Dan, the Newsboy, Jr. Horatio Alger [fantasy novels to read txt] 📗

leisure, and not have to go into the kitchen at all. What do you say?"

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"The arrangement will be so much to my advantage that I can say only one thing—I accept with thanks. But won't you be doing more than your share? You will be furnishing the fuel, and pay Maggie's wages."

"I should have to do that at any rate. The plan is perfectly satisfactory to me, if it suits you."

Mrs. Mordaunt found that the expense was not beyond her means. Her income for the care of Althea was fifty dollars a month, and Dan paid her four dollars a week out of his wages, reserving the balance as a fund to purchase clothes. She went herself to market and selected articles for the table, and, for the first time since her husband's failure, found herself in easy circumstances.

There was no need now to make vests at starvation prices. She had thought of continuing, but Dan insisted upon her giving it up entirely.

"If you want to sew, mother," he said, "you can make some of Althea's clothes, and pay yourself out of the ten dollars a month allowed for her clothes."

This was sensible and proper, and Mrs. Mordaunt decided to follow Dan's advice. She lost no time in obtaining books for the little girl, and commencing her education. Althea knew her letters, but nothing more. She was bright and eager to learn, and gained rapidly under her new teacher.

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Naturally, Dan and his mother were curious as to Althea's early history, but from the little girl they obtained little information.

"Do you remember your mother, Althea?" asked Dan, one evening.

"Yes," said the little girl.

"When did you see her last?"

"Not long ago. Only a little while before you brought me here."

"Your mother isn't dead, is she?"

"No; but she's gone away."

"Why did she go away?"

"She is sick. That's what auntie told me. Poor mamma cried very much when she went away. She kissed me, and called me her darling."

"Do you know where she went?"

"No; I don't know."

"Perhaps her lungs are affected, and she has gone to a warmer climate," suggested Mrs. Mordaunt. "She may have gone to Florida, or even to Italy."

"Where is your father?" asked Dan, turning to Althea.

"Father is a bad man," said the child, positively. "He made mamma cry. He went away a good while ago."

"And didn't he come back?"

"He came back once, and then mamma cried[Pg 128] again. I think he wanted mamma to give him some money."

Dan and his mother talked over the little girl's revelations, and thought they had obtained a clew to the mystery in which the child's history was involved. Althea's mother might have married a man of bad habits, who wanted to get possession of her fortune, and rendered a separation necessary. Ill health might have required her to leave home and shift the care of the little girl upon strangers. It seemed rather odd that she should have been handed over to utter strangers, but there might have been reasons of which they knew nothing.

"We won't trouble ourselves about it," said Dan. "It's good luck for us, even if it was bad luck for Althea's mother. I like the idea of having a little sister."

Althea's last name was not known to her new protector. When Dan inquired, he was told that she could pass by his name, so Althea Mordaunt she became.

Both Dan and his mother had feared that she might become homesick, but the fear seemed groundless. She was of a happy disposition, and almost immediately began to call Mrs. Mordaunt mother.

"I call you mother," she said, "but I have a mamma besides; but she has gone away."

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"You must not forget your mamma, my dear," said the widow.

"No, I won't. She will come back some day; she said she would."

"And I will take care of you till she does, Althea."

"Yes," said the child, nodding. "I am glad I came to you, for now I have a brother Dan."

"And I have a little sister," said Dan.

While Dan was away, and now he was away after supper regularly, Althea was a great deal of company for Mrs. Mordaunt.

In the pleasant afternoons she took the little girl out to walk, frequently to Union Square Park, where she made acquaintance with other little girls, and had a merry time, while her new mother sat on one of the benches.

One day a dark-complexioned gentleman, who had been looking earnestly at Althea, addressed Mrs. Mordaunt.

"That is a fine little girl of yours, madam," he said.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Mordaunt.

"She does not resemble you much," he said, inquiringly.

"No; there is very little resemblance," answered Mrs. Mordaunt, quietly, feeling that she must be on her guard.

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"Probably she resembles her father?" again essayed the stranger.

Mrs. Mordaunt did not reply, and the stranger thought she was offended.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but she resembles a friend of mine, and that called my attention to her."

Mrs. Mordaunt bowed, but thought it wisest not to protract the conversation. She feared that the inquirer might be a friend of the father, and hostile to the true interests of the child.

For a week to come she did not again bring Althea to the park, but walked with her in a different direction. When, after a week, she returned to the square, the stranger had disappeared. At all events, he was not to be seen.

We pass now to Dan and his interests.

Mr. Talbot heard of his engagement with anything but satisfaction. He even ventured to remonstrate with Mr. Rogers.

"Do you know that this boy whom you have engaged is a common newsboy?" he asked. "I have bought a paper more than once of him, in front of the Astor House."

"So have I," answered Mr. Rogers, quietly.

"Then you know all about him?"

"Yes."

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"It is none of my business, but I think you could easily get a better boy. There is my nephew——"

"Your nephew would not suit me, Mr. Talbot."

The book-keeper bit his lip.

"Won't you give him a trial?" he asked.

"I have engaged Dan."

"If Dan should prove unsatisfactory, would you try my nephew?"

"Perhaps so."

It was an incautious concession, for it was an inducement to the book-keeper to get Dan into trouble.

It was Dan's duty to go to the post-office, sometimes to go on errands, and to make himself generally useful about the warehouses. As we know, however, he had other duties of a more important character, of which Mr. Talbot knew nothing.

The first discovery Dan made was made through the book-keeper's carelessness.

Mr. Rogers was absent in Philadelphia, when Talbot received a note which evidently disturbed him. Dan saw him knitting his brows, and looking moody. Finally he hastily wrote a note, and called Dan.

"Take that to — Wall street," he said, "and don't loiter on the way."

The note was directed to Jones & Robinson.

On reaching the address, Dan found that Jones & Robinson were stock brokers.

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Jones read the note.

"You come from Mr. Talbot?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell him we will carry the stocks for him a week longer, but can't exceed that time."

"Perhaps you had better write him a note," suggested Dan, "as he may not like to have me know his business."

"Very well."

So Dan carried back the note.

"I believe I have made a discovery," he said to himself. "Mr. Talbot is speculating in Wall street. I wonder if he speculates with his own money or the firm's?"

His face, however, betrayed nothing as he handed the note to the book-keeper, and the latter, after a searching glance, decided that there was nothing to fear in that quarter.

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CHAPTER XVII. TALBOT'S SECRET.

Some light may be thrown upon Mr. Talbot's operations, if the reader will accompany him to a brownstone house on Lexington avenue, on the evening of the day when Dan was sent to the office of the Wall street brokers.

Mr. Talbot ascended the steps, not with the elastic step of a man with whom the world is prospering, but with the slow step of a man who is burdened with care.

"Is Miss Conway at home?" he inquired of the servant who answered the bell.

"Yes, sir."

"Will you tell her I should like to speak with her?"

"Yes, sir."

Talbot walked in with the air of one who was familiar with the house, and entering a small front room, took a seat.

The furniture was plain, and the general appearance was that of a boarding-house.

Talbot seemed immersed in thought, and only[Pg 134] raised his eyes from the carpet when he heard the entrance of a young lady. His face lighted up, and he rose eagerly.

"My dear Virginia," he said, "it seems a long time since I saw you."

"It is only four days," returned the young lady, coolly.

"Four days without seeing you is an eternity."

The young lady smiled. It was easy to see that Talbot was in love, and she was not.

"A very pretty compliment," she said. "Well, have you any news?"

"Not good news," said he, soberly.

She shrugged her shoulders, and looked disappointed.

Before going further, it may be as well to describe briefly the young lady who had so enthralled the book-keeper.

She had the advantage of youth, a complexion clear red and white, and decidedly pretty features. If there was a defect, it was the expression of her eyes. There was nothing soft or winning in her glance. She seemed, and was, of a cold, calculating, unsympathetic nature. She was intensely selfish, and was resolved only to marry a man who could gratify her taste for finery and luxurious living.

She was the niece of Mrs. Sinclair, who kept the[Pg 135] boarding-house, and though living in dependence upon her aunt, did nothing to relieve her from the care and drudgery incidental to her business.

"It's too provoking," she said, pouting.

"So it is, Virginia;" and Talbot tried to take her hand, but she quietly withdrew it.

"You told me that you would have plenty of money by this time, Mr. Talbot."

"I expected it, but a man can't foresee the fluctuations of Wall street. I am afraid I shall meet with a loss."

"I don't believe you are as smart as Sam Eustis—he's engaged to my cousin. He made ten thousand dollars last month on Lake Shore."

"It's the fools that blunder into luck," said Talbot, irritated.

"Then you'd better turn fool; it seems to pay," said Virginia, rather sharply.

"No need of that—I'm fool enough already," said Talbot, bitterly.

"Oh, well, if you've only come here to make yourself disagreeable, I'm sure you'd better stay away," said the young lady, tossing her head.

"I came here expecting sympathy and encouragement," said Talbot. "Instead, you receive me with taunts and coldness."

"You are unreasonable, Mr. Talbot," said [Pg 136]Virginia. "I will be cheerful and pleasant when you bring me agreeable news."

"Oh, Virginia!" exclaimed Talbot, impulsively. "Why will you require impossibilities of me? Take me as I am. I have an income of two thousand dollars a year. We can live comfortably on that, and be happy in a snug little home."

"Snug little home!" repeated the young lady, scornfully. "Thank you; I'd rather not. I know just what that means. It means that I am to be a household drudge, afraid to spend an extra sixpence—perhaps obliged to take lodgers, like my aunt."

"Not so bad as that, Virginia."

"It would come to that in time."

"I am sure you cannot love me when you so coolly give me up for money."

"I haven't given you up, but I want you to get money."

"Would to Heaven I could!"

"You could if you were in earnest."

"Do you doubt that?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Mr. Talbot. If you really care so much for me, you will try to support me as I want to live."

"Tell me, in a word, what you want."

"Well," said Virginia, slowly, "I want to go to Europe for my honey-moon. I've heard so much of[Pg 137] Paris, I know I should like it ever so much. Then I want to live respectably when I get back."

"What do you call living respectably?" asked Talbot.

"Well, we must have a nice little house to ourselves, and I think, just at first, I could get along with three servants; and I should want to go to the opera, and the theater, and to concerts."

"You have not been accustomed to live in that way, Virginia."

"No; and that's why I have made up my mind not to marry unless my husband can gratify me."

"Suppose this is impossible?"

"Impossible for you!" said Miss Conway, significantly.

"You mean you will look elsewhere?" said Talbot, hastily.

"Yes, I think so," said Virginia, coolly.

"And you