Boy Broker; Or, Among the Kings of Wall Street

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A TERRIBLE FEAR.

  It was towards morning when Herbert Randolph fell asleep on the night ofhis imprisonment. He had fought manfully to keep awake, dreading theconsequences of slumber, but tired nature gave way at last, and ouryoung hero slept, unconscious now of danger.

  The rats that he so much feared still frolicked, and prowled, andgnawed, as they had done for hours. They climbed upon boxes and barrels,and made their way into every corner and crevice. Everything wasinspected by them.

  More inquisitive rats than these never infested the metropolis. Nowthey went in droves, and scampered from place to place like a flock offrightened sheep. Then they strayed apart and prowled for a time alone.An occasional fight came off by way of variety, and in these battles thevanquished, and perhaps their supporters, often squealed like so manyyoung pigs.

  Thus the carousal continued hour after hour, and that old Gunwagnercellar was for the time a diminutive bedlam. Our young hero,nevertheless, slept on and on, unconscious of this racket.

  After a while the rats grew bolder. Their curiosity became greater,and then they began to investigate more carefully the state of thingswithin the prison cell, and at length their attention was turned to thequiet sleeper.

  Well bred rats are always cautious, and therefore are somewhatrespectful, but the drove at old Gunwagner's did not show this desirabletrait. In fact they were not unlike the old fence himself--daring,avaricious and discourteous. No better proof of this could be instancedthan their disreputable treatment of our young hero.

  Rats, as a rule, show a special fondness for leather. Undoubtedly it ispalatable to them. But this fact would not justify them in the attemptthey made to appropriate to themselves Herbert's boots. The propriety ofsuch an act was most questionable, and no well mannered rats would haveallowed themselves to become a party to such a raid. But as a matter offact, and as Herbert learned to his sorrow, there were no well manneredrats at old Gunwagner's--none but a thieving, quarrelsome lot.

  After a council of war had been held, and a great amount ofreconnoitering had been done, it was decided that these rural bootscould not be removed from their rightful owner in their present shape;therefore they fell vigorously to work to reduce them to a more movablecondition.

  When Herbert fell asleep, he was sitting on a bench with his feet uponthe floor. He was still in this position, with his head resting in hishand, and his elbow supported by the side of his prison cell, when therats made war on his boots. They gnawed and chipped away at them at alively rate, and in a little time the uppers were entirely destroyed.The cotton linings, to be sure, were still intact, as these they did nottrouble. Evidently cotton cloth was not a tempting diet for them.

  Up to this time Herbert had not moved a muscle since he fell asleep,but now a troubled dream or something else, I know not what, disturbedhim. Possibly it was the continued gnawing on his already shatteredboots. It might, however, have been the fear of these dreadful rats, orthe repulsive image of old Gunwagner, that haunted him and broke thesoundness of his slumbers.

  Presently he opened his eyes, drowsily, and his first half wakingimpression was the peculiar sensation at his feet. In another instant afull realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, andwith a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frighteneddeer. And to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his rightfoot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strangecry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of ourhero's body.

  A second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had beensitting.

  If ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was Herbert Randolph.His situation was one to drive men mad--in that dark, damp cellar,thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. The coldperspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollablefear.

  Something was wrong with his feet. He knew that, for his shoes nowbarely hung upon them. To what extent the rats had gone he dreadedto know. Already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiarmanner. Had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? The meresuggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mindwas quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been.

  A rat isn't very good company at any time. Under the most favorableconditions his presence has a tendency to send people upon chairs orthe nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act witha whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier Indian. When,therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize thealarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timelysound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might havebeen the result of this terrible mental strain on him.

  SUDDENLY REALIZING HIS HORRIBLE SITUATION, HERBERT SPRANGUPON THE BENCH WITH A PITIFUL CRY OF TERROR.]

  The night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, andHerbert's piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. No soonerhad our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealedfor help. So alarming were his cries that even old Gunwagner was atlength moved to go to his assistance. He retraced his steps to the frontof the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, passed down throughthe trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to Herbert'scell.

  Never before in his life had the presence of a human being been sowelcome as was that of Gunwagner to our frightened hero. What a reliefto this oppressive darkness was that small lamp light, and how quicklyit drove all the rats into their hiding places.

  "What's all this row about?" growled the old fence.

  "These rats," gasped Herbert, with a strange, wild look; "see, they havebitten me," pointing to his boots, or what remained of them.

  Gunwagner's heart softened a trifle as he beheld the boy's sufferings,and saw how he had been assailed.

  "Are you sure they have bit you?" said he, uneasily.

  "Look! see!" replied Herbert, holding out the worst mutilated boot. Hefully believed he had been bitten, though, as a matter of fact, he hadnot.

  The old fence became alarmed, fearing the annoyance and possible dangerthat might follow; but when he had satisfied himself by a carefulexamination that young Randolph had sustained no injuries, he speedilychanged back to his old hard manner again--a cold, cruel manner thatshowed no mercy.

  Herbert begged to be released from his prison pen, but his pleadingswere of no avail.

  "Why are you treating me in this inhuman way?" asked he. "What have Idone that I should be shut up here by you?"

  Old Gunwagner looked hard at him, but made no reply.

  "I know why it is," continued our hero, growing bold and defiant when hesaw it was useless to plead for kindness; "I can see through the wholescheme now; but you mark my words, old man, you will suffer for thiscruelty, and so will your friend Felix Mortimer."

  These words came from the lips of the young prisoner with such terribleemphasis that old Gunwagner, hardened as he was in sin, grew pale, andtrembled visibly for his own safety.