IN THE DRESSING-ROOM.
Mr. Rogers lived in a handsome brown-stone-front house up town.
As Dan approached, he saw the entire house brilliantly lighted. He
passed beneath a canopy, over carpeted steps, to the front door, and
rang the bell.
The door was opened by a stylish-looking colored man, whose grand air
showed that he felt the importance and dignity of his position.
As Dan passed in he said:
"Gentlemen's dressing-room third floor back."
With a single glance through the open door at the lighted parlors, where
several guests were already assembled, Dan followed directions, and went
up stairs.
Entering the dressing-room, he saw a boy carefully arranging his hair
before the glass.
"That's my friend, Tom Carver," said Dan to himself.
Tom was so busily engaged at his toilet that he didn't at once look at
the new guest. When he had leisure to look up, he seemed surprised, and
remarked, superciliously:
"I didn't expect to see _you_ here."
"Why not?" demanded Dan, who understood his meaning.
"Are you engaged to look after this room? If so, just brush me."
"With all my heart, if you'll brush me," answered Dan, partly offended
and partly amused.
"What do you mean?" demanded Tom, haughtily.
"Just what I say. One good turn deserves another."
"Our positions are rather different, I think."
"How so? You are a guest of Miss Rogers, and so am I."
"You don't mean to say that you are going down into the parlor?"
"Why not?"
"A boy who sells papers in front of the Astor House is not a suitable
guest at a fashionable party."
"That is not your affair," said Dan, coldly. "But it is not true that I
sell papers anywhere."
"Oh, I forgot. You're a shop-boy now. You used to sell papers, though."
"And I will again, if necessary," answered Dan, as he took Tom's place
in front of the glass and began to arrange his toilet.
Then, for the first time, Tom took notice that Dan was dressed as well
as himself, in a style with which the most captious critic could not
find fault. Tom was both surprised and disappointed. He would have liked
to see Dan in awkward, ill-fitting, or shabby clothes. It seemed to him
that an ex-newsboy had no right to dress so well, and he was greatly
puzzled to understand how he could afford it.
"Where did you borrow those clothes?" he asked, impudently.
"Where did you borrow yours?" retorted Dan.
"Don't be saucy."
"You set me the example."
"It is not remarkable that I should be well dressed. I can afford it."
"So can I," answered Dan, laconically.
"Do you mean to say that you bought that suit and paid for it?"
"I do."
"It must have taken all your money."
"You are very kind to take so much interest in me. It may relieve your
mind to see this."
Dan took a roll of bills from his pocket, and displayed them to the
astonished Tom.
"I don't see where you got so much money," said Tom, mystified.
"I've got more in the bank," said Dan. "I mention it to you that you
needn't feel bad about my extravagance in buying a party suit."
"I wouldn't have come to this party if I had been you," said Tom,
changing his tone.
"Why not?"
"You'll be so awkward, you know. You don't know any one except Miss
Rogers, who, of course, invited you out of pity, not expecting you would
accept."
"Did she tell you so?" asked Dan, smiling.
"No, but it stands to reason."
"You forget I know you," said Dan, smiling again.
"I beg you won't presume upon our former slight acquaintance," said Tom,
hastily. "I shall be so busily occupied that I really can't give you any
attention."
"Then I must shift for myself, I suppose," said Dan, good-humoredly.
"Shall we go down?"
"Go first, if you like," said Tom, superciliously. "I will follow
directly."
"He doesn't want to go down with me," thought Dan. "Perhaps I shall
surprise him a little;" and he made his way down stairs.