Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 June 1891 — DOUBLE DICK AND JOE; OR The Poorhouse Waifs. [ARTICLE]

DOUBLE DICK AND JOE; OR The Poorhouse Waifs.

BY DAVID LOWRY.

•CHAPTER ll—Continued. Mr. Caper met them in the hall. Ho was wiping his face with his handkerchief and bowing deferentially. “Ah! good afternoon, gentlemen; good afternoon! Gome in!” “Pretty warm, I see,” said one of the visitors. “Mr. Caper, I presume?” The Superintendent bowed again and beamed upon them. “How can I serve you?” “Well, to be brief, as our time is short, we have called to inquire ” “Ah! excuse me,” said the other, making a sign to the speaker. “Can we see the people you have here, Mr. Caper. My card. ” The visitor, a ruddy-faced man, held cut a card, which Mr. Caper examined. “Certainly, sir. You are welcome—free to look .©ver the premises. Entirely at your service.” Mr. Caper .cringed to his visitors. No one to look at him would believe that this was the man who was on the edge o,f murder two minutes before. He led the way through the building. Into the main hall, to the dormitory, to the hospita', to the nursery, to the kitchen —everywhere. The visitors expressed themselves satisfied with what they saw. One was loud in his praise of the excellent order, and Mr. Caper snoke modestly of his “system.” The other visitor was retitent. When they were alone —an! Mr. Caper took good care to leave them alone —one said to the other: “Strange—very strange! .She is not here!” “No? Are you sure, quite sure, Mr. Allen?” “Quite.. From tire description, she would be easily found. If, after all ” He paused. The other looked at him curiously. “Well. Mr. Allen?” “If she is dead!” “Dead! Dead! I never thought of that.” “I have. Indeed. I considered the chances about even from the first. ” “I hope she isn’t—l do hope she is not!” The Superintendent rejoinel thenr now. “Ah. Mr. Caper,’* said the last speaker, “I dare say your admirable system is carried out even to the—grave?” “Sir!* I do not exactly catch your meaning. ” “Whv, suppose one or more members of a family die, you have a record that would be accepted in court as conclusive. ” “To be sure Do you wish to look at the mortality record?” Mr. Caper was al ; miles again as he led the way to his room. “Here, gentlemen. You see how it is. ” “Hum,” said the ruddy-faced visitor, turning over the pages whereon the record was spread “Hum. I see here several children some very young. Here is one called —what is it? It looks like J. But it can’t be Joe. ” Air. Caper looked over his shoulder, and suddenly formed a resolution. It was one of those lightning-like projects —formed in a flash of time —carried out on the spur of the moment. “It is Joe — an abbreviation.” Mr. Allen looked at him inquiringly. “Joe stands for Josephine in this case. ” “Ah!” “Yes. She was, as you see, aged fourteen ” . “Just so. I see. No other name?” “No. But she was, lam satisfied, ent'tled to a name. I’ve forgotten the story. Her mother was here, you know. ” “Was she, indeed?” “O, yes. Died here. You can see — back here is the date of burial and death. ” “Curious —mother and child. Mother no name?” “Weil —that's the curious part of it. Where the story came in. But she never would confess—never did. We cal ed her Mrs. Simpson, and she never said yes or no. ” Mr. Allen's companion looked at him. Mr. Allen apparently was meditating. The companion could not resist the tomp-

tat on to ash the question that was shapsd in his mind. “Was she—did Mrs. Simpson look like a iady?” “A lady! Humph! You could buy all she’d on her for three dollars—less money." “What my friend means, Mr. Caner. is, did she impress you as a woman who might have seen better times—were her manners those of a woman who had moved in good society?” “Manners! Well, she a’ways seemed to me one of the kind that somehow thinks themselves better than everybody else,” answered the Superintendent shortly. Mr. Alien turned to his friend, then ho made a note of the demise of Joe. Neither he nor his friend nor the Superintendent observed a boy’s head that appeared once or twice at the door. “I suppose we may as well go,” said the quiet-spoken visitor to Air. Allen. “Yes. We are much obliged to you, Mr. Caper, for your kindness.” The visitors walked out of the main hall, and, bidding the Superintendent good-afternoon, rode away. “You think you are awful cute; awful smart, Mr. Allen. Well, you ain’t It was pretty close nipping, but I’m one ahead of you in this game. Thought you'd pick her right up—thought nobody was onto your Jitte game, but I know a racket worth two of that. She’s buried now—dead and buried, Air. Allen. You’ve made a note out. too. You’ve seen the record —it's in black and white here for you. Oh, you’re awful cut# — cute as a piece of punk, or a door-knob, or a goslin’. I’ve thrown you so far off the scent your grandchildren can’t find it, and I'm only a plain, uneducated man, tryin’ to grease my way through the world with no education to speak of.” Mr. Caper re-entered the house with a wicked smile on his b'oodless lips, As he looked about the hall and out in the grounds, he bethought himself of the boy. Walking to a side door, and addressing a man there, he said: . “Where’s Dick?” “I don't know, sir. ” “Well, I want you to find him. I’ll give you just two minutes.” The man has'.ened away. Within the time allowed him, he returned with a frightened look. “Well?” demanded the Superintendent. “I—l can’t —can’t find him. ” “Can’t!” “He’s—he’s gone, sir.” “Gone! Gone!” “Y-y-yes, sir. Clean gone. ” The poor creature cowered before the awful glare the Superintendent bestowed upon him. “Who says Dick’s gone?” “The cook seen him, and the carpenter seen iiim, and the ” “Saw the devil! Where did they see him —why didn’t they stop him? why didn't they come and tell me?” “They did —but you was talking to the gentlemen.” “Well, where did Dick go?” “He ran across the back field, climbed over the fence, jumped on a horse in the lane, and he’s galloped off to town.” “To town! 111 have him back in an hour. And when I get him——” Mr. Caper gritted his teeth as he hastened to the stable, saddled a horse with his own hands, thrust a biidle over his head, and mounting him in great haste, rode to Barnesville like a madman, cursing himself, Dick, the carpenter, the cook, and everybody in Barnesville poorhouse. “Wait—only wait till I get my hands on him. I’ll—l’ll murder him! I’ll teach the devif’s brat to threaten me!”

CHAPTER 111. f A FIGHT FOR LIFE. Zeke Caper whipped his horse unmercifully. He was resolved upon reaching Barnesville as soon as the runaway. He looked across the fields, and his eyes detected a figure on horseback. It might be D.ck and it might be a boy going to mill. No matter who he was. Caper was determined to stop him short or head him off. He halloed with a l his might, but the wind blew his voice back in his teeth. Then he whipped his horse again The horse was galloping: he galloped at least five or six minutes at a rate that threat ened to unseat the rider. Then he lessened h-s speed. The figure on horseback seemed to be hastening his speed, too. He increased his speed until it wa- plain that Caper could not soon overtake him as long as he kept on the road. Then Caper looked for a ;ow place in the fence to his right, dismounted, snoved the top rails aside, led his horse through the opening, remounted madly, and pursued Dick. It was p ain now that Dick was on the horse he .-aw. He was urging his horse to his utmost speed. .Caper s horse was much the swiftest In a few minutes more he would overtake Dick. Caper shouted to him, but Dick only urged his horse the faster. Dick was riding a horse without bridle or saddle. Some men in a field, fancying the man and boy were racing, shouted encouraging words to Dick as he Hew past headlong. “Go it, young ’un! Go it, old man! Go it, both of you!” One man cut a switch, stepped out and handed it to Dick, and Dick whipped his horse up lively. His horse spurted ahead again, and then Caper swore until the air turned blue. At last, when man and boy were near each other, Dick looked back and saw murder in his pursuer’s face. Murder looked out of his eyes. Murder was lined in his firm mouth. Above all, murder was expressed in the forward pitch of Caper’s head. Dick knew only too well what it meant when Caper held his head down and well forward. The devil always goaded him to desperation then. Dick knew, and more than one in Barnesville knew, that murder was done more than once when Caper rushed at his victims witti his head down like a bull charging and lunging in his blind rage. “Will you stop now?” “No. ” The horses spurted under the drivers’ whips again. “Stop, I tell you. ” “I’ll die first ” Even as he spoko, Dick’s horse stumbled, fell, and came w thin an ace of rolling over in a gully upon Dick. In a moment Dick was on his feet, and running as fast as his legs could carry him. Caper overtook him and tried to ride him down, but his horse shied Then Caper tried to hit the boy with the butt of his whip. The handle grased Dick’s shoulder. “Stop, you devil’s imp!” Dick did not heed him. “Stop.” Dick tried to climb over a fence Caper was off his horse in an instant. He grasped Dick by the leg. Dick kicked violently with all his might. His foot struck Caper square in the mouth.

The blow loosened two of the Superintendent’s teeth, and the devil in him was unloosed, too, by the same blow. “Now I’ll kill you, you whelp.” He pulled Dick off the fence; but the boy was supple and full of fire. He hit Caper a stinging blow in one eye with his fists as he was falling off the fence. The blow amazed —dumfounded Caper. Before he could grasp Dick again' the boy was several yards from him. Caper ran after him. Murder was in every line of his face. His expression was so horrible that Dick gave himself up for lost. But he resolved to sell his life as dearly a- possible. “Say your prayers, you Jbrat! It s the last chance you’ll ever have!” Dick’s glance fell on a large, smooth, round stone. His hand was as swift as his eye. He stooped suddenly, picked up the stone, and, just as Caper was within a few feet of him, threw it with all his might at him. The stone struck Caper on the head. He fell like a sack, all abroad, on the clay road. Dick, dreading lest he was playing a trick, stood off, looking at him. Then he approached him, and observed him intently. If it was acting, it was marvelous. But there was a tiny of blood on the ground. The sight of the blood unnerved Dick. “What If I have killed him!” The thought that Caper was only prevented from murdering him did not occur to Dick until he satisfied himself, by putting a hand slowly, timidly on Caper s head, that the Superintendent of Barneville Poorhouse was not “playing possum. ” “I’m sorry! But if I hadn’t hit him — where’d I be now?” Aud Dick shuddered at the recollection of Caper's murderous expression. He lifted Caper's hand. The hand fell limp on the ground. He turned Caper’s fa-e up. It was pale and cold—deadly cold. “I’ve killed him —I’ve murdered him!” said Dick aloud. Then he cried; he looked at the fallen man: at the road, up and down; across the fields. No human being was in sight “They’ll hang me! They'll say I did it on purpose. Nobody will believe me. I’ll be tried and the preacher will talk to me, and then I'll be hung.” Dick was in a paroxysm of terror. He knelt beside Caper, felt his heart and his hands. He even opened Caper’s eyes But there was no sign of life. Dick looked at his horse, scampering away on the road Then at the horse Caper rode. He thought quickly—very quickly. Presently he made up his mind. “I’ll run away—no use giving myself up to be hung. I'll go as far as I can—and keep going> I’m sorry it happened, ’cos I wanted to go and see Joe at that farm house. But I daren't now—l must skip out mighty quick.” He turned to Caper's horse, turned its head toward the poorhouse, hit it smartly with a switch, and watched it trotting back home. Then Dick ran swlfty across a field; skulking, dodging, looking backward as he ran, in apprehension. But there was no one in sight. When he reached the edge of the field, he entered a fringe of timber land, and suddenly disappeared from view. [to be continued,]