Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 655 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

' ——— ee Sen ee ee ean deal with. And they are ready to tear one an- other to pieces for their share of the spoil. What will a poor little boy like you do among guch ravening beasts?” ‘**] reckon I’ll hold my own. all wolves, either. Don’t give up the ship, mo- ther. Maybe the tide is ready to turn. It’s hard just now, I know, but it isn’t quite past salvation. Can you think of any other of fa- ther’s friends that it is worth going to see?” ‘* No, my son,” **Of your own friends, then. some. Think, mother.” A change came over the poor woman’s face, She sunk in a chair and rested her head on her hand, Her lips worked, though no sound came from them. Roger looked at her curiously. ‘Who knows?’ she murmured. ‘I have never seen him since that old time. Heis more likely to hate than to helpme,. But our need is desperate. I can but try.” ‘* Who is it?’ asked Roger. ‘‘Give me his name. I’ve turned over a new rulein business. Pm going to try every chance, no matter how risky. Where will I find him?” She looked up with a doubtful face, ‘*T hardly know. It does not seem wise. Plucky Paul, | THE BOY SPECULATOR; OR, GOING FOR OLD SLINE, BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ WILD DICK RACKET,” ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. SOULLESS SIMON SLINK. ‘*THERE’S no use, mother. I’ve been to them all. Not one of them will come to our aid. They’ve twisted their fingers round their money- bags so tight that you couldn’t open them with a crowbar, But don’t-you mind, We'll come out all right yet.” The speaker, a handsome boy of some eighteen ergs of age, dressed in well worn and darned, ut not ragged clothes, threw himself listless] on a chair, as if he was worn out with his efforts. His mother looked up in terror at his words. And they’re not You must have She was a woman who had once been very good- | But—” looking, though she was now faded and sad- ‘* But it has got to be done.” Roger’s tone eyed. Trouble seemed to have added twenty | was decided, The boy meant business. ‘‘ Give years to her life. She was neatly though very cheaply dressed, like one who had kept up a hard struggle against poverty. The room in which they sat was narrow and dingy, and half-furnished with the cheapest articles. To all appearances they were desper- ately poor. ‘*Don’t be scared, mother,” said the boy, cheerily, looking up into the r lady’s woe- me his name and directions. We have no time now to waste.” She looked into her son’s resolute face and a new life came into her own. ‘Here it is, Roger,” she said, writing it down. **Mr. John Burnaud, 65 Commerce street. Go tohim, Tell him the straitwearein. He may not remember my name. Tell him it is one he knew as Emily Allen. He will not forget that, begone face, ‘* We'll fight it through yet, you | And now, my boy, let us pray that fortune may and I. I’m a little good-for-nothing, I know. | go with you.” You've spoiled me trying to make a gentleman Roger rose and seized his hats of me. But it won’t hurt me. I’m solid oak. Just see if we don’t pull through.” ‘* But what are we to do now?” she answered, throwing up her hands in desperation. ‘‘ He will have nomercy. Heisas hard asiron. We have got only till five o’clock, and it is past four now. He must have his money, or he will turn us into the street without pity. Oh, Roger! what are we—what are we to do?” ‘*Keep up your spirits, [ guess. Itis always the darkest the hour before day, you know, Let the old skinflint have the furniture for the rent, if he wants it. It isn’t worth much, anyhow.” Roger cast a glance of scorn on the sorry show of furniture. ‘*Butitis ourall,myson. Itisourall. We) must live. There are the little ones, Tom and | Lucy. We cannot desert them.” ‘* And we aren’t going to, either. We've got three friends left yet, and they are friends who won’t go back on us, like the shirks I’ve been after to-day.” ‘« Three friends,” repeated Mrs. Wilton,in sur- prise. ‘‘ What three friends? What do you mean, Roger? Where are these friends?” ‘‘Here are two of them,” and the boy held out his vigorous arms. ‘‘ There’s muscle there mother. There wasn’t a boy at school could handle me, And I’m notafraid of work, I don't care how hard it is. I bet those two friends don’t go back on me,” A feeble smile came to the mother’s weary face. ‘* But where is the third friend, Roger?” ‘* He’s the best of all,” said the boy, laughing. ‘‘ Here he is.” He touched his hand to his head. ** FT don’t want to brag, but I’ve a notion there are some brains in that box. And education counts. Lf you haven’t taught me how to work ou’ve taught me how to think, and that’s bet- r ?? ** If old Slink comes round before I get back, tell him to wait,” he directed. ‘‘If he pushes you too hard now, the time will come when I will get even with him. The world keeps turn- ing round, and they who are at the bottom to- day may be at the top to-morrow, That’s one of the lessons I learned at school.” He was away, with a cheery look and a brisk step. It was clear that there was plenty of solid grit in Roger Wilton. Mrs. Wilton sunk back into her chair with a strange look on her wasted face. Old memories were coming back to her, and a smile illumined her countenance, such as she might have worn when a girl, ‘* He loved me,” she murmured, ‘‘ Perhaps it would have been better if I had returned his love. He has fought his way into a fortune, while my poor husband was always at the bot- tom of the ladder. But I loved Harry Wilton, with all his faults, and love has sweetened the cup of poverty.” She sat thus, lost in recollections of the past while the slow minutes crept on and the time of probation aS ag by. At length the hour of five sounded from a neighboring clock, Asit did so she sprung up inalarm, For, at thesame moment, the outer door was heard to open, hard steps came along the bare floor of the hall, the door of the room in which she sat was pushed ajar, and several persons entered. The foremost of these was a person who would have attracted attention anywhere. He was a short, stout-built man, with shoulders so round- ed that they seemed almost humped. His face was sleek and sordid, with greasy-looking lips, that had an unhealthy fashion of smirking, and little, twinkling eyes. It was the face of a man who seemed desti- tute ofa soul. There was something decidedly unpleasant in the perpetual smile that marked his ugly countenance, ond in his long arms and hands with their hooked fingers. It looked asif the business of his life was to grasp, and as if that smile was hung out as a bait to unwary ee rr SSS ses lege ‘*¥ hope so, I hope so,” she cried despairingly. ‘But, it is so dark, so very dark, before us, Weare onthe brink of ruin. You have tried, Roger, and you’ve found nothing to do,” ‘*} haven’t wakened up yet, mother. [ve been looking for gentlemanly jobs. I was only | fish. a school-boy yesterday, with more pride than The persons who followed him were ordinary- sense. This business to-day has madea man of | looking individuals. ‘‘ Well, Mrs, Wilton,” he said brusquely. ‘‘The time isup, Whatanswer? Are youready to pay me my rent?” The poor widow had risen to her feet, and stood with a terror-stricken countenance before him, wringing her hands unconsciously. ! ‘Please give me an hour more, Mr. Slink. Only an hour. Myson has gone to see an old friend, who, I hope, may help me. Only an hour, sir,” she pleaded, ‘‘An old friend!” He broke into a grating laugh, ‘‘That oldfriend dodge is played out, I must have my money or my property, Mrs. me. Dm tired of hunting work. I’m going to make work! And I don’t care what itis. If it’s honest and has money in it, that’s all I ask. Poor Mrs. Wilton looked at the eager and earnest face of her son with a shadow of hope in her pale countenance. She walked over to him and rested her hand on his strong shoulder. He looked up with a hopeful smile. ‘* You are a good boy, Roger,” she mildly re- lied. ‘‘ButI fear you don’t know what is be- ore you. When you go outin the world you will that you have not men but wolves to a a eae t—(“ikele 2 Plucky Paul, the Boy Speculator. I have lost enough already. Are you ready to pay?” ‘‘'No, sir,” she cried despairingly. ‘‘I have done all I could, but [cannot raise the money. Wilton. Do give us time, sir. My son is young and strong. He will get something to do. He will pay you,” ‘* Your son!” Again that grating laugh. ‘That young rascal that you wanted brought up asa gentleman! Itold Harry Wilton twenty times that he wasa fool. Andso he was. He lived and died a fool. But I have no time to prate here. You know your duty, gentlemen,” He turned to his companions, who consisted of a constable and his assistants. Mrs. Wilton fired up at this insult to her dead husband. Her eyes flashed, and a hot flush fired her cheek. ¢ ‘Don’t dare say that again, Simon Slink! You shall not insult my husband’s memory. Why is not my son here now, to kick you out of doors for your impudence? Listen to me, gentle- men.” She turned to the constable. ‘Tf have lived ten years in this house, and the rent has always been paid tothe day. My husband was in this man’s employment. He worked for him for years at starvation wages. He always paid hisrent. He always kept his family in decent comfort. He determined that his son should have an education, and not pass through life a mere drudge like his father. And I say he was right. I uphold him in it. Well, gentlemen, Harry Wilton, my poor husband, has been but two months dead. I have spent my last penny and sold half my furniture since then in trying to keep my head above water, and pay this money-shark his rent. I owe him now two weeks’ rent, a pitiful two weeks, after ten years, and after all he made off of my poor htisband’s services. And he is here to turn me out of doors! What do you think of him now, gentle- men? What do you think of the smirking, soulless dog?” The two assistants to the constable turned their headsaway, But the officer stood impas- sive. ‘*] know nothing about that, madam,” he re- plied. ‘*I am here under orders.” The old miser’s face had turned a bluish tinge as Mrs. Wilton so scornfully expressed her . opinion of his conduct. ** Do your duty, men,” he said in a voice like a snarl. ,‘‘Never mind this woman’s palaver. ) She refuses to pay. You have your warrant. | Do your duty.” ' The constable turned to his companions, who | | : _s . " * stood irresolute. ‘* Come, boys,” he remarked. ‘‘ We have our orders. Of course we are sorry for this poor lady, but we have to obey the law. She refuses to pay the rent due, Her goods must be put out of the house.” He set the example by seizing a table, which he carried out oftheroom. His comrades, with some show of shame, turned to follow his ex- ample, one seizing a couple of chairs, the other | kneeling to tear up the ragged carpet. During this operation old Slink stood back | against the wall, a harsh look on his ill-favored face. Mrs, Wilton threw up her hands in de- spair. ‘*T have tried, heaven knows I have tried, te do my duty, and pay my debts,” she declared. ‘Tf T had aman to deal with, instead of this | human shark, I would never have been driven thus. Here, here, take all!” she cried, as she ; saw the room denuded of its scanty furniture. “Take all, the living and the lifeless,” She rushed with an insane movement into another room, and returned, holding two chil- dren by the hand, a pretty little girl and boy. ] ‘* Take all,” she continued, ‘Take these, toot Here, Simon Slink, take the last treasures of the | widow. Poor, poor, little desolate orphans!” She bent her head over the wondering chil- dren, while the repressed tears flowed freely from her eyes. ‘“* Hurry up, men!” cried Simon, sternly, “I am getting sick of this,” The constable paused in his operations, and ae fiercely we old otal ie ‘Suppose you hold your tongue,” he growled. . ‘“Tt’s bad enough as it is. Hang ane a xy | business, I say!’ The old villain stunk back, a little crestfallen at ag rebuke, The men continued their sorry (- work, | ‘“‘Teave that. Don’t touch that,” cried the fF widow, as one of the men picked up a small, walnut writing-desk that rested on the window- | sill. ‘*That is my dead husband’s desk, No- body shall touch that but me.” e man drew back, and looked into the next room for something else, oh : ¥ . . 900KsS.com ~ ’ -