Marion Marlowe in Columbus, or, Accused of a Crime — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

sip te a) Ra over his head, and there were two parlors, two banquet-rooms and one throne-room for him to sport in!” “Then, of course, he straight through, as we are billed for Colum- bus to-night,” spoke up Olcott, with a glance out of the window at the wash-out. He didn’t expect, we’d have a matinée on a side- track half-way on the route; but, hold on with your comments ; ‘the chap is coming back. He’s still looking hungry, and has his eye on Miss Marlowe!’ “For Heaven’s sake, surround her, then!” cried Bert, with great concern. “Who knows knew wed go but the miscreant will take a notion to eat her!’ “T wouldn’t blame him a little bit! She's sweet enough to eat!” remarked Miss Ellis, promptly; but as Marion had gone to the door to meet the stowaway, she did not hear her. “Do have another sandwich! J am sure b you are still hungry,” said the young girl, sweetly, as she held out a paper bag. They were some distance from the others as she spoke, and, as he reached for the bag, the newcomer gazed at her curiously. “Are you really Miss Marlowe?” he asked, in a low tone. “T really am,’ answered Marion, laughing. “But who are you? I do not know what to call you.” “Oh, I’m the ‘Wandering Jew,’”’ said the stowaway, shrewdly; “I’m the Spirit of Un- rest and the Principle of Perpetual Motion! Any old name at all will suit me, Miss Mar- lowe.” | Marion stared in amazement, but the fel- low’s face puzzled her. He had such sharp, weazened features and yet such a merry smile. It was impossible to decide whether he was a friend or an enemy. “But won’t you sit down by the stove and get warm?” began Marion. \ MY QUEEN. 9 Greatly to her astonishment, the qucer- looking specimen before her drew a really valuable gold watch from the pocket of a ragged, ill-fitting coat, and consulted it gravely. “Can’t do it, thank you,” “T am due in Columbus to- he said, with great politeness. night at ten o’clock. There’s no hope for it; I’ll have to walk it!” “Why, you can’t; it’s nearly forty miles!” exclaimed Marion, quickly, “Surely, there'll be a train to our aid in a few hours, at most. You had better wait and ride to Columbus.” A shrewd smile flitted across the stow- away’s face. “Guess I won’t risk it, Miss Marlowe; thanks to you just “the same,” he said, quietly. “But isn’t it dangerous?” asked the young girl, as the fellow started toward the door. “Supposing it should erow colder, and a Really, I think ? storm should overtake you. you had better wait for the train, Mr. Bill Wiggin,” finished the fei- low, promptly. “Wiggin ! “Please call me Wiggin, Miss Marlowe. It’s what my mother calls me }’ There was a sudden pathetic intonation in the merry voice, and, as Marion glanced at him sharply, he drew a ragged coat-sleeve across his face in a suspicious manner. In an instant the young girl’s sympathy was aroused for the queer little fellow. In spite of his being a ragged, unkempt va- grant, he still spoke feelingly of his mother. No doubt he was a poor fellow—a regular offspring of misery. His clothes as well as his face showed wretchedness, and, in an in- stant, the young girl became possessed of a desire to help him. “Oh, I have an idea! a splendid one!” shé cried, suddenly. “Can you act, Mr. Wiggin? , It you can, perhaps Mr, Temple will engage you. There’s a part in one of our new pln: at I am sure will lEommiGcooo <SriGOliin