Dan, The Newsboy

"Probably she resembles her father?" again essayed the stranger.

Mrs. Mordaunt did not reply, and the stranger thought she was offended.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but she resembles a friend of mine, and that called my attention to her."

Mrs. Mordaunt bowed, but thought it wisest not to protract the conversation. She feared that the inquirer might be a friend of the father, and hostile to the true interests of the child.

For a week to come she did not again bring Althea to the park, but walked with her in a different direction. When, after a week, she returned to the square, the stranger had disappeared. At all events, he was not to be seen.

We pass now to Dan and his interests.

Mr. Talbot heard of his engagement with anything but satisfaction. He even ventured to remonstrate with Mr. Rogers.

"Do you know that this boy whom you have engaged is a common newsboy?" he asked. "I have bought a paper more than once of him, in front of the Astor House."

"So have I," answered Mr. Rogers, quietly.

"Then you know all about him?"

"Yes."

"It is none of my business, but I think you could easily get a better boy. There is my nephew–"

"Your nephew would not suit me, Mr. Talbot."

The book-keeper bit his lip.

"Won't you give him a trial?" he asked.

"I have engaged Dan."

"If Dan should prove unsatisfactory, would you try my nephew?"

"Perhaps so."

It was an incautious concession, for it was an inducement to the book-keeper to get Dan into trouble.

It was Dan's duty to go to the post-office, sometimes to go on errands, and to make himself generally useful about the warehouses. As we know, however, he had other duties of a more important character, of which Mr. Talbot knew nothing.

The first discovery Dan made was made through the book-keeper's carelessness.

Mr. Rogers was absent in Philadelphia, when Talbot received a note which evidently disturbed him. Dan saw him knitting his brows, and looking moody. Finally he hastily wrote a note, and called Dan.

"Take that to – Wall street," he said, "and don't loiter on the way."

The note was directed to Jones & Robinson.

On reaching the address, Dan found that Jones & Robinson were stock brokers.

Jones read the note.

"You come from Mr. Talbot?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell him we will carry the stocks for him a week longer, but can't exceed that time."

"Perhaps you had better write him a note," suggested Dan, "as he may not like to have me know his business."

"Very well."

So Dan carried back the note.

"I believe I have made a discovery," he said to himself. "Mr. Talbot is speculating in Wall street. I wonder if he speculates with his own money or the firm's?"

His face, however, betrayed nothing as he handed the note to the book-keeper, and the latter, after a searching glance, decided that there was nothing to fear in that quarter.

CHAPTER XVII.

TALBOT'S SECRET

Some light may be thrown upon Mr. Talbot's operations, if the reader will accompany him to a brownstone house on Lexington avenue, on the evening of the day when Dan was sent to the office of the Wall street brokers.

Mr. Talbot ascended the steps, not with the elastic step of a man with whom the world is prospering, but with the slow step of a man who is burdened with care.

"Is Miss Conway at home?" he inquired of the servant who answered the bell.

"Yes, sir."

"Will you tell her I should like to speak with her?"

"Yes, sir."

Talbot walked in with the air of one who was familiar with the house, and entering a small front room, took a seat.

The furniture was plain, and the general appearance was that of a boarding-house.

Talbot seemed immersed in thought, and only raised his eyes from the carpet when he heard the entrance of a young lady. His face lighted up, and he rose eagerly.

"My dear Virginia," he said, "it seems a long time since I saw you."

"It is only four days," returned the young lady, coolly.

"Four days without seeing you is an eternity."

The young lady smiled. It was easy to see that Talbot was in love, and she was not.

"A very pretty compliment," she said. "Well, have you any news?"

"Not good news," said he, soberly.

She shrugged her shoulders, and looked disappointed.

Before going further, it may be as well to describe briefly the young lady who had so enthralled the book-keeper.

She had the advantage of youth, a complexion clear red and white, and decidedly pretty features. If there was a defect, it was the expression of her eyes. There was nothing soft or winning in her glance. She seemed, and was, of a cold, calculating, unsympathetic nature. She was intensely selfish, and was resolved only to marry a man who could gratify her taste for finery and luxurious living.

She was the niece of Mrs. Sinclair, who kept the boarding-house, and though living in dependence upon her aunt, did nothing to relieve her from the care and drudgery incidental to her business.

"It's too provoking," she said, pouting.

"So it is, Virginia;" and Talbot tried to take her hand, but she quietly withdrew it.

"You told me that you would have plenty of money by this time, Mr. Talbot."

"I expected it, but a man can't foresee the fluctuations of Wall street. I am afraid I shall meet with a loss."

"I don't believe you are as smart as Sam Eustis—he's engaged to my cousin. He made ten thousand dollars last month on Lake Shore."

"It's the fools that blunder into luck," said Talbot, irritated.

"Then you'd better turn fool; it seems to pay," said Virginia, rather sharply.

"No need of that—I'm fool enough already," said Talbot, bitterly.

"Oh, well, if you've only come here to make yourself disagreeable, I'm sure you'd better stay away," said the young lady, tossing her head.

"I came here expecting sympathy and encouragement," said Talbot. "Instead, you receive me with taunts and coldness."

"You are unreasonable, Mr. Talbot," said Virginia. "I will be cheerful and pleasant when you bring me agreeable news."

"Oh, Virginia!" exclaimed Talbot, impulsively. "Why will you require impossibilities of me? Take me as I am. I have an income of two thousand dollars a year. We can live comfortably on that, and be happy in a snug little home."

"Snug little home!" repeated the young lady, scornfully. "Thank you; I'd rather not. I know just what that means. It means that I am to be a household drudge, afraid to spend an extra sixpence—perhaps obliged to take lodgers, like my aunt."

"Not so bad as that, Virginia."

"It would come to that in time."

"I am sure you cannot love me when you so coolly give me up for money."

"I haven't given you up, but I want you to get money."

"Would to Heaven I could!"

"You could if you were in earnest."

"Do you doubt that?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Mr. Talbot. If you really care so much for me, you will try to support me as I want to live."

"Tell me, in a word, what you want."

"Well," said Virginia, slowly, "I want to go to Europe for my honey-moon. I've heard so much of Paris, I know I should like it ever so much. Then I want to live respectably when I get back."

"What do you call living respectably?" asked Talbot.

"Well, we must have a nice little house to ourselves, and I think, just at first, I could get along with three servants; and I should want to go to the opera, and the theater, and to concerts."

"You have not been accustomed to live in that way, Virginia."

"No; and that's why I have made up my mind not to marry unless my husband can gratify me."

"Suppose this is impossible?"

"Impossible for you!" said Miss Conway, significantly.

"You mean you will look elsewhere?" said Talbot, hastily.

"Yes, I think so," said Virginia, coolly.

"And you would desert me for a richer suitor?" he demanded, quickly.

"Of course I would rather marry you—you know that," said Virginia, with perfect self-possession; "but if you can't meet my conditions, perhaps it is better that we should part."

"You are cruel—heartless!" exclaimed Talbot, angrily.

"No; only sensible," she returned, calmly. "I don't mean to marry you and be unhappy all my life; and I can't be happy living in the stuffy way my aunt does. We should both be sorry for such a marriage when it was too late."

"I will take the risk, Virginia," said Talbot, fixing his eyes with passionate love on the cold-hearted girl.

"But I will not," said Virginia, decidedly. "I am sure you needn't take it to heart, Mr. Talbot. Why don't you exert yourself and win a fortune, as other people do? I am sure plenty of money is made in Wall street."

"And lost."

"Not if you are smart. Come now, smooth your face, and tell me you will try," she said, coaxingly.

"Yes, Virginia, I will try," he answered, his face clearing. "And if I try–"

"You will succeed," she said, smiling.

"Well, I hope I may."

"And now don't let us talk about disagreeable things. Do you know, sir, it is a week since you took me to any place of amusement? And here I have been moping at home every evening with my aunt, who is terribly tiresome, poor old soul!"

"I would rather spend the evening here with you, Virginia, than go to any place of amusement."

"Then I can't agree with you. One gets tired of spooning."

"I don't—if you call by that name being in the company of one you love."

"You would, if you had as little variety as I have."

"Tell me one thing, Virginia—you love me, don't you?" asked Talbot, in whose mind sometimes there rose an unpleasant suspicion that his love was not returned.

"Why, of course I do, you foolish man," she said, carelessly. "And now, where are you going to take me?"

"Where do you want to go, my darling?"

"To the Italian opera. To-morrow they play 'The Huguenots.'"

"I thought you didn't care for music, Virginia?"

"I don't go for that. I want to go because it's fashionable, and I want to be seen. So, be a good boy, and get some nice seats for to-morrow evening."

"Very well, my darling."

"And you'll try to get rich, for my sake?"

"Yes, Virginia. How rich must I be?"

"As soon as you can tell me you have ten thousand dollars, and will spend half of it on a trip to Europe, I will marry you."

"Is that a bargain?"

"Yes."

"Then I hope to tell you so soon."

"The sooner the better."

When Talbot left the house it was with the determination to secure the sum required by any means, however objectionable. His great love had made him reckless.

Virginia Conway followed his retreating form with her cool, calculating glance.

"Poor man! he is awfully in love!" she said to herself. "I'll give him two months to raise the money, and if he fails, I think I can captivate Mr. Cross, though he's horrid."

Mr. Cross was a middle-aged grocer, a widower, without children, and reputed moderately wealthy.

When Mr. Talbot had entered the house, Dan was not far off. Later, he saw him at the window with Virginia.

"I suppose that's his young lady," thought Dan. "All right! I guess he's safe for this evening."

CHAPTER XVIII.

TWO KNIGHTS OF THE HIGHWAY

Stocks took an upward turn, so that Talbot's brokers were willing to carry them for him longer without an increase of margin. The market looked so uncertain, however, that he decided to sell, though he only made himself whole. To escape loss hardly satisfied him, when it was so essential to make money.

He was deeply in love with Virginia Conway, but there was no hope of obtaining her consent to a marriage unless he could raise money enough to gratify her desires.

How should he do it?

He was returning to his boarding-house at a late hour one night, when, in an unfrequented street, two figures advanced upon him from the darkness, and, while one seized him by the throat, the other rifled his pockets.

Talbot was not a coward, and having only a few dollars in his pocket-book, while his watch, luckily, was under repair at Tiffany's, he submitted quietly to the examination.

The pocket-book was opened and its contents eagerly scanned.

An exclamation of disgust mingled with profanity followed.

"Only five dollars, Mike!" muttered one of the ruffians.

"Why don't you carry money, like a gentleman?" demanded the man called Mike. "Ain't you ashamed to carry such a lean wallet as that there?"

"Really, gentlemen, if I had expected to meet you, I would have provided myself better," said Talbot, not without a gleam of humor.

"He's chaffing us Bill," said Mike.

"You'd better not, if you know what's best for yourself," growled Bill. "Where's your ticker?"

"My watch is at Tiffany's."

"That's too thin."

"It's the truth. You ought to have waited till next week, when I'd have had it for you."

"You're a cool customer."

"Why not?"

"We might hurt you."

"You have already. Don't squeeze my throat so next time."

"Have you any jewelry about you?"

"Only a pair of sleeve buttons."

"Gold?"

"Yes; but they are small, and not worth much."

"You've took us in reg'lar! A gent like you ought to have diamond studs, or a pin, or something of value."

"I know it, and I'm sorry I haven't, for your sakes."

"No chaffing!" said Bill, with an ominous growl.

"Don't be afraid. I look upon you as gentlemen, and treat you accordingly. In fact, I'm glad I've met with you."

"Why?" asked Mike, suspiciously.

"I may be able to put something in your way."

"Are you on the square?" asked Bill, rather surprised.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you in the street. Is there any quiet place, where we shall not be disturbed or overheard?"

The men looked at each other in doubt.

"This may be a plant," said Mike, suspiciously.

"On my honor, it isn't."

"If it is," growled Bill, "you'd better make your will."

"I know the risk, and am not afraid. In short, I have a job for you."

The men consulted, and finally were led to put confidence in Talbot.

"Is there money in it?" asked Mike.

"Two hundred dollars apiece."

"We'll hear what you have to say. Bill, let's go to your room."

"Is it far away?" asked Talbot.

"No."

"Lead on, then."

The three made their way to a dilapidated building on Houston street, and ascended to the fourth floor.

Bill kicked open the door of a room with his foot and strode in.

A thin, wretched-looking woman sat in a wooden chair, holding a young child.

"Is it you, Bill?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me!" growled her husband. "Just clear out into the other room. Me and these gentlemen have business together."

She meekly obeyed the command of her lord, glancing curiously at Talbot as she went out. Mike she knew only too well, as one of her husband's evil companions.

The door was closed, but the wife bent her ear to the keyhole and listened attentively.

Suspecting nothing, the conspirators spoke in louder tones than they were aware of, so that she obtained a pretty clear idea of what was being planned.

"Now go ahead," said Bill, throwing himself on the chair his wife had vacated. "What's your game?"

"Can you open a safe?" asked Talbot.

"We might, 'specially if we knowed the combination."

"Perhaps I can manage that."

"Where is it?"

Talbot gave the name of his employer and the number of his store.

"What have you got to do with it?"

"I'm the book-keeper."

"You are? What are you going to make out of it?"

"Leave that to me. I'll guarantee that you'll find four hundred dollars there to pay you for your trouble."

"That isn't enough. The risk is too great."

"It is only one night's work."

"If we're caught, it'll be Sing Sing for seven years."

"That's true. How much do you require, gentlemen?"

The men consulted.

"We might do it for five hundred apiece," said Bill.

There was a little discussion, but finally this was acceded to. Various details were discussed, and the men separated.

"I'm goin' your way," said Mike. "I'll show you the way out."

"All right, thank you, but we'd better separate at the street door."

"Why? Are you too fine a gentleman to be seen with the likes of me?" demanded Mike, feeling insulted.

"Not at all, my friend; but if we were seen together by any of the police, who know me as book-keeper, it would excite suspicion later."

"You're right. Your head's level. You're sure you're on the square?"

"Yes, my friend. I shouldn't dare to tamper with men like you and Bill. You might find a way to get even with me."

"That's so, stranger. I guess we can trust you."

"You may be sure of that."

"More crime!" said the miserable wife to herself, as she heard through the keyhole the details of the plan. "Bill is getting worse and worse every day. Where will it all end?"

"Here, Nancy, get me something to eat," said Bill, when his visitors had departed.

"Yes, Bill, I will get you all there is."

The wife brought out from a small closet a slice of bread and a segment of cheese.

"Pah!" said the burly ruffian, turning up his nose. "What are you giving us?"

"It's all I've got, Bill."

"Where's the meat, I say?"

"There is none."

"You and your brat have eaten it!" said he, irritably.

"God help us, Bill! We have had no meat for a week."

"That's a lie! I can't eat such trash as that. Do you mean to starve me?"

"I can't make food, Bill. If you will give money, I will provide better. I can't do anything without money."

"Whining, are you?" said the brute, furiously. "I'll teach you to complain of me. Take that, and that!" and he struck the woman two brutal blows with his fist. One, glancing, struck the child, who began to cry. This further irritated Bill, who, seizing his wife by the shoulders, thrust her out on the landing.

"There, stay there with the cursed brat!" he growled. "I mean to have one quiet night."

The wretched wife crept down stairs, and out into the street, scarcely knowing what she did. She was not wholly destitute of spirit, and though she might have forgiven personal injury, felt incensed by the treatment of her innocent child.

"My poor baby!" she said, pitifully, "must you suffer because your father is a brute? May Heaven avenge our wrongs! Sooner or later it will."

She sat down on some steps near by; the air was chilly, and she shivered with the cold, but she tried to shelter her babe as well as she could. She attracted the attention of a boy who was walking slowly by.

It was Dan, who had at a distance witnessed Talbot's encounter with the burglars, and his subsequent friendly companionship with them, and was trying to ascertain the character of the place which he visited.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Dan, in a tone of sympathy.

"My husband has thrust me out of doors with my poor baby."

"He must be a nice husband. Do you want a lodging?"

"I have no money."

"I can let you have enough for that. There's a cheap hotel near by. I'll take you to it, and pay for your lodging, and pay for it in advance."

"Heaven bless you! You are indeed a friend."

"Take my arm."

Supported by Dan, the poor woman rose and walked to an humble tavern not far away.

"She may know something about Talbot's visit. I'll question her," thought Dan.

CHAPTER XIX.

DAN AS A GOOD SAMARITAN

"What made your husband treat you so badly?" asked Dan.

"Rum!" answered the woman. "Rum has been sinking him lower and lower, and it's easy to see the end."

"What will be the end?"

"The prison—perhaps the gallows."

"You are taking too dark a view of your husband," said Dan, soothingly. "He won't go as far as that."

The woman shook her head.

"I know him only too well," she said. "This very evening he has been planning a burglary."

Dan started, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind.

"Did you hear him doing it?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know where it is?" he asked, eagerly.

"Yes; it is a store on Pearl street."

Dan felt that he was on the track of a discovery. He was likely to be repaid at last for the hours he had spent in detective service.

"Who put him up to it?" he asked, fixing his eyes intently on the woman.

"I don't know his name; he is a well-dressed man. I think he is in the store."

"Was it a man who came to your rooms this evening?"

"Yes."

"Is this the way he looked?" Here Dan gave a rapid description of Talbot.

"That is the man. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him. He is the book-keeper of the firm."

"He is a bad man. He is to pay a thousand dollars for the job. Bill is to have half of it."

"Bill, I suppose, is your husband?"

"Yes."

Dan looked thoughtful. Here was a most important discovery. He must consider what to do.

By this time they had reached a small public-house, of humble exterior, but likely to afford his companion better accommodations than she had at home.

"Come in," said Dan.

The woman followed him, with the child in her arms. A stout German, who appeared to be the proprietor of the establishment, was sitting in an arm-chair, smoking a pipe. He scanned the party phlegmatically.

"What you wants?" he asked.

"Can you give this lady a room?" asked Dan.

"Is she your vife?" asked the German, with a broad grin.

"No; she is an acquaintance of mine. Her husband has driven her out of his house in a fit of drunkenness. Can she sleep here?"

"Has she got any money?" asked the Dutchman, shrewdly.

"I will pay for her lodging."

"That's all right. She shall stay here."

"What will you charge?"

"Fifty cents a night for the lodging."

"Here it is."

"Will the lady go up now?" asked the landlord, upon whom the silver half-dollar produced a visible impression.

"Yes," said the woman; "my poor baby is tired."

"You had better stay here two nights," said Dan. "Don't let your husband know where you are just yet. Here is money to pay for another night's lodging, and enough to buy food besides."

"God bless you, boy!" she said, gratefully. "But for you I should have had to stay out all night."

"Oh, no; some one would have taken you in."

"You don't know this neighborhood; the policeman would have found me, and taken me to the station-house. For myself I care little; but my poor babe, who is worse than fatherless–" and she burst into tears.

"Keep up your courage, madam. Brighter days may be in store," said Dan, cheerfully.

"I will come and see you day after to-morrow," said Dan. "Good-night."

Our hero must not be awarded too great credit for his generosity. He knew that Mr. Rogers would willingly defray all expenses connected with the discovery, and that the money he had advanced to his unfortunate companion would be repaid. Had it been otherwise, however, his generous heart would have prompted him to relieve the woman's suffering.

CHAPTER XX.

LAYING THE TRAIN

Very early the next morning Dan rang the bell at Mr. Rogers' residence.

"Can I see Mr. Rogers?" he asked.

"The master won't be up for an hour," said the servant.

"Tell him Dan wishes to see him on business of importance."

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't think he'll see you. He was up late last night," she said.

"Never mind. Let him know I am here."

"It's very important you make yourself," said Susan, crossly.

"I am a person of great importance," said Dan, smiling. "Mr. Rogers will see me, you'll find."

Two minutes later Susan descended the stairs a little bewildered.

"You're to walk into the parlor," she said. "Master'll be down directly."

Dan did not have long to wait. Mr. Rogers came down stairs almost directly in dressing-gown and slippers.

"Well, Dan, what is it?" he asked.

"The store is to be broken open to-night and the safe robbed!" said Dan.

"Good heavens! By whom?"

"By two men living in Houston street—at least, one lives there."

"Have you any more to tell?"

"Yes, sir; they are employed by Mr. Talbot."

Mr. Rogers started.