//,, é ii ////////Ifl7/, //////,.‘<’-'"’" - / /”I//IIIAII / -,« // Warm // // ///// ' W/WW W , yflW/flm, .\\\\\\\\\..\\\\\\ ‘ ~ /. e ... \\\ . - \\ \\\\\\ \ \\\\\\\\§\“ “we .\ \. \V \ \\\\\\ \ as Cormonnn In 1882 in Bunu: AND Anus. Vol. XIII. hfifi'ffihlmmm NEW YORK, AUGUST 12, 1882. TM m “meifiefikifiifié' No. 648 HOW FAR ‘l BY EB“ I. BEINRD. “ This man is an infamous scoundrel, crafty as he is cruel, but justice is on my side, and in the end I am sure to triumph.” “I’m with you, clear through!” the boy de- clared. Sitting in the twuight my darling came to me, And said. “ I‘m tired, papa. as tired as I can be.“ And then I took the baby and rocked her on my breast. And sung a little lullaby to lull her into rest. Rock, my baby: rock and rest, Cradled on a loving breast. Dream. my baby. while I keep Faithful watch above thy sleep. Sleep. my baby, dream and rest. Waking from her slumber asked the child of me, “ How far of! is Heaven ‘r" very wistfully. “ Shall I see it some time? Papa, do you know When l‘llbe an angel? I would like to go.“ " Hush, my darling." sung I then, As I kissed her lips again. “ Years shall come and ymrs shall go While I watch your way below. Sleep, my baby, dream and rest In the lonesome twilight of another day Smiling at my sorrow, baby went away. She has one to Heaven, where the angels are. Oh, my ittle darling, was the journey far? Oh. my chil . your little feet Enter fiist the olden street. Some day. darl ng, at the gate. You will greet me. Watch and wait. Watch and wait. my child, for me. I . ‘ ' C v “V x H y "‘ ". lllulll“ | I - , ’ I i‘hfluiluiiiiluihlfil‘g ‘ i " + “ ~ cresssts I 1 g ,1 1.1, a; app,“ ‘ I I ‘ ‘ ‘§\ this THE TELEGRAPH GIRL; ‘ CHAPTER III. THE BELLE or THE BINDEBY. A BUSY scene. the folding—room of John Jef- ferson Walaker’s mammoth book—bindery, situ- ated on one of the bustling down-town streets of Gotham, sacred to trade. A half-hundred girls were all at work, busy as bees, and the way the printed sheets were manipulated by their expert fingers was a ser- mon to idlers. Walaker’s establishment was one of the largest of its kind in the city, and employed quite a small army of working people of both sexes. Walaker himself was a pompousman of fifty. of great wealth, but of vast ignorance, except in the art of money getting: and, like most men of his class. was a perfect slave to gold and valued it above anything else. To his equals he. was affable and pleasant; to his superiors cringing and subservient: but to his employees and those whom he considered beneath him in the social scale, he was overbearing, dogmatic and insolent. Another peculiar point about the master of the bindery was his desire to appear young. His hair on head and face was a rusty gray, naturally—he wore a full beard—but in order to disguise his age he kept both hair and ! beard constantly dyed brown. This he did not attend to as diligently as he should, and as the ’ hair would grow, his hirsute decorations gen— , ‘ . iuu‘i‘j ‘ t... "- g \)‘§ ’ ...;iiw““"r"\'§ \ I . es, \\ \§ § asgéhpc gttgfit. \ \ g \ ,, dad W§§ \ OR, i-rallly presented a streaked and altogether un- ‘ ‘ ‘ V ‘ v ‘ ove y appearance. His face too, showed its THE MESSERHER DEI‘ECTI‘ In, \ ‘ Age plainly in every feature, so this attempt at ' ,. I ‘ g Q ~ g deception rarely succeeded in (ieceivin an — ’ BY ALBERT w. AIKEN. , t ‘ , ~ \_ body- g y AUTHOR HF H AJTIMNGE GIRLS, in”: DUFBLE I , N .» p §§€§a§s§, . Strong contrast to tho proprietor of the es- DETECTIVE, ' " LA MARM()SET. “0VER~ ‘ \ \~\‘»_- tabhshment was the foreman, Martin Walaker, LAND KIT," ETC., arc. (‘HAPTER I. THE TELEG RAM. WITHIN the small telegraph cflice, situated in a corner of one of the ferry-houses that dot. the shore-line of New York’s great city, sat the operator in charge, a young and pretty girl. listlesst engaged in watching the human life- tide streaming through the building. The girl was quite a picture as she leaned on the little counter and gazed through the glass which separated her from the outer apartment. She was small in stature, slight in figure, with a little round, dark face, illuminated by a pair of most brilliant violet eyes: her hair was jet black, and curled in little crispy ringlets all over her head. And yet, attractive as was the picture she presented, hardly one in a hundred of the thron hurrying for the ferry-boat as though their ’ves were in peril, took the slightest no— tice of her, and of the few who happened to lance in at the girl, none paused for a second 00k. She was pretty enough, but she was “ only a telegraph girl," plainly clad, and a servant of the great public at large, for a modest sti nd r week. But that passing throng would ve nged down and worshiped her rare beauty had she been robed like one of the queens of fashion. The multitude passing through the ferry- house was increasing in numbers, or the evening was at hand, and the thousands who worked in the city but lived without its limits were hieing to their homes. And the young girl, all alone in the world, with neither kith nor kin, felt strangely lone- some as she looked upon this army of workers, all hastening homeward, and nearly eyery other one carrying a parcel. “All have homes, loving friends, something to live for—all but I. unfortunate, ill-starred Frances (‘arden.“ she murmured. “ But [ for- get: I live for vengeance!” And fierce was the tone in which she uttered the words. “Ven- eance on the man who has wronged me so eeply. I am sure the avenging fates will some day bring me to him and nerve my weak, girl- ish arm to strike him as terrible a b10w as the one which he dealt me in the long ago." These meditations were interrupted by the rapid approach of a gentleman, young, tall, handsome, elaborately dressed, and with the unmistakable air of a person on the best of terms with fortune. A costly diamond glittered in his scarf and upon his little finger he wore a gem which would have caused even the eyes of a diamond- broker to sparkle. The girl, with the instinctive love of her sex for all such trinkets, looked with admiration upon the brilliants, hardly noticing the wearer, asshe took her place, ready to receive his or- ders. He took one of the telegraph blanks, drew out an elegant gold pencil and hurriedly traceda few words upon the paper. “Will you put that right through for me, please i” he said. . A longedrawu breath came from the girl’s lips, am only by the greatest effort was she able to repress a cry of surprise, but so great was the. emotion under which she labored that she did not dare to trust herself to speak, so simply nodded. But the gentleman, evidently somewhat ex- cited, did not notice the girl‘operator, so the nod escaped him. and thinking that she had not heard him, he spoke again: “ What is the matter! Are you deaf?” he ex- claimed, impatiently. “I asked you if you could put this message right through. It’s'for Washington, and I want an answer right away!” “Yes. sir,” she said, her voice low, yet calm, despite the tumult raging in her breast. And gazing at the man, as she spoke, the gen- tleman had a good view of her face, but only to start as though he had received an electric shoc . “ Mildred Dockall alive!” he cried, with trembling voice, his face growing white. There was a look of amazement also upon the features of the telegraph girl. but no signs of fear such as the man betrayed. ti Sirl,’ “ You alive I” be repeated. “ I beiieve so,“ and the girl laughed. A puzzled ex ression appeared upon the face of the man. I e surveyed the girl with an in- tensely earnest look, but shc, now perfect mis— tress of her emotions, only betrayed the sur- prise that any one would feel at being thus oddly accosted by a stranger. “ I thought you were dead I" " Haven’t you made a mistake! Haven’t you confounded me with somebody else?" “ Your name is Mildred Dockull .1” " No, sir: my name is Frances Carden, at your ‘ $5 ,. ill “Mildred Dockall alive 2" he cried, with trembling voice, his face growing white. service,” and she smiled, as if wholly uncon- cerned. “You are tr ing to deceive me! You are Mildred Dockal : I am sure of it. I cannot be mistaken!” “As I have been in the employ of the tele- graph compan quite a long time any of the ofllcers will tel you that my name is Frances Carden. Some of the operators have named me Tick Tick, but that isn’t like the name by which you addressed me,” still smiling com- placent y. The entleman had been closely scrutinizing the gir ’3 face. Ten years had passed since he had last looked upon it, if she was the person he took her to be; the girl of fifteen then would be a woman of twenty five now, but this irl did not up ear to be so old: the hair of t e one whom e had known was of the color of beaten gold and rippled in shining masses clear to her waist, but the locks of this maiden were dark as the raven’s wing, and curled in clustering ringlets close to her head. Her complexion, too, was dark—as dark as the skins of Italy’s swarth children—a strong contrast to the clear red an white complexion of the lovely English girl, a perfect specimen of the Anglo-Saxon beauty. In figure. thou h, this girl exactlv rc- sembled the English Mi dred, and she had her violet eyes—eves so Wondroust luminous that the man found it hard to believe there could be two such orbs elsewhere in the world. But, if she was the English girl why should she deny the fact! he asked himself; she would, indeed, be more likely to overwhelm him with a storm of reproaches, reviving the bitter mem— ories of the past, than to deny her identity. For once in his life Almon Dudley—forso this tall. handsome fellow was called—was “off his guard ;” the unexpected sight of those brilliant eyes had for the moment disconcerted and alarmed him: but now he was himself again, and mentally cursed his stupidity in betraying his astonishment and suspicions. “ Ah, well, perhaps I am mistaken.” he con- fessed; “but you look very much like a lady I used to know, and as I had heard of her death it was but natural that I should be surprised.” “Yes, sir,” and then, as is customar , she read aloud the dispatch which the gent eman had written: “ ‘ Miss Madelaine Durang. Willard's Hotel, Wash- ington. D. C. She will come tomorrow night. Re- turn immediately to prepare, A. DUDLEY.” " A frowu passed over the face of the man as the thought occurred to him that he had been rash in signing his name to the dispatch if the telegraph irl was really the person he thought her to be, gor that was not the name he bore at the time of the acquaintance with Mildred. and if she was, indeed, Mildred, he had given her a clew to work upon if she bore him ill-will for the deeds done in the past; and if she did not feel a mortal enmity toward him then her dis- position was more angelic than human. “ Your address, sir, please 2" The man was watching the operator narrow- ly. Not a sign betrayed her recognition of him as an old acquaintance; so she must be a. stranger to him and his past. “ You need not trouble yourself to take my address; no answer is required," he replied; then he paid for the mesmge and sauntered awa . “ ore mischief!" Tick Tick murmured, her eyes blazing; “but she. whoever she may be, that is to Come tomorrow night, shall not be entrapped if I can prevent it! for I feel sure there is villainy in this order to Madelaine Du- rang." CHAPTER II. A Missixo HIRL. “IT is the hand of fate itself that has brou ht us together,” the girl continued, “ nnd for w at other purpose than for me to execute upon him the vengeance for which I haw» thirstcd for so long a time? And he recognized inc, too,.de- spite the change in my appeara: ce: his guilty conscience was alarmed; butl think I played my part successfully. and though he suspects I am the Mildrcd Dockall whom he so fearfully wronged, It'll yciirs ago, yet he is not sin-c of it." Then her thoughts reverted to the costly manner in which he was dressed. “Times have gone wcll with him lately,” she thought. “That is evident from’his ap— pearance. He doesn‘t look much like the .W-mw—-—\~.--.cw~m~ g-. r... an. ‘v .— shabbily-dressed fugitive who fled in the night to avoid the officers of an outraged law. So much the better; the greater his elevation, the more terrible the fall when I tear from beneath his feet the scaffold of lies upon which he stands and hurl him down amid the ruins.” Her eyes at this moment fell upon the dis- patch, and her lip curled as she noted the sig- nature. “ Another alias, not like the one he bore when I knew him. POSsibly since that time he has had a dozen. And this woman, Madeleine Durang: that is a French name. She is at Willard’s Hotel, “’ashington: that ives me a clew through which I can reach A mon Dud- ley. There is mischief in the air! I am sure of it, for this man is the arch-minister of evil. ‘ Return to prepare!’ Prepare what?———a snare? Undoubtedly. But I will take a hand in the game!” She sat down and sent off the message. Hardly was this accomplished when she was “called” from the central office. The other oper .tor tele raphed that he had an important message for er. which was to be held until called for. and for her to use great care in tak- ing it down. This was something so out of the common run of business that the girl's curiosity was excited, so every sense was on the alert when this mes- sage came: “ Pnir'rsni'no, N. Y., May 1st, 1842. “ To John II: my Daily. Telzgmpb Office Fer/y, Ni 71‘ Yolk (‘17:. "JanetO'Dare has secretly fled. ('annot get aclew, but think to New York. Employ detectives. (live. full description; 8 are no expense. She is the heir- ess of a million. he truth has been kept from her by dead father's wish. Have a suspicion she sus- pects. At any cost she must be found before she comes of age. six months hence. Ain searching for her in this neighborhood. and leave city today. Draw on me for funds, and telegraph any news in- stantly. (Signed) ABRAHAM DAILY.“ It was a. long message, but under the circum- stances that was not strange. After the girl had read it all carefully, and made the usual copy which she prepared for the coming of the customer, a wild and mOst improbable idea came into her head. “What if this missing girl—this heiress of a million, who was supposed to have fled to the city, should be the one that Almon Dudley re- ferred to in his telegram 5” she thought. The idea was absurd—far-fetched, and could only have occurred to a nervous and excited woman; but, though she strove to banish it, she was unable to do so, for it returned to her again and again. “ A girl worth a million of dollars would be a prize which would stimulate this man to enter- oise his bold, bad genius to its utmost. He would run any risk—dare almost any danger to secure such booty, and if I could foil him, oh, what a triumph it would be! I must keep my eyes open, for though it is an improbable supposition, stranger things by far have hap— pcned." At this moment a telegraph messenger-boy came into the office. It was the lad attached to the station He was a bright little fellow, with a round, chubby face, rosy with health. keen gray eyes, and a shock of rebellious br0wn hair that insisted upon standing upright in the most extraordinary manner. He was fifteen years old, but so small in stature that few would have taken him to be over ten. William Woolley was his name, but habit had abbreviated it into \Villy Wool, and he was never called anything else. Willy was an orphan, without a relative in the world. and a thorough New York boy. Cast upon the World by the death of his parents at an early age, he had commenced life as a iiestoy: then had graduated into a boot- black, and from that into a telegraph messenger, being naturally shrewd and smart and pretty Well informed for a lad who had been knocking about in the streets all his life. He had many good qualities. and was well liked by all who knew him. Willy and Miss Carden had been companions in this office for quite a time. and a fast friend- ship had grown up between them. “ Hi. Frankie, what do you think!" the boy exclaimed. in his off-hand, familiar way as he came into the office. “ Think about what i" she asked. roused from the reverie into which she had fallen by his en- tranca. “ Such a lurk! My! you‘re a beauty, I know, butI didn’t think you had such a swell for a feller.” “ What are you talking about!" “Don’t ou know I?" “ Indee I do not.“ “ Have you got a feller and don‘t know it!” Miss Carden laughed, for she thought the boy was at one of his jokes. “Oh, you needn’t laugh; I guess you know all about it!” “ All about what?” “ IVhy, that elegant swell who takes such an interest in you, and he ain‘t got no diamonds either, oh, no! Reg’lar sparklers: put your eyes out, you know: big as walnuts: heap of style, you bet!” “ I haven’t, the remotest idea of what you are talking about." “ “'ell, you’ve got a fellow if you don‘t know it, and he’s a stunner too. I tell you.” “Explain, for I really don‘t understand you at all.” “Hain’t you seen a good-looking fellow, all dressed up to kill, hanging ’round here?” In an instant the memor of the man whom she hated so bitterly came ack to her. “There was a gentleman here a few minutes ago who sent a dispatch, and I believe he was dressed handsomely and wore diamonds.” “ He’s the man. and you captured him for all he‘s worth." “ Nonsense!" “ Oh. it‘s the truth! \Vish I may die if it isn’t! I met him up the street and he beckoned me to come with him into a corner, so he could talk t» me, you know, Without any one over- lieai‘ing. Then he said that I looked as if I was sharp, and I told him I ate razors for breakfast every morning. Don’t ketcli me asleep, you know. unless you get up i‘ecious early. He grinned and said [was a ully boy, and I up and told him I was a daisy. Then he showed me a dollar and asked me if I would like to earn it, and I said [would go for it so quick that it would make his head swim.” “ You are never backward about using your tongue," the girl observed, with a smile. “ It’s all the capital I‘ve got just now, and I believe in making the most of it. Then, after he showed me the dollar he told me that I could not only make one but five if I had sense enough to keep a still tongue in my head, and I just al- lowed that I could be as dumb as an oyster if I was paid enough for it. Then be up and told me what he wanted. The fact is he is dead gone on you, and I am to find out all about you, what your name is—whero you live—whether you are married or not, where you came from. and how old you are, and everything, and I am not to let you know a thing about it.” “ And yet you have come and told me every- thing. you foolish boy!" “Do you think I am going back on an old pard like you just for his dirty dollars:” the boy demanded, in indignation. “Do you think that is the kind of a grasshopper I am? No, sir-cc, ma’a m! “'hy, I didn‘t let on that Iknew you at all. I said you was a girl that I wasn’t very well acquainted with. But I tell you, Miss Frankie, I reckon you have struck astreak of luck, for this fellow has got the rocks.” “ Do you know anything about him?” “Oh. ves; it ain’t the first time I have seen him. He’s got an office in Wall street, or, any- way, he‘s in an oflice down there, for I remem— ber carrying a message to him once, and 1 spot- ted his diamonds then.” “ Willy, can I trust you with a secret?” asked the irl, earnestly. “ Veil, you can just bet your boots you can, and you will win every time. You see, you have been good to me, and there ain’t so many who have been good to me in this world that I can afford to forget any of them.” “You are a good boy and I know I can trust you. I have reason to believe that this man, so far from being an admirer, is a deadly enemy, and he wisth to gain information in regard to me. for the purpose of doing me an injury." “ Nary word will he get out of me, then!” “ Oh, yes: you must give him a full account, but I will tell you what to reveal to him.” “That‘s bully! You are going to play ’pos- sum .3” “ Exactly; and while he thinks he is entrap- ping me I will entrap him.” “ It will be the biggest thing out.” “Together I am sure we will be more than a match for him.” “ You can count on me, tooth and toe-nails!" s9§§$§§ . ‘ ~ , g r ‘ . g i a nephew of the old man—a well built, rather §®¢$A " ' I ‘ 7 god looking young man, except that he had a dark face, with a firm mouth and sharp eyes which indicated the man of much energy and decision. As we have stated there were about fiftt girls in the room, all skilled workers. and toi— erably good-looking, for it was old VValaker’s boast that he had the prettiest “ gang” of working-girls in the city, and often declared that he Wouldn’t have an ugly girl in the place, as she spoilt the appearance of his establish ment! Brisk and bright as so many birds, these girls were a pleasant sight to look upon, although dressed in the common robes of tod. But there was one among them who would have attracted the eye of even a careless ob- server by her rare beauty. Esther Leigh, the girl was called, and lovely indeed was her oval face, with its pure red and white complexion, hair the tint of fresh-mined gold, eyes darkly blue and as lustrous in their light as the shimmering waves of a fathomless, sun-lit ocean. She was a little above the me- dium hight and ave promise of one day de- veloping into a uno-like woman, a queenly creature, such as men delight to fall down and worship. Esther Leigh was a new girl—a stranger to all in the bindery. A sudden press of work had occurred; Walaker had advertised for girls, and among the multitude who had applied came Miss Leigh. The book-binder had been impressed with the looks of this applicant upon the instant, and af- ter a few inquiries had engaged her. She was, she stated. a stranger in the city. an orphan, and having been suddenly, without warning, thrown upon her own resources, had come to New York, trusting to secure some employment by which to procure a livelihood. She had been a month in the bindery: this was the last Saturday of the month, and the special work for which the extra hands had been employed being completed they had all been notified that their services would not be further required. All except Esther: not a word had been said to her, and great was the envy that raged in the breasts of the other extra girls when they learned this fact. Miss Leigh was not a favorite with the ma- jority: they said she was proud and “stuck up,” chiefly because she was very quiet, attend- ed diligently to her work and was not inclined to be familiar and free with the rest. Her re- markable beauty, too, had something to do with this dislike. Then, too, both of the Wala— kers, foreman and proprietor. treated her with a consideration which they did not extend to the oldest hand in the place. This was quite enough to make the work-girls talk, and with their sly and malicious insinu- ations they could have made the position of Mim Leigh very unpleasant if she had been of the kind who could be worried in such a way: but she was not. She pursued her toil with calm unconcern, totally indifferent to the conversation of her companions. As the afternoon wore away, and the time for suspending work came near, one of the girls —who was at the same. table as Miss Leigh, an extra who had, with the rest, received notice— could not help flinging a last malignant shaft at the beautiful worker. “How lucky it is to be a beauty and put on airs!" she remarked, without looking at, or ad- dressing her conversation to anybody in par- ticular. “Oh, dear! I wish I was good-look- ing!” and she was really pretty, this girl, and knew it well enough, too,-despite her affected ignorance. “It doesn’t matter how well you work, you know; that hasn’t anything to do with it, girls: as long as you are a fascinating creature, that is all that is required; then you can keep your place—that is, if you care to keep it under such conditions—I don’t, for one: I wouldn’t stay a minute; I should be ashamed.” For the first time Miss Leigh condescended to notice an attack, but this was so bitter and brutal that, despite her composure, it called up a vivid blush in her cheeks. “ Miss Jones, I resume you are striking at me,” she said, raising her head and looking the angry girl full in the face, an expression in the deep blue eyes which made the other feel Very uncomfortable, and almost wish that she hadn t been quite so severe and personal in her re- marks. “ And I think you are betraying a very mean spirit, indeed. I do not know that I am to be retained; nothing has been said to me on the subject, but if I am, perhaps it will be be ause I attend to my work and do not waste my time in wounding those who have never in- jured me.” “Miss Jones, have the kindness to put on your things, go to the office, get your money, and get out!” cried the stern voice of the young foreman, who had approached unperceivcd and overheard the conversation. “And don’t ever