Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 397 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

LO jewelry you can wear. If you refuse, beware, for my hand is heavy. What do they call me in Mulberry street?” ‘* The Pddrone Prince.” ‘‘ Never mind the ‘ Padrone’ part,” said Mar- co, frowning. ‘‘ That is a slander from my enemies, who hate me because I have more authority than they in the Italian quarter. If I were in sunny Italy, I should bea real prince. What do you think of that?” ‘‘T should think you would go there, then,” was the straightforward reply. Marco winced. ‘‘ Never mind that, but just recollect who and what I , and that I am willing to share all these horfors with you. But I must go now. Farewell!” And the rascally Prince went out. He de- scended to the street, looked sharply each way, but, seeing no one who looked like a spy, saun- tered on down the street. He did not notice a small, red-haired girl, in a ragged dress, who followed close behind with an aimless, listless air. Could he have seen the glitter of her bright eyes, he might not have been so indifferent. The small girl was Nan, and she was wide- awake. ““Go on,” she muttered, ‘“‘ but I’m onter ye, an’ ef thar’s a light inter ther winder fer ye, I’m goin’ ter find it. Bowery Bob’s detective corpse is alive an’ kickin’!” Gambora passed what is known as the ‘‘ Italian quarter,” and entered a two-story, ill-looking building. A sour-looking woman answered his ring at the bell, and he was promptly admitted. ‘“ Well, what is the good word?” he asked. ‘“The old man is here, all safe,” the woman answered. ‘* Does he cut up roughly?” ‘Not in the least. e’s as dignified as a preacher, and says he'll stay there until the walls crumble down before he'll yield a point.” ‘‘ He'd better wait until he’s asked,” said Gam- bora, with a scowl. ‘‘I am dictating, not re- questing, terms.” ‘He threatens to use the law freely when he gets out.” ‘‘Let him threaten. He won’t get out until his hands are so bound with events that it will be to his interest to sing soft andslow. Youare sure he cannot escape ? ‘* Perfectly sure.’ ‘* Well, keep your door locked, and don’t let any one in.” “So I do; but what if the coppers should come?” ‘‘They won’t come; there is no reason why —, should suspect this place.” e Padrone spoke confidently ; but he did not wholly forget Bob o’ the Bowery. He really feared that young man a good deal, and his per- formance at the other house had shown that he possessed great nerve. ‘‘ You just be faithful to me,” he added, ‘‘ and you shall never regret it. have got a little scheme of my own on foot, which may give ‘me all the cherries on the tree, and if I win the en who are faithful to me will get well id. The woman’s eyes glittered with cupidity, and she promised to be faithful, but their conversa- tion was interrupted by a peculiar twang! and turning, they saw a knife sticking in the wall near Gambora, the handle still quivering from the force with which it had been sped. The Padrone, who had seen a good deal of jug- ling work, realized the fact that it had been hrown by a skilled hand. No amateur could have done work like that. From the handle dangled a paper, tied on with a string, and he mutely picked it off. This is what he read: ‘¢‘Gampora:—Beware, for your sins are recoiling on your own head. Padrones are not wanted here, and, before many hours, you will be a dead man. “THe Knure-Bravo.” The woman had read this over Marco’s shoul- der, and she now spoke quickly: ‘“ Believe me, Mr. Gambora, I am not in this ame, nor have I any “idea who threw the e. ‘‘T believe you,” said Marco, coolly. ‘‘ The weapon is of Italian make, and the thrower was doubtless one of my own countrymen. What American could have hurled it so?” ‘‘ A little more and it would have taken your life. It came like a,shot, point first.” “Some low and treacherous Italian whom I have offended is after revenge. It is nothing, my good woman; such things are common in my ‘own country.” The Prince spoke lightly, but he had as yet had no desire to visit the open window at the = ’ Kimara ee. ' 4 Bob o’ the Bowery. rear of the house through which the knife had, of course, been flung. It was not until thie course was suggested by the woman that he went, and then there was no — of the unknown. his revived Marco’s spirits and he talked still more lightly of the incident, but he did not by any means forget it. He knew the way of his countrymen well. The knife is the favorite weapon of Italy, and many of its people do esitate to use it freely to wipe out a quar- rel, The way in which this particular knife had been used—thrown, not thrust—showed that the ‘“‘ Knife-Bravo” was even more dangerous than the majority of his race, and when the Prince left the house he scanned closely each person he met and felt anything but at his ease. CHAPTER XI. AFFAIRS TAKE A BAD TURN. Bos o’ the Bowery did not lose much time af- ter leaving the vicinity of the saloon, but made his way toward where Nan lived, to see if the girl had succeeded in tracking Gambora. She was watching for him, and came rushing through the me to meet him, her red hair flying in the wind. ‘‘ Hello!” quoth Bob, “I didn’t know_afore that you was a go-as-you-please ped. Better hire Madison Square Garding an’ give an exhi- bition trot fer gate-money. Reckon ther dudes would turn out more’n they do ter a-sluggin’ matinee.” ‘‘ You wouldn’t be thar then,” she retorted. ‘Why not?” “Cause you're so homely you'd scare ther chaps that keeps ther score up.” ‘‘ Ef they could stand you, I reckon one more ‘fliction wouldn’t bush ’em teetotally’ But this ain’t biz. How’s ther detective racket?” ‘* Boss.” “Tis, hey? Hev ye see’d Maccaroni?” ‘Yas; an’ I’ve spotted his new crib, too. W’en he went thar he jest looked ’round wise ez a copper arter a nap, but, lawsee, thar was only me, a-lookin’ like a red-headed innefcent, an’ he never s’pected J was a-pipin’ him.” Nan’s jolly face expanded into a smile as she renewed her recollection of the affair, ‘“‘ B’gosh, ef this proves ter be true, Pll make ye apresent of a coupe and four Maud 58, trot- ters, wi’ silver door-plates all over the harness. I ’spect to be a’pointed postmaster next month, an’ then I’m goin’ ter make ther dollars hum. But whar is ther new crib w’ot Maccaroni thinks ll hold ole Adam?” Nan gave the street and number, adding the details of her little piece of detective work, much to the boy’s admiration. ‘‘Couldn’t ’a’ did better myself, You've got a heap o’ sense, ef you hev red hair. W’en I gits inter ther Legislature Pll interdooce a bill in favor o’ wotin’ priv’lege fer all women with a strawberry blonde cast o’ complex, I will.” ‘* Better wait till ye git thar.” “Oh! Dll git thar, ef walkin’ ain’t too bad. I’ve got a big pull in this ward sence my man, Hannibawl is O’Tooter was elected ter stay at home. But this ain’t biz. [’m goin’ over ter see that dive whar ole Adam is shet up inter.” He went, and surveyed the house carefully, front and rear—for \an alley enabled him to do the latter. He learned little by it. All the windows were closed, and nearly all the blinds, and the doors ware grimly in place. That'they were locked he was satisfied, though he did not venture to try them. ‘“Rre’s a go. This hyar looks like a reg’lar house o’ silence an’ blood-curdlin’ mystery on ther half-shell, an’ ez Marco hez see’d my way 0 droppin’ in *thout an invite, at t’other crib, ‘tain’t'likely he’s left’any loop-hole here. ‘*Spect itll be hard fer ter git in. Wonder wot ther copper would say ef I give him a straight tip ‘bout this biz?” He had regained the majn street, and was looking wishfully at a blue-coated guardian of the peace. That august gentleman looked fat and happy, and Bob decided to try him. He did so. ‘‘See yer, mister, w’ot’s ther proper caper when a ’spectable "Merican citz is shet up inter captivity?” The guardian looked jovially down from his lofty hight, smiling with amusement at sight of the small boy in the long coat. ‘‘T should say it vould pe best for him to get out mit himself at once,” he replied. ‘* §posen he couldn’t git out?” ‘‘ Then I suppose he vould haf to stay in mit hisself.” * That air may be ther butt-end o’ logic,” Tre oh tes OT Mae * ot) ie, i.’ ve C9 ‘ hae ° 4 ‘ Anh bet , ¥ ' fe tet seh: gt "eo | 5 ‘ee _ * Nine ah: ¥ : - * —_—s° > ae! * .* ae ; ° , sa tits F : , ; = as -” = + alt 7 - $a: ; P s *@ é t i. 4 i « - ae s ’ 4 — ‘ ; we no a aU wen eg a Rint, oe , t. oa ’ fate DD ; aa Ter =e Om ag ; ee aye? “we —— = a mre. Aan a ee <<a. ll, I Ct CC LL, LLL LD ES SE le CC LL CC LL LL ALLL —— i ee be ' of replied Bob; ‘‘ but ’tain’t jestice—not fer Jo- seph. See yer! D’yeobsarve that palatial mon- yment o’ brick yander?” ‘*T can see it mit von eye, my poy. ‘‘ Wal, thar’s an ole gent from Squash Holler, wi’ hay-seed inter his hair, inter that ’ere crib, 3 held fast pris’ner. Now, ain’t it the proper caper fer ter git him out? ‘Vrom osh ee you say mit yer tongue?” asked the officer, with a wink. “T sart’inly spoke with my tongue, but I didn’t say Hosh Squaller,” Bob declared, with dignity. ‘‘I said Squash Holler. He’s a gent from Connecticut, with tin an’ sparklers, he is, an’ something orter be did fer him.” ‘“ Now¢*you see here, leedle poy, dot vas play- ed out,” and the guardian shook his club at him playfully. ‘* Poys will haf their joke, an’ [don’t plameé them, but dot game is too old. You run avay an’*blay marbles, an’ don’t come foolish- ing round mit me some more dimes at all. My eyes vas open to your games!” And the officer walked on, believing himself the ‘‘ flyest ” man on the force. * “ Jest wot I s’pected,” muttered Bob. ‘ Them chaps don’t take no stock in boys, nohow. S’pect they was thirty years old when they was borned. W’ot’s ther use o’ tryin’ ter rescoo Adam outer bondage? Nobody won't give me a lift. Reckon I’d better give it up an’— No, by cripes, I don’t. I'll keep on an’ win ther game an’ then I reckon I kin crack my heels an’ git ther laugh onter them. Tl do it! Yas, Pll see ole Adam outer his scrape.ef I hev ter go down ther chimbly like a cyclone an’ rip things up. Hello! that sorter gives me an idee!” Not wishing to be observed near the house, he had been walking away while talking. His new idea was a shrewd one in many ways, but it re- quired a confederate, and that, too, one of ma- ture years, and he was not sure whom he could. et. ‘ By means of careful thoyght he finally arrived at a decision, however, and his face brightened erceptibly. He increased his speed, and was urrying along when he was accosted by a boy of about his own age. ‘“‘ Hello, Bob!” said Teddy O’Fee. ‘‘ Hello!” responded Bob, grufily not exactly admire tue youthful OF “Tve got a letter fer you.” ‘Got my grandmother’s will!” retorted Bob. ‘‘ Wot game be you inter now?” ‘“T ain't inter none. I met a silk-tile chap over on ther Bowery, nigh yer stand, an’ he axed me did I know Bob o’ ther Bowery, an’ when I ‘lowed I did, he gi’n me this, hyar ter bring ye ther letter.” Teddy exhibited a silver quarter, and also the letter, and Bob lost his suspicions and took the letter. He was not long in reading these lines: ‘““Youne Bos:—I want to see you concerning the old matter, and as 1 have business to-day at No. — Crosby street, will you oblige me by coming there if you get this note before six o’clock? Perhaps Tl put you in the way of earning a V. Don’t fail me! * Gus REDDING.” This seemed to Bob to be all that was neces- sary. He liked Gus, and was not,only willing to oblige him, but the promised V was not to be slighted. He left O'Fee hastily and walked toward Crosby street. He soon reached the house mentioned in the note. It was a respectable-looking building, but Bob had no sooner seen it than he experienced a doubt. Not that the house was to be blamed for it, but natural caution suggested that all might not be as it seemed. What if the note was a decoy? way of Bertrand, Gambora and their comrades, and they knew it; he had even heard them make threats against him. Perhaps Gus Redding had never penned any such note, but that it was the work of the clique before mentioned. The fact that Redding should be in such a humble house was in itself suspicious, but Bob remembered that his friend really had been near there the previous night, and that he had said there was more work for him to do in the vicinity. “Still, ther Murray Hill dude may hey writ this letter, an’ I don’t perpose ter run my head inter no rat-trap. Gus hez got ter come ter ther door an’ certify ter a clean bill o’ health afore I goes a-pokin’ my head inter things.” Strong in this wise resolution, he started for- ward to pull the door-bell, when a second-story window was thrown up and a head appeared, in the midst of a curtain of lace, surmounted by a tall hat. for he did ee. . “Come right in, Bob,” said a hearty voice. ‘‘T am waiting for you.” ‘“That’s Gus!” said Bob, brightening, and he hesitated no longer, but rung the-bell. . hes a ee -bee At ae U * 4 a ; wv, re ‘" f e “9 ’ 4 ut i A yn Saf Ma _comy 4 cboo —EE=—=— He was in the’ a 4 or 7 » a al - Ss aT a. Fe ‘ We ay bet fhe Mar :s IT eee ish ‘Syvcom a’ haa. * 7 S - . & Tat Ss . a