Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 187 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

; obeys his hands to his head, as if for fear 20 **Certainly, certainly!’ replied the landlord, ea- gerly. He was very ng to oblige this geutleman who had ordered such a good dinner from him, Mr. Darlington and Jack Bunce proceeded togeth- er to the Red Lion. bly to their previous arrangement Jack kept in the background on entering the bar-room of that hostelry, leaving Mr. Darlington to do the talk- ing. He ensconced himself behind a newspaper in a corner of the room, which was then only tenanted by the landlord. ‘**Can Ihave a few minutes’ private conversation with you $”’ asked Mr. Darlington. The landlord slightly changed color. The news of the capture of the contraband goods had but lately reached Crockettstown, in its outflow from its cen- ter at Beach City. He was naturally nervous on be- ing addressed in this way by astranger. He tooka second look at the tall fellow with the sailor ce, the corner. But Jack was too completely hidd behind his paper shield to be made out. Mr, Darlington's first questions were of a reassur- ing nature, It was an entirely different matter about which he was concerned. As to theevents of his former life Jim Bundy would have been willing enough to have given information, if he had been able. He had often sought earnestly to recall them to himself. ‘Tf a fellow could be born thirty or forty years old,”’ he remarked, *‘I’d have said that I was born eae before I came to thistown. Yor the life I went hrough before is as dead asastone. I hope there weren't nothing in it to beashamed of.”’ “What I want you have no reason to be ashamed of,” said Mr. Darlington. “It would be worth your while if you could give me the name of the vessel in which you were wrecked. Do you recall the name of a ship called the Monsoon?” “IT don’t know,” said Bundy, doubtfully. ‘* That word sometimes comes into my head. So do other words, But they are only floating words. I can’t place them. I wish I could.” They were interrupted at this moment by the en- trance of a slim, somewhat seedy-looking customer, with a well-blossomed nose, and a general look about him of the consummate bar-room loafer. **Won’t you leave us alone now, Tony?” asked the landlord, with scant courtesy. ‘‘ We’re about a mat- ter of business.”’ ‘**Is this Tony Pike?” asked Mr. Darlington. * Yes, sir; yes, sir,’ eagerly replied thé intruder. “Sit downthen. I sent for you. [think he may ny us out, Mr, Bundy.”’ ‘“*T doubt that,” replied Bundy. ‘You and Mr. Bundy have often had confidential talks?’ asked Mr. Darlington of the new-comer. “Often and often, sir. More times nor 1 could nd hi h k f things that happened . as he ever spoken o pe before he came to this place?” # Tony looked to the landlord, as if for a cue. ; bg ae said the latter. “If you know anything, et it out.” **T’ve heered him say somethin’ "bout a smug—”’ ** No, no, belay that!’’ cried the landlord, hastily. “ Bere T said anything about a ship called the Mon- soon Tony hesitated, and seemed disinclined to speak. ‘Guess I ain’t heered nothing,” he at length said. “Was not the Monsoon a smuggler?”’ asked Mr. Darlington, ge him sternly in the face. ‘* Come; ve bes? Ly hurt Mr, Bundy, and it will heip you, to let t out. ‘‘He was onlyasailor. He hadn't nothing to do with the smugglin’,” returned Tony. “ But he did say once that he'd sailed on the Monsoon, and that the forecastle hands had odd notions "bout her cargo. “Do you remember it now?" asked Mr. Darling- ton, turning quickly to the landlord. ‘Do you re- member a passenger named George Bruce?” **Bruce!” cried the landlord, with a slight start. *““Bruce! There was a lad here lately—a tall, good- aka oy Md lad—somehow [seem to fix the name Bruce to him— It was he that was wrecked with me in the—”’ He pazused—hesitated—it was gone. He had been on the very point of naming the wreck. “Do you know me?" came in a clear, loud voice from his right. Jim Bun 2g pe with a start. Mr. Dar n’s companion had dropped his paper and stood before m—a , vigorous, bronzed man, with “sailor”’ written on every angle of his form. The landlord looked for a moment, with startled eyes, into the face before him. He then fell back a as if he had seec a ghost. “Tt’s Jack Bunce, or I never reefed a topsail!”’ in eD - came in a half-whisper from his lips. “You're right there, old sea-horse,’’ roared Jack, as ifina gale of wind. ‘‘And,in spite of the false colors you're sailing under, you’re Ned Thompson, or you're nobody—Slim Néd, as we used to cali ou.’ a cry came from the landlord's lips, a cry in which a thousand emotions seemed to mingle. fae wo urst with its rush of recollection. ‘It’s coming back! It’s coming back!” he ex- claimed. “Jack Bunce—Slim Ned—we sailed to- ether in the old Canton, under Cap Carstairs— ndsome George, they called bim.’ ** And you left the Canton to ship in—” | “In the Monsoon! In the Monsoon! I see it all now! Itislikea map spread before me! We hada run across the Atlantic. But we ventured too near the coast. We were wrecled. I can see the af eraft drifting ashore, spite of safl and anchor. i) n had a George Bruce—and son, a baby. and the ahild ame ashore—!I see it! see it now!’ 2 _ Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy. - — ——- — — - oS - -- --- —_—— Mr. Dar n had been rapidly making note of these somewhat incoherent remarks. Further ques- tions elicited but little more; the cloud seemed again settling. Hastily the questioner got him to sign this statement ere his recollection should be again gone. Getting the two others to witness it, he carefully put it away in his note-book. **We are on the track,’ he said. ‘‘The Monsoon did sail from Liverpool, fifteen years ago last De- cember. George Bruce and his son were on the pas- senger list—the only sengers,in fact. Nothing further was ever heard of her—the fact is, no very strict inquiry was made. The owners were satisfied with their insurance. No one made any earnest ef- fort to seek George Bruce.’ A flush came into his face as he said this. ‘‘That the vessel wrecked on this coast in January of that winter was the Mon- soon there can be no doubt. The shipping list is in existence, I must learn it Edward Thompson was among her crew.”’ When Mr. Nag ge Spl sought the cars that after- noon, he left Jack Bunce behind him. The lost memory of the landlord might be still further re- stored. As he stepped into the train, he saw on the platform, just landed from an opposite train, the white face of Amos Yarnall. CHAPTER XXvV., A BOY'S LOVE. Amos YARNALL had avery different result from his visit to the Red Lion than that which had attended Mr. Darlington’s inquiry. The cloud had again de- scended upon Jim Bundy’s mind, not a fragment of information couid be drawn from that closed closet of weap poy” The landlord, however, was playing shy in his an- swers to this new visitor. He had been warned of a possible inquiry from this Merge” and advised Rgaings satisfying these inquiries. Mr. Darlington vee to keep Yarnallin the dark as much as pos- sible. The truth was that the sudden appearance of Jack Bunce had aro Bundy’s dormant memory—not fully, but to a certain extent, and the new-gained re- collections had not really escaped him again. His lack of ability to answer Mr. Yarnall’s questions was, therefore, more assumed than real, a fact which the latter was shrewd enough to percenre. He had, indeed, seen Mr. Darlington at the same mo- ment in which that gentleman had seen him. He had, moreover, caught a oes of Jack Bunce on the porch of the Red Lion. And he was sufficiently versed in the art of putting that and that together, by guess that some plan to checkmate him was afoot. There was no doubt that this adopted son of Tom Halyard was the person with whom Mr. Darlington was seeking to counteract his claim. There began to be alittle doubt in his mind that this lad was really the son of Geren Bunce. Yarnall was not slow to perceive the pointing of the finger of neces- sity. Fred Halyard was the peril in his path. The life of that P hai stood between him and fortune, Dark mou ts began to float like shadows through the mind of the evil-souled schemer. Meanwhile, time moved on at Beach City. The summer boarders had zone in mass back to their cit homes. Many of the large hotels had closed forlac of customers. Only those whose leisure was abund- ant, and who fully recognized the fact that the first two weeks of September are often among the sulltri- est of the summer, lingered at the shore. “That's a thundering fine haul you made, Fred,”’ said Mr. Proctor, to our young friend. ‘‘A wagon load of silks and satins is not to be sneezed at.”’ oa Hardly a wagon load,”’ answered Fred. ‘‘ There's a clever show, anyhow. And very valu- able goods. It would not pay these chaps to smug: gle cheap materials.” ‘ Bat, ave you heard of the Mary Ann? Has she sailed?’ ‘““Yes. She cleared the evening of the day in which you captured the goods. The rogues on this side could not have had wind of our capture in time to stop her sailing.’’ * What next, then?’ asked Fred. ‘‘ Are you not going to nab Jim Bundy and the fisherman as ac- complices?”’ **Not yet. That would only be giving the cue to the head villains. I want the tA Ann's cargo of contraband first. And I would like to catch that captain and mate in the act. Then we will be ready to descend on Tompkins & Co. likea thunder-cloud.”’ “She should be in soon,”’ remarked Fred. ‘We have had easterly winds these two weeks. She ought to make a quick run.”’ ‘**Any time after this day week,” replied Mr. Proc- tor. ‘“*We must not be thrown as we were at the last landing. Lintend to take post on the ridge back of the ade yt to have a signal guard on duty all night er by Se ‘That's the ticket!’ exclaimed Fred. ‘‘ And I will not shut my eyes when the time comes. Would it not be best to arrest the fisherman as soon as the signal is given and answered, and take his boat out yourselves?’’ “No. There may be other answers to the signal besides the one by lights. These fellows are too smart to becaught napping. The best we can do is to follow into the inlet, and cut our friend off in his re- turn. Then, if there is a second boat-load from the enugerer, we might put in an appearance our- selves.”” ‘* There is sweet promise of a fight,” said the lad, rubbing bis hands in pleasant anticipation. **Cap and that black-browed mate won't give up at asong. Id like to have a hand in the fun. “There is not much fun goes on here that you don’t have a hand in,” laughed Mr. Preetor. “But keep quiet abeut this bualmess, my boy.” ewe ee eee ee ee; ‘* Quiet as an oyster,” returned Fred. It was the afternoon of that same day that our yourg friend met Rose Darlington, on his return from an errand down the beach. Fred was dressed in his best, and it was wonderful how well good clothes became him. Those used to roughing it are usually awkward and uneasy in any costume ap- proaching the fashionable cut, but such was not the case with the youth on whom Rose now fixed her eyes in involuntary admiration. Had be passed his life as a gentleman of leisure he could not have dis- played more grace and ease in his well-cut and well- fitting costume. And his slender, graceful, athletic form, the clustering hair which escaped from under his light straw hat, and his bronzed but handsome and intelligent face, were in strange contrast to the awkward, heavy-built and somewhat loutish man- ner of many of the young men of Beach City. Rose found herself involuntarily admiring his appear- ance, and wondering whence he obtained his grace of manner and cultured address. For Fred knew well how to put on fine manners with fine clothes. He was well educated, consider- ing the contracted advantages of Beach City, and though he often fell into the vernacular of his ordi- nary companions, he could speak with address and olish when it became ad ble. This probably ad much to do with the attraction which he had exercised on his young lady friends. ‘*T have gathered some shells for you, Miss Dar- lington, as I know how fond you are of this sea- spoil,” he said, as he approached her. “That is very kind,” she gratefully replied. ‘I have had very bad fortune morning. Please let me see them.”’ She opened her little basket, which she usually carried on her shell-hunting expeditions, ready to Sa these contributions from her more active riend. ‘‘T was over on the island yesterday,” said the lad. ‘*There are fewer shell-hunters there, and the last storm threw things up freely. I gathered up some of the best.” He emptied his pockets into theo basket. Rose hastily picked up one of these sh a beautifully coiled and colored imen, A ® came upon her face as she looked at it.” ‘*The idea of such color on our drab coast!"’ she exclaimed. ‘‘This is decidedly tropical, Mr. Hal- Swe Now where did you get it? There is nothing ike it in any of the Beach City shell stores.”’ we io, indeed; I got it on the coast,’’ he laughingly re ‘ , But not on the sands. I know our shells too well or that.” se ‘* You are too learned for maa UAE is very evident,” he returned, with a merry lange, ‘That shell came from. the East India seas, I it from a sailor on a passing vessel,”’ ‘And you thought of me!” she tefully cried. **Now Iam ever so much obliged. It isa rare beau- ty. It is a harp shell, Mr. Halyard—though I pre- sume you know that—and one of the rarest species, I = value that as your gift to my slender cabi- n ” ‘*T only wish it had been of more value, I should have been doubly happy to give it to you,”’ he earn. estly rejoined. ‘Tt has value, in my eyes, both for its own worth, and as your gift,”’ she w y answered. *‘ You are utting me under such hosts of obligations, Mr. ax After saving my life twice—' **Once only,” he corrected. “You saved me from a very ble wetting, at any rate. And who knows—that stream might have been too much for my stre . Butin your care—"’ she looked admiringly at his athletic . Ske wyeve oe ee find you very heavy," e re- , ‘and was only so or one thing.’ . **And what was that?” ‘That the stream was not three times as wide." Rose blushed and turned her head half aside. But there was a secret pleasure in her face as if she aur the implied compliment not at all disagrev- able. ‘*T fear you would have found Mr. Howard a very poor dependence in your dilemma.”’ Her lip curled with disdain. “Mr. Howard and I are friends no longer,"’ she said. A quick light came into Fred's eyes. ‘*He spoke to you rudely that day,” he returned. 42 did not hear his words, but his tone was very evi- ent, ** Shall I tell you what he said?’’ she asked, some strange emotion overflowing her face. ‘*No,no. That would seem too much like my pry- ing into what does no: concern me.”’ “*T will keep it no secret from you, Mr. Halyard. I know I can trust you. He told me that my father and I were beggars, and that the Howards did not wed with Dege ars. A flush o dignation marked her face as she spoke, which seemed to Fred to double her fresh ene beauty. His own face flushed and warmed. ot with anger only—there was some deeper feeling underlying that of indignation. “The coward!’ he muttered. ‘‘ You are well ri of oP But what did he mean by your being a beg- ar %9 ‘“‘It is true. My father has told me. There is a claimant to his property. He fears—he knows that he will lose all. He will have to begin life over again. Itis true, Mr. Halyard. I am a beggar.” ‘You are not, and never can be!” exclaime* Fred. ‘* There was never any news—hard as it may be to you—that was sweeter to my ears. You have fallen to my levelin fortune. You ye rid of wepus engagement te that selfish eeward. yf speak. 1 may tell you that I love you—have ever leved you, O}O}O) <=) (E(@) (ECON MLCE