No. 71 10 Cents
THE SPIDER’S WEB
[Illustration: EAGLE LIBRARY]
BY
ST. GEORGE
RATHBORNE
From Photo
Copyright 1894 by
Morrison, Chicago
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
STREET &
SMITH’S EAGLE LIBRARY
The Most Popular Series of Books Ever Printed
Retail Price, The Correct One, TEN CENTS.
(COPYRIGHTED)
=96--The Little Minister. By J. M. Barrie.=
=95--’Twixt Love and Hate. By Bertha M. Clay.=
94--Darkest Russia. By H. Grattan Donnelly.
93--A Queen of Treachery. By T. W. Hanshew.
92--Humanity. By Sutton Vane.
91--Sweet Violet. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
90--For Fair Virginia. By Russ Whytal.
89--A Gentleman From Gascony. By Bicknell Dudley.
88--Virgie’s Inheritance. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
87--Shenandoah. By J. Perkins Tracy.
86--A Widowed Bride. By Lucy Randall Comfort.
85--Lorrie; or Hollow Gold. By Charles Garvice.
84--Between Two Hearts. By Bertha M. Clay.
83--The Locksmith of Lyons. By Prof Wm. Henry Peck.
82--Captain Impudence. By Edwin Milton Royle.
81--Wedded For an Hour. By Emma Garrison Jones.
80--The Fair Maid of Fez. By the author of Dr. Jack.
79--Marjorie Deane. By Bertha M. Clay.
78--The Yankee Champion. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
77--Tina. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
76--Mavourneen. From the celebrated play.
75--Under Fire. By T. P. James.
74--The Cotton King. By Sutton Vane.
73--The Marquis. By Charles Garvice.
72--Wilful Winnie. By Harriet Sherburne.
71--The Spider’s Web. By the author of Dr. Jack.
70--In Love’s Crucible. By Bertha M. Clay.
69--His Perfect Trust. By a popular author.
68--The Little Cuban Rebel. By Edna Winfield.
67--Gismonda. By Victorien Sardou.
66--Witch Hazel. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
65--Won By the Sword. By J. Perkins Tracy.
64--Dora Tenney. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
63--Lawyer Bell from Boston. By Robert Lee Tyler.
62--Stella Sterling. By Julia Edwards.
61--La Tosca. By Victorien Sardou.
60--The County Fair. By Neil Burgess.
59--Gladys Greye. By Bertha M. Clay.
58--Major Matterson of Kentucky. By the author of Dr. Jack.
57--Rosamond. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
56--The Dispatch Bearer. By Warren Edwards.
55--Thrice Wedded. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
54--Cleopatra. By Victorien Sardou.
53--The Old Homestead. By Denman Thompson.
52--Woman Against Woman. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
51--The Price He Paid. By E. Werner.
50--Her Ransom. By Charles Garvice.
49--None But the Brave. By Robert Lee Tyler.
48--Another Man’s Wife. By Bertha M. Clay.
47--The Colonel By Brevet. By the author of Dr. Jack.
46--Off With the Old Love. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
45--A Yale Man. By Robert Lee Tyler.
44--That Dowdy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
43--Little Coquette Bonnie. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
42--Another Woman’s Husband. By Bertha M. Clay.
41--Her Heart’s Desire. By Charles Garvice.
40--Monsieur Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack.
39--The Colonel’s Wife. By Warren Edwards.
38--The Nabob of Singapore. By the author of Dr. Jack.
37--The Heart of Virginia. By J. Perkins Tracy.
36--Fedora. By Victorien Sardou.
35--The Great Mogul. By the author of Dr. Jack.
34--Pretty Geraldine. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
33--Mrs. Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack.
32--The Blockade Runner. By J. Perkins Tracy.
31--A Siren’s Love. By Robert Lee Tyler.
30--Baron Sam. By the author of Dr. Jack.
29--Theodora. By Victorien Sardou.
28--Miss Caprice. By the author of Dr. Jack.
27--Estelle’s Millionaire Lover. By Julia Edwards.
26--Captain Tom. By the author of Dr. Jack.
25--Little Southern Beauty. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
24--A Wasted Love. By Charles Garvice.
23--Miss Pauline of New York. By the author of Dr. Jack.
22--Elaine. By Charles Garvice.
21--A Heart’s Idol. By Bertha M. Clay.
20--The Senator’s Bride. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
19--Mr. Lake of Chicago. By Harry DuBois Milman.
18--Dr. Jack’s Wife. By the author of Dr. Jack.
17--Leslie’s Loyalty. By Charles Garvice.
16--The Fatal Card. By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson.
15--Dr. Jack. By St. George Rathborne.
14--Violet Lisle. By Bertha M. Clay.
13--The Little Widow. By Julia Edwards.
12--Edrie’s Legacy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
11--The Gypsy’s Daughter. By Bertha M. Clay.
10--Little Sunshine. By Francis S. Smith.
9--The Virginia Heiress. By May Agnes Fleming.
8--Beautiful but Poor. By Julia Edwards.
7--Two Keys. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
6--The Midnight Marriage. By A. M. Douglas.
5--The Senator’s Favorite. Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
4--For a Woman’s Honor. By Bertha M. Clay.
3--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. By Julia Edwards.
2--Ruby’s Reward. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
1--Queen Bess. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
THESE BOOKS CAN BE HAD IN NO OTHER SERIES
THE SPIDER’S WEB
BY
ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE
Author of “Doctor Jack,” “Doctor Jack’s Wife,” “Captain Tom,”
“Baron Sam,” “Miss Pauline of New York,” “Miss Caprice,”
“Monsieur Bob,” “The Colonel by Brevet,” “Major Matterson
of Kentucky,” “The Nabob of Singapore,” Etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
81 FULTON STREET
Copyrighted 1896 by STREET & SMITH.
Copyrighted 1898 by STREET & SMITH.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
_In the Shadow of the Ferris Wheel._
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WHAT THE MOON SAW IN THE MIDWAY, 1
II. HOW SAMSON CEREAL STOLE A BRIDE IN TURKEY, 13
III. THE STRANGE PLOT OF THE FERRIS WHEEL, 24
IV. BRAVO, CANUCK! 34
V. THE MAN FROM THE BOSPHORUS, 43
VI. THE ODDITIES OF CAIRO STREET, 53
VII. CRAIG BUILDS A THEORY, 66
VIII. A BACHELOR PROTECTORATE, 74
BOOK II.
_The Man from Denver._
IX. NEWS FROM COLORADO, 85
X. THE VENGEANCE THAT SLUMBERED TWENTY YEARS, 96
XI. YOUNG CANADA ON DECK, 106
XII. THE PROTECTORATE ABANDONED, 116
XIII. A BACHELOR’S “DEN,” 127
XIV. THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 138
XV. HEARD AT THE SHERMAN TABLE D’HÔTE, 148
XVI. ENGAGED, 159
BOOK III.
_What Happened at the Grain King’s Palace._
XVII. COLONEL BOB WAITS FOR HIS MESSAGE, 172
XVIII. BY SPECIAL DELIVERY, 181
XIX. THE FALL OF THE MIGHTY OAK, 191
XX. SAMSON CEREAL & SON, 201
XXI. AN ACCOMMODATING SHERIFF, 213
XXII. “HAPPY JACK,” 222
XXIII. WHAT THE OLD CAMEL BLANKET CONCEALED, 232
XXIV. HER ATONEMENT, 243
BOOK IV.
_The Spider’s Web of Cairo Street._
XXV. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND, 253
XXVI. AGAIN UNDER THE WITCHERY OF CAIRO STREET, 263
XXVII. THE OLD GAME OF THE SPIDER AND THE FLY, 273
XXVIII. DOROTHY, 284
XXIX. THE PASHA CLAPS HIS HANDS, 294
XXX. THE LAST ACT, 304
THE SPIDER’S WEB;
OR, THE
BACHELOR OF THE MIDWAY.
_BOOK ONE._
IN THE SHADOW OF THE FERRIS WHEEL.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT THE MOON SAW IN THE MIDWAY.
“Eight days I have haunted this beehive, fought my way through the
multitude, looked into tens of thousands of faces, and yet failed to
find her. I’m afraid, Aleck Craig, you’re on a wild goose chase, and
the sooner you return to Montreal the better for your peace of mind.
Eight days! and six of them spent amid the infernal clatter of this
bedlam. I’ve been wondering what the sensations of a man would be,
could he go to sleep in Canada and awaken right _here_.”
The tall, well-built pilgrim from over the border, dressed in a quiet
suit of Scotch cheviot and carrying a Japanese cane, purchased no
doubt in the bazaar, laughs softly as in imagination he pictures the
bewilderment and positive alarm that would overwhelm an unfortunate
placed in the midst of his present surroundings suddenly.
Indeed, it is a conglomeration of sounds that would appall the bravest
heart unaware of their particular origin. The hum of many voices
marks the presence of a multitude; from over the buildings across
the way come the many cries that day and night accompany the riding
of the camels and donkeys in Cairo Street; here and there shout the
bunco-steerers who officiate at the doors of various so-called Oriental
theaters; fakirs howl their wares--from “bum-bum candy” to hot waffles
and trinkets--while the ear-distracting tom-tom music, from behind the
gate leading to the Javanese village, throbs like the pulsations of a
heart. Above all this infernal din can be distinctly heard the steady
“clack--clack” of the ponderous Ferris wheel as it slowly revolves in
its course.
Such a kaleidescopic scene had never before been witnessed on earth.
Since the day when, at the Tower of Babel, the confusion of tongues
came upon the multitude of workers, there has not been a time when the
civilized and savage nations of the earth held such a congress as on
the Midway Plaisance of Chicago.
There is always a crowd here. Many come for the excitement; others
because of the grand opportunity afforded them to study these queer
people from all lands. The red fez abounds, but everyone wearing it is
not necessarily a Turk or an Arab, or even an Algerian. It is the head
gear of the Midway, and those who have business here don it as a matter
of course.
In his way, Aleck Craig is something of a philosopher. He has not been
abroad, but takes an intense interest in the strange things of other
lands, and perhaps it is the opportunity presented by this gathering of
nations that causes him to haunt the Midway. His muttered words would
indicate another motive also.
As a relief from the turmoil that is so incessant, the Canadian
turns into the Turkish bazaar near by. Here are booths after booths
of embroideries, trinkets, rugs, and the various goods to be found in
Constantinople, from jewelry to the quaint but expensive swords used by
the Moslem people of the Orient. Some of these booths are presided over
by boys and young men. They may be Jews, but the red fez gives them a
Turkish appearance. So with the young women. They are hardly Orientals,
for they speak clear English, and the customs of Turkey forbid the
presence of a female on the streets unless the detestable _yashmak_
conceals her face.
Here the noise is less intense. Aleck has many times retired to this
place for rest. It is a gaudy scene when lighted up, and he would
always remember it in days to come.
Being socially inclined, he has made several acquaintances in the
bazaar, with whom he stops from time to time and chats. One of these is
a Turk of middle age, a man of stout figure and closely cropped beard
in which the gray is sprinkled like pepper and salt. Aleck finds much
to interest him in the conversation of Aroun Scutari, the dealer in
precious stones of the Turkish bazaar.
The other has traveled all over Europe, has been in the Egyptian
army, and impresses the Canadian as a remarkable man. He pays little
attention to his business, leaving it almost entirely in the hands of
an Armenian, in whom he seems to have implicit confidence. So Craig
shrewdly judges that the Turk has hardly come to the great World’s Fair
to increase his fortune. Various motives bring men here, and it is
hardly right to speculate upon their private reasons.
Leaving the gem dealer, he saunters on to pass a few sentences with a
wide-awake foreigner who invites the public to step in and view the
beauties of Jerusalem through the aid of stereoscopic views.
Upon passing the glittering booth of Scutari again, he sees the stout
Turk in earnest conversation with a man who wears a fez, but who sports
a blond mustache, and at sight of whom Aleck receives something of a
shock.
Instead of passing out of the bazaar, he lingers around, watching for
this individual, who soon comes lounging along, smoking a pipe, with
the most careless abandon in the world. A cane of bamboo raps upon his
arm: he glances down at the spot, brushes some imaginary dirt from his
sleeve, and then raises his eyes to the party at the other end of the
cane.
“Wycherley, my boy, how are you?” says that individual, smiling.
“Do my eyes deceive me--can I believe the evidence of my vision? Is it
Aleck Craig, or his double?” says the party addressed, slowly putting
out his hand to meet that proffered him.
The clasp of the muscular Canadian comes direct from the heart, and
Wycherley shows signs of sudden devotion--although no muezzin chants
the _aden_, or call to prayer, from the minaret of the Mohammedan
mosque near by, he makes a move as though about to drop to his knees.
“Mercy, you Canadian bear. Now I know you are Aleck. No other man has
a grip like that. Keep it, I beg, for your fellow-athletes. I believe
you’ve crushed the bones in my hand. I’ll beware of you next time. Now
what brings you here--how long do you stay--what business are you in?”
He rattles these sentences off in a dramatic way, for having once been
a Thespian, a wandering “barn-stormer,” Claude Alan Wycherley could
not even ask a waiter for a little more hash without throwing into the
simple request an oratorical effect so picturesque, that the poor devil
would be apt to drop the plate in his sudden trepidation.
“Of course I’m doing the Fair, and, as you know my failing with regard
to studying human nature, you can understand this quaint Midway has
strong attractions for me,” answers the Canadian.
“So they all say! Everyone comes here to study human nature,” laughs
the ex-actor, waving his pipe around--they have stepped outside and
are on the edge of the multitude thronging the Plaisance--“but I give
you the benefit of the doubt, my boy. Yes, I do remember your penchant
of old. Nor have I forgotten that I owe my life to the champion of the
Montreal Snowshoe Club.”
“Nonsense! Don’t bring up that thing again.”
“Of course it was a trifling matter to you, my boy, but to me it meant
all the difference between life and death. I was lost; I should have
frozen, for my snowshoes were broken. You came and saved me, God bless
you, Craig.”
“What are you doing here?” asks the other, as he shows a desire to
change the subject, and glancing meaningly at the fez Wycherley wears.
The latter chuckles; his disposition seems to be a genial one.
“To tell you the truth, Aleck, I’m studying human nature, too. Just now
I’m passing through an apprenticeship. I make it an object to spend as
I go, and each night I throw away what I have made during the day.”
“If you’re the same old rolling stone I knew a year or two ago, that
isn’t probably a very hard business,” smiles Aleck, for good-natured
Claude was usually in a chronic state of financial collapse, yet he
would cheerfully bestow his last nickel in charity.
“You’re quite correct; but there are times when it bothers me just what
to do with certain sums.”
“Indeed! That is news. Glad to hear you have been so lucky. Thinking of
starting any hospitals, sanitariums, orphan asylums?”
“They’ll all come to-morrow, if fortune is kind,” returns the man with
the fez.
Craig steals a side look at him, as though wondering whether this is a
joke or the other has gone mad.
“What has to-day done for you, then?” he asks, bent upon solving the
mystery, whereupon Claude deliberately takes out a notebook, turns over
the pages, and sighs:
“I made a poor investment, which cuts a big figure in the whole, so
my profits for the day only amount to the pitiful sum of seventeen
thousand, three hundred and eleven.”
“Dollars?” exclaims the astonished Aleck.
“Why, certainly,” nods the other; “and that is a wretched showing
in comparison to some others I could pick out in here,” tapping the
wonderful notebook affectionately.
The Canadian draws a long puff at his cigar, as though reflecting. Then
he turns suddenly upon his companion and says:
“I see how it is, my dear fellow; you are running the Midway--it is a
little private speculation of yours.”
“No, no; I deny the soft impeachment,” returns the Chicagoan, laughing
heartily.
“At least you own the Ferris wheel? Now don’t deny that.”
“I must. True, I took in tickets at the entrance for a time, and even
pushed people into the cars, but when I went into this other colossal
business I had to give that up. No man could continually put twenty
people where ten ought to go, and at the same time do justice to great
deals involving _millions_.”
“You are right, my boy. But will you kindly relieve my suspense and
tell me the nature of this marvelous business.”
Wycherley removes his pipe and says laconically:
“You’ve heard of Wall Street. Well, we have no Wall Street in Chicago,
but we’ve got the greatest lot of hustlers in the grain pit you ever
heard of, from Hutchinson, in days gone by, to old Samson Cereal, the
grain king of to-day. Now you understand why I gave up a lucrative
office; now you can see where the immense profits come in. Why, look
here,” snatching out the book again and showing a closely written page,
“there’s what will to-morrow either win or lose me a cool million.”
Craig begins to be amused.
“Oh! and I presume you’re quite prepared to meet your losses if fortune
is against you?”
Wycherley, a modern Dick Swiveller in all his rattle-brained,
devil-may-care ways, shrugs his shoulders.
“If the fair goddess refuses me her favor, I’ll have to carry it over
to the next day.”
“Your creditors are very obliging.”
“Pshaw! don’t you understand, old fellow? I said I was an apprentice;
I’m making a deep study of this grain gambling on ’Change. It’s my
intention to devote myself to it after I’ve got the secret of success
down fine. I’m only betting with myself, you see. Some days I’m
depressed by heavy losses; then again I’m on the top of the swim--my
name famous as a high-roller. You don’t know how exciting it is to
take up an afternoon paper in a delightful state of uncertainty as to
whether you have won or lost a fortune.”
“Ahem! it must be, indeed. See here, how long have you been at this odd
game?”
“About three weeks.”
“Doing a big business, I presume?”
Claude thrusts his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and swells with
importance.
“I’ve handled millions, my dear fellow; made some of the boldest moves
ever known; expect to be the Napoleon of the wheat pit ere long.”
“Well, how do you stand?” continues Craig, thoroughly interested in
this queer freak of his entertaining companion.
“Stand?” echoes Claude.
“Yes; what have the profits, imaginary of course, been?”
“H’m! Well, I was figuring up this evening, and if I’m lucky
to-morrow----”
“Yes.”
“And win that cool million----”
“We’ll take that for granted, my dear boy.”
“And no beggar of a broker goes back on his contract, I’ll be just
thirteen dollars ahead of the game.”