Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 363 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

6 Crowningshield, the Sleuth. little darling,” she said. ‘‘I’m sure he isn’t the Po of trouble, for he’s just as good as good can be. ‘** He cried bitterly after his mother this morn- ing when he woke up, but of course that was to be expected, for he Adan’t understand being left all alone, and then he wanted his breakfast, too, but after 1 fed him he played around quite cheerful, although he would cry for mamma, ies once in a while. ‘*But then he’s used to me, you see, for I’ve often looked after him when Mrs. Crowning- shield went out.” This was the truth, and as the widow was a popeneartet. motherly kind of a woman, the aby had borne the absence of its mother very patiently. ‘‘T am much obliged for your kind offer, madam, but I think it will be better to relieve you from the responsibility, because if my wife has met with any serious accident it might be some time before she would be able to return,” the young husband remarked. **That would be by far the wisest course,” observed the captain. ‘*T will leave the keys of the rooms with you,” said the young man to the widow, ‘‘so that if my wife should happen to return she can gain access to the apartments, and give her this card, please. Drawihg a card from his pocket, Crowning- shield wrote a brief message upon it: ‘*T have taken the baby to the house of my uncle, 1040 Beacon street, and I leave this card here for you so you will know where to come.” Such was the message, and to it he merely signed the initials of his name. ‘* There, if you will give that to her, please.” Mrs. Doncaster said she would be sure to re- member to deliver it. Then the baby, who was delighted to recog- nize its toy a,” of whom it was very fond, was dres or the street, its clothes made u into a bundle, and the two men, with the child, oo he old captain had examined the baby with- out allowing his rugged old face to manifest any articular interest, but the little fellow had en a liking to the old gentleman, going to him in perfect willingness, delighted at the chance to pull the captain’s beard. ‘‘ Strange, too, come to think of it!” exclaim- ed the widow, as she gazed at the card after the others had departed. ‘‘ None of Mr, Crowning- shield’s folksever came hereeither. I guess they are great folks, too; all the people who live on Beacon street must be rich, and the old gentle- man looks like a man of property.” CHAPTER VI. THE TRAMP’S RAGE. Old Lead Pencil, from his ambush behind the sezeen in the saloon window, had been anxiously watching the development of events. When he saw the nephew and uncle enter the house, he chuckled and rubbed his hands glee- fully together. ‘“Aha, there they go, an’ now my tawny little witch will have a chance to get in her work!” he mused to himself. The saloon-keeper was busy with his customers at the bar, and as the old man sat with his back to the group, pretending to be interested in the morning paper, which he held in his hands; no one took the slightest notice of him, and he was able to talk freely to himself. ‘* Ain't she a daisy? Oh, yer can bet all your wealth on that! She was inclined to be ugly last night, but jist as soon as I showed her how things were, she come right down from her high orse. ‘‘ She'll make the runnin’ now and collar this couple of millions jist as easy as rollin’ off a log, an’ then your uncle will come in for his divvy. “Aha!” and again the old man rubbed his hands together, ‘‘ fifty chocks a week! How is that for high? : *“Won’t I have all the big feed an’ rum I want? Wal, now, yer kin jest bet yer bottom dollar on it.’ And so the old man continued, gloating over the pleasant prospect before him, for some fif- teen minutes, and then, to his astonishinent, he saw the two men come out of the house, the young father carrying his child, and the widow accompanied them to the door, holding it wide open, so that the old man could plainly dis- tinguish that there wasn’t any one else in the entry, until the visitors had gained the sidewalk. For a few moments Old Lead Pencil stared in astonishment. ‘‘Dang my buttons!” he exclaimed, ‘* w’ot on earth does this ’ere mean? ‘‘ Here come these two coves a-waltzin’ out with the kid, and the mother ain’t to the fore. Has there been a kick-up?” _And the face of the old man fairly grew pale at the bare idea. ‘Oh, it ain’t possible! She would never be such a fool as to throw away a fortin’ like it was a lump of dirt. ‘* An’ the coves ain’t bin in the house ten min- from his pocket an extremely dirty red hand- kerchief with which to mop his face. ‘“They couldn’t have settled the business in ten minutes, unless they got inter a row an’ bu’sted the hull thing to smithereens. ‘* But then she’d never let ’°em carry away the kid! No, no, she’s no sich fool as that. As long as she kept the kid she’d have a pull on its dad- dy, an’ he would be obligated to toe the mark, when she wanted ducats, ‘*Oh, wot the blazes does it mean, anyhow?” he cried, in conclusion, really suffering agony. By the time these words were spoken, the two men with the child had entered a street-car and disappeared. And as in his dazed way the old tramp con- tinued to gaze at the house, he was astonished to see the landlady, Mrs. Doncaster, appear at the windows. First she appears at one and then at the other, drawing the curtains down so that the sunlight should not ruin her carpet. Old Lead Pencil gazed open-mouthed at this maneuver. ‘** Now, in the name of thunder, what does that mean?” he muttered. ‘** A-pullin’ down the curtains looks to mea mighty sight like shuttin’ up the place. An’ where is my gal all this time? ‘The old woman sees the gents to the door, an’ the old woman pulls down the curtain, an’ nary sign is thereof my beauty. **Oh, I can’t stand this!” he murmured, rising to his feet. ‘*‘I must go over an’ find out wo’t’s up. Tm beginning to git mighty anxious now, you better believe. ‘** Tt can’t be possible that my daisy has cutan’ run for it!” Again the cold drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and the thought annoyed him so that he was obliged to lay hold of the chain for support. ‘Oh, my heavens, no!” he muttered. ‘‘ She surely would never be foolish enough to try sich a trick as that, when she had this one magni- ficent game right in her hands. “Tt would be jist like a woman, though. The durned critters don’t seem to have no sense sometimes. They act onc’t in a while jist like the cow which gives a nice pail of milk an’ then kicks the hull business over, ‘*Tnside of five minits I'll know the rights of the things though,” he continued. “I kin easily hatch up some lie to pull the wool over the old dame’s eyes. Oh, if she has got out, where will I fetch my fifty dollars a. week from?” And in the bitterness of his heart he groaned so loud in going out of the door as to attract the attention of every one in the saloon, and the presiding genius of the place remarked: ‘“*T reckon the old cuss feels pretty bad to how] that way.” Straight across the street went Old Lead Pen- cil, and, boldly ascending the front steps, rung the door-bell. At all risks he was determined to know the worst. While crossing the street he had cooked up a yarn which he was confident would de- ceive the landlady. As he had expected, Mrs. Doncaster in person came in answer to the bell. Old Lead Pencil made a bow in the most hum- ble manner, when the widow, glaring askance at the man, for she had a mortal horror of all were: inquired what he wanted. ‘*T beg your pardon, miss,” he began. It was his trick to address all middle-aged ladies as ‘* Miss,” thinking thereby to gain their favor by the compliment to their youthful appearance. ‘+ Will you be so kind as to say to the young lady w’ot lives on the second floor—” ** Mrs. Crowningshield?’ exclaimed the widow, eagerly, thinking that it was possible this tramp-like person might be able to throw some light on the mysterious disappearance. **Oh Phat was the name, Mrs. Crown- ingshiel , but it clean went out of my head. ‘You see, miss, when a man gits old his mem’ry ain’t w’ot it used fer to be. ‘*Wal, if you'll be so kind as to tell her that old Mister Jones has come—” ‘“T can’t tell her, she isn’t here!” exclaimed the landlady, abruptly, for she was a little dis- appointed, for, although without any reason whatever, she had the suspicion that this dis- reputable old man might be able to throw some light on the mystery. **Oh, she’s gone out; wal, Pll have to come ag’in, then, or T'll wait if you think she'll be home soon.” ‘**T don’t know anything about it; she didn’t tell me when she went, and I don’t know when she'll be back. It’s no use for you to wait, for there’s no telling when she’ll come.” Old Lead Pencil nearly staggered off the step at this blow, although he had expected that some- thing was amiss. a was with no assumed agitation then that he spoke: ‘** You don’t tell me sO, ma’am? Oh, how un- lucky!” he exclaimed. ‘‘ An’ she told me to be nits, either! | sure an’ come this afternoon, too.” ‘Oh, cuss the thing! it’s a- in’ the cold | The curiosity of the widow at this point got sweat come out all over me!” he Dis better of her aversion to tramps, and so she ~The old man was visibly affected, drew * condescended ska, en explanation, | The story that Old Lead Pencil told was rea- sonable enough. “Pm quite a poor man, miss, with a large family, and I have a hard time to get along, an’ as I was comin’ up the street, jest a’ little ways down from here yesterday, I see’d a lady drop her wallet, ‘*T picked it up an’ ran arter her. She give me a dollar for my trouble, an’ when I thanked her an’ told her how good it would come in, ’cos I have an awful time to git bread for my young *uns, she axed me all bout myself, an’ arter I up an’ told her the hull story, she sed if I would come up here this afternoon she’d speak to some friends who would give me a lift. P’haps if I saw her husband he might be able to do some- thing forme. She said as how she would speak to him.” ‘‘ He’s not here; he just went away, taking his baby with him. You see, Mrs, Crowningshield has gone away, quite suddenly, on somes im- portant business, I presume, and as I don’t know anything about her coming back I can’t give you any information.” It was with great difficulty that Old Lead Pencil repressed the inclination he felt to grit his teeth and swear. The truth was evident. Like the vicious cow, his ‘‘ daisy gal” had kicked over the pail of rich milk for which his mouth watered, ‘* Mebbe she left some message or a letter for me, miss,” he suggested, doing his best to keep: his temper. ‘Oh, no, she didn’t!” asserted the landlady in the most positive manner, ‘* There isn’t any one but myself in the house to whom she would be apt to intrust a message, and she never said a word to me. ‘* In fact I never knew she was gone until this morning when I heard her child cry and went up to her room to see what the matter was,” *¢ An’ you're quite sure she didn’t leave no let- ter?” persisted the old man, ‘‘’cos she was so earnest *bout my coming this afternoon.” ‘*Quite positive, my good man,” responded Mrs. Doncaster, with becoming dignity. ‘‘If there had been a letter I should most certain] have seen it. She left a note for her inishand, but that was all,” and she stepped backward as if to signify that it was time for the other to de- art. Old Lead Pencil took the hint. With a profusion of thanks to the lady for her civility he retreated, and the widow closed the door. The old man was so enraged that he could hardly restrain himself. He wanted to swear and to yell, to dance up and down in the street and behave himself like an idiot rie and as it was he muttered so loud to himself and gesticulated so violently that almost every one that passed gave him a wide berth thinking that he was a trifle touched in the upper story. ‘‘She’s bolted, by the holy smoke!” he mut- tered. ; ‘‘Bolted rather than pay me my leetle fifty chocks a week! the ungrateful baggage! ‘Threw up a couple of million jist to be re- venged on me! Cutan’ run an’ left the kid jist to git squar’on me! Oh, if I ever run across her ag’in 1’]] murder her though I hang for it!” raved the old man as he walked toward Wash- ington street. * CHAPTER VII. THE SEARCH, Frw words passed between the nephew and uncle during their homeward meee but just before they reached the house the old gentleman remarked: ‘* We must keep this matter as private as pos- sible, Howard. t shouldn’t like to see our old family name paraded in the newspapers ac- companied by all kinds of ribald comments.” ‘Decidedly not!” exclaimed the other, flush- ing at the bare idea of having the affliction that had fallen so heavily upon him made known to the world at large. ‘T don’t know much about children,” ob- served the old bachelor with a grimace as he looked at the child, clinging so closely to its fa- ther, and gazing around in wonder with its large, blue eyes. ‘But I presume this little chap can’t much as yet.” ‘“No, about the only words he pronounces at. all plain are, mamma and papa,” and the lips of the strong man guvered as he spoke the words. which so forcibly recalled to his memory the woman who had treated him so cruelly. ‘‘ We must take measures to stop all gossip ou know. The fact of your marriage is not. snown?” ‘‘No, only to my two chums, Endicott and Winslow, and they will be as silent as the grave if I so request. ‘‘ But no one of us three seldom have a secret. which is not known to the others, I revealed my | iage to them and now that I am confronted. with this raystery I think it will be wise to con- fide in them and ask their advice.” ; ‘‘ Most decidedly!” exclaimed the old captain. ‘“‘ Both of them have old heads on young shoul- ders and their counse valuable. ‘ m Scomiebooksa