Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 1004 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

8 Don Quixote was there in a moment. It was his old trick, and Scorcher Sam was sure of his man the moment he saw it. “Donkey ”’ ran up close to the curb, as if he had not looked for the lady to turn in there, and as if unable to guide his wheel awav from the curb or stop, ran into Bessie’s wheel. The collision, or run-in, was the light- est and slightest imaginable, done on purpose, of course, and chappie was off in an instant, cap in hand, bowing and scraping and offering apology by the yard. Sam was not near enough to hear what he said, but the sight was enough. Bessie looked at him coldly and ac- cepted his apology, and acted as if she expected him to go on about his busi- ness. Sam now rode slowly by. “But your wheel—I hope I have done it no damage,” the fellow was saying. “Could nevvah forgive myself if I have, you know. I must look and see. It was deuced awkward of me, deuced awkward, and all that; don’t see what got the mat- tah with my wheel.’ Bessie gave Sam a wink as he passed, and Sam smiled. The dismal dunce was on his knees examining the wheel, feel- ing it here and there and testing it in va- rious ways, or pretending to do so. Sam rode to the opposite side of the street and stopped, and enjoyed the situation immensely while he waited for the cli- max. It wasthe “ Donkey,” no mistaking him now, and he wasup toone of his favorite tricks. Selecting good-looking ladies for his victims, he usually made their ac- quaintance by pretending to find some- thing the matter with their bicycles, which he offered to remedy. And then, the work done, it was ‘his game to take a sudden kiss from the lady’s lips and mount his wheel and spin away to re- peat the trick on some one else. So, Sam knew what was coming, and hence the situation had a double zest for him. Sure enough, chappie found something wrong about the wheel, and opened the tool-bag and took out the wrench to make it right, all the while making a show of the most deferential politeness. He tinkered and fussed around for a few moments, pretended to try the im- provement he had made, and finding it satisfactory, put the wrench back into the bag and closed it up. He then lifted his cap, and Bessie was seen to thank him, as she stood holding her wheel, But she was only pretending to hold it, for she knew what was coming. She was allowing it to lean against her, so that she could let go with her hands without danger of its falling, and the moment chappie sprang forward to take the ac- customed kiss she brought him a couple of stinging slaps with her gauntleted hands, first on one side of his face and then on the other. At the same time she uttered a scream, as agreed upon with Scorcher Sam, and the fellow took the alarm and left her instantly, mounting his wheel and spin- ning away down the avenue, very red in the face and very muchinahurry. After him went the Scorcher, calling to laugh- ing Bessie to follow, and the idi«*, glane- ing back and finding that he was being pursued, bent himself to the task of scorching away. CHAPTER IX. BESSIE BLAKE ASSISTS. The Scorcher, also, was laughing. This was only play for him, for he knew by chappie’s slender legs that he —_— had no great speed at his command, and probably less staying power. Sam would have been willing to bet that Bessie herself could overtake and arrest him single-handed, had the occa- sion required. He could have overhauled him within two blocks, had he so de- sired. The detective worked along easily, keeping just about so close, and Bessie x now coming on after him, and gain- ng. “Donkey” looked back again, pres- ently, and put on more steam. Away they went, three in a row, about half a block apart, the man in the lead ‘tebe: good execution with his slender egs. ) Sam looked back to see where Bessie was, and she waved him a laughing sig- nal for his encouragement, if he needed it, which she well knew he did not, so far as the race was concerned. No one interfered with them, and sev- eral blocks were wheeled off, the gay masher finding his pursuer just so near every time he looked, and every time making an effort to increase the distance between them, until he was perspiring freely and panting. Presently the fellow turned to the right into a street that presented fair wheel- ing, and Sam knew that he was making for Kingsbridge Road. Having no desire to go in that direction himself, and not wanting to overtax Bessie, Sam called upon the fellow to stop, but that had only the effect to make him work the harder to get away. With a little imprecation, the Scorcher let out his speed. | Before another block had been covered he was up with his man, and had seized him by the shoulder. Chappie wabbled and would have taken a header if Sam’s strong arm had not controlled both wheels while they came to a stop, and the moment they did stop Sam lifted his prisoner bodily off his seat. “Why didn’t you stop when I told you to?” he demanded. “ Wh—wh—what do you mean, fellah?”’ the chappie gasped and panted, his hand fluttering for his eyegless, with which to transfix his foe with a single icy stare. “H—h—how dare you?” “Come off,” said Sam, with disgust. “You are the chap I want, and you know what I want you for. Here comes the young lady whose wheel you so gallantly attended to just now, and she will make the charge that will insure you a berth in the cooler.” ‘But, I—er—a—I have done nothing; on my word I have done nothing.” “No: she did it all,” assured Sam, smiling. Just then Bessie rode up. “So you caught him?” she cried. “ Oh, you naughty wretch, you!” She shook one of her dainty fists at the masher, who, very much overheated, looked anything but a masher just then. ‘What do you want done with him?” asked Sam. “JT want him locked up; that is what I want done with him, sir; and I will ap- pear against him, too.” “Do you hear, chappie?” “No, no, lady; do not go to that ex- treme. I am sorry, deuced sorry, don’t you know,” pleaded the kisser. “I will never so much as look at you again, if you will let me off this time.” “Then you acknowledge the corn, do you?” demanded Sam. “Think of the temptation,’ pleaded the fellow, some of his assurance return- ing. “ How is that for a compliment, Bess? ” Scorcher Sam’s Sweep-Stakes. cried Sam. “ Have you got it in your heart to press the case after that? Ha! ha! ha!” ‘He is a ninny!” cried the young wo- man angrily. ‘Of course, I’ll press the case—not on my own account, for I think I rather got the best of him, but on ac- count of the many others he has in- sulted.” “But 1 nevvah—” “ There, now, don’t add any lies,” said Bessie. “It happened that you picked up the wrong gir] this time, that is all.” “ Yes, that is all,” said Sam. “ The fact of the matter is, my fine young gentle- man, you fell into a trap that was set for you, and hanged yourself with your own rope.” ““ Who—who are you?” “My name is Buckley; called Scorcher Sam, for short.” On hearing that, the man wilted com- pletely, for he knew into whose hands he had fallen. He begged like a good fellow, as the Saying goes, but it was of no use; his cap- tors had come out hunting, and it was not likely they would let their game go after bagging it. He was allowed to mount his wheel, and the trio rode to the nearest station, where chappie was duly docketed and sent down below, with the prospect of a neat fine to pay on the morrow. He bit- terly protested, and the last they heard of him he was vowing vengeance. “Well, there is one less, anyhow,” said Sam, as he and Bessie rode away. “ Yes; it is not likely that he will both- er any more ladies for a time,” Bessie responded. “I felt half sorry for the poor fool, though.” “There, now, soft heart, turn to pity- ing him after you have jugged him. It is the best thing that could have hap- pened to him—my opinion; it will take some of the conceit out of him.” “And perhaps give him a little sense, eh?” “1 don’t know whether it will be possi- ble for so simple a remedy to work so great a change or not,” rejoined Sam, laughing. “Well, what more do you want of me this morning?” “T have run up against a case.” “You are always doing that. What is it this time?” “ Right there is the mystery of it, Bess; I’ll be hanged if I know what it is.” “That is a likely story.” “Tt is the fact.” “ What is it like?” “T’ll tell you, my little lieutenant; and I wish I were an artist, so that I could draw a face for you.” “A face?” ‘Yes; the face of a man—rather two men—lI would like you to have your eyes open for. But that is out of the question, as I am not an artist.” “That is where a Tom Thumb camera would come into play.” “The same as you use, eh?” “You bet. When I see a face I want to remember, click!—and there I have it.” As she spoke she took from the pocket of her dress a tiny camera not more than an inch and a half square, and had Scorcher Sam’s picture in a second. “T must have one of those, sure enough,” said Sam. “But the story I have to tell you—that can be done with- out the aid of photography. I want you to drop in at a show up here on the hill. ‘Cactus Bill’s Circus’ you will find it billed, and—” “‘T see; you want to get me scalped.” “No, no, nothing dangerous in it, Bess. I want you to make the acquaintance of one of the performers.” DOOKS.CO m