Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 261 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

10 — —— ——--... e— ee ee ‘IT have no doubt of it,” replied that officer. “Probably the ringleader?’ **T shouldn’t be gurprised.”’ : “What have you Hap ‘in’ me?’ demanded Fer- gus, surprised by this testimony. “Silenee!” roared the justice. ‘You are here to puawer questions, not to ask them. What's your ‘Fergus Fearnaught.”’ “Ah, yes; I ht have known it would be some- thing 1 ethat. Fearnaught? Do-naught more like- ly. at does your father do?”’ ** Ain’t Rot any.” _. “Your mother’s a widow. eb? Ah, yes; lot’s of that kind of widow in the city.” ‘“*T baven’t got any mother.” “No mother nor father?” “No,” answered Fergus, tremulously. ‘‘Hah! never had any, perhaps, eh? He paused here and smiled grimly, and the attend- ant policemen chuckled audib Yat the joke, as they were in duty bound todo. ‘“* Where do you live?” he continued. . “In Baxter street.” “Ah, yes; nice neighborhood that! do for a living?” I do jobs, when I can get them.” _.“ And steal when you can’t! Oh, yes; it’s thirty days for you. Take him away.” 7 ‘ in dismay. Thirty days!’ exclaim Fe when I ain’t done nothing, you old What do you “Thirty days ae ee ey : ‘* Hah! what’s that?’’ cried the justice, wrathfully. “ Pudding-head, eh? That's thirty days more!” The policeman dragged Fergus away, whispering in his ear: ‘ Held your tengue, you fool, or you'll get six mont : Soon the prison-van arrived, and all those who had been sentenced were placed in it, The door was shut and bolted. The deputy-sheriff took his seat by the door, the driver gathered up the reins, the load of prisoners rolied out, and the iron gates clanged behind them. ‘The route of the ** Black Maria” was through Elm to Grand street, up the Bowery to Third avenu then to Twenty-sixth street and down it to the Eas River. ' At length the pier at the foot of Twenty-sixth street was reached, and the van raftled through a ae gateway, having over it the following inscrip- on: . DepaARTMENT OF CHARITIES AND CORRECTION. This is the last of the wayside inns on the road to Blackwell's Island. _ There the prisoners were unloaded. The men were put ina waiting-cell on one side of the pier, and the women in a corresponding cell on the other. ‘The re eabobec came to the grating of the re Boys d t s, do you want an eat?” he inquired. ® Here's an old man w BOTne. | “ Yes—yes—yes!” was the speedy answer from a nt . “Tm to spend all oney!” cried one, bi rer 1 Sant of ivhey White I’m goin’? Another tried to sell to a friend of the deputy- sheriff, who was gazing curiously at the prisoners, an old silver watch that wouldn’t go. He was **dead broke,”’ he said, and wanted some money. way of ter the bystander offered him a dol- lar for it, and the offer was at once accepted. In the meanwhile, an old, decrepit-looking man, with long white hair and a thick white beard,‘ap- proached the grating with a basket containing pers of chewing tobacco and some stale cakes. He speedi disposed of his small stock in trade, all one cake. “This cake is for the light-haired boy,” he said. tobacco or anything to sell you Fergus started as he found himself thus alluded to, and he thought the voice sounded familiar in his ears. He approached the ap! grating. ** Here's the cake, bubby,”’ continued the old man, Fe extended his hand for it, and as the old placed it in his , and whispered: “Ti get con out of this, Fergus. Watch at night —the first dark one that comes—and when you hear the sound of a fish-horn jump into the river and strike out for the opposite shore. There'll be f , he pressed his hand sig- boat ready to pick you up. Mum! don’t give away to anyb oy Another si cant pressure of the hand and the old man hobbled away. hy was in a maze. Tie old man was Mr. John Jackson, the mysterious tenant of the upper floor of the Baxter street house. “* Well, I hope he will get me off,” mused Fergus. i "* I don’t want to live long with such a crowd as +: An hour later he was ushered into a oell, the door of which bore this inscription: ** No. 1807 Famaus Fearnaveant, aged 16 yrs. Ameri- Vi t. 60 days—Auqust 2th, 186—. had reached Blackwell’s Island. Kffingham H. Pickles sat in his office with a pile of briefs, bound with the customary red tape, spread out on a table before him, making a show of being very busily occupied. This was a device he always — when he expected a visitor. e had been looking out of his windows, glancing up the street toward Broadway—his office was on the corner of one of the streets leading in that direc- tion—when he saw Mr. Rufus Glendenning coming down the street. He knew his purpose must be a visit to his , and so he prepared himself ac- cordingly. a ; ee st—st— SC Se t—" Se --ee eaetEE e en ee ee + eee **Come in!” he cried, when he heard the knock at the door, and Rufus Glendenning entered the office. ‘* Have you learned anything!” inquired Glenden- ning, eagerly, ‘Hum! not a great deal, but still something.”’ ** Something ?’’ ‘* Well, in fact, every thing that can be learned at present, for the boy possesses the remarkable fac- mi cf being able to hold his tongue. He’s sly, sir-- S é ‘** You have discovered where he lives?’ “Yes; ina tenement house in Baxter street, on the ground floor, with a poor widow and her daugh- ter. The daughter is marpshare as vin-e-gar!”’ ‘* How long bas he lived there?”’ ** About two years.”’ “Andis he known by the name of Fergus Fear- naught?” “* By that, and no other.”’ ‘*But hasn’t he another name?” “If he has nobody knows anything about it but himself—and he'll never tell it—ne-ver! Haven't you an idea now, in confidence, in the strictest con- fi-dence, who he belongs to?’ asked Pickles, per- suasively. ‘*Not the slightest,’’ replied Glendenning, with a prom ptitude that convinced Pickles he was speaking the truth. ‘That is what I want to find out,” ‘*But the resemblance which you recognized—I thought—hum! ah!” ‘*That is what I want to account for. It may be accidental after all. But then the piotaae he mut- tered, as the recollection of it flashed through his Sige .: Oh, by heaven, there is more than chance in this!’ He sprung excitedly to his feet, and hurriedly put on his hat. ‘*Perhaps she could tell! Tl try it!’ he continued. ‘*Keep on, my friend, you are doing Well; don’t lose aight of the boy! Ill see you again—in a day or two.,”’ Glendenning hurried away. “Sup! mused Pickles. ‘‘Ah, hum,hah! There’s a& woman in the case—always a woman! I might have known it!” CHAPTER X. TRACKING THE SECRET, Loranta YorKE descended from her chamber to the library to select a book and pass away the hour that yet remained before her husbans would return from his place of business in New York. To her surprise she found Rufus Glendenning there. e was standing before a small picture, in a plain walnut frame, which hung against the wall, This was the portralt that Lorania had painted, and she had caused it to be framed and placed there. It represented a boy with flaxen ha‘r, bright blue eyes, a peachy complexion, and regular and ‘hand- some features. In fact, it wasa charming painting of a boy’s head, who might be some fifteen or six- teen years of age. Underneath the head was written, in a bold, though feminine hand, a single word, a name—the name of RoBert. Rufus Glendenning’s features wore a puzzled ex- ression as he studied this picture. He turned his ead to look at her as the rustling of her dress an- nounced her coming, and he saw a slight wrinkle of displeasure between her shapely eyebrows; but it was gone ina moment. ~ **'You here?” she said. “Yes, Mrs. Yorke,” he answered, with a courteous inclination of his head. “Is this a fancy sketch?” he inquired. “ What else should it be?’ she replied, evasively. “Tt looks like a portrait.” She turned around upon him with a sudden quick- ness, ‘““Ah! that shot told,” was his exultant thought. « “What makes you think so?” she demanded. ‘Because I have seen a boy in New York who is the very image of this picture,” he answered, bold- She made a step toward him, and then checked herself; but she could not restrain the eager gleam- ing of her eyes. They told more than she was aware ‘“‘“You have seen—in New York—a boy — like that?” she said, steadying the tones of her voice. “T have,” he answered, well satisfied with the effect he had produced, but framing his replies with great caution soas not to alarm her, and put her on her guard, “Where?” “In Chatham street.” “ce Ah!” This was a sigh more than an exclamation. She turned again to the shelves and took a volume out, but he observed that she selected it hap-hazard. She turned to him again, holding the volume care- in her hand. o you know this boy?” she continued, He smiled, and replied: “IT can hardly claim the honor of his acquaint- ence. I have seen, and exchanged a few words with him. I was attracted toward him by his free- and-easy bearing, and the singular attitude in which he bad placed himself.”’ - “ How singular?’ she asked, displaying an eager interest in these details. Glendenning described the peculiar manner in which Fergus had patronized the bootblacks, and he thought that a faint smile flickered over Lorania’s pale features as she listened to him. ** What is this boy’s name, do you know?” ‘Yes; Fergus.’’ He paused here designedly, and he saw her eyes gleam again. He thought she would be disappointed in the less] 4 Fergus Fearnaught, the New York Boy. > ——- +--+ — eee, - ne 0 Qe ee eee name, but she was not; at all events, he could not discover any sign of disappointment in her face. - Fergus ?’’ she repeated. “What other name?” she inquired; and he saw that she awaited his reply with anxiety. ‘* Fearnaught,”’ This answer surprised her. ‘“*‘Fearnaught—Pergus Fearnaught?” she ques- tioned. ~ sé Yes.’ ‘* Strange,”’ she murmured. ** How strange?”’ he asked, insidiously. ‘The name—does it not strike you so? It seems very singular to me,’’ she answered, composedly. ‘“*She is on her guard,’’ reflected Glendenning, . but Iam on the track of the secret, and I'll have et,” a Do you know where this boy lives?’’ continued Lorania. “a Yes.”’ ‘*Where?”’ she demanded, eagerly ‘In Baxter street, with a poor widow-woman and her daughter.” **Do you know their name?” **I don’t think Pickles mentioned the name," re- ane Glendenning, incautiously; “if he did, I have orgotten it; but he knows.”’ ‘Who is Pickles?’ she questioned, quickly. *““A lawyer friend of mine, who has an office in Center street, New York.” ‘How came he to know anything about this boy ?’’ ‘**T asked him to make some inquiries.” ‘*Why should you interest yourself in this boy ’’’ she questioned, in a suspicious manner, and with some show of displeasure, He bit his lip vexedly, finding that she had led him into telling her more than he intended. A bold frankness was his best plan, he thought, and acting on this thought, he answered: “1 was led to do so by a strange resemblance that I saw in the boy’s face.”’ ‘*To whom?”’ she rejoined, icily. ‘To yourself.” She shrugged her shoulders coldly. ‘Ah! you think you saw such a resemblance?” she said, “*T saw it then—I see it now.” **Where?”’ ‘**In this picture here.”’ ‘** Indeed !”’ “Tt is enough Mike the boy to have been his por- trait—and you are enough like the boy to have been his mother!”’ - Her limbs stiffened rigidly, and her pale face was as white as if it had been carved in alabaster. | ‘* His mother!” she murmured, and the words had | a hollow sound, He was surprised at the effect he had prodmgced. ‘* Another chance shot, but it seems to have struck home,” he told himself, He resolved to follow up his advan ‘*His mother!” he repeated, intedly. ap sap Es a you Cannot think that?’ she respond- ed, huskily, He saw her clutch at the back of the chair near which she was standing, as if a sudden weakness had seized upon her frame. ‘“* You look ill,”’ he cried; ered be seated.” ‘It is nothing,’ she faltered; but she slid into the chair, and rested her right arm upon the table. He could see the powerful effort she was making to re- cover her composure, ‘Shall I bring you a glass of water?’’ he inquired, solicitously. ‘‘No, nothing—leave me,’ she answered. ‘‘ This is a sudden lassitude—caused by the heat of the weather. It will soon pass away.”’ He stood afew pacesfrom her, studying her pale face with an eager, wistful regard. Never that face appeared to him more lovely than at that mo- ment. Butits beauty was that of some exquisite statue carved from coldest marble. ‘Mrs. Yorke,” he said, and his manner was most war aeapses tf humble, ‘*do you want a friend?” ie turned a surprised glance upon him, and he could see that she was fast recovering her com- posure. “A friend?” she repeated, vaguely. “Yes; an earnest and sincere friend,” he con- tinued; ‘“‘one who would study your interests as if they were his own; one who would devote his lie to you, smooth every care and trouble from your path, and prevent this secret, which you have so carefully guarded, from ever being known?” ‘What secret?’ she demanded, with a resump- tion of that haughtiness which had so often galled im. “He is living in poverty, and poverty is next door to crime. Would you have him grow up to be one of the ae characters in the Ciey ?” She winced at this,as he thought she would, and her white lips were sternly compressed, but she did not make him any reply. Encouraged by her si- lence he proceeded: “Tecan save him from sucha fate. Ican place him in a position where he can earn an honest liv- ing, and become, in time, an honorable member of society.” She did not receive this proposal in the manner he expected. “ Why should you do this?” she responded, coldly, “To serve you,” he answered, significantly. ‘‘ How would it serve me?”’ The question perplexed him. i “You appeared to be interested in the boy. ‘‘Perhaps I am, but I think you have mistaken the cause,”’ (Glo) I00) (E(0) cS Me