Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 397 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Al a Then Bob saw for the first time that the man was an Italian. There was no mistaking his swarthy complexion, black hair, eyes and mus- tache, and style of ‘dress. More than that, he was an Italian dandy. He wore velveteen pants and coat, the latter short and ‘‘nobby,” while his vest had patterns of various flowers laid on in figures. His fall had soiled his clothes, how- ever, and the fresh barber-shop odor he emitted was now mixed with that of the gutter. He came up a very angry man. “You young demon!” he cried, in good En- glish, ‘*how dare you lay hands on me? I'll make you sweat for this! Just let me get at ou— But Bob did not let the Italian get at him. The former was the more agile, and in a series | of short races easily kept out of reach. “Why don’ t yecome an’seeme? Drop’round any time an’ I'll shake my socks off fer joy ter see ye. I’m ter home, and ther latch-string is out. Drop in—do! Ye got me then whar ye missed me afore. Oh! why don’t ye happen fe my way, ye maccaroni gal-whipper 9” onthe Italian paused, out of breath. “Tf I could get hold of you 4 d break all your bones!” he declared, shaking hi is fist at the boy. 5 W'ot’s my bones got ter do bout it? S’pose I’m goin’ ter crack ’em all up ter please a Mul- berry street dude? Gosh all rat-bait, I ain’t. no ile-driver, nur my hoofs won’t make glue. ‘ot seems ther diffikilty, Maccaroni?” ** How dared you touch me?” ‘*Oh! that’s nothin’; I'd got ter wash my hands this week, any how.” ‘* Do you mean to say I’m not clean?” ‘* Ef ther barber what scraped yer phiz had shaved ye all over it’d been a bang-up idee.” ‘You young ruffian, if I could see an officer I’d have you arrested at once.” ‘Ther coppers ain’t afeard ome. I’m a poli- tician, with inflooence, an’ I kin keep ther fami- I entrance open Sunday s an’ it’s allhunk. How ut yer thrashin’ this gal? Strikes me ye’d bobier shove them patent-leather coal-scuttles “round ther corner afore a cop comes round witha hickory mizzen-mast an’ cracks ye one on ther attic.’ The Italian seemed impressed by this sugges- tion, and after a few more words, stalked away. ‘Then Bob looked for the first time at the girl, who was somewhere between ten and fourteen years old, and who possessed a bright, saucy face, red hair and almost as many rags as Bob. , Hello, Nan!” he exclaimed. ‘ Possible that’s you?” ‘°Tain’t nobody else. W’ot fur did yer take me?—a Murray Hill belle?” readily replied Nan. ‘*Not any, fer ry Sa Ye don’t ring loud *nough fur that sorter brass angel. W’ot’s ther row ‘tween you an’ his nibs?” ‘* Nothin’ much, only he war goin’ along, an’ he looked so mighty purty I throwed an onion at him, fer luck.” “ Gosh ter blazes! Did ye? Did ye, raly, Nan? You're a trump keerd, made in Center street. Come ter my heart?” And Bob opened his arms. ‘‘T ain’t in ther heart biz this week. Next Monday I pear at ther Union Square as Juliet, I do, an’ you'll git ther colic fer ter see how I put on lugs.” And Nan executed a little legitimate drama in pantomime, swinging her ragged skirts as grat ‘efully as a professional. ‘‘ Bravo /” exclaimed Bob. ‘* You ‘Ilmake ther stars all sick when you do that act, an’, mebbe, we'll hev a wuss ’arthquake hyar than they’ve got inter mae ‘‘ No ’arthquake won’t swaller you.’ “They won't, hey? Why not?” ** They’re arter solids, not light weights.” ‘* Come, now, Nan, | ‘didn’t think that 0” you, but I s’pose ‘lowance "ll hev ter be made fur yer bringin’ up. Yeain’t moved in ‘spec table s’ciety, an’ that makes a diffrence, W’ot you want isa bucket 0’ Croton an’a cake o’ soap. But, see yer; you’n me mustn’t fight, Nan; sech ole pards hev no biz ter git by ther ears. Lemme ask ye of ye knowed Maccaroni?” “ Me know him? Lawsee, yas; ez wal ez my brindled cat knows rats. He’. ther Prince o’ Mulberry street.” ** Ther which?” ‘* He’s Marco Gambora, ther Prince o’ Mul- street.” reat Scott! an’I called him Maccaroni. Why, ef I'd knowed he was fr« m ther classic pre- cepts o’ Mulberry street I’d’a’ called out that Garabaldi was come ter town, ridin’ on a pony. But who is this hyar Prince?” ‘* Don’t you know?” *‘ Not any, fer Joseph.” berr SEeee Se Bob o’ the Bowery. ‘Wal, he’s a big-bug’mong them Maccaronis. | But | and with more than a passing glance, and her Pop Dukes sez he’s a padrone; I dunno. w’en his nibs gits inter fine work all ther Italians jest trots arter him. He’s a daisy, is Marco— Same ez an ape is. Wouldn't he make a purty |. sign fura ju “store, ef he didn’t smell himself up with patchouli an’ ‘stale beer?” Nan spun around on her heel and cast rever- ence for the Prince to the winds, but as she did so she saw at folded paper lyin hy the gutter. ‘* Must ’a’ fell outen his ni ‘ket. Wot fer hen-tracks is these hyar ota ” ‘‘Let me see it. Yer arly adiatabicns was neglected in yer youth. Lemme peruse Mac- caroni’s love-letter. Hey! w’ot’s all this?” ““M. G.:—The place will do, if your men are faithful. Get W. away from the hotel at once—he may blab Hold him tight. Will see you very soon. Don’ t injure the old man. BERTRAND.”’ ‘‘ Hello /” ejaculated Bob, as he read the last word. ‘* Bertrand, hey? Great Scott! this is like I’ve struck ile. ‘Get W. away from the hotel.’ Who’s W.? Snakes an’ bed-bugs! who is he ef he ain’t Adam Woodman?” CHAPTER V. BOB VISITS THE ITALIANS NAN looked at Bob o’ the Bowery in surprise, ‘*See yer,” she said, ‘‘ you ain’t tuk ter bug- juice, hev ye?” ** Not ek fer Joseph ; but this epistle lets a “Hie ful sig) ht o’ light inter ther rat-trap whar keep my brains. This hyar note means biz, an’I s’pect [ve struck ile. ‘M. G.’ stands fur Marco Gambora, every day in ther week arter early mass, an’ ‘Bertrand’ is Oscar, ther dude, aun *W.’ means Woodman, from tiash Holler, wi’ hay-seed in his hair. What I s’pected is true; ther up-town dude hez stole Adam, an’ ther Prince o’ Mulberry street is inter it. I say, Nan, whar does this hyar Pri ince hang out?” ‘‘ He’s a curbstone ’rastocrat.” ‘*So I should remark. But whar does he snooze?” ‘Dunno. Ax ’em on Mulberry street. He's a ‘lectric light thar, an’ they’ll put ye onter him. But, lawsee, I can’t stan’ ‘round hy ar chinnin’ all day. I'm off. Say, Bob, ye’re ain’t b’en round fur a month.” Nan twisted her apron a little bashfully. ‘‘Go ‘way; I was thar last week; ’member it, ‘cause "twas ther day Stumpy licked four men. But [ll drop in ag’in. Mebbe P’lisend ye ‘round a diamond ring or a gold watc hi in the mornin’, Watch fer ’em, an’ ef you see’em you'll know they’ ve come,” ‘*So has Christmas. You ain’t puttin’ out yer collat this week fer them as needs it,’ She retreated down an alley, while Bob wink- ed solemnly. Some emotion made his mouth pucker comically, and his eyes beamed admir- ingly on Nan, but he soon returned to the letter he had so luc ily found. ‘“‘I'm arter it, sart’in sure. I kin see vict’ry loomin’ up like ther “lectric light over Hell Gate. Adam, ole pard, you'll soon see me arter ye, an’, by cripes rom ship ye back ter Squash Holler by the fu’st Norwich boat, ef they I take sech brit- tle goods. Adam, I’m arter ye. Oscar, ther dude, has stole ye, but don’t ye spill ther bri iny tears too much; I'm arter ye. Wonder whar Marco Maccaroni lives? I'll take a disinfec ‘tant | an’ then wisit ther classic precepts o’ Mulberry | street.” Bob did not wait for the disinfectant, but went to Mulberry street and began his inquiries. He was not at first successful, for the Italians were reticent concerning the ‘‘ Prince,” but -_ boy adopted the plan of pretending to have letter for Gambora, and was then shown the house where he lodged. It proved to be a somewhat better-looking one than the others around it, but every sign went to show that it was-well filled with people, like all the houses in the Italian quarter. The young detective had done all he cared to do without deliberating carefully, and he was retracing his steps w hen he saw a hand-organ, an old man and a small girl approaching. At first glance he recognized the parties he had pre- viously seen on the Bowery, and he looked sharply at Bianca. She was a very pretty young girl, with black hair and eyes, and round, red ¢ heeks, which were almost like rich peaches, Bob o’ the Bow ery had an eye for such things, and he found himself wishing that Nan, who claimed and easily held his allegiance, could part with her red hair and get such glossy ‘black locks as had this daughter of Italy. But the great question in the bey’s mind was, was this girl Adam Woodman’s gr ‘anddaughter? He had no reason for thinking so, but the idea would come in spite of all, and he resolved to know where she lived. f | | 5 As they passed the girl looked at him steadily, black eyes were like velvet. ‘*Cricky! she’s a ood one!” thought the boy, as they went on. Erg Adam’s got sech an off- spring ez that he’s a lucky chap, an’ I'll help him till my knees wobble. Hello! whar be they go- in’ 1g” It was no wonder Bob was surprised, for the irl turned and entered the house where the Prince lodged, and the old man would have fol- lowed had not a fellow-countryman accosted him at the door. ‘* What luck, Tomaso?” he asked. ‘* Bad-a, bad-a, ” the organ-gr inder replied, shaking his ay head. Men hoard-a their money this-a hard winter.” ‘“They do the same-a with me-a. Rags is scarce, and-a when we git-a them they sell-a bad. If only the-a cholera comes, we shall be-a in bet- ter luck.” ‘Why so, Josef?” * bad don’t know-a, but they all teli-a me so. But you should do well-a with the bright eyes of-a Bianca to draw trade-a. a tell me Mar- co Gambora has-a looked at her admiringly.” ‘‘ Marco can’t have-a Bianca,” Tomaso hurried- ly declared. sé Eh? (ih ‘* Bianca is but-a thirteen. 9? She can’t-a marry ‘* Not-a to Marco?” ‘No. She is but achild-a. I do not like-a the Italian way of marrying girls at so early age-a. The American way-a is, setter. Besides, Bianca has Americ an blood-a.” Bob o’ the Bowery started, but pretended to be busy with a few coins he had taken from his »0cket. “But think-a of Marco,” urged Josef. ‘‘ He reat man-a.” ow does he-a live?” asked Tomaso, frowning. ‘You and I know, Josef, but it is not-a wise to tempt Marco's knife.” ‘‘So no more, Tomaso,” was the hurried reply. I will bid-a you isa ‘*The Prince may be near. good-day.” Then Josef hurried away, the se a! -grinder entered the house and Bob was left alone. “Wal, by cripes, that’s sorter int’restin’,” he muttered. ‘‘ So Bianca hez ’Meric an blood inter her veins? P’int one in favor o’ my scheme. Pll worruk this hyar case up, an’ ef it should prove she’s a descendant o’ ther nt Ted Holler chap wi’ hayseed inter his hair, 1 reckon I'd scoop in a boodle. I'll worruk it up, an’ mebbe I'll strike ’ile. An’ ther decent Italians is afeerd 0’ ther Prince, is they? Strikes me he’s a Tar- tar o’ some sort. "Member now that Nan said he’s a padrone. As nigh ez I kin ketch onter ther padrone racket, he’s a sorter brigand on ther bg S’pect as how Marco Maccaroni lives by bulldozin’ his neighbors outer their collat. Wal, he’s jest the bloke ter help Oscar, ther dude, an’ tn look inter it. But how’ll I do it?” Bob scratched his head meditatively. “Go to ther p’lice? Not any, fer Joseph. Would they b’lieve me if Isaid Oscar was inter a scheme ter Worrit an’ jug ole Adam? Nary time. Oscar lives onter h urray Hill, an’ he’s a bigger toad than I be. How’ll I git at him? | Git Stumpy ter knock him out, Marquis 0’ Queénsberry rales? Not any, fer Joseph, fer that wouldn’t find Adam. I reckon as how I've got ter go inter ther Prince’s palatial residence an’ see if ther gent from Squash Holler is inter it too.” Just then Bob happened to raise his eyes, and he stopped short as he saw Marco Gambora coming toward him. He had not himself been seen, and, at that moment, the Prince turned and entered a basement saloon where some son of Italy sold the stale beer so dear to the Italian alate. ‘*So his nibs is arter a booze. Wal, that’s all right, I s’pose, but I wonder what sorter a dive this is.’ The boy went to the front of the saloon and managed to look down. The place was dark and none too sweet-scented. Several Italians were present, and Marco had sat down at a ta- ble with another man, who was fat, red-faced and very fairly dressed. He had a small red mustache, and small eyes set in the middle of his puffy face, and looked like anything but an Italian. Bob started. He remembered that the hotel- clerk had said ‘that one of the men with whom Adam Woodman went away had been a man ‘‘ with a red face and small, red mustache,” and as he saw the Mulberry street Prince tis to talk rapidly with him, the boy was sei se a desire to go in himself. | JNA eBooks cc