Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 514 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

— a \ + egg a a eS Se ee a oe ~ A —_ -_ T., ; , ' _ you are, though this e Broadway Billy’s Boodle. 7 erience is almost enough to make me doubt my sanity.” “There is more than you can guess hidden in this affair, and I and Mrs. Elmore have a request to ask of you.” ‘* What is it, sir?”’ , “Tt is this: That you will act, to the best of your ability, the part of a crazy girl. Do nothing violent, you understand, but act well the part the doctor has given you, Can you play the piano?”’ ‘* No, sir.” ‘‘Can you speak French?” ‘*No, sir,’ with a laugh. “Then you must act as though you have sud- denly forgotten nearly all you ever knew, Can you do this?” ‘*T think so, sir.”’ “You see, whoever it was brought you here, they at the same time spirited Maud away; and in this way you can aid us to find her.” ‘*T will do as well as I can, Sir. ‘‘Remember the caution given you by the myste- rious Mrs. Smith, and claim the name of Maud El- more as your own.”’ ‘Yes, sir, I understand, and will do as well as I can.”’ “And you,” turning to the maid, “‘ keep well this secret. I hear of your having told any one, I will discharge you instantly.” — ; ‘T shall not breathe it, sir. I will act as though it were really so. And, in fact, am more than half- inclined to believe the doctor is right, for how could two persons look so much alike?’ ‘We will not — to ge that now. The fact is before us, and it is this: Our daughter, Maud Elmore, has suddenly become insane. When we leave this room it will be made known to the house- hold and to the public. Act well your part.” Mrs. Elmore followed her husband from the room then, and they went to a room below, where they repeated the words which open this chapter. ** Cun it be true?’ Mrs, Elmore questioned. And her husband answered: **it certainly must be so,” They, then, had some secret knowledge of some event of the past which connected Polly Osmond with the present. So it would seem, But what could this secret be? We must push on and learn it. : The news of Maud Elmore’s sad misfortune was soon known to the entire household, and was soon carried beyond the doors, f And sad news it was to those who were her friends in that charmed circle, *‘society,” and startling news it was to all, Polly kept close to her room, and those who called to see her were startled at the change. In the mean time, Mr. Elmore had telegraphed to Police Headquarters for a detective,and one had been sent. ’ He was a short, dark man, with a peculiar habit of eternally swinging his eye-glasses round and round in his Jeft hand. He was closeted for an hour or more with Mr. and Mrs, Elmore, had a brief interview with Polly, and then went away, and the last seen of him as he went he was still swinging his eye-glasses round and round. And so this mysterious case rested, That it was a mysterious case, no one could deny; and it was mysterious in more ways than one. Where was Mand? Who was the strange “ Mrs. Smith?” What was the secret held back by Mrs, Elmore and her husband? What—but we pause. ”All these things remained to be ex lained, and the one destined to lift the vail was—Broadway Billy, the Bootblack Bravo. CHAPTER VIII. SHADOWING A SHADOWER. “ Sweet pertaters, cart-wheels, tom cats, tin-cans an’ firecrackers !}”’ This went to indicate that Broadway Billy was laboring under some great mentai excitement. And he was. He was just returning to Broadway, baving been home, to his new home, to get his lunch and see how his mother was making out in siarting a new series as it were in the line of housekeeping. While there he had asked her if she bad seen of course, nor had she seen Mrs. Polly Osmond since the fire, She had not Osmond. And then she went on to tell him, for the first time, about Polly’s going away on the previous afternoon. We need not repeat their conversation on the sub- ject, but will see what Billy had to say about it in soliloquy. Q 4 ts em all!” he added to his rather prolix exclamation. ‘* Wonder where she’s gone to so sud- den? Strange she didn’t even Say she was goin’, Guess I ain’t as solid with Polly asl thought [ was. Hang me if 1 don't begin ter feel a mighty strong interest in Polly, an’ th’ more since seein’ that other gal yesterday. Wonder who she was? There's one way ter find out, I s’pose, an’ that is ter lay low fer that dude at th’ bank that knocked me over esterday. Lordy! but that was a bad one on me, must square th’ ‘count somehow. Why, I'd be eternally aced if that should reach th’ ears of aspen r— Hellos! stranger, d’ye want a Billy had just come out upon Broadway, and was turning toward the post-office, when he was accost- ed by a stranger. The stranger was a short, dark man, who was twirling his ey around and around in bis left-hand fingers. We have seen him before, As Billy put the question he unslung his box, a | I can’t give you any in return, It isn’t in my line new one, and prepared for business. The stranger shook his head, though, and contin- uing to twirl his glasses, asked: of business. Th’ dickens it ain’t! What és your line 0” busi- _ ness, anyhow?” “My lad, is your name William Weston? and are | you the boy who is known as ‘ Broadway Billy *?” -** Ye’ve clared, ‘‘ Who be you?’ ‘My name is Jones.”’ * Jones is a good name, named Jones, an’ the name Th’ dog wasn’t worth shucks, see me, though, stranger.”’ ** Yes, I have been looking to ask you a few questions,” ‘* All right, Jonesy. old boy, fire awzy.” The detective—of course the reader has recognized him—had to smile in spite of himself, ‘*I believe you lived at No. — Centre street where the fire was last night, did you not?” ‘‘Tf you'd seen me a-gittin’ out o' there about two o'clock G@. M., Stranger, I reckon ye’d ‘a’ thought so! Lordy! it was a close squeeze, you bet! Why t— Mebby you'd like ter ax me somethin’ more, though.”’ ‘*Did there live a woman in that house named Mrs. Osmond?” “Sure pop!”’ Billy exclaimed, now interested. ‘* And had she a daughter named Polly ?”’ “She had, fer a fact.” ‘“*Have you seen either of them since the fire?”’ ** No, sir, not a siga of ’em.”’ **Do you know where they went?”’ ‘*No, sir, I don’t. Say, though, what’s all these questions about? Be you lookin’ fer Polly Os- mond?” **'Yes, Iam.”’ **And so am I.” “Perhaps I can tell you something about her that you do not know.” ‘*Mebby ye can.” I once owned a dog Mebby ye wanted ter for you. I would like it th’ bull’s-eye th’ first shot,”’ Billy de- "mean ter say ye’re a detective, do ye? was (00 good fer him. | For reply the detective threw open his coat just far —— to let the boy catch a glimpse of his shield. “Sweet pertaters!’ Billy ejaculated, “you don’t The detective smiled. ‘*That is what Iam,” he said. * I wanted to learn whether such a girl as Polly Osmond had lived in that old Centre street tenement. I went there and found it burneddown. I made inquiries concerning people who had lived there. You, for some reascn or other, seemed to be the best known of any one _ be, not fer bullion. who had lived there. I found that you werea Broad- way bootblack. I got a little fellow from that neigh- borhood to come over here and point you out, and you have given me all the information. Again thanking you, I will be going.” ‘Then ye won't tell me where Polly is?”’ ‘*It wouldn’t be business-like for me to do so.”’ ‘Then, as I said afore, list’ to th’ oracle: J’m goin’ inter this case, Mr. Defective, coin’ inter it neck an’ ears; an’if I don’t git there it'll be ’cause it ain’t in th’ wood. I wouldn’t be so mean as you You’re too mean ter live long. | After I answered all yer questions. an’ merely axed | want ter know. ye two little ones myself. ye won't tell me what I I'd ‘a’ been willin’ ter work shares | with ye on th’ case, but now I won't do it. I’m goin’ ‘Do you know that a woman called for her yes- | terday afternoon and took her away in a carriage?” “Oh! that’s old. I knowed that.” “But you do not know where she went to, do you?” ‘*Of course not. fer her?”’ “Yes, and I said the same. though. J have found her. ‘Sweet pertaters! then what be ye tryin’ ter pump me fer p’ints fer?” ‘*T want to know if you would recognize the gir! if you were to meet her.” “ay, d’ye think I'm blind in one eye an’ can’t see out o° t’other? Why, 1’d know Polly among a thousand !”’ “Then of course you can recognize her photo- graph.” é “e Cert.”’ ‘Well, here itis. See if it is she.”’ *‘Hold on jesta brief second till I orate,’’ said Billy, pushing the photograph away. ‘‘In this great world o’ ours there’s nothin’so mighty un- sartain as sartain things that ave onsartain. That's logic, which ain’t good ter eat, nor yet a pateut medicine; but another name fer hoss sense. Now if ye’d axed me at this same hour yesterday if I could tell Polly Osmond by a photo, I'd ‘a’ been willin’ to vow that I could. As things is now, how- ever, I ain’t so sure of it.”’ ‘* Ah! how is that?” “ Why, pegs | afternoon I met another girl who looke which was who. Ispoke to her an’ called her Polly, an’— Well, I found out my mistake. It wasn't Polly at all.” ‘“‘And you think it may be the same with the photograph, eh?” * Yes Didn’t I jest say 1 was lookin’ I was not in earnest es. “Well, take a look at the photograph now, and tell me which you think it is.” e potograph was one of Maud Elmore, and one recently taken. ; Billy took it and examined it with critical eye, and then said: ‘Well, now, mister, ter tell ye th’ truth, it stumps me. With these duds on, though, I should say it wasn’t Polly, but t’other one.” ‘** You are right.” “Oh! Tam, eh? Then I reckon you know who this gal is,” * 4 do.” ** An’ I reckon also that other conundrum or two. ‘You are.”’ “Then, as th’ fake over in th’ dime museum would say, list’ to th’ oracle. Not a single word more d’ye git out o’ me til! ye tell me who this ga] is an’ where she lives. I don’t know who you be, but I find ye're after infermation as big as a hogs, an’ I want some, too.”’ While speaking thus, Billy adjusted his box upon his shoulder as though ready to end the interview then and there. ‘‘ What do you want to know that for?’ the detec- tive asked. “Sweet pertaters! ter satisfy m osity, of course. An’ that ain’t all I want ter know, either,” ‘‘ What else would you like to know?” “1 want to know where Polly Osmond is now.” ‘‘and you mean to say that if I don’t give you this information you will not answer any more ques- tions, eh?” ** Just so.” ., Well, then, my boy, you're left.” ‘“ Left? how am I left?” ‘I have got all the information out of you that Y wanted, for which I am very much obliged, too; but e’d like ter ax me an- I right?”’ it alone now, an’ I'll bet you git left. With my com- pliments, now, ye kin go to thunder.”’ And Billy wheeled about and walked away in high indigna- tion, The detective stood and gazed after him fora moment, still swinging his eye-glasses, and perhaps debating with himself whether he had treated the boy fairly or not, and then he turned and went up the street And after him went a ‘‘ shadow.” It was a shadow in fact, as perhaps Billy would _ have assured, for it was none other than his little . friend *“* Skinny.”’ | and they had a number of private signals Billy and Skinny understood each other perfectly, y which to communicate with each other in cases of emer- | gency, or when they were on different sides of the | holsy street, ee a eee devourin’ curi- | While in conversation with the detective, Billy had noticed Skinny approaching, and had at once sig- naled him not to come ~ 3 These signals were all given by means of their bootblack boxes, and the position in which they were held, and could be made under the most watch- ful eye without creating a shadow of suspicion. The detective was no more aware of what Billy was doing than he was of what was going on at that moment in the city of Washington. And as Billy turned away from the detective, his last signal to Skinny was—* keep him in sight and find where he goes to.”’ “All right,” was the signalin reply, and Skinny started after him as shown. The detective went at once 'o the Elmore resi- dence. His first move had been tw ascertain whether Polly’s story was true, or whether the old doctor was right in his theory. He now brought proof that the doctor was wrong, that Polly Aad told the truth, and that a certain _ suspicion entertained by Mr. and Mrs. Elmore was so much like Polly that I couldn’t tell | undoubtedly correct. Skinny did not lose sight of his man until he en- terec the house, and then having done all his part- ner had required of him, he gave up the trail and re- turned down-town. wee be found Billy he reported the result of his work. “You'll be a detective yet, Skinny,” Billy de- clared, earnestly. ‘‘i’ve got strong hopes fer ye. an’ I’m a thousand times obliged to ye fer yer help in this case. You're a genuine shadow, an’ no mis- take. I hope ter see ye chief 0’ police some day. Long life to ye, Skinny, an’ may yer shadow never grow less. If it does ye’re a goner, sure.”’ When it was about time for the banks to close for the day, Billy made his way down to the one in which his ** boodle”’ was deposited. He had at least two objects in view, One was, to black the boots of his new customer, Mr. Jonas Herman, and the other, to get an inter- view, if possible, with the cashier of the bank. Mr. Herman soon came out, and Billy was on hand at the steps to meet him, box and brushes ready. “Shine!” he shouted, to attract the attention of the pre:ident, who had evidently forgotten all about his contract with the boy. “Oh! it is you, eh?” the gentleman exclaimed, as he looked around. ‘Upon my word, my lad, I had forgotten our agreement.” ‘Lucky fer me that I didn’t, then.”’ Billy declared, ‘or I'd got left, sure. How is biz?’’ ‘Business is good, my lad. How is trade?” “Bully! Sav, though,” as he wielded his brushes skillfully, “ is my le safe?’ ‘Oh! yes, that is safe enough.” PN yer strong-box is burglar proof, ain’t 5 oe so.”’ ‘Glad o’ that. Don’t want ter lose my boodle, you bet, It’s only eight hundred now.” ‘Why, how is that?” “Yes, that’s th’ figger she stands at now. Ye see I got burned out last night, an’ had ter draw out two hundred ter start housekeepin® ag’in—me ’n’ ny mother.” ~- That is too bad,” \ “-comicboo