tered According to Act of Congress. in the Year 1894, 6 vlishers New York. r& Smirn, Pa 31 Rose Street, TNX know the lead was lost, sir, but I was 30Y FROM T FOR THE WHITE HORSE MINE. AE WES ° » something by working over the old I may be wrong. Some people out I live say £ don’t know shucks ; but THE STRUGGLE {cheap enough, and try to see what I can ; make out of the old mine.” | *You’d be stuck, | Why, experts failed to find a trace of the | lost lead, and they said the mine was utterly j worked out If you've got any money |}mean to put into that piece of property, PR BY HARR Y DANGERFIELD. “THe BOY FROM THE WEsT” was commenced last weel.] sacked the shares tu London.” “So Ira Wilson is the name who has them?” | hard he was really hit. It was not an easy thing to do, but he forced asmile to his fac j even though it proved to be a somewhat CHAPTER IV. of the man FAIRLY BALKED, | I’m willing to buy the stock, if I can get it | | through the mine a few weeks ago, while on | > into Colerader, and I reckoned I could | | promoter-—a ch and stuck bad, boy. | “New York, Jue 23, 1894. iggy race “What's his business ?” Jubal Heep grinned craftily, again rubbing his. nose with one*forefin a movement thatsomehow seemed sinister and offensive to thelad. “His business? Oh, he’s an er of suckers.” Bart did not fail to understand this. “And has he gone to England for the ex- press purpose of selling them yar shares to agent—a | Suckers over thar ?” you | nk your good fortune Ira Wilson has | He ha “Not “Hew much! was the scornful answer. n't tinker with anything so small. zen schemes on hand, and I in- duced him to see what he could do with the ne Britishers are particularly anx- just now to sink their good money in | sickly one. reered, as if he had | ‘‘Wa-al,” he said, speaking with his ha- in the face, | bitual drawl, ‘‘you it’s like this : My ar Sent to England ?” he faintly mut- | father used to own that. yar mine, and——” ~~ tered. I’m done for !” “Your father?” exclaimed Jubal Heep. The man looked at him in astonishment, | ‘Is it possible you are the son of Normat rubbing his beak-like with one white |Stone, who was accidentally killed in the forefinger. mine by a premature blast?” ‘‘You «seom. broke “JT am his son, sir.” ‘What's the matter 7 “Well, I don’t see what you can the stock ?” that petered out hole in the The boy from the West straightened up, | ought to know enough to-be 4 determined not to let the lawyer know how! nothing in it.” > ART actually — B been struc sta he see vy blow “Gone ! nose up,’ sae observed. | Wittdid you want.of | want of ground. You ue ware 7 cl i a i Le 4 - MANN ATTA = Nill CO) “THE STOCK OF THE WHITE HORSE MINE IS GONE! THE CERTIFICATES HAVE BEEN STOLEN!” 3442 GoonDpD NEWS. any kind of mining property in this country, and I thought Wilson might be able to get something out of the shares. ‘Told him to dispose of them at any price. He’s to have a commission, so he'll do his_ best. he won't be able todo anything If not, Stark better burn the worthless old papers. “But I can’t spend any more time with you, boy. Just go back home, and think yourself in luck.” Bart, however, declined to be dismissed in such a manner. “Ts it not still possible for me to purchase the stock of you?” he questioned, knowing whatever he did must be done without fur- ther delay. “You don’t want it.” Veg a0. si “Well, you're not half as smart as I took you to be -and that’s saying a good deal.” The boy flushed, but held his temper, for all of this uncomplimentary declaration. “J will pay you for the shares now,” he said, “and you can cable to that yar agent of yours not to dispose of them. He'll get the message as soon as he arrives,” “I can’t do business with you; you're only a boy.” “I’m my own master, Mr. Heep, and I’ve got the rocks in my pocket.” “Vhe rocks ?” “The dust—stuff —money.” The lawyer was immediately interested, and he rubbed his beak with renewed vigor, a cunning twinkle entering his eyes. If this boy was still fool enough to buy the worthless shares, why not sell them to him? “How much money have you, young man ?”’ “How much will you take for the shares?” “Oh, well, you must know we do not pro- pose to sell them for nothing, as Wilson may make a big strike with them. It will be use- less for you to offer an insignificant sum. A few hundred dollars are no object, and I do not suppose you have more than a hundred or so ?” Jubal Heep was trying to sound him. “1 will pay you five hundred dollars, spot cash for the shares, mister, and that yar’s business,” said Bart, 1 his deliberate way, The lawyer laughed. “T knew it would be useless to discuss the matter with you. Five hundred dollars! Why, I wouldn't take the trouble to cable Wilson for that sum !” ‘Come! If you really have any money, inake a fair kind of an offer. Speak up !” “Tt won’t be any use to try to make the old mine pay if I have to give too much for her,” was Bart's cautious reply. ‘‘You know well enough it’s no bonanza, What'll you take ?” “You want me to set a price?” “That's about it.” “Well, then, you muy have those shares for the sum of ——” ° “One hundred thousand dollars !” These words came from a third person, who had quietly entered the office just in time to catch what the lawyer was saying. “Walter Stark!” gasped the boy from the West, in blank dismay, as his eyes rested on this person. “Right you are,” came from the lips of the haughty youth, who regarded the other lad with the utmost contempt. ‘I éverslept myself this morning, and you came near stealing a march on me; but it seems I am still in time to block the game.” “You—you—” choked Bart, quite unable to express himself. : “Now, don’t go to calling names, my cow- punching friend! You may get yourself into trouble if you do!” ‘‘And [ saved you from being killed!” “I suppose you expect pay for that. Well, Tll give you a tenner, and call it square.” “Don’t do it! ‘It’s a blamed sight more’n that yar neck of yours is worth!” The son of the millionaire turned pale with anger, starting forward, his hands clenched, savagely grating: “You insolent puppy! Ive a mind to give you a good thumping !” “Come ahead,” “drawled Bart, his hands on his hips, apparently quite unprepared for an assault. “Hold on!” grated Jubal Heep, stepping between them. “I'll have no scrapping in this office! What's the meaning of this, anyway, Mr. Stark?” “It means this fellow has been trespass- ing in the mine, and pretends he has dis- covered the lost lead. That is why he is so ‘anxious to buy the stock. It will be a very good plan to hold on to it until we learn if there is anything in his discovery.” “Bosh! This boy discovered the lead, after the experts failed? I don’t take any stock in that.” “At the same time, I have directions from myifather to notify you not to dispose of tle stock.” ; “T have sent it to England.” Maybe When?” The agent sailed on the Ma- “Sent it? “Yesterday. jestic.” “Then he must be notified as svon as he lands not to let go of the stock until he re- ceives further instructions. Will you see to it?” “Certainly, if you say’so.” ‘Ido. As for this smart boy from the wild and woolly West, he is not in it at all. But I am satisfied with breaking him this way. He gave me a nasty throw yesterday, and I'll yet have satisfaction for that.” Trembling with anger and despair, Bart cried: “Any time you want satisfaction, just sail right in, Mr. Walter St. Omer Stark! I'll agree to give you all yer want—and a little more !” Young Stark smiled sneeringly. “You do not know my record, cow- puncher. I’m the champion amateur boxer of the 'l'rojan Club, and I knocked out Bob Plummer, the professional, in a fair and square set-to. I'd do you up while you was catching your breath. Remember what I said: You are altogether too slow for the East. Take a tumble to yourself and go back where you belong, or you'll be cap- tured by some dime museum manager and caged for a freak.” Bart was tempted to launch himself at the sneering and insolent lad, but, by a strong effort, he held his passion in check, deliberately saying: ‘Maybe the tine’ll come when I'll make you swaller that yar bluff! I may be a little slow, but I have away of getting around sometimes. You'll hear from me again, and you won't be pleased none whatever. Good day.” He abruptly left the lawyer’s office, Wal- ter Stark’s hateful and sneering laugh ring- ing in his ears. CHAPTER Y. HOT AFTER THE STOCK, Qn ‘yj FEEL like I'd been run down by a wp stampeded herd!’ muttered the un- f lucky boy from the West, as he de- ““" scended the stairs, utterly regardless of the elevator. ‘And it’s all my fault! [ deserve it for letting my mouth loose and telling all I knew. That was the worst thing I ever did.” His aspect was certainly that of a crushed and crest-fallen boy, and he was so heedless when he reached the street, now thronging with life, that he ran into several persons, being sharply rebuked for his awkwardness in one instance. After a time, he realized he was hungry, and he sought a restaurant, where a square meal was ordered and eaten, Indeed, for all his misfortune, his appetite was so voracious the waiter stood gazing at him in amazement. Being unaccustomed to the ways of the East, he made several blunders that cansed those who saw him to smile, and brought an abashed flush to his own cheeks. Having satisfied his appetite and paid the bill, he left the restaurant and was soon on Broadway once more. Scarcely knowing why he did so, he took a surface car for up town, getting off at Fourteenth street, and walking northward. Naturally, he attracted a great deal of no- tice, being attired in a manner quite unus- ual for Broadway; but he paid no attention to the stares and smiles of the crowd, his mind occupied with thoughts of his own affairs. Suddenly, however, as he reached Twenty-third street, these- words aroused hiny to a sense of his surroundings : “Hello, old man! Thought you'd sailed. Heard you were going on the Majestic.” “So I was intending. My passage was paid and state-room engaged, but I was in that little smash on the Delaware, Lacka- wanna and Western.” “You don’t say! Hurt any way ?” ‘Not hurt, but I missed the Majestic.” Bart heard all this, and ke looked the two men over with interest. The one who had missed the steamer was a rather dashy, bright appearing young man, with a shrewd face and a reddish mustache that had lately been curled by a barber. He was well dressed, and carried a large leather grip in his hand. “Missed the Majestic!” thought the boy from the West. ‘What if he——” He scarcely dared think of that, but he resolved not to let the young man with the grip get out of sight. The two men talked a few moments more, and then they parted, the one Bart was watching crossing Twenty-third street. The boy followed, in terror lest the stranger should disappear in the moving Escaped all right? throng. A block of teams shut in between the man and the lad, and it appeared as if fate would baffle Bart then and there. “You can’t stop me in this yar way!” he muttered, somewhat fiercely. The next moment, he astounded the spec- tators and nearly paralyzed a policeman by leaping to the back of a horse attached to a heavy truck, springing to the animal’s mate, and dropping lightly to the ground, quickly darting into the crowd. He was again close after the man with the leather grip, and this individual was pur- sued directly to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he walked up to the clerk’s desk and registered, receiving a room. The man’s grip was taken .by a colored porter, and, as he followed the servant to the elevator, Bart slipped up and looked at the name written on the register. He nearly uttered a whoop of delight, for it was: ‘Ira D. Wilson.” “Luck is coming my way like a bucking bronco on a tear!” he chuckled, striking his clenched right hand into the open palm of his left. ‘This is the very agent who has them yar shares, or I can’t tell.a Texas long- horn from a Kansas jack-rabbit !” He heard a hoarse sound close by his side, and turned to see the face of a man who was peering over his shoulder at the register. This man was a decidedly rough-looking gab eas. beifg none too well dressed, and naving a face that was not altogether pleas- ant to look upon, His shifting, unsteady eyes were now filled with a strangely eager light. ; Instantly Bart was impressed with the idea that he had seen this person before, although he could not immediately remem- ber when or where. For the moment his attention was attracted to the stranger, and when he turned to look for Ira D, Wilson, the “promoter” had disappeared. In fact, Wilson had entered the elevator and been carried toward thé upper part of the hotel, where his room was located, but Bart knew so little about big hotels that he was uncertain on this point. “Right lyar Til stay till I spot him again,” thought the boy. Then he noticed the rough-looking man, who was walking swiftly toward the stairs, up which he disappeared without being challenged, which was certainly an over- sight on the part of those placed there to look out for such matters. “Wonder who he is, and whar he's going up thar?” thotfht the Wy from+the West. “He an’t got any business round this yar hotel, I reckon. And if I havenh’t seen him somewhar some time, I know a heap less than I think I do.” He was so nervous he would have paced up and down the tiled floor, but he did not desire to attract the notice of the well- dressed patrons of the hotel, many of whom were staring at him as if he were really a freak. Seeking a settee in a corner where he fancied he would not attract a great deal of attention, he sat down. Still he was stared at, and he heard a gilded youth observe to another : “What is that stwange cwecher over theh, deah boy? It’s, verwy wemarkable, don’t yer know.” “Why, Algy, old fel,” said the second gilded youth, “that’s some low fellaw who has been weading blood-and - thundaw stowies. He’s got himself up in that wig to go out west in Jersey and kill Indians, don’t yer. see.” ; ““Pwobably wun away fwom his mothaw.” “Of cawse. He'd be dweadfully fwight- ened if he met a cigaw store Indian on a dawk evening. Haw! haw! haw!” “Haw! haw! Have a cigawette?” “Ya-as, thawnks. Come out wheah we can watch the deah gyrls go past.” Then they ambled away, leaving a boy be hind who was regarding them with the ut- most contempt. , “IT suppose them yar are dudes,” mut- tered Bart. “If Iam slow and from the West, I thank goodness I was not brought up in\a city to grow into one of them crit- ters !” He was keenly on the alert for the reap- pearance of Ira Wilson, having faith the agent would show up again beforelong. In this he made no mistake ; before much more than half an hour bad passed, the man for whom he was watching sauntered up to the cigar counter and purchased a weed, for which he threw down a quarter and did not receive back any change. The boy was seized by a fit of timidity that was quite unusual for him. He trem- bled violently, and hesitated about approach- ing the man. ‘‘What if he has sold the shares already ?” thought the lad, holding back and staring at Tra Wilson. ‘What if he won't talk to me about them at all? He shall! I’ve got the dust, and I’m going to have them yar shares before Mr. Ira Wilson sails for England! That's business, and now is ny time.” Having arrived at this conclusion, he de- liberately approached the agent, who had lighted his cigar and turned to walk away. “Mister,” said Bart, reaching Wilson's side, “I want to chin with you a bit, if you can spare me a few minutes of your time, I won't bother you long,’ he hastily added, fearing the man was about to rebuff him. “Tt’s business I want to talk, and T’ll lay a straight trail, so you can follow me without any break.” Wilson looked at him curiously. “What do you want?” he asked. “I want to see if IT can buy some mining stock of you,” explained Bart, seeing it was best to come to the point at once. “You want to buy some mining stock of me?” repeated the agent, with a puzzled air. “Then you have come to the wrong man,” CHAPTER VI. CROOKED WORK, HE wrong man?” j? Bart gasped the words, his bronzed x), face paling, and a sudden feeling of weakness running over him. Could it be possible there was any mis- take and this was not the Ira Wilson he was looking for? Was he to be baffled and de- feated again by fate ? “You're Mr, Ira Wilson, an’t you, sir?” “That is my name.” : “And you are taking the shares of the White House Mine to England to dispose of over thar ?” : Wilson looked somewhat surprised, scowl- ing slightly. “It seems tome you know a great deal about my business,’ he observed, evidently displeased, ‘How did you find out so much ?” ‘I’ve lately come from Mr. Jubal Heep.” At this, the man immediately gave him renewed attention, and Bart believed he had hit upon the right course. “Heep? Did he send you? That makes a difference. It is not my custom to do business with boys of your age, but if Heep told you to come to me, I'll hear what you have to say.” “Then you have the stock?” “Well, suppose I have, what then ?” was the cautious retort. “I want to know how much you'll take for the whole bunch.” “Who do you represent ?” “Bartley Stone.” “Stone? Stone? Never heard of him before. What is he?” “He is a boy about my size and get up.” “Oh, you are Bartley Stone?” “Hit her plumb center that time, mister. I'm Bartley Stone, and I want to buy that thar stock.” : Wilson stepped back, tipped his head to one side, the cigar held in the highest cor- ner in his mouth, and surveyed the lad from head to feet, not speaking for some seconds. Bart stood up squarely and looked the man in the face, waiting to hear what he might have to say. “You're the genuine article,” the agent finally nodded. “No fake about you. What part of the West are you from ?” “Kansas.” “Great State. Been through Kansas, What are you doing in the East?” “Oh, kind of whooping around to see the country. Thought I might pick up a good investment.” “And that’s why you're looking ufter the White Horse Mine, eh?” “Wa-al, I heard as how the stock may be roped mighty cheap.” “Oh, I don’t know about that,” and Wil- son shook his head gravely. ‘Certain Eng- lish capitalists are hot to get hold of it. That's why I’m taking it over. The mine has been lying idle for some time, on ac- count of legal difficulties and complications, but it is to be opened up and worked on a large scale once more within a few months.” It was with difficulty Bart succeeded in keeping a smile of amusement from his face. Indeed, there was a queer twinkle in his eyes, but he spoke with the utmost gravity. “This scarcely holds water with what Mr. Heep said about it. He told me the stock was of very small value, having no quoted price, and I kind of reckoned he was giving it to me fair and squar.” ‘ A look of disgust flashed across the agent's face and disappeared in a second. “It is evident Heep was stringing you,” he smiled. ‘I do not suppose he consid- ered you a possible customer, and so he gave such false ideas. You do not look as if you are stuffed with money.” “Can't always judge a bird by her feathers, mister. Maybe I'll pan out. a heap sight better’n I look.” il pe Ss Ble | lia eto Ns England! ne.” n, he de- who had k away. Wilson's it, if you ‘time, [ y added, uff him, Mil lay a without mining 3 it Was tock of led air, nan,’ ronzed ing of V mis- 18 Was id de- ir?” f the se of cowl- deal ently t so p.” him had ukes do eep you 4 A Was 3 ike im ” ar, at to Ts , m s. n it it if GooDp NEWS. 3443 ‘Have you cash?” *Some.” “How much?” «‘Wa-al, maybe I have enough to buy that thar stock—maybe not. I can tell a great deal better after I find out how much she'll cost at rock bottom figures.” Bart was cautious, and the agent did not know exactly how to take him. There was a certain independent, straightforward air about the lad that seemed to indicate he meant business, and yet, on account of his years, the man distrusted him. “ Wilson seemed to hesitate, all the while trying to size up the boy. Pretty soon, he said : ‘Tf I make a bargain with you, how do I know your father will not come forward and repudiate it?” “My father is dead.” ‘Ah! Where did you get your money ?” “Jt was given me for investment by my mother.” “Your mother? Is she well fixed?” “JT have all the money we possess right in my belt,” touching the leather band that ran around his waist. “Then let me tell you something,” Wilson suddenly returned ; ‘‘you had better keep it right there. I have stuck a great many suckers in my day, although I’m not so very old ; but I'll be hanged if I ever beat a boy. It you had plenty of the filthy, I might think it would teach you a good lesson to paste the White Horse stuff onto you. As it is, I confess Jubal Heep told you the truth —the stock is not worth a tinker’s hoot. You don’t want it.” Then Bart was obliged to once more tell the story about thinking it possible he could make something working over the old vein. “Don’t take any chances on that, young man,” advised the agent. ‘‘The only way to make a mine of that sort pay is to work iton a large scale; and, as you can't do that, you would be a dead loser.” “Still, I will take my chances, if I can get hold of it cheap enough,” persisted the boy from the West. ‘Will you set a price for the whole bunch, please.” Ira Wilson puffed at the fragrant cigar, a far-away look in his keen blue eyes. All at onee, he seemed to come back to the situa- tion, saying : “If you get. stuck on this, don’t blame me, young man. Of course I am bound to sell, if you have the rhino and persist in buy- ng. “Don’t you worry about me take care of myself pretty well. price.” é «Well, Ill take ten thousand dollars for the whole lot.” Ten thousand dollars! That was at least twice as much as Bart had in his posses- sion. ‘Tll give you one thousand, mister,” coully said the lad ; ‘‘and ’cording to your own tell that yar’s more’n she’s worth a heap sigbt.” ; : “I can get more than that out of it by taking the shares over the pond, and I'll save you from wishing you hadn't done so. Im able to Set the “Say, call it two thousand. That’s busi- ness. Right there Bart stuck for a long time, but Wilson finally said he would take twenty-five hundred dollars. Barely had he uttered the words when Bart closed with him, thrusting a fifty dollar bill into his hand. “This binds the bargain, mister !” laughed the boy. ‘Them thar shares are mine. I'll take them right away.” The agent was a bit staggered, but he finally laughed and said : . “All right. Come up to my room, and we'll finish up the business.” Up by the elevator they went. When Wil- gon reached the door of his room, he uttered an exclamation of surprise, for he found it standing slightly open. “T’m dead sure I locked it when I went out!” he éried, as he hastily entered. ‘I hope everything’s all right. Ah! here’s my grip!” catching sight of it as it sat on a small table near a window. ‘Ihe stock is in that.” z He advanced to the grip and put out his hand to open it. A sudden startled cry came from his lips, and he leaped forward, catching it up. “Cut-—slashed! Crooked work! Look here !” He turned it so Bart saw a keen knife had ripped a long slit in one side of the grip. A moment later, Wilson had torn it open and was hastily examining its contents. After a few seconds, he ejaculated : “The stock of the White Horse Mine is gone! The certificates have been stolen !” «Are you sure?” gasped Bart, who could scarcely believe fate had struck him such a cruel blow. “Sure! There’s no mistake! They were taken while I talked with you. The thief cannot be far away! Out—atter him !” In his excitement, he dashed from the room, the boy at his heels. The car of the elevator happened to be at hand and they caught it going down. When the main floor was reached, Wilson rushed toward the desk to give notice what had happened. Bart, however, saw a man who was hurry- ing toward the front doors —the rough-look- ing man who had peered over his shoulder at the register. Instantly the suspicion of the boy was aroused, and he bounded for- ward, pointing straight at the stranger, as he cried in ringing tones : “Stop that man! Search him! thief !” The fellow cast a hasty look over his shoulder, and then rushed out to the street. Bart was close after him, and he knew it. “T won’t go back to do time now !”’ grated the fugitive, as he ran across the wide side- walk, An instant later he had leaped to the seat of a two-horse cab, snatching the reins and whip from the fingers of the astounded driver, who was pitched headlong to the street. Swish! crack! the whip cut through the air and scored on the backs of the horses, causing the animals to leap forward madly. Bart was a moment too late to catch onto the cab, but he did not propose to let the man get away. A black boy was holding a saddled horse that was waiting for its master to take a dash through the Park, and the pursuing lad saw the animal was just what he needed. The next instant the rein was jerked from the black boy’s hand, and the horse went tearing down Broadway and into Twenty- third street, Bartley Stone in the saddle. Yelling for people to clear the way, the fugitive on the cab stood up straight and slashed the horses with the whip ; but the animals, encumbered as they were, could not distance the one in pursuit. Bart quickly reached the cab, passed it, and drew alongside the galloping horses, for all of the lashing the horses were receiving. The boy from the West ieaned from the saddle to grasp the bit of the nearest animal, crying: ‘Whoa up, thar! Stand and deliver them yar shares! ‘They belong to me, and I’m hyar to take them !” (TO BE CONTINUED.) a ee ee A SCRAP OF GUN HISTORY, He isa Guns wuz invented sum time back, and in time ov war are konsidered a furst- klass invention fur demoralizeing an enemy. ‘The furst gun ever invented and used in time ov war wuz kalled an insig- nificant club, and wuz konsidered a sure shot at short range. The next gun thet I can read ov wuz invented by an ingen- nous Jrishman and wuz kalled a shelalia, and differed materially frum the furst in- vention, owing to the astonishing fact thet she shot frum both ends to wonst. And many a bold solger-boy went to an ontimely end, on’onered and _ onsung, busted by an insignificant club or shot with a double-barreled shelalia. Now about this time muskits wuz in- vented, and used intime of war. They shot with a fuze, and if they didn’t de- moralize the enemy, it did the men that shot them off. I red a scrap of history wonst where in an anshunt battle sum musketters played havoc with the enemy by gitten their pieces off three times in seven hours, or seven times in three days --I don’t mind just which it wuz, and it don’t make no particular difference fur such a short time. It wouldn’t be much to brag on fur quick shootin’, nohow. I believe the anshunt historian when he says it wuz a well-contested battle and has the additional circumstances to add thet nobody got hurt, My grandpap, old Peet Maginnis, wuz a powerful warrior, and owned a wundur- ful. shootin’-iron, and after he got to be an old man he used to take down old Betsy and count the notches in the stock. He said it wuz every notch an Indian and sumtimes two. He said he never could count them notches or srnell burnt powder but he wanted to skulp a Kuskaroarin Indian, and I believe my grandpap to be as truthful as most boys’ grandpaps are. I recon the self-regulatin’, everlastin’, enemy-definin’ John Henery rifle is kon- sidered by all odds the best gun ever in- vented fur annihilatin’ a peskey enemy. You just place the breech in your cat- terige-box, say “Lord, hev murcy on their wicked souls,” and bang away. BILL MAGINNIs. —__ + « oe —— The nearest fixed star is 16,000,000,000 miles distant, and takes three years for light to reach the earth. (This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. | Captured at Sea; DICK WILLARD’S STRANGE LUCK. + BY CLARENCE CONVERSE, Author of “Dick Oakley's Adventures,” etc., etc. Sea as (“CAPTURED AT SKA” was commenced in No. 205. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Ageuts.) CHAPTER XXXYVIL OLD FRIENDS AND SCENES, appeared when the Duchess cleared phe a ie Boe > we same smacks lying in the harbor, and old Dan Wix’s boat-house and the wharves looked much the same as when the Duchess was fitting out for the eventful voyage, with which the early chap- Gs EACON COVE was very much as it \. | ters of this story deal. The grounds and great piazzas of the summer hotels were thronged with guests and cottagers who were drawn here by the cool sea breezes, the harbor and fine stretch of surf of this growing summer resort. Some groups of town people were col- lected here and there, but there were not many of them. Beacon Cove was becoming quite a rival for even some of the oldest and most fashionable watering-places, and many of her plain citizens felt themselves too poorly dressed to mingle with the wealthy—and in some cases, Iam sorry to say, ‘‘splurgy’—_ summer sojourners. But who can be the rather flashily dressed, youngish man leaning negligently against a pillar of the piazza and airily smoking a cigar? We certainly have seen that care- | less pose before somewhere. Darrel Nesbitt ! Well, he certainly is about the last person we might expect to find here. Yet, calculating himself to be secure from | any implication with the theft of the early summer, owing to his forethought in dis- guising himself when he acted a leading part in that daring outrage, he had coolly appeared in Beacon Cove a week before and taken the finest suite of rooms in the Al- hambra. The surprise he manifested when told of the yacht’s loss, among other news of hap- penings since his departure that spring, was refreshingly artistic under the circum- stances—I will say that for him. The marked change in his circumstances he accounted for by the information that the friend he had been so suddenly called away to see had succumbed to his last attack of sickness, and they always having been like brothers, this friend had left the bulk of his fortune to him—a little matter of one hundred and fift; to two hundred thousand dollars in good securities. «“And,’—he had concluded his little story, suavely, in the parlor of his elegantly fur- nished suite, as he drained a glass of costly wine from the cut-glass decanter on his center-ta: le—‘“‘taking a fancy to this rather quiet, old-fashioned resort when I was here last spring, I've just dropped down for a few weeks of lounging hereabouts.” Whereas the real magnet that drew him here was the memory of a certain person with whom my story has dealt before, and one of the most ingenuous and frankest of young girls--even though Miss Jessie had always shown a strange aversion to him. The capture of the Lurline from him by the young sailor, Jack Lovell, he argued to himself philosophically, had been rather annoying; still, on the whole, it had relieved him of what might have been a delicate matter to handle. Though he had once taken part in the successful sale of a vessel under almost similar circumstances. ‘‘Aw—-good afternoon, Mr. Nesbitt.” This drawling salutation came from the lips of none other than our friend, Algernon Baker; but it was only vouchsafed as the speaker was accidentally jostled against by his acquaintance, and it was accompanied with a frown. The acknowledgment of it was cold. ‘How are you, Baker?” But these two gallants were rivals in a way, now. And ee the estimated great wealth of the older man, Algernon could with difficulty, in the fullness of his jealousy (unfounded jealousy), restrain him- self from an open rupture with his former friend. “It was too confoundedly mean,” he fumed secretly, in the stillness of wakeful nights, “too confoundedly, measly mean. That low beggar,”—this in a happier mood— ‘that low beggar, Dick Willard, is drowned and out of the way, thank Heaven! He was sort of good-looking—in a vulgar sort of style. But now here comes that fellow, Nesbitt, with a mint of money. He’s bought the finest rig he can get ; he’s just flinging himself !”’ : And then Algey groaned. “Puppy!” Nesbitt exclaimed, viciously, under his breath. “Why, Mr. Nesbitt !” was the smiling and rather differently modulated greeting of Baker, Sr., from that of his son, as that gen- tleman issued from the hotel office. “I hope [ find you in—er—in your customary good health.* “Thanks,” returned Dare, briefly ; and ‘he did not exert himself so much as to take his eye off a distant vessel swiftly beating in toward the harbor entrance. “I—er-— suppose it would be-—er—ont of | the question to urge you to accept a master’s | papers on oneof my vessels now—I—er er ” Mr. Baker continued, beaming upon his vis a vis affably. “But I would—er—like to see you to-night—or whenever it is con- venient—about joining me in buying a new vessel now building in Boston. I = But further words died away in Mr. Baker’s thin throat at the look Darrel Nes- bitt slowly gave him from head to foot. And this look grew more scornful and supercilious as Dare began to revenge him- self on the son through the father. “Be a master on one of your vessels! I tried life on one. You half man them ; half pay the men, and the victuals are worse than the slavers feed their cargo. Own a eraft with you! No, thanks! Not with you and your shyster lawyer of a brother ; and have you two examplary gentlemen layin with each other against me as you did when you got that fine old place over there”—with a nod toward the Willard property—‘‘for next to nothing. Though I hardly think you could do it with me, sly as you think you are. It is almost unnecessary for me to state that the people within hearing dropped into an attentive silence. “Be careful—er—er—sir-z, or I will pros- ecute you—er—er—for—er—libel ! ]——_” hissed the discomfited ship-owner, his sal- low face assuming an almost livid hue. He glanced apprehensively about him, as Dare smiled contemptuously and resumed the contemplation of the ocean view. Then he retreated hastily down the steps toward the lawn, only to be button-holed by Hans Bushley, however, at the graveled walk. “How vas mien Herr Baker, anyhow ?” bellowed the short constable, in a voice that was audible down on the shore, not to men- tion the near piazza. ‘Aber, he looks like some one vas not lettin’ him foreclose some little debt on him once,” in a shout that would reach fore and aft in a gale off Hat- teras. But Hans Bushley intended resigning his position at the end of his term, and he felt no hesitancy in speaking his mind to the great moneyed man of Beacon Cove. “Vhen you builds the house on the old Villard site you cheats the poor young fel- ler, Dick, out of ven his folks dies, hey?” ‘Silence ! you dunderhead !” This was a joke that Mr. Baker did not appreciate. . “I sold the beastly mud pile four days ago,” he growled, more to himself than to his companion, ‘for fifteen thousand dol- lars.” He might have added that it was owing to certain hints thrown out by a prominent Boston lawyer, that the only alternative would be to prepare to answer the charges of gaining the property through a question- able collusion with his brother, the admin- istrator of the estate of the late owner. ‘Sold out for fecfdeen t’ousan’ tollar! Aber dot vas just vat you gets him for—haw! haw! Goot! goot! Ha! I tinks me your vife have somedings to say. I hears me dot she say she lives in von flour-barrel aber before she goes a house in you builds that property on what vas lived on by dot Captain Vil- lard, whose frau aber you vas spoons on, aber she marries Villard—haw ! haw! haw ! “Hey? Vot vas dot?” demanded Mr. Bushley, suddenly checking his exuberant mirth, and becoming very much in earnest. “You calls me one sauerkraut-eating idiot ! 1 puts von head on you for dot! Von t‘ousan’ debils! You long, drawed-out, empty sausage-skin! J——” : But Hans Bushley's awful threat was not. uttered. It ended in along, hearty guffaw that shook the merry constable’s ample sides as if they were jelly. For, forgetting the dignity of carriage which should mark the movements of the wealthiest ship-owner in Beacon Cove, Thomas Baker clasped his thin hands tightly about the brim of. his precious silk tile, and sought bodily safety in precipitous flight. ae ee ae 3444 | Was it only a coincidence, or appreciation | whispered something hastily in the consta- ble’s ear that made that individual’s eyes | | of the appropriateness of the old campaign piece, that prompted the hotel band to sud- | denly strike up the strains of ‘‘Good-By, | My Lover, Good-By’? The number was executed with unusual vim and artistic | flourish, at any rate, and it was applauded | in that immediate vicinity more warmly than any of the previous pieces on the after- | noon programme. | “Ah, Mr. Nesbitt! Do you sailon the} next voyage with the Vera?’ This question was in the bass tones of an erect, hale and handsome man, with whom | we are already not a little familiar. “When she’s the last vessel afloat, and I can’t find anything todo onshore, captain,” was the very decisive answer. ‘Which is, | in brief, about whatI have just had the | pleasure of telling her largest owner.” ‘Fine looking craft that coming in,” Cap- tain Briscoe remarked, civilly, his gaze directed toward the harbor channel, as was indeed that of nearly every one on the broad | piazza, now that Thomas Baker was no longer the center of interest. The vessel that had been in the offing was now coming up the harbor with the faultless grace of a skimming water fowl, and she showed herself to be as trim a yacht as had yet visited the resort. Brasswork gleaming like burnished gold, symmetrical canvas, and hull as white as chisseled ivory. Her crew was nattily uniformed in white duck. Everything bespoke her to be the property of a very wealthy man, and so she was. “Wh—— Yes, she is that !’’ Dare Nesbitt answered, with a slight start; but the ab- surdity of its cause made him fall into his accustomed nonchalant manner the next moment. CHAPTER XXXVIII. A PRISONER. Mo 1. i ; NE thing was certain to be seen as the yacht neared the dock the hotel- owners had built—there was some one aboard her who knew Beacon Cove harbor pretty well. Dike’s Shoal was avoided as cleverly as though it were buoyed from end to end. Mummey Rocks were aiso looked out for as carefully. The little vessel shot up into the wind, her headsails came down with almost the precision of clockwork, and she settled back at anchor a cable’s-length from the bath- houses and boat-house float. A cutter was lowered and manned. The young man it put ashore wore a neat blue uniform that set off his erect, athletic form to rather good advantage. Entering the Alhambra he crossed the floor of the large office to the clerk’s desk. A slight smile appeared on his face as Henry Litton, Tom’s eldest brother, and a | veteran hotel clerk, stared blankly at him | in an unspeakably puzzled way, thrust out his hand, and then, apparently thinking bet- ter of the act, drew it back and fingered his generous-sized watch-chain confusedly. However, the visitor became grave with an effort the next moment, and moved the reg- ister toward him. “Ts Mr. Huntington here?” he asked. “I received a ’gram: saying that he would be.” “Not yet, sir. But we expect him this afternoon. He has engaged rooms,” was the answer in Mr. Litton’s everyday intona- tion. For his general urbanity never left him longer than a very few moments. ‘Will you register?” “No. I am only—— No, Ill be in again.” With this answer the gentleman left the desk and sauntered toward the veranda, where, it is almost needless for me to say, the occupants of the rustic seats were holding a more or less amused conference over the rather ludicrous incidents /of the previous few minutes. But now the new arrival became the cen- ter of interested glances—particularly so as he was seen to be visibly startled as his eyes rested upon three gentlemen exchang- ing greetings near the foot of the steps, viz.: Captain Briscoe, Mr. Maxwell Huntington, and Dare Nesbitt. Well, everything considered, it is not very strange that the brave young fellow was not a little surprised at the sight of the last named gentleman. The look of surprise, however, gave place to a smile of quiet amusement at the easy effrontery of Dare’s manner. * Then the lines about the young fellow’s lips became firm. He hesitated for a mo- ment, when his eye rested upon the ample form of Hans Bushley standing in a com- placent attitude near by, enjoying the after- noon concert with all the keenness of his | question out in a blank st | had music-loving race. , Going down the steps, the yachtsman GooDpD stand out like beetles. den you asn’t drownded—hey ? But the young fellow had Hans Bushley took the rest of his excited are at the neath; uniformed officer, as he moved the fingers testingly of the hand the young yachtsman given a bear-like grasp. Mr. Maxwell Huntington paused in the remark he was just making. Captain Bris- coe and Dare Nesbitt regarded the young fellow approaching them in a questioning way. But paying no apparent attention to either of them, the young man touched his hat and bowed to Mr. Huntington. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, in a voice that rather startled Dare and Cap- tain Briscoe. ‘Iam Mr. Willard, and re- ceiving your ’gram at Hull when the Lur- line reached there, 1 have brought her here according to your wishes, That bunch of poplars just hides her——” “Dick, my boy-—can this be you?” ex- claimed Captain Briscoe, in astonishment. Dick felt a singular choking sensation in his throat. He could only return the warm hand-grasp of the captain silently. Dare Nesbitt’s face was a study. Then,” he exclaimed, slowly, with a look of indescribable venom, losing his self- control for the Thstant, ‘‘you and Jack Lov- ell were one and the same? J wish I had lenown it!” This outburst greatly surprised Mr. Hunt- ington and Captain Briscoe, The blow Nes- bitt aimed at Dick was a greater surprise. But intuition warned Dick of the last. He dodged it skillfully, and the next moment the interested and puzzled onlookers were astonished to see Hans Bushley, who had moved up toward the party idly, seize the wealthy hotel guest from behind and snap a pair of manacles around his wrists. ; ‘Dick, what on earth does all this mean ?” “Why,” began the young fellow, amused at the mystified look on*Captain Briscoe’s face, “there is quite a story to be told. You couldn’t have received the letter I wrote you from the rather ramshackle building. = To one side was a small room used as an Office, and this was lit up by a solitary lantern, which hung over the well-worn desk, Looking through the window, Joe be- held Philander Pardone sitting in an} easy-chair, smoking a brier-root pipe. The smoke was coming forth in heavy clouds, “He's evidently enjoying himself,” was Ralph Luimley’s comment, as he ranged up by the boy’s side. “I wonder what le'll have to say when Mr. Podgers faces him?” “T don’t care wot he has to say,” cried old Podgers. “If he’s got thein hosses. he'll give-’em up putty quick an’ explain matters, too, or I'l! know the reason why.” “T have an idea,” cried Joe, suddenly, ax he drew Podgers’ hand away from the knob of the door. “Wot do you mean, Joe?” “et us first go through the stable, and see if we can see anything of your team, If we find the horses, you'll be better able to talk to him on the subject than if the animals are not to be seen,” “That's trae,” said the surveyor. “We'll take a walk to the rear.” The three left the vicinity of the office, and were soon at the rearend of the stable, Here the wood-shed described by the negro was found, It joined the corner of the stable, and was an unusually large building for the purpose for which it had been built. Ralph Lumley, who was in advance, tried the door, and found it locked, “Perhaps there’s a window on the other side,” suggested Joe, and the three walked around, and there saw an opening about a foot square, covered with a bit of wire netting. Old Podgers lif a match, and, holding it close to the netting, peered into the shed. 4 “By gosh!” he cried, after a few seconds of silence. “What do you see?” “Thar's one of ‘em hosses!” “You are sure?” questioned the sur- veyor, who wished to make no mistakes, “Sure?” repeated old Podgers, disdain- fully. “Don't you reckon I know my own hoss-flesh?” “Then the negro was right,” said Joe. “Yes; an’ Philander Pardone’s got a heap to explain,” said the old man, He ambled around to the door again, and, putting his shoulder to it, burst it open. } On speaking to the borse within, the animal gave a winny of recognition. “You kin bet Tom knows me,” said old Podgers, patting the horse affectionately. “Now, Tom, where's Bess?” But all the glad beast could do was to give another winny, and rub his nose. against his master’s hand. At that moment the three heard a step behind them, and, turning, confronted Philander Pardone. “Say, what's the meanin’ of this?” be- gan the livery stable-keeper, and then he suddenly broke off. “That’s wot I would like to know, Phil Pardone?” burst out old Podgers. “Wot you doin’ with my hoss?” “Your horse?” repeated the livery stable-keeper, with well assumed sur- prise. “That's wot I said.” “Ts this your horse?” ; “You_know mighty well it is.” “No, I don’t.” “You do. Now, I demand to know wot you stole him for?” And old Podgers ran up and shook Pardone roughly py the arm. For an instant Philander Pardone was taken aback, then he shook off the old man, “T never stole a horse in my life, Pod- gers,” he said, “There must be some mis- take here.” “How did you get this hoss, then?” “tle was left here to keep.” “Who by?” “ “T—I don't know.” “You do know,” putgin Ralph Lumley, stepping forward, f “Hullo, and what have you got to do with this busine burst out the livery stable-keeper, sharply. “A yood deal. I demand to know whom you are keeping the horse for?” “I don’t—that is, he’s a strang’ stammered Philander Pardone, “ You see, I don’t know every one that comes to my stable to leave a horse for a few hours or a couple of days,” he rattled on, “Well, do you know what kind of a looking man he was?” questioned Joe. “What business is that of yours, boy?” cried Philander Pardone. “I have a per- fect right to board horses without being called a thief for so doing.” “That’s true, but this here looks right suspicious,” said old Podgers, with a grave shake of his head, “ Where’s the other hoss, that’s wot | want to know.” “T have half a dozen horses in the main stable, you can see if he is among them.” Philander Pardone opened a back door, leading into the larger building, and they entered, Joe was certain that the other horse which had been taken would not be found there, and such proved to be the case. “See him?” queried Philander Pardone, after lighting one. of the lanterns and holding it up. “No, he an’t here,” replied old Podgers, somewhat crest-fallen. “Did any other horse come in with Tom?” questioned Ralph Lumley. “See here, this an’t none of your affair,” cried Philander Pardone. “It con- cerns Podgers and nobody else.” “You are greatly mistaken, Mr. Par- done; this concerns both myself and this boy.” “In what way?” “That is our business.” “All rot! You are mad over that bear affair, and want to get square on me.” “I think we are square on that, al- ready,” put in Joe, with a queer smile. “Here, I don’t want none of your chaff, boy! I’m a peaceful citizen or I would never have allowed you to ride over me in that affair, Ionly let you have the bear to keep out of trouble.” “You were very kind,” sneered Ralph Lumley. “But let that go. Just now we want to know all about this horse and his mate. When did he come in, and who brought him?” “He came ina couple of days ago,” growled the livery stable-keeper. “Morning, noon, or evening?” “Look here——” “Answer my question.” “T won't answer a single—— ” “You’H either do that or go to jail, | Mr, Pardone. You can take your choice.” | At these plain words, the face of the livery stable-keeper turned from red to white, and he gave a quick gasp. “Do—you—mean—that?” he asked, slow- ly and painfully. -“T certainly do, That horse was stolen, and the man who rode him was a burg- glar.” “You don’t say!” “I do say it, and, what is more, I am of the opinion that you know all about him. “No, I[don’t!” cried Philander Pardone, in sudden terror. “1 don’t kuow a single word, He said——” he stopped, abruptly. “What did he say?” put in Joe, quickly. “Did he say he would be back?” “No—I mean yes. 7 “Did the other man ride off on the other horse?” - “T didn’t see the other horse. The man came here, and asked me to keep the horse a few days, and then went off, and that’s all 1 know about the matter,” burst out Philander Pardone, “Ts that the truth?” demanded Joe. “Of course it is, I an’t no»-—” “Has either of the men been here since?” “Nary a soul.” “You are certain?” “Say, do you think——” “Never mind what I think,” answered Joe. “I know one thing is certain.” “What is that?” asked Ralph Lumiey, thinking he saw something unusual in Joe's manner. “Olney, the robber, is in the loft over- head.” mw <> to the loft. “Olney is up there?” ejaculated Ralph Eee in surprise. “Yes.” oes CHAPTER XXIII, A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. S Joe uttered the surprising state- ment recorded in the last chapter, os “How do you know?” “T saw his face,” answered Joe, whose head was now on a level with the floor- ing overhead, “Come down out of that!” yelled Phil- ander Pardone. “You saw nobody up there.” But Joe would not listen to him, anda he sprang for the ladder leading NEWS. second later was standing in the some- what dark loft. The place was filled with loose hay and straw and several boxes and barrels, and for the time the boy knew not how to proceed, “Bring up a Ralph Lumley. watch below.” “T'll do that straight enough,” replied Podgers. “An’ if Phil Pardone is the honest man he pertends to be, he’ help me.” sXe xou are making fools of yourselves, light!” he shouted to “And let Podgers keep shouted Philander Pardone, savagely. “I | say there is nobody up there, and I know.” | “It is possible somebody got up there | the lan- without your knowledge,” remarked surveyor, dryly. “Give me another tern.” “Tan’t goin’ to have my place searched.” “Ob, but you are! Now, the Jantern !” Philander Pardone began to bluster and use all sorts of threats, but-Ralph Lum- ley paid no attention to him. ‘The sur- veyor found a second lantern, and witha mateh from his pocket lit it and started up the ladder after Joe. In the meantime Joe had advanced several steps in the darkness. He felt certain that Olney was close to him, per- haps witbin arm’s reach. “Olney, you might as well give in,’ said. trap.” To this the robber made no reply. > he in the straw, but that was all. The boy located the sound as_ best he} could, and made a quick dash in the direction. He made a-slight mistake in his calcu- lations, but in turning around his shoul- der brushed against the coat of the man he was seeking, and were in each other's arms. “Now, Olney, do you give in?” cried Joe, as he secured a good hold, “The duse take you!” hissed the rob- ber. “So we didn't do you up in the gully, did we? “We'll see,” was all Joe replied. Then Olney caught him by the-throat. It was a firm grip, and for the ivstant | Joe fancied he would be choked to death, But with a quick movement he raised one foot, and planted it in the stomach of his adversary. Olney gave a subdued groan, and released his hold instantly. By this time Ralph Lumley was on the ladder, The robber heard him coming, saw the flash,of the lantern as it ilumin- ated the rafters overhead, and plunged out of sight behind the pile of hay and straw. “Quick !” cried Joe. “He get away!” “How can he get out of -here?” asked Raiph Lumley, as he sprang beside the boy, lantern in one hand and revolver in the other, “There is a front window for hay. He may drop from that.” is trying to The lantern rays were flashed round the | somewhat large opening. Olney was no- where to be seen. But the banging of the door of the front opening proved that Jve’s surmise had been correct. Olney had found his way over the pile of hay, and reached the opening, “Run to the front!” cried the surveyor to old-Podgers. “He is going to drop from the window !” Olney heard this cry, but he paid no attention to it.. He reached ont, and caught the pulley beam fastened to the upper part of the™ opening, and swung himself clear of the building, Old Podgers had come outside, and he was just in time to have the robber drop on him so heavily that the old man went down like a flash, “Helo! help! I’m killed!” he roared. “He’s gone!” said Joe. “Run down after him. I'll drop from the window.” Ralph Lumley had already returned to the ladder, and was descending as fast as his legs would permit. Joe made a break for the opening, through which the moon shone, and was about to climb through and down when something reached his sight which caused him to pause. Across the floor was cast the shadow of a man’s head, It was close to the top of the white sauare made by the moonbeams which shone through the open window. Joe sprang back, and then his eyes were turned upward, At the same time the shadow disap- peared. “Come down out of that!” cried Joe, into the gloom under the peak of the roof. “Come down. I saw you.” “Darn the luck!” came in the voice of Sam Rida, and then Joe knew that the second robber was resting on the rafter braces just above his head, and that the man had been bending down to watch the fate of his companion on the ground outside. The next moment Sam Ridd dropped to Joe's side, The boy was on the watch for him, and “We have got you like a rat in aj} Joe | Joe | listened intently, and heard a faint rustle | in a moment they | But I'll get square now.” | $446 - | hardly had the’ man’s feet touched the | flooring than Joe had him by the neck, o “Let So of me!” yelled Ridd. “I an't done nothin’ !” “Oh, no! Perhaps you don't remem- | bee ere ° | at, you!” burst out the robber, in | evident amazement. “ Why, I thought——” | “You thought I had been killed.” | “No, I knew better than that, but——” he broke off short. “Let me go, kid!” “Will you promise to march down stairs |-quietly if I dc?” ps! Wes. Joe hesitated fora moment, and then released the man, Hardly had he done so, when Sam Ridd wheeled around and struck him a stag- | gering blow straight between the eyes. | _ Joe went down on his back, but, as he | did so, he managed to catch his assailant | by one foot. The result of this was that Ridd slid | forward, and the upper nart of his body | shot through the ladder opening and hung | head downward. “Stop, I'll be killea!” he howled, in | sudden fright. “Don't shove me down on my head!” | “lI ought to by rights,” cried Joe, as he | tried to collect his somewhat scattered |senses. “You struck me most. foully.” | “It—it was an accident,” whined Ridd, “You see, my foot slipped.” “Humph! A poor excuse is worse than none, Ridd.” “Pull me up, will you, Hurley?” “No; stay where you are, or I'll shove you down just as hard as I can,” “Don't do that.” “Then shut up.” Ridd began to move his arms wildly in a desperate endeavor to eatch hold of something with which to save himself should Joe, who was now on his guard, jattempt to shove him down head fore- | most, : At last one hand caught the ladder, but this was not nailed tight and it swung away from the opening, and went down with a crash, carrying Sam Ridd with it, and Joe on top of him, « CHAPTER XXIV. A NEW CHARACTER ON THE SCENE, ames Vrs OR the time it looked as if Sam ti Ridd had been killed outright. He wc} came down witha dull thud on “8 his bead, and lay perfectly still. Joe slid over him and rolled on his side, escaping with but a few scratches. He.was horrified to see blood pouring from the robber's mouth, and quickly knelt beside the man, “Ridd, are you hurt much?” he asked, in a kindly tone, The robber's only reply was a groan, and Joe breathed a sigh of relief to learn that the man was not dead. The boy procured some water, which was close at hand, and dashed this over | the robber’s head, and also washed the man’s face, turning him over on his back for the purpose. At this treatment Ridd gave several gulps, and finally opened his eyes. “Da—da——” he moaned. Then he put out his tongue, and Joe saw that he had bitten into that member deeply, and it was this which had caused the flow of blood, It was several minutes before Ridd could sit up, and just as he attempted it old Pedgers came in, followed by Phil- ander Pardone. “Where is quickly. “Gone.” “Gone?” ejaculated Joe, “Yes; got away at the last minit.” “And where is Mr. Lumley?” “Gone after him.” eat ae “Do you think he will catch him?” “He an’t got mach show. Olney started for the mountains, and he seems to be an all-fired good runner,” “Well, help me take care of this man, will you?” “Certain.” eee had better call an officer of some sort.” “Is that necessary?” asked Philander Pardone, uneasily. “He looks as if he was too much hurt toattempt to escape.” “ZT won’t run any chances,” said Joe, decidedly. “Say, don’t have me arrested,” mum-- bled Ridd, who was now trying himself to stop the flow of blood from his bitten tongue. “You won’t gain nothing by it.” “T think I will,” “You won't, If you'll let me go I'll tell you something worth your while.” “T know all I care to know about you,” | said Joe. “You are a horse-thief and worse, and that’s enough.” “My gracious, I didn’t know them men was up in the loft,” put in Philander Pardone, thinking if about time to say something to clear himself. “Perhaps not, but we'll see about that later,” returned Joe, briefly. s giatrine did anything wrong in’ my ife, j Olney?” questioned Joe, 3446 “Oh, come off, Pardone!” said Ridd. “You can’t sneak out of your past of this transaction now.” “What! yon implicate me?” screamed the livery stable-keener, white with fear and rage. : “The boy knows a thing or two; he’s not a fool.” Z “I never saw you before,” ejaculated Philander Pardone. “l saw you friend, but not you, and you sneaked in here on the sly.” “We'll straighten this out in later,” Mterrupted old Podgers. git up there an’ come along.” He caught Ridd by the arm, and_ the man arose to his feet and turned to Joe. “You won't give me the chance I ask for?” SN Oa A few minutes later Sam Ridd was marched to the Ironton lock-up, followed by Philander Pardone, who kept assert- ing his own innocence at every step. A charge was made against Ridd, and he was locked up in default of bail. The livery stable-keeper, being a land owner, was aflowed to leave on his own recog- nizance, An hour later Ralph Lumley returned totown. He was all out of breath, and his clothing was torn and muddy. “T chased Olney to the woods and over the Randon Ledge,” he said. “Once or twice I thought I had him, but he finally got away.” The surveyor was much pleased to think that Sam Ridd had been captured and turned over to the authorities. _ “But what of the second horse?” he asked. - “Ridd says he knows nothing of the horse,” said old Podgers, who was with Joe. “But I'll find the critter yet, if it takes the rest of the summer to do it.” “T am sure that those two men are in league with Philander Pardone,” said Joe. “And what is more, they were at the livery stable for a purpose.” : “Tam inclined to believe you are right,” said Ralph Lumley. “They would cer- tainly not hang around that loft for noth- ing. If their thieving work was done they would skip for ‘pastures new,’ as the saying is.” “Philander Pardone knows a good deal more than he is willing to let out,” went on the boy. “I believe he will bear watching, and I am going to play the spy and see what turns up.” The matter was talked over for all of half an hour, and then the three went back to the stable and procured Podgers’ horse and apparently departed for Moun- tainville. But after the turn-out, which had been “Now, left at the farm-house, was brought out,, Joe left the others, and in the darkness sneaked back to the vicinity of the livery stable. All was now dark about the place, the lantern in the office having been ex- tinguished. : Taking great care that he was not being observed, Joe stole around to the wood- shed. As he rounded the corner, he heard some one open the back door of the stable cautiously. “Hang that door!” he heard a man mutter, as the hinges began to creak loudly. : At length the door was open wide enough to allow the passage of a man, and the person slipped inside. Hardly daring to breathe. Joe tiptoed his way to the door, which had been left ‘open to the extent of only an inch or so, All was pitch dark within the struc- ture, but presently came the scratch of a match, and then atiny blueish flame, which quickly turned to yellow, lit up the scene. “Now, 1 must goup stairs, and see if those two fools left anything worth having behind them,” muttered the stranger. “Confound it, if the ladder an’t down.” The match went out before Joe could get a look at the man’s features. But soon another was lit, and it was applied to a bit of a candle, which the man took from one of his pockets. Joe looked at the man eagerly. Where had he seen that individual before? Suddenly he gave a start of recognition, as his mind went back to scenes which -had transpired years before. _ The man was Bart Pangler, the fe:low who had defrauded his father and es- ecaped from justice. (f0 BE CONTINUED.) a _A PATHETIC illustration of the dog’s - fidelity to its master was well illustrated at Butte, Montana. A man died at the poor farm. ‘The body was taken to an undertaker’s, ‘and the dead man’s dog followed it there, manifesiing the deepest grief. It took a position beneath the coffin, its head buried in its paws, and when removed howled in a mournful man- ner. At midnight the barking ceased, and investigation disclosed that death | _ had come to the dog. court. GOOD {This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. | The Pluck of a Pilot; PERILS OF THE GREAT LAKES. ge nes BY LIEUT. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY, Author of “Lieut. Carey's Luck,” “Midshipman Merrill,” ‘Won at West Point,” ete. (“THE PLUCK OF A PILOT” was commenced in No, 211. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XVI. BEN TO THE RESCUE, onan ANDY’S joy at the sudden and op- US -c) portune appearance of his chum was great, but the wonderful informa- tion just given him by Captain Hendrick had far more weight at that moment. He could not believe that the ex-skipper of the Osprey told the truth, and he re- solved to gain the knowledge so dear to his heart, before departing. : ; Randy had long felt that his early history would become plain at last, and he instinct- ively felt that he would find his parents some day. ; : Now the chance was apparently in his hands. ° After casting another wary glance at the window, he asked ‘Will you tell me what you know, Hen- drick? I would give every cent I own or expect to own to learn something about my parents.” “Tl not tell you a word, boy,” grimly re- plied. the ex-skipper. ‘The information is too valuable to let slip now.” ‘That is a pretty hard answer,” continued Randy, deeply disappointed. “You say that you know my parents, and thus raise my hopes, and then refuse to enlighten me. What will induce you to tell ?” “Nothing that you’ve got, Randy Russell. I am playing for bigger game than you. Ten thousand dollars, and sweet revenge is my mark.” Randy suddenly thought of, the mysteri- ous note he had received that night. Per- haps it was from this very same man, He resolved to find out, “One more question, then,” he said, nar- rowly watching Hendrick. ‘‘Do you know a man by the name of James Johnson ?” “No; why do you ask?” replied the ex- skipper, carelessly. His tone convinced Randy that he was on the wrong track, so he did not press the question, simply adding : “Oh! I just asked for information, that’s all.” During the interview Hendrick’s compan- ion had remained near the door, which he threw open now and again as if on watch. Just as Randy uttered the last words, the fellow peered forth into the gloom, and then uttering a savage exclamation, sprang back into the middle of the little room, “Thunder an’ lightning! there’s a passel of cops out there!” he cried, ‘Quick’ get through that side winder, or we're lost,” Hendrick started to his.feet with a cry of alarm. He glanced at Randy, and then grasping his mate by the arm, said, frantic- ally : “You are fooling, man. Policemen out there? Why, how could——” “Run, I tell ye,” roughly replied the fel- low. ‘“Skeddaddle, or you'll be jugged sure. There! can’t ye hear them ?” A shrill whistle sounded outside. The rapping of a heavy hand fell upon the door, then a hoarse voice shouted : “Open, in the name of the law! Open, I say, or we will break in !” Randy's heart beat high with hope. He knew that Ben had secured aid, and was now coming to the rescue. Striving to free his hands from the rope Hendrick had wound around them, he rolled over and over upon the wooden floor until the side of the hut caused a halt, Then, when he looked about the little apartment, he saw that the ex-skipper and his companion had disappeared. A partially opened panel at one end showed how they had made their escape. Suddenly the sharp report of a pistol, im- mediately followed by a loud outery, pro- ,claimed that the police had discovered them. A moment later, the door fell in with a crash, and Ben at the head of several officers entered the room. “Ah! there you are, chum,” exclaimed our hero, “I knew you couldn’t be far away.” : 4 v NEWS. “{ was right on your trail from the first, Randy,” replied young Beach, cutting his friend’s lashing ‘Where is Hendrick? Has he escaped ?” “Yes, but the police are in hot pursuit.” ‘T hope they catch him, as I want to ask several questions of the scoundrel.” Just then a man in a sergeant’s uniform hastily entered and ordered the officers in the hut to scatter and help search for the fugitives. “They've got away from us and are in hiding somewhere around here,” he added. “Take your lanterns and examine every nook and corner in the vicinity.”’ Randy attempted to follow, but his limbs were still sore and stiff from the ropes, so he waited for a brief space in the hut. “How did you manage to track us, Ben ?” he asked. The lad chuckled in great glee for a mo- ment, and then replied : “As we used to say at school: I played a game of roots upon that old fool and his mate. When I almost capsized the boat through my clumsiness, I fell across the gulwale and struck my head such a whack that it stunned me.” “Great Scott! was it as bad as that?” “Yes. When I recovered, I was in the water, which fortunately proved to be only a foot in depth near the bank. I was just going to your assistance when the cutter was shoved through the opening, and Hen- drick grabbed you. I knew that I could not do much with those two men, so I hid be- hind a couple of timbers and waited.” “You did exactly right.” “Well, when they started away with you, I crawled into the yawl and followed. It was easy enough, as the fog was very thick, and those fools made no effort to row easy.” “They evidently didn’t expect pursuit.” “Thought I was drowned, I guess. I have proven a lively corpse,” replied Ben, with a chuckle. “When I saw your face at the window I knew that everything was all right.” “I thought you would; that is why I peeped in. Directly after that I scooted into Windsor and notified the police. You know the rest. Now, the question is, why did Hendrick try to abduct you? Was it because you took his place as captain of the yacht ?” ‘ “No, siree, old boy. It was for a very different purpose. You will be dum- founded when I tell you.” Randy thereupon explained all that, Hen- drick had recently told him. Bens listened in amazement, ‘To him it was almost in- credible. “Do you mean to say that he knows where your parents are?” he asked. “So he says.” ‘Shake, old boy. By Jove! I am glad to hear that you are on the track of your former history.” Randy took his hand, but rather sadly. “T am afraid that I am a long way off from discovering my parents, Ben,” he replied. “T feel that Hendrick has told the truth. There would be no reason for him to do otherwise. But he hints at some deep mys- tery, and utterly refused to enlighten me further.” “We will make him!” cried Ben, with energy. ‘‘Let’s go and help the police in their search now, and if we can catch the scoundrel, we'll punish him until he con- fesses.” “Tt will take a great deal to make him re- linquish the chance of earning the ten thousand dollars he mentioned,” answered our hero, rising to accompany his compan- ion. “Do you believe that part of his story ?” “Yes; he was in dead earnest; and an- other thing: he mentioned a desire for re- venge on some one, and hinted that he could get both the money and vengeance by holding me.” , “T wonder who he could have meant ?” “Only two persons that I know of,” re- plied Randy, thoughtfully. “Who ?” “Myself, because I took his position as captain of the yacht, and--—” “Which is very improbable,” promptly interrupted Ben. ‘Who is the other?” “Judson Cudlipp, the the owner of the Osprey.” There was a moment of silence, then Ben slapped his thigh emphatically, and ex- claimed : / “By Jove! I believe you are right at last, Randy. Hendrick seems very bitter against him, ‘and he is pertectly able to pay ten thousand dollars, or ten times that amount at a pinch.” ‘i “Yes, I really think Cudlipp must be the man Hendrick is after,” replied our hero, reflectively. ‘There was that mysterious seene in the cabin of the Osprey the morn- ing after the explosion.” “And the conversation overheard on the steamer in which your name was men- tioned.” “And the fact that Cudlipp was so eager to get me in his employ.” “And the extremely valuable building bricks. Ha! ha! _ ‘By Jove! Ben; I believe we are on the right track. Now that Hendrick has raised my hopes and led me to believe that my parents are living, I will never stop until I es them, and unraveled this mys- ery. “And Iam with you, old boy ; heart and soul and pocket-book.” Randy gave his stanch friend a thankful glance. He knew that Ben meant it, and he was deeply grateful, In their excitement the boys had forgot- ten about the fugitives. They had halted in the doorway of the hut to continue the con- versation. Presently a man approached them through the fog. It was the sergeant of the police squad. He appeared disappointed, and said : “They've got away from us, young fel- lows. We have searched high and low, but not a trace of them can we find Will you come to the station and make a statement of the affair?” package of CHAPTER XVII. THE MAN IN DISGUISE. a ANDY glanced at his watch by the UR light of the sergeant’s lantern. It ag) \ was ten minutes ofnine. He thought of the letter from the mysterious James Johnson, and resolved to make an at- tempt to keep the appointment, “J must be at the City Hotel as soon as possible,” he said. ‘It is an appointment I don’t care to miss. Can't I give you the data here?” The sergeant replied in the affirmative, so Randy gave him all the facts in his posses- sion. “It’s a queer story you are telling me,” remarked the officer, after jotting down the salient points of Randy’s explanation, ‘and I think it will stand you in good stead to catch the scoundrel. If he turns up around this side of the river, I'l lock him up, and send for you.” After a moment of further conversation on the subject, Randy and his chum rowed to Detroit, and landed at the same wharf where they had encountered Hendrick. Catching a cross-town car, they presently arrived at the City Hotel. _ ‘Now, Ben, I want you totake your sta- tion in the office, and if [ don’t show up in twenty minutes, just inquire for me,” said our hero as they approached the desk. “All right; P'll stand by you.” Finally, attracting the clerk’s attention, Randy asked for James Johnson. ‘He has gone; left about half an hour ago,” was the disappointing reply. “Confound it! that’s too bad !” ejaculated the boy-pilot. “Did he leave any word for me? My name is Randolph Russell.” Just then a young man, who had been leaning against a pillar near the desk, stepped forward, and tapped our young hero upon the arm. : “Are you from the yacht Dragon?” he asked. “Yes; Tam in command of a vessel by that name,” replied Randy, ‘Does it belong to Mr, Cudlipp,” con- tinued the stranger. “Yes.” “Did you receive a telegram to-night from a man by the name of Johnson ?” “Why do you wish to know?” asked Ran- dy in reply, thinking it was his turn to ask questions. “I was sent here by Mr. Johnson to meet. a lad by the name of Russell,” explained the stranger, ‘and naturally wanted to be sure of the person before delivering my message.” “Then you have a message!” asked our hero, eagerly. “Yes; you are to come with me to Mr. Johnson's house at once. He has changed his mind about meeting you here.” “IT am _ ready,” announced promptly. ‘Is it far?” / “About fifteen blocks. I have a carriage outside,” f : : “Come on, Ben,” said our hero. “We will see this man Johnson at once, as Tam anx- ious to leave for Keelton.” . ‘Mr. Johnson said there would be only one person,” spoke up the stranger, glancing at Ben, doubtfully. “I can’t help that,” replied Randy. ‘My friend must accompany me or I won't go.” His recent experience with Hendrick made our hero doubly cautious, and although he was anxious to learn what the | mysterious James Johnson might have to Randy, ‘ CrODD NEWS. 3447 say, yet he considered it best to have a friend at hand during the interview. ‘No; I must refuse to go without my companion accompanies me,’ Randy re- peated, emphatically. After deliberating for a moment, the young man consented, and all three entered a closed carriage at the door of the hotel. The driver had evidently been given his instructions, as he instantly whipped up his horses and drove rapidly away. “You said it was about fifteen blocks to our destination, did you not?” asked Randy. “A bout that,” replied the stranger. ‘Well, we should be there in a very few minutes, then. I am anxious to leave with the yacht, and cannot spare much time.” After that nothing was said. The car- riage ‘rumbled on. Minute after minute flew by, and there was no sign of stopping. At last Randy asked, impatiently, if the driver had not made a mistake. “T don’t think so,” was the evasive reply. “He has probably found some of the streets under repair, and has been compelled to take a roundabout course.” Randy was compelled to be content with this answer, so he waited without further objection. Finally the horses were pulled up with a jerk. “This is the place, I think,” quietly re- marked the young man, opening the car- riage door. Our hero and his ehum looked around them. The first glance was not very satisfactory. The street, as seen under the dim light of a gas-lamp, seemed to be one of those narrow back lanes found in the least respectable portion of a city. The house in front of which they had stopped was no better than its neighbors— one of along row ot frame dwellings rusty with age and ill-kept. “Mr. Johnson has not bettered himself in changing his quarters,” remarked Randy, sarcastically. “Oh, it’s well enough,” replied the stran- ger, leading the way to the front door. He rang a bell, and met with an immedi- ate response. In fact, it seemed as if some one had been waiting there with their hand upon the knob. A heavy-set man with long black whiskers stood in the hall, shading a lamp held in one hand. He gave a start on seeing Ben, and, drawing the guide aside, whispered something. After a brief conversation carried on in the same tone, he appeared to be satisfied, and beckoned the party into the hall. As if by a previous arrangement, the young man motioned Ben to a seat near the door, and then turned to Randy with the remark: “This gentleman will take you to Mr. Johnson. Your friend must remain here until you return.” Impatient at the long delay, Randy con- , sented to accompany the black-bearded man, After bidding his chum wait, he followed his guide to the second story. The latter opened a door near the head of the stairs, und when the boy-pilot had en- tered, quietly turned the key in the lock. “T want to be sure of a half hour without interruption,” he said. It was the first time the man had spoken, and to Randy his voice seemed vaguely familiar. Glancing narrowly at him, our hero asked : “Will Mr. Johnson be in soon? but very little time to spare.” ‘J am Mr, Johnson,” replied the man, calmly. ‘Please be seated, and I will finish with my story in a very few moments.” Randy obeyed mechanically. Then this was the mysterious sender of the telegram. Our hero watched him closely. There was something familiar in the appearance of the fellow, but for the moment he could not place him. Randy was absolutely certain he had met him before. Who could it be? Setting the lamp on the table, Johnson drew a chair close to where Randy was seated, and asked: “You remember the contents of the tele- gram sent you to-night, do you not?” “Yes; in it you said that you had a very important secret to: tell me, What is it?” ‘Your name is Randolph Russell, isn’t it?” asked the man, ignoring our hero’s question, ‘Yas,” “Where were you born ?” “T don’t know.” “Well, I do,” replied Johnson, coolly. Randy suddenly remembered that Hen- ‘drick had asked him the same questions, and had made the same statement. Could there be any connection between the. two? He resolved to spring a trap. Turning ‘quickly, Randy asked: alighted, and I have | “Are you acquainted with Captain Hen- drick ?” The ruse succeeded. The fellow gave a start of surprise, and half rose from his chair’ In his agitation he placed one hand to his chin, and, to our hero’s amazement, the long black whiskers became detached from his face and fluttered to the floor. Johnson stood revealed in his true char- acter.” It was Morris Moran ! CHAPWER XVIII. A DASH FOR FREEDOM. > ANDY sprang to his feet with a cry of astonishment. “Great Scott!” he ejaculated, star- ing at the manager as if scarce be- | lieving his eyes. “What does this mean? | How did you come here?” | Moran had made a swift motion, as if to | pick up the false whiskers, but seeing that it was too late, he turned and faced the boy- pilot with a peculiar expression upon his treacherous face. “Surprised to see me, eh?” he asked, coolly. Something in the man’s actions caused Randy to feel vaguely alarmed. He had | always felt an instinctive dislike for Moran, | and it was now turned into a positive sus- picion. “Tam greatly surprised, sir,” he replied, slowly. ‘What is the meaning of this dis- guise, and what do you wish trom me?” “Be seated, and I will teil you,” answered Moran, suavely. “No; I am going to leave this house,” ex-+ claimed our hero, emphatically. ‘I don’t like this style of doing business. If you have anything to say to me, call on board the yacht.” “Oh! you want to leave without hearing my story, eh?” replied the manager, slyly placing one hand in his side pocket. ‘‘All right; you are free to go. Wait, I will un- lock the door for you.” Slipping past Randy, he turned the key in the lock, and threw back the door, at the same time saying: “I will be on board the Dragon in an hour. Then, if yon wish to listen to the story, I'll be glad to oblige. Iwill also ex- plain my apparently peculiar actions at the same time.” “Very well,” replied Randy, briefly. Unconscious of impending , danger, he stepped forward, and was just in the act of passing over the threshold, when the man- ager, with a swift motion, drew forth a revolver, and struck him a violent blow upon the head. Randy sank to the floor at his assailant’s feet without a groan. ‘So far, good,” muttered Moran, restoring the weapon to his pocket. Bending over, he dragged the boy-pilot into the room, and then turning the key upon the outside, quietly descended the stairs. Ben was still seated in the hall, and the young man who had guided them to the house, was standing near the foot of the stairs. Before leaving the room, Moran had re- placed the false whiskers, so it was in his disguise of Johnson that he now appeared before young Beach. Exchanging a meaning glance with his confederate, Moran walked rapidly to the front door and threw it open. He then turned to Ben, and sail: é “Your friend will be down presently. He is still talking with Mr. Johnson.” Before Ben could reply he felt a hand placed violently upon his shoulder, and in an instant the astounded lad was forced from his seat. ; He tried to resist, but both men sprang upon him, and in much less time than it takes to describe it, he found himself upon his hands and knees going’ down the front steps. A second later the door was closed with a slam, and all was quiet. Springing to his feet, the lad beat pon the wooden barrier. He shouted and thumped alternately, but without result. “Open this door, you scoundrels!” he cried. ‘‘Open it, I say! Randy ; where are you?’ Ben’s voice died away in a half note of despair. No answer came from the house ; but three or four windows were raised in ad- jacent dwellings, and as many heads were thrust out to ascertain the cause of the dis- turbance. -A voice with a strong Irish accent came from across the street, asking : “Phat in the wurruld is the matter, young feller? Phat d’ye mane by wakin’ honest people at this toime o’ night, Oi dunno?” Hoping that he could secure assistance, Ben ran over to the opposite walk, and ex- plained matters in a few brief words. He met with but little encouragement. After listening a moment, the Irishman bade him seek the police, if he was telling the truth, and then closed his window with a vicious bang. “Brute!” exclaimed young Beach, hotly. Returning to the house, he again tried to force the dcor, but it resisted all his efforts. Thoroughly alarmed, Ben darted down the street in search of a police officer. It was fully ten minutes before hefound one. The custodian of the peace was leaning in a convenient door-way half asleep, and it was not until the lad had repeated his story two or three times that he condescended to make an investigation. When they finally reached the building in which Randy had disappeared, the officer rapped upon the door with his night stick, and receiving no answer, placed his huge bulk against it and soon made an entrance. “it was up the stairs in a room, near the top, that my friend disappeared,” explained Ben, eagerly. Not waiting for the policeman, he darted up the steps two at a time. Opening the first door at his hand, Ben looked in. center table, and by its aid he saw that the apartment was empty. “Randy, Randy! where are you?” he cried, almost frantic with fear. “T guess he’s gone,” spoke up the officer, entering the room. ‘I’ve looked almost everywhere, and the duse of a sign can I find of any person dead or alive. Are you sure this.is the house ?” . “Yes, ” “Well, your friend has skipped then. He’s not here, that is certain. This place looks to me like a house furnished for renting purposes, and it may be that this man whom you call Johnson only hired it for a week or so.’ ‘But where could he have taken him? Did you see any back entrance ?/ “Yes ; there's a yard with a gate leading into the rear alley. They must have left in that way. There isn’t any usc of wasting time here. I'll make a report to the ser- geant.” e An hotr later every precinct in the city was in possession of the facts, and police- men in plain clothes hard at work upon the case. In the meantime how had Randy fared ? When Moran and his confederate had succeeded in thus summarily disposing of Ben, they hastened to the upper room, where our hero was still lying insensible. “Quick! tie his hands and stuff a gag in- to his mouth,” ordered the manager, gather- ing up some articles scattered about the apartment. When Randy was placed so he could neither escape nor make an outcry, the two men picked him up, and carried him down to the alley Here they found a carriage in waiting. It was the same vehicle in which our hero and his chum had ridden to the house.. Bundling their prisoner into the interior, Moran and his mate entered, and were rapidly driven away. After a ride lasting fully an hour, they drew up in the rear of an old stone church, which seemed to be in the last stages of dilapidation. Just before, they stopped, Randy gave evidence of reviving. He gasped feebly, and struggled to free his hands, Bending over him, Moran whispered, harshly : \ “If you don’t keep quiet I'll give you an- other dose of the same medicine. No harm will befall you if you obey orders, otherwise you die. Mark my words.” Our hero understood him, and ceased his efforts. He was almost wild with a throb- bing pain in his head, but that did not pre- vent him from keeping a narrow watch upon all that transpired. , He saw Moran leave the carriage when it finally halted, and then heard him give three short whistles. Immediately after this signal he was as- sisted to the ground, and led through a nar- row door-way into what appeared to be a long, tunnel-like hall. At the far end wasa winding stair-way leading above. While the little party was standing just inside the entrance, a side door suddenly opened, and an old negro appeared. Taking down a lighted lantern, hanging on the wall, he advanced toward them, in a step halting with age. “Well, massa, hev ye brought de chil’ ?” he asked, in a croaking voice. ‘Yes, Pete, the prisoner is here,” replied Moran, impatiently. ‘‘Come, get a move on you, and lead the way up to that den of yours.” A lamp was still burning upon a | The ancient negro mumbled.a reply, and ‘ then shambled along the hall toward the winding stairs. Randy and his captors fol- lowed close at his heels. Round and round they went up the steps, until at last, just as our hero thought their destination must be the roof, the guide led them into an arched room, boarded at one end with worm-eaten planks. Randy recognized the apartment at once. It was the choir loft of the old church, “Ah, this will do first-rate for a temporary prison,” remarked Moran, casting an approy- ing glance about the room. Removing Randy's gag, he added : “Owing to certain circumstances which I won't explain just yet, Randy, you will have to make this your residence for a couple of weeks. This old man and my companion will remain with you, and, let me tell you right now, that if you act right, you will be well treated ; but, if you try to escape, there is an old tomb down under the church re- served as a punishment.” “Will you tell me what all this means, Moran?” replied Randy, indignantly. “Why have you brought me here as a prisoner ? What have I done to you ?” “All that will be explained in due time,” the manager answered. “But just remem- ber that you are not in danger—if you be- have yourself. Remove the lashing.” The last sentence was addressed to the young man. While the fellow was unbind- ing his arms, our hero cast a hasty glance at the stair-way. It was just behind the spot where Moran was standing. If that could be gained, there was a chance of escape. Randy felt that it was a desperate move, but he resolved to try it. He awaited an opportunity and, when the last turn of the rope dropped from his hands, Randy gave a sudden spring, and darted for the head of the winding stairs ! (TO BE CONTINUED.) ot ee The Plumage Hunter. fess OT very long ago the writer ac- companied a gold-mining expedi- tion into the tropical forests of Guiana, and stumbled across an English traveler who was collecting birds for a London and Parisyan firm of mer- . chants. He was settled in a village of Acawois Indians, far from any of the haunts of the white man. Every male Indian of the village was in his service, and at the conclusion of each week they received pay, according to results, in cheap knives, powder, hatchets, cooking utensils, ete., pay day being usually cele- brated by a feast, in which all the men got fearfully intoxicated on a filthy com- pound called paiwarri. We started out every morning imme- diately after breakfast. The Indians were armed with bows and arrows and blow- pipes. The collector divided’ them. into sections, and sent them off into the bush, himself accompanying one group, but without doing any shooting. I fastened on to a man and a boy, and kept close in their wake all day. “With the skill of a denizen of the woods, my man did not walk a step without rousing a feathered creature of some sort. Sometimes a targe bird—a toucan or a mucaw—would flap clumsily out of a bush, and the twang of the bow-string would announce its death, Small birds fluttered across our path con- stantly, and these were promptly brought. down with the pipe. Now and thena fight of a score or two would suddenly settle all over in the branches about our heads, and on these occasions the Indian managed to kill a dozen or so before they appeared to realize their danger. It was kill, kill, kill, without a moment’s pause, As the birds fell, the boy secured the bodies and dropped them into a long wicker basket, which was strapped across his forehead and hung down his back. On our return to the village the nen were coming in and emptying their bas- kets on toalong tablein the middle of the Englishman’s ‘hut. Many of the birds were of the most brilliant plumage; but there were hundreds of birds, not hoast- ing any brightness of color, that weie of no use. The slaughter. jin fact, is much greater in regard to the birds that are not wanted than those which reach the English market. The collector, stripped to the shirt, and with his sleeves rolled up, set to work at once, going through the game. , He handled every bird, drop- ‘ping those pretty enough for a bonnet or valuable enough for a collection into one heap, and the useless ones into another. Not more than one bird in ten was re- tained; the rest had been slaughtered uselessly. When I reproached my friend with this wanton waste of feathered life, he replied that he could not attempt to kill the birds himself, and it was impos- sible to get Indians to discriminate be- tween valuable and worthless specimens, GrooDp NEWS. ISSUED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, JUNE 23, 1894, Terms to Good News Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) Zinouths - - = - - 4 months Lcopy, two 5 2 cLY, both, year, $4.50 Ny. y post-office or express mouey order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk, if seut by Pastel Ole, i etter. “MO or postage ups in ordina ‘he number indicated on 5 when your subscriptidhn expi ous will be stopped promptly at expi ; for, RECE: —Receipt of your remittance ts acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not cor rect you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. To CLuB RatsEens.—Upon request we will send sain- | 3 . i i i |} of the batsmen, just as the pitchers do subscriber r remittance sent direct, and we w ou in obtainin ibility f 3 applies 1 as are 2 the relia OYepostinaster. All letters should he addressed to STREET & SMITIVS GOOD NEWS, 27 & 2) Rose Street, N.Y. Back numbers of GOOD NEWS can always be obtained from your Newsdealers. If they do not have them please send direct to this office and we will supply them by mail on receipt of price. Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line. Contents of this Number. SERIAL STORIES. “The Boy From the West,” by Harry Dangerfield. “Blue and White Sam,” by Ernest A. Young. “The Pluck of a Pilot,” by Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry. “Joe the Surveyor,” by Edward Strate- meyer, ‘Little Hickory of the Mountain Express,” by Victor St. Clair. “Captured at Sea,” by Clarence Converse. SHORT STORTES., “Saved by the Wolves,” by Moses Kent. ‘The Plumage, Hunter.” Tips to Young Pitchers.” ‘Phe Burglary at Sakonnet,” by W. Bert Foster. e “At the Blue Swan,” by Geoffrey Ran- dolph. “The Fat Tramp”—The Good News Story Tellers’ Club. : “William Penn,” by G. Bancroft Griffith. “Not Much Nourishment.” REGULAR DEPARTMENTS. “Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur Sewall, | “'Ticklets,” by Chas. W. Foster. “Mail Bag,” ‘“Iixchange Department,” Club Notices,” ete, Saaremaa ar SSR EN are RN nO i Eee VV ee eet It is with great pleasure that we announce a new serial, entitled, AMONG THE GYPSIES; ’ Life of Mat Ducro. ea tasted The Strange By JOHN H. WHITSON. The writer is new to our pages, but we feel certain that as soon as you have read ‘the opening installment of this fine story from his gifted pen, you will accord him a ‘hearty welcome. “Amona THE Gypsies” will begin Nex? WEEK, : All boys who love their country—and what American boy does not ?—will be de- lighted to learn that we shall shortly publish a Revolutionary story, full of thrilling inci- dents and hairbreadth escapes, entitled, SCOUTS OF THE SWAMP FOX; The Rough Riders of the Pedee. -— LOOK OUT FOR IT! ill not | rility of any subscription agency | | by pitching a straight ball. | gain control in a better way. | young in pitching experience, so also are | your opponents young in their knowledge TIPS TO YOUNG PITCHERS. pe ee ees HOW TO CURVE A BALL, ew OPO be able to curve a ball is the am- q }2 bition of every young player, If he t ) happens to be the pitcher of his team his desire is all the stronger. He wants to fool the other fellows when they come to the bat. He cannot be blamed for that, But while curve pitch- ing is undoubtedly a great accomplish- ment, if must be remembered that in the old days of base-ball many brilliant bat- tles were won with the straight-arm de- livery. It is not absolutely necessary, therefore, to cuive a ball in order to win success. The writer vividly recalls the famous games in the early ’70’s in the neighborhood of New York. He wasa boy then, and walked miles to see the contests. A curved ball was unknown ; then, so far as the pitching was con- cerned, And the pitchers were very effective, too. They studied the weakness And that is the study all young Begin your work You cannot As you are now. pitchers must pursue, of batting. If you watch them closely you will perceive very quickly that nearly every one of them swings his bat at about the same height every time, For instance, you will notice that the first batter will swing his bat just in front of his waist- band. In order to fool him, pitch the ball a little higher or a little lower than that point. The next batter may snap his bat high. Give him a high ball, but a few inches lower than he is likely to strike. Therule is by no means infallible, but it is a goodone, It takes a boy a long time to overcome the inclination to swing in the same way every time he strikes, There is another important point to remember. Do not give the batsmen a chance to hit the ball with the end of their bats, if you can avoid it. This is simple enough if the batter stands close to the plate. Youcan keep the ball well in on him without much trouble. But when he stands back in the box you must use discretion. Try to coax him witha ball or two just irfside the plate. If he refuses to “bite,” then, of course, you’ll have to put it over. As you improve in your work you can begin to practice curves, John Clarkson, who is one of the most suecessful twirlers in the country, has this advice to give to his young fol- lowers regarding curves: “Curve pitching cannot be taught by book or other direc- tions. It must be learned by actual prac- tice and experience. The principles of making a ball curve, however, may be explained, Let the young aspirant grasp the ball firmly in his hand, giving the pressure with his forefinger and middle finger. The other two fingers’ should be drawn in toward the palm. Next let him snap the ball first out of one side of the hand and next out of the other side, He will soon learn the effect these move- ments have on the ball. Then he must practice faithfully to so control it as to make the curves useful. Strange as it may seem, it is much more diflicult for the beginner to throw or pitch a straight ball than one that describes an arc in its course, This-is so because of the natural tendency of the player to throw the ball out of the side of his hand. To pitch a straight ball, it is necessary that the two fingers which grasp the bali should be straight up and down, with their backs in front*of the player as he throws. Be- yond these few hints it is almost impos- sible to give any intelligible instructions. {t will depend almost entirely on the young player’s ability, inclination, and perseverance, how much of a success he will make at curve pitching. He cannot. have too much practice, but he should take care not to over exert himself. It is not. necessary to exert all his force. He can practice curves without putting his greatest speed into the ball.” If the boys will try Mr. Clarkson’s suggestions they will find how true they are, As in every- thing else, a beginning must be made in pitching. And the present is a good time to begin, 8 AUS SEARCH REWARDED AT LAST, Greyneck—“ You remember that very one watch I lost five or six years ago Smilax—“ Yes, I recall the occurrence.” “You remember how I looked high and low for it, and could not find it any- where?” i “I remember your diligent and ex- haustive search.” “Well, yesterday I put on an old waist- coat that lL hadn’t worn for years, and what do you think I found in the pocket?” “Your watch; let me congratulate you.” “No; I found the hole that I must have lost it through,” ioe Nit Suort 4 Ms ALKS = Wits Que Boys. EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL. HALEF-HEARTEDNESS DOES NOT Cos | 2 AST week we spoke of miners who 4 {€/ did not have courage to stick to *US4 their claims when no immediate @-” great gains were in view. Two of the “bonanza” kings, who, while “single-handed” miners, were as poor as any one, didn’t lose heart; their hames were Mackay and O’Brien; ere long they were worth nobody knows how many million dollars, Another man who didn’t become half- hearted was old Cruse, of Montana; for years he delved away in a mere pick-hole on the side of a mountain, The ore was rich, and the vein was thick, he said; anybody could see that with the naked eye—as they could. Some of his half- hearted friends, who had sold out claims nearly as promising, advised Cruse to follow their example, and when some- body offered him twenty thousand dollars | for his claim, he was thought all sorts of a fool for not accepting. Then he was pronounced a lunatic for insisting that his claim was worth half that many millions, Still he kept his heart at full working size, doing a few days’ work for some- body else once ina while to keep him from starving. Suddenly there came a day when all Montana and all the rest of the civilized world that is interested in mines was electrified by the report that old Cruse had sold his claim for over ten million dollars—the largest sum ever re- ceived in the world by any man for mining property—and that he was also given a lot of stock in the new company that was to work it. He soon became Montana’s pet citizen, and he never wearied of advising other prospectors who had a good thing not to be half- hearted, é But it must take lots of grit to stick to a thing through days, and weeks, and months, and perhaps years, even if every- body agrees that it is good? Yes, it does; but it takes lots of grit to make money in any other way—-even through stealing, or counterfeiting, or forging, which are supposed to be the easiest methods. Grit is the only difference between some fools ya succeed and some smart men who ail, Don’t imagine, when you begin to feel half-hearted, that vour case is peculiar. it may be to you, but everybody else has the same sort of experience at one time or other. It may become necessary to give up what you have, in order to save life, but if you learn to be contriving, as ad- vised last week, it is astonishing how many ways there are to get out of present trouble, if you only give your whole mind to the subject for a while. you have symptoms of a headache, or malaria, or indigestion, and are a sensible person, you immediately do something to brace up your health. In like manner, when you begin to feel half hearted, make haste to pull yourself to- getoer; you can do it if you try. But you can’t do it by sitting around with the boys and deploring vour luck, which is what most men do when they begin to feel half-hearted. Don’t say to yourself, when you feel half-hearted, that you’re not half as smart as a lot of your friends who don’t seem to get along. If smartness alone was enough’ to make a man successful, there wouldn’t be hundreds of smart fellows in every State prison, General Grant wasn’t the smartest soldier who ever lived, but he never lost heart, and he always kept pegging away. There have been wiser soldiers than Gen- eral Lee, but that man’s stoutness of heart was, nevertheless, remarkable. Don’t be half-hearted, it doesn’t pay. Now for the letters. R, V., Brooklyn, N, Y., writes: “I am_ four- teen years of age, and employed in a gent’s fur- nishing store in New York city, at $38 per week, but would like to learn locomotive engineering. [ would like to learn it thoroughly—to go to some institution, Is there a free institution in New York city?) Is engineering a good trade? What are the hours, the pay and advance- ments? How would I become an engineer? What position would [ take first ?” Whether you would make a good thing of it as an engineer would depend upon what capabilities you would display in that direction. If you wish to become the engineer of a second-class locomotive we cannot par- ticularly advise you to follow out the desire, It is not very agreeable work, and al- though some locomotive engineers make good pay, the average rate of wages is | the better in one place an j only fair, while life on the rail is not condusive to good health. To become a locomotive engineer, you must first work in a locomotive works or a round-house, and then serve as a fire- man, earning from $5 to $12 per week. As a full-fledged engineer you can earn from $60 per month up. We know of no institution where you can learn this trade thoroughly. To be- gin practically, not theoretically, is best, and in order to do this you must go ahead as we have mentioned above. J. 1., Detroit, Mich., writes: “Wishing to ob- tain information as regards story writing, [ write you. I am 20 years of age and have had considerable practice in writing compositions, but when I began to write up a story I found it a very difficult task. If you could give me the first rudiments in story writing and what strain to write in I will be extremely obliged.” To the person who has the story-telling gift in him it ought not to be a difficult task to write a bit of fiction, but unless you have the imaginative and creative faculties which are necessary, you had better leave this branch of authorship alone. It is safe to say that out of a hundred persons who ‘try to write fiction, not five are successful, and now more than one makes a real “hit,” no matter what line istaken up. Their productions either find no publisher, or, if they do, they fall flat with the reading world. As to the “first rudiments” of story- writing, we would say, learn how to spell, how to use good grammar, how to punc- tuate, capitalize, and paragraph properly, how to write a legible hand—and then wait until you have in your mind a real good story to tell. When you have the story, from beginning to end, and not be- fore, 81t down and write it in your best and most natural style. Then lay it awav for several weeks, and forget it, if possi- ble. After this bring it out again, and correct it, or rewrite, if necessary. —. Your story will then be finished, ard you will be ready for the hardest work of all—finding a publisher—for you must re- member that the market is overstocked with manuscript, good, bad, and indiffer- ent, and that the only way to get an opening is to produce something decided- ly novel and striking, or to hustle and keep on hustling until you obtain what you desire, H. E. 8., Bridgeport, Conn., writes: “What do you think of architect and surveying busi- ness? Are they good trades to learn, and which is the best? How old have you got to he, and what do they pay? What does a beginner of each get, and what are the duties of each? How can such positions be obtained 2?” Both of the trades you mention are good, and money can be made at each. As to which is the better, if would be hard to say. In themselves we would put them down as of equal value. Much depends upon where you intend to prac- tice your calling. Surveying might be architectural werk in another. Then again, when it comes to the individual, one boy is fitted for one calling and can do but little in the other, while another boy is just the opposite. To become an architect you had better obtain a position in some first-class office, and work your way up. The pay at first will be small—$2 to $3 per week, A good architect receives from $1,200 per year up. To become a surveyor you can either study higher mathematics in a school or college, and then join some surveyor, or join the surveyor at once and get him to teach you the rudiments of the art. Your pay will vary from $3 to $10 per week. First-class surveyors make a great deal of money, but their work is not steady. J.W. P., East Parsonsfield, Me., writes: “T am 18 years of age, have a fair education, and ain desirous of becoming a merchant, and al- - ready have a small stock of books, stationery, ete., worth about $125. [ have quite a trade, considering amount of stock, and it is steadily increasing. Can attend school now, and have plenty of time for business. Would you advise me to continue as T am until I can get a large trade and stock, or attend school all the time and wait until I am older before trying to be a merchant? I have a natural inclination that way, and have quite a knowledge of buying goods and keeping books.” The tone of your letter indicates that ou are “cut out for the business” you are in, and that if you keep on you will be almost certain to make a good thing of it. ~ But our advise to all boys and young men is to obtain all the learning you can, There were never truer words spoken than those by Lord Bacon that “knowl- edge is power,” and let us add that it is a power that cannot be taken from you, no matter if you lose every dollar and all else you have in the world. As you are but eighteen, we would say, go to school or college for several years longer, if you can afford todo so, and ob- tain, if not a ciassical, a thorough com- mercial education. It will be worth much more in the end than what it cost you. _SpreciAL Notice.—Many communica- tions, improperly addressed to this de-. PATHENO are answered in the “Mail age 4 GOOD NEWS. S440. (This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.} BLUE AND WHITE SAM, RIDING FOR FORTUNE. BY ERNEST A. YOUNG. {“BLUE AND WHITE SAM” was commenced gettal ge xX CHAPTER OUT OF THE FLAMES, -X AN TALBOT’S awiul peril, the con- ‘S& sciousness of which burst so sud- ms) denly upon him, for the moment swallowed up in his mind. every impulse but one—that for immediate es- cape from the burning barn. How the fire had caught, or whether any one would think . 213. Back numbers can be obtained of all News nuts.) | out, since he no longer heard the shouts of men below. Half-blinded by smoke and stifled by heat, he nevertheless saw a window on the same level with the loft to which he had gained ascent, —sent his feet crashing through sasb and glass—and then with a refreshing draught of cool morning air in his face, he leaped outward through the opening without once looking to see where he was likely He dashed toward it | The horse had on by Bamford Brayles, Yet Sam did neither saddle nor bridle, not hesitate. “Horses were born and rode before sad- dles were invented,” was his eager thought. He quickly satisfied himself that there was no one near to guard the horse. Then he cautiously untied the halter-rein, led the animal beyond the radius of light cast by the flames, and prepared to mount. As he uncovered the horse’s head, how- ever, he heard arother shout from his rear, and he was thrilled by a fear that his flight had been somehow discovered, and that he would have to contend with pursuit, after all. Vaulting upon the back of the horse, which was a speedy and nervous animal, he was soon. careering swiftly along the wood-road, toward the highway that led to the city. in the forest. Fully two hours since that moment. Then, for the first time since his en- | | counter with Cashin, he remembered that | he had left Genie North waiting for him | must have elapsed | “So you got away, Sam?” | It was Genie North. The storm had cleared, and the morning sunlight bright- ened her shimmering hair and pretty but tired-looking face. “Whew!” whistled Sam. “But I guess you got tired off waiting for me to come back to you with a horse? You see——” “Brayles caught you—I understood,” she interrupted. “And so you came on along?” “T didn't hurry. Uncle Caleb and the hired man got tired of trying to track me after the dogs kept still, and it was easy for me to wait around to see if you wouldn't come back. I didn’t think they would be able to keep you a great while. Yet I didn't suppose——” She interrupted herself, and glanced back toward the column of smoke, which they could see from that point mounting skyward from the burning barn, and as she looked she shrugged her shoulders. Sam saw the smoke, but he did not notice her look or tone. He rapidly ex- | plained how he had escaped, While talk- ing he tethered the horse to a tree at the 'eutrance to the wood-road. He did not to come to his rescue, were problems which there was not time to consider, In the light of recent events, he doubted not but Brayles would be only too well pleased if the troublesome youth who had_fathomed a part of his plots were to be summarily re- moved by an accident, The single shout, which had first given the alarm, was fol- lowed by a confusion of excited cries and commands, m ingled with wild screams of terror from the horses. To save the latter from the fiames would require all the ener- gies of Brayles and his comrades, It would certainly be a most convenient pretext for forgetting their pris- onerand allowing him to perish. So thought Sam as he heard the increas- ing sounds of confu- sion, He strained madly at his bonds, rolling over and over along the floor of the stall, at the same time raising his own voice in a cry for help. Suddenly in his evo- lutions his hand came into painful contact with a bit of iron, which had been driven through the floor from underneath close to the wall of the stall. The hurt gave him an idea, however, and in another moment he was rasping his bonds against the edge of the iron, which was rusty, with a force and rapidity that soon caused them to give way. His hands were thus freed, and it was but the work of an in- stant to release his ankles. Inthe meantime the indications of fire be- came more alarming, The stall was filling with smoke and grow- ing oppressively hot. : He could distinetly hear the crackling of flames, . Hay makes quick fuel, and the fire had caught at a point where this most com- busiible portion of the barn’s contents was stored. Therefore it was making rapid progress. Sam strove first to open the door. But it would not yield, and he saw that. it was useless to attempt to beat it down by the sheer force of his small strength. He next turned his attention to the small window. But he could not squeeze his body through that—of this he was suse without trying, But he at the same time espied the opening over the crib through which feed was thrown from above, And in a moment he was clamber- ing upward through this opening, with a dense cloud of smoke surging down into . his eyes, Once upon the loft floor above, he found that he would have to pass through the densest smoke, with here and there a tongue of lurid flame, to get down to the open floor of the big barn, And even there, he was not sure that he could get into which he sank nearly to the tops of his shoes, He sprang to his feet, extricated him- self from the stouphy ahd darted away from the burning building as fast as his feet would carry him, until he reached the shelter of the woods, Here he paused to look back. Morning had broke, yet it was not quite light in that gloomy place. The flames were leaping upward from the roof and one side of the great barn, throwing a lurid glow over the scene. He saw Brayles and Cashin hurrying away from the fire, each with a horse, the heads of the animals blanketed to keep them from rushing back into the flames, as they would have been certain other- wise to do. At the same time Sam heard a nervous whinny from a point near at hand, and he saw one of the horses, also blinded, and tethered seeurely to a tree fully two hundred yards from the fire. With a lean of heart, Sam recognized the animal as the one which he had saddled for his awn use just before his detection to alight. He struck in a wet, miry spot, wish to be accused of \, stealing the horse, and as the distance to the stable of Mr, Rags- dale was not great from this point, and his companion had no horse, he would walk. _ “You were locked into the barn when it caught fire, then?” the giri asked, with a fur- tive glance at his face, “Worse than that— Iwas bound hand and foot, and fastened into a vacant stall, I had a close rub to get out. I thought the smoke would stifle me.” “You do look as if you had smelt fire,” said Genie. “But you were lucky.to get out, if you were so bad off as you say. I don't know as I care much about the burning of Uncle Caleb’s barn, but I hope none of the horses are lost. And Thope they won’t think——” Again she paused abruptly. There was a note of doubt in her speech which would have told Sam what she suspected had his mind not been too deeply absorbed in the story which he had to relate to Mr. Rags- dale, and the probable result it would” have upon his own for- tunes. ‘ Sam _ knew. that he had done something which ought to earn the gratitude of his employer. He had risked his very life in the effort. To-morrow would open the races, © and, if he could bring it about, the-da should be one of tr. umph for Mr, Rags- dale. They were walking briskly along the pleasant road. The latter led toa suburb, and workmen were laying the track of a new electric rail- A CHORUS OF SHOUTS FILLED THE AIR—THERE WAS A MAD RUSH TO OVERTAKE SAM AND THE CAR—A THUNDER OF PURSUIT FROM THE HORSEMEN | | What had the girl done when she found that her new friend was not likely to re- turn to her assistance? “She probably made up her mind that ;I was in the soup,” was Sam’s conclu- !sion. “And knowing that there was no chance to help me out alone, she no doubt made the best time she could on foot. Girls like to be helped when they're in a tight pinch, but they’re not fast to put themselves out when it comes to qe somebody else out of trouble. They’re pretty apt to think a young fellow can get out of any scrape that he can get into. Sam had never had much experience with girls. On the whole, his estimate of feminine nature was not very high nor very clear. He thought of them as mostly being afraid of guns and pistols, and of knowing no more about the handling of a horse than the running of a locomotive. Sam had no trouble guiding the horse, and in a short time he emerged upon the open highway. Just as he did so some one stepped from the roadside and looked up at him with a pretty, smiling tace, way. The poles and wires were already up, ‘ and they paused to see a trolley car come buzzing along with. a gang of workmen and a few early passetigers. : j The car stopped, those aboard got off, and the conductor walked out leisurely to observe how the work was progressing, The motorman also got off, lighted his pipe, and seated himself under the shade of a tree to wait for orders to return to the city, which would not come for twenty minutes, Sam idly noted all these details, not thinking that events were shaping them- selves for the most thrilling adventure into which his headlong spirits had ever plunged him. While he stood with Genie beside the idle car, of which the trolley had been reversed for the return trip, he became conscious of the thunder of approachin: hoofs, Sam and Genie looked together—and © | their faces paled. Two horsemen were coming—and they A triumphant shout came from the lat- ter. - Sam saw the terror of his companion— were Bamford Brayles and Caleb Burton. __ 8450 he thought of his own mission—and then he ac.ed upon an audacious impulse. | “They'll take me back!—they’ll take me back!” cried Genie, clinging to the arm of her companion, “They'd hardly dare to try taking me,” said Sam, breathlessly. “And yet, if that Brayles gets his hands onto me he would try to make out a pretext for hanging on. And I ¢an’t stop now for any uncertain- ties—too much is depending! Come— quick—we’ll try if lightning won’t beat Brayles’ horses in a race!” Sam seized Genie by the arm, ‘and, without thinking what he meant to do, she let him put her onto the car, Then, at a bound, Sam leaped upon the front platform, seized the motor-crank with one hand and the brake with the other. A glance at the motorman serenély smoking by the roadside, and the con- ductor yet farther away, and then back- ward at the enemy who were advancing ata keen gallop, shouting and gesticu- lating as they came—and then a turn of the crank that let on the current, The car started smoothly, then, as more power was let on, its speed was increased with a jerk and abuzz that sent a feel- ing of reckless exhilaration through the brain of the boy. The sound aroused the motorman; sey- eral workmen simultaneously saw the car moving swiftly off. A chorus of shouts filled the air—there was a mad rush to overtake Sam and the car—a thunder of pursuit from the horsemen. CHAPTER XI. INTO SAFETY. ay was. not the first time that Sam I Talbot, the boy jockey, had con- trolled the power of an electric car. Now that he had inaugurated the audacious attempt at escape for his com- panion and himself, he telt that he must succeed at all hazards. “T might as well be killed for a goat as a kid, now I’m in it,” was his mental observation. And, with steady hand and grimly shut teeth, he ie on more and more of the current until the ear seemed to fairly fly along the rails. A backward glance showed him that the men who had attempted to leap aboard were already left hopelessly in the rear. He could hear their shouts above the rumble of the car, and the conductor and motorman were fairly dancing up and down with excifement. - The horsemen were still coming, and they evidently comprehended what had taken place, for they were urging their steeds to their best speed. But it was plain that the horses were not the speedy racers of Bamford Brayles, At first they gained slightly on the car. But Sam felt the limitless power under his right hand, and now he was in the race, there was all the better sport in finding what the invisible power of elec- tricity could do against horses. Genie sat with clasped hands and flushed cheeks, looking from the deter- mined face of the youth to the pursuing horsemen and wildly gesticulating em- ployees of the road. This street. led directly into the city. From it a side street extended a little farther on, and it was upon the latter road that Ragsdale’s stable was situated. Therefore Sam intended to continue the flight only to the junction of the two roads, There was a curve around which they pers swung, and as the road was ined at that point by large trees, they could no longer be seen by their pursuers. Already they were close to the point where Sam intended to stop, and, as they were going at a reckless rate, the boy shut off the power and allowed the momentum of the car to carry them the balance of the distance. As soon as the buzzing and rumble sub- sided so that she could make herself heard, Genie exclaimed : “This—this isan awful bold thing to do. You will surely be arrested-—we both will —and put in prison, for all that I know.” Sam set up the brake before answering, Then he jumped off and helped his com- panion to alight. i “If we go to prison, that will be merely another sort of an adventure, and that’s what I’m after,” he coolly declared. “Come,” he added, pointing.into the side street. “This is where we switch off, I'm sorry they haven’t got the troiley wires and track laid this way, so that T could take you straight to my friend’s ranch, but I’ll have to ask you to excuse me this time. I have an idea that those fellows following us_on horseback will do what they can to keep us from being arrested. But I may be mistaken.” | : “Brayles and Uncle Caleb? Keep us from being arrested by the officers of the - street railway?” ; Genie spoke incredulously. In trnth, she was more afraid of her uncle and the sleek, treacherous. horsey man than of Oop the authorities whom Sam had so auda- ciously defied. “You see if Bamford Brayles doesn’t figure if so that the railway company won’t prosecute,” said Sam. z “How will he do that?” “T don’t know how—only Brayles seeins to have plenty of money, and money will keep a fellow out of a good many kinds of difficulty, if it’s only spent right.” “T know—but why should he interfere to save you from arrest, when you say he has the best reasons for wishing to get you into trouble?” “Because, if I was arrested he would have to appear against me in the court, and it would come out why I was run- ning away from him. And about the time I told the authorities all I know about him and his schemes, you would see him in a fine pickle. No, ma’am—Baimford Brayles don’t want to do business through the criminal courts. ‘That’s just the kind of a picnic he isn’t hungry for.” “And so you think he will try to pre- vent them from having you arrested for running away with the car?” “That was what occurred to me the minute I thought of the scheme. There was risk in it—but we have got here all the same.” The stable was just ahead. Sam saw Mr. Ragsdale and Jack Gardner taiking earnestly outside. The boy’s heart beat fast as he thought of the possible results of his adventure. He had discovered the plot against his employer, and now it remained to be seen whether his warning should provesufti- cient to prevent the execution of the scheme, “You said you had no friends?” he hurriedly asked of his companion, paus- ing a moment under the shade of a big elm near the cottage. “Not a friend in the world,” she an- swered for the second time. : “Then what were your plans, after get- ting away from Burton?” “T know how to work. I ean find plenty to do in the city, and I think I ean live without being the drudge I have been all my life.” “Then you had no particular thing in mind for to-day?” “Nothing.” “Well, while the races last, and Mr. Ragsdale stays here, you might stop at this cottage, and, if I have good luck, I'll lodge here, too, unless they lock me up at the police station for running away with the car, They’re nice people here, and I guess they'll put you up for a day or two till you make up your mind what to do. Then, if Caleb Burton tries to take you back, I'll try if my influence with Brayles won’t induce him to let you alone for a while. You see, I'm counting big guns on the grip I hold on Bamford Brayles.” “Tf they will let me stay here, I will be only too glad to have somebody near who can stand up for me,” said Genie. x She began to look upon Sam as a rather remarkeble young man. In truth, Sam looked striking enough, with, his head bare, his clothes torn, and face bruised and smeared with smoke and grime which he had not had opportunity to re- move. His night of adventure had left marks upon him which even a bath and new clothing would not hide. ; Sain knocked at the door of the cot- tage, and upon a hasty pretext gained temporary admittance for his companion. A minute later he confronted Mr, Rags- dale, All the while he had glanced backward frequently to see if the pe were following. But they had not yet ap- peared, and his conviction that Baimford Brayles would contrive to prevent the affair from being investigated in the courts grew momentarily stronger. wate got back, Mr. Ragsdale,” said am. The other surveyed him from head to foot. There was a steely glitter in his eyes as they were at last fixed upon the face of the boy jockey. “Well, you needn't trouble yourself to stay,” he said. Sam read in the young man’s face that the latter supposed the new jockey had turned out to be even more faithless than the old. “He thinks I’m a drinking «chap, and that I have been out all night on a regu- lar spree,” thought Sam. And fora moment the boy was at a loss for words with which to break down the unjust supicion, “T came as soon as I could,” he began, “TI dare say. Indeed, you came rather sooner than you could respectably. Come, I meant what ! said—you’re not wanted here. I have as many bums on hand as I care to look after.” Sam’s face flushed with anger. “You won't give me a chance to ex- plain,” he exclaimed, “And I have been working for vou all the while, and got nearly killed for it. I have been spying pes Bamford Brayles, and overheard a u plot to ruin you at the race,” NEWS. Sam's rapid, earnest speech impressed the other. Ragsdale was in an irritable mood, and with good reason; yet he had been unwilling to believe that the boy to whom he had taken such a strong and sudden fancy was even more faithless than Talway Tripp. “You have been spying upon Bamford Brayles?” he repeated. Sam turned away, chagrin, Now that the excitement of the chase was over, every bone in his body ached, and the disappointing reception of his employer stung him keenly. For the moment he was half-impelled to keep to himself the details of Brayles’ plot, and so let Ragsdale get out of the scrape as best he could, But the manner of the other changed instantly, In another moment the man laid a hand soothingly on the shoulder of our hero, “Vorgive me,” he said, kindly. “I had no business to jump ataconclusion in that way. But Tripp has gone off again this morning, and, when you failed to appear, I about made up my mind that a decent jockey didn’t live. Come—you look balf dead! Had any breakfast ?.Come in, and let me help pull the kinks out of you. Then eat—then tell me your story.” The words carried all of Sam’s momen- tary resentment before them. He went into the cottage with Ragsdale, and in response to orders from the latter the boy was given a chance to clean up and re- fresh himself by a bath. Then he sat down with Genie to an appetizing break- fast, while he told Ragsdale the story of his night’s experience. The young man asked a few questions, evalking the room in great agitation. “You have done something that may save me from ruin,” he declared, at last. “But the fight has only begun. The races open to-morrow, but the first day is given to the trotters. I must see Tripp again— and then——” Ragsdale wus interrupted by a loud knock at the door. burning with CHAPTER XII, ON THE TRACK. > AM and Genie exchanged glances of < alarm asthe sharp knock sounded on the door. Was he, after all, to be called to account for “stealing” the electric car? “Boy just stopped here—a ragged, vaga- bondish chap, girl with him?” they heard the one outside inquire of the woman who answered the knock. Ragsdale did not wait to hear more, He motioned the fugitives to retire to an adjoining room, and himself answered the question of the stranger, “What do you want of the boy?” Sam heard his employer ask. “Somebody down the road wants to see him. Something to the boy’s advantage, so he has no need to be skeered,” was the answer, “Why doesn't the somebody come here, instead of sending you? That would be the square way to do,” Ragsdale returned. “TI don’t know why he don’t. None of my business, I take it. He sent me to do hisarrant. That’s all I got to do about it. Will he come?” . “Nobody said he was here. I suppose you’re sent by Bamford Brayles? You needn’t answer, for I know. Just toddle along, my friend, and tell Brayles that the boy won't come. That’s all.” The other hesitated. Ragsdale coolly shut the door. His face was black with rage when Sam came out. “That fellow has a good deal of gall,” he exclaimed. “ You heard what was said, Sam?” “Yes, I heard. I thought they had come to arrest me for taking the car.” “That was a risky sort of game to play, Sam, and I would not advise you to re- peat it. But, as you say, I think Brayles will for the time keep the matter from getting imto court. But he will take prery means in his power to get you into trouble in any way that won’t at the same time involve him. If 1 only had the power to give him his deserts. If I might only ask the police to step up and make Bamford Brayles sweat for the shabby tricks he has played, and is plotting to play.” ' Ragsdale was pacing the room again, and this last remark was made more to himself than to the listeners, “Why not do it?” said Sam, Ragsdale clenched his white hands. “Don’t ask me—don’t ask me,” he cried. An hour was spent in talking over his plans. He seemed to feel the deepest gratitude toward Sam for the courageous part he had played, Yet he said nothing about engaging him to ride the race, In- deed, it appeared that he still hoped to lhave Talway Tripp in shape to do his part when the time should come. Sam got two honrs’ sleep. Then, being once more in trim for adventure, he offered to show Rugsdate that he could ride the incorrigible bay colt, Wildfire, as he had promised to do, The trial was made on the level stretch of road near the stable. Sam was by no means certain that the taming which he had given the colt upon his first trial would be lasting in its effects. But Wildfire immediately showed that she considered the hoy jockey to be her master and friend. None of her wild antics shown upon the preceding trial were repeated. She had been so difficult to manage that she had received little previous training. Yet Sam speedily proved that the “ wild” horse could make superior time. And Mr, Ragsdale, delighted with the success, de- cided that Wildfire should be worked a trial trip on the track that afternoon, And, if she showed up as sheseemed capable of doing, she should be entered for the race, Tripp was on hand in the afternoon, and, to the disappointment of Sam, the recreant jockey was told to work Jilly at the trial. Tripp was out of money, and so, per- force, was sober. And, being financially “broke,” he was more than usually anx- ious to ride at the race. He was really friendly to Ragsdale, and he was not mean enough to “sell out” to Ragsdale’s enemy. There was another reason beside scrupu- lousness to deter him from yielding to the solicitations of Ragsdale’s enemy. He had, in truth, once been in the em- ploy of Bamford Brayles, and their con- nection had been severed in anything but a friendly spirit. ‘Therefore he was in no hurry to put himself again under the “horsey” man’s thumb, Tripp worked Jilly successfully. He “laid himself out” to do his level best, and with his long practice in race-courses, and knowledge of the bantering and guy- ing of other jockeys, Ragsdale felt that the only safe thing for him was to make sure of Tripp for this race, at least. Then, if Sam did well, he would have the latter train for future handicaps, and so not be dependent upon the erratic Tripp for the entire season. Sam, however, tried Wildfire at the track that afternoon. A dozen jockeys were on the ground, and two arranged to start in a mock handicap with Sam. They perceived the. wild mettle of the colt, and nothing would give them better sport than to get the boy jockey thrown into the dust. But Sam was prepared. He felt that he hed already made friends with Wildfire, and that he could depend upon her to do her part. The start was made, amid a deal of noise from the other jockeys. They tried to “foul” Sam by running across his track—they jostlea him in front and rear, And at last one tried to throw our hero from the saddle by suddenly putting his foot under Sam’s and lifting the latter from his seat. Sam being lighter than the lank young fellow who attempted the trick, seemed to promise to be a good subject. But the other jockey, who was called Lanky at the track, was treated to a little surprise. Sam perceived his inten- tion, and allowed the other to ride up close to him, although he seemed to be trying to get out of Lanky’s way. They had made a start, but, owing to the trickery of the jockeys, there seemed to be little chance of any of them making a fair trial for time. Ragsdale and Tripp were both eagerly watching Sam—the former anxious to see — how the boy would cope with his rivals, and Tripp in anticipation of some fun at Sam’s expense, Sam found already that Wildfire was quickly obedient to his touch, The splen- did, spirited animal seemed to have con- ceived something like positive liking for the boy who haa been the first to conquer her moods. Therefore the boy jockey began to trust to his power of control over the “wild” colt. he With Lanky pressing close upon him on the right, and another jockey striving to eross his course in advance, Sam’s wits and muscles were strained to the utmost. Seemingly unsuspecting, he yet kept an eye upon Lanky’s foot, which was draw- ing close to Sam’s stirrup. Then the chance came. An incoherent. shout broke from the ge of Ragsdale—a shout of warning, for he feared mischief to both the colt and his rider, ; Lanky’s foot came out, intending tc catch Sam's underneath, and to lift the latter from the suddle, But Sam’s foot was quickest. It dropped from the stirrup, and slipped under his rival’s. Simultaneously Wild- fire, obedient to a tightening rein, reared back upon her haunches, | There was a shout from Lanky—then @ yell from jockeys and horse-owners. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ~~ A SPAN is ten and seven-eighth inches. (This Story will not be Published in Book-Form,] Liv fle HICKORY OF THE MOUNTAIN EXPRESS’ OR, FROM SWITCH-YARD TO LEVER. oe BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR, Author of “Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer,” “The Young Stone-Cutter,” ete. ; (“LITTLE HICKORY OF THE MOUNTAIN EXPREss” was conmnenced in No, 207. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXVIII. PATTING. (2-9, THE PENALTY. my little bantam?” greeted the ¢ masked chief, as he swung the <-> lantern into Little Hickory’s pale and haggard face. “Look as if you had been having a hard time. Ha! what have you been doing to amuse yourself?” he demanded, as he caught sight of the pile of dirt heaped up by our hero’s excava- tion, “Been trying to dig out, eh? We didn't come any too soon, boys.” Little Hickory made no reply, while he looked from one to another of the four disguised men, wondering if one of them was Car! Dennett. “Well, a miss is as good as a mile, they say. Sorry to have made you so much work, Caswell; needless work, I might add, for we are going to remove you by the proper way. That is, always considering your experience here has xiven you a little wisdom. p i “Lead him along, boys, though you had better bind his hands behind him first. Safe bind sure to find, you know.” A few minutes later, Little Hickory was led out of the horrible cell and up a flight of stairs into a large unfurnished room on the next story. Pausing about midway in this apart- ment, the leader said: “Now, Andy Caswell, come to decide your fate. show you no mercy, unless you promise upon your knees to go forth from this place in the company of one of us and to leave Lock Haven forever, and never, under no consideration, to tell what you may have learned or suspicioned here, Have you come to that state of mind when you are willing to follow this rea- sonable request?” Little Hickory presented a sorry plight, covered from head to foot with dirt, as be was, and haggard and emaciated from his long sufferings. But if his captors thought to conquer his stubborn spirit in such a way, it was because they did not know. how well he merited the nickname that he bore. “What do you say?” demanded the speaker, as he hesitated in his reply, mistaking its real reason. “Remember ycu ask no odds of those who—-—” “Sir,” broke in Little Hickory, unable to remain silent longer, “if you have nothing else to say to me, you might as well spare your breath, The very anxiety with which you ask me to do this shows that some great wrong is intended, and that you fear me. The more you perse- cute me the more determined I am to re- fuse your unrasonable demand. You may kill me, but you cannot bribe me.” “Kill him, and not waste any more time on the fool,” hissed one of the masked men. “Hand me the rope,” said the leader. “T will. see if we cannot bring him to terms. nbind his hands, Tim.” Then Little Hickory’s hands were freed from the cord, and held by vise-like arms ahove his head. ’ The masked chief quickly fastened the ends of the cord to each of Little Hick- ory's thumbs, when he tossed the rope over one of the beams above them, t Seizing the doubled part as it fell over the timber, he drew it straight, saying o his companions: ie “Now, draw him up till I tell you to stop. I'll see how long hecan hold out under that.” Little Hickory’s position was now a most trying one, for in a moment his arms were drawn up until hecould barely touch the floor with his toes, the weight of his body resting upon his thumbs. “Let him hang there a minute,” com- manded the merciless leader, “Now will you promise?” he asked, turning to the victim. Little Hickory gazed into his disguised face without replying. “Up with him—higher,” ordered the wretch, “Higher, but go slow, We want him to get the full benefit of this, for it isn’t every day we so honor a visitor. “Now, hude Caswell, I will give you ” ID you get tired of waiting for us, | the time has} My order is to} till I can count ten, and every time I count the rope shall be straightened a trifle, so by the time I——” Suddenly a crash sounded on the scene, and one of the men broke through a weak place in the floor, causing him to fall upon one knee, “What are you doing, you blunder- ing——” began the leader, but a louder crash at that instant drowned his words, ae the whole floor was felt to be set- tling. “Juinp for your lives! It is go——” The snap and crash of breaking timbers made his speech unheard, while the whole building trembled as the entire floor con- tinued to settle, the farther part going down with a deafening thunder. The men were thrown together in a huddle, the rope slipping from their grasp, while they went heels over head among the debris of the falling structure. Little Hiekory felt the rope slacken, at the same time ine found the support. be- neath him yielding. Thinking the whole building was going down, he sprang to one side, catching upon the wall for sup- port, ; A cloud of missiles filled the air, while piercing screams mingled with the tumult of the breaking wood, until silence and darkness settled upon She scene, Still clinging to the wall, Little Hick- ory tried in vain to penetrate the gloom about him, until a2 minute later he saw a tiny blaze shoot up from the depths, At first he thought it was the lantern light, but he soon realized that a fire had been set, probably by the overturning and breaking of the lantern. Not a sound came from the ruins to tell him that his enemies had escaped death, while as the light increased from the fire he could see nothing of them, He didn’t lose very much time looking for them, as self-perservation is the first | law of nature, and he knew if he wished to escape he must improve his oppor- tunity. Accordingly, he crawled along the wall, aided by the rough timbers, to soon reach another part of the building where the floor remained, though he felt it tremble beneath his weight as he passed over it. By this time the fire had kindled so that the whole structure was lighted by its glare, enabling Little Hickory to ad- vance without trouble, In the haste of his escape, he paid little heed to the place, but he noticed enough to know that the building was an old, deserted affair, and that its walls were of stone. When at. last he found a door leading out into the open air, the fire had gained such headway that it burst out through the roof, and was rapidly devouring the ruined abode, Analarm of fire had been already given by some one on the street, as Little Hickory, more dead than alive it seemed, but with a prayer of thanks- giving upon his lips, staggered away from the doomed building. “There are men confined under the burning timbers—don’t let them escape !” he murmured, and everything seemed _ to be turning topsy-turvy. He hada dim consciousness of feeling a pair of strong arms about him, and the next he knew he was in a comfortable bed, and anxious faces were bending bdver him. As he opened his eyes, one of the watchers spoke, and he soon learned that he had been taken from the street to this house, where he had been cared for. The building had burned down, and it was supposed that some men had perished in the fire, as their charred remains were found under the fiery debris. These people were strangers to him, so they did not recognize his name when he gave it, but they promised to take him to his home in the morning. He would not have been contented to wait as long as that, but he found himself too weak to think of going before. Food and drink, however, gave hiin strength, so early in the morning he started for home, to find Mrs. Hastings nearly frantic over his prolonged absence. She threw her arms about his neck, and wept and_ cried by turns, as he told his story of adventures, not omitting anything this time. “Why, who could have done it, Andy? I didn’t know that you had an enemy in the world.” “Don’t say a word to any one, auntie, Iam going to see the president of the road, and something will be done.” CHAPTER XXIX. LITTLE HICKORY TELLS HIS STORY. KAY WARE that Mr. Lord was away— in Europe as some said—Little A Hickory was at a loss to know to story; but finally he decide whom he should go to tell his o seek Vice- President Swallow. One reason, perhaps, for doing this was the fact that . could be found in Lock Haven, Mr. Buxton Swallow was in, looking more pompous than ever, it seemed, for since the departure of the president he had assnmed greater dignity than before. Three others, among them Mr. Johnso , GooDpD NEWS. 3451 were in the tered, and it scribe their hero, “Here is the culprit now,” exclaimed Mr. Johnson, showing considerable ex- citement. “Young man, where have you been?” “TIT was called unavoidably away,” re- plied Little Hickory. “I am sorry——”. “By the boots!” broke in Mr. Swallow, “you will. give an account of yourself. Do you suppose we hire men to run away just when they feel like it? How did you think Anderson was going to run the mixed? Impudent rascal! now you have the cheek, the audacity to come here thinking, I suppose, some flimsy excuse will let you out of it. No, sirree! Vl tell you in advance that you are dis- charged clear into eternity.” Without paying any heed to burst, Little Hickory said: “Mr. Swallow, I wish to see a few minutes. [ want to speak matter to you in private.” “T guess this is private enough to suit a fellow of your size. I am satisfied, any way, so go ahead. Needn’t be afraid of these gentlemen.” “If you have not the time to spare me now, Mr. Swallow, I will come again. This is a matter which concerns me indi- vidually, and——” He had started toward the door while speaking, when the vice-president stopped him in the midst of his speech with a wave of his hand, and, opening a door leading into a small private office, he mo- tioned for our hero to follow him. When he had closed the door behind them, and locked it, he sank into his favorite chair, saying as he waved his chubby band: “Well, Sir Impudence. “Mr. Swallow,” began Little Hickory, coming at once to the subject uppermost in his mind, “whatI am going to say will startle you, but I believe you are the man to know it-first, and it is time that you did.” 5 Then beginning at the time of his ad- venture in the trunk, Little Hickory made the august official acquainted with all he had done and had dearned concern- ing the secret plot against the welfare of the road, while that diguitary listened with speechless amazement, until he had concluded. “A preposterous story, boy! preposter- ous in the extreme. Why, the very au- dacity of the thing makes it impossible. Away with such nonsense, and, if you have no more common sense than this, our interview ends here.” Little Hickory’s situation was a deli- cate one, for he realized only too well that Buxton Swallow might be one of the very conspirators he was trying to discover. But he had gouae too far to re- ae? and, with unwavering firmness, he said: “Mr. Swallow, you are too acute a business man, and of too long experience in railroad affairs not to know there is something wrong in the way the L. H. and T. R. R. has been conducted in cer- tain departments during the last six months.” “Zounds! I believe ycu are right, boy,” cried the vice-president, showing his pleasure at the piece of cunning flattery. “There is not the unanimity of feel- ing——” A rap upon the door interrupted his speech, and, demanding who was want- ing him, he was told that Van Valley- not, the engineer of the Mountain Ex- press, wished to see him as soon as he was at liberty. “Tell him, Mr. Swallow,” said Little Hickory, who could have heard no better tidings than that Grizzly Van was there, “that he can come in here at once. He can help me convince you of the truth of what I have told.” Nodding stiffly, the vice-president opened the door, to admit the gray knight of the lever, who, with a hasty greeting for the official, caught our hero's hand in his own horny palms, saying: “This is the happiest moment of my life! I knowed you badn’t run away. Where have you been, my boy?” Van’s presence there, at that time, when we have said that the express had gone on its daily trip, was due to the fact that the day before he had _ resigned his position and a substitute had been sent on the Eagle that morning, To him Little Hickory told the story of his ad- ventures, holding his closest attention, while Mr, Swallow kept up a continual tapping with his fingers upon the desk, and ever and anon whistling softly to himself. “Did you ever hear such rubbish, Mr. Valleynot?” he asked, when the young engineer had finished. Grizzly Van brought his fist down upon the desk-lid with a force which sent the articles upon it flying into the air, as he cried: “Jupiter, man! what he has said is worth a thousand dollars to yon, You are blind, Mr. Swallow—excuse me, but room as Little Hickory en- would be difficult to de- looks as they beheld our this out- you alone of a little ” the case is as plain as writing on tne wall. They tell me this robbery uas been begun again. The minute, you see, Little Hickory is thought to be out of the way.” “Zounds! you are right, mister. I had forgotten that,” exclaimed Mr. Swallow, excitedly, “Who is it who is so anxious to get Andy Caswell away from the road, if it is not one of its officers; and why would they ask for it, if it wasn’t for foul play?” “Zounds, sir! you take away my breath. You believe this stripling, do you, in preference to myself? Ihave a mind to drive you both out of the office. I am go- ing to call in Mr. Johnson. This is a matter every officer of the road should know,” I need not give in detail the discussion which took up more than an hour before Grizzly Van and Little Hickory could convince the vice-president that there could be such a state of affairs as a dis- honest official in the management of the L. H, and T. R. R. Finally he was con- vinced that such might be the case, and then he asked what he should do. “In the first place,” said Van, “I have a test to propose, and it can be tried in this way: I feel that it is time for me to give up active work, and in resigning my position I do so in favor of my young friend, and the son of your friend, Andy Caswell, rightly called Little Hickory.” “Zounds, man! he is as much my friend as he is Yours.” “Then you will the more willingly see that he gets the position I have given up. He is capable of it, and deservesit. Now. when you propose him his enemies, if he has such among the board, will oppose him. All you will have to do then will be to watch those men, and in my opinion you will find out who are in this con- spiracy.” “A capital plan, Mr. Valleynot, and I will try it.” CHAPTER XXX. THE TERROR OF THE TRACK. \+47 HEN this conversation had been Ww \\ /. continued half an hour longer, Little Hickory returned to his oe home feeling well satisfied with his work, and with the assurance frcm Van Valleynot that he would stand by him to the end, Two days later our hero was notified to appear at the office in Lock Haven, when Mr. Swallow. handed him his appoint- ment as engineer on the Mountain Ex- press, saying at the same time: “There you have it, my boy, and with it my congratulations. But you and Van shot wide of your mark when you said the enemies of the road would oppose your election, for only two voted against you. : me May I ask their names?” “Certainly, under the circumstances, though I don’t want you to think they intend to do anything to injure you, for they are men absolutely above reproach. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Axminster both thought you were too young for the posi- tion, though they acknowledged you had shown uncommon merit.” “Have you said anything of what we talked to any of the men, Mr. Swallow?” “Not a word. I will say, however, that I think you were misled in some way. However, that is neither here nor there. Do your duty, and I’ll warrant you'll have no further trouble. Report next Monday for duty.” “T will be on hand, sir,” and in the best of spirits Little Hickory left the office, and, as he passed from the private room, he noticed that Mr. Johnson eyed him closely, though he did not speak. One thing was settled in Little Hick- ory’s mind—he knew who were opposed to him. If they were men above sus- picion, he could not help feeling that they in some way were connected with the outlawed gang, which was still rob- bing the trains, though so many of its members were languishing in prison. As he would have three days of leisure before beginning his duties, he hoped to fully recover from his recent trying ex- periences, so he would feel like work. Saturday he made a trip on the Eagle to Tyrone, Van running the engine that day for his last time. There is always something melancholy in a “last time,” though we may be leaving an irksome duty for one more congenial. To the veteran knight of the lever, with his twenty years at the same post, it meant far more than this. It told him that his long and useful life was drawing to a close; that his work was done, and henceforth it must be retrospection and not anticipation. The faithful old ma- chine, which he could not have loved better had it been of flesh and blood, seemed to be repeating this solemn mes- sage over and over, each clicking bar and panting breath saying: “Done, done!” “T tell you, my boy,” he said, as they were on their return, and he had shown Little Hickory about one part and an- other, and what to ao in cases of extreme ~ . S452 emergencies, “it is harder parting with the old gal than I thought. I know you will use her well, Andy, and I had rather you would take my place than any one else in the world, still it is hard to give up—to give up. “It took me twenty years to get where you are, my boy; but it seems only the day before yesterday that the old Eagle, and 1, and Blaze started together. She will probably never have another master afrer you. Ha!” The abrupt ending to the old engineer’s remarks was called forth by a sudden crash of glass, which flew in a shower about their heads, as a missile as large | ip Be es make jengaged about all the help he thought he They were swinging furiously around a} as the hand whistied through the cab, curve above Milesburg, and the sudden- ness of the hurtling missile, which had no doubt been a stone thrown by some strong arm, for an’instant startled Van. But quickly recovering his seif-posses- sion, he reversed the lever and brought the train to a stand-still a short distance from the depot, “Who could have throwed that?” he cried, looking back along the track. Tt was getting too dark for them to see very far, : “What's up?” asked the conductor, coming swiftly forward with his lantern on his arm. / A searching party went back to the place in a minute, but no trace of the thrower of the missile could be found. “Tam afraid, Andy,” said Van, shaking his grizzled locks slowly, “that was meant for you. I am afraid you have got tough times ahead.” Nothing further, however, until Lock Haven was reached, Upon gaining his home, Little Hickory was surprised to find Buck on the point of leaving, “{ daresn’t stay in these parts any longer,” he said to Little Hickory; “and I should have been away from here two hours ago only I wanted to see you. You see, Dennett is on my heels hot and heayy for what I did against his gang. I don’t think he has any of the old_ party with him now, but he has managed to pick up enough to make it desperate for me. I’m a dead man, if I don’t get away.from here within twelve hours. “He is after you, too, and if you value , your life you will have to give up your job. Carl Dennett will hesitate at no end to carry his purpose, and there is some one leading him on. Fly! fly for your life, Andy!” : “What do you take me for, Buck? If what you say is true, asI know it is, there is all the more reason why I should stay. I am going to stay until Carl Den- nett and his companions are run to earth.” “Or you are killed,” said Buck, with an ominous shake of the head, “Iam going to get out of it.” z Nothing further of importance occur- cing before, the following Monday morn- ing Little Hickory entered upon his new duties, beginning at the same time the most eventful week’s work which he had ever known, The first day’s trip was uneventful, but the second morning, as Little Hickory was standing at his post and watching the glittering iron trail winding along the mountain side above Mary’s Furnace, he was suddenly startled by the appear- ance of atrain of box cars rushing down the track toward him at the rate of a mile a minute. . There was .no engine attached, and he realized in a moment that the cars had broken from the freight which had gone up ahead of him, the. runaways carried on by their own momentum down the long deseeiit. His. first thought was to reverse and run back, if possible, to the switch at Mary’s, but this could not be done on ac- count of phe mixed following him. It was a startling situation, and as the boy engineer thought of the many lives in peril his face turned pale, “My heavens, Andy, look yonder!” cried the fireman, his face the color of snow, as Le caught sight of the train sweeping down upon them. “Leap for our life!” and, with the terrifying words, 1e jumped from the cab, flying heels over head down the embankment. Little Hickory felt that his last moment had come. (£0 BE CONTINUED.) —_——— Oo A PUZZLE FOR THE BUILDER. occurred About seventy years ago the Grand Jury of the County of Tipperary passed the following resolutions: 1. That a new court-house shall be vilt. a 2. That the materials of the old court- house be used in building the new court- house. 3. That the old court-house shall not be taken down till the new court-house is finished, 7 THE BURGLARY AT SAKONNET. + BY W. BERT FOSTER, tae 4 * 9 of —4O you want a job? =~ “Yes, sir.” aes “What can you do?” ‘Tll do anything that’s honest to earn my living. You just try me, sir.” Mr. Kaspar, the proprietor of the Sakon- net House, stroked his chin thoughtfully as he gazed into the upturned face of the youth. The hotel was crowded, even thus early in the season, and Mr. Kaspar had | should need in all departments, But he liked the looks of Bob Gaylor. He appeared honest, he was dressed neatly, and he certainly was in earnest. “T don’t know of anything you can do but wash dishes,” the hotel proprietor finally said. ‘We are in need of a dish-washer in the kitehen.” “[’m your man, then,’ Bob declared, firmly. ‘I’ve been traveling in search of work for two months, and this is the first | offer I've had of steady employment. I’m ready to turn to at once.” “Stay a moment,’ Mr. Kaspar observed. | ‘How came you to walk sofar? Where is your Lome?” | “My home was in Brampton—a hundred | miles or more from here,” responded Bob, with a choke in his voice. ‘But I have none now. Father died in March—con- sumption. “The selectmen undertook to have me bound out to a mean old curmud- geon of afarmer. So I ran away.” You ran away ?” ‘Well, strictly speaking, I walked away. I have had a pretty good education, and don’t like farm work. I knew that Old | Miles, the mun who wanted me, would make me a regular slave.” “How much better than farming is dish- | washing in a summnfer hotel, do you sup- pose ?” asked Mr. Kaspar, with a smile. : “At least, ’m my own master, to a certain extent,” Bob responded, ‘‘I hope you don’t think any the worse of me for leaving Brampton ?” “Oh, I guess you'll do,” returned the hotel-keeper. ‘Four dollars per week and found is what I'll give you. You ean go around to the kitchen now and let Caleb set you to work.” Bob obeyed the mandate thankfully, and set to work with so much willingness that even grouty Caleb Cranshaw, the chief waiter, was favorably impressed by the new dish-washer. He found the position no sinecure at the Sakonnet House. 'Thé hotel was the largest at the resort, and was always well patron- ized. But he might have had a far more uncomfortable place in which to work. The sink-room was of course at the ex- treme rear, yet it was almost over the water as well. An arm of the wide inlet made up back of the hotel, and the sink-room was on the very edge of this smaller inlet. And the salt sea breeze ever blew in across the dunes, and cooled the heated, steaming at- mosphere of the kitchen. There was a narrow, ‘closet-like room opening out of the sink-room just large enough for a cot. The very first day Bob, who was desirous of saving all of his mod- est wages possible, made arrangements to sleep in this box-like apartment. It was not nice, but it was cheap, and the youth well knew that when fall should come, he | would be again out of a job. To afellow who had been well brought up, and had received a food education, the majority of the employees of the hotel were not pleasant associates. Perhaps Bob stood aloof rather too much, owing to this fact, for the men employed about the kitchen began to call him ‘“‘uppish,” and declared that he was too big feeling for his position. Not intentionally did Bob gain their ill- will; but soon, from Cranshaw, who was a beetle-browed, scarred-faced man, to the cook’s assistants, they openly showed their dislike for the youth. He did not mind this in most of them, but it caused Cran- shaw to vent a greal deal of his natural spleen upon him, and this Bob found hard to bear. He soon discovered, also, several things which would have doubtless filled Mr, Kas- par, the hotel proprietor, with unbounded surprise. The hotel office and the hotel kitehen were too far apart for the owner to closely overlook the actions of his em- ployees in the latter department, and Bob plainly saw that Caleb Cranshaw was ac- tually robbing his employer every day. His thievery was of a petty order—a dozen of eggs at one time, half a box of oranges at another, and soon. Many things were sup- posedly ordered and paid for that never reached the hotel, and each day a man, who ;run your neck right into a noose. | lay low at Blue Hills for a day, and then take NEWS. was as villianous looking as Caleb himself, and a fit mate for him, came with a wagon and carried a good many dollars’ worth of provisions away that might have easily been turned in to the account of the running ex- penses. Bob was strongly tempted to give Mr. Kaspar a hint of these proceedings, but he did not know how to approach the subject, neither did he fancy gaining the name of “tale-bearer.” Affairs roached a climax, however, one night in July. Bob had been two months | at the hotel, and the season was now at its height. From early morning till dark he was upon his feet, and.was only too ready to crawl into his cot and go to sleep. It was a stormy night. All day the break- | ers had thundered on the bar outside Sakon- net Inlet and occasionally fitful dashes of rain knocked for entrance at the narrow window of Bob Gaylor’s small room. And some of the rain drops gained ad- mittance, too. Some time after midnight a tiny stream.of water worked its way through a crack and commenced to drop with steady accuracy upon the upturned face of the | sleeping boy. Bob began to dream that he was in swim- ming, and that icebergs had been put to soak in the water previous to his taking a bath. This impression became so strong at last that, in seeking to get out of the water, he suddenly got out of bed, howbeit in a very undignified manner, and awoke on the floor. “Great groaned. Then he stopped and listened breath- lessly. here was the noise of muffled foot- Scott! how that hurt!” he | steps in the kitchen without, and the yellow light of a lantern cast a narrow beam be- neath the door of his little hed-chamber. 30b arose to his feet softly, throwing aside the bed clothes which had accompanied his sudden fall from the couch, and crept softly to the door. Three men were making a hasty meal at one of the kitchen dressers and although their faces were turned from him, the boy recognized all three. They were Caleb Cranshaw, the head waiter or steward, the man before mentioned who each day came to the hotel for the refuse, and the third | was the clerk of the Sakonnet House, him- self, a smoothly shaven young fellow of not | more than twenty-tive. The night lunch which Caleb had evi- dently prepared for his companions, in- cluded the best the house afforded, not only | in the line of eating, but in that of drink- ing. The clerk, however, whose name was Harlowe, seemed either too nervous or ex- cited to eat, “Come, you fellows, hurry up,’ he mut- tered, impatiently. ‘‘These night feeds have | spoiled more than one good job for better men than we.” e ‘Don’t croak,” sneered Caleb, in his harsh voice. ‘We're safe enough. There’s no- body within hearing but that confounded boy, and he’s fast asleep. I’ll just look in at him.” “Well, come on, I’e got enough,” said the third man, wiping his bearded lips on a napkin, ‘We've a long row before us. I don’t myself believe that there’s any neces- sity for this trip to Blue Hills.” “No, you fool,” growled Caleb, ‘You'd We can train to New York after the first rush is over. Come on.” They turned away from the dresser and approached the door, and then for the first time Bob Gaylor saw that each of the trio carried a large carpet-bag, They went out at once, and the boy, not fully understand- ing the situation, hurried into his clothes and followed them. ‘The men went straight to the shore, where a boat was drawn up. It was one of the hotel boats—Bob saw that at a glance, for he knew them all. Evidently it belonged to the decamping trio. He couldn’t think, for the life of him, why the clerk and Caleb should leave the hotel without giving Mr. Kaspar notice; and to sneak off in this man- ner, too, But while he was trying to explain this, Bob had been thoughtless of his footsteps, and suddenly he fell prostrate over a bait- tub which lay overturned>on the shore. “Perdition !” ejaculated Cranshaw. and springing back from the water’s edge, he fell upon Bob before he couid rise. “Who is it?” gasped Harlowe, hastening up, while the third man pushed the boat off hurriedly, holding it by the bow to the shore. “It’s that whelp, Gaylor !” Cranshaw ex- claimed, through his clenched teeth, and with his hand on poor Bob’s throat. “Kill him!” whispered the third man from his station by the boat. But Harlowe rolled up a glove and thrust it as far as possible into the boy’s mouth, tying it in with his handkerchief. Then it took but a moment to trice up his hands and feet, When this was done Harlowe and Cran- shaw stood up and looked at each other. Both were breathing heavily, and the clerk was as pale as a sheet. ‘Nice mess, this,” growled the third man. “Why didn’t you stick him ?” ‘Shut up,” returned Caleb, impoHtely. ‘Nobody asked your advice.” Then he went a few steps along the strand and shoved off a second boat—a leaky, shaky old tub, belonging to some fisherman. “What ye goin’ to do?” demanded the third man, fiercely. ‘Don’t you go to makin’ this aloosin’ game. I'll have your life, Cale Cranshaw, if you do,”’ Cranshaw went up to him, still retaining the long line of the boat in his hands, “The boy shall be put in this boat,” he said, with cruel distinctness. ‘He’s tied hand and foot. The tide is going out. In half an hour he'll be over the bar—provid- ing that old hulk floats that long, with no- body to bail 1t out.” Then he motioned to Harlowe to raise Bob’s feet, and together they placed him on his back in the bottom of the old boat. Getting into their own they towed the sec- ond craft with its helpless burden out into the inlet, and there let-it go. ‘So much for spying,” Cranshaw_ ex- claimed, exultantly, as he turned the head of his own boat up the inlet. The old shell, taking water like a sieve, was carried swiftly in the opposite direction by the tide. Bob was lying in a puddle of water and the moisture gathered rapidly. But the villians who had set young Gaylor adrift had forgotten the general trend of the current toward what was known as the “Lower Point.” At the Lower Point was an old, unused wharf, built so low that at high tide the water usually was on a level with tke flooring, and often, as in storms, was a foot or more above the pier. Toward this the old boat drifted, and was soon bumping her shaky nose against the piles. It was a lonesome spot, and even if Bob had been able to cry out, his voice would probably have been unheard. Finally, the old boat, as though that was just what she had been searching for, pushed her way between the piles underneath the wharf, and, swinging about broadside, floated up against the lower piles and there stopped. ‘The supports of the wharf were so close together at this outer side that there was little opportunity for the craft to find her way out.’ Meanwhile, Bob was in an agony of appre- hension. Not only for his own life was he fearful, but he now realized that the three men who had placed him in his present po- sition must have had some strong reason for their action. They had committed some ere at the hotel, which was of such a serious nature, that every witness of their flight must be put out of the way. Struggling seemed to make no impression 9 ‘whatever on his bonds, and his jaws ached so from the presence of the gag that the tears were fairly forced from his eyes, He knew when the tide ceased running out, for the boat stopped bumping against the wharf supports, and lay still for some time. Sud- denly he was aroused by feeling a jar on the other side. The tide had turned and had floated the boat to the upper side of the pier, But it did not find its way out be- tween the piles. It was growing light by this time. The rain had long since ceased, and by the ra- pidity with which the light increased Bob thought that it would be a fair day ; but the breakers still boomed upon the bar outside, and the tide would doubtless rise higher than commonly. . This thought suddenly. smote across his mind, and the cold perspiration started out all over him, The tide was rising, he was beneath the old wharf, and as the water rose it would probably force the old boat down, and he would be drowned ! There was no hope for him; not an atom. Nobody would suspect his presence beneath the wharf, and he would die there like a rat ina trap. It was a dreadful thought! Bob struggled madly with his bonds. He put every ounce of energy he possessed into his. muscles, but the rope held like iron bands. Exhausted, he sank back into the water, which was now nearly half a foot deep in the boat's bottom, and gave him- self over to despair. Brighter and brighter grew the day with- out, and inch by inch the water rose. Never before had he loved the darkness so much — that he hated to see the day appear. : With terrible surety the water gained. Soon the old boat was bumping against the timbers overhead, He could almost believe Goon NEWS. S453 that the air beneath the wharf was becom- | ing close and oppressive. Sudden, violent death, would have been easier to bear, so it seemed to Bob Gaylor, | than this slow progress toward an inevit- | able end. He writhed in the boat’s bottom, the shaky old hulk jarring about among che | piles and hitting against the beams over- | head as though endowed with, sudden life, The moments seemed to pass with the swiftness of light. The water had reached | the lower edge of the string-pieces now, and the boat remained stationary. There was } no longer room for it to float about. Higher | and higher rose the tide, and still Bob vainly struggled with his bonds, the blood surging and ringing through his head. Suddenly the boy heard, above the lap- ping of the waves, a footstep upon the loose boards. of the old wharf. Somebody was coming down toward the end of the pier—a fisherman, likely. Oh, should he have to die with help so near? The man came on and stood almost di- rectly over his position. Oh, for the ability to make one cry! Yet he was as helpless as thongh he had been born dumb. Then a thought flashed through his mind. He gathered his failing strength for one supreme effort, and, lying as he was, flat upon his back, began to kick with his bound feet against the wharf boards. The faint “‘rat-tat” sounded hardly louder than the lapping of the water, yet it was heard by the fisherman. Again it was re- peated, and rushing hastily to the side of the wharf from, whence it sounded loudest, the man wrenched up a loose board. Another moment and he had dragged the gagged and bound youth from his perilous position, And not an instant too soon was it done, for, with a great wrenching and giving way, the rotten old boat sank below the surface. Ag soon as he could speak after the gag was removed from his mouth, Bob told where he was from and how he came in his terrible predicament. An hour later he was telling the story to Mr. Kaspar in the office of the hotel, to which his rescuer had at once rowed him. The Sakonnet House was in an uproar. During the night the safe hai been opened and valuables belonging to the house and its guests to the value of fully ten thousand dollars had been taken, beside nearly half as much more in cash. Harlowe, Cranshaw and Bob himself were missing, and on them suspicion had of course at once fallen. Fortunately what little he had overheard the burglars say, enabled Bob to give the de- tectives the first real clew they had ob- tained, and that noon the trio of scamps were caught as they attempted to board the New York train at Blue Hills, fifteen miles up the inlet. : Every penny of their booty was recovered, too, and poor Bob, who had suffered so much, was not forgotten by the grateful guests of the hotel. Better still, he was as- sured of Mr. Kaspar’s good opinion and of the fact that as long as the Sakonnet House stood in its present owner’s hands, he would have a steady position in it. In fact, the very next year he was placed in the treacherous Harlowe’s position, and if you go to Sakonnet this summer, you will find him behind the clerk’s desk. : ———__--3- e-e-_____- CUTTING AN ELEPHANT’S NAILS. Three times a year, at least, an ele- phant must have his hoofs trimmed into good shape; once in thespring, once when traveling with the circus in the summer, and once more when the huge beast has returned to winter quarters. The sole of the elephant’s foot becomes gradually covered during the year with a substance resembling horn, much like his three great toe nails. This, if allowed to grow too dense, is apt tocrack and make the beast lame, j Accordingly one of the keepers stations the elephant in the ring, and bids him balance himself on three legs while he stretches out the other behind him, rest- ing it on a block fof wood or box. With a carpenter’s “drawing-knife” the hoof is then attacked, and shaved quickly down, Sometimes pieces of the bony substance, five or six inches long and nearly as thick, are cut off without the elephant’s feeling any pain whatever, or the knife taking too much from the sole. Frequently pieces of glass, nails, splin- ters, and the like, are found embedded in the growth, and these it is very important to have extracted, lest they should work their way upward and fester in the foot. » When the first rough going over is com- pleted, the keeper, with a smaller knife, trims each nail into shape—its cleanliness and new color quite improving the ani- mal’s appearance —cuovers any small wounds with tar, and dismisses the pa- tient. It takes six hours to do this j}and Farmingdale. curious job in a proper manner, ‘ AT THE BLUE SWAN. ———+-—— iz GEOFFREY RANDOLPH, eee BY the gions of Monmouth County, New les Jersey, before they were gridironed oH by railways,-. will recall the old tavern which stood on the left of the sandy road half- way between Sauan Beach It has leng since been leveled to the earth, but a generation ago was one of the most famous hostelries in that section of the State. It was built shortly after the Revolu- tion, and its first landlord kept it until after the War of 1812. Then, upon his death, it passed to his only son, When Uncle Tom Maxwell, as he came to be known, took charge, he was a married man, but the only child born to the ie. ; Te gon who remember the pine re- Hp \ couple died in infancy. Uncle Tom was more popular among the inhabitants of the pine regions than his father had ever been. the most genial and good-natured{of men, fond of jokes and amusing stories, a secant patronizer of his own bar, a bounti- ful provider of the guests who occasion- ally stopped at the inn, which received its name from the picture of ‘a huge blue swan that had long since been washed off the creaking sign by the storms of snow, sleet, and rain that now and then bowled through that lonely section. The Blue Swan was the scene of num- berless merry gatherings in the “long ago.” The dances attracted the buxom maidens and their admirers tor many miles, and, though there was an occa- sional scrap, Uncle Tom was always able to prevent it becoming anything serious. He was not known to have an enemy in the world. He had, however, a worthless nephew, Jack Risley, who would have hung around the Blue Swan eternally, and lived off his unele had he been permitted, As it was, he spent most of his time there, but the welcome of even so good- natured a man as Uncle Tom was some- times worn out, and he compelled his nephew to shift for himself, The only thing Jack Risley could be forced to do was to hire out on some coasting vessel, which occasionally took him as far south as Virginia or the Carolinas. When he returned, always without any funds, his uncle was so pleased to see him that Jack knew he was sure of support for several months. The aunt was such a meek, quiet soul that she never thought of objecting to anything done by her husband. Man and wife ran the Blue Swan without any help in the way of servants. I must not omit to mention a noted ac- complishment of Uncle Tom Maxwell; he was the most skillful checker-player in that part of the State. It was rare that any of his neighbors could gain so much as a draw against him, and, when a vic- tory was secured, which now and then did happen—I half-suspect through care- lessness or the generosity of Uncle Tom— the winner boasted of it for” months, His most determined contestant was Captain Amos Burton, who lived a mile away, and spent many an evening with the landlord at his favorte game. Captain Burton had secured perhaps a dozen “draws” in the course of several years, and Uncle Tom conceded three square victories to him. The captain never would accept odds, though often offered, but-in- sisted that the time would come when he would prove his superiority over his an- tagonist. It was in the month of Augnst that I mounted my horse at Point Pleasant, then known as Squan Village, and set out to ride to Farmingdale. The stage ran only semi-weekly, and was not due for a couple of days. The air was balmy and_ pleasant, the moon was shining, and, as I was familiar with every rod of the way, I let the reins lie on my horse’s neck, and gave myself up to my cigar and meditation. I counted on reaching Farmingdale by midnight, where I intended staying untik morning, when I would ride to the end of my journey at Freehold, I would no more have passed the Blue Swan without drawing rein to shake hands and chat with Uncle Tom than I would have ridden by my own home without greeting the inmates, It was about ten o’clock when I emerged into the broad open sandy space in front of the Blue Swan, with the intention of tying my horse and dismounting. While a hun- dred yards distant, with the end of the little hotel instead of the front toward me, I saw a man leap out of the rear door and run toward the pine woods on my left. His course brought him so near me that, in the bright moonlight, I ohserved his face as distinctly as if the sun were shining. He was Jack Risley, the nephew of Uncle Tom. I called to him by name, but he did not turn his head, nor seem to sce me. His countenance expressed the utmost terror, and my heart misgave me that some ill had befallen his relative, He was one of | ute, and pushed open the door that led into the bar-room, the formality of knock- | ing never : ; ; Swan. Theold oil lamp, suspended in the | center of the room, was burning brightly, revealing the small bar at one end, the walls, and the simple furniture with which I had been familiar for a score of years. “ In the middle of the floor was the body of Uncle Yom. He lay on his back, with | arnrs and legs oucstretched and face up- turned. He had been stricken down by the blow of a poker, the frightful wound on the forehead showing that it had been few feet from the crimsoned head. Two chairs had been overturned, were no other signs of a struggle. I bent over him, and gently raised his shoulders. I saw he was faintly breath- ing, and poured some of his own brandy down his throat. But it was of no avail; he was at his last gasp. He muttered: |“ Jack—Jack—Nephew Jack——” and then it was all over, I set out to rouse his wife, but there was no answer to my calls, and a hurried search showed that Mrs, Maxwell was absent. I was alone in the house with the body. While wondering what I ought to do, Captain Ames Burton arrived with the intention of engaging in his favorite amusement with his old friend. He lived in the direction of Farmingdale, so he had seen nothing of Jack Risley. the captain was expressing his horror and sympathy, he told me that Mrs. Maxwell was visiting his family, and in- tended to stay over night. He had hardly said this, when Borden Kenneth, a young man of about my age, came in from the direction of Squan. He had met the nephew, who, upon being hailed, darted aside into the woods with- out speaking. 3 The funeral of Uncle Tom was one of the largest ever held in that section of the country. The widow hired a neighbor to help her keen the place going, but the shock of her husband’s death carried her off within a few months. The man, after a little longer trial, gave it up, and the once famous Blue Swan went to wreck and ruin. A curse seemed to rest upon it from the day of the landlord’s untimely taking off. Jack Risley "was captured between Freehold and New York, whither he was hastening to engage his services on a coasting schooner. He strenuously denied being in the vicinity of the Blue Swan on the night of the murder, but when con- fronted by the testimony of Kenneth and myself on the witness stand, he con- fessed that he had sworn to a falsehood, and told his story. Returning from a cruise to Wilming- ton, North Carolina, he had landed at Barnegat. Being as usual without any money, he walked all the way to the Blue Swan, meaning tc appeal to his uncle’s bounty, as he had done so many times before. He arrived on the night to which I have referred and opened the back door. As he did so, he saw his rela- tive lying on the floor of the bar-room, his forehead beaten in, his face bloody, and, as he supposed, dead. The sight filled Risley with terror. He rushed from the house heedless whither he went, _He had no recollection of seeing me, but had a dim memory of meeting Kenneth on the road. When Risley’s. self-command came back, his mortal fear was of being ac- cused of the murder. It was known that his relative had driven him off several times, and, as he was the only man who had ever received a sharp word from Uncle Tom, suspicion was certain to point to him. Sohe decided to hurry away from the country, believing no one had recognized him. Of course, if he could escape unnoticed, no suspicion could afterward attach to him. The evidence against the prisoner was overwhelming. Indeed, his admission was looked upon as a virtual confession, of itself. The meeting of Kenneth on the highway, my identification of him as the man who ran from the rear of the build- ing as I rode up, the words of the dying landlord, the manner of the acensed— could there be any stronger proof than these that there had been a bitter quarrel between Uncle Tom and his nephew, in which the latter had done the elder to death with the iron implement? In those days New Jersey was more famed for hanging murderers than she has been in these later times. To the amazement, however, of every one in the county, the jury disagreed. Captain Amos Burton, whom we all expected to be the most strenuous against the nephew, was the man who, refused to agree with the other eleven. No arguments could move him. He insisted there was a doubt, and he would never consent to hang the scapegrace of a nephew, although ad- mitting it was about the best use to which he could be put. I was out of the saddle the next min- | being thought of at the Blue} quaint chairs, the few old prints on tlie! inflicted by that instrument which lay a | but there | While | Before the next trial took place, the ; course of Captain Burton had produced jsuch effect that Jack Risley was con- victed of manslaughter, and sentenced to State prison for twenty years, though | still insisting upon his innocence, He had served out nearly half his teri, when Captain Burton fell ill and died. | Among the papers which he left was |found a carefully-written statement of | the incidents of the. evening of the mur- | der of Uncle Tom Maxwell. The captain j}had called about eight o’elock for the purpose of engaging in a contest of | checkers. When Captain Burton left his |}own home, he had just concluded his }evening” meal at which Mrs, Maxwell was his guest, Uncle Tom and the captain had played two games, one of which resulted in a draw, and were upon the third. Tothe intense delight of the visitor every move increased his certainty of victory. He was so sure of a triumph that ‘he began chaffing his antagonist, who, as was al- ways the case, took it in good part. At the very moment when hope seemed to be gone for Uncle Tom, he chuckled, and then, by two dexterous moves, swept off | four of his opponent’s kings, leaving the single remaining one so penned that it could not move in any direction without capture. Captain Burton was so angered that he accused Uncle Tom of cheating. The land- lord quietly rose from his chair, and re- fused to play any longer. This drove away | What little self-commané remained in the brain of Captain Burton, who caught up the poker and dealt the fatal blow. Instead of being horrified by his crime, the captain coolly replaced the checker- board behind the bar and put away the men so as to leave no signs of the game that had been in progress. He overturned the two chairs to make it look as if there was a struggle, and then deliberately went back to his own home. Remaining there some time, he concluded it would be.safe to return and then report what he discovered, Had the slightest suspicion been di- rected toward Captain Burton, he would have found it awkward to explain his passing back and forth between his own home and the Blue Swan that evening, but no one ever thought of accusing him, and he was not called upon therefore to explain anything, The only redeeniing feature in his course was that of saving, by his persist- ency, Jack Risley from the gallows, The man’s release from imprisonment was securea, and the disgrace finally wiped from his name. es QUEER THINGS TO EAT. | | At the Department of Agriculture in Washington, hidden away in an obscure corner, is an odd sort of exhibit of queer foods eaten by out-of-the-way people. There is a loaf of bread made from the roasted leaves of a plant allied to the century plant. Another kind of bread is fromm a dough of juniper berries. These are relished by some tribes of Indians, while others manufacture cakes out of different kinds of bulbs. The prairie In- dians relish a dish of wild turnips, which civilized people would not be likely to enjoy at all. In the great American desert the “serew beans,” which grow on mes- quite bushes, are utilized for food. Soap berries furnish an agreeable diet for some savages in this country, while in Cali- fornia the copper-colored aborigines do not disdain the seeds of salt grass. Also in California the Digger Indians collect pine nuts, which are seeds of a certain species of pine—sometimes called “pin- ons”—by kindling fires against the trees, thus causing the nuts to fall out of the cones. At the same time a sweet gum exudes from the bark, serving the pur- pose of sugar. The seeds of goards are consumed in the shape of mush by In- dians in Arizona, In addition to all these things the ex- hibit referred to includes a jar of pulver- ized crickets, which are eaten in that form by the Indians of Oregon. They are roasted, as are likewise grasshoppers and even slugs. These delicacies are cooked in a pit, being arranged in alternate layers with hot stones, After being thus pre- pared. they are dried and ground to pow- der. They are mixed with pounded acorns or berries, the flour made in this way being kneaded into cakes and dried in the sun, The Assiniboines used a kind of seed to stop bleeding at the nose. Among other curious things used for food are acorns, sunflower seeds, grape seeds, flowers of cattails, moss from the spruce fir-tree, and the blossoms of wild clover. The exhibit embraces, a number of models representing grape seeds enormously en- larged. It is actually possible to tell the species. of a grape by the shape of the seed. Thereisa jar of red willow bark which Indians mix with tobacco for the sake of economy. This, however, is only one of a thousand plants that are utilized in a similar fashion, 3454 GOooD NEWS. THE GOOD NEWS | exclaimed, scrambling to my feet. “Sup- Ben that we had better accompany him pose we run down and see what has _ hap- | pened.” story T ellers Club. Sa ees RESIDENT CHARLIE’S face wore } an expression of suppressed excite- | ment when he called the meeting’ to order. Word had gone about during the week that the Goop Nrws Story Tellers’ Club would probably go into camp for the summer months in a very few days, and the rumor had caused a full attendance of the nembers, | Charlie spent some little time arrang- ing a mass of letters upon his desk, then | rising with a bundle of papers in_ his hand, he walked to the edge of the plat- | form, and said: “At your last meeting I called to your} attention the fact that I had received several letters from other Goop Nrws clubs proposing a joint encampment. I took up the matter at once, as it met with my decided approval, and now am enabled to say that all arrangements have been made, ‘Together with five other clubs, we will leave next Tuesday for Cedar Lake, As it is only fourteen miles from here, those members who desire to can run back and forth quite often. We will now listen to our last story in this hall until next winter. Jack Tremain, one of our newest members, will oblige with a tale of adventures encountered while on a jaunting tour with a boon companion,” The tad mentioned stepped forward at Charlie’s invitation, and began his story, which he called: THE FAT TRAMP. On a bright sunny afternoon last July achum of mine named Ben Wilson, and I started forth on a cross country trip to Niagara Falls. ‘The distance we expected to travel was about sixty miles, and we had anticipated spending not less than a week on the road. From this you can see that we did not | intend to perform any great feats of pe- | destrianism. An average of less than) nine miles a day is not much for a | healthy boy, especially when the roads | are good. It was our third surmmer’s experience, so we knew exactly what preparations to make for the journey. Our costumes in- eluded broad, flat shoes, short trousers, | wide straw hats, outing shirts, and a} small regulation traveler’s pack in which | were stowed a change of clothing and sundry needful articles. For weapons of offense or defense we carried nothing save a couple of short: sticks, as the country through which we intended to pass was as safe as our own village streets, We left home just at daybreak, and walked steadily until nine o’clock. By that time we felt. rather hungry, so selecting a quiet place near a little brook we enjoyed our first meal upon the road. A further walk of twenty minutes would have taken us to a town contain- ing numerous eating-houses, but both Ben and I spurned the thought of sitting down to an ordinary table and eating beefsteak and potatoes when we could get crackers and cheese and nice cold | water by the side of our purling brook. “Pshaw! we had those things at home every day almost,” added ivy chum. | “What wé want is variety, and the, chance of roughing it for a while.” That day we covered fifteen miles, hav- ing rested for several hours during the warmest part of the afternoon. We slept at a country road-house on our first night out, and the following day walked another fifteen miles. This was exceeding our limit, but we had a pur- pose. s At the town of Chester—thirty-five miles from our home—a county fair was in pro- gress, and we intended to spend at least forty-eight hours in supreme enjoyment among the side-shows and other attrac- eee generally offered at such exhibi- tions. As it transpired we were fated to fore go the anticipated pleasure, and for a very peculiar reason, 1t was about three o'clock in the after- noon of the second day. We were trudg- ing along, much refreshed from a noon- time sleep, followed bya delicious plunge in the waters of a beautiful lake skirting the edge of the road, Reaching the top of an elevation, we looked down and saw a long stretch of country lane leading down to where, in the distance, could he seen an extensive forest. We stopped to rest-fora moment, but had hardly seated ourselves when I _ chanced to notice a number of men hur- riedly cross the road and disappear into the woods. They appeared to be grearly excited, and the faint sounds of shouting came to our ears, “Something’s wrong down there,” I /ab once, “Allright. I'll race you to the forest; what do you say?” I was agreeable, helter-skelter down grade. so we started the Ben gained the lead in a very few mo- | ments. In trying to overtake him, I slipped on a round pebble and turned head over heels, landing with a resound- ing crash in a prickly bush at the side of the lane. I presently emerged with face scratched and bleeding, and several long rents in my neat traveling suit. Otherwise, I was uninjured and still in the race. When I reached the bottom, Ben was leaning against a convenient tree, con- vulsed with laughter. “You will try to beat your uncle, eh?” he grinned. “Why, you look like a prize- fighter after a dozen rounds.” “Never you mind,” | replied, “I can——’ I was interrupted by a rustling noise in the brush at the edge of the lane, then a man bounded out before us and started to run up the hill we had just descended. He had not taken a dozen steps before he caught sight of Ben and I. ‘To our amazement the new-comer dropped 4 sad- dle he was carrying, and fell prone in the dust at our feet. He was fat and disreputabe in appear- | had | |long since lost their original color, and ance, The suit of clothes he wore now consisted mainly of rag» held to- gether by innumerable safety-pins artis- tically arranged. His hat was minus the rim, and con- tained more holes than As he lay groveling before us we noticed that his hair had been guiltless of scissors or comb for many months—in fact, he was a tramp, pure and simple, one of the extensive order of the Sons of Rest met in the summer-time in every part of the United States. We just had time to see that the saddle he had been carrying was different from its apparent owner, in the fact that it was new and shiny with the gloss of the shop, when the tramp began to groan and mutter in a most plaintive tone of voice: “T didn’t do it, I tell yer,” he said, still burying his fat, greasy face in the dust, “Don’t lock me up in the jug, kind sir, If yer’!]1 let me go this time, I'll promise, s’ help me gracious, to leave the county U'll—I'll_ leave, the blooming State, if you let up on me.” Ben and IT listened to this extraordinary speech in surprise. “What in the duse is he talking about?” exclaimed my chum. At the words the tramp slowly raised his head, and eyed us from head to foot, Then a broad and most conciliatory grin rippled over his face. “An’t you part o’ them robbers?” he asked, “Robbers! What on mean?” I demanded. Our new acquaintance sprang nimbly to his feet, brushed the dust from his clothes, and then cast a keen glance up and down the road. “Didn’t ye see a lot o’ men running around here somewhere?” “Yes. Who were they?” “Tv’s a band o’ robbers living back in the woods,” replied the tramp, glibly. “I was going along carrying this saddle to Chester for a feller, when about a dozen men jumped from behind some trees up there and tried to swipe the saddle, y fought them ’most an hour, and laid out more’n six, but there was too many for me an’ I had ter scoot. They chased me t’roo the woods, but I got away from them at last.” “You say you placed six of them hors de combat?” asked Ben, winking at me. “Huh!” exclaimed the fat tramp, in evident perplexity. “I didn’t say nothing about no horses in the combat. We was all walking. Say, have yer any pie in them knapsacks?” etith do you oO. “Any cold meat?” “ No. ” “Nor bread, nor cake, nor crackers?” “No, nothing but clothes.” “Well, Ian’t mean,” replied our new acquaintance, diving into his coat, and producing a greasy package. “Here’s some Dutch bologna and tripe I got from a butcher this morning. Jest help yer- ' selves, pards.” We declined with thanks, but the offer placed us on better terms with our new acquaintance. We stillregarded him with suspicion, however, and both Ben and I resolved to watch him until we met some one living in the neighborhood. His story of the band of robbers was too ridiculous to merit a moment’s belief. It was more plausible to imagine that he had stolen the saddle. Apparently not offended at our refusal to partake of his food, the tramp, who in a burst of contidence had given his name as Bill Raggles, picked up the saddle and prepared to resume his journey. Seizing an opportunity, I whispered to inches of cloth. | rather steep|seeing the move, | { to the nearest town. My chum agreed, and we set forth, keeping a ccuple of paces in the rear. “So yer are a-going to travel in my off | direction, eh?” suddenly asked Raggles, “IT t’ought yer was bound de other way.” “We have changed our minds,” I re- plied, evasively. “All right, pards. I’m glad ter have yer company,” he answered, but Isaw him frown furtively. A moment later he added: “Say. I’m kinder lame in me right trotter. Guess I was hurt in de fracas wid dem robbers. Won’t one of yer carry this old saddle fur a mile er so?” I had been wishing for a chance to gain possession of the saddle, so I eagerly con- sented, relieving Raggles of the burden at once, We were just on the point of starting off again after making the transfer, when a loud shout came to our ears from down the road. Looking in that direction we saw a humber of men running toward us waving their arms. I instinctively glanced at the fat tramp. His face had assumed the color of ashes, and he stood trembling from head to foot in evident terror. To my surprise, he suddenly dropped to the ground, and rolled over and over until he had reached the ditch at the edge of the road. Then, scrambling erect, he jumped over a fence, and vanished in the forest. Ben and 1 looked at each other in silent amazement for a brief period, then we began to laugh at the comical picture the fat tramp had presented. “Well, ha, ha! did you ever in all of your born days see such a funny man as that?” asked my chum, holding his sides. “He is certainly a character,” I agreed. “He is more than that,” replied Ben, becoming serious. “I believe he stole that saddle, and,.if I am not mistaken, that crowd running this way is after him.” “Well, we can return their-property, and put them on the scent of Mr. Rag- gles.” “They are acting dused queer,” suddenly exclaimed Ben, pointing to the ravidly approaching men “They are shaking their fists at us.” A moment later about a dozen farmers, armed with clubs and hoe-handles, came up, and before we could speak we were surrounded, “Will steal an honest man’s saddle, eh?” shouted one brawny farm-hand, catching me by the collar, “Ye pesky thieves,” howled another, “Ye ought to be hanged to a tree-limb.” “Yes, string them up,” came from three or four, “Gentlemen,” I replied, endeavoring to free myself from the grasp of the first speaker. “Gentlemen, this is a mistake. You have caught the wrong——” “No, we an’t. We know you boys, I have seen you myself in the reformatory. Bring them along to town, and we'll have the law on tbem.” “I tell you this is a mistake,” I shouted, growing angry at their stupidity. “We found a tramp carrying this saddle not ten minutes ago. I suspected that he had stolen it, and we were following him to the next town.” “A Jikely story. You boys stole the saddle yourselves, and now want to lie out of it.” Zi ‘ “Tam not lying. The tramp ran into the woods when vou men came in sight. If you look—why, there he comes now !” While speaking, I had caught sight of Bill Raggles just in the act of climbing the tence separating the woods from the road, He appeared to be in a desperate hurry, and approached the group of farmers as fast as his stumpy legs could carry him. Rushing up to me, he made an attempt to grasp my arm, at the same time gasp- ing: ’ “Hold the willain tight, gents. He stole that there saddle from Farmer Jones back in Brownville. I have been a-chasing the pair of rascals for more’n three hours.” I stared at the impudent rogue in stupefaction, As for Ben—he wrenched himself free from his captors, and caught Raggles by the throat before those stand- ing near could prevent him, “Take back that falsehood, confound you!” shouted Ben. “You are the thief, and you know it. Confess, or I’ll—-—” Before he could wrest an acknowledg- ment from Raggles, the two were sepa- rated. The angry farmers—doubly_ con- vinced of our guilt by the tramp’s plausi- ble story and his knowledge of the scene of the theft—handled both of us rather roughly. “Back to Brownville with them,” they shouted. “We'll have the thieves in prison before they are a week older.” “We will go with you willingly,” I re- plied. “But I want you to bring that tramp also.” f Raggles—still rubbing his throat— “T’ve got business in Chester, gents, wot won't wait. Farmer Jones promised me two dollars, if I caught the scamps, and, if any one of yer has a dollar on him, Ill turn over the debt fur it. Wot do yer say?” “Don’t let him bamboozle you,” shouted Ben. “Make him come along. He stole the saddle from this Farmer Jones him- self and now wants to escape. It is asly trick.” Our captors hesitated, and then roughly bade the fat tramp return with us. They were evidently on the point of believing our story, and if it had not been for my scratched face and torn clothing—which gave me a ratker disreputable appear- ance—I believe we could have gone free. On the way to Brownville Raggles at- tempted to sneak away, but was captured in time. Farmer Jones and the entire population met us at the edge of the village, and we were escorted in triumph to the jail. It unfortunately transpired that no one had seen the saddle taken, so we were all held upon suspicion. Ben and I sent notes to our parents, and by the following morning we were identified to the satis- faction of all. Bill Raggles held out to the last, but our testimony—given with the greatest of pleasure, I can assure you—convicted him, and he was sent to the penitentiary for a year. For some reason Ben and I lost all in- terest in our jaunting trip, so we returned home instead of proceeding to Niagara Falls. We often talk about the comical side of Bill Raggles, the fat tramp, but there is a tinge of humiliation in our mirth when we remember how nearly he succeeded in playing his sly little trick. . * * On the conclusion of Jack Tremain’s story, President Charlie called the meet- ing to order, and in a few chosen words dismissed ‘the Goop NrEws Story Tellers’ Club for the last time. After an hour of pleasant conversation the members filed laway to dream of the sports awaiting them at the summer camp, and Goop News Hall was closed until the coming of snow. —___~-¢ WILLIAM PENN. BY. G. BANCROFT GRIFFITH. ieee eascee HE famous Quaker was the son of } Sir Admiral William Penn, who 2. added the island of Jamaica to the British possessions, He was a native of London. It appears that his mind was very early impressed with religious thoughts. In 1660, when he was but sixteen vears of age, he entered Christ Church College, in Oxford. He was expelled from this sem- inary, after having been fined several times, for meeting some of his fellow- students for religious exercises. His father was so much displeased with his conduct that he turned him out of doors and disowned him, He was soon, how- ever, reconciled to him again, and sent him, at the age of twenty-two, to manage one of his estates in Ireland. He here met with one Thomas Lee, a preacher among the Friends, whose ministry, when he was yet but a youth, had made a deep impression on his mind. He now imbibed all those religious sentiments by which the Quakers are distinguished. These he inculcated with great zeal, not only in his numerous writings, but also, as often as he had an opportunity, by his public addresses. His father was now exceed- ingly displeased with him, and once more cast him off from his favor. Before he died, however, he bequeathed him a large fortune, and pronounced a blessing on him with his dying breath. He underwent much persecution: was often imprisoned and fined; and suffered penal in various ways on account of 1is religious sentiments. He endured all his trials with a truly Christian spirit, and, to use the expressive language of Scripture, he was “more than conqueror” over his numerous and malignant ene- mies, As there were large sums of money due to his father from the State, on account of his publie services, Charles II., in 1681, granted to the son, the subject of this memoir, the province of Pennsyl- TAB in North America, as compensa- on. Penn, while doubting the king's right, gladly acquiesced in this arrangement. But before he took any measures, he deputed commissioners to proceed. and enter into a negotiation for so much of the territory as they had a right to. When William Penn was about to sail from England to Pennsylvania, he went to take leave of the king, and the follow- ing conversation occurred: “Well, friend William,” said Charles, “T have sold you a noble province in North America, but still I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither your- turned pale, and hastily exclaimed: self, x mee they the ject: cour farn won peoy atio: with som ak you you tian coud agai tog ont stru man rest crue Th of ex “yl tian heat buy Indi insu Pe lo the the your duri .S 1 ae GoOoOD NEWS. S455 “Yes, I have,” replied William, “and I am just come to bid you farewell.” “What! venture yourself among the savages of North America? Why, man, what security have you that you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours after setting foot on their shores?” “The best security in the world,” re- plied Penn. “I doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of any security against those can- nibals but in a regiment of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets; and mind, I tell you beforehand, that with all my good will for you and your family, to whom I am under obligations, I will not send a soldier with you.” “T want none of thy soldiers,” said William; “I depend on something better than thy soldiers.” The king wished to know what that was. “Why, I depend upon themselves, on their own moral sense, even on that grace of God which bringeth salvation and which hath appeared unto all men.” “T fear, friend William, that that race has never appeared to the Indians of North America.” “Why not to them as well as others?” “If it had appeared to them,” said the king, “they would hardly have treated my subjects so babarously as they have one.” “That is no proof to the contrary, friend Charles. Thy subjects were the ag- gressors. When thy subjects first went to North America, they found these peo- ple the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. Every day they would watch for them to come on shore, and hasten to meet them, and feast them on all that they had, In return for the hospitality of the savages, as we call them, thy sub- jects—termed Christians—seized on their country and rich hunting-grounds for farms for themselves. Now, is it to be wondered at that these much-injured people should have been driven to desper- ation by such injustice, and that, burning with revenge, they should have committed some excesses?” “Well, then, I hope, friend William, you will not complain when they treat you in the same manner.” “T am not afraid of it,” said Penn, “Ay!land how will you avoid it? You mean to get their hunting-grounds, too, I suppose?” “Yes; but not by driving these poor people away from them.” “No, indeed? Then how will you get their lands?” “T mean to buy their lands of them.” “Buy their lands of them? Why, man, you have already bought them of me,” “Yes; I kuow I have; and at a dear rate, too. But I did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou hadst any right to the lands. No, friend Charles —no right at all, What right hast thou to their lands?” : “Why, the right of discovery—the right which the Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one another.” S “The right of discovery. Astrange kind of right, indeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, some canoe-loads of these In- dians crossed the seas, and discovering the island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their own, and to set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think of them?” “\Why—why—why,” replied Charles, “I must confess [should think it a piece of great impudence in them.” “Well, then, how canst thou, a Chris- tian prince, do that which thou utterly condemnest in those savages? Suppose again that these Indians, on thy refusal to give up thy island, were to make war on thee, and having weapons more de- structive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects and to drive the rest away, dost thou not think it horribly cruel?” Q The king assented to this with marks of conviction. Penn proceeded: : “How can I, who call myself. a Chris- tian, do what I should abhor ina heathen? No, I will not do it; but I will buy the right of the proper owners, the Indians themselves. ... I shall thereby insure God’s blessing on my colony.” Pennsylvania soon became a flourishing lony, and existed for seventy years— the period during which the Quakers held the government—without any force be- yond that of the constable’s staff; and during that time was never invaded by any hostile power, ~ n Penn’s arrival in America, he had an interview with the Indians, and pro- cured their full consent to his taking pos- session of the country. The terms of the treaty which he made with them were never violated, He laid out the plan of the city of Philadelphia, and invited settlers, prom- ising them entire liberty of conscience in matters of religlon—a privilege then un- known in #ngland,. The State which he thus benevolently founded, rapidly acauired wealth and im- portance. For its regulation he drew up a most admirable code of simple laws. ” — ie To settle disputes he ordained that every county should choose three persons, who should be termed “Peace-makers,” This arrangement was productive of the hap- piest consequences. Devoting himself with the greatest diligence to the welfare of bis colony, he had the high gratification of seeing all his best wishes in reference to it realized. | t The people generally regarded him as a | father; and he in return viewed. them as children of his own family, and when offered a revenue which was to arise from an impost on certain specified articles he declined this distinguished token of their gratitude, In 1701, as his proprietary right to the State be had founded was attacked, he returned with his family to England, and snecessfully defended his just claim. Finding the infirmities of age coming rapidly upon him, he retired to Bascumbe, in Berkshire, where, in the seventy- fourth year of his age, he peacefully ex- pired. He was a truly great and good man, 8 AMONG Goon News ‘ups. {SPECIAL NOTICE.—This column is for GOoD NEWS Clubs ouly. No notices will be inserted excepting such as are genuine GOOD NEWS Club notices, aud nothing in the shape of an advertise- ment will be allowed. Every club notice should have the names of the president and secretary of the club attached. For information GooD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad- vertisement on last page. ] ee CHAT. R. B., A.C. T. and others.—Your clubs are not Goop NEWS organizations, and therefore we can- not insert the notices sent. CLUB NOTICES. The Good NEws Corresponding and Exchange Club of North America offers a list of those with whom you can correspond with advantage. They are making a special effort to get foreign members, who are admitted free; young ladies are admitted free, too. Initiation to all others, cents; dues, 5 cents monthly. Send stamp to secretary for con- stitution and by-laws, application blank, ete. Offi- cers: Irving Edwin Blake, president; Arthur Zaduk, vice-president; W. F. Foster, treasurer; J. H. Hagen, secretary, Riverhead, N. Y.; George N. Dorney, etary, 2088 Seventh avenue, New York city. i Look at the prizes the GOOD NEWS Reading Club is offering for new members. The first one joining will ive ten the second and fifth will each receive five. rge lists of novels, hand- books and story papers. Members are entitled to borrow three novels, three story papers or two hand-books at one time, and upon their return are entitled to borrow more. Dues, 10¢, per month; in- itiation fee, 10c. Dues must be sent tho first of each month, Send fee, requests for lists, etc., to the sec- retary. L.C. Putnam, president and secretary, 10 County street, Peabody, Mass. This is great! Just the thing you have been look- ing for. ‘he GOOD NEWS Echpse Corresponding Club of Red Oak, Iowa, will give 25 cents’ worth of novels to all joining, and to every fifth will give a25-cent novel and tifty foreign stamps. The fol- lowing are officers: Arthur Kempton, president; Chas. Brownscoimbe, treasurer; Carl D. Cook, see- retary. Prize contest ina few weeks for members only. Initiation fee, 10 cents; ladies, 5 cents; no dues. Address Carl D. Cook, secretary, Red Oak, Iowa. We received a letter from a member recently who said he joined because we had a club notice in GOOD NEWS each week, and must be enterprising. There is no use to tell you all again what we ofter ; refer to any back number of GOOD NEws, Every- thing remiins the same but the membership list, which increases, New one just out, All corre- spondence should be directed to Geo. W. 'Tremain, secretary, Fort Dodge, Iowa. Good 8 Corre- sponding—largest in the organization. The Goop News Electric Corresponding Club has been organized, and the following officers elected: Miss E. Davis, president; Miss Mabel Dayis, v sident; Miss Ithel M. Cook, secretary and tr Members and represen- tatives wanted from every city. Initiation fee, 10c.; ladies, 5¢.; no dunes. Foreigners (except Canadians) free. A twenty-five cent novel to every fifth one joing. Ethel M. Cook, secretary and treasurer, Red Oak, Iowa. Join Good NEWs Young People’s Literary So- ciety of Chicago, Ill, Alljoining will receive a neat card of membership, a list of members wanting correspendents, and have your name and address inserted in our new list. We also give free as a premium a package of reading mutter and twenty five varieties of foreign stamps. No initiation fe Yearly dues, 10c. Address B. A. Wilson, 27 Fay street, Chicago, 11. 7 Notice! Boys and girls, do you want some one to write to? It will help pass away these long evenings when you have nowhere to go. If so, you should join the Union GOOD N®ws Corresponding Club, which promises to be the largest as well as the best in existence. Gentlemen, 10c. ; ladies, free. H.E. Taylor, president, Blackstone, Mass. C. H. Black, secretary, 407 Belle avenue, Braddock, Pa. The Good NEWS Friendship Club, of Chicago, IIL, offers the following to all joining: A fine mem- bership card, list of members, and rnles and regu- lations. Initiation fee, 10c.; dues, 5c. per mouth. Ladies, free. For full particulars, address the sec- retary, Adolf Boehm, 575 W. 25th street. We have three departments—stamp, coin-collecting and corresponding. : Authors, atteution! Goop News Authors’ Club wants new members to interest themselves in writing stories for our 51 page monthly. The stories are written by our members only. A very instruct. ive and useful club. Initiation fee, 12c.; dues, 5e. quarterly. Address Conrad Nast, president and editor, Box 276, Wabash, Ind. Goop NrEws Corresponding and Stamp Exchange Club of Pittsburgh, Pa., has wade a change todues, formerly none. Members wauted in California, We have about fifty members. Tnitiation fee, 10 cents; dues, 5 cents amonth. Address Fred P. Schlegel, secretary, 4121 Main street. y + | two weeks in ¢ | best condition. | our parents was much more substantial and dura- | ble in che concerning | Qur Mail Bag. {Questions on subjects of general interest only are dealt with in the Jail Bag.” Medical or leyal questions not answered. Goop S goes to press advance of date of publication, and tbe annot appear until two or three weeks we receive them. Conmuunicatious intended for column should be addressed Goop News “Mail Bag,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.} I. S. H., Medtord, Mass.—Any collector of books will notice, on looking through his treasures, that their condition is not dependent at all upon their age; indeed, some of the videst books are in the This is because the paper used by racter than that used now. Anold copy- im used to read: “Paper is made of rags,” book ma. but this has long ceased to be applicable, because | land, Me.. 1 now paper seems to be made of almost anything | that comes handy. Originally, of cours parch- | nent was used for writing and printing, and the earlier kinds of paper were evidently designed to imitate parchment as nearly as possible. Hence, books printed last century are often found in per- fect condition, with the paper almost the same color as when it was run through the presses, same remark applies, of course, in equal or greater force to binding, some of the cheaper processes of modern times not being built to last. #. C. B., Boston.—1. The first steamship to cross the Atlantic was the Savannah, in 1819. The pas- sage was made in twenty-five days, which, by the Way, was not so fast as the clipper ships, which usually crossed in from sixteen to twenty-one days. 2. The cost of the best steamships to-day is nearly two millions of dollars. 3, The speed of a vessel is not materially increased by twin screws, but the ship can turn quicker, and if one shaft breaks, the other will carry herinto port. 4. he Etruria, which carried 550 cabin passengers. T. C., Jr., San Francisco, Cal.—We strongly ad- vise you not to do so. Few people realize that it is as dangerous to infringe a patent for o1ie’s own use as for purposes of sale. It is frequently stated that the man incurs no risk at all by makiug a patented article for his individual use, without any intention of selling it; but this is only true when he makes it in a carefully locked room, keeps it there indefi- nitely, and never shows it to either friend or foe. D, T, H., Englewood, N. J.— Yes, your State has a decidedly bad reputation for mosquitoes, but, as a matter of fact, it is somewhat undeserved. The Jersey mosquitoes cannot compete, either in size or ferocity, with the mosquitoes of the lake region of Minnesota and Wisconsin, and in comparison with the gallinipper of Louisiana and Texas he is a harmless and insignificant creature. Cigarette, Chicago.—Don’t you think it rather an unworthy confession of weakness to say that you have not will power enough to stop? Why not try breaking off gradually? Smoke; say, one less every three days. It will be comparatively easy in this way W. C., Lakeview, Mass.—1. The book will be sent to you as soon as possible. All letters are taken up in turn. Havea little patience and yours will come. 2. Read notice at head of this department. L. C. B., St. Leo, Fla—The “Carey” stories and the characters in them are purely fictitious, The descriptions are true, however, and some of the in- cidents really happened. J. M. H., Stillwater, Minn.—The best record of which we have any knowledge is 11214 miles au hour, made by the New York Central’s engine No. 999, W. DZ. &., Cincinnati, Ohio.—There is no .differ- ence in the value of French and Belgian franes, They are worth a little over 19 cents each. Author, South Berwick, Me.—For copy of the copyright law send to A. R. Spofford, Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. J.N.S., Pittsburg, Kan,—Yes; certainly. notice at head of our Exchauge Department. Numismatic, Mayfield, Ky.—It is our rule not to publish business addresses in this column. W. J. C.. Hamilton, Ont.—We are glad you like GOOb Nrkws. Thanks for your suggestion. Jamesie, Raleigh, N. C.—1. No, decidedly not. 2. Abouta pint and a half. G. F. N., Topeka; Kan.—No, not at present. [Several communications left over to be answered next week.) Read ee ¥ (4XCHANGE EPARTMENT. + {Important.—This column is free to all our readers We will not be responsible for transactions brought about through notices in this colunm. All offers must be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any i advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arns, dangerous or worthless articles. If exchange “s do not appear ina reasonable time, it may be understood that they were not accepted. Address all connnunications for this cohuun to “Exchange De- partment.”) 5, serene READING MATTER.—Jos. F. Dolan, 731 Harri- son street, San Francisco, Cal., has story papers, in fine condition ; about 150 of the leading magazines, 100 more or less of paper-bound comic books and novels by leading authors, 250 5 and 10-cent novels to exchange in part or whole for boxing-gloves, reading matter, or offers. All letters answered. BICYCLE.—Geo. W. Anderson, of 3618 Bates st., Pittsburgh, Pa., has a 48-inch b-eycle to exchange for best offer. NOVELS.—Adolf Boehm, 575 West Twenty-fifth street, Chicago, Tl, will exchange fifty 5 and 10- cent novels for stamps, or best offer. All letters accompanied with reasonable gffers answered. READING MATTER, ETC.—Charlie Stahl, Gor- ham, N. H, has reading matter, games, and puz- zies to exchange for a large-size printing press or a bicycle. Write for list. MISCELLANEOUS.—Ralph M. Browne, 853 Franklin street, Burlington, Towa, has to exchange 900 picture cards and 100 choice Christmas and re- ward of merit cards, five pictorial base-ball albums, and two new official base-ball score-books for best offer. READING MATTER.—C. H. Noyes, Box 20, Newport, R. T., has novels and papers to exchange for best offer. MISCELLANEOUS. — Atlee V. Coale, 3263 Rhodes avenne, Chicago, Ill, has one violin, one game, and one self-inking printing press (double roller), size 4x6 inches, to exchange for good ball- bearing pneumatic Safety, in good order; Kodak and outfit darge), or best offer in musical instru- ments, All letters answered. MISCELL Peet eee - ese Moore, South Thirty-second street, Terre Haute, Ind., has an old Indian tomahawk without handle, a fine Lhe | 820 magnifying glass, illustrated papers, and a $2 bicy- cle bell, in good condition, to exchange for rare stamps. All letters answered. ; BANJO.—Frank E. Cash, Coleman’s Station, Dutchess Co., N. Y., has a good banjo he would like to exchange tor a good watch. BOOKS.—R. L. Caldwell,. 529 Enterprise street Philadelphia, Pa., has a volume of boys’ books to exchange for best offer. % STAMPS.—Morris Jacoby, 49 ark, N. J., would like to exchan stamps on sheets for same. Send sheets aud receive his. Two hun- dred varieties for $1 Columbian stamp, or two 15- cent and two 30-cent for a $2. PAPERS.— J.H. Hagen, Riverhead, N. Y., has volunies of story papers for a field-glass, telescope, or best offer. STAMPS.—Bert Kirby, Marysville, O., will give 100 fine vareties foreign stamps for every 1875 ten-cent piece or two half-dimes of any date. NOVELS W. Pierce, 176 Oxford st t, Port- Sa 10-cent novel for every 6 or 8-cent Numbian stamp ; 25 cents worth for every 15-cent; cents worth for every 30-cent; $i worth for 50-cent 50 for $1. MISCELLANEOUS.—5S. H. Taylor, Pocahontas, Va., willexchange western cowboy wig cost $4, a pair of roller skates cost $1.50, n Stamps, 1 teachers’ pocket history, ent and ent novels, picture cards ete., for a banjo with over 36 Sin good condition, or a pair of field-glasses se. Allletters answered. MISCELLANEOL 26 South Albany street, Itha N. Y., has violin and box valued at $20,1 foot-power seroll-saw valued at $4 to exchange for a good set of drawing iustru- ments or best offer. STAM PS.—H. B. Hazard, 1806 11th street, N. W., Washington, D. C, has 500 2-cent Columbian stamps for 375 1-cent Columbian stamps; about 150 cigarette cards for 15 Columbian stamps above the 2-cent. MISCELLANEOUS.—John J. McGee, 456 Man- hattan avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y., has 100 boys’ papers, all of very old date, J0 libraries, and 25 25-cent books for best offer, or 1 pair of nickle- plated Raymond extension roller skates for catche?’s mitt value $2. All letters answered MISCELLANKOUS.—Bert Powlesson, Box 276, Mt. Vernon, Il,, has 2,200 picture cards, in com- plete sets of 50, for best offer. Also reading matter and various articles to exchange. All letters an- swered. STAMPS.—R. C. w street, New. L. Sykes, —G. Evans, Jr., care of Price & Lowe, Mobile, Ala., has 50 varieties of foreign and United States stamps to exchange for every 30-cent Columbian issue; or 75 varieties of foreign stamps for every 50-cent Columbian. Also foreign stamps for any kind of Columbian stamps or envelopes. All letters auswered. MISCELLANEOUS.—H. C. Sandberg, 2239 Jack- sou avenue, Ogden, Utah, will exchange one piece of Mormon tithing money, twenty boys’ papers, six 25-cent books, six 5-cent novels, #00 all different stamps and box of tricks containing 18 pieces, for a stall press or best offer. All letters answered. TYPE.—Everett Burgess, Lock Box 109,Putnam, Conn., has type, etc., to exchangefor cases and a cabinet. All letters answered; no postals. MAGIC MONEY-MAKER.—C. F. Mundt, Lock Box 205, Hartford, S. D., has a magic money-maker to exchange for reading matter. Books on elec- tricity preferred, MISCELLANEOUS.—B. M. Johnstone, General Delive Meadville, Pa., has a pair of opera glasses, a 20-inch 8-draw telescope, pair of 10 1-2skates(new), Heller's Hand-book of Magic and several other books to exchange fer best offer in foreign or United States stamps. All letters answered that have stamp inclosed. MISCE).LANEOUS.—John N. Sell, Box 419, Pittsburg, Crawford Co., Kan., has scroll saw out- fit, a magic lantern, magic mirror and other articles to exchange for violin or other string music, or printing outfit. All letters answered. | Ticklets. Sac aia BY CHARLES W. FOSTER, oe A Little Skeptic. Little Boy—‘‘Did you ever see a comet?” Little Girl—‘No.” “Neither did I. I don’t b’lieve there is com- ets.” ; “You ought to be ashamed to talk that way. You'll be sayin’ you don’t b’lieve in ghosts next.” No Words to Waste. Mother—“‘Mrs. Blank has given you some cake, and you haven’t even said ‘Thank you.’” Small Son— “It’s baker's.” Another Freak. Visitor—“What is that young woman remark- able for?” Dime Museum Man—“This young lady, sir, is the school-teacher who had her pupils cele- brate Arbor Day by planting trees, instead of spouting poetry.” Too Realistic. Visitor—‘And how did my little pet like the theater?’ ji Little Girl--‘‘Not very much. The didn’t act as if they was just actin’; they acted asif it was all so—an’ that made me uncom- fortable.” ‘Why?’ “T felt just as if [ was peekin’ through a key- hole into somebody else’s house.” Not Very Refined. Little Miss—‘‘Boys is awful coarse, isn’t they.” Aunty—“Why do you think so?” Little Miss—“Johnuny calls his new coata ‘sweater,’ ’stead of a ‘persperationer.’” A Joyless World. Little Miss Suburb—“It’s just too mein for anything.” ‘Mrs. Suburb—‘What is, pet ?” Little Miss Suburb—‘It’s rained every day since I got my new watering-pot.” actors Always Eloquent. Unele—‘Ts your little dog intelligent?” Small Nephew—“Well, he hasn’t got so very much sense in his head, but his tail seenis te know a lot,” . BIRDSEYE VIEW OF THE SITUATION. cll | 4 Hf » 7 ; ‘ , r sid ¢ f Ww evil. e om. Boy—‘Say, Mister, yer had better be careful and not fire off your gun.” Amateur SportsmMan—‘“‘Why, my son?” Boy—‘‘Cos there’s a bird waitin’ to steal the shot.” NOT MUCH NOURISHMENT. IN BS Y most remarkable professional experience?” repeated the physi- cian, thoughtfully, knocking the ashes off the end of his cigar, and addressing a reporter. “That isa hard question to answer off-hand, but I can tell you of an extremely odd occur- rence in connection with my practice re- ‘cently. % “It was a case of pneumonia. “A young lad was sick with the complaint out in Tenleytown. The father, a poor man and @ carpenter by trade, was an old ac- quaintance of mine, having done odd jobs for me occasionally. He insisted on em- ploying my services, though I recom- mended a practitioner near at hand, be- cause I could not possibly get out there to visit the patient more than oncea day. “The disease had already reached a critical stage when I was first summoned, After writing a couple of prescriptions, and giving directions as to other matters, Icalled the father and requested nis at- tention to certain instructions respecting tood, Said I to him: ““Pake this quart whisky bottle, and put into it one pound of finely chopped lean beef, cork it tightly, place it in a pot of water, and let it boil four hours, That will make the strongest kind of ex- tract—a highly concentrated form of nour- ishment. Give to the boy one tablespoon- ful of it every hour.’ “T went away satisfied that everything was provided for. The next day I returned to find my patient in a state of collapse. In haste Icailed for brandy and milk, and managed to revive him. For the life of me I could not account for the situa- tion of affairs, I summoned the father, who was nearly distracted with anxiety, and questioned him. “*Have you given him the beef extract I ordered?’ I asked. “*Oh, yes, sir!’ he replied, ““Bvery hour?’ “*Yes, sir.’ “*You put a pound of chopped raw beef into the bottle and boiled it?’ “Yes, sir. Corked it up, and boiled it four hours in aspot of water. He’s hada tablespoonfnl of the stuff every hour since you were here last. “*Tt beats me,’ I said. ‘Why, I could have supposed that the boy was exani- mate from sheer inanition, Bring me some of the beef extract, and let me see it.” “Presently half a tumblerful of the preparation was brought and submitted to me for examination. I could hardly believe my senses. It looked like water; it tasted like water; it was water, and nothing else. “‘What does this mean?’ I demanded, negrily. : “‘That’s the stuff you ordered, sir,’ re- plied the father, confidently. ‘I made it myself, according to your own directions —boiled the bottle of beef just as you said, But I must confess that 1 thought it was a pretty weak kind of broth for a sick boy.’ “I stared at him for a minute or two in wonder. Then alight began to dawn on me. I gasped, and said: “*Bring me the bottle.” “He did so. its contents had evidently not been disturbed. I poured from it a tablespoonful of thick and nourishing fluid and administered it to the patient. “The father looked on as if awe-struc’s. “*Why,’ said he, ‘you never told me that! You said to cork up the bottle, but you did not tell me to uncork it. So I thought that you meant I shouid give him the water it was boiled in.’ “So that was what my patient had been fed on for twenty-four hours—boiled water and nothing more, No wonder that I found him ina state of collapse. He re- covered, but it was a narrow squeak, I assure you.” a BEAN SOUP. A plain dressed, middle-aged man, with an immobile expression of countenance, entered a restaurant, and called for din- ner. One of the waiters hustled about for a moment, took the stranger’s order, and presently placed before him a bowl] of bean soup. After carefully inspecting it for a moment, the guest looked up with an astonishhed air, and said: “What’s this?” “Why, it’s bean soup,” replied the waiter, apparently very much offended, “Yes, that may be,” replied the guest, seriously; “but what is it now?” The, waiter looked puzzled fora mo- ment, and then snapped out: “Why, I tell you it’s bean soup.” “You said that before, you know,” re- plied the guest, quietly; “I'll admit that it might have been soup, but what is it now?’ “You’re cute, an’t you?” said the waiter, looking as though he wanted to break the neck of the guest. “Well, it’s bean soup right now.” “I’m glad of that, but how lony has it been scup?” asked the guest, as the waiter started for the kitchen, muttering about the people who are too smart to live. -—+- 0 WHAT NEXT. Two sailors once went with a tame parrot toa show in Tokio, where a Jap- anese was giving an exhibition of sleight- of-hand, interspersed with acrobatic feats. At the end of euch trick the sailors said: “ Now, isn’t that clever. Wonder what he’ll do next?” With each act of the performancé their astonishment increased, and they kept muttering: “Wonder what he’ll do next?” The parrot heard this exelamation so often that he picked it up off-hand, as it were. Presently the Japanese undertook to keep in the air a number of bamboo- sticks ignited at both ends, but, having CrOOoOD NEWS. his attention distracted by a movement in the audience, he allowed one of the sticks to drop. Unfortunately it fell upon a heap of _ fire-crackers, bombs, etc., which exploded, blew out the walls, blew off the roof, scattered the audience in all directions, and sent the parrot, minus its tail-feathers and one eye, about four hun- dred vards. As the bird came down with a flop, it shrieked: “Wasn't that clever? he’ll do next?” ———--~+- 0 +> A FATAL OVERSIGHT. A young countryman was hired by a family who were in extreme want of a footman, He was a most friendly person, as will- ing as he was free and easy, but he knew nothing of life except that of a small farm-house. One evening his mistress gave a large party, and she strove to impress upon him that all he had to do was to carry the cream and sugar round for the tea, to see that everybody had some, and to hold his tongue. He did his part gallantly, and made the circuit of the room; but on reaching the door a doubt struck him whether he had eepeeee a group of guests at the farther ena, Quite forgetting all orders, he raised himself on his toes, and shouted over the heads of the company: “T 3ay, how are ye off for sweetnin’ in that there corner?” He was discharged next day. ——+—_—_-P 6 > -—--—— AN UGLY LITTLE MAN, A school inspector was examining a class in grammar and trying to elucidate the complex relations of adjectives and nouns, by a telling example. “Now, for instance,” said he, “what am Qn Wonder what That was an easy question, and all the children shouted: “A man!” and then looked around triumphantly, as much as to say: “Ask another.” “Yes, but what else?” said the inspector. This was not so easy, but, after a pause, a boy ventured to -suggest: “A little man.” “Yes, but there is something more than that,” This was a poser, but at last an infant phenomenon almost leaped from his seat in his eagerness, ana cried: ’ “Please, sir, I know, sir—an ugly little man,” : a - AN OBEDIENT CHILD. “Now, Johnnie,” said Mrs. Bunting to ner little boy, who was going to a party, “you mustn’t eat everything on the table, or you’ll be sick. Now promise me.” The promise was given, and the little fellow departed in high glee over the pros- yect of a good time, When he returned, his mamma asked him: “Johnnic, did you remember your prom- ise about eating?” “Yes’m; I didn’t eat near everything on the table. I remembered what you said, and I didn’t eat a bic of bread-and- butter, nor meat, nor milk, but just mince pie, and ice-cream, and pickles, and nu s, and cake, and candy, and—— Johnnie didn’t finish. His mother had fallen off her chair in a dead faint. and sureto workers Greatseller, Write AG ENTS ouick, Royal Mfg. Co,, Milwaukee, Wis, Mention Good News. oo WHY PAY DEALER'S PROFIT? ~Y $2 15 buys a $9 White Reed Baby Carriage, freleht repaid, shipped on 10 days’ trial. Lates! design dad atylc,” Periect, reliable tod finely finished. G Nothin but the best material used and warranted for 3 \) YEARS. We havo been in the manufacturing business many years, and are reliable and responsible : make and oll wot ‘ing but whatwe can guaranteo as represented quote 8. Write to-day for our large ye cate tho most complete ever published. We guarantee $5 per day easy, quick OXFORD Mention Good News. USEFUL INFORMATION. There is no good reason why people shionld not be well informed when they can become so for a small sum. The following list of valuable books will be sent post-paid to any address on receipt of price, 10. cents each: The Album Writer’s As» The Lover’s Guide to sistant. Courtship and Mar- The Way to do Magic. riage. ‘ How to Behave in Society Dunn’s Fencing Instruc- Amateur’s Manval of Photography. Out-Door Sports. How to do Business. The Young Gymnast. The Hunter and Angler, Short-Hand for Every- tor. Prof. Muldoon’s Wrest- ling. The Complete Checker ayer. Backgammon and Baga- telle. Boys’ Own Book of Boats. Captain Webb’s Swim- ming Instructor, Amateur andProfessional Oarsman’s Manual, The International Cric- ket Guide, Complete Training Guide for Amateur and Pro- fessional Athletes, Riding and Driving, body. The Taxidermist’s Man- ual, Riddles and their An- swers. The Peerless Reciter. The Young Elocutionist. Callahan’s Easy Method of Ventriloquism, The Standard Reciter. Napoleon’s Book of Fate. Imperial Fortune-Teller. Poe’s Foot-Ball. Everyday Cook Book, The Book of Knowledge. Address MANUAL LIBRARY, 29 Rose st., N. Y. | FOR ALL. $75 # month salary and ex- | WORK penses paid. If you want employment write t once to P. O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine. Mention Good 8. } | MARRIAGE PAPER GUNNELS’ MONTHLY, Mention Good News. BUY DIRECT AND SAVE DEALER’S $12 AND AGENT’S PROFITS, buy our Oxford Boss Bicycle, suit- able for either sex, made of best ma- . ww terial, strong, substantial, accurately adjusted and tully warranted. Write to-day for our large complete catalogue of bicycles, parts, repairs, etc., fe. OXFORD MEG. CO. 8388 Wabash Avenue, - CHICAGO, ILL. Mention Good News. Every young man needs acopy of this book, | as it contains informa- tion fhat they should be familiar with, embrac principles of busi choice of pursuits, br ing and selling; general management, mechani- 4 cal trades, manufactur- jing, book-keeping, j causes of success and failure, sbusiness M maxims and, business 1 forms, and a cmgjonary 14 of commercial terms, or 10 Centa.~ HOW 10 Cente TO DO BUSINESS AND. SED IN IT, ), A CUIDE TO success For sale by all news- dealers, or will be sent postpaid on. receipt of price by the publishers, Srrerr & SmITu, 29 Rose street, New York. WIFE S\Mar arnEiat Buys our 2drawer walnut or oak Im- proved High Arm Singersewing machine finely finished, nickel plated, adapted to light Yj and heavy work; guaranteed for 10 Years; with 4] Automatic Bobbin Winder, Self-Threading Cylin- bad der Shuttle, Self-Setting Needlo anda complete set of Steel Attachments; shipped any where on 80 Day’s Trial, No money required in advance, 15,000 now {nuse, World’s Fair Medal awarded machine and attach- ments, Buy from factory and save dealer’s and agent’s profits. Cat This Ont and send to-day for machine or large free FREE catalogue, testimonials and Glimpses of the World’s Fair, OXFORD MEG. CO, 342 Wabash Ave. CHICAGO,ILL, _ Mention Good News. — Amateurs Manual of Photography. S. & S. MANUAL LIBRARY, No. 6. PRICE, 10 CENTS. A hand-book of practical instructions in the art of dry -plate DROLET EPH Y: Itisa complete gnide to this fascinating art. Fully illustrated. camera is made to the fimsh of a first-class picture. Photography is a clean, light. and pleasant occupation, suitable for any young lady or gentleman, and within the reach of all. m by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, Ross raid seipt of price, ten cents, by the publishers. I & SMITH, 31 Rose Street, New York. Good News Binder Price 50 Cents. Answers tlie purpose of a bound volume. Holding fifty-two copies comfortably, It has a durable black embossed cover with flexible back, and a gold stamp title on the ontside cover, Tt opens flat as any book, and each week’s paper can be inserted as soon as received. Full directions for inserting ‘the paper accompany each binder. ; t Ip is, without doubt, the finest binder ever offered even for double the price we ask, and is indispens- able to those who are keeping their papers, as it not only preserves GOOD NEws for future reference, and from being lost, but keeps them clean, and in goodorder. Itis both useful and or mental. We will send the GooD NEWS binder, and a pack. age of binder pins, postpaid, to any address on re- ceipt of 50 cents. 6 BOUND VOLUMES OF GOOD ' NEWS. We have issued volumes two, three, four, and five, bound in an attractive heavy paper cover. ‘Twenty. six numbers constitute a volume. The papers are cut and trimmed and bound with as much care as an expensive cloth binding, and the price is EIGHTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. These volumes contain serial stories by Edward S. Ellis, Horatio Alger, Jas. Otis, Edward Stratemeyer, Harry Castlemon, Wm. Murray Graydon, Walter Morris, Oliver Optic, W. B. Lawson, Lieut. Lounsberry, And others equally well known, Address Subscription Departinent Goop NEws, 29 Rose street, New York. By request of a larg number of readers w have had manufactured aneat badge. The abov cutis a fac-simile. The badge is made of a high le of German silver; artistic in design and something every reader will be prond to wear, If we were to give away these badges they might fall into unappr ativ hands, We have, there- fore. decided to make a small charge of six cents for the badge, or one dozen for sixty cents, if sent to oné address, Readers desiring these badges shonld send in their orders at once, as we ve manufactured a small number only, and the supply will soon be exhausted. Electrotypes for inting the fac- simile of badge on letter heads, ¢ sent post-paid on receipt of twen cents. No Goupons, no contest.and no red-tape reqrir to secure one of these badges. The only requ ment is that each applicant sends ns six cents with their order for a badge. Address GOOD NkEWs Cor- responding Club, 29 Rose street, New York. MOTHERS Be sure ana use ‘Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup” for your children while Teething. | PRICE 10 CENTS. ‘Tells from how a + a will be 7 28 cents a bottle F