Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 881 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

6 One of the two hands now pushed across the table the counted money. The other gathered up the remnant of the notes. Billy could next see a pair of coarse, brown bands thrust forward, which seized the notes and began to count them in a much slower and more awkward fashion than had the diamond- adorned hands. This pantomime fascinated the toy. No words were spoken, but words were not needed. This wasa finger talk that took the place of verbal language. Finally the rough hands gathered up the notes into a bunch, while a hoarse growl of satisfac- tion was audible. “* Bought and sold,” said the listener to him- self. ‘* But it’s Jenkins that’s bought and Mor- ton that’s sold: and [’'m the chap he’s sold to. Jenkins is cute, and Morton is cuter; but we’ll see if Billy Turkey isn’t cutest. Just wait till they let a little more of this cat out of the bag.” ‘* Will the carriage be—” began Jenkins. ‘* Haven’t we settled all that?’ ss Yes.” ‘** You don't want to be told all over again?” ‘“T calkeriate I’ve got it down.” ‘‘Then we'll not open the subject again. In business of this kind it is uot safe to multiply words.” Billy was down again at the bottom of the ladder. All he had learned was that a five-han- dred-dollar criming] job was to be done on Fri- day night, at nme o’clock, and that a carriage was to be provided. Putting this to what he knew before, he settled in his mind that the ab- duction of Nelly Brown was plotted. What should hedo? Warn Mr. Weston! But he did not know where be lived. and did not care to show himself at Morton's office. Should be put Miss Brown on her guard? He kuew no more where she lived than he did in the case of her lover. Sharp-witted as the boy was there was some important information he had neglected to ob- tain. Nothing remained but to put himself on the track of Jerry Jenkins at the time specified. ‘*If be flings me Friday night he's got to be spry,” soliloquized Billy. ‘“ He's my meat, and I’m going to stick to him likea burr to a sheep’s tail.” He paused and listenedagain. Some words had struck his ear that seemed significant. ‘“‘ Take this letter,” becan the voiceof Morton, ‘‘Run upto Harlem inthe Elevated— WNo,no,I don't want any more.” The observant lad saw Jenkins’s hand push a tumbler a third full of an amber-hued liquid across the table. “You ain’t no temperance crank, are yout You ain't playin’ that on mef” ** Not much: but I haven't a steel-clad throat, like you,” was the laughing reply. ‘* No more for me.” “Mighty queer taste you've got,” growled Jenkins, as he drew back the glass and swallow- ed its contents. His retreating fingers were followed across the table by the diamonded band, holding a sealed and stamped letter. “Take this,” continued the visitor. ‘‘ Besure and keep it clean—I'’m afraid of your hands sometimes. Drop it in any letter-box in Harlem about nine or ten to-morrow. I can trust you for thatl” “lve got to pay my fare and wet my whistle.” ‘* Here's money for that.” The hand that had sed the letter followed it with a bank-note, *“ All serene: Piidoit. W hat’s in this biz?’ ‘That's no affair of yours,Jenkins. | want this mailed in Harlem, and can’t go there myself to-morrow, that’s all.” He pushed back his chair and rose. ‘‘There’s nothing more? You understand what's to be done?” ‘* lve got it as clean as a whistle.” “Then let me out. Friday night, at nine sharp, remember.’ “Ay, ay.’ As the visitor stood up his face came opposite to one of the boy's observation-holes. Billy bad his eye to it in an instant, and caughta glimpee of the lower balf of the face of the departing visitor. He fell back in amazement. That man with the heavy black whiskers and unbrowned skin was not Edward Morton. Heremembered Mor- ton too well for that. He had a fair complexion and smoothly-shaved chin, and bore no resem- bilance to this man. What did this mean? Had he been deceived in the tomes of the voice! what we expect to hear. Billy knew this, and fancied that expectation had cheated him. Turkey Billy. Then he glued his eye to the peep-hole again, for anotber observation of that face. He was too late: it had moved out of the line of vision. The next moment the door opened and steps could be heard outside. Billy would havelooked out of his own door, but it was toorisky. If these men got an idea they were watched his ey would be at an end. e flung himself back in his chair in a quan- dary. This discovery that the man he had been listening to was not Edward Morton set him all atsea. What to make of it he did not know. Had he missed what be was after and fallen on the track of some bit of rascality with which he had nothing particular to do? He sprung up as a thought came to bis mind, Suppose Jenkins should look into his room, as | he sometimes did, and fancy he had been play- | ing thelistener. The man was suspicious, and was wise enough to know that his walls were thin. His step was approaching on his return. It was too late to leave the room. Billy, at a mo- _ment’s impulse, plunged under the bed. There _ of satisfaction. It is easy to hear | All this passed through his mind in a second. | was only space enough between it and the floor to admit his spare figure. He was just in time. Jenkins approached, ed the door of his room, and looked in. ** Nobody at home,” he muttered, with an air “ We talked sometimes a bit too loud, like fools as we were. But it’s all right; the boy’s out, and there’s nobody bunkin’ in the room on t’other side, A thunderin’ smart bo that youngster is, too. Wouldn't like him to git on to any job of mine.” He retired, and the ‘*‘thunderin’ smart boy ” crawled from under the bed with a grin of sat- isfaction at his unfished-for praise. ‘*Maybe you'll think I’m smarter before you're done with me,” he muttered. ‘ There’s something mighty queer about this job, and I'd give a cow to see throughit. Dvea notion that letter would let me in, if 1 could only get hold of it.” Fancying he could think the mystery out bet- ter in bed, the boy undressed and placed himself under the covers preparatory to a good, long think. What might have come of it if he had stayed awake itis hard to tell, but in five minutes he was sound asleep, and his thoughts tightly locked away in the casket of slumber. When he awoke morning had dawned, the sun was shining into his window, end he knew from past experience that he would have to be on the alert if be wanted to get a reasonable share of breakfast, He concluded to breakfast first and think afterward. At the table Jenkins announced that be had a bit of business in Brooklyn and must be off early. This purpose be put in exe- cution as soon as he left the table, leaving Billy in doubt. That letter was in his pocket—that the boy felt sure of. There was no one to search his room. Jenkins was not in the habit of going out so early, and he was not due at Harlem till nine o’clock, so he couldn’t have gone there yet. Perhaps he really had something to attend to first. Something, it might be, in relation to that Friday night business. Billy bad lost interest in the latter since he had found it was a stranger’s job; but he waant- ed that letter. There was a mystery about the affair which he was eager to clear up. He found no more time to think now than the night before, and ended bis interrupted cogitations by taking the Elevated to Hariem. He felt that he must act now; it was too late to settle the affair by thinking. He reached the station in Harlem at a little | after eicht o'clock. Atten minutes past nine Jerry Jenkins left | the cars at the same station, and walked along the street leading from it with his usual half- slouching, half-swaggering cait. He looked around him for a letter-box as he went, and when at length he came in sight of one. he drew a letter from his pocket and held it in his band as he approached the box. At that instant there came an exciamation | and a stumbling noise behind him, and some one struck with a surge against his arm, knock- ing the letter from his hand and flinging it ten feet in advance. ‘* Excuse me; [ stum my toe,” came in a boy’s voice, as a slight form shot past him and picked up the letter. * Here’s your letter. I didn’t go to knock it— Hillo! if 1t isn’t Jerry Jenkins! Who'd thought to see you here?” “Tt’s you, is it, youngster? What the blazes fotches you out here?” “TI come to see my uncle. He lives out here. Didn’t expect to see nobody else I knowed, Here’s your letter, I'll drop it in the box for ou. Without waiting for a response, Billy lifted the lid to the letter-box slot and thrust the let- ter in before the eyes of his companion. ‘*That’s right, ain’t it? You wanted it posted?” ‘* It’s done now, whether it’s right or wrong. It’s all correct this time, but ye’re a little bit quick on the trigger, Billy.” They walked side by side for some dis- tance, talking. Billy at length excused him- self, as he must go hunt up his uncle, But he was no sooner out of sight of his late compan- ion than he burst into a boyish laugh of tr- umph. He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a letter. ‘*T come it on Jerry Jenkins, that time,’ he cried. ‘ Posted his letter right before his evens | too; but, somehow, it got in my pocket! _ The one that went into the letter-box is forJonn | Smith, and I hope John Smith will get it. I had | plenty of time to write it while I was waiting for Jerry. Now, who's this one for?” He raised his hand with the latter and looked | at the address on the envelope. | The letter os from his are, and he | started back with surprise, while a loud whistle | of astonishment came from his lips. ** Edward Morton, uire.’ Well, if this soup isn’t getting thick! It’s queer! It’s a let- ter to Edward Morton. What does it all mean, anyhow?’ vering the letter he had dropped, Billy set his brains to work on that long-deferred CHAPTER VI. THE PLAY AT THE BOWERY. It was Friday afternoon. Billy Turk was | making his way home efter a successful day's labor, with bis box flung over his shoulder, and his fingers jingling thesilver in his pocket, while he whistled as gayly as if he had not a care left in the world. “ There’s one more Gay in,” he said to himself, cheerily, “‘and my pocket jast bursting with cash. [don’t believe there’s another bootblack in New York that’s got as good a run of trade, | or can come up to your uncle in putting on a shine. If this keeps up Ill just buy out Van- derbilt and start a line of steamboats.” He was recalled from his thoughts of wealth by seeing two figures before him, one of whom be recognized at sight as Jerry Jenkins, The other a second glance told him was Edward Morton. There was no mistake this time. There was the fair skin, the smooth chin, the well-waxed mustache. It was a retired street, outside the usual track of travel. Billy, at once converted from the successful merchant to the scout, slipped up be- hind them and glided into a neighboring door- way, eager to learn the subject of their con- versation. ‘* The letter didn’t come?” exclaimed Jerry, in a tone of doubt and surprise. sé No.” ‘““Then it's Uncle Sam that’s ter blame. I *beyed orders, right to ther nail. It went into ther box at Harlem, afore half-past nine that mornin’, lll take my blessed affydavy on that.” ‘*No mistake, Jenkins?” “Not a ghost of a mistake. money fair and square.” ‘‘It’s confoundedly queer. There was no | money in it to induce any thief to steal it. I | must have a duplicate posted and see how that comes,” ** And "bout that other biz! ** Hush!” Morton looked around him cautiously, but did not seem to catch sight of the lurking boy. He walked on, Jerry following. W hat further they said was lost. The boy could not get near enough again tobearthem, After a few min- utes more they parted. Whatever their plot, | the scout was left in the dark. He thrust bis hand into the pocket of bis coat and felt with much satisfaction the letter that repoged there. ‘*Going to send a duplicate, is be? All right, old cbap, I'll keep the original. It’s ag’in’ the law to rob the mail, but this never got into the mail, so that law don’t count. And ! ain't opened it, and ain’t going to just pow; so [ won't getinto any scrape that way. 1 said Td post it, but 1 reckon t didn’t say when.” He walked ou, deeply cogitating. It was Fri- day. On this night the mysterious plot, of which he had heard some of the details, was to be put into effect. Should he try to trace this scheme of rascal ity? So far, he knew it was nothing which con- ————$——— 9 om — Se I ‘arned my You know—” ee nicDoo co ‘ : : ' - = Sn eee ta