Dan bowed and took the money.
"You can sing and play," said the conductor, good-naturedly.
Dan was not at all desirous of doing this, for Hartley sat only three feet from him, and he feared he might recognize him, but it would not be in character to refuse, so he began, and sang his one air, playing an accompaniment. Several of the passengers handed him small coins, among them Hartley.
"How well he sings!" said the charitable lady.
"I can't agree with you, ma'am," said Hartley. "I would rather give him money to stop."
"His voice strikes me as very rich, and the Italian is such a beautiful language."
Hartley shrugged his shoulders.
"I have heard a good deal better performers even among the street boys," said Hartley.
"So have I," said Dan to himself. "He doesn't suspect me; I am glad of that."
Hartley remained in the car till it reached the Astor House, and so, of course, did Dan. In fact, Hartley was on his way to Brooklyn to pay another installment to the guardians of the little girl whom he had carried off. Dan, therefore, was in luck.