Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 145 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Captain Ferret, the New York Detective. ve show yer hand is w’ot Milt Nobles gits off, in her Phoenix, an’ et ain’t a badidea. Owna sheer in ther —— line street keers, don’t ye, an’ a caliker factory?” “ Vpdonbtedlys -” ‘““Tho’t so. d yer status jotted down in my skull-book, but wassent sure. Got a feller in yer employ named Mickey Mitchell?” ‘* Michael Angelo Mitchell is the superinten- dent of m y calico.” ‘Know’d it. We call im Mickey, or Mickey Angel-oh, fer short. Sweet scented June bug, that Mickey is. Heer about how he got fres- coed, yesterday?” “Yes, It was an ou ‘*Guess he did spill out rage, sum, when he see’d his phiz. Feller t’would do sech a mean caper, 0 r be shot.” ‘That is true,” the judge =" ** But et was a good fit fer Mickey Angel-oh, tho’,” Bob continued. ‘ ’Spect it tuk a little o’ the starch out of him. He’s a bad egg, is Mickey.” ‘You speak disrespectfully of one who is your superior, sir.” “* What? rior!” Bob exclaimed. ‘‘Guess not. ‘Spect Mickey’s pedigree couldn’t outweigh mine, nohow ye could fix it, Mebbe I know more about him than you do. reg’lar hoss, an’ associates wi’ a hoss-eater— smuggles laces—snatches bodies, an’ sech like, Fine coon fer ther head of sum big office, like breakin’ stones, or chawin’ iron. bars, down at Moyamensing. Ther idea o’ Mickey Angel-oh a-bein’s good as me—et won’t go down, worth a clam. I’m ther King o’ Bootblacks 5 your service; Mickey, he’s the King o ogueés.” Boy! whatdo you mean? You had better be careful about accusing Mr. Mitchell of any- thing wrong, or you may get yourself in trouble. T regard him as a gentleman of honor and integrity.” * Then Ah got a heap better opinion of nite than cnloryt ob said. “ Jes’ wait till he claps a oryform sponge over yer smellin protuberance, an’ ye’ll change yer toon, Ill bet er clam.” “T cannot believe ill of my superintendent, no matter what you would say,” the judge said. ‘* If that is all of your business, to slander hin you may take your departure.” “Hold up,boss; don’t git rily, just because I happened to enumerate sum hints about Mickey lo’s'sinfulnéss- *Spect et don’t do no harm ter sift ashes, fer ye kin allus find clinkers. But, thet ain’t ther ‘prime object o’ my comin’ heer. I’ve got another card to play, an’ et’s a , bet yer boots, So first, let me ask ef ye didn’t uster own a wife an’ a quarter dozen 0’ aaa or so?” e judge looked surprised. >. How did you learn this?” he asked. - Oh! I found out, I allus am diggin’ u pints, when Tain’t diggin’ Centenyal mud o of boots ‘an’ gaiters. But you have not an- swered my question yet.” ‘Well, acknowledging that I may have been the possessor of a wife and children, what of it?” was the query. ‘“Oh! I'thort ye might kinder like ter heer from ’em,” Bob replied, rtantly. ‘‘ The hand'o’ time is leadin’ us all toward ther tomb, an’ “afore ‘we shuffle off, we ginerally like to overhaul our relates in search of a suitable heir, “specially when we've got swads 0’ solid cash Collatteral. Therefore, ssein’ thet in all probability ye weren’t booked fer. meny more seasons ‘heer below, I 'spect ye might like to know what had become of yer heirs an’ reper- sentertives.” “Perhaps you would like one of them?” the judge said, sarcastically. ‘Wal, I don’t know as I would have rti@ler ‘objections,” Bob replied, surve his reflection in a mirror post °P ite, -* did hey an eyddear thet I w r lost heir o’ royal patrotiage, or of some président or alder- man. But, guess I steered a leetle in thet cal- m e ’ to set yourself up as any culation, wi’ my eye glued on ther dome o’ ther ca an’ so E ain't averse ter comin’ down afew, ‘Turnovers ain’t ter be sneezed "UTipedauthetiok ih he beiet, If you be ‘ t ; ou have ry soe, the woman whom I once ¢a e lied, bitterly. “The chilttren I of cout eect deal like es ith have never been able to find he least cace ol thet.” ’ Mickey Angel-oh Mitch my supee- | as intellergent as ther average, an’ | aR | “<4 ‘+ Your wife vamoosed didn’t she, an’ tuk the progeny along?’ Bob questioned. ‘“‘She deserted me, yes, taking the children with her, and has never darkened my door since.” ‘“'What was the names of the little kids?” “Their names and ages were, respectively: Adele, seven; Florence, five, and Harry four years. This was at the time they were taken from me. Adele, if living, wouldnow be twenty, Florence eighteen, and seventeen.” i y—that’s me, mebbe?’ Bob observ witha grin, ‘‘ ’Spect I'll hev ter interview ol Maloney on that. Ye see, m nts are sup- to be Mr. an’ Mrs. loney, but as -is Irish, ’m Yank, an’ Mrs. Maloney is Dutch, I ken’t see how I’m their own kid. Meb- be ef I was to stir the thing up, Pd turn out ter : ardly think so,” the ju said, gravely. ‘You are not atall like my — +f intelligent little boy of thirteen years ago. oss Bob gave vent to a prolonged whistle. ‘‘Dunno about that,” he replied, scratching his head as if in search of ideas. ‘’Spect I’m as ter bein’ pale, I reckon blackin’ boots an’ white livers don’t mateh.” ‘You said you might be able to prove your- Yes, sir-ee. He’s a | self the missing Turnover. They are all miss- ing, for that matter.” ‘Bet a shuck eyster they ain’t. I’ve got the female portion all nailed. ‘Spect yer first gal, Adele, is dead. T’other one works in the city, nearer to you than you’ve got any ideaof. The old leddy she’s here, too, engaged in sum gum ames that promise to land her in Moya, ef she on’t let up!” ‘‘ Boy, what is this yousay? Are you making or is it true?’ the millionaire cried, ex- it up citedly. ‘*Tt’s as true as thet thar is dorgs in bony- fried bologna!” Bob replied, emphatically. ‘Spect I orter know, when I beerd ther madam tell certain parties as how she war once yer wife but shuk you; an’ heerd her tell as how Flora Bacon war her child an’ Paper an’ also Adele, who was ther wife o’ New York Johnny, the thief, but is now dead.” Mr. Turnover groaned aloud. “My oe the wife of a thief?’ he gasped. “ forbid!” ‘* Yas, she was married ter New York Johmny, alias Sir Franklyn Frothin’ham an’ is dead. Frothin’ham has sold her body to the physicians, an’ that is one reason why I come to interview ou.” ‘Sir Franklyn Frothingham, did you say?— Sir Franklyn thingham?’ ‘* That’s ther perzact coon, who is known over in N, ¥. as New York Johnny. He is a red- hot raseal, an’ is in] with Madam Fayette, Mickey Angel-oh Mitch, an’ a lot of others, who make a bizness of smuggling in laces from fureign parts, an’ also ty {oe ther doctors with cadavers to dissect. I heerd this posey tell the madam and Mickey that now that wife was done an’ — dead, he was goin’ ter make a spee’ by sellin’ it fer dissection. ‘* Who is the madam you speak of?” “Oh! she’s a French hoss-eater, in yer eye. Sails under ther name o’ Madam Fayette, mil- liner—uster be Mrs. Judge Turnover.” ‘*And you say she, Mitchell and this man Frothingham are leagued together in criminal machinations?” ‘* Bet yer boots I do!” ‘“By heaven, this is very strange. She is even a worse creature, it seems, than I deemed her. This Frothingham I have heard of before. A Frenchwoman came to me, a few days since, with a recommend from him, saying that she had served faithfully in his family.” Bob leaped to his feet, excitedly. ‘** Hurra!” he cried, ‘‘ I’m ona reg’lar Buffler Bill trail at last, for I'll bet a clam she’s the same woman w’ot tried ter drown Frothin*ham’s an’ Adele’s baby in the Delaware. Quick! eit yer hat, old gent, an’ show me yer hoss-eater CHAPTER IX. BOSS BO? “17 7! KORPTOSED. MR. TURNOVER, ‘veg in @ measure ex- ited, but crushed his iecliungs with a strong ‘You speak most strangely, boy,” he said. ‘‘ Tell me what you know, and all you know, in order that I may be able to arrive at some defi- nite conclusion. ‘* Hain’t got much more to tell, till I see sum collatteral abead. 1 allers work fer collatteral, I do, an’ let gratitude vo to blaves. A iistful o’ ler’s stummick, than a huckster cart-lead o’ gratitude.” ‘*So I daresay,” the iudge replied, with a nod of approval, ‘‘and you shall be well rewarded, when you have told me all, and proven your as- sertions.” . **That’s O. K., but, in this case, I ain’t work- in’ fer capertal alone. Pm figgerin’ on countin' in as one o’ the Turnover family.” ** Ah! my boy, your hope of that is ground- less. You are not one of my kin.” ** Dunno *bout that,” Bob observed, squinting again into the loeking-glass. ‘*I think you an I do look some alike, ef thar was a few daubs o’ Bixby’s Best scrubbed off my counternance. S’posin’ I should turn out to be the lost Harry Turnover—what then? ‘Spect ye wouldn’t own — a repersentertive o’ the Turnover brigade, eh? “*If you were able to prove that you were my son, I should gladly welcome and raise you from your present position. But I guess there will be no danger of such a thing.” ‘** Don’t you bet high on that,” Bob assured, witha grin. “Pll goa salt-water clam that I ama Turnover. Kinder feel it in my bones, x see. Then, thar’s a heap o’ chance, too. Ye see, when your poorer-haff cut loose from you, she chucked the g’hals inter the almshouse, an’ ther b’hoy waz apprenticed ter ther captain of a whalin’ vessel, ter receive whalin’s, an’ prin- cerpally becawse he was famuss at spoutin’. Now, in ther natteral course o’ hooman events, et ain’t improbable that, when a little kid, the salt breeze didn’t suit my complexion, an’ I waz adopted inter the Maloney family. It’s worth lookin’ into, ennyhow.” ‘** But you haven’t told me where to find my oungest daughter, yet?” the judge said, eager- y— or my eldest daughter’s child, which you say ae rescued from the river!” “Oh! they’re safe, whar I know where ter — my hands on ’em, at any time,” Bob said. er ther present you an’ I’ve got ter ‘tend ter other bize—which is, we’ve got ter find whar Adele was buried, an’ see ef she’s been disturbed lf not, so good—let her rest whar she is. If she’s bin dug up—then we’ve got ter raise areg’- lar Buffler Bill breeze, an’ find out ther why an’ wherefore. We'll swoop down on Patrick Mc- Fadden’s morgue, and see if we can find the ae before it is disposed of for dissection.” ‘““My boy, I am with Pt heart and hand. But, how are we to find, in this great city, where, how or when my poor child was buried?” “Oh! T'll manage that. You jest let me do ther engineerin’, an’ you play up passenJar, an’ we'll get along rate. Furst of all, I wanter interview this French hoss-eater Pe cay was re- commended ter you by Frothin’"ham. "Spect I can tellin a holy secontef she b2 my water- melion; an’ ef so, I'll slice her up so we kin gi sum more p’ints, Better we git ter bizness, oncet, too, fer ther sooner we do, the more apt weet at Fen? Bik Fd t,” the am at once, but you are no judge said. ‘No matter who you are, you are smart a lad to look so dirty and ragged, and ip must get thoroughly clean and respectable n appearance, ere I will have aught to do with you. Here are a hundreddollars. Take it, and return to me looking like a Can Conn instead of a ragm . Thereisa h bath- house below here; go there first, and get cleaned up, and then repair to Wanamaker’s and get othed. Then return to me and I'll be ready.” ‘*Keerect. Iallersis willing to snatch sech snaps bald-headed,” Bob said, with a grin. ‘When I git togged out, folks ‘Il’spect ’ma half-cousin ter Dom Pedro, "Lysses Grant, or sum other bi Ry And with a hearty laugh he acce tee the hun- eparted. he muttered, when dred-dollar note from the judge an ‘* Bet a clam I’m made! he = more gained the ert 7 *. Turn- over is a reg’lar paragon, an can Only make out that I'm Harry Turnover, I’m solid fez third term vice-presidency, in ’80, along wi *Lysses Grant. It now stands twixt me an’ Terrance Maloney whether I’m a Turnover or Bae Ase Fn era eas oe of at, u Z rf . 0 e or the judge an’ I go ankru : that’s fiat!” Two hours later there emerged from Wan- amaker’s Chestnut ‘aI store a young gentleman, whose features might have n recognized as belonging to Boss’ t that was all. No other trace of the former bootblac be visible, the form being incased in a rich an fashionable outfit clothing, with patent- leather boots u his feet, and a “ stove-pipe ” | hat of the latest style cocked upon the head, th > colla‘teral goes turcer toward satisfyin’ a fel- face of which was as clean and bright as soap com (E 6)(6\(6) <S (E()