Joe the Hotel Boy

ATTACKED IN THE DARK.

“Joe, the plot worked to perfection!” said Felix Gussing, on the day following.  “I have to thank you, and here are twenty dollars for your trouble.”

“I don’t want a cent, Mr. Gussing,” answered our hero.  “I did it only out of friendliness to you.  I hope you have no further trouble in your courtship.”

“Oh, that was all settled last night.  Clara and I are to be married next week.  We are going to send out the cards to-day.  You see,” went on the young man in a lower tone.  “I don’t want to give the major a chance to change his mind, or to suspect that that duel was not just what it ought to have been.”

“Does he suspect anything as yet?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then you are wise to have the wedding as quickly as possible.”

“When we are married I am going to let Clara into the secret.  I know she’ll enjoy it as much as anybody.”

“Well, you had better warn her to keep mum before her father.  He looks as if he could get pretty angry if he wanted to.”

“As you won’t take any money for this, Joe, wouldn’t you like to come to the wedding?”

“I’m afraid it will be too high-toned for me, Mr. Gussing.”

“No, it is to be a plain, homelike affair—­Clara wants it that way.  The major has some country cousins who will be there, and they are very plain folks.”

“Then I’ll come—­if Miss Sampson wishes it.”

So it was arranged that Joe should attend the wedding, and as he was in need of a new Sunday suit he purchased it at once, so that he could use it at the wedding.

“You’re in luck, Joe,” remarked Frank, when he heard the news.  “And that suit looks very well on you.”

In some manner it leaked out among the boys that Joe was going to the wedding, and two days before the affair came off Jack Sagger learned of it.  He immediately consulted with some of his cronies, and it was unanimously resolved to watch for Joe after the wedding was over and chastise him severely for the manner in which he had treated “the gang.”

“We’ll fix him,” said Sagger, suggestively.

At the proper time Joe took a car to the Sampson home and was there introduced to a dozen or more people.  The wedding proved an enjoyable affair and the elegant supper that was served was one long to be remembered.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Joe started for the hotel again.  He had thought to take a car, but afterwards concluded to walk.

“A walk will do me good—­after such a hearty supper,” he told himself.  “If I ride home I won’t be able to sleep.”

At the corner the Sagger crowd was waiting for him.  One gave a low whistle, and all slunk out of sight until Joe had passed.

Several blocks had been covered when our hero came to a spot where several new buildings were in the course of construction.  It was rather dark and the street lights cast long and uncertain shadows along the walk.

Joe had just started to cross a wooden bridge over an excavation when he heard a rush behind him.  Before he could turn he was given a violent shove.

“Push him into de cellar hole!” came, in Jack Sagger’s voice.

“Stop!” cried Joe, and it must be admitted that he was greatly alarmed.  But no attention was paid to his words, and over the side of the bridge he went, to fall a distance of a dozen feet and land in a pile of dirt, with one lower limb in a puddle of dirty water.

“Down he goes!” he heard, in the voice of Nick Sammel.  “Wonder how he likes it?”

“You’re a mean, low crowd!” cried Joe, as he stood up.  He was covered with dirt and the cold water felt anything but agreeable on such a frosty night as it chanced to be.

“Don’t you dare to crawl out of dat!” said Sagger.  “If yer do we’ll pitch yer in ag’in, won’t we, fellers?”

“Sure we will!” was the cry.

“De next time we’ll dump him in on his head!”

Growing somewhat accustomed to the semi-darkness, Joe counted seven of his tormentors, all standing on the edge of the cellar hole into which he had so unceremoniously been thrown.  Several of the youths had heavy sticks.

“I suppose I’ll have to retreat,” he reasoned “I can’t fight seven of them.”

He turned to the rear of the cellar hole and felt his way along into the deepest shadows.  Presently he reached a partly finished building and crawled up some planks leading to one of the floors.

“He is running away!” he heard Jack Sagger cry.

“Come on after him!” said another of the crowd.

“Let’s take his new coat and vest away from him!” added a third.

The entire party dropped down into the hole and ran to the rear, in a hunt after our hero.  In the meantime Joe was feeling his way along a scaffolding where some masons had been at work.

As it happened the entire party under Jack Sagger walked toward the unfinished building and came to a halt directly under the scaffolding.  Joe saw them and crouched back out of sight.

“Where is de country jay?” he heard one of the crowd ask.

“He’s back here somewhere,” answered Jack Sagger.  “We must find him an’ thump him good.”

“You’ll not thump me if I can help it,” said our hero to himself.

Joe put out his hand and felt a cask near by.  It was half filled with dirty water, being used for the purposes of making mortar.  A tub of water was beside the cask.

“Tit for tat!” he thought, and as quickly as it could be done he overturned the cask and the tub followed.

Joe’s aim was perfect, and down came the shower of dirty water, directly on the heads of the boys below.  Every one was saturated and each set up a yell of dismay.

“Oh, say, I’m soaked!”

“He trun water all over me!”

“Ugh! but dat’s a regular ice bath, dat is!”

“That’s what you get for throwing me into the hole!” cried Joe.  “After this you had better leave me alone.”

“I’ve got some mortar in me eye!” screamed Jack Sagger, dancing around in pain.  “Oh, me eye is burned out!”

“I’m wet to de skin!” said Nick Sammel, with a shiver.  “Oh, say, but it’s dead cold, ain’t it?”

Waiting to hear no more, Joe ran along the scaffolding and then leaped through a window of the unfinished building.  A street light now guided him and he came out through the back of the structure and into an alleyway.  From this he made his way to the street.

“I’ll have to hurry,” he reasoned.  “If they catch me now they will want to half kill me!”

“Don’t let him git away!” he heard Sagger roar.  “Catch him!  Catch him!”

“Hold on there, you young rascals!” came a voice out of the darkness.  “What are you doing around these buildings?”

A watchman had come on the scene, with a lantern in one hand and a heavy club in the other.

“We ain’t doin’ nuthin,” said one of the boys.

“Maybe you’re the gang that stole that lumber a couple of nights ago,” went on the watchman, coming closer.

“Ain’t touched yer lumber,” growled Jack Sagger.

“We’re after anudder feller wot hid in here,” said Sammel.

“That’s a likely story.  I believe you are nothing but a crowd of young thieves,” grumbled the watchman.  “Every night somebody is trying to steal lumber or bricks, or something.  I’ve a good mind to make an example of you and have you all locked up.”

“We ain’t touched a thing!” cried a small boy, and began to back away in alarm.  At once several followed him.

“Here’s a barrel of water knocked over and everything in a mess.  You’ve been skylarking, too.  I’m going to have you locked up!”

The watchman made a dash after the boys and the crowd scattered in all directions.  Sagger received a crack on the shoulder that lamed him for a week, and Sammel tripped and went down, taking the skin off of the end of his nose.

“Oh, me nose!” he moaned.  “It’s busted entirely!”

“Run!” cried Sagger.  “If you don’t you’ll be nabbed sure!” And then the crowd ran with all their speed, scrambling out of the hole as best they could.  They did not stop until they were half a dozen blocks away and on their way home.

“We made a fizzle of it dat trip,” said Sagger, dolefully.

“It’s all your fault,” growled one of the boys.  “I ain’t goin’ out wid you again.  You promise big things but you never do ’em.”

“Oh, Jack ’s a gas-bag, dat’s wot he is,” was the comment of another, and he walked off by himself.  Presently one after another of the boys followed suit, leaving Jack Sagger to sneak home, a sadder if not a wiser lad.