Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 397) (1885 03 03)
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a FOURTH EDITION. = (SS = : Se SS pe hy aM al cll a Maelo lle Lelleally/ Oy \ on” itd pete: (dd tte: : N An RWW AX MMOAIMWwV at a Git i 1p aa $2.50 a year. S SSS SN 5 ~ ; et iff Wee, The Prince of Malery Street. BY JO PIERCE, Of the New York Detective Force. CHAPTER I. BOB’S PURCHASE. “ THaT ain’ta bad sorto’ ashow; guess they’ve got somebody in thar that’s got a n’artistic eye. onder ef my pardner couldn’t fix up our stock in a sorter elewated style. It’s true peanuts ain’t a very showy article o’ commerce, but Stumpy kin git everything outer them that thar is in em.” The ker was a boy of ahout fourteen years, who was gazing at one of the many show- windows which ornament Fourteenth street. It was a glittering sight, and the lad fully appre- ciated the artistic taste shown. He did not look like an artistic person him- self. He was by no means handsome, and the i-fitting clothes which covered his rugged per- *iiAND OVER DHE PURSE AFORE I CRACK YE WAN.” eee
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- ean swear that the bo _ claimed the young lady. ee, ,: ‘ Px ly /3 . Pa Pt Si <i - Bob o’ the Bowery. son were about as ragged as they could be, and -hold together upon him. One glance was enough to show that he was one of the sharp, wide-awake boys who enliven the streets of New Yorkin various ways. Street Arabs, they are commonly called, but they could give points to any genuine Arab and still cut the ground from under him. : This particular boy was still by the window when a young ran f handsome and stylishly Cressed, approached in company with a male escort, a young man who was gotten up without regard to expense. They made a very striking, aristocratic appearance, but that she was not oblivious to the claims of poverty was shown as the young lady, seeing a beggar by the curb, went down into her pockets for money to relieve his wants. Then she started and looked surprised. ‘Dear me, Mr. Bertrand, I have lost my purse,” she said. - “More likely your pocket was picked,” said her escort, glancing about. ‘‘ Thieves reap a rich harvest in Fourteenth street crowds. Here is just the kind of a fellow that, would do it, now.” His last remark referred to the boy by the window. The latter had looked around at the young lady’s remark, and his gaze met Ber- trand’s anything but amicably as he was spoken of so unjustly. : ‘* Who’re ye callin’ a feller?” he retorted. ‘“‘T meant you, you scamp. What have you our pocket?” “Last time I felt there, there wa’n’t nothin’,” the boy promptly replied. “Turn your ere inside out,” ordered Bertrand, sharply. in “Not fur Joseph. S’pose I’m a paper collar, ter be turned twice a week? business.” ‘You had better obey, or I’ll call an officer.” “Pm sure he has not taken the purse,” said the young lady. ‘‘He doesn’t look like that kind of a boy. Besides, he was innocently look- ing into the window.” ‘Glad ter see you’re a pusson o’ sech ripe jndgment, miss,” replied the boy. ‘‘ What do I want o’ a purse? Take me to be a Rogue’s Galaxy gradooate? Not any fur borg i I'm a’spectable merchant in a ’stablished business. Ask any o’ the crowned heads 0’ finance w’at they think o’ me. They'll tell ye Bob o’ the Bowery is above pickpocketin’.” ‘‘This show of innocence won’t answer,” de- clared Bertrand. ‘‘ Miss Abbott, we must set- tle this matter. Ah! here is an officer now.” Sure enough, a blue-coated policeman was pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered around the trio, and he was soon made acquainted with the state of affairs. e looked fiercely at Bob o’ the Bowery. “See here, ye young ragamuflin, hand over dhe purse a_ore I crack ye wan wid me club. Oh! I know dhe loikes av yez. that’s w’ot I'll do.” , Bg ye will ef ye say so, fer I observe ye're igger'n me by several pounds, ’specially round ther stomach. I wanter impress on your mind, though that I’m a merchant in good standin’, an ef I'm jugged you'll see ther pe arg heads o’ finance round ter bail me out. Bob preserved his coolness well in this emer- gency, ut Bertrand and the policeman were so ead against him that all the young lady’s argu- ments were going unheeded when a new actor appeared on the scene in the shape of a well- dressed young man, who first bowed to Miss Abbott, who plainly recognized him, and then turned to the policeman. ‘‘T appear as a witness for this boy, officer. I do not know how many pickpockets there may be around here, nor who they are, but I has been ceri Yee ly by the window the last ten minutes. y at- tention was attracted by his interest in the fine things displayed there, and I watched him with amusement. He did not take the purse.” “Oh! I was sure of it, Mr. Redding,” ex- ‘*Poor little fellow, I am sorry you were unjustly accused,” “Ay coorse your worrud settles it, Mr. Rid- ding,” said the fat policeman, ‘‘ but I still think dhe b’ye is a bad lot.” *T don’t!” declared Miss Abbott. ‘‘I think he is an honest boy. Thank you for speaking, Mr, j She bowed and smiled to Redding, spoke kindl — to Bob, and turned away. Bartrand sen th her, but he scowled at both Redding and Bob before going. The crowd broke up, and only Redding re- mained near the boy. " 2 : Not ef I knows my Tll run ye in; ““T owe ye one, boss,” said the latter, ‘‘ an’ ef | riko, pra would give me arsenic "thout a ae ye ever need a backer, jest callon’me. I’m a merchant o’ the Bowery, an’ you'll find me right in front o’ Abraham & Isaacs’s store. Peanuts is my line, an’ ef I ain’t in my orfice, m d- ner, Stumpy, will give ye ther tip whar I be.” “So you run a peanut stand, eh?” ‘Me an’ Stumpy does.” ‘Ts Stumpy your brother?” ‘““Not any. He’s my pard, he is, an’ he’s all wool. I’m the purchasin’ agent o’ the firm, while Stumpy tends the store. That’s ’cause he’s a fire-eater. Ye kin see I’m a weak, delikit kid, but he’s a fighter, Stumpy is, an’ he kin wipe ther Bowery up clean with ther average bloke.” ‘*You don’t look very delicate;” and Redding smiled as he surveyed the stout young figure be- fore him. ‘‘*Pearances is deceptive; I’m flicted with a chronic digestion. But, see yer, you knew them, didn’t ye?—I mean ther bloke who thort I was a Rogues’ Galaxy chap, an’ ther fine young female who thort I wa’n’t.” ‘Yes, I know ’em,” said Redding, shortly. ‘‘ His nibs, Bertrand, don’t feel sweet on ye.” oe knows I want none of his good will. “How ’bout hern?’ asked Bob, speculatively se one eye. ‘Hoss o’ a diff’rent color, eh? “You young rascal!” said Redding, laughing, ‘vou’ve got an eye, haven’t you? But, never mind; Miss Abbott is to marry Bertrand, so you and I are left.” “The fine female hed better git left, too. That sassy bloke ain’t my idee o’ a good match. He’s got too much old Adam in him, he has. ‘Better look out fur him, or he’ll try ter chaw eup. I got onter his nibs’ scowl; he’s a regu- ar pirate, he is. Wal, boss, I’m off. "Member that I owe ye one, an’ don’t fail ter call at ther ole stand ef ye want a backer. So long!” And Bob 0’ the Bowery walked away, musing as he went. “ve .ketched onter that racket. Redding, who’s a chap o’ the right stuff, is dead stuck on the gal, but thatsnakeo’ a Bertrand has got the inside track. Is’pect it’s° purty hard lines ter git left in sech biz, but mattermony is as unsart’in ez nuts. Can’t depend on neither. Wonder why Bertrand wanted me tooken in fur gittin’ the leather? He knowed I never tuk it. I b’lieve that ere dude is a crook.” The boy walked on, taking inall that occurred by the way, and, having reached Union Square turned down Broadway. In due time he foun himself on Chambers street, near the Park, where he was accosted by a gray-haired man in garments which, though quite respectable, had the cut and fit of “ *way back.” “nee here, my lad, will you do an errand for me? Bob looked at the questioner, and saw that he was very nervous. His hand shook, and he spoke excitedly. \ “Wal, I’m open ter financial inducements.” “T want you to go toa drug-store and geta package of arsenic. I don’t know how expensive it is, but here is a two dollar note, and you can keep the change. About four spoonfuls of the arsenic will do,” “See hyer, boss, d’ye know ther natur’ o’ ther mineral you hev allooded to?” asked Bob, suspi- gery ‘*T know it is a deadly poison. What of that? I am so troubled with rats that I can’t endure it beg SA ‘“Wanter extinguish ’em, do ye?” “Why, of course. Will you undertake the commission?” “Sart’in—fer sure. I ain’t throwin’ no job over my shoulder this winter—not fer Joseph. Whar’ll I find ag “Come to the hotel yonder,” and the man inted to one of the several at the lower end of hatham street. ‘Ask for Adam Woodman, and bring the ergs yourself to Room 87.” “All right, boss; you'll find me loafin’ inter er gorjus quarters in "bout ten minutes. hem rats can’t git no bulge on me—not fer Joseph.” Bob walked away with a business step, but, as soon as he was beyond Woodman’s sight, he winked knowingly. “Rats an’ pizon! That seunds all right, but it’s an ole dodge an’ won’t work, That chap meditates changin’ his residence ter another spear. Suicide was writ all over his classical features. Did he take me fer a nhorn j out o’ Castle Garden that I couldn’t read what his shakes an’ tremors meant? Suicide, straight ez a string. But I don’t reckon he skips the ’arthly hia ith my help. Ill git some nice powde: chalk an’ let him simmer, ’‘Spect no legal doctor’s perscreptive, but any kid kin git chalk.” z One “‘kid” could and did, and Bob was soon at the hotel with his prize. He had no trouble | in being shown to Room 37, for the old man had left proper word with the clerk. He was soon knocking at the door. = A voice directed him to enter, and he obeyed: Woodman sat at the table, on which were several envelopes, directed and sealed. He had evidently prepared for his trip to the here- after, but he was, if possible, more excited than ever. “Did you get it?” he nervously asked. gi did. that, an’ hyar she is.” : Bob passed over a neat Hepone, 2p He feared the absence of a label on it would arouse suspi- cion, but Woodman was too much excited to think of anything of that kind. He unfolded the package with shaking hands and looked at the white substance inside. “T think the rats will not trouble me any more,” he said, with a sickly smile. ‘Just to think that a little of this innocent-looking stuff | would kill a man!” “It'd knock him higher’n the Tribune spire.” “How much, do you think, would be neces- sary to kill a man?’ musingly asked Wood- man. “*T spect a pound would make him feel might uncomfor’ble,” gravely asserted Bob. ‘* Nonsense! ould a teaspoonful do it?” ‘‘ Wery likely it’d create an onpleasaniness.” ‘Well, never mind; it’s rats we’re after. Would you like to see me set a trap for them?” “Td enjoy it more’n gein’ to Harrigan & Hart’s an’ settin’ in ther fu’st floor, top.” . “ Then you shall. Nomorerats forme. Ha! al The old man. eucted wildly, but. Bob first winked behind his back and then became as rave as a judge as Adam turned about. The tter poured a little water in a glass and ther added a quantity of the supposed poison. ; “ Ef convenient,” added Bob, ‘‘I’d like what rats yer kill ter sell ter a Chinaman on Mott street. I've heerd tell that they eats rate, an’ ef it’s true, mebbe I kin make a dollar.” Woodman started, but his purpose did not aver. : “Well talk of that later, boy. Behold the first rat!” He had raised the glass with a shaking hand, and, at the last words, he swallowed the whole mixture at one gulp. : CHAPTER II. ) A DOSE OF ARSENIC. Ww .“Brnotp the miserable rat!” added Wood- — man, dramatically. “Whar is he?’ coolly dernanded Bob o’ the Bowery, looking under the bed, as though he ta imagined the rodent was there. ; «Why, don’t you see I’ve swallowed it?” “Yas, I see’d ye do it, but how in thunder dye expect the rat will gee now? S'pect he's ‘O- in’ ter crawl down yer throat arter it? Ef ye do, on New York rats.” y, I’ve poisoned myself. There I am the miserable you ain't wal “* Stupid! are no rats in the case. wretch that is to die!” And the old man dropped into a chair and ~ his hands over his stomach. T ketch onter ther racket now!” “T wondered clas hy By jingo! and Bob brightened perceptibly. that you’d tooken a contrack ter cl’ar ther rats : outer this hull hotel. Cricky! you’re a sharp ‘un, ole man; you’re no slouch. Cut yer eye- teeth in yer yooth, didn’t yer? I’m proud ter know ye.” ‘Boy, this levity is unbecoming. taken the awful step which shall end my wretch- ed existence. Ina short time I shall be a dead ‘*Sha’n’t I go fer a stomach pump an’ one 0 ther aldermen?” (ges * asked Bob. *“*No, no; remain where you are. rea “ All right; I ain’t very busy, an’ I kin jest ex wal stay an’ see ye die ez not. Never see’d noth- in’ o’ ther kind, an’ it’ll satisfy a nat’ral curi- osity.” p : “The deadly poison is working. Sharp pains are rending my stomach,” said W tremulously, his hands still clasped over tha’ ” “The awful moment is here,” ‘“ T hain’t noticed it. Which is it?” “] mean the moment of my death. Boy, I suffer terribly. I am on fire internally.” ‘Shoo! tter ring fer a fire-stinguisher,” Bob advised, calmly crossing his legs. I have part of his anatomy. , e “Hang onter it, boss; I'll back ye till my shoe-strings bu’st,” said Bob, with enthusiasm.
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SS pe Waa Pie iti ‘ atone Re Pa _ it isa terrible thing to die; to leave this bright world and all it contains. Oh! I ama wretched, miserable man!” And he arose and began pacing the room ex- citedly. by Td lay down ef I war he It’s ther fashion in New York ter die in though all on ’em don’t do it. Say, whar will yer funeral ob- sequials take place, boss? eckon I'll git Stumpy ter ’tend ther store that day an’ drop ‘round. Don’t s’pose yer heirs would object ter hevin’ my manly form thar, do ye?” ‘** Boy, boy, your cold indifference is terrible. ro fear ve been rash. This is a serious mat- r, ‘Oh! never mind; it'll soon be over. Them stage-folks that git salivated always cut up rough at fu’st, but they go off right peaceable in the end.” “* Boy, go for a doctor!” ** A doctor?” “Yes, yes," | } , he’ll pump all ther ptizon out, an’ ye won't die at all ““T don’t want to. Die? Mercy, no; I must Quick !— “Yes, 7 A doctor, quick!” The old man dropped into a chair, pale and trembling. ‘**No doctor ain’t needed,” said Bob, coolly. “*That air stuff ye swallered wa’n’t no arsenic, but jest chalk. Ef ther water don’t kill ye, you're all hunki-dori.” ** Chalk!” “Yes. D’ye s’pose I was goin’ ter be a ter a suicide? Not fer Joseph. I see’d tot opt little racket, boss, an’ I brung ye w’at won’t ki rats nermen. Jest quit doin’ high tragedy an’ oth gas feel like a bed-bug when it’s his night out. Woodman did not know whether to believe or doubt. “* You are deceiving me,” he said. The boy walked to the table and swallowed ; aor of the white substance-Adam had thought so de: 2 sik iin eat that kind o’ arsenic threé times a day, raw, fried or on ther half-shell, an’ never git a spasm. est you quit huggin’ yer stum- jack an’ you come ’round. hem terrible pains ’s mostly in yer eye.” Adam’s face grown bright. “My boy ore saved me,” “Course t hev. I ketched onter yer riffle ther minute you ’costed me, an’ez Greenwood an’ sim’lar places is crowded at this time o’ year, I made up my mind ter save,yer from gittin’ is a inter a box,” ‘I have been weak and cowardly. Nothin can justify a man in taking his own life, thoug my temptation was strong.” ‘ What fer trouble was it that agertated ye?” “Tt’s a long story. I’m not sure you'd care to hear it.” “‘That’s whar ye’re wrong, ez Tll’splain. Ye see, there’s a chap on one o’ ther daily papers hyar who is so lazy that his boots is never tuk off from ther time he buys ’em till they is wear- ed out. He sleeps all day, while I skirmishes ‘round an’ gets p’ints on local rackets. Then I tell ’em ter him, an’ he writes’em up, an’ we divide the boodle.” “Hold on! I don’t want the papers to get hold of my case.” ‘Then I'll keep it clos't. I’m ez mum ez a e r when he’s axed fer p’ints by a kid, ef I’m told ter be.” ; Woodman’s pains had vanished, and, having se eee idea of departing his present life, he ooked thoughtful. ‘* Something impels me to confide in-you, and Til do it. There isn’t much to tell. My home is, and always has been, in a small town in Con- necticut. I was the father of two children, a son and a daughter. James was the older of the ‘two. He came to New York when quite young married, became the father of one’ child and then >a 99) nae them in comfortable circum- y daughter, Rose, married unwisely. She took a fancy toa young Italian who came to our Selgbhoreood, and, when I opposed the union, ran away with him.” “That was bad,” remarked Bob. ‘It was bad for us all. I was angry, and I hastily declined to ever see her I never did; but, alas! it was the hand of death which prevented. At the end of two years I had re- _ solved to forgive her when word came that she 1 se a notice, an io rnd pe Es Ky ee. ee aa Bob o’ the Bowery. “Thoughtless boy! you do not understand. | had died, leaving a daughter a few months old. I came to New York, but could find no trace of either the child or its father.” ‘*‘°Tain’t an easy place ter find a needle in.” ‘*That was nearly thirteen years ago, and I heard no more from/ them until last month. Then I re a package of letters which gave me news. hey stated that Paolo Donati, my daughter’s husband, had died during a voyage to China, but that his ig ine was still alive. The letters were written by a former shipmate of Donati, and, though.he did not know where the child was—she must now be thirteen years old—he gave me such directions and addresses as were necessary to trace her. He wrote that it had been Donati’s last wish that it should be hye a that the Italian hoped I would see to is child. “‘ Myfresolution was at once taken, and I pre- pared to come to New York. I came, and put up at this hotel. I was never good at remem- a names of places and persons, and, once here, I sought for my papers to refresh m memory. The papers were gone. I made dili- gent search, but, in the end, was obliged to de- cide that some rough fellows on the train had a my pocket. The papers were in a large, t pocket-book I carried, and they probably thought there was money there, too. ‘They had taken worse than my money; the clew to my grandchild’s whereabouts was gone. I will not describe how I searched without their aid, nor how unsuccessful I was, Enough that every attempt failed.” * Couldn't yer son’s folks chip in an’ help “They! Ah, my boy, they are not that kind. My son’s wife always hated me, and when James died I saw neither her nor her son for years. It was not until it occurred to them that I had a good deal of money ‘to leave to some one that they ss to visit me. But they came too late. I knew them and their treacherous, hypocritical ways too well. Why, when James died his family was so distasteful to his widow that she actually dropped the name of Woodman and took her maiden name. She is a Vicious, false and scheming woman. As for her son—well, Oscar Bertrand is his mother’s child.” ** Oscar who?” cried Bob. ‘* Bertrand. Do you know him?” “*T wouldn’t swear ter it on more’n a bushel o’ dictionaries, but I do know a ’rastocratic’ bloke named Bertrand.” ‘Tt matters little whether ’tis Oscar or not,” said the old man, pe ef “* But I don’t see yit why ye tried ter arsenic yer inner man.” “Tl tell you. One of the addresses I had was on Hudson street, though the number had es- caped me. I began a hap-hazard search on that street. At last I found a person who pre- tended to be able to give me information. Iwas taken and acup of coffee forced upon me, I drank it, grew sleepy and knew no more until I found myself in a station-house, arrested for be- ing intoxicated. As you may guess, I had been — and robbed, then set adrift. on ag | a part of my money esca their by paying the usual fine I was re- leased. I came back here a wretched man. It had been a horrible experience to mix with the degraded wretches who were also prisoners, and I felt myself disgraced forever. name was in the papers as being arrested and fined for be- ing I knew the news would go to my native place. This made me gloomy, and when I thought of my desolate life, my dead son and daughter, and my lost grandchild, I Yael desper- ate—mad, perhaps. It was then I resolved to end my existence.” ‘‘That’s whar ye slopped over,” said Bob. “Tm aware that when a chap’s down on his luck, his chin is ’clined ter drop. That’s ther way in business. Now, thar’s Stumpy, my pardner in ther peanut trade. He’s got a pile 0’ es an’ is an awful fighter. I tell ye he’s jesta owler when his mad is up. Why, he'll take a bloke twice his size an’ wipe ther Bowery all up with him. He’s bound ter be an awful slugger w’en he gits a mustache raised, is Stumpy, while ez fur his temper—why, boss, when anybody Aes Stumpy lip, ther sparks o’ fire jest fly outer is two noses.” ** Indeed.” “Yas, but in business Stumpy is weak. W’en he takes a. quarter or half he gits all broke up. I kin see he’s o’ an arsenic natur’, an’ it requires all my “flooence ter keep him ae act : | ‘But "bout yer case. Why don’t ye see the sailor ehan what writ ye?” tsps | socks off fer delight ter help ye. Central Park in ther mud! ‘**T don’t know where he is. He wrote that he was going on another voyage at once, but I don’t know where.” : ‘* What do ther p’lice say?” ‘“*T have told them nothing.” “Hey? You ain’t?” “No.” ; ‘* Why ain’t ye?” “Tm not going to see my name paraded in print as another countryman taken in.” Bob whistled. See yer, ’ve been through a heap 0’ ’sperience in ther last century, an’ w’at I don’t know ’bout things I allays try ter find out. Themis my ideas. Now, I know a private detective—an’ he’s a rampaginous thunder- blossom, too, is Wrixley—an’ he’d jest shake his He’s ther daddy fur helpin’ lame dogs over ther fence, an’ when he takes holt 0’ a case his nose jest stretches out like india-rubber, he’s so anxious ter ketch ther scent.” **Can you bring him to me?” ‘** Bet yer scalp I kin.” “Do it, then, and I'll make a bold campaign against the whole rascally set who have tried to ruin me,” said Woodman, with energy. ‘““Now you're a-hootin’ fer ther Fourth o’ July. You're a pickle o’ a kind fit ter eat, an’ T'll chip in an’ help ye ter scoop all New York an’ sift ther clinkers out—I mean ther jaw- breakers 0’ law.” CHAPTER III. BOB TAKES THE TRAIL. Bos 0’ THE BOWERY left the hotel and hast- ened away on his errand. He did not find his friend, the private detective, however. Mr. Wrixley was out of the house and out of the city; so Bob walked backward, with the idea of advising Woodman to notify Superintendent Walling or Inspector Byrnes. Something ought to be done. ; He reached the hotel and was about to ascend the second flight of stairs when the clerk called to him: ‘“*See here, aren’t you the boy that was up to 37?” ““T’m that same dumplin’,” Bob replied. “Well, Woodman has gone out. He left word for you to call at eight, this reat vd **Gone out?” echoed the hoy. ‘‘ What fer hes he gone ter do?” “Don’t know,” curtly replied the clerk, who was not favorably impressed with Bob’s rags. ‘Which way did he go?” “Don’t know. He went with his friends.” ‘** He did, hey? Wot friends was them?” ‘*How dol know? Two men called, and he went away with them. Think they were detec- tives, by their cut of jib. They all went off in acab. That's all I know, and you’d better go and give somebody a shine.” “Wot d’ye take me fer? Do I look likea box o’ blackin’? Not any, fer Joseph. I ain’t that kind o’a ham sandwich. I’m a merchant in good standin’, I be; b’long ter the Board o* Trade an’ ther Royal Silk-an’-Satin Highfalutin’ Club. Do these hyar hands look ez ef they ever flourished the bristles ’round tanned cowhide? Not any, fer Joseph!” ** Well, you’d better clear out and visit the Board of Trade ” **Tll slope ez soon ez you answer a few inter- rogatories. W’ot fer lookers was them two men? ‘*Looked like detectives, I tell you. Both One had a red face and a were large men. small red mustache. The other was dark. That’s all I know. Come, will you go? We don’t want you for an advertisement.” ‘Jest one p’int more. W’ot sort-o’ a cab, an’ hosses, an’ driver, an’ sich, was it?” “T don’t know. Cotfound you, do you ex- pect me to be a horse-fancier and carriage- cleaner?” 3 ‘Spect that’s w’ot you'd be ef you're in yer roper spear. Oh! wouldn’t ye jest put on ther 5 a-washin’ up a kerridge arter a a through y eopatra’s Needle would jest wabble with admiration, Wal, never mind; I’m off now, so ye needn’t look so darned rusty. I usually puts up at ther Fifth Avanoo, an’ ther classic rejins where I now be seems ter smell too strong o’ extract o’ onions. So-long; ef ye want ter see me ag’in, a’dress me care o’ William H. Underbilt!” And Bob walked out just as the indignant clerk , a x . ¥ 4
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aa eo pm Ae 7 Pr) ae va = = See Le lay de} _ Socquere seas eal f ae .=): eo er ” --} | TUE EN aa aes was about to wow! on him. The boy reached the sidewalk and then paused in irresolution. “Wot fer'a racket is this? Who the blazes hez ole Adam gone off with, Z’d like ter know. Friends? Go ‘way! He ain’t got no friends hyar. He don’t know nobody ’cept Bertrand, ther dude, an’ he wouldn’t go with him ter so much ez a dog-fight. Detectives? Not any, fer Joseph. He said as he hadn’t told no detectives *bout his scrape, an’ ’tain’t likely they’d come in this-a-way onasked. Ther idee is circumnavi- atin’ my brain-market that ole Adam has got ggeredag’in. He takes ter trouble like a China- man ter shirts, an’ it wouldn’ts’prise me ef he was eros by bunco-steerers. Or mebbe Dude rtrand tooken him in outer ther wet. ‘Ther old chap has hard lines, anyhow.” Bob remained for some time in deep thought, but every minute added to his belief that Wood- man fallen into evil hands. He discarded the idea that the unknown men were merely city sharpers; they would hardly seek a victim as Adam had been sought; and the idea that the old man’s previous enemies had again struck at him seemed to Bob the most likely of all. He was given to bold moves, and he went at once toa Directory and looked for the name, Oscar Bertrand. He found it, with the residence, which was above Madison square, and then he went down into his pocket, fished up a nickel and boarded a Fourth avenue car. ‘*T'm goin’ ter wisit ther dude an’ see w’at he’s made on. Ef he’s ther same bloke that tried ter it me pulled in on Fourteenth street, ther jury find ilty ’thout trial. Ill inwestigate an’ ef I find he’s been kidnappin’ Adam, I sha feel it my juty ter notify ther coppers an’ make acyclone warp Oscar’s classic form out’ plumb.” he car was proceeding up the Bowery when a temporary blockade was caused by the fall of a car-horse on the track. : Bob ste off, and, by so doing, noticed a pair of so-called musicians by the curb. One was a y-haired old man, who was plainly an Italian, and who was. grinding a wheezy organ. The other was a tambourine- girl. She seemed to be about thirteen years old, and, despite her humble clothing, was very pretty, with a plump, fine face and the dark eyes ° ‘ Bob Tens at once impressed. He remembered Woodman’s missing granddaughter. From the first it had been the boy’s theory that Paolo Don- ati, being an Italian, would naturally put his Prints among his own kindred. Possibly this tambourine-girl was the missing heiress. He heard the old man call her *‘ Bianca,” and was about to approach and address them when the car sharten He sprung aboard, and the musicians were soon left behind. ‘‘Bianca! That’s a purty good sort o’ a name, an’ she’s a right good looker. Now, I don’t s’pose she’s Adam’s eager arrgh but it might be so. Reckon Ill hev ter waltz over ter Mul- berry street an’ sorter look up the rag-pickin’ element. Thar ain’t no knowin’ how many heir- esses is herdin’ in that air classic precept.’ The car rolled on and, in due time, Bob was left near the palatial residence of Oscar Bertrand. He made his way at onze to the house, looked en at the brown-stone front and then rung e bell. A smart colored man sprung into sight almost as suddenly as a jumping-jack, and the door was opened, but the colored gentleman looked dis- gusted when he saw the boy. “Ts Oscar inter ther house?’ Bob coolly asked. “Wot, sah?” bet a ther interrogatory. Is Oscar inter ther house?” ‘*Reckon he am, What ob it?” ‘*What ob it? Wal, I ain’t talkin’ about no orbit. Do ye see anythin, in my ’pearance ter remind ye 0’ a’stronomer? D’ye see a telescope ‘tached ter my cartridge-belt? Observe any dockyments "bout Mars, Wenus or Plato in my hip-pocket? I reckon you don’t, but w’ot has that got ter do with baked peanuts? Nothin’, fer Joseph. W’ot I want ter be infermationed is, is Oscar inter here?” ‘Not ter sech achap as you~-un,” said the colored gentleman, loftily, and he would have closed the door had not Bob’s foot got in the way. Now, you see yer, Sambo, I ain’t takin’ no guff from anybody ter-day. I’m a radical, I be, an’ when I set out ter hoe ’taters I kiver up all the weeds. You jest mind that, my rooral clam- digger, an’ ’tend ter business. I’ve got the most important biz with Oscar, an’ I’m goin’ inter here ter interview him. Say that I’m secretary 0’ thé Boord o’ Health, come ter insult him bout ther cholera episode in Paris.” Before more could be said a young lady em- - q nee 7 as Pee a ee an ce ~. Chere ‘‘ He’s not here, nor has he been here, and any one claiming to be friends of mine were— but, | wait; I think some one has fooled you.. Who your voice,” she said, | ‘*Did you want to , you gave you ihe message—the clerk? He focled ” ‘‘T ain’t fooled so easy ez my ‘pearance would seem ter indercate. I hey got ther case down urty fine, an’ ef Adam ain’t hyar I s’pect ter find whar he is afore ther night. Coppers tal e their ball at their corner saloon. My nose ain’t *bove ther av’rage fur size, but it’s ekull ter a back-yard cat’s fur smellin’ mysteries out. Wal, seein’s how yer granddad ain’t hyar, Pll cut out an’ wisit ther store ter see how much ha’r Stumpy has pulled ter-day. S’pect he’s knocked ther stuffin’ out o’ bout half ther Bowery boys— he’s an awful bruiser, is Stumpy.” ‘* Where do you live, my boy?” asked Miss Ab- bott, kindly. ‘‘ Hev got severial residences. My orfice is im. ther Produce Exchange buildin’, but I hev tele- phones runnin’ ter ther Five Pints, Fifth Ave- noo Hotel an’ High Bridge. Go ter any o’ therm places an’ say ‘ Hello!’ an’ you'll git a reply by ther mornin’ mail.” ‘‘Oh! how can you exaggerate so?” ““Me? That air is somethin’ I never do, W’en, I sez a thing, you kin bet yer diamonds it’s a straight tip. Ask Stumpy an’ he’ll tell ye that. w’en I sez peanuts is peanuts, that’s jest w’at. they be.” ‘“T shall have to call and purchase of you some time.” “We're always glad ter see our friends ef they come with ther collat ter pay cash. We don’t keer ter trust—hope ye won’t think it. brash ef I say so. seg J is awful setin his way, but he’s a blue-blood financier with high shoes. Drop in on us an’ we'll use ye squar’, Our pea- nuts comes i ae from ther South Pole, an’ was growed under ther eye o’ ther Czar o’ Russia.” Bob was watching the Bertrands while he talked. They ee glances, and he thought: they were significant and troubled. Plain Ys they did not want him in the house, but Oscar who had been so ready to bully him before, said nothing more that was rude. Had he learned to: fear the boy? The latter’s business was done, and he now took his departure. . He walked down Madison. avenue in a thoughtful mood. . “Tl bet a pint o’ peanuts I’ve struck ile. Them pond-lily aristocrats ain’t ther kind ter give theirselves dead away, but they looked mig broke up when I give ’em that deal. I reckon let loose a ven eae an it struck in. Bet my boots—ef I any—they know whar- fore Adam lit outer ther hotel so suddint-like. They decoyed him npey f an’ w’en I said ez how them two abductors said they came from Oscar, it jest give him a mighty onhealthy fee'in ‘round ther stummick, fit ter make him belch. Now then, whar’s Adam?” Bob shut one eye and looked steadily at a lamp-post, as though he thought Adam might. be hiding there. But he wasn’t. “* S*pect Pll hev ter resolve myself inter a com- mittee o’ one an’ hunt up that old chap. He’s all wool an’ a yard wide, an’ ez he’s got heaps 0” hay-seed in his hair he needs a compertent male protector in this hyar modern Babylon. I'll let. tumpy ‘tend ther store an’ lick them t’other pair an’ I'll buy me a pg gene an’ eye-glass. an’ hunt up Adam. When I get him I'll send him straight back ter Squash Holler, with a. ticket on his back so’t he won’t git lost.’ — was drawing near, and the boy walked rapidly from Madison to Union Square, and then on down Fourth avenue andthe Bowery. Stumpy had removed the stand and closed busi- ness for the day, on account of threatening rain, so Bob wandered idly through Houston street. Not far had he gone, however, when a sharp ery came from a cross street, and, looking in that direction, he saw some sort of a confused. pds le in which a man and a small girl were a g eal mixed. His first idea was that it was merely a father punishing his daughter, but a second glance showed that, while the small girl was very rag- ged, the man was flashily dressed and not more than twenty-five years old. Bob’s ardor at once aroused. He had a natu- ral antipathy against ‘‘ dudes,” and, believin, one of this kind had molested a poor girl, he dashed to the rescue. ‘“‘ Hole up, thar, an’ give the cadaver a show. It’s a-comin’ on stilts, an’ it’s just full o’ meat. Thar is bones in its knuckles, an’ don’t ye furgit it. How did it feel?” The last question was asked as the young man lay sprawling in the gutter, where ‘Bob’s half- blow, half-push assault had flung him, But he bounced up quite nimbly. ‘3 a 1
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— Then Bob saw for the first time that the man was an Italian. There was no mistaking his swarthy complexion, black hair, eyes and mus- tache, and style of dress. More than that, he was an Italian dandy. He wore velveteen pants and coat, the latter short and ‘‘nobby,” while his vest had patterns of various flowers laid on in figures. is fall had soiled his clothes, how- ever, and the fresh barber-shop odor he emitted was now mixed with that of the gutter. He came up a very angry man. “ You young demon!” he cried, in good En- glish, ‘‘how dare you lay hands on me? Tl make you sweat for this! Just let me get at ou— But Bob did not let the Italian get at him. The former was the more agile, and in a series of short races easily kept out of reach. ** Why don’t yecome an’seeme? Drop’round any time an’ Ill shake my socks off fer joy ter see ye. I’m ter home, and ther latch-string is out. Drop in—do! Ye got me then whar ye missed me afore. Oh! why don’t ye happen *round my way, ye maccaroni gal-whipper chap?” The Italian paused, out of breath. “Tf I could get hold of you, I’d break all your bones!” he cok key shaking his fist at the boy. ‘“ W’ot’s my bones got ter do ’bout it? S’pose I’m goin’ ter crack ’em all up ter please a Mul- berry street dude? Gosh all rat-bait, I ain’t,no ile-driver, nur my hoofs won’t make glue. V’ot seems ther diffikilty, Maccaroni?” ** How dared you touch me?” ‘Oh! that’s nothin’; I'd got ter wash my hands this week, anyhow.” ‘** Do you mean to say I’m not clean?” ‘* Bf ther barber what scraped yer phiz had shaved ye all over it’d been a bang-up idee.” “You young ruffian, if I could see an officer I'd have you arrested at once.” ‘Ther coppers ain’t afeard o’ me. I’m a poli- tician, with inflooence, an’ I kin keep ther fami- - ie pony open Sundays an’ it’s all hunk. How *bout yer thrashin’ this gal? Strikes me ye’d better shove them patent-leather coal-scuttles *round ther corner afore a cop comes *round witha hickory mizzen-mast an’ cracks ye one on ther attic.’ The Italian seemed impressed by this sugges- tion, and after a few more words, stalked away. ‘Then Bob looked for the first time at the girl, who was somewhere between ten and fourteen years old, and who possessed a bright, saucy face, red hair and almost as many rags as Bob. = Hello, Nan!” he exclaimed. ‘ Possible that’s you?” “°Tain’t nobody else. W’ot fur did yer take me?—a Murray Hill belle?” readily replied Nan. “Not any, fer — Ye don’t ring loud *nough fur that sorter brass angel. W’ot’s ther row ‘tween you an’ his nibs?” ‘“* Nothin’ much, only he war goin’ along, an’ he looked so mighty purty I throwed an onion at him, fer luck.” ‘‘Gosh ter blazes! Did ye? Did ye, 7r’aly, Nan? You’re a trump keerd, made in Center street. Come ter my heart?” And Bob opened his arms. ‘“T ain’t in ther heart biz this week: Next Monday I ’pear at ther Union Square as Juliet, I do, an’ you'll git ther colic fer ter see how I put on lugs.” ; And Nan executed a little legitimate drama in pantomime, swinging her ragged skirts as gracefully as a professional. ‘* Bravo /” exclaimed Bob. ‘‘ You’llmake ther stars all sick when you do that act, an’, mebbe, we'll hev a wuss ’arthquake hyar than they’ve got inter See ‘‘ No ’arthquake won’t swaller you.” “They won't, hey? Why not?” ‘‘ They’re arter solids, not light weights.” ‘¢ Come, now, Nan, I didn’t think that o’ you, but I s’pose *lowance "ll hev ter be made fur yer bringin’ up. Ye ain’t moved in ’spectable s’ciety, an’ that makes a diffrence, W’ot you want isa bucket o’ Croton an’a cake o’ soap. But, see yer; you’n me mustn’t fight, Nan; sech ole pards ev no biz ter git by ther ears. Lemme ask ye of ye knowed Maccaroni?” “ Me know him? Lawsee, yas; ez wal ez my brindled cat knows rats. He’. ther Prince o’ Mulberry street.” ** Ther which?” *He’s Marco Gambora, ther Prince o’ Mul- berry street.” ‘Great Scott! an’I called him Maccaroni. Why, ef I'd knowed he was from ther classic pre- cepts o’ Mulberry street I’d’a’ called out that Garabaldi was come ter town, ridin’ on a pony. But who is this hyar Prince?” ‘* Don’t you know?” “ Not any, fer Joseph.” Bob o’ the Bowery. ““Wal, he’s a big-bug’mong them Maccaronis. Pop Dukes sez he’s a rone; I dunno. But w’en his nibs gits inter fine work all ther Italians jest trots arter him. He’s a daisy, is Marco— Same ez an ape is. Wouldn’t he make a purty sign fur a junk-store, ef he didn’t smell himself | up with patchouli an’ stale beer?” Nan spun around on her heel and cast rever- ence for the Prince to the winds, but as she did so she saw a folded paper lying in the gutter. “Must ’a’ fell outen_ his nib’s ‘ket. W’ot fer hen-tracks is these hyar cobwebs?” ‘Let me see it. Yer’arly education was neglected in yer youth. Lemme peruse Mac- caroni’s love-letter. Hey! w’ot’s all this?” “M.G.:—The place will do, if your men are faithful. Get W. away from the hotel at once—he may blab Hold him tight. Will see you very soon. Don't injure the old man. BERTRAND.” ‘* Hello /” ejaculated Bob, as he read the last word. ‘ Bertrand, hey? Great Scott! this is like I’ve struck ile. ‘Get W. away from the hotel.’ Who’s W.? Snakes an’ bed-bugs! who is he ef he ain’t Adam Woodman?” CHAPTER V. BOB VISITS THE ITALIANS. Naw looked at Bob o’ the Bowery in surprise. ‘*See yer,” she said, ‘“‘ you ain’t tuk ter bug- juice, hev ye?” “Not any, fer Joseph; but this epistle lets a ,owerful sight o’ light inter ther rat-trap whar keep my brains. This hyar note means biz, an’ I s’pect [ve struck ile. ‘M. G.’ stands fur Marco Gambora, every day in ther week arter early mass, an’ ‘ Bertrand’ is Oscar, ther dude, an’ ‘ W.’ means Woodman, from Squash Holler, wi’ hay-seed in his hair. What I s’pected is true; ther up-town dude hez stole Adam, an’ ther Prince o’ Mulberry street is inter it. I say, Nan, whar does this hyar Prince hang out?” ‘* He’s a curbstone ’rastocrat.” ‘So I should remark. But whar does he snooze?” ‘Dunno. Ax’em on Mulberry street. He’s a lectric light thar, an’ they'll put ye onter him. But, lawsee, I can’t stan’ round hyar chinnin’ all day. I’m off. Say, Bob, ye’re ain’t b’en *round fur a month.” Nan twisted her apron a little bashfully. ‘*Go way; I was thar last week; ’member it, cause ’twas ther day Stumpy licked four men. But [ll drop in ag’in. Mebbe I'llsend ye ’round a diamond ring or a gold watch in the mornin’. Watch fer em, an’ ef you see ’em you'll know they’ve come.” ‘*So has Christmas. You ain’t puttin’ out yer collat this week fer them as needs it,” She retreated down an alley, while Bob wink- ed solemnly. Some emotion made his mouth pucker comically, and his eyes beamed admir- ingly on Nan, but he soon returned to the letter | he had so luckily found. “Tm arter it, sart’in sure. I kin see vict’ry loomin’ up like ther “lectric light over Hell Gate. Adam, ole pard, you'll soon see me arter ye, an’, by cripes, [Ul ship ye back ter Squash Holler by the fu’st Norwic boat, ef they'll take sech brit- tle goods. Adam, I’m arter ye. dude, has stole ye, but don’t ye spill ther briny tears too much; I’m arter ye. Wonder whar Marco Maccaroni lives? an’ then wisit ther classic precepts o’ Mulberry street.” Bob did not wait for the disinfectant, but went to Mulberry street and began his inquiries. He was not at first successful, for the Italians were reticent concerning the ‘‘ Prince,” but the boy adopted the plan of pretending to have a letter for Gambora, and was then shown the house where he lodged. It proved to be a somewhat better-looking one than the others around it, but every sign went to show that it was-well filled with people, like all the houses in the Italian quarter. The young detective had done all he cared to do without deliberating carefully, and he was retracing his steps when he saw a band-organ, an old man and a small girl approaching. At first glance he recognized the parties he had pre- viously seen on the Bowery, and he looked sharply at Bianca. She was a very pretty young girl, with black hair and eyes, and round, red cheeks, which were almost like rich peaches. Bob o’ the Bowery had an eye for such things, and he found himself wishing that Nan, who claimed and easily held his allegiance, could part with her red hair and get such glossy black locks as had this daughter of Italy. But the great question in the bey’s mind was, was this girl Adam Woodman’s granddaughter? He had no reason for thinking so, but the idea would come in spite of all, and he resolved to know where she lived, Oscar, ther | | Til take a disinfectant | _they went on. 5 As they passed the girl looked at him steadily, and wih ous than a passing glance, and her black eyes were like velvet. ‘‘Cricky! she’s a good one!” thought the boy, as ‘““Ef Adam’s got sech an off- spring ez that he’s a lucky chap, an’ I'l) help him till my knees wobble. Hello! whar be they go- in’? It was no wonder Bob was surprised, for the irl turned and entered the house where the rince lodged, and the old man would have fol- lowed had not a fellow-countryman accosted him at the door. ‘* What luck, Tomaso?” he asked. ** Bad-a, bad-a,” the organ-grinder replied, shaking his gray head. ‘‘Men hoard-a their money this-a hard winter.” ~ They do the same-a with me-a. Rags is scarce, and-a when we git-a them they sell-a bad. If only the-a cholera comes, we shall be-a in bet- ter luck.” “Why so, Josef?” ‘* Ah, I don’t know-a, but they all teli-a me so. But you should do well-a with the bright eyes of-a Bianca to draw trade-a. Lip § tell me Mar- co Gambora has-a looked at her admiringly.” ‘Marco can’t have-a Bianca,” Tomaso hurried- | ly declared. “ Eb ? ‘* Bianca is but-a thirteen. ret.” ‘** Not-a to Marco?” ‘““No. She is but achild-a, I do not like-a the Italian way of marrying girls at so early age-a. The American way-a is better. Besides, Bianca has American blood-a.” Bob o’ the Bowery started, but pretended to be busy with a few coins he had taken from his pocket. “But think-a of Marco,” urged Josef. ‘‘He is a great man-a.” ‘* How does he-a live?” asked Tomaso, frowning. ‘““You and I know, Josef, but it is not-a wise to tempt Marco’s knife.” ‘So no more, Tomaso,” was the hurried reply. ‘““The Prince may be near. I will bid-a you good-day.” Then Josef hurried away, the organ-grinder entered the house and Bob was left alone. “Wal, by cripes, that’s sorter int’restin’,” he muttered. ‘‘ So Bianca hez ’Merican blood inter her veins? P’int one in favor o’ my scheme. I'll worruk this hyar case up, an’ ef it should prove she’s a descendant o’ ther Squash Holler chap wi’ hayseed inter his hair, Y reckon I'd scoop in a boodle. Ill worruk it up, an’ mebbe I'll strike *ile. An’ ther decent Italians is afeerd o’ ther Prince, is they? Strikes me he’s a Tar- tar o’ some sort. "Member now that Nan said he’s a padrone. As nigh ez I kin ketch onter ther padrone racket, he’s a sorter brigand on ther Bs S’pect as how Marco Maccaroni lives by bulldozin’ his neighbors outer their collat. Wal, he’s jest the bloke ter help Oscar, ther dude, an’ tn look inter it. But how’ll I do it?” Bob scratched his head meditatively. “Go to ther p’lice? Not any, fer Joseph. Would they b’lieve me if. I said Oscar was inter a scheme ter Worrit an’ jug ole Adam? Nary time. Oscar lives onter oe te Hill, an’ he’s a bigger toad than I be. How’'ll I git at him? Git Stumpy ter knock him out, Marquis 0’ Queensberry rules? Not any, fer Joseph, fer that wouldn’t find Adam. I reckon as how I've got ter go inter ther Prince’s palatial residence an’ see if ther gent from Squash Holler is inter it too.” Just then Bob happened to raise his eyes, and he stopped short as he saw Marco Gambora coming toward him. He had not himself been seen, and, at that moment, the Prince turned and entered a basement saloon where some som of Italy sold the stale beer so dear to the Italian palate. ‘“‘ So his nibs is arter a booze. Wal, that’s all right, I s’pose, but I wonder what sorter a dive this is.” The boy went to the front of the saloon and managed to look down. The place was dark and none too sweet-scented. Several Italians were present, and Marco had sat down at a ta- ble with another man, who was fat, red-faced and very fairly dressed. He had a small red mustache, and small eyes set in the middle of his puffy face, and looked like anything but an Italian. Bob started. He remembered that the hotel- clerk had said ‘that one of the men with whom Adam Woodman went away had been a man ‘¢ with a red face and small, red mustache,” and as he saw the Mulberry street Prince begip to talx rapidly with him, the boy was seized w‘* a desire to go in himself. She can’t-a marry
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bt es e My t. ‘ ““YENo, Bob, smellin’ o’ ther beer?” asked a voice behind him. _Bob turned. He saw a boy of about his own size, who bore a bootblack’s outfit. This sug- gested just the chance Bob wished. ““See yer, Mickey, I'll give ye a dollar fur ther use 0’ yer kit this evenin’—am’ yer hat an’ jacket. Is’t a trade?” Mickey looked astonished. ** Wot fer a racket hev ye—” “Mind yer eye, young chap; no talk or no trade. Is’t a go? Bob displayed a silver dollar. Mickey hesitated no longer, and the change was soon made. Bob was transformed. e had been wearing a coat big enough for two of him. Mickey’s paket fitted closely to his body and made him look three years younger, and much smaller. The change from his eap to =r slouch hat was equally effective, and even Nan might have been troubled to recognize him at first. He lost no time, but, with his kit in place promptly walked into the saloon. The gas had just m turned on, but the burner was a stuffy concern, which gave little light. Bob saw the Prince and the red-faced man still talking, and he got around to their rear un- noticed. Then he made a pretense of seeking custom, but, the Italians in the place being of the lower order, failed to get a chance to ‘‘ shine ’em up.” So he sat down near the man he had marked and began to cautiously crack and eat peanuts, while he eagerly listened. **T tell you there is no danger,” Marco was saying. ‘*But Bertrand don’t think so. He hurried over to my place at once and gave me a ti about the boy, and he was blamed neryous. regular scare was onto him,” the red-faced man declared. “Tt was queer that the boy told him you fellows said to Woodman that you came from’ Bertrand. You're sure you didn’t say so, aren’t . and Marco looked a little suspiciously at companion. “Certainly I am. Do you take me for a fool?” rr ING truth?” ““Tt’s my opinion that. the old man let on to him, somewhat, and that the kid was sharp — to put two and two together jfor our. “Then he’s sharp enough to do more mis-’ chief,” said Marco, with a scowl. ‘* That’s horse sense.” ** What did you call him?” { Bob o’ the Bowery is his own chosen name.” * Describe him.” } ‘Well, as I never saw the scamp I can’t be explicit, but it seems that he’s a regular raga- muffin and tough—the sort of fellow that joins a ‘gang’ at seventeen or eighteen, and finally winds up at the gallows, not having brains enough to play the confidence dodge. But his leading characteristic seems to be clothes fit for a man weighing a hundred and seventy; they fall all over him, and the coat, which 1s a frock, bas” Sow tails nearly down to his heels.” “The devil!” ejaculated the Prince. “ Hello, what’s the racket?” ‘*T believe I know this kid. A saucy scamp insulted me on the street only an hour or soago and his agility saved him a flogging. I notice the coat in particular. Malediction, do you sup- pose he’s spotting me ?” Marco actually seemed frightened. “Possibly, but I reckon you don’t care.” “T reckon I do. You ought to know an in- vestigation would go hard with me. The police are dead set against the padrone pee and you know how I earn ps heb Wolf.” ** Don’t be afraid of a crear y imp like that kid. If he gets nasty, we'll chuck him into the East river. His miserable life sha’n’t stand in the way of our present game; it’s too big. Just ou hold on to the old man and it'll be O. K. e won’t know the girl if he sees her.” “Tm afraid of Tomaso’s eyes. He’s sharp, and he’s just the kind of a fellow to peach,” “Fire out then, hand-organ and all. We can’t afford to—” Just then there was a scuffle behind them, and, before they could turn, something heavy struck Wolf in the side and knocked him over, chair and all, while a small boy came down on top of | Arms and legs were a good deal mixed; but, But how did the boy get so near the if Bob o’ the Bowery had not had on Mickey’s of jacket, the Prince of Mulberry street might have ognized the person he so much feared. The boy detective was still on his track. Bob o’ the Bowery. CHAPTER VI. THE YOUNG DETECTIVE IN A CLOSE CORNER. Bos o’ the Bowery had not by any means in- tended to knock Mr. Lije Wolf over, nor in any way to interrupt the conversation to which he was listening so eagerly. On the contrary, the mishap was due to a.sudden fight between two unknown Italians, who had lurched against the young detective so heavily that he was trans- formed into a missile which knocked Wolf over without any connivance on his own part. Unluckily for Bob, Marco Gambora did not see this at once, and he sprung forward and seized the boy before he could rise, holding him in a close grip. ‘* What d’ye mean by this, you young whelp?” cried the Prince. ‘‘ Begorra, ye naden’t be so moighty sharp on a feller,” retorted Bob, breaking into a broad Irish brogue.. ‘‘ Oi’ll throuble yez ter sce dhat Oi c’u’dn’t help moisilf. Wan ave dhem chaps knocked me over wid dhe butt-end ave a cy- clone, an’ ye kin hear dhe simmer ave it now, can’t yez? Marco could. By this time he became aware that there was trouble in the dive, though fight- ing had given place to a war of words. But he looked suspiciously at Bob. ‘“ Who are you, anyhow?” ‘**Bedad, Oi’m Patsy O’Connor, an’ Oi’m a dacent b’ye dhat shines boots fur all dhe alder- mén since dhe new Board kim inter orfice. Divil a bit do Oi care fur politics; whin Oi git a chance ter shine em up, up dhe goes a-glitt’rin’ loike dhe glass diamonds on dhe sthage-girruls.” ‘“*He’s all right,” said Wolf, laughing. ‘ Let the kid go.” ‘*Sha’n’t Oi shine ’em up, sor?” ‘** Not now; see you later. You'd better git out of here; it’s no place for kids,” Just then the keeper of the place approached and added the same information from an official point of view, and Bob saw that the game was up for the present. Marco Gambora looked at him suspiciously still, and seemed liable to rec- ognize him at any time, despite the poor light and change of garments, so Bob promptly va- cated the saloon, ‘‘Tve seen that boy before,” said the Prince, looking after him with a thoughtful air. “Likely as not. Such Arabs as he are all over the city, with their brushes and blacking. The young knave has a bright face, and he may grow up to bea decent man yet. He wouldn’t make a bad decoy now, and with practice, oy big heavy at hikes and the like,” observ- olf. : ‘*T don’t like the hound. Somehow, I think he crossed tak once— But never mind, Have a beer, Wolf?” “Thank you—none of the pry? street | sort for me,” said Wolf, with a grin. don’t just take to it, you see.” In the meanttime, the boy detective had gone out to the street in the best of spirits. Little as he had heard of the talk between the two men, it had been enough to convince him that he was on the trail of Adam Woodman’s abductors. Clearly, Lije, Wolf was one of the men who had decoyed him away from the hotel. But this was not all. One of the scamps had said that there was ‘‘ no danger that the old man would see the girl.” What girl? Bob remem- bered that Bianca, the tambourine-girl, lived in the same house which sheltered the Prince. If, as the boy suspected, Woodman was confined in that place, what was more natural than that Bianca was the girl they did not wish the old man to see? Bob’s opinion that she might be Adam’s granddaughter grew stronger. There could no longer be any doubt but Wood- man had been kidnap by Oscar Bertrand’s orders, and Bob might have gone at once to the police-station had he not resolved to work up the case himself. , What would his old friend, Wrixley, the de- tective, say if, when he returned, the peanut- merchant had run such a clique of rogues to earth? But what was to be the next step? sar He was revolving this question in his mind when the sight of a light figure flitting beh the street aroused him. It was Bianca. With- out stopping to consider his impulse, he hurried ye to er side, inte Naas out ietiha ggin’ yer parding, miss,” he said, politely, ‘‘kin ye tell ioe whas oy this classic precept lives & man named Tomaso?” Bianca looked at him with honest black eyes, though she seemed to be a little timid. “Ts he an organ-grinder?” she asked, in a musical voice. ‘ ‘ ’ : % ve Z Me st a 7 ‘ f I : } *B’lieve that are his occerpation.” ‘Tt must be my grandfather. Did you want to see him?” “Yas. Got important business wi’ him.” ‘* What is it?” “Tt is—a—it is—that is ter observe, ter speak right ter ther p’int, I wanter see him ter—ter ax *bout orgins.” ; ~ found a pretext, after a desperate ef- te) ‘* You can go with me, and I’ll show you where grandfather is,” said Bianca, graciously. “That'll be ther figger fur Joseph. You be ilot, an’ Pll come right arter. Couldn’t be in titer comp’ny, by hokey!” “ Did I see you once before to-day, just before dark?” ‘“My classical = might ’a’ crossed yer vision, fer sure. I’m a sort 0’ perambulatin’ tram, au’ I show up like acomet at times. Yas, Tih? . you did see me, some.” ‘* ... were dressed differently then.” ** So T was, but I’ve been ter ther Metropolitan Hotel, where I hev seven rooms onter ther par- lor floor, an’ put on my Board o’ Trade togs. sorter like ter strike ther eye favorable w’en I make a call onter my frien’s.” Bianca looked at him in a little surprise, but, as the house was by this time reached, she was turning toward the door when he stopped. “Ef I ain’t too brash, w’ot might be yer name?” “ Bianca Silva.” ‘* Ttalian?” . : “Yes, sir. That is, my father was Italian; my mother was an American.” ‘*She was, hey? Sorter struck me ye had a dash 0’ liberty blood. W’ot was her name?” ‘*T don’t know,” replied the girl, sadly. ‘‘ She ran away and married father, and then she died. ‘‘I don’t remember her.” ‘That's bad. Was yer ole man named Silva?” ‘“Oh! no; that is Tomaso’s name. I call him grandfather, but he is not related to me. He never knew my parents either. I was brought up by a lady on Houston street. She was very good to me, if she was poor, but she was the only one who knew about me, and when she died suddenly, nobody knew who I was any- way.” o Sho! Complercated case, ain’t it? Wuss’n bein’ lost in Jersey swamp. Wal, I’ve sorter tooken an int’rest in ye, an’ mebbe Til git In- - il Byrnes ter straighten ther case out. e ’s ther boss eloocider o’ Gotham, ye know, an’ he’s a pertic’lar friend o’ mine. Used ter go ter school with him an’ all ther Pinkertons, over in. Bohoken.” Bianca looked at him doubtfully. ‘“ Will you go up and see Tomaso now?” she asked, ‘Yas. I may ez wal amble tharaway ef my patent-leathers won't s’ile ther carpet.” ‘There are no rb es in here, except Mr. Gambora’s, and—and I don’t see your patent leathers, either.” “That so? Fact, by cripes. Left’em in my par'or an’ come out with tanned ox onter m feet, b’gosh. Wal, never mind; heave ahead, an’ Je be round yer way w’en ther supper-bell, ingles, f jianca’s great eyes grew larger as she listened to Bob’s remarks, but she said nothing and led the way up two flights of stairs. Everything went to sow that the house was a perfect bee- hive, as nearly all the houses in the ‘‘ Italian quarter” are, but as the owner barred rag- pickers, there were none of the tattered monu- ments which the Italian collector of these ar- ticles piles up in his room like breastworks. On the top floor Bianca reached Tomaso’s room. She pushed open the door and entered, and Bob promptly followed. A dim kerosene lamp burned on a rickety table, and the attic was most miserably furnished. In one corner was Tomaso’s organ; before a faint fire was. Tomaso, himself. He looked very much sur- prised at seeing Bob. “Grandfather, here’s a young man come to see you about hand-organs,” explained Bianca, “That's a straight tip. I’ve heerd 0’ you ez. ther boss grinder-out 0’ Yankee Doodle an’ ‘ Wait till ther Clouds Roll By,’ an’ ’'m anxious ter git pints from a gent who kin make ther Mulligan Guards sound ez populous an’ nourish- in’ ez ther Star Bangled Spanner.” Tomaso looked bewildered. He had not un- derstood half Bob said. ‘“*- You want-a know about-a hand-organs?” ‘“* Sech was ther drift o’ my stump-speech.” ‘You go-a into the business?” ‘Clean in up ter my chin, wi’a Durham monkey right from ther Amazon, in Dutch- cheese land.”
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“Ah! ah! you talk-a too fast,” sighed To- SO. ‘Wal, I ain’t mean enough ter hurry a per- cesh, an’ Ill git off my 2:10 trottin’ nag an’ walk wi’ you. W’ot I want is ter git ther straight tip outer ther orgin racket. D’ye ketch on? Tomaso understood to a certain degree, and, as he was a good-hearted old man, readily gave the boy all the information he could. But Bob didn’t care a cent for points about organs, and he soon managed to turn the conversation on other subjects. The old Italian professed to know nothing about Bianca. He had taken her from a chari- table motive when her former protector died, and as he was very poor, had taken her on the street with him occasionally as a tambourine- girl, as he thereby made more money. He said she was as dear to him as a daughter, and the way in which the two looked at each other con- firmed the idea. “‘T shall never leave grandfather Tomaso,” said Bianca. ‘‘Marco Gambora wants me to cars 2s him, but I;will not.” ‘Nur me, neither,” said Bob. old be ye?” ‘* Thirteen.” ‘* Wal, I don’t a’prove o’ no marryin’ at that age, not fer Joseph. Why, I’m ’most fifteen, an’ I’m still a bachelor.” ‘“‘Ttalian girls marry young,” **but Marco can’t-a have Bianca. not.” ‘“’Tis said he’s a sort o’ bully ’round hyar, an’ makes others pay fur his grub, fine clothes an’ hair-ile. The Padrone Prince, I’ve heerd him called.” ‘* Ah! he is-a very powerful among the-a It- alians, Of some he knows secrets, and he makes them pay-a or he will tell the police. Honest men-a he frightens, and they pay-a, too.” ** He’s a holy terror, ain’t he?’ ‘**Don’t tell-a that I spoke of-a it!” said To- maso, suddenly frightened. “Not any, fer Joseph. I’m ez mum ez a mayor’s clerk. But does he ever do any funny business in this hy palace?” ** Any what?” ; **Crooked biz; anything that ther law could git onter an’ warm him fer, perfesh’nally?” The old Italian shook his head. “T know-a nothing about the Prince’s af- fairs.” .““S’pose he should ketch me hyar, an’ was mad, would he shet me up hyar? Could he shet a chap up hyar an’ keep him hid?” Bob was working around to the matter which had brought him to the old house. He felt re- newed confidence when he saw the organ-grind- er’s face grow pale and startled. The old man raised both hands deprecatingly. “I know-a nothing—I know-a nothing!” he ‘Why, how said Tomaso, I like him-a cried, ‘‘Hello! hev I hit ye heavy? Mebbe Marco hez some chap shet up hyar now, eh? Ef he has, jest warble ther news ter Hannah, an’ I'll :eim- uss ye fer any eeapense ye're to. Come, who is shet up inter this house? Tomaso did not appear to hear the last words, and seemed to be looking beyond Bob o’ the Bowery. Then he lifted one hand and pointed with a shaking finger, dire alarm expressed on his face. The boy wheeled quickly. The door had been softly opened, and on the threshold stood the Padrone Prince of Mulberry street, his swarthy face twisted into an expres- sion of deadly fury; his glittering eyes turned on Bob like those of a veritable tiger. CHAPTER VII. BOB’S ROPE-WALK. ProrowunpD silence reigned for a few seconds in the room. It was clear that Gambora was in a passion, and Tomaso Silva and Bianca knew him well enough so that they were thoroughly frightened. e old organ-grinder shook like a man with palsy. Even Bob o’ the Bowery was for a moment seriously disturbed. He knew a good deal about Italians. He knew they were hot-tempered and revengeful, with an inclination to use their knives upon those they hated, and he learned enough of the Prince to be aware that he was all-powerful in the Italian quarter. elieving that he was recognized, he knew not to what point Marce might go, and in that crowded Mulberry street house, whatever he did would probably never be known outside. Certainly, meek old Tomaso would not dare the wrath of the Padrone Prince. Marco’s pause enabled Bob to recover his! Bob had deftly adjusted the rope as he spoke, | ther case new. Bob o’ the Bowery. 7 usual ‘‘ nerve,” and it seemed to quiet the Prince He then threw open the window. . All the street too. When he spoke, it was quite calmly. ‘* So you’re here,” he said, ‘Wal, I s’pect i was the cool reply. ve Wh 79) ‘* Lookin’ fur a hand-organ an’ monkey.” ** You lie!” “Dol? Wal, now, sech a ree-mark ez that in ther Board o’ Trade ’u’d git a bloke all chawed up, but I s’pose it’s O. K. in this classic precept.” ‘* You’re here as a spy.” ‘Sho! Go ’way! ow’re jokin’. W’ot’re ye givin’ us? W’ot is thar hyar ter spy at?” ‘“*T heard what know your game. I know you, too. You're the kid that thinks it’s cunning to stick his nose into other people’s business. I'll show you whether it is or not.” | lamps were lit ooking at the boy. | ally quiet. He hoped. no ‘one would observe sorter hev that *pearance,” | him dangling in mid-air. He paused and looked but Mulberry street was unusu- at Tomaso. ““Good-by, ole pard,” he said, genially. ‘Sorry I can’t close no bargain ‘bout orgins this eve, but I'll see you ag’in. Ef Maccaroni cuts up rusty, report ter me at City Hall. Bi- anca, you’re a brick fit ter be in a church, I jist cotton ter ye like a cinder ter a brakeman’s eye. Will see ye all later. Don’t call a colored domestic fer ter show me out; I kin find the rou said to Tomaso, and I | ‘*Oh! come now, w’ot’s riled up eo stumjack | so mightily? B’en a-eatin’ too much maccaroni, ain’t ye? Pow’ful bad fer ther optic narves, specially w’en ther cholera is in France. W’ot yer want is a Rochelle powder, wi’ some catnip tea inter ye ez a counter-irritant.” ‘** Boy, who sent you here?” the Prince asked, | earnestly. ‘*T wasn’t sent; I come. tions allays duz come. [I’m an ajint fer ther S’ciety fer ther Importation o’ Hoang-Ho South- down Monkeys. in I sell you a dozen?” The Prince did not answer. He stepped out of the room, and then slammed the door together after him. Bob sprung forward and tried to open it. It resisted his efforts. There was no Malignant dispensa- | lock, but, even in that brief space of time, Gam- | bora had in some way succeeded in fastening it. Bob ran to the window and looked out. The distance to the ground was too great to be leap- ed, and he saw no water-spout, or anything of the kind to help him. He turned to the organ-grinder. **Maccaroni hez shet us up like rats, hain’t he?” was his cool comment. ‘“Oh! oh! oh!” cried Tomaso, a be killed.” ‘* We shall? Go’way! wiped out. Not any, fer Joseph. Ef Maccaro- ni thinks he kin keep a flea-blown ’Merican citizen inter this den, he’s mistook.” The boy kicked lustily at the door. ‘*Lemme out!” he called, ‘‘or [ll put my shoulder ag’in’ ther pillar an’ rattle down yer hull shebang, same ez Samson did ter ther Hot- tentots. Open ther door, or you'll think ye’ve sot a Spanish ‘arthquake inter hyar. I'm a ee factory, an’ this ere’s my arternoon out. , A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned and saw Bianca. “ If ‘* Be very careful, brave boy,” she said. you pe out, Marco will shoot you.” “*Tain’t goin’ out jest yit,” said Bob, witha rin. ‘*Too many ’structions in ther way. Say, omaso, start up yer orgin, an’ ther pelloocid moosic may bu’st ther door orf from its hinges.” ‘*Marco knows you,” persisted Bianca, ‘‘ and he hates and fears you. He called you a spy. You did not come here to ask about organs. Why did you come?” “Wal, now, b’gosh, you’ve got a head onter ye, haven't yer? You orter be perfessor at Yale cemetery. You'd be ther boss eloocidater o’ Greek, Dutch an’ Jersey dead languages. What s’pose I do tell wot fer I'm hyar! Will ye help me?” Bianca glanced at Tomaso, but he seemed too much alarmed to hear what was said. ‘*T think so,” she replied in a low voice. ‘* Wal, then, has ther Padrone got an ole man shet up hyar? I’m arter a chap from Squash Holler, with hay-seed inter his back hair—Adam Woodman, ter wit, et setry. He’sa full-blooded | Yankee right from ther clam-chowder deestricks o’ Connecticut, but he’s a protegee o’ mine. Hev ye see’d any sech giraffe hung onter Maccaroni’s watch-chain fer a charm?” “‘T think there is such an old gentleman in Persida’s room.” ‘* Who’s Persida?” ‘* She’s Marco’s helper.” “Oh! she is? Wal, I wanter see ther old chap, right bad. Whar’s Persida’s parler?” “On the floor below, at the rear.” ** Co’reck. yourn?” ‘* Tt opens from the hall.” “Um! Wal, I’m goin’ that way ef you please.” ‘*How .can you?” and Bianca’s eyes opened widely. “Tl take that thar rope, tie one end ter ther bed-post, an’ then go down one floor. See?” W’ot’s ther winder jest under door-mat.” He skipped out of the window in what seemed a reckless way, and his venture was certainly a reckless one. If he fell to the sidewalk he would probably never see another Christmas. But is did not intend to fall. He could climb like a sailor, and his plan, which would have been impossible of execution to any ordinary person, seemed easy enough to him. : It proved to be so. e slid down with a strong grasp on the rope until he reached the window below, and then, resting his feet on the projection, tried the lower sash. It was not fastened, and easily arose. He chuckled, swung inside, let go the rope, and was one floor nearer the ground. He was now in a hall reaching the width of the house. A light burned at the head of the stairway but it was a feeble kerosene affair, and it would not have been easy to recognize a person in the hall. Bob heard the buzz of voices on both sides of the hall, but no one was visible. ‘‘ Now fer Persida’s rocm an’ ole Adam,” he thought. ‘‘Is’pose ef Maccaroni gits his awful grip onter me, ther peanut trade’l! lose its solar | cistern, but no Bowery boy don’t knuckle ter ‘We shall all- | Mulberry street this week; not fer Joseph!” _ Despite the boy’s grasp on the subject, he did not fully comprehend his danger. He had, as yet, found no one who could, and dared, tell him what Marco Gambora was to the Italian colony, or how many dark deeds were suspected of Le- | ing due to his merciless work. I ain’t goin’ fer ter be | The Prince had not won his title solely by wearing good clothes. “Cricky! I wish Stumpy was hyar. Le wouldn't car’ a sour peanut fer all ther Maccar- onis, an’ ef they cut up rough he’d wipe ther floor allclean wi’ em, four rounds, Marquis 0’ Quecns- berry an’ Paddy Ryen rules. Beats all crea- | tion w’ot a ‘terzible left’ that air Stumpy has got!” ; With this tribute to his warlike partner, Bob glided along the hall. .He believed he had suc- ceeded in locating the ‘‘rear room” said to be | occupied by Persida, and he desired to leain if , Adam Woodman was really there. So he walk- ed cautiously forward. After advancing a few steps he saw_that the door was open, and his face fell. He went nearer and saw a wrinkled-up old Italian vo- man brooding over a fire, but there was no one else in the room, A step sounded on the stairs, and Bob got into a dark corner as soon as possible, . A man came up and, not observing the boy, walked into the room. “Ah! where is-a your lodger, Persida?\ he asked. ‘¢ Gone,” returned the woman, tersely. ‘* Gone?” ‘Yes. The Prince took-a fright, and-a has carried the man off in a hurry.” ‘The dickens he hez!” muttered Bob. ‘“ By cripes, I’m too late!” ‘* Where has he-a taken him?” ‘*T know-a not, but wait and-a you shall see. The Prince will soon be-a back. e has a boy up-stairs that wants attention.” ‘* What boy?” ‘‘ Some-a one who has spied upon him. The Prince is frightened. He-a fears discovery, and-a then he would suffer, while all the-a others would go free.” “Trust Marco to save himself. If there isa spy after him-a, the Prince will-a kill him.” “Not this week, he won't,” muttered Bob. ‘¢T}] slide out while slidin’ is gocd. Ole Adam hez b’en tooken away, hay-seed an’ all, an’ ef I stay hyar I'll git knifed in reg’lar Maccaroni style. That wouldn't sot wal on my inner man —not for Joseph,” ; ; Before he had thought all this he was on his way down-stairs. He went softly, and no one appeared to molest him, so he was scon on the street. ; “Ther jig is up fur ther present, fer sart’in sure,” he thought. ‘‘Ole Adam hez lt ecn took- en ter another place o’ which deponent knows nothin’. I’ve got ter begin all over, an’ pi First o’ all, I s’pect I'd better -)
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~ me. it home an’ sleep a few dozen o’ revivin’ winks. feel ther need o’ a Brussels mattress an’ hoss- hair carpet. Good-by, Prince Maccaroni; I'll see ye w’en ther sun goes down.” alking nimbly, he soon left Mulberry street, but had not reached his humble quarters when the sight of two men just ahead engaged in a war of fists aroused his interest in pugilism. He ran toward them, and, as the street was quiet and deserted by all, policemen not excepted, chanced to be the only witness of the affair. “ Hello!” he said, aloud. “I know one 0’ them pile-drivers; it’s Crow McGookin, ther Terror, an’— Great Scott! Ill eat my patent- leathers ef t’other ain’t Gus Redding, ther chap that ’u’d ma Helena Abbott ef Oscar, ther dude, hadn’t got ther inside track. Whew!” CHAPTER VIII. THE ITALIAN SAILOR. Bos was right. One of the gentlemen was he who had taken the boy’s part so valiantly on Fourteenth street, when Oscar Bertrand made the accusation of pocket-picking, and just as the merahre: 4 lad real this, Redding sent in a scientific blow which leid Mr. Crow McGookin over in the gutter. When he regained his feet he unceremoniously took to his heels and disappeared around the corner, ‘* Wal done, by cricky! Ye did that bloke up brown, in style fit fur John L., ther slugger. Yee a rattler from Rattle-bang, you be. Don’t know but one chap in York that kin beat ye, an’ him is Stumpy, my pardner. He’s jesta pile-driver on stilts w’en he gits down ter solid work,” The gentleman had been waiting for a chance tos ; ‘**So this is you, my young friend?” ‘*S’pect it’s w’ot is left onter me. I ain’t no- body else. Don’t see nothin’ in my class’cal fee- tur’s ter ’mind ye o’ Jay Gould or Adrian Hitt, ther prize walkist, do ye?” ‘Nothing. So Bertrand hasn’t had you arrested yet?” ‘* Not any fer Joseph.” ss “* He did not think you took that purse?” ** Jest my idee o’ fried rattlesnakes. But why did he go fer ter injure my repootation ez a man *bout town?” “That’s what I have vainly asked myself. He knew you were innocent, so why did he unce upon you?’ musingly asked Redding. ‘My only explanation 1s that he selected you because he was anxious to have the theft fasten- ed on some one.” - By Chri'mms!” *““ What now?” ‘““Why, it nat’rally follers that he—Oscar, ther dude, his own personal, sole self—was ther og Course he war, an’ ez he hed ther eather in his pocket when ’twas diskivered missin’, that wos w’y he wanted a wictim.” ‘*Not so fast. Remember he is a rich man, and that Miss Abbott is his future wife. Why a he steal a few beggarly dollars from er? - ‘*W'ot else besides money was inter ther pocket-book?” ‘* That I don’t know.” ‘* Wal, I’m goin’ ter find out.” **'You are? How?” ‘*By axin’ Miss Abbitt. I ‘low that Oscar, ther dude, stole ther leather, not fur ther boodle inter it, but fer some other article. Me an’ ther dude ain’t pals by seven miles, an’ I’m arter him heavy. Say, it’s mighty odd Miss Abbitt cottons ter him when sech a white man ez you ’re a candidate fer ther orfice o’ ice-cream beau.” Redding smiled. ‘* You seem to have a good oninion of me, but, so far as Bertrand is concerned, their engage- ment is an old family matter, and ['m not sure but the lady is anxious to recede from it. Oscar seems to have that fear, and is jealous of I believe this recent assault is due to him. He would like to see my name paraded in the papers as having been in a drunken row, which would probably be the way the reporters would hash it up, for sensation, if I had come to grief. Luckily, I was too much for the ruffian.” ye Right you are, boss, You laid his nibs out fer keeps. But, look out; Crow McGookin is a bad ’un, an’ ef he kin git a lick at ye on yer blind side, he'll do it an’ never turna hair.” “Thank you for your warning; and now I'll leave you, as I am in a hurry. 1-night.” Redding shook Bob’s none-too-clean hand cor- dially, and then turned and walked rapidly away. «He's a good one from his big toe ter his bump o’ weneration, an’ I’d like him for a pard. seme * v nd / PY eres! sith MS 1 Bob o’ the Bowery. T’s about ter tell him w’ot I know "bout Adam, o’ Squash Holler, but I must postpone it till a more orspicious ’cashun.” ; The boy walked on, but his adventures were not yet over. He soon arrived where a police- man was bending over a man who lay on the sidewalk. Bob’s firstidea was that the ‘“‘mem- ber of the finest” had been using his club, but this was not so. He was supporting the un- known with care and kindness. ‘* How was ye hurted?” asked the policeman. ‘Fell off an Express train-a,” replied a thick voice. ‘*Do ye mane a street-car?” ‘** No; I said an Express train-a.” ** Who are yez, onyhow, me b’ye!” “Tm a sailor. k-a at my arm, and-a you'll see a chain and-a anchor.” ‘* What is dhe name ave yer vessel?” ‘*She didn’t have-a any.” ‘* Bless me soul, he’s clane gonein dhe hi’d ave him,” observed the officer. “‘ Oi ixpect he fell off ave a care, or rin afoul ave wan 0’ dhe gangs.” ‘* He’s Italian, hain’t he!” Bob asked. All the replies of the injured man had been thick, slow and absently spoken, but he now seemed to revive suddenly. “Si, si!” he explained. ‘ Italy—Venice—a son of the sea. Take me to Bianca!” ‘“Hey?’ cried Bob. ‘‘ Bianca? Who's she? Do ye know Tomaso Silva, o’ Mulberry street?” “Bianca? I know ony Bianca!” The man had relapsed into his old sluggish manner, and the patrolman shook his head. ‘*No use,” he said. ‘‘ He’s got a fracture ave dhe skull, or some sich throuble. Tl have to— Begorra, here’s the roundsman!” A roundsman was indeed approaching, and. when he had failed to make the man talk intel- ligibly, an ambulance was summoned and he was taken to the hospital. Bob remained near until he was taken away, and then pursued his former course, ‘* Wish I knowed all about that chap. So he wanted fer ter see ‘ Bianca,’ did he? Now, lem- me argue ther case. Ther friend o’ Adam’s ftalian son-in-law, who sent ther paper ter Adam so he ec’u’d find his granddarter, was an Italian sailor. This chap is an Italian sailor. I think Adam’s granddarter is Bianca, ther tambourine- ounder, This man wanted ter see ‘ Bianca.’ Now, Pll bet a pint o’ peanuts ag’in’ City Hall that this hyer is jest the same chap. Tl keep on thinkin’ so till I git at the rights o’ this case, an’ git at em I will ef I bu’st my broadcloth Prince Albert!” Bob o’ the Bowery was up at an early hour the following morning, and, after eating some- thing, he had a social talk with Stumpy, his warlike partner, and then walked briskly {o- ward the Bowery. He paused short of that point, however, and, entering a house, found his red-haired girl-friend, Nan, washing dishes. ** Hullo, Queen Vic!” was his salutation. ‘*Makin’ ther royal china shine like a dude’s eye-glasses, ain’t ye?” ‘** Dudes orter know,” retorted the girl, giving her dish-cloth a flourish. ‘*T s’pect you’re an authority on them cattle,” said Bob, placidly, ‘‘ though I never knowed afore whar yer silks an’ satins come from.” ‘You was goin’ ter send me’round a diamond this mornin’, Whar is it?” ‘“°'Twon’t be hyar afore noon. "T'was so heavy it broke down Adams’s Express wagon, an’ Adams has got ter go over inter Brooklyn an’ borrer another vehighcle. But this ain’t biz an’ biz is w’ot I come onter. D’ye wan’t a job? ** Ain’t I got a job?” ‘“Go ’way! I mean, force.” ‘Yas, an’ I want a thousand dollars. Mebbe you kin git °em both fer me,” retorted Nan. ** Nary thousand; I voted ther wrong ticket fer mayor. But see yere, Nan; no foolishin’ now. I want ye ter do some biz. I want a man watched, He’s got two eyes in his head, an’ is sharp ez ther rail tera hoss-car, an’ ef I pipe him he’ll tumble. But he won’t s’pect no gal ter be on that lay.” ““Wot's inter it?’ thoughtfully asked Nan, pausing with a plump hand on each side of the dish-pan. ‘Thar’s a boodle, but I can’t say how much ter a figger.” { “Wot fer d’ye want him piped? I hope ye ain’t j'ined a gang, Bob, an’ gone ter ther bad. I’ve knowed ye ever sence we was young, an’ I'd hate ter hear it on ye. ‘Sides, I don’t help ter git no innercent man inter ther hands 0’ sharpers.” : The girl spoke earnestly. Her light manner onter ther detective = i — had disappeared, and it was plain that a good and honest heart beat under the ill-fitting, rag- ged dress she wore. Her gray eyes looked re- roachfully out at Bob from under her wild, red ir which, regardless of fashion, would wave and crimp whether or no. ‘*Great Scott! w’at be ye talkin’ about?” de- manded the young detective. ‘‘D’ye take me ter be a Thug? See anything *bout me that re- sembles a river-pirate? Does my classic mu look like a bunco-steerer’s? S’pect I’m a travel- in’ agent fur some Fagin? Not any, fer Joseph. I'm a perivate detective, an’ about ter ’stablish a bureau in orposition ter Pinkerton’s. Ax In- spector Byrnes.” “That'll do, Bob. I reckon ye'’re all straight an’ hope ye won’t hold ill-will cause I spoke right out,” said honest Nan. F ‘* Not any, fer Joseph?” replied Bob, heartily; and then he gave her such points as he saw ht about Adam Woodman’s second disappearance; adding that her work was to dog Marco Gam- bora and try to learn where he had taken the old man. His idea that the Padrone Prince would not think of suspecting a small girl to be a spy was a good one, and Nan entered into the scheme, with zeal. This matter being settled, Bob left the house and started off on another errand he had in his mind, but not far had he gone when he heard his name called. Turning, he saw a fine private a xe in the street, and from the open win- ow proach. | CHAPTER IX. CONFIRMATION OF BOB’S SUSPICIONS. Bos was surprised, but not in the least inclin- ed pleasant, kind and gracious, and her treat- ment of him in the past had quite won the boy’s heart. He went promptly toward the carriage and took off his cap politely—he had ‘ swapped back” with Patsy, the bootblack, and now wore his usual suit, with the long coat which dangled almost to his heels. ‘* Good-morning,” said Miss Abbott. ‘‘ Would you like to ride?” : ‘* Et costs five cents on a keer, onless we kin spot a bob-tail an’ hook on behind,” explained / the young detective. ‘Nonsense! “I’m not talking about cars; I mean in this carriage, with me,” she replied. “ Wot, me git in thar?” ‘* Certainly.” ‘** You’re givin’ me taffy.” ‘Oh! you perverse creature. is open—will you come in?” ? “Will I? D°ye s’pose I refuse orfice when it’s orfered? Not any, fer Joseph. In I gits, though w’ot fer IJ don’t know, ez I’m neither useful ner swell. But ther kerriage is swell, an’ so be you, an’ mebbe you want me fur a terrible egg-sam- ole.” By this time they were in motion. Bob had settled back on the elegant cushions, and was very much at his ease, though he carefully kept his muddy shoes away from Miss Abbott’s fine dress. ‘‘T have been looking for you,” she explained. ‘*T went first to where you said your store was —why, the ‘store’ is only a peanut stand, Robert—and your partner, Mr. Stumpy, di- rected me—” “Ha! ha! ha!” , Bob burst into explosive laughter which sur- prised and rather startled Helena. ‘“ Why do you laugh?” she asked. ‘*Oh! it’s too rich for even Astor"House soup. ‘Mister’ Stumpy! Gosh all baked peanuts, wouldn’t he smole a smile ter hear that. _‘ Mis- ter’ Stumpy! Now, ef you’s ter call me Mister it'd be all right, but Stumpy is sech a tough an’ bruiser. Say, miss, what was that awful boy doin’? Did ye see any headless bodies, or body- less heads, loafin’ ’round nigh him? Was he lickin’ Tim, the bootblack, or Ned, ther chap that sells ther one-hoss papers? Did ye see any ambulances or bone-doctors holdin’ up ther amp-post? In brief, was Stumpy settin’ up a hospittle ’round thar?” ‘ ‘“No, sir, he was not, and I believe you wrong him by giving him such a character. He don’t look in the least like a fighting boy. I believe you are the hard boy of the firm. But, never mind this; I want to ask you a question, and I want a serious answer.” ‘¢ You shall hev it, miss,” declared Bob, aban- doning his levity at once. E ‘Do you know you created a commotion at Oscar Bertrand’s house when you called there?” “Did I? What fur?” See! The door elena Abbott was beckoning him to ap- ed to decline the invitation. Miss Abbott look- |
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*-You made some singular statements; state- ‘ments which they denied in every particular. ‘You left the impression that Mr. Bertrand had kidnapped his grandfather.” as Wasn't aweer 0’ that. I knowed I tuk ther impression thar, but I tho’rt I tuk it away with me, too. Sol really left it, did I?” ‘You know what I mean. Now, how much of your story was true?” Miss Abbott earnestly asked Bob winked several times before he ventured to answer. How far could he trust Bertrand’s lady-love? He was anxious to get in a blow at Oscar, and at the same time help Gus Redding, but it would not do to be rash. ** Come, you can trust me,” the lady‘added. . “What ef I should sorter dim Oscar’s luster?” “T only ask that you tell the truth.” ‘You're to marry him.” “Am I? I’m not so sure of that!” Helena re- torted. *“Oh! ye needn’t ter please me, fer ther fact is, me an’ Oscar don’t jest cotton ter each other, we don’t, Ada&m didn’t like him neither. He said, Adam did, that the Bertrands was holler, mean, dec’itful, treacherous, an’ was arter his money.” ‘* Did he say that?” “ Every word on’t.” ““What about Mr. Woodman’s granddaugh- ter, the little girl?” “ Wot little girl?” craftily asked Bob. ‘Why, Mr. Bertrand’s cousin.” “Oh! I think I ketch yer meanin’, W’ot about her? Wal, that’s jest what Adam’d like ter know. Kin you give any p’ints?” “No. Ionly know that there is such a girl, but do not know where sheis. The Bertrands don’t know either.” ‘Did they tell you so?” “ce Yes.” “Pu bet my silk tile ag’in’ a church that they lie.” f “Dear me, why do you think so?” ‘From *pearances. Now, I take you ter be about ez squar’ ez they usually build folkses, an’ I don’t mind givin’ ye a few items. Ye see, Adam hez got a boodle ter leave ter some ’un, ef he does hail from ther rooral deestriks.. W’ot he hankers fer is ter make ther kid his heiress, but he “lows as how ther Bertrands i8 goin’ fur his poultry-farm red-hot, detarmined ter. shet ther gal out. An’ Is’pect Adam is right, too an’ that’s why Oscar, ther dude, has kidnapped onter ther ole gent.” ‘¢ Has he kidnapped him?” ‘©*S3 my opinion he hez.” ‘“‘ Did the men who took Mr. Woodman away from the hotel say that they came from Mr. Bertrand?” “No. They wouldn’t be so jolly green as that. But ye see I was onter ther racket, an’ I give it ter Oscar that way jest ter see how it ’d hit him. Mebbe you reccollect how it did hit him. He got red an’ white, an’ was mightily flustered.” Miss Abbott was watching the boy carefully, giving due heed to every word, and was muc interested. “Tn plain words,” she said, “‘ you think it is Mr. Bertrand’s scheme to keep the little girl from inheriting the old gentleman’s money?” “K rect ter a six-spot die.” “Then he is an unscrupulous villain!” was the energetic comment, and Helena’s eyes sparkled with indignation. “ Jess my erpinion, b’gosh!” The Bowery boy began to suspect that Miss Abbott had sought this interview with the sole object of satisfying certain doubts she enter- tained regarding Bertrand, and Bob was not slow to help along the suspicion, hoping to thereby better the chances of his friend, Gus Redding. ‘ But when the lady tried to get all the details of the case, our young friend was not so com- municative. Pleasant as Miss Abbott seemed, she might be a spy for Bertrand, and Bob kept his points to himself like a veteran detective. While they talked the carriage had rolled up Broadway, passed around Union Square and re- turned on its own track. It was plainly the in- tention to leave the peanut-merchant where he had been taken up, but he anticipated matters and, just as they passed Great Jones street, sud- denly expressed a desire to get out. He was accommodated: the carriage turned and passed rapidly up Broadway, and then Bob dodged into Bond street. ‘“‘Thar they be!” he muttered. . He referred to two men who were passing along ahead of him, and whom he had recog- nized as Oscar Bertrand and Crow McGookin. He had seen them from the carriage window, ” Bob o’ the Bowery. and it was no wonder he longed to be on their track. That he could follow them many minutes un- observed was not probable, and he was pleased when, after turning one or two corners, they had entered a saloon. Still, how was he to hear what they said? The trick by which he had spied upon the Prince and his friends would not work in this case, for no Patsy was at hand to loan his implements for a ‘‘ shine.” One thing was in Bob’s favor. The day was warm, and the heavy saloon doors had been thrown open, leaving only swinging screen- yao He promptly peered between the slats of ese. What he saw rather surprised him. Bertrand and McGookin had sat down at a pc close at hand, and with them was Mr. Lije V olf. Then it flashed upon the boy detective that in Wolf and McGookin he saw the two men who had decoyed Woodman away from the hotel. The clerk’s description had not been full, but they answered it as far as it went. ‘*T’m onter ’em!” was his terse comment. Next, he discovered that the three men were so near the screen doors that he could overhear what they said, and he stood still and listened. As long as no other customer passed in or out, and his legs were not observed below the screen, he was safe from notice. **T confess I was somewhat nervous,” said Bertrand, ‘‘and I wanted to know just how matters were going.” ‘Well, as Oi told yez,” said MeGookin, ‘ Oi failed wid Redding. He used his fists loike a Sullivan.” ‘* We will attend to him later. Let me hear Wolf’s report. Is this new cage for Woodman secure?” ** All O. K.,” returned Lije. ‘‘It’s solid, and the best of it is no one will think of looking for him there. If the boy blows to the police, and they believe his yarn—which is not likely, for such kids don’t get much credence from the cops —they will naturally suppose that, since Prince Marco is im the game, the old man is still in the Italian quarter.’ “Well, I’m glad he is out of it.” **Oh! he’s secure enough,” declared Wolf. ** And his jailers are faithful?” ** Yes; [ll go bail on that.” **T want you to caution Gambora to look out for that boy. I’ve seen him, and I dread him more than I would a detective. He’s got an eye like a needle, and there 1s no one sharper than a New York street boy. Tell the Prince to make sure he isn’t dogged by him.” ** How about Nan?’ mentally questioned Bob o’ the Bowery, with a wink. “The Prince will use due care. Besides, Mc- Gookin and I will soon dispose of the kid,” Wolf asserted. ‘* Attend to it as soon as possible. Next, what of the girl, this Bianca? Does she suspect?” Bertrand asked. ‘*Not a thing. She’s a simple little creature, considering the wild life she has led, and don’t imagine that the noble blood of the Connecti- cut gentleman flows in her plebeian veins,” The three men laughed at this compressed wit. ‘Well, keep your eye on her,” said Bertrand, buttoning his coat. ‘‘If she should disappear from our sight it would complicate matters. Look after all these points, men, and I won't spare money. As for me, I must not be seen in this locality too much. I'll take a Broadway stage and go i fe sl The trio hac a retreat to avoid discovery. spirits. ‘*T’ve got onter this O. K. Bianca is the heir o Adam, jest ez I thort, an’ ther hull racket is illoominated by a ‘lectric light. Now, it only remains ter hunt Adam up ag’in, and rescue him from ther inemy.” CHAPTER X. THE PADRONE’S PROPOSITION. THE Padrone Prince was walking along the street. awe. berry street, but not a valued one. committed a misdemeanor in the meaning of law, Marco Gambora was soon aware of it, and He was in high arisen, and Bob promptly beat | | | Men and women looked at him with |! He had made himself a power in Mul- | If an Itaiian | 9 his countrymen in general, but he kept the greater part of the hard characters in the colony on his side, and no one dared revolt. The city authorities had from time to time set a heavy foot on the padrone system as practiced in the Italian quarter, but Marco’s career had been comparatively brief, and so far he had es- caped molestation. n the present occasion he paused when he reached a certain house, hesitated a moment, and then entered without ceremony. He ascend- ed two flights of stairs, and then abruptly open- ed a door aad entered. He saw arough attic room at oneside of which Bianca sat, sewing. She started up at sight of him, her face assuming a frightened ]déok. ‘*Don’t rise, fair Bianca,” said the Padrone, airily. ‘‘ Keep your seat, and let us forget the difference in our worldly stations and meet simply as friends.” ‘Tomaso is not in,” faltered Bianca. “Tamaware of the fact. I saw him going away with his organ. So you stay at home to-day and act the frogal housekeeper ?” ‘*T—T am sewing.” ““So I can see,” laughed Marco. ‘ Well, I am glad to see we meet as friends. I come to say that I am sorry for my hasty course last | night. I ought not to have driven you out of the house, but I blamed you for not prevent- ' ing the escape of that boy, and my hot temper carried me too far. Gladly will I receive you back in my house, and, in any case, I_ beg your pardon for driving you out, Bianca. How could do so to one I admire so much as you, I don’t know.” ‘““T—I— We are doing very well here, and think we shall stay,” said the poor child, look- ing toward the door in the vain hope that some one would appear to rescue her from this inter- view. ‘* Perhaps you may as well until we are mar- ried,” said the Prince, pag & ‘*Oh! sir, don’t speak of that. Forgive me, but I cannot think of being married. am not yet fourteen years old.” ** Aren’t other girls marrying at that age every day about us?’ demanded Marco. There was truth in what he asserted. The Italians of Mulberry street have made them- selves notorious by their early marriages; a practice which seems no less than actual crime to our American minds. Gambora was not proposing a solitary case. The daily press re- cords frequent instances where girls who are mere eg ame go before some qualified magis- trate, accompanied by their misguided parents, to take a step which seems to us to be like plac- ing April where August belongs. ‘rightened Bianca could find no words with which to reply to the last argument. ‘* Now, let me talk plain common-sense,” con- tinued the Padrone. ‘‘ You are half American, aren’t you?” ‘6 Yes: sir.” ‘**'You don’t know who’were your parents?” *\No, sir.” “What if I find them, or, at least, your rela- tives, and place you among kind friends?” The girl looked at him sharply. ‘*Do you know who they are?” The Prince laughed. ‘*Soft and slowly. I want my reward fixed | before I tell too much. Suppose I find relatives for you who are kind and rich? Suppose I make you a fine lady, with silk dresses, diamonds, and all the money you could spend— anda carriage and two black horses, to drive through the Park. How would that suit you?” Marco chuckled, as though he believed the picture to be irresistible, but Bianca was not so much impressed. ‘“*T guess they don’t care much for me, or they would come and get me.” ‘* What if they don’t know where you are?” “Then you ought to tell them.” Gambora laughed. “So I will when you marry me.” “Tm not going to marry you, and you needn’t say anything more about it,” was the spirited reply. ¥ ** Ah! Do you know what becomes of people who make me angry?” Bianca’s rosy cheeks paled. **T can’t help it,” she faltered. “You must and shall. Come, I am giving from that time he held the man in his poper, | you a chance to leave poverty and be a fine and, however scanty the man’s earnings, he to contribute to the fund which kept the Prince had | lady. All it costs you is to take me along with you. I’m going, too. We won't say anything in idleness and good clothes; and if the criminal | more about this now, but I'll give you time to was the father of children, the latter were, in | think about it. some cases, taken by the Prince and sent out to beg on the streets for him. Such being the case, Marco was not loved by ' ; I feel sure that you will come to your senses soon, and agree to please me. If you say yes, I will take care of you, treat you kindly, and give you all the fine clothes and .
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‘ jewelry you can wear. If you refuse, beware, for my hand is heavy. What do they call mein Mulberry street?” : ‘* The Pddrone Prince.” ‘Never mind the ‘ Padrone’ part,” said Mar- co, frowning. ‘‘ That is a slander from my enemies, who hate me because I have more authority than they in the Italian quarter. If I were in sunny Italy, I should bea real prince. What do you think of that?” ‘J should think you would go there, then,” was the straightforward reply. Marco winced. ‘¢ Never mind that, but just recollect who and what I am, and that I am willing to share all these horfors with you. But I must go now. Farewell!” And the rascally Prince went out. He de- scended to the street, looked sharply each way, but, seeing no one who looked like a spy, saun- tered on down the street. He did not notice a small, red-haired girl, in a ragged dress, who followed close behind with an aimless, listless air. Could he have seen the glitter of her bright eyes, he might not have been so indifferent. The small girl was Nan, and she was wide- awake. ““Go on,” she muttered, ‘‘but I’m onter ye, an’ ef thar’sa light inter ther winder fer ye, I’m goin’ ter find it. Bowery Bob’s detective corpse is alive an’ kickin’!” Gambora passed what is known as the “‘ Italian quarter,” and entered a two-story, ill-looking building. A sour-looking woman answered his ring at the bell, and he was promptly admitted. ‘Well, what is the good word?” he asked. ‘The old man is here, all safe,” the woman answered, ‘Does he cut up roughly?” ‘*Not in the least. e’s as dignified as a preacher, and says he'll stay there until the walls crumble down before he'll yield a point.” ‘* He'd better wait until he’s asked,” said Gam- bora, with a scowl. ‘I am dictating, not re- questing, terms.” ‘*He threatens to use the law freely when he gets out.” “Let him threaten. He won’t get out until his hands are so bound with events that it will be to his interest to sing soft andslow. Youare sure he cannot escape?” ‘** Perfectly sure.’ ‘* Well, keep your door locked, and don’t let any one in.” “So I do; but what if the coppers should come?” “They won’t come; there is no reason why they should suspect this place.” e Padrone spoke confidently ; but he did not diese f forget Bob o’ the Bowery. He really feared that young man a good deal, and his per- formance at the other house had shown that he great nerve. ‘You just be faithful to me,” he added, “‘ and you shall never regret it. have got a little scheme of my own on foot, which ay give ‘me all the cherries on the tree, and if I win the or who are faithful to me will get well id. The woman’s eyes glittered with cupidity, and she promised to be faithful, but their conversa- tion was interrupted by a peculiar twang! and turning, they saw a knife sticking in the wall near Gambora, the handle still quivering from the force with which it had been sped. The Padrone, who had seen a good deal of jug- ‘gling work, realized the fact that it had been hrown by a skilled hand. No amateur could have done work like that. From the handle dangled a paper, tied on with a string, and he mutely picked it off. This is what he read: **Gampora:—Beware, for your sins are recoiling on P iy own head. Padrones are not wanted here, and, before many hours, you will be a dead man. } “THe Kyure-Bravo.” The woman had read this over Marco’s shoul- der, and she now spoke quickly: ‘“ Believe me, Mr. Gambora, I am not in this ame, nor have I any “idea who threw the e. “IT believe you,” said Marco, coolly. ‘‘The weapon is of Italian make, and the thrower was doubtless one of my own countrymen. What American could have hurled it so?” “A little more and it would have taken your life. It came like a,shot, point first.” .. “Some low and treacherous Italian whom I have offended is after revenge. It is nothing, my good woman; such things are common in my own country.” The Prince spoke lightly, but he had as yet had no desire to visit the open window at the Bob o’ the Bowery. . rear of the house through which the knife had, of course, been flung. It was not until the course was suggested by. the woman that he went, and then there was no — of the unknown. his revived Marco’s spirits and he talked still more lightly of the incident, but he did not by any means forget it. He knew the way of his countrymen well. The knife is the favorite weapon of Italy, and many of its people do = esitate to use it freely to wipe out a quar- rel, The way in which this particular knife had been used—thrown, not thrust—showed that the ‘“‘ Knife-Bravo” was even more dangerous than the majority of his race, and when the Prince left the house he scanned closely each person he met and felt anything but at his ease. CHAPTER XI. AFFAIRS TAKE A BAD TURN. Bos o’ the Bowery did not lose much time af- ter leaving the vicinity of the saloon, but made his way toward where Nan lived, to see if the girl had succeeded in tracking Gambora. She was watching for him, and came rushing through the ergs to meet him, her red hair flying in itis wind, “Hello!” quoth Bob, “I didn’t know afore that you was a go-as-you-please ped. Better hire Madison Square Garding an’ give an exhi- bition trot fer gate-money. Reckon ther dudes would turn out more’n they do ter a-sluggin’ matinee.” ‘¢- You wouldn’t be thar then,” she retorted. Why not?” **Cause you're so homely you'd scare ther chaps that keeps ther score up.” ‘“Ef they could stand you, I reckon one more ‘fliction wouldn’t bush ’em teetotally’ But this ain’t biz. How’s ther detective racket?” ** Boss.” “Tis, hey? Hev ye see’d Maccaroni?” “Yas: an’ I’ve spotted his new crib, too. W’en he went thar he jest looked ’round wise ez a copper arter a nap, but, lawsee, thar was only me, a-lookin’ like a red-headed innercent, an’ he never s’pected J was a-pipin’ him.” Nan’s jolly face expanded into a smile as she renewed her recollection of the affair. ‘“‘ B’gosh, ef this proves ter be true, Pll make ye apresent of a coupe and four Maud §. trot- ters, wi’ silver door-plates all over the harness. I ‘spect. to be a’pointed postmaster next month, an’ then I’m goin’ ter make ther dollars hum. But whar is ther new crib w’ot Maccaroni thinks ll hold ole Adam?” Nan gave the street and number, adding the details of her little piece of detective work, much to the boy’s admiration. ‘Couldn't ’a’ did better myself. You've got a heap o’ sense, ef you hey red hair. W’en I its inter ther Legislature I'll interdooce a bill in favor o’ wotin’ priv’lege fer all women with a strawberry blonde cast o’ complex, I will.” ‘* Better wait till ye git thar.” “Oh! Dll git thar, ef walkin’ ain’t too bad, I’ve got a big ull in this ward sence my man, Hannibawl ius O’Tooter was elected ter stay at home. But this ain’t biz. I’m goin’ over ter see that dive whar ole Adam is shet up inter.” He went, and surveyed the house carefully, front and rear—for an alley enabled him to do the latter. He learned little by it. All the windows were closed, and nearly all the blinds, and the doors ware grimly in place. That'they were locked he was satisfied, though he did not venture to try them. “Ere’sa go. This hyar looks like a reg’lar house o’ silence an’ blood-curdlin’ mystery on ther half-shell, an’ ez Marco hez see’d my way 0’ droppin’ in *thout an invite, at t’other crib, *tain’t'likely he’s left’any loop-hole here. "Spect it'll be hard fer ter git in. Wonder w’ot ther copper would say ef I give him a straight tip "bout this biz?” He had regained the majn street, and was looking wishfully at a blue-coated guardian of the peace. That august gentleman looked fat and happ , and Bob decided to try him. He did so. “See yer, mister, w’ot’s ther proper caper when a ’spectable ’Merican citz is shet up inter captivity?” The guardian looked jovially down from his lofty bo smiling with amusement at sight of the small boy in the long coat. ‘““T should say it vould pe best for him to get out mit himself at once,” he replied. ¢Sposen he couldn’t git out?” ; «Then I suppose he vould haf to stay in mit hisself.” big bs air may be ther butt-end o’ logic,” ~~ = ne 9 = ne : zy f , mest seph. See yer! D’yeobsarve that palatial yment 0’ brick yander?” ‘*T can see it mit von eye, my poy. ‘“‘ Wal, thar’s an ole gent from Squash Holler, wi’ hay-seed inter his hair, inter that ’ere crib, held fast pris’ner. Now, ain’t it the proper caper fer ter git him out? ‘Vrom Hosh ualler, you say mit yer tongue?” asked the officer, with a wink. “T sart’inly spoke with my tongue, but I didn’t say Hosh Squaller,” Bob declared, with dignity. ‘‘I said Squash Holler. He’s a gent from Connecticut, with tin an’ sparklers, he is, an’ something orter be did fer him.” ‘* Nowg"you see here, leedle poy, dot vas ee ed out,” and the guardian shook his club at him playfully. ‘ Poys will haf their joke, an’ I don’t plame theni, but dot game is too old. You run avay an*blay marbles, an’ don’t come foolish- ing round mit me scme more dimes at all. My eyes vas open to your ames!” And the officer walked on, believing himself the ‘‘flyest ’ man on the force. *® “ Jest wot I s’pected,” muttered Bob. “‘ Them chaps don’t take no stock in boys, nohow. S’pect they was thirty years old when they was borned. Wot’s ther use o’ tryin’ ter rescoo Adam outer bondage? Nobody won't give me a lift. Reckon I'd better give it up an’— No, by cripes, I don’t. I'll keep on an’ win ther game. an’ then I reckon I kin crack my heels an’ git ther laugh onter them. I'll do it! Yas, Pll see ole Adam outer his scrape.ef I hev ter go down mon- ” ther chimbly like a cyclone an’ rip things up. _ { Hello! that sorter gives me an idee Not wishing to be observed near the house, he had been walking away while talking. His new idea was a shrewd one in many ways, but it re- quired a confederate, and that, too, one of ma- ture years, and he was not sure whom he could. et. - By means of careful pd ys he finally arrived. at a decision, however, and his face brightened nerceptibly. He increased his speed, and was urrying along when he was accosted by a boy of about his own age. “ Hello, Bob!” said Teddy O’Fee. ‘“‘ Hello!” responded Bob, grufity for he did not exactly admire tue youthful O Fee. : “Tve got a letter fer you.” “Got my grandmother’s will!” retorted Bob. “Wot game be you inter now?” ‘‘T ain't inter none. I met a silk-tile chap over on ther Bowery, nigh yer stand, an’ he axed me did I know Bob o’ ther Bowery, an” when I ‘lowed I did, he gi’n me this, hyar ter bring ye ther letter.” Teddy exhibited a silver quarter, and also the letter, and Bob lost his suspicions and took the letter. He was not long in reading these lines: ‘““Youna Bos:—I want to see you concerning the old matter, and as 1 have business to-day at No. — Crosby street, will you oblige me by coming there if you get this note before six o’clock? Perhaps I'l put you in the way of earning a V. Don’t fail me! . “Gus REDDING.” ° ‘This seemed to Bob to be all that was neces- . sary. He liked Gus, and was not,only willing to oblige him, but the promised V was not to be slighted. He left O’Fee hastily and walked toward Crosby street. He soon reached the house mentioned in the note. It was a respectable-looking building, but Bob had no sooner seen it than he experienced a doubt. Not that the house was to be blamed for it, but natural caution suggested that all might not be as it seemed. Vhat if the note was a decoy? ,He was in the! way of Bertrand, Gambora and their comrades, and they knew it; he had even heard them make threats against him. Perhaps Gus Redding had never penned any such note, but that it was the work of the clique before mentioned. The fact that Redding should be in such a humble house was in itself suspicious, but Bob remembered that his friend really had been near there the previous night, and that he had said there was more work for _ him to do in the vicinity. P “Still, ther Murray Hill dude may hev writ this letter, an’ I don’t perpose ter run my head inter no rat-trap. Gus hez got ter come ter ther door an’ certify ter a clean bill o’ health afore I goes a-pokin’ my head inter things.” Strong in this wise resolution, he started for- ward to pull the door-bell, when 4 second-story indow was thrown up and a head appeared, in e midst of a curtain of lace, surmounted by a tall hat. : “Come right in, Bob,” said a hearty voice. ” “T am waiting for you.” “That's Gus!” said Bob, brightening, and he hesitated no longer, but rung the.bell. replied Bob; ‘but ‘tain’t jestice—not fer Jo-—
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ee pert-looking ser- vant, who first gazed at him scornfully and then chan expression suddenly. “Oh, be ye ther b’ye ter see Misther Ridding?” she asked. ‘‘T’m that same, an’, ez our biz is important, ye'll be so good ez ter heave ahead an’ pilot me ter his distinguished presence.” “Why, certain, me darlint. Jest foller me, an’ we'll be dhere in dhe twinklin’ av an eye.” ‘‘ Let her twinkle!” graciously replied Bob, as he followed her up-stairs# Once there, she opened a door a trifle and bade him enter. e obeyed, but one glance was enough for him, and he would have sprung nad had not the door been slammed to at his ee After all, he was in a trap. Oscar Bertrand and Lije Wolf were there, and the latter was holding a revolver close to the boy’s bead. The door was opened by a CHAPTER XII. OFF THE TRACK, To say that Bob o’ the Bowery was astonished would be to but feebly express it. He was sure he had ‘seen Gus Redding at the window, but here he was in the self-same room and no Gus was there. Both Bertrand and Wolf looked ugly, and the latter backed up the impression made by shoving the revolver under Bob’s nose and fiercely exclaiming: ‘‘ Be quiet, you young hound, or I'll blow out your brains!” . A red flush appeared on the boy’s face. “T ain’t sure I’ve got any,” he replied, with an air of deep mortification but without a sign of fear. ‘“Why so?” Wolf wonderingly asked, ‘“*Cause nobody with hoss-sense would hev run their head inter sech a fix ez this. Darned ef I ain’t a puddin’-head!” His mortification was so deep and undisguised that, though Wolf laughed loudly, he rather ad- mired the pluck of a boy who could think of such a thing and disregard danger when a revol- ver was at a ieee . ‘ Suppose I blaze away and see if you reall have any brains?” he suggested. * y ‘Blaze an’ be darned. Sech a milk-sop ez me ‘won't never grow up ter be an ornimint ter s’ci- ety nohow ye kin fix it.” *¢ Oh, come now, don’t be too harsh on your- self,” said the sharper, not unkindly. “Our game would have roped in an older hand than ou. Wesaw you hesitate at the door, and my riend just showed his hat and eyes to give you encouragement. At that distance you were naturally fooled. Anybody would haye been. Don’t take it to heart. You're the right sort, as I can plainly see.” “Bnough of this,” said Bertrand sharply, an- noyed to see that his ally was really admiring the boy. “I = you see now, young fellow, the fix into which your meddlesome qualities have got you, don’t you?” Bob rallied. “Td like ter inquire wot fer you decoy a ’spectable "Merican citz inter a shebang like this an’ menace him wi’ a shooter? My frien’, let me ‘quest ye ter put down that weepon. °Tain’t a healthy thing ter hev in ther parlor, an’ ef my mem’ry sarves me erect, thar’s a law ag’in’ pintin’ it with ther tunnel-eend foremost at one 0 yer feller-bein’s.” F ‘Never mind your impressions,” said Ber- trand. ‘I have no time to fool with you, so let me say one thing briefly. You have stuck your nose into my affairs to an extent I will not tol- erate, and this is the result. Explanations are not necessary; you know what I mean. As a result, however, you will remain six weeks in this house, a close prisoner, and then start on a voyage to China as cabin-boy. We'll see how you'll like that.” ““S’posen ye ask me afore ye let me out ter work, boss? WV’ot ef I say no? W’ot ef I ob- ect ter plowin’ ther heavin’ an’ briny deep? ’ye observe arything *bout me that looks like a sailor oe , @ compass, belayin’-pin, or a fore- top-roya min’, thunder-blossomed mainsail? Do I look ez though I could live on dolphins an’ mermaids an’ keep my muscle up ter a John L. bigness?” ‘Your wishes amount to nothing. I’m going to get you out of the country. That’s flat.” “Sho! Ikicked up a mighty big dust when I give a boost ter yer ole unk, Adam Woodman, didn’t I? So you ’spect ef you send me ter Hoang-Ho, or Orang Outang, or Cape Hotten- tot Town, you kin slash ’round hyar an’ scoop in Adam’s boodle like a fly, do ye?” Bob faced his captor unflinchin ly. “You know too much!” Oscar, with ee ee EO ES 11 Bob o’ the Bowery. _ — a scowl, ‘“‘You are too sharp for your own good,” ‘Fer yourn, you mean.” ‘“‘T meant what I said. Do you suppose I am going to run the risk of being ruined by such as you?” ‘* Yer case must be weak ef it kin be ruinated so easy.” ‘Never mind. I now have you secure, and you are not going around to use that glib tongue of yours. I'll ship you for China.” ‘* All right, boss. kit.” **No, you don’t! Don’t let him out, Wolf. You'll stay here till the vessel is ready to sail.” ‘** Mebbe!” As the boy spoke he attempted a dash for the window, but Wolf was on the alert. He caught the boy, clapping one hand over his mouth, and when Bertrand came to his assistance Bob was soon securely bound. Not until he had been Tll go fer ter pack my man whom Bob o’ the Bowery had seen carried away in the ambulance; the victim of one of the city’s brutal ‘‘ gangs,” who had knocked him down and robbed him, The man’s mind was now clearer, and he talked so reasonably, though still with his Italian accent, that Miss Abbott was interested and resolved to wap him as she had helped his brother’s family. All were poor, and they were deserving of aid. But in the course of the conversation, Briane Leordi mentioned something which interested her. When he was half-insensible, Bob had heard him say that he wanted to find a certain “Bianca.” He was now clear-headed enough to explain to Miss Abbott that ‘‘ Bianca” was the adopted daughter of an old organ-grinder named | Tomaso Silva, and that he wanted to find her dragged into a rear room did Wolf remove his | hand from his mouth. ‘* Now, then,” continued Bertrand, “‘ you are where all your screeches for help will do no good, | as no one can hear them except my men, but I warn you not to yell. If you do, there’s a big fellow here who will come in and hush you up in a way you won’t like.” “Can't I buy him off?” “Try it, and see.” ‘Thank you for nothin’; You’re a bloomin’ daisy, you be, Mister Dude; but ye’ve got holt o’ a chap w’ot wasn’t made ter be kep’ down. I’m bound ter rise. Look out fer me, fer when ther Shanghai ship sails my berth won’t hev no- body fer ter warm it. that time, Oscar.” ‘‘ Talk is cheap; we'll see,” tersely replied Ber- trand, and then he and Wolf left the room. Bob o’ the Bowery was in a bad fix. He was not only bound, hand and foot, but was in a small room from which there was no opening save over the door. At one end a rough : wall showed that it had been hastily partitioned off for a prison. ‘“Nice sorter fix this is, b’gosh! Reg’lar Tombs, without no chance o’ bein’ led up ter a jedge fer ’zamination. But, great Scott! do and give to her a sealed paper which had been given him in trust for her. He added that, on her mother’s side, she was American, and that he believed she was heiress to a good deal of money. Helena heard him quietly, though with inter- est. “Tl help to find her,” she then said, ‘“‘for I recognize in the names, Bianca and Tomaso, two people I met on the street one day, where they were playing a hand-organ and tambou- rine. I took their address, and intended to call, | for the dark-eyed little girl interested me, but | the pocket-book in which I placed the address Tl be warmin’ you "bout | 0ard- | they ‘spect they kin keep me hyar?—keep Bob | o’ the Bowery down? Not any, fer Joseph! Don’t I wish I could git word ter Stumpy! Ef I could, that boy would jest come up hyar an’ | knock ther Fourth 0’ —y outer them—he | would, fer sure. He’s anawful chap, is Stumpy. But I can’t get word ter him, so I must git outer hock alone. An’ I'll do it, too, or loosen all my back teeth!” Miss Helena Abbott, unlike some other rich people, had a real taste for helping the needy poor. She had money enough, and she tried to use it so as to benefit her fellow-creatures. It is true that when a long paper came around for the aid of the Wabbleshorrri natives of Chuck- Patagonia, she did not contribute largely; but } was singularly stolen from my pocket on Four- teenth street.” : She used the word ‘‘ singularly ” deliberately, for she had always thought the disappearance of the pocket-book an odd one. That Bob o” the Bowery took it she had never believed, but she really was not so sure about Oscar Ber- trand. She now resolved to see Bianca, though she did not place much faith in Briano’s assertion that the girl was heiress to any considerable amount of money. Probably five hundred dollars would seem a good deal to him. She left some money with the Leordis, and then went to the address given by Briano, but was informed that Silva and Bianca had left and gone no one knew where, She was in per jlexity, but a sudden pull at her sleeve caused her to turn. She saw a small girlin a ragged dress, who had a head of red hair which was as obstinate as though each hair was at war with its neighbors. ‘“* See yer,” said the small girl, ‘‘do ye want a straight tip?” ‘Do I want what ?” asked the lady in bewil- derment. ‘« A straight tip "bout them Italians.” “Do you know them?” ‘“No, but I’m a perivate detective, an’ I’m onter a racket. I know whar they be, an’ why they skipped. I ‘spect you’re on ther squar’ so ther head o’ ther bureau won’t kick ef I t \ | squeal.” incash, Africa, or the Poundcake Colony in | | you say. she went alone into the houses of the poor peo- | ple of New York and supplied them with food, | coal, warm clothes and the like. Which was the better way, let the poor of New York decide. On the afternoon of the same day that Bob was trapped, she called at a low house on Eliza- beth street, near Houston. When she rung the bell a pale-faced, sad-looking woman appeared, butshe brightened a good deal at sight of Miss Abbott. She had seen her before. When they had entered the humble front room, Helena came to business at once. ‘‘Well, how are you all getting along, Mrs. Leordi?” ; a. ohnny is better,” said the woman, hesitat- ingly. ‘Ts any one else sick?” “Well, you see my husband’s brother is here now. quite badly hurt, and was taken to the hospital. ® was very restless there, and wanted to come here, and as his injuries were not serious, the hospital folks let him come. But it will be two weeks before he can go out.” ‘Ah! I see. And that means fresh ex- pense?” “Yes. I’m very sorry, miss, when you were so kindly helping us, for it seems like throwing away what you gave us, but Briano is my hus- band’s brother,” a Ts he an honest man?” od Oh! yes, miss; honest and temperate.” Then I would like to see him, if he is well enough.” Thus it happened that Miss Abbott met the ‘“‘ My dear child, I don’t understand half that y. Who in the world are you?” “‘T'm Nan.” “Nan? Do you mean Nannie?” ‘« Bf I meant Queen Victoria, ’'d say so. But IT don’t. I’m Nan. W'ot’ll you give fer ter know whar ther Italians herd? S’pect I must make all ther collat? I kin, fer ther firm is arter tin. Wot boodle is inter it?” The red-haired midget looked at Miss Abbott with g-ave eyes, and her air was business-like, so she was promised a dollar for the informatior on condition that she also gave her own address. This she readily did,and the matter was soon settled. Helena was conducted to! the house, and was then directed to the room occupied by Silva and Bianca. She rapped, and then heard the invita- | tion to enter. She obeyed. The first person she saw was dark-eyed Bianca; the second—and she grew amazed at the sight—was Oscar Bertrand! He was knocked down in the street and | What was he doing there? CHAPTER XIII. THE MULBERRY STREET BRAVOS, Apam WoopMAN was a prisoner, and had been since he was decoyed away from the hotel. As Bob 0’ the Bowery had suspected, it was Wolf and Mc- Gookin who had done this little piece of work. They came to him, represented themselves as de- tectives, and promised to conduct him to his grand- daughter. He had waiked blindly into the trap, been conduct- ed to Mareo Gambora’s house, and there held untit Bob’s movements alarmed the Padrone Prince and necessitated Adam’s removal, In his new quarters he wvas not unkindly treated but little fresn air and no view of the outer world were a'lowed him. If he was ignorant of the traps and tricks of New York, he was not dull enough
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_ to fail to lay the blame for all this where it be- longed. Careful study of the subject had- convinced him that the Bertrands were at the bottom of it all, and hhe began to suspect that that the robbery on the train was due to their efforts. Pr bably they had known of his intended journey to the city, and had from the first worked against him. He even suspected that in Crow McGookin he re- cognized a man who had occupied a seat just behind him in the railroad car, though if such was the fact, Crow had been disguised. The old man kept up his courage well and was re- solved to defy them, and to win in the end. He deeply regretted that his fears of ridicule, and his vi had _kevt him from going at once to og epee Walling or Inspector Byrnes. Bob o’ the Bowery he seldom thought, though he was grateful to the boy for saving his life at the hotel, and thought him a shrewd young fellow Matt rs took form when, on the evening of the ad last written of,some one entered his prison- room. It was Marco Gamboro. The Prince nodded. ** Good-evening, sir. with you.” “What now? Do you propose to garrote me?” bitterly asked Woodman. ; “My dear sir,do you think so badly of me as that?” “Yes. sir; I do.” “ Then or make a great mistake, for Iam your best friend. "W»it—hear me out. It is true I am your jailer, but I was inveigled into it by men who were really evil.”’ “To whom do you refer?” erly. “fhe Viatiasi smiled again. “We will speak of that later. All things have a time. Let me ask you bluntly if you want to find your granddaughter?” Adam started. “Then you know of her?” “That is not the question. find her?’’ “Of course I do,” ‘What are you willing to give?” “So! Iam to be bled!” “IT did not say so. You are a perverse man, sig- more. You compel me to speak plainly. Yes, I know of her. She is a fair and beautiful girl, I know her well; I am tomarry her.” rs ony her!’’ echoed the dazed gentleman. ae es.”’ “Great heavens! she is but thirteen years old!” ‘*What of that? The blood of sunny Italy flows in her veins, and the Italfin girls mature rapidly. At thirteen, our girls are women. Go through the Italian section in New York and ask how many girls marry at that age.” “IT don’t care to. Such an idea is an atrocious erime, and, if true, 1 do not thank you for letting me know that such cases occur,’? Woodman emphati- eally declared. ** But, suppose I should wait a couple of years be- pe be oyna ermeadl said the Prince, somewhat per- plexed. “No granddaughter of mine shall marry under eighteen, at the lowest estimate.” hen the Padrone scowled. “Don’t you get the idea that you have this matter all in your own hands. 1 shall marry her when I choose!’’ he declared. ‘“* Villain!” “Winner, you mean.” Adam was esti | with indignation, but it oc- eurred to him that he so situated that he could not afford to deepen any enmity against him. He foreed an outward calm- ness and looked keenly at Gambora. ; Do you really know where my granddaughter is ” ae is ag * And she is well?” * Well, and as pretty as an angel. She favors her father. and has the —_— cheeks, biack hair and glorious eyes of the daughters of Italy. She speaks ood English, though, and you would be proud of er. She is under the care of an honest old Italian, but she is poor and wants for even the necessaries of life.” : ‘* What do they call her?” ‘* Now, you ask too much.”’ ** What was her mother’s name?” **Rose Woodman.”’ * Possioly,” said Adam. looking at him fixedly, “the name of the child is Bianca. The Padrone Prince started, and his confusion seemed to clearly betray that the shot had gone home. Then he bit his lip with vexation, for he saw from the new expression on the old man’s face that his annoyance had been noticed. He asked himself angrily why he bad been 30 foolish. Common-sense should have told him that Adam would know the ‘Christian name of the girl, if nothing more “Come,” said Adam, with renewed vigor, “ how much do you want to release me?” “T want Bianca.” ** Well I'll see you in blazes before you shall have her!’ was the retort. : “Just as you say,” replied the Padrone, coldly. ‘I will not remain here to talk with you, as I have business elsewhere, but you know at last just how matters stand. I dia not kidnap you, or order it, ‘but am simply your jailer. But if you will agree to my terms I will go back on the other men and re- wea Wiad tava at th ) urned at the door to speak the last words ut Adam said nothing. It occurred to him that if | I have come to talk business interrupted Adam, Do you want to was not only powerless, but | Bob o’ the Bowery. the Italian would break faith with his present em- ployers he was liable to do so with him, but he was not rash enough to say so, E Consequently, a brief silence followed, and then Marco closed the door and went out. ‘‘He is stubborn now,” thought the Padrone ‘*but confinement will bring him to his senses. I will win or ruin all. Pretty Bianca must not slip through my fingers, for, with her, I will win much money. Ill go over and see that she and old Silva vay not run away. I may have frightened the rh’ He went outside and, on the way, had to pass his own house. It seemed as though all New York was on one mission, for, as the Padrone approached, Gus Redding stood at the door inquiring for Tomaso Silva and Bianca, much to the surprise of the party at the door, who had so lately answered the call of Helena Abbott. Were all the Americans wanting Tomaso? won- dered the Italian woman. But she was able to tell Gus more than she had told Helena, having informed herself, and Marco Gambora grew whiter as he heard correct directions given. He had cause to fear Redding, and he knew it His breath came naga & and he looked hurriedly around He saw two of his pliant tools approach- ing—men who had once been veritable bravos in Venice—and he quickly accosted them and spoke a few words. As a result, when Redding resuméd his way, they followed close after. The night was dark and foggy, and the street-lamps seemed to give but little light, so everything was in their favor. Gus heard their voices, but he also noticed that they were lively and good-natured, so he did not look around. Better for him had he been more suspicious. The Padrone Prince had drawn from his pocket a murderous-looking slung-shot, and with such a wea- on he was resolved that Redding should not reach Silva’s room, True, he did not object to his seeing the organ-grinder, but he knew it was B anca who was wanted. They soon reached their victim, and then, while all but Marco made a feint of passing, the latter took sure aim and struck heavily. The slung-shot encountered Redding’s head, and he dropped like a * log. “Into this doorway with him!’’ said the Padrone, quickly. It was a deep recess at the entrance to a business place, and when the fallen man had been placed as directed, he was out of view of the casual observer, “Go for the cab at once, Pietro,” added Marco, and then, while, the man addressed hurried away, the others seated themselves on the steps and began what seemed a careless. light conversation. ade 8 Gambora was an anxious man, for if an officer happened alons and told the group to move on, discovery and ruin might follow. Every passer-by gave them a nervous chill. But the cab came before any meddlesome person, and the unconscious man was bundled in, the Ital- ians entered, and the cab rolled away toward the North river. } This point they reached in due time, and they made their way uvon a dark and deserted pier. Some caution was necessary to avoid inquisitive eyes, but luck was with them, and their burden was borne from the vehicle to the edge of the pier. “*Torow him well out!” directed Gambora. Then the body was swung to and fro until a de- gree of impetus was gained; then they exerted their strength together and their burden shot out into the darkness. A moment’s silence ensued, and then followed a splash, ms “Good!” said the Padrone Prince. ‘‘ He is done - ow, let us get away from here &s soon as pos- sible” / They re ent red the cab, the door was c'osed, and then they ro.led away on the return to Mulberry street. Gus Reding was left to the mercy of the North river, which hides many a dark crime. Nan, the girl detective, was seated alone in the humble kitchen of the house which gave her a home when a man entered without ceremony He pre- sented a du! ious appearance, being covered with Ley te and having a general air of being broken up badly. Wh le the girl looked at him with astonishment, he dropped heavily into a chair. ‘*Don’t ye know me?” he faintly asked. ‘*Lawsee, yes; you’re Crow McGookin, but Inever see'd ye with yer war-paint onter ye afore.” * Oi have been as auited by won ov dhe ‘ gangs, said the man, bitterly, bu" with a vagueness cf man- ner which told that he was by no means clear-headed. ‘* You remember me, Nan; Oi used ter drive a team wid Ben Dukes.” Yas, an’ ye got fired fur bein’ too fresh, an’ then went ter ther bad,” she frankly exnlained. “So I did, but don’t lay it up ag’in’ me now. Oi’m sore hurted; me head is ail b’ate to a jelly. Where is Ben Dukes?” “Pop ain’t come in yit ” ‘*Thin let me lay down on dhe bed till Oi kin talk wid him, Dukes won’t go back on an old pard.”’ Nan did not like the idea of shelterm: MeGookin, whom she knew to be a determined law-breaker, but she had no heart to drive out a man so beaten up, and she did not object when he took off his coat and laid down on Dukes’s bed. i He soon seemed to become unconscious. His coat had been thrown loosely over a chair, and a package of papers peeping from the inside 6 bib) | Se arrested her attention. In some ways she was a careful girl, and she decided that the papers ought to be put in a safer place. ‘his idea she carried out, and, resisting the im- pulse to examine their contents, put them away ina niche and then sat down to await | ukes’s return. not at all dismayed by the company of the wounded man on the bed. CHAPTER XIV. BOB DOES SOME SOLID WORK. “Tar’s nothin’ like persewerence an’ pat, "cept it’s money, an’ ez ther last wouldn’t work hyar, ther fu’st must. I’m onter ther clothes-line, an’ ther next thi g is ter git outér this hyar coop. Wonder ef they tuk me fer a fowl, that they shet me up hyar? Is thar anything "bout my classical phiz that resembles a Shanghai or Brahma? DolI hez spurs? Not any, fer Joseph, an’I can’t see why they should shet me up like a fightin’-rooster—un--_ less it’s cause I kin crow. Mebbe that’s it.” The speaker was Bob o’ the Bowery, who was still in the dark room to which Oscar Bertrand had con- signed him, but he was no longer bound. After long struggling with ; is bonds, he had suc- ceeded in getting clear of them, and if the door had been unlocked, he might have walked out at any time. But the door was locked, and he had nothing with which to try to turn the bolt, even had he been skilled in that line of business. ; Still, the door scemed the only possible way by which he could escape, and he centered his attention closely on it, What interested him most was the opening just above it, which let in what little light he had. , A small, revolving window-sash at this point, he found to be loose, but the opening was so very | small that he did not at first,.see any hope in that quarter, Yet. it was clearly his only chance, and he . _ surveyed it sharply. ; “Jest about right fer an elevated road ticket- winder,” he grumbled, “an’I don’t reckon I kin squeeze my Daniel Lambert an’ Chang, ther China- man, body through. but. lawsee, it’s ther only show, an’ I'll take a lick at it, fer sure.” : He brought a chair to the door, and, as it was heavy and well-balanced, managed to stand on the top of the back. This brought his face on a level with the little window, and by wrenching at this for a few minutes, he managed to remove it without noise. Everything then hinged on one question—could he , crawl through the window? $ It really seemed a hopeless venture, but he was not the boy to let one chance go untried. Beyond him was a hall which was dark and silent, though, in the lower hall, a ferble gleam of light showed that a lamp was burning there. He had a clear coast, it seemed, if he could work through. { This he at once attempted, and his head was thrust out of the window like a ‘turtle’s. Then came the tug of war. His young shoulders were wide and thick, and had not been made with a view to this emergency. When they touched wood, he stuck fast, and in a most uncomfortable position. His feet were no longer on the c! air, but both legs and arms were sprawling about in air wildly. ‘*Gosh ter gracious! it’s a tight fit.” That was all he said, but he worked energetically, and was cneouraged by feeling himself slip along a little ata time. Despite all the opposition he was gaining. Inch by inch he went on, and then so sud- dently that he covld not check himself; he slipped forward and landed on the floor with a shock that shook the whole floor. He was up in a moment, none the worse for his tumble, and in high spirits now that he bad left his prison, He ran lightly down-stairs, but just as he was passing the lower steps a man,appeared from the interior, looking startled and surprised. At sight of Bob his excitement i creased. *“ Hold on there, young scamp!"* he cried. « Ain’t got time!” retorted the Bowery boy, and instead of dodging, as the jailer had expected, he made a dive, flinging his full weight upon the fellow — and down they went together, Bob was up first, and ina moment more he had torn open the outer docr and dodged through. He heard the angry voice of his late cap'or just behind, and as a cab was vassing he sprung on behind unseen and was whirled away. When he had gone two blocks he was about to jump off when he heard a voice from inside. “The North river will settle all, and Mr. Gus Red- ding will never meddle with me again.” : Bob puckered bis lips for a whistle, but wisely refrained. ‘ “By cricky! ef it ain’t Marco Maccaroni! Now, then, w’ot is ther riffle? That cre remark c’ his sounds sorter suspicious. Wonder ef they’ve got Gus inter hock? Ef they hev, I’m jest ter fish-ball ter git him out. Reekon I'll hang oD i > ar an’ see w’ot’s inter it.” The boy did so, and unknown to the conspirators, made the journey to the North river with them. On the way he learned a good deal more from their conversation, and when the pier was reached was ready for his share of the work, ‘“* Gus has got ter take a bath forsure,” he mutter- ed. “I can’t wade in an’ fight ell them crooks, so I may as wal lay Jow an’ be ready ter ruffle up ther big brook.” : ; He was ready. and when the bravos threw in their marked victim, they did not suspect that a lithe fig- ure promptly followed, f Bob o’ the Rowerv could swim like a fish, and he soon had bold of Gus, but the weight was rather more than he could manage successfully, and it was >
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water. He did not think of calling for help—and it was not likely help would have come promptly, anyway—but he was bent on saving the man who had used him well, and he fought on grimly. The great trouble was to effect a landing on the yh and when he utterly failed to do this, he began have grave doubts. Just at the critical moment, however, he caught sight of a boat rocking by the pier not far away, and hope again revived. He swam that way, managed to lift Gus into the craft, and then, pulling himself after, sunk almost exhausted to the bottom of the boat. It was two hours later when Bob o’ the Bowery, clad in a different suit, but still decidedly 1 agged, walked into Ben Dukes’s kitchen. The teamster had not yet returned, but Nan sat sewing by the light, which made her red bair look like threads of gold, and the wounded man lay on the bed. breathing heavily. ‘* Hello, Princess!’ the Bowery boy saluted. “ w'ot sort o’ a outfit ye got hyar? Set up a horspittle on er own hook? Who’s this bloke wid claret all onter im? Looks ez though he'd been hevin’ a mill with Padd Ryan, or Jack Burke, b'gosh!” “That's Crow McGookin.’ o W'ot?” ‘*That’s Crow McGookin,”’ Bob walked to where he could see the man’s face. “ Ye're right ter a six-spot die, but w’ot fer do ye take in sech a red-handed assassinator as he be, J’d like to know?” * He used to work wi’ Pop Dukes afore he went bad, an’ when he came in wounded I jest tuk him in fer ter let Pop do with him ez he see’d fit,” Nan explained. “IT spose that’s all hunk, though he orter be in quod, Koga Don’t go no great stakes on fhal sort_o’ Crow meat, Jdon’t. That his coat?” “Yas, an’ thar was some papers in it, but I put ’em away.” * Papers,eh? Lemme see 'em.”’ , “They ain’t ourn, an’ ‘tain’t right fer ter look at other folks's papers,”’ replied conscientious Nan. “ Not fer ord’nary people, but me an’ Pinkerton, an’ Byrnes, an’ other detectives, are obleeged by ancy ter doit. Jess trot ’em out, will ye, Princess?” The argument was too strong to be resisted, and Nan brought the papers. Bob opened and began to read them. At first he was interested, and be soon jum up and cracked his heels together. “ Oricky! I've got em!” he cried. “Got w’ot?” wonderingly asked Nan. “Got ther means o' eloocidatin’ ther enigmatical knot o’ mystery. E pluribus hooray !”’ The young detective’s excitement was quite ex- cusable for even a brief survey of the papers had shown him that eg were the same that had been stolen from Adam Woodman on the’ train—the di- rections by whichthe old man was to find bis lost granddaughter. There was the letter from the sailor who was about to sail fora foreign port; and there were the various addresses of persons who would be able to tell him just who his granddaughter was, and where she was. Of course these latter points were not revealed in the papers, for it will be remembered that the sailor did not know them himself, but the addresses there- in set down would make the remainder of the work easy. “I’m goin’ ter freeze onter these helle lettres, my- self,”’ said the boy, coolly, as he shoved them into his ocket. h. ast. ~ Not any, fer Joseph. Mister Crow McGookin stoled them, an’ I only take ’em away fer ther use 0’ ther right owner. Ef Crow gits his sensibilities back, say ter him he may call on B. Bowery, At- torny-at-Law, 1269 Wall street, ef he wants ‘em back. But I don’t ‘magine he'll call fer a cent. mer. Nan, noe nad ie got fe man oll e went, and only stopped when he reached plumber’s shop. A youthful apprentice was fon closing up, but, as he knew Bob, he delayed the ‘job for a little talk, which was prolonged to a good deal of talk. Bob had a scheme in his mind which re- quired Glass-Blower’s aid—‘his being the name by which he familiarly, and somewhat obscurely, called the young plumber—but it was of such a nature that he talked long before he could make the ap- La por see as Be cag? ‘4 was no wonder, for he was proposing a ri wD hodng and Glass-Blower was an honest yebee ny low. But what Bob said convinced him that the - proposed expedition was wholly on the square, so he gave a reluctant consent. Bob went home and to bed, but he was astir at an early hour the next morning and, having got Stumpy in position on the Bowery, with his stock of peanuts, he went to see Glass-Blower, Soon after, the two youths—Glass-Blower was about eighteen years old—were passing along the street with a piece of lead pipe and several plumb- er’s implements in their bands. They went straight to the house where Bob be- lieved Adam Woodman was now confined, and he boldly rung the bell. The door was opened by a vixenish-looking wo- man who looked at them suspiciously. “We're from Captain Truman,” said Bob,genially, “come fer ter maniperlate ther water-works.”’ “There's nothing the matter,’ she said, doubt- tues! w'ot Cap thinks, b t ther Board : . but yer see ther Board o’ Health is so durned afraid the cholers will skip over ther big pond, an’ fasten its awful grip onter New a grim and terrible battle that he fought in the dark | York, that we hev ter look right ou won't steal 'em, Bob?” and Nan looked |. Bob o’ the Bowery. ne eS TAD ; sharp. But, law- see, ‘twon't take more’n half a n’our.” The argument convinced the woman, who was very much afraid of cholera, and she permitted them to enter. She remembered having seen Glass- | Blower there before, with his employer, and told the two they could go up to the bath-room and do what was needed—for Captain Truman, the owner, would have to pay the bills, which accounted for her indifference. So up the boys went, exulting at the success of roma ruse, but the ba:h-room had no attraction for them. ‘*Now, then, we're inter it,” said Bob, coolly, “ an’ we mustn’t let no grass grow under our ox-hide shoes. Jes’ you sorter stand guard, an’ I'll see in ther shake o’ a car-hoss’s left heel ef Adam is loafin’ *round hyar in quod.”’ “Go on,”’ said Glass-Blower, nervously. Bob o’ the Bowery kept cool, however, and in a very short time he had decided which room must be Adam’s prison, if Adam was indeed there He tried the door, It was locked, but the key hung beside it, and the young detective turned the bolt and pushed open the door, Just then a step sounded on the lower stairs, ‘*Plumbers!” said a harsh voice. ‘‘ There ain’tno lumbers here. It’s a trick, an’ they’re spies. I'll reak their heads!”’ CHAPTER XV. THE KNIFE-THROWER AGAIN, THE young detective was rather startled for a mo- ment. The voice was not familiar to him, but it was clear that some suspicions Sa had resolved to make himself obnoxious. ob’s first impulse was to close and relock the door, so he and Glass- Blower could make a retreat. to the bath room and assume an air of innocence, but it oceurred to him that the unknown would be sure to, watch until they went away. ris tag anything was to be done, it must be done quickly. ' : se ag slipped into the room which had been ocked, The light was poor, bothering him at first. but in a moment more, his name was eagerly spcken, and then his hand was clasped in another and larger one. He had really found Adam. f ‘My dear boy,” began the old man, I am glad to see you—”’ “Tell it later,’ said Bob. hurriedly. “Ther buz- zard is onter us. Kin you fight?” “Canl? For liberty, I could fight like a hero—” ‘Then do it at one’t. I’m inter ther crib, but ther erooks is onter my racket an’ I'll git throwed cold ef we stay here, Come. thar is three on us—we must lay that bloke up fer repairs.” He had pulled Adam out of the prison-room, and they emerged "ag in time to see an interesting sight. Bob’s ally had been a good deal alarmed b the approach of the unknown man. and, still stand- ing at the head of the stairs, was making a pretense of iunocently assorting his tools, but as the un- known continued to assert that he would do great destruction among the intruders, Glass Blower's alarm actually became so great that he became heroic. In other words, he decided that somebody erty to be licked, and he did not want to be the victim. ‘“What the fiends are you doin’?” savagely de- manded the man. as he reached the top stair. ‘*Plumbin’,’’ replied Glass-Blower, with desperate calmness. **You lie! You're no plumber.” By this time he was within reach, and with no thought but that of self-preservation in his mgd, Glass-Blower struck out heavily from the shoulder. He was astout youth witha fair knowledge of hit- ting. and though the unknown was a perfect brute in the prime of life, the blow took the ruffian squarely in the stomach and sent him reeling ten feet away. There he dropped. speechless, and lay gasping. Such was the sight Adam and Bob saw. ‘*Come!” cried the latter. ‘‘ we wanter slide outer bra. like a prize-beauty onter skates. Levant! Go! it!” He had caught Adam by the arm and was hurry- ing him down-stairs, but Glass-Blower remained to pick up his tools. Then he, too, followed. The sharp-faced woman stood in the lower hall, but she seemed paralyzed with surprise or fear. or a mix- ture of the two, and not a word did she say as they passed out. ~ : ? A street car was passing. and as it went straight to his own humble home, Bob was shrewd enough to see that it furnished the safest way of making the trip, So all three boarded it and rolled away = triumph, seeing no more of the people of the 1ouse, Besides themselves the car had only two occu- pants, and as Adam showed ops 4% nerve, no one suspected the danger from which he had just escaned. “I'm going at once to Superintendent Walling,” he said, in a low voice, to Bob. } “ Jes’ hold yer hosses fur a brief period o’ time, boss. I called onter ther super this mornin’ an’ he was jest head up in work, he was., He told me fer ter call round ter-morrer, an’ he’d give me a hull day ter my interestin’ case. Jes’ wait till then, will yer? I’m gettin’ ther case inter shape.” ‘Delay seems dangerous,” replied Adam, “ but if it is as you say, I'll do it.” kob put his hand on his coat over where rested the papers he had secured from Mr. Crow McGookin, and winked solemnly. ‘You kin depend onter me till my boot-straps fly ara a at! off. Ye ’member that I was solid when ye wanted ter 'vacuate this hyar earthly tabernickle with arsenic. Wal, I’m ther same night-bl omin’ sericus ! was then, an’I won't go back on ye fer a cent—not fer Joseph!” Adam was very grateful to the boy, and he ago agreed to go to his quarters end remain while Bo looked around for points in the game. The artifice by which he had gained entrance to the prison house satisfied Adam that the boy was sharp enough to hold his own in the fight. We left Helena Abbott just as she entered the room occupied by Tomaso Silva and Bianca, and. found Oscar Bertrand there, The meeting surprised her, and, if his face was a true index, he was not only surprised but sta) tled. He looked at her mutely, and seemed to wish that he could take wings and fly. Miss Abbott bowed coldly to him, and then turned to Bianca. “Come and meet me, little girl,’ she said. “I should have called long ago. only 1 lost my purse. containing your address--lost it very mysteriously *” She locked fixedly at Bertrand as she spoke, and she believed she saw him wince, He passed his band nervously across his face and then. looking significantly at old Tomaso, added: “Ttis Se odd that you and | are on thesame errand. Helena. I did not suspect, util now, that these good per ple were the same as those whose ad- dresses you showed me, just befcre your purse was. lost."” ‘ rage you helping them financially ?”’ coldly asked the 1 dy. * Yes. Lam going to buy Silvaa new hand-organ,’” rep'ied Oscar, making a bold push. “IT hope you will, but I did not before suspect that you would do a charitable act unless it was of a kind sure to get into the daily papers.” Bertrand's yface seemed to freeze with horror. For some time he had suspected that Helena was. liable to throw him over, and, after that remark, he had ground for additional fear. A peculiar interview followed, in which the two guests tried to outstay each other. Oscar had not come there with any charitable motive. On the contrary, he had bluntly told the old organ-grinder and Banca that the latter was heir toa considerable sum of money.and that he would put her in the: way of getting it for just five thousand dollars, No decision had been reached, and he dared not let Helena remaiu alone with them until it saw set- tled. On the other hand, Miss Abbott was resolved to outstay him and learn why he bad been there. Neither won. Bertrand finally proposed that they go away together, and as the young lady had really become very anxious to keep another appoint- ment she was neglecting. she did not refuse. They went, but her coldness kept Ber'rend in a. fever. Was he really going to lose the girl? As they passed the corner of a certain strect a. man who had been standing there observed them: and smiled sarcastical y. *So Bertrand still has the inside track. Well, if Helena really prefers him, 1 suppose I shall have to: take a back seat. She can follow the bent of her own will, but I very much fear she will live to repent. having given her fancy to him " The speaker was Gus Redding. Passing the last incident, which, it will be remem- bered, occurred previous to Ri dding’s impromptu bath in the North River, we visit that gentleman the morning after his adventure—or at the same: time Bob o’ the Bowery was in the plumbing busi- ness. Gus had experienced no great trouble from his plunge in the river, though, only for Bob’s heroic aid, he would surely have drowned, The following morning he was a little stiff about the joints, for a. January swim is not agreeable to all people, but he felt well enough to pursue a task which had kept him busy for several days. He intended to make another effort to call on Bianca and Tomaso Silva, but the morning mail had brought him a letter which caused him to decide to visit another house first; and that, too, one in the Italian quarter. The man he wanted to see was named Briano Leordi. and he was said to be quite badly wounded,. having been assailed by one of the vile city “ a h. fie had no trouble in finding the house, but he was so inter« sted in looking at it that he failed to observe aman close at hand who was observing //1m most attentively. This m»n was the Padrone Prince, who looked with his black eyes un sually large to see a man there whom he supposed to be at the bottom of the North river. fee “Malediction! has he escaped, or is this his ghost? But no; he was going to Leordi’s, and Briano is now there. Curse the luck, he will learn all, and then my jig will be up. Curse him, I say!” ; Mareo stood rigidly on the corner, but his hands were clinched and his face had an er blueish tinge. He breathed very heavily, too. It was no wonder. No one knew better than he the danger of having Redcing talk with the wound- ed sailor, and he saw no way to remove him just then. He had tried it at night and failed. He dared net try it by day. F And, sitnated as he was, he saw his position as Prince of Mulberry street seriously endangered, He was more likely to be a [piece apt at Sing Sing. ‘‘T must get home, and prepare for flight or to se- crete myself,” he muttered. ‘‘T will fight the mat- ter out, but if the worst comes, I must have some
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way of escaping the law. I believe nearly any Ital- ian would consent to hide me,” Twang 4 It was 2 peculiar sound, and as Marco turned to- ward the quarter from which it sounded, he saw a jong, keen koife quivering in the board not two feet from him. The position of the knife showed that it fad passed him going horizontally, barely missing his body, and with such force that, the house being an old wooden ong, it had been half buried. One glance was enough for him to recogaize the work of the mysterious Knite-Bravo. but as he saw a strip of paper dangling from the handle, he paused ick it off. Five brief words were written thereon in large letters: ‘THIS IS THE LAST WARNING!” The Palrone Prince plucked out the weapon with a snarl of rage, and looked around; but he had wait- ed too long. There was mashing to show whence the weapon had come, or whose hand had dispatched it. But Marco Gambora’s face had lost much of its ruddy color, and as he walked away his manner was mo longer the old jaunty one of the Prince of Mul- berry street, He was learning the truth of the pony, a that ‘‘ uneasy lies the head that wears a crown CHAPTER XVI. WHO IS BIANCA? Hetena Assotr was alone in her room when a servant announced that Mr. Bertrand was in the parlor and wished to see her. She changed expres- sion,.but made no comment, and went quietly down. Oscar was there, a nervous, troubled look on his face, but he arose and greeted her with an attempt to be natural, though both showed signg of being ill at ease. “I received your note,” said the young man, *‘ and have called as requested.” “*T wanted to see you particularly,’ replied Helena, “though what I have to say is not likely to be pleas- ant to either of us, Let me explain at once, however, I have been thinking a good deal of late, and, as e result, I am convinced that our engagement must ba broken.” ‘* Helena!” he cried, oe tenmg Gs “Yes. I have had a due regard for the wishes of my father, but I find it impossible to carry out his plan. I do not care for you, and as [I would not contract a life-union with any one under such cir- cumstances, I must ask to be released from my promise.” What Bertrand had feared had come at last, but he was by no means ready to accept his dismissal. He went into an elaborate argument, and a lon conversation followed. Miss Abbott had not intend- ed to give any reason more than that she did not care for him, but his |e were finally drew from her the admission that, among other objections, she had reason to believe he was trying to secure the fortune of Adam Woodman, to the exclusion of the little girl Adam wished to make his heiress. Oscar dared not ask her reasons for believing this, bem he vehemently declared his innocence of the charge. ‘**On the contrary,” he said, “I have of late been bts ip to find my cousin, and with such success that Ishall to-day present her to my mother. All is arranged, and in two hours I shall have her at the house. I can, at least, clear myself of this charge, and I ask you to be at the house at one o'clock and you shall see her.” Helena objected to this, but he indisted so strong- ly that she finally yielded and made the required promise. Pg went away, not yet despairing of winning a wife. Miss Abbott went to the Bertrand house at the designated time, and Oscar soon appeared, accom- panied by a girl of about thirteen years. But this was not all. When Helena saw her she started, for it was the dark-eyed little beauty of the Italian colony—Bianca! The child had been uneasy and ill at ease in Oscar’s company, but her face brightened at sight of Helena, and she went to her at once. ‘*Is this really your cousin?’ asked Helena, in surprise. She is. erg Sp will say she looks like a full- blooded Italian. ell, only for the clearness of her skin, which is not dark enough for an Italian’s, she does have little sign of American blood. Her hair and eyes are those of Italy.” ** My mother was an American,”’ said Bianca, look- ing wistfully at Miss Abbott, whom she regarded as her best friend there, For Oscar she had little liking, though he had treated her kindly. ** What was your mother’s name, dear?” “Ah! Idonot know. She died many years ago. But Mr. Bertrand says it was Rose Woodman.” “Yes,’”? added Oscar, lightly, * such is the case. I have been to a good deal of trouble to find her, but it is done at last and the case fully authenticated. Grandfather Woodman has only to appear now, and 1 will present his long-missing heiress.” At this moment a servant appeared and an- nounced: ** Mr. Augustus Redding!"’ Bertrand frowned, but before he could speak, Gus came in quickly. He did not even look a Helena, but fixed his ve sternly on Bertrand. “Sir.’' said he, ‘allow me to ask by what right you bave brought yonder child here?" Bob o’ the Bowery. He pointed to Bianca, and Oscar wavered percep- bar ut soon recovered his natural assurance. “T do not admit your right to question me, sir, but I will say that ‘ yonder child,’ as you call her, is my cousin, Bianca Donati.”’ “ Your cousin!” “Yes, sir.” **I beg your pardon, but you're either greatly mis- taken or something else. The girl has not one drop of your blood in her veins. Sheisthe daughter of Paoli Lecardo and Miriam Anna Curtis—the latter formerly of Syracuse, this State. I have been work- ing up this case, in the interest of the Curtis family, and the proof is complete. You, Miss Abbott, know one of my witnesses. He is briano Leordi, the man who was assaulted by city roughs, and thus became one of your numerous proteges, This child is no Bertrand, nor is she a Woodman.” “Tt is false!’ cried Oscar, angrily. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,” replied Redding, stiffly, “but, if you use such intemperate language, I may be led to inquire why you have tried to palm her o as the real granddaughter of Adam Woodman, when ou knew she was nothing of the kind. To me. it ooks very much like an attempt to use a false heir- og for a true one, so that you might reap the bene- Oscar seemed paralyzed by this shot, but his mother came to his aid and attacked Redding with truly feminine force and want of logic. She used very severe language, 2nd ended by informing the young man as to the location of the outer door “T beg our eee ‘on, Mrs. Bertrand,” replied Gus, calmly, *‘and I deeply regret that there:should be any trouble here, but as lam the agent of the Curtis family I cannot desert Bianca. I ask you quietly to let her go with me. If you refuse, I shall take legal steps to recover her from iad hands.” Mrs. Bertrand was purple with anger, but Oscar had become thoroughly frightened. “No, no!” he exclaimed. ‘There is no need of anything of the kind, Pessibly Ihave made a mis- take, and I feel sure we can trust you. You shall have the girl— Wait! I havea betteridea. Why not let Miss Abbott be her guardian until the matter is settled?” Bianca, who had been cowering at Helena’s side, the shadow of Alarm in her dusky eyes as she heard this quarrel, caught eagerly at the idea, and no one opposed it. Gus had come in believing Helena was still attached to Bertrand, but there was that in her face which made him doubt it now. In any case, she was honest and trustworthy. So it was settled, and Redding took his leave with such politeness as seemed necessary. Helena soon followed, with Bianca in charge, and the Bertrands were left alone. ‘The jig is up!” said Oscar, bitterly. ‘Our game has fallen through, and, if an investigation follows, the fact that we tried it will weigh heavily againsu us. Great heavens! what if the real heiress should be found?” Bob o’ the Powery found his detectiva work pro- gressing very satisfactorily. He had rescued Adam Woodman from the hands of his enemies. and placed him where he was not likely to again fall into trou- ble, and he had reason to believe that with the pa- yers recovered from Crow McGookin, he could s.on learh the exact identity of Adam’s granddaughter. That it was Bianca he firmly believed, but there was nothing like getting proof. Of course it was Bob’s duty to restore the papers at once to Adam, but the boy had become a good deal interested in his detective work, and he wanted all the credit of unraveling the mystery. Besides, it would be a very pleasant surprise for the-old man if the whole truth could be told him in five minutes, without the trouble of running all over New York after the threads of the case. One of the addresses which had been given Adam was on Hudson street. It will be remembered that he tried to find it by a hap-hazard search), arid fell among thieves. But Bob had the exact address, and he made his way over to the West side and looked it up. He was directed to a house on Macdougal street, oo he was assured that he could get fullinforma- on, Back he went, and, reaching Macdougal street, was soon in the presence of the Mrs. Lilly to whom he had been directed. She proved to be an honest, motherly-looking woman, and as she was™poor her- self, Bob’s rags did not create a ath ania “Tm out this a. M. onter a ’vestigatin’ trip,’’ he said, ‘‘an’ I hev been tole that you kin cast a ‘lec- trie light onter w'at is agertatin’ my profess’nall buzzum.” ‘Indeed! What is your profession?” “I’m inter two lines. One is peanuts, but in this hyar department Stumpy ‘tends ter things. Soumapy is my pardner, mum, and a right good chap he is w’en he ain't got ther gloveson. But he’sa knocker- out, Stumpy is, an’ when he gits onter ther war- ath, he jest makes gore fly ‘nough ter paint ther own red, He's an awful fighter. My fav’rite biz is detective worruk.” The woman smiled. ‘Have you come here as a detective?”’ . “Right ye be, mum. Ye hev ketched on like an elevated-road gate onter a passenger two seconds late. I’m here as a representation o’ ther firm 0’ Pinkerton, Vidoq and B, Bowery, an’ w'ot I wanter know is bout one Paolo Bonati. ‘I'm tole ye knowed him once.” a “Oh! the Italian. Yes, I knew him, but he is now ead." “Prezactly; Did ye also krow his wifs?” * Rose? Yes, she died in my house.” a — — ———————————— “Good ’nough! That is ter obsarve, I’m gl qoxe wal infermationed onter things. Wal, they ad a gal?”’ “ Yes. ” “ W’ot's become 0’ her ?” **T don’t know.” Don't know?’ “No. After Rose died I wanted to take charge of the little girl, but Donati, Rose’s husband, insisted on giving it to a man whom he knew; an, as I feit hurt, 1 dropped them all entirely.” “Isee. But, look yer, can’t ye put me onter ther secret?’ * es. Mrs, Warden, of No. — Great Jones street, ean tell you all about ir.”’ Bob had this address on his papers, and be felt sure of success. He asked some questions concern- ing the last hours of Rose Woodman Donati, but they would not be of interest to the reader; then he left the house and made his way to Great Jones street. He was soon in the presence of Mrs. Warden, to whom he made known his wishes “Tam not sure I shall tell you anything,” she said. “'The little girl is alive and well, but her present rotector does not want to part wiih her, or have 1er case talked about.” ** Not even ef her lawful granddad wanted fer ter make her richer’n Underbilt?” questioned Bob. * Ab! he discarded poor Rose.” “ An’ rept ther whirlwind he sowed, and repented in cioth an’ sack-ashes, like a salted white-peter. Why, he’s a-goin’ round ther city now, a lookin’ fer her every whar.”’ ‘Ts that a fact?” “True ez ther temp'rance pl dge.”’ “Then I will not stand in her light, She was long ago adopted by a poor, but kind, man—a teamster— who loves her like a daughter, but he has always said he hoped she would some day inherit her grand- father’s wealth.” ib * O’rect. Who is this hyar beney'lent teamster?”’ “His name is Ben Dukes, and the little girl is called Nan.”’ Pa Nan ye Bob o’ the Bowery repeated the name, utterly, astonished, in a voice like a small cyclone. CHAPTER XVII, THE BOWERY BOY'S TRIUMPH. Bon’s vehemence rather startled the a od wom- an,and she remained gazing mutely at him until be got his breath for further remarks. ‘“T ain’t overly sure I ketched onter w’ot ye said, fer ther drum-stick o’ my left ear is fracturated. W'ot was it ye went for ter inform me ‘bout them?” “I said that Adam Woodman’s granddaughter is the adopted child of a teamster named Ben Dukes, and that the girl Lerself is called Nan,” “Great Scott!,’ ; “\Vhat’s the matter?” “Why. / know Nan!” “So much the better.” “ She ther heir outlaw? She? Holysmoke! Who else was hit by ther’arthquake? S/e an heir-out- law? Sh-—Nan? Oh! oh! Ha! ha! ha!” Bob o’ the Bowery was in a mood very unbecom- ing to a detective of the great city of New York but his manner was 60 very comical] that the good woman had to smile. But Boh soon recovered his coolness. * Queer, b’gosh! Why, she don’t look like as though she had Italian blood. She’s got hair redder than that winder-curting.” ‘That's because she resembles her mother. In the child, Rose Woodman’s red hair and other fea- tures are strikingly reproduced, while no trace of her half-Italian origin is to be seen.” ‘‘ Wal, by ericky! ef she looks so much like her marm, then Adam orter see the resemblance!” de- clared Bob, as he arose. ‘‘I’ll ketch onter ther ole gentleman ter onc’t!”’ He left the hy use and hurried away to get Adam. “ Wal, by cricky! ef this hyar ain’t ther biggest s’prise petty o’ ther year. Who'd ’a’ thort Nan was & gerne in disguise? Never heard 0’ no red- headed princesses afore, though Nan is purty enough ter be a royalduke. Gosh! mebdbe I'll turn out ter be ther heir-outlaw o’ England or Staten Island yit!” He socn reached bis quarters, found Mr. Wood man and told him he believed he could take him te some one who could tell him all about his grand daughter, Then he bore him in triumph to Ben Dukes’s house, and ushered him in without any ink- ling of the truth. Greeting Nan in his usuel way, the boy looked to see what effect the meeting had on Adam, The old gentleman was looking at Nan with eyes open to their fullest capacity. “Dye see a ghost?” innocently asked Bob. ‘Great Heavens! who is this girl?’’ Woodman de- manded. : ‘*She’s a pussonal frien’ o’ mine. Why d’ye ask?’’ ‘* Bob, she is the very image of my daughter Rose! Child, who are you?” “Wal, | ain’é got my pedigree hancy,” Nan re- plied, ** but I opine I'm a chip 0’ some block. Ez fer aname, call me Nan, an’ I'll be’round ter all ther candy-pullin’s.”’ i ** Who was your mother?’ ‘‘Can't say. Never knowed her, an’I don’t like ter speak in acase whar ther evidence ain’t all in. Them’s my styles.” “See er boss,” added Bob, “‘do she really look so mnch like yer dead darter? **She is her very image. **No wonder,” declared the Bowery boy, “ fer this
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- : : ' ee - hyar is yer granddarter, sure ez peas is_ peas. Saake hands an’ drop a tear fer old Lang Syne— | whoever he was—an’ then I'll tell ye all about it.” Woodman did not need further proof, and he would bave taken Nan tohis arms had not that | young lady gravely informed him that she “ couldn't low nobody ter hug her while Bob was ‘round, fer he was sorter stuck on her.” Then the young detective produced his papers, told how he had come by them, and the steps he bad taken to learn who Woodman’s grandchild really was. The old man was as delighted as a child. He did not think of doubting Bob’s story, for he had a species of proof before his very eyes in the shape of an, who looked so much like her dead mother that Adam was kept busy brushing away the tears. Nan was at first rather reluctant to acknowledge the claim, but Bob settled the case with an eloquent oration concerning the chickens, sheep, cabbages and hay-seed on the Connecticut gentleman's farm, and she, too, grew interested. * Lawsee,”’ she said, “I never s’posed I was no- body’s heiress, nor ther like o’ that. Iknowed Pop Dukes wasn’t no mor’n a ‘dopted pop, but—lawsee, Bob. jest think 0’ me bein’ a Q een Vic in disguise!’ ‘You shouldn’t speak so dis’spectably o’ a royal pusson, Nan,” said Bob. reprovingly. ‘‘ Member that you're one o’ ther roy outlaw ter ther state o’ Connecticut. Sadstone.”’ While they talked none of them had thought of Mr. Crow McGookin, who, lyingin the curtained-off bed at oneside of the room, had heard all that was said, but that man now pushed the curtains widely apart and spoke in a feeble voice. “Ha! oneof the men who decoyed me from the hotel!” “Yes ” said Crow, feebly; ‘‘it was me an’ Lije Wolf that did it, but Oi’m sorry fer dhe part Oi played, an’ ef yell promise not ter jug me, Oi’ll tell ye what will please yez moightily.”’ **Do it, b »ss,’’ advised Bob; and when the promise was given, Crow did speak freely. “Ye owe all av yer throubles to dhat snake ov an Oscar Bertrand,” he said. ‘‘He was resolved ter have yer money an’ ch’ate ther girrul out av it, an’ whin he heard dhat papers had been sent yez ter help foind her, he sent me on to dhe train ter pick yer pocket av them. Oi did it, too. ‘*Nixt, it was his doin’s that ye was drugged an’ robbed on Hudson strate, fer he thought ef ye had no money ye would go home, but whin ye still sthuck to dhe hotel, he sent me an’ Wolf ter decoy ezaway. We did it, an’ ye owe all yer captivity to m ” ‘The infamous scoundrel!” Woodman exclaimed. *“Marco Gambora was only his tool at first, but dhe Oitalian saw a way ter make a penny fer him- silf, an’ he got up dhe oideaay palmin’ off a false heiress on yez, arter hevin' first matried her. He war arter dhe boodle, ye see. Dhe girrul he selected was wan Bianca Silva, au’, by a queer coincidence, Bertrand had himseif got his eye on her an’ formed a pritty scheme, “He began to be afeerd he c’u’d not kape ye shut up in good shape, so he thought to presint a false heiress an’ make a good sum by pretendin’ ter rescue yez, thus Sorat id gratitude, which would be big when he presint granddarter.”’ ‘I see; a very pretty scheme!”’ bitterly comment- ed Adam. “’Twor moighty curious,’’ added McGookin, mus- ingly, ‘‘ that Oscar an’ Marco was both worrukin’ ter pass off dhe same gal, an’ nayther onter dhe ither’s racket.” ‘* W’ot was her name?”’ Bob asked, ‘Bianca Silva, ez I said afore.” “Wanted ter sorter impres3 it onter my brain- eae Idees, like nails, wants ter be driv in. Wal, / made ther same sort o’ blunder—least wise, I thort Bianca was ther wery cherub that Adam = ter find, but I found out differenter in ther end.” Just then there was a timid knock at the door. and when Nan said “ Come in,” a small and timid face appeared. “Hello!” quéth Bob; ‘‘hyar’s Stumpy, my pugil- istic pard. ‘ot d’ye want, John L.? Wait!—he’s such a slugger be might git ter slashin’ ’round in > ge ee style ef he came in. I'll see him out- de. Stay thar, Stumpy.” Bob went out, impressed with the belief that some- thing unusual had occurred, for Stumpy’s eyes were unnaturally large and wandering. And this Stumpy, so often represented as a terri- ble fighting boy with a consuming thirst for off- band “‘scraps’’ with whoever came along, old or young, proved to be a very meek little lad, a trifle younger than Bob and a good deal smaller, with a pale, thin face, a limp in one leg, and the general air of a boy who would not hurt a fly. Oh! Bob o’ the Bowery, what a wicked slanderer you are! * Bob,” said Stumpy, in a hushed whisper, “there's a man dead over thar, with a knife right through him!” : Mas die ev’ry day, Stump,” nonchalantly replied Bob. “Yes, but you know this ‘un; he’s Marco Gam- ra. “ W'or?” “T say he’s dead." “Show be gece evidence ter my out’ard eye!” commanded the senior partner, hurrying Stumpy away. Not far had tei fe &0. In an alley lay a dead man, a knife buried hilt-deep in his body, his gaudy fam’ly now, an’ heir- | Ye wanter | learn ter sling on style afore ye meet Bismarck and | what yez s’posed was yer | Bob o’ the Bowery. clothed soiled with mud and his life-blood, his course | forever run. AY, stopped short in his career of wickedness the Prince of Mulberry street lay in the gutter like a miserable cat. And on the knife which had taken his life was a paper on which were scrawled these words: “Even the worm will turn when too harshly used!” Bob went back to Dukes’s, and found Adam and Nan getting ready to go out. ** Just in time, my boy,’’ said the old man, ‘‘ We are going to visit the Bertrands and let them know their plot has gone wrong, and we want you along.” * All right, boss; I’m allays glad ter sorter balance ther wheels 0’ s’ciety, an’ ez 1 kin tell ’bout all Oscar, ther dude, will care ter hear, I s’pose I might ez wal be one o’ ther investigatin’ committee. Shall I order a cab, or will we huff it? Gy mebbe a hoss-car, with seven conflictin’ currents o’ air blowin’ through it, would fill ther bill, You'll find it right excitin’ ter set on a cold seat an’ feel a cyclone playing Yankee Doodly in seven languages up an’ down yer spine.” Despite this strong recommendation, Adam de- clined the street-car and took a cab, and the three were whitled away up-town. In due time the Bertrand house was reached, and Adam managed to take himself and party into the arlor, wheres O car and his mother were seated, efore the astonished servant could understand why he was pusheil aside. Woodman entered, leading Nan by the hand. Mrs. Bertrand and Oscar looked up amazed, “My dear kinsfolk,” said Adam, wit sarcasm, “allow me to make you acquainted with my grand- daughter and heires?, Nannie Woodman Douati!”’ The schemers sat mute and dismayed. Common sense told them that their pment, 3 was known, and that it would do no good to act a false part. ‘You see,” added Woodman, “ that, despite your plot, and your attempt to palm off a false heiress upon me.I have found my dear grapdchild, who— mark my words—will get every cent of money I have. Not one penny comes to the Bertrands,” They did not answer. ‘Sorter seems ez though they are dumb,” said Bob, coolly. ‘‘Thar was a time when ther genile Oscar wa’n’t so slow o’tongue. W'‘ot’s got onter ye, Os? Lost yer tongue? Come, Iet us hear 2 few pearls o’ wisdom drop from yer ‘ily tonrue—do, now! Jest whoop ’em up, an’ charge ther same ter bearer.” ** [ owe all this to you!”’ and Oscar looked furious- ly at Bob. “Never mind; I was willin’ ter do it. W’en ye charged me with stealin’ that leather, on Four- teenth street, I sorter said in a whisper ter my brain-factory, that ef Lever go) a chance ter do ye a favor in return I wouldn’t neglect ther chance. An’ I didn’t—not fer Joseph!”’ ‘*T did not press that charge,’’ whined Oscar. ‘**Good reason why. Ye had ther leather in yer own pocket. You was ther pickpocket, fer ye al- ready had yer eye on Bianca, an’ ez Helena had tooken her a’dress, ye took steps ter prevent her gittin’ too wal acquainted with ther gal.” “T find you villaincus persons, both,’ added Adam Woodman, emphatically, ** but I do not feel like prosecuting the family of my son. I will over- look this matter on condition that ycu never ‘how your faces to me, or my granddaughter, again.” ‘*We accept the condition,’’ said Mrs. Bertrand, quickly. **So be it. I hope you will act more honorably in future in other matters—but that is your lookout. Now, young people, we will go.”’ They went without the ceremony of a rood-by, and entering the waiting cab, were driven away. “That air was Oscar's last flop,” observed Bob. ** He’s ez helpless ez a landed fish.’ ““Thank goodness I know him thoroughly at last,” said Adam. “My ‘quaintance ain’t very lencthy,’’ said Nan, “but I reckon a little o' thué kind is ez guod asa feast.” ** Now ye’re hootin’,”’ coincided Bob. ‘* Oscar ain’t ther kind onter which diamonds aun’ eighteen-carrot gold is made—not any, fer Joseph! It surter percu- lated through my brain-factory when he charged me with stealin’ ther leather that he was a crook, an’ time hez proved that I’m a prophet. Give timea fair chance an’ help it a leetle when ther way is rough, an’ i''ll come up glorious at ther eend, blush- in’ like a copper’s nose. Wal, my fu’st detective case is over, an’ Nan is one o’ ther royal fam’ly, spite o’ red hair an’ freckles." An ocean steamer was leaving ithe cvinity of New York, and, among those who stood on her decks and looked back at the ene land, was a gray- haired old man whose face was that of an Italian. * Farewell, land of the West!” he muttered: ‘ta long, eternal farewell. TI leave you gladly, but with a happier heart than I brought hire. Tine, your soil covers the body of my only son, but I have taken revenge on the man who led him into crime, and on to death. Mulberry street will see its Prince no more; Marco Gambora is now as cold and lifeless as his victim, and Nicolo, the Juggler, can return to his own country. I have left my «nife behind, but it was left in a good place!” And the steamer went on, and the land faded still further, and the gray-haired Itatian stood like a statue, watching the last dark line on the horizon. Bob o’ the Bowery had worked his detective case up so well that nothing was left unsolved. Ben Dukes supplied some missing links, and. for Nan's sake, gave up all claim on her, a0 she could go to Connecticut and receive the luxuries and education which Woodman’s mouey would bestow. Bianca was sent to Avy relatives. the Curtis family. Gus Redding had worked up this case, which was not so intricate as the other, because he knew the family. Bianca is now in Syracuse, well and pros- perous, and her dark eyes and gentle ways make many friends for her, Crow MvGockin recovered and reformed. Lije Wo.f got into trouble with the law, and is now in Siny Sing. The mystery of Marco Gambora’s death was not solved, for no one knew of the man wi.o went on the ocean steamer, but no one mourned in Mulberry street. Tomaso Silva still plays the organ on the streets. The Leordi brothers are in business. Oscar Bertrand withdrew all claim to Miss Abbott’s hand, and the latter married Gus Redding. Bob o’ the Bowery and Stumpy are still partners in the peanut business, but the former aspires to be a genuine detective, His success in his first case, and the money Woodman and Redding gave him, fired his amnbition, and be is bound to rise in life. itis settled that he shall often visit Nan, at her new home in Connecticut, and as she Has promised not to forget him, there is no knowing what kind of a bargain they may yet make as to their future, THE END. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. BY JO PIERCE, 897 Bob o’ the Bowery; or, The Prince of Mulberry Street 415 The Vagabond Detective; or, Bowery Bob’s Boom. 452 Hotspur Bob, the Street-Buy Detective. 460 The Lawyer’s Shadow; or, Luke’s | egacy. 472 Juunty Joe, the Young Horse-King. 494 Surly Sim, the Young Ferryman Detective. 504 Five Points Phil. 509 Jack Jagger, the Butcher Boy Detective. 516 Tartar Tim; or, Five Points Phil’s Menagerie. 526 North River Nat, the Pier Detective 588 Wrestling Rex, the Pride ofthe Sixth Ward. 641 Jeff Flicker. the Stable Boy Detective. 551 Nick Nettle, the Boy Shadow. 5659 Harlem Jack, the Office Boy Detective. BY BUCKSKIN SAM (Major Sam. 8, Hall.) 284 oi Rees **Royees;” or, Benito, the Young Horse- reaker. 246 Giant Georges or, The Ang’! of the Range. 275 Arizona Jack ¢ or, Giant George’s Pard. 297 The Tarantula of Tavs; or, Gitut George’s Revenge. 507 The Strange Pard; or, Little Ben’s Death Hunt. 818 Ker-whoop, Ker-whoo} or, The Tarantula of Taos. B27 Creeping Cat, the Caddo; or, The Red and White Pards, 882 Frio Fred; or, The Tonkaway’s Trust. 844 The Fighting Trio; or, Rattlesnake, the Tonkaway. 849 Wild Wolf; or, Big-Foot Wallace to the Front, 857 The Ranch Raiders; or, The Siege of Fort Purgatory. 864 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger. 875 Chiota, the Creek’; or, The Three Thunderbolts, 881 Bandera BUl; or. Frio Frank to the Front, 892 Romeo and the Reds; or, The Beleaguered Ranch. 404 Little Lariat; or, Pecan Pete’s Big Rampage. 414 The Daisy from Denver. 427 The Three Tratlers; or, Old Rocky on the Rampage, 442 Bluff Bill; or, The Lynx of the Leona. 455 Little Lone Star; or, The Belle of the Cibolo, BY J, C. COWDRICK. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery. 869 Shasta, (ne Gold hing or, For Seven Years Dead. 420 The Detective’s Apprentice; or, A Boy Without a Name " 424 Cibuta John; or, Red-Hot Times at Ante Bar. 489 Sandy Sam, the Street Scout. 467 Disco Dan, the Daisy Dude. 490 Broadway Billy, the Bootblack Bravo. 506 Redli ht Ralp » the Prince of the Road. 514 Broadway Billy’« Boodle. 524 The Engineer Detective 586 Broadway Billy’s« ‘ Diffikilty.” 548 Mart, the Night Express Detective. 557 Broadway Billy’s Death Racket. BY MAJOR E. L. 8ST. VRAIN, 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit. 801 Leadville Nick, the Boy Sport. 812 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. 888 Brimatone Bob, and His Lightning Horse 852 Tombstone Tom, the Arizona Boy of “ Sand.” B59 Duranre Dave, the Youny Chanu wn Wrestler. 871 Kingbolt Chris, the Young Hard-Shell Detective. 880 Avalanche Alf, the Foothills Guide. 890 Jaguar Joe, of the Mount«in Mail-Line. BY EDWARD 8. ELLIS. 6 Bill Biddon, ring er. 8 Seth Jones; or, he Captives of tne Frontier. 10 Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. 21 The Frontier Angel. 98 The Boy Miners; or, The Enchanted Island. 182 The Hunted Hunter}; or, The Strange Horseman. 254 The Half-Blood; or, The Panther of the Plains. 271 The Muge Hunter; or, The Steam Prairie Man. BY EDWARD WILLETT. 167 Asa Scott, the Steamboat Boy. 199 Featherweight the Boy Champion of the Muskingum, 228 Ozark Alf; or, Featherweight Among the Outlaws. 282 The Typo Petective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp. 295 Feurlesas Phil; or, The King of Quartzville. £11 The Roving Sport; or, The Prise of Chuckaluck Camp, 822 Nemo, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon's Vendetta. 840 Clip, the Contortionist; or, The Montana Vigilantes. A new issue every Tuesday. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per oak oe sent by mail, on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS. Publishers, 98 William street, New York,
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—— BY EDWARD L. WHEELER. Deadwood Dick Novels. 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Pagnerss or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance. 28 Buffalo Ben; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise. 85 Wilda Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. 42 Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza, 49 Omaha Oll; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 57 Deadwood Pek’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. 783 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine. %7 Corduroy Charlie; or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville. 104 Deadwood Dick's Device; or, ‘he Double Cross Sign. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Doadweed Dick's Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch. 188 Blonde BI); or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base. 49 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. 156 Deadwood Dick of Dead wood}; or, The Picked Party. 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivuls of the Road. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Dexdwood Dick’s Ward. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad- venture. 7 217 Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Brigand, 221 Sugar-Couted Sam; or, The Black Gown. 282 Gold-Duat Dick, A Romance of Rough. and Toughs, 268 Deadwood Dick’s Divides or, The Spir.t of Swamp Lake. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Veal; er, The Gold Brick of Iregon. 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig- ings. 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta. 862 reese Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro ate. 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City. 410 Readwaed Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mystery of Joan orter, 421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “Cute Care.” 480 Deadwood Dick’« Dust; or, The Chained Hand. 448 Deadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Defiance. 458 pammewer Sam, of Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Full and, 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Ronnd- 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at aim . 471 Bozeman Bill; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral. 476 Humboldt Harry, tue Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Dog Detective. 481 Moll Myatery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood. 491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Inheritance. 500 Deadwood Dick’s Diggtings ; or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop. 508 Deadwood Dick’s Deliverance. 515 Deadwood Dick’s Pretegee. 522 Deadwood Dick’s Three. 529 Deadwood Dick's Danger Ducka, 584 Deadwood Dick's Death Hunt. 589 Deadwood Dick Jr., in Texas, 544 Deadwood Dick, Jr., the Wild West Vidocq. 549 Deadwood Dick on Mis Mettle. 554 Deadwood Dick, Jr., in Gotham. 561 Deadwood Dick In Boston. 567 Deadwood Dick, Jr., in Philadelphia, Other Novels by E. L. Wheeler. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Buffale Demon. 82 Bob Woolf; or, The Girl Dead-Shot. 89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York. 45 Old Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand. 53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Bey Phenix. 61 Buckhorn BIL; or, The Red Rifle Team 69 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter; or, The Boy Detective. 80 Rosebud Kob io: Nugget Ned, the Knight. 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand. 88 Phet» ro Phil; or, Rosebud Rob's Reappenrance. a Chet; or, Ol Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. er, Aruba and Augels of a Great City. 8 Jaek Moyle the Young Speculator. 7 Gliit-Edged Dick, the Sport Detective 1 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport. 5 Bonanza Bill, Miner. 188 Boas Bob the King of Bootblacks, 141 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. 145 Toor Ferret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s 08 is . 161 New York Nell, the Boy-Girl, Detective. 177 Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, The Sierras Scamps. 181 Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo. 209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective. 218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventriloquist Hunter. 226 Snoozer, the Boy Sharp; or, The Arab Detective, 286 Apolle Bill, the Trail Tornado. 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young G!adiator. 244 Sierra Sam, the Frontier Ferret. 248 Slerra Sam’s« Sccret; or, The Bleody Foetprints. 2558 Sierra Sam’s Pard; or, The Anget ot Big Vista, 258 Sierra Sam’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Joe, the Boy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs, 277 Denver Dol , the Detective Queen. 281 Denver Doll’s Victory. 255 Denver Doll’s Decoy ; or. Little Bill’s Bonanza, 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. 296 Denver Doll’s Drift; or. The Road Queen. 299 A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker. 808 ’Liza Jane, the Sirl Miner; or. the Iron-Nerved Sport. 825 Kelley, Hickey & Co., the Detectives of Philadelphia. 880 Little Quick-Shot; or, The Dead Face of Daggersville. 884 Kangarog Kit; or, The Mysterious Miuer. 889 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. 858 First-Class Fred, she Gent trom Gopher. 868 7 none Jim, the Gold-Gatherer}; or, The Lottery of dfe 872 Yreka Jim’s Prize. 878 Nabob Ned; or, The Secret of Slab City. BS2 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance. BS5 Yreka Jim’s Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose, 889 Bicycle Ben; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode. 894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam. 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective. 416 High Wat Harry, the Base Ball Detective, 426 Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. 484 Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives. 458 Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. 456 Sealskin Sam, the Sparkter. BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. Wm, F. Cody). 8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilot of the Prairie. as Deadly-Eye, the Ratt Seout. 8% Border Robin Hood; or, The Prairie Rover. 158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, The Trapper’s Trust. BEADLE’S« H ALF- DIME*] IBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. BY CHARLES MORRIS, BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM, 118 WII! Somers, the Boy Detective. Z The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocean Outcast, 122 Phil Mardy, the Boss Boy. 17 Ralph kes, the Boy Buccaneer; or, The Fugitive Yacht. 126 Picayune Pete ; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. 24 Diamond Dirk: or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone, 180 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags. 62 The Shadow Ship; or. The Rival Lieutenants. 142 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective, 75 The Boy Duelist; or, The Cruise of the Sea-Wolf. 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 102 Dick Dead-Eye, the Boy Simuyyzier. 152 Black Beas, Will Wildfire’s Racer. 111 The Sen-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy. 157 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. 116 The Hussar Captain; or, The Hermit o! Hel! Gate, 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods. 197 Little Grit; or, Bocsie, the Stock-Tender’s Daughter, 165 Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy, 204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport. 170 A ‘Trump Card; or, Will Wildtire Wins and Loses, 216 Bison BILL, the Prince of the Reins. 174 Bob Rockett; or, Mysteries of New York. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer. 179 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, 229 Crimson Kate 3 or, The Cowboy’s Triumph. 188 The Hidden Mand; or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. 187 Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers. 189 Bob Rockett; or, Driven to the Wall. 196 Shadowed 3 or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life. 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. 212 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. 220 Tom Tanner; or, The Black Sheep of the Flock. 225 Sam Charcoal the Premium Darky. 235 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy. 242 The Two “ Bloods”; or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang. 252 Dick Dashaway ¢: or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago. 262 The Young Sharps: or, Rollicking Mike’s Hot Trail. 274 Jolly Jim, the Detective Apprentice. 289 Jolly Jim’s Job; or, The Young Detective. 298 The Water-Hound; or, The Young Thoroughbred. 805 Dashuway, of Dakota; or, A Western Lad in the Quaker sity. 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective. 858 The Reporter-Detectlve; or, Fred Flyer’s Blizzard. 867 Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. 879 Larry, the Leveler; or, The Bloods of the Boulevard. 408 Firelly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. 423 The Lost Fin er; or, The Entrapped Cashier, 428 Fred Flyer, the Reporter Detective. 482 Invincible Logan, the Pinkerton Ferret. 456 Billy Brick, the Jolly Vagabond. 466 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive. 479 Detective Dodge; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty. 488 Wild Dick Racket. 501 Boots, the Boy Fireman 3 or, Too Sharp for the Sharper. 566 The Secret service Boy Detective. 245 Merle. the Middy ; or, The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midshipman Ml utineer 3 or, Brandt, the Buccaneer. 264 bd Floating Feather; or, Merle Mente's Treasure sland. 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 evi Monte’s Cruise; or, The Chuse of “The Gold Snip. 280 Merle Monte’s Fate; or. Pearl, the Pirnte’s Bride, 284 The Sea Marander; or, Merle Monte’s Pledge, 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover «f the Rio Grande, 804 The Dead Shot Dandy ; or, Benito. the Boy Bugler. 808 Keno Kit; or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. 814 ane Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long: rail, 877 Bonodel, the Boy Royer; or, The Flagless Schooner. B88 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search for Pirate Island, 887 Warpath WILL, the Boy Phantom. 898 Seawalf, the Boy Lieutenant. 402 Invdor, the Young Conspivater 3 or, The Fatal League, 407 The Boy Inaurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtsaman; or, The War-Cloua’s Cruise. 429 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy’s Luck; or, The Corsair. 487 The Sea Raider. 441 The Ocean Firefly ; or, A Middy’s Vergeance. 446 HMaphazard Harry ; or, The Seapegrace of the Sen, 450 Wizard WIll: or, The Boy Ferre of New York. 451 Wizard Will's Street. Scouts, 462 The Born Guide; or. The Sailor Boy Wanderer, 468 Neptune Ned, the boy Coaster, 474 Flora; or, Wizard Will’s Vagabond Para, 488 Ferret« Afloat; or, Wizard Will’s Last Case. 487 Nevada Ned, the Revolver Kanger. 495 Arizona Joe the Boy Pard of Texas Jack. 497 Buck Taylor, King of the Cowboys. 508 The Royal Middy; or, The Shark and the Sea Cat. 507 The Hunted Midxhipman, 511 The Outlnwed Middy. 520 Buckskin BHI, the Comanche Shadow. 525 Brothers in Buckskin. 530 The Buckskin Bowers, 585 The Buc skin Rovers. 540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder ot the Rio, 545 Licutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte. 550 Lafitte’s Legacy: or. The Avenging Son. 555 The Creole Corsair. 560 Pawnee BIIIL, the Prairie Shadower. 565 Kent Kingdon, the Card King. BY OLL COOMES, 5 Vagabond Joe, the Young Wandering Jew, 18 The Dumb Spy. 27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. 81 Keen-Kuilfe, the Prince of the Prairies, 41 Lasso Jack, the Young Mustanger. 58 The Border King; or, The Secret Foe, 71 Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. 74 HMawk-eye Marry the Young Trapper R.nger. 88 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. 184 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. 1 Scar-Face Saul, the Silent Hunter. 146 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. 158 Eagle Kit, the Boy Demon. 168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger, 178 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 182 Little Hurricane, the Boy Captain, 202 \’roapect Pete ; or, The Young Outlaw Hunters. 208 The Boy Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Tiger Tom, the Texas Terror. 224 Dashing Dick; or, Propper Tom’s Castle, 228 Little Wildfire, the Young Prairie Nomad. 288 The Parson Detective; or, The Little Ranger. 248 The Dingnixed Guide; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger. 260 Dare-Devil Dan, he Young Prairie Ranger. 272 Minkakin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter. 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. 800 The Sky Demon 3 or, RuinbrIt, the Ranger. 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero. 409 Hercules; er, Dick, the Boy Ranger. 417 Webtoot Mone, the Tramp Detective, 422 Baby Sam, the Boy Giant of the Yellowstone. 444 Little Buckakin, tne Young Prairie Centaur. 457 Wingedfoot Fred; or. Old Polar Saul. 468 Tamarac ‘Tom, the Big Trapper Boy. 478 Old Tom Rattler, the Red River Epidemic. 482 Stonewall Bob, the Boy Treian. 562 Blundering Basil, the Hermit Boy Trapper. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR, 2 Yellowstone Jack; or, The Trapper. 48 Black John, the Road-Agent; or, The Outlaw’s Retreat. 65 Hurricane Bills or, Mustang Sam and His Pard. 119 Wustene vg! ps King of the Plains. 186 Night-lawk Kit; or, The Daugiter of the Ranch. 144 Dainty Lance the Boy Sport. 51 Panther Paul; or, Painty Lance to the Rescue. 60 The Black Giant; or, Dainty Lance in Jeopardy. 68 Dendly Dash; or, Fighting Fire with Fire. 84 The Boy Trailers; or, Dainty Lance on the War-Path. 03 The Boy Parda; or, Painty Lance Unmaske. 11 Crooked Cale, the Caliban of Celestial City. 1@ The Barranca Wolf; or, The Beantiful Decoy. 19 The Black Rider; or, The Horse-Thieves’ League. 885 Old Double Fist; or, The Strange Guide. 855 The King of the Wooda: or Daniel Boone’s Last Trail. 449 Kit Fox, the Border Boy Detective. LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. 570 Camille, the Card Queen. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 571 Air-Line Luke, the Young Engineer. By J. C. Cowdrick. 572 Deadwood Dick, Jr., in Chicago. By E. L. Wheeler. 578 The Two Shadows, By T. C. Harbangh, 574 Old Weaxel-top, the Man with the Dogs. 575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective. By Colonel Prentise 900 RO RD ba tbat BY T. ©. HARBAUGH, % Nick o? the Night; er, Th+ Boy Spy of '76. 2 i The Hidden Lodge; er The Littl: Hunter. By P. 8. Warne. ai Nightingale Nat; -, Ine Lapin My comment Ingraham. Senta Gro Bre he Silver Sport, By Lsut AK. Si. 94 Midnight Jack 3 or, The Boy Trapper. 577 Pavement Pete, the Secret Sifter, By Jo Pierce. 106 Old Frosty, the Guides or, The White Queen, 578 Deadwood Dick, Jr., Afloat. By Edward Mpg mint 128 Kiowa Charley the White Mustanger. 579 fag Chimney. Sey; er, Broadway Billy’s Surprise-Party- iss wi pon Solty tg tobe ke * 2 Gb Avene: wanted Y Aa ng steene oo Cadet; or, The False Deteetive. By C« 9 T by " jun ck Fro See } a iss Nod Vocplen ws Winder Boy. Biri alg 581 Wesbie- Serve Dan, the Pitcher Detective. By George U. 198 Arkansaw ; or, The Que n of Fate’s Revenge. aaaatae : ; 207 Navajo Nick, the Bey Gold Hunter. 582 Dodger Dick’s Drop. By T. C. Harbaugh. 588 Saffron Sol, the Man With a Shadow. By Lieut. A. K. Sim. 584 Dendwood Dick, Jr., in Denver, “By Ed. L. Wheeler. 585 Will Waters, the Boy Ferret. ~ By H. Enton. 586 The Buckskin Avenger. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 5ST Old Bombshell, the Ranger Detective. By Wm. G, Patten. 588 Jack-o’-Lantern, the Under-Sea Prospector. By Jo Pierce. Captain Bullet; «r, Little Tonknot’s Crusade. g Jezebel. Apoli , the King-Pin of Bowie, akin Detective. 90 : eh: or, T tuckskin Desneradoes, Ps BO4 Dy namiio Toes on The Bowie Blade ot Cochetope. BSP Tom-Cat and Piirds or, The Dead Set at Silver City. By The othe or, T P lly. feat. A. A, Sins ote or Dr cee aay er bee ae a ee 590 Deadwood Dick, Jr’s., Decree. By E. UL. Wheeler. $26 The Ten. Parda: or. The Terror ot Take-Notice. 591 Delmonte, the Young Sea-Rover. By Col. P Ingraham. 886 Rig Benson; or Tie Queen of the Lasso, 592 The Boy Pinkerton. By J. C. Cowdrick. By P. S. Warne. 98 Keen Clé the Ranch Imp. 5 em, th anch Imp By T. C. Harbany > 2 derboli’s S 845 Pitiless Matt; or, Red Thonderholi’s Secret. 594 Litthe Lon, the Street-Singer Detective. Beet OC leved Far he Terrible Six. : $a6 Velvet Feet the lndisn Detective. ‘pre 595 peaaweed Dick Jr. in Beelschab’s Basin. By F. . " ' we * 4 heeler, eady December 18. 886 Captain Cutlass; or, | he B ccuneer’s Girl Foe. 596 Jimmy ‘the Kid: ro ‘A Lamb Among Wolves. By Chas. 896 Rough Rob; or, The !win Champions of Blue Blazes, 411 The Silken Lasso: or, The Rose of Ranch Robin, 418 Felix Fox, the Boy Spotter. 425 Texas Trump, the Border Rattler. 486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox. 445 Vhe City Vampires; or, Ked Rolfe’s Pigeon. 461 One Against F fty3 or, The Last Man of Keno Bar, 470 The Roy Shadow; or, Felix Fox’s Hunt. 477 The Exceisior Sport; or, Tie Washington Spotter. 499 Single Sight, the One-fyed Sport. 502 Branded Ben, the Night Ferret. 512 Dodger Dick, the Whurf-Spy Detective. 521 Dodger Dick’« Best Dodge. 528 Fox and Faleon, the Bowery Shadows. 5S Dodger Dick, the Dock Ferret. 548 Dodger Dick’s Double; er, The Rival Boy Detectives. 558 Dodger Dick’s Desperate Case. 568 Dodger Dick, the Boy Videcg. Morris. Ready December 25. 597 The Young Texan Detective. Keady January 1. . 598 Flute, the Sinver Detective. By Geo. C. Jenks. Ready January 8. 599 Jim Dandy, the No-Name Sport. Ready January 15. 600 Deadwood Dick Jr. at Coney Island. Wheeler. Ready January 22 A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Walf-Dime Library is for sale by all newsdealers, fire cents pet copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers. 98 William Street, New Yeri. By Col. P. Ingraham. By P. S. Warne. By Edward L.