Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 118 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Ot avy sl e. -: rR 06 e ngepe papas ow ~ +) + ity four.”’ excitedly replied. vengeance,”’ at Serer . ee 2 es LL Le ee —————— ; 7 ; bs 7 aos 1+yrer : : ” - * ~ ’ A ‘ : - \ 7 a“ -- " < | Will Somers. 15 no friends of yours to desert you in your extrem- | and the old gentleman answered him without hesi- | old man, with tears in his eyes. ‘“ Heis none tho : tation. worse for his rough life. He is noble, braye, strong ‘*Well, well, Jennie, there are only three or “Tama ae | old man now,” he ag fi nntong BURA and beautiful. I would be glad to him son,” I have a son an oe Fay still living, I hope though ** And looks like you, Mr. Somers.”’ “ Let me know their names.” I have lost sight of them for years,’ **Do you really think so? I had a thought that ‘* And why?” he asked, laughing. * Are you going ‘*Indeed,”’ ; way. t is another important link.”’ to put them in your black book?’ ‘“* It has been the one aim of my life to find them. ** Do not build too high on this chance, You may ‘**No matter, I want to know their names,’’ she | I have not yet succeeded, and fear I never shall.”’ be disappointed, It is worth investigatin . : ‘* Proceed, sir. Who knows but I may help you?”’ “Yes, yes, it shall be, thoroughly. T inuat see “You are the most persistent creature,” he said, “IT was a poor man at the time of my wife’s | him this very day—this very hour. But the suspi- teasingly. “ Wait till I find out that they have really | death,” he said. ‘‘I have since acquired consider- | cions you speak of. What are they?” }deserted me, Then I will deliver them over to your | able property. Ihad an enemy.” Mr, Fitler ones to give him an outline of the ‘*A poor man, too?” robberies in Mr, Leonard's store, and Will's connec “That is no answer,” she said, determinedly. * Their names ?”’ “‘T see there is no escape, he replied, with a hearty laugh. ‘Grant me a few days, that I may notify them what to e ag **Not an hour. Not five minutes,’’ she replied, with a touch of his own humor. “Well, since it must be, it must be,” he said, re- signedly. ‘‘ First, there is Ellis Branson. Have you him down?” “Yes. Go on," she said, writing down the name, with a merry smile, ‘* Harry Howard.”’ “ Proceed.”’ * James Milton.” , “* And the next?” “Ts not that enough?” he said. ‘ You have three good names there,”’ ** Not enough unless it is all,” she replied, with an earnest look. “That is all the names I can give you, Jennie,” he said, more seriously. ‘ This an odd whim of yours, anyhow. Ido not know what you can want ° with them.” ‘That is my secret,” she said, 5 A “Thavea ‘ight to my secrets, too. Come, Jo there are to nore. Give me another victim.” ' “Jennie, I don’t quite like this,” he replied. “Do you know you are acting # * Not half as strangely as you,”’ she replied. “Are fhere any more names?” ‘*T decline to answer,”’ he said, with a slight frown on his brow “There, I do believe the absurd man is getting cngry,”? she exclaimed, laughing. “‘I must leave now, before the thunder-clouds arise." **No, no! Not so soon. You have been here no ‘ime. I will smile like a summer’s day if you will only remain.” “Listen to the tramp of that turnkey’s feet. He 3 getting impatient of our happiness. I must really ‘TO now.’ “To return soon?”’ “Yes. I am staying in the city now. I will not leave you alone.”’ A few more parting words, and she left the cell, The turnkey, a young, a pomegey Saiee man, attended her toward the prea door of the prison. ‘It is a horrible place this,”’ she said, shuddering. “Ido not find it so, miss,’’ he replied. **As for Mr. Elkton, he is very comfortable. You should see some of the other cells.”’ ‘“*T beg to deeline,”’ she said. ‘* His is bad enough.”’ “We make it as easy for him as we can,”’ said the officer. ‘*And he is not lonely. He has plenty of visitors.” “ Has he ~~ ait Sal “Oh, yes. He gets his meals outside. And he can have friends in his cell, and can write to them and receive answers.”’ ‘“*He has written to some of them, then?’ she asked, quickly. **Only one letter, I believe.’’ ** Any answer?” ** No, miss.”’ Did he seem to expect one?”’ “Oh, yes. And quite worried that it did not come.’ **T cannot Spentes who it could have been. I know most of his friends, and would have thought they would be careful to answer him. I am eng ed to Mr. Elkton, you know,” she said, with a slight blush. **Do you remember the name of the person he wrote 91? “Very well. It was Jesse Powers, I took the letter myself, as I had an errand in the city.”’ “Did you see him?” “No. He was absent from home,” “The name is familiar. Where did he live?” ** No. 1,485 North Tenth street.”’ “Th you. Excuse my curiosity. Women will be asking questions, fb know.” The turnkey smiled as he opened the gate. ‘* Jesse Powers,’’ she said, with compressed lips, on getting outside, ‘‘That is the name he refused to tell me. I believe I am on the track of the mystery.” CHAPTER XX. MR. SOMERS'S STORY. “T HAVE been a very unfortunate man,” said old Mr. Somers, to a gentleman visiting him. ‘“‘ Not that I wish to parade my troubles, but I speak of them with the constant hope of receiving some im- portant information,”’ ‘‘T am in a trade where a good deal of important information comes in,’’ said the visitor. ‘* Perhaps I may help you.” *“ You are a stranger to me, sir, but I judge from your manner you can sympathize with a father’s misfortune. 1 will tell you my story,” ‘*T will listen, and make no promises,” said his: visitor, smiling. He had pesint on Mr. Somers and asked him a va- _ riety of questions which some would have considered ave’ Lnpertinent. But his manner was easy and quiet, Vbins ? / ; ; ST . ok : : 2 <u ye ; , tz xo * Yes, a mere vagrant. Hesmarted under some fancied injury that lhad done him, He attacked me near my own home in relation to it. He was a Miqameeir Yom man and insulted me. I was hot- tempered then and I punished him for his insults.” “Exactly, and made him revengeful!’’ ‘‘My two children—mere infants then—were stolen one day, in which I was absent and my wife unwell, It is not necessary to enter into particulars. It dwg to say that we traced them to this vagrant. e was sharply pursued, but we never succeeded in finding him.” ‘That was indeed a misfortune.” ‘It killed my wife, and has made me a wanderer foryears. I haveconstantly sought tha’ villain, and the two precious ones he stole. Alas! he had too well covered up his track.”’ ‘And you have found no trace of him?” ** Nothing of his charge. I have traced him, but too late. He has escaped me by death. His secret is in the grave with him.” ** Where did he die?’ “Here. In Philadelphia. That is wh settled here. I have hopes that the chil sill be alive and in this city.” ** This is a decidedly interesting matter,”’ said the visitor. ‘It is certainly worth while trying to trace the children. What was the man’s name?” ‘‘Jake Johnson was the name he was always known by.”’ ‘* Have you set the police force of the city at work on this search?’’ ** No, I have not much confidence in them. I pre- ferred to conduct it myself,” “You did yroog there. A thousand men, well posted about the city, are certainly better than one man not at all posted. Please tell me all you know about this man, how you discovered him, when he died and where he was buried.” Mr. Somers proceeded to do so, in a long narrative of no special interest to the reader, ‘**And he kept up his vagrant habits to the last?” _ “Yes, but had not the children with him, I can crace him back for some months before his death, and he was alone during that period.” ‘*He probably did not trouble himself with them long,’’ said the visitor, ‘‘ Men of that character, un- less they can make some special use of them, do not care to be bothered with incumbrances. He likeiy placed them somewhere where he calculated you would never find them,” ‘* That may be so,’’ said Mr. Somers, thoughtfully. “But where?” ‘*That is what we need to consider," was the re- ply. “IT should go first to the most obvious quarter. en of his kind naturally gravitate to the poor- house. He may have Pe them in some such lace. weve you searched the books of the poor- ouses ?”” ‘* No,” said Mr. Somers, greatly interested. “I never thought of that.” “You see where your fault was, then, in depend- ing too much on yourself, and not ars in the de- tective police. You forget that it is the business of their lives to search out crimes and mysteries,”’ “T wish I had met you sooner. lt would have been better than the detectives.”’ ‘*T am a detective,’’ was the reply. 6 es are?’ cried Mr. Somers, in great astonish- ment, ‘Yes, sir. My name is Fitler. I thank you for your confidence in this matter. If you wish I will undertake to work it up. I am in doubt, though, that it may be too late.”’ ‘*T shall be too happy to have the services of a shrewd man like you. I see I have done you officers injustice. But why have you, a detective, called on me and asked me so many questions?” ‘*T will tell you,” said Mr. Fitler, “ since I am sat- isfied, from your answers, that I was on a wrong track, You know a boy called Will Somers?” ‘*T know no such boy!” cried the old gentleman, excitedly. ‘If I did Lshould know my own son, for that was his name. Why do you ask me such a question as that?”’ “Because you certainly do know him, and have had visits from him. It is that brings me here.”’ “T do not understand you,” said Mr. Somers, in perplexity. ‘*‘The only boy I know of is one en ag- ad. in Mr. Leonard’s dry-goods store. He saved me from being crushed under a street car, I have been very grateful to him, and have called on him, and made him visit me,”’ “And is that all?’ said the officer, laughing. <i do not know what suspicions have been ex- te de ‘But Will Somers, yousay. Is that his name? I did not ask him.”’ “That is his name.”’ ‘Do you think it possible he may be my son?”’ asked the old gentleman, pathetically. ‘I do hope he may, for I have been strangely drawn toward him. I lovehim already.”’ “It is not impossible,’’ was the er: ** Will has a rough life in the streets. I do not know his antecedents.” ** Heaven send I have n may he may prove my son," said the a | - rf hs aM a y ’ , « a i} A ee s* Ve “ & _ ‘. ie a o 4, tt ===}}=}== = ! iii tii ne ce eTrnrrnnnsnrsemmmmmmsmmsssns:ssss=ss====ee===e======—nnnnreeee ameneennenemmmmmmenemeemmmeeeemee ne Os picigiiiis (alo) tion with them. **But do you think that my boy—I must call him my boy—do you think he had anything to do with them? I cannot believe it. He is too straightfor ward and noble.” **I believe he is perfectly innocent, and for the very reasons you give. It don’t do, though, fora reopen to — — a belief. We fl some- es, the most honest appearance to cover roguery. I make it a rule to follow every trail, no matter how unpromising it seems.”’ a Ae have not much faith in human nature, en ” ‘**Not an over stock, My experience has not beer very much calculated to make me trust people.” : I meee Will, then. I wish I could see this minute.”’ His wish was granted. At that minute Wil! was announced, He came in with his usual easy, indifferent ain surprise at see Somers. nodded to Mr. Fitler, with a look of ing him there, and shook hands with Mr, ‘Back ag’in, you see, according to promise.” “Sit down; I wish to talk with you,”’ said his host, with suppressed excitement. “Tcan take it standing up,” said Will; * except you're goin’ to talk me to death, and thea I'd best vamose.”’ Mr. Fitler leaned easily back in his chair, closely osberving the two. , “Is your father living?” commenced Mr. Somers, in the tone of a cross-examiner, ‘*Guess not; never seen him.” **And your mother?”’ ** Don’t know as I ever had one.” “That is a strange story. Where did you grow up? What is your first recollection?’ ‘Come from where mighty few men care to go— from the poor-house,”’ sai ill, nonchalantly. Mr. Somers gave a start, and looked in at the officer. name?”’ he asked, ** What is your ** Will Somers.’ . ‘“Why did you not tell me that before?” he eon. tinued, a glad light upon his face. **’Cause it was the same as yourn. Thought m be you might want to be m yourself my uncle or something of that sort. I was afeard you mig got foo fa . Calkerlated I wouldn’t take in no relations.”’ | ‘I may be nearer yet,” began Mr. Somers; ‘tI may He was checked by a sign from Mr. Fitler. Will stood looking from one to the othér, with growing surprise on his face, What could they be after? ‘*T have never heard anyt of your early life, Will,” said Mr. Fitler, “ rd am be glad to 7" something more about it. Have you any recolleo tion of the man who left Pte in the alms-house?”’ - ‘*Not much,” said Will. “I've heard he was a seedy-looking customer. Wouldn’t take him in now as my dad, thanks.”’ ‘Were you alone?” **Oh, no! little sister w.th me; or maybe I was the litth one for she was older than me. Poor little thing, I’ve lost her altogether.” Mr. Somers gave a quick start of delight as WiD proceeded. ‘** How came you to lose her?” ‘We was both took out. I’ve heerd that soma rich folks adopted my sister, and wouldn’t let noth- ing be knowed about her. I was took out, too, poor folks. They made me work like a dog, run away and shifted for myself.”’ “Did you never have any curiosity to inquire about your father?’ “Not much. He didn’t seem to care about me; and ‘spose a ragged chap like me had gone there askin’ questions, what'd come of it? I ‘spose they’d clap ed me intoa cell for a vagrant.” ' Do you know your sister’s name?” ‘IT think I'd forget my own afore I did hern,” said Will, reproachfully. ‘* What was it?’ ‘A pretty name—Jennie—Jennie Somers,” said Will, dwelling affectionately on the name, Mr. Somers sprung from his chair in intense excitement, and began vigorously to pace the floor. Will watched him with surprise. He dg yer ained no conception of the mystery; he did noé now that the old man was burning to clasp him in his arms. ; “IT am not questioning you without an object,” said Mr. Fitler, ‘‘as you will learn after aw 1 will have to carry this matter to the aJms-house, and examine their books and make —2! ies, before we 0 can go further. It is a pity you do not remember the name of your reputed father.” ** Who said I didn’t?” asked Will. “He wasn’t no. father of mine, for I recollect he treated me bad, What’s more, he left me there under a different name from that he carried himself.” * What was that name?” asked Mr. Somers, Will closely, and looking with eager inquiry tate Bab: eyes. " micbooks - there was two of us. I had the nicest — that’s what’s up. Don’t owe him any — 4 @ - , ow.” as «Soa < a a. i oP a - ate ~ _ ee - _* i he So ere Er eae - - ys f * o > d , “4 Af e at. 4 5 2? *~, \ , ° ~ a ee . Caw!) S$ «- oT Oe ee oe 7 . oe - * oe » * EE |