Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 857 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

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He observed the complaisant car- riage of the body and the haughty, self: assertive step. He felt he would know Black Dirk again, even were the man in dis- guise. And then something led him to follow Dirk. He did not think he was wasting time, for, somehow, he did not think any- thing about it then. Dirk turned up Sixth avenue, Frank wondered why the man should choose to walk there when Broadway was the favorite resort of polished criminals, ex-dive-keepers and men of shady reputation. The man of many names had not gone far before he suddenly came face to face with a beautiful girl who was hurrying swiftly along, regarding every one searchingly. She stopped him and caught him convulsively by the arm, Frank saw it all—saw the girl speak swift- ly and earnestly, her excitement increasin with every word. He had halted, his han lifted to his heart with an involuntary motion. Could it be? ‘* No! no!” He whispered the word, and even then he felt he was wrong. The form, the face, every gesture were familiar. " True, the girl was aitired in the most stylish garments; true diamonds blazed upon her person--yet he knew her. ‘* It’s Jessie!” He started forward, forgetting everything but the fact that he had found her. Swiftly he hurried to her side, regardless of the man to whom she was speaking. ‘* Jessie!” She heard him and turned quickly. When she saw him, her face paled and a little cry was wrung from her lips, as she fell back a step. | ‘* Frank Anson!” He halted instantly, coming to his senses with a shock that pervaded his entire body. He lifted his hat with the true politeness of a natural-born gentleman, although every nerve of his being was quivering, Before him stood the girl he loved and to whom he had at one time been engaged. He had even dreamed in those days that she loved him, ‘‘T thought it was you,” he said, slowly, trying to steady his voice, while Black Dirk, calmly puffing his strong cigar, looked from one to the other in a wondering, sneering manner, seeming to comprehend the truth, which was not difficult, as they had quite be- trayed themselves. hen her pale face flushed crimson, as she glanced from Frank to the scornful face of the other man. She hesitated, and then, sud- denly holding out her gloved hand, she somewhat fiercely cried; ‘*I’m awfully glad to see you, Mr. Anson! It is such a surprise! I did not know you were in the city!” And then she turned to Black Dirk defiantly, saying: ‘‘ This is a dear friend of mine, and one of the best fel- lows in the whole world.” — Black Dirk yawned, ee) a sloved hand to his mouth, the cigar held daintily in his _ fingers. ** You don’t say so!” There was an insult in the words. “Yes,” affirmed Jessie, undauntedly, **'This is Mr, Frank Anson, of Philadelphia, Mr. Anson, this is my husband, Mr. John. yates CHAPTER XI. IN A BOWERY BEER GARDEN, FRANK stood rigid and motionless a second, and then he bowed blindly, a mist before his Spotter Bob in New York. ee ee. 2 SS Sixth avenue. He was unaware that his | eyes, through which he dimly saw the hate- ful face of the man he had already spotted as & Villain beyond a doubt. Her husband! She was married—to that man! It was at least an hour later when he came quite to himself. Then he tried to remem- ber what he had said and done, but it was alla vague jumble in his mind. He knew he had said something, but he did not even remember when he had left them or what excuses he had made, if any, The onl thing he could remember distinctly was his wild, insane desire to fling himself at the throat of the miserable wretch who had robbed him of her. It was only by the strongest effort of his will that he refrained. He had found her, but he had parted from her without even asking where she lived or telling her of her father’s death. Above all things, he had not expected to find her married, and the blow had quite knocked him out, For a young man who had been reared in a city like Philadelphia, Frank was rather unsophisticated. He wandcred on and on, never heeding whither he was going. Even after he came quite to himself, he kept walking, for he felt that he must do something to wear off the feeling of fierce resentment against fate that was gnawing at his heart. Even though Jessie had cast him over and left her home, he had not quite given up hope. After her father’s death; he had dreamed that she might return some day and be content to marry him. Now he realized how foolish had been his dreams, He had lost her—lost her forever. But that she should have married a scoun- drel—a man with the word ‘‘ villain” writ- ten so distinctly on his face that it seemed a miracle she had not seen it. He pitied her, for he knew what her life must be—he knew the day would come when she would regret her foolish venture, Like a maniac he strode along the streets for.a while, but, as he grew calmer, his step lost its fierce vigor. His head was bowed and he sometimeststaggered. Through dark ways he went, where slinking figures slouch- ed past him and evil eyes peered unseen at his face. He crossed brilliantly lighted and crowded streets, where the car-gongs clang- ed angrily at him and cabbies bawled for him to get out of theavay. More than once he was brushed by wheels, more than once he was nearly run down by cars, but he paid little heed to these things, Finally, he startled himself by uttering a harsh, scornful laugh. He looked around and found himself on a street where the steam cars were thundering along over- head. The street was well lighted, but the class of people around him were far from prepossessing, He soon realized he was on the Bowery, where he had been once or twice before, Glancing .at his open-faced silver watch, he was astounded to discover it was well along toward midnight, ‘*Great Scott!” he muttered. ‘* What have I been doing all these hours?” | It was early in the evening when he first saw Willis Steele and Black Dirk talking at the corner of Fifth avenue and. Twenty- third street. It seemed only a few minutes before that Jessie was introducing him to the man of the black mustache as her hus- band; and still it seemed a very long time— weeks or months. ‘* Well, I’ve been a fool!” he said, sharp- ly, straightening up. ‘‘I ought to have known better! “it's all over now, and I’m glad of it!’ ? He started to walk up the street, and the sound of singing and music attracted his at- tention, Through some wide doors, he caught a glimpse of a large, poorlyra teen room, where people were sitting around tables, drinking from big glasses. At the A ‘ : ya ms ws an * *% us Galan 2 of wl C n ) ASA, cadens abies ae NC aan wie Oa Th od jal - : 1 further end of the room was a well lighted stage, on which some kind of a performance: was being carried on, Over the door was a. sign that said: ‘‘Summer Beer Garden. Continuous Performance, Admission Free,’” Frank Anson was not a drinking man, but. he suddenly decided to go into the place and drink something. He knew he could not sleep, and it was possible the show, wretched though it happened to be, might. help him pass away a short time. He went in and sat down at a table in one of the darkest corners. Still he was espied by one of the vigilant waiters, who promptly trotted over and asked what he would have. Frank ordered beer, which was quickly placed before him. To his own surprise, he tipped the waiter a dime, receiv- ing in return a short nod and ‘‘ t’anks,” The show did not interest him, and without touching the beer, he bent forwaré resting his face on his arins, which lay o the table. He was thinking it all over, bu; he did not stir, and his position seemed to: indicate he was asleep. There were not many patrons in the place at that hour, and the corner where Frank sat was quite de- serted save by him. All at once, Frank realized two new- comers had seated themselves at a table not. far away. He did not start to look up, although the voice of one was familiar, as he: asked the waiter: . ‘‘ Who's this fellow lounging on the table? What’s the matter with him?’ To Frank’s surprise, the waiter replied: ‘*Dat’s a frien’ of mine—dead straight. He’s been hittin’ de pipe an’ warpin’ bis arm too much of late. Git ter seein’ bugs an” t‘ings. Don’ mind him. He’s jes’ takin’ » quiet snooze.” It was the waiter he had feed, and he sud- denly realized what ten cents had done. He knew the waiter did not believe him sleep- ing, and he was equally well aware the fel~ Jow was working for a second tip. But what aroused Frank’s greatest inter- est was the fact that the man who made the inquiry was without doubt Mr. John Snow,, Jessie’s husband, . The young blacksmith did not move; in- stead, he breathed heavily, as if he were im truth asleep. ‘* Dat cove’s all right,” said a third voice. ‘We can talk low, an’ he won’t hear, if he does wake up.” They ordered drinks, which were brought by the waiter, and then they fell to talking in whispers, Somehow, Frank felt that he ought to hear what they were saying, for he could but believe they were plotting evil, in which case he felt it was no wrong to play the eavesdropper. In the course of a few moments, he man- aged to steal a look at the men, and he dis- covered he had made no mistake in thinking one of them was John Snow. The scoun- drel’s companion was a man with a rascally mug, a low order of crook, but he evidently aped his master in dress and manner, thoug not in speech, It was Budge Farrel. After a while, seeing Frank still seemed ta be sleeping sane the two men graduall grew less cautious in their talk, although it still would have been impossible for any one further away than the blacksmith to have heard what they were saying. At first Frank could not make out the drift of their conversation, although he plain. ly understood a word or two now and then; but, at length, Black Dirk said distinctly: ‘*T’ve got him now, and I'll pinch him.” ‘« Dat’s right,” chuckled Farrel, villainons- ly. ‘* Pinch him hard.” “ He can’t raise the money to save him,” Dirk went on, ‘‘and he won’t face the dis- grace of exposure. If Icrowd him to the. wall, he’ll dip from the bank’s funds.” © ‘* An’ den—w’at?” : ‘* I'll threaten to expose him and turn him i de ¢ . a ) “y yr . * E R ee | , Vn : ) )X ns Para y besag : s.com