Life — January 17, 1884 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

But Bertie’s garments, his friends concluded, were not assumed in this manner, as it seemed impossible, judging from the overwhelming perfection and gradual tapering of the fit from hip to ankle, that his feet had ever been put through them ; and, though these friends bought the same material and spurred their tailors to the utmost, Bertie soared high above them all and their young lives were tinged with the wormwood and gall of bitter envy and hopeless despair. ‘Iheir hats were as glossy as his,'their collars were as high and shone with as brilliant lustre, their coats were as faultless, their shoes were as perfect, their walking-sticks were as wonderful masterpieces of design and workmanship ; but, in the matter of trousers, they were fearfully de- ficient. Percy Golddust’s despair was so terrible that he was rapidly going into a decline, and it was said that his mama had gone on her knees to Bertie to obtain the secret of his trousers as the only means of saving her son’s life. Gerald Sophthed was losing his reason, Osmond Sugarpill had fallen a victim to insomnia, and yet Bertie remained immovable, and kept the secret locked in his bosom. But there was a mystery about Bertie Mangoose that the Water-and-Milk Club had never been able to fathom. Bertie was never at the club two evenings in succession, but disappeared unaccountably every alter- nate night, and as regularly re-appeared again after dinner the following evening, arrayed in a new pair of trousers as perfect as the ones that had gone before, for Bertie had far too much self-respect even to wear the same pair twice. These mysterious disappearances became a matter of great anxiety to the Water-and- Milk Club ; and, but for the fact that his father al- ways wore yellow gaiters and an eye-glass, and his mother’s name was in the Elite Directory, it is possible that Bertie’s position might have suffered among his associates. As it was, the club at last became so much agitated over the matter that Bertie’s three particular friends decided to engage a detective to solve the LoOOK-A-HERE, Boss, IF YER WANT A GOOD SHINE YER 'VE GOT TER KEEP MY BLACKIN’ WET—OR I WONT ‘TAKE THE JOB. problem—not without a hope that the discovery might result in a solution also of the secret of his trousers. The evening that this decision was arrived at Bertie was away, and a man of small stature, with a piercing black eye and a fierce moustache, was admitted into the club parlor. It is unnecessary to say that with one swift, sweeping glance he took in every feature of the entire room, for he was a detective. It was detective Pinkeye. He inspected Bertie’s billiard-cue, and asked to be shown his favorite brand of cigars. A box of the specially imported Havanas, each one wrapped in tin foil, that Bertie smoked was exhibited to him. He unwrapped one, looked at it carefully, put it in his mouth and lighted it. Then he asked for a paper, wrapped up the box in it and put it under his arm. “Sh’h !”’ said Detective Pinkeye, mysteriously. “I have a clue.” And he departed. “Wagah a hundwed, me boy,” said Gerald Sophthed, “that fellah finds out ’bout Beytie. Did you notice his eye ?” “Yes,” said Lucy Golddust. “ Devylishly bwight fellah ; but whatevah was mattah with his collah ?” “And his hawt had n’t been bwushed faw a whole day,” rejoined Gerald. The next evening Bertie was at the club as usual, and he drank so recklessly of ginger ale and lost so largely at dominoes that, when he arose from the gaming-table, where he had played until almost eleven o'clock, his friends admired him more than ever. As was expected, Bertie was again absent the night afterward. Osmond Sugarpill and Percy Golddust were playing a game of billiards at the club, and a lackey was just chalking the latter’s cue after a brill- iant run of three, when they were suddenly aware of a stranger in the billiard-room, who wore evening dress and carried a crush hat. Osmond was aghast, but Percy suddenly cried : “Why, dear me, if it ain’t Detective Pinkeye dis- guised as a gentleman !” It was Detective Pinkeye. “S'h' h ” he said to Percy, i in warning tones. with me.” “ Bwing my tawp-coat !” cried Percy to a servant. A moment later he was in a cab with the detective, and they were rattling down Broadway at a furious pace. The cab turned into Great Jones Street and stopped at a corner where the name of the thorough- fare was not on the lamp-post. “Wheyah aw we going?” cried Percy, in some trepidation. S'h’h’h!” whispered the detective. without a word, or all is lost.” Percy followed Detective Pinkeye around the corner and into the hallway of a rumbling old frame building. A dim light was burning in the hall, and Percy, looking at his watch, saw that it was nine o’clock; and just then the detective turned off the gas and they were left in complete darkness. “S'h’h’h !” whispered the detective. ““ Put your peeper up to this hole I have bored in the wall, and do n’t lisp a syllable whatever occurs.” “Come “Follow me comicbooks.com