Bob Younger's Fate — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

140 BOB YOUNGER’S FATE. walked back and sat down in a central seat where he deposited his utensils, and, like many others, prepared for a nap. | In the meantime the Irishman, evidently not rest- Lae LORY fidgetted about a while, and then sat up- right, -Stooping ostensibly to fasten his shoe, his fingers closed over the piece of brown paper. Placing it on his knee, and smoothing it out with his dirty hand, as if he were examining with some anxiety the state of his pantaloons in that locality, he read the words hastily written: “Spotted one of them—drummer--plug hat—_ brown valise—mustache ditto. ’’ Pat’s bleared eyes traversed the car in a half sleepy, wholly idiotic, stare. - Seated across from him, and at a little distance ahead, was a man answering this description. His eyes were fixed on the organ-grinder in a way which indicated that he was studying that individ- ual’s physiognomy with what success however his own countenance gave no indication. ‘Same fellow as hadn’t time to tell me he had or hadn’t a watch. Wonder where the other one is?’’ The “‘other one,’’ if, indeed, there was another one, did not seem to have any existence just then. The drummer seemed wholly alone, and after the analysis to which he subjected the organ-grinder, he returned to his cigar, and puffed away to his heart’s content. Not a single look or sign showed that he knew any one in the car. “A part of their game,” soliloquized the man of music, “‘but it doesn’t throw me off the track: guess I'll go to sleep now,’’ and he once more leaned on the organ, which gave forth a dismal groan at this double imposition. Searcely had he assumed his reclining position when the back door opened, and a gentleman en- tered, evidently for the purpose of having a smoke. “Hello, Pat,’ he cried, as the train rattled away in the darkness, “‘why isn’t your music going ?”’ Pat opened his eyes, and looked at his interlocu- tor sleepily. | Eomicbooks m (E(0)