The Human Vampire; Or, The Elixir of Life — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

Vol. 1, No. 31. THE LOG CABIN LIBRARY. 17 ‘CAUSE HE BOILS DEAD PEOPLE AN’ EATS THEM.” —Ohap. Xv. Mrs. Gordon pondered. ‘**T should not like to say anything one way or the other. She is a girl engaged recently, and I know very little about her.” ‘Phen I should say it would be advisable to keep her in your own hands till Mr. Decker returns.” “Tl inquire about her, madam. I only wish Mrs. Decker felt able to take any interest, but she is completely prostrated.” On inquiries being instituted it was learned that Prissy Wilson had already quitted the house. ‘‘I did not know what to do,” said Mrs, Gordon, apologet- ically; ‘‘and, to tell the truth, I feel as if I should be dismissed on thespot. Of course I know it is not my fault the children wore stolen, but I cannot expect other people to feel as I do about it.” The poor woman broke down and cried bitterly. ** Do not reproach yourself, I beg,” said Lillian, kindly, ‘<I am sure no one blames you. If they do they sre very unjust. But keep up your heart; the little ones will certainly be found.” “Thope so, I pray so. Their poor mother and father! Oh! I do not like to think of him; he will surely lose his senses.”’ “ But, surely, the mother deserves as much sympathy.” “Of course Mrs. Decker loves her children, but she does not love them as her husband does. I never saw aman so devoted; he just worships them babies.” “Well, I trust they will be restored. I think it is not pos- sible for any one to hide them from so wealthy a man as Mr, Decker. He has the means to employ the most skilled detec- tives, and no donbt the children will be found. Keep up your heart, nurse.’’ Lillian spoke more cheerfully than she felt. She had heard of cases where children of wealthy parents had been lost and never restored. As she walked back to Mrs. Vanderoliff’s cottage she recalled the nurse's words, ''I believe Mr. Decker suspects some one.” é pte did he must have a bitter enemy whom he had reason to read. CHAPTER XY. A LEAGUE AGAINST A REMORSELESS FOR. In a cottage in Hyde Park, Ohicago, there resided an elderly gentleman, whose mode of life was somewhat peculiar. He lived alone; at least the woman who kept house for him always went to her own home at night, returning in the morning in ~time to cook his breakfast. Mr. Morrison was his name, and his arrival in the city had been recent. He had moved into the cottage, and gradually furnished it afterward. He began with his bedroom; that was comfortably fitted up; then the kitchen and dining-room, and afterward his library or study. He had informed his raved that he was a medical man, re- tired from the practice of his profession. He gave as his reason that his health had given way under hard work, and that he now devoted himself to scientific re- search. “‘T shall make my enforced holiday useful,” he said, pleas- antly; ‘‘and when I am able to take up the active branch of my ———— profcssion again, my pationts will hayo the bencfit of my inves- tigations.” All this was very satisfactory, and the landlord, an honest mason who had been lucky enough to acquire considerable prop- erty when its value was not so great, was not surprised that his new tenant should burn lights in his house the greater portion of the night. “Sure he is studying, the crature,” he explained to his wife. “Will, I only hope he won't set foire to the place,” was her reply. : ‘‘Oh, no danger,’ ject from his mind. As the reader has guessed, the gentleman who devoted him- self to study was none other than Jabez Lohn. He was known as Doctor Morrison. He was extremely quiet, paid his rent reg- ularly, and was easily satisfied. Therefore his landlord and his housekeeper were perfectly sat- isfled with the doctor. for some time the stranger lived slone, but at length he en- gaged an assistant, The fresh arrival was a medical student of unprepossessing appearance. He was tall, excessively thin, with a long, cadaver- ous face, red hair cut short and standing up like the bristles on a pig’s back, and large, glassy eyes, which had an odd look of standing out like the bull's-eye on a lantern. Mr. Doty was this young man’s name, and the children in the neighborhood took a dislike to him, which they displayed in various ways. They called him names when at a safe distance; they flung stones after him and tied dead cats to the handle of the gate, because a rumor had arisen that Mr. Doty indulged in the practice of cutting up dead bodies and making soup of them, No one knew how this story had originated, unless it was owing to the fact that the student had made a fire in the back yard and boiled something in s wash-boiler one night. ‘© There goes the cannibal!” cried the boys, whenever the un- fortunate Doty appeared on the streets, The ill-favored searcher after knowledge had sense enough to treat these manifestations with silent contempt, so they did not grow any worse. ‘©Why do’ you call that young man a cannibal?” asked a strange woman, as she passed along the street one day and saw the unfortunate Doty pursued by his attendant satellites, “**Cause he boils dead people an’ eats them.” She had been searching for a house in the neighborhood, and had engaged this boy’s services as a guide. ‘‘T puess not,” “Yes, ma’am, he does. Mother seen him the night he made the fire on the prairie, and she seen a dead man’s head jumping around in the boiler when she took the kiver off.” “Surely this is impossible.” “No, ’tain't, you ken ask my mother. She seen it. You know they ain’t got much of a fence at the back; it’s jist prairie; and he made a big fire, and brought ont the boiler an’ sot it on. While he was gone mother went into our yard; putty close our yard is to his’n. So mother thought she’d like to see what he was boiling; an’ she went out an’ lifted the kiver, an’ the dead man’s head popped up an’ his ever looked at her. Awful! She replied Collan, and dismissed the sub- wr ‘* psHAW! YOU ARE AFRAID OF HIM.”’—Chap. Xviil, comicbooks.com