Chapter XXXV Dan, the Newsboy by Jr. Horatio Alger
Dan Disguises Himself
For several days Dan strolled about Harlem, using his eyes to good advantage. As a pretext he carried with him a few morning papers for sale. Armed with these he entered shops and saloons without exciting surprise or suspicion. But he discovered not a trace of the lost girl.
One day, as he was riding home in the Third avenue cars, there flashed upon his mind a conviction that he was on a wrong scent.
“Is it probable that the man who carried away Althea would give the right direction so that it could be overheard by a third party? No; it was probably meant as a blind, and I have been just fool enough to fall into the trap.”
So Dan’s eyes were partially opened.
Before the day was over they were wholly opened. He met John Hartley on Broadway toward the close of the afternoon.
“Well, have you heard anything of your sister?” he asked, with an appearance of interest.
“Not yet,” answered Dan.
“That’s a pity. Do you go up to Harlem every day?”
“Yes.”
“Keep on, you will find her in time.”
After they parted, Dan, happening to look back, detected a mocking glance in the face of his questioner, and a new discovery flashed upon him. Hartley was making a fool of him. He had sent him to Harlem, purposely misleading him.
“What can be his object?” thought Dan. “Can he have had anything to do with the abduction of Althea?”
This was a question which he could not satisfactorily answer, but he resolved to watch Hartley, and follow him wherever he went, in the hope of obtaining some clew. Of course he must assume some disguise, as Hartley must not recognize him.
Finally Dan decided upon this plan.
He hired a room on East Fourth street for a week, and then sought an Italian boy to whom he had occasionally given a few pennies, and with some difficulty (for Giovanni knew but little English, and he no Italian) proposed that the Italian should teach him to sing and play “Viva Garibaldi.” Dan could play a little on the violin, and soon qualified himself for his new business.
At a second-hand shop on Chatham street he picked up a suit of tattered velvet, obtained a liquid with which to stain his skin to a dark brown, and then started out as an Italian street musician. His masquerade suit he kept in his room at East Fourth street, changing therefrom his street dress morning and evening. When in full masquerade he for the first time sang and played, Giovanni clapped his hands with delight.
“Will I do, Giovanni?” asked Dan.
“Yes, you do very well. You look like my brother.”
“All right.”
Giovanni was puzzled to understand why Dan took so much pains to enter upon a hard and unprofitable profession, but Dan did not enlighten him as to his motive.
He thought it most prudent to keep his secret, even from his mother. One day he met her on the sidewalk, and began to sing “Viva Garibaldi.”
Mrs. Mordaunt listened without a suspicion that it was her own son, and gave him two pennies, which he acknowledged by a low bow, and “Grazia, signora.”
“Poor boy! Do you earn much money?” she asked.
“I no understand English,” said Dan.
“I hope his padrone does not beat him,” said Mrs. Mordaunt to herself. “I hear these poor boys are much abused. I wonder if I can make him understand? Have you a padrone?” she asked.
“Si, signora, padrone,” answered Dan.
“Does he beat you?”
“I no understand.”
“It is no use; he doesn’t understand English. Here is some more money for you,” and she handed him a five-cent coin.
“Its a wise mother that knows her own child,” thought Dan. “Hallo! there’s Hartley. I’ll follow him.”
Hartley boarded a University Place car, and Dan jumped on also.
“I wonder where he’s going?” thought our hero.
Italian boys so seldom ride that the conductor eyed Dan with some suspicion.
“Five cents,” he demanded.
Dan produced the money.
“I thought you might be expecting to ride for nothing,” said the conductor. “Seems to me you’re flush for an Italian fiddler.”
“No understand English,” said Dan.
“And I don’t understand your lingo.”
A charitable lady inside the car chanced to see Dan, and it occurred to her that she would do him a service.
“Can you sing, my boy?” she asked.
“I sing a little,” answered Dan.
“If the conductor doesn’t object, you may sing while we are on our way. Here’s ten cents for you.”
Dan bowed and took the money.
“You can sing and play,” said the conductor, good-naturedly.
Dan was not at all desirous of doing this, for Hartley sat only three feet from him, and he feared he might recognize him, but it would not be in character to refuse, so he began, and sang his one air, playing an accompaniment. Several of the passengers handed him small coins, among them Hartley.
“How well he sings!” said the charitable lady.
“I can’t agree with you, ma’am,” said Hartley. “I would rather give him money to stop.”
“His voice strikes me as very rich, and the Italian is such a beautiful language.”
Hartley shrugged his shoulders.
“I have heard a good deal better performers even among the street boys,” said Hartley.
“So have I,” said Dan to himself. “He doesn’t suspect me; I am glad of that.”
Hartley remained in the car till it reached the Astor House, and so, of course, did Dan. In fact, Hartley was on his way to Brooklyn to pay another installment to the guardians of the little girl whom he had carried off. Dan, therefore, was in luck.
Hartley kept on his way to Fulton Ferry, Dan following at a prudent distance.
Had Hartley looked back, he would have suspected nothing, for he had not penetrated Dan’s disguise, and would therefore have been quite at a loss to understand any connection between the street musician and himself.
They both boarded the same ferry-boat, and landed in Brooklyn together.
At this moment Hartley turned round, and his glance fell upon Dan.
“Hallo! you here?” he said, with surprise.
“Si, signor,” answered Dan, bowing deferentially.
“What brings you to Brooklyn?”
“I sing, I play,” said our hero.
“And you do both abominably.”
“I no understand English,” said Dan.
“It is lucky you don’t, or you might not like my compliment.”
“Shall I sing ‘Viva Garibaldi?'” asked our hero, innocently.
“No—good heavens, no! I’ve had enough of your squeaking. Here, take this money, and don’t sing.”
“Si, signor,” answered Dan, assuming a look of bewilderment.
Hartley prepared to board a car, which was not yet ready to start. Dan rapidly decided that it would not do for him to follow Hartley any farther. It would certainly arouse his suspicions. But must he abandon the pursuit? That would not do either. Looking about him, his eye fell on a bright-looking newsboy of about twelve.
“Do you want to make some money, Johnny?” he asked.
The boy surveyed him with astonishment.
“Did you speak to me, Garibaldi?” he asked, jocosely.
“Yes, but I am no Italian,” said Dan, rapidly. “I am on the track of that man, but he suspects me. I will give you a dollar if you will jump on the car and find out where he goes.”
“Where’s the dollar?” asked the boy, cautiously.
“Here. Pay your expenses out of it, and I will pay you back when you report to me.”
“Where will I find you?”
“Here. I will stay till you come back.”
“It’s a bargain.”
“Hurry; the car is starting.”
The newsboy ran, jumped on the car, and it moved on.
“It is the best thing I could do,” thought Dan. “I hope the boy is sharp, and won’t lose sight of him. I feel sure that he had something to do with carrying off poor little Althea.”
For two hours Dan lingered near the ferry, playing occasionally by way of filling up the time. It seemed to be a good location, for he received from fifty to sixty cents from passers-by.
“When hard times come,” thought Dan, “I shall know what to do. I will become an Italian street singer.”
After two hours the newsboy jumped off an incoming car, and approached Dan.
“Did you find out where he went?” asked Dan, eagerly.
“Yes,” answered the boy.