Dan, The Newsboy

It is not necessary to explain how the burglars effected their entrance. This was effected about twelve o'clock, and by the light of a dark-lantern Bill and Mike advanced cautiously toward the safe.

At this point old Jack made his appearance, putting on an air of alarm and dismay.

"Who are you?" he demanded, in a tone which he partially succeeded in making tremulous.

Bill took up the reply.

"Are you the janitor?" he asked.

"Yes, gentlemen. What do you want?"

"Keep quiet, and we will do you no harm. We want you to open the safe."

"I can't do that, gentlemen. I can't betray my trust."

"All right; I'll do it myself. Give us the key. What's the combination?"

"Hartford."

Bill glanced at Mike significantly. The word agreed with the information they had received from Talbot. It served to convince them that the janitor had indeed succumbed, and could be relied upon. There was no suspicion in the mind of either that there was any one else in the establishment, and they felt moderately secure from interruption.

"Here, old fellow, hold the lantern while we go to work. Just behave yourself, and we'll give you ten dollars—shall we, Mike?"

"Yes," answered Mike; "I'm agreed."

"It'll look as if I was helpin' to rob my master," objected Jack.

"Oh, never mind about that; he won't know it. When all is over we'll tie you up, so that it will look as if you couldn't help yourself. What do you say?"

Jack felt like making a violent assault upon the man who was offering him a bribe, but he controlled his impulse, and answered:

"I'm a poor man, and ten dollars will come handy."

"All right," said Bill, convinced by this time that Jack's fidelity was very cheaply purchased. He plumed himself on his success in converting the janitor into an ally, and felt that the way was clear before him.

"Mike, give the lantern to this old man, and come here and help me."

Old Jack took the lantern, laughing in his sleeve at the ease with which he had gulled the burglars, while they kneeled before the safe.

It was then that, looking over his shoulder, he noticed the stealthy approach of the policemen, accompanied by Dan. He could content himself no longer. Setting down the lantern, he sprang upon the back of Bill as he was crouching before him, exclaiming:

"Now, you villain, I have you!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BURGLARY

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Bill, powerful as he was, was prostrated, and for an instant interposed no resistance. But this was not for long.

"You'll repent this, you old idiot!" he hissed between his closed teeth, and, in spite of old Jack's efforts to keep him down, he forced his way up.

At the same moment Mike, who had been momentarily dazed by the sudden attack, seized the janitor, and, between them both, old Jack's life was likely to be of a very brief tenure. But here the reinforcements appeared, and changed the aspect of the battle.

One burly policeman seized Bill by the collar, while Mike was taken in hand by another, and their heavy clubs fell with merciless force on the heads of the two captives.

In the new surprise Jack found himself a free man, and, holding up the lantern, cried, exultingly:

"If I am an old idiot, I've got the better of you, you scoundrels! You'll open the safe, will you?"

Bill looked about him doggedly. It was hard for him to give in, but the fight was too unequal.

"Mike," said he, "this is a plant. I wish I had that cursed book-keeper here; he led us into this."

"Is it Mr. Talbot you mean?" asked the janitor.

"Yes," answered Bill; "he put us up to this. Curse him!"

"No need to curse him," said Jack, dryly; "he meant you to succeed."

"Didn't he tell you we were coming to-night?"

"Not he."

"How did you find it out, then?" asked Bill, quickly.

"Not through him. He was watched, for we suspected him. What did he promise you?"

"Five hundred dollars apiece."

"Was that all?"

"It wasn't enough; but we should have got more out of him."

"Before you go away with your prisoners," said Jack to the policeman, "I wish to open the safe before you, to see if I am right in my suspicions. Mr. Talbot drew over ten thousand dollars from the bank to-day, and led us to think that he deposited it in the safe. I wish to ascertain, in the presence of witnesses, how much he placed there, and how much he carried away."

"Go ahead," said the oldest policeman.

The janitor proceeded to open the safe.

"Did we have the right combination?" asked Bill.

"No."

"That cursed book-keeper deceived us, then."

"You are mistaken. He was himself deceived. I gave him the wrong word."

"Curse you, then!" said Bill, savagely.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Burglar," said old Jack, indifferently. "There's an old saying, 'Curses, like chickens, still come home to roost.' Your cursing won't hurt me any."

"If my curses don't my fists may!" retorted Bill, with a malignant look.

"You won't have a chance to carry out your threats for some years to come, if you get your deserts," said Jack, by no means terrified. "I've only done my duty, and I'm ready to do it again whenever needed."

By this time the safe was open; all present saw the envelope of money labeled "$12,000."

The two burglars saw the prize which was to have rewarded their efforts and risk with a tantalizing sense of defeat. They had been so near success, only to be foiled at last, and consigned to a jail for a term of years.

"Curse the luck!" muttered Bill, bitterly, and in his heart Mike said amen.

"Gentlemen, I will count this money before you," said the janitor, as he opened the parcel.

The count was quickly accomplished. It resulted, as my readers already know, in the discovery that, in place of twelve thousand, the parcel contained but one thousand dollars.

"Eleven thousand dollars short!" said Jack. "Gentlemen, will you take notice of this? Of course it is clear where the rest is gone—Talbot carried it away with him."

"Where is he?" inquired one of the policemen. "He ought to be pursued."

"By this time he is in custody," said Jack.

"Look here, old man, who engineered this thing?" demanded Bill.

"Come here, Dan," said Jack, summoning our hero, who modestly stood in the background. "Mr. Burglar, this boy is entitled to the credit of defeating you. We should have known nothing of your intentions but for Dan, the Detective."

"He!" said Bill, scornfully. "Why, I could crush him with one hand."

"Force is a good thing, but brains are better," said Jack. "Dan here has got a better head-piece than any of us."

"You've done yourself credit, boy," said the chief policeman. "When I have a difficult case I'll send for you."

"You are giving me more credit than I deserve," said Dan, modestly.

"If I ever get out of jail, I'll remember you," said Bill, scowling. "I wouldn't have minded so much if it had been a man, but to be laid by the heels by a boy like you—that's enough to make me sick."

"You've said enough, my man," said the policeman who had him in charge. "Come along, will you?"

The two prisoners, escorted by their captors, made their unwilling way to the station-house. They were duly tried, and were sentenced to a ten years' term of imprisonment.

As for Talbot, he tried to have it believed that he took the money found on him because he distrusted the honesty of the janitor; but this statement fell to the ground before Dan's testimony and that of Bill's wife.

He, too, received a heavy sentence, and it was felt that he only got his just deserts.

*         *         *         *         *         *         *

On the morning after the events recorded above, Mr. Rogers called Dan into the counting-room.

"Dan," he said, "I wish to express to you my personal obligations for the admirable manner in which you have managed the affair of this burglary."

"Thank you, sir," said Dan.

"I am convinced that but for you I should have lost twelve thousand dollars. It would not have ruined me, to be sure, but it would have been a heavy loss."

"Such a loss as that would have ruined me," said Dan, smiling.

"So I should suppose," assented his employer. "I predict, however, that the time will come when you can stand such a loss, and have something left."

"I hope so, sir."

"As there must always be a beginning, suppose you begin with that."

Mr. Rogers had turned to his desk and written a check, which he handed to Dan.

This was the way it read:

No. 375.

PARK NATIONAL BANK.

Pay to Dan Mordaunt or order One Thousand Dollars.

($1,000.) Barton & Rogers.

Dan took the check, supposing it might be for twenty dollars or so. When he saw the amount, he started in excitement and incredulity.

"One thousand dollars!" he repeated, in bewilderment.

"Yes," said Mr. Rogers, smiling. "It is a large sum for a boy like you, Dan. I hope you will invest it wisely."

"But, sir, you don't mean all this for me?" said Dan.

"Indeed I do. It is less than ten per cent on the money you have saved for us."

"How can I thank you for your kindness, sir?" said Dan, gratefully.

"By continuing to serve us faithfully. By the way, what wages do we pay you?"

"Six dollars a week."

"It is too little. From this time you will draw ten dollars."

"You have made me rich, Mr. Rogers," said Dan, gratefully.

"It is a little better than selling papers in front of the Astor House, isn't it, Dan?"

"A good deal, sir."

"I hope you will continue to prosper. Now, Dan, let me give you two pieces of advice."

"I wish you would, sir."

"First, put this money in a good savings-bank, and don't draw upon it unless you are obliged to. Let it be a nest-egg."

"I mean to do that, sir."

"And next, spend a part of your earnings in improving your education. You have already had unusual advantages for a boy of your age, but you should still be learning. It may help you, in a business point of view, to understand book-keeping."

"I will learn it, sir."

Dan not only did this, but resumed the study of both French and German, of which he had some elementary knowledge, and advanced rapidly in all.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DAN LEARNS TO DANCE

Several months passed without any incidents worth recording.

Punctually every month Dan received a remittance of sixty dollars through a foreign banker, whose office was near Wall street.

Of this sum it may be remembered that ten dollars were to be appropriated to Althea's dress.

Of the little girl it may be said she was very happy in her new home. She formed a strong attachment for Mrs. Mordaunt, whom she called mamma, while she always looked forward with delight to Dan's return at night.

Mrs. Mordaunt was very happy in the child's companionship, and found the task of teaching her very congenial.

But for the little girl she would have had many lonely hours, since Dan was absent all day on business.

"I don't know what I shall do, Althea, when you go to school," she said one day.

"I don't want to go to school. Let me stay at home with you, mamma."

"For the present I can teach you, my dear, but the time will come when for your own good it will be better to go to school. I cannot teach you as well as the teachers you will find there."

"You know ever so much, mamma. Don't you know everything?"

Mrs. Mordaunt smiled.

"Compared with you, my dear, I seem to know a great deal, but there are others who know much more."

Althea was too young as yet, however, to attend school, and the happy home life continued.

Mrs. Mordaunt and Dan often wondered how long their mysterious ward was to remain with them. Had she a mother living? If so, how could that mother voluntarily forego her child's society?

These were questions they sometimes asked themselves, but no answer suggested itself. They were content to have them remain unanswered, so long as Althea might remain with them.

The increase of Dan's income, and the large sum he had on interest, would have enabled them to live comfortably even without the provision made for their young ward.

As it was they could do better. Dan felt himself justified in indulging in a little extravagance.

"Mother," said he, one evening, "I am thinking of taking a course of lessons in dancing."

"What has put that into your head, Dan?"

"Julia Rogers is to have a birthday party in two or three months, and I think from a hint her father dropped to-day I shall have an invitation. I shall feel awkward if I don't know how to dance. Besides–"

Here Dan hesitated.

"Well, Dan, what besides?"

"Tom Carver will be sure to be there, and if I don't dance, or if I am awkward, he will be sure to sneer at me."

"Will that make you feel bad, Dan?"

"Not exactly, but I don't want to appear at disadvantage when he is around. If I have been a newsboy, I want to show that I can take the part of gentleman as well as he."

"Does the ability to dance make a gentleman, Dan?"

"No, mother, but I should feel awkward without it. I don't want to be a wall-flower. What do you say to my plan, mother?"

"Carry it out by all means, Dan. There is no reason why you shouldn't hold up your head with any of them," and Mrs. Mordaunt's eyes rested with pride on the handsome face and manly expression of her son.

"You are a little prejudiced in my favor, mother," said Dan, smiling. "If I were as awkward as a cat in a strange garret, you wouldn't see it."

"I am not quite blind, Dan."

Dan accordingly decided to take lessons in dancing. He selected a fashionable teacher, although the price was high, for he thought it might secure him desirable acquaintances, purchased a handsome suit of clothes, and soon became very much interested in the lessons. He had a quick ear, a good figure, and a natural grace of movement, which soon made him noticeable in the class, and he was quite in demand among the young ladies as a partner.

He was no less a favorite socially, being agreeable as well as good-looking.

"Mr. Mordaunt," said the professor, "I wish all my scholars did me as much credit as you do. You dance beautifully."

"Thank you, sir," said Dan, modestly, but he felt gratified.

By the time the invitation came Dan had no fears as to acquitting himself creditably.

"I hope Tom Carver will be there," he said to his mother, as he was dressing for the party.

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN THE DRESSING-ROOM

Mr. Rogers lived in a handsome brown-stone-front house up town.

As Dan approached, he saw the entire house brilliantly lighted. He passed beneath a canopy, over carpeted steps, to the front door, and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a stylish-looking colored man, whose grand air showed that he felt the importance and dignity of his position.

As Dan passed in he said:

"Gentlemen's dressing-room third floor back."

With a single glance through the open door at the lighted parlors, where several guests were already assembled, Dan followed directions, and went up stairs.

Entering the dressing-room, he saw a boy carefully arranging his hair before the glass.

"That's my friend, Tom Carver," said Dan to himself.

Tom was so busily engaged at his toilet that he didn't at once look at the new guest. When he had leisure to look up, he seemed surprised, and remarked, superciliously:

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Why not?" demanded Dan, who understood his meaning.

"Are you engaged to look after this room? If so, just brush me."

"With all my heart, if you'll brush me," answered Dan, partly offended and partly amused.

"What do you mean?" demanded Tom, haughtily.

"Just what I say. One good turn deserves another."

"Our positions are rather different, I think."

"How so? You are a guest of Miss Rogers, and so am I."

"You don't mean to say that you are going down into the parlor?"

"Why not?"

"A boy who sells papers in front of the Astor House is not a suitable guest at a fashionable party."

"That is not your affair," said Dan, coldly. "But it is not true that I sell papers anywhere."

"Oh, I forgot. You're a shop-boy now. You used to sell papers, though."

"And I will again, if necessary," answered Dan, as he took Tom's place in front of the glass and began to arrange his toilet.

Then, for the first time, Tom took notice that Dan was dressed as well as himself, in a style with which the most captious critic could not find fault. Tom was both surprised and disappointed. He would have liked to see Dan in awkward, ill-fitting, or shabby clothes. It seemed to him that an ex-newsboy had no right to dress so well, and he was greatly puzzled to understand how he could afford it.

"Where did you borrow those clothes?" he asked, impudently.

"Where did you borrow yours?" retorted Dan.

"Don't be saucy."

"You set me the example."

"It is not remarkable that I should be well dressed. I can afford it."

"So can I," answered Dan, laconically.

"Do you mean to say that you bought that suit and paid for it?"

"I do."

"It must have taken all your money."

"You are very kind to take so much interest in me. It may relieve your mind to see this."

Dan took a roll of bills from his pocket, and displayed them to the astonished Tom.

"I don't see where you got so much money," said Tom, mystified.

"I've got more in the bank," said Dan. "I mention it to you that you needn't feel bad about my extravagance in buying a party suit."

"I wouldn't have come to this party if I had been you," said Tom, changing his tone.

"Why not?"

"You'll be so awkward, you know. You don't know any one except Miss Rogers, who, of course, invited you out of pity, not expecting you would accept."

"Did she tell you so?" asked Dan, smiling.

"No, but it stands to reason."

"You forget I know you," said Dan, smiling again.

"I beg you won't presume upon our former slight acquaintance," said Tom, hastily. "I shall be so busily occupied that I really can't give you any attention."

"Then I must shift for myself, I suppose," said Dan, good-humoredly. "Shall we go down?"

"Go first, if you like," said Tom, superciliously. "I will follow directly."

"He doesn't want to go down with me," thought Dan. "Perhaps I shall surprise him a little;" and he made his way down stairs.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

DAN AT THE PARTY

As Dan entered the parlors he saw the young lady in whose honor the party was given only a few feet distant.

He advanced with perfect ease, and paid his respects.

"I am very glad to see you here this evening, Mr. Mordaunt," said Julia, cordially.

"What a handsome boy he is!" she thought. "I had no idea he would look so well."

Mentally she pronounced him the handsomest young gentleman present.

"Take your partners for a quadrille, young gentlemen," announced the master of ceremonies.

"Are you engaged, Miss Rogers?" asked Dan.

"Not as yet," answered the young lady, smiling.

"Then may I have the honor?"

"Certainly."

So it happened that as Tom Carver entered the room, he beheld, to his intense surprise and disgust, Dan leading the young hostess to her place in the quadrille.

"What a cheek that fellow has!" said Tom to himself. "I suppose he never attempted to dance in his life. It will be fun to watch his awkwardness. I am very much surprised that Julia should condescend to dance with him—a common newsboy."

At first Tom thought he wouldn't dance, but Mrs. Rogers approaching said:

"Tom, there's Jane Sheldon. She has no partner."

Accordingly Tom found himself leading up a little girl of eight.

There was no place except in the quadrille in which Dan and Julia Rogers were to dance. Tom found himself one of the "sides."

"Good-evening, Julia," he said, catching the eye of Miss Rogers.

"Good-evening, Tom. You are late."

"I am too late to be your partner."

"Yes, but you see I am not left a wall-flower," said the young lady, smiling. "Mr. Mordaunt kindly relieved me of that apprehension."

"You are fortunate," said Tom, sneering.

"I leave my partner to thank you for that compliment," said Julia, determined not to gratify Tom by appearing to understand the sneer.

"There's no occasion," said Tom, rudely.

"I am glad of it," said Dan, "for I am so unused to compliments that I am afraid I should answer awkwardly."

"I can very well believe that," returned Tom, significantly.

Julia did not smile. She looked offended rather for she felt that rudeness to her partner reflected upon herself.

But here the music struck up, and the quadrille began.

"Now for awkwardness," said Tom to himself, and he watched Dan closely.

But, to his surprise, nothing could be neater or better modulated than Dan's movements. Instead of hopping about, as Tom thought he would, he was thoroughly graceful.

"Where could the fellow have learned to dance?" he asked himself, in disappointment.

Julia was gratified; for, to tell the truth, she too had not been altogether without misgivings on the subject of Dan's dancing, and, being herself an excellent dancer, she would have found it a little disagreeable if Dan had proved awkward.

The quadrille proceeded, and Tom was chagrined that the newsboy, as he mentally termed Dan, had proved a better dancer than himself.

"Oh, well, it's easy to dance in a quadrille," he said to himself, by way of consolation. "He won't venture on any of the round dances."

But as Dan was leading Julia to her seat he asked her hand in the next polka, and was graciously accepted.

He then bowed and left her, knowing that he ought not to monopolize the young hostess.

Although Tom had told Dan not to expect any attentions from him, he was led by curiosity to accost our hero.

"It seems that newsboys dance," said he.

"Does it?" asked Dan, indifferently.

"But it was not in very good taste for you to engage Miss Rogers for the first dance."

"Why not?"

"It was making yourself too prominent."

"Somebody had to be prominent, or Miss Rogers would have been left to dance by herself."

"There are others who would have made more suitable partners for her."

"Yourself, for instance."

"Yes."

"I am sorry to have stood in your way."

"Oh, you needn't mind. I shall have plenty of opportunities of dancing with her, and you won't. I suppose she took pity on you, as you know no other young lady here."

Just then a pretty girl, beautifully dressed, approached Dan.

"Good-evening, Mr. Mordaunt," she said, offering her hand with a beaming smile.

"Good-evening, Miss Carroll," said Dan. "Are you engaged for the galop?"

Miss Carroll shook her head.

"Then will you give me the pleasure?"

In a minute Dan was whirling round the room with the young lady, greatly to Tom's amazement, for Edith Carroll was from a family of high social standing, living on Murray Hill.

"How in the duse does Dan Mordaunt know that girl?" Tom asked himself, with a frown. "They spoke as if they were acquainted."

To Tom's further disappointment Dan danced as gracefully in the galop as in the quadrille.

When the galop was over, Dan promenaded with another young lady, whose acquaintance he had made at dancing-school, and altogether seemed as much at his ease as if he had been attending parties all his life.

Tom managed to obtain Edith Carroll as a partner.

"I didn't know you were acquainted with Dan Mordaunt," he said.

"Oh, yes, I know him very well. Doesn't he dance charmingly?"

"Humph!" said Tom, not very well pleased. "I thought him rather awkward."

"How can you say so, Mr. Carver? Why I think he dances beautifully, and so do all the girls."

"How do the girls know how he dances?"

"Why he goes to our dancing-school. The professor says he is his best pupil. We all like to dance with him."

"That's fortunate for him," said Tom, with a sneer. "Perhaps he may become a dancing-master in time."

"He would make a good one, but I don't think he's very likely to do that."

"It would be a good thing for him. He is poor, you know."

"No, I don't. I am sure he dresses well. He is as well-dressed as any young gentleman here."