Chapter XIII Dan, the Newsboy by Jr. Horatio Alger
Althea
As the lady entered the room a little girl, with an expression of joy, ran from the window from which she had been looking, and took her hand.
“I’m so glad you’ve got home, auntie,” she said. “I got tired of being alone.”
“I staid away longer than I intended, Althea,” said the lady. “I was afraid you would feel lonely.”
“I was very lonely. I wanted to go out into the hall and play with a little girl that lives in the next room, but I thought you wouldn’t find me.”
“I am glad you did not. I have brought you a playfellow, Althea.”
This drew the little girl’s attention to Dan. Unlike most girls of her age, she was not bashful.
“What is his name?” she asked.
“Dan.”
“What a funny name! Are you going to live with us, Dan?”
“You are coming to live with me,” said Dan, smiling.
“Will you be my brother?”
“Yes.”
“And will you play with me?”
“Sometimes.”
“I think I shall like you. You are nice-looking,” said Althea, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Dan blushed. He found the compliment agreeable, though it came from a little girl.
“So are you, Althea,” he said.
“I don’t think I am,” said Althea. “I’ve black hair, and my skin is dark. You have nice brown hair, and are whiter than I am.”
“Some like dark people best,” suggested Dan.
“I don’t. I asked auntie to buy me a big cake of soap to wash the brown off, but it wouldn’t come.”
Dan smiled. He thought the bright, vivacious little face, with the brilliant dark eyes, pretty, though Althea did not.
“You will like to live with Dan, my dear?” said her aunt, inquiringly.
“Yes, if you come, too.”
“But I can’t.”
“Why, not, auntie?”
“I have got to go away—on business.”
Althea looked disappointed.
“I don’t want you to go away, auntie,” she said. “Dan and I can’t live alone.”
“Dan has a mother, who will be very good to you.”
“Will she take care of me?” asked Althea, brightening up.
“Yes, Althea.”
“Is she nice?”
“Yes.”
“Then she will be my mother?”
“Yes; you can call her mother.”
“And you will come to see me some time, auntie?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Then I will go with Dan;” and the little girl placed her hand confidingly in that of our hero.
Dan thought it would be pleasant for him to have a little sister, and he knew that it would brighten his mother’s existence.
“Shall we go now, madam?” asked Dan, turning to the lady.
“Not just yet. Come here, Dan.”
Dan followed her to the window. She drew from her pocket a wallet containing a considerable sum of money.
“I will hand you two months’ payment in advance,” she said, “and afterward I will remit you monthly, or direct you where to call for money. Two months at fifty dollars will amount to one hundred, and twenty more for Althea’s dress will make it up to a hundred and twenty. Have you a pocket-book?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you careful of money?”
“Whenever I have any to be careful about,” answered Dan.
“I hope you will be comfortably provided from this time. There is a little trunk of Althea’s clothes in the trunk-room below. I will write you an order for it, but you may as well wait till you have moved before carrying it away. It will save you trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you had any supper?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you shall go into supper with Althea and myself.”
“What! here, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel?” asked Dan.
“Certainly.”
“I’m afraid I don’t look fit.”
“You look well enough. At any rate, it’s nobody’s business. We may as well go down now.”
There was nothing to say, so Dan followed the mysterious lady into the supper-room, Althea clinging to his hand. He felt awkward as he took his seat. Suppose some one should recognize him as the newsboy who usually stood in front of the Astor House!
Some one did recognize him.
The young lady whom Tom Carver was escorting boarded at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and had alighted at the same time with our hero, though he did not observe it.
Tom had been invited to supper, and, with Julia and her father, was seated at a neighboring table when Dan entered.
Tom could hardly credit his eyes when he saw Dan entering the supper-room, with the little girl clinging to his hand.
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he ejaculated, forgetting his manners in his surprise.
“What did you remark?” asked Julia, rather amused.
“I beg your pardon, but I was so astonished. There is that newsboy coming into supper!”
“Where?”
“There.”
“What a pretty little girl is with him!”
“That’s so. Who can she be?”
“You must be mistaken about your friend being a newsboy.”
“He is no friend of mine.”
“Your acquaintance, then; though he is nice enough looking to be a friend. Are you sure he is a newsboy?”
“Certain. I saw him selling papers yesterday in front of the Astor House.”
“His business must be good, or he would not board at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”
“Of whom are you speaking, Julia?” asked her father.
“Of that boy at the next table, pa.”
“That boy! Why, that’s my young friend of the ferry-boat. Tom, have the kindness to ask him to come here a moment and speak to me.”
Much surprised, and considerably against his will, Tom rose and walked over to where Dan was sitting.
“Look here,” said he; “come over to the next table, will you?”
“What for?” asked Dan.
“There’s a gentleman wants to speak to you.”
Dan looked over and he recognized Mr. Rogers, of the firm of Barton & Rogers, who had asked him to call at his place of business on Pearl street.
“Good-evening, Mr. Rogers,” he said, politely.
“Good-evening, my boy. Do you board here?”
“Not as a rule,” answered Dan, smiling. “My business don’t allow it. I am dining here with some friends.”
“What’s your name?”
“Daniel Mordaunt. Everybody calls me Dan.”
“Then, Dan, let me make you acquainted with my daughter, Julia.”
Dan bowed and smiled.
“I think you were sitting opposite me in the stage, Mr. Mordaunt,” said Julia.
“Yes, Miss Rogers.”
“You were polite enough to hand me my handkerchief when I awkwardly dropped it.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.”
“I hope to meet you again.”
“Thank you.”
“What a pretty girl she is!” thought Dan.
“Dan, this young gentleman is Thomas Carver. You must be nearly of an age. You ought to know each other.”
“I have known Mr. Carver a long time,” said Dan, smiling.
“Indeed!” said Mr. Rogers, surprised.
“We used to sit together at school.”
“You didn’t tell me that, Tom,” said Julia Rogers, turning to Tom.
“No,” said Tom, embarrassed; “it is a good while ago.”
“I won’t detain you any longer from your friends,” said Mr. Rogers, politely. “I shall see you at the office in the morning.”
Dan bowed and withdrew.
“Where did you meet him, papa?” asked Julia.
Her father told the story of Dan’s exploit on the ferry-boat.
“He is a very smart boy,” he said. “I shall probably take him into my employ.”
“I hope you will, papa. He is a very gentlemanly boy.”
All this was very disagreeable to Tom Carver, but he did not venture to say all that he felt, being somewhat in awe of Mr. Rogers.
“They are making a great fuss over a common newsboy,” he muttered to himself.
After supper, Dan prepared to take Althea home with him. She felt so well acquainted already that she made no objection, but, hand-in-hand, left the hotel with Dan. He halted a Broadway stage, and they got in.
“Are you carrying me to where you live, Dan?” asked the little girl.
“Yes, Althea.”
“Will your mother be glad to see me?”
“Yes, she will be very glad. She wants a little girl to keep her company.”
“Then I’m glad I’m going.”