Penny Dreadfuls, 1888 · page 174 of 284
Octavia's Pride; or, The Missing Witness — page 174: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Penny Dreadfuls, 1888. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
1 ‘\ Pw § PY RR Dr! | a Ce ORR ae oe) tt Se FAT eh ee ee) ee etn Beas 8 ate fy Ae jd pi ae eg : ¥ We MP pA hag WE BY & Scie “ SyKnt A v “ My git en t a Fe etry te ‘ aOR ; EP Se AG, lyf Be al? vn hy i : \ we . . : ly rem . - os - : , Oe 164 OCTAVIA’S PRIDE. the coach which had last arrived, and pulled down thé: cur- tain. . Maurice Middleton was now Hiorauehite interested, and he kept close watch, from his screen of coffee-bags, both of the coach and the ship. | He was not aware, however, of all the significance of these little incidents until he saw a slouching figure, with a rusty black cloak thrown over his shoulders, and a soft felt hat thrust down until it almost covered his ears, carrying a small bundle tied up in a red silk handkerchief, step over the stern of the ship, and swinging bimself down by a dang- ling rope, come up to the quay, at some distance from the gangway plank. He plunged directly into the crowd of stevedores, and was lost to view. But by and by he came again in sight, and this time Maurice was certain he was holding some sort of communication by means of a kind of hand telegraphing with the driver of the first coach, out of range of the passengers’ observation. He tried to see his face distinctly, but failed. In a few moments more the captain took leave of the | ladies, shook hands warmly with the lad, and returned to his ship, while the two coaches drove off. Maurice, curiously impelled to see the last of the affair, followed at a quick pace. At the street entrance to the dock the driver of the second coach halted a moment, and in that brief time the man in the rusty coat came forth from a retreat amid bales and boxes, keeping so far in front as almost to endanger himself from the heels of the horses. The driver lent him a helping hand, and he was pulled up to the coachman’s box, where he settled himself comfort- ably, drawing his old cloak still higher, and dropping his head upon his breast, so his face was scarcely discernible. ‘‘He means -mischief,” thought Maurice. ‘I Mee what I can do to let the boy know he is here.” And he hentia his pace, and did his best to keep the -/ comicbooks.com