The Vestibule Limited Mystery — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

THE VESTIBULE LIMITED MYSTERY. 9 after nine, with plenty of time to reach the ferry- house long before the hour set for starting. A dozen times Iam beset by boys who desire to carry my valise, and in despair I finally hand it over to one fellow, with orders to stick at my side. Just as I expected, crossing Broadway lam met by a bunco man with outstretched hand, and a smile that is child-like and bland. “Well, well, can this be my old friend, J sds Bland, of Philadelphia?” he asks. I seize his hand and give it a squeeze that aii | dislocates the small, bones, and causes a look of intense agony to spread over his face. “Yea, verily, that is my name, and the City of Brotherly Love my habitation. Thee is Mr. Larkin, _ the bank president’s son or nephew, I forget which; but Ihave been looking for thee some time now. What a boon it is to have a friend in such a wicked city. I Say, Joe, lend me ten, that’s a good fellow!” The man’s eyes almost bulge from their sockets with surprise. “Great Scott!” he ejaculates, giving me a look of — amazed wonder, and then without even an apology for his rudeness, the renowned bunco steerer, Hungry Joe, makes a bee-line for the Astor House, as though he has suddenly remembered a very im- portant engagement there. I chuckle over his disaster and continue on my way. Evidently victims are scarce on this occasion, for hardly have I reached Cortlandt street, to turn toward the North River, than another rascal stops me. This time he is in appearance a missionary, with a long, sanctimonious face, and the garb of piety. He meets me with open arms—his whole warm b| Gomicbooks m (G0)