Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 434 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

Jim Beak and Pal, Private He was a well-built man of twenty-seven years, and wore a fine glossy black beard. An observer, knowing nothing about him, would have taken him to be forty, at the least, all on account of the beard. Well dressed, he would have been a handsome man, for he had a pleasing face, lit up by a pair of keen, dark eyes—eyes that could silently speak volumes, either in enmity or friendship, Unfortunately, Mr. Beak’s good personal appearance was somewhat compromised by a dress-suit which was glossy and well-worn, the once cloth-covered buttons in several instances being minus the covering, and the siik tile upon ‘*Pshaw! Something will turn up—and I wish there would, too, for it’s hot, sellin’ papers. rent lve got an idea, and you’ve gota head like a hen-hawk—see what you make out of this. Maybe it’s graft.” he newsboy then produced a letter, and hand- ed it to Beak. The stamp end of the envelope had been torn off, SAOHANS that the letter had been opened and reac. The envelope was addressed simply to ‘‘ Terrol Taylor, Philadelphia, Pa.” ‘* Singular name-- Terrol,” Beak muttered, as he withdrew the letter from theenvelope. ‘* Ah! his office table showing certain evidences of | let me see~-let me see. What's this?” hard usage. The detective had been glancing over the col- umns of a daily paper, with his brows knitted in a sort of frown, or in worriment—it was hard to tell which. He finally laid aside the paper, with an ex- clamation of impatience. ** Heigh ho!” he yawned, ‘‘ confound the luck. Nothing new, and nothing todo. If something don’t turn up bright before long ”"—with a rue- ful look at his garments—‘‘I shall have to give the detective business the go-by, and strike a job at strect-cleaning. Ha, ha! whatan idea! Fan- cy Jim Beak wielding a broom, or handling a hoe, along with a gang of dagos, for the hum- ble pittance of a dollar per day, or thereabouts! Never! [’d turn huckster first, and go around ing, ‘’Ere you go—sweet and white pota- toes, oh!’ ‘**T don’t think, however, James, that adversi- ty will ever bring you tothat. You was cut out for something else than menial labor, I know. Nature ordained that you should live by your wits, and if all your friends have gone back on you, and your vocation turns out to be N. G., you’re the last man to lay down and say: ‘T'm going to croak!” This did not seem to comfort Mr. Beak par- + for he looked more downcast than be- ore, ‘*[ wonder where Spider is?’ he went on. ‘** That young imp is a cure for the blues, any time, and I'll acknowledge I’ve got ’em the worst kind to-day. Ah! as usual—Satan is al-- ways at hand when you're talking about him ”— which assertion was due to the fact that a rather jolly and shabby-looking personage had sudden- y entered the room—a lad of the ‘ gamin” species, with a bundle of newspapers under his arm. He was tall, very slim, and perhaps seventeen years of age, although he looked even younger and more roguish than that—roguish, we say, be- causs the very essence of good-nature and mis- chief shone from his deep-blue eyes, . His face, too, in its expression, indicated that he was at all times ready for fun. He was not a bad-looking lad, albeit he was shockingly dirty, and his attire was poor and ill- fitting—more designed for winter than summer. Jim Beak’s remarks evidently had been over- heard by this young individual, as he entered, for he paused, thrust one hand in his hip pocket, as if he were about to draw a weapon, and with a mock frown, demanded: **'Who’s an imp, Jim Beak?” ‘You are, Spider,” Beak assured, his face lighting-up. ‘‘ Come in and sit, you rascal. I was just saying I wished you would come.” ““ Why?” Spider asked, as he edged to a chair. ** Anything new on ther dockets?” ‘‘Nary a thing! ve got the worst case of blues you ever saw.” ‘**T know what'll cure ’em?” ‘**Go fall in love wi’ some girl. Tell ye, Jim, there’s nothing like et. When papers won't sell, I jest sail right down to Middle Alley, hold a spell o’ courtship wi’ my gal, Botts, on Ma- loney’s doorstep, an’ when I come back, I can sell papers jest like suckin’ eggs.” ‘‘Pm doubtful if that remedy would help me,” Beak said, witha dry laugh. ‘‘The cure would be worse than the ailment, I fancy.” ‘* Humph. You're the queerest feller I ever see’d, Jim. Ef I had them whiskers o’ yourn I'd go mashin’ up an’ down Chestnut street, all day long—that’s no chestnut, neither!” *“Oh! dry up! Won’t you ever let up on the whiskers?” ‘* Not as long as the wind goes sighin’ thru ’em!” ‘* But come, now—ain’t yer goin’ ter buy an Jtem, or er Call, or er News? Ther darned o' papers ain’t sellin’ worth a cent, to-day!” ‘‘Buy a paper?” ejaculated Beak. ‘‘ Why I’ve just been figgerin’ up my casb account, and 1 Gnd that in the future, unless something turns up, there are mighty few fifteen-cent meals in prospect. ’ | The letter read, as follows: ** Phila., Sept. 10th. | *TprRRoL TAYLOR:— ‘You area coward, a liar, andathief. You andl are bitter enemies, so [ guess you know whol am, One of us must die. Meet meat Atlantic City, day- light, morning of the 18th, and if you are not what I hav called you, we will drive down the beach, and duel with revolvers. ‘* UNKNOWN.” ‘* Well, what der ye think of it?’ Spider de- manded. ** Where did you get this?” ‘* Found it in the street, Tenth and Pine, just as [ came here,” Beak put the letter in the envelope, and then, thrust it in his pocket, ‘* Whoever threw it away evidently thought it not worth consideration,” hesaid. ‘‘ The man who wrote it, undoubtedly did it with malicious intent, but the man who received it probably disdained to notice the threat.” ‘*Think so? Now, et kinder looks to me like as ef the letter really had been lost, and that brain-blowin’ affair would really come off.” ‘‘Such a thing may be possible. If the two fools want to have a duel, they can have it, for all the money there is in it for us.” At this juncture the door opened, and an elder- ly gentleman entered—a man of about fifty years. He was rather tall and heavily proportioned, and altogether, an imposing personage, arrayed as he was, in fine attire, including a silk hat Bot and carrying a cane with a massive gold ead, His face was full and florid, and the powerful jowls as wellas heavy lines, gave him a stern ap- pearance. His cold gray eyes, too, tended to 1n- dicate that he was a man of great force of character. He paused just within the office, and leveled a “EP glance at Beak and Spider. ** Ah! excuse me,” he aid ‘** T guess this is not the place I am looking for,” and he turned to go. ** Who did you wish to see?” Beak demanded, quickly. ‘*One James Beak, a private—ahem!—a pri- vate detective, sir.” | ‘* Exactly. Iam the man. Come back, and take a seat,” and Beak placed a chair for his visitor, ‘* You a detective?’ the Visitor demanded, sur- veying James with a critical stare. ‘‘ Well!” ut he took the seat, and proceeded to busi- ness at once, ‘** 1 was directed here by Mr. Baylock, of the mercantile firm of Bavloey and Blynn, who re- commended. you highly. I expected, however, to encounter a somewhat different person, Ex- cuse me—I always speak to the point.” “Correct. You probably expected to find a man with a clerical visage, or else one’ of more foppish appearance, However, state your case. ‘Your name, sir?” The visitor cast a severe glance at Spider, who, to use a slang phrase, was ‘ takin’ it all « Who is the boy?” was the gruff demand. ‘‘He is named Spider. I frequently use him to good advantage— trusty, and as true as steel, sir ‘*Bah! Boys are not to be trusted any more, and if you wish to work up my case, you will have to keep boys out of it. Send him out!” This was said with surliness and a show of anger. ** You may go, Spider,” Beak said, with a sig- nificant glance at the lad. ‘All right, Jimmy. *’Bout time Iwas shoutin’, anyhow. Say, sock et on ter the old man, stiff! Bet a hen ag’in’ a Hottentot he was never a boy hisself. By-by, baby,” and with a laugh that seemed to aggravate the visitor, Spider made his exit. ‘* You must excuse the boy,” Beak said. ‘‘ He’s full of life, you know.” “Full of blackguardism, you mean,” was the gruff response. Detectives. LX DRA LLL LLL LL LLL LLL Lt ttt, at. tittle St ly Then the visitor bridged a pair ef gold-rim- med glasses upon his nose, and took another sur- bi of the detective. eak returned the stare with perfect com- placency. ‘*My name is Harrington Hurst,” the visitor said, at length, continuing his steady scrutiny of the detective. ‘* Ah! indeed.” ‘* You have heard of me?” ‘“'Yes. You retired from the Board of Trade, not long since, reputed very wealthy.” ‘*T did. What more do you know of me?” ‘** Nothing.” ** Well, reside in Germantown, on the avenue. Iam in need of a detective—I prefer a private one—to ferret out who robbed my house night before last. If you think you can handle the case quietly, and without its getting abroad, you are my man!” CHAPTER lI. A SINGULAR PROPOSITION, PROBABLY the Pequa Mills of Philadelphia, where acres of looms give employment to many hundreds of persons, old and young, is about one of the busiest scenes in the Quaker City, during working hours, for the millsare among the fore- most of those manufacturing cotton goods, if, indeed, not the most extensive. Here, among this vast amount of machinery, surrounded by a din that it would seem must deafen them, is congregated a horde of human beings who toil day by day for a pittance, as it were, and are so identified with their work as to seem almost a part of the noisy machinery itself —men and women, girls and boys, youth and ~ age mingled and mingling like bees in the ive. Of the many girls employed in the Pequa Mills at the time of which we write, Myra Mor- ton was voted the prettiest of all, and not a few of the mill hands, were decidedly in love with her. She was about eighteen years of age, a trifle below the medium big!:t of women, possessed of a charming manner au! presence and was al- ways dressed with ¢i1¢ ‘ul neatness, even though her attire was plain. Quite a contrast was her appearance, in this respect, with that of man another poorly and even slovenly-dressed poe wo toiled at the thumping, throbbing, tireless ooms. In face Myra Morton was very attractive; her features were small and round, her com- plexion fresh and pure, her cheeks rosy and her mouth small, and ever sweet of expression. Purity and honor shone from her sparkling brown eyes, which she was unconsciously wont to use, with fascinating effect. Her hair was the color of her eyes, and always was tastefully arranged. While Myra had admirers by the score, in and outside of the mills, she never allowed them to consider that they were her company, with one exception. This was young Carrol Carter, and he seemed to stand high in Myra’s estimation, for he came regularly to the mill, at night, and escorted her home, much to the énvy of the other girls, who had no beau or escort—in particular. Carter was rather a dashing young fellow, of pleasing face and figure, about twenty-five years of age, but looking much younger. He | ada “love” of a blonde mustache, as 1!° -cirls averred, and was a good conversaticn; i :rd of winning manner, He was accomplished in nearly everything in which a person need to be accomplished to be noticeable in good society, and it was therefore no wonder that pretty Myra was captivated with him. However, it is not with Carter we would at present deal. When Myra Morton left the Pequa Mills, at six o’clock the day of Mr. Harrington Hurst’s visit to Detective Jim Beak, she was much sur prised, and not a little annoyed, to find that Carter was not waiting for her, at his accus- tomed corner—annoyed, because some of the girls who knew of her acquaintance with Car- ter, stared at her, as they passed, and then nudged each other and laughed, as they noticed Myra’s evident disappointment. *« What can have caused Carrol’s delay?” Myra said, to herself. ‘‘ He said he would be here to- night, with something important to tell me,” and the pretty girl’s cheeks grew a trifle rosier, in anticipation of what that matter of import- ance might be—a proposal, perhars. She waited several minutes, then took a short walk, and finally returned to the corner, But Carter was not there, nor was he any- where to be seen in the neighborhood. com (e boo f : «i a -