Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 89 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

oh - re ee is impossible.” ** Don’t insult me!” cried Jim. ‘Stand on one side; I want to see the old fellow!” Mr. Mandragon allowed him to enter. Two candles were burning dimly on the mantlepiece. Fanny was kneeling aitcite an arm-chair, and, with her face buried in her hands, was weeping bitterly. On the bed, the hands folded over the breast, was the inanimate form of Mr. Dimity, placid in death. Jim took one look at the corpse, and walked to Fanny. All that there was of his better nature seemed to be roused into activity by the solemn sight. ‘* Come, sis!” he exclaimed, ‘‘ this is no place for you. Don’tery. Til take care of you.” Shesuffered him toraise her and lead her away, ‘© Oh, Dick!” she said, in a choked voice, ‘‘ we are orphans; we are all alone in the world now, and Ihave no one but you. Do try to be good, for my sake.” He promised he would, and conducted her to her room, where he kissed her again and left her. The next day the friends of the deceaséd called in large numbers, and on the second the funeral took place, the coffin remaining all the while in the bedroom, under the constant watchfulness of Mr. Mandragon, who was untiring in his ex- ertions. After the funeral, which was largely attend- ed, the relatives 0’ the deceased assembled in the dining-room of the mansion on the Heights to hear the will read. Mr. Mandragon was made sole executor, and in the presence of the family lawyer who drew up the document, he read it. Jim was much more interested in this cere- mony than he had been in the funeral, which rather bored him. The will was very brief. Mr. Dimity died possessed of fifty thousand dollars and the house he lived in: that was all, and if was a great surprise to everybody, for he had been thought enormously rich. ‘*LT leave and bequeath,” the will ran, ‘ one- half my fortune to my daughter Fanny, to be held in trust for her till she is of age, by Mr. Mandragzon, and I give her one-half share in my house. To my son Richard I bequeath the other half share in my house and the remainder of my personal property, amounting to twenty- five thousand dollars, which he is to have con- trol ofat my death, and I further bequeath to my said son Richard,a rope to hang himself with, if he should ever come to the conclusion that he is better out of the world than in it—the said rope to be found in the summer-arbor at the end of my garden, where I have arranged it for his use.” This was all; there were no legacies to ser- vants or relations, and the dissatisfaction at the stranze will was general. Island Jim was very indignant at the clause in the will about the rope. ‘ What does the old fool take me for?” he de- manded. ‘I’m not likely to hang myself—not much !” “Richard!” exclaimed Fanny, “ for pity’s sake say nothing against the dead. Remember he is your father and mine, and think how much cause for enger you gave him.” ‘Well, Fanny,” he replied, ‘‘ I won’t kick any more. I'll take my money and live in the house with you until .it’s gone, and then I suppose you'llturn me out or tell me to go and look for the rope.” " Don’t spend it recklessly.” _ -. What’s the use of money, if you can’t spend it?” replied Jim, with a careless hugh. Te turned on his heel and was about quitting the room when Mr. Mandragon sto) yped him. ‘* Recollect, Richard,” he said, “‘ that you have a friend in me whenever you want one.” That's news! Jaughed Jim. ‘Since your father’s death, you have no one to fall back upon. Come and see me. Some times young men find the evenings hang heavily on their hands. I shall always be at home to you now, so long as you conduct yourself properly.” Jim was so astonished that he was forced into politeness, and said: “Thank you, sir!” He determined to avail himself of this invita- tion, if it was only for the sake of seeing the pee Mercedita once more. She had made a on impression on his heart, and he could not shake it off. ~ Now the will was read, he strolled down-town and inquired again for Belshazzar. Strange to say he had not been to the hotel. His valise was on the chair, packed, as he had left it. | dreaded, had actually come to ———— — Island Jim. —-~ — Jim felt certain that what the Gipsy had ass, and that the Marquis Garcia had fulfilled his threat and accomplished his vengeance. He gave Een Bel- shazzar up for lost. Returning home he met a young man of good family named Montague Chauncey, walking with Tommy Bennet. ‘‘Tlow do, Monty?” he exclaimed, in an easy manner, ‘‘Why don’t you come and see a fellow?” **Oh! Idon’t know. I suppose a chap has to — —— + Ome wr é - -—--_ ee ee —— oe eee - —— —— — — — = ee enough, but Pll be hanged if I could handle the fight shy of you, now you have come into your | fortune,” replied Chauncey. ‘** Not much of a fortune, after all. I thought the old man would cut up for more than he did.” ‘*So did every one.” ‘Come and play a little draw to-night,” said Jim. ‘*So soon after the funeral?” ‘Oh! pshaw! What does that matter? Tl have everything fixed comfortable, in a private room, if you like to call around at eight, ‘1m agreeable,” answered Chauncey. ‘*Bring some stamps with you, Monty, I mean business.” ‘All right! Depend on me!” was the reply. Chauncey pleaded an engagement and left Tommy Bennet with Jim, who thought that he could make use of him. ‘Say, Tommy!” he exclaimed; want to make a stake?” ‘*Of course Ido! Ain’t Tas poor as a church mouse?” demanded Tommy. ‘Very well. It is as easy as eating pie. going to play Monty for money this evening, and | want you to chip in.” ** Put, ’m dead broke!” ‘*No matter; Pll stake you, and all I ask is that you will give me two-thirds of your win- nings, that is, if you do win. Will you do it?” ** Willa duck swim? Count on me.” Jim left Tommy, perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. He knew how to “stock” the cards, and intended to deal Tommy winning hands every time he had a chance. That evening he and Fanny dined together, alone, There were the same good things on the table, the same furniture, servants and all the accesso- ries of a well-kept household, but Mr. Dimity was missing, andl it made the poor little girl realize the loneliness of her position. ‘‘Are you going to stay home to-night, dear?” she asked, affectionately. ‘* Yes,” answered Jim. ‘“T have a couple of friends coming to spend an hour or two with me, “Tam going over to Mr. Mandragon’s,” an- nounced Fanny; ‘will you come and fetch me home about eleven o’clock?’ ‘* With pleasure!” anny impulsively sprung up and threw her arms round his neck, “Oh! you dear, kind thing!” she cried; ‘I shall love you so, if you are only good to me,” ‘**Am I not always good?” ‘‘No,” replied the little maiden; ‘you are generally very bad; but you are my brother, ind I forgive you. Please try and love me.” Jim made a gesture of impatience. “Don’t bother!” he said. ‘Girls are fools; they never understand boys. and bring you home. you?” Fanny felt inclined to cry, but she restrained the inclination and left him to himself. Half an hour later be met her in the hall, dressed in a dainty seal-skin sacque, and looking very pretty and very demure. ‘‘Good-by, sissy,” he exclaimed; ‘‘give my love to Mercedita,” ‘““T won’t do anything of the sort, sir,” she re- plied, pouting. ‘ Mercedita is much too good for your love!” ‘* 7s she?” sneered Jim. about me?” ‘*She does not like you. time to fight your battles.” ‘Go and hang yourself!” said Jim, rudely, as he went into the room which had been Mr. Dimity’s study, and angrily banged the door. Lighting a cigarette, he took up a book and opened it; but with a cry of disgust he threw it down. It was the bible! His visitors were soon afterward announced, and the three sat down to play cards, the even- ing of the day of his supposed father’s funeral. Although Montague Chauncey was a little fast, he was somewhat shocked at the depravity displayed by Jim. ‘*“Upon my honor, old fellow,” he “you're a herd cocc. J “do you I’m such lil come Isn’t that enough for ‘* What does she say It takes me all my exclaimed, . thousat 1 was -D: Sennen - papers the same day my dad was put under ground,” ‘‘Is this my house or yours?” demanded Jim. ‘* Yours, certainly!” ‘*Who’s running it?” ‘* You are,” answered Montague Chauncey. ‘*“And you are my guest—here for a specific purpose, which is to lay atcards. If you have any remarks to make, and feel them a burden on your conscience, you will greatly oblige mv by keeping them to yourself. Don’t get mad. What will you have to drink?” ‘*Oh!—some of the old stuff!” replied Chaun- cey. / “Tommy, just touch the bell—agitate the communicator—make yourself useful, won't you?” continued Jim. With alacrity Tommy did as he was re quested, Jim began to shuffle the cards, and without looking up, as the waiter entered, ejaculated: ** Wine !” ‘* Yes, sir,” replied the servant. There was sometbing in the tone of the man’s voice which made Jim look up, but when he did, the servant was gone, ‘*Cut for deal!” he ordered. ‘Ace, high. Stake it—ente up, Monty! It’s your firstshow.” The cards were dealt and they began to play. By sleight of hand Jim had given Tommy « good hand, and he won, At this moment the servant entered with the wine, opened the champagne and handed a glass to Jim. As he took it Jim looked up. His eyes for an instant were riveted upon the face of the servant. Then, uttering a loud cry, he fell senseless on the floor, CHAPTER VII. THE MARQUIS. WHEN Jim came to himself, his two friends were standing round him. The window was open to allow ofa free current of air passing through, and his face was wet with water,which had been thrown upon it to revive him, ‘*Are you better? asked Chauncey. What ails you?” inquired Tommy, Jim looked wildly around him, as if terrified. ‘** Where is he?” he demanded. Who?” ‘He said he’d haunt me!” ‘* Do what?” ‘*He said he’d be my guardian angel and come to me whenever I was doing anything wrong.” ‘Whom do you mean?” Jim raised himself up on his elbow and stared curiously around the room. ‘‘Ts he gone?” he queried. ‘*Good lands! whom do you mean?” cried Chauncey. “Didn't you see him?’ demanded Jim, in a horrified whisper. *'Youw’re alittle off, Ithink,” answered Chaun- cey. ‘Perhaps you have been crinking, and have got the rodkiva boys; bad crowd. Steer clear of them, old fellow!” ‘‘T mean father—Mr. Dimitiv, you now. Te handed me that glass of wine!” “Oh, that’s your monomania, is it?” exclaim- ed Chauncey. ‘* Well, I didn’t notice him, did you, Tommy?” ““Didn’t look at him particularly,” replied Tommy Bennet. ‘ Jim rose and sat on the sofa, holding his burn- ing brow in his hands ** Perhaps I’m a little nervous and excited to- night,” he said; ‘‘ will you excuse me if I don’t play any more to-night?” Why, certainly!” ‘“Awfully sorry to spoil your evening’s amusement, but I really am not well enough to go on with the game.” ‘Don’t say a word!” exclaimed Chauncey, “Tl look round in the morning to see how you are. Anything [ can do for you now?” ‘‘Nothing. I’m much obliged,” replied Jim, in a faint voice. Chauncey and Tommy shook his hand an: took their leave. For half an hour Jim did not move. At length he recovered himself sufficiently to ring the bell, and when the servant came, he re- cognized the old familiar face of John, who had been in the family for years. ‘*Who brought up the wine?” he asked. ‘*T did, sir; and you had a fit, broke the glass, and fell down like dead,” replied the man. You can go.” Left alone again, Jim muttered: “Tt must have heen 9 mieten M- “~mea-ina- TO, 7 = IOO eoim (E CS