The Spider’s Web

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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.

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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.

NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, Publishers 81 Fulton Street

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Copyrighted 1896 by Street & Smith. Copyrighted 1898 by Street & Smith.

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CONTENTS.

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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.”

[Pg 10]

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.

[Pg 11]

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,[Pg 12] 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[Pg 13] 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,[Pg 14] 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[Pg 15] 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.”

[Pg 16]

“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.”

[Pg 17]

“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[Pg 18] 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,[Pg 19] 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.”

[Pg 20]

“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.”

[Pg 21]

CHAPTER II.

HOW SAMSON CEREAL STOLE A BRIDE IN TURKEY.

Craig turns and looks squarely in the face of his companion. His Canadian sense of humor does not grasp the situation as readily as would have been the case with an American, but gradually a smile creeps over his countenance.

“Then if luck follows you, my dear Claude, I shall know where to go if I want to make a loan,” he says, and the other joins in the laugh.

“Perhaps you’ll give me credit for having a long head when you know all,” pursues Wycherley, with a mysterious nod.

“Then there is still something more back of it?”

“I should say so. This brain-racking mental calculation is only a means to an end. Should the plan carry out I’m a goner,” with a sigh.

“Come, this is very unlike you, my dear fellow, to keep one in suspense so long. If[Pg 22] there’s a story back of it all, let’s have it. You always found me a sympathetic listener. Come, wet your lips with a mug of this French cider, served by a divinity in wooden shoes, and then I’ll listen to your tale of woe.”

When this ceremony has been completed, they saunter toward the great Ferris wheel near by, which continues to revolve, its electric-lighted arch spanning the heavens, the most remarkable object in this feast of wonders.

“Now, tell me what you mean by a 'goner.’ If your plans carry, you ought to be happy, Claude.”

“True, true; but you see I’m now thirty-three, and I’ve been so free from care. It will be a tremendous thing for me to assume the responsibility for another,” sighs the Chicagoan.

“Ah, I see! you intend taking a partner.”

“For weal or woe,” groaning.

“Not get married, my boy?”

“I’m afraid there’s some truth in it, though the matter rests on certain conditions. Do you know, it worries me considerably?”

“I should think it would. You have been[Pg 23] a regular Bohemian, living from hand to mouth, always cheerful and contented. Now you will have to turn over a new leaf and go to work.”

“Perhaps so; but somehow you’ve got the cart before the horse. It has happened before now that the wife has supported the husband.”

“Wycherley, I didn’t think that of you.”

“Well,” resumes the other with a little laugh, “I suppose I’d have my hands full looking after her stocks and bonds, as a sort of agent or manager. That is one reason I’ve devoted myself to the markets so assiduously of late—ever since the subject has been broached, in fact.”

“Then the lady is—ahem—very wealthy?”

“Im—mensely so.”

“Accept my congratulations, Wycherley. May you——”

“Hold on, Aleck, my boy; it isn’t all settled yet.”

“Father object?”

“I’m not bothering much about him.”

“Then you mean the day hasn’t been set. That’s a difficulty easily overcome, my boy.”

[Pg 24]

The retired Thespian gives a melo-dramatic groan.