Marion Marlowe's Skill, or, A Week as a Private Detective — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Zz 7 MY QUEEN. ing care of these two wretched rooms for her brother, and, as will be seen, she was his part- ner in their so-called “business.” The girl was not over nineteen years of age, and nature had intended her to be very pretty, but through an endowment of vice and misery from her parents, her once fair face had become permanently disfigured by lines of viciousness. She tried to disguise these lines by means of paint and powder, but even the thick coat of rouge which she always applied could not cover the sallowness and haggardness of her features. “Tve bin thinkin’ o’ a scheme,” she said to her brother as she moved about wearily try- ing to tidy up the miserable place. “I’ve got ‘er plan in my head that may work an’ it may not, leastways ther’s no harm in tellin’ “40 yer, Ferry’ “T should say not!” said her loud-voiced ‘brother, pompously. “Begorra ther’ ain’t no harm in sayin’ anythin’ ter Terence O’Con- nell. He's a wise man, he is, an’ knows enough ter kape his own counsel!” “Ves, an’ anything else he can lay his hands onto,” said his “But here’s my plan, Terry. Yer can tell me what sister, sarcastically. yer think o’ it.” The girl plumped herself down on a chair almost in the middle of the room, and in an instant the whole demeanor of her brother changed. Putting his finger to his lips he tip-toed over to the door leading into the hall. He opened it softly and threw a cautious glance »round, then closed and locked it ana draw- ing a handkerchief from his pocket deliber- ately plugged up the keyhole. “Now we be safe from ther brat yer can fire away!” he said, softly. “ ’T won't do ter He’s allus a pryin’, an’ he might make us a lot er take chances wid ther lame kid, Liz. trouble.” The girl’s eyes flashed and an angry scowl darkened her face. | “He'd best not try it, thin,’ she said, in a sort of hiss. “Why, if he did I'd break ivery bone in his miserable body.” “Go on wid yer scheme,” said her brother, commandingly, as he too dropped into a chair, his huge body sprawling clumsily. “Well here tis,” began the woman, lower- ing her voice cautiously. “Ther’s a girl that I knows on that’s got er few t’ousand dollars an’ she’s er dead-easy mark—a reg’lar coun- try greenhorn. Now ny plan is ter work up a hard-luck tale 0’ some kind, er woman in. distress or er kid in distress or some such a thing, an’ by gainin’ her sympathies we can get ther money.” - “What makes yer think so?’ asked her brother, sharply. —, “It’s bin done befor’,’ was the woman’s quick answer. “She’s bin helpin’ this one an’ that one ever since she’s bin in ther town. She’s one o’ them softies that lets everybody work grafts on her.”’ | “Be gob, just ther kind we’s lookin’ fer,” was her brother’s comment. ‘But go on, Liz. I’m a waitin’ fer the pertic’lers.”’ “She’s just erbout my years—not quite so old,” continued the woman, “an’ she’s havin’ . . ‘ her voice trained fer ther grand opery by Madame Leopold. Lives at ther Rosedale Hotel. Oh, she’s mighty handy, I’m a-think- in’.” She gave a sharp, shrill laugh as she winked at her brother. “Who knows her, Liz?” he asked, with a sudden light crossing his coarse features. ‘Bess Ross, 0’ course,” was the woman's She She’s mightily stuck answer. “An’ she’s put me on, you bet. says she’s dead-easy. up an’ high-toned in her ways, Bess says, but she’s as soft-hearted as ther is ever made in spite o' her hifalutin’ feelin’s.” “Them’'s ther kind as comes down ther E@ONRNIELOOOKS (EO) je nha ee Aye as ll a sei