Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 378 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

John Armstrong, Mechanic. mp and prepared to go home, while he was a stranger to all except the three young men, whom he could now see nowhere. As he looked round, old Barker, with a sort of gruff cough, asked: ‘* Got a sleepin’-place, mate?” **T think so—that is,” explained John, “there are three gentlemen hands, as they called them- selves, axed me to come to their boardin’-house. But I don’t seem to see ’em jest now,” he added, Barker scowled as only a Briton can scowl, as he growled out: ‘‘GmMMEN ’ands! There bean’t no gemmen fn this bloody country. Doan’t ’ee know’t, mate? Well, ’ave the way. I were goan to ax thee to coom to ma place, and ma old woman 7ud tak’ thee reasonable; but if thee wants to go wi’ gemmenr, goa, in God’s name. Mebbe thou'lt wish thee back wi’ Steve Barker.” Without another word he slouched away to the washing -teongh, leaving John too much sur- prised to know what to say. The Englishman seemed to be offended, and Armstrong could mot see his friends. Where they had gone, he knew not; and while he was looking round con- fusedly, he saw the tall form of the superin- ¢endent, coming toward him and beckonin him. Jobn instantly went to him, and the ol ehief took him to the office, a little box of a place at one side of the huge shed, where he shut the door on him, motioned him to sit down, and then said abruptly: ‘‘ You’re a better workman than I thought, Armstrong. You attend to your business, and do one thing at a time. Now then, about this sweeping. The night watchman has done it hitherto; but he left us yesterday, and the new man won’t undertake the sweeping alone, as he doesn’t understand the difference between scraps and rubbish. Now, I shall have to hold you re- sponsible for this, Last year we lost several hundred dollars of scrap-iron in the aweenings and have reason te suspect that there was collu- sion between the sweeper and some outside party. Consequently, you and the watchman will be alone here, all night. If you like to sleep in the building T’ll let you have the sofa, here in the office. It will save you money in board. But—” Here the old man raised his finger with an air of deep meaning. ‘ But—I am trusting a stranger on the strength of his honest face. If you fail me, it will be bad for you. If you prove a good man, ou shall rise. I promise you that. I came to ew York, forty years ago, poorer than you, and now I’m head of this firm. That’s all. Now, have you found a boarding-place?” “*T don’t eeecey know, sir.” And John told him the history of the offer of the ‘‘ Gentlemen hands.” ‘What were their names?” asked the other, bending his brows. ‘‘Munson, Wheeler and Stryker,” said John, promptly. ‘*D’you know where they live, sir? The superintendent asked the counter ques- tion of him: * me you SHOW, One I am?” e boss, sir, I s’pose. “Yes, but—my en I mean?’ - “No, sir.” **T thought not. Well, Iam the head of the firm of Stryker Brothers, and that young James Stryker is my nephew, who would be living in my house to day, if he could behave in a decent manner. What did he offer to do? Tell me all.” John began to feel alarmed. ‘ ‘Nothin’ but kindness, sir, nothin’ in the world. Offered to take me to board at four colle and turn to and help me sweep up the shop. **And what did you say?” “Told ’em I were much ’bliged, and I’d board with ’em; but couldn’t take help fur doin’ the work I’m paid to do alone, sir. Thav’s all.” Old M ker nodded. 7 r.§ “Very good. Now you'll want to go to your supper. Take the young man’s offer. He lives with the other two, at No. 81 Ashley street— the block next to the north of this. Atter sup- ercome here. The nizht watchman is called heppard. He will open to you. Then, as I said, you can sleep here after work, or go home, as you please. Good-night, Ah, stop. You'll get two dollars and a quarter a day as riveter, and fifty cents a night for the sweep- ing. We pay twice a month. Next pay-da is Saturday, so you need not run into debt. That's all. Good-night.” And Jobn Armstrong followed his new em- ployer out of the shop, calculating his weekly wages in his head all the way, and feeling quite cheerful over the prospect ahead of him, Out in the street he found very few people near the shop, and old Mr. Stryker p ed him to the next corner, where he pointed down the street, toa house where some people were sitting on the front gy and said: **That’s the place. Good night, Armstrong.” ** Good-night, sir.” And they separated, John going toward the boarding-house, saying to himself: Little wistful and lost, as the workmen wached | ‘*Tt’s Monday now. That’s half a dey. 1) hev five days and a half at two twenty five. That’s eleven and a quarter—twelve, thirty- seven. Then the sweepin’—six nights at fifty cents. That’s three more. Fifteen dollars, three shillin’s Take out four fur board. That's kinder high. Oughter throw in washin’, I yeckin. hat’s "leven dollar, three shillin’. I kin snd dad ten. Oh glory, ain’t I happy?” And just then he came to the foot of the steps where the three “ gentlemen hands” were sitting, and looked up, to find them all staring over his head at the opposite side of the street, not one of them saying so much as ‘‘ Good-eve- ning, However, John was nowise bashful, so he eee and said: *“Good-evenin’, gents. I’ve come, if you hain’t no objections, to see ’bout that board as you spoke on,” Jim Stryker looked down at him with an air of affected surprise, “Why, it’s Armstrong. Let me see—oh, yes —I'd forgotten. Yes—Mrs. Shafer is inside. Guess she’s got a room. You can ask her. She’s getting supper ready now, I think.” Then he turned his head away, and the three looked across the street again, as if John Arm- strong were a fly on the wall, not worth no- ticing. Our hero felt as if some one had treated him to a shower-bath of ice-water. The change from cordiality to coldness had come so sud- denly that he could not comprehend it. He turned red, then pale, and had almost turned away, in his disappointment, when a, thin wo- man, with yellow face and gray hair, came through the passage to the open door, and said, in a tired way: ‘*Supper’s ready, gentlemen. Come in.” The three “‘gentlemen hands” got up and strolled in, without saying ‘‘ thank you,” while Armstrong, a new-born feeling of anger rising in his breast, went up the steps and said to the wceman: ‘*Eixcuse me, marm. Be you Mrs. Shafer?’ She looked at him scrutinizingly. ‘Yes, young man. What isit?” ** Tm workin’ at the Iron Works,” said John. “Kin you take me to board, and what'll you charge fur meals? I don’t want no room. I sleeps in the shop,” ‘* Would you wish a dinner put up, too?” “Tf you please, marm.” “ Forty cents a day, young man, and I don’t make nothing out of it, hardly. It’s a hard time a lone woman has, keepin’ a cheap board- ing-house now.” ohn made a mental calculation. © ll take it, marm. I kin pay you fur two days ahead, but arter that I’ll hev to wait till ay-day, on Saturday, You kin ax Mr. tryker if I ain’t got a steady job; but I’m kinder outer money jest now, owin’ to a sick dad as I hev, up «inted Post.” ‘‘ Painted Post!” echoed Mrs. Shafer, her face changing. ‘‘Good lands, young man, be you from Painted Post? y, | were raised in Stooben county. What’s your name?’ John told her, and it turned out that she knew his father; so that cordial relations were at once established, and, within five minutes, Arm- strong was eating supper down-stairs, with the landlady closely examining him on the life and fortunes of every man, woman and child near the celebrated town of Painted Post. As for Jobn, his heart warmed toward the poor, overworked boarding-house mistress, as the first townswoman he had found in the wil- derness of New York, and he forgot all about the lapse of time till the clock struck seven, and he jumped up, ae rat ‘Time to git to sweepin’, . Shafer. See you to breakfast, marm. Six, Is’pose, Good- night, marm.” Tnen he hurried away, intending to go to the shop; but had bardly got out of the house when he saw Stryker on the sidewalk barring the way of a poorly dressed girl who was trying to get past fim and looking pale and frightened. “Don’t be in such a hurry, my dear,” the young man was saying. ‘‘If you will only take my arm, I'll see yousafe home, Indeed, I will.” The girl stopped, panting and glaring at him, as she said, very low: ‘Oh, sir, if you are a gentleman—-please—” Stryker stepped before her again as she tried to evade him; and the next moment John Arm- strong, who had been looking on as if dazed. suddenly caught the *‘ gentleman hand” by the collar from behind, dug his knee in the other’s back and flung him into the gutter, when he stood aside, without so much as Jooking at the girl’s face, and said: . ‘* Pass on, miss. Please excuse this here young man. He’s been drinkin’.” His face was as white as a sheet, his eyes were blazing, and the girl gave one frightened glance at him, then sped away like a deer. As for John, he was looking at Munson and Wheeler who had been smoking on the steps. They had risen and were looking angrily at him, and he thought that a fight was imminent. He ran back two or three steps, to get all three in front of him, and saw Jim Stryker ris- 3 ———— - —-— ing from the gutter, his evening clothes—for he had doffed his working-dress—covered with dust, his handsome face flushed with passion. ** Let the lout alone, boys,” cried Jim, hoarse- ly. ‘‘l’m the man to bring him tobismilk. If I can’t do it, the quarrel’s none of yours. Now then, country, by heavens, I’ll see what you are made of.” And, with that, off went coat and vest, and he rushed at John, his eyes glittering with rage. They were a closs match in size, Stryker, if anything, the taller. John backed away and threw off his coat as the other approached, say- ing earnestly: ‘*Don’t do it! Don’t do it! Ye don’t know me, Stryker. I don’t want to hurt ye.” ‘* Hurt me/” hissed Stryker. ‘Take care of yourself, you fool. Now, then 1% With that he struck right and left, as fast as he could send the blows, at the face of the coun- tryman, wich a force and precision that showed him to be a boxer of no mean order. But, to the amazement of the lookers-on, the green, awkward countryman kept his head mov- ing faster than the blows, without even lifting his arms to parry, crying: ‘‘ Keep off, I tell ye, Ye don’t know me. Well then, take it, if ye must,” And with that last word, they heard a dull “thud,” like the blow of a rammer on hard earth, and Stryker dropped both his hands, stood one moment, trembling all over, and then fell into a limp heap on the sidewalk, where he lay still, apparently senseless. Then John Armstrong, looking pale and reso- lute, said to Munson: “*T call ye to witness, I didn’t want to hurt him, boys. I wouldn’t ha’ fou’t him fur a good deal, Tho boss’s nevy! But my dad told me, never to lef a gal be insulted, if I died fur it. Take him in, boys, He’s only dazed like, He got iton the jaw. I’m goin’ to the shop, if I’m wanted for this.” Then he strode away, leaving Munson and Wheeler lifting up Stryker, » ho bad a foolish, feeble smile on his face, and was slowly trying to move his limbs, as if he had lost all power over them. Hecame to the shop; found the pri- vate watchman there; was admitted, and set to work at once on his hard job of sweeping and shoveling, assisted by the guardian of the night. When the job was at last finished the clocks were striking ten, and John observed to the watchman: “Well, that ain’t sobad. We'll git through by nine, to-morrow, I reckin,” The watchman was in the act of answering, when they heard a loud knocking at the door, and a voice called through the grating: ‘‘Sheppard, open this door. You've got a man called Armstrong in there, He’s wanted, to answer a charge of asiault,” “Why, it’s the cops,” exclaimed eet eg amazedly. ‘* What have you been a-doin’?” Armstrong made no reply, but went to the door, where the gaslight shone upon the uni- forms of several policemen, who had their clubs wn. ‘I’m the man, gents,” he said quietly. “Pm ready to go with ye. Ye needn’t hev got so many. Youkin handcuff me, if yelike. I ain’t that dangerous as you think. Open up, Shep- ar Then the door opened, and two policemen caught him at once, while two more d their we ene and a fifth audibly cocked a Pp CHAPTER ITI. A BROKEN ROUND. Hap John Armstrong been a whit less cool and clear-headed than he was, he would have been clubbed into insensibility that night, if not killed. He saw, on the faces of the policemen, that grim, savage look which the ‘‘ finest in the world” have made so familiar to the citizens of New York, when they start on a little clubbing practice, They bad been informed that Armstrong was a ‘desperate character,” and the bold captain of the precinct had sent out a special force, with orders to show no mercy if the arrest were resisted, It never entered their heads but that John would resist, and they were rather disap- pointed when he held out his hands, saying: , me ef ye like, gents. I don’t want to hurt noone. 'Tain’t my style.” “ Ain’t it?” growled one of his captors. ‘A pretty muss you’ve made, anyway. Do you know that young feller’s a-goin’ tocroak? You hit him with a slung-shot.” John made no answer except: “Take me along, gents, wherever you're a-goin’. I s’pose I'll get a chance to see a jedge in the mornin’,” “Ay, ay,” returned the other, leading the way along the dark streets, ‘ You'll see the judge fast enough. Old Brownie, he'll be apt to give yeu a little nine months on the island, anyhow, and if young Stryker dies it’ll go hard with you, my covey. Again did the cool sense of John help him in the capper in which he found himself, A more excitable man would have talked back, and so given the bold knights of the club the EoOmicbooks (C co) ~