Old Specie, the Treasury Detective; or, The Harbor Lights of New York — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

OLD SPECIE. 51 Age had rotted them away. Bones could be seen within, showing that the occupants must have been placed in this receptacle many years before. In the middle of the sepulcher, however, lay a new casket upon two blocks. Ben’s eyes seemed to rest upon this as though it contained the object of his desires. First of all he pushed the door shut. It closed with a clang that sounded holHow to them, partly underground as they were. ‘Lay the gal down. Oh! don’t mind being sa hanged particular about it. She ain’t dead, but all the same, she might as well be. Now come here and help me open this walnut box.’’ He had a screw driver in his hand. The piece of candle was placed on the end of the coffin, a screw selected, and Ben set to work. He was a clumsy hand at it. ‘‘Never could handle a carpenter’s tools, If I had I’d been brought up to the trade, for my old man was a ship owner,” he said. ‘“Give me the tool.”’ Old Specie was an adept. He took out the screws in quick order, and com- manded praise from Bolt. “Thar’s the last un. Now, raise the lid, Ben.”’ As the other did so the detective uttered acry. The coffin had an occupant. A young girl lay there. She seemed to be dead, yet looked no whiter than | the girl he had been carrying. It was not this fact that caused him to give vent to that cry, however, but the astonishing resem- blance existing between the girl in the casket and the one brought there, Gomicboo gS) (E(0) 3