Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 31 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

. ; ! | eee _The New York ‘Sharp.’ ——_—__-—— SEE said, with a longing look at the still face, Then he seated himself at the table. ‘Now let him come; it only needs Ais death to complete the catalogue of horrors. The storm rages without, human passions within; it | is a night fitted for bloody deeds.” CHAPTER II. LOYAL TREMAINE’S Vow. Tur boy, Dan Catterton, at the transom had watehed the tragedy with staring eyes. He heard plainly the threats of Averill, and knew, of course, that he waited for the return of Loyal Tremaine; and having -heard that gen- tleman say he would come again at ten, the idea was not slow to come to him that if he remained at his post he would probably wit- ness another tragedy. Then another thought flashed upon his mind, What if he should go and warn the first of the danger that threaten- ed him at the hands of the second comer; would not the service be worth a large reward? In his own mind the newsboy instantly de- cided that it would be. So he resolved to lie in wait for the man who was to return at ten, and inform him of the danger that he would incur should he proceed up-stairs. Carefully Dan descended from his perch, passed through the rooms, and after a glance at the sleeping ‘‘ kid”—as he had affectionately term- ed his young relative—to see if sleep was still upon the infant, he passel out into the entry. 6 descended the stairs and took up his position just outside the front door. Luckily the rain was beating upon the opposite side of the street, else young Catterton would soon have been wet to the skin, for he was but thinly clad. ‘‘1’m in for that roll of bills,” said the boy to himself, as he waited, shivering, in the door- way; ‘“‘that air kid ain’t a-goin’ to starve, not if | knows. This swell ought to come down handsome too; for if he was to go up-stairs, that sailor fellow would jest chaw his ear right off.” The boy did not have long to wait, for soon, out of the gloom and darkness of the night, came the stranger that he had seen depart an hour before. e knew him instantly, from the short cloak which Loyal wore upon his shoulders. ‘‘Say, mister!” cried the boy, clutching at Tremaine’s cloak as he was about to pass him, ** Well?” said Loyal, pang in astonishment, and looking at the imp-like boy by his side. ‘That woman’s husband has come, and he’s a-waiting for you up-stairs to knock off the whole top of your head,” cried the newsboy, breathlessly. ‘‘ What?” cried Tremaine, in amazement, ‘‘T tell yer that gal’s husband has come— Mister Walter—the gal’s dead—killed by light- ning, an’ he’s a-waitin’ up-stairs to g° for you.” Convinced that the boy had indeed something important to communicate, Tremaine—at the newsboy’s suggestion—walked with him down the street toward Grand, while Catterton gave a detailed account of all that had happened, merely suppressing his motive for playing the listener. ‘Great Heavens! Christine dead!” said Loyal, horror-stricken. ‘‘That’s so, ’cos the man put her on the bed an’ I heard him say so.” ** And the child?” ‘Oh, she’s all right.” * Not injured?” ‘No, siree!” the boy answered, and he had just opened his mouth to tell of the strange mark that the lightning had blazoned upon the shoulder of the infant, when Loyal interrupted him with a question. ‘‘Boy, this man, you say, is waiting in the room for my return!’ sé VY : i Rid ‘‘Would you like to earn a hundred dollars?” ‘“Would I? Just try me!” and the boy’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Tf you will bring me that infant that you saw with the lady in the room, I'll give you one hundred dollars.’ “If it wasn’t for that feller there, I could do ne aoe as easy as not,” said the boy, thought- y. ‘Can you not think of some excuse for get- ting possession of the child?’ Loyal asked. “Crickey!” cried Catterton, in glee; ‘I’ve ot it. Tl go in asif I come from you tothe ady, for to say as how you couldn’t come back to-night. In course he’ll want to know where I got the message, an’ Pll say that you're eatin’ oysters in a saloon in the Bowery, an’ in course he’ll come after you—leave the baby, and ri gobble it—ain’t that bully?” _ ““T think it will do,” Tremaine replied. *‘See here, boss!” cried the boy, suddenly, “that feller read the ace of spades that you wrote your address on; so he knows where you live.” ‘The devil!” cried Loyal, in vexation. ““That’s so, boss; I heard him read it.” “T shall have to leave New York, then, for the present,” murmured Loyal to himself, “‘Well, I ean take the infant with me, and find it a good home somewhere. All the love I bore to istine—poor girl—I will transfer to her child—our child.” “Youll give me a hundred dollars?” asked the boy. - ‘*Yes; if you bring me the child,” answered yal. “T’ll do it, if it takes the heels right off my boots,” cried the newsboy. ‘‘Say, uel just you go and stand in a doorway on t’other side of the street, and I'll fetch the baby to you.” Tremaine took the station assigned to him, and the newsboy departed on his mission. We will now return to Walter Averill, whom we left seated in the room of the ill-fated Chris- oe waiting for the man whom he intended to i Barely five minutes did the sailor remain qui- et, then springing to his feet he began to pace the room as though walking on the quarter- deck of his vessel. ‘*He may not come,” he cried, impatiently ; “itis late; he may not come tonight. Why should I not seek him in his Fifth avenue man- sion? that was the number of it on the card I am sure, But stay!” he exclaimed, as a sudden thought flashed upon his mind, *‘I may find something here to aid me in my search.” A trunk was open in one corner of the room; eagerly the sailor searched it. He found a package of letters, but the letters of the man were signed simply with the letter L. Small chance was there of finding a clew as to who or what he was in that. But in one of the let- ters, inclosed in its folds, was a small daguer- reotype, the likeness of a young and handsome man. With fierce joy, Walter Averill gazed upon the features of the man who had wronged him, for he felt sure that this was the picture of the man that he had sworn to kill. ‘* Now I shall know him if we meet!’ he cried, while thoughts of vengeance filled his mind. in will not wait here longer, but I will go to The sailor thrust the packet of letters into his pocket, and rising to his feet approached the crib in which the infant was calmly sleep- ing. Walter Averill gazed upon the slumbering abe. **The mark of shame is upon you, poor child, yet you are not to blame for the crime of your parents.” And, yielding to a sudden impulse, the sailor lightly touched his lips to the baby’s cheek. The infant still slept on, little conscious that its mother lay in the cold embrace of death, or that it bore on its pearly shoulder the evil omen, the ace of spades. CHAPTER IV. A DARK NIGHT’S WORK. THE newsboy entered the tenement-house, and going to the door of the front room, knocked. o answer being made, he knocked again. Then, after a pause, he turned the handle of the door and opened it. The room was empty; the stranger was gone. With a cry of delight the boy entered. “Crickey!” he exclaimed, in glee, ‘‘ I shall rake in that hundred, easy!” The newsboy advanced at once to the little crib, The moment his eyes fell upon it a cry of surprise and disappointment burst from his ps. Concealed by the shadow of the doorway Loyal waited with impatience for the return of his messenger, ‘“ Will he succeed?” he cried, as anxiousl he waited. ‘‘The boy seems a shrewd rascal, and a hundred dollars is a large sum for one like him.” Fully a quarter of an hour Tremaine waited, and his pationte was about exhausted, when the newsboy, bearing in his arms a bundle coretally wrapped up, came quickly down the street. ‘* Have you got the child?” “ All right, ,’ answered the boy; ‘here she is.” d he gave the bundle that was wrapped up in a shawl into Loyal’s arms. Uncovering the babe’s head, Loyal saw that she was still sleeping. Then, from his pocket- book the gentleman took ten ten-dollar notes, and gave them to the boy. _* There’s nd hundred dollars,” he said, as he handed the newsboy the bills. Then care- fully sheltering the child under his cl Tre- era proceeded rapidly up Grand street to the owery. For a moment the newsboy gazed at the ten bank-notes in speechless amazement. “My!” he said, at last, when he had recoy- ered a little from his astonishment, ‘‘ why, I’m a millionaire, blow me tight, if I ain’t! I guess the kid is all right now; but, thinking of that, I mustn’t lose sight of this chap. He must have gobs of money to throw away a hundred dollars oose, like this, Tl just keep my eye on him, an’ on the baby, too.’ So down Grand street into the Bowery, the newsboy followed Loyal Tremaine. In the Bowery, Tremaine took a Fourth ave- nue car. The newsboy, nothing daunted, kept close behind the car,. although he was some- times compelled to run at the top of his speed. The frequent halts of the car, though, to take hie eave passengers, gave him some breath- e. ¢ 3 At Union Square the car made quite a halt to take on a party of ladies. The halt was quite a relief to the newsboy, who had had a sharprun for about four blocks. ‘* He’s goin’ to Fifth avenue, I guess,” said the boy, toh If, as he waited for the car to start again. ‘‘Tll find out where he lives, then F guess I'll try papers up this way, ’cos I’m bound to keep my eyes on that baby, as sure as my name is Dan Catterton.” _We will leave Loyal with the child to pursue his way—he little dreaming that he was so close- ly followed, and turn our attention to the cor- ner of Fifth avenue and Thirtieth street. i the lamp-post at the corner stood two men muffled up in rough coats, with the collars pulled up to shield their throats. Rough old caps were pulled down over their eyes. The flickering rays of the gas threw but little light out on the darkness of the night, but by { oO are little we can see that these two men—w braving the rain and wind—are thick-set, mus- cular fellows—men with rough, bull-dog like features, and evil-looking eyes. They are good representatives of a large class that infest our great metropolis, who haunt Broadway, Fifth avenue and kindred streets by night, and by day are to be found in the low dens of Water street or in the underground drinking-saloons of the “ bloody ” Sixth Ward. These men are the ones who, every now and then growing reckless and coming forth in their strength, produce that scene of terror which the feeb | journals so graphically term the ‘“* Reign of the Knife.” Of course these men stood at the corner of Fifth avenue and Thirtieth street at eleven at night in a rain-storm for no good purpose. iS say, Jake,” cried one of the two, sudd A “‘isn’t there some one coming along street?” ‘* Blazes!” responded the other, after listening for a moment, ‘‘so there is. Get your slung- shot ready! We may as well try our luck, ’eos it’s gittin late, an’ we ain’t likely to have many more chances.” ‘* All right,” said the other, and then the two sauntered slowly down the street toward Fourth avenue, from which direction the stranger was coming. The two ruffians let their intended victim— who was closely hi aes in a short cloak, with a slouched hat pulled down over his eyes—pass them; then, quick as cats, they turned upon him. Witha pi blow of the slung-shot the stranger was knocked senseless to the pavement. The two ruffians proceeded at once to pillago their victim. Pulling open his cloak, » bead was disclosed. Eagerly one of the ruffians opened it, and the cry of an infant wailed out shrilly on the night-air. Astonished, the ruffian & upon his prize. A piece of the orphan’s ress had User OM been burnt away, and on the white of the shoulder shone the evil omen, the ace of spades. CHAPTER V. THE MISSING MAN, “WELL, blast my eyes if it ain’t a kid!" ex- claimed the astonished rough. ‘‘A babby!” ejaculated tho second ruffian. ‘That's so, a young ’un, too,” replied the fel- low who held the infant in his arms. “Never mind the kid, go through the cove; the perlice may come down on us,” said the second TOnER, who had dealt the terrible blow that had stretched tho stranger senseless upon the wet pavement. Tn obedience to tho order, the kneeling ruffian laid the infant on the pavement, but bac api who had been awakened by the rude shoek the fall, began to ery feebly, ‘“Choke the cursed brat!” cried the other ruffian, fiercely; ‘‘its squalling will bring the perlice down on us.” “You go through him, Ill hush the kid,” re- plied his comrade. Quickly the ruffian searched the victim, while the other took the baby, and nestling it inside his rough overcoat, hushed its sobs. The watch and chain of the senseless man, his ket-book, a i len 9 from his little finger, he gold studs and wrist-buttons of his s all found their way into the capacious pocket of the ht-bird. He searched his victim thoroughly, not omitting a single pocket. In the one in tho breast of the stranger’s body-coat he found a packet of letters. ith an expression of dis- gust, he was about to toss them into the gutter, ween his comrade, noticing the movement, PRfold on!” he cried; ‘‘ what’s that?” _‘‘Nothing but a lot of blasted letters!” replied: his somapenton in disgust. | “Just what I want; hand ’em over.” ‘oT wane enn? nga bald th0 Futon oh Ball want ’em ain e rul w. the child nestled <fhidee his coat. o~s ‘* All right,” said the other, giving the letters; ‘¢ ther gin worth a curse.” ‘Have you got all the swag?” ‘ Yes.” ‘‘Let’s be trav then; the : aveling ; ne (police) may come down on us at any mome) “They'll come soon enough, for the babby "IL. EGOmichboo <S7GO