Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 397 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

om La e ‘ se te | ‘ } (hte . ~~. 6 “%ENo, Bob, smellin’ o’ ther beer?” asked a voice behind him. _Bob turned. He saw a boy of about his own size, who bore a bootblack’s outfit. This sug- gested just the chance Bob wished. “See yer, Mickey, I'll give ye a dollar fur ther use 0’ yer kit this evenin’-—aw’ yer hat an’ jacket. Is’t a trade?” Mickey looked astonished. ‘* W’ot fer a racket hev ye—” ‘“*Mind yer eye, young chap; no talk or no trade. Is’t a go? Bob displayed a silver dollar. Mickey hesitated no longer, and the change was soon made. Bob was transformed. e had been wearing a coat big enough for two of him. Mickey’s jacket fitted closely to his body and made him look three years younger, and much smaller. The change from his eap to Mickey’s slouch hat was equally effective, and even Nan might have been troubled to recognize him at first. He lost no time, but, with his kit in place promptly walked into the saloon. The gas had just n turned on, but the burner was a stuffy concern, which gave little light. Bob saw the Prince and the red-faced man still talking, and he got around to their rear un- noticed. Then he made a pretense of seeking custom, but, the Italians in the place being of the lower order, failed to get a chance to “‘ shine ’em up.” So he sat down near the man he had marked and began to cautiously crack and eat peanuts, while he eagerly listened. ‘I tell you there is no danger,” Marco was saying. i But Bertrand don’t think so. He hurried over to my place at once and gave me a ti about the boy, and he was blamed neryous. regular scare was onto him,” the red-faced man declared. ‘‘It was queer that the boy told him you fellows said to Woodman that you came from Bertrand. You're sure you didn’t say so, aren’t ou?’ and Marco looked a little suspiciously at companion. “Certainly I am. Do you take me for a fool?” ‘**‘No. But how did the boy get so near the truth?” **Tt’s my opinion that. the old man let on to him, somewhat, and that the kid was sharp enough to put two and two together {for four.” ) “‘Then he’s sharp enough to do more mis- chief,” said Marco, with a scowl. “* That’s horse sense.” ** What did you call him?” “ Bob o’ the Bowery is his own chosen name.” “Describe him.” ‘** Well, as I never saw the scamp I can’t be explicit, but it seems that he’s a regular raga- muffin and tough—the sort of fellow that joins a ‘gang’ at seventeen or eighteen, and finally winds up at the gallows, not having brains enough to play the confidence dodge. But his leading characteristic seems to be clothes fit for a man weighing a hundred and seventy; they fall all over him, and the coat, which 1s a frock, nat Sa tails nearly down to his heels.” ** The devil!” ejaculated the Prince, ** Hello, what’s the racket?” **I believe I know this kid. A saucy scamp ted me on the street only an hour or soago and his agility saved him a flogging. I noticed the coat in particular. Malediction, do you sup- pose he’s spotting me ?” Marco actually seemed frightened. ** Possibly, but I reckon you don’t care.” “T reckon I do. You ought to know an in- vestigation would go hard with me. The police are dead set against the padrone system, and you know how I earn my living, Wolf.” ** Don’t be afraid of a beggarly imp like that kid. If he gets nasty, we'll chuck him into the East river. His miserable life sha’n’t stand in the way of our present game; it’s too big. Just ou hold on to the old man and it'll be O. K. e won’t know the girl if he sees her.” “Pm afraid of Tomaso’s eyes. He’s sharp, and he’s just the kind of a fellow to peach.” “Fire him out then, hand-organ and all. We can’t afford to—” Jurt then there was a scuffle behind them, and, before they could turn, something heavy struck Wolf in the side and knocked him over, chair = all, while a small boy came down on top of Arms and legs were a good deal mixed; but, if Bob o’ the Bowery had not had on Mickey’s jacket, the Prince of Mulberry street might have i the person he so much feared. The boy detective was still on his track. : ipl <5" ih , +e / . Ne : 3 Be A Mie Me. , ee ms aint t She a ¢ 7 - ri , > *; > nib ; ' 2 v he esa F rik “te ‘ ~* - Bob o’ the Bowery. -——— CHAPTER VI. THE YOUNG DETECTIVE IN A CLOSE CORNER. Bos o’ the Bowery had not by any means in- tended to knock Mr. Lije Wolf over, nor in any way to interrupt the conversation to which he was listening so eagerly. On the contrary, the mishap was due to a.sudden fight between two unknown Italians, who had lurched against the young detective so heavily that he was trans- formed into a missile which knocked Wolf over without any connivance on his own part. Unluckily for Bob, Marco Gambora did not see this at once, and he sprung forward and seized the boy before he could rise, holding him in a close grip. ‘* What d’ye mean by this, you young whelp?” cried the Prince. ‘* Begorra, ye naden’t be so moighty sharp on a feller,” retorted Bob, breaking into a broad Irish brogue. ‘‘ Oi’ll throuble yez ter sce dhat Oi c’u’dn’t help moisilf. Wan ave dhem chaps knocked me over wid dhe butt-end ave a cy- clone, an’ ye kin hear dhe simmer ave it now, can’t yez? Marco could. By this time he became aware that there was trouble in the dive, though fight- ing had given place to a war of words. But he looked suspiciously at Bob. ‘* Who are you, anyhow?” ‘**Bedad, Oi’m Patsy O’Connor, an’ Oi’m a dacent b’ye dhat shines boots fur all dhe alder- men since dhe new Board kim inter orfice. Divil a bit do Oi care fur politics; whin Oi git a chance ter shine ’em up, up dhe goes a-glitt’rin’ loike dhe glass diamonds on dhe sthage-girruls.” ** He’s all right,” said Wolf, laughing, ‘‘ Let the kid go.” ‘**Sha’n’t Oi shine ’em up, sor?” ‘* Not now; see you later. You'd better git out of here; it’s no place for kids.” Just then the keeper of the place approached and added the same information from an official point of view, and Bob saw that the game was up for the present. Marco Gambora looked at him rg! mined still, and seemed liable to rec- ognize him at any time, despite the poor light and change of garments, so Bob promptly va- cated the saloon. ‘*T’ve seen that boy before,” said the Prince, looking after him with a thoughtful air. ‘Likely as not. Such Arabs as he are all over the city, with their brushes and blacking. The young knave has a bright face, and he may grow up to be a decent man yet. He wouldn’t make a bad decoy now, and with practice, a“ be heavy at bunco and the like,” observy- ed Wolf ang | don’t like the hound. Somehow, I think he crossed my path once— But never mind, Have a beer, Wolf?” ‘*Thank you—none of the pray get street | sort for me,” said Wolf, with a grin. don’t just take to it, you see.” In the meantime, the boy detective had gone out to the street in the best of spirits. Little as he had heard of the talk between the two men, it had been enough to convince him that he was on the trail of Adam Woodman’s abductors. Clearly, Lije, Wolf was one of the men who had decoyed him away from the hotel. But this was not all. One of the scamps had said that there was ‘‘ no danger that the old man would see the girl.” What girl? Bob remem- bered that Bianca, the tambourine-girl, lived in the same house which sheltered the Prince. If, as the boy suspected, Woodman was confined in that place, what was more natural than that Bianca was the girl they did not wish the old man to see? Bob’s opinion that she might be Adam’s granddaughter grew stronger. There could no longer be any doubt but Wood- man had been kidnapped by Oscar Bertrand’s orders, and Bob might have one at once to the police-station had he not resolved to work up the case himself. , What would his old friend, Wrixley, the de- tective, say if, when he returned, the peanut- merchant had run such a clique of rogues to earth? But what was to be the next step? He was revolving this question in his mind when the sight of a light figure flitting ae the street aroused him. It was Bianca. With- out stopping to consider his impulse, he hurried forward to her side. ‘* Beggin’ yer parding, miss,” he said, politely, ‘kin ye tell me whar in this classic precept lives & man named Tomaso?” Bianca looked at him with honest black eyes, though she seemed to be a little timid. “Is he an organ-grinder?”’ she asked, in a musical voice. ‘* B’lieve that are his occerpation.” ‘*Tt must be my grandfather. Did you want to see him?” ‘Yas. Got important business wi’ him.” ‘What is it?” ‘It is—a—it is—that is ter observe, ter speak right ter ther p’int, I wanter see him ter—ter ax *bout orgins.” He h fort. ‘* You can go with me, and I'll show you where grandfather is,” said Bianca, graciously. ‘That'll be ther figger fur Joseph. You be ilot, an’ Pll come right arter. Couldn’t be in tter comp’ny, by hokey!” ‘* Did I see you once before to-day, just before dark?” : ‘“My classical phiz might ’a’ crossed yer vision, fer sure. [’m a sort o’ perambulatin’ tram, au’ I show up like acomet at times. Yas, Tih’ . you did see me, some.” ‘* ... were dressed differently then.” ‘So I was, but Pve been ter ther Metropolitan Hotel, where I hev seven rooms onter ther par- lor floor, an’ put on my Board o’ Trade togs. I sorter like ter strike ther eye favorable w’en I make a call onter my frien’s.” Bianca looked at him in a little surprise, but, as the house was by this time reached, she was turning toward the door when he stopped. ‘*Ef I ain’t too brash, w’ot might be yer name?” ** Bianca Silva.” ‘* Italian?” ‘* Yes, sir. That is, my father was Italian; my mother was an American.” ‘*She was, hey? Sorter struck me ye had a dash 0’ liberty blood. W’ot was her name?” ‘* I don’t know,” replied the girl, sadly. ‘‘ She ran away and married father, and then she died. ‘* I don’t remember her.” ‘* That’s bad. Was yerole mannamed Silva?” ‘*Oh! no; that is Tomaso’s name. I call him grandfather, but he is not related to me. He never knew my Fae rc either. I was brought up by a lady on Houston street. She was very good to me, if she was poor, but she was the only one who knew about me, and when she died suddenly, nobody knew who I was any- way.” 4 Sho! Complercated case, ain’t it? Wuss’n bein’ lost in Jersey swamp. Wal, I’ve sorter found a pretext, after a desperate ef- tooken an int’rest in ye, an’ mebbe I'll git In- - spector moh ter straighten ther case out, He's ther boss eloocider o’ Gotham, ye know, an’ he’s a pertic’lar friend o’ mine. Used ter go ter school with him an’ all ther Pinkertons, over in. Bohoken.” Bianca looked at him doubtfully. ‘* Will you go up and see Tomaso now?” she asked. ‘*Yas. I may ez wal amble tharaway ef my patent-leathers won't s’ile ther carpet.” ‘*There are no carpets in here, except Mr. Gambora’s, and—and T don’t see your patent- leathers, either.” ‘That so? Fact, by cripes. Left ’em in my par'or an’ come out with tanned ox onter m feet, b’gosh. Wal, never mind; heave ahead, an’ I'll be ’round yer way w’en ther supper-bell. jingles.” Bianca’s great eyes grew larger as she listened to Bob’s remarks, but she said nothing and led the way up two flights of stairs. Everything went to tow that the house was a Sarg bee- hive, as nearly all the houses in the ‘‘ Italian quarter” are, but as the owner barred rag- pickers, there were none of the tattered monu- ments which the Italian collector of these ar- ticles piles up in his room like breastworks. On the top floor Bianca reached Tomaso’s room. She pushed open the door and entered, and Bob promptly followed. A dim kerosene lamp burned on a rickety table, and the attic was most miserably furnished. In one ccrner was Tomaso’s organ; before a faint fire was. Tomaso, himself. He looked very much sur- prised at seeing Bob. ‘Grandfather, here’s a young man come to see you about hand-organs,” explained Bianca, “That's a straight tip. I’ve heerd 0’ you ez, ther boss grinder-out o’ Yankee Doodle an’ ‘ Wait till ther Clouds Roll By,’ an’ ’'m anxious ter git pints from a gent who kin make ther Mulligan Guards sound ez populous an’ nourish- in’ ez ther Star Bangled Spanner.” Tomaso looked bewildered. He had not un- derstood half Bob said. ‘* You want-a know about-a hand-organs?” ‘* Sech was ther drift o’ my stump-speech.” ‘You go-a into the business?” **Clean in up ter my chin, wi’a Durham monkey right from ther Amazon, in Dutch- cheese land.” - i ‘ ; ‘ le / 4 Jer, . . » f, 4 ae Pa) q y toe) Li. . on LM - é ¥ . . net 7 - a — f ¢ - bd ” a ~ - is 4 ie 4, 7 sen. | ae ; ne ieee aes Pr - 4g s) “ : fA fant = | . oz 4 d * ¢ * ye 9 : t . La J "ee %