"Put down that bundle before you say another word about rent. It isn't my mother's or mine. You have no business with it."
"What do you mean, boy, by your impudence?" demanded the landlord, a little uneasily.
"I mean that if you take that bundle from the room, I shall put you in charge of the nearest policeman on a charge of stealing."
"That is nonsense," said Grab; but he looked nervous, and laid down the bundle.
"All right, Grab," said Dan. "Now, as I don'twant any more of your company, I'll pay the rent, if you'll give me a receipt."
"Have you got the money?" asked Grab, astonished.
"Of course I have. I never told you I hadn't."
"You made me think so."
"It isn't my business what you think. There, that is settled, and now, Mr. Grab, I have the honor of wishing you good-evening. I hope you won't hurt your knuckles again."
Mr. Grab left the room, inwardly wishing that he could wring Dan's neck.
"Oh, Dan, how could you?" asked his mother, reproachfully, as she re-entered the room.
"He deserves it all," said Dan. "Didn't he turn out the poor Donovans on a cold day last winter? I have no pity for him."
"He may turn us out."
"Not as long as we pay the rent."
Punctually at three o'clock Dan knocked at the door of Mr. Grant's room in the Astor House.
That gentleman looked at his watch as he admitted our hero.
"You are punctual to the minute," he said. "Your watch keeps excellent time."
"I'll tell you why," answered Dan, smiling. "I always keep it at Tiffany's. I don't dare to carry it for fear it will get out of order."
"You ought to have a watch," said Mr. Grant. "That will come in time."
"I hope so," said Dan. "Then I could be sure to keep my business appointments. Now I have to depend on the City Hall clock. I'd rather look at it than carry it round."
"Well, Dan, do you think Mr. Gripp is prepared to receive us?"
"He'll be glad to see you. He'll think you are going to buy some clothes. I don't think he'll be very happy to see me."
"He must see us both, or neither. Has he any good clothes?"
"Yes, sir—good enough for me. I don't think you would like to patronize his establishment."
"By the way, Dan, you have given me an order for money, and I have not handed you the equivalent."
"You may not get the money, sir."
"I will make the effort at any rate. By the way, Dan, that coat of yours is getting shabby."
"It is the best I have, sir. Boys in my business don't have to dress much."
"That gives me an idea. Please hand me my hat, and we will start."
The two left the Astor House together. One or two of Dan's associates whom they encountered on the way, were surprised to see him walking on terms of apparent friendly companionship with a well-to-do stranger, but decided that Dan was probably acting as his guide.
They found Mr. Gripp standing as usual in the door-way of his shop watching for customers. He did not at first observe Dan, but his attention was drawn to Mr. Grant.
"Walk in, sir," he said, obsequiously. "You will find what you want here. Styles fashionable, and as for prices—we defy competition."
Alexander Grant paused, and looked critically abouthim. He understood very well the sort of establishment he was about to enter, and would not have thought of doing so but in Dan's interests.
He stepped over the threshold, and Dan was about to follow, when the eagle eye of Mr. Gripp recognized our hero.
"Clear out, you young rascal!" he exclaimed. "Don't you come round here any more."
Dan did not answer, for he knew Mr. Grant would do so for him.
Mr. Grant turned back, and said, quietly:
"To whom are you speaking, sir?"
"I beg your pardon, sir—it's that boy."
"Then, sir, you will oblige me by stopping at once. That boy is in my company and under my protection."
Nathan Gripp stared as if transfixed.
"Do you know him, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"You are mistaken in him, sir. He's an artful young rascal. He was here yesterday, and acted outrageously. He assaulted my clerk and insulted me."
"I have nothing to do with that. He is in my company, and if I enter the store he will."
"Oh, of course, if he's with you he can come in. Samuel, show the gentleman what he wants."
Dan smiled, and nothing but a sense of his owninterest prevented Mr. Gripp from objecting to his entrance.
"What will I show you, sir?" asked the callow young man named Samuel, glaring at Dan in vivid remembrance of the blow which had doubled him up.
"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 ofthe 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."
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 hermore 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 bemane, 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?"
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 distrustedMike, 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 youought 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 thestreet 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."
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 willingto 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:
"Can't I assist you, sir?"
"I wish you would, my boy," said the gentleman, relieved.
"All right, sir. I'll take one of the carpet-bags and the satchel, if you like."
"Thank you; that will do nicely."
So the two left the boat together.
"Where are you going, sir?" asked Dan.
"Do you know the wharf of the Cunard steamers?" asked the gentleman.
"Yes, sir."
"Is it far off?"
"Not more than five or six minutes' walk," answered Dan.
"Can you help me as far as that with my luggage?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will make it worth your while, and you will be doing me a great favor besides. I was brought down to the ferry, but the rascally hackman demanded five dollars more to carry me across and land me at the Cunard pier. He thought I would have to submit to this imposition, but I was so indignant that I tried to handle all my luggage myself. I don't know how I should have managed without you."
"I won't charge you so much, sir," said Dan, smiling.
"It isn't for the money I cared so much as for the imposition. I would rather pay you ten dollars than the hackman five."
"Be careful, sir," said Dan, smiling, "or I may take advantage of your liberal offer."
The gentleman smiled in turn.
"You don't look like a boy that would take advantage of a traveler."
"You can't judge from appearances, sir. I have been robbed of six dollars to-day, and I might try to make it up that way."
"You have been robbed! How?"
Dan briefly related the circumstances.
"Was it all the money your mother had?"
"Yes, sir."
"How did you happen to be coming across the ferry?"
"I thought Mike might be here somewhere."
By this time they were in sight of the Cunard wharf.
"Were you ever on a Cunard steamer?" asked the gentleman.
"No, sir."
"Help me on board with my luggage, and I will show you about."
"I thought the steamers generally left in the morning," said Dan.
"So they do; but to-day the tide did not serve till later."
Dan helped Mr. Stevens down below with his luggage, and assisted him in storing them in his stateroom. He surveyed with interest the cabin, the deck, the dining-saloon, and the various arrangements.
"Well," said the gentleman, smiling, "how do you like it?"
"First-rate, sir."
"Do you think you would like to be going with me?"
"Yes, sir, but for my mother."
"Of course, it won't do to desert her; otherwise I might be tempted to make you an offer. I am sure you would be very useful to me."
"I should like it very much, if mother did not need me."
Dan went up stairs with Mr. Stevens, and remained till visitors were warned that it was time to go ashore.
"I must go, sir," he said.
Mr. Stevens drew a five-dollar bill from his vest pocket and handed it to Dan.
"I haven't any change, sir," said Dan.
"None is required," said the gentleman, smiling.
"Do you really mean to give me five dollars, sir?"
"That is what the hackman wanted to charge me."
"But it was too much."
"It was too much for him; it is not too much for you, if I am willing to give it to you."
"You are very kind, sir," said Dan, almost doubting the reality of his good fortune.
"It will prove that I spoke truly when I said I didn't care for the amount of money, only for the imposition. I am really very glad to give it to you. Good-by, my boy."
He offered his hand. Dan shook it heartily, and, wishing him a pleasant voyage, descended the gangplank.
"That is almost as much as Mike robbed me of," he said to himself. "How lucky I came over to Jersey City! Now, if I could only get back part ofthe money Mike robbed me of, I should be the better off for his mean trick."
Dan did not immediately return to New York. He had been so fortunate that he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon as he liked.
He walked on for ten minutes, Mike being temporarily out of his mind, when his attention was suddenly drawn to him. Just in front of him he saw Mike himself swaggering along, with a ten-cent cigar in his mouth, and both hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. He was strolling along in fancied security, not dreaming of the near presence of the boy whom he had so meanly robbed.
Dan's eyes sparkled when he recognized his enemy, and hastening his pace, he put his hand on Mike's shoulder.
Mike turned quickly, and his countenance changed when he saw Dan.
"Has he found it out?" suggested his guilty conscience. "Anyway, he can't prove anything. I'll bluff him off."
"Hallo, Dan!" he said, in affected cordiality. "What brings you over here?"
"What bringsyouover here, Mike?" asked Dan, significantly.
"I'm looking for a job," said Mike.
"You look like it," retorted Dan, "with bothhands in your pockets and a cigar in your mouth! Times seem to be good with you. How much did that cigar cost?"
"I don't know," answered Mike, with unblushing falsehood. "A man gave it to me for holdin' his hoss."
Mike was never at a loss for a plausible lie.
"I thought you bought it."
"I haven't got any money."
"Did they let you over the ferry free, then?"
"Oh, I had money enough for that."
"I guess you have got more."
"No, I haven't. Ten cents was all I had."
"Then how are you going to take Terence Quinn to the theater to-night?" asked Dan.
Even Mike's brazen effrontery was hardly prepared to meet this unexpected question.
"What do you mane?" he stammered.
"Terence told me you had invited him."
"Then he lies!" said Mike, his self-assurance returning. "He invited me."
"Look here, Mike Rafferty," said Dan, out of patience; "that won't go down! Terence told the truth. I know where you got the money you were going to treat him with."
"Where, then?"
"From my mother's pocket-book."
"It's a lie!" blustered Mike.
"It's the truth, and if you don't hand over what's left without making any more trouble, I'll have you arrested."
"You can't. We're in Jersey——"
"I shall have you arrested as soon as you get home."
"I didn't take the money," said Mike, sullenly.
"You did, and you know it," said Dan, firmly. "Give me what you have left, and I'll make no trouble about it. If you don't, you're booked for another term at the island."
Mike tried to save his ill-gotten gains, but Dan was persistent, and finally extracted from him four dollars and a half. The rest Mike pretended he had spent. He was sly enough, however, to have saved enough to take him to the Old Bowery.
On the whole, Dan was satisfied, considering the five dollars he had received on the Cunard steamer, but he could not forbear giving Mike a farewell shot.
"How did it happen, Mike, that you took the Jersey Ferry to Brooklyn?"
Mike did not deign a reply.
"That is my first appearance as a detective," thought Dan. "It seems to pay."
It was only five o'clock when Dan, returning from Jersey City, found himself again in front of the Astor House.
"Shall I buy any evening papers?" Dan asked himself. "No, I won't. I've made enough to satisfy me for one day."
Dan stood at the corner of Vesey street, glancing at the hurrying crowds.
He rather enjoyed his temporary freedom from business cares.
He had made a good day's work, the morrow's rent was provided for, and he felt like a gentleman of leisure.
All at once his attention was drawn to a low sob. It proceeded from a little flower-girl of ten years, who usually stood near the hotel.
"What's the matter, Fanny?" asked Dan, calling her by her name, for the little flower-girl was one of his acquaintances. "Haven't you sold as many bouquets as usual?"
"Yes," said Fanny, pausing in her sobs, "I've sold more."
"Then what's the matter? Has any one been teasing you?"
"No, but a young man passed a bad half-dollar on me."
"Let me see it."
Dan inspected the piece. He did not need to ring it, for it was dull in appearance and unmistakably bad.
"When did you take it?"
"Just now. A young man came up and bought a five-cent bouquet, and gave me this to change."
"Didn't you see that it was bad?"
"I didn't look at it till afterward. Then it was too late."
"So you gave him forty-five cents in good money, Fanny?"
"Yes," said the little girl, again beginning to sob.
"How many bouquets had you sold?"
"Seven."
"Then you have less money than when you began?"
"Yes, Dan."
"Do you think the fellow knew the piece was bad?"
"Yes, for he hurried away."
"Which way did he go?"
"Down Broadway."
"Maybe he was going to Jersey City."
"No, I saw him turn down Fulton street."
"Then he was going to Brooklyn. How did he look?"
"He was short and had red hair."
"How was he dressed?"
"He had on a gray suit."
"How long ago did this happen?"
"About five minutes."
"Give me the bad piece, and I'll go after him. Stay here till I come back."
Dan seized the money, and proceeded toward Fulton Ferry at a half run.
"I hope he won't have taken the boat," he said to himself. "If he has I shall lose him."
Dan nearly overthrew an apple woman's stand not far from the ferry, but did not stop to apologize. He ran into a fat gentleman who looked daggers at him, but kept on.
Breathless he paid his ferriage, and just succeeded in catching a boat as it was leaving the New York pier.
Thus far he had not seen the young man of whom he was in search.
"He may be on board the boat. I'll go forward," said Dan to himself.
He walked through the ladies' cabin, and stepped out on the forward deck. The boat was crowded, for it was at the time when men who live in Brooklyn, but are employed in New York, are returning to their homes.
Dan looked about him for a time without success, but all at once his eyes lighted up. Just across the deck, near the door of the gentlemen's cabin, stood a young man with red hair, holding a small bouquet in his hand. His face was freckled, his eyes small, and he looked capable of meanness.
Of course appearances are often deceptive, but not unfrequently a man's character can be read upon his face.
"That's the fellow that cheated poor Fanny, I'll bet a hat," Dan decided within himself. "He looks like it."
He immediately crossed to the other side of the deck.
The red-headed young man was talking to another young man of about the same age.
"Where did you get that bouquet, Sanderson?" asked the latter.
"Bought it of a little girl in front of the Astor House," answered Sanderson.
"That settles it," thought Dan.
He waited to hear what would come next.
"I suppose it is meant for some young lady," suggested the other.
"Maybe it is," answered Sanderson, with a grin.
Dan thought it was about time to come to business.
He touched the red-haired young man on the arm.
Sanderson looked round.
"Well, boy, what is it?" he asked.
"You bought that bouquet of a girl near the Astor House," said Dan.
"What if I did?" asked Sanderson, uneasily, for he had a suspicion of what was coming.
"You gave her a bogus half-dollar in payment," continued Dan.
"Do you mean to insult me?" blustered Sanderson. "Be off with you."
"I am sorry I cannot accommodate you," said Dan, "but I want you to give me a good piece for this first."
"I never saw that half-dollar before," said Sanderson. "I gave her good money."
"Perhaps you can prove that before the court," said Dan.
"What do you mean?" demanded Sanderson, uneasily.
"I mean that you have passed counterfeit money, and unless you give me a good piece for it I will giveyou in charge as soon as we reach the pier," said Dan, firmly.
Sanderson looked about him, and saw that the boy's charge was believed. Soon his friend looked disgusted. Dan followed up his attack.
"Fanny is a poor girl," he said. "I found her crying over her loss, for it was more than all the money she had taken to-day."
"Are you her friend?" asked Sanderson, sneering.
"Yes, I am," said Dan, stoutly.
"This is a put-up job between you two," said Sanderson.
"Gentlemen," said Dan, turning and appealing to the passengers near him, "this young man has passed a bad fifty-cent piece on a poor flower-girl. Shall he make it good?"
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed half a dozen, and several cried "shame!" with looks of scorn and disgust directed toward the young man with red hair.
"I don't believe a word of it," he ejaculated, in a rage. "I gave the girl a quarter."
"Too thin!" said several.
"But I'll give you the money to get rid of you," and he threw a half-dollar at Dan with a look very far from amiable.
"Thank you, sir; here's your money," said Dan.
Though Sanderson had disclaimed all knowledge ofthe bogus half-dollar, he took it and put it carefully in his pocket.
"Keep it to pay your washerwoman with," said a jeering voice.
It was a young fellow in the garb of a workman who spoke.
The boat touched the pier, and Sanderson was only too glad to hurry away from the unfriendly crowd.
"You're a smart boy!" cried a keen-looking businessman, addressing Dan. "How did you discover that this fellow was the one that passed the coin."
"Fanny described him to me."
"Then you hadn't seen him before?"
"No, sir."
"What are you doing for a living?"
"Selling papers, sir."
"You are fit for something better. Come and see me to-morrow."
He placed in Dan's hands a card bearing the firm's name
Barton & Rogers,
Commission Merchants,
No. — Pearl street.
"My name is Rogers," he continued. "Inquire for me."
"Thank you, sir."
Dan was so pleased at having recovered Fanny'smoney that he gave little thought to this last incident, though it was destined to exert an important influence on his fortunes. He took the same boat back to New York, and hurried to the Astor House.
Little Fanny, the flower-girl, with a sad look upon her face, was still standing in her wonted place.
"I've got your money back, Fanny," said Dan.
"Oh, have you?" exclaimed Fanny, joyfully.
"Yes; I made the fellow give it up."
"Oh, how kind you are, Dan!"
There was a listener to what passed between the two children. A tall lady, standing at the corner of the street, regarded them attentively. She was evidently revolving some plan in her head. As Dan was about turning away, she placed her hand on his arm.
"Young man," she said, "I want to speak to you."
"All right, ma'am," said Dan, surprised.
Dan thought it probable that the lady who accosted him might wish to send him on an errand, and his surprise vanished. She was tall, slender, and grave in appearance. She was probably not over thirty-five. Her first words renewed Dan's surprise.
"Have you a mother living?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"A father?"
"No, ma'am."
"Are you an only child, or have you brothers and sisters?"
"There is only one of me," answered Dan, humorously.
"I suppose you are poor?"
"If I were not, I would not sell papers for a living."
"Probably you live in a poor place?"
"Yes," answered Dan, beginning to be tired of satisfying what might be only curiosity on the part of the lady. She noticed at once the change in his manner.
"I am not making these inquiries out of curiosity," she said, quickly. "I have an object in what I ask."
This naturally surprised Dan the more.
"All right, ma'am," he said; "I am ready to answer."
"Are you at leisure for an hour or two?" asked the lady.
Dan hesitated.
"I suppose mother will be worried if I don't come home to supper," he said, hesitating.
"Can't you send her a message not to expect you? Does this little girl know where you live?"
"Yes," answered Fanny, readily.
To her the lady turned.
"Little girl," she said, "go at once and tell this boy's mother that he will not be home till nine o'clock. Say he is called away by business."
"Yes, ma'am."
"This will pay you for your trouble."
The little girl's eyes sparkled with joy as the lady placed fifty cents in her hand.
"Thank you. How glad mother will be!" she said.
As for Dan, he was puzzled to conjecture what the lady could want of him. What would justify such a handsome compensation to Fanny merely to explain his absence to his mother?
"Now," said the lady, "if you will hail the next stage we will go up town."
They had not long to wait. Soon they were rattling over the pavements through thronged Broadway. It was two years since Dan had been in a Broadway stage. He could not afford to pay ten cents for a ride, but when it was absolutely necessary rode in a horse-car for half price.
Dan looked about him to see if he knew any one in the stage. Nearly opposite sat his former schoolmate, Tom Carver, with a young lady at his side. Their glances met, and Dan saw Tom's lip curl with scorn. Of course he did not betray any mark of recognition.
"I like riding in a Broadway stage," he heard the young lady say. "There is more to see as you go along. Besides, the company is more select."
"Not always," said Tom, with a significant glance at Dan.
Dan felt indignant, but was too proud to show it.
"The price excludes the lower classes from using the stage," said the young lady.
"It ought to, but I have seen a newsboy in a stage."
"How can they afford to pay ten cents for riding?"
"I give it up," said Tom, shrugging his shoulders.
The lady who was with Dan noticed the direction of Tom Carver's look.
"Do you know that boy?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Dan, "I used to know him."
"Why don't you know him now?"
"Because my father lost his property."
"I see," said the lady. "It is the way of the world. Don't mind it."
"I don't," said Dan, promptly, returning Tom Carver's stare.
Tom could not help hearing this conversation, and learned for the first time that Dan and the handsomely dressed lady beside him were in company.
"What can they have to do with each other?" he asked himself, curiously. "She can't be a relation—she is too handsomely dressed."
At this moment the young lady beside him dropped her handkerchief. Before Tom could stoop to pick it up Dan had handed it to her with a polite bow.
"Thank you," said the young lady, with a pleasant smile.
"You needn't have troubled yourself," said Tom Carver, irritated. "This young lady is undermycharge."
"It is no trouble, I assure you," answered Dan.
"He is very polite," said the young lady, in a low voice, "and very good-looking, too," she added, with a second look at Dan.
"He is only a common newsboy," said Tom, not relishing Julia Grey's tribute to a boy he disliked.
"I can't help what he is," said the young lady, independently; "he looks like a gentleman."
Dan could not help catching the drift of their conversation, and his face flushed with pleasure, for Julia was a very pretty girl, but not being addressed to him, he could not take notice of it otherwise.
"He lives at the Five Points somewhere," muttered Tom.
The young lady seemed rather amused at Tom's discomposure, and only smiled in reply.
The stage kept on till it reached Madison square.
"Will you pull the strap opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel?" said the lady, addressing Dan.
Dan did so.
He got out first, and helped his companion out.
"Follow me into the hotel," she said.
Dan did so.
"What is your name?" asked the lady, as they ascended the stairs.
"Dan Mordaunt."
"I needn't ask if you have a good mother?" she proceeded.
"One of the best," said Dan, promptly.
"You look like a well-bred boy, and I infer thatyour mother is a lady. Come into the parlor. I wish to speak to you on business."
Dan followed her, wondering, and she signed to him to take a seat on the sofa beside her.
"You have already told me that you have no sister," she began.
"No, ma'am."
"Do you think your mother would enjoy the society of a little girl?"
"I think she would."
"I have a little girl under my charge—my niece—from whom, for reasons unnecessary to state, I am obliged to part for a time. Do you think your mother would be willing to take charge of her? Of course I would make it worth her while."
"I am sure she would like it," said Dan, for he saw at a glance that this would be a very desirable arrangement for them.
"Then you feel authorized to accept the charge in your mother's name?"
"I do."
"The little girl is five years old. Your mother would be willing to teach her until such time as she may be old enough to go to school?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am."
"I think little girls are best off at home until the age of seven or eight."
"There is one objection," said Dan.
"What is that?" asked the lady, quickly.
"We live in a poor room and a poor neighborhood."
"That objection can be obviated. I shall pay you enough to enable you to take better rooms."
Dan heard this with satisfaction.
"I may as well be explicit," said the lady. "I propose to pay fifty dollars a month for my ward's board, including, of course, your mothers care."
"Fifty dollars a month!" repeated Dan, astonished.
"If you consider that sufficient."
"I am afraid it won't be worth it," said Dan, frankly.
"If Althea is well cared for, as I am sure she will be, I shall have no fear of that. Let me add that I shall allow your mother ten dollars per month extra for the child's clothing—say sixty dollars in all. For the present that will probably be enough."
"Oh, yes, I should think so," said Dan. "When do you want her to come to us?"
"Now. You will take her back with you."
"To-night?" asked Dan, startled.
"Yes, to-night. I must leave New York early to-morrow. In fact, I leave the city by an early train."
"She would have to come to our poor lodgings," said Dan, hesitatingly.
"One night there won't matter. To-morrow you can secure rooms up town."
"Yes, ma'am, I will. Our month expires to-morrow."
"Now," said the lady, rising, "since the matter is settled, come up stairs with me, and I will show you the child."
Dan followed the lady up stairs, feeling as if he were in a dream, but a very pleasant one.