Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 628 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

6 with caution, he took a survey of the alley upon which the hole opened, The coast was clear, and, after something of an effort, be got through and started away, but first having made doubly sure of the house, so that he could find it at another time without any trouble, “Of all things queer and strange,” he mut- tered, as he hastened along, ‘‘ this is th’ queer- -——— est an’ strangest that ever happened ter me. If any one had told me this mornin’ that I was goin’ to step inter Billy’s shoes an’ be a detect-~ ive, | would ’a’ got mad at him, I have no doubt; but here lam, sureasI am born, But, Jand o’ goodness! I kin never make such a rip. snorter as he was, that is flat. What I kin do, though, is ter avenge him, an’ if I don’t do it, it will be ’cause I don’t live long enough ter put this case inter th’ hands o’ Speare, th” detective. ** Hello! it is after ten o’clock!” as ke sawa clock in a window; ‘‘*mom must ’a’ shut up shop long afore this an’ gone home, I reckon she has been as nervous as kin be about me same as Billy’s mom uster be about him, but I can’t help that now. Ihave biz on hand that won’t be put off, an’ it has got ter bedone, Oh! if [ could only put th’ case inter Billy’s bands! Poor Billy! poor Billy!” So he rattled on, his tongue going almost as fast as Billy’s had been wont to go, but what he said lacked that spark that Billy’s quaint ex- pressions always had. ** Poor Billy, poor Billy!” he repeated now and then, ‘* Th’ leet fix that he got inter, th’ time that be was carried up in th’ balloon, tied to it by th’ feet, | told him ter look out fer th’ next one. I told him that one more case would wind bim up, an’I went right off then an’ bought stuff ter drape th’ stand with when th’ ’casion should come. But I wasn't lookin’ fer it so soon. It kem awful sudden. But it was jest what might ’a’ been expected, after all. An yet I don’t blame him, fer it is a kind o’ 'trac- tive work, when ye git inter it in dead earnest.” Thus he kept up the train of thought, talking in an undertone to himself, and almost before he knew it he was opposite the corner where his place of business was located. ** Hello!” he exclaimed, ‘‘ be hanged if I ain’t here a’ready! Mom has shut up, I see, an’ gone home. Ill see if she has made everythin secure, an’ then I'll go an’ let her know that J am safe, an’ then fer th’ detective. Won’t I— Heavens! what is that?” Skinny was crossing the street to where the corner stand was, when he suddenly saw some- thing that caused his hair to rise on end, and almost turned the blood to ice in his veins—if his sensations went to indicate anything. **'Who is the person, Hannah?” “* Mr. Bertrand Wellingford, ma’m,.” _ **Ob! indeed; show him into the parlor, and I will be down immediately.” It was in a splendid house on one of the finest avenues of the great city. A ring at the bell had just been answered by a servant, and a gentleman inquired for Lady Hamptden. It was not an early hour of the evening, being after ten o’clock, and a short time later would have found the house closed for the night. As it was, Lady St. Gerome Hamptden had gone up to her room, having just parted with the last of the many callers who had been com- ing and going during the evening, for this was one of her ‘‘ at home” days, When the servant went up to inform her that yet another caller was at the door, it was with something of atone of impatience that she in- quired who it was. As soon as she heard the name, however, her manner changed. The servant returned and showed the gentle- man into the parlor, and in a very short time Lady Hamptden made her appearance, She was a woman about fifty years of age, rather fleshy, but still retaining much of her youth in looks and manner. She was dressed in an evening robe of the very latest fashion, and her movements were those of grace and polished elegance. Her presence was commanding and her bearing queenly, but she bad withal an air of loveliness that was altogether motherly. Bertrand Wellingford was upon his feet the instant she entered the room, and bowed. before her with Chesterfieldian grace, He was about forty years of age, as one might ess, wore a full beard, and was rather good- ooking. He was above the medium size, and was of powerful build. But, where have we seen him before? Surely he is not—-cannot be— No, that idea must bedismissed. Captain [ron- grip of the Sworn Seven could never gain en- And yet, there was a trance into this home, Broadway Billy’s Dead Act. a ee a striking resemblance. Could it possibly be he? ‘* Lady Hamptden,” he hastened to apologize, ‘*T bumbly ask your pardon for so late a call, but [ assure you that it could not be helped. I have been pushed with business—business that admitted of no putting off, and have had to hurry to get here at all. I sincerely hope—” ‘* My dear Wellingford,” the lady interrupted, as she gave him her hand, ‘‘do not mention it, If you have carried out all the requests that I heaped upon you when you were here yesterday, it isa wonder that you were not too tired out tocome. Pray be seated in the easiest place you can find, and rest.” ‘** Thanks,” the man responded, as he sat down. ‘*To carry out your instructions has been only a pleasure, l assure you, but I confess that I be- gan to think that [ was not competent to do it, for it was not until within the past hour that my efforts were crowned with success, To en- gage a suitable yacht for the purpose was next to an impossibility.” ‘* But you have been successful?” ‘** Entirely so, | am proud to say.” “Then [ can never sufficiently thank you. I knew that if any one could doit, you were the person, and | see that my confidence was not misplaced, Please accept my hearty thanks un- til you are better paid.” ‘*l assure that your approval of what I have done more than repays me for my efforts,” was the return. ‘* What kind of boat have you engaged?” ‘Just what yoa indieated; a pretty steam yacht.” *“*(Jood! And you have arranged for a dinner aboard of her?” ‘*] have.” ‘* And the wine? and the ice cream? and—” ‘Everything that you mentioned has been provided for. If there is any failure in any direction, it will not be owing to neglect of mine,” ‘*Thank*you, thank you. I will not inquire now about the terms, further than to ask if the amount I gave you will be sufficient to defray the expense.” ‘Tt will be more than sufficient.” ‘* Very well, then you need make no account of the amount to me. I know there will not be a great deal left outof the thousand dollars, and you may do what you like with it—divide it eo the employees of the yacht, or anything else. ‘* Tf you desire it.” It was the only way in which the lady could offer him payment for the service he had rendered, Bertrand Wellingford was far from rich, but he was of good family—an English family, and had the entrance to Lady Hamptden’s home. That lady knew his circumstances, for she was well acquainted with the family, and she aided him whenever she had opportunity. ‘*T would willingly pay much more,” the lady went on to say, ‘‘ for the satisfaction of giving my daughter such a welcome home. I am sure that she will be delighted, and it will a surprise for her. To be met away down in the bay and taken on board of a pleasure yacht, where a dinner will be all prepared, is an honor indeed, And, not only that, but it will relieve her of the tedious waiting in theriver, She will be here in the house long before the ship will be ready to discharge her passengers at the pier.” “In all of which you are quite correct,” agreed Wellingford. ‘** And,” he added, “ not only will it be an agreeable surprise for your daughter but it will be showing an extra honor to your prospective son-in-law.” “Tam not unmindful of that, but I assure you that my daughter is first in my thoughts. And now, what about the bour? You are master of the whole affair, you must not for- get,’ ‘*That is altogether uncertain,” Wellingford answered, ‘‘The Ocean Queen may arrive in the forenoon, afternoon, or evening. Al) that I can say is, be ready, and [ will come for you at the proper hour, Or, if you would like, you can go aboard the boat early in the morning, and make a day of it. It will bea pleasant day’s excursion for you and the others,’ ** Just the plan! That is what we will do,” Some further conversation followed, in which the arrangements were fully discussed, and then the man took his leave, CHAPTER VII. A MYSTERY HERE. ** Sweet pertaters !” Wonder of wonders! Broadway Billy alive! Could such a thing be possible? Assuredly | not—and yet that exclamation was his, and no one else could utter it with such vim and telling effect. But how? In what manner? How was it pos— Broadway Billy was both dead and alive. To his friends he was dead, but to us and himself he lived. ‘* Sweet pertaters! Where be I, anyhow?” - It was some hours after the attempted mur- er. Where he was he could not tell. What had happened he did not for the moment remember, He found himself lying upon an exceedingly narrow bed, in very narrow quarters, for the room was only about six feet across, and about seven in length. Perhaps it would have proved even smaller by actual measure. Opposite to where the boy Jay was another bed, similar to the one he was on, and the space between was only two feet or less wide. he floor was carpeted with a soft rug, and the bed was soft and easy, In height, the room was only about five feet at the center, and it ran down in a sharp curve to only two feet high at the back part of the beds. At the head of the beds, too, it was lower than at the foot. Atthe higher end there was a small door, now closed, For some minutes the lad looked around him in bewilderment, unable to recall anything that had happened, but soon the events through which he had passed came to his mind likea flash, He remembered it all, even to the being thrown overboard, and the sensations he had felt when going down tothe bottom of New York Bay. ‘** Be I alive? or been’t I?” he quaintly ques- tioned. *‘How be I ter tell? Mebby I am aboard th’ craft that is ter convey me ter th’ happy huntin’-grounds, as th’ Injuns say. dunno, I’m sure, One thing that Ido know, though, is that I don’t feel pooty good, That makes me think that I’m alive more’n anything else. If I was dead, an’ had kem ter life iv th’ hereafter, I'd expect ter feel mighty good. My breather don’t seem ter work with any degree o’ smoothness about it. Th’ valves an’ what- nots don’t seem ter work as they’d orter, an’ I feel weak, That ain’t th’ condition ter look fer in t?other world, as I onderstand it, an’ hence I conclude that lam not dead yet, even if they did try ter do me up.” So he reasoned it out. ‘* But, goodness me, how sore I be!” he ex- claimed, as he tried to raise timself up, *‘ and how mighty weak! Ill bet that I’ve been through some sort of a narrer hole, an’ had th’ closest shave fer life that [ever had. Guess I'll take it easy, an’ lay right here till somebody comes in ter see me, It is clear ter my way 0’ thinkin’ that somebody has saved my worthless life, an’ that that somebody is takin’ care 0’ me, I’m heaply obliged ter him, I’m sure, an’ I must remember ter tell him so, too. Wish he’d come in an’ throw a little light upon matters, There is some light bere, but it ain’t of th’ sort that I want in this case.” The light that has been mentioned came through a small square of ground glass that was set in the door, While Billy lay thus, with all sorts of ideas flitting through his mind, the door opened and a man stepped into the apartment, Billy looked at him, and he at Billy, He was a man about thirty years of age, fine- looking, well-made, and about of medium size. He wore a mustache, and his hair was thick ana wavy. He was dressed in a simple attire, consisting of a blue shirt and blue trowsers. ‘*Ha! my boy, you have came to!” he ex- claimed. ‘*T don’t know much about it,” answered Billy, “but I am willin’ ter take yer word fer it!” The man laughed. ‘* T can assure you upon the point, then,” he said. ‘* Well, I'm glad ter know it anyhow,” de- clared Billy, ‘fer, ter tell th’ truth, I was a little oneertain about it, Didn’t know but Id waked up in th’ sweet by an’ by, an’ was waitin’ fer my wings ter grow, Now as you have been so kind as ter give me light on that p’int, L wish you would tell me where I am, how I kem here, an’ all about it.” Ree. ‘Don’t you think you had better wait until you are a little stronger?” ‘* Wait! Why, mister, if you keop me waitin’ fer half an hour [ll be dead. Iam jest dyin’ ter know all about it. Th’ last that I know any- thing about was when I pitched overboard in a bag, with my hands an’ feet tied fast, an’a -» , chook ’ sf sd : ¢ ) ian ; r a* es | a ie 4 ni + ‘ ™, « y ‘oe HD yt =. ris v ral en rat