Marion Marlowe in Columbus, or, Accused of a Crime — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

8 MY QUEEN. “Awfully sorry to force my company on you, gentlemen, but ‘necessity - knows no > law.’ Hello! Been having a cyclone or a tornado, Mr. Temple?” The manager of the Temple Theatrical Company stood speechless with surprise, as did two-thirds of his company, who were looking on the scene from the other car. “Say, who the deuce are you, anyway?” “You look like a cross between a cherub and an imp! I'd asked Bert Jackson, coolly. give two dollars to have your picture!” The boyish-looking stowaway from the ' baggage car glanced down at himself with perfect composure. : “Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make my toilet this morning before leaving Cleveland,” he said, politely, “and you must confess that a three-cornered berth behind a pile of trunks in an air-tight baggage car can hardly be expected to improve a gentleman’s appearance.” “Gee whiz! - So you’re a_ gentleman! Well, I’m glad you’ve called the turn,” re- torted Bert. “Now, if I had seen you first, I would have called you a ragamuffin, but that only goes to show that appeararrces are deceitful.” “Oh, Bert, perhaps he’s hungry!” called out a silvery voice at that instant, and Mar- ion Marlowe stepped nearer to the group and held out a sandwich and a banana. The stowaway glanced at her and then tipped his ragged cap politely. “The queen of all beautiful women, Miss Marion Mar- lowe,” he exclaimed, dramatically; then he reached out a very dirty hand and accepted the sandwich. ‘Seems to know us all,” muttered Bert to “Well, all I’ve got to say is But Ill investigate Mr. Temple. he has the advantage. os him later. Just now I want some breakfast. CHAPTER III. A NEW ACQUISITION. “Who in thunder do you suppose he is, anyway, Temple?” Bert asked the question curiously, as the recent additon to the party walked over toward the wash-out, eating his sandwich ravenously. “I give it up! He’sa queer-looking duck. Thirty years old, if he’s a day, and yet no big- ger than a sixteen-year-old boy. He has the most elfish face I ever saw; yet, take it on the whole, it is fairly honest!’ was the answer. “Do you know, he reminds me of the pic- tures of ‘Dusty Rhodes’ and ‘Wandering Willie’ that one sees so often in the papers,” remarked Alma Allyn, gazing after the fel- low as she munched a cruller, “He’s a sam- ple of the genus hobo—or rather, according to his tatters, one might better call him a remnant.” “The question is What are we going to do with him?’ asked Mr. Temple, gazing after the queer-looking creature. ‘“He’s beating the railroad out of a fare, but that is nothing to us. The thing that puzzles me is why he chose our train. There were a dozen freight trains that he might have ridden on. That sort of thing is done every day; but a stow- away in a baggage car is quite another matter,” Several trunks had been taken out and opened, and the entire company was grouped about them, so, as Mr. Temple spoke, Marion Marlowe answered him. ‘He does seem to have shown an extraor- dinary preference in the matter,” she said, thoughtfully; “but, perhaps, it was because he saw the car was not crowded.” “Oh, I guess he has histrionic ambitions,” remarked Bert Jackson, laughing ; “and, then, that scenery looks warm and inviting, you know! Why, the fellow had a tropical forest behind him and a Com chooksico