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IN AN INSTANT THE ENRAGED GENTLEMAN HAD CAUGHT JOE BY THE COLLAR, AND
WAS SHAKING HIM FURIOUSLY:

 
!

 
8 _ " ' Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
H_ the llhicagn Arab;

A. BOY OF THE TIMES.

BY CHARLES MORRIS,

AUTHOR or “BILLY BAGGAGE,” “JOLLY mu,”
“WILL mums,” ETO., mo.

 
CHAPTER I.
Jon’s LUNCH ROUTE.

“ IF you on’y know’d how hungrg I was you’d

stop that there fun, square off. on’t I know?
You‘d streak inter the kitchen, and chop me oil
a slab 0’ bread, with butter and ’lassea. Gollyl
don‘t this coon like ’lams, thoughl”
The oung lady who was thus abruptly ad-
dressedy looked doWn in surprise at the speaker,
while her opened ﬁngers let fall tho ﬂowers she
had been clipping. .

It was a ragged oung vagrant, with a bunch
of hair like a scal ‘ ook standing upright throuih
his torn cup wh' e his cool; wusnppod as if a
had been through a. ﬂux-mill. Yes there was
something in the boy’s face that took the earnest
attention of the youn lady. It was a look of
honesty. pride and so f—possessiou, With a keen-
ness in the gray eyes that told of boldness and
daring. And there was not wanting that: look
of cunuin which comes upon the countenance
of boys who have to ﬁght their own way through
the {oxmvers of life. '

It was a. garden in which they stood, adorned
with rich ﬂower-beds. The lady, a tall, slender
handsome girl, of some tWeuty years of age, on
with a face whose brightness was tinged with a.
shade of sadness, bud been gatherin a. bouquet
of the more delicate ﬂowers, when s e was thus
abru (sly accosted. _ . .

1“ angry, are you?” she asked. With a qulZZl—
cal look. “ A hungry bo might: be Iatisﬁed
with dry brawn, without a} the extras)?

“ Never 1: hungr that way,” answered the
unabashed oy. “ " ain’t that Way I were brung
16?. I’m a compound 0’ puddin’ and ’lasses.

esn’t weaned on none 0’ yer tram grub. If

, ’lasees ain’t handy you kiu toss in a. ab 0' straw-

berry ’serves, or some other sorlz- 0’ sweet truck.
I ain’t a. bit; sassy?”
“ Why, no. on seem the very pink of

. modesty,” she answered, with a laugh at the

 
boy’s comical countenance “ But will you
please say how you came into this garden? Do
you‘know that this is private property, with no
admission for va nice or beggars?"

“ Mun hi be,‘ he answered, indiiferently.
“That on’b mean me! I ain’t nary vagrant
nor beggar, now you. bet! I come in over the
fence. ’causeI see’d a pretty lad pickin’ ﬂowers.
Don’t mind me takin’ arosebu , Is’pose. That’s
all l’m arbor." . ’

_Thera was something odd in the boy’s expres—
sion, which she could not; quite make out. It
looked like wounded pride.

“ I thought you were hungry a minute ago.”

“ Got over that. You cured me. Jolly J on

one '

 
~that’s what the boys coll me—ain’t nary be - ,
ar. Cain’t go that sort 0' sass on my 
ayn’b I freeze onto a ﬂower and git? Like
roses ’most as much as I do ’lasses.”

The boy drew up his well~formed ﬁgure, while
a. ﬂush came into his gray e as, as he stood like
a battered young soldier be ore the lady, whose
looks betrayed a. growing interest in him. De- ‘
spite his pride there was a pinched look in his
face which she could not; help observing. .

Yet; she pointed to the ﬂowers she had drop-
ped, withoun a word. The boy stooped, picked
up the meanest; of them all, and stuck it deﬁant—
ly in his button—hole.

“Guess that’s gay enough for a beggar.
Much 'bliged l” ,

He turned abruptly away. A slight stagger,
as of weakness, marked his step. Her eyes
ﬁlled with a soft/er light.

“ Stop 1” she commended.

The proud youngster walked on as it he had
not heard her.

“ Will you not pick up the rest of my ﬂowers
for me?” she gently asked. “ You made me
drop them." . a
“Course Iwilll I’d ick up a stable full if‘
you put it that way. ‘her’ ain’t no chap goin’
kin say esJolly J oe’s a Shirk.”

In an instant ho was on his knees, gathering
the scattered ﬂowers, which be arranged with a. '
skill which she did not look for at his hands.

“How Iona since you had anything to eat,
Joe?” she sofa}! queried.

“Dunno. ’Bout three days, I guess.
yer ﬂowers, mu’um. Good-by.”

“ Won’t you do something else for me, J oei"

“ Snrtain. Jisc pelt it out."

“ Come this way then.”

She walked toward the state! mansion which
stood just in front of where is is conversation
had taken lace. The boy followed, with a du-
bious look, as if rather doubtful about: the new
task that was laid out for him.

In a moment they had entered the kitchen of
the house. Here she left him» after telling him
to wait fora while He was much better used
to kicks than dimes,and feared that he might
havo been brought here to be cowhided for his
impatient intrusion. .\

“1 bet I git my booth in the feller that tries
it on,” he savagely muttered. , ‘ _

“ You can try your teeth in this,” came a. soil: _
voice at his elbow. , ,

Joe hastily swung round on his chair. There *
stood the young lady with a plate well heaped
with bread and meat. And the bread was not;
only buttered, but was spread thick with some
juicy preserves. ‘ ,

“That’s what: I want you to do for me. I
want you to eat that."

The tarnished little fellow looked up into her
face, and then at the food. A sort of gaping
sound came into his throat, and be wi d 11

Here’s

tattered sleeve hastily across his eyes. on his
proud look did not abate one jot. , I
' “ You ain’t; in aims-st?”

“ 1n solid earnest." .

“ And I kin do somethin” to pay

fur the '
uh?” , r ,

“ Yes, I will ﬁnd some task for you." ‘
“Then here’s a $0. like a. cow in a clover-

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
13

 
patch. Why, just now I’d sooner have that plate

0’ ub than a gold, mine!"

he boy ate with ravenous haste. He had

certainly been ver hungry. She sat look—

ing at himI pleas with the pleasure she was

givigf- . . .

“ ou bet that’s prime!” he declared, licking
his lips. “ It’s jist gor eons! Them there ’serves
hits me in a soft spot, .Iiss—~ ’Tain’t imperdent
to ax yer-name?"

“You can call me Miss Maud.”

“Well, Miss Maud, you got plenty 0" that
sweet truck around?"

“ I fancy so,” she smiled.

“Guess I’ll, come and see you of’n. Now,
what’s the job? I’m jist as strong as a young
boss. Pelt out what I’m to do.”

“Sit still. Joe; I want to talk with you. I
see that you are not afraid of work. How
comes it, then, that an active young fellow like
you, in a large city like this, has been left to go
without food till he is nearly starved! I should
fancy you could easily earn enough to eat.”

“ 7Tain’t allers so easy, Miss Maud,” answered
Joe, in the tone of on experienced hand. ” I’ve
had a streak 0’ hard luck 3 that’s ’bout the shape
ofvit. rThings is been goIn’rcriss-cross with me,
the wu‘st kind.”

“ How so?”

“ Tried a good man things. Had apeanutr
stand, and it got kee ed over by a runaway
butcher’s cart; broke everything to ﬂinders,
and bu'stod my bizness right up. Then I tried
"bo’otblack; but that line’s played out; had to
guv it up.”

, “Why? Has everybody taken to blocking
his own boots?"

“ Thor’s a good many 0‘ that mean sort. But
the dirty Italian bootblacks is the worst. Ther’s
a reg’lar batch 0’ them nasty furriners on the
street, that no sound American won’t’sociate
with. That’s what settled this coon. I went;
inter bankruptcy and guv up the bizness.”

“What did you try next, Joe?” she asked,

with asmile. ,
. “Jumde inter the newspaper bizness next,"
he answered, dryly. “Jist as had asthe rest.
Soon as I tried it on folks quit murderin’ one
another. And there weren’t no wars nor prize»
ﬁghts; and Congress adjourned, and stocks got
steady. Everything tuk adead set ag’in’me.
.Nobody wanted no papers, ’cause there wasn’t
nothin in ’em. And ﬁnerly an ugly thief stole
my funds, and the editors wouldn’t trust me
fur papers, so I had to slide out 0’ that line 0'
trade.”

“Why, Joe, you seem to have had a hard
time of it. But you are a spry little follow that

*ought to get along. Your clothes don’t cost
you much ;, and you are not big enough to need
muCh food.” I

“I kin stow away more provisions nor you

_ think,” answered Joe, rondly. “ I’m a reg’lar
little boss at grub. nyWay, that’s’bout the
whole story. Everything I tried Intel is bin

3 adead failure. I ain’t hit a job fora wee , andI

v ain’t eat nothin’ much. Folks yell, ‘ Git out. you
dirty tramp? Or they ﬂing somethin’at me
like a bone at a dog. I can’t swaller beg-
ar’sdgrub—now that’s jist the solid fact, Miss
an . \ ’

 
” Good, my boy! I honor your s irit. But
have you no one to care for you? here are
your father and mother?"

“ Never had none."

“ Never had any?”

“ None as I ever knowed on, anyhow. B
kicked about like a tin can in a gutter, ever si e
I was knee—high to a grasshopper. Jist like a.
mouse without a hole.”

“ Is there no one to look after you} No rela-
tions?” ”

“ Nobody. Never had father or mother, or
uncle, or aunt, or cousin, or granddaddy, nor
nothin' 0’ that sort. Heed my own road, right
through. Nobody ever washed my face or
combed my hair, or snuggled me in bed. Slept
with dogs and bosses more nor I have with
humans.”

Maud‘s soft eyes were full of ity, as she sat
looking at the friendless waif. et there was
nothing in Joe’s countenance to call for pity.
His lunch had spruced him up again, and be
lodged as spry and Wideawako as a meadow-
ar .

“ How old are you 3” she asked.

“ Can’t say eggzactly. Somewhere ’bout four-
teen. I s’pose.”

“ Then it is time you were at some regular
employment. You ought to be learning some
trade or business.” «

“Kinder 0’ that notion myself, Miss Maud.
I'd work like a boss it‘ anybody’d take me on.
But soon as they see me, that settles it. One
Iook’s enough to cook my hash.”

She leaned back in her chair, looking at him
with a. musing,r expression. Joe sat upright, with
square shoulders and a steady face, like a caval-
ry man on inspection. It was an odd scene, that
tetc—aptete of tho richly-dressed young lady and
the ragged vagrant, who were conversing as
naturally as if they had been in the same rank of
sooiety.

Their interview was interrupted by the en~
trance upon the scene of a portly gentleman,
with a full, ﬂorid face. Joe glanced at him and
shut his teeth. The young philosopher had evi-
dently seen something not quite to his taste.

“Why, Maud, What are you doin here? I
have been looking for you through t 6 house.
And what sort of companion is this? Where
did you pick up this vagabond 21"

His tone was full of displeasure, as be ﬁxed
his eyes angrily on the boy, who bore his gaze
without ﬂinching. "

“It is a hungry little fellow, whom I have
been giving something to eat,” she answered.
“But he is no common beggar, uncle. The boy
is willing to work, and I am sure would becapa-
ple and industrious. He is a strong little fellow,
too. Can you not ﬁnd him something to do in
your store? I am sure he would do you good ’
service.” '

Joe looked up with a ﬂash of hope.

“ He would, ch? The roving young “rag—bag!
I thought you had more wit, Maud. ' You are
always making a fool of yourself about some
ragamuﬁin. Send thoboy away. Get out, you
younar tramp!" , ‘

“That’s what I told you they all holler, Miss _
Maud," said Joe. as he sorrowquy gathered

» himself up. “ ’Tain’t the boy asfolks went nowa-

 
4

days—«it’s the clothes. I know I'm honest, and I
ain't afeard 0’ work, if I don’t stand for a tuilor’s
shop ’vertisement!“

He walked slowly toward the door.

“ Do give him a trial, uncle,” pleaded Maud.
“He will be a very nice-looking boy if he is
well dressed. And I am sure he will do his best
in your service."

“Now let me hear no more of that, girl. I
know my business. And I know this sort of
customers much better than you can. Away
with you, boy] There has been enough of this.
If you don’t make haste I will set the dogs on

0111 ’

“ If you set a. dog on me I’ll bite a. slice outer
his ear, I bet you on that,” answered Joe, sav-
agely. “And don’t you try it on me, old skin-
ﬂint, or I mought snip a bit off the end 0’ your
nose."

The gentleman rushed at him, with a face in.
ﬂamed with rage. But he might as well have
tried to catch a weasel. Joe sprung ‘with one
bound into the bushes, and was in an instant
lost to sight in the thick growth of the garden.

 
CHAPTER II.
HOW JOE LUST are con.

SEVERAL weeks have passed since the date of
our last chapter. Jolly Joe is alive and hearty
yet, and looks quite able to ﬁght his own way
through the world. At the moment when we
next encounter him he is seated on a. fire-plug,
on one of the main streets of the city, as dilap-
idated as ever, yet as happy as a king. Joe
has certainl been in luclr, for in one hand he
holds a tat 3 ice of pie, and in the other a. noble
sandwich, to which he alternately devotes him-
self. Between his bites he whistles, as gayly as
a bluebird on a branch.

“Jist you bet that pic’s prime,” he said to
himself, as he took another huge bite. “ And
them sandwiches ain’t to be sneezed at, neither.
Guess I didn’t strike a guy run 0’ luck when I
hit that last job. No, not much. nary time.
But the teller as says I didn’t, kin go down
cellar.”

He went on whistling and swinging his legs,
as happy as if he owned the whole city. A
clean gift of a million dollars just then would
have been wasted on J oé. He had the sunshine
and a. hunk of pie. What more could any one
ask u _

“ Don't Want to be hoggish,” continued Joe,
" but wish I had a pint o’ peanuts to top oﬂ’.
Jist to ﬁll in the cracks." .

There was a touch of human nature. Man is
never content. Give him the whole United
States, and he would at once begin to wish for
Tinicum Island to top off. '

The jolly boy had been‘observed, not quite
without envy, by many of the woll~dressed
folks who were passing by, many of whom had
forgotten how to be happy, in the rush of
money-making. One of those ﬂnallv stopped
before the boy, and looked at ‘iim with a harsh
and sour expression of countenance.

.“ What are you doing here, you dirty young
V abond’!” he sternly demanded. “Scoot now,
be ore I hand you Over to a policeman."

“What; fur?” asked Joe, innocently. “You

 
Joe. the Chicago Arab.

don’t own this street, do you, mister! Guess I‘ I

pay my taxes, and I’ve got a right to all out 0'
doors. S’pose you slide on, 'fore I call a peeler.
It’s ’g’inst the law to ’sturb a gen'leman at his
dinner. This ﬁre-plug's as much mine as it’s
anybody’s, and I’ll freeze to it s’long as I’ve got
a mind. Now you hear that?”

“ You impudent young gutter-rat! Don't
you know me? I’ve heard of your being beg-
gizing at my house since I ordered you away.

f you come there again I’ll have you sent to
the Poor-house or the Refuge." V

“Jerusaleml If it ain’t old Skinﬂint, Miss
Maud’s nice. unclel” ejaculated Joe, with a
whistle of surprise. “ ‘Scuse me. I didn’t reck-
ernize you. lot so many ’quaintances that I
can’t carry ’em all in my top story. How-dado,
Skinny?”

“Why, you dirty vagrant!” cried the gen-
tleman, swelling with rage. “ You impudent
little street ratl For a word more of that sort
I’ll shake you out of your skin, to teach you
manners.” ,

Joe sat as cool as ever on his perch, with no
Sign that he was a bit scared. He crammed
the last mouthful of pie into his mouth, and
chewed away busily, as if afraid he might lose
it if things came to a climax.

“ I’ll tell you this," continued the gentleman,
growing hotter than ever. “ I won’t stand im-

udence from boys and beggars, and I’m half-
inclined to give you a lemon that you’ll remem-
her for a lifetime.” .

“Didn’t guv you no imperdence,” rejoined
Joe pluchily. “ It was you guv me imperdence.
You begun it. Wasn't I settin’ here, ‘sturbiug
nobody, when you pegged in? I'm auice little
boy. as never gives imperdence to nobody.
What you tel) me to scoot fur! I ain’t no
scooter. And I don’t keer fur nobody if he’s

big as a mounting. Won’t let no rooster rub it '

into me, old hossﬂy, if he does wear a dandy

“ I’ll shake you out of yours. you reprobate,
for another word of your slack.”
‘t- “ You try it on if you want to wake up an
earthquake. That coat’s bought and paid fur.
It’s my rig, and if I like to wear it ventilated
that's my biz. I know somethiu’ ’bout the law,
mister. Don’t you tear that there Chesterﬁeld,

or I’ll fetch you afore Judge Parsons, with-a

habyous corpious, quicker’n a cat’s wink." _

The enraged gentleman hustled up, hot with
rage. Joe did not stir. He was pluck to the
backbone. In a minute his angry opponent had
caught him by the collar, and was shaking him
furiously, tearing the ragged coat worse with
every movement.

“ l’ll teach you, you rascall” he hissed between ,

his clinched teeth.

“ I’ll teach you to come spy- "

ing and stealing about my house! You insoleut :*

young vngabondl"
But there is such a thing as reaching for a ﬂy
and catching it hornet. With a quick' squirm

J oc slipped out of his coat, leavying the shabby _ ‘

garment in the hands of his assailant- Then
with a downward plunge he rammed his head
into the old fellow’s stomach, doubling him up
like a clasp—knife. The next instant, Joe was
out of his reach. * ‘
“You’ve stole my coat,” he yelled. “ Bet you

I

I
o . .7

 
 331’ . if—:'512’W§F§W'd&'mw‘lzuu‘xkfymuyfhhyu% If, ,.

 
j ﬁ'ovender.

Joe. the Chicago Arab. 5

 
high I make you guv me a better one "fur it. I
nin’tno slouch, old Red-eye. You can't climb this
tree ’thout gittin‘ sour ’simnions. I’m goin" to
call on Miss Maud, and I don’t keer n. shoe-peg
fur all your dogs. That's me."

Away plunged the boy, leaving his coat as a
prize in the hands of his assailant, who was
groaning with the pain of Joe’s hit “ under the
belt.” Theyictorious young rogue disappeared
around the 'corner with a ycll of triumph. He
was quite satisﬁed with the transaction. He
had been well paid for his lost garment.

But we must leave him, and seek the residence
of Mr. Wetmore, the gentleman in question,
a few hours after the events just narrated.

This mansion was in the suburbs of the city.
It was so ounded by a. considerable tract of
ground, 1' ing a green lawn in front, and a
garden in the rear, thatin which Joe had made
the acquaintance of his fair friend.

Maud was again in the garden, walking in a
melancholy fashion up and down its rose-bor-
dered alleys. Her face was ﬁlled with a shadow
of trouble, with which was mingled a ﬂash of
s ite.

D“ If I was only a man !” she said hotly to her—
self. “Or if I only had a friend worth a fig!
I might as well be in a prison as here. I can do
nothing. I see nobody whom I can trust. Yet
I know there is something wrong. I know that
1 am being made the victim of roguery.”

She tore the straw but from her bend, and
ﬂung it a rily away. Then she bent her hot
forehead u n the cool crimson depths of e. clus-
ter of roses, clutching the stem until its thorns
pierced her ﬁngers.

“ It is always so," she exclaimed as she looked
at the blood-drops on her fair skin. “ I can
touch nothing but what I feel its thorns. Life
isn’t worth the living. My uncle is playing the
rogue. I can feel it. Yet he has all my fortune

' in his hands, and I am powerless. It will be six

months yet before I can demand it. and by that
time it may all have gone to the dogs."

She continued her stroll up and down the
alley, without noticing a stir in the leaves nen r

or. '

“Ho supplies me with money,“ she resumed.
“With more than I need. But that may be a
blind. I have heard and seen enough to distrust
him. His partners cannot know the extent in
which he is Speculating with their business Cnp—

Jtal, or they would certainly not rest easy un—

der’it. Iknow. I have evidence of his rascal-
ity. ,But what can I do? I have no friend. no
one who can observe my tricky uncle guardian,
and show me how to check his villainy.”

“Now, don’t you swaller too much 0’ that
’Cause you’ve got one friend, Miss

and, that's solid clean through.”

She started in surprise and alarm as these
wards met her ears. There, on the other side

. of the bushes, was a shaggy head and a freckled
l

face. which 3 eat once recognized.

“Don’t git sheared.” continued the voice.
“It’s on’y me, Jolly Joe Jorum. If you want
my head for a football, jist say the Word. I’ll
cho it square 011'."

e pushed through thebushes, and stood be-
fore her. It was Joe himself, though in his
shirt-sleevas. He had lost his coat.

9‘“

 
fats,

 
“What brings you here?” she demunded,

sternly. “ How dare you enter and haunt this
garden, and play the spy on my private
walk?” ’

“Heered you talkin’, and wanted to take it
in 'fore I showed myself,” answered the un—
abashed boy. "‘ Dunno how I’d know anything
if it weren’t fur listeniu’. So, old Skinﬂint’s
playin’ bluff with you, Miss Maud? Tryin’ to
'01) you, and you ain’t got nobody to putaspoke
in his wheel?”

“It is none‘of your business, young impu-
dence. Leave here, instantly! You had no
right to come here, eavesdropping. I wish to
never set eyes on your face again.”

She was evidently very angry. Her face was
flushed, and there was a ﬂashing gleam in her
eyes. Joe looked at her in surprise.

“ All right if you say so, Miss Maud. ButI
never heered the!" was any harm in listenin’.
Yer want a friend, and I’m yer boss. Dunno
how we could rig up .u bet or team. I ain’t
quite a fool if I uni a street in . Why. I’ve jist
had the awfulest scrimmage you ever see’d,
with old Skinny. He shook the right outer my
coat, Miss Maud. Blest if he didn’t. But 1 sot
up the stakes fur him. I guv him a rum go,
now you bet.”

“ 'What do you mean, boy? Do I understand
that you have had a ﬁght With my uncle?"

“ Yes. He guv me slack, and then I guv him r
slack. Then he said as my slack were im er-
denee. Then I told him he was a hossﬂy. hen
he shook me like a terrier shakes a. rat, and
stoled my Chesterﬁeld ulster. Then I put my
head in his bread-basket, and made him wish
he hadn’t eat no dinner. Then I come here,
’cause he said he‘d sulivate me if I ever come
here ag’in. That’s how I come to hear you
talkin’. Now, I’m bound to git even with Skin—
ﬂint. He’s got my coat, and I‘m goin‘ to make
him pay for it, or bu’st. So pile out what’s
loose, Miss Maud. and you and mo ’ll go straight
into partnership.”

She stood looking down musineg on the
youthful champion. while strange expressions
passed over her face. Several minutes passed
before she spoke. Then it was but to say:

“I suppose you are hungry, boy. You are
here for your dinner, again.”

“ Dinner! Hope you don’t think I’m a duck,
that’s allers eatin’. Why, I’ve eat enough grub
to—day fur two boys 0’ my size. It’s satisfac-
tion I’m artcr. Revenge!” And Joe did his
best to make his vowe deep and hollow.

She looked at him in silence for several min-
utes more, as if slowly trying to decide on some
course of action.

“Come with me.” she at length said.

She led on through the garden walk, Joe sob-
missively following. In a few minutes she
reached a summerdiouse that stood alone, over-
grown with vines, in the rear end of the garden.
This she entered, and seated herself wearin on
its curved seat. Joe curled himself upon the
floor and gazed into her face with the devoted
look which a pet dog fixes upon its mistress.

“ You may be able to help me.” she began.

“I’m little and ragged, but I’m wide-awake,
Miss Maud, and I’ll take a. new name and be
Wide-Awake Joe to you. I’d sell my ears for

   
v  ,
:2 um»

 
6 Joe, the Chicago Arab.

you. Pile it. out. I hope it’s og’in’ old Skinny,
fur I don’t love him, not much.”

"Mr. Wotmore, Joe, is the proper name of
the gentleman whom you Christen by that
irreverent title. He is my uncle and legal

uardian. He has in his hands my fortune of a

undred thousand dollars. In six months from
now I will [)6 of age, when it becomes mine by
law. But I fear it will be all gone. He is pur~
suing a course which I do not like. But I only
suspect it. I want to be made sure of it.”

Joe listened with an air of legal deliberation,
as if he was a lawyer listening to his client. And
the fellow had picked up some points in his rough
tide of life. He was not wanting in wit and
knowledge.

" Ain't he gnv s’curity? I’ve heered as a.
guardian has to guv H'Cul'ily. And the s’curity
is ’sponsihle fur the plunder if he plays a sharp
game."

" I fear his securities are good for nothing, my
boy. There have been panics, and men have
lost their money. I do not know, or I would act.
My hands are tied."

“And you want me to spy out this caboodle?
Ain’t that it; Miss Maud? You want to git a
sharp pair 0 eyes on old Skinny, and salt his

ame fur him? Lawsee, that’s jist my proven-
erl I like pie and strawberry jam, but 1 like
satisfaction a mighty deal better. He owes me
one, and I’m yer ribbins. Say the word and I’ll
go fur him like a. hornet fur a bald-headed don»
ke '."

2‘ Can I trust you to hold your tongue, Joe?
This must be kept private.”

“ You kin, Miss Maud. I kin talk the straight-
est streak out when I’ve got a clean swath. And
I kin be as mum as a mouse in a. cheese when
I’m told ter." ,

Maud fell into a reverie, leaning her pretty
face on her hand, and looking far away into the
distance, while Joe gazid up at her like a wor—
shiper at his idol. He was badly Taken With his
fair friend.

“You will want good clothes, Joe.”

“ Won’t these do as I’ve got?"

“ No. He must not know you. You must
disguiss yoursclf in respectability.”

“I’ll do it if you say so, Miss Maud. But I
know I’ll feel queer. ’Spectability ain‘t my
strong; holt, nary time."

“ And you will need money. You will have
no time to earn any. And you will have mmake
journeys."

“ That’ll feel queer, too. Never had much rat<
tie in my pockets. But I guess I kin git used to
that ’thout much diffikilty.”

“ Very well, Joe. We may have a. hard
battle before us. We must lay our pluns for the
campaign. It you win the ﬁght for me you will
not go without a. reward.”

For the next hour the two strange confeder-
ates were in busy consultation, after which Joe
took his leave, with. more mone in his pocket
than he had owned in all his life fore.

CHAPTER III.
NEW COATS FOR OLD ONES,
“SEE here, Mr. Morowet. Told you I was
comin’. I’m Joe Jorum, and I want a new
coat."

 
“ Wetmore, you son of a. ship’s cookl”

“ I ain‘t. Wish I was. I’d had a better go
on grub, if I had n ship’s cook fer daddy. I
never had no dad, and I want a new coat.”

It was Jolly Joe,or “Tide-Awake J oe,as he had
rechristened himself, as ragged and disreputable
as ever. He had plunged boldlgiuto the whole-
snle grocery establishment of \ etmore, Brown
& 00., and seated himself sturdin on a pile of
coffee—bags, as he made this demand from the
senior member of the ﬁrm.

“ How dare you come here to annoy me, you
rag-tarr of a street vagrant? There is enough of
this. I will pitch you head-first from a second-
story window if you don’t take away your ugly
carcass instanter.”

“ Nury step till I git my coat. S’pose I don’t
twig the law, mister? Been to see a alderman,
and he says as how I’ve got you foul. You
stole my ulster. That’s a. case 0’ burglary, the
alderman says, and I calkulate he knows. I
want a. new coat, and I'll snatch you lively i f
you don’t plug down instanter.” v

“ Why, you dirty jacknapesi Here, Tom,‘
ﬂing this sauce~pot, neck and heels out of doors!”

“ Who is it, Mr. Wetmoro?”

It was Mr. Brown who spoke, a gentlemanly,
benevolent-faced person.

“ An impudent varlct, who sauced me in the
street yesterday. I shook him out of his rags,
and he 3 come here with more of his sauce. Out
with him, Tom.” _

Mr. VVotmore was very angry. His full face
ﬂushed purple, and only a. sense of dignity made
him keep his hands off the boy...

The man addressed, a burly porter, came bus‘
tling up, but Joe made no sign of moving. He
was pluck to the backbone, and he had made up
his mind it was to be a new coat or war in the
camp. '

“ t was you sassed me,” he declared. “When
I wasn’t sayin’ beans to nobody, you come 11
and sassed nae. And iyou stole my coat, and?
want a new’un. And f you don’t plank down,
I’ll snatch you up afore Judge Finnigin. I’ll
bet you he rakes you down.”

Tom, the porter, by this time had come up.
At a sign from his angry master he made a
grab at the boy, but he might as well have tried
to catch a ﬂea. A uick backward somerset
took Joe over the pie of coﬂee-bags, and in a
minute he was standing on the top bag ol.’ the
heap with his ﬁngers at his nose. ' r w

“ Missed it that time, Tommy! Cut and come
ag’in, old snipsnapl”

The porter, angry at this deﬁance, made a
rush at the boy. In an instant there was a hot
chase, up and down, in and out, over barrels
and bags, under tables and over counters, down
into the basement, and up into the higher ﬂoors.

A half dozen others joined in the pursuit, but "

goelwas gs nimblel as] a weasel.ﬁ A donendtimes
e s ippe throng t eir very ngers,‘ an once
made a ll iug leap over the porter's head from
the top 0 a hogshead.

Finally he plunged down again to the ﬁrst
ﬂoor, and disappeared. His pursuerspame tum.-
bling down, hot and angry after him, but ,he
was nowhere to be seen. ,

“Shot out the front door, I reckon,” cried

 tidiiiwémshg a?" g}.

V

 
._...._..1L.....;‘..‘¢ “mushwéymy—ﬁ—m ‘

 
 w”

Tom. “Blast his ugly pictur’, I’d like to give
him a shaking to learn him manners! Hang
him for a dirty little pilgarlicl”

“ Too Spry for you. Tom,” said Mr. Brown,
with a smile of amusement. “ You can hand-1e
coffee-mats better than street rots.”

“ The rascal l” exclaimed Mr. Wetmore. “ I’ll
give him his coatl I’ll dust it well for him, the
young Scampi Have you that manifest ready,
Geor e? I must be off to the custom-house.”

“ are it is, sir,” answered the clerk addressed,

‘ handing him a folded paper.

“ Very well.”

Mr. VVetmoro seized his hat, crammed it an-
grily down upon his head, and stalked from the
room, muttering sava'rely to himself as he did
so. Jolly Joe had evulently greatly disturbed
his composure.

An odd smile marked Mr. Brown’s face as he
turned away.

“ It never pays to be too full of ﬁght,” he said
to himself. “The boy does not look vicious.
Perhaps VVetinore is himself most in fault. I
never get into trouble with one of these boys.
\Vhat can have become of the saucy follow? I
don’t believe he left the store.

He had 0 ened the deer of the private ofﬁce as
he spoke. 129 stopped surldenLy on the threshold.
with a look of utter amazement. For there, in
the cushioned arm-chair of the bend of the ﬁrm,
sat no less a. personage than Joe Jorum, his hat
pushed back, a. pen behind his ear, and a news-
paper in his hand, which he seemed to be dili-
gentl perusing. . V

“ illol" cried the merchant, With more
amusement than anger. “ Why, you iinpudent
varietl How dare you come in here and take
possession?”

“ ’Cause the cap’n’s ofﬁce’s the best; port in a
storm. Them slowshunked suooks was chasin’
me that’s why. I want my con L', as old Skinny
sto o from me, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ till I git it. I
ain’t none 0’ yer shirt—sleevers.”

“Well”, he has gone. So you can go. You
will get no coat out of him.”

“ Then I’ll salt him with the liveliest law-suit
you ever see’d. I’m on’y a boy, mister, but I
ain’t been kicked round creation all these years
’thout l’arnin’ a. thing or two. See here, mister,

' you’re Skiiii’iy’s partner, hey?”

"My name is Mr. Brown, boy. And my
partner’s name is Mr. W'etmore. You are old
enough to learn manners. Come now, I can do
nothing for you. You must leave.”

“ Folks kin guv me what handle they please.
I won’t squirm,” answered Joe. “ Don’t mind
cullin’ on Mr. Brown, ’czinse yOn’re a gen’le-
man. ‘ ut he’s a sore—lieude old sklnﬂint. that’s
what he is. S’pose I don’t know him? Guess 1
could guv you a pint or two, if it were rlitc.
Mebhe you don’t tWig that he’s sportin’ elf his
time down on the coast, ’rnong the puts and
calls. Wonder what takes him there? Ain’t
uttin’ and cilliii’ coffee and tea. ’mong the
rnkers, are you?" _ _
Joe’s quick eye had noticed a. slight start In
Mr. Brown, and a jhst visible puleness of face.

-He closed the ofﬁce door carefully and seated

himself.
“Put down that paper,” he said severely,

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab. IN ‘ 7

w—é-‘~ ‘f' ‘

“and listen tome. You are not a fool I can see
that. You have roughed it in the world enough
to know some things that many men twice your
age don’t know. Now what do you mean by this
nonsense?”

“ I mean biz,” answered Joe boldly. “ It’s
tales out 0’ school I s’pose, but that old shenani»
ger stole my coat. Got my eyes ’bout me. Mr.
Brown. I tell you old Skinny’s goin’ it heavy
on the coast. See him down there every day.
He’s short on Eric, and long on Lake Shore.
He dips heavy, now you bet! And if he don’t
come out some do with his feathers scorched,
then I don’t know cans from bullets.”

“There, there, that will do. I want to hear
no inoreof such nonsense." Yet Mr. Brown had
grown visibly pale. “Here, boy. if we owe you
a coat it is our duty to pay our debts. Take
this.” He opened the door of a wardrobe. and
handed Joe a well- worn but sound coat, that
looked but little too large for his stout frame.
“ And here is a hat, in the place of that apology
which covers your head. Put them on and leave.
And beware of the porter. He has a kick in
store for you if he catches you.”

“l—Iim catch me? That snoozeri Not much,
I reckon! Don’t nab this weasel asleep. nary
time. Much ’bliged, Mr. Brown. That’s a gay
fit. The boys won’t know me, ’cause [’5 allers
been wem‘in’ ventilators. Good-by. If I git
any other p’ints I’ll post you on ’em."

0e walked sturdily away, leaving Mr. Brown
looking dubiously after him.

“Put a spoke in Skinny’s wheel that time,

on bet!” he said to himself. “ Mr. Brown takes
it quiet, but it hits him hard, I know."

Mr. Brown dropped again into his chair after
J oe’s departure, and leaned his head wearily
upon his hand, while a doubtful look marked his
intelligent face.

“I hardly know what to think,” he said test-
ily. “Can it be true as that boy says? Our
ﬁnances have been trusted utterly to Wetinore.
Can he be playing with our funds? Several
times lately we have been in a tight scrape for
cash, without any reason that I can see. If he
is speculating With the money or credit of the
ﬁrm it is high time it was known. By Jove. if
it turns out to be true I will have a. th' to
szliy in" it. I wish I had questioned the y
c oser.

He snatched up his hat, put it on hastily. and
walked with a quick step from the store, while
a disturbed expression marked his open counte-
mince.

Joe was watching froma nook on the other side y
of the street as the merchant came out. The
boy’s face lit up with a knowing smile.

‘ Brung him,” he declared. “ l knowed it.
That’s Miss Mnud’s fu’st shot. He’s pluggin’ fur
the coast, if he ain’t I’m a sinner 1”

Joe walked with a digniﬁednir down the street.
very roud of his new coat and cap.

“ at’s a clean ten—spotter, as Miss Maud guv
me to buy a new rig. bought I’d see fu’st it I
couldn’t squeeze ’em outer old Skinny. Wish I’d
axed fur pants and shoes and made a. clear ob
of’t. Got to buy them, I s’pose. fur my clot as
is a good bit toovarl’gated now. fl‘he portico
don’t ’gree with the groun oer ”

\

 
8 _ a Joe, the Chicago Arab.

CHAPTER IV.

A MYSTERIOUS MANSION.

A WEEK had passed since the date of our last
chapter. It was night. Few people were
abroad, for the hour was late, and the location
one of the unfrequented streets of the city.

Down it walked two person es, one a portly
gentleman who swung a gold- eaded cane in
his hand as he strode along' the other a youth—
ful personage, who kept well in the gentleman’s
rear.

The gleam of a. gas lamp showed the gentle-
man to be no less a personage than Mr. Wet-
more. His eyes turned suspiciously to right and
left as he passed on, as if he feared to be Seen
and reco nized.

His fol ower was a neatly dressed boy, about
as different in appearance from Jolly Joe as a.
garden rose is from a ﬁeld nettle. Yet the light
of the as lamp showed that the face was the
same. here was the same saucy countenance,
despite the respectable rig.

‘ Lawsee, ain’t I a spruce ’uul” thought Joe,
as he looked down at himself with inﬁnite satis-
faction. “ Been cuttin’ the boys dead this W6( 1:.
They ain’t ﬁt to ’sociute with this ’spectable
coon. Guess I’ll strike out fur high-toned com-
pany, like old Skinny ahead. Wonder where
the old snoozer is plliu’ fur? Looks duberons,
and I’m bound to trail him to his hole, if’t takes
all night.” 1

For a week past Joe had been keeping up a
sharp watch on the merchant. Of his ﬁrst sus-

icion, which he had got from Maud, that Mr.
etmore was heavily engaged in speculation,
there was no evidence. During the week he had
never once gone near the broker’s ofﬁces, though
stocks were just then very unsteady.

"Mar ins ain’t the game,” said Joetohim-
self. “ iss Maud’s made a blunder. Thor’s
suthin‘ deeper nor stocks, and I’m heuud to ﬁnd
it out or bu’st. Mebbe I don‘t know nothin’,
hossﬂ , but don’t let nobody buy me fur a
nobo y, 'cause I’se been alittle o’ everywhere,
and seen a little If everything, if I am a spring
chicken."

He continued his pursuit, keeping well behind
his game, and hiding at every suspicious move-
ment of the spotted gentleman in advance. At
length Mr. Wetmore paused, turned, and took
a keen survey of the surrounding scene. No
one was visible. Joe just then was concealed

behind a tree-box, through whose open slats he

keenly watched his prey. ,

After this hasty survey Mr. Wetmore turned
to the house before which he stood,. quickly
opened its door, and disappeared Within its

portal.

He had hardly vanished when the keen little
spy was in front of the mansion which be ob-
served with an experienced eye. 1Yet there was
nothing doubtful in its aspect. It was, as Joe
felt himself to be, highly respectable. The house
was a square-built, three—storied ediﬁce, with
brown-stone front, and a plain but stylish ap-

arance. It stood se arete from the remain-

er of the block, being ordered on each side by
aspace of ground. ke t as a green lawn. An
iron railing separated t is space from the street.

 
The Mute was dark in front. gltsrlower shut-

.a'

 
"-1

ters were closed, and no ray of light came from
the upper rooms.

Joe looked at it curiously. He then crossed
the street and looked at it again. Then he
looked through the railing toward the rear por-
tions of the building. From the windows of
this region a. faint light escaped, though they
seemed closed by tightly drawn curtains.

Joe took a seat on the most convenient curb—
stone, took off his hat and scratched his head
with a deeply reﬂective air.

“Looks as square as a bird'cage, with brass
railin’ and a singin' canary,” be imagined.
“ Perfectly ’spectable. Mought some 0’ yer
hank presidents, or er hifalutin’tol-de—lol ton
folks, live there. ebbe old Skinny on’y cal —
in” on some 0' his big-bug ’quaintances. But
what made him not ’sif he were ’shamed on’t.
That’s the dig as gits me. Folks ginerally like
to be see'd when they call on high-toners. They
don’t scoot 'long like they’d jist stole a leg 0’
mutton.”

His soliloquy was brought to an end by the
approach of a. second personage. This was a.
ﬂashily-dressed young man, who came up with
a, csprightly air,°turned briskly into the house,
an sharply pulled the bell. The door was
(11%)le opened to admit him, and as quickly
5 ut behind him. ,

Joe, from his station on the opposite curb-
stone, observed this, and scratched his head
a sin.

“ ’Nother hap as wants to see the bank presi-
dent," he remarked. “But he rings the bell.
Don’t carry a latch-key like old Skinny."

He continued his- solitary vigil. During the
next hour not less than a dozen men had come
up and entered the house. These were in great
variety, some young and spruce, some middle-
aged, substantial folks. Some walked briskly,
others approached cautiously, as if not caring to
be seen.

“ Queerest go I ever heered tell on,” consider-
ed Joe. “Here's all sorts, shapes, and sizes.
Some’s ’shnmed o’ themselves and some ain’t.
Some’s tony, and some ain’t. That last chap
was as rough as a nutmeg-grater. That’s a high
old party. Mebbe it's a Fenian meetin’ hatchin'
plans to blow up England, and tow Ireland over'
to the Yankee nation. Guv it up. Couldn’t
never guess conundrnms. But there’s on‘ one
p‘int that’s cur’us. Old Skinny goes iii wi h his
own key but everybody else’s got to ring the
bell. He‘s mighty at home, he is.”

Another person came up and was admitted.
This was a. young chap, dressed like a. dude, and
very top ish in manner.

“ Ther ain’t nobody kicked put,” queried Joe.

“ Guess I mought as Well peg in, too. Ain‘t got ,
no invertation, but I’s got a. hard face, and , _

that’s a ticket fur anywhere.” I

No sooner said than done. The impulsive boy
hastily crossed the street, mounted the steps of
the mansion, and gave a strong pull at the bell.

Instantly the door opened. Before him was a.
broad ball, into which he boldly stepped. The
door closed uickl y behind him.

Joe look around for the person who had
thus opened and shut the door. but no one was
visible. He stood alone in ahandsonm Vestibule,
which was closed by a. sectmd door, further on.

 
7

 
 out into the street. The latter 0

1’ Joe, the Chicago Arab. 9k . 9

I”,

 
To his ardent tame the whole affair seemed the

work of magic, an he felt as if he had sudden-

ly become a prisoner, in some sort of enchanted
WCnSh c.

There was nothin ‘ for it but to go on. He
was in for it now. .6 tried the handle of the
door before him, but it refused to yield. Then
he gave it asharp, bold knock. It still remained
closed. Joe was not easily rebuﬁ’ed. A loud
rat-tat followed. But the house might have
been utterly empty for any answer he got to his
summons.

“Wonder if the’r’ all asleep or dead; or if a
chap’s got to have some password to git in?
Mebbe the outside 0’ this crib’s the most com-
for’ble.”

“ Come, youngster, what’s the matter?" asked
a sharp voice behind him.

Joe swung swiftly round. There stood a
burly, ﬁerce-looking fellow, dressed in a sort of
livery, but apparently selected more for his
muscle than his manners. How he had got there
the startled boy did not perceive. He had not
noticed a. close-ﬁtting side door, that was of the
somepnttern as the wall of the vestibule.

“ Stir up, little ’un; what do you want, he ?”

“Don’t Mr. Thompson live here?” asked 09,
at a loss for an excuse.

“ No, Mr. Thompson don’t live here,” was the

r short answer.
,  Or, Mr. J ones?” tried the boy, at a venture.

“Or, Mr. Sunﬂower?”

“Are on poking fun at me, midget! Try it
on, and ’11 smash you!"

“'Who does live here, then? It’s somebody I

1 want to see, but I‘ve forgot the name.”

“Then go home and fetch around a Directory,
Here now. Getl"

He threw open the front door, and glared at
Joe threateningly. The boy hesitated. He had

7 madead failure, but did not quite like to
give itu . .

“Got tnow " he cried, ‘with a show of brisk-
ness. ” Don’t r. Wetmore live here?"

The doorkeeper, who was standl by the
door, fell back a pace at this name, whi e a mo-

? Vinentar look of dismay came upon his stolid
face. ut he recovered in an instant, and ad-
vanced threatenineg toward Joe, as if with in-
tent to hurl him in a heap into the street.

“Hit on that time, ﬂunky!” cried the
saucy tel ow, with a laugh of triumph, as he

I darted under the man’s outstretched arm, and
into the- street. “Fetched you 'tween wind
and water, old stiffy. Jist tell yer lord as I
called to see him. Jolly Joe Jorum, he‘ll reck-
ernize the name. ”

“Flirt now, you rapscallion. It I catch you
sporting round here I ll mash you up in a coffee-
mill. Make yourself Scarce, while your bones
are Whole)” ,

He closed the door violently, shutting Joe

8 m
and took his former seat on the curbstone. gs ’

“'Much  ﬂirt! Didn’t make much out that
there little speculation, but I got one p’int.
There’s suthln’ here, as Skinny’s ’shamed of.

, Don’t ,‘want folks to know as‘he’s in it. Now
I'm gom’ to know, or I‘m goin’ to bu’st. This is

 
my curbstone. I’ve paid taxes fur my sheer 0’
the street, and this curbstone’s my sheer.”

An hour more passed while Joe kept up his
lonely vigil. During that period no more per~
sons entered the mansion, but several left it.
But they came out as they had entered, one by
one. There seemed very little ood fellowship
in the visitors to that stately edi ce.

Joe grew more and more puzzled. Much as
he was used to the ways of life in the city, he
could make nothing deﬁnite out or this. The
affair grew more and more mysterious the longer
it lasted.

Finally there came out a youn man whom
he had particularly noticod on is entrance.
He wore a slouched hat, and long hair and
beard. There. was about him something of a
western aspect, visible alike in his face and his
clothes. But the bold briskness with which he
had entered the mansion was exchanged now
for quite another manner.

He plunged out ﬁercely, while the light of a
neighboring lam}:I showed that his’tace was
deathly pale, and ad in it the sharp—drawn lines
of despair. He rushed blindly forward, as if
utterly unable to control his movements. After
a minute he checked himself, clapped both
hands to his head, and reeled against the lamp-

post.

“He’s been hit hard,” considered Joe. “ Rank
p’isen, I reckon. Never see‘d a man so obfusci-
cated.”

. A ﬁerce oath now came from the young man’s

ips.

“ Lost! Ruinedl” he gromed. “There’s only
one thing left l"

He straightened himself up, plunged his right
hand into his pocket, and quickly withdrew it,
holding a pistol.

“ A trigger touch cures all.”

The pistol was at his head, his ﬁnger on the
trigger. A moment more and the rash man
would be stretched in death on the hard pave-
ment.

But at this instant his hand was dashed has-
tily aside, and the pistol exploded harmlessly in
the air. Ere he could repeat his mad move-
ment the deadly weapon was snatched from his

hand.

“ Guess I’ll take'keer 0’ this little la hing.
Don’t b’lieve you’re ﬁt to be trustetfvvﬁh it,"
came a youthful voice at his ear. -

It was Jolly Joe that had saved his life. .

“Give me the weapon! ’ I am ruined! Dis~
graced! Give it to me, or 1) Heaven-"

b “ Drop that, sonny,” rejoined the resolute
oy.
any peelers.
don’t shoot yerself.
saltin’ you."
,“ By Jove, it’s a good thought, boy. I will,
by Heavens l”

“ Come with me fu’st, and cool yer porridge."

J oe- led the way down the street, followed
submissiver by the desphiriug young man.

V CHAPTER V.
nousnmo on run run.
"st1 look at me,,mister. I’m 0:? a boy.
Dunno how old I am, ’cause myd dy never
put my age in the Bible. ’Spect I never had no

It you want to shoot anybody

 
Shoot the chap as is been

“ Come wi’ me, store that shot fetches up ‘

 
-~. ---,~ .

Joe. the Chicago Arab.

 
dad, nor no Bible. But you kin bet yer head
that what this coon don’t know ain’t wu'th
knowin’. died my eye-teeth cut afore I was
weaned and was brung up on pop and jography.
Now pelt in and let’s hear what’s afloat.”

This boasting speech came from Jolly Joe.
He had led the despairing stranger to a distance
from the scene of the last chapter, and they
were now seated together on the marble steps of
a. uiet mansion.

he stranger looked keenly into Joe‘s face.
He saw there a. freckled countenance, marked
with abundant wit and shrowdness, and with
eyes that were full of keenness and rollicking
humor.

“ You’re a sharp-looking young customer.
Think you know a thin or two?"

" If I don't know a. t lug or three, ther’ ain’t
no snakes!” rejoined the conﬁdent he .

The stranger hesitated a momen . He had
somewhat recovered his composure, and pre-
sented a handsome countenance. with something
of the dare—devil humor or frontier life. "I

“ Well, then, what do you want to know?"

“Fu’st, I want to know who I‘m talkin’ to.
I’m Joll Joe Jorum; what’s your handle?"

“ JIM: Bledsoe, folks call me.”

“And what sort 0’ shanty were that you come
out of jist now, lookin’ as if you’d been chewed
up by a grizzly? ’Tain’t a herrin’ factory, or a
private powder-mill. I reckon.”

Bledsoe looked keenly at the boy.

” Can I trust you?”

“ DunnO' can’t allers trust myself; but you
kin try. out split, ’cept somebody drives a
wed ein."

“ have no reason to keep the secret, at any

rate. I owe it no good-will. It’s a private gam— ‘

bling establishment, my boy.”

“ Whewl”

‘ Joe gave along whistle of astonishment. The

cat was out of the bag with a. vengeance. He
sprung up and danced a jig towork oﬂi’ his ex-
citement.

“ And they roped you in and done for you?”
he asked, on recovering his breath.

“ I am ruined l" exclaimed Blodsoe, excitedly.
"Cleaned out to the last penny. A clear ﬁve
thousand ‘grone into the maw of those hell»
hounds! 11 did you stop me? Why did you
not let me 5 out myself for a blind fool and
idiot?”

“’Causo if all the idiots was to shoot the’r—
selves, ther’d he mighty few folks left,” answer-
ed the cool boy. “ S pose I’d go under m self,
’mong the rest 0’ the tools. See here, Mr. led—
soe, why don’t you plug back and rake ’em out?
Your luck mou ht turn.”

“ Very true; ut I have no money."

\ “I have.”
Bledsoe looked down on the boy

with the gleaming eyes of the gambler; “ Hmv

much have you ot?
“Ain’t quite millionaire, but mought rake
up a ten-spotter.”
' “ And you’ll lend itto'me for a last pool?"
“Dunno’hout that. That ’pends. Want to
. know a thing or two fu’st. Who runs that
i , shanty!”
' , "Its a sort of company concern, I fancy.
« _It’s their gametoget on the track of strangers

n

 
to the city, rake them in, and sweep their pock-
ets. That’s the way they served me, fool that
I wasl” ,

“Isn’t there a chap called Wetmore ’mong -
’eml A stout, red-faced rhinoceros, as setup
as if he’d jist swallowed a mahogany fence-post?
Dressed like a undertaker, and as solemn use
funeral sermon.”

“Didn't see any such chap,”unswered Bled—
soe, with an involuntary smile at Joe’s odd
description. ‘

“He’s there, anyhow. See’d him go in.
When I twig a coon once I’ve got him. That’s
the chap I’m arter. See here, Mr. Bledsoe,
can’t you ring me into that shanty? l’s got
bizness there, the wu’st' kind. You kin have

.my ten, if you'll let me tell you howto play.

I’ve got scrunchin‘ luck. Boon ’i'ound some, and
know a thing or two.

Bledsoe looked at him doubtfully.

“ I am afraid a boy of your size cannot get
past the doorkeeper.”

“ ’Feard not myself. Had a. confab with that ,
corn-cracker, and told him suthin" ’bout his
pedigree. He got mad, and I got out.”

“ here is one way it might be done,” said
Blodsoe musingly. “ Can you climb the railing
and slip round to the side door of the house?
There isasignal-knock that lets visitors past
the doorkeeper. Then we go back along the
Passage. I might slip open the side door, and

at you in.”

“ It’s a bargain,” exclaimed Joe. “ I’m a.
reg’lnr squirrel at climbin’ railin’s. Conic ahead,
while the amo’s alive. I know old Skinny’s
there, and 'm bound to twig him.”

This conspiracy was at once put into execu-
tion, Joe fu l of enthusiasm at the prospect of
carrying: out his scheme, Blelisoe with the wild
hope of the inveterate gambler. ~

The hour was now growling late. The night
was dark. Nobody observed the adventurous
boy, as he climbed like a eat up the railing,.and
sprililng down tothe green grass of the‘lawn ‘
wit in.

He hurried on post the main building, and to
the side door to which he had been directed. .
All here was‘in shadow. But from the room
above, in the second story of the main building,
a faint lightrmade its way through the, clinks ’
of the closed curtains, and an occasionalragup V _
sound could be heard. ’ g 

Joe waited im atiently, while the minutes
slowly passed, in read lest the scheme of his
new friend might not work. At length, much
to 1115 relief, he heard a slight creaking sound
at the door. In a minute it opened a norm
crack, and a cautious voice asked: , , ~ I r

" .Are you therel Come, quick."

In an instant the nimble lad had slipped. ’
through, and the portal was silently closed bee:
hind him.   ' '

“ On, this way,” whispered Bledsoe.
over that ten." . * ' t ,
J “ You’ll play jist as I tell .youT’demanded

oe. ' A A

“Yes. My luck isn’t worth shocks; I’ll try -
vours.” ' ‘

" Their way led i3)
door on the secon

a ﬂight of stairs, and‘toa. '
ﬂoor. At this Bledsoe again

 
2‘li‘orl:  4 l

‘3

 
fr ‘ asked Bledsoe.

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab.

gaveapeculiar knock, when the door was in-
stantl y opened. ‘

Before them appeared a large, well-lighted
room, containing a considerable number of men.
the most of whom seemed engaged in some card
01' other gambling game, of which several vari-
eties were in active operation about the room.
Bledsoe stepped in, closely followed by his youth-
ful companion.

Their further entrance was checked by the
doorkeeper.

“ This is decidedly against the rules,” he de—

‘ clared. “No boy can be admitted. You should
know that, sir. The boy must go out.”

“ I know that I’ve been cleaned out. I’ve

come back here for another buck at the tiger.

This boy is my banker. He will and shall go

in."

“ Sorry, sir. But it can’t be done."

“ Like tor know what’s the reason i” demanded
Joe, insolently. “ S’pose I’m a soft-head, old
boozy? S’pose I ain’t been round? J let you bet
I know everything that’s wu’th knowin’ ’bout
these diggin’sl I can’t steal no new p’ints out
your old caboose.”

This controversy had attracted the attention

- of many of the players. Joe’s loud tones in )ar—
titular had disturbed the serenity of the at er-
ing. A portly persona e hurried forwar from
the rear of the room. e was dressed in a light
plaid suit, with a loud necktie and all the ap-
pearance of a sporting character. rHe wore a

. (mg, thick mustache, and his face had some-
, thin bf a pallid aspect.

. “ eyi” he ejaculated. “What’s all thisll
Who let that boy in?' Put him out instantly,

and the man that introduced him.“

“ I don’t think you will,” said Bledsoe, settin
his shoulder sturdily against the doorsill. “
left my purse here an hour ago. I’ve come back
for it.”

“ I don’t care a fig for that. You can stay if
you want, but the boy must go.”

“ Are you the boss of this ’stablishmentl” ask-
ed Joe.

“ amthaprofrietor.”

“That’s 'ist al I want to know,” answered
the boy, h a meaning wink. “ And it you
know which side yer bread’s buttered you’ll

' haul in your horns. Mebbe you don’t reckernize
Vme. I’m Jolly Joe. I am. You can't pull the
wool over my eyes, old Skinny. S’pose I don’t
twig you in that new git up, hey? So, you‘re
the boss! Glad to hearit. That’s what I came

, here to ﬁnd out. Oh, won’t I make Rome howl
’bout your ears] Kick me out, boozy. I want
the wu’st wa to be kicked out.”

The face 0 the proprietor grew sudden] y pal—

‘ lid, while a very disturbed look marked his
features.’ Joe was right. It was Mr. Wetmore

' in disguisa. The keen boy had his foe decidedly

by the ears. »

This look of dismay was replaced by one of
. cunning, and by a forced smile.

“ Where did yOﬂIéJiCk up this little idiot?" he

“ o matter. It isn’t worth
while raising a disturbance._ ‘Iet him stay, now
that his in. I hope you W111 go on with your
play. gentlemen. I will take measures in fu—

' ture against any such intrusmn.” .

' -“ Shot the stable door arter the boss is stole, I

 
11

«5’ se,” muttered Joe. “ Thought I'd make you
b ow another tune. Come ahead, Mr. Bledsoa.
We’ve got the bull by the horns.”

The Westerner led the way to the fare table,
followed by his youthful companion. The dis-
guised proprietor had withdrawn to another
part of the room, where be seated himself, and
commenced diligently to gnaw his nails, while
his eyes were ﬁxed with a dark and lowering look
upon the daring boy. Joe had got into the lion‘s
den. Would he get out again as easily? That
was another question.

There were several persons around the taro
table. Bledsoe changed his ten-dollar bill for a.
check of the same value.

“ Going to put all my eggs into one basket.
Is that right, Joel I’m to play your game, you
know,” V

“ Correck." . ,

> A game was played and Jack Bledsoe was the
winner.

Thrusting the money carelessly into his pocket,
he strode away from the table, followed by Joe,
who gave a wink full of impudent triumph to
his disguised foe as he turned away.

Wetmore paid no attention to this insolence.
He seemed to be hiding his time. Joe was not
yet out of the lion‘s den.

The remaining players followed the odd couple
with curious glances as they swaggered out of
the room. The door was closed sharply behind
them as they assed out to the stairs. A sardonic
smile curled etmore’s lips. He evidently had
a nine in reserve.

own the stairs theyywent, and along the pas-
sage toward the street. The door was opened
before them. Bledsoe assed on to the vesti-
bule. Ere Joe could fol ow he was caught by a
stron hand and jerked ﬁercely back, the door
sharp y closing.

Bledsoe turned an

ily back. But he was
caught bya brace 0 strong arms, and thrust
violently toward the street. He knocked down
one of his assailants, and made a vigorous eifort
to draw his pistol. Ere he could reach it, how-
ever, he was pushed over the threshold, and the
door hastily shut in his face.

The game had been played. Joe was». pris-
oner in the hands of the Philistines._ His friend
was in the street, with a ﬁrmly locked oakeu
door which resisted his every effort to reenter.
The banker had won in the last deal. .

 
CHAPTER-VI. 1
THE NEXT MORNING AFTER»

JACK Bunsoa was not the man to turn
traitor to the hand that had helped him. No-
thing could be done that night: but at an early '
hour the next day he was back again to the
gambling saloon, with an ofﬁcer and a in ‘s.
trate’s warrant, determined to release the -
prisoncd boy if he had to bring all the power of
the courts into requisition.

The mansion looked so utterly quieter: their
approach, that it seemed as it a mouse could
not be stirrin within its walls. To the violent
pull of the be] no answer was returned. After
several hand-jerks, a man came round the cor-
ner of the house, waterinth in hand.

“ What do you want? he asked. “The

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
family are not at home. They have been in the
country these six weeks.”

“That cat won’t jump,” answered Bledsoe,
hotly. “ We want entrance to this gambling hell.
And we'll have it or split something.”

" This what?"

“ This gambling-hell."

“ Are you out of your senses?" asked the man,
with a show of astonishment. “ I tell you none
of the family is at home. Mr. Bradley is at his
country-seat at Ardmore."

He turned to walk away, with the look of one
who is being triﬂed with.

“ Stop there, my friend," cried the ofﬁcer,
with authority. “ You will refuse to open that
door at our peril. I have here a search-war-
rant. e must go through that house, family
or no‘ family.”

The servant turned again, with a ﬂushed face.
Be'read, through the failing. the paper that
was resented to him.

“ but does this mean?” he asked. ‘5 It is an
outrage. The house’is empty. I have been left
in charge of it.”

, “It won‘t be empty when you let us in. Quick,
now, or I will break open the door. and bring
you before the magistrate for contempt.”

With a shrug the servant turned away. In a.
few minutes the front door opened.

“Mr. Bradley shall know ot this outrage,” he
said. “Come now. Here is the house. I will
go with you, for I am responsible for its con-
tents."

“ Very well,” said the officer. “ We will not
steal anything. Now, Mr. Bledsoe.”

Bledsoe led the way conﬁdently toward the
gambling‘room.

“ We will show you a thing or two about this
house,” he said sarcastically to the servant.
“ You don‘t seem to know what sort of a shanty
it is. And we will have that boy, or know the
reason why.” _

He ﬂung open the door of the gambling-room
as he spoke, with a look of triumphant malice.
But the face of the servant was all pure inno-
cence and surprise. .

“ See here,” exclaimed Blodsoe. “ Hillel By
Jove! What does this mean?”

He paused in utter astonishment. No trace
of gambling apparatus was to be seen. The
apartment was furnished like a quiet family
sittin .room, with nothing to show that it had
ever Iieen used for any other purpose. Linen
covers lay on the furniture, as if to reboot
them from dust during the absence ol‘. 1: e resi—
dents.

The ofﬁcer entered the room and looked
dubiously about him. _

~“ By hook and pie this was a gamblm -saloon
last nightl’ cried Bledsoe. excitedly. ‘ It was
full of gamblers. ,I played here myself. There
were a dozen games gomg.” v
“ Are you sure of the house? We know noth—

‘« ing of any such establishment here.”
l

Sure? You bet I am. The boy is here,
I‘ll swear it! The hounds have ot scared, and
made trucks. But they snatch _that boy, and
I’m bound to have him out of their hands. The
house must be searched." _ ' r

The ofﬁcer somewhat unwxllmgly obeyed.
He was growing doubtful. From garret to

«u

 
cellar every room was examined. All was
quiet and respectable. The furniture remained
as if the family had just left it. Joe was not
'there, that wascertain. Nothing suspicious ap—
pearcd.

“ Well, what do you think now?” asked the
servant, who had followed them closely round.
“It doesn't look much like a gambling hell. I
think Mr. Bradley will have something to say
about this business."

“All right. Let him. Here is my card,
which you can send him. By Heaven, ofﬁcer,
I am afraid some foul play has happened. I
will not drop it here. I will have that boy
out of their hands, if I must search the whole
city.

"You will need better luck than you’ve had
this timcﬁ’ answered the ofﬁcer, with a cynical
smile. “i am afraid you are on a very cold
trail."

Bledsoo made no answer. He saw that he
was looked on as a fraud or a fool. Yet there
was something in the manner of the servant
which convinced him that that individual was
playing a game. He walked away from the
house with downcast head and brooding brow.
A neat trick had been played. Just how was
not so sure. Yet he had no idea. of deserting
the friendless boy who had done him such a
service. Jack Bledsoe was pluck to the back-
bone. Ho had followed an Indian trail more
than once in his life, and had no idea'of letting
himself be thrown oil! the track by this blind.

But We must return to the adventures of the
boy, who had been so neatly trapped, and who
had so mysteriously disappeared.

On being drawn back from the door, Joe’s
natural impulse was togive vent to a yell of
alarm. But a handkerchief was cla pod over
his mouth, from which came a. pecu iar sweet
odor. He struggled in the hands of his captor,

but he felt his senses rapidly leaving him. In a. .

few seconds he fell back limp and motionless.
He had been chloroformed.

Of what happened during the succeeding few
hours Joe was utterly unaware. Once, indeed,
he partly regained his senses, and kit, as in a
dream, aracking motion and rumbling sound,
as of a carriage driven rapidly over'a stony.
street. ‘  . 7- I

But the sweet-smelling handkerchief was again
applied to his nostrils, and he sunk back into a
deep insensibility.

When he again opened his eyes it was to see
a gleam of sunshine pouring through a low win-

dow which opened before him. Relay on ansr— '

row cot. in a small room with plain whitewashed
walls and spnrse furniture. For a. while a sick
feeling kept him motionless. Then this passed
off, and his strength and spirits slowly came
back to him. " . 7

He tried to rise, but in vain. Home bound
to the cot by a rope that passod tightly round
his waist, and was tied beneath the bed.

t was some time before Joe'eould get a clear 

recollection of the events of the preceding ni ht.
Point by point it came back to him, an be
groaned with spite when he thought or how
neatly he had been tricked. ' i -
“Old Skinny got his work in 11 me that

time,” muttered the young prison r. _“But it

 
‘i

  
U . ﬁelds, trees, an '
3‘ other house was in sight. The boy was evident.

Joe, the Chicago Arab. I 13

 
' he thinks he’s took the starch outer this coon,

I'll bet him a cow to n’possum that he’s mistook.
I don’t b’lievo he’ll kill me. And I’m goin’
to wgrk for Miss Maud while the sky keeps
blue.

All seemed quiet about the house. Joe waited
for several minutes. Not a sound came to his
car‘s. He ﬁnally got tired of this, and yelled out

r to the top of his lungs:

“Whoopeel Wake up! Where’bouts is you
all? Won’t somebody pilo in and take oi? this
rope necktie? Want to dance it jig, and can‘t do
it with this thing on. “Tlioopecl”

His continued yvlls were answered by a sound
below. Then a innn’s head was thrust into the
room and withdrawn. Voices were audible
outside. Finally the door again olrened, and
a personage entered, whom he recognized at
a. glance. It was Mr. Wetmore, though still
with his diguising mustache, and his ﬂashy

811m.
“ So, boy,” said the latter harshly. “ You have
dug your grave and tumbled in it. So you are

' goin to blow on me, hey?”

“ won’t swear as I won’t, nor as I will," an—
swercd Joe, hollly. “You’ve tuk me foul, but

you’ll ﬁnd me a hard orange to squeeze. I don’t
I

he you fur nothin’, Mr. Skinny, and I ain’t
goin’ to let on as I do.”

“You have threatened me, boy. You have
made a mistake. Sn pose I choose to kill you,
as I would a rat. on have no relatives or
friends to look after you. You will be a wasp
out of my way. Whatis to hinder me putting
you under the ground?”

“Tain’t a safe game,” answered Jce, boldly.
“ There’s sich things as ghosts 0’ dead men; and
(lend boys, too. And murder allers leaves its
shudder behind. And I’s got more friends nor
you thinks on. J ist don’t you try it.”

I‘Will yOu swear, by all that‘s solemn, to
never mention what you saw last night, and to
forget that there is such a. person as me in ex-
istcnce'!”

“’Nary time," answered Joe. “Don’t ’prove
of swearin. You can’t tie this coon’s hands by
no sioh spider-webs as that.”

“ Very wellI than. . Your fate be on your own

hands. You are playing with d namite, boy." ~

Ho hastilylel’t the room. 0e remained to
his reﬂections, and not quite sure but that he
had played the fool.

__ \
CHAPTER VII.
THE OPENING OF THE RAT-HOLE.
A WEEK passed away, during which Joe con-

_ tinned a close prisoner. The rope was removed,

Indeed, and he was given the freedom of the

' room. but it was with a ﬁrmly locked door, and

a‘window that looked out upon a roof, full thirty
feet from the dground. In the distance green
groves were visible. Not an—

ly imprisoned in a country house.

The sight of those green ﬁelds was a dell ht,
, to the street Arab, who had spent his whole ife

among walls, without a glimpse of. the broad
lava of the country; He spent the weary hours

‘ ’Of' simpriaonmeut looking longineg from the
2. window, and wishing he was only out among

 
the woods and waters which were visible in the
distance.

“ It’s ’nou h to guv a cove the blues." he ejac—
ulated. “ onder what old Skinny’s up ter?
Is he goin’ to chop me up fur bologner snssugers,
or is be goin’ to say, git? I wish he’d do one or
t’other mighty soon. Guess I’d sooner hev him
do t‘other. But he’s a rippin' old honey, he is,
and he mought take a notion to knock me cold.
Bet you I haunt him if he does."

Joe threw himself testily on the ﬂoor. A faint
murmur of voices came to his cars from below.
He listened intently, but was unable to make
out anything.

Yet a conversation was going on in a lower
room in which the fate of the homeless boy was
deeply involved. There were present the dis-
guised merchant, Mr. Wetmore, and the burly
fellow who had acted as doorkeeper of the gum-
bling-saloon, and who now ﬁlled the ofﬁce of
jailer to the youthful prisoner.

“ Dead men tell no tales,” he said, with a sur-
ly frown. '

“ But murder leaves its shadow," answered
Mr. Wetmore. “The boy said that, and he is
right. I won’t run the risk, for there‘s nothing
to gain by it. All I need is to keep his tongue
still for the next few months. He can tell what
he will after that.”

“1 am not going to stay here for months,
guarding,r a rat in a trap,” growled the jailer.

“ You ll be well paid for it. And there’s many

men would jump at the chance of a. summer in a

the country,”

“ The country be ﬁddled. I ain't hankering
after no such trick. But the pay's somethings
Make it enough and i’m agreeable. But how
about the little game? Is it smelt out 1”

“Not much,” answered Wetmore with a.
laugh of trium h. “ They don‘t catch this
weasel asleep. ledsoe was there the next day
with a search—warrant but I fancy he didn t
ﬁnd much. We ﬂitted before morning, and left
Jim behind to play the innocent. Set up again
at the Liberty street shop. Everything is love-
ly, and a neuter ame than ever aﬂoat.

A laugh passe between the two confederates,
loud enough to reach the ears of the prisoner
above. Yet there were other ears, nearer than
those of the entrap d boy. A spy was lurking
within easy eursho of the talkers, and taking
in with greedy ears every word that was said.

They rose and strode away at the end of their
conference, still talking over the subject of their
business.

Hardly had they gone ere the door of a closet
opened in the room they had just left and out
strode :lack Bledsoe, wit a grim smile on his
face.

“ Did it up neat that time.”he said to himself.
“But why the hlazesididn’t they keep up that
interesting oonfahi, There’s some few points I‘d
like to be clear on. So it’s a traveling shop he
keeps“ Flits to a new hole when the old one

ets too warm. Guess I'll have to hunt him up

11 Liberty street and make a new break for a
pile. But wouldn’t be be . wroth if he knew
that I had tracked him out to th s den! Now
for the boy. Where is he? Out of this he comes
or I’ll sell my hat.”

He slipped from the room, and began a cam

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
tious investigation of the premises into which
he had so shrewdly made his way.

Voices could still be heard below. Several

rsons seemed to be talking. Jack felt that be

ad taken on no fool of a. job. He was in n.
hornets’ nest where he ran a fair risk of getting
stung before he got safely out.

But he was the right bird for this game. He
was an old trailer, understood thoroughly the
art of hiding, and was never the man to get
scored at the shadow of danger.

Night was not for distant. Jack had a double
job to rform, to see, and to keep from being
seen. 6 must learn all he could before dark,
and trust to night for the rescue and escape.

Little dreaming of what was passing below,
Joe trod hisuarrow den like a. leopard in a cage.
He tried avain the narrow-patio] window, as
he had tried it ﬁfty times before. But it was
ﬁrmly fastened on the outside. And if he should
get out he would still be thirty feet above the
ground, a little too much for a comfortable
jump.

He turned impatiently away, and resumed
his uneasy stride.

It was growing dusky in the room, and shad-
ow outsxde. when the door at length opened,
an the keeper appeared, bearing with him a.
platter‘of food.

“ Here’s your grub,” he said, harshly? “ Fall
to, cha es, and make the most of it. on ain’t
worth he 00d victuals we are wasting on you.”

“ Then wouldn't waste ’em, if I was you,”
rejoined Joe coolly. “ Jist turn me adrift.
Kink me out, it you want, and call me a (lead—
beat. I won’t gnv no slack back."

“ S’pose not,’ answered the. man with a. grin.
“ But we can’t spare you' just now.”

“Then jlst stop yer everlastin’ tongue racket
and git outer this parlor. Didn’t ’vito you, as 1‘.
knows on.” _

The keeper withdrew without answering.

“Bet you I make Rome howl when I do git
out,” continued Joe, as he addressed himself to
his supper. “ I’ve got a peg or two in Skinny’s
cofﬁn.”

The meal was plain but abundant, and Joe
had a boy’s appetite. In fact, he had been bet-
ter ted in his prison than for a. long while out of
it. But the boy had been a free bird all his
life, and would yet have preferred a. bone in a
gutter than a king’s ban net in a risou cell.
Liberty is sweeter than t 9 best to that was
ever cooked.

“Hillo there!” he cried, abruptly dro ping
the last morsel of his meal. “ What s that .

A top on the window-pane had given him
this start. He hurried forward. There was a.
face at the pane. With genuine delight he recog-
m'z-Jd the countenance of Jack Bledsoc.

Joe would have ven vent to some dangerous

exclamation, but or the cautioning sign from.

his friend- The latter motioned for him to
raise the sash. Joe indicated in dumb show
that it was fastened outside. In a minute Jack
had found and removed the fastening, and the
window was open.

“Hush!” cautioned the scout. "Not a loud
word. I’m after you, Joe. Going to dig you

out of this shanty."

-“ Bully for you i" exclaimed the delighted boy.

v ‘d- .4 w.

 
“You kin snatch me out by the hair, it you
want. I won’t squeal.” * ‘

“ One moment. Will that chap be back after ‘
your empty dishes?"

“ Yes. He allers comes back.” I
“Then we must play dumb. Don’t let hi
see anything suspicious about you. Tap on the

glass when he’s gone."

The scout cautiously lowered the window, and
replaced its fastening. Then he crept away
from the dangerous spot. Joe looked out, but
could see nothing of him.

“ Like to be out there, I s’pose,” spoke the’
voice of the keeper behind him. ‘

Joe gave a guilty ’start. But he heedfully
kept his face to the window.

“ What’s the matter? I didn’t stick any pin
in you”, A

“ You mought as well, as come in a fellcr’s
room like a thief.”

“ What are you looking at? Got somebody
outside?"

“ The keeper walked up and looked out of the
window. .It gave Joe a surge of alarm, but he
boldly kept his place and his countenance.

“ You bet,” he answered with forced coolness.

“ Got 1). friend on the roof. Made up my mind
not to stay no longer. Goin’ to leave arter 'you
carry out them plates. Good-b , boss. I‘llguv
you a recommendation fur jai or, to yer next ,
place.”

The fellow lauvhed.

“You’rea cool little coon, by Josey! Kind
of like Iyou, boy, and won’t slit your weasand
except .gct orders from headquarters. What
the boss says has got to be done. ’

“Much ’bliged,” answered Joe, carelessly.
“ Got any twin brothers jest like you? Like to
trade off, it you have. Goodnight. You won’t
ﬁnd no provender left on them plates.”

He stretched himself on the cot with a. broad
yawn, though secretly very anxious that the
fellow should leave the Window. It was not
certain but that some trace of Jack‘s presence
might be visible. .

The jailer continued to stand there and look
out. A new scheme came into the boy’s shrewd
brain. He sprung from the cot, and began
a cautious movement toward the unlocked door.

" Hold there, cock of the walk! Can’t spare ,
you just yet.” ‘ ~ - ‘ 

Like a ﬂush, the keeper was across the ﬂoor
and bird his backvto the door.

“ Thought you forgot to lock it,” explained

oe.

“Did you? You'reavory thoughtful oun . '
monkey. But if you'd gone out thaty doe?-
you alight have come back with a bu’sted brain-
pan!

He gathered up the empty dishes, and went 5
scowling from the room. cunning smile came; p
on Joe’s countenance, as he heard the click at
the key in the lock. . ’ ' .'

“Fooled that boozer, anyhow. 'If he on’y,
knowedl Lawsee, woulan ther’ be war in the
camp!” I , ‘
‘ He waited for several minutes to avoid ,any
danger of a return. His ear was at the kc o
hole, but all seemed Quiet below. With a. n

of triumph he hurried across, and tapped li tly 5 V'  ‘
atthepane. -- J . 4...; r

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab. "

13'

 
The signal had to be repeated several times

. before the welcome face of the scout appeared.

' led their way.

)

‘ the open window, which was quic

He hastened to a sin open the window.

“I was utoar that cross-cut _customer was
here yet,” he explained. “I mugged his ugly
snout, and slipped buck. Wake up, Joel Got
any valuables you want to collect?”

“ Only got one vallyhlo,” answered Joe, with
a Emu , “ and thut’s What‘s inside my skin.
Calk’er to I'm a 3ewel myself; but I ain’t got
no diamonds.”

“ Come, thenl”

During. this interval the night had deepened.
It was qmtc dork outside, except for the faint
glow in the west. Joe slipped joyfully through

ly closed and
fastened by his shrewd friend.

“ No use leaving our track open,” he declared.
“ Follow me,‘ boy. and hold on like a cat. The
root’s steep and slippery.”

That wnsn fact; but J 00 was good at holding
on, and he scrambled after his active friend un-
til the ridge-polo was reached. Below them on
the opposite slope appeared a. dormer-window
like that they had 3‘ 2st lei t. A few seconds
brought the active pair down to its level. Slip-
ping round in front, Jack carefully inspected
the room inside.

“’The coast’s clear,“ he muttered. “Follow
me.

The sash was cautiously raised. In an Instant
he slipped through, and extended a hand to Joe.
The latter sprung through the opening with the
alertness of a cat.

“ So far, so good. But the worst isn't post
yet. Slip oil? your slices, boy. We must move
like mice.”

Joe quickly obe ed. Jack had his already
slung over his shou der. Helistened for several
minutes at the door before venturing further.

‘ Come,” he whispered. “ Step carefully.”

Along a. short Ipassage and to a ﬂight of stegs

a cautious as they would, t 8
Stairs, creaked frightfully under foot. Halting
at every step, they made their we. slowly down.

The ﬂoor below was reached. till the coast
was clear. The head of another stairway ap-
peared, leading down to the ground-ﬂoor. ,

, They hesitated for a. moment, listening acute-
ly, and striving to pierce the growing darkness
with their vision. .

At this instant there came a single loud,
ﬁerce cry of alarm from above, and the sound of
shuﬂiing feet.

, '- “The cat’s out!” exclaimed Jack. “The bird’s
,miSSed out of the cage. It’s Dick or devil now l”
“ Let go,” cried Joe. “ Guess we kin hoe our

V watery.” I

Ljown the stair: they went with quick bounds,
gringo. the outcry behind them grow louder and
er er. ,

 
CHAPTER VIII.
CAUGHT IN rm: ACT.
11‘ was certainly time to say good-by, 2mg

0.
The noise behind the fugitives increased. g

teps

could be heard running on the floor below. Down
the stairs they went, with quick bounds.

, “ This way,” exclaimed
door lies hereawaﬁ’ed ‘
_ They had reac

Jack.

D
the lower level, and were

“ The house-

 
hurrying across the hell below, when a door at
the side was ﬂung violently open, and a. man
rushed out before them.

“ What’s bu’sted l” he shouted.

“The boy’s escaped!
above.

“ Ay! ayl [’ve got him foull"

“ Have you?"

These words came from Jack Bledsoe, whose
fist fell like a sledge-hammer on the man‘s tem-
ple, hurling him in a. heap to the ﬂoor. ,

The'pursuer above was now at the ,head of
the stairs. Other steps and voices could be
heard.

“ Quick I” cried Jack. “There’s a. nest of

them” ,
yer hoes,” exclaimed the alert boy.

Stop him i” came from

a rim
“ Pelt on lively.”

Springing over the Erostrate man, in an in-
stant they reached an opened the door, and
:prung out to the high stone steps in front of the

ouse.

Joe was darting forward, when his experi-
enced comrade caught him by the collar and
dragged him hastily back. Leaping off the step
he crouched down in the gloom beside it, drag-
ging Joe down with him.

“ They know the ground better than we ” he
whispered. “They’ll nab us it we run. p
mum as a. mouse.”

“ You bet, hose-ﬂy.”

They had been none too soon. The next instant
several men came’ plunging hastily through the
open door, one of them cart in a lantern, whose
light fortunately did not f 1 into the dark cor—
ner beside the step.

Mr. Wetmore was among them, without his
coat, and his face inﬂamed with rage.

“ You’re a sweet jailer,” he began ﬁereel .

“ 0h, drop thatl” interru ted the Janet.
“ Catch them now and curse t em after. '
way. The can’t be far oﬂ’. We know the
ground. T ey don’t. We’ll fetch them." ~,

He plunged forward followed by the two
others. Across the ynr in front of the house,
and into the road beyond. Then they separated,
each taking a. dltferent direction.

In a. minute more they had disappeared in the
darkness, except where the lantern shed its dim
gleam from the distance. ,

“When in doubt playa. trum . That’s the
rule in whist, my boy,” laughed ack. “ Come
back into the house. It’s the last place they’ll
think of till they’ve Secured the country.
’Tnin’t the ﬁrst time I’ve played this neat
dodge." , V

“ You’re a oool”un." exclaimed Joe looking
with admiration at his companion. “fl’d never
thought on’t. Why, when they was standm‘
over us there my heart Swelled as big as a cab-
bage._ Lawsee wasn’t old Skinny wrothy! Jist
mad ’nough to ’ile me alive.” r

While these words passed they had risen and
entered the deserted house. It was lit up here.
and there with lamps, and Jack made a, hasty
survey of the lower rooms. ' '

“ Might pick up some tit-bit,” he said. I

“Jolly, if the hain’t ot a supper-tableau;
herei"exolaim Joeias ned the doorof
aroom.‘ “Filed ful Yet gru . And here I’ve
gone and swallowed my rations, and didn't

 
_ L Joe, the Chicago Arab. I V

 
leave a mite of appetite," he declared regret-

fnll . ‘

“£11958 I can ick a bit, for I’ve had no sup—
per,” returned ack. “ But let’s locate this
room ﬁrst.” *

He looked out of the windows to spy the lay
of the land beyond. Then he began a survey of
the room itself.

“Seems to me I‘ve seen that bit of apparel
before,” he said, pointing to a coat that hung
against the wall.

“ It’s old Skinny’s,” ejaculated Joe. “ Twigged
it at the taro bank that night.”

“Guess I’ll investigate, then. Ali’s fair in
war.”

He carefully examined the pockets of the
garment. Out of one of them he drew a thickly
folded paper. This he thrust into his pocket
without opening.

“ What’s in it will keep,” he said; “but my
appetite won’t. They can’t be back for ﬁfteen
mmutes at the earliest. I can stow away a
fair share of provenderjn that time.”

He coolly drew u a chair and commenced his
supper, while Joe ooked regretfully on, very
sorr that he had spoiled his appetite.

“ ell me all about this business,” remarked
Jack, as he continued to eat. “ I’ve only got
the tail end of it now. What put Wetmore
down on you? What put you down on him?
'Why are you spotting him? Let it out.”

Nothing loth, Joe hastily ran over the story
of his late adventures, his interview with Miss
Maud, her conﬁdential reVelation to him, and
the events which had succeeded.

“And I tell you she’sa bouncerl” cried Joe
with admiration. “ She’s as pretty as a full
blood rat-terrier, and that‘s the prettiest thing
I know on. She’s just stunnin’, now, on bet;
and not a bit 0’ stuck-up ’bout her. by, she
couldn’t use a college sport kinder nor she did
mez when I hadn’t nothiu’ on but rags."

‘ In love with her, eh, Joe?" laughed Jack.
“ Didn't know you had such a softs pot. There,
now, just all across to the front window, and
take a blin out. Look for that lantern. If
yougee a sign of it coming back, give me the
cue.

Joe hastened to obey, while Jack coolly cut
‘himseli another morsel of steak, and spread a
slice of bread thickly with rich country but

“I like to eat my meals in peace and com-
fort,” he remarked. “But if our friends want
to make a full supper, they’d best hurry back.”

The youthful spy meanwhile had stationed
himself at the front window, through which he
took a long observation of the surrounding
scene. It was now so dark that he could see but
a few yards from the house. No sign of the
lantern could be made out.

“They’re arter us it, I s’pose," he grinned.
“ Climbin’ fences, an tumbling over roots and
rocks. And wlin’. And cussin’. I bet old
Skinny’s cussin’. Lawsee, wouldn’t he cuss if
he twi ed all that’s goin’ on here? Never
heerd o sich a sell.”

He broke into a ﬁt of laughter that, for a

‘ minute or two, made him forget his business.
When he looked out again it was to get a start.
For there‘stood the man with the lantern. He

 
had just come round the corner of the house,
and was gazing in the Window at Joe ’with a
very surprised expression of countenance. It
would not have been easy to tell which was the
most startled of the two.

But in a second the boy recovered his wits,
and ran hastily back crying out: ‘

“ Slide’s the word, Jack Bledsoe. Cut and
run. They’re arter us."

At the same moment the front door was ﬂung
open, and steps” were heard in the passage.

Joe broke into the supper-room. Jack had
already taken the alarm, and was on his feet
and at the window, which he had taken the pre-
caution to leave up.

“Quick, Joe! After me!” he shouted, as he
cleared the sill with an alert leap and landed on
the green lawn outside.

Joe ran around the table and across to the
window. A chair stood in his way, which he
ﬂung hastily aside. He gained the windowH
leaped like a cat to the sill, in a doubled up
attitude, ready for another leap outside.

‘But at the same instant, with‘ a singing whiz,
a short, heavy club whirled across the room,
from the hand of a man at the doorway, and
took the unlucky boy square on the back of the
head, tumbling him like a leg from the sill to
the ground below. He fell dead as a stone, all
his senses knocked out of him by the hard blow.

Jack by this time was thirty paces away. He
heard the dead sound of the blow behind him,
but did not dream what it was, as he ran swiftly

on.

“Come, lad,” he cried, deeming that Joe was
close behind him. “Keep an eye on my top-
knot, and run like blazes. If we can hit that
piece of woods we are safe.”

On he ran, jumping a fence before him like an
athlete. Five minutes more at his repid pace
and the skirt of the woodland was gained.
Now for the ﬁrst time did he pause, and look
behind him, surprised at the silence. r .

To his astonishment, no one was visible,
neither the boy nor his pursuers. But it was
impossible to make out anything at twenty
paces. Li hts were visible at the house, and
glimpses o something moving, but what it was
could not be distin ruished.

“ Joe,” he crie cautiously. , “Where are
you boy? Joel” His voice grew louder.
“Where are ou lazying? Hey? This way,
youngster!” is tones now rung out loud and
sharp. “Hillel Stir your stumps.”

No answer came. All remained deathly «
silent. A suspicion of the truth began to cross
Jack’s mind. .. . .

“By the great grizzly, I believe they’ve. \
nabbed the lad, after all. It’s too confounded
bad if they have. A hasty supper and a scrap
of paper don’t pay for the risk I‘ve taken.”

He seated himself disconsolatel on the trunk
of a fallen tree, and waited dev pments, using
his eyes and ears with intent scrutiny. Five,
minutes passed. Ten minutes. ’Npthing ap-
peared, either to eyes or ears. . i . ~ *’

V“ They’re not chasing me. that’s a sure go,”
he muttered. ,“They’ve nabbed the be , or I‘
know nothing about woodcraft. There s, noth-
ing for it but to scout back and smell out the
lay of the land.” - ’

 
. mi ht happen in his favor.

. :They were empty. The


Joe, thec‘mcaga Arab. ‘ ' , , iv

, “.14”

 
With the caution of a. trained scout he com—
menced a reverse movement toward the house
which he had so lately left.

“Food that I‘was, he muttered. “ I trusted
too much to luck and chance, and to a boy’s
eyesi ht. it wasn‘t the judgment of a scout.
But ’11 have the lad again, or know the reason

wh .”

, rim long he had come near the house. His
movements now grew more cautious. No one
was visible. Everything was still. He neared
the window from which he had lea ed. It was
closed, and the curtain drawn insi e. A faint
sound, as of voices, came to his ears.

He stooped down and felt the grass below, as
if with the fancy that the boy might be lying
there still. Some moisture wet his ﬁngers}

“ The dew is falling ver early,” he muttered.

“ Or is it dew? It feels c ammy.” ,
‘ Takings match from his pocket he struck it
on the wall of the house, and examined his ﬁn—
gers by the ﬂuttering light. They were red! It
was blood, not dew, that had wet theml

And there, on the green grass, red spots were

.visible.

J ack stood aghast, gazing at his ﬁnger in hor—
ror till the match went out.

“ Dew l" he muttered. “ It is the dew of mur-
derl They have killed the boy, and I are re-
sponsible for his death 1”

What was to be done? Should he seek aid?
No. The boy might be only wounded. He must
watch the house during the night. Something

he hours passed slowly by as he continued his
long vigil, seated beneath a shed near the rear of
thehouse. Yet no sound came to his alert ears.
Everything was quiet. There was for a few
minutes a movement of lights in the upper rooms.
[Then they too went out, and deep darkness fell
over all.

Midnight came and passed. In spite of him—
self a. doze fell upon the senses of the solitary
watcher. He was but half asleep, yet his formel
vigilance wasrelaxed. Andnow, in his slumber,

, there came to him a sound asof carriage-wheels,
, and at low voices. ’

It was a minute before he could throw off his
lethargy, and regain his senses. The sound. of
wheels was still faintly audible, in the distance,
but be imagined it was but an echo of his dream.
He heard no voices, and no signs of life were
visible about the solitary house. He fell again

into the doze from which he had but half-awak-

e . _

Day. dawned at last. With its ﬁrst gleam in
» the east the patient watcher was on his feet, and
cautiously observing the house. He made his

» way with heedful steps to the front. To his sur-

._prise~the door 3th wide open. No living thing

mummies ~

He boldly penetrated, steppin with noiseless
care. ' Eis'anxzety made h on re all danger.
Room after room was entered and examined.-
No person I was to be seen. He ventured up the
stairs, The doors of the u permoms stood open.

. . case was utterly de-
serted. Notengu of its late inhabitants was
visible except that red witness on the grass, be‘

r I torejwhich the scout again stood, 'witbai'eeung
of deep horror in his brain.

, CHAPTER IX.
COPPERING A BET.

“ I’LL tell you this, Miss Weatherly, your un-
cle is a confounded fraud. Those are strong
words to use to a lady, but they express my
feelings.” '

It was Jack Bledsoe who spoke. He was
seated in e. richly-furnished apartment, in the
presence of Maud Weatherly, whose beautiful
face was ﬁxed on him with eager excitement.
But J uck was as cool as it he had been in a
western stock» “oral, or camping out on the ﬂai-
rie. One wou d have thought that he bad on
brought up to this kind of thing.

, “ I fear you are right , Mr. Bledsoe. But tell
me what you mean. I? am burning to know.
I am deeply interested in his movements, for
certain good reasons.” I»

“ I know. The boy told me all. I am Sorry
that I cannot speak at present, Miss Weatherly,
but I have given a pledge. But you can trust
your fortune in my hands. The man is a villain,
and I am bound to unmask him.”

“ And the boy? Little ragged J no?”

“In serious danger I fear. He saved my
life. I will not forget him. If any harm comes
to him it will go hard with the man that does it.
I at}!!! 71301: one of the kind that it is safe to play
wit .

The young lady’s eyes beamed with admira-
tion as she ﬁxed them on the face of the cod.
looking and self-poised man before her. here
was that in Jack’s expression which made her
content to trust her luck fully in his hands.

“ Yet I ho ie you will run no dangerous risk,

“Mr. Bledsoe, ’ she pleaded.

“ Don’t you break your sweet heart about
that,” said Jack, with a laugh that had a reck-
less ring. “ We have risk for lunch and danger
for supper out W'est. I‘ll pull throu b all right,
never fear. But I must be away. on will re-
member our compact?" I ' - ‘ r

“ I shall not forget.” '

“ Good-b , then. And trust me." 2

“ I do, r. Bledsoe.”

She held out her hand, which Jack clasped in
a strong pressure. Her eyes were ﬁxed en him
with a peculiar eofmess that made the heart of
the bold fellow- beat like a trip—hammer in his
breast. As he went along the street the mem-
or of that look haunted him. .

ask had some important business in hand
that day, which he proceeded to put through.
Of this the most important was to hunt u a
young gentleman whose acquaintance be ad
made during his gambling adventure. He fan-
cied this person/might know the locality of the
Liberty street den, and be able to introduce him
there. Jack bad business in his mind’s eye.
I He was succmful in both, particulars. He
found his friend, who proved to be well posted,
and promised to introduce him that night to the 1
Liberty street saloon. . , 3 ' '

“ And I may ask you to back me," said Jack.
“ I’ve got a triﬂe of sport laid out." ' .,

“ I am your man. I am down enthuse sharks
as much as you can be.” . .

Within the saloon in question, at midnight .
that night, an activegema; was in egress. It '
was a room much like that town oblwa have ‘

 
already introduced the reader, and was fur.

w. .

 
18

nished with the gambling implements which
hiul been so hastily removed from the corner
1) ace.

Wetmore was resent, now dressed in a suit
of blue, with a ashy diamond pin, and a gold
watch-chain that looked heavy enough to
strangle an ox. He wore the heavy mustache as
a disguise as before, and his usually red face had
been given a pnllid hue by some preparation.
Only a keen e e for faces could have recognized
in this sporting fare banker the quiet, sober
merchant, whose soul seemed to be buried by
dag in his coffee-bags. .

n his face, however. was an ichoncealed
trace of anxiety, as if something had gone seri-
ously wrong with him.

A score of players were resent, many of
them the some persons who ad taken part in
the game at the other den. Just as the hour of
midnight struck, into the saloon walked Jack
Bledsoe and his friend, the former wearing an
expression of cool energy that meant business.

Wetxnore, who was standing near the taro-
tahle, started as they approached, »while his
eyes were fixed on Jack‘s face with a look of
malianant hatred.

“ 5idn’t expect to see me,” said Jack, with a
sarcastic smile. “ But we had such aneat little
game the other night, that I thought a second
dose of the same medicine wouldn’t hurt.”

“ There’s the table, open to all with the cash
to plank down,” answered Wetmore.

‘ Suppose one hasn’t the cash?”

“Then there’s the door. We have no room
here for beggars.”

“Very good, Mr. Oliver—that’s the name you
sail under I believe—but I have something that
may take the place of cash. Do you recognize
this interesting document?”

He drew from a'n inner pocket a closely fold-
ed, paper. A statement of its contents was
written on the outside. This he held up before
the eyes of the angry banker, whose spleen
turned to instant consternation. He turned
white as chalk, and fell back a pace Then he
sprung forward and made a hasty clutch at the
document.

“Not so fast, my hearty,” said Jack, quickly
withdrawing it. . “Can’t spare it yet. Just
wanted to give you a peeﬁ.”

“ Hand it over, or by seven I’ll know why!
The paper was stolen from me, gentlemen, by
this rascall thief. Return it, I 3;}, or by—”

’ “Save al that wind, Oliver. on may have
sou for; supper. and you’ll need your breath to
coo it.

“It is mine, I say, and have it I will, by good
or bad 1”

“ You acknowledge it’s yoursll That's one
good oint. Shall I read it to these gentlemen,
or tel them where and how I got it?’

The cowed yet furious banker glared round
him [or some of his backers, with a growing in-
tention to make an assault on the cool Western-

> er, and take the paper from him by force.-

“None of that, my lively sport,” cried Jack,
cooll , as he divined the intention. “ I’ll strike

, than an that lays a hand on me. Come. I’ll
i giVe you a chance. Sup
est document at taro.
and me.» V .

I bet this inter-
t’s worth ten thou-

yc'Ioe, the Chicago Arab.

  
‘6

“ Good i” cried the banker, “ I’ll cover your
bet. Ten thousand on the ace a ainst that in- ,
teresting paper.” And he hasti y counted out
the heavy sum demanded from the contents of a.
well-ﬁlled pocketbook, and signaled the dealer
to proceed.

“ I copper the bet,” said Jack, quietly.

To this the banker demurred, but ﬁnally
yielded.

Jack Bledsoe’s keen eyes watched the ﬁngers
of the dealer, as they slowly lifted card by card
from the box, and laid them successively to the
right and left. I ,

All other pie?y ended in the room. As the
cards came slow y from the box, a dozen sharp
eyes aided J ack’s to detect a foul draw.

‘ Soon an impulsive shout came from the circle
of spectators. The ace had appeared, and fall~
on on the left-hand ile.

“ Guess I’ll rake own that little heap,” said
Jack, coolly, as he grasped the heap of bank—
notes, and thrust them, with the document, into
an inner pocket.

 
Way in which you may win the document. Step
aside here. This is a private matter.”

Wetmore followed him out of the throng of
gamesters who were busil debating the event
which had just happens with very serious
doubts as to the honesty of the game. ,

The two men gained a nook where they could
converse unheard. , ,

“ What have you done with that boy—Jolly
Joe, as he calls himself?”
' Wetmore gave a guilty start.

“ I know nothing about'the boy,” he hastily
answered. ‘

“ You liel you hold him prisoner. He was
wounded in your hands. He may be dead, for
all I know. I he is, by all that’s good, you shall
answer for his murder 1” ,

“ It is false! He is not dead,” was the hasty

re 1 . x ,

R go much the better for you, then. I want
that boy. Iwill make an even trade of this
document for his body—alive and well, mind
you. If he is hurt, you know the consequences.”

“ Han the young ratl I don’t want him. Put
the ten t ousand you have just won to the paper
and he is yours."

“Not much! That was fair plunder, and I
intend to freeze to it. The paper for the boy.
811%th word, and quick 1”

etmore hesitated, and seemed lost in sell- ,
reﬂection for several minutes. There was a look
of furtive cunning in his eyes.

“ He is many miles from here,” he at length
replied. “ Do you know the'village of Grafton, 7
in Ohio?”

H Yes.”

“ The boy‘ is there, under career my agent.

' He is safe and well. I will give you an order for

his delivery in exchange for that document. I
am trusting to your honor.”

“ You have my word. Jack Bledsoe never
went back on it yet. Deal uare with me, and
I’ll deal square with you. T t’s as goodssif 1t ,.
was sworn.” , , ' 

“Come here to my desk. I will write the ~‘
order and give you the necessary directions. ‘

 
take your Word of honor, Mr. Bledsoe. '

 
“ And, now,” added Jack, “ there is another . i"

 
i _ and ’tain’t in your boots to keep me here.

 
Joe. the [Chloe‘qu Arab. _

1e

 
“Fool!” he said to himself, as he led to the
desk. “You have put your neck in the noose.
"Beware! If you fall into my plot, I’ll pay your
score, as I am a living man. ’

CHAPTER X.
A TOUGH JOB or WORK.

I Jamar JOE was graduall becoming his old
self_ agom. He was not (lea . He was not even
seriously hurt. But he had lain insensible for
a period whose length he knew not, and he had
come to his senses with a racking pain in his
head that made him for the time wish he had
been killed outright.

He found himself, as before, in a. locked room,
though a ver different one from that in which
he bud been ormerly inlprlSUDed. It contained
much more furniture; the ﬂoor was carpeted,
and there were some cheap ictures on the wall.

The room had but a sing e window, and this
was closed outside by green blinds, which were
Immoveble. and which permitted nothing to be
seen but the sky overhead. They had evidently
been firmly Secured on the outside.

. ut Joe was too miserable to trouble himself
- about anythm of this kind, or even to eat any
of the ,food t at was brou; ht him. He lay
groaning on his couch. heedless of where he was
or of who was about him. I f

, 1 Two daysslowly passed “way. On the morn-

,lng of the third ‘heawoke feeling like a new-
mude b0 . The hurt in his head was still. pain—
ful, but a had got rid of that miserable feeling
of si ness and depression, and was as spry in
his limbs again as a young colt.

With this return of health came back all his
old independence and love of liberty. He

 quickly made a study of his prison, a thing in

which he had taken no interest before.

 “ Tight as wax,” he said. “ Ain’t a hole you
, eonlcl. €11; water through. But it old Skinny
. thinks ’m a-gom’ to stay here I bet he’s goiu’

limo hemok in.’

When the keeper came with, his breakfast Joe
for the ﬁrst time observed him. It was the
sa‘rne stalwart fellow as before.

game back to yerself, youngster, have
yo‘u?’ he demanded. “ I thought you were tOO
_ thick—skulled to be toppled over with a clothes
pm. Got your appetite back? I’m tired of
misting good viotuals on you.”
, ' Don’t git in no brain fever ‘bout that,” re
torted doe. r “ I’m goin’ fur that grub. Soon’s
. you 551; tired 0’ feedin‘ me, let it out. I'll tod-
, (11?; ou’t see nomerstoyin’ here.”
'ymw go‘vahen we gm {eddy to let1 on go,
‘ _. . - on won a '
my} Esme” mind.” I p y your 0 trick
’ Just yoa seeit I don"t hammer outanow
on,” returned "Joe. “ I ain’t goin’ to stay here,
r 7 u. , L 
_ ‘ ‘0!!! gist yet, though. Want tofeed up fu’st.
 r ., ll let you know, so’s you kin say good-by."
_ _' The follow laughed and left the room, while

._ eggped to his breakfast with a powerful
V r,“Hethiuks-I’m-funnin’,” he muttered. “. But
{in n: solid aiwest. {didn't ex turthis room.
 he soin‘ to sit. _ Wander meme

 
Jack Bledsoe. Mebbe they’ve nabbed him too,
and got him salted somewhere ’bout this
shanty.” '

His breakfast concluded the alert boy took a.
closer survey of his prison, examining its every ’
nook and corner with the sharpness of an ex—
pert. HIS scrutiny resulted in his ﬁnding,
among some rubbish on the shelf of a. oloset,e
broken-bladed pocket—knife. All the small
blades were gone, and the large, blade was
broken in half. But the part which remained
seemed strong and shar .

“Jolly papersl” crie the ho , dancing a jig
in his delight. “I’ve hearn tel 0’ folks gittin‘
outer prison with a ten nny nail, or a piece 0’
hoop iron. Wonder if I can chop my way
out with this knife? Groin’ to try, anyhow.” .

Armed with his new weapon he made a fresh
study of the situation, The door was solid.
There were no panels he could cut out. The
window blind could not safely be tampered
with. There remained the walls and the ﬂoor.

The ﬂoor was the safest' as his work would
be bid with the carpet. ﬁe trod it carefully,
feeling for a soft or yielding spot.

At one point, near the window, it seemed to
give beneath his tread. Joe kneeled dcwn and
thrust his hand under the ed 6 of the carpet.
ghe ﬂoor boards felt soft an crumbly to his

n ers.

noise admonished him. He sprung up and
hid the marks of his work. It was the keeper-
returnin r for the breakfast dishes.

He has hardly retired from the room before
the eager boy was again at his task. With the
aid of the knife-blade he removed the carpet
tacks for some distance, and threw it back on
the ﬂoor.

“Guess I got a good six hours ’fore that
gulnot pokes his snout in again,” he muttered.
“ Now, let’s see what’s aﬂoat."

The point he had felt in the ﬂoor now lay re—
vealed before his eyes. He saw at once the
cause of its peculiar feel. One of the boards,
for the space of a foot or two 11: length, had
been attacked by dry rot. It was evident it
could be easily cut.

Joe at once commenced o rations. The half
blade that remained prove to be shar . It out
readin into the yielding wood. He gun his
operations at a point where the row of nails
showed thesituation of the joist.

It was necessary to be very careful. Any
noise might give the alarm to watchful ears be-
low. Yet the keen knife made its way slowly
through the wood. cutting out a narrow chip.
In” less than an hour‘s work he had reached the
joist below. The ﬁrst part of his task was done.

He now attacked the some board at the next .
joist, as indicated by the nails. The dry rot e;-
tended to this point, and he was not long in
making his way through. “ _ _, _

‘ He had thus out out a section of the ﬂoor-
board of a. foot in length nudbbetWeen the rows
of nails. so that nothing holds-t but its grooved _
connection to the adjoining boards. . - ,-

A few long‘outsof the knifesettled this. Using,
the blade on a‘ pry he lifted, the piece'or board
from its place in, the ﬂoor. -- / ,

Joe nixed and listened intently. He rose
and 1h a his ear at the keyhole or the door. It

 
20

Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
would not payto be caught at his labor just
now.

All was silent. He returned. Before him
was the yawning cavity in the ﬂoor, bounded
by the two joists, a foot apart. Beneath them
lay the lath and plaster of the ceiling of a lower
room.

Joe scratched his head as he looked down into
the hole.

“ Wonder what they keep down there?" he
asked himself. “ Don’t want to jump outer the
fryin’—pnn into the ﬁre. Allers best look fu’st
and jump afterward."

There was one we. to ﬁnd out. Carefully
scratching away the p aster he soon had a look-
out hole excavated through it, of the size of his
little ﬁnger.

This gave him a narrow glimpse of the room
below. Yet there was nothing to be seen but a
small space of the ﬂoor, a chair and a corner of
a table.

While he looked a man crossed the room,
treading heavily. Only his arm came within
the boy’s range of sight.

Joe drew back as quickly as if he was himself
in full view. He closed up his sight-hole with a.
Signs of the plaster, in fear lest it might be seen

m below.

“All hunk it,” said the resolute boy. “If
that chap th I) 3 this chicken’s goin’to stay in
his hen-coop. he’s of! his eggs the wu'st way.
Jolly Joe ain’t nobody's fool.’

Bo rocommenced his labor. But his task had
grown more difﬁcult. The next board was
sound and solid, and the broken blade m
slowly made its way down into the hard w .

But time and perseverance can accom lish
much. The blade at length touched the oist.
Another cut was made.

“Guess that’ll do fur a morniu’s work,”
thought Joe. “ Must be gitlin’ on to grub time.
Lawsee, wouldn‘t that coon be wild if he knowed
how I was sp ilin’ his real estate! Guess I’ll look
up till arter dinner.”

Carefully replacing the board in its place,
after sweeping the chips into the cavity, e rs-

laid the on t and stuck the tacks into their

old holes. 6 then hid the weapon, for fear of
a pomible search.
“Prime as wax—works," ejaculated Joe.

“ That’s 11512 the steadicst job I ever ut throu h,
and I calkerlate I've ’arned my inner. he
sooner old nincompoop totes along the grub the
better I'll like it. I s’pose he’d otch me extry
rations it he knowed what I've been ’bout.”

‘He had not long to wait. His dinner appeared.
Joe was as innocent as a lamb.
, “ ’Tnin’t comt’able to keep a little chap as never
done nothin’ locked up this-a-way. Ain’t you
goin’ to let me out mister?”

“Can’t aﬂord to part with you yet. You’re
too ood~lookinz.”

“ ou mought let me go. My mammy’s want?

in’ me home. ,
" Let her want. *Don’t hurt our feelings.”

V “ You’re a jolly dead-beat, that’s what you
are," cried Joe. ‘ It I was big enough I’d punch
your ugly snout.”

Es ﬂung himself on the bed with a. great show

of testiness.
‘ _ I The man laughed as he turned away.

 
“ If I got you between my thumb and ﬁnger,
little chap, you’d squeal like a pig in a gate.”

Joe made no answer. He had other business
on hand than to cbaﬂ with this man.

Dinner was not fairly over ere he was at it
again, industriously chopping away at the hard
wood of the floor. By night he had a hole big
enough to let his body through.

His operations were brought to an end by the
sound of voices in the room below. Removing
the plug of plaster, he looked heedfully down.
Below him sat a man whom he had not before
seen—a bullet-howled fellow with a very prom-
inent nose, which was all that Joe could make
out from his bird’s‘eye view,

There was another, out of his line of sight,
but whose voice was that of the keeper. Joe
carefully scraped the hole a little larger with
the edge of his knifeblade. Be listened intent-
ly to their conversation, every word of which
came to his ears. I

“ To-night.” said the keeper. in a. tone of deep
signiﬁcance, “he comes, but he goes not. The
ca e is ready for the bird.”

Jack Bledsoe; was that the name?"

Joe started violently. What did this mean?
Was his friend threatened with some deadly
peril? The boy clinched his ﬁsts signiﬁcantly.

 
CHAPTER XI.
AN ASTONISHED ram or ROGUES.

NIGHT had fallen when Jack Bledsoe descend-
ed trom the train at the thriving village of
Grafton, in western Ohio. He looked curiously
around him. The place was a very pretty one,
and he gave an approving nod‘as he passed up
its main street in search of the hotel.

“Guess it will do. Supper ﬁrst and then
business. I don’t more than half-believe in that
ugly rogue who sent me here; but if he tries to
work a traverse on Jack Bledsoe, he’ll ﬁnd he's
got a wide-awake baby to handle!”

The supper ended, Jack started out afresh.
havin ﬁrst got directions to the place he wished
to see . It was now quite dark. but for such
light as came iron) the stars.

“ A wise man would wait for daylight, I
reckon,” he said to himself; “but i ain’t a wise
man. I’m one of those headstrong idiots that
like to put my jobs through on the run, and I’m
not going to give that confounded'sharp time to
lay traps for this possum. Got two obs in
hand: one is to get Jolly Joe out of lim , the
other is to hit the right side of Maud Weather-
ly. Somehow I think I’m getting spoony on
that young lady.”

The place he sought was outside the village
proper. ‘It was a brick house of no great size,
that stood alone in an open spaceo from the
line of the main street. '

J ack took a sideasquint at this mansion, and
felt in his pistol-pocket.

I “ Looks seedy. Best, have my persuader] _
ready. Maybe it’d be wise to go back and get
a. Witness. Guess not, though. Beckon Icon
lay my swath.” ’

A heavyirat-tat at the door of the house
brought no immediate answer. It had to be re- .
peated before the door opened. , ' , ,'

There appeared a sour-faced man, holding a. .

 
somebody if they try it.”

Joe. the Chicago Arab.

21

 
lamp, who kept the door half-closed, as if afraid
of intruders. '

“ Guess this is the diggings I’m after." queried
Jack. "Phil Brady ismy game. Don’t he hang
out here?"

“ That depends. What is your business?"

“That’s my business." The impulsive West-
cruer pushed. open the door, and entered in the
face of the scowling fellow. “ Where I come
from we don’t keep men dancing their heels at
the door. Chaps of my size and shape like to
hold their confabs inside."

“Excuse me," said the man, with a surly at-
tempt at apology. “ There are so many tramps
around that we’ve got to be keerful. What
name did on say?” _

“ Idon t know as I said any. But when I
mount my handle I sail under the name of Jack
Bledsoe."

A quick change of expression passed over the
fellows fnce, which Jack did not fail to mark.

“So,” he said to himself. “ He expects me
then? He has been warned. I must look sharp
for thorns.”

The man led to a room on the second ﬂoor,
placed the lamp on a table, and remarked:

“ Make yourself comfortable for a minute. I
will hunt Phil. He is somewhere about the
place."

He quickly left the room. Jack was alone.
He seated himself. drew his pistol, and quietly
examined its condition.

“ I don't uite relish the lay of the land," he
muttered. ‘ Things look sulphury. I may have
use for this persuader."

A peculiar sound attracted his attention. He
started and looked keenly around him. Nothing
was visible. Some fragments of plaster fell on
the ﬂoor at his feet. J ack sprung up and backed
himself into a corner of the room.

“ Are the dogs working up a game on me?” he
muttered. “Blast their ugly pictures I’ll salt

"Beware 1” spoke a cautious voice. “ The ’ve
got it laid ag‘in’ you.” y

The voice came from the ceiling. Jack‘s keen
eyes quickly traversed it, but he saw nothing
except what-seemed a slight break in the plaster
on the opposite side of the room.

Ere he could investigate further the door of
the room panned, and the man he had already
seen enter , followed by Joe’s burly jailer.

“ Want to See me?” he asked, shortly.

,“ Phil Brady?"

“ That’s my name."

“ Then ou’re my man. Suppose we come to
anchor. ’ve ot a triﬂe of business.” Jack

to a chair, and motioned the

i helped glans]
others beseated as coollyas if he was the

owner, of the house. " I jist dropped round
here to take aim of the r t
um hole.” rge a that you keep in
“ What do you mean?"
show of surprise.
“ Read that, and it may save words.”
He passed over the note he had received from

asked Brady, with a

ma Rambler.
. , ,
“ BecYeso¥nize that signature?

“Thenreadtheoonten 811de etdown
tom, _ s. s,

 
Brady read it with great care. Hiseycs wan—
dered furtivel from the aper to the face of his
associate. A ooh pnssedp between them, which
Jack did not fail to notice.

" According to this 1 am to hand over to you
a. certain boy named Joe Jorum.”

“ Just so.’ ,

“ And in return you are to give me a. certain
document, here named.”

“ That’s the size of it.”

“ Ver well. As you know so much I will
acknow. edge that I have the boy in charge. I
am ready to obey this order. Pass over the
document, and the boy is yours.”

“ Pass over the boy, and the document is

ours.”

“At least show me that you have the docu-
ment. 1 nm here in a position of trust, I can
run no risks.”

“ My word was enough for the master, I
must show my papers to the man,” laughed
Jack. “All right, my cove. I do my work
straight, but I don’t blame you for caution.
Here is the passport.”

He drew the folded paper from his pocket,
and held it up before Brady’s eyes, so that he
could read what was written on the outside.

“Now, my friend, you have had your sight.
I demand mine. Tit for tat is the ame.”

“Tat for tit, I fancy,” cried rady. as he
darted forward with an unexpected ‘sprmg, and
snatched the document from ack’s hand.

The latter was taken b surprise by the sudden
and rapid movement. t was a second before
he recovered his wits. Then with aquick action
he drew his revolver and covered his assailant
with it.

“ That was neatly done, my noble sport ” he
declared, “ but if you don't ass that ack
quicker than the wink of a fleas eye I’ll show
you a little circus trick we have out West.
You want to be posted in the way we startour
grave ards.”

Ja ’s coolness had returned; but in the mo-
men ry excitement he had failed to notice the
movements of the second man. At this instant
a heavy cane, ﬂung by this man, took him in
the pistol hand, With so smart a stroke that, the
weapon was buried from his ﬁngers half—across
the room, while his hand was benumhed by the ,
shock.

Ere he could recover, the two men ﬂung them-
selves u on him. _,

Only is left hand was fit for duty, and with
that he struck out so shrewdly that one of his
assailants toppled over to the ﬂoor.

But ere he could repeat the blow Brady grap~
pied with him, grasped him in his strong arms, ‘
and bore him down backward by sheer weight.

The other fellow was quickly on his feet a in,
his face inﬂamed by rage, a long-bladed ife
in his hand. «. , -

“ Pinion him, Phil, and I’ll settle him. There's
cash in it. And dead men tell no tales."

Jack struggled ﬁercely, but he had been taken
at‘a disadvantage, and is right hand and wrist
were lamed. , ‘

He was borne to the door and held immovw
ble in the powerful grip of his antagonist.

The'other fellow sprung furiously forward,
brandishing the murderous-looking weapon.

 
28

A

It looked bad for the daring Westener at thét

moment.
save him.

“Tip him over, and I’ll settle his hash.”

His words were lost in a cracking sound
that seemed to come from above. It was fol~
lowed by a. loud crash, and a. considerable sec-
tion of the ceiling came dOWn in a mass, square
upon his head, hurling him to the ﬂoor with its
weight.

“Oh, Jerseyl I’m killed! I’m blinded l” he
yelled, writhing away as if in mortal pain.

‘ Ah! I’m a dead man i”

“ What in the blue blazes is that?” screamed
Brady. “ By thunder, the job has got to be put
through, if the whole sky falls!”

He snatched the knife dropped by his unlucky
associate, and while he held his risoner down
with one hand he raised the dead y weupon aloft
with the other.

“ Say your prayers, for your time’s up.”

Jack shut his eyes involuntarily. Death
seemed staring him in the face.

But just at the instant that the muscular arm
of the murderer seemed about, to fall, a heuv
object shot down through the air, and struc
him below the elbow with such force, that the
arm doubled over like a hinged stick. The bone
was broken. ‘

“ Hoy for our side! That’s Jolly Joe's signs-
toorl" came a. youthful voice in shrill accents
from above,

Brady, with a savage curse, pressed yet more
firmly on his prisoner, and with indomitable
{luryig‘cached for the fallen knife with his left

um. .

.But down through the gaping hole in the ceil-
ing extended a boy’s legs. They were followed
by his body, and Joe dropped through the aper-
ture, landing square on the shoulders of the
bully villain below. -

“ Lord save us!" he yelled in agony and
fright. “ What's that?”

“ Thunder and lightnin’. and blue blazes to
the back of’t,” answered Joe. “ Fling him oﬂ‘,
Jack. Thought I‘d drop down and see how
things was goin’ on. Toss off the galOot.”

J ack, no loss astonished than his villainous

' assailants, hastened to take advantage of this

diversion. The groaning fellow above him was
tossed aside with a, quick writhe of his agile
frame, and he sprung nimbly to his feet.
I Brady had been half-crushed by the heavy
weight of the falling boy, and lay groaning in
puli n, his broken arm dropping useless by his
an 5.

His confederate was yet yelling in a any, and
clutching at his eyes, which had been lled with
a sh0wer of the falling plaster-dust. .

‘ “ Where under the sun did you come from?”
asked J uck, as he hastened to regain his pistol.

“ Dropped down through the ceilin’. Ginernlly
come that way when t estaiis ain’t handy. Sent
a basket 0’ plaster, a d a hunk 0‘ ﬂoor lumber
ahead, so’s not to take nobody by. surprise.
Hope I ain’t hurt nobody’s feelin’s.”

‘ You imp of the devil l" yelled Brady. “ I’ll
kill you yet for this, as sure as I’m a living
maul” .

“ Shot up yer speakin‘-trumpet, and save it

It seemed as if only a miracle could

Joe, the Chicago Arab.

contempt. “What’s you foolln" ’bout, Jack 4

Bledsoe? Where’s yer dokyment? Them gem
boats didn’t lay no fair game, and I reckon it’s
yourn yitl hem let me out? Nary time. Not
much let ’bout that. Go for the dokyment. He
stuck it in his coatpocket. I was looking down
through a little peep-hole I had, and seen the
whole biz.”

Thus admonished, Jack hastened to recover
his lost paper from his groaning foe, who was
past making any resistance.

“ Now let’s git. Guess these chaps ’11 come to
arter a while.’

Jack looked back on his discomﬁted foes.
Brady was completely laid out. His assoointe
was crawling away in search of water to wash
his smarting eyes.

“ Reckon you’ve had your rations," remarked
J ack. “ I’ll send somebody up from the village
to look after you.”

“Much I would.” exclaimed Joe, bitterly.
“ Arter the’r tryin’ to kill you, and keepin’ me
locked up in a rat—hole.
blind puppy dog. Slide’s the word, afore they
rig up some other contraption.”

“No further four from them. The starch is
all out,” answered Jack, as he followed the in-
di out boy from the room. Jolly Joe had de-
ci edly played the trump card in the game. ,.

CHAPTER XII.
TELEGRAPEING AND RAILROADING.

THE business establishment of Wetmore,
Brown & Co. was in full activity. Salesmen
were bustling about, porters shifting heavy
packages, customers coming and going.

Among them walked up and down the senior
member of the ﬁrm. Mr.

vain to hide.

He strode about the store like an unquiet
spirit, ﬁnding fault in a dozen quarters, and
making evarybody as miserable as himself.

“ Bet he had horsemails for breakfast, and one
of them has stuck crossways in his gizzard,”
growled one of the vexed salesmen.

At this momenta telegraph messenger boy
hustled into the store. ,-

“ A message for Mr. Wetmore," he announc-

“ All rightl” exclaimed the merchant, snatch-
ing it eagerly. “You need not wait, boy. If
there is any answer, I will send it to the ofﬁce?

The lad went whistling away, while Wetmore‘
hurried to a secluded portion of the store with
his telegram, as if he wished to avoid observa-
tion.

He was wise in doing so. for a marked ex»

ression of disma , rage and fright, came upon
his face while rea ing it.
his lips, mingled with a burst of hot fury.

He cast his eyes again over the telegram, ,I

while his ylsage grew pallid. Its purport was
the followmg: ' _ , .
“The game’s up, and the ban bursted. The cubs
are loose. Look out for on I. I’m settled with
0. broken arm and a. spr ned back. Tom is blinded
with plaster. They have salted our maukersh It is
your turn next. Beware. . Pun. Bum."

 
" to skeer frogs cuts: the ponds,” answered J 06, in

The discomﬂted merchant crushed "the paper

‘r.

I wouldn’t send ’em a‘

Wetmore, with an,
anxious look upon his face which‘he sought in

A harsh 'oath rose to ,

in bi
hisl
H

of ti
mot

 
Joe. the Chicago Arab.

 
23

 
ck » in his hand, while a volley of curses broke from
,m his pale lips. .
his ,“ The rascally idiots! That’s what comes
oz of trusting my work to others. If I had got two
I9 months more I could have left them all to whis-
m tie. But; there’s nota minute to waste. Bled—
Je soe has that fatal paper. I must snatch all and
r run. V’
31- Her hurried thron h the store. 4,,
is 5 “Hey, Wetmorel ’ exclaimed Mr. Brown, who
had 'ust entered. “ Whither away so fast?”
:0 “ have got a dispatch that my uncle is very
ill,” answered the merchant. “ I must go at
3, once. You will have to run things, Brown."
;e a “Very well. I thought: you looked out of
h sorts. Go'aheed. We will manage.”
Al; almost the same moment in which this
d scene was happening, Mend Weatherly, in her
‘9 r np-town home, also received a telegraphic mes-

sa e.
éhe read it with little less emotion than her

.3 uncle had read his.

; ' “ I have unmasked aden of reptiles.“ it ran. “ The
lacy is safe. I owe him my life a second time. W.
IS a. rogue in grain. I will be back as fast as steam

cap carry me. We must work lively, or our bird
Will ﬂy; Watch him. JACK Swanson.“

She walked up and down her room uneasily.
. “ What is to be done!” she asked herself.
“ Watch him! How can I? Had I better see
V Mr. Brown, and let him into the secret of our
operations? I will. .My fortune is at risk, and
there is no time to lose.”

She ordered the carriage, put on a street
dress; and prepared to seek her uncle's establish—
men

Within a‘ half—hour she was rolling rapidly

I into town in a. luxurious turnout.
‘ But she had not got half way to the store ere
her resolution wavered.
~  , ‘ “ I will be sure to ﬁnd my uncle there. What
 ‘ shall I say? It will be an awkward meeting.
' 3 iruow nothing. Mr. Bledsoe has been too fool—
" £1935? seoreh. Mr. Brown may let the affair out
‘ _ to {my rascal of an uncle, and spoil the whole
business,” '
” Where shell I drive?” asked the'coachman.

decided. ,
she known all that was involved in that:
decision, the would have come to a very differ-
ent: conclusion. Only bare chance prevented ll}

, from being utterly ruinous.
r”, Late that afternoon, after
Second telegram came to her.
from her uncle.

hEr return home, a
This proved to be
It ran as follows:

-“ I will not, be hometo-night. Have hasty business
H ceiling rue/to Jacksonville. May be absent for aday
drive. 1' "r ‘ V , G. Wurnomi."
. Here’wa‘snew food for thought. In her pres-
, ent state of mind, ‘everything‘seemed suspimons.
" 1 She satrlown and tel into a deep reﬂection,
' sorry now that she had giVen up her intention to
call on Mr. Brown. ‘
 _. 3‘1 don’t know what to do.” she testil
' claimed. .r “I am not ﬁt for business.
‘ will "Mr. Bloom

 
9X7
hen
be here? I lee! lost without

“ ToMontague’s drygoods store,” she quickly

blush to her cheek, as she reclined in her soft-
cushioned chair. '

“Why does he not come?” she murmured.
“ I fear I think less of my fortune than of him.
There is something in‘his eyes—something—”

Her veice fell awayr A bender look came
upon her face. Had bold Jack Bledsoe been
there at: that moment, his suit would have been
easily won. '

At that moment: bewas seated, side by side
with Jolly Joe in a railroad car, that was roll-
inﬁV eastward at Express speed. _

hey had come hundreds of. miles since morn-
ing, and were rapidly approaching their destin-
anion.

“ What are you thinking about, boy?” asked
Jack after a long silence.

“ ryin’ to git it inter shape,” answered Joe.
“Sure 0' one thing, anyhow. I’m glad as
a frog in a mill—pond.”

“ Glad. What about?”

“ Oh, ’bout everything! Glad I’m alive to be-
gin on. Glad you didn‘t kick the bucket, fur
next. Glad ’cause grub’s plenty, thirdly. Got

est ’tater-skin diet, and cum up ter straw-
erries and short-cake. Ain’t that suthin’ to
make a feller feel spunky l”

“ It never troubled me much.”

“ ’Cause you ain’t seen life. You ain’t been
weaned in the gutter, like I was. Nothin‘ like
hard times to make a teller spry. Fourthly,
I’m glad ’cause we’re goin’ tor salt old Skinny.
Lawsee, that’s better nor sugarcd~down straw-
berries! I ain’t down on nobody much, ’cepl:
him. But I’m down on him orfnl. Saved it all
up fur him.”

“gome, come, Joe, you shouldn’t bear mal—
‘ ‘l

“ Don’t. Not a bit,” answered Joe earnestly.
“’Tain’t me as hates him like rank p’isen. It’s,
in my bones. Dunno how it got there, and
can’t help it comin’ out.” . _ _

Jack laughed at this explanation. He leaned
back in his seat, lost in reﬂection.

“ Do you know how much I won at fare, on
the strength of y‘our‘t‘en-dollar bit?” he at length
asked. I
“ “Bout ten thousand,” answered Joe. .

“About twenty, I fancy. I went back and
gave them another shake, my boy
other ten. Now see here, Joe, fair play’s fair
play. Half this plunder is yours.”

“ Mine I" answered Joe, opening his eyes .
widely. “Why, you don’t owe me only ten
dollars.” ' r

“ We were partners, Joe, I ow you half.”

“ Nary time. We wasn’t pards. ' I, _

“I wouldn’t have wona. cent only for your -
money and your luck.” ,, l '

“Oh, that’s taﬁyl Like ter know what Pd

and shoes. Reckon I kin pick up the balance.”
“You are worth ten thousand dollm,Joe.

I am going to 15 icons st interest for you. I

am not gomg'5 0 let ‘ on live like-ayagrentﬂ
“Goin’inliaxﬁsig; sl’? asked Joe, With Wide-

o'neeei'r‘ in us, ﬂ . ,

i  Neilmnch," laughed, Jack. “I’d sooner in.

veal; in mm. rlt’s a safer kind of gambling.

 
'A'. Million]:  into  eyes, and'e Iaioti

Sachem. boy you will; want some pocket-
money.  Nobod

 
Struck ans - l 

do with sich a pile as that? All I want’s .gr‘ub' ‘

ycan tell what may happen in ’ H I

 
24 Joe, the Chicago Arab.

 
our hunt 'for Wetmore. Something may turn
up where money will come in handy. Herc.
Stuff this in your pocket, and don’t lose it.” I

Be handed Joe in fat roll of notes.

Joe opened his eyes in delighted amazement.

“It’s'nough to take my breath,” he e'acu-
latei’l. “ How much is ther in that pile? ever
see’d sich a heap in my born days."

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Jack, indif-
ferentl . “Look out for your pockets, that’s
all. on might get among thieves.”

“S'pose any on ’em kin go throu rh me?“
cried Joe. “ Guess you don’t know 1: is coon.
Like ter see the best chap goin’ tor git a. nickel
outer my pocket on the sly. I been there, now
you bet.”

It was eight o’clock that evening when the
train at length rolled into the depot of the city
to which they were bound, and the two travelers
stepped to the latform. and stretched their
limbs after their ong ride.

“ A triﬂe of supper to begin with,” said Jack,
as he led the way to the restaurant.

This dispatched, he turned to Joe.

“I have an errand which I prefer to do
alone,” he said. “You stay about here till I
come back. I won’t be more than an hour or
two away.” ~

“ All right. I’ll be ’round. Got no place
special to go to, and Inn kill time here ’bout as
well as anywhere.”

“ Look out for your cash, Joe.”

“GuessI will. Goin’to’vest some more on
it. Ain’t had half supger'nough yet. Holler
all the way down to my ig toes.”

Jack laughed as he hurried away. Joe
lounged back toward the restaurant.

In less than an hour afterward Maud Weather-
ly started hastily up and drop ed the book she
had been lazily reading, as t 9 name of Mr.
Bledsoe was announced at the door.

The pink ﬂush that came to her cheeks, as she
stood in momentary confusion, showed the di-
rection of her thoughts. -

“ I hoped to see you to—night,” she mur-
mured. ‘

“You were bound to.” answered Jack, “ex—
ce there had been a railroad blow-up.”

e hastened forward and warmly grasped
her extended hand, while his bold eyes wereso
full of admiration that hers involuntarily fell
before him.

The shrewd fellow held her hand longer than
there was any call for, while they stood for a
minute in silence together.

“Will you be seated?" she asked softly. “I
received your telegram. I am so anxiousto
hear the whole story.”

“ [have had something of an adventure,” he
answered. “But ﬁrst tell me about your
uncle. " Has anything happened?' Is he in the

“No; he will not be home to-night. He is
absentat Jacksonville on business.”

Jack’s face fell. A whistle of surprise and
dismay came from his lips. ‘

J“ Excuse me,” he asked. “ You took me
aback. I fear he has gone further than Jack-
sonville. I most use Mr. Browu at once. There
grayih’e no time to lose. Do you know where he

V05 '

 
“ Yes!” she answered, excitedly. “
“”\)Vill you go with me? He does not know
me.
“Certainlyl Is it dangerous? Do you think
he has taken ﬂight?”

She had grown red and eager with excite-
ment. '

“ I can te nothing about that. But it is het- ‘

ter to be en than sorry.”

She rung the bell for a servant.

“Have the carriage got ready instantly!” she
commanded.

“ Tell me what has happened, Mr. Bledsoe. I;

cannot wait,” she eagerly demanded.

Jack began the story of his adventure. He V

was interru ted by the announcement of the
carriage. 9 continued it in the carriage. To
say that the cod fellow enjoyed the situation
would he sped ing very mildly. It was heaven
to him to sit so close to Maud Weatherly, and

to see the rapt attention in her beautiful "

eyes.

Mr. Brown received his visitors with surprise.
It was changed to alarm when he heard their
errand. His excitement grew intense as Jack
proceeded with his story.

“ Wetmore run a gambling—den in disguise?
You are romancing. sir l”

“ Not a bit. It’s solid fact. I can bring you
an ocean of proof.”

J uck went on with his story.

“Tried to murder you? I cannot believe
thatl”

“ I have my witness handy."

“I have doubted him for months,” broke in
Maud. “ I fear that your business and my for-
tune are both in serious peril."

“I can hardly credit it. Yet some strange

things have happened. Where is that dooua

ment you speak of?” ‘
J not: silently passed over the important paper,

,_ for whose safe keeping he had so nearly lost his

life.

Mr. Brown cast his eyes hastily over it, while
an extraordinary change came upon his coun-
tenance.

“By Heaven, this proves all and more!" he

exclaimed, in intense excitement. “This is a ‘y

terrible witness of his duplicity! A contract

with Barnes, of Toledo, to invest ﬁfty thousand. 1

of the ﬁrm’s funds in a speculative venture!
And I knew nothing of it! I have been stand-
ing on the brink of ruin without a dream of
clan erl I must work at once, sir. Excuse
me or haste. Will you accompany me to the
store?" ‘ I

“ No; I must see Miss Weatherly home, and I
have another errand.”

"Come early to—morrow, then. I may be-

there all night.”

A half-hour afterward Jack left Maud at her
door, with a pressure of her hand and a look into
her tender eyes that spoke volumes. 1

It was past eleven o’clock when he reached
the railroad station and looked for Joe, Whom
he had almost forgotten. ‘ ' .

No Joe was to beseen.

“Tired out and sought shelter, I suppose. r  'I "H

must do the some.”

v The next morning he was at the depot again, >_

but still there was no sign of Joe.

 
_ amine; ‘ ‘

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab. 25

 
It was ten o’clock when he reached the store
of Wetmore, Brown & Co. Mr. Brown was
seated disco isolately in the ofﬁce.

“Ruinedl he said, with a trembling accent.
“ He has, defaulted with all the available
funds of the ﬁrm. It is a fatalblow.”

Before noon that day it was known far and
wide on the street that the ﬁrm of Wetmorc,
Brown & Co. had suspended payment, and that
the senior partner had ﬂed with all the cash
funds of the ﬁrm.

Another party had disa peered. Jolly Joe
was nowhere-to befound. ack sought him in
vain. Hehad vanished.

CHAPTER XIII.
; A CnASE BY RAIL.

WHAT had become of Jolly Joe? That is the
next question to be settled. We must return
to the railroad station on the night on which
he had been left there to await his friend’s re-
turn. Joe was such an uneasy customer that
the only way to follow him up is to keep a sharp
eye on his movements.

After Jack Bledsoe’s departure he had re-
turned to the restaurant, and ﬁnished his hasty
supper.

Joe was now a very different looking boy from
the ragged customer he had appeared when we
ﬁrst saw him. He was neatly dressed, and look-
ed as self-possessed as an millionaire. In fact
the roll of bank-notes in is pocket gave him a.
certain feeling of importance.

“ None 0’ you lords and dukes kin come squintr
in’ round me,” he said to himself, as he strutted
about the room as proud as 0. peacock. “ Guess
I’m ’bout ac hefty as the best on yo. .If ye on’y
knowcd the size 0’ my pile ye’d s uelch. You
bet Jack Bledsoe’s a square boss. e's equal to
a pair 0’ mules and a dog—cart, he is.”

An hour passed slowly by. Joe lounged
about, or reclined on the seats, carelessly watch-
ing the throng of people who passed through in
a steady stream, to and from trains.

Another half-hour passed. He rose and
stretched bis limbs.

“ Wish Jack’d hurry up,” he said. “ Ain’t
goin’ to locate here all night. Guess somehow
I’ve ’arned a. snooze.”

The boy’s soliloquy ended in a violent start.
His eyes had at that moment fallen on a face
that quickly changed the current of his thoughts.
He turned away, not caring to be recognized in
turn, and after a moment’s hesitation followed
the party he had seen.

It was a large-sized man, dressed in a light
tweed suit, and wearing a slouched hat, that

I was drawn low down on his forehead. The

lower part of the face was covered by a heavy
mustache and heard.
He held a handkerchief in his hand. which he
kept applying to his face, as it troubled with n
( .

I had co

“ Won’t do, Skinny,” said the boy delightedly.
“Can’t fool Joe Jorum if you’d sew yerselt’ up
in a pig’s skin. l’d know them eyes 0’ yourn if
I seek them in the top of a wooden pump. But

, what are you arter? That’s the go. Ain’t oﬁ'

trevelin‘ or nothin‘. I am?”
He tollov'ved to the ticket ofﬁce, and managed

-... ,1

 
to push in very close behind the traveler whom
he had recognized as Mr. Wetmore in disguise.

“ One through ticket for Chicago,” said the
traveler.

Joe slipped aside as his prey received the
ticket and backed out, again applying the hand-
kerchief to his face.

The boy fell into a quandary. What was to
be done? It was necessary to make up his mind
on the jum p. Wctmore was traveling in dis—
guise. He was making unusuuleiforts tohide
1hifs face. It looked decidedly like a ﬂight for
1 9.

Joe took oﬂ.’ his cap and scratched his head for
ideas. Less than a minute was enough for him
to make up his mind.

“ It’s neck or nothin’ now," he said. “ S’pose
Juck‘ll be dis’p’inted, but 'tain't my fault. Got
sudden bizness in Chicago.“

Within two minutes more the wide-awake boy
had obtained a ticket and was on his way to the
train. He had lost sight of his game, but that
did not matter. He had his fox holed.

Joe hustled up to the train gate but to his
surprise and dismay it was at that instant
shnrﬁly closed.

“ ello, mister l” he cried. “ What‘s that
fur? I’m oﬂz‘ fur Chicago, and here’s the dairy-
ment.

“ Too late,” said the gatekeeper brieﬂy.

“ Too late?”

I “Yes. The train’s off. Yonder it goes.
You’g want to ﬂy like a gull to take that train

‘ DOW.

“ That’s rich,” cried Joe. “ That’s sweeter
ner loaf sugar. You dunno how nice I feel.
When does the next train go, mister?”

“ At ten o’clock to-morrow.”

I “ Glad to hear that. Next year ’d be as good.
What am I to do with this bit 0’ paper?"

“Frame it, and keep it for a mantel orna-
_ment,” retorted the gatekeeper, a. little
miffed.

“ uess I will. Much ’bliged,” answered Joe,
as he walked away.

He was feeling decidedly bluedespite his chaﬂ’.
When Joe made up his mind he meant business,
and it was a bitter pill for him to be caught inn
net like this. The more he thought of it the
more sure he was that We'tmore was playing a
runaway game.

“ If he slides now it’s all up,” thought the dis-
consolate boy. “ I know it’d been moms in
my pocket tonab him. And there’s Miss aud.
He’s slidin’ otf with her money like dust atom
the wlnd. Got a big notion to punch my head.
Took two minutes to make u my mind, and lost
the game by one minute. ever took two sec.
onds afore, and I’ve got pegged out neat fur
wastin’ so much time.’

ﬂIEy this time he had again reached the \ ticket
0 cc.

“Here’s yer bit 0’ lpasteboard. mister,” he an—
nounced. “ Guess I’ take my cash back again,
if you don't mind.”

“ What do you mean?"

“On' as you had no biz to sell me a ticket
arter t 6 train had skooted. Didn’t want no
train ‘c’ept that: '11:]. If I can’t make time, I kin
stay home." , .

‘ I thought you were in time,” explained the

26 «Joe. the Chicago Arab.

 
agent. “You are in a hurry, then, to make
Chicago?”

“ Well, I’d smile. It’s wuss than a hurry. I‘m
arter my fortune, and that there train’s slid off
with it.”

The ticketsellor looked quizzically at the boy,
not uite sure what to make of him.

“ est slide over to New York," he advised;

“ There’s a Lake Shore train you can catch,
that will reach Chicago as soon as this.”

Joe sprung up and cracked his heels in delight.
All was not lost yet.

“Honest Injun?" he demanded.
“Yes. Let me have your ticket.
change it for one on the Lake Shore.

three dollars more.”

“ Don’t keer fur that. Money ain’t no ’count
to me. Got ’nough to buy out your old road if
I wanted to go in the railroad line, which I
don't jist yet.”

He planked down tbe'money, and received the
new ticket.

“ You’re a lively little rat,” said the agent,
with a laugh. “ Now slide. The York train
pulls out in two minutes. Good luck go with

I will ex-
It willbe

on.

“Much ’bliged, mister. 1‘11 try not to run
away from it.” ‘

Joe hurried for the train again, glad at heart
at his renewed luck.

He was in time now, and was aboard a car in
a minute more.

Three hours afterward he stepped aboard
the westward~bound train in the New York
depot.

“ On time, you bet,” said the delighted boy.
“Hope so, anyhow. It’s along race, and it’s
hard to tell which iron boss is goin’ to best.
But I‘m not goin’ into no brain-fever ’bout that.
Got my bet on old Lake Shore, and if it don't
come up to the winnin’-post a neck ahead, 1‘11
draw from the pool, square. All I want how’s
a sleepin’-car and a. snooze. I‘m travelin’ ﬁrst-
class, now you bet. Ain’t no common folks
style ’bout me. And if there‘s a chap ’board
the train kin beat me on a snooze, I’ll sell him
my hat.” ’

Joe meant it. A blow-up of the engine would
hardly have wakened him from his deep slum-
ber, which lasted until long after daybreak the
next morning. All thatday and night the train
rolled on, and at eight oclook the succeeding
morning pulled into the station at Chicago. .

The alert boy lost no time in springing from
the car. There was not asecond tolose. His
only hope now was in a few moments’ delay in
the rival train. He ran along the platform and
jam ed into a cab.

“ rive like old Joe," he cried. “To the
West Side Depot. Got to git there More the
train. Pay you extra. if you make it.’,’

“ It is due now.”

“ S'pose I don’t know that? Drive.”

The cab rolled away through the streets of
Chica at a lively gait. Joe’s anxiety in-
,creas with every moment. Was he going to
‘win or lose? u Had his hot race been for nothing?
A va‘ry few minutes would tell. As the neared
the est Side station he gazed curious n out of

the cab window at the passing people and
vehicles. Men were passing thh valises in
. - , ‘_

 
their hands. Was the train in? It looked de-
cidedly s ually.

Sudden y Joe pulled the check-string of the
on b. The driver bent down.

“ Turn like lightnin’,” exclaimed Joe. “ Chase
that cab that jist passed us. Run it down. fur
it’s got m game in it. Ye’re good fur a ﬁver
if on fol er it to haste.”

he wide-awake boy had caught a glimpse of
a familiar tweed suit in the opposite cab. He
shot at sight. In a minute more his vehicle was
in sharp pursuit of the one in advance.

During this ﬂight and pursuit matters were
not at rest in the city which the alert boy had
so hastily left. The report of the failure of
Wetmore, Brown 86 00. had spread far and
wide, and the ﬂight of the senior partner was
the topic of the newspapers and the talk of the
town.

Nor was the interest diminished when it was
found that be had not been satisﬁed with de—
faulting with the ﬁrm’s money to the tune of a
hundred thousand dollars, but had also swol-
lowed up an equal sum from his niece, of whom
he had been guardian.

All the cash of the business was gone, and
heavy debts were pressing. It was sure ruin.
The liabilities were ahead of the assets, and Mr.
Brown was beside himself with shame and de«
spair.

But as the investigation proceeded the sur-
prise oi‘. the community increased. The unsus-
pected (not came out that Wetmore had been

for a year past conducting a. heavy gambling.

business.

The police, wakened up at last when it was
too late, made an investigation of the various
places at which the game had been played. But
nothing but some useless apparatus was found.
Bankers, dealers and players alike had skipped.

During this investigation, as may be imagined,
J ack Bledsoe did not fail to do his best to keep
up the spirits of his fair friend, Maud Weather—
1y. She was angry and disconsolate, but the
bold fellow managed to soothe her anger and
raise her spirits.

” He has not given us the slip yet,” be de—
clared. “ It’s a big country, but it’s a hard one
to hide in. Do you know I’ve a. notion that
that’s what’s become of Jolly Joe. The boy is
not to be found. He may be on the track of the
runaway.”

He was interrupted by the entrance of a. ser-
vant with a. tale ram for Maud. She tore it
open with feveris haste.

“ You are ri ht,” she cried quickly and gladly.
“ Road that. he boy is a jewel.”

Jack seized the paper and read hastily:

“ I’m hot after Skinny. Struck his trail. Got him
tracked to his den. Write by next mail.

“Jon Jomm." *

“ Lovely l” exclaimed Jack.
The game’s ripe. I’ll bet high on Jolly J 09."

CHAPTER XIV.
WORKING ms WAY.
“ How much is ﬂ 5 a. pound. mister?”
It was Jolly Joe hat asked this question, of a
groceryman on a corner of a main street in Chi.
cago.

 
“ Chicago, ehl‘

 
‘Ji-ahu’ ‘

 
Joe. the Chicago Arab. , I

27

 
p,“ Don’t keep them.”

"'“ Got any cheese and crackers?”

u Yes.”

“ Guess I’ll take half a
’em out lively.”

The groceryman weighed out the articles de-
mended.

“ “pose you don’t mind me squattin’ down
round here, and takin’ a lunch 1?”

“I don’t keep a restaurant, boy.”

“Sort 0’ high-toned, are ye? Kind 0’ tony
street this, ain’t it?” asked Joe, nibbling at his
crackers.

“It is one of the ﬁnest streets in Chica o,”
answered the merchant, somewhat grati ed.
L‘Thei'e are some very rich people live around

ere. ’

“ Looks like it, that’s a fact,” said Joe, biting
of! a. bit of cheese. “ Now that brown—stone
turnout down yander, with festoonml porticoes.
S’pose some 0’ your big-bugs hang out there.”

Joe had coolly seated himself on a box, and
gnawed away at his lunch as he spoke. The
house to which he pointed was one of the most
show y ediﬁces on the stveot, and seemed only
ﬁt for the residence of a mun of considerable
wealth.

“ That house,” answered the grocerymnn, anx-
ious to show off the points of the neighborhood.
“That is one of our dark horses. It has been
shutu for the last three months. It has been
recent y bought, I am told, by a wealthy Cali-
fornian. So‘me parties have been in it since yes-
terday morning. Who they are I don’t know.
Nobody has been seen since but a Servant, who
came over here to buy provisions.”

“ That’s mighty curious,” answered Joe, with
a great show of interest. “ Wonder if they’re
hidin’. Dunno the gin’leman’s name?”

“Mr. Oliver Jenkins, they call him.”

“ Oliver!” exclaimed Joe, with a start.

“ What ails you, boy?"

“ On’y I used to know somebody 0’ that name.
VGuess,’tain’t the same joker. Gmd-by. Come
round ag’in when I want a lunch." 1

Joe had ﬁnished his crackers and cheese. He
lounged away, up and down the street in front
of the house, every door and window of which
were critically examined. Then he made his
way round toward the rear of the mansion.

It opened on a narrow street, which ran be-
tween a double row of mansions, fronting on
opposite streets. Many of them had stables
and coach-houses, opening on this alley.

It was not easy to tell to which houses these
belonged. Joe returned to the main street. and
counted the number of houses from the corner
to that in which he was interested. By making

I a similar count on the back street he was able to
Strike the rear of this mansion. He found there
a low brick stable, which just then was tightly
closed.

“ So far so good,” said the young sp . “ Get
the lay o’ the land. That’s suthin‘. Igow it’s to

V set my trap and beitit. Seems to me the old
sucker’s layin’ low. Dunno as I‘m about, I

reckon.”
He walked away, not cario to be seen too
much about there. It was no advisable to ap-

pound apiece. Fling

[I upmrtolxaon the watch.

_ r Yet the shrewd boy took good care not to get

 
I too far away. 'He managed to have businrss in
that locality twenty times in the course of the
day.

In the evening he was again at the grocer’s,
buying lunch, and asking questions.

“ Seems to me you are anxious about the folks
around here,” said the grocer.

“Kinder,” answered Joe. “ Got a notion to
speculate in some 0’ these shauties. Tired o’
kickin’ round the world, and want to loco to.”

The merchant looked oddly at the quiet—
speakiug boy, and then burst into a ‘roar of
laughter.

“ You’re a honey! Bless me if you ain’t!
How old are you, midget 1”

“ Old ‘nough to know cheese from mutton,”
retorted Joe. “ Somewhere ’bout sixteen, I
reckon. But I been round. I know ’bout all
that’s wu’th knowin’.”

The grocer continued to laugh, as he turned
away to wait on a new customer. This was a
pretty girl, with a tripping step, and neatly
dressed in cup and apron.

The grocer asked her somcqucstions which at-
tracted J oe’s attention. But he got very short
and unsatisfactory answers.

“ Not much . to be pumped out of that young
lady,” he srid vettishly, as she left the store.

“ Who is it?’

f‘ One of Mr. J enkin’s, kitchen girls, I fancy.
And as sly as a mouso.”

"Guess I’ll try. Kinder anxious ’bout that
there mysterious house.”

The girl had not gone straight toward the
house, but was making her wny to the corner,
as if she designed to seek the rear entrance.

Joe was quickly close behind her. He man-
aged indeed to jostle against her arm. One of
the packages she can ied fell with a crash to the
pavement. The paper bag burst open and scat-
tered its contents for and wide. It was a pack—
ogo of white sugar.

“ Confound our awkwardnessl” cried the
aring girl. “ 9 what you’ve done.”

“ Didn’t o tur to do’t,” apologized Joe. “ My
foot slippe on a lemon-peel. “ ’Tain’t no harm.
We kin scrape it up ag’iu.”

He kneeled down and began scraping together
the sugar, witho plentiful mixture of dirt.

“ You little fool!" she cried. “What are you
at? Do on suppose 'I would dare take that stuff
into the ousﬂ”

, “Tell you what!” cried Joe. “I’ll slide back
to the store and git you some more. That’s on’y
square s’long’s I spilt it.” ,

“All right. Have you the money 2”

“Plenty of it,” answered J 0e, loftily. “Gene
of it. Jist you wait here. I’ll be back in a
twinkle.”

He was as good as his word. Within ﬁve
minutes he was back to where the girl waited in
some doubt.

“I'm square," said Joe. “Here’s yer sugar.
Dunno what you want with it."

u Why?” V ‘

“ Oh, you’re sweet ’nough a’read .”

“ Go ’way, {on young rogue l” et her laugh
showed that s e was pleased. ’

“ It’s jist so. Wouldn’t bumped ag’in you on’y
you’re so pretty. Was tryin to git a closer
squint at you.”

| .

 
28

“ You’re a young rascal, that’s what you are,”
declared the glrl, laughing and blushing.

“ You bet I mean it. See here, Susy, you
like ice cream ’4”

“My name ain’t Susy.”

“ What is it?"

“ Molly.”

“ Well, then, Molly, can't you slip out arter
supper? I’ll be ’round. Never like to go arter
ice cream ’cept with a pretty girl like you. It’s
more tony, you know.” _

She looked at the boy with a Sllly laugh,
hesitated a minute, and then answered:

“ I cannot get out till after ei ht."

“ That’ll do. I’ll be ’round. on’t miss. I'm
in dead earnest.” -

“ I will come. If you fool me—"

“ Nary time. I’m sound on the goose."

She hastened away, and entered the house by
the rear gate.

“ Got her nailed, anyhow," thought Joe.
“ She’ll come. That’s one nail in old Skinny’s
coﬁin."

He was right. She came. The girl was cer-
tainly pretty, and was tricked out now in all her
ﬂnery. She seemed somewhat in doubt about
the boy, and her face lighted up on seeing him
in waiting. .

“Told you I was sound on the goose,” de-
clared Joe. “Tuck yer arm under my wing.
What you like best? Strawberry cream or
kisses!"

“ Both,” said the girl, with a blush.

“ We’ll have both, then," returned Joe. He
was getting along swimmingly.

But in one respect his progress was less rapid.
Over the cream he led the talk to the su bject of
Fer master, who he was, and where he had come

rom.

But on these points she either knew nothing,
or would tell nothing. She had been euga ed.
the day before. Mr. Jenkins came from San
Francisco. She had not set eyes on him. There
were several other servants. That was all she
knew.

Joe was in some doubt about this.
a certain hesitation in her answers.
she had been trained against talking.

He accompanied his new friend back home.
It was now dark, except where the gas lamps lit
up the street.

As they reached the corner of the rear street
a carriage drove out. It was impossible to tell
from wh ch of the many stables it came, yet Joe
keenly eyed the driver, by the light of a‘neigh-
boring lamp.

There was
He fancied

He did not get a good look at him, yet there '

was something familiar in the face, that made
the boy anxious for another glimpse.

“ Good-night,” said Molly, when they reached
the gate.

“' Not much. I’m goin’ in.”

“ No. no. It is against orders. We are not
allowed any company in‘the kitchen.”

“Oh, that’s all talfy. I ain’t company, I’m
only a boy. Boys ain’t company. Tel ‘em I’m
your cousin. if anybody pokes in."

“ I’myhali‘ atem‘d.”

“ That ain’t all,” continued the bold boy.

Joe, the Chicago Arab.

« .

gate half open. Then she hastily leaned {OrW
and kissed him. ' "

“ There! you are only a boy, you know; so it’s
no harm."

The next instant she was through the gate,
and had slammed and bolted it behind her. Joe
heard her laughing as she hastened upfn- the
hOIISB. 'm» '

” Mighty ﬁne, Miss Molly," he ejaculated.
“ But you don’t git rid o’this chestnut burr quite
as easy as that. We’ll have kisses and cream
'stead of cream and kisses, next time.”

Joe was not through with his day‘s task. He
hung about the neighborhood till near midnight.
He was not going without another glimpse of
that coachman, if it took all night.

Finally a carriage rolled up. Joe was at hand.
It stopped in front of the mysterious mansion.
and a gentleman got out, so mufﬂed up as not to
be easily recognized.

But the spy was not troubled about him. It
was the conchman he was after. He managed
to walk close b , just as the latter closed the car-
riage-door, an remounted the box.

One quick glance was enough. The boy hur-
ried on, not wishing to be observed in return.

“Jolly papersl” he cried, eagerl , as soon as
he was fairly out of hearing. “ on’t I know
him like a book? It’s the chap that has got the
plaster in his eyes, or I’m no Judge 0‘ foxes. If
I ain’t got old Skinny nailed now there’s no
shocks.”

He continued to cogitate as he walked on. He
had his mun. Should he spring the trap on him
at once, or work up the game a little further!

“Guess I'll take a snooze fu’st, fur I'm tired
enough for two boys 0' my size. ’Arn’t my

the best way to work this little trap."
If alloy could sleep sounder than Joe did for
the rest or the night, and till ten o‘clock the next

wasn’t troubled with any nonsense of dreams.

When he wakened up however he was wider
awake than any boy ever was.

“ Shill I telegraph, or shill I write?" he asked
himself. “Cost like fun to say all I want on
the wires. Guess I’ll jist say, ‘ All 0. K. Look
out for a letter,”I That‘ll keep 'em quiet."

Joe hurried to send his telegram, and spent
the next three hours writing a letter. His edu-
cation in this direction had been sadly neglect-
ed, and he barely knew how .to write. It was
an odd-looking document which at length left
his hands. _

Yet blotted, ml lied and illegible as it was
it managed to tell a 1 that had happened, and to
demand the immediate presence in Chicago of
Mend Weatherly, Jack Bledsoe, and Mr. Brown.

‘ That’ll fotch ’em. I’m kinder proud 0’ that
there dokyment,” said Joe to himself, as he
dropped his missive into a post-omce ,box.
QNﬁw'guess I’ll take another squint round fur,

O y. "
it is not necessary to dwell on the events of
the next two or three days. The boy had man—
agcd to see Molly more than once_m that time,
and had gained entrance to the kitchen despite
her objections.

 
“ You know we was to have ice cream and kisses,
We ain’t had the kisses yit."

 
He had also learned a_tew things or import»

l

 
She laughed and blushed, as she stood with the ‘

lodgin’s anyhow. Maybe I mouzht dream out 1

day, it would have had to be a dead log. 83 '

‘w —-...--.~».

, gm“; A“... .1‘

“menu-4v“

..__.--m

if

 
1 the '
3 it’s
“a to,

Joe
the

, i
lite ;
Y

as
S‘
.- ..4 .w..—ww-ww .u. . ,‘

anQE:

vw< .:

v

New“ w...

mum... 

 
«Sosa-"v swm.-m.bw,. M , V.

I as he turned away.

Joe. the Chicago Arab. I 1

29

 
a , through all the secrecy that surrounded
the ansion. At the end of the time mentioned
a train was rapidly approaching Chicago. hear-
ing the three persons [or whom Joe had writ-

ten.

The sport was ripening.

.‘ , he evening hour in which it rolled into the
stat“... Joe was closeted with his fair friend, en-
gaged in a very interesting conversation.

“ 'I‘hree dollars a week. That ain’t Scththln
high wages."

‘ It’s all I get, anyhow.”

“ And how much for holdin’ your tongue, and
not talkin’ ’buut things?"

" What do you mean?” asked the startled girl.

“ S’pose I don’t know? You’re paid to keep
mum. See here, Molly, ain’t that a pile 0’
money i”

She opened her eyes wide at the roll of notes
which Joe displayed.”

“ Now ther’s some fun aﬂoat, Molly. and I
want you on our side. It’s going to bea hundred
dollars in your pocket if you some over.”

" A hundred dollars! What am I to do?"

“ Jist what I say. To the nail.” "

“ I’ll do it. I don’t like this place anyhow.”

“ Keep mum then. Your master’s a rascal and
a runaway. We’re arter him hot foot.”

 
CHAPTER XV.
ran BPRINGING or ran TRAP.

THE carriage which Joe bad former observed
again drove up to the door of the mysterious
mansion and let out its master. as it had done
on ev‘erv evening since Joe’s arrival in Chicago.
The occupant of the house had not yet stepped
into the street by day, but had driven out
regularly every night, after dark.

This had raised the boy’s curiosity, and he had
followed one of these mysterious journeys. It
had ended in a ﬁne-looking house in a secluded
street.

“ What goes on in that house?” remarked the
policeman. to whom Joe had addressed this ques-
tion. “ Nothing for boys.”

“ What for men, then? Is it a fare den?

“ You’re a cute one, boy. You’ve hit it.
Leastways we thinl'l so. But policemen can’t do
anything on a. think-so.”

“ Just as I had a notion,” said Joe to himself,
“ He's hit my tiger. Can’t
let him alone. Got to be dubbhn’. All right,
Skinny, but if I ain’t 01! my eggs your ropo’s
gettin short." ' V
' When the master of the mansion left his car-
ria e on the evening in question he was inform-
ed y the servant that there was a person wait-
ing to see him.

‘ Why did you let him in l” he angrily demand-
ed. “ Is that the way you obey orders? I am at
home to nobody." ,

“ I told him that. Couldn‘t keep him out

i without kicking him out."

o

” Then kick him out. I won’t have my house
invaded."

u It’s Only a boy. A little fellow. Said you'd
“A boy!” He hesitated.

“A boy!
be— .«Where is he?”
, " In the sittingroom up—staim.”

I be mighty glad to see him.”

Can it

’Joei

 
“Very well. I will see this intruder. Do you
keep within hearing. Call in the coachman. I
may need him. Boys are not always to be trust-
ed in these times."

He made his wa up the stairs, a little disturb-
ed in his mind. he could this youthful visitor
be? Was it, by any chance, the vagrant, Jolly

Wetmore, for it was he, set his teeth ﬁrmly.
It the boy had tracked him here it might be well
tolput an end to his tracking.

9 ﬂung open the door of the luxuriously fur—
nished sitting-room. A youthful ﬁgure was bal-
anced on a corner of one of its most richly
covered chairs. Wetmore walked quickly to the
chandelier, turned up a gas'jet, and looked down
at his visitor.

“ Guess you’ve see’d me afore.” said the youth.
“ It's me. Jolly Joe Jorum. Jist dropped in to
see how things was goin’." .

“ Joe Jorum?” cried the merchant, with an
evil look in his eyes. I don’t know you. What
do you want here?”

‘ Nothin’ but a chat over old times. Think I
don’t know youil Them mustaches and whiskers
mought fool some folks, but can’t come in on
me. Lawsee, I wouldn‘t go through Chicago
’thout stoppin’ to see you. Ain’t furgot the gay
times we used to have in the old faro bank."

The merchant seated himself heavily. His
face had grown very pale. It was evident that, in
spite of all his precautions he had been tracked.

What was to be done? Was it the boy alone
that had tracked him? He knew Joe’s character
well enough to know that he would take danger-
ous risks. If the boy was alone all might be safe

at. T0 dispose of him and take to ﬂight again.

t was an easy game to play.

“ Jolly Joe, I remember ou now," he remark~
ed, as if with renewed reco lection. “ You are
the boy that came begging at my back door.”

“And as got cotched in a fox-trap," supplied
Joe, with a wink. ‘“ Couldn't hold this coon
though.”

“ How did you know I was here?”

" See’d you," answered Joe, with another
wink. “ Arter I got away from that Ohio fox-
trap I slipped on a train and stole a ride out
here. Gom‘ to make my fortune, I am. See’d
you tonight gittin’ in yer carriage. Couldn’t
fool this chicken with them there whiskers.
When I see a feller onc’t, that feller’s nailed,
J ist dropped in to wait. ’CauSe you owe me a
lift, you know.”

“ You lie, you young rascal! You have been
spyin me. Have an sent word to- anybody
that am here? he truth now. I Will cut
your tongue out it yJu lie to me." ‘

“ Goin to send word to-morrer,” answered
Joe coolly. “ Thor‘s some folks as 'd like to
know where you’re hidin'. Thought I'd call
fu’st, though, and trike you fur a lift. Kinder
short 0’ cash, and i you pony down handsome
I moughtn't send word."

“ You’ll bribe me, you young rascal, will you?”
With assumed fury the merchant caught him by
the collar and shook him soundly. “ You have
sent word, 1’ say! Lie to me at your peril l"

“ I’ll lie if you want me to right bad; but I
don’t like to. Kinder like to stick tothe truth.
Suits my constitution better.”

  
80

“ You hound!
not?” L

“ Tryin’ to. Sometimes, though, the truth
nits twisted round into a lie afore a feller knows
it,

The merchant looked at him keenly. But
nothing could be made of J Oe’s impassive face.
He turned and gave 21 sharp pull at the bell.

“ What you doin7 that fur?” q’ueried Joe.
“ If ye’r’ goin’ to order up cake on ice cream,
I’m yer hose. But I don’t want; to be sot down
on by no gum game.”

VVetmoro gave no answer. He seated himself
while waiting the answer to his summons. It
cone in the shape of two men who bud been
warned to be ready, the house-servant and the
churchmen. ‘

“ lit-re, men.“ cried VVetmore, harshly. “ Take
this impudent young; hound and lock him up.
He this been impvriiucnt to me, and I intend to
teach him a lesson for it.”

“ 0h, now come, judge,” exclaimed Joe, with
a show of con-:Lcrnation. " Now that ain’t on
the >quuro, nohow. I on’ said—”

“ Awuy with him, f'.’ lows,” rejoined Wei;
more. “ Don’t stop to lwar him ta 1:. And see
that iiv’s locked up safely. You shall answer to
me if he escapes you.“

They ciughr Joe by the shoulders and raised
him to his foot. He made no resistance.

“ ".l‘uin‘t square, judge. I’ll 3.1er tor that.
You’d host let me slide or I’ll make things howl,
llirv vuu hot."

" ()Li‘ with him.” cried Wotmnre.

" All right. But you’ve got hold of a June
bug, old Skinny. . Jist you look out."

The two men dragged the unresistin boy
rapidly across thi- room to a door that le from
in on tun left. There were three such doors be—
snlesi the one lending from the stuirs.

They had ﬂung this. door open, and were
about to drug their prisoner through it. who’n
they suddenly halted und stepped back before a
pvrson Who appeared in the doorway.

They had reason to be startled, for this person
held a pistol, which was pointed in an uncom-
fortain- i’ashion toward them,

“ Don’t get scared," he softly said. “ It won't
go off if you keep rightquiot. I’m Jack Bledsoe,
that maybe you‘ve heard of. You needn't get
into no stew about that boy. I’ve stepped round
to look after him.“ -

Wctmore had fallen back in pallid consterna-
tion at this unlocked—for vision. He now started
up in a fury,

“I know you, you him-klegl How dare you
intrude into my house? Leave here this instunt,
or I’ll have you ﬂdll! from the windows! Run
for a policmnan, Ralph. We will see if there’s
law in Chirugo.”

“ Don't run, It lillh. You’d host walk very
slow, And take care of the handle of that
door There‘s an electric. wire from it tothis
pistol. if you turn the handle. Hm pistol
llllglliggr) oil‘. and then somebody might get
hurt.’

Joe, who had been released, broke into a ﬁt of
laughter, so hearty, that he dropped back into a
chair.

“What you think 0’ that, Skinny! Told you
I’d make things how]. Kind ofa Juck-in—a-box,

Are you telling‘ the truth or

 
Joe, the Chicago Arab.

ain’t it? You tech the door,  out pops Jack.
Lawsee. it’s fun.” , I '

“By Heaven, I won’t stand this!” screamed
the infuriated merchant. “ If you man are
scared by that braggart’s pistol, I am not. I
will take the boy myself.”

He grasped Joe by the collar, and ran across
the room to an opposite door, dragging his cap-
tive behind him.

He ﬂung this door open with a clang, and was
about to rush into the room he ond, when he
suddenly retreated, with more aste than his
servants had done.

For in the open doorway stood a second person,
a middle-aged, well-dressed man, with a very
severe expression of countenance.

" Another Jack-iii-a-box,” yelled Joe, with a
second scream of laughter.

“ Brownl” cried the discomﬁted villain.

“ Just so. Brown, of the ﬁrm of Wetmore,
Brown & Co. I don’t want to interrupt your
little pleasure trip, but I’ll trouble you for a
triﬂe of a hundred thousand dollars, which you
owe the ﬁrm.”

He stepped forward into the room, while the
unmasked villain retreated step by step before
him. as if from a ghost.

“ Some notes coming due, on see,” remarked
Jack. “No funds to take t am up. Thought
he’d drop out and give you a call."

“ M y, ain’t it prime i” ejaculated J on, steeping
with his hands on his knees, as he looked quizzi—
Cally up into the puilid face of the runaway.

“Ruined!” groaued the latter. “The ﬁends .
take you all! But there’s one hope.”

He darted hastily across to the third door of
the room. No one stirred to stop him. He
ﬂung the door open in mad haste: but recoiled
with more consternation than before.

“ Jill—in-the—hox this time," cried Joe. “ Two
Jacks and 3. Jill, hey, Skinny i”

There in the doorway stood a woman’s form.
with the pretty face of Maud Weatherly, which
was now very severe and grave as she looked in
the dismayed face of her uncle.

Sho Stepped out into the room.

“I can spare you, uncle,” she said.
think your absence will be much loss.

“ I hardly
But I am
not ready to spare my fortune, which I must re-

quest you to leave behind.” ,

VVetmore glared with staring eyes from one
to the other of the three persons, who had ap-
peared as if by magic. He fell into a chair and
covered his face with his hands, us if to shut out
the sight of specte’rs. Then he leaped up like a
madman and sprung wildly at Joe, who was
standing directly before him.

“ [t is you, you gutter—rat, I have to thank
for this! Take that!” .

He struck ilercolv with a heavy paperweight
which he had snatched from the table. But Joe.
was too quick for this murderous blow. In an
instant he hnd dnrted past the infuriated mail,
and under the table.  -’ /’

Tho muddened villain turned to his ‘niece,
with a deadly fury still glaring in his eyes.

But at the same instant'a shrill whistle rung 7
through the room, 9111 two men in the zarltofv
policemen ran out of an udJoiniuLr apnrtmen '. '
“Snatch him!” cried Jack. “He is danger ,
oust! ‘ ‘ V r

w

9

 
»

Joe, the Chicago Arab.

:1

 
The ofﬁcers oboygl this order, and forced their
p nor into a choir, where, after a moment’s
st .’ .2719, he fell back conquered, 111 an utterly

,r humb ad and crushed attitude.

' “ That’s the end of our little game,” cried Joe,
triumphantly. “You 9125de it we“, Skinny.
but us chaps know somethln’ ’hout fare. ’Tnin’t
the fu’st time we’ve coppered the bet on you.
Had yer front door all right, didn’t you? But I

“st slipped those folks in through the kitchen.

ll’lolly’s my right bower, you know. Pass over

the plunder, judge. We don’t want yer carcass,
but we want the cash orful bod.”

Wetmore made no reply. He was utterly
crushed and heartbroken. At a. sign from Mr.
Brown the oﬂicers removed him from the room,
while the others held a. conference as to the best
steps to pursue.

It is not necessary to dwell at length on what
followed. J oe’s scheme had been completely
successful, and its dramatic termination had
taken all the starch out of the entrapped de-
faulter.

He was very glad to hand over his ill-gotten
plunder on a promise of personal liberty, and a
stay of legal proceedings. After returning to
Mr. Brown and his niece what he had robbed
them of he had still some thousands left, and
with that he started further West, while they
returned East with their recovered wealth,
though not forgetting to pay Molly the sun: that
Joe had so liberally promised. ‘

Two days afterward Mr. Brown met the credi-
tors of the ﬁrm of Wetmore, Brown St 00., with
a smiling face.

“ Have you your bills, gentlemen? I am pre-
pared to settle in full. I have 0 ened the store
again this morning, and am re y to run again
at full speed.” v

“Then why in the world did you suspend?"
asked one of the amazed creditors.

“ Simply that the funds of the ﬁrm had got
into a. rat‘hole. But we have opened the hole at
the otherend, and let them out again."

Meanwhile bold Jack Bledsoe was not left
without his thanks from Maud Weatherly.
Very warm thanks some would have thought.
But Jack was wide awake enough tosee through
a pine plank, and be prosecuted hisa uaintance
with the fair Maud with such ardor t at it was

. not long before rumors of an engagement got

' aﬂoat.

And they were this time well-founded. The
gallant Westerner had wooed and won Maud
and her fortune which he had done so much to
save.

During all these events Joe J orum had become
Jolly Joe more truly than ever. _

Mr. Brown was very anxious to take him into
his store, but Maud was determined he should
ﬁrst have an education. So arrangements were
made to send Joe away to school, where the
rough edge of his charactergnight be rubbed off,
and the sterling gold of his inner nature be made
clear.

“ Don’t keer much what you do with me,”
said J 09, “50’s there’s plenty o’ grub. Come to
the conclusion that .grub’s the spice of life.
There's a good many other thin wu’th havin’.
but no feller kin enjoy ’em ’Ce he’s got suthin’
inside him. I know that, ’cause I’ve been there.”

.t

 
So Joe was sent away to school, and there he
still is, more devoted to grub than to learning,
we must allow. Yet he is taking in the letter
at a very fair rate, and romises to be a credit—
able scholar, and a use ul member of society,
before many more years roll round.

. THE END.

 
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dealers "Or will be sent, post-paid. on receipt of
price, ten cents each. r

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Punmsnms.
98 WILLIAM Swans-r. N. Y. .

 
r , '* V “- ..‘. ,‘

BEADLE’S  IV LIVBEARY.W ' 

Published Every lVednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price prFi've Cents.

 
17‘ Frank MOrtPII. "I" Buy Hercules. By 01] Ooomal. ‘ 7365 Billy, the, “1:15:1ng “by. 33' CM" “3 Mom'-
The Yullkee Hunger. By Edwin Emurison. 266 Guy’i‘ Boy Chum. lly (‘npt- C'wstn .
1'8 llh-k Illngie, Smut. liy Edward Ellis. 26’? (Hm-l. Ge ‘L’l"! New-lure. By Buck» In Sam-
4 Dmuly knelﬂn Nelle-me. By (l. w. Emma. 2624 Dead-ﬂ lhnnly. liv Cu]. l‘veilllss lngrnhmn.
5 The Al'llll Deter-ﬁve. l: Edward L. VVln-elcr. 269 The Qluu-hzvlllu ﬂung. By Edward Willett.
6 “’lll “'lldllre‘n l’luek. linlmriea Mums. ‘ 70 Denver Doll’s-I Mine. J v E. l... \\ heriur.
’l‘ The. Boy Cunnumuler. [iy Col. Prentiss lngmlmm. 271 Ebony Jlm’n ’l‘errur. )ll (minus.
Fl ’I‘he Muulm- Hunter. lly llurtun Sixxe. ‘ 72 Kit, 'lie Girl l‘eiectiv in (I. iinrlmngh. '
9 Dulniy Lulu-r: “r, ’l'h-- Myxtk‘ lim-lmmui. By J. E. Bmlgon The Girl lilder; Ur, Nimble Ned‘s Surprise. By Jen. E.
0 The Buy Gulil-llllnter. ' Eli nugh. llnrlxl‘n Ji-
Thc I‘vunoizrm-e *0 “f ' . I "end Shot "and: n Double. ll ' Col. P. lngmhmn.
- :5 The, l’llrli-§lilllll(‘|l mint. Byllll'lll (. l.ll:m-ltinr. Fred, (he ()n-nn W '. li)‘ChiIrli-s .lnrris.
K Juliet "art, I) . 15“ 0|] Cumin . Deadwood Dick Trapped. By i‘ldwurd T.. “’licrler.
184 Featherweight, t ' I By .dxurd Wine“. The Idiot Boy Avenger. li . Aiken.
185 “hum IBIII, tn.- Ovvl'lmul Hm linnl inn-mminmnlnnn. Arlznnu Air, ilm Him 13.
' Lulu-e mud "in I’m-(l. g l E. Uilllgz‘l‘, Jr ﬁlm-“do .lm-k, th \ _ . l, lunch Dewey.
[med 'l‘hzer Kh lly Ch lm Morris. . "end H . - . 13y (."l. P.1nzmlmm.
( trliuqul-nl. Den-oi . By Edwin-d L. Wheeler. . Neil, the ’ ‘ Ii,’ 7 '1‘ ‘urmanl.
139 (Nd lloeky‘u Iluyu. liy Mn}. Null. S. Hull. .».. Bnek liuwk,  ' iml L. Wheeler.
190 ﬁlm Sin-liking, si-nnt. 13y Jmm-s L. lluwrn. Rom”; sport Klt. by Edward mum. ‘ ~
191 lhunly lhwk’~ lilvnl. Hy tit-n. wnmn Llruwue. i The menmn’n Bent Curd. linupt. ma. Whittaker.
2 Illehory ﬂurry. Iii Hun-3 ‘t. Gl‘til'lr‘. 8 (M Roth»! Punl. By IlnrzkskiuSam. I
v'i Jemetlve Jo-oh Grim. ll. wnrd 1.. Wheeler. Dick. the annzn Sport. By Charles Morris.
’rmn rout. Pete, the Ilny Miner. iiv fill Cumin-n. Ned, the Buy Ski mar. lly Junk hurnwlb.
I ‘hc ’ ‘endm-I'uui. Trailer. Hy Hm'hnugh- , Deadwood Dioldn Dlnuuine. liv lidwnrd L. Wheeler.
‘hc lNIlItly DcLI'vll ' . By Clmrli . urrlr. 2%. Column)" Nick, Um Liissuist. By Maj. 11. ll. Stmhlnrd.
R01, the Young (‘ntt " lly Cnl. Prentiss Ingrnlmm. Rube, the Teluleri'ont. By Maj. b. L. St. Vruin.
l‘llnmy Ihtu‘n Mun .. ‘ runk Dumnm. I’(-“(i‘)(lk Pete, . ville Sport. By Albert W. Aiken.
\‘leilmuu-y Nut, lh-h . l . Ii 4 'l'. 1:. lh rlmugh. , .lue )loruy. thi- NlL’ll . Ii ' dgur, Jr.
'l‘l - 'l‘u'lu llurﬁeluen. ' l- i» \\'hltt~ike'.. lhvnri' Jnke. i I" I“ "
, 3 "I! k ‘ I H- “3 \‘l . . -. . Dulnh lDii-k‘n l'url y - - I
l‘um, the > ' i . By 0]; (‘Ivvam-A. ~ “'hl‘e “'iug, . l ' - ' Mums.
Hum thi-  [lyclmrlgﬁ Min-rig, 2m; unwind", the Ti; r - iitznknr.
' ’l‘he, \ Ill m'hoy. By (2.1. i‘n-niiw lnzmhiun. 2:)? Arlzonnl (Hunt. burn“).
The. Front er Del alive. [53- l‘lllwnril ' Vhrelrr. 298 Ihllsy Doll”! Darth. liy'l C Huvhaugh. _
\l’hlie Illtrllt :lng -r. The, Iiny Ally. li_ (‘. llnrhiuigh. 289 The llnllooll Deter-liven. By leuTy Entau.
heut-uek ’I‘nllmi‘n lhmd. By CHI-t. Mnrh Wilton. 300 Demlwood junk "mi"... [53* Edward Lyl'heoior.
'l‘rup M‘f Tmu'n (‘m‘ile Hyun- is; ill (indium. 301 lhuldv nuke, the 7nwllnv. lly Maj. E. L. St. Vruln.
’l‘he .leweuger- lit-y Deter ll. hnrlnn .\lnrr a. “02 HI}: Benson-M Bel. “5‘ '1 “m’llzmzll- ‘
The Ilunehlmek oi the Mine 3 . iiuduer, Jr. mm The “0191 “0y pawn.“ . ,mcs 310mm
Little (iluutnml llln lhuul. By Philip. Vi'nme. 30.1. "um "(-ml‘n l’uril. Hy  ‘ s‘mn.
'l‘he .llmtmvn sport. Hy Edward 1.. win - 30;, Hunky “My, 1)....1. Hy Hurry umm.
1 TI *imte’n l’r 7e Hv C. Dunning Clm . 30¢; spotter FI-ltz. By Edw'in'd L. Wheeler.
l-ﬁ llnmly "an . ol' tn. By '1‘. C. llm-lmugh. 3191;, the “in: 1: "pt. llv Mnjm-E. L. St. Vrnin.
ls llnrlng Jinn. the Riumr. By all Cmnn-a. ‘ Double, Fluted ll at. 13y .‘lns. E. limluer. Jr.
I The, lowlmy (‘uplnhh By Cu]. [‘ri tins ingr-hum 09 01d 1; ourd‘u Roy. B '(‘ Dunning Clark.
I "11141 lleml n ' 1| R ' en. lly .j, Sum. S. Hall. K“, we “ll-1 (tumulmv 1 ' i. l’renilsslngmhmu.
is The )llm-r Span. liy hvl\\'llnlL.“rlu:r~li~r. Fr“, Fred “.11.”... By Bus inn Sam.
19 I‘IIUL’, the. Deleelhc. iiy Alhun W. Aiken. The Detective, Road-Agent. Bv E. L. Wheeler.
20 Creek-Him! Fri-"k. ' ‘ilm'len Murriu. “one” Jud.“ prong." 13v R 5. Warm.
2| )lerle the Mlddy. g ‘ n-niis-x lngmhnm. (yup, me Buy MIN-"r, ByEdwurd Willa.
'52 lKo-telmd lh-u‘n lloyu. ii. (>11 (Mums. Tom, the Arum," sport 13y \i,.j..r E.l.. St. Vrnln.
3 Gold Unmrml‘n “Udell-Doug. liy ’1‘. l1. llarlmuuh. Thﬂtreet-Arnh Deter-rive. lly (hark-.- ,‘lunl9-
1‘ Erhk IRWIN” “W N"“' “W 3"“ “V G. L. Aiken. Buckskln “on 01' ’l‘exun. My llur-kskin Sum.
7- Dlek Drew. t iinm-’s.Snn. liy l-Idwnrd 1.. Wlmier. (lolorndﬁ (.‘hnrlle‘n lbeteethe Dnuhl 13." E- L- Wht‘clcr-
6 lhlkotn Illek l ()hh-uu'o. By Clmrh-s Morris. Frlnky Frank In Idaho. By It "JrrSliirhm'k.
7 Merle, the Buy 4 . . llyCul. l‘rcntm ingmhnm. Cool Hmn‘M (llrl l’urd. liv ‘i‘ liarb ugh.
R The l’reueher Detect-Ive. By Oli Cunning. "In," the Km from Frlneo. Bv J. C. andrick.
9 (Mil lllekury'n (Jrll. My .lnhn J. Mnrﬂbull. Fred Flycr. Di- ~ Ry (Elms. Morris.
0 Three [toy Hum-i By ('ilpl. Frederirk Whittaker. pom] gm", “.0, ,. Mont“... l’y Rugs: szmbuck.
I Mun-u Hum, Hm “i 1% 73y EI'WHN' li- “'hw'h'r- . . Kit, the Denver Hpurl. 15y EilwurIlL. Wheeler.
93 Merle Mantel! 'Tl'i‘li - “3' CM- "W‘H'N [‘IKHIlmm- hunky Darrell, the Camp l) ive. Ry Edwin Emerson.
3 lhu-hy “over I‘ll. ii) sign (‘ i), Wnrren. Roy, a“. Boy (Wuhan “yum pmnm, hmmhnuh
4 “may, (he, Nllnt'r (HIM. 8v Cnpl. J. ‘. C. Adams. N03, “It. “mm”; yum.“ By [harry [nun].
ii Juek Stun-[ﬁn (‘rnlnla lly linger Sinrhuwk. . Rocky lion‘s "and. l y w, . Hamilmn. .
6 Slurrn Fum‘r‘ Double. By Edward 1.. Wheeler. have, the Colorado “' renﬂer. Bv Mn]. E. M'Sl Vrnln.
7 N“““‘"" N9“ D'*L"‘“‘rl"£" “3' (Jhnries Mnrria. The Denver Knurl'u Hui-Let. By Edward IL. Wheeler.
3 .“el'le . unit-’- Hen ‘ ruper. By (‘01. Prentins him-nu. 'l‘he (fun-41 "elective. llv Rug;er Stnrhui-k.
9 llell'ﬂ I“! “OOIII- 1‘. ('Nlil» “Mk “"IW‘YL Dnlwlu 'lluu In (‘mu :m (1! v. liy Philip S. “Guns.
0 Sharp Shrith M . > ily 0i] C("Ililt‘s. “.mmhwk y“. I u... [Mm-m _ Ann...“ I).
I Sierra Hinn'l Kenn-nee. By Edwnrd L. “'lleelur Frlmo Tom lleeh. liy (lwrgn ll-me Aim
2 The Denver lh-ieellve. ‘53" T.  "MIHHIL'IL lieu llmnly, (he linsn l'nnl. By J. Shullzﬂ' [lend n.
» 8 "mail Jun’n Dilemn i. Dip-Mn]. L.\V Curﬁlln. 3 Fwd‘ "u. 500,... I“ Bun".me 1;,“- (pmnp; on
v 1 M erle Mollbe'u I)er no. lly C'vl. P'Wlurﬂ lngmhmu. The linslvln \Vrerth-r’s Confederate. By Ed L. Whenlsr.
r, unldy'. ﬂay l-nm . ByEilwnnl 5. mm. 7 "um, um“, unmnlunnin Gnloot‘ Rv T. c. Harbmlzll.
' 6 Detei Ive Keeu’u Apprentice. Hy Clml'h'u Muth- ‘5 8 The Gold Bur Detective. By Majer K. L. St. Vrnin.
7 The, (-Irl gnarl. "Y Edwan L...Whnehrr. 9 Bank) the, Buy Gypsy. By Wm. G. Putter].
in“ ,Ghmt “our 0’! Part]. lly limjlmliiu Sum. ) Blﬂy l ubhle’n Ill Hem-c. By Charles Morris.
41! lunch 1{oh n \Vlld Illgle. liy T. (I. llurhml h. 3 1 Colornua ﬁtcvc’n huh. liv Philip S. Wurnu.
I) _ orlo Munie‘n P-‘uwlon. ll (Jul. Prentiss Ilarlllllm. 2 Hump-H ml; Stun. EV liuvlmkin Sum. . ‘ ’
1 The lleni’lh-teeld BVlCnWiIWl Willa}. 3' 3 Mik t be Bowery eteeilve. By Edward L. Whoalar.
59 Denver hill'n llev’lee. BY WWI"? L- “‘Wﬂ'm 4 The )rummer Fpnrti. ﬂy Edward Willa“-
53 The “0 ’|‘emlerl'onln 7 wt, Ami-L- Wilwn. 5 Jmaqm-g, the ilnrdllnu putt-awe. By J‘. C. Comirick.
54 Illuek I ma ten. ﬂy Mai. wix W-Cm'm- 6 Jove. the l‘liicngn Amh. lly (tannin. Mmrim
1 55 .lnlly J! I nil-alive. llv (‘hnrh-shimrls. 7 “Md V "eﬂmrtm l-rlm.‘ Hy (70]. pm“qu [um-“ham.
‘ ﬁll Merle.“ le’n llnnl. (‘rnimn liv (‘Ivl.vai'ntins lngmhmn. :5, p; slump ﬁlmmcr Frank. By Buckikill Sam.
' 57;?he llny (‘hlel‘nl'lloeky Purim. Bv Mn]. h. l. 't.\'min. limdv \l‘l}l('lllbl‘r in, if
5" Denver Doll in lh‘teetlve. liy E. L. Who 849 lluel". tin: .‘lllll‘l‘. By Maj. E. L. 5i..Vrain.
f- 59 thile Fuxe e, the Culumd'l 5?.“ “V 051 (Juom- I. Rudy September 17. ‘ ‘
60. ﬁklt, “Hm ,(Ilblll ling. BV Ellwzln Willa“. ' 0 . '
.6 l' leie. the $1»an My - C4 Hnrhnu 11- Bcadle’n Pocket Library in for sale by all Newudenlem av.
62 lull}, llm liny Rover. l; Col. Pren s: lhgrnhnm. cents per copy, or sent. iii-mull oh receipt hf six coats each.
6;; 9n tor ’nglbil A“Quay; or, Lisa, the Light-lion“ Keeper. BEADEE AND ADAMS, “hue”, ,
I ‘ y “w. . 1L. 1 um.,. i I . - ~ '  .-
364 Denver Doll’s Partner. By E. L. Whulch ,  . 98 WMum‘Stx-eet, New York. '4

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