Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 220 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

10 — - * Tom Tanner, Scalawag and Scapegrace. cident of the fallen horse. He faltered out an acknowledgment of his curiosity. “Yaw. That’s it. You git right back and tell Shon Thompson. He’s one fool to be send- ing core mit boys.” rank was very much depressed as he made his way slowly back to the store. It was not only the loss of the money, though that was bad enough, But he could not help connecting Tom’s sudden appearance and disappearance with the theft, and his heart sunk accordingly. At that very moment, in fact, two individuals were watching him from a distant corner, and these were no other than his dissolute brother and Bandy Ben. “He looks mighty down in the mouth,” re- marked Tom. ‘‘ But that’s nothin’, Them chaps at the store think he’s ice-cream on pound cake. I bet you high J take the starch out of him be- fore he’s much older. He ain’t goin’ to lord it over me with his high airs.” ‘*Did you nab the flimsy?’ asked Bandy. **’'You bet.” **How much?’ ** A cool twenty.” ‘Jolly. Let’s have a go of oysters. stand half, out of my share of the split.” While the young thieves were thus preparing to divide their plunder Frank made his way back to the store. He looked very dejected as he confessed to Mr. Thompson the loss of the money. The pat ion gazed at him for some moments in si- ence, “Did you take the cars?” he asked at length. a0, Bir.” ‘“* But I told you to.” **T didn’t mind walking, sir, and thought I would save the expense.” **Oh! you did, eh? You’ve paid pretty well for your unasked economy. It would have been cheaper to obey orders.” ‘Yes, sir,” faltered Frank, hanging his head. “T hope you will take it out of my wages a lit- tle at atime, sir. Id like to pay it right off, but we’ve got to live, sir.” ‘Oh! you want me to take it out of your wages?” ‘*T’'d be mudh obliged if you would, sir. And I know Ill be more careful another time. I’ve Zoo such good luck that it has made me care- ess. ‘Very well, Frank. I oe you need the lesson. If you have a weekly reminder of the necessity of carefulness, it may be worth all it costs. I will deduct a half-dollar a week from your wages till it is all paid. Here is another twenty -dollar bill. Go back and pay Mr. Yates,” ‘* Hadn’t you better send somebody else, sir?’ “No, Frank, But take care you don’t make your bill forty instead of twenty dollars.” Frank left the room with a sense of joy in his heart. He was evidently trusted yet. ‘You are too hard on the boy for his first fault, Thompson,” said Mr, Clark. **Not a bit. It is a useful lesson. Twenty dollars now may save him hundreds in the fu- ture. ‘“That’s so. I was thinking of the poverty of the family.” ‘* Well, Christmas is close at hand. We will make it up to them inapresent. Notof money, though, Old Tanner would make drakes and ducks of that in a hurry.” CHAPTER IX. RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON, THE loss of the twenty-dollar bill had certain- ly not injured Frank’s position in the store, In fact, at the commencement of the new year his salary was raised one dollar per week, and though the half dollar weekly was regularly taken off, its amount was more than covered by a present of clothing which the firm had made to him on Christmas. His duties also were somewhat changed, and he wa’ given opportunities as a salesman. ‘You are getting along, Frank,” said Mr. Clark to him. ‘‘ We shall soon need a boy to take your place in the store. I fancy you must be getting above the position of errand boy.” ‘**T am willing to do any thing you wish, sir.” “No doubt. But I think you have itin you to makea salesman. I shall have to hire some- body else to run errands and carry the key, and 30 give you a half bour’s extra sleep in the morn- ings.’ Frank, in fact, had recently carried the key of the store, and was obliged to be there earliest in the morning, to open it out for the porters. At almost the same moment in which the Pu brief conversation took place, Tom Tanner and Bandy Ben were seated together in the room of a house in one of the most disreputable parts of the city. The apartment looked as if twenty genera- tions of well-smeared hands had gone over its walls, while the cobwebs of a century depended from its grimy ceiling. But little that mattered to the half-dozen of young reprobates who were gathered around its well-battered center table, each with a rusty-looking clay pipe between his lips, from which clouds of smoke ascended through the air. On the table was a whisky bottle and some deeply nicked glasses, while Tom and Bandy Ben were amusing themselves with a very greasy pack of cards. Money lay on the table between them, and they were evidently gam- bling away the proceeds of their last robbery. ‘You done that job neat as wax-works, last night,” remarked Bandy, as he sent a cloud of smoke through his nose, ‘I never see’d a feller as took to things as quick as you, Tom. T’llsa that. My eye, didn’t the old joskin squeal, when you tipped his cady and forked his dough! He kicked wuss nora ten-year old colt. And sich an innercent dove as you was! Bless yer jolly eyes, it did me good!” and Bandy laughed with great unction. ‘Tt ain’t a-goin’ to last long,” growled Tom, ‘‘if you keep on havin’ sich luck at the cards. I’m goin’ to give up cards, Bandy, fur you always salt me.” ‘“You’ve got to learn the keerds, like you larnt forking,” Bandy coolly replied, as he shuffled the dirty pack. ‘‘Cut ’em, my cove, and see if you can’t cut yerself luck.” ‘Yes, fiddlers’ luck,” grumbled Tom, as he looked at his hand. ‘‘I b’lieve you put up the papers on me, Bandy.” ip that ag’in and Ill smash your snoot!” cried Bandy angrily. ‘‘ Why, I couldn’t put up the papers no more norababy. Play yer keerds now, and don’t be glowerin’ there like a monkey, or Pll Perper your peepers anyhow.” Bandy set his hat fiercely to one side of his head, and gave an extra roll to hissleeves. The young reprobates who were looking on at the game drew slightly back. Those movements usually meant fight with Bandy, and they expected to see a sharp tussle between the two gamblers. But Tom had no stomach for a fight, and began moodily to play his hand. Bandy, seeing that there was no present chance fora row, followed suit, and the game recommenced. It continued for half an hour longer, at the end of which time the veteran gambler had emptied Tom’s pockets to the last penny. ‘* Lawsee! ye ain’t wiped out a’ready?’ cried Bandy. ‘* Afore the fun’s half started? he yer not wuth yer weight in oats. I allers to d ye you couldn’t play with yer uncle. Git out now, and let some o’ these here chaps peg in. Pile up, Sandy; I want to see the color of that stake you struck on the old moll lay. Yer sich a lucky dog with the ladies.” ‘‘l’m your hoss,” answered the red-headed fellow he had called Sandy. ‘‘Tll buckle you. And Vi bet a red you can’t warp me as easy as you did Tom.” ‘Dry up and tackle the keerds,” growled Bandy Ben. ‘‘ Ye’ve got blow enough to seta windmill goin’. It’s all chance anyhow, every blamed fool knows that. It’s all the run of the papers, and ye’ve got as much show as I have.” s he spoke he was skillfully manipulating the cards, and putting them just where he wanted them, with such art that it would not have been easy to detect him. Tom, a little sore at his losses, took a deep drink from the bottle, with all the vim of an old toper, and seated himself gloomily with his ipe in a corner of the room, the fiery liquor beeing no more seeming effect upon him than so much water. Meanwhile Bandy was diminishing the ill- otten gains of his new antagonist as readily as 4 had fleeced Tom of his spare cash. Tom continued gloomy all the afternoon, though he frequently applied himself to the bottle as if with the hope of raising his spirits. The consequence was that when he and Bandy sallied forth together after nightfall, Tom was considerably the worse for the liquor he had swallowed, though his well-seasoned compan- ion was a steady as aclock. ‘‘ What's the lay to-night, my lovely buzzer?” queried Bandy, as he rolled along in his sailor- like fashion. ‘Don’t know. The honest lay, I guess,” growled Tom angrily. ‘*There’s thunderin’ little use gettin’a chap’s neck in a string, and you a-saltin’ all his funds with the cards. It’s pretty nigh p!ayed out, Bandy.” ‘Why, ye growlin’ little baboon, I never $n “ > ‘**Can’t ye investergate yer dad?” he queried. made ye play!” roared Bandy. ‘It’s yer own doin’s, right from the shoulder. Hang yer squint-eyed profile if it’s dough ye wind Reve’: yer provender, And shet up.” Tom was rather astonished when Bandy offered him a handful of money. The cunning young thief had the credit of winning two- thirds of the illegal gains of his associates, and keeping it. There was even a tradition among | them that Bandy Ben had a neat deposit at | some bank. Others claimed that he never did ‘an stealing himself, that he always had some | light-fingered partuer who took the risk, while Bandy shared the spoils, or else won them all at card play. He was the banker and broker of the pickpocket fraternity. It may be imagined, then, that Tom was rather surprised to receive a present of cash from his tight-fisted associate. He looked at him with a sense that there must be something behind all this. Nor was it long before Bandy revealed his land, ‘*T s’pose yer still keepin’ an eye on that ’ristocratic brother of yourn,” he casually re- marked. ‘* You bet,” answered Tom. ‘ Still forks the jigger, I s’pose?” ‘* W hat’s that?’ asked Tom. ‘Burn yer consarned ign’rance, don’t ye un- derstand good English? Is a chap got to chaw dictionary with ye? Does the bloke carry the key of the store, that’s what?” “Oh!” cried Tom, with a meaning glance. ‘*That’s the lay, eh? Well, if he don’t there’s no snakes, that’s all.” Bandy rested himself contentedly against a pri ee and scratched his head leisurely while a party of young men were passing by. “That’s the lay, Tom,” he said, when the coast was again clear. ‘* You and me’s been wires long enough. It’s time we was gettin’ above gooseberry lays. [I’ve got an ambition fur a rise in the perfession, Tom. I’ve got it in me tobe a gin’yine night worker, and to hit fur big stakes.’ ‘*But what’s that got to do with the key?” asked Tom, suspiciously. ‘¢ Jist you nab it, that’s all.” ‘*Can’t doit. It’s no admission ag’in’ me in them diggin’s. They’d kick me outif 1 showed a nose there.” Bandy took off his hat to scratch bis head the easier. Then he shut his left eye cunningly, and put a finger alongside of his nose. ‘*He’s likkerin’ now at Micky Flynn’s. Why, ye kin git right to the old coon’s heart if ye prime him well with red-eye. And—but I don’t s’pose it’s necessary fur me to put brains in yer thinkin’ box. I’ve gin yetheidee. Ye kin work it up yer own way.” Tom stood thinking for a moment, then he burst out: “lve got the idee, Bandy. You slide, I'll do it. I’m bound to git even with Frank Tan- ner. An hour afterward Tom walked slyly into a low rum-shop, kept by a gentleman of Celtic origin named Michael Flynn. The boy looked inquiringly around the circle of hard drinkers there assembled, In a distant corner of the room he espied the well-known figure of his father, sitting alone at a table, and looking very disconso ately into an empty tumbler that stood before him, Jacob Tanner explored his pockets with the forlorn hope that nature might at last have done her duty by him, and planted a miniature gold mine in one of these pockets. But in vain; nature had not done her duty in that way, and he again looked into his glass with the hope that some fairy might have refilled it. ** What you lookin’ for, dad?’ The old rellow’s eyes were quickly lifted. There before him, as coolly as if he had parted but yesterday, sat his prodigal son, with a year of growth on his form, and five years of ex- perience on his face, Mr. Tanner’s first sensa- tion was one of anger. ‘“Why, you imperdent little devil’s varlet, so you think you kin walk in here and brazen me out, do you?” roared the father. ‘Git now! Instanter! Or Ill go for ever went for cow’s milk. i never want to look on your dirty physiog ag’in,” ‘* Hold yer hosses, dad,” said Tom, affection- ately. ‘It don’t pay to kick too quick in the traces. What’ll youimbibe? I’ve got the need- ful, you bet,” and he made the silver clank in his pocket. ‘“ iy landlord, stir yer stumps over this way. hat’s yer likker, dad?” The indignant parent looked at his son, while the angry expression slowly died out from his O}O}O) €oilm (G ss ou wuss nor acat — (E@)