‘ ‘ u  Published Every
‘ n. I Month.

(JAMES SULLIVAN. Pnor’mwmm.
379 Pearl Street. New York.

4
7' 7 mac .1903.

 

 an. um.

 

 

 

 

AFIGHTFéllFORTUNE.

A Story of Labor and Capital.

BY CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER.

‘U'rmm or “Jmm Amtsmoxn. MEF‘HANIC,"
“ NORMAN CASE, PRINTER,” ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
LARRY L()(‘KE,
Hg: was a short boy for his age, thin in the
Cece and stunted.
“'lmt ('lothos he had were too large for him,
and of shoes and stockings be was entirva inuo~

nt.

Ho had a stick and a lmmlln.

Thl' stivk was of green woodand hm] cvidnntly
been out in tho Woods that morning, While the
bundle was of the smallest size to bo worthv of
the name. '

In one band he held a dry orust of broad’ at
which he munvhed as he wulkwl along, and he
had not been waxhod fur 801110 time, while his
chart hair had been cut on the principle of a

' lc roof.

 

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2 Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

The only sign about the boy that he might
w into a man some day lay in his hands and
eet, which were big and bony.

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 by the side
of the high-road, and when he had finished
munching his crust he began to look out for a
lier 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
pass away the time as he trudged on, seeing be—
fore 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, a 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 arms, white-topped boots,
white breeches, silver buttons, and a cockade in
his hat; such was the picture seen by the short
boy in the road, and one which so amazed him
that he stood starin at it, open-mouthed, till
it had almost as him, when he seemed to
recollect himsel and started forward, crying:

“Hi! mister! hi! Sa l”

The handsome young ellow who was driving
seemed to be also a very good—natured gentle-

 

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 digity that he turned
round with a scowl on e ittle tramp and
called out a fly:

“Get out 0 that, ye imperent young rascal!
Shall I get off and give ’im a ’iding, sir?”

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

“Larry,” re lied the boy, unconcerned]
scanning the ve icle. “I say, mister, when
get rich, I’m goin’ to have jest sich a turnout as

ourn.”
y “ Larry, eh! .,Larry what?” asked the young

gentleman
“Iarry Locke," in the same unabashed

on.
were?“ were .
un - ouse sa coo y.

“ I’m a— tin’ to Holesbiirg to o intgipthe mills,
that‘s w at I am mister. _ , won’t ye give
us a lift? I’ve had lots of lifts._’

The young man laughed again.

“Are you sure you're clean, Larry? Got any
creepers about on?” _ .
' Larry color . deeply, for the first time during
the interview exhibiting self-consciousness, as he
answered sullen] : I

“ Reckon you’ have ’em, if you was me.” _

The young man gathered up his reins, and his
countenance grew colder as he said:

“ Exactly, my young friend. Well I am of
a philanthropic nature, or I shoul n’t have
talked to you all this time. But we must draw
the line somewhere, and I draw it at those ani-

’mals. Look here—”
He dived into his pocket and pulled out some
silver. I 4

“ I can’t give you a lift, Larry, but here‘s
something to be] you on the way to Holes-

burg. And, min , don’t spend it all on pie,
but get a bit of soap an try to keep clean.
Good-by.”

He tossed Larry a whole handful of small
silver, with a careless generosity that showed
he had never known what it was to want
money touched his leader with the whi , and
’ bow oil, to the t relief of the nglish

m, who had intensely fldgety and
anxious durin the whole interview fearing
that his whim cal young master mi ht take up
this dirty little tramp to ride beside im, James

Bo .

' Effor Lari-i, that young person, with great

philosophy, pic ed up the money and began to
count it a oud 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-
flve—ten’s eighty-five—golly! what a lot of
nickels! By gum! if he ain’t ve me a dollar
and five cents! That‘s as as a lift. Lem-
me see—what’ll I buy! pl Well, if over

 

wi got a wash.”

He hunted amon his rags and produced a

bit of red stuff that ad once been part of a cot- ,'

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

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 he beheld a party of three tramps
seated by the roadside, not very far off, waiting
for him to come up.

CHAPTER II.
mu) norm.

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
knew the were watching for him.

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

Nevertheless the philosophic boy never quick-
ened his pace; neither did he halt. but tramped
steadily on, keepin in the middle of the road,
till he was near t em, 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 t 9 corner of his eye
on them. “ Got a3 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 aclear 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‘ Pennsylvany at noon, I have.
Good -by l” ’

“ Stop! ye darned youn scalawag!” the
tramp roared, ferociousl , Ending coaxing to
be useless, and as he spo e he jumped up and
began to run after the b0 , who instantly took
to is heels and fled like a eer.

Disguise was cast aside for as he ran 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
have stunned or killed him had the blow taken
e ect.

Larry never looked behind 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.

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

“ Gimme that money! I seen ye get it,” the
leading tramp yelled; and on he came, with his
arms outstretched 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
years old—he cast the stone full in the tramp’s
face, taking him between the eyes with a crack
like that of a whip.

Not a sound came from the tramp, who stum-
bled and dropped in the road like a slaughtered
ox, when the boy, not waiting for further devel-
opments, wheeled round and sped away again.

Not till he had 'gone near a quarter of a mile
did he slacken his 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 my money, would ye? ‘Vell, I’d like to
see ye do it.” .

Away he went again toward the distant city
of Holesburg 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 shoulder.

By this time people and vehicles were pass-
ing and repassing, and he felt prett warm af-
ter his run; so he kept a bri ht loo out round
him, and presontly spied a 3 rl about his own
size, who stood by the roadside with a switch
in her hand, watching a flock of six goats, and
eying him as he came on in a way that rather
seemed to invite a conversation.

She was a freckle-faced girl, whose single gar-
ment was made of pink cotton, ‘patched with
divers colors, leaving a pair of s inin brown

 

lo and arms bare. seamed with scratc es.
n her head she wore a most disreputable sun-

 

an one told me to buy soap afore! Reckon I , bonnet of blue cotton, and her hair fell over her
i

Eyes, so she had to shove it back to look at
im.

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 thou ht to himself:

“That gal’s as dirty as I .
she’d say if I was to tell her she ought to use
son 3?” -

ii
soberly as ever, till close to the little goat-herd,
who accosted him:

“ Hello, boy!” ‘

She said ‘ hello!” in an indifferent sort of

which might mean anything in the Wm‘ld,
an rry responded affably:

“ Hello, gal l”

The signal responded to, the ice seemed to be
broken or the oat irl retortcd:

“ Hello yourse f ! y! what’s your name?”

“Larry Locke,” answered the boy, halting.
“What’s ours?” '

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

“Well, 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, 6 don’t. Now I W hat is it?”

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

“ It ain’t no sich thing.” she retorted, putting
out her face and looking im udent. “ Bull, in-
deed! Jcst as if I’d be call Sail. My name’s
Taber, and don’t you forget it, mister; Miss
Taber.”

Then she tried to look ineffabliy tall, but sud-
denly came down from her ignity to ask
curiously:

“ Say boy, where did you come from?”

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

“ ow’d you know my name was Moll?” de-
manded Miss Taber, surprised. “ 8a ', you‘re a
real nice boy, but do ’t you go to callin’ me no
Red M01], or I’ll be at on.”

Larry eyed her from h 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-
hearted and willing to get him surreptitious
meals by way of the back door.

So he answered:

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

“ Would ye?” asked the girl eagerly.

“Yes, would I,” retorted Larry. “You try
me some day. Be , Molly, do on live here?"

Miss Taber poin toward t e oke.

“ 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 skipI
in time. Say, Moll, do you know anyt ng
’bout the steel-works here, where they takes
’prei’iticesi 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 strige down the chimbley,” said Miss
Taber. “ ut say—”

“ What's the matter?” .

“ Skelly’s a furnaceman and he, wants. a
helper—' .

“ That suits me,” interrupted Larry. “ What
does he have to do?”

“ Dump the ore and the coal into the furnace.
while the helper fills the barrels,” Miss Taber
explained.

Lairy grinned delightedly.

“ That’s me to a dot! I used to have to shovel
all the coal there was in the County House. Say,
where does Skelly live?”

Molly Taber poiiinxl down the road to a little
shanty up on some rorks, where a woman could
be seen hanging out some washing.

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

As she spoke, the hoarse howling of a hand.
red steam whistles from the’ smoke that cano ied
Holesbur ' announced the hour of six, and iss
Moll ad 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
came out, screamin :

“ Molly! Molly! $0 lazy, red-headed trollo ,
and where have ye been all the time with e
goats?”

“Up the road a piece," returned Molly, in a
manner that showed she was not much afraid
of Mrs. Skelly, whose bark was much worse
than her bite. “ And I found this boy ma’am,
who wants to hel Mr. Skelly in the mill.”

Mrs. Skell loo ed'at Larry critical] .

“Sure an he ain’t big enough, Mol y. How
old are ye, bubb i”

“Sixteen, we in,” answered Larry, civilly,

W onder what I

e made no audible remark, but went on as

 

 

 

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‘.. ,h, I

Larry_I_.ocke, the Man of Iron. 3

 

 

 

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

“ Holy Fathers! Sixteen? And what stunted
ye so, I d‘nc?”

“ Reckon it was the hard work ma’am,” said
Larry, sim 1 . “ It’s good on the musklc, but
it makes a gefier 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 rawgreat deal of quiet confidence in it, as he
reto : -

“ I kin take care of myself, ma’am, I reckon.
I come here to be :1 iron man, and a iron man
I’m om’ to be.”

“ hat’s that yo say?” asked another v01ce,
as the master of the house himself came trudg-
ing in from his work, black and grimy. “ You
want to be a iron man i”

“ Yes,” returned Larry, boldly, wheelin
round to confront Mr. Skelly, who only laughe
goodnaturedly as he answered:

“ Ah, go home to yer manimy! VVhat’d the
likes of you do sh0vehn’ ore?”

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

Skelly laughed. ,

“Yer age? Sure ye ain’t twelve !"

“ I’m sixteen,” returned Larry, stoutly.

Mr. Skelly looked at him more closely, and
came u to feel him on the arms and shoulders,
after w ich he said:

“Ma be ye are, maybe ye ain’t; but Iknow
this: T eboss won’t let us take ’ rentices if he
can hel it, and the other b’yes ’ kill ye. Can
ya: foig t; what’s yer name?”

“ My name’s LarergV Locke, and I can fight like
a streak,” return Larry, at which Skelly
seemed to be leased, for he said to his wife as
he Went into the shanty:

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

CHAPTER III.
AT run MILL.

Tm: rollin -mill of Skinner & Son was one
of the s5 in the town of Holesburg, and was
distingui ed b a peculiarly lofty chimne ,
with a stripe 0 black bricks down one si e
of it while the legend “BESSEMER STEEL
RAI ,” ran acress the three hun'ired 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 ii and a. long, white beard. He rarely
smded, ut still more rarely frowned. He had
a cold, collected way of doing things that served
him well in business, and a quiet, masterful air
that showed he was used to taking care of him—
self in the world.

Forty years before he had been a poor black-
smith and wheelwright, 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-
fice, the next morning after rry 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 contrast, in its spick-and—span newness
and beauty, to the grimy surroundings.

The open, careless face of the young owner
was an equally strong contrast to the furrowed
countenance of the old ironmaster, but it was
evident, from the fond way in which the old
man looked at the young one, that they 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 orphan at an early age,
he had been spoiled to his heart’s content by the
two grandfathers with whom nature had pro-
vided him to replace his parents.

In his presence alone Elisha Skinner was
known to smile, and people said that be fair]
adored the boy, having had so much troub 0
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 you got the check?”

“ Yes, thank you, sir,” 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-
ly wa he always affected, as g:

“I on‘t fear that, Paul. ou‘ll never bring
disgrace on us all by any act of ours. Only
kee away from women. Don’t be run away
wit by any idea that it’s a fine thing to be
Viviana.

Paul colored slightly.

“ I not, sir. Mgot‘aates don’t run that
'6’. .I 0 horses and to and fun, general—

 

i
ly, but I don‘t care about girls; at all events,

not the kind you mean. By the by, governor, do
you know I met the queerest boy in the road,
yesterday!”

“ Indeed!
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 pose he thought your horses needed
work. I ’hat did you tell him?”

“ Oh, I threw him some change, and told him
to buy some soap. Someh0w 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,
l’ve ot a favor to ask of you.”

“ ’hat is it?” asked Skinner.

As he s ke his face grew colder, and Paul
did not fai 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
mone and leave me to attend to the making of
it. on don’t know what on ask. We don’t
want boys in these mills. 6 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?”

“ Well for pluck, for one thing.”

“We on’t want pluck; we want muscle.
How old is this bov?”

“ 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

bo .’

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

“ Is t at the boy?”

Paul turned his head and exclaimed:

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

im.’

As he spoke, up trudged Larry Locke, and
Paul reeted 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 the boss
here. What do you want?”

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

Why the queerest?” asked his

grandson. ,

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

d1“ Snay, boss, I want a job to learn to be a pud-
er.

Mr. Skinner looked at him coldly.

“A puddler? You? Why, that needs a man.
You’re only a. boy, sonny.”

“ I’m pretty strong for my age,” averred
 “ You jest try me.” ‘

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

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

“ Larry Locke.”

“ Humph! Well, Larry, there's only one
place I can give you—” ’ '

“ I know, ’ interrupted Larry, unceremoni-
ously. “ Jim Skelly wants a helper.”

Mr. Skinner stared cold] at him.

“Shut up your head. ou’re too cheeky by
half. If you want to be Skelly’s boy, you’ll
have to fight the biggest ’prentice in the mill.
We want strong boys, not midgets like on.”

Larry listened linconcerncdly and rep ied:

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

“ I should say not,” interru d the ironmas<
fer, with some contempt. “ ausixteen? You
don’t look over twelve.”

Larr looked up at him quietly, and his voice
had a efiant rin in it as he answered:

“If you don’t 'lieve I’m sixteen, jest bring
on any teller my age, and you’ll see. I kin
take keer of myself.”

Paul Van Beaver burst out laughing.

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

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

“ All right ” he said. "Tell your man to go
in and pass the word for Tom Trainor. If your
ho whips him, he shall have a place.”

an] 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.”

Mr. James Boggs, of Northamptenshire, Eng-

[ land, groom, was standin at the head of Paul‘s
leader, and he hesitated s ightly, sayin :

“ Can the boy hold Thunderbolt, sir? ’

“ Certainly. Here, Larry, you go to the lead-
er’s head while J 1m calls Trainor,” said Paul.

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

“ Now, t en, mind your eye, and don’t go to
playin’ any tricks on the ’oss.”

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

Mr. Bog favored him with a scowl 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?
“'ouid you like to take care of them ?"

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,
I will. Grooms ain’t no ’count. They don’t-
make nothen but da ’s wages.”

Mr. Skinner, for t 9 first time, seemed to be
struck by the boy’s words; for he said to Paul,
not ungraciously:

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

“ Muscle,” echoed Larry. “ That’s me, every
time, boss.”

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

‘ rainor’s acomin’ sir.”

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

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

Larry curled his lip, retorting:

“ Oh, 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~

and

in .”

gin Skinner made a wry face.

“ I guess Tom will take the cheek 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 large ears. He came up in a slouching
way, e ed Larry with a said of contempt,
wiped is 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
’prentice and I've told him he can‘t do it un-
less he whips you. Can you handle him?” '

Tom Trainor turned and looked at Larry
with an indescribable mixture of an or and
contem t. He stood nearly a head er than
the litt e tramp.

“Handle him I” 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 i”

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

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

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

“ Fair lay there! If you want to kick, take
oi! your ts. He’s harefooted.”

So saying he caught the big boy by the arm
but Tom turned on him in a moment an
growled:

“You leave me alone. I light my own way.
I don’t take off no boots. I don’t.”

» “ No, no.” cried old Skinner, ulling his long
beard; “that won’t do, Tom. Elr. Van Beaver
sa 3 take ’em 03, and so do I.”

or one moment it seemed as if the big ’pren-
tice were going to strike Paul, for he glared at
him likea wil beast; but then he seemed to
remember himself, for he began to kick of! his
boots, growling:

“ All right, boss, if you say so. I can eat him
up anyway.”

Then he turned on Larry, and made for the
boy like a demon.

CHAPTER IV.
rm: BOY or IRON.

.Tox Tmnon was a bi , burly boy for his
age, and an old rough-an -tumble fighter, who
had long been the terror of all the ’prentices in
the mill, of whom he was the oldest.

He rushed at Larry with a perfect hurricane
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
and all around the yard, pilin blow on blow,
while Larry was ducking an jumping back,
unable to return a blow.

“Your boy won’t get in, Paul,” said Mr.
Skinner, dryly. “Tom’s doing what he likes
wilt)h Iiimq) ’
‘ au,w owas watchin themeagefl I"
torted, with some heat: 3 1’

 

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._—.-__....__- ,____ .

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
Trainer on top, in a cloud of dust, and they
could see that
toe with all his might, while Larry’s head was
moving. ’

“Not yet,” answered Paul, in a. low voice,
watching them intentl '. “ LOok at that!”

B some exertion t try could not see in the
con usion, Larry had drawn up his knees and
managed to throw ofl’ his big antagonist, scram~ ,
bled up on his feet, and was jumping back
again, while Tom was following him more
slowly, evidently winded by his severe exer-
tions but savage as ever.

“ o’s esca 1d punishment so far,” said Paul. i
“Governor, ‘11 make the ten fifty that my boy i
wins!”

“ Done !" cried Skinner, who was growing ex- i
cited himself. “ Give it to him, Toni. Are you 3
going to let that kid get away with you?”

The boys were close to them now, and Lar"y’s I
face was visible. It was very pale, but not a I
bruise yet disfigured it, and is eyes watched ,
Tom as keenly as ever, while his lips were flrm- I

ly closed. 1 his old impudent manner.
i

Tom Trainer’s mouth was open, and his face
was crimSon, though neither had he received a ’
blow ct.

As e heard his employer’s taunt he made a. l

Larry

“He ought to. There’s twenty pounds be- V

oni was punching at his prostrate ‘

Locke, “the Man

“ Enou'di! Enouglil
kill me? Illnoughi"

I Larry rose up, panting, and went to old Mr.
Skinner, to whom he said, breathlessly:

i 1“ I’ve whipped him, boss. Kin I have the

jo i?"

_ Old Skinner, for the first time, showed genu-

ine surprise.

There lay his head he ', the strongest in the
mill, undeniably \Vlllppf’lf,“'lllp1)8d until he lxrg-
god 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 he clapped his hands, crying:

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

Skinner still kept staring at the boy as if he
could not believe his eyes, and now 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 h0w hard he is.”

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

“ Hc'l weigh a hundred—and—and—twenty—
how much?”

“ Hundred and twent -seven, boss,” said
Larry himself, calmly. a had recovered his
breath with surprising facility, and had resumed

‘ Poor-house scales

said so. Doctor says I’ll never be tall. Kin I

gave" the job you said, boss? I’ve whipped
im

Skinner looked over at Tom Trainer, who be-

te effort, and sent a right-hand blow , gun to rise up and shamble slow] to the mill,
wit all his force at Larry. : and the ironmaster nodded and sai , in a gloomy

“Good b0 , Larry!" exclaimed Paul, with i

uine ent usiasm, as the boy ducked his I

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

Crack! Crack! ,

They saw the boys grapple, heard the sound ,
of heads knockin to~ether, and then Larr
broke awa , whi 0 Tom staggered back witi
the blood sgreamin from his nose and mouth.

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

“Make iia hundred, governor?" cried Paul,
deliflhtediy. “ Your boy’s whipped!"

“ 0t yet,” said Skinner, sharply.

And he was right.

Tom Trainer, through over-confidence in his

pple, had received two severe blows, but he
was not by any means beaten.
On the contrary, the blows, coming from so
my an antagonist. had sobered, steadied, and

roughly enraged him.

He stopped amoment 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 heavil , but kept on slowly
advancing, till he got wit in reach, when he
made a ti or spring, ejaculating:

“ Now ’ve got e!” _

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

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

most.

They lay on the ground, tugging and panting
but Larry had caught the big boy’s wrist and
had fallen face downward while Tom was try-
ing to turn him. over, and the lesser boy was
slowl working his way back out of the grip
that eld him.

The saw him et up, first one knee and then
the ot er, till, wifiia sudden wrench, he got his
head free, and they saw him turn it on Tom’s

arm.
Then came a savage cry of pain and fairy
from the bigger boy, as he relaxed his hol ,

mar ng:

“ Bite, will ye?”

The relaxation was momentary, but it was
enough for the tough, wiry boy underneath.‘
In a moment he had wriggled back, got one
moulder under Tom’s thigh and was lifting him

1 .

Tod; struggled savagely, but he was power-
lem, for his cat were of! the ground, and Larry
had strength enough to lift him in the air.

Then both boys pitched forward again, and
“my board Trainer’s head st. ike the hard '

d with a terrible thud.

A moment later, Larry wriggled out and
mmblod to his feet, ’lpiilo and panting, but tri- ‘l
umpbant, while Tom rainor lay still. ‘

looked down at him, and then flungl I
him-cl on his foe like a little demon, clutche *
him by the throat, and cried as he shook his ,
head: _
“ Have ye bad enough yet?”

Tom had been stunned, but the Words woke }
him, and he tried toclutoh Larry, who had both
been on his foe’s chest. i

Instant] the short boy began to “ buck ” his §
head into om’s face, savage y

“ D’yc bog! d‘yo i” ,

"Crack crac . crack !” went the hard .

 

p-

.mck
had, andTom, aftarafaint struggle, be- l
tore-r: '

sort of way:

“ Yes, you’ve whip -d him. Here, come into
the office and I’ll sem you to the overseer."

Larry. as nneoncernedlv as ever, inned
gratefully and winked at an], after w ich he
followed his new employer into the office, and
gazed at the huge, dark interior of the mill
throu h 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?” ‘

Skinner, 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 gcr to the overseer and he’ll
put you on to be p kelly. Did you ever shovel
coal?”

Larry grinned from ear to ear.

“Shovel coal“! 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 fliid out,” said Skinner, roughly;
“and look here, boy—”

“Sir!” said Larry, innocently, for he saw
there was somethin on the other 8 mind.

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

Larr nodded his head with the same confl—
dent a 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 Beaver
observed to his grandfather:

“He’s a trump, isn’t be? How he whipped
that great lout, Trainor, didn‘t he? Wlia 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 talkin v of what you don’t fully un-
derstand, Paul. don’t See any whelp about
him. He fought hard but that little devil was
too much for him. That’s all. I don’t like to
hear you call him a whelp. Tom’s a good band,
and it’s not your place to call him names.”

Paul looked surprised at this rebuke of his
grandfather, who was usually to kind to him;

at 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, )ou‘d say that you were the lust

\rsoii to abuse him. There, that will do. I‘m

‘lls .

And the old man turned to his books, while
Pall]. in'Some dudgcon, walked out of the office,
and went to his (log-curt to drive 011’. .

He had got into the seat and n as just turning
PIS horses out of the yard, when a voice accosted

uni:

“ Are those the Skinner Mills?”

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

“ Why, yes,” he said. “These are the Skin:
ner iron mills. “'hom do you want to see, my
man?”

The man 9 ed him and his dog-cart very
keenly before 2 answared:

“I reckon I can find my man. I suppose

crying: i you’re Paul?”

“ I‘m usually called Mr. Van Beaver,” the
young man replied, haughtily.

The stranger laughed.

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

A

l

9913’” r

I
My God! d‘ye want to

 

 

fl

 

I’ve got a right to call you Paul, and I’m going
to do it. (‘nxxl—day.”

So sayin , he strode past the dog-cart to the
office, and ’nul, astoum ed and angry, saw him
open the do ~r, 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 leaped off.
the box, run to the stranger, and pulled himl
back, crying:

“ Who are you? How dare you?”

To his surprise and indignation the bigman
turned round and clutched him by the shoulders
with the strength of a giant, vociferating:

“ Is that {our game? Aha! you’ll find your
uncle’s get old of you !”

 

CHAPTER V
rm: BLACK HAWK GANG.

WHEN Mr. James Skelly fumace—feeder,

came home that evening to t e shanty on tho
roe-ks, Larr Locke came with him, and Mr.
Ski‘ll told iis wife:
‘.‘ ’ is 01:)(good boy, he is, and how c’u’d he help
bein’ r wid the name of Larry! He’l
do as much as a man’s work, Bridget. Give
him ?” good supper. Where’s Molly wid the
goo s. _

“ ere I am,” replied the voice of Miss Taber
from the frying-pan in the next room. “The
goats is milked on ago.”

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

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

Then to Molly he called:

“ Set the table and give us our supper. Pwhat’s
the use of havin’ help, 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: - V

“ Supper’s ready, gendemen !”

She did it with a great air and a flounce, but
after they were seated at the table she kept
making Signals to Larry which the boy did not
at first understand, till sup r was over, when
he sli pad out and whispe :

" at is it, Moll?”

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

0 out to tfie stone bench, when she whispered

ck:

“ 88 did 0 whi Tom T ' or bad?”

Larry; shrug hi; shouldggn

“ I got the p co,” was all he answered.

Miss Taber nodded.

“ I been tell of it.
it. He called me Red
me a 513 in the mouth.”

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

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

“ Yes,” she ursued, slowly ringing out her
dish-cloth. “ im and me used to mt
friends ons’t, till he found out something a at
hisself.”

“ And what was that?” asked Larry,

Molly shook her head In storiously.

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

Lim- stared and hesitated, rather as if he
didn‘t ike the uestion, but at last said:

“ No, nor mo her neither. Do you, Mom”

Molly shook her head.

H 
on as Well’s them’s have dads and mams. all
this Tom, he found out who was his dad, and
sence that there’s been no bearin’ of him.”

“ And who 1's his dad?” asked Larry, at which
Molly only shook her head still more mysmfi.

ouslv answering: '
I know. Say, did you

So. , I’m real lad edid
M211 last wegk a:in hit

“ I’ve a mind

“ . ever vou mind.
have a good time at the works to day?"

“Pretty good,” returned Larry, indiflercntly.
“ They had a mess up at the office.”

“ What about?” asked Molly, curiomly, so
curiously she dropped her dish-cloth. “ Oh my,
there’s a visitor coming.”

“ That‘s me,” said Larrv, gallantly. “ I'm
the Visitor, Molly. “ I’d 1i '0 to see any other
It ller (-oirin’ arter you. I’d lam him.”

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

“I don‘t riphtly know, but the men had to
run in, to part some one fighting, and they do
say—

“What. Larry?”

For he hesitated.

“ They do say it was Mr. Skinner’s son, had
come back fm sea, and that he raised the
muss," said Larry.

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

“ Mr. Skinner’s eon? Not Mercellersf'

“ Reckon that was the'name, Mo ”

Molly clasped her hands.

11 khhié‘hwm“ i‘ffiio‘ 3226152 “mm...”

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Molly drew him close to whispgg' .

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Larry Locke. the Man of Iron.

 

 

“ He’s Tom Trainer’s father!”

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

“ Is be? And wii‘y did he go away?”

“I d’no’,” said olly, “but I’ve heern Mrs.
Skelly say what she hearn tell.”

“And what was that?”

“That the old man was awful mad, and
turned him out, ever so man years a 0. So
now he's come back, has he! ell, you’ ketch
it now, Larry.”

“Me? Why?” asked Larry.

“ ’Cause you whipped Tom. Oh, he’ll be even
with you, if he can. Now he knows he’s the
old man’s grandson by rights—”

“Molly!” called Mrs. Skelly.

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

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

“ Here, ma’am.”

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

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

“Dave 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‘ase? 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 ye yet. And he’s a darlin‘, so
he is.”

Larry went off toward the (pig-sty to obey
orders, when he heard the soun of whispering
on the other side, and saw a bead disap 1'
over the edge of a rock on which Skc ly’s
shanty was built.

Something 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 snoorcr. Give it to him, boys!”

And then out sprung five boys, about his own
age, whom he knew well as ’prentices in the
mill, headed by Trainor, 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 itto ’em both!” cried Trainor: and as
he ke be aimed a blow at Skelly’s head,
whiscgotbe 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, clu and all:

“Give it to him,” screamed Tom and, with
that his four friends began to beat Skelly with
their clubs, while the man, in his fury and des-
peration, choked Trainor, who roared aloud
and kicked out, trying to defend himself as he
best could. ‘

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: -

“ Larry! Larry! Help!”

Larry heard the shriek as he ran, for he had
only no to the end of the little garden-patch,
topic up a club he remembered to have seen
there.

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

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

One sweeping blow of the tough hickor , a
crack like a pistol-shot, and one of the oys
sta gered back and dropped.

e others turned on him at once, leaving
Skelly, and drove Larry back with a shower of
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 a stunning sensation in his
head and 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
must fight till he was killed.

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

He heard the crack and saw some one fall, ‘

then saw a man running toward him—a man
with a thick club.
“ G’wan, now, ye spal
whose face was cove with blood, and. as he
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-

ry’s foes turned to run, and Larry rushed
after them, sending what force be had left into

 

ns!” roared the man, -

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

“Shto ! Shtopl” shouted Skelly, catchin
him by t e arm. “Don’t folly them. Don’t
know who they are, bad luck to ’em’i”

Larry sto ped 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, boy,” said the older
man, as they came to the house. “ Begorra, av
'e hadn’t come back when 'e'did, it’s kilt I’d
have been intirel . Here, ridge, get’s some
watt r. Sure, we re worth a hundred dead in. 11
et.”
“But, where’s Trainor?" murmured Larry,

stupidly. “He was with them.”

“Don’t fie ax no questions,” responded Jim,
curtly. “ e cm, 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

softl :
“ rry, boy, you did that elegant. Oh, my!
ain’t I I lad you whipped ’em all! I said 'he’d

try to get even With you and he has. That’s
’cause his dad came home today.” ~31

CHAPTER VI.
THE raonIGAL’s RETURN.

LARRY Locxn went to the mill next da as if
nothing had happened, though his he was
decoratx d 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 cm
Trainor 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 affair, 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 dro
in at Skell ’s cottage in the course of the wee
to hear 0 the affair in full, while all voted
Larry “a good boy,” and confirmed the nick—
name, which he had 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 ut it, in
the office at a desk, writing, or at east pre-
tending to write, while a new face was at the
pay-table; that of a bi , Sour-looking man,
with a stern expression, w o seemed at first not
to be familiar with their names, for he was a

long time pa ng off.

Old Mr. gllrinner was in the office, and the
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, whcn 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 for 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 ’5 name was called.
to other with “Larry Loc 6, hel icr.”

Vhen 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, rather proudly, and
he signed his name with some difficulty.

The man at the table e ed him like a hawk
while he signed, and en said to Larry
rou hly:

“ on can’t Write.
You get three dollars.”

Lagdry looked back at him with interest, as he
re li . :

I)‘Thankee, mister; I kin write. I l’arned in
the Con ty House.”

“You ook like a —” be an the man with a
sneer, when he suddenly pu led up, like one ut~
tin a great constraint on himself, and a ded
wit a smile:

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

Larry obeyed. and as he received his money
he saw that the new paymaster was eiyin him

.Y

 

Make your mark here.

lrlnore keenly than he had eyed Ske fore
1m.

The boy returned the gaze with interest as he
 the money into his pocket, saying,
p ,1 y:

“ Thankee kindly. sir. Reckon I will.”

“You will what?” asked the other in a low
tone, with a furtive scowl.

“ Know you next time,” responded Larry, as
innocently as before, and then he went away
from the table with a smothered chuckle pre-
ceding him from the men who had heard him

while the man at the table hit his lip, turn

 

:

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

When the last man had flied out of -the gate
the new pa aster turned to Mr. Skinner With
rather‘a triumphant smile, observing: ‘ -

“ You see, I told ou I could t on and make
no mistakes, sir. he cash is al right tc a cent.
If I’ve learned nothing else in the world, I‘ve
learned to look sharp after the pennies.”

Old Mr. Skinner looked approvingly at him
and answered slowl :

“I told you, Marcellus, that I was to will.
ingtogive you a trial, and if I fin thatéou
have truly reformed I shall make no distinc on
between you and my other child; but you must
pardon me if I test on thoroughly. Emmeline
your sister, never isoheyed me. She 
mte an excellent family, and her son is my
pride and delight. You might have been in
partner, ears ago, had you conducted ourse
as a gent eman, even as an honest man, at you
preferred to have your own way and it has

rought you to eatin husks. But I am willin
to forgive all and be p you, even to help the
unfortunate boy whose stained birth he owes to
you, if you will only behave as you havc 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 long.”

“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 to make 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 fclon. What wonder that I was tem-
porarily irritated? But I’ll do my best to make
it up sir.”

Old Skinner seemed to be somewhat mollifled,
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 wi I be your
share of what I leave. Good-day. Sea to the
closmg of the works. There’s Paul now.”

Indeed they been! the clatter of wheels out«
side and saw through the glass door the dog-
cart draw up, while 'aul’s cheery cry rung out
through the glass:

“ Hilloa, governor, here we arv, 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
faV'orite grandson, and be burned out, crying
as he went:

“ Here I am, Paul. Don’t get out.
in alone, I guess.”

Marcellus Skinner had risen from his chair,
his face ashen gray and working with envy as
he saw the hapfiy young man drive up, but he
said nothing ti the dog cart drove off.

Then he looked all round the office, and at
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 displaced
him, while Tom, who was used to rough lan-
guage turned round on his high 'stool and
looked on amazed.

“Ay,” he concluded. “Going to the races,
are ye, curse ye both! You’re to have all the
cream of life and I’m to drink the sour whey
am I! Oh, curse ve both, tiff/a n fathoms under
the bottom of the lowest place of torment, cune
ye. curse ye!”

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 frightened came to him
and Marcellus continued slowly:

“ Tom, he says I did a a wrong, and I
it’s true. You mi ht

I can get

es-
aye been Tom Sklgdlner
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
true as 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, reached to stand
anything and everything, so longras I get back
my rights at last. D’yeye hear, ommyi D’ye

hear?” 

“Yes, father,” anvaered Tom, doubtfully
for he was cowed by the vehement passion of
the other. '

“ Ay. Tom. and mark’ee this: I’ll et ’01:. Me
and you Tommy, me and you. I m the onlg
son, and he'give me the grand bounce. H
son ! d’ye mind that?——his son! And he took
Em’s baby, a little, puny, equalling brat, to be

 

 

» -‘ «c 25.23;.

 

6 .

his heir. And he’s got a dog-cart and lives in
clover, while me and (you has to slave away our
lives in this musty 0] hole, making money for
him to spend, the cussed youn snob. Oh. curse
’em. curse ’em, curse ’em, cm! I hope the
cursed dog-cart’ll break down an’ kill ’cm both!
I hope-— confound it, boy, why don’t you
curse the upstart? Curse him Well, Tom, curse
him!” ,

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

“Thankee, thankee, Tom. It does me good
to hear e 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.”

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

“ ever you mind that, Tommy,” said his
father, encouragingly. “I’ve done a deal
already, I have, and I was a fool I didn’t do it
long ago afore he got 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 isteii
to me, for I’m oing to do what I say. Me and

on has got to e 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, boy. We’ve both got our
grudges, to pay, Tom, and we’ll pay ’em, too,
when the old man’s dead—hey, Tom?’

Tom chuckled at the idea, but he said rather
hesitatingly:

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

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

ou shall have your fling, never fcai'. And now
et’s shut up.”

From that day father and son kept their row)-
lution and became models of quiet and submis-
sive deportnient.

Tom remained in the oiiice. while Marcellus
helped him on every DOS-Slide occasion, and your
by year Marcellus acquired more and more iii-
fluence over the old man.

Meantime, Larr Locke rose from place to
place in the fun ry, till he had become hcad
. of the “ cranemen,” who handled the huge
crucibles of molten steel, and was knowu as the
strongest man in the works.

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

ears till one day Marcellus said to his son, rub-
bing his hands, with an evil smile that meant a
good deal:

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

“Larry Lockc.” answered Tom, without a
moment’s hesitation.

Marcellu 4 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.
'rnE WHEEL or FORTUNE.

Six years had passed awn from the time
Larry Locke entered the stee mill, when Mr.
Paul Van Beaver, no longer in his handsome
dogcart, but on foot and dressed with a plain-
ness that gave token of altered fortunes, was
standing on the top of one of the hills that over-
look the city of Holcsburg, by the side of a neat
little cot age, talking to a short young man
with shoulders of unusual breadth.

At the door of the same cottage, and to all ap—
pearance an interested listener to the conversa-
tion, was a. prctty young woman, whose bright
auburn hair shone like red gold in the sun, while
the baby in her arms had got hold of a strag-
gling curl and was tugging at it with great
delight.

“ Yes, Larry,” Paul was sayin , rather sadly,
“ I’m not as badly off as I mightfin. Tobe sure
iL’s a great disappointment when I was assured
so oftcn 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.”

Iarry Locke loole up at! him as if he rather
doubted it. He was the same old Larry, in t 0
clear brown e es and the defiant curve of t e
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-
pact, and he was one of the heaviest men in the
mill where his strength was roverbial among
the ‘cranemen” 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
you one thing, Mr. Paul, that the men don’t like
Mr. Marcellus now he’s the owner, and if I ain’t
mistook ther’ be trouble in more’n one mill
afore long.”

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

 

LP‘EIG’ life M?“ 0f lion“

 

 

anything. I've lived a reckless, extravagant
life on other people’s money, and 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 l’in 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,
slowly:

“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,
so ing:

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

It was Larry‘s .first Hoiesburg 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
pom-house—”

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

And Pau 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 re—
gretted 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 thcy call ’cm; but I reckon we hain’t done so
lint], artcr all.”

Molly cast a fond lance at him. She was
very Jil‘Ollfl of hcr lius land.

“Xou may say that, Larry, boy,” she said.
“ “'e don’t owe no one a pcnny, except on the
house.”

“ And we’ll pay that when it’s due,” said
Larry stoutly. “ I ain’t afraid of no mortgage
while ’vo got my arms. I kin take care of iny~
sclf, and you, too.”

“ But about Skinner?” interrupted Paul.

“Yes, sir, about Skinner," said Molly. “It
was in the poor-house 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 Tommy was his son, though
he never owned him. And at last he took the
b0 away. And they do say, sir——”

he hesitated a moment, but continued:

“They do say, sir, as Tom Trainer, that‘s new
in the office, 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 ."

gaul 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 money 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 he, now. I’Vell. it’s no use crying
over spilled‘milk, Larry. I’ll see you often
enough now. Good-bv.”

“And remember, Mr. Paul.” said Larry, as;
his old patron turned away, “ that if ever ye
want a friend, though M011 and me ain’t what’s
to call millyneers, I won’t never furgct the fu'st
fiifiml’I ever had, who got me into the Skinner

l s.

“ Never mind that ” said Paul, with a slight
sigh. “WhatIdid, Idid carelessly. It’s our
good heart that remembers it too wall. ood-

y.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEW SCALE.

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

Mr. Marcellus Skinner, the new owner, had
been in ion for a week, and was sitting
at the master’s desk, scowlin as usual when
ilhhumored. For the matter 0 that, he seemed
ill-humored always.

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

 

a

He war makin a pretense of writing letters,
which, as his ucation had been of the most
limited kind, was a mere pretense and a painful
one.

At a high desk, in the poorest li hted rt of
the office, stood Paul Van Beaver,gat wogg on a
lot of hills, which he was entering in a book.
quietly and rapidly.

Presentl Tom uttered an impatient oath, and
grumbling y said:

“ I ain’t well, Mr. Skinner. I don‘t seem to
be able to write to—day. Can’t I have a bit of
a holida for once in a we l” '

Marce us Skinner lookc up at him, and the
sc0wl vanished from his face. It was a hard,
brutal face enough, weather-beaten and heavy-
jowled, with a bristling gray mustache, but it
softened as he said:

“Yes, Tommy, boy— Certain] . Go to the
stable and get the dog-cart. You ve got as
a right to it as an one ever had that used to
live on other folkss money, with all their airs
antkgraces. Don’t drive ’em too hard, boy. I
got ’em a bargain, but that’s no reason they
should be killed.”

Paul Van Beaver heard all, but never pre-
tended to notice. It was part of the system of
petty taunts by which his uncle had striven to
mfgke his place miserable since he entered the
0 cc.

The dog-cart had been his, nominally, but on
his grandfather’s death, 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
lcgal heirs of in?' daughter Emmcline,” Paul
had been reduce to pcnury at once, the more
so as his other grandfather, Marcus Van
Bcaver, at his death a year before, had left his
estate of Bcavcrwyck mortgaged for its full
valueto no loss a person than Elisha Skinner
himself; and the mortgage, which Paul had
thought to lo an empty formality as ion as his
gran father lived, became a grim'rea ity as
soon as Marcellus Skinner took possession.

He made no remark, but went on with his
books till Tom Ti'ainor 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.

“ Hcml Copying bills, are ye?" returned his
uncle, wi‘h a sneer. “ Well, come over to Mr.
Trainor‘s desk and write. I want to dictate a
letter.”

Paul came over obediently and took a fresh
sheet of palper, when Marcellus began with his
usual scow .

“I’m going for those friends of yours in the
she ,Mr. Paul. I’ve seen their ways to you
ant your betters. and I’m going to make them
hum .. Do you hear me?”

“ es, sir. \Vhat shall I write?” said Paul, as
f rigidly as ever.

“Write to Stone & Grynde,” was the reply.

” GENTst—I think the combination you propose is
a good tho. I am willing to enter it, beg nnmg to-
nn rrow. It‘s time we taught our bands who is mas-
t r. If it had been done ten years ago. we should
have been richer men. Yours."

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

“ We’re oing to scale down wages, and I’m
going to r uce everywhere. How much do you
get now?"

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

“ Well, we’re goingdto cut down twenty-five
rcr cent,” retorttd arcellus, “beginnin the
next pay-day. You’ll only get seven~flfty ere—
o fter. if you don‘t like it, you can quit as soon
as on like.”

aul listened silently, and his only reply was
the uery:

“ ny more letters, sir?”

“ No. Go back to your bills,” said his uncle,
sullenly. “I’ll brin your cursed pride down
yet, With all your an Beaver airs and graces.

’an Beaver, indeed! A lot of paupers, that
got hold of my father in his dota e, and would

ave sucked him dry if he hadntdied in the
w? he did i”

an] colored high for the first time. His te ’
per was naturally
strug‘ is for some time to keep it in bounds.

“ ope you’ll remember, sir,” he said, “that
my mot or was your sister, and that a sneer at
my father’s family is a reflection on her and
your own family.”

Marcellus chuckled, and scowled while he
chuckled.

“ Ho, ho! So the Van Beaver pride’s getting
up, is it? Well, we’ll bring that down. Ain‘t
you a pauper, depending on my bounty! Ain’t
youl—sayl”

“ No sir i” returned Paul, with a great swell-
ing at is throat. “ In times past I was depend-
ent on my poor grandfather. Now I'm earn-
ing an honest living by hard work."

‘Hard work !" growled Marcellus, bitterly.
“Yes, curse you! and it will be harder before
we’ve done, young fellow. Oh! I’m going to
make you earn what you get, you can do nd
on that. Here. 0 the works and tell a the

foreman I want t em.”

nick, and he had had a 3181:?

 

 

‘3;
"f

a

‘fifii-k

t ‘J

~‘V-sgqgnld. .35;

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. . 5r “(Y/“fl” “Twwrim

 

 

I aces in a furtive way.

i
quart v.

 

__ __. - -__ _'.__...--. ..

,_,_,7 . , ‘ Ml...  no-.. I wresxw, and”. -_...»,._-~_~ “1“”? ..  , 

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

lowed by five or 51x men, of whom _Larry
Locke was one. They were all stalwart, intelli-
gent-looking mic, and filed into the office,
seeming surpr' 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.
We’ve got a year’s stock on hand, and we iron-
masters have about concluded to shut up the
mills for a few months.” .

He stopped and puffed at his Cigar, partly to

in time to think, partly to watch the men’s

They all looked disturbed. One man was as

Is as a ghost; others were scowling; only
any Locke seemed tranquil, and it was he
who answered:

“We 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?” he said with
a sneer. “ I suppose you think I’m lying to you.
“lid beltmkesdlim', i l

my 00 im in t ie eye, rep ying:

“ 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. And look here, Mr.
Smarty, I’ve been a captain at sea and handled
iist as hard nuts as you think yourself to be.

We sent for you men to make a proposition to

Paul left the ofilce, and soon returned, fol~ |

 

you.”

“What is itf’askcd Larry, who seemed by
common consent to act as spokesman for the 3
others.

“ You will? And who are you I Are there
more than one of you?” asked Skinner sneer-

in l .

any shook his finger at hiln.

“ You’ll find out who we are, boss. You’ve
set a trap for us this time, but we’ll show on
'et that Ibe Airerican workingmen are ha to
beat 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
money arranged in packages, while Paul Van
Beaver, at the desk in the rear, was'making up
and marking the packages, so that Tom had
nothing to do with any countin .

The men looked gloomy and owncast, for the
news of the reductionhad gone all over the mill,
and every one of them was more or less in debt,
while his means of paying it had been suddenly
reduced without warning of more than twenty-
four 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 yment of the old
scale if they wished, as to t is one amount.

But then they also knew that, if they did so.
the mills would be shut down; that their hard-
flsted employer might refuse to pay at all, and
fight every claim in the courts.

And in the mean time, they had no money to
fight, none to pay 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

“ There’s on‘y one way we can keep the mills  the pay-tab e to receive their money, and each

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
thnty-flve pcr cent. less than current wages,
beginning the very next pa y-day. Now?” ,

“ Twenty-five per cent. l” echoed the pale forc-
inan with a groan. “ My God, Mr. Skinner, I’ve
got seven children.”

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 gloomily said:

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

An as each signed and drew back with his

1 money in his hand, Marcellus Skinner’s face

“ So much the worse for you " returned the ' brightened and he. rubbed his hands, thinking

iromnaster brutally. “A man ike you ought
not to have children. You can take that or go
without anything. I‘ve got to cut down ex- ,
penses or go to the )or—house.” |

And as he s'mke, 10 arranged carefully a soli- ,
tairc diamom in his shirt-front.

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

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

Skinner curled his lip.

“ You’re a fine business man. I tell on we‘ve
made up our minds and on can‘t udge us.
You have your Unions an we have cars. If I

on the 01:1 scale at the lay-table to-morrow,
faint the mill next day. ow what to you say?
I want an answer at once.”

Larry Locke stepped out again.

“Are we to understand that. if you shut the
mill da after to morrow, you’ll pay us on the ‘
old sea 9 tomorrow?”

Skinner hit his lips. He was yet new to the
mills, and did not understand the men, but he
saw clearly th'tl} Larry was the shrewde:~t and v
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,” interrupted Larry unceremoniously.
“That’s Just what I think. You can close the.
mill for all me, but I’m going to have in pay in
full if I never handle another lot of stee .”

Again Skinner looked at the bold young fol-
low mth some uneasiness:

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

“ Then I’d tell all the gys to clap a lien on
the works so quick it’ll make your head swim,”
rciortcd Larry, and as he he he began to
take off his leather apron, ‘If the payys E,n
right to-morrow. we’ll talk about the reduction
~:w’ierward’ Come, boss, which is it, so we’ll
'uow what to dol, I don’t mind a lock-out,
if you don’t.”

But the other foreman at once began tore-
: :<:nstrate in such a pleading way, that Skinner
: 'i\'-‘ they were yielding, and he cut short the in-
terview at once, saying:

“You hear what I’ve said. 1 mean it. I
Toy the new scale tomorrow. Those men that
don’t like it can leave the works. And mark
you this: they go on the black list. We’ve
1::‘1‘9041 on that.”

Larry Locke deliberately folded up his apron
under his arm. saying:

“ Very well, hiss, then so do we agree on an-
other list. I stick to the old mic; and, mark
my words, we’ll make you pay it."

how he had saved three thousand dollarsaweek,
by a sin le bold stroke.
And t e men; what were they thinking of 2
What does a workingman think of at such a
time, when he sees Suffering and privation star-
ing‘ him in the face?
hey were wondering what they should do

i for the winter. Some were thinking of going

to a beer saloon to drewn their sorrow. Hardl
one reasoned whether he could not help himse f
and beat his rich employer. The hard experi-
ence of 187?.had taught him that threats and
violence do not brin 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
down behind the table, his diamond glinting at
every motion, while the poor men outside, whom
he was cheating of their honest dues, huddled
gloomin together in the atewa , willing to re-
volt, but waiting to see w 0 won (1 be the first to
dare.

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

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

Tom had turned pale as soon as he saw La
coming. Be well remembered the way in whic
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 ever one he met: but some-
how he could not face arry. His eyes dropped
on the table, and he said:

“ 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!” he cried. “The
old calc of course. Any man that knocks un-
(ler to the bosses 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 sheet,
while Marcellus Skinner flushed purple, and
came up to the y—table, owling:

“ Pay the fel ow the 01 scale. Tom, and put
him down on the black list. I’ll take care of
you, my fine rellow.”

VTom, completely demoralized by the sudden
dispute, where everything had been going on
like clockwork, nervously began to unroll two

ckages and try to count out the money, while

ri' answered Skinner:

“ ou’ll take care of me, will you! Thank ye

‘ for nothing. 1 can take care of m self.”

Anothcr cheer in the rear and S inner hastily
shoved Tom aside, counted out the money and
then said sternly:

“ Now sign your name and skip, or I’ll put a
head on you."

 

 

Larry looked at him from head to foot with I
provokin smile.

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

“ W'e’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

rovoking coolness, after which he tucked it into
Bis 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 bow, with the one idea in his head
that it was necessary for him to overawe all his
hands and check any disposition to mutiny, said
to 'Larry: .

“ Now, get out of the worksl Quick 2”

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.

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

“ Keeg cool, Mr. Skinner—kee cool. Don’t
lay han s on me, if you please. ’m going, but
I don’t anew 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
Larry, which the little man evaded by a duck
and skip to one side, executed so neatl that it
called forth a laugh and jeer from all 6 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, Loclie 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
gra . I,

T ere be In , all doubled up with pain, and
Larry. amid t e dead silence of all round him,
shook his finger at the prostrate man and said,
Slow :

“ ou made a mistake that time, Mr. Skinner.
You hit at the wrong man. It ain't the only
one you’ve made, as you’ll find out afore we’ve
done. We cranemen all wants the old scale
and we’re goin’ to have it. Go on, boys,
draw your pay.”

So saying he turned away to the table, and
one by one all the cranemen responded to Tom‘s
question:

“ \Ve want the old scale. Dam your black-
list. Give us our money.”

And Marcellus Skit. uer had to be helped into
his office-chair, where he sat panting and group-

in .
Two of his ribs were broken.

CHAPTER X.
mason JIM.

As the sun set that evening Larry Locke al-
cended the hill to his little cottage overlooking
Helesburg and said to his wife:

“Molly. old gal, the fight’s begun. I‘ve had
to whip the boss.”

Molly flushed slightly and looked at his sturdy
figure with some pride as she answered:

“Served him right. What did he do?”

“ He was fool enough to hit at me,” said La
laconically. “ If he’d been any one else, 1 
have let him go; but he thinks he‘s a fighter.
So I laid him out."

'lhen he took his baby from his wife‘s arms,
and no one would have thought, to see the way
in which the strong man sutmitted to the ca-
prices of the child, that he was the. terrible fighfr
cr who had acquired the name of the “ Man (1
Iron” by the single. blow of that afternoon,”
he had that of the “Boy of Iron " six years be-

fore.

As for Molly, she was too much the old high-
spirited, careless “ Red Moll” to th nk twice of
such a little thing as a fight in which her hus-
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 got to leok out for something to
do, next week, Molly. The new scale’s gone into
effect, and the cranemen are the only ones who’ve
stood out against it."

Molly smiled proudly.

“ Good for them! ut I know who put them

; up to it. One bold man has to tell ’cm what to

do, and they foller like sheep and think they‘re
brave.”

Larry smiled at his wife's enthusiasm.

“ That’s true enough, Moll; but I ain’t so our.

,,. ,h ., g:

 

‘ u-‘r. , .

  

 

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
baby and me? Of course I don‘t worry about it.
It’s a lockout for you, is it?”

“That‘s just what it is, Moll; and the losses
have made a black list among themselvos. I
can’ et an work in Holesburg at m trade.”

“ “$hat 0 that?” answered Molly, c eerfully.
“ I ain’t afraid. Let’s move to Cincinnati. I’ve
got money saved, Larry, boy.”

Larry looked su rised.

“ Where? 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 sur-
prise you. I’ve got within ten dollars of it bid
awa .”

“ at where?” asked Larry, impatientl 7.

Before his wife answered she went to t e deor
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 i l and say quietlv:

“ You ain’t got no prudence, you ain t. Don’t
you know we’re on the mam road, with tramps
passigg 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 scared about nothing.” retorfpd 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
slouched past the doorway in the dust of the

' hway, mnrmuring:
‘Here they he’s, now.”

Mrs. Locke, like her husband, talked the most
grammar defiant English at ordinary times,
though both knew better, having been at night .
school three years.

Larr looked up from his supper, and at once ’
recognized the figure of one of the tramps. It
was the same man he had knocked still’ with a
stone, six years before—a little older, his dusty
hair etting grizzled, but the same man, beyond
a dougbt.

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
a? and be in the shadow; and realin that g

y did not see him, so he quietly slipped he- !
hind the door of an inner room to see what they ‘,
would do. .

As he 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 big, raw-
boned fellow, and Larry remembered that h’s
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

l
i
i
l

wa .

Izwas the little man who spoke first.

“Please missus, won’t ye give tWo poor men
n bite o’ Victuals, for the love 0’ God .7’

’ voice was whining and pitcous, and Molly ,

immediame answered: :

“Why certainly. Sit down on the stone bc- :
fore the door, and I’ll give yo some broad and
coflee.”

Terror Jim, who had been staring rudely at
her, broke out: .
“ Bread and coffee, indeed! Blazes] is that all
nhandsome piece like you kin give a man like .

me? Ain’t ye got no ic?” .

Molly shrunk slight y back, for he was coming
so close she thought he meant to lay hands on
her, and called out:

“ Larry! Larry!”

Instantly the taco of the little man changed
mid he ran back into the road, crying:

“ Skip, cully, skip. Main guy’s comin’.”

Terror Jim, on be other hand, stood his ,

unzl, and shifted a great club he carried into I

wright hand as he looked into the cabin, ob-
serving grimly:

“ So ye want to bounce Terror Jim, do ye?
Bring on our La ; why don’t be come?”

For no arry ma e his appearance and Molly,
now really alarmed, backel into the house, call-

‘ Larry lorry! Help!”
Terror Jim followed her, and had just laid his
hand on her arm, when he heard a step behind
him.

 

CHAPTER XI.
ran ARREST.

Tm: tramp heard the step just half a second
too late, for it was Inrry Lock who was behind
him, and he had grasped the club held by Terror
Jim and wrenched it from his hands before the
man was aware of his roximity.

ThonLarry ran bac' outof the door to the

 

8 Larwngocke,_nthe Man of Iron.

highway, while Terror Jim, seeing only a little
man, w1th a. smooth, boyish face, ran after him,
cursing just as he had done six years before, till
hediscovcred that bar: y was actually laughing
at him. .

Then he stopped short, amazed and more sav- ‘
age than ever, and called to his friend:

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

But Snoopey, as the sneaking tramp had been
nicknamed, was already moving away down

, the road toward lIolesburg, with a limp in his
k gait, and he only looked back to call 0 t:

‘ Leave him alone, cully. He’s a-coddin’ yer. i
I seen him afore.”

“Ay, ay,” interposed Larry, With the same
I'11.relcs.s, 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 Jim. scornfully.
“Gimme that stick, or I’.l haste the life (iuur
you in a shake of a lamb‘s tail.”

Larry’s answer was to send the stick fl ing
over the fence into a field on the other sit e of
the road, re )eating:

” You had 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
he had bad time to notice the unusual breadth
of La rry’s shoulders.

“ ch11, my name’s Larry Locke,” said Larry,

nietly. “Maybe you‘ve heard it before. I’m ,.

t to same boy marked you six years ago.”
Tcrror Jim’s face changed instantly, but it

was to an expressxon of grim resolve, as be

sci'l: .

“ Yes, I have heard your name, and remem-

ber it. You're the boy marked me for life, are

‘ ye? I‘ve come back 1‘ To to get cvcn with you.

l’m a—goin’ to do it, too, and don’t you fnrgct

. it i”

.“o saying he turned away and slouehed of!
down the road toward IIolesburg, while Larry,
who had expected a fight, called out after him:

“ You’re a great terror, aren’t you! IVhy don’t
you turn and take it out of me? I’m t eboy
whipped you, and 1 can whip you again, if you
want to try it on.” '

Terror J 1m made no answer till he was a good
finy yards oil’, when he shouted back: 1

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

Ltrry uttered a contemptuous laugh.

“ Do your worst. I can take care of myself."

Then ecame ! ack tothe deer, where he found
Mclly rather pale, and she said hurriedly:

“ Larry, boy, them tramps sticks together, all
the time. lc’s gone to get his gang, I think.”

Larry looked down the load angrily.

“ Let him get his gang. It’s too bad, Molly,
that in this country, where every man has a.
chance to work if he’s willing a lot of lazy .
cusses should go ltnfng round iko that, steal-
ing and begging! I Wonder whch he’s going
now?”

They watched him down the dusty road into
Holesburg, and saw him join the brave Snoopey, ‘
who came up cringingly, and was greeiilpd with
a blow that sent him running away owling
from Terror Jim. ~ .

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

1m.

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

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

The two tramps finally disa peered in the dust, '

and Larry returned to his case, while Molly , I

cleared away the table. .

The little episode of tho tramps had almost put 9
the strike out of their heads, but they resumed it
when Larry was sitting on the stone bench at I
the cottage door in the twfligbt, smoking his ~
evening _

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

“ What ails ye, Larry, boy? You’re so still._” 3

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

“ What’s to he done?”

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

“ Then why not organist-i Whatdo you have
to do to organize!”

Larry pufled thoughtfully at his pipe.

“ I’ve heard there’s a new societ that the
call the Friends of Labor, but Idon’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, resentfully. “ They hnin’t got any
spirit. I’m lad on whipped old Skinner. any-
way, the ol bun s.”

- yc, Larry i

“ Mebbe I’ll w’sh I hadn‘t.” said Larry, in a
sober, thoughtful tone. “ He hit me first, to be
sure, but tbrn he’s a rich man and I ain’t. He
ma have me arrested yet.”

olly 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 wagon ever since I
came here,” he said. “ It would be just like a
rich man’s spite to lock in up when I couldn’t
get bail.”

“ But they couldn’t— What could they do to.

“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 asked him.”

“ ‘vVould he defend you?” asked Molly.

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

The young fellow rose fr )m his seat to peer‘
down the road in the gloom. A dark object
was moving along the center of the yellow road

1 and coming tou'ard them.

Larry looked at it for some minutes, and then.

‘ knockul theashes out of his pipe, to say to Molly

in a low tone:
“It’s what I expected. They‘re coming for
me. \thn I’m gone, lock up the house and

i don’t let no one in. I‘ll be back tomorrow. It

can’t be much of a time. I only hit him with
my fist, after he hit at nae.”

Molly’s voice trembled as she answered:

“ I’ll—I’ll do the best I can, Larry. Hadn’t I
better take baby and go with you? It will be-
so lonesome here.”

Larry shook his head.

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

“ Except tramps,” said Molly, with a shudder-
" Suppose that man comes back tc-nightl"

Larry starttd 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

‘ nip ht, I reckon. His wife’s a gud woman."

~ Molly noidi d 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 ob'ect 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

i before the door.

Two of the men got out, and came up to Lar—
ry, when one said:
‘ You’re Laurence Locke, ai..’t on 1’”
“Yes,” said Larry, quietly. “ That do you

f want?”

“I’ve got a warrant for you,” was the an-

swer. “You’ll come along peace-able, won’t;

y. u?”

“ Larry recognized the voicm

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

“Felonious assault," returned the constable,
in a {rave manner. “Mr. Skinner’s hurt bad,
and jest ot the warrant.”

“ Then I’ I go with you at once,” said Larry,
“ thou b you might have waited till the morn-

1 ing. ’m not going to run away.”

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

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

“ You’ll find out tomorrow,’ sai Davis
evasivcly. “ Now, then, if you’re ready, hold
out 'our hands.”

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

“ That s jest what we’re going to do,” an—
swered Davis lacon'cally, and as he s .oke
Larry heard the “click, c ick,” of a pistol 001:,
while the other man got to the other side.

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

For one instant Larry hesitated, and than he
held out his hands sn ing:

“ All right, Jack axis. Put on the irons.
t’s a shame, and you know it.”

Jack Davis made no answer but a sign to the
ether man, who snapped the irons in a moment
(11 Larry‘s strong wrists.

Then the constable said in a tone of relief:

“ That‘s all right. It ain’t my fault. I‘ve
got to obey my orders. Now git mto the
\\ agon,”

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

The constable took hold of Larry 3 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 hallgin’ matter,

an’ be can get bail, I reckon.”
“ Do what I told you." said Larry to his wife*

“ Go to John Maguire’s, and I’ll come home to- .

morrow if they’ll let me. Keep u our he
Molly. This is nothing.” p 3’ “t’
Then they took him to the wagon and left poor
Molly standing alone by her own house, not
knowing what to do and too bewildered even to

or .

ghe watched the wagon go dowu the road to
Holesburg till it vanished u the darkness, and
then only she uttered a sob and turned to re-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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enter the house, where herbahy lay asleep in the I “ We’ll see, about that. Now holler for the
t cops. and I’ll know I’ve got vet”

cradle.
At that very instant she heard a step near ihe

house at the back, and saw a dark figure. coming ,

round the angle of the call toward her.
In a moment she 2.471 whisked into the door

and slammed it close. locking t 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

sne had first clOscd and a voice whispered"

homsely :

“Say! Say! Open ihe doori”.

“ Go away!” she answered, With a courage
that surprised herself, for she was all alone in
the dark. “I’ve got a pistol.”

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

“Open the door, ye durned fool. I ain’t
' oin’ to hurt ye. All I wunt‘s a night’s lodgiii’.

’m a friend, I am.”

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

“I won’t go away,” whispean the man out-
side, in the same hoarse tone. “ I seen our
man took off. You open the door, Red Mo ,‘ or
it’ll be the worse for ye.”

Molly Locke made no answer, but tosteal back
to the inner r00m. 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
Bolesbu between the two constables he kc t
a keen loo out at ever one they met. He con (1
not help feeling appre ensive of the return to
execute vengeance of the tramps he had driven

01!.

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

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

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

Davis shri his shoulders.

“ I d’no’. but makes ye live in sich a place
as that, with no neighbors?”

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

“ Rockon so. Well, if tram comes arter the
old woman, on kin bet they be unished, jest
as ou’re go 11’ to be punished for oin’ what you
b n‘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 cell with a. sleeping tram whose odor
sickemd oven the stron nerves of rry.

“ Can‘t on let me s t outside, sergeant!” he
pleaded. ‘ I don’t want to run away, but it‘s
a hot night, and that fellow’s perfume’s enough
“iii” sergeaa mu"; 1 l to h hi in

.e nson repywas pm in
and lock the graffiti door, when who tramp

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

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

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

‘ You’re a fine pill, ain’t ye!” he said. “ Ya
ain’t ot no rocks to heave at a man now, have
yet e're all alone, ain’t we?”

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

“ 011. We’ll be a lovin’ couple, won‘t we, Lar-

? And {SHOOPGYv too, he’s goin’ to have a nice
time to—mght. That’s a rippin’ nice gal you
married, Larry boy.”

Larry made no answer, but his eyes began to
blaze. and Jim laughed.

"Oh, yes. I told Snoopey to go back. I had
quite a. nice time, heariu’ bout the scrape you
was in, hittin’ a man with a bar of iron. Rock.
on Snoopey’s about there now. ”

“Look here,” interrupted Larry, in a low
tone, “ I don’t want to hurt you, Jim, but if you
go on in that style, you’ll get what you don’t
want in a minute or two.”

Jim laughed.

“I will, will I! Well. I hear tell how you’re
some on the mucklc; but I ain’t no slouch,
nuther. Come, young feller, shut up when a
manof m age talks to ye. ’Tain’t ttin’ fur
‘bovs to k to men."

As he Spoke he threw down his feet and sat up
on the side of the bed, surveying Larry in the
same lowering way.

Lari-y saw that he meant fight, and drew up
his own feet for a spring, when Terror Jim ob-

served: ”

“ I’m goin' to whip you, Larry boy.

“Are you?” retortod Larry. coolly. “  don’t
believe you. You ulna was a darned har.”

Terror Jim got his down firm! on the
floor, and a savage grin s over his see as he
said:

 

Larry Locke, tliemli/Ianwo‘f Iron. 9

I don’t need to holler for the cops,” returned
I .arry, scornfiilly. “ We’ll see who hollers first,
you ( arned bloat.”

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

In the same instant Larry stooped and rose
{gym With all the force of his stout, muscular

y.
There was a dull crash in the gloomy cell, and
Terror Jim staggeml back, clutching at the air,
and fell on the bed, with a stream of blood gush-
ing 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.

The noise of the short scuflle brought the door-

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

m

1y.

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

Larry deigned no reply, and the doorman
shook his ting-N menacineg at him.

“ You want n 'the clubbing, you do,” he said.
“ Ain’t you ashamed to buck a man like that?
Iffi ,hear any more noise I’ll put you in the dark
ce .

He was moving away when Terror Jim began
to whine:

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

T 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
jullIll'ped off the bed and seized hold ofgLarry,
ye mg:

“ Save me! Save me! He’s killing me.”

The doorman uttered an angrj, 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 stops outside told that the
reserve was running in.

The bi tram was a strong man, but he felt
like a chi d to rry, who ground his knuckles
into J im’s throat, and never let go till he heard
the deer open behind him.

Then, desperate at the prospect of the club-
bing that was coming, he threw himself over
on his 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 deep hush had fallen on the station, and
Larry threw of! his now senseless burden and
called out:

“ Captain Brown, you know me. I’mas peace-
able :3 man as I’m La Locke. This
man attacked me and t the worst of it; that’s
all. Don’t let me be c ubbed.”

Captain Brown came to the cell door.

“ Come out here,” he said, sharply. “ No one
shall club on, if you don’t deserve it. Let me
take a 100 at you.”

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

“ W by, he‘s ironed! What’s the charge against
him, sergeant?”

The Bar cant hesitated and had to go to the
blotter be 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
an one else?” said the captain, sternly. “ Here,
p 1 this other man out. Who’s he?”

“A tramp for a. lodging, sir,” answered the
sergeant sullenly. “We’re that crowded we
couldn’t help 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 ace was battered
to a lly, remarking:

“ he couldn’t. And the otha \an
ironed too. Pull him out. Let him lie (a he
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 stren th. You’ve done a brutal
deed, and it will go ard with you to-morrow..
Colin there.” i l

rry went 11 et in, but turned a: the
locked the doortio says": y
“ Will you hear me a word. sir!”

 

 

“ What is it?” asked the captain.

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

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

.arry smiled rather pri udly.

“ I suppose I could. sir,” he answered; “but
in the mean time he would have given me some.
thin 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 to-niorrow.”

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 locked 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,
:hiletthe more he thought, the more gloomy

e o .

e began to wish he had never surrendered
to Davis, but had fled the country, and then,
when he thought of his wife, left alone in the
out with the baby, and of Terror Jim’s dark
hint t t “ Snoopey was there” he rose and be-
gan to pace uneasily up and down the cell.

He heard the clock strike nine, and the peo—
ple in the cells had sunk to silence.

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

“Yes, that’s the name. I’ve come to offer
“ii.” iii?" to a. H mg

r s eart vea joyful un e -
nized Km Van gaver’s voice.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
PAUL’S nommnnoms.

WHEN Mr. Marcellus Skinner sunk to the
floor in the presence of all his men, it was with
a. sense of physical pain and weakness 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
one blow.

He had sufficient resolution to sit on his chair
and watch the conclusion of payment, seeing
every man after Lari; Locke demand the old
scale and march out flantly. When the last
had no he said faint! to Tom Trainor:

“ ’m hurt: send for he dootor.”

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

“Is there much danger?” he asked, in a low
whisper, for he was in pain.

The doctor looked grave.

“Not if you keep quiet; but broken ribs are
always liable to wound the lungs. How did it
happfn? A fall?”

” o; a villain assaulted me. He must be pun-
ished. Oughtn’t he to be?”

He caught his breath, and anxiously awaited
the re 1y, which came at once:

“ OP course he ought. It’s a felonious assault.
The man should smart for it. Have you any
witnesses to it!”

“ Plenty, doctor. My b0 Tom, for one.
Couldn’t be swear to an assau t?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“ I’m not a lawyer. Haven’t you one? Send
for him.”

Skinner turned his one round the room till it
rested on Paul Van ver. The nephew had
accompanied him to the house, where the uncle,
with ostentatious charity, had given him a room
in the attic, while Tom Trainor had been put
into the gorgeous apartment formerly occupied
by Paul, when he had seemed to be a veritable
favorite of fortune.

“ Come here.” he whispered.

Paul obeyed, uietl .

“ You’ve stu ied w haven’t you?" asked
the injured man in a bus y whisper.

Paul bowed gravely.

f‘ I have, sir. If I had had another year’s liv
in secured, I could have passed; but it’s no use
thinkin of that now.”

And 6 sighed slightly.

Marcellus eyed him seamhingly.

“ Would ya like to be a la eri” he asked.

“ It’s no use wishing, sir. have to earn in:
livi ,” said Paul. quietly.

“ and get that Larry Locke punished- for
me, and I’ll see ve pom,” said Skinner. in a low,
eager tone. . “Get him punished. Put him in
the State Prison. Show ye’re a. lawyer, and I’ll
see ya get the means.” -

Paul shook his head.

“That's impomiblo, sir.”

“ Impossible? why?” asked his uncle. “ There’s
lots of men would do it, but you’re my 1;,phew.
I don‘t want to be too hard on ye, only but.
that wicked pride outer ye."

Paul compressed his lips and drew back.

" Let some one else do it, sir. I’m only your
flat now—I’m not a lawyer.”

__: «.—

 

  

 

10

‘ “But why won’t ye do it?” asked his uncle,
, querulousl .

Paul loo ed him in the eye.

“Because I saw it all, 811‘. You’ve no cause
to complain. You struck Larry first, and he
onl fou ht in self—defense.”

arce us Skinner regarded him with an evil
scowl and turned away.

“Very well,” he said. “ I’ll remember that
against you. Tomm , boy, go and tell Mr.
Scriven wanttosee im.”

“Tommy, boy,” obe ed with the eagerness
he alwa 8 showed, an old Skinner remained
quiet ti the doctor had banda ed him up and
gone away, leaving Paul by the side.

‘ Then the uncle said in a low, evil tone:

“So 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 e against Locke. He
wouldn’t have touc ed you if you adn’t struck
at him first.”

The old man smiled in a ghastly way.

“ So ye said before—so ye said. I suppose ye
think ye’ve only to wait till I die to come into
my shoes—hey, Paul?”

aul started and flushed angrily.
“You know well enough I thought no such

thing,” he said. “ My grandfather ad a right
to do as he would with his own. To be sure, I
did expect—”

“ Shut the door,” interrupted his uncle,
sharply.

Paul obeyed with some su rise.

“Come here,” continued arcellus. “ I want

to tell you something, young man.”

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

in.
“ Paul,” he said, “you never knew how my
father came to alter his will, did you?”
“No, sir,” said Paul, coldly. “It was done,
and that is enough.”
Marcellus smiled in the same painful way.
“Ay, ay,” he' said, “that’s enough for you;
but you weren’t treated so bad, after all. I’ve
only got the property for my life, and I can’t
‘ leave it to my Tom. You’re safe to get it, if I
die.”
¢ “ I’m aware of that,” answered Paul, still
more coldl . “ What of it?”
Skinner gan to chuckle, but stopped with a

. of .
" If I die, you get it all,” he said; “but how
' if ou die first?”
. ‘ Then, under the will, it goes to my
mother's next heir,” said Paul— ‘after your
death.” -

“ Yes, yes, that’s just it—to Em’s next heir,
after me. To Em’s next heir. Yes yes!”

He lay there fining to himself, as if much
amused at somet ' g or other, and said nothing

‘ more for some time.

At last they heard a noise below stairs, and
Tom Trainor came up, with a thin man whom
Paul knew to be a law er in good practice in
Holesburg to whom Sk ner said:

“ Come here, Mr. Scriven; 'I want to see you.
Here I lie struck down by a villain. He
hit me with a sledge-hammer; wanted to kill
me. I want to get even with him. How can I
do it?”

“Why, swear a complaint, of course,” said
the lawyer at once. “ Felonious assault. Have
him sent up for five ears.”

Skinner seemed de ighted.

l “ That’s it; that’s just it. Will you draw up
the pa rs, and the names of witnesses; will you
take t em; will you?”

“ Certainly,” said the lawyer.

Skinner turned his head to soowl at Paul.

“Git out (I the room,”he said. “When I
want e I’ll send for ye.”

Pan bowed and went out without a word. It
seemed to him as if his cup of humiliation were
growing fuller daily, and as he went to his attic
room to muse, he said to himself:

“ Oh, what a fool I was, when I was rich, as
I thou ht, not to have learned something bi
which could make an honest living! Here
am, a de ndent and a pauper, and he takesa

leasure insulting me. If I had only had an

ling of what was coming, when my and-
father was alive, how differently I shoul have
behaved 1”

But all his thoughts brought him no sort of
consolation, for as matters stood he was a help-
less dependent.

‘ True, the will of his andfather as proved
gave his uncle only the l to interest in the Skin~
ner estate which was to come to Paul after
Marcellus Skinner’s death, but in the mean time
there was nothing to prevent his uncle from let-
tin him starve to death if he chose. .

7 nd if Paul died before Marcellus, the latter
became the next relative of Paul’s mother, as
the invalid had maliciously hinted to the young

~ man.

Buried in loomy thou hts, Paul sat in his
attic in the dark till he eard ~the house-door

closed below at the departure of the lawyer.
Very soon after, he heard the lumbering step

of Tom Trainer coming upstairs, and Tom

opened the door without knocking, to look in

swarm:

PS

“ w, *"  .«

 

Larry Locke. the Man of Iron.

“ Mr. Skinner wants you. Hurry ulp.”

" Very good," said Paul, quietly. “ ’11 come.”

“ You’ll come will yer?” retorted Tom, with a
growl. “You’d 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, on, sir, my uncle is one man
and ou’re anot er. 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, ,Paul. 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.
Misronrumcs.

WHEN Paul reached the sick—room he found
Marcellus Skinner flushed with thepfirst fever
ofblhis injury, and looking as spiteful as pos-
si e.

As soon as he entered, the mill-owner began
at him irritably:

“ Why didn’t you come quicker? I sent Mr.
Trainor after you, and he‘s next to me in this
house.”

“ I came as soon as he told me,” returned Paul,
keepSiIng down his temper.

“ e lie 1” retorted Marcellus. “ I heard ye on
the passageisquabbling with him. Now mark
my words: ’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
su rior now.”

‘ My superior?” echoed Paul, stung at last.

“Yes, your superior—in eve thing. I’m boss
of this concern, and I say it. f I tell you to
black his boots you’ll do it.”

“I should do no such thing,” reterted 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 whel l
After all I’ve done for you to turn on me Ii '0

that! Get outl Never let me see your face
a in! You’re discharged! Do on hear? I
(1 bar you. Get out! Go! tarve if you

like. I ve done with you.”

For a moment Paul was stunned byhissudden
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.” a

“ Get out, ye 06piiuper!” was all the reply
dei ed by Mar us, and then Paul went u
to 's own room and packed up his trunk wi
all that remained of his former splendor—not
much now—and carried the 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.

“ N 0 one sha‘n’t hurt it, Mr. Paul,” he added,
“ and I’d rather lose my lace 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 juke now.”

“Never mind, John ” said Paul, quickly.
“My uncle has a right to do what he will with
his own. Good—by.

Then he went out into the street in the
darkenin twili ht, and heard the clocks strike
eight as 6 too his way toward Larry Locke’s
cottage.

He had no very clear idea of what he was
going to do, but heremembered Larry’s ofl'er of

riendship, and he had but ten dollars in his
pocket, the 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 free—spoken foreman might go.

He walked rapidly along and soon cleared the
outskirts of Holesburg and found himself on the
agility highway leading to Larry’s cottage on the

About half-way there he met a wa n with
some men in it, and recognized the gitter of
brass buttons in the starlight, from which he
judged that the police were taking in some

prisoners.
“ Tramps, probably,” he said tohimself. “ It’s
a good thing they’ve begun. Those fellows have

got to be a nuisance.- Who knows though? I
ought not to talk against them. I may have to
turn tramp myself, soon.”

He walked on till he saw the outlines of
Larr ‘s cottage against the sky on the top of
the h ll, and noticed that it was dark at every
window.

“ I wonder if they’ve gone to bed so early?” he
said to himself. ‘ Larry isn’t so. I’ll
try to get in, anyway.”

 

J

He came up to the house and found all dark
and silent, but the front door was wide open.

“ Hallo l” he cried, stogginlgnat the door. “ Any
one in here? Larryl , rryl”

There was no answer and he went in a little
to listen. -

Presently he heard the sound of some one
movm in an inner room, and called:

“ W 0’s there? Is that you, La i”

There was still no answer, but t e sound of
moving went on.

Then he heard a dull shock, asif some one had
made a leap down on the ground outside, fol~
lowed by the sound of running feet. In a mo-
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 i” shouted Paul instantly, and he
set of! 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

thelfience after it, so he followed as fast as he
cou .
Yougg and vigorous, and a good runner, Paul.
follow , and being unburdened with a load,
soon found himself gaining on the thief, who-
ever he was.

This became-evident from the fact that the-
man dro d the bag a moment later and ran
on, but aul, declining to be delayed by this.
stratagem, pursued faster than ever, and at last
came up with the thief. .

He had almost got his clutch on him when the
man suddenly stopped and squatted down unex-
pectedly.

The next 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 thie was up and away
again, plunging intoa field full of Indian corn
higher than his head, in which he succeeded in
finally eluding his pursuer.

Then at last 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 Inrry’s house, none of
them of much value.

“ It must have been a sneak-thief,” he said to
himself, “and Larr must have gone but to
some neighbor’s wit Molly. I’ll go and wait
for them.”

He retraced his steps to the house. but was
mil-prised to see li hts movin about, and sev~
e men with lan ms and i clubs hunting,
round it excited! calling to eac other.

“ Which way id he go, J immy?”

“ Here’s his thrack beyant the path.”

“ Oh, the murderin’ thafel”

“ How well he knew La

“Ah, a, av he’d
wad ha’ h 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:

“ ’Tis the theta! 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. Misther
Pauli Sure, here’s blazes to pay, intimly, and
they’ve arristed Larri 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 Larr , found door open, saw a-
man running 0 , chased him, and got this bag.
That‘s all. What’s this you say about Larry
being arrested?”

The men had come round now, recognizing
him and Maguire answered: .

“ Sorra one of us knows but Mrs. Locke came
in like a wild woman wid the bah ,a‘nd tould
us how she had to ump out of the k windy,
and a man was kic in’ in the front door when
she left, and—”

“ Where is she now?” asked Paul hurriedly. _

was away." V
here, the man

“ At my house, sir, and you’re kindly welo

come to come there, Mr. Paul.”

“ But who will take care of this house?”

“ The b'ys will do that, sir. Mike Lou and.
Tom Donnelly will stay till Larry comes k,
andhltiad luck to the thief that tries any more to-
mg

“ I don‘t think he will,” said Paul in a thought-
ful tone. “ I think that man has taken mort
than was in the bag. I must see Mrs. Locke at
once.”

He and Maguire went over to the house of the
craneman, which lay about half a mile nearer to
Holesbu , and as soon as their footste were
audible, olly came out, very pale much
excited to meet them.

As soon as she saw Paul, she began to sob and
tell him what had happened, to wh ch he listened
with much agitation.

As soon as she had told her story, he said,
wmgmtligly: ’ hold Larry the barge It
“ at e can t on c .

was only a low in selfcdefeme.” \

\

lifi‘h’fiT/Ié'k‘fir."' '4»: 2,33, at: 1

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

‘1 
WvAC'_(__~V
e“ :< ‘ ~ “‘

 

Larry Look 3, the Man of Iron. 11

 

 

“Oh, Mr. Paul, do you think so?" she said,
earnestly. “Larry says how on was bred to
bealawyer. Won’t you defen him?”

“Certain! I will,” said Paul, with some hesi-

~ tation; but warn on that I have not been ad-

mitted to the bar; will do the best I can. The
first thi is to get him admitted to bail.”

Molly ew 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
togay of! the mortgage."

aul, much concerned, asked where it was,
and Molly an to cry a sin.

“ I hid it w ere 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 inned inside.”

“ All right ” sai Paul, hastily, “ I’ll go and
look for it. Wait till I come back.”

He went away, to return half an hour later
ve 1e, sa in :

“ y poor 0 y, the money’s gone.”

 

CHAPTER XV.
IN COURT.

Ms. J ns'ricr: Wrens 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:

“Hum! 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 of! when the magistrate called:

“Locke, Laurence or Larry, complaint of
felonious assault. Where’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 atroc10us violence. Here is the
affidavit describin the assault, and the sur-

n’s certificate 0 the injury. We offer Mr.
homas 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 juoge asked rou ly:

“Who are you! What ave you to do with
this case?”

' “ I appear to defend Mr. Locke,” said Paul, in
his quiet wa . “and also as an eye-witness of
this whole air.” _

“Are you a lawyer?” asked Weems, scowlin g.

“ 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.

“ Certainly, certainly,” returned the magis-
trate, grainy. “ Bad case, bad case. Mr. Trai-
nor, w at do you know about this?”

Tom, in a manner that showed he must have
previously rehearsed his story, entered into a
glib account of the transaction as he professed
tehave seen it, from which it apgeared to the
igdge that Marcellus Skinner ha very mildly

1d Larry to leave the works; that he had re-
fused so to do, and had picked up a sledge-

hammer and struck his employer in the si e,
without provocation.

When the sto was over,-Weems said to
Paul with his usua gruffness:

“ 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. ‘f I
don’t know where e ot it. I saw him use it.
I squose they had it ‘dden among them.”

“ id you see the whole affair?”

:Yes, said Tom, decidedly. “Every bit of

“ And you’re sure he had a sledge hammer?”

“ Yes I tell you.”

“ Did ‘Mr. Skinner strike at Locke at all, that
you saw?”

“ No. He just ordered him out and he
wouldn’t o nohow.”

“ He di n t even put his hands on him?”

“No. I tell you.”

:: Dldn t he strike at him and miss him?”

“ Not that I saw.” . <

“ Are you sure he might not have done so?”

Yes, I am. I saw i all.”
:IzThagte will doa” ,
om pped own and wi his

danip with agitation. ’ pod forehead
‘ The magistrate turned to Skinner.

“ Any more witnesses?”

“ None now, sir. We move commitment.”

“ Ve well.”

Then e turned to Larry.

“ Well, what have you got to say?”

Paul interposed.

“We deny the whole thing and waive an ex-
amination. We can bring fifty witnesses, but

Mmallinthe mills, and I learn this morn-

 

ing that this Iyoung man Trainer has threatened 1 Now some one’s a-trying to take my house
to j from me. I tell on, Mr. Paul they’ve called

them all wit discharge if they come here
testify. We ask to be held to bail in a reason-
able sum.”

The judge bent his brows.

“ Hum! hal this is an aggravated assault
with a dangerous implement. I shall have to
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, grufliy.
“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 property—”

“Yes,” said Larry, eager y. “a house and—”

Paul pulled his sleeve and he stopped.

“ Yes,” pursued Scriven, rubbin his hands.
“ We are prepared to be lenient. e will take
his rsonal bond to agpear.”

“ ery kind of you, in sure,” said the judge,
trying to look bland, and so the matter was ar-
ran ed at once.

alf an hour later Larry walked out of court
a free man and took his way back to his own
cottage wit Paul.

The young man was deli hted at hiseas es-
cape, and ke t thanking Pau all the way, till he
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 anyithing that had
hap ned the night before. ehad not had
the cart to add to poor Larry’s troubles when
he was still in prison; but now he felt he had to
tell it all.

“Larry,” he began, gsntly, “I sup you
know I went to your ouse last nig t to see
Mgly, and that’s how I learned of your ar-
re .

“Yes, Mr. Paul. Did you find anything
wrong?’ ’

His Sprehensions were already awakened,
and Pa
rin to his own troubles.

‘ 0, Larry, but you’ll wonder why I came to
be oing out there, and why I’m not at the office
to—ga , 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
{at night, and I went to you to beg a night’s

ng.

‘ And you shall have it,” said La stoutly,
“as long as there is a roof over m end and
Molly’s. We won’t go back on you. t’s a mean
shame, all along of that sneakin Trainer. I’d
like to put a sad on him, an I b’lieve I will
when this trouble’s over.”

“ The trouble’s not over ” answered Paul very
gravely. “When I went to your house I found
the door open, Molly gone—”

Larry uttered a cry and staggered back.

“ Mo 1 gone!” healmost shrieked. “ My Moll!
It can’t be—what—how—”

“Be quiet,” interrupted Paul firmly. “ Be
quiet and hear me out. Molly had taken the
baby overtoJohn Maguirels for safe . She’s
all safe. Don’t be afraid. But the oor was
0 In, and a man was in the houso huntin for
t mgs. He heard me and ran. I chased “m,
and he dropped part of his plunder. But now
Larry. bear u . Here comes the worst. I find
from Molly s 6 had hidden some money in a
mattress. It’s gone. That’s what I wanted to
tell you.”

:To his surprise, the news seemed to affect
Barry but little; for he drew a sigh of relief and
answered uietly:

“Is tha all, Mr. Paul? I thought it was
worse than that. l thou ht—never mind.”

“Why, Larry,” sai Paul amazed. .“ I
thought to hear you rave at this. Molly told
me of it with tears in her eyes. Said it was all
hfr savings to pay off the mortgage on the
p ace.

Larry threw n his head madly.

“ ’Tis not a li tie thing ike that worries me,
Mr. Paul. I can take care of myself as long as
I’ve these two arms. Six years ago I came
here a ragged tramp. ’Twas on this very road

on met me. I hadn’t but eighteen cents in

be world. Now I’ve earned a house and lot, l

and I’m not going to give it up easy. Do you
remember what you gave me when I first saw
you, Mr. Paul?”

Paul smiled carelesslgJ

9‘ I’m sure I forget. ittle enough.

“ You gave me a dollar and five cents, and
you hadn been gone three minutes before a bi
ramp called Terror Jim tried to go throng
me. I knocked him stiff and me only a boy.

turned them away skillfully by refer-‘

 

3’
me a Man of Iron and they’ll find me so.”
CHAPTER XVI.
'rnn MORTGAGE.

MR. MARCELLUS SKINNEB, lookin paler than
his wont and a good deal thinner, ut restored
to health again, his broken ribs healed, was
driving into Holesbu , 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 youug woman
spreadin some linen to dry in the garden,
while a Eaby lay in its cradle in the open air,
kicking 11 its fat legs and crowing.

Tom nu ed the millionaire, saying:

“ That’s Iecke’s cottage, sir.”

Skinner scowled and cursed under his breath,

observmg:

“I’d ike 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
haéids, curse himeg’

kinner 'nn approvingiy.

“That’s fight, Tomm boy. Curse him well.
He thinks he s a fine to low, 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-v
f’rint?” he said, sullenly. “You was round;
W11: told me, and ot the old man to alter it.

y couldn’t be a ter it so I’d et a sheer!
I’m his flesh and blood, as much as aul.”

“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 he was down sick,
and I worked on it. ello! Why, there’s
Scriven a-comin’ this way. What does he
want, I wonder!”

They saw the lean lawyer, who had a yellow,
dried-up appearance, coming u the road be-
hind a sober old black horsc, as t ey left Larry’s
cottage behind them.

“ Hello. Scriven, where awa ?” asked Skin-
ner as the dog-cart met the old lack.

r. Scriven pointed with his whip to the cot-
tage at the top of the hill.

.élOver yonder to collect some money,” he
sai .

Skinner turned round in his seat, and his face
lighted up with eagerness.

“Not at Locke’s?” he said, in tones
that trembled in spite of himself.

Scriven nodded. .

“ That’s the man. Let me see: you had some
trouble with him, didn’t you? I’ve almost for-

tten. I’vo so many cases.”

Skinner kept down his emotion, to say in an
indifferent manner:

“ Yes. I’d almost forgotten it myself. Does
he owe you any money!” v

“ No, not me. A c ient of mine. Old Peter
Briggs. He lends out a good deal on mort-
gages. There’s a little balance left. That’s all.
Good~day.”

He was shaking up his horse, when Skinner
said eagerly;

“By-the-by, if you have any trouble about
it. let me know, and I’ll buy the mortga from
Briggs at the face value any time. I am ooking
for investments all round, you know, and mort-
ga are alwa s safe.”

riven nod ed rather coldly.

“I’ll tell him. Good-day.”

Then he drove on, and Skinner began to
chuckle to himself, till Tom asked:

“ What’s the matter with yer?”

Skinner smote his knee and chuckled more
than before as he said: ‘

“Tommy boy, I’ve got the darned skunk.
I’ve got him, reckon. I’m a-goi toPeter.
I know him like a book. Oh, if had only

_known this three months ago! I remember

hearing how he’d b’en robbed, but I never
dreamed of such a bit of luck as this.”

“Wh , what d’ye mean?” asked Tom, crou-
ly. “ ou’re allers havi ’ secrets, you are.”

“ Secrets?” echoed kinner, with another
chuckle of deep enjoyment. “ No, no, it’s too

ood to keep, too good to keep. Say,_ Tom,
don’t you remember how _the had it in the
paper, the time that devil, rry, was in the
station-house, how he nigh killed a tramp Called
Terror J im?”

“ Well, what of that?” asked Tom, sulkily.

“ Only this, Tom: I seen that tramp, and he
told me a hea‘g.”

“ When? hat did he tell on?”

“ It was agood week after. he muss, Tommy,
boy, and when I was beginning to come down-
stairs, that a man asked to see me, and sent in
a name I couldn’t well refuse.”

Tom looked at him with surprise.

“ What name was that?” _

“ Never you mind Tommy,” said Skinner, in
an evasive wa . “ I’ve seen a good deal of this
world before came home to see the old man
and make my peace. Anyway I knew Terror
Jim. Me and him wereonceaboard— Never

1, a..( "an: v.

 

as. '

.”p~ 7

A. --«....

 

12 Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

mind—that’s nothing to do with this story.
Anyway I let him in, and he told me how his
pal 0n the road, one he called Snoopcy, had
been 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 Suoopey back there at night, as soon as he
heard of Larry’s arrest, and Snoopey got in and
stole the money. What do you think of that!"

“ I d’no‘,’l said Tom, stu idly. “ What of it?”

“ Don’t ye see, Tom? hy, boy, how much
d’ye think there was in that mattress?” ‘

“ How much?"

“Seven hundred dollars exactly, Tommy, and
all in fifty-dollar bills.”

“ Well, what of that?”

Old Skinner made an impatient movement.

“ You ain’t used to bein’ so dumb, Tommy,
boy. Just as soon as I heard it I said: ‘ That’s
savings for something or other,’ and to—day
showa what it is. He saved that money to pay
off the mortgage, and that’s just what Scriven s
after to-day. ’

“ But what’s that to us?” asked Tom.

“ Nothen’ at all, Tommy, onl this: Cranemen
can’t save up no seven hundr dollars a second
time in three months here, nor in Ohio nuther,
and he’s a-going to fall short in paying Peter
Briggs.”

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.

“I ain’t lgenerally called a fool, 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-
ried your mother, boy, you’d ha’ been a
lawful one no doubt- but we’d ha’ been grub-
bin‘ in the dirt like my Locke, and it was
only ’cause you didn’t have no legal hold on me,
the old man took water at last. Oh, he was a
proud old pig, he was, with his Van Beavers:
and he didn’t want any one to know you was
his flesh and blood as much as Paul. But I
fooled him at the last, and now I’ve got the

roperty, and if I can’t leave it to you when
I’m dead I can give it to you, while you’re
alive, and me too, Tommy. And in the mean
time, the sooner we get to Peter Briggs’s house,
the better for me, Tom. G’lang there.”

He touched up the horses With the whip, and
away rattled the natty d -cart toward the
part of Hols-burg where r. Peter Briggs re-

 

——.—

CHAPTER XVII.
ran uwrnn’s Visrr.

MOLLY Loon was hanging out the clothes to
dry and singing at her work when the dog-cart
passed, 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 oottagELalone with her baby
40c three months, while rry was hundreds 0
miles oil, working in another State.

They had lost the money they had saved by
Don privation and hard work and they knew
thug when theda came for the last payment
on the mortgage t ey would not be able to raise
half the sum.

The house had been robbed by Snoopey the
tram , and they knew well enough that they
woulg never find him, short of a miracle, while

rry, through the look-out, had been thrown
out of work in the town.

Under these circumstances most men would
have despaired and most women would have
sunk down helpless; but La had not earned
the name of the “Man of ran” without de-
servin it, and his wife never shed a tear after
she got him back safe from the clutches of
the law.

“ If there ain’t work here, there’s work in
Ohio,” Larry had mid. “ We ain’t as bad of!
as we might be, Molly. We’ve got health and
strength, and the rest Will come to us. I’ll have
to leave you and baby awhile.” .

Molly had poled a little when she first heard
that' but she clinched her teeth to keep down
the eeling of weakness, and answered:

“If it must be, it must, Larry, boy. I can
get on while you’re gone. Lots of folks will
give me washing."

And that was how she came to be hanging
out the clothes in the garden when Skinner

Alone in her little house, with her husband
away, she had managed to keep herself and the
bah decently, and sung as she tellcd, as many
an r woman has done in her place.

Not all the heroes in America wear the epau-
lets of the general, and there are heroines at
the washtub who face peril and misfortune as
grandly as a tragedy queen, with all her

sons. -
ngoll Locke, “Red Moll,” carroty-haired
foundl ng, brought up in a workohouse, with no
fine unknown parents to come and claim her in
the last chapter and put silks and diamonds on
her may seem a coarse sort of a heroine to pre-
sen to the cultivated reader‘ but then, you
know, she couldn’t help being born, and, hav-
log a clear right to live and pursue happiness in

 

 

her own way, she was doing the best she knew
how, in taking care of baby Larry.

He didn’t care whether he lived in a palace or
a hovel, 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
might foreclose on his mother any day.

lint Molly; had she forgotten?

One would have thought so, to hear her sing
at her work, but she hadn’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—day, Mrs. Locke.”

She turned round to face the old lawyer, with
a flutter at her heart.

“Good-day, sir,” she said. “Did you come
to see Larry? 1’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-
burg. But he’s working, sir, and so am I, and
we ope—”

“There, there,” intermpted the old lawyer,
not unkindly. “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 lately?’

“Yes, sir,’ said Molly, eager] , “and he’s
savin money as fast as he can. f Mr. Briggs
woul only wait another ear—”

Mr. Scriven pursed up is lips.

“I’m afraid that’s not ible. You see, if
Locke was working here, t would be different;
but} man who roams about can’t be depended
on.

“ Larry doesn’t roam about,” retorted Moll ,
with irit. “If he had stayed here he won d
be he] -starvin , like all the rest of them. And
you know we (1 the money saved, sir, when
we were robbed; and that wasn’t Larry’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. e i orance of the
working-classes brings on ha their troubles.
However, that’s none of my affair. The mort-
gage is due t’o—morrow. Are you ready to pay
1

“No,” returned Molly, desperately. “We
can’t pay it. If you’ll give us time we can.
We’ve got a hundred and eigh dollars saved,
and tha ’s all. If Mr. Bri gs w1 gains a year
we’ll pay him in ins t’s what
Larry sags.”

The 01 law or looked at her narrow] . He
was not an un d man, but business so any

one

“ I’ll see what I can do for you.” he said cold-
lg, “ but I warn you that I don’t hopefor much.

ri is a close, hard man.”

“ know he is,” Molly rather mourn-
full . “but he ain’t unjust. and he knows we
dont want to wrong him. what you can
for us, sir, and I’ll boso grateful to you.”

“I dont hope la: much” returned Scriven,
and 1119 went away, while , returned to her
wor .

But she could not _ an) more. Even her
high health and  f her at last;
and she came Vary Inset _ as she took the
baby’s cradle into the house.

But she kept at w work as swoon) at be
fore, and every now and than 3hr looknn ova
Larry’s last letter, in which he said:

“If he won‘t ve more  93111
says to let him Kiahead:I ‘Iltnv'vill mum months
to foreclose, on if the worst comes and we 're sold
out, ou‘ve got enough money to come here to me.
But ore the three months are up, I'll have the
mommyI raised somehow; for I’ve found the way to
best e bosses now."

“ 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 comi on toward sunset, and she
had a good deal to o.

By the time she had got in her clothes and
prepared for sup r it was dusk, and just then
she heard a vehic e drive up and stop before the
door. ,

Thinking it a message from Scriven, she hur-

ried out, and saw a fanc dog-cart, with a tan-

dem team, before the oor, a groom at the

horses’ heads, while a tall stout young man,

extravagantly dressed, with a coarse, issipa-
face, was coming up the path.

Molly recognized him in a minute as Mr.
Thomas Trainor, and straightened into a statue
of dignity as be advanced.

Tom, on the other hand, grinned affablv, say-

in :

fi 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.
“Why, don’t ye remember when we was
kids in the Count House together! Quite a
change sence then, oily. You’ve grown most

manta.

uncommon handsome, senoe then." ,
“Did you come here to tell me that?” asked
.25.

I she, with a glitter in her eyes that showed she
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 she was
not afraid to use.

Snoopey could not have gone through the
g house a second time with the ease 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 exactly that, but
sure] 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
certainly my husband and you ain’t.”

“Why, Molly!” exclaimed Tom, in an in-
jured sort of way. “ I ain’t got nothen’ ’gainst
l‘im. Larry and me tit, six year ago, but we
don’t hear 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 something about the mortgage. I don’t
want the man to hear 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, s owly drew back and said:

“Tell me what you mean. I don’t care who
hears it. What is it?”

Tom d w closer. «

“ The 0 d man’s gone to Briggs and bought
the mortgage,” he said “ to get even on Larry
for lemming him. on can tell whether he’s
likely to ive ye any more time or not.”

Molly istened, and her heart sunk within
her, for she knew the meaning of what he said
too well.

She braced her nerves sumciently 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 on e.”

“ What do you want to say?” ed she, with
a vague fear of somethin impending.

Tom sli into the ouse as she fell back,
and immediame whispered: ‘

“ I don’t want him to hear, ye know. Look
here. I can get the old man to give ye all the
time ye want. He’ll do anything for me; any-
thing in the worl .”

Molly stared at him incredulously.

“ You? You do me a kind action? You be!
Larry: You it Why should yoni You don

e

om

lov in any too much.”

T grinned and came closer.

“Ma be I don’t' but I love some one else a
heap, oily and I, kin do what I say for her
sake. Dt’ye now who I mean?”

Moll rew back a pace or two, with astrango
gleam n here es repeating in a half-whisper:

“ Youl you but do you mean?”

“ I mean that I am desperate fond of on,
Molly,” he answered, with a leer of 1:8 ion.
“ 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 on and me
be good friends, while he’s gone! I’ tthe old
man to give ye time, Molly. Gosh, I do bet-
ter than that, I’ll at you the money, so he
won’t never know w give it to ye. And all I
want in return is that ou’ll—”

He suddenly started ck, 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 pot of water nearly
boiling was emptied over is back, so that he
ran yelling down the th faster than he had
come, whi e Molly, wil with fury, had caught
up a hot poker and was following him to the
cart.

Tom Traiuor was so thoroughly astounded
and demoralized b the unexfiectcdl vi rous
assault of the in iguant Mo y Loc e t t he
ran to his cart as hard as he could go, lea in
without a word, and lashed up his horses fore
the groom could get to his lace behind.

The consequence was tha . when Molly reached
the front gate, both horses were running away
at a breakneck gallopl and the groom was run-
nin also, as hard as e could, after the cart.

en the an woman step d and be u to
tremble; for s e thought of w at she done,
as she went back to the house, her nerves all
aquiver, and sat down to “ have a good cry,” as
she exp ii. ,

But she took care to keep the road, in “8‘13
while she wept, and that was the reason she
saw, a very little while after, the yellow dog

stop before the door and begin to shake his
whi andcurse lustily, crying:
“ on was darned smart, you was, Rod Moll.‘

 

 

- I
cart coming back Tom and all, and how him

 

 

 

 

 

Hum

 

 

 

 

.. _.....\-‘/~4f ‘

 

J

t

' didn’t mind that a bit. I’d

 

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 tears gone the moment her anger
flamed up again, stood 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
in the road, as a man came running up.

 

3 CHAPTER XVIII.

noun AGAIN.

YES, it was Larry himself covered with dust
as: if h“ L." 3 f'mwr‘c". on  a long way. a
stick and bundle at his back; but he was run-
nin quite fast and Tom Trainer saw him.

oung man had no fancy to meet Larry
a thirdy time. As a ho he had beaten Tom at
his best, and Tom had en sittin on an office
stool and livin on the fat of t e land since
that time, so t at he was soft, puffy 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
brown and sun urnt, while the old confident
smile lighted it up. ,

“ 0h, Larry, boy, Larry i” 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 have
you been doing, Larry, bog?”

Larry gave er another ug.

‘ “Never mind now. Where’s baby?”

“ Asleep in here.”

And she showed him Larry, junior, sleeping
like a. top. and marked the tears that came into
the father’s (3 Yes 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 doing in front
of this house abusing you?”

Molly began to tremble at once.

“Promise me ye won’t do anything to him,

Remember how they put you in prison
for striking Skinner.”

Larry curled his lip slightly.

"Yes, I remember. He’s rich and I’m poor.
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. How came
he here?"

“ He came back, Larry. to insult me, but I
iven him cause
enough to 1053 his temper, God news.”

rry laughed.

“ Hed hey? What did ye do?”

“ Threw a kettle of hot water over him i”

“ Good for you i” cried the workman ina tone
of great delight. “No, no, I won’t hurt him
now, Moll . You can take care of yours If and
the baby, see. But what made you drive him

t 1

on

Molly colored deeply. « ,

“He dared to come here and make love to
me, thinking you were away.”

Larr ’8 eyes flashed for a moment, but he
lau he again, saying:

“ ell, well. I like that. And ye sanded
him, did ye? Reckon he won’t come again?”

Molly began to cry. ' _

“Yes, but others Will. Oh, Larry, Scnven
was here to-day, and Brig wants his money i”

“I thought he would,’ said Larry, quietl .
“I came here on purpose, in case he did. We 1,
what did you tell him?” I

“What you wrote me. I asked him for

7’

e. 4‘”
“ Whatldid he say?”
“ He said he’d Speak to Briggs, but couldn’t
give us much hope. Then he went away, and
cm Trainor came in, soon after, and told how
1113i:i fathgr had bought the mortgage from

“ hat?” ejaculated Larry. _

“ His father, Skinner, had bought Briggs’s
mo ge and wouldn’t give us a day’s time on
it on ess—”
tagulllnless what?" asked Larry, seeing she hesi-

“Unless he persuaded him,” returned Molly
in a low tone, colorin deeply. “ That’s why I
threw the water overIiim,’

Larry Ieemed to be struck by the news for
he became very thoughtful fora while, till Molly
asked him: .

“ Well, where have you been and what have
you been doing? I sup the house has to 0
at last, but I’m not 0mg to fret about it whi e
you’re able to work or us.”

Larry raised his eyes to hers.

“ I’ve been looki for the man that stole our

_‘ money. Molly, and ’ve found him.”

'c

Mo I; started joyfully.
“Di you, indeed?”
“Yer but it was no use. The money was
, 0. Course. 'But 1 got the man and his
$2.? Terror J an.”
“ ell?" asked Molly, as he paused.

Larlfy_._I‘°9ke’ the

 

“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 house, Molly.”

“0h, Larry,” said the Woman, tremblin ,
“do you really mean it? Don’t deceive me.
we’ve got to lose our savings, I’m not afraid to
la; out into the world again with you, dear.

e came from the poor~house, and we can
Elways, go back there. But don’t build up false

0 s.

“ I ain’t building no he 5,” said Larry, in his
ungrammatical way. “ ’m only telling what
Mr. Paul said. He was bred a lawyer, and he’s

ot 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 nd-
father, after makin him think all'his ife he
was to have the mi 1, should turn ‘round and
leave it to Marcellus.”

Larry said nothin in reply. for at that mo-
ment Larry, junior, gun to stir in his cradle,
and put at! thoughts of everythin else out of
their heads but the subject of tile mortgage
was recalled to them forcibly about an our
after dark when a knock at the door was fol-
lowed hy the 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, ra idly. “This here’s for you, mis-
ter. Here’s t e ’riginal.”

He thrust a paper into Larry’s hand, shook
another before is face, and vanished, leaving
the workman staring stupidly at the paper.

It was a summons on foreclosure of the mort-
a , in the name of Marcellus Skinner, and

o ly began to tremble again.

As for Larry, be folded up the paper and put
it in his pocket, observing:

“ You ain’t got this house yet Mr. Skinner,
and you ain’t going to get it. To—morrow I’ll
play my cards.’

CHAPTER XIX.
LARRY’s VISIT.

THE 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 office, when Larry Locke
made his appearance at the gate of the works
and walked in, to be greeted, in less than five
minutes thereafter 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. They all looked sullen, downcast
and discontented, while Larry held his head up
as proudly as ever, and his sturdy figure seemed
the rsoniflcation 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 reduction,
“ and how does the world use you now?”

“Badly enough,” said Maguire gloomily;
“ but what’s a man to do Larry? I’ve got five
young-’uns, and the ’ve got to be kept in bread
and butter and clot es. it’s been hard scratch-
in’ sence the cut-down, I tell ye. All the hands
is in debt now.”

“Ay, ay," put in Tom Macaula , onejef the
rolling-men, “ we’re all in debt at t store, and
the boss has got us where he wants us. ’Tain’t
no use to fl ht. We ain’t got no show.”

“ How a ut 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 cranemen,
instead of deserting their tasks to crowd round
him, kept aloof and went on with their work by
themselves.

" The ’re all spies,” whispered Macaulay,
“and t eyvknow we hate ’em. We’ll have 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:

“ Halloo there, you men. what’s the matter?
What are you stopping work for?”

Larry Watched them all, and saw the sullen,
downcast look come over their faces, but not
one of them Ventured to ansWer Tom, and all
dispersed to their work, scowling, but submis-
sive, leaving the visitor standing alone in an
open space of the works, so that Tom Trainor
recogn zed him.

The youn superintendent—for such was
Tom’s title 21 the works—hesitated for a mo-
ment, and the color flickered on his bloated
face. He knew Larry bad no right to be there
and that the discipline of the works remain
in his—Tom‘s—bands. His father, in his place
would have swaggered up to Larry and orde
him out, but Tom Trainer was not Marcellus.

He hesitated, scowled and then walked back
to the office, from which he sent a message by
the night watchman to my that “Larry must
leave the works at once: no strangers were al-
lowed inside."

Larry had watched the struggle going on in

 

an of Iron.

 

13

Tom without appearing to notice it, and a slight
smile of triumph appeared on his face when he
saw Trainor quail.

He fol10wed Ma ire to his place, where he
was workin , and 0 served quietly:

“I say, im, didn’t it never strike you fel-
lers you could better yourselves if you was to
orfiianize and git together?”

a uire 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 now.”

“Well,” replied Larr , “ but s’poee you was
to git together. ’Tain t to say you need strike.
Loo here, I want to see ou to-night. I’ve
learned a heap since I went est.”

Maguire cast him a quick glance, for the tone

 

{n nvls-‘AL T ~.—..-v ..-. . -a .....- .- i .. .....- but
in nun,“ [All A! a“;an "an Aun uL Mltu‘uflé, 094
he on": nrdt’r ' r rvrrv‘“ "cw--

“$111 right; I’ll come. But it won’t be no
use.

“Perhaps so. perhaps not.” returned Larry;
‘f but there’s no harm trying.”

And then he saw the watchman come up—a
stout, werful man, new to the works, who
said ru ely:

“Here, you get out of this. It’s ag’in’ the
orders to have strangers here.”

“But I’m not a stranger,” returne‘d Larry,
coolly. " I know the old placa by heart. Why,
man, I used to work here long before you were
ever thought of.”

The watchman looked him over from head to
foot to answer sourly:

“The blazes ou did! Well “just you git
now, and darn quick too, orI break your
darned back fur ye. ’

Larry smiled in his most provoking manner
as he answered:

“Would ye, now, would ye? I s’pose you’re
quite a tighter.”

“I’ll show you whether I ain’t,” said the
watchman, sternly. “ Are you going to git, or
will I have tqsut you out ?”

Larry smil again, still more provo‘s ingly.

“I wouldn’t li eto ut sich a good-looking
man to so much troub e. I’ll go at once. But
ain‘t it a little rough puttin’ out a man who
jest came in to say howdydo to a few of his
friends?”

“That ain‘t none of my biz,” returned the
watchman, rather more mildly. “The boa
give me his orders. and I‘m a-going to see them
done, you kin bet.”

com anied by the watchman. “ Orders should
be 0 yed. What’s your name?”

“ Never you mind.” was the stiff reply. “ M
name’s strike from the shoulder when l git m
and don’t you furget it.”

Larry made no answer till he got to the etc,
when the watchman was turning back to liave
him. Then the short man suddenly laid his
hand on the other’s arm and said quietly:

“ Look a-here, friend, I ain’t ot nothen
against you. but though orders is or ers. there’s
a way of obeying ’em2 and there’s another not
so ood. You said jest now you’d break my
bac 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 expression of something very like
evasion of the issue, as be said snllenly:

“I ain’t no darned fool, lookin’ fur fights for
fun. You go your way and I’ll go mine. If ye
come into the works I’ll 1am ye.”

Larry laughed and let go the other’s arm.

“ Aha l” he said, “ I see jest what kind of man
you are. You’re one of the roosters that
darcsn’t fight off his own dunghill.”

The watchman started angrilgf

“Ye lie. ye darned skun . ou git out of
this darned quick. I don’t Want none of your
lip, and I won’t take it.”

“ “'ell,” said Larry, uietly, “ what are you
going to do about it, t en? I reckon you’re
nothing but an old bleat, anyway. You daresn’t
even tell your name.”

“Daresn’t I?” cried the watchman, fiercely.
“I’d have you know I’m Chris rgous, am,
and they called me the king when I used to run
on the canal. Now then, w o are you?”

“Ky name’s Larry Locke,” replied Larry, in
his quietest tones. .

Instantly the watchman jumped back into the
works, and his face turned white, for he had
heard of Larry before.

“I ain’t able for on,” he stammered. “I
ain’t on the fight, I te ye.”

“ Just now you said you was.” returned
Larry, advancing toward him. “ Now I’ll just
give on a chance to show what you’re made
of. gll wrastle you a square—bolt, Mr. Han.

ous.
8 But Hargous backed away from him, crying

u .

“You let me alone. I ain’t done notben to
youh You ain’t got no call to pick a muss with
me. .

Larry pointed his fin r at him.

“Heres a brave watc man,”he cried. “Why.
a gan could clean out the works, and you

 

wouldn t say nothing to ’em, would ye?”
“ You leave me alone,” was all Harcoume

“ That’s right." returned Larry. placidly, and w
he began to walk slowly toward the gate, ac- 4'

 

A
1

‘35

l.

 

 

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‘sié’t:
1* A 1- :9 .

. '1:
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a.
n

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. first

a

-’ 4 ~17

14

reply, as he backed away, and Larry finally
turned on his heel, remarking:

“Well, my friend, I reckon it‘s lucky you’re a
coward. It has saved your bones to day.”

Hargous drew in his breath with a hissing
sound. The man was not a coward, nftcr all.
and the word stung him as nothing else Would or
could have done.

Without another word he came up to Larry,
and rowled:

“ ’ll wrestle ye, darn ye.”

CHAPTER XX.
LARRY’S NEXT FIGHT.

LARRY might not have taunted Hargous so
keenly but for the fact that he felt very angry
at being turned out of the works in which he
had served his ap renticeship.

The unex te dignity of the watchman—
for there is ignity 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
only said, as be stretched out his arms:
“ You said you’d break my back.

see edo it.”
T 0 next moment the men grappled, and
Ha us was thrown with a vio ence that
knoc ed all the breath out of h' body for sev-
eral seconds, when Larry helped im up, saying
kintiéy:
“ o malice, I hope, friend. You and mo
ain’t a fair match. Besides, why should We
fight, when we’re both workingmen? Our kind
on ht to stick together against the bosses.”
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
strong as a steamengine. No, there ain’t no
malice. I ain’t a hog, to want more’n’s good
fur me.”

“Then you won’t make no more fuss if I come
into the works to see my friends?” said Larry,
in uiringly.

argous hesitated.

“Not unless the boss tells me to put yo out.
If he does, I’m going to do it.”

Larry looked at him with some surprise.

“ D’ye think 'e’re able?” he asked.

Hargous nod ed.

“ If the boss tells me, I am. I ain’t able for
you in a fight; but if the boss gives the order I’m
going to do it, if I have to go under.” -

Then he Went away, and Larry took his (10-
parture into the streets. _

He kept a keen lookout as he walked, and
presently spied Marcellus Skinner coming to-
ward the works, in a buggy.

As the owner passed Larry hailed him from
the walk and Marcellus not at first recognizing
him, pulled up, so that Larry was able to get to
the horse’s head.

' When Marcellus saw who it was his brows
contracted, and he owled out:

“What are you oing? How dare you stop
me, sir i”

‘ I wanted to say a word to you," said Larry
as sternly as himself, and, as he spoke, be seized
the bridle in his strong grasp.

Immediately Marcéims raised his whip and
aimed a cut at the man holding his horse, vo-
ciferating:

“ Let go my horse, you scoundrel, or I'll have
you arrested.”

Larry saw the cut coming, partly parricd it
with his arm, and at the same time managed to
grasp the whip, which he held like a vise say-

n :

 

 

 

Now let’s

.‘ Keep your temper, you old fool. Do you
want me to pull you out of that buggy and
thrash you with your own whip before the
whole town? Kcep still. I’ve got a word to
say to you and I’m going to say it. Do you un-
de “stand 3” -

Marcellus, livid with fury tugged at the whip
in vain, while Larry proc 0d:

“You’ve bought the mortgage on my place,
and ma be you think you’re going to turn me
out— t go thatwhip 1"

He had become irritated at last, and, as he
spoke, with a suddcn twitch he snatched the
whip away from Skinner and threw it down on
the Ravement, continuin

“ nswer me, quick!
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 drivo you away from
here; you see if I don’t!”

“ That’s all I wanted to know," returned
Larry, cooll . Now I’ve got a word to say.
You can’t 1 rive me out of Holesburg. I‘ve
gaze away all I mean to go, and now I’ve come

k to stay. Do you understand that? An-
other thing I want to tell you. I’m

I50 you intend to turn

oing to

work in the Skinner Mills before I’m 8 x Weeks
older, and I’m going to have my‘house, too.”
Skinner curled his lip. 1:: saw it was no use

a angered Loc .
Wléhbbhowh’ow youmeantodolt,”he

 

___If3+rrY EQCke, ther'Man Iof Iron.

 

said, with a sneer. “ You’ll have your house if
you ay me my money, and not without."

“ . o,” answered Larry, sharply. “ I shall pay
the moncy, but not to you.” _

Skinner shrugged his shoulders.

“ As you please. ' You can pay my lawyer, if
you like; but if you don‘t. I take the house as
soon as I get judgment. Audns for gcttin work
at the mill you can t do it. I wouldn’t ta 'e you
in for half wagcs.”

“ And I’m not going in for half wages,” was
Larr ’s quiet reply.

“ . 0," continued Marcellus, “nor for quurtcr
wages either. You’re a born demagoguc, and
bound to to make trouble wherever you 0."

“ But for all that,” retortcd Larry, “ll’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.

“ You’ll find that out in three weeks," said ;

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. cod-day, sir. Remember
what I’ve said. Here’s your whip again, but
don’t 'ou try to use it on no more men, or you
may nd you’ve made a little mistake, as you did
once before.”

He let go the horse’s head, stepped back and

icked up the whip, which he handed to Marcel-
us, who drove on without attempting any f ur-
ther violence.

Then Larry betook himself down the street to
a certain small hotel in the far outskirts of the
city, where he found a man with a grave, rather

 

 

strength and knowledge, and there was nothing
She deemed him incapable of doing.

Presently Larry saw the figure of a man com-
ing down the road from Maguire’s house, and
several others strag ling in from the city, so he
got up and said to olly:

“ Bring out all the chairs ye can.
in‘ to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She echoed. “ A meeting of
what, Larry, boy? W'e’ve no room for a meet-

VVe‘re go—

, ‘We‘ll hold it outside," said Larry. “It’s
only to talk things over; it’s the first step.”
' hcn he went out to meet Maguire, who had
a furtive look on his face, and said, in a low
Voice:

“ I told the boys, and some of ’em are on the
road; but av the boss gits hould of it, he’ll
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 me.” observed Maguire, in a
l gloomy way; “ I tould the boys that.”

“ Perhaps vou told them wrong,” said Larry,
I auietl ‘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
1 men gathered in the little front garden of Lar-
‘ ry’s cottage, a number sitting on the stone
l bench, the rest on logs, rocks and the few chairs
’ the cottage contained. while the buzz of earnest
‘ conversation told that the were anxiously dis-
r cussing the question of su )sistence and how to

stem face, waiting for him in the small, dingy I getter their pasition, thou b no one seemed able

office.

At least it seemed ask‘if the man were waiting
for him, for as soon as Larry came in the other
looked up from his paper, saying:

“ \Vell, brother, what luck? Are any of
them inclined to join at once? he council
won’t let me wait long if there’s no 0 ance of an
organization.”

“ I think we‘ll make one to-morrow,” was
Larry’s answer, “ but you must remember these
men are all cowed down and it will take time to
rouse them up.” 1

“ That’s no affair of mine,” returned the l
stern man. “I’m here to do the muster in. and 
if you once start a council the rest will follow. :
\Ve 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, “ I’ll try what
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,
thcnrest will follow. What time will you meet'
us?

“ Whenever you say. I think seven will bethe
best time, lgsvcause the men will have finished
supper and ill want something to do.”

‘ How would it do if you came to my house
and I got the men to meet there?” asked Larry.

“A vcr good lace,” returned Shaw. “ I'll
come there if you’ 1 tell me where it is. In the
mean t me how are you going to let the men
know?” .

“ I’ll notif them myself,” said Larry, and
then he gave '3 companion directions how to
find the cottage and dc rted.

He took his way'stra ght back to the works,
amfl1 walked in at the gate without being noticed
at rst.

Tlicn he went to Maguim. who was one of the
rollermen, and said to him in a low voice as he
passed:

“ Come to In house m soon as you've had
suppcr. Mr. S aw‘s comc.”

“And who’s Mr. Shaw?" asked Maguire, in a
gloomy tone, as he wont on with his work.

“ Mr. Shaw,” replied Larry, in the same
guarded tone, “ is the Master Il’orkman for
this district, and hc’s come hire to get you all a
chance to get back the old scale.”

Ma ire shook his head.

“ D1v11 a chance have We, I’m afeard.”

“ Of course not, if We don’t fight for it,” said
Larry, sharply. “Thcre’s no harm in hearing
what the man has to say, is thcrc ?”

“No,” assented Maguire, gloomily. “ I’ll
come.”

“ And will you bring the boys with youi’”ask-
ed Larry, eagerly.

Maguiro 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 go on strike, you’re
not worth, of the name of American Workmeu.
People wi call you slaves."

CHAPTER XXI.
ran sncnnr socnmr.

THAT evening at seven o’clock Larry was 8“?
ting at his cottage door smoking his 1 ,, while
Molly was washing up the dishes, an ging as
she worked, this time with real enjo out.

What mattered it to her whether t ere was a

tell how it was to be
' fered no advice.

At last he said, in a tone of some relief:

“Ah! there comes Mr. Shaw at last. Now,
’ bo s, we’ll see.”

u at the front gate walked a quiet-looking
man in plain gray clothes, who said, as if he
had knoWn them 1:

“ How are you. men? Are there any foremen
here who are Knights?”

“ No,” answered Larry

one, and Larry prof-

; “ there are no Kni hts

here, but they all want to join- the Knig ts,.

Brother Shaw.”
“No, no,” expostulated Maguire. “ We do'n’t
want to join nothing till we know what it is.

‘ We’ve tried strikes before, in ’77, and what did

we get by it?”
Shaw smiled gravely, as he answered:

——men who don’t strike for nothing.
here: how much do you make a week, and I’ll

not

on:

“That’s just it. I heard before I came that

on Holesburg men were getting just a quarter

988 than iron-workers were getting in the
That’s because you haven’t got a Union and
don’t belon tothe Knights of Labor. You’re
the onlypace that doesn’t belong to it, and
you’ll never get the old scale back till you do.”

“ But how will ioininfi the Knights help us?"
asked one man. “ We’ll ave to pay dues, won’t
we?” ‘

“Of course we will.”

“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?” ,V

“Ay, ay,” quoth Maguire. “’Tis the only
comfort we have now, and we won’t give it

“ Indeed! and how much does it cost you to
get a good drunk and foiiget your troubles for a
ni ht?" asked Shaw, coo y.

be question seemed to surprise the men.

“ Reckon I can drink fifty glasses without
caving in,” said one, boastingliv. .

“ How much a glass?” ask Shaw, quickly,

“ Five cents.”

“ Exactly: Well, that’s nearly a year’s dues,
and it only lasts one night, don’t it?’

“Ay, ay, I see what you’re drivin’ at.” said

to give up our bccr and turn temp’rince fo ks.”
“ Suppose you tricd it for three months, and

got the old scale at the end of the‘ time.

“gouldn’t that be a paying investment?” asked
aw.

and he went on:

Knights of Labor have donenand to start an
assembly here. \Ve’re not anxxous to have you ‘

in. 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 on scale, and we want to know how
the Knights are going to help us t 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 every town where
there’s an iron mill,exce t this. n working-

 

mortgage hangng over the place or not, solong
an Larry was cki
To her, Larry was the impersonation of

man’s elifible to 50 n. if e can pay h s dues. and
we don’t avebut very small expenses.
got a big surplus fund, which we use on purpose

West. ‘

.\ -~

“You’re just the men we want in the order .
Look '

tell’you whether you can afford to strike or .

Several men answered him, and he went ‘

Maguire, rather scornfully, “ but we ain’t oin' ‘

No one seemed to be able to find an answer, I

“I came here to let you men know what the '

I

We’re .

par—7r
x .

v

‘fl—

 

 

 

 

2
I

-‘ciin

 

{.mrfi— “

 

 

 

a - hr—rVr
r—vs

 

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

15

 

\

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 hava 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
Ion er.”

T e men listened intently, and Maguire asked

, tfull :

“ And dyye mane to say, sir, that av we L’ine
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
Order. 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. We 8 nd our wages. \Vhen

on have all the men 0 all the mills then it will
be time to say to the bosses that you want the
old scale. They can’t et any men from other

laces, for the Order Will forbid it. And if the
finights 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, hesitatingly:

“ And what ye say’s very true, sir, but how
will we get into the Order at all?”

“ That 3 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.”

“To—nir'ht!” echoed one of the men with a
start. “ ot to-iiight. Give us a little time.”

“And why not tonight?" asked Larry Locke,
who ke for the first time, and, as he said it,
hew ed into the middle of the circle, his shcrt,
sturdy figure looking more defiant than usual.
“ Why put it off a i‘ ay? You gave in to the
boss three months ago, and if you go back to
work now, lic’ll find out what’s been done here
toni ht, and discharge you all. Wh shouldn’t
be? Ie’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 ct-
ting the old scale ever since out in Ohio. ’ve
come back here because my people were here,
and I've come to stay with you and to make
Boss Skinner give you back the old wages. To.
night’s the time. I want to start the first
Holesburg assembly. Who’ll go in with me?”

“ I will,” said Maguire, drawing a deep
breath and speaking with an effort.

“ And I,” “ AndQI,” said two other men.

“Very good,” observed Shaw, quietly; “a
small beginning’s bcttei‘ than nothing. The
Order began in two men, and now it lias_a mil-
lion. I tcll you. men, we’ve made a beginning
and we’ll bring the bosses to terms yet.”

Then he turned to Larry. .

“Have you a back room, a. quiet one, where
we shall be safe from interruption, and be able
to do the initiation?”

Larry hesitated.

“Nothing but the garret. That’s empty.”

“ That Will do,” said Shaw, promptly. “ All
these other men had better retire, un css they
want to join. We take only true men.”

“ And what kind of a thing is this initiation?”
asked another man, hesitatingl y.

“ You’ll find out if you join, and you won’t it
you don’t,” said Shaw, sharply. “We want
some romn, gentlemen.”

“ But I want to 'oin,” said the man.

“ And so do I,” ‘ And I,” “ And I,” said three
others.

Curiosity as to the secrets of a society had
driven thcin in when principle was too weak,
and in half an hour afterward Larry’s little
garret was crowded with candidates for the
Order, and thirty—seven men Wcre mustered in
that night. ' _ .

The light in the attic wmdowlattracted much
attention from othercottages in the vicinity,
and more than one neighbor called on Molly to

' inquire what was going on at thtit time of night,

but got no satisfaction from be};

As the clock struck ten, a gentleman passing
in a dog-cart returning from a late expedition
passed before the light, and muttered to .the
com anion beside him: _ .

u vhavs he doing up at this time of night?
Some mischief, I’ll be :)t(‘)und.tfatheri”l

: n on e sea un cc.
I  utmost.  ‘71)}! Slackvs
right, I can arrest him for conspiracy if he tries
to make trouble.”

‘ CHAPTER XXII.

THE NEW STRIKE.
Tam weeks later, Marcellus Skinner wrs in
his office when he heard a knock at the door,

 

and Mr. Van Slack, his lawyer, a weazened lit-

tle man came in. _ -
Skiniier turned on him eagerly and quickly,

0 n :
“ Well, gwhat news?”
Mr. Van Slack rubbed his hands.
“ Iocke’s time is up to-morrow, and he has
served no notice of- appearan-,. What shall I
do it he doesn’t come up?”

“ Put him out; sell him up; drive him out of
the place,” cried Skinner, eagerly: “ I’ll make
the scoundrel 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
mortga e, to run three years.”

“ An what did you say?” 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'intcrrupted him harshly:

“ On no account. Do you suppose I want his
paltry savtigs? No. I want to drive him out,
to get his house, to get rid of him. I hate the
scoundrel. He‘s plottin a strike with my men,
and I’m bound to t ri of him.”

Mr. Van Slack s rugged his shoulders.

“ In that case it’s no business of mine.
what’s necessary.”

He went awa , and Marcellus turned to his
books again and gun 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.

Tom Trainor had gone out as usual; for his
father, hard as flint to all the rest of the world,
was foolishly fond of Tom and indulged him in
money without stint. There was no me in the
ofllce but the old bookkeeper 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 on come
in here,you, Locke? Haven’t I forbi you this
place, long ago?” '1

Larry Locke appeared not to have heard him,
for he only answered:

“ This is Mr. Skinner, I believe, head of these
iron mills? IVe represent the Knights 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 impolite, sir; then you wish the men
to sto work, do you?”

“I on’t care who stops or goes on i” was the
still more angry reply. “ Vthn my men come
to me I’ll talk to them. I’ve nothing to do with

on.

“ Is that our final re ly?” asked Larry.

“ M fin reply is: ct out!”

An with that, Skinner went to the door and
pointed to the outer yard.

Larry immediate] put on his hat.

“ Very good, Mr. kinner,” he said: “ I’m not
coming iack to this office till you send for me.
You understand that i”

Then he wheeled round to the men and said,
in his quietest tones: ,

“ Go home."

One of the men in the rear of the igroup
blew a whistle, and instantly the no se of
hammers ceased, the whirring of the machinery
bands slackened to silence, and the sounds of
scuifling feet, with the buzz of conversation
announced that the men had left their tasks am
were streaming out to go home, as if it were
sunset. '

The group of men with Larry turned to the
she to et their clothes, and Larry himself,
wit a p acid smile on his face, walked past

I’ll do

 

Skinner, looking him in the eye, and thence 1

out.

As for Marcellus, for some moments he was
too much taken aback to say or do a thing; and
then be rushed into the shop toward the gate
and tried to bar the way of the stream of men
coming out.

“ Where are you going?” he shouted. “ Go
back to your work. you scoundrels! I’ll discharge
every one of you."

He had been used, during the last three
months, to have them cringing before him, and
expected to drivo them back 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 grim 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
laughing:

Stung to the nick at the evasions, he tried to
,single out an in ividual, and finally grabbed a

 

small man by the throat, crying:
“ Where are you going!”

v ’ ' .. .n
a f '1‘ “ .l
.. ' ' mu.“ .‘. '. . .
,  .1 .i Wit. ..
.. r ,\r.4~.
_ f. ‘c,. n .. ,

into the street, just as the men began to stream 

l
I

 

:

The man made no answer, but tried to get
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 mouth by the
end of a coat which was slashed in his face and
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 unano
imity and heartinem that revented him from
seeing who was assaulting Eim, 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,
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
eve one seemed to be laughing at him.

Al his struggles were in vain; for nearly a
ton weight lay on him, inning him to the
ground; and presently he Fan to groan, when
a voice above him said stern y:

“ Will ye la still and not luke, av we let yo
up, 8 old spa peen ?”

“ es, 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, the tail end of the
crowd was going out through the gate and ho
could not recognize any one.

His “ crushers "’ had disap ared in the crowd,
and he could not have tra 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-
bers when the numbers cme 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 life, 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 gloomin
to think over matters.

CHAPTER XXIII.
LOCKING our.

HE had not sat there very long when he
heard the rattle of wheels outside and saw his
son, Tom Trainor, dash into the mill-yard in
his dog-cart, pull up all in a hurry, and rush to
the door which he un open and entered the
oflice in a much demora ized condition.

Tom had taken to gorgeous attire of late, and
rejoiced much in diamond studs, sleeve-buttons
and rings, which he was accustcmed to flash in
the eyes of all beholders to excite envy.

He delighted in valet cutaways, pearl—gray
trowsers, patent-leather boots, yellow dogski'n
gloves and gorgeous neckties, With the shiniest
of hats, and such had been his arraiymwhen be
started out, but now it was sadly c aged for
the worse.

His shiny hat was broken in and his velvet
coat bespattened with mud, while some one had
apparently smashed a watermelon on his back,
for the pink ' ice and flesh were all over his
coat, while a fig lump of mud had taken him
on one cheek and stuck there.

He came in, pale and breathless, stammeri :

“What‘s the matter? What has happened,
father? I don’t know—1’

“What have they done to you?” asked old
Skinner, glooniily.

“ I was driving up the street," answered Tom,
coufuscdly, “and I met ’em all coming out.
And all I asked them was what was the matter,
when they began.”

“ And what did thcy do?” asked Skinner.

“They booted and jccred at he and one of
them, Steve Rankin, called me a cursed lazy
upstart pauper, and 1 got mad and cut him
with my whip, and then thiy went for me.
Lucky I drove fast, for I do believe they’d have
killed me. What is it? Have they gone on
strike?”

“ Yes,” answered Marcellus, 'nding his
txeth, “that cursed Larry Locke as set them
at it. He was in here, and said that he came to
represent the Knights of Labor. I don’t be-
lieve it.” '

“But he was out there,” said Tom. and he
turned ler than before, if possible. “ I heard
him cal tothem tolet me alone. 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 .
have his house to-morrow, if he don’t pay me
every cent he owes. He had the impudenee to ',
tell me that I should have to send for him before
he came back here.”

Tom seemed unusually nervous, for he
ed about for some time, and at last said, in an
uneasy sort of way: .
“I sayhfather, you don’t want to pre- hin» ~
too clone. '

16

“ 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 just in time to catch me and her
havin’ a little difficulty, and I'm afcard 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 rive it to them. Let them Sweat a week,
and, 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
coal and father and son got into the dog-cart
and ove 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 sceneas soon as the peltin
began on Tom, and came sneaking into the yar
just as they were preparing to drive out, pro-
testing that: ‘

“ He hadn’t engaged for no sich work, and he
wanted to leave his place right off, as the Yan-
kees call it.”

Old Skinner aid and dismissed him on the
spot, feeling rat er bitterly as if every one had
deserted 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
mills seemed to be out lounging about, as if on
strike.

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 han‘s in his pockets, looking
gloomy and thoughtful as be surveyed the silent
and em ty building.

“ We 1, Grynde, he said, “ what’s the news?”

G nde looked up at him rucfuliy.

“ he Knights have got us in a hole, Mr.
' Skinner. We ought to have known what was
goin on.”

“ hat has been going on?” asked Skinner,
in rather a scornful tone.

“ They’ve been getting up lodges of the blast-
ed Knights of Labor right under our noses,”
said Grynde, gloomilyv, ‘ and we haven‘t seen
what was coming. on don’t know what a
And we can’t afford to let

power they are.
It costs like the deuce to

our fire go out.
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
them has a penny saved, and two weeks will
bring them to terms, sure.”

G de shook his head.

“ on don’t know what it is when the Knights
get at it in earnest. They’ve a big following,
and we won’t be able to get a man to work fox
us I’m afraid."

Skinner frowned an rily.

“ That’s all very we 1; ut I can tell _ on one
thin : I’m not going to give in, not if I ave to
get E’hinamen 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,
I believe: one Larry Locke: and he’s Master
Workman of the district now. He has been
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
men just dropped tools and left the place, as
soon as he raised his hand.”

Marcellus Skinner ground his teeth.

“ Curse his impudence!" he muttered.

CHAPTER XXIV

SOMETHING IN 11'.
Tu eventful day had come, when Larry
Locke must either answer the summons on the
Ed and mortgage affecting his house, or lose

 

same.

Mr. Marcellus Skinner, gnawing his under lip
with anxiety. sat in the office of his lawyer,
Mr. Van Slack, watchin the clock as the hour

‘01 noon approached, an frequently went to the
window to look down the street.

As the bands pointed to five minutes he began
to rub his own hands and said to Van lack in a
tone of delight: ~

“ Time‘s nearly up; isn’t it! Have you the
pa :1 all ready 1”

r. Van Slack looked at his rich client in the
Most respectful fashion.

“Everything is ready, Mr. Skinner. We can

t in the execution this afternoon.”

“ Do so do so,” answared Skinner, setting his
teeth viciously; ,“ You don’t know how much
that is depending on it. If I can only drive

 

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.“

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 Van Slack, and said:

“ Good-(la . Here’s a notice for you. We
appear for ke 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 toSkin-
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 turou fairly purple with rage, and
scowled at Paul under his brows ina malignant,
sidelong fashion, as he said:

“ Hum! That swhat 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 on sign the admission of service?”

Van S ack 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-da , sir.”

Then he went out, an Skinner broke forth:

“The un 'ateful young hound! Who is he
with. Van S ack? How 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 takin awa your business
from him. He’s a wary o d bir , and if he has
taken up the case, he thinks there‘s something
in it i suppose.”

“ ut there’s nothing in it,” retested Skinner.
“ He owed the money to old riggs, and I paid
hard cash for the debt.”

Van Slack shrugged his shoulders.

“ We shall see, I suppose. All in good time.
But meanwhile you can’t put Locke out or his
house for another three weeks certainly, and if
they choose to fight it off, they can do so fer six
months or more; perhaps a year.”

Marcellus Skinner rose from his seat and
sw0re venomoust for several minutes. Then,
having eased his mind somewhat, he took his
de 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 on] in this
niatterof Larry Locke that Skinner h 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 er 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 gentleman in, Mr. Van Beaver. It‘s
not worth while to have a scene.”

Skinner passed in with a triumphant sneer at
Paul. and the old law or glanced up at him
over his 5 ctacles wit out so much asanod,
observing rigidly:

“Well, sir, what do you want?”

“ I want to know what you mean by taking
up the cause of this Swindling rufiian, Locke,
against me, when you know well enough he
owes me the money?” 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
orange with a flushrof an r as he answered:

“Mr. Skinner, be kin enough to get out of
this office. I’m not used to hearing this sort of
language. Get out. sir; quick 1”

As he spoke he rose up, a thin, delicate-looking
old man of sedentary habits, and pointed threat-
enin iv to the door, saying:

“ don’t want to use violence; but you'll apol-
ogize. or out you 'go.”

“ Apologize! c you !” echoed Marcellus,
a has . “You? Why. curse your impudence,
I‘ l shake the life out of you!”

And he was actually rushing in to do it, oon-
fident in his so rior strength, when he was
suddenly seized rom behind by a pair of stron
young arms, felt a knee dug into his back, an
was flun no the floor so dexterously that he
had no t me to do more than utter an amared
grunt of pain, when Paul Van Beaver said
sternly:

“Now look out what you’re doing Uncle
Marcellus. I’ve taken lessons. and I’ll put a
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

\

 

 

3 c:es from the time when he grappled with him,

Six years before.

It was the difference between eighteen and
twenty-four, while in his own case the Six
years had stiffened and weakened him, as be-
tween fort -six and fifty-two.

But Pan ’s 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 ak to you,” said Mar-
cellus, with infinitely more ciVIlity. “ I didn’t
mean to quarrel with any one, but I was r’iled.
There. confound it, I apolo ize.”

“ That alters the case, returned Scriven,
coldly. "' Sit down. Now tell me what you.
want?”

“I want you to sto defendin this snit,”said
Skinner, crossly. “ t’s an in omens shame
It’s only done to gain time and keep me out o
my mone , so you won’t be] the man in the
end. He’l have to pay it. ehasno 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
uestinn. 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—hecause it was a little thing-
and I didn’t—”

“Yes, vou 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 wron . 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 request of my friend
and partner here, Mr. Van Beaver. and here-
after the sooner you take away the rest of your
business the better I shall like it, Mr. Skinner.
As for Locke’s ease, 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, sir. You must excuse further talk,
but I’m busy. Mr. Van Beaver, please show
Mr. Skinner out.”

And the old lawyer turned to his broke, as if
no one had been in the room, while Skinner,
considerably put down. not to say fiabbergas-
ted by his sudden change of manner, walked

uietly out of the (dice, followed by Paul Van
Beaver, who tx‘ok his hat from the desk and f0.-
lowed his uncle intx: the passage.

When he got outside, moreover, he laid his
hand on Marcellus’s arm, and said quietly:

“ Uncle Marcellus, I don’t see why we should
be bitter enemies so long. M y mother was
your; sister. I’m willing to shake hands if you
are.

Marcellus glanced at him sideways.

“I’ve no doubt on are,” he said, “but I’m
not. You’ve join my enemies, and vou’re t -
mg 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

ands with you? Not if you lay dying, curse
on!
y And he turned his back and walked away to
his buggy. As he got into it, he was not sur-
rised to see Larry Locke on the street coming
ward the lawyer’s office, but he was surprised
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

0 cc.

He watched the two going up—stairs, and then
drove round to Van Slack’s, to whom he told
what he had seen, and was surprised to hear
Van Slack say:

“ I thought so. There’s something behind all
this. Old Briggs was with bim,was be? I’ll bet
there’s some sharp ractice going on. If there
is, I’ll have a hand) in it. Snapper and Van
Slack are hard to beat, and Scriven and Van
Beaver will find that out some day.”

CHAPTER .xxv.
ran BOSBEB’ unmNG.

Tan strike had lasted a week. and Ho
was full of idle men. when Marcellus Skinner
received a note from Stone & Grynde, saying:
" Dun Sin:—

“ You are requested to come to a meeting of manu-
facturers 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 arranger
on a compromise to end the strike.

“ Yours respectfullv.
“ Pearson Garsnl,
“ Set-navy Hanufuctmrr“ Union.”

Skinner twisted up the note and his face at
the same time. muttering:

“They’re ing to give in. I. know it. But
they sha’n’t o it, if I have any say in it.”

He sat down and scribbled an answer-

 

0

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u” yumg
.

 

 

 

.‘w’

>l ‘nd see if we cant split the di

 

_______,-_.._ -._.____.. .

I l
“I’ll be thene, but I shall vote againist any sort of

a compromise. i . Shanna.“

On Tuesday morning, accordingly, he went
to the great rolling-mil of Kelly.& Barr, now
grlml silent, like all the mills in Holesburg,
and ound, 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-
fronts, while all were immense watch-chains,
with bundles of seals and charms dependent.

They greeted Skinner cordially, as one of
their own kind, and very soon dashed into the
15th of the strike and h0w to end it.

r. Kelly, of the firm of Kelly 6:. Barr, be. .

gun at. Skinner; _ ‘ ‘

-‘ ‘n‘en, W out 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 afford to be
idle.”

“ But then suppose a man’s got a contract,
and he can’t get hands to do it with,” inter-
jectcd Mr. Grynde, nervously. “ What’s he to
do? I‘ve got a contract, with a bi penalt
attached, and if I don’t get to work at it, I
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 ive in, jest because your cams are

‘ bein’ tr on."

“ But what am I to do?” urged Grynde. “ I
can‘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 otlierstlistened to him in the
hard, indifferent way rich men are apt to use
when misfortune comes to their notice, but
Skinner growled out:

“ I don‘t see no necessity. You can stick to
us, and we‘ll stick to you.”

Old Kelly turned to him in a more comfort-
ing strain, to so y:

'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-hore, 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 long, all the day. That

‘ shows how they’re suffering. It won’t be long
(

before they’ll run through all they’ve got an
come to starving. W'e kin stand it longcr’n
they kin. Suppose we keep shut up a month or
a year. There ain’t one of us has got to go to
the pawn-shop to live. We’ve got plenty to
live on. It’s only that wcstop 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 Grynde, nervous] ,
“we’re wasting time, talking like this. . V 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 ob'ection being heard, the oleaginous
Kelly sunk into his chair at the head of the
table, and the magnatcs of the trade began to
look as dignified as they could, while they
awaited the arrival of the dc )utation. '

Skinner thought he would ( o a. little talking,
for he ver soon got up and said:

“NOW, r. Chairman, this, as I understand
it, is a meeting of iron manufacturers, calls!
by Mr. Grynde as secretary. What I want to
know is, who are these fellows that are coming
to see us to—da l” .

“ A committee Of the Knights of Labor,” an—
swered Grynde instantly.

“ And who the deuce are the l I don’t know
them. W9,d011’t knpw them. I my men come to
me to strike, 1’11 listen to ’em. but I don’t know
no Knights of Labor. When the come to me,
1 mt wouldn’t listen to ’em and unced their

aster Workman as he deserved. Now what I
advise is this here, that we do the same now,
and tell these fellerswhen 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 tobe rather relished by
several of the manufacturers, and Skinner pro-

ceeded: .

«Now they’re coming up, what are we go-
ing to say to them?” ,

it We‘re going to hear them in said Grynde,

defence.”

“ Then I move we don’t hear ’em at an,” 
Skinner “ but tell ’em we won’t have nothing to
do with ’ern. Who dares second that?”

“ I do, just for fun," observed Mr. Barr, .n-

‘ other magnate. “ Put the motion, Kelly.”

The chairman was about to put the motion,
when Mr. G nde cried out:

“But co der. gentlem, consider, _if you
do this you’re driving me out of the Union'and
I mud get through with my contract.”

.. Oh. but your contract,” put in Barr.
uni. pull devil, pull baker With us in a strike,
and on ought to know that. Ifryou wantto
duh you know the penalty. You leave the

t ."'. ‘ _-;-.—.-- ~~ ‘ .‘i .‘ .
._ Lu“, . v .— .  '

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

1?

 

 

Union, and we buy and sell no more with you.
Put the motion, Kelly.”

Mr. Grynde turned pale as he looked round
the table. A hard man himself, like all rich
men who have made their money, he, for the
first time, found himself in a Sitiou when he
had to ask a favor of his frien s, and it was in
a pleading 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
leease about it. I don’t Want to leave the

nion—"

“Nuther do I” said Skinner, breaking in;
“but I’m a-goin to do it. darned sudden, too,

if there's anv'talk cf "ivin’ 511. Cin in to "we"
skunks an have ’(n: :21;- "
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 trium hantly
carried. the very moment before a knoc came
at the door, and one of the board or Union cried
out:

“ Come in!”

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
Larr observed, in an indifferent sort of ways

“ V Yell, gentlemen, ye sent for us. What d’ye
want with its?"

“ Who 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 you're going, gentlemen?”

With that he put on his hat instantly, an ex—
am le 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 Holesburg. the same as they’ve done
in other towns. That’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 recognize you and refuses to
treat with you. Is that all you want?”

Larry looked him in the eye, not a little sur-
prised. He had expected, from the summons,
that the manufacturers were weakening; and
here he received a direct snub from them, in a
Waylthat showed there was no such thing in the
Wlnt .

He knew that the men, so long on strike,
were getting desperate, and that, when he
brought the news to them that their committi e
had only been sent for to be insulted, there
would 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
does 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 w ere. We don’t
know you and won‘t recognize you. With 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 in to breed dis-
affection between Larry and his riezids.

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
mm mm.

Tm: workmen looked at Larry, evidently not
a little put out, and one of them cried out,
fiercely:

“ It’s a put-upfl'ob. We had a letter from
your secretary, r. Grynde, asking us here to
see-if we con] n’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  come to
you. We ain’t going to treat with you till 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 .
Mr. inner. It’s our turn to-da . hext
time it will be ours. -day to‘ye all.” .

And he stalked out of the room, lookinfg pale
and an y, while the men looked as i they
avers d ppointed and maddened to the last

egree.'

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-... _ ,.n L . .e M '
turf)? “A; {1:0 1“"); .‘L '

 

 
 
 

A short silence followed, and then Mr. Grynde
got u , and said, hurriedly:

“ r. President, I don’t believe in this way of
doing business I offer my resi tion.”

“ Move we accept it at once,’ said Barr; and
Skinner rapped out:

“ Second the motion. We want to know just
where we stand. I ain’t doin’ any milksop
business myself.”

And so the motion was put and carried. and
Mr. Grynde walked out of the room very la.
and seeming to be much ashamed of himself?a

Soon after he was one. they heard a great.
groanin in the street low, and Barr went to
the win ow and looked out. to report a moment-

ter:

“ The street’s full of them, and the ‘re telling-
01'! Grynde what flan? think of its, bat Larry
1.611;”: tryfzg t- ,

They all left their seats to crowd to the win-
dows, and look down.

The street was full of a surgin mass of
people, mostly men in their shirt seeves, and
the were booting and groaning at Larry Locke-
an Mr. ’Grynue, who stood Slde by side on a.
bi horse-block. .

ntly 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 close to the horseblock to listen to what
was coming.

Then Grynde lifted up his voice to shout:

“ My mi 1 o ns—to-morrow—at the old scale
—I’ve left t e Union—I’ll take- all—the old
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!”

The cheering was caught up, and in the midst
of it Grynde and Larry disappeared in the
crowd. which. surged to and fro with a great
buzzing and noise, till a voice in the assembly
roared:

“Three groans for the other bosses! Break
the windows on ’em.”

The cry spread like wildfire, and the men
began to h0wl and yell at the windows vhcre
the manufacturers were assembled, so that they
hastily retired, none too soon.

A moment later stones began t; fly and the
crashing of glass told that damage was being
done. for the excited strikers had found a way
to vent their anger at last.

“ “’e’d better get out of this,” cried Mr.
Kelly, hastily. “ They’ll do us a mischief if
we don’t look out. There‘s a back door leads
into a little street behind the mill."

And he set the example by running ofl' down-
stairs as hard as be con dv while they could hear
the tramp of feet in the mill, with the sound of
voices in great excitement yelling out threats
against the bosses as the i ran.

They Went for a little ack stairway by which
the hands were wont to be dismissed, and got
out before they were discovered; but no sooner
Were they in the lane than they heard a great
din in the shop they had left, and Kelly ex~
claimed: ,

“They’re breaking up the plant. My God, I
shall be ruined.”

“Not a Lit of it," answered Skinner. “ I
wish they’d do it. to nine. Don‘t you know the
county’s liaLle for Ihe damagc? Let then? smash
all they can. I’m going for the soldiers.”

“Ay, ay," ranted cld Barr. who was windrd
Ly his long run. “ Let’s telegra] h the gov-
ei nor for help at once. There’s a regular riot.”

Th(y scattered to find their cariiaces, which
had driven away as soon as the crowd began to
Hream in, and found tlum in mest cases dam--
aged, wherever they had teen recognized as be--
longing to the magnatcs of the mills.

As for Skinner, he had walked down, and he
walked hick by the way of side-streets. till he
came to his own house, where he proceeded to
put on some old, plain clothes, with a revolver
in a belt round his waist, after w hich he. sallied
out into the street to see what was to be seen,
confident that he would not berecognized by
the strikers.

When he got into the principal street of Holes-
burg. he found everything, to all secmin ,
peaceful and quiet, people pursuing their or i-
nary avocations, but the strikers, who had been
lrunging about everywhere in the morning,
seemed to have vanished frcm the business
streets entirely.

Yet he very soon began to hear all sorts of
rumors in the bus scene, as men met together
in little knots, an at last he heard one person

7» .. ... - l,

5:! :

‘yWes, it‘s true. I saw the message after the
operator had sent it.”

“ And what was it?” asked his friend.

“ It was to the governor asking for troo . to'
defend life and property. They sa that elly
and Barr‘s place was gutted, and t t the men
are threatening to burn all the mills in revenge
for the bones holding out so long.”

“ That would be nonsense,” replied his friend.
“ What good would it do them to burn the mills!
The ’d get no work out of that.”

“ 1103 vs true, but men don’t think of that.
when they’re in a pamion. They’ve got a man.

. . fi-‘au'r—OflI-q «smash...
. w r .

     

".TIT‘“L"3_"IZ“ v- Jo ~~

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18'

‘ ' ...k. w...

Larry Locke. the Man of Iron.

 

to lead them, a fellow called Locke. He’s what
they call Master Workman of this district.
They do whatever he tells them.”

Skinner pricked up his ears to listen, for he
had an idea in his head.

“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
once they’re started. I hope they won‘t have
any more trouble like we had in the big riots.”

“ Heaven forbid!” said his nei hbor, devoutly
and then they passed on, while skinner pursued
his way through more side streets to the part of
the town where the factories were, and took his
way specially to the mill owned by Kelly & Barr,
which he expected to find in ashes at the
least.

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 web’s pas-
81011.

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 by half a dozen resolute-looking fellows,
carrying large clubs, saying:

“ ou can’t come in here! ’

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
A NEW PLAN.

THEY were evidently w orkmen, but they acted
as if they had been put on guard, and he very
naturally asked:

“ Who are you and what are you doing here?
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-
bers. We’re only honest workingmen, and
Master 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
to move off, wondering great] at the order and
decency of these men, whom e and his f ricnds
were accustomed to treat as nothing but pau-
pers, to be ruled by the fore of cruelty.

He passed along the streets where the were
accustomed to congre ate, and foun them
lounging about in the g oomy, purposeless way
05] men accustomed to labor and obliged to be
1 e.

The pawn—she were crowded with them,
'and lines stretc ed out into the streets, with
articles of clothing and household utensils in
hand, on which they hoped to obtain 'money to
live awhile.

Putting on the coarse language of a Workman,
Skinner asked one of them:

“ Well, mate, how long d’ye think before the
bosses give in?’

The other shrugged his shoulders.

“Dunno. Gryndc’s done it; but he ain’t but
a dro in a buc et. He only takes three hun-
dred ands, and there’s nigh six thousand out of
work now.”

“ Then why don’t the rest think of coming
back on the old terms?” asked Skinner, incan-
tiouslg. for the gloomy countenance of the man
gave im courage.

The man instantly wheeled round to stare at
him savagely.

“Who are you?” he asked. “ A scab, come
to take the bosses’ part? D’ye think we've had
such a time starving and working on the new
scale that we want to go back to it again? Not
by a darned sight! It’s a tough thing to starve
without work, but it’s a tougher one to work all
day and find tyour children starving at night.
You get out 0 this, or some of us will be com-
ing out on ye.” \

And ovary one began to scowl at Skinner in
sucha way that he slunk off, not caring to make
further investi ations, and went back to his own
house, where 0 found Tom Trainer just come
in from a drive in the country.

Tom had not troubled himself much about the
strike after his first experience with the men.
He ave the manufacturing portions of the town
a Wide berth, and tried to enjoy life as he knew
best, which consisted in spending money on
ever thing which took his fang.

“ ell. father,” he said, as . kinner came in,
‘“ I was jest down to Van Slack's, and he says
how Largy Locke’s sent his answer in, and it‘s

no good.

“Sent it in already?” said Skinner, incredu-
lousl . “Why, he’s got twenty days to do it in.
He on’t want to shorten the time. ’

“ But he’s done it, so Van Slack says,” was
Tom’s IIimply. “He hailed me as I passed the
ofiiee told me to tell you.”

“ I’ll go down to the office at once, Tom." said
his parent, eagerly. “ Maybe it wants attend-
;in to at once. ’

m d witlliin tebgomég‘tiites h‘eezdais at minors
0 cc, deep y a r u n s an-
swer to h s complaint, which filfed him with

mrprise.

. , ,

u   ‘ I:

 

w" I I ‘ll " “
iii-,9. ,m. r ‘V 
,.
x

Larry not only was not fightiu for time, but
it appeared that he had a good efense, 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 fin ers.

‘ Is that a good efense?” asked he.

Van Slack looked as wise as an owl.

“ If he can prove it it is,” he answered.

“ But how can he rUVe it?”

“ By Peter Briggs s receipts, I suppOSe.”

“ But suppose Peter denies them.”

The lawyer rubbed his hands.

“ If we could get him to do that, to make an
afiidavit, for instance—J

“ Yes. What then?”

“ Why, then we could spike old Scriven’s guns
at once.” .

“ I’ll make him do it,” said Skinner, in a reso-
lute tone. “I don’t care for the mone , if I can
only get this fellow out of the town. I‘ll spend
ten times the amount, if necessary, to do that.”

Van Slack looked at him in a queer way.

“ Can I s ak plainly, Mr. Skinner?”

“ Certainl); you can.”

“You want to get this fellow out of town to
stop the strike?”

“ Exactliy.”

“ Well, id it never occur to you that—”

He stopped and hesitated.

“ Well, what, what?”

“ That it might becheaperto buy him off than
to fl ht him?”

“ ever. Confound himl I hate to buy him
off. He’d use the money to help the strike.”

“ But sup . 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
an said mysterious] :

“ 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 feel! You see here you are in the
midst of a great strike, wit several irons on the
fire. You sa this man’s the head of the strikers,
and if they )eat—”

“ The won’t beat.”

“ Per aps not; but I’ve heard that one of
your manufacturers has given in to them to-

u '—
“ Yes, Grynde. Confound his meanness.”

“Exactly, and when he opens up, it will be a
great temptation to the others. They’ll see him
making money, and it’s ten to one some other
man weakens—”

“ Let ’em weaken. I won’t.”

“ Probably not. But what are you going to
do if they give in?”

“ Shut up the mill and sell out.”

Van Slack pursed 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 started.

“ What do you mean? You had nothing to do
with that wil .”

“ No. Scriven did that, and I must say it was

nite an artful clause he drew. I‘m inclined 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 original? No. But you forget it’s re-
corded, and 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 client from a sheet of paper
on which was written as follows:

“ ‘And at any time when the said business of
mnkix g Bessemer sieel shall become unprofitable,
it shall he the duty of the said Marcellus Skinner,
cxocuior as aforesaid, l0 sell the buildings, lauds,
plant, stock in trade and a purtenanccs thereof, at
public auction to the hi lest bidder, after three
months? notice in the public prints and by hand-
bilis and posters—"

" Exictly,” interrupted Skinner. “ That gives
me liberty to do what I please.”

“ Hold on,” said the lawyer. “ That’s not all.
Hear the rest:

“ ' For such sum or sums as may be deemed satis-
f‘ctory by him and the n xt heir, and to divide the
said sum or sums ually in two parts, one of which
shall be invest ‘d in nited 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 heir.‘ "

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. But what does
it amount to?”

“ It means that you can’t sell the mill with-
out the consent of the next heir. our ne hew,
Paul Yan Beaver, who must 10 n you n the

8.
“But suppose I sell anyhow, without letting

.fgi

 

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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.”

“Am you know who is in his office now, as
his partner?”

Skinner scowled.

“Ay. ay, I know. Paul Van Beaver, curse
himl”

“ 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 i”

Skinner moved uneasily on his chair. He had
begun to think the same himself, but his obsti—
nac refused to admit it.

“ ell, what of that?” he said sulkily. “I
can raise money on it by mortgage, and get the
whole place swam , 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 our lawyer, I’m bound to give you
good advice. You can do all you’ve said and
ruin a fine 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 out
you this two weeks?” retorted Van Slack in the
same tone.

Skinner cursed 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 hurry
Locke for tWent -five hundred down; and en-

age to make im leave the city,” said Van
lack uietly. “ 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 up I’ll have him out of here, if you will
furnish t e money. Molasses is the stuff tocatch
flies. He’ll fight as ion as you fight, but I don’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 ans.

LARRY LOCKE had gone to his own home the
second week of the strike, and was sitting
thoughtfully at the door of his cotta in the
evening, when Molly came up beside im. say-
ing coaxingly:

“ What makes ye so still, Larry boy?”

“I’m thinkin . ’ he replied, absently.

“Thinking 0 what? I’m sure I’m too ha py
to have you back to think of an thing but ow
you’re home.” she answered. fon ly.

" Ay, ay, Molly, that’s a woman’s waytolook
at it,’ said Larry, slow] ; “ but you don’t know
what it is to have all t e responsibility on one
pair of shoulders.”

“ What responsibility?”

“ The strike, dear. I ese men are at me all the
time to-do something to make the bosses yieldto
t em.

“And why don’t ye, Larry boy?” she asked,
with sublime faith that 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 is other side think a few of
us are giving 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 aslitile as possible, they would have
a better chance; but somehow—3’

“Somehow what, Larry?” she asked, seeing
that he had stop i.

“ Somehow t ese men here don’t seem to
know anything about saving money. The
to spending it on beer, and pawning t 611’
clothes to live with.”

And Larry uttered a heavy si h and remained
silent for several minutes, w ile Molly’s face
lengthened considerably: for anything that
grieved Larr made her wretched.

Presently s e said in a hesitating way:

“Then ain’t it certain that—the—strike—is—
going. to succeed?"

Larry roused himself instantly.

 

" Succeed? ,Ay, ay, it ought to succeed. If

they W"!'e all m it would soon surceed. They
have all the chances in their favor. But then
there’s a big lot of them, and it’s hard to find

such a number 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
going. It’s the same on both sides. If they
only knew it, G do has high broken the manu—
facturers’ backs y startin his works on the old
scale. If they would only old on, we’ve got the
homes where we want them.” ‘

“And won't they hold on, Larry dear?”

“i don’t know. They threw a good deal
awn yesterday.

“ ow, Larry?”

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Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

r

19

 

, lawyer, but by Paul Van Beaver, who drew up

 

“ By getting mad, and smashing Kelly & ]
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 nights of Labor." .

Molly nod-ied her head an iiy.

“ I’m glad they did it. ouldn’t have any-
thing to so. to my Larry, indeed! Who are '
they, I shou d like to know? I Wish they’d bro- 1
ken their old heads for them." ,

Larry smiled rather ruefully. l

“ You’re as bad as they are. But what was I
the consequence of the riot?” ‘

“ I don’t know. What?” ,

“ That the bosses telegraphed for troops, and ‘
the overnor has sent them.” '

“ Veil, what of that, Larry? They won’t hurt '
anybody, will they?”

“ Not unles some fools go to making another
riot. If that comes. there will be trouble.”

Molly patted his shoulder affectionately.

“Don’t be down—hearted Larry boy. May-
be they won’t be such foo s. I only wish we
were as safe about the house as about the ‘
strike 1” '

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. He
tells me how old_Skinner was in too much of a
hurry to buy Brig .’s mortgage. If he’d looked
he wouldn’t have ost 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, 1t. warn’t human nature to re—
fuse it. I d0n‘t like to keep a man out of his ,
moneykye know, but needs must when the devil '
drives.

Molly was about to answer, when they heard 1
the distant rattle of wheels, and saw a black ;
buggy driving up the road from Hoiesburg, and =

observ :

“ hat looks very like Lawyer Scriven’s buggy.
I wonder if he’s a-coming here?”

Molly shuddered. .

“ I hope not. Last time he was here he 
scared me out of my seven senses, asking me for '
the money, and I hadn’t got it.”

“ It is his buggy, and he’s coming here.” said l
Larry, decidedly. “ There’s some news in the 
case. You go in and 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 01d

 

 

at the cottage door, and said, as he alighted;

“Quite a change in beasts since first I knew ,
you, Larry. My tandem and cart were rather- I
different to this old plug and rattlotrap 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 f cm the quiet, ,
crushed, humiliated Paul who had been left to '
his uncle’s tender mercies a few months before,
and e ually different from the old,_carelcss,
spendt rift Paul, who had been his and-
father.’s spoiled darlin 1n the days 0 old.
There was in his face tie solid look of a man
who respected himself and felt that he had a
place in the world, could earn ins own 11mg
and Owe no man an thing. .

He came and sat own on the stone bench by

La , saym :

‘Well, 110ng oes the strilc. E” ' |
“ ell enoug , Mr. Paul, if they’d only let it
alone.”

“ How let it alone?” 1

“ We’ve got things in our own hands. Stone :
& Grynde have given way, and granted the 4
old scale, and they started their mill to—day. ,
It’s only a ques ion of another week but the ,
others come in if they’re only let alone.”

 

“ Who interferes with them?” 1 house, if you want a night’s lodging.”
“The men. These fellows are all new to the r “

Order. The ’ve nevorhad a fight before, and

they 1050 t Cir tempers. and go to making,

rio s.” "
“qu ays 0b33rV8d Paul, thoughtfully. “I

heard 0f thflta “0'1 I See there‘s a whole rcgi~ ;

ment of men quartered in the City Hall. I

hope they won’t come to blows with the strik— i
71

“They won‘t if I Can help it, Mr. Paul; but

our men don’t 509 how near they are to having *

- r thing their 0"“ W‘W- The want to ct
filikyto work. and they won't do 3;: on the in
terms. They “'flpt”th0 first scale, and don’t
know how to Etr‘Jtdlrtum on if k

be an 0 is 11993 '
Paul sisnd at 1%? gm observed: in an absent

N I 86 ‘ Larry. '

.I‘  rial.” .

“Mr. Scriven received a paper for you to.
y.” .

u , sir; what was it?”

u Xfioflion to dismix-l."

no And what’s that, Mr. Paul!"

Paul explained to him:

“we a paper that says, even admitting .11

you my to be true. you have no Itanding in

I And Mr. Van Black 9 gomg to move to

‘ I "to out your answer to-morrow. /

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“I don’t know much about these things,” he
said. “ I leave them all to you, Mr. Paul. If I ;
get beaten. the mest I can do is to lose this lit-
t e shant , such as it is, and move away to the
West. ut I don’t want to do that.”

“ Neither do I want you to do it,” returned
Paul, in the same absent way. “ Between you
and me, Larry—~”

He stop ) (1 short. as if hesitating to speak any
more, ant Larry, understanding that he feared
to be overheard, ruse and led his guest to the ‘
gate, where they were out of earshot of any one, ,
when he whispered: '

“ What is it, Mr. Paul? I’ll not tell a soul.”

Paul laid his hand on his arm.

“ Larry, I‘ve found out why old Scriven was
so willing to take me, young as I was, into his
office as partner.”

Larry nodded.

“ I told ye there was somethin behind it all.
It wasn’t a good gentleman li a your poor
grandfather that was going to leave you a beg-
gar, after spoxlingmyou for business as he did
when you were a y.”

“No, so it Seems: and Scrivm, it a pears.
drew the will with his own hand and e says
there’s a clause in it that no one knows of but
himself, and which is likely to be affected by
this strike.” .

“ And what’s that, Mr. Paul?” asked Larry, in
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
the making of steel becomes unprofitable, the
whole thing ought to be sold and the money di-
vided between—”

“ Between you and himi” asked Larry, eager-

ly.

“Yes, Larry.”

The young workman turned away from his 1
friend and walked no and down the little gar-
den several times till he had fully-mastered the 1
significance of the news, and then came up to I
Paul and asked in a low voice: i

“ And if the strike keeps on, will ye be able to I
make him sell out?” .

“ I think so, Larry. At least, Mr. Scriven
talks of app! ing for an order in court on it.”

Larry nodc ed as one wall satisfied.

“That se't‘es it Mr. Paul.”

“ Settles what, flurry?”

“The strike, sir. I own I was gettin a bit
down-hearted myself; but now we’ll 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 miil‘s sold it will benefit me, but—”

“But that’s enough, Mr. Paul,” said Larry,
decidedl’y. “ I was thinking what was the use
of m ghting for other people, awhile ago;
now don’t care. This strike goes through, vyin
or lose, and some one will be better off for it.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE Trump’s rnaasrrn.

PAUL VAN BEAVER did not stay long at
Larry‘s place that evening after he had commu—
nicatcd his news, for he had a good deal to do at
home in drawing papers, and he took his depar-
ture early.

As he drove home in the dusk of the evening,
he was accosted by a tram who seemed to start
up out of the darkness at t e roadside, and who
asked him: -

“ Say, mister, d’ye know where a man could
get a night’s lodging for self and mate?”

Paul saw another dark fl ure by the side of
the first tramp, who seeme to be a big fellow,
and he felt rather apprehensive that they in-
tended to stop him, so he said sharpi :

“ Get out of my road. Go to t 10 stations

Ay, ay,” returned the tramp, sulkily. “ It’s
all very well to say station—house, but how’s a
man to know where it is? Say, mister, don’t ye
- know where there’sa man named Skinner, at big-
burr, Where he lives?”
Paul was so much surprised at the question
that he asked:
“What Skinner do you mean? Marcellus?”
, “ Ay, ay, that’s the man.” returned the tramp,
eagerly. “ D’ e know where he lives?’
| Paul told him and drove on, wondering what
i the tramp could want with his uncle; but soon
, forgot all about it when he got settled to his
‘ night’s work.
Meantime the tramp said to his partneras
; they trudged along to the city:

“ Snoopey, old pal, it’s time me and you
stopped trampln’ and turned ’spectable. The
weather’s zlttln’ chilly, and I ain’t as young as

l I used to be."

Snoo v gave a snifl.’ and a whine.

” An ’m gettin’ the roomatiz bad, Jim, and
money don’t last no time, does it?” ‘

Terror Jim growled.

“ It lasts as long as I want it. W‘ot’s the use
of savin’ it? A short life and a merry one:
that’s what I sa .”

“But 8’ n a man ain’t ot nothen to be

I merry on "said Snoopey. “ ’ot’s he to do

1 agone.

“Take w’ot he kin get and durn the odds.
Snoopey. We ain’t goin’ to no county jail this
winter, you bet your boots.”

“Where are we a-goin’ then '9” asked Snoopey,
who was a sort of hanger-on to Terror Jim, fol’
lowing him as the jackal does the lion, finding
the prey and taking his humble share after the
lion had done.

Terror Jim nodded his head in mysterious
fashion, as he answered:

“ I’m a~goin’ to see a friend of mine, Snoope ,
a big-bu . the man I came to see three mont 9

$165 got to come d0wn and take keer of
me and you this winter, or there’ll be trouble in
the house.”

Snoopey 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 felier ain’t here
now. He’s out in ’Hio, cuss him! I hope he’ll
stay there. I don’t want nothan 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 us—”

“Shut u ,” growled Jim. “ What if he did?
We was as eep, and he had a club. But hedidn‘t
get no money out of us; did he?”

“ No,” assented Snoopev. “ but I thought one
time he was a—goin’ to. What was it he said to
you, Jim, when you' and him got off alone to-
gether?"

“Never you mind,” returned Jim, evasive-
lg. “Not so much as he thou ht. See here,

noopey. we’re a—comin’ into t e town, now,
and we don’t want to be see’d too close to-
Eether, we don’t. You jest go to the station-

ouse and I’ll see on tomorrer mornin’.”

“ All right,” sai Snoopey, submissiveiy, and
he shumbled of! down a side street and round a
corner. Terror Jim watched him till he was out
of sight.

Then the big tramp set off boldly in the oppo—
site direc ion, and walked on till he came to the
hangsome house in which Marcellus Skinner re-
sid. .

He did not notice, in his secure lordship over
the obsequious Snoo .y, that the lesser tramp
had peeped round t e corner as soon as his
leader strode off, and had come slinking and
shuffling after hm, all the vay to Skinner’s
huulsg, keeping in the shadows as much as be
con .

Snoo y watched Jim go boldly up the steps
of the ouse and ring the front-door bell, and
the lesser tramp muttered:

“Golly! ain’t he a-goin’ it? Wish I had his
cheek.”

He waited and saw the door thrown wide
open, when a prim waiter exclaimed, angrily:

“ “'hat are you a—doin’ here? Who are you?
Go to the basement-door. We ain’t got no cold
wittles to give away.”

“And I ain’t wantin’ no cold wittles,” cried
Jim, just as angrily. “I’m a gentleman, I am,
and I want to see the boss here. No ye don’t,
slavey. I warn‘t horn yesterday.”

Snocpe saw that his friend had stuck his
shoulder between the door and post so that the
waiter couldn‘t close it, and he wondered what
was going to happen, when the prim man
shouted:

“ H1! J obn, John! Come here! Here’s a bug—
gier a-tr in’ to git in 1”

Then noopey heard a rapid step, and an-
other prim nan came running up, at which
Terror Jim dealt the first waiter a butt in the
face with the side of his head, which sent the
man staggering back with a how], when the
tramp squared himself under the hall-lamp,
roaring:

“Come on, ye darned niggers! I kin whi a

hull compafiy of‘ such as ye! Where’s rap
Skinner? i! Hi! Skinner"! Hi! Where
are ye?”

Snoopey began to tremble with excitemen
and to wonder what was going to become 0
Tcrror Jim; for the secon man had stopped
short, and was rummaging in a corner of the
hull, as if to find a weapon.

The little trump crept close to the house, and
saw that the basement door was open, so he
slipped down the area steps while everybod
was busy up-stairs, and speedin found himse
in a lower hall, with a cupboard at the end,
from whence he could command a view of the
front door, himself unseen.

Terror Jim seemed disposed to hold the fort,
forhe slammed the door shut, and kept his stand
under the hall—lamp, roaring:

“Hi, Skinmrr. Skinnerr! Where are re?
Come and tell these blooming chumps who I be!
Ain‘t I a friend of yourn?”

The first waiter, who had been discomflted so
easily. now came back to the second, and
Snoo y heard them whisper:

" e‘s crazy! We’ll have to send for thooops.”

J ust then the sound of a door opening on the
landing above, was followed by a stern voice
calling out:

“ What the deuce is all that noise about!”

“It’s a tramp. sir,” called one waiter, “and

 

then, Jim?”

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20

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

\

 

“ Put him out, then,” shouted the voice above.
“ What do 1 kee ye for, ye laz brutesi”

Then Terror im roared bac :

“Hi! Skinner. what are ye givin’ us? 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 gro . ’

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 Snoopey 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 cho- -.;... hardly know you? Been out hunt-

ing, I sup 1” .
error im laughed heartily.

“ Why, how’d you know that, Cap? Ay, ay,
I‘ve been huntin’, and I’m as hungry as a hun-
ter, too. Lemme see. Me and you used to wear
the same close onst—”

, yes,” hastily interrupted Skinner,
on out. Come up-stairs 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

Tth he turned to the waiters, saying:

“You can go. Get read a 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.
MR. sxmsnn’s VISITOR.

To Snoopey, the tramp, sly by nature, and
trained by education to all sort»: of secretive
tricks, it was an easy matter to liido himself
away in that his house.

He waited till Skinner and Terror Jim had

One up—stairs, and the waiters had disappeared
in the kitchen, when he very quiet] slipped out
of his cupboard, went up-stairs to t 0 next land-
ing looked into all the rooms, decided on the
dining-mom where the long dining-table was
covered with a heav crimson cloth that fell to
the carpet all round li‘.

Under this cloth SnOopey very quietly secreted
himself and 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.

Jim was twice as strong as Snoopey, but
Snoopey could run away from Jim at any time,
though he hoped to have no occasion to do the
same that night, for he felt in great terror of
his brutal partner.

The tramp curled himself up under the table
and waited, and present] the waiters came in
to lay the cloth at one on , when Snoopcy heard
one say to the other:

“ I ain’t goin’ to stay in this place much
ion r, John, if things goes on this way. It’s
ba< enough to have to stand the low ways of
that Trainer fellcr without a tramp comiu‘ in,
and mo havin’ to lay supper for him.”

“ What’s odds ?” returned John, philosophical-
ly. “The puy’s 00d. These second-chop tellers
allers pays we] , and they’re afcard to say

. much to a man who’s h’cn in a good house.
There, that’s enough for the likes of hi-. . Cold
beef, chicken, ham, and 9. apple ic. Guess he
never had such a lay-out afore. ’hat‘ll we give
him to drink?”

“ Water,” returned the first man, with great
disdain. “ I ain’t oin’ tolight no fire for coiIce
for him. Let the unlock the whisky-bottle
if he wants to. I don’t want to clean up after
no booz tramps.”

“ Rig t you are,” said John, heartil . “ I
don’t know where you’re a-goin’, James, at I’m
a—goin’ to take a stroll. I the boss wants us,
let him holler. But I guess he don’t want to
show of! his friend to us.”

Then the men left the room, and Snoopey
rubbed his hands, saying to himself:

" Jest what I want I they’ll go out, I’ll have

0
‘1

 

the house to myself.
He saw that the discipline of the Skinner
mansion was decidedly lax, and there were no
evidences of any women about the place.
As a matter of fact, Marcellus Skinner had
none but male servants, and they had grown
very independent during the strike.

Snoopey waited a few minutes and heard the l

basemener slam, from which he rightly
judged that John and James had gone elib-
C'ately away from the house to escape further
aervi

ca
Then he crept out from under the cloth and

took a look at the table, which was spread with ‘

a most a tizing cold supper. On one dish was
a r o chickens, and the tramp said to himself
w th a grin:

 

“ 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, Terror Jim, with the
master of the house who said:

“ There, Somers, if ou’re huzgry, you won’t
find better in a hote. I’ve h enough hard
(tiimes,,and I live as well as I know how nowa’

a s.’
noopcy laid himself down flat on the floor,
with the corner of his head out to survey his
fribelnd, who stood in the light of a lamp on the

ta e.

Snoopey hardly recognized Terror Jim. He
was handsomely dressed, and his rough, strag.
fling hair and heard llfld boon trimmed into

ecent proportions, so that he bore the appear-
ance of a seafaring man, come in from a long
v0 age, and taking a cruise ashore in his best.
noopey could hardly tell what ut the idea
into his head. He had known Jim or seven or
eight years, and had never heard him mention
the sea; yet the moment he saw him dressed in
Skirncr‘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-slushin’
down tome and hol stonin' decks. But you
allers had the luck and didn’t. Do you remem-
ber that ’ere Afriky v’y’ge—l”

“There, there,” interrupted Skinner, hastily.
“Never mind the African voya 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 ye do no each thing,” interru ted the
tramp in is turn. ‘I ain’ been in t is kind
of a house so often, but what I know a thing or
two. Look a-there at that sideboard. Hain’t.
ye ot nothen to drink in there?”

S {inner seemed to hesitate.

“Yes—that is—I didn’t know if you’d care
for what’s in there.”

“Care for it? What’n blazes do ye take me
for? A bloomin’ Chump? Trot out the whisky,
ye darned old galoot, so I kin take a sniffer
afore I eat ”

Again Skinner seemed to hesitate, for be
final] said, rather stiflly:

“I 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 oil! the roof,” interrupted Jim
rudcl . “Position be blowodi Ain’t you and
me o d shipmates, and hain’t we got drunk to-
gether, many’s the time—”

“ y no more. You shall have it,” inter-

Skinner, soothingly; “but don’t make
such a noise, man. Here, here!”

Snoopcy 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 0 ,n, while he
brought back the whisky-bottle to he table.

Then Terror Jim poured out a large drink,
tossed it of! like so much water, and said:

 

“ Now I kin punish the grub, I reckon.”

With that he sat down and began to eat ,
while Snoopey, under the tablecloth. aw
at his chicken as silently as he could and istened I
all the while to what was going on. p ‘

At last Jim seemed to have satisfied his ap- 
petite, for he drew back his chair, put out his 1
feet and obServed to Skinner:

“l’teckon I’ll do now. What brand of ci ars
do you smoke? None of our five-cent stin ers '
now, Cap. I know you old. You was allers I
a mean one when on got the chance. I come 5
here to have a g talk with you, and I can’t
talk so well unlem I have somethin’ to smoke.”

“ Wouldn’t a pipe answer?” asked Skinner.

Jim laughed scornfully. ‘ ,

“ A pipe indeed! \Vhy, tramps smokes them.
I ain’t no tramp. I’m your old shipmatc, Jim ,
Somers, what made your fortin’ for ye, by put- 1
tin’ er in the way} of—” |

“ ush! hush!” interrupted Skinner, in an I
agitated way. “I’ll get on some cigars, and
then you can tell me w t you want to say,
but talk low, for Heaven’s sake. Don‘t be so
noisy.”

As he sgoke Suoopcy 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 lazil :

“ That‘s a pretty good c gar, Cap. Good
enough to have come from Cuhy without pa -
in’ eny dooty. Now then comes that little ta k
I spoke about, and I want you to listen.”

‘ Certainly, certainly,” was the nervous re-
plg. “Spea on, Somers. What is it?”

noopcy pricked n his ears. He was going
to hear something at Est.

Terror Jim cleared his throat.

 

“Waal,” he said, “to tell the truth I’m jest
abOut tired of trampin’ and I want to settle
down. I want to git a place where I kin have
m meals reg’lar, with a bottle of whisk when
I eel like it, and where I won’t have to the

, money to pay my bills.

In short, Cap, I want
you to jest come down handsome, as you kin
Well afford to do,han&giv<; on}:1 old messmate a
chance to make t e t o is ‘gure and marry
a rich gal. That’s me.”

CHAPTER XXXI.
A NICE eran PLAN.

SNOOPEY was so taken aback by the sublime
impudence of his partner that he muttered to
himself under his breath:

“Great Cwsar, what a gall!”

But, to his surprise. Skinner 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 ?"

Jim laughed rather scornfully.

“ In the will? What to do? Work a"

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, it 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, cautiously.
“ Some one might be listening.”

“ Let ’em listen,” retorted im, but he pitched
his voice on a lower key neverthelesv. “ 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 coronem, nor nothen. It‘s a good
place to die in. But you know, old messmate,
who gave me the arsenic to ut into the soup,
and I know it too. It was ucky 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. -

place. If you wants any work done, I ain’t
there. 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?”

“Sart’in I will,” replied Terror Jim, with

rfect occlness. “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 Locke?”

Terror Jim rowled.

“ La Loc e? Yes, blast him!”

“Well, I want to get rid of him,” said the
mill-owner, in a low tone. “If you can t
him out of the way within three days I’ll give
you five-hundred dollars.”

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

ife 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 me 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
tcne of surprise.

“I mean ain't there no one else you hate!
{crawl This Larry’s only a workman, ain’t

e

“Yes; to be sure but he’s a leader too. He
puts up the jobs for the rest.”

“ I know all that,” returned Jim; “ but ainft
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 know about it?”

“I know this much about it,” reterted Jim,
“that I’ve heard a good deal of talk about a
nevy of yourn, one Paul Von Beaver, that they
say you hate like p’hton. 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.

“P-y usin’ mv e es and can,"retorted Jim.
“ There was a Bug ish feller u to be with his
bosses, and he got to drinkin and got into
trouble. Him and me was in county jail to-
gether, and he told me how ou’d come
got the old man to make some ind of will to
cut oi! the boy. and how he wouldn’t only 'vo
you ther’use of the place for life. Ain t.
correct

“Yes,” returned Skinner, with some relief.
“ Is that the wa you found it out?”

“ Ay. ay, I ound it. These tellers that.
works allers has a good deal to an about what
goes on in the house. Well, so jest thwghg

 

“12.;th   '

 

 

 

.. “iv” .,'

 

3%?

.;.-1

 

 

 

 

 

that if that young teller was out of the way,
you’d be ever so much better off. Hey?”

“ I don’t deny it," said Skinner, in slow tune;
“ but then how are. you going to get at him 6"

Terror Jim chuckled.

“Ohoi so it’s conws to that. How am I to

t at him? You just 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.”

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 Snoo ,y on him, and he'll run him down
d: rned quick?"

“ And who’s Snoopey?" asked Skinner.

‘ noopey himself pricked up his cars to hear
tl ‘ answer, which was:

“Oh, he’s a sort of hanger-on of mine. He’s
a. good enough teller, if on whip him onst a
‘chk reg’lar. He’s the west man to find out
where a teller goes I ever seen, but he ain’t none
on the tight.” .

Snoopcy felt a thrill of anger animate his
ordinarily gentle bi east at the not very flatter-
ing description, and Terror Jim went on to say:

“Snoope shall find him and you kin leave
Snoopcy none to make an excuse that will
take him outside the city some dark night—”

“Why not to—night?" interrupted Skinner,
with t suddenness.

“ othen, only Snoopey’s in the station-house
by this time,” said Jim; “ and they won’t let him
out till morning.”

“And what do you want of any Snoopey’at
all?" the millionaire demanded, sharplIy. “I
can do a good deal for you, Somers, but ’m not

oing to have in all the tramps in the State to
gel . \Look here; why don’t you do it your-
ael i No one will knew you in those ood
clothes, and you can get in to see him wit out
any trouble.’

‘ That might do,” obserVed Terror Jim, in a.
musing way- “but how should I get him out in
thedark! You understand this sort of a job’s
easy enough, if once you get well in with a
man; buthow’m I to get in with him? I don’t

‘ know him.”

“ I’ll see to that," returned Skinner, briskly.
“ I‘ll fix up a. message from my lawyer to him
about this v Larry Locke, and you can get
them both together.”

Terror Jim granted.

“ 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 t a gang together to
1” them out,” returned i kinner, in a tone that
showed he had settled the matter to his own sat-
 “ Look here, I’ve got it.”

“ What have you got?” asked Jim, with a. sort

sneer.

“ I’ve got the plan.”

“ What plan! What to do?”

“ To ct him into the trap. ‘ You come with
me, an I’ll write a letter and take you round to
my lawyer’s. He shall tit you out and you
must see to setting up the gang for tomorrow.
How long would it take you to get a dome!) men,
hard cases all, and have them ready? I’d gm,
them ten dollars apiece, and nothing to do for it
but slug the man you showed them.

Terror J im considered awhile. ' I

“ I could do it to-morrow,” he said; “ but I’d
Wm" B 800d lump sum for the Job. No live
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
min-owner? Promptly. “ Is that enoughi”

“Enough? Yes. to y them; but not me.
You don.” know What you’re talking of, Cap.
Ten down" apiece t0 slug a man stiff, and may-
boall he found out. The jOh’s worth a hundred
at least for each man, to make it safe.”

Skinner gleaned.

“ Wilma“ extm'thDate fellow you are? If I
promise “.0 mane; do“, will you nmke the
1"" sure for both I Want to end this strike
3nd get rid or that Paul at once. I’ll pay
the motley to see. It  safe. but I won’t be
fooled Into Ymg 115’ for a mere failure. I
won’t may m the work 3 done and I’ve seen the

,1 it That‘s correct, Cap,” returned Jim, coolly;
“ I don’t 3‘ “0 mom- An 1 Want to know for
comm is that the Work’s to be paid for. A
hundred dollars a 1008 for the men, and two
thounnd for myse . Is that a bum“ r)
Skinner hesitated a few moments, and at 1ast

l n '
will?“ Since I can’tnhelp myself, 1 “ppm 1
must do it. I consent .

h All right.” WWW! J’mv briskly- “I’m all
ready now. You get ‘39 3m” km", and I’ll
go round and spot $1,138 young mg 80 as I
may know him 383’“-

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
snoornr rpnns ms €33.11”
Inn“  I “cub
stood o: the Whom “OPS, beside Paul V8:

 that his answer had been

1‘37?

ry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

21

 

 

“stricken out ” of the pleadings in his case an
technical grounds, and his only consolation lay

yers five days’ time to draw another answer,
after a hot argument between Sci‘.Vcn and Van
Slack.

Paul was trying to (‘llt‘t’l‘ him up by saying:
“Never mind it now, Larry. be ready to
swear to ‘our new answer to—morrow, and I’ll

engage it 0le water. Mr. Scriven is no fool.
and he has full confidence in the case. “'e’ll
pull on through yet."

“ ut it’s gomg t.) cost, a heap of money,” said
Larr , gloomily. “ Sometimes I think it would
be eieaper 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; r n.
Mr. Scrivcn told me this morning that I» lad
been consulted by one prominent mill—owner as
to whether, it he left the Union, the rest
could sue him for damages if he broke the
strike. Scriven told him no, and the owner
ex ressed himself as willing to yield to the men.
Tel them that. It is no less a man than
Kelly of Kelly 8; Barr. What do you think of
that!”

Larry’s eyes gleamed with joy.

“Is that really so? If he gives in, the rest
must follow. Why, 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 file 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 e 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 £0110wer was close to him.

“What! You herer’he exclaimed, fiercely.
“ Do you want me to wrin your neck, you in-
fernal thief? But for you, —"

And then he choked, unable to proceed, as he
recognized Snoopey.

Theltramp shrunk back as if he expected a
blow, but managed to stammer:

,“Don’t! Fur Godsake don’t! I don’t mean
ya no harm. before heaven. Jest listen to me,
only a. moment—”

‘ Listen to on?" repeated Larry, con-
temptuously. ‘ What can you say 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’tas had as I look, boss. I’ve suthin’ to
tell 0. You’re in danger—”

“ an er!" repeated Larry, still more scorn-
fully. ‘ From you? No; {or I’ve made u my
mind to kill you if ever I catch you re my
shanty again.”

“ It ain’t from me,” urged Snoopey, still more
humbly. “It’s from others: them as is able to
lay ou out. I heard suthin’ yeatiddy night I
wan to tell ye, just to let ya knew.” ‘

“ And I’ve no time to listen to on.” answered
Larry roughly. “ Think yourse lucky I don’t
Put _ou 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! Oh, Mr. Locke!”

The veice was that of a person of cultivation,
“"1 Larry turned round. to see a thin men in
Pm'etfsmnal black, with an irreproachable wl ite
necktiehlike a clergyman.

In “"5 gentleman he recognized 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 911‘. I’ve been hunting for you in all
directions. I have been wanting to see you {or
over so len 3’?” k La

“What or as ed rr stifll .

Mr. Van Slack glanced rdund him.

“ A little business,” he said in a, low tone.
“My client. Mr- Skinner, is not as hard 3 man
as you thlnk, and  Want to see you 
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 so
to Mr. rivan?”

“ Precisely because you are the person I want
to see and Scriven is not. Between you and me,
Mr. Locke-”

Here he came cloaer and lowered his voice:

“ Scriven’s not much of a lawyer or he wouldn’t-
have drawn his answer_ in such a bungling my,
I can beat him every time. You’re a. different

me a few minutes in my office? It‘s just round
the corner.”

“Not unless I know what you want to speak
about,” was the obstinate reply.

 

man. I can feel for you. New can’t you spare‘

l
l

 

 

 

“ ‘Wcll, then, I’ll tell you," said Van Slack in

g a low tone.

in the fact that the court had granted his law- 3

3 should act different.

f take.

 

 

Thci) he turned on Snoopey, who still hung
near listening:

“ My good man,” he said, “ please go a little
further oil. I‘ve private business with this gen-
tl“lil“iil.”

Snoope sneaked off to a. little distance, and
Van Sliic ' begun glihly:

“ Now, my dear sir, my dear Mr. Locke, I‘ve
no doubt you think I‘m an enemy of yours.
Never was a greater mistake. “'elawyers have
no enemies. IVe don‘t like any hard feelings
from any one.”

' “ Hum!” replied Larry dryly. “then you
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 lawyrr in
his most coaxing tones, “ you‘re making a mis-
IVe don’t want to turn you out of your
house at all.” ‘

Larry looked at him incredulously.

“ Not want to turn me out? Then why are
you suing me?”

Van Slack took him by the button, to say in
the sleekest of tones:

“Only for apurpose, my dear sir. How woul
you like to sell your house?” '

Larry positively started, and his face bright-
ened considerably.

“ To sell it?” he echoed. “ “'hy, I would do it
ina minute, if I could get enough to pay me
what I’ve put on it.”

“ My dear sir,” said Van Slack quietly, “ I can
offer you enough to cover all your mo ,
and leave you a thousand dollars clear. w
would that suit?”

Larry’s face answered him better than words,
and the lawyer continued:

“ There! That’s the business I want to talk to
you about. You see it can’t be done in the
street. Will you come to my office!”

Larry made no further resistance.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he said; and he accompa..

nied the lawyer down the street and round the
corner to the office of Snapper 8c VanSlack,
where he was taken into the innermost sanctum
of all, the lawyer rubbin his hands in a way
that showed he was well p eased with his success
as far as he had gone.
Snoope saw them go off, and he sneaked after
them, and sat down on the office-steps to wait
till they came out.

a secretive tramp wore‘on his face a new
ex ression, and kept muttering:

‘I've got to do it. I must get a chalice.
There’s money in it. I know there is. If I
could only get him to listen. If I can’t. maybe
ghetother one will. But I’ll stick to this one

['3 . '

Meantime, up-stairs in the inner office, Imy
Locke had been shown to a luxurious arm—chair
while the lawyer took a humble cane stoolhand
began the conversation at once.

“Well, Mr. Locke, and how much do you
value your place at?”

“ Twenty-five hundred,” said Larry promptly.
“ It cost me—”

“ Two thousand, my dear sir, just two thou-
sand,” was the polite interruption. “Twenty-
five hundred’s a ve steep price, as you must
be aware, of course. '

“It’s what I want and what I’m going]? get,
or I don’t treat,” returned Larry. who «1 not
lived in vain, for he had bargained before. “ We
may as well settle that, mister, before we
any further.‘ Twenty-five hundred, and I’ll l,
and pay Skinner his money. If I don’t I t that,
I’ll fight, and Mr. Scriven tells me you never
get a cent.” ,

Mr. Van Slack smiled and rubbed his hands.

“ Exactly. Mr. Scriven is a very worthy
man, but struck out his ansWer today, you
know. I wouldn’t trust too much to what he
says about the suit. Between you and me, Mr.

ke you’ve no defense, and if ou keep on,
you’ll be sold out at auction, and e little mort-
gage willcover the place and not leave you a
cent over."

Larry looked at him with a half ile.

“Then, if that’s the case,” he said, “why do
you ofer to buy at all if”

Mr. Van Slack shrug ed his shoulders.

“Pure kindness of cart, my dear sir. We
lawyeis are all soft-hearted. Clients!- Clients
are pig-headed and quarrelsome; but we have
to cool them down. I’ll tell you what I’ll do
with you. Mr. Skinner has given me full pow-
ers to treat with you. I’ll give you what you
ask—twenty-five hundred—if you’ll sign the
dead and leave Holesng at noon tomorrow.”

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
ran LAWYER’S Baian.

“LEAVE Holesbu at noon?” echoed Larry.
“What’s that got to o with it?” _

“Only this, my dear sir,” said Van Slack, in
his srnoothest tones, “that unless you leave
Holesburg at noon, my ofler falls tothe ground."

was taken aback.

“But I don’t want to leave Holeaburg,” he
said. “ I know the folks here, and the strike's
nearly over. My family was all born and raised
here, and I don‘t want to leave it. Besides. I

' 11 7  ‘1“. ‘

 

 

 
    

, can’t leave.

22

 

~ Larry L99l§i Vet”?

Mali”???

 

 

.._._______.—_.__- ~___ _.__ ._ .__.__

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 cashl' \ by, a

man 0 your abilit could go to Ohio, where the

3 we es are higher t an here, and set up for him—

.- and save the difference in wages.
‘, I’ll tell you what I‘ll do with you.

That’s how workmen ele-
gin to employ other men,
Look here.

The mort-

in a small wa .
vate themselves.

' gvage is seven hundred dollars, isn’t it? Yes.

5 bring her here an sign to-day,

o

ell. If you’ll 0 home and et your wife,

I’ll ive you tw0
thousand cash for all you have on t 1e place, and
get you a ticket for C eveland by the Six o’clock
train tonight. How’s that?”

“ It’s a very good offer,” returned Larry with
a shaking vorce. “ If it wasn’t for the strike I’d
do it in a minute. But I can’t, sir: indeed I
can’t. It wouldn’t be honorable, till the strike’s
over. I’ll agree to go then, as soon as you like.”

“Confound it, man, can’t you see?” broke in
the lawyer, ttishly. “ Can’t on see what’s
the matter? on’t be a blind foo , Locke. Two
thousand cash to carry off will keep your family
{05 ’23.? i ” ed Larry 1

on t you see cri , angri
“that I wouldn’t sell ’mvself for twenty thofiz
sand cash? l’m District Master Workman, and
I’m bound to the boys. You’ve offered twenty-
five hundred cash and I’ll take it, but I won’t
leave Holesbur till the stnke’s ended one way
or the other. hat’s plain, isn’t it?”

For a moment the law er was nonplused.
He had expectcd to find in rry a labor agita-
tor working for notoriety and willing to sell out
to the hi hest bidder.

I of this he had come up against an
honest man and Mr. Van Black was not used to
dealing with honest men. '

In fact, be hardly believed in their existence,
and came to the asty conclusion that Larry
must be laying of! virtue to enhance the mag-
nitude 0 his rice.

He watch the workman furtively, for near
a minute and then said slowly:

A; Till the strtilke’s %%dcleld, one way’or ttnlitcglothierl

es, exac y. e , now you re 'nn ng
to t’afir sense, Locke. You’ve a 00d deal of in-
fluence with these fellows, wit your position.
What will you take to advise them to go back
to their wor a ainl It might be worth an ex-
tra five hundr to you.”

He spoke slowly and cautiously watching his
man, and felt rejoiced as he looke .

Larry’s face wore a smile, and he asked:

“Then am I to understand that all this is to

t me to end the strike and fill my own pockets'l
fithat it?”

“ Why. of course,” answered Van Slack, with

a 81 grin. “You’re a fool if you don’t doit,
Mr. ke. Workingmenl Bah! they’re all a
pack of—”

He got no further.

, Locke suddenly leaped up, his face
looking like that of a demon, and pounced on
the lawyer like a cat on a mouse. With the
clutch of a vise he seized him b both shoulders
and began to shake him so t t Van Black’s
teeth chattered.

And all the while he shook, his face grew
more and more savage, while he growled:

“Buy me, will you, curse you! D’ye see any
traitor in me, curse ye? I vs a mind to choke
the llfe out of ye now, ye skunk i”.

For a moment Van Slack struggled, for he
was no coward, and his face crimsoned with

an r.

Then, when he found that he had no more
chance than a baby in the hands of the Hercu-
l n Iarr , his color begin to leave him, and he

ted un er the fierce g re of his enemy’s eyes
and tried to beg for mere .

As for Larry. he shoo and shook until he
had sated his first feeling of rage, and then
flung the lawyer down on the floor with a bang,
and shook his finger at him, saying:

“You made a mistake that time, mister. You
take darned good care how you come across me
afain, for I swear I think I’ll kill you some
t me. Ofi'er me money to turn traitor, would
yel That shows what your side thinks of ; and,
mark my words, this strike’s goin toend the
right 'way; not the wrong one. good-day to

0.
And Larry strode out of the ropm and down
to the street, where he ve nearly tumbled

, over Snoopey, who was siting on the steps

waiting for him.
The sight of the tramp angered him, so that

2: he said, angrily:

- of the way in short order, and

h 29:15 out of my way, if you don’t want to get
u .
He looked so savage that Sn y shrunk out

rry went off

.‘ down the street t0ward the meetin -room of the

‘N .

Knights, into which he went to ad the men
fitting gloomily round the room, waiting for
m

“ We’ve b’en a-waitin’ ever so long,” said one,
sullenly. “ We can’t get to work Without you,

and you know it.”
and disposed to find

The all looked sulk
we, t Larry at! not to notice anything

 

till he had ordered the doors closed 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:

“We’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 ilt;”but we ain't got no money left to go there
wit .

The deliberations of the Knights were here in-
terrupted by a knock at the outer door, and the
doorkeeper announced after a short conversao
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-
mitted 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
Trainer, whom most of them knew from the
time he had been a boy in the Skinner works.

Tom looked round him rather sheepishly, and
when he saw Larry in the master’s chair, he
looked decidedly uncomfortable but he stiff-
Ened up as well as he could, till Larry asked

1m:

“Whence 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 bas1s?” asked Larry, coldly.

Tom held out a letter. ,

“Here it is. Mind, I ain’t responsible for it,
so don’t go to ittiu’ mad with me.”

Larry took t e letter, saying:

“ You can retire. We’ll send an answer.
Your Union Will remain in session how long?”

“ They’d said the ’d keep open till you sent an
answer,” replied om, “if you don t keep ’em
more than half an hour after I come back.”

“They shall have an answar within that
time,” responded Larry, and then Tom was
shown out of the room and took his de rture,
while the secretary read out the letter rom the
Union.

It turned out to be a pro 'tion for a com-
promise on the basis of h 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 tempeted to take it, in their
poverty and misery as tter than keeping on
earnin nothin : while others insi ted that the
offer 3 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-
cept was likely to carry most votes, and he
beckoned to one of his trusted lieutenants in the
crowd, to whom he whispered: '

“Move to postpone it ill to-morrow. This is
the crisis of the 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, an 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 effect.

The idea seemed to take well, and was put toa
vote almost immediately, when it was carried
without trouble, and Larry Locke, with two
others were up inted as a committee to take
the decision to he bosses.

Then the meeting broke up, the men looking
decidedly happier than when they came in the
mornin , while Larry with Jim Maguire and
Steve utton, who had been appointed to go
with him, took their way to the great mill of
Kelly & Barr, where the manufacturers Were
wont to hold their meetings.

To his surprise the whole lace was empty
and deserted. save for a watc man insids the
gate, who came when they shouted to him, and
told 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 Berker Hotel was a well known place,
and to that the committee proceeded, but as they
went, Magpire and Sutton discussed excitedly
the news t at Kelly 85 Barr had left the Union.

“ They must have done it, or hewouldn’t have
known it,” remarked Lar , thoughtfully. “ It
has scared the rest, and t ey’re trying to beat

 

it: befpre Kelly beats them. Here’s the place.
5.

hey 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 Ironmastcrs’ Union met
in room 17 and went up one fii ht 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.

CHA’PTER XXXIV.
unav‘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 costume they were so
difierent 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
rough orse-play to mind this, and they hustled
bac , swa ing to and fro in the crowd. and tak-
in it g maturedg, till thegv came to the door
of m 17, which e foun to be wide open,
while, inside stood a ig man with a cigar in
his month, by a table strewed with pers.
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 cheeks, 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 recognise.

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?"

“ l’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?” ask the big man;
gru Ny “ We made the offer. Do you take it?

“ o,” answered La , “ we want more time
to think over it. We give you an answer to-
morrow.”

The big man looked him over a in.

“Hum! Ye will, will yel W , it’ll be too
late then. It ain‘t open. The' bosses 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

, with some heat. “ ey’ve made a propo-
sition and we shall hold them to it.”

The big man sneered at him.

“ Ye don’t say. You’re a healthy pill to hold
any one to anything. you are. Get out of thit
room, or you’ll et put out, darned quick.”

Larry’s eyes ashed.

“ I’m going out, sir,” he said, sternly: “but

don’t you go to talking of putting me out, or it r.

will be the worse for on.”

“ It will, will it?” cried the big man, and as
he spoke be matched up from the table a heavy
iron‘wood ruler and looked round him.

“That’s your man, boys,” he cried. “Slug
him i”

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, silentstru
file, Larry strikihg out and butting with h

ead, 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 blows from brass 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 to part the combat-
ants and entered unawares intoa 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, 100d
Tom Minor and Marcellus Skinner, listening,
since the workmen 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 l”

“Not a thing,” returned Tom, wit
“ Locke he looked 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.”

Marcellus, in the midst of the crowd, watched

to come down '

agrin.‘

 

 

5r;

 

$314.7 .8"

., a“:
g.‘ ,-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron. 23

 

 

the workmen go to the door of Room 17, and lis-
tened anxiously till the scuifiing began, when he
said to Tom with a chuckle.

“They’re getting it, and he’s getting 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 the staircase with Tom,
'ust as the crowd rushed toward Room 17, hav-
ing the rest of the hall bare. .

“ Stop,” whispered Toni, 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, shakin his fist
furtively. “ I wish I could get you up ere into
the fight. I’d get a chance at you.”

At that moment the row in Room 17 became

’ aregular 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! fight!”

Then a man somewhere in the rear yelled:

“ Fire! fire 1”

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

ten.
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 d0wn here. The pol-
iticians have got to fighting, and there’ll be a
panic.”

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, sneaking.
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 up—stairs became ouder, and the
porters and waiters n to rush up to see
what was the matter, as an] said:

“rYVho are you? What do you want with
me
_ “I’m Snoopey,” returned the ra ed man, in
a low, hurried tone. “You’re Mr. an Beaver,
ain’t you?”

“Yes,” re lied 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 ht. There’sa lot tokill youandLa .
I trite? to tell him, gut he wouldn’t liming,
me—

The noise overhead was deafenin now, and
down came a waiter, running as rd as he
could, yelling as he pamed: .

“ Run! Run! They’re killing people!”

Out of the door he ran, and they heard a

t crash on the floor above. .

The next moment Marcellus Skinner and Tom
rushed down the s‘airs and dashed out; while
a numbpr 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
and on the landing. .

Snoopey looked u , as if paralyzed With fear,
and whis red to aul:

“ My 0d! We’ll be killed here. Run!
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
118$ in time to escape being crushed, and the
rst person he saw was his uncle, looking very
8-10. Whlle Tom Trainor stood beside him,

{rambling and appalled. ,

“Don’t 9 near them,” whispered Snoo y,
hurrying m 011- “Take me to some pace
where we kin talk quiet. I tell ya it mu be
worti'ilmfine to e.” 1 so

P3 331 no 0118011 methin was

1113 on which he did not understang, and
gzoope , whoever he was, held the key to it
He too Snoo y’s arm and hurried the tramp
of! down a si e street to Scriven’s office where
he took him into the sanctum, locked the door
and said: .

“ Now I’m ready to.listen. say what you’ve
got to say, and be quick about i .”

Thus urged, Snoopey told him, after a great
deal of crossquestioning and explanation, a tale
that astonished Paul immeasurably.

It seemed that the tramp, after hearin what;
he had heard the previous evening, at Skinner’s
house, had made his escape unseen, and had
been huntin about ever since for one to whom
he could tel his secret. He had uot_dared to
guest Terror Jim, of whom he stood in mortal

 

4-:5 if» k.

l
o ,tci .Hv.

 

“He’d ha’ got it out of me, sure, mister,” he
said. f‘ You don’t know Terror Jim. He’d ha’
made me own u and go with him. But I give
him the slip, an I seen him this mornin’, with
a lot of his pals, go into that very house where
I found you.”

“Into the Berkely !” said Paul, amazedly;
“ 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 them, all dressed up in new clone.
They’d b’en shaved and cleaned up so one
wouldn’t know; but I know Terror Jim 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 way:

“ 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-
tentivel till he had finished, when he said:

“If t at’s the case, we must hold this man
fast. I just passed by the Berkely, and they’ve
been killing people there. By 6 description
you give, the party that began the fight can be
spotted. Come along with me.”

CHAPTER XXXV.
m INQUEST WITHOUT a coup.» .

A caown 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 stretcher-s, some of them
covered 11 with sheets. others carrying crushed
and mutiliited 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.

lgr. Scriven whi red somethin to the ser-
geant who comman ed the men at t e door, and
he answered:

“ Certainly sir. We only want to kee out
the roughs. hese strikers are all roun , and
Mr. Skinner says they got u the row.”

“Is he insideF—Skinner, mean,” asked Mr.
Scriven; to which the sergeant replied:

“ Yes, sir' he and several more.”

“ How did these peo 16 get hurt?” asked Paul
Van Beaver, in a low ne, as a stretcher passed
out.

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“ A panic, they say. I don’t know. There
was a fight u tairs somewhere, and the )li-
ticians took amnd 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 Snoopey.

, “ Is that fellow with you?” he asked.

“ He’s a witnem,” replied Scriven, gravel .
“ I think We’ll get at the bottom of t isfig t
sooner than you expect, sergeant. Are there
plent of your men inside?”

“ The ca tain’s there with the whole reserve,”
answered t e sergeant, who knew the old la er
well; and then they went in, and Scriven sai to
Paul quietly: ’

“ eep your witness in a qli‘iiet corner. I’ll
take aroom where we can loc him up till we
want him. ‘You can’t trust those tramps. He
mag 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 il engaged a room not
far from the office, nto w ich they got Snoopey
without attracting much notice, locked him in,
and then went lip-stairs,

Here they.were stopped b a policeman, but
a few words in his ear made Elm say: .

“All right. 811‘. The captain’s out yonder in
Room 17, with 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 table with a hastily gath-
ered jury on the other side, and several men
were standing before him.

One of them was Marcellus Skinner, who was
sayin , as they approached:

‘Yges, I recognize the bod asthat of a man
called Locke—a desperate c racter. He was
the leader of this strike, and has incited several
riots already. He must have begun this one,
and got the worst of it. I have known Mr.
Somers many years, and I am sure his story can
be depended on.”

Paul looked 1into the rgom ovier the shoul-
ders of the po 'cemen. an saw, ying on the
table, the figure of Larry Locke, .the face all
covered with blood, and he said, in a tone of

horror: .

“My God! The r fellow’s killed!”

His uncle hear his voice, and turned his
head to favor him with a glance of great malig-
nity; but Paul and Scriven walked into the
room, and the old lawyer said to the coroner
who appeared to be surprised at the intruSion o
atran ers: ,

“ . Coroner, this gentleman has a witness

 

 

whose evidence may throw 1i ht on this questiosn
Which is the man they call mere?”

The coroner lifted his eyebrows.

“This gentleman is called Somers,” he said,

inting to a large man who stood by Skinner.

‘ He says that he was assaulted by t is Locke,
and struck him with a ruler in self-defense.”

Scriven nodded absently.

“ Ay, ay, so that’s the man. Can we bring
in our witness? I expect to prove that this
poor fellow on the table was decoyed here by
some pretext, on purpose 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.”

Had a thunderbolt fallen the sensation could
not have been greater.

The coroner stammered:

“ 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;

ut Skinner recovered himself enough to say,
indi ntly:

“ t’s a vile con iracy, because I’ve taken
away my business rom 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 30in you in oppressing this poor fellow
who lies ead 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
can eel his pulse beating.”

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 tartl - “but I can-
feel a pulse as well as any man. here is your
doctor? This man’s not dead; he’s onl stunned.”

“Go and call the surgeon,” said t e coroner,
gang, to a policeman at the door, “ and you,

. riven, bring up your witness and prove
what you’ve said, if you can.”

Here poor Larry on the table uttered a
that set all doubts of his living condition at
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,

1 :
dr‘y’Head like an elephant. B Jove, the skull
is not fractured, after all. He’ be sensible in a
little while.”

Paul uttered an exclamation of joia‘and Skin-
net‘-i muttered a low curse, while . Scriven
sai :

“ So much the better. He can tell who was
with him, and how this thing came about, or
I’m very much mistaken.”

In fac it was not very long after when Laro»
ry 0 his ey groaned, and said:

“ s that you r. Paul? They double-banked
me, at last, didn’t the ? But it took a dozen.
Where’s Maguire and utton?”

Paul assisted him to a tan position,and he
lookedaround the room, astonis ed, saying:

“ What’s happened? What’s this?”

Scriven came close to him.

“ We thought you Were dead.” he said. “ My
poor fellow, this is the coroner.”

Larry smiled rather ruefully.

“ es ver kind, I’m sure,” said the Man of
Iron; “but ain’t dead at.”

Then he glanced man the room, and a fierce
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.”

As he spoke, he actually rose from the table,
as strong as ever, and was tgloing up to Somers,
when the. sharp ca tain of e police caught his

arm saying,vste y:

“ That’ll do; none of that. You’re a good
man, but you can’t fight here.”

Then the coroner, who seemed to be su rised
beyond measure at the wonderful vitality of
Larry, said to him: ‘

“ You’re well named the Man of Iron. Tell
me why you came here?”

“I came with Jim Maguire and Steve Sutton
to see the secretar of the Bosses’ Union,” said
Larry , boldly. “ ere’s their letter offering to
end the strike.”

And he rummaged in his pocket and brought
it out, while Skinner and Somers looked on, too
much confused at the miscarriage of their plan
to interrupt.

“ That teller said he was the secretary and
he give me sass, and set on me with a oxen
more," continued Larry, an ' y. “ I’ll not
deny the doubled-banked me, r. Coroner, for
they too .me of! my guard- but I’ll say this:
I’ll take him and any two 0 his pals and they
can’t do it again now. I knocked two of ’em
stiff store I went down, as it was, and all I got
was on the back of the head."

_At this point of the story Mr. Scriven quietly
slipped out of the room, and the coroner said:

‘ And you’re sure you came here to meet the
Employed Union committal"

.:".‘. . 4- a" i 
~ < I W he‘k‘wé‘ —.

 

  

  

“ Sartain,” responded Larry. “ What else
could bring me and my mat/es here? Where are
they .7”

" What names did you say 3” asked the police ,
captain.

“Jim Maguire and Steve Sutton.
didn't get it as bad as I did, Cup.”

The captain whispered something to the coro-
ner, who left the room, when Skinner said:

“ \Vcll, I suppose there’s no more llOCQSSlty for
mylpresence, is there!”

is tone was decidedly uneas , but Soniers in-
:stantly took alarm and growlei :

“ Yes, there is. Me and you’s in the same
boat. Stay here and see it out.”

Skinner whispered to him, but the disguised
tramp obstinater reiterated:

“ I tell you we’re in the same boat and we sink
\or swim together. None of your games, Cap
Skinner. I’ve sailed with you afore.”

The captain of police. who had taken charge
-on the departure of the useless coroner listened i
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 any way—”

“ I should hope not,” said Skinner, hastily.
“ I was on the outside stairs, with Mr. Trainer, 1
when the afi'air began, and I ran into the street.
I shopld like to know why I can’t go out, cap- ‘
tain ’

“ Well, you see, you're a witness, and it may ,
be necessa to cross-examine you,” said the i
captain, sti more awkwardly. “As a favor to 1
me, please remain, Mr. Skinner. We won’t be i
very Ion now.” I

“ But ’ve got businem,” objected Skinner. !
“If you want me you can send for me. I won’t I
sta , unless I’m for .” ’

d be was walkin toward the door when he
was confronted by 01 Scriven, who walked in,
imaging a weazen-faced, ragged man, to whom he
“ Is that the man?”
“ Y boss,” returned Snoopey promBgly, but
very pa e; “and yon’s Terror Jim n’t let
him nigh me, boss, fur Godsake. 110’: a bad
man he' a reg’lar terror.”

“ Who this fellow i" asked the captain,
amued at the intrusion. “ Is this your Witness,
Mr. Scriven?”

“ Yes, sir,” replied the lawyer, quietly; “ and
,a 223' good witness, too. If you’l allow me to
qu on him before you, on will admit that he
knows a little of this at! r. ”

Terror Jim was glarin at Snoopey like a tiger
gloatin over a lamb, an Snoopey kept his eyes
can y averted.

Skinner, on the other hand, was staring at the
little tram with an intent anxiety that showed
thalteho no idea what his evidence was going
to .

The captain bummed and hawed.

“ That is a very unusual course Mr. ScriVen.” i

“ I know it, sir, and I only do it to save you I
the trouble. I’ve been over the man’s evidence.
If you prefer it. I’ll suggest the questions.”

‘ No. no, no,” returned the other. hastily. “It i
will save time. Go on, air, 0 on."

Scriven took in his trembling Witness and sat '
him down with his back to Terror Jim, remark-
ing as he did so:

‘ I hope, captain, that this witness will be pro-
tected from browbeating. He is a man of timid
temperament, and this man Somers has tyrair
uized over him for years.”

“Certainly, certainly,” answered the captain
and then the examination proceeded under old
Scriven’s skillful questioning, till Snoope had ,
pointed out Somers in all his glory 0 new i
clothes and shaven face, as the tramp, Terror
Jim, and added:

“Ef you want the names of the pals Terror
Jim brought with him, I kin give on them; but .,
flor the Lordsake, gentlemen, hi me, so they
won’t see me.”

“ Why so?” asked the captain

Snoopey shuddered violently

“They’d kill me wherever they found me,"
he said in a low tone, at which Terror Jim

laughed.

“ And you‘d better believe they’ll do it any-
how. you, Snoopey,” he said, with concentrated
malignity. “ I wouldn’t be in your shoes when
you go on the read next, Snoopey."

Shoo y tried to grin, but it was a sickly fail- .
um, til Scriven sai :

“ Much obli ed to you, Somers, but we’re not
going to send his r fellow adrift after he’s
told his story. e won’t go on the read any
more.”

Snoopey seemed to be' much comforted by the
assurance; 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
as if he found it hard work torefrain from rush-
ins at him on the spot.

ut the old lawyer had laid his plan of action,
and now he turned to the captain of police, who
was beginning to look quite puzzled what to do,
and observed to him: .

“ Of course this has been an informal affair
all “trough. No one had any jurisdiction from

 

 

 

I hope they

 

 

 

the beginning. The coroner certainly had not,
because there was no body, and there is no
magistrate here. But you are a ymlice-oilicer,
and as a citizen I demand the arrest of Mr.

j Skinner, hero, on a conspiracy to kill, till he can

be taken before a regular magistrate.”

Skinner heard him and uttered a cry of rage:

“ Me! Commit me!”

“ Yes, you and your friend. Somers too,” was
the quiet reply. “Mind, captain, I make the
charge, and you’ll have to do your duty. The

Larry Locke, they Marimoi’mIron.

rest we can get hold of afterward; but here are '

the principals of the plot, and they are not going
to get off so easy.”

“ there is Van Slack?” cried the angry Skin-
ner at once. “ This is an outra re, captain. Are
you going to take the word 0
tramp against mine? This is an outrage of the
worst kind, and if you dare to arrest me, I’ll
make you sweat for false imprisonment.”

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

 

said Paul. “Now, the sooner We get to court
and get your case dismissed. the hetcr.”

The policeman who had been attending them
nodded to say he was ready. and they walked
out of the hotel, Scriwn Luring taken his de—
parture, along with Skim“ r, to be on Land in
court.

\Vhen they got to the doorway of the hotel
they found the street full, as the others had
done before them, but experienicd a different
reception.

No sooner did the form of Larry Locke make
its appearance, his hat on the hack of his head to

I conceal his injuries, while he walked arm in

this miserable ‘

I

an old and sharp lawyer. To please both parties, 

he said to Skinner: ,
“ You know I can’t help myself, Mr. Skinner.
If this gentleman makes a charge, I’m bound to

do m duty. If he can’t prove it, you can sue 1 several voices cried:

him or false imprisonment, and get heavy
damages but I’ve got to arrest you on a charge
like that.

Skinner bit his lips and eyed Paul Van Beaver
savagely, saying:

“This 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 beeven with you yet.
See if I don’t.” Then, to the captain, he said
more coolly:

“I’m ready to go with you. Jud e Roberts
will settle t is t ing pretty darn uick. I
charge this fellow Loo e, since they didn’t kill
him, with being t 9 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 conspiracyr
against that interesting youth Over there wil

0

He indicated Paul with his finger as he spoke;
but old Scriven 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 et before
some one who can, the better it will for us.
I like to see things done regular and ship-
shape.”

“ Ay, ay,” growled Skinner, bitterly. “ I’ll
get you ship-s ape before I have done With you.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.

'rn POWER or CAPITAL.

As the ironmastor spoke, the captain of po-
lice laid his hand on his arm. saying coaxing y:

“Now, come, come, Mr. Skinner, this is all
talk. Let’s go along ether. Do ou insist
on your charge against t is man, Lee of”

“ 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.”

“ 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 handcufl one, handcuif both.”

he ca tain put an end to the discussion b
taking S nner by the arm and saying to his
ear cant:

‘ that the others are brought along quietly.
Come, ntlemen.”

And 0 left the building with Skinner, finding
a great 'cr0wd at the entrance of the hotel in the
street, composed mainly of workingmen, who
wlere ptaring at the front of the house, but quite
3 eat 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 Terror Jim, and as for Paul and I

Larry, they had remained behind in the hotel
with some officers, till Larry could pay a visit
to the wash-room of the house, where he i-
ly removed from his face every trace of his late
perilous experience.

Paul was amazed at the stoioism and endur- :

anee of the Man of Iron. In spite of a beating
that would have laid up most men for Weeks,
he walked steadil to the wash-room, and when
he had remOVed t e blood from his face, no one
would have known that he had been in a fight,
but for t2; lgackhof blis head, which End to bi;
ornamen yt e po ice-sur n wit strips 0
plaster to prevent the bloofffom several cuts
from oozing‘out again.

Larry loo ed at himself in the glass, and re-
marked with some pride:

“Not a one of ’em could hit me in the face,
arter all, Mr. Paul. If I’d only known what

 

l

i

 

 

arm with i’aul,than a treinendcus cheer rurg
through the street and ihc worl-‘nicn inadea rush
to the steps to shake his hand and corgratulate
him, while a dozen voices called out:

“Larry, boy, we heard ye was dead.”

Larry, looking rather pale, now that his ex-
citement had n orn oil“, was yet able to answer:

“I’m worth a dozen dead men yet, boys."

Then the policeman with him wliis \red:

“ Get them out of the way, and et’s get to
court.”

But the men would not get out. and to n to
press on thfc'piliceman in a way that s owed
they siispec harm from his presence, while
“ Larry Locke ain’t done nothing. What’s be
arrested for?"

And as they all looked excited, the policeman
drew out his club, and said to Paul. hurriedl :_

“ Call them men ofi’, or thcrc’ll be a row, if I
rap for help. We has our ordeis, 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 imprudcnce
would bring on another fight, which might ter-
minate fatally for several there.

“ You must get them quiet," he said to Larry.
“ Wh can’t they be quiet, just as we are win.
ning t e game?”

Iarry, who had been shaken more than he
cared to show by the blows he had received
nevertheless had preserved his coolness, and
made a peculiar signal with his hand, which pro-
cured instant silence.

Then he called out to the tumultuous crowd:

“Boys, I’m all rl ht, and the strike will he
ovor tomorrow. elly & Barr have left the
Union, and open up to-morrow.”

At this there was a tremendous shout; but it
ceased the moment lorry signaled a second
time to say:

” nd 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 liceman is with me to take care of me.

The :osses had nothing to do with the assault, .

and my friend, Mr. Van Beaver, 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 Knights of Labor behave badly. Good-day
to ou al .”

be short address had an instant effect, and
the men dispersed, cheering vigorously, while
Larry and the policcman, w th 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 per 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
foreboded danger to the town.

They found the doors strongly guarded. and
as soon as Larry and Paul had entered the
building the police stopped an one from follow-
ing them, handling their clu in a menacin
manner, that plainly showed they only wan
s. eh: nce to use them.

There was considerable grumbling at this; but
the guardians of the to were inexorable and
as Larry Went up—stairs he observed to I’aul,
with some bitterness:

“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. Wcrkingmen Won’t how their rights
till they have a word to say to the courts as well
as the richest boss in the land.”

“ But they have that now,” said Paul gently,
for the, implied censure of Larry struck his sen-
sibility as a lawyer, who believed in the In re-
macy oi the law over every one. “ The w
knows no difi'erence of persons, and you‘ll find

' that, you know, when we get into court.”

Larry shook his head a little increduloualy,
but followed his friend into the courtroom
where Paul was surprised to find, as Larry had

redicted, quite a number of people whom he
knew to be friends of the ironmastcr, while

was coming they wouldn’t have done as much as { Skinner himself was talking to the judge at the
they did. But I don’t want Molly to hear of ' other end of the room.

this, or she’ll think I’m dead and some fool will
be sure to go and tell her.”
“ I’ll see that she is not needle-1y alarmed,”

Old Scriven was seated by a table looking
over some law books, and as soon as Larry en-
tered the court-room, Skinner left the judge, at

 

5.11. “w

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(q I‘.,..; .g r... y 4-—.._»

an. 1th.“..-

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron. 25

 

a word from the official, 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 unled at what he could possibly
have to say in the face of such a plain case on
oonspirac as that by which Larry had been
tre edy, waited for the judge to open court.

tly the ' te-a solemn-looking
personage—said:

“Now, brother Van Slack, we are ready to
hear our com laint.”

“ r. Van S ck pointed to Inrry Locke, who
had just taken his seat, and began at once:

“May it please your Honor, my client, a well-
known and highly respected CltlZl‘n 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 rufilans, 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 st 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 many of them are anx-
ious to return to work, and have so stated, this
man Locke has managed to deter them from so
doing, and has incited them to violence. There-
fore, your Honor, I move for his commitment
on a char e of conspiracy to in 'ure the business
of my client, 'Mr. Skinner. T at is to say, I

've notice that I shall so move as soon as I
Ewe proved 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?"

hrr was about to answer, when old Scriven
pinch his arm, rose and said (quietly:

“ I appear for Mr. Locke, an demand an ex-
amination. We might waive it and elect to go
before the Grand Jury on bad, but we prefer to
meet the charge at once.”

The judge leaned back in his chair with a.
weagy air, saying:

“ ring 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 ruinous culled ights of
Labor, who have done so much mischief in the
West, your Honor. ossiny brother Scriven is
willing to admit the to save time.” _

He spoke sneeringly, but Scnven said: .

“ I‘m not pressed for time. Call your wit-
nemes. How are you goinglto rove that he is
a Knight of L'lbOl‘, and t att e Knights are
the ruflians you mention.”

Van Slack smiled derisivcly, and then called:

“John Sloman, come into court.” I

Larry started slightly, and ground his teeth
as one of the men he had sworn into .the Order
since the strike had begun slouched into court,
his head hanging down, and looking very much
ashamed of himself, but still coming forwardto
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 ma_n_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 nestion him as to the
tenets of the Order, when riven interposed an

ob tion b sayin :

at,Your Iylonor, I have not wanted to make
any litigious opposition in this case, but we
really are going too fast. We are putting the
cart before the horse. They must, before they
can do anything else, show that my client has
injured their business. As for his affiliations
With rivato societies, they have nothing to do
with his case. I object 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 Honor, and have
come pro for it. I have proved by the
witness t at Locke is a member of .this ob-
noxious—” ‘

“ I object to the counsel applying epithets not
'ustifled by the evidence,” interru -riven.
‘ There is no proof that the Knig ts of Labor
are anything more than a perfec y lawful and
pro rorganization.”

an Slack smiled again, still more derisively.

“Exactl . They are angels of goodness, of

course. ow comes it, then, that the governor

rhuhadtocall out troopsto protect the peaceof

 

 

this town on account of the menacin attitude
of these same men. I submit, your onor, that
if I an not allowed to examine my own witness,
we might as well surrender to these rufiians at
once.” .

The judge had been l'stening to the colloquy
silent] ; but his face showed which side he was
on, as he said shortly:

“Objection disallowed. Go on, Mr. Van
Slack.’

“I exce t, our Honor,” said Scriven; and
then Van lac ursued: '

“ Now, Mr. loman, please tell us, what
are the objects of the Knights of Labor,
as far as you know? What are they organized
for?”

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.
Hero Larry whispered to Scriven, who rose,

sayirgfiz .
' ere is no objection to the Witness telling
what he knows of the objects of the Kni hts,
our Honor. There is no secrecy about t em.
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 wit an strike, unless it was or-
dered y the Genera Executive Board. The
Order is dead ag’in’ strikes, sir, as for as I
know, and Mr. Locke knows that better’n I do."

Larry whispered again to Scriven, who said,
short] i:

“Go ahcad. It isn’t legal; but you can’t
make anything of it.”

Then Van Slack went on with his questioning,
and managed to confuse the witness so that he
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-
age them to stand fast.

With this admimion Van Slack closed, and
Scriven began to crosscxamine 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
stammcred:

“ I don’t want to swear ag’in’ nobody. Mr.
Skinner told me that—”

“I object ” broke in Van Slack. “ That’s not
evidence. ch don’t want to hear what any
one told him.”

“ Well, then, how much did Mr. Skinner pay
you?” asked Scriven, boldly, convinced, from
the man’s blunder, that there was something be-
hind his confusion.

Sloman hesitated, but finally answered:

“ He didn’t y me nothcn, but he promised
to make me a oreman if I’d tell the secrets of
the Qrdcr; 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 you a
foreman if you would sell out Larry Loc e. I
believe that you have taken an oath to keep sa-
cred the secrets of the societ to which you be-
long. How do you reconcik with your con-
SCience your coming here to reveal things which
you swore never to tell?”

The witness trembled violently and cast a,
frightened glance at Larry. who shook his head
at Scriven, as if to warn him from going any
further in that line. Scriven took the hint, say-

mg:

“Well, never mind that. You admit you
took the oath of secrecy, do you not? Did you,
or did you not?” '

Sloman shivered, as he said in a low voice:

“I did, but I ain’t broke it yet.”

“And So all you have told the court of the
inside workings of the society you represent is
not true?” asked Scriven, eying him closely.

“I hain’t told no lies, ’ said Slocum, dog ed-
ly; “ but I hain’t told no secrets I oug ter
to keep. Have I, Mr. Locke?”

In his innocence be ap sled to Locke, who
shook his head with a. 100 of some scorn, as he
answered, in defiance of all rules:

“ No, no: ou've told nothing.”

“That wi do for you, then,” said Scriven,
as he stepped down.

CHAPTER. XXXVIL
A LEGAL riLr.

Mn. VAN SLACK consulted with his clienta
moment before he called another witness. while
Scriven said to Paul in a whisper:

 

“ 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.”

Presently Van Slack cleared his throat, and:
said:

“ 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. he men he prevcnu‘d 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 suso
tained. Mr. Skinner, please take the with
chair.”

Skinner stepped u , stout and pompous, hav-’
ing quite recover from the confusion and
alarm he had felt when Snoopey had first been
brou ht before the coroner. 01 e reason of this-
was t at the virtuous Snoopey had disappeared,
and though Skinner feltsomewhat 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 he 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»
law 'er began to examine him.

e drew from him his name and a e, and the
position he had occu ied in the mil since his
father’s death; foun , 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
questions, that MarcellusSkinner was a member
of society who was universally respected.

Larry listened to the testimony with a bitter
smile; but he was surprised that his lawyer
made no objection to the lowly record Skinner
was making for himsvlf. At last he whispered:

” Why don’t ye sto ) him telling those lies?”

Scriven smiled slig tly, and returned.

“ If you want to manage the case, try it. If
not, let me alone."

And Larry had to sink back in his chair, and
listen to the raises of Mr. Skinner, while the
judge beanie on the rich man, and every now
and then scowlcd at the r one.

Presently Van Slack iegan to come to the
history of the strike, and asked Skinner in his-
most insinuatin manner:

“ You know t e priSoner, Locke?”

“ 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 object,
but thought better of it, and Skinner pursued,
under the questions of his counsel:

“ I discharged him from the wr'rks then, and
he assaulted me and broke two of my ribs. By
dint of bringing in a number of witnesses, who»
swore falsely that I struck him first, he got ofl"
the punishment be deserved for that; but when
he came back and succeeded in gettin my men
to strike again, it was too much. Throughout
the strike he has been the leader of the men,
and when they set on me and nearly killed me,
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 all
thought that he had been killed by them. It
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 8; Bart’s mill,
and who has done all he can to hurt the business
on which our men live.”

Then Van Slack gave up his witness, and Mr-
Scriven rose, with his sweetest smile, to cross-
examine, saying:

“ Ah, Mr.—ah—Skinner——ah -I believe you
are the son 0‘ the late Mr. Ski her, who founded
the Eureka Mills. Are you not?"

“ I am, sir,” was the ' reply, as Marcellus
stared at him fixedly. m

“Ah, es. Well. will {on be kind enou h to
tell usw ethcr 7y’ou are t e sole owner 0 the
mills at present

The 'udge pricked up his ears, and Skinner
color deeply as he replied, in his stiffest tones:

“ I am the sole cwrer, sir. Do you doubt it?”

Scriven smiled, and dangled his glasses to and
fro, as he said:

“ You must not ask 'me questions. It is for ‘
me to ask, and you to answer. You say you
are the sole owner. Do you mean absolute y ?
Are the mills yours, to 51m or sell as you
please I"

Skinner hesitated a rroment, and then said:

. “I don’t want to sell them. As long as I
live, they are mine.”

“ Answer my question, sir, and no more eva-
sion !” thundered the lawyer, changing his man-
ner entirely. “ Are the mills yours to sell, it
yo‘uh ,please, or not? Remember, you are on
on .

Skinner turned purple, but remembering the-
facts in the possession of the old lawyer, he did ~ 
not dare to lie. and said slowly:

“ They are not, under the terms of my father’s
will. You know that.” .

“ You mean to say, then. that you are what?
Atenant for life of the mills, or what?”

“ You might call it a tenant for life,” was the
reluctant admission of Skinner, at which the

nip,

 

J

 

v-\- <- Q

l

.‘Nr'v-D" .v.’~.

26

countenance of the judge changed perceptibly,
and be cleared his throat.

“ 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 t said in a low
Voice:

“ You ought to know. You drew the will.”

Scriven smiled.

“ That is not the question His Honor the

dge knows nothing of this, and I intend to get

tin evidence that you are not the sole rty in
interest, and therefore are not damag alone.
Who is the rson to whom the property reverts
after your eatb i”

Van Slack jumped up excitedly:

“ Your Honor, move that all this be stricken
out. It isentirely irrelevant to the case. We
have proved injury at the hands of this Larry
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 t in Brother Van Slack is righ . What
are you trying to get a‘, Mr. Scriven?"

Scriven answered at once:

“ We intend to prove that this man Skinner,

:0 far from being the virtuous character he

represents himself to .be, was, but a few years
since, a tram and a vagabond, who only suc-
ceeded in go ting his father to fo ive him by
robbing his ne hew, Mr. Paul Van eaver, who
is in court. 6 intend to prove that this accu-
sation against Locke is part of a plan to fore-
stall tho 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
which he is at present only the life tenant, in
perpetuity. We intend to prove all this, sir
in no time, and I demand that we be allow.
to prove it in our own way, according to the
rules of evidence.”

The judge screwed up his face asif he began to
think differently of the case, as he said slowly:

“ You are expecting to prove a good deal, it

seems to me. Brother Scriven. As far as attackin

the credibility of the witness is concerned, 0

course that is your right. Go on, but take care

what you ask and how you ask it.”
Scriven, With a triumphant glance at Van

Slack, continued:-

“ To whom does the mid property revert after

your death?”

Skinner, thus cornered, answered:

“ To my nephew, Paul Van Beaver.”

“ Is it not a fact that you cannot sell the mill
pr rty Without his Consent, and that, if it be
sol , he is to receive half of the income out of
the money?”

“ It is,’ was the almost inaudible answar, ac-
companied by a glare at Paul, that bespoke his
bitter hatred.

Scriv n cleared his throat in his turn, and
took a look at the notes he had prepared for the

case.
“ Then the worst injury that could occur to
on, from the success of this strike, would be
gbe compulsory sale of the mills; and you Could
not sell them without the consent of Mr. Van
Beaver?"

[Skinner gave an affirmative grunt, but said
nothing more.

“Ah, yes, we are getting alon very nicelg,
Mr. Skinner. Now, will you p ease tell i e
cont t whether you have, since the death of your
father, contributed anything to the support of
your nephew, Mr. Van Beaver, who is the rever-
sionary owner of the mills?"

Van Slack rose a sin.

'“ I object, your onor. That has nothing to
do with the case, and no one knows that better
than Brother Scriven. I confess I am quite sur-

rised to hear an old practitionerlike him in
ulge in such irrelevant questions, that he knows
must be ruled out.”

The 'udge nodded:

“ Ob on sustained.”

Scriven, not in the least abasbed, went on:

“ In the event of your death, you have told us
your nephew inherits the property. In the even
of his death, who would pwn it?"

“ I should absolutely. You know that as well
as I. You rew the will.”

“Exactly. In the event of Mr. Van Beaver’s
death, you would own the mill absolutely. His
death would be an advanf e to vent”

“ No more than mine to h m. We ain’t either
of us gushin over with love for each other.
suppose that s the reason he helped the strikers.
He 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-
ness’s answer that contains inferences, your

§.Bonor.”

l
1

The judge nodded again:

'“ Struck out, of course.”

Then, to Skinner, with a little lea affection
than be had hitherto shown, he said shortly:

“ Answer the uestions directly, and don’t
wander to other t lugs.” ,

Skinner turned a shade redder at the tone
of the judge, but made no reply: while Scriven
wait on, in his smoothest the -

manner,

 

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 id in other places, where
iron-founding is a )usiness?”

Skinner scowled 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?"

“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. New, sir, please tell the court
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 a direct an-
swer."

“ No, I ain't; and what’s more I ain’t a-going
to,” snapped out Skinner.

‘ Is it not a fact that, since you have acquired
control of the mill, on have reduced wages
tWent -five per centizpuruued the old lawyer,
eyin is witness narrowly.

“ 'es, it is, and I’m geing to stick to it,” said
Skinner savagely. “ I told them we were losing
money at the o (1 scale, and they all agreed to
come down to the new. I gave them their
chqlice betwaen that, and shutting down the
nu .

“ Did all of your hands acce t the reduction 7”

“Yes, they did, and thats what r’ilesime
now, to have them go back on their words.”

Skinner straightened u as he spoke, and
looked as virtuoust indignant as he could,
while the judge blew his nose, to conceal any in-
terest he might feel in the case.

“ Did all the men acce t the reduction?” pur-
sued Scriveu insinuating . “ 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—

ut-

e .

“Yes, they did. All but the eranemen, un-
der that Larry Locke. N ow 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 ofilciai’s
face was inscrutable, and the old law 'er 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”

“ aybe adozen; maybe less. Couldn’t say.”

“And those cranemen; you id 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 But the matter in this sha on pur-
pose; and kinner saw the int an attempt-
ed! to explain, but the 01 lawyer cut him
0

“ Answer my question, yes or no, and re-
member you are on oath.”

“ Yes, then,” was Skinner’s reply.

Then Scriven turned to the Judge, and said
quietly:

“ Your Honor, on the admission of Mr. Skin-
ner the men on strike are only trying to get
back the wa the have always received, till
Mr. Skinner msel cut them down. I submit
that, on his own showing, they are engaged in a
perfectly lawful and reasonable action, and that

he char 0 of conspirac to destroy his business
cannot l e! I moveto ismiss the com laint.”

The jud e bummed and hawed a hit e.

“ I hard y think it 'would be fairtodismiss the
complaint at this stage of the case. The plaintiif
may be able to prove that the defendant com-
mitted acts of violence that injured him, though
the combination of men ma have been made
for a lawful purpose. Lei: r. Van Slack go
on, and bring any other witnesses he may have,
to rove a consp racy to injure.”

an Slack, looking rather less confident than
he had done, told the ironmaster to step down,
when Larry whispered to Scriven:

“ Ain’t you going to make him tell anything
niorer'about double-banking me, and all the res
o it '

Scriven shook his head.

" All in good 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.
When he uttered the name “ James Somers,”
even Paul was surprised, for he had never

 

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

thought that the lawyer would dare to call a
man of such notorious character.

But Van Slack was bound toget 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 sie 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 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 malted
him, he had been compelled to take up a ruler
in self-defense, and had knoeked 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

All this Mr. Somers swore to, with the most
refreshing coolness, and Scriven interposed no
objection, while Larry fidgeted on his seat, as
the stream of lies flowed on, and was very near—
ly interferin once or twice, in his anger, at the

alsehoods to (1.

Paul managed to keep him quiet till Scriven
arose to cross-examine, and the old lawyer be-
gan at once.

“ You say your name is Somers. Did you
ever have another name?”

T he 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
poo le gave you, if you have no objection to
tell ng the court.”

Terror Jim lifted his head with some ride.

“Some calls me Terror Jim, and 0!. on the
Smasher. But I never took no other name than
Seniors myself.”

“And why did they call you Terror Jim!"
“ Because they were afraid of you, or bemuse
you were afraid of them?”

The ex-tramp laughed.

“’Cause they was afeard of me in coma. I
never seen the man I turned my back on.”

“ Did you get that name on ship-board, or on
shore?"

J inli cast a surly glance at the other, as be

w :

“ Ashore.”

“And what do you do for a living ashore!
Please tell the court.”

“Sometimes one thing; sometimes another.
Whatever I kin git to do.”

“ Is it not a fact that you are a tramp and a
vagabond, who has no visible means of subsist-
ence'i”

“ 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’s
employment ’

‘ Couldn’t say. Some years.”

“ Oh, some years. When he first took you
into his employment, was be the owner of the
mills he now works!”

“ In course he was. What d 9 take me for!"

“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 allers
thought he owned the mills. Mebbe he didn‘t.
Anyway, I’m in his employment, now.”

“ Since when

“ Told yo I didn’t know. Some years.”

“Then, during the time you have been in his
emlployment, he has become owner of the
mi s’i’

th“tI” s’pose so. I don’t know notben about
a .

“ Now, Mr. Somers, when did you come to
Hoiesburg?”

Taken unwarily, Jim replied at a venture.

“ Three weeks ago, I guess.”

" Where.have you been since then!”

“With Mr. Skinner.”

“ Do you know a man called Sncopeyf That
is to say, that is the nick-name he goes by,
among his friends; but his real name is Thomas
Bradley. u know the man?”

Jim scow ed at his questioner. He had hen
warned todeny all knowled of Snoopey but
hardly knew how much the awyer knew about
:is pfit. At last, with something of an eflort,

e sa :
“ 1:0, I don’t know the man. Never heard Of

im. .
“gery good. Do you know Larry Locke
ere

“ Sart’in I do.”

 

 

 

 

"Jmfi‘

 

 

“ “Then did you make his acquaintance?”

Jim hesitated a moment, and then said: i
“ I seen him first here, among the men, 511100 1

the strike began. Mr. Skinner pointed him out .
‘0 me. That s the man, there.” .
“ Are you sure you never saw him before?”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
COMING TO THE POINT.

TERROR JIM fidgeted in his chair more than ,
be had done hitherto; for Larry had half-risen l
from his seat and was starin at the ex-tramp 1
(n a manner that made him eel decidedly un- ‘
comfortable. He had certain memories of Larry
that were not pleasant, and he could not meet 1
his eye without blenching. But he remembered ,
his instructions from Van Slack, hardened his ,
heart, and replied boldly: _

“Never seen the man, till Mr. Skinner pointed
him out to me.”

“ And when was that?”

“ ‘Bout a week 0.”

“That will do, r. Somers. You can step
down.”

Terror Jim with a great feclin of relief
ste ldown romthe chair, and Scriven nodded.
to an Slack, saying:

“Go on and prove your case, as soon as you

79

case.

But Van Slack onl answered:

“ We rest here. a have proved attempts at
malicious mischief by the Witness who has just
ste 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 point to
favor any of these strikers, who have brought
our town into such distress and disrepute. Go 1
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 respecth 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 licit as can be.
Upset that, and I’ll be lad to car you on your-
;uotion; but till then, shall hold the prisoner
.Locke on the charge.”

And it was easy to 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 strikers, in common with
the authorities of the town, under the efforts of
the Ironinasters’ 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,
be extracted from him a short history of his i
movements since he had left Holesburg, three ,r
months before. By a few qgiestions, to which 1
Van-Slack could not object, o extracted from ?
him the nature of his acquaintance with Terror i
Jim, and the manner in which he had entered I
the mills years before after fighting Tom Trainer .
for his chance. ‘

“And now, Mr. Locke,” said his counsel,
“ please tell the court what you know of this
man, Somers, since you first made his acquaint‘
once? I mean what have you even 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 (pick a quarrel with me. Finall
he hit me, an I had to lay him out in the eel .
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 to-day?”

“ I saw him in Ohio, a few miles from the city
of Cincinnati, when he a" his 1, Snoopey,
were asleep by the Side of .ne roa sir. I was
tinting it to Cincinnati to get work, and found
them there.” ‘

“ And what transpired then?”

 

 

“ Well, I 'ust waked them up, and asked them
what they done with my money. That's
all. sir.”d i m ted grily

Th ‘u n rrup an :

“  giet tutl what money! What money

i 2
are you talkin of?” . ,
Larry look up 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 I
wife had hidden in a mattress to pay our mort-
gage to Mr. Bri gs. I taxed them both wzth iti
and they own up and begged hard that.
wouldn‘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 he ex-
pected an objection to all this; but the lawyer

 

I
i

was whispering to Skinner, and did not say any-
thing.

I



a? ~..«..;",,.V.:,} ., _ ‘

 

NLarry Locke,wthewMan cf Iron.

2'?

 

 

Scriven continued his questions, and elicited

from Larr the facts as to J im’s trampship and
thefts an the relation that Snoopey he (1
ward him. 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 smce I remember,
sir.”

“ Ah, yes. Where were on born?”

Larry colored still more eegly.

“ I don't know, sir. I was rought 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.”

“ O i, 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 thin . I said that I
tried to get him to give me bac mine, Sir.”

“And what made you think he had your
money i”

“ Because he owned up that Snoopey took it,
and that he and his pal had spent it all on a. big
drunk.”

Van Slack cou hed.

“ And that is a l the reason you had for think-
ing it? Did you see this Snoopey, you speak of,
to. e the money?”

“ No, sir. If I had, he would never have got
off alive. The Lkunk waited till I got off, before
he dared to come. round the house.”

“ Then what had Somers to do with it? You
say he was with you in the cell. He could not
have robbed 'ou. ’

“ He was noo y’s pal, and they divided on
it,” said Larry, rmly. “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 'ou?”

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 on] what ou think, and
what Snoopey told you? here is this Snoopey
now?”

Iggrry smiled rather scornfully, as he re-

li :
p “ You must ask some one else. I don’t
know.”

“Will you swear that you don’t know, on
your oath?”

“ I do, sir.”

The pesitive answer provoked Van Slack,
who imagined that Larry 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 of
the old lawyer’s clerks, ready to be produced.

Van Slac ', after several efforts to make L'ir-
ry admit that he knew where Sncopey was, be-
gan to crossexamine 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 entrap-
ging 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 .

Byut Larry, who was guite cool throughout
the examination, was no to be caught in any
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 had, 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 sir, 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.”

“ Ah! then it is only for the sake of the fu-
 that you refrain from violence? Is that
i

“No such thing, sir. Besidm that, when
workingmen take to violence, the are
sure to send for the soldiers, and that has a bad
effect on the strike. They have done it here, on
purpose to make the pie think we wanted to
destroy things when hey 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
injury done to the shop of Kelly 85 Barr, the

| other day? I heard the place was gutted.”

“ It was not any such thing, sir. There were

I a few wind0ws broken at the first, when the
bosses,

after sending for us, told us they would

i
I

i

to- 1 pay for the damage done.
' going to open their mill to—morrow, and they

 

not treat with the Kni

hts. But we stopped
that at once, and the

nights have offered to
Kelly & Barr are

have given in to the old scale, so that the strike
is almost over.”

Van Slack, thus repulsed, went on a new
tack, saying:

“And this old scale you speak (f, 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 stigislation 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."

Larry smiled scornfully.

“ If they don’t choose to belong to the order,
it’s their own loss. We fight for all working.
men. If a man chooses to fight us, we fight him
just as your bosses do. 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. “'here were the work-
ingmen before they began to organize! The
bosses had them w ere they wanted them, to
work for whatever the chose to give them.
Where are they now? hey are 'nning to be
their own masters, and the time w' come when
gay; know their power, that-they will rule this

n .

Van Slack listened to him, smiling and rub-
bing his hands as he answered him slowly, look-
ing at the judge meanwhile:

Very pretty sentiments on my word! So it
seems you are a socialist? e ikely you be-
lieve in dynamite, to blow up e bosses, if they

don’t give you the wages you want!”

Larry smiled still more scornfully.

“Dynamite indeed! Where would we be if
we blew up the mills? Where would we get
work to do to keep our families? No, sir; as
long as you let the workingmen organize you
can find no safer members of society I can tell
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 t is case. ’

“ Have you just found that out?” inquired the
voice of old Scriven, in his driest tones. “ Now,
your Honor, you have given my learned brother
all the latitude he can possibl ask for in his
cross-examination, and I won (1 like to suggest
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.
Skinner’s business.”

“ Oh well, you can let him stand down,” said
Van i lack, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve
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
way that he had in'ured his own cause unwit-
tingly. and that he ad been a fool to measure
wits with a lawyer, who was practiced at that
sort of thing.

Then Van Slack looked at Scriven sarcastic-
ally askinghim:

“ ell, have you any more witnesses that on
would like to examine, or do you still wis to
dismim this complaint?”

“ Just to oblige you I’ll call Thomas Bradley,”
said Scriven in the same sour tone as that used
by his opponent. “Mr. Van Beaver, will you
be‘kind enough to send forhimi”

Paul rose and went out, while Van Slack and
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
concluded to let him be examined, and try to
break him down on the cross-examination, when
he should have told his story. It was was the
onllay hope of the prosecution.

aul soon returned with Snoo y, who had
been taken to a barber while the 0 her witnesses
were being examined, and rigged up in a new
suit of cheap clothes, in which he presented as
diflerent a figure from his old self, as Sonia-s
had shown after his transformation by simflar
means.

Till: eflect of linteirr fclothesl and a gogd meal,
ont ecoura o v e ormerycraven noopey
had been fa?orable; and he had been assured
that he would be preserved from harm in any
event, if he told the full truth. Though he
avoided the eye of his old tyrant, Terror Jim,
he seemed to have no special fears of any one
else: and looked up at the jud e and then at
Van Slack, as if be rather en yed the pros-

t of being examined. The fact was that
noo y, like man men who are physically
timi , was di to be exceedingly impuo
dent when he felt that his bones were safe.
The only way to govern such natures as his,
lies through physical fear: and this truth had
been earlyl recognized if Terror Jim, who had
brought is paraSite own to a condition of
abject obedience, through the aid of many a

brutal beating.
As soon as Snoopey 1: into court, the
other tramp tried his best catch his eye, for

the purpose of overawing him; but Snoopoy

 

   

-, to“

. hp.-- - .1 -.«~ , .,. ,‘ _ i. . . .__ “unit.” .5, . H J.

28 Larry Locke, the Man of Iron.

 

 

would not meet it, and was put on the stand and
dull?’ sworn in.

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.
Then he was asked if he knew Mr. Skinner, the
ironinaster.

“ Don’t know as I do, boss,” he said. “ I ain’t
much on names.”

“ Well, you see that entlcman here, on the
other si .16 of the table. lave you ever seen him
before or not?”

Snoopey grinned as he looked at Skinner.

“ Oh, yes boss, I know him well enough.
Don’t know his name, but I know the man. well
enou h."

“ 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 k: “Wait till I get at him.”

“Tel the stor of how on saw him in your
own words,” sai the old awycr, looking up at
the ceiling in an absent—minded manner.

Snoopey began rat her awkwardly, but warm-
ed upvas he proceeded.

“ ell, bom, ye see, me and Terror Jim, there,
was old pals, and he allowed as how he knowed
this man, Skinner, as ye call him, and that he
was goin in to see him, and strike him for
suthin’. 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 seen the other
man come out to him and take him up-stairs.
And then the waiter-fellers ill the house, they
got out, and I thinks to myself there warn’t no
use in in stayin’ out while Jim was a-gittin’ his
insides led. So I slips in at a rear winder and
hides in the dinin‘-room under a table, where
the out was kind enough to leave quite a binr
chic en. which I took under the table with me.”

“ Well, go on. What next?” said Scriven im-
patiently.

“ lVel , boss, as I was munchin’ away under
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
eat. That is, Jim did the eatin’, and the other
feller 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,
and how Mr. kinner here was afraid that Jim
was going tosplit on him about it. And then
Jim 9 struck hard for stamps; but the other
gent he wouldn't let him have a cent except he’d
promise to do some work for him.”

“ And what Work was that? Did he offer him

a lace in his mill?”
noopeg grinned.
“ Yes, 6 did that at first; but Jim he kinder
allowed that he didn’t want no work nohow;
and I‘ reckon he was rightwfients. I ain’t
hankerin’ arter that mysel . at he wanted,
he said, was money, and he warn’t the man to
work for it, iluther; though he hadn’t no ob'ec-
tions to fight for it. And then the boss he as od
him if he was willin’ to take a fightin’ job, to
lay out a man; and arter some bargainin’, Jim
he agreed to do it.”

“You mean that he agreed to murder some
one?” asked ScriVen, when Van Slack jumped

up. .
“ I object. He can’t put words into the wit-
ness‘s mouth. Let him stick to the rules of evi-
deuce.”
“Very well, then, to oblige you I’ll put the
uestion in anothe; form. Braille , you say
t Terror J im—by the by, who is error Jim,
please? Is he present in court?” ‘
Snoo y turned with a visible effort, and
pointe to his old partner, saying in a low

voxce:

“ That’s the man, gents. Him and me has
been on many a tramp together; and I wouldn‘t
have gone back on him, if he hadn’t wanted to
get us both into a hangin’ scrape.”

“ What do you mean by that?”

“ 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
and another called Paul Van Beaver; and that I
was to do the ying for ’em, and git them to
come to some p ace, after dark, when Jim, and
rome pals he agreed to git, was to lay them both
out stiff.”

“ find what do you mean by laying them out

ii! i

“ Why, killin’ them, of course, bass.”

“ Then you mean to say that you heard a plot
between error Jim and Mr. Skinner, to kill
Pg?! Van Beaver and Larry Locke. Is that
it

'This time Van Slack did not ob ect. On the
contrary, he looked as if he was ecidedly sick
of his case, and when his client whispered to
him something on the mbject, be mapped: -

“ It’s no use. Let him tell his story.”

Snoopey answered slowly and distinctly:

“That’s just what it was boss, and Jim he,

said as how I was agood fel er to spy, if I got
licked once or twice a week reg’lar. But he
don’t at no chance to lick mono more, if you
sticks me, boss.”

“That is all, your Honor. My learned

 

brother can take the witness, and pick all the
holes he likes,” remarked Scriven. “ When he
is through I shall move to dismiss the complaint,
and the committal of Skinner and Somers for
conspiracy.”

(is) jumped Mr. Van Slack viciously, and
tri 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 Snoopcy in the least.
On the contrary, the tramp got more and more
impudent in his replies, and finally ave the
names of all of the men whom Terror iin had
hired to aid him in the plot, that had so nearly
succeeded in com ssing Larry’s death. When
it was over at ast, the judge had no resource
but to accede to Scriveii‘s motion to dismiss the
complaint, and he did so.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

Tin: 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.

inall the judge announced that he would
hold bot men to answer; the iron-master in a
nominal sum, “as there was no danger of his

 

trying to escape.” while the tramp, as a stran- '

gar, would require the sum of a thousand dol-
rs 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
ircnulaster 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 reports by Snoope ; and Van
Slack made a fiery speech, iii 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 Wis over, he had the mortiflcation of
seeing Skinner walk out of court a free man. to
all appearance, while Somers and Snoopcy were
taken of! 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 himscl ; 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 showad he
wished to provoke him:

“Think ye did a heap, didn’t ye? But this
fight ain’t over ct, Larry Locke, and don‘t
you forget it. on hain’t got to the bottom of
my purse yet, and afore you’re a day older
you’l 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 y retort.
He had just fiot through one fight, angrthe court-
room was in of well-dressed people, who seem-
ed to be friends of Skinner, from the way in
which the crowded round him as he Went out,
5 kin in loud tones of the “infamous con-
spi acy, ’ that they seemed to be convinced had
been set u between two tramps and the strikers,
to injure 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 “ the thought
he might be in a better business than golstering
up a lot of Anarchists add dynamiters.”

But Scriven noticed none of them; packed up
his papers and books, and took his way to the
office, where Paul followed him, having seen
Larry on his way' 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
along 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 hn ged
him vigorously, “I’ve been scared out o in
life about ye. First they said ye was killed:
and then they said they‘d seen 0 alive, and if
K: hadn’t come when ye did, I lieve I should

ve 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 secs a chance to take
it away.”

“ But what chance could the judge have to do
anything to you, Larry. boy, when ye haven’t
done nothing against the law, and stopped all
the fighting and thieving. Why, the men are
goiing'h) work at Kelly & Barr‘s mill already,
‘1] .—

Larry, who had been rubbing his head rather

gloomin over the thought of his troubles, here-
ooked up quickly, askin :

“ What’s that you say? Kelly & Barr start-
ing W the works again?”

‘ h ', yes,” was the surprised reply. “ 1‘ id-
n’t you now it? I thought you must have l m n
; the man set them going. They started work at;

noon, and they’re at it now.”
rry jumped up at once, and resumed the
coat he had laid ofl.
“There’s some shenannigan going on,” he
said. “ They haven’t made any agreement
- with our assembly, and the strike isn’t over till
thiay do.”
e was just going out of the door when Molly
asked him anXiously:

“But what’s the arm if the men areat work,
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 bosses as
well as I do. If they don’t sign an agreement,
. there is iiothin in the world to kee them from
cutting down i e scale next week ' they please;
and a new strike won’t be one to organize.”

And away he went towar Holesburg, at a
rapid walk, till he came near the great mill of
Kelly & Barr, where, sure enough, the huge
chimne was already belching forth its clouds
of smo 9, while a crowd of curious workmen
were hangin round outside; and inside the
works evei'yt ing was going on as if nothing
i had occurred to ate them.

Larry recognize the men outside as belong-
ing to other mills, and asked them how Kell 8r.
jBarr had come to open u . They all loo ed

uzz ed and unable to give him an ex llanation;

lut as he walked in, he noticed that t 9 men at

work avoided '5 eye and seemed a little
ashamed of the selves. Poor fellows, hungry
l and rag ed, with their families clamoring for
money. t ey had given in to the offer of the
rich elly, whom La could see, sitting at.
his desk in the ofilce, with his old pompous air,
as if he owned the whole world, while the men
who had occasion to o in did so in their old
style with their hats n their hands, and the
timi cringing air which had always belonged
to the emp oyees of the rich ironmastcr.

Larry stopped one man who u as wheeling a
lkarrow toward the mouth cf the furnace, and
asked him quietly:

“ Who sent you to work? Has any one do.
clnrcd the strike (if? If so, who did it?”

The mail looked doggedly at the barrow, say
ing sulleiilv:

“I don‘t know, unless it was Kelly himself.
He sent round word to us to come to work on
the old scale, and he would give Us half a dry
extra, if we would get the furnace going before
night. What’s a man todo? My chih ren 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 security
that Kelly won’t cut you dewn to the low scale
the week after,” said Larry, severely. “Oh,
you men, on men! when Will you learn that,
when a fig t is on, the u an that sticks to the end
is the one that wins? Now, you just listen to
me one moment. John Sline . I’m going into
the ofl‘lce to see Kelly. and i this thing isn’t all
right. I’m g: ing to give the signal to stop work.
You refuse to obe it, and on know what he-
comes of on as ii iii ht of her.”

Sliney ung his hea as he replied:

“We ain’t said we was goin back on the
Knights; but the boys they a] owed that old
Skinner got the best of you in court—”

“Who told on thati” asked Larry, angrily.
“ That is some ie of that traitor, Sloman, who
came into court prepared to give away all our
secrets. but didn’t dare to when n.- eye was on
him. Sprcad the word among the i 's that the
strike isn’t over yet, and won’t be til 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 oflice, where he
found Mr. Kelly, with his back to the door,
swinging on his turning—chair and looking as
lordly as ever. He rctcnded not to see the
Master Workman as e entered the rccm; but
Larry marched stra'ght up to him, and laid his
broad band on the shoulder of the rich man,

sayiil‘g:
“ r. Kelly, a word with on.”

Kelly looked round, and t 0 usually pom us
look departed from his face. to it: rep aced
charming but exceedingly insincere smile, as he

.d_

i .

“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,
5 Sir?” '
i Kell smiled still more graciously, as he
i'”

 

“ by, simply enough. I own the works,

. and I’ve set them going again.”

1 “ 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 crewding 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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Larry Locke. the Man of Iron.

29

 

 

 

slowly away, for he knew that an angry word
on his part might occasion a scene of excitement
he would 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
wordto 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 they Would rely on his word in
the absence of their leader.

The bait had taken, by dint of solemn assur-
ances, and the works were full already while the
furnaces were lighted.

Kelly, as Locke had suspected intended to
play the men a trick by getting them to work
on a verbal romise which he could break at
anytime, ant 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

east.

With a sickly smile, as if he had dono every-
thingvproperly he said:

“ y, the o d 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. Incite, that you are not going to
give us any further trouble. You say you are

ghting for the men. \Vell, 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 appeal was an artful one, and made not
so much 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 quietly “ but
that is not the question now. This stri e was
made by the Knights of Labor, and you have
refused to treat with them. Now you are pre-
tending to declare the strike off, With iut 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 (lid not dare to lie; for
'he saw the men at the window, so he said, with
a. sick] smile:

“W , 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 rr'r-
bal agreement?” asked Larry, in the same stcrn,
cold tone, very unlike that of a man who deems
work a favor, to be acmpted with thanks.

“ Well, with each of the men individually, as
the came in,” said the iron-master, a little un-
vcaSily. “ Now, Mr. Locke. don’t go to making
any more trouble, and putting these poor men
cut of a job They are all quite satisfied, and

on have no right to interfere with them. Isn’t

hat so, boys?”

In his eagerness to get rid of Locke, be rashly
appealed to the men at the window; but the re-
sponse he 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 sigh of relief; for he had be-
gun to think, from the 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 negotiation. So
he took a seat, unbidden, opposite the lordly
ironmaster, on purpose to show them that he
was able to maintain his position, and said
slowlv:

“ r. Kelly, this strike is not over, till you
have signed a written agreement with the
Knights of Labor, that you will allow all men
in your employment the old scale, and that
Kni hts shall not be discharged, on account of
anyt ing done during this strike, so far. 1f
you refuse this, the men will know that you do
not intend to keep that word which you say is
so good. Now, sir, are. you willing to sign such
an agreement, or shall the strike go on again.
Yes or no?" .

As he spoke, he rose from his seat, and stood
b the window, with one hand raised, as if to

we the fatal signal, which Kelly had already

earned to dread.

Foramomcnt the manufacturer glanced at
the workmen outside, butthe look on their faces
showed that they felt proud of the stand Larry
had taken in their interests, and with a sigh he
.said.

“I‘m willing to do it, of course. Haven’tI

romised the men a half day’s pay extra,

they came to work? Don’t be too hard,
ke ”

Larry curled his lip slightly. _

“ Hard indeed. Come, Mr. Kelly, it has been
a fair fight, and you have got to give in. Don’t
whine over it. Are you ready to Sign the agree-
moat or not?”

Kelly ground his teeth in impotent rage at

 

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 a rint-
ed form for just such cases, and we will til it up
and each take a copy.”

Kcll winced, but had to 'icld.

“Ali’riglit,” 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 backing 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.”

Kelly made a griuiacc.

“ 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-
ferred, 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 (pens 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 be
folded n his copy, and put it in his pocket, with
the uie observation:

“ ow, Mr. Kelly, as the Master lVorkman 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 present:

“ Boys, the strike is over at last, and you have
got what you wanted. You came near losing it,
through taking our own way, and forgetting
that you must 8 ick together, if you hopetobeat
capital. To—morrow, the other mills will open,
or I 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 rson he saw was
Marcellus Skinner, driving s owl by the works
which he was cyiug malevolent y, as he noted
the smoke coming from the furnaces.

Larry, who was thinki g on] of the interests
of his comrades, and had lost a lsense of his own
private injuries, nodded to the ironmaster as he
passed him, and obse red:

“If you don‘t givC in to—night. Mr. Skinner,
you will be the only man in llolesburg whose fire
is out, to-morrow morning.”

Skinner scowled bitterly as he replied:

“ They can ‘ve in for all me; but I’m a rock;
and you‘ll fln 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 svgear me into prison for killing such cattle
as you.

And with that he whipped his horse and drove
on. leavmg 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 Larry had predict-
ed to him, the strike was over in Holesburg, 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 ack 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 sneeer at
him for standing out, when the rest gave in.
The strike had thrown a number of. contracts
back, and work had never been so plentiful in
Holesburg, while Skinner had the satisfaction
of seeing that many of the men whom he had
discharged from his own mills, had gone into
others which had been compelled to take on
extra hands.

Of course he was aware that this rush could
only be temporary, and that l‘efore long, many
of these men won (1 be out of work: but all the
some, the spectacle of other men making money,
while he was idle, was a galling one to him, and
he began to wax uneasy, on the second week
after the strike ended.

He had seen and heard nothing of his prosecu-
tion for conspiracy against Locke and his
nephew, and liccan to think that it had blovm
over, though he had not dared to go near the
ad to communicate with his partner in iniquity,

r_. James Somers, He had thrown that inter—
esting person over at the instigation of Mr.
van Slack, who had counseled him that the best
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. Larry
Locke’s matter, about the mortgage, was still
hanging over the head of the workmu-and Van

 

Slack advised his client that it might be the
means of inducing Larry to abandon the prose-
cution, though the bribe had been insuflioent 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 witha iale face, to tell him that “Van
Slack wante 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 ? W'hat docs the fellow mean?
He’s mylawyer 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-
torncy’s office, and Van S ack is all broke up.”

“ Saw who going? What does the boy mean?”
asked the1 old man still morclelinggily. “ Are all

on , P e gone era toget er

y “ 1%)? it ain’t thatfy’cried 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 Snoo y, and all the tellers that we
rigged out that ayf, to lay out Larry Locke.
You’d best go see an Slack, before it is too
late, father.

And this time the news had a visible effect on
the hardened Skinner, for he turned gray, and
Tom saw the sweat start out on his forehead,
though all he said was:

“Oh, it can’t be. He would have told me
before 1”

But he got out of his chair and walked rapid-
ly round to the office of Van Slack, whom he
found in the midst of his lpapers. with an air
of great disquietude about im. When Skinner
came in the lawyer said not a word till he had
locked the door, when he came to his client, and
said in a low voice:

“ Scriven has stolen a march on us. He has

ot all those men who laid for Locke, and the
rand Jury are examining them new. If you
can‘t make a compromise it’s all up with you,
I’m afraid.”
. Skinner broke out into a vicious oath, cry-

mg:

“ What do I pay you for, if it is not to take
clare,?f my interests? You should have stopped
12 iis.

Van Slack drew himself up at once, to reply
in a very dignified manner, for he felt all the
difference between himself and his client:

“ Mr. Skinner, I am a respectable practitioner
and cannot be rxpectcd to {n ‘Nt any one in
breaking the law. If you had told me that you
wished this thing hushed up because there was
something in it t at you dared not have reveal-
ed, I should have gone to Scrivtn long ago, and
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 can

0, unless you stand our trial. If they once
indict you, you will ave to give heavy bail,
and I fear, from what I hear, that Somers has
turned State’s evidence.”

He had hardly get through speaking when
there came a smart rap at the dccr, and the
bright buttons of a ioliceman- were sten there,
at the sight of whic even Skinner wilted as he

asked:

“What’s the matter? What do you want
here, oflicer?’

The liceman, whom he knew W91] by si ht,
came in closer, and in a voice that shows he
was .rforming a Very disagreeable duty, said:

“ rry to have to do it, sir, but I’ve got a
warrant for yt u.”

“ On what charge?” asked Van Slack. “ I‘m
the entleman’s counsel, and he’s on bail now.”

“ his is a difl’ert—nt thing,” was tht> reply.
“It’s an indictn‘cnt now, and I’ll have to take
the gentleman along to the jail at once."

And thither Skinner had to go, though he got
the policeman to send for a carria e to take him
there, and once there he was 10( gcd in a cell,
the some as any other man, while he saw noth—
ing of Van Slack till the evenin . when he came
to tell him that he had obtainrd a writ of
habeas cor ms, and that he had found a judge
who won] admit him to bail on the indictment
at a heavy sum.

“I’ve been to Scriven’s,” he added. when he
was sure they were alone. “and he says that
young Van Beaver is not di. ,oscd to be harsh,
if you will come down; but t iat if you want to
fi ht they will give you the full benefit of the
law. And what‘s mo e, I have seen a copy of
the testimony given before the Grand Jury.”

He said this with so much meaning that Skin-
ner asked in a faltering voice, that showed he
was beginning to weaken at last:

“ And what was it, Van Slack? Has any one
peached on me?”

The lawyer nodded gloomily.

“ Soch has made a clean breast of it, and
all the rest have sworn to instructions given
by on. and money paid by you, for the purpose
0 aving Larry Locke and your ne hew, Paul
Van Beaver, waylaid at night and lled, dur-
ing the tumults of the strike. I am bound to

 

3O

 

 

confess, as your lawyer that the case is infer-
nally strong, and that I don’t see how you are
goinguto get over it, save in one way, and then
it w be a matter of favor.”

By the time he had finished Skinner was
sweatin at every pore, and his voice was low
and bus y, as he asked:

“ 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
on himself.”

Skinner started violently, and his face dark.
ened as he said:

“drive up, beat, and to him! I’ll stand my
trial firstl”

“All right,” was the reply. “In that case
I’ll do the best I can for you, of course; but i
warn you that I shall have to ask a heavy rc-
tamer. You see, this sort of thing is out of my
regular line, and we always ask extra pay for
that work. Criminal practice is very trouble-
some, and we have to get our pa in advance.”

Skinner said no more, but wa cd sullenly by
his counsel, with a policeman behind him, to the
house of the jud e who had agreed to hear the
case and admit im to bail. He was thinking
deeply all the way there, and trying to make up
his mind to fight, while his fears were telling
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 disc
position to exhibit to the fallen man any of the

avers he had shown so freely when he was rich
and 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 djudge, that he would take bail for ten thou-
san dollars, and would require householders
for that amount.

Skinner had to remain in the custody of the
gloom while Van Slack hunted round for

'l, and at last the lawyer came back with a

loomy face, to announce that, of all Skinner’s

riends 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 read ; but when they heard of the eVidence
that had n given, and the fact that all the
witnessess were in prison, where they could not
be tampered with, they declined, with one ac-
cord, to o bail for a man who would be sure to
escape if 0 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
Slack would require a retainer of a thousand
dollars, at least with counsel fees and allow-
ances 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 Holesbnrg, of which there was no
1105):, Mr. Scriven having taken his measures
we

The style of living in a ail is of that nature
that. while some peo le ike it, having never
seen anytbin as g ,.most pie, who have
not led the ii 6 of a tramp, fin it miserable in
the extreme.

So, while Terror Jim and his friends were on-
Laying the unusual comforts of a roof over their

ends and plentiful meals, Skinner was worry-
ing all the time over the confinement and th
coarse foodsu plied by the sheriff to his man
boarders, wbi e the news that court would open
in two weeks, and that his case was one of the
first on the calendar, did not tend to restore his
tranquillity.

As the time drew high when he was to be
tried, and he realized that he had not a friend
in the world, not even his son, who had deserted
him in his trials, the spirit of the old man began
to waver.

At last he made up his mind to send for Van
Slack, but the lawyer sent back word that “ he
must decline to see Mr. Skinner without the re-
tainer for which he had sti ulated.”

Then, with a deep sigh, t e avaricious manu-
facturer wrote out a Check, and sent it b one of
the sheriff’s deputies, who soon return , usher-
ing in Van Slack, as mild and obsequious as
ever.

“ Van,” said the broken man, as soon as he
was in the cell, “ tell me, as a lawyer, what are
mv chances in this trial?”

Van Slack rubbed his hands and looked at the

ceiling.

“ I’ do all I can for you, of course, Mr. Skin-
nor, and you can get the best talent in the State
by paying for it.”

“I now that ” was the crusty answer, “ but
that ain’t what Iwant to know. Shall I get 0 f
If you say I can, for sure, I’ll pa for . ut
you ,ipust give me your word as a lawyer that 1
can.

Thus urged, Van Slack said slowly:

“ You are asking an impouibility, Mr. Skin-
ner. No lawyer could give such an assur-
once.”

Skinner heaved a deep sigh. -

“ That’s all I wanted to know. I can’t get of!

Lerrviioake the

 

' was duly so.

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

You can go.

Slack had left the cell, when he Sent for the ,

deputy who had carried his messages, and told
him to go to Mr. Scrivcii’s office and send him
to the jail to see Mr. Skinner.

The deput 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 013 Skinner, with a voice that
shook somewhat. “ I sent for you, Scriven, be-
cause you always treated ino honest, though you
went against me. What will you take to drop
this irosecution?”

“ 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:
can (lo, and the bail 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 willin
to do the square thing now. See here. If

ive up the mill 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 rosecution,”
was the cold reply. “ It is Larry ckc. Paul
wants nothing from you. He knows well
enough that your trial will end in your com-
mittal to State’s Prison for a long period, and the
courts will up int him, as next heir, to the
probable cus y of the mill roperty during
your life. If on had treated t e next heir de-
cently, it wo d 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 ainst on.”

“Then you mean to sayt t I s all have to
stand my trial i” 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 or you.”

And with that the lawyer left the cell, while
Skinner passed the next hour pacing}? and
down, in more agony of mind than he a ever
suffered in all is ife before. He was faceto
face with his punishment, and the more he
thought of it the less he liked it.

If, by a miracle, he had suddenly been re-
leased from prison and put into the same posi-
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 .

{Vhen 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
ea erly waited for his visitors.

he only person who came was Scriven, with
an a eement which he ave him, saying:

“ on can look over t at at your leisure. If
you choose to si , the judge and district attor-
ney have a to let the case go for the term;
and your nephew has agreed to go your bail. If
you don‘t wish to sign it, you can stand your

rial. I shall be here at ten in the morning.
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 tho boun-
ty of the nephew he had treated in his day like
a slave. The agreement for him to sign was one
giving up all his interest in the property in-
herited by him under his father s will, and
Eromising to leave the United States and live in

urope, while Paul Van Beaver, on his rt,
agreed to pay to him, out of the proceeds o the
business as they should accrue, the sum of three
{housand dollars a year, during his natural

i e.

The terms were hard and stem: 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 pocket. he
found that the crushed criminal had already
signed his copy, and a little later he left the jail
With 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 nay the money.

Then the took him to the house that had
lately been is where Larry Locke’s mortgage
, and the young workman at

so Mead Inn-

but that is the best they or any one '

 

 

last held in his hand the deed of a free and uh.
incumbered roperty.

The rest 0 our story will not take long to tell.
Skinner and his gracelem 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-
imtarily 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 takes share in the prof-
its of t 6 mill but he steadily refused.

“ No, Mr. aul ” 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 belicv‘e 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 present they don’t, 1 nd their enemies
are read to take advantage of the least mistake
they ma 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 faVOI|
to be asked, I’m goin to stick to the Knights.
I’d rather be Master orkman than own a mill,
any time. When the time comes that eve hon-
est workman in America belongs to the er,
and all stick together, as we should do, every
workingman shall see more hagpiness, than he
ever saw before. Heaven sen the time and
God eased the just aims of the KNIGHTS or
LAB RI”

THE END.

 

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3. Patriotic Speaker. 17. El iient . kcr.

4. Comic Speaker. 18. Hai Colum aSpeak-
5. Elocutionist. er.

6. Humorous Speaker. 19. Serlo-Comic Speaker.
7. Standard Speaker. 90. Select S maker.

'8. Stump Speaker. 2!. Funny peaker.

9. Juvenile Speaker. 22. Jolly Speaker.

10. Spread-Eagle Speaker 23. Dialect Speaker.

11. D me Debater. 24. Recitations and Read
12. Exhibition S aker. '

 

in s.
13. School Spec er. I25. Burifesque Speaker.

14. Ludicrous Speaker.

These books are replete with choice pieces for the
School-room, the Exhibition. for Homes. etc. 75 to
100 Declamations and Recitations in each book.

Din lognes.

The Dime Dialogues each volume 100 pages. em
brace thirty-two books. via:
Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Eighteen.
Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Nineteen.
Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No. Twenty.
Dialogues No. Four. Dialogues No. Twenty-one.
Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Twenty-two.
Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No. Twenty-three.
Dialogues No. Seven. Dialogues No. 'l‘wentyvfour.
Dialogues No. Eight. Dialogues ho. Twenty-five.
Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-six.
Dialogues No. Ten. ' DialognesNo.Twenty-seven.
Dialogues No. Eleven. Dialogues No. Twenty-eight
Dialogues No. 'l‘wvlve. Dialogues No. Twenty-nine.
Dialogues No. Thirteen. Dialogues No. Thirty.
Dialogues No. Fourteen. Dialogues No. Thirty-one.
Dialogues No. Fifteen. Dialogues No. Thirty-two.
Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No. Thirty-threes
Dialogues No.8eventeen

15 ic 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book.

 

' Dramas and Readings.

164 12m. Pages. ‘20 Cents.

For Schools. Parloi s. Entertainments and the Am
ateui Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas
Comedy. Farce, D can Pieces, Humorous Dialogue
and Burlesque, by :oteu writers: and Recitation.
and Readings, new 'nd standard. of lhe greated
celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof. A. ll. Russell.

H'The above books are sold by newsdenlerl
everywhere, or will be sent. post-paid, to any ad
dress, on receipt of price. ten cents each. BIA”
m Anus, Publishers. as William It. I. Y.

.,
7) '.'.< ~‘.,
.,A.,'. ....

 

 

\‘l‘.

.171' ~ ..,

1 .3 11-1..“—

D

BEADLE’SrDIMErflBRARY.

:; Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Humbert

I

 

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.

928 Old Sobersides, the Detective of St. Louis.
025 WhiteHoree Wheeler, the Revenue Detective.
918 The Double Edged Detective.
9W Maverick Mark. the Man from Nowhere.
gig Silky Steele, the Stay-in Sport.
T'teS tter-S nrts Neck-Tie Part .
870 High- ater rk; or, Silver-Tip S d.
SW Riots Bob. the Range Cham ion.
855 The 0 «boy Chief s Sure—S 01:.
848 The Rival Rod-Hat Sports.
837 Curly Kid. the Cheyenne Sport.
824 The Soft Hand Detective.
815 The Soft Hand’s Clutch.
on Dan Dunn the Soft-Hand Sport.
0796 The Frisco Detectlve's Thug-Tangle.
um Sam Cary, the River S ort.
‘: so The Dead Sport’s Dou lo.
“471 Prince John, Detective S ecial.
763 Dandy Don, the Denver etective.
754 the Man from Texas; or. Dangerfield. the
Doctor Detective.
744 Sw . takes Sam, the Silver Sport.
720 The ret Sir or, Old Halcyon.
712 The Man of snir.
rm Bantam Bob. the Beaut from Butte.
N8 Kent Kasson, the Prt'lac er Sport.
688 Bob Breeze, the Reunder Detective.
675 Steel Surry, the Sport from Sum-is;
668 Solemn Saul‘s Luck Strtak
g s“ Get-Teams Sllilarp.
snip eve, t e Sky Scrn r from Stski on.
645 Gopher Gabe, the Unseen Detlzmve. y
686 Dandy Darling. Detective.
Mossbaok ose the Mountaineer.
617 The Gri Sack Sharp‘s Even u .
Big y, the Brigadier of mstone Butte.
Sands, the Sharp from Sna City.
576 Silver-Ton ed Sid; or, Grl Sack harp's Sweep.
The p ck Sharp; or he Seraphs of Sodom.
GripSack Sid. the Samp 6 Sport.
The Buried Detective; or, Saul’s Six Sensations.
Magnet. the Man of Nerve.
535 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Dead-Lift
w Dandy Andy, the Diamond Detective.
14 Gabe Guns. the Griazl from Ginseng.
Solemn Saul. the Sad an from San Saba.
Rattlepate Rob; or, The Roundhead’s Reprisal
TheThor hbred Sport.
Daddio -Eye, the Despot o! Dew Drop.
Old ugh and Ready, the Sage of Sundown
Dutch Dan. the Pi rim from Spitzenberg.
tol Johnny's Picnic.
kiahoma Nick

Laughing Leo; or, Sam’s Dandy Pard.

SHE 5g
2

O

Ob
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a.
s

“assesses:

as The host Detective: or. The Secret Service Spy.
416 Jim. the Black Sheep of Bismarck.
'09 Rob Roy Ranch: or. The Imps 0! Pan Handle.
16: The harmless Sport.
5% Decdlv Aim, the Duke of Der-ringers.
687 D lrk  the Ishmael or the Hills.
4672 Ca tsln ris , the Man with a Record.
867 A yal Flush: or, Dan Brown‘s ilig Game.
$0 Jumping Jerry, the Gamecock from Sundown.
85 Storm Steve, the Mad Athlete.
851 Nor’ est Nick. the Border Detective.
845 Masked Mark. the Mountod Detective.
869 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
881 (11km Charley, the Gold Nugget Sport.
817 Frank Lighttoot, the Miner Detective.
92 Moire Homer, the Boss Roustabout.
3 Pistol Johnny; or. One Man in a Thousand.
263 Sleek Sam. the Devil of the Mines.
857 Death Trap Di _ 'ngs; or, A Man ’Way Back
249 Elephant Tom. 0 Durance.
S41 Spitfire Saul. King of the Bustiers.
$8 The Old Boy of Tombstone.
so: Pirate of the Platets; or. .loaquin's Death Hunt
19 Old ‘49; or. The Amazon of Arizona.
176 Sweet William. the Trapper Detective.
165 Joaquin. the Terrible
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
141 Equinox Tom, the Bull ' of Red Rock.
119 Alabama Joe; or, The 11200 Man-Hunters.
lib Dan Brown of Denver; or. The Detective.
88 Big George; or, The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 Captain 0001 Blade: or. Mississippi Man Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey; or, Honesty vs. Crookedness.
. 50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie Sport.

BY WM. G. PATTEN.

810 Fire-E e. the Thug‘s Terror.
7% Old 'ght-Hawk, the Crook Shadower.
768 The Prtn "e of New York Crooks.
756 Old Burke_, the Madison Square Detective.
747 Double-votes Dan‘s Double Disguise.
31'? ggutble-goice I1))an (an Deck.

11 8' 0109 8“. ‘6 MWavs~on-Deck Detective
396 Double-Voice Dan, the Go-it Alone tiv
669 The Sparkler Sharp. Dem 8'
676 Hurricane Hal, the Cowboy Hotspur.
669 Old True Blue, the Trusty.
668 The Giant ‘Sfiort; or, Sold to Satan.
856 Old Plug gly. the Rough and Ready.
648 Gold Glove Gid the Man of Grit.
641 Aztec Jack, the esert Nomad.
681 Colonel Cool, the Santa Fe Sharp.
M2 Ca tain Nameless. the Mountain Mystery.
1371 01 Dismal. the Ban 9 Detective.
“5 Hustler Harry, the owboy Sport.
l

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.

910 The Arizona Detective. '
“4 Silver Sam. the Sheets Sport.
The Silver Sport‘s Double.
The Race-Course Detective.
{856 The Haysoed Detective. .
1772 C in Cordon, the Twrster Detectin
Pete the Broncho-Buster Detective.
3 Fear-tees Sam, the Grand Combination Douche.
I 719 Boston Bdb, the S rt Detective.
' m Jauntv Joe, the ockey Detective.
55! Mad harp, the Rustler
568 Bubs Rocket. the Tent Detective.
m th-Grip, the Tendertoot Detectiv'
-'  e Drummer Detective.
- . Giant Horseman.
' m 11:70, the Pacific Detective»

as
8

5‘5‘5’

 

2‘

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTEB.

916 Two Dead-Square Sports.
902 Soft Velvet, the Man from Sandrock.
891 Genteel Jim, S ort-at—Large.
881 The Clubman- ‘rook's Cat spew.
867 The Frisco Sport.
852 The Stranger S ort’s Shake-up.
828 Kirk King, the an from Kirby.
818 Gentleman Dave, the Dead Game Sport
783 The King-Pin Tramp.
767 The Sport of Silver Bend.
718 Uncle Bedrock’s Big Bounce.
707 The Rival Rovers.
68’] Double Cinch Dan, the Sport With a Charm.
677 Mr. Jackson. the Gent from Jaybiro.
659 Gilt-Edge Johnny; or, Roldan and His Rovers.
650 Luck Lester’s one Hand.
634 Old andcart‘s Big Dump.
622 The All Around S rts.
603 Desert air, the an With the Cougar. -
590 Gentle Jack, the High Roller from Hum »
578 Seven Shot Steve, the Sport with a Sm' -
568 The Dude Detective. -
558 Hurrah Harry, the H' h Horse from Halcyon.
549 Belahamr Brick, the ' l! of Blue Biases.
563 Oregon, the Sport WithaScar.
508 The Dude from Denver.
478 Pinnacle Pete; or. The Fool from Way Back.
459 Me. or Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives.
429 Ha r r Tom 01' Red Bend.
402 Snapshot m; or. The Angels' Flat Racket.
396 The Piper Detective; or, The Gilt Edge Gang.
375 Royal George, the Three in One.
356 Thr.—-e Han some Sfiorts; or, The Combination.
833 Derringer Dick. the an with the Drop.

Magic Mike. ‘he Man of Frills.
229 Captain Cutsleeve; or, The Little. Sport.
214 The Two Cool Sports; or, Gertie of the Gulch.
1&2 Hands Up; or, The Knights of the Canyon.
160 Soft Hand Sharp: or, The Man with the Sand.
14.5 Pistol Pards; or, The Silent Sport from Cinnabar

BY NE. BUNTLINB.
657 Long Tom, the Privateer.
633 The Sea 8 y.
621 The Red rivateer; or, The Midshipman Rover.
584 Fire Feather, the Buccaneer King.
517 Buflalo Bill‘s First Trail.

* 361 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot.

123 Saul Sabberday, the Idiot 

111 The Smuggler Captain; or. e Skipper's Crime.
18 The Sea Bandit; or. The Queen of the Isle.
16 The White Wizard; or, The Seminole Prophet.

BY JACKSON KNOX—“Old Hawk.”

838 OldGrips Still Hunt.
827 Detective Walden‘s Web.
778 The Butler Detective' or. Old Grlp's Grip
The Showman Dete‘ t ve.
762 Old Grip. the Detective.
740 Captain Clew, the Fighting Detective.
732 The Hurricane De ve.
643 Castlemalns. the Silent Sifter.
616 Magnus, the Weird Detective.
606 The Drop Detective.
595 Wellborn, mega?” Crust Detective.
582 Joram. the De ve Expert.
574 Old Falcon’s Double.
561 The Thug King' or, The Falcon Detective‘s Foe.
548 Falconbrid e. t e Sphinx Detective.
586 Old Falcon 3 Foo; or. The Detective‘s Swell Job.
515 Short-Stop Ma 9, the Diamond Field Detective.
509 Old Falcon. t e Thunderbolt Detective.
501 Sgringsteel Steve, the Retired Detective.
494T e Detective’s S y.
485 Rowlock. the Bar r Detective.
477 Dead-arm Brandt.
467 Mainwaring. the Salamander.
462 The Cincus Detective.
451 Griplock. the Rocket Detective.
444 The is Detective; or, The Hidden Band.
424 Hawk erou‘s De utv.

886 Hawk Heron. the alcon Detective.

BY J. C. COWDBICK.

752 The Su 1; S ort of Baby Drift.

6% Ducats ion, t e Nabob Sport Detective.

612 Sheritr Stillw'ood, the Regulator of Raspberry.
598 The Dominic Detective.

591 Duke Daniels, the Society Detective.

560 Shadowing a Shadow.

565 Prince Paul, the Postman Detective.

557 The Mountain Grnybeards; or. Riddles“ Riddle.
519 Old Riddles. the Rocky Ranger

499 Twilight Charlie, the oad Sport.

473 Gilbert of Gotham. the Steel-arm Detective.
452 Rainbow Rob, the Tulip from Texas.

436 Kentucky Jean, the Sgort from Yellow Pine.
422 Blue Grass Burt, the old Star Detective.

390 The Giant Cupid: or Cibuta John's Jubilee.

BY EDWARD W] L LE".

488 Flush Fred. the River Sharp.

368 The Canyon King; or. a Price on his Head.

348 Dan Dillon, Kin of Crosscut.

387 Old Gabe the ountain Tram .

327 Terrapin Dick. the Wildwood Betectlve.

815 Flush Fred‘s Double; or, The Squntters’ League
BIB Hemlock Hank, Tough and True.

2% Logger Lem: or. Life in the Pine Woods.

289 Flush Fred‘s Full Hand.

274 Flush Fred, the Miasissip i Sport.

248 Montana Nat, the Lion 0 Last Chance Camp.
222 Bill the Blizzard; or. Red Jack‘s Crime.

209 Book Farley. the Bonanza Prince.

129 Mississippi Mose; or, a Strong Man 's Sacrifice.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNB REID.
ll? The White Squaw.
284 The Hunter‘s Feast.
219 The Wild Huntrsss; or, The Squatter.
200 The Rifle Rangers; or. Adventures in Mexico.
74 The Captain 0 the Rifles; ' or, The Lake ueen.

66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pact
HThoSoalpHuntel-s. anomanceottho

Plains.

 

i

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM. i

911 The Blue Blockader; or, The Coast Greyhound

906 The Cuban Cruiser.

854 The Ocean Gipsy.

834 The Wild Steer Riders; or, Texas Jack’s Terrors. f:

819 The Rival Monte Cristos. '

805 The Last of the Pirates; or, Docm Driven.

801 The Water Wolves‘ Detective; or, 'I‘rapoim the
Grave Ghouls.

791 The Coast-Raider‘s Death-Chase.

748 Arizona Charlie, the Crack—shot Detective.

704 Invisible lvan. the Wizard Detective.

685 The Red—skin Sea Rover.

679 Revello, the Pirate Cruiser; or. The Rival Rover.

672 The Red Rapier; or, The Sea Rover‘s Bride.

662 The Jew Detective: or, The Beautiful Convict.

640 The Rowr's Ret-ibutinn.

6% The Bit-Buccaneer: or. The Stigma of Sin.

6 Red Wings; or, The Gold Seekers of the Bahamas

615 The Three r uccaneers.

610 The Red Flag Rover ; or,Wbite Wings of the Deep

605 The Shadow Silver Ship.

600 The Silver Ship; or, The Sea Soouts of ’76.

593 The Sea Rebel: or. Red Rovers of the Revolution

597 Conrad, the Sailor Spy; or. True Hearts of ‘76.

581 The Outlawed Ski per; or, The Gantlet Runner.

560 The Man from exico.

553 Mad: Monte, the Mutineer; or, The Branded Brig.

546 The Doomed Whaler: or, The Life Wreck. '

530 The Savages of the Sea.

524 The Sea Chaser; or, The Pirate Noble.

510 El Moro, the Corsair Commodore.

493 The Scouts of the Sea.

457 The Sea Insurgent: or. The Conspirator Son.

446 Ocean Ogre, the Outcast Corsair.

435 The One-Armed Buccaneer.

430 The Fatal Frigate; or, Rivals in Love and Wan.

399 The New Monte Cristo.

899 The Convict Captian.

377 Afloat and Ashore: or. The Corsair Conspiratol:

369 The Coast Corsair: or. The Siren of the Sea.

$4 The Sea Fugitive: or. The Queen of the Good.

841 The Sea Desperado,

886 The Magic Snip' or, Sandy Hook Freebooters.

325 The Gentleman rate; or. The Casco Hermit!»

318 The Indian Bum-oer: or. 'l‘heRed Rovers.

W The Phantom Pirate; or. The Water Wolves.

255 The Pirate Priest; or. The Gambler's D htere

246 can Helen, the Amazon of the Over .

235 Lightning the Man of

224 Black Beard. the Buccaneer.

220 The Specter Yacht; or, A Brother‘s Crime.

210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea.

HIS The Gambler Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoon.

1% The Skeleton Schooner; or, he Skimmer. I

184 The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Sea henesia.

104 Montezuma. the Merciless.

106 Merle, the Mutineer; or, The Red Anchor Brut,

In PHILIP s. wanna. f

302 Dan Dirk King of No Man‘s Land.
use Captain Adair. the Cattle Kin . _
567 Captain Midnight. the Man 0 Craft.
544 The Back to Back Pards.
582 The Chan: ion Three.
502 Bareback uck, the Centaur of the Plain
472 Six Foot 81' or, The Man to “ Tie To."
on California in. the Always on Hand.
404 Silver Sid; or. A “ Daisy “ Blul.
8&1 Tiger Dick‘s Pied ; or, Tns Golden Serpent.
859 Yellow Jack. the estizo.
338 Jack Sands, the Boss of the Town.
299 Three of a Kind; or, Dick, Dcspard and the Spork
251 Tiger Dick vs. Iron rd.
an Old Hard Head; or. irlwind and his Mare.
171 Tiger Dick. the Inn of the Iron Heart.
114 The Gentleman from Pike.
so A Man of Nfirve or, Cighlibaigtftiflblwtgf. rt.
MAIwayson an ;or. e t- is po
29 Tiger Dick. Faro King; or, The Cashier‘s Crlna.
4 The Kidnapper; or, The Northwest Shanghai.

BY CAPTAIN MARK WILTON.

323 Hotspur Hugh; or. The Banded Brothers.
811 Heavy Hand; or, The Marked Men.

3% Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rover.

Z71 Horseshoe Hank. the Man of Big Luck.

235 Lightning Bolt, the Canyon Tcrmrn

276 Texa ; Chick. the Southwest Detective.

271 Stoneflst. of Big Nu get Bend.

266 Leopard Luke the 'ing of HorsecThieves
268 iron-Armed Abe, the Hunchback Destroyer
256 Bullet Head, the Colorado Bravo.

237 Long-Haired Max; or, The Black League.
227 Buckshot Ben, the Man-Hunter of ma )0.
223 Canyon Dave, the Man of the Mountain. "
219 The Scorpion Brothers; or. Mad Tom’s Mission»
202 Cactus Jack, the Giant Guida.

194 Don Sombrero. the Cnliforni Road Gent.

176 Lady Jaguar. the Robber Queen.

BY OLL GOODIES.

619 Kit Bandy & Co , the Border Detectives.
148 One-Armed Alt. the Giant Hunter. . K
99 The Giant Rifleman: or. Wild Camp Info.

43 Dakota Dan. the Reckless Ranger.

BY COL. THOMAS H. MONSTBIY.

286 Chan: Ion Sam: or, The Monarchs of the 3:0.
150 El Ru 0 Bravo, King of the Swordsman.

BY DR. NOEL DUNBAB.

/

[919 The Sea Scout; or, The Patriot Privatoea.

696 The King of Crooks.

856 Number One, the Dead-set Detective.

850 The Planter Detective.

780 Duke Despard, the Gambler Duelist. .
(D4 The Detective in Rm: Or, The Grim 811m
500 The True-Heart Pants.

4 new issue mry Wednesday

Beadle’a Dime Library is for sale . \
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by -
receipt of twelve cents on” .

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984 Buffalo Bill's Life Raffle; or, The Doomed
Three. By Col. P. Ingruham.

979 Buffalo Bill's Relentless Trail.
Prentiss Ingraham.

973 The Dread Shot Four; or, My Pards of the
Plains. By Col. \V. F. (.‘ody.

964 Buffalo Bill's lnvinclbles; or. The Sable Shad-
gwer's Sublime Sacrifice. By Col. P. Ingra-
am. -

“Buffalo Biil's Blue Belt Brigade; or, Sun-

? flower Sam of Shasta. By Col. P. Ingraham.

)56 Buffalo Bill's Volunteer Vigilantes; or, The

) Mysterious Man in Blue. By Col. P. Ingra-
ham.

950 Buffalo Bill at Bay; or, The Gold Seeker's
Doom. By Col. 1’. Ingraham.

943 Buffalo Bill's Block Game; or, The Mounted
Miners of the Overland. By Col. P. lnzra—
ham.

036 Buffalo Bill’s Black Pard; or.
Boomers of the Big Horn.
ham.

927 Buffalo Bill‘s Bluff; or, Dusky Dick.
Sport. By Col. 1’. lngraham.

' 921 Buffalo Bill's
2 Vow. By C01.

The Gold
By Col. 1”. Ingra-

the

Quandary: or, Velvet Bill's
Prentiss lngraham.

9' 015 Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout: or, Go-

wan—go. the Redskin Rider.
graham.

009 Buffalo Bill’s League; or, Red Butterfly. By
Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

904 Buffalo Bill's Tangled Trail; or, Gentleman
Jack, the Man of Many Masks. By Col. P.
Ingraham.

000 Buffalo Bill's Rough Riders; or, Texas Jack's
Sharp-Shooters. ’.y Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

895 Buffalo Bill‘s Secret Ally; or, The Texan's
Double. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

890Buffalo Bill's Life-Stake;
Three. By (:01. P. lngraham.

882 The Three Bills; Buffalo Bill, \Vlld Bill and
Band-Box Bill; or. The Bravo in Broadcloth.
By Col. P. ingraham.

874 Buffalo Bill's luckskin Braves; or, The (‘ard
Queen's Last ane. By Col. P. Inm'ahzem.

869 Buffalo Bill‘s Road Agent Round-Up; or. The

By Col. P. In-

,

Mysterious Masked Man in Black. By Col.
P. Ingraham.
863 Buffalo Bill's Death—Charm: or, The Man

\Vith the Scar. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
der’s Leath—Run.
ham.

851 Buffalo Bill's Double Dilemma; or, The Great
Scout's Big Three. By (fol. 1’. ingrulntm.

By Col. Prentiss ingra~

Death Shot. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

839 The Ranch King Dead-Shot; or. Texas Jack's
Proxy. By Buffalo Bill.

Band's Blot-out. By Col. P. ingraham.
826 Buffalo Bill’s Sharp-Shooters; or, The Surgeon
Scout to the Rescue. By (fol. 1’. Ingrahum.

 

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By Colonel‘820 White, Beaver's Still

 

 

Orv The fledged 735 Buffalo Bill and Ills Merry Men: or,

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857 Buffalo Bill's Royal Flush; or, The Pony m-i710 Iiufinlo

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2845 Buffalo Bill‘s Redskin Ruse: or. Texas Jack's 091

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830 Buffalo Bill's Boys in Blue; or. The BrimstoneI

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822 Buffalo Bill's Best Bower; or. Montebello the
Golrl King. By (‘ol. Prentiss lugraham.
llunt; or, The Miner
Marauder's Death-Track. By Buffalo Bill.

816 Buffalo Bill's Bed Trail; or, The Road-Rider

ltenegade's Bun Down. By Col. P. Ingraham.

812 Buffalo Bill's Death-Knoll; or. The lied Hand
Riders of the Rockies. By Col. P. ingraham.

07 Wild Bill. the Wild \V'est Duelist; or, The Girl
Mascot of Moonlight Mine. By Buffalo Bill.

807 Wild Bill. the Wild West Duelist; or, The Girl
Grande Ralph. the Cowboy Chief. By Buf‘
falo Bill.

794 Buffalo Bill's Winning Band;- or, The Masked
Woman of the Colorado Canyon. By Col. P.
Ingruham.

787 Buffqu Bill's DealShot;or.TheSkeleton Scout

of the Colorado. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

Buffalo Bill's Brand; or, The Brimstone

Brotherhood. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

777 Buffalo Bill's: Spy-Shadower; or, The Masked
Men at Grand Canyon. By Col. P. lngraham.

773 Buffalo Bill's Ban; or. Cody to the Rescue.
By Leon Lewis.

769 Buffalo Bill's Sweepstake; or, The Wipe-out
at Last Chance. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

765 Buffalo Bill's Dozen; or, Silk Ribbon Sam.

By (.‘01. Prentiss lngraham.

Buffalo Bill‘s Mascot: or. The Death Valley

Victim No. 13. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

757 Buffalo Bill's Double; or, The Desperado De-
tective. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

750 Buffalo Bill's Big Four; or, Custer's Shadow.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

743 Buffalo Bill's Flush Hand; or. Texas Jack's
Bravos. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

739 Buffalo Bill's Blind; or, The Masked Driver
nf Death's Canyon. By Col. Prentiss Ingra-
hum. /

The

Robin Hood Rivals. By Col. Prentiss Ingra-

hum.

Buffalo Bill's Beagles: or. Silk Lasso Sam.

By (.‘ol. Prentiss lngraham.

727 Buffalo Bill’s Body Guard: or, The Still Hunt
of the Bills. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

722 Buffalo Bill on the \\'ar Path; or, Silk Lasso

731

Sam, the Will-o'-the-Wisp. By Col. P. In‘
graham.
716 Buffalo Bill’s Scout Shadowers: or, Emer-

ald Ed of Devil‘s Acre. By Col. 1". Ingraham.

Bill Baffled; or, The Desertcr Des-
pt-rzulo's Defiance. By Col. P. Ingraham.

697 Buffalo Bill‘s Burkskin Brotherhood: or,
Opening Up a Lost ’hail. By Col. 1‘. In-
graham.

  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
 

653 The Lasso King's League: or. The Tigers of
Texas. By Colonel Prentiss Ingrshun.

649 Buck Taylor, the Saddle King. Buffalo Bill's
Chief of Scouts. By Col. P. Ingraham.

644 Buffalo Bill's Bonanza; or, The Knights of
the Silver Circle. By Col. P. Ingraham.

630 The Gold King; or, Montebello. the Magnifi-
cent. By Buffalo Bill.

629 Buffalo Bill's Daring Role; or, Daredeath
Dick, King of the Cowboys. By Leon Lewis.

599 The Dead Shot Nine; or, My Pard- of the
Plains. By Buffalo Bill.

517 Buffalo Bill's First Trail; or. Will Cody, the
Pony Express Rider. By Ned Buntiine.

414 Red Renard, the Indian Detective: or, The
Gold Buzzards of Colorado. By Bumaio Bill.

401 The One-Armed Pard; or. Red Retribution in
Borderland. By Buffalo Bill.

397 The Wizard Brothers; or,
Trail. Bv Buffalo Bill.

394 W'hlte Beaver. the Exile of the Platte; or.
gHWronged Man's Bed Trail. By Buffalo

1 .

362 Buffalo Bill's Grip; or. Oath-bound to Custer.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

329 Buffalo Bill's Pledge; or, The League of
Three. By Col. P. Ingraham.

319 “Vild Bill. the W'hirlwind of the West. By
Buffalo Bill.

304 Texas Jack, the Prairie Rattler: or, The
Queen of the “ma Riders. By Buffalo Bin.

243 The Pilgrim Sharp; or, The Soldier’s Sweet-
heart. By Buffalo Bill, Government Scout
and Guide.

189 “'ild Bill's Gold Trail; or,
Dozen. By Col. P. lngraham.

175 Wild Bill‘s Trump Card; or. The Indian
Heiress. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

168 Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot; or. Dagger
Don's Double. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

158 Buffalo Bill, Chief of Scouts: or. The Doomed

White Denver's

The Desperate

Dozen. By Dr. Frank Powell.
117 Buffalo Bill's Strange Pard; or, Dashing
Dandy. the Hotspur of the Hills. By Major

D.- Burr.
92 Buffalo Bill,
Amazon of the West.

the Burkskln King;. or, The
By Major Dangerfield

Burr.
83 Gold Bullet Sport; or, The Knights of the
Overland. By Buffalo Bill.

52 Death Trailer, the Chief of Scouts: cr. Life
 Love in a Frontier Fort. By Buffalo
1 .
NEW ISSITES TO COME.

985 The Long-Haired Pards: or. The Tartars of

 

Buffalo Bill's Blind Trail; or, The Daughter

of the Regiment. iy (.‘ol. Prentiss Ingruham.‘

682 Buffalo Bill's Secret Service Trail. By MajorI
Dangerfield Burr. i

667 Buffalo Bill's Swoop: or, the King of the
Mines. By Col. Prentiss Ingrahum.

658 The Cowboy Clan; or, The Tigress of Texas.

By Colonel Prentiss lugraham.

 

wwwl

 

lIE DIME LIBRARY is for sale by all Newsdealers,
ten cents per copy, or sent by mail, pro-paid, on re-
ceipt of price.

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the Plains. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

986 Iron \Vrlst, tho Swordmaster. By Col. Thos.
lloyer Monstcry.

987 Shadrach, the Sport Detective; or. The Secret
Seven. By John \V. Gabon.

988 Rocky Mountain Bob. the California Outlaw.
By Albert W. Aiken.

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