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 ‘ New York to N ew Orleans.

mum: was QUICKLY nus'rum FROM my: TRADE. r > a ’ v m . BY CHARLES MORRIS.

 

‘

 
 

 

2

 

Flipper . Frank’s Flush.

 

 

 

l Flipper Frank’s Flush :

Tracking the Dodger from New York
to New Orleans.

 

BY CHARLES MORRIS.

 

CHAPTER I.
A BOY’S BRAVE DEED.

THE flames lea ed like fiery serpents into the
air, writhing an hissing. It seemed as if they
would set the very sky on fire, so virulently did
they shoot upward, while the burning mass from
which they came glowed like a fiery furnace
seven timi s heated.

It was a well-known New York hotel which
was thus being converted into smoke and ashes,»
a tinder-box through which the flames ran riot,
and whose inmates were in imminent danger of
a horrible death.

Some had already been dashed to death by
lea in wildly from the windows. Others had
fa! en into the gulf of fire within. The flames
had seized on stairs and elevator, and cut off
flight by the usual channels of escape. The fire-
men were busy with ladders, bearing whom they
could from the windows; while the pulling en-
gines were pouring hopeless streams of water
into the blazing mass.

Few of the guests had been able to save their
valuables. Most of thém fled in their night-
clothes, not even taking time to snatch up a gar-
ment of defense against the sharp air of the win-
try/might.

arious were their exclamations of horror and
disma . One gentleman, who had just been
he] down the ladder from a third-story win:
dow by a burl fireman, with onlyanighhshirt to
protect him mm the biting wind, broke from
the hands of his saver with a bitter lamenta-
tion.

“ All is gone! All!” he moaned. ‘ My (pa-
pers—my money—my all! Fifty thousand ol-
ars swept up by those terrible flames! All gone!
--alll nd ruin is m lot.”

He wrung his ban 3 like one in the-deepest
des air.

he bystanders listened with sudden interest.
Fifty thousand dollars! Papers, probabl of
great value. A hundred eyes were turns up-
Ward to the window from which the man had
descended, and against which the ladder still



No! flames were burstin from the upper por-
tion of the sash. It was 0 less. Who would
risk his life to save this man s wealth? His own
life had been preservad, and that must be

enough.

_ “ ‘ me,” said the rough but kind-hearted fire-
man who had rescued him. " Don’t mind that.
You on ht to be lad you're alive. Come out
of this efore you reeze‘into an icicle." ‘

He led the man away—still wringing his
hands, and bitterly bemoaning his losses.

“Poor devil,” said one of the firemen, “ it is
hard. Takes no small scratchin to uget to-
gether such a pile. Hang me, if wo dn’t go

or it but—”

He looked upward and shook his head.

“ Shoat me if I ain’t ing ,for it i” cried a
youthful voice beside- h m, and a boy, not yet
grown to the size of manhood, sprun‘g from the
unwd and onto the ladder, up wh ch he went
with the agility of a monkey.

The daring act was witnessed by hundreds of
gopfi all of whose eyes were fixed intently 0n

0 . The cool heads amon them called to
him to return, but others excl y cheered him
on. I ~

The youn acrobat seemed as if~ he had been
born to the adder. ' Headless of the cries below
him, he ran up it like a cat, and almost before
two breaths cauld be drawn, was at the window
at which the heat was so great that the top of
the ladder was already beginning to blaze.

Bo paused a moment at the cavernous open-
ing, out of which the light shone blindingly. It
seemed to those below that he was shrinking
from a 'hopeleu task.

“ Back! back!” they cried. “ Come down!
It is death to venture!

The darin boy’s onl reply was to tear off his
coat, wrap t round I head, and dash with a
wild leap into the room-at the same moment
that a stream of water, directed by the hand of
a wide-awake baseman, struck him and drenched

‘himfromheadtofoot.

in situations like this secondsbocome minutes,
minutes become hours. The eyes of hundreds
of spectators were fixed on that window in
anger expectation, the daring feat of the boy

cha his fifty thousandi

 

having drawn their attention from the thrilling
scenes that were taking place at half the win-
dows of the burning building.

Not sixty seconds had elapsed. but they seemed
to the strained attention of the observers like
almost as many minutes, when the form of the
boy again appeared at the window, framed in a
brilliant background of flames.

His cost was blazing, but the stream of water
which met him full in the face quickly extin-
guished it, and again drenched him. The blaze
which had taken hold of the ladder was also ex-
tinguished.

At a wave of his hand the stream was turned
away, and he sprung again upon the ladder,
down which he ran as nimbly as two feet
and one band could carry him—The other hand
seems ! engaged in grasping some object.

A wild about of congratulation arose as he
reached the ground—still holding the object to
his breast.

“ Brave fellowl—Are you sofa—Are you
hurt?" were the cries that surrounded him.

“I s’pose I’d been a cinder now if that sensi-
ble somebody hadn‘t turned the water on,” he
replied. “ Hot up there3—hot ain’t no word for
it! That water jumped into steam. But, it
lasted lon enough to help me through.”

Hardly ad his feet left the ladder before two
firemen seized it, and shifted it to another
window at which a human form had just ap-
peared.

This new incident took the attention of most
of the people from the lad.

“i reckon that man, whatever his name is,
owes me a new coat, and some plaster for
scorches,” he coolly remarked. “ I’ve captured
the box that I s’pose holds his spondulicks.”

He now displayed the object which he had
clasped so closely. It was a mahogany casket,
inlaid with what seemed silver, which formed a
curved border round the lid, and in its center
the letters J. P. C.

“ Who’s to take care of this?” asked the boy,
lookin round him. " I ain’t to be trusted with
so muc wealth. Couldn‘t keep my fingers from
investing. Where's the man as Owns it?"

“ He’s been taken away to a warm quarter,”
answered a policeman, who stood near. “ Give
me the box. I will take care of it till he shows
up again.”

The boy—one of the sharpest of the sharp
kind they grow in New York~looked up into
the polioeman’s face with eyes that seemed to
pierce through him.

“ I reckon not, Johnny,” he answered. “I
boss this job yet. Come over here to Tommy
Brown’s shebairg, on the avenue, and we’ll take
a peep inside—for the box has got the key in it.
Then, I judge, Tommy will be a safe hand to
hold it.” "

The policeman made no objection, and in a
few minutes he and the boy, with a group of the
spectators, found themselves within an all-
night restaurant of the neighborhood.

Very few minutes sufficed to complete the
task which had brought them there; The box,
which, as the boy had‘said, had the key in it,
was thrown open and its contents quickly ex-
amined. ,1

To the su rise, and somewhat to the disap-

ntment, o the onlookers, no money wds found
n it. It was half-filled with papers, but among
these was not a coin and no vestige iii a bank-
note. : , l ,

“ You’ve missed the pile, boy," said the police-
man, with a laugh. ‘ Hit the wrong package.
Didn’t look far enough." _

“ Look far enough i” cried the be , indignant-
ly. “I saw what looked like he fire—and I
reckon that was far enough. A felici- don’tle
far in a blaze like that. Nor I don’t swallow
your idear. nohow. ’Twixt you and me I’ve a
notion that Mr. J. P. C. is a fake. He’s tryiiig

to put up a job for somethin or other.
sooner see his money than hear if of it. Had-
n’t we best look through them papers?”

“No!” said Tommy Brov‘m, as the ho had
called restaurant-keeper. “ Hands 0 them
papers! You’ve put this in my care, and this is
méway." ,, ,

. 6 closed the box, locked it, took out the key,
and handed it to the policeman.

“ You keep that. I’ll k the box. We’ve
gt no right to meddle with his man’s pa n.»

on be on hand to-morrow with the key. e’ll

turn up byzha: time, and we can pass over his

to y. s or. on, young man, you come
Wm. No dozbt he’ll reward you—as he
oughtto.” ‘ .

“Bless your heart. Ldou’t Want no reward l”
answered the boy- heartily. “If I'd savod the
things ’d' been difleront

-‘—d be had .’em, which don’t take for gospel."

a

\

 

He shook his head and walked away, with an

air as if he took no further interest in the
aflair.

“ A mighty sharp—cut and smart youngster
that,” said the policeman, with a nod of his head
toward the gamin.

“A regular Bowery blossom,” answered the
restaurantkeeper. “That boy knows enough
now to set up a Wall street broker. The man
that shuts up his eyes has got to use a big
plaster.”

Meanwhile the youthful hero had left the res-
taurant and was walking back toward the fire,
whistling as he went. For some reason he
seemed in high good humor with himself, for he
broke now and then into little ripples of laugh-

ter.
“ Got the notion in my noddle that there’s fun
ahead,” he said to himself. “ Wait until I see

Dick and unload my bag of news. I bet he
turns back his eyelids. I thought, somehow, I’d
seen that chap before; but the J. P. .' nails it.

If there ain’t pancakes on the fire then I don’t
know beans.”

By the time the boy again reached the locality
of the fire, it had passed its most interesting
stage. All had been saved that could be, and
the flames were now masters of the whole edi-
fice. Haw many victims had fallen into their
on ful gulf Would perhaps never be known. ‘ ‘

In less than half an hour more' the floors had
all fallen in. and the walls were tum cling—every
fall sending up a great shoWer of sparks and'
flames into the sky. The firemen were directing
all their efforts to save the surrounding property
-—tho hotel bein far past saving.

Leaving the ocality, the lad strolled away
toward his home, still whistling gayly as he
went, and occasionall , as before. breaking out
into a laugh. He evidently felt highly pleased
with his night’s work.

The home of the youth whose adventures we
have followed to this point was in one of the
most modest sections of the great metropolis.
Small as the house was, several families occupied
it, but he and his mother —who constituted the
family—were rich enough to have three rooms
to themselves.

On reaching his own very small, but no
bedroom, the youth unbuttoned his coat whic
he had kept tightly buttoned ever since leaving
the ladder, and threw open his high-buttoned
vest. As he did so. a bulky package fell out and
dropped on the table!

“Tommy Brown’s got the box, but he ain’t

got the whole job,” avowed the lad, with a grin \
quite as

of contentment. “ This ’coon ain’t
green as a jay-bird, nary time. I didn t climb
up that ladder and jump into that fire so‘s I
Could play a Sunday School softy when I came
down. Not much! I don’t believe there’s any
fifty thousand in this, ’cause that fifty thousand
is a fake; but it’s my notiOn it’s got something
in it that’ll ’most make Dick Winter stand on his
head and kick his heels into the air. -I’ve got it
in my noddle that I’ve opened out a mighty
promising trail to-night; and I’m going on t to-
morrow fore the sun gets hot.” 4

Ten minutes afterward the boy was in bed and
fast asleep, not kept a moment awake by the fact
that his fans «mu-ted andburned from the scorch-
ing it had got from the flames.‘

 

CHAPTER 11.
AN nrn-ornnna.

Mn. chnaan Wrsrln, detecva sat infik
ofilce reading the morning paper. He was in
his easiest attitude, with 0 foot on the table,
the other on a chair. and s own easy-chair
tilted well back. From the pi in his mouth
puirsof smokecameasregulsryasfromaloco-
motive. \ ’

In an o
fhhohM'which were cov-
ered with patches of mud, was his docking,
well-got-u neatl Maud“ e-awaks ap-
mtgce, ’ k .elton, nown as Detective

“ By Jove, that wasn’t no slow go of am!—
that hotel blaze!” cried the detective, taking the
pipe from his lips. “And filfly'OEMtW'
wretches gone under, it seems." a re on.

"The firemen did their du’zy.bfi:sly.'§3}no 
no ye

migh daring acts.
hear, rank!” r- _«
u in twranswersdtheotherfindiffw-

ently. ‘ . J
“ A do ‘yeungx tonic! aboy:-‘-torun u
a‘ ladder”. ' ‘ jam into a furnace to lav:
mong'fq'fi man w o hadn’t the wit to save his
own , ‘

-“Hadn’t noneto save” wled Frank
polishing briskly on his gighgc'ioomeani.

ppoaitecornerof the m. dili nu,
' employed in cleaning ’ g. y

 

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“ What‘s that!”
“ The teller hadn’t enough ducats to make a
plaster for a wart,” averred Frank, now direct-
ing his attention to his left foot.

“ What the blazes do you know about it?”

“ I was there; that’s all.”

“ You there? I might have known that,
though. You’re everywhere, you Bowery rat.
But, the paper says the be came out alive, with
a box under his arm, and oft it in safe keeping.
How do you know there was no money in it?”

“There weren’t nothin’ but papers. I took a
squint to the bottom.”

“ Why you—sun-downerl
and stand up and face me.
were you-——"

“ Don’t you say nothin’ more ’bout that boy,
or you’ll make me proud and sassy,” rejoined
Frank, rubbing away more briskly than ever.

“ I might have known it,” said Dick to him-
self. “ There’s no deviltry the young rascal’s
not in. Tell you what it is, Frank,” he cried,
dropping his aper. and starting up, “ there’s
been enough 0 this. I’ll ‘thVB no more of it.
If you go and makes, ghost of yourself, what’s
to become of the smartest young ferret in New
York? If you try any more such risks, you
dog, I’ll take a cart—whip to your hide.”

\ “ See here, Dick Wister, answered Frank,
dropping the brush and facing him. “ Don’t
you begin now buying me for a fool, ’cept you’ve
got a big pile of greenbacks to waste. I didn’t

ump into that fire for a lark, nary time. And,
if I ain’t badly sold, I’m in on the biggest thing
that’s been scratched up for a year.”

“ The deuce you are l”

“ The coon lied wholesale! He didn’t have no
more money in his room than I’ve got in my
pocket—and if nuts was selling at a cent a
grab, I couldn’t buy a shell. The fellow’s work-
ing a job of some sort, and he’s built that lie out
of wind to help him out. But, that’s only the
beginning. Who do on ess he was?”

“ I’d say General ash ugton, only he’s dead.
I can’t think of anybody else,” answered Dick.

“ What do you think of the Artful Dodger?”

“ The devil!”

Dick kicked over his chair, this time, in his
surprise.

“ If it ain’t him it’s his brother. I didn’t
climb that ladder for no lark, I tell you. When
the feller was bellowing like a bull-calf ’bout his
money I twig his face, and jumd three
feet. That’s w t took me up the or. All
I’ve got to say is, that the box I brought down
had those letters on it: J. P. C.” ‘

“ John P. Clarksonl” exclaimed Dick.

“It loous amazing that way.”

“ You left that box to be called for?"

“ ea, with Tommy Brown, of the Seafoam

Drop that brush
See here, Frank,

overcOat.

“You rascally long-winded ackanapeel” he
gowled. “ Wh didn’t {Don tel me this before

ybreak? If is the odger our cake’s all
dough. He‘s been after that box two hours
ago—Come, you monkey, snatch your hat and
get ready to fly.”

“ I don’t see no such hurry,” rejoined the boy
in his easiest manner.

“ You don’t, eh?" Dick bent his eyes on him
sha ly. “ Hal what is iti—You confounded

er of news, you’ve got something else in

your bag!”

“ You bet!” answered Frank, seating himself

quietl .
Dick flung his overcoat on a chair-back, tossed
his hat on the table, and dropped again into his

chair.
“ Out with it i” he ordered. “ No more of your
squirrel tricks, you cub.”

I " This is it,” answered the grlnn boy, as he
’drewa paper  under vest. “I
,_ wasn’t u to green to ve Tommy

Brown t enwhole bis. r
or myself.
“ ou’re a jewel, Frank!”
“ Dunno ‘bout that; but I ain’t no fool.”
Dick seized the package, which was mad. of
stifl wrapping-paper, neatly folded and securely
He turned t over. On it was written in
a plain hand: ~ , v

“ J acou P. Convsasl.”

all e memento

. “So; is that your J. P. 0.? I hopeyou have-
, n't fouudamare’s nest.” '

. “ I reckon you don’t think the Dodger’s carry-

;nd getting a cool thousand put on

. ig‘his own name—after footing it from the
Iiesd

«I ' .  ":‘Hardlyfl answered Dick. “But—there’s a

t named Jacob P. Converse in this cit .

.  112-" be ceased speaking. being now occupied n

 

carefully untying the package. For reasons of
his own he preferred not to cut the string.

While he is thus engaged we may as well re—
late a fragment of previous history, of much im-
portance to our story.

A year before, Dick Wister and his apprentice
had been engaged in an interesting bit of detec-
tive work, which ended in the unearthing of a
gang of counterfeiters, of whom the leading
spirit was a man named John P. Clarksonaa
keen rogue, who had so long eluded the police
that they had complimented him with the title
of “ The Artful Dodger.”

He prevod himself to be worthy of the title.
He was tried, and sentenced to ten years’ im-
prisonment as a counterfeiter. Yet, by a very
shrewd trick, he managed to escape the hands
of the police. He had since been sought for, far
and wide, the State offering a reward of a thou-
sand dollars for his apprehension: yet he was
still at large, and the search for him had been
almost given up as useless.

Under these circumstances, Dick Wister’s in-
terest in the boy’s communication is not to be
wéndered at. There was an unusual nervousness
in his fingers as he sought to untie the strings,
which doubled the difficulty of the job.

“Hang that knotl—~By Jove, boy, if you’ve
struck the Dodger’s trail— Hal that’s it.” The
knot yielded. “ There’s a thousand in this, sure
enough, but there‘s glory and reputation worth
ten thousand more. Can the Dodger have been
masquerading here under our noses as a business
man? He’s sharp enough for it.”

The string was now loose. He threw it aside,
23d turning the package over, carefully unfold-

it

Frank looked on with intense interest. Was
it possible that the man had told the truth, and
that fifty thousand dollars in bank-notes lay
within? All things are possible, and he watched
the opening paper as a miner might watch the
etii'oke of the pick that is to lay bare a gold
m no.

In a minute the package was wide open, and
its contents revealed. Frank fell back in his
chair, with a breath of relief.

“I knowed it!” he said. " I told Tommy
Brown the feller was playing it. Nothing but
papers, and not a greenback in the pile.”

The package, indeed, seemed to contain only a
number of neatly-folded papers—letters, the
most of them seemed. As for money, there was
not anace of it present. -

Not a. word came from the detective’s lips.
He opened the letters one after another, read
them with an eye that seemed to take in their
important contents almost at a glance, and laid
them one by one aside.

Not a change of expression came upon his im-
passivo features as he read. When finished, he
took up his pipe, filled it again with tobacco,
struck a match, and lighted it. He leaned back
in his chair in‘exasperating silence.

Yet the boy asked no questions. He knew
that there is no use to pump at a well that will
flow of itself if it be given time. .

" Dick took a dozen puffs in silence. Then he
picked up one of the letters, and looked over it

again. _
You’re a Jewel, Frank, as I said before,” he
remarked.

“I kn0w it,” answered Frank, in the same
tone. “Theyd have me among the crown
'ewels of England, if they could get me. But

'm- out of a true-blue American mine, and

there ain’t any use in Vic’s biddi for me.”
“ These papers may be worth eir weight in
gold.” continued Dick.

“ That’s more to the p’iut than calling boys
jewels "retorted Frank. “ Come now; let out;
is the odges‘ in them!”

“ That I can’t say,” answered Dick,
fancy runs that way.”

He took a folded otter from a package in his

" but my

drawer and com red the writing.

“ Look, boy; t’s v much alike. This is
one ofnthe Dodger’s epis . It’s very much the
same.

“ It is the same, I should say,” announced
Frank, after comparing the two letters. “ What
are they all abou . Dic i” he asked.

“ That’s what I’m trying to smoke out. I
don’t just see thrOugh this little me. This
writer—he signs himself, you see, A Wilson
--is working up some game which his corres-
pondent Converse is in. But he’s too cautious to
gut down in ink what it is, or where it’s when

one. And

these letters camo from all over the

West. The latest comes from Chicago.

can make out is that it will take a big stake

read cash to work the job, and Converse is to

find be money.” . -
"By Jlminyl” exclaimed Frank, “is that

 

what he’s up to? Swearing he lost fifty thou-
sand in the fire! Like as not that’s a dodge to
shut up people’s eyes. The fifty thousand‘s salt-
ed down somewhere for this game.” ,.

Dick’s only reply was to rise, knock the ashes
from his pipe, and wrap up the letters again.
Then, putting the package in his drawer, he re-
sumed his coat and hat.

“ Come,” he said to Frank.

“ Where are you going!”

“ To Tommy Brown's. I want to see this man
when he comes for his box—if we are not too
late.”

In less than half an hour afterward the two
were in the restaurant which Frank had visited
the night before under such exciting circum-
stances.

“ Hello, young ouel” exclaimed the proprietor
heartily. “ ’Round again, safe and sound, and
not a hair singed! Give us your hand, boy. I
don’t often havo the chance to welcome such a
hero.”

“ How are you, fire-bug?” asked the police-
man, from a corner in which he was seated.

“ Has the man been after his box yet?” asked

Frank.
“ No,” answered the policeman. “ He didn’t
know it was savod till an hour ago. -I took him

word myself, and he jumped a foot from the
floor. Whether it was joy or t’other, I couldn’t
make out.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was a fake?” averred

Frank. “ He didn’t want it saved!”
“Maybe not, but— Hush! here he comes
now!” ‘

He had seen an approaching form from a win-
dow. In a minute afterward the door opened
and the rescued man walked into the saloon.

Dick Wister, who had seated himself in a re
tired corner of the room on entering, now looked
up, fixing his eyes with much interest on the
stranger.

What he saw was a man of over the middle
height, and somewhat corpulent in figure. His
face was smoothlynmaved, and while in no re-
spect, handsome, d a certain dignity, and a
fixed and resolute expression. .

Frank looked toward the detective, and caught
a negative shake of the head from him. He had
just arrived at the same Opinion himself. This
man was not John P. Clarkson, though he bore
considerable resemblance to that personage. He
was enough like him to be his brother, but was
not the Artful Dodger himself. ,

“ I am told you have a box of mine, saved
from the fire last night,” he said in a voice of
studied ease to the restaurant-keeper.

“ Here it is,” answered Mr. Brown. ‘,‘ The key
I gave to Mr. Jones here, that there may be no
meddling with the contents.”

“Judicious, but unnecessary,” answered Mr.
Converse, receiving the key from the policeman.
“ It only holds some ordinary business pa .”
He unlocked it, and ran his fingers y
through the contents. .

“ They are all ri ht. Do I understand that
there was nothing e se saved? My money-J’

His voice seemed to quiver.

“ I reckon it’s ashes, in the hotel cellar,” an-
swered Frank steppiog forward. “ ’Most :25
handful of ashes ’11 pass for it. I thought I
it when I struck that box. After I got that it
wasaleetletoowarm togoonahant for spon-
dulicks.” ,

“ Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Converse. “ Do I
understand that this is the brave boy who risked
his life to save my property?”

“That’s about t e sins of it,” answered the
policeman. I

“ Then I certainly owe him a reward. Here,
m dear young friend.” ‘

e presed some moo y into Frank’s hand.

“ And you, gentlemen—”

“ No, no, we want nothing. You have lost
enough already."

“ That’s so,” said Frank. 7 “ And I won’t take

a any, either."

‘Youm boy! I insiston it.”

‘* I won’t,” Frank. “ I’d think I was
robbing you.”

The gentleman refused toreceive the money
back, at Frank thrust it into his
geolaring that he wasn’t mean enough take
t.

A conversation ensued, in which Mr. Converse
questioned Frank closely concerning his e -
ence in the burning room. Did he see not g
but the box? The moueiewas done up in a close
paperparoel,readyto takentobanknext

Frank stoutly avowed that he considered the
box ,e h to satisfy any reasonable person.
When he got his ten are on that bound.
for the ladder. After it our words more the

   

\.

  

 

4

 

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

 

gentleman left, taking the box with him, and
with renewed thanks to all concerned.

Ten minutes afterward the detective and the
boy left the restaurant.

“ W by didn’t you take the money?” asked Dick.
“ You fairly earned it.”

“ i didn’t want to be in his pay,” answered
Frank. “ I might have to work against him. A
teller likes to take a job with clean hands.”

“A good thought. That man is not ourgame,
but he makes a mighty close likeness to the
Dodger. There’s work in the wind for both of
us, my lad.”

 

CHAPI‘ER III.
THE SHADOW or FRAUD.

FRANK MILTON proved not wrong in his cal-
culations. 0n the second day after the hotel
fire an item crept into the local columns of the
newspapers, to the effect that Jacob P. Con-
verse, dealer in West India coffees and sugars,
was in financial difficulties, through the loss of
fifty thousand dollars burned in his room at the
great hotel confligration.

Some of the papers expressed sympsth for
him. Others said it served him right. I hat
were banks for? What man with a grain of wit
would keep so much money in a hotel?

Mr. Converse made no reply to these criti-
cisms. But the day afterward his creditors re-
ceived notice from him that he was in financial
straits, and wished them to meet and consider
the situation.

These successive steps were keenly observed
by the detective and his apprentice. The affair
looked straight enough, but Dick Wister was not
the man to take looks for facts, and he waited
developments with curious interest.

The meetin of the creditors was a stormy
one. They be examined the store and found it
nearly empty of stock. The books showed a
lar a cash balance. Where was it? Burned up,
sai Mr. Converse. This explanation was re-
ceived with many shrugs and looks of
doubt.

“ N 0 business man would keep such a sum ina
hotel room,” was the plain declaration. “It
looks like a set-up job.”

“ As you will, gentlemen,” answered M'r. Con-
verse, with a haughty air. “ It may not be
business to make a heavy purchase at a low
6 are. That is what I was preparing to do.

ere is my check-book. You can see that I
drew that money from bank the day before the
fire. There was a spot-cash chance for a big
deal in coffee the next morning. I worked for
the best, as any business man would. Chance
and ill luck played against me, that’s all.”

The creditors looked at one another. This ex-
planation had some reason in it.

“ What do you propose?” asked the heaviest
of them.

.“Just this,” was the reply. “ My business is
gone to the do 9. There’s no use trying to get
over this shoe . I could not offer ten cents on
the dollar. Take all, gentlemen. I am ready to

ve all I am worth into your hands, and start

'fe as a beggar again.”

But we cannot dwell on this scene. That the
creditors were an ry need not be said. Most of
them had strong oubts of the loss of the money
in the hotel fire; but how were they to prove
this! He had offered them all the property
the could find. But how much was there they

d not fludl

Mr. Converse seemed to be greatly concerned
for their losses. He showed them the box which
had been saved from the fire.

“ We are all losers by that dreadful confis-

tion,” he said, feelingly. “ Many lost their
ves; others their money. You and I lost our
money. This is all I saved—through the aid of
a brave boy. The very clothes I have on were
loaned me by a friend. I should like you to
examine these papers.”

The parers proved to be both innocent and
useless f there had been anything of doubt or
value in the box, it had been carefully weeded

out.
The meeting broke up at length, the creditors
diapering in a very unsatisfied state of mind.
we days afterward the principal losers by
the failure were privately cal ed together again;
this time at the request of Richard Wistcr, de-
tsctive.
“ ntlemen, I have asked ’you to meet me on
a matter of someimportauce, began Dick. The
persons to whom he spoke were the three leading
creditors, assembled in the private office of
Brown & Borden. " I wish your word that
what is said here shall go no further.”
“ You can trust us in that, Mr. Winter.”
“ I would ask then—what is your opinion of
rthe Converse failure!"

 

 

“ It is my full belief that there is fraud behind
it,” answered Mr. Borden. “ But how are we to
pr0ve it? This unlucky hotel flre puts us in a
hole. He can say what he chooses. The ashes
yield no evidence to the contrary.”

“ There may be more evidence than you
imagine,” was Dick’s reply. ” This young man
was in Mr. Converse’s room after he left it."

He pointed to Frank, who was demurely seat-
ed behind him.

“ Gentlemen, I have your word for secrecy.—
There was more brought out of that fire than
the box that has been shown you.”

The creditors started sharply at this, and fixed
their eyes on Frank with looks of intense curios
ity and expectation.

“ Does Converse know of this!” asked Mr.
Borden

“No. There is one way to deal with honest
men and another with rogues. This man mav
belong to the former class, but it’s my fancy i..~
belongs to the latter. Detective Frank—that’s
the boy here—has had his eye-teeth cut and
kn0ws a thing or two. Converse told you. did
he not, that the money was tied up in a paper

package!”

” Yes.”

The creditors were now in a state of eager ex-
pectation.

“ Here is the package. You may see for your-

selves how many thousands are in it.”

He laid the package which Frank had brought
him on the ta 16 before them, opened it, and re-
vealed its contents.

“ Gentlemen, if you can find any bank-notes
there, you will be more lucky than I have been.
You may read these letters if you wish."

They gazed blankly at the package.

“ Are we to understand that this came out of
Converse’s room 1”

“ You can bet your bottom nickel on thatl”
averred Frank, now first speaking.

“ What are thme letters?"

“ Read them. You will not gain much from
them except that Jacob P. Converse is a rogue,
and is in a plot with some other rogue out West.
Gentlemen, you have been victimiZed.”

Mr. Borden snatched up several of the letters
and be an eagerly to read them. The others
f0110w his example. At the end some words
in a low tone passed between them.

“ We agree with you,” said Mr. Borden, at
length. “ We have been victimized. Converse
must be arrested at once.”

“ What for i” asked Dick, coolly.

“ To make him disgorge.”

“ And do you fancy you will eyer see a penn
of that money if you take such action; or if
even you let him see that he is suspected! You
are not dealing with a beginner in fraud, my
dear sire.”

“ What are we to do. then? Shall we try and
lay our hands on this Wilson?”

“ That might be wiser. But, how will you do
' 3?

It,“ How i”
They looked at one another with questioning

eyes.
“ That is more in your line than in Ours, Mr.

Wister.”
you are ing to see da light

ahead,” answered Dic . “ But to seize ilson
would do no good. The fact is, these men are
working some deep game together. and your
money is to be used as their capital in crime.
If you want to recover our losses their game
must be unearthed, and t e pair of them caught
in the act.”

Mr. Borden nodded approvingly.

“ That is detective work, Mr. Wister. It is in
your line, not in ours.”

“You are rightkt’here. 31;? is no every-
day detective wor , respon c .

“ Well; what is your idea?” asked the mer-

chant. .

“It is this, in a nutshell,” answered Dick.
“It takes money to make money. We have a

romisin lead before us, but it will need funds
a: work t. I don’t know how dee you are
involved in the Converse business. went or
thirty thousand likely. Well, are you ling
to venture a couple of thousand to recover it!
Or to pay the expenses of the Job, and a thou-
sand for fee l"

The three merchants looked at him with a
sense of momentary alarm. Were they being
asked to throw good money after bad? Then
hey looked at one another. _Now some words
passed in a low tone. Finally Mr. Borden
turned to Dick and said:

“ What you say has reason in it, Mr. Wister.
It looks hopeful, too. Yet it is a deep game,
as you remark, and may very easily fail. Mr.
Thompson thinks we had best shoulder our

 

present losses and stop there. I don’t. If Con-

verse is the rogue he seems, I would be will—

ing to lose something more to bring him to

'ustice. Let us have time to consider this.
on shall have our answer tomorrow.”

“ Meanwhile, not a word,” warned Dick.
“ Should a whisper get abroad it might spoil our

whole game.”

“You may trust us, sir.”

“ To—morrow be it then.
Frank.”

“By the way, don’t this boy want a situa-
tion i" asked one of the merchants. “I could
make a good place for a boy of his caliber.”

“ Much obliged,” answered Frank, “ but I’ve
got the job now l’m best built for. You’ll hear
of Detective Frank some of these days. I
wouldn’t give up this lay for the best sit in
New York.”

And holding his head up proudly, Frank fol-
lowed his employer into the street.

Dir-k turned to him as they walked along.
There was a smile on his face.

“They bite,” he said. “There’s work ahead
for us.”

“ That’s my notion,” answered Frank.

“I would have given a new dollar if I could
have seen the inside of that box before Converse
had achance to handle the papers. I doubt if
he showed them all to the creditors.”

“ Maybe now," chimed in Frank.

“ But there’s no use taking trouble about that.
The past is past. The future is ours. You must
keep ready, youngster, to make a big jump at a
moment’s notim.’

“ What’s in the wind now i” asked Frank,
curiously.

“Converse will not sta long in New York.
He will wait for some kin of a release from his
creditors, which they can’t help giving him if he
hands them over all his sions. He will
not leave here till he can leave his record clean
behind him. That done—he has business else-
where.”

“ That’s about the size of it.”

“ Now, Frank, I’m going to put a big trust in
you. It is impossible for me to leave New York
‘ust at present. I have other irons in the tire.

might employ some other detective, but I
don’t want todl‘ide the spoils. Will I be safe-
in trusting youtotruil this man till I get my
hands free?‘

“That’s for you to say," answered Frank.
“ You know me as well as I do myself. I’ll do
my best."

‘ Well spoken, boy!” and Dick clapped him
heartin on the shoulder. “ I’ll trust you, my
youn pard. I have my eye on Converse, and
will now when he is ready to start West.
Then you must take the trail. and as you Value
life, honor and profit, don’t let him esca on.
Whether he goes to Chicago, St. Louis, ew
Orleans, no matter where, don’t let him out of
your sight.”

“ Suppose he sees me 1” suggested Frank.
“ He saw me at Tommy Brown’s. He might,
twigrthe cut of my jib.”

“ rue. You must be disguised. We will
have an answer from those merchants to-morrow
-a favorable one, I’m sure. Then, with money
enough for hauling expenses, you must be:
ready to go at the word.”

“ That's me; or at the wink,” answered Frank.
" I’ll be there, you bet.”

Good-day. Come,

 

CHAPTER IV.
A RUSH THROUGH srscz.

‘ THROUGH the busy bustle of passengers at the

Grand Central Railroad Station pushed a stout
form—that of the gentleman whom we already
know as Jacob P. Converse.

At some distance behind, and watching his
movements intent] , were two others; one pre-
senting the spare rame and alert face of Dick
Wister; the other undoubtedly that of Frank
Melton, though greatly changed from his usual
s rance. '

rank’s usual negligent s parel, of cheap ma-
terial and careleu fit, had 1: replaced by a
suit of fine cloth, closely fitting, while the l-
ished cnfl's at his wrists, with their gold-inn ed
sleevebuttons, his neat collar and tie—with its
glittering pin, the watch-chain that extended
across his vest, and the other details of his attire,
seemed to the well-cared-for son of a
wealth sire.

His flyice had changed with his dress. The fea-
tures were the same. but the expression was dif-
ferent. The rollicking heedlessness, alternating
with ferret-like sharpness, of Frank’s usual coun-
tenance, were replaced by a look of modest quiet
and lack of amurance that transformed the whole
face. No one who had seen the Frank of yes-

 

 

 
 

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: gerday would have recognized the Frank of to-
ay.

1n fact, this modest expression was no easy
matter for the boy to maintain. Some show of
the old impudence, some of the old keen flash of
the eyes would come back, despite his efforts to
sustain his new character.

But he had only the eyes of the man in ad-
vance to deceive, and he could look as he pleased
when out of his range of vision.

In one hand Frank grasped a new and hand
some grip-sack; in the other he held a fashion-
able cane. He might have been a college student
returning home for a holiday , or a well- kept home
y0ut’i on his way to see the world abroad.

“ Now, boy, you have only your Own wits to
lean on, ’ said Dick. as they moved forward
through the crowd. “ Wide-awake’s the word
from this on. He is off, and you on his trail,
and you will not have me to fall back on in diffi—
culties.”

_ “ Bless your heart, I will then,” answered
Frank. “ I’ll be no further off from you in Chi-
cago or San Francisco than 1 would be in Her-
lem or Brooklyn. I’m going to make the tele-
graph talk, whenever I get in a hole; and [want
you to talk square back.”

“I’ll not be long in answering; that you can
trust to. Stay; he is at the ticket-office. Wait
here.”

Dick slipped through the throng iii an easy,
gliding fashion of his own, and in less than a
minute was beside the railing behind which the
ticket-buyers were moving in slow prOCession.
Mr. Converse had just reached the window.

“ Through; for Buffalo,” h) ‘iald.

With a quick movement, the agent threw out
aticket, took his money, and handed him the
change; then turned alertly to the next, while
Converse passed on.

“For Buffalo, eh!" thought Dick, as he took
his place in the line. “ Is that a blind, or is it
business? 1 would give something if I could fol-
low up this lay myself; but it will have to be left
to Frank’s wit and judgment."

In a minute more he, too, had bought a
through ticket for Buffalo. With this he sought
Frank, who had remained well in the back»
ground.

“ Here is your ticket,” he said. “ Buffalo
seems to be his first stop. This train will only
stop at the leading stations, and there you can
keep an eye on the platforms—though it‘s my
notion that he’s bound much further West.
Your real work begins when you reach Buffalo.
1 don’t think you need further instructions.”

' “Not much,” ansWered Frank. “ You’ve
crowded me full already. Any more will drive
the old lot out. There’s only one thing I’m
trusting to. ‘ Keep your eyes open, your mouth
shut, and your face out of si ht, and look out
aorfluick chances.’ That’s w t I‘m going to

0.

Dick looked on the alert face of the lad with’

seine admiration.

“ I don’t know any man I’d rather trust,” he
remarked. “There’s only one thing more: If

on run out of money wire for it at once. You

ave enough to carry you for several months,
but something might happen. Those creditors
have acted handsomely, and are ready to see us
through.” . _

“ And I’m going through, if it’s in the wood,”

rejoined Frank resolutely. “There ~the te’s

open. Good-by, old man, and don’t orth
Frank!” . V

“ Good-by, Frank, and cod-luck.”

Dick pressed his hand th the fervor of affec-

tion-for he had a very soft lace in his heart for
the bright boy; and s watching his trim
form as he passed through the gate a few steps
.. behind Converse, and moved steadily forward.
‘ “ I doubt if a boy of his age ever had such a
"big job laid out for him before,” said the detec-
tive to himself. .
;, filth. risk ' to trust so much to such a young-
ster. ’ ~ I cog t to ganglion—if I could. And
' yet Frankisas keen 38a , ’ hand has had no
small experience; I thin he ll make a good
record.” ' - .
The detective turned away, and slowly thread-
, ed his way back toward the street, his mind still
‘ filled with clinging doubts. , .
. 3119 hai reason for them, for the boy who had

. 3m set out on his difficult mission was. destined.

A to have no light and easy task, in dealing with
'1 eghgnperienced rogue whom he had been setto
we .
,.  ,;_By‘the time Dick Winter had reached the door
 'iofsi‘the station, the train containin the fugitive
land-his .yoathful pursuer was re ling away on
ygfihobugkning of its long journey.» -
 w 1: part of the train Converse was Frank
 not; trouble himself to discover. He had

2

   

 

taken good care to see that he was on the train,
and had not left it again, and that was all he
cared for just now—other than to keep his face
from the man’s eyes.

How sharp a man Converse was his pursuer
had no means of knowing, but if he should recog-
nize him as the boy who had saved his box of
papers from the burning building it might rouse
suspicion in his mind, or otherwise stand in the
way of success, so that caution was necessary.

Frank, meanwhile, set himself to enjoying his
journey. He had never before been far away
from the streets of New York, and was in ardent
hope of much pleasure and profit from the long
route before him. He would certainly come
back with a wide addition to his knowledge of
the World, and much food for future thought.

Away they went, mile after mile speeding
backward under the engine’s rattling wheels.
The day was a fine one for travel, the sun not
blindingly bright, yet well lighting up the plains
and Valleys through which sped the train, and
gilding silver the s ires of distant villages, each
of which was visib e for a few minutes as the
train dashed swiftly on ward.

Here green rolling hills, and there fertile val-
leys; here a well-farmed country, there broad
pasture-fields; here the glint of river—waters,
there the dark shaduvvs of thick clustering wood-
land ;fiall was new to the young traveler, and
all full of enjoyment for his unsated eyes.

Through village after Village, through towns
of more pretension, they dashed without stop-
ping, groups of loungers on the platforms look-
ing with a mild interest at the flying train,
street after street opening out and running away
in far perspective—only to vanish again after a
Second’s gimme, houses chasing 680;.) other like
the moving figiipes in a panorama.

Here and there, at the important cities on their
route, the rattling whorls slowly Blackened speed,
until they came to a halt, and for a few minutes
the train stood still, as if to take breath for an:
other wild plunge through space.

At these stations Frank had work laid out for
him. At each of them he left the carand de-
scended to the platform, looking keenly along
ihe line of the train to see if Converse did the
same.

Only once was he successful in this quest.
Converse did leave the train. But it seemed to
be only for a. breath of fresh air, ior he scram—
bled hastily back at the “ All aboard ” of the
conductor. Frank, who had taken care to keep
his fat-e in shadow, followed his example, and
they wer s away again.

But, we must be excused from giving the
varied details of this day of travel, or of the
many vivid impressions it'made on the mind of
the boy, whose experience of life had been main-
ly confined to the bustling streets of a great

cit .

Izhe new world of the country was a revelation
to him. Many a time did he feel a strong desire,
as some fresh bit of rural loveliness broke upon
his vision, to leave the train and his mission,
and enjoy to the full the charm of those sunny
landscapes. I

But, duty outruled inclination, and he was
forced to satisfy himself with eye-glimpses of
such a wonderful outlook as had never come to
his dreamin fancy in his narrow city chamber.

Night fell care before the train reached its
destination. There was nothing further to see,
other than the flashing lights of the stations as
the train flew past; or to hear, than the roar of
thetrain, or the momentary bustle as it halted
at long intervals.

Yet no sleep came to the young traveler’s eyes.
He was too unused to the railroad for slumber
to visit his senses easily. And he never for a
moment forgot the necessity of wakefulness and
incessant vigilance. ’

It was midnight when they rolled into the sta-' Killed

tion at the {great Lake City. Now the young
detective ha every reason to be wide awake.
What were Converse’s plans! Had he bought a
ticket to Buffalo asa blind, and was it his pur-
poge to? go on without delay—to Chicago, or else-
w ere . ,

This question could only be answered by
events. Frank lost not a moment in springing
from the car to the platform of the well—lighted
station. Indeed, the train had ,barely stopped
before his feet were on the boards.

In a minute more people were swarming from
the train. Frank had located the car which held

. ; the man in whom hewas interested, and watched
that with the'eyss of ahawk. His watchfulnees

was soon rewarded. The portly form of Can.

Verse was visible descending from the car and’

movingksteadily orward. . .
Fran followed him, gripsack in hang.“l 013

was soon evident that the traveler had

 

his journey for that night. He walked through ‘
the station, and out through the line of vocifer-
ating cabmen, and took his seat in a hotel coach
that was backed up to the pavement.

Frank hurried forward, with a momentary
impulse to enter the same coach; but second
thoughts caused him to halt. This course was
risky. He contented himself u ith observing the
name of the hotel on the coach-panels, and turn-
ed away.

Not until the coach had rattled off, with its
load of passengers, did he turn his steps in the
same direction.

“He’s nailed for to-night, anyhow,” he said.
to himself. “I reckon I can walk. l’m in for
a good snooze for the rest of the night, and an
early get-up in the morning. Now for the
hotel.” »

A few questions put him on the right track,
and within ten minutes he found himself in the
broad waiting-room of the hotel to which Con-
verse had been driven.

He was not in sight, nor was his name on the
hotel-register.

Frank, while writing his name, looked curi-
ously up the row of names before him. That of
“ Converse ” was not there.

“Has he changed his name. or given me the
slip?" he asked himself. “ Not the last any-
how.”

He had at that moment caught sight of a well—
known form on the stairway.

“ l’d like to know which of these two names he’s
sailing under.”

Within fifteen minutes afterward, however
this and all other thoughts were driven out of
the boy‘s sleepy brain. Stretched on a hotel
bed, he Was s« on as sound asleep as if slumber
wag-lithe one thing needful in this world of care
an 01 .

CHAPTER V.
A MAN OF MANY NAMES.

AN early breakfast, a short walk through the
wide streets of Buffalo, and Frank Melton was
ready for his day’s work. The morning was one
of brisk temperature. A sharp northwest blast
blew over the lakes and whistled through the
streets, forcing the boy to button his ulster and
draw up his collar Over his ears.

“ Stinging weather, by J iminy l” he said, with
a shiver. . “ Dick said I’d find it worse up here
than in York, and I reckon he about hit it. It‘s
lucky he bought me this warm-’em-up. I’ll be
sensible to hike hack to the hotel.—-No I won’t,”
he finished, as something caught his eye.

This was the form of Mr. Converse, who was
walking slowly along the opposite side of the
street. The sight of him roused all the detective
instinct in the boy’s blood, and he set himself to
watch his movements.

It was not a difficult task. The steps of the
gentleman seemed to be directed to the post-
oflice. Reaching this, he entered and was lost to
sight for several minutes. He emer edemgg;
handed, and continued. his walk. k
followed. ,

Yet there was nothing to learn. Converse
was simply taking a morning constitutional;
Leavmg the business thoroughfare, he sought
one of the broad and handsome residence streets
of the city, where he strolled slowl onward, as
if admiring its stately edifices, wit their broad
and tasteful grounds. -

From there through a series of streets, Con-e
verse sought the river-front of the city, then in
all the bustle of the active shipping trade which

centers there. Vessels loading and unloa ’ ,'

drays and .wagons coming and going, hand

of men activel y engaged in busy labors, the boy
, on a scene of bustling turmoil not alr-
ansrfad by that of the wharves of the metropolis-
i so . -.

But in all this he took little intorest.’ It was
too much like what he saw ever‘ggay of his life
to have any novelty fer him. at he did look
on with interest were the waters which bathed
the wharves on which he stood.

He knew that these were the waters of the
Niagara River, and that not many miles from
where he stood there niet waters dashed on
with race—horse speed, eaping like the ocean
waves when lashed with the whip of the hurriw. . 1
cane and then .in one broad mass poured overa‘

rec pics, making the most stupendous cam
nown in the world—the far-famed Falls‘ofol ,

888“. ~

“Wouldn’t I ive something to‘see them!”
said.the boy to imself. “Itain’t‘mnch w
looki at this water and tryingqtosee lotus!
in it. ’t Jacob Rwant to  the ails?

 
 

 

     

.. ,‘. , r. ,—

 

LY

   
 

  

, a away station.

do, amazing, and I’d give him a V out of my
pile if he’d only take a run down there. But I
don’t s’pose he’s so obliging.”

However that was, Jacob P., as the boy called
him, had by this time soon enough of the wharves,
and bent his steps away from that locality—per-
haps to escape the biting wind that whistled past
his ears. '

Frank duly followed him. Pleasure was one
thing and duty another, and duty came first.

In a half-hour afterward Converse stopped
again at the poet-office. The morning mail was
now in, and he had been simply killing time till
its arrival.

This time he left its doors with a letter in his
hand, and a look of satisfaction on his face.
He walked now directly to the hotel.

Here he sought the smoking-room, treated
himself to a cigar, and deliberately opened his
epistle, throwing the envelope into the waste-
pa r basket.

rank watched him from an adjoining room.
He saw him purse his brows over the document,
frown fora moment, and then assume a more
leased lonk as he read further down. Finally
e leaped from his chair, thrust the letter into
his pocket, and walked with a brisk tread into
the reception-room of the hotel.

“ Means business,” thought Frank. “ That
letter’s made up his mind for him. He didn’t
know what he was to do, but he knows now——
and I reckon I soon will.”

Converse’s first first movement was to a rail-
road time-table, which he studied diligently for
several minutes. ' Then he turned to the hotel
clerk and asked for the key of his room.

“ What number!”

lt 320.”

“ Here it is.”

In a minute more he was ascending in the ele-
vator to the upper floors. /

Frank, who had kept well in the background,
now ste ped forward and examined the time-
table. t was that of the through Express trains
on the westward roads. He next lounged up to
the desk and cast his eye over the register.
There it was, room number 320, name—“ Caleb
Williams.”

The boy gave a meaning whistle as he turned
away. He next sought the smoking-room, and
picked up the envelope that lay on the top of the
contents of the waste-basket.

The name was the so me——“ Mr. Caleb Wil-
liams. An equally interesting feature of the
enveIOpe was the post-mark. This read, “ Louis-
ville, Ky.” ,

The young detective seated himself in the
chair which Converse had just vacated, and set
himself to work with all the powar of his think-

ing machine.

t Wonder how many names he carries in his
bag?” he said to himself. “Don’t s’gose that
matters though; names is as cheap as ananers;
what he’s up to is of more account. It’s my
notion he’s got word to streak out West, for
Louisville or somewhere. ’Spected to meet
somebody here likel , but if he did that some-
body’s gone on an sent him word to foller.
That’s ’bout the size of it, far as I can make out,
and I reckon I’m in for another railroad ride,
and a sight of the wide West.”

So confident was Frank of this that he walked
to the office, called for his bill, and ordered his
traveling-bag to be brought down-stairs.

“ When doesthe next Chicago through train
go out i” he asked. .

“ Two o’clock.”

“ That sol Then you needn’t hurry. I’ll
wait and try what sort of a dinner you fellows
are up to. Meanwhile I’ll takea walk around
and exhaust your city.”

*The clerk looked after him with a curious

“ Is that chap puttin it on, or has he really
been through the mill?” sacked himself. “ One
can always count on airs and impudence in the
young sprouts nowadays- but common sense
and experience are not so p entiful at cm .”

At two o‘clock sharp the Lake Shore xpress
drew out from the Buflaio station, and Frank
Heston began another long ourney over the
broad United States. Jaco Converse, alias
Caleb Williams, was aboard the train, and the

‘lifitoand ursuit had again begun.
youghful detective was no longer troubled
b the fear that his ame might leave the train
e was so sure that he would
not etc short of Chicagp, that he hardly ave
him a t ought on the route, but set hi to

,1  not  on the next day, the train
lagged its passengers

_ in the grea city of the
*« rn lakes. that Frank returned to the object

 his quest.

  

 

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

As before, he watched Converse till he had
left the train, observed what hotel be had chosen
and followed him thither, this time quickly
enough to reach the office before the guests from
the train had registered.

He stood close enough to see Converse write
his name, and observed that four others followed
before the time came for himself to place his
signature in the book.

He was full of curiosity. Was it Jacob P.
Converse or Caleb Williams who had just ar-
rived in Chicago? A glance up the page for the
fifth name above his own decided it. An odd
smile came upon his face as he saw there written
the name of “Rowland Hill, Boston.”

" Bless my pumpkin head if he ain’t took an-
other name out of his bag!” ran through the
boy’s mind.

“If he keeps on he’ll have enou h names to
make a city directory. He’s boun not to leave
his name for a trail, that’s sure. But if he only
knOWed how clean this little ferret was on his
track he’d not take life quite so easy.”

Frank spent the rest of that day in a state of
watchfulness. But nothing came from it. Con-
verse did not even leave the hotel.

It was ten o’clock at night when the young
spy sought his room, fatigued with the day’s
labor.

“I never thought of asking what’s the tariff
here,” he said, “ but I s’pose it’s all down on this

paper.” He turned to the card of terms on the
room door. “ Four dollars a day! Whew l” he
whistled.

“ I could live a week on that at home and
not half try.
footing this bill.——W hat else is there lwrei" He
continued to read. “Guests are advised to
leave their valuables with the clerk, as the pro-
prietors will not be responsible for anything left
in the rooms.’ By jingol and I’ve got my
dpocket chock full of money—three or four hun-

re< .

were saying? It might be of great importaneoi' «

 

It’s luv-ky somebody else’s§

s

to his guest.

He slipped around in a careless manner, tak»
ing care to keep his face turned from Converse’sr
eyes, and in a few minutes came up close. behind
them. Here he leaned in a listless manner
against an iron column. '

“ Can you not cut loose and go through now i”
Converse was saying. “ It is important to close
the deal without delay. I am off for St. Louis
on the next train. Come, get ready and go
with me.”

“ When does the train pull out?”

“In ten minutes.”

“Can’t do it then. I’ve got some things to
wind up here. ut I’m in on the deal solid. I’ll
be down the road in a few days. Where shall I
find you!”

They stepped away as he spoke, and Frank
did not catch the answer, though he listened in-
tently.

To St. Louisi—ln ten mi mitesi-—Here .was
newsl He had very nearly been thrown frOm
the track. To St. Louis be it, then!

He walked to the ticket-OffiCl—y thrust his hand
into his pocket, and—it came out empty. He
remembered now, to his annoyance, that he had
left all his money with the hotel~clerk.

What was to be done? He had not change
enough in his pocket to buy a ticket for half the
distance. And how was he to live if all his

money was spent on railroading? He stood in ’

a deep quandary.

“ By Jiminyl he sha’n’t fling me that way,” he
declared, at length. “ To St. Louis or bu’st,
them’s my sentiments. Here goes for all that’s

‘ in it.”

I
I
l
l
l
l
l
l

I wonder if it‘s so to to keep it ’bout me? ,

Some sneak might slip in and go for my pile; :
and that’d be thundering awkward. Maybe I’d -

best leave it with the clerk.” ,

The amount of money the boy had on his per-
son, indeed, was something immense to him, and
the more he thought about it the heavier 1t
weighed. ‘

A few minutes decided him. He would not
take the chance, but would leave his money with
the clerk.

This he did, making him count it and giVe a
receipt for the amount. This done the boy went
to bed with a clear conscience, and with only a
few dollars in loose change in his pocket.

The events of the succeeding few days we need
not closely chronicle. Converse seemed waiting,
but, meanwhile, taking it easy; and Frank, who
soon decided that nothing was to be gained by
constantly watching him, took the opportunity
to see what he could of the growing giant of the
West, the great city of Chicago.

There was only one movement made by Con—
verse which Frank found of interest. He track-
ed him to one of the leading banks of the city,
and saw him make what seemed a large deposit,
though 'he could make no guess as to its
amount.

He evidently had no previous account there,
for the teller made him out a bank-book, which
he gave him, together with a book of blank

' checks.

“ Here’s news worth sending to Dick i” thought
the young scout. “ The creditors might want
to nail this cash. I s’pose it’s some of Jacob R’s
stealings. Wish I knowed what name he put it
in under. Anyhow I’ll wire Dick all the names
he’s swinging.” ,

Seeking the telegraph-office Frank sent a long
message to his chief in New ’York, bidding him
return answer if he had any directions to

give.

On leaving the office he strolled on indefinitely
intending to return in a couple of hours to see if
there was any answer.

His steps took him to the lake shore of the
city, and he walked along here for an hour,
much interested in the evidences of business
which abundantly met his eyes. ,

Returning b an indefinite course toward the

hotel chance ed his foetsteps to the Chica o
and fit. LouisR. 8. station. This fact won d
have been of no importance to him had he not
seen, just before him, Mr. Converse, who was
conversing earnestly with a middle-aged and
well-dressed gentleman. . ,
The boy was at once wide awake. He follow-
ed them into the station, and observed them
from a distance. Their conversation continued
in the same earnest manner.

Could he" get near enough to hear what they

 

- the art of “beating

 

 

Asking the price of a ticket, he found he had
not money enough to carry him half-we . But
to go back to the hotel would be to impe i all his
work. He must go on, for good or bad.

Purchasing a ticket to the first stopping-place,
Frank boldly entered the train, having first seen
Converse do the same after a shake hands with
his companion. ‘

In three minutes afterward it was under way,
with Frank asa passenger on a ticket for less
than half-way, and fifty cents in his pocket as.
his sole available wealth.

 

CHAPTER Vi. .
HEATING A RAILROAD.

THE train on which the young detective found'
himself was a Lightning Express, making but

two or three stops between Chicago and St. '

Louis. The first of these was at B oomington,
about one-third of the distance,- to which place
his ticket took him.

Beyond Bloomington he had but his wits to-
trust to. But, though he had no experience in
a railroad,” he was not.
troubled by fears of the result.

“ It’s time enough to jump a fence when you,
come to it,” washis mo to.
of sense in manufacturing worries.”

Bloomington was duly reached and passed, l

and now the fence which Frank had to amp
came every minute users and nearer. ortu~
nately for him, the con actor had abundant
time to take up his tickets, and was in no burr .
An hour had passed before he came through t e
train, with his demand of “ Tickets.”

Frank was busy read g a news per when he
came along. and fail to hear t e- conductor’s
mil call 0 " Ticket.” It was repeated, more
{Ion 1y this time, but the boy gave no sign of

ear ng. . .

“ Ticketl” cried the conductor sharply. “ Show
your. ticket!” ‘

He might have been speaking to the moon, for

all the attention Frank paid to him. He turned r

ovsr the page of his paper and began to read the
other side. I ‘ .

“Do you hear me? Show your ticketl""ex¥‘ ,
claimed the angry official, giving the inattentive

passenger a sharp rap on the shoulder. , '_ -
The fact of his being but a boy may have
made the conductor hit harder than he would

have done with a man . However thatvwal, the

blow on Frank’s shoulderwss not a light one,   ' a

and he sprung up with a hot show of an er.

“ What are you hitting me for!” cried
fiercely. “ Do you think because I’m onlya boy
you can come round here pounding me?”

" Show your ticket!” again demanded the con. 1.

ductor.
“ Square yourself, if that’s your game.

times. I ed to tap you.”

   

There’s not a grain

“ I’ll show you!” exclaimed Frank  
let no man hit mewithout hitting back." i 
“Comehboy, I asked for your ticket thug .,

' .,_.
,z are.  ..
g, .

 

 

 

 

  
    

-3»
_ A. .r

 

 

3,, .
,5 ,., 

   

‘ 'w‘v- .A . -

.vw

 

 

.‘a

......-.. - "— .._. , ._.‘ m“-..

Flipper Frank’s Flush:

1.2 q-o-nb-aw—gav. .. .- .w 4‘... -‘-~x{w~- <v».~_--mr—o~‘—.

'7

 

“Had to tap me, did you? By the jumping

frog, I don’t let anybody tap mel, If you are

twice as big as me I don‘t care for’you the toss
of a red cent. Mind that, Mister Man.”

“ I’ve got to see your ticket, I tell you,” cried
the conductor impatiently.

“ Got to, have you? That’s a big word out of
a little mouth. Why don’t you carry a club
with you, and tap passengers on the head when
you come round? It will save your breath.”

“Come, hey, no nonsense! Let me see your
ticket. I must go on.”

“Go onl Idon’t care!" retorted Frank. “I
didn’t ask you tostop. If you calculate to pound
me into showing my ticket, you’re barking up
the wrong tree, that’s all.”

Frank settled back in his seat, opened his news-
paper, and began to read again, as serenely as if
the conductor were a mile awayl.

The latter stood perplexed. e demanded the
ticket again, in a fierce tone, but the boy paid
no more attention than if it had been a buzzing
fly. The conductor pushed him. No attention.
He raised his hand as if to strike him again.
But he was a little dubious about stirring up this
was .

“ i’ll have you ut oil? the train," cried the
angry official. “ he rules of the road must be
observed."

“ If you do I’ll make your old road h0w1,”an-
swered the boy. “ I reckon there’s somebody
kn'OWs a thing or two besides you road emperors.
Maybe you think passengers have nothing to do
but to show up tickets. You’ve seen mine often
enough now, and if you touch me again I’ll make
you see stars.”

The conductor, who was a small-sized and ra-
ther mild-looking individual, looked at the spem-
ingly furious boy, and concluded it might be
well not to meddle with such a bristling porcu-

lne.

p He had quite forgotten that he had taken up

his young passenger’s ticket to Bloomingtoa,

agid never dreamed that he had no ticket to

s ow.

“ I will hi: you off at Springfield, young man.”
he said. ‘ ‘ That’s our next stop, and the rules of

i the road must be obeyed.” _

“All right. Springfield’s the capital of Illi—
no‘i‘s, isa’g it?”

“Then it’s bound to be brim full of lawyers,
and it’s just the place to get in my work on this
onehoss railroad. Now reckon you’ll let me
finish this murder case. and won’t come here
stirring me up as if I was a pig in a puddle.”

Frank turned again to his paper, while the
smiles with which the other pissengers had
heard this colloquy now broke into a chorus of
laughter.

The conductor looked helplessly at the impas-
sive boy. Should he stop the train and put him
ofl' then and there? He would think of it, he
concluded, and meanwhile went on punching the
tickets of the remaining passen ers. Frank con-
tinued to read as demurer as 1 nothing had oc-
curred.

“ You’re a bold boy,” said one of the passen-
gers to him, after the conductor had left the car.

‘ I’d as soon heard a lion in his den as a conduc-
‘i’or on his train. These fellows are lords, you
know, in their own domain.”

,“ I don’t let no chap hit me without hitting
black,”arerred Frank; “not if he‘sas bigas a
rain-water-barrel. I reckon I pared that lion’s
claws for him.” *

“ I don’t know but you did,” answered the
passenger, with a laugh, which was echoed from

, the neighb-iring seats.

“ These hustlers et mighty lim when a fol-
low like me takes t e starch out them," con-
tinued Frank. “I guess that one wants laun-
drying again, to stiffen him up.” ’

‘Give us your hand, boy. By the Rocky
Mountains, you're a sundownerl” cried the de.
l hted passenger. » .

‘q‘ I dunno ’bout that," rejoined Frank, “ but
the chap that tries to sit on me is going to feel
pins—and straight ones, too.”

Frank had made a chatty acquaintance and
during the rest of the journey to Springfielda

, lively conversation was kept up between the
'two. '

On reaching the city of Springfield the train
again come to a halt. It had not fully stopped
‘w on theoonductor hustled into the car, and
Ibpfied briskly up to the easyogoiug ho .

‘ 0w, sis-there’s got to be an en . to this

If  Fon’ve got to show your ticket. or
 you' go.” ,
 ~-.7‘1’ha so!" said Frank, rising and stretching
L". h “At . “ngas figf I migiht sgipi’h
  Spring . ere you 8 you
adult show your ticket.”

 

“Just the place I was oing to stop at,” an-
swered Frank easil . “ uch obliged for the
ride.—Good-day, ol maul" he said to his late
acquaintance. “ Adieu, conductor! Au re-
coir.”

Frank walked quietly from the car.

“ What does aurevoir mean?” asked the con-
ductor of a passenger.

“ It’s the French for, ‘ till we meet again.’ ”

“ Meet againl I hope to gracious I won’t soon
meet that young impudence factory again!
Glad I‘m done with him this trip.” And the
conductor ended with a groan that set all around
him laughing.

In two or three minutes more the train was
again swiftly in motion. Frank's late acquaint-
ance 101: lied from the car window to catch a. last
glimpse of the boy, on the platform.

“ Not there,” he said. “ He’s made tracks
quick. Off to look up a Springfield lawyer,
may be, and make this old read how}, as he
threatened. He’s just the coolest specimen of
young America I ever put eyes on—and I’ll go
have a smoke on the strength of it.”

Rising, the middle-aged and benevolent IVest-
erner mide his way through the train to the
smoking-car. Here he made a wornrfence back-
ward over the swaying floor to an empty seat,
and was about to drop into it, when he halted
and stared in surprise.

Before him he saw the smiling face of his late
acquaintance, Frank Melton.

“ Hello, old man!” cried Frank, cheerily.
“ S oat down. Here’s room for one.”

“ Vhat the thunder are you domg here? I
thought you'd left.”

“ Came aboard again,” answered Frank, easi—
ly. “I didn’t think I had to lay out a map of
m ' plans for that conductor. If he don’t want
me aboard, he can put me off at the next stop.
Going to smoke?”

“ That‘s what brung me.”

“Anchor hero then,and we’ll finish our chat.”

“ That suits me to a. hair.”

The \Vcsmrner lighted a cigar, and offered
one t» Frank.

“ H'noke i” he asked.

“ No. Ain’t learnt that trade yet.
have we Come from Chicago?"

“ Don‘t know exactly. Near a couple of hun-
dred miles.” I

“ How far is it to St. Louis?”

,“ About a hundred more.”

“ That’s all right. Get there some time before
sneezing time.——A mighty fat country this we’re
passing through."

This set the Westerner of! on a long story
about the agricultural advantages of Illinois,
which lasted until the conductor again came
through the train at a point about thirty miles
beyond Springfield.

“Show your tickets."

The passengers complied, and he made his way
slowly through the car, punching tickets as he
went, till—he suddenly paused, with a look of
astonishment and indignation. He had caught
sight of his late troublesome passenger.

“You here?” he cried, savagely.

“ Yes. Told you we’d meet again, con-
ductor.”

“Didn’t I put you ofl’ at Springfield i”

“Not if the court knows itself. It’s my no~
tion I got off.”
£31“ Y’ou said Springfield was your [destina-

ion.

“ So it was— for that ride. But I took a notion
I’d like to go further with you. Struck a sort
of fancy to you.”

“ The deuce you did fi’ growled the conductor
“ Your ticket, then."

“ Ticket?”

“ Yes, ticket.”

“ I haven’t any. Train didn’t stop long enough
to get one.” .

“ Money. then.”

" HaVen’t any. Ileft all my funds in Chi-
cagn.”

“ Then you’ve got to git of! this train.”

“That’s what expect to do—when it stops.
Ain’t goin to risk a jump, nohow.”

“ We go ng to stop now, and here. I’m tired
of this nonsense."

The conductor reached for the bell-rope and
pulled it fiercely. In a minute afterward the
speed of the train had considerabl y slackened.

Frank eat with an unmoved face. This action
did not seem to disturb him in the least.

“Have you really no ticket!" asked his new
friend.

“ N ary pasteboard.”

“Nor mono f” '

“ Not enoug to strike fire with. I left all my
money at the hotel in Chicago, and started off

How far

too quick to get it.”

 

" Then, by the Rocky Mountains. I’ve had fun
enough out of you to pay your way. t’s
the next stop, conductor?”

“ Alton.”

“ Fare from Sprin field i"

The conductor to] him.

"‘ All right. I’ll pay this young man’s
wa .H

“ Why the blazes didn’t you say so sooner,
then?” The train had nearly stopped. “I’ve
half a mind to iut him off as it is.”

“ You can’t‘ o it, conductor, and you know it. ‘

You‘ve got to take the money,” answered Frank,
with provoking nonchalance. .

The conductor in reply sprung up and Jerked
the bell-rope savagely, emitting a low growl.

Immediately the train began to gather speed
again, and was soon driving on at full head-
way.

The passenger paizl Frank’s fare, and the con-
ductor continued his round. '

“I’m going to pay this back,” said Frank.
“Give me your name and address. I’ve got
plenty of money in Chicago. but started 05 so
fresh that I left it behind me.”

“ Never mind it. I’ve had my pay in fun.”

“ch, I will mind it. I’m not working my
way. nary time.”

Alton was reached in due time, and the train
again came to a halt. Frank r so to leave the

car. ,.

“ I thought you were for St. Louis?” said his
new friend. .

“ So i am. I’ll get there. you bet.”

“ Star aboard, then. I’ll pay the rest of the
way. It’s only tWenty-five miies.”

“ No. I won’t sponge on good nature. You’ll
see me there.”

“ Better stay.”

“ Can‘t see it. Good by. I’ll send you that
little remembrance."

“ Never mind it. Good-by.”

Frank got oil“. In a few minutes the main
was away again.

“ Gone this time, sure,” sa‘ e conductor, as
he made his last round th the train.
“ He‘s left behind at last.”

“ I’m not so certain of that,” answered Frank’s
friend. “ He’s’ death at turning up. Have you
looked on top the cars?”

Where he should have looked was on the en-
gine, on Which Frank had jum d as the train
started, and where he romaine in spite of the
eggineer’s growl that no one had any business
t ere.

“Lawsee, you needn’t mind me,” answered
Frank merril . ' “ I ain‘t no more than a grass-
hopper, and can‘t chirp loud enough to stop
the train.” .

 
  

And he rattled on in such a liv amusing
way that the enginecr, tho e knew this
Was breaking the law 0 , let him re-

main.
“ If you put me off, I’ll finish my ride on the
cow-catcher.”a!erred Frank. “I‘m for Pike’s
Peak, or bu’st. I ain’t got no mone , old boss.
but l’ll owe you a chromo for this ri e.”
“ How did you get this far without money?”

“ Brass brought me through ,” answfergid Iai'drank, ’
o s ven- ,

and he told the engineer the story
ture with the conductor, much to that worthy’s
delight.

There was no longer any thought of putting
him of. Frank paid his fare for the rest of the
we by making things lively— for the engineer
an fireman. -

At length the station at St. Louis was reached.
The boy sprung from the engine before its
wheels had ceased turning. It was rather dark
at that point, and none of the station-hands ob-
serVed him.

He hurried-down the platform. and in a min-
ute found himself face to face with the conduc-
tor, who stared at him like one in a trance of
surprise.

“ Told you I’d get here,” he cried. “ I‘m royal
pancakes at keeping my word. Good-by, old
chap. Sorry I can’t go back with you."

Frank was away before the conductor could
muster words to reply.

The boy’s next encounter was with hints-ail
friend, who gazed at him “ith almost as much
surprise as the conductor had shown.

‘* Hello!” he exclaimed. “You here?”

“Always keep my word.” replied Frank. “I
wan’t forget that little obligation."

“ Never mind that; but, how did you get

. here!"

“ Ask the engineer. Bad asplendid ride be-
hind the heargights, and- Good-by!”

Frank do away hastily. He had at that
moment caught sight of Ir. Converse, who had

just left the mood was hurrying through the I

.tstion. ‘

__ - _. ’ .. . __. ".0
. a a. . m, . - o , .
“o'— - ._.. , ‘ A...“ . ,‘g I” m,

 

 

 

 

 
 

CHAPTER VII.
DOWN To snonr RATIONS.

FRANK had no difficulty in locating Mr. Con-
verse in St. Louis. He followed him directly to
the leading hotel of the city, where, as at Chi-
cago, be registered, under the name of Rowland
Hill. So far the young detective had smooth
sailin ;but, what was to come next?

Wit but fifty cents in his por‘ket, he could not
put up at that bullet}, and his one source of diffi-
culty was how he sboul i live two days without
Coming to utter hankrupicy.

He could not aliord to telegraph to Chicago
for his money. But he might write. lie could
possibly keep soul and holly together long enough
to get an ansWi-r to a lettrr.

It was now Well on into the night, but there
was no time to lose. Ills letter must go out that
night. Borrowing a sheet of paper, he wrote to
the Chicago hotel proprietorthe story of his sud-
den journey to St. Louis, asking him to Express
the money—package and his gripsack at once,
after taking out en high for his hotel bill.

This letter duly written and posted, Frank felt
easier in mind. \Vhere should he lodge? In
fact, he could not a iford to lodge at all, unless he
was to go hungry the next day.

There were seats at the railway station. He
could seem to be waiting for a train. That was
a good idea. Frank hurried hack to the station,
curled himself into a seat, and was s )0!) fast
asleep.

It was considerably past midnight when a
station-keeper wakened him.

“ Come, sir; this is not a sleeping-place. You
must get up.”

The boy, who had laid his plans in advance,
got up and stretched himself lazily.

“ Guess it’s ’most time for tho train,” he
yawned.

“ What train?”

“ Alton accommodation.”

“ Why, bless you, boy, it went an hour ago.”

“ The gracious you say! Why didn’t some-
body wake me up? ’

“That ain t our line of business.
is expected to be wide-awake here. ”

“ m left, that’s all. Say, old chap, when
doas the next train go out?”

“ Four o’clock.” I

“ Then if I go to the hotel, I’ll be left again.
Guess l’ll wait."

“ Don’t go to sleep this time.”

” Go to sleep! What do you take me for?
This ain’t a sleepy eye, is it?"

The guard turned away with a laugh, while
Frank once more coiled himself in his seat, and
in five minutes was OR in another sneeze, from
which he did not aWake till six o’clock in the
morniu

E verybody

Thongs was roused by a sharp shake from the x

guard.

tfl‘lgVell, Master Wide-aWake, here you are
8 l . a
“What o’clock?” asked Frank, rubbing his
eyes vigorously. ‘ o

“ Past six.”

“ing don’t mean to say I’ve lost the train

a n

“ It looks that way," laughed the guard.

“That’s what comes of night travel. Got to
take a daylight tri after all. Guess I’ll go rake
up a lunc . You t I’ll be wide-awake when I

come round here again.”
He was hungry enough to spend all his funds
inonogrand feast. But that would never do.

He invested five cents in rolls at a baker’s
sho , and made a dry meal eta very low figure.
If 9 could go on at the same rate his funds
would carry him through two or three days.

Frank spent that .day on the track of Mr.
Converse. Not a step outside the hotel was
' taken by that individual but what the young

I ferret was sharply after him, though the boy’s
do ’s work brought him little return.

he only thing he could note down at night

' way—Converse had stopped at a large wholesale

dr goods house, and spent two hours in the
pr vate office, in close conference with the pro-
p 'etor. .
. hat took place there, he was, of course, in
ignorance of, but the afifair interested him.
Was a step in the business that had brought this
tricky personage to St. Louis.

Frank had told the Chicago hotel preprietor
to direct his answer to the St. Louis hotel where
Converse was stopping. ‘He inquired of the
clerk at six o’clock thatievenlng, I

~- “ Are you a guest hers-l” asked the clerk.

“No. sir; but I wrote from here.”

‘ ‘_‘l havealetter just in for that name. But

a haw em I to know that you are the right

, part??? ,

y

 

lt‘

~

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

“ I can’t say, except you take me on my face.
Frank Melton’s in name, and what I wrote for
was some money left behind me in Chicago.
You can open the letter if you want to, and if it
isn’t about that, then I'm a fraud.”

“ Where did you leave it?”

“ At the St. Claude Hotel."

“ All right. This is for you, then.”

He handed Frank a letter which the boy
eagerly opened and read hastily. As he did so
his face fell.

“ Bad news?" asked the clerk.

“ Read that. he won’t send it. Says he
don’t know if I’m the right party. What am I
to do?"

“ Trot back to Chicago, I fancy, and show
your face there.”

“ I reckon it’ll be a trot, then. Haven’t fifty
cents to my name.”

The clerk looked him over with eyes of ex-
perience.

“ You wear a watch, boy.
worth?"

“About a llfty, I reckon,” said Frank, draw-
ing it out.

“Then go see your uncle.
twenty on it.”

“ Bang my thick skull, why didn’t I think of
that myself? Much obliged, mister. I ain't up
{)0 pawning watches or I’d knowed that. Good—

Vtht is it

lle’ll lend you a

Frank was away with a new idea in his head.
But it didn’t stay there long. lie had been put
on the track of Jacob 1’. Converse. What
might become of his quest it he left the trail for
a trip to Chicago and back?

He halted, in deep cogitation. There was
Dick Wister; why not telegraph him for mono) ?
It was a fertile idea. Frank resolved to do it
the next morning. It was too late to wire Dick
at his office that night.

The boy, who had now but twenty-five cents
left, spent that night as he had the night before,
but in a different station. At an early business
hour of the next day he put his watch in pawn,
as the clerk had suggested, receiving fifteen dol-
lars, which was the most the careful pawnbroker
could see in it.

Frank celebrated his victory immediately by
a good breakfast. He then sought the tele-
graph office, and sent Dick Wister the following
message:

“ Dead broke. Send me some money.”

It was two hours before the following answer
Cflllle:

“The deuce you are! Four hundred dollars
in a Week i Do you think we sleep here on gold
mines? Explain.”

“ Leftit at hotel in Chicago. Daren’t leave
here to go alter it,” wired Frank in re 1 y.

“ You ouug wangracel" was Dick 3 answer.
“ I’ll see orden, but I don’t believe he’ll pony
up. The squeeze is too tight.” ,

Frank left the office in a fret. Dick‘ might
have trusted him, and sent him some out of his
own ocket. And yet,he said to himself, that
wasn t Dick Wister s way. He had the fashion
of holding on to his dollars.

What was to be done? Mr. Borden was not
likely to hand not money at such a rate.
Should he go to Chicagel—what, and leave Con-
vene unwatched‘i No, not if he had to lunch
on his sleevabuttons and sleep in an ash-
barrel. . ,

Frank’s Watchfuluess that day yielded no re-
sults, other than that he saw Converse again
enter the merchant’s office, remain there a few
minutes, and come out in his company.

They walked together down the street for a
block or two, and then separated. it was a
prosperous-lookingrgentleman whom Converse
had now in tow. hat was all the. boy learned.

Several days passed with no further points
gained. Then the y0ung detective dropped on
samething of more importance. He met Con-
verse near the Chicago and Alton station, and
with him his Chicago acquaintance, who had
evidently just arriVed. '

They were in earnest conversation, and the
curious boy pushed up close behind them, as
once before. They talked in their usual tones,
and he ,had no difficulty in following their

words. .
(shall probably be here for sejeral days

H I
chit/r,” remar verse. “ Then I must
stri e for New Orleans and see Brown.”

“The plant is working satisfactorily, you

as. l”

x Splendid] ', that‘s the word I got yesterday
from the wor _ I have not had a chance to get
there myself, but. as sure as you live, our top-
printer the metal will be ten centsapound.

 

Maybe not over five. I’d like to have more,
monleay to put in it, that’s all.” '-

“ ow much can you and Wilson raise?”

“ Not over fifty thousand; I fear.”

“ So far as I’m concerned, ’answered the other,
“ I’ll not put a red penny in till I see it’s work-
ing and am satisfied. That’s my way. If your
words turn out worth their face Value, I won't
hesitate to invest a cool hundred thousand."

“ That‘s business, friend Johnson. 1 like you
for it. The plant will be in end working order
about the end of March. hen I shall expect
all of you gentlemen at—”

Frank unfortunately lost the last word. The
name of the place where this mysterious “ plant”
\\ as to be seen remained unknown to him.

“ By the way, do you know Gordon?” asked
Converse.

“ No. Never saw him.”

“Then you must. As you are likel to sail
in the same boat, you should be frien s in ad-
vance. And here’s his store now. Come in.
I’ll introduce you, and we can chat over the en-
terprise.”

It was the store within which Converse had
had so much business duringr the past few days
that they now entered.

Frank stood outside, in doubt whether he had
better wait for them or not. He finally con-
cluded that there was nothing to be gained by
this. There was matter of more importance to
consider.

lie had heard that morning from Dick Wister
by wire, saying that Borden had refused to ad-
vance any more. He would send him on his
own account twvnty dollars in a registered lat-
ter, which was all he (-Ould spare.

“ That’s very generous in Dick,” growled the
boy. “ But, maybe he don‘t quite believe me.
I did play the fool act, that’s sure. Converse
says he’ll be here several days yet. That’ll give
me plenty time for a run to Chicago. Here
goes.’ .

He had made up his mind on the jump, and
sought the railroad station in the same rompt
manner. Here he was informed that the next
Express for Cuicngo would not go out till ten
o’clock that evening. , 

“ And it’s not four yet,” thought the boy.
“Well, I don’t need to be so blazing mean now,
and I judge I’ll go order a prime-up old, supper.
l’m hungry all the way down.”

At ten that evening he stepped aboard the
train with more assurance than on the former
occasion, for he had a through sleeping-car
ticket in his pocket, and “as a few dollars still
on the right side of poverty. '

Before daybreak the next morning he landed
in Chicago. An abundant breakfast at the sta-
tion restaurant braced mm o for the business
of the day, and at eight o’cloc sharp he-made
his appearance in the hotel.

“ Doyou recognize me?" he asked the clerk.

“ I’ve seen your face before,” was the doubtful
answer. " '

“ And wanted to see it again ; for you’ve
made me run back here from St. Louis to show

'6‘ How g”

“ Here’s your letter. That will show.”

The clerk looked at the letter; than at Frank;
and then laughed. '

“ It was business, young man. There was too
much cash to take chances on. Somebody might
have stolen your secret and your name. I know
you now, and it is all right. Here is your
package." '

“ A 1 correct,” answered Frank cheerily.
after counting the money. “ What’s your
div vyl" Let’s see the size of yourblll.” ‘-

—.—

CHAPTER VIII. ’
FROM cmcaaorl’o NEW ORLEANS.

. Wrru a pocket fiili'oi‘ money and a heart ful

of satisfaction, Frank Melton spent the reiznairiE
der of that dag-in taking a general surveyo;
Chicago. He ad abundant time, he thought,
and might never have the chance again.

’ Early the next morning he mounted the Day,

Express for St. Louis, and once more rolled out 4,.“

over the prairie level of Illinois.

He was busily engaged in reading  m. ,   .

ing paper when the conductor 'came' “(11.

_ 110‘
punch tickets. It was the same ‘hlg‘hemindedi' ‘
official with whom Frank had had hispreflkms‘. .,

adventure. - -

0n seeing the quiet smile thatllzhfid “P We: :

boyish face before him, the. conductor stopped
in surprise endanger. V g . -'
“.You here a l” he exclaimed. .

“How'd‘ye , What“ Frank. “Fine  ‘

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,remainder of the

' where he obtained a plentiful meal. . His next

- the river". ‘ ’i‘ook steamer Alabama for New

If
_,80

Day as net breaking whenhe woke next
V morning. astiliy dressing. he sought the deck
..  the boat, an stood by the forward rails,

_5~Down the mighty river the boat drove. in
 its speed
neutron, while the owlands On either side seem-

-' ‘ -~1  ‘ 'r. anfg. n...) ~f W ‘ .".""‘ "‘1".~ pvt

'._,..

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

    

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“ A fine one for a tramp,” answered the con-
ductor, wrathfully, as he gave a violent pull at
the bell~rope.

“ Ahl going to take a trampi” asked Frank,
innooently. ,

“No; but you are.”

The train slackened speed, and within a min-
ute or two came to a halt.

“ Now, Master Impudence, you‘ll get 011'.”

“ Master who?"

“ Impudence.”

“ I don’t know any chap of that name,” said
Frank, turning to his paper.

“ Come herel” called the conductor to the
brakeman. “ Here‘s a fellow trying to beat the
road. We’ve ot to fire him.”

“ See here, r. Emperor!” remarked Frank;
“s’pose you just quit barkin at the moon, and
come down to terry flrmy. iook at that, and
lay a finger on me if you darel”

He held his ticket under the conductor’s nose.
That gentleman fell back a step, in surprise and
chagrin.

“ Why didn’t you show me that before?” he
demanded, clutching desperately at the bell-
1'0 60 ‘

‘ You never asked me for it.”

“ I did.”

“ See here, gentlemen," Frank appealed to the
surrounding passengers. “ Did any of you hear
him ask me?”

“ No!” was the general answer.

“ Now punch that ticket,” demanded Frank,
sternly. “And don't you tap me like you did
t’other day, or I’ll punch your head.”

“ None of your impertinence, b0 ."

“ And none of your crowding. on’re a good
deal too previoas. W by, I’ve got money enough
to buy up your old road—if wanted it. But
I ain’t investing in no such slow bosses.”

“ Frank turned again to his paper; and the
conductor, swallowing his rage, resumed his
rounds, after signaling the engineer to start up
again. He rec0gnized that be had been too
hasty, and that the boy had the best of the

ame.
g The young traveler had no more difficulty
wlth his foe, who cOntented himself during the
'onrne with growling de-
lmands of “ Ticket,’ to sac of which Frank re-
sponded with a seraphic smile, and a show of his
pasteboard.

In due time the train drew into the station at
St. Louis,‘and the youthful detective once again
trod the soil of Missouri. The day was now well
advanced, and he was hungry enou h for two of
his size, having eaten only a san wich on his
journey.

His first errand, then, was to a restaurant,

’ was to the pawnbroker’s, where he redeemed his 4
watch. Hie third was to the post-office, where
he found Dick W ister’s registered letter awaiting
him. His fourth was to the hotel where he
looked carefully round him for Mr. onverse.

No trace'of that individual was to be seen
however. Frank grew a little uneasy. Could
be have left? On all revious evenings he had
found him in the smokin -room.

“Mr. Rowland Hill?’ said the clerk, in re-
spdnse to Frank’s question. “ Left today.”

“ Left!" '

“ Yes. Six hours ago. Is on his way down

sans. '

“ The thunder!” cried Frank. “ Left, as I’ma
sinner!" , '

“ Want to see him had!” queried the clerk.

“ Mighty bad.” .

“ Chase him, then. The St'Clair steams out
at6 o'clock. lt isa faster boat than the Ala-
bama. You’ll touch wharf at New Orleans'flrst,
{’ou don't overhaul him before. 01‘. you can

X rail, if you prefer.”

. , 9‘ steamboat ride down the Mississt ii”
cried Frank in enthusiasm. “ Don’t say ml to
me! I wouldn’t miss it for ten railroads. Good-
byl Much obliged.”

It was new our o'clock. Before six Frank
had secured a state-room on the large and hand-
some steamer St. Clair, placed his bagga e in
his berth, and was seated on the saloon eck,
waitingwto see the boot pullout. -

earnestly watching the scene revealed" to his

doubled by the rapid

in an upward flow as the steam

stood. The broad deck was thickly covered with
merfilllandise in the greatest variety, while
aro d him, enjoying the morning air, s
dozens of passengers, bound for various river
orts.

p One of these soon attracted his special atten-
tion. He stared at him a moment, and then
sprung cheerily forward.

“Hello, old man!" he cried.
for your ten fingers.”

He held out his hand.

The man addressed turned, stared, and then
clutched Frank's hand. It was his railroad ac—
quuintancel

“Glad to see you,” he exclaimed. “Ain’t
trying to beat the boat as you did the road,
eh!l .

"Not much 2” Frank laughed. “ Got the
ducats now. By the way, here’s your little
provender.”

“ ()h, never mind that,” said the Westerner,
as Frank drew out a well-filled pocket-hook.

“Yes, I will! Short accounts make long
friends. I came over the road again yesterday,
old man, and you ought to have been along. 1
took every speck of starch out of that conductor,
and 13ft him just the limpest individual you ever
seen.

He told the story of his late encounter, at
which Mr. Palmer, his listener, almost doubled
himself with laughter.

“ How old are you?” he asked.

“ Somewhere over eighteen.”

“ By the Recky Mountains, you’re an old trav-
eler, if you are a young maul I’m turned fifty-
eight, and 1 Couldn’t have done it.”

The two sought the saloon deck and seated
themselves for a comfortable talk. Meanwhile,
the boat sped rapidly on its course, plunging
through the mighty waters, and unfolding an
endless panorama of farming and meadow-lands
on either side.

“ Do you know the Alabama?" asked Frank.

“ Yes, I just mis.~ed taking it."

“ Why? We’ll et to New Orleans first.”

“Not muchl he Alabama’s a faster boat
than this!”

“Then that hotel clerk lied, for he told me
the St. Clair was the best boat on the river.”

“ Got stock in it, maybe." answered Palmer,
lighgng’a cigar. “ Smoke?”

‘ o

“ Here’s room

Frank fell into a momentary train of thought.
Was he destined to be beaten after all? Had he
better leave the boat at some river town, and
take the train?

But he had bought a through ticket: and he
wanted to see the river. His moment’s riflec-
rtion ended in a resolve to stick to the boat and
trust to luck for the future. He felt sure of
finding Converse at some New Orleans hotel.

“ I get of! at Memphis," remarked Mr. Palm-
er after smoking for some minutes in silence.
“ Glad of your company for so far. What are
you interested in the Alabama for?” ‘

_“ There's a man aboard her whom I want to
beat to New Orleans.”

“Ah! a race, he i Who is it?”

“ He calls himee f Rowland Hill.”

“The deuce he does!" Mr. Palmer started as
if his cigar had burned him. “What do you
know about him?”

His voice was sharply inquisitive.

Frank grew suddenly cautious. He might
haVe been talking too fast.

“ Got a little bet with him, that‘s all,” he
said, indiflerently. “ Friend of yours, Mr.
Palmer?”

" That’s more than I can say. A business ac-
quaintance isa better word. I’m to meet him
at Louisville at the end of March in a little busi-
ness deal." '

" What is it i” asked Frank.

“Business is business, my boy. I can’t let
out other men’s secrets. All I’ll say is that if
Rowland Hill’s  ,‘p‘an out well, more than
one man will ' rich; and I’ll be one of
them.” ’ ‘

“ Something about-metal .3”

“ You know of it, then? lIave you ever seen
aluminum the new metal?” v

“ Don’t know as I have.” ,

“ It is extracted from clay. Costs nothing
for material. All the cost is in getting it out,
and that’s mighty expensive. But there’s a big
market for it now at fifty cents a
it‘s a ver useful metal.
made at ve‘ or ten cents a pound.”

~ *“ Somebody ,would get rich,” answered

 

. , mp ly downward. _
_ " Voting passenger sooa got tired of looking

Fray}. .
"‘ hat‘s what I think,” re‘oined Palmer.
This was the end of ‘the esterner’s revelar

at the unwooded and monotonous banks, and l
turned his‘attention to the boat on which he ;

ound. for,
Suppose t could be.

 

tions. Frank was afraid to say more, though he
believed in his secret soul that Converse was
working up a lot to victimise a number of rich
Western merc ants.

Palmer also had nothing further to say on the
subject, Yet his few words had taught much
to the quick-witted boy. Louisville was the
place, the end of March the time, and a plant
for making cheap aluminum the means.

But how was the game to be worked? that
was the next thing to learn. And what had
Clarkeon, the Artful Dodger, to do with it!

That afternoon Frank wrote a long letter to
Dick W ister, telling him the story of his jour—
ney, and what he had learned. He bade him
try and get a free foot to come West in late
March. This letter he dropped in the mail-box
cf the boat.

We Cannot dwell longeron Frank’s Mississippi
experience. it was a new and fertile one, and
he never wearied of watching the great river,
or its evvr-changing banks; now low, now rising
into great bluffs; now bare, now densely wood-
ed; now deserted, now with groups of houses;
now bustling villages, now busy cities, lining the
way.

' almer left at Memphis, as he had said.
Frank, who had taken a fancy to him, bade him
a hearty good-by.

“By the way,” he said, “I will be up the
river myself in a week or two, and may stop at
Louisville. When do you expect to be there?”

“ March 20th, or thereabouts."

“nWith a pocket full of fivo—cent aluminum,
eh?

“ If I had’, I wouldn’t trade it for gold.”

“(good-by, then. If I'get there l’ll look for
you.

League after league they plunged along their
watery way, the weather growing warmer as
they reached a more southern latitude. It was
like a May—day in the North when, on a day in
early March, the St. Clair rounded up to her
wharf in New Orleans, pushing her sharp nose
in between two other great steamers.

She had passed many a boat on the way, but
no one on board had set eye on the Alabama.
Could it have been passed in the night? Frank
sooln settled this question by asking a wharf offi-
cia .

“ Alabama? Three blocks above.
seven this morning, ten hours a o.”

“ Dished a ain,” said the oy to himself.
“ But, I’ll fin him, if he’s hid inone of General
J ackson’s cotton-bales.”

CHAPTER IX.
A RAT IN A TRAP.

A WEEK has passed since Frank Melton land-
ed in New Orleans. During that week he has
investigated the city thoroughly in a vain ef-
fort to find the lost object of his journey. He
has called at every hotel, large ‘nd small, but,
none of Converse’s known names are on their
registers, nor has he been able to h a
glimpse of ‘the welLknown form, though 0 has
hung like a shadow for hours around the doors
of the leading hotels. ‘

He has traversed the oi from end to end,
tracing the winding and-seepy streets of the
French quarter, with their wealth of flowers
and tropical foliage; and the straight and wide—
awake streets of the English quarter, with their
business bustle. He has tramped on foot from
the site of General Jackson’s'cotl'on-bals barri-
cades on the south to the k-like world’s fair

rounds on the north. 9 has followed the
me of the great riVer from end to end of the
city. Yet, among the multitudes of faces that
have met his eyes, none' resemb
Jacob P. Converse has been visible.

Though the month was March, it felt like a
June day of the North, when the boystopped,
weary and disgusted and leaned  a
sturdy tree-trunk, while his eyes dwelt azily on
a verdant group of orange trees in a broad gar-
den before him. A, > »

“He wouldn’t have come all the way down

Come in at

 

heretoturnonhisheelsand pegout again the ' ._

very next day ” he oogitated.

“But, if he‘s here, where is he? That‘s the ‘5 .,
little conundrum i‘d like somebody to m; »

i won’t give up?  . ’

Not in a hotel, that’s sure.

though. New Orleans is a big spmad,‘and

might have passed within a block of him twenty .’

times without seeing him. Maybe it’d-be best
for .me to anchor somewhere and wait. who
knews but the tide of travel might  him
round past me!” ' " '~ '

With this new idea in his head he continued
to lean against the

while a vision of tropical in
through hisyouthfulfancy. '

  

tree, his eyes one decency _— 1';-

upon~the glossy foliage  orange .fl 
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In that mood he was in no frame of mind to
observe the moving tide of life, and numbers
of people passed him unseen by his headless

e es.

yNot until half an hour and more had elapsed
was he called to a wide-awake sense of the situ—
ation, and this by a voice that addressed him in
much surprise.

“ Ha, young fellowl how in the world did you
get here? And what are you doing in New
Orleans?” '

Frank looked quickly up. There, before him,
stood the form of the man for whom he had
been so long looking—Jacobi). Converse! He
was gazing on him with a look of astonish-
melit.

“ Aren’t you the same young hero who plung-
ed into the hotel fire in New York and saved
my box for me'i Of course you are; I don’t for-
get faces easily, and yours is not a common
one.

While these words were being spoken, Frank’s
brain had been busily working. His first im-
pulse was to deny his identity, and claim to be
on his native em]. But the last words of the
speaker caused him to change his mind. If he
did not want to raise suspicion, and perhaps
defeat his purpose, he had best face the music.

“Are you the gentleman?" he asked, with a
well-acted show of surprise. “ Yes, I know you
now. But I did not expect to meet you here.”

“ Nor I you.”

“ Oh we have moved here. Came away from
New York right after that lire. Going to live
here Mr. Converse?”

“6h, n01 I'm only on some business. But it
did give mea start to see you. The World’s a
narrow one, after all.”

“ I should think so,” spoke a quilt voice near
him. “- to you just finding that out, friend
Hill?"

Frank, with a sudden impulse, turned his face
away from this new speaker and looked intently
down the street. ,He did so with a purpose. He
wished to gain control of his features. In fact,
it was only by great command of himself that he
kept from a sharp start of surprise-—for the
veice he heard was the Well-remembered one of
John P. Clarkson, the Artful Dodger!

Some furtherwords passed between the two-

men, while Frank was repressing the signs of
delight and surprise which marked his face at
this important discovery, and trying to lay out
a plan of action.

There was no use trying to get away. He
must face the music, and trust to luck that
Clarkson would not reco
minute he turned and 100 ed him full in the
face.

Yes, there was that same smooth, good-looking
and benevolent countenance he had known so
well a year before. The man before him was
undoubtedly the Artful Dodger with whom he
had had much to do in his early. detective life,
and who was out then badly wanted by the
authorities of ew York.

Clarkson. looked at the boy with no sign of
recognition on his quiet face. .

"xedou know this young gentleman, Hill!" he

“I should think‘ so. He did me a valuable
service last month.”

Mr. Converse told, in few words, the story of

.the fire and of Frank’s heroic act.

“ By my honor, a brave lad l” ejaculated
Clarkson, heartily. “Give me your hand, boy.
I like to hear of courage like that." .

‘ “Mere , it wasn’t nothing to brag of," an-
swered rank, dlflidently, extending his hand
with some reluctance.

“ Don’t spoil the merit of your deed by over-
modesty, m lad," replied Clarksou, shaking his
hand hearti y. “ B the wary Hill, on ought
to havenrewarded t brave allow we 1 for each

u .

“ Reward him! He would not listen tothe
word 1” answered Converse. ,

“ There are some thin sfpeople do for money;
some that can’t hanging or with money,” re-
Joined Frank, mod iy.

“ Very true. Very well put. Are you on-
gaged in business, my modest lad!” ,

‘ No; i am looking for a situation.”

“Then, by my honor, you shall have one!

' Bay, Hill, we want an intelligent dyou’lth, and I

fancy this is just the one we use here are
letters to dagger, messages, ll'ld % 0mm l’gill
on age as young man s w ve

m sixg dollars a wdek for a start!” 8
:gake it ei ht, all“! ’l’ll take iti’don't k u

' ght—eig at s s . now
toWhat say you, mm
we try him one woek'at that rate!” »

ize him. After a'

 

“1,1,8 you please, Mr. Wilson; I leave it with

on.

“ Come with us, then. We’ll give you a week’s
trial.—What’s your name?” 0

“ Joe, they call me at home.”

“ Yer well. A week’s trial, mind.”

“ All right said Frank. “ I’m not afraid but
I’ll suit you.’;

He had been thinking earnestly during the last
few minutes. Did Clarkson know him? There
was not the least sign in his face or manner that
he did. To all appearance he was honest in his
wish for a messenger boy.

But, Frank was not quite at ease in his mind.
Converse had displayed a passing show of sur-
prise at his friends suggestion. The boy knew
wvll that he had two deep rogues to deal with,
and that he must not take appearances for facts.
But there seemed here such a promise of onpor-
tunity to penetrate the deal as of these villains
that he could not hesitate. lad he been oil‘s-red
a dollar a week he would have accepfwd.

The three new friends walked away—Hill and
Wilson, as the two men had named themselves,
and Joe. as the boy had chosen to designate him-
self. He conld not venture to trust his real
name in Clarkson‘s bearing.

They had not far to go. In fact, Frank had
unwittingly stopped within a few steps of their
place of abode. They made their way to the
house adjoining the garden into which he had
been gazing, opened the door, and entered, ask-
inf,r him to follow.

t was a roomy mansion in which he now
found himself, With a broad center ball, and
ranges of wide apartments on either side. The
furniture was not abundant, but mus tastefully
chosen, and was cool and comfortable, as befitted
the climate.

It seemed like the residence of a gentleman of
considerable wealth and of good taste.

“ This.way, Joe,” said Clarkson, ascending the
broad flight of stairs that opened upon the ball.

He led the way up ih:~ro, and then up a sec-
ond flight, to the upper ii ml‘ of the mansion.

“ This will be your room, my lad.” As he
spoke he opened the door of a small apartment,
and led the way in. “ Where are you living
new?”

Frank named a street on the other side of the

ity.

“ Well, you will not want to go home.”

“ But I must: to report and get my clothes.”

“ You need not; just now, at any rate. We
will want you today. Make yourself at home
here.”

He step from the room, with hismost bene-
volent sin is, closed the door quietly behind him,
and—the boy’s quick ears heard the click of the
lock!

He was locked in!

Startled at this, he looked hastily about him.
Had Ularkson known him and been playing on
him? Was he caught like a rat in a trap?

His eyes ran over the room, taking in all its
details at a glance.

Yet in effect he saw only one thing. This was
a second door, on the opposite side i f the room.
It was closed, but the keys-tend in the lock. it
tOok but a second for him to spring to it, try the
latch and find it to be locked, and draw out the
key, which he thrust under the mattress of the
cot on the opposite tide of the room.

Hardly had he done so, when the entrance
door was again opened and Clarkson stepped in,
Converse remaining in the doorway.

Without a word Clarkson walked across the
room and tried the opposite door.

" Locked, ’ he said, with an air of satisfac-
tion. “ That’s 'good. I was afraid sdme one
might disturb you.”

' But-" rauk’s voice seemed to quaver‘.
“ But-didn’t you lock that door? What was
that fori”

“ One door is locked to keep anybody from
disturbing you; the other, to keep on from dis-
turbing anybody else,” answered C ark-on, with
a meaning laugh. “ Good-day“ Joel We’ll
come for y u when we want you. .

He slip out as he spoke, and again locked
the door ohind him. ' r '

“ Will year’said Frank, uletly, to himself.
“The Artful Dodger’s amig y good name for
you, Mr. Clark-on, but I’m not bad on the
dodge myself, and if I ain’t fit the bulge on
you this time there’s no use ta lug. Here s the
ri ht bower, and the ame‘s mine.‘

0 drew the key rom under the mattress,
and waved it in the air trium hantly.

Meanwhile the two men he descended to the
second floor, and entered a room there.

“ Now,” said Converse, “ I’d like an explana-
tion. What does this move mean i” .

“It means that we were very near being put

 

in a hole, my friend,” answered Clarkson, uiet-
1y. “That boy walked into my trap. f he
hadn‘t, our cake might have been all dough!”

“ Explain yourself. I don’t understand.”

“ It is just this: that young hound, whom
you last saw in New York, and whom you
found to-day with his eyes on this house, isn’t
the saint he seems to be, but one of the liveliest
little imps out of Satan’s dominions. He has
followed you here from New York, and would
have run you to earth, if I had not stepped in.”

“ I really don’t see—”

“ You shall, then. The boy is a protégé of
one of the keenest of the New York detectives,
and is as shar as his master. I knew him at
sight, though played oli‘ on him successfully.
It was he that ran me down last year, and if
I’d gone to prison I'd had him to thank for it.
It’s my turn now. I’ve got the young rat in
limbo. There he’ll stay till we end this job.
After it’s done I don’t know but I’ll make an
end of him for good and all. We’re not safe
while that boy is above ground.” '

There was a dangerous look on Clarkson’s face
as he spoke.

 

 

CHAPTER X.
rm: raowmxo or A CAT.

A wank passed away during .which Frank
Melton continued, to all teeming, a close [his-
oner in the room into which the Artful Dodger
had so artfully led him. Daily, at proper inter-
vals, a surly-faced colored individqu brought
him very Spare and frugal meals. It seemed as
if, for purpOSes of their own, his captors wished
to keep him on very short rations.

As for Clarkson and Convcr-‘e, they never
came near him; nor, at the end of the week, did
the eight dollars Contracted fa er nvake its appear-
ance. As for the messages and letters he was to
deliver, he heard no more of them.

The negro who waited on him was a silent
fellow, of a brutal cast of countenance. Frank
did not fail to question him, with ashow of dis-
tress and indignation, but failed to set a word
of answer. The negro wuuld deposit his food on
the table, and 1-=ave the room as silently as if he
was deaf and dumb.

But, sharp as were his jailers, they were not
as sharp as their prisoner. His possession of
the key to the rear door of his prison gave
Frank full command of the situation. As for
the dry and coarse food that was brought him
he made only a pretense of eating it—thrustin
the most of it under his bed. He had foun
his way to the pantry, and every night ended
his daily fast by a plentiful feast from its con-
tents.

In fact,'long before the end of the week
Frank knew that mansion cs thorough] as if
he were its owwr. lie na'l traversed it yday
and by night, uith the quiet step of a cat and
the cunning of a fox, now hiding from some
approaching step, now venturing boldly onward,
till i 9 had been in its every room without being
seen by an inmate.

This could not have been easily done had there
been many people in the house. But he soon
learned that, besides his two enemies, who were
absent most of the time, the only others in the
house were' his surly keeper, and a colored cook
in the kitchen. He, therefore, had no great
trouble in doing his spying and foraging un-
seen.

It was his game, however, to remain a pris-

oner. The pair of rogues fancied they had him ,I
‘ safe, and it was well to keep them in that idea.

if they should once suspect him they might take
dangerous precautions.

Yet Frank was in a quandary. What did it
all mean? What were they doing here? How
came they in possession of this mansion? What
was the next step on their~ rogrammei All
this he asked himself, but-with no answer.

“Playing rat in a hole is a m' hty pretty
game, where there's good nibbling,” s muttered
discontented‘ly. “ But it be as to look to me as
if l’m wasting my time. thought I’d hear
them let out some secrets, but I haven’t. . I‘d
not, stay here a day longer only I want to keep
their optics shut.” -

He became silent, and sat in reflection for
some minutes. '

“ I’ve a nation the 're waiting for something
or somebody, and ‘ d like to now what,” he
resumed. “It’s, etting near the time they set
to make tracks or Louisville. What’s at the
bottom of it. anyhow? Guess I‘ll take another
stroll... Mr. Midnight brought me my grub any

hour sugo. He won’t be here again these six '
hours. ‘ ‘ . ,  .
It took him but a minute to find the key in its .

hiding place, unlock the door, and slip out from

  

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Flipper Frank’s Flush.

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the room.

 

h_ He locked the door carefully behind
1m.

He now found himself in a short entry, which
led to a latform at the head of a flight of back
stairs. istening a moment, and hearing no
sound, he slipped down these. He knew his way
thoroughly, having traversed these stairs often
before. In a minute or 4'0 he was on the lower
floor of the mansion, in a small room adjoining
the kitchen.

His last steps had been taken with great can-
tion, for he heard voices near him. The tone
and accent of these he recognized. The two
colored servants were having a chat in the
kitchen.

Frank’s first impulse was to turn away. He
had listened to them before and heard nothing
of value. But he told himself that a true detec-
tive neglects no opportunity, and stole nearer to
learn the subject of their Conversation.

“ For do Lawd !" came to him in the rich tones
of the cook, “I don’t make it out, nohow.
Things does disappear, amazin’. Why, bress
your soul, a whole pie went last night, an’ mose
a paniul 0’ sweet cakes. I’d think it was you,
Pomp, for a fac’, on’y you do fill up so amazin’
at supper.”

“ I neber eat pies, and you know it, Lidy,”
came in the hoarse tones of the man. “ It’s )iss
rats, dat’s what.”

“See yere, Pomp. S’pose you put two pies
togedder, d’ye think rats ’d eat one and not
touch t’oder? It’s twolegged rats, sure’s you
lib! Tell yer what, I’ve mose a mind to physic
somethin’ that, an’ catch dat t’ief.”

“Mighty good, Lidy,” cried Pomp, with a
hoarse laugh. “ Dose it heavy ole woman.
B'utl I, dont see how anybody kin git thar,
ra . ’

“ o more do I,” answered the woman.
“Nobody’d think gemmen ’d do sich low-down
work. But them two men as massa’s guv the
key of the house to-—” -

“ You don’t s’pect dem, Lidy?”

“Who’else am I to s'pect, tell me!” asked
Lidy. “ Who am dem men, anyhow,» and
what’s dey arter here!"

“ I jedge Morse Brown knows dat,” answered
the man. “ If he wanted you an’ me ter know,
he’d told us. Tell you dis, old woman, he’s
a-comln’ back today. ’ '

“ Morse Brown?”

“ Sure’e you lib! I is’ got word.”

“Glad he is ‘kaze ’m tired o’ cookin’ fur
dem no-’count lYankees.”

“ Hush !—~Dat’a ’em now, shore.”

This warning was given on account of the
sound of an o ning door in the front part of
the house. t was followed by steps and
voices. ’

“It’s dem; and Mares Brown wid ’em, sar-
tain ” averred Pomp.

“ en I’s glad ob t,” answered Lidy. “ Dem
men don’t preciate good cookin’; an’ I r’a’ly
b’liege it’s dem dat’s been ransackln" de pan-

.he real rat who had robbed the pantry was

' gliding away as she spoke, making up his mind

as he did so not to disturb it for a night or

‘: two. ‘He had no fancy to try Aunt Lidy’s

"fibYlic."
. e had something else in view. The pro-
prietor of the mansnon had returned, in com-

pany with the two sharpers. Possibly an im-

portant conference was about to be held. If
so, Frank was bound to be a listener, if pos-

sible.

_As he glided with a catlike step up the rear
stairway, he heard the three men somewhat
noisily ascend the front one, talkin in loud
voices as they did so. This suited gals ideas.
He would be less likely to be discovered by the
genesis on the second than on the first

00?.

, From the door of a room into which he
glided. the young sfiy observed them step from
the stairwayinto t. e upper hall, and advance
toward .aroom looking upon the street. Two of
them he recognized at aunt as Converse and
Clarkson. The third was a tall, well-built man,
who walked with a heavy tread.

They entered the room and closed the door he-
hind them. They had hardly done so before
Frank glided hastily forward. .7

He knew thoroughly what he was about.- He
had not investigated the house for nothing.
There was a rear room behind that which they
had entered, with a communicating door.

.  Into this Frank slipped noleeleesly. To his

Entisfaction. the door between the two rooms
 ,. htly ajar, and the men were talking so
Jonas. , the heard every word they spoke.

 Thai-ewes a closet in the wall near the door.
 be, glided, as a hiding'place in case the

_ a

room should be invaded—leaving the door an
inch or two open.

“Johnson and Gordon want twenty-five per
cent. of the shares each,” came to him in Clark-
son’s voice. “ They are so sure it is a good thing
that they are eager to put up the cash.”

“ Have you promised them i" asked a strange
voice-doubtless that of Mr. Brown.

“ Promised them? no! No single party can
have more than twenty. Hill and I haven’t the
funds to hold what we’d like, but we’ll not be
satisfied with less than twenty.”

“ You are sure—” began Mr. Brown.

“ Sure?” interrupted Converse. “ You have
only to read this letter from our agent. The
last firing, he says, yielded two pounds of pure
aluminum to the batch, which he considers a
clear ninetyfive per cen t. of all the metal pres-
ent. Sure? Why, sir, I wouldn’t exchange my
interest for a gold-mine.”

The rustle of aper followed, as if Mr. Brown
was reading the etter.

“That sounds promising, I admit,” he remark-
ed. “I tell you, gentlemen, I feel like going in
with you. I have raised the funds, so there’s no
trouble about them. But,,I must be sure. It is
too big a thing—"

“ You shall be sure before the week ends,”
broke in Clarkson. “We start to-morrow—if
that suits you."

“ That will answer. I have nothing to detain
me here.”

Frank’s greedy ears drank in all this. He had
left the closet and advanced step by step to the
dam of the apartment, fearing to lose a word of
the conversation—but nothing more of impor-
tance came to his ears.

The three men continued to talk, but only on
technical points connected With the new process
of manufacturing aluminum. In the end Mr.
Brown rose, saying:

“ Twenty per cent. of the shares is your limit,
then?”

“ it woulln’t be ten, if we had the fundsto
carry more," answered Clarkson. “ But we’ve
got to have the cash for a large developing
plant.”

“ I may take twenty. if I am satisfied,”re~
joined Mr. Brown. “Now, gentlemen, I have
some orders for my servants. Help yourselves
{)0 cigars. You’ll find some good ones in that

ox.

He rose and left the room. The confederates
remained silent for a minute after he had gone.
Then Converse broke into a low laugh.

“ He bites deep l” he said.

“ Into a Dead Sea apple,” was the answer.

“ Next week—” be u n ConVerse.

“Next week the p nt will develop,” laughed
‘Clarkson. “ But not in the way they fancy.
This is play, Jack. Work is'about to begin.”

“ You are not nervous about it?”

“ Nervousl—I have no nerves. It is a critical
job, but, with our precautions it must suc-
ceed.”

“ And these dupes be bled. But there is one
thin more. That boy—~”

“ rown will not discover him. He never sets
foot on the third floor of the building. I tell you,
Jack, I am afraid of that boy. He must go un-
der. That black fellow will do anything for
money. 1th but a pinch of white powder in his

food an -—
" you would not kill himl” broke in Con-
verse.
“ No. But if he goes asleep too deep to awak-
en-the negro will be responsible, and must die-
pose of him.”

“ Come, come; are you losing your grip?
There’s Brown’s step, now. Let us go downand
join him.”

They left the room and descended the stairs.

“ I haven’t eat much of your grub. I'll stop
eating any of it,” said Frank, with set teeth.
“ So they mean murder. do they 2”

*—

CHAI’I‘ER XI.
FROM DURANCE TO LIBERTY.

“ Wit owe you—eight dollars I think it is,”
said Clarkson, in atone of sarcasm to his youn
prisoner. “I can scarce] say you have earn

, for we have given you ittle to do, but-—”

“ But I’ve gnawed your dry grub, and that’s
worth eight dollars a week,” growled Frank in

re ly. , I

It was the day succeeding that of the events of
the last chapter. The two confederates had
visited Frank in his room. .

“\A8 for your money,” resumed Clarkson, ad-
vancin - toward the prisoner, while Converse

 

guard the doorway—J} By the we ,have you
any money!” He suddenly sei the boy,

\

 

inioning his arms. “If you have, we had,
h tter’ take care of it. It is not safe with you
ere.

Frank struggled to get loose, but he was held
in a grip far too strong for him to break. He
struggled the more when Converse came up and
sought to search his pockets. But, in spite of
the boy’s kicking and squirming, his captors
were too strong for him, and in a very few min-
utes his money was in their hands.

“ Mercy on us, he is well provided 1” exclaimed
Clarkson, surprised at the thick roll of notes.
“Too much money—entirely too much—for any
boy to carry.” -

“ I will get even with you for this!” growled
Frank savagely.

“No doubt, my child.—What! he carries a
watch, too? You surely do not need to know
the” time here, and it will be of so much use to
us. .

In a. moment Frank’s watch went the road
of his money.

“ You’re a nice pair of hlacklegs,” said
Frank, sarcastically. “ Here’s a handkercher;
wouldn't you like that? And there’s some but-
tons  that lei't—hand pocket. Go ahead, foot-

s1

“ We wouldn’t think of depriving you,” an-
swered Clarkson. “ We are going North this
afternoon, my larl but you’ll be left in good
hands. Pomp will take the best of care of ye
—W hen we come back—”

“I’d like to know what you’re keepin rs
here for'!”"broke in Frank savagely. “ ha.
right have you to lock me up here?”

“ It is only to keep you Out of mischief. New
Orleans isn’t a safe city for little boys to run
loose. Try and content yourself; we’ll see you-
when we come back, J 0e.” There was a mean—
ing emphasm on the J be.”

With these words they left the room, locking
the door carefully behind them. Frank re-
mained alone. v

There was a look on his face of mingled tri-
umph and vexation. ,

“Robbed me, blast their icturesl” be ex-
claimed. “ Haven’t even eft my watch,
and I’ve got nothing to lend my, uncle.—
But they didn’t tumble to my little secret, and
I’ve got the bulge on them yet. I’m going to
Louisville, if I have to walk, or work my way on
a flatlioat. ' '

' “But, there isn’t time for that. Things am

etting hot and I must go by train. I wonder if
Icon beat the conductor again, like I did bt'fure?
Anyhow, I’m going, if I have to hang on by my
teeth to the cowcatcher."

It was now about ten o’clock in the morning.
His next visit from his dark-visaged jailer
would be at one. Should he give the place leg-
bail at once? His inclination led that v ey,
but it might not be wise. Clarksou and Con-
verse might still be in town, and his escape be
reported to them. After full consideration he
concluded to wait, and make his flight in the
afternoon.

Bth the next three hours were about the
longest Frank ever spent. His anxiety to be
off was so great that it seemed to him the mid-
day meal would never come. .The minutes crept.
by so slowly that he was sure it must be the sun-
set hour when a neighboring clock began on the
stroke of twelve. ‘

The next hour moved still more tardily. For-
tunately for his ace of mind, Pomp was-

prompt, and made 's appearance at the stroke-
: .

0 one. .

To the boy’s surprise hevbrought, instead of
the dry bread and water of former meals, a
toothsome lunch of sliced ham, buttered biscuit,
and cake. with a cup of steaming codes for
beverage.

“Hello, old Midnight!” cried Frank; “what
sort of a blow-out is this! Going to fatten me,
up to kill, ehi’” _ 2

“1’3 tole to fotch it, and 1’s done it,” grewled

Pomp, in a harsh tone. “ Dar it am; make de‘

mose of it.” . 4
“ You bet I will. If they’d only sent a out o’
mpkin pie instead of that thin stuff of cake!
gghenware you coming to see me again, Mid-
ht

mlking away with dignity, and lock
door behind him.
. " It ain’t white rOse, anyhow; or pond

as a. m...
l bnk 5 looking with queer at the
one .

“Mighty enticing you are." he. said, “but-I

happened to hear some ’ about a pinch of
white wash—ReckonflIuvlrgn‘t Walsh—*5”!-

Mrs. ksaid she’d h the pie-in mama“
try.-'Somehow I thigkygfiting in thirteen;

11”

Del: ain’t my name” responded Pom "
' log t&

  
  
   
  

' i

   
  
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
     
  
    
  
  
 
     
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
   
     
           
    
 
       
   
      
      

  

   

   

 

 

“w Jami-.. W. .i _

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

 

 

ain’t good for the liver. I’ll leave this grub for
Pomp.”

He took his hat, sought his ulster in the closet
. in which it hung, and threw it across his arm,
and then thrust his hand under the mattress for
the key. He paused with his hand in that posi-
tiou as if struck by a sudden thought.

“By jiminy, overcoats ain’t no use in this
climatel I wonder what mine’ll fetch? Not
much} reckon, but a couple of dollars ’d count
now.

This said, he withdrew his hand with the
key, inserted it in the lock, and opened the
door.

Within five minutes afterward the young de-
tective stood in the street before the mansion,
having without difficulty made his way from
the house unseen. ‘ ‘

W hat was to be done next? The conspirators
had for the time escaped him, but he knew where
to find them. What he had to do was to get to
L0uisville as quickly as he couhl.

There was the ulster. 'l‘o dispose of that was
the first consideration. Frank went into this
business with a vim, and in an hour’s time had
found a customer—at the low price of five dol-
lars. The garment had cost twenty-five less
than a month ago.

Should he spend this to get as far North as it
would take him? No, he had to eat, and could
spare no money for railroading. He must find
a cheaper method of traveling.

This thought brought another into his brain,
Dick Wister—he would be needed. Frank hast-
ened to the telegraph-office, and spent part of
his slender funds in sending a message to Dick
in New York. It was to this purport:

“Start at once for Louisville. The pear’s
ripe and ready for pulling. Look for me at
main hotel. Answer.” ‘

The answer was two hours in coming. It ran
as follows:

“Am free now, and will be there. Glad all’s

well. Wisrna.”

“ So far good,” said Frank, with much satis-
faction. “Dick’ll be worth a whole ox-team.
Now I’ve got to get some grub, an’ it‘s got to be
cheap. .Got no money to waste.”

In an hour afterward, with his appetite satis-
fied, Frank appeared at the station of the Louis-
ville and Nashville Railroad.

An Express train for the North stood on the
track, with steam up' in the locomotive. Pas-
sengers were hurrying througlgthe gate. Just
as Frank entered the main door of the station
his quick eyes caught sight of Mr. Converse, who
was hurrying toward the cars. -

With a hasty impulse the boy followed. But
he found himself checked at the gate by the
sharp demand for “ Tickets 1”

“ Ain’t had time to get one,” he averred. “ I’ll
pay aboard.”

“That won’t do, young man! Nobody goes
through this gate without a ticket.”

“ Iron-clad, is it?” asked Frank.
does the train go?”

“ Yander it goes now.” The train began to
move at that moment. “You'll have to wait
'for the next.”

“ And I’d been aboard itiif you hadn’t been so
thundering big and busy,” growled Frank, with
, a pretense of anger. “See here, Mr. Julius

Caesar, you’ve robbed me of a cool hundred
thousand by cutting me off from my train, and
I’ll one your old road for that amount.” ,

_ “That’s right Mr. Snip-snap! Let yourself

‘," answered the, official. “ There pulls a
freight train out; maybe you’d best”travel by
math“ ou're in a hurry.”

“ y imin , I willl” exclaimed Frank, witha
sudden reso ution. “Good-by. I’ll let up on
H your old railroad this time.”

i“ - He darted through the gate before the sur-
prised omcial could close it, ran at full speed
after the m0ving train, and climbed agilely to
the-narrow platform of the rear car, while the
gate-keeper stood looking after him.
, “Spry as a squirrel, ’ he said. “Confound

hislimpudencel l’d like to see him break a
bane!” -
 .-Frank was off for Louisville byavery slow

Croute. But, every step on his long journey
counted, and he was bound to take advantage of
everyopportnnity to make his way North.

“ How soon

~ _ , .‘Thfl bumper of a freight car, however, offered -
'. ‘ho very agreeable seat, and he' quickly climbed

the short ladder leading to the roof, and stretch-

ed hiinselfthere at tel length. ‘ '

r The train dragged along on the trail of the fly-

, . ‘. E that was canyin north the two
; anon In whom. he was so deg y interested. It
 caseload likeths old story of e tortoise and the

situation of this hate

 

hare—only in this case the bare was not likely to
fall asleep till the tortoise OVertook it.

Out through the streets of the city, and on be-
tween the low-lying country-seats and planta-
tions moved the slow train, creeping onward
mile after mile through the Louisiana low-
lands.

Frank before long grew tired of the car-roof,
and started along the train on a journey of ex-
ploration. None of the train hands were visible,
and after crossing two or three cars he came
upon a platform-car loaded with lumber.

He climbed dowu to this, and found a com-
fortable seat on the boards, under the warm
southland sun, where he sat for miles enjoying
the beauty of the tropical scenery.

He Was at length disturbed in his repose by
a sharp exclamation. Looking up, he saw a
man gazing down on him from the roof of the
adjoining car.

“ llillo, tramp!” cried this train hand “ what
the thunder are you doin’ there?”

“ Traveling,” answered Frank.

“Stealing a ride, are you? That won’t do,
young fellow. I t’s sg’in’ the rules. You’ll have
to hop off at the next stop.”

“ Ain’t goin’ to be hard on a fellow, are you?”
queried Frank. “ I got left on the Express, and
the president of the road gave me a free pass on
this lightning grasshopper.”

“ The deuce he dirll”crierl the man, with s.
a ugh. “ You’re a smart coon.”

"See here, old chap, come down here and
let’s have some chin-music," suggested Frank.
“You’ve got nothing to do and l’m full of
bottled—up talk.” ,

The train-hand laughingly followed this sug-
gestion, and Frank soon got so on his right side
that nothing more was said about his leaving
the train.

He slept that night stretched in a narrow val-
ley betwoen two hills of planks, while the train
new dragged slowly onward, now rested at a
siding for a passenger-train to rush by.

We cannot go further through the details of
this long journey. It will sofl‘ice to say that
Frank In due time reached the city of Nashville,
at which point the freight ceased its journey
northward. '

By this time the young traveler had enough
of that style of progress. He left Nashville ,on
a passenger-train, going as far north as a dol-
lar’s worth of ticket Would carry him. From
that point he tried his former tactics—of travel-
in without a ticket.

9 was less fortunate in this than before.
Three times he was put off of trains, and once
had to foot it Over ten miles of Kentucky high-
road to reach the next station. But iinpudence
and energy carried him through, and in little
more than aweek after leavin New Orleans
the resolute boy walked into Lou sville.
been left by an angry conductor at a station six
miles back, and made this last section of his
journey partly in a mule-team and partly on
001:

 

CHAPTER XII.

AN EYE-OPENER.
, Tan and of the difficult enterprise of Detec-
tive Frank seemed near at hand. He had, after
a long and adventurous journey, tracked the
conspirators to the city in which their scheme
was finally to be put into effect. And he had
learned much about the character of this
scheme. ‘

He was sharp enough to percoive that the
method of making cheap aluminum was a. ras-
call y fraud, designed to, draw a number of rich
do es into a dun erous trap. ,

at just how 6 pair‘ot villains proposed to
deal with their dupes Frank was very much in
the dark. This was the final stage in his enter-
priSe, and this he now proposed to investigate.
‘ or two im rtant things he was sure. He
had discomr the Artful Dodger, a gentleman
who was badly wanted by the prison authorities
of New York. And he had learned that Con-
verse was playing a game of fraud on his
creditors, and had run away with fifty thousand
dollars of their money. '.

“That's enough to play for my trip, if I stop
there," said Frank. “ at i. ain t going ' to sto
there. The Artful'robbed me like a footpa ,

and Mn Oh) to is him “out if it’s in the wood.
Wonder f D ck ister‘s here yet? I want him
had just now.” s -

This, at least, could be found cut easily.
Frank had wired him to the principal hotel n
Louisville. Finding,b§ inquiry, the name and

i e made his way thither,
and asked the clerk if: they had a guest of the
name of Richard Winter. *

Hehad ,

 

    

“ Nobody here of that name,” was the an—
swer. -

“ He was to be here this Week. Maybe he has
wired? Have you received a telegraph message
for Frank Melton?”

“ Is that 3 our name?”

(I Yes.” ’

“ Where from?”

“ New York.”

“ I have a letter for you, then.
two days ago.” *

“ That’s better,” said Frank, with satisfaction.
“ Let‘s have it.”

The clerk handed him the epistle in question.
Seating himself on the nearest chair, Frank
opened and read it. It was, as he supposed,
from Dick W ister, and ran as follows:

It came here

“DEAR FRANK:—

“ I thought to start two days ago, in re-
sponse to your telegram, but an awkward bit
of work has stopped me, and I cannot get away
for several days yet. You are somewhat chary
of your communicatimis, young fellow. Paper A
and ink don’t cost much, and you might have let
me kn0w more about your jump over the United
States. But I take it for granted that you don't
wire me to Louisville without wanting me had,
and I shall try and be there by the 25th. Keeg
your peach till Ioome. Don’t try your own teet
on it too rashly.

“ Yours,

“ Rica’n Wisraa.”

“What day of the month is this?” Frank
asked the clerk.

“ Twenty-third." V

“Thank you.—Two days to Wait, then,” he
said to-himself. “It’s mighty easy for Dick to
talk, but l'm not sure I can keep my teeth out
of the peach that long.”

It was still early in the day. Frank was
hungry. His available funds now amounted to
the small sum of one dollar and a half, his
journey having consumed the balance.

His first task, then, was to get the cheapest
meal that he could find in Louisville. His second
was to scout that city from end to end in
search of the two men whom he had followed so .
far.

The day passed on until night was near at
hand. By this time he was foot-sore and disap-
pointed. He had traversed many miles of the
city streets, visited every hotel, and tried every
means he could think of to discover the Artful
Dodger and his confederate, but without re-
sult.

It was not only these two he sought. There
were three others—the Chicago, the St. Louis,
and the New Orleans speculators in aluminum-
but none of these either had he seen.

The time was up in which they had engaged
to be in Louisville, and he was sure they must be
there, but he looked for them in vain.

That day’s work had not panned out well. It
was near night. He had come to a halt in front
of a small grocery store in the edge of the city,
where he sat on a box munching s owly at some
biscuits which he had purchased from the pro-
prietor.

“ Don’t know where I’m to roost to night ” he

rumbled. “ It's colder here than in New

rleans, and a'fellow might t the shivers in
an outdoor lank bed. But, ve got tométoh-
what cash ’ve got left like. India mb'ber. ' if
I onl —- Hellol—by Jiminy, I clear forgot
him P

This exclamation was called forth by the
sight of a person who just then came into view
01 tthe munching boy. He recognized him at
s g t. - I  _

It was the form of Mr. Palmer, his recent
railroad and steamboat traveling acquaint-r

ancc. ‘ .
“What made me forget he was in thedsal,

"and was coming to Louisviliei”'exclaimed Frank,

cheerily. “Shall l——‘ No. I must keep shady ‘ A... 
and take up his trail. it's the biggest bit of 
luck out for him to turn up just when everything ,,
had gone wrong.” ‘   A, I: ,2 V
As he thus covri'imunelili with bimaegfirélggmgr I
a proached. hen e came up ,  _, . nfl,‘
ti}; boy’s face was so hidden by handfand bisp , .
cnit that only the 9 es were visible.. "The Weak
erner passed on wit ut notifier-Mm. ,  -
' Frank sat still till he wasi'ilfty yards inaud-
Ivlanceif iThen hetsprung from his seat and put
imse n ursu . ‘ _ ‘ '   .
The, jouiPney continued until the March twi.
light had faded (amt from the sky,ond 
wasrapidycom   ‘
Now, not far hellfire - them.i .
his a large housersnrroun ed with aconsider-

able   around which “a . mug  .

 

 

    
 
 

 

  
 

   

there became ’visf— , ' L

       
   

 

11m, ""1.

'1.- 95  we ..

 
  

 

 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
  
    
  
 

 

 
 
 
   
  
  
     
  
   
   
 
   
   

     
    
   
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
  

a

 
 

 
 
 

.2

-

‘ 5.; house, after dark, with securit

;  is

Flipper Frank’s Flush.“

13

 

 

It stood well outside the city, on a road leading
eastward, and looked like the suburban mansion
of some well-todo resident.

When Mr. Palmer came near this house he
stopped and looked around him, as if to make
sure of his surroundings. A short ivisiection
seemed to satisfy him, and he then stepped to-
wafld the gate that opened through the front
we .

He had laid his hand on the gate to open it,
when his attention was called by a low whistle.
He turned to see whence it com.

“ How d’ye do, Mr. Palmer,” came a voice of
greeting.

Palmer looked toward the youthful flgure

, which loomed up through the gathering shad-
ows.

“Who the deuce are you that‘s got me down
so patl” he demanded.

“Ain’t forgot the boy that done the con-
ductor, haVe you i”

“ What’s that? It ain’t—”

“ What’s the price of five-cent aluminum?”
asked Frank, with a laug .

“Dashed if it ain’t himl Shoot me if I ain’t
blazing glad to See you. But what brings you
here?”

“ Been trailing you,” was the answer.

“Trailing me? What for?”

“ To keep you from running your head intoso
deep a hole that you’d only have your heels to
talk with.”

“ By the Rocky Mountains, boy, what are you
getting through you ?” .

“ You helped me out of a scrape once, Mr.
Palmer, and I want to help on out of one now.
Come this way, I want to ta with you.”

Palmer hesitated a minute, and then turned
and walked toward the city, side by side with
Frank. ,_

.“ Mighty lad to see you, young man. But—"
F ” Is that t 0 aluminum factory ?” intermpted

ran

“ That’s a little secret. But—”

“ But not from me. It’s only tit for tat, Mr.
Palmer, for I’m going to let you into a much
bigger secret.”

‘ What’s that?” asked Palmer sharply.

“It’s this. You’re dealing with a pair of the
sharpest rogues on this side the Atlantic. As
for their making cheap metal, they’ll just as
soon make chalk out of cheese. They’re in for
makingmone , but it’s to go from your pocket
into theirs.-— ou haven’t put any up yet?”

“That ain’t our way out West. We want to
see before we deal. I am to see the plant and

' the whole
penn till m satisfied.”

“ hat’s the shape of the dodge, is it? Mr.
Palmer, I owe you one, and I’m ‘going to pa
you Can I trust you to keep a at l tongue if
et you into a'deep secret?" .

“ You can, youn I r. Pile in.”

Frank had a by 1 interested auditor for the
nexthalf-hour, urihg which time he told his
companion the whole story of what he knew
about Clairkson and Converse, and of his adven-

' turesin ursuit of the latter. V

.When e reached the termination of his story,
Palmer, who had scarce] spoken a word, gave

‘ vent to an exclamation o astonishment.

. “ By the Rocky Mountains, ho , if this is all

G. youlre struck ver deep 0 1. When did
-«you say that detective ’d here!”

’ " Day after tomorrow.”

“ I’d like to see him amadrig.” -

“ I’ve told you my story. ow tell me yours.
Ihvggnt to k’pow how these rascals have played
t .

“ They’ve boon oorres nding with me'for
some time,” answered almer. “ I’m retty
well-known to have made my pile, an they

inside, me an odor of twenty per cent. of the
 in the aluminum process for one hundred
thousand. Theyhad threeothers for the same
amount. and wereto put up fifty thousand them.

. selves, keep the same number of shares. ‘

“ They’ve done that, too. ,Hill, as he called

‘ himself, saw me in Chicago, and showed me
proof that he had that much in depOsit in that

7 I , ‘ any, You’ve heard now about the whole story.

Iamhere tosee the process. It’s a dead seen:
yet, grid that’s why that out—of-town house is

'  «You myan bro ht the mess with you!”
  1 “Sonic securities on y. But they

not to be
till I am satisfl .”
 didn’t it strike you that to

r J? o to a lone-
es in your
.r hang it,'I don't know but you’re right!
 dreamed of an thin wreng."

r 7‘} Come with me, Mr. P mer. ’m a good deal

  "wasn’t every secure bus

 

\ " 3  than you. but I’m older in the ways of

 

    

Iprocess tonight, and not put up a

v

 

I want you to go to that house—and

rogues.
Butyou’d best leave your

I’m going with you.
securities behind."

To this sensible advice Palmer made no objec-
tion, and Frank led the wa to the hotel at
which he had received Dick I ister’s letter.

Here he wrotea note to Dick, detailing the
very important information he had gained, and
laying down the locality of the house so that it ';
could not be mistaken. In conclusion he re—
marked:

“The peach is so ripe that I’ve got to bite it
before it spoils. l’m going into that den to-night.
If you don‘t find me when you arrive, look for
me there sharp, for 1 may be in troahle.

“ FRANK.”

This note he sealed and directed. He then
gave it to the clerk, asking him to be sure and
deliver it to Mr. Wister as soon as he arrived.

Mr. Palmer now, at Frank’s sug estion, left
his securities with the clerk, to be eposited in
the hotel safe. This done, the two left the hotel
together.

it was about nine o’clock when they again
reached the vicinit of. the lonely house. But,
Frank was not the rank of an hour before. He
had, with an art he had learned from Dick Wis<
ter, changed his face from its usual florid ap-
pearance to a creolelike darkness. He had also,
at Mr. Palmer’s expense, attired himself in a
new suit of clothes very different from those he
had lately Worn.

He now posed as Mr. Palmer’s nephew, who
had accompanied him from Chicago; and when
the man was admitted to the house, the boy en-
tered with him, trusting that his disguise and

his comin with Mr. Palmer, would throw the
:harlp-ey villains they had to deal with 03 the
rac .

CHAPTER XIII.
THE ALUMINUM PLANT.

“ I AM sorry to say, Mr. Palmer, that our.
chemist was taken very ill this afternoon, and
we have had to stop operations for tonight.
Otherwise we could have shown you the plant at
work. But, if you want to do your eyes good,
look at that l” .

It was Mr. Converse who 3 ke, and he point.
ed to a heap of ingots of a silvery white metal,
which lay on a table before him. They were in
a room in the lonely house already spoken of.

"Aluminum?" asked Palmer.

‘f That there’s no need to say. Feel the weight
of it and judge for yourself.”

Palmer picked up one of the in ots, which
weighed no more than a piece of as wood of
the same size.

“ That’s the sort of stufl' we’re bringing out,”
remarked Converse. “ All we want is the cash
to extend our operations from a small to a large
scale. The thing is a success, and we can make
it by the ton as easily as by the pound-if we
have the plant. Brown, Johnson, and Gordon
have all caught on, and you have the refusal of
the remainin shares. And, to tell the truth,
Mr. Palmer, would rather have you back out
:hgn come in. We have capital enough as it
a.

“ Back out? Not much,” replied Palmer. “ If
it’s as you say l’m not so green as that. Prove
your word and I’m your man.”

“ That’s business. But it must be cash down.
We’re taking no credit entries. Have you
brought the needful?" .

“Not in the shape of cash. But I have se-
curities which can euin be converted, if I take

on. 1

“ With you!”
, " Near enough to lay my hands on them at an
hour’s notice.” '

An im rceptible change came over Converse’s
face, no noticed by Palmer, but which did not
escape the sharp eyes of Frank Melton, who sat
listening to this conversation.

“ My nephew here knows where they are and
can obtain them on my order,”oontinuedPa mer.
“I came here ready todeal, ' see, Mr. Hill.
I don’t intend to draw out, or you out."

“ And this fine boyis your nephew? I am glad
you brought him along. I like tosee young men

rought ii; in business habits.”

It was . Clarkson who spoke. He had en-

tend the 100m at that moment, and fixed
e es onthe face of Frank, who sat somewhat in
t e shadow. ‘
99 Yes,” answered Palmer. “ I have no time
to attend to this business, and wish him to take
my ghee in it." 1: a i v

‘ errv good, very good, Your hand, you

am happy to welcome you as one 1%

man.
ii

his'sa

hand. But a cold shudder went through tte

boy’s frame. There seemed to him something
of the hiss of a snake in that smooth tone.
indda snaky coldness in the touch of that

an .

“ Does he know me?” Frank asked himself.
“ Hang his gimlet—eyeS, I’m afraid he (ices.
And if he does, I’m in a deuce of a tight-
place.”

Whether the Artful Dodger had seen through
the boy’s disguise or not, he certainly paid no
further attention to him, but seated himself and
entered into an earnest conversation with the
two men. '.

The subject of their talk was aluminum, and
the whole proccss of making it was described to
Palmer, who appeared to drink it in with eager
ears.

“ Eleven o’clock,” at length said Mr. Con-
verse, looking at his watch. “HOW time flies!
But there’s no need for you to go back to your
hotel tonight, Mr. Palmer. We have plenty
of accommodation here, both for you and your
nephew.”

“ I don’t want to impose on good nature.”

“ Which there’s no danger of. And as we ex-
pect to start in early tomorrow, it will be an
advantage to have you on the ground.”

Mr. Palmer, warned by a wink from Frank,
made no further objections, and the two, short-
ly after, were shown to rooms on the third
floor of the building, where they were hidden
“ Good-night.” ’

The brace of villainous conspirators descend—-
ed the stairs together, neither speaking till
{bray had entered the room they had- recently
e t.

Converse then turned to his partner with a
look of satisfaction. -

“That fills the bill,” he said. “ The other
three are ready tocome to terms, and I fancy
two or three days of our process will brin the
money from Palmer. Then we hava on y to
realize and put out.”

“ You think so!” queried Clarkson, in a
satirical tone.

“ What do you mean?” asked Converse, look-
ing at him sharply. 

“ I mean that we have barely escaped being
put in a hole, and that we’ve got to play our
cards skillfully, or we’re in for it yet.”

“ I don’t catch on to your meaning.”

“ Hang his young hidel we were idiots not to
put an end to him before we left New Orleans,”

owled Clarkson. “But how he got off, and

w he scented us here-—”

“ Hel—Whol—What are you talking about?”
cried Converse, in astonishment. ,

“ That confounded young fox. Where were
your eyes, Jack? He had stained his face and
sat in the shadow, but I knew him at a glance.”

“Do you mean that Palmer’s nephew is the
young fellow we left locked up at - New
Orleans?” V

"The same; and no more Palmer’s nephew
than you :re. How he got away and tracked.
us

“ Then Palmer is on it, and we’re in a mess!”
interrupted Converse nervously. “ But he gave:
go shrew of it. And why did he cement to any

are

“ i like that least of all,” answered Clarkson.
" I caught the boy’s wink to him. They’re not
afraid to stay here, and that indicates that 12!:
have laid plans for s rescue, if necessary. , e
have not a day to spare, Jack. We must push.
matters and realize.”

" Good heavens! are we in danger of a failure
after all our careful work? That young ,
hound—”

“ Will not away from here alive.~ I’ll set-
tle him, if else goes by the board,” cried;
Clarkson savagely. ' __

f‘ We must work tonight,” excmmed 
verse, starting up sharply. “First, to My
sure of our new prisoners. Then, for" the
others.” v

Pie hastily ascended the stairs, to the rooms;
which had been assign' ed to their new sets. ‘

Reaching Palmer’s room he to listen. 
Sounds could be heard inside as the inmate »»
was prepang for bed.
bolts on the door at top and bottom.
sockets, with an air

prod slyly into their 
“ One,” he said, in a low tone. '
He next ed to the room
Frank. From this no sounds came." W .
seemed tohavo lost notime in" , «so ‘
(Converse carefully turned thela " dle nod
pushed. Thedoor failed foyield. V v 
1‘ Helios heied‘himself in.” he mid. “Very

good;I’lI,_ tomeké himsafer.” He

 

a. .
He fairly beamed on Frank .as he shook- his

the two which wereon this door , , 

  

 
   

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

. n~ ’ “m.-. ..

w“...

 

 

“Now mys ry young ferret, I think we have
ivou. but it s lucky for both of us that Clarkson

as such marvelous quick eyes. He’s a wonder
that way.”

He turned away with a look of triumph.
Their two foes were secured, and they had time
to work.

Had be known all his triumph would have
been much less decided. Frank Melt-on was not
the boy to trust to chances. His door was lock-
ed, it is true, but it was a wrong deduction from
that that he was locked in. On the contrary, he
was locked out.

The villains, shrewd as they were, bad com-
mitted an error in leaving their young guest
uncared-for even for five minutes. Clarkson
fancied that he had shut the boy’s eyes by his
suave manner. In truth, he had overplayed his
part, and the shrewd young detective knew
well that his disguise had been seen through.

Hardly, therefore, had his hosts left the door
before be extracted the key from the lock,
stepped outside, and locked the door from with-

out.

“ Maybe I’m something of a fool; but I ain’t
much of a guiigeon,” hesaid to himself. “ if the
Artful Dodger buys this coon for a mutton—head,
he’s off his eggs amazing. Now to hunt out a
hiding-place.’

He slipped away with noiseless footsteps.

It was not until evening of the next day that
a visit was made to the boy’s room. Secure in
their belief that he was safely entrapped, the
conspirators had left him there while they fin-
ished their other work. They had certain things
to do that day, but had no intention of leaving
the house till Frank Melton’s case had been fully
attended to.

They were somewhat too secure in their ideas.
Frank had been very busily at work in the inter-
val, and was now in possession'of some impor-
tant and curious secrets.

With the aid of a air of old rubber over-
shoes, which he had onnd, he was enabled to
traverse every portion of the house without a
sound. Fortunately for him, the building seem-
ed to be in sole possession of the two confeder-
ates, and he had no great difficulty in keeping

,out of their sight. '\

~What he learned was that it had other inmates.
In addition to the two rooms which he and,
Palmer had occupied there was a row of other
apartments on the third floor, each provided
with strong outside bolts to the doors.

Three of these rooms he occupied. This he
learned artly by listening at their doors, partly
by over curing the conversation of the two
villains.

He learned more than this. He discovered
that the three prisoners were the capitalists
whom he had alresgly‘ seen in Chica 0; St. Louis
and New Orleans— essrs. Johnson, ordon, and
Brown, and that a Very ,effective method was
being pursued to make them yield their securi-

ties.

In short, they were being starved into compli-
ancel In three da 5 neither of them had re-
ceived a morsel 0 food nor a drop of waterl
The result was what might have been expected.
They had all yielded to the torture of starvation,
and made over to their captors papers which
would enable them to secure the money set aside
for investment in the aluminum pro ect. '

r This accomplished. the scoundre had still
Palmer and his assumed nephew to deal with.

Little did they dream where this nephew was,
at that momentl -

Eiated with the important information he had

had, Frank had left the house b a rear win-
ow, and made his way into the c t . Here he
had called and made inquiry at the hotel.

The clerk handed him a telegram whi h had
bccnrccsived several hours before.~ 1t w from
Dick Winter, and stated that he was on his way
to Louisville, which he hoped to reach by that
evening, but might be delayed till the next

Frag}: sat down and wrote‘hlm a short
note, stating briefly what he had learned.
This he left with the clerk.

Leaving the hotel he strolled in the di-
rection of the lonely house. He was in
doubt whether 'he had not best await

' ~ Dick’s arrival. Yet Palmer might be in
danger, and might need aid.

The boy uestioncd himself whether he had
not better atom: the Louisville lice of his
discoveries, and have the house rai ed. Yet he
hardly cared to give upwthe credit of his useful
labors, and rob Dick later of the chance of
hating a hand in the settlementof that dark

As he thus tated, he .drew nearer and
nearer tethe'lo y mansion.» His feet seemed

 

drawn thither by some stron attraction. It
was near sunset when he reac ed its vicinity.
Should he enter it again, or go back and wait
for Dick?

His safety from discovery that day gave him
courage. He leaped the wall that surrounded
the grounds at a low place in the rear, and care—
fully approached the house.

All seemed still. Not a. sound reached his ears,
nor a sign of life was visible to his eyes. A
minute brought him under the window through
which he had left the house a few hours before.

There was a low bench from which he could
easily reach it. The attraction was too great
for the prudence of the adventurous boy. He
stopped on to the bench, lifted the sash, and
sprung lightly into the room.

But hardly had his feet touched the floor when
a blow fell upon his head that hurled him pros-
trate and nearly senseless, while a triumphant
voice exclaimed:

“ We have him now! The fox has turned
goose and trusted himself again within our
clutches. By all that’s good, we’ve a long score
to settle with him, and will pay it off to the last
farthing!” ,

 

CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE NICK or TIME.

THE blow which Frank had received had been
dealt with terrible vigor. liis dazed senses soon
lapsed into insensibiiity, and for an hour or more
he lay like one dead.

When he at length recovered, he found him-
self in a. dark room in which silence reigned
supreme. His head ached severely, and he felt
a sharp pain at the point where he had been
struck.

He sought to lift his hand to his head, but it
would not come. He now discovered that both
hands were firmly bound, a rope being wrapped
closely round his body and arms.

His next effort was to rise to his feet—but
with the same result. Feet and. is s were as
firmly bound as hands and arms. is captors
had evidently determined that he should not es-
cape this time, and had made him as secure, as

could be done with ropes.

An hour passed, during which not a sound
nor a ray of light came to the young prisoner.
At the end of that time he heard footsteps and
voices without.

Just what was intended to be done with him
he could not guess, but he thought it safest to
fei n to be still insensible. As the door opened,
an a ray of light shot into the darkened room,
he closed his eyes and brought himself to a
studied lifelessness of appearance.

“ Not come to yet,” exclaimed a voice which
he recognized as that of Clarkson. “ You hit
hard, J ack.”

“ i generally do,” ansWered Convorse.

“How if we were to let this insensibility
merge into death? An open vein will do it.
We are not safe while that boy lives.”

- “ I don’t like it,”replied Converse. “I can
go my distance, but murder is a step beyond
me.

“ Squeamish, are you?” exclaimed Glarkson,
in tones of contempt. “ A dead boy is no more
to me than a dead puppy. We have our work
done. In a da more we will be rich. But I
tell you, if we save this boy alive behind us, he
will spoil our plans yet. I am gettingto be a
fatalist”about this young hound. He is my evil
genius.

“Don‘t kill him,” pleaded Converse. “ Put
out his eyes, if on will. That will endhis spy-
ing. But don’t ill him.”

“ Why, confound on, which is the worst—
to kill a man or to bl d him? To. put him in
torture for years, or to end him in a minute?
Put out his eyes? No no, I can’t do that! My
plan is the most mere fnl.”

“yell, do as you please. But don’t ask
me.

Several minutes passed. No more words were
makers, but there were sounds of mo about

room, fas if! thhglgdld-hearied vi were
preparingor e ywor. ‘ v

Acoldshiver ran through the boy’s frame.
Great drops of sweat stood upon
Was this to be the end of his career? Oh, why
had he ventured here! Where was Dick Wil-

tori , .

Yet, d its his nervous dread,» brought all
his resolut on to bear to retain an appearance of
lifeles‘sness. Ho feared that if he should show
signs of recovery, his ruthless enemies might do
him some greater injury. ,

In a few minutes more the boy felt a strong
band seize his arm. . ‘

" The rope is in the way,” came an impatient
voice.

“ Cut the sleeve.”

“ Ay, that will do it.”
~He now heard a ripping sound,as a sharp
blade severed the strong cloth of his coat-
sleeve.

Next came a sensation of cold upon his arm.
The sleeve had been thrown back and the bare
flesh exposed. A cold hand Erasmd the arm
firmly below the elbow. shudder ran
through the boy’s frame, despite his efforts to
repress it.

“ is it done?” asked Converse.

“ It soon will be.”

As this answer was given, Frank felt a sharp
sensation of pain, followed by a feeling as of
warm water flowing over his arm.

“ The blood runs freei ," said Clarkson, with
an air of satisfaction. ‘In half an hour the
boy will be as dead as a door-nail. Thank

the stars, We’re free from all danger from .

him.”

“ Let us go, then.
answered Converse.

Frank had nevor needed as much resolution
as he did at that moment. He felt his warm
life-blood flowing from an open vein, and knew
that he would surely bleed to death unless he]
came soon. Yet he dared not show signs of H e
to these heartless villains. They had 3 okeu of
putting out his eyes. They might do t should
he 0 en them.

ith all his energy he held back every sign

of life, and forced himself to lie as motionless as

Minutes are precious new,”

or so.

“fen are right; we must make all haste,”
said Clarkson. “If these men should be res-
cued before we finish our work, all our labor
will be for nothing." _

“ If they be not rescued?” queried Con-

verse.

“ Then this boy will have four dead men to
keep him company. ”

The next moment they were gone and Frank
was left alone. The door closed sharply behind
them. It seemed to him like his death-knell.
he opened his eyes and for the first time
breathed freely. All was dark around him.
He strove earnestly to break the bonds that
confined him, but they failed to ield.

Still came that warm fl )w tric ling down his
bared arm. With it there came to his cars a
pattering sound, as of drops falling in rapid
succession to the floor. He knew too well what
it meant—his life was ebbing away in those
falling drops.

Years seemed to pass over his head in the
next few minutes. nless help came quickly,
his last hope of life was gone.

Help? where would it come from? who would
bring it? There were others in the house, but
they were all starving prisoners. With the go-
ing of the two villains he would be left alone to
die.

His voice was left him; should he call for
help? To what purposei—it' was impossible that
his voice could reach the ears of rescuers. It
might but recall his ruthless foes to complete
their devilish work.

He strove topress the open vein against his
body, and thus st the flaw of blood. The of-
1fort was in vain.
y. \

A shuddering horror shook his overzelimb.
What should he do? Must be lie there lplsls
and bleed to death like a stuck pig!

As a last resort he rolled over on the floor
tag in doing so brought his arm under him. i
we a fortunate movement; the cut Vein was
pressed against a slight-ridge in the floor, and
the flow was partly ckocked. ,-

If he could keep thisrmmn, it would delay
the inevitable‘ result;  it would be only a
delay. Unless help came, death was certain.

Five minutes of this slow torture pared,
awa . They seemed to him five hours. ’ He
could still feel the trickling blood, and denial?
was taking the place of hope inhis heart. .

To die so young! with life so full of hope be- \

fore him! To die and leave his work undone!

'It was more than his strained nerves could, L‘ I:
his brow. ‘bea ‘ '  I

r. , .
Sudden] from his lips there came an involun-

tar shrie of d ir‘it‘hatru «like a ' W17
elfthrough themnt'apartmgfis  lonely
case. ..

Had hisvoicebscn ab c-cail toarms,it

1:cgzould not have brought a more quick and stir-- ,
n use. '- = -
*mts'echw were still vibrating through -

room and corridor there came a sudden uproar

 

‘, of voices withOut, follow“ by the sound-.qu g

he bonds held him too tight~ I

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      
        
 
     

  

..,. -,,.' 

 
 
  

 

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  

    
 
   
   

 
 
 
   

 

’  another, ahdstarved

V

Flipper Frank’s Flush.

 

' trampling feet, and the dullthud of what seemed
blows.
The boy listened intently, while new hope
sur ed through his frame.
“Yield, or it

“ ield i” came a stern voice.
will be worse for you 1"

Frank started and strained at his bonds.
The voice was as familiar to him as his own.

“ It’s Dick l” he cried, joyfully. “ Dickl
Dick Wisterl Come here quick, or your bloom—

ing ’prentice will be deader than cold tur-
key.’

There was an instant’s silence, then a voice of
inquiry:

“ Where are you?”

“ Here. This way.”

An instant more, and then the door was flung
open with a surge, and an agile form bounded
into the room. The light of a lamp in the hall
without illuminated the apartment.

The new-comer sprung toward the fettered
boy. It was the Well-known form of Dick
Wisterl

“Tied, are you?" he asked, as he drew a
knife. ‘

“And bleeding to death,” answered Frank.
"‘ Them hounds cut open a Vein in my arm, and
left me here to die.”

“ The wretchesl" exclaimed Dick, as he sev-
ered the he ’s bonds with slash after slash of
the sharp Jade. “ The murderous villains!
Up with you, Frank, we‘ll soon stop that.”

As he spoke there came from without a fierce
oath, and the sound of a falling body, instantly
followed by the noise of flight and pursuit.

Dick turned on his heel and with one dash
was through the door, leaving Frank to stanch
the blood as be best could.

“ What is it?” came in the voice of the detec-
tives.” “ Where’s Clarksoni Where’s the Dod-
er. »

“Gone!” was the reply. “He broke from
Jones there, knifed him, and made tracks.”

“ The deuce i" came Dick’s sharp tones.
“What were you doing? He must not es-
c‘pe'n.

Frank, pressing firmly with the fingers of his
right hand the bleeding vein on his left arm,
rushed to the door, just in time to see Dick
Wister plunging down the stairs in fierce pur-

/

suit.

Before him stood a group of men. Two stout
fellows held ConVerse prisoner do its his ef-
forts to escape from their hands. third lay

bleeding on the floor. The Artful Dodger had
disabled him with a sudden knife-thrust, and
fled.

In five minutes afterward Dick returned,
with a look of chagrin on his face.

“ He has given me the slip,” he stated. “ The
darkness favored him. He must be caught, if
the whole country has to be raised. We’ve ot
one of them, at any rate. Look him in t at
room till we want him. Now let’s see about this
fellw, who has got paid well for not keeping
his eyes open.” 4

He beat OVer the fallen man, and examined
his wound.

- "Get upl” he cried, sharpl . “It’s only a
flesh-out. You're not hurt. aven’t got half
what you dose ved for letting go of the sharpest
rogue in the nited States.”

The fellow rose to his feet with a shame-
faced look.

“ And now,.Frank,” continued Dick, taming
tethebboy. ‘ I got to Louisville just in time
it seems; found your note at the hotel, raised
these men, and came here. What have you to

on i” s ,
zThat I’d been a deadboy if ou’d come a

half-hour'later. The hounds me fast out
a vein in my arm, and left me to blood to
death.” ' V

“ By Jove, it’s luck I camel We’ll soon stop
that... But, what'sal, this apt-oar ’ ‘

Duri the last wéi‘dsfl sir voices had been
drown by aloud knocking on the doors ot the

ad'oining rooms. These were now followed by
on ls for release. ‘ '
“ Them’s the rest of them," explained Frank.
“Slip the bolts on the doors there, and you'll
’)

m. I
The Louisville constables hastened to obey,
and from four rooms came four woe-begone in.
dividuals. Mr. Palmer, who came first, seemed
little the worse for his detention, but the others

' V looked the picture of starvation.
' “Are these the men you spoke of?” asked

' 0k. .
73*“Ye's,” answered Frank. “They have been

' luged' are on false pretenses,locked up one after

“ ' into giving these thunder-

i retools what the wanted.”
 firs ' ’

   
 

 

 

Quiry proved the truth of Frank’s ‘

words. Each of the men had come there pre-
pared to take shares in the aluminum cheap pro-
cess if it proved satisfactory, had been lured
into prison, and been forced by starvation into
givin papers to their villainous captors that
woul enable them to make several hundred
thousand dollars.

“ Are these some of them i” asked one of the
constables, exhibiting a handful of folded docu-
ments.

These were eagerly opened by the released
dupes.

“ Yes; they are ours,” cried Johnson and Gor-
don. “ Where did you get them?”

“ Then the fellow who escaped must have
mine,” exclaimed Brawn. “ We must telegraph
to New Orleans at once and head him off.”

“ You can save your powder,”answered Dick.
“The Artful Dodger isn’t quite a fool. Hang
him! he has given us the slip again; but 1’“ have
him if it's in the wood.”

It was not in the wood, as it proved. Every
effort was made to recapture the escaped rogue,
but in vain. The police of all the cities of the
West were put 0n the qui vive, yet despite their
utmost efforts the Artful Dodger remained at
liberty.

A second time he had slipped through the
hands of justice, and was free to repeat his
schemes of villainy.

Dick _Wister returned to New York with such
satisfaction as the possession of one prisoner
could give him, and after having arranged that
the fifty thousand dollars in the Chicago bank
should be held until the creditors of Jacob P.
Converse could prove their claims.

Frank accompanied him, very much chop-
fsllen. That Clarkson had escaped, after all his

efforts, was a bitter pill for the ambitious young' ,.

detective to swallow, and be repeated to himself
at every mile of the road:

“ I w1il have him yet. I will round him up if
I have to give my life to the work.”

In truth the young detective had no occasion
to feel ' depressed, but very much to feel elated
with his work. He had run down. the man on
whose track he had been placed, discovered the
great aluminum fraud, and saved all the in-
tended victims from loss, alike the New York
creditors and the Western capitalists. ~

These parties certainly a preciated his ser-
vices, for between them al they made up a
purse of ten thousand dollars, which was placed
to his credit in a New York bank. Nearly half
of this came from Palmer, whose admiration
of and thankfulness to the boy were un-
bounded.

Yet this large sum gave less satisfaction to
the youBg detective than a few words of praise
from Dick Wister.

“ It is wall for all these people that I sent you
on. Converse’s track instead of goin myself,” he
said. “You have done our war far better
than I could have done. f you keep on as you
have begun, Frank Melton, you will yet be
fiailgd as the Vidocq of the New York Po-

ce.

“Just you save our tally ” answared the
boy, though his hear throbbed with proud ex-
ultation. “ I’m not worth a spoiled oyster while
the Artful Dodger keeps loose. When I run
him down, then you can blow. And I’m going
to run him down, if there’s the right stuff in my
corporation.” , -

And DetectiVe Frank set his li with a firm-
ness that showed that in. Mt usiness.

THE “D.

 

" Beadle’s llalfelllnle library.

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.

' B Yellowstone Jack: or,Tha Tm r.
48 Black John the Road—Agent; or, no Outlaw's Retreat.
66 Hurricane full; or, Mustanz Sam and His Pad.
ltanf Somiorfil‘he King of the Plains.
[.94 “wk 'lt: or, Th. Daughter of the Ranch.
Du n‘ y Lance the Boy Sport.
nt Paul: or. Dainty Lance to the Rescue.

The llllock Giant: or, Dainty Lane. in Jeopardy.
Deadly I’Mlli or, Fighting Fire with Fire. ' g
The no! TI'II let-II: or, Dainty Lane: on the War-Path.
The Body Fords; or. Dainty Lance Unmukl.
Crooke Cole, the Caliban or” Celestial Oily.
he Ban-anon Wolf: or,’l‘he Beautiful Decoy.
Thefillngll: gig?” orfi'glnesgono-gzlizu'

on e or, ‘ 0 huge .
The King «(the “Food” or. Daniel Boone’s 
1‘” Fox. the Border Bov Detwtlvo.
g ,: Dan. the Bo Trailer.
0

 

no
pa
0

Mn
NI

in:
as
G

3'
9
1

 

moan
accnghle—t

aflfluH-‘uuu
l-l

38......

 

b n ,' Ram:- ifi'econ “En-:11.

“'3 '- nno one, rec . 
“9’3 0 dl Crazy. the Man Withouta Head. .
709 l. zht—llenrt Lute’s Legal.- .

I ht-ll'cnrtgLI-te’s Lost rnll.
v... l. .. .., the Shoshone.
129 E huh u. M the Half-Blood: or. The Border Beagle at Bay.
789 S lvurb at e, the Hostile: or, The Border Besglo’s Troll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1'48 8 lverb an e the Friendly: or, The Border Beagle’s Boy Poul
rm.

“Y T. C. llAllBAllGll.

28 Nick 0’ the Night; or, 'l'hv llcy Spy of ’76.

37 The lllddcn Lodge: or The Littl- Hunter.

4? Nighlluznlc Nut; or, The Flvresi (kn-talus.

64 Dumly .luck; or, '1 he (lulluws of the Oregon Trail.

Kll llurel'oot, the Wood-Hawk: or, old Powder-face.
. .\l ltlnlght J ut-l.’ ; or, The Boy Trapper.

106 "Ill Frosty, the Guide; lll',TlI\‘ “'hite Queen.

123 Kluwn (lluu’loy the While Mnslnnger.

139 Judge l.) nvh Jr.: HY. T110 BM“ Vigilante.

:1
.6.”

155') Gold Trigger, lllr Sport; ('r.Tle Girl Avencer.
169 ’ 'ormulo 'l‘oln; «r, lnjun Jack From Red Core.
l-‘W Nod Temple. the Border lloy; or, The Mad Hunter.
I!” Armin-Au“ ; or. ’l he Quwn or l‘ntr's Revenge.
2“? Navajo Nick. the liov Gold Hunter.
2.]5 (‘uplnln llulloi : :r, l.lli|v Tonknot’s Crusade.
23] l’lucky l’llll; or. Rush, the lie 1 Jezebel.
2 ll lllll llrxn'o: or, Tim Rough: oi rho lion-Hes.
255 (‘nplain .~\ polio, tm- King i‘in ul llowlv.
26'? The llllvkuklu Detccilve; or. Thv King of Read-agents.
279 Old “'lnoh; or, The illlt'lxsklll lll'filll‘l’fltlfil‘lu
294 Dynamite Dun: “Y, The Bowl? lllnde of ("ochetopa.
802 The Mountain Deterthe: or, The Trigger Bar Bully.
816 (3ch l'lcllpnr, Trump Card of Arizona.
326 The Ten i'nrdn: or, The» Terrm‘ulTulle-Notice.
836 Big llcnson: or, The Queen til the Lawn.
345 l’lllll‘fll l“ It“: (W, Kml 'l‘lnnuierlmll’s Sec-WL
356 l‘cm‘ Hun 22ml PHI“: 0' Tho‘l‘errlblz-Six.
“66 Volvo! Foot, llll' Indian l‘vtm'liv».
3‘6 ('upluln (‘ullu-m: tr, ‘ln- li' t'r‘unver's Girl Foe.
. 96 Rough Rub: or. The l’wix: (‘lunnpionsol liluv Blazes.
411 The fillkon Luna-Io: or. The [lose t Rnnrh Robin.
413-6 Felix ll‘ox. llw lloy Sphilrr. or.’l‘lu-Gnld Gnngol‘h‘vw York.
1‘ 5 Texas Trump. (he Border llnlilvr.
3“ PD“ r‘lnuh. llw New York Fox; muTlH- Myslvl'yol Room 91,
445 The (‘Ity \‘umnlrcs: or, He‘ll [tom’s l‘luevvh.

016! One Against Fifty: or. The Last Man of Keno liar.
» The Boy Pilludmv : or. Felix Fox's Hunt.
477 The Excel-Alm- l-pm-t : or. Thu Washington Snow 7.

199 Single Sight, the (Inn-VF?) on Sport.

502 llrundwl llen. the Night l'vrrul.

5P3 Dodger Dlvll. llw Wham—Spy Dot. rilvs.

5'2] Dodger Dlrk‘! Rout Dodge: or. Tim (Jullynm Gold Gang.
0234 Fox and Fallmm. llu- lln\\ul'\ shadows,

"3.": Dodger Dir-k, lln- lll'l'lx Fermi.

5 1'2 Do‘lcvr Dl('l.’u Double: or. The Rival Boy Detectives.

"‘ Dodger Dick‘s Dram-rule Case.

"1‘ Dodger Dick. lha‘ Boy '\'i-iocq. or, Tin» Gang of Three.
.J‘a’ll The Two Slut down: or. Dodger Dick’s StopGun.e.
5333 Dodger Dlvk'u Drop: or, The Man from )ersey.

7 thlle Lon. lhc Street-Singer Detective.

fllO Old Skinner, llw Gold Shark; or, Ton) Sharp on Guard.
6'35 The (‘hulnplon I’m-(ls: or, The Luciier ol'lever Bar.
Dlol.’ Donn. the Dork Boy Detective.

Hit. the l’lu'rmont Shawl).

6 Billy llunimn, tln- llm- Beagle.

6 Jersey .I (-d. the RM Hustler: or, Shadowing the Shadower:
f? l'uppy ilugir, the Boy )lnsiriun Den-olive.

1' Photograph Fred. the Camera Shar .

71a) 'lde Awake en, the. Quaker City arrest,

7 ‘ Daisy Doll. the Pavcnmn Detective: or, Trapping B‘g Game.
7'42 Bllly “'lnlas, the Bell llny Detective.

3'4 lllll ‘Vlllkfl, the. Boss Rov Shadow.

1'6“ But: 1‘ Ned. the Boy on Guard; or, The Camp Spiders.

780 Tonkawny Tom. the Red Wizard.

827 The Bantam Sport.

848 Clip, the Buttery Ferret: or, Jock Jeilefs’ Foul 'qug.

BY C(HADN EL DELLE SARA.

108 The Lion oftlae Sen; 0', The Valled Lady.
186 Cool Desmond: or. The Gambler’s Big Guns.

MlSOELLAN EOUS AUTllollB.

4 The “'lld-llorse Hunters. By Capt. Maya. Reid and
Frederick Whittaker.
9 Adventures of Baron Munehousen.
12 Gulliver’s Travels. By an hwlll.
14 Aladdin 3 or, The W'onderful Lamp.
16 lloblnson Crusoe. (91 lllnstratlonu.)
18 Slndhnd the Sailor. His Seven Voyages.
2E The Sea Serpent; or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe. By Jon

Lewis.
88 The Ocean Bloodhound: or, The Red Pirates of'tho
Carrihees. By S. '. Pierce.
36 The Roy Olownx or, The Arena Queen. By I 8.11!!!-
85 Ned “Wide. the Boy Sec-t. By Texas Jack.
51 he Roy Rifles: or. The Underground Camp. By A. C.lrons.
95 glue Rlval Rovers: or, The Freobootors of the Ml-heippi
By Lleut.-Col. Hazeltlne. \ .- '
98 Robin llood. the “unwed Earl: or.‘!’ho Merry Men crow.
.wood. B Prof. Glidersleeu. - '
105 (Nd Rn e, the Hunter; or, The Crow Captive. By Captain
Hamilton Holmes.
119 The Mod ll outer: or, 1 heCave “Death. By lone-8n”.
1.4 Tippy. the Texan; or,’l‘he Young Chunplon. Dy Goo!”

non.

1.8 The Young Privateer: on?!“ Pint-’- Stronghold. 3’
Harry nvcndbh.’

148 35.". sum ; or, The Adventures of a Frloudhos Boy. By J.
Alexander sites.

our Dusky Don-ell, Tngr: or. The Green Range! on!» 1.1.
lowotono. Fl! war ht  Y k BO 3 9 AL AM
I" a co nan; 0 av n y, , , .

 ,Kll'élr’unr. tll: fissile; or, Davy Crockett’s greeted Tau.

y nsln . . men.
.9. Red 019w, the Ono-Eyed Trapper; or,‘l'hs hhldol tho our.
By Captain Comlock.
311 Pawn Pete. the Lively Lad from Landfills. Dy Lieu-
tenant Alfred Thorns. .
SIS ghfifikyml‘lgts?lvez or, A Boy’s light for “headlines.
y mor o 9 rec.
‘50 Rod Dolph. tyhe River Rover; or, The W].-
cos {Mu By 3: “Mama...” k Dotsetl s A r lush.
inllor on o 9N: '0- 7--
824 Gaul. an: To.“ or. Ben’s Double Ilatch. B G Elmo.
B76 finilfofinln Joe’s First Troll.‘ 3! “Lo-l Them.
0 er . onsto .
413 Billy Bo-brgyhcll, the cur Climber. By 1'. S. Wlltllnp.
‘75 The Block S“ . 3? "ll"! 5 Wm.“ 
484 Comanche Die null Ills Three Ilvlldblgl. Dy
Henry J. cum.
on The Cowbo Bolts. 81 Edwin Brooke Fem-‘-
‘52 Ark! the At Me. v D: id Druid.
535 Will Wg‘tgro, tle Bov snot. llv ll.lnton.
“D e Motlvo’l Double. By G. ld Carlton.
Mm, the Arisena Dc tectlve; or,The Wind of
rkna Poss. "‘By will Urenbee. -., ,
809 Don Bunton. the flrnt from Denver. By King Keane, of“.
14 R' S195“: t WWI???” u n c s m
8 cc 1- 0 r can elective. - - as. '
880 The (trial Lodger: in Rn Alley;v 0". 9mm ‘09
of Number Seven. By Ben D, Ha] 1d -
881 The Chic-ago Drummer”- Dcal- By ‘1. G. Bethune.
841 Prince Charlie, the Cat’s- Paw Sport. BY ’5‘“

. duke Dev. , ,
848 Dan. the River Sport; or,‘Foillng the Frisco Sharp. By I
H ld Pa 'ne -, .

am .
RBI Billy Bil-Inc. the Swamp Fox. By Chu. F. Welles.
879 Blue-light Bill. the Sapphire Sport; or, The Denver Dotso-
tive's Lone Hand. By King Kenna. .-
A New Issue Every Tuesday.
The Half-Dine “bl-"y is lot sale by m Newdodsn, Iv. ,
coupe! copy, or sent by mall on mausoleum-ecu.
BEADLE AND ADAIB. Paul-‘68. -
98 Willie-1m“.le York.

II V.

   

  
  

 

 

r

  
 

    

BEADLE’SrHALF-DIMErLIBRARY.

Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Fire Cents, by all Neil'sdealers}.

 

 

 

 

 

BY EIDIVA "D L. “'IIEELER.
Deadwood Dlek Noveln.

‘ l Deadwood
i 20 Deadwood
,- SH Deadwood

85 Deadwood
i 42 Deadwood
,1 49 Deadwood

Dead wood
Deadwood

Deadwood
Deadwood
[Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
' Deadwood I
Deadwood I
Deadwood I
Gold-Dual
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood l
Deadwood
Deadwood
[Deadwood
Dead wood
1*, 405 Deadwood
‘10 Deadwood
421 Deadwuod
480 Deadwood
443 Deadwood
448 Deadwood I
458 Deadwood I
459 [Deadwood I
4“?- Deadwood I
471 Deadwood
476 Deadwood
481 Deadwood
49I Deadwood-
490 Deadwood I
Deadwood
Deadwood
Dead w ood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood I
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
iDeadwaod
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood I
Deadwood I
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood l
Deadwood I
Deadwood
Deadwood
79 Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwuod
Deadwood
Deadwood
DeadWOod
Deadwood
Deadwoo.
Deadwood
Deadwo
Deadwood
Deadwood
De wood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
Deadwood
ieodwuod
Deadwood
rear wood
Deadwooi
Dear Wood I
Deadva
7 Dent woo.
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10 Don woo
Deai woot
lDeM wood
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IDii-L‘.
IDlok‘a "hide; or, The Spirit of Swan-p Lake.
Diek’n Death 'I‘rall.

Dick, "3: in
Men. Jr.’u. De. veranee.
IDIek Jr.‘u I'rotegee.
Dick. Jr.’-, Three”

IDiek, Jr.’a, Dancer Duckl-
Ichk. Jr.'n, Death Ilunt.
IDlek, Jr.. in «wan.

Dick, Jr., the Will w." Viqu

.4
_— —‘-
'5——;$v=cvv

Dieli. J

53:25:

ek. r. a
ID ek Jr., I

DIOIK.

Deadwood Meg. .‘I'rh. t T T
r. a o .

luer Jr." lDoullle-lreeker.‘

Dick, May at Doliagvli'llie.
I

all Dior. Jr.’l, Rent 0
a“ IDIolr. ’13;
WIN “dky ‘7.

v amoral IDa ve

“magi.
SD The ir Sport-(shallower;
- . Banty Billy’gflonanu; or,

lDIek, the Prince oi the Road.

IDlek'n IDeiIanee: vr, Double Daggers.
IDlek In Ding-nine; or. liuil'nl, litn ‘
Dlek in "in C
lDlek'n lionan i.
Diek In Danger: <\l‘,iilnai:ni.iil.

lDlek‘I Hazlett: or, The l'nrdu 01 Flood Bar.
Diek on Der-k: wr. i‘aiannity .' me.the Heroine
Deadwood IDlek‘n Lin-l .\ei: “LCOHIhruj Churlie.
Diek in Lead \ ille.

Diek‘u IDe\ lee; or, 'I he Duuble Crimp Sign.
Diek an Deteetlx e.

DIt-k‘n Double: or. Tlle Gurgrm‘s Gulch Ghost.
iDlei.‘u Ilonu- Home; or. lilund: iiill.

Die "I Iii); Sirlke‘ or, A 14mm: oi'Gnlri.
Dick oi Ileadwoo
Diek'n Dream: or, The Rimla ui'ihe Rood.
IDit'k’A II ard: or, The Black Hill’s Jetrhel.

  

tle.
- ..., ’l'hr Phnninm Miner.

t or, 1 lie l'ickrd i'nrty.

Dlok'a Doom: or, Cnimniiy Juno‘s Adventuro.
Dlek‘a Dead Dc al. ‘
Dlek'o Death-Plant.

A Ronmnre oi Roule and Tamara.

Diek'n Deal: or, The fluid Brick (vi (Dragon.

IDlt-k'l Dozen; or, The Faliir «:1 Phantom Fla“
Diek‘l Dueuta: or, Days in the Di gingu.
Dick Senieneed; or,’l‘ne Terrible
Diek'n Claim.

Dlek Ia Dead Pity.

Diek’n Diamonds.

Diek In New York; or, A "Cute Cm.”
Diek'n Dllutx or, The Chained Hand.
Dir-k. Jr; or. The Crimson Creicuni Sign.

’ondetta.

Dlek. Jr.’~ IDeflanee.

Diek, Jr.'A I‘ull "and.

Iiek, Jr.'n, ill]: IIou’nd-Vp.

Diek Jr.’n Racket at Claim 10.

Dick, Jr.’a Corral; or, aneman Bill.
Dir-k. Jr!» Dog Deter-live.

Iilek. Jun. In IDeaduood.

IDiek, .Dr.’o, Compact.

Diek .Ir.’n. Inheritance.

Droh, .Ir., on “1- Mettle.

IDIek, Jr., in Gotham.
IDlek, J
ilioii' I," in an
e ‘, r., n ‘ eazo.
Dick. 1
IDieit. an. in Denver.
Dir-k. erl. Deer-0e.
Diek Jr., lu Ileelzebub‘l Baaln.
Dlek, .Dr., at Cone
Dick, Jr.’l, Leadv le Lay.
Dlek, Jr.. in Detroit.
lDiek. Jr.

r., In Boston.
Philadelphia.

I'- o 0R..-

Inland.

In Cinelnnati.
k. Jr" in Nevada.

Die
Dlek, Jr., In No Mall’u Land.

luck. Jr., After the Queer.
IDIek Jr” III Buffalo.

Diek. Jr.‘n, Chane Aerou the Continent
Dir-k, Jr.. Among the finnnggierl.

IDlek, Jr.‘a luv-aroma: Cane.
Dick, Jr., i
Dlek, .Ir., III Duranzot or. “ Gathered in."
Diok, Jr.’n iDi-egvery; or, Found sl‘ortune.
ID ek, J an

Iael.‘ in the Mine!.

r.'n. ID Ie.
ek, .Dr.‘n. lDoliarn.
(-5. gr... ati’lDauger Divide.
o . r. u,
eh, .Dr., at Jaek-I’ot.
ek Jr.. In San Franeiueo.
ek, Jr}:- Htlll Ilaut.
ek, .Dr.‘u Dominoes.
«k. .Dr.’-. lDi-guiae.
e“, r.’—, Double Deal '
ek r31. Deathwatch. '
Dick. .Dr.‘u, Donhlet.
k r.’n. D’eathblgwht n.
e , .Dr.‘- -eapern e ra
old, Jl'.’a, Ilaa .
ek, Jr.’n De eat.
' Resurrection.
Dark Dayn.

 

 

Dolled.
grin. Double Device. A
r’J. Der-perate I enturo.
r.’n,, Diamond Dire.

‘

1‘ III“.

o’n, ate .
Dick. .Ir.’s, Ilifh "one.
Dick Jrg, at I

evll’n Galen.
p, Death-Dole Hustle.
r.’o iiomb- u-

.Dr.’n, Dead-sure
Jrh, Double Drive.
Trade-. a .

r.. at in at...

Q
I
n

In I, ID 0 '
e . Jr“. Death-Doom.
ard.

at Gold Dust.
I. lit. Play.

WILLIAM R. m-s'rrza.

"gr-k9; or, Th. 11an oi High Pin.

p." ‘yank‘ or, Dandy Duko’n (Do-Down Pll‘dQ

its "antler Rogue-Catcher. . v

g Pcte’n Double Dada}? '

8:} he“ “(to a o, ; or, High tailing at Sinnorl‘ Fill.
8 , “Onto

. t 0 nor .

the Gilt-Edge Shooter,

imi'i" “fawn a n m n '-

I'Ii ovet, or,,l u 'l u.
Bonanza” m 'glu Rook-Ravatn’ Root-Ont.
edlat lard an

or, Cisrk’l Clou Shut.

.675 Broad \\ ay

 

The Bur-Tumor. Dania,

  

iDiIIer Novels by E. L. “'heeier.

80 IIOM‘IDIHI Roi); or, Nugget Nell. the Knight.
“4 Iioneirud liolr nll Iland: or, mil. (in HLri Miner.
DU" lion-had Roh'u Iteupnearanee: m, i‘emr-ugrmh Phil.
121 Iiouebud Rolf-4 i hulk-age: or, (‘n lI‘ili-HH (hip.
27'? Dem er Doll. the llvvh-I tine Queen; or. 'l'hu Ynnln-i-‘s Surround
2%] Denver Doll‘u \ ietory: ur. Shul‘ rum ('rusrziwhrd.
3N5 Delner Doll'n IDeeoy; Ur. mm Hill's Bonanza.
896 Denver IDUII'H IDrii‘i; Ir. The liund Queen.
86" D, reka .Ilm. tlu- (laid-(iathrrer‘: nr, Thu Life Lntterv.
87$ \lreka .‘llrn’n Prize: W. Th Weir-e: mt Wake Up. '
3N5 Iv reha .Iim‘n Joker; or, The Rivals ni Red Nrso.
BID-I I reka Jim oi' Ynha Dam.
209 I“r|tz,4he linundAiiuy llr-tectrve; or. lint ln'u'iir Home.
2“! Fritz to the Front: or, The Ventriloquist lluntor
2 LI Mon-a Mun. 1h. i'rmxiio-r Ferret; or. A Siam-K liuotlou.
2-H Merra .“am‘r Set-rot: ur. The ilioodv ii‘nnnrrinu.
$51 Merra Sam'u Paul; or. The Angel oi Big Vista.
258 filerra linm‘a Seven? nr,’l'lw Stnlun Bride.
lilil Kangaroo Kit; or. 1‘ Id Mysterlmw Miner.
'39 Kangaroo Klt’n liaeket: nr. 'i‘hr i’i'idr rri‘ Played-Out.
89 Death-Fuoc. lh-iw-iive; or, Life in New York.

96 “'ntehJCyi-y tilv ileivrtiw: nr. Arms nnd Angels.
II? Gilt-Edged Dir-k, 1hr S > rt, in-im rive
145 Captain Ferret. 1hr va York liutectivo.
Iii! New York Nell, lilo Huydr'lri Deli l'ii\'?.
220 The Aral! Drier-the: Hr, Friwzw, ii 2 Mn}- Sharp.
991 Turk the Boy Ferret.
8‘35 Kelley, Illekev .I' (‘o..~thr lh-tr-rtivrs ni’ I'hiindrlpllibc
848 Manhattan M he, the linwel’)‘ llr‘irt'iiVQ.
400 “'rlnklen. [lie Nighthtt-h Detective.
416 High Ilnt Ilurry. 1h» lilllt‘ llnii Detective.
426 Ham Slahnidea. the Mentor-Boy Detective.
‘84 Jim lienk and I’ol. Private Detectives,
DID (‘loven "00?, the liixiiirlu ileum“: or. The Battier Vlllilll’el.
I52 IIoID “'ooli': nr, Th.- Giri Dead-Shut.
45 Did Avalanche: or. “'th Edna, the Girl iirigand.
53 JIIII IIIuiiIoe. .Ir., the lief; thnix.
61 Buoklrorn III“; or. The Red iiiiie Team
92 (lanada i‘het: or. Old Ania-0min in Sitting Bull’s Camp.
18 Jack lloyle the Ynong Slirtuiutnl’.
25 Bonanza Dill. Miner: vr. Madam Mystery, the Forger.
23 "out! Iioh the King of limitldm'ka.
7

I Solid Sam, the How liond Agent: «I, The Brnnded Brawl.
7 Nobb ' Niek of Nevada: or, The Sierras Smmpn.

I81 II ild ‘rank th- Burluiiin firm-o; or. Lady Lily's Love.
286 Apollo III", the Trail Tornado: or, Rowdy Kate.

$40 Cyclone Kit, tlw Young Gludiutnr; or, The Lurked Valley.
273 JlllIIIDID Jul‘g iii“ “Hy Pairnl: or. The Rival lloiru.

880 Little Quirk-Shot; or, The Dead Fare of Daggerlvlllo.
353 Flrut-(‘lau Fred. he Gem irr-m Gopher.

87A Naboh Ned; or. Thu Rut-rd hi Sluh (‘itv.

888 Cool Kit. the Ki: g vi Kidu; or, A Villain'u Vanzunneo.
{88 Santa Fe Dial, the Slasher; or. A Son’s Vengmnre.

“(I Seal-kin Sam. the Srmrkiur: or The, Tribunal of Ten.
913 “It Keith. t alien-:1).- Shutter.

922 Sal Hilarpe. the New York Night-Hawk.
948 Old Ilayueed Among Iianeo Men.

BY J. 0. C(DWIDIIICK.

490 Broadway Billy.
614 Broadway Iillly’n Doodle; (mourning aStrann Cu.
580 Broadway Illlly’l ‘IDIiIlkllty."

557 Broadway Billy's Death liar-ket-

579 Broadway ililly'r Surprlue Party.

605 Broadway Hilly; org‘l'lie Buylietective'n Bizlnnlnr.

028 Broadway Iiilly'u Dead Aet: "r. The la!le oi Seven.
069 Broadway lly Abroad: nr,’l‘he IiiliiIIllflil in Friuco.
Billy"! lieut: “filit'uilnfl San Francisco-Fluent.
Ililiy in Clover.

Iiilly in Texan; or, The Rivrr Rustlen.
IIllly’I “rand.

Billy at Santa Fe: or, The Clever Dal.
Illily’fl Va" "and: or, The Gamin Dctectlvo.
Illlly’a Ila-linen.

llilly’n (.‘nrionl Care.

Billy in Denver.

Iiilly’u Bargain; or,"l'he Three Detective.
Billy: the Retriever Drircill'e.

Dilly a Shadow Ohm.

Diliy’u Beagle-in; or. The Trio’l Quest.
Ililly'a Team: or, The Combine'n Big Pull.
Dilly’a Brigade: or. The Dead Alive.
illiy'n Queer liequent.

llly "allied.

Iiiiiy’s filfnal Scoop.

Bill)": I“ no Dui.

iilly’n Dank Racket.-

tbe Bontbiaqk Bravo.

—
w

6&3? Broadway
mm "roadway
708 Broadway
711 Broadway
720 Broadway

».8 Bron way
Rroadwoy
roadway
796 Broadway
800 Broadway
#05 Broadway
rm) Broadway
615 Broadway
Oil Ilroadway Dilly’a IlluiY.
2 Broadway Billy Amon';r Jersey Thu...
888 Broadway Iiilly’u Iiali .
589 Broadway ’
Broadway
84:! “roadway
850 Broadway
860 Broadway
865 Broadway
874 Broadway
880 Broadway

loo Sliver.”

——
in

—l

Iiilly'n D In a or.
Billy. in London.
Dilly Shadow. London Sloan.
Billy's Freneh Game. .

Billy and the floral» hrowen.

the Hanoi Mymry; or, The Golden Kayo.
361D Shanta, the. old King: or, ForBonn Yur- Dead.
4.0 The iDeteetiv'e'IA prentioet or, A Boy Without . Km
‘94 cunn- «loan;J or. ed-llot Tuna at Auto Bat. '

9 sandy Earn, t - Strut Scout.

6’! Dim Dan. the no: nude. .

500 Red“ ht lialph t o?rince ouhe Road.
5.4 The .nglneer Detective; or, Rodliglii. Rllph’. Bowl"

8 MAN, the Night I:

54 rest Detective.
5'“ Air-Line .uke t a Young Engineer; nr,'l‘he Double Can

59. 'I In Doy 'inkerton; or, Running the acli
ill ighilnr llarr the Chic-i of Chained Ci‘clom.
 Tareba'flse liftlh‘, Ill; China? o'i' $a girth.

W P y.ta "com: or. v
06” “wilt-light Morgan the" Piuneet"Man of Main In.
8-“? Battery Bob. the Ila-k Detective.
894 Arizona Dick’s “i e-lDut.
900 utopia. Jack’s uhliee. » V
900 atety Ham nu yrlo Snort. ’ .

rifit‘g Dlot Ila-tie, /

91’ Train Boy

918 no Trump Dock-Boy.

924, la Boot: Bolt, the ‘ire-Laddie.

080 Hangar ltalph. the Roy Spotter.
0

mm Th x-Newflmy Deteotlvo’n chum;
941 he Bowling Gree Delective’l Drop.
944 owhoy Charlie's Douhle. .
if he Dow y W Petition or. The liotcher-Boyu Backer.
8 addv’n Timmy, Card; onsum Sallie, the Girl span,
The Broadway ur,‘ ivar l-d’q Clear Cm.

Sport-
Reward; or The Rivan
on Bantam Billy. the (lower-Jena.
9‘28 Piuekv Pot. the Street-Day Detective.
989 Bicycle Bob’s II'ot floori- . ,

99'! Scoreicr 5am. the Detective on Whom

epnrto-rl' Sleek Scoop.

BY warnnnr BROWN.
950 Brod Iyn IIoh’n Bulge; or, Dodger Dot’n Diamond Strip.
The ant-Side spirit rt or, Turning Down  Three
74 (Did East’s Dark De t on Miner ‘Mni’n Iron in.

5-. . —.

 

II UFFALD BILL N 0 V E LS.

 

 

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM.
995 'IIufl’ulo IIIII’A Drop; nr. lir'ntlvfihoi Nod , the Kansas Kid.
SW74 Iiuii'aio illil'u Lam-.0 Thrower-r.
mu liuii’alo liill‘u Fightinll Vi"?-
975 Iluifalo lilll'n HIIIKM‘IHDI‘I.

96H Iini‘l’alo Iilll’n linnh tilde: ur, Sure-Shot.tho High—Fixer.
it“ i Hull'an IIIll'u Decoy ; or. The Arizona Crack Shot.
DEN Iiuil’alo liiil'a Mazep m-(‘lnwe.

94" Iiuil’alo Iiill'a Snap-h mi : "T- “Vim Kid" T91“) TI”!
04.! liafl'nlo lilll‘n ’I'on h Tun-ale.

936 lluii'alo lllll’n Boy I tumor or, Joe Jurvil’ lleld-up.
929 Buffalo lilll'u (‘raek-uhot ‘ard.

6.30 lIuil'qu IIill‘n lioy l’ard: er. Butterfly Billy.

210 III-ion lilll, the l'rince m the Rains.

Bison Iiill’n (line: or. (v'rit, the Bravo Sport.
BY BI’FFALO BILL.

Deadly-Eye. the Unknown Scr ut. or, The Banded Brotherhood
Border Iiohin flood: or, The Prairie Rover.
Fancy Frank of Colorado: or, Tho Trapper'l Trult.

BY CAPT. ALFRED B. TAYLOR, u. S.A.

IIuiI’alo Iilll’y, the Buy Builwlmcker. .
IInHalo Illll I liet: or. The Gunblor Ga do,

BY C(DLIDNEL PIIEN’I‘ISR INGIIAIIAH.

New York Nat’a Dro : or, Ex—Feri’ei Sykes” Bold Gun

Nvew \jork Nat and the ’I‘raltor Ferret.

N'ew hark hat Trapped. .

4 hew \ ork Nat’u 'Ihree of a kind.

New York Nat's Double.

New Xork Nat/I- In Colorado.

New I'ork Nat in Gold Nugget Camp.

flew Iork Nat’s Deadly Iteal.

New Dark Nat'n Crook-(Thane.

' \ork Sat’n Trump Curd.

' \Vork hat and the Grave Ghoul!-

' \ork Nai’r Manked Mai-eat.

' York Nat. [he i-‘nniin Detective.

' lDoom’u Kidnap er Knock-(Dot.

' Doom’n 'I‘en Mr he.

’ IDnom’u FIIID‘II "and.

Doom’u Death-Grip; or, The Detective by Danny.

Doom’n Dentlny; or, The River Blackloz’n Terror.

Doom: rvr. I hr Sharp! and Sharks oi New York.

Doom In Danton: or, A Mam oi Many Mnlh.

Doom in Plait-ago. '

Doom in the \\ lid ‘6‘ eat.

808 IDlek Doom’n (‘lenn finer-p: or, Five Links in I Clue.

Doom’u Death flue.

IDoorn’u Diamond Deal.

' Doom’n Girl Mar-eat.

' lDooIa’n Shadow Iluut.

Dlek IDoom’a Iiig IIanI. ‘

Dar-hing ('luu-llez or,'l'lw Kentucky Tenderfeot’u First Trail-

Duflilillfl t'hnrlle'il Destiny: or. The Reneirlde'l Captive.

' '-- - (harlie’r I’awnee Paul.

763 ‘ '- - (‘Ilarlim the Rescuer.

luek Taylor, King oi the Cowboys.

7 Iuek Taylor. the (‘urnanche’s Co tivo.

Duel: Taylor'- iioy'u: («The E? Ride" oi the Rio,Gnnde.

’awnee “III, the l’mirir Shadower. .

’awnee Iliil: nr. Curl, lllr Mad Cowboy.

’awnee Ilill‘n Pledge: ur,'l'he (‘owboy‘lDoom

’awnee Iiill: ur. liflrinu Dick.

ledi’era'n (‘urlonn ('aae: m, The Rival Slmrpr.

iedi’ern at De vil’tl Iianeh or, The Sharp from Tom.

Iedi'ern’a High Ilnnd; ur lite Jacket.

lledi‘ern’u Laid ’l‘rall: or."l'he Rad SombreroRungen.
And Fii‘ty Others.

BY '1‘. LILANAGAN.
Mid-hipman Dare. the Pirate Catcher

5 h V u to -bo Ca tain. /
T c o n firhiplhentpor, The Corinlr-Chuer’l Fir-i,
Q‘rniu.

e

049 Th Three Lleuienants

959 The Marmot Middy : or. The Four Cummnndon.
966 Fighting Joel: Slrubriek.

979 Fighting Jaek’u Middies: or, Dandy Dick’s Dash.

ll" LIEUT. A. K. 8131!. ‘
589 Tom-Cat and I’ard; or. The Deed Set at Silver City.
622 'I‘oln-Cnt'n Triad; or. The Affair at Tombtiono.
681 Torn Cat’n Terrible Tank; or The Cowbo Detective.
638 Torn-(lat)! Trium hé or, Black Dan's Grant oulbino.
546 Captain Cantu! tilt: haparral Cock; or, Jmh’a Ten Strlh
568 The Dandy of Dodge; or. Rmtllnz ior Mililoul.
570 Tile fiiiver Sportg‘ or. .loah Perpermlnt'c Jubilee.
388 Dalrolfiol, thr Mun With a Shadow
80! Ila p llama, the Dutch \‘ldncq; orJBtTimnai Round-U;-
611 3115.5 Barnacle. a. cumin amt}...
646 .owho Hill, the Cattle-ling: Damn“. ; '
057 arblihg “on... the Mounklnfiounhbmk.
605 Jolly Jeremiah, the Plain: Detective.
070 Si al San tho Lookout wot.
689 “filly the you; Spy: or,'l‘he Nut 0! Two Livel-
Ie Sim, the roncho Barter: or.l'or 125m... . V
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