Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 302 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

c . We re act a) Meee ee oe me aes pardon me, I believe you object to ro- an = A a 10 ‘over any service which you may have rendered me or mine, and now | will tear off the gloves and curry you, bare-handed.” “Take me the way of the fur, then, unless ‘you want to get a handful of hairs in your throat, daddy.’ Z “You are a gambler, a common blackleg, who lives off the weaknesses of mankind. You ‘are a common cheat; one who would cheata blind grandfather of his last dolar. Youarea ‘wild and woolly fire-eater, depending more on our great bulk to awe your victims into swal- owing their losses, rather than your courage or nerve. Bah!” **Good enough, as far as you go; but you stop too soon, my dear sir,” coolly drawled the Hercules, showing not the faintest sign of re- sentment at this ogee | plain language. “In addition to all that, 1 ama speculator, whose stock in trade consists of the secrets and weaknesses of my fellow-men—one of whom you are most decidedly which. ‘* You jeer at romance—all right. Ill come ‘down to flat business, and see how much better you like that,” Faro Saul added, with another abrupt change in voice and manner. ‘* Spare yourself that trouble; I’ve listened to your infernal nonsense too long as itis. Once more, there’s the door; will you have the com- mon decency to take your departure?” Very quietly the mine-owner spoke, but there ‘was something in his tones that told how hard was the task of holding his hot passions in check, how gladly be would have kicked the giant across his tbreshold had the power been given him. Faro Saul could not belp noticing this, and bis lip curled with a peculiar satisfaction as he did so. Until now Marcus Tudor had held himself so proudly aloof—bad never yet deigned to re- cognize, by word, nod or glance, the man of cards—thateven this negative sort of revenge was very sweet. “ When I have fully emptied my budget, dear sir; until then you really must bear with me. - Unless, indeed, you are determined to sweep me out with your own broom, unaided.” Marcus Tudor flushed hotly at the covert sneer in these words, for be fully comprehended bow impotent was his strength against the giant before him. You shall answer for all this, you scoun- dire] !” “When, where and how you choose, my dear fellow; but business before pleasure. Allow me to expatiate, please. ‘* The fact is, lam growing old—I discovered a gray hair in my — this morning; I did, actual y And growing aged, I naturally begin to think about settling down in life. I begin to feel the need of a loving wife—if only to pull off my boots when I come home chock-full of coffin varnish and insist on turning in with all sails set. **T pledga you my honor, Tudor, these ver Sinton: were revolving in my cabeza this af- ternoon when [| strolled out of town, taking my constitutional. I had just arrived at the tender wife of the day-dream, when I chanced to - gee Toby Tinker with your daughter—though I ” What other course lay o handed, unarmed, he was ee ' yeminiscence aside, - with describin es was growing old, and did require the care of a loving wife. . And when did not immediately nize her—foul. And I give you the self-same pledge that I out gun and downed him without a thought of an after reward; that came into existence when I held the dainty little blossom in my arms, her fair face reclining against my manly bosom, and— nce?’ It was a bitter test of endurance, to sit still and listen to those words, to meet that mocking aaa but Marcus Tudor was enabled to do so. n tohim? Single- e an infant in com- with that athlete. He grated his teeth er and waited. Te Well we'll leave all that to your imagina- tion when it wakes up, then,” said Saul, with an off-hand gesture as though brushing the “Pll not nauseate you how Dan Cupid jammed my t chuck-full of porcupine-quills, but simply that then and there I became convinced I our charming daugh- ned her eyes; when she thanked me in , charming voice of bers; when she begged of me to forget that [ was nothing more than a ter y a a ella only remember that I was a god- hero in her eyes—and ended by begging er noble papa—meaning you, my dear sir!— would fling his arms aDout my neck and take all the starch out of my shirt-bosom with his grateful tears; why, then I felt ten times over the detestable dreariness of a single life! “Well, I obeyed the dainty darling. * I Pe ee to bear her company to her home, where _. brougbt her safely home, and meekly prepared toreceive your tears, your blessing, your gen- erous gift of ber hand for having saved her wiod; but I didn’t get either—not any! Just what I did receive, you may possibly remem- “You were treated as a gentleman, until you showed yourself an insolent scoundrel!” sternly cried Marcus Tudor. ™!) | an my innings just now. Being such a perfect gentleman yourself, of course you will not in- terrupt me while talking,” smiled the black-leg, showing his white teeth prynyy sete b “It happens to be the case that | am one who never gives up his grip when it is once fastened on anything; in tbat respect I can give the bul- liest bulldog points and beat him. For thas reason, your ungrateful conduct only served to deepen my conviction that in Miss Zurilla I had met my everlasting fate. “Not to put too fine a point on it, I mean to marry her, whetber you giye your consent or | not, Of course, if not too much trouble, 1 would like to have your good-will and blessing on our union, but the wife is the most important part of the marriage ceremony, in my humble estimation. ‘* You see, I do not mince my words. I state the case as plainly as possible. If you had proven yourself a gentleman of the old school, I would have flung in the frills and god talk without end. But you’re a man of business. All such unnecessary trimmings are worse than wasted breath in your estimation; and I’m ighty glad of it, too! Savesa heap of wear tear of the tongue!” ‘‘Are you done?’ asked Tudor, as the Sport Hercules paused. ‘Not quite, thank you,” with a bow of mock politeness. ‘‘ Bide a wee, my dear dad, and then you shall have free fling, while I play the part of attentive audience. ‘‘ When you bave taken time to look over the situation as it will be, you can’t pul seeing what an admirable arrangement it will prove, to all parties concerned. J’)l get a wife equal in beauty and ci foe to the next one, no matter where she hails from. She will get a husband about as big and good-looking as they make 'em, if 1 do say it myself, And you—well, it wiil be the making of you, man alive! No more tugging out dirty rocks to turn into gold; we'll let others do that, while we rake in the ducats after they are coined and before they bave had time to grow soiled and dingy. ‘*] can handle the paste better than the man who first invented them. You—es- ially when you sport a long-horn colar, Id-faced shirt and white choker, as now— would make the finest stool-pigeon in a duay’s run by pein: The best of ’em couldn’t re- sist you! And when you roped them in, pretty Zu could dazzle their senses while I attended strictly to business and turned their weasel- skins wrong side out! Why man, it would be glorious! e could skin the whole United States in a year, and make enough to pay off the National Debt out of the scrapings of our pockets!” This was more than mortal fiesh and blood could bear, and with a busky cry, Marcus Tu- dor leaped up and struck with his clinched fist at the face of the mocking villain. ‘*Pil kill you! Vl tear your insolent tongue out and cram it down your vile throat!” he grated, fairly maddened. But Saul avoided the blow and cout the in- furiated mine-owner in his werful arms, forcing him back into his chair again, saying sternly, all traces of mockery gone: ‘‘ Sit down and bebave yourself, or [ll sit on you! Enough of trifling. Plain talk now, and, mind you, itissworn to, I’ve taken a strong fancy to that daughter of yours, and mean to make ber my wife.” ‘‘’d rather see ber dead and in ber grave, ten thousand times over!” grated Tudor, vain- ly ee to free himself from that grip of steel. A bard, cutting laugh parted those red lips, and holding the mine-owner as helpless as though he was laden with heavy irons from * head to foot, Faro Saul released one hand, shak- ing a finger in his prisoner’s face to lend em- phasis to bis words as he deliberately retorted: ‘‘Your daughter will see you dancing on a tight-rope first, with the noose around your throat and nothing but air beneath your feet, Waldo St. John !” What was there in that name to blanch the cheeks of the florid mine-owner, and cause that wild, hunted look to fill bis starting eyes? Yet thus it acted, and with a short, hard laugh, the gambler released his adversary, gazing at him maliciously. CHAPTER VIII. THE GRIP OF STEEL. JIT was as though some one had dealt Marcus Tudor a blow sufficient to temporarily paralyze bis bodily powers, while leaving his brain as active asever. Though that grip of steel bad left him, and Saul stood with folded arms a few feet distant, regarding him with that peculiar, half-mocking, balf-threatening expression on his face and in his dark eyes, the mineo-wner reclined in his chair, limp and nerveless, only the wild, bunted look in bis starting eyes tellin bow sharply that last dart of the gambler’s ha stung bim, _ Faro Saul seemed thoroughly satisfied with the result of the experiment, as far as it had gone, and after a brief space, be returned to the seat he had recently vacated, This movement -* According to your say-so; but I believe it is ' on bis part broke the stupefying spell which had / — * me - — Faro Saul, the Handsome Hercules. fallen upon the mine-owner, and with a start, he boarsely gasped: **Who are you? Man or devil?” ** One whois thoroughly acquainted with your past history and can hang you by a simple turn of the wrist.” Swift and sharp though the answer came, the interval it consumed gave Marcus Tudor time to rally ina certain degree, though the effort he was obliged to make could not have misao the notice of a much less wide-awake watcher than the one whose jettv eyes drank in every light and shade which fought for possession of that unnaturally pale countenance, “You lie, you arecelens villain! You lie in your teeth!” he hoarsely uttered, the great veins swelling on his temples until it seemed as though only tbe bursti g of conduits could pre- serve him from an apoplectic stroke. ‘‘Don't make me prove it, my dear fellow,” retorted Faro Saul, with a light laugh that sounded far more relentless than if it had been a brutal curse. ‘‘I’d far rather make the fair Zurilla a wife than an orpban, but if you crowd me out of the smooth and flowery path into tangled and thorny trails, don’t blame me if biest crape come into use before wedding fa- vors ‘* The precious little pet might take a contrary view of the matter—might even think I was to blame for thé mishap which overtook you—and a pouting bride with a red nose and tear-marked cheeks, would be justa bit of abore! On the whole, therefore, | beg of you, daddy dear, not to make me press this point to the gallows!” ** You can’t—it’s all a base lie—a lie black and foul as your own devil’s heart!” ‘‘ Alla lie, is it?’ sneeringly. ‘' Your name is not Waldo St. John? You are not an English- man, born and raised in London? You did not flee from there in hot baste, with red blood dye- ing 7 oak hands crimson?!” convulsive shudder agitated the frame of the mine-owner, His face turned ghastly pale, and with a low, husky moan, he buried his face in his trembling palms. Saul again showed his white teeth beneath his pointed mustaches, his eyes filled with an almost sutanic glee as he saw how nearly his triumph was SOURIS: Marcus Tudor was crushed al- most to the earth, and a few more such bitter blows would kill or drive bim insane, But the big sport was not a man to kill the bird from which be confidently expected to receive a liberal supply of golden eggs, and he dropped his fierce, domineering tone for one more gentle, as though he was addressing a man and an equal, rather than a guilty inferior. ** 1 don’t want to bear too bard on you, Mr, Tu- dor. I would not have uncovered the black past at all, had I seen the remotest hope of gaining my ends “4 less disagreeable means. But you shut off all hope there. You looked on me as one so far below your level that it would be im- possible for you to stoop so low as to wipe your soiled shoes on my carcass. Very ereditable in you, no doubt, but as I couldn’t sprout wings to rise to your station, there was sph | left for me but to drag you down to the lower level. ‘‘T have given you a good deal of empty wind since our interview began, but now I am talking in sober earnest, and all] I say goes asitlays. I really love your daughter, and will make ber a far better husband than the big majority of those whom you would term strictly honest and pious men, if only because I have so long held the inside track of wickedness and trickery, that I can the better appreciate one who is pure, truthful, honest and clean-souled. ‘‘T have loved her ever since our first meeting though for a long time it was like a cri pled glow-worm worshiping the full moon, for I never expected the time would come when | would see her fairly within my reach, The mere sight of her pure face made me a better man, though you may not believe even this much,” Oberlin paused, a look upon bis face as though he expected Marcus Tudor to say something at this point; but if so, he was disappointed. The mine-owner lowered his hands, but did not lift his haggard face, staring at vacancy, seemingly half-stupefied. With a frown, Sul rose, stepped forward and tapped his victim on the shoulder, speaking sharply as the mine-owner lifted his eyes: ic bo you hear me! Can Bie: comprehend what I am saying, Waldo St, John?” ‘‘St. John is dead—murdered!” muttered the man, ing one hand across his forebead as thoual to brush away a troublesome mist; then crying, with a flash of energy: ‘“‘ Why do you call me by that name? Iam Marcus Tudor, and you— ‘*Your very humble servant, to command,” laughed the blackleg, as he fell back to his seat once more, evidently satisfled with having roused bis victim to a sense of the present. ‘‘Faro Saul, the Giant Gambler—tbe Hand- some Hercules—men sometimes call me. Saul Oberlin, Esquire, son-in-law of the millionaire speculator and mining king, they will call me in the nh i to come, if you listen to reason. If not—well, many a better man has had occa- sion to carry a noosed rope on his secret coat-of- arms!’ GOmicbooks a a ; [ : bg ; | | . : = — ae tat a = ER ee te . a,