Chapter XXXVIII Dan, the Newsboy by Jr. Horatio Alger
Unpleasant Quarters
Donovan’s red face turned fairly purple with rage.
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he said, adding an oath or two. “You’re a bold little pup! You dare to insult me! Why, I could crush you with my little finger.”
“I have not insulted you,” said Dan. “I have only come for my sister.”
“I don’t know anything about your sister. So you can go about your business.”
“That little girl is my adopted sister,” said Dan, pointing to Althea. “Ask her if she doesn’t know me.”
“That is my daughter, Katy Donovan,” said the saloon keeper.
“No, I am not,” said Althea, beginning to cry. “I want to go away with my brother Dan.”
“Shut up, you little jade!” said Donovan, roughly. “Mrs. Donovan,” (by this time she was on her feet, looking on in a dazed sort of way), “is not this our little Katy?”
“Shure it is,” she answered.
“You see, young man, you’re mistaken. You can leave,” and Donovan waved his hand triumphantly.
“That’s too thin, Mrs. Donovan!” said Dan, provoked. “That don’t go down. I can bring plenty of proof that Althea was until a week since living with my mother.”
“That for your proof!” said Donovan, contemptuously snapping his fingers.
“I know who stole her, and who brought her to this house,” continued Dan.
Donovan started. The boy knew more than he had expected.
“The same man has been here to-day,” added Dan.
“You lie!” retorted Donovan, but he looked uneasy.
“You know that I tell the truth. How much does he pay you for taking care of the girl?”
“Enough of this!” roared the saloon keeper. “I can’t waste my time talkin’ wid you. Will you clear out now?”
“No, I won’t, unless Althea goes with me,” said Dan, firmly.
“You won’t, then! We’ll see about that,” and Donovan, making a rush, seized Dan in his arms, and carried him down stairs, despite our hero’s resistance.
“I’ll tache you to come here insultin’ your betters!” he exclaimed.
Dan struggled to get away, but though a strong boy, he was not a match for a powerful man, and could not effect his deliverance. The Irishman already referred to was still upon the settee.
“What’s up, Donovan?” he asked, as the saloon-keeper appeared with his burden. “What’s the lad been doin’?”
“What’s he been doin’, is it? He’s been insultin’ me to my face—that’s what the Donovans won’t stand. Open the trap-door, Barney.”
“What for?”
“Don’t trouble me wid your questions, but do as I tell you. You shall know afterward.”
Not quite willingly, but reluctant to offend Donovan, who gave him credit for the drinks, Barney raised a trap-door leading to the cellar below.
There was a ladder for the convenience of those wishing to ascend and descend, but Donovan was not disposed to use much ceremony with the boy who had offended him. He dropped him through the opening, Dan by good luck falling on his feet.
“That’s the best place for you, you young meddler!” he said. “You’ll find it mighty comfortable, and I wish you much joy. I won’t charge you no rint, and that’s an object in these hard times—eh, Barney?”
“To be sure it is,” said Barney; “but all the same, Donovan, I’d rather pay rint up stairs, if I had my choice!”
“He hasn’t the choice,” said Donovan triumphantly. “Good-by to you!” and he let the trap fall.
“What’s it all about now, Donovan?” asked Barney.
“He wanted to shtale my Katy,” said Donovan.
“What, right before your face?” asked Barney, puzzled.
“Yes, shure! What’ll you take to drink?” asked Donovan, not caring to go into particulars.
Barney indicated his choice with alacrity, and, after drinking, was hardly in a condition to pursue his inquiries.