward frowning.

"We can't take the order, sir," he said. "The boy's money is not yet due."

"Isn't the work done and delivered?"

"Yes, sir; but it is our rule not to pay till a whole dozen is delivered."

"Then it is a rule which you must break," said Mr. Grant, firmly.

"We can't."

"Then I refuse to take the suit."

Nathan Gripp did not like to lose the sale on the one hand, or abdicate his position on the other.

"Tell your mother," he said to Dan, "that when she has finished another half-dozen vests I will pay her the whole."

He reflected that the stranger would be gone, and Dan would be in his power.

"Thank you," said Dan, "but mother's agreed to work for Jackson. He pays better."

"Then you'll have to wait for your pay," said Mr. Gripp, sharply.

"Don't you care to sell this suit?" asked Mr. Grant, quickly.

"Yes, sir, but under the circumstances we must ask all cash."

"You won't get it, sir."

"Then I don't think we care to sell," said Gripp, allowing his anger to overcome his interest.

"Very good. I think, Dan, we can find quite as good a bargain at Jackson's. Mr. Gripp, do I understand that you decline to pay this bill?"

"I will pay when the other half-dozen vests are made," said Gripp, stubbornly.

"I have nothing to do with that. The bill is mine, and it is with me you have to deal. The boy has nothing to do with it."

"Is that so?" asked Gripp, in surprise.

"It is. You may take your choice. Settle the bill now, or I shall immediately put it in a lawyer's hands, who will know how to compel you to pay it."

A determined will carries the day.

"Take this gentleman's money, Samuel," said Gripp, in a tone of annoyance.

There was no further trouble. Dan walked out of the store better dressed than he had been since the days of his prosperity.

"How can I thank you, Mr. Grant?" he said, gratefully.

"By continuing to care for your mother, my lad. You are lucky to have a mother living. Mine is dead, God bless her! Now, my lad, what do you think of my success in collecting bills?"

"You were too many for old Gripp, sir. He won't sleep to-night."

"He doesn't deserve to, for he grows rich by defrauding the poor who work for him."

Opposite the City Hall Park Dan and his friend separated.

"I shall not see you again, my boy," said Mr. Grant, "for I take the evening train. If you ever come to St. Louis, find me out."

"I will, sir."

"That's a good man," said Dan, as he wended his way homeward. "If there were more such, it would be good for poor people like mother and me. If I ever get rich, I mean to help along those that need it."

CHAPTER VIII.

MIKE RAFFERTY'S TRICK

Dan carefully husbanded the money which Mr. Grant had lent him, and the result was that for two months he was comparatively easy in his circumstances. His mother earned five cents more daily, on account of the higher price she received for work, and though this was a trifle, it was by no means to be despised where the family income was so small as in the case of the Mordaunts.

Still Dan was not satisfied.

"Mother," said he, "I suppose I ought to be contented with earning enough to pay our expenses, but I should like to be saving something."

"Yes, Dan, it would be pleasant. But we ought to be thankful for what we are now receiving."

"But, mother, suppose I should fall sick? What should we do then?"

Mrs. Mordaunt shuddered.

"Don't mention such a thing, Dan," she said. "The very idea terrifies me."

"But it might happen, for all that."

"Don't you feel well, Dan? Is anything the matter with you?" asked Mrs. Mordaunt, anxiously.

"Don't be frightened, mother," answered Dan, laughing. "I'm as strong as a horse, and can eat almost as much. Still, you know, we would feel safer to have a little money in the savings-bank."

"There isn't much chance of that, Dan, unless we earn more than we do now."

"You are right there. Well, I suppose there is no use thinking of it. By the way, mother, you've got enough money on hand to pay the rent to-morrow, haven't you?"

"Yes, Dan, and a dollar over."

"That's good."

The door of the room was partly open, and the last part of the conversation was heard by Mike Rafferty, the son of the tenant who occupied the room just over the Mordaunts. He was a ne'er-do-well, who had passed more than one term of imprisonment at Blackwell's Island. His mother was an honest, hard-working washerwoman, who toiled early and late to support herself and her three children. Mike might have given her such assistance that she could have lived quite comfortably, for her own earnings were by no means inconsiderable. Her wash-tub paid her much more than Mrs. Mordaunts needle could possibly win, and she averaged a dollar a day where her more refined neighbor made but twenty-five cents. But Mike, instead of helping, was an additional burden. He got his meals regularly at home, but contributed scarcely a dollar a month to the common expenses. He was a selfish rowdy, who was likely to belong permanently to the shiftless and dangerous classes of society.

Mike had from time to time made approaches to intimacy with Dan, who was nearly two years younger, but Dan despised him for his selfishly burdening his mother with his support, and didn't encourage him. Naturally, Mike hated Dan, and pronounced him "stuck up" and proud, though our hero associated familiarly with more than one boy ranking no higher in the social scale than Mike Rafferty.

Only the day before, Mike, finding himself out of funds, encountering Dan on the stairs, asked for the loan of a quarter.

"I have no money to spare," answered Dan.

"You've got money, Dan; I saw you take out some a minute ago."

"Yes, I've got the money, but I won't lend it."

"You're a mane skinflint," said Mike, provoked.

"Why am I?"

"Because you've got the money, and you won't lend it."

"What do you want to do with it?"

"I want to go to the Old Bowery to-night, if you must know."

"If you wanted it for your mother I might have lent it to you, though I need all I can earn for my own mother."

"It's for my mother I want it, thin," said Mike. "I guess I won't go to the theater to-night."

"That's too thin. Your mother would never see the color of it."

"Won't you lend me, thin?"

"No, I can't. If you want money, why don't you earn it, as I do?"

"I ain't lucky."

"It isn't luck. If you go to work and sell papers or black boots, you will be able to help your mother and pay your way to the theater yourself."

"Kape your advice to yourself," said Mike, sullenly. "I don't want it."

"You'd rather have my money," said Dan, good-humoredly.

"I'll never see that. You're too mane."

"All right. I'll be mane, then."

"I'd like to put a head on you," muttered Mike.

"I've got one already. I don't need another," said Dan.

"Oh, you think you're mighty smart wid your jokes," said Mike.

Dan smiled and walked off, leaving Mike more his enemy than ever.

This was the boy who overheard Mrs. Mordaunt say that she had more than the rent already saved up. Mike's cupidity was excited. He knew that it must amount to several dollars, and this he felt would keep him in cigarettes and pay for evenings at the theater for several days.

"I wish I had it," he said to himself. "I wonder where the ould woman kapes it."

The more Mike thought of it the more he coveted this money, and he set to work contriving means to get possession of it.

Finally he arranged upon a plan.

About three o'clock in the afternoon he knocked at Mrs. Mordaunt's door. She answered the knock in person.

"Mike Rafferty!" she said, in surprise. "Won't you come in?"

"Oh, no; I can't. It's bad news I bring you about Dan."

"What is it? Tell me quick, in Heaven's name!" she exclaimed, her heart giving a great bound.

"He's been run over, ma'am, by a hoss, in front of the Astor House, and they took him into the drug store at the corner. He wants you to go right over."

"Is he—badly hurt?" asked the agonized mother.

"I guess he's broke his leg," said Mike.

In two minutes Mrs. Mordaunt, trembling with apprehension, her faltering limbs almost refusing to bear her weight, was on her way to the Astor House.

As Mike had calculated, she did not stop to lock the door.

The young scape-grace entered the deserted room, rummaged about till he found the scanty hoard reserved for the landlord, and then went off whistling.

"Now I'll have a bully time," he said to himself. "Didn't I fool the ould woman good?"

CHAPTER IX.

MIKE'S THEFT IS DISCOVERED

Dan was standing in front of the Astor House, talking to a boy acquaintance, when his mother tottered up to him in a state of great nervous agitation.

"Why, mother, what's the matter?" asked Dan, in surprise. "What brings you out this afternoon?"

"Oh, Dan!" she gasped, "are you hurt?"

Dan opened his eyes in wonder. It occurred to him that his mother must have lost her mind.

"Hurt!" he repeated.

"Yes; they told me you were run over, and had your leg broken."

"My leg broken! Who told you so?"

"Mike Rafferty."

"Then I wish I had him here," said Dan, indignantly; "I'd let him know whether my leg is broken or not. You bet I would!"

"Haven't you been run over, then?"

"Not that I know of, and I guess it couldn't be done without my knowing it."

"I am so glad, so relieved!" sighed Mrs. Mordaunt. "I don't know how I got here, I was so agitated."

"When did Mike Rafferty tell you this cock-and-bull story, mother?" asked Dan.

"Only a few minutes ago. He said you had been taken into a drug store, and wanted me to come right over."

"It's a mean trick he played on you, mother," said Dan, indignantly. "I don't see what made him do it."

"Nor I," said Mrs. Mordaunt. "He must have meant it as a joke."

"A pretty poor joke. I'll get even with him for that."

"I don't mind it now, Dan, since I have you safe. I am ready to forgive him. He didn't know how much he was distressing me."

"Then he ought to have known. You may forgive him if you want to; I sha'n't."

"I will go home now, Dan. I feel a good deal happier than I did when I was hurrying over here."

"I will go with you, mother. I have sold my papers, and sha'n't work any more this afternoon. Where did you leave Mike? I hope I can come across him soon."

"I left him at the door of our room."

"Did you lock the door when you came away, mother?" asked Dan.

"No; I believe not."

"Then let us go home at once. Some one might get in."

"There isn't much to take, Dan," said Mrs. Mordaunt, with a faint smile.

"There is our rent money, mother."

"I didn't think of that."

"We shall be in a pretty pickle if that is lost."

"You don't think Mike would take it do you, Dan?"

"I think he would if he knew where to find it."

"I wish I had brought it with me," said Mrs. Mordaunt, in a tone of anxiety.

"Don't fret, mother; I guess it's all right."

"Perhaps you had better go home at once without waiting for me, Dan. You can go quicker."

"All right; I'll do it. Where is the money?"

"In my pocket-book, in the drawer of the work-table."

"Are the drawers locked?"

"No."

"Then hereafter you'd better lock them. Well, I'll be off, and will meet you at the room."

Dan was not long in reaching his humble home. The more he thought of it, the more he distrusted Mike, and feared that he might have had a sinister design in the deception he had practiced upon his mother. To lose the rent money would be a serious matter. Mr. Grab hated him, he knew full well, and would show no mercy, while in the short time remaining it would be quite impossible to make up the necessary sum.

Dan sprang up the stairs, several at a bound, and made his way at once to the little work-table. He pulled the drawer open without ceremony, and in feverish haste rummaged about until, to his great joy, he found the pocket-book.

His heart gave a joyous bound.

"It's all right, after all," he said. "Mike isn't so bad as I thought him."

He opened the pocket-book, and his countenance fell. There was a twenty-five cent scrip in one of the compartments, and that was all.

"He's stolen the money, after all," he said, his heart sinking. "What are we going to do now?"

He waited till his mother reached home. She looked inquiringly at him. One glance told her what had happened.

"Is it gone, Dan?" she gasped.

"That is all that is left," answered Dan, holding up the scrip.

"Mike could not be wicked enough to take it."

"Couldn't he, though? You don't know him as I do, mother. He's a mean thief, and he sent you off to have a clear field. I wish you had locked the door."

"I couldn't think of that, or anything else, Dan, when I thought you were hurt."

"That's why he told you."

"What can we do, Dan? Mr. Grab will be angry when he finds we can't pay him."

"I will try to find Mike; and if I do, I will get the money if I can. That's the first thing."

Dan went up stairs at once, and knocked at Mrs. Rafferty's door.

She came to the door, her arms dripping with suds, for she had been washing.

"Is it you, Dan?" she said. "And how is your mother to-day?"

"Is Mike in?" asked Dan, abruptly, too impatient to answer the question.

"No; he went out quarter of an hour ago."

"Did he tell you where he was going, Mrs. Rafferty?"

"Yes, he did. He said he was going over to Brooklyn to see if he could get a job, shure. Did you want him?"

"Yes, I did, Mrs. Rafferty. I'm sorry to tell you that Mike has played a bad trick on my mother."

"Oh, whirra, whirra, what a bye he is!" wailed Mrs. Rafferty. "He's always up to something bad. Sorra bit of worruk he does, and I at the wash-tub all day long."

"He's a bad son to you, Mrs. Rafferty."

"So he is, Dan, dear. I wish he was like you. And what kind of trick has he played on your good mother?"

"He told her that I had been run over and broken my leg. Of course she went out to find me, thinking it was all true, and while she was away he took the money from her pocket-book."

Some mothers would have questioned this statement, but Mrs. Rafferty knew to her cost that Mike was capable of stealing, having been implicated in thefts on several occasions.

"Was it much, Dan?" she asked.

"Six or seven dollars. I can't say just how much."

"Oh, what a bad bye! I don't know what to do wid him, shure."

"It was the money we were to pay our rent with to-morrow," continued Dan. "It is a very serious matter."

"I wish I could make it up to you, Dan, dear. It's a shame it is."

"You are an honest woman, Mrs. Rafferty, but you ought not to make it up. I wish I could find Mike. Do you think he has really gone to Brooklyn."

"Shure, I don't know. He said so."

"He might have done it as a blind, just to put me on the wrong scent."

"So he might, shure."

"Well, Mrs. Rafferty, I can't stop any longer. I'll try to find him."

He went down stairs and told his mother what he had discovered or failed to discover.

"Don't wait supper for me, mother," he said. "I'm going in search of Mike."

"You won't fight with him, Dan?" said Mrs. Mordaunt, anxiously.

"I can't promise, mother. I will only agree to be prudent. I am not going to submit to the loss without trying to get the money back, you may be sure of that."

So Dan went down stairs, considerably perplexed in mind. Mike was sure to keep out of the way for a time at least, anticipating that Dan would be upon his track. While our hero was searching for him, he would have plenty of opportunities of spending the money of which he had obtained unlawful possession. To punish him without regaining the contents of the lost pocket-book would be an empty triumph. In the street below Dan espied Terence Quinn, an acquaintance of Mike.

"How are you, Terence?" he said. "Have you seen anything of Mike?"

"I saw him only a few minutes ago."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know."

"I want to see him on business."

"I'll tell you where he'll be this evening."

"Where?"

"He's going to the Old Bowery, and I'm goin' wid him."

"Does he treat?"

"Yes."

"Where did he get the money?"

"He didn't tell me," said Terence.

"He's taken the rent money. I'm sure of it now," said Dan to himself. "I wish I knew where to find him."

CHAPTER X.

DAN AS A DETECTIVE

Dan quickly decided that if Mike had been going to Brooklyn, he would not have announced it under the circumstances.

"He meant to send me there on a wild-goose chase," he reflected. "I am not quite so green as he takes me to be."

Dan could not decide as easily where Mike had gone. Hood says in his poem of "The Lost Heir,"

"A boy as is lost in London streets is like a needle in a bundle of hay."

A hunt for a boy in the streets of New York is about equally hopeless. But Dan did not despair.

"I'll just stroll round a little," he said to himself. "Maybe I'll find him."

Dan bent his steps toward the Courtlandt-street Ferry.

"Perhaps Mike has gone to Jersey City," he said to himself. "Anyway, I'll go over there."

It was not an expensive journey. Six cents would defray Dan's expenses both ways, and he was willing to incur this expense. He meant to look about him, as something might turn up by which he could turn an honest penny.

Something did turn up.

Near him in the cabin of the ferry-boat sat a gentleman of middle age, who seemed overloaded with baggage. He had two heavy carpet-bags, a satchel, and a bundle, at which he looked from time to time with a nervous and uncomfortable glance. When the boat touched shore he tried to gather his various pieces of luggage, but with indifferent success. Noticing his look of perplexity, Dan approached him, and said, respectfully:

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