CHAPTER X.
DAN AS A DETECTIVE
Dan quickly decided that if Mike had been going to Brooklyn, he would not have announced it under the circumstances.
"He meant to send me there on a wild-goose chase," he reflected. "I am not quite so green as he takes me to be."
Dan could not decide as easily where Mike had gone. Hood says in his poem of "The Lost Heir,"
"A boy as is lost in London streets is like a needle in a bundle of hay."
A hunt for a boy in the streets of New York is about equally hopeless. But Dan did not despair.
"I'll just stroll round a little," he said to himself. "Maybe I'll find him."
Dan bent his steps toward the Courtlandt-street Ferry.
"Perhaps Mike has gone to Jersey City," he said to himself. "Anyway, I'll go over there."
It was not an expensive journey. Six cents would defray Dan's expenses both ways, and he was willing to incur this expense. He meant to look about him, as something might turn up by which he could turn an honest penny.
Something did turn up.
Near him in the cabin of the ferry-boat sat a gentleman of middle age, who seemed overloaded with baggage. He had two heavy carpet-bags, a satchel, and a bundle, at which he looked from time to time with a nervous and uncomfortable glance. When the boat touched shore he tried to gather his various pieces of luggage, but with indifferent success. Noticing his look of perplexity, Dan approached him, and said, respectfully:
"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 of the 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 brings you over here, Mike?" asked Dan, significantly.
"I'm looking for a job," said Mike.
"You look like it," retorted Dan, "with both hands 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."
CHAPTER XI.
DAN HAS ANOTHER ADVENTURE
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 give you 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 of the 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's money 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.
CHAPTER XII.
A MYSTERIOUS LADY
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 under my charge."
"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 that your 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.