Darke Darrell, the Boy Detective — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

DARKE DARRELL. 13 He was flashily dressed; his neck-tie voluminous, his vest gorgeous, his coat two sizes too large for him. He was freckled and red blotched, with a cast in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. He smoked, drank, swore roundly, was never quite out of money, and always ready for any kind of villainy. ‘‘Has the old man slept his load off, eh?” Jeff asked, with a leer. ‘Father has gone to California,” answered Darke, his cheeks flushed. *©QOh, he has!” with a low whistle. ‘*That’s the last of him. What can he do out there? Why, he’d scarcely do to start a cemetery with. What’s your mother say?” ‘* Very little,” answered Darke, sententiously. ‘Thinks lots, I’ll bet. Hasn’t cried her eyes out, eh? She’d be a foo}; if she did. She looks pretty much to you, now, I guess.” «¢ Pretty much,” ati Darke’s lips shook. A thoughtful look crept into. Jeff’s freckled face, cun- ning and commiseration mingled with it. ‘Darke, I wouldn’t mind helping you,” in an under- tone, looking at Darke a-down his cheeks, for he was a head taller than Darke. ‘‘ We’ve something rich and sure on hand to-night. Well set up, and no risks. I'll tell you where our crib is, if you say it’s a go.” Darke looked steadily at him. : ‘‘No, Jeff,” he said, very gravely. ‘‘1 want to earn my money—in the day-time and honestly. I cannot bring dis- grace upon myself and grief to my mother.” “Bosh!” growled Jeff. ‘You always was a little preacher. It’s the difference in a fellow’s mammy, 0 doubt. Mine winks at everything I do, and is quite glad to handle my money, whether fairly come by or not. It doesn’t pay to be honest.” ‘Qn the contrary, it doesn’t pay to be dishonest,” sol- Gomicbooks.¢