Dan, The Newsboy

"Certain. I saw him selling papers yesterday in front of the Astor House."

"His business must be good, or he would not board at the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

"Of whom are you speaking, Julia?" asked her father.

"Of that boy at the next table, pa."

"That boy! Why, that's my young friend of the ferry-boat. Tom, have the kindness to ask him to come here a moment and speak to me."

Much surprised, and considerably against his will, Tom rose and walked over to where Dan was sitting.

"Look here," said he; "come over to the next table, will you?"

"What for?" asked Dan.

"There's a gentleman wants to speak to you."

Dan looked over and he recognized Mr. Rogers, of the firm of Barton & Rogers, who had asked him to call at his place of business on Pearl street.

"Good-evening, Mr. Rogers," he said, politely.

"Good-evening, my boy. Do you board here?"

"Not as a rule," answered Dan, smiling. "My business don't allow it. I am dining here with some friends."

"What's your name?"

"Daniel Mordaunt. Everybody calls me Dan."

"Then, Dan, let me make you acquainted with my daughter, Julia."

Dan bowed and smiled.

"I think you were sitting opposite me in the stage, Mr. Mordaunt," said Julia.

"Yes, Miss Rogers."

"You were polite enough to hand me my handkerchief when I awkwardly dropped it."

"Oh, don't mention it."

"I hope to meet you again."

"Thank you."

"What a pretty girl she is!" thought Dan.

"Dan, this young gentleman is Thomas Carver. You must be nearly of an age. You ought to know each other."

"I have known Mr. Carver a long time," said Dan, smiling.

"Indeed!" said Mr. Rogers, surprised.

"We used to sit together at school."

"You didn't tell me that, Tom," said Julia Rogers, turning to Tom.

"No," said Tom, embarrassed; "it is a good while ago."

"I won't detain you any longer from your friends," said Mr. Rogers, politely. "I shall see you at the office in the morning."

Dan bowed and withdrew.

"Where did you meet him, papa?" asked Julia.

Her father told the story of Dan's exploit on the ferry-boat.

"He is a very smart boy," he said. "I shall probably take him into my employ."

"I hope you will, papa. He is a very gentlemanly boy."

All this was very disagreeable to Tom Carver, but he did not venture to say all that he felt, being somewhat in awe of Mr. Rogers.

"They are making a great fuss over a common newsboy," he muttered to himself.

After supper, Dan prepared to take Althea home with him. She felt so well acquainted already that she made no objection, but, hand-in-hand, left the hotel with Dan. He halted a Broadway stage, and they got in.

"Are you carrying me to where you live, Dan?" asked the little girl.

"Yes, Althea."

"Will your mother be glad to see me?"

"Yes, she will be very glad. She wants a little girl to keep her company."

"Then I'm glad I'm going."

CHAPTER XIV.

A NEW HOME

Mrs. Mordaunt was apprised by Fanny that Dan had gone up town with a lady, and therefore was not alarmed when he did not return home at the usual time. She hoped he would clear fifty cents, but had no idea to what extent their fortunes would be advanced by Dan's evening's work.

"I will save Dan some supper," she said to herself. "He will be hungry."

So, mother-like, she supped economically herself, on a cup of tea and some dry bread, and bought a bit of steak for Dan's supper, for she thought he would be very hungry at so late an hour.

It was nearly half-past eight when she heard Dan's well known step on the stairs.

She opened the door to welcome him, but the cheerful welcome upon her lips died away in surprise when she saw his companion.

"Who is this, Dan?" she asked.

"She is going to be my little sister, mother," said Dan, gayly.

"Will you be my mother?" said Althea, releasing Dan's hand, and putting her own confidingly in that of Mrs. Mordaunt.

"Yes, my dear," said the widow, her heart quite won by the little girl's innocent confidence, and she bent over and kissed her.

"What does it all mean, Dan?" she asked, in bewilderment.

"It means that Althea is to board with us, and be company for you. I have agreed with her aunt that you will take her."

"But does her aunt know that we live in such a poor place?" asked his mother in a tone of hesitation.

"Yes, mother, but that makes no difference, as we shall move up town to-morrow."

"I am sure you have acted for the best, Dan, but it seems so strange."

"Will it seem strange to receive fifty dollars a month for Althea's board?" asked Dan.

"Fifty dollars a month!" repeated the widow, incredulously.

"That's the figure, mother. I didn't suppose we ought to charge more."

"More, Dan! Why, it is a fortune!"

"I don't know. That depends on Althea's appetite. Are you a great eater, Althea?"

"Sometimes I am," said the little girl, naively.

"Never mind, I guess there will be enough."

"I nearly forgot, Dan. You will want some supper. I didn't know there would be two, but I will go cut and buy some more meat, if you can wait."

"I have had supper, mother, or dinner rather. I dined with Althea and her aunt at the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

Here was another surprise.

"Has Althea been stopping there, Dan?"

"Yes, mother."

"Then how can she stay even one night in this poor place?"

"I will ask her. Althea, do you mind stopping here just one night? We will go to a better place to-morrow."

"No, Dan, I don't care."

"There, mother, I told you so, Althea is a brick."

"What a funny boy you are, Dan! How can I be a brick? A brick is red and ugly, and I am not."

"No, Althea, you are not ugly, but your cheeks are red."

"They don't look like a brick, Dan."

"No, they don't. I take it all back."

"I had got your supper all ready, Dan," said his mother, regretfully.

"Then eat it yourself, mother."

"I have had my supper."

"You didn't have any meat, I'll warrant. Now, like a good mother, sit down and eat the steak."

Assured that Dan had supped well, Mrs. Mordaunt didn't resist his advice.

Dan looked on, and saw with pleasure that his mother relished the meat.

"We will be able to live better hereafter, mother," he said. "There won't be any stinting. Fifty dollars will go a good ways, and then, besides, there will be my earnings. I forgot to tell you, mother, that I have probably got a place."

"Our good fortune is coming all at once, Dan," said Mrs. Mordaunt, cheerfully.

"So it seems, mother. I think it has come to stay, too."

"I feel so tired," said Althea, at this point. "Can I go to bed?"

"Certainly, my dear child. You can go at once."

In twenty minutes the little girl was in a sound sleep. Dan was not sorry, for he wanted to tell his mother about the days adventures, and he could do so more freely without any one to listen.

"So, mother," he concluded, "we are going to turn over a new leaf. We can't go back to our old style of living just yet, but we can get out of this tenement-house, and live in a respectable neighborhood."

"God has been good to us, Dan. We ought to feel grateful to Him."

"I know it, mother, but somehow I don't think of that as quick as you. Who do you think I saw in the supper-room at the Fifth Avenue? Who but Tom Carver. He was wonderfully puzzled to know how I happened to be there. He told the party he was with that I was a common newsboy."

"He is a very mean boy," said Mrs. Mordaunt, indignantly. "After being so intimate with you too."

"Never mind, mother. He can't do me any harm, and I don't care for his friendship. The time may come when I can meet him on even terms."

"You can now, Dan."

"I mean in a worldly way. I shall work along, and if I get rich I sha'n't be the first rich man that has risen from the ranks."

"God grant you success, my son!"

Early the next morning Dan started out in search of a new home.

He and his mother decided that they would like to live somewhere near Union Square, as that would be a pleasant afternoon resort for their young boarder.

"Will you go with me, mother?" he asked.

"No, Dan, I have not time this morning. Besides you know what will suit us."

"Very well, mother; I will do my best."

Dan crossed Broadway, and took a horse-car up town.

In West Sixteenth street his attention was drawn to the notice, "Furnished Rooms to Let," upon a good-looking brick house.

He rang the bell, and asked to see the lady of the house.

A stout, matronly looking woman, with a pleasant face, answered the servant's call.

"I called to inquire for rooms," said Dan.

"For yourself?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"For my mother, and sister, and myself."

"I have a large back room on the third floor, and a small room on the fourth floor."

"May I see them?"

"Come up stairs, sir."

First Dan went into the large room.

It was neatly carpeted and furnished, and had a cheerful outlook.

"This will do for mother and Althea," he said.

"Will you look at the little room?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I am sure that will suit. It is for me, and I am not particular. But there's one thing that may trouble us."

"What is that?"

"Where can mother prepare our meals? She can't cook in the bedroom."

"I will give her the privilege of using my kitchen. I don't care to take boarders, as it would be too much care, but your mother is welcome to use my kitchen stove."

"Won't it interfere with you?"

"Leave that to your mother and myself," said Mrs. Brown, with a pleasant smile. "We can make some satisfactory arrangement."

"How much do you want for your rooms?" asked Dan.

"Will you be permanent?"

"We will be permanent, if suited."

"Of course; that is all I ask. Will four dollars a week suit you?"

"We will pay it," said Dan, quite relieved, for he feared he should have to pay more. "Can we move in to-day?"

"Any time, sir."

"Thank you."

"I generally ask a week's rent in advance," said Mrs. Brown, "but in your case I won't insist upon it."

"Oh, it is perfectly convenient," said Dan, and he drew out his pocket-book containing the money—over a hundred dollars—which Althea's aunt had given him.

Mrs. Brown's respect for Dan was considerably increased by this display of wealth, and she congratulated herself on securing such substantial lodgers.

This business accomplished Dan went down town, and informed his mother of the arrangement he had made. Before night Mrs. Mordaunt, Althea, and he were installed in their new home, much to the regret of Mrs. Rafferty, who regretted losing so good a neighbor. Before this, however, Dan sought the counting-room of Barton & Rogers.

CHAPTER XV.

DAN BECOMES A DETECTIVE

Barton & Rogers evidently did business in a large way. They occupied an imposing-looking building of five stories, the greater part being used to store goods. Dan entered and looked around him. A spare, dark-complexioned man of about thirty-five, with a pen behind his ear, was issuing orders to a couple of workmen.

Dan approached him.

"Is Mr. Rogers in?" he asked.

"No, he is not," said the dark man, curtly.

"Will he be in soon?"

"I don't know."

"You might be more civil," thought our hero.

He stood his ground, feeling authorized to do so because he had come by appointment.

Observing this, the book-keeper turned and said, sharply:

"Didn't you hear? I said Mr. Rogers was out."

"I heard you," said Dan, quietly.

"Then why do you remain? Do you doubt my word?"

"Not at all, sir; but Mr. Rogers asked me to call this morning. I can wait."

"You can tell me your business."

"Thank you, but I don't think that would do."

The book-keeper eyed him sharply, and his face lighted up with a sudden discovery.

"I know you now," he said. "You sell papers in front of the Astor House, don't you?"

"That has been my business."

"I thought so; I have bought papers of you."

"Thank you for your patronage."

"What can you want of Mr. Rogers?"

"Mr. Rogers wants me, I suppose, or he would not have asked me to call," returned Dan.

"You are a cool hand."

"Not always," said Dan, with a smile. "Some hot days I am far from cool."

"I suppose Mr. Rogers wishes you to supply him with an evening paper?"

"Perhaps he does," returned Dan, with a smile.

"Confound the fellow! I can't make anything of him. When did you see Mr. Rogers last?"

"In the supper-room of the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

"How happened you to be there?" demanded Talbot, the book-keeper, in surprise.

"I was taking supper," said Dan, rather enjoying the others surprise, "and Mr. Rogers saw me from another table."

"Humph! Do you often take supper at the Fifth Avenue Hotel?"

"Not often."

"Selling papers must be very profitable."

"I'm willing to change places with you."

Just then Mr. Rogers entered the warehouse.

"Ah! you are here before me, Dan," he remarked, pleasantly. "Have you been here long?"

"No, sir; only about five minutes."

"I must keep you waiting a few minutes longer while I look at my letters. The letters have arrived, have they not, Mr. Talbot?"

"Yes, sir."

"Amuse yourself as you like while you are waiting, Dan," said the merchant.

Mr. Talbot, the book-keeper, followed the merchant into the counting-room, and Dan was left alone. He looked about him with interest, thinking it probable that this was to be his future business home. It would certainly be a piece of good fortune to become attached to so large and important a house, and he felt in very good spirits, though he foresaw that Mr. Talbot would not make it very pleasant for him. But with his employer on his side he need not be alarmed.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Mr. Rogers emerged from the counting-room.

"I have to go out a few minutes," he said to Dan. "Come with me, and we can talk on the way."

"Certainly, sir."

Mr. Talbot followed the two with a frown upon his brow.

"How on earth has that boy managed to get round Mr. Rogers?" he asked himself. "I hope he won't be foolish enough to take him in here."

Talbot had a nephew whom he was anxious to get into the business, and Dan's engagement would interfere with his little plan. This partly accounts for his brusque reception of Dan on his first arrival.

"Well, how do you like our place of business, Dan?" asked Mr. Rogers.

"Very much, sir."

"Would you rather sell papers or take employment with me?"

"I should like very much to be in your employ, sir."

"How much did you earn as a newsboy?"

"When I was lucky I made a dollar a day."

"Then I ought to give you six dollars a week."

"I will come for less, sir."

"I will pay you what I said. It is more than boys generally get at the start, but I am willing to pay a good sum to a boy who suits me."

"I will try to suit you, sir."

"Do you know why I take you into my employ?"

"Out of kindness, sir."

"I feel kindly disposed to you, Dan, but that is not my chief reason."

Dan was puzzled, and waited to hear more.

"My attention was drawn to you on the ferry-boat. I observed your detection of the mean scamp who cheated a poor flower-girl by offering her bad money, and I inferred that you were sharp and keen."

"I hope I am, sir."

"That is the sort of boy I want just now. Did you observe Mr. Talbot, my book-keeper?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you think of him?"

Dan smiled.

"I don't think he admires me much," he answered. "He wanted to clear me out before you came in."

"Did he?"

"Yes; he recognized me as a newsboy."

"I understand his reception of you. He has a nephew whom he wishes me to engage. He is jealous of all possible rivals."

"Perhaps his nephew would suit you better, sir," said Dan, modestly.

"Are you willing to resign in his favor?"

"I prefer to leave that to you, sir."

"You can do so safely. The nephew is a disagreeable boy, who would not suit me at all. He thinks more of dress than of duty, and, if I read him aright, is lazy and incompetent. Nevertheless, Mr. Talbot has spoken to me about taking him."

"Perhaps he doesn't know his nephew's faults."

"He knows them well enough, but is desirous of promoting his interests. He won't look upon you very favorably when he learns that I have engaged you."

"If you are satisfied, I won't care for that."

"Well spoken, my lad. And now for a few words in confidence," and Mr. Rogers lowered his voice. "Our business is a large one, and the sums of money handled are necessarily large. Three months since I ascertained that somewhere in my establishment there was a leak. We are losing money in some unexplained way. I believe that some one in whom I repose confidence is betraying me."

Dan listened in earnest attention.

"Do you suspect any one, sir?" he asked.

"I suspect Mr. Talbot," he said, in the same low voice.

Dan started in surprise.

"It seems strange, perhaps, that I should speak so confidentially to you—a mere boy—but I am impressed with the idea that you can help me."

"If I can, sir, I will," said Dan, earnestly.

"I don't doubt it. My first injunction is to say no word, even to your nearest relations, of what I have told you."

"I won't, sir."

"Next, keep a watch over Mr. Talbot. I want to know what are his habits, whether he uses money freely, with whom he associates. Can you, without betraying to him that he is watched, find out some information for me on these points?"

"I will try, sir."

"If you secure any information, never communicate it to me in the office. Either come to my house, or write me there."

"Yes, sir."

"You understand that I am employing you in a detective capacity, and that your time will partly be taken up out of business hours. I intend to pay you extra, according to results. Is that satisfactory?"

"Perfectly so, Mr. Rogers, but I am afraid you will be disappointed in me."

"I will take my risk of that."

"Have you any directions to give me, sir, as to how to go to work?"

"No; I am nothing of a detective myself. I leave that to you. I might, of course, employ a professional detective, but Talbot is sharp, and he would suspect. You he will not suspect. He won't dream of my employing a boy. That is all I have to say for the present. When can you come to work?"

"I can come to-morrow morning. To-day we are going to move."

"To-morrow let it be, then. Good-morning, Dan."

Mr. Rogers shook hands with our hero, and walked away.

"I am afraid I have a hard job on my hands," thought Dan, "but I will do my best."

CHAPTER XVI.

DAN MAKES A DISCOVERY

Dan's mother was much pleased with her new quarters. The large room, occupied by Althea and herself, was bright and cheerful, and well furnished. Besides the ordinary chamber furniture, there was a comfortable arm-chair and a lounge. Mrs. Mordaunt felt that she would not be ashamed now to receive a visit from some of her former friends.

She had anticipated some trouble about the preparation of meals, but Mrs. Brown made a proposition which wonderfully removed all difficulties.

"Mrs. Mordaunt," she said, "your family is about the same as mine. I have a son who is employed in a newspaper office down town, and you have two young children. Now, suppose we club together, and each pay half of the table supplies. Then one day you can superintend the cooking—you will only have to direct my servant Maggie—and the next day I will do it. Then, every other day, each of us will be a lady of leisure, and not have to go into the kitchen at all. What do you say?"

"The arrangement will be so much to my advantage that I can say only one thing—I accept with thanks. But won't you be doing more than your share? You will be furnishing the fuel, and pay Maggie's wages."

"I should have to do that at any rate. The plan is perfectly satisfactory to me, if it suits you."

Mrs. Mordaunt found that the expense was not beyond her means. Her income for the care of Althea was fifty dollars a month, and Dan paid her four dollars a week out of his wages, reserving the balance as a fund to purchase clothes. She went herself to market and selected articles for the table, and, for the first time since her husband's failure, found herself in easy circumstances.

There was no need now to make vests at starvation prices. She had thought of continuing, but Dan insisted upon her giving it up entirely.

"If you want to sew, mother," he said, "you can make some of Althea's clothes, and pay yourself out of the ten dollars a month allowed for her clothes."

This was sensible and proper, and Mrs. Mordaunt decided to follow Dan's advice. She lost no time in obtaining books for the little girl, and commencing her education. Althea knew her letters, but nothing more. She was bright and eager to learn, and gained rapidly under her new teacher.

Naturally, Dan and his mother were curious as to Althea's early history, but from the little girl they obtained little information.

"Do you remember your mother, Althea?" asked Dan, one evening.

"Yes," said the little girl.

"When did you see her last?"

"Not long ago. Only a little while before you brought me here."

"Your mother isn't dead, is she?"

"No; but she's gone away."

"Why did she go away?"

"She is sick. That's what auntie told me. Poor mamma cried very much when she went away. She kissed me, and called me her darling."

"Do you know where she went?"

"No; I don't know."

"Perhaps her lungs are affected, and she has gone to a warmer climate," suggested Mrs. Mordaunt. "She may have gone to Florida, or even to Italy."

"Where is your father?" asked Dan, turning to Althea.

"Father is a bad man," said the child, positively. "He made mamma cry. He went away a good while ago."

"And didn't he come back?"

"He came back once, and then mamma cried again. I think he wanted mamma to give him some money."

Dan and his mother talked over the little girl's revelations, and thought they had obtained a clew to the mystery in which the child's history was involved. Althea's mother might have married a man of bad habits, who wanted to get possession of her fortune, and rendered a separation necessary. Ill health might have required her to leave home and shift the care of the little girl upon strangers. It seemed rather odd that she should have been handed over to utter strangers, but there might have been reasons of which they knew nothing.

"We won't trouble ourselves about it," said Dan. "It's good luck for us, even if it was bad luck for Althea's mother. I like the idea of having a little sister."

Althea's last name was not known to her new protector. When Dan inquired, he was told that she could pass by his name, so Althea Mordaunt she became.

Both Dan and his mother had feared that she might become homesick, but the fear seemed groundless. She was of a happy disposition, and almost immediately began to call Mrs. Mordaunt mother.

"I call you mother," she said, "but I have a mamma besides; but she has gone away."

"You must not forget your mamma, my dear," said the widow.

"No, I won't. She will come back some day; she said she would."

"And I will take care of you till she does, Althea."

"Yes," said the child, nodding. "I am glad I came to you, for now I have a brother Dan."

"And I have a little sister," said Dan.

While Dan was away, and now he was away after supper regularly, Althea was a great deal of company for Mrs. Mordaunt.

In the pleasant afternoons she took the little girl out to walk, frequently to Union Square Park, where she made acquaintance with other little girls, and had a merry time, while her new mother sat on one of the benches.

One day a dark-complexioned gentleman, who had been looking earnestly at Althea, addressed Mrs. Mordaunt.

"That is a fine little girl of yours, madam," he said.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Mordaunt.

"She does not resemble you much," he said, inquiringly.

"No; there is very little resemblance," answered Mrs. Mordaunt, quietly, feeling that she must be on her guard.