JENNIE WINDOM’S PERIL.
While the company remained in New York, Joe and Jennie Windom, the
two waifs Neka had picked up so strangely in the little town down
East, stopped with some friends who lived up on the East Side near
the Catherine street ferry to Brooklyn. They liked this better than a
strange boarding-house, and during their stay made quite a number of
friends.
Between the pair and Neka a warm friendship had sprung up, and Neka
did all in his power to advance them so that they might both earn
first-class salaries.
Jennie was really a pretty girl, and her beauty soon took the eye of
several members of a gang of toughs who made their headquarters in
the vicinity of the ferry. But as Joe was generally with her on her
trips to and from the theatre, she was protected from insult at their
hands. They would leer at her, but that was as far as they dared to
go.
One evening, however, Joe had a call to go to Jersey City, and Jennie
in consequence had to go home alone.
“You must take the cars, Jennie,” said Joe, “and don’t get off until
you are right in front of the Tooleys’ house.”
Jennie promised this, and so they separated after the performance was
over, and Jennie boarded the car as she had agreed and rode away.
All went well until she was within half-a-dozen blocks of her
friend’s home.
Then there came a clatter on the street as a runaway wagon dashed up.
A crash and a yell, and the wagon struck the front end of the car,
and driver and horse were thrown down.
A crowd began to collect, and the driver was taken up and sent off in
an ambulance. The horse and wagon remained, and Jennie knew it would
be half an hour or more before the car would be able to proceed on
its way.
“I won’t wait,” she thought. “I’ll just get out and run on.”
And leaving the car, she battled her way to the sidewalk through the
crowd and hurried on through the snow and the semi-darkness.
Two blocks still remained to be passed when she went by a low-looking
saloon. In front stood three young men, each with a cigar stuck up in
one corner of his mouth.
“Dan, dare goes dat gal now,” whispered one tough to his companion.
“Yer right, Pete. Ain’t she a daisy, dough?”
“Bet yer freckles she is!” put in the third tough.
“Ah dere!” called out the first speaker, but Jennie only went on the
faster, without turning her head.
“Say, Pete, I’ll bet yer I can walk home wid her,” remarked the tough
called Dan.
“Maybe yer can,” replied Pete, sarcastically.
Jennie of course did not hear this conversation, but by instinct she
felt all was not right, and almost broke into a run in her eagerness
to reach the home of her friend.
Seeing this, the tough came up on a lope silently. She heard him
breathe heavily and then felt his heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Say, don’t walk so fast,” said the tough, as sweetly as his
liquor-soaked voice would permit. “I’ll see yer safe home.”
“Let go of me, sir!” cried Jennie, indignantly. “You have no right to
touch me!”
She struggled to free herself, but he held her so tight she could
not. Then she attempted to scream, but before she could make a sound
he had his dirty hand over her mouth.
“Yer a spunky one,” went on the tough.
“Don’t you dare to touch me,” gasped Jennie, in terror. “Don’t! Let
me go!”
Again she struggled to free herself. But the tough was strong, and
she was as a little child in his burly grasp.
But now light footsteps were coming up unheard. A boyish form came
into view, and the newcomer took in the situation at a glance.
Bang! Without a word the newcomer let out straight from the shoulder
with his right fist. The blow took the tough behind the ear and swung
him back with a groan of pain and fright.
“Let that young lady alone, you tramp!” came in the clear voice of
Neka, and once again he hit the tough, this time a side blow in the
nose that caused that member to bleed profusely.
The fellow staggered back to wipe his olfactory organ, and let go his
hold of Jennie.
“Mr. Neka!” cried the girl, joyfully, and at once placed herself
under the lad’s protection.
“Wot der yer mean by hittin’ me in ther horn?” demanded the tough, as
he strode up to Neka with clinched fists.
“You say a word, and I’ll hand you over to the police,” replied Neka,
sharply. “Begone about your business.”
“I’m goin’ ter settle wid you first, see? Hi, Pete, Mike, come here!”
the latter to his former companions, who had followed Neka to the
scene.
“Come on,” said Neka, in a low tone, and watching their chance he and
Jennie started off at a swift gait.
The toughs started to follow.
“You go and I’ll keep them back,” said Neka, and he wheeled around.
“But you----” began the girl.
“I’ll come out all right. Go on, you haven’t far to go, I believe.”
“No, only to the end of the next block,” and Jennie sped away like a
frightened deer.
The toughs advanced upon Neka, but came to a sudden halt when the one
called Pete exclaimed:
“Hold on, fellers, don’t youse know him?”
“Naw.”
“Dat’s der chap called Neka, de Fire King!”
“He is right,” said Neka. “I am the Fire King, as they call me, and
I’ll make you all sing small if you molest me,” and he flourished a
stage sword that he happened to be carrying to his hotel at the time.
At this demonstration the toughs drew still further back. Then a
roundsman approached, and all three promptly took to their heels.
“What’s the trouble?” asked the roundsman, as he came up, and when
Neka told him he promised to see to it that Jennie Windom was not
molested again.
Fearing that the girl would be anxious concerning his welfare, Neka
visited the friend’s house. He found Jennie on the stoop, looking for
him anxiously.
“You were not hurt?” she queried. “I am so glad. I must thank you for
what you did. You are awfully brave.”
This made Neka blush. In his quiet way he thought a good deal of
Jennie Windom.
The girl wished to know how it was that Neka was in the neighborhood
at the same time, and Neka was forced to confess that he had come to
see if she had got home safe.
“I heard from Wadsworth that you had left alone, and I was worried,”
he said, “for Bindley told me this was a tough district.”
“It is, and I shall be glad when I get out of it, even though I have
kind friends here,” returned Jennie.
On the way to his hotel Neka kept a sharp lookout for the three
toughs and for possible rocks which might be aimed at his head. But
the roundsman had done his work well, and nothing more was seen or
heard of the gang while the Neka-Wadsworth Company remained in the
metropolis.
“I suppose we’ll have lots of tough times on the road,” thought Neka.
“But that is one of the drawbacks of the profession, and we’ll have
to put up with it.”