Chapter XXX Dan, the Newsboy by Jr. Horatio Alger
How Hartley Got a Clew
John Hartley, when a young man, had wooed and won Althea’s mother. Julia Belmont was a beautiful and accomplished girl, an heiress in her own right, and might have made her choice among at least a dozen suitors. That she should have accepted the hand of John Hartley, a banker’s clerk, reputed “fast,” was surprising, but a woman’s taste in such a case is often hard to explain or justify. Her sister—now Mrs. Vernon—strenuously objected to the match, and by so doing gained the hatred of her future brother-in-law. Opposition proved ineffectual, and Julia Belmont became Mrs. Hartley. Her fortune amounted to two hundred thousand dollars. The trustee and her sister succeeded in obtaining her consent that half of this sum should be settled on herself, and her issue, should she have any.
This proved to be a wise precaution. John Hartley resigned his position immediately after marriage, and declined to enter upon any business.
“Why should I?” he said. “Julia and I have enough to live upon. If I am out of business I can devote myself more entirely to her.”
This reasoning satisfied his young wife, and for a time all went well. But Hartley joined a fashionable club, formed a taste for gambling, indulged in copious libations, not unfrequently staggering home drunk, to the acute sorrow of his wife, and then excesses soon led to ill-treatment. The money, which he could spend in a few years, melted away, and he tried to gain possession of the remainder of his wife’s property. But, meanwhile, Althea was born, and a consideration for her child’s welfare strengthened the wife in her firm refusal to accede to this unreasonable demand.
“You shall have the income, John,” she said—”I will keep none back; but the principal must be kept for Althea.”
“You care more for the brat than you do for me,” he muttered.
“I care for you both,” she answered. “You know how the money would go, John. We should all be left destitute.”
“That meddling sister of yours has put you up to this,” he said, angrily.
“There was no need of that. It is right, and I have decided for myself.”
“Your first duty is to your husband.”
“I feel that in refusing I am doing my duty by you.”
“It is a strange way—to oppose your husband’s wishes. Women ought never to be trusted with money—they don’t know how to take care of it.”
“You are not the person to say this, John. In five years you have wasted one hundred thousand dollars.”
“It was bad luck in investments,” he replied.
“I am afraid you are right. Investing money at the gaming-table is not very profitable.”
“Do you mean to insult me, madam?” exclaimed Hartley, furiously.
“I am only telling the sad truth, John.”
He forgot himself and struck her.
She withdrew, flushed and indignant, for she had spirit enough to resent this outrage, and he left the house in a furious rage.
When Hartley found that there was no hope of carrying his point, all restraint seemed removed. He plunged into worse excesses, and his treatment became so bad that Mrs. Hartley consented to institute proceedings for divorce. It was granted, and the child was given to her. Hartley disappeared for a time. When he returned his wife had died of pneumonia, and her sister—Mrs. Vernon, now a widow—had assumed the care of Althea. An attempt to gain possession of the child induced her to find another guardian for the child. This was the way Althea had come into the family of our young hero.
Thus much, that the reader may understand the position of affairs, and follow intelligently the future course of the story.
When John Hartley left the presence of his sister-in-law, he muttered maledictions upon her.
“I’ll have the child yet, if only to spite her,” he muttered, between his teeth. “I won’t allow a jade to stand between me and my own flesh and blood. I must think of some plan to circumvent her.”
This was not easy. He had absolutely no clew, and little money to assist him in his quest. But Fortune, which does not always favor the brave, but often helps the undeserving, came unexpectedly to his help.
At an American banker’s he ran across an old acquaintance—one who had belonged to the same club as himself in years past.
“What are you doing here, Hartley?” he asked.
“Not much. Luck is against me.”
“Sorry to hear it. By the way, I was reminded of you not long since.”
“How is that?”
“I saw your child in Union Square, in New York.”
“Are you sure of it?” asked Hartley, eagerly. “Are you sure it was my child?”
“Of course; I used to see it often, you know. She is a bright little thing.”
“Do you know where she lives?” asked Hartley. “Did you follow her?”
“Don’t you know where she lives?”
“No; her aunt is keeping the child from me. I am very anxious to find her.”
“That accounts for it. She was with a middle-aged lady, who evidently was suspicious of me, for she did not bring out the child but once more, and was clearly anxious when I took notice of her.”
“She was acting according to instructions, no doubt.”
“Very probably.”
“I wish you had learned more.”
“So do I. Why do they keep you away from her?”
“Because she has money, and they wish to keep it in their hands,” said Hartley, plausibly. “The aunt is a very mercenary woman. She is living here in London, doubtless on my little girl’s fortune.”
John Hartley knew that this was not true, for Mrs. Vernon was a rich woman; but it suited his purpose to say so, and the statement was believed by his acquaintance.
“This is bad treatment, Hartley,” he said, in a tone of sympathy.
“Isn’t it?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Try to find out where the child is placed, and get possession of her.”
“I wish you success.”
This information John Hartley felt to be of value. It narrowed his search, and made success much less difficult.
In order to obtain more definite information, he lay in wait for Mrs. Vernon’s servant.
Margaret at first repulsed him, but a sovereign judiciously slipped into her hand convinced her that Hartley was quite the gentleman, and he had no difficulty, by the promise of a future douceur, in obtaining her co-operation.
“What is it you want, sir?” she asked. “If it’s no harm you mean my missus——”
“Certainly not, but she is keeping my child from me. You can understand a father’s wish to see his child, my dear girl.”
“Indeed, I think it’s cruel to keep her from you, sir.”
“Then look over your mistress’ papers and try to obtain the street and number where she is boarding in New York. I have a right to know that.”
“Of course you have, sir,” said the girl, readily.
So it came about that the girl obtained Dan’s address, and communicated it to John Hartley.
As soon as possible afterward Hartley sailed for New York.
“I’ll secure the child,” he said to himself, exultingly, “and then my sweet sister-in-law must pay roundly for her if she wants her back.”
All which attested the devoted love of John Hartley for his child.