Marion Marlowe's Skill, or, A Week as a Private Detective — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

ial MY QUEEN. 7 She turned back to the glass again and arranged another curl; then fastened a rose at her throat in place of an ornament. “I guess I'll do,’ she said, with a halt smile. Two minutes later she was in the parlor confronting Mr. O’Connell. CHAPTER IV. , A TREACHEROUS BEGGAR. i; ~ What was Marion’s surprise as she entered ‘the dimly-lighted parlor to see a shabbily- _ dressed man, who was a perfect stranger to r. her, standing hat in hand and bowing to her = tw my servilely. “Ts this Miss Marion Marlowe?” he asked, in a low, hoarse voice. ‘I begs yer parding, miss, but I couldn’t help a comin’. “Tis on an errant o’ mercy I am; so I hopes ye’ll mot be aiter mindin’.” Marion stared at him wonderingly. She had merely nodded in reply, but the man went on without heeding her silence. * “Sure, ‘tis of yer own swate self that wese have all bin hearin’, miss—how yese are that noble.an’ generous, an’ allus a doin’ good ter others. “Tain’t fer mesilf that 1 comes—ther Holy Saints forbid it! But fer ther lame lad, Danny. Here’s a note from him, miss.” Marion took the piece of crumpled paper that the man held out, but instead of reading it she stared at him fixedly. “How did you hear of me, sir?’”’ she asked, with her eves on his face. There was not a sign of embarrassment in his voice as he answered her. “Faith, wasn’t it all in ther papers, miss?” “Wasn't all yer noble deeds told in glowin’ letters, miss, and wasn’t it Terence O’Connell himself who read every wurrd of it?” There was a ring of sincerity in his voice that baffled Marion, but she did not take her eyes from his face when she asked the next question. | he asked, in a louder tone of voice. “What is Danny to you? Is he your boy?” “And what do ] Pha she questioned, more gently. you want me to do for him, Mr. O’Connel The man shrugged his shoulders with an involuntary motion, but in an instant he had recovered, and his voice grew bolder than ever. “Sure, it’s nothin’ I asks, lady, nothin’ at all. livin,’ that’s all, an’ as he’s a poor little crip- Ther lad lives in ther house where I’m ple, I takes notice o’ him, lady.” There was a tremor in his voice now, and he drew his rough sleeve across his eyes. In an instant the young girl grew softer in her manner. “And did he ask you to bring me this let- “Tf that is it, | am obliged to you, although I do not even know ter?’ she said, kindly. Danny.” A remarkably keen lock sprang into the Irishman’s eyes. The young girl was nib- bling at his bait, and he speedily grew more reckless. “Faith, that’s wot he did, miss, just that same, as ] was a comin’ out,” he said, quickly. “And, sure, how could I refuse ther poor little cripple ?”’ b| “You couldn’t, of course,” she said, as she opened the note. “It was kind of you, Mr. O’Connell, to do an errand for the boy.” The young girl read her note, which was really a miserable scrawl, and but a repetition of what the man had told her. The cripple wrote that he was an orphan and absolutely alone. He was obliged to sell papers to earn his living, but now he had been taken ill and did not havea penny. He ended by telling her that he had read of her kind- ness to others, and he begged her to come to him and give him a lift, for if she did not he would be sent to the city’s home for incur- ables. The tears sprang to Marion’s eyes as she read the words. Somehow, she felt that they were truthful, CoOnniclbooks (CO)