A GREAT STORY OF THE REVOLUTION SHORTLY. LOOK OUT FOR IT!

Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1894, by Street & Smith, in the Office of ihe Livrurian of Congress,
Entered as Second-ciass Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post-Ofice.

meee New York, June 30, 1894. earns

jearth, placed a heavy paw on his breast,| The boy was resolved to save the life of

e ;
A M C) N Cy H k C5 y: PSI] E = | then glared about in an attitude of defiance. | the man, if he could, and he knew that his
3 | The lion-tamer had deserted his post, the | attempt was frought with a grave peril.

j employes were shrieking and panic-stricken, | He opened his lips, as he ran, and, taking
Ok, THE | and the prostrate and unfortunate individual | off his hat, flung it full in the lion’s face.
| beneath the lion's paw was apparently left | ar greeted this audacious assault, the

\ M a8 | to his fate. | lion’ ws distended, and the gleaming
ae R A N G E, et F E O F A D U eS R O. At this moment, a light form darted across | whit th were cruelly revealed. The king
Bet as | the arena, straight toward the defiant lion. | of be was puzzled by the very boldness
It was the form of a boy, who was some- | of the youth.

| what shabbily clad, and in whose appear-| But he did not leave the man, who lay on

lance there was a certain something that be- | his back, with eyes closed, as if dead.
CHAPTER I. How he had managed to escape from the | tokened familiarity with the sea. There} Fearing to approach nearer, the boy
cage could not be certainly known, at that | was a pallor on his face, though his flash- | scooped up a double handful of sawdust,
UNDER THE LION'S PAW. |moment, and no one stopped to inquire. | ing and determined look evinced anything | made a quick rush, and hurled it in a cloud

[RS Every one bounded from the vicinity, each | but cowardice 5 ' into the lion’s eyes.
rate

at
1at
o

BY JOHN H. WHITSON.

 

ST, I there!” yelled the lion-tamer. | thinking the lion at-his heels.

4 Ie] “Seatter! scatter for your lives!” | ‘Then the roar echoed again, with tenfold

C ; A scent of sawdust was in the} its former fury, and, with a tremendous

i air, circles of lights gleamed about | bound, the lion sprang toward a group of

the center-poles, and a babal of sounds | trembling horses.

came from the ring of cages in Rentro’s Cir-| The macaws and parrots screamed, the

cus | monkeys chattered in terror, the elephants
With a roar that Was deep-toned and caw | trumpeted their fear and anger !

ernous, a black-maned jungle-king x1} ‘A man barred the lion’s path, though this

his tawny form through the door of a cage, | man was doing his level best to put a safe

and leaped, sprawling, into the arena, | distance between himself and the enraged

where he squatted for an instant, blinking | beast.

his yellow eyes at the glittering lights. | ‘The lion swerved, struck the man to the

>

 

 

 

 

 

 

MAT CREPT ALONG THE BRANCH TOWARD THE HIGH WALL, AND THERE PAUSED TO LOOK AROUND.

 
3458

GooDp

NEWS.

 

The lion, maddened and blinded, gave
utterance to a seream of deep rage, and
leaped in the direction of his tormentor.
The sawdust so filled his eyes, however,
that instead of catching the boy, he brought
up with thundering force against the center-
pole, which the boy was now climbing with
monkey-like agility.

That the boy was possessed of the train-
ing of a seaman was shown by the skill and
ease with which he mounted the mast-like
pole. He had had this center-pole in mind,
as a place of refuge, when he rushed with
such recklessness to the help of the failen
stranger.

The lion was rolling over and over, and
tearing at the earth, in an endeavor to free
his eyes of the sawdust, uttering roar upon
roar, and in his frantic efforts might have
been viewed with laughter, if the situation
had not been so serious. s

When the youth had ascen-led twelve or
fifteen feet, he stopped, with his arms and
legs twined about the pole, and looked down
at the screaming beast.

He also glanced toward the man he had
tried to aid, knowing that in a second or
two the lion would again be in condition to
do murderous work.

The man who had been knocked breath-
less, but who was not much injured, was
scrambling to his feet.

“Run for your life !” the boy yelled.

The man gave a seared glance in that di-
rection, and comprehending the need of
haste, leaped to his feet, and rushed, hat-
less, away.

There was a trailing rope reaching down
the side of the pole to the ground, and this
the boy grasped, and shook and dangled
betore the lion’s nose, to distract his atten-
tion from the fleeing man.

Maddened beyond measure, the lion
glared upward with bloody eyes, and sprang
at the pole with insane fury.

‘Whoop it up!” the boy yelled, still shak-
ing the rope. “Come and seeme! That's
what I like! Give us another song !”

The lion sprang again, falling backward
in a sprawling heap, then began to circle
slowly about the pole, as if looking for a
place by which he might mount.

“Coo ee! Come an*see yer uncle!’ the
boy shouted. ‘You an’t no good on earth !
I don't believe you can climb worth
shucks !”

‘The trembling horses had rushed from
the place, the trumpeting elephants had
backed away, but the monkeys and parrots,

cooped in their cages, were still screaming-

their fright.

Heads were peeping through slits in the
canvas, in various places, and a few men
were trying to summon courage to return.

Professor Leonto, the lion-tamer, was of
the latter number. He felt he had dis-
graced himself by running from the lion.

“Why don’t you shoot the brute?” the
boy loudly questioned, when he saw the
lion-tamer thrust his head into view.

The heavy center-pole had swayed like a
stricken oak, under the force of the lion’s
leap ; and the boy, in spite of his show of
bravado, quailed,as he watched the big
brute pace slowly around the pole looking
for a favorable point of attack.

He knew that an untoward incident or
accident might toss him to the earth, which
would mean nothing less than his instant
death.

The boy was trembling, too, and a react-
ing feeling of weakness and giddiness pos-
sessed him.

Another head appeared beside that of the
lion-tamer. It was the head of the man
whose life the youth had saved.

He pushed through the aperture, a big
revolver in his right hand.

“Don’t shoot him !” Professor Leonto re-
quested. ‘I think we can get him back into
the cage. He’s a valuable beast, and it will
cost me my position if he is harmed. Wait
here a moment !”

The lion-tamer was regaining his nerve.

He disappeared, but was back again in a
second, bearing a keen-lashed lion whip,
and a long iron rod, with a red-hot tip,
which he had plucked from a furnace. He
held the whip in his muscular right hand,
and the rod in his left. °

“Draw his attention, will you?” he said
to the boy clinging to the pole.

“Whoop! Whoop! Coo ee! Come up
here and get your uncle?” the boy obedi-
ently yelled, shaking a clenched fist at the
lion and sliding up and down the pole with
surprising nimbleness. ‘You can’t climb

worth shucks, you can’t! Come up here!
» Come up here !”

_ The ruse was most successful. The lion,
whose attention hud been momentarily at-
tracted by the appearance of the men, gave
his entire heed again to the boy, andrecom-
menced his circling of the center-pole.

Taking advantage of this, Professor

Yes

 

Leonto slipped crouchingly forward, hold-
ing the rod and whip in readiness.

The lion-tamer was not radiant in span-
gles and tights, for it lacked an hour yet of
the beginning of the evening’s performance.
He wore the ordinary clothing of the work-
ingman, and the sleeves of his red-flannel
shirt were rolled up to his elbows. To his
associates and when off duty, ‘Professor
Leonto, the Great Lion King,” was only
plain Sam Jackson.

But he was usually a brave man, whether
in tights or in ordinary attire, and only the
fierceness of the lion’s spring, which had
come so unexpectedly, had thrown him off
his guard and filled him with panicky
fear.

Feeling that he must redeem himself and
drive the lion into the cage, he crept with
stealthy movements near to the big beast,
whose eyes were fixed on the boy.

Then, with a quick spring, he thrust the
point of the hot rod into one of the lion’s
ears.

A roar of surprise and pain rolled from
the lion’s throat. He turned savagely on
Leonto, with such wide-open, vindictive
jaws that the lion-tamer’s hours on earth
seemed numbered.

But Leonto had all of the agility of the
professional athlete. He evaded the lion’s
rush ; and then the blows of the lion whip
fell in a stinging shower.

‘Into the cage, there!’ Leonto commanded,
his voice hoarse and savage. ‘You, Scipio!
Into that cage!”

The pain cowed the lion, and he retreated
before this fierce onslaught.

The man who had felt the lion’s paw, fol-
lowed, not far away, with the big revolver
held in readiness. It was quite plain that
he meant to shoot if the lion tried to break
from the tamer.

Heads of frightened employees were visi-
ble here and there, but none ventured
within. They did not, wish to put them-
selves in peril, and they knew that the lion-
tamer could get along better without them.

Like rain fell the blows of the heavy whip,
interjected and emphasized by constant
proddings with the hot iron.

In vain the lion tried to break past the
tamer. The whip and the iron hemmed
him in like a circle of fire ; till, whimper-
ing and subdued, he was driven into the
cage, and the bolt of the door shot into
place behind him, é

Then the scared circus men swarmed
back, the parrots and monkeys screamed
and squawked triumphantly, ,and the cour-
ageous youth, who had dared to face the
lion at the moment of the beast’s most
violent wrath, slipped lightly down the pole
that had so well served him.

CHAPTER II.
AN UNGRATEFUL RETURN.

FEEL as weak as a cat, after that!”
IF said the boy, smiling bravely into the
oe faces that gathered about him.

He was trembling violently, and his
freckled face was bathed in perspiration.

He was fifteen or sixteen yeais of age,
with a pleasant look, blue-gray eyes, and
brown hair that was now tangled into a
shock.

One of the men brought him his hat.

The man he had so signally assisted bus-
tled forward. The big revolver was now
out of sight, and the man was feeling in a
hip pocket for his purse. His coat and
shirt were slightly torn, but he seemed not
to have received any serious injury.

“That was a brave trick,” he declared,
“and I owe you something for it !”

He ostentatiously drew out the purse.

“Tf you please, sir, I'd rather have work,
and a place I could call home !”

The man looked at him, fixedly.

“Out of a job, eh? Well, I am Captain
Lee Bolton, of the schooner Southern Cre 38,
now lying in the basin ; and perhaps I. can
give you something to do.”

The boy’s face brightened. THe was fa-
mailiar with such work as would probably
be required of him on board the Southern
Cross, He was now friendless and alone in
New Orleans, whither he had recently come
in a logwood ship from Honduras.

An hour or two before, he had applied to
the boss canyasman for a situation. He
had not been given regular work, but had
been set to doing odd jobs to pay for his
supper, which accounts for his presence
beneath the menagerie tent.

Some business transaction had drawn
Captain Lee Bolton to the same place—a
meeting and an acquaintance strangely
begun, and which was destined to have
strange results. ;

Fifteen minutes later, when matters were
again quiet under Renfro’s canvas, Captain

 

Lee Bolton, and the boy, who had simply
given his name as Mat, set out together for
the basin in which the Southern Cross was
lying.

When it was gained, the boy was intro-
duced to the schooner’s cook, who was in-
structed to give him something to eat.

“Y don’t believe I'll ever get filled up!”
Mat declared, looking with interest at the
many charcoal boats that crowded the basin.
“T think I’m hollow to my toes. Had a
good supper to-night, too !”

The cook, who was black as ebony,
showed his teeth in a grin.

“You always fin’ plenty to eat, wherevah
you fin’ Marse Bolton !”

‘Thereupon, he got out a dish of steaming
hot beans, a number of biscuits, and some
coffee ; and the boy fell to with as much
vim as if he had had nothing to eat for a
fortnight.

“Your name is Mat, eh? Mat what ?”

The boy started. The words had been
spoken by Captain Bolton, and he did not
know that the captain was anywhere near,

When he put down the half-uplifted bis-
cuit and looked at Bolton, he saw that the
latter was intently eying him, ;

Captain Lee Bolton, of the Southern
Cross, was a man of forty or forty-five, with
a tanned and weather-beaten face and an
expression of countenance that was not pre-
possessing. ‘There was something foxy in
his attitude, as he sat there gazing at the
boy. Mat had already noticed the crafti-
ness that lurked in the captain’s eye.

This quickened interest shown by the
aptain was a little singular, inasmuch as
he had evinced scant curiosity concerning
the boy’s name and history during the walk
to the schooner.

“Matio Ducro!” was the reply given to
Bolton’s question.

A slight shade passed over Bolton’s face,
and a sudden glint of fire shone behind the
purple of his dark eyes.

‘Rather an uncommon name, that !”

“Spanish, I believe,” said Mat, again tak-
ing up the biscuit. ‘It would be Matthew
Duero, in English.” :

The captain turned aside his face to hide
the queer light that lay revealed in his
countenance.

«Where born ?”’ he asked.

**Louisiana.”

Bolton got up and thrust his hands into
his coat pockets.

“Looks like rain, Tom,” he said to the
cook, suddenly changing the subject. ‘We
must get out of here as quick as we can ;
and there’s a lot of rope, which I forgot,
that must be brought aboard, right away.
You can help with the rope ?”

The question was directed to Mat.

“Certainly, sir!” the boy replied, shoving

ack from the table.

As he got up from his) chair he stumbled
across the captain’s foot, falling heavily.

It was an awkward accident—if it was an
accident.

Bolton was at his side instantly, and
lifted him to his feet, with many apologies.
3 didn’t mean to trip you! Not hurt,
eh?”

“Not at all!” confusedly flushing and
brushing the dirt from his knees.

“That's good. You fell hard enough to
break bones. Next time be a little more
sarefuk, and watch what you’re doing !”

““Tom, let me see you a bit. We must
get up that rope.”

The captain turned away, followed in-
stantly by the cook, and \ at heard them
whispering together on the deck.

“It’s going to rain,” Bolton called down
to him. “Come along and help us get that
rope ; and then we'll have a tug pull us
through the canal. I want to get out on
Pontchartrain as soon as I can!”

As there had been, so far, nothing to
arouse Mat’s suspicion that affairs were not
as they should be, he complied with un-
questioning obedience ; and, a little later,
the three were in the street and hurrying
toward the heart of the city.

When under the full glare of a lamp, the
captain threw himself with a sudden im-
petuosity on Mat, bearing him to the earth.

“Lend a hand, Tom!’ he commanded ;
and when Mat Ducro, overcome with fright
and bewilderment, ceased to struggle, the
captain lifted his voice in a call for the po-
lice. i

One of these blue-coated gentry was just
across the way at the moment, and had been
sighted by Bolton at the instant of the at-
tack. This policeman was already hurry-
ing toward the struggling group. :

‘What's the row?” he demanded, as he
came puffing up, swinging his ¢lub.

“Summon more help,” Bolton requested ;
while the negro cook lifted the bewildered
boy to his feet. “This young chap’s a thief !
I thought to do a good ‘turn by him, and he
has robbed me !”

 

Mat Ducro’s brain spun like a top, under
the influence of the unexpected accusation.

“That's a lie!’ he gasyed.

Bolton lifted a hand as if to strike him in
the face.

“No rowing!” the policeman adjured.
“We'll get the boy to the station, and you
can have-your quarrel out there !”

Thereupon he sent in a call for the patrol
wagon ; and, when it arrived, Mat was
bundled-into it, the policeman and Captain
Bolton accompanying him.

So confident was Mat in his innocence,
and so sure that he could not be held on
this absurd charge, that he went along will-
ingly enough.

He was flushing, though, with anger and
humiliation, and cudgeling his brain for
some reason that could have caused the
change in the captain’s attitude.

What had he done to bring down on his
head the captain’s sudden wrath and
enmity? He recalled the queer look the
captain had bent on him, while questioning
him in the schooner, but that explained
nothing. The fact that his name was Matio
Ducro and that the place of his birth was
in Louisiana could not be urged against
him !

Sure that he would not be held for any
great length of time on the captain’s unsup-
ported testimony, he was willing and anxious
to face the officials ; but he was sorely hurt
by the loss of the captain’s confidence, and
by the thought that the position he fancied
his would now be withheld from him.

This last meant a great deal to the home-

boy, who was such a stranger in the

Dismounting from the patrol wagon, and
marching into the station, Mat walked be-
tween the policeman and Bolton with a firm
step, though his heart was quaking with ili-
concealed fear.

“I offered this boy work on my vessel,
and the first thing he did was to rob mé!”
was Bolton’s statement, when called on to
define his charges against Mat.

‘The officer in whose presence they stood,
was a little man in blue uniform, and with
a surprisingly bald head ; ‘and who peered
at Mat inquisitively over gold-rimmed
glasses. ~

“What do you say to the gentleman’s
statement?” he questioned.

“That it isn’t true!’ and Mat drew him-
self up boldly. ‘I wasn’t on his schooner
but a few minutes, and couldn’t have had a
chance to steal, if I had wanted to. I’m no
thief, sir!”

Captain Lée Bolton smiled incredulously,
and gave the blue-coated officer a peculiar
nod.

“Search the boy, Williamson !”

This was addressed to the officer who had
brought Mat in, and who now proceeded to
go through. Mat’s pocket’s, with much
celerity.

A worn jack-knife, some cords and
matches, were. fished out; and ‘then Will-
iamson breathed hard, as his fingers closed
on something in one of Mat's coat pockets.

“Ah!” he said, ‘“‘what’s this ?”

Mat paled with sudden terror,

He had not known there was anything in
that pocket. :

The blue-coated official peered over his
glasses, and Captain Lee Bolton smiled
triumphantly.

Wilhamson’s hand came out of the coat
pocket, and in it there was a roll of bills

Mat stood in stupefied and speechless
amazement, when he beheld the money in
the policeman’s hand.

“IT don’t know how that came there !”
he gasped. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t—I’m sure I
didn’t”

“Pretty positive proof!” and the spec-
tacled officer looked at him unmercifully.

“T knew he had that money in his
pocket !” said Bolton. “I saw him take it
from the safe ; and, for fear he might hide
it somewhere, [ ordered him to come ashore
with me after some rope.”

Then the captain proceeded to tell a
prettily-concocted story, which left no doubt
in the mind of the officer that the boy be-
fore him was one of the most hardened of
young criminals, ?

Mat Ducro was shaking with fear. He re-
alized that he was being made the victim of
some deep plot, whose reason he could not
even conjecture.

All he could do was to deny, with bitter
emphasis, the account given by Bolton, and
to protest and re-protest his innocence.

But he was only wasting his breath. No
one in the room believed him. All saw in
him a hardened and reckless criminal, who
was determined to brave through his case as
best he could.

Mat’s name and age were taken, together
with the charge against him, and then, as
he had no friend who could become’ his

bondsman, he was ordered off to a cell.

 
GooDp

NEWS.

3459

 

CHAPTER IIT.

MAT BECOMES A FUGITIVE.
‘4 AT DUCRO sunk into the depths
M of despondency, when the cell-
Acre door closed on him, and he found
himself in impenetrable darkness.

The light from the guard’s lantern had
shown him a little cot near the wall ; and
to this he stumbled ; and, sinking down on
it, put his hands to his face and gave vent
to his feelings in a burst of tears.

It was not Mat Ducro’s nature to do much
erying. He had too long battled with the
world, and had suffered too many ups and
downs of fortune, But this was worse than
perils and hardships—-worse than privation
and hunger, heat and cold ! ;

He had always prided himself on his
honesty. And here he was in a felon’s cell,
with no means of clearing his name of the
stigma put upon it!

What had already occurred showed him
that conviction was as certain to follow on
the heels of accusation, as the night follows
the day.

And this, from the hands of a stranger
whose life he had saved !

What did it all mean? Why should Cap-
tain Lee Bolton treat him in that manner?

He had scarcely been given time for
thought, and had been bewildered by the
finding of the money in his pocket. He
believed, now, that it had been placed there
when Bolton assisted him to rise to his feet
in the schooner.

If that were so, then Bolton had purposely
tripped him, seeking an opportunity to put
the bills where they would be found by the
police.

It was buta link in the visible chain of
evidence. What lay back of it? What was
the meaning of the enmeshing net that now
wound him about?

The guard's light flashed again in the cor-
ridor, and, looking up, Mat saw the guard
returning, accompanied by a portly gentle-
man.

Not until they were in front of the door
of his cell, however, was he sure that this
visit was meant for him.

The cell-door was unlocked and pushed
open, the guard’s lantern was deposited on
the floor, and the portly gentleman entered,
unaccompanied.

Mat looked at him, with hopeful ques-
tioning, and got up from the cot.

“Sit down ; I want to talk to you a little
while! I am a lawyer, and hearing that you
were without friends or money, I came to
volunteer my services. ‘lherefore, yon may
speak to me freely, and we'll talk of what's
best to be done.”

He was smooth-faced, as well as portly,
and, as he sank to a seat beside the boy, a
bland smile lighted his features, and he
rubbed his fat chin with a very pudgy
hand.

Mat Ducro could have hugged him, so
great was the joy which his coming brought.
To find a friend in that dark hour was a
thing calling for gratitude.

And Mat expressed his pleasure in broken
sentences, and dashed away the tears, and
smiled back into the bland face of the
portly man in a way that was most ecstatic.

“But, indeed, I’m not guilty!” he de-
clared.
until the policeman pulled it out of my
pocket. Iam sure Captain Bolton put it
there, for a purpose !”

“A very improbable statement!” said the
lawyer, the bland smile changing into a
severe look, ~*~ .

The lawyer was already familiar with the
charges against Mat, and seemed inclined to
think them true.

_ Mat flushed under his gaze.

“Better speak the truth, and tell me all
about it,” the lawyer declared, coaxingly.
“As your attorney, you will see that I ought
to know the whole truth. I can’t promise
to help you otherwise !”

_Mat persisted in his statement ; and then
went on to tell how he had chanced to meet
the captain of the Southern Cross, and how
he had saved the captain’s life, insisting
that these facts could be proved.

“It will not help you to prove those
things!” and the lawyer again caressed

his fat chin, though the smile had faded |.

from his eyes. — . :

“Then you do not believe my story?”
Mat demanded.

“That portion of it, yes! But, when you
ask me to believe that Captain Bolton put
the money into your pocket just to have the
policeman find it there, you are asking a
little too much, young man, as you ought to
know !”

The hope with which Mat had witnessed
the lawyer’s entrance was dashed to the
earth.
come in its place.

 

| bars.

‘T never saw that roll of money |

 

Anger and a sense of injustice had |

“You say you came here to help me!
What would you have me do ?”

The lawyer’s glance wavered as
looked him square in the eyes.

“Now you are coming to the point. There
is nothing for you to do but to confess your
guilt and throw yourself on the mercy of
the judge. If you do that, you will proba-
bly geta light sentence. If you don’t .

“Tf I don’t, what?”

“You will get from ten to fifteen years in
the State’s prison !”

In spite of his endeavor to be brave, the
youth’s heart sank,

He was lost for a moment in thought.
When he looked up, he declared, with flash-
ing eyes :

“No matter what the penalty may be, sir,
I'll never confess to doing something of
which I am innocent. I suppose I ought to
thank you for coming here, but I can’t do
what you ask me to do!”

‘Very well!” and the lawyer arose from
the cot. ‘You will find, when it is too late.
that you are making a mistake. Go your
own way, if you prefer a long sentence to a
light one !”

He gave the floor a stamp, and, in an-
swer, the guard bustled forward with a
jingling bunch of keys. °

Then the cell-door was unlocked, and the
lawyer passed into the corridor and out of
sight.

As the guard turned away, after twisting
the key in the lock, and while the light of
his lantern still flooded the cell, Mat Ducro
saw that the bolt had not properly slipped
into place; that the door was not securely
locked.

A wild desire to escape instantly leaped
into the mind of the boy.

“T wonder if that was done on purpose to
get me into another trap ?” was his thought,
as he advanced toward the door.

The light of the guard’s lantern was fad-

Mat

ing.

Mat took hold of the cell-door, pushed it
gently, and discovered that it moved noise-
lessly on its hinges.

A little thought convinced him that it had
not been purposely unlocked.

He tried to recall the windings of the cor-
ridor, and remembered that it led past the
room below, where he had been interviewed
and searched, and from thence to an- outer
gate.

This outer gate stood in a yard, which
was girt about by high brick walls. If he

}could get into the yard, he might not be

able to scale the walls, even if he could es-
cape the vigilance of the officers who usu-
ally loitered there.

His heart was hammering against the
walls of his chest, and his breath came
chokingly.

He disliked to take advantage of the op-
portunity thus providentially given ; but,
at the same time, he was not willing to
spend the best years of his youth and man-
hood in prison for a crime he had not com-
mitted.

The course already pursued by Lee Bol-
ton told him what further he might expect
from that source.

‘Pll make a try of it, anyhow!” he
gasped, as he ran his fingers over the cold
“If they catch me, I sha’n’t be any
worse off than Iam now. This will make
them sure I’m guilty, but they’re sure of it
already !”

When he had listened attentively and
could hear no sound, he quietly opened the
cell-door and slipped out into the corridor.

Remembering his shoes, he removed
them, and, bearing them in his hand, he
moved on in his stockinged feet, almost
holding his breath, and making not a sound,

He heard voices from the room below,
and saw that a tan of light fell througha
transom into the corridor.

Feeling that there was not a moment to

| be lost, he seudded softly down the stair-

way, ran crouchingly past the door of the
room, and turned into the wide hall that
opened on the yard.

He had not been seen, and his hopes in-
creased.

Here he stopped for a moment in the
shadow of a tall column, and peered ahead.
A big policeman was walking toward him,
as if along a beat.

Soon the policeman turned about to re-
trace his way ; and, when ‘his back was to
the building, Mat slipped from the shadow
of the column, leaped across the paved
court, and hurried into an angle of the wall.

The wall towered above him far beyond
his reach ; but there was a tree in the yard,
whose expanded branches invitingly beck-
oned, f ;

Mat squatted in the shadows to replace
his shoes, and the policeman turned again
toward him. But the guardian of the law
was not overly vigilant, and Mat, in the
shadows, was not seen. /

 

Again the policeman turned about, and
Mat began to work his way up the body of
the tree, climbing’the trunk as rapidly as he
had climbed the center-pole of the circus.

When he was amid the branches, he crept
along one toward the high wall, and there
paused to look around.

He could see for long distances up and
down the street, which was fairly. well
lighted. There were many pedestrians, but
none was looking in his direction. The
policeman was at the farther end of his beat.

Mat swung from the limb, and dropped
with a thud into the street.

The bent bough swung back into place
with a loud rustling, thus drawing the po-

liceman’s attention; and instantly there |

came the “rat-tat-tat” of his club, followed
by a piercing whistle, and the loud clangor
of an alarm-bell.

Mat’s escape had been discovered !

“T’m a goner, if they catch me now !” the
boy gasped ; and then he heard the patter
of hurrying feet, as the aroused officers
rushed to the gate !

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Se
{This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.]

LITTLE HICKORY

OF THE

MOUNTAIN EXPRESS:

OR,

FROM SWITCH-YARD TO LEVER.

BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR,
Author of “Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer,’ “The
Young Stone-Culter,” ele.
(“LITTLE HICKORY OF THE MOUNTAIN EXPRESS”
was commenced in No, 207. Back numbers can be
obtained of all News Agents.)

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE FATE OF THE MOUNTAIN EAGLE.

t,-5
aPesOR once in his life Little Hickory
| was puzzled what to do.

He knew that should the on-
coming train reach them not a life
of the three score men, women, 2nd chil-
dren on board the express would escape
death. In the track of the terrible run-
away the entire number of cars must be

made into kindling. :

To keep on was only to hasten the aw-
ful end.

To retreat was to add to the horrible
catastrophe the fate of another train.

To prevent the collision was impossible.

All this flashed through the active
mind of the boy-engineer, as. his gaze
took in the whole of the terrible scene.

An instant he hesitated, one hand on
the throttle, the other on the lever.

Then came into his mind a plan of es-
cape, as wild as only that fearful situa-
tion could make it.

“It is all I can do!” he thought, “and I
know Van won't blame me.”

With these thoughts rushing through
his brain, he whistled for brakes, closed
the throttle with his left hand, reversed
the lever with his right, kicking open
the cylinder-cocks with one foot at the
same time.

Before the puffing engine haa fairly
come to a stand-still, he had sprung to
the ground, flung back the apren and
pulled the coupling-pin, thus freeing the
Old Eagle from its tender,

Back to the cab bounded Little Hick-
ory, and throwing the lever over so the
locomotive would go forward, and jerk-
ing the throttle wide open, he cleared the
machine just as it shot forward like an
arrow from its bow.

“Farewell, Old Eagle!” he shouted, as
the faithful steed rushed up the track
into the very teeth of the on-coming run-
away. “You deserve a better fate.”

All this had taken place in not more
than sixty seconds, when, conscious that
the engine might not stop the’ flying
train, Little Hickory turned to warn the
passengers to clear the cars as soon as
possible and escape to a safe distance.

In the midst of this hurry-scurrying a
terrific crash was_ heard, followed by a
loud explosion, and up the track: half a
mile away the air was filled with the fly-
ing timbers and debris of the doomed
train. .

True to her name the Old Mountain
Eagle had swooped upon her prey, and
with it gone to her own fate, the entire
lot of cars and emgine going over the
chasm in a disordered heap.

Never as long as they lived might the
spectators forget that terrific encounter,
while they watched it spell-bound, slowly
coming to an understanding of the awful
fate from which they had been saved by
the heroic action of the boy-engineer.

Then one and all crowded around him

 

with offerings of thanksgiving and praise
in the midst of which the increasing
thunder of the train following them was
heard.

“Run down the track a short distance
and signal Shannon, Fleury,” said the
conductor to one of the brakemen, the
latter losing no time in obeying.

Little Hickory’s gaze was still fixed
upon the spot of the fatal meeting of Old
Eagle with her destroyer, the tears gath-
ering in his eyes. :

“What will Van say?” he asked, speak-
ing his thoughts aloud.

“He will bless you, brave Andy Cas-
well, as all the rest of us do, and think
more than ever of his old friend,” replied
Conductor Hammond. “You deserve a
hero’s medal for that. The company can
well afford to lose an engine under such
circumstances. It was the grandest trip
the Eagle.ever made. je

“But we must look to the clearing of
the track.”

The mixed was then run up so as to
connect with the express, when the en-
gine took both trains back to Milesburg
switch. There a dispatch was sent to
Lock Haven. telling of the accident and
calling for another engine to be sent for-
ward at once.

On account of the passengers, it was
decided to pull the express cars into Ty-
rone with the engine on the mixed, while
the coming locomotive should follow with
the freight.

As the scene of the wreck was passed,
as may be imagined, every eye was
watching the place, but none with half
the feeling of Little Hickory, who, if it
be said to his shame, had a strange sort
of regret mingled with his joyful thoughts
of escape.

Tyrone was safely reached, though, of
course, considerably behind scheduled
time. The accident on the road had al-
ready been telegraphed, so only the ex-
planations were needed,'no blame from
even the superintendent being ascribed to
Little Hickory, while he was compli-
mented in unstinted terms for his ready
wit and brave action.

A new engine was placed under Little
Hickory to take the express back to Lock
Haven, and the first form he saw as he
steamed into the station was the well-
known figure of Grizzly Van, who had
learned of the fate of his favorite,

Without a word, he came forward to
clasp the hand of his young» successor,
and it was some time before either of
them spoke.

“Tell me all about it, Andy,” said the
old vet at last, and when he had finished,
his companion said in a husky tone:

“It was a noble deed, Andy, and no one
else but you would have had the sense to
do it. I can’t see you for my tears, but I
can see how the old gal looked rushing
up that grade which she and I have made
so many times together, on to her death
without flinching a jot. It was like her.
Of course she was human, my boy, and
like many another woman needed coax-
ing and a gentle hand at times, but she
was sure to win at the end. Ah! her days
ended with mine after all. but what 4
glorious fate for such a glorious career.”

Honest Van’s straightforward remarks
may call forth a smile from him who
knows an engine only as so much cam-
bination of many polished bars of iron
and steel, and grimy, well-oiled joints,
and ponderous metal sides, all the handi-
craft of man, and capable under certain
condition of steam feeding to get overa
given number of miles an hour; but he
who has stood at his post through the
storms and sunshine for years, Jearned
the caprices of his mistress by heart, and
witnessed her devotion to duty with a
patience more than human, will not de-
spise the tears that dimmed the old
knight’s eyes, as he murmured softly to
himself: j

“It was a glorious fate for such a glori-
ous career.”

Word was awaiting Little Hickory to
report to Mr. Johnson immediately upon
his arrival] in Lock Haven, a summons he
hastened to obéy, wondering what the
official would say to him. ;

He.was sorry to learn that Mr. Swallow
was away for a week, and he met with
such a criticism from the business man-
ager as he felt boded him no good, though
no real blame was openly attached to his
actions. y :

“Curse him !” muttered the offjcial under
his breath, as he turned away, “it seems
to be his luck that everything works in
his favor. But I’ll find a way to bring
him to the stone yet. I’ll make this.
week one he will never forget, if he lives
through it,” he added, witha fierce shake
of his head,

CHAPTER XXXII.
PUT TO THE TEST.

BOUT the time Little Hikory was
thinking of retiring for the night,
after he had detailed his day’s
adventures to Aunt Hastings, he

was called to the door by a messenger,

 
(8460

 

who-said that he was wanted as soon as|
possible at Mr. Johnson’s office. |

“Don’t go,” suid Mrs. Hastings. “I fear |
it is some plan todo you harm, as has
been done before.”

“T hardly think it can be the case,
auntie, as I know the man who has come
for me quite well. Ican do no better
than go.”

“Of course not,” replied the messeng
“I think you are wanted on some special
duty. Help has been mighty short since
the new management has been running
the thing. And the green hands the
have put onare makinga pile of trouble.”

Little Hickory found that the messen-
ger was right in his surmises in regard
to the object of this late demand upon
his presence.

Mr. Johnson
said :

“It is a case of necessity that I send}
for you, Mr. Caswell. We have got to}
run aspecial up to Shippen on the P,
and E. to-night, and I have got to depend |
on you to do it.”

“But I cannot get back to take the ex-
press to Tyrone,” replied the boy-en
gineer.

“I know it, and I have provided for;
that. Van has kindly consented to take
your place until you get back, which I do}
not expect will be before the day after to-
morrow morning. . You will go?” |

“When shall I have to start?” |

“Immediately. The train is all made
up, with two passenger coaches and two
box freights. Sanders will fire for you.
You will go?”

“T suppose I shall have to, if you say
so. Please send some one to the house,
so they may know where | am gone.”

“Certainly,” and there was a ring of
exultation in his voice Little Hickory in
his excitement failed to notice.

Little Hickory found the train waiting
for him, the engine puffing and fretting |
like a steed impatient to be off.

Swinging himself aboard the cab, he}
was given a hearty greeting by the fire
man, and then a scrutinizing look as if
he was disappointed to see one so young}
take charge of the lever.

“T s’posed I was going to have some!
one who understood his biz, and not-a
stripling without experience, else I'd)

was very urbane, as he

never gone on this wild cat trip.” | fo

Without replying to this ill-timed |
speech, the boy-engineer jerked the bell- |
cord, the signal for starting, and threw |
open the throttle, followed by a forward |
movement of the lever, when the train |
started on its long journey—longer than
any one on board dreamed,

‘Of course, a new road makes it more
trying for the engineer, who is compelled
to keep a closer watch than would be
otherwise the case, so Little Hickory
maintained his ceaseless vigil, while they |
shot past long lines of dark growth, wide
stretches of open plain, dotted here and |
there with lonesome-looking farm-houses, |
anon’ into a narrow valley where a |
swollen stream sent up a roar rivaling |
the thunder of their mad advance, on
uuder craggy mountain steeps, the course
rowing wilder as they advanced.

The right of way was theirs. for over
twenty miles, when they would have to
side track for a through express from
Buffalo, so Little Hickory gave the iron
horse a free rein, so to speak, as mile
after mile was measured by the tireless
wheels,

Little Hickory judged that they must
be approaching the station where they
were expecting to stop for the express to
pass, and, after swinging around and
down a long descent, he was beginning to
climb a corresponding ascent, when sud-
denly a smart shock ran along the iron
limbs of the engine and wild shouts rang
on the air above the noise of the train.

Glancing back, he sayy to his horror
that the coaches had broken from the rest
of the train, and were dashing back over
the rails at a thundering rate. ;

In an instant he applied the air-brakes,
and brought the engine and freight cars
to a stop.

“lt’s ’em fool brakemen!” exclaimed
the fireman. “They didn’t, know enough
to loosen the brakes they had set coming
down the grade when we come t6. this
rise. I knowed something was goin’ to
happen on this trip, when I see ’em_ two
niggers cross the track just afore we
started,”

Paying no_heed to the wailing of his
companion, Little Hickory watched the
loose cars as they sped back over the
rails.

“The cars can’t go over the ridge,” he

|

| tion
| cided

| gers

| that so much time had

} tion.

| pected place, they. were compelled to “fee

} return to Lock Haven as quickly as

 

said, “and if they will keep their
heads—— Oh, there go two!” the last)
exclamation caused by the appearance of ,
two men springing out from the runaway
cars and flying into the night. looking like
huge spiders as they disappeared from
sight. ‘ 3 |

Keeping up a continual ringing of the,
bell, Little Hickory began to run back to
the rescue, maintaining a careful lookout ,
to be in readiness to get out of the way’
in case the cars should begin to run for-
ward again, as they must as soon us the

GooDp

momentum with which they were carried

| backward should be spent.

This was stopped, however, by the
tion of the conductor,*who put on the
brakes and brought the runaways toa
stand-still near the summit, though both
brakemen had leaped from the cars.

Little flickory then ran up and connec-
was quickly made, when it was de-

fo run down
look after the missing men. No one on
the train, save these two brakemen, had
been hurt more than a severe shaking up.

One ‘of the unfortunates was found with
a broken leg, and the other with some
painful bruises, cuts, and a sprained
wrist.

In this

ac-

dilemma it became necessary

|}for the conductor to act as brakeman,

person from among the passen-
to take the place of the

while a
offered
other.

So far the accident might have resulted
worse, but the delay was likely to be the
most serious difficulty, for it was found
been lost that it

not do to keep on to the next sta-
Thus they would be obliged to run
back to the last station they had pa:
and there wait for the expected express.

They had barely gained the siding when
the head light of the L. and E. white ex-
press shot into sight, and the long train
rushed past them like a cannon-ball.

The switch was returned, and they
rolled back upon the main track to re-
sume their journey, but under such diffi-
culties as only an ola railroader knows.

would

| This delay having cost them the right of

way, by not being on time at the ex-
,

night
delays
after-
pulled

their way for the balance of the
and through the next day, for the
cost them so much time that the
noon was nearly passed as they
into Shippen.

A telegram was awaiting them here to
pos-
it imperative that they

sible, being

| should get there by daylight.

Thus, as soon as they could be given a
schedule to travel by, the return was
undertaken, and more lightly loaded than
in coming, they sped over the many miles
at a flying rate, dashing into the home
station at the moment they were looked
Wa
“Now for home and a day’s rest and
sleep,” said Little Hickory, as he stepped
from.the cab, to be met by a man from
the office with an official looking docu-
ment in his hand.

“Mr. Johnson wanted me to hand you
this the minute you got in,” he said,

It was an order to takea train into
Bloomsburg, and possibly on to Mifflan,
starting at once, and returning as soon
as possible.

“But [ haven’t slept for two
said Little Hickory, with unfeigned
prise that this should be asked of
“T need sleep and rest.” s

“That may all be, but an order is an
order, and under the present strain you
need not. be surprised at anything. You
can’t avoid going.”

CHAPTER XXXIII,
ASLEEP AT HIS POST.

AITTLE HICKORY realized that
would be the case in his situation,
and, without replying, he passed
to the engine awaiting him, and

with a furious jerk gave the signal to be
going.

I will pass over the incidents of this
long trip, which it took twenty-four
hours to accomplish, so it was morning
again a day later, as he once more came
into the depot at Lock Haven.

The Mountain Express was standing at
her usual position ready for a start, and
Mr, Juhnson was pacing somewhat fran-
tically up and down the station, until he
saw Little Hickory stepping down from
the cab of his latest charge,

“Tam glad you have come,” he said,
slapping our hero on the shoulder, “for I
need you the worst kind, I have got an
engineer for the express, but [ cannot
find a fireman to save my life. Iam
ashamed to ask it of you, but you will
have to fire for Handy on this trip. There
is no other alternative,” seeing his look
of surprise.

“Ll haven't slept for three nights, Mr.
Johnson, and both of these trips have
been unusually hard ones. I need rest.”

“IT know it, my boy, but you are young
and you will soon make up for it. I shall
have to ask it of you.”

In vain were Littlé Hickory’s remon-
strances, and a few minutes later he took
a second position on the express, while a
stranger occupied the place which be-
longed to him.

“Shows how little interest you take in
your work to keep me waiting here five
minutes when I was already late,”
growled the engineer, as they got under
way.

“Tf you had been through what I have
for the past three days and nights with-
out sleep, I think you would have come

nights,”
sur-
him,

into the valley and |

 

NEWS.

 

 

as slow asI,” retorted Little Hickory,
sharply.

“Some folks are always growling,” mut-
tered the engineer, settling himself upon
the seat as comfortably as possible.

The run to Tyrone was uneventful,
though Little Hickory couid not help see-
ing that the new engineer was a novice
at his work and that he bungled fear-
fully.

Spurts of tremendous speed would be
suddenly followed by a slowing up quite
exasperating to every one but him who
was the cause of it.

At Tyrone, Little Hickory had planned
on catching a little sleep during their

short stop there, but even in this he was |
disappointed, for he was called into the}

superintendent’s office and kept there re-
lating his adventures until it was time
for him to report at the express.

Again he got a reprimand from the
engineer for not being more punctual.

“T shall report you to headquarters as
soon as we get into Lock Haven. If I am
going to run
have a helper that knows his bigness. I
don't s’pose you ever fired before.”

“Viring is not my business, sir, though
[ have done it long enough to know that
Iam doing my duty now.”

“Sho! if firing an’t your bizness, what
is it?” ;s

“T am the regular engineer on this
train, sir, and why you are here is be-
yond my comprehension.”

“Sho, sho! an’t you a babbler! Engin-
eer on this express train! Mebbe you
don’t know Mr. Johnson has hired me to
handle this lever for the next year. Come
to think of it, he did mention of a boy
who had run away and left him in the
lurch. Mebve you're the rat.”

To this insulting speech, Little Hickory
madé no reply, and the miles from station
to station were passed cver withouta
word from the two, until they were
sweeping with headlong speed into the
valley of Red Meadows, where they were
expected to meet the upward accommoda-
tion, which if on time was to side-track
here. If late, the express had to wait on
the main track for the other.

Handy, the new engineer, was starid-
ing nervously at his post. The engine
was behaving badly under his manage-
ment, fretting like a restive horse when
driven by an unusual driver, Little Hick-
ory had seen this and knew that, thongh
they were at a section of the road where
no loss should ordinarily be made, they
were not making the usual speed. me

Still he apprehended no danger from
this, and felt that they would not be very
much late, when Red Meadows’ siding
was reached, and to his surprise the en-
gineer showed no signs of stopping.

The accommodation was not at the
siding, but it could not be far away, as it
was then. overdue,

“Hold on!” he shouted,“ we must stop
here for the accommodation !” and at the
same time a frantic appeal came from the
conductor to stop.

All at once the engineer seemed to come
to his senses, and none too soon, either,
for at that moment the head-light of the
on-coming train flashed like a star in
their pathway.

With acry of horror, the dazed engin-
eer seized the lever to reverse for his
life, but the bar would not moye. Great
beads of perspiration starting out upon
his forehead, he tugged at it with all the
strength he could command.

And while he strived in vain, the ac-
commodation dashed into plain sight, so
close that the lights of the rival trains
mingled.

“Stand aside!” thundered Little Hick-
ory, springing forward, and without stop-
ping for the other to release his hold upon
the lever, sent him reeling to the foot-
boards.

Then, instead of trying to shut off the
steam, he flung it wide open, when the
engine bounded on with renewed life,
until the boy-engineer swiftly pushed the
lever home, it now slipping into place as
if no impediment had ever held it back

“Let her go,” shouted Handy; “there’s
sure to bea fight!” and he leaped from
the cub in wild abandon.

The air-brakes were grinding into the
iron wheels, while a fearful shock was
sent to every part of the train, which was
still sweeping madly on toward its fate.

Little Hickory reversed at the critical
moment, and a glad cry escaped his lips
as he saw that the accommodation was
stopping.

An instant later, while circles of fire
flew out from their huge drivers like
wheels of flame, the rival kings of steam
locked horns.

A quiver, a shock, a mighty convulsion
running along the trains, the shrieks of
terrified passengers, and it was over, the
two lines of cars united as one motion-
less on the track.

“What in the seven furies are you on
our iron for?” demanded the conductor of
the accommodation, excitedly, and not
without reason, as the express had passed
the switch.

Explanations quickly followed; no one

this train, lam going to}

 

 

had been hurt, save the engineer whose
folly had been the cause of what had
come go near being a horrible collision;
the engines had, suffered no serious in-
jury; so with unbounded rejoicings the
trains went on their respective ways,

Hanay had been nearly killed, so one of
the brakemen had to fire, while Little
Hickory took the Mountain Express safely
infto its home. :

They had considerable difficulty in
passing Moshannon on account of a furi-
ous conflagration, which was threatening
the destruction of the whole town. News
of the fire had already -been wired to
Lock Haven, and a despairing appeal for
help made.

Nothing so arouses the human sympa-
thies as the cry of fire, and by the time
the express had arrived the fire depart-
ment was out, and a train was ready to
take it to the scene of- the conflagration.
Again, as if there was more than the
machinations of one man against him,
Littie Hickory was ordered to take the
train to the junction,

In the excitement of the occasion he
forgot himself, for the time, his physical
condition, and sprang aboard the cab
without stopping to count the cost.

Be it said to his everlasting disgrace,
John Johnson, the business manager of
the L. H. and T. HK. R., shook his’ fist
after the departing train, muttering un-
der his breath words he would not have
had heard. by any may in the world.

The relief train was rushing along its
way at all the speed it could command.
The right ot way had been promised, and
Little Hickory was gazing steadily into
the space ahead, when all at once he felt
a drowsiness stealing over him which he
could not throw off. Tired nature could
stand no more, and he nodded at his post.

The fireman, a green hand, had. not
noticed him, until he looked up to see
another train right in their path!

The sight was enough to have wrung
a frenzied cry from a braver heart than
his.

Still unconscious of the awful danger,
Little Hickory slept at his post,

(T0 BE CONTINUED.)

>:

T WAITERS.

PATIE

The Greenlanders’ mode of life has accus-
tomed them to take things as they come. If
they find no game, they know how to go
hungry, and in their relations with each
other and with Europeans they manifest the
same astounding patience.

I would see them inthe morning standing
by the hour in the passage of the colonial
manager’s house, or waiting in the snow
outside his door, to speak to him or his as-
sistant, who happened to be otherwise en-
gaged.

‘They had probably some little business
to transact with those officials before start-
ing for their homes, often many miles from
the colony, and it might be of the greatest
importance to them to get away as soon as
possible. If the weather happened to look
threatening, every minute would be more
than precious ; but there they would stand
waiting, as immovable as ever, and to all
appearance as indifferent.

if I asked them if they were going to
start, they only answered: ‘I don’t know.
Perhaps, if the weather doesn’t get worse,”
or something to that effect; but I never
once heard the smallest murmur of impa-
tience. ~

The following occurrence, for which my
informant vouches, illustrates this side of
their character:

An inspector at Godthaab sent a boat’s
crew into the Ameralik Fiord to mow grass
for his goats. They remained a long time
away, and no one could understand what
had become of them. At last they returned,
and when the inspector asked why they had
been so long, they answered that when they
got to the place the grass was too short, so
they had to settle down and wait till it grew.

a ne
LOST AND FOUND.

A prominent man tells of a queer ex-
perience he had losing aring. He first
noticed that it was gone one morning
when he was in church, He glanced down
at his hand and it was not there. As it
was a valuable one, he did considerable
hunting when he got home, but withous
avail. He gave it up as gone.. The next
morning at his store he spied the ring on
the self-same finger from which he had
lost it. The explanation of this somewhat
mysterious episode is easy. The ring.
fitted loosely upon the finger, and when
the gentleman went home Saturday night
he wore a pair of gloves, which he took
off and did not put on again until Mon-
day morning. The ring must have re-
mained in the finger of the glove, and
have been restored when that article was
next put on,

A RING

 
[This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.]

BLUE AND WHITESAM

RIDING FOR FORTUNE.

BY ERNEST A. YOUNG.

(“BLUE AND WHITE SAM”
No, 213. Back ntunbers can
News Agents, }

commenced in
obtained of all

was
be

CHAPTER XIII

SAM AS A JOCKEY.

ee
Al:

SA

T was a triumph for Sam Talbot.

His own alertness, with his firm seat
in the saddle, combined with a happy
control of the wild-natured colt, brought

the jockey who attempted to unseat him to}
grief in a most unexpected manner.

Sam’s foot caught that of his enemy fairly }
underneath. Lanky was heavier than our |
hero, and it would not have been easy for |
the latter to have lifted him by a sheer effort |
of his leg. Butit was here that the obedi- |
ence of the colt was made to count.

The spirited animal seemed to know just j
what was wanted of her. The sudden ris- |
ing upon her haunches was in the nick of |
time, and supplemented the effort of her
rider perfectly. |

Lanky was lifted from his seat, a yell of |
chagrin broke from his lips, his arms waved |
wildly in the air, then he was sent sprawl-
ing in the dust, while his horse careered |
away on the course at a furious pace.

It was then that cheers and laughter broke
forth from the by-standers, the witnsere,
jockeys joining in with a zest that showed a
good-natured acquiescence in the discom-
fiture of their comrade.

Sam stuck to his seat. He saw that his
victim was able to seramble to his feet, and
then sped away around the course at a rol-
licking pace.

He put Wildfire twice around the track,
and so eyen and swift was her running that
there was a murmur of applause at the fin-
ish, and an eager knot of horse-owners
gathered about the colt and ‘her rider with
approving nods and glances.

Sam dismounted and turned Wildfire over
to Jack Gardner, who was waiting to take
Ragsdale’s horses back to the stable.

“That was well done—very well done !”
exclaimed Mr. Ragsdale, a flush of excite-
ment on his cheeks,

“Don’t she kick up the dust as pretty as
any of them, though ?” Sam enthusiastically
returned.

“Yes, yes! And itismoney in my pocket,
too. I can see half a dozen would-be buyers
of that wild little animal right here on the
ground, You see, the colt seems to know
just what to do, and that is worth as much
as speed in this kind of a race. She has had
better training than I thought. That isn’t
all; you seem to know how to handle her
toa dot. You would never let them put you
in a pocket with that beast!”

“That lank specimen couldn't do it, any-
how,” said Sam.

“T thought he would throw you sure.
You heard me whistle? I meant to warn
you, but I didn’t need to worry. It was
well done—only I’m sorry it had to happen
before the race. That jockey will pay you
off if it is a possible thing, and it'll be bad
to have it happen when everything is at
stake !”

Sam looked quickly at his employer.

‘Tripp rides at the race, I suppose ?” he
exclaimed.

“Tripp rides Jilly. But I shall enter Wild-
fire—that And Ragsdale chewed
his mustache meditatively.

Sam waited. He glanced over to where
Tripp had been standing a moment before,
in the midst of a group of jockeys. But the
eccentric fellow had disappeared.

“You say you never rode a regular race,
with big money at stake ?” Ragsdale abruptly
asked, lowering his voice

“TI never rode a regular race,” Sam ad-
mitted, reluctantly. ;

‘Yet I believe you could do it with Wild-
fire. What do you say?”

“T wouldn't be afraid to try.”

“But you would have to keep cool—very
cool! And let me tell you, the outcome is
aserious matter to me. To lose would be
my ruin!”

“You have a good deal of money in it?”

“You don't understand, Sam. It is my
secret ; that is what makes me so anxious.
Imay tell you about it some time—and I

 

as ”
io

 

may not. Yet I have a mind to put Wild-
fire onto the track and let you ride her for
me, You can work her another trial trip

Croco

to-morrow morning before the trotting be-
ns. You at least won’t go and get intoxi-
cated.”
“With nothing but joy at winning,” smiled
Sam.
His heart beat fast with anticipation.
“Another thing, Sam. You know I have
an enemy—that Brayles. He has tried to

beat me through you already, and the reason |

I trust you on such short acquaintance is

because you have stood by me to such good |

purpose in the affair with him.”

“IT don’t see how he can beat you now, if
Tripp does his part and I do mine.”

“There are a great many ways in which
an unscrupulous scoundrel may win in an
underhanded game. As you know, there is
nothing too desperate for him to attempt,
rather than to see me succeed.”

“Why don’t you get rid of him?’ Sam
asked, his interest in the mystery enshroud-
ing his eccentric employer growing stronger.

“Get rid of him? How?”

“I suppose he has a right to get the best
of you at the race by any fair means. But
he has no right to do anything to injure
your horses, or to force Tripp or me to de-
sert you. You can take the law on him if

he tries anything of that kind, and I over- |
heard enough to make out a good case for |

you.” ‘i

“No, no!” Ragsdale hurriedly exclaimed.
“T can do nothing of that kind, even to save
me from the worst !”

The man’s great agitation puzzled Sam
more than ever.

The young jockey devoutly wished that
his employer would take him more fully into
hits confidence.

‘Why don’t he tell me what the trouble is
that makes him afraid to stand up for his
rights against that scamp ?” Sam impatiently
asked himself. ‘I’m sure I’ve proved myself
faithful, after what I did to expose Brayles’
plot. I don’t see what he is afraid of !”

“see you don’t know what to think of
me,” said Ragsdale, as though he read the
mental questioning of Sam.

“I suppose you know your own business
best,” Sam replied.

‘Perhaps not, Sam. But I can’t tell you
everything now. I think it is better for you
as well as for me that I wait until after the
race before I go into details. It is enough
for the present that you have faith in me,
and that I believe you have the nerve and
the will to help me when [ need help. I—I

think I will enter Wildfire for the race, and |

if I do, you shall ride. But you must ex-
pect that Lanky to be on hand with a trick—
either to throw you over the fence or by
conspiring with others to put you in a
pocket—something unexpected, you may be
sure,

“There can’t be anything unexpected for
me,” said Sam. ‘Everything of that sort

happened to me long ago, so I know how to |

keep my eyes open all the time.”

‘‘Perhaps you do. You are a sharp boy,
Sam—better than that, you’re a trne one.”

Ragsdale spoke warmly, and Sam felt a
sudden glow of friendship for the eccentric
gentleman who had evidently taken such a
strong liking to him from the start.

This conversation occurred in part after
they had started homeward from the track.

For the first time Ragsdale remembered
that Tripp was not with them as they drove
up to the stable.

“He went out of sight all of a sudden
while we were talking, just before we came
away,” said Sam.

“He was with the jock
him last.”

“Yes. I heard him telling them that they
better not take me for a greenhorn—that he
reckoned | had seena race-track before, and
that I was older than I looked.”

“You‘heard him say that?” Ragsdale ex-
claimed. 2

“Yes; and I rather think he made ’em
think he knew more of me than he hada
mind to let on.”

“Good enough! That Tripp isa queer
genus, but he is no sloucli when you have
him on your side. If he didn’t drink so he
would be worth his weight in the yellow
metal,”

“He'll come round before you need him,”
Sam predicted.

In spite of the fact that Talway. Tripp
seemed in a measure to stand betwixt him-
self and a realization of his hopes, he began
to feel a liking for the fellow.

‘He was white enough to give the other
fellows a good impression of me, anyhow,”
thought Sam. ‘And there is no telling but
I may need it. Itis no soft snap to ride a
race with every other jockey pledged to work
against you. It’s tough to stand as a butt
for the whole crowd !”

The day upon which the incidents just
recounted occarred was a Friday.

.The next day was to be given u ts
trotters, with a short running race

ys when I noticed

win,

| the

| onstration from Bamford Brayles, and Sam

| Sam’s astonishment, no one seemed to have

NEw s.

close, the runners being owned by local |
gentlemen. .

But the principal races would begin on
the following Monday, for which day Jilly |
had been entered.

So a Sunday intervened.

Saturday was spent by Sam almost wholly
at the track. |

In the morning he worked Wildfire for a }
| trial again, and the other jockeys discreetly |
kept out of his way.

It was a successful trial, and Mr. Ragsdale
entered the colt for the race. Her turn |
would come on Tuesday.

Tripp put in an appearance once more,
and reised Jilly with his accustomed
careless ability. He remained at the track
until the last race had been run. He ac-
companied Mr. Ragsdale and Sam back to
stable, and seemed to be in such
thorough earnest that his employer's hopes
of keeping him in suitable trim to ride
Monday’s race rose almost to a feeling of
absolute confidence.

Thus far there had been no further dem-

ex

 

half believed that Ragsdale’s enemy would |
abandon his purpose to ruin his rival.

‘he burning of Burton’s barn had made
an item for the local newspapers; but to

heard of his audacious use of the electric
car,

Sam strolled out alone after he had eaten
his supper, to think over the exciting
events of the past few days, and his own
prospects in the coming race.

He was startled by footsteps close behind.
Turning, he was confronted by Talway
Tripp.

“Did the boss give you any money to-
night, Sam ?” Tripp abruptly asked, tapping
our hero confidentially upon the arm.

“Nary a dime,” said Sam.

“But you've got a dollar, just the same?
Lend it, then. I'll make it two when I pay
it back next week. Ill be flush after the
race.”

CHAPTER XIV.
A WARNING.

oy cs

5 [LF I give you the money,’
? looking the jockey fairly
f Do J J

’

said Sam,
y in the face,
“the first thing you will do will be to
steer tor one of the Springfield saloons.
Then when the race comes off you won’t be
in it!”

Talway Tripp did not evince the least
sign of anger at this blunt statement of the
case. Instead, he smiled and said:

“Tf you think I can buy enough stuff in
the city for a dollar to fix meso I can’t ride
the race, then you don’t know me, that’s
all. Why, I had that value of whisky in me
within the last’ twenty-four hours, and
Ragsdale didn’t dream that I had drank any-
thing stiffer than Connecticut River water.”

“You had been drinking before you rode
Jilly this morning !’ Sam exclaimed.

“Like a fish, Sam !—like a great, big fish!”

“You seemed straight enough. But Mr.
Ragsdale would give you money if he dared
to. It isn’t because I'm afraid of losing it,
‘Talway—you don’t think I’m so small as
that. I'd give you the dollar, and more, if
you would only agree to let rum alone.”

“T'll agree to drink no rum, Sammy—not
a thimbleful! J despise rum; it’s what I
call a vulgar beverage. But when it comes
to bourbon or Cognac—ah ! there you find
me weak— woefully weak !”

Sam laughed, although the countenance
of the other was as solemn as that of a
judge.

“Lend me the dollar, and I pledge you
my word and honor as a gentleman that I
will be on hand to ride Jilly, and really in
better trim for the race than I would be if I
had to beat my way around all day Sunday
without a dime in my pocket. I tell you,
Sam, a fellow feels mean enough without a
cent to lay his jaws to over Sunday !”

“TJ guess I know how a feller feels in that
Situation !” said Sam.

“That’s it—you sympathize with me, and
I knew you would. Ragsdale is good and
all that, but he never had to sling in and
out of his boarding-house without a cent to
his Name, or to stand up and be treated,
knowing that he couldn’t return the treat if
it was to save his liver !”

Tripped locked his arm with Sam’s as he
“waxed eloquent, and the pair strolled along
in a manner that looked decidedly friendly.

Sam could not help but like the fellow, in
spite of his faults.

But he felt that it would be treachery to-
ward his employer to grant Tripp’s request.

He was debating the matter with himself
when his companion suddenly drew him in
among the roadside shadows, with an ejacu-
lation of warning.

 

 

‘* What is it?” asked Sam,

| villainous

83461

“Wait a minute and you'll see.”

They waited. Presently they heard ap-
proaching footsteps, and the next moment
they observed Cashin, the ruffianly hench-

man of Bamford Brayles, shambling along
| the road, his canine teeth showing plainly

under his mustache in the deepening twi-
light.

The man halted nearly opposite the hid-
ing-place of the jockeys. He bent his face

| close to the ground, as if he were searching
| for tracks.

So strangely did the man resemble some
species of dog, as he crouched
there in the road, that Sam would not have
been greatly surprised to see him bend his
nose to the ground and then start toward
them with a triumphant yelp, as a sign of
having scented their tracks.

But of course he did nothing of the kind.

Instead, he rose, and after peering search-
ingly into the thicket for a moment, turned
and shambled on again, yauttering incoher-
ently as he went.

“A queer case,” said Sam, when the man
was out of hearing,

“Ugly as sin!” was the terse retort of
Talway Tripp.

**You know something about him ?”

“J know that there are varts of the coun-

| try where he wouldn’t dare to show himself

by daylight. I believe he would kill and
eat a man, if he were hungry, and had noth-
ing else !”

“T don’t doubt but he would do it,” said
Sam.

The two jockeys stepped out into the
road again and resumed their stroll, arm-in-
arm. Tripp seemed to be in a strangely

| friendly mood—perhaps because he hopéd

thereby to win Sam’s good will to the value
of the desired loan.

“While we're talking,” Tripp remarked, a
little later. ‘I'll just drop you a word of
warning. You are working to get a show as
Mr. Ragsdale’s regular jockey—you needn't
deny that !”

‘I don’t wan’t to get the job away from
you. Imerely want to make a record for
myself, so that I can get a chance with some
rich and liberal owner of horses,” Sam
hastened to reply. :

“Of course—I understand that. , You
played a pretty trick at the track this: morn-
ing—and when you beat that Lanky you
made more friends than you did enemies.
Of course every man tries to do the best he
can for the horse he rides—that is, if he
hasn’t been bought off. Stall, when a jockey
has enemies at the track, the others wil}
conspire to keep him from winning even if
they get fined for their tricks. And on the
other hand, if you have friends, they'll
stand by you, and help you defeat the tricks
and traps of foes.”

“T understand all that,” said Sam, won-
dering what the other was driving at with
all this roundabout talk. ¢

“What I wanted to warn you about was
this : it is one thing to work for an ordinary
horse-owner, and another to ride for such a
man as Ragsdale.”

Sam’s curiosity deepened.

“What ails Ragsdale?” he asked.

‘Several things. I’m not going to tell
you anything that I’m not sure of. He is
honest and easy with a fellow—I have no
fault to find—yet I know that it is a good
deal like working in a powder mill, working
for him !”

“You think there’s danger of his turning
ugly ?”

“No—no! Notthat. But, bless you for
an innocent !—don’t you see that Bamford
Brayles has some sort of a grip on him?
That they have some time been in the same
boat together in some sort of a transaction
that makes Ragsdale as afraid of him as he
would be of an earthquake?”

“Yes, I knew there was some sort of a
mystery about their relations. But I thought
Ragsdale owed Brayles a lot of money.”

“Likely he does—but what for? -That’s
the question.”

“Horses, or bets-—there might be a dozen
things that would give Brayles a hold on .
him, without there being anything very
crooked about Ragsdale.”

‘Sothere might. But there is something
crooked, take my word for that. I’ve worked
for Brayles, and I have caught onto a good
many points. I shall give nothing away,
only to warn you that you may get your
head broken, or find yourself in some kind
of a tough pinch, if you stick to Ragsdale.
I don’t say it because I’m jealous of your
getting my job. I’m through with him after
this race, anyway. He meant to bounce me
as soon as he could do without me, and I'll
give him my notice Monday, bright and
early, so that he won’t have a chance to fire
me. What I’ve said is purely for you to
look out for your skin, as I’ve had to look
out fo mine. I'll make Jilly run a winning
race, just the same—and if Brayles’ jockey

 
2

346

gets inmy way he'll get the whip right in
the neck !”

Sam's brain was in a whirl.

What was this mystery about Ragsdale ?
What was the nameless danger to which a
jockey must subject himself to remain in
his employ ?

“This is as far as 1 walk in this direction,”
said Tripp, abruptly halting.

“You think I’m a chump because I won't
lend you a dollar?’ said Sam.

“It’s all right—only I shall have to find it
somewhere else. I don’t dead-head my
way through another Sunday, if I have to
bust into a sub-treasury !”

Tripp turned away, with a nod and a
grin, evidently feeling no offense at Sam's
refusal.

Sam stood and watched his retreating fig-
ure reflectively for a moment, and then ran
and overtook him.

“Here’s a dollar—only, mind and not get
so you can’t ride Jilly Monday,” he said.

“You'll ride her if I can’t,” was the an-
swer.

“Remember !”’ warned Sam.
separated, good friends at least.

It was some time ere Sam retraced his
steps. As he approached the cottage Genie
North ran out from the roadside and caught
him by the arm.

“Go back!” she cried. ‘Quick! there is
a policeman at the stable waiting for you !”

And they

CHAPTER XV.
THE PURSUIT.

POLICEMAN waiting for me?” Sam
echoed.
“Yes, Mr. Ragsdale is trying to
‘ get him to wait tillafter the race.
But the officer says there’s a grave charge
against you, and there cap be no waiting,
nor no bail !”

Sam’s heart gave a great thump. He
compressed his lips with sudden resolution.

“What is the charge?” he demanded.

“Setting fire to Caleb Burton’s barn !”

“Tt is false! They can never prove such
a charge against me!, It is a put-up job to
get rid of me till after the race !”

“Then you mustn’t let the officer take
you. Mr. Ragsdale told me to intercept
you, and to tell you to conceal yourself. He
would manage somehow to keep you out of
the scrape till after the race, and then he
would do everything he could for you. But
you must keep out of the way of the officer
to-night.”

“You say he is in the stable?”

“You! :

‘And Mr. Ragsdale?”

“He is there palavering with the police-
man, just to gain time.”

“Did Talway Tripp come back this way
just now ?”

“Yes. He is at the stable. He told the
policeman he saw you on your way to the
city a little while ago, and that he thought
the policeman would find you quickest by
going back.”

“A friendly lie, to save my _ bacon!’
thought Sam, realizing that Tripp was a
friend worth having, after all.

“T think he doubted it. But,you mustn’t
stop here any longer. The policeman may
come over any moment. He is suspicious,
because he knows that Mr. Ragsdale is very
anxious to hold you at liberty till after the
race.”

“J didn’t know but the trouble was about
the car that we took possession of. But I
guess Brayles didn’t want to get into the
business. The idea of accusing me of set-
ting fire to the barn! Why, I came within
an ace of getting cooked inside of it! I
don’t see how I can keep clear of the police,
though, unless I light out from this region
altogether.”

“Mr. Ragsdale said you must keep shady
through to-morrow, and then manage some
way to communicate with him.”

“Well, Ill try to manage it. But how
will he know where to find me, or how can
f come back here without knowing whether
the police are lying in wait for me or not ?”

Genie bent her brows a moment in
thought. Then she said :

“I will meet you at a place off this road
Monday morning, at an early hour.”

And the resolute girl mentioned a land-
mark which neither would be likely to mis-
take. They also agreed upon a signal to
guard against treachery.

“Tl have to,rough it round in the woods,
and live on roots and yarbs,” said Sam, with
a defiant grimace in the direction of the
stable, ‘ .

“T will leave some food for you at the
place we have named,” said Genie. ‘So
look out for it, and now make yourself
searce. There isn’t a moment to lose!
There! I fear you are too late !”

She pointed toward the stable, from

GooDp

which a man had just emerged. The man
was a burly fellow, and wore no uniform.
He carried a stout cane, and started ata
hurried pace toward the cottage.

Sam dodged quickly beyond an angle of
the dwelling. He had not thought that his
form would be visible at that distance, con-
cealed as he was by deep shadows. He was
not certain now that he had been seen, but
he could hear the heavy tread of the officer
approaching at a run.

Genie stood an instant with anxiously
clasped hands, until Sam passed from sight.
Then she turned to enter the house.

A heavy: hand fell upon her arm, and
forcibly turned her about, so that she was
compelled to meet the invincible gaze of
Sam’s pursuer,

‘Here, girl! where did the boy go? Tell
me straight !”

“JT don’t know where he went!
I live, I don’t know !”

‘He was here with you just now?”

Yes.”

“And you don’t know where he has gone?”

“T don’t know !”

“But you warned him ?
away, it is likely?”

“T warned him! I would have been a
pretty poor sort of friend if I hadn’t !” said
Genie, with a defiant flash.

“Very well—we'll settle with you later.
But you can’t prevent my catching the boy
—neither you nor that lying jockey of Rags-
dale’s, nor Ragsdale himself. So take care!”

With a parting frown upon Genie, the
burly officer started around the house at a
run, in the direction whither he was sure he
had seen Sam’s fleeting figure going a mo-
ment before.

Had there been place for concealment
close at hand Sam might easily have escaped,
without having been seen again by his pur-
suer. But there was onlya single shade-
tree near the cottage, and he had to cross a
broad open space before he could enter
friendly shadows.

He dared not run either up or: down the
road, for fear that flight might be cut off in
those directions. And hehad no time for
planning escape in the best manner,

Sam glanced backward and saw his foe
coming at a head-long pace. The officer
was heavy, but he was a good ranner. Sam
was gaining; but a hoarse shout from the
man impelled him to glance back again.

“Stop, or I'll shoot!’ was the command.

Sam kept on; but there was a sharp report
in his rear that told him of the dire purpose
of his pursuer.

“He may miss—or he might hit!” was
Sam’s reflection. They were too near each
other to make it a safe practice for the man
to empty the cylinder of his revolver after
the fugitive,

Yet he fired a second time, and Sam heard

the hiss of the bullet past his head.
“The brute !—he would kill me!” the boy
gasped. At the same’ time, as he looked
back at the burly, ununiformed figure which
was launching itself so furiously toward
him, a new and startling suspicion flashed
upon the mind of the young jockey.

“What if it is so?” he muttered, involun-
tarily slackening his pace.

The man noticed his action, and redoubled
his efforts to overtake the boy.

The brain of the latter, in the meanwhile,
was quite as lively as his legs. When the
new suspicion came to his mind he had
veered his course slightly, and was now
running in a wide curve which would bring
him out near to the stable.

He knew that Mr. Ragsdale was outside,
an eager witness of the race. ‘That Genie
North was an anxious watcher he felt
equally sure.

“If they see me making for the stable
they will think I’ve lost my wits,” thought
Sam. ‘Yet that is the point I’m going to
steer for, if that fellow will only spare his
bullets!”

The pursuer noticed his change of course,
and evidently thought himself certain of
his prey.

He still carried the weapon in his hand,
and still bent himself to the pursuit, but he
refrained from risking further shots.

Indeed, as Sam approached the stable,
and the officer was directly behind him,
with Mr. Ragsdale and the hostler standing
outside, the latter were directly in line, and
a shot from the policeman’s revolver would
have endangered them all. ¥ j

Sam no longer strained every nerve to)
outstrip his enemy. :

His mind was now fully made up. He
would run some risk to carry out his
scheme, yet he felt confident of success.

All depended upon the correctness of his
surmise, which came to him a few moments
before like an inspiration.

“Where are you going, Sam? Why didn’t
you keep on? Don’t come here—I can’t

True as

Told him to run

 

elp you!” exclaimed Ragsdale, as the boy

NEWS.

 

jockey halted at his side, and waited for the
officer to come up.

‘Stand where you are
what I’m about!” was
sponse.

The burly pursuer, well-nigh blown by
his effort, came up with a wheeze and a
muttered imprecation.

‘Here, boy, give yourself up!” he or-
dered, advancing upon our hero.

But Sam adroitly kept the person of his
employer betwixt the officer and himself,

“Not too fast, boss!’ Sam returned.
“Not,” he added, ‘till you show your
papers !”

The officer started, his eyes bulging with
anger and astonishment.

‘What do ye mean ?” he demanded.

“Just what I say. I want to know what
authority you have got for arresting me on
atrumped-up charge !”

“This !” growled the man, throwing back
the lapel of his coat, displaying his badge.

“That's tin—anybody can steal one!” was
the bold retort. And Mr. Ragsdale, until
this moment wholly at a loss to account for
Sam’s change of tactics, now bent a closer
scrutiny upon the face of the officer,

“Show your warrant, if you have one,”
said Mr. Ragsdale, and his eyes met those
of the burly officer with more of defiance
than he had yet thought of displaying.

“No need of that. I’m a regular officer
of the Springfield police. I was sent to
take that boy, and take him I will, if I have
to shoot him !”

Sam’s lips curled in anticipated triumph.
The man made another lunge toward him,
but the boy easily dodged around the inter-
vening form of his employer, so keeping
out of his reach.

“Wait just a minute, my hearty,” said
Sam.

“Get out of my way, you hoss-thief!”
cried the officer.

The latter seemed beside himself with
rage. Without warning, he flung his burly
figure upon Ragsdale, sweeping him from
his path at a stroke.

Then he leaped toward Sam !

(TO BE CONTINUED. )
oe
[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. ]

Captured at Sea;

oR,

DICK WILLARD’S STRANGE LUCK.
BY CLARENCE CONVERSE,
Author of “Dick Oakley's Adventures,” etc., ele.

and I'll show you
the breathless re-

eas acids
(“CAPTURED AT SEA” was commenced in No. 205.
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.)

GHAPTER XXXIX.

ALGEY PROPOSES.

as UT Nesbitt, although a good runner,
tt did not get far. He stumbled over
GF the remains of a half-decayed cask
ba which lay in the road, and before he
could rise, the constable had him once more
in charge, keeping a close watch now upon
his every movement.

“Come up to my room, Mr, Willard, and
you captain,” said Mr, Huntington, a little
later. Then he added, as he dropped his
hand on Dick’s shoulder in a friendly way:
“TI was greatly surprised to hear of the
yacht being found off among the Bahamas—
but to find that Richard Willard would turn
out to be the young second mate of the very
vessel we had been lying alongside of, and
whom Captain Briscoe had learned was lost
—well, it is almost as great a surprise as the
knowledge is that the gentleman just ar-
rested is the villainous thief of the yacht,”

Dick smiled.

‘Mr. Huntington,” he said, ‘you should
have swam out to what appeared to be a
strange vessel, in a strange island harbor,
and found her to be the very yacht that had
lain next to your schooner a thousand miles
away; and that an old acquaintance was
aboard her as her thief. I think you would
have done just about as I did--forget to
tread water and nearly choke yourself.”
| ‘Well,’ remarked the yacht’s owner, with
atone of deep relief, when the party had
entered his richly furnished suite, and he
crossed to a front window that commanded
the horbor, ‘‘she looks as clean and trim as
she did when she came off the marine rail-
way this spring. You seem to have picked
up a good crew.” E

He and Captain Briscoe looked decidedly
surprised when Dick remarked that his men

ere pick of the crew of the United
i ip Alliance, furnished him by the

 

courtesy of Captain Reed ; whose ship was
due in New York a week or so later.

Captain Briscoe insisted on hearing the
whole story of his experiences back from
the time of his supposed loss from the
Duchess. .

Which Dick recounted briefly, making as
little of the part he had played as possible-~
as was just like the unassuming fellow that
he was. But it was a story that was singu-
larly interesting to Captain Briscoe, that
you may easily guess.

For this was the first time he learned the
true cause of the Providential escape of his
vessel from the crew of the strange brig,
near the islands of the great Bahama group.

“My brave boy—my brave boy !” he said,
under his breath.

Though Dick gave no sign that he heard
this, profuse thanks could not have been so
grateful to him as the grave earnestness of
his frind’s words,

There were general exclamations of sur-
prise at his telling of the buried treasure.

“Dick,” said Captain Briscoe, heartily, as
he examined the doubloon the young fellow
here produced, ‘I swear I did think you
were joking outside, or else that your ad-
ventures had upset you a little up here,”
and he tapped his forehead. ‘But you will
have a good case, with that Chinaman to
swear to what you say. ‘To think that Dar-
rel Nesbitt has been living in the style he
has here—on your money !’

And then Captain Briscoe told in detail
of that rascal’s extravagances.

“My boy,” he went on, “I can’t tell you
how badly we felt when I got news of your
loss at New Providence from shippers who
had seen Captain Joyce. By the way, young
Baker, who started to take the voyage, left
us there and returned on a mail steamer—
for which I was heartily glad.”

And Dick, for some reason, felt very
much pleased at this news.

“His father hasn’t built that wonderful
house,” Captain Briscoe continued, ‘‘and
I’ve just heard he sold the place ey

“Ah!” was Dick’s unconscious interrup-
tion.

Captain Briscoe eyed him curiously.

“You haven't heard to whom?” Dick
asked,

“Well, no ; Hans couldn’t say.

Before the yacht sailed from Nassau, Cap-
tain Reed had, offered to give a Boston law-
yer friend authority to buy back the old
Willard place for Dick, accepting as security
the reward Dick had coming to him; hence,
the young fellow’s present interest.

Dick had made a good friend in the cap-
vain. For it was after thoroughly question-
ing the young sailor that Captain Reed had
shrewdly guessed pretty nearly the true
state of affairs, and drawn a correct estimate
of Baker Bros., of Beacon Cove. The hints
in the captain’s letter were all that his legal
friend required ; and now the old place was
once more Dick’s, though he had as yet re-
ceived no authentic notification of its trans-
fer, having requested the lawyer to address
him at the Cove. And steps were being
taken to enable the young fellow the chance
to choose a new guardian, if he so cared.
So we see there were some surprises in
store for our hero, as well as those he gave
his friends.

“I was going to offer you a place on the
Lurline,” said Mr. Huntington, “but,” he
added, with an amused look, ‘‘a young man
with about one hundred and fifty thousand
dollars in prospect would be hardly likely to
accept a berth on a pleasure craft at twenty
dollars a month.”

“I think I scarcely earned that last
money,” was Dick’s response. ‘lt would
have——”

“Nonsense! I was about to tell of the
Lurline’s capture when you came toward us.
If I had, the gentleman of the large watch-
chain would have excused himself grace-
fully on hearing it, packed his trunks, and
silently stolen away. I say you did ¢arn it!”

And to this assertion Mr. Huntington held
firmly.

Captain Briscoe rose suddenly.

“Dick, I must take you down to the
house! Jessie’ll be more than glad to see
you !” he exclaimed, heartily. ‘Come along.
Mr. Huntington’ll excuse us.”

Dick was conscious of a right prickly sen-
sation of color mounting to his cheeks at
this, and he said that he would be pleased
to go there, or something else as grossly
stiff and unlike Dick Willard, who gener-
ally had some easy answer at his tongue’s
end.

“Of course I'll excuse you!” was Mr.
Huntington’s response. ‘That is, until to-
night, when we will attend to a little matter
of business.” j
Captain Briscoe and Dick were the center
of puzzled, interested and astonished

 

glances, as they walked down the street
toward the town. For some people had —

 
GooDp

NEWS.

S468

 

 

heard the strange news of Dick’s return,
others recognized him, while yet others won-
dered who the trimly-attired young fellow
could be who was talking so earnestly with
their townsman.

But when Dick reached the gate of the
white cottage which was the captain’s shore
home, he paused.

“Perhaps I ought to let you go in first,”
he suggested.

“It might startle Jess? You needn’t
worry about that, Dick, my boy,” said Cap-
tain Briscoe, and he sprang the latch.. ‘For
some reason Jessie has held out all along
that you would come back some time, though
the rest of us gave you up. I’ve got to
run down to the chandlery ; I'll be back in
a few minutes.” And Captain Briscoe
started off briskly.

Dick hesitated a moment. Then, with a
singular throbbing in his deep breast, he
walked up the porch steps and knocked
lightly at the door, which swung slowly in-
ward

“©-c-come yin,” the cracked voice of Billy
called from his cage by the window, as of
old. ;

But seeing no one in the little reception-
room or dining-room, into which the -hall
opened, and catching the glimpse of the
skirt of a blue sailor dress through the lat-
tice of a little arbor in the yard, Dick crossed
over toward it.

If Dick had thought he would find some
one-a young gentleman—in Jessie’s com-

-pany, itis doubtful if he would have in-
truded himself upon her, at least so hur-
riedly as he walked down the path toward
the arbor.

If Algernon Baker had thought for a
moment that any one would be liable to ap-
pear on the walk leading toward the arbor
at that particular time, it is not doubtful at
all whether he would have, after an awk-
ward silence of some moments, drawn his
silk handkerchief from his pocket, spread
it on the arbor floor at pretty Jessie Bris-
coe’s feet, and before she was well aware of
what his intentions were, dropped upon his
knees upon it, his right hand pressed

- against the left breast of his light cutaway.

But nevertheless this did occur, as unfor-

_ tunate happenings do sometimes.

“Miss—aw—Miss Briscoe! Jessie ! I cast
my—aw—self— and—-aw—aw—my fortune
at your——”

It was a form of proposal Algernon had
seen somewhere in a novel or upon the
stage. And-in the earnest quaver of Mr.
Baker's voice it was very effective —as far
as it went. But it died away in a hollow

asp.

“Why, Dick!”

Jessie Briscoe had sprung to her feet, and
both her hands were in Dick’s grasp.

“It is you, Dick !” she exclaimed, gladly.

Then her eyes filled with happy tears.

It might not have been necessary for
Dick to have passed his arm around her
waist in order to sooth her ; thongh the au-
dacious fellow did so, and Algey saw, in a
dazed sort of way, that pretty Jessie did not
draw off from him.

Algey disappeared through the little side
gate in too unnerved a condition to even
take his silk handkerchief with him, leaving
Jessie still in Dick’s arms.

CHAPTER XL.
THE, LAST LEAF.

7 OU can imagine Captain Joyce's sur-

4, prise as, when the Duchess entered

Beacon Cove a week after Dick’s ar-

rival, his young second mate was

among the first to greet him. ‘Dick, got

up t’ beat Solomon in all his glory!” was
the genial captain’s excited ejaculation.

But then Mr. Darrel Nesbitt’s share of

the buried treasure, or rather the bonds,

etc., now representing it, had come into the

possession of the rightful owner, thanks to.

the evidence which had been given by noless
an individualthan the bland-countenanced,
Sing. And now Dick was dressing himself
as is proper that the possessor of a bank
account of a trifle over two hundred thou-
sand dollars should—to make a rough guess
at these financial matters, when Mr. Hun-
tington’s rewards were amassed with Dick’s
other capital.

“Well,” said Captain Joyce, brightening
up considerably at the news of all this,
“well, well, well, I never! But, [ tell you
what, I was just knocked out when you
turned up missin’, lad!  Yon’ve got to
come aboard the Dutchey an’ give me the
whole yarn. You see, I sailed to the island
an’ found some one had been there ahead of
me, ' ut I never thought it was you !”

Dick linked his arm through the captain’s.

“No, we'll talk it over up at the house,”
he exclaimed, warml:.

“There goes Mr. Dick Willard ; he’s more

 

of a real gentleman than that young Baker'll
ever be,” admiringly observed one of the
storekeepers.

This was not a most gratifying snatch of
comment for the young man in the latest
English topcoat, don’tcherknow, to hear as
he was approaching around the corner ; but
it at least gave him time to suddenly re-
volve as on a pivot and retreat to a back
street.

Dick and Captain Joyce continued up the
street, and, turning at the common, took
the familiar road toward ‘‘the light.”

That evening there was a happy gather-
ing in the old Willard place ; Captain Bris-
coe and Jessie coming over at Dick's urgent
invitation, and if they did talk quitea time
after ten o’clock—well, it is not to be won-
dered at, is it?”

Captain Briscoe was now Dick’s newly
appointed executor—Mr. A. Baker having
resigned that trust, ‘on account of his ex-
cess of other legal business,” his brother
explained. Dick was closing the arrange-
ments in Boston for a fine vessel, rated by
Lloyd as Al ; so that Captain Briscoe had
taken Mr. Baker's announcement quite
coolly, that he should have to look to some
other quarter for a command, from thence
on.

Gordon and Sanders had not been heard
from (nor haye they been, up to the date of
this present writing); but Dick felt that he
could hardly miss their shares of the buried

treasure in his change of fortune ; and he | |
e ¢ | Jones through the mouth of a twelve- |

was firm and unyielding when he reckoned
up and counted out a fourth of his capital
as Captain Joyce’s share in the venture.
Nor was Sing forgotten.

What was even more considerate, he man-
ifested his appreciation of the one regard
his father’s friends had shown him in his
days of need, by insisting that Captain
Joyce and Captain Briscoe, with Jessie,
should make his home their shore home ;
while he bestowed scanty esteem on the
numerous new friends that had come with
his newly acquired wealth—which was his
father all over again.

But my task is finished. What the future
has in store for the different parties of this
story is not for me to attempt to foretell.

Perhaps, however, I should say here, as
Nesbitt’s due, that though he acknowledges
that Gordon, Sanders and he had used the
old canoe Dick found, in which to escape,
he would say nothing more that might give
so much as a hint to the further movements
of his companions.

But I have reached the last page of my
young friend’s journal. And now, to be
consistent, it is only just that I should write
the words : °

(THE END.)

Oe

A FAMOUS SEA-FIGHT.

— ae

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY,

eg i

T is from the ranks of the humbler
I classes, quite as often as from the
children of fortune, that heroes have
come forth to challenge the admira-
tion of the world. Paul Jones is an ex-
ample of this. Humbly born, and without
any other influence than his own indom-
itable energy of character, he worked his
way upward to a position as command-
ing in the annals of history as that of the
most renowned naval captain the world
has produced,

His early experience as a sailor was
gained in that questionable service, the
slave trade, as carried on by the English.

The disgusting trade between the coast
of Africa and the West Indies was soon
abandoned by the ambitious young sailor,
as repugnant to all his notions of human-
ity, and he came to this country to seek
his fortune in more congenial pursuits.
He found himself in Philadelphia in 1775,
at the time when Congress resolved to
organize an infant navy, and, with a
chivalrous longing for glory, he enthusi-
astically espoused the American cause,
offering his services to the struggling
government. - .

His offer was accepted, and, being com-
missioned, he soon exhibited extraordi-
nary powers as a commander, while his
success upon the ocean was truly marvel-
ous; a fact which may be fully realized
by the result of a single cruise of forty-
seven days, during which brief period he
tcok sixteen valuable prizes, of which he
destroyed eight, and sent eight safely
into port, with prize crews. One of his
captures at this time afforded ten thou-
sand suits of clothes, worth to the coun-
try at that time more than could be well
estimated, *

But the crowning event of Paul Jones’
life as a brave and daring commander
was his capture of the British ship-of-
war Serapis, an achievement which was
solely due to his brilliant display of all
the qualities of a great naval captain.

 

This remarkable sea-fight occurred in the
latter part of September, 1778, off Flam-
borough Head, so near the coast of Eng-
land that the shore was lined by an ex-
cited multitude of lookers-on during the
battle.

The American ship was a rotten old
merchantman, which had been imper-
fectly fitted up for fighting purposes,
with a poor and mixed crew, indifferent
armament, and was nearly unseaworthy.
Captain Jones had named his ship the
Bon Homme Richard—the Good Man
Richard. In this old hulk, Paul Jones
fellin with the new and well-found ship-
of-war of forty-four guns, the Serapis.

The British ship was acting as a convoy
to a fleet of Englishmen, all of whom fled
for shelter to the nearest port, while the
Serapis bore up to attack the Bon Homme
Richard. Knowing the superior arma-
ment and character generally of his
enemy, Paul Jones considered that his
only hope was in close action, and, if
possible, to carry the Serapis by board-
ing.

It was a serene and beautiful evening
when the two ships cleared their decks
for action. While the vessels slowly ap
proached each other by the power of the
light evening breeze, there was ample
time for reflection among the combatants.
The ships were steering a nearly paral-

| everywhere except
|fought, more than a hundred prisoners
| at large in his ship, his crew half of them

| Captain Pearson looked about him.

 

lel course, but all the while edging
nearer and nearer to each other, until
presently there came a hoarse hail from
the British ship, demanding: “What ship
is that?” which was answered by Paul |

pounder aimed by his own hand, and |
which sent a solid shot plump into the
hull of the Serapis. This was the open-
ing of the fight, both ships firing a broad-
side within the next thirty seconds,

Two of the Richard’s eizghteen-pounders
burst at , the first broadside, killing sev-
eral of the crew and tearing up a portion
of the déck. The ships both held nearly
on their course, delivering and receiving
broadsides, once or twice fouling and
freeing themselves again, until finally
they came broadside to broadside, and
Paul Jones ordered the grapnels thrown,
and himself assisted to lash them to-
gether, though, as it afterward appeared,
they had fouled in such a manner as to
fasten themselves,

Jones attempted, with forty or fifty
men, to board the Serapis, but was gal-
lantly repulsed by superior numbers, and
having again reached his quarter-deck,
Captain Pearson of the British ship hailed
him, asking:

“Has your ship struck?”

To which Jones replied :

“Struck! I have not yet begun to fight !”

The firing now recommenced with fresh
fury from the starboard side of each ship,
as their’ bows headed in opposite direc-
tions, though they were lashed together.

The effect of this cannonade was terri-
ble, the rammers entering the ports of the
opposite ship when in the act of load-
ing, and every shot went either through
the decks or lodged in the ship’s hull,
while hand-to-hand fights took place at
the open ports, and every now and then a
man, shot or cut down, would tumble
lifeless into the sea,

The Richard had received several shots
below the water-line, and was therefore
leaking badly. The superior armament of
the Serapis had enabled Captain Pearson
to silence all the lower battery of the
Richard, and the only guns now fired
from her were the nine-pounders on the
.quarter-deck which Paul Jones himself
aimed and worked.

One of these guns was served with
double-headed shot, and directed at the
Serapis’ mainmast, while the other two
were loaded with grape and canister to
clear the enemy’s deck. Below, the fight
was in favor of the British ship, where
her battery was in good working order,
but on deck the crew of the Richard had
the best of the fight, having driven the
enemy below, almost to a man.

Paul Jones now sent some men with
hand-grenades aloft, which they dropped
into the open hatch of the Serapis, burn-
ing and wounding her crew fearfully.

Both ships were on fire at this junc-
ture, but the Ricbard was burning in
three places. Captain Pearson now gath-
ered half a hundred of his men together,
and attempted to board the Richard, but
his movements were anticipated by Jones,
who, loading one of the nine-pounders
rapidly with grape-shot, waited for the
onslaught, and after firing it into the
ranks of the boarders, rushed forward
with a score of men, and drove the enemy
back upon his own deck, slippery with

gore.

The battle raged on.

Jones had on board nearly two hundred
prisoners taken in previous captures, apd
these men, having been released from con-
finement, were ordered to the pumps, and
worked to save the Richard from sink-
ing, as the water was gaining upon the
ship constantly.

While all was clamor and noise about

 

him, the captain of the Richard stood
undismayed, and still poured in the fatal

fire from his three quarter-deck guns,
aimed by his own hands. Every one who
showed his head above the hatches of the
Serapis lost his life instantly, while
those terrible hand-grenades were kept
dropping into the hold of the English
ship, where they did frightful exeeu-
tion.

One would have thought the situation
of Jones at that moment hopeless, with
a sinking ship, his batteries silenced
where he himself

and more lying dead or disabled, and fire
raging all about him, But still he stood
undismayed and fought on.

Captain Pearson is said to have ex-
claimed at this juncture: “Is it a man or
a demon we are fighting?”

Still boomed away those promptly
served three guns upon the Richard’s
quarter-deck; still came the fatal hand-
grenades down the Serapis’ hold; the
mainmast of the British ship is even now
swaying and ready to go by the board,
cut through and through by the double-
headed shot aimed by Jones’ own hand.
Over
seventy of his crew lay bleeding, and
fully as many more had been killed out-
right or died during the action.

The guns of the Serapis began to
slacken, her crew were exhausted, her

| officers discouraged, and she was on fire

in three different places. Her commander
was a brave man, but he dared not con-
tinue the fight longer, and at last re-
luctantly struck his flag.

Paul Jones then ceased firing, blandly
remarking:

“Well, I thought we should both go
to the bottom together, but it is much
better, thus.”

He sent the first lieutenant of the
Richard on board the Serapis, and Cap-
tain Pearson and his officers were ordered
promptly on board the American ship,
where Pearson surrendered himself to
his captor, '

Here occurred a memorable scene. The
captain of the British ship was no match
in point of courtesy for Jones, and said
to him that it was painful for him -to
deliver up his sword to a man who had
fought with a halter round his neck.

Paul Jones did not forget himself, but
replied to this surly speech with a com-
pliment, which necessarily reverted to
himself:

“Sir, you have fought like a hero, and
I make no doubt but your sovereign will
reward you in a most ample manner.”

This farnous and most bloody action
had continued without cessation for three
hours and a half. ,

As the sun rose on the following morn-
ing, Paul Jones went on board his prize,
and raised the Stars and Stripes over her,
While a porticn of the survivors of his
crew, joined by the prisoners, were busy
in removing the wounded on board the
Serapis, others were actively putting the
ship in order. The prisoners were so
numerous on board the Richard that they
rose and tried to take the ship and head
her for the English shore. But they had
a dashing hero to deal with in Paul
Jones; who shot down half a dozen, and
drove as many more overboard, and order
was restored.

A jury mainmast was soon erected unon
the Serapis, and with nearly five hundred
prisoners Jones prepared to make the
nearest neutral port.

He was anxious to keep the Richard
afloat, and to bring her also into harbor.
But the sea was already running in and
out of her ports, and swashing up her
hatchways, notwithstanding that so large
a number of hands were kept at the
pumps. It became evident that the Bon
Homme Richard must be given up, and
Jones watched her almost with tears in
his eres, for 4 true sailor ever loves his
ship. :

“A little after ten,” says Jones, in his
official report. “I saw with inexpressible
grief, the last glimpse of the Bon Homme
Richard.” 4

She went down bows foremost.

The Serapis was in every respect a first-
class line-of-battle ship, with a crew, on
going into action, numbering nearly one
hundred more than the Richard, while
she was also superior in number of guns
and weight of metal. A stout ship, built!
for war purposes, and equipped in the
most perfect manner by the first naval
power in the world.

On the contrary, the Richard was orig-
inally a merchantman, worn out by long
use, and roften from age. She was fitted
out in a makeshift manner, with what-
ever refuse guns and material could be
hastily procured, and-at the least possi-
ble expense, the means of those supply-
ing her being of the most circumscribed
character. *

To Paul Jones alone is due _ the credit
of the remarkable victory. He took his
ship into action in the most gallant style,
cad while he commanded her with con-
summate skill, he excited his followers
by his personal bravery and self-abnega-
tion.

 
 

 

GOOD

NEWS.

 

    

St. STORES: Prog every. OUAREER”
ISSUED WEEKLY.

 

EW YORK, JUNE 30, 1894.

Terms to Good News Mail Subscribe

 

(POSTAGE I'REE.)

Bmonths - - - = -
4inonths - - - - -
6months - - - -_-&
Goop Nrws AND N. Y. W
How 'vo MONEY.
mouey or let

  
  

> $2.50
- 4.10

 

   
 
 
  

   

 

post-office or }

wD
check or dratt, |

    
 
 
  
   
 

|
‘The number ed |
when your subscription ¢ I
will be stopped promptly at expire

  

{ECE -Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged
by proper change of nuniber on your label. If not cor
rect you have not been properly credited, cau showld let
y at once.
Clu Rats
s to aia y
d —Our responsibility fc
3 such as are sent to ns direct, ¢
guarantee the reliability of any sub
or postmaster.

All letters should be addressed to
STREET & SMITIVS GOOD NEWS,
27 & 29 Rose Street, N.Y.

 

     
  
 

 

rrs.— Upon request we will send sam-
0 in Obtainin 3

   
 
 
 

 

Back unmbers of GOOD YS can always be
obtained from your Newsdealers.
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 N umber. :

pacts

SERIAL STORIES.
“Among the Gypsies,” by John H, Whit-

“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.

“A Famous Sea-Fight,” by Lieutenant
Murray. ji

“To Prevent Drowning.”

«A ‘Town Boy,’” by Will Lisenbee.

«Something About Columbian Stamps.”

‘Moving the Jury.”
REGULAR DEPARTMENTS.

“Short Valks With the Boys,” by Arthur,
Sewall,

“‘Vicklets,” by Chas. W. Foster.

“Mail . Bag,” ‘“Mixchange Department,”
“Club Notices,” ete.

 

BOYS, ATTENTION!

That you may know the

Feast in store for you.

esketitb cameentegi

WILL SHORTLY APPEAR!

A splendid story of the Revolutionary
War, full of fighting and deeds of heroism,
entitled,

Scouts of the Swamp Fox;

OR,

THE ROUGH RIDERS OF THE PEDEE.

=————__~<—@:

Tom TRUXTON AGAIN!

 

 

All who have read ‘“Tom Truxton’s ScHoor-
pays” will be delighted to learn that the cap-
tivating writer, Harvey Hicks, is now com-
pleting a serial depicting Tom’s adventures
on the briny deep. It is overflowing with
fun and mystéry, and you are sure to like it.

—_———_—--o-->
Keep a sharp eye for new features and

|

if they do not}

 

tell your friends about them,

| TO PREVENT DROWNING.

Qs

ay F you are swimming in the breakers,
‘TF reflect that the approaching wave,
cit which suddenly looks so high, will
S certainly lift you to its height before
the foamy comber breaks about your ears,
And when the passing wave sinks be-
neath your falling body, have no fear
that you will be swallowed in the watery
abyss. Nothing more exhausts an ocean

; Swimmer than useless efforts to climb an

}approaching mountain of water, or to
|

float downward more slowly than the re-
ceding wave. You can have your sport
with the sea, if you will humor it and
let it have its fun with you. But to pit
your puny arms against the Atlantic’s
heavings is to violate the first rules of
the game, and pay forfeit, perhaps, with
life. The same rule of acquiescence has
saved many a man in a tideway, and will
save many more. “Perhaps in your joint
excess of caution and pride of strength
you have dived from your boat against
the tide, never doubting that you can get
back again. But perhaps your sub-
merged body is swept along with a force
you never suspected, and when you have
cleared your nostrils and set your face
for your backward swim, you suddenly

find the water stronger than you. Per-
haps you are alone, or your boat is
anchored, as a swiminer’s boat never

should be, Now, if you lose your head,
you will presently lose your breath. But
think; though you cannot swim a yard
against a tidal torrent, you can swim,
perhaps, a mile with it, and the case is
nard, indeed, if, within that distance you
cannot find some source of safety.

These are thoughts for the more or less
skillful, who perhaps need them most
from the positions in which they place
themselves, and who are not incapaci-
tated from thinking for theimgelves by
bewildering and unfamiliar conditions.

son. pene wholly inexperienced, it is quite cer-

tain, can do no thinking in the water, If
any usetul counsel could be addressed to
them, it would amount to the same as
that for a swimmer—humor the water.
The water will float very nearly all
women and most men in such a position
that they can breathe, if the limbs are
allowed to sink. But the arms can only
be thrust higher than the head at the
cost of submerging the nose. In exactly
the same way, if one edge of a_life-pre-
server be depressed, its mass will turn’as
on a pivot and the opposite edge will
rise without giving much increase of
floating power. Just as nearly the whole
body must be subinerged to elevate the
nose, so a life-preserver must be wholly
depressed to give its greutest floating
power, Therefore a plank or log should
be grasped at its middle and not at its
end; but, on the other hand, a boat
should be seized at the stern instead of

the middle, unless the object be to rol]

its gunwales under and fill it.

These thoughts are obvious to common-
placeness, yet people are more often
drowned from ignorance of such simple
things, or from neglect of knowledge of
them, than from anything mysterious.
For instance, wherever there is surf,
there is undertow, which is’ merely the
backward rush of water above which an
in-coming wave -piles itself, only to be-
come undertow itself in turn when the
next wave tumbles in. Doubtless, some-
times rocks or shoals make an invincible
eurrent. Noone should bathe in such a
spot. But the undertow of a’ tolerabte
bathing beach is strongest in shallow
water. When people are drowned there,
they nearly always simply venture be-
yond their depth and cannot fairly be
said fo be dragged to sea. Such simple
suggestions as these ought rot to be
necessary, and would never be offered
were it not for repeated object lessons of
their necessity. Swimming is such an
easy and delightful accomplishment, and
water is so necessary a vart of every
pleasuring, that not to know how to
swim is almost to invite drowning. Timid
parents might well reflect whether it be
better policy to teach their children to
swim, or to deny them great pleasure at
the cost, perhaps, of death when least
suspected.

—— > 6 + —__-

IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR

PARENTS, -

 

An economical father asks :

“How can I prevent my little boy from
wearing out the knees of his pants ?”

That conundrum has been before the
world eyer since Eve asked Adam the same
thing about young Cain. We only know
three sure ways: You can kill the boy, or
yoti can make his pants withont any knees ;
but perhaps the best way would be to get
some little boy about the same size to wear
the knees out, if you have such objections
to your own boy’s doing it,

——__.6- 6-

THERE are 2,754 languages,

(oy

SHORT fALKS ===

 

Fo

       

WITH A Boys.

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL,

ASK QUESTIONS,

\ GREAT many people who have
s a got hold of a little property in

5 some way seem to be afraid of or
e“~ frightened by what is their own.
They are like a certain man mentioned in
the New Testament.
intrusted to him a talent—which was a
pleasing sum of money—this man at once
began to think of the risks and bothers

 

of handling money so as to increase it, so |
he wrapped the money in a napkin and |}

hid it away in the ground. Then camea
very unpleasant day of reckoning for that
man, as there will for you, if you do not
persist in handling your belongings to
the best advantage,

There is scarcely any kind of riches but
can take wings and fly aviay. Lazy peo-
ple of means are fond of investing in
land, because, as they say, it can’t burn
up, or run away, or be stolen,

  

in the hands of a’ careless or stupid
owner,

There are a good many methods of learn-
ing your business, whatever it may be,
and some of them that best would suit
you may be out of your reach, but the
old, original, all-round method, suited
to any a

 

questions,

In spite of all improved method of
teaching, the asking of questions is to
this day the most direct method of learn-
ing—for any one who really wants to
learn.

It doesn’t cost a cent, and there is no
end to the number of teachers of whose
knowledge you may wake use,

It is the one means of education which
the best educated persons never cease to
use, ‘There are some self-satisfied people
who never ask questions, except about
some matter of gossip or scandal, but you
will find that all the smartest lawyers,
doctors, preachers, inventors, mechanics,
college men, West Point graduates, the
greatest statesmen, the most wily politi-
cians, the shrewdest traders, are always
asking questions.
they have learned, they
enough,

never

Newspaper men who interviewed Jay

Gould say th t with all his knowledge of
railroads and the stoek-market, he al-
ways managed to ask a question or two
that showed he thought there was more
worth knowing. ‘These interviewers say
there are plenty of other smart feliows
who ask enough questions to get a great
deal more than they give.

Next to having sense enough to dis-
cover what you need to know, it is im-
pores to know how to ask for informa-
ion.

If you think that questioning is going
to relieve you of the labor of thinking,
you are booked for some big disappoint-
ments.

People will answer the thoughtless

[questions of a child for an hour at a

time, and think it fun, but they won’t
endure the thoughtlessness of a man or
woman five minutes,

“Think before you speak,” is one of the
wisest of the old sayings that the world
has kept in use; and it never is more im-
portant than when you are asking ques-
tions relating to your business.

If mere chatter did any good, monkeys
and parrots would be the wisest and
richest beings alive; on the other hand,
the fox, who seldom opens his head ex-
cept to take in something, is generally
wiser than a whole pack of dogs, as well
as equally larger pack of dudes, who con-
stitute the tail of the procession,

We shall have more on this subject in
our next issue.

Now, let us see what our letters have
to say.

Sota pass

C.F. J. W., New York, writes: “I am 18 years
old and have been going to evening school for
the last three months, learning book-keeping,
but T would like to be something better than a
book-keeper. [ have a plan,which is as follows:
I think by studying from text-books for about
two years would be long enough to prepare for
college. By that time T can save enough to pay
for tuition fees, and by the aid of book-keeping
and doing odd jobs after school hours I could
get enough money to pay for ny board. Now,
would you please give me a little advice about
the above? Can you give me an idea what are
the expenses of a college student, and Gan you
inform me of other ways that a college student
can make money ?”

We think you show a level head in
turning your attention to something else
than book-keeping, Not but that the

 

commercial world needs book-keepers,

 

When his employer |

But even |
real estate can lose some of its value, if |

ge, calling, or condition, is at}
your service at any time; it is to ask |

 

| go to the high school. I

No matter how much |
know |

 

and always will need them, but because

there are too few openings in this line for
the countless young men looking for
openings,

A college education is always an excel-
lent thing, and once you have such an
education no one can take it away from
you. Get that education by all means,

A college education at such an institu-
tion as the College of the City of New
York does not cost much, the main ex-
pense being for books, etc. At other col-
leges the rates run froma hundred dollars
per yearup. Write to the difierent college
superintendents for particulars.

Young men preparing for colleges, and
those going through such institutions,
often earn money by teaching boys, by
writing for papers, by working in stores,
by peddling books, et«., by waiting at
seaside resorts, and in a hundred and one
other ways,

Turn your hand to anything which is
honest and brings in the needed cash.

W. C., Worce8ter, Mass., writes: ‘What
would you advise? I go to school, but have
been working in a leather shop where they
make saddles, bags, ete., but I would like to
be a surveyor and civil engineer. I cannot
afford to go to school any longer. How can |
learn it? What are the wages? Is it healthy
for all average hoy ?’ e

 

As youw cannot afford to enter one of
the technical schools, the best plan is to
secure employment in some office, or with
an active surveyor, and so acquire a
practicai knowledge of the subject. Many
of the best engineers in the country began
their careers by following this course.

Keep on the lookout for some such op-
portunity, and grasp it when it comes.
Meanwhile, learn all you can in the line
of mathematics and draughtsmanship.
There are several works on surveying and
civil engineering which, as you progress,
will be found indispensable, and a con-
scientious study of them will be of the
utmost service.

The salary will depend upon your abil-
ity and faithfulness, as indeed it does in
all branthes of work. It is, perhaps, safe
to say that, as a clerk in a civil engin-
eer’s office, you would receive the first
year $3 a week and upward; the second
year, $5 to $8, and so on. The emolu-
ments of a first-class engineer are large,
from’ $10,000 to $30,000 a year.

We should say the work was decidedly
healthy.

NeW HAVENER, Connecticut, writes: “TI am
sixteen years of age, and last April 1 began to
was thinking of
studying tor a lawyer, but lately T thonght I
would like to go to West Point. Which do you
think is the best, and tell about what age do
boys enter West Point and what do they be
examined on?”

  
 

There is a wide difference in more
ways than one, between the two profes-
sions. If you have connections who can
help you, the law would probably be the
best for you. It is somewhat difficult to
obtain an appointment for West Point.
To enter you will have to apply to your
Congressman ; each Congressionai District
and Territory, also the District of Col-
umbia, is entitled to have one represen-
tative at the academy. The President,
besides, can make ten appointments, but
these are usually given to sons of army
officers.

A candidate must be between the ages

| of seventeen and twenty-two, at least five

feet in height, and a citizen of the United
States,

He must possess the necessary physical
requirements, and pass an examination
in reading, spelling, arithmetic, geogra-
phy, history, and grammer. In all of
these branches, the knowledge has to be
pretty thorough.

We shall shortly publish a series of
articles which will] give full information
on this and kindred points.

J. T, Hayes, Brookline, Mass., writes: ‘I
write you for a little advice on a subject which
is of vital importance to me. I am 18 years old
and-have worked one year and a half at car-
nage-trimming; but last summer, finding my-
self out of work, and it being impossible to
find the same, I found a job af upholstering. it
being almost a kindred trade. I have worked
since then at that business, and am ar present
in a quandary to know whether to continue at
my present or former business, Any informa-
tion from you through the medium of your col-
umns would be most gladly received and prob-
ably decide the course for me to pursue, as I
have not worked at either trade long enough
to learn the ups and downs.’’ ,

We think upholstering is a better trade
than carriage-trimming, and, other things
being panes we should advise the former.
It is a fact not very widely known, that
in comparison with skilled workmen im
the other trades, there are very few good
upholsterers in the country. An uphol-
sterer, who thoroughly understands his
business, can always command a good
salary, perhaps a third more than cana
carriage-trimmer who is equally good in
his line.

 

_SpEcIAL Noticr.—Many communica-
tions, improperly addressea to this de-
eons are answered in the “Mail
ag.

4

 

y

#

 

  

  
  
  
  

 

cent faiteljc aie tS

 

 

 

-

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

   

 

     
 

Good

(This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.]

Dee DUP Loi VERO,

OR;

THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WHITE HORSE MINE.

BY HARRY DANGERFIELD.

(“THE BOY FROM THE WEST” was conimenced in No. 215,
N

Back numbers can be obtained of all

News Agents. }

CHAPTER VII.
WALTER'S DOWNFALL.

tAS N angry snarl broke from the lips of

Ae

  

Stone grasp the bit of the horse
nearest him.
“No, you don’t!”
As he ground the words through his teeth,

his whip cut the air

YeXt the fugitive thief, as he saw Bart

horses, and men seemed all mixed together
in a struggling mass.

Policemen *rushed forward and grasped
the horses, and a great crowd seemed to
spring from the ground and surround the
spot in a moment,

Bart Stone came rushing up and literally
tore his way through the throng.
“Whar is he?” was his cry.

roped him ?”

 

 

again, scoring on the
horse’s back. At the
same moment he gave
a strong surge on one
rein, literally hurling
both animals to the
right and against the
creature bestrode by
the boy.

It was a desperate
move, and, for a mo-
ment, the result that
followed appeared like
a tragedy.

Bart's horse was sent
to the ground in a heap
with astounding sud-
denness, and it seemed, |
the boy from the West
must be hurled to the
stones and instantly
killed or maimed for
life. Indeed, had he
been an ordinary lad
who had learned to ride
a horse at riding school,
no matter how well he
had acquired the art, a
serious catastrophe
could not’ have been
averted.

Bart Stone, however,
was not an oridnary lad,
and he had not learned
to ride at a school. He
was from the plains
and mountains, and the
cowboys of the Kansas
ranches had taught him
to ride at highest speed
across the prairies,
where there are gopher-
holes and the burrows
of prairie dogs, into
which the leg of a gal-
loping horse may drop
at any moment.

One of the things he
had learned was to be
ready for a horse to fall
beneath him at any
time. Indeed, in his
spare moments, he had
trained his own horse
to drop at a signal, al-
lowing him to shoot
over its head.

No one can tell when
knowledge and skill
thus acquired may |
prove of inestimable
value to him; and it
was certainly worth a
great deal to Bart just
then, for it enabled him to leap over the
head of the falling horse and strike lightly
on his feet, unharmed.

The cab thundered on, and, as the dis-
mounted boy had no time to discover if the
horse were injured, he pursued it on foot,
shouting to a policeman down the street to
stop the thief.

The officer ran out and made a feeble at-
tempt to check the horses, but he thought
too much of his life to get in the way of
actual danger.

A large crowd of people were now rush-
ing along the street in pursuit of the flying
cab, with Bart in the van, although the boy
had begun to fear the desperate thief would
make his escape.

As Third avenue was reached, for all of
the skill of the driver on the cab, a collision
occurred. A heavy truck was in the way,
and a forward wheel of the cab locked with
a rear wheel of the truck.

Then followed a crash and a smash-up of

=;
al

   

——

 

the most startling nature, for the truck, cab,

“WHAT'S YOUR ANSWER?”

 

    
  
 
 
  

EAGERLY ASKED THE
TORE THE

“Tt’s all right,” assured a man, ‘They
have the horses safe.” :

‘Hang the hawses!” shouted the boy.
“Whar’s the man as was driving them ?”

No one seemed to know, and Bart looked
in vain for the slippery thief. The fellow
had apparently escaped injury and vanished |
in the crowd when it gathered around.

The boy from the West was almost dis-
tracted.

“Tl give a hundred dollars spot cash to
know whar the varmint has gone!” he cried,
wildly. ;

‘What's the matter with yer?” coarsely
asked one of the policemen. ‘Who was the
bloke, anyway ?” 5

‘A thief!” replied Bart, fiercely,
erable, sneaking thief !”

“What'd -he stole ?”

‘“Stocks—shares—certificates—the White
Hawse Mine! He did it in the Fifth Ave-
nue Hotel! That’s how he happened to be

“A mis-

“Have you |

SCHEMING
PAPER INTO

 

drivin’ like a whole bunch of steers on the
stampede, I was after him,” ;

NEWS. :

Then it came about that a dozen people
in the crowd suddenly declared that they
had seen the man go in as many different
directions, and Bart realized there was no
possible way to determine which course the
rascal had chosen,

This was another. terrible rebuff, seeming
all the heavier because he had so nearly
placed his hands on the coveted shares. He
ground his teeth, and his face wore a stern,
hard look that told how thoroughly aroused
was his nature.

“The mine rightfully belongs to my

mother, and [ll have them yar shares yet !”
was his thought. ‘“Vve bought them fair
and squar’, and Wilson can’t back out, for
| he accepted fifty dollars to bind the bar-
} gain.
Neither of the cab horses had been seri-
| ously injured, and Bart explained to the po-
liceemen how they ware taken from in front
of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, after which he
hurried back to learn what had become of
the animal he had appropriated.

When he reached the spot where the
| horse had fallen, he found it was gone, and

 

 

LAWYER. “THIS!”

PIECES,

a boy told him it had been taken to the
hotel. Hart felt some relief at this, fof it
could not be the creature had broken a leg
or received any serious damage.

Walking forward at a swinging gait, he

|erossed the street, and was soon on the
corner, where he could see the animal he}
| had taken onee more standing before the |

hotel, held by ‘the same black boy, while
several persons were looking it over, as if
searching for injuries.

Bart did not hesitate about advancing,
although a promonition of trouble to follow
suddenly came over him.

One of the persons looking at the horse
was dressed in a riding-suit, being appar-
ently the owner of the animal. He was
talking to a well-dressed youth, at sight of
whom the boy fiom the West set his teeth
and scowled slightly, for he recognized
Walter St. Omer Stark.

  

3465

asking leave,” said Bart, as he reached the
spot.

The young man in the riding-suit and
Walter Stark suddenly straightened up and
whirled to face the speaker.

“Dat’s de feller !” cried the black boy at
the-horse’s head ; ‘‘dat’s de feller dat took
de hoss, sah !”

‘And he’s the very chap I said he was
when I heard the description of him!”
broke from Walter Stark’s lips. “This is
not the first time he has taken a horse with-
out leave !”

Bart flushed a bit, but paid no attention
to the millionaire’s son.

“J simply borrowed your hawse, sir, to
pursue a thief,” he calmly explained.
‘‘There was no time to ask for it, and I
reckoned the emergency of the case par-
doned the act.”

“Then you reckoned wrong,” haughtily
returned the young man. ‘‘Such an offense
is not pardonable. If you knew how to ride
a horse, it would be somewhat different,
but——”

 

AND THE UNDAUNTED BOY

 

“.f you are the owner of that hawse, mis-

ter, I have to ask your pardon for hooking |

“Stop right thar! Ican stand a heap,

but I can’t stand to

To, gees Tg Ave” BD tendertont: tell
Paks : me I don’t know how to
‘||| Tide! That just natu-

i) rally riles me all up!
; | Pm willing to pay——”
“Bah !” scornfully cut
in Walter Stark. ‘He
knows he’s in a bad
hox, and now he’s try-
ing to sneak out of it.
Pay! Why, it’s a pure
case of theft! If you
let him off, you're a
chump, Steinway !”

Bart's lips were
pressed together once
more, but still he did
not look at young Stark,
pretending he had not
heard a word uttered
by the vindictive
youth. —

Steinway, as Walter
had called the young
men in the riding-suit,
seemed spurred on by
the words of the mil-
lionaire’s son, for he
took a threatening step
toward Bart, who stood
quietly in his tracks,
showing no alarm.

“T believe Walt is
right; I believe you
really did mean to
swipe the horse!” he
exclaimed.

'“Of course he did!”
insisted Walter. “He
stole one belonging to
Steve Jones of Somer-
set Falls yesterday, and
the sheriff is looking
for him now. There is
a warrant out for his
arrest.”

“Do you deny this ?”
asked Steinway.

‘TI deny stealing any
man’s horse, sir. I paid
for the use of the ani-
mal.”

“That won’t go down!
He does not deny he
took the animal with-
out leave—he can’t
deny it without lying!
Better give him a les-
son, Ned.”

“Shall I have him ar-
rested ?”

“Sure.”

“There’s no police-
man handy.”

‘Tl hold him while you get one.”

Walter Stark’s hand feil on Bart’s shoul-
der, and then the boy from the West looked
at him squarely. Quite a numberfof specta-
tors were watching all that passed.

“T an’t done anything to be arrested for,
and I don’t reckon I'll run, so you can take
that thar paw off my shoulder.”

“Not much! I don’t propose to give you
a chance to sneak, Mr. Cow-puncher.”

A dangerous light flashed in Bart’s eyes,
which usually wore a rather sleepy look,
and his voice had a hard sound, as he said,
in a low tone:

“Take it off, or——”

“Or what?” sneered Walter.

For reply, with one swift motion, the boy
from the West struck the hand from his
shoulder,

Uttering a cry of. rage, the champion
boxer of the Trojan Club delivered a sweep-
ing blow straight at Bart Stone’s face, ex-
pecting to knock the young cowboy down

 

as

to the critter so sudden without so much as/ with ease,

  

   
3466

Never in his life was he more disappoint-
ed, for the boy from the West easily ducked
and avoided the blow, taking a step to the
left and swinging his right foot round with
an oblique movement that caught the shins
of the millionaire’s son, and sent him
sprawling on the sidewalk of the Fifth Ave-
nue Hotel.

CHAPTER VIII.

BART STANDS BY THE BARGAIN.

sy T had happened so swiftly that most of
il the spectators were unable to tell
3 how it came about.

Walter Stark, rather dazed, gathered
himself up in time to see a young lady and
an elder companion, who were passing at
that moment, gazing at him in apparent
amazement and dismay.

“Great heavens!’ he
“Miss Van Worth !”

Shamed and abashed, he turned his eyes
away and pretended he did not see the
young lady, who passed on and was lost in
the throng of pedestrians.

Walter scrambled to his feet, his face
ghastly with fury, quivering all over in his
excitement. He would have flung himself
at Bart once more, but Steinway caught him
by the arm, exclaiming :

“Let up, Walt—let up! Think what you
are doing—fighting with a common creature
of that sort! You are making a public
show of yourself !”

‘Let me go!” panted the millionaire’s
son. ‘Let me get at him! I'll fix him!”

Steinway held fast, restraining the en-
raged lad by main force, as he again urged
him to think what a spectacle he was mak-
ing of himself.

“Don’t be a fool, Walt!” he cautioned
sharply. ‘‘You will disgrace yourself.”

‘J am disgraced already ! Miss Van Worth
saw me! Let go, I say!”

He was fairly foaming in his fierce desire
to reach the boy who had overthrown him
thus easily.

Bart Stone did not seem in the least
alarmed, for he stood calmly regarding the
furious son of. the man he believed had
swindléd his mother out of her rights, his
hands resting on his hips and his attitude
apparently one of careless indifference.

Quite a crowd had now collected about
the spot, and, after some moments, Steinway
succeeded in convincing Walter how fool-
ishly he was acting.

“What if you whipped him,” whispered
the young man in the riding-suit. ‘There'd
be no honor in it. He’s one of the common
herd. Do have a little sense !”

“But it’s tough to have a trick like that
worked on you by sucha creature! ‘Think
of me tripped down in this public place!
And seen by Miss Van Worth! What can I
tell her when we meet? It’s horrible !”

He felt his humiliation so keenly that his
chin quivered and he ground his white teeth
together,

“Move on here—move on!” called a com-
manding voice. ‘‘What’s all this mean, any-
way?”

“An officer !” exclaimed Walter and Stein-
way, together.

“This way, sir,” called the young man,
motioning to the policeman. ‘You are
wanted.”

«What is it?’ asked the man in blue, as
the spectators scattered before him and he
came forward. ‘What do you want of me?”

“I want you to arrest that young ruffian,”
and Steinway pointed straight at Bart, who
did not flinch or appear frightened in the
smallest degree.

“This one,” questioned the officer, drop-
ping his hand on Bart’s shoulder. ‘‘What’s
he done ?”

“Assaulted me,” replied Walter Stark,
swiftly. ‘He struck me!”

“That's crooked, and you know it,” broke
in the boy from the West, speaking without
any great show of excitement. “You struck
at me, and I simply knocked your hoofs
from under you. I'll leave it to any of
these people if that thar an’t so.”

“Tt is true,” affirmed several voices.

The policeman looked a trifle surprised,
but, seeing Walter was well-dressed and
apparently of the better class, he asked :

“Do you,want to make a charge of as-
sault ?”

“No,” cut in Steinway, abruptly ; ‘but
we want him arrested, just the same. I'll
bring a charge against him.”

“What charge ?”

“Theft. He attempted to steal my horse
there only a short time ago. Take him to
the station-house, officer, and I will appear
against him.”

Bart had opened his mouth to explain
when he canght sight of a man who was
pressing his way toward the center of the
crowd, and an exclamation of satisfaction

faintly gasped.

 

GooDp

escaped his lips, as he recognized Ira D.

Wilson, the agent and promoter.

Wilson hurried to Bart's side, panting as
if he had recently exerted himself severely.

‘How did he get away! Where did he
go?” questioned the agent, in perturbation.
“You did not catch him ?”

Bart knew he was speaking of the thief,
and he promptly replied :

“I did my best, Mr, Wilson, but he got
away with the stock.”

«Wilson ! Stock !” almost shouted Walter
Stark, catching hold of the promoter.
“Man, I thought you were on your way to
Europe !”

“Got left,” laconically explained Wilson.

‘What is it about stock?” questioned the
millionaire’s son, a suspicion of truth flash-
ing through his mind. ‘I hope you haven't

“Sold the old White Horse shares to this
boy for twenty-five hundred dollars. Great
bargain. Buta thief ripped open my grip
and got away with the certificates. Now, as
I cannot deliver, I suppose I'll have to give
up the fifty he paid to bind the trade.”

Walter Stark literally gasped for breath.

‘Sold them!’ he panted, ‘‘Whiy, the
vein has been re-located! That's what
brought this boy here to buy it! Stolen!
Well, by Jupiter! you have made a pretty
mess, Wilson !”

The promoter looked thunderstruck, be-
ing unable to utter a word for some seconds.
Finally, he faintly gasped :

“Impossible !”

“It's true,” asserted Walter,
“The shares were intrusted in your care,
and you are responsible for them. If they
arelost, you'll find yourself in a pretty box.”

“Well, they are lost for the present,” con-
fessed the agent, nervously twisting his red
mustache ; ‘‘but the police may be able to
recover them,”

‘Then he produced a roll of bank notes,
from which he extracted a fifty dollar bill,
turning and tendering it to Bart, observing :

“As I cannot deliver the stock, [ll have
to give you back your deposit.”

The boy from the West drew back.

“No, mister,” he said; ‘‘a trade’s a trade,
and I don’t back out none whatever. Keep
the fifty, and I'll pay the rest and take the
shares when they’re found. I reckon that
thar’s about the right way to do this busi-
ness.”” :

‘Make him take it back
it!” cried Walter, excitedly.
those shares at any price !”

“T kinder ‘low you're too late to head off
this yar trade,” smiled Bart, with no small
amount of satisfaction. ‘It’s made now,
and thar can’t be no going back on it.”

“No writings have been made, and the
stock is not delivered yet. It’s no bargain
at all. Give him the fifty, Mr. Wilson.”

The young cowboy put his hands behind
him, a determined look on his somewhat
stolid face.

“T’m a little slow,” he drawled, ‘‘but I
an’t the biggest fool this side of Oklahoma
—not by two yards,” his eyes measuring the
distance between himself and the million-
aire’s son.

At this, Walter flushed hotly and clenched
his hands, taking a slight step forward, to
be checked by Steinway.

“You must accept the money,
Wilson.

“Wa-al, I won't, and that yar’s the whole
bigness of it,” was the retort. “TI call on
these yar people to take notice this man has
acknowledged the bargain fair and squar’. I
propose to make hint stand by it.”

“That's right! That’s right!” came from
several quarters.

Seeing sympathy was with the boy, Wil-
son suddenly abandoned the attempt to
force the money on him, saying:

“We'll settle this matter some other
time.”

‘In the meantime,” putin Ned Steinway,
“Tt charge this young scoundrel with at-
tempting to steal my horse, and ask that he
be arrested. I will appear against’ him.
Here, officer, is my name and address,”
handing the policeman an engraved card.

“All right, sir,” said the officer, respect-
fully, as soon as he had glanced at the card.
“T’'ll take him in. Come along, young fel-
ler.”

Bart was marched away to the station-
house, followed by quite a throng of people,
who looked curiously at the strangely
dressed boy in the policeman’s. charge.

savagely,

make him take
‘He can’t have

,

’ insisted

CHAPTER IX.
UNMASKING THE THIEF.
T must be confessed Bart felt rather
downcast when he found bimself locked

up in a wretched room in company
with a “common drunk.” He won-

dered what the result of it all would be, and

 

NEWS.

he felt his situation might be serious, for
t.e enemies pitted against him were both
wealthy and influential, as well as unprin-
cipled.

Many times he had listened to his mother’s
story about how Cyrus Stark had cheated
her out of her rights, and he had learned to
hate the man who could be guilty of delib-
erately wronging a woman like his beloved
mother.

He did not doubt that Stark was an ab-
ject scoundrel, and he had come East con-
vinced it was his duty to get the best of the
man in sorae manner, and regain possession
of the mine that Mrs. Stone had been
swindled out of at her husband's death.

Although Bart was rather unsophisticated
and hardly fitted to deal with shrewd busi-
ness men, he was getting his eyes open with
a rapidity that startled himself. \He saw it
was to be a bitter fight, and it was his re-
solve to never give up while there was the
shadow of hope.

He wondered if Steinway and Walter
would be able to do anything with him for
appropriating the horse to his use in pur-
suing the thief, and it is certain he felt
rather “shaky” when he considered his
position and their apparent power.

He lay down and tried to sleep, but the
snoring of the intoxicated man and the
earnest attention of certain lively little in-
sects in the bunk made it impossible for him
to rest.

At length he was brought into court and
found himself before the judge. No one
appeared against him, and his honor directed
that he be taken to w cell and kept until the
following day.

Bart spent a most wretched night, and he
was glad when morning came once more.

Before nine o’clock the boy was surprised
to receive a call from the lawyer, Jubal
Heep.

“Well, young man,” said the crafty attor-
ney, rubbing his nose with his forefinger,
“you seem to be in trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” returned the boy, as
coolly as possible. ‘‘I managed to get a free
night’s lodging.”

“It is possible you are not aware how
serious the situation really is,” ventured Mr.
Heep, in his most insinuating way. ‘You
are liable to receive a long sentence.”

“For what?”

“Well,” mysteriously answered the law-
yer, ‘I understand a very grave charge is to
be brought against you.”

‘Wa-al, if it an’t a secret, I wouldn’t mind
knowing just about how the land lays, mis-
ter.”

«The shares were stolen from Mr, Wilson
while you were in the hotel.”

“T reckon that’s right.”

‘It is said you are an accomplice of the
thief.”

““Wh-a-a-at ?”

Bart was so astonished he could no more
than gasp forth the word, but he almost im-
mediately began to laugh heartily.

“You are pretty sure to discover it is no
laughing matter, young man,” sharply as-
sured Jubal Heep. ‘It looks rather black
for you.”

‘“Wa-al, of all the things I ever heard, that
yar just about lays over the lot!”

“You will find it is no fooling affair, boy.
If the charge is proved against you, you will
get five years, at least. Iam a lawyer, and
I know what I’m talking about.”

Bart was suddetly serious once more, as
he said:

“Look hyar, Mr. Heep, how is a feller to
steal what rightfully belongs to him? Tell
me that.”

“What do you mean ?”

“That them thar shares are mine by right
of bargain, fair and squar’, I couldn’t
steal them,”

“Oh, that won’t hold water, my lad! You
have simply paid fifty dollars, and the
charge is that you plotted to have the stock
stolen, so you could escape paying the bal-
ance. You played your part very well, Wil-
son says, but -he is certain you stood in with
the thief.”

A look of anger settled on the face of the
boy from the West, and his sleepy eyes
suddenly flashed.

“So that yar Wilson stands up for the
rest of the crooked gang!” he cried. ‘I
didn’t expect anything better of a man as
makes swindling his profession! But I an’t
beat on this trial yet, by a heap sight, and
they’re going to haye a right smart tussle to
get ahead of me. I'll fight right plum
through to the grand round-up !”

“You are very foolish,” assured Heep,
scowling and rubbing his beak excitedly.
“You'll get the worst of it as sure as fate.
You are nothing but a boy, and that with-
out friends in this city, while the ones you
are trying to beat are rich and powerful.

‘Now, look here,” he went on. ‘I can
get you out of this scrape, if you'll let me,

’

 

nlite cteeitemanhnttt seni ensten

Just do what I want you to, and I'll guaran-
tee you will not be prosecuted.”

“Wa-al, what you want me to do ?”

‘Accept this money and sign this paper.”

Heep held out a bill and a written docu-
ment, but Bart accepted only the latter,

Hastily the boy ran his eyes over the
paper, and he quickly discovered it was a
document stating he gave over all claim to
the stock of the White Horse Mine.

“What's your answer?” eagerly asked
Heep.

“This !”

With that one word, the undaunted boy
tore the paper in two pieces, which he
or and cast at the scheming lawyer’s
eet.

“All right !” shouted Heep, as he picked
up the pieces and retreated from the cell,
“Youll be sorry for this! You're only a
boy, and the trade won't stand, anyway !
Perhaps you think you’re smart, but ‘you'll
change your mind before you are a week
older !”

When he was once more left to himself,
Bart’s anger cooled, and he finally smiled in
a grim way over the rage of the defeated
lawyer.

Within an hour he was again taken to the
court-room, and, when his case was called,
to his astonishment, tle judge promptly dis-
missed the whole mattvr, saying : i

“Young man, you may consider yourself
very fortunate to have a wealthy and influ-
ential friend to get you out of such a bad
scrape. You may go,”

Bart turned from the bench, vaguely won-
dering who his mysterious friend could be,
but inclined to believe this was simply an ex-
cuse of his enemies for not pressing the
charge against him.

As he left the building, he noticed a black-
whiskered man who started to follow him—
or seemed to do so. Seeing he was observed,
this man pretended t6 be highly interested
in reading a theatrical poster on a dead
wall, and Bart walked swiftly on.

The boy had resolved to proceed directly
to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and have a talk
with Ira Wilson, so he took the first car
bound in the right direction. As he sat
down within the car, he was surprised to see
the black-whiskered man run from the curb-
ing and swing on the rear platform.

“Wonder if he’s trailing me?” thought
Bart. “Blamed if it don’t look that yar
way ! Maybe they’ve put a detective after
me,

Instead of alarming him, the thought
made him angry, and he fell to watching the
man, It did not take him long to decide
he black beard was false. -

When he left the car and hurried toward
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, he was fully aware
the man still followed him.

Reaching the hotel, he boldly entered, ap-
proached the cierk’s desk and asked for Mr.
Tra Wilson,

“He is not here,” haughtily. asserted the
clerk.

‘Not here ?” gasped Bart.

“No. He left last night.”

‘‘Where—where did he go?”

“T don’t know. Please step aside for that
gentleman.”

The boy left the desk and slowly walked
out of the hotel, scarcely knowing which
way to turn. He wandered along from
street to street, hardly heeding whither his
footsteps were taking him.

All at once, he remembered the black-
whiskered man, and looked back.

The strange individual was still following
him.

“T will just know what that yar face
under them whiskers looks like,” muttered
Bart, as he swiftly turned a cdrner and then
halted to await the man’s appearance.

He had to wait but a few seconds, and
when the owner of the black beard came
suddenly around the corner, the boy step-
ped forward and confronted him, crying :

“Look hyar, what for are you follering me
round?” >

“Following you?” repeated the stranger,
with apparent astonishmen’. ‘You have
made a mistake, young fellow !”

“Have 1? Wa-al, I wonder what vou
carry behind them thar whiskers?”

With a swift snatch, he tore the false
beard from the man’s face. ;

A ery of mingled astonishment and
triumph broke from his lips, for the fea-
tures revealed were those of the thief who
had stolen the coveted shares of the White
Horse Mine ! -

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
——_—~+-e-» ____-

An enterprising Frenchwoman has just
performed a very interesting feat by way
of proving the sustaining powers of choco-
late. For sixty days no other nourishment
passed her lips, and at the end of that time
she had lost but fifteen pounds in weight.

 
eee ecient necnicains

[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. |

T’he ie ok a Pilot;

OR,

PERILS OF THE GREAT LAKES.

BY LIEUT. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY,

Author of “Lieut. Carey’s Luck,” “Midshipman
Merrill,” “Won at West Point,” ete.

ene

(“THE PLUCK OF A PILOT’ was commenced in
No. 2U1.. Back numbers can be obtained of: all
News Agents. }

CHAPTER XIX.

MORAN TALKS—THE ALARM,

; fy) HEN Randy darted past Moran, in
VA “i his effort to gain the winding

} stairs, the manager made a frantic
«@ clutch for the daring lad, but
missed him.

“Stop, you young scamp!” he shouted.
“Stop, or [ will shoot !”

But Randy was too near to safety for the
threat to effect him.

The few feet intervening was soon covered,
and down the stairs he went, hardly touch-
ing the steps in his flight. s

For a brief space those in the choir loft
were so dumfounded that they stood trans-
fixed. Moran was the first to recover.

“After him!’ he shouted. ‘The door is
locked, and he cannot escape by way. of the
alley. Five dollars to the man who catches
him.”

The offer had aspeedy effect upon the
old negro. He shufiled along after the
others for a short distance, then turning
toward one of the boards separating the
apartment from the church, tore it loose.

‘He kyant git troo de doah, but he might
fin’ his way inter hyer,” he muttered. ‘‘Kf
I cotch him, ut’s five dollars ; yah, vah !”

Forcing his body through the opening, he
crept along the gallery for several yards, and
then crouched close to the edge overlooking
the rear of the main room.

The place was as dark as an Egyptian
night, but down near what appeared to be
a door was a narrow ribbon of light, mark-
ing the place where the little hall extended
to the alley.

Presently the light broadened, and then
was entirely extinguished.

The silent watcher in the gallery heard a
faint slam, as from the violent closing of a
door in the distance, and knew that his prey
was at hand.

Like the stealthy savage in the jungles of
his ancestors, the old negro slipped from
place to place in the darkness. He knew
the way well, and’ found the stairs in due
time.

The ground floor was gained at last.
Stifled shouts and the sound of a fist beat-
ing upon the hall door came to his ears, but
Pete paid little heed.

He had an object to gain, dear to his
heart Five dollars—a mint to the miserly
wretch—beckoned him on, and he continued
the chase.

His ears were sharpened with greed, and
he presently heard a light step upon the
dust-covered floor. It was within a circle
of three yards: Pete edged in that direction.

Some one was groping his way toward the
front of the church. Piles of debris littered
the floor, offering many pitfalls to the un-
wary feet.

Presently the unseen fugitive stumbled
over a broken pew and fell full Jength.
Pete’s chance had arrived.

With a snarl of satisfaction, the old negro
sprang forward and threw himself upon the
recumbent form. Then ensued a terrible
struggle.

It was Randy—Randy near to freedom,
and caught upon the very brink of liberty.
It was enough to make one fight, and fight
he did.

Pete was old, and our hero had youth.
But the former was battling for his aah
desire—gold ; while the boy-pilot. struggled
to escape from dangers known and unknown.

Greed against freedom. Which would
win? \

Back and forth in the dust, swaying and
tossing and fighting for the upper hand,
they went; now one gure of success, and
then defeated with the ery of victory trem-
bling upon his lips.

Not a word had been said. There was
little breath to waste in speech. Pete was
like a wild beast in his fighting, biting and
scratching—anything to make the capture ;
but despite it all he felt himself being slowly
overpowered by his youthful and athletic
antagonist. fs

Finally, by a shrew blow delivered with

CroO

telling effect, Randy found himself the vic-
tor. He arose to his feet, trembling in every
limb, and staggered paintully toward the
front of the church,

Success came too late. By that time
Moran and the young man had contrived to
force the door secured by the boy-pilot in
his flight. They now appeared with the
lantern, and just as Randy gained the outer
entrance, they were upon him.

‘Seize him !’’ shouted the manager, dart-
ing forward.

The lantern was hurriedly placed upon
the floor, and then both men attacked the
lad.

Randy tried to defend himself, but being
exhausted by his struggle with old Pete, he
was soon overpowered and again bound.

“Hurry to the upper room with him,”
commanded Moran. ‘‘Tie the fool to some-
thing, and don’t let him escape again, on
your life. Make haste now, as it is danger-
ous to show alight in here. I'll see after
the nigger.”

His companion dragged Randy to the hall
door, and finally succeeded in depositing
him in the old choir loft.

Moran grabbed Pete by the shoulders,
and after administering a severe shaking,
convinced him that he was still alive. The
two then returned to the upper apartment.

“Now, for that little affairI am going to
remove you to a safer but far less pleasant
place,” remarked Morris Moran to his cap-
tive. “It’s a tomb, and you'll have trouble
with the rats, but that’s your own fault. I
told you that no harm would befall you if
no attempt was made at escaping.”

“Why shouldn’t I try to get away?” re-
plied Randy, warmly. ‘‘What right have
youto keep me a prisoner here, I would
like to know? How have I harmed you,
Mr. Moran ?”

“J will tell you this much, Randolph Rus-
sell,” responded the manager, reflectively,
“and perhaps it will make you contented
with your lot for a few days. You are the
instrument by which I expect to guin a for-
tune, and although I haven't any feeling
against you personally, yet lam going to
hold you till the money is in my hands.”

“You are not the only one with the same
opinion,” quietly replied our hero. '

«‘Who—what do you mean ?” eagerly asked
Moran. !

‘Why should I tell you?” queried Randy,
astutely. ‘I don’t know your plans, but
you are not the sole person trying to make
money through me.”

Then he added, rather bitterly :

“T’ve never harmed a soul on earth, and
have simply tried to do my duty as I under-
stand it, but notwithstanding that fact, it
seems that 1 am the center of some deep plot
and deprived of my freedom through no
fault of mine.”

‘Tll make a bargain with you, Randy,”
presently remarked the manager.

‘What is it?”

“Tf you will tell me who this man is, I'll
give you some important information on the
subject in which you are most concerned.”

“My parents ?”

Yasin

“T consent.”

‘Who is it then ?”

“Oaptain Hendrick,” promptly replied our
hero.

“Oh, ho! so that is the man, eh?” ex-
claimed Moran, evidently troubled. ‘Where
did you see him ?”

Randy explained the incident of that night
in a few words, then added :

‘Now for your part of the bargain. Oh,
sir, tell me if my parents are living.”

He spoke with deep emotion, and anx-
iously awaited the manager's reply.

“One of them.”

“Who ?”

“Your father, He is living, but is held a
prisoner by a certain person, and it is
through the knowledge of that fact that I
expect to make a fortune,”

“And my mother ?” ;

“She was lost in the storm which wrecked
the steamer, upon which you were a passen-
ger, eleven years ago,”

Randy bowed his head in sorrow. He
had little recollection of his mother, but it
was natural that he should display grief on
being told of her untimely end.

Presently Moran interrupted him by say-
ing that he had told all that was necessary
for the time being, adding:

“Now that you understand matters, I

hope you will not cause any further trouble,

bit remain here quietly till I return.”

“My father is not in danger?”

“No, he is well treated, but confined
where it would be utterly impossible for
any one to find him. Heis in possession
of a secret of great worth to several, and I
may as well tell you he will not gain his
freedom until he divulges it.”

 

“Well, what is your reason for holding

 

NEWS.

me a prisoner here ?” asked Randy, eagerly.
“Cau't you confine me with my father?”
Moran laughed grimly.
“That would spoil the whole scheme.

move him. But enough has been said. I
must leave now. Behave yourself, and all
will be right in time.”

Turning to his companions, he bade
them remove Randy to the new hiding-
place at once, and after giving old Pete
several whispered instructions, left the
room.

Before he had gained the stairs, Randy
called out to him, in a determined voice:

“If I can manage to escape, I'll promise
you that I will find my father, and balk
your eontemptible schemes, Morris Moran.”

A mocking laugh came from the darkness
below, and then those in the choir loft
heard the slamming of a door in the dis-
tance.

‘Now, you white imp, this chile is gwine

ter put yer whar de rats an’ other animiles |

?

‘ll keep yer company,” spoke up old Pete,
vindictively. ‘Come erlong now, or I'll
break dat grinnin’ face o’ yers!”

Moving toward Randy, the negro grasped
his arm and forced him to the stairs, as-
sisted by the young man.

Just as they reached it, a loud crash
came-from the main body of the church,
and the sound of heavy footsteps was
heard upon the floor beneath them.

CHAPTER XX.
COMPLICATIONS.

E ANDY’S guards halted in terror.
t “Golly! what’s dat?” asked Pete.

“It’s the police !” cried the young
man, turning a_ sickly white.
“They’re coming this way. Save yourself,
old man.”

As he uttered the last words, the fellow
ran down the winding stairs, and disap-
peared in the darkness.

But the negro was made of sterner stuff.
He evidently did not intend to surrender
his. prisoner—of financial worth to him, no
doubt-—without an effort. :

Laying violent hands upon Randy, he at-
tempted to drag him back, but met with a
decided resistance:

Our hero’s hands were tied, but he still
had the use of his legs and also his voice.
He speedily brought them into play.

Uttering a shout for help, he kicked out
so viciously that old Pete was glad to re-
treat for the moment.

“Help! Police! Iam a prisoner in the
loft!” yelled Randy, lustily.

“Stop dat noise or I'll kill yer!” hissed
the negro, endeavoring to close with the
boy-pilot.

The greater his efforts, the more our hero
kicked and shouted, until at last, hearing
the unseen rescuers upon the steps, old
Pete gave it up, and vanished through a
near-by window. .

A few seconds later, several blue-coated
policemen rushed into the apartment, bear-
ing lanterns and clubs.

‘Thank Heaven ! you are just in time,”
gasped Randy, out of breath.

“What does all this mean?’ demanded
one of the officers. ‘Who are you?”

‘Randy Russell, and I have been held a
prisoner——”

‘What is the name? Russell?” inter-
rupted the man. ‘‘Then you must be the
lad we are looking for. A boy named
Beach——” :

‘‘That’s Ben, my friend. - Where is he ?”

“Walking the streets for a clew, I guess.
He’s been to every station-house in Detroit,
and just left me not five minutes ago. But
where are the men ?”

“All gone. One of them left by that win-
dow as you entered, another skipped down
the stairs, and Morris——”

Randy paused. A sudden thought had
struck him. Would not it be well to hide
Moran’s identity for the time being? If he
should be captured he might refuse to di-
vulge the hiding-place of Randy’s parent,
and then where could the secret be ob-
tained ? .

Our hero resolved to hold back the man-
ager’s name, and if possible to follow him
at once. With that intention, he added:

“One whom they called Morris left by
the alley-door a half hour ago.”

“Tt’s a lucky thing for you that I over-
heard a racket in the old church while pass-
ing to-night,” replied the officer. “I thought
it was a lot of tramps, and. called‘some of
my mates to capture them.” f

“Yes, you came at an opportune mo-
ment. They were on the point of transfer-
ring‘me to a tomb underneath the building
when you interrupted their little plan.”

“What was their scheme? Holding you
to get some money from your people?”

Uhh

oe

 

3467

_ “I suppose so,” Randy answered, evas-
ively. ‘But they didn’t succeed.”
‘The police had scattered in search of the

| fugitives, but not the slightest trace of
You are to be used as a lever with which to |

them could they find.

After spending a half hour in the church,
all save one returned to their respective
beats. The remaining officer took his sta-
tion ina secluded spot with the intention
of watching for the miscreants.

Together with another, Randy went to
the nearest station-house, and made a re-
port to the sergeant.

As he was finishing, a Jad darted in
the door and threw both arms around him
with a ery of joy.

It was Ben Beach.

“Thank goodness, you are still alive,” he
shouted, shaking Randy’s hand as if he
would never stop. ‘Where on earth have
you been? What did they do to you, chum?
Where are the scoundrels? Was it——”

Our hero stopped his friend just in time.
Nudging him, he whispered :

“Sh-h h! don’t mention any name here!
I have weighty reasons, and will explain
when we are alone.”

After making the statement to the ser-
geant, Randy said that he would remain on
the yacht until morning— which was not far
distant—and then would be compelled to

| sail for Keelton.

“Tf you find any of them, you can tele-
graph me there,’ ‘he added.

As he left the station-house with Ben, our
hero said :

“We will return to the Dragon immedi-
ately, chum. I want to see that all is right
on board. I will explain all then.”

Fulton 1 et them at the gangway,
although it was past three o’clock.

‘What's matter ?” he asked, in his pecu
liar way. ‘Steam up—ready to start hours
ago. Been having a time ?”

“Yes, a very large time,” replied Randy,
dryly. ‘Have had a little trouble ashore.
Has any one been aboard since I left?”

‘No, not a soul.”

“Well, I am going to retire for a short
rest, Fulton. We won't leave until eight in
the morning. Have everything ready by
that time.”

When once in the cabin, Randy settled
himself comfortably on a lounge and ex-
plained to Ben all that had occurred since
he left him in the hall of the supposed
James Johnson’s house.

_ Ben was lost in amazement. s

“Then it was that fellow, Moran, eh?
What kind of a mystery have we fallen
into?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to probe it to
the bottom and release my father. I'd give
half my life to know where he is a prisoner.
Poor father !” ;

‘What a romance. Fancy a boy being
separated for years trom his parent, and
then hearing that he is held in confinement
by a set of rascals on account of some
measly secret. Who do you think is the
prime mover !”

Randy was silent for a moment. He
arose to his feet and paced rapidly up and
down the little room, then planting himself
before his chum, replied, emphatically :

“I firmly believe that I know the man
who is responsible for all this.”

“Who?”

“The person we suspected in Hendrick’s ~
case.”

‘You mean Judson Cudlipp ?”

SY O8.-:

‘I believe you are right, Randy,” replied
Ben, also springing to his feet in excite-
ment. ‘And if I were youl’d tackle him
without delay,”

“I mean to just as soon as the Dragon can
cover the distance.”

“I say ; you remember the conversation I
thought I overheard the night before we
reached Keelton after you had rescued me
from the wreck?” ;

“Yes ; we thought then it was a dream,”

“Well, it was the solemn truth. Cudlipp
and Moran were conspiring against you
then.”

“Didn't they mention some island in con-
nection with my name?”

‘“‘By Jove ! of course they did.”

“What was it?” asked Randy, eagerly,

“Snake Island. The very same place we
left old Cudlipp and Moran on our trip
here. It—what is the matter?”

The question was called forth by a sud-
den action on Randy’s part. The boy-pilot
had darted toward the door and was in the
act of opening it when Bob stopped him.

“Jumping Jerusalem! it’s the place! I'll
bet a thousand dollars it’s the place!” re-
plied Randy.

“What place? what do you mean?”

“Fool that I was not to dream of it be-
fore! Why, they must have my poor father
a prisoner on Snake Island.”

“That's a fact. I wouldn’t wonder but

 
3468

COOD- NEWS:

 

what they've got him confined somewhere
on the island. We'll search it at once.”

“I’m going to start just as soon as Fulton
can get up steam,” replied our hero, hastily
leaving the cabin.

At almost the same moment the arch con-
spirator, Morris Moran, was reading a tele-
gram signed by old Pete.

It was a way station on the railroad run-
ning west from Detroit, at which the
train had stopped for orders.

Seanning the piece of yellow paper ata
glance, Moran uttered a fie xxclamation,
and then dashed off a reply. A few hours

later he was bowling along a railway bound |

for Port Huron, a town at the head of the
St. Clair River, past which the yacht Dragon
would have to steam on her way to Keelton.

CHAPTER XXI.

“CAST OFF AND FOLLOW AT ONCE!”

a

i

ANDY found Fulton just turning in
his bunk,

“Am sorry to disturb yon, but I
have received important information
which necessitates our leaving port at once,”
he explained. ‘How long will it take to
get up steam?”

“Half hour,” replied Fulton, donning his
working suit indifferently. ‘What's the
matter ? old Cudlipp got a fit?”

“Not that I know of,” laughed Randy in
reply, then he added under his breath :
“But he will have when I run across him
again.”

“Let me know when you are ready, and
[’ll hoist anchor at once,” he said aloud as
he left the engineer’s room,

While walking forward, Randy noticed
a small boat approaching the yacht.

It bore a twinkling lantern in the bow,
and had arrived within a distance of twenty
or thirty yards.

“It seems to be coming here,” mused the
boy-pilot. ‘A message from the police, I
suppose.”

Walking to the pilot-house, he picked up
a night-glass from the settee, and carefully
scanned the approaching craft.

It contained only one man, who was
laboring at the oars as if in a vast hurry
to reach his destination

Something in the solitary oarsman’s ap-
pearance seemed familiar to Randy, and he
watched him with the closest attention.

Suddenly the man glanced over his shoul-
der at the Dragon, and the light from the
bow lamp fell full upon his face.

Randy gave a cry of astonishment.

“ By the great horn spoon, if it
Captain Hendrick!” '

Leaving his position near the rail, our
hero ran to the cabin and, calling Ben on
deck, told him of the expected visitor.

“Get the mate and one of the men here
quick,” he added. ‘Jump lively now,
chum,”

“What are you going to do ?”

“JT have a plan,” replied Randy. ‘‘If he
comes on board and tries any of his funny
business, I intend to make the scoundrel a
prisoner.”

“And carry him to Keelton ?”

Yes. -

“A splendid idea,” exclaimed Ben quickly.
“When we get out on Lake Huron we may
be able to bring such a pressure to bear on
him that he’ll expose old Cudlipp’s plot.”

“Just so; well try it. Now hurry, old
boy, and get the men up here. Station
them somewhere out of sight, and stand by
for a signal. When I cough twice rush out
and make him a prisoner.” \

Ben darted away on his errand, and
Randy returned to the gangway.

A few moments after he had reached the
side of the yacht, the Small boat containing
Captain Hendrick pulled up to the ladder. |

‘Boat ahoy!” called ont the youthful
pilot, thinking it best to hail the fellow.

Hendrick glanced up and replied :

“Ahoy the yacht! Is the
aboard !”’

“Yes ; what do you want, Captain Hen-
drick?” replied Randy stepping out from
the shadows.

“Ah! it’s you, Randy,” exclaimed the ex-
skipper in a friendly voice. “I want to
have a confidentiai talk with you upon an
important subject. Can I come on board ?”

“Yes, but I ought to turn you over to the
authorities ashore,” replied our hero bluntly.

Hendrick smiled in a conciliatory manner
as he stepped over the gangway.

*{ don’t think you'll do it when I ex-
plain, Randy,” he said. ‘I confess I
treated you in a hasty manner, but I am
here to apologize and make a bargain with
you. Can’t we go into the cabin for a few
moments ?”

Randy assented, and led the way down to
the saloon, As he passed the engine-room

ain’t

captain.

,

he made a furtive motion to Ben, who was
concealed therein.

‘Now, what do you want to say?” our
hero asked, when they had finally reached
the cabin. ‘Be quick about it, as we leave
in a few moments.”

“It is very near that time now,” replied
Randy, looking at his watch.

“Well, in that case I'll state briefly what
I desire to say. ‘To commence with I will
ask you if the discovery of your father’s
whereabouts is the object of your life?”

“Tt certainly is, and moreover I intend to
find him before many days,” replied Randy,
| firmly.

“You will find it a hard task without aid,”
continued Hendrick, cunningly.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Iam aware of
his present location.”

This answer caused the ex-skipper to look
at his young companion in ill-concealed
surprise. He was evidently growing uneasy.

“You do, eh?” he asked. ‘Why, what

“Now, look here, Captain Hendrick,” in-

| terrupted our hero, impatiently. ‘If you
have any proposition to make to me, go
ahead, and quit beating about the bush. I
intend leaving this port in a very few mo-
ments, and haven't any time to waste.”

“Well, what I desire to propose is this,”
hurriedly replied Hendrick: ‘I know your
ifather: know where he is confined as a
prisoner ; know who are in the plot against
him, and for what purpose. Now, all this
information is at your service if you do just
one thing.”

‘What is it?”

“Give me your word, and also sign a
paper to the effect that within two years
from date you will pay me ten thousand _dol-
lars.” :

Randy looked at the man in amazement.

“Ten thousand dollass!” he repeated,
‘why, where under the sun could I obtain
that amount of money ?”

‘Tll trust you,” he. said.

 

“T know a

that you could pay four times. that sum be-
fore many months. Is it a bargain ?”

‘No; not on your life!” replied Randy,
firmly. ‘Nor ten thousand cents, either.”

The ex-skipper sprang-to his feet, and
snarled :

“Then you refuse ?”’

“Yes, most emphatically.”

Hendrick started toward the companion-
stairs leading above, at the same time growl-
ing savagely:

“Then your father
and as for you, Randy Russell, TU—

He never completed his threat, for at
that moment our hero coughed loudly, and
Ben, at the head of a party, rushed down
the steps into the cabin,

“Secure this man!” ordered Randy,
sternly. “Bind him hand and foot and
place him in one of the state-rooms, under
guard,”

Ben and his aids advanced to carry out
the boy-pilot’s command, but with a ery of
ragé Hendrick leaped back against the cabin
bulkhead.

Grasping a chair
shouted :

“Stand back !
touching me !”

“Drop that, or it will be the worse for
you, Captain Hendrick,” shouted Randy.
“You cannot escape, so you had better sur-
render peaceably, ’

“What are you after?” demanded the ex-
skipper, sullenly- ‘What do you intend to
do with me?”

“Take you to Keelton.”

‘For what purpose ?”

While asking the latter question, Hen-
drick had unconsciously lowered the chair,
Noting this, Ben darted forward with the
mate, and before the surprised man could
defend himself, he was a prisoner.

‘Cleverly done, Ben,” exclaimed our
hero, approvingly. ‘‘Now, bind him thor-
oughly, and place the fellow in the star-
board room,”

“Hadn't I better gag him until we leave
Detroit? He’s liable to howl and yell loud
enough to attract attention.”

“Yes ; but don’t arrange it so that it will
hurt him,” replied Randy. ‘‘He wasn’t so
careful with me, but I can afford to forget
old scores now.”

Turning to Hendrick, who lay upon the
floor, he added :

“All is fair in love and war, my dear fel-
low. It was your turn last night, but now
I have an inning. You are booked for
Keelton as an involuntary passenger, and if
you behave yourself we'll treat you well,
otherwise look out for squalls.”

Hendrick tried to reply, but a roll of
cloth in his mouth offered too great an
obstacle.

can rot where he is,

”

from the floor, he

I will brain the first man

 

‘Are you going to sail before daylight?” |

thing or two, and would be willing to bet |

|

 

Hurrying on deck, the boy-pilot ascer-! in’,

}of Port Huron.

 

tained from Fulton that the engines were in
readiness. The anchor was hoisted, and
several moments later, the good yacht Dra-
gon was steaming up the Detroit River on
her way to Keelton.

It was daylight when they left the city,
and nearly noon when the port of Sarnia
was reached.

On the opposite bank of the St. Clair
River is situated the thriving American city
Tied to one of its wharves
was a low-lying steam tug, which, from the
dense cloud of smoke pouring from its fun-
nel, was on the eve of departure.

As the Dragon passed this craft, a man
peered cautiously at the yacht bearing our
hero, and then a few moments later turned
to a uniformed individual at his elbow, with
the remark :

“There goes our prey, captain.
and follow at once !”

(10 BE CONTINUED.)

Cast off

a 8
(This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.]

Joe the Surveyor;

THE VALUE OF A LOST CLAIM.

+

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER,

Author of “Shorthand Tom,’ “Camera Bob,’

ele., ete.

a?
THE SURVEYOR” was commenced in No
209. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents, ]

(“JOR

CHAPTER XXvV.

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LOFT.

i ing but stare at Bart Pangler in a
Ae dazed way, hardly daring to breathe.

© What could have brought this man

to this place at such an hour of the night?

Of course many thoughts went like a flash
through the boy’s mind. He remembered
how his father had been swindled—nay,
literally robbed, and how Bart Pangler had
fled from justice. And he also remembered
what he had heard Ridd and Olney say con-
cerning this criminal.

What could it all mean? Were Olney and
Ridd’s visit to the cottage for Pangler’s
benefit, and if so, what had they tried to
steal—what had they carried off belonging
to his father or to Ralph Lumley ?

These and a dozen similar questions
forced themselves upon Joe’s mind, as he
watched the criminal in his endeavor to
raise the ladder to the loft opening above.

At length the top of the ladder was se-
cured, and then taking up the bit of candle
he had allowed to rest on the feed box, Bart
Pangler mounted the steps to the flooring
above.

Joe hesitated only for a moment. Then
curiosity compelled him to follow the man.

With his heart almost at a stand-still, the
boy crawled up the ladder noiselessly until
his head was just above the level of the
flooring above. He saw that Bart Pangler
had moved a considerable distance away
from the opening, and was searching among
the boxes and barrels shoved far under the
sloping roof.

Watching his chance, Joe lifted himseif
up and crawled swiftly behind the pile of
hay and straw before mentioned.

“Well, if begins to look as if they left
nothing,” he heard Bart Pangler mutter,
after an interval of five minutes—an age it
seemed to Joe. “Now, what could they
have done with it? Could Olney have car-
ried it ofl? If he did, he’s not such an all-
around fool as I took him to be, although
he and Ridd did enough botch work.”

Pangler continued his search, and several
times Joe had to move to keep from being
discovered. Once Pangler passed within a
foot of him.

In the stillness of the barn a step sounded
presently, coming from outside. The next
moment the front door was opened and a
man walked in. He carried a lantern turned
up to its full height.

‘Hullo, who put that ladder in place?”

he cried, and Joe recognized Philander Par-
done’s voice. ‘Can it be that somebody
has been on the search ?”
- Pardone came up the ladder quickly, and
Bart Pangler had no time to hide, even had
such been his intention, which was doubt-
ful.

‘What, you here, Pangler!” cried Par-
done, taken aback by the unexpected meet-
ing.

“Hush! don’t mention that name !” re-
turned the other, quickly,

‘Huh! Nobody can hear me, I’m think-

209

ee the time being Joe could do noth-
h

 

“Don’t be too sure about that.”

“I came back from jail to see that all was
locked up again,” went on Philander Par-
done, after a slight pause.

“They have Sam Ridd ?”

“Yes, he’s behind the bars.’

“Has he blabbed anything ?”

“Not yet, but there is no telling what he
may do when he is examined again.”

“He must be careful,” growled Bart
Pangler. ‘‘Pardone, you must find a way
to warn him.”

“Me ?”

“Yes, you.
than I.”

The livery stable keeper contracted his
brows. Evidently he did not relish the
task Pangler had delegated to him.

Pangler continued his search for a min-
ute or two longer.

‘Look here, what are you up to?” de-
manded Pardone, presently.

“I am looking to see if Olney left anything
behind.”

“T reckon not.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t be such a fool.”

“He’s been fool enough !” growled Pang-
ler. ‘‘He’s made a regular mess of his work
here.”

“It was on account of that Hurley,” re-
turned Pardone. ‘‘He is as sharp as a steel
trap, the dickens take him !”

“Yes, he’s a smart boy, I know. But
work him right and you can get around him
just as 1 got around his father.”

Joe listened to this talk in dead silence.

“We'll see if you get around me,” he
thought. “I shall do my very best to out-
wit you all.”

‘See here,” said Pardone, suddenly.
‘What are you goin’ to make out of this
here deal ?”

“T can’t tell yet,” returned Bart Pangler,
evasively. ‘‘I’ll know inside of a month.”

“Olney calculated that you would rake in
fifty thousand or more in Philadelphia from
Morton.”

“He knows nothing of it!” cried Pangler,
angrily, ‘He had better keep his mouth
shut.”

“Oh, I know you, Pangler,” retorted the
livery stable keeper. ‘You will try to rake
in the stuff for yourself, and——”

“‘Pardone, didn’t I always use you right ?”

“Perhaps, but——” i

“I did, and I'll use you right now, if
you'll only give me time.”

“All right then.”

‘Now tell me one thing :
anything with you?”

“Nothing at all.”

“And where is that other hors

“Sent him to Harrisburg to be sold.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. They
may trace the animal up, and that will
cause trouble.”

“They won't trace that horse up,” replied
the livery stable keeper. “I sent him to
Dawson, and Dawson will send him right
on to Philadelphia.”

“It wasn’t worth while for the risk you
run, You'll make enough out of this, if
my deal with Morton goes through.”

‘When will you see Morton?”

“Soon.”

“In Philadelphia ?”

pip lap

‘He will pay cash ?”

“Pll try to fix it that way.”

“Does he suspect anything wrong ?”

“Of course not. Morton is a strictly hon-
orable fellow.”

“He'll be stuck bad if they ever find out
about the deal and John Hurley comes down
on him.”

“I don’t care about that. Ill get the
money, settle up with you and _ the others,
and then disappear. Ifhe——”’ ~
_ Bart Pangle did not finish, for at that
juncture a stifled sneeze alarmed both him
and his companion.

’

You can approach him easier

did Olney leave

9»

CHAPTER XXVI.
A FRIEND

OMEBODY is up here!” cried Phi-
lander Pardone, turning pale.
“Who can it be?’ shouted Bart
Pangler, hoarsely. “Quick, Pardone,
search for the rascal !”

The two made arush for the spot from
whence the sound had proceeded, and in a
moment caught sight of Joe, who had tried
in vain to hold back the sneeze which would
come,

“It’s that young Hurley!” gasped Par-
done.

“By the boots! you are right!” responded
Bart Pangler. “Come out here, you scamp!”

“He'll ruin us!’ went on the livery stable
keeper, in a trembling voice.

“He will if he gets away from us,” re-
plied Bart Pangler, significantly,

IN NEED.

 
GoonDdD

 

The words caused a shiver to run down
Joe's backbone. He well understood the
meaning of the villain’s insinuation. He
looked around and then made a quick dash
for the ladder.

“Stop him !”

Joe jumped on the rungs of the ladder
and tumbled rather than climbed to the bot-
tom. Hardly had he reached the flooring
below than Bart Pangler was on top of him.

“Tl fix you!’ he hissed in the boy’s face.
“T’ll teach you to play the spy!”

He caught Joe by the throat and forced
him over on his back.

“Let—let un!’ gasped the boy.
choke me to death !”

To this the villain made no reply. But
the look on his face told plainer than words
that Joe need expect no mercy from him.

By this time Philander Pardone was com-
ing down the ladder, lantern in hand.

“Have you got him?” he asked, in a trem-
bling voice.

“Yes, and P’l——”

“Help! help!’ cried Joe, managing in
some manner to free his throat from the
grip of the villain on top of him. ‘Help!’

“Shut up!” hissed Bart Pangler. ‘Shut
up, you young whelp !”

“J won't. Help! hel—”

Again the villain tried to get his hand on
Joe’s throat, and once more the boy
squirmed out of his reach.

‘Here, lenda hand, Pardone !” cried Pang-
ler, panting in his efforts to hold Joe down.
“We must-——” E

‘“Somebcdy-is comin’ !”’ howled the livery
stable keeper. ‘‘You had better clear out!”

“Lock the door !”

Pardone hesitated-and then sprang to do
his companion’s bidding.

But he was too late. The door burst
open with a crash and at the opening ap-
peared the form of Dan Yates, the hunter.

“What's goin’ on here?’ he demanded.
“You are ye—by june-bugs, ef it an’t Joey!
Let up thar, ye villain !”

Bart Pangler sprang to his feet and faced
the intruder. Then he gave a start.

“Dan Yates!” he gasped, almost uncon-
consciously.

“Ef it an’t Bart Pangler!” roared the old
hunter. ‘The biggest fraud in the country,
barrin’ none! What are ye doin’ to Joey,
tell me that?”

“Tt’'s none of your business !” snapped
Bart Pangler. ‘This is my affair.”

“Ho! ho! jest listen to the man, Why

”

“Don't

: ‘Don’t let this man get away!’ cried Joe,
as he saw Pangler glance toward the open
doorway. “I want him arrested and——”

“Stand aside!” interrupted Pangler, and
he hurled Dan Yates from his path as if the
hunter had been of straw. ‘‘Come with me,
Pardone.”

On the instant he was outside, and the
livery stable keeper followed him.

Dan Yates picked himself up quickly and
jumped after the pair, Joe by his-side.

But the moon had gone under a dense
bank of clouds, and beyond the circle of
light made by the lantern, all was exceed-
ingly dark.

“Catch him, Dan!” cried Joe.
not get away from us.”

‘“Kasier said than done, Joey!’ puffed
Dan Yates. ‘I an’t much good on the run,
any more. But here is tudder one.’

As the old hunter concluded his hand fas-
tened itself upon the collar of Philander
Pardone’s coat, and that sneak was brought
up with a twist that made him scream with
alarm. .

“Don’t kill me!”

‘Then stand whar ye are !”

_ “Allright! This is a dreadful mistake !
I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Seeing that Dan Yates had brought Par-
done to a halt, Joe continued after Bart
Pangler, who was now dashing down the
black road at a high rate of speed.

On and on went man and boy. But grad-
ually the footsteps ahead died out utterly,
and then Joe realized that the man who had
swindled his father was beyond his reach,

The boy hurried back to the livery stable,
and found that Dan Yates and Pardone were
in the office, the latter trying to offer nu-
merous proofs as to his entire innocence of
wrong-doing.

“I never did anything wrong in my life,”
whined Pardone. ‘Hurley can’t prove a
thing against me.”

“You may let him go, Dan,” said Joe to
the old hunter. ‘The other man was the
one I wished to catch.”

“But this chap wanted to harm you——”

“Never mind; let him go. He has got to
answer in court for having a stolen horse in
his possession.”

So Philander Pardone was allowed his
liberty, somewhat to his own astonishment.
He was not shrewd enough to understand
that Joe was playing a certaip game which

“He must

had just entered his mind while returning

from his unsuccessful pursuit of Bart Pa
ler. |
“I was just coming from the hotel, where |
I sold the bear’s meat,” explained Dan }
Yates. ‘I’ve got eight dollars in my pocket
for you, Joey.” :
“Keep it, Dan, for your service
night,” said Joe; and despite the old hu

this |
nt- |

er's protestations, he would not touch a took the chance to find out about some land |

cent of the money.

Soon after this, Dan Yates hurried off, |
saying he would go on a still hunt over the |
mountains for Bart Pangler. Joe allowed
him to depart, although he knew the search |
would in all likelihood prove fruitless. |

The boy remained with Philander Par-
done, and as soon as he was sure they were
alone, he boldly faced the livery stable
keeper.

“Now, Pardone, I want.you to tell me all
you know concerning Bart Pangler and his
doings,” he said, abruptly.

The face of the man changed color per-
ceptibly, and he winced at the words.

“Me? I don’t know nothin’——”

‘“‘You know everything, Pardone, and I
want you to make a full confession.”

‘J__JT—can’t,” whined the livery stable
keeper.

“Yes, you can.”

“Tf I do, Bart Pangler wil! most kill me!”

“And do you know what will happen if
you don’t confess ?”

“What?”

‘Tll have you sent to the State prison,
just as sure as my name is Joe Hurley.”

“You can’t do it!”

“T can. I overheard all your talk with
Pangler, and—-—”

At that momenta strong puff of smoke
came into the office. More followed, and
Philander Pardone sprang from his chair in
dismay.

«The stable is on fire !” he gasped.

CHAPTER XXVII.
JOE LEARNS SOMETHING.

OR the moment Joe did not reply to
Philander Pardone’s alarming state-
ment,

Then came another puff of smoke,

 

and the boy knew the livery stable keeper | don’t know everything that’s goin’ on. But |

must be right. |
- “It must have caught from Bart Pangler’s
candle,” said Joe. ‘Come, we will put it |
out before it gains any headway.”

He sprang from the office and into the
lower apartment of the big stable. A bucket
of water was not far away, and seizing this,
he ran up the ladder.

The hay and straw were blazing away at
a lively rate, but the water from the bucket
did much toward stopping the spreading of
the fire.

When Joe reached the lower floor again
he found Philander Pardone there with two
more buckets of water.

“Can you get it out?” gasped the livery
stable keeper.

“Tll do my best,” responded Joe.

“The villain! to burn down my barn !”

‘Tt was careless to set a candle on the
floor up there,” added Joe.

“Tl get square !” howled Pardone, danc-
ing around like a crazy man.

Again Joe went up the ladder. This time
he soaked a horse blanket in one of the
buckets, and in a few minutes every particle
of the fire was beaten out. But to make sure
work of it, Joe directed Pardone to get
more water, and the entire loft was soaked
thoroughly.

“That hay an’ straw is ruined !” groaned
Philander Pardone. ‘Who'll pay for the
loss ?” a

“Perhaps you can make Bart Pangler
settle up,” said Joe, with an irony which
was entirely lost upon the hearer. * ‘Now,
come back to the office, Pardone.”

“Sure the fire’s out?” _

‘Yes, every spark of it.”

“T don’t want the barn to burn down,”

“You won't mind that if you have to go to
prison,” said Joe, with a sudden firmness in
his tones.

“Go to prison?”

“Didn’t I tell you so before? Now, Par-
done, the best thing you can do is to tell me
the whole truth about Bart Pangler and his
accomplices in crime.”

The livery stable keeper remained silent
for several segonds. Evidently he thought
himself in pretty “hot water.”

“Tf T tell you all, will you promise not to
prosecute me ?” he asked, finally.

“IT want to hear what you have to say
first. I'll be as easy as I can after that.”

“JT didn’t want to go into this thing,”
groaned Pardone. ‘But Bart Pangler held

 

 

a sort of grip on me, an’ there was no let
up to him,”

NEWS.

3469

 

“And so he hired you to help Ridd and
Olney ?”
“That's it.’
‘‘What did you do for them ?”
“T found out some things for them about
Lumley, the surveyor.”
“What things ?”
“T used to own a track
mountain. I-went to Lumley about it, and

’

he owned up near the Victory Mine.”
“Does Ralph Lumley own land near that

mine?” questioned Joe, eagerly, as he re- |

membered all of what his tather had said
concerning the oil wells in the region.

‘He does, and so does somebody else own
a valuable mine there,” went on Philander
Pardone, closing one eye suggestively.

‘Who ?”

‘That's telling.”

“Do you mean my father?’ demanded |

the boy, excitedly.
“Maybe I do.”
‘Tell me the truth.”
“Will you promise to be easy on me if I

593

“Then I'll tell you. Your father owns a
very rich track of land right up near the new
oil wells. Bart Pangler is doin’ his best to
get all the papers and such in his possession,
an’ then he’s goin to sell the mine.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Dead certain. But don’t let Pangler
ever know I told you, for he’d kill me.’

‘Has he all the papers now ?”

“Most of ’em.
that is missing.
box--—”

“A blue tin box?” interrupted Joe.

“A tin box—yes; but it it was blue I don’t
know.”

“And Pangler doesn’t know where that
deed is ?”

“No. He was to get it somewhere, but
somehow or another it disappeared.”

‘‘And Olney had the other papers?”

“Yes, but he’s to give ’em to Bart Pang-
ler soon.”

‘Where will they meet ?”

‘Tn Philadelphia. Olney won't give up
them papers exceptin’ for cash,”

“But now that matters are so upset, will
they meet ?”

“I don’t know about. that.

I believe it was in a

You see, I

I do know that Bart Pangler is goin’ to try

| to swindle your father out of a fortine, and

do it, too, without your father being the
wiser.”

“Do you know anything of this Mr. Morton |

he is going to meet ?”

“Not much, exceptin’ he’s a rich New
Yorker who is going to buy the claim from
Pangler.”’

“And after this transaction, Pangler was
to settle with you and the others ?”

‘No, he was going to settle with Olney for
all of us, and then Olney would divide up
with Ridd and pay me for my tronble.’”’

Joe questioned the man much further,
and it was almost morning before he took
his departure.

“T believe I am on the right track at last,”
said Joe to himself, as he started on foot
for Mountainville. ‘Won't father and Meg
and Mr. Lumley be astonished when they
learn all I have found out ?”

Joe was a good walker, and just now the
news he carried lent speed to-his legs, and
he got over the ground with unusual rapid-
ity. Before sunrise he was more than half-
way home.

As he approached the spot where the Coal

Road joined the Ironton turnpike, he heard

a mad clatter of hoofs on the road just
ahead.

A second later a man’s voice came to him,
calling loudly for help.

Joe stood still, at a distance not far from
the edge of the gully, which at this spot ran
close to the roadway.

“Help! stop the horses!” he heard, in
rather a heavy voice. ‘Stop ’em, or I'll be
killed !”

Then a light buggy dashed into sight,
drawn by a team of wild bays. The reins
had dropped beneath their feet ; they had
the bits in their teeth, and were making
straight for the gully! ‘

Joe caught one sight of the occupant of
the vehicle. It was Gus Bink, the young
man who had formerly assisted Ralph Lum-
ley, the surveyor, and the person who had
caused the trouble at Amos Bemis’ store.

Then, as the mad horses leaped for the
yawning opening so slose at hand, Joe
sprang to their heads to do what he could to
save the young man’s life.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
a Cone ane neanNniy
Tue Salvation Army at Frisco furnishes

sleeping quarters as well as food to the
poor,

of land on the| ~

But there is one old deed |

A “TOWN BOY.”

BY WILL LISENBEE.

OW old is he?” asked Mr. Hampton,

fixing a critical gaze upon me as if

- taking a mental inventory of my
capabilities as a farm laborer.

“Sixteen,” answered my mother.

“Ever work on a farm?” he asked, turn-
ing to me.
|. “No, sir,” I replied, “but——”

‘‘Wouldn’t be worth much to me, then,”
| he interrupted, hastily.

A disappointed look
mother’s face.

“If you would only give him work, I’m
sure he would please you,” she said, appeal-
ingly.

Mr. Hampton leaned back in his chair,
lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and for some
time seemed absorbed in~ deepest cogita-
tion.

“My dear Mrs. Miller,” he said, at length,
dropping his eyes to my mother, “I sympa-
| thize deeply with you, knowing your condi-
| tion as I do; and being a distant relative of
| your late husband, I feel it my duty to do
what I can for his family, but, at the same
time, I can’t afford to rob my own.”

“Certainly not—I would not think of ask-
ing you to do that,” said my mother. “I
would expect Walter to earn all you would
pay him.”

“Of course,” went on Mr. Hampton, “but
a3 I was saying, he would be of little use to
| me, as he is not familiar with farm labor ;
| yet I feel it my duty to do something for
you, and if the boy can drive a team, and
| will make himself useful in doing chores
jabout the house, Ican perhaps give him
| employment at four dollars per month and
| board.”
|. “Four dollars a month!” said my mother,
in astonishment: “Why, you pay your

other hands thirty, and I thought Walter
ought to have :

“Very well,” broke in the farmer. “If
| you can do better by him, I should certainly
jadvise youto doso. I have simply done
| my ay in making the best offer I could
| afford.”

| ‘But four dollars a month—it will barely
| pay the interest on the mortgage you. hold
| on our home,” replied ‘my mother.

| Mr. Hampton rose in silence and began
| pulling on his gloves.

“Of course it’s your duty to do the best
|you can,” he said, slowly, walking toward
the door, “but I thought I was doing well
by you by offering him a good home and
enough money to pay the interest on the
mortgage.”

He opened the door and was about
pass out.

“Wait,” said my mother, a distressed look
upon her face. ‘I-—I want to do whatever
is best, and if Walter thinks it best to accept
your offer I'am willing.”

He paused and glanced at me.

“Mr. Hampton,” I said, ‘I am willing to
work for you on one condition, and that is
that you will pay me more if you find that
I can earn it.”

“Why, yes, I agree to that,” he said, after
& moment's hesitation, “but I wouldn’t like
to raise any false hopes, and, to bé frank
with you, I don’t think I have underesti-
mated what your services will be worth to
me. In fact I have found, as a rule, that
boys raised in the village are not worth their
board as farm hands. What a pity,” he
went on, turning to my mother, “that you
and Mr. Miller ever decided to live in torn,
for itis no place to raise a family. ‘The
idleness that usually attends life in town has
the effect of making the children shiftless,
besides unfitting them for useful employ-
ment. But a boy who is willing to work
can, in time, overcome the disadvantages of
| being born in town ; so I shall see what can
be done in your son’s case. I'll send Ben
in with the wagon to-morrow, and Walter
can come out and begin work,”

Then, bidding us good evening, he took
his departure. :

I must confess that I was far from pleased
with the prospect of working for Mr. Hamp-
ton, yet I felt it was the best I could do just
then. He had the reputation of being hard
and exacting with his employees, with little
charity for those in any way dependent
upon him. But Mr. Hampton was rich; he
not only possessed several well improved
farms, but was a loaner of money in small
sums, and there were few living in that lo-
cality that were not indebted to him. He
had been born and raised upon the farm,
and by industry and economy—stinginess,
some would have it—he had made every
dollar he possessed, So it was a favorite
hobby with him to boast of having been
born in the country, and to show his con.
tempt for city and town folks in general,

Te

35,
|

came over my

 

to

 

 
3470

GooDpD

NEWS.

 

The farm on which I was to work lay
some three miles from the village of Black-
wood, where I lived with my widowed
mother, and by arrangement with Mr.
Hampton, I was permitted to spend Sun-
days at home.

My first week on the farm was passed in
driving a team, hauling posts which several
men were cutting and splitting in the forest
that lay at the lower end of the farm. As
there was but little hauling to do during the
next week, I was sent to the woods to
make posts with Charlie Evans, a youth of
about my own age. This work suited me,
for I had always had a fondness for wood
chopping, and I was not without experience,
having chopped the wood for my father’s
bakery and for home use for some three or
four years.

It was late one evening in March, some
two months after my arrival at the Hampton
farm, when an jncident occurred that puz
zled me not a little.

I had been chopping in the woods alone
that day, and just as I was in the act of
starting for the house, a heavy rain came
up, compelling me to take shelter under a
thick mass of vines that covered the tops of
some underbrush.

While in this sheltered nook I happened
to glance in the direction of the river, when
I perceived the solitary figure of a man in a
small skiff. which had just been rowed
ashore. The stranger, who was a man of
about forty, leaped ashore as soon as the
skiff touched, then glancing hastily about
him, took two leathern valises out from the
bottom of the boat and walked quickly into
the woods. He passed within a dozen yards
of where I stood, but I had reasons to be-
live that he did not discover my presence.

“He seemed weighted down under the load
of the valises, and kept glancing about him
_ as if apprehensive of being discovered.

I was much puzzled by the stranger's
actions, and decided to remain in my place
of concealment and see if 1 could discover
what his business was.

He walked rapidly through the woods for
nearly a hundred yards, when he came to a
halt by a huge burr-oak tree. He deposited
his burden upon the ground, and wiping his
brow with his handkerchief, took a careful
survey of his surroundings. Then, appar-
ently satisfied that no one was near, he took
up one of the valises and began climbing a
small tree that grew close by the large burr-
oak. When about ten feet from the ground
he rested himself in a fork of the tree, and
took another careful survey of the surround-
ings.

His next move was to slide himself out
on a limb, till within reach of the trunk of the
latger tree, where he stopped, and opening
the valise, began to remove the contents, and
_ drop them into ahole in the hollow burr-oak.
When the valise was emptied he dropped
nimbly to the ground, and quickly ascended
with the other. The contents of this were
disposed of in the same manner as those of
the first, and when the work was accom-
plished he descended, took up the two empty
valises, and hurried back to his skiff, which
he entered, and rowed swiftly away.

It was almost dark by this time, and the
rain having ceased, save for a misty drizzle,
I set out for the house, feeling greatly puzzled
at what [had seen The man was an entire
stranger to me, and I was at a loss to under-
stand what it was that he had deposited in
the hollow tree. But the more I reflected
over the matter, the more mystitied I be-
came, and I was determined to visit the place
at the first opportunity and endeavor to
solve the mystery.

As luck would have it, I was sent to the
woods to make posts the next day, and I lost
no time in repairing to the large burr-oak
tree which had been visited by the stranger
the evening beforey I climbed the tree just
as the man had done, but on gazing into the
hole I could see nothing. I next cut a long
stick, and thrust it into the opening to the
depth of six or eight feet, but this experi-
ment furnished no clew as to what the hol-
low contained. There seemed no way left
to solve the mystery save by cutting into the
hollow of the tree, and this I did not desire
to do.

I was on the point of quitting the place,
and returning to work, when, happening to
glance at the ground, I saw something that
set my head all a-flutter. I took up the ob-
ject and held it in my hand. Jt was a silver
dollar !

I stood looking at it in stupid amazement.
This, then, was what the strange man had
deposited in the hollow tree! The thought
came to me like a flash. Could it be that a
treasure was actually hidden in the old tree ?
All the stories I had ever heard of misers
and their buried treasures came to my mind.
What should I do about the matter? Should
Igo and inform Mr. Hampton of the dis-
covery? 3 Sa

 

Thrusting the coin into my pocket, I went
back and resumed my work, still thinking
over the matter.

There was no doubt in my mind now but
that the stranger had hidden a fortune in
silver in the cld tree, but why he should
do so wag a mystery. I had about come to
the conclusion to lay the whole matter be-
fore Mr. Hampton at once, when a new
thought came to me. Perhaps the money
belonged to Mr. Hampton, and had been
hidden there for him by one of his em-
ployees, There had been much talk about
Mr. Hampton being a miser, and it had
been whispered about the neighborhood
that he had thousands of dollars in coin
buried about his farm.

It was this thought that caused me to
change my mind regarding my speaking of
the matter to Mr. Hampton, for I well knew
that should it prove that the money was his,
he would resent any meddling on my part,
and might look upon me as a spy who was
trying to pry into his private affairs. So I
decided to say nothing about my discover-
ery till I had consulted with my mother.

On the following Sunday I gave my
mother the particulars of the affair, and
she advised me to return the coin and say
nothing about what I had seen, and in that
way I would be sure of keeping out of
trouble.

The summer passed without bringing any
change in the attitude of Mr. Hampton to-
ward me. At the end of every month he
would pay the four dollars due me with the
remark, “I am allowing you all you are
worth to me.” As nothing better offered, I
was compelled to keep on at my poorly paid
labor.

One day—it was early in September—a
man giving his name as James Redfield
came to the Hampton farm. He was a land
buyer, I learned, and as Mr. Hampton had
some land to sell, the stranger was invited
to remain a guest at the farm-house till he
had taken a look at Mr, Hampton’s farms.
He remained there several days, but no
bargain was made.

One morning while we were at breakfast,
Mr. Redfield casually remarked that he had
a very remarkable dream the night before,
and he went on to relate it to Mr. Hamp-
ton.

“Of course it was only a dream,”-he said,
“but I could not help being impvessed at
its vividness. I dreamed that a large
amount of money in silver was hidden in
a large burr-oak tree on your farm; the
very location, the tree, and the surround-
ings are yet so plainly stamped upon my
mind that I could easily recognize the place
-—if there is such a place—if I Sart see
it.”

As may well be imagined I was speechless
with astonishment at the stranger's words.
Of course my thoughts at once reverted to
the incident of several months before which
had so greatly puzzled me—the mysterious
visit of the stranger to the burr-oak tree
near the river, But the surprise I felt at
the words of Mr. Redfield was quickly re-
inforced by still another surprise, for I had
recognized the stranger as the same man
whose mysterious visit to the hollow tree
had so puzzled me!

The strange conduct of Mr. Redfield filled
me with no little surprise, and I could give
no guess as to what his object could be in
saying what he had. If he had really hid-
den the treasure in the tree why should he
pretend to have dreamed of finding it ?

While Mr. Redfield was telling of his
dream, I perceived that Mr, Hampton be-
came much interested, though he said but
little. When breakfast was over I was
about starting to the woods to begin my
work of choping posts, when Mr, Redfield
turned to Mr. Hampton and said, laugh-
ingly :

‘Suppose we go to the woods and try to
find the treasure-tree I dreamed of, and if
we find it you take one-fourth of the money
to pay you for the tree, and I take the
balance.” \

“That’s fair enough,” said Mr. Hampton,
with a smile, and after talking over the
matter for a little while they decided to
accompany me to the woods.

As we walked across the -fields in the
direction of the forest, my mind was
kept busy over the puzzling affair.
Just why the stranger, who must pos-
sess great wealth, would conceal a large
amount of money on another man’s
farm, and then give him a large share of it
for the simple privilege of taking it away,
was more than I could understand.

On reaching that part of the woods lying
close to the river, Mr. Redfield walked in
the direction. of the large burr-oak which he
had visited on that rainy evening months
before. As he drew nearer he exclaimed:

“Why, bless my soul! there is the very
tree! How remarkable! Now we shall

 

soon see if there is any dependence to be
placed in dreams.”

In spite of the fact that I had little doubt
but the treasure would be found in the tree,
I could not help feeling a touch of excite-
ment as we set to work with our axes to cut
into the hollow oak,

For nearly an hour we worked steadily,
the stranger assisting, before the hollow was
reached, Then as the hght fell into the
opening it revealed a large heap of silver
dollars lying within! Mr. Hampton was
visibly excited, and Mr. Redfield was most
profuse in his expressions of amazement.

When the excitement induced by the dis-
covery had in a moment abated, we re-
moved the coins from their resting-place,

The coins were of a date of some forty
years before, and when they had all been
taken out and counted, we found that there
were a little over two thousand of the silver
dollars. As this was too great a load to
carry to the house, I was ‘dispatched for
Mr. Hampton’s buggy and some bags to
carry the silver in.

Upon my return the silver was placed in
the sacks and loaded into the buggy, five
hundred dollars being placed in a separate
bag as Mr. Hampton’s share. Then the two
men got in the buggy and drove home, but
not till the stranger had given me twenty of
the silver dollars, which he declared was
my share of the treasure,

The possession of the twenty dollars
made me feel quite rich, and while I was
still as much puzzled as ever at the conduct
of the stranger, I could not help feeling
thankful for his visit. I worked on steadily
till time to go to dinner. Then I thought
for the first time that day of the coin I had
found by the tree and which I had after-
ward replaced. I went back to the tree, but
it was some time before I could find the
coin, for it had become imbedded in the
soil, As I picked it up and rubbed the dirt
from its surface I was struck by its peculiar
appearance, for in one place it was quite
black, looking more like pewter than silver.
A strange suspicion came like a flash to my
mind. I laid the coin on a stump, and
striking it a blow with my ax, broke it into
several pieces. A glance at the metal told
the startling truth—it was counterfeit.

Taking the pieces of broken coin in my
hand, I hurried to the house. I found that
the stranger had gone away, Mr. Hampton
having taken him in the buggy that he might
catch the one o’clock train at Blackwood.
Mrs. Hampton, I soon found, was greatly
excited over the finding of the treasure, and
began to talk about it as soon as I came in.

“It’s too bad,” she said, “that we did not
find the treasure ourselves and have had the
whole two thousand dollars instead of but
five hundred.”

Then she went on to say that Mr. Red-
field had found it inconvenient to carry so
much siiver with him, and that Mr. Hamp-
ton had given him paper money for the
fifteen hundred in silver.

I saw it all in an instant now; Mr. Hamp-
ton was the victim of a swindle.

Without a word of explanation, I rushed
from the house and into the stable and
began to saddle one of Mr. Hampton’s
horses. ‘There might yet be time to save
my employer the money he had paid to the
rascally Redfield. Mrs, Hampton came out
just as I galloped out of the gate, a look of
amazement upon her face. I did not stop
to explain. I simply said: ‘‘Mrs. Hamp-
ton, that money 1s counterfeit.” Then I
galloped away.

I knew there was not a moment to lose,
and I rode at a sweeping pace till I reached
Blackwood, I rode straight to the consta-
ble’s house. He was at dinner, but the mo-
ment I told him my errand he hurried with
me td the station. We reached there just
as the train arrived. Mr. Redfield was just
in the-act of stepping aboard when the con-
stable laid a hand on his shoulder, and said:

“You are my prisoner.”

No one was more astonished than was
Mr. Hampton, and he turned pale with
amazement when he heard the truth.

* * * * *

Mr. Redfield was tried and convicted in
due time, and the money which Mr. Hamp-
ton had come so near losing was returned
to him. I had saved my employer the loss
of fifteen hundred dollars, yet he said noth-
ing about the matter save to remark that it
was fortunate I had discovered the coins
were counterfeit before it was too late.

Of course [had only done my duty, and
expected no reward, yet I did hope for bet-
ter treatment after that. But‘he never even
as much as offered to raise my wages. So I
worked on, hoping to soon be able to se-
cure work elsewhere.

About a month later he told me I might
have a week’s vacation, and I went home
determined to use the time in looking for

 

other work. But a surprise awaited me,
for I found, on arriving home, that Mr.
Hampton had left a package for me with
my mother, which, on being opened, was
found to contain a roll of bills, the mort-
gage on my mother’s house, canceled,
and a note in which he stated that he had
allowed me thirty dollars per month from
the time of my beginning work for him.
He had decided to do this after he had seen
my first week’s work, and had made his in-
tentions known. to my mother, but he
wished the fact kept a secret from me that
he might aszertain if I would slight my
work because I was not receiving as much
wages as the other hands. AsI had stood
the test, he would retain me in his employ
at a salary of forty dollars per month. [
would be required to help him in keeping
his accounts and look after the stock. He

closed with the remark that he was glad
that he had found some good ina “town

boy” after all.
+0 -e

SOMETHINGABOUT COLUMBIAN STAMPS,

$ HOEVER has invested in Colum-
WA i, bian stamps for speculative pur-

Jo) poses is now being gladdened with

developments that are beyond the
anticipation of even the most sanguine.
Stamp collectors, dealers and speculators,
are now frantically scouring the entire
United States to secure whatever quantity is
obtainable of the higher values, but with
little success.

When, at the end of last year, it was an-
nounced that the Post-office I epartment at
Washington had issued mandates to all the
postmasters to force the sale of Columbian
stamps, owing to the large quantity that re-
mained undisposed of at that time, it was
the general opinion that those who had laid
in supplies of them for speculative pur-
poses were destined to be disappointed.
But few of the speculators, however, lost
courage ; they simply made up their minds
that they would have to hold on to their
stamps somewhat longer than at first con-
templated.

Those collectors and dealers who had
failed to supply themselves with these labels,
began to prophesy a decline in the value of
used specimens, and took frequent occasion
to poke fun at their fellow fiends who had
been in a hurry, as they phrased it, to buy.

So matters remained for the first few
months of the current year. Then began to
be noticed a slow but gradual and increas-
ing demand for the 3, 6, 8, 15, 30 and 50
cent, and all of the dollar values. First one
post-office was reported to be out of a cer-
tain value, then some other post-office was
announced to be out of another, and by the
middle of March it became apparent that
the demand for sets of the Columbian issue
had become as strong as it was when the
issue was first placed on sale in January,
1893.

In February the exact number of each
value that had been printed and turned |
over to the postal authorities became known,
and this is what stimulated afresh the desire
of collectors, dealers and speculators. Of
the 3-cent 11,228,850 were issued; of the
6-cent 4,330,250; of the 8-cent 10,650,650; of
the 15-cent 1,547,790; of the 30-cent 600,300;
of the 50-cent 200,716; of the 1-dollar 55,520;
of the 2-dollar 24,079; of the 3-dollar 19,331;
of the 4-dollar 18,469; of the 5-dollar 19,035.

Notwithstanding the comparatively large
number of the 3, 6, 8, and 15-cent issued,
many were induced to speculate in them on
account of the small sum it required to pur-
chase a thousand or, two of them, and be-
cause, as they reasoned, thousands buy
stamps that cost less than 50 cents (2s.)
where only a few buy those that are sold for
50 cents or more.

Those with more hardihood and better
foresight, however, invested in the higher
values, even including the 5-dollar. They
did not fail to take into consideration that
every season there are sold at public auction
in this country and in England, thousands
of stamps ranging in value from $5 to $1,000.
_ Whatever the motive, the fact remains
that it is to-day virtually impossible to get
any of the dollar values at any post-office in
the United States, and at but few can any
of the other values previously mentioned
be obtained.

The history of the sale of these stamps
will serve to illustrate the rage for them
from the Atlantic to the Pacific Coast, and
from the Canadian to the Mexican border.

Up to the first of March the demand was
normal, and was mostly for the denomina-
tions up to and including the 50-cent. Soon
after began a call for complete sets from
local collectors; this developed into sales of
several sets to local dealers and speculators,
then came orders by post from neighboring
towns for the highest values, and within tlie

 
past month the postmaster has been receiv-
ing an average of ten letters daily from all
parts for full sets or for the dollar values,
most of the writers inclosing drafts or
money. In one case there was inclosed
$500 in bank-notes, but the order came too
late to be filled.

That this extraordinary demand came
only from collectors, dealers and specula-
tors is shown by the statement of a post-
master that throughout the entire period
during which these stamps were in use he
knew of but a dozen cases in which the
5-dollar stamp was legitimately used for
postage. For two months after the Goy-
ernment ceased to issue them the high
values lay dormant, but within the past few
months thousands of dollars, offered for the

purchase of these stamps, had been turned |
away from the stamp windows or had been |

returned to people who had written.

As a result the higher values are now
commanding a premium that will return a
handsome profit to the holders of them.
For the $1 stamps a dealer is offering $1.50
each for unused specimens, and $1.25 for
used specimens, and is unable to secure any.
Varying premiums are offered for the other
dollar values, the $5 stamps now command-
ing $6, with few to be had.

One enterprising dealer sent out a circu-
lar letter to all the first and second-class
post-offices in the United States asking them
how many of each of the 50-cent, $1, $2, $3
$4, and $5 they had on hand, and requesting
hem to hold them till he could forward a

1oney-order or draft for their purchase.
Thus far his returns have been very meager.

It is reported that a New York syndicate
is mainly responsible for the sudden, ex-
haustion of ‘all the high values. If such is
the case their operations have been highly
successful, and the collector who has neg-
lected to complete his set of Columbians
with the idea that there was no need of
being in a hurry, is likely to pay dearly for
his procrastination.

What precedes has reference almost en-
tirely to unused specimens, but the can-
celed stamps are little if any less valuable.
It has not been an infrequent experience at
the post-office to have people call and ask
to have the high values neatly canceled, as
many collectors, particularly those of
Europe, prefer used stamps. In all cases
the applicant has been obliged and the ob-
literating stamps of the post-office neatly
applied.

Our Mail Bag.

[Questions on subjects of general interest only are
dealt with in the ‘Mail Bag.” Medical or legal
questions ‘not answered. Good Nrws goes to press
two weeks in advance of date of publication, and there-
fire answers Cannot appear until two or three weeks
atter we receive them. Comnnunications intended for
this colunm shonld be addressed Goop NEws “Mail
Bax,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.)

—

Silly Boy, Harrisburg, Pa.—t. The Alabama
Claims were demands made upon Great Britain by
the United States for damages caused by the pri-
vateers in the service of the Southern Confederac v
which were built or equipped in British ports.
‘The claims received their name from the Alabama,
which wis the vessel committing the most depre-
dations upon United States shipping. They were
submitted to arbitration, and an award of $15,500,000
in gold was given to the United States. ‘This
amount was paid by Great Britain in 1874. 2. We
cannot answer medical questions. 3. Yes, William
Murray Graydon lives near Harrisburg.

Young Billy, Exeter. N. H.—The last century
ended on the 3ist of December, 1800. ‘The present

century began on the first of Janus ary 1801.

This is a question often asked and
in regard to which there seems to exist consider-
able doubt. In reality, however, there is no diffi-
culty in the matter, whatever, and no room for two
opinions. If a century consists of a hundred
years, Why shonld the first century have only
sty-nine years?
Denver, Col.—A course of gymnastics
may and probably will improve and strengthen
your physique, but will not add to your height.
‘At your age, there is little, if any chance, that you
willever be any taller. Cases have been known,
however, where person have grown in stature,
after twenty-three.

Rk. J., Helmetta, N. J.—We go to press two or
three weeks before the date of issue, and so of
necessity your notice cannot appear until some
time after itis sent. We wish our readers would
remember this, and not become impatient over
seeming veglect,

Punch, Columbus,

1

of January 1901.

Sh oxt Y,

Ohio,—Yes, it is possible to
read and translate French from a book, but not to
pronounce it. The only way to learn to speak
French fluently is by constant practice with
French people or others who speak the language
well,

H.C.8S., San Francisco, Cal.—Yes, a President
can serve any number of terms, if itis the will of
the public that he showld do so. There is no law to
prevent it, although there seems to be.a strong
popular prejudice against more than two terms.

R, Cc. T., Chicago, 11!.—1. The whipping post is in
use in put two States of the Union, Delaware and
Maryland. 2. That is a matter of opinion. We are
inclined to think that for certain offenders it is
more efficacious than any other punishment,

Numismatic, Portsmouth, N. H.— There is no pre-
minum -on the quarter of 1853 which has rays sur-
rounding the eagle. One witllont the rays, how-
ever, is worth in the neighborhood of two. dollars
and a half.

H. H., Washington, D. C.—Consult the dramatic
papers. But we cannot too strongly advise you

‘The |
twentieth century will therefore begin on the first |

 

t7OOD

against the step ‘proposed.
are three or four years older.
J.S. R., Salt Lake, Utah.—l. The poem you men-
tion would not be suitable for our columns, and we
are therefore obliged to decline your offer. 2. No;
not at present.

F.T.C., St. Louis, Mo.—Consult
a hand-book of eleetricity. To describe
cess here would take too much space.

Sufferer, New York.—There is said to
lutely uo cure for color blindnes

J. L.,.ogdensburg, Vt.—1l. Yes.
swer. this question. 3. No.

J. M. R., Raleigh, N. € Matches were
about 1829,

H. C., South Bend,
paper.

[Several communications left over to be answered
next week, }

At “east wait till you

a cyclopedia or
the pro-

be abso-

2. We cannot an-
invented

Ind.—Yes, on any kind of

——___$§_—-e-———_—

AMONG
gx

w~ NY)
Goop News iGLUBS.

{SPECIAL NOTICE.—This column is for Goop
NkEws Clubs only. No notices will be inserted
excepting such as are genuine GOOD NEWS Club
notices, and nothing in the shape of an advertise-
ment will be allowed, Every ¢lub notice should
have the names of the president and secretary of
the club attached. For information concerning
GOOD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad-
vertisement on last page.)

—
CHAT.

K. W. H., Jr.—Your notice is an advertisement,
and will cost you fifty cents per line on the adver-
tising page,

W. M. S.—No, we have no objection whatever to
your using the naine.

facta

CLUB NOTICES.

Ha! ha! Not amember of Good NEws Humane
Society of America! Well, if you are nota mem-
ber of this old reliable and well established society,
ro are not considered up with the times, 80 you
iad better join now and have your name on our
agent’s list. Every reader of the Goop NEY
cordially invited to become a member. The initia-
tion fee is within the reach of all—only 12 cents;
no dunes, The only thing required is that you
should protect animals from eruelty, such is in
your power. If you have done so you should send
inareport. In order to make everybody take an
interest in it, we will present a beautiful basket of
artificial flowers to the one that sends in the
largest number of reports. We want agents all
over the United States, and at least ten in each
city. Send initiation fee to secretary, Hermann H.
Duncker, 10 BE. Broad street, Richmond, Va.

Ts the best too good for you? If not, try the
Plainwell branch of the GOOD Nkrws Club. We
have an extra large membership of United States
and Canada’s best young people, Our objects are
such as will interest you, being correspondence,
collecting and pleasure.
progressive, and everything is ens up-to-date. Fee
at present only 10 cents; no dues; ladies admitted
forastamp. All will receivea beautiful 10- page
list, elegant membership card, circulars, ete., and
we will ‘ave your name inserted in ourd ctory
and new list. For this week only we will give
ladies a free membership in the N. C. C., America’s
greatest young people’s association. Wm. Lee
Chambers, secretary, or W. E. Carveth, president,
both of Plainwell, Mich.

All readers of GOOD NEWS are invited to join the
Goop N&ws International Book Exchange Club.
Members may borrow novels and papers from the
library, providing they will return them. We will
place your lists of novels in the hands of exchangers
and effect satisfactory exchanges for you. You
will be more than pleased with “this club. Card of
admission and list of members to all joining. Fee
5cents. Send stamp for full particulars. W. M.
Lewis, president, C. L. Davis, secretary. Address
all communications _ 0 the secretary at Lisle
Broome Co., N. Y.

Don’t read itd tis you want to do a good
thing by joining the GoobD NEws Eureka Stamp
Exchange and Corresponding Club. | This club
wants new members at once. One hundred and
fifty members already. Every person joining this
week will receive me: ‘mbership card, Club Register,
list or members and fifty foreign ‘stamps cay,
rare), Adimission fee, only 10 cents (silver) ; ladies,
free. Please state if youare interested inP hilately.
For further explanation, apply with stamp (2c.) to
Burr J. Merriam, secretary. H. D, French, presi-
dent, Lisle, N.

Boys, if you like to read pugilistic, detective,
Wild West, bicycle, and electric stories, and many
other kinds of stories of general adventure, you
should join the Buckeye GOOD NEws Reading Club

Sandusky, Ohio, Rudolph Stawetzky, president;

r Wendschuh, vice-president ; W itiam Hupp.
secretary and treasurer, You will get from 25 to
50 cents’ worth of reading matter to peruse every
month. When joining, write which stories you
like best. Initiation fee, i0 cents; dues, 5 cents a
monthin advance, Address the secretary, William
Hupp. ‘

Hello, boys! have you qcauign the Goop NEws
Exchange and Corresponding Club of Wilton,
Conn.? If you have not, do so at once. We want a
few more members to complete our list, which is to
be issued soon, The first ones joining from Califor-
nia, Utah, Texas, and Maine willereceive one
library valued at 10 cents, besides six different for-
eign stamps, one trick, and six cards, with name
printed on each. Initiation fee, 10 cents; ladies
admitted for 2-cent stamp, Address the secretary,
KE. S. Benedict, Wilton, Conn.

Join the GooD NEWS Reading Club. Members
may borrow either three 5 or 10-cent novels, one
25 or 50-cent novel, three stof'y papers or two hand-
books at one time, and upon their return are enti-
tled to borrow more. 100 picture cards to the fifty
persons joining after this notice appears. Initiation
fee, 10 cents; dues, 10 cents per month, payable
the first of each month. Address L.C. Putnam,
president and secretary, 10 County street, Pea-
body, Mass.

Girls, this is ‘ladies’ week.” Join Goop NEWS
Cor responding and Exchange Club of North Amer-
ica now. You will be admitted free, and have no
dues to pay. Throngh our club you may become
acquainted with young people living all over the
world, for we have members in Canada, Mexico,
Europe, China, India, and New Zealand. Irving
Edwin Blake, president; Geo. N. Dorney, assist-
am secretary, 2088 Seventh avenue, New York
city,

‘We hereby beg to notify our patrons of the or-
f£anization of the Columbian Club, and in order to
make it boom we would be greatly pleased to have
youjoin. The initiation fee is 10 cents (silver) ;
dues, 5 cents (silver) a month in advance; ladies

We are live, popular and } pew! a
|} a Gem camera to exchange for a self-inking print-

 

NEWS.

free. We want representatives in all the leading
cities and towns, so apply at once by mail to Edw.
F, Suhre, secretary, 2310 South Twelfth street, St.
Louis, Mo,

If you are the first one to join the Goop NEws
Friendship Club of Chicago, 11, from your State
east of the Mississippi you will receive an elegant
lamp-mat, membership card, and rules and reg
tions. List of members every month. Initiation
fee, 10 cents; dues, 5 cents per month in adve uce.
Ladies free. For full partic ars addr
Boehm, secretary, 57: est Twenty-fifth stre: et

All stamp collectors or would be ones are mi

a good thing if they don’t join the Goop } Ss
Philatelic Society. It is a great help to young
collectors. The exchange and auction sales
are some of its advantages. Handsome mem-
bership card and prize packet free. Membership
fee, 15 cents per year tary’s address, W. M.

Sloe um, Box 133, Long Branch cit N

Notice !—To all joining the Crescent Goon }
Corresponding Club this week will be given a pac
age of stationery, a list of members, and member-
ship card, Initiation fees and dues, 15 cents. Join
at once and take
For further information address, with stamp,
secretary, John Wieser, 61384 Trendley
East St. Louis, Ill

Join GOov stamp Club of New York City.
Initiation fee is 10 cents; dues, 10 cents a month.
The first one joining will receive a postage stamp
album, the rest will receive a set of Leeward
Islands stamps. to bert ey president and
secretar 49 Third avenue. Bitter, treasurer,
C. Bitter, vice-president, 317 Raat 78th street, New
York city.

Join the Forest City GooD News Club of Port-
land, Me. A new 25-cent book or five new and un-
cutd-cent novels, and pac kage of amateur papers to
every member. "The first joining from Illinois and
Texas will be made representatives. Initiation
fee, 15 cents cash; no dues, Address C. W. Piere 8,
166 Oxford street.

the
avenue,

EPARTMENT.

i
“EXCHANGE
te

eas oe

(ImportTant.—This column is /yee to all our readers
We will not be responsible for transactions brought
about through noti in this column. All offe:
be strictly exchange “offers. We will not in
“for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of f
explosives, dangerous or worthless articles. If ¢
notices do not appear in a reasonable time,
understood that hey were not accepted.
communications for this column to “
partment."}

Roesch eanie

MISCELLANEOUS.—H. L. Moses, care F. F.
Hansell & Bro., 126 Canal street, New Orleans, La.,
has some valuable magic tricks (list if desired),
fine books by best authors, rare stamps, copies of
Goobp NEws from No.1 (not complete volumes), and
choice athletic goods to exchange for Safety, pneu-
matic tire, or canvas boat, in perfect condition
Ali letters answered, especially in regard to boats.

MISCELLANEOUS.—P. R. Laudermilch, 33
North Seventh street, Lebanon, Pa., has two trick
boxes, two large cloth-bound books, one wizard’s

| manual, one self-lighting lamp, two books on how

to make dynamos and motors, a $l typewriter, and
ing press not less than 8x6 or over. Letters an-
swered.

PAPERS.—C. W. Pierce, 176 Oxford street, Port-
land, Me., will exchange a New York daily con-
taining war news at the close of the Rebellion for
best offer in Columbian stamps,

MISCELLANEOUS.—Richard Johnson, Box 14,
Helmetta, N. J., h a concert roller organ with
thirteen rollers to exchange for a Kodak or camera
with outfit, or best offer. Also Leather Stocking
‘Tales and 300 foreign stamps for a 50-cent or $1 can-
celed Columbian stamp.

STAMPS.—A. C. Nadeje, 304° East Geventa:
fourth street, New York city, will exchange ten
foreign stamps for every 6-cent Columbian ; 100 for
every 50-cent Columbian; 15 for every 30-cent Co-
lumbian; 25 for every 10. cent Columbian ; 200 for
every $1 Columbian.

READING MATTER.—A. H. Le Hand, Pots-
dam, N. Y., has 5 and 10-cent novels, 30 scientific
books, 5, 000 stamps, and boys’ papers to exchange
for Safety bicycle, camera, or typewriter; the
came ra to be shap-shot. All letters answered.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Willie A. Stafford, Old
‘Town, Me, has 22 1-cent, 90 2-cent Columbian
stamps, 180 5-cent story papers, and 4 25-cent books
to exchange for best 0 er in magical tricks or
tricks of any kind.

MISCELLANEOUS.—H. L, Du Bard,
Miss., has 16400t skiff, printing press, < nd outfit for
manufacturing rubber stamps to exchange for
high grade Safety bicycle with pneumatic or cush-
ion tires.

NOVELS.—Wm. Beachman, Decatur, Ala., has
15 25-cent novels to exchange for best offer in
United States stamps,

Ss" rc PS.—W. M. Slocum, Box 133, Long Branch
City, N.J., h collection of foreign stamps to ex-
change for American or British Colonials, any
quantity. Also $25 worth of exchange for printing
press or stamps.

READING MATTER.—Fred J. Lesh, J
Tenn., has 5 and 10-cent novels and othe
matter to exchange for reading matter, or best
offer. All letters answered.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Lyman Beggs, Escanaba,
Mich., has a printing press, type, rubber type-
holder, tweezers, indelible ink and pad, and some
gilt bronze to exchange for scroll saw, in good con-
dition, stamps, or best offer; scroll aay preferred.
All letters answered.

MISCELLANEOUS. — Claude Seconsil East
Tawas, IoscoCo., Mich., has telephone boxes, 400
feet copper wire, two new base-ball bats (ash and
pine), picture cards, and certificates, comic and
detective novels, a book on “Iwo Ways of Becom
ing a Hunter,” and a new mouth organ to ex-
change fora Kodak camera, lathe, or typewriter
either must be in good condition, All letters an-
swered.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Earl F. Brock, 233 East
Hardin street, Findlay, Ohio, will exchange two
volumes of boys’ papers, 90 detective libraries, 50
comic libraries, 10 games, 2,000 tin tags, bound
books, books on ‘magic, ventriloquism, mesmerism,
ete , for best offer in boys’ ae boxing-gloves,
foot-ball or base-ball goods. All letters answered.

PRINTING PRESS.—A. Herbst, 122 East One
Hundred and Tenth street, New York, has a print-
ing press and type to exchange for Columbian
stamps above 15 cents.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Ray Glover, Lisle. N. Y.,
has 50 varieties of stamps, 19 picture cards, one
magic trick box and some fire-eating material to
exchange for a set of Columbian stamps from lc, to
one dollar inclusive. All letters answered.

MISCELLANEOUS. — Willie Wecherly, 2428
Brown street, Philadelphia, Pa., has 4x5 camera

Grenada,

} others
| Send list and receive the same.

| fore igh stamps (no

advantage of this liberal offer, |

 

3471

amdontfit, value £°0. printing press. chase 4x5--
Guu be made aselt-inker by replacing the rolle -
bicycle lamp, $1 pocket lamp outfit, for a two-
ted Canoe or a very light two-seated rowboat.
5 Geo. I. Hutchinson, Lock Box 4, Frank-
Mass, has collections of eggs to exchange for
not in his collection. Best offers answered.

GS.

lin,

STAMPS
Minneapoli

Wm. Nordquist, 920 15th street, S. E.,
Minn., has 225 United Bales: ee
two alike) to exchange for 52
consecutive numbers of the Goop NEWS i in good
condition,

tea a ae lees

- icklets.

BY CHARLES W. FOSTER.
He Hit It.

Visiting Clergyman (anxious to compliment
his host ata Sunday- -school celebration)— “My
dear children, to what one man are we most
indebted forthe great crowd of happy faces
seen here to-d: uy re

Bright Boy—* Adam,”

Getting There by Degrees.

Little Boy—*Papa, won't you get me a nice
round stick to roll hoop with?”

Papa—“Of course.”

, Bae: won ‘tyou buy mea hoop to roll?”

“Y-e-

“The ut ‘will be lovely. Then you will have to
buy me a bieycle so that I cau keep up with the
hoop.”

A Lesson in Manners,

Little Boy—“How long have you had that
doll?”
Little Miss—“This is a ghl

doll,
oughtn’t to ask her age.’

an’ you
Information Cheerfully Given.
Student—Working at your essay ia
Room-mate—“Yes. Say! what do you
when you can't think of a word you want?”
Student—“I ask you.’

Mother's Darling.
Boy—“Mamma asked,
favorite flower, an’ w’en

do

Suburban
was wy

me what
I told her

1 ‘golden rod she kissed me an’ said L was poetic.
| Wot does that mean?”

Little Girl—*] don’t know.
the golden red?’

Suburban Boy—‘’Cause it grows without
any bother.”

Why do you like

Willing to Learn.

Little Jotunny—“I ‘think Tommy Dodd
wouldn’t have so many accidents on his bi-
cycle if he’d go slow instead——”

Mother—‘“Say ‘go slowly.’”

Little John Yes'm—if he’d go slowly in-
stead of fastly.

Not Quite Perfect.

Little Dot—“I wish my doll didn’t have iekate
red cheeks and such around face.” >
Mamma—She is very pretty.” {
Little Dot—Yes, but when I play she is
awful sick an’ mos’ dyin’, she always looks so
fatan’ healthy I can’t feel worried over her a

bit.”
Half of it.

Little Boy—“Our new horse is half Arabian.”

Father—“Think so?”

Little Boy—“Yep. He hasn’t the star and
crescent on his nose, but he’s got the star.
That's half of it.’

a a
THE WOUN ‘DED IN BATTLE,

A soldier, struck in the knee while on the
march, continued to march along’ with his
company quite unconscious of the wound
until his comrades noticed that the leg of
his trousers was saturated with blood ; yet
he had by that time lost so much blood that
he died.

Another man was struck slightly in the
arm and severely in the body; he was con-
scious of the former but not of the latter.
After a short time he was able to get the
doctor to attend to his arm, but while it was
being done he fell back dead from the effects
of the more severe injury.

On the other hand, a slight wound will
sometimes cause such pain all over the body
that the sufferer begins to think that he has
been riddled with bullets,

The fact is, that the amount of pain varies
with the mental state of the person, as well
as with the extent of the injury—that is, the
number of nervous centers which are af-
fected.

A mortal wound, if a small one, may be
almost painless; whereas an unimportant
one, if it extend over a large surface—such
as a long scratch or cut—will occasion great
pain. ;

The nature of the pain varies also accord-
ing to the nature of the wound. Injuries
from fire-arms, when they cause an ap-
preciable amount of pain, provoke a burn-
ing sensation at the mouth of the wound ;
when there is a fracture the burning feeling
is accompanied by shooting and pricking
pains.

If the bone is struck without being frac-
tured a numb feeling is experienced, quickly
followed by sharp pains. When the muscles
and sinews are hurt there is a “drawing” or
twitching sensation.

The above remarks apply also to wounds
caused by splinters from shells and by bul-
lets. The sensations experienced from
wounds caused by cannon-balls can hardly
be dealt with, as those so hit are generally
killed outright.

v

 
S472

GoonD NEWS.

 

MOVING THE JURY.

mW CANADIAN barrister named Mc-

Ye\\, Sweeny was a thorough student of

human nature, and master of the

art of observation. Nothing escaped

his notice. While engaged upon a case he

watched the jury as a cat watches a mouse,

and frequently astonished his clients by

ending his arguments very abruptly and
submitting the matter to the jury. -

“ve known many a case to be talked to
death after it had beén won,” he said.
“What is the use of wasting time and
breath after the jury is converted to your
way of thinking? I believe I can tell when
Ihave my jury wellin hand. At that point
Istop, no matter in what shape it leaves
my speech. I take it that a client employs
a lawyer to win his case, and not to display
his oratorical abilities.”

The peculiarity of the great criminal law-
yer was well shown at a murder trial in
Montreal a few years ago. Mr. McSweeny
appeared for the defendant. The State had
apparently made out a very clear case
against the prisoner. When Mr. McSweeny
arose to make his address to the jury, he
carefully avoided any reference to the facts
set forth in the evidence or the laws gov-
erning them. He pointed out the terrible
resvonsibility resting upon the twelve men
who were sitting in judgment upon the life
of one of their fellow citizens. He added
that the verdict of guilty would not fall
heaviest upon the prisoner, but upon his
family. He asked the jury to think for a
moment of the effect of an adverse verdict
upon the wife and little ones of the pris-
oner,

Then the lawyer drew a word picture
which was a marvel of artistic rhetorical
work. He brought before the eyes of the
jurymen the home of the accused man. He
showed the patient and loving wife leaving
her work to’ cast many an anxious glance
down the road to see if her husband was
yet in sight, eager to be the first to catch a
glimpse of his figure in the distance, that
asteaming supper might await him upon
his arrival, He pictured three ruddy-faced
children swinging upon the old gate waiting

« till papa should come home to them.

At this point the lawyer noticed that one
of the jurymen had considerable difficulty
in iwiditer tae a large lump which choked
him, and that there was a suspicious moist-
ureinhiseye., .

The speaker paused. ‘Turning toward

that juror, he held out both hands as a lit-

tle child might have done to its father, and
said, in a tone that was scarcely audible :

“Gentlemen, you must send him home to
them.” —

Shifting uneasily in his seat, the juror
blurted out:

“Yes, we'll do it, too.”

McSyeeny instantly sat down. The case
was won. His client was acquitted. But
the most interesting point in this case, per-
haps, was the fact, which the lawyer after-
ward learned, that the prisoner at the bar
Was an unmarried man.

a
HE WAS NO SWIMMER.

Shortly after Pat had joined the army his
regiment was one day marching by the side
of a stream. Pat was far from being a
coward, but he had no particular liking for
water. A few moments’ rest were allowed
and then the order came to ‘‘March.”

Pat, however, had got a little out of the
ranks, and the officer shouted:

‘No, 32, fall in !”

Pat at once recognized his number, and
taking a look at the rushing stream, he
turned to his superior, exclaiming:

‘“Arrah, now, it is joking ye are, major

ee
FROM HIM THAT HATH, ETC,

y

The Sunday school needed money, and
Mr. Smith, the superintendent, had a new
way of getting it.

He proposed giving each boy half a dollar.
At the end of a month the principal, to-
gether with what it earned, was to be re-
turned to him.

The scheme was good, but it didn’t work
quite as Mr. Smith had anticipated.

The fourth Sunday found the superin-
tendent ready to andit the profit and loss
accounts, and he commenced with Johnnie’s
class.

“How have you done, Johnnie ?”

“My'half a dollar has earned another
one,” said Johnnie, with the air of one hay-
ing an option on a halo.

“Good,” said the superintendent. ‘Not
only is Johnnie a good boy in helping the
school, but he shows business talent. Doub-
ling one's money in a single month requires

: .

 

Frrst Amateur Basr-Batuist—‘‘Well, Fred, how did
“Glorious ! never had so.much fun since

Srconp Amatrur Base-Bauuisr

A DELIGHTFUL SPORT.

jp

you enjoy yourself ?”

I was in that railroad accident last summer.”

no common talent. Who can tell but we
may have a budding. Croesus among us.
Johnnie, you have done well.”

“And now, Thomas, how much has your}

half-dollar earned ?”

‘Lost it,” said Thomas.

‘What, not only failed to earn anythin
but actually lost,” said Mr. Smith.
was that?”

“T tossed with Johnnie,”
‘and he won.”

——— + +o —
AN AFTERTHOUGHT.
«Bill !” called the old farmer to the hired
man, ‘‘go and feed them pigs !”
“T’ve done fed ’em.”
“Go an’ feed the cows.”
“T’ve done fed ’em.”
“Go an’ feed the horses.”
“T’ve done fed ’em.”
“Go an’ feed the chickens.’
“T’ve done fed ’em,”
“Well, go and feed yourself, then; seems
tc me somethin’ ought to be hungry ‘round
here,” and the way Bill got in to where the
eating was Was a marvelous specimen of
speed.

o
2

“How

was the reply,

’

lei 7
THE LAST WAS FIRST.

Teacher (to new pupil)—‘“What is your
last name, my little man?’

New pupil—‘‘Tommy.” ;

Teacher— “What is your full name?”

New pupil—‘‘lommy Jones.”

Teacher—‘‘Then Jones is
name?”

Tommy—‘‘No, it isn’t. When I was born
my name was Jones, and they didn’t give
me the other name for a month afterward.”

—_——_>-+ >
Y(MPATHETIC,

your last

Young Hopeful—‘‘Papa, it worries me
awful to think how much trouble I give
mamma.”

Papa—‘She hasn’t complained.”

“No, she’s patient. But she often sends
me to the shops for things, and the shops
is a good ways off sometimes, and I know
she gets tired wait’n when she’s in a hurry.”

“Not often, I imagine.”

“Oh, she’s always ina hurry. She gets
everything all ready for bread, an’ finds at

the last minute she hasn’t got any yeast, or |

she gets a pudding all fixed and finds she
hasn’t any nutmeg or something ; and then
she’s in an awful stew ’cause the oven is all
ready, and maybe company comin’, and I
can’t run avery long distance, you know,
and I feel awful sorry for poor mamma,”

‘Humph! Well, what can we do about
it?”

“T was
cycle.”

thinkin’ you might get me a bi-

ee
WHAT HE ENJOYED.

‘Do youenjoy holidays?” asked Johnny’s
uncle, ;

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you enjoy most about them ?”

‘Bein’ able to stay home from school
without bein’ sick,”

SOMETHING INCOMPLETE,

“In reading the newspapers,” said a man,
speaking to an acquaintance, “we some-
times come across a simple remedy that we
find to be of great benefit. The old woman’s
remedy admits of no explanation, and
doctors hoot at it, but it is sometimes
found to be of great efficacy. Ill give you
an instance,

“About three weeks ago I saw a para-
graph stating that a handful of cold water
applied to the back of the head every morn-
ing will prevent toothache. Of course, I
couldn't see any reason why it should, but
I began to try it, and I haven’t had the
toothache once since that time.”

“That is quite remarkable,” the acquaint-
ance replied. ‘‘But, tell me, did you have
the toothache before you tried the remedy?”

“Well, come to think of it, I didn’t,
Humph ! I thought there was something in-
complete about it.”

 

 

 

 

 

GOLD PLATE

CUT THIS OUT and send it to us
with your name and address and we
will send you this watch by express

A for examination. A G@uarantee
For 5 Years and chain and
charm sent with it. You ex-
amine it and if you thinkit
a pargain pay our sample
price, 82.75, and it is yours,
it is beautifully engraved
and warranted the best time-
keeper in the World for the
money and equal in appear-

genuine Solid |

Write to-day,
this offer will not appear
iy again.

WTHE NATIONAL MFG,
& IMPORTING CO.,

Cuicaao. Itt.

v G
Mention Good News. soled
We guarantee $5 per day easy, quick
and sure to workers. Greatseller. Write

A G E NTS quick. Royal Mfg. Co., Milwaukee, Wis,

macht een

|] AGENTS wanted to sell rubber stamps; liberal

t y S. Delmouly, Lock
| Box 178, Lake Charles, La, lention Good News.

WORK soos. poll if soe West caploraen mE

at once to P. O. VICKERY, Augusta,Maine.

MARRIAGE PAPE gents want correspondents

GUNNELS’ MONTHLY, TOLEDO, OHIO,

efor particulars
FOR ALL. $75 a month salary and ex-
Mention Good News,
FREE. 600 ladies and
Mention Good News.

 

; full length from (an
silver; 16 by @:

 

Every young -man

) needs acopy of this book,
as it contains informa-
tion that they should be
fi iar with, embracing
inciples of business
choice of pursuits, buy-
ing and selling, general
management, mechani
cal trades, manufactur
ing, book-keeping.
auses of success and
failure, business
and business

10 Cents— HOW =I0 Centa

TO DO BUSINESS

maxims
forms, and a dictionary
of commercial terms.
PRICE 10 CENTS.
For sale by all news-
dealers, or will be sent
postpaid on receipt of
price by the publishers, STREET & SMITH, 29
Rose street, New York. Ese

Good News Binder
Price 50 Cents.

1
Answers the purpose ot a bound volume. Hold,
fifty-two copies comfortably.

Cam = a
Tt has a durable black embossed cover wit
flexible back, and a gold stamp title on the outside
cover, Tt opens flat as any book, and each week’
paper can be inserted as soon as received. Ful
directions for inserting the paper accompans:¢
binder. :

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,
good order. Itis both useful and ornamental,

| age of binder pins, postpaid, to any ac
| ceiptof 50 cents. py .
i BOUND VOLUMES OF GOOD.
; NEWS, © a

ress

 

We have issued volumes two,
four, and five, bound in an at
heavy paper cover. ‘Il'we
numbers constitute a ume. The
papers are eut and trimmed and
bound with as much care as an expensive cloth
binding, and the price is

EIGATY-FIVE CENTS EACH.
These volumes contain serial stories by

 

| Edward S, Ellis,
Jas, Otis,

Horatio Alger,
Edward Stratemeyer,
Wm. Murray Graydon,

 

Mention Good News.

120 foreign stanips; Africa, Hyderabad, Newfound: |
A. E. Ashfield, 841 E. 166th st., N. Y.

land, etc,, 6e,
Mention Good News.

IFUL INFORMATION,
There is no good reason whry people should not be
well informed when they can become so for a small

sum.

The following list of valuable books will be

spnt post-paid to any address on receipt of price, 10
ee

nts encl:

The Album Writer’s As-
sistant.

The Way to do Magic.

How to Behave in Society

Amateur’s Manudl of
Photography.

Out-Door Sports.

How to do Business.

The Young Gymnast.

The Hunter and Angler,

Short-Hand for Evyery-
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,
Everyday Cook Book.

The Loyer’s Guide to
Courtship and Mar-
riage.

Dunn’s Fencing Instrue-

or.
Prof. Muldoon’s Wrest-

ng.

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.

Poe’s Foot-Ball.

The Book of Knowledge,

Address MANUAL LIBRARY, 29 Rose st., N. Y,

| Harry Castlemon,
| Walter Morris, Oliver Optic,
W. B. Lawson, Lieut. Lounsberry,
And others equally well known, 7
Address Subscription Department Goop NEws,
29 Rose street, New York.

 

By request of a large
number of readers we
have had manufactured
aneat badge. The above
cutis a fac-simile. ~The
badge is made of a high
grade of German silver;
artistic in design and
something every reader

If we were to give away
these badges they might
fall into uvappreciative
hands. We have, there-
fore, decided to make a
small charge of six cents:
3 for the badge, or one
dozen for sixty cents, if sent to one address.
Readers desiring these badges should send in
their orders at once, as we have manufactured a
small number only, and the supply will soon be
exhausted. Electrotypes for printing the fac-
simile of badge on letter heads, cards, ete., will be”
Sent post-paid on receipt of twenty-five cents.
No coupons, no contest, and no red-tape required
to secure one of these badges. ‘The only require.
ment is that each applicant sends us six cents with

responding Club, 29 Rose street, New York.

MOTHERS

 

 

Soothing Syrup” for your children
while Tectiing.

Be sure ana nse ''Mrse Winslow*s

It is, withont donbt, the finest binder ever offered

will be proud to wear. ,

and from being lost, but keeps them clean, and in

We will send the Goop News binder, and a pack. ,

ei ee

25 cents abottle, —

their order for a badge, Address GOOD NEWs Cor. , _