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Read Ebook: Tommy Tatters Uncle Toby's Series by Unknown
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Ebook has 90 lines and 7372 words, and 2 pages
UNCLE TOBY'S SERIES.
TOMMY TATTERS
M^cLOUGHIN BRO'S. NEW YORK
TOMMY TATTER.
"Oh! Tommy Tatter, Tommy Tatter, Tell me now what is the matter; Tell me, Tommy, do, I pray, What makes you look so sad to-day?" "Oh! Master Peter, Peter Pink, I've reason to be sad, I think; Oh! don't you see my ragged clothes, My naked legs, and naked toes, My head without a hat, to let My hair be dry in weather wet? Oh! I am cold and hungry, too, I wish I was as rich as you!"
"Oh! Tommy Tatter, Tommy Tatter, I'd like to see you looking fatter; I'd like to see your skin much sweeter; I'd like to see your dress much neater. So come along, I'm going home, More clothes I've got, I'll give you some; I'll give you bread, I'll give you cheese, And wash your face, too, if you please. I'll comb your hair, and cut it too, All this I'm ready now to do; And when you're wash'd from head to foot, Your hair in tidy fashion put, Your nails all cut and clean'd, you see, Exactly as they ought to be, And on your back a suit of clothes, And shoes and stockings for your toes, You won't be then, though lean and small, So very ugly after all."
So he went home with Peter Pink, And plenty had to eat and drink; And got new clothes upon his back; And got a hat without a crack; And shoes and stockings for his toes, A handkerchief, to wipe his nose. You've wash'd my face, and cut my hair, Quite clean I am, I do declare! "So now good-bye; straight home I go; I'm off to let my mother know! I'm off to show the boys about, The way in which I'm fitted out."
So, Tom is off; see, there he goes! He looks quite natty in his clothes; He will be careful, I suppose, He does not fall and break his nose. The little dog, he stands aghast, To see him running there so fast; And master pig, with curly tail, He tumbles headlong o'er a rail, And there keeps up so great a noise, That all the little girls and boys Come running out, and there they see Tom Tatter dress'd so handsomely.
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"See?" finished the man, "it's as simple as that. Clever, eh?"
"Yes, indeed. Thanks."
Neville started back to the stage, but the announcer barred his way.
"The exit is right behind you, sir," he said in a chilly voice. The words and intonation were polite, but the voice had that iron-hand-in-velvet-glove quality used by tough bouncers in night clubs when handling obstreperous members of the idle rich. They were accompanied as well by a glance so uncanny and so charged with malignancy that Neville was hard put to keep on looking him in the eye and murmur another "Thank you."
But before Neville reached the exit, Colonel Frawley came through.
"Oh, hello. Where is Carstairs?"
Neville shook his head.
"A moment ago he was talking with his impersonator," offered the announcer, seeming to lose all interest in Neville's departure. "I'll see if he is still here. He may have gone into the actor's dressing room."
But as he spoke a dressing room door opened and Carstairs came out of it, smiling contentedly. He turned and called back to the actor inside:
"Thanks again for an enjoyable evening. You bet I'll see you next year." Then he came straight over to Frawley and hooked his arm in his. "All right, Colonel, shall we go? And Mr. Allington, too?"
Neville nodded, luckily recognizing his latest assumed name. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the dressing-room door slammed shut by the actor inside of it.
"I hate to hurry you, gentlemen," said the announcer, "but we blast out at once."
"Back to the old routine and bedroom," sighed Mr. Carstairs as he heard it leave. "It was good while it lasted, though."
"Yep," chuckled the colonel. "Hop in and we'll drop you at home."
Three minutes later they were before the Carstairs' truly-palatial mansion.
"Come in a second and speak to Mariquita," invited the magnate.
"No, thanks. It's late...."
Neville's elbow dug into his superior's ribs with a vicious nudge.
"... but if you insist...."
Mrs. Carstairs met them in the ante-room, greeted the inspector cordially and kissed her husband affectionately. They stood for the rest of the brief visit with their arms circled about one another. Her Spanish blood heritage was evident in her warm dark eyes and proud carriage. Equally evident, were the lines of past suffering in her face. It did not take a detective to see that here was a pair who had at last found mutual consolation.
On the way back to headquarters nothing was said. But later, while they were undressing, the colonel remarked:
"Good show. Did it throw your mind off your troubles?"
"No," said Neville curtly.
"Well," said the inspector, "a good night's sleep will. G'night."
There was no sleep that night for Billy Neville, though. He spent it mentally digesting all the stuff he had read that afternoon, and all that he had seen and heard that night. He devoted many weary hours to a review of his own mind's copy of the famous rogue's gallery at the Luna Central Base. The picture he wanted wasn't there. He wished fervently he had taken that refresher course on hypnotism when they had offered it to him two years ago. He wished he had not been such a softy as to let himself be shunted off to look at that dizzy switchboard. He should have taken a closer look at the showboat people. He wished ... but hell, what was the use? Pallas' half-sized sun was up and today was another day.
The meanest of all trails to follow is a cold trail. Or almost. Perhaps the worst is no trail. It is hard to keep interest up. Then, too, Pallas was a dull place--orderly as a church, where people simply worked and behaved themselves. The days dragged by, and nothing out of the way happened. Neville went through the motions of trying to sell clothing in majestic lots of hundreds, but no one was interested. He even talked vaguely of looking for a site for an outer warehouse for his company. He saw Mr. Carstairs often and became a welcome guest at the house.
Yet with this lack of incident, Neville was at all times alert in his study of the man he was watching. He could not help remembering that little while after the showboat performance that Carstairs had been absent from them. He particularly kept his mind open for any slow change in him, such as could be the result of a mysterious delayed-action drug or from post-hypnotic effect. But there was none that he could detect, nor did the colonel notice anything of the sort, though Neville spoke to him on the subject several times.
The first indication that all was not well came from Mariquita Carstairs herself. Neville happened in one day for lunch and found her red-eyed and weeping. Then she added that she had worried a great deal the last few days about her husband's health.
Neville left as early as possible, and at once consulted Frawley.
"Yes," said the inspector thoughtfully, "she's right. In the last day or so I've noticed a subtle change myself. I blundered into his office the other day and he had his safe open and mountains of files all over the floor. He was actually rude to me. Wanted to know what I meant by barging in on him like that. Imagine!"
The communicator on the wall buzzed. The signal light showed it was the skyport calling. Neville could overhear what the rasping voice was saying.
Two minutes later Neville was on his way to the landing field, the two valuable bags between his knees. He was there when the spaceship landed, and was inside it before Simeon Carstairs showed up. The copter soared away the moment he had left it. Carstairs would not know he had a shadow.
Neville went straight to the captain, whom he found resting momentarily in his cabin. He flashed his badge.
"I am your steward from here to Vesta," he told him. "Send for your regular one at once and give him his instructions."
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