Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 145 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

--. —_—— —- — - - - _—- <= SS 14 --__- —- _———-~ 7 © --- --- a eee - ee - _——_— Mr. McFadden was also said, by his neigh- bors, to be quite a philanthropist in his way, as when bodies were sent to him to ice, and never called for, as was often the case, he would with unselfish generosity give them a decent burial in his own lot, in an out-of-town cemetery. Thus the record of P. McFadden stood with- a reproach, so far as the general public ew. About dusk, that evening, Boss Bob entered Buttomwood street from off Broad and strode along for some time, sharply scanning each frowning, gloomy building, until he came to the one with the double doors opening off the street. ‘* *Spect this must be the place,” he muttered, pausing long enough to light a fresh a ‘** Don’t smell very cadaverous, neither. Oo der if here’s where they keep a feller’s carcass, until wanted? Ugh! Kinder dread this job, tho’ I guess no ghosts ain’t got er grudge ag’in’ so I needn’t be afeard. The next thing’s ter find out ef a feller can get in.” Another door besides the double ones, opened into the building, and ascending the steps Bob gave the bell a prompt jerk. Then, while wait- ing, he adjusted his spectacles, and looked as near like a young student as he knew how, which was not a remarkable personification. The door was opened, directly, by the pro- rietor, in person—a thin, pinched-faced son of he Emerald sod, with an unmistakable Celtic face, and shaggy, brick-colored hair. He was attired in a semi-gown and broad- brim hat of the order that to this day distin- guishes the Quaker citizens from ,the other classes of the Philadelphians, in many instances in addition to his other accouterments, and ee a stubby clay pipe of the grimicst order. He regarded Bob sharply with his little gray eyes, as if suspicious of him. * Well, what does thee want?’ he demanded, holding the door only wide enough open to ad- mit his head and shoulders. ‘* Who is he, and what does he want?” “Sh!” Bob said, in a lowered tone. “lam a medical student, and have come to see you on important biz.” atrick McFadden, or Quaker Pat, as he was often ealled, nodded, and at once ad-itted Bob into a hall, closing the door behind him. “Shure it’s a lucky time yez have come,” he said, returning to his native brogue. “ Waz it afthera subject ye’z come?’ ‘Correct! you couldn’t have guessed with more accuracy,” Bob replied, toning up his speech the best he knew how. ‘‘Tamin need of a subject—a female, pre- ferred.” Without a word the undertaker led the way te an inner office, and opened a big book that lay upon the desk, handing Bob a pencil at the same time. ‘“Plass to sign yer name an’ risidence, there,” McFadden said, “‘ an’ thin I’ll be afther showin’ yez some fine subjects as iver it done yer eyes good to rist on, so I will.” Without demur Bob scrawled down the fol- lowing signature: ‘‘Robert Maloney, D. D., LL. D., M. D.,” and gave his.address at the Turnover place, after which he followed McFadden up a flight of stairs to the floor above; thence through an apartment used for the storage of coffins and funeral appurtenances, into a second room, which proved to be the place where subjects were kept. The room was dark, the windows being cur- tained, but McFadden lit a jet of gas, and plenty of light was afforded for the purpose. The apartment was uncarpeted, and there were several trap-doors in the floor. Also, there were a number of tables scattered about the room, covered with marble slabs, and upon one ef these lay the stark, rigid form of a dead man, yet attired in the robes that had clothed his body in the grave from which he had been stolen. At sight of this, Boss Bob’s hair began to feel a little like rising on end, but he choked off his uneasiness, with a strong effort, and went up and examined the corpse, coolly, after which he turned to McFadden. ‘‘ Phat one does nct suit me,” he said, with a shake of the head, ‘‘ Have you no females who have died of complicated diseases?” “ Shure an’ it’s mesiif as has the very one yez want,” the undertaker replied. ‘‘ A fine youn leddy was captured, last night, who had 0 some unknown an’ I put her at once im tha pickle, so’t she’d be afther kapin’. I ean haul her out o’ ther pickle, ef yez would be afther seein’ her.” ‘approached. “No, you needn’t mind. BY your answerin a few A pee I can tell if it is the subjee I’ve had my eye on. It came from Wood- land Cemetery eh?’ ‘* Faith, an l'm av the opinion it did,” the Irishman replied, with a wink and a grin. ‘* And was sold to you by a man by the name of Frothingham?’ Bob queried. McFadden nodded in the affirmative. ‘“‘That’s the very jewel,” he acknowledged, with an ogre’s chuckle. “Then that is the subject I want. What is the price of it, safely delivered to my address, in a coffin and box, as if it had recently come off from the express cars?” McFadden scratched his head a minute, thoughtfully, and then replied: “Since you have come to me for the first time, I’ll let yez have it for i dollars.” “Tbs a bargain! You may deliver it to m address, during the night, and the money will be waiting for you.” Then Bob took his leave, fully satisfied with the extent of his visit. “Swaller me fer a clam ef et didn’t nigh dislocate my jaw, ter wrassle wi’ thet higb- toned talk,” he muttered, when he once more gained the street. ‘’Spect no langw ain’t so natteral as a feller’s own, an’ then, | wa’n’t brought up on ther dixshunary. Guess we'll git hold of the body, all right, now, an’ Turn- over he’ll have ter fut ther bill, as he’s got ther rocks. Things ar’ gittin’ kinder ship-shape, e's arter all. Flora she’s found, an’ Adele she’s found, an’ now ther next thing 1s ter find mie. Ef old Terrance’ll cum down, an’ do the fair thing, mebbe I’!] turn out ter be a duke, or a duchess, or suthin’ like that, even ef I ain’t a Turnover. Turnovers ar’ a good stand-by, tho’, when a feller’s hungry, an’so is Bacon. Guess [ may as well e a scull down ter Point Breeze, an’ see Terrance, early to-morrer, an’ find out my desterny.” Accordingly, having some cash left out of the purchase of his clothing, he went to a second- rate but respectable hotel, and turned in, for the night, knowing Turnover and Fox would re- ceive the body of Adele, when it came, with- out any of his assistance. Early in the ae he was up and va ps as were upward of a million and a quarter of 0 her humans, on this eventful Pennsylvania’s day, at the Centennial. First of all he went to the mayor’s office and received a permit — the New Gas-works, after which he walked briskly toward Point Breeze, which he reached in due time, and — ad- mission. He was not long in finding the object of his search, Terrance Maloney, perched upon the end of an up-turned tar barrel, before the rearing furnaces, looking black and grimy as any son of Africa. scruwny, Mie ge he little Irishman, was Maloney, Sr., with hard, bony features that wore a habitual bull-dog expression, and eyes that were small and fiery, from an over-excess of strong drink. He gave a grunt of recognition, as Boss Bob Oh! so ye know me, do ye?’ our hero de- manded, bridging his glasses upon his nose, and surveying the elder Maloney, critically. “ Well, what d’ye think o’ my style anyhow?” “To tha divil wid tha sthyle,” Maloney, Sr., replied gruffiy. ‘* Phat’s struck ye, boy?” ‘Oh! I’m runnin’ fer ambassador ter Injy,” Bob replied, twirling his cane. “‘ Give up black- in’ boots. Spect [ll git to be President o’ ther U. 8., mebbe.” ‘Prisident av purgathory, ye young omad- haun. Have yez a stray quarther about yer duds, now?” ‘* Bet yer gas-shop I hev,” was the indepen- dent reply of the boy. ‘‘Got lots o’ sech trin- kets about my duds, What of it?” ‘* Because, boy, ye can be afther takin tha mug ye see yonder on tha top av thebarrel, an’ goin’ fer a quart av ale, to the furst saloon around the corner.” ‘‘Oh! no—I guess not,” Bob retorted, loftily. ‘‘T ain’t in ther bigness o’ carryin’ drinks. Kt ain’t becomin’ uv a Prime Minister. Here’s a quarter for you; go get your own swill.” The senior Maloney did vot need a second in- vitation, and seizing the proffered quarter and the pitcher, he disappeared, soon returning with a foaming pitcher of the Trishman’s favor- ite beverage. “Tt’s a fine laddy buck ye are bye the senier Malony declared, as he seated ‘himself and began te sip the ale. ‘‘An’ shure, is it raley so yez ar’ runnin’ for Prisident, Robert?” “*Speet not, old man. I was omly givin’ ye a little taffy en a stick—moonlight on a clam- Captain Ferret, the New York Detective. ——— rrp cennnnnneaineennennEn nr eennEEEnn EERE ne eee eT —~.~— - a i — —— Ee Die a shell, yer see. Struck er bonanza, tho’—a reg’ lar Buffler Bill affair, too.” ‘* A bonanza, is it? An’, shure, phat’s‘a’bonan- za, Robert? I can nary understand yer.” ‘Well, I'll tell you,” Boss Bob ‘said, t- ing the senior Maloney with a r ciger, while with true philanthropy he lit a good one, himself. ‘‘ You see, there’s a little case w’ot wants a young feller ter step in an’ fill er fam- erly hag: oof an’ I’ve had kinder of an itchin’ that I was ther right lad in ther right place. So I ae waltzed down here ter git ye ter tell me who I am?” ‘Who the divil d’ye take yerself for, ’cept me own son?” Maloney, Sr., demanded. ‘‘ Faith, an’ its moighty queer notions tha boys be ittin’ inter their heads, nowadays. Yeu’re omg Maloney, to be sure, an’ divil a won ess. ‘You git out!” Bob retorted, snapping his fingers, eontemptuously. ‘‘ Ye can’t stuff that down me, Terrance, worth a clam. I know better, ye see. "Spect I orter, when you're a reg’lar old Glinegal bog-trotter, ther old wo- man’s pure sauer krowt an’ lager, an’ limbur- ger, an’ I’m o’ the reg’lar fine-wool Vermont stock. Can’t make it appear natteral, nohow, an’ so ye may as well tell me who 1 am, and be done with it.” “Will ye heer the loikes, now?” Maloney, Senior, cried, beginning to wax wroth. “Heer it’s a good twint yeers I’ve been rearin’ ‘yez up, an’ now, faith, yez would like to make yerself some won else, in tha bargain. By — I niver heard tha aqual av it, at ‘*Can’t help it, Teddy, old boy. It’s no use 0’ yer gittin’ mad, fer I kin lick a good dozen sech coak-heevers as you aire. ct ye never know’d that, meb It’s a fac’, all the same. No use o’ tryin’ ter make’ a green sprig o’ Erin’s shammyrock outen a reg’lar Yaukee peony, nuther. Cum down now, Teddy, an’ do ther squar’ thing by tellin’ me whar ye picked me up, an’ ef I make a raise, out 0’ the thing, I'll make et interestin’ een ak ye in biz- ness, fer instance, an’ ha in yer name at ther next State convention as a nomernee fer Guvnor. ‘*Go "long wid ye, boy! It’s pokin’ fun at me yez ar’ now.” ‘*No I ain’t, honest Injun!” Bob reassured. “ Jest you come down an’ tell ’me ther source I sprang frum, an’ ef I don’t do ther fair thing by you, prowidin’ I make a strike myself, ye can sell me out at ther rate o’ two cents a quart, fer spi’led eysters. Cum now, jest give us a good t fer onst.” Maloney, Sr., contemplated the bottom of the eka’ which he had just succeeded in empty- ng, with a thoughtful gaze. ‘There be a little duek of a saloon on Swan- son street,” he said, ‘‘ that could be bougbt wid all the stock an’ fixtures for a hundred dollars. If ye’llb’y tha loikes of that for me, Bobby, b’ye, I'll be afther tellin’ ye what yez be aftzer want- in’ to know.” ‘* Well, I guess not,” Bob retorted, “I ain’t inwestin’ in rum-shops myself. Tell ye what V’ll do. Ef ye’ll tell me who’er my parents, an’ who ye got me from, an’ go with me an’ swear to it, if necessary, mn give yer all ther swag I’ve got salted away—a matter o’ fifty cents, wi’ ther promise ye shall have aes times fifty, if by yer infermation I turn out ter be who I think Iam. Thet’s fair now, an’ et’s every cent ye can git out o’ me. Ef ye’d ruther keep yer secret than ter hev twenty-five U. 8. dollars, go ter blezes, that’s all.” “Tet me see, b’ye,” the gas-man muttered, counting over his tarry fingers, a doubtful ex- pression upon his face. ‘“‘How many quarts would thet buy of ale, at a shilling a quarté” ‘Two hundred quarts—enough to secure you the deed of a lot in a paupers’ cemetery or a berth down at Moya,” Bob replied, in disgust, for he was himself a teetotaler. uarths all?’ the elder Ma- ‘“By me soul, that would do me but a week, in hot weather. But niver mind, b’ye. I'll not be bard wid ye. I'll be'\ afther makin’ up me mind, the day, an if 1 con- clude to let ye have yer own way, it’s a visit ll pay yex, to-night, afther dark.” o, not then—wait till to-morrow night and then call around at Judge Turnover’s: Vi be there.” : Then Bob bade adieu to his foster-father, as he now believed he really was, and struck for the Centennial, intent on having a holiday, and viewing for the fiftieth time the sights and scenes within the great Exp sition. He had arrived as far as the inside of the in- clesure, near the great fountain between Ma- ‘*Ts two hundred loney murmured, Om . ' eDoOoKsS.com