CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
In the house on Houston street, Bill wasted little regret on the absence of his wife and child. Neither did he trouble himself to speculate as to where she had gone.
"I'm better without her," he said to his confederate, Mike. "She's always a-whinin' and complainin', Nance is. It makes me sick to see her. If I speak a rough word to her, and it stands to reason a chap can't always be soft-spoken, she begins to cry. I like to see a woman have some spirit, I do."
"They may have too much," said Mike, shrugging his shoulders. "My missus ain't much like yours. She don't cry, she don't. If I speak rough to her, she ups with something and flings it at my head. That's her style."
"And what do you do?" asked Bill, in some curiosity.
"Oh, I just leave her to get over it; that's the best way."
"Is it?" said Bill, grimly. "Why, you're not half a man, you ain't. Do you want to know what I'd do if a woman raised her hand against me?"
"Well, what would you do?"
"I'd beat her till she couldn't see!" said Bill, fiercely; and he looked as if he was quite capable of it.
"I don't know," said Mike. "You haven't got a wife like mine."
"I just wish I had. I'd tame her."
"She ain't easy to tame."
"Just you take me round there some time, Mike. If she has a tantrum, turn her over to me."
Mike did not answer. He was not as great a ruffian as Bill, and the proposal did not strike him favorably.
His wife was certainly a virago, and though strong above the average, he was her superior in physical strength, but something hindered him from using it to subdue her. So he was often overmatched by the shrill-voiced vixen, who knew very well that he would not proceed to extremities. Had she been Bill's wife, she would have had to yield, or there would have been bloodshed.
"I say, Bill," said Mike, suddenly, "how much did your wife hear of our plans last night?"
"Nothing."
"She might."
"If she had she would not dare to say a word," said Bill, carelessly.
"You don't know. Women like to use their tongues."
"She knows I'd kill her if she betrayed me," said Bill. "There ain't no use considerin' that."
"Well, I'm glad you think so. It would be awkward if the police got wind of it."
"They won't."
"What do you think of that chap that's puttin' us up to it?"
"I don't like him, but I like his money."
"Five hundred dollars a-piece ain't much for the risk we run."
"We'll have more."
"How?"
"If we don't find more in the safe, we'll bleed him when all's over. He'll be in our power."
"Well, Bill, you know best. You've got a better head nor me."
"And a stouter heart, man. You're always afeared of something."
It was true that Bill was the leading spirit. He was reckless and desperate, while Mike was apt to count the cost, and dwell upon the danger incurred.
They had been associated more than once in unlawful undertakings; and though both had served a short term of imprisonment, they had in general escaped scot-free.
It was Bill who hung round the store, and who received from Talbot at the close of the afternoon the "combination," which was to make the opening of the safe comparatively easy.
"It's a good thing to have a friend inside," he said to his confederate. "Our money is as good as made."
"There'll be the janitor to dispose of," suggested Mike.
"Leave him to me. I'll knock him on the head."
"Don't kill him if you can help it, Bill. Murder has an ugly look, and they'll look out twice as sharp for a murderer as for a burglar. Besides, swingin' ain't pleasant."
"Never you mind. I'll only stun him a little. He can wake up when we're gone, but we'll tie him so he can't give the alarm."
"How cool you take things, Bill!"
"Do I? Well, it's my business. You just leave everything to me. Obey orders, and I'll bring you out all right."
So the day passed, and darkness came on. It was the calm before the storm.
CHAPTER XXIV.
OLD JACK, THE JANITOR
The janitor, or watchman, was a sturdy old man, who in early life had been a sailor. Some accident had made him lame, and this incapacitated him for his early vocation. It had not, however, impaired his physical strength, which was very great, and Mr. Rogers was glad to employ him in his present capacity. Of his fidelity there was no question.
When Jack Green—Jack was the name he generally went by—heard of the contemplated burglary, he was excited and pleased. It was becoming rather tame to him to watch night after night without interruption, and he fancied he should like a little scrimmage. He even wanted to withstand the burglars single-handed.
"What's the use of callin' in the police?" he urged. "It's only two men, and old Jack is a match for two."
"You're a strong man, Jack," said Dan, "but one of the burglars is as strong as you are. I have seen him, you know. He's broad-shouldered and big-chested."
"I ain't afraid of him," said Jack, defiantly.
"Perhaps not, but there's another man, too. You couldn't overcome both."
"I don't know about that."
But Jack finally yielded, though reluctantly, and three policemen were admitted about eight o'clock, and carefully secreted, to act when necessary. Jack pleaded for the privilege of meeting the burglars first, and the privilege was granted, partly in order that they might be taken in the act. Old Jack was instructed how to act, and though it was a part not wholly in accordance with his fearless spirit, he finally agreed to do as he was told.
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.