Dan The Newsboy 9

Dan The Newsboy 9

"Young man," said he, "I will give you eight dollars for the clothes."

 

"Say nine, sir."

 

"Not a cent more."

 

As the regular price was eight dollars--when they couldn't get any

more--Samuel felt authorized to conclude the bargain without consulting

Mr. Gripp.

 

"Shall I do up the clothes?" he asked.

 

"No," said Dan, "I'll wear 'em. You may put up my old ones."

 

Samuel felt it derogatory to his dignity to obey the orders of our hero,

but there was no alternative.

 

The bundle was placed in Dan's hands.

 

"Now write me a receipt for the price," said Mr. Grant.

 

This was done.

 

Mr. Grant counted out six dollars and eighty cents.

 

"I have an order upon you for the balance," he said.

 

"I don't understand," ejaculated Samuel.

 

"Your principal owes my young friend, or his mother, one dollar and

twenty cents for work. This you will receive as part of the price."

 

"I must see Mr. Gripp," said Samuel.

 

Mr. Gripp came forward frowning.

 

"We can't take the order, sir," he said. "The boy's money is not yet

due."

 

"Isn't the work done and delivered?"

 

"Yes, sir; but it is our rule not to pay till a whole dozen is

delivered."

 

"Then it is a rule which you must break," said Mr. Grant, firmly.

 

"We can't."

 

"Then I refuse to take the suit."

 

Nathan Gripp did not like to lose the sale on the one hand, or abdicate

his position on the other.

 

"Tell your mother," he said to Dan, "that when she has finished another

half-dozen vests I will pay her the whole."

 

He reflected that the stranger would be gone, and Dan would be in his

power.

 

"Thank you," said Dan, "but mother's agreed to work for Jackson. He

pays better."

 

"Then you'll have to wait for your pay," said Mr. Gripp, sharply.

 

"Don't you care to sell this suit?" asked Mr. Grant, quickly.

 

"Yes, sir, but under the circumstances we must ask all cash."

 

"You won't get it, sir."

 

"Then I don't think we care to sell," said Gripp, allowing his anger to

overcome his interest.

 

"Very good. I think, Dan, we can find quite as good a bargain at

Jackson's. Mr. Gripp, do I understand that you decline to pay this

bill?"

 

"I will pay when the other half-dozen vests are made," said Gripp,

stubbornly.

 

"I have nothing to do with that. The bill is mine, and it is with me you

have to deal. The boy has nothing to do with it."

 

"Is that so?" asked Gripp, in surprise.

 

"It is. You may take your choice. Settle the bill now, or I shall

immediately put it in a lawyer's hands, who will know how to compel you

to pay it."

 

A determined will carries the day.

 

"Take this gentleman's money, Samuel," said Gripp, in a tone of

annoyance.

 

There was no further trouble. Dan walked out of the store better

dressed than he had been since the days of his prosperity.

 

"How can I thank you, Mr. Grant?" he said, gratefully.

 

"By continuing to care for your mother, my lad. You are lucky to have a

mother living. Mine is dead, God bless her! Now, my lad, what do you

think of my success in collecting bills?"

 

"You were too many for old Gripp, sir. He won't sleep to-night."

 

"He doesn't deserve to, for he grows rich by defrauding the poor who

work for him."

 

Opposite the City Hall Park Dan and his friend separated.

 

"I shall not see you again, my boy," said Mr. Grant, "for I take the

evening train. If you ever come to St. Louis, find me out."

 

"I will, sir."

 

"That's a good man," said Dan, as he wended his way homeward. "If there

were more such, it would be good for poor people like mother and me. If

I ever get rich, I mean to help along those that need it."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII.

 

MIKE RAFFERTY'S TRICK.

 

 

Dan carefully husbanded the money which Mr. Grant had lent him, and the

result was that for two months he was comparatively easy in his

circumstances. His mother earned five cents more daily, on account of

the higher price she received for work, and though this was a trifle, it

was by no means to be despised where the family income was so small as

in the case of the Mordaunts.

 

Still Dan was not satisfied.

 

"Mother," said he, "I suppose I ought to be contented with earning

enough to pay our expenses, but I should like to be saving something."

 

"Yes, Dan, it would be pleasant. But we ought to be thankful for what we

are now receiving."

 

"But, mother, suppose I should fall sick? What should we do then?"

 

Mrs. Mordaunt shuddered.

 

"Don't mention such a thing, Dan," she said. "The very idea terrifies

me."

 

"But it might happen, for all that."

 

"Don't you feel well, Dan? Is anything the matter with you?" asked Mrs.

Mordaunt, anxiously.

 

"Don't be frightened, mother," answered Dan, laughing. "I'm as strong as

a horse, and can eat almost as much. Still, you know, we would feel

safer to have a little money in the savings-bank."

 

"There isn't much chance of that, Dan, unless we earn more than we do

now."

 

"You are right there. Well, I suppose there is no use thinking of it. By

the way, mother, you've got enough money on hand to pay the rent

to-morrow, haven't you?"

 

"Yes, Dan, and a dollar over."

 

"That's good."

 

The door of the room was partly open, and the last part of the

conversation was heard by Mike Rafferty, the son of the tenant who

occupied the room just over the Mordaunts. He was a ne'er-do-well, who

had passed more than one term of imprisonment at Blackwell's Island. His

mother was an honest, hard-working washerwoman, who toiled early and

late to support herself and her three children. Mike might have given

her such assistance that she could have lived quite comfortably, for her

own earnings were by no means inconsiderable. Her wash-tub paid her much

more than Mrs. Mordaunts needle could possibly win, and she averaged a

dollar a day where her more refined neighbor made but twenty-five

cents. But Mike, instead of helping, was an additional burden. He got

his meals regularly at home, but contributed scarcely a dollar a month

to the common expenses. He was a selfish rowdy, who was likely to belong

permanently to the shiftless and dangerous classes of society.

 

Mike had from time to time made approaches to intimacy with Dan, who was

nearly two years younger, but Dan despised him for his selfishly

burdening his mother with his support, and didn't encourage him.

Naturally, Mike hated Dan, and pronounced him "stuck up" and proud,

though our hero associated familiarly with more than one boy ranking no

higher in the social scale than Mike Rafferty.

 

Only the day before, Mike, finding himself out of funds, encountering

Dan on the stairs, asked for the loan of a quarter.

 

"I have no money to spare," answered Dan.

 

"You've got money, Dan; I saw you take out some a minute ago."

 

"Yes, I've got the money, but I won't lend it."

 

"You're a mane skinflint," said Mike, provoked.

 

"Why am I?"

 

"Because you've got the money, and you won't lend it."

 

"What do you want to do with it?"