Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 196 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

rm ———™ _— — ——- — by step away, as if every deep clang of the vibrating bell struck him to the soul. ‘‘ Ah, stop it!” he cried in a tone of deep emo- tion. ‘‘ May the fiends take the fool that’s at that bell!” An opera-goer would have been reminded of the similar experience of Mephistopheles, in the play of Faust. But the grave-diggers ad no impression but that of a soul moves by remorse and they looked with a feeling of pity upon the miserable man. But the funeral cortege was entering the cemetery. It wound through the narrow gate- way in front of t!\> low church, and by a devi- ous way among the graves toward the retired corner where poor Sally Crapper’s grave had been dug. The procession was of some length. The friends of the deceased in the city were too poor to be able to follow her remains to this rural situation, but many of her youthful acquain- tances still lived in this (neighborhood, and the whole. district around had been excited by the news of the murder, and crowded to Lehold the obsequies of the poor slauzhtered woman. rans by step as the procession filed past the church, the bell tolled out its dismal tidings of death, and the miserable, croucbing husband pressed his hands more tightly over his ears, while his whole frame seemed to writhe with agony. The grave reached they gathered thickly around it, while the grave-diggers, with hands ‘hat involuntarily trembled, proceeded to lower cue plain coffin into the narrow excavation. They could not but think of the man crouched ou’ there behind that tall, marble slab. But the tolling bell had ceased its lugubrious peal, and the clergyman proceeded with the funeral service, the cortege guthering reverent- ly around. On the outer edge of the throng stood a man that seemed to those who noticed him to be some road tramp, whom the sight of the procession had drawn within the cemetery. Little notice was taken of the intense eager- ness with which he seemed to listen to the ser- vice, nor did any one observe the writhing ex- pression of his features as the falling clods from the hands of the grave-digger rattled upon the wooden top of the coflin. This hollow sound seemed to strike him yet more deeply than the peal of the tolling bell. A few minutes more and the procession again began to move, walking in to the grave and tak- ing its last look upon the outer covering of the corpse that lay below. Solemnly the mourners moved on, gathering again around the grave after passing it and ob- serving those who followed. What was their surprise to behold, at the extreme end of the procession, the ill-looking, disreputable, tramp- like individual whom many of therm had already observed. He walked slowly up with downcast head, the grave-diggers drawing back as if from contamination, as he approached. He bent long over the grave, while those nearest to him fancied they saw the glitter as of a tear in bis eyes. Whispers passed through the throng. Who could this man be? Some old acquaintance? Perhaps some former lover of the deceased? She had lived so long among questionable characters, that she might well have made strange acquaintances, A moment more, and then, lifting his head and gazing with a gloomy, somewhat defiant expression upon the surrounding throng, he walked slowly away. He left the locality of the grave and walked to the further side of the cemetery, followed by a hundred curious eyes. Toby nudged his older companion. ‘*We was to give bim past the wall,” he whispered. ‘‘T’ll swow if he ain’t a-goin’ to make fur the furthest wall he can find.” ‘‘ Looks like it,” was the sententious answer. The eyes of the assembly followed him as he commenced to climb the low wall. ‘*Who in the world is he?” asked one of them. ** Does any body know?” “Yes.” It was Toby Blake who answered. ‘Ha! whois he, then?’ came in adozen curious voices. Toby kept silent for a minute, during which the fugitive rested upon the wall, looking back toward the crowd that surrounded the grave. Then be leaped down to the ground outside. ‘““Iev’s Rusty Mike!” roared Toby, suddenly. “lt’s Mike Crapper! It’s the murderer! We promised not to blow on him till he was out of the grave-yard. He’s got hisstart now! After him, men! After him!’ Plinging down his spade, Toby leaped across the adjoining grave, and started in furious flight after the escaping murderer. . NS ee Ee | Shadowed; or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life. His thrilling ery had rung like a trumpet-call in the ears of all present, and every mun, and half the women, rushed at full speee after him, a mediey of cries, shouts, and imprecations breaking .the former decorous quiet of the scene. In a minute or two more the mass of the pur- suers were over the wall of the yard, and had disappeared to the eyes of those about the grave. Toby stillled in the chase. With a sigh the old man resumed his spade, and flung a spadeful of dirt in upon the coffin. ‘*The time was when ['d been first in sich a chase myself,’ he muttered. “But my old bones is getting stiff. And somehow, for all he’s sich a villain, I’d like to see the man git off this bout. There was asomethin’ solemnifying about his behavior.” ie commenced to shovel the dirt into the grave, the rattle of clods upen the coffin form- ing a strange accompanim :nt to the cries of the pursuers of tbe flying murderer. CHAPTER VI. HOW HARRY TODD TOOK BOB ROCKETT. HE was alittle, blue-eyed fellow, but he looked as sharp as a first-class steel-trap, His jacket had been made for a person twice his size, and hung on him as limply as an overcoat on a bean-pole, while it was as thoroughly ventilated as though it had done duty as a sicve. A cap without visor was pulled desperately down over bis straggling locks; and one might have thought that his clothes had been flung at him, and stuck wherever they happened to fall, to judge by his happy-go-lucky aspect. Yet little all this troubled Young America as he went whistling along, swinging a basket in his hand, In which were a loaf of bread and other articles of food, ‘Hey, youngster. morning, eh?’ The boy looked around. The man who ad- dressed him was a long-faced individual, who was lounging careless!y by his side. The lad examined him from head to foot with a scruti- nizing glance. ‘“‘] don’t know as you sent me,” he answered imp udently. ‘So you needn’t get on yer ear about it.” The boy went whistling on, as if he had set- tled the whole question. ‘See here, you cross-grained rag-picker,” cried the man angrily. ‘‘Is that the way you expect to get through the world, giving impu- dent answers to every civil question?” “Lexpect to git along tendin’ to my own bizness,” rejoined the boy. Hie changed his tune, and walked independ- antly on, whistling “* Little Buttercup” with a rollicking air. The man laughed, and caught the boy by the shoulder. ‘‘Say, my young coon, don’t you want to make a quarter this morning?’ ‘*Guess so,” and the boy lost the thread of his tune in his sudden interest. ‘*‘ Wouldn’t go back cn makin’ & dollar if there weren’t too much hard work in it.” ‘It is only to answer a civil question. You live in that house?” pointing to a neighboring edifice. Kinder,” answered the boy. ‘‘When I ain’t in the street.” ‘*TIsn’t there a Mr. Bink lives there?’ “Tf you wait Pll go and ask my daddy. Ain’t sure myself.” ‘* Here’s 'your quarter,” remarked the man, showing the silver piece promised. “That sorter helps my memory,” rejoined the boy. ‘‘Now I come to think on it there is sich a chap there.” ‘‘Isn’t it he that you are doing the marketing for?” ‘* Kinder,” answered the boy. ‘He is getting rich, | suppose, that he hires an errand-boy?”’ ‘* He’s a regular Vanderbilt,” replied the keen young rogue. ‘* Guess his uncle’s pegged omp and left him a fortune. Good-by; ’cept you’ got another quarter to invest.” ‘‘ No,” laughed the man, ‘‘I’m afraid [ve wasted my first. Toddle ahead, my little son, Mr. Bink must be waiting for his dinner.” ‘‘He won’t starve,” replied the boy. ‘It’s a clean waste of good victuals to pour them down sich a hollow fence-rail.” Striking again into “ Little Buttercup,” the boy went whistling away, swinging his basket like the pendulum of a town-clock. The man who had been questioning him lounged across the street, and toward the neigh- boring corner, where he accosted a person who Been early to market this rT 7 ee ee re ee was negligently leaning against the sign of a cigar shop. ** He’s there,” ° ‘Sure?’ “Pll go a high wager on it. Anyhow, ’m going to prove the pudding. I didn’t care to question the boy too close, but when a fellow like Beau Bink takes to hiring an errand-boy there’sa screw loose somewhere. Foster laughed at the idea, but he'll feel cheap if I take his bird.” It was the man who had proposed another search of the Blair street house, during the meeting at the police office. Meanwhile the boy had entered that establish- ment, whistling louder than ever as he crossed the doorway. But his tune suddenly ceased as soon as he was fairly inside. Flinging the basket upon his shoulder he shot up the stairs like an arrow, and ina minute had flung open the door of Beau Bink’s apartment, and entered that boasted domicile. That self-satisfied householder was seated in a doubled-up attitude back of the stove, gazin furtively at his unwelcome companion, who ha tilted his chair back against the wall, and was smoking away in the most nonchalant manner conceivable, But they both made a hasty movement at this abrupt entrance of the boy, Beau rising so suddenly that his chair toppled over on the floor. ‘What the blazes ails you, comin’ in in that fashion?” he angrily asked. ‘*’Cause why, it’s bout time to be gittin’ up and gittin’,” rejoined the lad, as he upset the basket on the table, pouring out its contents in- discriminately. ‘‘Ther’s a peeler outside. I know the cut of his jib. He’s been axin’ me all sorts of imperdent questions. He didn’t git much, though, ’cept street sass.” “The devil take you!” cried Bob, springing up and seizing the boy by the shoulder, “IT bet a cow you've let the cat out of the bag.” ‘*Nary,” answered the boy, emer eh ** But if you know which side yer bread’s buttered, you'll git, instanter. The bottom’s dropped out, and that’s the whole jig of it.” ‘Why, Top,” said Beau, in alarm, “I hope you haven’t told any yarns? This gentleman is only my cousin, from Chicago.” ‘ All right,” rejoined the boy, with his tongue in his cheek. ‘*That’s a mighty neat dodge. But the perlice weren’t here t’other day for nothin’, you bet. I kalkerlate yer cousin had jist best make streaks for Chicago ye and put out like greased lightnin’ at that. Lain’tno fool—now you bet on that, too.” He walked independently from the room, the two mencontinuing to gaze with some alarm at each other. “ The jig’s up,” growled Bob. ‘You'd best do as the boy says—streak it,” suggested Beau. ‘Yes, with a hook. This is the frying-pan, maybe, but I ain’t Jack enough to jumpsquare into the fire.” ‘** You ain’t goin’ to stay here?” in alarm, “Why, the weather is getting hot about here,” answered Bob, in his quiet way. “ But it’s boiling just now out of doors. Vl wait till it cools down a bit.” He nonchalantly resumed his seat and his pipe, laughing at Beau, as that disturbed indi- oe roamed the apartment like one in a renzy. ‘‘T wish Old Nick had you!” he cried. ‘‘ What brung you here anyways! I was a-livin’ ever so quiet and neat, and here you comes to git'me into trouble. Vd give five hundred dollars, if I had that much to spare, to git you clean out of this.” ‘Your bid isn’t high enough, my boy. I wouldn’t go just at this minute for five thou sand.’ Beau flung himself upon his chair, and dug his fingers into his matted hair, as if half beside himself with anxiety. But he looked up again in renewed alarm on hearing a hasty step outside the room, The next minute the door flew open, and the long- faced individual who had accosted the boy stalked into the room. His eyes fell upon the frightened proprietor of the apartment, who sprung up hastily at this abrupt entrance, and came eagerly forward with affected politeness. “ Good-mornin’, sir; good-mornin’, Want to see anybody particular?’ “Yes,” answered the man, curtly. to see—” ** Me, maybe?” is It was the voice of Bob Rockett. The in- truder turned hastily toward the side of the “T want eGoim (G] OOO)