Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 31 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

o te two men were dressed in the hight of ¢gashion, and were evidently well to do in the world. : “By Jove!” cried the elder of the two, who was elaborately ‘‘ got up” in a light suit with neck-tie and gloves to match, ‘‘ who is that pretty girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes in the carriage with the bays?” The other looked in the direction indicated by the finger of his companion. “Why, don’t you know?” ** No; she’s a deuced pretty girl.” ‘‘That’s a distant relation of Os’ Tremaine— 2 cousin or something of that sort. She’s only been in New York about a month.” ** A country cousin, eh?’ **No, not exactly; she’s been to some board- ing-school up the river somewhere. She’s only about seventeen.” “By Jove! I should like an introduction,” cried the tall one, who was called Rodman Cher- ring. Fy can get you one; you know I’m quite in- timate with Oswald Tremaine,” said his com- anion. “* What’s her name?” ** Essie Troy.” **Deuced pretty name too,” “Vos; I say, Rod, you’re not smitten at first sight, are you?” laughingly asked his compan- on. omc? i Fle exactly ce oe word . m very partial to pretty girls. er Well, it’s natural,” said the otha”. ** Who is that gentleman with her?” “That's Tremaine pere, Oswald’s governor. He’s been in Europe for some years. He return- ed about a month ago.” “He hardly looks old enough to be Oswald’s father.” “Yes, he’s very well preserved,” replied his companion. Leaving the two young entlemen gazing out of the window, we will follow Tremaine to his home on Fifth avenue. Loyal Tremaine has not changed greatly in sixteen years. He has grown a little stouter in form and a little fuller in the face, which has also lost its youthful look, for Loyal Tremaine is now a man of forty-one. With him seated in the parlor is Oswald, his son, a young man of twenty; for Tremaine had been married young, and his wife had died in giving birth to Oswald, a year after her marriage. Essie Troy, the girl that Tremaine had taken under his protection, was also in the room. Oswald strongly resembled his father, al- though he had the dark-brown eyes and hair of this mother. Essie, who was a girl of seventeen, was very retty, in person a little below the medium hient of women. In face a blonde, with silken den-haired curls clustering thickly around r dainty head. Her eyes were blue; large, justrous, glorious eyes they were too. Oswald, who had never heard of his relative until his father brought her home a month be- fore, was c ed with Essie. Living in the same house, always ther, Oswald in one short month had learned to love her. It was the first love of his life; and how sweet the first Jove is, the dream of youth which rarely be- comes a reality. Essie, too, seemed happy in the society of Oswald, and the youth tea a fond hope that his passion might be returned by the fair girl whom he loved with that ardor that youth alone is capable of. Tremaine little dreamed of the passion of his son—a passion, the knowledge of which would have filled his heart with agony. Man of the world as he was, he did not think of the danger of two fresh hearts together; of the folly of throwing them in close contact with each other, and yet ee them not to yield to that love which is the basis of all hearts. It in our nature to love; when we curb that love we curb nature—we destroy the holiest in- stiact of our But man is often blind. Tremaine was in this instance; he would be fortunate if his eyes were not painfully opened. “‘Father, here’s doctor Dornton,” d Os- wald, as he caught a glimpse of that gentleman ascending the steps. Tre erose, and telling the servant to show the doctor into his library, retired there, leav- ing Oswald and Essie alone in the parlor. nthe library Tremaine was soon joined b ‘the doctor, who was a brisk-looking little aa. full of life and spirits. “‘Good-day, Tremaine,” cried the doctor, in his usual curt, impulsive way, ‘‘ I’ve found your secretary for you; just the man for you.” “Indeed? well, 'm glad to hear it, doctor,” replied Tremaine, ‘‘ for my papers need regulat- ing. What is he like?” i “He's not a young man—indeed, I may say that he’s an old man, probably about fifty-five or sixty; but in full on of all his facul- ties. iet, careful and able. Just the man —— —— ee Seatie's: Dime Library. bezzlement and fraud. Ah! Mr. Tremaine, do you know I sometimes rejoice that I’m nota rich man? Blessed are they that have os —for they can’t lose it,” and the doctor laughe a merry, cheerful little laugh. ‘* What is this gentleman’s name?” . ‘Well, pon my life I can’t remember; but I’ve such a memory for names, you know. ten minutes. But the gentleman has the best of recommendations; he has been with Dr. Brown of Twenty-third street nearly ten years. The doctor has just given up practice, retired, and of course no longer needs a secretary. The doctor spoke to me about recommending the gentleman to any of my acquaintances that might bein need of such a person, of you in an instant, as I knew you wanted a secretary and confidential man of business. So I told the doctor that I would speak to you about it once.” “It seems to me from your description,” said Tremaine, “that this person will suit me exactly.” ‘“‘That’s just what I thought when the doc- tor spoke to me about him. ‘There,’ I said to myself, ‘is the very man to suit my friend Tre- maine!’ This gentleman, by the way, I fancy, from what the doctor told me, is a man who has seen better days; you understand, a reduced gentleman.” “Yes; I wish you would tell the doctor to ask him to step round and see me this evening, if it is not too much trouble.” ‘“No, of course not!” cried the impetuous doctor, ‘‘it’s no trouble for me to oblige a friend. Brown’s house is right on my way home, soT’ll step in as I pass and leave a mes- sage for this gentleman call upon you ‘his evening.” ‘*T shall be very much obliged.” ‘** Don’t mention it!” " ‘*Won’t you have a glass of wine, doctor, be- rane iid Sil said Tremaine, as the doctor rose to e departure. ‘‘TI have some excellent sherry that I imported myself; I can vouch for i goodness,’ and Tremaine rung for the servant. ‘*‘ Well, that’s saying a great deal in these days of adulteration,” returned the doctor, “TI plead guilty to a weakness for a little good wine—for the stomach’s sake, you know, Mr. e,” and the doctor laughed at his ex- cuse. The wine was brought, and the doctor pro- nounced it excellent. ‘* By the way,” said the doctor, as he leisurely sipped his wine, ‘‘ I saw Oswald and that Pre. oung relative of yours on the avenue this af- jemaon: I couldn't help thinking what a hand- some couple they’d make.” This was the first time that the idea had ever been presented to Tremaine’s mind and he con- tracted his brows at the wet oe “They wouldn’t make a bad match,” con- tinued the doctor. ““T hope such an idea will never enter Os- wald’s head,” said Tremaine, with a grave face. ‘Why so?” asked the doctor, in wonder; “a young, pretty, healthy girl, as full of animal irits as a young kid, and as modest and gen- tle as a violet. hat better wife for your son could you want?” ‘*Tf she were perfection linel, my son could never make her his wife,” gravely replied Tre- maine, ‘‘By George!.I don’t really understand,” said the doctor, in amazement. ‘* Doctor, I would rather see my son lying in his grave than know that he entertained a sion for this girl, pure and good as she is!” ex- claimed Tremaine, with strange earnestness. “Well, really, Tam puzzled,” said the bewil- dered little doctor. “Doctor, I love Essie like a tg oa and yet I would rather see her dead than know that she loved my son!” Tremaine’s face bore the marks of strong emotion ashe pronounced these sin r wo e doctor was bewildered. ‘Well, now, really, do you know that I had an idea that you had intended to make a match between the two?” said the doctor. **No; such a union is im ble; the laws both of Heaven and man forbid it!” exclaimed Tremaine, pacing the floor in great agitation. The doctor could not account for this strange emotion. ao q can’t really comprehend how that can far paused suddenly in front of his ‘** Doctor, I have said more in my agitation than I have any right to utter. Itis a family secret, and you will oblige me by forgetting what I have said. Banish it from your memory as if ice had never heard it. Will you do so?” _ “Certainly,” replied the doctor; ‘we phy- siclans, you know, are not used to telling tales out of school; if we were, what a precious lot of rows there would be kicked up in some families you want to look after your affairs, attend to | of my acquaintance?” vour leases, etc. A man you can trust.” ‘“*T know I can trust you, doctor; and I thank ‘*That’s a good recommendation,” observed you, too, for having spoken on the subject. Js _ did not think of the danger that there was in Tremaine. ** Yes, I should say so, in these days of em- bringing these two young people together.” I thought. SS | son was already deep] Never could keep one in my head longer than | ee eee See ‘Oh, you mustn’t mind my nonsense!” cried the doctor. “I don’t suppose that they care two pins about each other.’ ‘Yes, but there is danger that they may. I am glad that I have thought of this in time,” said Tremaine. In time! The father little guessed that his ; in love with the gentle Essie, that the seeds of that passion were deeply sown in his heart. The seeds of that passion the father feared more to see than death. ‘‘Oh, I guess there isn’t any danger,” and the doctor drained his wine-glass and prepared to depart. ‘*T hope not,” said Tremaine, but in his mind he was strangely uneasy. ; ‘‘-You’ll be at home all the evening?” se Yes. ”? . ‘Very well; expect your new secretary then, for I know he’ll suit you.” And the doctor took his departure. For a few moments Tremaine sat motionless, lost in thought. ** Suppose he already loves her?” he said aloud ; ‘but no, that is hardly possible. She has been here but a month. I'll watch them closely, and if I see that there is danger, I will remove either one or the other.” And with this determination, Tremaine re- turned to the parlor, CHAPTER IX, THE MAN WITH A DEAD LIFE. DurinG the rest of the afternoon Tremaine watched Oswald and Essie closely, but he could not discover anything to confirm his suspicions. After dinner Tremaine retired to the library to await the arrival of the applicant for the sec- cretaryship. At eight in the evening, the servant announc- ed that a gentleman desired to speak with Mr, Tremaine. Tremaine instantly gave orders to show the stranger up. In a few moments the servant introduced a most singular-looking man into the library, then withdrew. Tremaine examined the visitor with curiosity, In person the stranger was about the same hight and build as the New Yorker. His face showed the marks of care and suffering, His hair was as white as the driven snow. Judging from his face, one would have said that he was a man of sixty, yet his figure was straight and showed not the stoop of age. He was dressed neatly in black. he strangest thing about the man was his eyes, which were as black as jet, but had a vacant, unearthly look about them; the eyes made the whole face look strange. ‘You are the gentleman recommended by Dr. Brown, I presume,” said Tremaine, “Yes, sir,” said the stranger, in a full, deep voice, a voice that few would expect to hear from the lips of'a man of sixty. ‘“‘ Be seated,” said Tremaine, motioning the stranger to a chair. ‘Thank you,” and the stranger took the prof- fered seat; “here are my recommendations, sir,” and he handed the gentleman a letter. ‘You are called James Whitehead?” rT Yes, sir.” ‘The doctor speaks of you in the highest — observed Tremaine, after reading the etter. ‘‘He has been like a father to me, sir,” said the stranger. ‘Well, Mr. Whitehead, the duties of your en in my household will not be very heavy. he principal thing is to attend to my leased property, collect the rents, attend to repairs, in e, take the whole charge of it. S poate roo will reside with me, and your position in the ousehold will be that of a friend, not a hired servant, and as for salary—” ‘*Oh, never mind that, sir,” said the stranger, quickly. ‘I am alone in the world—my wants are few.” “It is better to have an understanding,” said Tremaine; ‘‘the doctor mentions in his letter that your salary with him was five hundred per year; if that sum will suit you with me—” “Oh yes, sir,” said the stranger. “Well, then, we'll consider the affair settled and you can enter upon your duties at once. it see the doctor states that you have been with him ten years.” “Yes, sir.” | ‘Were you in business before that?” “No, sir.’ There was a tinge of sadness in the reply. : " ‘“‘ Excuse my questions,” exclaimed Tremaine, fearing that he had recalled some melancholy memories to the mind of the old man. He had taken quite a fancy to the new addition to his: household, and then, too, Tremaine was one of those humane men who hate to give pain to any one, even the lowliest. ‘Oh, speak peel You have a right, sir to ask,” said the old man. “It is but natural that you should wish to know the history of the man that you are about to trust with your pri- vate affairs.” ‘“T fear, though, that my questions may give you pain.” 0, sir; no questions. about my past life Comichooksico