Judge — March 18, 1882 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE JUDGE. took a sheet of white paper, scaled up my five cards in the presence of witnesses, obtained from a reliable gentleman present, Mr. John Blackbridge, an attestation of the facts of my holdings, and went forth to exploit the money market, “Mr, Vandergilt was about retiring when 1 rang the bell of his palatial mansion. THe read the statement, heard my recital of the affair, and said: ‘At the worst, you can but divide. Here is a million in Governments; I aim short of cash owing to a heavy wee wash, my laundress being opposed to the credit system. If you want more to-morrow, on the same racket, telegraph me, and I will look in on you. Don't give your opponent credit, and be sure and put in the Govern- ments at 117 3+, today’s best figures.’ So saying, the millionaire yawned and went off to bed, and I returned to Delmonico’s. “At about daybreak I said to the bald and fishy-eyed banker: ‘I don’t want to ruin you. We each have a million and a quarter up. Not to plunge your family into beggary, I will call you, although I am invincible; thrice- armed, as it were, in the words of the immor- tal bard. [show Royal Straight Flush.’ “«¢T take the pot,’ said the b. and f.-c. bank- er, as he calmly laid down upon the table, face up, Five Acrst “Great Heaven been using a pac left int “Horrorstricken, I fled from the place. Away, away, on the wings of the wind, faster than a Bleecker strect bob-tail car when it goes the wrong way on the Elm street grade, pulling the solitary mule with it. Away, away, beyond Spuyten Duyvil, Glens Falls; It was tootrue! We had of cards with the Joker ERY 1 BeTcHER.-—Just you's skip ont of here, nov. GHOST!!! (Tis is a ghostly, ghastly, goose-fleshy tale, ungentle reader. Its perusal will make your celluloid tecth curl up, and cause your false hair to stand on end. If you value your nerves, pass it by and read the quieter prose of some other writer in this paper. A ghost story is bad enough in any form. across the wide ocean, over the vast Siberian plains toward Irkutsk, Kamscbatka, and the | Okhotsk frozen sca of desolation, where I am now wandering in the vain hope of cornering | the Knickerbocker Ice Co., and getting pos- session of the New York market for the sum- mer of 1882, Am I mad? Do my senses | reel? Will my intelligent countrymen sym- pathize with a long-lost martyr to the noble use? Communications may be addressed, post-paid, to “ Spero TUPARE, “ Room 10, upper corridor, “ Hotel de Crank.” ‘TuINGs have come to a pretty pass, indeed, when even the monument of the great and | good Cyrus W. Field, Esquire, is not safe from | vandalic hands, The next time our own and | only Cyrus is impelled to set up a monument | in commemoration of his own glory, it might | be well for him to take a hint from the more | prudent example of the elder Vanderbilt, as exemplified by the mammoth bronze casting on the western wall of the H.R. R. freight de- pot in this city, and elevate his artistic work so far above the maddening crowd that only the tallest of fire ladders can possibly reach it. The dishonorable attentions of certain birds that have paid their compliments to the Com- modore's exhibit are far preferableto the wick- edly wanton ravages of the defacing tramp. rus But this one!—why, even the proof-reader's hair will turn gray when correcting it.) CHAPTER 1.—11.45 P.M. Iris nearly midnight. Iam seated alone inthe turret boudoir of Sir Guy de Fun tle—alone at this hour—alone in a ce: which is popularly considered to be haunted. Am I afraid? Ungentle reader, how would you feel in such asituation? Eh? Exactly! Well, that'sthe way I feel—only a great deal more so, | Ifa mouse coughs I shall hav stroke of | paralysis, That’s'the way I fecl, and as the | mystic hour approaches, and the clock ticks | more and more emphatically, I do not im- prove; my pulse does not do less strokes to AIKELY. We're missed eight or ten quarters of beef lately, and it must ugging "em ¢ he devotes his whole night to that individual | —he “makes a night with him.” Until early | morning this ghost ‘‘sticketh closer than a brother” to whatever poor devil he may find inside his late castle. What if this story is true ? What ifSir G: does put insan appearance at 12 M., and stum- bles over—MeE? Heavens! The cold sweat starts and exudes from my forehead, like the drippings of a half-turncd-of Croton faucet. Then goes the clock—1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, —12 4.* trite , ; 3 ? $i “ remeny CHAPTER IL.—7 aca. Iris morning ; yes, right morning; and I the minute ; my breathing does not slow down, and my eyes do not settle back into their sockets, Tam scared—that’s what Tam. | On the table is a quarto which I have been | reading. In a style @ la Poe, it tells the legend—the ghastly legend—of this castle. Horror of horrors! why did I ever come here? Will morning ever arrive? Think of what may happen between this and 5 a. 4.1 ‘This quarto states that at 12 M. the ghost of Sir Guy de Funct appears, and goes the round of the castle, in search of a chance in- mate. If he does find any one in the forsaken place. am hurrying, rushing, galloping, eanteri y from the ghastly horror so graph eseribed in the last chapter. Before leaving I fired the castle, for I decided that no one should duplicate my experience in that horrible place ; an experience terri: ble, blood-curdling, ghastly, and graphically ped in the last chapter. I hope I shall have a good breakfast to brace up on, WwW, Pp. deser' deemed It Lest not to have Chapter Ieis foo weird, I thought 1 would epare tn spite of ourself; eo 1 elmply had the ‘That will answer your love for the bor. too far. just horribie eno} 1, prin you, angentle read punctuation prin Hie without t too horriti comicbooks.com