DAN AS A DETECTIVE.
Dan quickly decided that if Mike had been going to Brooklyn, he would
not have announced it under the circumstances.
"He meant to send me there on a wild-goose chase," he reflected. "I am
not quite so green as he takes me to be."
Dan could not decide as easily where Mike had gone. Hood says in his
poem of "The Lost Heir,"
"A boy as is lost in London streets is like a needle in a bundle
of hay."
A hunt for a boy in the streets of New York is about equally hopeless.
But Dan did not despair.
"I'll just stroll round a little," he said to himself. "Maybe I'll find
him."
Dan bent his steps toward the Courtlandt-street Ferry.
"Perhaps Mike has gone to Jersey City," he said to himself. "Anyway,
I'll go over there."
It was not an expensive journey. Six cents would defray Dan's expenses
both ways, and he was willing to incur this expense. He meant to look
about him, as something might turn up by which he could turn an honest
penny.
Something did turn up.
Near him in the cabin of the ferry-boat sat a gentleman of middle age,
who seemed overloaded with baggage. He had two heavy carpet-bags, a
satchel, and a bundle, at which he looked from time to time with a
nervous and uncomfortable glance. When the boat touched shore he tried
to gather his various pieces of luggage, but with indifferent success.
Noticing his look of perplexity, Dan approached him, and said,
respectfully:
"Can't I assist you, sir?"
"I wish you would, my boy," said the gentleman, relieved.
"All right, sir. I'll take one of the carpet-bags and the satchel, if
you like."
"Thank you; that will do nicely."
So the two left the boat together.
"Where are you going, sir?" asked Dan.
"Do you know the wharf of the Cunard steamers?" asked the gentleman.
"Yes, sir."
"Is it far off?"
"Not more than five or six minutes' walk," answered Dan.
"Can you help me as far as that with my luggage?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will make it worth your while, and you will be doing me a great favor
besides. I was brought down to the ferry, but the rascally hackman
demanded five dollars more to carry me across and land me at the Cunard
pier. He thought I would have to submit to this imposition, but I was so
indignant that I tried to handle all my luggage myself. I don't know how
I should have managed without you."
"I won't charge you so much, sir," said Dan, smiling.
"It isn't for the money I cared so much as for the imposition. I would
rather pay you ten dollars than the hackman five."
"Be careful, sir," said Dan, smiling, "or I may take advantage of your
liberal offer."
The gentleman smiled in turn.
"You don't look like a boy that would take advantage of a traveler."
"You can't judge from appearances, sir. I have been robbed of six
dollars to-day, and I might try to make it up that way."
"You have been robbed! How?"
Dan briefly related the circumstances.
"Was it all the money your mother had?"
"Yes, sir."
"How did you happen to be coming across the ferry?"
"I thought Mike might be here somewhere."
By this time they were in sight of the Cunard wharf.
"Were you ever on a Cunard steamer?" asked the gentleman.
"No, sir."
"Help me on board with my luggage, and I will show you about."
"I thought the steamers generally left in the morning," said Dan.
"So they do; but to-day the tide did not serve till later."
Dan helped Mr. Stevens down below with his luggage, and assisted him in
storing them in his stateroom. He surveyed with interest the cabin, the
deck, the dining-saloon, and the various arrangements.
"Well," said the gentleman, smiling, "how do you like it?"
"First-rate, sir."
"Do you think you would like to be going with me?"
"Yes, sir, but for my mother."
"Of course, it won't do to desert her; otherwise I might be tempted to
make you an offer. I am sure you would be very useful to me."
"I should like it very much, if mother did not need me."
Dan went up stairs with Mr. Stevens, and remained till visitors were
warned that it was time to go ashore.
"I must go, sir," he said.
Mr. Stevens drew a five-dollar bill from his vest pocket and handed it
to Dan.
"I haven't any change, sir," said Dan.
"None is required," said the gentleman, smiling.
"Do you really mean to give me five dollars, sir?"
"That is what the hackman wanted to charge me."
"But it was too much."
"It was too much for him; it is not too much for you, if I am willing to
give it to you."
"You are very kind, sir," said Dan, almost doubting the reality of his
good fortune.
"It will prove that I spoke truly when I said I didn't care for the
amount of money, only for the imposition. I am really very glad to give
it to you. Good-by, my boy."
He offered his hand. Dan shook it heartily, and, wishing him a pleasant
voyage, descended the gangplank.
"That is almost as much as Mike robbed me of," he said to himself. "How
lucky I came over to Jersey City! Now, if I could only get back part of
the money Mike robbed me of, I should be the better off for his mean
trick."
Dan did not immediately return to New York. He had been so fortunate
that he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon as he liked.
He walked on for ten minutes, Mike being temporarily out of his mind,
when his attention was suddenly drawn to him. Just in front of him he
saw Mike himself swaggering along, with a ten-cent cigar in his mouth,
and both hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. He was strolling
along in fancied security, not dreaming of the near presence of the boy
whom he had so meanly robbed.
Dan's eyes sparkled when he recognized his enemy, and hastening his
pace, he put his hand on Mike's shoulder.
Mike turned quickly, and his countenance changed when he saw Dan.
"Has he found it out?" suggested his guilty conscience. "Anyway, he
can't prove anything. I'll bluff him off."
"Hallo, Dan!" he said, in affected cordiality. "What brings you over
here?"
"What brings _you_ over here, Mike?" asked Dan, significantly.
"I'm looking for a job," said Mike.
"You look like it," retorted Dan, "with both hands in your pockets and
a cigar in your mouth! Times seem to be good with you. How much did that
cigar cost?"
"I don't know," answered Mike, with unblushing falsehood. "A man gave it
to me for holdin' his hoss."
Mike was never at a loss for a plausible lie.
"I thought you bought it."
"I haven't got any money."
"Did they let you over the ferry free, then?"
"Oh, I had money enough for that."
"I guess you have got more."
"No, I haven't. Ten cents was all I had."
"Then how are you going to take Terence Quinn to the theater to-night?"
asked Dan.
Even Mike's brazen effrontery was hardly prepared to meet this
unexpected question.
"What do you mane?" he stammered.
"Terence told me you had invited him."
"Then he lies!" said Mike, his self-assurance returning. "He invited
me."
"Look here, Mike Rafferty," said Dan, out of patience; "that won't go
down! Terence told the truth. I know where you got the money you were
going to treat him with."
"Where, then?"
"From my mother's pocket-book."
"It's a lie!" blustered Mike.
"It's the truth, and if you don't hand over what's left without making
any more trouble, I'll have you arrested."
"You can't. We're in Jersey----"
"I shall have you arrested as soon as you get home."
"I didn't take the money," said Mike, sullenly.
"You did, and you know it," said Dan, firmly. "Give me what you have
left, and I'll make no trouble about it. If you don't, you're booked for
another term at the island."
Mike tried to save his ill-gotten gains, but Dan was persistent, and
finally extracted from him four dollars and a half. The rest Mike
pretended he had spent. He was sly enough, however, to have saved enough
to take him to the Old Bowery.
On the whole, Dan was satisfied, considering the five dollars he had
received on the Cunard steamer, but he could not forbear giving Mike a
farewell shot.
"How did it happen, Mike, that you took the Jersey Ferry to Brooklyn?"
Mike did not deign a reply.
"That is my first appearance as a detective," thought Dan. "It seems to
pay."