Dan, the Newsboy by Jr. Horatio Alger (phonics reading books .TXT) 📖

dancer than himself.

"Oh, well, it's easy to dance in a quadrille," he said[Pg 202] to himself, by way of consolation. "He won't venture on any of the round dances."

But as Dan was leading Julia to her seat he asked her hand in the next polka, and was graciously accepted.

He then bowed and left her, knowing that he ought not to monopolize the young hostess.

Although Tom had told Dan not to expect any attentions from him, he was led by curiosity to accost our hero.

"It seems that newsboys dance," said he.

"Does it?" asked Dan, indifferently.

"But it was not in very good taste for you to engage Miss Rogers for the first dance."

"Why not?"

"It was making yourself too prominent."

"Somebody had to be prominent, or Miss Rogers would have been left to dance by herself."

"There are others who would have made more suitable partners for her."

"Yourself, for instance."

"Yes."

"I am sorry to have stood in your way."

"Oh, you needn't mind. I shall have plenty of opportunities of dancing with her, and you won't. I suppose she took pity on you, as you know no other young lady here."

[Pg 203]

Just then a pretty girl, beautifully dressed, approached Dan.

"Good-evening, Mr. Mordaunt," she said, offering her hand with a beaming smile.

"Good-evening, Miss Carroll," said Dan. "Are you engaged for the galop?"

Miss Carroll shook her head.

"Then will you give me the pleasure?"

In a minute Dan was whirling round the room with the young lady, greatly to Tom's amazement, for Edith Carroll was from a family of high social standing, living on Murray Hill.

"How in the duse does Dan Mordaunt know that girl?" Tom asked himself, with a frown. "They spoke as if they were acquainted."

To Tom's further disappointment Dan danced as gracefully in the galop as in the quadrille.

When the galop was over, Dan promenaded with another young lady, whose acquaintance he had made at dancing-school, and altogether seemed as much at his ease as if he had been attending parties all his life.

Tom managed to obtain Edith Carroll as a partner.

"I didn't know you were acquainted with Dan Mordaunt," he said.

"Oh, yes, I know him very well. Doesn't he dance charmingly?"

[Pg 204]

"Humph!" said Tom, not very well pleased. "I thought him rather awkward."

"How can you say so, Mr. Carver? Why I think he dances beautifully, and so do all the girls."

"How do the girls know how he dances?"

"Why he goes to our dancing-school. The professor says he is his best pupil. We all like to dance with him."

"That's fortunate for him," said Tom, with a sneer. "Perhaps he may become a dancing-master in time."

"He would make a good one, but I don't think he's very likely to do that."

"It would be a good thing for him. He is poor, you know."

"No, I don't. I am sure he dresses well. He is as well-dressed as any young gentleman here."

This was true, and Tom resented it. He felt that Dan had no right to dress well.

"He ought not to spend so much money on dress when he has his mother to support," he said, provoked.

"It seems to me you take a great deal of interest in Mr. Mordaunt," said the young beauty, pointedly.

"Oh, no; he can do as he likes for all me, but, of[Pg 205] course, when a boy in his position dresses as if he were rich one can't help noticing it."

"I am sure he can't be very poor, or he could not attend Dodworth's dancing-school. At any rate I like to dance with him, and I don't care whether he's poor or rich."

Presently Tom saw Dan dancing the polka with Julia Rogers, and with the same grace that he had exhibited in the other dances.

He felt jealous, for he fancied himself a favorite with Julia, because their families being intimate, he saw a good deal of her.

On the whole Tom was not enjoying the party. He did succeed, however, in obtaining the privilege of escorting Julia to supper.

Just in front of him was Dan, escorting a young lady from Fifth avenue.

"Mr. Mordaunt appears to be enjoying himself," said Julia Rogers.

"Yes, he has plenty of cheek," muttered Tom.

"Excuse me, Tom, but do you think such expressions suitable for such an occasion as this?"

"I am sorry you don't like it, but I never saw a more forward or presuming fellow than this Dan Mordaunt."

"I beg you to keep your opinion to yourself," said Julia Rogers, with dignity. "I find he is a great[Pg 206] favorite with all the young ladies here. I had no idea he knew so many of them."

Tom gave it up. It seemed to him that all the girls were infatuated with a common newsboy, while his vanity was hurt by finding himself quite distanced in the race.

About twelve o'clock the two boys met in the dressing-room.

"You seemed to enjoy yourself," said Tom, coldly.

"Yes, thanks to your kind attentions," answered Dan, with a smile. "It is pleasant to meet old friends, you know. By the way, I suppose we shall meet at Miss Carroll's party."

"Are you to be invited?" asked Tom, in astonishment.

"So the young lady tells me," answered Dan, smiling.

"I suppose you'll be giving a fashionable party next," said Tom, with a sneer.

"Consider yourself invited if I do. Good-night, and pleasant dreams."

But Dan's dreams were by no means sweet that night.

When he reached home, it was to hear of a great and startling misfortune.

[Pg 207]

CHAPTER XXIX. A NE'ER DO WELL.

At half-past twelve Dan ascended the stairs to his mother's room. He had promised to come in and tell her how he had enjoyed himself at the party. He was in excellent spirits on account of the flattering attentions he had received. It was in this frame of mind that he opened the door. What was his surprise, even consternation, when his mother advanced to meet him with tearful eyes and an expression of distress.

"Oh, Dan, I am so glad you have got home!" she ejaculated.

"What is the matter, mother? Are you sick?" asked Dan.

"I am quite well, Dan; but Althea——"

And Mrs. Mordaunt burst into tears.

"What has happened to Althea? Is she sick?" asked Dan, alarmed.

"We have lost her, Dan."

"Lost her! You don't mean she is——"

He couldn't finish the sentence, but his mother divined what he meant.

[Pg 208]

"Not dead, thank God!" she said, "but she has disappeared—she has been stolen."

"You don't mean it, mother!" exclaimed Dan, startled and grieved. "Tell me about it."

Mrs. Mordaunt told what she knew, but that related only to the particulars of the abduction. We are in a position to tell the reader more, but it will be necessary to go back for a month, and transfer the scene to another continent.

In a spacious and handsomely furnished apartment at the West End of London sat the lady who had placed Althea in charge of the Mordaunts. She was deep in thought, and that not of an agreeable nature.

"I fear," she said to herself, "that trouble awaits me. John Hartley, whom I supposed to be in California, is certainly in London. I cannot be mistaken in his face, and I certainly saw him in Hyde Park to-day. Did he see me? I don't know, but I fear he did. If so, he will not long delay in making his appearance. Then I shall be persecuted, but I must be firm. He shall not learn through me where Althea is. He is her father, it is true, but he has forfeited all claim to her guardianship. A confirmed gambler and drunkard, he would soon waste her fortune, bequeathed her by her poor mother. He can have no possible claim to it; for, apart from his having had no hand in[Pg 209] leaving it to her, he was divorced from my poor sister before her death."

At this point there was a knock at the door of the room.

"Come in," said the lady.

There entered a young servant-maid, who courtesied, and said:

"Mrs. Vernon, there is a gentleman who wishes to see you."

"Can it be Hartley?" thought the lady, with quick suspicion.

"Did he give his name?" she asked.

"Yes, mum; he said his name was Bancroft."

"Bancroft! I know no one of that name," mused the lady. "Well, Margaret, you may show him up, and you may remain in the anteroom within call."

Her eyes were fixed upon the door with natural curiosity, when her visitor entered.

Instantly her face flushed, and her eyes sparkled with anger.

"John Hartley!" she exclaimed.

The visitor smiled mockingly.

"I see you know me, Harriet Vernon," he said. "It is some time since we met, is it not? I am charmed, I am sure, to see my sister-in-law looking so well."

[Pg 210]

He sank into a chair without waiting for an invitation.

"When did you change your name to Bancroft?" demanded the lady, abruptly.

"Oh," he said, showing his teeth, "that was a little ruse. I feared you would have no welcome for John Hartley, notwithstanding our near relationship, and I was forced to sail under false colors."

"It was quite in character," said Mrs. Vernon, coldly; "you were always false. But you need not claim relationship. The slender tie that connected us was broken when my sister obtained a divorce from you."

"You think so, my lady," said the visitor, dropping his tone of mocking badinage, and regarding her in a menacing manner, "but you were never more mistaken. You may flatter yourself that you are rid of me, but you flatter yourself in vain."

"Do you come here to threaten me, John Hartley?"

"I come here to ask for my child. Where is Althea?"

"Where you cannot get at her," answered Mrs. Vernon, coldly.

"Don't think to put me off in that way," he said, fiercely. "I will know where she is."

"Don't think to terrify me, John Hartley," said the[Pg 211] lady, contemptuously. "I am not so easily alarmed as your poor wife."

Hartley looked at her as if he would have assaulted her had he dared, but she knew very well that he did not dare. He was a bully, but he was a coward.

"You refuse, then, to tell me what you have done with my child?" he demanded, at length.

"I do."

"Take care, madam! A father has some rights, and the law will not permit his child to be kept from him."

"Does your anxiety to see Althea arise from parental affection?" she asked, in a sarcastic tone.

"Never mind what it springs from. I have a right to the custody of my child."

"I suppose you have a right to waste her fortune also at the gaming-table."

"I have a right to act as my child's guardian," he retorted.

"A fine guardian you would make!" she said, contemptuously.

"Why should I not?" he asked, sulkily.

"Why should you not, John Hartley? Do I need to answer the question? You ill-treated and abused her mother. You wasted half her fortune. Fortunately, she escaped from you before it was all gone. But you shortened her life, and she did not long [Pg 212]survive the separation. It was her last request that I should care for her child—that I should, above all, keep her out of your clutches. I made that promise, and I mean to keep it."

"You poisoned my wife's mind against me," he said. "But for your cursed interference we should never have separated."

"You are right, perhaps, in your last statement. I certainly did urge my sister to leave you. I obtained her consent to the application for a divorce, but as to poisoning her mind against you, there was no need of that. By your conduct and your treatment you destroyed her love and forfeited her respect, and she saw the propriety of the course which I recommended."

"I didn't come here to be lectured. You can spare your invectives, Harriet Vernon. What is past is past. I was not a model husband, perhaps, but I was as good as the average."

"If that is the case, Heaven help the woman who marries!"

"Or the man that marries a woman like you!"

"You are welcome to your opinion of me. I am entirely indifferent to your good or bad opinion. Have you any more to say?"

"Any more to say! I have hardly begun. Is my daughter Althea with you?"

[Pg 213]

"I don't recognize your right to question me on this subject, but I will answer you. She is not with me."

"Is she in London?"

"I will even answer that question. She is not in London."

"Is she in England?"

"That I will not tell you. You have learned enough."

John Hartley did not answer immediately. He appeared to be occupied