Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 261 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

G Fergus Fearnaught, the New York Boy. oe © + +e ee ee moe —— -@- ~- -—- -— —————- —- « E ha dep gpiendid im his eyes at that mo- rent, fer t boy’s were completely ened by the pr a, Me 33 with which he found himself suvrouded. The went had two wincows, and walkimg ta ene of m Fergus fennd that taey looked down upon the avenue, * Wiis ig a front poom,”’ he said. “Of eourse it bs,” replied Oliaten, cuppose I would take @ baek reom de you, as many a to choose Srema? No, six—lI'ua nd to have the best: How do you. Mke the way I am fixed up ere?” ‘* Selendid:” cried Fergus aga. goin iag-poles, , pistols, masks, foils, - beming-gloves, Indlaw clués, dumb-bells, and base- ball bats were scattered promiscuously in the dif- fewent corners. Clinton went to a closet at the foet of the bed, opened it, and displayed a large nusmber of gar- ments within. There were coats, pants and vests of all shapes, hues and materials, | ‘Here you have them,” he oried. ‘“‘I'il pick you out a suit—a nice one, toe—fix you up so your mother won't know you when you o heme, g vff your eld duds! Here, this k- i ia a itn ti i ee Sees —_—_—— —~— - * You don’t msi rown suit will _ * te Sant the thing. I’ve outgrown it, and I guess ir wal just about ft you, aa it’s almost as good as uew."’ . athe tears gathered in Fergus’s eyes at this liber- « “Tt’s real good of you,” he said, with emotion, “@h, nonsense; nota bit of #,” replied Clinton, in his careless fashion. “They'd be given away to the ragman, peers an! you’d tter have them than him. I've ken a netion to yor and when I like a fellow, Llike him; there’s no alf-way business to me. Hold on! don’t put them on yet— you must have a clean shirt.” “ Eh, a clean shirt?’ stammered Fergus, “Of course! I'm going to give you a full rig, _ from top to toe!” OMnton was as good as his word and soon the two were attired in new suits. * How is that?’ he asked Clinton. ae Tip-to phe ~ Wow do these clothes fit?” ** «irst-rate!”’ {Maton now combed and brushed his hair before the loeking-glass on the bureau, and then advised ah eo do the same, * Well, I think Ido look better,” replied Fergus, he steod before the glass brushing his long , flaxen hair, and he smiled complacently, at his own image. “I'd like to wear good clothes like thsee allthetime.” | * Why don’t you?” * Haven’t got the brads to stand it.”’ “The what?” “The L agrees “Oh, oh, the rhino—that’s what you mean, eli? *Money makes the mare go,’ and the ponies, too. a ane can have lots of fun if he can only pony up er ag “Guess you have lots of fun,” answered Fergus, mianeing ut the room, | ‘What makes you think sof” se ‘Cause you've got lots of things here to have it ‘‘ @h, yes; I’m tolerably well supplied, How would like to put on the gloves for a few minutes, Fea? he uired. “ oves e 9”? ; “Yes — boxing-gloves — these. You know what boxing is, don’t you?” “Oh, yes—sparring, you mean. | But I never had any gloves on when I sparred. to me you eouldn't hurt much hitting-a chap with those stuffed ols on your hands.” _ Clinton laughed. “You've hit it — that’s just what is intended. gloves made to box with in fun and not _ doearnest. Put ona pair and we'll have a set-to, » and then I'll show you about the heags,”’ ** Anything to oblige,’’ replied Merqus, and he put on a pair of the gloves. ‘* Lordee! how bunchy eg wake a fellow’'s fingers feel,”’ 7 ow, time!’’ shouted Clinton, in true pugilistic aty le, Awing your left duke, and hit out straight from the shoulder, Ferg!”’ . th ths admonition, Clinton brushed the end of Fe ‘a nose with his right-hand glove. g “Do yeu want it right from the shoulder?” in- tired Fergus. “ Yes, send it, good and hot\”’ etn ane Clinton a resounding piow daspite ‘ to stop it, fall upon the chest, whieh ca aristocratical youth to sit down onthe floor in, acd very unceremonious manner. ih eow’s that for hot?’ asked Fergus. , * Paaw'" casped Clinton. “That beats me!’’ Fergus lifted nim to his feet again. 4 a little mere?” he said. “Bo,” answered Olinteu, Jauzhienly: “no, enough ps a8 geedas a feust. Your right du im %00 condition forme. “‘Phrew off th yes, aed ll show you what uw meer old house this-is. Be- sides, { want mother word Gerry to see you, now s've got you dressed up.’' “Wher 4m 1 to do with my «ald aothes?’’ asked #Hergus. “ Ob, leave them here, aad I'L have them thrown into the ash-barrel.”’ *No, no, don’t de that!” cried Fergus, quickly. ‘* 7] want them.” : “You want them?” rejeined Clinton, surprisedly. “ Why, what do you want of them?” _ For every day, to work ia—I can get more jobs with may edd clothes om than { can silvtres,”’ —— en these good oe —_ so Clinton was still more surprised. “Can you?’’ he “Oh, yes; fellas are apt to take pity on a chap 1 he leeks 2 t's sol” exelaimed Clinton, struck by the , ferce ef this reasoning. Dazed end bewildered, with very much of the same feeling that must have filled the breast of Aladdin when he penetrated into the cave of jewels and saw the golden trees laden with their precious fruit, Fergus followed Clinton through the maasion, the servants nodding kin to him as the friend of the ‘young master,’’ and finally the exploration ceased in the sitting-room beneath the stained-glass sky- light, and here were three persons. ‘ergus saw Geraldine in a white dress, with a cherry-colored sash, and Mrs, Stuyvesant, in a rich silk of a garnet hue, but the strange gentleman made him draw back and whisper in Clinton’s ear: ** There’s your father—maybe he won't like my being here.’ ‘* No, it isn’t,” answered Clinton, ‘ That isn’t the overnor; that’s my uncle ENiott. Don’t you be amen he won't eat you. Come along.’ e dragged Fergus along by the arm, crying out: ‘See here, mother and Gerry, I've brought Ferg here te show you what a nice-looking fellow he is when he’s dressed up. Make your best bow, Ferg,”’ he added, in an undertone, to him, and Fergus ducked his head accordingly. Elliott Yorke turned to look at the strange boy, and an involuntary exclamation broke from his lips. ‘* Good heavens!” he cried, in a tone of great sur- prise. CHAPTER VI. FERGUS CREATES AN IMPRESSION. Mrs. StuyvEsSANT gazed up in wonder in her broth- er’s face. He had been standing beside her, resting one arm upon her high-back chair, while he con- versed with her. He was a man who seldom dis- played any emotion—a calm, dignified gentleman, with his once dark-brown hair and beard thickly streaked with gray. She was at a loss to account for his sudden emotion. ‘* What surprises you, Elliott?’’ she asked. “The boy—look at him.” ‘‘T do—and he’s not Pacnlagiing, as Clinton says; what freaks he has, to be sure; but for this lad, so Geraldine tells me, both she and Clinton might have been drowned.”” ‘‘But do you not see? his face, his hair—those eyes—the very hue!’ whispered Yorke, bending down his head to do so. . Mrs. Stuyvesant studied Fergus’s face intently, and the lad became embarrassed under the scrutiny, shifting his feet uneasily, and blusbing until bis usually pale cheeks assumed a vivid tint of carna- tion. “How they’re looking at me,’’ he whispered to Clinton. ‘‘Let them look,” returned that irrepressible youth. “A cat may look at aking! Their looks won’t hurt you. Hold up your head; you're looking fine, and that’s what’s the matter,” ‘+ Am I?” asked Fergus, dubiously. “To be sure you are! Why, you are handsomer than a great many girls I know—handsomer than Gerry there.” . “Oh, I don’t think so!’’ rejoined Fergus, quickly. At this moment Geraldine tripped toward them, and shook hands with Fergus. ‘‘Clinton has fixed you up real nice,” she said; ‘“‘and I am glad he has, because you are sucha brave boy.” And the blushes on Fergus’s cheeks grew deeper stil) as he shook hands with, and heard the words of the little maiden. “Don’t mention it,"’ he stammered. “I'd swim clear down to Staten Island to get you out ofa scrape.”’ ‘ ; During this, Mrs, Stuyvesant completed her scru- Strangely like!’ she said, “ Ah! yow see it, then?” he responded, eagerly. ‘The resemblance?” ' ‘“Yes. Who does he put you in mind of?” ** Lorania.”’ ‘**My wife?” 7) Yes.” . Elliott Yorke drew a long breath; it ap if some unpleasant suspicion that had crept into his mind had been confirmed. Tt is very singular,” he murmured. ‘Can this boy be any relation of your wife’s?"’ asked Mrs. Stuyvesant, The question annoyed him. *{mpossible!’’ he rejoined when I married her, was | as ust then quickly. ‘‘ Lorania, arret Van Amringe’s P” ates only surviving child. The others died in infancy. She never had a brother or sister married—she was the last of the family.”’ Such a resemblance could not be entirely accidental, it appears to me. Resemblances run strangely in families, See how much Geraldine resembles me.’ “But you are her mother—what more natural? | “And if that | His brow clouded as he continued: — f bov is like his mother she is the very image of— 3 He paused abruptly, as if he found the thought | too repugnant for utterance, ‘* Lorania?”’ she supplied. ‘** Yes,’ he answered, ' “Oh! what a preposterous idea,” she exclaimed. ‘“You must not entertain it. I will question the boy, and you will speedily find that a random re- semblance has misled you. young friend here,” she calied out to him. Clinton pushed Fergus forward with this admoni- tion: ‘Hold up your head, don’t be so bashful!”’ ! a — — \F ! ce oe eee Ce CT CO ———— ee eee a ee “T have an idea that this boy isa Van Amringe. | Clinton, bring your ee ee + ee ee — Biliott Yorke’s gray eyes were fastened upon us’s face in a searehing mamner as the lad y advanced. With al his fearlessuess ejt abashed im the presence of this dignificd an and handsome lady; but modesty is al- wes the attendant of rue ee What is your mame, my iady” inquired Mrs. Stuyvesant, ina | manner. “Fergus Pearaaugh ,”’ answered Fergus, promrt- “and he’s a bully boy,’’ added Clinten, impres- sively. oS, Claaton, for shame!" oried Mrs. Seuy vesant. ‘How often have | requested you te refrain from gwech espressions. I @iglike te hear sweh siaug.’’ ‘The young men of the prevent epee sat what they were in my boyheed,"’ evserv Yorke. “Of course not, uncle,” reeurned the Ineerrig Mle Ctlinton. ‘‘lused to bear grandfather say the tame thing about the boys in his time. You wasn’t up to his mark, any more than we are to yours--but the world still moves, and boys are livelier than they used to be,”’ Elliott Yorke’s grave features relaxed into a smile. ‘** Wisdom from the mouth of a babe,’ ”’ he said. ‘‘We old fellows stand still, and the world moves away from us. But the heart never grows old. It maintains all its freshness through all the changes and mutations of time.”’ While he made these remarks his eyes lingered upon Fergus’s face, and he found the likeness that had at first impressed him growing stronger and stronger. Mrs. Stuyvesant brought the conversation back to the starting point by saying: ‘* You have a singular name—Iergus Fearnaught! Is Pearmengns the name cf your family?” ‘*T don’ ow,’’ replied Fergus. ‘Was it your father’s name?’ pursued Mrs. Stuy- vesant. ““T don’t know,” replied Fergus again. ‘‘Don’t know!” repeated Mrs. Stuyvesant, sur- prisedly. “Don’t you know what your father's name was?"’ . ‘*No, ma’am; I don’t know anything about him.” “ Ah!’ murmured Elliott Yorke; and he exchanged an inquiring glance with Mrs. Stuyvesant. She continued her oe a: but in so genial a manner that Fer readily gave her his confidence. ‘“* What name did your mother have?”’ she asked. ‘*T don’t know, answered F **T don’t k any more about my mother than I db about father. I never saw either of them since I have been old enough to remember ey ** Poor boy!’’ exclaimed Mrs, Stuyvesant, involun- tarily, and this a sympathy went straight to Fergus’s heart. ‘* Who brought you up?” Fergus hesitated here, and his face flushed, but after a moment's pause he answered: ‘**T was brought up in the almshouse in Rockland county, but they didn’t treat me well, so I ran away, and came down here; and I had a pretty rough time of it until Fleda’s mother took me in, but now I'm F doing pretty fair."’ “The history of many a pees boy in this great city,” said Elliott Yorke. * you called Fergus: in the almshouse, my boy?”’ ~ No. sir.’ ‘‘Then where did you get the name of Fear- naught?”’ pt use he’s so spunky,” volunteered Clinton. Fe explained how name had been bestowed upon him by Fleda Nandrus, and this led to quite an account of Fleda and her mother, and the peanut speculation in which that s rightly young maiden had just engaged. Elliott Yorke was much inter- ested in this account, and when Fergus had finished he took out his pocket-book, saying: ‘*As you have to furnish capital for this enter- prise, you must permit me to aid you, as a recom- pense for the service you to-day rendered my nephew and niece,”’ ith this he gave Fergus a five-dollar nback. **Oh! but I don't want it,” stammered Fergus. “Yes, you do,”’ whis red Clinton. “Take it--he's got lot’s of money, he'll uever miss it—take it, e all you can get; that’s the way I do, and I make it fly lively, you bet!” Fergus put the note in his vest- pocket. “T’'m much gy ie to you, sir,’’ he said; *‘ but Ply do anything for Clint, here, and his sister, too, and never ask a cent for it.” ** And so would Clint for you,” returned (he heir of the Stuyvesants. “Youre hunky-dory! But come, let’s mizzle; I guess they have seen about all they want to of us just at present. Ta ta, uncle; save the first vacancy in the store for my bold Ferg, here; he'll make a good clerk, for he takes onc tphi! to boats’and all that sort of thing.” “T will,” replied Elliott Yorke, promptly. * He shall have the first vacancy that occurs.’ ‘All right; then I needn’t say anything to the rovernor as I was going to—about it. Come, let's skedaddle!” So sayine, Clinton locked his arm in that of Fergus, and led him from the room. Fergus followed Clinton in quite a flutter .of ex- citement, but it was of a pleasurable nature. He rolled his old clothes into a bundJe and Clinton gave him a newspaper to wrap them up in. ‘I’m in luck to-day,”’ he exclaimed, as he busied himself about this. ‘*‘A new suit of clothes, and a five-dollar bill! By jinks! won’t Fleda open her eyes when she sees me?” ‘‘Let her open them!"’ rejoined Clinton. ‘Give her a good look, and don’t c e her anything. You deserve all you’ve got; and *s where v om