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COPYRIGHT, 1881. BY Bums: & ADAMS.

 

_-_o

JULY, 1902.

 

 

 

 

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Published Every
Month.

’ NEMO,

KING OF THE TRAMPS;

R)
The Romany Girl’s Vengeance.

A STORY OF THE GREAT RAILROAD RIOTS.

BY CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER,
AUTHOR or “DIAMOND DUKE,” “IRISH CAP-
TAIN,” are, ETC.

CHAPTER 1.
TWO TRAVELERS.
18WHO does not remember the riot summer of

77?

How hot it was! For weeks not a drop of
rain fell over half the Union. The white dust
covered everything as with a veil, and the
leaves curled up under their wdery covering,
afraid to look out till the f ling of the night-

ews.

In the midst of this sultry season a slight,
handsome and delicatedooking boy, who seemed

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M. J. IVERS a; (70., Publishers,
(JAMES SULLIVAN, Puorma'ron),
379 Pearl Street, New.York.

as if he might have been about sixteen, and
whose dress indicated poverty if not want, plod—
ded wearin along one of the roads that led
from the coal regions of Pennsylvania toward
Pittsburg.

The sun was near the zenith, and the dust rose
in little clouds at every step taken by the young
wayfarer. but he stil pressed on; for he saw
beforo him a forest, which promised him shade,
coolness and rest.

The country around was of that rich and
smiling description which is apt to raise envy
in the bosom of the poor man, as he casts his
eyes on pleasant mansions in the midst of their
fields and orchards, and contrasts it with his
own dusty path.

The boy in question seemed to feel this, for he
uttered a heavy sigh, just ere he entered the
wood, as he caught sight of the gleaming glass
roof of a conservatory several miles away, at
the side of a large and handsome stone house.

“ There is the place ” he muttered, half aloud;
“but for all the good it will do me, I might as
well be in Siberia.” '

The house which he had noticed lay on the
other side of the wood which he was entering,
and he soon lost sight of it; but the refreshing

 

 

10 Cents a. Copy.
$1.00 a Year.

Vol. LXXXII.

 

coolness of the green beeches and oaks turned
the current of his thoughts to pleasanter themes
than his own overty. .

“ After all,’ he said, aloud, baring his head to
the light breeze that stirred under the trees, so
different to the sultry calm outside; “ after alL
there is some pleasure, even in a tramp’s life.”

“ You jest bet your sweet life there is,
sonny,” unexpecte 1y answered a voice near
him, and the boy turned with a start to see a
man of huge frame and rough appearance lying
on his back under a tree, staring at him.

There was no uestion as to the calling of this
lazy stranger. rom his fragment of a battered
straw hat his uncombed hair and heard,
through a his rags, down to his bare, dirty
feet, he was a perfect specimen of the true sum—
mer tramp.

“ Well, sonny, how d’yer like the road?” he
asked, in a condescending tone. “ Hain’t been
on it long, I see.”

“ How do you know that?” asked the other, a
little sulkily.

The tramp grinned in reply.

“ ’Cause 0’ yer boots. You ain‘t no real tram

'yet. Likely’s not, yer’ve got some stamps 1

—heys sonny 1”

 

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, “If I have, I know enough to keep them,”
Was the dry answer, and the boy was turning
away when the big tram rose quickly to his
feet and gave a Couple of s rides, saying:

“ We’ll see about that, my gay rooster.”

“ Keep off!” angrily cried the youngster, as
:he ,pther advanced. “What do you take me

or?

As he ke, out came a little pistol from his
pocket, w 'ch he cocked with a sharp click that
meant business; and so the big tramp seemed
to think, for he halted and began to laugh in an
uneasy sort of way, saying

“ Git out, pard, I was on
hurt yer for ten dollars.”

“ I don’t intend on shall,” retorted the un-
daunted bpvy, sharp y. “ Who are you?”

“ Me? by, sonny, I’m jest the nicest feller,
when yer know me, as ever er did know.
That’s so. I’m Bill Barlow. he Boss of the
Bummers, I am. hat might your name be?”

“It might be anythin , but you can call me
Jack if you’re anxious, ’answered the boy, in
$16 same sharp, suspicious way he had used all

on .

Bi yBarlow inned quite amicably and ex-
tends his huge orny hand. ,

“Put it there, my gay rooster,” he cried.
“ Fur a little cuss as you air, you hev a hea o’
Wt. Spunky Jack you air and shall be ti 1—

here be you goin’, pard?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders in an impa—
tient manner.

“ What does that matter to you? Where are
you oing *ourself?”

“ lie? hy, sonny, I’m a‘most home. We’ve

ot our reg'lar roostin’-place in these parts.

ich a gang you never seen, and sick 3. place.
Didn’t yer never hear tell 0’ the VVanderer’s
Home?”

“No,” answered the boy, more quietly, and
puttipg away his pistol as he spoke. “ Vhere
is it?

“ In the middle of these woods. If on don’t
live in these parts, but air a real true ummer,
I’ll show yer. None of these guys know whar
it is, nor the co s nuther. Now, sonny, whar
be ypu from, an whar air you goin’ to? That’s
biz.’ /

“Where I’m from is no business of yours.
Where I’m oing to is my Own. I’m on my
feet, because ’ve no inone for cars; and if you
suspect me to be a spy, w y, I can go my way
alone.” ‘

The big tramp stared at the slight frame of
the boy with mingled wonder and mirth.

“Waal, Spunky Jack,” he remarked, “you
air a rooster and no mistake. Come along, my
little bantam, and we’ll show you life in real
’arnest—” \

“Hush i” said the boy‘, suddenly lifting his
“What’s that? heels coming?”

“ Oh, let ’em come,” answered the tramp, dis-
dainfully. “ We can’t git anything out of the
folks what drives at this time 0‘ day. It’s the
farmers as we tackles, pard.”

The boy made no answer but to stare down
the forest road, where a distant white cloud of
dust could be seen coming rapidly on, through
which gleamed the bright wheels of a carriage.
Billy Barlow watched him with much curiosity,
for such a tramp he had never seen before.
Slenderin' frame and handsome in face, with
10 flaxen curls that almost hid the back of his
nec , flowing from under a broad hat, his dress
was a puzzle to the veteran tramp. He was
well shed, and his brown velveteen jacket and
light trowsers were of good out, though old and
worn. Still, there was a certain jaunty air to
the whole dress, shabby as it was, that ill suit-
ed Billy’s. ideas of the true tramp; and visions
of detectives began to flit through his mind as
he looked. .

But, meantime, the carriage came dashing
on, and the boy continued to watch it with the
same eagerness. It came from the direction of
the great house with the conservatory he had
noticed on the other side of the wood.

Presently it swept by; a handsome open
phaéton and pair, driven by a black coachman
and in it sat a grand-looking, white-headed old
gentleman, with a richlydressed oung lady by

is side, while on the front sea was a tem—
looking man, with a short black mustache.
Bill Barlow watched the boy and saw his
face change as the carriage came nearer. He
turned very pale and stared at the occupants
with an intentness that showed that he recog-

nized them.

Then, as the vehicle within a few feet
of them, he dsdied out to the road with a sort
ofscream. and flredhis little pistolatthe man
with the b mustache.

It was all over in a moment.

The tramp saw the flash; heard the shag:
crackofthe littlew ;sawthe manm ,
thrownp his arms fall back on the seat-
heard the lady’s shriek and the startled cries of
the occupants of the carriage; and then he
turned and darted into the wood, plunging into
the thickets in to haste.

.The“Bossof Bum rs” knewthatthe
mm ceasedtobe heal yfor him;for'he

yfoolin’. I wouldn’t

 

in the occu ts of tin carriage
the » 3m vort, (who owned
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situated the Tram ’8 Paradise, alias “Wander-
er’s Home,”) with t e Honorable Oliver Calvert,
President of the Air Line Road to Pittsburg,
both public and influential persons.

Therefore he vanished into the thickest of the
wood as fast as he could, fearing immediate pur-
suit and recognition.

As for the boy, he did not seem to be at all
alarmed at the consequences of his actions. He
stood there in the road the smoke still curlin
from the muzzle of his istol, and laughed
fiercely as he saw the river, with frantic
energy, whip up the horses and dash on at full
5 e

“ Drive on, Peter,” he cried, careless whether
he was heard or not. “Mr. Oliver Calvert will
carry my mark for awhile, I think. He can’t go
fast enough to lose that.”

Then he calmly blew the smoke from his pis-
tol, threw away the empty cartridge, and in-
serted a fresh one, after which he returned the
weapon to his hip-pocket, and walked quietly
into the wood, just as the carriage disappeared
round a turn of the road.

He had not gone far when he heard a voice
calling out in a hoarse Whis )er:

“Jack! Isayl Spun ack!”

“ Well, what is it?” as ed the boy, impatient-

y.
Out came big Billy Barlow with a pale face.

“ Waal, Spunky, you‘ve done it now. Where

are they? Didn’t they follow a”
“ Follow mel I should say not. Old Uncle
Peter was so frightened he let his horses run
for all they were worth. I hit the villain.”
“ You mean J edge Calvert? Golly! Guess
ye did, S )unky. Do you know him then?”
“ Yes, know him,” was the short answer.
“I swore I’d be even with him, and I am.
Come, Billy, where’s this Tramp’s Heaven you
told about?”
Billy Barlow was for the time completely con—
uered by the ascendancy of mind over matter.
he great brute was naturally a bully, and had
had serious thoughts of tryin to take the boy
by surprise, with a view to rob in him; but the
quickness and ferocity with whic this slender
youngster had taken his own art had changed

he tramp’s mind in that ua er, while the sud-
den assault he had just Witnesscd satisfied him
that his new crony could not be an officer of the

law.

“All right, S )unky,” he said, cheerfully.
“Come along an I’ll show yer. Gosh! How
yer did lay out that fellerl Ain’t ye ’fraid
he’ll set the co s on yer?”

“ Not be! e knows me too well,” answered
the boy, in the fierce, scornful way he had used
all along. “He knew he deserved it.”

“ Why, What has he done?” asked Billy.

“None of your business,” was the uncivil re-
tort. “ Who are your friends out there?”

As he spoke they could see, throu h the dim
arches of the wood, wreaths of smo e and the
forms of men and women moving to and fro.
Billy Barlow made no answer, for he began to
feel that he had stood the back talk of this
saucy boy as long as he needed to do, and al-
ready he was planning a little revenge for the
youngster’s rudeness.

When the question was repeated he answered
in a dignified tone:

“ Them’s my pards. We’re enterin’ the Wan-
derer’s Home. You jest wait till you see our
king, and he’ll make you keep a civil tongue in
your head.”

“ And who’s your king?” asked the boy, in a
tone of more curiosity than he had yet ex-
hibited.

“He’s Lord Nemo, of Noman’s Castle, King
of the Tramps,” replied Billy Barlow, proudly.
“There air only one Boss of the Bunimers—
that’s me—and on] one King of the Tramps——
that’s him—and a the rest is frauds. So now,
my ay rooster, We’ll see if you don’t at your
com cut afore ou’ro many minutes 0 der.”

As he spoke, e suddenly clutched the boy’s
shoulder with a gripe like iron.

 

CHAPTER 11.
ran TRAMPS’ mam.

GOOD as were the intentions of Mr. Barlow in
regard to seizing the audacious stripling who
had shown so much fearless inde ndence he
had not calculated on the wary quickness of his
companion. “ S nky Jack," as the tramp 
named him, had on care to keep on the ri ht
side of his ne hbor, who thus seized him by he
left arm; an before Barlow could clutc his
other arm, out came the little pistol, and there
was another flash and report, followed by an

or ofpain from ebigmamwhom-
stinc iv y released his hold.

In the same instant the boylleaped back re-
cocking his little pistol, and en came a loud
shouting and trampling, as a crowd of men and
women came running through the woods to-
ward the pair.

Bill Barlow stood grindin his teeth and
grinn with pain as he 11 one of his ears,
which b ed profusely; and the boy, as pale as
death, but w , 9. expression of de-
termination on young face, set his back

instsbi tree and seemed resolvedrto sell
life , y.
I

    

 

In truth he had reason to fear, for the crowd
of people coming toward him seemed made up
of desperadoes and viragoes of the worst t pa;
and the hoarse cries with which they rush on
were enough to intimidate the bravest of men.

In another moment they were all around the
pair shouting:

~‘ Who is it, Bill?”

“ What’s the guy done, cully?"

“ Let’s mash im!” l

“ Bu’st the young snoozer with a rock 1”

These and other complimen phrases, de-
livered from angry men and shrill-voiced wo.
men, had no effect on the young stran r, save
to make him grasp his pistol more firm .

When two or three of the tram s m e a mo—
tion as if to attack him, he c led out, in a
clear, sha voice:

“Keep o , bummersl I can drive a nail ev-
ery time, and I’ve five shots left.”

“ Hit him with a rock! He’s a spy,” growled :
Billy Barlow, fiercely. ’

T en the tumult recommenced, fiercer than!
ever, thou b not a man ventured to come with-
in twelve eet of the b0 , but the women began
to scream from the bac of the crowd:

“Smash the spy, cullies! Smash him I” l

This, however, was what no one of the furious
mob had pluck enough to do, and as there were
no stones in the wood, it seemed as if hostilities
must come to a pause, when—whizll—one of
the women in the rear threw a stick of wood,
which just missed the boy’s head, and the inci-
dent started a fresh (fiy:

ash the snoozer with a

“ Clubs! Clubs!
club!” .
The were just scatterin on their amiable

erran ,in search of clubs, w en a tall man with
a huge beard came strolling leisurely up to the ,
circle, at sight of whom the mob paused, while
a number of voices began to tell Billy Barlow’s
story, all together, in various forms.

The tall man listened as he came on, and soon
arrived in front of the beleaguered boy, when he *
8 read out his arms and shouted in tones of

under: .

“ Stop your noisel”

The effect was immediate. The wildest ruf-
fian in the crowd became silent in a moment,
and not even a woman’s tongue wagged in the
stillness.

Then the tall man stalked to the front of the
crowd, and advanced straight on the boy, look-
ing‘ him in the eye. .-

o the surprise of all, the lad, who had been
so fearless before, did not offer to fire at the
tall man. Instead, he lowered his pistol. and
stood staring at the other in a dazed, bewildered
sort of way.

The bearded tramp stopped about three feet
from the boy, and looked at him.

Presently he spoke, in a deep rich voice:

“ Give me that pistol, boy. 1We don’t allow
them in our cam . ’

The boy looked) up in his face with a forced,
painful smile.

“ Will you take care of me?” he asked.

“ No one shall hurt ou,” answered the tall
man. “ I am Nemo, ng of the Wanderers.” .

Without another word the boy uncooked the
Weapon and handed it ~ to the King of the
Tramps, who took it quietlv, looked at it all
over, and then thrust it under a recess in his
own rag ed garments.

That gone, he turned round and waved his
hand with an air of authority.

“I answer for this boy,” he said. “ Who
touches him will have to fight me.”

The only person who ventured to say a word
was big Bil y Barlow. '

“ Look-a-here, Km Nome,” he cried, excited—
1y,“ you ain’t dom’ t 0 square thing here. This
rooster’s jest plugged a hole in my ear.”

“ What did you do to him?” asked Name, in
the same authoritative wa _

“That ain’t nothin’ to do with it. He’s a spy
fur the c . .” .

“ You lei” interrupted the boy, fiercely.
“ You know you lie. If I were a detective,
would I have shot that man I did to-day? I’m
a poor traveler, gentlemen, a tramp like your-
se ves, Heaven help me—”

f‘ Stop 13 bit, Youngster,” interrupted Name,
With a smile under his huge beard. “ You mis-
take. . These gentlemen are not tramps at all.
That is a vulgar word used b a vulgar World,
and quite out of place here. e are gentlemen,
who we on our means—and those of other peo-
ple—and wander about for pleasure. We are
all wanderers- not tramps.” ‘

“That’s so!” came from several voices.

“ Well, then, I’m' a wanderer, too, homeless
and friendless,” cried the b0 , in a shaking
voice, “and I thought that ere, where on
are in the same way, I might find friends; at,
as it is—”

And his overstrained young nerves seemed to

"70 way at last, for he met out ma fit of sob-

ing.

As it happened, he could hare done nothin
wiser. The tramps had been lookin at his paleg
handsome face, with its , dsr eyes, mi
clusterin curls; and more one woman’s
heart has softened toward him.

When he broke out crying, a handsome, dark.
faced Gipsygirl suddenlydarted out of the

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crowd and threw her arm round his neck, cry-

ing out:

‘He shall be my kanmier,‘l cullies. Stand
clear for Gipsy Nan’s kammer. Come along,
not a man in this crowd shall hurt yer, for I’m
Gi Nan.”

' he Gipsy’s favor seemed to turn the scale,
for the boy could notice a great many Gi sy
faces in the crowd, as he went off with an
and a party of her wild comrades. His recep-
tion mine to be at last assured, and there was
no more trouble as he entered the spot which
was denominated, by common consent, the
“ I’Vanderer’s Home,” or “ Tranip’s Paradise.”

All the crowd, that had at first surrounded
him, began to saunter back to their fires, and
he had leisure to look about him and examine
the spot.

The wanderers had shown a great deal of
taste in their selection of a halting—place. In the
midst of dense woods lay a green meadow of
some live or six acres in extent, through which
ran a brawling brookgparklin in the sunlight.
The grass was deep a soft, ry wood plenti-
ful in the underbrush around, while blackber-
ries and wild raspberries abounded in the vi-
cinity.

There were some hundred or so of tramps
of both sexes scattered about, of whom near-
I a third were gathered in a cam by
themselves, around some carts and tethered
horses. This was the quarter of the camp to
which the boy was led by Nan, and it was easy
to see that its inhabitants were Gi ies. Their
dark faces and lustrous eyes won (1 have told
this, had not the su erior air of comfort which
they exhibited in it plain. They had not
the haggard and desperate look of the others,
and more than one tent had been pitched among
them, stretched over arched willow wands, like
a wagon tilt, while the other tramps slept on
the bare ground. _

The presence of horses and a portable forge,
in to middle of the camp, sh0wed their occu-
Baflon still plainer, for the Gipsies have been

one-jockeys and farriers, time out of mind.

They held themselves a little aloof from the

tether tramps, and comfort reigned in their

‘quarter; for every fire had a pot swinging on a
tripod above it, and a savory smell issued from

overypot.

“ ell, my Betty Bye,”+ began Gipsy Nan,
familiarly, as she led the boy into her camp, her
arm round his neck, “ what’s your namel’

“ Call me Jack,” answered the lad, simply;
“ I’ve no other name that I’ve a right to.”

~g“ Oh, Jlack’s good enough 111;» ug,” sag thie

i). r,ga . Here,cu 'es,tisis an-
somengck. [Io looks like a Romanichalz, and
if he only talked Romany as he ought held be no
parties.”

“ What’s a perdas?” asked the boy, a little
timidly, for all his daring seemed to have de-
serted him since he first beheld the tall figure of
King Nemo.

“ A pertlus is a stranger,” answered Nan,
promptl ', “one of the tramps as the Eyes call

them. ou’re a perdus now. but if there's no
Roman blood in on, I’m a pcrrlns myself.”
“ An what’s 9. ye?” asked Jack.

“ A Eye’s a gentleman, in your tongue.“

“And you think I’m a gentleman?” asked the
bog, in a meaning tone.

psy Nan flashed her dark eyes at him sud-
denly and gave him such a look that the young
stranger flushed up to the temples, ere he was
answered.

Then she said, slowly: \

“ The Bomanichal asks no questions, brother.
Here’s the pot oil the fire. Dip in with us and
eat if you’re not too proud.”

Handsome Jack said no more, but followed
her advice with good grace, for he was very

m‘x‘ii’i' -

1 6 they Were all crouching round the

flat iron pot on the ground, the tall form of
g Nemo assed by, and all the Gipsies rose

.and saluted im respectfully.

The boy stranger followed their examxfla
naming to be much confused, for‘he did not
hisrgyesl (I'lheIn und as he bovi'led.he

0 y- 00 ng tramp wit t queer

 

, Nemo, King gthevTramps.

what life was till he turned wanderer and join—
ed the Romanichal. He has sense. He can
talk Romany, he can. Pity you can’t, my lit—
tle perdas.” .

The boy made no answer; but stood gazmg
after the figure of Nemo in the afternoon sun-
light. It was, as we have hinted, very tall and
imposing, but there was something weird and
singular about it. King Nemo stood over six
feet in his bare soles, and had the slender,
broad-shouldered, slim-waisted figure of a oung
man in his prime while his long hair an huge
dark beard were very thick an curly.

His costume consisted of a motley array of
streaming rags of all colors, and it was hard to
tell whether they had any shape and cohesion or
not, though the fact that those above hung over
those below argued that these latter were con
fined by a belt somewhere under the upper por-
tion of his tatters.

Such was his dress and personal appearance
that crowds followed him whenever he went
into a village, while the forest of hair that hid
his face, from which shone out two great dark
eyes, gave him still more the appearance of a
maniac.

It was after this figure, stalking into the re-
cesses of the woods that Handsome Jack pres-
ently followed, slowly and hesitatingly, as the
King of the Tramps strode on.

They passed out of the cam where the lazy
tramps were lying on their bac s in the shade,
munching the remains of stolen chickens and
pigs, or smoking their black pi , while the be—
draggled women nursed their irty babies; and
soon found themselves before a rude shelter of
be ,hs, built before a hollow tree.

'lgn Nemo turned and said:

“ ow, J acko, what brings you here i”

 

CHAPTER III.

_ OLIVER AND THE GIPSI‘ES.
“ THE palatial mansion of our honored Sena-
tor,” as the Calverton Chronicle elegantly
hrased it; in other words the country house of
enator Calvert was put into a perfect flurry of
excitement that afternoon by the arrival of the
master’s carriage with sweatin horses, bearing
the news of a (faring outrage y highway rob-

rs.

To the people of Calvert county the Senator
with his wen th and station, had always seemed

'to be a sort of demigod. To hear that his car-
riage had been attacked in open daylight by a
pair of tramps seemed to them like a sacri e.

hey would not have believed it but for t e
mute evidence afforded by the condition of
Oliver Calvert, the Senator s us how, who was
brought back to the house, wounded by a pistol-
ball, and as pale as if he had seen a ghost.

It was true that the doctor, who was sent for
in haste pronounced the wound slight, a small-
caliber bullet having gone through the fleshy
part of the shoulder; but none the less the peo-
ple round Calverton seemed to think the world
was coming to an end. As for the wounded
man, he seemed to be more cast down bytbe as-
sault than the nature of the wound warranted,
for he remained of. a dead White pallor all day,
and started apprehensiver at every sudden
noise in the house, however slight. '

“In fact, Oliver,” observed Miss Helen Ches-
ter, his uncle’s ward, “ you seem to be a
deal worse frightened than I am, and that’s
needless.”

Miss Chester was a mud, handsome girl
whose fortune brou ht er many suitors; and
rumor had engage her to her distant cousin,
Oliver, more than once, without her knowledge.
He was lying on the lounge in the
drawin -room as she spoke, and the 01 Senator
1:119]; ta king earnestly to the doctor -in the

Oliver Calvert turned his as on Helen with
a pleading expression ver iflerent from the
stern glance be generally ted and said:

“ You always are cruel to me, Helen, and yet
you know I’d die for you.”

“ You won’t die for any one,” retorted the
lady, sharply. “If I’d been a. man I’d have
jumped out of the carriage and found out who
those wretches were.”

eatcool ‘

3

“how you talk! Do on think we’re to sit
down and fold our han while these wretchea
take possession of the country? Oh, I wish Har-
ve was here! He’d—” '
he was interrupted by an angry cry from
the old Senator. -

“How dare you mention that name in my
hearing, Helen?”

The young lady tossed her head.

“ I don’t see w y I shouldn’t mention Harvey
Calvert. He’s my cousin, and I always liked
him.’

The old Senator’s face had turned as white as
his hair, and his ve lips were gray; but his
eye lared as he said in trembling tones:

“ elen, I order you to be silent. I will not-
bear that person’s name in this house. I for—
bade it some years ago, and—”

“And then I wasa child. Now I am a wo-
man and I’ll not be treated like a baby. Har—~
vey Calvert's your son, and ou’re an unnatural
father—yes, uncle Harvey, say what I mean.
He’s your son, and I won t hush for you.”

The old Senator knew better than to try and
stop his ward when she got into what the ser-
vants called “one of her tantrums,” and Miss
Helen’s ton e was notoriously bitter on such
occasions. hen she had finished her little
burst, he altered his own tone to one of grave
sorrow. p

“ I did not think, Helen, that you would com-
prel me to tear open my old wounds afresh.

on were too young to know what was the
matter at the time. Let me close the subject
now and forever. The person of whom you
speak robbed his own father who loved him as
tenderly as ever child was loved, and fled like
a thief in the night, enticing with him to ruin a
young and pure girl.”

“I don’t believe it!” was Helen’s reply, and
as she spoke she sat down and folded her hands
on her la . “I—don’t—believe it, uncle. Is
that plain ’

“Don’t believe it, Helen? Child, ask Oliver.”

“I won’t ask Oliver! He doesn’t know any
more about it than you do. I tell you sir,
there’s a mistake somewhere. M cousin, Har-
vey Calvert, never did the base t 'n you say
he did. He was incapable of them. t was not
in his nature. Was it, Oliver?”

She turned quickly round on Oliver, and
found that person gazing at her with a strange
a rehensive ex ression.

‘ Was what, elen ?” he asked, confusedly.

“ Was it in Harvey Calvert’s nature to rob
his father and betray an innocent girl! You
know it was not.”

“I don’t know, Helen. The evidence was
too strong to be resisted. I wish I could disbe-
lieve it,” replied Oliver, in his saddest tone.
“ Heaven knows I loved my poor cousin, Har-
vey; but it was tooplain that he carried of
that unfortunate girl, Jacqueline Raynaud, at
the very time the Senator was robbed of all
those bonds.”

Helen gave a short, bitter laugh. I

“Yes. I heard about that at the time. Poor
Jacqueline! She was very fond of me, and I
suppose that’s the reason they drove her out of
Elbe hpuse. Every one 1 like gets into trouble

ere.

Here the old Senator interrupted her with a
voice of much severity.

“ Helen, I will not have this. Miss Ra ml
was made your French governess out of c 'ty
to her father and mother, when she was not old
enough to teach you anything but the accent.
She disgraced us and herself by eloping with a

rson who never darkens my doors again, and

wish to hear no more of her or him.”

As he spoke, the .old gentleman, now flushed
with impatient anger, began to stride up and
down the room, an finally banged the door he-
hind him and went u stairs. ’

Helen had folded er arms and was tapp'
the floor impatient] With one little foot, her
face looking set an defiant, when Oliver ven-

tured to say:

“Helen, why will on irritate the Senator in
this useless way? He never leave you a penny
at this rate.”

:2?“ turned on him with her usual quick im-

 

 

 

name closed to Handsome Jack and said “Did you want me to be killed in earnest?” pe ty.
ma low tone: he expostulated. “Those two rufllans were “Oliver Calvert, I verily believe you know
“ Come to my but as soon as you have eaten. bent on murder. I saw it in their eyes.” something about r Harvey and won’t tell.
I would speak with you.” “ Which I couldn’t, havi tony back to them. If so on re a—w 1, you know.”
The boy bowed low growing scarlet to the But I only saw one who 100 like a radian, . “ y, Helen,” he answered, in his
mots of his hair, and limo passed on. Gipsy as we came up. The other seemed to me to be oily tone “ what a oer notion of ours! How
Nan. heard the words and gave a curious look at a. little b0 .” should I know anytgng of poor rvey—stfll
. her new friendkliiut mid nothing for some min- Oliver alvert turned, if anything, a little more of—i” .
_,_ 11308,. till the ug of the Tramps was out of lot as she spoke, but made no ' for, inst “Of J ueline—I didn’t say you did, but I
,3. hearing. en, the Senator came bustling , saying believe it. used to be with you a deal
1} Then she Owned: cheerfully: more than with Harvey. So much remem-
,. u. There’s a handsome” Bye for you. Ho’s at “ Well, Oliver, my , the doctor says you’ll her.”
v “308m,” hem. beallrightinadayor wo and I’vesentwm-d Shehadtnrnedherhead awn as shospokn,
Oh, he )3 egg, Indeed!” murmured the tothe aherifl' to have all those tramps turned and mlooking out of the win , sothat Ibo ~
b0 vinalpwtono, andYOt-hommnmch outofourw sand mted,sowecanflnd couldnotaeethopeenliarglnnceshotatherhy ,
' 011118- _ out who it was shot you. I think I should know Oliver. s
Gi Nmmupbehiflinlfltherdik thebigtrampa min.” ' lnthatmomentthomandroppedallhisu- "
“ Way: " “ Oliver leaned . his eye closed for a named languor and humili , and his duh, “
 Bulletins! Ibo 00h°°¢ ' 36 DB"? knew moment, andthen said: heavy-jawed face looked as orblddingu Inch 
 r . ' “It will be no use, air. The ’vo fled the one. couldlook. figt his voice wuuimoofi 
t .  g ' Kammer or cum, Romy: for lover. country before this, and .we shall only the and 0in as ever, u 1: ed: , i.
f . _ 1 M 3+: or 3”, ma. mam wrong  Better let them alone. '19 “ Youfnrc WI“ ' m. Ram” :
a, .v 3 . . m gamma, y or r u upright] we . 
g , ~ layman...“ u. " Why, Oliver,”cxclnimod Hahn, My; . never for me.” y n 
. .gi


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4:

 

Helen turned quickly and faced him.

know it. She told me you had prmnised to
marry her.”

lie succeeded in smiling after a fashion, but
the effort was very much of a sneer as he an-
swered:

“ My dear cousin, the girl was deceiving you.

Why it was only the very next day she fled ‘

with rvcy.”

“ I don’t know that she did flee with Harvey.
You were awa , too.”

“In Philade phia, Helen. I can account for
every minute of my time. Surely, we went

into that matter fully when that wretched boy "

disgraced us all.”
“ I don’t know that he did disgrace us, Oliver.

I know that uncle Harvey flew into a passion i

and cursed his son without giving him an op-
portunity to be board after thOSe bonds were
missing. I know that you stood by and said
nothing to help Harve ', and that we’ve never
seen him since, and as or the rest, I firmly be-
lieve that my cousm Harvey Calvert is as good
a fellow as ever breathed, and that some wretch,
I don’t say who, has put suspicion on him. So
there 1”

As she spoke, she got up and was sweeping
from the room with the dignity of an oflendcd
princess, when Oliver arrested her with the re-
mark:

“ Stay, cousin Helen, there is no way of mis—
understanding you. Probably you mean that I
accuse Harve .”

“ i did not say who did it. sir.”

“ You don’t say so in words, but you mean it.
Probably you think I ran away with Jacque-
line, also?

“ If you did: and then deserted her, you would
have been the meanest kind of a villain, Oliver
Calvert.”

l “ Granted—i f. But, as I did neither, it seems
to me you’re a little unjust to set on me like
ithis, Helen.”

' “ I suppose you think so,” she replied, in
the dryest of tones; “ but, I know what I know,
Oliver, and as I don’t wish to argue the case
with you, I’ll bid you good-morning.”

And she SWPplS out, with or head in the air,
while Oliver Calvert lay guzin after her with a
dark, evil look, that was his ha itual expression
thu not in the Senator’s presence.

“ I wonder how much she does know ?” he
muttered t0 himmlf, as she disappeared. “That
fool swore she’d keep the secret, and she
wouldn’t dare to open communication with
them now.”

He relapsed into a fit of brooding, from which
he was roused by the twangin r of some stringed
instrument, accompanied by t e thumping of a
tambourine, outside the window.

With a slight grimace of pain, from his
wounded shoulder, Oliver rose from the lounge
and went to the large windows which opened out
on the broad piazza.

Outside the house on the green lawn which
was kept so in that hot season, only by con-
stant sprinkling, stood a picturesgue group of
Gipsy girls, with a single man 0 remarkable
ap icarance.

laxceedingly tall, his body covered with a
motley collection of rags, his features hidden
by a profusion of hair and bushy heard, this
strange beingI had a certain wild dignity in his
appearance t at compelled respect even from
Oliver Calvert, harsh as he was, and domineerc
ing by nature.

He had come to the window intending to or-
der of! the intruders; but he remained staring
with curiosity at King Nemo, for it was none.
0 her.

The chief bore in his arms a sort of lute, ac-
companied by two dark Gipsy girls of remarka-
ble beauty, one of whom carried a tambourine,
the other a triangle while both were gayly at-
tired in scarlet, black and ellow—ra ed
enough, but picturesque, and suiting their 'n-
doo faces, and dark, mysterious eyes.

Oliver Calvert hardly noticed them, so much
Was be attracted by the weird figure of the Gip—
8y monarch, and it was in tones of some aston-
ishment that he asked him: /

“ Who in the world are you, and what do you
want here?” '

“I am the Euro Rai Romanichal,” answered
_ the wanderer, in a deep, musical vorce of singu—
lar power and beauty. “Avata dooi tano ju-
Ws git gitty n'keno ranee.”*

Oliver stared at him and his natural imperi-
ous wai came back to him as he saw that seve-
ral of t e helpers in the grounds had come near
to stare at the ragged monarch.

“ What do you mean?” he demanded, an-
ally”. “Confound your gibberish! Talk Eng-

Tbe Gipsy monarch smiled as ,he answered in
the same melodious tones:

“ I am King Nemo, of 'the Wanderers.
come here only to sing for the pretty lady.”

“ What pretty lady do on mean?” was the
nonrin airy. ‘ I’m nota ady. Just you clear
out an don’t let me see you round here again.

‘ 9
* I am the Great Lord 'of the (31de and I come
‘with two of myglrls toting a song forthe pretty

 

wt

 

Nemo, King of the Tramps. W

Herc boys, put these vagabonds out of the gate
“ Cousin Oliver, she did care for you, and you ,

and let the dogs loose on them if they come
again.”

Willingly enough the stablemen came up to ‘

execute the gentleman’s orders, for U‘iivcr was
looked upon cycrywhere as the Senator’s bz-ir
smeo the cxile of his missing son Harwey, but it

was with some caution that they advanced, for i

any one could soc that the Gipsy‘ was a giant of
strength and activity. '

King Ncnio looked at them with his usual np— ,

pearance of imperturbablo calm till they came
near, when he suddenly handed his lute to one
of the rirls, and leaped like a tiger into the
midst oilJ the men, sending them over like so
many ninepins with straight lunges of his long
arms, and utting them to instant and igno-
minious flig t. ‘

That done, he stalked up to the edge of the
piazza and said as quietly as if nothing had
hap ened:

‘ I came as a friend, Oliver Calvert, but as
a foe you have received me. Look to your-
self!”

Even while he spoke Helen came running out
of the parlor window, attracted b the noise,
and used spellbound before the weird figure of
the ips king. who, on his part gave a violent
start an stared at her as if he were thunder-
struck. '

Helen recovered herself first and asked:

“ Who are you, in Heaven’s name?”

“ I am Nemo, nobody, a wanderer and an out-
cast,” was the deep repl , in En lish, and then
the Gipsy king stretchedyout his ands as if in-
voking a blessing on her. “ Mademl achi' )alcstit
tulc, ranee’l‘,” he said; then turned and oft the
spot without another word.

CHAPTER IV.
THE TRAMPS' PLOT.

Ma. BARLOW, “ Boss of the Bummers,” as he
probably styled himself, was not by any means
unworthy of that title as he sat amon his
brother tramps under the shade of the “ an—
derers’ Home.”

The gentlemen of the road had had very good
luck that day in their visnts to the neighboring
farmers. Chickens were plentiful in camp, and
one party had succeeded in bullying a farmer’s
wife (during her husband’s absence) into letting
them roll oil’ a barrel of apple—jack, over which
the camp was now holding iigh festival.

In the center of this particular crowd, proud-
1 seated on the summit of the barrel, was Mr.

arlow himself; and the redness of his face tes-
tified that he had done his share toward empty-
ing his throne of the refreshments it had but
lately contained. _

“ Yes, pals,” the Boss observed, holding up
his battered tin pannikin, “ here’s the last of it;
and, if you’re fly to crack a crib,+ I’ll show you
where 3 on kin all get so drunk you won’t know
whether ou’re standin’ on your head or heels.”

“ Ger ’ 01W,” shouted on uproarious m mp, in
tones of wild delight. “ Show us the crib, cul-
ly, and we’ll crack it.”

“ It’s a big beak’s crib as keeps a hull cellar of
Wines and aich. I seen it this nioriiin’ from the
road,” explained the Boss of the Bunnneis, to
which a gray-headed old Virago, known as
“ Fire—faced Martha,” res ondcd:

“Ay, cullies, I know tie beak. His name’s
Calvert, and he owns the hull country round
here. ’Twon’t do to crack his crib, or we’ll
have all the cops in Pensilnick artcr us.”

“ What do you know about it?"scornt‘ully de—
manded Billy Barlow. “ \Vc’re in his woods
now, and he dasn’t turn us out. ’Cnuse why?
’Cause he clasn’t. Hain’t you never heard how
the people’s a-strikin’ for their liberties down in
Vir inn ?”

“ el , what’s that got to do with cracking
old Calvert’s crib‘l” retorted Martha, with a
sneer.

“ ’Cause he and all the rest of the guys is so
skeered ’bout the strikes, they dasn’t say a
word to us tramps till the ’re sure the ’re over,”
triumphantly answered t e tramp. ‘ I tell yer
the railroad men has struck, and there’s gwine
to be bloody times this summer, so we may as

well take our share of the swag while it’s a-goin’.

Who’s in for it, cullies? Don’t want no women. .

Men’s our best bolt. Who’ll try it to-nighti"

At least twenty tramlps eagerlly cried out that
they were read , and illy ar ow commenced
to la out his p an of action at once.

“ ve been ’round the place and spied it all out.
The ’ve got a nigger coachman, two Irish
stab omen a gardener and a. lot of women ser-
vanta. There’s the old beak—him they call
Senator—ho sleeps in the house, and he’s no

ood. Then there’s his nevy, the Jed 9, him as
unk Jack plugged to-dai, blast im! He
a n’t gut no more B ht in im nor a sheep.
Then here’s the gal t ey call Helen, and four
more wimmin; that’s all.”

“ But where do the men sleep?” asked a tramp,
more cautious than his fellows.

“Over the stable,” answered Bill . “Six of
us kin handle ’01:: with clubs, and‘ he rest kin
clear out the shehang?"

‘GodbleutheoJady. , ' ‘
iBeadytohreakintoahouue. Thievel'patter.

 

 

, ,_,_-...._..___._.

There was a hum of assent among the tramps,
till one of them asked:

“ Shall we let them in?”

He 5 mice in a. low tone, jerking his thumb to-
ward t 18 (iipsy part of thc camp, which was, as
usual, separate from the tramps.

Billy Barlow looked dngUhIGd.

“In cmrsc not! They ain’t no good. Keep
dark and don‘t give it away. Likely’s not they

i wouldn’t help us. There’s Spunky Jack, blast

his picter! he‘s got grit, if he did plug me.
'Wish we could git Mm in with us. He’s got
some grudge a ’in’ the folks thar. Don’t know
what it is, but e’s thar all the time."

“ S’pose I o in among ’em and git him,” sug-
gested a little foxy—faced tramp, who went by
the name of “ Jim, the Faker.”

No objection being made, the Faker lounged
in among the Gi .ies, and seen returned with
the report that S unky Jack was not in camp
at all. He had isappeared, and none of the
Gipsies knew or pretended to know where he
had gone.

Billy Barlow swore a great oath.

“ Blow my skin if the young varmint ain’t a
cop’s s y, as I said he was. If I ketch him
again, ’11 mash him.”

“ Him and Gips ' Nan went ofl.‘ together. I
seen ’em,” observe Fire-faced Martha. tranquil-
ly removing a black pipe from her mouth.
“You cullies ain’t no good to spot nobody.
King Nemo was with ’em.”

“ Then, why in bloomin’ blazes didn’t you tell
us so at first?” asked the Faker.

“ ’Cause you was goin’ to run this ’ere crib-
crackin’ on your own lay, my bloomin’ bum-
mer,” responded the lady, in a tone of amiable
disdain. “ Here they come now, if you’ve got
any eyes.”

She nodded her head toward the setting su
and there, between the arches of the wood, cou
be seen the tall form of Kim.r Nemo, advancing
with two Gipsy girls by his side.

“ Then Spunky Jack’s put out," growled the
Boss of the Bummer»; discontentedly. “That
bloomin’ Gipsy pal of ourn ’5 Sold as out. I
votes we moves camp and don’t have no more
to do with King Nemo, blast his bloomin’ pic-
ter!

“ How (l’ycr know they hain’t dressed Spunky
up like a gal!” asked Martha. in the same cyn-
icul tone. “He looked a bloomin’ sight more
like a gal than a boy when I seen him.”

The tramp made no answer, for King Ncmo
was passing by them, and there was sometliin
in his appearancH so imposing that the roughcs
man in camp held him in awe.

The monarch of latters stalked by his sullen
subjects as if he disdained to notice them, and
the tramps peered eagerly into the faces of the
girls as they went by, to See if either of them
was the disguised boy, as Martha hail hinted.

There was, however, no mistaking the sex
and appearance of the two dark and hand-
some Gipsy girls. One was Nan and the
other bore no resemblanCo to Spunky Jack.
The boy had had heavy firixen curls, While
this girl was a veritable Gipsy, with her shin-
ing black coils of straight silky hair and her
dark face. She nsscd by, arm in arm with
Nan, chattering Onmny, which the tramps
could not understand, and the three went into
the Gipsy camp.

Then said Billy Barlow with another oath:

“The bloomin’ snoozer’s lit out. Pals, we
must crack that crib to-night, or the cops will
be on us.”

 

CHAPTER V.
in E ATTA CK.

THE household of CaIVerton Manor was in
that tranquil state of comfort consequent on a
cool starlight night with heavy dews, after a
daylwith the thermometer at ninety—eight in the

h&( e.

The lamps were all out, and the only light
came from the myriads of fireflies that darted
in and out of the open Windows and among the
branches of the shrubbery).

We say the only 11 ht, at in this We are not
quite correct, for t ere were two gleaming
points of fire near each other on the front piazza,
marking where the Senator and his nephew
were quietly enjoying an after-supper cigar.

The serVants had all gone to bed, and the
white wrapper of Helen had vanished to the
coolness of er Own a rtment; for it was past
twelve o’clock, and ‘he moon did not rise till
near dawn. _ .

“Well, Oliver,” observed the old politician
after a long silence, “ so you think it wouldn’t
do to turn those tramps out of my woods?”-

“ Not just at present, sir. They’ll go on their
own account very soon. ”

“ What do you mean?”
b “ I i[liliearfithiitlt;1,'they’llgravitate toward Pitts-

a ew 3 air.

What for?” y ’

“Well, you know, sir, we have information
that all the hands on the combined roads of the
Penns lvania Central are ing to strike and
stop 6 trains next week. 0 think they can
coerce the company to their firms that way;
but wiggle t1:).11 readnd y {fir “1011131. The vernor’l
prom as us the hiladel ' troop-
and we’ll just mow the rascals down?” '

 

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B wall hind him wit

I the match.”

 

“That's right, Oliver. I’m lad the Gover—
nor’s nt down his foot at last. uis Napoleon
knewfiiow to manage them. Plenty of grape-
diotr—hev, Oliver?”

The old gentleman chuckled as if he was al—
ready enjoying the slaughter of his fellow-crea-
fires.

“It’s those confounded Communists who’ve
turned Europe upside down, and now they want
to do the s-ime by  Give them—hail Co-
lumbia, I say."

Ohwr laughed an evil laugh.

“ We‘re all ready for them. sir. But, what I
was goingto say is that these tramps in your
woods are sure to make for Pittsburg when the
row begins, and we shall be rid of them for
good. Tl'llst me to deal with them when the
troops come.”

“ If you think so, Oliver, all right, but I don’t
want any more pistol-shots. I thought that fel-
low must have meant me when he fired at us to-

“ ]. fanc I kn0w him sir. He must be some

' argel employé of the road, who had a
spite against me.”

“ Would you  him, Oliver?”

“ I think not, sir.’

It was too dark to see his face, but his voice
trembled slightly as he told the lie. The fact
was he know only too well who had been his as-
sailant, though no one else, not even Helen, sus-
pected it.

“ It must be a curious feeling that,” be u
the old Senator, musingly, “ to know that a es-
perate fellow has a. spite against you— Hallo,
what’s that!” He broke off suddenly as some-
thi came whizziniby his face and struck the

a ra .

In a moment both genrtlemen were on their

feet, and Oliver exclaimed in a tone of nervous

rror:

“It’s that fellow in. Throw away your
01 r and let’s get insi e.”

e suited the action to the word himsolf, and
was running into the house, when a voice from
the shrubbery said, in low tones:

“ Don’t fear! Look at the pa r.”

“ The paper? What paper.” asked the old
Senator, testily: for his pluck was proof against
ordinary terrors.

“ The paper on the stone. Good night!”

The voice was Soft and feminine, but they
could hear no rustle in the bushes There was
a screen of shrubbery by the house which
might have hidden 0. dozen people, but neither
of the men felt exactly in the mood for going
out to exa mine it, and the Senator observed:

“ Well, this is very strange. Give me a match,
Oliver.”

“Good heavens, sir, do you want to be shot?”
asked his nephew, amazedly. '

“ No, I want to find the paper,” answered the
old gentleman simply. “ o one will shoot me.
You can go into the house if you will give me

 

“ Herc’smv box of fusees, sir," replied Oliver,
hastily. “ I’ll go in and get a gun. I don‘t like
this sort of thing at all. “'0 ought to rmg up
the men at the stable. There may be burglars
around.”

“ Burglarsl Humbug!” an5wered the stout
old Senat ‘-r, scornfully. “ Why the people
would lynch them, if they laid a finger on me,
Oliver.’ I

As he spoke he struck a quee, and Oliver
vanished into the house, while his uncle guietly
searched the piazza, and ten.' (1 a piece 0 white

per, tied to a stone, lying behind the chair be
ad lately occupied.

He picked it up; threw away the stone, and
ust then the fusee burnt his finger, so that be
ad to throw that away, too, and unfold the

pa'pfir in the dark.

9 old Senator tried to make enough light to
read the missive b pumng violently at his ci-
gar, but he was ob iged to light a second fusee

efore he could decipher the scroll, which bore

only these words:

“ Fasten the house and callthe men

66A

9'

For a moment the old man felt his heart stand
still, for he realized that Oliver’s fears had not
been misplaced. ,

Then he turned to go into the house to rin
the alarm bell, when there was a shufllin ms
of bare feet, and a dozen dark figures eaped
upon the iazza from the fringe of shrubbory.

In anot er moment he was seized from behind,
his arms pinioned, while a huge fellow, with a
black vail over his face, clutched his throat.

“ Now, look a-here, boss.” growled thispemn,
shaking him to enforce his meaning; “you jest
has a still ton he, and we wont hurt you.
Werepoor travefiers, we are, and it’s the peo-
ple’s turn this summer. Where’s the key of
your safe?” .

The old gentleman was trembling all over
with excitement, but he would not answer this.

Billy Barlow (for it was the Boss himself)
shook himlngain, with a furious curse.

“ Give it to me, you old thief, or I’ll choke the 1
life out of you.” -

“ Indeed, he ueezed so hard that the old gen-
tleman could eerily gasp and gurgle til he was
released. - I

“Now, then, will you tell, or shall we try

 

Nemo, King oi: the Tramps. 5

 

 

>77 r v-.-..-_- V. ._._.._.,AA,___.

prickin’ yer with knives?” asked Billy, savage] ,
while his companions kept poking sticks into t e
old man‘s ribs to give him an idea of what was
in store for him.

“ It‘s nouse to you. You haven’t the com-
bination,” gasped the Senator, as soon as he
could speak.

“Don’t you never mind that. Give us the
key and we’ll take the combination, too,” was
the grim reply.

“It‘s in my—desk—in the—study,” gasped
the old man, reluctantl ; and in a moment the
tramps had him haule along into the house,
where all was still as death, and carried him
into the study, where they set him down on a
chair, while Billy Barlow shut the door.

Then the tramp struck a match and deliber-
ately lighted a student-1am that stood on the
table, when he looked roun the room and spied
the large safe in the side wall, where Senator
Calvert kept his valuables.

The old man was satisfied to sit there and
gasp as if he were much injured to gain time,
for he expected every moment to hear the
alarm-bell, knowingas he did that Oliver was
at liberty.

But Mr. Barlow wastoo wise to let him es-
cape lon . As soon as he had finished his sur-
vey of t 9 room, he came up to his prisoner,
who was again seized by two of the tramps,
when Bill asked:

“ Now t en, where’s the he i”

“In that desk” answered, Mr. Calvert, ll
slowly as he coul speak.

The Boss of the Bummers went to the indi-
cated place and ulled out drawer after drawer
without seeing t e key, throwing the contents
of the drawers on the floor with that im ’
brutality which distingflshed him.

Then he did what he should have done frorn
the first. Turning to the helpless old man who
was still held back in the chair, he asked:

“ Which draWer is it, boss?" '

The Senator indicated the place and Mr. Bar-
low soon produced the safe-key, with which he
approached his ' ner.

‘ NOW then,” e said, grimly, “give me the
cpmbination or it’ll be the worse for your
s in.

The old man shut his lips firmly and made no
answer.

Billy Barlow approached him closer and drew
out of his pocket a knife, which he unclasped
and flourished in the air.

“Give me the combination or I’ll dig out
your right eye.

The old gentleman shuddered and turned pale,
but stammered out:

“I’ve forgotten it—Ih-I—wrote it "down and
—and—”

“You lie, you old thief. Hold him tight,
boys, and gag him so he won’t holler. I’ll have
that combination or I‘ll cut him into small
pieces.”

The tramps dragged the r old man back
over the chair and one 0 them crammed a
dirty bunch of rags into his mouth, while he
struggled with all his force and shouted for

he] .

ghfore they could master him Billy had to
strike him a sava e blow in the face, and when
they had him tie hand and foot on the floor
the poor old gentleman Swooned away in dead
earnest, lying like one dead.

Mr. Barlow expressed his disgust at this con-
duct in the most forcible terms. He had only
made his ouging threat in the hope of fri hten-
ing the old man, and it was clear they 6011 d not
getdthe combination from him till he recov-
ere .

“The mean old skunk!” he muttered, as he
looked down on the senseless form of the Sena-
tor. “We’ll have to break it open, arter all,
I’m afeard.”

“ Mohbe the other cove knows it,” su gested
Jim, the Faker. “The boys must ’a’ got in by
this time.”

“ Good scheme,” answered Barlow, in a more
satisfied tone. “ Two of you watch the old
snoozer while the rest of us 068 for the other.”

So saying he opened the cor and almost in-
stantly was greeted by the sound of loud shrieks
from the upper part of the house, where as he
knew the women servants lodged.

“ Come along, cullies,” growled the Boss, hur-
riedly. “ We’ve got to choke their pipes, or
the 11 have the hull country alarmed”

Hve rushed upstairs followed by the rest of
the tramps an found lights gleaming in the
upper stor of the house, where four or five
h dressed women were skurrying about with
lamps callingto each other to “ Get up. Mur-
gslrlzithievesl and screaming in the intervals of

' ng.

The cause of their terror was easil e lain-
edbv the presence of three particular y lain-
ous-looking tramps who stood in the
hesitating what to do before the screams of the
women.

Billy Barlow was not so wanting in decision.
G-rowling out fergcious curses and brandishing
his knife he rushe at the women and told them
to sin their noise or he’d do semething terrible
—hn 1 id not specify what .

His ferocious aSpect and that of his followers
produced the effect he intended, for the fright-

l ened girls became silent and were soon driven
‘ into a dark lumber-room in the middle of the
: house, where they were locked in.

Then the tram commenced a search of the
‘ house for the m ing Oliver, whom they knew
, to be somewhere about and found at last me
door locked on which they battered in Vail, iill
one of the tramps sent it flying from its fastum
mg}; and let out a blaze of light.

hen they paused in amazement. There was
Helen Chester standing in the middle of the
room. with a revolver in her hand while beside
her was none other than Spun Jack himself,
the missing boy leveling a doub e-barreled gun
at Billy Barlow.

CHAPTER VI.
8 P U N x Y J A c K .

“KEEP off, as you value your lives!” cried
the boy, as the masked tramps made their 12p—
pearance at the door. “ I know who you are,
and help’s coming.”

The Sight of the lad whom they knew to be so
determined caused the tramps to recoil out of
ran , and Billy Barlow growled out:

“ knowed it. 1 knowed he was a spy. How
did he git in here?”

Jim, the Faker, drew his leader aside.

“ Let's draw his fire and rush him,” was the
sagacious tram ’8 advice. “Git the old man
up and shove him in, while some of us gill; in at
the window.

The counsel suited Mr. Barlow wall, for he
did not relish exposm' g his own carcass to the
aim of the daredevil punky.

The tramps scattered, leaving two of their
number to watch the door while the others
searched ever room in the house, without suc-
cess to find liver Calvert. Then they pro-
ceeded to the study, where they found the poor
Senator opening his eyes, and mercilessly haul-
ed the old man up-stairs to the door of the be
sieged room.

Watching their opportunity, all uttered a
simultaneous volley of oaths and rushed into the
room, holding the helpless Senator up before
them as a shield.

But, what was their amazement to find the
room empty!

Spunk ack and his fair partner had run
ished an the open window showed whither they

had ed, for it opened on a railed gallery that

ran all round the house.

In another moment Bill Barlow was outside,
followed by his companions, and met the otler
party that had been appointed to go this very
wav to take the beleaguered ones in the rear.

But no one, inside the house or out, had seen
the fugitives.

“Then there’s a ssage inside, and that
bloomin’ spy’s in the ouse still,” cried the Boss,
angrily. “Come on, cullies; he can’t keep out
of the way long.”

Such was his eagerness to punish the spy, that

 

Mr. Barlow had almost forgotten the matter of
the safe key combination, till he found the poor

- Senator lying bound on the floor of He en's
! room, all alone.

Hastin orderin him to be watched, the
tramp commenc a vigorous search of the
room, and soon discovered a side door, which
opened on a little stairway up into the loft.

It was locked, but readin yielded to fort-e,
when the part 'rushed up and found themselves
in a dark lo t, used as a lumber-room, to all
seeming untenanted by living beings.

Into all the corners they rummaged. and wrre
sdon rewarded by a fresh discovery, though not
the one they sought.

Spunky Jack and Helen were not in the 10”,
but some one else was. Crouched up in a car-
ner, behind some old broken bedsteads, was the
Honorable Oliver Calvert, pale as death: and
he offered no resistance as they hauled him out,
hurried him down-stairs b the middle stairs ay,
before unnoticed. and too him into the library.

“ Never mind Spunky. We’ve got the cully
who ’11 blow the gaff now,” observed the BOSS,
triumphantly. “ Now, then, stranger, what‘s
the combination of this safe? Tell us quick, or
we’ll jest rip it right out of you.”

Up to this time Oliver had not said a word,
but now he firsped out:

“ Don’t” k1 me. I’m in your powei'. It‘s

8, 5 3, 7.

The tramp repeated the numbers after him
slowl , as he went to the safe. ,

“ ery well my bloomin’ snoozer, if it ain’t
jest them numbe

Oliver made no :22? as he sat on the chair to
which they had fo him, and the Boss of the
Bummers rooeeded to open the safe, which he
effected thout further trouble.

As soon as the tramps heard the clang of the
heavy iron door swinging open, they raised a
bowl of delight and rushed to the safe, which
thfiy found full of papers. .

at, before they could do more than look at
them. crack! went apistol-shot, and Mr. Barlow
clapped both hands to the seat of his pantaloons
—-what remained of them—and uttered a hos-v1
of in and fear.
e next moment, bang! bang! went a gun
at the'open window and a shower of shot not.
' tered in among the tramps, causing an inmate

 

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6

11qu stampede. In the same instant, in at the
window dashed a tall figure, upsetting the

Nemo, King, of the Tramps.

l

lamp, and followed by several more: there was :

the sound of fierce blows of sticks on heads, a
scattering rush of bare feet in the passage; and
then Mr. Oliver Calvert found himself sitting
alone in the dark, paralyzul with fear.

The change from the lighted lamp to total
darkness was so complete that for some minutes
he could see nothin . He thought himself quite
alone, but present y he heard the safe door
clung-to, while some one was whispering over
the numbers of the combination.

He listened and heard the key gently turned
and withdrawn, when the same person brushed
past him in the darkness and stole out into the
passage, whence the distant noise of senilling

l

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I

still proceeded, as if a fierce struggle were going ~‘

on.

After awhile it died away and he dared to
fit up and look about him. The house seemed
. be deserted and silent; the burglars had van—

Quaking inwardly, he stole along the lower
passage, .then out on the iazza, and walked
slowly and cautiously roun the whole house,
expecting every moment to see some dark figure
make its appearance. But not a soul was to be
seen, and he became satisfied that the robbers,
whoever they were, had left the place.

Then his courage began to return to him, and
he went into the ease and began to explore it
more thoroughly.

A light glcained down the stairway, and when
he mounted it be perceived that the low came
from Helen Chester‘s room, which he found illu-
minated by more than a. dozen wax candles,
burning tranifiiilly away.

In the midi 19 of the room, bound hand and
foot, lay poor Senator Calvert, his hard, painful
breathing attesting the inconvenience, not to
say torture, he was suffering; and when Oliver
cut his bonds and raised him up, it was some
minutes before he could do anything but gasp:

“Thank Heaven! I was nearly gone!”

Oliver assisted him to rise and placed him on
a lounge, brought him some water and rubbed
Elli chafed wrists, till the old man presently

ed:\ '

“ How did it happen, Oliver? Did you get the.

men and beat them off?”

“ Yes, sir, they’re gone,” was the unblushiug
answer. “Ifear they’ve carried off the safe-
key but that’s all.” I

‘ It won’t do them any good without t e com-
bination, Oliver ” whispered the old man, tri-
umphantly. “ I thought they’d have tortured
it out ofnme at one time, but, thank Heaven, I

it.

Then, as he looked round the room, he seemed
to realize for the first time where he was, and

anxiously asked:
“ Where’s Helen? Great Heavens, can those
villains have harmed her?”

He was so much excited by the idea that he
staggered up, holdin Oliver’s arm, went out
into the passe. e, and gun to call:

“ Helen l elen 1”

His ward did not answer, but a voice from
the room opposite exclaimed, in smothered
tones

- “ 0h, sir, please, sir, let us out. We’re all
chokin in here.”

The genator unlocked the door, and was greet-
ed by the pale faces of the frightened, halt

-dressed servants, who came flocking out, asking:

“Oh, sir, have they no?” '

“ Yes, they’re gone,’ replied the Senator, in
o. crusty way; “ but, where’s Miss Helen ?”

~ “Oh, sir ’m sure I don’t know, sir,” was the
cook’s re ly, as s keswoman.
she had or door ocked, and we heard them

obu’st it open, sir.”

The judge taggered and clung to Oliver,
Ihuddering and muttering:

~ “ My God, is it possible She must have been
carried off.’

Even while he spoke, they heard voices on the
lawn,.outside the house, and the trampling of
boots on the piazza.

Then some one shouted tip-stairs:

“ Who’s there? Is it you, jed c? We’ve sent
the varminta flyin’, thanks to iss Helen and
the boy.”

The party above hurried down to meet the

'~ gardener, whose voice they recognized, and

ound him, with the stable-boys, coachman and
porter, at the foot of the stairs, when a hurried
ex lanation was in order.

‘ he gardener’s story was, that he was roused
from sleep by hearing a pistol-shot, and found
Miss Helen shaking him by the shoulderto make
him at up. That she had with her a boy, and
told t em that bur lars were breaking into the
house; whereupon l8 hurriedly got his  arid

down-stairs, where he met the ot er men
armed with pitchforks and corn-cutters. That
Miss Helen posted them, and presently they
aw a crowd of men running by. whom they
chasal and scattered. That was all.

“And where’s Miss Helen?” asked the old
Senator, anxiously. . .

“ She stayed behind with the boy, sir? Here
the comes, now,” was too reply.

Sure enough, a moment later Helen, in her
own proper person, came in at the hall deor,

'  I' :1"

“Miss Helen ‘

 

 

 

dressed in adark wrapper, with her hair still
loose and disordered, but otherwise looking as
calm as if she had just risen from breakfast.

“ Helen, are you quite safe, child?” asked her
guardian, anxiously.

“Quite, sir," was the rather frigid reply. “I
found it was time I did something, if I didn’t
want the house to be plundered. Those wretches
caught you; and as for cousin Oliver, he was
nowhere.” ,

“Why, child, Oliver beat them off at the
risk of his life," exclaimed the Senator. “ What
do you mean? How did you know we were in
danger?”

“ Very easily, sir. My window was open; it
was too hot to sleep; so I sat on the roof of
the piazza 10oking into the garden. I saw a
ll rure hiding in the shrubbery, and heard you
milking about the stone he threw. Then I saw
the tramps sneaking up to attack the house,and
the boy who [HM-l. warned you ran round to the
back, climbed u ) one of t
came to mo. \ 6 had only time to get your
gun when we heard them fighting with you on
the piazza, and some one ran up-stairs and hid
in the loft.”

“ But, Helen, I don’t understand. Who is this
boy you speak of?” asked the Senator, bewil-
dere .

“Oh, he’s one of the Calverton boys in my
Sunday-school class ” replied the lady, in an in-
different tone. “ e happened to be near by
when the tramps were p otting the burglary
and came to warn you, but got here too late. "

“And where is he now?” asked the old gen-
tleman, eagerly. “ He must be properly re-
warded.”

“ He‘s gone, sir,” was the answer.

“ Gone! Well, it can! be helped. What did
you do together?”

“ The boy took your gun and I my own little
revolver, and we waited till they burst open my
dear. We frightened them off, and then, when
the had gone, we slipped out, and he showed
me ow to climb down the 0st. 80 we got to
the stable and woke up ,t e men, just as we
heard the shots at the house.”

“Ah, yes, that was Oliver, I suppose,” ob-
served the Senator, in his innocence, at which
Helen shot a rapid glance OVer to where Oliver
stood biting the ends of his mustache, and

said:
“Indeed! Was it?”
“It was luck he was here,” pursued the
Senator. “He ove them off, all alone.”
“Did he?” asked Helen, in the same dry

ne.

“Not but what you did a very heroic act,
Helen," pursued the Old gentleman. “ The fact
is, I am proud of both my nephew and his
cousin.

“ Are on 1” repeated Helen, more dryly than
ever. ‘ er well, sir; then with your permis-
sion I think will retire. I suppose you and
Oliver are competent to do who. is necessary
now.

And without vouchsaflng a single word to
Oliver, who still stood thera, chewing his mus-
tache in silence, the haughty beauty swept up-
stairs.

 

CHAPTER VII.
rnn TRAMPB’ nxonns.

NEXT mornin an unusual stillness brooded
over the groun s of Calverton Manor for the
inmates were tired out with their vigils of the

revious night; but the country-side made up
or it, soon after the butcher had made his
usual morning call, by going wild over the
“ audacious attempt.”

The news spread like wildfire before noon,
and the Senator was overwhelmed with visitors
to know if he was hurt, while the richer of his
neighbors began to talk about getting up a
“ tramp-killln bee,” as they calle it, to drive
the intruders rom Calvert county.

Oliver Calvert had his share of the fame that
had fallen on the Calvert mansion; for the
Senator had got the idea firmly into his head
that his nephew was a hero, and told everybody
so without cessation, while the artless young
man himself said not a word one way or the
other, but allowed the im ression to o abroad
that he had really discom ted the rob rs.

As for Helen Chester, she had suddenlybe-
come, from a very free-s ken oung lad , re-
markably reticent; evad ng a1 questions as to
her conduct on the night before, and even re-
fusing to answer her uardian as to the name
of the boy who she said had saved the house.

She never spoke to Oliver, nor tried to inter-
rupt his praises, when they were sung before
her; but she looked at him in a strange way
once or twice when they were momentarily
alone. and he always avoided anything like an
interview with her.

Lunch-time came and there were over a
dozen strangers at that men], in the course of
which a boy arrived at full gallop from the
town of Calverton, with a telegram for Oliver
Calvert, marked “Immediatef’

“ Where’s this from?” asked Oliver, in a :
hasty tone as he tore open the envelope; and all .
the table waited for the reply, for they knew ’,
Calvert w a railroad magnate of woe th and !
influence. ' , ' ‘,

 

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“ Pittsburg, sir,” was the reply.

Then there was a bush of expectation, for
every one had heard of the railroad strikes in
West Virginia; and their extension to Pitts-
burg had been predicted for some do 

Oliver read the telegram and ban ed it with
a sh rht smile to his uncle. .

“ think we’ye got them this time,” be ob-
served in a sort of moral way to the whole ta-
ble, “The men ave struck at Pittsbur
ladies and gentlemen, and propose to stop
trains passing through till their demands are
com lied with.”

“ ear me,” exclaimed one lady, “isn’t that
terrible! Will they really do it, Mr. Calvert,
think you?”

“They will, if the company lets them,
madam,” in sad the old Senator, whose eye
had been kini ling as he read the telegram;
“ but I judge they don’t intend to do anything
of the sort. Just listen to this.” ‘

As he spoke be smoothed out the folded pa—
per and began to read aloud; the whole com~

y, except Helen, listening eagerly. As for

'55 Chester, she seem perfectl indifferent
to the whole thing, and sat pla g with her
fork and looking out of the window.

Then the Senator read out:

“Hon. Ouvna CALVERT, (fairerfmi, Pa. .-

“Come on at once. Men struck an hour ago.
Have wired Governor, and troops are on the way.
Will be in to-night. Orders are to 0 on road at all
hazards and send to Washington or regulars if
found to be necessary. All quiet yet. SHELBY."

“Take an answer back,” said Oliver to the
waiting messenger; and as he ke he wrote
rapidly for a few moments. “ ould you like
to hear what I say?” he asked; and there was a
universal cry of assent, at which he smiled in
his most superior manner, for he was not averse
to posing as a hero.

“ Here goes, then,” he said, and read out:

“ ERASTI'S P. Snnmv, Superintendent Air Line Road,
Pitts-burg, Pa. .'

“Tell Colonel Scott I‘ll be in by sunset. Get ra~
tions for the troo )S, and tell them to mow the ran-
cals down like stu ble. N 0 quarter to Communist;

“ Ouvna Curran"

The old Senator thumped the table, and sev‘
eral rich land-owners cheered the sentiment
vigorously, as the railroad President folded up
and sealed the telegram.

Helen Chester lifted her long lashes and cast
a single scornful look on liver, which he
caught, and under which be colored slightly,
but she said nothing till the boy had gone,
when she observed in her iciest tones:

“That telegram may cost on dear, if the
strikers get the upper handof t e troops, cousin
Oliver.”

“ Oh, but the won’t ” he re lied, scornfully.
“ Troops nowa ays, wi h breec oaders, can at-
ford to despise mobs. I’m glad the contest has
come the way it has, for we shall just extor-
minate the mob s irit in our midst.”

“ It’s a thousan pities we’ve not got a strong

vernment like they have in Europe,” said the

nator. “I’d like to see all these soonndrols
blown from the mouths of cannon.”

“They might turn the tables some day and
perform that operation for the magnates of

alvert county, ’retorted Helen who seemed
to be in a contradictory mood, at which there
was a general outburst of horror, and the Sena-
tor exclaimed:

“Helen, I do wish on would not utter such
sentiments. We shal have you'turning Com-
munist next, I sutplgouefl

“No fear of t, sir,” she replied, in the
same independent tone. “My father, rest his
soul, left me property, so I have something to
lose, and the motto of our modern society is,
keep all you’ve got. But even Communists are
not beasts to be shot down.”

Oliver Calvert rose from the table with a
profound bow to Helen, saying:

“ I suppose that fling is meant for me, Miss
Helen; at for my par I think they’re worse
than beasts, because much more dangerous.
I’m sorry you don’t approve of my course.
Perhaps you’d like me to sit still and let the
strikers stopall our trams and ruin the cem-
pany. Much obliged. Meantime I must act as
my judgment dictates, and leave your enter-
taining oompany._ Farewell, Miss Chester.
Uncle, will you dI'_IV8 to the station with me?”

So saying he retired from the room with the
Senator, in ameta horical blaze of flory, hav-
ing quite extinguis ed Helen in the estimation
of the company.

The lady herself took it very coolly, how-
ever, not deigiiiu to notice the departure of
her cousm; and e little com y at lunch
soon broke up, while the Sena r and Oliver

ot into a. buggy to drive down to Calverton

tation.

No sooner had they gone and the housebo-
come quite clear of company, than Miss Chester
threw off the absorbed and indifferent air she
had hitherto worn;

Going to the piazza, she called ,up the coach—
man and told him to order up her horse “imc
mediatel ; she was ing for a ride.”

“Oh, 6 Lord, ssy Helen,” protested the
old negro; “dat ain’t safe nohow, and dam.
wicked tramps a-roainin" ’boutde. country, 
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in’ whom deyma devour. Better let two ob dc
boys go wid ye, oncy.”

‘I’m not afraid of all the tramps in Pennsyl-
vania,” retorted the girl, in a tone which showed
she meant it. “ I’Ve wherewithal to make the
worst of them as quiet as a lamb. ‘Look here,
Peter.”

As she . kc, she put her hand into her
pull-back skirt, and whipped out a nickel-plated,
ivory-batted revolver, which had a dangerous
look about it.

“ There, Pntcr,” she said. “ You didn’t know

I’d been practic' with this little tool for the
t six months. can take the bull’s-eye every
ime at ten ces. Hold out a penny, Peter,

and I’ll send it spinning out of your fin ers.”

“Much:’bliged, Missy Helen, but (1 radar
not hold out no cnnies,” was the dry reply.
“ I’ll bring up do oss, missy.”

When Peter returned with the animal, a slight
ha thoroughbred, he found Helen just coming,r
on of the hall in a close brown habit, which
seemed to afford no hiding-place for that little
revolver, though Peter could hardly doubt it
was there in some place or other.

The girl sprung to her seat from the horse-
block; oped gayly away down the avenue
of beec es that ed to the woods where their
carriage had been assaulted the day before; and
node straight on to the very place where she
knew the tramps had then made their camp.

It seemed a mad and reckless thing for any
D'irl to do, and the peril might well have de~
gerred manya man; ut Helen Chester was one
of those free, courageous girls of good health
and strong nerves, who, having never known
occasion for fear, are less prone to it than those
whohave been early cowed.

Into the woods 8 e rode, as if she knew the

lace well (as indeed she did, for the tramps
had made it a halting-place every summer) and
straight toward the romantic spot known as
the ‘ Tramp’s Paradise ;” but no curling smoke
nor moving figures met her eyes as she came
into the opening, and it was with a little sur-
prise that she found the place entirely deserted.

The ashes of dead fires, bones and feathers,
half-burnt sticks, rugs of all colors, a couple of
crowa, and the naked skeletons of the late (:‘ripsy
tents, such were the only remnants of the
trazpps’ sojourn in Calverton Winds.

“ ey must have been frigh ened out after
the failure of the robbery,” said the girl to her—
self, half-aloud. “ They did well to run away.
But where’s my r friend gone, I wonder?”

She rode slow yround the camp, carefully
exploring every trace of the missing ones, and

ritzy spied a paper stuck into the side of a
wi a long in.

Riding towardpit she pulled it of! the pin, and
found on it a singular scrawl, rudely traced in

. red paint of some kind. It bore scrne symbols
unintelligible to her, mixed up with words in
the following fashion.

Thus it ran:
W Grubstlp fl
Enog yawa
Rummy peck no dor

K.£§E§T

Beak’s caboose +
a” Grubstip Luflo Swag 

Helen stared at this singular document in
some amazement. She turned it upside down
and pored over it. for several minutes, without
mooeedinglin deciphering it, and finally left the
cam wi the still unsolved mystery in her

han .

She folded it up and rode slowly toward the
town of Calvertcn, full of curiosit as to the
meaning of this enigmatical paper, ut unable
to think of any way to interpret it.

That it pertained to the fraternity of tramps,
and was probably a signal of some sort to those
who m 1: come after them to a well-known
ham a felt certain; bu how to get at the
facts 8 did not know till 8 0 had entered the
town of Oalverton, and saw before her the genial
face of the old town constable, who had known
her since she was a child. Then a ,thought
struck her, and she rode up to him and showed
him the r 58. ing:

“ Pleafefirfiiz. Davis, what docs this mean? I
found it in the tram ’ camp in our woods.”

The old fellow too it and l’ookedat it closely.
Then he grinned as he gave it back to her.

‘ “ It’s jest a si nal to the tram as comes
alter them, Miss %elen ” he said. ‘ Part of it’s
back slang. That’s w t the English tramps
docs. There’s some thieves’ patter, but most of

.it’s back slang.”

“ And what’s back slang? What does the
paper mean?” she asked, as much bewildered as
ever.

“ Bock slang is jest spelling things backward:
that’s all, miss. I’ll jest read the paper, and
you’ll scehow easy ’tis. These hands in the cor-
ner, and the threebigger ones shows the camp’s
been moved. ‘Enog yuwm’ is jest nothin’ but
‘ one own 2’ spelled back, and Grubstip IS

‘ttsburg. ll‘hey ain’t pamklcr to spell any
better nor the law allows, miss.” .

“But, what in the world is the rest?” asked

. , , .
h.» .-,1’ "fl - . J i r i
' .««pIV‘-4., (l “2".tv'r  W I. .4

 

Helen, after considering it to see if she could
make anything of it.
no dor?”

The old man lau ied heartily.

“ That’s flash tali, Miss Helen. It jest means
‘Good grub on the road.’ They ain’t keerful to

11 ‘road ’ ri ht.”
Helen studie it again.

“ VVhat’s Beak’s caboose, and this mark?” she.

asked, finally.

“ Guess that means your uncle’s house, miss.
He’s a big—bug, what they calls a ‘beak,’ you
know. That he mark jest means N. G.”

“N. G. ,” she repeated vaguely; for Helen was
unused to slang.

“ ‘ No good, miss. It’s a warnin’ to other
tramps to keep clear of it, and I guess they will,
arter last night. They sa ' Jedge Olivor jest
laid ’em out, amazin’; and, must say, I didn’t
think he had it in him.”

Helen laughed.

“Never mind Oliver’s heroics, Mr. Davis. I
could tell you a story but—”

The old man closed one eye and gavea so—
norous:

“ Hm mmmm I”

“ I think as much,” he muttered, in a tone of
confidence; “but, mum’s the word, Miss Helen;
I won’t give it awa .”

“Then tell me what this last line means, Mr.
Davis— Grubstip lufi‘o swag. I understand
Pittsburg, but what does lufi‘o swag mean ?"

“L’ufio is jest ‘ full of ’ miss, and swag, every
one knows, is plunder.”

“ Then the tram s have all gone to Pittsburg
tfmfil expect to rot: it,” she observed, thought-

u y.

“ So it seems, miss.”

“ Then cousin Oliver was right, and we shall
be rid of them in these parts.”

“ P’r‘aps, miss — if they don’t come back
worse’n ever."

“ Why, what do you mean, Mr. Davis?”

The Veteran constable came close to her horse
and said, in a. low tone:

“If I was you, Miss Helen, I’d take a little
trip to Philadelfy or New York, soon‘s ye kin.
There’s in’ to be trouble in these parts 'of the
liveliest ind.”

“What do you mean?”

“ I mean that they’ve ordered out the malishy,
and that the boys round here allows the strikers
is ' ht, miss. And I’m told they’ve sent for
the hiladelf boys to whip ’em; and if they
tries it on, t em city aloots is goin’ to get
handled kinder rough. ’11 do my dooty, mlss;
but I must say I don’t altogether hold with the
way things is workin’. That’s all, miss.”

“ Then you think there will be a riot and
dan or to us in the country i”

“ know it, miss. I Ham’t been town con-
stable twent —seven year for nothen. You has

rit, so I tel yer what I thinks. You go to
ew York, miss.”

The constable stepped back and ve a swift,
aplprehensive glance around him. elen’s eyes
f0 owed his, and she noticed that a group of
poorly-dressed men, looking like workmen out
of employment, were watching her furtively
from the other side of the street.

Full of conflicting thoughts, she rode away
hoxneward and found her guardian getting out
of his buggy at the door of Calvert Manor,
looking grave and anxious.

CHAPTER VIII.
comes CAOBUCA.

THE Pittsburg Opera House was crowded,
despite the fact that it was the middle of sum-
mer and hot weather, to see the

“ UN EQUALED COMBINATON
U or- \
“Stupendous Talent; Tragedy, Comedy and Ballet,
“under the auspices of the renowned
“ Comss CACH‘UCA, Pan-mam: Dams- ro
“ His Majesty the King of Spain.”

80 the bills said; and, as is well known, play-
bills can always be relied on to show a becom-
ing modesty in announcing their attractions.

he Countess Cachuca had been heralded for
several days by notices in the papers, hinting
that she was a phenomenon of no mean order.
Some said she was Lola Montes herself, come
back to life; others her daughter; but all agreed
that she was a prodigy of beauty and grace,
who had broken the hearts of princes and dukes
without number, and had refused proffers from
crowned heads in Europe.

Mr. Orlando Romeo Stentor, the first trage-
dian of the “Cachuca Combination,” was an
old favorite in Pittsburg, where he had played
Macbeth for many seasons; but the audience

 

was evidently in no mood for tragedy; for their.

applause was faint in the dagger scene, and
there was much stamping and pmmdiu of
canes when the curtain came down, thong the
management only gave one act of the play
“ among other attractions”

Then the orchestra—slender and local—began
to discourse some mour'nful music in waltz time,
through most of which the stamping continued,
till the “ ting!” of the prom ter‘s bell brought a
bush over the scene, and t e curtain drew up
amid perfect stillness, disclosing. the familiar

, .

. .
f , . . l , .l 3,1 x
‘ r J ' - ; \s .v' ‘4 .-" ,1”: 5‘ l u ' \ ~

Nemb, King of the Tramps. '7

“\Vhat’s Rummy peck 4,

 

 

a

old ruined castle by the banks of the Rhine. -
with moonlight effects on the water.

Now the audience settled back into their
seats and fanned themselves in a vigorous man—
ner, for they knew that the feature of the even,-
ing was at hand, the “ Ballet~Divertissement of
the QUEEN or was ZmoARI. or, Tm: GIPsv‘s
VENGEANCE, with the Countess Cachuca in the
title rdle,” according to the programme.

The orchestra in front played a few chords,
pizzicato, “ tum-Trill (inn-run!” and then
ceased; while the chords were taken up by in-
struments behind the wings of the theater.

The music behind the scenes grew louder;
some clear soft flutes or pipes joined in; and
then, out into the moonlig t stole a band of
Gipsy girls, slender and graceful, dark-eyed and
dark-haired, as unlike the traditional stage
G' y as possible.

or once the show-bills had told the exact
truth when they described the corps dc ballet
as being “belles of the Romany tribe, real un-
adulteratcd children of the wanderers.” Even
the rude countr men who had flocked into the
city to see the ountess Cachuca. could realim
that these girls were not of the common figur-
ante order.

They were so lithe and graceful in every
movement, gliding about 1i 6 panthers, and
their arms were so full and roun ed, that they
were evidently not professional ballet-girls.

Out thev came on tiptoe into the moonlight,
shaking their little tambourines at intervals to
mark a cadence in. the music, in a hushed, mys-
terious sort of way, as if they feared the clash
of the little bells might disturb some one who
was asleep near by.

Not a word was spoken, and yet the girls
managed to convey this impression by look and
gesture, as they stole out, looking apprehen-
sively around, and at last filled the stage and
commenced a sort of dance in which the arms
and bodies swayed to and fro, while there ms -
little motion of the lower limbs.

They were beckoning to some one to come on,
waving their tambourines, and every now and
then giving a little click of the castanets, a
stamp of the right foot and a soft clash of balls,
as much as to so :

“Come on! W hat do on fear?”

A moment later, wit a mufied patter of
bare feet on the stage, came bounding in a band
of lithe young fellows, with agile limbs, dark, ,
fierce faces, and coal—black hair and eyes. They '
were all dressed alike, bare-legged and bare—
footed, in ay scarlet and yellow jackets and
trunks, wit streaming sashes into which long
knives were stuck.

All bore musical instruments of some so
and the whole party instantly began a sort 0
coquettish dance in which the men alternatel
advanced and retreated, while the women tried
to provoke them to execute all sorts of athletic
feats in timeto the music. Some threw back
somersets over their little lutes, playing all the
while others would leap on their neighbors’
shoulders and stand there, playing and every
feat was rendered peculiarly graceful and daring
by being executed in exact time; for these
Gipsies seemed to have an intense feeling for
rh thm and cadence.

n and out around the men wound the g'ir
waving their tambourines, and the music wax
faster and more seductive in its tones, asthe male
Gipsies grew more and more excited and emulous
of each other, till there was a sudden clash of
cymbals behind the wings, a shrill whistle, and
out with a bound came the renowned Cachnca
herself, in llow satin and black lace, with a.
sparklin ' dem on her head and castanets in
her ban 5, giving one haughtgJ stamp in the
center of the stage, at which 6 Gipsies scat-
tered in affright and vanished, leaving their
queen alone.

There she stood motionless in the center, her

t dark eyes looking with a sort of hang
erceness into thiparquet, every line of face
figures. defiant allenge to any person bold
enough to refuse her worship, while a storm of
applause shook the house, to which she returned
not even the courtesy of a nod.
There was a sort of curl on her red lips. a

haughty poise to her little head, that said as

plainly as possible:

“ You dare not say I am not a goddess. Down
on ur knees, all of you!”

en,as the applause died away, cue couldheu‘

the Gipsy music, as if softened by distance, pla
ing the same languid, voluptuous Spanish airs
which the Zingari had just been dancing, and a
smile stole over the features of the Gipsy queen,
as if pleasant thoughts were waiting her.

A moment later, with a soft, gh mg motion,
she be u to dance, and all the previous eflorta
of the ipsy ballet Were as nothing in compari-
son. The countess frequently Seemed as if she
had turned into a se nt, so lithe and sinuous
were her motions. w ile at other times she exe-
cuted the most marvelous bounds and iroucttcs,
accompanying the whole with a wild and ex-

, pressive pantomime that spoke as plainly as

words.

The Queen of the Zingari was in love and her
lover had deserted her. There was rage, de-
spair, deibrmination for revenge, a deep—laid
scheme by which she should accomplish it, and

.‘x.  l =3 .- ,L‘q ’ 1;: ‘1'»?- l

 

  

.........7 . a-.- _~ . ....._--A.__..'- ~v__~..__...

...-.~... . L-

 

,__..._._..V .  . .n,._

near to his fate.

Nemo, 

With a stamp other foot and a. click of bail

,  cutanets. she called on her people, and out they
 came to the clan of the cymbfls, bounding and
wrenthing mun the queen as if they implored
pardon for having wade her by their unss'emly
merrimest and were trying to propitiate her by
heir antics.

She waved her hand for them to be still, and
men explained in pantomime what they were
to do to please her.

A stranger was coming, a man big and
strong, haughty and cruel, who had done her
i g~ - an injury. He must die.

:5 Tia-re was a loud hiss among the Gipsies, and
’ . out 11 ished all the men’s knives. There was no
" need to explain that pantomime.

'1 .r But the neon waved them away. She must
‘, have him (bound and a prisoner. No one but
herself must kill him.

They put up their knives and produced cords
with which to tie the victim. She nodded as if
well pleased, and at that moment the cymbals
changed again. .

Before the snund had ceased to vibrate the
stage was cleared, and one might see the dark
fierce faces of the (iipsies peeping from the

i; ’ ' has , disagreeable air, full of discords.

5, Then into the middle of the stage walked a

' tall stout man, dressed in clerical black of the
most modern cut, at sight of whom a murmur
(t surprise and amusement rose up from the

' whole of the audience, which speedily swelled
to a little tumult, in which cries of “Culver-ti
culvert! Oh, you old simierl" were plainly to
be heard.

Thetact was that the actor, either by chance

‘or design, had made himself up into the exact

rcsemb ance of so Well known a )erson as

Judge Calvert, President of the Air ine Rail-

The ople appreciated the humor of the
filing, t c more so that Judge Calvert had al-
ways borne a character of the most unim ch-
able respectability, bciu a church-war on at
Qt. Philip’s Church, meni r of the Y. M. C. A.

, and a. dozen other equally virtuous societies.

Public interest was centered on him. too, ,
cause it was known that he had just arrived in
town, that all the employees of his road were
on strike, and that he had ublicly announced
his determination not to yie d an inch.

Finally, they knew he was in the house, for
they could see him in the right-hand box close
to he stage, with some dozen city magnates
around him enjoying the ballet.

Pittsburg,’ on strike, and just before the

~'l'iots bad nothin to do but kill time,'mul the

theaters were In , spite of the hot weather. It
was the lull before the storm. '

. The actor, who was personating the stranger

, so much like CaIVcrt, uietly advanced in the

pompous manner that waysdistinguished the

railroad magnate, grounding n. gold-headed

cane at every second step with a decided swag-

ger.
As soon as he reached the center of the stage
he paused and looked around him, as‘ if on-

templutingl the house, in the course of w ieh
' operation is eyes met those of his original, who
at starin at him with an eXpressio‘n of con-

‘ centrated ndignation.
Instead of wilting, the mimic judge cleared
his threat in the same pompous manner familiar
all with his prototype, and stood swinging

' once.
 - Presently out came one of the Glpsy girls, dis-
fihlsedasaboggnr, and seemed to ask alms in
' umb show of the mimic Calvert, who forth-
with‘stmck her with his Cane and drove her
" away with a. hectoring swagger.
 As she was oi out in seeming terror, in
. darted one of e ipsies with a stout cudgel,
.‘ Mfirzd‘wh‘cmmgu’nhnl? Culéert irfilstant'lhy
; 'an' 1 whiethe ipsy, ouri ‘-
, glib; stick, com lledhim in dumb show to
' ‘0 down on his moon to the be gar Y11-! and

   
 

 

     
  
 
  

 

‘ " war..his purse at which the y ughed
‘ y mommy and kicked him. _
' " mm brought out a roar of laughter in which

{- "’" illuminates of Calvert’s box alone did not join,
“and the railroad magnate had the mortiflcation

   

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

   

f n   t caricgtured beforehgis e 1e: has
=~  'pompombullyon coward-w e e
“ jipoomers enjoyed it "

The Way in which the joke was received not
Medium that be wasnot sopOpulsru he had
t, which was indeed the Pitt-burg,

center, was argely under
railroad men, who in .1877
universally; sympathized with the

. being identified with ‘the capitalists,

m and the race tion to
e ' stage show this.

. v {arer scene, in which the

. " in and deemed round the unfortu-
.¢g ' “gammy him with sticks and buf-
. , ,1 J

1: Who «Qt! i ,of‘tbe Zinger-l
«11% ' had.  lie ’ia-m‘.
A!  .kfihigogo rpr oil r

    

   
 
 

  

  

 

 
   
 
 

 rhis'cane to and fro, the picture of -sell'~iniport- l

. .-.._...__...._.. ~....-- *.-.-_._.,_.‘.._. __ -V c...

then an indication that he was at hand, coming  life in dumb show, to which she only replied

by brandishing a dagger before him.

Finally he fell at her feet" as if quite over- ,

come by terror, and the ballet closed with a

. . . . l
tableau entitled. “ The (lorry Queen’s Revenge,”

as the bills styled it, as the lazly stood with one
lit: 10 foot on her whilom lover‘s neck, while she
flouiished aloft a dagger, supposed to be drip—
ping with his blood.

As the curtain full there was a loud buzz over

, the theater, in which all thought of calling out

r the aeiors scour-d to lie lo-‘t.

Tin-re was rome-

‘ thing so repulslw- in the sl'u'y of bold revenge,

win ., as the orchestra began to play again—a ,

 

2.- _, _--_...

and so singular in th'» liken->45 of the actor on
whom it was taken, that Ili'lllllt‘ wrrc more in-
terested in “nothing the real Culvert in the box
than the mimic Mtelze on ill.‘ hing". ,

' 'hcy all wanted to Sl't‘ how he behaved under
it and Well did he take it to all appearance.
l-(is pale face had bin oine wt like marble l'rom
the moment the Sl'f‘ln‘ bt'gun its course, and he
new 1‘ took his eyes oil’ till the curtain fell.

ills com Minions in the box showed inure feel—
ing than 1e did, for they all si-owled indig-
nantly at the stage; but he only smiled, as dis—
duinfully as he could, when Shelby, the Super-
intendent of the road, said em ihntil-ally:

“ Well, Calvert, if you don t hm. e llllith‘ im-
pudent strollers arrested for this, you are not
the man I take you for. They ought to be
lodged in jail at once.” '

“Let them go, Shelby,” was the outwardly
calm reply. “They know what they’re about.
We must wait till the strike’s oVer. Then—we
shall see.”

But the indignant Shelby was not to be paci-
fied, and the whole party finally determined
they Would go round to the stage door in a body.

CHAPTER IX.
BEHIND THE SCENES.

THE irruption of a party of strangers at the
stage door of the opera house, while the r-
formance was still on in front, produce as
Shelby had anti ' nted a iscurbance. The
ballot was to be to owed by e farce of “ Poor
Pillicoddy,” and the st carpenters were
dressing the soc-no as rapid y as they could shift
the flats, when a down of the solid men of Pitts-
burg, headed by the indignant Shelby, opened
the stage-door, regardless of the doorkeeper’s
timid expostulmions, run upstairs and came
through the winrs in a body, all talking to-
gether and flouris ing their canes. ‘

“ Where’s the insc‘lent villain who insulted
our lartyl” cried Shelby, and he was fOIlJA'M'Efd
by lderman Ballard, another solid man, who
roared: ‘

“ Show us the scoundrel, and we’ll give him
all he wants.”

Nobody answered their appeal, the stage car-
penu-rs going on with their work as if they did-
n’t hear, and presently a little, mild-faced man
with close-cropped light hair, a. smooth face
and general consumptive appearanco, came up
and obsorved blundly:

“It’s against rules, gentlemen, for anv one.
to be on the stage but, the professionals. You’ll
havo to go away. The manager is very strict."
“ And who the devil is the manager!" thun-
dered Alderman Ballard red in the face.
“ Show him to us, and we’ll let him know what
it is to insult our friends.”

“You'll find him in the box-office, gentle-
men, counting tho house,” was the _p:icilic re-

' “ Please to retire, for the curtam rings up

 

. in live minutes."

 

l

 
   
  
 
  

i
l
l

“ Let her ring l" was Shelby’s an rry reply.
“We don’t stir of! this stage till we ve found
somebod responsible l’or this outrage. ” ,

“You “save to talk to the manager about
it, gentlemen. I’m only the prmnpter,” answvr—
ed the little niauyinthe same quiet way. “It’
you won’t go, I shall have to call'up the Gipsies
ram the greenroom, and they’re a rough set.
They’ll put-you out in a minute.”

. “ Let them come!” replied the alderman,
vauntingly. “I’d have on knew, young mun
that I’m one of the men but runs this city, and
ii.’ I say this show can’t go on, why it can’t.
That’s all. ”

Here there “lbs 3. stamping and clapping of
hands in front or the curtain, and the prompter
shauéged his shoulders. ‘

ery well, gentlemen, if I must, I must.-

Will on go or not 'l”
. “ o, sir, we shall not, till we’Ve had satisfac—
tion for this outrage on our esteemed trlen
Judge Calvert.” replied Shelby, firmly; and Al-
dermen Ballard, O’Mahoneg, Schneider
E . gins all echoed the sen ment, while their
hoe ers, to the number of eight, began to tum

up their sleeves. .

The a] ermcu had an belongedtothe volun-
teer fire out. andwere on their muscle;
Shelbywu a hard, resolute fellow, used to deal-
i with sullen men; and bite that they 100‘“
avdan erous crowd to as thoystood
therein 9 middle of the stage. while the little
prom tor went 06wa the , ' .

On y Oliver Calvert began- to feel nervous,
{orbs-whisperodtofihelby: W p i v ‘ ,

,“Hadn‘t' we better t ~  first?

 

  
   
 

 

   
  

   

 

   
 

,oumctiowhg via '1. h‘
,  ,. r 

.su nnwudé‘l’in.’
 humid:-

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l . new. r .
. "éhll team a“ 3,119
.1. y ,' l5!" " )1 “‘3:

of the Tramps.

and '

 

 

“ Don‘t you worry£9 Calvert. I ain’t the man

to let the company insulted witnout taking
it out of somcbtxly’s hide. They sha’n’t hurt
l you, and it’ll show those roosters in front that
we ain’t afraid of ’em.” ,

(filiver said no more, for he knew that he had
a reputation l'or (ioti‘rmilia‘rkm, acquiied
through lung habits of safe bull 'ing: and he
alwu' 5 fall: like a ditl’orent mun V th his friends
ronm him.

A moment later, out came the little prompicr,
the incarnation of quiet resolution, just iw
tumult in front of the curtain reconnnem -. .

“Now, gentlemen," he. said, “for the i.
timeuwzll you go out?”

“ hell!” roared Shelby, shaking his stick.

“ Very Well. then,” was the Ti ply.

The prompter turned to the back of the Huge
and called out in sharp, clear tones:

“Bomu‘z' the guys, unifies!”

In an instant the party was literally (Ner-
Whehned by a swarm of active (lipsies and
stalwart carpenters, who dashed on them firm
front and rear, some out of the wings, otlu rs
out of tra is from below, or sliding down ropes
from the its.

Where a moment before Were only two car—
penters, hammering at a scene, now there were
some forty men of all sizes, who clutched the
invading magnutcs from all sides, w‘rencbed
away their canes, working together in perfect
silence, and trundled them across the
with more swiftness than dignity, to the head
or‘ the stage-door stairs, where they were
pitched over, neck 11nd crop, through the open
door into a dirt a leyway of vile odor when
:lgey heard the r bolted and barred hind

em. .

Then the Superintendent of the Air Line Road
sat up on his broadest end. and looked around
with a ruet‘ul countenance for his hat, while
Alderman Bulland gave vent to his feelings
with much fervor and {owe of language for
about three minutes by the watch, durin
which the rest of the oompan silently repaired
damages and picked up their ate. .r

Then they discovered for the first time that
nobody was much hurt, but that Oliver Calvert
Was not among them.

Their clothes were mined, for not a whole
coat had survived the rough handling of the
Gipsics; and .buttons on vests and mtsloons
had burst by the damn, while iale ‘ were
smasth out of ition. But, beyond a

and a llleedin r nose for the fighting alnerman
ho one. was injured, though all their sticks hall
been taken by the enemy.

But Oliver was gone, and it was with a mor—
Lilied cmimenance that Shelby exclaimed:

“ Well. boys, this is a kind ofu rou;:.h decl‘on
us. I guess those roosters can do a little crow-
ing about it. TVe‘ll have to talk sweet to ’em,
to get Calvert out.”

HH‘OAJlli‘ernun Bullard spit out a mouthful
of blood and groomed: .

“'l‘othiuk sinh a durncd crowd offlpainted
jumpinl—jacks should hu’ bounced us like that!
We‘re disgraced, -entlemcn. We’ll have to git
{she boys in an in y them out, now, any-

lUVV.

“ Don‘t do nothing of the sort,” was Shelby's
earmst reply. " Let’s go to the box-Ofilce and
see the manager.” , ‘

“But, where’s Calvert? We Can’t leave our
fru-nd.” objected Ballard, who was game to the
backbone, 1“ ith all his rowd ish mannm s.

“ We can't get him by ght-iilg—that’s cer—
tain,” W:.s Shrlby‘s sensible ansv er. “l’m as
game as any man, but I’m not a tool. Ll t’s gjo
rlound to the box-oflice, and We can/get irlends
t lore."
. Bullurd made no further objection. and We
diSCOllllltAPd party, adjusting their clothe m
prescnt as respectable an appearance as pow‘ him,

went round to the t entrance of the they
ter, where the first person who _rr:et th. ii. gnu,
was Oliver Calvert himself, placid and uman
in dress, but rather pale, standing in the loll y,
in conversation with the lessee of the (menus. It
wellnknown Pittsbng man, called Wei
Brown. ' , .
’ The colonel, (cause of title unknown,) was
evidently apologizln to the jud as they came
up, and they heard is last words: ‘. ' "
“I We 3’0“, Ju‘lgel I had no band in this.-

- Thécompany are all perfect strap on to me

and they and in advance for the t cater. 17d
no idea hey intended to caricature you, and
thisis the first I’ve boarder it. I‘ can’t turn
thembut, but you can get an injunction on
them as soon as you please.” i '
“And do You see the way they’ve ’ '

gory shirt front. “ We went behindthere, just

as civd aslyou please, and and for them

manager, and t my set on us

pistols, and mi killed 118. 'I’m goin’ to

them out of th shebsng atom. ten. mipum it

the boys has tot-aloe thereof todoW'
The irate magnate was

 

 

 

old-mum.  i“ x”; I:
o-listbn'to'i‘ason,a.mm an

  

few bruises, reached in tumbling down-stairs, _

but looking decidedly disrepiitable for all illa; , ‘

| I , 
us!” asked Alderman Ballard, exhibiting his

with knives!“ ‘
“"3: .-

“’”'°"W   (a... w...

  
  
   
   
    
  
 
   
    
  
   
  
    
    
  
   
   
  
  
     
       
         
       
 

 

 
       
         
   
         
         
         
     
     
     
         
       
   
   
       
       
     
       
     
         
     
     
       
     
     
   
     
   
   
       
     
         
       
      
    
  
      
  
  
         
   
      

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.‘V‘v/x'. a  fl

- k .7...___ -
.—

 

 

people to smash my house, and that’s all you’ll
do if you raise a riot. They don’t own a stick
here; it’s all mine.” i
“"hcn why don’t you bounce ’emf“ asked ‘
Shell) ', fiercely. “ I would if i was \‘ou. and 1'
they’ insulted one of my friends. You ain‘t

no good, Brown.”

“ But, my dear sir, they’ve paid their rent in
advance,” urged the colonel. “ i can‘t bounce
them. ’icsidcs, they haven‘t hurt Judge Cal-
Vert a bit. Look at him. Ask him."

“ How did you get out. Calvert 3" asked
Shelby. “ We were coming round to rescue
you, and here you are, as cool as if you hadn‘t

ecn touched.”

“They didn’t touch me,” was Calvert's re-
sponse, in a ratln r falterin voice. “The
prompter took my arm and lH me out, warn-
ing the rest not to hurt me; and he let me into
the theater by an inside door. That’s all. You
needn’t have been handled so roughly, if you‘d
taken his advice.” ‘

Alderman Bullard turned away to the door
of the theater with a bitter scowl.

“ \Vell, I swear,” be muttered to his friend,
O’Mahoney: “ if I‘d knowcd he was sich a tame,
mean-spirited cuss as all that, darn my skin if
I’d ’a’ gone in there to help him. Why, he ain’t
got no more grit nor a rabbit.”

And the alderman, in the plenitude of his dis-

st, spat on the steps with great vigor and

orce.

But Colonel Brown took the matter in a dif-
ferent light.

“ You Were quite right. judge,” he said.
“ There’s no use in lighting these variety people
unless you do it the right way. 1 don’t care what
you do. I’ve got my rent, and that’s all I’m
after, you know. I don’t want any show given
in my place to offend an rson in Pittsburg.
It hurts the reputation o t ie theater and that.
don’t pay. You go to Judge Ebenezer—be ain't

one to bed yct—-and clap an injunction on those
ellows before they come, on to-niorrow night.
That’s the way to fix them."

“(lood scheme,” observed Shelby. in a
thoughtful way. “Those roosters in front don‘t
know anythingr of what's taking place: so keep
abstifi.’ mouth about it, boys, and let’s get out of
t is.’

“ And without gettin’ any satisfaction for
this ’cre.” asked Alderman Bullard, indignantly,
pointing to his ruined clothes.

“ \Vhrit satisfaction do you want. sir?" at this
moment asked a voice behind him, and the
whole party turned with a start to see a. t .11
man, with very heavy beard and long hair, who
had just entered from the street, Carrying a
bundle of canes under his arm.

This tall man was dressed in a close blue frock
and light trovvsers, Wore a new silk hat and
dogskin gloves, while. there was about him the
jaunty air of a professional sporting man, a
character faVored by his sparkling diamond

rm '.

‘Pthat satisfaction do you want, sir!” he re—
peated stcrnly to Bullard. “ My name is 'l‘rev-
ac,‘and ] am the advance agent of the (_‘acliuca
Combination. I have‘just learned that a part \'
of Pittsburg ruflians has made a brutal assau t
on our prompter, Mr. Gi'aVcs. Do any of these
canes belong to vou, sirl”

Alderman Ballard was for a moment discon-
certed at the tone of the stranger; but he an-
swered promptly:

“Yes. That with the gold head.”

“Take it then, sir," responded Mr. Trevlac,
handing it to him.

Then he threw down the bundle on the floor
and observed:

“Pick out your own, gentlemen. We don’t
want to commit anything so mean as petty lur—
ceny, and I judge these canes are worth about
twenty-five cents apiece. Now then, you, sir,

,what do you wantlor satisfaction?”

He ad Ballard as if picking him out
for the most belligerent of the party, and the
alderman Justified the selection in amoment,
by answering:

“ If ou’re the rooster as runs that show in
there, .want satisfaction for the way your
bullies pitched onto as, ten to one. You’ve in-
suited our party and I’m going to take it out of
some one. 881 in, be , and give this follow all
he wants.”

Sosaying the doughty alderman raised the
heavy ebony cane with a gold head that he had
just received, and made a furious blow at the
stranger who carried a tine stick himself.

The stranger coolly parried the blow and
leaped back into the street whither he was in-
stantly firmed by the whole crowd, thinking
th'tiy has a. sure prey at last.

otheir surprise, out of the darkness came
lea ing a score of rough men with sticks, at
ll t of whom all but Ballard paused.

e alderman, intent on ven ace, premed
on hthe stun r, who tookd a1 hi:1 assaulhts
wit exaspera ngcoolneas, an presen ycau t
htiimka ra on [finch gemple with thea l(:‘ilidkpf is
s c ,nn erw 'c ullardstaggere c dizzy'
and confused.

Misha It!!!)ng turn advanced on him,
made a rapid f t at the other’s right side,

which caused him to his stick to parry it,

 

aid the next moment, With a sharp blow on‘ the

other side Sent poor Bullard’s stick flying in the
air.

" Vow, sir.“ he observed blandly, “ I’Ve given
you <atisf':‘.ctioii. (io hoinc. oryou‘ll get another
thrashing sUch as you deserve.”

CHAPTER X.
PITTsBL'RG BY NIGHT.

THE irate alderman was with some difficulty
persuaded by his friends to abandon the field to
the enemy, though he was ardently desirous of
raising a riot in the theater, and so getting the 
help of “ his crowd.”

But the cooler heads of the party persuaded
him that it was hardly the thing fora city mag-
nate to breed a tumult, and h‘helby obsei Ved:

“ Oh. come along home, Bullard. We‘Ve got
the worst of it this time, and there’s trouble
enough coming tomorrow, without borrowing
it tonight. Wait till we get a. fair chance.” ,

So the alderman consented to be led away,
vowing vengeance on “that tail roost: r before ,‘
l’vc done with him. You jest bet your sweet
life on that, my covey.”

The rough men who had come so suddenly to
the help of the tall agent, did not offer to ino-
lest the part1 as they went away: but Oliver
(1 ilvert, who iad lingered behind, went up close
to the stranger and said, in a low tone:

“ What have I done to injure you! Why do
you persecute me?” ,

The stranger looked at him for a moment,
and then observed, blandly:

“My dear sir, who’s persecuting you? We
have no intention of persecuting any one, I as-
su'c you.”

" Then why do you turn me into ridicule be-
fore all these people?” asked Oliver, still lower.

“Oh, you mean the ballet. it‘s cm ious we
should have a fellow so like you l'l the coin-
pany,isn’t itf Tv at was the c nuie—s‘s idea,
that make-up. It seemed to take with the
people.”

()Iiver Calvert flushed up at the placid im-
pertineiiCe of the other, and answered. bitterly:

“You may not find it such a joke, to-mor-
row. As for that paintcd—”

“ Hush!" interrupted the tall man, in a deep
voice of singular sweetness, and layingr one
powm'ful hand on his shoulder. “You should
he the last to reproach her for anything, ()liVer
C-ilvert. (to home and look to your own saiety,
for bad times are coming.”

For some reason or other Oliver did not make
any answer. He stood looking into the dark
orbs of the otln r as if be new fascinated, and
when the tall stranger turned away, the rich
railroad President left the theater as quietly as
if treadin ron eggs, and Went to his hotel in
thoughtfu mood.

It was a very hot night, and as he passed
through the streets he came across more than
one groupof men lying out on the sidewalk,
apparently seeking coolneSs not to be found in
the houses.

He gave them no particular notice till the
phenomenon became so tr: qui'nt that he began
to look at them, and then he saw that they were
almost all in rags and barefooted. They did
not belong in the houses, for these were gen—
erally shut up close, spite of the heat, and he
realized that they must be tramps.

This gave him no particular concern, for he
had predicted an irruption of tramps into the
city in expectation of strike riots, but he never-
theless hurried his pace, for some of the re-
cumbent men were looking up at him as if they
wanted to summon resolution enough to way-
lay him, and he was unarmed. r

Hedould not help seeing that the inhabitants
of Pittsburg felt some fear of these tram on
account of the close wa in which they ad
shut up their houses; an not a single police-
man was visible on the street as he went along,
till hegot to the hotel, where they Were clus-
tered in groups, as if awaiting orders.

He as ed the clerk at the hotel what the
were doing there, and the man answered, wit
a smile:

“I’m afraid you’re the cause of that, Mr.
Calvert, along with Colonel Séott and Jay
Gould and the rest of you.”

“ What do you mean?” asked Oliver.

“Sim ly that the chief of police has had to
draw al his men in near the depot to protect
the property of the road, in case there’s any at—
tack on it.’

“But they won‘t attack it,” said Oliver, 3.
little contemptuously.

“Perhaps not, sir. Here’s some letters and
tel ms for on,” returned the clerk, con-
stru odl , and e handed the bundle to Oliver,‘
who sat own in the reading-room and began
to con them over. -

He had come in that mornin to meet his col-
lea ues of the road, expecting find the men
rio g; but to his surprise he found all thin
so peaceful that the only symptom of a sci-lg
was the unwontod silence in the repair shops

\

and yards of the junction.

Trains were running as usual, and there
seemed to be no cause for alarm, the strikers
be merely the hands in the machine shops,
and here bein no out need of them for L
dn [or two. 0 had ome so'much at one
wi h the Situation that, as we have soon, he had

 

" x ..  ,

N emo. King of the Tramp

 

 

S.

 

 

I found time to go to the theater along With the

Superintunlcnt of the road.

The sight of the tramps lying about the
sheets, the concentration of the police around
the depot had begun to create uneasiness in
him now. His company was only one of seve-
ral which 0 crated in Pittsburg Junction, and
he did not now what the heavier capitalists
that represented the large roads had done since
he left the hotel.

The first note in his bundle was a pencil
scrawl. dated an hour before, from the Pitt

; House. in the handwriting of a brother railroad

magnate:

“ DEAR CALVERT: We have news that the track-
men, engineers and brakemen will strike to-morrow
morning and stop the. trains. Come over hnd see us
here at once. — —.”

Then there was a telegram from Philadelphia
from his uncle:

“ Seen the adjutant-general. Troops are all ready
to go at, a moment‘s notice. Helen is here With me.
Thought it safest. May come on myself if troo 3
come. Keep up s} irits I‘IARI‘EY CALvaar.’

The next was another pencil note from the
.r’itt House, saying that the Directors werego
mg to hold a special mee'ing in the morning.
Would he attend it at 9 A. BL?

'1 be last in the batch besides newspapers was L

a soiled, dirty envelope directed in red ink;
“HoN. O. CALVERT,
“ Brooks IIouse,
“ I’l'ftsfiurg."

He opened it listlessly and found a scrawl
without signature. It ran thus:

“You think yure. safe. You never was in more
danjer. The, boys is bound to win. If sojers comes,
We kin whip sojers, for we‘ve smelt wder our-
selves. ARMY or o'roxAc.”

This note made Oliver feel uite sober and
thoughtful as he went over to t e Pitt House,
where he found quite a grave assembla e in the

room of the magnate who had written im the
note.
“Is that ou, Calvert? Where have you

been?" askei the heaviest owner in the place,
Colonel Magnus.

Calvert told him and gave a short account of
how the people at the theater had caricatured
him and how the streets were full of tramps
slee ing on the sidewalks.
es,” said Magnus, gravely; “and they’re
likely to stay there, now the hot weather’s
come, till they’re driven out, which they’re not
very likely to be. Have you heard the news?”

“ \Vhat news?” '

“ About the trackmen striking?”

“ Only from your note.”

“ We had a deputation in from them not an
hour ago, very civil and quite respectful, but
firm. They say they want an advance of ten
peg cent, or no more trains go through till they
ge it.’ ~ '

“ But they won’t stop the mails, will they?”

“Oh, no. They know better than that, for
that would render them liable to the U. S.
laws. They propose to let through the mail-car
alone, and stop everything else.’

“ And they begin to-morrow morning,” said
Mr. Plutus, another magnate.

“ And how are they to do this?” asked Calvert.

“By the rule of force I su pose.”

“ And what are we to 0, or rather what
have you done?”

" Telegraphed the ad jutant-general. The Gov-
ernor’s away, off in the West somewhere, on a
trip. He says we shall have troops, a whole
division, by noon.” ‘

“Good,” said several members, in tones of
satisfaction.

“A division? That’s near ten thousand men,
ain’t it, colonel ?” asked another director. “ How

,

everlastingly we will give it to those fellers if

the try to stop the trains.”

Chlonel Magnus shook his head gravely.

“ That’s not the trouble. We must get men
to take their places, and the road will be out of
order no one knows how long. It will be a.
clear 058 of I don’t know how many thousands
of dollars to all of us, even if they don’t destroy
a. ' le thing.”

“ en the best thing we can do, as.”
observed Oliver Calvert, who never t Io
brave aswhen in a room surrounded b other
rich men, “is to ni this thing in the bu .”

“ How?” asked agnus.

“ Wh you see, the trouble in the other places
is that t ey’ve tried to go on with theirbnninom
slowly, persuading the striker", till the troops
come up, thus losing three or four days any-

wn .”

‘y Well, that’s unavoidable. It’s the permit;
we have to ghyafor  our property safe.

“I don’t ve in i . believe in mowing
thermos]: down,” I said in my telegrumto

on.

“ But how are we ing to mow them down!"

“ Why you’ve 150 troops and police here
now haven’t you

"‘ Yes, but we can’t depend on them. There
are two regiments of coun militia, and more
than half of them are rel: ves of the strikers.
So with the police. We can’t trust than." -

“They’d act with the rest if some trusty
troo not them the «snags wouldn’t they!"

“ es, butwhere are troo ! The

 

10,

 

taut—general thinks he can depend on his militia,
and he won’t ask for the regulars.”

“ Well, there’s the Philadelphia boys.”

Magnus smiled asort of painful smile-as he
asked:

“ Do you know how many men they’ve got
in that division?”

“ I don’t know; five thousand at least.”

The old railroad man counted on his fingers.

“ There’s a major-general and staff, two
brigadiers and staffs, two colonels and staffs
about a dozen ma'ors and staffs six bands, and
less than six hun red men all told.”

Oliver’s face and those of the whole party
lengthened perceptibly.

‘ ‘ That’s not much.”

“ It’s not enough, and I’ve sent to Washing-
ton to ask for help If we get that we’re all
right. I’d sooner iave one company of regu—
lars than all we’ve got.”

“ Why?” asked Mr. Plutus.
terrible fighters, the regulars?”

Magnus grinned humorously.

“Not exactly that; but they represent the
nation, and these fellows all think of Fort Sum-
ter, and hesitate to touch a regular.”

“ \Vell,” said Oliver Calvert, decidedly, “ I’ve
made u my mind. Either we must mow the
rascals ( own, or we must ive in to them.”

“ To-morrow will tell w ich,” observed Mag—
nus. “ Meantime, Calvert, I suppose you’re
aware that there’s a good deal of feeling against
you personally here.”

Oliver turned pale.

“ Me? Why? \Vhat?”

“About that telegram of yours on ‘mowing
the rascals down.’ The papers all had it out
this morning with some comments not very
fiatterin to you, and I’d advise you to keep
amongt 6 rest of us here to-morrow. You’re
not safe at the Brooks House. I wonder you
were not attacked tonight.”

“ Some men did look at me pretty hard,” ob-
served Oliver, falteringly; “ but no one told
me that—”

“You were in danger. Well, you are. If
once the mob gets up, and we don’t really mow
the rascals dou‘a, you’ll be sorry you ever said
those words, if t ey catch you. Come, I’m
going to bed. It’s the last sleep I expect to get
for some days.”

And the cynical old financier went off, leav—
ing Oliver Calvert dumb with amazement and
beginning to wish he was anywhere safe out of
Pittsburg.

“ Are they such

 

CHAPTER XI.
' THE CALM BEFORE.

BUT little sleep visited the eyes of Oliver Cal-
vert that night. The cynical warning of Colo~
nel Magnus, to the effect that he was in danger
on account of his telegram to “ mow the rascals
down,” had filled him with apprehensions on
his own account, and he did not dare _to go back
to the Brooks House.

He stayed where he was, in the same hotel
with the other railway managers, and sent a

orter secretly for his baggage, registering
imself under the assumed name of Mr. Smith,
so as to elude inquiry.

Long before sunrise, as soon as the first
- streaks of dawn showed over the smoky city of
Pittsburg, he was up and looking out of his
window, which afforded a View into the rail—
road junction, depot and round-house, car-
shops and engine-houses, soon to become so no—
torious.

Then he was surprised to hear a low hum
rising from below, and to see all the space
a

ound the hotel black with people, hidin the.

gleaming lines of rails and surging to an fro
around the depét.

He had taken a room high up near the roof,
in the vague idea that so e should best escape

' notice, and was too far off to hear more than
the burn; but it gave him a sense of vague dis-
quiet.

It was not et five o’clock, and he knew that
none but fre ght trains were likely to be stir-
ring at that time of morning, but he heard the
hiss cf escapin steam from a number of loco—
motives, and, ooking over the roof of the de-
pét to divine the cause, saw that the track was

locked for a considerable distance with freight-
cars that had arrived in the night. On both

sides of the depOt and on all the switches, trains
of cars were standing, and onl one line in the
crinter was left open, save for he crowd of peo-

e. ,

p Presently he heard, far away in the west, the
whistle of an approaching train, and it was an-
swered by a hoarse about from the pie be—
low, who u to run toward t e depO't.
Then he recollected that the night ex regs from
Chicago was due there at five o’CIoc , and be-
gan to wonder whether it would get through.

He could see the white wreaths of smoke far
away beyond the cutting, coming nearer and
nearer, and heard the engineer soundin his
whistle again and again, as it he saw obs c-
tionr on t 0 track.

High 11 as he was on the ninth sto ~01 a.
lofty ho , he had a fine view all round m for
miles; the whole city being spread out below

with emmnndin‘oountrytotheriver-

2‘.

 

He saw the white smoke of the approaching
train coniin nearer and nearer, the engineer
uttering his oarse notes of warning and slack-
ening his speed as he came; but there seemed to
be no positive impediment to its passage, and at
last it rumbled in under the glass roof of the
station, an engine with nine cars behind it.

It was an ominous sign to him that it was re—
ceived with a great roar of trium h, and that
the track on the other side of tie depOt re-
mained as full of people as ever.

\Vhile he was looking, he could hear a great
tumult going on inside the depOt, repeated
rounds of cheers and yells, followed b inter—
vals of silence, as if some one was ad essing
the crowd, which applauded the speech.

Then the light increased, as the sun rose
through a lurid mist of fog and smoke, pre-
saging a hot day, and he heard another whistle
from the cast, announcing the coming of the
New York express, due ten minutes after the
other:

This time the yelling and booting below rose
to a perfect tempest, and the black ~crowd ran
surging along the track in the new direction,
where the whistles became loud and frequent.

But he noticed that this time the narrow line
of track in the middle was left open, as if the
crowd wished to entice the on«coniers to enter
it, and so provoke a collision of the two trains.

Five minutes later, the eastern train came
rumbling along the track with seven cars bo-
hii'id it, the engineer whistling and ringing as
hard as he could, every note answered by de-
liant yells from the crowd, till he came to a
full stop in front of the depot.

Then Oliver Calvert saw what the crowd
were at.

Hardly had the engine stopped when it was
boarded by a throng of men; he saw the en-
gineer and fireman come down from their
places and fraternize with the men around them,
showing that they had joined the strike; and
then he heard a rap at his door, with the voice
of Shelby, so ing:

“Get up, alvert; the strike’s begun, and
you’re wanted.”

He opened his door quickly. for he had not
undressed himself all night, and found the Su-
perintendent of the Air Line Road looking
grave and troublcd.

“ The whole city seems to be into this thing
and we sha’n’t get throuth without a tight,"
Shelby said, hurriedly. “There are two regi—
ments of those country louts lying on the hill
behind the depOt, andthey’ve stacked their arms
and don’t seem disposed to do a thing to he] ) us.
The strikers are in with them, and they’ve een
gettin drunk together all night.”

“W art are we to do?” asked Oliver, with a
pale face. “ I wish we were out of this, Shelby.”

“ N 0t worse than I do,” replied the Superin-

tendent. “It‘s only a matter of salary with
me, but 'ou’ve got all your property locked up
in this s rike. f I was a Director I’d vote to
raise the men’s wages, and so get out of the
scra e.”
“ ’We can’t, Shelby,” protested Oliver.
“We’re not making ten per cent. on our capital
as it is. No; that’s out of the question. If I
were only safe in Philadelphia, I’d let the thing
go. The State is'liable for any damage these
fellows do us.” ’

“but, we ain’t in Philadel hia, and it’s 111
belief we couldn’t get out of 1ere if we tried, ’
was Shelby’s cross answer. “ I wish I hadn’t
given that telegram to the 3861‘s, yesterday.”

“ What telegram?” ask liver, paler than
ever.

“ Why, yours about ‘ mowing the rascals
down.’ It caused a great deal of feeling. You’ll
have to keep among the rest of us today, and
alter your dress. If they were to see you out-
side,”and recognize you, there’d be the devil to

ay.

p “What on earth made you give that mes-
sage to the papers?” asked alvert, falteringly.

‘ It wasn’t my fault. All the boys were bent
on fighting csterday, and your telegram
chimed in wi h them exactly. But the papers
set them off on the other tack, andnow you
hear these cursed Pittsburgers talking strike
ever where.” ' _

“ nd what am I to do i” asked Oliver, begin-
nin to shake.

“ ou’re to come along with us, and we’ll
to get you off in a hack on some country roa .
Then we’ll set them all after you on another
road and try to draw oi! as many aswe can
that way.” I '

“But they might catch me,” was the natural
ob ection. ’

‘Well, if you don’t like to try that plan

ou’ll have to stay with us and run the risk 0

ing recognized. They’ve had spies in here
already, looking over the re ster, and they’re
hunting you up in eve hote in the city.”

Oliver Calvert was n t a ve brave man, as
we know, but there was enoug in this intelli-
gence to :1 him had he been a. hero. Mob
violence is, he Inrfian‘tortures, a terrible in-
strument of death, and the vast crowds of
people round the hotel cut of! all hope of es-
cape for one of ,Oliver’s remarkable personal

nee. ‘
fpmy, and revolving in his  all 

v.‘;-v.- ,.4,',_’ ‘  4  in , i-m .. .-'I', 3., f,_,r,y:‘_¢,-‘ ,, . v “ _ r
I 4,. y“; ‘ A.“ V K _,/\\-,.‘I;,«,,iw. a; M. “we,” (,  .5 ,..l ,_ p», 3,. r. , t . '1 V

Name Kine .. 9f.-th Tm”???

 

rally (lrcaripd the shedding of blood,

 

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_. -M __.._ .,_,_._.._....._4_. u... e__  . .._.-.._.__..

of schemes of escape, Calvert went down to
meet his partners in misfortune, who received
him with that coldness which meets any man
who contributes toward the common danger.

Every one of these railWay men in conversa-
tion had expressed the same sentiments as
Oliver, but none of them had allowed them—
selves to get into print on the subject, and all
were ready to repudiate him, now that the dan-
ger had become great.

They said nothing to him on the subject di-
rectly, but he felt that they were not in sym-
pathy with him, for he was spoken rudely to by
more than one. .

Colonel Magnus, who stood by the open win—
dow looking down into the crowd, was short
and snappish with every one. They had had a
telegraphic instrument set in the corner of the
room which they roposed to make their head-
quarters during the troubles, and the “ click!

click!" of the sounder was going on all the'

time, while the Directors were talking in low
tones. .

‘Every now and then the crowd below would
give a cheer, and the sound of loud talking and .
coarse laughter showed that the strikers were in
good spirits. ~ ‘

Presently they heard the loud “ T chh ! Tchh I
Tchh !” of the engine before the depOt, in mo—
tion, followed by cheers from the crowd; and
Mr. Plutus observed: .

“ They’re going to let ’em through, after all l”

Then they crowded into the window and saw
the eastern train steam slowly into the depOt.

But Mr. Plutus was soon undeceived as to the
cause of yielding.

Severn voices shouted from below, as the
well-known figures of the railway magnates ap—
peared in the window.

“ Three groans' for the tyrants of Pittsburg!”

These Were 'ven with fearful vigor and
earnestness, anrfianother called:

“We’ll let the mail-car through, but not a.
darned wheel besides.”-

And, sure enou h, very soon after, the eastern
train, shorn of al but a single'car, went back
to New York, while the Chicago train was dis-
patched in a similar way, the two having ex—
changed mail bags.

Presently a delegation of strikers was an-
nounCed to see Colonel Magnus, and Oliver Cal-
vert who had been trying to eat a mouthful of
breakfast with but little appetite, hastily walk~
ed into an inner room, whence he could see with-
out being seen.

Then into the room came a party of grave,
decent-looking men, all dressed In their Sunday
clothes, and were met by Colonel Magnus, who
demanded:

“ Well, boys, what is it? Do you come to
propose a compromise?”

“ N o, sir,” answered the spokesman, a veteran
trackwvalker who had been in the employ of the
road for some tWenty years. “ The boys sent
us up to know whether you’re ready to advance
our wages, that’s all.”

“We can’t do it,” was the firm reply. “We’re
not making money as it is. VVe’d sooner close
up the road.” .

“Then the road’ll be closed up, cunnel,” an—
swered the veteran, dryly. “ For the boys has
struck hands that no trains goes over it till the
bosses comes to our' terms. Times is hard, we
know; but we’ve at to live, and we can’t do it
since the last cut— own. We might as well die
fighting as lie down and starve.” -

“ You can die any way you please,” retorted
Magnus; “but on can’t get blood out of a
stone. We can t and won t raise the wages.
Now look here Sweeney, You boys are not act-
ing wisel . e’re bound to beat you in the
end, and if we do, any man that joined in the
strike will be sorry for it. I don’t mind aying
something handsome to each of you fel ows if
he’ll talk reason to the rest. on sha’n’t lose
by it, any one of you, but we can’t come to your
terms, and you might as well know it first as
last ’

He made his oli'er of bribery very adroitly,
and knowing the necessities of every man in
the dele tion; but old Sweeney shook his head.

“ Cou dn’t do it, cunnel. The boys has made
14% their minds. What shall We say to ’em?

at you refuse?”

“Tell them we can’t do it, Sweeney, but that
if they’ll go to work now nothing shall be said.
about what has hop ned.”

“All right cunne . We’ll bein again every
hour to ax if you’ve chan ed: your mind; but
no trains don’t pass except be mad cars: that’s
settled.” ' .

The delegation left the room, and the man-
agers looked at each other with troubled faces.

Just at this moment the operator at the in-
strument handed in a legra-m to M8 us, who
hurriedly perused it .w a 100k 0f re ief.

“Word from the adjutnnt-general- be my!
the troops have left'Harrisburg and Philadel-
phia at one time and W111  here by ten.
o’clock. If the strikers don’t { eld before that
we shall have to clear thetrac at all hmrds.’

The grout railway men in conclave looked at
each c‘i r wt 1 rule faces and hinting hearts.
It was am 'v t via: for most of them to have‘
am xiii-v1 to do with violence, a'rd they not!!-

,,.. '_

. l

     

"

 

r

 

 

.3) 4V:

 

 

Nemo, King of the

 

 

Oliver Calvert, who had come out of the inner
room, and had been stung into aggressiveness
by the sneers of his colleagues, bitterly observed
8 this juncture:

“ You may find it necessary to mow the ras-
cals down after all, Magnus, despite the horror
you profess for it.”

Magnus flushed a little.

, “There’sa time to talk and another to shut
up. If I have any mowing to do i don’t talk
about it or write to the papers; I just do it.
You haven’t, as far as I know, done any yet.”

“ Wait till the troo 3 come,” was Oliver’s
vomiting answer. “ I‘( have you know I’m one
of the Governor’s staff, Colonel Magnus, and
able to do my duty if llt‘t‘ll be.”

“ Then you’d better put on your uniform and
goout to oin the troops when they come in,”
retorted agnus “ You’ll be safer there.”

Oliver started and smiled.

“By Jove, you’re right. I never thought of
it. I’ll do it, and some of you handy gentle—
men may be glad to see our boys in blue, when
we drive these ruflians away from here.”

Magnus made no reply, and Oliver went up

his room to get out his uniform, for he
thought to himself that it might be the most ef-
fectual disguise he could have. In common
with a great many other (gentlemen of ample
means he had long possesse the rank of colonel
and aide-de-cainp to the Governor of the State,
with the privilege of putting on the most gor-
geous of uniforms when he wished, and order-
ing about militiamen, with the most infinitesi-
mal amount of actual duty to perform.

Now, he thought to himself, this would give
him the opportunity of getting in among the
troo s, and once there he would feel compara-
tive y safe. .

 

CHAPTER XII.
OLIVER’S ESCAPE.

ON his way up to his room Oliver passed one
of the black waiters in a dark assage, slipped
a half-dollar in his hand, and told him to come
up with him. The man eagerly followed him,
and by close questioning Calvert learned the

~ position of affairs in the city.

Pittsburg seemed to be as quiet or quieter
than usual—the man said—except around the
railroad, where the crowd had gathered for
about a mile on either side the depOt, and
seemed to be idly awaiting the march. of events.

The stores were open as usual all through the
city, except near the depot: but nobody was do—
ing much business, and the streets were com-
paratively deserted. '

He learned that there was a livery stable at
the back of the hotel, opening on a very narrow
street, and that this led into the quietest part of
the city.

“Can you get me a buggy and fast horse
with a driver, and can you take me in by any
back way, so that I am not recognized?” was
Oliver’s next question.

The man, who eVidently knew him, winked

, and replied in a tone of familiar confidence:

“ I can, if I’s paid for it, boss. I don’t
want to risk a heating for any man for nothing,
and if they find us out they’ll want to climb
right over us.”

“I’ll- giVe you ten dollars when I'm safe in
the buggy,” responded Oliver, ea orly.

“It’s worth fifty. Mr. Calvert,_’ was the un-
expected reply. “ They’ve got spies all through
the hotel where you wouldn t expect ’em.
TheV’d spot you in a moment.”

“I’ll give ou fifty,” was the answer, and the
waiter bri y said:

“ All right, boss. I can trust the word of a

gentleman, but you’ll have to put on a wig and _

beard.” _

“ Where can you get one it“ asked the railroad
President. ,

.“ There’s a theatrical gent in the next room—
,him as is agent for the Cachuca Combination,
boss—he’ll end one to save a gentleman like
you from bein tore to pieces.”

Oliver turn deadly pale.

“In the next room? That man? Then he’s
betru d me, or will.”

“ at a. bit on it, boss. Mr. Trevlac, he’s a
real gentleman, he is, and there ain’t nothen
mean about him. He ain’t up yet, and ain’t
likely to be till ten. These theatrical folks is
dreadful lazy in the morning.”

“ Don’t say a word to him on any account,”
urged Oliver, hastily. “I wouldn’t trust him.
He 3 an old enem of mine.”

The man star and shru ed

“ Very well, boss. I’s do t a best I can.”

So saying, he left the room, and Oliver hur-
riedly assumed his uniform, put on a pair of
linen trowsers and a duster over it, to hide it;
assumed a revolver under the duster; wm
his sword alon with an umbrella; put a forage
cupin his poc at and osoft hat on his hea ;
nnd thusnrmed and disguised at the some time,
waited anxiousl for the return of the waiter.

Itwas a half-hour before that worthy
tapped at t a door, and he looked pleased and
In

ysterious.
‘ It's all ‘ri ht "he wh red. “ I" got on
a" mm‘ai’m... if.”  
no . y a on I.
about you in front.” y, ~

. ‘X‘  'v-.v "‘5; ,w ,..¢»’i

 

T911113?-

11

 

“What do you mean?” faltered Oliver, who I for his pistol, when the driver wheeled sharply

felt all his terrors come back.

i

to the right and dashed away off up IElie oppo-
1m

“ Some of the hands think they seen you in I site street, leaving the crowd behin

the Directors’ parlor, and they’ve had a com-
mittee in to search. They’re shouting: ‘ Bring
out Calvertl Han the mower!’ ”

The big, powerfu man trembled like an aspen
at the news, and the waiter continued, encouro
agingly:

“ Don’t be scared, boss. They sha’n’t hurt
ye. Come along with me and you’re all right.”

He led Calvert out in silence into the dark
passage, and just then the door of the next
room opened, and out stepped the tall agent of
the Cachuca Combination, as bland and well
dressed as ever, his shining wealth of black hair
and heard carefully oiled and scented.

“ Ah, Judge Calvert, hap y to see you,” he
began, in the most matter-o —fact way. “I saw
you registering last night, and was glad to hear
you roomed next to me. How does the strike
progress, sir? I fear it will hurt our business
to—night, but we poor devils on the road are
used to misfortunes. Hope you don’t bear
malice over our little joke last night, sir?”

“ No, no,” answered Oliver, in a low voice.
and very hurriedly. “ The only favor you can
do me now is not to mention to any one you’ve
seen me.”

“ Aha!” observed the stranger. “ So they’re
after you for that ‘ mow down the rascals ’ busi-
ness, are they? Very imprudent, Mr. Calvert.
very. Never brag beforehand. It’s not safe.
Going to join the troops?”

Oliver began to sweat. He had suspected this
man to be an enemy of his, though he could not
place him; but he had seen him under circum-
stances that left no doubt in his mind on the
subject.

" For God’s sake,” he muttered, des
“don’t betray me. I don’t know that
injured you—-”

“Indeed,” retorted‘ the other, in a peculiar
tone. “,Mr. Calvert has a very treacherous
memory, methinks. When we meet again, I
may find means to refresh it. Meantime a
pleasant and safe journey to ou.”

He nodded carelessly, brushed by the astound-
ed waiter, and sauntered ofl, whistling; while
Oliver, in a. tumult of conflicting emotions, fol-
lowed his conductor down the servants’ stair-
case to the stables, and thence into the reeking
alle behind them, where he found the buggy.

T e alleyway in which these stables were situ-
ated was closed toward the depdt, and they
could only hear the shouts of the mob very
faintly on the other side of the buildings that
barred the way. The opening of the alley was
toward the part of the city where little busi-
ness was done, and not a soul was to be seen
passing across it.

The buggy was a strong, country-made ve-
hicle, with a handsome, rakish-looking nag, and
a dark-faced man on the box, whose keen black
eyes and curly dark hair gave him a foreign ap-
pearance.

“ Is this the man that’s to take me out?" asked
Oliver, of the waiter, a. little apprehensively;
for he noticed that the driver did not so much
as look at him, but kept staring out between his
horses’ ears. ~

rately,
’ve ever

“Yes, boss, that’s the man, knows all the.
roads in the country,” answered the waiter, i

glibly, holding out his hand for the promised
bill. “ Best be lively, boss; they might be com-
ing round here, you know.”

his was enough to hasten Oliver, who slipped
the romised reward into the nevro’s hand,
clim d into the buggy and said to t e man:

“ Where are you gomg to take me ?”

“Where on want to go?” was the counter
question, wi’th a peculiar rapid intonation, but
In a soft, melodious voice.

_ “ Outto the eastern line and to the next sta-
tion to meet the Philadelphia train,” answered
Calvert. “ Don’t drive near the track till we’re

out of town; but get me there, quick.”

“ I’ll take the Rye as quick as the Gr! can
jaw,”* was the reply which Oliver did not un-
derstand, and then the dark man laid the whip
on the horse’s back and went off at arapid Ewe,
shooting down one of the main streets of 'tts-
hurt; and 11 within a block or two of the
crowd the. still ined the track.

At first they did not seem to attract much at-
tention, but a shout followed them as they
dashed acres one of the side streets, and they
could hear it caught pg) along the track, so that
it opened fiercely on em as they came to the
next street, where a crowd of tramps came run-
nin .up toward them.

0 war he n to feel the old flutter at his
heart, and t a dark man laid the whip sharply
on the horse, which broke into a gallop and
dashed on faster than before.

At the next turning the crowd was much
closer to them, showin that the was be-
ing passed on, and at t a third street: ' ey saw
a streaming mass of people within titty feet of
the  on which they were while groupware
making their appearance in rout.

Oliver real that they would soon be cut
oil at this rate, and began to fumble nervously

“'Gent man a: chart]: hone ”
Gipay wo miieawfliimmf m ‘o'

'u,.‘

l

i
r

 

 

 

r, -‘  - '. v‘ Ly, .' “A \. ‘ .
i “‘4: ‘ 4 ‘ _ "5-5.1. : '.,w-':...:.s-¢,,2_..-,, ,‘1/5; '

Several stones flew after them of which one
struck the back of the buggy, and Oliver heard

for the first time the shout of which they had '

told him:

“ Calvert ! Calvert .' Hangflie mower!”

The hoarse furious accents in which the cry
was uttered told of the exasperation of the
mob, and made the fleeing millionaire shiver
with terror, but the dark driver’s face showed
no sign of fear, save that he set his teeth close
and gave the horse one or two sharp cuts.

The animal, thus excited, was now gallopin

wildly away, and soon left the crowd behin -

him, so that at the next crossing they were able

to resume their original direction, and after

half an hour’s hard driving had left all traces

of the rioters behind, and were bowling along 3*
country road, the horse white with foam; but

still going gamcly.

Then the dark driver pulled u to a walk: let
the reins fall on the dashboar ,and carefully’
wiped his face with a handkerchief observing:

“ The Rye’s safe. “’0 can walk.”

Then Calvert for the first time began to won~
der at his talk.

“Why do you call me 3. Rye?" he asked. .
“ What language is that r”

“ Romany,” was the laconic reply. “Illa hi
afraish, fear not; Peter Griengro won't leave
the Rye.”

Oliver was still more (Puzzled, for he had
never been much of a rea er.

“ Romany '9” he repeated. “ I never heard of
that language. ‘Where do you come from.
and what’s your name 3”

“I am Peter Griengro, what the house-
dwellers call Peter the Jockey. My people
come from the East, and will go back there
some day.”

“ And what do the house-dwellers call your _

people?” asked Oliver, :1 little suspiciously.

“ Gipsies.” was the reply, and in the very ut-
terance Oliver gave a Violent start and hastily
excl'ili‘imedi: , h 1 b

“ hen oesntt is bu beon tot olive
stable, Peter?” ggy g 17

Peter Griengro stroked the back of his horse
with the end of his whip, and smiled proudly.

“ I never drive other men’s gries, brother.
The Romanichal areall gricngros born.”

“Then what induced you to help me out of
this trouble?” asked the railway magnate, still
more astounded.

“ Boro Rai Nemo told me to take the Rye to
his friends, and bid him stay there,” answered
Peter Griengro, still staring at his horse’s ears,
and, as the animal had cooled by this time, they
began to jog along again.

But Oliver had become silent and thoughtful,
and it was not till they had passed over another
mile that he observed, inquiringly:

“This Boro Roi Nemo is the one they call the
limo of the Tramps; isn’t he!”

“ The lionse-dWellers call him so, brother,”
replied Peter Griengro; “ but, to us he is Boro
Rui Romanichal, what you call King of the
Gipsies.”

‘And he saved me?” asked Calvert, in the
same thou htful tone.

“He to] me to hitch up, brother, and take
you along, because all the gujos in the kcr gries-
kcro were alraish. I mean all the fellows in
the stable were afraid to take you away, for
fear of the dasto, the crowd outside. And the
Boro Rai told me to take care of you with my;
life, brother. No one must kill you while I live.

Calvert was completely puzzled. Who this
King of the Tramps was, he could not, for the
life of him, tell, though it was evident that the
stranger understood much about his own past
life that he did not wish to be generally known.

But he had not seen the familiar form of
Kin Nemo in Pittsburg, and wondered how he
got t ere. .

“ Where is King Nemo‘?" he asked Peter
Griengro, suddenly. “I didn’t see him any—
where.”

“ The Boro Rai is everywhere,” was Peter’s
evasive reply. “ Yonder is the station, brother,
but the train has not come there yet.” , .

They were somewhere about 811 miles from
Pittsburg by this time, and could see before
them, at the end of the d road, the little
white cottage station, where Ol ver had intended
to stop and await the coming at the troops.

It was entirel deserted, and, as they drove
u to the door, t ey saw that it was closed up.

a people inside had pmbnbl oined the strike.

Oliver hastily dismounted,_ ed all the doc
and finally smashed in a. Window and at!
his entrance that way, when he want sin-night

to thetele hofloe. -
H'e “£33m the Horse alphabet won

on and stron ly suspected that mung.
mm go' along the line by this time.
Sure enoug , the sounder was clicking away-

at a furious rate in the deserted office, and a

lolgstripofpa rwash n toth register
m with th: dots on diigshes oi: the us.
in

He could catch the words as tlwv came on

the sounder, and they soon assumed sense 1‘.»

tom. ’

 

o

 

\

CHAPTER XIII.
THE MILITIA.

“—DICKENS are you? Why don’t you an-
swer?” clicked the sounder.

“General wants to know what mob doing?
Troops be there ten minutes. Is it safe go
town?”

Here it stop ed, and Oliver put his finger on
the knob of t 6 Philadelphia bell, which soon
brou ht a response from the operator. ,

“ he’s there?” asked Oliver, choking 011’ the l
question on the sounder.

“General —,” naming the chief of staff.
“ Who are you?"

Oliver gave his name, and proceeded to click
of? a short account of the riots, ending in a re-
quest to stop the troops at his station, so he ?
could go on with them.

The signal “all right” soon came back, and ,
the Philadelphia man proceeded to inform him
that his uncle, Senator Calvert, had come on ,
with the troops by special request, as it was
thought his influence might be useful toavert
trouble.

Even while this message was coming over the i the engineer blew his whistle frequently to
ap- ! warn people off.

wires, he heard the distant snorting of the
proacbing troo train, and hurriedly tore off his '
duster and ma 0 his appearance in full dress.

'Unbolting all the doors, and bursting open
those he could not otherwise unlock, he Soon i
had the station ready, and looked around for 1
Mr. Peter Griengro; but the Grips had drivcn ‘
away; and he could see him, far 01 on the road ‘
to Pittsburg, going at a brisk pace.

“To tell the rioters how the troops are com- ;
in::,” thought Calvert, as he watched him. .
“ Strange how he should have been sent to help
mu, when he evidently belongs to the other

arty.
p But his reflections were cut short by the near
snorting of the train, which would be likely to
piss the station unless he signaled it, so he v

uled out the red flag from its receptacle and ,
ran out into the road, waving it violently.

As he had expected, it was the troop train
which drew up in front of the station; an
much amazed and encouraged were the militia l

to see Oliver out there in full uniform. When  column, with the common soldiers, whose lives

they found who he was, he was surrounded b
a flock of m 'or and brigadier-gencrnls, who a -
most shook his hand off, congratulating him on I
having done: '

“ A deuced plucky thing, sir, to come out all

 

, alore in uniform, with those ruflians howling

“.1

after you.”

Then one of the major-generals, a young man
in gorgeous raiment, with the yellowest of .
sashes, asked: ,

“ How far can we go on this road, colonel, be— ;
fore it’s blocked?”

“ Not more than a few miles.
hall, near the city and march down the track.”

“ Very good advice.”

And the young major-general, with another .
who was elderly, began to tell him how they
had determined to “ stand no nonsense.”

" The men have got forty rounds apiece, and
by Jove we’ll use them all up on these scoun-
drols but what we’ll keep the road running,”
said the elder minor—general, while two briga-
dicrs chimed in:

“ Those West Virginia greenhorns'let the mob
Tide right over them but we’ll show them a
thing or two-eh, colonel? They’ve not seen
our crack troops yet.”

Then the colonel of one gorgeously-attired
regiment, which numbered fifty oilicers and
about a hundred and fifty privates, began to
tell how his boys had taken the palm from all
the re 'ments at the Centennial, and how he’d
Show t 956 New York fellows how Philadel hia
boys could clear out any country mob hat
ever showed its face. '

Oliver looked around him at the gorgeous
uniforms and glittering rifles of his friends and
his courage began to rise to fever-heat. hey
looked so trim and soldier dy, these smart citi-
zen soldiers that he never oubted they would
clear out all the crowd in Pittsbur .

Then he heard his own name ca led, and saw
the handsome white head of old Senator Calvert
looking out of the car window.

He hurried up to salute his old relative, and
found the Senator smiling and eager, for he
cried out:

“Well, Oliver, my boy I think we’ve got
the scoundrels this time. fiow did you get out
here?” .

“ Come on towelcome you in. sir,” was the af-
fectch careless reply. “We’ve had a hard
time; or those country regiments are no good.
They just look on and let the mob stop the
trains. I had quite a little brush to fget out
here' stones flying, and all that sort 0 thing,
you know.”

“Elton alwa I werelrash ‘gévarf said the old
gen eman, miring y. n expose our—
self too much today, my boy.” y

“ I won’t, sir unless it’s absolute] neces‘
ury,” answe Oliver, in his mos conse-
quential tones. “ But I must do my du you
know. My commission compels that. \ are
612 m leave Helen, air?”

0

“'e'd better ‘

i and the soldiers flocked into the cars, which

, were as strong with him as with many others.
3 and held him up to his work as long as he was

lcrowds of people lininr the road; but the

,‘ like from the crowd, who began to shout all
; sorts of offensive epithets at them.

I strode along, erect and dauntless, t
l grand under a broad Panama but, while he was 4

’ of the day.

 

in I’hiladelphia at her aunt Mary’s.

fWell, whonmwo goingtomovo on!”
I“. ._ I,  i

l l . f. - u

Nemo, King of the Tramps.

“ At once. sir.”
And here the engineer began to ring his bell, 3

soon moved away toward T'ittsburg, the engine
and tender full of generals, watching the track .
ahead and <ii:~:cussing “ the thrashing they were ;
going to give the mob.” l

The only tnoughtlul person in the crowd was l
Oliver Calvert; but then he had sci-n the mob, l
and the nearer he drew to the city the more he 1
be ran to regret that ho laud come.

The influence of vanity and esprit (7c corps- ,

 

surrounded by the generals, but he felt a flut-
tering at his heart as the smoke of the city :
came in sight and black dots became visible on
the track ahead.

These dots became more and more numerous
every moment, and resolved themselves into

closest scrutiny with a old-glass failed to re»
veal an obstacle laid on the track as they had
reason expect.

The train ran on at a low rate of speed, and

The warning was obeyed; but the oilicrrs in
front, havin a clear view, noticed that the
idlers closed in again as soon as the train had
passed, and came running after the rear cars,
while the sounds of ironical cheering and yell-
ing from those in front and at the sides in-
creased every moment.

At last, on the outskirts of the cit .the
crowd became so dense on the road ahea< that
even the doughty major-generals thought it all.
visablo to stop the train and disembark their
men, which they did amid many tokens of dis-

 

The strikers did not, however, oil'er to molest
them, as they formed into a column, facing,r out ‘
on all sides, and marched along the track, with l
a company of dismounted cavalry in front.

By this time all the generals had stopped ;

. bragging and become unusually silent, as they ;

walked along in agroup in the center of the i

were not counted of so much value, outside,
next to the mob.

Oliver behaved better than might have been
expected. His present )Osition was, at any
rate, preferable to that o a few hours ago; for
he was no longer alone and defenseless.

Moreover, he had one great source of vigor
beside him, in the person of his Venerable uncle,
who had disembarked with the troops, and now 

l0 incarna—
tion of pluck, his white hair and board looking 

buttoned up in precise black, spite of the heat

This old gentleman, who had never smelt
powder in his life, looked more like a Soldier
than any man there, and Oliver did not dare to
disgrace himself before him.

They marched along the track toward the de—
pot, ‘which they could see looming up before .
them, about a quarter of a mile elf; and, as r
they advanced, the crowd became more and
more dense. -

The ironical shouts and cheers swelled into a 3
perfect roar all round them, and they began to l,
realize that there were at least twenty thou sand
people in the vicinity, men, women and chil- ‘
dren; some hostile, some dcrisive, some curious,
but no one friendly to this handful of strangers
from Philadelphia.

The column looked like a small boat in an an-
gry sea as it moved on, the men gettin pale
and excited, the officers talking to them in low
tones. The gallant militiamen were beginning
to get fri htened, and with good reason, for
they had ound more than they bargained for
when they left Philadelphia.

They had expected to confront a mob of rail-
way men unarmed and ready to stampede; in-
stead of t is the had found an angry city that
evidently looke on them as fees, despicabl’e but
im mneif' h d fifty d th

efore t ey a gene yar s 0 young
major-general ave the order to loa the rifles.

Oliver pa it along one side of the line,
and there came an ominous clicking of breech-
loaders, as the men slipped in their cartrid es.

There was something in that clicking, a a
and metallic as it was, that pierced through a l
the roar of the crowd, and produced a mo-
mentary hush. .

The mob had been  in closer to the
troops on the flanks up to ha time, in a_ dense
mass of humanity, those behind pushing on
those in front. Now it recoiled for a space, and
the little column resumed its march.

The soldiers pressed on for a hundred ards
more, till they came to a ' doe cutting, lack
with people; and here the troub e was renewed.

Men on the front of the crowd were shoved
forward from behind, and there was a great

ushng and jostling, with aflectation of Ian h-

an remonltranoe against the pushin ut
with the result of gradually bringingcrow and
soldiers nearer together.

“ Don’t fire, we can’t help it."

“ Stop that shovin’ behind."

.l‘

 

 

,. it h..,..__ .._‘

“ Sojer, would ye work? No, I’d rather sell
me shirt." _

“Ah, look at the Philadelfy thieves, comin’
to rob honest men of their bread.”

“ Rush ’em, boys!”

“ Snatch the guns from ’cm, and give ’em
What they want!”

Such were the cries that began to echo round
them, each more menacing than its predeces—
sor; and Oliver Calvert, who was near the front
company, thought he saw symptoms of a rush
coming and quivercd all over.

Then he shouted out in desperation the fatal
order:

“ Fire on them, men !
down J”

Up went carbine and musket, and the yells of
the crowd were drowned in a roar of file-firing.

Pittsburg riots had begun.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE STORM BEGINS.

FROM the moment Oliver spoke, there was a
confused fire from all sides of the little square
of militia, rolling and rattling on without cessa-
tion for several minutes, men and officers wild
with excitement and eager to avenge the insults
they had endured.

As for the crowd, the effect of the fire wusi
terrible at short range in that closely-packed
mass of humanity. A few pistol—shots and
stones were returned, but the rent mass of the
people scattered and fled in t e wildest confu-
sion, the women shrieking, men cursing, chi}
dren crying with terror, while the groans and
screams of the woundwi of all ages and sexes,
strewed over the side of the cutting, were her-
rible to hear.

More than a hundred were killed and wound
ed by the first file that fired; and by the time
the generals, rushing around, had managed to
stop the slanghlor, the whole of the track and
cutting were strewn will] dead bodies and
wounded coplc crying for help.

Then fo lowed a dead silence, only broken by
the groans of the unhappy \vrpiches shot down,
and the little column of men took up their
march toward the depot ovor an empty track.

The major-generals beg n to breathe again
and Olchr Calvert was proud at the apparent
success of his policy.

“I told. you it was the only way,” he said.
“Mow the rascals down, and the rest will run
evm'y time. “'c’ve settled them for good, and
now we’ll go on to the Pitt House and get the
cars running again. lVon’t Colonel Magnus be
glad lo see us?”

But no one made him any answer.

They had to all appearance won a victory:
for the crowd scattered before them as they
came, and hung irrcsoiute, about two hundred
yards off, a low murmur being the only sign of
life visible.

But on the track itself the stillness became
intense, and one could hear the voices of the
officers saying, in low tones:

“ Close up, there! Close up! Catch the step,
boys! Left! left!”

They spoke as if they were afraid to hear the
sound of their own voices.

They had begun to realize that even unre-
sistetd slaughter has its drawbacks as an amuse-
mcn . ‘

Eve now and then the men had to Open out
to avoi stepping on a dead body or heard the
voice of a wounded man pra ing for water.

Olivcr Calvert started an uttered a nervous
cry at one place. He had almost stepped on the
dead body of a little child.

There it lay, a tiny thing not four years old,
dirty-faced and curly-headed its little brown
legs hanging limp over a rail in the track, its
blue eyes Wide open and staring blindly up at
the sun, the gray pallor of death gathering over
the infant face.

A red, ragged hole in its breast, a dark pool
slowly tricklm on the ground at one side,
showed how it ad met its death, and the sol-
diers passed it with averted faces.

After they saw that, the officers said less than
ever; Oliver became Silent, and Senator Calvert
began to get pale and sick.

. be next was the body of a great brutal-look-
ing tramp, who still clutched in his stiffening
hands a rusty horse-pistol. He had possibly

Mow the rascals

 

deserved his fate; but the men could not get.

out of their heads the pinched face of the little
child, and one'of them muttered:

“ Poor fellow l” .

A moment later came a scream of apprehen-
sion from almost under their feet, and there lay
a young girl, her hair falling over her face, the
blood streamm from one arm as she
nursed it With t e other.

“Don’t trample on me, please,” moaned the

r creature. “I’m shot in twgnlplacea, gen-

emen. Don’t kill me, for God’s 9.”

They told her as gently as they could not to
fear and one of the gene said:

“ on on ht not to have been out in this
crowd, my 1. See what you’ve got by it.”

But she onl moaned out:

“I couldn’ help it. I was only looking on.
Oh how shafill “5:85;: home?” 1

on as ey on‘tho oungmaor'
general observed: ' y

a m‘b‘.‘

 

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‘ I  Lamina make

 ' one else was in conmand
 youadvlsel”

 

P.

“This is bad, Calvert. I didn’t think they
had women and children in that crowd.”

But Oliver, who had been trying to harden
Himself, replied:

“ It can’t be helped. They‘d have killed us if
we hadn’t done lit. '

They went on to the front of the depot, where
they began to hear shouts and cries in the dis-
tance, and presently “ clung ! clung ! Went a
number of large bells all over the city.

The generals began to look round them in an
apprehensive way, and the clangin became
louder and more incessant, while the s outs and
cries came nearer and nearer.

But the crowd. which had fallen back in dis-
may after that first volley, still hung in the dis-
tance in a great circle, and they could see that
the bodies down the track were being carried
awa .

Ollrver looked up at the Pitt House in hopes of

 

. seeing Colonel Magnus and his friends; but the

balcony in front 0 their room was empty, and
there were no signs of people in the room.

Bein now in front cf the house, he passed
throng the ranks and went into the office and
lobby down-stairs.

Both wore entirelv empty. Not a waiter was
tobe seen; the clerks had fled, and the guests
with them.

As with_ the Pitt House, so with the rest in
the vicinity. Every one had fled, and the
militia had the place to themselves.

They had won a victory and looked for we]-
come, but found instead a silent isolation that
was ominous of the future.

But this silence was not to last long. They
hardly expected it. -

The bells kept on clanging, and the shouting
had extended to the crowd in the neighborhood,
which still hemmed them in, at a respectful dis-

tance.

Presently it swelled into a roar of triumph,
and “ bang)! ban I bang !” went three muskets
from the are h 11 at‘ one side of the depot,
where stood the Round Hbuse, soon to become
so mournfully memorable.

A cry of pain from one of the soldiers showed
that the shot had told, and Calvert exclaimed:

“They’ve broken open the arms-shops. We
shall have to give them another thrashin .”
Hardly had he spoken, when from al unr-
ters opened a lively dropping fire, the u s of
smoke among the crowd showing that t a riot-
ers had secured arms in uantity.

The beleaguered militiamen, not waiting for
orders, returned the fire, and the old major-
general beganto look nervous again. He was
the seniltirloffflwfr pregtlgi and-lli‘ad the nominal
responsx l 1 .yo eve . ng. hecount I re '-
ments that had been lying idly on the Ihill Ell
the morning were supposed to be a part of his
command. . :

Presently, m a pause .of the firing, one of the
brigadiers came to Oliver and said in a low

ne: '

“Colonel, I’m afraid we‘re sold. Those coun-

try megimen’ts have Joined the rioters and

-they’re firing State ammunition at us. Look
7)

c.

He handed Calvert a field-glass, and the other
could see, here and there among the crowd, the
cressbelts of militiamen, With more than one
military cap, though the wearers had generally
thrown away their uniform coats. _

Then Oliver began to feel a sort of snekly sen-
sation rising into his throat, and he muttered

hoarsely.

“ What shall We do?”

The young brigadier, who seemed to be a
pluck fellow, answered: ,

“ e'll have to charge them and drive the
brutes off. We’ve done it once, and can do it
again.”

, Oliver handed back the glass and made no re-

aly. He began to see that fighting was a risky
, , even in the case of militia against

mom. i. ‘

He countered over with affected coolness to
where the two major nerals stood, conversing
in low tones and l g grave; and one. o

, them said to him:

“Colonel, what do you suppose has become
01 all these railway men, whose property we
carnde pt kn r oral I ’

“ on’ OW- gen . to the unlit!

of the whole business,” Calvert we}; forced

admxt. -
senator Calvei't. Who had been growing ac-

 customed to the tumult round him, had now

quite recover-oaths use of his nerves, and was
a asevcr. . ~
"I think,” he observed, in his most bitter

’. m u a,“ the gentlemedare afraid and have

fin-may. That’s all. It! were in command
a maneuver of some salt.”

' “ But what maneuver would on makes».
star?” asked the older general, desperately",
“I’m quite open to advice. I onlvwishaome

here. Whatmmld

,“ Not being a military man, I don’t care to
give advice, rotated the Senator. “ But van
7 .30 a maneuver of some sort. *TWe

         
  
  
  

 

lied, it we stand here to 

  

but he saw that something was wrong, for
three or four men had already been hit.

The young general interposed with a new
notion.

“It’s no use leaving the men here all ex—
posed, general. Let’s charge the crowd over

)y the round—house; get inside and fortify our-
selves. we don’t seem to have any friends
here, and we want a place to put our wounded.”

The old general eagerly accepted the advice;
for he was at his wits’ end what to do; and
Oliver seconded the endeavors of the chiefs so
zealously that the men were soon formed into
compact lines and moving steadily forward on
the round-house. -

The crowd in front, seein them coming,
scattered before them, but t e crowd behind
set up a yell of triumph and came charging af—
ter them, firing as rapidly as their arms per-
mitted.

Then the soldiers got excited again, and be-
gan to run, firing as they Went; and thus it was
somethin very like an armed mob in uniform
that finally dashed up the hill, rushed into the
round-house and slammed to the great doors be-
hind them, leavin the greater mob outside
howling for their bFood, and firing useless shots
at brick walls and iron doors.

The justice of the oun general’s advice was
shown by the fact t at t 811‘ ' ts ceased
to persecute them as soon as they entered the
round-house. *

The building was a reat brick barn or store-
house for the recept on 'of dilapidated cars,
and had plenty of small windows about five
feet from the, ound, from whence the sol-
diers could fire fl: safety at their exposed foes.

The crowd seemed to realize this as soon as
the beleagured men from Philadelphia; for
very soon there was not a man to be seen with-
in gun-shot, and all attempts to annoy the
militiamen ceased for several hours, till the
shades of dusk slowly descended over the city.

But the men who had come that morning
from Philadelphia, with only an early and 1i ht
breakfast; most of them with no haversac
and none of them with more than a single meal
in their stomachs, began to look gloomy and
despondent at their Situation, and the (Silicon
were not a whit behind them in mblin .

One or two began to talk abou surren ering
and‘goin back; and only the energetic be-
havior o the ounger general prevented a
spread of thisi ea.

He made a speech in which he reminded them
that they had no mercy to hope from the mob
if they gave 11 their arms, and that if they
stayed where t iey were, they must soon have
help from the regulars and the rest of the State
troops, who were ordered up. ,.

Then he called for volunteers to go out as
soon as it was dark and see the city authorities,
with a view to getting rations for the famishing
men. .

Two of the negro water-carriers, who had
come along from I’hiladel hia, volunteered to
go; and the question arose ow to get them out,
unobserved, with a letter. While they were in
the midst of a discussionlon the subject, dark-
ness closed in, and ver soon after the bright
blaze of a bonfire glare through the windows,
while a hot the of musketry opened on the
round-house, under which the glass windows
Went all to smash. ' ‘

Presently came two loud reports close by, and
a couple of round shot came crashing through
the brick walls, strewing the debris over the up»
polled soldiers. '

The rioters had procured artillery! I

Then Oliver turned ale in good earnest, as
he had a fight to, for it) seemed as if night and
danger he come together, and the cry went up
from the, beleagured men:

“ Where’s the general? He’s run away !”

talilmllf the younger generald came to Oliver
w: a aceo great‘ cran disgust‘ ,saying:
, “ The old coward ficitinon’s clothes on un-
der his uniform. He’s left us to our fate, and
esca d.” ,

“ angl Crash l” '

Another shot tore through the round-house
as he spoke. ,_ ,  .-. g .' I

CHAPTER xv.  '

m smear
Ma. BILLY BARLOW, the  of the Bum-
mers, stood on the top of the;  the
round-house, with a mucking mkot in his

hand. _ r . . .
Jim the Faker was near him, and an the

colon of tram that a few days; before had
takeny up theirPsabdde in the “ ,Waudcror’s

 
 

Home” at Calverton, were scattered about in. p
the crowd, most of them carrying weapons in

  
 

their _ ads. ‘ 
‘ es the tramps. there were a number of

rough-looking men in their ahin 

talked of the strike in a'way that ‘30, they
were personally interested; and it 
Ico‘that these were railroade fr ’ ~ .
 determined 'way '0! speech  their enm-
Mill'f’moz satin . w I.  ‘  E, "

 families, and to the rapid 

fl

   

s.

'Nemo, King oi‘ the Tramps.“ .

1

_ of the hill.

 

 
     

 

.1?

clilistomed to see obstacles disappear before
t em. .

Some of them had lost friends, relatives, chil-
dren, in that unhappy Collision of the morning;
and these seemed especially determined on ic—
venge. For the time being they fraternihcd
with the tramps, who had florked into tlH‘J),
secreting the plunder: and all seemed read}: to
fight side by side to avenge the slaughter of the
morning.

It was a strange crowd that had athered on
that Pittsburg bill that sultry nig t. Bestus
the tramps and railroaders, there was a large
number of young and old men, some reslli t~
ably, others shabbin dressed, men of all C:'il~
ings and trades, citizens of Pittsburg, for the
time being bitter foes of the beleaguered mili-
tiamen. Local pride, that most sensitiVe of
foibles, had been roused in them and carefully ‘ 
fanned by railroaders and tramps, Who/saw
their advantage in it.

The Very regiments of militia that had been
called out first to stippress the riots had for the
time being practica 1y disbanded, and one -
might see plenty of uniforms scattered here and k"
there amon the mob. . ' .

A sunll ot of men with bare arms was
gathered round two six- under brass guns
that had belonged to a loca militia battery, and . *
were now turned against the city troops in the ’-
round-house. . '5

“Well cullies,” cried Billy Barlow, vaunt- ‘ 
ingly, ‘ guess we’ve got them city roost/ire
where we want ’em at last. Them’s the Fila-
delfy fighters that was a—goin’ to clean out as 
bdys from the country like shavin’s. Oh, yes. f «7;?
Think I see ’em.” - v 

“The was blowin’ so loud you couldn’t hear
yoursel ,” was the comment of a grizzly mar-hi-
m'st, all black with pdwder smoke. “See how
yer like that, my covies.”

And be discharged a State rifle at one of the
round-house windows as he spoke.

“We’ll have the wall down in two or three
more licks,” cried Jim the Faker, exultingly, ts
the men round the cannon began to sponge out
for another round. .

" Get ready to rush in, boys,” said a Veteran
railroad man at this juncture, coming round,
gun in hand. “When the wall comes down 7. _; _
we’ve ot’em.” r , , 

“Kil evary durned rooster in the crowd,” ‘= 
cried Billy Barlow, savagely. “ Remember the
gals they shot to-day.” ‘

He could have said nothin better calculated
to inflame the assions of tie crowd: for the
bitterness of fee ing over the morning’s slaughter ~
was intense. ,

Uttering savage cries, the rioters opened a
hot fire upon the round~house, and the men at
the cannon got their pieces loaded and pointed,
cursing all the while. ‘ -

The ight of a huge bonfire, made of lumlmr
hastily torn from the sheds that abounded round
the company’s yards, gave ample light to Sea
the round—house, while the surrounding ob-
scurity afforded cover for those of the crowd
who had been kept at a distance during the day.

All this while nothing had been heard from ,
the defenders of the round-house, who had -.
ceased shooting in the afternoon as soon as they ,_ I
found their fire was not returned. ‘ .

“Now, all on a sudden, just as the riotris 
w preparing to send them a third round fr in,” i
the artille , a spittin fusillade came from mu: “ ; ‘
of the win ows, and own went several of the
volunteer gunners, wounded or killed, whilr‘a
loud cheer burst from the imprisoned

men.
f‘Blast their pictersl” growled Billy Barlow, ~ *
vindictively. We’ll pay ’em for that. pun.
sently. Go it, boys!” ‘ ,f
As he spoke, om ran several men from   =‘
railroaders to take the place of the disabled“ ’ '
gunners, who had not yet fixed the 
tubesintheir laces. ' 
The new vo unteers had picked up and m. » .
trying to insert the tubes, when the 
gauged ongelmort‘aI spoke gala] alga the new  
topped ,w icas owero , mobbing- 
into the midst of Bill Bax-law’s com ‘ ,'  r: 
who forthwith scatifs and fled aver  ‘

 The railroad men weiothc last to go, 
without one more trial at  '  g 
again the deadly almgottho ‘ - , *'
cut downthcadv ‘ , » q. A ' 
13%;: of a)“ wilmnb‘mldsm I:
e mo ’ , ,
what wastobedouigodrlyvem,‘

 

    
   
       
     
       
       
     
       
     
     
   
     
     
     
     
       
   
   
     
             
           
           
       

     
 

    
   
   
    
   
  
 

  
      
 
 
  

 

    
    
 
 
 

     

 
   

        
 
  

v “I.
“Th don’t’aat m‘mnehofi 
M, ngth’
flan.» s}__,_,«.l,Thea-e’l a smash 

 intéfi _ ‘fhnbery”d over!
mps.htt"‘ln1WWfiYJ-7 '
cu .

 “No cops won’t  them, “a.
Mammal-am»- “,,Th67thill‘l1§;@'

      
    
   
 
 
  

     
   
 
    

    
  

  
     
        
  

   
  

  
 
   
  

Weldon“ the doea'All ’w‘r -
» '7 ishge had  . m
a admit-he  

  

was/head. What
‘fi’iwlsmky’  as s.
"v‘v «m  .

 

  
 
   

  

145    

boy had the most grit of any little fellcr ever I i waiting to take the horse which had saved Oli-
pistol as ‘ ver Calvert’s life that morning.

seen, and he was as quick with his
v greased lightnin’.”

“ \Vho's seen King Nc'no scnce we’ve been in i stepped out, saying:

Grubstip?” asked anoiher tramp. “ I hain’t
seen hide nor hair of either on 'em; and the
cussed Gipsies ain’t be en nigh us."

“ What do they car: about the rights of man?"
asked Billy Barlow, indignantly. “Them (lip—
sies ain‘t got no fig? it in ’em.”

“ When did they leave you!” asked one of the
railroad men v be overheard the dispute.
“There’s a lot (1' (iipsies adancin’ and singin’
at the Upu‘y I? lose, as might be. yourn.”

Billy Barlow seemed surprised and asked
him, whei'cup'm the man told him how he had
been at the theater the night before, and all
about the co rimturing of ()liver Calvert.

Jim the Faker shook his head.

“ That cant be our crowd. They didn’t have
no Count/.ss Cachuca with ’em. Besides. they
wouldn’t leave King Nemo, and didn’t have no
mono .”

“ O'r/ d’yer know that W’ asked Billy Barlow,
contemptuously. “They allers had a mort of
waggms and bosses, and was a-jabber'm‘ their
Gipsy lingo, that no Christian kin understand.
For all you know, they might be the same
cullies we knowed. They went ahead of us on
the road.”

Here conversation was broken off by the ap-
;roach of a buggy, driving down the side street
and up over the open ground on which they
were, followed by a. crowd of people cheer-

mThe buggy contained a. lad and a man, and
they could see by the light of the bonfire that
the lady was very beautiful and handsomely
dressed, while the entl‘cman was a man of
great size, with long )lack hair and beard.

“Cacliucal Cachuca! Three cheers for the
queen of the stage!” shouted one enthusiastic
youth, who had recognized the fascinating
dancer, and the enthusiasm spread among citi-
zens of all grades as the lady drove by, bowing
 smiling, while she scattered little hand-

1 s.

“The Countess will play as usual to-night,
gentlemen all,” cried out the tall man, in a
Bowerful voice. “We don’t intend to let this

‘ttle business disturb us, and if any of you feel
inclined for a rest after the day’s work, follow
us. Three cheers for the Pittsburg boys!”

The cheers were given with a, will, and the
buggy drove boldly on over the hill in full
,view of the round-house as if defiant of danger,
followed by a dense crowd of people.

Not a. shot came from the imprisoned militia-
men, who seemed only anxious to be let alone,
and the triumphant procession crossed the
track and assed on through the streets of
Pittsburg, w ere the crowd seemed as great as
usual, now that the night had come.

The gas was lighted; shops were open, people
were talking to each other, the hotels-were full,
and no one would have sus ected that a few
hundred yards away a trage y was in course of
motion, of which the end was not yet.

The prevailing sentiment among the pee 10 of
Pittsburg seemed to be anger against the bile.-
, delphians for a wanton slaughter, and satisfac-
-tion that they were likel to et their deserts
for it. The sound of the ring ad died away;
and if an occasional dropping shot was heard,
it was drowned in the roar of the street.

Mr. Trevlac, as the waiter had called Count-
ess Cachuca’s tall agent, kept his keen eyes con-
stantly roaming about him, and observed to his
companion in a low tone as they passed the Pitt
' House:

“ The railway kings have fled the city, J acko;
not before it was time.” .

- The lad addressed by this singular name
smiled dis ainfully.

“ They were pretty follows to try and be
kings. Calvert is a fair specimen of them, I

mpggse.”

‘ ot entirely. He had less daring and pru-
dence than some others. They saw it was no
use stemming the tide, so they quietly faded
away. He thought he’d be safer in uniform,
and now he’s shut u in the round-house with
the other fools.”

“ Are you sure of that ?.” she asked, earnestly.

_ “ I don’t want him killed, you know—”

. “Singular!”he observed, dryl . “You don’t
want any one but yourself to Kill him, I sup-
pose you mean.”

“ I mean nothing of the sort. I mean that he
must liVe to do justice to all he has wronged.”

_ Mr. Trevlac stroked his black beard and ’gave
I. ‘ ight impatient groan.

‘Forever dreaming, Jacko,” he said. “Let

b glclmes be bygones. You will never accom-

is it. You failed in your first attempt, and

t was sane and lucid compared with this

mad scheme. But here we are- at the theater.
We shall have a. full house.” .

“ Heaven grant it!” she exclaimed, fervently.
“We need money—much money—to deal with
that villain; but we’ll triumph yet; see if we
don’t.” ' ' ‘

He jumped out and lifted her from the buggy
at the entrance of the stage-door alley, and
then drove slowly away to the Pitt House.

. where he found Petcr Gricngro at the stables,

, i

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, , NemofaKing. 0,3119. Tramps:

The Gipsy saluted him respectfully. Harvey

“ Sm'rshcn, Prior?” (How are you?)

“ Kushlo (Imus, born rat,” (Good-evening,
great lord), answered Peter, with a low bow,
and he took the horse away and was going to
the stable, when Trevlac asked:

“ Have you been over to see the fighting, Pe-
tori”

" A m, born 7111'.” (Yes, great lord.)

“ And who gets the best of it?”

“The yaw/mum's.(lire—fCIIOWS or railway
men) have driVen the Icurum—ngre (soldiers——
lighting-men) into the born-kw (big house) and ,
jLL/I (r kaslu'uf [conga (go to burn tl;en1),”was ,
the )olyglot answor of the Gipsy jockey.

“ Vhat do you mean, PcterFaskcd Trevlac
in Romany, and Peter told him how he had
been over among the rioters since dark, and
that they were preparing to set the lumber
yard on fire to burn out the soldiers, as they
could no longer fire the cannons. He further
said that he had peepcd into the round-house
himself, and con d see the whole interior
through a chink in the masonry. He had seen
the Rye he had rescued in the morning, inside,
in uniform, lookim1r much dejected, and talking
to an old man in black, the only one not in sol-
dier clothes.

“And what was this one like?” asked the
agent. “Did he look like a. policeman or a
railway man l”

“No. He was 8. Rye; a entleman,” an-
swered Peter, earnestly; “ and iii hair was like
snow, and he wore a. long beard, and was
dressed all in black with a broad white hat,
and carried a cane with a gold top that bore an
eagle’s head with jewels for eyes. Such a cane
Peter had never seen before.”

Treviac had listened to his account with evi-
dent perturbation, and when the Gipsy had fln<
ished he asked in rapid, excited fashion:

“ I s it the same man that had the house rob-
bed by the perdas?” (tram s.)

“ Avo,” (yes) answered Fitter, laconically.

“ Then come with me, Peter,” the tall agent
cried, hurriedly, grasping the Gipsy‘s arm.
“We must get him out of that or he’ 1 be killed.
Call all the Romanichal, Peter, for we have
work at hand.”

CHAPTER XVI. .
THE ROUND-HOUSE.

MEANTIME the defenders of the round-house
felt very gloomy and despondent. The defec-
tion of the old major-general, who had slipped
out, no one knew when, through the lumber-
yard, leaving his uniform behind him, had
been a great discouragement, for they had
trusted to his local knowledge to get them out
of their troubles at the last extremity.

The command thus fell to the young Phila-
del hian general, who had in his favor youth
am energy, and who speedil silenced the can—
non, as we have seen, by t 6 use of his best
marksmen. ‘

But after the rioters had been driven from
their artillery keen anxiety still remained.
The besiegers ad drawn out of the flreli ht,
but they were still hanging round the buil 'ng
in the circle of darkness, and no one knew how
near they were.

Every now and then they found out to their
cost when some incautious exposure of a party
before a window in the glare of the bonfire
brou ht down a fusillade from a corner pre-
vious dark and quiet.

Sti ,on the whole, a. decided lull had come
in the conflict, and nothing but a confused hum
told of the operations of the rioters.

Once a vehement burst of cheerin caused
them to run to the side next the hon re, and
they saw the crowd rush over the hill and go
streaming down to the track, following a
buggy, in which was seated a lady and gentle-
man. .

At first the men were for firing at them, but
the officers were able to restrain them, for the
object of the movement did not seem to be per-
sonal] hostile to them. ‘ ‘

“ hat a handsome fellow that is.” observed
the oung major-general, for the glare of the
hon re was full on the tall form and magnifi-
cent beard of the Cachuca Combination’s a cut.
“I wonder who he is, and who that la y is,
too; "She must have lots of pluck to sit there so
coo .

One of the men near them saluted in the free
and easy militia style, and answered: .

“ Guess I know, general. I’ve seen the lady
before, but not- the man. She’s a variet ac-
tress, and they call her the Countess Cac uca.
I’ve seen her dance in Louisville, Cincinnati,
all over in fact.” ‘

This militiaman was by trade a commercial
traveler, and had come up from Philadelphia
in the dull season with the militia company to
which he belonged. .

“Oh, that accounts for it " said his chief,
rather admiringly. “It’s a little advertising
dodge, I suppose. That man must be her agent
and a smart fellow too. He’ll draw a good

 

 

 

house tonight. What do you think of that,
Senator?”

I, .-» 'y l
I I. e , l '

 

Senator Culvert, who had been watching the
passage of the buggy with quiet curiosity, nod-
ded absently.

“ Very smart trick,” he answered.
(ler where I’ve seen that woman before?
figure looked familiar.”

“Hope you’ve not been running to variety
balls, Senator,” maliciously suggested the
“drummer.”

The old gentleman favored him with a look
that silenced him; for Senator Calvert had as
imposing a presence as could be found any.
where, and then turned to Oliver, who had not
said a word during the talk.

He had in fact recognized both the buggy
and its occupants, and had been revolving in
his mind all the strange circumstances surround-
ing the day just over.

“Oliver,” said the Senator, “did you ever
see that woman before!”

“ I won«
Her

“Yes, sir," was the reply, uttered as if sur- ‘ \

prised out of the speaker. “That is—once—
astnight. I was at the theater, and she danced
with a lot of Gipsies. I believe she‘sa Gipsy
herself. That’s all I know of her, sir.”

He spoke hastily and confusedly, as if he
were defending himself from some accusation,
and the old man sighed slightly as he answered:

“ lVell, never mind, but I thought she looked
like some one—never mind—it must have been
my fancy, or you would have noticed the like-
ness too.”

“I didn’t see an , sir,” answered Oliver, still
more hurriedly, ‘ unless it was to any other
variety actress. They’re all made up so, you
can’t recognize them twice over.”

The Senator nodded in the same absent way
and said no more, but he turned his back and
strolled away to the other end of the building
as if buried in deep thou ht.

Then the defenders ha peace for about the
space of an hour, and many of the men la
down on the bare earthen floor of the roun .
house and tried to sleep, while the officers con-
sulted in low tones about how to get the 111%
sengers out through the lumber-yard.

There was a small door‘at the side which led
to this yard, and everything was so quiet in
that quarter that they began to hope it had es-
caped the notice of the rioters and that they
might let out the messengers and receive help
by that road.

Just as they had made up their minds to try

the experiment, and while the general was 1

writing a note in pencil to the Mayor of Pitts-
burg. came a sudden renewal of the fusillade all
round them with tremendous shouts, and the
men jumped up and ran to their posts full of
ardor.

There, in the light of the bonfire, a crowd of
men were rushing to the guns; and, spite of a
rapid fire from the windows, they managed to
fire one more round, the shot crashing through
the upper part of the round-house, and sending
a shower of bricks down over its defenders.

So fierce and menacing were the assaults of
the mob at this moment that they thought an
immediate close conflict on that side the round-
house was inevitable; and did not notice any~
thing on the other side till the sudden cry arose:

“Fire! Fire! They’re set the lumber-yard
on re ."'

his appalling news came from old Senator
Calvert, who had been in the rear of the build-
ing; but the old man behaved with coolness and
pluck as soon as he had given the alarm.

He came toward them, the tallest man in the
round-house by several inches, his grand white
head and beard shining like a. star, and shouted,
in the stentorian tones of an old stum pecker:

“Kee cool! I’ve been watching t em. It’s
only pu ing down_ the iles of boards and
charging the villains. eep coo], general!
Kee cool, boy8i” ‘ '

AH their coolness was needed here, and as a
rule the r beleafguered Philadelphians show—
ed that heir brie experience of danger had
steadied them wonderfully. e officers did
their duty bravely, and the men were. divided,
a part keeiiling the rioters from their
while the ot ers dashed out of the little door,
scattered the enemy out of the vicinity of the
lumber-yard by a fierce volley, and began to
pull down the loose piles 0f lumber up which

he flames were slowly creeping.

But it was not done without a fierce strug 19,
in which both parties came within striking is-
tance of each other, While a confused melée
reigned in the lumber-yard for the space of
half an hour or more, in which shots, shouts
orders, the sound of blows and the rattle of
falling timber made a veritable pandemonium
for awhile. _

It was in the midst of this scene, while the
brave old Senator was working like a Trojan,
pulling down lumber piles, that a large party of
the rioters, headed bya man of gigantic stature,
dressed in a motley mantle of streaming rags,
his face hidden by a shaggy forest of hair and
beard, rushed into the lumber—yard, the men
wielding clubbed muskets, and drove the
militiamen back into the round-house, shout—
m :

‘g‘Nemo! Nemo! Born Rail Boro Rai 1”
The assault was so sudden and vehementvthnt

the soldiers were entirely disconcerted, the ’

  

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more so that they had just fired avolley and l
were caught with empty guns. 
They ran into the round-house in confusion, (
and opened a hasty and aimless fire from the ‘
door at a crowd of rioters who seemed to spring
up from the round on all sides; but when they 9
had slammc to the door and recovered their

coolness, they discovered that the old Senator ‘
~. was missing. .

T'm young general noticed it first, and called
out ll‘ll'i'll‘illy to Oliver Calvert:

“ {om 1 ‘iclc’s: risoner. We must rescue
him! '

grown 1'10 respect the grand-looking old man,
and they were rushing for the door when Oliver
cried out:

“Take care, general. It‘s a trap. Theywon’t
hurt Mm. He's not in uniform. They’ll tear
us ti, pieces if we go out."

And, in fact, the next moment they heard the
rapid crash of timber against the small door,
that told how the rioters were barrio-ailing it
against any more sallies, while the crackli g of
flames showed that they had succeeded in heir
design of firing the lumber.

Now. indeed, the trials of the poor besieged
Philadelphians began in earnest. The lumber
was soon in flames, and only the great size of '
the brick building rendered it possible to stay
there a moment.

As it was, the heat drove them to the other
end of the building, where they lay huddled,

antiiig, in heaps, general 5 and privates suffer-

alike.

filaddcned by the heat and smoke, even Oliver
Calvert li'St his timidity; for a. coward in a ;
corner will fight hard. It was he who pro- ‘
posed, and finally led, a sally out of the large
doors, in which they dashed up to the fire,
which was-now deserted by the rioters, and suc-
c. edcd in pullin down the blazing lumber and
sav.n:: the building for the time.

Strange to say, the rioters did not ofl‘ er any ,
Serious op ition to this movement, and their ‘
ii lack spirit; but this was easily accounted
f by the scarcity of ammunition, and the fact
of the darkness which covered the land.

After that last effort, the or beleaguered
Citizen-soldiers, who had reac ied Pittsburg so
gayly twelve hours before, Were left compara-

; ought to have done in the first instance: drew

v‘flio’ll frillOW.” ;
The men all shouted assent, for they had

 

‘ tively unmolested, and before morning the iirin g
had entirely ceased, for the rioters, like them- I
selves, were tired out and sleepy.

Lagging and slow wore on the dark hours of i
that fatal night, and gloomy were the looks of :
the knot of officers who gathered in a corner of '
the round-house to discuss the situation.

Outside all . was quiet, but they had had
enough experience of the, savage rioters to
doubt that the attack would be renewed at day-
light. They had not been able to send out a
single messenger, and not a syllable of comfort
had reached them from outside. Even the
great railway Directors they came to help had
deserted them, and they felt like outlaws, with
» all society against them and none to help. .

is I’ve made up my mind, gentlemen,” said
the heral, “ that we ought to retreat as soon
as it s daylight. The rioters W111 be going away
to get something to eat about that time, and
are likely to be less watchful. Oncein the open
country, we can cover our retreat by the fumes,
and this is but a small City, after a1 .”

The advice was eager] taken; forth? 001dest
spirits there had had t eir fill of fighting, and
a l were willing to encounter danger any
he of succor lay beyond. ,

herefore, in the darkness and Silence before
dawn, the order of march was arranged. the few
wounded assigned to the center, and all Waited

anxiously for the first peep of day. .

It came at last, reddening the east, and shin-
ing on the black remnants or the fires made by
the rioters. Not a soul could be seen as they
cached the doors, and the column marched re p-
. i y and silently out on the side away from the

depOt, and hurried up a. side street toward the
open countr . They passed the abandoned sug-
pounders, deserted, and made the best of their
way out of Pittsbur for nearly a block, when
they heard shots an the whistle of bullets from
their rear. The were discovered.

“ Forward! ouble quick, march!” yelled
Oliver Calvert, in a panic. and away went the
head of the column in a wild rush, all order lost
for a moment or two.

A vengeful shout behind them, a attering of
shots, and the whole street was blac with pur-
suers. Pittsburg not was over; Pittsburg races
had begun. ‘. ~ _

CHAPTER XVII.
PITTSBURG RACES.

ALL the‘desperation that had sustained Oliver
Calvert when there was no way of escape, van-
ished the moment he saw openhcountry before
and heard an angry foelnan behind.

He forgothis uniform; the presence of otherS;
shamc' everything; and led the stampede for
several hundred yards, till his breath failed

 

n.

Then he Ifound himself almost alone, part of
' the column strung out behind him. but the mid-

 

dle and rear uite compact, while a rattling
tusillade and goods _of white smoke from the

'\

Nemo, King of the? Tramps.

last companies showed that they were trying to ‘
beat back the rioters. 1

No more bullets were flying near the fugitive l
Culvert, and he began to recover his coolness. ;

him that, With his uniform on, he was safe no—
where except among the troops, who seemed to
have recovered their order, and were now com- 3
in alon at only a moderate pace.

There ore Oliver halted and did what he

his sword and tried to stop the fugitives, who
readily obeyed his voice now that the imme-
diate danger was over.

He got them into some sort of order before
the rest came up, and, true to his instinct of ;
bluster when all was safe, put on his most 
valiant air and began to hector his fe‘low—run-
aways for leaving their regiments.

He was the more inclined to do this because
he saw a large brick house near him, which he
remembered to be the United States arsenal,
and spied a stout, red—faced man in the undress
of a regular officer, standing at a gate in a brick
wall, staring down the road, his hands in his
pockets.

Looking back himself, he could see that the
rear guard had almost ceased firing, and judged
that the dam or was near] over.

Therefore 6 turned an went up to the stout
officer, to Whom he said, with a melancholy

ace:

“ We have had a hard time of it, major.
Those fellows were too much for us.”

“ So I perceive,” said the stout man, with the
dryest of accents.

“This is the arsenal, I presume,” continued
Oliver, sweetly.

“ It is, sir.”

I The stout officer was still, not to say repel-
ent.

“ And on are the commandant, major l”

He cal ed the stout man “ major,” because be
perceived gold leaves on his blue shoulder-
stra s.

“ Yam, sir.”

“I suppose we can halt here a little while?”
asked Oliver.

“ In the road, sir? No one hinders you.”

“No. I mean inside. The fact is—” ,

“No, sir. This is Government property, and
no one comes in without a permit.”

“From whom, major ?”

Oliver was grewiug holder, for his friends
were coming nearer.

“ From the secretary of war, the general
commanding the department, or myself.”

“ But surely you’ll let our r fellows have
some rations?” said Oliver, p eadingly. “ We
were ordered out yesterday morning, and have
not eaten since.”

“There are no rations here. This is a store-
house for arms.”

The stout officer. was more repellent than

ever.

“At least we can find shelter here from the
mob. We can help you to defend the place,”
urged Oliver.

he stout officer ave him a. look of intense
disgust, and pointe to the wear ', dirty militia-
men, who were coming up, all ' rdered from
their hurried march.

“ That mob defend this lace!” he snarled,
bitterl . “ The rioters woul burn it over your
heads fore noon. Good-day, sir.”

Without another word he went in, slammed
the iron gate and bolted it behind him, and then
stood lowering at the draggled column as it
filcd_s owly and dejectedly past.

Oliver was for once completely disconcerted
and could do nothing but 0 and report to the
young eneral, who smile bitterly and cursed
the ma or for an old curmudgeon as he plodded
a ong.

There wasnot a sin 1e horse in the command,
and all to marc in the hot, dusty road
with the cheerful accompaniment of occasiona
distant booting and shots behind them to
quicken their steps if they lagged; and the con-
sequence was that there were very few strag-
glers, and that all of these were ahead.

The rioters came after them for two or three
miles, when they abandoned the pursuit; and
the poor hunted creatures came to a halt at last
on a hill, about five miles from the city, whence
they looked back to see a black pall of smoke
hanging over it.

The whole of the railway buildings and part
of the town seemed to be on fire; for the could
see the flames shooting up against a blac back-
ground of smoke, distinct even in the sunlight.

But here at least they had restnand, thanks
to the tender hearts of the women of Pennsyl-
vania, they were able to procure food at some
of the numerous farm-houses that now studded
the country. _

Many were the curious questions and much
the simple wonder of the country folks as they
heard the tale of the preceding night: but they
were full of moral lessons, even while they
handed out the big loaves of home-made bread
to the starving men.

Frequent was the comment:

“ You see, if you city boys had only staid

'C!

 

home, you waindn’t have got into this trouble.
The strikers ‘5 all right.” ‘

1

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“Not but what they’re a-goin’ too fur, meb—
be,” observed one patriarch to Oliver, as the
brilliantly—clad officer sat at his table, eating
his first hearty meal for two days; “but we

1 Moreover, the instinct of self-preservation told v can’t blame ’em when they seen the children

shot down. No, capting.”

Oliver made no reply; for he was ashamed of
his own share in the transaction, now he had
time to think of ft.

“ And if if was you, capting,” continued the
sage. “I’t” get rid of them soger close, soon’s
the Loi‘d’d let me. They ain’t safe round these
arts.

“ \Vh ' net?" asked Oliver, with a little start.
“VVel , ye see, there’s a power of tramps
round here, and they’re a-comin’in all the time,
f1 esh. And I’ve heerd ’em a-tellin’ how they
was goinl to kill every blamed soger they could
find. I didn’t b’lieve they meant it till last
night, ’cause they used to be afeared of sogers,
but now they’ve whi iped ye so bad, they ain’t
no tullin’ what they’l do.”

Oliver had listened to him with an attention
that became more and more iixed, and when he
had finished he asked:

“Do you think there’s any—any more dan-
ger? I thought it was all over now.”

“ Lord bless ye, capting, it’s only jest begin-
ning. Where do you live to hum?’

“ Calverton sometimes, other times Philadel—
phia.” was the anSWer.

“ Then you’d better take the fust train to
Philadelfy, capting, if so be you hain’t got to
stay, and don’t come back here till this fuss is
blowcd over.”

“ Do you really think so?” asked Calvert,
wistfully.

“ I reely think so‘ah—what might your
name be, capting?”

“ Calvert, ’ answered the other, not thinking
what he said.

“Calvert,” echoed the farmer, in a tone of
horror. “ Not him they calls ‘ Mower Cal- .
vert l’ ”

“ I don‘t know,” answered Oliver, feeling
very thirsty and not daring to drink.

“Be on the Calvert as sent the message to
‘ mow own the rascals?’ ” asked the farmer,
sternly.

Oliver stiflened up enough to say:

“ No, no, of course not.”

His lips were white as he uttered the lie and
saw that the farmer knew it to be a lie.

“Well,” said the old man. slowly; “if you
ben’t him, all right, but if you be, Lord have
mercy on ye if they ketches ye anywheres this
side of Altoona.”

“ Why i” asked Oliver, hoarsely.

“ ’Cause I’m told all the strikers and tram
has swore a. oath on the Ten Commandments
roast Calvert the Mower over a slow fire if they
ever‘lays hands on him,” was the solemn an-
swer.‘

Oliver wiped his brow hastily, and rose with
tottering steps to walk to the window.

The militiamen were scattered about the road~
side, finishing their hearty meal, and there was
not much semblance of order among them,
while many had thrown awa their muskets.

He saw one man deliberate y take of! his uni-
form by the roadside, and dress himself up in
an old blue shirt and trowsers, with a battered
straw hat to match, after which he scrambled
over a fence and disappeared across the fields.

A great many figures were ing the
same way, and the soldiers in the ma , instead
of trying to stop them, called out 'okmg mes-
sages after them, as if to old co es.

Then Oliver turned to the old farmer with a
troubled face.

“ The men are demrting,” he said.

“ Sensible fellers," was the composed reply.
“ This ain’t no fittin’ place for any man in sojer
close. You put that own capting.”

“Where’s the general, wonder!” muttered
Oliver, watching the lon stream of deserters.

“Gineral? Our ginera —-—him as ordered out
the regiments round here—he’s gone home to
Squantum. He warn’t meant to be no man’s
fool, and I’d ’a’ done the same in his place,” re-
plied the patriarch in the same contentious
manner, watching Oliver keenly: and then he
sidled up near him and said in a confidential
tone: .

“Say capting, I’ve got a mighty nice little
hoss asld take you over to Roxtown Center,
where the cars goes to Philadelfy, in half ’11
hour, if you’d like to buy him.”

Oliver felt the sweat trickle down his back as
he answered:

“ It wouldn’t be any use invthese clothes. Pd
bereco ized as a runaway, and in name be
in all tile]; papers. I’m one Of the vernor’s
stafl. I must stick to my duty.” '

The old farmer laid his hand on his shoulder.

“ The boss is jest as good fur a officer as a
citizen, and there’s a soot of my bo ' Dan’l’s
close tip-stairs as ’d fit you amazin’ we .”

“ And where is your boy?” asked Calvert,
Evithout knowing what he said in his. agita-

ion.

"‘ Over there ” said the farmer, nting to
Pittsburg. “ if he comes back an ads you
here, he may bring the boys down on ye.”

Hunted into his corner, Oliver turned.

“ How much do you want?” he asked. desper-

16

ately. “Don’t palaver any more, but tell me
how much?”

The slow farmer became transformed in an
instant to a shrewd man of affairs, as be ex-
claimed:

“That’s biz. You’re Calvert, the Mower.
Two hundred and fifty for the boss, fifty for the
close.”

Calvert hesitated.

“ I’ve only a hundred dollars in my pocket,
he said.

“Give me a check,” was the brisk answer.

' “If you’re Oliver Calvert you’re good for the
'I mone .”

, “All right,” replied Oliver, eagerly. “Give
~‘ me a pen and paper, and get the things quickly.”

The bargain seemed to have ut quicksilver
into the limbs of the patriarch, for he whipped
out pens and paper from a desk in the corner of
the parlor set the writing materials before
Oliver, and ran up-stairs to the absent Dan’l’s
room, whence he soon reappeared with Dan’l’s
brown moleskin working suit—probable value
five dollars or less when new—which he dumped
on the floor.

“ Want a razor?” he asked, in a brisk tone.

Oliver started.

“ Yes, of course. Never thought of it.
I wish you had a wig.” -

“ Dan’l’s got a play-actor’s wig, as he got off a
song and dance man in Pittsburg for a loan of
fifty cents,” was the accommodating answer.
“I won’t be mean, capting. We’ll throw it
in. It’s red as carrots.” -

“All right,” was Oliver’s much relieved re-
ply}! “Bring it along, and here’s your check.”

0 venerable rustic took and examined the
check with much satisfaction, and toddled off
to get wig and horse, while Oliver hastily drew
down the blinds shed his uniflorm, and drew on
the shabby clothes of the absent Dan’l with a
sense of relief that he could hardly ex lain.

Once dressed, he shaved off his b ack mus-
tache with a trembling hand, looked into the
glass, and thanked Heaven his black hair was
cro ped close to his head. Then he waited
wit much impatience for the old farmer, who
soon came in, carrying the wig and a battered
soft hat of gray felt with a hole in the crown,
which he handed to Calvert.

Never did a young lieutenant in his first uni-
form survey himself with more leasure in the
glass than did Oliver Calvert be old his trans-
mogrified reflection in the red wig and seedy
clothes.

“ No one would know me,” he thought; “ and
'I’ll find the Governor when it’s all over, and
make my peace with him.”

To the farmer he said:

“Now then, where’s that horse, and where’s
the road to Roxtown‘f”

“This way, capting,” said the sage, in his
most confidential tone; and he took him out
into the back yard where an old gray mare,
raw-boned and pot-bellied, country grass fed
from her crown to her bare hind feet, stood
hitched to a post.

Rusticus showe’d him a lane through his fields
and a distant church spire.

“That’s Roxtown, and the way’s across the
- fields. Put up the bars when ye get through,

capting, so the tramps ’1] find it harder to foller
ye. Good-by.”

Oliver swung himself into the dilapidated
saddle with a Joy as great as if he had been
mounting a thoroughbred, and ambled off in
the direction indicated, at a sort of “ dot and
lclilré‘y one” gait. The old mare had a string-

 

 

Y,

How

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
SENATOR CALVERT.

LEAVING the valiant colonel and aid-de-camp
to ursue his gory way over Pennsylvania 3
flel sin the direction of Roxtown, let us return to
the professional man of peace, Senator Calvert
when he was separated from the belea ere(
troops in the round-house and surroun ed by
afurious mob who seemed to be thirsting for
his blood.

, As far as pluck went. the old Senator was
brimful of it, and he never flinched when the
rioters came rushing at him, but on the con-
trary fought so desperately with a bit of scant-
ling whie he used like a quarterstafl, that he
laid big Billy Barlow flat with a broken head,
and sent Jim the Faker flying into the midst of
a pile of blazing lumber, from which he jumped
up with a how] severely burnt.

But before the Senator could clear his way
back to the door from which he had emer ed he
heard the rush of King Nemo and his ipsies
behind him, an a blanket was thrown over his
head, in which e was caught and made help-
less, and then he found himself tripped up and
carried away unhurt, while a confused Babel of
sounds reigned triumphant above his head.

As soon as this happened he ceased to strug-
gle,flrst, because he knew it was useless, and
second, because he could not believe any one
mixed to kill him, except in the excitement of

e. -

Sure Lnougb. he was not in the slightest de-
gree injure as soon as they once had him in
the blanket, but was carried rapidly away from

 

g . ..,.A

-<'.

the scene of conflict and finally set down in
some perfectly silent place.

Then some one said in a low tone close to his
ear:
“ We’re friends. Lie still till you’ve counted
a hundred, and then come out. Go to a hotel.”

He heard the sound of rapidly fleein g footsteps
and threw oil’ the blanket from his head, regard-
less of the injunction to count a hundred.

He found himself in a dark alley which open-
ed out at one end into a broad gaslit street, and
fom‘ dark figures were running round the cor-
ner as fast as they could go.

The old gentleman picked himself up, adjusted
his tumbled clothes, which had suffered consid—
erably in the lumber-yard fracas, and finally
put on his hat, which he found lying beside him
in the alley, and walked into the street.

Then he found himself once more a private
citizen, a stranger in a. great city, with nothing
in the world to distinguish him from any one
else in the town.

“And whoever did this thing knew me i”
thought the Senator. “Those rioters can’t be
such very bad fellows after all, and I don’t won-
der they Were exasperated nver the killing of
that child and the woman.”

He came out into the street and saw that he
was close to the front of a theater, which bore
on its bill-board, in monstrous letters:

“GRAND CACHUCA COMBINATION! l ! I”

followed by a description of the wonders of the
Gipsy ballet.

Something recalled to the old man’s mind the
face of the woman he had seen in the bu gy,
and he remembered the words of his fel ow-
prisoner in the round-house. “ She’s a variety
actress, called the Countess Cachuca.”

“ 1’11 0 in and see,” muttered the old Sena-
tor. “ may be mistaken, but I feel as if I
could swear to her face among a thousand.”

He went in and bought a ticket at the office.
The lobby was empty, and the ticket-taker
stared at him as if he thought it a queer time
to come in, for it was nearly eleven o clock.

However, he said nothing, and the Senator

walked into the house and stalked down the
center aisle toward the orchestra seats, just as
the Gi sy Queen was placing her foot on the
neck of her victim, who looked so like Oliver
Calvert, and flourishing her gleaming knife
aloft.
The old gentleman" walked straight on to the
orchestra rails, his tail heavy figure and grand
white head attracting universaI attention, in-
asmuch as the house was only about three-
quarters full.

As he came he stared fixedly at the Gipsy
Queen, and her eye caught his. An instant flush
showed that she knew him. ‘

“Ting!” went the prompt bell and down
came the curtain: but as it fell, Senator Cal-
vert kept staring, and the Gipsy Queen stared
back, as if neither could resist the fascina-
tion. '

As soon as the curtain was down, the old
gentleman nodded and said to himself aloud:

“I thought I was not mistaken. Oliver has
no memory at all."

“Why. Senator,” said a Voice close to him.
“how did ou get down here! I thought you
were at Ca verton.”

The Senator turned to see the face of an old
political friend, who caught him by the hand
and continued:

“I thought I was dreaming when 'ou came
dotvn the passage. How did you get into Pitts-
burg with the road blocked i"

“ I came in with the troops,” was the severe
reply of the Senator; “the same that you peo-
ple here are now trying to murder. W here’s
the stage door of this theater?”

His friend was so much astounded by the first
part of his speech that he forgot to answer the
second. _

“Came in with the troops!” he echoed, in a
tone of amazement. “Why, how did you get
out of the round-house? I heard they were go-
ing to kill you all.”

‘And you seem to have cared a good deal
whether the did or not,” retorted Senator Cal-
vert, bitter y. “I tell you what it is, my
friend: this little night’s work won’t do you
people any good in the end. You may kill a

andful of men, half starved, by sheer num-
bers, but you can’t kill the State of Pennsyl-
vania. Where’s the stage door of this theater?
Can’t you tell me?” .

He asked the uestion so snappishly that the
other answered astily:

“ Round the corner in the alleyway,” point-
ing to the side from whence the Senator had al-
read come.

“ bank you."

And the stout old man stalked away up the
aisle, followed by a low murmur of comment
from the spectators (for face and figure were
both well known), and pamed out into the lobby
and street.

Once outside he lmd no trouble in tracing the
alleyway in which he had been left, where be
hunted about for the stage door, which he soon
found. '

But, though he knocked again and again, it
was fully ten‘minutes before the door. was

i

Ne”??? King,_,,0f__the Tramps:

 

 

opened to him, and then only bya cross old man
who snapped out:

“ What do you mean by getting in front
when you’re wanted here? It’s against the or-
ders to be running backward and forward all
niUht, and you know it as well as I do.”

‘he old Senator interposed as soon as he could
get in a word :
I ‘1 ,M y good man, I don’t belong to your troupe.

“Then you can’t come in ” snapped the old
man, still more angrily. “ 0 you think I‘ve
nothing to do but keepa lot of guys gabbing!
I’ve got to be up-stairs, shifting scenes, and
looking after that blamed calcium, and here
you are taking up my time—”

He stopped suddenly, as the Senator, who
was a man of the world, held before his eyes a
crisp bunk bill. without another word.

“ Oh, that’s different,” muttered the old man,
in an altered tone. “Who do you want to see?”

“ The Countess Cachuca—at once,"whis ered
Calvert, stepping boldly inside the charm pre-
cincts.

“She’s in her dressin’-room,” was the reply,
confidentially delivered. “Shall I give any
name, sir?”

“ Sh ;w me the room,” said the Senator.
“She’ll see me or I mistake much.”

The doorkeeper led him up—stairs to the regions
behind the curtain, whence the Pittsburg mag-
nates had been so rudely ejected the night be.
fore and he found the stage set for Poor Pilli-
coddy, with a few painted ersons chatting
solemnly with each other in ow tones before
the rising of the curtain.

They regarded the Senator with looks of sur-
prise as he stalked across the stage; but he paid
no attention, and followed his leader to the
wings, where a narrow little staircase led up to
a door.

“ That’s her door sir.”

The Senator n ded, while the doorkeeper
vanished to his other multifarious duties.

Then the magnate of Calverton slowly as.
cended the stairs, pausin at almost every ste ,
his face very pale, and is breath coming 11
labored gasps. He hesitated before something
or other, and the curtain had been rung up be-
fore he finally knocked at the little dressing-
room door.

When he did, he was greeted by a soft, clear
voice, saying:

“Come in, Peter, I’m dressed now.”

The old Senator openi d the door and stood in
the presence of a dark, beautiful woman, fash-
ionably attired, who greeted him with a cold,
haughty stare, and as ed:

h “ Who are you, sir! How did you enter
ere?”

The old man was not taken at all by surprise
at this inquiry.

lie closed the door behind him, and rested two
hundred and fifty pounds of solid flesh against
it, before he made any reply.

Then he said, solemnly:

“ Jacqueline Rug/naml, where is my son .9"

The actress returned his steady gaze with in-
terest out of her dark eyes, and curled her lip.

“Are you in your Senses, sir? Who are
you and who is your son?"

“I am Harvey Calvert. whose son robbed
him and fled wit 1 you to a life of infamy and
shamc,”suid the Senator, slowly. “Jacqueline,
you were not treated so ill in our house that you
cannot recognize its master. Tell me where he
is, and 1 will forgive you—ay, bless you.”

The dark lady shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,
sir,” she answered. “I never saw you before
till you stared me out of countenance from the
pit; and allow me to" say that if this is your
style of making love, it is both impolite and
useless. Good-evening, sir. Please to 0 out.”

But the Senator had not put himsef to all
this trouble to be browbeaten out of his advan—

tage.

finger to emphasize his words. “ recognized
you the moment I saw you with that bearded
man in the wagon. Ohver didn’t know you,
but 1 did at once—”

He paused, surprised at a singular smile that
apfiwaired on the lips of his fair antagonist, and
88‘ e 2

“ Why do you laugh?” _

“At your tirade,” was the ready reply. “I
never saw you before, and tycu pretend to rec-
ognize me of! the stage. you will not leave
the door I must ring the bell for help. I wish
to 0 home, sir.”

6 old Senator neverstirred.

“ Ring, if you please,” be said. “I am well
known here, and you cannot frighten me of!
Jacqueline. Tell me where is my boy, and I
will go at once.”

This time she laughed openly at him.

“What do I know about. you or your
boy? You should look after'your own he s
and keep them at home: then you woul n’t
have to hunt for them in the dressing-rooms of
actresses.” '

There was something peculiarly mocking and
sardonic in her tone as she said this, and the old
Senator was for a moment silent. 'Then he an
swercd, huskily:

Harkye, Jacqueline,” he said raising his

I . a, .-_ an<nz_‘

a... ‘


t’

 

l

 

“You’re right, Jacqueline, you’re right.
Would God it were all to do over again. I may
have been—I was—too hard on him, perhaps,
and-”

He com resscd his li s firmly and frowned as
he turne away his ead: but the woman’s
keen glance detected a tear glittering under
the bushy white brows.

When he spoke again, it was with a humble,
pleading accent, very unlike his former tone.

“ Jacqueline Raynaud, for the last time, will
you tell me where is my son?”

She shrugged and smiled.

“You are tiresome, sir,” was her only an-
swer.

Then he nodded his head slowly twice, pighed
heavil , and opened the door to go out.

“I eserve it,” he muttered. “ Good-night,
mademoiselle.”

“Good-night, monsieur,” was her reply, in
the same tones of mockery. “I hope you may
find your son, if you look for him long en-

ou’gh.” ,
hen the Senator went away.

CHAPTER XIX.
A WALK IN THE PARK.

Miss HELEN CHESTER, alone and unattended,
was taking a. walk in Fairmount Park, Philadel-
phia, just about the same time that her cousin
Oliver was executing his masterly retreat from
Pittsburg‘in Dan’l’s clothes. 7

It was ardly the proper thing for. a fashion-
able ounfialady to do even in free America,
but elen d been brought up in the country,
loved fresh air and had a contempt for conven-
tionalities that led her to do unusual things.

Her guardian had hurried her oil? from Cal-
verton to Philadelphia on the morning when
'she had found the tramp’s letter inned to the
tree, and had left her at her aunt ary’s house,
a quiet little mansion not far from the Park, in
one of those cose little alle way so deli ht—
fully {Went en t e north sidse of hiladelp ia.

Aunt cry—otherwise Mrs. Chester—was a

iet old Quaker lad ,who, bein a. cousin .of

nator Calvert, h married elen’s uncle,
and, being a widow, had taken great interest in
the orphan heiress, who hada confusing way of
callin all her older relatives “ uncle and aunt,”
inclu mg her ardian, who was really only
her second cousm.

The old lady had never made much effort to
control Helen and_only urged the feeblest ob-
ectioiis to her niece’s lonely rambles in the
ark 1n the unsettled state of things consequent
on the riot summer.

Helen had, however,_no fears on the subject.
Since her adventure With the burglars, the girl
had dovelo d a wonderful amount of self-confl-
dence an control, and had frightened hcr
Quaker aunt half to death the very first day of
her arrival by showing her a neat little revol-
ver which she carried in a pocket under her
pull-back skirts and could use Well at need,

Mrs. Chester was in despair at this fresh va-

ary of her nieco. . .

‘~ Why will thee be masculine, Helen? Thee
doesn’t surely think of shooting any one, does
thee?” ,

“ No, aunt Mary, but I don t see Why a. wo-
man shouldn’t be able to take care of herself if
she’s going to be alone all her life, and I shall
probably die an old maid, so I want to begin
early.” . .'

“ But what does thee want With a pistol,
Helen?” _

“To take care of myself agamst any stray
tramps, aunty. I know a girl W110 03" Shoot 8-8
well as any man and who has owed her life and
safe’l'iy to it, many a time.” \ ,

“ hen she must be a very stran 8 T1,
Helen,”responded her aunt, severely. ‘ So er,
decent girls don’t run into. scrapes that rcduu'e
a pistol to save them. Thee knows that as W611
as I do.”

Helen flushed and re lied with more heat than
she usually showed to er dovelike relative.

“ The poor creature, like me, was a mother-
less girl and misfortune drove her into danger.
You talk like the rest of the world, aunt Mary,
and I hope you’ll re nt it some day.”

$08331“ ,_Miss elen went out of the room
«With somet mg very like a. flounce, and put on
her things for that stroll in the park with which
we opened this chapter, not forgetting her little
nickel-plated friend under the pull-back.

She passed 1111theg by all the show parts
of the park_which were. almost deserted at that
early hourm the mornin , and strolled on till
the Guild herself in 3 3°C 1,1de spot some way
up the Schuylkill river bank;

There, in a nook among thickets and neglect-
ed walks, W38 3!! 01 c arbor overgrown
with vines, lookin out on the river and its

'11; boats and ere Helen took her seat and
B: an to rea a book.

hether she understOOd What she read is
doubtful, for she lifted her eyes from the leaves
almost every minute, and once had to turn the
book round, discovering that she was holding it
upside down. .

In fact it needed but little penetration on the

rt of any observer to hazard the assertion
that Miss Chester was expecting to meet some
one in that secluded 8130.

 

NemOaKingeffihaT

 

see him whom Jacko and I know

Sure enough, after half an hour’s more or
less impatient waiting, steps sounded on the
walk, and a bright red patch could be seen
through the leaves of the adjacent thicket mov—
mg along.

Helen Chester closed her book with an air of
vexation and murmured to herself:

“ It’s some one else, after all. Can she have
disappointed me?”

The next moment the light, graceful figure of
a girl in a scarlet cloak tripped into view and
came straight toward the arbor where Helen
sat.
This girl was as dark as an lndian, with large
clack eyes and clustering curls of ebony hue
framing her oval face under the red hood.

She had a leading smile on her red lips, dis-
closing teeth ike rows of pearls between them.

Her figure was lithe as that of au'antelope,
and her little feet and ankles were fully re-
vealed by the short striped skirt she wore.

Physically she was perfectly beautiful in her
dark st 16, and it was with the sweetest of
voices t at- she said to Helen:

“ Won’t the lpretty lady cross the poor Gip~
sy’s palm Wit silver and hear her fortune
told?’

Helen curled her lip. ‘

“'What do you know about fortune?” she
asked. “ I don’t care for your silly prophecies.
Go awa .”

The ipsy girl looked at her with a myste-
rious air and answered:

“I know all about fortunes. I am Gipsy
Nanuand my Duroken Lil never makes a mis-
take.

“ And what’s your Duroken Lil ?” asked Helen,
skeptically. .

“My book of magic,” answered Gipsy Nan,
in a hushed sort of way. “Don’t talk ill of it,
for it’s unlucky. I know what you came here
for today.”

“Well, what?” asked Helen, her color begin-
nin to rise. . '

. “ ou came to meet one who is not here, for
the reason that she isfar away with the R0-
manichal.”

Helen turned scarlet.

“ How dare you say that?” she asked. “Who
are you and what do you want with me this
morning?” ’

“I want to tell the Sretty lady what will
happen to her, if .she wi let me see her hand,”
answered Nan, With the same coaxin smile.

Helen could not help laughing at ier perti—
nacity, and held outher hand to the Gipsy
girl, who looked at .lt intently.

Presently she said, in her most mysterious

wa :

‘yFortune and happiness are far off from the
beautiful lady now, but they will come to her
if she has the courage to wait and work as she
will tell her. There is a tangle to unravel, a
snake to be drawn from his hole, a wrong to
right, a man to punish, a woman to save. She
sends you this.”

She dropped Helen’s hand and left therein a
small note which the girl eagerly clasped, cry-

in :

% You are a messenger from her or him. Why
did not you say so before?” _ , ,

Nan only smiled in her old mocking myste-
rious way as she answered: I

“ \Vill the pretty lady cross the Gipsy’s palm
now?”

“ Certainly.”

And Helen dived for her pocket-book and
gave Nan a new bill, to the Gipsy’s great de-
ligzlet, while the young lady eagerly read the
no .

It was very brief.

“ I cannot come to-day, and send Nan. She knows
all. Tell her all. _ MOW”

Helen raised her eyes to Nan. -

“ Where is J acko?” she asked.

The Gipsy laughed.

“She’s a queen now. 'Money plenty. What
shall I say to her?”

“ Tell er I will follow the advice she gave
me at Calverton to the letter. Why could she
not come?”

“She is far away,” replied Nan, in an evasive
way. “She told me to tell you to watch him
you know of, and get his secret.”

Helen smiled.

“Easier said than done. I hate him, and he
knows it.” ‘

“That’s nothing,” answered the Gi y, confi-
dently. “ A Rmnam‘che would 0 comer a
gorgi‘o to get a secret any time.”

“ And what’s choomer a gorgio i” asked
Helen, wondermgly.

“ Kiss a stranger. Any man will tell a. secret
for love.”

“Then you mean I am to make love to him
to at his secret from him?” said Helen, inquir-

in .

51y y Nan laughed.

“ (5:; his secret, J acko 0t it, but no one will
believe her. You are .. ame —a bore Rance

— reat lad . Any one will believe on,

wfieg‘they woiild hunt a Romauiche out o the
1 l I” u

p l‘l‘filllfellfl said. Helen, sioiviy, “ I’ll think of it,

Nanny. In the meantime tell mg when I shall
6

ramps.

 

17

AA. A_ A H m . .7‘4w_fi.__-mn.ii._._ g,

 

Gipvsy Nan smiled.

“ hen wrong isright and truth is told; the
lost son will come to light, and all will be happy.
So she says, and I can say no more.”

Then the Gipsy dropped a courtesy and left
the arbor at a rapid, springy walk, Helen
watching her in a mute reverie as she took her
way out of sight, when the young lady slowly
followed her.

Nan crossed the park and went over the rail-
way bridge to the station. where she stopped
just as a stream of passengers came out.

The Gipsy Watched them keenly with the in-
stinct of her class, under a manner of assumed
indifference till she suddenly started despite her
self-command as a tall, red-haired, slouchy-
looking countryman in a brown moleskin suit,
worn and dirty, came shambling out of the
de wt and walked toward Market street.

here was nothing so very uncommon in the
looks of this person, save one item that Nan in-
stantly noted.

He was wearing a red wig.

She spied a lock of black hair on the nape of
his neck, andinstantly jumped to the conclusion
that he wasa detective, or some such person,

t any other time Nan would have given
such a persona wide berth, but those were times
when her class were particularly bold, and she
resolved to see him a little closer.

She had come from Pittsburg herself on the
very day of the riots, in the last train that was
allowed to pass, sent on a. secret errand by the
chief of her band, and was going back at once,
when she met this man.

A moment later she was in front of him beg-
gin and starin up in his face all the while.

“ lease, kin gentleman, let the Gipsy tell
your fortune.”

“ Go to the devil l” was the sullen reply.
“ Keep Out of my way, or I’ll call a policeman,
you brazen bagga e.’

But Gipsy Nan ad seen and heard all she
wanted. She knew Oliver Calvert in a mo-
ment, spite of all his disguise, from the tones of
his voice and the expression of his face, the
same she had seen on the lawn at Calverton, a
few da s ago.

She ell back with affected timidity to allow
him to pass, and then followed him up at a little
distance.

She noticed that he looked asham‘ed, and
shambled along the street as if trying to avoid
observation. . ,

Not only was this the case with him, but
there were other men, 1 oughly dressed, but with
pale faces, and soft, white hands, who went
sneaking off from the cars, and vanishing down
side streets, as if desirous 'of'hiding themselves.

At first she thought them tramps, but she was
undeceived a little later by hearing 'the news-

boys shouting:
“ Extry Times! Got the total defeat of the
All

Filadelfy malishyl Pittsburg in flames!
the troops killed!”

“ Olin!” said Nan to herself with a triumph-
ant air.- “ So the tramps have had the best
of it this time, and those gorgios have run
a ay in other people’s clothes. Now the R0-
m‘Xnichal will have justice.”

So saying, Nan slipped off her red cloak, put
down the hood, turned it inside out, showing a
dark, plain lining,.made a few rapid changes in
her personal appearance, by letting down a
looped-up skirt, and then boldly started down
the street, quite transmogrified into a sober,
quiet working-girl in a long brown dress, who
shadowed Oliver Calvert like a spirit till she
traced him into the Continental Hotel, where he
finally disappeared, though not till after a. visit
to a clothing store, of which more hereafter.

Then she turned and went back to the cars,
which, half an hour later, were on their way to
Pittsburg, or as near there as they could get.

Nan was going back to make her report.

CHAPTER XX.
HELEN’S PROMISE.

WHEN Oliver Calvert reached the Continental
Hotel, where he was well known, he took the
opportunity to dash off his red wig, in the first
dark passage, before he went up to the desk,
and thus made his appearance before the clerk
onl partially changed.

havertheless, that individual hardl knew
him, and was much surprised when the gitive
spoke to him in a low voice, and asked him for
a room to change his drms.

Then, as the perception gradually dawned on
the clerk who was his visitor, he ejaculated:

“ Certainly, judge, certainly. J us't come back -
from Pittsburg, I suppose.”

“How do you know that?” asked the other,
turning red. .

“Had a lot of refugees in to-day to change
their clothes, and most of ’em had some sort of
uniform in their bags. All‘agreed the rioters
had killed the rest of the regiment. Had a hot
time, judge; I mean colonel?”

“ Hot enough,” replied Oliver, trying to look
indiflerent, “ the men had to retreat at last, and
I wascut off from them and in the hands of
the rioters. I made my escape in disguise, as
you see. Come, hurry; up with that room.”

The clerk rung a be and ordered a waiter to

l

18

-———I__ - » ~~ 7 ~ 7 7 HI

. .__..__-._.-.._-__.A . VA,

 

show Oliver to a room, but there was a sort of
grill on his face as he did so, that was only the
reflection of that on many another face in tlimze
days, especially if the wearer had not been in
Pittsburg, and did not belong to the militia.

It was unmistakable and superciiious scorn,
much of it undeserved, under which the vic-
tims of tho round-house Were doomed to suffer
for many weeks after.

Oliver Calvert and those who had sneaked off

.N-....-.,.» ._....~. w b --

.' ‘axwhr‘ “Lava->10!- —

with him in the same manner Wi-re fairsnbjects ‘

for this feeling, but many of the. others were
not, for they had only‘done their duty.
However, the. ex ~c<-l< mi in inui'i i made no pa r~
ticular note of the clerk‘s grin, but hurried up
to his room to resume a respectable appearance.

His object was to so cover his tracks, that he 4

might not be ('Oll|[)('ll€(1 to call at M rs. Chester‘s
house in any disguise; a: d with that object in
view he had stopped on his way to the hotel to
purchase a ready-"made suit, which he hastily
donned wliilo consigning the. absent Dan’l's gar-
ments to the safe seclusion of the locked valiw.

When he was once more respectable he went
down-stairs again, and sallied out to find his
cousin Helen, all prepared with a plausible

story.

He found the city wearing much of its usual
appearance, though there were a good many
groups at the street corners, men discussing the
news from Pittsburg, while the sale of papers
was flourishing.

On his way to the Chesters the escaped colonel
bought an extra. and learned, for the first time,
that the rioters had burned the round-house and
depdt, and that a large part of Pittsourg was
then in flames, while the exploits of the Phila
delphia troo )S were set forthas prodigies of
valor, and the regular army major was over-
whelmed with oblogu y for his refusal to assist
the beaten militiamen.

' paper made Oliver feel more tranquil in
his mind, for he had hitherto felt very much
ashamed of himself; and the look of the clerk
had been far from flattering.

He took a. horse-car in a. Elde street, and went

toward the park, whence he soon.reached
B rs. Chester's neighborhood, and was nearing
her house, when, in turning a. corner, he came
directly on Helen, leisurely strolling along un
der her parasol.

His first impulse was to go the other wa , for
he dreaded the sarcastic tongue'of his bri liant
cousin; but she had already Seen him, and met
him with a bright smile and extended hand.

' “ Why, Oliver, where did you come from
and what made you shave ofl.’ your mus-
Sacha?”

He stammered and colored.

“ Oh, nothing. Hot weather, you know.”

“But I thought you were in Pittsburg.
Uncle Harvey said you had 'rone there to quell
the riots. Did you see him? He went along
with the soldiers.”

“Yes, Helen, I did see him, and a hard time
we all had. Haven’t you read the papers?”

“ I don’t care to read them generally. ‘ They--
’re too stupid. I saw one yesterday evening,
that told how the soldiers had fired on the ri t-
ers and driven them off in confusion. W e
you there, cousin Oliver 4” -

“ And have you seen nothing since—nothing
at all?”

She looked surprisod. ~

“No. Aunt Mary doesn’t read the papers,
and we live very quietly.”

“ Then look at that.”

And he handed her the extra which described
the closing of the battle, by which Helen learned
for the first time of the disaster.

She-read it throu h, her face getting paler

and more serious as s ie Went on, and then sud—
den] faced on him with the uestion: ,
- “ ere’s uncle Harvay? id you leave him
tobe killed? The paper doesn’t say a. word
about him, and I know he was there. Where
is be?”

She was qpivering with excitement while she
spoke, fol-s a was very fond of the old man,
who had always been kind to her.

Oliver put on his most protecting and con-
siderate air.

“If you will walk with me to aunt Mary’s,
I’ll tell you. Helen. I have seen the Senator
and we Were both together in that dreadful
round-house, but we were separated in one of
the attacks, and I fear he is a prisoner in their
hands.”

“Then he is killed,” was all she said, in a
tone of despair, “and he will never know——”

She did not finish the sentence; but com~

r'essed her lips firmly and walked on, for Helen
ad unusualfielf-control and hated to _be seen

ing.
m‘Oliver walked beside her for some minutes
without speaking, and then gently remarked:

“ I think he’s probablv safe, Helen. The
mob had no spite, save against men in uniform;
and, once outside he could have mingled .with
. the crowd withou danger. We shall soon hear
from him, if, indeed, he is not here already.
was the only person in s ecial dan r, for they
be sworn to ang mei they caug t me.”

he turned on him quickly.
' "Yes, for that telegram of yours. I told
you how it would be.”

 

.—_—. n.- _\. .. - ‘ ,_,_

_, Nemo, King of the Tramps.

“ I admit it, Helen; but I could not let them
see I was afraid.”

Helen regarded him with a singular glance of
covert contempt.

A few days earlier, she would have broken I

out in some bitter speech; llllb something re-
strained her now, and she said nothing till they
came to Mrs. Chester‘s house, where the first
person they saw on the steps was a telegraph
bov, ringing the bell.

Helen’s eyes lighted up and she hurriedly ad-
dressed the boy.

“ Where is that from 15“

“ l’ittsbnrg, ina‘am, as near as they could get.
lViri s are down for five inih s out."

“ \Vlio‘s the message for!”

“Miss Helen Chester, ina‘am. Are you the
lady r" .

“ Yes, yes.”

And Helen snatched the telegram from the
boy’s hand and tore it open, while Oliver signed
the receipt-book.

T he message ran:

“ ‘hu Senator is safe. Remember
my advice. JACKo. "

Sic crushed it up in her hand and turned to
the boy with a sweet smile. saying:

“ You’re a nice boy. Take this.”

I And she slipped a dollar bill into his hand: for
Helen had always had plenty of money and
was a. little inclined to be extravagant.

The boy touched his hat and went off radiant,
while Oliver fidgeted, and at last ventured to

Fear nothing.

as :

“ Who was that from, Helen?”

“Oh, no one—a friend of mine in Pittsburg,
to say uncle HarVey is all safe. Come in,
Oliver.”

And nothing more could be got out of her
after they were in the house, for she fluttered
about from one subject to anonher with a vi-
vacity all ner own, engaging him in all sorts of
disputes with aunt Mary,who sided with the

rioters and did not believe in military measures:

of any kind.

“The that take the sword shall die by the
sword, liver. Thee’s found that out by this
time,” observed aunt Mary, placidly, knitting
away. “I’m sorry thy men were hurt, of
course; but if thee asks my opinion, I must say
I thirk they deserved what they got. Did thee
come home in uniform, Oliver?’

“N o, aunt; I was captured and going to be
murdered, when I managed to slip away in the
dark by taking the clothes of a dead riocer.”

The old lady shuddered.

“ And wasn’t thee ashamed to spoil the dead,
Oliver?”

“It was neck or nothing with me then," he
answerer], coolly. "You know we soldiers
can’t stick at trifles.”

He did not see the humorous twinkle in
Helen’s eyes, because at that moment she was
arranging some flowers in a vase behind him,

and her voice was as soft as the cooing of a dove '

as she observed: ‘

“Poor Oliver must have had a very hard
time, aunt Mary. It’s a shame to abuse him.
For my part- I feel uite proud of his esca e.
Bathe must 0 very ungry after all this. t
me order lunch.”

“Certainly, child; thee knows where to find
Rebecca.”

And most assiduous were the cares bestoWed
by Helen on the dejected hero of the riots all
that afternoon, by which she soothed his self-
love, flattered his vanity. and encouraged his
hOpes to that extent that he soon forgot all
about the mysterious telegram, and became
more devoted to his handsome cousin than be
had ever been before, which was needless.

For the first time in several years, Oliver Cal-
vert be an to hope that Helen was growing
kind to uni. He had paid assiduous court to
her for all that time for the sake of her wealth
and beauty, but had never hitherto been able
to flatter himself with any reasonable basis of

ho .

I31: had tried every mcans of ingratiating
himself with her, for be was determined to
marry Helen if he could, but had been treated
with so much rigor and contempt that even his
assurance had been unequal to the task of im-
agining he had made any progress with her.

And now, all of a sudden, she grew kind and
talked sweet] to Oliver, while the faint sum-
mer breeze 1i ted the white curtains and aunt
Mary dOZt'd in her great wooden rocker.

Oliver was not the man to neglect makin
hay at proper seasons, and soon establishe
himself on a cane setteo near Helen, where they
talked in low tones while she slowly waved her
fan to and fro.

“Helen,” he presently said, when she had
been remarkably kind for awhile; “ how much
plensanter this is than when we quarrel all the
time." I feel as if I should like to stay here for-
ever.

“ Oh, dear no,” she smiled. “We should
soon get tired of each other if we were together
all the time.” . '

»“I should never get tired of you,”he pro-
tested. “ Why won’t you say you’ll marry me
Helen? I could give you all your heart coul
desire, and love you better than any one else in
the world.” . V ,

 
 

“ Could you .3” she asked. playfully. " But
suppose i couldn’t care for you, Oliver! Where
i \vonld my happiness be then 1"

“I‘d make you love me. You couldn’t help
it long.” I

“But suppose I loved some one else, cousin
‘ Oliver?"

g “ I wouldnji care for that. I’d end,by making

1 you forget lnm. ’ I 7

g ‘ X on re very confident, sir. ’ .

' ‘ 1 am, because l’m very lllllCll in love.

i yes, and you‘ll never repent it, Helen.”

P “ But if i said yes, I should make a condition,
Oliv r. "

“ liyiize any conditions, and I swear to fulfill
' them. all,” he answered, eagerly, for he began
1 to think she was weakening.

‘ Helen’s eyes had a, strange glitter in the dark-
ened room as she looked down in his eager, im~
passioncd face.

“ Will you swear on your faitl- in all that is
holy, to do (mg/(hing I tell you, ii' I will prom-
153 to marry you, Oliver Calvert?7

He gave a slight start 'and looked at her
doubtiully for a moment: but then he com—
pre~sed his lips and answered:

“ I swear it on my Soul, Helen.”

Then she stopped waving her fan, and her
{nice trembled ever so slightly as she said to
11m:

“ Bring back Harvey Calvert to his home
and reconcile him. to his father, and 1 will
make no further opposition.”

The words had, as she knew they would have,
a rent effect on him. .

e sat still a moment, seeming to shrink into
himself, and then moved away to the other end
of the settee, wnence he stared at her in si-
lance.

For a. little space not a word was spoken, and
then Oliver asked in husky tones:

“ Brin I back Harvey! How can
Helen? don’t know where he L:

He stopped with a. sort of gas ).

“Very well,” she replied, quietly . "then we.
need say no more about the matter, ()lin-I‘.”

Softly she rose from her seat, gathered her

Say

do it,
-n less—’

the mom, when Oliver rose in his turn and laid.
his hand on her sleeve to detain her. .

“Don‘t go yei, Helen,” he said, pleadingly.
“ I'll do anything in my power to please
but how can I perform what is im cssible?’

“The man that wins me must augh at im—
possibilities,” answered Helen, haughtily. “I
have made my condition Till it is fulfilled,
press me no more.”

“Sta one little moment,” he said, huskily.
“If [— —bring him back to his father, will you
perform your part of the agreement? Will you
marry me, Helen i”

“I have said what I mean once,” she an-
swered, slowly. “Bring him back, and I will
not oppose ion.”

Then she left the room.

CHAPTER XXI.
GIPSY NAN.

WHEN Gipsy Nan finally left the cars, shé
found herself at the station where Oliver Cal-
vert‘had first met the soldiers. The train ran
no further, and indeed they could not get that
far; for the whole line from Pittsburg on both
tracks was choked with strings of freight can
in a solid, unbroken perocessimi, stretching
several hundred ards yond the station at
which Nan stopped.

The Gipsy was, as we have seen, an adept at
disguise, and no one would have thought her
anythin but a quiet, rather stupid count
girl, as s e stepped out of the train in a brow
dress and a gray shawl. carrying a bandbox,
which held her red and brown reversible cloak,
with some other toggery.

She had even taken the precaution to powder
her dark face andhide her black hair under a
scrubby brown Wig, with a very loud country
bonnet to match.

Nan was already a skillful detective, and had
taken with ardor to the service on which 5116
was that day employed: though she did not
reaJize its full importance, having merely re-
peath words with which she was charged.

She was not afraid of a six-mile tramp, or
she would have been no true Romani‘chi, so she
set off on the dusty road to Pittsburg, swinging
her bande and singing as she want. as soon
as she got alone where no one could hear her,
for Nan was given to naughty Romany bal-
lads, that she didn’t care to let a gorgio hear.

Like most of her people she was roud‘and
jealous of her language, which she d d not like
to betray to any one who did not know it a].
ready, and therefore it was not till she was in a
deserted shady lane leading to Pittsburg that
she fairly lilted out her little ballad:

NAn’s soNo.

Me kamava miro kam, miro kone kamlidir,
Miro kone kamlidir kammaha man;
Kamava choomer la an devas,

, Cboomava la. so rati,
Miro kone kamlidir choomaha. man.

The sound of her 0011 voice seemed to ex-

 

hilarate her, for shebegantopkip and giggles. ,
t '1" ' ’i"‘ ".1 ~’ "

“4)., . ,1

 

 

(M. ,4. :."~-.,
. _» . H,

dress round her and was about Sweeping from

you, '

 

  

fi‘.“ _ ‘ _ 

~v

 

   
 

..q~.._.g

 

w-..._._._._-..,_ A I . _

she went along, and sung the second verse at
the full pitch of a sweet and powerful voice,
which she possessed in common with many of
her race.

Me kamava miro kam. miro kone kanilidir,

Miro konc kltlllllllll' kone choomavn man,

Ava giv, lionianielii!

Ave giv, lioiuanicliul!

Chooincr koiic kushtidir, miro kanh“

The song was like herself and all her race,

light, voluptuous, and living in the present

alone: but Nan sun " it with such birdiiko swect- .
L»

new to a: soft lioinnny air that it captivated the

attenlii‘in of one listener at least, who rose u ) i
from under a tree where he was lolling at full t

ion rtii and exposed to View the well—known face
an ligureof Mr. William Barlow, better known
as the Boss of the Bunimei‘s.

Mr. iiiirlow had made a great change for the
better in his personal appearance as far as

clothes went, for he was apparelcd in the most 1
shiny of black broadcloth, and had on his feet a 1

pair of enormous patent leather boots; but the
effect of this riiimeiit was marred by the fact
that he had on a shirt not large enough for

him, and so had neglected to button it at the .

neck, or to put on any collar, .though he
sported a grand diamond pin in the middle of
his breast.

Otherwise Mr. Barlow was the essence of pon-
derous respectability in his attire, and sported a.
watch in each of his vest pockets, with the most
gorgeous of chains depending therefrom, while
he was lazily funnng himself with a large and
beautifully mounted fan, a. delicate toy of
ivory, satin and gold

To complete the unlocked-for features of hip
equipment, Mr. Barlow rested his hand on a
musket, while some belts and a pouch lay un-
der the tree beside him. _

“Well, my gal, it you ain’t the. piece I’ve
been lookin’ fur all day l” he exclaimed, a broad
smile lighting up his dirty face. -

For, with all his fine clothes, the Boss of the
Bummers had neglected the little ceremony of
washing as below his dignity.

“ Here I’ve been a-sweatin’ under that ’erc
tree all the mornin’, a waitin’ fur a. nice little
galto come along and take a. crini: with me;
and here you come as pritty as a picter and as
sweet as—ph, jiminy!”

His feelings were too much for Mr. Barlow,
and he smacked his lips and hugged the air
With lnsvarms as he danced about iii the road
before him, barring her further progress toward
the city._

The girl had one advantage over him, that
she knew Who he was while she herself was
thoroughly disguised. oreover, she could see
from his gestures and general appearance that
the Boss of the Buinmers was a little more than
half-seas over, a conclusion confirmed my the
presence of two empty bottles lying in the road
near Mr. Barlow’s late couch.

“Who are y0u. anyway?” he went on, try-
in to come near her With steady steps and
fafiing in the atteniptzand what were that you
was a-singin? Eyetalian or Dutch, or what?
Say! Hain’t ye got no tongue?”

Nan had beeii_watching bun with the cat-
like vigilance, quite 11mm with fear, of her
hardy, self-reliant race, all DOW she curled her
M ii and retorted:

“ hat’s that to you? Get out of my way,
or it’ll be the worse for you. Do on hear?”

“Yes, I hear my charmer,’ replied the
morons Boss 0 the Buinmers, .Staggoring to
and fro to intercept her. “I ain’t no tramp
DOW, I want you to un’stan’. I’m a Seminal!—
agemman, by Jimmy! Ilives on m stamps,
and all I want’s a nice alto make me 8 hflPPY'S
a, kin . Look ahere, o 6 gal l" ,

And with a drunken howl of exultation he
dived into his pockets, throwing down 1113 Sun
for the purpise, and hauled out twogl‘eai'l r0118
fit bills, which he shock in her face wnh a mud-

n- in.

 oo_k a’ that ’n’smilel” he said, after a
while, in a tone of severe gravity. “ That’s
furthe gal as is good to me. I’m the king of
hlf‘liifspurg, I am, and dam the man I can’t

c . -

_Nan would have been no true Gipsy if the
sight of the money had had no effect on her.
At first 8116 had been very much .di usted to
find Billy Barlow in her way; for ike most
GipsieS, she had a great contempt for tramps 0f
any other race: but now- she saw he was drunk
and unable to do her any serious harm if she

reserved her distance.

Therefore she suddenly changed her manner
to one of reat sweetness, and exclaimed:

“Why, . r. Barlow, is that you? I declare

 

‘A fair specimen of the tone and manner of the
gipfly songs, when they are not more Openly new.
OUS.‘ i
I love my low, my dearest Love,
And my dearest love loves me.
1 will kiss him all the day,
I will kiss him all the night.
And my dearest 10ve Will kiss me.

I love my love. my dearest love,

My dearest love who leEt 5 me.
Come, hing, yo (lipsy iimitfs!
Cemenring', ye (jzysyludsl ,
What bet. er tnana “53,91: mylover.

;

.- 3;.
. .41. I . > '
' anti“. fiendish! ‘ v

I didn’t know you at first. “Thy, how do you
(101’
y The Boss of the Buninicrs stared at her in a
stupid kind of fashion for a minute, and then
i burst out:

“ Wcli, bu’st my bloomin’ skin if she ain‘t
one of us arter all! Say! who are you, any—
way ’i You‘ve be‘ii goin’ through some one to

i get all those store clos .”

l “ Who did you go through to get what you
‘ have on !” hiked N .n, coolly, in her turn.
1 “Mel Un, tats»; and hogs’ tails!
" through hail‘ the stores in Grubstip, I have; and

whipped "the sogers. \Vliy, -we gets all the
: liquor we wants, and the stores is left empty,
, and half the town’s a-iiurnin’ away like >ixty.
l See “but a soot I got. ’Taiii’t cool, like my
I old one; but, Jiiiiiny Moses! ain’t it handsome!
l Look at them watches. I bu’sted an old cove
iii the snoot in his own shop, and tuk ’r in More
his eyes, and he dasn’t say nword. Tell you.
sis, the people‘s a-gettin’ their rights now, if
they never did afore.”

“Well you don‘t want both those watches,
Bill. ’Twould be real nice in you to give me
,one,” said the Gipsy girl, artfully, and as she

spoke she came close to him.

Mr. Bar10w began to smile with drunken fa-
tuit .

“i311 you coaxin’ little devil,"lie said; “you
know how to come it over old Bill. Blow my
bloomiii’ dayli'rht ’f I wouldn't take the shirt
off my back to blige a nice gal. Take which on’
’em ye likes. Keep it on both chains, and
they’s stein- winders also. Bu‘st me if he
, didn’t say so. the old thief, just arter I dropped

im.

Nan had not the sli htest scruple in playing
Delilah to this dirty %umson in new clothes,
and she knew him well enough in all his moods
to feel quite safe, while she pretended to coax
him and stay near him.

With perfect impartiality she examined the
watches, selected the handsomest—a jeweled
stem-winder of ‘eat value—and then as tran-
quilly picked iirlow’s pocket of the other,
while he was sticking her brown wig and call-
in her all sorts of pretty names.

Then she observed quietly:

“Is that real money you had just now, or is
it only flash flimsy i” (counterfeit bills.)

. The hint was enough for Mr. Barlow, who
forthwith dived once more into his trowsers’
pockets and fished out two double handfuls of
bills more or less worn.

“ Cracked the Grubsti p Bank only last night,”
he said, roudly. “ See what I got for my
share. VV ant tolook at ’em?”

“Ay,” said Nan, in the same careless way,
and the drunken tramp actually poured the
money into her lap as she sat down under t e
tree, the better to lull his suspicions, while yet
threw himself down beside her and clasped his
arms round her waist.

“Go along with you, Bill,” she said, in affiact-
ed anger. “ You don’t leave me alone till I can
count the money. There’s enough here to take
us out of this and live an honest life where no
one will know us. Let me count it, afore you
begin to fool with me.”

‘ All right,” said the tramp, solemnly, and be
rolled over on his other side. “Hurry up with
the countin’ and tell us what’s there.”

Nan smoothed out the bills with her hands
and began to count aloud to keep his attention
on them, till she had the package nicely folded.

Then she suddenly leaped to her feet, ran 0 the

n Barlow had dropped in the road, matched

t up, and started on a run as‘ swift as her well-
‘trained limbs could carry her.

As she went she looked back over her shoulder,
saw the victimized Boss of the Bummers scram-
ble to his feet and come staggering after her,
and laughed back a shrill de once at him.

Preseziti she began to come into the more

uente roads and saw before her in the dis-
tance the blackened ruins and curling smoke
that showed where Pittsburg' had lain, hand~
some and icturesque, when 3 e left it the day
before. T e mob had truly glutted its thirst for
vengeance.

But Nan knew well enou h frOm the escape
she bad Just had from Bil y Barlow that she
coum 50“ ,hOPe for safety any more in her quiet
country girl’s dress. As a; decent character she
was sthect to insult from every tramp she met,
and Mr. Barlow’s attire and revelations showed
that the tramps had the upper hand in Pitts-
bnrg at that time.

Only by Kettjng back to her own band and re-
suming her _(arlpsy dress could 'she hope for
safety, and m a twinklin Nan had climbed
over a stone wall and hurried over a few inter-
vening,r fields to an old stone quarry, which she
remembered to be in the neighborhoml, where
she quickly changed her dress to the short
skirts of the Gipsy ballet girl: and. thus lightly
equipped, made her way into Pittsburg'without
an further molestation. ’ ‘

ii the way she spied Mr. Barlow moving
with devious and uncertain steps down a road
on which were some female tramps far ahead,
and Nan laughed to herself as she thought how
cleverly- she had tricked him out of watch,

 

 

‘ money and gun at one fell swoop,

Nemo, King of the Tramps.

I‘ve b’en ‘

we‘va b’eii Just liuviii’ a lieloftime since we .

 

19

w 7 if". r "7774‘" r r n A r—fl—.— - H "In My __,.

CHAPTER XXII.
- LAW AND ORDER.

AS soon as Nan found herself in Pittsburg she
paid a visit to the theater, where her peo le
had been performing in the Gipsy ballet un er
the mysterious Countess Cachuca, with the tall
agent who was as the reader doubtless suro
mises none other than King Nemo, with his hair
combed and his body in good clothes.

Luckily for Nan, the opera house had escaped
the flames which had ruined a large part of
Pittsburg, and she had no difficulty in finding
her companions and asking for the Boro Raf, as
the Gipsies alwa 3 called their chief.

They told her e was out with the men, work- ‘
ing to stop the fire; for by this time Pittsburg
had begun to rouse up to a conviction that
things had gone about far enough. ,

The militia had all been driven out of t .
city, the police had taken off their uniforms an
disappeared, the mayor and alderincn had hid-
den themselves, tramps and all sorts of des-
peradoes were openly swarming the streets, en-
tering the houses where there were none but
women, and bullying the peaceful inhabitants
out of anything they wanted.

For a brief riod there was a perfect reign
of terror in Pittsburg; and society looked on at
its own disorganization with sullen apathy.

Gipsy Nan entered the city just at the end of
this period, and found the feeling to be one of
glutted vengeance.

“ We licked those darned Filadelfy galoots,”
she heard one man say. “ They won’t come
here dictatin’ to us what we shall do, and now
I don’t care what happens.”

Such was the general feeling of the Pitts-

burgers just after the defeat of the Philadelphia
division and burning of the railway buildings.
. They sympathize with the strikers against
the railwa magnates and felt delighted at the
losses of t e latter. They cheered as they saw
the flames burn up depOt, cars, machine shop
and all the rest, and said to each other:

“Serves ’em right for taking the bread out of
poor men’s months.”

But when the rioters be an to take hold of ,
the city itself, the pie egan to reflect for
the first time that t iere might be two sides to a.
question, and they were in this state when Nan
arrived at the opera house.

Her mistress was nowhere to be seen, but Pe-
ter Griengro told her with a wink that the “ Ra- t
nee layum rehamgas todcvus ”-—-that is, that the
Countess had assumed male attire (lit. “ taken
the breeches to—day ”) and was with the men at
the fire.

So Nan set off with Peter to find her: for Pe—
ter had long been her recognized lover in the
band and was by no means 10th to escort her
anywhere. -

Presently, as they went along the streets,
the saw a crowd before them coming from the
rai way andmoving along with silence unusual
in Pittsburg in t ose days.

Peter drew Nan back into the entryway of a
deserted house, and they watched the crowd

pass.

At the head was a rabble of curious boys
such as generally attends a military rocession,
and in the middle marched a solid co umn, four
abreast, of quiet, serious-looking men, who gen-
erally wore old army blouses, and all bore mus-
kets and belts of one pattern.

They seemed to be under the command of a
gray‘headed man who wore a shabby old uni-

orm coat with faded shoulder-straps an army
hat of twenty-year—old patterif, an a faded
crimson sash arranged OVer his shoulder and
crossing his breast, down to his old-fashioned.
infantry sword-belt.

As this veteran, quiet and resolute, advanced
a great silence came over the street. He looked
about him, motioned with his hand and spoke
in a compOSed, determined sort of way to a
few tramps who were staring at him.

“ Come, boys, you must get out of that. If
you live in the town, go home. If on don’t,
clear out as uick as you can go. ere’s no
more milish ere,'and we want all the tramps
out of the city.”

Nan noticed that the tram did not hesitate .
long after the veteran spoke 0 them, but moved ‘

on.

One burly fellow made bold to ask:

“ Who’n’elareyouanyway f”

The words were' hardly out of his mouth
when a tall man in an old Confederate uni»
form, with the stripes of a sergeant on his
arms, came rushing at the big tramp with a.
cocked musket in his hand and the look of a;
fiend in his thin face, hissing out:

“ Don’t you hear what the officer of the da

says? Get! or by the bones of- old Stonewall °

J arkspn, I’ll go through ye like a dose of
salts !’ ,

The tramp stared one little moment, and then,
as the sergeant threw up his gun to his shoulder,

- the bull turned and fled down the street like a

hunted eer with all his friends, while the ser-.
geant smiled ,in a grim sort of fashion, un-
cooked his piece, and fell back into his place on
the flank o the column.

The effect of the passsage of this quiet, reso-
lute body of men was very marked on the sheet
after they had passed through it. ‘ ~- r

i,»

,.. ant“ « “.1 4a.»... "kn-aw ,—.-...:.. .; ...,,.

2O

.____.._.__v..,.7.c..,.-fi-,.,,.-,,_.fi_, m

 

At first it was left empty and silent, but in a
few minutes Nan saw WindOWS and doors opened
in houses that had been closed 11 before, and wo-
men began to come out and tal to each other.

Then Peter said to her:

“ That’s what the gorgios call the Committee
of Safety. They used to be soldiers when we
were babies. The gray men and the blue men
were enemies then, and now they fight side by
side.”

And Nan, who did not understand much
about it, said:

“ I hope they’ll bring the tramps to order, or
we shall have no house tonight. Let’s gqon.”

They W nt on until the clouds of smoke and the
scorching heat of sun and fire combined, made
them hesitate before goingnearer to the burning
buildings, where the clanging of the engines,
and the hoarse shouts of firemen at work made
a great contrast to the quiet now controlling the
rest of the city.

Here, also they found the members of the
ubiquitous Committee of Safety, some in old,
faded uniforms, more in civilian dress, but all
decent in general a pearance, and performing
sentry and patrol uty with a stern vigilance
that permitted nothing to escape it.

The decency of Pittsburg ha‘d roused itself
and assumed the control of its own order in the
most effectual manner. ,

Within an hour from the time Nan beheld the

Vigilance Committee of veterans patrolling the
streets, order was reestablished in the city; the
police had reap ared, with the alderman and
mayor, who ha disappeared on the day of the
great riot, shops were opened, business resumed
its flow, and the fire was under control and
lburning itself harmlessly out, surrounded by
,blackened open 8 ces.
‘ Then at last an found the Gips Kin , no
longer in his rags, but in the rdle 0 Mr. ar-
vey with the men of his hand all round him,
working manfully beside the firemen.

As soon as he saw the girl he left his men and
came to meet her, asking eagerly, in a low tone:

“ Did ou see her?”

Nan to d him the result of her stolen interview
with Helen, and then asked:

’ “ Where is my lady?"

' Nemo nodded t0ward the firemen, and there,
with his rakish-looking velveteen jacket slung
over one shoulder, his fair curls waving in the
light breeze raised by the fire, stood Spunky
Jack, the old antagonist of Mr. Barlow, re-
vealed by Nemo’s s eech as a woman.

Nan went up to t e boy-girl and said to her,
in a low tone:

“I saw the man you hate. He is safe in
Philadelphia. He went there in disguise, but I
knew him at once.”

S unky Jack flushed a little, and asked:

“ id ou give her my message .1”

“I di ; and the Rance said she would think
over it. She wants to see you and him you
both know of very badly.”

“ She shall in good time,” answered Jack,
thoughtfully, and then the head fireman came
round to tell them that there was no more need
of their services that da , so that the members
of the Great Cachuca ombination went back
to the opera house to rehearse a new ballet.

That night the theater was packed to see the
Countess and the Gipsies who had made them-
selves so honorably conspicuous by their good
behavior during the siege.

Pittsburg had redeemed itself after a fiery
trial and felt proud of every one who had stood
by it in its trouble, so that it seemed as if the
Cachuca Combination was likely now to reap a
shining harvest for all its past labors.

The papers over-flowed with the most gorgeous
notices next day along with accounts of the ar—
rival of the U.  troops, the GOVernor of the
State, a real U. S. major-general, and who
knows how many other orgeous persons.

For another week Pitts rg was full of bustle
repairing damages, while the Cachuca Combi-

nation was coining money, the next the whole
compan started off in the cars for Philadel-
phia, w ither Senator Calvegt went in the same
ram.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
, A FATHER’S HEART.
AUNT MARY was still calmly at work on the
knitting which ne'Ver seemed to have an end;
Helen was lying on a lounge reading the last

news from the riot districts, which were al-'

most quiet by this time; the gentle summer
breeze was waving the light window curtains,
.and the shrill buzzing of myriads of flies was on
the air; when Senator Calvert, erect and im-
posing as ever, but wearing a worn and weary
00k on his face, came 11 the little street
where the Wu lady liv and rung the door-
bell of her ouse. .
Aunt Mary started from the doze into which
, shed had been nodding over her knitting, and
88.1 :
“Helen, I declare! Dld thee hear that?
. must be Oliver come back.”

hurry, aunty. I’ve given him something to do

that will take him many a long and weary week

are he docs it.”
“ What does thee mean, Helen?”

,_-,.;._,~_«....-»w.: an. w.-.,:..»'.;»W puma...“

It

“Oliver Calvert won’t come back here in a

 

New, Kinsefihe Temps:

“ Never mind, aunty, till we see who the visi-
tor is. I hear him in the— Why, uncle Har-
vey, is it you? How glad I am to see you!”

And Helen hugged the old gentleman with ef-
fusion, for he was the only father she had
known since she was two years old.

“How does thee do. Harvey? Thee looks
tired and worn,” said aunt Mary, sympathetic-
ally; as he sunk into a large cane rocker with-
out saying nything. -

“ I am both, Mary,” was the low answer.
“Where is Oliver ?”

“ He left us several days ago to see about his
business at Pittsburg, Friend Harvey. Was
thee in those dreadful riots, too?” '
Mary. . When did he say he’d be

He looked preoccupied and as if he had for
gotten allabout the riots, and the old lady an-
swered, hastily:

“ He said nothing. Has thee not seen him?”

“Not since the round—house night. Did he
not tell you how we were separated there?”

“Yes, I believe he did. But Helen knows
where he’s gone don’t thee, Helen?”

“Me, aunt! How should I knov. ?”

“Wh , thee said—”

Aunt ary stopped, Quaker though she was,

for she saw Helen behind the Senator’s chair'

making motions for silence, and even a Quaker-
ess does not cease to be a woman and secretive
by nature. -

Bein a Quakeress, aunt Mary would have
scornc to tell a lie even of the whitest descrip-
tion; but, bein a woman, she changed the con-
versation by as ing:

“ And was thee really taken risoner by the
rioters, Friend Harvey? How id thee escape?
Was thee in great danger?”

“ Oh, never mind, Mary,” he answered,
wearil . “ It’s not worth the telling. I’ve seen
a g deal in Pittsburg that has changed my
mind as to the rights of the rich against the

r. It’s bad to see babies killed with musket-

ullets. Don‘t talk of it, lease. I deserved all

the dan er I ran into. He en, have you any idea
where liver is now i”

“ No, sir,” she answered, steadily.

“ I’m sorry. I want to see the boy very much
indeed.”

He drooped his head on his hand as if in
thought, and sat looking at the carpet in si-
lence.

Aunt Mary, who was nothing if not hos-
pitable, softly slipped from the room in search
of Rebecca, to gocure something for the Sena-
tor, and then elcn went to his side, leaned
over his chair and asked in her gentlest tones:

“What is it, uncle Harvey? Tell me, dear,
won’t you?”

The old man turned a pale and weary-looking
face toward her.

. “ Helen,” he said, “I begin to find I’m grow-
~i g old.”

l“Yes, dear? IVell, that’s nothing. We all
do that.”

“1 saw something in Pittsburg that has
haunted me ever since.” '

“ And what was that, dear?”

“ It was a little boy, a ragged, curly-headed
barelegged mite not four years old. He had
been shot through the heart by a ball as big as
his own oor little fist, which left a great red
ragged ole in his breast; and there he lay,
staring up at the sky with his glazed eyes, just
as__”

The old man stopped and shuddered vio-
lently.

Helen waited for his emotion to subside, and
then asked: , V

“Just as what, dear?"

The Senator nearly gasped, as he said in a
hoarse low tone:

“ Just as Harvey did when he had that fall
as a child.”

He hid his face in his hands a moment more,
and something very like a sob esca him.
When he looked u againhe was In calmer.

“ You heard of at? He was only four years
old, and fell out of a window. The took him
up for dead, all covered with dirt. swear to

on, Helen, that dead child made me think of

arvey, for the first time in years. I couldn’t

t the face out of my mind night or day, and

t’s been with me ever since.”

Again he stopped and seemed to be ruminat

ing whether to say more. The proud old man

was evidently much broken by his experience ,

at Pittsburg.

At last he faced round on her with the abrupt
question:

“ Helen, do you remember Jacqueline Ray
naudl”

A crimson flush swept over the girl’s face at
the suddenness of the inquiry, and she stam-
mered:

“ Yes, of course.” .

He was too much reoccupied to notice her
blush in the darkene room, as he answered:

“Well, I saw her in Pittsburg. She’s gone

. on the sta e and become a dancer.”

Helen a most held her breath to hear what
was coming next. ’

I
The Senator was not looking at her. He was
staring absently at the corner of the room. as if

' recalling some picture to his memory, and drop-

-‘,

-\.,._-,. _.~

 

 

 

a

ping his sentences in short, abrupt jerks, from
time to time.

“I went behind the scenes to her room, and
met her face to face,” he said, presently.

“Yes, dear?” Helen put in, softly.

“Yes. She pretended not to know me.”

“Not to know you ?”

“ Yes. She had grown handsomer than ever
she thought of being as a. girl: in fact, she’s
wonderfully beautiful. Ah! I could have for~
given the boy, if he had not seduced her and
robbed his father.”

Again he paused a little, and when he resumed
his voice was more tran uil.

“If I had not recognlzed Jacqueline unmis-
takabl . her assurance would have staggered
me. She pretended to think I came there as a
lover, and though I asked her again and again
where was Harvey, she laughed at me.”

“ Did she, dear? That was very rude.”

“But she said something that made me feel
I’d deserved it all, to the effect that if I’d looked
after my own boy, I might not be hunting for
him now. Something about her unule me sus-
pect he must be near her, and I hunted all over
the c1ty m a sort of hope of discovering the boy;
but in vain.”

“ Well, dear, what shall we do?”

“ I don’t know, Helen. I want to see the
boy, I want to ask him face to face, ‘ Harvey
did you steal those boads?’ If he says ‘Yes’ I
believe it will kill me, but the boy won’t suffer
by it. I’ve destro ed my will.”

“ I don’t know t at I understand you, uncle.”

“Well, after he went awa in that myste-
rious manner, I made a will, caving all I had
to Oliver on condition that he could induce you
to marry him—”

“ He marr me I" interrupted Helen, excit-
edly. “Unc cl What right—l” She sto ped,
panting, with all the anger of an insul wo-
man; ut the Senator only waved his hand
wearily as he answered:

“ Never mind now, Helen. There was no con-
straint on you. If he could not fulfill the con—
ditions, the money would have gone to you.
You would have enjoyed your old home in any
event. I did not mean to be cruel to any one.”

As the old manlet fall these words in the
same matter-of~course way, Helen’s anger turn-
ed to gratitude, and she said:

“You were very kind, dear; but I could not
have taken it. I should have given it back to—”

“To whom, Helen?” ‘

Her face flushed again in the darkened room
as she answered:

“ To him that has a right to it.”

The old Senator nodded his head slowly.

“You were always a good girl. I would to
Heaven he had fancied you, instead of running
after that French Gipsy, with her snak ' grace
and languishing eyes. But it’s no use - rettin
now. I’ve burned that will, Helen, and shall
notmake another.”

“ Well, and what does that mean, uncle Har-
vev?

“ Only that I shall die intestate,  Harvey
will inherit all I have. I suppose he doesn’t de-
serve it, but I can’t find it in my heart to be
hard on the boy, no matter what he does.’

There was a short silence in the room and
then Helen observed:

“ Harvey would {rather have his character
cleared than inherit all your money; if he is
like the boy I remember.

The Senator sighed heavily.

“ I fear there’sno way to clear it, Helen. The
evidence was too clear and overwhelming. Dc
you think I, his father, who loved him as my
own soul, would have disowned him as I have,
had he not hurt and disgraced me in my ten—
derest int? To think that a boy of mine
should a thief and seducerl Ah well, let it
pass, let it ss. I shall not feel it Ion .”

He sunk is face between his han see if in
deep dejection, and just at that minute aunt
Mary came in with Rebecca, the single sex-Vant
of the house, the latter bearing a tray of cool
lemonade and ices which .attested the comforts
of the Quaker household in July.

At a silent signal from the .old lady, Rebecca
set down the tray and retired, when Helen,
with a beating heart, and feeling very much as
if she were facmg a dangerous bull in a lonelv
field, said aloud: '

“ Aunt Mary. uncle and I have just been talk-
ing about poor Harvey.”

be old lady colored up to the roots of he!
KhitéaOhaitig amgltlnst an ap rehensive glance at

e no. r. ewas evi entl fri h n
Helen’s temerity. y 8 t8 ed by ‘

“ Has thee?” she asked, in a tremor.

“Yes, aunt . And uncle insists that Harvey
stole from hm and ran away with J ueline
Baynaudawlllilllle I gay that I dogfiéflieve Harvey
evencou ve one an su in . e w
too noble a fellow.” y g as

Aunt. Mary looked timidl at the old Senator,
who still eat, gloomily in 's chair, looking at
the ground, and observed:

“ Indeed, he was always a truthful boy.
Don’t thee think so. Friend Harvey?”

.The old man looked up at her and fldgeted in
hl§‘%au' t to h u

0 you wan car a about it?” he asked.
“You’ll be able to say nothing in his defense

l

 

 

 

we!

I :15 .. .

after I’ve told yin. l warrant you. God help
us all! there's mil/'1ng to be said for him. Do
ou think if there was I‘d (not have urged it,
ong ago!”

The feelings of the' poor father Were evi-
dently racked to the utmost as he said this: but
his listeners kept silence and presently he began
his story.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SENATOR’S sronr.

“ YOU all remember Harvey,” said the Sena-
tor, slowly. “ It seems to me sometimes he has
never grown to be a man at all.

“ lVlicn I hear his name, I always remember
alittle toddling boy in skirts, with curly hair
and dark eyes. It requires an effort to think of
him as growing up. ,

“That boy “as to me more than a son. He
was not only my other self; but all that was
left me of poor Julia, your cousin, Mary.

“ You know she was subject to heart disease;
and when the ' brought in the little follow,
that (lay lie feliout of the window. she thought
be u as dead, and the shock killed her.

“ I seemed at one stroke to have lost all that
was precious in life, for we never thought the
l .. Lil nould recover from the fall.

" However, time heals all things: Harvey
lived and grew strong and well again, and I
was hap y in him.

“ Oh 10w I loved that boy! Hé was so
handsome and spirited. so strong and active, so
quick to learn, so generous and—”

The old man stopped, with a breaking voice.
The father was triumphant in his sorrow over
the narrator.

After a little he. resumed.

“You both knew him after he grew up: but
perhaps don’t know how he really brought

acqueline Raynaud into our house.

“ Her father was Harvey’s fencing-master at
college, and when he died all on a sudden, Har-
vey undertook to protect the 0 him girl. He
wrote to me, telling me the who 6 story, in his
impulsive, warm-hearted way; how old Ray—
naud had marrt d a Spanish Gipsy girl for love,
and how he had educated his only child to be a
wonderful singer, musician and dancer, while
her French aceent was perfect.

“Theend of all was that he begged me to
take poor Jacqueline into our house as Helen’s
governess in Fi‘em'li and Spanish.

“ Little did I dream of the vile uses to which

he Would put my weakness in the matter, to

our disgrace.

“ Well, Jacqueline came, and you know what
followed.” ,

“ Indeed I don’t, uncle Harvey,” said Helen,
sharply. “ All you‘ve told—except about Har-
vey s lcttGl‘—I know, but what followed is just
what: 1 don’t know at all. All 1 know is that
one morning Jacqueline left the house to go to
the Statloll, at a. time when Harvey and Oliver
were both away; that I never saw her again:
that you Went away in a great hurry next day
and came back with Oliver; that you sent for
me and laid your orders on me never to men-
tion the Name 01’ either Harvey or Jacqueline
again. You told me Harvey had stolen a. great
deal of money from you and had run awa
with Jacquellnez and that’s all I’ve heard till
to-day. 1 CW then, uncle Harvey, what fol—
lo w ed '1” .

Ho sighed heaVily.

“I ma as W811.g0 over the whole of the
story while I’m at It. What I said was true.

“ ere are the proofs.

“ One day,- 50011 after Harvey had gone off to
college for his gmd‘mung term, I made the dis-
covery that my Safe had been robbed.

“ Burglai‘s could not have done it because
there were no Signs of Violence. It had been
0 ned with my key. by some one who knew

e combination.

“The manner and. extent of the robbery
pointed in the same direction. A sin 19 pack-
age of thousand—dollar U:  bonds had been
taken from a number of Similar packages, that;
filled a compartment of the safe, and the rest;
had been put back so that I should not have
found the fraud had I not counted the pack-

a es.
8“ Then I began to consider.

“ Whoever took those bonds knew the ar-
ran ement of my safe and the combination of
my ock.

‘ Who knew these things?

“ On] two people besi es myself.

 An those two were my son and my "opium,
wer.

“ They knew where I kept the key, and I had
trusted both of them with the last combination
I had used. .

“ The package stolen contained a hundred

bonds.

“ Either Oliver or Harvey had robbed me of
u hundred thousand dollars.

“ Those wore the bald facts that stared me in
the face when I counted those packages and
found one missing.”

As the old man sat silent for a minute or
more Helen asked: ‘

“1A3! whichofthotwo did youflntsuspoct,
the 9

Senator Calvert sighed heavily.

Nemo,

l
l

 

“ Oliver. of course. I knew his road had
been in trouble abzrut some defalcations in the
acc'mnts of one of their cashiers, and I own
that at first my suspicions went in his direction.
It seemed to be impossible that my own boy,
who had never known an ungratified wish, who
seemed the, soul of all that was open and manly,
would stoop to such pitiful meanness.

“ But 1 was doomed to be convinced against
my will.

“ Helen, I wronged Oliver at that moment by
my suspicions, and it has been my study, ever
since, to atone for my injustice. He, poor fel-
low, was innocent as a babe, and a noble proof
he gave me of the integrity of his character.

“ You shall hear all. ’

The Senator could not see the expression of
Helen’s face, on account of the fan she was
holding be fore her, else he might have wondered
at the conteinptuOUS smile which crossed it as
he eulogized Oliver, and have wondered whether
it was meant for himself perchance. He paused
a little to collect his thoughts and then went on:

“ Of course, my first idea was to find out what
bonds were gone; and, with this object, I looked
in another part of the 'safe for the paper list
containing the numbers.

“ To complete my suspicions, the list was
gonel
thf‘ Then I could not doubt who had done this

mg.

“I sat down patiently and took a list of all
the bonds that were left, with a view to dis-
cover if they followed a regular order. My
memory told me that part were in a series and
part consisted of odd and broken numbers.”

“ I said nothing to any one but locked myself
up in my study, engaged at this work, which
took all that day.

“When I had counted them over, I found
that the original partial series was quite com-

lete. The thief had taken a part of the
n-olcen series, and I had no means of telling
which.

“ When I had made the list complete I went to
dinner, and then heard for the first time that
Miss Raynde had left the house in the morn-
ing and had not come back.

“It was then dark.

“I was a little vexed at her imprudence in
staying out so late, but thought no more of it
save to resolve to give her a scolding when she
came back.

“But, as you know, she never came back.

“ Instead of that, came a boy from Calverton
Station with a note from her, in which she
coolly told me she had become tired of her
place, and had left it to be married to a )crson.
near and dear to me, who had thought st to
make it a. secret till it was allover, as he was
dependent on me. .

“This note, taken in connection with the rob~
bery, quite staggered me. Only one person.
who was dependent on me could marry J acque-
line, and that was Harvey. I imagined that,
boy-like, he had thought it romantic to elope;
and I had sufficient proof of the assionate, in-
triguing nature of Jacqueline to now that the
boy would be as wax in her hands.

‘ But still, I did not connect the two things
together. I . '

“ I haan idea that the bond robbery was a
prologue to the elopement. A

“ I said nothing to yon, Helen, because you
were a young gir ; but I burned off to Boston
and Cambridge the very next day.

“I was so concerned about my son that I
forgot all about my loss in money. I fairly
trembled with anxiety all the way, for fear
should be too late to keep Harvey from bein
the tool of a desi ing Gipsy adventuress, as
called Jacqueline in my anger.

“ And yet, I was too late.

“When I reached the college and hunted up
Harvey’s tutor, I found to .my dismay that the
boy had left the place Without reporting his
absence to any one, and had been gone three
da 8.

‘yThen I was thunderstruck indeed.

“ Where had my boy gone, and how should I
find him?

“In my anxiety, I still forgot all about the
robber_ , and naturally thought first of Ohver,
as my st assistant in the search.

“I hurried to Philadelphia, where I found
him just as much amazed as myself. He would
not believe that Harvey had fled at first.

“ I showed him Jacqueline Rayuaud’s letter,
and he admitted that it looked as if shehad in-
duced Harvey to run away with her, in ho
of obtaining my forgiveness by giving me e
irrevocable to confront.

“But Harvey was still under age; and no
minister or justice would marry the couple
unless they committed perjury.

“Then, while I was talking to Oliver about
the elopement, I suddenly remembered the rob-

aud resolved to test him.

‘ erefore I told him that I had lost the
pa r with the figures of my safe lock combi-
na ion; had entirzly for otten the numbers;
and had cometo him t he had any recol-
lection of them, so that I could get into my own

safe. ’
“ With perfect calmness he went to his
looked through a memorandum - book,

223.11g of the Trans.

 

21

showed me the numbers in a cipher of his
0\\‘ll.

“ He was not in the slightest degree flurried
and read then: out with perfect correctness.
Had he pretended to have i’orgotteu. I should
have at once taxed him with the theft: but his
innocence was too apparent for me to doubt
him then.

" 1 said nothing directly about the loss of the
bonds, but I plied him with questions that if he
had been guilty he never would have been able
to answer without confusion. Among other
things, I asked him if he had a list of my bonds.
I had a sort of memory that I had once made
several copies and giVen him one to put in his

safe.

“He thought an instant, then went to the
very place and handed me therlist.

“ I compared it with the one I had just made,
and found the missing hundred numbers marked
as ‘ Package 25.’

“ I pointed out this to him and watched him
closely as I said:

“ ‘ Oliver, this hundred is missing.’

“ He started up in in his chair, turning pale.

“ ‘ Missing! Impossible! No one could have
got the combination here, for they don’t know
my private cipher. Did any one else know the
numbers 

“‘Nobody but Harvey,’ I said, and then he
started and said not another word on the sub-
ject, save to ask me if I wanted to get some of
the railwa detectives to work on the case.

“ I told 'm not about the robbery but they
might try about the elopement.

“ He promised to let me know as soon as pos«
sible, and that very evening I was waited on by
a man in plain dark clothes, who told me he
had found the runaways. ;

“They were both in Baltimore. where they;
were spending money in the most reckless.
style, t e woman being a stage dancer, while
the voung man was drunk all the time.

“ Now utterly broken-hearted at the news, Ii
took the next train to Baltimore along with the
detective. He promised to show me the house,
where they lived.

“ He did so only too faithfully. In a side'
street of questionable reputation, lights shone
from behind closed shutters through the chinks,
music was sounding from the parlor; and into
this house—into this house—I saw—7’

He stopped as if gasping for air.

“ \Vhat did thee see?’ asked aunt Mary,
whose curiosity was fairly roused at last.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE SENATOR‘S STORY CONCLUDED.

“ INTO that den of infamy I saw a man and a
woman enter, The Woman was Jacqueline
Ravnaud, the man was—my son.”

He sunk his head down between his hands, as
if utterly prostrated; and both his auditors
were silent as death, looking at each other with
scared white faces.

At last aunt Mary ventured to ask:

“Is thee sure it was Harvey with her? Is
thee sure it was a wicked house ‘:”

“ The detective knew the house, and I knew8
my son,” was the reply, in a hollow tone. “ But
that was not all, or might have doubted yet.
Many a lad has gone into bad company in mere
lightness of heart, never dreaming of what
will- be the consequences. Besides, I could
not reconcile this place with the avowal in
Jacqueline’s note that she was goin to be mar-
Sicrl, and I determined to be sure 0 what I was

om .

“ y influence was at with the chief of
police, and inside of an our from the the time

saw my son enter that house the doors were
forced, and every person found was arrested.

“ When the people inside saw the uniforms of
the police they were stricken with terror, and
some of the men tried to escape by jumping out
of the windows in rear. A few did so, and
Harvey must have been one of them, for he
was not found in the house.

“Jacqueline was in her room, all dressed as
if for going out in the street, and when the po-
lice came. in at the door she shot three of them
with a little pocket-revolver and tried to es-

ca .

flinchin for the men, it was winter, and
their thick clothing and the small caliber of the
bullet_ saved their lives, only one of the shots
inflictmg a serious wound, though all three were
full in the middle of the breast. .

“ The girl was arrested and her room
searched. Part of the missing bonds word
found in her trunk, with a quantity of jewelry,“
and a portrait of my soul ‘ '
- “A tor-that, Ihadnomoredoubt.

“ I instructed the police not to press the cases,
and Jae ueline was allowed to escape.

“ Wha did I care for the bonds or her, then!
Iliad lost my son.

 

0

“Had he even married her,.I could have for- I

given him; but it was but too clear that he had
enticed her away to lead a. life of infamy, after
robbing me. ,

“I went back to Philadelphia to see Oliver,
and told him all I had soon. To my surprise ho
admitted that he had known of the i
all along, but not of the robbery.

“ Harvey

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had told him all about hisintrigue with J acque—

line, and how they were going to deceive me.”
Here Helen’interrupted him,with flashing eyes.

“ I don’t believe a word of it. What on
saw, on saw, uncle; but I don’t believe ar-
vey ‘alvert ever made a confidant of Oliver.
He didn’t like him well enough.”

The Senator looked surprised but made no
comment, and instead, resumed his story.

“I Went back to the college, and there was
Harvey, come back. cl walked straight to his
rooms and found them all confusion. And be,
my son, unshaven and pale, weary looking and
haggard, was the most confused of all when I
stood in the doorway.

“ Guilt was in every line of, his face. He
flushed and paled, his lips parted as if he were
panting for breath. For the first time in his
life he was afraid of me, his own father, who
would have shed my blood, drop by drop, to
the last to make him happy.

“ He was stooping over a trunk as I came in,
and seemed to be unpackin r something. As I
looked at him he rose 11p, need me, trembling
all over, and let fall from his hands a package
of papers back into the‘ trunk.

"I said not one word. I stood in the door—
way and looked at him. I recognized in that
package part of my missing bonds.

“He, too, seemed unable to spca for a mo-
ment; but at last he smiled a sort of writhing curl
of'his White lips, and whispered: _

“ ‘ You here, sir? I beg your pardon. How
you startled me! Are they all well at home?’

“ I went forward, still saying nothing, to
where he stood by the trunk.

“ To my surprise he interposed before it and
slammed down the lid. ‘

“ Then at last I s )oke.

“ ‘Harvey,’ I said, ‘I want to see that pack—
age ' ou just dropped. Open your trunk.’

“ 6 turned whiter than ever and answered,
in a husky voice:

“ ‘ Please excuse me, sir.
honor.’

“ ‘ Harvey,’ I said, and I well remember how
my heart beat as if it would stifle me, ‘ I have

., lost something which you may have packed by
mistake in your trunk. Open it, my boy, in
God’s name. Don’t force me to command you.’

“ ‘I cannot do it, sir,’ was all the answer he
made me. ‘ My honor is compromised.’

“ Then I felt it was all over, and in anger
rose at his brazen efl’rontery in talking o honor.

“ ‘ Harvey,’ I said, ‘ my safe has been robbed
by a person who knew the lock combination. I
have lost a. hundred thousand dollars. Only
you and Oliver knew the combination. r I saw
you drop a package of bonds as I stood in the
doorway here. Stand aside from that trunk.’

“As before, he only said:

“ ‘I cannot do it, sir. I entreat you not to
ask me.’ ‘

“‘I do not ask you, now,’ I said. ‘I order
you as my son, to stand aside from that trunk.’

“ e turned so white I thought he was going
to faint, and only answered a third time:

"‘ ‘I cannot do it in honor, sir.’

“What could I do then, Mary? Helen, what
could I do?

“Nothing short of descending to a personal
struggle With my only son would have given
me access to that trunk, unless I called in the
authorities and proclaimed my own disgrace.
He would have resisted me, even to the extent
of violence. I saw it in his pale, desperate

I cannot do it, in

face.

“ Then I knew he was guilty.

“ I tried one last effort. Standing there, as
he did, overwhelmed with disgrace, he seemed
to me more and more like his dead mother.

“ ‘ Harvey,’ I said, ‘ tell me only that you did
not steal t ose bonds and seduce Jacqueline
Ra n ud. I have ti'acked your movements to
B timorei I saw:you enter that house with

. her; I found part of the stolen bonds in her

trunk when I set the police on the house; I
know‘ on have the other bonds in that trunk
behin ou; but I will disbelieve all I see and
hear an know, if you will only tell me you are
innocent in all this matter.’

“.He made me no answer; but I could see the
sweat run down his forehead in great beads,
and he trembled perceptibly. -

“ ‘Harvey,’I said ain, and the sweat ran
down my own face n my agony; ‘by the
memory of your dead mother, I conjure you to
so on are innocent.’ -

‘ on see Mary in foolish love had brought
me so iowiim I ed to him to tell me a. lie
to cover my self-respect.”

The Senator whose face was ghastly pale as
he described the scene with his son, wiped his
brow with his handkerchief and hastily swal-i
lowed a. glass of water. Then he went on:

“ He trembled more than ever, but would not

‘38 a word.
. I xThen I turned and went to the door, where
I?" From henceforth,’ I said, ‘ we are strangers

to each other. If you have any reunion of
decency, you will cease to use my name. The

1 menu you have stolen will an rt you awhile.
I shalI ppo

never ask for it, or mention you again,
gave as dead.’ - .
‘ “He only bowed in answer» I went out.

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HNemo, Kingof the Tramps;

“ On the stairs I turned and looked back. He
was standin , as if in deep thought, looking at
the trunk which contained the evidence of his
crime. He'did not cast one look after me, his
father, whose heart he had broken.

“From that day till now I have never seen
him.”

As the Senator concluded his story, there was
a deep silence in the room, which lasted till he
gul )Od down some more water, as if he felt
cho ed with heat and thirst.

Then he turned to Helen and said, with a faint
smile:

“ You’re a good girl, Helen, to think well of
youi‘ cousin; but even you have no word for
him now. I told you there was no possibility
of defending him after you had once heard all
the facts.”

Aunt Mary, who had been in tears during the
latter part of the narrative, here sobbed out:

“ Oh, brother, it does not seem to be possible
that father and son should be parted thus.
Can’t thee think of some way to bring back this
wanderer to the fold?” I

Helen had not said a word, and the ‘old man
turned to her, with a sort of complaining tone:

“\Vhy don’t you say something, Helen, you
that were so confident?”

“Because,” she answered, steadily, “ I am not
yet prepared. When I am, I will speak, uncle.
Have you never heard from Harvey, since?”

“Only through others. He left the college
next day and took his name off the hooks.
Where he went, no one knew. I received, some
weeks later through the Adams Express, the
missing bon ‘ s, all but five, in a package, with an
unsigned note, in his'handwriting, saying:

“ ‘The rest is spent. Try to'think as kindly of me
as you can. I cannot say more in honor to others.’

“That was the last I heard, eight years ago,
now.”

“ And what did you think of that note?”
asked Helen, in a tone of peculiar meaning.

“ It angered me afresh,” answered the old
man, shar ly. “.It was an insinuation that
some one e so had stolen the bonds.”

“ And how do you know they had not?” de-
manded Helen, with equal sharpness.

“Because I had the evidence of my own eyes
and ears,” retorted the old Senator whose fiery
temper rose at a spice of contradiction. “It
could not have been Oliver, or he would have
shown more confusion, whereas he was evi~
dently ignorant of the whole affair. I saw part
of the bonds in Jacqueline’s trunk, part in the
other trunk at college; and he sent them back
to me in the hope of propitiating me, I suppose.
As if I cared for the money, compared with his
honor!”

“I see you have made up your mind,” ob-
served Helen, quietly, with a spice of sarcasm
in her voice. “ So anything I might say would
be useless, uncle Harvey.”

“ Eh, what, useless!” said the old man, eagerly,
in a tone that showed how his heart was still
with his errin son. “ No, no, child; speak out
all you like. hat would you say?”

“ Simply this. Harvey Calvert never stole
those bon s.”

“Why not, why not? What do you mean,
child!”

“ I mean he net-pr stole these bonds; that’s
all.”

“ But how can you prove it, Helen 3”

“ I don’t know, sir. ’

“Don’t know?”

“ N o, sir.”

“Then what do you mean?"

“ I mean that Harvey never Stole [hose bonds,
uncle.”

“ Bless my soul, Helen, don’t be a parrot, re-
Keatin g one phrase all the time. I suppose then,

e never ran away with J acquelinei’,

“ No, sir, he never did.”

“Then who did, wisest of ladies?”

“ I can’t say sir.”

“ Why not?’

“ Because it is orith a belief, and I don’t care
to state it. But the same, uncle Harvey,
your son never disgraced you. Make up your
mind to that, and you’ll find it true.”

Her tone was so confident that the Senator
looked at her with surprise and at last said:

“ Prove that to me and I 11 leave all my for-
tune to ou.” .

“ DONE!” cried the girl, jumping up excitedly
from her seat.

The old man stared at her in utter amaze-
ment as she went on rapidly:

“ I don’t believe Herve was guilty- and 
fore I’ve done I’ll provei to cu. A I ask Is
that on givo me carte blanc e to do as I lease
for t e next three weeks. at the end 0 that\
time I’ll show you Harvey’s innocence clenrly.’

“ ndif u can I’ll make my will in your
favor,” saicrioihe old man, firmly. “ I’ll not go
back on my word. I’d sooner leave the boy an
honest than a. millionaire with the brand
of thief on is forehead.”

“Be it :0,” said Helen. “In three weeks I
will claim your promise.”

CHAPTER XXVI.
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rent of popular favor, owin to its romantic
surroundings at Pittsburfii ski lfully utilized by
that enterprising agent, r. Trevlac.

That gentleman, bland and imposing, with his
glorious ehevelure and heard, could be seen pa;
trolling Chestnut and Walnut streets every
mornin , paying his little visits to the news

aper 0 cos; and in the afternoon the journals
)loomed out with flattering notices of the
“beauty and grace of the Romany Rance,
the distinguished Countess Cachuca, and her
marvelous troupe of desert-born. athletes and
figurantes.”

Several copies of verses in her praise a
peared in the columns of the Public Dayboo ,
Advance and such like ponderously respectable
periodicals; showing that the Countess had be-
come all the rage.

Therefore, no one wondered to see Oliver Ca1—
vert in the theater at the Gipsy ballet, when he
made his appearance there on the very night
they first arrived. ' q

The episode of the riots was already fading
away from people’s minds, after being a nine-
days’ wonder, and few cared to find out whether
Oliver had or had not been there, or how he had

‘ behaved.

To his amazement he found the company

laying the same piece he had witnessed in

ittsburg; the " Gipsy Queen’s Revenge ;” and,
as before, the actor who personated the villain
was made up to look exactly like himself.

To be Sure, Philadelphia was a lar er place
than Pittsburg, and he was not so welf known;
but he could not help knowing that the likeness
was perceived, when he saw the papers next
morning, which treated of it as a “ severe joke
on a well-known railway magnate, whose hero-
ism in the late riots was, to say the least, not ,
conspicuous.”

lVrithing with humiliation at this renewed
persecution, and not knowing exactly how to
stop it, he hit on the design of going to the the-
ater to see the Countess, whom he had recog-
nized but too well, from the moment when, dis—
guised as “Spunky Jack,” she had fired at him
in the carriage.

He knew enough of the ways of theatrical
people to go in the morning about rehearsal
time, and marching up to the box-office, he
asked for the Countess.

The young man who was selling tickets that
day happened to be none other than Mr. Peter
Griengro, and both recognized each other in~
stantly. ‘

Mr. Griengro considered a few moments be.
fore he. answered. L

“ Rehearsal’s on now. You cannot see her.‘
Mr. Trcvlac is in the house.” 

“And who is Mr. Trevino?” asked Oliver,
who had forgotten the name, only heard once
before.

“He’s the manager of the show,” said Mr.
Gi‘iengro, politely. “ I’ll send for him, if you
like.’ r

“I don’t know that I want to see him,” an-
swered Oliver, doubtfully. “Can’t I wait till
rehearsal’s over? Iwant to see the Countess
particula rl y. ”

Mr. Griengro smiled somewhat broadly as he

replied:
“ So do a great many other people. They
send in their cards wit little boxes, if they

want to see her very much indeed.”

“Little boxcsl What for?” asked Oliver,
wonderingly. “ Anything in the little boxes!”

“ Yes,” was the laconic answer.

“ What!” , x

“Some send rings, some bracelets, some neck-
laces, some sweet things wrapped up in green-
backs.” , - , '

Mr. Grien o yawned slightly as he finished
the list, and ooked at Oliver in a sleepy man—
ner.

The railway magnate now thought be under-
stood Mr. Griengro’s drift. He ulled out his
card and ut it inside of a five-do lar bill, which
he hande to the imperturbable Gipsy.

But Mr. Griengro did not seem to understand

im.
“ I am to give her this card and money?” he
said interrogatively.
“No; you are to give her the cardand keep
the mone .”. ,
Mr. Griengro became brisk in a moment, and
vanished into the house, whence he soon reap-\

, saying:

“Stop this way. Mr. Trevlac wishes to see
you before he sends for the Countess.”

“l3ut I don’t want to see Mr. Trevlac,” ob-
jected Oliver.

“Mr. Trevlac says he must see you before he
sends your card to the lady.”

“Oh, very well,” answered Calvert, a little
im tient. “Go ahead, I’ll follow.”

r. Griengro led him into the house EB a side
staircase, and thence into a beautif y fur-
nished room, with a general aspect of luxury
aggt it, that turned out to be the managers

0 .

. Here the Cl ushered him in, to be greeted
by the tall, (up)? gentleman whom Olivor had
seen at Pittahurg, and whom he recOgiiised in

ly.
Calvert haltedin the middle of the room, a
little nonpluned. ' ‘-

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He noticed that Mr. Trevlac did not offer to
rise to receive him, but lay back in his revolv-
ing arm-chair before the desk, looking up at
him in a cold, inquiring manner, that was very
forbiddin .

Oliver alvert was not, however, the man to
be daunted by any coldness, as long as he was
in a civilized place. Physical violence ap alled
him, but he had any amount of moral au acity.

He took a seat, therefore, with a coolness all
his own, and said:

" This is Mr. Trevlac, I suppose?”

“ The same. sir.”

“ Manager of this company ‘3”

“Yes, Sir.” ‘

“ I Wish to see the Countess Cachuca.”

“ W'ith what purpose, sir?”

“ I can only tell that to herself, sir.”

“ Then I fear you cannot see her.”

“ Why not?”

“ Because she is engaged.”

"At rehearsal, I suppose. Very well, I can

wait till it is over.”

y

“ Not in this room, sir.”

“ Thank you. I don’t wish to. But I am de-
termined to see the Countess.”

“13nd she is equally determined not to see

)11.‘

Oliver felt his temper rising at the cool sar-
casm of the other’s tone.

“ How do you know that? Do you know who
I am!” he asked, all his pride of purse swelling
in his voice and figure as he rose.

Mr. Trevlac smiled.

“Perfectly‘ well. You. are Oliver Calvert;
nephew and sup sed heir of the Hon. Harvey
Calvert, State ‘enator; President of the Air-
Line Road, and colonel, aide—de-camp on the
Governor’s staff. Have I described your titles
correctl '9”

“Then, sir,” retorted the railwa ma ate,
frowning on the other, “you oug t to now
that I am not the person to be treated with in-
aclence by the manager of a variety show. ”

“Exactly,” was the calmly insolent reply.
“ Nor is Mr. Calvert the person to try and force
himself into the presence of one of my ac»
tresses, when I tell him she won’t see him.”

"But I tell you I must seeher,” exclaimed
Oliver, angrily. “She and her crowd of
tramps kee on tr 'ing to make .me ridiculous
before all t e peop e. and I want it stopped.”

Mr. Trevlac laughed slightly.

“ She has nothing to do with that,” he said.

“ She acts the part she’s cast for, and gets her '

mone for it." .

“T en who is responsible for this outrage?”
asked Oliver.

Mr. Trevlac smiled and tapped his breast
with his forefinger.

H You?”

“Myself. Have you any remarks to make on
the subject?”

Oliver stared at him in amazement.

“Why, what have 'ou against me? Inever
saw you in all iiinife, before I met you in
Pittsburg E”

' “ Are you sure of that?” asked Trevlhc, keep-
ing his dark e es fixed on those of Oliver, who
stared at him arder than before.

“I think not,” responded Calvert, after a
pause for consideration. “You seem to know
me, and to have studied me long enough to
counterfeit my face and’ form, but who you are
I know no more than a baby. What have

done to on that you should persecute me thus?”

Mr. revlac rose, and the sneering smile
which had marked him during their interview
left his face.

“ Y0“. asked me that question Once before at
PittSburgv” 11? Said. “I told you then that you
Shoum know "1 Proper time. That time is com-
ing fast. Do you know me yet?”

‘ HOW Should I know you?” asked Oliver,
81m ism.“ “You talk in some species of rid—
dle am too lazy to t and unravel.”

“ Very gOOd,’ 831d revlac calmlyt

59 you know the Countess?”

Oliver flushed ever so little.

“Yes, I know her.”

“Pray, who is she, then?”

“Her true name is Jacqueline Raymud. She
ran away from m uncle’s house seven years
ago, and was trac _ toa house of questionable
reputation in Baltimore, where she was found
in possession of a_ number of bonds that had
been stolen from his safe.”

“ Who traced her then?” asked Trevino,

l . . -
shfilgn); of my detectives, if you want to know

1 '.
pt'sttfilfif 3...... of him afterward? Where is

he ow?" . .

Oliver looked surprised at the rapid queg.
tioper, and uto m He); replied:
‘ in u .
“idiotic; with the sheriff,” retorted the
other, bitterly. “That’s the sort of men on
have for detectives; thieves out of a profl
job. His name was Barlow.”

“Who in Heaven’s name are you that take
IO much interest in my affairs?” naked Oliver,

5 initial mom in "was the -
tical am. “Moo it I am the d
at Jacqueline Royauduandhtgyou . o

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wronged her. You ask why we persecute you?
I will tell you. We began, and will go on, till
you execute justice, and right the wrong you
alone can right.”

Oliver drew himself up and looked a model of
dignity.

“ I am unable to understand you, sir,” he
said. “ I have wronged no one that I am aware
of ; and if you wait till I move in this matter,
you may wait a long time.”

“ Perfectly true,”said Trevlac, blandly; “and
that is the reason we continue to show you your
coming fate on the stage. It takes hard thrusts
to pierce a rhinoceros’s hide, Oliver Calvert.”

“ Then I am to understand that you mean to
persevere in this outrage?” asked Oliver, putting
on his hat.

“ If you mean the Gipsy’s Revenge Ballet,
you are correct. “7e shall keep it on while it
draws.” ‘

“ And you intend to caricature ,me every
night, too?” ,

“ We call it a portrait; not a caricature. IVe
intend that Mr. Griengro, who takes the char-
acter, shall keep the likeness as faithful as pos-

sible. I see mi shaved off your mustache at
the riots. 6 shall play it clean-shaven to-
nirht.

liver turned pale with anger at the calm im-
pudence of the threat.

“ And do you suppose that I will stand that?"
he demanded.

“ How will you stop it?” asked the manager,
in the same smiling way.

“By getting an injunction on you, sir,” cried
the now thoroughly irate Oliver.

“ No, you will not.”

The retort was cool as ever.

‘,‘ And why not, pray ?”

"‘ Because if you do I shall make a speech to
the audience from before the curtain.”

“ And what will you say?”

“I will read them a few pages from the his-
tory of Mr. OliVer Calvert, from the year 1870
to the year 1877, with disquisitions on the man-
agement of railroads and mani ulations of the
stock, market. Does that touc you, Mr. Cal-
vert?’

Oliver sneered openly.

“ What do you know about my affairs? I defy
you to say anything you can prove against me
as re ards stocks. Go ahead.”

“ 'Ighat does not touch you, I see. Very well,
then, suppose we try a little chapter about com-
bination locks on safes, and how to use them.
Would that hit any nearer the mark?”

Oliver’s face w itened ‘peree tibly, and he
said nothing, as Trevlac pursued):

“ I’m told some people are not safe to be trusted
with the-combination of a lock. If a few bill‘-
glars get hold of them, it can be scared right
out of them., I wonder whether it wouldn’t do
to ut‘ Peter Griengro into a colonel’s uniform,
and) have a scene in the' ballet representing
Pittsburg riots, with the colonel running for his
life.”

Oliver could stand this open raillery no longer,
and turned to leave the room. At the door he
paused. _

“Mark my words, Mr. Trevlac,” he said, “ I
neithe ' know nor care who you are: but this I
know, 1that I’ll stop your show tonight, or my
name’s not Calvert.”

Mr. Trevlac only laughed.

“Try it, if you dare. ’

Then Oliver vanished in dud eon.

Hardly had be gone when t e Countess Ca-
chuca walked in at a side door, exclaiming:

“ I heard it all. W'hat do you think, now?”

“ Just what I did before, Jacko. Bluster is
all very well, but he keeps on his guard all the
time. We shall never surprise his secret.”

“ And ] say we ,shall,” she retorted. “ You
failed, being a man. It’s my turn to try, now.
I’ve cause enough, God knows.”

And Jacqueline laughed bitterly.

CHAPTER XXVII.
1m. BARLOW’B LITTLE Gm.

OLIVER CALVERT marched away from the

door of the theater swelling with schemes of
vengeance. He had made up his mind to fight
and took his way straight toward the ofice of
his counsel to prepare or an injunction on the
theater.
He had to walk some distance up Chestnut
street and while he was nearing Mr. J ackman’s
oflice he became aware of some one who was fol-
lowing him, and endeavoring, in a covert man-
ner, to attract his attention.

As soon as he- became conscious of this, he
turned to face the new-comer, and realized at
once that he was a vagabond of some sort.

Not that the MI was either or
hungry-looking: on the contrary, be 3.1%
in a suit of black, with the shiniest of new beta,
and a eons. pin in the black mtin

 

. 30"
scarf hat covered‘his shirt-front, if he had any.

which was uncertain.
But there were several thin in his make-up
which an ted» the idea tthatfe weapoggcimong
members 0 .
His black clothes were vwmuty, leoohng' “is
if hehadcomo from, the-ommtl'yon-tm
l

.\._

 

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2 » .v. .' - . -wI-"“ v‘tx“,‘:‘,' . _

Lhehuuhoobbnmwm innooontot. -

Nemo, King of the Tramps:

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23

There was moreover, a furtive, sneaking
look about his face, like that of a cat in a
strange arret, which showed that the stran or
did not rightfully belong either to the city or is
clothes. 3

No sooner had Oliver turned his face toward
this personage, than the other, seeming to take I
courage, stole softly up alongside and began, in
an aBologetic sort of way: I

“ on’t want to disturb ye, boss; but, fact is,
I’m i'est about b’ustxed, and haven‘t had a square
mea of vittles sence yestidday mornin’.”

“\Vell,” answered Oliver, coldly, “I’ve no
change to spare, at present.” '

And he walked on.

His follower, to his surprise, came up beside
him, makin step for step, and went on speak-
ing as if heiad received no re ulse.

“ Don’t want to beg any 0 range, boss; but,
feet is, I do want a square meal, Mr. Culvert.”

“ Who the devil are you, anyway?” asked Oli—
ver, facing round angrily at the sound of his
own name.

He took a closer look at the features of the
stranger red and bloated with sun and dissipa—
tion, and did not seem to be able to tell who he
was. ‘

The stra‘ er inned under his tan led and
matted  gr g

“Guess you’ve furgot me, boss,” he an-
swered, coolly. “ Best come in out of the sun,
if you want to talk to me. Here’s one of them
nice little parks as we’re so proud of in Fila-
delfy. I likes to sit in the shade hot da 5.”

Something, he could hardly say w at, in-
duced Oliver Calvert to follow his unprepossess-
ing guide into the cool. shady square, where the
seats were covered with strolling tramps who
had strayed into Philadelphia since the sup-
pression of the riots.

The strange man in dusty black stalked in,
swingin his arms in an inde ndent fashion,
very di erent from that he ha shown while in
the street, and threw himself on a vacant
bench.

“ Set down, boss, set down,v”l'le said, patron-
izingl y. “ I thought you didn’t rightly remem-
ber me, Mr. Calvert. My name’s Barlow, and
I used to be a private detective in your comr
 That’s what’s the matter.”

r. Barlow—for it was none other than the
Boss of the Bummers—threw his arm over the
back of the seat, drummed with his fingers and
stared hard at Oliver, as who should say:
“Now, then, I think you’ll be civil.”

Oliver Calvert, who had remained standing,
leaning on his cane, turned a little paler when
he heard the name and saw the defiant manner
of the ti'amg). . .

“Well, arlow,” he said, “I didn’t know
you. You’ve changed greatly.”

“ I have,” was the frank answer. “ I hain’t
shaved for three years, nor slep’ in a house
sence they let me out of jail. You know what
I went there for, and who was to blame.”

Oliver hurriedly put his hand in his pocket as
he said:

“Well, Barlow, I’m sorry to see you in this
plight on account of old associations. You were
a pretty good detective in old times. Take this,
and get something to eat.” - 5

He slipped a crum led bill into the grasp of
the tramp, Who stea thily pocketed the money
so that his comrades.could not see it, in case

 

 

they were watching his interview with the well— -

dressed Oliver.

But his manner was as coolly defiant as ever
as he remarked:

“Wery good, indeed, boss; but I ain’t arter
the casual biz, jest now. I wants a steady job.
You don’t want a rivate succretoerg/ now, 1
s’pose? I could fill t at place amazin’ well.”

Oliver looked at him with eyes that began to
flash, while he shut his teeth tight.

“ What do on mean i” he asked.

“I mean t at I’ve found out sev’ral things
sence I were in Grubstip, as I didn’t know
afore. I seen the chap they calls Spunky
Jack fire at ye, that time, and I kin tel
ye who he is, too. I’m jest in that sort of ele~

gant position that if one party don’t want to .

come to my terms, I kin go to the other and
make a clean breast of all know ” '

He spoke the last words with a. ' em;

phasis, staring straight into Oliver 5 eyes all the

time.

Calvert flushed with anger and shame as hen

looked at him, and then he shook his finger at
the tramp.

“Hark ye, Mr. Barlow,” he said, in a low
tone, “you don’t know me yet. I had pity on
yw,remem gyoutohaveoncebeeninthe
service of our company, but I remember that
you were sent to the penitentiary for burgohgi
six years ago, and that our word is not w
a 1113111 (in  Newi ohyour ram-st, and take
care on ve you no arge a lineman,
it on follow me any more.” po

9 turned on his heel andwas leaving the
square, when Mr. Barlow called after him:

‘1 say,”llr. Calvert, I seen your wife this

0min .

1::

“Th; hail did at: B11337“ land htended “should
; e ' out of the ‘ ‘
Wham... an“
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24

a dangerous look on his white face, hissing ‘
out: ;

“ \Vhat do you mean, you insolent vagabond?
Do you want to get into jail again!"

But Billy Barlow had not tackled his former l
employer with any thought of evading the con-
sequences. They were not in the streets now,
and there were none but his own friends, fur—
tive-looking tramps, all round him.

Mr. Barlow accordingly rose up and faced
Calvert, looming up as big as the railroad mag-
nate, or larger, and retorted:

“ Say, Calvert, I ain’t no vagubonc, and I
want you to take that back. D’ye heart”

As he spoke be stripped off his coat and turn- -
ed 11 the sleeves of a red flannel shirt.

“ ou’ll take that back,” he repeated, “ or I’ll
'lam you stiff in a minnit. You hear me?"

For a moment Oliver thought of fighting, but
when he glanced round him and saw the com-
pany he was in, he felt that it would not do, on
account of the notoriety that would inevitably
come of it.

“ I was wrong, Mr. Barlow,” he said, hur-
riedly. “I don’t mean to insult you. but you
irritated me. Now, what do you wantf”

“A steady job,” re lied Mr. Barlow, laconi-
cally, turning down is sleeves and resuming

his coat.

“I’Vell, I can put on in as a trackwalker or
flagman,”0bserved liver, hesitatingly.

‘

Them’s low jobs. I want good pay and less v
work. Make me a detective again, and you’ll
be talking,” was the sulky reply.

“ I’ll see about it. But I can’t stay talking to
you here.”

“I’ll cometo your honor’s house any time you
say, sir,” answered Mr. Barlow, growing insin—
cerely obsequions in a moment.

“ I have no house here. I’m in the—in a
hotel,” said Oliver.

“ Then I kin come to the hotel, or meet your
honor anywhere you say, sir.”

Oliver considered amoment.

“ Do you know Feirmount Park I"

“ Do I know me own nose! Yes, sir.”

“ Meet me there this evening at sunset, in the
mstic summer-house that stands second from
the water-works, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll be there, your honor.”

Then Oliver went off toprepare his injunction
against the Cachuca combination, and Mr. Bur-
low beckoned to a few of his cronies, who eagerly
followed him to the cool seclusion of a beer
vault, where they spent the rest of the after-
ndon in swilling “schooners” of beer at five
cents a. pint, and tried their best to get glori—
gusly drunk out of Oliver Calvert’s live-dollar

il .

Several of them succeeded as well as could
be expected, despite the disgust of the bar-
keeper, who thought his five dollars dearly
earned by the invasion of such a crew; but Mr.
Barlow himself was too well seasoned a veteran
to be so easily overtaken.

The Boss of the Bummers had not obtained
his title without earning it in many a stout dc-
bauch, and all the beer in Philadelphia was in-
adequate to intoxicate him to any appreciable
extent. "

It took at least a quart of whisky at a sitting
to do that job.

Consequently, when Mr. B. turned his pock-
ets inside out, as a genteel signal to his mates
that he had spent all his money, he was as
steady as a church, and walked oil’ to Fair-
mount Park, erect and independent in bearing,
able to kee to his own sidoof the pavement.

His bret reu in bacchanallsm remained be-
hind in the cellar, with the object of beating
the establishment out of a few more “ schoon-
ers,” but without success.

Mr. Barlow, pursuin the even tenor of his
way, arrived in time the railway bridge at
the end of .Market street, where he paused for
a little while to enjoy the exhilarating pursuit
of s itting into the water.

Then he turned into Fairmount Park, and
was making straight - for the trysting-place
when he saw before him something that caused
himto stop, move aside into a belt of shrub-
bery, and say softly to himself:

“ Gosh!”

The object that brought this little exclama-
tion from the Bossof the Bummer: was nothing
else than a girl in a red cloak, with short skirts
andbaro feet, a regular English Gi y in ap-
pearance, who was tripping me y along,
sin ing to herself.

is would have been nothing to Mr. Barlow,

for he was used to the sight of Gipsies, but for

the fact that he remembered both air and voice

uthose of the same 1 who had tricked him

IO nicely at the Pi tsburg riots out of two

{glitches and several hundred dollars of stolen
is.

It was Nan herself, lilting away in a soft
voice her favorite Romany gitty (song):

“ Me kamnva miro kam. miro kone kamlidir;
Miro kone kamlidir knmava man." '

Bho'hud not seen the Boss of the Bummer-s,

and eanco took swift ion of his
heart as e listened, making im for t for the
meeting with var Cal-

 

time all about his
VII-t.

 

He followwl softly after Nan, keeping on the
grasi, and gradually catching up with her, glad
to we that she was fast getting into the more
lonely part of tho grounds, where he would not
be likely to be disturbed in executing his ven-
gcance.

He did not dare to run at first, for he knew
that the Gipsy girl was swift of foot, while he
himself was of a. lumbering make.

Presently he was not twenty paces behind
her, when she heard his step, looked round, saw
who it was, and instantly took to her heels like
a frightened chicken.

Mr. Barlow started after her with a will, but
gave it up as a bad job after a dozen steps, in
which time Nan had taken at least twenty.

He saw that he could not hope to succeed on
that tack. for the girl had the heels of him all
the time.

He slacked up and allowed her to go on, when
she in her turn came down to a walk, looked
back and called out archly:

“ Why, Billy Barlow, is that you? How you
scared me!”

“ You hain‘t no cause to skeer that l knOWs
on,” replied the Boss, with a grin of amiabilitv
that sat ill on his lowering face. “\Vhy don’t
ye come back and say good-evenin’, likes if ye’d
iad some bringing up?”

“ And you won t hurt me?” asked Nan, with
affected innocence. “ You looked so savage
jest npw, I thought you was going to knife me,
surc.’

“ Knife be blowed. Come here. I tell you,”
retorted Billy, in his most wheedling tones. “ I
wbn’t hurt ye (‘ more‘n ye (leserve,’ he mut-
tered, under his breath.) Come along, I say.”

Thus urged, Nan allowed him to come close
up to her, when he stopped and started vio-
lenily.

The Gips had her arms folded under her
cloak, and t e glittering muzzle of a little pistol
was peeping out of the folds of her mantle,
aimed at him.

“ IVhy, Mr. Barlow,” said Nan, with her
careless laugh. “ \Vhat : ils you? I won’t hurt
you if you don’t hurt me I”

CHAPTER ' XXVIII.
EAVESDROI‘PING.

MR. BARLOW’S schemes of revenge came to a
swift termination at sight of that little tube
pointing at his breast, and moreoVer he was
puzzled by the transformation in Nun’s face
and figure.

then he had seen her in Pittsburg she was a
country girl with a frowzy brown wig and a
freckled face now she was is old friend, Gipsy
Nan, and he began to doubt her identity.

“ Why, Nan,” he said, “what are ye p’intin’
that thing at me fur? I hain’t done ye no harm,
have If” '

“I don’t intend you shall,” was Nan’s com-
posed answer. “ Do you want to speak to me?”

“Yos,”he answered, slowly and dubiously,
“I did. What have you done with that rhino
of mine and them two tickers?” ,

Nan smiled satirically.

“thy, Billy Barlow! Have you been get-
ting drunk again ’i”

“No, I aint been gittin’ drunk at all. You
fooled me out of them tickers and flimsies at
Grubstip, but Iain’t goin’ to be fooled twice.
You hand ’em over.”

Nan began to back out, keeping him covered
with the revolver in her hand.

“You’re as drunk as a fool now,” ‘she pro-
tested. “I never saw you in Grubstip or any—
where else, since we left the Wanderer’s Home.
Keep back, or I’ll give you what Spunky Jack
gave you, to teach you manners. ”

“ Spunk Jack be darned,” he growled. “ Do
you t ink don’t know he’s a gal? I wouldn’t
tech him on that account.”

“ And you don’t touch me neither,” retorted
Nan,'flercely. “Now what do you want with
me, gou drunken fool?”

‘ h, nothin’, if you ain’t the gal as stole my

tickers' but if you air, or if ever I ketches her,
I’ll ri her into small pieces, so I will.”
An Mr. Barlow stuck his hands into his
hats and glared fiercely at the girl, who, on
or gen, only laughed back her answer.
“ ope u may catch her, Billy. I suppose
ihetpo t em when youwas toode to see
or

“.I warn’t no rich thin ,” he retorted, sulkii .
“ I were a little spn'ipg, ut as fur bein’ drun ,
I acorns the idea. are be you a-gom’ now,

Hetried tobewheedlingin hhtone,as he
closed up, but Nan kept the pistol pointed at
him as firme as before, nacho answered:

“Onlylcto attend to a little business of m
own, w h don’t concern nobody else, nohow. ’

He looked at her sharply a moment, and then
turned on his heel with a grufl:

“Good-evenin’, then.”

“ Good-evening, Mr. Barlow, and better man-

to you, when next you meetalad ," the
rep ied, an molly u ever, replacing the p in
her pocket as she spoke.
She watched him go down the path toward
the river, and noticed that the sun was just
sinking in the want.

Then GOV Nan, pith the old-time dexterity

» Nan f”

Nemo, King of the Tramps.

of disguise that had served her well so often.
slipped into a clump of bushes, put on the shoes
and stockings she had been carrying under her

; cloak with true tramp’s impatience of their use

 

in hot weather: let down her skirts; turned her
cloak brown side out, and emerged from the
other side of the clump a decent and sober
working—girl. out for a stroll in the park.

Striking oil' so as to Come on the river at a
point high above that which Mr. Barlow had
taken, she was shortly joined by a man who had
watched her interview with the Boss of the
Hummers from a safe distance, quite unseen by
the latter.

This man was none other than Mr. Peter Grien-
gro, with a false beard and wig, and a fashionable
suit of clothes, swinging his cane with the air
of a dandy.

Nan came up and took his arm with easy fa~
miliarity, observing:

“ Diulu pcrdas nu jinyum mando,” (the fool
of a tramp didn't know me).

“ All the better,” replied Mr. Griengro, cheer~
fully, in the same tongue. “He’s gone down
to meet the Black Lord,” (so the Gipsies called
Oliver). “ I saw the black one go into the arbor,
down yonder.”

He pointed toward the river bank, about al
quarter of a mile away, where the arm was
plainly to be seen, and Nan asked:

“ What shall we do?”

“We must find what he’s after, for the Rance.
She told me to watch the Black Lord day and
night; and there he is. Let’s go there.”

“ But, they’ll see us,” objected Nan.

Mr. Griengm, who was an English Gipsy by
bérlth, and consequently an old poacher, laughed
a 1er.

“ Stay here and watch me, or come with me
and see what I do,” was all he said.

Nan, who was very fond and proud of Peter
(for he was her acknowledged lover and she had
given him all the money and Watches out of
which she had tricked Bill ' Barlow) at once in-
timated her intention 0 following him, to
which Mr. Griengro made no sort of objec-

tion.

They walked openly down to the river. in full
view of the occupants of the arbor, if any were
there: keeping their distance and turnin awa
in another direction till they had passet a bi
which hid them from view, and were close to
the water’s edge.

Then Mr. Griengro took the cane he was car-
rving. and improvised a fishing-rod out of it in.
short order by shooting a con la of oints for-
ward and attaching to the ast a shing-lino
and books, which he produced from his pocket.

Nan laughed at his rig but Mr. Grien o
coolly proceeded to dig or worms with
knife, after which he baited his hogk and
strolled down to the water’s edge.

The river was low at this point and had a cut
bank, under the shelter of which Mr. Griengro
had no difliculty in advancin unseen by any
one above, pretending to fish a l the time, till he
came close under the arbor into which he had i
seen Calvert and Barlow enter.

Nan followed him without any hesitation,
kee ing close to the bank; and both of them
ti 0d) so softly that they were unnoticed by the
people in the arbor.

As they arrived under it, they heard voices
distinctly.

“ I tol ye I wanted a steady job, and what I
says I means.”

" Well, Barlow, I’ve told you that the com~
pany has appointed all its men on the detective
force for the year, and I have no power unless
a vacancy occurs. ’

“ Then make a wacancy.”

“ I can’t do it.”

“ Why not!”

“Because all the men I have are good men,
reliable and steady.”

“ Put 1: a job on one of ’em.”

“1 co dn’t do it. Besides, it would do you
no good.”

“And why not, Mr. Calvert?"

“Because, as soon as the Directors found out
who I had appointed, such a ressure woul
cogenon me that I’d have topu you out in the
co . '

“ You mean about the prison affair! Well,
{go know who got the benefit of that, I' I’poso,

. Calvert?”

“ Hush! Don’t talk so loud.”

“ I’ll talk as loud as I’ve a mind to, Mr. Cal-
vert. You know who got the money fur them
railwailblonds and who hired me to burn ’em
2:.“ ’I, ' split about that job, if you force me
“It wouldn’t hal you a bit, Barlow, so you
might as well talk 0 a reasonable man. No
one would believe you, after seeing the record.
of our conviction court.” "

‘ Oh! that’s your game, is it? You, the man

the , are to be behaved and I
ain’t, use I’ve n punished fur do ’ your
work! “That’s Pemylvany jestice, is it!”

“ It’s the law, as you’ll find out, ifyou try on
any more threats with me, my man.

,Hero Mr. Griengro laid own his rod and
1 ed “giver tiie eggs (if 1iflhe bank.
a nose voceo espuketl'howodth’
were getting excited. ,

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*

He saw Oliver Calvert confronting the big
tramp, standin erect with one hand in his
breastrpocket, w ile Billy Barlow was evidently
gying to muster up courage to spring on

m.

Mr. Grien o looked at them in his scrutiniz-
ing way, an then sunk down below the level of
the bank, whispering to Nan:

“ Na komtm. Dooi at’raish.” (N 0 fight.
Both afraid.)

Mr. Griengro was right.

There was a short silence in the arbor above,
and then they heard Billy Barlow again.

“Well, boss, it’s all right, I s’ 050. I’m down
about as low as I kin get, and don’t keer fur

. the rest. I’m goin’ to the district attorney to
turn State’s evidence, and I kin make it hot
enough for you. So good-by.”

There was a crunching on the gravel, and
then Oliver’s voice was heard, saying:

“You’d better be sensible and listen to rea-
son, Barlow.”

“ Talk reason and I’ll listen,” was the sullen
an..wer.

“ I told you what I did just now, to show you
that you couldn’t extort money from me by any
threats,” returned Calvert. “ We can do better
as friends than enemies. I can put on on the
pay-rolls as a track-walker at two do lars a day
and give you leave of absence on full pa , till I
can do better. Would that satisfy you ’

“ What do you mean by doing better?”

“ Well, I’ve ot some work for you to do, for
which I’ll ay andsomely.”

“What 0 you mean b handsome!”

“ Say five hundred dol ars.”

“ Not enough. I’ve done your work before,
and it cost me two years in the jail. I want ten
thousand to run another sich risk.”

“There’s no risk in this. It’s only stopping a
woman’s tongue.”

“Your wife’s, I s’ ose.”

“ Hush! Yes. 0. I’ve ‘no wife, and you
know it. The woman you mean was onlya mis—
tress.”

“ P’r’aps. Anywaywe can’t stop her tongue,
boss. She shoots amazin’qmck, and draws as
fine a bead as most men I seen.”_ _

“ You’re to take her by surprise, in bed, and

‘ chloroform her.”
' “ Easy said.”

“ Easy done. I’ve had her shadowed, and
she’s in the same hotel where I am.” .

“Can’t do the job, boss. They’d Spot me 1n
a minnit in any hotel in this place.” .

“ Not as m employo. You’re to turn waiter
for a little. ill you try the job if I pay you
five hundred down and another when it’s
done?” _

“I daresn’t. It would be hangin’, and you

0w it.” _

“ Fool. I don’t want to kill her, but only to
carry her away till I’ve done something I Wish-
Will you do it?”

“ If you promise—”

“ Sure! Now then, how many men can you
dispose of? How many do you want to help

on?
“ Six are enough. if it’s only takin’ away n
a]. I’ve got ’em all. But I want more money
or expenses. "
“ You shall have all on want. Meet me here
to-morrow night, and ’11 Show you how to go
to Work. Bring your men. sober and dressed
decently. Shave and cut your hair. You know
what I mean?”
“ Sartainl , boss. You mean we’re to become
respectable olks all to once.”
“ Exactly. Y0u’ve been a tramp long enough.”
“Then hand over the stamps and‘l’m your
man, bOSs.” ‘ '

“ I don’t know about that. How if you and
the rest go off on a drunk and cheat me?”

“ You know if  ever cheated you, Mr. Cal-
vert,” returned Billy Barlow, in a tone of in-

jured feeling; for the tramp was really touched
., m a tender pomt. and Mr. Griengro lodking

over the bank, saw Oliver in the act of handing
him a roll of bills. ‘
“ There, Barlow, I didn’t mean to doubt you,”
‘ he said, more kindly. “ Be here to-mon-ow
ni ht, and I’ll set you to work. Good-by.”
hen Mr. Griengro saw the railroad President
stalk away, while the Boss of the Bummers‘
after hiding his money maide his shirt, went
slouchin g after. _
Nan looked at Peter, and Peter looked at Nan,
“ We must tell the Rance at once, ’ said he,
“I wonder who is this wife of the Black Lord
the are to carry OH or kill?”
N’an laughed as she answered:
“ Tote diulo miro loam (thou’rt a fool, my
dear.) It’s the Rance herself. ,Come, let us be
Dick before the doors are 0 n.
q And away they went to t3: theater,

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
Tun afternoon .pa ers of Philadelphia next

a day contained the fol owing advertisement:

“ ‘ alvert, Junior, will call at the omce
of Oliglggelrigaclunan. Counselor at Law, he will
hear of something to his adv usage. .If not alive.
legal evidence of his death Wil be received and paid
for," found satisfactory. 8.347 Chestnutit. Room
17.‘

 

N emojmKing of the Tramps.

Not two hours after the papers appeared on
the streets, a knock came at the door of Mr.
Juckman’s oiiice, and the boy who opened it
s ied a lady, richly but plainly dressed, and
c osely veiled, standing on the mat.

“ Is Mr. J ackman in?” queried the lady.

“No, mum. Want to see him personally, or
is it about the ad '9”

“It’s about the advertisement in this day’s ‘

Advance.”

“ All right, mum. Walk in.
back office, waitin’.” ,
' Without more words the vailed lady followed
her conductor to the back office, where he tap-
ped at the door, opened it and said:

“ Party about the ad, Mr. Calvert.”

Then the lady entered the room, and Oliver
Calvert turned round from the desk at which he
was writing, rose from his chair, and bowed
with a rather puzzled air to his visitor.

The lad , on her art, did not offer to remove
her vail, gut simp y held out a folded paper,
asking: . _

“Did you insert that advertisement, Sir?”

“ I did, madam; but I hardly-”

“ Expected an answer so soon? True. But,
you see, here I am.”

“ But you are not Harvey Calvert.”

“Nobody said I was,” returned the lady,

Gent’s in the

tart’lly.
“ hen, madam, may I ask what object you
had in coming here?”

“ To see what you meant by ‘hearing of some-
thing to his advantage.’ ” was the compased re-

1 .
p Oliver felt puzzled.

For a moment he had thou ht that his visitor
was Jacqueline, and that e had come un-
awares into the not he had spread for her in
other places but there was something in the
sharp way of
vinced him he was mistaken.

“Before I answer on, madam,” he said; “let
me ask if you know r. Harvey Calvert?”

“ May be I do, may be I don’t,” retorted the
vailed lady. “ If I don’t, it’s no use my coming
here.”

“Did he send you here?” asked Oliver, as a
feeler for news.

“ No, sir.”

The reply was as cool as if the lady felt no
embarrassment.

“ Then who are you, madam? Who sent you
to this office?” .

“ I sent myself, sir. I want to know what
has turned up to Harvey Calvert’s advantage 9”

"Then I can say nothing, madam, till I know
who you are.”

“ ou can’t know who I am. You never saw
me before.”

“Then what made you come here? Was it
curiosity 3”

_ “ N0. Sir.’ I happen to know a person who is
interested in this matter, and I came for that
person’s benefit.”

“ \Vho is this person of whom you speak?”

“ That’s tellings.”

Oliver stared at his brusque visitor in amaze—
ment. It was evident that some sort of a queer
character had got into his office.

“ Very well. ma’am,” he said, stifiiy. “ If
you gnu keep your mouth shut, so can I. Good-
mn’.

Itl'c went to the door, opened it, and pointed
OII I.

“ Good—day, madam.”

But, still more to his amazement, his visitor
composedly sat down on a lounge in the office,
and loosened her vail preparatory to putting it
up, observing:

“ You needn’t be in such a hurry. I ain’t go-
ing just yet.”

Oliver could hardly explain, even to himself,
the motive which induced him, just at this
mm, to recluse the inner door and turn the

ev.

It was not exactly an unlawful longing that
had taken possession of him, though the manner
of his visitor was so free as to be provoking
but he began to see there was something behind
all this, and he did not wish the boy to hear
anfithing.

e stood before the lady, who quietly un-
vailed, disclosing a dark oval face of undeniable
beauty, with a small uting mouth, brilliant

ck eyes, and rich olive complexion.

But, 1! beautiful, it was also perfectly strange
to Otliver, who stammered in his embarrass—
men :

 Who in Heaven’s name are you i”

'As I told you before, it does not concern
you. What do you wantto say to Harvey Cal—
ve‘rt?” returned the lady, calmly.

,‘ How can I tell on? I don’t know whether
he s alive or dea ,” said Oliver, desperately.

How am I to know if you come from him!
Now do be reasonable, my dear girl.”

“ Oh, he’s alive enough, if that’s all you want
to know,” answeredshe. “Tell me what you
have to say, and I’ll see that he’s told.”

Oliver considered a moment. He had not
seen or heard of his cousin Harvey since the lat—

ter parted from his father, seven years before

a boy of twenty. Could it be possible this girl
knew anything of him? He wanted to approach
Harvey :u some way to redeem his promise to

, .

s akin of the unknown that con- '
De g

25

l Helen, and here was a possible opportunity.
1 He decided to trust his visitor.
“ Well,” he said “I’ll tell you what I want
' him to know. Te 1 him that if he will call on
me I will be the means of reconciling him to his
father at once. Is that plain?”

“ Yes,” said the lady, ‘ that’s plain enough for
. any one. He shall kn0w it. He’s to come here,
and you’re to take him to his father—is that
'tlai’

i .

“That’s it exactly.”

“ Very well,” said the lady, rising and putting
on her vail, “ then I’m oii'.” _

So saying, this beautiful but free-mannered
person walked to the door, and would have
passed out when Oliver interposed. ,

“ Not so fast, my dear. Where is Harve Cal-
vert now? I’ve told you what you wante , now
tell me what I want.” '

The lady stopped a moment, and her eyes
flashed at im through her veil as she said:

“ Stand aside from that door or I’ll make you
re )cnt it.”

liver smiled and advanced to seize her when
he in turn recoiled as quick as had Bill low
on the previous evening, before the bright 
of a revolver, coming out over Gipsy Nan’s )
bow and under her light summer silk cape.

Without another word he moved out of the
way, and the di ised Gipsy quietly shook her
cage over the pistol again, unlocked the door
an out

For a moment Oliver felt too much mortified
to follow, and then he snatched up his hat and
went down—stairs two steps at a time, in hopes
of catching her in the street, where he thought
she would not dare to draw a pistol on him.

As hebolted out he saw her figure gliding
raflpidly round the corner at a little distance,
0

Quickly turnin , he beckoned to a man who
was lounging on t e other side of the street,
patently out of profitable employment, and
pointed to the fleeing girl.

The man nodded and set ofl! after her at a.
dog-trot, while Oliver went to his hotel to pre-
pare for his great can of the evening.

He had made up his mind to hazard a bold
stroke since he came from Pittsbur ; for he had
seen his uncle, had found out how ghe old man
had been shaken by the riot scenes, and how he
longed to see his son once more.

Oliver had private reasons, which will be de-
veloped in the course of this story, if the reader
has not already suspected them, to wish to get
Jacqueline Ray‘naud out of the way before he
made any attempt to restore Harvey Calvert to
his father.

What had become of the impetuous boyhe
remembered so well he could not imagine; for
neither sound nor sign had come of the absent
one in all these years, but there were certain
passages between himself and J aequeline which
made his recognition of her as the Romany

, 13.31166 decidedly disquieting.

Her bold and open persecution of him, by
mrzms of a stage caricature, was (3 ually sur—
prising to him, and made him drew that she
was in possession of some facts, to him as yet
unknown, which enabled her to defy him.

Therefore, he had resolved to quiet her in
some Way, by kidnapping her, either in bed at
her hotel, passing through the streets or at the
theater; and with that object had his spies and
detectives outon all sides, under the capable
leadershi of Mr. Barlow. . (

He ha not the slightest idea that all his
plans were already known to his enterprising
enemy, thanks to the talents of Mr. Griongro
and Nan the Gi sy.

He went to dinner at his hotel, and saw the
beautiful actress sitting at a distant table, ac-
companied by her tail and particularly hairy
agent, who seemed to be always near her in
public, though he did not sleep in the hotel.

Oliver took his own seat so as to watch them,
but noticed nothing in their demeanor save for-
mal politeness and be was puzzling his brain as
to who in the world this tall agent could be,
$4.165! one of the waiters slipped a note into his

an .

“ Gemman said ’twere ve res' sah.
Sorry to ’sturb you, sah.” W p mg,

Oliver nodded and opened the dirty note
handed to him. It came from the estimable
Mr. Barlow, and ran:

_“We‘ve tracked her down. She’s one of the G9-
sxes at the theater. B. B.’

“I the ht so ” muttered Oliver, to himself.
“Sothe i ies owsomethingabont Harvey,
do they? at’s what that agent, valac,
meant, with his impudenoe. I wonder whee
the deuce that boy is now? These people have
got hold of him, and are hiding him, in the hope
of making money ofl him.”

He went on with his dinner with very little
agipetito, and saw the tall agent go out before
t e Countess Cachuca, who remained at the
table eating ices in the dawdling way ofa fish-
ionable woman.

Oliver watched her for some time after he had
finished his own dinner, for he was a rapid
eater: and at last saw her get up.

In a moment he was following her, thinking

 

a: opportunity had come at last to speak to

 

26

He overtook her, just after she had passed
out of the door in the dark part of the interior
psssuge, and was about to address her when :1

ll figure started out from a recess in the wall
and oli'ered his arm with a bow to the lady.

Oliver smothered a curse under his lips as he
turned away.

“That infernal Trevlac again,” he muttered,
to himself, as he watched the couple walk down
the passage and disappear in a corridor that
crossed it a little further on.

Then something in the name. for the first
time since he had heard it, attracted his at
tention and made him repeat it over again and
again, as he stalked moodin along the corri—
dors to his own room in a distant part of the
hotel.

“ Trevlae, Trevlac? Where have 1 ever heard
Such a name? It sounds as if it were Cornish at
first, but the end’s French. Trevlac, Trelaw-
neyl No, that’s not like it. Trevor? No. The
‘luc’ is French all over, Mersac, Cavaignuc,
Conan. I wonder where the fellow can have
come from é”

Ashe spoke, he opened the door of his room
and went 'n. Some one—probably the chum-
bermaid— ad put a handsome lithograph of the
Cachuca Combination into his room, hung up
against the door.

He had seen them in the shop-windows with-
out noticing them closely, but now he was
forced to admit that it was a very artistic por-
formanee that was put out by the Combination.

The plate represented the Gipsy Queen’s Re-
Venge in its moment of triumph, and contained
his own portrait, more conspicuous than ever,
.n the person of the villain crouching at the
feet of the queen.

With an angry rowl he turned his back and
went to the was 1-stund, to prepare for the
visit to the theater which was to end in stopping
the ballet.

As he was washing his hands, he happened to
look up into the mirror, and saw the abominable
picture still staring him in the face. It seemed
as if he could not get rid of it and he found
himself trying to spell out the egend beneath
the piicture in the mirror, while he was still
was ng.

It ran thus:

NEEUQ YSPIG
“REGANAM ,CALVERT.”
He started suddenly, ran back to the print,
and read underneath:
“ Gipsy Queen.
“Trevlac, Manager.”

Then back to the looking-glass, where the
name “ Calvert” stared out with fatal distinct-

noes.

“ My God 1" he muttered “what a fool I’ve
been. Trevlac must be arvey Calvert him-
self. He’s only spelled his name backwards.”

In the midst of his cog-itations came a sharp
mp at his door.

Gui. .v— an.

CHAPTER XXX.
E IN THE WINGS.

“001m in,” said Oliver, nervously; and into
the room stalked Mr. Trevlac himself, in propria
persona.

Oliver said nothin ; for the shock of his dis-
covery was still fres u n him and he knew
not how to receive his Visitor, if he really were
Harvey Calvert.

He stared at him as if in the hope of recog-
nizing one feature of the lost young man, but
was unable to detect it.

Harvey Calvert had been a thin, pale, con-
sumptive—looking youtl., built like a thread

per with a. downy pair of side-whiskers and

age hollow eyes.

, his man had the frame of an athlete and the
hirsute honors of a Samson.

Therefore Oliver, not knowing what to say.
held his peace while he dried his hands and al-
lowed his visitor to take a seahunopposed.

t_ It was Trevlac, who opened the conversa-
ion.

“ You told me yesterday that on were going
to put an injunction on us tonig t. Have you
chan ed your mind ct?”

“ o—that is—I on’t know,” was the hesi-
tatiilig reply. “ Have you changed the bill?"

“ o, 811', and intend to keep it on.” ~

“Very well then. I must stop it.”

“ You’d better change your mind, Oliver Cal-
Vert.”

“Why so?"

1 Because I hear that your uncle has already
ohan ed his.”

01 ver started nervously.

“ What do on mean?”

“That he as burned his will.
In or his heir.”

iver turned us pale as a ghost.

“How do you know that?’

“ He told a friend of mine as much, and the
frieié‘d told me. Has. he not informed you
8.1M )

l “ No. I saw him only to-day,” answered
Oliver, in his most a itated tones. “He never
let drop is hint of it a .” .

You are no

 

 

 

, .

   -- . , -1! .. , , .. ; . .
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Mr. Trevluc sn‘iiled.
“Pei-ha s he begins to sus ect the truth at

last. You might as well ma '0 an 0 en confes- ;

sion before it is too late, Oliver. 0 one else
can right the wrongs you have done.”

Oliver stared at his visitor with a haggard
look.

“Who are you that speak thus?” he asked,
huskily.

“ I told you that 1 would let you know when
the time came,” said 'l‘rcvlnc, quietlv. “ It may
be that it is not necessary now.
know me already. Is it not so, Oliver!“

The President of the Air Line Road i’noistened
his dry lips with his tongue before he could un-
swrr in a low tone:

“ I think 1 do. You are Harvey Calvert.”

The other shook his head gravely but went
on:
“ You advertised for Harvey Culvert this of—
ternoon, and one of my lurlics in the. company
went down to see you about it. She said you
wanted to see him.”

Oliver looked at him in the same haggard
way. as if at a less what to say, and Trevlac
continued:

“What do you repose, to do? “’as that ad-
vertisement mere y anotlwr ingenious plan to
forestall the ruin that must come sooner or
later, or was it honest?”

“ Indeed, Harvey, it was honest,” said Oliver,
earnestly, and speaking in a manner that ex-
hibited much humility. “ I know I didn’t treat
you well, seven years ago, old fellow, and that

I think you t

N emo. King of the Tramps.»

 

 

you have much reason to be incensed against 1

me; but you know there was no reason why
'ou should not have saved yourself at the time
hy telling your father—”

“ Whnt? ’ uskcd Trevlac, as Oliver paused in
his smooth flow of words.

“ Well, the truth—us much as—”

“ What?” asked Trcvlac; for Oliver hesitated.
8. am.

“As much as he need have knowu. There
was no need of throwing away all your pros-
pects in life for the sake of a woman who—”

“ Who did what?” asked Trevlac. in the same
deep, passionlcss tones he had used throughout
the interview. “ I am curious to hear what she
did, according to your story.”

“Well, who tried her best to ruin us both, by
robbing my uncle’s safe. You know she did it,
Harvey.”

“ And who gave her the combination to open 3

the lock?” asked Trevlac.
Oliver flushed as he answered:
“ Not I, certainly.”

“Whom did she flee to meet?” asked the 3

other as quietly as before.

“ ot me, certainly.”

"' Who promised to marry her?”

“Not I, certainly}?

“ Who induced er to send back the stolen
bonds?” ,

‘ ‘ Not—~” Oliver paused abashed.

l
I

l
l
l

. A___.., .‘c..___._._»..-._— . .-  __ . A .—

t‘t. Oliver’s great profit, as powerful as bands of
steel to restrain those who should have been his
fees from bringing him to open shame.

Would that mind break now? He shivered,
in spite of the heat, as he thought over the pos-
sible eonscqwmcrs if it should.

lt might mean to him loss of his post as presi-
dent (for it was near annual election time); less
of Helen’s prouiscd hnnd: loss of a possible for—
tune; loss of reputation; loss of everything

, which had made him enjoy Iife_so keenly for

the last ten years.

As he sat thinking there, the darkness closed
in on him and the clocks began to toll the hour
of eight all over the city.

Then he started up, for he suddenly remem-
bered that the marshals would be at the theater
to stop the raisingr of the curtain.

He was as anxious now to stop the injunction,
as he had been to stop the play before.

Hastin putting on his hat, away he went to
the theater, and arrived there in time to hear a
great noise going on inside, from which he re-
alized that the audience were growing impa-
tient at the delay in raising the curtain.

Round to the stage door he went, and found
one of the deputy marshals there, whom he
passed and went upon the stage.

As he had expected. he found the whole com-
pany gathered excitedly round the mnrshul’s
posse, while high words were passing.

The marshal had already drawn his pistol and.
was swearing to shoot any one who interfered
with him, while the Gipsies were talking and
gesticulating in their chitable way, jubberin ‘
Romany to each other, and evidvntly inclined
to try hysieal conclusions with the law ofl'icers.

Mr. revlac, the only cool person 0n the stage,
was leanii com osedly against one of _ the
Wings; whi e the ountess (Jachnen, in her illu-
sion and spnngles was pacing up and down
near him, with an action that forcibly reminded
Oliver of a caged leopard; a simile that was
made more striking by her dark, brilliant
beauty and lithe motions.

Into this scene of confusion came the Presi-
dent of the Air Line Road, with the best air of
dignity he could ut on for the nonce, and the
disturbance cease for a moment.

“Please let the performance go on, Colonel
Jones,” he said, hurriedly, to the marshal. “I
have compromiSed with the manager of this
show, one he has promised to rcmovc the ob-
jectionable feature.”

“Oh, very well, judge,” was the reply, rather
sulkily; “if you don’t wish to press the matter
we can get out, but these Gipsy galoots can’t
bounce me and my men, I want them to under-
stand, every one of ’em.” '

Then he ut up his pistol, called off his men,
and left 0 iver alone among the Gipsies, who
stared at him with undisguised wonder; for,
just at that moment, Mr. Griengro, made up in
the most artistic style to present the exact-
double of Calvert, walked out on the stage and

“You are right,”answered the visitor, rising. l faced him with the remark:

“I see that you are still intrenched in your
armor of self. Now talk quick. What do you
pro ose?”

“ 0 take you at once to the Senator; tell
him all. the story you ought to have told seven
years ago: lay the blame on Jacko—it’s true,
you know, she did steal the bonds' and ask him
to let bygones be by ones.
enough, never fear. be old man was a good
deal shaken up at the riots, and can’t last long.
In fact, he’s getting into his dotage fast.”

“ And this is all you have to propose?” asked
Trevlac, in a. peculiar tone;

“Yes. Isnt it enough? You’ll be put back
into your proper station, and no one will know
but what you ve been traveling all these cars.”

“ l have been traveling,” replied revlac,
gravely, “ traveling as you new-r et traveled,
Oliver. But let that pass. What 8 to become
of your wife in all this arrangement l” -

“My wife? I have none,’ cried Oliver, an-
grily. “ What put such an idea into your
head l”

Trevlac put on his hat and walked to the door,
where he turned with his hand on the handle,
to speak for the last time, saying:

“ When you are prepared to do justice to all,
I am ready tohelp you. If you do not make
haste others may take the work out of your
hands, and then it will be too late. Good-even—

m .”

he left the room as the slowly settli twi-
light began to pale; and Oliver sat down ru-
minate over the plight in which he was left.

The discovery that Trevlac was really his
cousin Harvey Calvert, (though the bearded
agent had not a imitted as much save by impli-
cation, and had even shaken his head when
asked if he were not the man) had upset all his
calculationsabout the stopping of the play. He
simply did not dare'to do what he had threat-
ene .

He possessed certain items of secret knowl-
edge which made him hesitate before the si-
bility that Herve Calvert might, as he ew
he could, ex e im.

Only one 1: ing had saved him from ruin all
these years, through such an exposure.

That thing was the word of a gentleman.

Something impclpable; and yet it had proved,

l

l

I

l

 

 

 

 

.4 vii-ruff 7'15}: :v.‘\_.- .  .. .. 31.34 iii/kill“: “Kathi-{'1’}  1‘!“

“How de do, brother? We ain’t on, in the
first scene, and prom pter wants sin e cleared.”

Oliver walked over to where ' revlac still
stood, and said, in a low voice:

“Spare me this humiliation at least, if you
are the Harvey I remember.”

The tall agent made no reply, affecting not

He’l do it quick I even to hear him; but the Countess Cachucs

said in Romany something to Griengro, who
bOWed and left the stage.

Then the prompter’s bell sounded: the Gipsiee
cleared the stage as if by magic: and in another
moment Oliver found himself in one of the
win beside the Countess Cachuca, “etching
the llet from behind the scenes, while Mr.
Trevlao had disappeared into the mysterious
regons under the stage.

9 tried to say a word here, and began:

“ Jacqueline! Why should we be enemies?”

She turned and gave him one flash out of her _

dark eves.

“Talking is not allowed behind the scenes.”
she remarked, coldly. “The stairs are at the
side next the prompter.”

“I don’t want to go out. Iwant to see and
speak to you, Jacqueline,” he pleaded, earn—
estly. “I’ve wanted it ever since you shot at
me. Why should we be enemies?” —

She turned her back on him a] d called out in
Romany to Mr. Griengro, who just then came
back up the green-room stairs.

What she said Oliver could not of course unv
derstand, but Mr. Griengro, now made up in a
manner very dissimilar to that which he had
assumed before, came near and tapped him cm
the shoulder.

“ (xme, brother,” said Peter, coaxingly. “ No
use making a row here. You’ll be cleaned out
before you can do a thing. Sit down and watch
’em at it. You see I'm difl‘erent to-nigbt.”

In fact Mr. Griengro had been dressed up In
the short interval during which he had (113:5
peered, into the likness of an old-time Spa
doctor of the seventeenth crutury, wit long
black robe, velvet trunks and black silk stock-
ingp, etc., etc. ‘ ‘ .

liver said no more, but did as he was bi
for he had awholeso’me awe of the “bouncing
prgiensitles of the Gipcies.

6

out down on astod and watched the pro: ‘,‘
,p is” u ' w“ Hi - f3 ,-

 

 

«ngnu. ma

 

 

 

   
  

.AIR ,-

 

 

 

 

 

gress of the ballet; saw the Countess Cachuca
bound down to the footlights; heard the thun—
ders of applause with which she was gl‘t't‘ted;
and could not help watching her with admira-
tion himself, as she went through, with
dramatic grace, the pantomime of the Gipsy
Queen’s Revenge.

He found himself leaning forward and clap-
ping with might and main at one or two
specially brilliant places, and was so much ab-
sorbed that he noticed nothing else till he heard
the. voice of Mr. Trevlac close beside him, say-
ing to him:

“A man might; do Worse than have such a
wife as that, Oliver (kiln-rt. Do your duty
and you’ll never be sorry for it.“

He looked up and saw Mr. Trevlac beside
him, looking out over the stage with folded
arms as if he had not seen Col» ert.

Oliver seemed to shrink into his clothes as he
listened, and made, no answer.

Mr. ’l‘revlac seemed to expect none, for he
remained watchingr the stage till Mr. Griengro
had gone on and suffered the. vengeance which
looked so terrible before the curtain and so
prosaic behind it.

Then as the rustling folds came down and
blotted out the audience, Mr. Trevlac said:

“Come, sir, it’s time you were out of this.
Good—night.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

KIDNAPPING.

WHEN Oliver Calvert went home that night
from the theater he felt very gloom and un-
comfortable. It seemed to him as if the net
that he had been spreading for others was clos-
ing in around himself, and he began to doubt
his a bility to eSCape exposure.

But the last thing he suspected was the fact
that Helen Chester was in communication with
either Jacqueline or Harvey Calvert, if indeed
Trevlac were that person.

While he was cudgeling his wits for some
way out of his difficulties, he was suddenly ac-
costed by Mr. Barlow, who met him in the
dark street in the stealthy way habitual with
that worthy person, and said in a low tone:

“We’ve got her now, boss, if you give the

 

,word. The Gipsies has gone home and she’s

u-comin’ on alone.”

Oliver caught at the news eagerly.

“ Are you sure she’s alone i’ Isn’t that big
agent with her ?” '

"No. He went OH with one of the boys in
his gang, and she started out by herSelf. My
men are close on her.”

“ Take her then.” said Oliver, his heart beat-
ing jriy fully. “You know the place to go. ”

“ All right, boss. Little house in German-
town. Is the old woman there?”

“ Yes. Give her the word ‘Jacko,’ and tell
her to lock her up. Look out for her pistol.”

“ All right, boss. \Ve’ll double—bank her, so
she won’t have no chance to use it.”

Awa went Mr. Barlow at a dag-trot, and
Oliver 0110wed him more leisurely t' he turned
a corner.

The railroad President knew that Jacqueline
could not be far off, and sure enough, on turn~
ing into the next street, he was just in time to
see a dark confused group of men at the other
and rush on a female figure and carry it of!
bodily to a close carriage that was waiting near

yids saw them bundle her in, swiftly and si-
lently: slam the door of the carriage; and then
the vehiclé drove away at rapid pace, keeping

‘in the dark streets and ta 'ug the direction of

GermantoWrL .

As they passed Oliver, Mr. Barlow made him
a silent Signal from the box where he sat by the
driver, and the tifled conspirator ke t on
his‘way to the hote , feeling as if a 103. had
been lifted from his heart by this success.

As he turned into Chestnut street he was
overtaken by a man who touched his cap and
said:

“We took her easy, boss. Came the bag ,

trick on her. ”

“ What do you mean by the bag trick?” asked
Oliver.

“ Chipped a bag over her from behind afore
she knowed anything, and had her shut up
afore she could squeak.”

“Very geod. I‘ll see you get your pay for
the job.” said Oliver, hurriedly. “Don’t be
seen talking to me in ublic,”

“ All right, boss. wood-night.”

And the man shambled away in the furtiye
manner peculiar to tram and spies, while
Oliver pursued his way to t in hotel in peace.

When he at there the flow of spirits conse-
quent on his first triumph had begun to fade
away. ' .

He began to think over the poSSIble conse-
quences to himself if this proceeding were dis-
covered by Trevluc; and the more he thought,
the more uneasy he got. _ .

He dreaded to meet Trevlac, an found his
heart beating so fast with excitem at that he
had to oto the bar. call for whisky and take a
deep dr 'nk. before he could steady himself.

As he cm'rrc out ofrthc hur’, in walked Trevino,
11 company with Mr. Gricngro and a. slender,

 

r" '1'. ' .

boyish-looking young fellow, with light curly
hair and a large silky mustache, nearly white in
color.
This youth had weak eyes to all appearance,
for he had to wear blue goggles, but he strutted
ast Olchr in a consequential manner, swing-
ing his little, (zine as if he were anxious to pro-

voke a quarrel. .
But Oliver was not in a hting mood that

Nemo, King of the Tramps;

 

i
I

—r p—- .. ._ _ .7 .——__

 

mapped, and that you are Mr. John Raynor till
further orders. ave you registered?”

“ Yes, as I came in.”

“ Then get your key and go to bed.”

Curly-head got up, obediently enough, and
went off ; while Trevlac lit a cigar and remained
in the lower corridor of the hotel, waiting
patiently.

The clocks of Philadelphia struck twelve, and

day, and dcslined to notice this intrusive young 1; the porter was putting away loose chairs for
pci‘son, who passei on into the bar-room, while '

Culvert w.-;it upstairs to his own room, packed
iir his thiiigs,,came down again to the office,
paid his bill, called a carriage, and drove away.
He was bound to hide his tracks if he could.
The young man who had behaved so rudely
to him laughed when he went out, and said to

to Mr. Grieiigro a few hours before:

“ 0 diulo iiajimwa mande.” (l‘he fool does
not know me.)

Mr. Trevlac smiled.

“It is not best that he should, just now.
Will Nan stand the trial, think you?”

“ Ask Pctcr, was the reply.

“ She will keeplthe Kale Rai (Black Lord) in
the dark,” said Mr. Griengro, respectfully;
“and they dare not hurt her, for two of my
kinsmen are. with the men who took her.”

Mr. Trevlac nodded and went up to the bar,
where Peter took a reo'ular Gipsy drink (dee
and stro ); while the curly-headed youth

into the bi iard room, which commanded a
view of the hotel office.

The curly-headed youth took his post by the
door, watching; the office, while Mr. Griengro
and the agent egan to play billiards, or rather
pretend to play: for they seemed to pay more
attention to the hotel desk than the balls.

The youth at the door made a little click with
his tongue when Oliver came down to the desk,
and the two men at the table continued to watch
him furtively, while they played on.

They saw the porter take his valise and pre-
cede him out of the hotel, and when the door
slammed the curl y-headed one ejaculated:

“ He’s one away. What must we do?”

“Do? ‘iud where he’s gone,” said Trevlac,
quietly. “ George Masengro is outside, and will
go with him.”

Curly-head turned to Trevlac with a smile.

" You think of everything,” he said.

“I have need to," was the quiet reply.

have, J acko.”
Then he laid down his cue, paid for the un-

finished game, to the great satisfaction of the'

yawning marker, who forthwith ut out the
'ghts: when the three left the hot and walked
down Chestnut street toward Fairmount Park.

They had gone about ten blocks at a. leisurely
pace, when they saw the li hts of the hotel car-
riage coming back, and r. Griengro ste ped
out in the glare of a gas-lamp and raised both
his arms in a peculiar manner to attract atten-
tion.

The carriage slacked up and a man came
down from the box toward them, after which
the vehicle drove on.

The new-comer was instantly recognized as
George Masengro (the Butcher), the stoutest
Gipsy in the band, and he touched his hat re-
spectfully to Trevlac, waiting to be questioned.
' “ Where have you been, George?” asked Trev-

lac.

“ To the Rikeno Rance's beti leer,” was the an-
swcr. (Pretty lady’s little house.)

Mr. Trevlac started. 7

“ There! Are you sure?”

“ I am sure, boro rai.”

“ And who went there with out”

“ The Kala Roi (Black Lord .”

“ But is there no one there to watch?”

.“Aw, boro rat (yes, great lord) I left my
kinsman, Jasper Berengro (the Sailor), before
the house.

And Mr. George Masengro touched his cap as
he concluded his re ort and waited for orders.

“ Go back to the ouse with Jasper, and brin
me any news that he may have to send,” sai
Trevlac: and then he turned away and went
back to the hotel with his companions.

Once there, he said to Peter Griengro, who
was looking gloomy and uneasy: '

“Go quickly. 1 know where you would be.
Take care of her you love”,

Mr. Griengro’s face lighted up in a moment,
and he darted away into the darkness, after
rapturously kissing Trevlac’s hand; while the
manager of the Cachuca Combination said to
his curl y-h caded friend:

“Go to bed, Jacko.
news.”

“ What news do
youngster, quickly.

“News from her. If seven years have not
changed Helen Chester greatly, I shall hear
from her to-ni ht.”

“But I ougit to hear, too,” objected the
other, pleadingly. ,

“You shall, inthe morning. Just now you
need rest from eicitement. o as I wish you,
and you shall not repent it. I have taken this
matter into my own hands to-nivhu‘. Remem-
ber that the Countess Cachuca has been kid-

I’ll stay and wait for
you expect?” asked' the

. y ' »  ‘ -. y. 
w ' sh  .;,',\ ll; .  . ‘ a.  l ,3;

V u~t

(‘ I I
have something at stake; more than even you ‘

i

, V Y . will retire to Calverton to-morrow.
Mr. 'l‘revlac, almost in the words of (tipsy ban ‘

 

the nirht, when Mr. Mnsengro walked in,
touche. his cup respectfully, and handed the
watcher a note.

He tore it open, and read:

“ Oliver Calvert has begged aunt Mary’s hospital-
ity. He is here for a night or two. Uncle Harvey
I go with him.
If you can be there when we are, I think all may be
made, right at once. Oliver seems much disturbed
about something, but tells me he has great hopes
now. HELEN. ’

Trevlae nodded to Masengro.

“ You can go,” he said. “ Tell the men we
ull up our stakes to-morrow, and roam agai .
‘he Romanichalor will return to their tents.”

Mr. Maseugro’s face lighted up with intense
satisfa<-tion.

“ Parakra Maderal, arakra tote, boro rai,”
(Thank Good, and th you, great lord) he eja-
culated.

Then he went swiftly out of the hotel into the

1 str t d be u to turn han rin in the
lighted a c or, after which they sauntered out ‘ Be ’ m] g3 asp gs

excess of his delight at the prospect of leaving
the town and returning to the wandering ways
of his forefathers.

The Gi sies had stood the confinement of
stage wor very well while they were in Fitte-
burg, where there was plenty of excitement
during the riots, but since they had entered on
a course of peaceful prosperity in Philadal his
they had be 11 growing more restive ever .

Used as they were to open air life, an only
coming into t e toWnsin the winter, it was a.
severe task to them to remain in dusty, brick-
paved Philadelphia, while the birds were sing-
ing in the parks, and they knew that the hares
and chipmunks were chasing their comrades in
the country.

Mr. Trevlac read his note over twice, and
then softly kissed it and hid it away in his
breast-pocket.

Then he went upstairs to his own room, and
nothing more was seen or heard of him till next
day, when he strolled down Chestnut street to
take i. round of the newspaper offices.

That morning a big painted sign was hung up
in front of the theater, reading as follows:

“ CLOSED FOR THE SEASON.
“ WILL Rnornx Sm. lsr wrrn rm: Enmm Tuna.
“owl,
“ MR. CASSIUS OTHELLO JONES.“

The afternoon papers contained notices to the
effect that “the sudden illness of the Countess
Cachuca had necessitated the closing of her en-
gagement, and that the distinguished damseu'se
ha been advised by her physician to seek the
rest and retirement of country life for a time.”

_ Great regret, was expressed at her determina-
tion, and ho that she would soon revisit the
Cit of Bret erly Love.

. liver Calvert, walking up Market street, m
111! way to the Germantown Road, bought a.
paper, read the news, and chuckled to himself.

. 0 ’had quite recovered his equanimity by
this time, and fancied he saw in this sudden
move the demoralization of his enemy’s f
produced by the sudden capture of their best

He took the horsecars to Germantowu, got
out at the terminus, and walked on till he came
to a large, old-fashioned brick house in the
midst of some neglected looking ounds.

The place seemed deserted, an all the shut-
ters Were closed as he knocked at the door
which was opened to him by an ancient hag of
villainous looks. '

“ Is she quiet?” asked Oliver.

“ She’s as quiet as chloroform can make her,”
was the answer as he went in.

CHAPTE—R—XXXIL
A FAMILY TALK.

TEE doors and windows of Calverton Manor
were once more thrown open to the breeze- the
house was full of bustling servants, and '
Helen Chester, in the capacity of hostess to
aunt Mary, was doing her best to make the old
lady comfortable; while the neighbors poured
in to pay, their duty calls) and satisfy their
curis‘fl; about riot news.

Senator, bland and imposing as ever,
receivod his guests with his usua urbanity, but
was very reticent about his share in the riots,
which had by this time been quelled in all parts
of Pennsylvania.

The trumps seemed to have about disappeared
from that part of. the country,‘ and teat was
the relief of the farmers who had ered from
them in the past.

. The country seemed to have recovered - its
normal tone, and people went about their avo-
cations as usual. r .,

‘ The Senator’s family had occupied their coun-

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28

try home about a week, when one morning Miss
Chester followed her guardian into the library
and said:

“ Uncle Harvey, I want to speak to you.”

He looked up in surprise from his morning

er.

‘What about, Helen?”

“ About my cousin Harvey, air.”
The old man’s face lighted up.

 

“Au news? Have you found any evi-
dence’

“Not yet, sir; but I received this note from
Oliver to-day.”

She handed hima letter which he read slowly
and carefully.
It ran thus:

“DEAR. HELEN:

“ l have made a discovery and a capture. J acque-
line Raynand stole the Senator‘s bonds. and I havo
her a prisoner. She has written a confession and is
ready to swear to it. There is now no reason why
Harvey should not come home. I have written to
him. claim your promise.

“ OLIVER CALVERT.

“P. S.—I shall be in Calvertou to-night with my
prisoner penitent. ’ ’

The Senator seemed hardly able to realize the

' meaning of the letter till he had read it several

times ova-r, and then he said, in a confused,
helpless sort of way:

“ 1 don’t see why Oliver did not find this out
before, It wold have saved us seven years’

on .

“ I suppose he did not know it,” was Helen’s
indifferent reply, as she stood looking out of
the window, apparently more interested in the
robins on the lawn than the matter in lhnd.

“But he says he has found her and written
to Harvey. Where is my boy? Why does he
not tell us?”

“ Possibly he wishes to surprise us by bring-
ing Harvey here, sir. ”

he old man looked again at the letter.

“Ja eline has made a confession of the

aft. ut how then—J’

e paused as if in dee thought and Helen
did not venture to rouse im from his distrac-
tion till he sudden] broke out:

“Oh, I wish to eaven that artful Jade had
never entered m house.”

“ Why not, sir.”

“ I see it all. She never went away to marry
any member of my family as she said. It was
all a lie from first to last. She stole the bonds,
made love to Harve ; and be, poor boy, was
forced into keeping er secret. She-tempted
him and he fell.

Helen again made no answer, and his mood
flanged to cheerfulness as he returned to the

‘ttel'.

“ What a smart fellow Oliver must be tohave
found this out so quietly. He will be here to-
night with his ‘ prisoner )cnitent.’ That’s quite
a retty alliteration. Oliver was always fond
0 his joke.”

“Yes, sir, especially at other people’s ex-

pense.”
“At other ople’s expense? How so, Helen?”
“At all 0 our expense, sir. It _is hardly a

subject for jokes.”

“Oh, I don’t know that. I feel as if a moun-
tain had been lifted from my heart and I could
laugh at any folly. Harvey is comin home to
his father before he dies, and Oliver Will be the

. means of restoring bin to me.”

Helen smiled ina bitter, cynical sort of wa
as she continued to look out of the Window, an
the old man said freti'ully:

“ But you never would do justice to Oliver.
You always hated him. And yet you are the
first person he writes to, in his joy.’

Again Helen made no answer, and the Sen-
ator turned to the letter, as if seeking there the

I consolation she denied him.

“What does he mean by saying he claims
younpromise? What promise have you made
?

“To marry him, sir.”
The Senator jumped up from his chair in an
‘ excited manner.

“ To marry him! You! Helen! Marry Oliver!
Wh , what for, in the name of common sense?”

“ ecause I promised to do so, in a certain
contingency, sir.” ‘

The old man quieted down as she spoke, and
stared at her with great amazement.

W’hen he spoke again it was in a voice. trem-
bling with s01. hidden emotion. ,

“ nd what was that contingency, Helen?”

“’That he should reconcile you and Harvey,

, ,

‘f And you promised to marry him if he could
accomplish that l” .

“He asked me, as he had so often before, to
marry him; and I told him that if he could
reconcile Harvey and you, I would not oppose
his ,wishes any longer. That is the whole story,

“ But you do not like Oliver?”

" No. sir.”

“You have always seemed to hate him,
Helen?”

t; Sir.”

“ And yet you will marry him?” \

“ I will keep my promise. sir.”

“Then it is really owing to this sacrifice of
yourself tnat my sons innocence is proven?”

.,.~, .,, " I
1  l.”~.‘ , :~;..- '.

 

MNemo, King of therTramps;

“Nothing is proven yet, sir.”

“But when it is, I shall Owe it all to you?”

Helen made no answer.

The Senator eyed her sharply for a moment
and then burst out:

“ Helen, you’re a—well, I won‘t be extrava-

ant—but, you’re a gOUd girl. You shall not
056 by it. I promised you that if you proved
my s-‘n’s innocence you should have all my for-
tune at my death. You shall, and more than
that. On the day I can honorably embrace my
son, be it to-morrow or not, I will make OVer
half my fortune to you. You and Oliver shall
have something to enable you to live peaceably
together. Vtht do you think of that?”

“ I think you are very kind, sir.”

Her tone was constrained: so much so that
the Senator noticed it and said, kindly:

“ Don’t take it to heart so, Helen. Love-
matches are not always the happiest, and love
is sure to come after awhile, when the husband
is such a noble fellow as Oliver. If it were any
one else I would protest against sacrificing you
to a man you dislike; but 1 know you are

rejudiced ainst Oliver became you don’t
linow him asafdo; and that 'ou’ll end by loving
him as devotedly as an wi e in America.”

“ Perhaps so, sir,” said Helen, coldly. “ Now
I’ve told you the news, I suppose I can go out
for a ride alone.”

“ 1 don’t know, Helen. The country may not
be so safe as we think yet. There may be
tramps lurking about in the woods.”

“ Constable Davis says the whole country is
clear of them sir. He was in the kitchen this
ifnorning and I told the cook to give him break-

ast.

“ You’d better take one of the boys with you,
Helen. I don’t like this riding out alone.”

“ Very well, sir.”

Helen bowed, vanished, and went straight to
the stable bell to order out her horse; but gave
no intimation whatever of obeying the Sena-
tor’s wishes in the matter; for when she rode
out it was through the back way, alone and un—
attended by any groom, even at the regulation
fifteen paces’ distance in the rear.

Now the back way of Calverton Manor led
into the farm which adjoined the grounds
round the house, and down a shady lane into
some quiet country roads, overshadowed by
great locust and elm trees, which bordered the
we for miles into Calverton woods.

Il’elen rode gently on till she neared the
woods, when she saw in the distance an ap-
proaching horseman.

Then she quickeued her pace and soon met a
slender boyish youth with fair curly hair, a
drooping flaxen mustache and blue goggles over
his eyes.

This youth wore a light and fashionably cut
riding suit and rode a slender sorrel horse, with
the wiry nervous look of good blood about it.

The rider’s hands and feet were very small
and elegantly shaped, and he rode with the ease
and grace of an old equestrian.

Helen looked with some little curiosity at this
youth as she passed him; but kept on the other
side of the road, as not wishing to converse
with a. stranger.

The young man with the curly hair. on his

art, bowed ceremoniously as he passed, and

elen rode on, thinking: she had seen the last of
him and wondering a little who he Was, for he
was evidently not a resident of that part of the
country.

Presentl she heard the quick hoof-beats of a
galloping orse behind her. and looking round
in some astonishment, beheld the curly cavalier
coming after her.

For a moment she felt startled and terrified;
for there was no one on the road within si rht
but her pursuer; but the next moment er
courage returned. " _

She had noticed the slight figure of the
stranger, and judged him to be half a head
shorter than herself, she bein a tall, robust
girl, and he a very small, apper sort of
youth.

She had in her saddle-pocket, as usual, her lit-

tle pistol, which she always carried in the coun-'

tr when riding alone.

Therefore, instead of startin up her horse
into a faster gall , she checke him to a walk,
sat up straight in or saddle, and looked as cold-
ly severe as a statue of Minerva, as the auda-
cious stranger dashed alongside and pulled up
his horse.

Then she turned on him with flashing eyes,
asking:

“What do you mean, sir? Who are you?
How dare you?”

Curly-head smiled with an air of great amuse-
ment as he retorted:

“Three uestions in one breath. What do I
mean? W 0 am I? How dare 1? Well, I’ll an-
swer them all as well as I can. I mean busi-
ness; I am a horse-dealer; .I dare do anvthing
in the way of business. How much will you
take for that horse?”

“I am not in the horse-dealing line,”re lied
the lady, in her most sarcastic tones. “ I on’t
want to sell. I want to be left alone. Good-
dav, sir.” .

Convinced that this was simply an impertI—
nent jockey, and confident in her own horse, she

  1-,._,,_;,‘, ,1,  s .. i.’ "

 

_.. _.._ a-

laid on her whip sharply and darted away, ex-
peeting to distance her companion.

To her amazement, the little jockoykept neck
to neck with her with apparent ease, and con-
tinued the conversation as quietly as if nothing
unusual had occurred.

“ Well, miss, if I can’t buy your horse, what
will you give for mine? ’m always open to
an o er, buy or sell. What will you givei
Conic.”

Now thoroughly angry at his persistent in-
trusion, she’tnrned round in her saddle and
lifted her riding-whip.

“I'll give you this, if on don’t cease annoy-
ing me,” she cried. “ f you’re a gentleman,
you'll leave me.”

The little man laughed a ain.

“ I’m not a enticmnn,” c said, in the coolest
manner. “I on’t profess to be anything but
what I am. Take a card, miss. Happy to
oblige you any time you want a mount. I’ll
give you three fifty for yours, or take five hun-

red for this. There’sa fair oflcr. You won’t?
VVeU, here’s my card. Any time you want me,
you know. Good—by.”

With the cool im udcnce that had character-
ized him all throng , he stuck his card into her
saddle-pocket, on the allop as both horses
were, and then wheeled is animal and rode 01,
leaving Helen further unmolested.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
. 'rnn GIPSY CAMP.

IN the midst of that charming nook in the
woods of Calverton, that want by the name of
the “Tram ’8 Paradise,” was gathered a pic-
ture ue ii 16 camp of Gipsies; very different
from he motley ang of roughs that had pro-
faned the place a ew weeks before.

Kind Nature thanks to the rip ling stream
and the suns of Jul and August. had covered
over the traces of e tram s witha otect—
ing mantle of grasses and erns, so t t the
place looked as beautiful as ever.

The Gipsies, with their horses and wagons,
their arched tents and booths, contributed s. ro-
mantic air to the scene, as the girls flitted. about
in their scarlet cloaks from fire to fire. The
men were scattered about, making baskets and
cordage. mats and brooms; Mr. Andrew Yog-
engro, (fire-fellow,) the blacksmith, was clink-
ing away on his little traveling forge, while
Mr. Masen r0 was cutting up a pig in a remote
corner. unr er the trees.

The Gipsies all looked happy and well satisfied
to be away from the cities and roaming the
grecnwood again; for the Arab is rot truer to
his desert than the Romanichal to the wandering
life of his tribe.

Mr. Peter Gricngro was industrious] y cleanin
a compact little black horse, whose coat af—
ready shone like satin, humming to himself,
meanwhile, the mournful refrain of a Romany
love song which described the loss of the loved
one, when he heard the tramp of a horse’s feet
among the nnderbrush, and spied a young lady
riding toward the camp.

He paused in his work long enough to say,
aloud:

“ R17 mno ranee. Are, raplz'or; regandro du-
rokcn illm'.”

Helen hea rd the words, which were to her un—
meaning gibberish, but the Gi sy girls under-
stoaid the summons better, for _r. Griengro had
88.1 :

“A )rctt lady. Come 'rls brin in the
fortnnlIe—tellili books.” , g1 ’ g

The cam k no apparent notice of the
stranger; is 6 men continued at their various
avocations without looking up or speaking; the
old women went on stirringi the hanging ket-
tles; and only the little Chl dren stared at the
graceful figure in the ridin habit that came
slowly into cam ) on the ham some bay horse.

It was Helen hester, who checked her pace
halted at the outskirts of the little camp, and
looked on with pleasure at the pretty picture it
presented; it was Jenny Griengro, a sister of

etcr, who came smiling and wheedling for-
ward to the horse's head, saying:

“Won’t the pretty lady have her fortune
told? Jenny, the Gipsy, can tell her whom
she’ll marry, if the pretty lady will cross her
hand with a piece of silver.”

Helen smiled.

“ And how if I cross it with gold?"

“The better the money, the better the tale,”
replied Jenny, unblushingly. “I’ll take mom
trouble and tell you more.’

“But it won’t be any truer, will it?” asked
Helen, still smiling. ,

Jenny drew herself up as if oflendod.

“The Bomanichi never lies pretty lady. I
could tell our fortune now, if chose. "

“ But I on’t want my fortune told,” rotor-ted
Helen. “ I came here with a different .
You are the people who were at the theater
with Jacko, the Countess Cachuca, I mean. I
want to see her. Where is she?"

Jenny stared at her in undisguised amazement
and then a crafty look came over her dark, face.

“Why, don’t you know they took her awa
in Philadelphia? Him they call the Black Loni:
that ran awav from Grubstip, he took her.”

Helen looked at her sharply.

“ Are you telling the truth?” she asked. “Ho

 

  

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says he did, but I don't believe him. Isn’t she
here xow’t”

“Oh, no, my l'i'ly, certainly not." was the
glib rch from Jenny’s Madonna-like lips, as
easy as lying. “ Wc’Ve not seen her for ever so

long.” ' _
“I’m sorry,” said Helen in a disappointed
tone. “ l thought—but never mind. 'ou say

she. is not ll('l‘l‘ :"

“ No, my lady." r

Helen hesitated a few moments, and then
turned rosy red as she asked in a. low voice:

“ IVlierc is your king, Nemo!”

Jenny lovlied up at her with a roguish twinkle
of her black c 'es.

“ Gone too.’

“ (lone where?”

“To look after the Rance Jacko.”

\Vith a pettish exclamation, Helen turned
away her horse’s head and was about to depart,
when she heard a shrill whistle in the woods at
some distance ofl’, which produced a decided
stir in the (lipsy camp.

S veral of the men jumped up from the tasks
at which they were on aged and dashed off
through the woods as if t eir lives depended on

it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Helen in some

rise.

“A message from Boro Roi,” said Jenny
quietly. “ He has found Jacko.”

“ Then I must see both of them,” was Helen’s
comment; and she rode off through the woods
after the Gipsies, whom she soon found grouped
around the identical impertinent little horse-
jockey she had met on the road.

Something in this fact made her remember
that she had his card in her saddle-pocket,
where he had so unceremoniously left it, and
she pulled it out to see what his name was.

She found a small neat card, on which was
printed‘in clear Roman type, the following in-
soriptio :

“JOHN RAYNOR,

“CONTRACTOR AND DEALER IN LIVE STOCK OF ALL
KINDS.

“ Commission Business a Specialty."

But even Helen, though not an expert in
business affairs, noticed that there was no ad-
di‘css on the Card, and came 'to the conclusion
that Mr. John Raynor’s busmess was only a.
blind. .

S Icing him hail-fellow-wcll-met With 
Gipsies, settled his status in her mind; and With-
out further curiosity she rode away back to the
road, and So toward Calverton. _

She “as much disappointcd in the resultof
her Visit. She had expected to findJacquclme
in the camp; for, ever since the night of the
burglary, when the dis iiised girl had saved her
from the clutches of ’illy Barlow, Helen had
been in coast .nt Secret communication Withhhcr
old fricud and governess, so lon'r lost to View.
She knew that Jacqueline had in some mys-
terious manner acquired a great control over
the Gipsies, and that she was always with the
still more mysterious king, Nemo, whom Helen
had only seen once, but Whom she nevertheless
susp' oied to be none other than the vanished
cousin Harvey she rcmembe so wen,

She had no confidence in liver Calvert’s let-
for and at first fully believed he lied, inasmuch
as .l'acqueline had told her a ver sin lar story
or: the night in which they had ‘oile the burg-
lars at Culvrrton Manor.

It was on the strength of that story that the
warm-hearted girl had been working ever since,
planning scheme after SCheme to right her cou-
sin, who had been her hero of romance seven
years before, when she wasa school-girl of thir-
teen, and whom she had enshrined in her heart
ever since, vi'vh a worship of which the wo-
me n, Helen, did not 50 Ill 88 suspect the real
nature.

Now, as she rode away she felt very10w in

ii'iis, fur she Logan to think Oliver might be
right after all, and the remembrance of her
promise to marry him came hke a leaden weight

n her mind.

0 e What shall Ldo? What shall 1 do?" said
the pior girl to herself, as she rode along. “I
do not love him; I even hate him, and yet I
must marry him if he reconciles Harvey to his
father. And uncle Harvey 18 so crazy for joy
that he thinks of nothing but himself. I hope I
shall not live long after it‘s all over. I think I
could die happy if- I only saw Harvey home
again, but I’m sum I can never live happy With
that wretch. ” _

She had been so earnestly messed m her
awn thoughts that who was unconsciously speak-
ing aloud, pacin along: in tkhe dusty road With

reins on her 1100 . '
tblat was with a nervous start that she heard
some one so : _

“ What wyitetch! I hope you don’t think me a
wretch miss." . .

Reddening with anger at the rude intrusion,
Helen turned in her saddle and  littégnelglt‘.
John Ra nor neat, dapper an mper i ,
ambiin ggiohgesido her (in the :2“ gr:- by
tho as serene y as ev .

“ Whom 0%, girl" she asked. “How dare
youinterru mom-in! Boonwlth you or

 

I‘ll t. acli you not to insult a lady in this inan-
. ')

nu.
She gathered up her reins, pclutchcd her whip
and 'Gflirelcd her horse to ride (it hitu With cus-

tngthl‘y inn-iii; but the little jockey “page

sagetl ” dung: zu rose the road with a specd that
lccpt him out of danger, as he cried out, still
l. ughiiig:

“ Why, you know me well enough.
R'i y nor.
letter for you from a friend of yours.
given it you before, but you wouldn’t stop.”

He held out a note as he ke, l‘ut Helen
was the suspicious of his easy impudence to be
lievo him at once.

“ W ho is it from it” she asked.

“From a gentleman called Trcvlac,” was the
reply. “ I met him in Philadelphia, and he
charged me with this to you.”

Hclcn flushed and paled, for Jacqueline had
told her on the night of the burglary how they
wvre oin to take a variety show to Pittsbiirg
and P ilagelphia, and how the Gipsy king was
to take the name of Trevlac.

The very sound of this peculiar name had
strengthened her idea that he was Harvey Cal-
vert, and the meszsuges she had received in the
city through the various Gipsies of the hand
had completed the chain of evidence.

“Give me the letter then,”shc said, a little
more graciously; and Mr. Raynor rode up be-
side her, his air now perfectly respectful, and
handed her the letter of which he spoke.

Helen opened and began to peruse it. Soon
she grew so absorbed in its contents that she
forgot everything, let the reins fall on her
horse’s neck and read eagerly on.

Thus ran the letter:

“ HELENZ—But for you I should never in have
come near my father‘s house, and but or you I
mi ht have still been happy in my self-imposed
exi e. I wished ' to see my little girl-phi ate,
grown a woman, and 1 found her an ange . For
your sake alone I will do what you ask. I will come

case and be there when Oliver comes. Whatever
the issue, God bless you. Nnuo."

She let the paper fall on her lap and sat idly
gazing u the road, when that impudcnt little
‘ockey, ohn or Jack Raynor, suddenly threw

is arms round her neck before she was aware
of his intent, half—dragging her out of the
saddle, and lumped three loud smacking kisses
full on her lips, with the exclamation:

“llelen, you’re a. darling. Good—b '!”

In another moment he had pushe her back,
scarlet with shame and indignation, while he
dashed in his 3 mm and shot awa like an
arrow leaving I elen alone in the ma , so beside
herself with fury that she actually reached for
her pistol to kill this insolth little wretch.

The smallness of his size made his impudence
only the more provokin , Helen’s anger was
not mixed with fear, an 0 1d she have found
her pistol she would have fli‘ed after him.

But, still more to her mortification it was
one, and she came to the safe conclusion that
Ir. Raynor had taken it while she was reading

her note. In this she was right no doubt and
after a little burst of angry tears she ma 6 up
her mind to get even with Mr. Raynor at some
future time, and so rode home peaceably.

I’m Jack

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
OLIVER ARRIVES.

THAT afternoon Senator Calvert received a
telegram, saying:

“ Home on 6:15 train. Jacqueline and detective
with me. Send two wagons to meet us.

“OLIVER.”

The old gentleman was instantly in a fever
of excitement, driving quiet aunt Mary nearly
out of her wits by his nervous ways, and
squabbling with Helen at intervals because she
ke )t so cool and looked so gloomy.

{When she refused to drive to the station to
meet Oliver ho was considerably nettlcd, and
an ' y observed:

‘ If you had as much at stake as I have, you
wouldn’t be so careless, Helen. I sometimes
think you have no feeling for any one except
your own self. Good-evening, Miss Chester.”

And the indi nt Senator, shooting this Par-
tbian arrow 0 sarcasm to rankle in Helen’s
bosom, stepped into the wagon and was driven
away.

Aunt Mary looked troubled and timid as she
stood on the piazza with Helen; but the girl
only smiled somewhat sadly in answer to the
anxious looks of her relative.

“He doesn’t know, aunt Mary. He’ll be
sorry for this when he thinks over it. Uncle
Harvey is (puck-tempered, but he doesn’t mean
to be cruel. ’

“No, no, Helen- not cruel; but thee knows
man never understand us rightly to the last.
Most men, that is. My poor Nathaniel, in the
s irit these maximum, was different. And

can thee think wicked French girl has
confessed at last? What a triumph for young
Harvey thus to be found innocent without seek-
infito prove it!”

“ii” mufdflarymnflyl‘lmt’  thi

es aim . 183 n a -
way. ill you excuse me a ttlel. I
headache coming on, unless I lie downturn
hour, before theywa back."

King of the Tramps.

f you won‘t trade horses, hens a .
I’d have ‘

 

29

 

“ Certainly. Helen. Thcc needn’t use cere-
mony wiih inc.”

So Helen vrrnl up to her own room, locked the
door, and flan, instead of lying down, as she
had dcclarol she mu: about to do threw herself
into a rorking-clinir and indulged in a long and
bitter fit of or, ing.

The ordcal was at hand, and she felt she would.
have to face it.

It was not in Helen’s resolute nature, how—
ever, long to give v. my to despondency.

“ I must do it,” she finally said to herself,
“and if I must, I will. No one shall say I did
not kep my word at any cost.”

So she attired herself in her richest garments
as if for a festival, and came down-sta irs, smiling

, and placid, taking a sent on the piazza wit

aunt Mary, who was already dozing away in
her great cane rocker in pursuance of the mild
fiction that she was waiting to receive the
travelers.

The sun went down, and just before his red
disk touched the western horizon they heard
the long scream of the train coming in.

Helcn turned white at the sound, set her teeth
hard, and tapped her foot nervoufly on the
ground, but showed no further emotion. _

Aunt Mary awoke with a gurgle and ifl‘,
rubbed her eyes and exclaimed: ,

“ Wh , Helen, is thee there? I must have
been ha f asleep, for I didn’t hear thee. They’re
not coming yet, are they?"

“ The train’s 'ust in. The drive will take
twenty minutes, ’ said Helen in a hard metallic
tone. “ I must go up—stairs again. My head
begins to am me once more.”

“ Thee’ better take a walk on the lawn in the
cool grass,” said aunt Mary, sympathizingly.
“ The sun is nearly down now.”

“I think I will.” v

And Helen walked off into the grounds, pacing
nervously to and fro on the grass among the
firs and spruces, and trying to work of! her ex-
citement so as to meet Oliver calmly.

Had she been a man, she would have taken a
drink to steady her nerves; but, being a lady
Helen was denied the male consolation, and had
to rely on her powers of self-control.

After awhile when she was of! among the
shrubbery, she heard the dull rumble of wheels
and hid hci'sclf to watch.

F'iist came the Senator, in the two-seated
drag, driving his own . an of greys, with Oliver
Calvert, bland and smi ing, beside him.

In the hind seat was a big fat man, with a.
clean-shaven face and a general air of new
clothes about him, and' by his side cowered,
rather than sat, a slender female figure, closely
veiled in Spite of the heat. 1

he secondvehicle was a i ht rin wa
full of bagga e. g SP g gun

Helen wa cd them drive 11 to the house,
and saw Oliver salute aunt Mgry in his most
grandiloquent manner, while the big man and
the vailed woman were hurried into the house.
Then she saw Oliver look round him in an in-
quiring sort of way and realized that he was
asking for her.

With a slight sigh she gave to the winds the
last semblance of emotion and walked up the
steps as cold and uuimpressionable as a statue
moved by machinery.

"Good-evening, cousin Oliver,” was all she
said, as be hurried forward to grasp her hand
witlfiboth his. I ,

“ elen, it is , ’he answered in a. low for-
vent tone. “ I have cleared Harvey. Have
you nothing more to say to me than that I!”

“Where is Harvey?” she asked, in the sanio
cold, stony manner.

“ He will be here soon,” he answered. “ There
will be no more trouble about reconciliation; so
I claim your word.”

“ 1 will keep it, sir 1”

Her tones were perfectly icy as she matched
her hand away from his with a sort of shiver
and went up to her guardian.

“ Uncle Harvey, have you heard all?”

The old man was radiant witn joy and ex~
citement.

“ Yes, I’ve heard all. The boy was a fool. but
not as bad a knave as I thought. I can forgive
him the rest.”

“ What do you mean, sir?”

“ Oh, he never promised to marry that French
jade. She doesn’t say he did. Her letter to
me was only to throw dust in my eyes. She
was fond of cban e, and threw herself at poor

’3 head. fmn’t blame the boy, for she
was a. woman of the world who could Just wind
him round her finger. He was fool enough to
leave college and meet her in Baltimore. where
he first learned the way she had robbed me.
Then she had the impudence to persuade him to

traveling with her to spend all that money,
owin I would never prosecute my own son,
That’ ”

“ Then why didn’t he tell you, air, when ya
saw him?”

“ use the artful jade had made him give
hiswg'rdof bonornottotollany one. The young

Helen compilinessed her lips.

“He kept word however.”

“ es, and what did he get furitl 115mm
me angrynowto thinkwhatafoolthoboy

30

 

 

was. But I don’t care now. I can forgive him
all for he is my own flesh and blood.”

Helen nodded er head slow! and turned
away, while the old Senator pace up and down
the piazza, looking toward the ate.

“ When did you say he’d be ere?" he asked
Oliver, in the pause of one of his walks.

“An hour after sunset, sir. He writes in a
mysterious manner.”

“XVhere from? How did the letter reach

ou. ’

“From Philadelphia. I suspected he was
Harvey, from the moment I spelled his name
backward and found it made Calvert. The
letter 1 sent him went through his hotel, and
the answer came to me by a Gipsy called
Grien r0.”

“ W o is that man with Jacqueline, up-
stairs?” o

“ The private detective of the company. He
found and arrested her. I could trust him any—
where.”

“ What’s his name?”

“ Barlow, sir.”

“Is he an old band?”

“Yes, sir. He used to be with us a lon
time ago, but has not done much work til
latelg.’

“ ow did you get her to write out that con-
fession?” I

“The detective altogether, sir. He got her
frightened into telling the truth and wouldn’t
let me see her at all. Very arbitrary, those de—
tectives.”

“Then do you mean you’ve not said a
word to Jacqueline yet!”

“Oh, no. I spoke to her on the train long
enough to be satisfied that she was not fooling
us all with a sham story.”

Here the old Senator, who had been looking
out toward the gate of the grounds, gave a ner-
vous start.

“Gracious heavens! what’s that?” be ex
claimed. “Look, Oliver!”

The President of the Air Line Road looked
round, and saw in the faint gloom of the twi-
light a motley crew of tramps and vagabonds,
, in all sorts of rags, coming up the gravel walk
in a bodktoward the house, headed by the tall
form of ing Nemo. *

The old Senator a few weeks before would
have been indignant at this intrusion on his
privacy, but the Pittsbur riots seemed to have
put a great deal of the ' of human kindness
into his heart.

The King of the Tramps, in all his glory of
streaming tatters and-wild hair and board,
came silently over the lawn to the foot of the
steps, followed by a single boy in a suit of rags
as itiable as his own.

e rest of the tramps staid behind, but King
Nemo held out a wooden bowl and ,cried out in
his deep, musical tones:

“Aims for the sake of the lost! Charity to
the wanderer who has no home!”

The Senator put his hand in his pocket and
dro ed some silver, in the bowl, as he said

“There, there, my oor fellow. Take that
and please go away. expect my son here ev-
ery moment, and don’t want to be interrupted
in our meeting.”

“ Are you sure you’ll know your son when he
comes?” asked Nemo, in a sententious sort of

wa .

The Senator looked at him in haughty sur-
prise, retorting:

"‘ What’s that to you?”

Kin Nemo bowed low in a quiet, apologetic
sort 0 way.

“Nothin ,of coursc. I thank you for your
alms. W' the beautiful ladies drop one coin
In the box of Nemo the Wanderer?”

Helen Chester, who had been looking earnest-
ly at him, suddenly swept’ forward beside her
guardian, seized the box from Nemo’s fingers
and dashed it impetuousl on the ground. .

‘ Then, in a regular fem ine burst of emotion,
she turned first to one, then the other, crying
and Ian hing as she spoke:

“ Don t you see who it is, uncle? For shame,

Herve , thata cousin of mine should come to

his fat 3 house in such a guiseas this. Throw
away those dreadful rags, and show our-self
the gentleman you are! 0h, uncle arvey,

how could on be so blind? Your own son begs
of En, on you know him not.”
e Senator had stood perfectly astounded
at this burst and now he falteer out:
“This! lily son! no: My God!”
Then he a back
fallen, but for a

support, as be

“equal!

Tramps.
Nemomidnothi' .

At last the Sonatgrg raised one hand, trembling

with emotion. .

“In God’s namp," he said, “ are you my son,
reply, if! doe'p.

Harvey Culvert?

“No,” we: the unexpected
mnfonee.

' “Thcnwhoare

“Nome theta

havono ". I
finesgrtorgupodforbmth. ‘ '

    

s it: I». m
..‘ ii." .Y'vu « f.‘ . W19." ,4" =i' 
-, .:!--.*st:a$ . ~ n;- his.

and would have
illar on which he leaned for

lingual] at the
frightful figure thoyKing offi

ou?’
King of the  You

 

   

'h. "

"‘ NW» ~ >—

 

me0: King OIIhQEmeS-

CHAPTER XXXV.
ROUNDING UP.

A DEEP silence came over the group on the
piazza as the King of the Tramps made his
solemn asseveration that Senator Calvert had
no son.

Oliver Calvert especially seemed to be over-
whelmed with astonishment, for he stood star-
ing at the other as if utterly at a loss what to

sa .

I'lut Helen, with her acute woman’s Wit, saw
that something was behind all this, and broke
the 3 ll by saying:

“ ncle Harvey, ask him what he means,
dear? I know I’m not mistaken.”

Thus urged, the Senator asked:

“ Tell me what you mean, Harvey?”

“Seven years ago,” said Nemo, in his deep
hollow tones, “ you told me you had no son. I
obeyed you. I ceased to be your son. None
can restore me to my rightful place but the
man who can give me back my honor.”

Here Oliver eagerly interrupted: _

“I have done it already, Harvey. That
wretched girl has made a full confession to the
detective. Your father has seen it, and your
honor is safe. Throw away those rags, badges
of your degradation, I implore you, and resume
your station.”

N enio threw back his head with a gesture of
regal diguit that sorted well with his title,
and ennoble his wild attire.

“These rags are my mantle of freedom,” he
said, proudly. “ No dress so well becomes him
who has no name no family, nothing but his
own right arm am an honest heart.”

Then turning to the Senator, he said more
gent! :

“ on meant well. You were deceived. Ap-
pearances were a ainst me and I could not
speak in honor. Iy secret was another’s. It
was all for the best. Your son was an invalid,
plining under excess of care. Since the day

arvey Calvert ceased to be, Nemo has become
strong. For the froscoed ceilin he has had
God’s blue sky in change; for t e down bed,
the hard earth. The road and the greenwood
have put v' or into his limbs and blood into his
heart, and ere he stands today, thanks to the
decrees of Fate—a man !”

“But I tell on Harvey Jacqueline has con-
fessed,” urgedy Oliver. ‘There is no reason
why you should not be reconciled to your fa-
ther.” '

Nemo laughed, a short, bitter Ian 11.

“ She has confessed, has she! 1V tat?”

“ That she stole the bonds, tried to‘muke you
run away with her, and made all the mis-
chief.”

“She lies, then, if she said any such thing,”
returned Nemo, quietly.

The old Senator, who had been mutely listen-
ing, eager] interrupted:

“ What 0 you mean, Harvey?”

“That she has confessed nothing, and he
knows it.”

Oliver started back in anger and amazement.

“Confessed nothing? 'thy, she is in this
house now, and I can produce her in a mo—
ment.”

“ She is not I”

The answer was as clear and strong as Oliver’s
asseveration.

Again Helen’s keen wit began to see some-
thin behind all this.

"firing her out, Oliver,” she said, briskly.
“W'e’ll soon see if you’ve been deceiving us sir.”

Oliver, nowise. loth, darted off into the ouse
for his ca tive, and Helen continued, speaking
to her unc e: ',

“It grows dark. Can we not finish this dis-
cussion in the house i”

“ It cannot be," said King Nemo, softly.
“Nemo never enters that house till Harvey
Calvert’s name is cleared of stain. Bring lights
on the lawn if on will. I will come.”

He bowed an retired into the darkness, which
had now completely closed in, and the Senator

ejaculated:

“It is Harve . I am sure, new. But, oh
how changed! 0 will not forgive me, andI
tho ht to forgive him.” I

He en made no answer, but went off to the
back of the house, whence she soon returned
with two servants carrying Chinese” lanterns, in
sdterinfigéton light poles, Inc as are used in gar-

n ma.

Them were soon li hted and stuck in a circle
onthe lawn, when a watchers looked round
for the tramps.

To Helen’s surprise they had disap
timely OIiVer was comin from the house
with  Billy Barlow, leading between them
the vailed woman.

Then Oliver advanced into the c'l'cle of light,
where the Senator, aunt Mary and Helen were
now standing, and said:

“Now, Jacqueline Ra ud, speak out and
say whether you wrote t is confession or no?”

‘Ay. ay,” said Mr. Barlow, affably. “I'll
swear she did, ’cause I made her do it in self.”

“Silence, fellow!” interru the tor,
initably. “th ukedyou speak? Jacque-

answer.
vailed female bowed her head and mat:

- when,

 

..; _. :1..-‘.

:5“, ,i

 

tered spmething they did not understand under

er vai .

Mr. Barlow’s ears seemed to be finer, for he
volunteered to sa :

“Lady feels as amed of the row she’s made
in this here family, and wants to make a clean
breast of it, if you’ll let her off easy.”

“Oh, she needn’t fear,” answered the Senn—
tor, scornfull . “She’s made more trouble,
now, than al the punishment we could 've
her would avenge. Let her speak out. he
shall go free.”

The frame of the vailed lady was shaken by
a perfect paroxysm of sorrow, and Billy patted
her softly on the back, to cheer her up, saying:

“Don’t take on now, marm. Gent's very
kind, I’m sure. It’ll all be right in a little time.

But, the more he patted, the more she shock;
and matters seemed to be at a standstill, when
Helen suddenly uttered a cry of mingled aston-
ishment and anger. W

Out of the darkness in the shrubbe , walkJ
ing full into the circle of light came gr. Jack ‘
Ra nor, swinging a daint little cane, and *
whistling as he walked whi e behind him was
the tall figure of Mr. "revlac, in his neat and
careful attire, resembling the rags of King
Nemo in nothing whatever.

But Helen knew it was the same man, and
her maidenly anger, at the sight of the auda-
cious Jockey, rose to fever heat at the prospect
of getting even with him.

Forgettin all about the case before them, she
ran to Mr. revlac, hung on his arm, and said,
pointing to the dapper little man:

“Cousin Harvey, that wretch insulted me

ay. I want you to punish him at once, for
me.”

Mr. Trevlac looked down with a twinkle of
amusement under his dark e elashes, askin :

“ Iiisulted you?—how? IV iat did he do? Did
he call you any names!”

Helen turned as red as fire.

“ I tell you he insulted me.
him or not?”

“ I didn’t insult her. I only called her a dar-
ling and kissed her,” observed Mr. Ra nor, in
the coolest manner. “Come Helen, on’t be
ridiculous. You’re stopping the business.”

As he s oke, in a tone of very great sig—
nificance, e took oil" his blue goggles and
looked into her eyes with a pair of brilliant
black orbs, that contrasted strangely with his
fair red and white face, fiaxen curls and white
mustache.

Something in the look of those eyes caused
Helen to cool down almost instantly, and before.
long one might have noticed her furtively;
squeezing the hand of Mr. Raynor, as if they,
had been sworn lovers. ,

The little incident had caused a momentary
ripple of excitement, but it died away as Trev-
lac spoke with uiet dignity.

“ Mr. Oliver alvert’s explanation is in order
now. Let him produce his witness.”

Senator Calvert looked at the tall figure of
his banished son with a sort of longing that was
volt? pathetic. '

e stretched out his arms.

“Harvey, my son, can you not forgive your
poor old father?”

Trevlac’s face chan ed slightly and turned
perceptiny pale, th‘oug his beard hid the work-
ings of his features.

“There is nothing to forgive, sir,” he said.
“You never wronged me. I could not have
told you, and we both had to suffer for another’s
wrong. Let that pass. One is here who can
right the wrong.” '

‘Ay ” said the old man, bitterly. “There
jade! Let her speak

4

Will you punish

she stands, the shameless
quickly.”
Trevlac shook his head.
“Be not too hasty sir. You may be mis-
taken. Oliver Calver , produce your witness.”
Thus urged, Oliver, whose face had been
working strangely during this conversation,
said to the vailed female:
“ Jacqueline, unvail and tell your story.”
His voice trembled as he spoke, and he
seemed to be penetrated by some secret anxiety.
The vailed woman put fiber hands with a
quick, nervous motion; _ . Barlow ate pod
back with a ve .queer grin on his greasy Face;
and in a twin mg oi! came hat, vail, cloak,
and skirts, with the loosening of a single string
0360/ out, stopped the trim figure 0
Gipszn an in her Pict ue attire.
ri ht, Mr. Calveflfl” observed Nan, in
her go tones; “I'll to the whole story“
once. _
Then, turning to the Senator, she went on

gliblly:
“ m Gi y Nan, your honor, and this gen-
tleman ha me kidnapped for Jaoko last week.
I didn’t say anything, because several of my
people were in the secret, and we to fool
thismanbetween us, after-we had tovor
Billy Barlow. Billy did the businem, and k
him from see‘ me. Mr. Calvert'me a
confession whic he wanted me to , and
rommodmeagoodlivinguahd if ddoit.
didn’t mind doing anything :1 reason to
ouigeageisflemmlohmlam. With,

our .
yOliverwuthepicture“mortalnaflmf , dill;

I ' 
‘3

e

f

     

 

  

we

  

tiihr'

~ imam, — . .

’.~ 

T“

 

 

.4

. and- 



 

 

A

 

 

6 F—

 

this singular revelation was going on, and he
turned on Barlow with a bitter scowl.

“So you’ve cheated me, have you?” he hissed.

“ Well es, boss. The other gent offered
more, an I found the Gipsics had got the
whip-hand of me any way, so I ave in.’

“And all this story of J acque ine and a con-
fession is moonshine,” said Mr. Trevlac, quietly.
glipw, Oliver Calvert, what are you going to

0.

Oliver eyed him with a pale face, but a sar-
donic smile curled his lip.

“Nothing at all," he said. “What do you
make of that? Will you do anything?”

Trevino sighed slightly as he answered:

“ You know I cannot. Only two people can
unlock the past, and you are one of them.”

The Senator had been gazing wistfully at
them, and now he cried:

“ For God’s sake, Oliver, let no foolish scruple
of honor restrain you. Tell me the truth, even
if it bear hard on your cousin. I have forgiven
him. Tell all you know.”

“Ihave nothing to tell, sir,” was the sullen
reply; and Oliver turned away his head. to con-
ceal his face. “ I have nothing to tell. You
know the evidence was overwhelming against
my cousin. In my foolishneSs I tried to save
him by inducing this girl, whom I thought to be
Jacqueline, to confess; but it seems I have been
trickfid”by this villain, Barlow. I have nothing
to te .

“ But I have,” suddenly observed a soft voice;
and into the circle walked. the dapper little
jockey, arm in arm with Helen Chester.

Oliver started back as if he had seen a ghost;
the Senator and aunt Mary looked earnestly on
the new-comer, and the latter asked:

“ Who is thee, friend, and What does thee
know of this sad affair?”

“ I am the one person who can and will tell
the truth about it,” answered Raynor, a slight
tremor shaking his clear tones.

“ You!” cried Oliver, indignantly, advancing
on him as if to crush him. “ Who are you, im-
pudent little pu py that you are?”

Raynor fac him and dashed off wig and
false mustache in a trice.

“ I am your legal wife!” said Jacqueline
Raynaud.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
, A STRANGE STORY.

“ You lie !" cried Oliver, livid with rage.
“You know you lie! I never married you.”

“ Do you deny it!” asked Jacqueline, in a. law
701cc.

“I do. You were never anything more to
me than—”

He sto ped short as the nervous gripe of Trev-
lac clutclied his shoulder.

“Beware!” said the tall man, in deep, omin-
ous tones. “ I gave my wry} not to expose
you, but I never said I_would not avenge an in-
sult to my cousin’s Wife, no matter if it came
from my cousin.” .

Oliver had remained dead Wlllte, and now he
faltered:

“ I don’t want to insult any one, but I neyer
_ married that woman.” _ I

“Do you deny 1 am our Wife?” again de—
manded Jac uellne, slow y.

This time liver had to draw a deep breath
ere he answered:

“ I deny it.”

“ Do you deny that any ceremony passed be-
tween us?” she asked, still in the gentlest of
voxces.

“ 1 do." he answered.

“Oliver,” said the girl, going up close to him
and laying her hand on his arm, “ be just while

on can. 1 tell you that your time is coming.

(31 k’now that I left home at your promise
an —-

“I know nothing of the sort,” he retorted,
. harshly. “If you were fool enough to run
awa , it was no fault of mine.”

“ en you wish to drive me into tellin
truth?” asked she, a. glitter of ,the old
to r coming into her eyes.

“ gou can say what you please ” he answered,
“ No one will believe your word. ’

Then J ueline turned away from him and
went up to t 6 old Senator, who had been look-

the
erce

ing on in silent amazement, supported by aunt .

and Helen. _

“ ir,” she said, “you see in me one who in-
‘m-ed- you and yours, but without intending it.

or seven years you home banished your son,
thinking him a robber. Here I swear to on,
before high Heaven, I tell the truth when any
that the villain who has caused all this mine
is none other than your nephew. Oliver C -
n ” '

rt.
bowed his head gravely.

Eliokofizfie aid.‘ “from, what you say,
madam. am road to can: .

Oliver had folded is arms and stood waiting,
a deflanfllynmoti 110 on face. '

quue 0 cast one mournnt look at him;
him as impenetrable u a rock, she
' her ittlo story.

.. That you ma‘Gundorstand all the put, I
nuitgobook to . You remem-
horbov‘vlflut entered your once,“ orphan
whompr by tho kindnouofyour noble

. .

r1, ’1“!.," 1-,..-
."I r,...“~ ,1.  -':-$\"5'iv'.-“

Nemo, King of themT

 

 

son. When my father died, you gave me a
home, and never was orphan treated with such
kindness as I experienced in your house.”

“ And yet you brought misery on it,” said the
Senator, gravely,

“ Hear me out, sir, and I will tell you all. I
was not so bad as you thought me. Remem-
ber, I come of Gipsy blood, and my father had
led a wandering life with my mother’s tribe for
years before settling at the college. I had learned
to dance and sing, totalk my tribe‘s tongue and
those of my father and the Americans, but of
any training outside of that I had none. My
mother died when I was a little child. and my
reading consisted of all the French novels my
father read and threw aside. Till I met Mr.
Harvey Calvert, I had never seen a pure-minded
gentleman; and he was then so thin and awk-
ward, the butt of so many jokes at college, that
I laughed at him, even while I loved and re—
spected him for his goodness to my father and
myself. In that frame of mind, a frivolous

irl, I came to your house and first saw Oliver
Calvert. He was a handsome man then, ten
years older than Harvey. Is it any wonder
that when he noticed the poor little nursery
governess she was first flattered, then fright-
ened, and that finally she fell headlong in love
with him? Ah, sir, you forget how changed he
is now.”

“ No, no. I remember,” said the old man,
gently. “He was a fine fellow, and I often
used to wish my poor delicate boy were more
like him. Go on, Jac ueline.”

“ Ay, go on, Jacque 'ne,” observed Oliver, in
his most bitter tones. “ Make up this pretty
little story as you go along. Your stage train-
ing has taught you how to hoodwink the peo-
ple. Goon.”

The Senator looked doubtfully at him for a
moment, but said nothing, while Jacqueline
went on:

“ Such he was when he asked meto run away
with him and be happ . I knew that he meant
me no honor, and I re used. Then he asked me
to marry him, and I consented. He told me
that our marriage must be kept a secret and I
consented again. He said that he was depend—

ent on his uncle for help, and that there was ,
only one way in which we could be happ . I i

must run away alone, in such a way as to t row
suspicion on some one else, and join. Oliver in
Baltimore where we could be quietly married.”

Here she paused a moment as if to collect her
scatitered memories, and it was aunt Mary who
san :

“ And thee consented?”

H I did. ’3

She paused again. ~
, “ And what else?” asked the Senator. “ Why
do you hesitate?”

“The worst is to come,” she answered, in a
low tone. “ Had he only deceived me, all
might have been hushed up, for what is the
name of a poor girl to a rich family?”

“ You are wrong,” said the Senator, sharply.
“Such was never my doctrine. If. Harvey de-
ceived you, he should have married you, and
the same with Oliver.”

The old man looked steme at his nephew as
he spoke, and Oliver turned away his eyes.

Jacqueline went on speaking, very low now:

“ Oliver told me that he was in. business
straits, and needed money. He had the secret
combination of your safe-ke , and had marked
a package of bonds, which told me to take
when I went away. He told me the were his
property, left in your charge for 58. ekeeping,
and I believed him. I went to your study while
you were out; found the key where he told me
I should find it; opened the safe, and took out
the package—”

“ You see,” interrupted Oliver, at this mo-
ment—“she confesses the theft. Can you de-
pend on a thief’s evidence any. further? I shall
send for an officer to arrest this Jade.”

“ One moment,” observed 'l‘revlac’s deep
voice; “ this witness is turning State’s ev1-
deuce. You cannot stir till she is through her

stor .”
“ annotf” asked Oliver, angrily. “Who

will stop me?”

“I for one. and flft beddes,” was the 0001
reply; “ My men are c oseby here, within call.”

f our men? Your tramps,” Bald Oliver, dis-
dainfully. f

“ N 0t 30,” answered Trevlac, gravely. “ They
are true Romanichalor and their rags were but
a me, like mine. You ma remember how
they treated your friends in Bitteburg. Stay
Where YOu‘ are. I told you your time would
come. Go on, Jacqueline ”

From that moment a look came over
Oliver’s face, and Jacque o proceeded:

“ The package Was marked on the outside ‘ In
consecutive numbers. Oliver Calvert.’ are
is the envel , which I have kept ever since.”

She hand a dirty, tattered envelope to the
Senator, who took it and examined it, gravely.

“ What is this inside?" he asked.

“Wewilloome to tho. "she answered. “I
took those left the house ' y, and
told my gpil, 11 Chester, that was going
away to married. ,Bho remind to hoo'p my
secret, ande tlt‘to present .
, ,g’he, Senator . 11* HM?

ramp .

 

l know, I shot them.

 

{31

 

 

 

“ Is that true, Helen?”

“It is. sir."

“That was all I told her: for I did not trust
her with Oliver’s name. She was young and
romantic, and knew nothing of the perils of a
runaway match, in which t e woman risks all,
the man nothing. I went away, met Oliver at
Baltimore, and there we were married by a
justice of the e—”

“ Who was none," interrupted Oliver, tri-
umphantly. “ I told you so, next day.”
Jaoguehne looked at him with a glance that
told o the guard she was keeping over herself.

“ You did,” she answered. “ You even taunted
me with my disgrace. Do you remember what
he pened when you ventured so far?”

liver looked confused, but made no reply.

“I will tell you. sir,” she went on to Senator
Calvert. “ hen I found out, too late, that I
had been the dupe of a villain I stabbed him in
my despair and rage. He was the stronger
and wrenched away my stiletto after I h
wounded him, slightly. Then, even while we
were struggling, t e oor opened, and in came
your son.”

a The Senator uttered a cry of surprise.

“ My soul. How came he there?”

“That I learned afterward. As I had cone
fided in Helen, Oliver had confided in vour son,
and, like me, he had concealed from his confi-
dant the name of the person he was going to
marry, after exacting from him his promise, on
the word of a gentleman, that he would never
expose Oliver to our wrath, no matter what
might happen. e knew Harvey well, the vil-
lain, and counted on his honor to save himself.
But he had not counted on Harvey’s netra-
tion, and your son followed us to Baltimore,
where he found us ina house that Oliver had
told me was a boarding-house. It was the same
in which, a week later, you saw Harvey an
me. i
The Senator drew a deep breath and looked
at Oliver, who smiled in the old, disdainful way.

“ A very pretty story. Prove it.” .

" The proof lies in the fact that you left the
house without the moneyrthat I had stolen for
you, fleeing like a guilty creature. You were
overreaohed in your villainy. Had you waited
a few days, trusting fool that I was then, you
might have laughed at me safely. As it was, I
ha the money still and you fled to Philadel-
phia to hide iyour tracks.
me bitter] or my duplicity, and left me in
anger, so at there I was, alone in a strange
city in a. house that I knew too late to be one of
bad character, and I had with me that package
of stolen bonds which had now changed to so
many accusing fiends in niV conscience.”

Again she was silent tilI aunt Mary’s gentle
voice said:

“ Poor girl! 'What did thee do!”
“I do not know,” she answered, in a dre
voice. “How that week passed I shudder to
remember. Suffice that at the end of a week I
went out one evening, bought a pistol, and had
made up my mind to kill myself, when again,
to my terror and amazement, I met Harvey

Calvert.”

“ And what did he say i” asked Helen, breath—
lessly. “Tell all, Jacqueline.”

“He saved my life and turned me from the
ways of sin,” said the girl, solemnly. “ To save
my guilty self he periled his own name, went
with me to the house where I was living a
wretched, sinful life and induced me to leavo it.
I had just told him the whole story and given
him the greater part of the stolen bonds, when
the police broke into the house, guided by
Oliver’s agent.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONCLUSION.

“AND what became of Harvey?” asked the
Senator, anxiously.

“He escaped over the roof to the end of the
street, and was left alone, with five thousand
dollars, which he glave me under my promise of
reform. When 17 e Ipolice broke in, as you

. expected to be arrested
and exposed in court, but you me that
humiliation, for which I the you. I left
Baltimore'and led for the next seven years a
wandering and aimless life, sometimes joining
a Romany band, at others dancin in variety
halls, where I took the name of t Countess
Cachuca. I found that I was v successful in
assuming boy characters, and flnall led
me, when I had quite run out' of to
assume a boy’s dress and a fail-wig inw ch
gig: I revisited Culver-ton. I had not heard of

ey Calvert in all those you? and I longed
tocntohnglimpseofhimand elenintheir
own home, for hoped to find them married

and hapfiy.” .

Here elen blushed furiously: but Trevlac’s
faoe never altered its look of settled gravity.
Oliver Calvert set his teeth hard as he heard

J llnespenk. ~
"‘Ke first rson I saw” pursued magi-1,
a
that

Harvey reproached

 

“was the 'n who had turned main
wretched tramp of the highway, and. in _
momontnllm qungl onmeovermewithn
 Imp,“ 
. 9" me, ,0 In - I“!
minnow.  Thinéfidiu'to ‘

. l - ., I '.
, . (1 V A. H Y ,_ r‘ .31
win-a. Ni  - »."  -‘

 

32,

of the tramps and recognized in their king,
Harvu Culvert. Then, too, 1 learned for the
first time the mischief I had donn; hmrd it

 

N

l

from tho-to lips that hull been closed to Iny ,

shonleand had never said a harsh word to 1‘10
In my punishment. In that moment I took my
tolemn oath to see justice done, and now, thank
God, I have done it!"

The Senator rose, trembling.

“Harvey my son, can Iou forgive me?” he
filltered~ ‘ NOW, indeed, len prouder of my
noble son than ever before. Forgive me. boy.

The stalwart form of his son shook all over
with emotion as he asked in a husky voice:

“HaveI kept my wrrd, sir?”

“ You have acted like a knight of the olden
time and I glory in my son,” cried the old man,
tondly, as he clasped the form of his son close
to his heart after seven years’ loss.

The rest, all but Oliver, looked silently on
with moistened eyes; but as soon as the old
man’s emotion had subsided, young Harvey
Calvert—for so he must now be called—turned
to his cousin.

His whole countenance seemed changed to one
of resolute fierceness as be said:

“Oliver Calvert, do you deny you married
this lady?”

“ I do.” -

The answer was
beast. The cowar
fight

'ven with a snarl like a. wild
was in a. corner and meant

“Produce your evidence Jacqueline.” Her-
vey spoke out with a voice ike a bugle call.

‘ It is here,” said the girl, and forth from the
tattered envelope she drew a. paper, stained
with age, but plain 50 be seen as a wedding cer-
tificate signed by A 'ustice of the once.

“ Who ave you t t?” asked arvey.

“ You ld,” was the startling reply.

“ Is it genuine?”

“Yes sirrve Pl suddenly said the hoarse voice
of Mr. illy Barlow, as tho BOSw‘ of the Bum-
mers nodded alfably to the circle. “It air as
genooine as ary paper in this State. Mr. Gul-
vert thought as how old Squire Doublede ’s
time ware out, when he married him and rs.
Jacko there; but it warn’t by about three hours.
They was spliced, at nine and the squire’s time
warn’t out till twelve. ’Tworo a smart trick of
Mr. Harv ’s to git that paper out of the squire,
and no tax. a e.’

Oliver glared at his cousin.-

“So all your boasted honor didn’t prevent
you from exposing me,” he snarled, savagely.

“Not so,” answered Harvey, promptly. “It
is Jacqueline who exposes '01:; In» only saved
you from State’s prison. ‘ome. confess own
now, before it is too late.
to forgive yon, even Jacqueline; for these we-
men are all the some.”

' “Oliver 1" said Jacqueline, softly, “ I did not
wish I our vn'fe disgraced. lI‘orgiv-o me ill y lem-
_ per - ear. I am not guiltless. I will try to
make you happy.” ,5
‘ But, Oliver’s only answer was. a, contemptu-
ous sneer. Then he turned to his um. 1e.
“ And you intend to condemn mo (Lathe per-
gaircld eI’r’i’denCe of a thief and e. jail-Dir Inge this
r ow

The Senator looked cold and stem as he an-

swere : ~
“Oliver, I have been deceived a. longtime but
’ I am not blind forever.
.epecial care, in that she has given me back my
I eon. For yourself never darken my doors ar'uin
- V drventuro to harm her. It you do either, that
‘ sate robbery will come up arrainet 1you. G.) I”
, Withoutanother worzl Oliver eft the place
end was seen no more that night.
. I“ And as for on sir,” continued the old
«I :Selnitor, turning hIs son with affected stern-
M: “ you have been .away so long that I sup-
ou have forgotten how to obey me.” ,
‘ “ ' me. sir,” was the ulet answer. '
V I “ W ll you do anything tell you?” asked the

tor. .
“Anythinginm power, sir.”
, “ Then marr his young lady,’
Bdnnt'or,,in his “5.8.43 tones.
. Asheh lte
arms; w I:
asked

\‘f elen, will you marry me?”
Her mwer m not audible, but it seemed to

’ cried the

e Lshed Helen .into Harvey’s ‘
‘ ‘ closed round her as the

he; utfitactari, for the old Senator laughed

V4.

and cried out: ,
. all of you, and we’ll five the
kitchen on they

Ede-q mm but little remains to be told.
- .‘ fete! Griengro was

" I; the name any that Hervey Calvert Iner-

A ll here are ready ’

Your wife shall be nay ‘f 5.)
* 5f}
. 5.

‘ of a )I‘lll‘ IIIII- noonc knew "\I'IJHU lIcczImeofhlm.

 

‘ 62'»
' (ll

. 68 Tue. Full-[TING THAPPER.
1 (ill Tun lmsn CAPTAIN.

‘ 7'1 CAPTAIN Coon

,

married to Glpnyz

emo, King of the Trainee

ll?-

Olivez‘ Culvert DCVU'J.‘ made l2 Eff-[LIT'I’I‘SIIY‘Q
again lllj Cal verton, llllil Slim] PM so: l. out his
inlervst in the Air—L “(I 1.1:»: d, I..l:il g to gam-
bliwx; iu l'aro chips; issued of s.‘ As: a le-

is
1.

I ‘K 1"”.
sull he (llszlp‘fX‘lll'L-Nl l'I-ou: Shi‘ii‘l {1.) the cozirze

NO (.110 except Billy Burl-I Iw.

Tho veteran Bossot' tho BLIIImI‘rs came across
him on the road three years later, I). drunken
trump of his own bcsvxttml 0; WT.

Now the two first foight Clll‘ll other and of-
terward got drunk together, is mrt‘tcr of cr2m~
mun lIi:IoI'y among the Atlantic seaboard
tramps, who are all agreed on one point, that
the Boss of the BIIIIImt-I's got the ln‘SD of “ Slip-
perv Noll,” as Oliver was nicknamed.

But the same aIItlIorIties are all further
agreed that 1877 was tluir heyday and that
they 'lmvo never had any luck since they lost
the KING OF THE TRAMPS.

THE END.

: Illlzunr, Till-'2 MI'TINIIIIII.
. ‘ RIIMII'»: O‘HIIIIIN.
" l:l"llt\lll)'l‘\llLH)vr()l“k.l:::;1\]{.\ll.
. l
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3 TH 25‘ CA SUPPER.

. 'l‘lli". :w‘I-zvmnsn limo.
' Bum: Purim. '1‘III:])I-:\'II. (I 'llllihl-IA. By Col.

" DAsIIINo DANDY.
.' 'l‘III»:
l . ALABAMA Jon.

1.. SAIII. SABBHRDAY.
v AMI-AHA, Till". SQI'Aw. By From-is Johnson.

J 'l‘llEliLAFHSYlll’l‘ll (H‘TLAW.

Col. P. lnrrabam . .
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By Major llaIlzyl'I'lEI-ld Burr.

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5 Tum FlRE FIENDS. By A. ’. Morris ..  
6 WILDoAT BOB. By Edward L. Wheeler ..
7 DnATn-I'OTIIII, TllE DEH'I‘BOYER. Oll Coomos.. 10(-
8 Ten HEADLESB HonsnnAN. By Mayne Reid  10c
9 HANDY ANDY. By Samuel Lover .. 10c
10' VIDOCQ, THE FRENCH POLICE MW. By himself. 100
ll MIDSHIPMAN EASY. By Capt. Mm-yntt 10c
1‘: Tue DEATH-SHOT. By Capt. Mayne :e-id .. . we
13 PATHAWAY. By Dr. . . II. Bobinson.. . . . 100
ll THAYENDANEGEA, THE Scornun. NI-dBuntline. We
1.") ’l‘un'l‘uam SLAYER. Bv Gustave Annex-(1.... . 10c
16 THIS WHITE WIZARD. y Ned Bumline.  . . .. 10c
17 NlGll’l‘SllADE. By Dr. J. ll. llobinson . . . . .  10c
. Tun SEA BANDIT. By Ned BIIIIlline . . . . . .  100
. RED CEDAR. By Gustavo Aimsrd . . lllc
‘30 Tm: BANDIT A'l‘ BAY. By Gustave Aimard... lllc
21 THE 'l‘RArrIcR's DAIII‘IIITER. Gustave Aimard . me,
2“: WHITIIIAW. By Dr. J. H. Robinson . . Inc
2% 'l‘IIIc RED WARRIOR. By Nod Buntlino .  . 10c
'21 Tue l'IIAIRII-I FLOWER. By Gustave Aimard.. 10c
25 THE UULD GUIDE. By Francis Johnson. , . . me
‘36 THE DEATH TRAoK. By Francis Johnson . 10c
27 Tun SI’O’I‘TER DETECTIVE. llv Albert ‘1 .AIken.. 10c
24 'l‘nIIns-F‘INGRRED JACK. Joseph E. Badger. Jr. me '
29 TIGER DICK. Tar. FARO KINo. P. b'. \\ arne . mo
30 Gosrm. GEORGE. By J oseplr lil. Badger. Jr . 10c
81 THE va YORK SHARP. By Albert W. Aiken. We 1...,
3? B’uovs or HALE. By John I). Voso . lllc .‘éb
33 OVERLAND l IT. By Albert W. Aiken . Inc. 
31 Rocxv MOI . AIN Bou. By Albert W. Aiken. lllc 1,
83 KENTI'CK. ’l‘nr. SPORT. By Allwl‘t ~W. Aiken . we 
88 INJIIN 'UIUK. By Albert W. Aiken \, . .. . Inc "
87 Hum, THE HIINCHBACK. By J. 11. Rdbinson.... 10c
.ll VELVF" HAND. Bv Al: (art ‘l‘l . Aiken. . 10(-
.‘.I THE llI'ssIAN SPY. ' lh’ Frederick “'hitlal.m‘. ll u,
'l‘ul: LONG HAIRI-tn ‘ l‘AIIDs.' J. l”, Iladger.Jr.. 100
how DAN. By Albert \V. AIM-II. ‘ . . 100
1‘. 'l‘Im('AI.II‘OIINIA I’H'I‘EI‘TH'E. A. W. Aiken. . llle
435 DAKOTA DAN. IN 0“ L‘oomerz .  . , Illc
. OLD DAN RACKBACK. By (Ill l‘oomos  . 100
45 OLD Bruin Wyn. By Joe, l'l. Badger. Jr.... . lilo
rlll BIJWH.-'{N!ll‘ll llIzN. Bv Oll ()oomos  ..  10c
l’AI‘IHII lieu-s. 11va E.vllmi£cr,.lr....  . lllc
[DAIIo TOM. By (.lll Gnomes. ,  I Inc
'l‘IIIr. Wow DEMON. By Albert W. Aiken. .. . 10c
JAl‘K RARIIIT. By Jon. E. ledger. Jr . lllI:
RE!) Ron, THE BOY ROAD-Anew: Oll Gnomes. Me
Down ’l‘RAII.I:R. By Wm. ll‘. (.‘ody ,. ,  . 100
SILVER SAM. By Col Dell" Han"... . .  . 104;
ALWAvs (IN HAND. Ev .l’l iliofi. Warne..  lUc
THE SCALT’ Momma. By ( ‘m‘ll. Marne Reid . lllc
Tm: lNl)l.\N )IAznvrA. [Iv Al mm W. Aiken.  we
Tum. SILENT "III-Tun. By Mary RH. John lllc
SILVER KNIFE. Bv Dr. J. ll. Robinson . . . . . .. 10c
'l‘IIr. MAN VIIOII "‘IIXAs. Br Albert W. Aiken lllc
WIDE AWAKE. P\ Frank lumont.   . 10c
61 (‘Am‘AIN SnAWAIIr. 3y Noll l:unlllno.. . . . . . . .. 100,
ll.’ Low. HEART. Bv Uuslavl- .‘.ll|l.’\.l"tl. .. . . llc
6‘s ’l‘IIII: WINIIIID WHALE. By Albert W. Aiken... 100
M Donnm: sIoIIT. Bydos. ll). Badger Jr .. .. . lllc
‘l‘mr. RED RAJAII. By ('upt. ll‘rml.'\VlIlllal:er llfo
Tun HPRCTER BAIIQIIE. fly (in It. Mayne End... 100
67 Tm: Bov Jooxmr. By Joswp I E. Budge-r, Jr... 100
By J. l“. (l. Adams" 100.
v Cant. F.Whittoker. ll‘c
c

l A HARD CROWD. 1:53
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139
140
141
112
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141
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147
118
119
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151
152
153
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156
157

158

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167
168
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121
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J. ll. Robinson. .. . 10

By Jllfl. F7. dzer.-Jr.. 10c

By Albert V. Aiken . me

Dr.
)E.
72 'l‘I-III PIIANTon HAND. _
73 Tim KNlOHT or THE RED (moss. By Dr. J.
_ H. Robinson ._ ' .. . .. . 100
74 CAP’I‘AlN or THE erucs. Capt. Mayne Reid. 10c
7'5 GENTEEMAN (lmnon. By Albert W. Aiken, 10c
76 Tm; mnx’s MUSKETEERS. By (loo. Albany. we
7 Tim me or Fmsno. By Albert. W. Aiken. 10¢»
7H ’l‘ae’Mvnemous SPY. By A. M. Grainger.. .. 100'.
79 Jon: Pam-'13:; By Algert W. Allen lul-
. .. l‘
l . .  Io.
. omas II. Monetary. we «
. , Buffalo Bill  10¢
11mm DOWN. By Albert W. Aiken 
’l‘aI: CRITAN Rowen. By, Col. P. Inmham ,
I: B10 HUNTER. Author of “Silent Hunter." 10c

70' lIIIDRAIIAD. B

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. (.‘ALIIronNIA JOHN. B

2. CONRAD. Tan CONVICT.
' OLD ‘49. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr., ,. 
By Col. IIIgI'nlIam.
' l

:' MAN SPIDER.

.' 'l‘III: LONE STAR GAMBLER.
I.

‘" ano .VI-zn Ron.

SoI. SCOTT. 'I'IIII lllAsttD MINER. By Badger.
Tm: (‘IIEVALIIIII ('(lllFAIR. By the author of
“ Merle. the Mutmeer,” . . .
MIsSIssIrrI Moss. By Edward Willett. . . ..
CAPTAIN VOLCANo. By Albert W. Aiken. .
BUCKSKIN SAM. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham..
NEMO, KING OF THE TRAMI’S. By Capt. Fred.
Whittaker. . .. .   \__
RODY. TIIII: ROVER. by William Carleton...
DARKIE DAN. By Col. Prentiss Ingrallam.
Tun BUSH RANGER. By ll'rnncis Jobnéon....
THE OUTLAW-HINTEII. By Francis Johnson.
LONG BEARD, THE GIANT Srv. By 011 Coonies.
'l‘IIII: BonDRR BANDI'rs. By Francis Johnson.
FIRE-EYE. THE SEA TII'ENA. By Ingrabam
'l'IIII: Tnnnn SI‘ANIAIEIBS. By George Walker“
EQUINOX Ton. By Joseph F. Badger, Jr. . ..
CAPTAIN CRIMSON. By llFIjor Dangerfield Burr
Tlll‘l CZAR‘s b’rr. By ' hos. Il. Monslery. ..
III'NCIIIIII‘II or Norm—DAME. V‘clur Hugo.
l’Is'rOI. l’nns. By Win. It. Fvstm- .
Tm: Doc'ron DETI'CTIVE. By George Lemuel
(luLD SPUII. By Col. Prentiss lugraliani. .
ONE-ARMED AI r. By 011 ('oomes

THE BORDER. Farms. By Gustave Ainmrd..
EI. Rumo BRAVO, 'I‘Ill': KIM: (F 'Inr.‘ SWORD-
nsN. By Col. Thomas Hoyer MonsteI‘y. _ .
Tm: FREEBOOTERB. Bv Gustave Ain‘ard“ .
CAPTAIN Isommnvn. . vlllannuduke Dey
Tm: WHITE SCALPEIL By Gustave Aimard.
JOAQIIIN. TUE SADDLE Kim. B," J. E. Badger.
'I‘IIr. CORSAIR ersx. ,By COLP. lngmham.
VELVET FACE. F" Major Dangerfield Burr.
MoImm, Tm: anwxn. 'By (‘01. Thomas
lloyer Monstei'y . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
TIIr. Doonmn lloan. By Dr. Frank Powdl...
Ru) R"DIGER. By Co I. ll‘rl-d‘k Whittaker"
Sour llA‘Nl). SHARP. By William R. Enter”
Tm: Wonvns or NLW Yank. ByA.W. Aiken.
'l‘nvc MAD MAIIINER. By (.‘ol. I . Yum-sham .,
BEN lllllON. ’l‘lll‘. ’l'IIA l’l’l‘ll (‘4 PTAIN: or. RED-
INTII. 'l‘lll‘. Avrmutn. By Dr. J. N. Robinson.
Tm: KING‘S Form. ly (‘. D. (‘IIII-k
JOAQUIN. THE ’l‘nnann. By Joe. E.

Badger.

~———;:!

103
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100
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100
100
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100

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100
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100
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()w: I-IT. Tim RUBBER PRINCE. By Septimus 1

R.Urbnn ..  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
'l‘nI: MAN or la‘TrEL. Bv A. P. Morris.- .
\\'II D But, THE PIsvroL
Prentisslngr "Iam.. . .  . . .
ConronAL ‘ANNON. By Col. Monstery . . . . 
Swnm WILLIAM. By .109. E. Badger Jr ..
TIoIrII. DICK. 'mn MAN or THE IRON ’Hun'r.
By Philip S. Warne.
'l‘mc Duct PIRATE.
Albert W. Aiken. . , : ..
PHANTOM KNIoII'I's. v Capt. F. Whittaker..-
P’IID BILL’S 'I‘IIIIIIP CARD. Bv llanm Burr.
IADY JAGUAR. By CaptMaIkV‘lflton. .. .
Col. Prentiss lIImham. ,
By Major 8. 8. Hall. .. .
Prof . ‘l. Gildersleeve.

DON Dunno. By
DARK DASHW con.

TUE SCARLET Soncomm.
HAan UP. By “7m. Il. Fvsh-I'. . . 
GILBERT. Tnn GUIDE. By (‘. Dunning Clark. .
Tun OCEAN VAMPIRE. By (‘01. P. Ingrabam.
By A. P. Morris  .
THE BLACK BRAVO.

’IIANToII il‘lAZEPI’A. Major Dang‘eifleld.

‘ImIBILL‘slloImTIIAIL. By .In alien-I
'l‘IIr. 'l‘nnmc GUARDSIIEN. By Alex. Imus"
TIIII 'l‘IaIrIrIIIIA: TosxAWAv. By Buckskin Sam.

R Co t. F. Whittaker.
(lutpmlh Mark \\ illnn .
liliEkskin Saul.
LA MANNOS‘ET. Bv Albert . 'en. .. ...
ByJoseph E. Badger, Jr...
.Imuros Sceoossn. By P. lngmham,
DIAMOND Dion. ,By Buckskin Sam. __ 7
True RIFLE RANGERS. By Capt. Mayne geld.»
get.

Dov Soarmmo By

The PIIIArm or '73,: Phone. B Ba
Home JACK. By‘Coptzun Mark llzilton
Tm: Donner. Pmrmvr. By A. W. Aiken.
‘0 Four WALLACE. Bv Buckskin Sam ...
‘9: Cinemas. y ('01. P. Ingmhem.
11:. m CANNONEER. y \\ musket.
_ Ann Ham). BfiI’hllip .Wame... ..
Warm msr. _v (‘a It. Mn ue Reid.
FARLEY. 17y Edwa Willa   ..
commas BEFB. Dy Prentiss Inn 
an UNKNOWN Spoor l'y Ca‘ t. Whittaker.
BRAZOS Twines By Buc skins:
An TRAIL. By Calhoun Mayne Reid. ..
2 Two Com. Secure. , m. R. Evster.
PAMON Jm. By Captain . Whittek
.ConsAm myrrh.
Summer or Ex.

I» will?»

22

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100

DEAD SIIOT. By COl. I

By 001.1ng‘rnheinlt::. 10c

‘ By Buckskin Sound-(.2. mo
“ ’l'IIIc ler’rII's-ll’mn ('I'IIIAssInRs. Whittfifigfi}.

,. 'l‘nn l.l(‘ll’lNlNG Sron'r. By “111. R. Eysier. .
f Tm: MAN IN REP.

10c

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100
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103
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