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ENTERED AT THE P0 '1‘ OFFICE AT NEW YORK.

   

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le.ml. “£12313?” Cityéadzééi flkiams, tbzzzs‘z_;7.éyze;).5~"i “WWW, NO. 412

98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y.. September 15, 1886. 35-00 '- Ye"-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AFIGHTFllllFORTUNE. "l

A Story of Labor and Cnpital.

 

BY CAPT. FRED. “'HITTAKER,

AUTHOR. or “JOHN ARMSTRONG. MECHANIC,”
“ NORMAN CASE, PRINTER," ETC, ETC.

CHAPTER I.

‘1 XLARILY LOCKE,

E was R s ort >'for 1': 2' '
rm.“ and stuntpd. ) lls age, tl In III the

“'th (‘I‘MWS he had Worn tno larL’n for him
and of shoes and stockings he was (-uliI‘I-IV lIIIIol
vent. '

II!‘ lle R stivk and a lmndlv.

Thv stivk was: 01" green wmxlnml lIml evidently
boon ('nt in the Woods that IIIOI‘IIIIIg, whi1.. um
I’lxn(lh\ was of tbo' smallest size U) be worthy of
the Illllllt‘.

In um: hantl lm lIt‘lIl a dry (‘rlIHt of broad at
which h;- mum-hml as 110 walkml along. and he ' ' V " "
had not lwvn wa~lml fur SUIIW time, while his  ~ I I )
short hair lIIId bwn cut on the principle of a L__ ~W ' “Z   - .1-

811111610 F0011 “AMERICAN WORKINUMEN ARE HARD To BEAT WHEN IT comm; '10 A Hum."

 

//

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a

 

 

 

, ,g

- of the high-road, and when he hai

‘ that’s

Larry Locke, the Man: of Iron." ' ’  "  . 

 

The only sign about the boy that he might
grow into a man some dayxlay in his hands and

. feet, which were big and ny.
' He did not seem, however, to be in the least
. unhappy about his forlorn condition, for the
‘ afternoon was warm and the birds were singing

in the fields.

He walked along in the soft dusk b the side
finished

munching his crust he began to look out for a
brook to drink at, for all the world as a savage
might do, who depended on nature for his
meals. _

Not sighting a brook, he began to whistle to
as away the time as he trudged on, seeing be-
ore him a low swell, of ground, on the other

side of which floated a cloud of smoke obscuring
the settin sun. ‘ .

Present y, as he trudged up the hill, he heard
the sound of wheels behind him, and looked
round to see a curious vehicle approaching.

To a New York City boy the sight would
have been no nOVelty; but the short boy in the
road had never seen a tandem dog-cart before,
and such was the fashionable turn-out now ap-
proaching him. .

Two horses, 3. bay and a roan; Silver-plated
harness: a pale-yellow dog-cart; a handsome
young gentleman, not more than eighteen years
of age, wrapped in a duster, driving; a smug
groom, with folded urms, White-topped boots,
white breeches, silver buttons, and a cockade in
his but; such was the picture seen by the short
boy in the road, and one which so amazed him
that he stood staring at it, own-mouthed, till
it had almost passed him, when he seemed to
recollect himself and started forward, crying:

“Hi 1- mister! hil Sayl”

The handsome young ellow who was driving
seemed to he also a very good-natured gentleL

man.

He had been watching the sturdy figure of
the boy, as he came up, with a smile of some
interest, and now he actually pulled up and in-

quired: -. .

“ Well, midget, what is it?” .

The boy turned to him a brown face, with
very keen dark eyes, and a firm, resolute-looking
mouth, saying in the coolest manner: _ -

“I want you to give me a lift into Holesburg,
mister." _ _

The young man burst into a laugh, while the
smug groom at the back of the dog-cart so far
forgot his usual severe dignity that he turned
round with a scowl on the little tramp and
called out angrily:

“Get out of that, ye imperent young rascal!
Shall I get of! and ive ’im a. ’iding, sir?”

“No, no Jim; e’s a character,” answered
his youngfnaster good-naturedly, and feeling in
his pockets as he spoke. “ See here; what’s your

manor ” lied th b0 edl
,Larry re 6 y unconcern

scanning the vehicle. “I say: mister, when
get rich, {I’m goin’ to have jest sich a. turnout as
ourn.

y “My, eh! Larry what!” asked the young
gentleman.

. “Larry Locke,” in the same unabashed

“And where did you come from I”
‘5 Conn r-house,” said Larry coolly.
n’ to Holesburg to o inter t e mills,
‘ t I am mister. ay, won’t ye give
aw: I’ve had geisha lite.)
. con; man again.
, “Ar: you sure yor‘il'ge clean, Larry? Got any
Wuhan on?"
cola d ly, for the first time during
 mm elflgib ting self-censciousness, as be
e z
 Baotou. ou’ have 'em if on was me.”
'  yman ga ered upyhis reins, and his
' ‘ v as he said: ' .
 . I  ' lend. Well I am of
a '  o- i natu or -I shouldn’t, have
'  n allthistime. But we must draw
' ' meanQ‘Idrawitatthou ani-
' ' "I. I.  m- a
dived intohis pocket and pulled out some

can’t give you allft, Larry, but here’s

   
 
 
 

 twin! W “2 you on the way to Holes-t

don’t nd it all on pic,
tofsoap, trytokeepclean.

toned Larry a whole handful of small
a carols. generosity that showed

never known what it was to want
touched his leader with the whifi, and
oil, to the t relief of the glish
who had intensely fldgety and
can the whole interview fearing
cal young master mi ht take up
thisdirty little tramp to ride beside m, James

' for Ian-r; that oung person, with great

philOIo h . pic ’ed upthe money and began to

count igaloud to himself in a way that showed
he understOOd the practical part of arithmetic,
which deals with hard cash.

“One—two—three quarters—that’s seventy-
five—ten’s eighty-five—goliyl what a lot of
nickelsi By gum! if he ain’t ve me a dollar
and five cents! That’s as goor as a lift. Lem-

. me sce—what’ll I buy? Soap? Well, if ever

I

L leading tram

anyl one told me to buy soap afore! Reckon I
an

get a wash.”

He hunted among his rags and produced a
ad once been part of a cot- 5

bit of red stuff that

ton handkerchief. It was tied in a knot round g
more money, and he opened it, revealing three I
“ nickels” and five pennies—his whole store up 1
to that time. l

He did not stop to count the whole sum, ;
which to him seemed a vast fortune, but tied
up his windfall With the rest, and trudged on
to the top of the hill, from which he had a full
view of the town of Holesburg, with its per—

tual cloud of brown smoke anging over it,

low his feet. ‘

Larry Locke smiled with satisfaction as he
saw the town' but his expression changed very
quickly when e beheld a party of three tramps
seated by the roadside, not very far off, waiting
for him to come up.

CHAPTER II.

BED MOLL.

THEY were thoroughbred tramps, all three.
Larry had tramped it too long not to know that
at the first glance.

Moreover, they were watching for him,
though a stranger would not have noticed any-
thing peculiar in their demeanor. One lay on
his back, another sat up looking one way, the
third man glanced another; but Larry well
know they wore watching for him.

He had met them on the road from Bucks
county, and they knew him. too.

Nevertheless the philosophic boy never quick-
encd his pace; neither did he halt, but trumped
steadily on, kcepin in the middle of the road,
till he was near t win, when the recumbent
man sat up and called out in a wheedling tone:

“ Hi! Larry! Larry!”

“ I'm in a hurry, I am,” returned the boy,
walking on, but keeping the corner of his eye
on them. “ Got 83 message to give?”

“Yes,” respond the tramp. “What’s yer
hurry, Larry boy? Can’t ye stop and pass the
time of day with a pal, hey?"

By this time Larry was abreast of the last
man, and had a clear road before him, so he
called back as he began to trot away slowly:

“ Hain’t got no time! Got a ’p’intment with
the Guv’ner o’ Pcnnsylvany at noon, I have.
(it )( )d -by l”

“ Stop! yo darned young scnluwag!” the
tramp roared, ferociously, finding coaxing to
be useless, and as he spo 0 he jumped up and
began to run after the be , who instantly took
to his heels and fled like a cor.

Disguise was cast aside for as he run he heard
the three tramps cursing horribly and encourag-
ing each other.

‘ Hit him with a stone! cripple him!” roared
one of them; and with that a stone went whiz-
zing by the boy’s head with a force that must
hgvetstunned or killed him had the blow taken
9 at: .

Larry never, looked behian him, but he
watched the stone as it rolled ahead of him, and
on he ran, faster than ever.

Presently he passed it, picked it up as he
Went, ran a few steps further and stopped, fac-
ing‘ round.

he leading tramp was about twenty ardS‘
off, roaring out curses to terrify him stil fur-
ther, as he believed, while the other tw0 had
been- thrown out, and were trotting on with
open mouths, already distressed by the pace.

“Gimme that money! I soon ye get it,” the
yelled; and on he came, with his
arms outstre bed to clutch the boy, who waited
till his enemy was within less than ten feet.

Then, with a force and precision amazing in
'one so small—for he did not look over twelve

earl old—he cast the stone full in the tramp’s
ace, takin him between the eyes with a crack
like that o a whip.

Not a sound came from the tramp, who stum-

‘and dropped in the road like a slaughtered
ox, when the boy not waiting for further devel-
opmepts wheeled round and sped away again.

No till he had gone near a quarter of a mile
did he alacken hil pace, and then he looked back
and saw that the two tramps had raised their
friend and were carrying him to the roadside.

Then Larry Locke grinned, and said aloud:

“.Get m m , would yet Well, is like to
- see ye do t.” ’ , '

Awa he went again toward the distant city
of Ho burg at a dog-trot, which he seemed
able to keep up for an unlimited time, and never
halted till cottages began to mark the outskirts
of civilization, when he slackened to a walk and
ceased to look back over his shouldpr.

By this time people and vehicles were pass-
ing and ng, and he felt p warm af-
ter his run; so he kept a bright loo out round
him, and presently spied a g r1 about his ewn
size, who stood by the roadside with a switch
in her hand, watching a flock 0 six oats, and
eying him as he came on in a way t t rather
seemed to invite a Conversation.

She was a freckle—facod girl, whose single gar-
ment was made of pink cotton, tched with
divers colors, leaving a pair of s ining brown

 

 

 

leg and arms bare, seamed with scratches.
n her head she were a most disreputable sun-

bonnet of blue cotton, and her hair fell over her

: eyes, so she had to shove it back to look at

him.

Larry noticed, however, that the hair was red
——very red, indeed—but singularly bright and
glittering in the sun, where it came out from
under the hood, and he thought to himself:

“ That gal’s as dirty as I be. Wonder what
she’d say if I was to tell her she ought to use
sea i”

e made no a dible remark, but went on as
soberly as ever, t1 1 cloae to the little goat-herd,
who accosted him:

“ Hello, boy i” -

She said “hello!” in an indifferent sort of
way which might mean anything in the world,
and lmrry resprmded afl‘ably:

“ Hello, gal!”

The signal responded to, the ice seemed to be
broken, for the goat girl retorted:

“ Hello yourself! Say! what’s your name?”

“Larry Locke,” answered the boy, halting.
“ “'hat’s yours?”

The red-headed damsel gave her shoulders a.
shake and her head a toss, as she answered:

“ll ell, I declare! Ain’t you got no more
manners than to ax a lady’s name? I ain’t goin’
to tell you.”

Larry grinned.

“ I know what it is, anyhow.”

She turned up her nose at him.

“ No, ye don‘t. Now ! ll hat is it?”

“ It’s Sall,” decided Larry, at a venture.

“ It ain’t no sich thing.” she retorted, putting
out her fur-e and looking impudeiit. “ Still, in-
deedl Jest as if I’d be called Sall. My name’s
Taber, and don’t you forget it, mister; Miss
T abcr.”

Then she tried to look incfi’nbly tall, but sud-
denly came down from her dignity to ask
curiously:

“ Say boy, where did you come from?”

“Buc ' county,” responded Larry, frigidly.
“ Sa , do you live here, Moll i"

“I ow’d you know my name was Moll?” de-
manded Miss Taber, surprised. “ Say, you’re a
real nice boy, but don’t you go to callin’ me no
Red Moll, or I’ll be mad at you.”

Larry eyed her from head to foot. He rather
liked her, for she looked strong and sturdy, like
himself; but his chief interest in her lay in the
fact that he had always found girls tender-
heartcd and willing to get hiiu surreptitious
meals by way of the back door.

So he answered: '

“ I’d whip any fellcr callin’ you Red Moll.”

“ “Foqu ye?” asked the girl eagerly.

“ Yes, would I,” retorted Larry. “You try
me some day. Say, Molly, do on live here!”

Miss Taber pointed toward t e smoke.

“ out a bit beyond here. I’m a bounder, I
am, to ’Mrs. Skelly.” .

Larry nodded wisely.

“ They was goin’ to make me a bounder, too,
they was, to a darned old cobbler. Me on a
bench, cobblin’ shoes! No, sir. I jest ski ped
in time. Say, Moll, do you know anything
'bout the steel-works here, where they takes
’pregticesl I’m a-goin’ to be an iron man, I
am.
Miss Taber nodded her head.

“ Skelly works there. It’s in Skinner’s."

“And where’s Skinner’s?” asked Larry.

“ Right by the river. You’ll know it by the
black stri down the chimbley,” said Mia
Taber. “ ut say—”

“ What’s the matter?”

“ Skelly’s a furnaceman and he wants a

hel -—

‘P’I'rhat suits me,” interrupted Larry. “ What
does he have to do?”

“ Dump the ore and the coal into the {armed
while the helper fills the barrers,” I!“ Tabor

explained.
nned deli htedl .
“ rfitfie to a dogti I dined tohave toshovel

all the coal there was in the County House. Say,
where does Skelly live?”

Molly Taber pointed down the road to a little ,

shanty up on some rocks, where a wanna
be seen bagging out some Washing.

“That’s other Skelly,” she said, " and Jim
will be home soon now. There goes the
whistles.” .

As she spoke, the hoarse howli of a hund-
red steam whistles from the smoth . at cano ed
Holesb announced the hour of six, and lag

Mollyad ed:
“ "on come along, and I’ll show you the
way.

Larry, nothing loth, waited till she had got her
goats together. when he followed her down to
the shanty, which he reached just as Mrs. Skelly

e out, sereamin :

“ Molly! Molly! fife lazy, red-headed trollop,
andtvghere have ye been all the time with the
goa s.

“Up the road a piece,” returned Molly: in 9'
manner that showed she was not much afraid
of Mrs. Skelly, whose bark was much worse
than her bite. “ And I found this boy 1:25 am,
who wants to help Mr. Skelly in the mill-

Mrs. Skell looked at Larry mtICRHY-

“Sure am he ain't big enough, Molly. How '

old are ye, hubby?”

“Sixteen, ma am,” answered Larry, civilly, ,
l

4

 

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1.

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-, A 

"_‘ »~ "".“.“
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l
r

  Locke. the Man Of 

3

 

 

at which Mrs. Skelly threw up her hands in sur-
prise ejaculating: '

“ Iioly Fathers! Sixteen? And what stunted
ye so, I d‘no?” ,

“ Reckon it was the hard work ma’am,” said
Larry, sim l . “It’s good on the muskle, but
it makes a £3 er short.”

Mrs. Skelly looked at him rather in a pitying
way, as she answered:

‘ Ah, me poor boy, it’s not the likes of you
should be coming here. The other b’yes ’ll kill
ye, so they will.”

Larry gave her a quick glance and smile that
had a reat deal of quiet confidence in it, as he
retortefi:

“ I kin take care of myself, ma’am, I reckon.
I come here to be e. iron man, and 3. iron man
I’m om’ to be.”

“ Vhat’s that ye say?” asked another veice,
as the master of the house himself came trudg—
ing in from his work, black and grimy. “ You
want to be a iron man ?”

“ Yes,” returned Larry, boldly, wheeling
round to confront Mr. Skelly, who only laughed
goodvnaturedl y as he answered:

“ Ah, go home to yer mainmy! \Vhat’d the
likes of you do shm‘clin’ ore?”

“ If I can’t beat any boy of my age at it, I
don’t ax to come,‘7 declared Larry, proudly.

Skelly laughed.

“Yer age? Sure ye ain’t twelve!”

“ I’m sixteen,” ret urncd Larry, stoutly.

Mr. Skelly looked at him more closely, and
came up to feel him on the arms and shoulders,
afxer which he said:

"Maybe ye are, maybe ye ain‘t: but Iknow
this: Theboss Won‘t lz-t us take ’fll‘t‘llticvs if he
can help it, and the other b’yes ’1 kill ye. Can
ye foight; what’s yer name?”

“ My name’s Larry Locke, and I can fightliko
a streak,” returned Larry, at which Skelly
seemed to be pleased, for he said to his wife as
he went into the shanty:

“Let him have a bite and a corner on the
floor, Bridget. He‘ll get all he wants as soon as
Tom Trainor gets at him.”

 

CHAPTER III.
AT THE HILL.

THE rolling-mill of Skinner 8; Ben was one
of the lar est in the town of Holesburg, and was
distinguis ed b a peculiarly lofty chimney,
with a stripe o biack bricks down one side

. of it while the legend “BESSEMER STEEL

RAILS,” ran across the three hundred feet of
the mill itself, in letters that took in two stories
of windows.

Mr. Elisha Skinner, head of the firm, was a
heavy-built old man, with a grim jaw. a shaven
upper lip and a long, white board. He rarely
smiled, but still more rarely frowned. He had
a cold, collected way of domg things that served
him well in business, and a quiet, masterful air
that showed he was used to taking care of him-
8611:! in the worl[idol h had bee bl k

0 rs ore e n a poor ac -
smitmnlieawbeelwright, and it was by dint of
hard work, scheming and saving, that he had
risen to be the heaviest steel manufacturer in
Pennsylvania.

Mr. Skinner stood at the door of the little of
flee, the next morning after came to
Holesburg, looking into the big yard and talking
to the handsome young man who had thrown
the boy his careless bounty by the roadside;
while the gorgeous tandem stood near the steps,
a great con in its spick-and newness
and beauty, to t o grimy surroundings.

The Open, careless face of the young owner
was an equally strong contrast to the fun-owed
countenance of the old Ironmaster, but it was
evident, from the fond way in which the old
man looked at the young one, that were
united b endearing ties.

Paul an Beaver was the only grandson and
heir a parent of Elisha Skinner, and the living
link w ich connected the rich but plebeian manu-
facturer with the aristocratic Patroons of

Beaverwyck. Left an han at an earl

he had been tied to firspheart’s content yagd
two dfa rs with whom nature had pro-
vid him to replace his parents.

his presence alone Elisha Skinner was

known to smile, and pie said that be fairly
adored the boy, hug had so much trouble
with his own son, who had gone away from
home years before, with a cloud on his name,
never mentioned since by the old man.

It was with a smile that he said now:

“ Well, Paul, and so on got the check?”

“Yes, thank or,” returned the young
man, brightly. ‘ Ever so much obliged to you,
I’m sure, sir. You’re too kind to me. I hardly
know what to do with so much money. I‘m
afraid I shall throw it away."

The old ironmaster looked at him in the kind-
]y way he alWays affected, sa ng:

“ I don’t fear that, Palll- Ou‘ll never bring
disgrace on us all by any act (,1! euro. Only

kee awa from women. Don t run away
with by yany idea that it‘s a fine thing to be
vicious.

Paul colored slightly. ‘
“ I not, 811‘. Myogastes don’t run that
way. I horses and ts and fun, general-

1

ly, but I don’t care about irls; at all events,
not the kind you mean. By t e by, governor, do
you know I met the queerest boy in the road,
yesterday i” I

“ Indeed! Why the queerest?” asked his
grandfather.

“Well, I should say the cheekiest, perhaps,”
answered Paul. “ If he didn’t actually hail me
as I passed him and wanted me to give him a
lift into Holesburg, as if I had been a farmer
driving to market.

Mr. Skinner smiled slightly.

“ I su so he thought your horses needed
work. hat did you tell him?”

“ Oh, I threw him some change, and told him
to buy some soap. Somehow I took an interest
in him. He was so dirty and so forlorn, and yet
didn’t seem to mind it a bit. I say, governor,
I’ve ot a favor to ask of you.”

“ 'hat is it?” asked Skinner.

As he spoke his face grew colder, and Paul
did not fail to notice it, for he said:

“ Now don’t be crusty, governor. The boy
told me he was coming into Holesburg to try
and get work in an iron mill. I want toask you
this: will you give him a place?”

Mr. Skinner answered more forbiddingly than
he had yet spoken:

“ My dear Paul, please attend to spending the
money and leave me to attend to the making of
it. You don’t know what you ask. We don‘t
want boys in these mills. We want strong men
and good hands. I can’t afford to have boys
here unless they are very remarkable ones.”

“ But this is a remarkable one.”

“ How? in what way 1”

“ Well, for pluck, for one thing.”

“ “’0 don‘t want pluck; we want muscle.
How old is this boy?”

“ About twelve I should say.”

“That settles it, I can’t take him.”

Paul looked vexed as he said:

“ Well, one would think I asked a wonderful
favor. I tell you I’ve taken a fancy to this
boy.”

He had his back turned to the gate, and his
grandfather who was looking over his head,
interru ted im, pointing:

“ Is t t the boy?”

Paul turned his head and exclaimed:

“ Why, sure enough: that’s the identical lit-
gle shaver. Now, governor, don’t be a brute to

im.

As he spoke, up trudged Larry Locke, and
Paul rooted him with a smile: ‘

“ by, Larry, is that you? And, by Jove, if

on haven’t washed our face! That’s right.
ow sneak out. This gentleman is
here. What do you want?”

Mr. Skinner looked vexed. If any one else
had spoken so, the manufacturer would have
answered sharply, but he fairly idolized his
grandson. ‘

Moreover, Law; with that straightforward
boldness which an] had remarked in him,
spoke out at once to the magnate:

“ Spy, boss, I want a job to learn to be a pud-
dler.

Mr. Skinner looked at him coldly.

“ A puddler’! You! “'hy, that needs a man.
You’re only a boy, sonny.”

“ I’m pretty strong for my age," aver-red
 “You jest y me."

‘ “ es, try him,” urged Paul, good-naturally;
but his interference seemed to vex his grand-
father, yvho retorted:

“ My dear Paul, will you mind your own af-
fairs? What's your name, boy?”

“ rr Locke.”

“ Humph! Well, Larry, there‘s only one
place I can ive you-”

“I know, ’ interrupted Larry, uncommonl-
ousl “ Jim Skelly wants a helper.”

MI. Skinner stared cold] at m.

“Shut up your head. ou’ro too cheeky by

half. If on want to be Skelly’s boy you’ll

have to ht the biggest ’prentico in miIL
We want strong boys, not midgets like on.”

Inrry listened unconcernedly and no :

“That’s all right, boss. I’m sixteen, though
I ain’t ve tall—” '

“ I sh say not,” intern:
ter,withsomeoontempt. “ ounxteenl You
don’t look over twelve.”

Larr looked up at him quietly, and his voice
hada cilantri initashoanswerod:

“If you don’t ’lieve I’m sixteen, jest
on any feller misge, and you’ll see.
take hear of 111er "

Paul Van Beaver burst out laughing.

" There’s grit for you, governor! Bring on
your ’prentice. I’ll bet you ten dollars hrry
whips him !”

Again a faint smile crossed Skinner’s face.
His grandson was the only person that had
power to call one for h.

“ All right ” he sai .
in and pass the word for .
boy whips him, he shall havo a place.”

aul Van Beaver seemed to be delighted at
the idea.

“ Anything for fun,” he replied. “ Here,
Jim, run in and tell Mr. Mathews to pass the
word for Tom Trainor, out in the yard. Mr.
Skinner wants him.”

the ironmas-

Ikin

"Tell your man to
Tom Trainer If yogi?

 

Mr. James Boggs, of Northamptonshire, Eng-

|
1 land, groom, was standing at the head of Paul’s
leader, and he hesitated slightly, sayin :

“ Can the boy hold Thunderbolt, sir ’

“ Certainly. Here, Larry, you go to the lead-
er’s head while Jim calls Trainer,” said Paul.

Larry nodded and went to Boggs, who said to
him sharply:

“ Now, then, mind your eye, and don’t go to
playin’ any tricks on the ’01-5. ’

“ All right, boss,” was the tranquil reply.
“ Keep yer shirt on. I kin take keer of myself
and the boss too.”

Mr. Bog s favored him with ascowl and de~

arted in igh dudgeon while Larry stood by

hunderbolt’s head, which he could just reach,
and observed to the magnate of the mill, with
infinite coolness:

“ Say, boss; is them horses good goers?”

It was Paul who answered:

“ Pretty good, Larry. Why do you ask?
“'ould you like to take care of them i"

Larry shook his head.

“No. sir. I’m goin’ to be an iron man, I
am. When I gets rich, I’ll drive my own team,
1 will. Grooms ain’t no ’count. They don’t
make uothen but day’s wages.”

Mr. Skinner, for the first time. seemed to be
struck by the boy’s words; for hesaid to Paul,
not ungraciously:

“Boy’s got the right spirit, Paul; right
spirit. But then we want muscle.”

“ Muscle,” echoed Larry.
time, boss.”

At the same moment out came Mr. James
Boggs, who reported:

“ Trainer’s a-comin’ sir.”

Then he went to Thunderbolt’s head and
shoved Larry away, saying:

“ There, get out. Shouldn’t wonder if you’d
been jerkin’ his month while I was away.”

Larry curled his lip, rctorting:

“ Uh, give us a rest! I know what a boss is,
as well as the next man.”

Paul heard him. and said to his grandfather:

“ Isn’t he cheeky! It’s positively refresh- .
ing. ’

Mr. Skinner made a wry face.

“ I guess Tom Will take the check out of him.
He’s a terror to the other ’prentices. Here he
comes.”

Out from the side-door of the mill came a
big, burly boy, with a sullen face, bullet-head
and ears. He came up in a slouching
way, e ed Larry with a sniff of contempt,
wiped 1is nose on the back of his hand, and
said to Skinner:

“ Did yer want me, boss?"

“Yes. This boy wants to come in as a
’prentiee, and I've told him he can’t do it un—
less he whips you. Can you handle him?”

Tom Trainer turned and looked at Lorry
with an indescribable mixture of anger and
contempt. He stood nearly a head taller th
the little tramp. ‘

“Handle him 3’” he echoed. “ I’ll just take
the head of! him, boss. Come, ’skeeter, git out "
of this yard. We don’t want no kids like you.
Git, I say!”

Larry, in the mean time, had thrown his stick
and bundle aside, and was eying his antagonist
with perfeet coolness.

“ Say, hubby,” he retorted, tauntingly. “ take
ofl y’er boots, and I’ll sweeten your eofioa for
you.

Tom’s only answer was to rush at the short
boy and level a ferocious kick at him. which
La evaded by an active spring, while Paul
Van ver stepped out, crying:

“ Fairgolgy there! If you want to kick, take
“as: s mines." .

saying caug t ' y y the am
but Tom turned on him a moment and
growled:

“ You leave me alone. I fight my own way.
I dp§’t take, 03.110  don’t.” h ion

0, no, med 0 Inner, Elfin is
heard; “that won’t do, Tom. . Vgan Bean;
sa 3 take ’em oil, and so do I.” '

’pmn»
at

orcnemomentitseemedasifthebi
ticeworogoirfitostnke Paul, forhog
himlikeawil beast;butthenheseemedto
ammmrmhgimuflorhebognntokickoflhis
ts. 'w' :
"Allgrohhgomifmsayso. Icaneathim
npsnyway."

'Ibenhoturned on Iarry,andmadoflortho
boylikeadunon.

“ That’s me, every

CHAPTER IV.
was: nor or non.

Ton Tasman was angidg, burly boy for his
age, and an old rough tumble fighter, who
had beenthetemrofallthe'prenticesin
the ,ofwhomhewasthooldest.

Herushed at Larrywithlperfecthun'imno.
of blows, expecting to beat him down by main
force and for a moment it seemed as if he
would do it, for he drove the smaller boy back
anldlalluuound “I; yard, piling flow on blow,
w 1 e rry was no m ‘ back
unable to return a blowing pug

“ Your boy won’t get in, Pauw’ said Mr.
Skinner, dryly. “Tom’s doing what he likes
wilgh 

an w 0 was watching them ea 1'] l'a‘
torted, with some heat: ge y,

 

 

 

 

 

' delightedly.

-!

4 but Larry had caught the b'

4

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

“He ought to. There’s twenty pounds bo-  “Enou h! Enoughi My God! d’ye want to

tween them. But I don‘t give up yet. Your
boy’s too fat to last.”

‘There they go. Your boy’s down ” said the
old mill-owner, still more dryly. “You’ll owe
me ten dollars Paul.”

Indeed, both boys had gone down Tom
Trainor on to , in a cloud of dust, and they
could see that om was punching at his prostrate
foe with all his might, while Larry’s head was
moving.

“Not yet,” answered Paul, in a low voice,
watching them intent! . “Look at that!”

B some exertion t ey could not see in the
con usion, Larry had drawn up his knees and
managed to throw of! his big antagonist, scram-
bled up on his feet, and was jum ing back

ain, while Tom was following im more
s owly, evidently winded by his sevsre exer~
tions but savage as ever.

“ e’s esca , punishment so far,” said Paul.
“ Governor, ’11 make the ten fifty that my boy
wins!”

“ Done!” cried Skinner who was growing ex-
cited himself. “ Give it to him, Tom. Are you
going to let that kid get away with you?”

The boys were close to them now and Larry’s
face was visible. It was ve 6, but not a
bruise yet disfigured it, and is eyes watched
Tom as keenly as over, while his lips were firm-
ly closed.

Tom Trainor’s mouth was open, and his face
was crimson, though neither had he received a
blow et.

As e heard his employer’s taunt he made a
d rate effort, and sent a right-hand blow
wit all his force at Larry.

“Good bo , Larry!" exclaimed Paul, with

nuine ent usiasm, as the boy ducked his

d, evaded the blow, and the next moment
dashed in to close.

Thad“ crafkbo i heard the d

ey saw e ys grapp e, seun
of heads knockin ether, and then
broke away, wh e om staggered back wit
the blood streamin from his nose and mouth.

Larry had “bu ed” him with all his force,
and broken the hold of his enemy.

“Make it a hundred, governor?" cried Paul,
“ Your boy’s whipped!”

I “ 0t yet,” said Skinner, sharply.

And he was right.

Tom Trainor, throu h over-confidence in his
grapple, had received wo severe blows, but he
was not by any means beaten.

0n the contrary, the blows, coming from so
puny an antagonist, had sobered, steadied, and
thoroughly enraged him.

He stopped a moment to take breath, and then
advanced more slowly on Larry, who kept up
the same watchful, retreating game as before, a
fierce smile on his boyish face. He had not ut-
tered a sound since the fight began.

Tom was breathing heavily but it ton slowly
advancing, till he got wit in reac , when he
made a ti r spring, ejaculating:

“Now ve got e!”

He had clutch Larry by the collar with his
left hand, and aimed a low with his right,
meant wickedly.

Down went Larry’s head, eecaging it, but he
could not escape Tom’s gras , an the next mo-
ment down went both boys in a heap, Tom up-

permost.

They lay on the ground, tugging and panting
bo ’s wrist an
had fallen face downward w ile om was try-
ing to turn him over, and the lesser boy was
slow! working his way back out of the grip

that old him.
The saw him gt up, first one knee and then
the at r, till, wi a sudden wrench, he got his

head free, and they saw him turn it on Tom’s

‘ arm

Then came a sava cry of pain and fu
from the bigger boy,g:s he relaxed his ho! ,

mulling:

“ Bite, will ye?”

The relaxation was momentary, but it was
enough for the tough, wiry boy underneath.
In a moment he had wriggled back 3031::

I shoulder under Tom’s thigh and was

bodil .
Tor); struggled save?! , but he was power'
loss, for his eet were 0 he ound, and Iarry

had strength enough to lift h min the air.

Then both boys pitched forward in, and
they heard Trainor’s head strike e hard
ground with a terrible thud.

A bledmt): swine ngbo‘igmsh‘éid
scram is es , e an pm , -
umphant while Tom finer lay still.

looked down at him, and then m...
on his foe like a litfle demon, clutch
he shook his

himse
him by the throat, and cried as
head'

“ Have ye had enough yet?"

Tom had been stunned but the words woke
him, and he tried to clutch Larry, who had both
knees on his foe’s chest.
hgfisgntl th’e ghort boy an to“: buck ” his

to em s ace, sav y z

“ D’ye beg? d’ye i” we cry 3

“Crack, crack crac crack!” went the bard
little head, and Tom, sitar a faint struggle, be-
gun to roar: '

 

i?

kill me? noughi
Larry rose up, pantin , and went to old Mr.
Skinner, to whom he sail , breathlessly:

j {)‘I’We whipped him, boss. Kin I have the
o 3

Old Skinner, for the first time, showed genu-
ine surprise.

There lay his head b0 ,the strongest in the
mill, undeniably whip ,whipped until he beg-
ged for mercy, by a little shaver who looked
not more than twelve years old.

Paul Van Beaver on his part, was so delight-
ed that be clapped his hands, crying:

“Fifty dollars, governor! You owe it to me.
He hasn’t got ascratch. By heavens, he’sa boy
of iron 1”

Skinner still kept staring at the boy as if he
could not believe his eyes, and n0w he took hold
of Larry and began to feel his arms and body,
muttering:

“ That s just what he is, a boy of iron. Only
feel how hard he is.”

Then he lifted Larry by the arms with some
difiicult , muttering still:

“ He’ weigh a hundred—and—and—twenty—
how much?”

“ Hundred and twent -seven, boss,” said

himself, calmly. e had recovered his
breath with surprising facility, and had resumed
his old impudent manner. ‘Poor-house scales
said so. Doctor says I’ll nevsr be tall. Kin I
gave” the job you said, boss? I’ve whipped
1m

Skinner looked over at Tom Trainer, who be—
gan to rise up and shamble slowly to the mill,
and the ironmaster nodded and sai , in a gloomy
sort of way:

“ Yes, you’ve whip him. Here, come into
the ofiioe and I'll sen you to the overseer.”

Larry. as unconcernedl¥ as ever, nned
gratefully and winked at an], after w ich he

ollowed his new employer into the oflice, and
gazed at the huge, dark interior of the mill
thrcaifih the glass door with a keen pleasure that
ven itself in the words,-

“ Golly, mister! This beats the County House
all to fits, don’t it?”

Skinner2 who had taken his seat at a desk,
wheeled his chair to say, with a cold stare:

“ Shut up your head. You’re too cheeky, by
half. Take this finger to the overseer and he’ll
putlypu on to he p kelly. Did you ever shovel
coa

Larry grinned from ear to ear.

“Shovel cool? You bet your boots they sot
me at that since I were ten year old. Doctor
said that’s what stunted me. Where’ll I find
the overseer, mister?"

“ Go and find out,” said Skinner, roughly;
“ and look here, boy—”

“ Sir!” said Larry, innocent! , for he saw
there was somethin on the other s mind.

“ Don’t et the other boys down on you.” said
Skinner, s owly, “ or they may club together to
whip you some time.”

La nodded his head with the same confl-
dent r that he had shown all along, and an-
swered, as he went into the mill:

“ I’ll take keer of myself, boss, and I’ll stay in
the mill, too. You see if I don’t.”

Then he disappeared, and Paul Van Bearer
observed to his grandfather:

“ He’s a trump. isn’t he? How he whipped
that great lout, Trainer, didn’t he? VVlmt a
sullen, good for-nothing whelp that is, by the
by isn’t he governor?”

Something in his words seemed to anger the
old man, for he retorted, sharply:

“ You’re talking of what you don’t fully un-
derstand, Paul. don’t see anyi whelp about
him. He fought hard but that ttle devil was
too much for him. That’s all. I don’t like to
hear oucall him a whelp. Tom‘s a good band,
andi ’snotyourplaoetooail himnames.”

Paul looked surprised at this rebuke of his

dfather, who was usually so kind to him;
ut he answered:

“ I’m sure I beg your pardon, sir; I was not
aware he was a pet of yours.”

Mr. Skinner turned red.

“He's no pet of mine, but if you knew all
about him you’d say that you were the last

rsog to abuse him. There, that will do. i’m

usy.

And the old man turned to his books, while
Paul, in some dudgeon, walked out of the office,
and went to his d -cart to drive 01!.

He had got into t seat and was just turnin
his horses out of the yard, when avoioe

m:

“ Are these the Skinner Mills?”

,Paul looked round and saw a bi man, rather
roughly dressed, staring at him wit a singularly
intent , not at all unlike a scowl.

“ y, yes,” he said. “These are the Skin-
ner iron mills. Whom do you want to see, my
man?”

The man aged him and his dog-cart very

keenly before e answered:
“I reckon I can find my man. I suppose
you‘re P iii!”

a

“ I’m usually1i grilled  Van Beaver,” the
man , aug l .
Wiggins-aux laughed. y

“ Yes, some folks might. I’m not that kind.

‘Molly only shook her

 

I’ve got a ri ht to call on Paul, and I’m oi
to do . Ggodday.” y 8 ng

So saying, he strode est the dog-cart to the
ofiice, and an], astoum ed and angry, saw him
open the deer. saw Mr. Skinner start up and
turn round at the noise, and then saw him sink
back in his chair. pale as death and trembling
all over, as if much agitated.

In a moment the young man had 10"]‘fil<)if
the box, run to the stranger, and pulled him
back crying:

“ ho are you? How dare you i”

To his su rise and indignation the big man
turned roun and clutched him by the shoulders
with the strength of a giant, vociferating:

“ Is that your game? Aha! you’ll find your
uncle’s got hold of you I”

CHAPTER V
THE BLACK HAWK GANG.

WHEN Mr. James Skelly, furnace-feeder,
came home that evening to the shanty on the
rocks, La Locke came with him, and Mr.
Skell told '3 wife:

“ ’ is a good boy, he is, and how c’u’d he he! ~
bein’ good wid the name of Larry? He’l
do as me as a man’s work, Bridget. Give
him a good supper. Where’s Molly wid the
goats?”

“ Here I am,” replied the voice of Miss Taber
from the fryin -pa.n in the next room. “ The
goats is milked fang ago.”

Mr. Skelly took is seat on the stone bench
outside the door and began to hum a tune with

a lordiy air.
Bridge,”

 

“And it’s two hands we have now
he said to his wife. “ Let the b’ye and the girl
wait on us. Sit ye down.”

Then to Molly be called:

“ Set the table and give us our supper. Pwhat’vs
the use of havin’ he , av ye don t make them
work

Miss Taber made no answer but to clatter-
among the dishes for awhile, but in five minutes
more she came into the outer room to an-
nounce:

“ Supper’s ready, gentlemen !”

She did it with a great air and a fiounce. but
after they were seated at the table she kept
making Signals to Larry which the boy did not
at firs understand, till mayor was over, when
he slip d out and whisper :

“W at is it, Moll?”

Miss Taber pretended to be absorbed in her
dishwashing, till she heard Skelly and his wife

0 out to t e stone bench, when she whispered

ck:

“ Say, did ye whip Tom Trainer bad?”

Larry shrugged h s shoulders.

“I got the place,” was all he answered.

Miss Taber nodded.

“ I heern tell of it.
it. He called me Red
me a sla inthe mouth.”

“ Did e?” said Larry, angrily.
to 've him another for that.”

is Taber smiled, as she rather liked to hear
him say so.

“Yes,” she Eursued, slowly ringing out her
dish-cloth. “ im and me Used to be great
friends ons’t, till he found out Something about
hisself.” '

“ And what was that?” asked Larry.

Molly shook her head m steriously.

“ Never mind. Me and im was in the ’sylum
together ons’t. Saiy, do you know who was
your father, Larry ’

Larr stared and hesitated, rather as if he
didn’t ike the uestion, but at last said:

“ No, nor mo her neither. Do you, Moll?” ‘

Molly shook her head.

“ Nary bit. Reckon we ’sylum children etc:
on as well’s them’s have dadsand mains. ell,
this Tom, he found out who washis dad, and
sence that there’s been no bearin’ of him.”

“ And who is his dad!” asked Larry, at which
head still more mysteri—

Se I’m real lad ye did
uh] last wegk and hit

“I’ve a mind

ouslv answ g.

“ ever you mind. I know. Say. did you
have a good time at the works to-dsy'i”

“ Pretty good,” returned Larry, indifferentl'y.
“ They had a muss up at the ofi‘lce.”

“What about?” asked Moll , curiously, so
curiously she dropped her dish-c eth. “ Oh my,
there’s a visitor coming.”

“That’s me,” said Inna, gallently. “ I’m
the visitor, Molly. “ I’d l e to see any other
teller comin’ srter you. I’d lam him.”

“But what was the muss?” asked she, affect—
ing not to notice him.

‘I_ don‘t rightly know, but the men had to
run 13, to put some one fighting, and they do

“What, Larry!”

For he hesitated.

“Th”? do say it was Mr. Skinner’s son, had
come back from sea, and that he raised the
muss ” said . .

Moll? seemed to be greatly excited at the
news. or she ejaculated:

“ Mr. Skinner’s son! Not Mercellegsr'

“ Reckon that was the name, He

s.
Oh, the snatch!”

“ Wh the wretchi” asked Larry
Monyydrow him close to whisper?

 

 

i ,
A.

    
 
  
 
 

, turned him out, eVer so man

I.  l..',;,  - 31.5.4“ ck"; ~v  i, ,,
x‘.,,= . -» ,, u.” ,fl...l.,. . , 
1 1M" - a , ; van“ 3 w
l

x .,> _7. a,
. .-< ., ,

. e- ;  iv uh '- z . I
in, . \., ,V ., , ,

I '  Locke. the Man of Iron. 5

 

:3

 

“ He’s Tom Trainer’s father I”

The intelligence did not seem to disturb Larry,
who merely answered:

“ Is be? And wt}? did he go away?”

“ I d’no’,” said olly, “ but I’ve heern Mrs.
Skellysay what she hearn toll.”

“ .And what was that?"

“That the old man was awful mad, and
years 0. So
now he's come back, has he:’ ell, you’ ketch
it now, Larry.”

“Me? Why?” asked Larry.

“ ’Cause you whipped Tom. 0h, he’ll heaven
with you, if he can. Now he knows he’s the
old man’s grandson by ri hts—”

“ Molly!” called Mrs. kelly.

“ Ma’am‘i” cried Moll , sweetly, while Larry
slipped out of the back oor. '

“ What are ye doin’ there, gabbin' and talkin’
like an ould country ma is, instead of attend-
in’ to er work” asked rs. Skelly. “G’wan
now! re’s Larry? Where are ye, Larry?”

“ Here, ma’am.”

And Larry presented himself meekly and sud-
denl , adding:

“ was looking at the ‘taters, ma‘am, and
picking off bugs ”

“ L‘avc the boy ’lone,” grumbled Mr. Skelly,
who was smoking his pipe in a contented frame
of mind. “ Larry’s a good boy, Bridge.”

“And who’s sayin’ he ain’t?” asked Mr.
Skelly, sharply. “Sure and can’t I talk to me
own hired man, av I pl’asc? Larry, boy, g’wan
down and take a look at the pig, boy. Av’ he’s
finished the ’taty peelin’s, put him in the shty
and shut the door on him. Sure the cr’ater
don’t know yo yet. And he’s a darlin‘, so
he is.”

Larry went off toward the Jiig-sty to obey
orders, when he heard the scan of whispering
on the other side, and saw a head disap or
over the edge of a rock on which Ske ly’s
shanty was built. -

Somethingr made him hesitate a moment be- ,
fore going on, and it was well he did, for the
next moment he heard a voice cry out in
guarded tones:

“ That’s the snoozer. Give it to him, boys!”

And then out sprung flve boys, about his own
.age, whom he knew well as ’prentices in the
mill, headed by Trainer, all carrying clubs, and
made for him.

In a moment he had turned to flee, and ran
like a deer past Skelly’s house, to the intense
surprise of James, who hastily rose up, crying:

" Holy Fathers, what’s the matter?”

“Give it to ’em both!” cried Trainer: and as
he spoke be aimed a blow at Skelly’s head,
which the athletic furnace-feeder parried with
his arm, and closed in with an inarticulate cry
of rage and pain, grappling Tom and bringing
him to the ground. club and all:

“Give it to him,” screamed Tom, and with ‘
that his four friends began to beat Skelly with 1
their clubs, while the man, in his fury and des— ;
peration, choked Trainer who roared aloud ‘
and kicked out, trying to defend himself as be
best oould.’

Mrs. Skelly screamed at the top of her voice
and ran into the house to get a broom, with
which she laid about her as she knew best,
while, Molly Taber screamed: i

" Larry! Larry! Help!” _ ,, _,

Larry heard the shriek as he ran, forehehad
only gone to the end of the little garden-patch,
to pick up a club he remembered to have seen
there.

A moment later he came running silently
back, wicldm the weapon, which was nothing
more than t e handle of a long spade, from
which the blade had gone.

Before the assailants of Skelly could disable
the ovcrmatched man, Larry was on them.

One cheping.r blow of the tough hickorgé a,
crack like a pistol-tht, and one of the yg
sta gored back and dropped.

be others turned on him at once, leavin
Skelly, and drove Larry back with a shower 0
blows which he could not wholly parry.

The enemy all carried base-ball clubs, and
seemed to be set on his destruction; for they
came on all together, and sent their blows in
showers. trying to surround him.

He had to leap back and to either side, strik-
ing whenever he could, but not able to. beat
them off till he felt astunning sensation in his
head an staggered as one of the bats grazed
his skull.

In another minute he was beaten to his knees
and felt. the blows everywhere. on head, shoul-
ders and back, while he was growing confused,
with the single idea left in his head that he

 ‘;,‘~

i

a last blow that took one in the back and
elicited another howl.

“ Shto l Shtopl” shouted Skelly, catch'
him by t arm. “Don’t fol] them. Don’t
know who they are, bad luck ’em?”

Larry stopped at the signal, and found that
he was near y a hundred yards from the house.
The blood was flowing from his head, and had
covered his face and neck, while he began to
feel dizzy as he went slowly back.

“Ye did well, Larry, y,” mid the older
man, as they came to the house. “ orra, av
go hadn’t come back when ye did, it’s kilt I’d

ave been intirel . Here, Bridge, get’s some
watgr. Sure, we re worth a hundred dead in: 11
yet.

“But, where’s Trainer?” murmured Larry,
stupidly. “ He was with them.”

“Don’t e ax no questions,” responded Jim,
curtly. “ e orra, the got all they wanted
to-night, so t ey did. ’ was the Black Hawk
Gang, they calls themselves. Let them go.”

Larry stared round him in the twilight, and
saw that all his late enemies were gone, while
he heard. Molly Taber’s voice, as it whispered
soft y:

“Larry, boy, you did that elegant. Oh, my!
ain‘t I glad you whipped’em alll Isaid he’d
try to get even with you and he has. That’s
’cause his dad came home to-day.”

CHAPTER VI.
THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN.

LARRY LOCKE went to the mill next day as if
nothing had happened, though his head was
decorated with strips of plaster, while Jim
Skelly looked as if he had been at a prize fi ht:
but neither of them saw any sign of om
Trainer in the mill.

Four of the ’prentices were there, with their
heads tied up; and many were the jocular com-
ments ssed by the men on the afl’air, which
had lea ed out, magnified to the usual propor-
tions, before the day was over.

Larry found himself looked on with great
curiosity by some of the men who were notorious
as fighters, and more than one managed to drop
in at Skell ’s cottage in the course of the week
to hear 0 the afi'air in full, while all voted
Larry “a good boy,” and confirmed the nick-
name, which he bad already earned, of the
“ Boy of Iron.”

But Tom Trainor did not make his appear-
ance at the works during the week, and it was
not till pay-day that any one saw him.

Then, to their great astonishment, they found
Tom “dressed up to kill,” as they t it, in
the ofilce at a desk, writing, or at east pro-
tending to write, while a new face Was at the
pay-table; that of a. big], sour-lookin man,
with a. stern expression, w o seemed at rst not
to be familiar with their names, for he was a
lon time pa ing off.

()d Mr. kinuer was in the office. and t‘..o
men noticed that he looked nervous and anxious.
watching the big man furtively, as if he feared
he might make mistakes.

For a time no one knew who the big man was,
till a little dispute occurred as to the payment
of one of the hands for extra time, when the
new ymaster turned round to say, audibly:

“ ow is this, father!”

Then there was a murmur among the men.
They had heard the rumor that Marcellus Skin-
ner, the outcast son, had come back, but here

 

‘- was confirmation of the report fer which they

had not looked.

Mr. Skinner came forward; said a few words,
and put the matter straight, when the pay-roll
proceeded, till Jim Skell ’8 name was called.
to ether with “ Larry Loc e, hel )er.”

hen they went up to the tab e the big man
eyed them narrowly for several seconds, but
said nothing beyond:

“ Sign here. You can write can’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Skelly, rathor proudly, and
he signed his name with some difficulty.

The man at the table eyed him like a hawk
while he signed, and then said to Larry

rougéily:
“ ou can’t write. Make your mark here.
You get three dollars.” ,

Larry looked back at him with interest, as he

replied:
‘Thankee mister; I kin write. I l’arned in
the County once."

“You look like a —” n the man with a
sneer, when he suddenly pu ed up, like one 1»
tin a great constraint on himself, and
wit a smile:

“You look like a- smart boy. Sign here!”

Larry obeyed. and as he received his money

 

must fight till he was killed.

He struggled up and threw all his mmainin
strength into a sweeping blow of his sta , '
which struck something. . ’

He heard the crack .and saw some one fell, .
then saw a man running toward him—a man a
with a thick club.

“ G’waii, now, ye spalpeens!” roared the man,
whom face was covored with blood, and. as he '
s ke, he struck one of Larry’s assailants a
b ow with his club that elicited a yell of pain.

That blow settled the contest. Both of Lar-
rv’s foes turned to run, and Larry rushed

 after them, sending what force be had left into

he saw that the new paymastcr was e ing him
Irlnore keenly than he had eyed Ske y before
an.
The boy returned the gem with interest as he
 the money into his pocket, saying,
1 y:  ,
p “ Thankee kindly. sir. Reckou I will.”
“You will what?” asked theoth‘er in a low
tone. with a furtive scowL, '

“ Know you next timiIi " r‘eSponded Larry, as
innocently as before, an A'then. he went away
from the table with a smothered chuckle pre
ceding him from the men.th had heard him
while the man at the table ‘bit. his lip, turned

vl

 

 

very red, and muttered something to himself
between his clinched teeth that sounded very
like an oath, though he maintained hisqniet
demeanor and continued to pay ofl.’ the men as
before.

When the last man had filed out of the gate
the new paymaster turned to Mr. Skinner with
rather a triumphant smile, observing:

“ You see, I told on I could et on and make
no mistakes, sir. be cash is a right to a cent.
If I’ve learned nothin else in the world, I‘ve
leamed to look a ter the nnies.”

Old Mr. Skinner looked approvineg at him
and answered slowly:

“ I told you, Marcellus, that I was ui'te will-
ing togive you a. trial and if I fln that you
have truly reformed I s all make no distinction
between you and my other child; but you must
pardon meif I test on thoroughly. Emmeline
your sister, never disobeyed me. She married
into an excellent family, and her son is my
pride and delight. You might have been my
partner, ears ago, had you conducted ourself
as a gent eman, even as an honest man, ut you

referred to have your own way and it has
Brought you to eatin husks. But I am willin
to forgive all and be p you, even to help tha
unfortunate boy whose stained birth he owes to
you, if you will only behave as you have done
to-day, all the time. Your advancement de-
pends on yourself alone.”

Marcellus Skinner turned away his head from
his father to conceal a sneering expression that
had become habitual to him, but only said:

“ Thank you, sir. I’ll try to deserve your
trust. I hope you’ll think better of me before
very leng.”

“I’m sure I hope so, Marcellus," replied the
old man, coldly. “But you must admit that
the scene you made with Paul was not calcu-
lated tomake me love you any more than nature
compels.”

Marcellus, whose head was turned away still,
ground his teeth with an expression of bitter
rage at the name of Paul; but it was in tones of
great humility he said:

“ Ah, sir, don’t be too hard on me. I had not
seen you for fifteen years and more. I did not
know him. and he took hold of me as if I had
been a felon. “'hat wonder that I was temo
porarily irritated? But I’ll do my best to make
it n sir.”

old
for he answered.

“ \Vell, I won’t remember it against you, but

do you remember this; Paul is m sole heir
now. As you behave in future '1 be your
share of what I leave. Good-day. See to the

closing of the works. There’s Paul now.”

Indeed they heard the clatter of wheels out-
side and saw throu h the glass door the dog-
cart draw up, while ’aul’s cheery cry rung out
through the glass:

“ Hilloa, governor, here we are, all ready to
take you over to the races.”

The old ironmaster’s face lighted up with
pleasure, as it always did at the presence of his
favnrite grandson, and be burned out, crying

as he went:

“ Here I am, Paul. Don’t get out. I can get
in alone I ess.” .
Marcellus Skinner had risen from his chair,
his face ashen gray and working with envy as

he saw the hap y young man drive up, but he
said nothing ti 1 the dog cart drove off.

Then he looked all round the office, and at r

the deserted works, and saw that he was alone ,
with Tom Trainor for the first time that day.

Then be stamped his foot on the floor and
burst out into a torrent of virulent curses, the
foam flying from his white lips as he raved, on
Paul, on his father, on all who had laced
him, while Tom, who was used to roug lan—
guage turned round on his high stool and
1002‘; (inhan dod ‘c h races,

‘-y,' econcu . ‘ mingtote .
are ye, curse ye both! You’re to have all the
cream of life and I’m to drink the sour whey
am 1! Oh, curse ve both, fifteen fathoms under
the bottom of the lowest place of torment, curse
ye. curse ye i”

Exhausted by the violence of his rage, he sunk
into a chair and continued, in a low voice, as if
exhausted:

“Tom, come here!”

Tom, more than half fri htened coma to him
and Marcellus continued a owly:

" Tom, he says I did ye a wrong. and I gm.
it’s true. You mi ht have been Tom Skinna'
instead of Tom obody, if I’d married your
mother, Maggie. Never mind; she’s dead now.
But mark my words Tom: ou’re my. son. as
trueas that stuck-up I’aul be onged to his dad,
that never earned a penny in his life, and now
by heavens, I’ve come home, resolved to stand,
anything and everything, so longras I get back
tiny Sights at last. D’ye ye hear, ommyl D’ye

ear '

“ Yes, father,” answered Tom, doubtfully
for he was coWed by the vehement passion of
the other. "

“ Ay, Tom. and mark’ee this: I’ll get ’em. Me
and you, Tommy, me and you. I’m the on]
son, and he give. me the grand bounce. H
son ! d’ye mind thaw-his son! And he took
Eni’s baby, a little, puny, equalling brat, to be

i

\

Skinner seemed to be somewhat molliiied, .

‘ l

  

 

nose that gave token of altered fortunes,

6 Larry" Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

And he’s (got a dog-cart and livos in
clover, while me an (you has to slave away our
lives in this musty 01 hole, makin money for
him to spend, the cussed youn sno . Oh, curse
’em. curse ’em, curse ’em, oml I hope the
cursed dog-cart’ll break down an’ kill ’em both!
I hOpe— Confound it, boy, why don’t you
curse the upstart? Curse him well, Tom, curse
himl”

Nothing 10th, the boy obeyed, and for a good
minute father and son blas bemed with a viru-
lence perfectly Satanic, tll Marcellus shook his
son’s hand, saying:

“Thankee, thankcc, Tom. It does me good
to hear 0 swear like that. I’m easier now.
But I tel ye, Tom, me and you’s got to walk a
strai ht line, we have.”

“ ou bet,” responded Tom, with a shiver of
disgust. “He’s got eyes in the back of his
head I b’lieve, he has.”

“Never you mind that, Tommy,” said his
father, cucouragingly. ‘l've done a deal
already, I have. and l was a fool I didn’t do it
long ago afore he get set on this upstart kid of
Ems. I’ve got him to take me in again and
put you in the office instead of the works and
thats a good deal. Now, Tommy, you listen
to me, for I’m going to do what I say. Me and

ou has got to be humble as Worms for ever so
long, till we get in with the old man. I’ll work
him, Tom; I‘ll work him; and he won’t know
how I do it. Our time will come after he’s
dead. Keep still, buy. “’c'vc lmth got, our
grudges, to pay, Tom, and We’ll pay ’eln, too,
when the old man‘s dead—hey, Tom!”

Tom chuckled at the idea, but he said rathor
hesitatiugly:

“But it will take a long time to Work the
racket. father.”

“Never you mind that, Tom,” returned his
amiable parent. “I’ve had lll fling. and now
I’m going to make money. Vlleu I’ve got
back what I ought to have, Tom, and see you
a—riding in that cursed dog-cart he rides in now

on shall havn your fling, never fear. And now
et’s shut up.” .

From that day father and son kept their reso-
lution and became models of quiet and submis-
sive deportmcnt.

Tom remained in the office, while Marcellus
helped him on every possible occasion, and year
by year Marcellus acquired more and more in-
fluence over the old man.

Meantime, Lar Locke rose from place to
place in the foun , till he had become head
of the “ cranemen,” who handled the hu 6
crucibles of molten steel, and was known as e
strongest man in the works.

Paul Van Beaver went away on a trip to
Euro , while Marcellus staid at work in the
f ry and so matters went on for several

ears all one day Marcellus said to his con, mi»
{in hiis lllands, with an evil smile that meant a
ea :

“ Tommy, our time’s coming close now. Tell
me the man you hate worst in the world.”

“ Locke.” answered Torn, without a
moment’s hesitation.

Moellui slapped him on the shoulder.

“And my man‘s that upstart Paul. Tommy,
boy, we’ve got ’em both. The old man’s going
to make a new will.”

CHAPTER VII.
8 mtg;an FORTtéNE. h
n: ears awe rom t 9 time
Larry flocks entered the stee mill, when Mr.
Paul Van Beaver no longer in his handsome
dog-cart but on foot and dressed with a plain-

his heir.

was
standing on the top of one of the hills that over-
look the city of Holesburg, by the side of a neat
little cottage, talking to a short young man
' shoulders of unusual breadth.
At the door of the same cottage, and to all ap-
ranc'e an interested listener to the conversa-
ion, was a pretty young Woman, wh0se bright
auburn hair shone ike red gold in the sun, while
the baby in her arms had got hold of a strag-
ling curl and was tugging at it with great
ell ht.

. “ es, La ” Paul was so. ing, rather sadly,
“ I’m not asrlixylillyoff as I miyht be Tobe sure
it’s a great disappointment w en I was amred
so often by my grandfather that I was to be his
heir, but Mr. Skinner’s right to the property
under the will as found is incontestable.”

Larry Locke looked up at him as if he rather
doubted it. He was the same old Larry, in the
clear brown e es and the defiant curve of the
mouth, thong he had grown every way since
he came to the mill. He was still very short for
a man—not over five feet four in his stockings—
but his frame was unusually broad and com-

ct, and he was one of the heaviest men in the

mill where his strength waz‘flroverhial among
the z‘crancmen” who handl the big crucibles
of molten steel.

“ I don’t b’lieve but what the old gent meant
to do right,” he said, slowly; “ but I kin tell
vou one thing, Mr. Paul, that the men don’t like
Mr. Marcellus, now he’s the owner, and if I ain’t
mistook ther’ll be trouble in more’n one mill
afor» long.”

" Not on mv account, I hope,” said Paul,
earnestly. “ Remember, I make no claim to

,, as»; . "r ‘8,

t .
7..
I

\ 47'

 

 

 

anything. I've lived a reckless extravagant
life on other people’s money an now I’ve got
to earn my own living. Mr. Skinner has been
kind enough to offer me a place in the office at
a fair salary, and I’m not too proud to accept
it. Mr. Skinner is my relative, and I’m not
ashamed to apply to him for help.”

Larry Locke cast a lance at the black-striped
chimney of the works low before he answered,

slowl :

“ There’s goin’ to be trouble, Mr. Paul, and
don’t you forget it. But it ain’t comin’ from
the. men, neither. This here Marcellus Skinner’s
a bad man. You ax Molly here what she knows
about him.”

Paul turned to the young woman at the door,
saying:

" Well, Mrs. Locke and what do you know
about Mr. Marcellus Skinner?”

It was Larry’s first Holesburg friend, the
“Red Moll” of former days, now a handsome,
bright-looking woman who answered him:

‘ I don’t know much, sir, but I know he’s a
bad man, and a deep one.”

“ And how do you know that? I didn’t know
you had ever seen him.”

Molly seemed a little confused before she an-
swered him, and kept her eyes on the baby as
she said:

“You know, sir, I was brought up in the
Ilo<\r—llouse—”

“ Yes, yes,” interrupted Paul, hastily. “Never
mind that. In this country any one can rise to
he an thing. I think none the worse of you
and any for being foundlings. God knows
it’s not every one who has a father that has
cause to be )roud of him.”

And Pan sighed heavily. His own father
had been a lazy, improvident gentleman who
had lived on his relatives, on the strength of
being the young PatrOon, and no one had rc-
grettfll his loss. '

Larry Locke lifted his head rather proudly,
and drew nearer to his wife, saying:

“ Yes, Moll, we was both ‘ poor—house brats,’
as they call ’em; but I reckon we hain’t done so
bad, arter all.”

Molly cast a fond lance at him. She was
very roud of her bus and.

“ on may say that, Larry, boy,” she said.
“ We don’t owe no one a. penny, except on the
house.”

“And we’ll pay that when it’s due,” said
Larry stoutly. ‘ I ain’t afraid of no mortgage
while ’ve got my arms. I kin take care of my-
self, and on, too.”

“ But a ut Skinner?” interrupted Paul.

“Yes sir, about Skinner,” said Molly. “It
was in t e poonhouse I first seen him.”

“ In the poor-house?”

“ Yes. sir, he used to come there reg’lar, at
one time, to see a boy called Tommy, and the
folks said as how Tomm was his son thou h
he never owned him. An at last he took t e
bog away. And they do sag, sir-—”

he hesitated a moment, at continued:

“ The do say, sir, as Tom Trainer, that’s new
in the o co, is the same boy, with his mother’s
name. An how, it was arter that Marcellus
and the ol gent had a rumpus, and Marcellus
went away and never come back till the other

da .”

Baal seemed to be struck with the story.

“ I’ve often thought,” he said, musingly,
“ that it was curious I never knew my mother
had a brother till after Marcellus came home.
Grandfather must have been ashamed of it.”

“They was all ashamed of it.” said Molly
Locke. “And no wonder. The old cut was
hard but he was just, and he sent arcellus
away, so I’ve heard say, and he was at sea
a long time. He used to spend a good deal
of m’pney in the old days; but he’s changed
now.

Paul laughed rather bitterly.

“ Changed? Yes, I should say so. He’s close
as a man can be, now. Well it’s no use crying
over spilled milk, Larry. I’ll see you often
enou h now. Good-bv.”

.“ nd remember, Mr. Paul,” said Larry, as
his old patron turned away, “ that if ever ye
want a friend. thorigh Moll and me ain’t what’s
to call Milli/nears, won’t never forget the fu’st
gifilul’I ever had, who got me into the Skinner

l s.

“ Never mind that ” said Paul, with a slight
sigh. “What I did,\i did carelessly. It’s vour
ood heart that remembers ittoo well. Good-

y. l,

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEW SCALE.

IN the office of the Skinner Mills, the day
after Paul Van Beavsr took his seat as an
humble clerk in the place where he had so long
ex .ted to be master, a gloomy silence pre-
va led.

Mr. Marcellus Skinner, the new owner, had
been in ..ion for a week, and was sitting
at the master’s desk, scowling as usual when
lll-humored. For the matter of that. he seemed
ill-humored always. /

At the next desk was a big, fat young man,
with a sullen face, enou h like that of Marcellus
Skinner to favor the dea that Tom Trainor
ought by rights to have been Tom Skinner.

 

He was making

a pretense of writing lette
which, as his education had been of the m
limited kind, was a mere pretense and a painful
one.

At a high desk, in the poorest lighted part of

the office, stood Paul Van Beaver, at work on a
lot of bills, which he was entering in a book,
quietly and rapidly.

Presently Tom uttered an impatient oath, and
grumblineg said:

“I ain’t well, Mr. Skinner. I don’t seem to
be able to write tmlay. Can't I have a bit of
a holiday for once in a way?”

Marcellus Skinner looked up at him, and the
scowl vanished from his face. It was a hard,
brutal face enough, weathr r-beaten and heavy-
jowled, with a bristling gray mustache, but it
softened as he said:

"Yes, Tommy, boy—certainly. Go to the
stable and get the dog'cart. You’ve got as good
a right to it as an one ever had that ust to
live on other folkss money, with all their airs
and graces. Don’t drive ’cm too hard, boy. I
got ’cm a bargain, but that‘s no reason they
should be killed.”

Paul Van Beaver heard all. but never pre-
tended io notice. It was part of the system of
petty taunts by which his uncle had striven to
make his place misirzlble since he entered the
office.

The dog-cart had been his. nominally, but on
his grandfather’s (hath, and the sudden dis-
covery of a will leaving all his property to
“my beloved son, Marcellus Skinner, for the
term of his natural life, with a reversion to the
legal heirs of my daughter Enlmcline,” Paul
had been rcducm to pcnury at once, the more
so as his other grandfather, Marcus Van
Beaver, at his death a year before. had left his
estate of Bravcrwyck mortgaged for its full
value to no links a person than Elisha Skinner
himself; and the mortgage, which I’aul had
thought to he an empty formality as long as his
grandfather lived, became a grim reality as
soon as Marcellus Skinner took possession.

He made no remark, but went on with his
books till Tom Trainer had gone, when Marcel-
lus Skinner said, roughly:

“Paul, ye lazy good-for-nothing, what are ye
doin there?”

“ opying bills, sir ” said Paul, calmly.

“Hem! Copying bills. are ye?” returned his
uncle, with a sneer. “ Well, come over to Mr.
Trainer’s desk and write. I want to dictate a
letter.”

Paul came over obedientl and took a fresh
sheet of pa r, when Marce us began with his
usual scow .

“ I’m going for those friends of yours in the
sho , Mr. Paul. :I’ve seen their ways to on
an your better-s, and I’m going to make
hum . Do you hear me!”

“ es, sir. What shall I write!” said Paul, as
frigidly as ever. \

‘ Write to Stone 6r. Grynde,” was the reply.

” Gary—I think the Combination you propose is
a good one. I am willing to enter it, beginning to-
morrow. It’s time we taught our bands who is mas-
t r. If it had been dene ten years ago. we should
have been richer men. Yours.”

Paul handed him over the letter. and the
new master signed it, and then said, with a
sneer:

“ We’re
going to r
get now?”

“Ten dollars a week,” answered Paul, not
without a certain sinking of the heart.

“ Well, we’re oin to cut down twenty-five
per cent,” reto ed arcellus, “beginnin the

oing to scale d0wn wages, and I’m
uce everywhere. How much do you

next pay-day. You’ll ‘only get seven-fifty ere--

after. If you don’t like it, you can quit as soon
as you like.”

Paul listened silently, and his only reply was
the uery: .

“ ny more letters, Sir?” _

“ No. Go back to your bills,” said his uncle,
sullenl . “I’ll brln your cursed pride down

et, with all your an Beaver airs and graces.

an Beaver, indeed! A lot of paupe‘rs, that

ot hold of my father in his dotage, and would
lave sucked him dry if he hadn’t died in the
we. he did i”

lyaul colored high for the first time. His tem-
per was naturally quick, and he had had a great
struggle for Some time to keep it in bounds.

“ 0 you’ll renk mber, sir,” he said, “that
my mot er was your sister, and that a sneer at
my father’s family is a reflection on her and
yofir OWIIII family;l d

arce us e no 0 and scowl d w '
chuckled. , e hue he

“ Ho, hol So the Van Beaver pride’s getting

up, is it? ‘Vell, we’ll bring that down. Ain’t
you a pauper, depending on my bounty? Ain’t
you?——say!”
_ “ No sir!” returned Paul, with a great swell-
ing at is throat. “ In times past I wasdepend‘
cut on my poor grandfather. Now I’m earl:-
ing an honest living by hard work.”

‘Hard work!” growled Marcellus. bill/01']?-
“ Yes, curse you! and it will be harder before
we’ve done, young fellow. Oh! I‘m 80mg to
make you earn what you get, you can defend
On that, Here, the works and tell a the
foremen I want t em.”

 

 

 

., _._ , . ,,.  ,,.‘_.,.
,., “i. r. . ,. . ., ». . .i
\n‘ 1. _ f ., ., u

Maren. .,.k r. . i - ‘- .-, -
A. t, "L. . . .

~Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

'7

 

 

Paul left the emce, and soon returned, fol- I

lowed by five or six men, of whom Larry
Locke was one. They were all stalwart, intelli-
gent—looking peo la, and filed into the office,
seeming surp ' and a little uneasy at the
summons.

Marcellus Skinner was lighting a cigar when
they came in, and took no notice of them till
he had secured a good draw. Then he said,
abruptly:

“Men, business is bad. Never was worse.
W'e’ve got a year’s stock on hand, and we iron-
mastcrs have about concluded to shut up the
mills for a few months.”

He stopped and puffed at his cigar, partly to
gain time to think, partly to watch the men’s
faces in a furtive way.

They all looked disturbed. One man was as
pale as a ghast; others were scowling; only
Larry Locke seemed tranquil, and it was he
who answered:

“IVe heard there was a contract with the :

Plains Railroad that would take two years to
fill. Has that fallen through?”

Marcellus wheeled round in his chair to look
at Larry.

“ You know a heap, don’t you i” he said with 3
a sneer. “ l supp0se you think I’m lying to you. 3

You’d better say so.’

Larry looked him in the eye. replying:

“ If you want me to do it, I‘m agreeable, but
I don’t do such things unless I mean fight, Mr.
Skinner.”

Skinner looked at him hesitatingly for a mo-
ment, and then said:

“ I don’t fight my men.

’ust as hard nuts as you think yourself  be.
We sent for you men to make a proposition to
7’ \ .

“What is it?” asked Larry, who seemed by
common consent to act as spokesman for the
others.

“ There’s only one way we can keep the mills
open,” returned Skinner, looking away as if he
did not want to meet the eyes of his men.

“Either I shut the works, or you must take :

twenty-five per cent. less than current wages,
beginning the very next pay-day. Now?”

‘ Twenty-five per cent. ?” echoed the pale fore-
man withagroan. “ My God, Mr. Skinner, I’ve
got seven children.” .

“ So much the worse for you ” returned the
ironmaster brutally. “A man like you ought
not to have children. You can take that or go
without anything. I’ve got to cut down ex-
penses or o to the r-house.”

And as e ke, e arranged carefully a soli-
taire diamon in his shirt-front.

There was a short, disma ed silence among
the men, and then one said p eadingly:

“ But you surely don’t mean to out us down
for what we have done already, sir? Give us a
little time. Pay-day is only to-mornow. Let
the old scale begin after that. Give a man a
chance to live.”

Skinner curled his lip.

“ You're a fine businemman. Itell
madeup our minds and on can‘t
You have your Unions a

on the old scale at the.
Inshut the mill next day.
I want an answer at once.”

Larry Locke stepped out again.

“Are we to understand that, if you shut the
mill da after tomorrow, you’ll pay us on the
old sea 0 tomorrow?” ,

Skinner bit his lips. He was at new to the
mills, and did not understand e me but he
saw clearly that Larry was the shrew est and
boldest of the lot. He took refuge in his cigar,
before he answered; and it was several seconds
ere he said: '

“ You’re to understand no such _thing. You’re
not all fools surely. Half a loaf is better than
no bread—” -

“Yes,” interru ted Larry unceremoniously.
“That‘s just whai) I think. You can close t_e
mill for all me, but I’m going to have my pay in
full if I never handle another lot of steel.”

Again Skinner looked at the bold young fel-
low with some uneasiness:

“ Suppose I say the works don’t
haven’t got the money to y in full.

“ Then I ’d tell all the '
the works so quick it’ll make your head swmi,”
ret’orted Larry, and as he he he began to
take 08 his leather apron. ‘If the pay’s all
right to-morrow. we’ll talk about the reduction
nt'terward. Come, which is it, so we’ll
linoW what to do? I
if you don’t.”

llut the other foreman at once began to re-
monstrate in such apleading way, that Skinner
,caw they were yielding, and he cut short the in-
terview at once, saym :

“You hear what 've said. I mean it. I
my the new scale to-morrow. Those men that
don’t like it can leave the works. And mark
you this: they go on the black list. We’ve

agreed on that.” v
La Locke deliberater folded up his apron
undems arm. yi g

oggze’ve
u as.
we have ours. If I

y-tahle to-morrow
ow what to you sayl

pay, and I

as n :
“ Very well, boss, then so do We agree on an-
other list. I stick to the old scale; and, mark

, my words, we’ll make you pay it.”

 

And lock here, Mr. 1
Smarty, I’ve been a captain at sea and handled r

ys to clap a lien on ‘

on’t mind a lock-out, 

“ You will? And who are you! Are there
morle than one of you?” asked Skinner sneer-
ing y.

Larry shook his finger at him.

"You’ll find out who we are, boss. You’ve
set a trap for us this time, but we’ll show on
mthat the Arrerican workingmen are ha to

t when it comes to a fight between labor and
capital.

 

CHAPTER IX.
THE PAY-TABLE.

PAY-DAY arrived at the Skinner Mill, and the
men came up in the evening after their work to
draw their wages.

Marcellus Skinner paced uneasily to and fro
in the office behind the open door, and Tom
Trainor sat at the pay-table, sullen and forbid-
ding as usual, with the rolls before him and the

Beaver, at the desk in the rear, was making up
and marking the packages, 50 that Tom had
nothing to do with any counting.

The men looked gloomy and downcast, for the
news of the reduction had gone all over the mill,
and every one of them was more or less in debt,
while his means of paying It had bcensuddenly
reduced without warning of more than twenty-
i‘our hours, and after the work had been done.

Of course it was unfair: they all knew that.
They knew that they could put attachments on
the property and compel )ayment of the old
scale if they wished, as to t is one amount.

But then they also knew that, if they did so,

fistcd employer might refuse to pay mall, and
fight every claim in the courts.

And in the mean time, they had no money to
fight, none to ay lawyers; and nine-tenths of
them had fami ies at home, the mute eloquence
of whose eyes said:

“ Half a loaf is better than no bread.”

So, one b one, up came the gangs of men to
the pay-tab e to receive their money, and each
was formally asked by Tom:

“ Do you want to take the old scale and
go, or the new one and stay?”

And one by one‘the men gloomin said:

“What’s a man to do? Gimme the pen and
I’ll sign the roll.”

An as each signed and drew back with his
money in his hand, Marcellus Skinner’s face
brightened and he rubbed his hands, thinking
how he he saved three thousand dollarsa week,
by a sin is bold stroke.

And t e men; what were the thinking of?

What does a workingman th nk of at such a
time, when he sees suflering and privation star-

him in the face?
hey were wondering what they should do
for the winter. Some were thinking of going
to a beer saloon to drown their sorrow. Hard]
one ed whether he could not help himse f
and beat his rich employer. The hard experi-
ence of 1877 had taught him that threats and
violence do not b ' money, and that the law
is always on the si e of the rich against the
poor, even in America.
| And Marcellus Skinner kept pacing up and
I down behind the table, his diamond ghnting at
every motion, while the poor man outside, w om
he was cheating of the r honest dues, huddled
gloomin ther in the tewa willin to re-
volt, but we ting to see w be the to
are

d .

At last came the “ cranemen,” headed by
Larry Locke who strode up to the table, looked
at the y—roll, and exclaimed: ,

“ He 10, Tom inor, seems to me you’re
getting up in the world, ain’t you?”

Tom had turned pale as soon as he saw Larry
coming. Be well remembered the way in which
the other had conquered him, six years before,
when they were boys, and he had been afraid of
Larry ever since. '

His fortunes were altered since the return of
his reputed father, and Tom was used to hector-
ing and bullying eve (me he met: but some-
how he could not face arry. His eyes dropped
on the table, and he said: a

“ Do you want to take the old scale and go,
or the new scale and stay?”

Larry laughed aloud and looked round him.

“ Why, what a question i” he cried. “The
old ecale of course. Any man that knocks un-
der to the bmes deserves to be a slave all his
life. I can take care of myself.”

Some one in the rear of the crowd raised a
faint cheer, and Tom turned white as a sheeti
while Marcellus Skinner flushed purple, an
came up to the y-table, wling:

“ Pay the fel ow the 0] scale, Tom, and put
f him down on the black list. I’ll take care of
1 you, my fine fellow.”

Tom, completely demoralized by the sudden
dispute, where everything had been going on
1 like clockwork, nervously began to unroll two
i ckages and try to count out the money, while
l[Err answered Skinner:
l “ ou’ll take care of me, will you? Thank ye
i for nothing. I can take care of m If.”
I Another cheer in the rear and S inner hastil
s shoved Tom aside, counted out the money an
then said sternly:

“Now sign your name and skip, or I’ll put a

head on you.”

 

 

1

money arranged in packages, while Paul Van '

the mills would be shut down; that their hard- ‘-

 

 

Larry looked at him from head to foot with a
provoking smile.

“ Thank ye. I’ll sigg my name when I’ve
counted my money. en ’1] walk out of the
door. You can bet your boots I don’t skip for
any man, big or little.”

“ We’ll see. about that in a moment,” returned
Skinner, whitening to the lips. “Count your
money, and be quick about it.”

Larry nodded and counted his cash aloud with
provoking coolness, after which he tucked it into

is pocket, and said to Tom:

“Give me the pen, Tommy. I can beat you
all to pieces, writing or any other way.”

So saying, he signed his name in such a bold
beautiful hand that Marcellus Skinner himself
looked surprised.

But as soon as the young foreman laid down
the pen, the boss, with the one idea in his head
that it was necessary for him to eyerawe all his
hands and check any disposition to mutiny, said
to Larry:

“ Now, get out of the works! chk!”

As he spoke, he passed the side of the pay-
table and came up to Larry, While a silence fell
on the workmen, who were watching to see what
was coming.

Larry kept his hands down, and his voice was
low and quiet as he answered:

“Keep cool. Mr. Skinner—keep cool. Don’t
lay hands on me, if you please. I’m going, but
I don’t allow any man to hurry me.”

“ Hurry you? I’ll hurry you !” cried Marcel-
lus. who, being a large, powerful man, who had.
been a ship captain, was Used to deciding things
by physical force, and saw in the short man be-
fore him only a comparative dwarf. .

So saying, be aimed a tremendous blow at
Larryr which the little man evaded by a duck
and skip to one side, executed so heat] that it
called forth a laugh and jeer from all e work-
men.

Then Larry called out in clear tones:

“I call you all to witness he struck at me
first. Now then, boss!”

In a moment as Skinner turned to deal an-
other blow, Loc e ducked his head again, closed
in. and they saw him strike a single blow at the
other’s side—a blow that fell with a thud like
that of a pile driver, and under which Marcel-
lus Skinner sunk down on the pavement with a
hollow groan, his red face turning a dull

gray.

There be In , all doubled up with pain. and
Larry. amid t e dead silence of all round him,
spoolk his finger at the prostrate man and said,
8 CW I
“ gen made a mistake that time, Mr. Skinner.
You hit at the wrong man. It ain’tthe
one you’ve made, as you’ll find out afore we’ve
done. We cranemen all want: the old arm
and we’re goin’ to have it. Go on, boys,
draw your y.” '

So saying he turned away to the table, and
one by one all the cranemen responded to Tom’s
estion'

qu .

“We want the old scale. Darn your black-
list. Give us our money.”

And Marcellus Skinner had to be helped into
his ofiice-chair, where he sat panting and groan-

in .
Twoothisribswerebroken.

——

CHAPTER X.
mason mt.

As the sun set that evening Larry Locke "-3 l I

cended the hill to his little cottage overlooking
“this “1:? “id it”? 33%... p m
“ o y. 0 ga t g h. vs
to whip the boss”,
Molly flushed slightly and looked at his stand,
figure with some ride as she answered:
“Served him right. What did he do?”

“ He was fool enhu h to hit at me,” said f . 
1 mi t ‘1' .

laconically. ‘: If he’ been any one else,

have let him go; but he thinks he’safighter.

So I laid him out.” \
Then betook his baby from his wife’s arms,

and no one would have thought, to see the way

in which the strong man submitted tothe ca-

piices of the child, that he was the terrible fight- .

er who had acquired the name of the “ Man of
Iron” b the Single blow of that afternoon, as
he had t at of the “Boy of Iron” six years be-

fore.

As for Molly, she was too much the old high—
spirited, careless “ Red Moll ” to tlrnk twice of
such a little thing as a fight in which her hue-
band had won, and it was not until they were at

supper and the baby in its cradle, asleep. that‘

she noticed that Larry had become rather silent,
and asked:

“ Anything the matter, Larry, boy?”

Larry drew a long breath.

“ Yes. I’ve flat to look out for something to
do, next week, oily- The new scale’s gone into
effect, and the cranemen are the only ones who’ve
stood out against it.”

Molly smiled proudlg.
“Good for them! at I know who put than

uptoit. Onebold man hastotell’em what to -

do, and they teller like sheep andfiink they’re

brave.”
Inrry smiled at his wife’s enthusiasm. ,
“ That’s true enough, Moll; but I ain’t so 21‘:

"Vi

 

 

   

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Larry Locke, the Manof Iron.

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I did right. Ain’t you afraid—when I’m going
without work?” .

Molly tossed her head.

“ Afraid? Don’t I know you can take care of

. man, w th a smooth, boyish face, rana

l

highwa , while Terror Jim, seeing only; little
him

cursing just as he had done six years before til

he discovered that Larry was actually laughing

baby and me? Of course I don't worry about it. at him.

It’s a lock-out for you, is it?”

“That’s just what it is, M011; and the bosses
have made a black list among themselves. I
can’ “get any work in Holesbur at in trade.”

hat at that?” answered
“ I ain’t afraid. Let‘s move to Cincinnati.
got money saved, Larry boy.”

Larry looked sur ri .

" W here? I didn t know—”

Molly lau bed and said, quite low:

“ Hush! I didn‘t want any one to know it. I
saved it for the last payment on the house to 8111'-
prise you. I’ve got within ten dollars of it hid
awa .”

" ut where?” asked Larry, impatientl .

Before his wife answered she went to t ie door
and took a look up and down the road; then
went all round the outside of the house, and not
till then did she come in and say quietly:

“You ain’t got no prudence, you ain’t. Don’t
you know we're on the main road, with tramps
passing all the time? I see two of ’em coming
now.”

Larry shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, have your own way. You’re always
scared about nothing.”

“ I ain’t scaer about nothing," retorted Mrs.
LOCke, “but I don’t want all the tramps in
Pennsylvany to know where I keep my money.
It’s safe.”

Then she lowered her voice, as two figures

I’ve

Then he stopped short, amazed and more sav-

1 age than ever, and called to his friend:

olly, c eerfully. l

i
l
j
i
i
l
g
i
i

.slouched past the doorway in the dust of the a

highway, niurmuring:

‘Here they he’s, now.”

Mrs. Locke, like her husband, talked the most

rammar-detlant English at ordinary times,
ghough both knew better, having been at night
school three years.

Larriyzggoked up from his supper, and at once
reco n the figure of one of the tramps. It
was be same man he had knocked stiif with a
stone, six years before—a little older, his dusty
hair getting grizzled, but the same man, beyond
a don 1:.

As the tramp and his companion passed the-
door, they looked in, and Larry saw them stop
and consult together.

He knew that the sun was Shining in their
eyes and he in the shadow; and realized that

' . ' they did not see him, so he quietly sli ped be.

hind the door of an inner room to see w at they
would do.

As be anticipated, they had caught sight of
the white cloth of the supper table only, and
came slouching to the door.

The man he remembered had a deep red scar
across his forehead between the eyes, where the
stone had marked him. He was a bi , raw-
boned fellow, and Larry remembered t at his
name had been “ Terror Jim,” on account of his
re utation as a. fighter.

- error Jim was accompanied by a little
weazened man, with a. cringing submissive air,
who slunk by his side as a dog might beside his
master.

They came up to the door where the saw
Molly standing, Terror Jim with a bold eer on
his face, his friend bowing and scraping all the

we. .

I{ was the little man who spoke first.

“ ease missus, won’t ye give two poor men
a bite 0’ victuals, for the love 0’ God 3”

His voice was whining and piteous, and Molly
immediately answered: *-

“ Why certainl . Sit down on the stone be-
fore th”e door, anti, I’ll give yo some bread and
ooflee.

Terror Jim, who had been staring rudely at
her, broke out: .
 “Bread and coffee, indeedl Blazes! is thatall
I handsome piece like you kin give a man like
me? Ain’t ye got no iel”

 Molly shrunk sli ht y back, for he was coming

Io cloae she thoug t he meant to lay hands on
, and called out:
“Larry! Larry!”
Instantly the face of the little man changed

‘ and he ran back into the road, crying:

“Skip, cully,  Main guys comin’.” _
Terror Jim, on be other hand, stood his
‘ nd, and shifted a great club he carried into
~ 3 right hand as be looked into the cabin, ob-
Ieerng grimly:
“So ye want to bounce Terror Jim, do ye?
Bréng on vour La ; why don’t be come?”
or no

fiIarry Larer Help!”
Terror Jim followed her, and had just laid his

. hand on her arm, when he heard a step behind

him. .

 

CHAPTER XI.
'rmc ARREST.
Taa tramp heard the step just half a second
too late, for it was Larry Lock who was behind
him, and he had grasped the club held by Terror

, Jim and wrenched it'from his hands before the
V man was aware of his

roximity.

Then Larry ran bac out of the door to the

1 Larry ma e his appearance and Molly. -
; gm really alarmed, backed into the house, call-

 

 

“Hit him with a stone, Snoopeyl Hit him
With a stone!”

But Snoopey, as the sneaking tramp had been
nicknamed, was already movmg away down
the road toward Holesburg, with a limp in his
gait, and he only looked back to call out:

“ Leave him alone, cully. He’s a-coddin’ yer.
I seen him atoro.”

‘ Ay, ay,” interposed Larry, With the same
careless, laughing manner he had shown since
he snatched the stick. “ You’d better leave me
alone, Terror Jim. I don’t want to hurt you.
Clear out, and I won’t hit you.”

“Hurt me!” echoed Terror J imyscornfully.
“Gimme that stick or I’ll baste the life outer
you in a shake of a lamb’s tail.”

Larry’s answer was to send the stick flying

over the fence into a field on the other side of i

the road, re ating:

‘f You ha better leave me alone, Terror Jim.
I know you, but you don’t know me.”

“ thy, who are ye, then?" asked Jim, with

more hesitation than he had hitherto shown, for i

he had had time to notice the unusual breadth
of Larry’s shoulders.
“ We 1, my name’s Larry Locke,” said Larry,
( uietly. “ Maybe you’ve heard it before. I’m
the same boy marked on six years ago.”
Terror Jim’s face c anged instantly, but it

was to an expression of grim resolve, as he.

said:

“ Yes, I have heard your name, and remem-
ber it.
ve? I've come back here to get even with you.

I”

So saying he turned awa and slouched ofl'
down the road toward Holes uro‘, while Larry,
who had expected a fight, call out after him:

“ You’re a rent terror, aren’t you! W'hv don’t
you turn amI take it out of me? I’m the boy
whipped you, and 1 can whip you again, if you
want to try it on.”

Terror Jim made no answer till he was a good
fifty yards oil’, when he shouted back:

“ I’ll be even with you et. Don’t ye rub that
out, Mr. Larry Locke. ’ll be even yeti”

Larry uttered a contemptuous laugh.

“ Do our worst. I can take care of myself.”

Then ie came back to the door, where he found
Moll rather pale, and she said hurriedly:

“ arry, hov, them tramps sticks together, all
the time. He’s one to get his gang, I think.”

Larry looked gown the road angrily.

“ Let him get his gang. It’s too bad, Molly,
that in this country where every man has a
chance to work it he’s willing a lot of laz
cusses should go loaflng round like that, stea -
ing gi’nd begging! I wonder where he’s going
now‘

They watched him down the dusty road into
Holesburg, and saw him join the brave Snoopcy,
who came up cringingiy, and was greeted with
a blow that sent him running away howling
from Terror Jim.

They saw Terror J ini stop, and from his atti-
tude and gesture he was evidently ordering
Snoopey to come back, which the little man
gid, crouching and trembling, till Jim clutched

111:.

Then the saw the big man shake the little
one violent y, and cufl’ him several times, after
which the pair resumed their way to the city,
Snoopey limping along like a whipped dog beside
his master.

Larry and his wife could not help laughing at
the, idea of atramp having a servant, but it was
clear that Snoopey was are ular slave to Terror
Jim, who kept him orderly by thrashing, in true
slavery style.

The two tramps finally disa peared in the dust,
and Larry returned to his ouse, while Molly
cleared away the table.

The little episode of the tramps had almost put
the strike out of their heads, but they resumed it
when Larry was sitting on the stone bench at
the cotta 9 door in t e twflight, smoking his
evening If 

Then 0 ly came to sit beside him, and whis-
pered softly: v

“ What ails ye, Larry, boy? You’re so still.”

“ I’m thinking,” he said, “ that to win in this
strike something has got to be done, Molly.”

“ What’s to be done?”

“ I don’t know. Thebosseshave taken the men
by surprise, and we ain’t organized.”

“ Then why not organize? What do you have
to do to organize!”

Larry )ufl'ed thoughtfully at his pipe.

“ I’ve heard there’s a new society; that the
call the Friends of Labor, but I don’t new mac
about them. I wish we had some of them here
to show us what to do. In the mean time I’ve
got to look out for work somewhere else, me and
all the cranemen.” .

“I wish the rest of the hands had struck,”
said Molly, i'esenti'ully. “They hein’t got any
spirit. l’m lad nyou whipped old Skinner. any-
way, the oldghu s.”

I . ’ - ~

i

. l
k 7

You’re the boy marked me for life, are 3

I’m a-goin’ todo it, too, and don’t you furget I
it

“ Mebbe I’ll wish I hadn’t,” said Larry, in a
sober, thoughtful tone. “ He hit me first, to be
sure, but then he’s a rich man and I ain’t. Be
my have me arrested at.”

oily started and clutched his arm.

“ You never told me of that. Do you think
you will be?”

. Larry looked down the road toward the city
in the same thoughtful way.

“ I’ve been watching for a we. on ever since I
came here,” he said. “ It Woul be just like a
rich man’s spite to lock me up when I couldn’t
get bail.” '

“ But they couldn’t— What could they do to
ye, Larry?”

“They could fine me and send me to prison
for it, I reckon," said Larry, soberly. “ Mr.
Paul, you know, he studied to be a lawyer, and
i I asked him.”

“Would he defend you?” asked Molly.

“I suppOse he would: but it‘s no use to bor-
row trouble— Ah! what‘s that?"

The young fellow rose fr 3m his seat to peer
l down the road in the gloom. A dark object
was moving along the center of the yellow road
. and Coming toward them.

: Larry looked at it for some minutes, and then
I knocked the ashes out of his pipe, to say to Molly
' in a low tone:

‘ “ It’s what I expected. They’re coming for
me. When I’m gone, lock up the house and
don’t let no one in. I‘ll be back to—morrow. It
can’t be much of a time. I only hit him with
my fist, after he hit at me.”

Moll y’s voice trembled as she answered:

“ l’ll—I’ll do the best I can, Larry. Hadn’t I
better take baby and go with you? It will be
i so lonesome here.” s
; Larry shook his head.

“ They won’t let you, I’m afraid. It’s only for
i one night, Molly; and no one ever comes round
here.”

“ Except tramps,” said Molly, with a shudder.
" Suppose that man comes back to-night?”

Larry started as the idea struck him.

“ That‘s true. See here. Take baby and go
over to John Maguire’s. He’ll let you stay all
night, I reckon. His wife’s a good woman.”

Molly nodded and said with some relief:

“ That’s the best thing to do. Here they
come, Larry. Maybe it’s not what you think.”

The dark object in the road had come so near
that they distinguished the outline of a wagon
with two horses and three men in it, as it halted
before the door.

Two of the men got out, and came up to Lar-
ry, when one said:

“ You’re Laurence Locke, ain’t on?”

“Yes,” said Larry, quietly. “ ’hat do you
want?”

“ I’ve t a warrant for you,” was the an-
swer. “ ou’ll come along peaceable, won’t
you?”

“ recognized the voice.

“Is that you, Jack Davis? Of course I will.
You know that. What’s the charge?”

“Felonious assault,” returned the constable,
in a 1grave manner. “Mr. Skinner’s hurt bad,
and jest got the warrant.”

“Then I‘ll go with you at once,” said Larry,
“though you might have waited till the morn-
ing. I’m not going to run away.”

“I dunno ’bout that,” returned Davis, dryly.
“ The affidav says you was.”

“Whose a davit?” asked Larry, su rised.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,’ sai Davis
evasively. “ Now, then, it you’re ready, hold
out our hands.” a

“ hat for?” asked Larry, angrily. “You’re
not going to iron me, surely?”

“ That s jest what we’re goin to do,” an-
swered Davis laconic-ally, and as he s oke
Larry heard the “click, c ck,” of a pistol ock,
while the other man got to the other side. I

“Now don’t give us any trouble. VVe’re offi-
cers with a warrant. Ho (1 out your hands.”

For one instant Larry hesitated, and then he
held out his hands as mg:

“ All right, Jack avis. Put on the irons.
It’s a shame, and you know it.” ,

Jack Davis made no answer but a sign to the
other man, who snap the irons in a moment
on Larr ’8 strong wrists. .

Then the constable said in a tone of r ief:

“ That’s all right. It ain’t my fan t. I’ve
not to” obey any orders. Now git into the
we n. ‘

‘ Can’t I go with him?” asked Moll , who
had been standing by them, too stunn to in-
terfere before this.

The constable took hold of Larry’s arm. ‘

“ There ain’t no room in the wagon,” he said.
“ You’d better look after your house. You can
, see him tomorrow. It ain’t a hangin’ matter,
; an’ he can get hall, I reckon.”

i “.Do what I told you” said Larry to his wife.
5 “ Go to John Maguire’s, and I’ll come home to-
; morrow if they’ll let me. Keep up your heart,
4 Molly. This is nothing.”

1 Then they took him to the wagon and left poor
i Molly standing alone by her 01"! 110089» not
I’ knowing what to do and too bewildered own to

or .
‘ ghe watched the wagon go down the road to
. Holesburg till it vanished n the darkness, and
3 then only she uttered a sob and turned to re.

 

 

 

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Va": r a“ 7

 [any

I

Locke, the Man of. Iron. ‘ 9"

 

 

enter the house, where her baby lay asleep in the
cradle.

At that very instant she heard a step near the
house at the back, and saw a dark figure coming
round the angle of the wall toward her.

In a moment she had whisked into the door
and slammed it close, locking it with desperate
haste, for she felt nervous and frightened.

She had hardly time to fasten the back door
also, when she heard a gentle knock at the one
she had first closed and a voice whispered
hoarscly:

"Sly! Say! Open the door!”

“ Go away I” she answered, with a con
that surprised herself, for she was all alone 111
the dark. “ I’ve got a pisbl.”

There was a low chuckle outside, and the
voice whispered back: _

“Open the door. ye durued fool. I ain’t

oin’ to hurt ye. All I want’s a night’s lodgin’.
‘m a friend, I am.”

“ Go awa .” she repeated, her heart beating
rapidly, while she was raking her brains for
something to use as a weapon.

“ i won’t go away,” whispered the man out-
side, in the some hoarse tone. “ I seen our
man took oii'. You open the door, Red Mo , or
it’ll be the worse for ye.” '

Molly Locke made no answer, but tostealback
to the inner mom. She had just remembered
that the window there was open.

The man gave the door a violent kick as she
went.

 

CHAPTER XII.
a FIGHT IN ,a. STATION HOUSE.

As Larry Locke drove off down the road to
Bolesburg between the two constables he ke t
a keen lookout at eve one they met. He co d
not help feeling appr ensive of the return to
execute vengeance of the tramps he had driven

03.

He asked Jack Davis whether he had seen
any tramps, and Jack answered:

“ Lots of ’em. We took in nigh a dozen at- the
station afore I left.” \

“ W'as one a big man, with grizzled hair, they
call Terror J im?’ asked “ He was down
my way, and I’m afraid he’ll annoy my wrfe,
now I’m not there to take care of her.” _

Davis shru his shoulders.

“ I d’no’. t makes ye live in sich a place
as that, with no neighborsi” ,

“Because it’s cheap,” said Larry, shortly.
“ Is that a goodreason.” ’

“ Reckon so. Well, if tram comes arter the
old woman, you kin bet they be unished, jest
as you’re goin’ to be punished for oin’ what you
hadn’t oughter ha’ done.”

And after that they drove on in silence, till
they came to the station or lock-up, at which
Davis deposited his prisoner, who was at once
put in a call with a sleeping tram whose odor
sickened even the strong nerves of rry.

“ Can’t you let me sit outside, sergeant?” he
pleaded. ‘I don’t want to run away, but it’s
a hot night, and that fellow’s perfume‘s enough
mTinlna mt onl l to h hi '

e serge-n a re was us m in

and lock the grated pdziior, whenp the tramp

nted and turned over, showing the face of
error Jim, who said, with a sneer:

“Ohol so it’s you, is it? Well, that couldn’t
have happened better. What a lovin’ couple
we’ll he, won’t we, Larry boy’s”

He rolled over to rest on one ,arm, and sur-
veyed Harry with-an evil leer.

" You’re a line pill, ain't ye?” he said. “ Ye
ain‘t ot no rocks,to heave at a man now, have
ye? Vc’re all alone, ain’t we?”

Larry saw there was a stool in the corner, so
he took it and sat down, facing Jim, with his
back against the wall, but made no sort of an-
swer to the tramp, who continued:

“ Oh, we’ll be a lovm’ couple, won‘t we, Lar—

1 And Snoopey. too. he’sgom' to have a nice
31:31 tonight. bg‘hat’s a rippin’ nice gal you

Larerg' macgyno aIrswer, but his eyes began to
blaze. and Jim laughed.

“Oh, yes, I told Snoopcy to go back. I had
quite a nice time, bearin' bout the. scrape you
was in, hittin’ a man with a bar of iron. Reck-
on Snoope ’8 about there now.”

“Loo ere,” interrupted Larry, in' a_ low
tone, “I don't w t to hurt you, Jim, but if you
go on in that sty e, you'll get what you don’t
want in a minute or two. ”

Jim laughed.

“ I will, will 1! Well, I hear tell how you’re
some on the muckle; but I ain‘t no slonch,
nuthcr. Come, young feller, shut u when a
man of m age talks to ye. ’Tain’t ttin‘ fur
boys to ta k to men.”

As he spoke he threw down his feet and sat up
on the side  the bed, surveying harry in the
same lowe we .

harry saw but he meant tightl‘and drew up
his own feet for a spring. When error Jim ob-

servod . _

“ I’m goin’ to whip on, Larry boy.”

“ Are you?” TOW Larry, coon _ H I don‘t
believe you. You alm s was a an “M. n

, Terror Jim got hi down on the
floor, and a savage gnaw overhis gee aahe
‘. said:

 

“ We’ll see about that. Now holler for the
cops, and I’ll know I’ve got ya”

‘I don’t need to holler for the cops,” returned
Larry, scomfuny. “ We’ll seewho hollers first,
you darned bloat.”

Terror Jim glared at him ferociously but as
Larry only laughed, the tramp suddenly made
his spring, intending to Igrapple.

In the same instant rry stooped and rose
ggaiu, With all the force of his stout, muscular

or y.

There was a dull crash in the gloomy cell, and
Terror Jim sta gored back, clutchin at the air,
and fell on the red, with a stream ofilood gush-
ini from his nose and mouth.

arry had caught him with one of his old
“bucks,” that he had not used since he was a
boy, and knocked him stupid in a single round.

he noise of the short scufile brought the door-
man up.

“ He looked through the grating.
“ What’s the matter, there?” he asked, harsh—

ly.

“ He bucked me! he bucked me!” moaned Ter-
ror Jim dismally. “ I wasn’t doiu’ nothin’ to
him, and he bucked me.”

Larry deigned no reply, and the doorman
shook his finger menacineg at him.

“ You want a little clubbing, you do,” be said.

.“ Ain’t you ashamed to buck a man like that?

I); I ,hear any more noise I’ll put you in the dark

He was moving away when Terror Jim began
to whine:

“ Oh, for God’s sake take me enter this. He’ll
kill me, he’ll kill me! I’m only in for a night’s
106 in’.”

e doorman hesitated.

“ We ain’t got no more room,” he grumbled.
“ If he hits ye again, call me, and I’ll give him
something he won’t want.”

He turned and walked off, when Terror Jim

jum oi! the bed and seized hold of Larry,
yelling:
“ Save me! Save me! He’s killing me.”

The doorman uttered an angr, curse and rap-
ped on the stone-floor with his club, while Larry,
seeing to what the trick of his opponent was
likely to expose him, clutched Jim by the throat,
threw him on the floor, and muttered:

“You’ll do it. will you? I’ll give you what
you’ll remember, then. ’

A moment later Jim was black in the face,
while the sound of steps outside told that the
reserve was running in.

The big tram was a strong man but he felt
like 0. Chi d to , who ground is knuckles
into J im’s throat, and never let go till he heard
the door open behind him.

Then,ldesperate at the prospect of the club-
b' that was coming, he threw himself over
On is back, rolling the tramp uppermOst, and
shouted:

“ I surrender! Don’t club any more!"

His shout would not have been much use to
save him; for, a policeman’s blood once up,
club law prevails; but 'ust at this moment a
clear, sharp voice cri from the rear of the
crowd:

“ What’s all this! Silence, here!”

It was the voice of the captain, who was known
everywhere as “ Lightning Brown,” and the men
fell back, while the doorman reported:

“ Two prisoners fighting, sir. We Were going
to separate them.”

A dee hush had fallen on the station, and
La row of! his now senseless burden and
call out:

“ Captain Brown, you know me. I’mas peace-
able a man as goes. I’m Larry Locke. This
man attacked me and t the worst of it; that‘s
all. Don’t let me be c ubbed.”

Ca tain Brown came to the cell door.

“ o e out here,” he said, sharply. “ No one
shall c ub on, if yen don’t deserve it. Let me
take a 100 at you.”

Larry instantly stepped out and stood up be-
fore the captain, who exclaimed:

“ Why, he's ironedl What‘s the charge against
him, sergeant?” ‘

The ser eant hesitated and had to goto the
blotter ore he Could tell.

Finally he read out:

“ Felonious assault, sir. Complainant, Mr.
Skinner, of the steel mills."

“ Then why was he put in where he could hurt
ar'ly one else said the captain, sternly. “ Here.
p u this other man out. Who’s be?”

A tramp fora lodging, sir,” answered the
861‘ n sullenly. “We’re that crowded we
con dn’t elp ourselves, sir, and we thought the
big bloke could take care of himself.”

A grim smile crossed the ca tain’s face as he
looked at Terror Jim, whose Face was battered
to aggly, remarkin :

“ me be con at. And the other man
ironed too. Pull him out. Let him lie on the
floor till he comes to.”

Then. turning to Larry. he said, sternly:

“ You’re a strong man, but don’t presume too
much on your . You’ve done a brutal
deed, and it will go ard with you _to‘-rnorrow.
Golgi-gawk ui tly in, bu

wen e t turned as they
locked the doortlo say: —

“ Will you hear me a word, sir!"

i

_?t

“ What is it?” asked the captain.

“Only this, sir. That man called himself a
fighter and set on me, ironed as I was. had
to tight.”

” Couldn’t you have called for help?" asked the
ca tain. more kindly.

rry smiled rather proudly.

“ I suppose I could, sir ” he answered: “but
in the mean time he would have given me some-
thi like what I gave him.”

“ ell.” said the captain coldly, “ men who
take the law into their own hands can’t grumble ‘
if they’re punished. There’s another charge
against you tomorrow.”

So saying, he Went away, and Larry, left
alone at last, threw himself on the stool and be-
gan to revolve the misfortune of the day. The
more he thought. the blacker looked everything
round him. ‘ -.

Twice had he been forced into a fight, and each ‘ ,
time his victory seemed to have made matters
worse for him.

He could not bring himself to lie down on the ;'
camp—bed where Terror Jim had been stretched. ‘
He preferred to sit on the stool and meditate, 
:hile the more he thought, the more gloomy 

e 0t. 

e began to wish he had never surrendered f
to Davis, but had fled the country and then, ' 
when he thought of his wife left alone in the '  .~.‘
cotta with the baby, and of Terror Jim’s dark
hint t at “ Snoope was there ” he rose and be-
gan to pace uneasi y up and down the cell. ' - “h

He heard the clock strike nine, and thepeo-  .3-
ple in the cells had sunk to silence. w ~ -‘

The time wore on, and a in the clock struck, ‘
when he heard a voice in t e outer office say:

“ Yes, that’s the name. I‘ve come to ofler 
baIilafor ’hirlp.” yr lb d H fir

rrys ear-t veajo n oun. erecogh ..‘~
nized Paul Van gaver's voice. , 'z -‘
—— w:

'x ,

 

CHAPTER XIII.  . ,
PAUL‘S nunrrrnroxs. "g. *

WHEN Mr. Marcellus Skinner sunk to the \'*
floor in the resence of all his men, 'twas'with 
a sense of p ysical pain and weakn that over-  '
powered even his mortiflcation. He had been 
Used to bullying his way all his life, and he had 
suddenly met a man who overcame him with I ,
one blow. ,5:

He had sufficient resolution to sit on his chair ,. " r
and watch the conclusion of payment, seeing
every man after La Locke demand the old . .
scale and march out eflantly. When the last 4 ,‘1 '
had one he said faintly to Tom Trainor: ' i

“ ’m hurt: send for the doctor.” n.3- :'

He had been carried out by some of the men . -, .
who wished to curry favor with the boss, and r ‘*
was taken to his borne near b , where the doc- ‘ 
tor examined him and told im what was the _
matter. - 1.:

“ Is there much danger?” he asked, in a low I w
whisper, for he was in pain. . ' g;

The doctor looked grave. , " *

“Not if you keep quiet; but broken ribs are
always liable to wound the lungs. Howdid it}.
hap n? A fall?” ;  .;_

“go; a villain awaited me. He must be pu'n- ,
ished. Oughtn’t he to be!” ‘ 

He caught his breath, and anxiously awaited ‘ 
the reply, which came at once: I

“ course he ought. It’s a felonious assault; , , _
The man should smart for it. Have you any :»  j
witnesses to it?” it;

“Plenty, doctor. My bo Tom, for one. ' ..
Couldn’t be swear to an assan ti”   ’ -

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

4—)
\

 

 

“ I’m not a lawyer. Haven’t you one! Said  ,g ,
for him.”  ‘
Skinner turned his round the room till ,, .c

rested on Paul Van ver. The nephew , _ ”*
accompanied 'him to the house, where the uncle,
with ostentatious charity, had given him a room
in the attic, while Tom Trainer had been f ‘
into the gorgeous apartment formerly V
byPauLwhenbe hadseemed to bea voritahh’
favorite of fortune. ‘  3.1
“ Come here,” he whispered. ' .-,'
Paul obeyed, uietlg. _ -
“You’ve stu ied w haven’t yourmw'ii
the iniured man in a husky whisper. ; .
Pau bowed gravely.  2 _'
“ I have sir. If I had had another , ,
ing secured, I could have passed; but t’s no nn “’5’”

 

thinkin of that now.”
And e sighed sli htly. _ “
Marcellus eyed m searchineg. 
“ Would ye like to be a la er?” he asked. 9,8. .

“ It’s no use. wishing, sir. have to earn  
livin ,” mid Paul. quietly. 
“ and get that Larry Locke punished foil
me, and I’ll see ye pass,” said Skinner. in a low,
eager tone. “Get him punished. Put bruise A,
the State Prison. Show ye’re a lawyer, andl‘n ‘ '
seeyegetthe means.” -  _,
Paul shook his head. ~ w
“ That’s impossible, sir.” ~ ‘
.1

“ Impossible? wthasked his uncle. " '
lots of men would do it. but you’re my nephew, .
Idon’twanttobe too hard on ye,mytotuh‘~

that wicked pride outer ye.”
Paul ccmpremed his lips and'drew back. "

 

“ Let some one else do it, sir. I‘m only your?
,clsrk now—I’m not a lawyer.” 

 

...n,.....‘.._.‘........1......,.—~. .f..._..._-,.,.. .

“10-

'1 ' 1 “But why won’t ye do it?" asked his uncle,

vquerulousl .

; r Paul loo ed him in the eye.

;  “ Because I saw it all. sir. You’ve no cause

 to complain. You struck Larry first, and he
 ' only fou ht in self-defense.”
'f. Marce us Skinner regarded him with an evil
* scowl and turned away.

ii , “Very well,” he said. “ I’ll remember that
, against you. Tommy, boy, go and tell Mr.
 h ' Scriven wanttoseehim.” ’

j .' “Tommy, boy,” obe ed with the eagerness
 4'. he alwa 3 showed, an old Skinner remained
 quiet til the doctor had banda ed him up and
.f-v‘. gone away, leaving Paul by the 'de.

"g. . '_ ' Then the uncle said in a low, evil tone:

’3; " ‘ “80 e wouldn’t oblige your old uncle, eh,
Paul? 6 wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t, sir, if you mean to take active
measures of reven 9 against Larry Locke. He
MOuIdn’t have touc ed you if you hadn’t struck
at him first.”

The old man smiled in a ghastly way.

u ; “ So ye said before—so ye said. I suppose ye
“i t. ‘ think ye’ve only to wait till I die to come into
1n shoes—hey, Paul?”
aul started and flushed angrily.
fr “You know well enough I thou ht no such
7-5 ‘thing,” he said. “ My grandfather ad a right
i .t i . to does he would with his own. To be sure, I
" {.3 did expect—”
. “Shut the door,” interrupted his uncle,
sharply

Pan obeyed with some su rise.

“ Come here,” continued arcellus.
; to tell you something; young man.”

a 'Paul came to the .( side and Marcellus look-
“  ed at him fixedly before he spoke, and then it
“was with some difficulty and a good deal of

  
    
  
   
    
  
    
     
    
    
 
    
  
 
   
 
   
  
 
    
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
    
  
 
    
  

' n. ,
7’ “Paul,” he said, “you never knew how my
 ’ Lifather came to alter his will, did you?”

i,  “No, sir,” said Paul, coldly. “ It was done,
 ,9} and that is enough.”
"  Marcellus smiled in the same painful way.
‘ ‘ g.» “Ay, ay,” he said, “that’s enough for you;
"'. , ag'but you Weren’t treated so bad, after all. I’ve
' “ a only got the property for my life, and I. can‘t
 it to my Tom. You’re safe to get it, if I
l ‘7 ‘L" 10.
 7 “I’m aware of that,” answered I‘aul, still
' mere coldl . “ What of it?"
’3 1 ' Skinner gun to chuckle, but stopped with a
' I , e of ain.
-' 52-." If I die, you get it all,” he said; “but how
if you die first?”
' ‘Then, under the will it goes to my
Eat at": next heir,” said I’aul—“after your
”

 

1 “ Yes, yes, that‘s just it—to Em’s next heir,
tor me. To Em’s next heir. Yes, yes!” ‘
"He lay there grinning to himself, as if much
t i

 at some ng or other, and said nothing
mm or some time.

:7“ ‘ At last they heard a noise below stairs, and
M Trainer came up, with a tiun man whom

knew to be a lawyer in good practice in

. g to whom Skinner said:
 Come here, Mr. Scriven; I want to see you.
 I lie struck down by a villain. He
an no witha sledge-hammer; wanted to km
‘ -. I want to get even with him. How can I

in, ti"
a} .“Why, swear a. complaint, of course," said
'fie'lawyer at once. “ Felonious assault. Have
' new up for five ears.” "
" ' ’ r seemed de ighted.
“ That’s it; that's just it. Will you draw up
pagers, and the names of witnesses; will you
“in t am; will you?”
rtainly,” said the lawyer.
, turned his head to scowl at Paul.
' “Git out of the room,"he said. “When
2” M I’ll send for ye.”
, , _; .Pa wed and went out without a word. It
' ' -  :o to him as if his cup of humiliation were
‘4 ' g fuller daily, and as he went to his attic
to muse, he said to himself:
 Oh, what a fool i was, when I was rich, as
.4. . , , t, not to hays learned something by
. 5.. h could make an honest living! Here I
 t 'a de dent and a pauper, and he takes a
'  ' insulting me. If ihad only had an
,,  ‘  g "of what was coming, when mygrand-
’ » n was alive, how differently I shoul have
"  , . I”
 =" all his thoughts ‘ ht him no sort of
«mutation, for as matter: he was a help.-

out.

 ' the will of his grandfather as proved
ye h uncle only the l to interest in the Skin-
's estate which was to come to Paul after
‘ Skinner’s death, but in the mean time
, ’ was nothing to prevent his uncle from let-
- ' “ him starve to death if he chose.

-  if Paul died before ltmellus, the latter
7 " assume the next relative of Paul’s mother, as
i  invalid had maliciously hinted to the young

:.. -.. in loomymthéu hts, Paul sat in his

. attic in the ark he eard the house-door

‘ elated, below at the departure of the lawyer.

 soon after, he heard the lumbe ng step

a.,.«T0m Trainer coming lip-stairs, and Tom

We , the door without knocking, to look in
\

aad'uxygrutfly: ./ , ,

*t

 

 
 

\ I

 

Larry Locke, the/Mmidf Iran-‘1 v , ., 

“ Mr. Skinner wants you. Hurry up.”

“Very ood,” said Paul, quietly. “ llcome.”

“ You’l come will yer?” reterted Tom, with a
growl. “You’ better come I tell you. The
old man’s goin’ to bounce yer.”

Paul came out of his room at once and con-
fronted Tom, saying angrily:

“Look here, you, sir, my uncle is one man
and ou’re another. I stand a good deal from
him, ut not from you. Get out of my way, or
I’ll knock you down!”

Tom drew back in some alarm saying:

“,’,Tain’t none of my doin’s, lPaul. He told
me.

“Very well,” said Paul, sharply, “then say
what he told you and make no comments of
your own. I’m going.”

And he went to his uncle’s room.

CHAPTER XIV.
Misron'romts.

WHEN Paul reached the sick-room he found
Marcellus Skinner flushed with the first fever
of his injury, and looking as spiteful as pos-
sible.

As soon as he entered, the mill-owner began
at him irritably:

“Why didn’t you come quicker? I sent Mr.
Trainer after you, and he’s next to me in this
house.”

“ I came as soon as he told me,” returned Paul,
keeping down his tom )01'.

“ Ye lie!” retorted Iarcellus. “ I heard ye on
the passage squabbling with him. Now mark
my words: I’m going to put an end to this. I’ve
stood a deal from you because you’re my nephew.
Now it’s got to stop.”

“What has got to stop?” asked Paul.

“ This talking back to Mr. Trainer. He’s your
an ,rior now.” ~

‘ My superior?” echoed Paul,,stung at last.

“ Yes, your superior—in ever thing. I’m boss
of this concern, and I say it. i I tell you to
black his boots you’ll do it.”

“ I should do no such thing,” retorted Paul.

“ You wouldn’t?”

“ No, sir, and you know it.”

Marcellus glared at him with impotent fury a
moment, an then burst out:

“ Get out of my house, you ungrateful whelp!
After all I’ve done for you to turn on me like
that! Get out! Never let me see your face
again! You’re discharged! Do syou hear? I
discharge you. Get out! Go! tarve if you
like. 1 ve done with you.”

For a moment Paul was stunned by his sudden
violence, and then he drew himself up proudly
and answered:

“ Well, I’m glad of it, uncle. You've done it
yourself. You were my mother’s only brother,
and I’ve borne much from ou on that account,
but it’s all over now. G -by. You won’t re-
fuse to say that, I hope.”

“ Get out, ye uper!” was all the reply
deifined by Marco us, and then Paul went ug
to is own room and cked up his trunk wit
all that remained of is f rmer splendor—not
much now—and carried e box down-stairs
himself to the hall.

Thence he went to the kitchen and told the
waiter, who remembered him as a boy, that he
would send for the trunk next day.

The man promised to take it into his own
room and see it was not disturbed.

“ No one sha’n’t hurt it, Mr. Paul,” he added,
“ and I’d rather lose my rplace than let that up-
start, Tom Trainor, inte ere. Why, I remem-
ber him jest a common ’prentice, and he puts on
more lugs than a joke now.

“Never mind, John ” said Paul, quickly.
“ My uncle has a right to do what he will wi h
his own. Good-by. ,

Then he went out into the street in the
darkenin twili ht and heard the clocks strike
eight as 0 too his way toward Inrry Locke’s
cot .
He had no very clear idea of what he was
golin to do, but he remembered Larry‘s ofler of

en shig, and he had but ten dollars in his
pocket, t e savings of a month.

He had no idea that Larry had yet been
arrested. for he knew that a charge of felonious
assault could not be sustained in court, and he
did not know how far his uncle’s spite against
the f ken foreman might go.

He ed rapidly alon and soon cleared the
outskirts of Holesburg a found himself on the
dusty highway leading to Larry’s cottage on the

l.

About half-way there he met a on with
some men in it, and recognized the g tter of
brass buttons in the starlight, from which he
judged that the police were taking in some
prisoners. _

“ Tramps, probably,” be said tohimself. " It’s
a thing they’ve begun: Those fellows have
go to be a nuisance. Who knows thoughl I
ought not to talk against them. I may have to
turn tramp myself, soon.”

He walked on till he saw the outlines of
La ’s cottage against the sky on‘ the top of
thieg 11, and noticed that it was dark at every
w n o . ' t

“I wonder if they’ve gone to bed so early?” he
said to himself. ‘ Larry isn‘t usually so. I’ll
try togetin, anyway.”  « ,
' I ' > nu..." ‘ ’, 1/ l

n ".
A .e. \gw'

.  U   l
A . -(I~{‘, I ,,  ’ I

 
  

w» m... at."- ~ ..
.‘~‘.-.,/6‘N',‘1’N (7

.'< “M? 

 

' was only a low in «do!

He came up to the house and found all dark
and silent, but the front door was wide open.

“ Hallo!” he cried, sto )Eing at the door. “ Any
one in here? Larry! (B , Larry!”

There was no answer and he went in a little
to listen.

Presently he heard the sound of some one
movmg in an inner room, and called:

“W 0’s there? Is that you, Larr ?”

There was still no answer, but t 6 sound of

moving went on.

Then he heard a dull shock, as if some one had
made a leap down on the ground outside, fol-
lowed by the sound of running feet. In amo-
ment it flashed over him that something was

wrong, and he darted out of the house and round

to the rear in time to see a man running away
with a bag on.his shoulder toward the open
fields in a crouching attitude.

“Stop thief l” shouted Paul instantly, and he
set off after the man, who ran with amazing
speed across the little kitchen garden till he
came to the low fence.

Paul saw him throw over the bag and vault
the‘flence after it, so he followed as fast as he
cou .

Youn and vigorous, and a good runner, Paul
follows , and being unburdcned with a load,
soon found himself gaining on the thief, who—
ever he was.

This became evident from the fact that the
man dro pod the bag a moment later and ran
on, but ’aul, declining to be delayed by this
sti‘ntagem, pursued faster than ever, and at last
(mine up with the thief. '

He had almost got his clutch on him when the
man suddenly stopped and squatted down unex-

ioctedl .
l The zext moment Paul stumbled over him,
falling and scraping his hands severely from the
rate at which he was going, and before he could
recover himself, the thief was up and away
a ain, plunging intoa field full of Indian corn
higher than his head, in which he succeeded in
finally eluding his pursuer.

Then at la'st Paul retraced his steps to the
house, finding the bag on the way, and in it a
collection of clothing and small things that he
knew to have been at Larry’s hOUSe, none of
them of much value.

“ It muxt have been a sneak—thief,” he said to
himself, “and Larry must have gone out to
some neighbor‘s with Molly. I’ll go and wait
for them." '

He retraced his steps to the house. but was
sur rised to see lights moving about, and sev-
cra men with Ian erns and bi clubs hunting
round it excited] calling to eac other.

“Which way id he go, Jimmy?”

“ Here’s his thrack beyant the path.”

“ Oh, the murderin’ thafei”

“ How well he knew

“Ah be orra, av he’d
wad ha.” ha a hard time.”

Paul came up to the fence and hailed them:

“Hallo! I’ve found what he stole. Is that
you, Maguire?"

He recognized the voice of one of the crane-
men, but his bail brought a rush toward him,
and one man shouted: I

“ ’Tis the thafe! Give him ballyhoo, b‘ys.”

“I‘m no thief,” shouted back Paul. “I’m
Paul Van Beaver. Don’t you know me?”

“’Tis Misther Paul!” cried Maguire and he
came up to the fence asking: “And how the
divil did ye come round here at all. Misth’er
Pauli Sure, here’s blazes to pay, intirely. and
they’ve arristed Larr Locke, and Mrs. Larry
is nigh kilt wid the ha y wid fright, and what
does it all mane, anyhow?”

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said Paul. “I came
here to see Lei-g, found the door open, saw a
man runnin o , chased him, and got this bag.
That’s all. at's this you say about Larry
being arrested?” .

The men had come round now, recognizing
him and Maguire answ :

“ rra one of us knows but Mrs. Locke came
in like a wild woman wid the hub , and team
us how she had to ump out of the k windy,
andaman waskic in’ in the front door when
she left, and—” "

“ Where is she now!" asked Paul hurriedly.

“At my house, air, and you’re kindly wel-
come to come there Mr. Paul.”

‘-‘ But who will take care of this house?”

“ The b‘ys will do that, air. Mike Lan , and
Tom Donnelly will stay till Larry comes ck,
and bad luck to the thief that tries any more to-

was away.”
on here, thh man

ni ht.”
g‘ I don't think he will,” said Paul in a thought-
ful tone. “ I think that man taken more

than nwas in the bag. I must see Mrs. Locke at
once.

He and Maguire went over to the house of t e
craneman, which lay about half a mile nearer

Holesbur , and as soon as their f were

audible, olly came out, very pale much

eXeited to meet them. '
As soon as she saw Paul, she to lob 011d

tell him what had happened, to w ch he listened
with much agitation. . ‘ K I
Assoon as she had told her story, he said,
comfortingly: ‘ 4
“ But the can’t hold Larry 0,1,: the charge. It
01180. .

 

l
i

  
  
 

 

wax; ., «..

     

’ :thoyareallfinthemflls,andl

    

'~ .‘lv 5' " “-_,'\' j’ 3' . . '

"Liar

4 ' l

 Locke, the Man df Iron.

  

11 

 

 

“0h, Mr. Paul, do you think so?” she said,
earnestly. “Larry says how you was bred to
be a lawyer. Won’t you defend him .7”

“Certainl I will,” said Paul, with some hesi-
tation; but warn you that I have not been ad-
mitted to the bar; I will do the best I can. The
first thi is to get him admitted to bail.”

Molly rew him to one side to whis r:

“No, that’s not the first thing, r. Paul. I
daresn’t tell any one but you, but I’m afeard
I’ve been robbed of all the money we had saved

, to ay off the mortgage.”
aul, much concerned, asked where it was,
and Molly began to cry a 'n.

“ I hid it where I thoug t no one would find
it, but when 1 took the baby I was that frighted
I clean forgot it. It’s in the mattress of our
'bed, Mr. Paul. Feel at the bottom. There’s a
slit there, and it’s pinned inside.”

“ All right,” said Paul, hastily, “I’ll go and
look for it. \Vait till I come back.”

He went away, to return half an hour later
yer le, saving:

“ y poor Mo ly, the money’s gone."

 

CHAPTER XV.
rs counr.
MR. JUSTICE Wanns had just taken his seat

. on the bench next morning when he received a

note handed him by one of the court officers
which caused him to open his eyes wide and
mutter to himself:

“Huml ha! very good, very good. I‘ll put
him through.” ;

The note came from his millionaire friend,
Mr. Skinner, and concerned the case of poor
Larry Locke, who was thus confronted at once
by a prejudiced magistrate. ~

The usual batch of “ drunk and disorderlies,”
was worked off when the magistrate called:

“Locke, Laurence or Larry, complaint of
felonious assault. \thre’s the complainant?”

Mr. Scriven rose to say:

“Please, your Honor, I appear for him. He
,is in bed, unable to appear, owing to the effects
‘of the prisoner’s atrocious violence. Here is the
aflldavit describin the assault, and the sur-

on‘s certificate 0 the iru'ury. We offer Mr.

omas Trainor for first witness.”

The officer sitting by Larry nud ed him, and
he went and took his place before t e bar, while
'Tom Trainor was sworn.

Paul Van Beaver went u and stood by him,
when the juuge asked mugI ly:

“Who are you? What ave you to do with
this easel”

“ I appear to defend Mr. Locke,” said Paul, in
his quiet way. “and also as an eyewitness of
this whole affair.”

“ Are you a lawyer?” asked \Voems, scowlmg.

“Enough to know that one need not be a cer-
tificated lawyer to plead in this court,” returned
Paul. "“We wish to cross-examine the wit-

/

nesses.

“Certainly, certainly,” returned the magis-
trate, y. “ Bad case, bad case. Mr. Trai-
nor, w at 0 you know about this?”

Tom, in a manner that showed he must have
previously rehearsed his story, entered into a
_ lib account of the transaction as he professed

haveseen it, from which it ap red to the
judge that Marcellus Skinner bursary mildly
told Larry to leave the works; that ho had re-
fused so to do, and had picked up a sled e-
hammer and struck his employer in the s' 0,
without provocation.

When the sto was over, Weems said to
Paul with his usua gruflness:

“ Go ahead. ask your questions.”

Paul began quietly:

“ You say you saw Locke strike Mr. Skinner
with a sledge-hammer. Do they keep such

things by the pay table!” ‘

“ don’t know ” said Tom, sullenly, “ I
don‘t know Where he ot it. I saw him use it. I
I an they had it hidden among them.”

“ id you see the whole aflairi”
:Yes,’ said Tom, decidedly. “ Every bit of

.“ And ou’re sure he had a sledge hammer!” '
“ Yes tell you.” ' \
“Did 'Mr. Skinner strike at Locke at all, that

Y”
‘He just ordered him out and he
nohow."
di even put his hands on him!”
“No I tell you.”
“ dnthestrikeathimand misshimi’"
“ Not that I saw.”
“ Are you sure he m ht not have done sol”
“Yes, Iam. Isawi all.”
“ That will do." '
Tom stepped down and wiped his forehead
«lamp with agitation.
The magistrate turned to Skinner.
“ Any more witnesses!”
“ None nowk‘sir. We move commitment.”
“ Ve well.
Then e turned to Larry. ‘ 4
“ Well, what haveyou got to any?”
' Paul inglmosod.
- '“ We (1 ythe whole thing and waive an ex-
amination. We can bring fifty witness, but
learn this morn-

' \

i you, Mr. Paul?”

 

     

ing that this lyoung man Trainor has threatened  Now some one’s a-trying to take my house
discharge if they come here to : from me.
testify. We ask to be held to bail in a reaSOn- . me a Man of Iron and they’ll find me so."

them all wit

able sum.” ’

The judge bent his brows. !

“Hum! ha! this is an aggravated assaultf
with a dangerous implement. I shall have to i
make it five thousand.’

Larry uttered a low groan.

“ Five thousand 1"

Paul checked him with a gesture.

“Your Honor, rather than submit to such a
bail as that, I’ll take the stand myself. I saw
the whole thing.”

“ Very well, very Well,” said Weems, gruflly.
“Tell your story, and Mr. Scriven can take his
turn cross—examining.”

Mr. Scriven rubbed his hands and looked as
if he were pleased at the prospect, but as Paul
told his story his face lengthened, and when it
was over he said hastily:

"That puts a different face on the matter,
your Honor. I fear my client has deceived me,
and himself, too, in his irritation. I am willin
to let Locke go on his own surety to appear.
understand he owns propert —” ‘

“ Yes,” said Larry, eagerly. “ a house and—”

Paul pulled his sleeve and he stopped.

“Yes,” pursued Scriven. rubbing his hands.
“ We are prepared to be lenient. life will take
his personal bond to alipear."

“ Very kind of you, m sure." said the judge, I
trying to look bland, and so the matter was ar- 1
ranged at once.

Half an hour later Larry walked out of court 3
a free man, and took his way back to his owu :
cottage with Paul.

The young man was deli hind at his easy es- 
cape, and ke )t thanking Pau all the way, till he Y
noticed that an Beaver was very silent and ab—
stracted.

Then he asked:

“ What’s the matter, Mr. Paul? Are you out
of sorts? What’s happened?”

Paul had not told him of an thing that had
hap net! the night before. 9 had not had
the Heart to add to r Larry’s troubles when
he was still in prison; but now he felt he had to
tell it all.

“Larry,” he began, ently, “I sup you
know I went to your ouse last nig t to see
Mo‘lly, and that’s how I learned of your ar-
res .

“Yes Mr. Paul.
wrong?”

His 8 prehensions were already awakened,
and Pan turned them away skillfully by refer-
ringNto his own troubles.

“ 0, Larry, but you’ll wonder why I came to
be going out there, and Why I’m not at the oflice
to-da , won’t you?”

“ o, no, Paul. I thought it was just your
good heart, like when you first met me.”

“ Well, to tell you the truth, it was not that.
The fact is, my uncle turned me out of the house
last night, and I went to you to beg a night’s
lod ing.”

‘ And you shall have it,” said Larryesatoutly,
“as long as there is a roof over an d and
Molly’s We won’t oback on you. t’s a mean
shame, all alon of t at sneakin Trainor. I’d
like to put a ead on him, an I b’lieve I will
when this trouble’s over. "

“ The trouble’s not over,” answered Paul very

vely. “ When I went to your house I found
the door 0 11, Molly ne—J’

Larry u tered a cry and staggered hack.

“ Moll gone!” healmost shrieked. “ My Moll!
It can’t be—what—how—”’

“Be qhiet,” interrupted Paul firmly. “ Be
quiet and hear me out. Molly had taken the
baby over to John Maguire’s for safety. She’s
all safe. Don’t be afraid. But the door was
open. and damn was in the house huntin for
t in He heard me and ran. I chased im,
and e dropped part of his plunder. But new
Larry nag. Here comes the worst. I find
from Ila 0 had hidden some money in a.
mattress. It’s gone. That’s what I wanted to
tell you.”

To his so, the news seemed to affect
Larry but little; for he drew a sigh of relief and
answered uietly: - \

“Is the all Mr. Paul? I thought it was
worse than that. 1 thou ht—never mind.”

“ Why Larry,” ssi Paul amazed. “ I
thou lit to hear you rave at this. Molly told
me o it with tears in her eyes. Said it was all
figusa'vings to pay oi! the mortgage on the

I‘arry threw his head proudly.

‘ "I‘m not a 11 0 thing he that worries me,
Mr. Paul. I can care of myself as long as
I’ve these two arms. Six years ago I came
here a ragged tramp. "home on this very road

on met me. I hadn’t but eighteen cents in

be world. Now I’ve earned a house and lot,
and I’m not goingto give it up easy. Do you
remember what you gave me when I first saw

 

Did you find anything

Paul smiled carelessl . p ,r

“ I’m sure I forget. Lttle enough.

“ You vs me a dollar and five cents, and
{pan hadn been gone three minutes before a ’ _

mp called Terror Jim tried to gothrou
me. Iknockedhimstiflandmeonya'boy.

 

. A -

v'.

. t

  

T Print?” he said, sullenly.

     
  
    
   
   
   
 
    
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
 
   
    
   
  
   
  
   
   
     
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
    
     
 
   
  
  
  
    
 
 
  
       
   
    
    
    
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
     
      
    
      
    
   
  
    
   
   
  
  
 
 

I tell you, Mr. Paul, they’ve called

CHAPTER XVI.
THE nouroAGE.

Mn. MARCELLUS SKINNER, looking paler than
his wont and a good (h a] thinner, but restored. .
to health again, his broken ribs healed, was
driving into Holesburg, three months after the.
little trouble at the mil, with Tom Trainor on
the dog—cart seat beside him, when they passed
a cottage and saw a comely young woman '
spreading some linen to dry in the garden,
while a baby lay in its cradle in the open air,
kicking up its fat legs and crowing.

Tom nud ed the millionaire, saying:

“ That’s ke’s cottage, sir.”

Skinner scowled and cursed under his breath,
observing: __

“ I’d like to get even with that fellow.
Scriven says the assault’s no good, with all
those men ready to swear I struck first. I
wonder what has become of him? Have you,
heard?”

Tom nodded.

“He’s working out in Ohio, and that fellow
Paul’s with him. He’ll have to soil his white
hands, curse him!”

Skinner grinned approvingiy. .1

“ That’s right, Tommy boy. Curse him well. "'
He thinks he’s a fine fellow, because he’s a‘Van '
Beaver, and because the will makes him next_ "
heir, but we‘ll show him, some day.”

Tom made an impatient grunt. » "

“Why couldn’t ye have the will fixed dif-.
“You was round,
you told me, and ot the old man to alter‘it.’

hy coaldn’t be a ter it so I’d get a sheer"
I’m his flesh and blood, as much as Paul.” ‘,

“That ain’t the reason, Tommy boy. I had.
a hard time to get him to do what he did, and“, 
he wouldn’t ha’ done it, onl be was down sick, i. u» ‘
and i worked on it. ellol Why, there’s “
Scriven a-comin' this way. What does
want, I wonder!” ' .

They saw the lean lawyer, who had a yellow;
dried-up appearance, coming up the road
bind a sober old black horse, as they left Lari-32d
cotta e behind them. 

“ ello. Scriven, where away?” asked 
nor as the dog-cart met the old black. - 

l r. Scriven pointed with his whipto the cot;— > .,
tage at the top of the hill. ,

{AOver yonder to collect some mpneyi”. llo‘
sai . 

Skinner turned round in his seat, and his  a“;

i

\

 

lighted up with eagerness. . N .‘
“Not at Larry Locke’s?” be said,‘ in mar ,

that trembled in spite of , I " ‘ ‘
Scriven nodded. ' ‘- ‘-

“That’s the man. Let me see: you’had  V
trouble with him, didn’t you? I’ve almost tort; ”‘
gotten. I’ve so many cases.” . . i ‘ ‘

Skinner kept down his emotion, to say inn):
indifferent manner: . +4

“ Yes. I’d almost forgotten it myself. Dong
he owe you any money i”   I

“ No, not me. A c ient of mine. Old
Briggs. He lends out a good 

gee. There’s a little balance loft. Bani;
Shed-day.” , "

He was shaking up his horse, when 
said eagerly: ‘ 

“ By-the—by, if you have any trouble
it, let me know, and I’ll buy the mortga ‘
Briggs at the face value any time. I am
for investments all round, you know, and '
ga are alwa ssafe." 

riven nod rather coldly. ‘

“ I’ll tell him. Good-day.”

Then he drove on, and Skinner m
chuckle to himself, till lTom asked: ~ . .v

“ What’s the matter with yer?" . . ‘

Skinner smote his knee and chuckled?

than beforeashesaid: ‘
“Tomm bo , I’ve got the
I’ve got him, reckon. I’m a to

Iknowhimlikeabook. Oh,if 7
known this three months ago! I _‘ "
hearing how he’d -b’en robbed, but I ’w
dreamed of such a bit of luck as this.” i  :4

“W , what d’ye mean?“ asked Tenn-W
1y. “ ou’re allers havin’ secret, you an."

“Secrets!” echoed Skinner. with amid;
chuckle of deep enjoyment. “ No, 110,119. m,

tok ,toogoodtokee. 8a  
mmggemberhowthe gad'ityh t1".
paper, the time that devil, , was in
station-house, how he nigh killeda tramp

Jim! ' 
“Well, what of thati” asked'l‘om,  ,,
“ Only this, Tom: I seen that tmmp,and
told me a  ..
“ When! at didkhattgil anon?”  r k _
“ t was a good wee e mus,
boy, and when 1 was beginning to come 

r ,

3-?

i

  

stairs,thataman ed to see me,a:nd
a name I couldn’t I _
Tom looked at him’with surprise. ‘ 1i 1
“ What name was that?” .5
“Never you mind Tommy,” said 8 '
an evasive wa . “ I’ve seenng deal
mid before came hgme to  old i
e my peace. nyway ew
Jim. 6 and him were onoeaboard-f-
ol ‘ ‘ ‘

   
   

   

    
 

   
 

     
  
    

 
  

Na
' . «4-,‘

'.l

5"‘12

_, . . . ......‘. ,.... .11.,“

‘L'l.

\

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

.‘ ‘i

\> r v‘ . .' ' ..  
. ., _ . . . i

 

mind—that’s nothing to do with this story.
, Anyway I let him in, and he told me how his
1 on the road, one he called Snoopey, had
gen sneaking round Larry’s cottage the very
' day we had the muss, and seen the wife pokin’
away some money in a mattress, and how he
sent Snoopey back there at night, as soon as he
,' ‘ v heard of Larry’s arrest, and Snoopey got in and
i stole the money. What do (you think of that?”
“ I d’no’,” said Tom, stu i ly. “ What of it?”
, “ Don’t ye see, Tom? y, boy, how much
1' I d’ye think there was in that mattress?”
T , ~ “ Howmuch i”
“ Seven hundred dollars exactly, Tommy, and
 ' all in fifty-dollar bills.” .
,2: ‘ , “ Well, what of that?”
, Old Skinner made an impatient movement.
3’ A “ You ain’t used to bein’ so dumb, Tommy,
“ boy. Just as soon as I heard it I said: ‘ That’s
5 savings for something or other,’ and to-day
3,, r " shows what it is. He saved that moneéto pay
‘2; of! the mortgage, and that’s just what riven s
 ' after to-day. ’

_ .,:.(..,... x t

 a -‘ But what’s that to us?” asked Tom.
l ' ‘ "Nothen’ at all, Tommy, on] this: Cranemen
my can’t save up no seven hundr dollars a second

~time in three months here, nor in Ohio nuther,
and he’: a-going to fall short in paying Peter

rises.

A smile of dawning intelligence began to
cross Tom’s countenance and he ejaculated:

“ Well, dad, you’re a deep one, you are.”

Mr. Skinner nodded complacently.
. . . “Iain’t enerally called afool, ommy boy
' not since cut my wisdom-teeth, thou h I Will
‘ admit I come near makin’ a darned foo of my-
self twenty-three years ago. If I’d ha’ mar~
fled our mother, boy, you’d ha’ been a
lawful, one no doubt' but we’d ha’ been grub-
bin’ in the dirt like Larry Locke and i was
only ’cause you didn’t have no legal hold on me,
the old man took water at last. Oh, he was a
 I, .proud old pig, he was, with his Van Beavers:
1'  -’ .' ‘snd he didn’t want any one to know you was
‘3», , ! his flesh and blood as much as Paul. But I
ii} :4." fooled him at the last, and now I’ve got the
  '5: WW, and if I can’t leave it to you when
i .‘ “41* dead I can give it to you while you’re
'l“ ' g' alive, and me too, Tommy. And in the mean
5 -i time, the sooner we get to Peter Briggs’s house,

I ‘ the better for me, Tom. G’lang there.”
' ' He touched up the horses with the whip, and
 [away rattled the natty do -cart toward the
, .mrt of Holesburg where r. Peter Briggs re-

    

   
    
   
   
  
   
  
 
    
   
  
   
    
  
  
  

 

CHAPTER XVII.
'rrm LAWYER’B vrsrr.

MOLLY LOCKE was hanging out the clothes to

».. airy and singing at her work when the dog-cart
 and she did not see the evil glance cast
. ' at her by old Skinner. She was singing at her
" work as if she had never known care, yet she had
lived in the little cottagIeAalone with her baby
 hree months, while rry was hundreds o
‘z’miles ofl', working in another State.
 Theth lost the money they had saved by
g; ‘ 'vation and hard work and they knew
7 7 hen the day came for the last payment
“ on the mortgage they would not be able to raise
 the sum.
 » The house had been robbed by Snoopey the
1 fitting, and they knew well enough that they

1 never find him, short of a miracle, while
. , through the lock-out, had been thrown
out of work in the town.
, Under these circumstances most men would
3. Ethave despaired and most women would have
itiffmk’down helpless; but La had not earned
 name of e “Man of‘ res” without de-
ffii‘vligg it, and his wife never shed a tear after

‘ law

(9

 

got him back safe from the clutches of

\“If there ain’t work here, there’s work in

' « '0hi0,”Larryhad said. “Weain’t as had off

" mu we might be, Molly. We’Ve got health and

' h, and the rest will come to us. I’ll have
V “to leave you and baby awhile.”

'  ed a little when she first heard

esling of weakness, and answered:

1. i ,“If it must be, it must, Larry, boy. I can
get on while you’re gone. Lots of folks will

I 'ginmewashin .”

.x. And that was how she came to be hanging

the clothes in the garden when Skinner

“'74 Alone in her little house.withher husband
~ away,.she had managed to keep herself and the
' E decently, and sung as she toiled, as many

. " womanhasdoneinherplace.
: ,- ‘ Not all the heroes in America wear the span-
 , lots of the general, and there are heroines at
" ' “the washtub who face peril and misfortune as
 asatr'agedyqueemwithallher

Locke, “Red Moll,” carroty-haired
, brought up in a work-ho with no

' rents to coma and cla her in

. diamonds on
her mayseem a coarsesortofa roinetopre-
to the cultivated reader but then, you
horn, and, hav-

hspplne- in

  

. l

 

 

her own way, she was doin the best she knew
how, in taking care of baby 

He didn’t care whether he liv in a palace or
a here], as long as he was warm and had enough
to eat, and he had grown as strong as a young
horse, so to speak, in the three summer months,
while Larry was away in Ohio, quite unmind-
ful of the fact that the house where he was
born was mortgaged, and that old Peter Briggs
mi ht foreclose on his mother any day.

at Moll ; had she forgitteni

One wo have the t so, to hear her sing
at her work, but she ha ’t for all that, and i'
she had done so, she was very suddenly remind-
ed of it by the smooth voice of Mr. Scriven
behind her saying:

“ Good-da , Mrs. Locke.”

She turn round to face the old lawyer, with
a flutter at her heart.

“ Good-day, sir,” she said. “ Did you come
to see Larry? l’m sorry he’s awa , but you
know since the reduction at the mil , where he
struck, he couldn’t get any more work in Holes
 But he’s working, sir, and so am I, and
we

ope-

“There, there,” interrupted the old lawyer,
not unkind'ly. “I know all about it, Mrs.
Locke. Your husband was not to blame. But,
the fact is, you know, Mr. Briggs says that he
wants his money. Have you heard from your

husband latelyi’
“Yes, sir,’ said Molly, eagerlly, “and he’s
savin money as fast as he can. f Mr. Briggs

woul only wait another ear—”

Mr. Scriven pureed up is lips.

“I’m afraid that’s not 'ble. You see, if
Locke was working here, t would be different;
butna man who roams about can‘t be depended
on.

“ rry doesn’t roam about,” retorted Molly
with ?)irit. " If he had stayed here he won d
be hal ~starvin , like all the rest of thorn. And
you know we (1 the money saved, sir, when
we were robbed; and that wasn't Ierry’s fault,
was it?”

Scriven shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve heard of that. It wouldn’t have he.

ned if on had had our money in a ban ,
ike sensi le people. 0 orance of the
working-classes brings on ha 1 their troubles.
However, that’s none of my affair. The mort-
gage is due to—morrow. Are you ready to pay
it?

“ No,” returned Molly, desperately. “ We
can’t pay it. If you’ll give us time we can.
We’ve got a hundred and eight dollars saved,
and that’s all. If Mr. Briggs wi gli'yle us a year
we’ll pay ’him in installments. at‘s what

says.

The old law er looked at her narrowly. He
was not an un 'ind man, but business makes any
one hard.

“ I’ll see what I can do for you," he said cold-
lg. " but I warn you that I don’t bone for much.

riggs is a close, hard man. ”

“ know he is,”returned Molly rathcrmourn-
fully, “ but he ain’t ‘ just, and he knows we
dont want to wrong him. 'Do what you can
for us, 311', and I’ll boso grateful to you.”

15 hope i013 mu 7’ returned tk'rivcn,
and he went away, while ally returned to her
work.

But she could not singularly more. EVcn her ;
high health and sph'im d failed her at last;
and she came v-sry ueai‘ L'ymgasshe took the
baby’s cradle into the house.

But she keptat herworkagsteedfl) m A
fore, and every now and then she loom ow.
Larry’s last letter, in which he said:

“If he won’t ve an more mm.
says to let him “ahead? ltywill take three months
to foreclose. an if the worst comes and we‘re sold
out. ou've- ot enough money to come here to me.
But are e three,months are up, I’ll have the
moneamraised somehow; for I've found the way to
beat bosses now."

2

“What can he mean?” she kept saying to her-
self as she read. “He has ound the way to
beat the bosses. What is it, wonder?”

But she had no time to think over it or decide
it, for it was 00min on toward sunset, and she
had a ood deal to o.

By t e time she had got in her clothes and
pre red for su :- it was (ink, and just then
aha card a vehic drive up and stop before the

cor. ‘

, Thinking it a mesmge from Scriven, she hur-
ried out, and saw a fancy dog-cart, with a tan-
dem team, before the cor, a groom at the
horses’ heads, while a tall stout youngJ man' ,
extravagantly dressed, with a eoane, ssipa-
ted face, was coming up the path.

Molly recognized him in a minute as Mr.
Thomas Trainor, and straightened into a statue
of dignity as he advanced.

Tom, on the other hand, grinned aflablv, say-

i :
n5 Good-evenin’, Molly.”

“Mrs. Locke, if you please,” retorted Molly.
“ I’m not Molly to any but old friends.”

" And ain’t I an old friend?” asked Tom.
“Wh , don’t ye remember when we was
kids the Count House together! Quite a
change eence then, oily. You’ve grown most
uncommon handsome, same then." r

1 man to give ye time, Molly.

 

'“Did youcomehoretotellmsthetPssked

‘\.‘ .
,1

,, ’ l -_
’ |  .v " .3 ,‘y 

she, with a glitter in her eyes that showed shew
was angry.

Since she had lived alone so long, she had
quite got over her terror of tramps. and always.
kept some weapOn within reach, which rile was.
not afraid to use.

Snoopey could not have gone through the-
house a second time with the case he did before.
Molly had become as bold as a tigress in defense-
of her young one.

Tom Trainor tried to laugh; but the effort
was an awkward one.

“No, no,” he said; “not exact! that, but
surely it’s no harm to tell you, is it

“ hat did you come for?” asked Molly,
coldly. “ You and me ain’t friends, sir,‘and.
certame my husband and you ain’t.”

“Why, Molly l” exclaimed Tom, in an in—
jured sort of way. “ I ain’t got uothen’ ’gainst
him. Larry and me flt, six year ago, but we-
don’t bear no malice.”

“Then what did you come for?” asked she,
not offering to move aside for him-

Tom hesitated a moment, and then said in a
low tone of voice:

“ It’s somethin about the mortgage. I don’t.
want the man to it.”

Molly changed color at once.

“The mortgage? You ain’t got anything to‘
do with our mortgage,” she said, hastily.

Tom shook his head and nodded in a very“
significant way.

‘ If you’ll let me come in I’ll show you if I.
haven’t,” he said, slyly.

Molly looking at him as if she doubted her'
senses, slowly drew bee and said:

“ Tell me what you mean. I don’t care’ who,
hears it. What is it?”

Tom drew closer.

“The old man’s gone to Briggs and bought
the mortgage,” he said “ to get even on Larry
for lemming him. You can tell whether he’s.
likely to ive ye any more time or not.”

Molly 'stened, and her heart sunk within:
her, for she knew the meaning of what he said
too well.

She braced her nerves sufllciently to answer-
him. hOWever.

“ Very well. Is that all?"

“ If you’ll let me come in,” said Tom, in a.
pleadin way, “ I’ll tell ye. I ain’t the old.
man. don’t want to be hard ogsye.”

“ What do you want to say ?” ed she, with;
a vague fear of somethin impending.

Tom slipped into the ouse as she fell back,
and immediately whispered:

“ I don’t want him to hear, ye know. Look,
here. I can get the old man to give ye all t! o
time ye want. He’ll do anything for mc; any--
thing in the world.”

Molly stared at him incredulonsly.

“ You? You do me a kind action? You help»
Lsr 1 You 2' Why should you! You don t.
love im any too much.”

Tom grinned and came (it ser.

" Ma 'be I don’t' but I love some one else a
heap, olly; and f kin do what I say for her
sake. D’ve know who I mean?”

Molly drew back a race ortwo, With a strange!
gleam in her eyes repeatng in a hull-xvlisptr:

“ You? you! 1 lat do you meant”

“ I mean that I am desperate It rid of you.
Molly,” he answered, \xith a leer of affection.
“ Larry’s gone away to Ohio, and he won’t never
Come back. The old man will take good care-
of that. Say , Moll, why shouldn’t you an d me
be good friends. while he’s gone? I’llget the old
Gosh, I’ll do bet-
trr than that, I’ll get on the money, so he»
won’t never know w 0 give it to ye. And all I
want in return is that m’ll- ”

He suddenly started It, as if he saw in her
eyes, something that amazed him and fright-
ened him too.

Molly had drawn back near the stove and had
her hand on a pot of water that was simmering
there. -

His start came a moment too late, for before»
he could reach the door the t of water nearly
boiling was emptied over is back, so that he
ran ye lin down the th faster than he'had
come, w e Molly, wi with fury, had caught.
up a hot poker and was following him to the

Tom Trainor was so thoroughly astounded
and demoralired lay the unex ted] vi orous
assault of the in ignant Mo y Loc e t at he
rantohiscartashardas hecould go, leaped in
without a. word, and lashed up his horses before
thwm could get to €18 place behind.

a con uence was hat, when Molly reached
the front ga . both horses were running away
ata breakneck gallo and the 00m was run-
nin also, as hard as e could, a ter the cart.

the woman s and be an to
tremble; for s e thought of what she be done
as she went back to the house, her nerves
aquiver, and sat down to “ have a good cry,” as
she expressed it.

But she took care to keep the road in, 5181“;
while she we t, and that was the reason She
saw, a very ttle while after, the YGHOW 592‘
cart coming hacka Tom and all, and MW imp
a? before m I  '0 Shake 1113
w endow-Instill 67758:

“ on wasdarned

\
\

rt, you was, Red Moll;

\

 

M"... ...._._..V- . .

q,

 

 

I  '  the Man of Iron.

13’

 

 

but I’ll be even with you yet. You see if I
don’t. This is the last night you sleep in that
house.”

Molly, her tearsgone the moment her anger
flamed up again, strand in the door of her house
and called back:

“ It’s lucky for you my husband’s not home,
you coward. He’s whipped you twice, and the
next time he’ll make mince-meat of you. ”

“Who will?” shouted back Tom.

“ Larry Locke, the Man of Iron,” crieda voice

fin the road, as a man came running up.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
noun AGAIN.

YES. it was Larry himself covered with dust
as if he had traveled on foot 9. long way, a
stick and bundle at his back; but he was run-
;ning quite fast and Tom Trainor saw him.

The young man had no fancy to meet Larry
'a third time.
.his best, and Tom had n sitting on an ofl'lce
stool and living on the fat of the land since
that time, so that he was soft, pufl‘y and unfit
for a fight.

He just laid his whip on the horses and sent
"them off toward Holesburg at a gallop, while
.Molly uttered a scream of joy and came run-
ning out to hu her husband whose face was
Ibrown and sun rnt, while the old confident
smile lighted it up.

“ Oh, Larry, boy, Larry!" was all she could
say, and it was not till she had him safe in the
“house that she could ask him:

“ And where have you been and what lave
you been doing, Larry, boy?”

Larry gave her another bug.

“ Never mind now. “'here’s baby?”

“ Asleep in here.”

And she showed him Larry, junior, sleeping
like a top. and marked the tears that came nto
the father’s eves unconsciously as he kissed the
slumbering c ild.

Then they went into the next room and sat
down to supper, when Larry asked'

“What was that dirty villain dbing in front

of this house abusing you?”
Molly began to tremble at once.

Larry. Remem how they put you in prison
for striking Skinner.”

Larry curled his lip slightly.

" Yes, I remember. Ile’s rich and I’m .
No. I won’t do anything to him, Molly. I’ve
learned a good deal since I went away. A poor
man can’t afford to lose his temper. ow came

he here?"

“ He came back, Larry. to insult me, but I
didn’t mind that a bit. I’d iven him cause
enough to lose his temper, God ows.”

Larry laughed.

“ Hod hey! What did ye do?”

“ Threw a kettle of hot water over him!”

“Good for you!” cried the workman in a tone
of great delight. “No, no, I won’t hurt him
'now, Molly. You can take care of yourself and
the baby, I see. But what made you drive him
out?

Moll y colored deeply.

“He dared to come here and make love to
me, thinking you were away.”

Larry‘s eyes flashed for a. moment, but he
laughed again, saying:

“ Well, well. I like that. And ye scalded
'him, did ye? Reckon he won’t come again?”

Molly began to cry.

“ch, but other! will. Oh, Larry, Scriveu
was hcre to-day, and Briggs wants his money!”

“ I thought he would, said Larry, quietl .
"‘ I came here on purpose, in case he did. We ,
-whnt lllil you tell him?”

“What you wrote me. I asked him for

e.” ‘ '

“ What did he say?” .

“He said he’d speak to Briggs, but couldn’t
; ve us much hope. Then he went away, and
' om Trainer came in. soon after, and told how
lfiis- father had bought the mortgage from

rig .

“ hut?” ejaculated Larry. ,

“ His father, Skinner, had bought Briggs’s
'mortlgage and wouldn’t give us a day’s time on
'it no en‘s—

“ Unless what?” asked Larry, seeing she heti~
tated.

“ Unless be persuaded him,” returned Molly
in a low tone, colorin deeply. “ That’s why I
threw the water over im.

Larry seemed to be struck by the news for
he became very thoughqu fora while, till Molly
asked him:

“ Well. where have you been and what have
you been doing? I suppose the house has to 50
at last, but I‘m not going to fret about it wk 0
you’re able to work for us.”

Larry raised his eyes to hers.

“ I’ve been lookin for the man that stole our
, Molly, and ve found him.” ‘

Mo ystartcd joyfully. ‘

“ Did you, indeed l”

“Yes; but it was no use. The money was

do, of course. But I got the man and his
fiend, Terror J m.” z

“ Well?” asked Molly, as he paused.

 

Asa be he had beaten Tom at ;

“ Well, I found out‘a good deal about Boss
Skinner that I didn’t know before,” said Larry,
slowly. “ I’m not so sure that we shall lose this
little Muse, Molly.”

“ Oh, IArr ,” said the woman, tremblin ,
“do you ren y mean it? Don’t deceive me.
we‘ve got to lose our savings, I'm not afraid to
$3 out into the world again with you, dear.

8 came from the poor-house, and we can
always, go back there. But don’t build up false

0

“ I ain’t building no he . ” said Larry, in his
ungrammatical way. “ ’m only telling what
Mr. Paul said. He was bred a lawyer, and he’s

0t admitted out in Ohio. I told him what

’d found, and he’s a—workin’ on it now. You
wouldn’t know him, Molly. He works dreadful
hard now, and he never used to do no work at
all when I first knew him.”

“Ah, he was a ood, kind gentleman.” said
Molly, sadly. “ hat a shame that his grand-
father, after maki him think all his life he
was to have the mil, should turn round and
leave it to Marcellus.”

Larry said nothin in reply, for at that mo-
ment Larry, junior, . an to stir in his cradle,
and put all thoughts of everything else out of
their heads, but the subject of the mortgage

our

- was recalled to them forcibly about an

 

I
“Promise me goof won't do anything to him, I

 

after dark when a knock at the door was fol-
lowed by 0 presence of asmall boy, who asked,
in a shrill tone: - ,

“ Which is Larry Locke?”

“ I am,” returned Larry.

“ I’m from Snapper & Van Slack,” said the
small boy, mildly. “ This here’s for you, mis-
ter. Here’s t ’riginnl.”

He thrust e per into Larry’s hand, shook
another before face, and vanished, leaving
the workman staring stupi at the paper.

It was a summon on forec . of the mort-
gfi, in the name of Marcellus Skinner, and

0 7

begzn to tremble in.
As for rry, he folded up the paper and put
it in his observ' r'

“ You ain’t got firs house yet Mr. Skinner,

and you ain’t to get it. Tomorrow I’ll

play my cards.

CHAPTER. XIX.

LannY‘s vrsrr.

Tn Skinner Steel Works were in full blast
next day. but the master of the concern had
gone out driving, and Tom Trainer was left in
iull control in the ones, when Locke

his up nos at the gate of the works
andwalked in,to begreeted, in less nfive
minutes theresfun' by a great cheering, as the
men left their tasks and crowded around him.

Three months had made a difference in them
and in him. Theynll looked sullen, downcast
and discontented, while Larry held his head up
as proudly as ever, and his sturdy figure seemed
the Wiflmtion of strength.

“ ell, Maguire," he said to one man, who
had been a workman when he was an appren-
tice, but who had given in to the reduccion,
“ and how does the world use you now?”

“ Badly enough,” said Maguire gloomily;
“ butwknt’s a man to do Larry? I‘ve got five
young—’uns, and they’ ve got to be kept in bread
and butter and clothes. It’s been hard scratch-
in’ ssncethe cutdown, I tell ye. All the hands
is in debt now.”

‘ Ay, sy,” Put in Tom Macaula , one of the
rolling-mm, ‘ we’re all in debt at t e store, and
the boss has got us where he wants us.
no use to d ht. We ain’t got no snow.”

“ How a t the cranemen?” asked Larry.
“ Do the new hands you got in our places work
as well as we did?”

The men were silent, and looked at each other
uneasily; and Larry noticed that the cram-men,
instead of dmartm their tasks to crowd round
him,th aloof went on with their Work by
t “Talk” ~ntpi ” h Mace

e re a es, w ispered ulay.
“ and they know we hate ’em. We’ll ham to
go back to work at'once, or we’ll be docked jist
so much time.” I

Here they heard Tom Trainor’s harsh voice
from the office door:

“ Hallo‘o there. you men. what’s the matter?
What are you stopping work for?” I

Larry watched “on: all, and saw the sullen,
downcsst look come over their faces, but not
one of them ventured to answer Tom, and 
dispersed to their work, scowling, but submxs—
sive, leaving the visitor standing alone in an
Open space of the works, so that Tom Trainor
recogn zed him.

’Tain’t

young superintendent—for such was

Tom’s title in the works—hesitated for a mo-
ment, and the color flickered on his bloated
face. He knew had no right to be there,
and that the discipline of the works remained
in his—Tom’s-hands. His father, in his place
would have swaggered up to Larry and ordered
him out, but Tom Trainor was not Marcellus.

He hesitated, scowled and then walked back
to the office, from whic he sent a message by
the night watchman to say that “Inrry must
leave the works at once: no strangers were al-
lowed insidel"

Larry had watched the struggle going on in ‘

 

 

Tom without a ring to notice it, and a slight
smile of triumglmpeared on his face when he
saw Trainor quail.
He followed M ire to his place, where he
was work' , and o rved quietly:
“ I say, im, didn’t it never strike you felo
lers you could better younelves if you was to
organize and git together?"
M ' shook his head.
“ o, it ain’t no use. We’re all down now.
We daresn’t strike. A week would fotch US.
We hain’t got no savings no .”
“Well,” replied Larry, “ ut s’pose you was
to in together. ’Tain’t to my you need strike.
Loo here, I want to see you tonight. I’ve
learned a heap since I went est.”
Maguire cast him a quick glance, for the tone
in which Larry spoke was full of meaning; but 
he only nodded gloomily, saying:
“Al right; I’ll come. But it won’t be no
use.”
“Perhaps so. perhaps not.” returned Larry: '
“but there’s no harm trying.” _
And then he saw the watchman come up—a “
stout, werful man, new to the works, who 
said ly: 
“Here, you get out of this. It’s ag’in’ the
orders to have strangers here.” 
“But I’m not a stranger,” returned Larry, 
coolly. "I know the old placa by heart. Why, Q
man, I used to werk here long before you were 
ever thought of.” ' ,7, 
The watchman looked him over from head to " ‘1
foot to answer sourly: , x , ,
"The blnses ou did! Well, njust you git '
now, and darn quick too, or I’ break your
darned back fur e. ’ ~
smiled in his most provoking manner
as he answered: 
“Would ye, now, would ye? I s’pose you’re '
quite a fighter.”  , 
“I’ll show you whether I ain’t,” said the .  “i;
watchman, sternly. “ Are you going to git, o!" ' ""

will I have to v t you out?” "'39

Imrrysunilsd“I ‘ , still more provokingly.  ~31

“I wouldn't ' ceo t sich a good-looking 1' 1
man tosomuch troub . I‘ll gentonce. But
ain’t it a little rough wttin’ out a man who  I
jestcame in to sayhowdydo to a fewof hie
friends?” .

"That ain‘t none of my bis,” returned the
watchman, rather more mildl . “The boa .
give me his (is-den, and I‘m sogoing to see them
done, you kin bet.” I 

“ That‘s right,” returned Inn'y, placidly, and
he began to walk slowly toward the gate, ao- 
companied b the watchman. “ Orders should “3
be obeyed. hat’s your name?” “

“ Never ou mind,” was the stifl reply. “ H
name’s stri e'from the shoulder when I git
and don’t you fnrget it.”

WWDOMBWOI‘UHM gottothe te,w
when t watchman was turni beckto care
him. Then the short men su denly laid 
hand on the other’s arm and said quietly:  .h A x;

“ Look a-here, friend, I ain’t t nothen ~ "
against you, but though orders is . there’s -
a way of obeying ’em, and there’s another not , 
so ood You said jest now you’d break my
baci fur me. Now we're outside, and I tell ye,
ye can’t do it.” ' ‘

The watchman, for the first time, looked at ‘
his companion with great care, and his face ‘
took on an expretnicn of something very like
evasion of the imue, as be said sullenly: '

“I ain’t no darned fool, l ' ’ fur fights for
fun. You go your wa and I’ll go mine. Iij'e
come into the works 1’] lam ve.” ‘ ‘

Larry laughed and let go the other’s arm. ' 1

“Aha!” he said, “ I see jestwhat kind arms]:
you are. You’re one of the roosters that,
damn’t fight off his cwn dunghill.” ‘ '

The watchman started  *‘

“Ye lie. ye darned sk . on, git out d .
this darned quick. I don‘t want none of 
lip, and I won’t take it.” "  ,.

“ Well,” said Larry, uietly, “ what are yen; ‘1 4
going to do about it, anon? I reckon yeah .. ‘
nothing butan old bloat, anyway. YoudaM" '
eVen tell your name.”  ’

“ Dareen‘t I?” cried the watchman, flucely.
“ I’d have you know I’m Chris Hargous, I 
and they called me the klngowhen I med tom ,.
on themal. Now then, w sreyoni" , I.

"My name’s Inrry Locke,” replied Larry, in
his quietest tones. )

Instantly the watchman jumped back intothe
Works, and his face white, for he 
heard of Larry before. ' , 1!

“I ain’t able for on,” he stammered. “Int
ain’t on the fight, I te l ye.”

“ Just now you said you was,” returned
Larry, advancing toward him. “ Now I’ll 
give on a chance to show what you‘re 
of. :11 wrestle you a square-bolt, Mr. Enn- ‘

7 , .’

But Hargous backed away from him, crying 
out: - i I,

“You let me alone. I ain‘t done nothen to"
you. You ain’t got no call to pick a muss 
me.” ~. ’ "‘

Larry pointed his fin at him. , -

“Heresa brave watc man,”he cried. ,-“Why, -
a gang could clean out the. works, and 
wouldn’t say nothing to ’em, mould yei” V - . '

“ You leave me alone,” was all Hargouswofll

  
    
    
    
 
    
  
   
     
   
  

~
r .

 

 

 

    

 

 
 

«.--Nn‘ ,..a,»-»5 mums . “baa
r, x a ,

"T ‘14 

,. QI.‘ '-' . "a
/ '-'. ' - "
I i ‘, / i

L_ “-mfva. ._ -- aw~*........r-..... ..~ m ._.. . .......

mm”

 Locke; the Man: g, 

 

 

 

   
     
   
  
   
   
    
     
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
    
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
    
   
   
    
   
   
 

‘1 1,‘ reply, as he backed away, and .Larry finally
 ed on his heel, remarking:

“ Well, my friend, I reckon it’s lucky you’re a
coward. It has saved your bones today.”

Hargous drew in his breath with a hissing
sound. The man was not a coward, after all,
and the word stung him as nothing else Would or
could have done.

Without another word he came up to Larry,
andIgrowled:

“ ’ll wrastle ye, darn ye.”

CHAPTER XX.
I LARRY’S NEXT FIGHT.

LARRY might not have taunted Hargons so
keenly but for the fact that he felt very angry
 at being turned out of the works in which he

had served his aggrenticeship.

‘- The unexpect dignity of the watchman—
for there is dignity in the acceptance by a man
of a contest in which he knows he will probably
be beaten—compelled a certain amount of re-
spect, and Larry in his turn began to feel that
he had gone too far in bullying a man who,
after all, was only doing his duty with extra
rudeness.

, , However, there was no help for it now, so he
x only said, as be stretched out his arms:

\ . “ You said you’d break my back.

 '  edo it.”

: T a next moment the men grupplul, and
, ( ous was thrown with a violence that
. knoc ed all the breath out of his body for sev-
‘ Seconds, when Larry helped him up, saying

 

Now let’s

.v ' dl :
 “NI: malice, I hope, friend. You and me
‘I ain’t a fair match. Besides, why should We
I fight, when we’re both workingmen? Our kind
. o ht to stick together against the bosses.”
rs, argous could not speak for a moment, but
‘, . When he could he said slowly:
, . “You’re a darned good man. I ain’t no

slouch at the square-bolt myself, but you’re as
g .Itroug as a steamengine. No, there ain’t no
‘ malice. I ain’t a hog, to want more’n’s good
furme.”
l J‘ Then you won’t make no more fuss if I come
into the works to see my friends?” said Larry,
' ingly. » '
  rgoua hesitated. ~

2 "‘ Not unless the boss tells me to put yo out.

If he does, I’m going to do it.”
5 ’ Idrry looked at him with some surprise.
f “ D’ye think e’re able?” he asked.
" nod

» , “If the boss tells me, I am. I ain’t able for
'you in a fight; but if thebom gives the order I’m

 to do it, if I have to go under.”

v. _ Then he went away, and Larry took his de-

.Zj Wm into the streetl.

 He kept a keen lookout as he walked, and

fluently spied Marcellus Skinner coming to-

; .. ward the works, in a bug .
‘ As the owner passed flrry hailed him from
not at first recognizing
pulled up, so that Larry was able to get to
rse’s head.

‘ , When Marcellus saw who it was his brows
contracted, and he wled out:
» 'V‘9mhlgt are you oing? How dare you stop

-

  

    
 
 
   
   
   
 
    
    
    
   
  

4 ’m‘ezl wanted to say a word to you,” said Larry
'igesternl as himself, and, as he spoke, he so

“ b e in his stron grasp.

mediawa Marco lus raised his whip and
- 'a cut at the man holding his horse, vo-

' S: - .
Let go my horse, you sooundrel, or I’ll have
arrested ”

35,1011 saw the cut coming, rtly parried it
"-r, with lag arm, and at the same mm managed to
,,  the whip, which he held like a vise say-
.. . ,

-;.-.1 .Keep. our temper, you old fool. Do you
 me t3; pull you out of that bu gy and
 thrash you with your own whip be ore the
 town? Keep still. I’ve got a word to
55¢, to you and I’m going to say it. Do you un-
l’ diamond ”

r "Marcellus, livid with fury tugged at the whip

i ’3 a: vain, while Larry proceeded:

’  “You’va bought the mortgage on my place,

I'ndma be you think you’re going to turn me

. .‘out— Let go that whip l”

‘ ‘ He’ had become irritated at last, and, as he
“poke, with a sudden twitch he snatched the
whipaway from Skinner and threw it down on
the vement, continuing):

‘l " “‘ nswer me, quick! 0 you intend to turn

me out or not?”

, ‘ Marcellus ground his teeth.

-‘ , “ Yes, Curse you, yes! You’re strong, and

.  you’re young; I know all that; but I’ll be even

"With you for this. I’ll drive you away from

' : on see if I don’t!” ‘

‘ “ am: all I wanted to know,” returned

’ cooll . Now I’ve got a word to say.

 "You can’t riye me out of Holesburg. I‘ve

‘ e away all I mean to go, and now I’ve come

 k to stay. Do you understand that! An-

r thing I want to tell you. I’m gomg to

a} work in the Skinner Mills before I’m 5 x weeks

older, and I’m going to have my house, too.”

V, Skinner curled his lip. He saw it was no use

Warmer on Larry Locke.

‘ ‘I like to know how you mean to do it,” he

     
   
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
    
 
    
  
  
   
   
   
    
    
   
  
   
  
  

  

 

 
 

 
 

   
 
 
 

you y me my mone , and not wi bout.”

“ 1&2,” answered Lairy, sharply. “ I shall pay
the money, but not to you.”

Skinner shrugged his shoulders.

“ As you please. You can peg my lawyer, if
you like; but if you don’t, I ta 6 t e house as
soon as I et judgment. And as for gettin work
at the mill you can‘t do it. I wouldn’t
in for half wages.”

“ And I’m not going in for half wages,” was
Larr ’s quiet reply.

“ 0," continued Marcellus, “nor for quarter
wages either. You’re a horn demagogue, and
bound to to make trouble wherever you r0.”

“ But for all that,” retorted Larry, " ’m go-
ing to come back there, and on in]! wages, too.”

“ And how are you going to manage that?”
asked Marcellus, with another sneer.

Larry, quietly. “ I want to give you notice that
by that time you’ll pay all your men the old
scale, dating from last pay-day, or you’ll never
roll another rail. Good-day, sir. Remember
What I’ve said.
don’t 'ou try to use it on no more men, or you
may find you’ve made a little mistake, as you did
once before.”

He let go the horse’s head, stepped back and
picked up the whip, which he handed to Marcel-

us, who drove on without attempting any fur-
ther violence.

Then Larry bctook himself down the street to
a certain small hotel in the far outskirts of the
city, where he foxmd a man with a grave, rather
stern face, waiting for him in the small, dingy
oillce.

At least it seemed as if the man were Waiting
forhim, for as soon as Larry came in the other
looked up from his paper, saying:

“ Well, brother, what luck? Are any of

them inclined to join at once? The council
won‘t let me wait long if there’s no chance of an
organization.”
. “ I think We‘ll make one tomorrow,” was
Larry’s answer, “ but you must remember these
men are all (sewed down and it will take time to
rouse them up.” ’

“ That’s no affair of mine,” returned the
stern man. “I’m here to do the muster in. and
if you once start a council the rest will follow.
We want them all. This is the only place that’s
left outside now, and when that’s in line with
the others, we can make Monopoly come
down.” ~

“ Well,” said Larry,doubtfully, ‘f I’ll trywhat
I can do, Mr. Shaw: but you'll have to do most
of the talking. I’ll bring Maguire to you to-
night, and if we get him and a few others in,
thgnreet will follow. What time will you meet
us

“ Whenever you say. I think seven willbethe
best time, because the men will have finished
supper and will want something to do.”

‘ How would it do if you came to my house
and I got the men to meet there?” asked 

“ A very lgood ,plaoe,” returned Shaw. “ ll
come there' you ltell me where it is. In the
mean time how are you going to let the men

know?”

“I’ll noti them myself,” said Larry, and
then he gave s comdpanion directions how to
find the cottage and eparted.

He took his way stra ght back to the wor
and walked in at the gate without being noti

at first.

Then he went to Ma ire who was one of the
tonal-men, and said’to m in a low voice as he
panned

:

" Come to 'm ' house as soon as you’ve had
511 per. Mr. S aw’s come.” y ’

‘And who’s Mr. Shaw i” asked Maguire, m a
gloomy tone, as he went on with his work.

“ Mr. Shaw,” replied Larry, in the same
guarded tone, “ is the Master Workman for
this district, and he’s come here to get you all a
chance to get back the old scale.”

Magui re shook his head.

“ Dlvll a chance have We, I’m afeard.”

“ Of course not, if we don’t fight for it,” said
Larry, sharply “There’s no harm in hearing
what the man has to say, is there?”

“No,” assented Maguire, gloomily. “ I’ll
come.” ,

“ And will you bring‘the boys with you?” ask-
ed , eagerly.

Maguire nodded.

“ I will that. But we’re not going on strike,
ye understand; it’s no use.”

“You’ll not be asked to go on strike,” re-
turned Larry, “ till everything’s ready for suc-
cess. Then, if you don’t 0 on strike, ou’re
not worth of the name of merican wor men.
People wi call you slaves.”

 

CHAPTER XXI.
THE SECRET socm'rv.

THAT evening at seven o’clock Larry was Sltr
ting at his cottage door smoking his ipe, while
Molly was washin up the dishes, an s nging as
she worked, this me with real enJo out.
What mattered it to his; Wm” t cite win: a
mortgage hangin over e p or no so ng
as Larry was acEl ’ '

To . her, Larry was .the impersonation of

 

eyou E

“ You’ll find that out in three weeks,” said 2

Here’s your whip again, but 1'

5 to tell how it was to be done,

1
l
i

said, with a sneer. “You’ll hhve our house if i strength and knowledge, and there was nothing

1 she deemed him incapable of doing.

: Presently Larry saw the figure of a man com--

1 ing down the road from Maguire’s house, and

| several others str ling in from the city, so he

> got up and said to olly:

“Bring out all the chairs ye can. We’re go-

‘ in’ to have a meeting.”

“A meetin i” she echoed. “A meeting of

i what, Larry, 0y? We’ve no room for a meet-
in

I ‘We'll hold it outside,” said Larry. “It’s
' only to talk things over; it’s the first step.”

Then he went out to meet Maguire, who had
, a furtive look on his face, and said, in a low
‘ voice: r

“ I told the boys, and some of ’em are on the
‘ road; but av the boss gits hould of it, he’ll
i bounce us all.”

“Maybe he will-maybe he won’t,” said
Larry. “ We’ll see about it when we git to-
gether.”

“But it’s no use.” observed Magnire, in a
I gloomy way; “ I tonld the boys that."

“Perhaps you told them wrong.” said Larry,

uietly. “ Wait till Shaw comes. You men

on’t know your own strength. Come in and sit
down on the bench.”

Ten minutes later there were nearly twenty
‘ men gathered in the little front garden of Lar-

ry’s cottage, a number sitting on the stone
1, bench, the rest on logs, rods and the few chairs

the cottage contained. while the buzz of earnest
conversation told that they were anxiously dis-
cussing the question of subsistence and how to
better their position, though no one seemed able
and Larry prof-

fered no advice.
At last he said, in a tone of some relief:
“Ah! there comes Mr. Shaw at last.
be S, we’ll see.”
u at the front gate walked a quietlooking

Now,

' man in plain grafi clothes, who said, as if he

had known them a
“ How are you, men? Are there any foremen
here who are Knights?”

here, but they all want to join the Knig ts,

Brother Shaw.”

“ No, no,” expostulated Maguire. “We don’t
want to join nothing till we know what it is.
We’ve tried strikes before, in ’7 7, and what did
we get by it?”

Shaw smiled gravely, as he answered:

“ You’re just the men we want in the Order
—men who don’t strike for nothing. Look
he : how much do you make a week, and I’ll.
tel you whether you can afford to strike on
not‘!’

Several men answered him, and he went.
on:

“'lgat’s just it. I heard before I came that
on olesburg men were getting just a quarter
fess than iron-workers were getting in the West.
That’s because you haven’t got a Union and
don’t belon ,tothe Knights of Labor. You’re»

.the only pace that doesn’t belong to it, and.

you'n never get the old scale back till you do.”

“ But how will ioinin the Knights help usl’,"
asked one man. “ We’ll ve to pay dues, won’t;
  it

course we -

“That settles it, mister. We hain’t got but
jist enough to keep the pot b’ilin’. and no mon-
ey to spend on dues.”

Shaw bent his brows,

“ Do any of you drink beer?” '

“ AY: “In” quoth Maguire. “"I‘is the on] '
‘cggfort we have now, and we won’t give t
“ Indeed! and how much does it cost you to
get a good drunk and for at your troubles for a
ni ht?” asked Shaw, coo . ' .

he question seemed to surprise the men.

“ Reckon I can drinktififtly glasses Without
cavin in ” said one boas ng . u

“ ow 'much a gl’ass?” asked Shaw, quickly;

“Five cents.” ‘ ,

“ Exactly. Well, that s nearly a
and it onlyvlasts one night, don’t it?’

“A , 3y, I see what ou’re drivin’ at,” said
Ma me, rather scornfu 1y, “ but we ain’t oin’
to g ve up our beer and turn temp’riuce fo ks.”-

‘ su . you tried it for three months, and'.

ot the old scale at the end of the time.
ouldn’t that be a paying investment?” asked
haw.
S No one seemed to be able to4find an answer,
and he went on:

“I came here to let you men know what the‘
Knights of Labor hat’e done, and to start an
assembly here. We’re not anxious to have you

oin. The rest of us have got the old scale, and.
if you like to stick to the new one we don’t want-
to hinder you.” ‘

“ But We don’t Want to do no sich thing,” said‘
one of the men, in a tone of vexation. “We~
want the old scale, and we want to know how"
the Knights are going to help us et it.”

“That’s the way to talk,” said haw. “ Now
we shall get on better, I think. I’ll tell you all.
The Order has assemblies in evcri When
there’s an ironmlll excepfa this. 'I if: Mung"
man’s eli ble to join, it can pcyh dues and
we don’t ave but very small expenses.

year’s dues,

We’ve

 

got a big surplus fund, which we use on purpose. ,

/

“ No,”‘answered Larry: “ there arerio Kni hts I

 

We”. hug.

     
    

  

 

i
l
l
i

x
l

  
 
 

   

 \
, x
’1‘
«

 

I‘.)}‘ "

to sustain strikes, and the moment you join you

become entitled ' to that fund, if a strike
is ordered. What we want to do is to get in
every man in the trade. The bosses have their
Unions, and it’s their business to save all the
wages they can./ We don’t blame them. It’s
our business to get all we can, and they can’t
blame us. If we all stick together we can make
them come down, but if any man or men give
way, it makes the strike just so much the
longer.”

The men listened intently, and Maguire asked
respectful y:

“ And d’ye mane to say, sir, that av we {inc
the Order the men in the other places will elp
us to get betther wages!”

“Of course I do. That‘s the object of the
Ol‘dei‘. But it will take time to bring you all in.
You’ll have to save money, and pay dues; for
dues are what we want. Capital we must have.
That’s all that makes the difference between us
and the bosses. They have saved wages and
added to them. “’0 spend our wages. IVhen

ou have all the men of all the mills then it will
be time to say to the bOSses that you want the
old scale. They can’t get any men from other

laces, for the Order will forbid it. And if the
Enights of Labor do that everywhere, the bosses
will have to come down in a week.”

His words seemed to set the men to thinking,
for there was a short silence, till Maguire ob-
served, liesitatingly:

“ And what ye sa ’s Very true, sir, but how
will we get into the rder at all .9”

“ That’s what I came here to show you. Say
the word how many want to join, and I can
initiate you all to-night, if you like.”

“'l‘o-night!” echoed one of the men with a
start. “ N 0t to-night. Give us a little time.”

“ And why not tonight?" asked Larry Locke,
who . oke for the first time, and, as he said it,
he wa ked into the middle of the circle, his short,
sturdy figure lookin more defiant than usual.
“Why put it off a ayi You gave in to the
boss three months ago, and ’if you go back to
work now, he’ll find out what’s been done here

‘ toni ht, and discharge you all. W'h shouldn’t
' he? e’s not afraid of you. For al we know,
: there’s one of his spies here this very moment.
' I struck when you gave in, and I’ve been et-
ting‘the old scale ever since out in Ohio. ’ve
come back here because in people were here,
and I've come to stay wi you and to make
Boss Skinner give you back the old wages. To-
night’s the time. I want to start the first
Holesbu assembly. Who’ll in with me?”
i “I  ” said Maguire, rawing a deep
breath an speakin with an effort.

“And I,” “And ,” said two other men.

“Very ood,” observed Shaw, quietly; “a
small beginning’s better than nothing. The
Order began in wo men, and now it has 8. mil-
lion. I tell you, men, we’ve made a beginning
and we’ll bring the b0sses to terms yet.”

Then he turned to Larry.

" Have you a back in, a quiet one where
we shall be safe from temption, and be able
to do the initiation"

I Larry hesitated.

“ Nothing but the germ That’s empty.”

“ That Will do,” an (1 Shaw, promptl . “All
these other men had better retire, nun. they
want to join. We take only true men.”

“ And what kind of a thing is this initiatim?’
asked another man, hesitatingly.

“ You’ll find out if you join, and you won’t if
you don’t,” said Shaw, sharply. “We want
some room, gentlemen.”

“ But I want to ' in,” said the man.

“ And so do I,” ‘ And I,” “ And I,” said three
others.

Curiosity as to the secrets of a. society had
driven them in when principle was too weak,
and in half an hour afterward .Larry’s little

arret was crowded With candidates for the
Order, and thirty-seven men were mustered in
that ni ht.

The ligght in th attic window attracted much
’ attention from Sober cottages in the Vicmi ,
and more than one neighbor called'on Molly
inquire what was going on at that time of night,
but got no satisfaction from her.

As the clock struck ten, a gentleman passing
1 ion

to the

in a do —cart returning from a late ex
passed fore the lig t, and mutte
r com anion beside him: . . .
“ hat’s he doing up at this time of night?
Some mischief, I’ll be bound, father.”
The other person on the seat unted.
“Let him do his utmost. f Van Slack’s
right, I can arrest him for conspiracy if he tries
, to make trouble.” '

' CHAPTER XXII.
ran NEW sraixn.

THREE weeks later, Marcellus Skinner was in
his office when he heard a knock at the door,
and Mr. Van Slack, his lawyer, a weasened lit-
tle man, came in. .

Skinner turned on him eagerly and quickly,
(1 ' '

emanding: ,
WW ell, what news?
Mr. Van Slack rubbed his hands.—
“ Locke's time is up tomorrow and he has
med no notice of appearance. What mu 1
do if he doosn’t come up!”

 

 '    of Iran. ‘

“ I’ut him out; sell him up; drive him out of 

the place,” cried Skinner, eagerly. “ I’ll make
the seoundrel sup sorrow for it. I sha’n’t be
easy till he’s driven to the poor-house. I don’t
see how he has dared to come back here. He is
not at work anywhere that I know; but he
struts about the street as if he was a lord.”

Van Slack rubbed his hands again.

“ By the by, I must tell you one thing. He
has made an informal offer to me—”

“What was it?” asked Skinner, quickly.

“ It seems he has saved three hundred dollars,
and he wanted to pay that and give me a fresh
mortgage, to run three years.”

“ And what did you say i” asked Skinner.

“ I told him I must see you first. Seriously,
I think it a. good offer. The place is well worth
three times what will remain——”

Marcellus interrupted him harshly:

“ On no account. Do you suppose I want his
paltry savings? No. I want to drive him out,
to get his house, to get rid of him. I hate the
seoundrel. He’s plotting a strike with my men,
and I’m bound to get rid of him.”

Mr. Van Slack shrugged his shoulders.

“ In that case it’s no business of mine.
what’s necessary.”

He went away, and Marcellus turned to his
books again and began to look over his ledger,
a book which had become his favorite reading
of late and mutter to himself as he read, on the
flourishing state of affairs.

Toni Ti'aiiior had gone out as usual; for his
father, liard'ns flint to all the rest of the world,
was foolishly fond of Tom and indulged him in
money without stint. There was no one in the
office but the old bookkee r and a boy, when
a sharp rap came at the inner glass door, and
Skinner wheeled round to confront a crowd of
workmen headed by no less a person than the
hated Larry Locke, who was neatly dressed and
had his hat in his hand.

For one instant Marcellus Skinner felt a thrill
of fear, and then he recovered his coolness to
ask angrily:

“What does this mean? How dare (you come
in here, you, Locke? Haven’t I forbi you this
place, long a o ”

Larry Loc 6 appeared not to have heard him,
for he only answered:

“ This is Mr. Skinner, I believe, head of these
iron mills? We represent the Kni hts of Labor,
and I’m Master Workman of this istrict.”

“The blazes you are!” said Skinner, with a
bitter sneer. “And what do you think I care
for that?”

“Simply this,” was the placid reply. “Our
assembly counts all your hands in it, and—”

“ Get out of here!" interrupted Skinner,
harshly. “I don’t want to know you or your
precious assembly.”

Larry smiled. '

“You’re im 'te, sir; then you wish the men
to sto work, 0 you?”

“I on’t care who stops or goes on i” was the

I’ll do

still more a reply. “ When my men come
to m3 I’ll tal to them. I’ve nothing to do with
you.

“ Is that your final rag?!” asked Larry.

“ M final re ly is: out!”

An with the. , Skinner went to the door and
pointed to the outer yard.

Larry immediate] put on his hat.

“ Veryagcood, Mr. kinner,” he said; “ I’m not
coming It to this omce till you send for me.
You understand that?” '

Then he wheeled round to the men and said,
in his quietest tones:

“ Go home."

One of the men in the rear of the p
blew a whistle, and instantly the neise of
hammers ceased, the whirring of the machinery
bands Blackened to silence, and the sounds of
scuming feet, with the buzz of convarsation
announced that the men had left their tasks an
were streaming out to go home, as if it were
sunset.

The group of men with Larry turned tothe
she to t their clothes, and Larry himself,
wit a pacid smile on his face, walked past
Skinner, look him in the eye, and thence
intéo the street, ust as the men began to stream
on

As for Marcellus, for some moments he was 5
' killed me.

much taken aback to say or do a thing; and
then he rushed into the shop toward the gate
and tried to bar the Way of the stream of men
comin out.

“ ere are on going?” he shouted. “Go
back to your work, you scoundrelsl I’ll discharge
every one of you.“

He had been used, during the last three
months, to hav them crin ' g before him, find
expected to (1 ve them bac by sheer bullying,
but he found his mistake. .

Not one of the men looked at him in the face;
but all pretended to be deeply interested in some—
thing out in the street, while all kept pressing
on in in silence as long as they were near
him, t ough outside of that circle, a loud buzz
of conversation went on, and he heard some
lau hing: .

ng to the quick at the evasions, he tried to
single out an .in 'vidual, and finally grabbed a

small man b the flu 01')” mg:
“ Where die you 33%;” V . ' _

 

, eonfusedly, “ an

.have his house to-morrow, if,he don’t pay no-

 

tooclple.

15°.

The man made no answer, but tried to get 9.
out of his grasp, while Skinner shook him and
screamed excitedly: '

“ Confound your insolence, why don’t you
give me a civil answer? Where are you—”

The word was cut short in his month by the ,
end of a coat which was slashed in his face and 1
eyes from behind, and as he let go the little
man instinctively, to turn on his assailant, half-
blinded, the workmen set on him with their
coats slashing him from all sides, with an unan-
imity and heartiness that prevented h2m from
seeing who was assaulting im, for every blow
came from behind, and took him over the eyes
and mouth, till he roared aloud and crouched
down, hiding his head in his arms. 

Then some one gave him a kick from behind, "A
which sent him on his knees, and a moment
later he was thrown on his face and a crowd of
men deliberately sat down on him, while the
shuffling of feet past him Went on as before, and
every one seemed to be laughing at him. A

All his struggles were in vain: for nearly a,
ton weight lay on him, pinning him to the “*1
ground; and presently he began to groan, when
a voice above him said sternly:

“ Will ye lay still and not luke, av we let ya '
up, ye old spa peen?” «

“ Yes, yes." grunted Skinner, as well as he ‘ 
could speak, and with that they rose up; but
two men kept their feet on his shoulders as
the crowd passed him, and he lay on his face,
not daring to look up, till the pressure was re.
moved.

When he did look at last,‘tbe tail end of the
crowd was going out through the gate and he
could not recognize any one. , .

His “crushers ” had disap cared in the crowd, ‘
and he could not have traced3 them, even had he
wished so to do. ' '

But that was very far from his thoughts.

Marcellus Skinner in his office, cowing his .-
men by the force of money and resolution, had
hardly realized what a wer there is in num— v . .
bers when the numbers come united. ' ’

He had been cast down and trampled on till
he felt limp as a rag and weak as a kitten. _

He knew well enough that only the forbear- ,
ance of the men had saved his hfe, for he had 
put himself in their power by his rashness and
over-confidence. '-

A very much humiliated Marcellus it was
who came into the office and sat down gloomily ,.
to think over matters. . . ‘

CHAPTER XXIII.
LOCKING OUT.
Hn had not sat there very long when he .
heard the rattle of wheels outside and saw hi 
son, Tom Trainor, dash into the millayard in“ 77
his dog-cart, pull up all in a hurry, an rush t6 1" l
the door which he iiun open and entered the w’
office in a much demora 'zed condition. 
Tom had taken to gorgeous attire of late, and  ‘”
rejoiced much in diamond studs, sleeve-button,
and rings, which he was accustomed to flash in'
the eyes of all beholders to excite envy. <
He delighted in valet cutaways pearl
trowsers, patent-leather boots, yellow d
gloves and (gorgeous neckties. with the shin“. . ‘
of hats, an such had been his arm when he 5':
started out, but now it was sadly c god for
the worse. , .-
Hisshiny hat Was broken in and his velvd~
coat bespattered with mud, while some one had .
apparently smashed a watermelon on his
for the pink nice and flesh were all over _ '
coat, whilea i lum of mud had taken 
on one cheekan stuc there.  
He came in, pale and breathless, stammeri ' 2'
“What’s the matter? What has‘ha _ 
father? I don’t know—” ,.‘
“What have they done to you?" asked 01,3 
Skinner, gloomily. ,  ' ,5,
“ I was drivin u the street,” answered Tang”? )5
met ’em all coming out;

 

   
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     
  
   
    
   
   
 
  
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
   
 
   
    
 
  

:1,

And all I asked them was what was the matter-,3,
when they began.” "' w!

“ And what did they do?” asked Skinner. i _ i ;

“The booted and jeered at me and 
them, teve Rankin, called me 9. cu  ,
upfgart pauper, and 1 got mad and cut hams
Wl m

Lucky

a.

whip, and then they went for ‘3."
drove fast for ,I do believe they’d ham '
What is it? Have they gone or
strike?” 

“Yes,” answered Marccllus, grinding 
teeth, “ that cursediLarry Locke as set them:
at it. He was in here, and said that he camel»,
represent the Knights of Labor. I don’t'be‘b'
have it.” 2 ‘ _

“But he was out there,” said Tom. and 
turned ler than before, if hie. “ I heard .-
him cal to them to let me a one. He seems to'
be a sort of leader.” ’ ~‘ ..;

“ Is he?” retorted his father. “ I’ll give,
him all the leadership he wants, curse him." I'll

eve cent he» owes. He had  impedance-to:
tellrgie that I should have to send for him befofi
he came back hem.” {K I
Tom seemed unusually nervous, for it, ,' "
ed about for some time, and at last kHz-in In;
uneasysortofwa: 1 ,  
“I myhfather, you don’t wait to press kins-5‘41

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‘. .i :1 CHAPTER XXIV

 

‘-   Time‘s nearlv up; isn’t it? Have you the
~ , pa is all ready?”

i’ : isms: respectful fashion.

I"

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Larry Locke, the Man Iron.

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“ Ha! Why not?” asked Marcellus.

“Well, you see, I got into a little trouble
with his wife,” said Tom, in a low tone. “ I
thought he had gone away for good; but he
came back 'ust in time to catch me and her
havin’ a litt e difficulty, and I’m afeard of my
life ever since. He’s a deep one, and I don t
never know when he won’t get hold of me and
kill me.”

His father seemed to be startled and alarmed
at the news, for he questioned Tom closely on
his trouble, and when the young man had told
him the story, Marcellus observed:

"That’s so, Tom. He’s a bad man; but I’ll
get him laid by the neck yet. Wait till to-
morrow, and we’ll have him where we want
him. Let’s shut the gates now. These fellows
want the old scale back, and I’m not going
to 've it to them. Let them sweat a week,
an they’ll be glad enough to come back on any
terms.

So they set to work and closed the great gate
of the mill after they had set in order what they

could and father and son got into the dog-cart :

and drove away, after Tom had washed off
what he could of the stains of his recent en—
counter.

As for the smart English groom, he had utter-
ly vanished from the scene as soon as the pelting

. began on Tom, and came sneaking into the yar

at as they were preparing to drive out, pro-

tin that:

“ e hadn’t engaged for no sich work, and he
wanted to leave his place right off, as the Yan-

' koes call it.”

Old Skinner paid and dismissed him on the

' ' t, feeling rather bitterly as if every one had

rted them; for the only member of the es-
tablishment who had remained at his place was
the old book-keeper, but he drove away with
Tom; and as they ssed through the streets of
‘ Holesburg, notic that all the men of all the
mill: seemed to be out lounging about, as if on
aim e.
He took his way first to the great iron foun-

‘ . - dry of Stone and Grynde, and saw the gates shut,

while Mr. Grynde, Junior member of the firm,
stood with his hanfs in his pockets, looking
gloomy and thoughtful as be surveyed the silent

" I and empty buildin

‘~‘ We 1, Grindefilie said, “ what’s the news?”
nde loo ed up at him ruefully.
“ he Knights ave got us in a hole, Mr.

Skinner. we ought to have known what was

‘ gain!r on.”

“What has been going on?” asked Skinner,

,' / in rather a scornful tone.

“ They’ve been getting up lodges of the blast
ed Knights of Labor rig t under our noses,”
and we haven’t seen
what was coming. on don’t know what a
,power they are. And we can’t afford to let
our fire go out. It costs like the deuce to
start it.”
“Why, you’re not meaning to give up before

 - a week, at least?” said Skinner, incredulously.

“Why, man, we can beat them! Not one of
item has a penny saved, and two weeks Will
bring them to terms, sure.” ,

Gr de shook his head.

“ on don’t know what it is when the Knights

; , get at it in earnest. They’ve a big followmg;

and we won’t be able to get a man to work for

f,  in I’m afraid.”

. kinner fro wned an

,, 1.1 - .: “ That’s all very wags-lint I can tell you one
i .  thing) I’m not going to give in, not if I have to
.‘ x  O

inamen to do the work. Who came to
you at the head of your- men, and what did he

 .want?"

“ It was a man who used to be in your mill,
airy kae: and he’s Master
.Workman of the district now. He has been
7 round to all the rest, and warned them all.”

. “ But you don’t mean to say you recognized

 his right to speak for our men?”

“ I had to. and so id the rest. We've asked

for time, but he wouldn’t give us an hour. The

.m just dropped tools and left the place, as

_ noon as he raised his hand.”
Marcellus Skinner ground his teeth.
impudencei" he muttered.

——

I sounrnmo IN rr.
Tin: eventful day had come, when Larry
Locke musteither answer the summons on the
bond and mortgage aflecting his house, or lose

“to

thesame.

Mr. Marcellus Skinner, gnawing his under lip
with anxiety. sat in the ofllce of his lawyer,
Mr. Van Slack, watchin the clock as the hour

' of noon approached, an frequently went to the

I l. A window to look down the street.

A)! the hands pointed to five minutes he began
to r b his own hands and said to Van Slack n a
get delight:

r. Van Slack looked at his rich client in the

a “ Everything is ready, Mr. Skinner. We can

 ' put in the execution this afternoon.”
- i

Do so, do so,” answered Skinner, setting his
teeth viciously. “You don’t know how much

y then is depending on it. If I can only drive

 

that fellow away, I’m all right. Only three
and a half minutes left. He won’t be here.
You may as well get out the papers and we’ll
go over and see the sheriff at once.”

The words Were not out of his mouth when
the office door opened, and his own nephew,
Paul Van Beaver walked into the office,
touched his hat to v... Slack, and said:

“ Good-da . Here’s a notice for you. We
appear for kc in that mortgage suit. We
want a copy of the complaint.”

He glanced at the clock. and gave Van Slack
an open paper, which caused the old lawyer to
wrinkle up his face in a grin, as he said to Skin-
ner, rather maliciously:

“That judgment will have to wait awhile, Mr.
Skinner. Here’s a regular notice, and it gives
them twenty days more.”

Skinner turned fairly purple with rage, and
scowled at Paul under his brows in a malignant,
sidelong fashion, as he said:

“ Hum! That’s what I call pretty mean prac-
tice against a relative. This young man is not
a lawyer, is he?”

Paul paid no attention to his uncle, but said to
Van Slack, quietly:

“ Will you sign the admission of service?”

Van Slack glanced at his malignant client,
and answered hastil :

“Can’t do it. ery sorry, tell Mr. Scriven;
but he knows the reason.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

“All right. Good-dc. , sir.”

Then he went out, an Skinner broke forth:

“ The ungrateful oung hound! Who is he
with. Van S ack? ow dare he come here?”

“ He is with your old friend, Scriven,” replied
Van Slack, dryly. “I suppose he wants to get
even with you, for ta ' away your business
from him. He’s a wary o d b' , and if he has
taken up the case, he thinks there’s something
in it I suppose.’

“ but there’s nothing in it,” rotested Skinner.
“ He owed the money to old riggs, and I paid
hard cash for the debt.”

Van Slack shru ed his shoulders.

“ We shall see, suppose. All in good time.
But meanwhile you can’t put Locke out of his
house for another three weeks certainly, and if
they choose to fight it on, they can do so for six
months or more; perhaps a year.”

Marcellus Skinner rose from his seat and
swore venomously for several minutes. Then,
having eased his mind somewhat, he took his
do: arture and went straight to Mr. Scriven’s
office.

The old lady had done his business from the
time of his father‘s death, and it was m in this
matter of Larry Locke that Skinner sought
another adviser, from a suspicion that Scriven
might be too tender-hearted to do all that he
wished in the matter.

Skinner walked in, and found his nephew
seated at a desk, writing away in the outer of-
fice, while the old law or was in the inside
room, working at a pi e of books. Skinner.
with the assurance of a rich client was walking
inside, when Paul rose from his desk, put him—
self in the way, and said firmly:

“ Mr. Scriven is busy, and has given orders
that he is not to be disturbed.”

“ Get out of my way,” said his uncle, loftily.
"I don’t wait outside with understrappers.”

And he was about to push Paul, when old
Scriven looked up from his books and said:

“ Let the entleman in, Mr. Van Beaver. It‘s
not worth w ile to have a scene.”

Skinner passed in with a triumphant sneer at
Paul. and the old la er glanced up at him
over his ctacles wit out so much as a nod,
observing igidiy:

“ Well, sir, what do you want?”

“I want to know Wham“ mean by taking
up the cause of this swin g mman, Locke,
against me, when you know well enough he
owes me the money I" asked Marcellus, hotly.
“ It’s an infamous conspiracy, sir, and you
on ht to be ashamed to engage in it.”

r. Scriven’s usually yellow face turned
owning: with a flush of an as he answered:

“ . Skinner, be kin enough to get out of
this office. .
language. Get out, sir; quick!”

As he spoke h rose up, a thin, delicatelooking
old man of seden ry habits, and pointed threat-
eninglv to the d , saying:

“I don‘t want to use violence; but you’ll apol-
ogise, or out you 0.”

“ Apologize! 0 you i” echoed Marcellus,
aghast. “ You? y. curse your impudence,
I’ll shake the life out of you i” '

And he was actually rushing in to do it, con-
fldent in his su rior strength, when he was
suddenly seizud om behind by a pair of strong
young arms, felt a knee dug into his back. and
was flung no the floor so dexterously that he
had no time to do more than utter an amazed
grant of pain, when Paul Van Beaver said
sternly:

“ New look out what you’re doing Uncle
Marcellus. I’ve taken lessons, and I
head on you, if you try to strike my partner,
Mr. Scriven.” .

Marcellus got up slowly, considerably shaken
and with some sense knocked into him. He
had found a considerable change in Paul’s mus-

I’m not used to hearing this sort of ‘

put a

 

cles from the time when he grappled with him,
six years before. .

It was the difference between eighteen and
twent -four, while in his own case the six
years ad stiffen and weakened him, as be—
tween fort -six an fifty-two.

But Pa ’3 last words caused him the most sur-
prise. for he ejaculated slowly:

“ Partner? Scriven ain’t your partner.”

“ Yes, I am,” said the old lawyer himself,
“ and now, since you’ve had your lesson, get out
of this office.”

“ But I wanted to speak to you,” said Mar-
cellus, with infiniter more civility. “I didn’t
mean to quarrel with any one, but I was r’iled.
There, confound it. I apologize.”

“That alters the case,” returned Scriven,
coldly. “Sit down. Now tell me what you
want?”

“ I want you to defending this suit,” said
Skinner, crossly. “ t’s an infamous shame,
It’s only done to gain time and keep me out of
my money, so you won't hel the man in the
end. He’ have to pay it. c has no sort of
defense, and you know it.”

“ How do you know he has no defense?” asked
Paul Van Beaver, suddenly.

Marcellus turned round and looked at his
nephew as if he would like to have given him a
dose of poison: but said nothing beyond:

“ I was not speaking to you, sir.”

Old Scriven‘s yellow face wrinkled up into a
curious sort of grin as he observed:

“Very well, then. I’ll answer with another

ucstion. What made you give the business to

an Slack when I’ve done all the law business
of the mill for twenty years?”

Skinner colored slightly.

" Because—well—bccause it was a little thin
and I didn’t—” ‘

“Yes, on didn’t want me to know you were
going to ring the suit against a poor man who
only asked time. That was why you went to
Van. Well, you were wrong; If you had
thought a moment you would ave remember-
ed that as old Briggs’s lawyer as well as yours,
I knew all about that mortgage. Now I’ve
taken it up for him at the rugs? of my friend
and partner here, Xi". Van vcr, and here-
after the sooner you take away the rest of your
business the better 1 shall like it, Mr. Skinner.
As for Locke’s case, I can tell you at once that
the man has a defense and a good one, as you‘ll
find out when the case comes to trial. Now
good-day, siv. You must excuse further talk,
but I’m busy. Mr. Van Beaver, please show
Mr. Skinner out.”

And the old lawyer turned to his bcoks, as if
no one had been in the room, while Skinner,
considerably put down. not to say flabber as-
ted by his sudden change of manner, w ed

uietly out of the office, followed by Paul Van
fieaver, who took his hat from the desk and fol-
lowed his uncle into the passage.

When he got outside, moreov r, be laid his

lid on Marcellus’s arm, and sai quietly:

“Uncle Marcellus, I don’t see why we should
be bitter enemies so long. My mother was
I’m willing to shake hands if you

Marcellus glanced at him sideways.

“I’ve no doubt on are,” he said, “but I’m
not. You’ve join , my enemies, and you’re t -
ing to help my men in this strike. Very we 1.
You can do so; but my turn’s coming and

ou’ll never get a chance at my money. Shake

and: with you? Not if you lay dying, curse
on '

And he turned his back and walked away to
his buggy. As he got into it, he was not sur-

ised to see Lari". Locke on the street 

Ward the lawyer s oflce, but he was surpri
to see on his arm old Briggs, the very man to
whom Larry had owed the mortgage, and that
Larry was piloting him along to Scriven’s

o co.

He watched the two in u stairs, and then
drove round to Van S sck o whom he told
what he had seen, and was surprised to hear
Van Slack'myi

" I thou t‘sc. There’s somethin behind all
this. Old 38 was With him, was I'll bet
there’s some s arp metice ing on. If there
is, I’ll have a hen in it. trapper and Van
Slack are hard to beat, and Se ven and Van
Beaver will find that out some day.”

CHAPTER XXV.
ran sossss’ MEETING.

Tun strike had lasted a week, and Holesburg
was full of idle men, when Marcellus Skinner
received a note from Stone 8; Grynde, saying:
" Dun Sm:—

“ You are requested to come to a meeting of mana-
fsciurers on Tuesday morning at eleven o‘clock, at
the office of Messrs. Kelly and Barr, to meet the
committee of the Knights of Labor and arrange
on a compromise to end the strike.

“Yoursm tfull .
“Pt: so: arson,
" Secretary Hanufactuflrc' Unlql.”

Skinner twisted up the note and his face at

6 same time, muttering:

“They’re lug tome in. I knew it. But
they sha’n’t o it, if ve any any in it.”

He sat down and scribbled an answer-

/

 

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w ’ * l ’ ' ’Larry‘chke, the Man

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'of Iron.

17

 

 

" ’11 there, butIshall vote nstan sort of
a coImpbrg WM. Strauss.”

On Tuesday morning, accordingly he went
to the gwat rolling-mil of Kelly Ilarr, now
grim] silent, like all the mills in Holesburg,
and {bund collected in the large counting-
room, nearly a dozen leading men of the iron
trade, generally large and fat, with grim, hard
faces and close-set jaws.

They were all well-dressed, and most of

'them had diamond solitaires in their shirt-

i'ronts, while all were immense watch-chains,
with bundles of seals and charms dependent.

They greeted Skinner cordially, as one of
their own kind, and vs soon dashed into the
sullfiiect of the strike and ow to end it.

r. Kelly, of the firm of Kelly & Barr, be

gun at Skinner: _

“ Well, what do you think of the Situation ?"

“ I think,” said Skinner, in his hard voice,
“ that it couldn‘t be better for us. Every day
makes them poorer, and they can’t aflord to be

- idle.”

“But then suppose a man’s got a contract,
and he can’t get hands to do it with,” inter-
jected Mr. Grynde, nervously. “ What’s he to
do! I've got a contract, with a big penalty
attached, and if I don’t get to work at it,
must go under.”

Skinner looked at him with some contempt.

“ Why. You was the first man wanted to
move that reduction on the men, and now you
want to give in, jest because your corns are
bein’ trod on.”

“But what am I to do?” urged Grynde. “ I
-cnn‘t go into bankruptcy because of a strike.
I’ll have to give in. I must get my hands to
work again.”

Kelly and the others listened to him in the
hard. indifferent way rich men are apt to use
when misfortune comes to their notice, but
Skinner growled out:

“ I dontsee no  You can stick to
us, and we'll stick to you.’

Old Kelly turned to him in a more comfort-
ing strain, to say:

"You know if we make a society, we’re all
bound to abide by it. If you was to weaken
now, it would give the whole strike a big boost,
just as it’s going down.”

“ Look a-here, gentlemen.” put in Skinner,
“ I want to tell you what I've seen this last
week. and you kin tell best who's likely to win.
I seen the pawn-shops, for I’ve watched ’em
close, and there’s a string of men and women
there, half a block , all the day. That
shows how they’re suflenng. It won’t be lon
before they’ll run through all they've got and
come to starving. We kin stand it longer’n
they kin. Suppose we kee shut up a month or
a year. There ain’t one 0 us has got to go to
the pawn-shop to live. We’ve got plenty to
live on. It’s only that we stop making money so
fast. And I tell ye what it is. If we kin make
the men see that, there won’t be no more strikes,
I’ll bet.”

“ Well, gentlemen,” said , nervous] ,
“we’re wasting time, talking like this. i 0
came here to meet a committee of the Knights
of Labor; and the time’s nearly come. I move
Mr. Kelly take the chair.” ,

And no objection being heard the oleaglnous
Kelly sunk nto his chan' at t 0 head of the
table, and the magnates of the trade began to
look as dignified as they could, while they
awaited the arrival of the de utation.

Skinner thought hewould o a little talking,
for he ver soon get up and said:

“ Now, r. Chairman, this, as I understand
it, is a meeting of iron manufacturers, calle’l
by Mr. Grynde as secretary. What I want to
know is. who are these follows that are coming
to see us today?”

“i A committee of the Knights of Labor,” an.‘
swered Gryndc instantly. ~

“ And who the deuce are the?! I don’t know
them, we don’t know them. I in men cone to
me to strike, I’ll listen to ’em. but don’t know
no Knights of Labor. When the come to me,
I ust wouldn’t listen to ’em and their

aster Workman as he deserved. Now what' I
advise is this here, that we do the same now,
and tell these fellers when they come that We
don’t want to treat with them, and don’t recog-
nize ’em at all as any one." _

The advice seemed to be rather relished by
several of the manufacturers, and Skinner pro-
coeded:

“ Now they’re coming up. What are we go-

_ ing to say to them?”

“ We‘re going to hear them ” said Grynde,
” and see if We cant split the di erence.”

" Then I move we don’t hear ’em at all,” said
Skinner, “ but tell ’em we won’t have nothing to
do with ’em. Who dares second that?”

“I do, just for fun.” observed Mr. Barr, an-
other magnate. “ Put the mbtion Kelly.”

The chairman was about to put the motion,
when Mr. G tried out:

“ But con der, 1: consider, if you
do this you’re (in n me out of the Union and
I must get through th my contract.”

is Oh, mast your comma; put in Barr.
0 we pull devil, pull baker us in a strike,
and on ought to know that. If you want to

in, you know the penalty. You leave the

Union, and we bu and sell no more with you.
Put the motion, elly.”

Mr. Grynde turned pale as he looked round
the table. A hard man himself, like all rich
men who have made their money, be, for the
first time, found himself in a ition when he
had to ask a favor of his frien ', and it was in
a leading tone he said:

‘ Gentlemen, as a favor to me, don’t put this
motion at once. I tell you, if you compel me
to keep my mill closed, I must go into bank-
ruptcy. They’ve got me. Don’t make a Union
matter of it. Leave us all free to do as we
Blease about it. I don’t want to leave the

nion—”

“Nuther do I” said Skinner, breaking in;
“ but I’m agoin to do it, damed sudden, too,
if there‘s an talk of givin’ in. Give in to these
skunks and ave ’cin ride over ye all the rest of
yer lives? No, sirr! If our side gives in on
this strike, I goes out of the Union and the
trade, too. Curse ’em both, say I.”

“Put the motion, Mr. Chairman,” said Barr
at this juncture, as if he feared the hot temper
of Skinner.

And the motion was put and triumphantly
carried. the very moment before a knock came
at the door, and one of the board or Union cried
out:

“ Come in l”

The door opened, and into the room walked
Larry Locke, followed by a dozen or so of men,
all with their hats in their hands.

They were greeted by a dead silence, till
Lari observed, in an indifferent sort of ways

“ ell, gentlemen, ye sent for us. What d’ye
want with us?”

“ VVbo are you?” asked Mr. Kelly, in a deep,
resonant tone of voice, as if he had seen Larry
for the first time.

Larry looked at him keenly for a moment,
and then glanced round the board. Every
man was Sitting back in his chair, twiddling
his watch-chain and looking at the ceiling.

“ Oho,” said the workman, quietly. “ Is that
the way 'ou're going, gentlemen?”

With t t he put on his hat instantly, an ex-
ample imitated by his followers.

“ I‘m Larry Locke, Master Workman of this
district of the Knights of Labor,” he said,
“and I have come here to demand in the name
of the Order that you restore the old scale of
prices in Holesbu . the same as they’ve done
in other towns. t’s who I am and what I
want.”

“Very well,” returned Kelly, in his most
solemn tones, “ you can go as you came. This
Union doesn’t reci ize you and refuses to
treat with you. Is t 1: all you want?”

Larry looked him in the eye, not a. little sur-
riwd. He had expected, from the summons,
hat the manufacturers were weakening; and

here he received a direct snub from them, in a
waylthat showed there was no such thing in the
mm .

He knew that the men, so long on strike,
were. getting desperate, and that, when he
brought the news to them that their committee
had only been sent for to be insulted, there
Woiild be trouble in the streets.

But he put the best face he could on it, and
replied, firmly:

‘ No, that’s not all we want.”

“ What else do you want?” asked Kelly.

‘.‘ Civil treatment,” replied Larry shortly;
“ and mark my words, you, sir, Mr. kelly, it’s
not because you’re chairman of this meeting
you can treat- us with insolence. You sent for
us, and now you refuse to treat with us. What
docs this mean?”

“It means that we’ll treat with our own
hands when they come to us but not with a
stranger from God knows ere. We don’t
know you and won’t recognize you. “'ith our
own‘men we will treat, not you.

Larry Locke heard him and quivered as he
listened, for he knew what the insolent mill—
owner intended. He was tr ' to breed dis-
aflection between Larry and is 'ends.

CHAPTER XXVI.
me nor.

Tim workmen looked at Larry, evidently not
a little put out, and one of them Cried out,
fiercely:

“It's a put-up 'ob. We had a letter from
your secretary, r. Grynde, asking us here to
see if we couldn’t compromise. If we go back,
and tell the boys you won’t meet us, there’ll be
trouble in the town.”

“Trouble be hanged!” said Skinner, fiercely.
“ You make trouble, and see what will co e to
you. We ain’t going to treat with you ti you
come back and work as you were working
before this Larry Locke'came to fool you all.
What’s he done for ye, with his Knights of
Labor? Will that give ye bread to eat?” ‘

“ A ” broke in Larry, “ and you’ll see it, too,
Mr. 'uner. It’s your turn to-day. Next
time it will be oars. Good-day to ye al .”

And: he stalked out of the room, lwwtge
and an y, while the men looked as i

 

were d ppointcd‘ and niaddened to the lasyt
degree- ; ‘ «

 

A short silence f0110wed, and then Mr. Grynde
got u , and said, hurriedly:

“ r. President I don’t believe in this way of
doin business. fofler my resignation.”

“ ove we accept it at once, said Barr; and
Skinner rap out:

" Second t e motion. We want to know just
where we stand. I ain’t doin’ any milksop
businem myself.”

And so the motion was put and carried. and
Mr. Grynde walked out of the room, very 1e.
and seeming to be much ashamed of himseli?a

Soon after he was ne. they heard a great

nin in the street low, and Barr went to ,
It 6 wi 0w and looked out. to report a moment '
ater: '

“ The street’s full of them, and the ’re telling
old Grynde what they think of us. hat Larry
Locke’s tr 'ng to speak."

They a left their seats to crowd to the wind
dows, and look down.

The street was full of a surgin mass of . ' .
people, mostly men in their shirt eeves, and
the were booting and groaning at Larry Locke
an Mr. Grynde. who stood side by side on a .. ,,
big horse-block. "l ;

Presently they heard Larry shout. in a pause ' '
of the groaning:

“ Let the man speak. He’s going to give in.”

The words produced an instant bush, and men
pressed c.10se to the horse-block to listen to what I, .
was coming. ‘ . 35

Then G de lifted up his voice to shout: 

“My mi 10 ns—to—morrow—at the old scale“ ; 5“
-—-I’ve left e Union—I’ll take—all—the old  a";
hands.” 

There was a tremendous burst of cheering, 
and when it was over a man yelled: " ‘ 

“Three cheers for Grynde! The strike’s -
over! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah 1” 
The cheering was caught up, and in the midst . . 
of it Grrynde and disappeared in the" , #5,.
crowd, which surged toand frowith a great " 7‘3
buzzing and noise, tillavolce in theassembly "y ,-
roared: ' 

“Three groans for the other bones! Break “ "‘
the windows on ’cm.” 

The cry spread like wildfire, and the men . 

to bowl and yell at the windows where 7 r
the manufacturers were amembled, so that they , :1
hastily retired, none too soon.  F‘: H

A moment later stones be n to fly, and the {Z};-
crashing of glass told that amage was being .3:
done. for the excited strikers had found a way A ‘
to vent their anger at last. _

“ We’d better ct out of this,” cried Mr.
Kelly, hastily. ' They’ll do us a mischief if
we don’t look out. There's a back door I” ‘
into a little street behind the mill.” ~ 3

And he set th exam in by running ofl‘ downs '
stairs as hard as e cou d, while they could bear  I. a
the tramp of feet in the mill, with the sound“ ‘ -" 1
voices in great excitement yelling out threats' " ‘
against the besses as the ran. .‘ r

They went for a little ack stairwaxby which 
the hands were wont to be dismissed, and 'got --
out before they were discovered: but no 
were the in the lane than they heard august“ .
din in t e shop they had left, and Re yexv‘,» 
dining!“ b k a: lan M God; i" 

‘ e re rca in u e t.  
shall beyruined.” g p p y ’ ,‘C,

“Not a bit of it," answered Skinner. “I ,'
wish they‘d do it to mine. Don’t you know the“ 
county’s liable for the damage? Let themslna‘th ‘
all they can. I’m goin for the soldiers.” ‘ ‘ »

“Ay, ay,” panted 015 Barr.’wbo was 
by his long run. “Let’s telegraph the »
crnor for help at once. There’s a regular _ .

They scattered to find their carriages, which . ' '
had driven away as soon as the'crowd A
stream in, and found them in most ,' 3“ .
aged, wherever they had been ined as {93/
longing to the magnates of the mills. ‘ - ‘1

As for Skinner, he had walked down, and he
walked ‘back by the way of side-streets, till ha‘ ,
came to his own house, where he L" to“

t on some old plain clothes, with a rev'oliv'er-

n a belt round his waist, after which hesallied
outintothestieettoseewhatwastobe 
confident that he would not berecognized ‘
the strikers. '
When he 1quot into the principal street of Holst, ~
bnrg. he ound everything, to all a
peaceful and quiet, people ’
nary avocations, but the st kcrs,
lounging about eve here in the
seemed to have van ed from the '
streets entirely. ‘

Yet he very soon began to hear all sorts of
rumors in the bn. scene. as men met together
in little knots, an at last he, heard'one pa” {.3 .

sa :
l: Yes, it‘s true” I saw the message  "
operator had sent it." 
“ And what was it?” asked his friend. ~
“ It was to the gowrnor asking for moo? to
defend life and property. They sa that db
and Barr's place was gutted, and 1: theme-- .
are threatening to burn all the mills in 
for the bosses holding out so long.” ' ff" ‘
“ That would be nonsense,” replied his '
“ What good would it do them to burn the milk!
They’d get no work out of that.” ' ‘ -‘ I ’
“ That‘s very true. but men (Dn‘t think of that
when they’re in a passion. They've got a man ,

  

~—

    
 
 
 
   
  
  
    
   
   
   
  
 
   
  
     
  
    
 

l
~ ‘3

8

 

,,

I

.     ._   

.. .. ._ .._._-....«-.I.-

\

Man of Iron; ‘ ’
L L

. ’

 

2'}?

3 _,
:31. ,-r"'~

 

2 to lead them, a fellow called Locke. He’s what
1 they call Master Workman of this district.

'- .., They do whatever he tells them.”

21,”: Skinner pricked up his ears to listen, for be
it ‘ had an idea in his head.

_ q - “They say that he tries to keep them from
;, doin violence, all he can,” pursued the first
.‘. . spea er, “but. he can’t keep them back when
5, v‘ once they’re started. I hope they won’t have
, if any more trouble like we had in the big riots.”

“ Heaven forbid i” said his neighbor, dovoutly
and then they passed on, while Skinner pursued
, ,. his way through more Side streets to the part of
‘. .‘h r the town where the factories were, and took his
‘ way specially tothe mill owned by Kelly 6: Barr,

lWhich he expected to find in ashes at the
o;- east.
3”  . To his surprise it stood there intact, and the
‘ ' _ gates were wide open. the street in front of it
nearly deserted, though the quantity of broken
glass that lay beneath the walls showed what
had been done in the first heat of the nzob’s pas-
axon.
. Assuming as much of an air of indifference
as he could, he went forward to the gate and
started to enter the works, when he. was con-
fronted b half a domn resoluu-lookmg fellows,
c ing arge clubs, saying:
‘ “ ou can’t come in here!”

  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
   
  
   
    
  
    

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
A NEW PLAN.

THEY were evidently workmen, but they acted
, 1' as if they had been put on guard, and he very
‘ ‘ naturally asked:
* "‘ Who are you and what are you doing here?
'- I I”, Don’t you know me?”
., " ‘ No, I don’t, and don’t want to,” returned one
,  of the men. “ We’re put here to take care of the
, «mill till the owner comes back, and we don't
' want this strike to be disgraced. We ain’t rob-
-  We’re only honest workingmen, and
~ JMalter Workman Locke gives his orders from
‘- the Knights.”
, “ Is he here?” asked Skinner. .
“No, he ain’t, and he don’t need to be. You
 git out of this.”
. ‘ . And with that the disgusted mill—owner had
1’0 move off, wondering greatl at the order and
 decency of these men, whom e and his friends
' {were accustomed to treat as nothing but pau-
. pars, to be ruled by the ‘fore of cruelty.
‘ n v He passed along the streets where the were
A ‘U‘ accustomed to con to, and foun them
. -_, lounging about in the g oomy, purposeless way

‘ X The pawn-she were crowded with them,

 md,lines stretc ed out into the streets, with
articles of clothing and household utensils in
"‘ hand, on which they hoped to obtain money to

awhile. ,

.' v.  on the coarse language of aworkman,
' Skinner asked one of them:
. ' “Well, mate, how long d’ye think before the
r he” give in?’
‘  The other shrugged his shoulders.
.5. “Dunno. e’s done it; but he ain’t but
1' W buc et. He only takes three hun-
‘- ' and there’s nigh six thousand out of l

nom’l
r,fig‘i'l'lieh why don’t the rest think of ceming
 on the old terms?” asked Skinner, incau‘
pammor thegloomy countenance of the man
“pinto courage.

r The man instantly wheeled round to stare at
 Who are your’he asked. “A scab, come
' ' toiake' thebom? part? D’ye think we’ve had
 a time starfihgoand working on the new
,_ ' that we want go back to itbagain? Not
,, r ‘ adorned si ht! Itsateugh‘ thinato starve
..   work, ut it’s a tougher one work all

" ‘ "and find our children starvmg at night.
2' he get out 0 this, or some of us Will be com-
;? , cut on yo." , .
- _ ;~._’* I everyaone began tosmwl at Skinner in
«lil’ueha way ‘5

.. nit-uh 2.

i o.‘ «a. ua‘

u

 

"fry.sz a. wee-w .1. LI“ 4
.. r ‘ 

 
   
  
  
   
    
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  

t he slunk off, not caring tomake

v . investi ations, and went back to his own

' It’h'ouse‘, where 9 found Tom Trainer just come

' ~ 3,: hi from a drin in the country.

  Tom had not'troubled himself much about the
.I  after his first experience with the men.

.. ‘er 

 ' vs the manufacturing portions of the town
,  do berth, and tried to enjoy life as he knew

ark; .

c I which consisted in spending money on

5 which took his tangy.

, Ir“, ell, ather,” he said. as kinner came in,
f’ITwas jest down to Van Slack’s, and he says
 Lar’ry Locke’s sent his answer in, and it’s

1:]. .. m .
rd . Q‘gSent it in already?” said Skinner, incredu-
'  Edy. “Why, he’s got twen‘t days to do it in.
‘dgm’t to shorten‘trhe t L ”
 at as one t,so an says was
Qan’IV-re ly. “ He hailed me as I passéd the
 an told me to tell you.”
warn go down to the office at once, Tom,” said
.‘llfiapamnt, eagerly. “ Maybe it wants attend-

W" ‘ to at once.
 within ten minutes he was at Van Slack’s

+‘A.k}.nfi~.—. '1. ails? ‘

3' a ‘3' a...» ‘12; “vi-‘-

.ng

in),

ma...-

Larry not only was not fighting for time, but
it appeared that he had a good defense, for he
pleaded usury.

He asserted that the loan made to him by Pe-
ter Briggs had been made at a rate of interest
not allowed by law, and that under the statutes
of usury the debt was forfeited entirely. There-
fore he claimed a judgment with costs.

Skinner read it and ground his teeth. He had
grown to entertain a venomous hatred of Larry,
and here it seemed as if the man was likely to
slip through his iln ers.

‘ Is that :1 00d efensc?” asked he.

Van Slack ooked as wise as an owl.

“ If he can prove it it is,” he answered.

“ But how can he prove it?”

“ By Peter Bric‘gs s receipts, I suppose.”

“ But suppose etcr denies them {’

The law ycr rubbed his hands.

“ If we could get him to do that, to make an
affidavit, for instance-3’

“ Yes. What then?”

“ “'h y, then we could spikc old Scrivcn‘s guns
at once.”

“ I’ll make him do it,” said Skinner, in a reso-
luix: tone. “ I don’t care for tho money, if I can
only get this fellow out of the to“ n. I‘ll spend
ten times the amount, if necessary, to do that.”

Van Slack looked at him in a queer way.

“ Can i siwak plainly, Mr. Skinner!”

“ Certainly you can.”

“ You want to get this fellow out of town to
stop the strike?”

‘ .xactly.”

“ Well, did it never occur to you that—”

He stopped and hesitatcd.

“ Well, what, what?”

“ That it might be cheaper to buy him off than
to fl ht him i”

“ ever. Confound himl I hate to buy him
oil'. Hc’d use the mono to help the strike.”

“ But sup so it was (, one through me?”

“ I don’ now what you mean.’

The lawyer rose and closed the door, after a
pee into the outer office. Then he came back
am said mysteriousl :

“If I were you, 1’ buy him off.”
“But why, why?” asked Skinner in a tone of
irritation.

“ Because he’s a dangerous man, and old
Scriven’s no fool! You see, here you are in the
midst of a great strike, with several irons on the
fire. You sa this man's the head of the strikers,
and if they t—”

“ The won’t beat.”

“ Per aps not; but ,I’ve heard that one of
your r’nanufacturers has given in to them to-

“ Yes, Grynde. Confound his meanness.”

“ Exactly, and when he opens 11 , it will be a
great temptation to the others. ‘ hey’ll see him
making money, and it’s ten to one some other
man weakens—”

“ Let ‘em weaken. I won’t.”

“ Probabl not. But what are you going to
do if they g ve in?”

“ Egut up the mill and sell out."
V Slack parsed up his lips.

“ I guess ou’ve forgotten part of the clause
in your fat er’s will under which you inherit
the works,”

Skinner 

“What do on mean? You had nothing todo
with that wil .”

“No. Scriven did that, and I must sa it was
uite an artful clause he drew. I’m inc 'ned to
t ink the old fellow had a suspicion of you.”
Skinner began to get nervous.

“ But what do you know about it? You never
saw it.”

“ The ori 'nali No. But you forget it's re-
corded, an that the records are open to all the
world. Here’s .a copy of the clause I mean.
It’s significant.”

He read out to his cli t from a sheet of paper
on which was written  follows:

"'And at any time when the said business of
making Bessemer steel shall become unprofitable,
it shal be the duty of the said Marcellus Skinner,
executor as aforesaid, to sell the buildings, lands,
plant, stock in trade and appurtenances thereof, at
public auction to the hi" est bidder, after three
months’ notice in the public prints and by hand-
bills and posters—"

" Exactly,” interru ted Skinner. “ That gives
me liberty to do wha I please.” ._
“ Hold On,” said the lawyer. “ That’s not all.
Hear the rest:
“ ‘ For such sum or sums as may be deemed sails-
fnctory by him and the in xt heir, and to divide the
said sum or sums equally in two parts, one of which
shall be invested in United States bonds for the bene-
fit of the next heir. the other for said executor; and
no such sale shall be valid without the conjunction
in said sale of said next lxelr.‘ “

He folded up the paper and continued:
“What ,do you think of that? You know
what it means ‘

Skinner set his teeth. close.

“ Yes, I know what it means.
it amount to?”

“It means that you can’t sell the mill with-
out the consent of the next heir, fyour negheW,
Paul gun Beaver, who must in a you the

But what does

1

him know anything about it? Who is to hinder
me? I’m sole executor, and there‘s no penalty
in the will.”

Van Slack smiled.

“My dear Mr. Skinner. you remember who»
drew that will?”

“Yes Scriven.”

“ And you know who is in his omce now, as
his partner?”

Skinner scowled.

“ Ay, ay, I know. Paul Van Beaver, curse
him 1”

“ Exactly. Well, do you know that it seems
to me if you don’t terminate this strike pretty
soon, you’re going to be in a bad box for
money!”

Skinner moved uneasily on his chair. He had
begun to think the same himself, but his obsti-
nacyflrefused to admit it.

“ '0", what of that?” he said sulkily. “I
can raise money on it, by mortgage, and get the
whole place swamped, so it will be no use to
him even if I die before him."

“Yes, that‘s all very well,” said Van Slack:
“ but as your lawyer, I’m bound to give you
good adv1ce. You can do all you’ve said and.
ruin a line property, but there’s another way
you can do better.”

“ And what’s that?” asked Skinner sourly.

“ Well, tell me how much has this strike cost
you this two weeks?” retorttd Van Slack in the
same tone.

Skinner cursod under his breath.

“ Darned near twenty thousand dollars.”

“ Exactly. Then it’s worth ten to you to end
the strike, isn’t it?”

“ Perhaps it might," Skinner assented.

“ Very well, sir. I'll get rid of this Larry
Locke for twenty-five hundred down; and en-
gage to make him leave the city,” said Van
Slack quietly. “He’s the soul of the strike,
isn’t he?”

“ I believe he is,” said Skinner soberly.

“Very Well. Leave him to me. Before the.
week’s u I’ll have him out of here, if you will
furnish t e money. Molasses is the stuff to catch
flies. He’ll fight as lon as you fight, but I den’t
know human nature if e don’t come down to a
bribe. Shall I try it?”

Skinner drew a deep breath. ,

“ Try it,” he said, “ but keep my name out.” {

CHAPTER XXVIII.
PAUL’S NEWS.

LARRY Locxn had gone to his own home the
second week of the strike, and was sitting
thoughtfully at the door of his cottage in the
evening, when Molly came up beside ' , say-
ing coaxingly:

‘ What makes 9 so still, Larry boy?”

“ I’m thinkin , ’ he replied, absently.

“ Thinkingo what? I’m sure I’m too happy
to have you back to think of smiling but how
you’re home." she answered. f y.

“ A , ay, Molly, that’s a woman’s wayto look
at it, said Larry, slow] ; “ but you don’t know
what it is tohave all t responsibility on one
pair of shoulders."

“ What responsibilit i”
. “ The strike, dear. se men are at me all the
Elmo to do something to make the bosses yield to .

[.m' .'

“And why don’t go, Larry beyi” sheasked',
with sublime faith hat he could do any act to
which he made up his mind.

Larry shook his ,head impatiently.

“ How can I influence the bosses? We’ve got
to hold out till the give in; that’s all there is
about it. .But if t e other side think a few of
us are gixing way, they’ll stick it out and beat

us, sure.
“But I thought the Union was giving the men
money to live on,” said Molly.
“ So it is, and if they were content to live on

 

' it and spend as little as possible, they would have

a better chance; but somehow—” .

' “Somehow what, Larry?” she asked, seeing
that he had stormed-
“ somehow ago me _here don’t seem to
know an thing about so mg money. The go
to spen ing it on beer, and pawning t it

clothes to live with.”

And Larry uttered a heavy sifiiloand remained ‘
silent for seVeral minutes, w Molly’s face
lengthened considerably; for anything that
grieved Larry made her wretched.

Presently she said in a hesitating way:

“Then ain’t it certain that—the—strike—is—
going to su . .

Larry roused himself .instantly.

“ Succeed? Ayhay, it ought to succeed. If
they were all men it would soon succeed. They
have all the chances in their favor. But then
there’s a bi lot of them, and it’s hard to find
such a num 1' Where there’s not more than one
coward in the lot. And one or two going to
work on the low scale would set a number more
goin . It’s the same on both sides. If they

Only new it, G do has hbroken the manu-
facturers’ backs y starting1 is works on the old
scale. If they would only old on, we’ve 

mi? 23"“ lid“: i3°""'"um we
‘ n won e 0 on
“I don’t know.y They threw a good deal.

 

 

   

m.
‘42,.

rifles/h. .
- . .

. '2! E4311.

-“ ,deeply absorbed in readin Larry’s an-,
_ to h s complaint, which ii ed him with deed

Q.
“But suppose I sell anyhow, without letting

\ \

 

awn esterda .
“salts...

l

 

 

  

oeke‘,~rthe Man of Iron. . s.

7.1

" “1'9. ‘ {5

 

 

  

Barr’s Windows.”

“ And why did they do that?”

" Because the bosses pretended they wouldn’t
reco ize me, or have anything todo with me or
the ights of Labor.” '

Molly nodied her head angrily.

“ I’m glad they did it. Wouldn’t have any-
thing to sa to my Larry, indeed! Who are
they, I shou (1 like to know? I Wish they’d bro-
ken their old heads for them."

1 Larry smiled rather ruefully.

“ You’re as bad as they are.
the Consequence of the riot?”

“ I don’t know. What?”

“ That the bosses telegraphed for troops, and
the governor has sent them.”

“ \Vell, what of that, Ian-y? They won’t hurt
anybody, will they 1” .

“ Not unless some fools go to making another
riot. If that comes, there will be trouble.”

Molly patted his shoulder afi'ectionately.

“Don’t be down-hearted, Larry boy. May-
be they won’t be such fools. I only wish we
were as safe about the house as about the
strike!”

Larry seemed to cheer up at once at the
rather mournful tone of his wife, for he said:

“Oh, that’s all right. Mr. Paul tells me so,
and I can always believe what he says.
tells me how old Skinner was in too much of a
hurry to buy Briggs’s mortgage. 1f he’d looked
he wouldn’t have lost his mone . Old Briggs,
he knew all about it, and won] n’t never have
sued us, but when he got an offer of cash for
the whole debt, it waru’t human nature to re-
fuse it. I don’t like to keep a man out of his
money ye know, but needs must when the devil
drives.”

Molly was about to answer, when they heard
the distant rattle of wheels, and saw a black
buggy driving up the road from Holesburg, and

observed-

But what was

“ hat looks very like Lawyer Scriven’s buggy.
' I wonder if he’s a-oomingherel”
' Molly shuddered.

“I hope not. Last time he was here be
scared me out of my seven senses, asking me for
the money, andI hadn’t ot it.” ' '

“ It is his buggy, and ’s commg here,” said

, decidedly. “There’s some news in the
case. You go inand tend to things. Maybe he
wants to speak to me alone.”

Molly went in at once, and the buggy rattled
nearer, revealing to Larry the old roan horse of
Mr. Scriven, driven this time, not by the old
la er, but by Paul Van Beaver, who drew up
at t e cottage door, and said, as he alighted:

“Qifimachange inbeasts sincefirst I knew
you, rry. My tandem and cart were rather
different to this old plug and rattletrap of a
buggy. But never mind, old fellow. I’ve
earned this, and the other was given or rather
lent to me, which is different.”

Paul looked a different man from the quiet,
crushed, humiliated Paul who had been left to
his uncle’s tender mercies a few months before,
and finally diflenent from the old, careless,
spend rift Paul, who had been his d-
iathcr'c spoiled darhu in the days 0 old.
There was in his face _ solid look of a man

, who respected himself and felt that hehad a
place in the world, could earn own living
and owe no man an .

He came and sat own on the stone bench by
In. sa ' :

‘meffigé oes the strike?”

'* “Well enoug ,Mr. Paul, if they’d only let it

alone." , _ 1
“ How let it alone’l’,’ _  ~ I ‘ _

’9 “ We’ve got things in Our own hands, stone
dc Grynde haVe given way, an.
old scale, and they started their mm W .
It’s onl a net
others chime iii if they’re only let alone,”

“ Who inter-fer'es with them i”

“The men. These fellows are all new to the
‘ve never had a fight before, and
they lose t ir tempers and go to making

\
y» “yv” Observad Paul, thoughtfully. “_I
heard of that, and I see there’s a‘whole n3in

come to blows with the strik-

Order. ‘~T
riots.”
“ A

ment of men
hope they won
em 3’

“an,” _
Gunmen don’t see how near they are to havm
everything their own way. They want to g.

7quartered in the City Hall.

back to work, and they won’t do it on the old
They want the first scale, and don’t

terms.
know how to get it.”
Paul began to drum on,
manner, and at length observed:
“I say. Larry.”
“Yes, Mr. Paul.”
“ Mr. Scriven received a paper
”
“ Yes, sir; what was it?”
“ A motion to dismiss.”
“ And what’s that,  Pauli”
Paul explained to him:

I

\you say to be true, y
court.‘
strike out your answer to-morrow.

 

Larry scratched his head.

  
   

granted the
ion of another week but e

won‘t if I can help it, Mr. Paul; but

his knees  an absent

[or you to-

u a r that says even admittin all
It's a papa on him no standingg in
And Mr. Van Black’s going to move to

 
 

“By getting mad, and smashing Kelly 8; -‘

 

He?

 

said.

to shant , such as it is, and move away to the
West. ut I don’t want to do that.”

“Neither do I want you todo it,” returned
Paul, in the same absent way. “ Between you
and me, I.arry———”

He stop )d short. as if hesitati
more, an Larry, understanding t
to be overheard, rose and led his guest to toe ,
gate, where they were out of earshot of any one, !
when he whispered: l

“ What is it, Mr. Paul? I’ll not tell a soul.” I

Paul laid his hand on his arm. l

“Larry, I’ve found out why old Scriven was 1
so willing to take me, young as I was, into his E
office as partner.” '

Larry nodded. . l

“ I told ye there was something behind it all. g
It wasn’t a good gentleman like your poor 3
grandfather that was going to leave you a beg— l
gar, after spoilinioyou for busine:s as he did 1
when you were a y.” 1

“No, so it seems: and Scrivn, it appears, ;
drew the will with his own hand, and he says 5
there’s a clause in it that no one kn0ws of but 3
himself, and which is likely to be affected by '
this strike.” ;

“ And what’s that, Mr. Paul?" asked Larry, in l
some excitement at the news.

“ Well. it appears that so long as the works 
are carried on, Marcellus Skinner has full con— '
trol over them; but, as soon as they sto , and l
the making of steel becomes unprofitable, the ‘
whole thing ought to be sold and the money di- :
vided between—”

“ Between you and him?” asked Larry, eager— 

1y.

“ Yes, Larry.”

The young workman turned away from his
friend and Walked u and down the little gar- ,
den several times till 6 had fully mastered the {
Significance of the news, and then came up to I
Paul and asked in a low voice: \ ,

“ And if the strike keeps on, will ye be able to ,
make him sell out?” 1

“ I think so, Larry. At least, Mr. Scriven '
talks of app] ing for an order in court on it.”

try nod ed as one well satisfied.

“That settles it Mr. Paul.”

“ Settles what, Larry?”

“T strike, sir. I own I was gettin a bit
down-h myself; but now well stic to it,
till all the bosses come down; and if Boss Skin-
ner don’t come down with the rest, so much the
better for you.”

“But you mustn’t let it affect you in any
way,” said Paul, reluctantly. “ It’s true that if
the mall’s sold itwill benefit me, but—”

“.But that’s enough, Mr. Paul,” said Iarry,
decidedlg. “I was thinking what was the use
of m ghting for other people, awhile ago;
now don’t care. This strike goes through, win
,or lose, and some one will be better of! for it.”

 

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
ran rmr’s rmsrrn.

PAUL VAN Bum did not stay long at
Larry’s E11300 that evening after he had commu-
nicat ‘ news, for he had a good deal to do at
home ndrawingpapemandhetookhis depar-

ture earls. _
As he rave home in the dash of the ‘ evening.
333350: a: d 52.2.. ""°3°°m°“§3“‘i‘
We mm .
askedhhm u‘ ‘at roamde,a wo
u say,

. mister d’ye know where 'a man could
get a night’s lodging for self and mate i”

Paul saw another dark fi re by the side of
the first tramp, who see , to be a big fellow,
and he felt rather apprehensive that they in-
tended to stop him, so he said sharply:

“Get out of my road. Go to t e station-
house, if you wants. n! hlt's lodging.”

“ Ay, ay," returned t ‘m‘amp, sulkily. “ It’s
all very well to say station-house, but how’s a
man to lmow where it is? Say, mister, don't ye
know where there’s a man named Skinner, a big-
bug, where he lives?”

Paul was so much surprised at the question
that he asked:

“ What Skinner do you mean? Marcellus?”
“ F, ay, that’s the man,” returned the tramp,
eager  “ D’ye know where he. lives?"

Pan told him and drove on, wondering what
the tramp could want with his uncle; but soon
for ot a 1 about it when he got settled to his
mi t’s work.

eantime the tramp said to his partneras
they trudged along to the city:

“ Snoopey, old pal it’s time me and you
stop tram in’ and turned ’spectable. he
wea her’s git n’ chilly, and I ain’tas young as
I used to be.”

Snoo v gave a sniff and a whine.

“ An I’m gettin’ the roomatiz bad, Jim, and
money don’t last no time, does it?”

Terror Jim owled'.

“ It lasts as ong as I want it. W’ot‘s the use
of savm’ it? A short life and a merry one;
that’s what I sa ' .

nothen to be

“ I don’t know much about“ these things,” he l “Take w’ot he kin get and durn the odds,
“ I-leave them all to you, Mr. Paul. If I i
get beaten, the most I can do is to lose this lit- 1 winter, you bet your boots.”

 

to sEeak any I
t e feared fashion, as he answered:

, a gone.

‘ stay there.

I ly.

‘ and we don’t want to be see’d too close tow ‘H

1

   
  
   
   
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
     
 
   
     
   
    
  
   
   
     
    
   
   
   
    
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
   
  
    
    
   
   
   
   
    
   
   
    
    
   
    
     
   
    
   
  
   
     
   
     
    
   
   
   
    
    
     
  

Snoopey. We ain’t goin’ to no county jail this x

“ Where are we a-goin’ then?” asked Snoopey,
who was a sort of hanger-on t0 Terror Jim, fol- » _ ,
lowing him as the jackal does the. lion. finding “s
the prey and taking his humble share after the~- ‘
lion had done.

Terror Jim nodded his head in mysterious.

“ I‘m a-goin’ to see a friend of mine, Snoopey,

a big-bu , the man I came to see three months ,-
Iieb got to come down and take keer of

me and you this winter, or there’ll be trouble in. .

the houw.” ,

SnoopeK seemed to be uncomfortable at the ~
idea. for e asked, hesitatingly:

“ We ain’t goin’ near that man’s house where
I got the swag, are we? ’Cause he’s a bad man
to meet.”

“ No. ye fool, no,” retorted Jim. “ You make
me sick. you do, Snoopey. That teller ain’t here ~-
now. He’s out in ’Hio, cuss him! I hope he’ll,

I don’t want nothen more to do.»
with him. I thought I was a good man myself,
but he’s a holy terror.” ‘

Snoopey shivered.

“ D’ye mind how he come on 115—.” ,

“Shut u ,” growled Jim. “'Wbat if he did'i.“ , 3
Vl'e was as eep, and he had aclub. But he didn’t--
gilt no money out of us; did he?” "

“ No.” assented Snoopey. “ but I thought one » ,
time he was a-goin’ to. What was it he said tofi ‘ 
you, Jim, when you and him got off alone tow- , 
gether?” 

“Never you mind,” returned J im. evasive— . 3.
“ Not so much as he thought. See here,.. . 
Snoopey, we‘re a-comin’ into the town, nowv

 

:ether, we don’t. You jest go to the station-
muse and I’ll see (you to~m0rrer mornin’.” ,

“ All right,” sai Snoopey, submissively, and;
he shambled of! down a side street and round 8..
Corner. Terror Jim watched him till he wasout.» .
of sight. . ‘w

Then the big tramp set off boldly in the apply: ‘ .
site direC'ion, and walk<d on till he came to the? . .
haiggsome house in which Marcellus Skinner re~i
«sx . . ,,

He did not notice, in his secure lordshi ovar’ " 
the obsequious Snoo y, that the lesser ' ‘
had pee round t e corner as seen as 
leader 0 off, and had come slinking and. if 
shuffling after him, all ,the way to Skinner’s: 
hofi, keeping in the shadows as much as he“ '
co . -

Sn watched Jim go boldly up the 
of the house and ring the front-door bell,  ,
the lessertram muttered: , ’ - *
“Golly! ain he a-goirr’ it? Wish I had 
cheek.” ~ 

He wgitcd and sawtethe dloor grown lwrdes.‘ f
open,w enaprimwai r'excaim angri :: _-.

“What are you a-doin’ here? W oareyyleaf’ ,
Go to the bmmcntdoor. We ain’t got no 
wittles to give away.” . '  ' A
J “And I ain’tgglantinzln; cold glittles,”lciicdi; v »

im, just new ' y. a gen eman, j
and I want to see the boss here. No yo don’t-N “

I warn’t born yesterday." 

saw that his friend had stuck 53"

tweenthedoor and post so that,“
waits couldn’t close it, and he wondered what
was going to happen, when the prim man

shouind: ,. , . ‘.
“Hi! John, Johnl Come here! Here’sabug- ‘

 

gler a- in’ to git in l” V , 
Then noopey heard a rapid step, and uF-v xi

other prim man came runnin up, at

Terror Jim dealt the first wai a butt in M

face with the side of his head which 'nt (339%

man staggerin back with a owl, w en ‘

tramp square himself under the hall-lung.

roaring: , . '
“ me on, ye darned niggeis! ’I kin wh ,

bull compan of such .as ye!- Where’s ,

Skinner! HI! Bil gunner"! Eli

are ye!" '

Snoopey began to tremble with excitemeh
and to wonder what was going to been-of ' .
Terror Jim; for the secon man had f 2
short, and was rummaging in a corner ‘
ball, as if to find a weapon. ’ " f" A 

The little tra mp crept close to the house, «he
saw that the basement door was open,.,so \
slipped d0wn the area steps while ev m
was busy up-stairs, and speedin found?
in a lower hall, with a cupboard at the and;
from whence he could command a view of are
front door himself unseen. _

Terror Jim seemed disposed to hold the to . 
forbe slammed the door shut, and kept his mum: ‘
under the hall-lam , roaring: . ‘

“Hi, Skinnerr Icinnerr! Where are yet?
Come and tell these blooming chumps who I bet? “
Ain’t I a friend of yournf” - I , . *

The first waiter, who had been discomfited '
easily,now me back to the second,“
Snoo y heard them whisper: .‘ .; ‘

“ e s crazy! We’ll have to send for thecopa”?

Just then sound of a door opemng' , on, flit
 above, was followed by a my“

on : ’ 
“ what the deuce is all that noise about?

    

      

  

 

 

’9
“But s’gnin'va man ain’t
merry on said Snoopoy. “ ’ot’s he to do
,then, Jim?” ‘ V . \ ,

“It’s a tramp. sir,” called 0a waiter, “a”??? I
he won’t go out.”

     
  
 
  

 

 

1"" ' I . r-

20

“ Put him out, then,” shouted the voice above.
“ What do I has ye for, ye lazy brutesi”

Then Terror im roared back:

“Hi1 Skinner, what are ye givin’ usl Come
down here, ye bloomin’ old sinner. It’s an old
pal’s come to see ye, and he wants a bit of grub
and a glass of grgg.”

Snoopey listen intently, and noticed that the
'tramp’s words roduced an immediate silence,
followed soon a ter by the tread of a heavy foot
on the stairs.

He could see that the two waiters looked as if
they were overcome by surprise, but they both
fell back, and Suoopey saw a large, stout man,
with gray hair, come down to Terror Jim, and
say, in a constrained sort of way, as if trying
to make the best of it:

“What makes you dress in such a way, so
that one can hardly know you? Been out hunt-

in . I sup sci”
I‘error gym laughed heartily.

.m;.§ .4 ks‘gf‘ .‘ v

I "vhf :1, v' 1:1..-35” i...) 

e}.

x» grim-7,15%...- é  ‘4» v-.-- ‘
.  >-— 4" ‘ .

1, [A i “ Why, how’d you know that, Cap? Ay, ay,
#3:“ I’ve been huntin’, and I’m as hungry as a bun-
“U for, too. Lemme see. Me and you used to wear
. f 'the same close onst——-”

yes,” hastily interrupted Skinner,
on out. Come upstairs to the bath-
room an et a wash, and I’ll lend you a suit of
clothes. on shouldn’t go about in that sort
.of way. People would think you were a
tramp. ’
Then he turned to the Waiters, saying:

“You can go. Get ready in good supper in
.  ', the back dining-room. This gentleman and I
 ~ ,  have some business to do together, and we don’t
want to be disturbed."

Snoopey withdrew into the cupboard, and said
to himself:

“ Ye have have ye? Maybe I won’t find out
what it is? I guess not!"

CHAPTER XXX.

' n. smma’s v1srron.

To Snoopey, the tramp, sly by nature, and

"trained by education to all sorts of secretive
tricks, it was an easy matter to hide himself
, .away in that bi house.

He waited t Skinner and Terror Jim had
 -; one u stairs, and the waiters had disa
“ ‘ ’  the 'tchen, when he very quietly slipped out

‘ of his cupboard, went up-stairs to t e next land-
‘ ’ing, looked into all the rooms, decided on the
“dining-room where the long dining-table was
covered with a heav crimson cloth that fell to

“  the carpet all round t.

r Under th cloth Suoopcy very quietly secreted
himself. an observed with great satisfaction
"that he was quite secure.

' ' The dining-room had large French windows at
, the rear opening into a garden, and as the house
 ' was built on a corner lot, the tramp saw that his
‘. “retreat in any event would be an easy one, for
’ "he knew that Terror Jim, even if he discovered
him, could never catch him.
H Jim was twice as strong as Snoopey, but
’~ TgSnoopey could run away from Jim at any time,
“though be h to have no occasion to do the
,7 same that night, for he felt in great terror of
. his brutal partner.
, a The tramp curled himself up under the table
_~ and waited, and presentl the waiters came in
“f j ‘ "to lay the cloth at one on , when Snoopey heard
' ,, "one say to the other: '
 “ I ain’t goin’ to stay in this place much
. r, John, if things goes on this way. It’s
. enough to have to stand the low we 3 of
that Trainer feller without a tramp co n’ in,
and me havin’ to lay supper for him.”
5’ . “What’s odds?” returned John, philosophical-
idy. ‘ The pay's ood. These second-chop tellers
' :allers 'ays we , and they’re afeard to say
, ’uch £0 a man who’s b’en in a house.
are, that’s enough for the likes of im. Cold
M, chicken, ham, and a apple e. Guess he
*5: we: had such a lay-out afore. hat'll we give

_  to drink?”

'  “Water,” returned the first man, with great
"disdain. “ I ain’t g3: tolight no fire for coffee
., , him. Let the unlock the whisky-bottle
he wants to. I”don’t want to clean up after

.130 boozy tramps.
' ,, “Right you are,” said John, heartil . “I
, ’don’t know where you’re a- in’, J ames, ut I’m

in’ to take a stroll. the boss wants us,
 him holler. But I guess he don't wantto
r: dhow of! his friend to us.
.; fi'l‘hen the men left the room, and Snoopey
‘3." {dubbed his hands, saying .to himself:

 \ "'Jest what I want. I they’ll go out, I’ll have

‘ Yes,
“ I’ll flt

 

 

  
   
   
 
    
 
  
 
    
    
  
 
  
   
     
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
    
 
 
 
  

 

the house to myself.

, He saw that the discipline of the Skinner
,. ' mansion was decidedly lax, and there were no
" * alliances of any women about the place.

, As a matter of fact, Marcellus Skinner bad
,‘ "none. but male servants, and they had growu
" .. "very independent during the strike.

_ Snoopey waited a few minutes and heard the
basenlent-door slam, from which he ri htly
 that John and James had gone elib-
5 erately away from the house to escape further

«carries.

Then he crept out from under the cloth and

, ,. stock a look at the, table, which was spread with
"agnost sippetizing cold supper. On one d was
‘ d o

 

 

lfor what’s in there. ”

  the   ‘   I

'i money to pay my bills. In short, Cap, I want

“They won’t miss one, I reckon.”
So he took one out of the dish, retired under
the table again and began to gnaw it with great

gusto.

Presently he stopped eating to listen, for he
heard steps on the stairs. and a little later into
the room walked his friend, Tenor Jim, with the
master of the house who said:

“There, Somers, f on’re hun , you won’t
find better in a hote . I’ve h enough hard
gimcs;’ and I live as well as I know how nowa—

a s.
noopey laid himself down flat on the floor,
with the corner of his head out to survey his
fraud, who stood in the light of a lamp on the

ta 6.

Snoopey hardly recognized Terror Jim. He
was handsomely dressed, and his rough, strag-
gling hair and beard had been trimmed into
decent proportions, so that he bore the appear-
ance of a seafaring man, come in from a long
vo age, and taking a cruise ashore in his best.

noopey could hardly tell what put the idea
into his head. He had known Jim for seven or
eight years, and had never heard him mention
the sea; yet the moment he saw him dressed in
Skinner’s clothes, he thought how much like a
sailor Terror Jim looked.

The first words uttered by his comrade told
him that his suspicions were correct.

“Ay, ay,” returned Jim, with a sort of half-
sulky growl, “ it’s well enough for you, Cap, as
used to live in the cabin when I was a-slnshin’
down topmasts and hol stonin' decks. But you
allers had the luck and didn’t. Do you remem-
ber that ’ere Afriky v’y’ge-—?”

“There, there,” interrupted Skinner, hastily.
“Never mind the African voyage. Eat and
drink, and be merry. Hello! the ve put noth—
ing but water on the table. I’ go and call
them up—” '

“Don't file’do no sech thin ," interru the
tramp in ' him. “I ain’ been in t is kind
of a house so often, but what I know a thing or
two. Look a-thero at that sideboard. Bain’t
ye got nothen to drink in there?”

Skinner seemed to benitate.

“Yes—that is—I didn‘t know if you’d care

“Care for it! What’n blazes do ye take me
for? A bloomin’ champ? Trot out the whisky,
ye darned old galoot, so I kin take a snifter
afore I eat.”

Again Skinner seemed to hesitate, tor he
flualiy said, rather stiflly:

“If you please; but mind, it won’t do to get »
drunk in this house. I’ve got a position to keep
up now, and—”

“Oh, come off the roof,” interrupted Jim
rudely. “ Position be blowedl Ain’t you and
me old shipmates, and hain’t we got drunk to-
gether, many’s the time—”

“Say no more. You shall have it," inter-
poaed Skinner, soothingly; “ but don’t make
such anoise, man. Here, here l”

Snoopey saw him go and unlock the side-
board, and the tramp’s eyes glittered at the
array of silver he saw there beside the bottles,
as the mill-owner left the door open, while he 1
brought back the whisky-bottle to the table. I

Then Terror Jim poured out a large drink, 3
tossed it of! like so much water, and said: 1

“ Now I kin punish the grub, I reckon.” i

With that he sat down and began to eat '
while Snoopey, under the table-cloth, gnawed
at his chicken as silentlyas he could and listened 4
all the while to what was going on. ;

At last Jim seemed to have satisfied his ap- ‘
petite, for he drew back his chair, put out his ;
feet and observed to Skinner: :

“ Iteckon I’ll do now. What brand of cigars 1
do you smoke? None of our five—cent stinkers
now, Cap. I know you 0 old. You was allers i
a mean one when on t the chance. I come 1
here to have a g tal with you, and I can’t
,talk so well unless I have somethin’ to smoke.”

“ Wouldn’t a pipe answer?" asked Skinner.

Jim laughed scornfully. ,

‘.‘ A. pipe indeed! Why, tramps smokes them. i
I ain’t no tramp. I‘m your old shipmate, Jim .
Somers, what made your fortin’ for ye, by, put-
tin’ er in the way of—” -

“ ushl hush!” interrupted Skinner, in an
agitatedl way. “I’ll get you some cigars. and
then you can tell me waat you want to say,
bu: talk low, for Heaven’s sake. Don‘t be so
no sy.

As he sgoke Snoopey saw him go to the side-
board an bring out a box of cigars, which he
put on the table. when Terror Jim stretched
out his hoofs and began to smoke.

Presently he remarked lazily;

“That‘s a pretty good cégar, Can. Good ‘
enough to have come from uby without pa - ‘
in’ any dooty. Now then comes that little ta 1
I spoke about, and I want you to listen.” '

‘ Certs , certainly,” was the nervous re-
plg. “S on, Sinners. What is it?”

noopey pricked n his ears. He was going
to hear smoothing at ast.

Terror Jim cleared his throat v ,

“Waal,” he said, “to‘tell the truth I’m t

 

 

i' u“: chickens, and the tramp saidto imself m
a, :

about tired of trampin’ and I want to se le ‘
down. I want to git a place where I kin have
meals reg’lsr. with a bottle of whisky when
' I eel like it, and where'l Won’t haveto beg the

 

you to jest come down handsome, as you kin
well aflord to do, and give {our old messmate a
chance to make the best of is figure and marry
a rich gal. That’s me.”

CHAPTER XXXI.
A NICE LITTLE PLAN.

SNOOPEY was so taken aback by the sublime
impudence of his partner that he muttered to
himself under his breath:

“Great Caesar, what a all 1”

But, to his surprise. Skmner did not seem to
take the matter ill. for he said:

“I suppose we might do something for you.
How would you like a place in the mill when
we get to work?”

J 1m laughed rather scornfully.

“ In the mill? What to do? Work?”

Skinner moved uneasily in his chair.

“ Of course. We all have to work. don’t we?
I do, at all events.”

Terror Jim laughed again.

“ I don’t, if I kin help it. You know that me
and you knowed how to shirk work, didn’t we,
when we was on the old—”

“Hush!” interrupted Skinner,
“ Some one might be listenin .”

“ Let ’em listen," retorted im, but he pitched
his voice on a lower key nevertheles-‘. “I
mean this. Me and on was on the old ’Rora.
You was bo’s’n and was cook. Well, we two
came home in the ’Rora as cap’n and mate,
didn't we? How did we do it?”

There was a short silence and Skinner said in
a low tone:

“ You know as well as I do. The officers all
died of the fever.”

Jim chuckled. , ‘

“ Ay, ay, call it the fever. It’s a good place
to die in. out at sea, ’cause there’s no questions
axed. No coroners, nor nothen. It’s a good
place to die in. But you know, old messmate,
who veme the arsenic to at into the soup,
and know it too. It was ncky there warn’t
no doctor aboard the old ’Rora. Now I ain’t
on the work no more. I ain’t. I want a soft

lace. If you wants any work done, I ain’t
here. If you wants any man took out of the
way I’m agreeable: but that‘s as far as I go to
’arn my living.”

Snoopney heard Skinner make a quick move-
ment of his chair, and ask in a tone of impa-
tience: ‘

“ Well, will you do that then?”

“Bart’in I will,” replied Terror Jim, with

rfecf. coolness. “That’s what I came to do
or you. I’m on the fight, if you want it, but I
ain’t on the work.”

There was a short silence in the room, and
then Skinner said: .
“ Do you know a man called Larry Locket”

Terror Jim growled.

“ La Locke? Yes, blast him i”

“Well, I want to get rid of him,” said the
mill-owner, in a low tone.
him out of the way within three days I’ll give
you five-hundred dolla’rs.”

Terror Jim shook his head.

“That ain’t so easy, Cap. He’s a hard nut,
and I don’t want to try and crack it.”

“ You needn’t do it alone,” returned Skinner.
“You can take all the men you want. and I’ll

.ay them, so long as he’s got rid of. He’s the
its and soul of this strike. and none of the
men would stick out so long if he didn’t hold
them up.”

“Well, Cap,” returned Terror Jim, slowly.
“ I’ll see what I kin do, with some boys I
know; but seems to me that you’re a-wasting
your wder on him. He ain’t the man to. go
fur. t’s them as is settin’ him on.”

“What do you mean?” asked Skinner, in a
tone of surprise. ‘

“I mean ain't them no one else you hate
Egg-Pea This Larry’s only a workman, ain’t

0

“Yes; tobesure- but he’s a leader too. He
puts up the jobs for the rest.”

“ I know all that,” returned Jim; “ but ain’t
there some one else?”

“Who else can there be?” asked Skinner, in
an uneasy manner. “I don’t deny there is,
but what do you knew about it?” '

“ I know this much about it,” retorted‘ Jim,
“that {we hoard a good deal of talk about a
ncvy of yourn, one Paul Von BeaVer, that they
say you hate like p’ison. Ain’t he the next
heir or suthin’?” _

Skinner seemed to be still more surprised.

“How did you know that?” he asked, with a
sort of gasp.

“By usin’ my eyes and ears," retorted Jim.
“ There was a English teller used to be with his
hmses, and he got to drinking and got into
trouble. Him and me was in county jail to-
gether, and he told me how ou’d come and
got the old man to make some ind of will to
cut off the boy, and how he wouldn’t only go
you the use of the place for life. 15
correct?" .

“ Yes,” returned Skinner. with some relief.
“ Is that the way you found it out?"

“ Ay. ay, 1 found it. These tellers that
works allers has a good (1 to saw about what
goes on in the house. Well, so I jest thought

 

cautiously.

 

“If you can t ,

 
 

 
  

9
‘2.

. .. . mu * »-. . ~ ‘.-~r‘
nu.“  1} 3' “ w“? ,7. . g. 5. a. , “5”qu

.3; L ‘ y

- l
I. val- 

l ’ '

4

arry LOcke. the Man of Iron. ’

21

 

 

 

that if that young teller was out of the way,
you’d be ever so much better oif. Hey?”

“ I don’t deny it,” said Skinner, in alow tone;
“ but then how are 'ou going to get at him?”

Terror Jim chuck ed.

“Ohol so it’s come to that. How am I to
get at him? You jest tell me where he goes
and who’s his friends, and I’m the man to get
into a muss with him, so he won’t know what
struck him.”

“ That’s easy enough. Listen to me.” I

Skinner’s voice sunk to a whisper, so that
Snoopey could not hear what was said, till Ter-
ror Jim observed:

“ That’s all I want to know. I’ll set my
friend Snoop‘ey on him, and he’ll run him down
darned quic . ’ .

“ And who’s Snoopey?” asked Skinner.

Snoopey himself pricked up his ears to hear
the answer, which was:

“ Oh, he’s a sort of hanger-on of mine. He’s
a good enough teller, if {in whip him onst a
week reg’lar. He’s the st man to find out
where a feller goes I ever seen, but he ain’t none
on the fight.”

Snoopey felt a. thrill of anger animate his
ordinaril gentle b: east at the not very flatter-
ing description, and Te r Jim went on to say:

‘Snoope shall find h and you kin leave
Snoo y one to make an excuse that will
take in outside the cit some dark night—”

“Why not to-night ' interrupted Skinner,
with t suddennes.

” othen, only Snoopey’s in the station-house
by this time,” said Jim; “ and they won’t let him
out till mornin .” / ~

“And what 0 you want of any Snoopey at
all?” the millionaire demanded, sh l '. “ I
can do a ood deal for you, Somers, bu l)’m not

oing to vein all the tramps in the State to
Eel . Look here; why don’t you do it your-
scl ? No one will know you in those
clothes, and you can get in to see him wit out
any trouble.’

“ That might do,” observed Terror Jim, in a
musing way i “but how should I get him out in
the dark? You understand this sort of a job’s
easy enough, if once,you get well in with a
man; but how ’m I to get in with him? I don’t
know him.” ,V

“ I’ll see to that,” returned Skinner, briskly.
“ I’ll fix up a message from my lawyer to him
about this very Larry Locke, and you can get
them both together.”

Terror Jim grunted.

“ I don’t want to get ’em together. One at a
time is all and more than I want, Cap. This
here Larry Locke’s a holy terror. he is.”

“ Then you’ll have to get a gang together to
lay them out,” returned Skinner, in a tone that
showed he had mttled the matter to his own sat-
isfaction. “ Look here, I’ve got it.”

“ What have you got?” asked Jim, with a sort
of sneer.

“ I’ve got the plan.”

“ What plan? What to do?”

“ Toffet him into the trap. You come with
me, an I’ll write a letter and take you round to
my lawyer’s. He shall fit you out and you
must see to setting up the gang for to-morrow.
How long would it take you to get a dozen men,
hard cases all, and have them ready? I’d give
them ten dollars apiece, and nothing to do for it
but slug the man you showed them.”

Terror Jim considered awhile.

“ I could do it tomorrow,” he said; “ but I’d
want a good lump sum for the job. No five
hundred dollars wouldn’t pay me for the risk.
Why, it’s a hanging matter, or State Prison for
life at best.”

“You shall have a thousand.” returned the
mill-owner, promptly. “ Is that enough!”

“Enou h? Yes. to pay them; but not me.
You don t know what you’re talking of, Cap.
Ten dollars apiece to slug a man stifl, and may-
be all be found out. The job’s worth a hundred
at least for each man, to make it safe.”

Skinner groaned.

“Whatan extortionate fellow you are? If 1

romise the mono down, will you make the
Job sure for both I want to end this strike
and get rid of that Paul at once. I’ll pay
the money to see it done safe, but I won’t be
fooled into ying it for a mere failure.
won’t pay ti the work’s done and I’ve Seen the
bodies.” ’

“ That’s correct, Cap,” returned Jim, coolly ;
" I don’t ax no more. All I want to know for
certain is that the work’s to be paid for.
hundred-dollars a lace for the men, and two
thousand for myse Is that a bargain?”

Skinner hesitated a few monients, and at last

said:

“Yes. SinceIcan’t be] m' If Isu poseI
must do it. I consent.” p y” ’ p

“ All right,” returned Jim, brisk] . “I’m all
ready now. You get up your letttzr, and I’ll
go round and spot. this young man, so as I
may know him again.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
snoorsr TURNS ms cost.
Lunar Loon was looking rather blue as he
stood. on the court-house steps, beside Paul Van
Beaver, next mornin . ‘

 

 Behpdjustleam thathisanswerhadbesn

00d \

 

“stricken out ” of the loadings in his case on

technical grounds, and is only consolation lay

in the fact that the com had granted his law-

yers five days’ time to draw another answer,

gitaeil“ a hot argument between Scriven and Van
c .

Paul was trying to cheer him up by saying:

“ Never mind it now, Larry. Be ready to
swear to our new answer tomorrow, and I’ll
eng it olds water. Mr. Scriven is no fool,
and 6 has full confidence in the case. We’ll
pull ou through yet.”

“ ut it’s gomg to cost a heap of money,” said
Lar , gloomily. “Sometimes I think it would
be c caper to let the poor old place go, and
move away. The strike ain’t no nearer an end
than it was when the men quit work, and they
blame me.”

“ Let them blame you,” returned Paul, cheer-
fully. “ They don’t know what’s going on.
Mr. Scriven told me this morning that he lad
been consulted by one rominent mill-owner as
to whether, if he t the Union, the rest
could sue him for damages if he broke the
strike. Scriven told him no, and the owner
egressed himself as willing to yield to the men.
T 1 them that. It is no less a man than
gang, of Kelly 8: Barr. What do you think of

at

Larry’s eyes gleamed with joy.

“ Is that real] so? If he gives in, the rest
must follow. by, he rolls as many rails as all
the rest, except Skinner.”

“Skinner’s the only one likely to hold out,”
said Paul, “and he can’t do it forever. Well,
Larry, good-by now. I’ll see you tomorrow
mornin .” '

And are young man strode away, while Larry
hastened down to the place where the strikers
were wont to meet to discuss matters, to give
them the news.

He did not notice that Paul and himself were
both watched by a pun , furtive-looking man,
who hung around near t em and followed him
toward t 9 meeting; and it was not till he was
about to enter the room that he noticed the
man.

When he did so he started and frowned, for
the follower was close to him.

“ What! You here?” he exclaimed, fiercely.
“ Do you want me to wrin your neck, you in-
ferntl thief? But for you, —”

And then he choked. unable to proceed, as he
recognized Snoopey

The tramp shrunk back as if he expected a
blow, but managed to stammer:

“ Don’t! Fur Godsake don’t! I don’t mean
ye no harm, before heaven. Jest listen to me,
only a moment—” ,.

‘ Listen to ou?" repeated Larry, con-
temptuously. ‘ What can you sa to me?
Didn’t you rob my house, and oughtn t I to have
choked the life out of you?”

“ Yes, yes,” admitted Snoopey, humbly; “ but
I ain’t as bad as I look, boss. I’ve suthin’ to
tell '9. You’re in den er—”

“ an er!" repeated rry, still more scorn-
fully. ‘ From you? No; for I’ve made 11 my
mind to kill you if ever I catch you roun my
shanty agnin.”

“ It ain’t from me," urged Snoopey, still more
humbly. “ It’s from others: them as is able to
lay you out. I heerd suthin’ yestiddy night I
want to tell ye, just to let ya know.”

“ And I’ve no time tolisten to o ,” answered
Larry roughly. “ Think yourse f l cky I don’t
put on in jail for what you’ve done.”

ith that he turned about to enter the hall
where the meeting was to be held, when he heard
some one calling:

“Mr. Locke! 0h, Mr. Locke!”

The voice was that of a person of cultivation,
and Larry turned round. to see a thin man in
professional black, with an irreproachable v. l ' te
necktie, like a. clergyman.

In this gentleman he ' Skinner’s
lawyer, Van Slack, and at once put on his most
independent air,,for he knew the man to be his
enemy.

Mr. Van Slack came up, and said in the most
polite manner:

.“ My dear sir, I’ve been hunting for you in all
directions. I have been wanting to see you for
ever so 10 .” .

“ t or?” asked Larry stifliy.

yr. an Black glanced round him.

‘_ A little business,” he said in a low tone.

‘ My client. Mr. Skinner is not as hard 9. man
as you think, and I~welf—I want to see you in
private, and have a little talk."

Larry shrugged his shoulders.

Very sorry, but we’ve a meeting here this
mornin , and I’m wanted. Why don’t you go
“3‘15; flail”; ' pm. I

80 use you are the n want
to see and an is not. Between you and me,
Mr. Locke-”

Here he came closer and lowered his voice:

“ Scriven’s not much of a lawyer or he wouldn’t
have drawn his answer in such a bungling way.
I can beat him eve time. You’re a diflerent
man. I canfeel fo you}. New can’t you spam
me a few minutes my times? It’s just round
“firth”... I k be ' "sped:

o u noww t, ouwantto
about,”, was the obstinate  ‘ '

4'

.u _ ._.- I;
,t~_;. , ' ‘...;,~_ 9.3 ‘2‘"

man, but

 

.1"

g

“ Well, then, I’ll tell you,” said Van Slack in:
a low tone.

Then he turned on Snoopey, who still hung
near listening:

“ My good man,” he said, “ pic-use go a little
further 011'. I’ve private business with this gen-
tleman.”

Snoopeéi: sneaked oil' to a. little distance, and
Van Sln ' began gliblyz

“ Now, my dear sir, my dear Mr. Locke, I’ve
no doubt you think I’m an enemy of yours.
Never wasa greater mistake. “'e lawyers have
no enemies. IVe don’t like any hard feelings
from any one.”

“Hum!” replied Larry dryly, “then you
should act diifcrent. You want to turn me out
of my house, and then you wonder that I feel
mad about it.”

“ But, my dear sir,” responded the lawyer in
his most coaxing tones, “ you’re making a mis-
take. We don’t want to turn you out of your
house at all.”

lorry looked at him incredulou'ilg'.
“ No want to turn me out? an why are
you sui me?”

Van Sack took him by the button, to say in
the sleekest of tones:

“ Only for a urpose, my dear sir. How would
you like to your house?”

Larry positively started, and his face hright— '

ened considerably.

“ To sell it?” he echoed. “ Why, I would do 

inaminute, if I could get enough to pay me ‘ ‘

what I’ve put on it.”

“ My dear sir,” said Van Slack quietly, “ I can
ofler you enough to cover all your mortgge,
and leave on a thousand dollars clear. ow
would tha suit?”

’8 face answered him better than words,
and the lawyer ocntinued:

“ There! That’sthe business I want to talk to
you about. You see it can’t be done in the
street. Will you come to my omce?”

Larry made no further reelstance.

“ Yes, I’ll come,” he said; and he accom -
nied the lawyer down the street and round 9
corner to the o of Snapper & Van Slack,
where he was taken into the innermost sanctum
of all, the lawyer rubbin his hands in a way
that showed he was well p red with his succes
as far as he had gone.

Snoope saw them go 03, and he sneaked after
them, and sat down on the ofiice—sleps to wait;
till they came out.

The secretive tramp were on his face a new ’ ’
'v\

expression, and kept muttering: I

‘I’vergot to do it. I must
There’s money in it. I know ere is. If]:
could only get him to listen. If I can’t. maybe

the other one will. But I’ll stick to this one ‘-

first.”

Meantime, up-stairs in the inner office, Larry‘  R

Locke had been shown to a luxurious arm-chair

while the lawyer took a humble cane stool, and ,

began the conversation at once.

“lVell, Mr. Locke, and how much do 

value your place at?”

“ Twenty-five hundred,” said Larry promptly. ‘ 1-7;:

“ It cost me—”

t a chance. ‘

“Two thousand, my dear sir, just two thou- ,'  

sand ” was the polite interruption. “

five hundred’s a very steep price, as yet: must: 3 L

be aware, of course.”

“ It’s what 1 want and what I’m goinitognegz‘ A .
d .

or I don’t treat,” retuined Larry, who

lived in vain, forlie bad bargained before. ‘ Wei  a,

may as well settle that, mister, before we
any further. Twenty-five hunt?
and pay Skinner his money. If I don’t get that,

I’ll fight, and Mr. Scriven tells me you’ll never . ,

get a cent.”

Mr. Van Slack smiled and rubbed his hands. -  ’«
“Exactl . Mr. Scriven is a very worthy"  4 ‘ .
struck out his answer to—day, “

to wh he ‘

know. I wouldn’t trust too much

says about the suit. Between you and muler 

Locke you’ve nodefeuse, and if on keep or»
you’ll

cent over.” .
looked at him with a half smile.

“ Then, if that’s the case,” he said, "why do a;

you of" to buy at all 2” .
Mr. Van Black sh ed his shoulders.
“Pure kindnem of
lawyers are all soft-hearted. Clients? Clients
are pi -headed and quarrelscme; but we have

to. coo them down. I’ll tell you what, I’ll do. :v"
with you. Mr. Skinner has given me full pew- , ,.
ers to treat with you. I’ll give you what you: - “

ask—twenty-five hundred—if you’ll sign the;
deed and leave Holesburg at noon tomorrow.”

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
run anrns‘s BRIBE.

“ Luv: Holesbu
“ What’s that got to o with it?”

“only this, my dear sir,” said Van Slack, in, 
his smoothest tones, “that unless you leavo -
Bolesburg at noon, my offer falls tothe ground.””

keaback

WWII“ n . -

“B' I don’t want to leaveJolet-‘b , ’7 he r
“ I know the folks here and theuzgtikeb, -
wasall born new _ -,
andldon’t want to leave it. Besides, 

said.
nearly over. My family

here.

s.

,andI’llae ,‘ 

cold out at auction, and little more; *
gage will cover the place and not leave your.

rt, mv dearsir. I'We ’

at noon?” echoed   

‘
...3 <

  
 

.. I n... I
’1‘ I“, ' lu‘: . ’. a,‘

 

I"  Locke, the  crimp.

l 

 

 

can’t leave. I’m pledged to the boys to stand

. by them.”

Mr. Van Slack shrugged his shoulders.
“ I see I was mistaken in you. I took you for
. a. sensible man. Locke. Don’t you see ou’re
‘ getting eighteen hundred dollars cash? by a
.} man 0 your abilit could go to Ohio, where the
wages are higher t an here, and set up for him-
self in a small wa . That’s how workmen ele-
  vate themselves. gin to employ other men,
 - :and save the difference in wages. Look here.
7113 I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you. The mort-
 wge is seven hundred dollars, isn’t it? Yes.
‘ , ell. If you’ll 0 home and get your wife,
. _ ' bring her here an sign to-day, I 11 give you two
“ - thousand cash for all you have on t no place, and
' get you a ticket for C eveland by the six o’clock
train to-night. How’s that?”

“ It’s a very good offer," returned Larry with
‘2)! - ashakinz veice. “If it wasn’t for the st ' e I’d

‘vdo it in a minute. But I can’t, sir; indeed I
‘. «can’t. It wouldn’t be honorable,
e I Over.
 “Confound it, man, can t you see!” broke in
  ' ,';the lawyer,

till the strike’s
I’ll agree to go then as soon as you like.

a
a

A ettishly. “ Can’t you see what’s

- v » ' the matter? on’t be a blind fool, Locke. Two

" 3 "thousand cash to carry off will keep your family
 ‘10! years.” '

“And don‘t you see,” cried Larry, angrily,
I "‘that. I wouldn’t sell myself for twenty thou-
'- w mend cash? 1’m District Master Workman, and
V,, I’m bound to the boys. You’ve offered twenty—
' 'five hundred cash, and I’ll take it, but I Won’t
. . cleave Holesbur till the strike’s ended one way

. . or the other. hat’s plain, isn’t it?”

For a moment the la cr was nonpluscd.
‘He had expected to find in Jerry a labor agita-
‘tor working for notoriety and willing to sell out
'r ‘ to the hi hest bidder.

' . if of this he had come up against an
; . , 'honest an and Mr. Van Black was not used to
‘ 1;dealing with honest men.

3, In fact, be hard] believed in their existence,

(I and came to the asty conclusion that Larry
must be laying off virtue to enhance the mag-

(Thime of) his price.

. _ He watched the workman furtively, for near
" :.a minute and-then said slowly:

' “ Till the striko’s ended, one way or the other?
: .I‘Ah, es, exactly. Well, now you’re beginning

 “to kscnse, Locke. You’vea ood deal of in-

“.fiuence with these fellows, wit your position.

.‘W hat will u take to advise them to go back

 
   
    
    
    
 
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
    
  
    
    
   
  
  
  
 
   

  

‘ tra five hundret to
 , ’ spoke slbwly and cautiously, watching his
station, and felt rejoiCed as he looked.
‘3’ Larry’s face wore a smile, and he asked:
“Then am I to understand that all this is to
V t me to end the strike and fill my owu pockets?
; ,. that m”
y . “Why, of course,” answered Van Slack, with
"m al'yLogc'rin. , “You’re a fool if you don’t do it,
Mr. V ke. Workingmenl
 mack of—”
“I . He got no further.
r  Iorry Locke suddenlg leaped up, his face
.ii'lIooking like that of a emon, and pounced on
f'flohwyer like a cat on a mouse. With the
' A  of a vise he seized him b both shoulders
i  began to shake him so at Van Black‘s
M chattered.
‘ And all the while he shook, his face grew
“ashore and more savage, while he growled:
‘- “Buy me, will you, curse oul D’ye see any
3er in me, curse ye? vs a mind to choke
, 'vthe' llfe out of ye now, ye skunk l”
“f. 'l'or a moment Van Black struggled, for he
jam no coward, and his face crimsoned with
 Magma, when he found that he had no more
-  than a bah in the hands of the Hercu-
,§.-11Ian , his co or be? to leave him, and he
.42? ‘wfitad er the fierce g re of his enemy’s eyes
’”,.MMedwbegformcm .

, ' -.Asfor lorry, he sh and shook until he
 Iaibd his first. feeling of rage, and then
'  [hung the lawyer down on the floor with a bang,
" 'yahd shook his finger at him, saying:

,g' “ You made a mistake that time, mister. You
““Wake darned goodcarehowyoucomeacromme

‘ e _ for I swear I think I’ll kill you some
 Offer the money to turn traitor, would
 That shows what your side thinks of; and,
'mark my words, this strike’s goin toend the

right way; not the wrong one. goodday to

you.”

 

 

..

     
   
   
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
   

I.

  

9‘ '7. Larry strode out of the room and down

‘ ":3 to the street, where he v nearly tumbled

 aver Snoopey, who was si on the steps
 . .Tr,.waiting for him.

' ,4,‘1'he sight ofythe trampangercd him,sothat

4 ;.“’n‘%& ‘n

, yd, rt.

. z c  looked so savage that Snoo y shrunk out
7.”? «bf the way in short order, and went off
‘« tdown the street toward the meetin -room of the
 _Knights, into which he went to ad the men
emitting gloomin round the room, waiting for

‘ “ We’ve b’en a-waitin’ ever so long,” said one,
y. .“ We can’t get to work without you,
know it.”

.  on
' ;  Tl; all looked w and di to find
fault, tLarryafi. nottono oeanything

of my way, if you don’t want to get

 their wor‘ a ain? It might be worth an ex- v

Bah! they‘re; all a

‘ Kelly

till he had ordered the doors cloaed and begun
business at the meeting.

As soon as the routine work was over, he
rapped for silence and made them a speech, in
which he gave them the news he had received
from Paul that morning, and a short history of
the attempt of the lawyer to bribe him, con-
cluding by sa ing:

“Now, bro hers, on see what the matter is.
It has been a long, ard struggle, but we’re go-
ing to win. Skinner is the only man who’s ob-
stinate, and he’ll have to give way at last. He
sees it and he’s willing to pay for my absence.
Now then, how many men here are in favor of
sticking out?”

The answer was unanimous, but gloomy, and
one man expressed the feelings of a good many
when he said:

“lVo’ll stick her out' but we can’t last very
much longer. If they on’t give in soon, we’ll
have to, and we might as well die one way as
the other. If we could get away to Ohio we’d
do it; but we ain‘t got no money left to go there
with.”

The deliberations of the Knights were here in-
terrupted by a knock at the outer door, and the
doorkecper announced after a short conversa-
tion through the wicket, that a message had
come from the Employers’ Union, and that ad-
mission was asked.

A buzz of excitement went round the room,
and Larry ordered that the messenger be ad-
mi tted at once.

The workmen settled in their seats and looked
as stiff and dignified as possible, when into the
meeting-room came no less a person than Tom
Trainor, whom most of them know from the
time he had been a boy in the Skinner works.

Tom looked round him rather shcepishly, and
when he saw Larry in the master’s chair, he
looked decidedly uncomfortable but he stiff-
gncd up as well as he could, till Larry asked

1m:

“thnce come you, and what have you to
say, to the brethren of the Order?”

om swallowed once or twice in a nervous
manner before he answered:

“ I‘ve come from the Manufacturers’ Union,
to propose a compromise.”

“ On what basxsl” asked Larry, coldly.

Tom~held out a letter.

“ Here it is. Mind, I ain't responsible fdr it,
so don’t go to ittin’ mad with me.”

Larry took t 0 letter, saying:

“ You can retire. We’ll send an answer.
Your Union Will remain in session how long?”

“ They’d said they’d keep open till you sent an
answer,” replied 'lom, “if you don t keep ’em
more than half an hour after I come back.”

“They shall have an answer within that
time,” responded Larry, and then Tom was
shown out of the room and took his departure,
while the secretary read out the letter from the
Union.

It turned out to be a pro ition for a com-
promise on the basis of he f-way between the
old and the new scale, and on its acceptance or
rejection a fierce struggle sprung up among the
workmen.

Many were sorely temgged to take it, fix their
poverty and misery as tier than kee ing on
earnin nothin ; while others insi=ted t t the
offer s owed t e masters were yielding, and
that, if the men held out another day would
secure a com lete victory.

Larry Loo e saw that the proposition to ac-
Icept was likely to carry most votes, and he
beckoned to one of his trusted lieutenants in the
crowd, to .whom he whi red:

“Move to postpone it 1 to-morrow. This is
the crisis of he strike.” .

His follower, a sharp fellow, took the hint,
went back to his place, and presently asked per-
mission to address the chair.

Then he said that, as the message from the
bosses was a su rise, and an important thing,
he, for one, wan a little time to think over
it, and didn’t want to act hastily. Therefore
he moved to lay it over till next day, and send
word to the bosses to that eflect. '

The idea seemed to take well, and was put toa
vote almost immediateggrwhen it was carried
without trouble, and ry Locke, with two
others were appointed as a committee to take
the decision to he bosom. , 1

Then the meetin broke up, the men looking
decidedly hap ier han when they came in the
mornin , whie Larry with Jim Ma re and
Steve utton, who had been appoin
with him, took their way to the great mill of
& Barr, where the manufacturers were
wont to hold their meetin

To his surprise the w ole lace was empty
and deserted, save for a watc man inside the
3%, who came when they shouted to him, and

1d them: ‘

“Nobody ain’t had no meetin’ here to-day.
The boss has left, the Union. They’re over at
the Berkely Hotel, I reckon.”

The Ber ely Hotel was a well known place,
and to that the Committee proceeded, but as they
went, Ma ire and Sutton discussed excitedly
the news t at Kelly & Barr had left the Union.

“' The‘y have done it; or hewouldn’t have
known t,

 

remarkedLa , thou hthilly. “ It
 rest,  g-ylngto beat

{'3 '

  

togo‘

l

 

us before Kelly beats them. Here’s the place,

he 5.”

They went into the hotel, which they found
to be thronged with well-dressed people, for it
was a commercial hotel, and the drummers
were out in force.

They heard that the Ironmnstcrs’ Union met
in room 17 and went up one flight toalargo
corridor, jammed with men talking together,
amid whom they seemed to be lost.

“It’s a litical convention,” said a gentle-
man, of w om Larry inquired the cause of the
crowd. “ Look out for your pockets,” he added.
“ There’s a pretty rough crowd here.”

At the same moment Larry found that a
crowd of men were pushing in on him with tre-
mendous force.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
LARRY’S DOUBLE-BANKING.

YES. There was no doubtin the fact that
the crowd was very dense an composed of
strong men, as far as concerned that part near
Larry and his friends.

In their plain working c0stume they Were so

different from the people round them that they
had been “ spotted ” as soon as they first entered
the corridor: and the politicians and “strikers ”
were hustling them, on purpose to annoy and
confuse them.
Lang and his friends were too much used to
rou h orse-play to mind this, and they hustled
bac , swaying t0 and fro in the crowd, and tak-
ing it good-naturally, till they came to the door
of Room 17, which they found to be wide open,
while, inside, stood a big man with a cigar in
his month, by a table strewed with apers.
There was something familiar in the ace of
this man to Larry; but he could not tell where
he had seen him before.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and burly,
with a clean-shaven chin and checks, and a
close-clipped grizzled mustache, while his hair
was cut as close as a convict’s.

Round the room, lounging on chairs, were
some other men who all seemed to be dressed in
new clothes, and to have been recently bar-
bered, none of whom did Larry recognize.

He and his friends went in, and Larry said:

“ Is this the, Bosses’ Union?”

The big man turned to him, and surveyed him
from head to foot with a dubious air.

“Yes it is,” he said. “I’m the secretary.
Who are you, and what do you want?”

“ I‘m Larry Locke, District Master Work-
man,” said Larry, quietly. “ You sent us a let-
ter.

“Yes. Well are you goin
from your high horse?” aske the big man,
gruffiy. “ We made the offer. Do you take it?”

“ No,” answered Larry, “ we wart more time
to think over it. We’ll give you an answer to-
morrow.”

The big man looked him over a sin.

“Hum! Yo will, will ye? We l, it’ll be too
late then. It ain’t open. The have

to shut the works and sell out, if you
don’t come down to them.”

“ They can shut up and o to blazes,” retorted
Larry, with some'heat. “ ey’ve madeapropo-
sition and we shall hold them to it.”

The big man sneercd at him.

“Ye don’t say. You’re a healthy pill to hold
any one to anything, you are. Get out of this
room, or you’ll fit put out, darned quick."

Larry’s eyes shed.

“ I’m going out. sir,” he said, sternly; “but
don’t you go to talking of putting me out, or it
will be the worse for on.”

“It will, will it?" cried the big man, and as
he spoke he snatched up from the table a heavy
iron wood ruler and looked round him.

“That’s your man, boys,” he cried. “Slug
him!”

The men in new clothes round the room
jumped up and came piling on the three work-
men, without a word.

For one instant there wasa fierce, silent strug-
gle, Iorry strfkihg out and butting with his

cad, laying man after man prostrate, but the
odds were too great.

In the midst of the melee the big man brought
down the ruler on Larry with crushing force,
while a battery of blow: from bras knuckles
rained on the back of his head, and Larry Locke,
the Man of Iron, taken by surprise. twelve to
one, dropped senseless on the floor, just as the
politicians and strikers of the big convention
outside came crowding in toth the combat-
ants and entered unawares into a regular free
fight, which swayed to and fro from the room
to the corridor and back again while shouts
and cries made a Babel of the Berker Hotel, to
the dismay of the guests.

Out in the corridor, near the stairs, stood
Tom Trainer and Marcellus Skinner, listening,
since the Workman first went in, and Marcellus
observed to his hopeful son:

“ It’s worked to a charm, Tom. They’ve gone
in. Didn’t any of ’em suspect anythin i" '

“Not a thin ,” returned Tom, wi a grin.
“Locke he loo ed at the paper and saw the
reg’lar heading, and I reckon they took it for a
genooine message. 0h, he’s sucked in, this time,
for sure.”

 

to come down

Marcellus, in the midst of the crowd,  ‘    '

 
  
 
 
 
   

l/K:

  
 

.1 .. ‘,
w

'  Looke, the“ Man of Iron'

  

23' 

 

V

1the Workman go to the door of Room 17, and lis-
toned anxiously till the scuflling began, when he
said to Tom with a chuckle.

“They’re getting it, and he’s etting wiped
~out. It’s worked to a charm, ommy boy.
Let us get out of this, so no one can’t say we’d
‘nothen to do here.”

And he started for tho staircase with Tom,

 

“(3

ing the rest of the hall bare.

“ Stop,” whispered Tom, clutching his arm
and pointing down-stairs. “There’s that cussed
Paul. Why didn’t we have him up there, too,
father!” .

Old Skinner looked down and saw his nephew
standing by the desk at the office, looking over
the register as if searching for a name. .

“ Curse you,” he muttered, shaking his _fist
:furtively. “ I wish I could get you up here into
the fight. I’d get a chance at you.”

At that moment the row in Room 17 became
a regular free fight, and the trampling of feet,
shouting; and swearing, began to attract atten-
tion all over the hotel, in spite of the thick deaf-
ened floors and the buzz of the crowd.

The cry arose:

“ Fight! fightl”

Then a man somewhere in the rear yelled:

“Fire! fire!"

Then came trampling feet rushing overhead .

and down—stairs, while the screams of women
became audible.

Paul Van Beaver, at the desk, looking over
‘the register, heard it and started round to
listen.

The clerks behind the counter heard it too,
and one hastily slammed the door of the safe
and said to his colleague in a tone of excite—
:ment:

“Look out for things down here. The pol-
iticians have got to fighting, and there'll be a

nic.”

Then he darted away up-stairs, two steps at a
time, and Paul was about to follow, when some

‘ one behind him said: .

“ Say, mister, for God’s sake, listen to me.”

Paul turned, and saw a ragged, eaking-
looking man, who continued nervously:

“I’ve b’en lookin’ for ye all over. Larry
wouldn’t listen to me. Don’t do the same. Be-
fore Heaven, I’ve got somethin to tell ye.”

The noise upstairs became ouder, and the

porters and waiters began to rush up to see,

what was the matter, as Paul said:

“Who are you! What do you want with
me?”

“ I’m Snoopey,” returned the ragged man, in
a low, hurried tone. “ You’re Mr. an Beaver,
ain’t you?”

, “Yes,” reEIIied Paul, puzzled. “ But what do
you want? oney?”
“Not a cent,” said Snoopey, earnestly. “I
want to tell yer suthin’, mister. I heard it
"last night. There’s a lot tokill you and Larry.
1 tri to tell him, ut he wouldn’t listen to
inc—3’

The noise overhead was deafening1 now, and
down came a waiter, running as ard as he
could, yelling as he pamed:

“ Run!’ Run! They’re killing people!”

Out of the door he ran, and they heard a
great crash on the floor above.

The next moment Marcellus Skinner and Tom
rushed down the s'airs and ed out; while
a number of people made their appearance at
the head of the broad staircase struggling
hard to keep from being pushed down, and a

rfect tempest of shouts and curses could be

rd on the landing. ' _

Snoopey looked up, as if paralyzed With fear,

hi red to Paul:
an‘ngy 8 odl We’ll be killed here. Runl
run!” .
As he spoke, he clung to the oung man’s arm,

and the next moment down t_e stairs rolled a
living torrent of humanity, tripping and stum-
blin ,to come sweeping along the corridor to-
wa Paul and Snoopey.
The young man hurried out into the street
' t in time to escape being crushed. and the
fit person he saw was his uncle, looking very
pale, while Tom Trainor stood beside him,
mblin and appalled.
“Dont near them," whispered Snoo y,

:hnrryiiza on. “Take me to some
where kintalkquiet. Itellyeit ' be

worth to e.”
Paul  no longer. Somethin was
oing on which He did not understan , and

noopez, whoever he was, held the key to it.
He too Snoogey’s arm and hurried the tramp
, of! down a si 0 street to 'ven’s office where
, he took mm into the tum, locked the door
_ . and said:

\ “ Now I’m ready to.listen. 8a
« got to say, and be quick about i
Thus urged, Snoopey told him, after a great
deal of cross-questioning and explanation, a tale

that astonished Paul immeasurably.
It seemed that the tramp, after h ' what
'he had heard the prevmus evening, at Sk ner’s
g ' house, had made his escape unseen, and had
F: been hunting about ever since for one to whom
“he could tell his Secret. He had not_dared to
:alnear Terror Jim, of whom he stood in mortal

" .1, l

"what you’ve

 

    
 

it) \

'ust as the crowd rushed toward Room 17, leav- ,

 

“He’d ha’ got it out of me, sure, mister,” he
said. “You don’t know Terror Jim. He’d ha’
made me own 11 and go with him. But I give
him the slip, an I seen hiin this mornin’, with
a lot of his pals, go into that very house where
I found you.”

“Into the Berkely!” said Paul, amazedlyp

“ with a lot of tramps? They wouldn‘t let them
in. You must be mistaken.’

“I ain’t ” said Snoopey, earnestly. “ I seen
him and hem, all dressed up in new clone.
The ’d b’en shaved and cleaned up} so one
wou dn‘t know; but I know Terror im well
enough.”

Here their conference was interrupted by
some one turning the handle of the door, and
Paul opened it to admit Mr. Scriven, who said,
in an astonished wa :

“ Hallo! what’s this—what’s this? Who’s this
man, Paul and what’s he doing here?”

Paul told him and the old lawyer listened at-
tentive] till he ad finished, when he said:

“If t at’s the case, we must hold this man
fast. I just passed by the Berkel , and they’ve
been killing people there. By t a description
you give, the party that began the fight can be
spotted. Come along with me.”

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE INQUEST WITHOUT A CORPSE.

A cnown of people had gathered in the street
before the Berkely Hotel, and a strong squad of
policemen guarded the doors.

Every now and then an ambulance drove up
and men came out with stretchers, some of them
covered u with sheets, others carrying crushed
and muti ated men, who groaned at every mo-
tion of their bearers.

The old lawyer, accompanied by Paul and
Snoopey, the latter trembling in every limb and
ash pale, came to the door.

r. Scriven whispered something to the ser-
geant who commanded the men at the door, and
he answered:

“ Certainly sir. We only want to kee out
the roughs. These strikers are all roun ,' and
Mr. Skinner says they got u the row.”

“.18 he insidel—Skinner, mean,”askcd Mr.
Scriven; to which the sergeant replied:

“ Yes, sir- he and several more.” .

“ How did these people get hurt?” asked Paul
Van Beaver, in a low tone, as a stretcher passed
on .

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“A ,panic, they say. I don’t know. There
was a fight 11 stairs acmewhere, and tho poli-
ticians took a and in. One man’s dead, they
say, and serves him ri ht.” .

‘ Who’s that?” ask Paul.

“ A fellow they call the Man of Iron. He was
a great fighter, but they’ve laid him out, I hear.
The best of them catches it at last.” .

Mr. Scriven said no more, but beckoned to
Paul, and they went in.

The sergeant looked hard at Snoopoy.

“ Is that fellow with you?” he asked.

“He’s a witness,” replied Scriven, gravely.
“ I think we’ll get at the bottom of t is fig t
sooner than you expect, sergeant. Are there
plenfl of your men inside?” , .

“ 9 ca ’ ’3 there with the whole reserve,”
answered sergeant, who knew the old law or
well; and then they went in, and Scriven to
Paul quietly: .

“ eep your witness in a quiet corner. I’ll
take a room where we can lock him up till we
want him. 'You can’t trust those tramps. He
mtg go back on you at the last moment. ’

e went to the desk, where the clerks, looking
worried and excited, were trying to settle back
to their work, and speedil engaged a room not
far from the office, into w ich they got Snoopey
without attracting much notice, locked him in,
and then went up-stairs.

Here they were stopped by a policeman, but
a few words in his ear made him say:

“All right sir. The captain’s out yonder 'in
Room 17, wx h the coroner, trying to find out
what began the muss.”

Scriven led the way to Room 17, and found
two more policemen at the door, while inside.
the coroner sat at a tabl with a hastily gath-
ered jury on the other in e, and several men
were before him.

One of them was Marcellus Skinner, who was

th ;
“Kigge’lfi mmtgehebiod as that of a man

 

called Locke—a rate c . He was
the leader of this s e, and has incited several
riots alreo. y. He must have begun this one,

and got 9 worst of it. I have» known Mr.
Somers many years, and I am sure his story can
be depended on."

Paul looked into the room over the shoul-
ders of the policemen. and saw, lying on the
table, the figure of Larry Locke, the face all
covered With blood; and he said, in a tone of

horrbr: -

“My God! The fellow’s killed 1”

His uncle hear his voice, and turned his
head to favor him with a Fiance of great mall -
nity; but Paul and Scr van walked into tge
room, and the - old lawyergsaid to the coroner
who appeared to be  atolls intrusion of

m: ' :7 . . I . fl ‘ ' .

  
 
   
 
  

 

  

I Wm, Union committed”
   

   
   
    
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
   
    
     
   
    
  
   
   
   
     
     
   
    
   
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
   
       
 
  
     
     
    
 
   
     
    
    
  
  
  
 
   
   
    
 
     
  
  
    
   

whose evidence may throw light on this question
Which is the man they call Somers?”
The coroner lifted his eyebrows.
“This gentleman. i: called Somers,” he said,
inting to a large man who stood by Skinner.
‘He says that he was assaulted by this Locke.
and struck him with a ruler in self-defense.”
Scriven nodded absently. . I.
“Ay, ay, so that’s the man. Can we bring H},
in our witness? I expect to prove that this "
poor fellow on the table was decoyed here by
some pretext, on pu to murder him in the
crowd and confusion, and that the plot was
made up last night by Mr. Skinner and this
very man Somers who is a tramp and thief.”
ad a thunderbolt fallen the sensation could
not have been greater. .
The coroner stammered: f.
“ Mr. Scriven, sir, consider. This is a very ‘
serious accusation-”
“ I know it," returned the old lawyer, coolly. '
“ But I’m prepared to prove it. Don’t let them
out. Look at their faces.”
Marcellus Skinner and Somers, both deadly
pale, were staring open—mouthed at Scriven; —
but Skinner recovered himself enough to say,

indi antly:

“ t’s a vile con iracy, because I’ve taken
away my business tom him. Don’t listen to
him, Mr. Coroner.” ,

“ The law compels the gentleman to hear all
witnesses,” retorted Scriven, sharply. “ You
never took your business from me, sir, till I re-
fused to join you in oppressing this poor fellow
who lies dead there—” '

“ Don’t say dead,” interrupted Paul who had
been standing by the body on the table, unno- 
ticed, while this went on. “Don’t say dead. I A,” 'A
can feel his pulse beating.” ‘ *3-

The coroner looked disgusted and the jury still  ’,
more so, as well they might. ‘

“ What are you talking about, sir!” the coro—
ner said tartly. “ Are you a medical man!”

“ No,” responded Paul, as tartly' “ but I can
feel a pulse as well as any man. here is your. " ‘
doctor? This man’s not dead; he’s only stunned.” ’ *-

“ Go and call the surgeon,” said the coroner,
filthy, to a policeman at the door, “and you, n

. Scriven, bring up your witness and prove * 
what you’ve said, if you can.”

Here poor Larry on the table uttered a groan  "
that set all doubts of his living condition it .,
rest, and in a few minutes afterward the sur? .
geon hurried in from his duties down—stairs, and
after a short examination of Larry, observed,

d l : . _
rZHead like an elephant. B Jove. the skull " ,x
is not fractured, after all. He’ be sensible in a
little while.” ~ '
Paul uttered an exclamation of 3'0 , and  7
ner muttered a low curse, while r. Scn‘vni’ ,.

said: ,.
“ So much the better. He can tell who wad; , ,
with him, and how this thing came about, or ‘
I‘m very much mistaken.” ,3 '
In fact it was not very long after when In!»
ry 0 his eyes groaned, and said: ’ I
“ s that you, Mr. Paul? They double-banked, vi:
me,at last,di n’t the l But it-tookadmr
Where’s Maguire and utton 3" g V ..
Paul assisted him to a sittin position,and I"
looked around the room, aston' ed, say - '
“ What’s happened? What’s this?” .
. Scriven came close to him. " :
“ We thought you were dead.” he said. “ y :-
poor fellow, this is the coroner.” ‘
Iarry smiled rather ruefully. '
“ He s ve kind, I’m sure,” said the Mall at
Iron; “ but ain’t dead et.” " _‘ ,.
Then he glanced rou the room, and a 
frown rested on his face as he said, pointing at
Somers: . 
“ There’s the son of a gun that double-banked
me, and I can whip him any day.” I .
As bespoke, he actually rose from the  'v
as strong as ever, and was ing up to 
when the: ca tain of e police caught“ 
sou!

 

i.

 

arm saying, y:

“ That’ll do; none of that. You’re a
man, but you can’t fight here.”

Then the coroner, whoseemedtobesu V
beyond measure at the wonderful vi rd  
La , said to him: .

“ ou’re well named the Man of Iron. M
me why you came here!” , ‘ I ‘

“I came with Jim imandSteveBnttsn
rm” some“. mailer...“

, . “ ores o ‘ 
in his poc et and ' 3 .
it out, while Skinner and Somers looked on, " l',
much confused at themiscarriageoftheirphn.”
w‘u'lrtiingnitn said he th tary and

‘ a e or was a score ' w
he give me sum, andsetonmewithadoasn” 
more,” continued Larry, an . “ I’ll not '
deny the doubled-banked me, r. Coroner; {of
they too me oi! my guard; but I’ll say 
I’ll takehim and anytwoof 
can’t doitagain now. I knockedtwoof" 
stiff afore I went down, as it was, and all I 
wit?th t gtttlhe benign Dori ‘ " ’ 

' o 9 story I . ven ni f .
slipped an?)de the room, and the coroner  l
' ‘And you‘re sure youcameheretoineetfln

'1 

     
  
  
   
      
   
  
   
    
     
     

   
     
          
 

   

      

 

   

MW“, _,. . “but... .   .. ..  ..,.,. _.,_....., 
., , . s ‘. 2;.

/.

M0,. ~.,  -. ,..

Larry Locke, the M

»~... ... 1......»mw...“ ._ Hi.

 

“ Sartain,” responded Larry. “ What else
, could ,bnng me and my mates here? Where are
: they?’

" What names did you say?” asked the police 1

‘, captain.
' " Jim Maguire and Steve Sutton.
didn t got it a:: had as I did, Cap.”
The captain whispurcd Something to the coro-
ner, who left thc- room. when Skinner said:

I hope they

" Well, I suppose tin-rc’s no more necessxty for I

myl presence, is t; .crc .6"

Is mm, was (leciilezllv uneasy, but Somers in- E

stantly took alarm and growled:
“ Yes, there is. Me and you's in the same
boat. Stay here and see it out.”
Skinner Whispcrwl to him, but the disguised
tramp obstinntcly reiterated:
 ‘ “I tell you we’re in the same boat and we sink
, i or swim together. None of your games, Cap
Skinner. I’ve sailed with you store. ’
‘. The. captain of police. who had taken charge
‘ on the departure of the useless coroner listened
to the amiable conversation and stared, for his
esteemed friend Mr. Skinner was beginning to
loom up on him in rather a dubious light.

“ You can’t leave the room till the examina-
tion is over,” he said, awkwardly. “ Of course,
Mr. Skinner, nothing has appeared yet to impli-
cate you in an wa —”

“ I should ope not,” said Skinner, hastily.

when the affair began, and I ran into the street.
I should like to know why I can’t go out, cap-
tain ‘

“ Well, you see, you’re a witness, and it may
be necessary to cross-examine on,” said the
captain, stil more awkwardly. ‘As a favor to

. .2, ‘ mp, please remain, Mr. Skinner. We won’t be
" . very ion now.”
“ But ’ve got business,” objected Skinner.

. . “ If you want me you can send for me. I won’t

stag, unless I’m forced.”

. nd be was walkin toward the door when he
was confronted by 01 Scrivcn, who walked in,
longing a weazen-faced, ragged man, to whom he

Ii .
V ‘ " Is that the man?”
, “ Yes boss,” returned Snoopey prothly, but
ve ; “and yon’s Terror Jim on’t let

1‘! W -
, him nigh me, txiss, fur Godsake. He’s a bad

' 3 man, he is, a reg’lar terror.”

- “ Who IS this fellow i” asked the captain,
amused at the intrusion. “ Is this your Witness,
Mr. Scriven'!”

‘ “ Yes, sir,” replied the lawyer, (inletly; “ and
v . ave good witness, too. If you’l allow me to

ques'tl’on him before you, you will admit that he
knows a little of this affair.”

Terror Jim was glaring at Snoopey like a tiger
gloatin over a lamb, am Snoopey kept his eyes
caret y ave

Skinner, on the other hand, was staring at the
i; [little tram with an intent anxiety that showed
* " thalfého ha no idea what his evidence was going
to .

The captain bummed and hawed.

“ That is a very unusual course, Mr. Scriven.”
f: “ I know it, sir, and I only do it to save you
‘r ' tllfio troublef. I’veplfieen over tpe man’s evidence.

. pre er t, suggest t l6 questions.
 3/ 3%, no, no,” returned the other, hastily. “It
will save time.
. .i Scriven took in his trembhng witness and sat

» him down with his back to Terror Jim, remark-
: _as he did so:

, ,. - I“ hope, captain, that this witness will be pro-

“ tected from brcwbeating. He is a man of timid
, temperament, and this man Somers has tyran-
"' ‘n‘ised over him for years.”

‘ -. ,p f “ Certainly, certainly,” answered the captain

 and than the examination proceeded under old
ltfiorivenh skillful questioning, till Snoope bad
 pointed out Some in all his glory 0 new
,olotbcsand shavcn ace, as the tramp, Terror
,_ Jim and added: .

‘4'” you want the names of the pals Terror
Jim 'broulgflht with him, I kin give on them; but
" gentlemen, hi me, so they
_, Won’t see me. -

‘ ' “ Why so?" asked the captain
" ,fi, -," Snoopey shuddercd violently.

-’ r'4‘1‘hey d kill me wherever they found me,”

1h: said in a low tone, at which Terror Jim

bed.
A  you‘d better believe they’ll do it any-
. how, you, Snoopey,” he said, with concentrated
: . ity. “ I wouldn’t be in your shoes when
.  , go on the road next, Snoopey.”
3‘3; ' " S y tried to grin, but it was a sickly fail-
, ,urc, Scrivcn sai :
-, “ Much obli ed to you, Somers, but we’re not
‘f’e _ ,glug to send is r fellow adrift after he’s
3‘ ‘ d his story.

9 won’t go on the road any
more.
 Snoopey seeined to be much comforted by the
. alliance; but he had not sufficient courage to
meet the eyes of Terror Jim, who was at a white
, heat of anger at his former parasite, and looked
rat if hefound it hard work torefrain from rush—
~  at him on the spot.
_ at the old lawyer had laid his plan of action,
>35 ‘ ""1 222d" “3?? “ithighl‘i‘é‘éi' ’2"? '8‘“
g “was ning oo qu wa to o,
"  , Moburvcd to him: *
' ' "‘Ofcoumthis has been an informalaflair
'j as flirough. No one had any jurisdiction from

 

 
  
   
 
 
   
     
   
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
    
    
   
    
  
 

Go on, sir, 0 on.”

 

 

 

!
.~ ’

“my; .
h ’. v, i. .

“ I was on the outside stairs, with Mr. Trainor, g

f the beginning. The coroner certainly had not,
, because there was no body, and there is no
; magistrate here. But you are a police—officer,
and as a citizen I demand the arrest of Mr.
- Skinner, here, on a conspiracy to kill, till he can
. be taken before a regular magistrate.”

E Skinner heard him and uttered a cry of rage:
1 “Mel Commit me!”

i “ Yes, you and your friend. Somch too," was
the quiet rcply. “Mind, captain, I make the
charge, and you’ll have to do your duty.

1

l the principals of the plot, and they are not going
’ to get of! so easy.”
, ‘ Where is Vnn Slack?” cried the angry Skin-
} ner at once. “This is an outrage, captain. Are
: you going to take the word of this miserable

i tramp against mine? This is an outrage of the g
on dare to arrest me, I’ll ‘

worst kind, and if
make you sweat for also imprisonment.”

j. The captain actually hesitated for a. moment;
for the influence of the rich ironmaster was not
a thing that he dared lightly to go against; but

, he was also afraid of Scriven, whom he knew as

i an old and sharp lawyer. To please both parties,

I he said to Skinner:

I “ You know I can’t help myself, Mr. Skinner.

. If this gentleman makes a charge, I‘m bound to
do in duty. If he can’t prove it you can sue

I him or false imprisonment, and get heavy

damages; but I’ve got to arrest you on a charge

like that.”

Skinner hit his lips and eyed Paul Van Beaver
sava ely, saying: ,

“ his is all your work, you sneaking hound.
You think to bring me to terms by trum ing up
false charges against me, with that ol petti-
fogger over there; but I'll be even with you yet.
See if I don’t.” Then, to the captain, he said

more coolly:
Jugge Roberts
q

“I’m ready to go with you.
will settle t is t ing peretty darn nick. I
charge this fellow Loc , since they didn’t kill
him, with being t 6 man who got u all this
riot, and I demand that you take im into
custody too. We’ll see who comes out at the
top of the heap yet. And when we’ve settled
that, we’ll try what a little charge of conspiracy
against that interesting youth over there wil

c.

He indicated Paul with his finger as he spoke;
but old Scrivcn said:

“That will be the best thing We can all do.
There is no one here who can deal with this case
according to law; and the sooner we get before
‘ some one who can, the better it will be for us.

I like to see things done regular and ship-
} shape.”

“Ay, ay,” rowled Skinner, bitterly. “I’ll

get you ship-s ape before I have done With you.”

 

 

I
‘ CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE POWER OF CAPITAL.
. As the ironmaster spoke, the captain of o-
| lice laid his hand on his arm. saying coaxing y:
3 “Now. come, come, Mr. Skinner, this is all
, talk. Let’s go along to_ether. Do you insist
’ on your charge against t is man, Locke?”
“Certainly,” was the reply. “And what’s
more, I demand that you put the irons on him.
, He’s a desperate character as we all know.”
I “ There is not the least necessity for that,” in—

terrupted Scriven. “ I am his counsel, and I
will be responsible that he comes along quietly.
If on handcuff one, handcufl‘ both.”

he captain put an end to the discussion by

taking S inner by the arm and saying to his

so cant:

‘ See that the others are brought along quietly.
, Come, entlemen.”

And e left the building with Skinner, finding
a great crowd at the entrance of the hotel in the
street, composed mainly of workingmen, who
wpre lstaring at the front of the house, but quite
si ent y.

When they saw the ironmaster coming out,
arm in arm with the captain of police, they
raised a. murmur, but no demonstration other
than this was made, for it was evident that they
had not been fully informed» of what had trans-
pired in the hotel.

No one knew glen-or J im, and as for Paul and
Larry, they ha remained behind in the hotel
with some officers, till Larry could pay a visit
to the wash-room of the house, where Ispeedi-
ly removed from his face every trace of 9 late
perilous experience.

Paul was amazed

 

 

l

._4__

at the stoicism and endur-

‘ ance of the Man of Iron. In spite of a beating

that would have laid up most men for weeks,

he walked steadily to the wash-room, and when

he had removed the blood from his face, no one

would havo known that he had been in a fight,

but for the back of his head, which had to be

ornamented by the polio with strips of
luster to prevent “the bl from several cuts
rom oozinfi‘out again.

Larry loo ed at himself in the glass, and re-
marked with some pride:

“ Not a one of ’cm could hit me in the face,
arter all. Mr. Paul. If I’d onl known what
was cumin the wouldn’t have one as much as
they did. at don’t want Molly to hear of
this,.or she’ll think I’m dead and some fool will
be me togo and tell her.” _

“'I’ll see that their not needlessly alarmed,”

 

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an of Iron.

The .
rcst we can get hold of afterward; but here are '

\.

said Paul. “Now the sooner we get to court;
and get your case dismissed, the better.”

The policeman who had been attending them
nodded to say he was ready, and they walked
out of the hotel, Scriven having taken hisde—
parture, along with Skinner, to be on hand in
court.

When they got to the doorway of the lzorcl
they found the street full, as the ofhcis had
done before them, but experienced a diil'ercnt
reception.

No sooner did the form of Larry Locke make
its appearance, his hat on the back of his head to
conceal his in 'uries, while he walked arm in
arm with Paul, than a tremendous cheer rung
through the street and the workmen made a rush
: to the stc. s to shake his hand and congratulate
him whi e a dozen voices called out:

“ y, boy, we heard ye was dead.”

Larry, looking rather pale, now that his ex-
citement had worn off, was yet able to answer:

“ I’m worth a dozen dead men yet, boys.”

Then the policeman. with him whispered:

" Get them out of the way, and et’s get to‘
court.”

But the men would not get out, and be n to-
press on mpegohceman in a way that s owed
they suspec harm from his presence, while-
several voices cried:

“ Larry Locke ain’t done nothing. What’s he
arrested for?"

And as they all looked excited, the policeman.
drew out his club, and said to Paul, hurriedly:

“ Call them men ofl, or there’ll be a row, if I
rap for help. We has our orders, and the rest
are close by, you know.”

In. fact, Paul, looking back into the hotel,
could see the hats of the reserve platoon coming
that way, and saw that the least imprudcnco
would brin on another fight, which might ter-
minate family for several there.

“ You must get them quiet,” he said to Larry.
“ Why can’t t ey be quiet, just as we are win--
ning the game?”

‘Larry, who had been shaken more than be‘
cared to show by the blows he had received
nevertheless had preserved his coolness, an
made a peculhr signal with his hand, which pro.
cured instant silence.

Then he called out to the tumultuous crowd:

“Boys, I’m all ri ht, and the strike will be
over to-morrow. elly & Barr have left the.
Union, and open up to-morrow.”

At this there was a tremendous shout; but it
ceased the moment Larry signaled a second
time. to say:

“And now, boys, I want you to go home.
I’ve got to go to court to make a complaint
against some men who assaulted me inside here.
The policeman is with me to take care of me-
The bosses had nothing to do with the assault.
and my friend, Mr. Van aver, and myself are
now going to court to secure the punishment of
the men who did. What I want you all to do is
to go home and keep out of the streets. In the
morning the works will all open, with the ex-
ception of Skinner’s. If he stands out another
day, it will surprise me. Now please let us go
on quietly; so that no one can say that Amer-
ican Kni hts of Labor behave badly. Good-day
to you al .”

The short address had an instant effect, and
the men dispersed, cheering vigorously, while
Larry and the Herman, with Paul by the side
of the prisoner, walked away toward the court,
followed by a crowd of men who seemed actu—
ated by curiosity alone, for the kept at a little
distance and behaVed with pe ect propriety.

In this way they arrived at the court-room,
where Justice Roberts had been holding court
ever since the strike had assumed an aspect that
forcboded danger'to the town.

They found the doors strongly guarded. and
as soon as Larry and Paul had entered the
building the police stop an one from follow—
ing them handling the r clu in a menacin
manner, that plainly showed they only wan
a chrnoe to use them.

There was considerable grumbling at this; but

the guardians of the ate were inexorable. and
"Larry went u be observed to Paul,
with some bitterness:
l “ That‘s about the justice a laboring man gets
from the world in'general. Here am I, half—
killed by the men they hired to slug me, and
they won’t let my friends in, while on can bet
the court-room will be full of 01 Skinner’s
people. Workingtnen won’t have their rights
till they have a word to say to the courts as well
as the richest bow in the land.”

“ But they have that DOW,” said Paul ,ently,
for the implied censure of Larry struck is sen-
sibility as a lawyer, who believed in the su re-
macy of the law over every one. “The aw
knows no difference of persons, and you’ll find
that, you know when we get into court.”

Larry shook his head a little incredulonsly,
but followed his friend into the court-room
where Paul was surprised to find, as Larry had

redicted, quite a number of people whom he
knew to be friends of the ironmaster, while
Skinner himself was talking to the judge at the
other end of the room.

Old Scriven was seated by a table looking
over same law books, and as soon on La an-
terod the

 

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comb-room, Skinner left the judge, at -

 

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25

 

 Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

a word from the oflcial, and went down below
the bench, where he stood beside his lawyer,
Van Slack, who looked foxy and sedate as usual,
as if he had a sure case.

The policeman in charge of the Man of Iron
left him and Paul as soon as he got to Scriven,
who motioned the young man to a seat by him,
while Mr. Van Slack instantly rose to his feet,
cleared his throat, and looked expectantly at the
judge, as if about to make an address of some
sort.

Paul, a little uzzled at what he could possibly
have tosay int e face of such a plain case on
conspiracy as that by which Larry had been
trepanned, waited for the judge to Open court.

Presently the magistrate—a solemn-looking

rso —said:

“New, brother Van Slack, we are ready to
hear our com laint."

“ r. Van S ck pointed to Larry Locke, who
had just taken his seat, and began at once:

“ May it please your Honor, my client, a well-
known and highly respected citizen of this town
carries on the business of steel-making accord-
ing to the Bessemer process. He employs. a
large number of poor men who depend on him
for their wages. These men have, until lately,
been contented and happy, till the prisoner,
Locke, came to this place and conspired, with
some other people, to us unknown, to injure the
business of my client. He entered the mill not
three Weeks ago with a mob of ruffians, and
told Mr. Skinner that he must pay his men
higher wages. On Mr. Skinner informing him
that he was not in his employment, and there-
fore that he could not treat with him, this man
Locke made a signal to the employees of Mr.
Skinner, previously concerted with them, at
which they all left the works, and when Mr.
Skinner attempted to stop them, set on him and
treated him With the giggsest indignity at_ the
instigation of this man ' ke. Since that time,
as we all know, the men of this town have been
on strike, and although man of them are anx-
ious to return to wor , and ave so stated, this
man Lo~ke has mans to deter them from so
doing, and has inci them to violence. There-
fore,'your Honor, I move for his commitment
on a charge of cons iracy to in'ure the business
of my client, Mr. kinner. T at is to say, I

ive notice that I shall, so move as soonasI
gave roved my charge by the proper Wit-
nesses. ’

The 'udge turned a sour countenance on Larry

‘and as ed him:

" Well, what have you got to say to all this?”

Larry was about to answer, when old Scriven
pinched his arm, rose and said quietly:

“I appear for Mr. Locke, and demand an ex-
amination. We might waive it and elect to go
before the Grand Jury on ball, but we prefer to
meet the charge at once.” . . _ .

The judge leaned back in his chair With a
Weary air, saying:

“ Bring on your witnesses, Mr. Van Slack.
What do you wish to prove first?”

“ First we intend to prove that the risoner is
one of the notorious rumans called ights of
Labor, who have done so much mischief in the
West, your Honor. Possibly brother Scriven is
willing to admit that to save time.”

He spoke sneeringly, but Scriven said:

“ I’m not pressed for time. Call your wit-
nesses. How are you goingmto rove that he is
a Knight of Labor, and t t t 9 Knights are
the rufiians you mention.”

Van Slack smiled derisively, and then called:

“John Sloman, come into court.” . .

Larry started slightly, and ground his teeth
as one of the men he had sworn into _the Order
since the strike had begun Ilouched into court,
his head hanging down, and looking Very much
ashamed of himself, but still coming forward to
the bench. .

He was properly sworn, and testified that he
had been admitted as a knight of Labor on a
certain night that week, and that the man'who
had occu ied the master’s chair and administer-
ed the ob igation to him had been Larry Locke.
Van Slack was going to uestion  as to the
tenets of tkhe Order, when Scriven interposed an
ob ection sayin :

‘j‘Your onor, I have not wanted to make
any litigious opposition in this case. but we
reall are going too fast. We are putting the
cart hetero the horse. They must, before they
can do anything else, show that my client _has
in ured their business. As for his affiliations
With private societies, they have nothing to do
with is case. I  to the further examina-

‘ tion of this Witness. ’

Mr. Van Slack rose to reply, with the usual
sneer on his face.

“I expected this, your iHonor, and have
come pie ared for it. I have proved by the
witness t iat locks is a member of this ob—
noxious-J

“ 1 object to the counsel applying epithets not
justified by the endenoe,” mterruged Scriven.
“ There is no proof that the  ts of Labor
are anythinginoi‘e than a part y lawful and
pro 1‘ organization.” _ _

an Slack smiled again, still more derisively.

“Exactly. They are angelsof figodness, of
course. How comes it, then, that t governor
has had to call out troops to protect the peace of

 

this town on account of the menacin attitude
of these same men. I submit, your onor, that
if I am not allowed to examine my own witness,
we might as well surrender to these ruflians at
once.

The judge had been listening to the colloquy
silently; but his face showed which side he was

e

on, as said shortlly:

“Objection disa owed. Go on, Mr. Van
Slack.’

“I exce t, our Honor,” said Scriven; and

then Van lac ursued:

“ Now, Mr. gloman, please tell us, what
are the objects of the Knights of Labor,
iris  as you know? What are they organized

or

Sloman hesitated.

“Dunno as I oughter say, boss,” he said. ' We
was sworn—”

“ Ah, yes, a secret society," said the lawyer,
quietly. “Then, if you were obliged to commit
murder at the bidding of the Master Workman,
you would not dare tell the court?”

“ But we warn’t sworn to do no sich thing.
sir ” said Sloman.

IZIere Larry whispered to Scriven, who rose,

sa ing:
‘T ere is no objection to the witnem telling
what he knows of the objects of the Knights,
your Honor. There is no secrecy about them.
Ve are ready to admit that their objects are to
raise the condition of the workingmen of this
country in the scale of civilization, and to ena-
ble them to live in greater comfort.”

“ And to foment strikes, I presume,” said Van
Slack, sneeringly.

Here the witness broke in:

“ No sich thing, sir. We was warned to have
nothin to do with any strike, unless it was or-
dered y the Genera Executive Board. The
Order is dead ag’in’ strikes, sir, as fur as I
know, and Mr. Locke knows that better‘nl do.”

Larry whispered again to Scriven, who said,
short-1y:

“Go ahead. It isn’t legal; but you can’t
make anvthin of it.”

Then Van S ack went on with his questioning,
and managed to confuse the witness so that be
admitted that Larry Locke, when the men .were
willing to give in, and go back on the old scale
of wages, had been the one person who encour-
a them to stand fast.

ith this admission Van Slack closed, and
Scriven began to crossexamine the reluctant
Sloman.

“Who induced you to come here?” he asked.
sternly.

Sloman looked puzzled, and the lawyer re-
peated the question in a different form, as he
went on: _

“ I mean, who got you to come here to swear
against Larry Locke? Did any one pay you for
your trouble, and how much?”

He asked the question at random, but was sur-
prised to see the confusion of the witness, who
staminci'ed:

“ I don’t want to swear ag’in’ nobody. Mr.
Skinner told me that—”

“I object ” broke in Van Slack. “ That’s not
evidence. 0 don’t want to hear what any
one told him.”

“ Well then, how much did Mr. Skinner pay

u?” asked Scriven, boldly, convinced, from

he man’s blunder, that there was something be-
hind his confusion.

Sloman hesitated, but finally answered:

“ He didn’t y me notben, but he promised
to make me a oreman if I’d tell the secrets of
the Order; but I ain’t done it yet.”

This time it was Scriven's turn to smile, as
he said softly:

“In-deed? So he promised to make ou a
foreman if you would sell out Larry Locke. I
believe that you have taken an oath to keep sa-
cred the secrets of the societ to which you be-
long. How do on reconc' with your con-
seience your coming here to reveal things which
you swore never to tell?”

The witness trembled violently and cast a
fngtened glance at Larry. who shook his head
at riven, as if to warn him from going any
ifgrther in that line. Scriven took the hint, say-

fiWell, never mind that. You admit you
took the oath of secrecy, do you not? Did you,
or did you not?”

Sloman shivsred, as he said in a low voice:

“I did, but I ain’t broke it yet."

‘fAnd so all you have told the court of the
meme workings of the society you represent is
not true?” asked Scriven eying him closely.

“I ham’t told no lies,” said Slocum, dogged-
ly; “but I hain’t told no secrets I oughter
to keep. Have I, Mr. Locke?”

In his innocence he ap aled to Looke. Who
sheek his head with a 100!!!th some scorn, as he
amWered, in defiance of all rules:

“No, no: ou’ve told nothing.”

“That wi do for you, then,” said Scriven,
as he stepped down.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
A LEGAL 'i'iL'r.
MR. VAN SLACK consulted with \his clients.
moment before he called another witness, while
Scriven said to Paul in a whisper:

‘.') ‘

"and when they set on me and nearly killed 

please ?"

 

“ Van Slack is getting bothered; but he knows
he has the judge with him, and that is a good
deal. He wants to discredit us before we make
our complaint."

latesently Van Slack cleared his throat, and
sai :

“ We have proved that the prisoner is a.
Knight of Labor, and that he has prevented
men from oing to work, who were quite willing
to do so. be men he prevented from working
were in the employment of my client, Mr.
Skinner. I shall now call Mr. Skinner himself
to the stand, to prove the damage he has sus-
tained. Mr. Skinner, please take the witnes-
chair.”

Skinner stepped up, stout and pompous, hav-
ing quite recovered from the confusibn and
alarm he had felt when Snoopey had first been
brou ht before the coroner. One reason of this
was t at the virtuous Snoopey had disappeared,
and though Skinner feltscmewhat uneasy about
him, Van Slack had bolstered up his courage by
telling him that the evidence of such a charac-
ter would need a good deal of corroboration, be-
fore it could be received as credible.

So the ironmaster stepped into the chair,
held up his hand and kissed the Bible, with a ,
solemnity that was quite imposing, when his
lawyer began to examine him.

He drew from him his name and age, and the
position he had occupied in the mi]
father’s death; found, for the benefit of the
judge, that he was a church~warden of the rich. ._
est church in the town. and showed, in his first 5;
questions, that MarcellusSkinner was a member - ‘
of society who was universally respected. , .

Larry listened to the testimon with a bitter .2.
smile; but he was surprised t at his lawyer

made no objection to the lovely record Skinner i, 

was making for himsclf. At last he whispered:

“ Why don’t ye stop him telling those lies!” ‘

Scriven smiled slightly, and returned. , '

“ If you want to manage the case, try it. ' It.
not, let me alone.” ‘»

And Larry had to sink back in his chair, and
listen to the e(praises of Mr. Skinner, while the
judge beam on the rich man, and every now ‘
and then scowled at the r one.

Presently Van Slack egan to come to the “if
history of the strike, and asked Skinner in his v
most insinuatin manner: . v

“ You know t e prisoner, Locke?" ' J 4: .

“I do. I have known him from a boy, to the " ‘
time he left my Works, after failing to make the
men go on strike.”

Scriven looked up, as if inclined to objecfij
but thought better of it, and Skinner p ‘
under the questions of his counsel:

“ I discharged him from the works then, and
he assaulted me and broke two of my ribs. 33,
dint of bringing in a number of witnesses, who
swore falsely that I struck him first, he got 
the punishment he deserVed for that; but when. '
he came back and succeeded in gettin mytnen‘
to strike again, it was too much. roughoufi»
the strike he has been the leader of the man, '

‘.

   
  
  
 

the day they went on strike, I saw Locke en-
couraging them to do their worst. To-day he
came into the hotel, and got into afight With
some men, without. any cause, and we fall
thought that he had been killed by them.

seems, however, that he got off. He is the man
who has made all the trouble in this town; who .
set on the mob to destroy Kelly & Barr’s milk-,2“
and who has done all he can to hurt the basins.
on which our men live.”

Then Van Slack gave up his witness, and Mr.
Scriven rose, with his sweetest smile, to era-p
examine, saying:

“Ah, Mr.-—ah—Skinner—ah-—I believe your
are the son of the late Mr. Ski. ner, who founded!
the Eureka Mills. Are you not?”

“ I am, sir,” was thegruflreply, as n: r.
stared at him fixedly. v! ,

“ es. Well. will you be kind to
tell us w ether 'you are the sole owner 1%.
mills at present - .

The 'udge pricked up his ears, and Skinner
coloring deeply as he replied, in his stiflest times: a:

“ I am the sole owner, sir. Do you doubt it"

Scriven smiled, and dangled his glames to and _
fro, as he mid: ,

“ You must not ask me questions. It is 10
me to ask, and you to answer. You say 
are thesole owner. Do you mean absol ‘ I
Are the mills yours, to buy or «a as you

Skinner hesitated a moment, and then said:

“ I don’t want to sell them. As long as“
live, they are mine.” .

“ Answer my question, sir, and no more
sion !” thundered the lawyer. changing his man-s
ner entirely. “ Are the mills yours to count
you please, or not? Remember, you are’m,.
oath.” . "Jr '

Skinner turned purple, but rememberth
facts in the possession of the old lawyer, he car.
not dare to lie, and said slowly: .  _

“ They are not, under the termsofmyfam
will. You know that.” -

“You mean to say, then. that you are what“
A tenant for life of the millaar what?”

“ You might call it a tenant for life.” was that
reluctant admission of Skinner, at which ‘

I;

 

 
    
 

since his 7 ‘

     

 
  
  

  
  
   
  
    
 

     
  
    
  
    
 
  
 
 
 

   
  
  
 

 
   
  
   
  
   
   
 

      
   
        
     
  
   
   
   
 

   
    
    
  
   
  

  
  

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‘ r ' course that is your right. Go on, but

.7.» m. . v- a n --  . w ~-. "-

" ' sews“, "'

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

countenance of the jud chan ed rce tibl
and be cleared his throng.e g pe p y,
“ And in case of the business being injured to
such an extent that you Would have to sell, to
whom would the money belon i” asked ScriVen.
Skinner hesitated, and at
voice:
“ You ought to know. You drew the will.”
riven smiled.
“ That is not the question. His Honor the
judge knows nothing of this, and I intend to get
t in evidence that you are not the sole )arty in
interest, and therefore are not damag alone.
Who is the rson to whom the property reverts
after your eath?”
Van Slack jum
“ Your Honor, move that all this be stricken
‘ out. It is entirely irrelevant to the case. We
have proved injury at the hands of this Larry

up excitedly:

I Locke; and my learned brother wants to show

that some one else is injured too. I submit that
this line of questions is entirely useless and
frivolous.”

The judge screwed up his face, saying:

“I think Brother Van Slack is right.
are you trying to get a . Mr. Scrivent”

Scriven answared at once:

“ We intend to prove that this man Skinner,
so far from being the virtuous character he
represents himself to be, was, but a few years
.since, a tramp and a vagabond, who only suc-
ceeded in getting his father to forgive him by

What

 _ robbing his me how, Mr. Paul Van Beaver, who
9 ,is in court.

I ’e intend to prove that this accu-
sation against Locke is part of a plan to fore-
stall the evidence we are prepared to introduce,
of a, conspiracy on the part of this man Skinner
and his accomplice, the man Somers, to murder

. Locke and Van Beaver together, in order that
Skinner might be able to enjoy the estate, of

'thh be is at present only the life tenant, in
nmetuity. We intend to prove all this, sir
' no time, and I demand that we be allowa-

, to prove it in our own way, according to the
rules of evidence. ”

- The udge screwed up his face aslf he began to
think iiferently of the case, as he said slowly:
“You are ex ting to prove a good deal, it

' ‘. seemstome. Bro her Scriven. As far as attacking

the credibility of the witness is concerned, of
6 care
what you ask, and how you ask it.”

Scriven, With a triumphant glance at Van

' ‘1 Slack, continued:

_ '“ To whom does the mill property revert after
-your death?”

-   Skinner, thin cornered, answered:

“ To my gophew, Paul Van Beaver.”
. 9' II it no a fact that you cannot sell the mill
without his consent, and that, if it be
he is to receive half of the income out of
the money?”
v , “It is,’ was the almost inaudible answer, ac-

 

" e‘ oémpanied by a glare at Paul, that bespoke his

 Hr. Skinner.

Ilium hatred.
Scrivcn cleared his threat in his turn, and

‘ took a look at the notes he had prepared for the

am.

' 3 “Then the worst injury that could occur to
 from the success of this strike, would be
‘ compulsory sale of the mills; and on could
as sell them without the consent 0 Mr. Van

 

:. Skinner gave an amrmative grunt, but said

nothing more. .
- “Ah, yes, we are getting alon

very nice] ,
Now, will you pease tell

to

if}: curt whether you have, since the death of your

father, contributed anything to the support of

7 your nephew, Mr. Van Beaver, who is the rover-

_, owner of the mills?”
) ',,Van Slack rose sin.
I . “ I object, your onor. That has nothin to
 do with the case, and no one knows that be ter
,. filial! Brother Scriven. I confess I am quite sur-
' to hear an old practitioner like him in
go in such irrelevant questions, that he knows
mm be ruled out.”
n “The judge nodded:
> “Objection sustained.”
Scriven, not in the least abashed, went on:
‘fl “ In the event of your death, you have told us
your'nephew inherits the property. In the even
of)“; death, who would own it?”
“ I should absolutely. You know that as well
.I. You drew the will.”
“Exactly. In the event of Mr. Van Beavor’s
xdhth. you would own the mill absolutely. Iiis
would be an advantage to vou t”
;' “No more than mine to him. We ain’t either
of us gushing over with love for each other. I
Egress; that s the reason he helped the strikers.
'-’ wants to force me to sell the mill.”
Scriven let him go on, and then observed:
' “ I move to strike out all that part of the wit-
;, lane’s gamer that contains inferences, your

r.
. The jud nodded again:
' “8th out, of course.”
‘ Then, to Skinner, with a little lea affection
fithan he had hitherto shewn, he said shortly:
"-A  i“Answer the uestionl directly, and don’t
. «under to other t, ings.”

 

 Skinner turned a shade redder at the tone

d the judge, but made no reply; while Scriven
, unit, on, in his smoothest manner, the iron-

 

\

 

ast said in a low ,

 

master watching him keenly, and evidently
setting his wits to work against those of the
old lawyer.

“Mr. Skinner,” ursued Scriven, “please to
tell the court whet er the wages paid by you to
your men, at the time the strike occu red, are
the same as are aid in other places, where
iron-founding is a )usincss?”

Skinner soowled at him, as he replied sullen-

y“ I’m paying the same as every one else in the
town.”

“ In the town. But is it not a fact that, in
Ohio, they are paying higher wages than you
were giving when the strike occurred f”

“I don’t know anything about it," was the
irritable reply. “If they want to get them
high wages you tell of, why don’t they go to
Ohio? i ain’t hindering them.”

“Exactly. Now, sir, please tell the couit
whether you are paying the men in your factory
or mill the same wages as you Were paying
three months ago or not! I want adirect an-
swcr.”

“ No, I ain’t: and what‘s more I ain’t a-going
to,” snapped out Skinner.

“ Is it not a fact dint, since you have acquired
control of the mill, you have reduced wages
tw nty-iive per Cent. 9” pur ued the old lawyer,
(‘3 ing his witness narrowly.

“ Yes, it is, and I’m going to stick to it.” said
Skinner savagely. “ I told them we were losing
money at the old scale, and they all agreed to
come down to the new. I gave them their
cholico between that, and shutting down the
inil .”

“ Did all of your hands accept the reduction?”

“ Yes, they did, and that‘s what r’iles:me
now, to have them go back on their words.”

Skinner straightened up as he spoke, and
looked as virtuously indignant as he could,
while the judge blew his nose, to conceal any in-
terest he niignt feel in the case.

“ Did all the men accept the reduction?” pur-
sued Scriven insinuating y. “ Remember that
you are on oath, sir, and tell the exact truth.
Did all the men in your works, without excep-
tion, take the lower wages or not? I want a
direct, truthful answer.”

Skinner wriggled in his chair, and then rap-

out:

“Yes, they did. All but the cranemen, un-
der that Larry Locke. Now you’ve got it, and
what do you make of it?”

Scriven cast a glance, at the judge to see
what he thought of the matter; but the omcial’s
face was inscrutable, and the old law or Went
on, in the same insinuating manner as fore:

“ Ex-actly. The cranemen refused to take
the lower wages. How many of them were
there as near as you remember i”

“Maybe adoren; maybe less. Couldn’t say.”

“And those cranemen; you (paid them the
old rate of wages, I presume, an are still pay-
ing them.”

‘ No such thing. I bounced the whole lot,
and got new men in their laces. There isn’t
one of them here but that fe low Locke.”

“And as a matter of fact, all that the men
in your employment are now striking for, is
to get the same rate of wages they Were re-
ceiving when you cut them down?”

Scriven t the matter in this aha on pur-
pose; and kinner saw the int an attempt-
ed! to explain, but the ol lawyer cut him
0

“ Answer my question, yes or no, and re-
member you are on oath.”

“ Yes, then,” was Skinner’s 1y.

'Ii‘hein Seriven turned tothe judge, and said

u at y:
q “ Your Honor, on the admission of Mr. Skin-
ner the men on strike are only trying to get
bac the we es the have always received, till
Mr. Skinner imsel cut them down. I submit
that, on his own showing, they are engaged in a
rfectly lawful and reasonable action, nd that
he char 6 of conspiracy to destroy hi business
cannot 1 el I moveto ismiss the com laint.”

The jud bummed and hawed a litt e.

“ I hard y think it would be fairtodismiss the
complaint at this stage of the case. The plaintifl
may be able to Prove that the defendant com-
mitted acts of v olence that injured him, though
the combination of men may have been made
for a lawful purpose. Let Mr. Van Slack go
on, and bring any other witnesses he may haVc,
to prove a conspiracy to injure.”

an Slack, looking rather less confident than
he had done, told the iromnaster to step down,
when Larry whispered to Scrchn:

“ Ain’t you going to make him tell anything
nEOirer’about double-banking me, and all the rest
0 t ‘

Scriven shook his head.

" All in geod time.” was all the answer that he
deigned to the impatient Man of Iron. Paul
Van Beaver got close to Larry and pinched his

arm whispering:

“ Leave it all to Mr. ScriVen. He understands
the case perfectly.”

And it seemed that he did, for Van Slack had
to hold quite a long conversation with his client,
in a whisper before he called the next witness.
\Vhen he uttered the name “ James Somers,”
oven Paul was surprised, for he had never

/

 

thought that the lawyer would dare to call a.
man of such notorious character.

But Van Slack was bound to get in Terror
J im’s evidence before it could be discredited by
the charge which he knew was going to be
brought against him as soon as the first case
was over; and the ex-tramp ste ped to the wit—
ness-chair, looking respectab e in his new
clothes, and his recently shaved face, and took
the oath.

He announced his name and said that his oc~
cupation was that of a seamen. That he had
known the plaintiff many years ago, when they
were both in the merchant service, and had re-
cently renewed the acquaintance. That he had
been in the Berker House that morning, when
Larry Locke had entered, with a gang of men,
and had assaulted him without any provocation,
save that he was a friend of what Larry had
called “the bosses.” That he had t ied to keep
from a fight, but that, when Larry assaulted
him, he had been compelled to take up a ruler
in self-defense, and had knocked the man down.
That he had been in a crowd the day before,
when he had heard Larry inciting the men on
strike to burn the mills of Kelly & Barr, and
especially that he had heard him tell them to
look, for Marcellus Skinner and to “lay him

3

All this Mr. Somcrs swore to. with the mest
refreshing ecolncss, and Scriven interposed no
objection, while Larry fidgetcd on his seat, as
the stream of lies lioWed on, and Was very near-
ly interferin once or twice, in his anger, at the
falsehoods to (1.

Paul managed to keep him quiet till Scriven
arose to crossexamine, and the 01d lawyer b9
gun at once.

“You say your name is Somers.
ever have another namet”

The tramp fidgeted uneasily in his seat, and
growled out:

“ Not as I knows on. People may have given
me nick-names. I ain’t to blame for that,
am I?”

And what was the particular nick-name that
people gave you, if you have no objection to
telling the court.’

Terror Jim lifted his head with some ride.

“Some calls me Terror Jim, and ot era the
Smasher. But I never took no other name than
Somers myself.”

“And why did they call you Terror Jim?”
“ Because they Were afraid of you, or because
you were afraid of them?”

The ex-tramp laughed. .

“’Cause they was afeard of me in course. I
never seen the man I turned in back on.”

Did you

“ Did you get that name on ip-board, or on
shore?”

Jim cast a surly glance at the other, as ho
growled:

“ Ashore.”

“And what do you do for a living ashore!
Please tell the court.”

“Sometimes one thing'
Whatever I kin git to do.”

“ Is it not a fact that you are a tramp and a
vagagiond, who has no visible means of subsist-
ence

“ No, it ain’t. I’m in-Mr. Skinner’s employ-
ment; and I’m an honest man, and just as re-
spectable as you are.”

“ How long have you been in Mr. Skinner’l
employment?"

“ Couldn’t say. Some years.”

“ Oh, some years. When he first took you
into his employment, was he the owner of the
mills he now works?”

“ In course he was. What (1’ 6 take me fort”

“Are you aware that Mr. S inner has only
had those mills for about six months? Are you
sure that you have been in‘ his employment for
more than a year?”

Jim saw that he had made a mistake, and be-
gan to hedge.

“ I don’t know nothen about that. I alien
thought he owned the mills. Mebbe he didn’t.
Anyway, I’m in his employment, now.”

‘ Since when?”

“ Told ye I didn’t know. Some years.”

“ Then, during the time you have been in his
employment, he has become owner of the

sometimes another.

mills?”

"I s’pose so. I don’t know nothen about
that.”

“Now, Mr. Somers, when did you come to
Holesbnrg’t”

Taken unwarily. Jim replied at a venture.

“ Three weeks ago, I guess.”

" IVhere,have you been since then?”

“With Mr. Skinner.” -

“ Do you know a man called Snoopey? That
is to say, that is the nick-name he goes by,
among his friends; but his real name is Thomas
Bradley. Do you know the man ‘1"

Jim scowled at his questioner. He had hen
warned to deny all knowledge of Snoopey but
hardly knew how much the lawyer knew about
his past. At last, with something of an effort,
be said:
hi“ lie, I don’t know the man. Never heard of

m.

h “ gory good. Do you know Larry Locke»
ere
.“ Sart’in I do.”

  

 

 

 

 

“ When did you make his acquaintance?”

Jim hesitated a moment, and then said:

“ I seen him first here, among the men, since
the strike began. Mr. Skinner pointed him out
to me. That s the man, there.”

“ Are you sure you never saw him before?”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
COMING TO THE POINT.

TERROR J In! fidgeted in his chair more than
he had done hitherto; for Larry had half-risen
from his seat and was starin at the ex-tramp
iii a manner that made him eel decided] un—
comfortable. He had certain memories of rry
that were not pleasant, and he could not meet
his eye-wit hout hlenching. But he remembered
his instructions from Van Slack, hardened his
heart, and replied boldly: I I

“ Never seen the man, till Mr. Skinner pomted
him out to me.” \

“ And when was that?”

“ 'Bout a week ago.”

“ That will do, Mr. Somers. You can step
down.”

 

 

Terror Jim, with a great feeling of relief, ;

stepped down from the chair, and Seriveii nodded
to Van Slack, saying:

“Go on and prove your case, as soon as you
please.”

But Van Slack only answered:

“ We rest here. We have proved attempts at
malicious mischief by the Witness who has just
step ied down. That is our case.”

“ hen I move that it be. dismissed,” said
Scriven to the judge, who shook his head with
the observation:

“ I shall hold the prisoner, unless you can
show something on the other side. The attempt
to excite violence has been sworn to. If you
can disprove it, go ahead and do it. But you
may be sure that I shall not strain a ppint to
favor any of these strikers, who have rought
our town into such distress and disrepute. Go
on, sir.”

Mr. Scriven bowed politely.

“ I have not asked your Honor to stretch any
points in our favor, and I shall not do so. _
only insist on our rights under the law, which is
no respecter of persons. As I understand your
Honor, all we have to do is to overthrow the
testimony of the witness Somers, and Skinner.”

The judge nodded. . .

“Certainly. That is as ex but as can be.
Upset that, and I’ll be lad to car you on your
motion; but till then, shall hold the prisoner
Locke on the charge.”

And it was easyto see, from his tone and
manner, that he meant to hold him, if there was
a possibility of so doing so intensely was he
prejudiced against the s ' ers, in common with
the authorities of the town, under the eiforts of
the Ironmasters’ Union, which represented so
much capital.

Scriven beckoned to Larry Locke to take the
stand, and when the young man had been
sworn, and had given his name and occupation,
he extracted from him a short history of his
movements since he had left Holesburg, three
months before. By a few (11151710118, to which
Van Slack could not object, a extracted from
him the nature of his acquaintance with Terror
Jim, and the manner in which he had entered
the mills years before after fighting Tom Trainor
for his chance. I

“ And now, Mr. Locke,” said his counsel,
“please tell the court what you know of this
man, Somers, since you first made his acquaintn
ance? I mean what have you seen of him, since
the reduction in wages, to which Mr. Skinner
has testified?” .

“ Well. sir. on the night that I was arrested
for hitting Mr. Skinner, Terror Jim. was put
into the same cell with me in the station-house,
and'tried to ick a quarrel with me. Finally
he hit me, and) I had to lay him out in the cel .
I guess I must have broken his nose, for you see
it s all crooked now.” _

“ Exactly. Can you tell us anything else
about him, after that night? I mean, have you
ever seen him since till today?” '

“ I saw him in Ohio, a few miles from the City
of Cincinnati, when he a" 1 his 1, Snoopey,
were asleep by the side of .ne roa , Sir. I was
footing it to Cincinnati to get work, and found
them there."

“ And what transpired then?”

“Well, I 'ust waked them up, and asked them
wihatl they had done with my money. That'8
a . s r.

The ju interru ted an 'lv:

“ Tut, daft, tut! ghat mgnle'y! What money
are you talkigg of?”

Larry look 11 at him.

“The money Snoopey stole from my house,
sir. While I was in the cell he went to my
house and stole seven hundred dollars that my
wife had hidden in a mattress to y our mort-
gage to Mr. Briggs. I taxed them both with it
and ‘ they owned up and begged hard that I
womdn't kill them. I was mad enough to do it:
but as all the money was gone I let them go, and
never saw that Jim again till to-day.”

The judge looked at Van Slack, as if be ex-
pected an objection to all this; but the lawyer
was whispering to Skinner, and did not say any-
thing.

 

Larry’Locke, the Man of Iron.

. . . l . .
Scriven continued his questions, and ehcxted ; not treat With the Knights. But we steepiped
from Larry the facts as to Jim’s trampshi and ! that at once, and the Knights have offer I
he (1 to- 3 pay for the damage done. Kelly & Barr are

thefts and the relation that Snoopey
ward 'm. Scriven then turned his Witness over
to the tender mercies of the other lawyer, who
proceeded in this wise:

“ Ab! and so your name is Locke. is it?”

“That’s what I’ve allers been called, sir.”

“ Have, you any right to the name?”

Larry stared and colored deeply.

. “’I was always called by it Since I remember,
Sir.

“ Ah, yes. Where were on born?”

Larry colored still more eeply.

” I don’t know, sir. I was brought up in the
children's asylum in the county of Bucks. That‘s
all I know. The asylum people gave me my
name, and I’ve never been ashamed of it.”

“ Oh, so you are an asylum boy, are you?
Well, we won’t go any further into that ques-
tion. You say that, when you met the witness
Somers in Ohio, you tried to rob him of his
money?”

“ i never said no such thing.
tried to get him to give me bac ' mine, sn‘.’

“And what made you think he had your
money?”

“Because he owned up that Snoopcy took it,
and that he and his pal had spent it all on a big
drunk.”

Van Slack coughed.

“ And that is all the reason you had for think-
ing it? Did you see this Suoopcy, you speak of,
take the money?”

“ No, sir.
off alive. The :kunk waited till I got off, before
he dared to come round the house.’

“Then what had Somcrs to do with it? You
say he was with you in the cell. He could not
have robbed on.”

“ He was n00 )ey’s pal, and they divided on
it,” said Larry, rinly. “ I know it, because
they owned up to it before I let them go.”

‘ Are you sure that they did not own up to
anythin you wished, just because they were
afraid 0 you and your club? You had a club,
I believe; didn’t on?”

Larry admit that such might have been the
case but added:

“ but I know that they robbed me, because no
one else knew the money was hidden there.
Snoope told me that he saw my wife hiding
some 0 it in the mattress, and that was why he
hung round there after I was gone.”

“ Ah, yes, so that is onlgvvghat gou think, and
whaE’Snoopey told you? ere this Snoopey
now

kggrry smiled rather scornfully, as he re-

It don’t

’

“You must ask some one else.
know.”

“Will you swear that you don’t know, on
your oath?”

The positive answer provoked Van Slack,
who imagined that hrry must know all about
Snoopey, and who was unaware of the fact that
Scriven had taken charge of the interesting
tramp who was at that moment in charge 0
the o d law er’s clerks, ready to be produced.

Van Slac , after several eflorts to make Lar-
ry admit that he knew Where Sncopey was, be-
gan to cross-examine him in a savage manner
on the subject of the strike, eliciting his opin-
ions, which were, as he had suspected, very
radical, as to the rights of workingmen. Larry
did not pretend to deny that he had organized
the strike, and that he had sustained it to the
end, being helped by‘ contributions from the
Order in other places. In the hope of entrapa

ing him into some indiscreet admissions, Van

lack affected to share his sentiments, and tried
to make him say that he believed in violence, if
the men could not get their rights or higher

wa .

gut Larrv_ _ , who was (guite cool throughout
the examination, was no to be caught inany
such way, till the law er asked him:

“ Now, Mr. Locke, want you to answer this
question. Supposing you were heading a strike,
and you. . , among the bosses on the other
Side, a timid man, who would yield to threats
of violence, would you. not feel justified in em-
ploying them?” ,

‘ No s1r,_I should not ,' for the reason that a
man w o ves in for a scare is sure to cheat
you when 6 gets the chance.”

“ Ahl then it is only for the sake of the fu-
t??? that you refrain from violence! Is that
i

“ NO 811011 thing, sir. Besides that, when
workingmen take to violence, the bosses are
sure to send for the soldiers, and that has a bad
cifect on the strike. They have done it here, on
purpose to make the pie think we wanted to

estroy things when my all know that we put‘
guards on Kelly & Barr’s place to keep thieVes
from getting in, and gave up to Mr. Kelly’s
men the moment they wanted to take charge of
the lace.”

“ hen do you mean to say that there was no
in ry done to the shop of Kelly 8; Barr, the
ot er day? I heard the place was guttw.”

“It was not any such thing, sir. There were
a few windows broken at the first, when the
bosses, after sending for us, told us they would

If I had, he would never have got :

 

l

l

l

I said that I 1 men.
‘ just as your bosses do.

l
l

l
l
l

 

2’7"

 

to

gomg to open their mill to—morrow. and they
have given in to the old scale, so that the strike-
is almost over.”
Van Slack, thus repulsed, went on a new
tack, sa ing:
“An this old scale you speak of, to whom
will it be given?”
“ To any man that chooses to Work under it,
sir.”
“ You mean, to any man that belongs to your ‘
Order?”
“I mean, to any man that goes to work
there.” .
“Then have you made no sti ulation as to
the employment of Knights of La r? I thought .
that our Order always frowned on any man.
that id not choose to belong to it.” I
Larry smiled seornfully. -
“ If they don’t choose to belong to the order,. ,
it’s their own loss. \Ve fight for all working- 7
If a man chooses to fight ’llS, We fight him =' '
But if he just attends
to his own business. we leave him alone. He
gets the benefit of other men’s work: but we are
quite willing for him to do that, if he does not
call on us to help him. W here were the Work—
ingnieii before they began to organize? The
bOSses had them where they wanted them, to
work for whatever they chose to give them.
Where are they now? They are beginning to be

their own masters, and the time will come when ' ,1:
{he}; ,know their power, that they will rule this . 1,
am . , 3.
Van Slack listened to him. smiling and rub— ,,
bing his hands as he answered him slowly, look- VI '
ing at the judge meanwhile: 1».
‘ Very pretty sentiments on in word! So it. «'5-

seems you are a socialist? )Vei'y ikely you be- 
lieve in dynamite, to blow up the bosses, if they vv
don’t give you the wages you want?” .

Larry smiled still more seornfully. ,;

“Dynamite indeed! Where would we be if 'v ‘_
we blew up the mills? Where would we get Ff.
work to do to keep our families? No. sir; as“. W ‘2,
long as you let the workingmen organize you. 
can find no safer members of societ . ‘I can “
you that. We make things. we on’t destroy
them. But it seems to me that our’re getting
into things that don’t belong to is case.

“ Have on just found that out?” inquired the~ ‘
voice of o d Scriven, in his driest tones. “ Now,
your Honor, ou have given my learned brother
allthe latitu ehe can possibl ask for in his
cross-examination, and I we (1 like to suggest: r
that, hereafter, you hold him down to the case.
Mr. Locke’s private opinions have nothing to do
with the accusation that he has injured Mr." :‘2
Skinner’s business.” _

“ Oh, well, you can let him stand down,” said , ' _
Van Slack, shrugging his shoulders. “ I‘m:  a; V
got all I want out of him. He’s evidently a reg-- ‘ 
ular demagogue. You can get down, Locke.”

And Larry stood down, feeling in some vague. j,
way that he had in'ured his own cause nnwit- '
tingly. and that he ad been a fool to measure
wits Yigfiglawysr, who was practiced at that"
sort 0 .

ThanVa'nShck looked at Scriven sarcastic- 
ally aski him: ,3‘

‘ ’Well, ve you any more witnesses the? ‘I
would like to examine or do you still w t0
dismiss this complaint?” .

“ Just to oblige you I’ll call Thomas Bradley,” .
said Scriven in the same sour tone as that used. c
by his opponent. “ Mr. Van Beaver, will you:"~.:|,.s~
be kind enough to send for him?” . ’

Paul rose and went out, while Van Slack and .“3
his partner held a hurried consultation as to:
What would be best to do With Snoopey when he, '
came to give his testimony. Finally the lawyer 4
concluded to let him be examined, and try, to»« ' 3
break him down on the mom-examination, when. 
he should have told his story. It was was the
onl hope of the prosecution. ’ I ,

gin] soon returned with Snoopey, who‘had »
been taken to a barber while the other in itnesses, .
were being examined, and rigged. up in a near 
suit of cheap clothes, in which he resented an. ‘
difl'erent a figure from his old 89 f, as 
had shown after his transformation by  
means. A * £5,

The eflect of new clothes and a good meal,-  19:
on the courage of the formerly craven Sn’oopey  y. " ‘ ‘
had been favorable; and he had been ass '
that he would be preserved from harm in any. 
event, if he, told the full truth. Though he :1
avoided the eye of his old tyrant. Terror Jinn/4%"
he seemed to have no special fears of any one ,
else: and looked up at the judge and then at. -
Van Slack, as if be rather enjoyed the pm. 

t of being examined. The fact was that. '
noo y, like man men who are physically ’
timi , was d to be exceedingly impu- ,
dent when he felt that his bones were safe.
The only way to govern such natures as  3°
lies through physical fear: and this truth .
been earl recognized b Terror Jim, :who had.
brought ‘s paraSIte own to a condition 
abject obedience, through the aid of many fl .-
brutal beating. "

As soon as Snoopey crept' into court, tho.
other tramp tried his best to catch his eye, for-
the purpose of overawing him; but Snoopoy, 

 

  
   
      
    
  
   
   
      
  
    
 
  
   
  
 

n

 

 

<1 .-‘ " .5: ' " ' .  '- ' on."
.‘ - . 4 ~ \ l.

(“28.

1,": 1’

 

y , would not meet it, and was put on the stand and
dull? sworn in.

g e deposed that his name was Thomas Brad-

; ley; his occupation that of a tailor, but admit-

 ted that he had lived as a tramp for many years.

l Then he was asked if he knew Mr. Skinner, the

i, .

ironmaster.
“ Don’t know as I do, boss,” he said. “ I ain’t

much on names.”

, , “ Well, you see that gfntleman here, on the
., ,1 other side of the table. ave you ever seen him
it . before or not?”

if. Snoopey grinned as he looked at Skinner.

S? ’ ‘ “ Oh, yes boss, I know him well enough.
Don’t know his name, but I know the man well

600%11."
“ hen did you first see him, and where?”
"‘ Seen him at his own house last ni ht, sir.”
The judge looked surprised, but an Slack
‘ gave him a glance that said as plain as looks
could s ak: “ Wait till I get at him.”

_’ “Tel the story of how on saw him in your
.v own words,” said the old awyer, looking up at
‘3, . ‘ 'the ceilingin an absent-minded manner.

' Snoopey began rather awkwardly, but warm-
ed 11 as he proceeded.
f‘ ell, boss, ye see, me and Terror Jim, there,
. was old pals, and he allowed as how he knowed
 ' this man, Skinner, as 6 call him, and that he
was goin in to see im, and strike him for
'- snthin’. nd he give me orders to wait outside
while he Went in. In course I thought he was
jist a-coddin’ me; but, sure enough, he went
right straight to the house, and I soon the other
man come out to him and take him up-stairs.
 ‘- .And then the waiter-fellers in the house, they
Fig, 6 ‘ got out, and I thinks to myself there warn’t no
5* ‘ use in my stayin' out while Jim was a-gittin’ his
‘ a, insides filled. So I slips in at a rear winder and
’ hides in the dinin’-room under a. table, where
: the at was kind enough to leave quite a big

’ chi en, which I took under the table with me. ’
v ,1 “ Well, go on. What next?” said Scriven im-

~‘  "patiently.

-  “Wel , boss, as I was munchin’ away under

' f; the table, who should come in but Terror Jim,

' all-dressed up, as ye see him to—day, along with
the other gent, and they sits down and begins to
cat. 'That is, Jim did the eatin’, and the other
teller did the talkin’. Then it come out how
Jim and him had b’en old friends when they was
, ’ “sailors somewhere, and how the ’d poisoned the
‘ . captain and mate of some ship ca led the Aurora,
 how Mr. Skinner here was afraid that Jim
‘.was going to split on him about it. And then
.. .Jim he‘struck hard for stamps; but the other
* igent he wouldn’t let him havo a cent except he’d
~ ‘promise to do some work for him.”

 "‘ And what Work was that? Did he ofl'er him
‘ .a lace in his mill?”

", noopey grinn .

I ‘ ' “ Yes, 6 did that at first; but Jim he kinder
allowed that he didn’t want no work nohow;
“and I reckon he was right. cats. I ain’t
‘hankerin’ arter that myself. W at he wanted,
' he said, was money, and he warn’t the man to
“work for it, nuther; though he hadn’t no objec-

‘tions to fight for it. And then the boss he asked
;, ’if he was willin’ to take a flghtin’ job. to
out a man: and arter some bargainin‘, Jim
 a to do it.”

.. ..“; on mean that he agreed tomurder some
one?” asked Scriven, when Van Slack jumped

 

. ,
\

(4‘

la (.4

  
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
       
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

11 ..
‘5 .p“I object. He can’t put words into the wit

pess’s mouth. Let him stick to the rules of evi-
dense.”
' , “Very well, then, to oblige you I’ll put the
on in another form. Bradley, you say
,3 tTerror J im—by the by, who is error Jim,
“55.  Is be present in court 3”

a 81100 y. turned with a visible effort, and

, in to his old partner, saying in a low

    
    
     
   
   
  
  
    
 
    
 
 

' . ‘5‘ That’s the man, gents. Him and me has
:2. "been on many a tramp together; and I wouldn‘t
' have gene back on him, if he hadn’t wanted to
.33“ us both into a hangiu’ scra .”
» ,, .“ What do you mean by tbs l”
“I mean, boss, that it was all agreed ’twixt
him and Mr. Skinner, that gent over there, that
Jim was to lay for a man called Larry Locke
Manother called Paul Van Beaver; and that I
wasted.) the . ying for ’em, and git them to
* come to some pace, after dark, when Jim, and
pals he agreed to git, was to lay them both
t st 11' ”

, "{VV“"A,pd. what do you mean by' laying them out

“ hy, killin’ them, of course, boss.”
' .“ Then you mean to say that you heard a plot
ween Terror Jim and Mr. Skinner, to kill
“foul Van Beaver and Larry Locke. Is that

’ t1”

. This time Van Slack did not ob 'ect. On the
~60ntrary, he looked as if he was ecidedly sick
I his case, and when his client whispered to
‘ something on the subject, he snapped:
’, »’“ It’s no use. Let him tell his story.”
Snoopey answered slowly and distinctly:
.f “That’s just what it was boss, and Jim he
flid at how I was a good feller to spy, if I got
licked once or twice a week reg’lar. But he
don’t t no chance to lick me no more, if you
sticks me, boss.”
*  “(That is all, ,your Honor. My' learned

I

 

Larry Locke, the. Man of Iron.

brother can take the wltn and pick all the
holes he likes,” remarked Sc ven. “ When he
is through I shall move to dismiss the complaint,
and the committal of Skinner and Somers for
conspiracy.”

U jumped Mr. Van Slack viciously, and
tries his best to shake the story that Snoopey
had just told. He questioned him about his
past career, and the robbery he had committed,
tried to make him say that he was mistaken as
to the things he had heard under Skinner’s
table, but failed to shake Snoopey in the least.
On the contrary, the tramp got more and more
impudent in his replies, and finally gave the
names of all of the men whom Terror Jim had
hired to aid him in the plot, that had so nearly
succeeded in com ing Larry’s death. When
it was over at ast, the judge had no resource
but to accede to Scriven’s motion to dismiss the
complaint, and he did so.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

THE dismissal of the complaint was followed
by a spirited fl ht between Scriven and Van
S ack as to whet er Somers and Skinner should
be committed, then and there, for their conspi-
racy to murder Larry and Paul; the said con-
spiracy having gone into effect as far as regards
only one of the parties.

Finall the judge announced that he would
hold bot men to answer; the iron-master in a
nominal mm, “as there was no danger of his
trying to escape,” while the tram ,as a stran-
ger, would require the sum of a honsand dol-
lars bail.

This opened the eyes of Terror Jim, who be-
gan to beg his partner in sin to bail him out;
but, somewhat to the surprise of Scriven, the
ircnmaster refused to do any such thing, and
told his accomplice, in open court, that “ he had
nothing more to do With him.” For his own
part he denied having iven any such instruc-
tions as those repor by Snoopey; and Van
Slack made a fiery speech, in which he said that
“ it was plain the two tramps had got up a plot
to bring discredit on Mr. Skinner, by getting up
the story between them.”

Larry listened to the skirmish as if much puz-
zled at the way in which the judge took the
part of Skinner, or at least seemed to do so; but
when it was over, he had the mortification of
seeing Skinner walk out of court a free man, to
all appearance, while Somers and Snoopcy were
taken off by officers; the first as a prisoner, the
last to be detained as a witness.

His only consolation lay in the fact that he
was not put under bonds himsel ; but even this
was somewhat dampened when Skinner, as he
walked out of court, said to the young work-
man, in a low, malignant tone, that shCWed he
wished to provoke him:

“Think ye did a heap, didn’t ye? But this
fith ain’t over yet, Larry Locke, and don’t
you forget it. You liain’t got to the bottom of
my purse yet, and afore you’re a day older
you’ know it. ’

Larry made no answer to him; for be per-
ceived that the ironmaster, for some reason,
wished to provoke him into an an ry retort.
He had just ot through one fight, and the Court-
room was ful of well-dressed people, who seem-
ed to be friends of Skinner, from the way in
which the crowded refund him as he went out,
speakin in loud tones of the “infamous con~
spiracy, ’ that they seemed to be convinced had
been set uplbetween twa tramps and the strikers,
to injure t e character of a respectable man like
himself.

Old Scriven, being a lawyer, did not seem to
be blamed by the friends of the ironmaster,
though one or two observed that “ they thought
he might be in a better business than bolstering
up a lot of Anarchists and dynamiters.”

But Scriven noticed none of them; packed up
his papers and books, and took his way tothe
ofilco, where Paul followed him, having seen
Larry on his wa to his own home in a triumph-
ant procession o the strikers, who had waited
outside of the courtroom to welcome him.

Once in the office, the old lawyer entered into
a long and secret consultation with Paul, as to
their future proceedings in the case, the out.
come of which will appear a little later.

As for Larry, he went home and found his
wife waiting for him, her face pale and anxious,
for she had been frightened by all sorts of con-
tradictory reports as to her husband’s safety.

“0h Larry, boy.” she said, as she hugged
him v gorously, “I’ve been scared out o my
life about ye. First they said ye was killed.
and then they said they‘d seen yo alive, and if
ye hadn’t come when ye did, I believe I should

ave come after ye.” ’

-“ Glad ye didn’t,” said Larry, soberly. “ Them
courts ain’t fitting places for women to go to,
and I tell ye a working man don’t git much
show in them, if the judge sees a chance to take
it awa .”

" But what chance could the judge have to do
anything to you,
done nothing against the law, and stopped all
the fighting and thieving. Why, the menare

going to Work at Kelly & Barr’s mill alreddy, .‘
and—”

Larry, who had been rubbing his head rather

.1"

i'; i. 3»

Larry. boy, when ye haven’t .

' gloomily over the thought of his troubles, here
‘. ooked up quickly, askm' g:
Q “What’s that you say Kelly .36 Barr start-
I ing p‘p the works again?”

‘ by, yes,” was the surprised rep] . “ Did-
n’t you now it? I thought you mnstIiave been
I the man set them going. They started work at
, nogg, andjthexyga at it now.”
I rry am up at once, and resumed the
5 coat he had laid off.
“There’s some shenannigan going on,” he
3 said. “ They haven’t made any agreement
‘ with our assembly, and the strike isn’t over till

thtfiY do.”

a was just going out of the door when Molly
‘ asked him anxmusly:

“But what’s the am if the men areat work,
1 Larry? You ain’t going to stop them again,
‘ are you? Why, they wouldn’t do it for you.”

Larry looked back at her long enough to say:

“You don’t know the ways of the basses as
well as I do. If they don’t sign an agreement,
there is iiotliin in the World to kee them from
cutting d0wii t e scale next week i they please;
and a new strike won’t be eas to organize.”

And away he wont towar Holesburg, at a

rapid walk, till he came near the great, mill of
‘5 Kelly & Barr, where, sure enough, the huge
’ chiinne was already belching forth its clouds
§ of smo e, while a crowd of curious workmen
-were hanging round outside; and inSide the
works everything was going on as if nothing
. had occurred to sto them.
Larry recognize the men outside as belong-
: ing to other mills, and asked the-m how Kell &
‘ Barr had come to open up. They all loved
i Buzz ed and unable to give im an explanation;
i at as he walked in, he noticed that the men at
i work avoided his eye and seemed a little
ashamed of themselves. Poor fellows, hungry
and ragged, with their families clamoring for
money. they had given in to the offer of the
rich Kelly, whom Larry could see, sitting at
his desk in the office, with his old pompous air,
as if he owned the whole world, while the men
who had occasion to go in did soin their old
style, with their hats in their hands, and the
timid crin 'ng air which had always belonged
to the emp oyees of the rich ironmaster.

Larry stop one man, who was wheeling a
l‘arrow toward the mouth of the furnace, and
asked him quietly:

“ Who sent you to work? Has any one de-
clarcd the strike of! '1 If so, who did it?”

The man looked doggedly at the barrow, say-
ing sullenly:

“I don‘t know, unless it was Kelly himself.
i He sent round Word to us to come to work on
I the old scale, and he would give us half a day
1 extra, if We would get the furnace going before
9 night. What’s a man to do? My children are
starving, and the Knights ain’t ive me more’n
enough to buy food for half of t em.”

“And so to get a Week’s wages this week,
you are willing to go back, without any Securit
that Kelly won’t cut you down to the low sca e
the week after,” said Larry, severely. “Oh,
you men. on men! when will you learn that,
when a fig t is en. the 12 an that sticks to the end
is the one that wins? Now, you just listen to
me one moment. John Sliney. I’m going into
the office to see Kelly. and if this thing isn’t all
right, I’m g: ing to give the signal to step work.
You refuse to obe it, and on know what he-
comes of you as a night of her.”

Sliney hung his head as he replied:

“We ain’t said we was going back on the
Knights; but the boys they allowed that old
Skinner got the best of you in court—” /

“ Who told you thati” asked Larry, angrily.
“That is some ie of that traitor, Sloman who
came into court prepared to give away ail our
secrets. but didn’t dare to when mgoeye was on
him. Spread the Won among the 11ys that the
strike isn’t over yet, and won’t be ti I give the
word. l’m Master Workman here and I’m
bound to take care that the bosses don’t cheat
you while I’m around.”

He walked straight to the office, where he
found Mr. Kelly, with his back to the door,
swinging on his turning-chair and looking as
lordly as ever. He retended not to see the
Master Workman as e entered the room: but
Larry marched stra‘ght up to him, and laid his
bread hand on the shoulder of the rich man,
savm :

I“ r. Kelly, 9. word with you.”

Kelly looked round, and the Usually pom us
look departed from his face. to be replaced y a
charming but exceedingly insincere smile, as he

said:

“Why. Mr. Locke. is it you?”

“Yes, it is,” was the dry reply. “ I see you’ve
got? , your men at work again. How is that,
Sl!‘ ,

Kelly smiled still more graciously, as he
repl :

“Why. simply enough. I own the works,
and I’ve set them going again.”

“ And what wages are you payin the men?”
asked Larry, with the same unflinc ing direct-
‘ ness, while several men who had Seen him enter
the works came ('rOWding round the window to
look in with anxious faces, as if. they hung on
every word.

Kelly saw them, too, and the lordly look faded

 

 

  
  
  
 
 

 

‘-

f ' v .,‘. ‘ ' .
., ‘.~, .1, My“: .

 _ A -i’:. '

 

~‘_ . n. ,,. ‘ . ,

, glare- ‘

-  Locke. the Man of Iron.

29

 

 

slowlv away, for he knew that an angry
on his might occasion a scene of exci t
he won (1 not willingly undergo.

He had taken advantage of the fact that
Larry Locke had been reported dangerously
hurt, and of his absence in court, to send out
word to his old em loyees that he was “ready to
take them all bac at the old scale, and give
them half a day’s extra pay if they would only
come and start his furnaces at once.”

He sent out this word knowing well the straits
to which the striking workmen Were reduced,
and hoping that the would rely on his word in
the absence of their eader.

The bait had taken, by dint of solemn assur-
ances, and the works were full already while the
furnaces were li hted. .

Kelly, as Loc e had suspected, intended to
play the men a. trick by getting them to work
on a verbal romise which he could break at
any time, and) here was his little scheme frus-
trated by the sudden arrival of the very man
he had hoped was laid up for a Week, at

least.

With a sickly smile, as if he had done every-
thiu roperly he said:

“ Why, the old scale, of course. I’ve left the
Ironmasters’ Union, and, as far as this mill is
concerned, the strike is over. Surely, you can’t
blame me for etting to work at once, can you?
I do hope, Mr. ke, that you are not going to

ive us any further trouble. You say you are
hting for the men. Well, you have won the
fight, and they have got the scale they asked
for. If you make any further trouble, it seems
to me you are not standing their friend.”

The a l was an artful one, and made not
so mucg to Larry, as to the men outside the
window, who were listening closely.

Locke saw the trap the other had laid; but he
had been too well trained in the tenets of his

Order to be entrapped.
“ That is all very well; he said qisiietly “ but
that is not the question now. Th strike was

made by the Kn' hts of Inbor, and you have
refused to treat With them. Now you are pre-
tending to declare the strike off, Without recog-
nizing them. Have you made a written agree-
ment with any one, to take the men on at the
old scale: and if so,‘ for how long? That is the
question.” . .

Kelly bit his lip. He did not dare to lie; for
he saw the men at the window, so he said, with
a sick] smile: .

“W y, no, I have made no written agree-
ment With any one. My word is well known in
the trade, as being as good as any other man’s
bond.”

“Then with whom have you made a ver-
bal agreement?” asked Larry, in the same stern,
cold tone, very unlike that of a man who deems
work a favor, to be accepted with thanks.

“Well, with each of the men individually, as
they came in,” said the iron-master, a little un-
easdy. “ Now, Mr. Locke. don’t go to making

any more trouble, and putting these poor men.

out of a job. They are all quite satisfied, and
you have no right to interfere with them. Isn’t
hat so, boys?

In his eagerness to get rid of Locke, he rasth
appealed to the men at the window; but the re-
sponse be elicited was far from being favorable,
for one of them said dryly:

“We’re willing to stand by what Mr. Locke
says. Let him go ahead. e are all listening
to on and him.” _ ,

rry heaved a si h of relief; for he had be-
gun to think, from t e looks of things, that the
manufacturer had induced the men to leave the
strike and desert their comrades.

He saw that they were with him yet; but
doubtful as to the result of his ne otiation. So
he took a seat, unbidden, op to the lordly
ironmaster, on purpose to showthem that he
was able to maintain his position, and said

slowl : . .

“111'. Kelly, this strike is not over,  you
have signed a written agreement With the
Knights of Inbor, that you Will allow all men
in your employment the old scale, and that
Kn hte shall not be discharged, on account of
anytghing done during this strike, so far. If
you refuse this, the men will know that you do
not intend to keep that word which you say is
so geod. Now, sir, are you willing to sign such
an agreement, or shall the strike go on again.
Yes or no!”

Ashospoke, herose from his seat, and stood
by thtehw;udholw, wit? 011110 IllinEdul‘aifigg, a; if :0
ve e a w ic e a rea

mod to drug?” ’ y y

Fora moment the manufacturer lanced at
the workmen outside, but the look on heir faces
showed that they felt proud of the stand Lam-y
had taken in their interests, and with a sigh he

sai :
“I’m Willing to do it, Of course. Haven’t I
romised the men a half day‘s pay extra,
they came to work? Dog's be too hard,
ke.
Iggy-q curled his lip slightly.
“ Hard indeed. Come. Mr. Kelly, it has been
a fair tight, and 0“ have got to Siva in. Don’t
whine over it. re 3'0“ ready to signthe agree-

:2"
“£3; 33m his teeth in impoteatrage .g

 

the dictatorial tone of the man he knew to be
only a workman but said sullenly:

“ Yes, I am. ’11 write it out at once.”

Larry shook his head.

“ That will not be necessary. I have afilprint-
ed form for just such cases, and we will it up
and each take a copy.”

K213 winced, but had to ield.

“ right,” he said. “ ou’re a hard man,
but I’ll do as you say.”

“ And when it’s signed, it has to be read to all
the men, so that there can be no backin out,”
said Larry firmly. “ You had no business to
call the strike at an end without a regular pa-
per and you will have to pay for it.”

elly made a grimace.

“ Confound it, man, you are as hard as iron.
We heard you were half dead, and here you are,
as lively as ever.”

Larry smiled slightly, as he drew from his
pocket the blank agreement to which he had re-

erred, and sat down at a desk by the rich man-
ufacturer, to fill out the proper conditions. '

The men at the window never stirred from
their places as the scratching of the us went
on, and watched both, till they ha seen the
agreement signed.

Then Larry beckoned to two of them to come
in and witness the signatures, after which he
folded up his copy, and put it in hispocket, with
the uiet observation:

“ ow, Mr. Kelly, as the Master Workman of
this district, I declare this strike over. Good-
morning, sir.”

Then the men at the window raised a cheer as
he walked out, while Kelly scowled after him,
but. ma e no remark.

Out in the yard, Larry stopped to say to the
men resent:

“ ys, the strike is over at last, and ou have
got what you wanted. You came near osi it,
through taking your own way, and forget ' g
that you must at ck together, i you hopetobeat
caiiital. To—morrow, the other mills will open,
or am very much mistaken. The Knights of
Labor have beaten the Bosses’ Union.”

And with that he walked out of the mill into
the street, where the first a he saw was
Marcellus Skinner, driving owl by the works
which he was eying malevolent y, as he noted
the smoke coming from the furnaces.

Larry, who was thinking onl of the interests
of his comrades, and had lost a sense of his own
private injuries, nodded to the ironmaster as he
passed him, and observed:

“ If you don‘t give in to-ni ht. Mr. Skinner,

ou will be the only man in Ho esburg whose fire
is out, to-morrow morni .

Skinner scowled bitterly as he replied:

“ They can ive in for all me; but I’m a rock;
and you‘ll fin that out yet, Mr. La I don’t
give in. and I don’t sell the works, neither. And
you‘ll find out that all the tramps on can bring
can’t swear me into prison for killing such cattle

as Xou.”

nd with that he whipped his horse and drove
on, leaving Larry with the sense that his own
fight was not over yet.

CHAPTER XL.
CONCLUSION.

BUT even Marcellus Skinner, obstinate as he
was, could not stem the tide which had begun
to set against him.

The very next morning, as La had predict-
ed to him, the strike was over in olesburg, as
far as the. other manufacturers were concerned.
The starting up of the bi mill of Kelly & Barr
had broken the back of t e Ironmasters’ Union,
and one by one the other men signed the agree-
ment to take back all their old hands, at the
scale which had prevailed before Skinner under-
took to cut them down. The sullen Skinner, on
the day after this occurred, found himself the
only man in town whose fire was out, while his
old friends of the Union, as they passed him in
the street, avoided his eye, or openly sneered at
him for standin out, when the rest gave in.
The strike had t rown a number of contracts
back, and work had nevar been so plentiful in
Holesbur while Skinner had the satisfaction
of seeing but many of the men whom he had
discharged from his own mills, had gone into
others which had been compelled to take an
extra hands.

Of course he was aware that this rush could
only be temporary and that before long, many
of these men wen (i be out of work; but all the
same, the spectacle of other men money.
while he was idle, was a galling one to hit, and
he be an to wax uneasy, on the second week

 

after t a strike ended.
_He had seen and heard nothi of his prosecu-
tion for conspiracy against 0 and his

nephew, and began to think that it had blown
over, though he had not dared to go near the
$211 to communicate with his partner in ini 'ty,
r: James Somers. He had thrownthat uter-
esting person ever at the instigation of Mr.
van lack, who had counseled him that thebest
thing he could do was to plead ignorance of the
matter, and try to break down Snoopey, if the
matter ever came before the Grand Jury, which
the lawyer thought was doubtful. Larr
Locke’ matter, about the mortgage, was '
hanging over the headof the workmanand Van

a” l

. 3  . .- I

 

i

 

“a. _ . . g .
Max haswnummnzsn .. 4-4.» .. -, .. _ m .

Slack advised his client that it might be the
means of inducing Larry to abandon the prose—
cution, though the bribe had been insufl‘icent to
make him abandon his companions in the strike.

But a change came over the spirit of Mr.
Skinner’s dreams, in the second week, when the
Grand Jury met in the Court House.

One day, his son, Tom, came running into his
house with a le face, to tell him that “ Van
Slack wan to see him instantly.” The old
man, surprised at the summons. and in a bad
temper as it was, rapped out savagely to the
trembling Tom:

“ Come to him ? What docs the fellow mean?
He’s my lawyer and I pay him for his work.
Let him come to me, curse his impudencel”

Tom wrung his hands. ,

“He says he don’t care whether you come or
not: that you are in a bad hole and that Scriven
has stolen a march on him. Oh father, father,
I saw them myself going into the district at- \
torney’s office, and ’Van Slack is all broke up.”

“ Saw who going? What does the boy mean?”
asked the old man still more Engrfifly. “ Are all

ou Is one cr toget er
y “ o, Iit agn’t thawbried Tom, who seemed to
be quite overcome at the news he was bringing. ,
“ But Scriven is there and he’s got Terror Jim

Somers, and Sn y, and all the fellers thatwe
ri ged out that ay‘, to lay out Larry Locke.
Ygu’d best go see an Slack, before it is too
late, father.

And this time the news had a visible eflect on
the hardened Skinner, for he turned gray. and
Tom saw the sweat start out on his orehead,
though all he said was:

“Oh, it can’t be. He would have told me
before!” ~

But he got out of his chair and walked rapids, _ f
1 round tethe office of Van Slack, whom he. ‘ . a,

ound in the midst of his pers, with an air_ a.
of great disquietude about im. When Skinner 3
came in the lawyer said not a word till he had 
locked the door, when he came to his client, and ~ 'tj
said in a low voice: " 

“ Scriven has stolen a march on us. He has. 

t all those men who laid for Locke, and the - .Q, ‘,
gonad Jury are examining them now. If you
can’t make a compromise it’s all up with you,
I’m afraid.”

. Skinner broke out into a vicious oath, cry-i

mg: .\
“What do I pay you for, if it is not to take
cairse’pf my interests? You should have stopped

. u‘

Ila“
’ J‘
A,

is;

Van Slack drew himself up at once, to re \ ,w,‘
in a very dignified manner, for he felt all g ’. ’ E
difl'erence between himself and his client: ‘ " ‘

“ Mr. Skinner, I am a respectable practitioner:
and cannot be e ted to protect any one in
breaking the law. If you had told me that you
wished this thin hushed up because there was   -v
something in it t at you dared not have revoal-' 
ed, I should have gone to Scriven long ago, and‘ » for
we could have arranged it. As it is, it has ‘
gone too far. now that the Grand Jury have.
got hold of it, and I don’t know what you 
do unless you stand our trial. If they 0060‘
indict you, you will are to give heavy bail,
and I fear from what I hear, that Somershaa
turned State’s evidence.” ';, 

He had hardly got through speaking when w
there came a smart rap at the door, and tin!  :.
bright buttons of a policeman Were seen there, I y *
azktel‘i; sight of whic even Skinner’wilted ash.  '
a ' :

“What’s the matter? What do you want
here, officer?" .

The policeman, whom he knew well by si 1 r
came in closer, and in a voice that showe 
was grforming a very disagreeable duty, aids.

“ rry to have to do it, sir, but I’ve got ta
warrant for you.” 1‘

“ On what charge?” asked Van Slack. “ I‘m 2
the ntleman’s con , and he’s on bail now.”‘~.4;

“ isis a difl'erent thing,” was the reply; .
“ It’s an indictment now, an I’ll have to ta »
the gentleman alongto the jail at once.” , \

And thither Skinner had to go, though he not ;
the policeman to send for a carri to take hint- ‘ 
there, and once there he was 1 in a cell, ' .1
the same as any other man, while e saw noth— . ‘
ing of Van Slack till the evening, when became ,
to tell him that hiathhatdbeomnted ‘ai writdot ‘
habeas , an a mm a go
who would admit him to bail on the indicth
at a heavy sun. '

“I’ve been to Scriven’s,” he added. when he
was sure they were alone. “and he says that
young Van Beaver is not d' to be harsh, ’" "

f you will come down; butt at if you wantto-fi ‘
finhetbey will give you the full benefit of 
law. And what’s mate, I have seen a c ya: '
the testimon given before the Grand J .‘l 

He said this with so much meaning that .
ner asked in a faltering voice, that showed he .
was beginning to weaken at last: , ,

“ And what was it, Van Slack? Has any out

ed on me?” i f

The lawyer nodded gloomily.  . v

“Somers has made aciean breastof it, and i. .
all the red: have sworn to instructions gin-n. -' 
b on, and money paid by you, for the  '* t
o ving Inrry kc and your n hew, «1]?
Van Beaver, waylaid at niglfi undefined,  
ingthetumults of the strike. I am bound  ‘

V". (in; .:

   

   
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
   
  
 

 

s.. -su. .. ,1 e
x u ’ u..'

 

 

 

  

confess. as your lawyer that the case is infer-

nally strong, and that I don’t see how you are

' oin to get War it, save in one way, and then
t Will be a matter of favor.”

By the time he had finished Skinner was
sweatin at every re, and his voice was low
and bus y, as he ed: ‘

“ And what is that?”

“Scriven says that both sides are ready to
abandon the prosecution, if you will give Locke
a release of his mortgage and agree to sell the
, mills to your nephew, who wants to carry them
9 on himsslf.”

é ' Skinner started violently, and his face dark-
fi «cued as he said:

? , ' “(live u , beat, and to him! I’ll stand my
‘ 1 "trial firstl’ ’

l.
;

i .
i
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,.
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!

 

7‘ ’ V “All right,” was the reply. “ In that case ,
‘ I’ll do the best I can for you, of course; but I 1
warn you that I shall have to ask a heavy re- '
- tainer. You see, this sort of thing is out of my l
 regular line, and we always ask extra pay for
" -  that work. Criminal practice is very trouble—
"j ' 3 some and we have to get our pay in advance.” ,
l

 

,' g Skinner said no more, but wal ed sullonly by
5. " , his counsel, with a policeman behind him, to the
. ;house of the judge who had agreed to hear the i

case and admit him to bail. He was thinking i
I , deeply all the way thcre, and trying to make up ?
 ‘ his mind to fight, while his fears were tellmg l
,.- ‘5 _ him that fight was useless.

 When he got to the house he was shown into
'the judge’s parlor, and found his old friend

Roberts there; but the face of his former inti-

mate was cold and stern, and he showed no dis-

sition to exhibit to the fallen man any of the

anus he had shown so freely when he was rich

fund powerful, and before the strike had ended
in the victory for the workmen.

Scriven and Paul Van Beaver were there;
and the preliminaries of admission to bail were
- ' terminated by the announcement. on the part of
the 'udge, that he would take bail for ten thou-
sand dollars, and Would require householders
'10P that amount.

Skinner had to remain in the custody of the
. 'mceman while Van Slack hunted round for
' ' , and at last the lawyer came back, with a
loomy face, to announce that, of all Skinner’s
'ends not one would become his bondsman un-
der the grave charge which hung over him. As
"‘ long as they had imagined it false, they had
 been ready; but when they heard of the evulence
 that had been given, and the fact that all the
witnessess were in prison, where they could not
W128 tampered with, they declined, with one ac-
“ cord, to o bail for a man who would be sure to
' recaps if e could.
" So Skinner had to be‘ sent back to jail, with
,» ‘the comfortable idea that he Would have to stay
there, till the day of his trial, and that Van
7 ,Black would require a retainer of a thousand
“dollars, at least with counsel fees and allow-
m of several thousand more, before the trial
closed; while there was no prospect of an ac-
. quittal, unless the witnesses could be spirited
“ ‘ away from Holesburg, of which there was no
' ' Mr. Scriven having taken his measures

    
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
     
    
  
   
   
   
    
   
  
   
    
   
  
  

.yl Is. ~



, The style of living in a 'ail is of that nature
Ithat, while some poo le ike it, having never
seen an hin as g , most people, who have
not led he 1i 6 of a tramp, find it miserable in
‘ extreme.

So, while Terror Jim and his friends were en-
mg the unusual comforts of a roof over their
and plentiful meals, Skinner was worry-
ingall the time over the confinement and the
:mfoodsu plied by the sheriff to his many
boarders, whi e the news that court would open
win two weeks, and that his case was one of the
first onuiihe calendar, did not tend to restore his
 1 0
As the time drew nigh when he was to be
 tried, and he realized that he had not a friend
‘ :1n the world, not even his son, who had deserted
 Thin: in his trials, the spirit of the old man began

, At last he made up his mind to send for Van
Slack, but the lawyer sent back word that “ he
W decline to see Mr. Skinner without the re-
, this? for which he had sti ted.”
, Then, with a deep sigh, e avaricious manu-
jflcturer wrote out a c eck, and sent it b one of
 the sheriff’s d ties, who soon return , usher-
ing in Van k, as mild and obsequious as

,j" “ Van,” said the broken man, as soon as he
or, was in the cell, “ tell me. as a lawyer, what are
 . chances in this trial?"

, an Slack rubbed his hands and looked at the

i" ‘ “ do all I can for you, of course, Mr. Skin-
'ner, and you can get the best talent in the State

I) for it.”

’Wm‘t that ” was the crmty answer, “ but
* thatan what Iwanttoknow. Shall 1 at o f
If you say I can, for sure, I’ll pa for t. at
you gust give me your word as a wyer that 1

> m.
Thus urged, Van Black said slowly:

“You are asking an impossibility, Mr. Skin-
”No lawyer could give such an assur-

 

Me
Skinner heaved a deep sigh.
“ That’s all I wanted to know. I can’t get on

  

 

sure. Then I’ll do the best I can.

You’ve got the last of my money.”
And not another word would he say till Van

Slack had left the cell when he sent for the

You can go.

deputy who had carried his messages, and told .

him to go to Mr. Scriven’s omce and send him
to the jail to see Mr. Skinner.

The depu went and returned in half an hour
with the ol lawyer, who came into the cell,
looking cold and stiff, and said:

“ You sent for me. Mr. Skinner. I confess I
am at a loss to account for the message, but I
have come to see on.”

“Yes,” said 01 Skinner with a voice that
shook somewhat. “ I sent for you, Scriven, be—
cause you always treated me honest, though you
went against me. What will you take to drop
this rosecution?”

“ ot a cent!” was the emphatic reply. “It
has gone out of my hands into those of the
State. If you choose to send a proposition to
the two men who are the prosecutors behind
the district attorne , they may induce him to
withdraw the case mm the calendar for this
term; but that is the best they or any one

can do, and the bed will have to remain where .

it is.”

Old Skinner, looking strangely gray and old,
said slowly:

“ I guess I’ve deserved that. But I’m willincr
to do the square thing now. See here. If I
rire up the midi to Paul, and take an annuity

rom him at a fair valuation of my interest.
will he let up on me or not?”

“ Mr. Van Beaver is not in this rosecutinn,”
was the cold reply. “ It is Larry leO. Paul
wants nothing from you. He knows well
enough that your trial will end in your coin-
mittal to State‘s Prison fora long period, and the
courts will appoint him, as next heir, to the
probable custody of the mill )roperty during
your life. If you had treated the next heir de-
cently, it would be different."

“ Well, then, I‘ll give up the mortgage on that
Locke’s house, and all I ask is that he let up on
me,” pleaded the fallen man. “ScriVen, you
don’t want to trample me in the mud, just be-
cause I’m a rich man. It won’t do you any
good to have me stand in the dock, will it?”

Scriven shrugged his shoulders.

“ You should have thought of all this, while
you were rich and in the enjoyment of your
liberty. Money will do you no good, now that
there are a dozen Witnesses a Most on.”

“Then you mean to say t at I s all have to
stand my trial?” asked Skinner, with the veins
standin out on his forehead, while he clinched
his han fiercely.

“I’ll go and see on what terms the district
attorney will let you go, and let you know.
That is the best I can do for on.”

And with that the lawyer left the cell, while
Skinner passed the next hour pacin u and
down, in more a on of mind than he iatfever
suffered, in all Eis ife before. He was face to
face with his punishment, and the more he
thought of it the less he liked it.

If, by a miracle, he had suddenly been rt.»
leased from prison and put into the same p0si-
tion he had occupied a few Weeks before, he
would doubtless have acted in the same way he
had done; but being in prison, and with punish-
ment coming on him, he made all sorts of good
resolves, as other scamps have done in their

da .

%’hen at last steps in the corridor showed that
some one was coming he uttered a fervent
“Thank God,” for the first time in years, and
on erly waited for his visitors.

0 only person who came was Scriven, with
an agreement which he ave him, sa ing:

“ on can look over hat at your eisure. If
you choose tosign, the judge and district attor-
ney have agreed to let the case go for the term:
and your nephew has agreed to go your ball. If
you don’t wish to sign it, on can stand your

rial. I shall be here at n in themorning.
Good—afternoon.”

And he went away, leaving Skinner staring
at the paper in his hand.

Well he might stare, for that paper made him
not only a beggar but a pensioner on the bonn-
ty of the nephew 9 had treated in his day like
a slave. The agreement for him to sign was one
Eiging up all his interest in the property in-

ited by him under his fathers will, and
romislng to leave the United States and live in
urope, while Paul Van Beaver, on his rt,
to pa to him, out of the roceeds o the
businem as t ey should accrue, t a sum of three
{gousand dollars a year, during his natural

e.

The terms were hard and stern: but they were
the best he deserved. and he knew it.

When Scriven came next morning, with a
second copy of the agreement in his ket. he
found that the crushed criminal h already
signed his copy, and a little later he left the jail
thh Scriven and went before Judge Roberts,
where Paul Van Beaver, as the new owner of
the mills, gave bail for his uncle, in the sum of
ten thousand dollars, to produce him at his trial
or pay the money.

Then they took him to the house that had
lately been his where Larry Loeke’s mortgage
was duly satisfied, and the young workman at

 Larry Locke, the Men o'eron.

‘ ever saw before. Heaven sen

 

last held in his hand the deed of a free and un-
incunibered roperty.

The rest 0 our story will not take long to tell.
Skinner and his graceless son took their depart-
ure for Europe, where they passed the next few
years in a cheap place in the south of France.
only making themselves known to Paul at inter~
vals, in a series of begging letters. when they had
outrun their income and gone into debt.

In the mean time Paul Van Beaver assumed
the charge of the mills, and ended his part of the
strike‘at once, while Larry Locke was made man-
ager of the works, and gave universal satisfac-
tion. The business prospered, and in the course
of years Paul, finding his profits increasing, vol-
untarily raised the wages of his hands, and had
the satisfaction of making the other manufac-
turers do the same, much against their will.
The Knights of Labor in the town continued to
prosper, and with their prosperity, the condition
of the workmen steadily rose.

Larry was often pressed by his old friend Paul,
as the ears went on. to taken share in the prof-
its of t e mill, but he steadily refused.

“ No, Mr. Paul,” he once said, “ a workman I
am, and always shall be. The Knights of Labor
made me what I am, and if I was to go back on
them now, and join the bosses, I know I couldn’t
stand the pressure that would be brought to bear
on me, to make me think capital and labor were
enemies. In our Order we. believe they ought to
be friends, and the time may come when the
workmen of America will know as much as the
bosses, and be able to take care of themselves.
But just at preScnt they don’t. : nd their enemies
are read to take advantage of the least mistake
they me e, whenever they see a chance. Till
there are no more bosses and slaves, and till the
time when work won’t be looked on as a favor
to be asked, I’m going to stick to the Knights.
I’d rather be Master Workman than own a mill,
any time. ll'hen the time comes that eve hon-
est workman in America belongs to the rder,
and all stick together, as we should do, every
workingman shall see more happiness, than he

the time and
God good the just aims of the KNIGHTS 'or
LAB Rl”
THE END.

 

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__:l.nl__n_l_Al_n_tfittIéSiilmelmlnil—am:intEmmy.

40 The Long Haired “ Pal-do ;” or, The
’l‘artars ot' the Plains. 8)}; J05. E. Badger, Jr.
<11 Gold Dun; or TheW ite Savage of theGreat

Salt Lake. By A bert W. Aiken.
~12 The California Detective; or, The Witches
of New York. By Albert W. Aiken.
43 Dakota Dan the Reckless Ranger; or, The
Bi’e-iilllltu'l‘s’ Excursion. BK 011 Coomes. .
‘4 01d Dan Ilaekbaek.t e Great Extermina-
tor; or, The Triangle’s Last Trail 011 Coomes.
45 Old Bull’s E 'ekthe Lightning Shot of the

Plains B Jos. . adger, Jr,
46 Bowic- nil‘e Ben, the Little Hunter of the
Nor'~\Vest. By 011 Coomes.

47 Pacitic Pete, the Prince of the Revolver. By
Jose h E. Badger, Jr.

48 Ida Io ’l'oln, thi> Young Outlaw of Silverlnnd;
or, the Hunters ofl'ne Wild \V.*f~‘t. By Oll Coomes.

49 The “'olt' Delnon. By Albert W. Aiken.

50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie Sport. By Jos.
E. Badger, Jr.

51 Red Rob, the Boy Road-Agent. By 011
Coomes.

52 Dentin Trailer. the (‘hief of Seouts; or. Life

and Love in a Frontier Fort. By Bufi‘alo Bill.
53 Silver Sam; or, Tin.- Mystery of Deadwood

City. By Col. DE‘UU Sara.
54 Always On llund. By Philip S. Wamc.
55 The Scalp Hunters. Byt‘upt.1\laynclieid.
.56 The Indian .‘Illll‘yllil; or, The Madman
of the Plains. By A. \\ . Aiken.
57 The Silent llunter' or, The Scowl Hall
Mystery. By Percy B. St. John.
58 Silver Knife; or, \\ ink-litre, The Rocky
Mountain Ranger. 1y Dr. J. 11. Robinson.
.59 The Man Frill“ Texas; or, The Outlaws
of Arkansas. By A. \V. Aiken.
'60 “’ide A wake. the Robber King; or, The
Idiot of the Black Hills. By Frank Dumont.
81 Captain Seawall, the Privateer. By Ned
Bllntline. ~ '
~62 Lo '51] “on rt; or, The Trappers of Arkansas.
By ilstave Ainlard.
63 The “'inged \thle. B A. W. Aiken.
‘64 Double-Sight, the Death S lot; or, The Out.
law of the Chaparral. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
65 Tile Red Rajah ' or, The Scourge of the
Indies. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
~66 The S cctcr Barquc. By Ma ne Reid.
'67 The oy Jockey. By Jon. E. er, Jr.
68 The Fighting Trapper' or, Kit Carson
to the Rescue. By Captain J.  C. Adams.
69 The Irish Ca tain. ByCapt. F.Whitta.ker.
‘70 Hydrabad, t e Stran er; 0:. Alcthe, the
Child of the Cord. By Dr. . H. Robinson.
'71 Ca tnin Cool-Blade; or, The Man-Shark
of t le Mississippi. By Jos. E. Badger Jr.
‘72 The Phantom HnIId' or, The Heiress of
Fifth Avenue. By A. W. Ai en.
‘73 The Knights of the Red Cross; or, The
Magician of Granada. B Dr. J. H. Robinson.
’74 The Captain ot'thc lilies; or, TheQueen
of the Lakes. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
'75 Gentleman George. By A. W. Aiken.
'76 The (In cen’s M usketeern; or, Thisbe. the
Princess Palmist. By George Albany.
‘77 The Fresh oi‘ Frisco. By A. W. Aiken.
78 The Mysterious S y. By A. M. Grainger.
79 Joe Phenix, the Po ce Soy. B A.W. Aiken.
:80 A Man of Nerve. By Philip . Warnc.
'81 The Human Tiger; or, A Heart of Fire.
By Albert W. Aiken.
82 Iron Wrist. the Swordmaster. By Colonel
Thomas Hover Monstery.
83 Gold Bullet Sport. By Buffalo Bill.
84 Hunted Dow’n; or, The League of Three,
By Albert W. Aiken. '
.85 The Cretan Rover; or. Zulolhh. the
Beautiful. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
86 The Big lunter; or. The ucen of the
Woods. By the author of “ The Si ent Hunter."
87 The Scarlet Captain ' or. The Prisoner of
the Tower. Buy Col. Delle re.
88 Big George, the Giant of the Gulch; or, The
Five Outlaw Brothers. By Jose h E. Bad or Jr
89 The Pirate Prince. By ol. P. am.
90 Wild “fill, the Marl Banchero; or. he Ter-
rible Texans. By Buckskin Sam.
'91 The Winning Oar; or, The lnnkeeper's
Daughter. By Albert W. Aiken.
'92 Bull‘qu Bill, the Buckskin Kin :or. The
Amazon of the West. By Me . Dangc eld Burr.
‘98 Cu tnin Dick Talbot, 2 of the Road;
or. e Black-Hoods oi Shasta. By A. W. Aiken.
94 Freelance, the Buccaneer; or. The Wall of
the Wave. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.
‘95 Azhort, the Arman; or, The Secrets of the
Ducal Palace. B Anthony P. Morris.
‘96 Double-Dent ; or. The Spy Queen of Wyo-
ming. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
97 Bronze J nek, the California Thoroughbred.
B Albert W. Aiken.
98 he Rock Rider; or. The S irit of the
Sierra. By Cnfit. Frederick Whitta er.
99 The Giant “lemon. By 011 Coomes.
100 The French Spy; or, The Bride of Paris.
By Anthony P. Morris.
‘01 332%:31530? Net; York ; org‘ilie Ro-
c oung omen. en.
102 TI“3 I'll-lied Band or. The an With-
out a Name. BiéGeor-ge . Aiken
103 ""109 the utinccr; or, The Brand of
the Red Anchor. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.
104 Montezuma, the Mcrcileoo' or. The
Eagle. and the Se nt. By Col. P. ingraham.
105 Dan Brown 0 Denver the Rocky Moun-
tain Detectiw. By Joseph . Bad er, Jr.
106 Sham ul- 0’ Brien, the Bouid y of (11m-
9.1. By Col. Delle Sara.
107

Brothers ofthe Red Hand. By A. w, Au;

 

ichnrd Talbot of Cinnabar; or,The ’
on.

 

108 The Duke of Diamonds; or. The Flower
of Calcutta. By Ca tain Frederick Whittaker.

109 (‘a tain Kyd,t e King of the Black Flag.
B ‘01. Prentiss lngraham.

1 10 The Silent flitieman. By H. W. Herbert.

111 The Smugglcr (fa itain; or, The Skip-
per‘s Crime. By Ned untline.

112 Joe Phenix Private Detective; or. The
League of the Skeleton Key‘s. By A. W. Aiken.

he mate

113 The Sea Slipper iior. ur Free-

booters. By Prof. J. . Ingraham.

1 14 The Gentleman From Pike ' or. The
GhOSt of the Canyon. By Phili S. \V ame.

1 15 he Secret of

The Severed H--ad ' or.

Castle Concv. By Capt. Ered. Whittaker.

116 Black Piulne, the Devil of the Sea. By

Col. Prentiss lllgmham.

1 l 7 Dashincr Dandy the Hotspur of the Hills.

By Majorbangertield Burr.

118 The Burglar Captain; or, The Fallen

Star. By Prof. J. H. Ingrahnln.

119 Alabatnla Joe; or, The Yazoo Man-Hun-

ters. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

120 The Texan Spy; or, The Prairie Guide.

By Newton M. Curtis.

1 21 The Sea Cadet ; or. The Rover of the Rigo-

letts. By Col. Prentiss Ingrahanl.

122 San] Sn nberoln y the Idiot Spy; or, Luliona,

the Seminole. By  Buntline.

123 A lapuha, the. S uiuv ; or. Tile Renegades

of the Border. By "rancis Johnson.

124 Assownnm, the Avenger; or, The

Doom of the Destrovers. By Francis Johnson.

125 The Blarknniih Outlaw; or. Merry

England. By Harrison Ainsworth.

126 The Demon Duelist; or. The League of

Steel. By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

127 Sol Scott, the Mask. (1 Miner; or, Dan
Brown‘s Double. By Jon. E. Badger. Jr.

128 The Chevalier Corsair. By the author
of “Merle the Mutincor."

129 Mississippi Mose; or, A Strong Man's
Sacrifice. By Edward Willett.

1 30 Captain Volcano; or, The Man of the Red
Revolvers. By A. W. Aiken.

1 31 llueknkin Sam, the Texas Trailer; or, The
Bandits of the Bravo. By Col. 1’. Ingraham.

132 Nemo. King ot‘the Tramps. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

133 Body the ROVPI‘ the Ribbonman of be
lnnd. By William Carleton.

1 34 Durkie Dan, the Colored Detective; or, The
Mississippi Mystery. By Col. P. Inzmham.

135 The Bush Ranger" or, The Half-Breed
Brigade. By Francis Jo nson.

136 The Outlaw-Hunter; or, Red John, the
Bush Ranger. By Francis Johnson.

137 Long Beard, the Giant Spy. By 011
Coomes.

138 The Border Bandits“ or. The Horse-
Thief’s Trail. By Francis Jo 1115011.

139 Fire-Eye. the Sea Hyena; or. The Bride of
a Buccaneer. By (‘01. Prentiss l n'raham.

140 The Three Spaniards. By 90. Walker.

1 41 Equinox Tom, the Bully of Red Rock; or.
Dan Brown’s Masterstroke. By Joseph. E.
Badger. Jr.

142 Captain Crimson, the Man of the Iron
Face. By Maj. Dangerfield Burr.

143 The (‘zar’c Spy; or, The Nihilist League.
By Col. T. H. Monastery.

144 The Hunchback of Notrc-Dame.
B Victor Hugo.

145 into] Pard- 01‘, Soft Hand, the Silent
S ort from Cinna r. By Wm. B. Eyster.

146 The Doctor Detective ; or, The Mystery
of the Golden Comn. y George Lemue .

147 Gold Spur the Gentleman rorn Texas. By
Col. Prentiss raham.

148 One-Armed Alf the Giant Hunter of the
Great Lakes. B 011 Coomes.

149 The Border men. By Gustave Aimnrd.

l 50 El Rubio Bravo, King of the Swordsmen.
By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

151 The Freebooters. By Gustave Aimard.

152 Captain lronnervc, the Counterfeiicr
Chief Bv Marmaduke Dev.

1153 The White Seal er. By Gustave Almond.
154 Joaquin, the Sn die King. By Joseph E.

Badger, Jr.
155 The Corsair uccn; or. The Gipsies oi
the Sea. By Col. entissln raham.
156 Velvet Face, the Border rave; or, Muriel,
the Danite‘s Bride. By Dangerfield Burr.
I57 Mourud, the Mamelukc; or. The Three
Swordmasters. By 001. Thomas H. Monstery.
158 The Doomed Dozen; or. Dolores. the
Danite‘s Daughter. By Dr. Frank Powell.
159 Bed Rudiger. the Archer or, The Lady

Bertha’s Treachery. y Ca Ur. Whittaker.
160 80“ Hand, Sharp' or. 011m With the
Band. B Wm. B. Eys’c’er
161 The

olves or New Yori‘rv; or. Joe
Phenix‘s Great Man Hunt. By A. . Aiken.
162 he Mud Mariner or. Dishonorcd an
sowned. By 001. Pren iss lngrahhm.
3 Ben Brion, the Trapper Cagmin: or. Red-
164 *th. the Avenger. By 1' J. .Robinson.

he King’s F0013 or. The Knights of the

Clasped Hands and Re Branch. By C. D.Clark.

165 Joaquin, the Terrible. By J. E. Bad er. Jr.

1 66 Owlet, the Robber Prince; or. The Un own
Highwaymen By S ‘ptlmus R. Urban.

167 T c an oi‘Steei; or, The Masked Knight
of the White Plume. BBA. P. Morris.

168 Wild Bill, the Pistol cad Shot; or. Dagger
Don’s Double. By Col. Prentiss lnmham.

1 69 Corporal Cannon, the Man of Forty Duels.
By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monetary.

1 70 Sweet \Villlam, the Trapper Detective.
By J on. E. Badger, Jr.

 

 

 

 

171 Tiger Dick, the Man of the Iron Heart; or.
The Dumb Ba hilt. By Philip S. Warne.

the Gol en Fetters. By Col. P. Ingraham.
173 California John, thi- Pacific Thorough-
bred' By Albert W. Aiken.
By Capt. 1‘. '~
Whittaker.
1 75
Heiress. By Major Dangerfiel Burr.
1 76 Lady Jaguar, the Robber Queen. By Cap-
tain Mark Wilton.
1 77
Rivals of the Sea. By (.‘01. Prentiss Ingrabam.
Dark Dnshu’ood. the Desperate; or, The
1 19 Child of the Sun. By Major Sam S. Hall.
By Prof. Stewart Gildersleeve, LL. D.
180 "Id ’49; or. The Amazon of Arizona. By
J os, E. Badger, Jr.
l 81
of the Sea. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
Hands If t; (r, The Knights ofthe Canyon.
By an. R. ‘yster.
1 83
demess. By C. Dunningr Clark.
184 The ocean Vampire; or. The Heiress 01
l 8 Castle Curse. B Col. Pruntiss lngraham.
O
liy Anthony P. Morris.
Trium h. By Buckskin Sam.
187 The eat 1’s Head (‘nirassierq or,
1 Brave of all Braves. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. '
88
of the Chn iarrnls. By Maj. Dangerfield urr.
Wild m m. Gold Trail; or. 'lhe Desper-
190 The Three Guardslncn. By Alexan
Dumas. ,
191 The Terrible "l‘onkau'ay; or,01d Body “
192 The Lightning: Sport. By W. R. . . ‘
The Man in Red. B Capt. F. Whittaker.
Don Sombrero.the ‘alit'ornin Road Gent.
195 The. Lone Star Gauthier; or, The Maid
cf the Magnolias. By Buckskin Sam.
La Mnrrnonet the Detective Queen' or,
M Aiken.

172 The Black Pirate; or. The Mystery of
174 The Phantom Knights.

“'iid Bill’s Trump Card; or. Thelndian

Don Diabio, the Planter-Corsair; or, The
1 78

Conrad. the (‘onvietg or, “'as He Guilty?

The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Nemesh
1 82

Gilbert, the Guide; or. Lost in the Wil-

The Man Spi er; or, The Beautiful Sphinx.
186 The Black Bravo; or. The Tonkaway's

Tile Phantoln illnzoppa; or. The H can
1 89

ado Dozen. By Col. Prentiss lngraham. .

and His Pards. By Buckskin Sam.

Evster
By Capt. Mark Wilton.
The Lost Heir of ore]. By Albert W.

Revolver Bob, the Red-Handed; or, The
B lle of Nugget Camp. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

198 The Skeleton Schooner; or. The Skins 1»  ‘

mer of the Sea. By‘t‘ol Prentiss lngraham. .
199 Diamond Dir , the Dandy from Denver. -
By Buckskin Sam.
200 The Rifle Ran-gen. By Capt. Mayne Rdd.
201 The Pirate ot'the Pincers; or. Joaquin’s
Death Hunt. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. . '
202 (‘actul Jack, the Giant Guide. By Capv
tain Mark Wilton.

203 The Double Detective. By A. W. Aiken. .1 
Foot “'nllace, the King of the Lariat; .," i‘

204 Bi
or, \‘ild Wolf. the Waco. Bv Buckskin Sam.

205 The Gambler Pirate.

206 One Eye, the Cannoneer; or. Marshal Key‘s
Last Leger, . By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. \ 

207 old liar “end. By Philip S. Warne.

208 The \Vhitc Chief. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

209 Buck Farleyg the Bonanza Prince; or. The » I» 4

Romance of Des h Gulch. By Edward Willie“.
210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea;
or, The Red Sea Trail. By 001. P. lngrnhtm.
21 1 Colonel Plungcr' or. The Unknown Sport.
Bv Cap; Frederick itteker. ‘
212 The ruzoc Tigers. By Buckskin Sam. '
213 The War Trail. By Cagt. Mayne Reid.
21 4 The Two Cool Sports. y Wm. R. Eyster. 
215 Parson Jim, Kink of the Cowboys. By
Ca tain Frederick Whittaker. ‘ .,
216 T c Corsair Planter; or, Driven to »
Doom. By CoL Prentiss lngraham. 
217 The Serpent of El Paco; or, Frontier
Frank, the Scent of the Rio Grande. By Buck»

skin Sam. .'
218 The \thd “untrue; or, ThijgSquu- . 

ter's Vengeance. By Ca t. MayneRcld.
219 The Scorpion Brot era: or, “M's ’.
Mission. By Ca tain Mark Wilton ' t
Mews"; .. . a... «a.
or. e u e t. e on ‘
l 3' By Buckskin 8am ' p0 ‘

oot.
222 Bill, the Blizzard. By Edward W ,v

223 Canyon Dave the Man of the [mint-luv
Captain Mark ‘wnton. .
Board, the Buccaneer: or. Ibo‘

Curse of the Coast. By Col. P. lngr
Buchkinsun.

 

225 Rock Mountain Al. _
226 The ad "occurs; or he 0’: and tho .
Mac‘s. By Ca t. F. Wh ttakcr

227 Buckshot
B Ca t. Mark Wilton.

228 he nroon. By Capt. Maynchld.

229 Cu tuin Cuulccve or Touch-Merlot,“
LitteS n. By Wm. E

230 The l I»:
Who was an erdcl-ken.

231 The Kid Glove Mincr' or, The
Doctor of Golden Gulch. B COL l

232 orcon 0xx. the Man of non; or. fie River. 

'acht. By Col. 1". Ingnnm.‘ 

en. the Man-Hunter of Rhino. l;

yster. .,
Dutchman of 1880; or, -' .
By Capt. Whi ., f

,.

C1."
.43.!

L.

By Col. 

 

  
 
   
   
   
   
 
  
  

  

.‘{

 

Mystery. By Isaac Hawks.
233 T 0 Old Boy of Tombstone; a;
Wagering a Life on a Card. J. E. . I:
234  fluntcrs’ Fen-t. By Capt. m
A new issue every Wadrmday. I :'
Bendic’s Dime Library is formic an; _
hewsdeaiers. ten cents per copy, or sent by u
rccei t of twelve cents each. BEADLEtADm 

Pub hers, 98 William Street. New York.

 

 

 

 

 

____fll_1§_i}3iAifililiiifilliimilinlfi tellylxlninliélh IYIl

 

. .._.——_——

 

 

 

l 235 Red Lightnin , the Man of Chance. By .

Col. Prentiss lngra am.
236 Chaunplon Sam. By Col. T. H. Monstery.
’ I . 237 Long-Haired Max. By Capt. M. Wilton.
238 Bank Hound, the Crescent City Detec-
tive. By Anthony P. Morris.
239 The Terrible ’l‘i'io. By Buckskin Sam.
240 A (tool llcud; or. Orson Oxx ln Peril. By
Issac Hawks
241 slelrc Saul, King of the Bustiers. By
J08 E. Badcer. Jr.
' I242 The Fog Devil; or, The Skipper of the
Flash. By Capt. lv‘red. \\ hittaker.
, ‘243 The I’Lgriin Shnr D. l-V Buffalo Bill.
= 244 Merciless Mart, lie Mun-ligcr cf Mis-
l' . soul-i. By Buckskin Sam.
.A ‘ 245 llurrunca Hill, The Revolver Champion.
 By Captain Mark \\ iitOn.
" ’ 246 Queen Helen, the Amazon of the Over-
, land. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.
.’ ~ 247 A lllgutor lkc ' or. The Secret of the Ever-
. 5‘ c. By Capt. fired. Whittaker.
 248 ontsna Nat. the Lion of Last Chance
‘- l“ r Camp. By Edward Willett.
-.;"‘- 249 Elephant Ton: of Durango; or, Your
' Gold-Dust or YourL e. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
‘ 250 The Rough Riders; or, Sharp- ye, the
«cf . Seminole Scourge. By Buckskin Sam.
., , . > 251 Tiger Dick vs. Iron Despard; or,
2 A Every Man Has His Match. By P. S. Warne.
*3. ,‘_~ ~ 252 The \anl Street Blood; or. Tick Tick,the
., Tegegra h Girl. By Albert W. Aiken.
“' 253 A lan ee (‘ossack or, The Queen of the
v Nihilists. By Capt. Fr erick Whittaker.
,- 254 Giant Jake, the Patrol of the Mountain
if Newton M. rtis.
' 255 he Pirate Priest. By Col. P. Ingraham.
356 Double Dan, the bastard; or. The Pirates
‘ ,1 of the Pecos. By Buckskin Sam.

3  257 Death-Trap hangings};l or. A Hard Man
- ~ 4; from ‘Way Back. B Jose E. Badger. Jr.
'év ' 258 Bullet Read, t Co crado 'Bravo. By

,. 72‘ Captain Mark Wilton.

r": " 259 Cutluss and Cross. By Col. P. lngraham.

v i ' 260 The Masked Mystery. By A. P. Morris.
’ 26! Black Sum, the Prairie Thunderbolt; or,

/

.‘,', '49 1“...“ ‘fn

lit. 1 /

4‘

x,‘  ' The Bandit-Hunters. By Col. Jo Yards.

If. 262 Fighting Tom, the Terror of the Toughs.
x'w v . By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monste .

if“ 263 [run-Armed Abe. the unchhack De-

strcyer. Captain Mark Wilton.
‘; ‘ ‘ 264 The Crooked Three. By Buckskin Sam.
265 01d Double-Sword;l or Pilots and Pi—
rates. By Capt. Fred. W ittaker.
266 Leopard Luke the King of Horse-Thieves.
' v By Ca tain Mark Wilton.
A 267 The White Squaw. linapt. Mayne Reid.
268 Magic Mike the Man of Frilis- or. Bad
Ben's Bad Brigai e. By William. R. Eyster.
69 The Bayou Ilravo. By Buckskin Sam.
3 76 Andros, the Free Rover; or, The Pirate‘s
. Daughter. By Ned Buntline.
»' 271 Stoned-t. ol‘uig Nu get llcnd; or Old
-‘ 7 . ‘ Ketchum‘s Tug of War. y Capt. Mark Wilton.
. ' 272 80th Slocum Railroad Survevor' or. The
. Secret of Sitvmg Bull. By Capt. F. ittaker.
. 273 Mountain Mose, the Gorge Outlaw. By
. ' . , Buckskin Sam.

)  274 Flush Fred, the Mi<sissi pi Sport: or,
’3 ‘ Tough Times in Tennessee... y Ed. Willett.
 .275 The Smug ler Cutter. By J. D. Conroy.
~’ 276 Texas Ch ck, the Southwest Detective.

' I By Captain Mark Wilton.
_..' 277"]‘he Saucy Jane, Privateer. ByCapt.
: , Frederick Whittaker.
' 273 Hercules Goldspu r, the Man of the Velvet
" Band. B Ca tain Howard Holmes.
. 279 The Go (1- ragon. By \\ m. Fl. Manning.
-« 280 Black-floss Ben or, Tiger Dick‘s Lone
I Hand. By Philip S. sme.
- 281 The Sea owl. B Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
ry. 282 The Merciless aruudcrs; or. Chap-
~ " , ~ _arra.l Carl's Revenge. By Buckskin Sam.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil oi the Mines; or. The
 Sons of the Fiery Cross. By Jos. E Badger. Jr.
[284 The Three Frigates? or, Old Ironsides'
. ,5 Revenge. By Capt. Fred. Vhittaker.
” 285 Lightning Bolt the Can on Terror: or,
:> The Mountain Cat's Grudge. y diark Wilton.
= 286 Pistol Johnny. liy Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
1287 Dandy Dave and is Horse. White Stock—
»  ' ing; or. Ducats or Death. By Buckskin Sam.
,  238 Electra Pete, the Man of Fire: or, The
r _‘ Wharf Rats of Locust Point. By A. 1". Morris.
 286 Flush Fred’s [full "and or. Life and
‘ , Strife in Louisiana. By Edward illett.
' * .. 280 The Lost l‘orvette; or Blakeley‘s Last
it ‘ Cruise. By Ca t. Fred. “'llltlakei'.
- 2.1 Horseshoe unit, the Man of Big Luck.
« g; Capt. Mark Wilton.
.. 3.21 oke Horncr, the Boss Ronstahout. R
» g  Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
1 3:3 Stain ode sieve. By Buckskin Sam.
 1 4 [Iron cloth Burt, the Denver Dandy. By

we}

   
  
  
  
  
    
     
 
  
    
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
  

7 ans Ranch “°"‘i'r‘§“°€‘”°li ri k n to n

t; ‘ross- . c e ave c- an r. y
w .. Capt. Frederick wilrl‘mker.

296 Duncan, the Sea-Diver; or. The Coast

 Vultures. By George St. rgo.

j“ 207 Colorado Rube, the Strong Arm of Hot-

,. gar City. By Wm. H. Maunin .

'-268 ogzor Lem; or. Life on Peril in the
-‘ ;. Pine Woods Bv Edward Willett.
899 Three or a ind. Tiger Dick. Iron Des-
. , - pond, and the Sportive Sport. By P. S. Warns.
/ ‘ 00 A Sport in spectacles. BEWm. R. Bystcr.
 01 Rowldcr Bill; or. The an from Tans.
‘ . , :y Buckskin Sam.
' ' 602 are Saul, the Handsome Hercules' or, The

~ Grip of Steel. By Joseph E. Badger, .ir.

 

 

303 Top-Notch Tom, the Cowboy Outlaw; or.
The Satanstown Election. By Cant. Whittaker.

304 'I‘exns Jack, the Prairie Rattler; or, The
Queen of the Wild Ridels. By Buffalo Bill.

305 hilt'er-Plu ted Sol, the Montana Rover. By
Capt. Mark Wilton.

306 'I‘hc uuughs of Richmond' or, The
Mystery of the Golden Beetle. l’v A. ’1’. Morris.

307 The Phantom I’ll-ate. lty Col.lngrahnm.

‘ 308 llelnloek llunk, Tough and True. By

Edward \lillett.

309 Ra bold, the Battling Ranger. By
Buc 'skin Saul.

310 'I he Marshal ol‘ Satanstown. By
Capt. F redcrick Whittak: r.

31 1 Heavy "and, the Relentless. By Captain
Mark Wilton.

 

367 A Royal Flush; or, Dan Brown‘s Big
Game of Freeze-Out. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

368 The Canyon King. By Edward Willeti.

369 The Coast Corsair. By Col. P. lllgi‘al'illm.

370 The Dusky Detective. By A W. Aiken.

371 Gold Buttons; or, The Up~Rilnge Pards.
By Buckskin Sam.

372 Cu tain Crisp; or,TheManWitliaRecord.
By 0s. E. Badger, Jr.

373 The Sailor of Fortune; or. The Buc-
caneers of Barnegat Bay. By Col. P. Ingraham

374 Major Blister the Sport of Two Cities.
By Capt. H0ward Holmes.

‘ 375 Royal George, the Three in One. By Wm.

312 Kinkioot Karl, The Mountain Scourge; 1‘

or. \Vipifi Out the Score. By Morris Redwin .

313 {alaiik agic, Detective. ByAnthonyP

orr s.

314 Lulltte or, The Pirate of the Gulf. By
Prof. J. . ingrahsm.

315 Flush Fred’s Double; or, The Squat-
ter‘s League of Six. By Edward Willctt.

316 Lntltte s Lieutenant; or Theodore, the
Child of the Sea. By Prof. J. H. In allam.

317 Frank Lightfoot the Minor etective;
or. Followinga Blind Lead. By J. E. Badger.

318 The Indian Buccaneer or. Red Rovers
on Blue Waters. Bv Col. Prenliss Ill 'aham.

319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind oi' the 'est. By
Buffalo Bill.

320 The Genteel Spotter. By A. W. Aiken.

321 California Claude, the Lone Bandit. By
Captain Howard Holmes.

322 The Crimson Coyotes. B Buckskin Sam.

326 Hots ur Hugh; or. The ndcd Brothers
of the lant‘s Arm. By Captain Mark Wilton.

324 old Forked-Lightning, the Solitay;
or Every Inch a Man. By Jos. E. Badger r.

325 ’I‘ re Gentleman Pirate; or. The er-
mit of Casoo Pay. By Col. P. lngraham

326 'l he Whitest Man in the Mines; or.
The Dog-Town Crowd. By Ca t. F. Whittaker.

327 Terrapin Dick the Wil Woods Detec-
tivc. Br; Edward Willett.

328 King out; or, The Bandits of the Bason.
13y Buckskin Sam.

329 ' he League of'l‘hrce; or, Buffalo Bill‘s
Pledge. By Col Prentiss Ingruliam.

330 Cop Colt, the Quaker City Detective. By
Chas. Morris.

33 1 Chi-pa Cllarlcy,tlle Gold Nugget Sport; or,
The Rock Mountain Masks. By J. E. Badger:

332 Spring- eel Jack. By Col. Monsiery.

333 Derringer Deck, the Man with the Drop.
By Wm. B. Eyster.

334 The CI rhsr Detective. By A. P. Morris.

335 Flash an, the Nshoh; or. The Blades of
Bowie Bar. By Capt. H. Holmes.

336 The Magic Dill ). By Col P. lngraham.

337  tGabe, the ountaili Tramp. By Ed.
' e t.

38 Jack Sands, Sport. By Philip S. Warne.

39 grand Eagle Sam the Hercules Hide-
unter. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

340 Cool Conrad. the Dakota Detective. By
Capt. H. Holmes.

341 The Sea Des erado. By Col. Ingraham.

342 Rlnneo Bil , the Mustang Monarch. By
Buckskin Sam.

343 The “and Hunter; or, Mark Magic in
the Mines. By A. P. Morris.

344 Double Shot Dave oi‘thc Leit Hand.
By Wm. R Evster.

345 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

346 Ocean Gucrriilas; or. The Planter Mid-
shipman. By Col. Prentiss Irwraham.

347 Denver Duke, the Man ith ‘Sand" or,
Centl lc Sam’s Lone Hand. By Capt. How-
ard olmes.

348 Dan Dillon, Rim of Cmsscut- or. A Woo
man‘s Wild Work. By Edward \i‘i’llotr.

349 Lion-Hearted Dick the Gentleman Road-
Agent. Bv Albert W. Al’ken.

350 Flash alcon, the Society Detective. By
Weldon J. Cobb.

351 Nor’ “'e-t Nick the Border Detective; or.
Dan Brown’s Fight or Life. By J. E. Badger.

352 The Desperate Dozen. lly Cap. Howard

olmes.
353 Barb Brennan, the Train Wrecker. By

John Cuthbert.

354 Red Richard. By Albert W. Aiken.

355 Stormy Steve, the Mad Athlete. By Jos.E.
Badger, Jr.

356 Three Handsome Sharps. By Wm. R.
Eyster.

857 Jack Simona, Detective. By A. P. Morris.

358 81:10 Prince of Pan-Out. By Buckskin
In.

359 Yellow Jack, theI Mestizo; or, Tiger Dick
to the Rescue. By Philip S. Warns.

360 Jumping Jerry, the Gamecock from Sun-
dcwn. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

361 Tombstone Dick. By Ned Bun‘.line.
2362 Rnfl‘alo Bill’sGrip. By Col. P. Incl-sham

363 Crowning-hie”, the Sleuth; or. Pitilcss
as Death By Albert W. Aiken.

364 The Sea Fugitive. By Col. P.1ngrahasi.
365 een Kennard. the Shasta Shadow: or,
e Branded Face. By Cs pt. Howard Holmes.

666 The Telegraph Detective or. The Dy-
namite Magus. By George enry Morse.

 

R. Eyster.

376 The Black Beards; or. The Hi h Horse
on the Rio Grande. By Albert W. Ai en.

377 Afloat and Ashore. By Col. P. Ingraham.

378 John Armstrong. Mechanic. By Capt.
F. Whittaker. '

379 Howling Ions-thaw or The Terrorfrom
Headwaters. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

380 The Golden Serpent; or, Tiger Dick‘s
Pledge. By P. S. Warne.

381 The Gypsg Gentleman’ or. Nick Fox.
the Demon etective. By A ri W. Aiken.

382 The Bonanza Rand or, Dread Don, of
the Cool Clan. By Capt. chard Holmes.

383 Silver Sam, Detective. By Maj. Daniel
Boone Dumont of the U. S. A.

384 lnjun Dick, Detective- or, Tracked from
t c Rockiesto New York. Albert W. Aiken-

385 Wild Dick Turpin, the Lion of Leadville.
By Wm. H. Manning.

386 Hawk lleron the Falcon Detective. By
Jackson Knox, (Old Hawk.)

387 Dark Durg; or. The Ishmael cf the Hllh-
By J as. E. Badger. Jr.

388 The Giant Buccaneer. ByCollngraham.

389 Colonel Double-edge. the Cattle Baron‘s
Pard. By Maj. Daniel Boone Dumont. U. S. A.

390 The Giant Cupid; or. Cibuto. John‘s
Great Jubilee. By J. C. Cowdrick.

39] Kate Scott the Decoy Detective; or,
Joe Phenix’s Still Hunt. By A. W. Aiken.

392 The Lost Bonanza; or. The BootcfSile'nt
Bound. By Capt. Howard Holmes.

393 The Convict Captain' or, The Battles of
the Buccaneers. By Col. rentiss lngraham.

394 \Vhlic chver the Exile of the Platte; or,
A Wronged Man’s Bed Trail. By Butl'nlo Bill.

395 Dead! Aim, the Duke of Derringers. By
Jos. E. edger. Jr.

396 The Piper Detective. By Wm. B. Eyster.

397 The Wizard Brothers; or, White
Beaver‘s Red Trail. By Buffalo Bill.

398 Sleepless-Eye the Pacific Detective: or.
Running Down a cubic. By Geo. C. Jenks.

399 'lthe New Monte Cristo; or The Wan-
dering Jew of the Sea. By Col. P. lngraham.

400 Captain Coldgrrip, the Sport Detective.
By Capt. Howard Hclmes.

401 The One-Arm Yard. By Buil'alo Bill.

402 snapshot Sam, the Pistol Sharp. By Wm.
B. Eyster. -

403 The Nameless Sport. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

404 Silver Rilllc 81d. By Philip S. \‘i‘srnc.

405 Old Baldy, the. Brigadier of Buck Basin.
By Wm. H. Manning.

406 Old Pop nicks, Showman. By Capt. F.
Whittaker.

407 Cgtain Coldgrip’s Nerve or. Injun
Ni on Deck. By Capt. Howard olmes.

408 Doc Grip, the Sporting Detective. By
Albert W. Aiken.

409 Rob Roy Rum-h; or. The lmps or the
Pan Handle. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

410 Sarah Brown Detective; or. The Mystery
of the Pavilion. By K. F. Hill.

411 The White Crook or, Old Hnrk’s For.
tress. By Maj. Daniel cone Dumont.

412 Larry Locke, the Man of Iron; or. A Fight
for Fortune. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

413 Captain Coldgrip in New York; or,
The Dragon ague. By Capt. H. Holmes.

414 Re Renard, the lndian Detective. By
Bu alo Bill.

415 not near! the Detective Spy. By Wm.
H. Manning. Bondy October 6.

416 Monte Jim, the Black Shee cf Bismark-
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr. Ready tober 13

417 Tucson Tom, the Bowie Bravo. By Geo.
St. George. Ready October so.

41 8 The Bat orthe Battery; or. Joe Phenix.
King of Detectives. By Albert W. Aiken.
Ready October 27.

A mw lame every Wednesday.

Readie’s Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdealers. ten cents per copy. or sent by mail on
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as William Street, New York.