Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 122 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

' Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy. ~—- 11 i ———————— eee | | | | “could be seen. -ing current. ‘You must know that you are in our power, and that I would think no more of putting an end to you than I would of treading on a worm.—Where is that check?’ “It’s where it will make you wink cross-eyed if you try any of your games on me,”’ said Phil, boldly. ‘Tt’s tn the hands of a friend of mine, and he’s bound to bring the perlice on this here ship if I dont turn up afore ten this blessed night.” ‘“‘'That’s a lie, boy,’’ exclaimed the captain. “Allright, You jist buy it fur a lie, if you’re in the market. There’il be more truth then in your pocket than there often is on your tongue.” Mr. Cunningham: looked keenly around. “Where was the boy when you gave him this check?’ he asked. “ Sitting here. By the window.” ye And the window open?” so 79 “T thought so. He has dropped it overboard.” “He put his hand on the sill when he got up,” explained the captain. “Thatisall richt. It will be out at sea before night, instead of in the hands of the police.—Gag him again.”’ But Phil was not disposed to let this freedom of his tongue pass quite unimproved. He gave vent to one shrill yell for *‘ Help!” that might have been heard the length of the deck, before the bandage could be replaced. ‘Lucky that door was closed,” said Cunningham, anxiously. ‘Back with him again. That is your last cry, my boy, At midnight to-night—” “You will follow the Alice Homer to the bottom,” said Hendricks, interrupting. Phil looked defiance still, though quite unable to sak or move. These unscrupulous men meant all they said. They cared no more for the life of a street vagabond than they would have valued that of a vagrant dog. Just at twelve that night, and in a thick dark- ness, the long, slender boat that rocked at the Strongbow’s stern moved stealthily out into the stream, under the silent impulse of two rowers, and eben a bound and speechless freight laid near the Ow. They headed straight outward into the swift-flow- It was deserted. Not a trace of life Not a sound broke the deathly silence. “This will do,” spoke a low voice after ten min- utes’ rowing. ‘“‘It is as good as five miles out.” * All right,” answered the voice of Captain Mon- nos. “Take him by shoulders and heels then—and eave.”’ His words were accompanied by the action, There was a heavy splash, a commotion of the wa- ter—and silence. Their freight had disappeared. In an instant the boat had already drifted away from the dark spot where the helpless victim had sunk. One impulse from the oars and it was lost in the darkness, ‘“*Ashore! Quick as lightning!” spoke the cap- tain, in low, excited tones. In fifteen minutes more they had regained the stern of their ship, and the mate had ascended her side, rope in hand. ' “What is that?’ exclaimed the captain, with a scared utterance, as he slightly stumbled. “What?” quickly rejoined the mate. ““T stepped on something soft.” “Oh! it’s a roll of oakum, that was flung into the boat this morning. Mount up here, quick! We must get to bed.”’ They did not hear a muttered sound, that came from the bow of the boat, and that seemed to form itself into these words: ‘* Blame your awkward feet! Is them your sea-legs?”’ Phil Hardy, their dwarfish foe, had gone to the bottom of the East river, and all his secrets with him, This was all they could think of, and their ilty souls were full of superstitious fear as they astily retired to the cabin of the ship, not sure but that the spirit of the murdered boy might have pre- _ ceded them. CHAPTER XII. TRAPPED. Tre letter of which Phil had proved such an inef- ficient postman, and which fallen into the wrong hands, ran as follows: **310 Girone Street, New York. ‘‘ Dear HARVEY:—You will be surprised to learn that lam in your city, now, instead of in my old home at Liverpool. How I came here is a long and not very agreeable tale, which I shall have to tell youin person. I have been through the most seri- ous perils, but am safe here now, in the home of some worthy people. ‘But I know they are too poor to be burdened with me, andI wish you to devise some means of taking me to my aunt’s. You know who I mean, Mrs. Hannah Corson. She lives somewhere above Harlem, I believe. ‘Let me hear from you without delay, as lam a little fearful about staying in this part of New York. Please excuse the shortness of this note. It is only a business paper, you see, and my messen- ger is waiting anxiously for it. “* Don’t fail to answer at once, and don’t forget that I am still, your true ALIcE HoMER. It may be seen that this letter gave Andrew Cun- ningham, into whose hands it had fallen, an op- portunity to prosecute his schemes which he was not slow to perceive. Alice had put a weapon, which might prove fatal to her, into the hands of her But all unconscious of this she waited, on the af- ternoon of her return from the Park, somewhat im- patiently for an answer, Little dreamed ane of them into what deadly perils Phil had fallen, and his grandmother was getting quite tried at his ridiculous delay. ‘“*Philis just at the age when boys get to be per- fect nuisances,”’ she said, in a vexed tone. ‘“ That’s just him. If I send him for a pound of sugar, the time he will go to the West Indies for it. Or be long enough gone. I must really train that boy some,’ She was quite oblivious of the fact that she had at youn been training him into these careless abits. ‘**Oh! never mind, Mrs. Hardy,” protested Alice. “Tt is not really so particular.” “If you had only told him you were in haste,”’’ con- tinued the old lady. ‘It does not matter at all. It is only the curiosity of an idle woman that ails me, If I do not get an answer until to-morrow it will not matter. I wish you would only put me to work at something.” ‘**T would like to give you something to bring back the color of those white cheeks,” said the compas- sionate old lady. ‘“‘Ido not like to see you looking ‘*Dont mind that, Mrs. Hardy. That is only my fright at the Park. I do not intend to continue looking white. Do let me pare those potatoes for rou,” ‘* What? With those delicate hands? No, indeed. You shall do nothing of the sort.” ‘You do not know what these delicate hands ane capable of. I shall scrub off that table at any rate,”’ There ensued an amusing battle for the possession of the scrubbing-brush, which Alice had seized with a ery show of vigor. The old lady conquered, and held it aloft in laughing triumph, : 3 — me letting you do any such thing,” she cried. ‘*Then I only see one thing that remains to do,” replied Alice. ‘And what is that?” ‘*“For you to get a glass case, and seal me up in it and stand me in the corner for a parlor ornament.” And a beautiful ornament you would make, my sweet, pale child,” said Mrs. Hardy, fondly strok- ing the face of her guest. ‘‘ Why, you are as nervous ye \”? “IT am afraid I am rather frightened yet. Poor little Susy; she must have thought I was wild.—Now ou shall let me do something. That is the only way can cure my hands of this trembling.” They were interrupted by the appearance of a — man at the open door who inquired for Miss omer. ‘That is my name,” said Alice. “I was directed up here from below,” he replied. “*T have a letter for you, miss,” ‘‘A letter for me!” she exclaimed, surprised, ‘Why, who— But Phil may have delivered mine,” she continued to Mrs. Har ““He may not have waited for an answer.” She took the letter from the spruce-looking youth who held it, and glanced at the handwriting. “That will do, sir. Is there an answer?’ **I think there is, miss,”’ he replied. * Please wait a minute, then, and I will see.”’ She opened the envelope, and quickly read the TENA her eyes lighting up with satisfaction as she sO Is it at hand?’ she It is just round the corner in the ‘“‘He speaks of a carriage. asked. “Yes, miss. next street. ‘*Be kind enough to wait outside fora minute. I have something to say privately to this lady.”’ con- tinued Alice, gently closing the door. ‘““T fear I must leave you, my kind-hearted friend,” she said. ** Leave me!” faltered Mrs, Hardy. “Yes. It was necessary I should not intrude too long upon you. 1 wrote to a gentleman friend re- questing him te take me to the residence of an aunt of mine, who lives just out of New York.” “You have an auswer from him?”’ “No. Heisfrom home. This is from his sister. She seems to have felt it necessary to open the letter and has sent a carriage for me, “ Are you sure it is from his sister?” “Oh, yes! There can be no doubt of that.” “Tt struck me it might be another trick of| your enemies,—But then, nobody would get the letter from Phil but the right person. Iknow that. Isup- pose it was because the gentleman was not at home that he did not bring the answer himself.—I do wish ges had not been so quick, Miss Homer. I do so te tolose you.” . “You must not think that I will forget you,” re- lied Alice, gently. ‘“‘You have been too kind for at. If I stay in New York you shall often see me,” “Why, you are not going?” cried Susy, breaking in upon them. “Yes, my dear. A friend of mine has sent his carriage for me,”’ ‘* But I cant bear to have you go,”’ exclaimed the child, bursting into tears. “Ilove you so.” “Love at first sight is not always durable,” replied Miss Homer, smi **T dont care! shall never quit loving you!” cried the sobbing child. ‘‘And I dont see why you cant stay.” “There are reasons, m dear,” replied toe taking the distressed child in her arms, ‘I canno stay to be a burden to Mrs, Hardy; for one thing.” ‘““You are not a burden!” exclaimed Mrs. Hardy, energetically. ‘“*T must try not to become one. _I shall never for- get my two dear friends. And I shall be sure to see you often. But now I feel that it is necessary that I should go to my aunt’s,”’ 8 it is,”’ renmonsed Mrs. Hardy. “And ret somehow, I hate see you going.”’ And the dly old lady rubbed her eyes flercely. “And it may be one of your enemies, too,”’ de- Susy. * You were afraid of them, and you might be going right into their hands.”’ **Somebody may have robbed Phil of the letter,” sug ested Mrs. Hardy. “Why, I thought you were so confident of him just now.”’ ‘* But he is only a boy,” faltered the old lady. “Tam satisfied that he has done his errand pro- peer e replied Alice. ‘‘I have here a letter from iss Russell, which I have no doubt was written by er, ** Let me look at it,” plead Susy. The lady handed it with a smile to the inquisitive child, and turned to bid the old lady good-by. ‘*Don’t forget me!” cried Susy, springing with a bound into her new friend's arms, and warmly kiss- ing and fondling her. “ And you must be sure to come and see us very soon,”’ ** Certainly I will,’ replied Alice, deeply affected by the child’s fondness for her. ‘‘ Meanwhile keep is to remember me.”’ She slipped a golden locket, with a curiously twisted c round the child’s neck, and kissed her again as she set her down. ** Now, good-by, dear friends,” said Alice, slipping quickly out of the door, as if fearing to be overcome by their evident emotion, The letter oy on the floor where Susy had thought- wngy let it fall. ‘**] am ready now,” announced Alice briefly, to ove sas who was impatiently waiting. “Is the carriage far?” ‘Just around the next corner, miss,” he replied, leading the way. Had she been able to see his face she would cer- tainly have detected something sinister in its expres- sion, innocent of guile as she was. There was a sneering grimace upon it which indi- cated a wicked satisfaction in his success. His hand was thrust deep into his pocket as if grasping some substantial reward for his services, But all that was visible to her was the back of.a Sosely-crepned head, surmounted by a cap set jauntily over on one ear. “This way, miss,’’ he explained, as they reached the foot of the stairs. “Your street here was a pe narrow, and the carriage stopped in the next urn, In a minute more they had reached the wider street in question. A stylish coach, drawn by two gray horses, stood waiting there, the driver upon the box. The latter person was not in livery, and was a roughly-dressed native of the Emerald Isle. He seemed weary of the delay, and called quickly roe 2 emt to open the carriage door, and help the “Do you know the directions?” she asked him, somewhat timidly. “Sartainly, ma’am, It’s to Mrs. Corson’s that I was told to drive you. She lives out beyant Harlem. I know the place te, ‘Very well,” she replied, reassured by his confi- dent tone She stepped into the carriage, the door was closed, the youth mounted beside the driver, and in a min- ute more they were driving at a brisk pace out the ary a streets. sa , 1 0 mlwate ‘*That’s a gay equipage for a livery,” saida who had been looking on curiously. A * That’s no livery,’ Pa an his companion, “It’s just that,” rejoined the first speaker. ‘I dont know the driver, ut I bet I could hunt up that young chap aside of him,”’ cps ed him afore, hey, Joe Dot?’ “Yes, And he aint none too good, Wonder where they’re drivin’ that pretty woman to.” ‘“'To the Park, like enough,” said the other, turning way. Meanwhile the carriage was moving rapidly out Broadway, and thence out Fifth avenue, along the eastern boundary of the Park, and into the more thinly-settled region beyond. The drive was a long one, and they seemed to have traveled miles beyond the upper extremity of the Park, when at length they drew up at the gate of a ate abn mansion, that stood back from the thin- y built up road, surrounded by a dense clump of rees. The youth s rung to the ground and opened the gate, Sermitting e cone to pass through. It rove slowly up a ed carriage-way, which wound through thick evergreens, to the front of the house, and drew up at the steps of a long por- tico. “Mrs. Corson is not well, miss,”’ said the youth. “ See ps this way. You will find her in the parlor at the side. It was with the first feeling of misgiving which she had experienced during her ride that Alice followed — the briskly-moving boy. He entered the hall, and threw open the door of a a ravel side parlor. She stepped in the portal was quickly closed behind her. Her eyes were lifted, ex- pecting to see the vaguely-remembered form of her aunt. Instead her shrinking gaze fell on the cruelly triumphant face of her mortal foe, Andrew CHAPTER XIV. HOME AGAIN. : — aeape beeen em HH ane ig the re- urn of her precious grandson; but no came. She was not exactly alarmed. She had too much © "Gomicboo (E(0)