A SCHOOLB wi Oats ON: BP Oe

- 7 Ge ma {?
a

Vine \ {tas
Ce 1)

y XY

~~

Beat a
West {

eee

=. RK Cr ne eo

nay “=

Entered According to Act of Congress. in the Year 1894, by Street & Smith. in the Office of the Libr ‘arian of Co nNgT ESS,
N.¥.. Post-Office.

Washingion, D. C.

Entered as Second-ciass Matier at the New Yori,

Mew. York, ‘September 15, 1894,

eee ee wee ne tana”

Subscription Price,
2.50 per Year.

os. -- ter --

Not a muscle quivered, and only the pallor | the SeMap
of their cheeks told of ni iter agitation. | Soudan, ant®
Between two rows of soldiers the captives | gara Arabs.
marched out of the cell and down to the|
lower floor of the prison.

After a brief delay here, they passed out | of platform,

Publishers
New York.

SrrReKet & SMITH,
31 Rose Streei,

Vol. 9. ne

THE WHITE 3 KING OP AFRICA:

THE MYSTERY OF THE E ANCIENT FORT.

square, followed by
crowd.

a dense and hooting | and Egyptians.
A file of Soudanese soldiers before |

BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON, | osition will b

The Camp in the Snow,”

execution.

It was a pleasing surprise then, when |
| Se ifid Pasha led the way into a vast room on |
| the lower floor of the building.
An instant later, the prisoners were before | accept life on

 

Author of * “From Lake to Wilderness,” ele.

or refuse. It

(“THE WHITE KING OF AFRICA” was Commenced in No. 226. Back numbers can be obtained of all

News Agents. }

Re heer Nett ot torrent ne ante e tee eet estat antes ae Seas resent

He was a powerful
| ferocious cast of features. H
covered with cloth,
into the street, and thence on toward the | : surrounded by scores of armed dervishes

‘*T think I know what this means,’
the palace seemed to indicate the place of | frey whispered to his companions.

| advise you, for
any terms.”

Ez

HK.

No 228

di—the present ruler of the

e one time Sheik ofthe Bag-

.. arded man, with a
ie sat on a sort
and was

’ God-
oA prope

e made to you, though I will

not be included init. You must either accept

will be
the sake

a hard choice, but I
of your father, to

 

CHAPTER VIL. | Godfrey was the first to recover self-con-
trol.

ll
A |
“

‘“‘Be brave, lads,” ** Don’t
disgrace, your flag.”

The admonition was hardly needed. In
.t# Prisoners showed how sudden and | this moment of despair, Arthur and Roden
(24; umexpected was this blow. They | showed the genuine pluck and nerve that is

understood the command as .a sum- ine. heritage of every young American. =
mons to execution. es defiantly confronted Safid Pasha. 2

Cl
Sg

7 F o> Gr SOW
La ik) Fane Ke PS Me ars .
UF AA N wr 2 oN Tay |
Vi sx AN (Sr ts
on \ ‘ + rer
WS

OTD

CONDEMNED TO DEATH. he whispered.

TAHE white, frightened faces of. the

ited

7

s ;

‘THE BOAT IS GONE t

 

Ni AU as
MN

z

~ We
h uy stad

ii

Hl

= =
23 SS

i
na i

7

(i

j

hs

i

S|

a

SSS
Seas

“s =

_ SSS —————|
——<—<———

if
4

————
a SS

4

=] =

=

ee

 

 

 

 

SUDDENLY THE ROPE ENDED, AND RODEN FOUND HIMSELF SWINGING IN THE ATR!

 
S634

 

He had no opportunity to explain further,
for Safid Pasha had just finished a conver-
sation with the Mahdi. Now the former
turned to the prisoners in the character of
interpreter.

Godfrey was plied with questions con-
cerning the state of affairs at Suakin and
other points in Egypt, and on matters re-
lating to England’s intended policy with the
Sondan.

To every one he returned an evasive and
unsatisfactory answer, and he was so im-
prudent as to add that General Gordon’s
death would some day be avenged.

On this being interpreted to the Mahdi
he exhibited symptoms of intense rage, and,
for a moment, he was inclined to order the
prisoner’s head to be struck off in his pres-
ence.

But he finally cooled down and spoke a

 

few hasty words to Safid Pasha, who in-
stantly turned to the prisoners with a ma- |
licious grin of satisfaction on his face.

‘‘The Mahdi has spoken,” he said. ‘You,
Godfrey Congdon, will be beheaded in the
Palace Square at sunrise to-morrow.”

Godfrey heard the dread sentence of
doom with unchanged features.

‘‘Foul-hearted dog of a traitor!’ he hissed,
in a low tone.

Safid Pasha flushed with rage, but he was
powerless to resent the bitter words.

“The Koran comggands that all heretics
shall be slain,” he said, glaring fiercely at the
two lads, ‘‘yet the Mahdi is willing to grant
you mercy. He bids you cast aside your
false religion and embrace the true faith of
Mohammed. On these terms he will spare
your lives and give you positions of honor
in the palace.” ; :

A most impressive silence ensued. Ar-
thur and Roden looked eagerly at each other,
and then turned to Godfrey, who quietly
nodded his head.

Still the brave boys hesitated. It wasa
critical test that they were called upon to
endure—a test as severe as those by which
the Christian martyrs of old were tried.

The choice rested with them. On the one
hand was life—and never had it seemed
sweeter than now—the prospect of escape in
the future, of finding and rescuing their
father, and of going back together to the
dear American home.

On the other hand was the black end of
everything—a speedy and terrible death by
Arab swords.

Yet in this supreme moment the boys
held fast to honor. It was Godfrey’s calm
heroism that decided their choice and led
Roden to ery bravely to Safid Pasha :

“Tell the Mahdi that I refuse his offer.
If my companion dies, I die with him.”

“And my answer (is the same,” said Ar-
thur, resting one hand on his brother’s
shoulder. ‘‘Better death, Roden, than to
deny God!’ :

A tear shone in Godfrey’s eye.

“Stop, lads,” he implored. ‘‘Think once
again before you decide. Do not be per-
suaded to share my fate out of a mistaken
sense of loyalty. Believe me,I shall die
the happier for knowing that you will live,”

But these words only steeled the brave
boys to their resolution. They repeated
their answer to Safid Pasha, who quickly
interpreted it to his master.

The Mahdi’s brutal face lighted up with
something that was very kin to admiration.
Then he pronounced a similar sentence to
Godfrey’s.

This was what Safid Pasha had most de-
sired, and he could scarcely repress his
jey and satisfaction.

‘Allah is great!’ he cried, turning to the
prisoners. “His willbe done! Vile heretics,
you will die together as the sun rises on
Khartoum to-morrow morning.”

A low murmur ran through the assembled
audience. The news seemed to have reached
the square, for a great shouting and yelling
arose.

The boys turned a trifle paler. For a mo-
ment a mist swam before their eyes, and
they felt faint.

A sharp gasp of surprise from Godfrey
broke the spell; with an eager expression on
his face, he was staring across the room.

“What is it?” asked Roden.

Godfrey’s eyes fell, and he looked at the
lad with unutterable sadness.

“T saw a white face back by yonder door-
way,” he replied. ‘It is gone now.”

“A white face?” exclaimed both boys, in-
credulously.

“Yes,” Godfrey asserted. ‘I am not mis-
taken. Though deeply bronzed, the fea-
tures were European.”

‘Perhaps it 1s some one who may aid
us,” said Arthur.

‘If we could only get a chance to talk to
him,” added Roden,

Godfrey shook his head.

 

“Don’t build up false hopes, lads. It is
best to forget the matter. No white man

can be here other than as a foul traitor. It
is some wretch, perhaps, who was tempted
as we have been, and forgot God and
loyalty.”’

At this point the guards laid hold of the
prisoners and hustled them into the square.
A hooting crowd followed to the prison
doors, and when the wretched captives were
locked in their cell they still heard the
hoarse outcry through the thick walls.

They were too stunned and dazed to pay
heed to anything. The balance of the day
passed like adream. They left’ their din-
ner untouched. Constantly before them
was the vision of the square and the execu-
tioners.

Toward evening a keener sense of their
impending doom roused them a little. In
vain they discussed all sorts of hare-brained
measures for escape. They even examined
the stout walls of thei®-cell, and the one
narrow, grated wimdow.

About sunset Sglim, the friendly-disposed
guard previously mentioned, entered the cell
with a jug of water and a platter of coarse
cakes. As he hastened away he gave the

 

prisoners a peculiar glance, the meaning of |

which they were destined to
shortl¥.

“I believe the fellow pities us,” said God-
frey. ‘‘Come, my lads, try to eat a little.”

“T can’t,” replied Arthur. ‘I’m not hun-
gry.”

‘Nor I,” added Roden. ‘‘I feel as though
I would go mad. Look, the sun is fading.
We have seen it for the last time. Oh! my
father—my poor father.”

‘Bear up, my lads,” said Godfrey. ‘‘It
will soon be over. Your father will join
you in a better world than this. I know
how you feel, for I, too, have dear rela-
tives in England. And they will never
know———”

He suddenly paused, and uttered a low,
eager cry. From the bottom of the platter,
where it had been concealed under the cakes,
he drew a crumpled bit of yellow paper.

“What is it?” exclaimed both lads,

“Wait,” Godfrey whispered.

With trembling hands he unfolded the
paper, and instantly his face flushed.

“Listen !’ he muttered. ‘‘What do you
make of this ?”

Then he read aloud the following :

“Have you money or any articles of value on
your persons? Ifso, givethem to the guard
when he comes again, Trust all to your un-
known friend.” :

Arthur and Roden trembled with joy.
They could hardly believe that they had
heard aright. They took the message and
eagerly examined it. The writing was bold
and legible.

‘Better destroy this,” said Godfrey, put-
ting the paper into his mouth and chewing
it to a pulp.

‘Thank God!” he added fervently. ‘He
has raised us up a friend in the time of our
need.”

‘‘Who can it be?” exclaimed Arthur.

“The white man whom Godfrey saw in
the palace, of course,” replied Roden.

“It must be,” assented Godfrey. “But I
must warn you, lads, not to build your
hopes too high. The message is somewhat
of an enigma. We cannot tell as yet what
it will lead to.”

“It must lead to escape,” cried Arthur.
“Tt must. And I feel that it will.”

“We shall speedily know the worst or the
best,” replied Godfrey. ‘‘We will follow in-
structions, and when Selim comes back——’”

‘How fortunate that we brought money
along,” interrupted Roden, who was already
fumbling for his belt. ‘‘We have between
us five hundred dollars in géld.”

“Of which a third is in my possession,”
broke in Godfrey. ‘Let us try that first.
It may prove sufficient.

‘Hush !” he added, hurriedly. ‘‘We may
be overheard. Try to eat your supper as
calmly as ‘though nothing had happened.
Remember that there are other guards in
the prison beside Selim.”

With an effort the boys forced their ex-
citement under control, They even managed
to eat the coarse cakes with a relish.

A half-hour slipped by, while the prison-
ers waited in silence amid dhe deepening
gloom. Their hearts thrilled when quick
footsteps were heard in the corridor.

Selim unlocked the door and entered the
cell. He stooped and picked up the platter
and the jug. Then he stood significantly
still.

Godfrey had previously .removed his
money belt. Now he opened the end, and
poured a shower of golden coins into the
guard’s outstretched hand.

In the dim light Selim’s dusky face shone
with greed. Evidently what he had re-
ceived was beyond his expectations.

He stowed the money away in his clothes,
and listened keenly for a moment. Then
he took a flat, broad package wrapped in

discover |

 

NEw S.

 

paper from under his blouse, and let it slip
noiselessly to the floor.

Without a word he glided from the cell,
closing and locking the door.

CHAPTER VIII.
AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.

@ EFORE Selim'’s footsteps had died
iB away, Godfrey seized the package
and eagerly tore it open.

Roden and Arthur uttered low ex-
clamations of delight as a coil of thin hem-
pen rope and a short-bladed knife fell to
the floor.

In the wrapper Godfrey found another
message on a scrap of paper. It was very
brief, and concise :

}

p
- J

7D

“Selim is on duty until morning. At mid-
night the bell of the mosque, opposite the
prison, will peal. When you hear it pretend to
be quarreling. This will give Selim a pretext
to enter the cell. Then overpower him, and
bind and gag him securely. Lock him in the
cell and take his keys. In cell number 40,
on the same floor, you will find a trap-door
leading to theroof. Fasten the rope to the
parapet of the rear wall, and descend to the
ground. There a friend will be waiting. De-
stroy this latter. NAPOLEON,”

Godfrey re-read the note to himself.
Then he crumpled it up, and began to chew
it between his teeth. For a moment, the
prisoners were half stupid with joy. They
felt that escape was already assured.

“Won't Safid Pasha be furious if he finds
us missing in the morning?” said Arthur.

“Don’t count on safety yet,” replied God-
frey. ‘‘The least hitch will spoil every-
thing. Even if we get out of the prison, the
town and it’s countless perils are still before
Lei
These words somewhat cooled the ardor
of the boys. It was, indeed, best that they
should not count too much upon escaping
the Mahdi’s sentence of death. Godfrey
had not exaggerated the mesh-work of dan-
ger.

“The man signs himself Napoleon,” said
Roden, after some further discussion of the
note. ‘That’s a queer name.”

‘‘He is either a Frenchman or a lunatic,”
said Godfrey. ‘Perhaps both.”

‘But a lunatic could hardly have planned
such a thing, or induced the guard to help
him,” argued Roden.

“That's clever reasoning, my lad,” God-
frey replied. ‘‘And I daresay you are right.”

“Tt looks as though Selim would have the
worst of it,” said Arthur. ‘He won’t find
it easy to make suitable excuses to the
Mahdi or Safid Pasha.”

“He probably thinks that the gold will
atone for any punishment he may receive,”
suggested Godfrey. ‘But that is his affair,
not ours.” é‘

“By the way,’ remarked Arthur, “how
does it happen that the cells are numbered
in English characters ?”

“It must have been done when General
Gordon was ruler of Khartoum,” Roden an-
swered.

“No doubt that’s the case,” said Godfrey.
“And now I would advise é lads to
drop conversation. We had better wait in
silence.”

The boys heeded this piece of wise ad-
vice, and from that time on scarcely a whis-
per broke the quiet of the cell.

The monotony and painful suspense of
those hours of waiting were beyond descrip-
tion. At intervals the footsteps of the guard
passed the door.

Gradually the wonted sounds from the
lower floor died away. Prisoners and offi-
cials were asleep. Of the former there were
probably but few in the building, since of-
fenders against the Mahdi usually went into
slavery or to the sword.

When patience had reached its utmost
limit, and Godfrey and his companions were
beginning to think that the midnight hour
was long past, they were suddenly stirred to
hope by the looked-for signal. The bell of
the adjacent mosque began to peal in deep
and solemn tones.

The prisoners listened anxiously until the
last stroke died away in echoes over the
sleeping city.

“Now,” muttered Godfrey, and seizing
Roden by the shoulders he began to drag
him about the cell. Both made a scuffling
noise with their feet, and uttered low,
hoarse cries.

In the midst of this clever bit of acting
the cell-door was thrown open, and the
dimly burning lamp in the corridor revealed
the tall figure of the guard.

“Silence, dogs!” he cried, in a purposely
loud voice. ‘‘Do ye wish to taste the sword
before the appointed time?”

As he sock he made two steps forward,
and that quickly Godfrey had him lightly by
the throat.

Selim allowed himself to be handled like a
child, and in a very brief time he was bound

 

and gagged,
cell.

Yet the time had been amply sufficient for
a visitor to seek and gain admittance at the
main door of the prison, Godfrey and the
boys heard nothing of it owing to the muf-
fled noise that was made in overpowering
and securing the guard.

Now, just as they were ready to leave, the
sound of approaching footsteps fell on their
ears, Godfrey’s first impression was that
Selim had betrayed them.

‘Some one is coming, lads,” he whis-
pered.

The boys turned pale, and jerked out the
revolvers they had taken from Selim,

“We won't be recaptured alive,” mut-
tered Arthur, gritting his teeth.

“Hold on,” added Godfrey. ‘A bit of
strategy may save us. Out of sight, lads,
quick !”

Arthur and Roden hastily slipped behind
one side of the doorway, and Godfrey
posted himself on the other. There was a
look of grim resolve on his face as he
grasped Selim’s reversed rifle in both hands.

Closer and closer came the firm, steady
tread. Now the footsteps paused just out-
side, and an instant later the bulky figure of
Safid Pasha was projected fairly within the
cell.

The Egyptian’s eyes were momentarily
blinded by the sudden change from light to
darkness, and before he could see clearly, a
stunning blow on the forehead from the
stock of Godfrey's weapon brought him
heavily to the floor,

Not a ery escaped his lips; not a limb
moved. He lay in a limp heap as one dead.

Godfrey darted noiselessly from the cell,
and in a few seconds he was back.

“‘All quiet,” he announced, in an eager
whisper. ‘There may yet be time to carry
out the escape.”

“What do you suppose brought Safid
Pasha here at such an hour?” asked Roden.

“Probably he wanted to make sure that -
we were safe,” suggested Arthur.

‘Well, he found out,” muttered Godfrey,
as he bent over the body. ‘He is only
stunned, and I have half a mind to finish
him. I have not forgotten the cowardly
blow he gave me.

“No, I won’t stain my hands needlessly
with blood,” he added. -‘‘And, beside,
there is not a moment tospare. Some one
will be sure to come in search of the ruffian
or of Selim. We have safely accomplished
the first step. Now for the next.”

and lying in a far corner of the

CHAPTER Ix.

A TERRIL. “¢) \ISCOVERY.

HERE was one thing to be done, how-

4? ever, before the prisoners could leave

the cell. hey cut off more rope, and
bound and gagged Safid Pasha, then

placed him alongside of Selim.

He was still unconscious, and an ugly,
swollen lump was on his forehead. His only
weapon was a sword, and this was not taken
from him.

“Now, then, lads,” whispered Godfrey.

He pushed his companions into the corri-
dor, and closed and locked the cell-door
with one of the keys from Selim’s bunch.

On the upper and lower floors all was
quiet. As yet Safid Pasha’s absence had not
aroused suspicion.

Lest some of the near-by cells should be
tenanted, the fugitives did not dare to speak
as they crept noiselessly along the gloomy
corridor,

Twenty feet straight ahead, then an angle,
then twenty feet more.—and cell No. 40 was
before them. Luckily it was as far removed
as possible from the staircase, being at,the
very rear of the prison,

Godfrey tried one key after another. At
the fourth trial the lock turned, and the
door grated slowly open.

The dim light from the corridor shone
into the cell, revealing a heap of rubbishy
odds and ends in the way of rickety furni-
ture and broken weapons.

“It’s a regular store-room,” said Arthur.
“This stuff must date back to Gordon’s
time.”

“Hush! Not so loud!” warned Godfrey,
‘‘Wait here‘a moment.” ;

He made his way noiselessly to the rear
of the cell, and then beckoned the boys in-
side.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. ‘‘Here’s a
little iron ladder leading up to a trap in the
roof. One of you had better ascend,” |

“T’ll go,” volunteered Roden.

‘All right,” assented Godfrey. ‘Don’t
make any noise, and be sure to test each
rung before you bear your weight upon it.”

Then he slipped back and softly closed
the cell-door. He could not lock it from the
inside, so he put the keys in his pocket.

‘Safid abo won't be at liberty ina

 
(POO D. Na w-s.

SS3s

 

hurry,’”’ he reflected, ‘‘unless the jailer has
duplicate keys, or bursts the door open.”

Meanwhile Roden had climbed to the ceil-
ing. In spite of the darkness he found a
rusty hook, and tore it from its fastenings
by a couple of jerks. Then he slid the door
back, and trembled with joy to feel the cool
night air, and see the shining stars overhead.

He pulled himself out on the roof, and in
a short time his companions were safely be-
side him.

After listening long enough to make sure
that all was quiet beneath them, they softly
closed the trap. Then they stood up, and
looked eagerly in all directions.

It was a grandand peaceful scene that
met their eyes. On four sides stretched the
low roofs of the sleeping town, with here
and there a twinkling light. The Palace
Square—place of dread associations—could
be plainly made out.

To the right and left flowed the Blue and
White Niles, glimmering in the pallid light
of amurky fragment of moon. Straight
ahead to the north, where the two rivers
united, the mightier stream began its 1800
mile journey to Cairo and civilization.

Of greater interest to Arthur and Roden
was the southward stretch of the White
Nile, for somewhere near-its remote head-
waters they knew their father to be a cap-
tive among barbarous savages.

Indeed, they stared so long and earnestly
that Godfrey had to recall them to the
present.

“Tt won’t do to linger here,” he whispered.

“At any moment our escape may be dis- |:

covered. And bearin mind that our mys-
terious benefactor is waiting for us below.”

Arthur approached the low parapet—
which was only three or four feet away—
and thrust his head over.

“Do you see anything ?” asked Roden.

‘‘No ; it’s dark as pitch,” was the reply.

“So much the better, lads,” whispered
Godfrey, who had meanwhile been knotting
the hempen rope at intervals of a foot.

Now he secnred one end to a buttress of
the parapet, and let the other end drop
down.

“Tl go first,” he insisted, in spite of the
protests of his companions. ‘Then Ill be
on hand in case either of you should fall.”

He secured the rifle to his back, swung
over the parapet, and went quickly down
hand over hand. ;

In a short time the boys heard a slight
noise, and felt the rope growslack. Arthur
was the next to venture, and then came
Roden’s turn.

With a fast-beating heart he began the
descent, slipping from knot to knot. The
rope cut the palms of hishe <3, and several
times he bumped roughly uyainst the wall.

Suddenly the rope ended, and he found
himself swinging in the air. Before he
could realize what it meant, a pair of strong
arms caught him by the waist, and lifted
him to the ground.

Godfrey and Arthur stood beside him,
and to the right and left ran a dark and nar-
row passage, between high blank walls.

There was no sign of the mysterious
stranger. ;

‘He may have gone away, thinking that
the plan had failed,” whispered Godfrey.
‘‘We are behind time on account of Safid
Pasha.”

‘‘Then we'll have to strike out for our-
selves,” whispered Arthur. “If we only
knew which way was the safest, and——-”

The sentence ended in a little gasp of
fright, for at that instant, and as suddenly
as though he had risen from the ground, the
tall figure of a man appeared beside the
fugitives.

“Thank God that you have succeeded,”
whispered the stranger, in a voice that
trembled with emotion, and which was un-
mistakably English. “I was beginning to
despair. I feared lest Selim’s courage would
falter.” “3

“No; Selim did his part well,” replied
Godfrey. ‘It was Safid Pasha who de-
tained us.”

In a few words he related the incident.

‘That is truly unfortunate,” muttered the
stranger. ‘‘I had counted upon.a start of
several hours, Now we are in imminent
peril, and must lose no time. This way,
my friends.”

He led the party a few feet down the pas-
sage, and then turned into a dark and nar-
row archway that had no outlet. He quickly
emerged with a huge bundle in his arms.

He tore it apart, revealing four spacious,

Arab cloaks, and the same number of flow-
ing white burnooses. ;

“Here are disguises that may save our
lives,” he whispered. ‘Slip them on at
once over your clothes.”

The fugitives hastily obeyed, and while so
doing they stole curious glances at their un-
known friend.

The dim light showed him to be aman of

bury, turning partly around.

instantly. Then a bell began to clang like

 

middle age, with dark eyes and hair, a
tangled beard and mustache, and features of
extraordinary ugliness. Indeed, he re-
minded the boys of Holly, the impish-look-
ing character in Rider Haggard’s “She.”

When rigged out in his Arab costume he
presented a truly formidable appearance.

“Sir, you have saved us from a dreadful |
death,” said Godfrey. ‘‘No words can ex-
press ourgratitude. Surely, youare English,
like myself ?”

“Yes, [am an Englishman,” replied the

 

stranger, hastily. ‘My name is Napoleon |
Bunbury, and I am by profession an aero-

naut, ‘This is no time to relate my strange |
story. Let it suffice to say that I have been |
a captive at Khartoum for six months. I

should hardly say captive, for by pretending

to be insane my life was saved, and I was

allowed the freedom of the city. You must

know that the Arabs, like the Indians of

North America, look with pity on all of un-

sound mind. I played’ the part well, and

thus was enabled to*devise this plan for

your escape--and mine as well. Fortunately,

I did Selim a service some days since, and

he proved willing to return it.”

‘But could you not have made your es-
cape long ago?” asked Godfrey.

“Yes, had I chosen to go by myself. But
I needed companions to assist me in an en-
terprise, of which I shall tell you more later.
Your gratitude shall be put to a test—pos-
sibly, in a trying way. Now let us be off.
A boat, stocked with provisions and arms,
is waiting at the end of the town.”

This was glorious news to Godfrey and
the boys, and they felt that their safety was
already assured. As they followed their
rescuer through the dark thoroughfare, they
wondered vaguely what he meant by prom-
ising to put their gratitude to a trying test.

A faint doubt of his sanity still lingered
obstinately in their minds. His uncouth
appearance and pompous manner seemed
to strengthen the suspicion. And what
could have brought a professional aeronaut
to Africa ?

But, if Napoleon Bunbury was a lunatic,
he was a most shrewd and practical one.
He showed his intimate knowledge of the
town by leading his companions through a
maze of narrow and silent streets.

They were soon far from the prison and
the Palace Square. On all sides slept hordes
of blood-thirsty ruffians, but fortunately
none of them woke up. ;

From the more populous quarters of the
town came vague noises—the rattle of arms,
dull footsteps, or the bawling of drunken
voices. Now and then across street showed
moving figures in the distance.

It was impossible to keep always in the
darkness, for flickering street lamps and
patches of moonlight often barred the way.

At such places the fugitives walked boldly
and confidently, trusting to their Arab dis-
guises to preserve them from danger,

Bunbury seemed to have something about
his person that he was afraid of losing or
breaking. He kept one hand constantly un-
der his cloak. He avoided the walls of the
houses, and was careful not to come in con-
tact with his companions. His steps were
as light and stealthy as those of a tiger.

“He acts as though he was loaded with
dynamite bombs?’ whispered Arthur.

‘“‘He knows what he’s about, depend upon
it,” Godfrey replied, ina tone of mild re-
buke.

Twenty minutes had now gone by, and
the fugitives were still in the maze of dingy
streets. It was owing to Bunbury’s circuit-
ous route that they were not already clear of
the town.

‘Have we far to go yet?” Godfrey asked.

“But a short distance,” whispered Bun-

“Ym glad of that,” muttered Roden. “If
our escape isn’t discovered yet, it soon will
be,”

The words had hardly left his lips when
the report of a gun rang loud and sharp
from the rear. S

The fugitives stopped and looked at one
another in mute fear.

Bang! bang! .Two more shots rang out

mad, and from all quarters of the town came
a hubbub of shrill voices.

“All is discovered!” cried Godfrey.
‘Nothing but speed and pluck will save us
now.”

“Yes,” assented Bunbury; ‘‘the town will
be like a stirred-up hornets’ nest in a
moment or two. Run, my friends. We
must elude the human blood-hounds. If all
else fails, there is still one resource left.”

“To die like men,” cried Godfrey, ‘‘and
with our faces to the foe.”

“No; not that,’ replied Bunbury. “I
have here a deadly and terrible instrument
‘The sentence was never finished, for just!
then a group of dusky figures tumbled out

 

of the houses directly in the rear.
shrill cries that roused the whole neighbor-
hood, they dashed swiftly forward.

As yet they probably took the fugitives to
be some of their own friends, but they were
not long left in ignorance.

As Bunbury and his companions turned
into a cross street, Roden tripped and fell.
In rising to his feet he lost his cloak and
burnoose, thus revealing his identity to the
pursuing dervishes.

There was no further need of concealment
now, and the others flung off their disguises |
in order to run the faster.

ys «f . ‘
With’j night,’’ he answered.

 

The little band sped like deer along the
narrow street, driving before them half a}
dozen ruffians who had bolted out of door- |
WAYS.

The dervishes in the rear fell back a little :
when Godfrey sent two rifie-balls whistling |
over their heads. )

The town was now in a state of alarm from |
end to end, and hundreds of throats blended |
in a roar that was like the breaking of surf |
on a rock-bound coast. |

The fugitives dashed on, fearing every |
minute to be cut off and surrounded.

But fortunately they were near the verge
of the town, and it was a glad moment when
the straggling street ended, and they saw be-
fore them the open spit of sand that lies at
the intersection of the two rivers.

Panting and exhausted, they staggered on,
and when they came within a dozen feet of
the shining water the foremost of the yelling
dervishes were close behind.

Bunbury stopped and threw up his arms in
despair.

‘The boat is gone!” he cried, hoarsely.

(TO BE CONTINUED. )

+24 -@ +

THE WRECK AT PINNOT RIDGE.

paler ea

BY W. L. SUMMERS.

———

LL day the wind had been howling
round the house.. We enjoyed the
fire in our ‘‘den’’ at home too much
to venture out after school into the |

storm. In the midst of our preparation for
next day’s lessons, a hurried knock at the}
hall door: was followed by the entry of a
fisherman from the village.

Father was wanted—a vessel was among
the rocks at the extremity of Pinnot Ridge,
and was sending up ‘signals of distress.
Books were hastily flung away. Dick.Wes-
ton—who always worked in the evening with
me—and I followed father out into the pelt-
ing rain.

‘‘Keep out of mischief, boys,’’. father ex-
claimed; and he strode on against the wind,
leaving us far behind.

It was-as much as we could do to stand
against the wind, which seemed every mo-
ment to increase, and it was with great diffi-
culty that we reached the beach. There we
found all the fishermen congregated in small
groups about the boats.

‘Old Tom Bateson told us that an attempt
had been made to reach the wreck, but that
the boat had been upset, and two of the
crew injured.

‘‘Have they sent to Porton for the rockets
and life-boat?’’ I inquired.

‘*Yes; but they won’t be here in time. |

Another hour will see that craft broken up
on the rocks. Like enough, too, the boat at
Porton is wanted elsewhere, for the whole
coast will be strewn with wreckage to-
morrow.’’

Tom described the position of the wreck to
us, but the darkness of the night rendered it
invisible. A small brig had run on the
rocks at the farther side of the Devil’s Leap.
Pinnot Ridge jutted out into the sea ina
long, irregular neck of land for nearly a
quarter of a mile. At high water its ex-
tremity was covered by the tide, but when
the water was low two large rocks were re-
vealed, separated by a narrow channel of
water. is strait, it was popularly sup-
posed, Satan leaped one day in sport.

The brig had gone between these rocks,
and was grinding itself to pieces. It was too
far from the end of the promontory for any
of the crew to escape along the Ridge, even
if it had been possible to get ashore from
that point. But it was believed to be im-
possible to clamber out from the cliff along
the Ridge to the ‘‘Leap,’’ on account of the
difficulties offered by the precipitous and
slimy rocks.

Nevertheless, Dick and I, after making
several unsuccessful attempts, had, on the
previous Saturday afternoon, managed to
reach the land side of the ‘‘Leap.’’ But we
nearly lost our lives while getting back
after the tide had risen. Of this adventure
we said. nothing to our elders, fearing that
we should incur blame rather than praise for
our hazardous feat.

“T say, Fletcher, why shouldn’t we carr
out a rope to those fellows? We can clim
along the rocks, as we did on Saturday.’’

‘It’s easy in calm weather and in day-
light,’’? I answered, ‘‘but I wouldn’t trust
myself on those rocks to-night for any
amount.’’

 

‘+¥t assuredly won’t be so easily done to-

‘But, to-day, wi
may save lives, while on Saturday we only
wanted to prove our pluck.’’

He proposed to descend the cliff by the ~ zs

rough path we had made, and get round the
Head on to the lower ridge. Here one of us
must stay, while the other went his perilous
way along the rocks. While speaking, he
picked up a coil of cord that had been
brought down to the shore ready for use.

I agreed to accompany him to the Head,
which was tolerably easy to reach, as the
cliffs protected us from the wind; but the
darkness compelled u&S to feel our way cau-
tiously. At the Head we had to pick our
way down by the slight projections of rock
until we reached the lower ridge.

We were still sheltered from the gale, but,
on putting foot beyond, the wind met us so
fiercely that we nearly lost our balance.

“‘It can’t be done,’’ I gasped.

Weston looked pale, but was determined
to proceed.

‘‘T am going to try, and I hope to be suc-
cessful.’’? So saying, he slipped off his ulster,
and fastened one end of the cord round his

| waist, telling me to let it out freely as he

went.
In another moment he disappeared from

| sight, and I could only judge of his progress

by the cord that I was letting out. About
ten minutes had passed when a loud cheer
from the shore made me wonder whether
Dick’s attempt had been discovered. The
cord became slack, and there was no further
pull upon it, until, afraid lest my comrade
had fallen into the water, I tugged gently,
and was much relieved when it was imme-
diately pulled forward. Weston was safe so
far.

The clouds were beginning to break up,
and the moon appeared mistily through
them. The light was sufficient for me to
discover Weston resting on the narrow ledge.
A shore-boat, manned by fishermen, was
struggling in the waves, and Dick was wait-
ing to see whether they would render his
errand unnecessary.

The rescuers, pulling pluckily, had ap-
proached quite close, when the wind turned
the boat completely over. Loud cheers on
shore told me, a few moments later, that
some, if not all, had escaped.

The attempt having failed, Weston turned
and signaled to me to let out more rope. I

| uncoiled a good length of the cord, for I re-

membered that the narrow ledge, by which
alone we had been able to make our way,
ran steeply down. -When Weston and I re-
turned on Saturday from our hazardous ex-
periment, this was nearly under water. The
tide was now higher, and the huge breakers
would make that portion of the journey ex-
tremely dangerous. 4

Watching his opportunity, Dick waited for
a huge wave to: recede, and then ran swiftly
down the ledge until it rose above the level
of the water, but not before a couple of
waves had nearly washed him from his hold.

The ledge now ascended, and, as soon as
he was beyond the reach of the foaming -
water, Dick turned and waved his hand to
me. When he reached the highest point the
wind had fullsway upon him. For a mo-
ment he ‘staggered under the force of the
blast. His cap blew off and was tossed about
on the swirling waters.

Three times he tried to climb up and walk
along the narrow ridge, but the wind was

| too powerful, and the third time a terrific

blast threw him off his balance.

He must have fallen into the water had he
not fortunately caught hold in desperation
at a sharp rocky projection that must have
torn his hands terribly. ‘

Almost before I had realized his danger,
he was up again, making a fourth attempt.

This time he threw one leg over the ridge
and settled himself firmly astride, his scarf
streaming out on the wind.

It seemed hours before he reached the end
of this narrow path and was able to descend
again by some small ledges, until he was
partially sheltered from the wind. Here he
paused a while for breath, and then started
anew. After a aoa of minutes’ easy
progress, he came to the great difficulty that
had almost baffled us in our previous trial.

A break in the ledge occurred, and a deep
gully separated Dick from the rest of the
promontory. It was not very wide—that
was not the difficulty. But, in order to
cross, we had had to clamber down the al-
most perpendicular face of the rock to a
narrow platform, from which we had to
jump to an equally narrow ledge opposite.

The feat was most hazardous, but we ac-
complished it on a still day, when there was
comparative ease in bridging the gulf. With
the wind blowing a tornado, it was impossi- ©
ble to calculate one’s leap, and an inch too |
much or too little meant certain death to
Dick. ‘

He patised again when he arrived at this

lace; but time pressed. The vessel might
ous up at any moment, and the crew be lost.

He clambered down, and disappeared from
view. I waited anxiously to see him reap-

ear on the other side. The rope remained
oose in my hands for several minutes.

With a thrill of thankfulness, I felt the
rope become taut again, and observed Dick
climbing up the precipitous rock. He had
crossed the gully. ER Ts

The main difficulty during the remainder :
of the journey lay in the extreme slipperi-_

 
 
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
    
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
 
    
 
   
 
   
    
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
   
 
    
  
    
   
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
 

3636

ness of the rocks. He had now reached the
portion which, at high water, was com-
pletely covered. The sea-weed and green
moss made the foothold very precarious.
Stumbling and slipping, with many falls, he
made his way to the farther end of the
promontory.

The moon was again obscured by scudding
clouds, so that I could no longer see Dick,
but the rate at which he pulled out the rope
convinced me that he had reached the ex-
treme edge of the ‘‘Leap,’’ and was pulling
in the cord in order to coil it to fling on
board the wreck. For the first time I began
to think of success in connection with our
mad undertaking. It would not be difficult
to throw the cord a distance of thirty feet—
and I imagined that the vessel could not be
at a greater distance.

Again the moon shone out, and I obtained
a good view of Dick standing on the rocks,
poising his coil of rope. The first throw fell
short, and Dick plumped down on the ridge
while he pulled in his cord. The second
time he threw with more vigor, but the
wind carried the coil beyond the vessel. At
the third effort the rope dropped across. the
deck.

It was my turn to do something. Clutch-
ing tightly the precious cord, 1 retraced my
steps to the beach. The fishermen were pre-
paring to launch a boat. I shouted to them
to wait.

‘*Why did you call?’’ they demanded.
‘‘We have put a rope aboard!’’ I breath-
lessly answered, showing the cord in my
hand.

The men quickly attached a stouter cord,
and when that had been drawn aboard, a
strong rope followed, by means of which the
crew might get to land. A basket was
strung on, with guide ropes, and a dozen
strong arms drew it to and from the brig.
Before the first man had landed, a cry
arose that the vessel was rapidly breaking
up. The remaining mast broke short off,
and fell across the ‘‘Leap.’’? A _ splinter
struck Dick on the forehead, and for a mo-
ment stunned him. Quickly regaining con-
sciousness, he availed himself of his only
chance. Cutoff by the tide, he could not
return by the way he had come.

He made a rush for the edge of the
‘**Leap,’’ undaunted by the spray and water.
He attempted to ‘‘swarm’’ along the fallen
mast, but, when he had nearly reached the
wreck, the wind and waves proved too much
for him. He relaxed his. hold and fell into
the surging waters.

His senseless body was flung unceremoni-
ously against the side of the wreck, and was
drawn on board by one of the sailors. As
soonias the basket returned, Dick was placed
in it and pulled quickly ashore. My father’s
prompt attention and surgical knowledge
soon brought him round, and we had the
satisfaction of seeing the last man safely
landed before the rocket apparatus arrived
from Porton.

Dick and I were the heroes of the hour,
but especially Dick.

 

HOW TO DO THINGS.

eee

EDITED BY DAVID PARKS.

evstirecictl dps ested

OBSTACLE RACES,

( ,_ | AVE you ever tried them, boys? If
ial you haven't, do. We don’t know of
anything out of which more genu-
ine, rollicking fin can be got ; and,
moreover, they require no little amount of
skill and ingenuity on the part of the con-
testants.
‘Arrange your programme, and then get
the boys to enter for the different races,
charging, perhaps, a small entrance fee.
For each race have a first, second and
_ possibly third prize (they need not be of
any great value), and also a booby prize.
Obstacle races are of varying sorts. Boys
may swim obstacle races in the water, may
ride them on-bicycles, or may run them on
‘their own natural feet. t
Nobody is very particular about his cos-
_tume at an obstacle foot race. Indeed, a
certain flavor of variety is sometimes intro-
duced into the business by competitors dis-
guised as a clown, a policeman, an old lady,
etc. A good, clear run is given before the
first obstacle is reached, just to break up
the crowd a little, and send them into their
difficulties with plenty of impetus. Per-
haps the first obstacle is a row of hurdles,
or rather of strong rails and posts, five or
six deep, one beyond another, and very
short distances apart. You may either
scramble over these or crawl under. If you
scramble over, you bark your shins griev-
ously, fall between the rails, alighting on
_ the most painful corners, and find difficulty
ibing out. On the other hand, if you
neath, you only bréak the falls
those who are scrambling above and
g through; also your own head,
the posts. It is considered proper
upon your feet on springing from
but the spectators prefer you to

GooD

use the other end, a plan very frequently

carried out.

After this, the competitors, with such ad-
vantages as the scramble has severally
given them, and such bumps and scrapes
as they have themselves collected, take an-
other run on the flat. At the end of this an
immense net is pegged to the ground on all
sides but the nearest. This net lies thick
in many folds, and, in some secret place,
either between two of the pegs or in the net
ifself, there isa hole big enough for a boy to
get through. The first boy arriving here
throws himself down and crawls under the
unpegged end of the net, followed. by the
others as fast as they may, until that great
net contains a piled-up crowd of wriggling
humanity, each boy making his best effort
to find the exit, and getting in the way of
all the others.

You never can tell when the first boy will

 

get out. "He may find the hole at once or
he may be almost any length of time ; in
fact, very often it is found that some frantic
competitor is unconsciously standing on
that part of the net. Sometimes, if the net
is very large, the artful boy does this pur-
posely, in order to seize the opportunity
when everybody is making a wild rush at
some other part, and bolt out with a good
start. When at last somebody does get
through there is a magnificent scramble
among the rest to follow, and the crowd
stream out, much the worse for wear, and
in a very different order from that in which
they went in. Often is it the fate of the
boy who entered far ahead of the field to
leave far behind it. And so for another run
on the flat.

A very little of this, and the next obstacle
is met. This is, in the first place, a wooden
frame supporting a horizontal pole or plank
nine or ten feet from the ground. ‘There
are two ladders by which this may be
scaled, so that there is a likelihood of two
boys reaching the top at the same moment.
But the way down on the other side is
scarcely so convenient. Here you must
walk on a steeply sloping, narrow, and very
springy plank, as far as an old packing-case,
or some similar support, and then on just
such another plank to the ground. You
must not jump off or ‘‘funk” this arrange-
ment ihn any way, or you will be ruled ou3.
The spectators, however, do not object to
your falling off. This last isa very easy
feat, as anybody may find for himself who
will try walking down athin plank at an
angle of about forty degrees, with a big boy
striding down before him. To succeed in
the race, it is preferable to be a good way
ahead at this obstacle, and to have the
plank to yourself ; but, considered entirely
as a show, arush of four or five on the
plank at once is superior. Another level
run’ leads, perhaps, to the canvas, or, may-
be, tarpaulin. This is a good large sheet,
laid flat, stretched, and pegged firmly down
on two sides. You arrive at one of the un-
pegged sides and proceed to insert your
head under the canyas, like a gentleman
about to be guillotined. The task is to
grovel under the whole length of that can-
vas, and get out at the farther end with as
little delay as is consistent with bringing
your clothes with you. If you are close be-
hind, and gaining upon a man .under this
canvas, it is advisable to look out for his
feet—as well as you can; sometimes they
catch you about the ears, heavily. It is bad
enough to be alone under this sheet; but to
be under when the presence of several
others is tightening it, is mere personal
flattening and the wiping out of features.

There will probably be another obstacle
before the final run in—perhaps a row of
barrels, minus the ends, suspended at a
height of three or four feet by ropes lashed
about them. Here is great fun. Every boy
must get through one of these barrels as
best he can—alighting on hands or nose, or
both, as fate may direct, before rising to fin-
ish the race. To get through a swinging
barrel is none too easy a job, as the gentle
reader may test for himself if so minded.

To begin with, the thing is unstable, tilt-
ing fore and aft at a touch, and swinging in
every direction. This makes it difficult to
raise one’s self into it at all, and doubly dif-
ficult to wriggle through, once the head and
trunk.are in, Half-way through, the victim
presents a helpiess and tortoise-like appear-
net making mad efforts to throw his
hinder half sufficiently high to cause him to
fall out headforemost. Once he has been
fortunate enough to alight on his hands and
save his nose, the smart practitioner does
not waste time in a merely comic attempt to
kick and wriggle himself clear of the barrel,
but makes three or four steps forward upon
his hands, when his feet fall quietly to the
ground behind, and he rises, top-end upper-
most, torun. The boy who, resting on his
hands, tries the kick-and-wriggle plan, even

 

 

if he succeed at all, only falls in a confused

   

IN FEW Se

 

 

heap, with his head at the bottom of the
pile. Then, when he rises, he is apt to
cause hilarious applause by bolting off in
some utterly insane direction, quite away
from the finish; for several seconds’ struggle
in a barrel liable to spin around, followed
by a miscellaneous tumble head-downward,
never improves a boy’s topography, and his
first impulse is to rush straight ahead.

The sack race, pure and unadulterated, is
a funny spectacle enough, but when sack
racers have obstacles set them beyond their
sacks, truly they must work for their prizes.
There are two ways of getting over the
ground inasack. One is by grabbing the
loose sack tightly with the hands and jump-
ing—both feet together. This looks a good
way, but the least inaccuracy in balance, or
alighting with feet too far back or forward
in the sack, means an ignominious bowl
over, and much prostrate wallowing. ‘The
better way is to get a foot into each extreme
corner of the sack, pulling it tightly up in
the middle, and to waddle along with quick,
short steps. But if these steps be too quick,
or not short enough, disaster is certain.

A rope across the path and a ladder laid
on edge are usually enough obstacles for un-
fortunate creatures in sacks. It is not easy
to jump over that rope and alight right end
up, and therefore some turn their backs and
fall over it. But then you are down, and
might as well have laid down first and rolled
under—-which, again, some do by choice. If
you haye come a cropper near the rope, this
is the best plan, since it involves but one
getting up.

The ladder, too, may be jumped or tum-
bled over, but in the latter case it is uncom-
fortable to go face-foremost. An attempt to
wriggle through the ladder on the part of a
competitor already prostrate is likely to end
in painful failure and an ill-used chin.

In a bicycling obstacle race, the general
idea of the conspiracy is to mock the
boasted speed of the cyclist by making his
machine a hindrance, a tribulation, and an
incubus unto him. He is tempted, for in-
stance, by a long stretch of level track, to
‘‘pile it on” and go ahead, only to be met at
the end by a row of hurdles, or something
equally solid, which he cannot pull up in
time to avoid running into, and over which
he must then drag his damaged vehicle.
Indeed, the boy who can best carry his
machine has a very great advantage in con-
tests of this kind.

A high hedge, especially one with a ditch
on the farther side, is a good obstacle,
while an artificial obstruction in great re-
quest is a wooden flight of stairs, up over
and down which the competitor must carry
his machine, unless he he fool-hardy enough
to try to ride over, as has been more than
once disastrously attempted. The attempt
has not Always been a voluntary one, for the
stair-flight is a magnificent trap for the
hasty young man who rides at his best pace
and can’t always pull up at the right mo-
ment. So is the cluster of chairs, ae
and benches which oftentimes make his
career a grief and a weariness unto him ;
for it is necessary to select an advantageous
opening among those chairs and sundries,
and then to dodge gingerly between them.
Now, it is commonly found that the widest-
looking opening leads into the most impos-
sible ‘‘no thoroughfare,” the biggest and
hardest pieces of furniture, and the most
grievous spills ; so that not always he who
is first among the chairs is first out of them,
and he who tackles them with the boldest
rush is likely to sprawl among them with
the most bruises.

The diresome tarpaulin, too, is spread in
the path of the unhappy rider, with just
such greater awkwardness to him than to
the pedestrian, as may be calculated from
the incumbrance of his bicycle. Often the
place of the tarpaulin, however, is taken by
a series of scaffold poles, fixed across the
course at about two feet from the ground,
under which the sufferer must crawl and
drag that bicycle. :

A confused row of | stakes driven into the
ground, and standing up a foot or two, is
pretty certain to adorn the course at some
point. They are a fearful thing. They
look so insignificant, and they upset so
effectually. Tite they have been carefully
planted with the humane design of letting
everybody through scatheless (and they
never are), ® header is almost a certainty ;
for, even if the front wheel be steered
through accurately, the back wheel must
follow as it list, and catch whatever be in
its way. And then the sufferer must get up
as gracefully as possible, carefully refrain-
ing from. rubbing himself, smile pleasantly,
and proceed toward the finish in what com-
fort he may. | We Ne rt

The plank obstacle isan easy one—merely

‘an inclined plane a foot wide or more, up

which one must ride and down another. It
requires nothing more than steadiness and.

   

careful steering, but it is bad for the com-
petitor who approaches it with a wobble ;
for, verily, that wobble, once on, shall not
leave his wheel until it goes over the side of
the plank, and carries him with it, so that a
certain amount of innocent enjoyment may
be extracted from the contemplation even
of this simple obstacle.

The water affords facilities for obstacle
races equally with the land, and such a race
among swimmers has its points of interest.
Often a condition is that each competitor
take with him, the whole way, a large in-
flated bladder or an empty barrel. These
things must be taken under certain obstacles,
such asa pole, fixed across just over the
water, a row of flat-bottomed boats, or the
like. Let anybody who has tried to take a
large inflated bladder under water with him
tell of the joys of these feats. Or the rules
may dictate that the competitor must climb
over the obstacle himself and push the blad-
der or barrel under, taking care not to lose
it in the process. Indeed, special rules and
directions must be made for almost every
obstacle race, the most meritorious set being
that which entails most misery upon the
competitor.

Obstacles existing in the ordinary course
are not altogether wanting in a swimming
race properly planned. ‘here may be a
wooden bridge, which the swimmers may be
made to climb over, or a pontoon bridge
may be put down for the occasion.

Next, perhaps, the hardy adventurers meet
a row of boats, moored across the water-
way, often an irregular row, demanding gen-
eralship in selecting the easiest point of
attack. For, by properly selecting one’s
direction, it is possible here to find an ad-
vantage, taking a pull at this and a push at
that; while it must not be forgotten that he
is not necessarily slowest over who has most
boats to negotiate, providing he have but
one pull out and one dive; since running
and jumping are quicker than swimming.

It is not unusual in a swimming obstacle
race to give the swimmers an occasional trot
over dry ground, or up or down a ladder,
thus equalizing the chances of the lean and
long-limbed with those of the fat, who float
and swim the better. Thus, perhaps, after
a bit of straightaway swimming the way
may be blocked by a dam, and all must get

‘out and scramble along at the side toward a

ladder, up this, and off the plank to which
it leads, into the water once more. Now,
boys can only ascend an ordinary ladder in
single file, so that he who reaches the foot
of the ladder first must be the first to make
the ensuing dive; wherefore, a very eager
race on bare feet for that ladder.

There should also be a row of barrels
somewhere on the course; a row of barrels
so artfully lashed together that they turn
over in any direction at a touch. An incom-
petent committee has sometimes allowed
diving under these barrels, but the correct
thing is to send the competitors over—if
they can get over—unless they are carrying
the aforementioned bladders or barrels,
when to get under will be something difii-
cult todo. But to get over this row of bar-
rels and pass the bladder under, this is the
thing which should be ordained, that all the
people upon dry land might rejoice with a
great laughter.

To any bright boy other obstacles will
doubtless suggest themselves. —

Try the obstacle races, and see how much
fun they will afford to both competitors and
spectators, though it must be acknowledged
that the latter have probably the best of it.

“MOURE-1P.??

A well-known milkman had an experience
a few days ago which has completely
changed his views regarding lunatics. He
had occasion to visit an asylum to collect his
weekly bill. Upon his departure he noticed
one of the inmates abstractedly picking up
little stones, As the milkman’ passed the
man he made some chaffing remark, and was
at once pursued by the maniac.

The milkman, now thoroughly frightened,
ran for his life. Through the spacious
grounds they raced, then out along the high-
way. The pursued man yelled lustily for
help, but none came; and at last, completely
exhausted, he dropped on his knees to im-
plore mercy. The lunatic rushed up, and as
he reached the crouching, trembling milk-
man, instexd of crushing him, as he fully

expected he would, he only raised his hand,
laid it lightly on the man’s shoulder, and

cried out:
“You're it!’ and ranaway.
It transpired that the lunatic’s one amuse-
ment was playing ‘‘tag” with his keeper.
> ¢ > : ;
CutcaGo claims to have the only band in

 

the United States composed euitirely of let-
ter-carriers.

pet a
st

a en eS

et

Nal

ni Aa ania
  

ie

in inte — ag ef <co

oe

“ ies 3.
Racin

  
  

 

 
   

GrooDpD

  

NEWS.

S637

 

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

A YOUNG FREE LANCE:

OR,

IN SIAM WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION.

——_+—_——

By ENRIQUE H. LEWIS,
Author of ‘The King of the Island,’ “Left in
Chicago,” ete.
(“A YOUNG FREE LANCE” was commenced in

No. 225. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Ageuts. |

CHAPTER X.
HOW LESLIE CHECKED THE PURSUIT.

JA MOMENT of silence followed Silas

i ( Horn’s intrepid act. It was the

Ke quiet of horror and stupefaction--
“—" the stilling of human speech by the
extremity of surprise. But in this case it
did not last long.

There suddenly burst forth a tumult of
cries. Fierce threats filled the air, shouts
of vengeance came from all sides, and then
the guards started toward the raised plat-
form, flourishing their weapons at the daring
foreigner.

High above the angry shouts of the
audience arose the thin, nasal-pitched voice
of Silas Horn. It was sharp and emphatic.

‘Rama, tell them cattle thet if they raise
a hand against us I'll kill the Kamnan,” he
exclaimed, making a motion asifto bring
the keen-edged sword down upon the head
of the Chow.

The native youth instantly translated the
threat, then he and Leslie hurriedly as-
cended the platform, closely followed by
Charlie. It was a tableau thrilling in the
extreme.

The yast court, filled with a panic-stricken
throng of Siamese, seemed the theater of a
dramatic play. On the raised dais, which
fittingly represented the stage, were grouped
the principal characters in the tragedy, for
such it threatened to be.

The Kamnan had collapsed from sheer
fright, and now crouched down in his chair,
watching the weapon poised above his head
with fascinated eyes. Silas Horn, cool and
imperturbable, stood over him like an
avenging figure ready to strike.

At his side were Leslie and Charlie, their
faces pallid with excitement. The former

       
  

~ had snatched a gun from one of the guards,

and he now held it aimed toward the thick
of the crowd, only awaiting a movement to
discharge the weapon.

Rama was facing the spectators. With
his arms elevated above his head in an atti-
tude of defiance, he translated a command
from Silas that they prostrate themselves
until told to arise.

There was a murmur of unwillingness at
this. ‘The mass of crouching natives swayed
back and forth, as if meditating an on-
slaught upon the daring foreigners.

“Tell the Chow tew command them,” or-
dered Silas, fiercely. .*‘Tell him if his soldiers
don’t git down on their marrow bones and
remain there I'll cut his fat head off.”

While Rama was translating the Yankee’s
words, the latter pricked the august ruler
with the sharp point of his weapon. It had
an immediate effect. Uttering a howl of
terror, the poltroon slipped from his chair
and groveled at the feet of his former pris-
oners.

Rama bade him obey the Yankee’s re-
quest at once. The fellow needed no second
command. In a voice almost indistinct
from fright, he ordered the soldiers to re-
treat, and the increasing crowd of specta-
tors to prostrate themselves upon the floor.

This was done, although not without be-
luctance on the part of several soldiers more
courageous than their comrades.
little time in following out the details of his

daring scheme, which was no less than to

carry off the Kamnan as a hostage of their
safety.

“Take this,” he cried, handing Charlie his
sword. ‘If the old brute makes an attempt
tew escape, dew yeou slit his gizzard.”

Then grasping the Kamnan in his mus-
cular arms, Silas ran toward the private en-
trance at the back of the platfofm. Rama
and Charlie followed at his heels, but Leslie
delayed a moment to see if any attempt
would be made at pursuit.

It was well he did. The Yankee, bearing
his prisoner, had hardly disappeared when
a dozen of the guard turned and made for
the small door. Our hero had stepped be-
hind a thick woven curtain vailing the exit,
and was therefore invisible to the approach-
ing soldiers.

_It was evident they meditated a surprise,

\,; \ :

Silas lost ,’

 

as they crept through the still bowed throng
with noiseless steps. Some bore guns of
an ancient pattern, but the majority were
armed with the short, keen-edged creese of
the Siamese.

Leslie cast a hasty glance down the nar-
row corridor. His companions were just
vanishing around a curve in the winding
hall. It was time to follow them.

“One shot. to teach these fellows that we
mean business, and then I'll rejoin Silas and
the rest,” he murmured.

Cocking the antiquated weapon, he dashed
the curtain aside and let drive, at the same
time giving a whoop of defiance. The re-
coil of the piece almost knocked him over,
but he had the satisfaction of seeing a
soldier drop to the floor.

The rest turned and fled down the court,
tramping upon the bodies of their country-
men in their terror. At this the throng of
natives rose em masse, and with loud cries
of fright, attempted to leave the building.

Jammed in the narrow doorways, they
offered a splendid mark for a few picked
sharpshooters, but Leslie’s ammunition was
spent—the gun containing only one charge
—so he hurried after Silas and the others.

They were just passing through an exit
at the end of the corridor. The Yankee still
bore the Kamnan like a sack of meal, and
Charlie was amusing himself prodding the
miserable wretch with the point of his
sword. '

‘There has been an attempt made to pur-
sue us,” Leslie informed his companions,
‘“‘T settled ome of them, and the rest scooted
for the outside. What are we to do now?”

This last was addressed to Silas, who had
halted to listen.to the youth’s explanation.
The Yankee’s brow clouded and he turned
menacingly to his prisoner.

‘‘So they want tew capture us, eh?’ he
said. ‘If they make a move tew that effect
Tl quench the light of this hound. Just
translate that, Rama, and see if he can help
us for the benefit of his health.”

While the young native was speaking,
Charlie gave added emphasis to the words
by pricking the unfortunate Kamnan with
his weapon. Howling dolefully, the latter
promised to do anything if they would only
spare his life.

“Make him write an edict tew his people
outside. Have the old fool issue a royal
proclamation stating that we air his bosom
friends and must not be harmed.”

“And tell him that if he don’t do what we
ask of him we will proceed to carve his car-
cass into prime roasts,” added Charlie.

While they were talking, Leslie “had
glanced around the apartment into which
they had emerged after leaving the corridor.
It had the appearance of an ante-room.
Two doors could be seen at one end, anda
third opened into a garden on the side near-
est the street.

The latter was standing ajar, revealing a
well-kept yard containing palms and man-
goes and numerous beds of gayly colored
flowers. Sauntering slowly along, picking a
bud here and there, was a young girl of per-
haps fourteen years.

She was evidently approaching the ante-
room, and, from the careless, unconcerned
expression upon her innocent face, she did
not know of the recent occurrence in the
court.

Suddenly a loud outery came from the
street, and a mob of excited natives dashed
up to the lofty bamboo fence surrounding
the garden. The maiden glanced behind
her, paled with terror, and then ran swiftly
toward the house.

“Some one is coming here,” cried Leslie.
‘Who is it, Rama? Do you know the girl?”

“Yes; it is the Kamnan’s daughter Mai.
She fine girl,” replied the young native,
glancing through the doorway.

“Just what we want,” spoke up Silas.
“Shb’s the critter tew carry the old fellow’s
message tew the multitude. Shake him up,
Rama, and make him write what I said.”

‘*The girl will be herein a moment. Are
you going to capture her?” asked Charlie.
‘She'll run like a white-head when she sees
your mug.”

‘‘Where does them doors lead tew, I won-
der ?” asked the Yankee.

“Tt where Chow live. Plenty people in
there. Servants, wives, and lots others. We
no go in there. Women cry; fight us. They
no afraid.”

“He must mean the Amazons,” said Les-
lie. ‘From all accounts it would be better
to face ten men than one of those. You
know how a man would fight, but all rules

are lost when an Amazon begins.”

“IT know them,” replied Silas, grimly.
‘“‘We won't goin there. Rama, you git be-
hind the door, and capture that leetle girl
when she comes in. Don’t hurt the purty
dear. i. 3 ;

There was no time for further directions.

Mai, the Siamese maiden, was within a few |

1

 

 

feet of the door. Rama stepped behind it,
and the others were in the act of lining
themselves against the wall, when, with a
sudden spring, the Kamnan jerked free
from Charlie’s grasp, and darted into the
garden.

CHAPTER XI.
HOW THE KAMNAN WAS RECAPTURED.

ver that none interposed a hand to stay

him. The wily native had seemed so

prostrated with fright that he was
deemed incapable of an attempt to escape.

Silas Horn was the first to recover from
the general surprise. Clearing the interven-
ing space with a single bound, he passed out
into the open and dashed after the fleeing
prisoner.

Leslie and Charlie followed only a few
feet behind, the latter flourishing the sword
asheran. Rama, with a quick intuition,
remained in the little apartment and busied
himself locking and barricading the various
doors.

“Tf he escapes, we are lost,” gasped Les-
lie, redoubling his efforts.

‘Who would think the—the old brute
would play us such a—a scurvy trick,” re-
plied Charlie. ‘Ah! Silas almost had him
that time !”

On leaving the ante-room, the Kamnan
had run straight for a gate in the middle of
the bamboo fence, dashing over flower beds

SOS we:
Th was such a totally unexpected manen-

and skirting bushes with a speed incredible‘

in one of his age and size.

Mai, his daughter, had halted in over-
whelming terror when she saw the awesome
spectacle of her august parent pursued by
three white strangers dressed in the uni-
form of the hated French.

The dense crowd of natives that now sur-
rounded the court building set up a terrific
howl when they saw the efforts of their chief
to escape. Pushed from behind, the fore-
most ranks of the throng leveled the fence
as if it had been a barrier of straw.

The whole mob then advanced to ‘meet
their chief, whom they encouraged with
shrill cries of excitement. The Chow was
speeding over the ground with Silas almost
within reach of him. Close in the rear
came Leslie and Charlie straining every
nerve to reach the Kamnan in time to pre-
vent his rescue.

It was a race thrilling in theextreme. To
our hero and his companions the prize was
sweet life itself. Small wonder they exerted
themselves and tried with herculean efforts
to recapture the prisoner.

Leslie had not discarded his gun, although
it was now unloaded. He knew that it
would prove an effective weapon at close
quarters, and he retained it despite its
weight.

As yet not a shot had been fired from the
crowd of guards and citizens. This was
probably due to the fact that their ruler was
in the line of fire, and his person was too
sacred to risk a chance volley.

It has taken time to write this descrip-
tion. The race of the Kamnan for safety
had not occupied a half moment, however,
when something occurred which turned the
tide of affairs in favor of the Americans, and
earned for Leslie the everlasting admiration
of his comrades. | :

The fleeing native had almost reached the
main body of his subjects. Already three
or four guards were at his side preparing to
facilitate his escape. They were armed
with creeses, which they handled ina man-
ner showing their skill with the weapon.

Notwithstanding this fact, Silas Horn still
continued the pursuit. With the bull-dog
tenacity of purpose for which he was noted,
the Yankee flung himself upon the back of
the Kamnan just as the latter's friends
reached the spot.

There were three of the soldiers—fierce-
looking, desperate fighters. The foremost
raised his creese to strike at Silas, when an
object whizzed through the air and struck
the fellow squarely across the breast.

He fell back against his companions as if
shot, sending them to earthinaheap. A
second later Leslie and Charlie were stand-
ing at their comrade’s side.

he former was minus his gun. This
told the tale of the flying missile. Whenhe
saw ‘Silas Horn’s great danger our hero’s

quick wit revealed to him the only way by

which he could aid the Yankee.

While still running he whirled the anti-
quated weapon over his head and let it fly
at the foremost soldier, with the happy re-
sult already described. It was ultimately
the means of saving them.

The momentary respite thus ‘gained en-
abled Silas to again get the Kamnan in his
power. When Leslie and Charlie dashed
up, Horn had scrambled to his feet, dragging
the native chief with him. —

‘e

| suggested Leslie.

 

Charlie knew his business. Placing his
sword’s point against the prisoner’s breast
he prepared to run him through at a word.
At this juncture Rama Sak joined them.

‘‘Tell the Chow tew drive. them fellers back
if he values his life,” commanded Silas, ad-
dressing the young native.

Before Rama could obey, the Kamnansul-
lenly gave the order himself, realizing what
was required of him, and knowing full well
that his own precious life depended upon
the safety of the foreigners.

“Tell them thet if they an’t outside this
garden by the time I count ten, I’lI—Ah!
there they go like sheep. Now, yeou just
give my regards tew the old brute and say
thet we won't harm him if he sees us out-
side this here village.”

“You take him along, no?” asked Rama.

“Sure. We won’t take his word for it,”
grimly replied Silas. ‘All we want is tew
git a good start, then we'll let him go.”

‘Better bring him as far as the river,”
“We can possibly find a
boat, and by leaving him on the bank he
won't be able to follow us for a while at
least.”

“Don’t tell him we are going in that di-
rection,” warned Charlie.

“No; Isay we go oder way. We walk
one, two mile, then turn and make river.”

‘‘Thet’s the ticket,” approved Silas.
‘Don’t waste any time,. youngster. We
want tew git out of this locality at once.”

Rama held a short conversation with the
Kamnan, and then stated that the latter
promised to see them away from his pro-
vince in safety if they would only spare his
life.

“Good! We will start immediately. Ill
lead the way with Leslie and the prisoner,
while yeou and Charlie follow. Step lively
now.” :
‘“‘Hadn’t we better secure a couple of those
creeses ?” asked our hero.

“Yes.. Git three or four by all means.
Rama, yeou make some of them soldiers
supply us.”

_ The young native had little difficulty in
obtaining several of the peculiar Siamese
weapons, and the calvacade started for the
outskirts of the village, followed at a re-
spectful distance by the inhabitants. 4

“What is the matter with riding?’ sud
denly asked Charlie, pointing toward a
large-wheeled cart attached to four bullocks.

“Shank’s mare is better than thet thing,” —
replied Silas. ‘It would take them cattle a
year tew reach the river.” ~

“I know where elephant is,” said Rama,
suggestively. ‘‘It go fast enough.”

“Get it by all means,” eagerly replied
Charlie. ‘‘That will be an experience worth
having. Irode one once in acireus that
came to our town. I was dressed up to re-
present the boy king of the Cannibal Isles
and——”

“We an’t got no time tew fool,” inter-
rupted Silas, shortly. ‘‘We’ll walk, and that
settles it. Yeou can hold thet yarn ontil we
git out of here, youngster.” ;

“All right,” cheerfully replied the youth. ©
“You are only jealous—afraid that I will
tell something more wonderful than you
could. I know you, old chisel face.”

Silas favored the laughing youth with a
look containing more fun than anger, but
he did not reply. The party walked rapidly,
reaching the outskirts of the village in short.
order.

They had taken a westerly direction, as
previously arranged, intending to throw the
native guard off the scent. The number of
inhabitants following them had increased
with every passing moment until at. last it
seemed as if ten thousand men women and
children were in the mob at their heels.

“This an’t going tew dew,” said Silas,
glancing back. ‘We'll never git away if
they accompany us.”

“Why not have Rama tell them to stop ?”
asked Charlie.

“Make the Kemnan do that,” suggested de!

Leslie. “They will obey him.”

“We will have tew. Rama,-have the old
fool drive them fellers back tew town. Tell
him we will let him go when we git a few
miles away.”

“JT make him,” replied the native youth ©
confidently.

He uttered a few brief words in a fierce
tone, at the same time drawing one hand
across his throat in a highly suggestive
manner. ye

‘The Kemnan shrunk back in
then jabbered a piteous ope tc
est group of soldiers. is re!
passed from man to man, and pr
guard was observed driving back
of natives. 5

‘‘Now’s our chance tew mak
said Silas, starting off at a trot.
lively gait, youngsters, and don’t
yeou see the river a-shining i
tance.” Nee tn

   
   
    
     
          

 

   
 
   
  
   
      
 

3SSs3s

GooD

NEW S.

 

‘What about these uniforms?’ asked
Leslie. ‘We can’t wear them much longer
if we expect to do anything.”

“Right yeou are.”

“You want native clothes?’ asked Rama.

“Yes, we must have them at once. Can't
yeou fix us up, my boy ?”

“T try. I think I know where plenty
clothes. It not far from here. What kind
you want?”

“Anything that will disguise us the best.
We want tew go tew Bangkok, and we don’t
care tew answer any inquisitive questions.”

The native youth was silent for a brief
while. Suddenly he halted and chuckled to
himself as if struck with a happy thought.

“T know, I know,” he said.

“What dew yeou know?” asked Silas,
glancing at him in surprise.

“How you like to be priests, or what they
call a yogi? Him great fraud, my mission-
ary say. He live in woods and caves, and
go round to people scaring away devils for
plenty money. How you tink?”

“Thet’s a good idea. Kin yeou get the
costumes ?”

“J know place about three spardis, or
what you call miles, from here. There
dozen yogis in cave there. Wego past and
take clothes.”

“We can buy them, can’t we?” asked
Leslie.

Rama gave him a look of supreme con-
tempt.

“Buy from a yogi? Hetief hisself. You
ask how much, he say maybe forty, fifty
ticals. Tical worth sixty cents. His rag
no worth more than three, two salungs.”’

**How much is that ?”

‘“‘A salung is worth about fifteen cents,”
explained Silas. ‘I think the idea is fust
class» If we can get four suits like them
worn by the yogis we'll be able tew travel
over the country without much danger. A
native will run when he sees one of them
rascals—thinks they are magic and will
hoodoo them, I guess.”

It was finally settled that the party should
alter their way so as to pass near the caves
of the yogis, and the march was resumed.

 

CHAPTER XII.

HOW LESLIE WENT TO THE CAVES OF THE
YOGIS.

“HE crowd of guards and natives had
> returned to the village, to all appear-

2 ances, but Silas Horn was too old a

campaigner to accept it asa fact with-
out actual proof.

While passing through a palm grove he

called a halt in a secluded spot, and bade
his companions hide behind a pile of
decayed logs.
_ “Yeou and Rama watch the prisoner
_ while Leslie and me take a scout back tew
see if any of them critters are following
us,” he said. “I don’t want any one tew
know what disguise we air going to adopt,
as they might make it warm fur us.
Savey ?”

A thorough search almost to the edge of
the village did not reveal anything alarming,
however. Only a few native women, veiled
and cloaked, could be seen. A bell sending
out its discordant clamor in the distance,
and a murmur as of many voices were the
only indications of the morning’s work.

“Them natives will never forgit this day,
I'm thinking,” said Silas, with a grim
chuckle. ‘Our visit will go down tew pos-
terity with the floods, and the black death,
and all of them calamities.” —

“The Kamnan will always keep us in re-
membrance, anyway. This little experience
will go far to convince him that he is not
the lord of the earth, as he no doubt imag-
ines.” {

“When I come tew think of it, what a
blessing it was that we ran across Rama
Sak ?”

“You are right. Without his aid we would
have been food for the vultures hours ago.”

“‘Thet’s one of the good results of sending
missionaries tew foreign countries,” replied
Silas, quaintly. ‘‘The youngster was well
treated by one of them gentry, and is now
paying what he thinks is his debt.”

“By the way, don’t you think we had bet-
ter return?” asked Leslie. ‘The longer we
_ hang around here the more danger we run.

Those natives might~—”
_ ‘Sh-h-!” ‘suddenly interrupted the Yan-
kee. “Git behind thet log, quick !”
_ “What is the matter? What did you see?”
asked our hero, dropping back of a huge
- fallen tree-trunk.
__ His companion slipped alongside him and
ted toward a road which passed within
indred feet of them. A dense green
rose to the height of a man’s waist,
above it appeared a score of heads
ned with the peculiar bonnet of the
Siamese irregular soldiery.

“They are following us,” whispered Les-
lie.

“Yes. They air on the trail. We must
shake a leg and git back tew where the
others air waiting. Creep along on your
stomach till yeou git tew them bushes over
there. Tl follow in a moment.”

‘‘What are you going to do?”

‘Nothing. Yeou go ahead now.”

“Cannot you come at the same time?”
asked Leslie, suspiciously.

“T want tew give them fellers a scare for
trying tew follow us.”

‘Don’t do it, Silas. We can’t afford to
take any risks. Come with me now.”

The reckless soldier of fortune hesitated
for a moment, then he followed his young
companion to the group of bushes he had
indicated. They reached the spot in safety,
and then, springing to their feet, started on
a run for the place where Charlie, Rama,
and the Kamnan had been left.

They found the former anxiously expect-
ing them.

“Twas just on the point of going after
you,” he said. ‘I thought you had been re-
captured. Rama here came near cutting an
ear off the prisoner to send back to the vil-
lage as a token that we wanted them to de-
liver you up at once.”

‘We weren’t recaptured, but we saw a
squad of soldiers coming this way,” ex-
plained Leslie. ‘They are on our trail.”

‘What youdo? Wait here and make the
Chow drive them back?” asked Rama.

“No; we will make tracks for them caves
immediately,” replied Silas. ‘The soldiers
air about e mile behind us, and we kin keep
out of their way if we air spry. How fur is
it now tew the place where yeou expect tew
find them yogis?”

“Maybe two mile.
through woods.” *

“Lead on, then, and keep your feet
a-moving.”

The party set out at a fast walk, and soon
covered the distance mentioned by Rama.
That astute youth kept clear of all outlying
farm-houses and paddy fields, and finally
brought them within a short distance of a
series of hills.

A halt was called in a dense forest of
palms. It was decided that Silas. and Char-
lie were to remain in charge of the Kamnan,
while Leslie and Rama visited the yogis in
search of costumes.

“T say,” called out Charlie, as they were
leaving. ;

“What is it?” replied Leslie.

“There is one supreme point you have
forgotten.”

**What is that?”

“Are you going to be white yogis or yellow
yogis?” :

“By gum! thet’s so,” spoke up Silas. “I
clean forgot thet we an’t the same color as
the Siamese. We'll have tew git some dye
and ttirn our skins yeller. Kin yeou fix it,
Rama?”

“Yes. I find root in paddy field,” quickly
replied the youth. ‘You wait moment.”

He slipped away, and after a short absence
returned with a handful of queer-looking
roots, which he gave to Silas, with instruc-
tions to powder finely.

‘‘When we reach river we make fire and
boil,” he added, ‘It make you all same na-
tive.”

“Outside,” corrected Charlie, grinning.
“It would take more than those roots to
make us like the Siamese all through.”

“Rama here is purty near. white in his
heart, anyway,” said Silas, patting the na-
tive youth on the back, ;

“Yes, you are right,” acknowledged Char-
lie. “And he'll be an American gentleman
if he will only bring us a little food from
those caves. Iam nearly starved.”

“Kat the Chow,” chuckled Rama.
fat. Make good roast.”

“Thank yeou; I don’t like skunk meat,”
replied the Yankee, dryly.

The Kamnan, who had maintained a sul-
len demeanor since his capture, now ap-
peared to take a great interest in the move-
ments of the party. The frequent mention-
ing of the word yogi evidently rendered him
uneasy, and he said something to Rama in a
pleading tone.

“He afraid we get magic from yogis,” ex-
eae the native youth. “He big fool.

elieve those dogs can turn him into bird.”

‘“‘He would look nice with wings,” said
Charlie. ‘Tell him that if he don’t behave
we will get a yogi to transform him into,a
hippopotamus. That would be more suited
to his present appearance.”

After a few further words, Leslie and
Rama started on their journey, leaving their
companions safely concealed in the woods.
The native youth was evidently on familiar
ground, as he hurried along without hesita-
tion.

It was high noon, and the almost perpen-

It short way if we go

“He

 

dicular rays of the sun beat down on the

 

scene with tropical fervor. The air was sul-
try, and not a sound could be heard save the
harsh croak of a vulture idly flapping his
wings on the topmost branch of a tree Dear
by.

After leaving the forest of palms, Rama
led the way to a small hill rising above the
trees a quarter of a mile from the temporary
camp. As they approached it Leslie noticed
an utter absence of cultivation.

The ground was covered with thick
matted growths which had apparently been
undisturbed for years. It was evident the
simple natives had no desire to become near
neighbors of the men of magic.

Skirting the base of the hill for a short
distance, Rama began to climb up through a
small clearing in the bushes. He was fol-
lowed by Leslie, and presently they found
themselves near the summit.

“No make noise,’ cautioned the leader,

placing his hands upon his lips. ‘‘We near
caves.”

“How do you intend to obtain the cloth-
ing?”

Rama silently drew his creese and felt the
edge in a highly significant manner. ,

‘No; I won't have that,” hastily exclaimed
Leslie. ‘I have some Siamese money, and
we will pay for what we get. You set a fair
price and we will leave them the money.”

Rama laughed contemptuously.

“Wait, you see what yogi is. He brute,
all same pig. If he find you sleep he steal
your eyes almost. Come, I show you.”

Pressing aside a couple of bushes he mo-
tioned Leslie to enter, then followed at his
heels. They had entered a clearing, at the
far end of which was a huge stone almost
concealing a dark hole in the side of the
hill.

Suddenly there came to their ears a weird
sound, as of many voices chanting in unison.
Then it ended abruptly, and a hearty peel of
laughter came from the interior of the cave.
Rama shrugged his shoulders, and whis-

ered :

“Them holy men. All drunk from weddi.
We go look.” ‘

As they were in the act of creeping toward
the entrance, the bushes crackled behind
them, and a couple of wild-looking natives,
clad in the skins of animals, bounded into
view ?

(TO BE CONTINUED. )
—__—__ > + —___—_
(This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.[

TOM TRUXTON'S OCEAN TRIP;

, OR,

THE ISLAND OF PALMS.

BY HARVEY HICKS,

Author of. ‘Mat Merrman Abroad,” “Tom
Truaton’s Schooldays,’’ ete. ee

 

si A elahbaaialh

{“TOM TRUXTON’S OCEAN ‘I'RIP”? was commenced
in No. 221. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents.)

meeeningte > coments

CHAPTER XXIV,

THE HOLE IN THE GROUND.

   

T\HE strange disappearance of the pro-
ie fessor caused the utmost anxiety in
- Camp Violet, as Tom had named their
_7* present location. During the excite-
ment incident to the establishment of the
camp he had been entirely forgotten.

All knew his eccentricities, and but little
attention was paid to his actions for the time
being. Chester—who had been the last to
see Professor Pickle—declared that he was at
that time down upon his imnees, digging at
the roots of a shrub with an old knife.

‘‘After that, he must have strolled off into
the woods,’’ added Gage.

‘‘Phwy didn’t the ould fool bring a nurse,
Oi dunno???’ demanded Mary Ann, in disre-
spectful tones.
in’ off an’ gittin’ lost jusht whin Oi have a
elegant stew all ready?”’

hen Tom returned to camp with his party,
and found that nothing had been seen of the
missing scientist, his anxiety increased.

“We must not rest until he has been
found,’’ he said, with determination. ‘‘He
could not have strayed far, Iam sure. Half
of you can remain here and eat supper, while
the rest continue the search. Chester, you
come with me, and bring one of the lanterns. ’’

After starting several small parties along
the beach in both directions, Tom and _ his
chum struck inland, for the center of the

  

island.

‘*Confound it!’? exclaimed the former.
“*T’ll deputize a couple of men to watch him
hereafter.’’

‘‘The old gentleman is clean crazy over
that onion, and actually don’t know what he
is doing,’’ replied Gage.

‘‘Well, I hope he finds a specimen and_be-
comes contented. Whew ! is kind of walk-
ing is no easy task after dark. Where on

 

‘*Phwat business has he go-'

 

earth do you suppose the professor could
have gone?’’

‘‘He may have fallen into the sea,’’ sug-
gested Gage, gravely.

‘“Great grief! I hope not,’’? exclaimed
Tom, stopping short, and looking at his com-
panion. ‘‘I wouldn’t have that happen for—
what was that?’’

A faint cry, as if from aman in deadly
peril, came to their ears. The sound died
away in a long, drawn-out roan, and was
then repeated.

Tom and Chester stood as if transfixed
for a second; then they began to beat about
the bush in a frantic effort to find the place
whence the appeal had come,

‘‘It is the professor, and he is in great
danger,’’ panted Tom, forcing the brush in
front of him to one side. Pausihg, he shouted
at the top of his voice:

‘*Professor Pickle, where are you?’?

Again the cry came, this time seemingly
not a dozen yards in advance. Tom hastened
forward, followed by Chester, but had hardly
taken ten steps when he recoiled with an ex-
clamation of surprise and excitement.

‘“‘What is the matter?’’ hurriedly asked
Gage.

Without replying, Tom snatched the lighted
lantern from his hand and held it up so the
rays would illumine a dark spot in front of
them.

‘Jumping ginger!?’ shouted Chester,
aghast. ‘‘That was a narrow escape for
you.’’

Directly at their feet was a circular hole
in the ground, apparently about six feet in
diameter. Just below the level could be seen
the sparkle of water, and as the twain
looked, it seemed to be agitated, as if by
some submarine monster.

Throwing himself to the ground, Tom -

leaned over the edge of the opening, and
held the lantern “well out. As he had sus-
pected, he saw the familiar face of Professor
Pickle directly beneath him.

The scientist was grasping a trailing vine
with on hand, his body being partially sub-
merged in the water, almost filling the
cavity. On seeing Tom, he uttered a feeble
ery for help, and threshed out with his long
legs in a futile effort to gain a foothold on
the side.

‘*Courage, professor !’’ exclaimed our hero.
**Courage! e’ll have you out of there in
a jiffy.’

Springing to his feet, Tom hastily cut a
vine strong and supple enough to bear a
heavy weight. Fastening one end around a

near-by tree, he told Chester to hold the |

lantern over the opening. °

Then lowering the other end down to the
professor, Tom bade him grasp it tightly,
adding:

‘*Hold on with all your power, and we’ll
haul you up in no time, sir.’’

“T can’t let go of this vine,’’ came back, -
’ ’

in feeble tones. ‘‘If I do I’ sink beneath
the surface.’ :

‘‘Well, retain your grasp with one hand,
and catch hold with the other.’?’

**T can’t.”?

‘‘Hor Heaven’s sake! why not?’’ asked
Tom, impatiently.

““T’m using both arms now. I am holding
a specimen of the genus allium with my
eye hand,’’ replied the professor, plaint-
ively.

Tom glanced at Chester with such an ex-
pression of disgust that the latter exploded
with laughter.

‘*Well, did you ever hear the beat of that
in your life?’’ ejaculated the former. ‘‘There
he is down in that hole, in imminent danger
of losing his life, and he refuses to be rescued
on account of a confounded old onion.’’

‘‘He is certainly a peculiar specimen him-
self,’’ laughed Gage.

‘“We can’t leave him here, that’s certain.
I’ll try him again.’”’

Bending over the edge of the opening, Tom
called out:

‘*Professor, if you want to save your life
you will have to do as I ask you. Drop that
onion and grasp this vine, so we can pull
you up. The longer you remain in that icy
water the more exhausted you will become.’

‘‘Can’t you reach down and take the
specimen?’’ asked Pickle, pleadingly. ‘‘Tt is
the only one I could find after a long search,
arf I wouldn’t give it up for a fortune.’’

With an imprecation on botany in general,
Tom told Chester to hold his legs while he
secured the plant. After several attempts,
he succeeded, and a few moments later the
scientist was also drawn up toa place of
Pie
‘¢‘Now, for Heaven’s sake, come to the camp
and dry yourself,’’ said our hero, passing
the specimen over to its bedraggled owner.

‘‘How on earth did you fall down that
hole??? asked Chester, leading the way with
the lantern.

‘‘T was walking through this most peculiar
forest of Arctic palms searching for my

recious specimen shortly before dark, and
in stepping across a log, tumbled right into
that horrible cavity,’ explained the pro-
fessor, carefully stowing his prize in his
coat pocket.

‘‘After I emerged from the water, I at-
tempted to grasp the side, and my hand tore
something away from the wall,’’ he con-
tinued. ‘‘It was light enough for me to see
that I had at last found the object of my
voyage. It was a splendid specimen of the
genus——’’

i"

t-te

eee ditinks

~ ne

ae ee

 

 
eg I ty,

A

So py SEE i

ae

 

 

» arran

GoonDp

NEWS.

SS3o

 

 

‘“ Ves, yes,’’ interrupted Tom, impatiently.
‘‘But do you know you came very near
losing your life, and that you have also
caused all of us a lot of trouble and anxiety?
Now that you have found the plant, for
goodness sake, don’t go wandering around
scaring us to death.”’

‘*All right, Thomas,’’ meekly replied the
scientist.

‘‘ And another thing,’’ spoke up Chester,
chuckling to himself. ‘‘Mary Ann is as mad
as a hornet, and I wouldn’t be surprised to
see her haul you over the coals for delaying
her supper.’’

‘‘Don’t let that dreadful woman come near
me, boys,’’ exclaimed the professor, in
alarm. ‘‘I’ll promise not to bother you
again, if you only make her keep away.”’

‘‘Very well; we will chain her up on that
condition,’’ agreed Gage, with mock gravity.

A few moments later they arrived at the
camp. The professor’s appearance was
greeted with genuine relief by all, and, al-
though Mary Ann pretended to be angry at
the postponement of her supper, yet it was
apparent that she, too, was greatly delighted
at the scientist’s return.

A messenger was sent to recall the other
search parties, and then our hero and his
companions partook of their first meal that
day.
Four parties, of two men each, were
selected as the first watch, and an equal
number designated as their relief at mid-
night. Chester was placed in charge of the
former, and Captain Brett told off to com-
mand the latter. ;

After all arrangements had been made, the
little camp retired, to snatch what sleep they
could, until a new day came, with its re-
sponsibilities and adventures.

 

CHAPTER XXV.
IN TERRIBLE PERIL.

HE first rays of the sun found the

\ > camp astir. Tom awoke betimes and

wD called all hands just as Old Sol peeped
” over the eastern horizon.

After breakfast, the young leader called a
consultation of his aids—Chester and Captain
Brett.

‘‘We have a lot of work to accomplish to-
day, and we must set about it at once,’’ he
said, strolling down to the beach with them.
‘“‘Our first duty is to secure the stores left
aboard, and also make a thorough examina-
tion of the yacht.’’

‘*T see one thing what pleases me,’’ replied
the old skipper, running his experienced eye
over sky and sea, ‘‘and that is a timely
change in the weather. All them clouds have
cleared away, you see. The wind has gone
down, an’ if we was only a trifle farther
north we would have a balmy day, I’m
thinking.”’ ws :

“And I see another thing that pleases me
more,’’ chimed in Gage, pointing toward the
distant horizon.

‘“What do you mean?’’ asked Tom, look-
ing in the direction indicated.

‘Why, the disappearance of the Night-

Hawk. She has gone.’’

‘“‘That’s a fact.
turns.’’ ;

‘‘Amen!?? exclaimed Captain Brett, fer-
vently. ‘‘Them people aboard is a bad lot,
and if the deep-séa sharks had their dues
they would make a meal off the whole
caboodle. Howsomever, I can’t help but be-

I hope she never re-

lieve that we haven’t seen the last of the

barky. It won’t do to relax our lookout
just because she’s out 0’ sight.’’ *
‘“Not by any means,’’ firmly replied Tom.
‘«They are treacherous enemies, and will em-
loy treacherous means to circumvent -us.
Richolas Flint is not the man to giveupa
chance for revenge so easy. And another
thing, it seems from what one of our pris-
oners said, that Captain Scroggins found
traces of a valuable treasure on this island
during his previous voyage.
for a moment such people as they would
sail away and surrender it without any num-
ber of trials?’’ :
‘*Not on your life,’? promptly acknowl-
edged Chester. Then he added, que
‘*A treasure on the island, eh? Whoop!
That makes things interesting. After we are

straightened up, we must organize a treasure

party, and search for the hidden gold, or
whatever it is.’’

‘*That can wait until.we provide a means
to leave the island,’’ said Tom, gravely.
‘‘That is the burning question of the hour, I
can assure you. The professor told me last
night that the water in the hole into which
he fell is salt.’?

‘‘Strange,’? remarked the old skipper,
shaking his head.

‘‘Not only strange, but serious,’’ con-
tinued Tom. ‘‘We haven’t a great deal of
water on the Explorer, and there is every

ssibility the tanks forward were smashed

y that fall of ice.’’

After a few moments of further conversa-
tion, Tom ordered Captain Brett to launch
and man the two cutters, for a trip to the
iceberg.

‘‘While we are away, you can take charge
of the camp,’’ he said to Chester. ‘‘Send a
couple of trusty men to the other side of the
island, as lookouts, and employ the others in

Do you think.

 

_ the camp for a stay. I guess the}
location is about as good as any we can find,

 

so we will stay here until we are ready to
leave, which I hope will be soon.’?

‘‘How would it do to build a lookout place
on one of those tall palms?’’ asked Gage.
‘*One of the sailors can climb it, and it will
be easy to construct a platform up there. A
rope ladder can also be rigged from the
top.’’

‘“‘All right. Go ahead and try it,’’ ap-
proved ourthero. ‘‘But whatever you do,
don’t let the professor stray away again and
fall into any more holes.”’

‘*T’ll deputize Mary Aun as a guard over
him,’’ grinned Chester. ‘‘He won’t dare to
stir then.’’

Shortly after, Tom and Captain Brett
were on their way to the berg with the two
cutters. It soon became apparent to them
that the huge mass of ice had drifted con-
siderably nearer the island during the night.

‘“‘Tam glad to see it,’? remarked Tom,
cheerfully. ‘‘I only hope the berg will touch
shore. It will make our task all the easier.’’

On gaining the other side, they found the
Explorer in her former position. The cutters
were brought alongside, and the party
boarded the yacht at the gangway.

The young leader now had an opportunity
to see the damage wrought by the catas-
trophe of the previous day. Forward of the
waist, the deck of the yacht was piled high
with a mass of ice, in lumps of all sizes and
shapes.

The foremast had been broken off a few
feet above the pin-rail, and the huge spar
hung over the side, with a tangle of cordage
trailing in the water.

The bulwarks had been carried away, and
the forecastle leveled, and altogether, the
scene was one of complete wreckage.

‘‘All this looks bad enough, but it really
amounts to very little if the hull is still
sound,’’ said Tom, going forward with the
captain.

“Right your are, sir. I can patch upa
jury-mast and straighten things around
decks in no time, if the old hooker will float.
Wait a moment, Tom, and I’ll sound the
well.’’

This tell-tale maneuver was speedily ac-
complished, and the result was very gratify-
ing to the young leader and his companion.
To their joy they found only nine inches of
water in the bilges.

‘‘By George! that is splendid news!’’ ex-
claimed Tom, shaking hands with the old
skipper in his enthusiasm. ‘‘Now there is
some hope for us, eh?’’

‘*According to this, she must be as sound
as a trivet below decks,’’ replied Brett, with
a chuckle of delight.

Proceeding forward, they examined the
bows and side plates, and found but little
permanent damage. It was now obvious to
all that the Explorer had received only a
trifling injury, and that her stability was
not npained:

‘Set the men to work transferring all
stores to the cutters,’’? said Tom. ‘‘It will
be necessary to lighten the yacht, anyway, I

should judge, and we may as well land |

everything at once.’’

The sailors turned to with a will, cheered
by the knowledge that they still had a vessel
under their feet. When the boats were
loaded, a quick trip was made to the island,
and another cargo disembarked.

By noon, the Explorer was empty, with the.

exception of several tanks of water, which
Tom concluded to leave on board.

While the men were thus engaged, the
young leader and Captain Brett carefully
examined the ledge of ice astern of the Ex-
plorer, finally reaching the conclusion that a
number of charges of powder would crack
the shelf sufficiently to form a channel.

‘‘We may as well set about it this after-
noon,’’ suggested Tom. ‘‘Delay may be
dangerous, and there is no reason why—
Great grief! what was that?’’

They were standing aft, near the quarter,
and, just as our hero was in the act of ad-
dressing the captain, a sudden tremor in the
hull of the Explorer interrupted him.

Before Brett could reply, the deck upon
which they stood, quivered with a terrible

e| strain, a deafening report sounded from, ap-

arently, in the very heart of the mighty
heme and the summit was seen to totter and
fall with a crash, directly ahead of the

yachg. :

The shock resulting from the stupendous
mass of ice striking the outlying floe was
terrific. Thrown to the deck, Tom and his
companions lay trembling in every limb, ex-
pectnee that each succeeding moment would

ring destruction to all.

The old skipper was the first to arise. Stag-
gering to his feet, he exclaimed, hoarsely :

“*To the boats! To the boats! All hands!’’

‘‘What has happened?’’ gasped Tom, join-
ing him. y:

‘‘The berg is breaking up, and is. liable to
turn over at any moment,’’ was the start-
ling reply.

s if to give emphasis to the old naviga-
tor’s words, the mountain of ice trembled to
its very center, and then rocked back and
forth so violently that the yacht slipped a
dozen feet astern.

This was the last straw. Wild with fear,
the crew tumbled pell-mell into the cutters,
and shoved off before either Tom or the
captain had time to follow.

pripsing up on the after rail, our hero
shook ‘his fist at the recreant sailors, crying,

y

E huskily :

 

 

‘“*Come back, you cowards!
leave us here to perish?’’

His words had not the slightest effect.
Rendered selfish by terror, the men pulled
away from the yacht at their utmost speed,
leaving Tom and Captain Brett staring after
them in despair.*

‘‘We are doomed, Tom,’’ said the latter,
brokenly. ‘‘It is all up with us. I have
seen these—look out! She is going! Heaven
have mercy on——!”’

With a thunderous report, sounding to the
imperiled twain like the crack of doom, an-
other peak became detached from the main
part of the berg and fell. The central mass
heaved convulsively, and with a terrific
lunge, the Explorer was forced from the
shelf and sent stern first out on the bosom of
the ocean!

Would you

CHAPTER XXVI.
STARTLING NEWS.

MHROWN prostrate by the terrible
shock, Tom and his companion were
literally washed bodily into the scup-
pers by the tremendous rush of water

over the stern.

There they lay, gasping and choking, and
clinging tooth and nail to the bulwark
stanchions for several minutes, during which
time the yacht continued to roll frightfully
from side to side.

At last—finding they were still alive, and
with whole bones—both hastily scrambled to
their feet, and gazed with wonder at the
scene spread out before them.

Dotting the surface for a mile around,
were innumerable fragments of ice, being
tossed hither and yon by the agitated
waters. Close to the island, was the main
portion of the once mighty berg, now only
a quarter of its original size, and entirely
changed in appearance.

It was truly a wonderful transformation;
but that which instantly riveted the atten-
tion of our hero and Captain Brett was the
fact that the Explorer still floated, safe and
sound.

When the knowledge dawned upon their
still bewildered minds, both wept for very
joy, and solemnly clasped hands in the ex-
cess of emotion.

‘It’s too good to be true, Tom,’’ ex-
claimed the old skipper, wiping his eyes, and
then breaking out again: ‘‘I—I—can’t un-
derstand it yet. I thought we were gone
up—up the spout sure that time.’’

‘*No, thank Heaven, it is a fact!’’ replied
our hero, soberly. Then he suddenly jumped

upon the cabin hatch out of the water,-

which still encumbered the deck, and danced
a rollicking jig, at the same time lifting his
voice in such a series of whoops that Chester
must-have heard him-on the distant island.

The old skipper stared at him in surprise

for a brief period, then he, too, caught the
infection, and if any one had ‘been there to
see it they would have looked upon the
strange spectacle of a youth and a grizzled
old seaman dancing a remarkable hornpipe
for very joy.

This ebullition of spirits did not last long.
Now that the safety of the yacht was as-
sured, there was work to do.

Signaling the cutters, Tom shouted to the
crews to come alongside at once, which they

did, with downcast looks and shamed faces.

‘‘Now, my men, I only intend to saya
couple of words concerning your cowardly
and despicable action in deserting us,’’ said
the young leader, sternly. ‘‘You were, no
doubt, greatly frightened, but that is a poor
excuse, and 1 wish you to understand from
now on, that not a cent will you receive
from me on our return home, expect your
rightful wages.’’

‘“*And what I have to say, you miserable
sharks, is that I only wish we had a yard-
arm left to string your dastardly carcasses
to,’? roared Captain Brett, wrathfully.
“Now go for’ard and clear away that
wreck, or I’ll take a rope’s end to ye.”’

The sailors slunk away and began the task
thus ordered, and, be it said to their credit,

‘they were as thoroughly a crest-fallen lot as

one would care to see.

At the end of an hour of hard work,
enough sail was spread on the mainmast,
and a jury stick set up forward, to force the
yacht along at a couple of knots’ speed.

Taking the wheel, Captain Brett steered |

the craft through the scattered fragments of
the iceberg, and finally brought up within a
few hundred yards of the island.

‘‘Clear away the anchor for’ard!’’ he
shouted, giving the wheel to Tom. ‘‘Stand
by! Let her go!”’ ,

The chain rattled through the hawse-pipes
as the heavy mass of iron plunged into the
sea. Fathom after fathom paid out, until
there suddenly came a cry from the bow:

‘‘Sixty, and no bottom !”’

‘‘What! No bottom at sixty fathoms?’’
shouted the old skipper, aghast.
kind of a place is this, anyway? Shut her
off there and clasp a stopper on the cable.
Humph! No bottom, and within a stone’s
throw of the beach!’’

‘‘That reminds me that the bark was not
anchored, either,’’ spoke up Tom. ‘‘Maybe
the island is of coral formation, and rises
sheer from the sea.’’

‘*There’s something blamed queer about
the whole thing,’’ muttered Captain Brett,
shaking his head ominously.

ach ats “if

 

“What

junder the brilliant uniform. Twice the

   
   
   
   
    
  
    
  
  
   
  
     
   
   
   
    
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
   
  
   
    
    
 

place, what business has an island with
palms and other tropical vegetation, doing
down here in the Antarctic Circle. That’s
what I’d like to know. It an’t natural.”

‘“You are certainly right there,’’ agreed
Tom. ‘‘However, we’ll talk that over later.
Perhaps the professor can enlighten us.
Last night he hinted at a discovery he had
made, but he was so wrapped up in that
confounded onion that I couldn’t get any-
thing ‘out of him.’’

‘*We’ll have to keep her under sail and
stand on and off,’’ concluded the old skipper.
‘‘Meanwhile, we had better go ashore and
explain matters, or them people on the beach
will be swimming off to us.’’

Tom glanced toward the island, and saw
Chester and the entire occupants of the camp
standing at the edge of the water. Young
Gage was waving his arms like a wild man,
and seemed on the point of casting himself
into the sea, in his impatience to hear the
news.

Violet was rapidly pacing up and down
the beach in a high state of excitement,
and Mary Ann—that emotional Irishwoman—
could be seen leaping in the air, and utter-
ing such tremendous whoops of joy that Tom
and the skipper hastened ashore, if only to
quiet her.

They had hardly landed, when the crowd
was upon them, all asking the most extraor-
dinary questions in the same breath.

Chester grasped Tom’s hand, and after
giving it a hearty shake, said, with much
feeling:

‘‘Chum, I—I—thought it was all up with
you, indeed I did. Thank Heaven you es-
caped from that frightful peril safely! By
Jove! - When the berg split up and turned
over, I just fell down on the ground and—
wished that I was dead.’’

At that moment, Mary Ann burst into
tears and threw her arms around Captain
Brett’s neck, with a suddenness that almost
felled him. Before the astounded skipper
could escape, she was weeping down his
back, saying, between sobs:

‘‘Achone! an’ Oi t’ought ye wuz dead,
too. Oi am so glad yez have come back to
yer own Mary Ann. Don’t run any more
such risks, captain, darlin’.’’

The look on the old skipper’s face was
comical in the extreme. He gasped forth a
request for her to release him, but Mary
Ann clung to bim like a leech, and it re-
quired the services of three men to separate
them.

After that, it was noticed that the old
mariner wore a hunted look, and dodged
every time the Irish maid glanced in his
direction.

Violet’s greeting, although reserved, was
warm, and Tom took occasion to explain the
incidents of the day to her alone, while the
captain enlightened the others.

ven the professor forgot his specimens
for the time being) and received our hero § —
with open arms. After.a while, dinner was
prepared, and every one sat down with a
feeling of thankfulness that none were absent
by reason of the stirring events of the morn-

ing.

i was decided to repair the yacht before
embarking, so, after an afternoon’s hard
work, the party again went into camp for
the night. Sentries were posted, as before, —
and all went well until shortly before the
time for calling the second watch. Tom was
stretched out under a couple of blankets,
not far from the fire, sleeping the sleep of |
youth, when he was suddenly awakened by
Chester, who whispered, excitedly :

_‘*Tom,. Tom! wake up and call all hands!
The bark has just been sighted creeping up
on the other side of the island! Hurry! Sha
is already near the beach!’’

(TO BE GONTINUED.)
-_———-e_—>______——
LION-TAMING MADE EASY.

 

A certain German tamer of wild beasts al-
ways entered the cage dressed in a ‘‘loud”
Hungarian costume, with large top boots. |
The moment he appeared the lions fell back
in terror and cowered down in a corner,
whence they were with difficulty dislodged.
It was evident that the very sight of him in-
spired them with terror. How was it done?

His plan has at least the merit of being
original. He obtained a lay figure, which
‘the dressed up in the costume he was in the
habit of wearing. The very features were
closely imitated, as were the proportions
and build of the man. The disguise wasso —
perfect that even human beings might have ©
mistaken the make-up for the original.

The figure was introduced into the cage
and made to stand upright, but after awhile
it was knocked over, when with a boundthe _
lions rushed with open jaws on their prey.

Suddenly they began to howl with pain, ©
and withdrew to a corner with bleeding
mouths and tongues. The mannikin was _
covered all over with iron spikes concealed _

tamer tried this experiment; the lions
not move the second time. He then com
menced his course of training, attired in

costume similar to that of the wooden 1

 

“In the fust

ure, though he had never entered a cage
fore. Pe ano

  
 

Ct CO es VS.

 

 

 
          

SO eo
ISSUED WEEKLY.

 

NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 165, 1894.

 

Terms to Good News Mail Subscribers:
(POSTAGE FREE.)

Bmonths - - - - - 65.) One Year.- - - /-.- $2.50
4months - - - - - 85¢c. | 2copies, one year- - 4.00
6months - - - - - $1.25 | l copy. two years - -_ 4,00

Goop Nrws AND N. Y. WEEKLY, both, one year, $4.50

How tro Senp Monery.—By post-office or are
mouey order, registered letter, bank check or draft,
at our risk. At your own risk, if sent by postal note,
currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter.

RENEWALS.—The number indicated on your address
label denotes when your subscription expires. All
subscriptions will be stopped promptly at expiration
of time paid for. :

Recerprs.— Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged
by proper change of number on your label. If not cor
rect you have not been properly credited, and should let
us know at once.

‘lo CLUB Raisers.—Upon request we will send sam-
ple copies to aia you in obtaining subscribers. :

AGENTS.—Our responsibility for remittances a
only to such as are sent to us direct, and we will not
guarantee the reliability of any subscription agency
or postmaster.

All letters should be addressed to

STREET & SMITH’S GOOD NEWS,
27 & 20 Rose Street, N.Y.

 

Back numbers of GOOD NEWS can always be
obtained from your Newsdealers. if they do not
have them please send direct to this oflice and we
will supply them by mail on receipt of price.

 

Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line.

 

 

Contents of this Number.

SERIAL STORIES.

‘Reckless Carl,” by St. George Rath-
borne.

“The White King of Africa,” by William
Murray Graydon.

“A Young Free Lance,” by Enrique H.
Lewis. ;

“Larry the Wanderer,” by Edward Strate-
meyer.

“Tom Truxton’s-Ocean Trip,” by Harvey
Hicks.

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

“Nibbsey,” by Saul Wright.

SHORT STORIES.

‘“How to Do Things,” by David Parks.
“The Lorberry Watermelon,” by Max Ad-

eler.

“The Wreck at Pinnot Ridge,” by W. L.
Summers.

“Jack,” by Richard Mead.

“The Cock of Fairhaven,” by W. W. Tre-
main.

REGULAR DEPARTMENTS.

“Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur
Sewall.

“Ticklets,” by Chas. W. Foster.

“Mail Bag,” “Exchange Department,”
“Club Notices,” etc. - /

omy et maar Rr cepa

NEXT WEEK!

A splendid story, entitled

The Schooldays of Fred Harley ;

RIVALS FOR ALL HONORS.

ARTHUR M. WINFIELD.

 

You can’t afford to miss that base-ball
, match between the nines of Maplewood

School and Parker Academy.

7 _ Shortly, new serials by
_- LIEUT. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY ©
Wat and

EMERSON BELL.
; We havea surprise in store for you, boys !

Look out for bh

 

 

     

| touch the melon, but I concluded to try a

he led me up into the third story and locked

‘that kind of watermelons ?”

 

THE LORBERRY WATERMELON.

BY MAX ADELER.

+

| es Y¥ Congressman sent me, early one

Y spring, some of ‘the seeds of the
2 Lorberry Mammoth California
“S— Watermelon, with the assurance
that the representative from California had
informed him that it was the most gorgeous
watermelon that had been produced since
Adam quit gardening in Eden. I planted
the seeds and awaited their development
with a good deal of interest. When the,
summer came the vines grew splendidly,
and the melons, proved to be superb. They
were a little late in ripening, but on
toward the middle of August they at-
tained maturity, and they certainly were
the biggest, and roundest, and handsomest
watermelons in the country.

We thought it would be a good idea to
ask some company around to try them
when they were ready for the table, and so,
one evening, we put a dozen melons on the
ice, invited fifteen or twenty of the neigh-
bors, and determined to give them a sur-
prise.

About half-past eight o'clock we assem-
bled the folks around the table, and I or-
dered the servant to bring in one of those
melons. When it came I remarked that it
was the Lorberry Mammoth California
Watermelon, and that I was glad to be able
to introduce it to Delaware as a remarkable
variety. Everybody was interested.

Then I cut off one end ; then I cutoff the
other.

Then I cut out a slice. I noticed that it
was white upon the inside, and I observed
to the company that one of the character-
istics of the Lorberry Mammoth was that it
had none of the redness of the common
watermelon, but was of a rich creamy hue.
Then I handed the slice to Mr. Butterwick,
and then I helped the company.

Just as I was about to help myself I
noticed that nobody was eating, and I asked
Pitman what he thought of that melon. He
looked queer, and said he had been busy
talking politics and hadn’t tasted it yet.

Then I inquired of Doctor Potts if he
didn’t think it was an improvement upon
the old-fashioned melon, and he; said that
he had not been very well that day, and he
couldn’t eat any fruit.

When [asked Mrs. Butterwick what she
thought of it, she colored up and said she
hardly knew, and I remembered then that,
she perhaps couldn’t eat melon for fear of
giving the twins colic.

Peter Lamb’s opinion was also asked, and
he remarked that he should be obliged to
decline participating in watermelon because
his aunt was dead. I souldn’t see exactly
what that had to do with it, but it struck
me as being quite as reasonable as Mr.
Chubb’s excuse that he had slipped’ on a
watermelon rind in 1877, and had broken
his leg, and he had never been able to eat
a piece of watermelon since.

As there was nothing else in the house to |

eat but cold mutton and butter, 1 was a
good deal worried at this general refusal to

bit myself, anyhow. 5

As soon as I tasted it I understood the
situation. It was raw, hard, and bitter,
and exceedingly disgusting. So.I told the
hired girl to clear it away, and to bring in a
good one. When the next one came, it,
also, was white upon the inside, and when
I helped it around, the company cautiously
smelled it and began to talk about the
weather. Then I tasted it, and it was as
bad as the first. .

So I went to the ice-box and picked out a
good one myself. | It, too, was white and
nasty.

We cut up twelve of the Lorberry Mam-
moth California Watermelons that evening,
and they were all horrible.

When they were consigned to the slop-
barrel, the folks got up from the table look-
ing hungry and mad, and adjourned to the
parlor. ;

After a bit, Butterwick came tome in a
mysterious manner, and asked me if he
could see me privately for a few moments
about something. I said he could. Then

the door, turned up the gas, sat down close
to me, and said.
‘What kind of watermelons did you say
those were ?” ;
“Those are the Lorberry Mammoth Cali-
fornia Watermelons. They are a great
favorite upon the Pacific coast ; they-———”
‘‘Adeler, do you really believe those are

“Of course; I’ll show you the labei that
came on the package of seeds.” »
“Oh, I don’t care for that. You didn’t

 

intend it for a joke?”

/
/

 

“Joke! I was never more serious in my
life. I’m awfully sorry the melons were
not ripe.”

“‘Adeler, I like to meet a man like you
once ina while. So fresh! So innocent!
So confiding! Your faith in human nature
is beautiful to contemplate. Why, merciful
Moses! man! those are not watermelons!
They are nothing on earth but green pump-
kins !” .

“Mr. Butterwick, you insult the Agri-
cultural Department of this Government
when you make an assertion like that.”

“Don’t care a cent. That's what they
are, anyway ; and I'll bet you a cow they'll
be as yellow as my dog before the first day
of October.”

[ took the bet, and I lost it. I shall plant
the old kind of watermelons the next time,
and I have instructed my Congressman to
vote against the Agricultural Department.

 

SHortT TALKS —=—
Witn Tue ‘Boys.

>

 

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL.

 

—

MINDING ONE’S OWN BUSINESS.
Q>

a7 F there is one thing more than another
‘lf that a great many persons seem really
; to enjoy, it is minding other people’s
“= business and attempting to manage
their affairs for them; and, take it all in all,
there is no occupation that can be followed
that pays less interest on the investment.

Nobody ever yet got rich minding other
people’s business, but a great many have
attained wealth and honors by looking out
for their own, to the neglect of all other oc-
ag ree

This tendency to look after other people is
born largely of conceit, and is more highly
developed in people who are notoriously
weak in judgment than in any other class of
individuals. The eee wise, clear-headed,
far-seeing friend usually has quite enough
personal matters to see to without desiring
to monopolize. the cares and burdens of
others.

It is a curious fact that the very people
of whom we would gladly ask advice are
very chary of giving it, while those whose
counsel is not worth a rap, thrust their
opinion and assistance upon us from all
quarters. ! ;

As a comprehensive proposition, it may be
said that those-»who-have themselves made a
success in any line are safe advisers; but
these people rarely meddle, and still more
rarely are they willing to assume charge of
any affairs that they can avoid. But these
interested persons, these people who attach
themselves to others and cling like barnacles,
who have never accomplished anything them-
selves, and never will while time lasts, these
are they who are never satisfied with the
way we have. managed our concerns. But
they are ever ready, with hand.and tongue,
to help us out with their usually worthless
advice.

One of the wisest men of the generation
past brought his children up with the thor-
oughly ingrained idea that nothing was so
valuable to the tndividual as the habit of
minding one’s own business. So deeply fixed
was this part of their instruction, that more
than once, when some trifling disturbance.
oecurred in the street or neighborhood, these
people put themselves as far as possible out
of reach of it with all convenient dispatch.

This man’s theory was that if one stayed
where there was trouble, it was impossible to
avoid getting into it, and that the safest and
best course was to get as far away as one
could. It is needless to say that, acting upon
such a principle, the family was comfortable,
prosperous, thoroughly respected, and rarely
got into difficulties of any sort.
the family that of all paying occupations,
the most profitable was studiously and indus-
triously to mind one’s own business, and let
that of other people entirely alone.

In our next issue we shall have something
to say on the text ‘‘Don’t Be Seared !’?

W. M. R., Chillicothe, Ohio, writes: “T am
very anxious indeed to go upon the stage. I
am twenty years old, of good figure, but not
particularly handsome. Ever since I can re-
member, the theater has been a passion with
me, and [am surel havesome dramatic ability.”

Asarule our advice to theatrical aspir-
ants has been that of Punch to people con-
templating matrimony—‘‘Don’t !” ;

Still, there are exceptions to every rule,

and 7 may be that exception. But, re-}

member, the histrionic profession is a hard
one, and there is none which requires more
unremitting study in order to attain success.

Personal beauty on the stage is not so es-
sential to a man as it is to a woman, and
even with the latter homeliness is not always
an irrevocable barrier. Take the case of
Charlotte Cushman, who was ungainly in fig-
ureand Imost ugly in face. When she first

He taught» y

 

went on the stage, her stage manager told her
that her movements and gestures were those
of a turtle, and yet she reached the topmost
round upon the ladder of fame.

But Miss Cushman was a woman of indom-
itable energy and pluck, and she was pas-
sionately in love with her calling. She once
said to the writer: “I assure you that I
would rather see a play in a barn with tenth
rate performers than not go to the theater
at all. I have played Mrs. Haller hundreds
of times, but I never see ‘The Stranger,’
however indifferently performed, that I do
not cry my eyes out. And good acting!
Why, when I first saw Salvini in ‘Othello,’ I
was so excited that I caught hold of one of

the iron supports of the box and should’

certainly have lifted myself over into the
auditorium if my friends had not laid hands
upon me and brought me to myself.”

The late E. A. Sothern used to say of an
actor’s life: ‘‘When you are at the bottom,
it is the most miserable existence in the
world ; but, when you are atthe top, it is
the most delightful.”

You may have dramatic ability, and you
may not, The only way is to test it, A
good way is to join some amateur dramatic
club; if possible, one coached by a profes-
sional. ‘This will give you experience, and
develop such talent as you may possess.

Look at the matter from all sides, and be
certain that the stage is your vocation be-
fore you embrace it.

To you and tv all others, when choosing a
profession, we say, in the words of Davy
Crockett : ‘Be sure you're tight; then go
ahead.”

H. A. 8., Danielsonville, Conn., writes: “We
have taken your paper siuce first it was pub-
lished, and now wish to ask a favor. Could you
kindly tell us of any school where a boy of sev-
enteen can go to take uj) the studies of mathe-
matics, steam engineering, also electricity ?
There are model schools on Second avenue, but
we do not know for what, nor how to address
them.”

There are several colleges and schools in
the United States where the subjects you
mention are taught, but each has its peculiar
restricitons re arding admissions, and it
would be hardly possible to advise you as to
the one best suited to your case.

Cooper Institute, in New York city, and
Pratt Institute, in Brooklyn, may be men-
tioned. For information regarding the
course, write to the superintendent of either.

By the way, don’t you think that you are
a little too ambitious in your views? The
study of mathematics, steam engineering

and electricity is rather a large contract for:

one boy to undertake. Why not be contented
with any one of the three, or combine
mathematics with either steam enigneering,
or electricity? Instead of going to school for
the purpose of absorbing general informa-
tion, take up the practical study of elec-
tricity, for instance. Enter some electrical
factory as an apprentice, or helper, and
work your way up. Devote your evenings
to books on mathematics, and, in due course
of time, if you prove attentive to your

duties, you will blossom into a full-fledged ©

electrical engineer, with a goodly salary,
and an honorable position.

Or, if you prefer, take to steam engineer-

ing. It is a good trade, and pays fair wages
to competent men. At your age, you have
a fair field before you. Engineeirng is
taught in the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology ; tuition fee, two hundred dollars
a year. The better way, however, to learn
a trade is to learn it practically. You are
apt to work harder, learn quicker, and gain
more confidence in your ability when you
are working in a shop or engine-room than
when you are learning a trade at school.
Books are good enough in their way. By
them you are able to learn the technical
names of the different parts of the engine,
and what they are used for; but when it
comes to overhauling an enigne, you need
more knowledge than the book has taught
ou.
Asa last piece of advice—which can be
taken to heart by all our young readers—
don’t attempt to make a ‘Pooh Bah’? of
yourself in the matter of trades. Learn one
thoroughly, not three or four superficially.
This old world of ours is too large, and there
are too many bright boys in it for any one
lad to monopolize everything. Select your
trade or your profession, learn it thoroughly,
devote all your brains and ingenuity to your
work, do not be afraid to branch out into
eae fields, and you will prove success-
ul.

SpeciaL Noticr.—Many communications,
improperly addressed to this department, are
answered in the ‘“Mail Bag.”

fits ——__+-o-+ _—_

INDISCRETION.

A lady, who was writing a letter, perceived
that a young mian was reading the letter
over her shoulder. She accordingly added:

“I have much more to say to you, but
Mr. N. is behind me and reads all that I am
writing.” Re 2

“I beg your pardon, madam,” cried the

indiscreet young man, ‘Ihave read nothing.” |

 

 

oN & = ©
COQ

NEWS.

3641

 

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

eS

 

Se a ee

’

 

As GOweoys  ABVENTURES --IN-SPAIN

By ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE.

[RECKLESS CARL” was commenced last week.]

 

CHAPTER IV.
UNDER THE BALCONY.

G i E’S no ranchman,” says Carl, as his
J] companion seems to fall into a re-
ee refleetive mood, and frowns as
though displeased.
“You ought to be able to guess. My opin-
ion is that the so-called

from the City of Mexico, saying that they
were about to leave the country and go to
Spain, in order that the senora; her aunt,
could carry out a vow she had made.

“Again months went by, when I came
back from a long and successful trip to find
a letter awaiting me that sent a cold shiver
over me.

“She cried to me for help—they were in

her to me, and [I love her as my own sister,
but the law was with this aunt, you know.

“In twenty-four hours I had sold my out-
fit, and collected all that was due me.

“Then I put for town, got my savings
from bank, and took a train for New York.

“Arriving there, I bought a few necessary
things, as I had twelve hours to wait for the
French steamer to leave.

‘From Havre I came here as quick as the
slow old railroad would take me. I have
been here three days now.”

“And Nina?”

“She isin the city. I have seen her—
have had a note and sent one in return.”

“Hurrah! Ill wager.on you, Carl. Yes,
I must be in this affair, too. Even now
you've aroused my curiosity about Nina.”

Carl looks wonderfully pleased.

“T’m not used to playing a lone hand, and
you don’t know how much good it does me
to hear you talk sovcheerily,” he says.

“Glad to hear it. What is the plan?’

“To-morrow Nina goes into the convent.”

 

 

Briggs is a fraud.”

‘‘Hureka !”

“That his real name
is Silas Gregg, and he
is a detective from over
the water.”

“Center shot, my
boy. My idea exactly.”

‘And, Carl, you're
wondering what under
the sun it means—why
he should arrest me.
The story is a long one.
Some time [ may tell it
to you. Make up your
mind to one thing in
the start—I’ve done
nothing wrong—I’m no
criminal—lI never stole
a cent in my life. This
Major John Baldwin is
my uncle and guardian,
and, I have reason to
believe, my enemy.
When we become bet-
ter friends I shall con-
fide my story to you.
I seem to be a merry
fellow—that’s my na-
ture, and I can’t help
it—yet I’ve had a good
deal of sorrow in the
past. An orphan al-
ways does.”

“Still, you knew your
parents?” quickly.

“Oh, yes.”

‘Then imagine what
a boy has on his mind
wher he never saw a
father, never knew the
love of a mother.”

Rex impulsively
thrusts out his hand.

“Poor Carl. Let us
be brothers, then. Let.
us form an alliance and
stick to each other.”

“Kor my part, will-
ingly. Something
draws me to you, Rex.
T’ve had a hard row
to hoe, but it’s made a
man of me before my
time.”

“What brings you
over here?”

Carl looks very se-
rious.

“Siehtseeing, I sup-
pose?” Rex continues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

y i} UNA
} 1 a |
it

|

NY
N

 

me
A
i)

ful man torun it, for I am only a novice,
my home being‘on the back of a horse and
not at an engine.

“We shall descend the Guadalquivir un-
til we reach the mouth, then pass Cadiz
and Gibraltar and enter the Mediterranean.
After that, my only plan is to get away, I
care not where. Nina shall be cared for ;
Iam able to support her, even if I open a
circus to do it.”

“And Ill back you up every time with
the ducats, Carl. Ican do it, too. When
shall we go to rescue poor Nina?”

“Are you determined, then, to join me?”

“J said so, and: I never go back on my
word.”

“Rex, you're a chap after my own heart.
Tlltell you. Wecango at any time now.
This circus business on the streets will help
us. Both can be disguised, and I have a
cloak and a mask for my little sister too.”

‘Let's be off.”

“You are an impatient hotspur. I never
knew a more reckless act than yours in
jumping into the bull-
ring.”

“It was foolish, I ad-
mit, but what could I
do?”

“T admire your grit,
my dear fellow. Now,
here’s a cloak you can

wear over your shoul-
ff ders. Most men wear
mmm) toem here after night-

fall.”

“And you, Carl?”

“Wait until you see
me. There is Nina’s
last letter, blotted with
the poor child’s tears.
She has no one to turn
to but Carl the Cow-
boy, and please Heaven
he will not fail her.
Read it, Rex, while I
change my looks some-
what.”

When Rex, having
finished the girlish
epistle that contains so
much woe, looks up, he
receives quite a start.

A dark-looking cava-
ler with a pair of fierce
black mitstachios is
stealing upon him,
holding in his handa
cuchillo or Spanish
knife.

The first thought that
flashes into the boy’s
mind is that one of
those wretched jeal-
ousy-haunted lovers of
the senorita has found
him out and is bent on
revenge.

Then he eomes to
his senses and laughs
nervously.

“Carl, you gave mea
shock. Why, you look
like a brigand of the
Pyrenees. Talk about
a circus, you'd do to go
on the stage.”

“Glad you like
looks.”

‘Can't say Tlike ’em.
You're a good deal bet-
ter looking in your own
self ; but it’s a capital
disguise. Reckon the
sharp-eyed old aunt

 

my

 

 

‘No; that’s the last
thing on my mind.
You'll think it strange, the story I tell you,
but every word of it’s true.”

“Go on—I’m all curiosity.”

‘In this city of Seville there is a little
girl I have loved dearly. She is only a child,
but to me she is an angel of light.

‘Nina was my star when, as a cowboy, I
roamed the plains. When on the trail I
thought of her, and anticipated the happy
hours to be spentin her company when I
got back.

“T loved her like a dear sister—I would
have given my life for her if need be.

“‘The sunshine ceased—the storm came.

‘Her mother died, and I mingled my tears
with hers over the grave.

“Then an aunt’came—I never quite liked
her—she was a Spanish-American, and a
* lady, but of a severe type.

“What could Ido? Nina had to go with
her, but she promised to write in secret,
and in every letter tell me how I could get
an answer to her. .

“T tell you I was a forlorn wretch when
Nina went, but I bore up, not wanting the
boys to guy me. ;

“Months passed, and I received a letter

 

REX POKES HIS HEAD OUT AND SHOUTS: ‘‘HI, THERE,

Seville, and her aunt had doomed her to en-
ter a convent. It was against her will—all
of her nature cried out in horror against be-
ing shut up all her life in the cold stone
walls, but when in her aunt’s presence she
was controlled by her will,“and she prayed
for me to come and save her before she gave
way entirely.”

“Great guns !” exclaims Rex.

‘You are interested, then ?”

“Deeply so. Go on, my dear fellow.
I've a dim suspicion that a chance is arising
whereby I may, in a measure, pay back the
debt I owe you. Go on; I don’t want to
lose a word.”

‘‘My resolution was made up. Ihad no
idea as to how I was to save her from the
fate her soul. abhorred—which is not her
choice, but the design of her aunt, who, per-
haps, thinks to save her own soul by sacri-
ficing this beautiful child.

“One thing I was determined— Nina
should not be shut up in an old Spanish
convent while I lived and could raise a hand
for her.

“I became possessed of one mad idea—to
save the innocent child. Her mother gave

OLD FELLOW, EASY Now!

| **What! so soon ?”

‘Yes; her aunt has deceived those in
charge, and they think Nina is willing. The
poor girl has been cowed in some way, and
is not herself. So, you see, whatever is
done must be accomplished to-night.”

‘“‘How lucky you sent for me !”

‘Look here, Rex, I don’t want you to im-
agine [had my troubles in mind when I
wrote that note.”

“Nor have I thought so; yet, all the same,
it was a good thing—lucky for me and lucky
foryyou. I have found a friend, and I trust
you will accept my offer of assistance in the
same spirit it is offered.”

“I will—I do—and let’s shaké on it.
There was something more than chance that
led me to that bull-fight—something even
stronger than my desire to see the animals
chase the cowardly picadors and chulos. Yes,
it was destiny, my dear boy.”

“T believe you. Now for your plans.”

“T have them all arranged. Once Nina
escapes from the house where she is vir-
tually a prisoner, we will hasten to the
river.

“There I have secured a boat, with a faith-

 

-

HOLD DEXTER IN, CARL!’

wouldn’t recognize you
now.”

“T don’t know—she’s
|a mighty keen one, I can tell you.”

“Shall we go ?”

“Wait until I secure the rope ladder.”

“What? even a rope ladder—how ro-
mantic. This is worth all the trouble. I
say, Carl !”

“Well?”

“Who's the Romeo of this crowd ?”

“{ don’t think we’ve got to that point.
Nina’s only a child. Anyhow, I’m her
brother,” stoutly.

‘Well, if I have to, Pl try to do my part
the best I can,” says Rex, with a resigned
air that makes his companion smile.

“All ready now ?”

“Stand by the door while I snuff the
light.”

Darkness decends upon the little room—
then a hand takes hold of the arm of Rex,
and he is led along the passage to the
street.

Carl evidently knows the vicinity by heart,
for he leads the way through the several
streets, so narrow that the two taking
hands could almost touch the houses on
either side.

A few people are passed, but mainly

 

 
 

3642

GroODm NEw Ss.

 

they can be found on the wider streets
where the fun abounds, for nearly every one
in Seville gives themselves up to the liberty
of the occasion, for presently Lent begins,
and they must resort to sackcloth and
ashes.

“Stop. Look ahead—do you notice that
balcony overhanging the pave? That’s where
she lives.”

“A balecony—now I understand the rope
ladder part of the business.”

All is dark in the house—indeed the
street itself is poorly lighted.

As fortune will have it there is a lamp at-
tached to a house directly opposite the bal-
cony. This Carl notes at once.

‘‘Rex, mount on my shoulders and put
out that light.”

«Just what I was about to suggest.”

He is spry enough himself, and the ath- |

letic cowboy could hold up several of his
weight.

The thing is done—Rex has put out the
lamp, and the vicinity of that balcony is no
longer illuminated.

‘* Next,” he says, jumping down.

Carl takes a quick look up and down’ the
street. ~

As good fortune will have it no one ap-
pears to be moving—the chance is propi-
tious.

Taking out some peas from his pocket,
Carl also produces a short tube of tin, which
serves admirably for a blower. With this
he rattles several peas against the window
next the balcony.

It is a signal he has arranged.

“Keep low,” he whispers, ‘‘some one
has opened the window carefully—I heard
it.”

“it may be the aunt—the senora.”’
“The saints forbid. Listen!”

From above floats a tremulous whisper :
** Carl !”

CHAPTER V.
WHO RODE BEHIND THE WHITE HORSE ?

OTH hear it plainly.

‘“‘Nina, I am here,” answers the

cowboy in a trembling voice.

Then they are able to see a head
outlined against the starry heavens, and a
pair of clasped hands raised.

**Carl—oh! be careful. She suspects—I
don’t know why, but there is something
wrong.”

“Perhaps the argus-eyed monster has
seen me on the streets,’ he mutters, and
then says softly :

‘*Can you lower a string, Nina ?”

‘Alas, I have none,”

**A fine cord, even a thread will do.”’

«That I can secure.”

She is gone, but hardly ten seconds elapse
ere she is again seen above.

“Here it comes.”

“ Keep hold of one end.”

“‘T have done so.”’

The spool drops at their feet and Rex
secures it, while Carl makes ready the
strong cord.

“Pull up—now, have you the cord ?”

“Yos— se ! Carl, I am trembling all over.
What if she should come?”

“Courage. Draw up steadily—that is a
rope you have now. Pass it through one of

the openings in the railing and down to me’

again.”

This is done.

As soon as the young athlete has both ends
in his possession, he springs upward.

Half a dozen reaches, one above the other,
and he is level with the baleony—two more
and he finds a footing there.

Rex is not idle, for, by pulling on the
rope he draws the pliable ladder into posi-
tion,

Just at this juncture he hears footsteps
down the street, and looking, sees a figure
approaching,

Instantly he rer a certain signal agreed
upon between Carl and himself

Then, he himself, still holding the rope,
crouches down in the doorway.

By this time the man has drawn near.

Rex can just make out his figure against
the lighter background.

He notices with some uneasiness that the
man is tall, wears some sort of gown, and
has upon his head that huge shovel-shaped
hat generally worn by padres in Spanish
countries. 5

Then it flashes upon him that perhaps
this worthy comes to see Nina’s aunt, re-
garding the ceremony of the morrow, when
the child of beauty is expected to renounce
the world and all its attractions, and start
upon the novitiate that will only end with

_ the nunnery.

Before he can figure on this matter, or

realize that he is bound to be discovered

should the padre start® to enter the house,
he is electrified to see the worthy man

 

gre

throw up his arms and struggle desperately
as with some assassin, while at the same
| time there comes a great tugging at the rope
Rex holds.

The gurgling cries of the padre arouse
him to the fact that the man has actually
got his head into the rope ladder, and being
almost choked by his own forward pressure,
he imagines some assassin struggles with
him.

His flail-like arms finally clutch the ropes,
and he releases himself.

At first he imagines it is some trap set
with a purpose of strangling good people,
but presently the nature of the artifice breaks
upon him.

‘Let me see—'tis like the shrouds of a
ship, but surely this is no ship here. Why
should a rope ladder be dangling from the
balcony of the good Senora Castelar’s abode?
Is she about to elope? What about her
niece—can some worldly friends be about to
steal her away because she has given her
heart to alife of piety. Monstrous—infa-
mous ! I'll arouse the house-—the street—I’ll
awaken old Seville as it never was aroused
before. What,ho! the house—thieves—mur-
der—by all the saints I’ll make it hot for the
rogues.”

This in Spanish, Rex does not quite under-
stand, but he can grasp enough to supply
the rest.

Nor does he have much time in which to
speculate upon the matter.

The padre makes a rush for the door.

Rex lowers the rope.

As the padre catches his foot in this, he
trips and plunges into the door, which is
opened just at the very instant, disclosing a
servant in the rear holding a light, and a
severe looking old woman carrying what ap-
pears to be a gun in her hands.

The padre saves his poor old head from
being demolished against the door, but he
helps to bring about a complicated dis-
aster.

In his involuntary position, he assumes
the functions of the battering-ram.

A feminine shriek is heard.

Then a tremendous discharge announces
the explosion of the ancient weapon.

On top of this come cries of terror, ejacu-
lations in the voice of an angry female, at-
tempted explanations from the miserable
padre, and all in all the most outlandish
jargon ever heard.

Rex has dodged aside when he sees the
other plunging at him like a furious goat.

He still holds the rope.

“Come on—quick—or all is lost!’ he
shouts,

Carl hears, and he grasps the situation as
the loud detonation of the gun is heard.

He snatches the small figure of Nina up;
this is no time to stop for,explanations.

They may be in order later on.

Swinging over the edge of the balcony,
Car! finds the ropes—the ladder.

He knows his companion holds it steady,
and does not hesitate to trust his weight.

Few boys of his age could do what he has
no hesitation or fear in attempting; but he
is one in ten thousand—a born athlete, with
supple limbs toughened from constant exer-
cise.

Step by step he descends, and reaches the
ground below. He could not have acted
more coolly if all were as quiet as the grave-
yard,

Rex clutches his arm.

“Great Cesar! Come! we'll have the
whole city at our heels !” cries this worthy ;
and, indeed, the awful clamor in that door-
way is enough to alarm even one more
steady than Rex.

They start to run.

‘Put me down, Carl; I can run, too. Put

e down, sir! How dare you carry me?”
cries the little bundle of muslin and lace
and blonde hair that Carl has been keeping
in his arms as though she were a baby.

He obeys instantly.

The little autocrat proves to be up to
Carl’s shoulder after all. \

Rex cannot see her plainly, but he is
tickled with the regal way she orders Carl
around.

Almost immediately the cloak is fastened
about her, and a mask slipped on.

‘Hark! they are coming!” says Rex, as
the clamor in the street behind grows
louder.

“We must run !” exclaims the girl.

‘TI have prepared for this,” pants Carl.

They turn a corner.

A vehicle is standing there ; an unusual
sight ; a vehicle that has seen much service.

What matters it if the carriage be delapi-
dated and the horse a forlorn specimen of
equine beauty? All they want isa chance
for flight.

“Carlos !”

"Si, senor.”

“The time has come—open the door.”

 

 

Rex springs and does this, for the driver

th At a lel a A a a UE |
sieret. reas

 

 

 

 

seems rather taken aback by the cries that
come ringing down the adjoining street.

‘Stop the robbers !”

‘‘Thieves ! thieves !”

These words in Spanish can plainly be
heard, and he has not bargained to assist in
a robbery.

Nina is already inside.

“You next, Rex,” says the cowboy.

Then he turns upon the driver.

‘Will you mount and drive?”

“Senor, I dare not. They would ruin
me.”

‘Then good-by. Here, take this money.
You can say we took your vehicle from you.
It will be returned. Look for it near the
river.”

He gives the man no chance to argue.

Springing upon the box, he snatches out
the whip, and astonishes old lazybones with
asudden slash that starts him into a gallop.

The pursuers come around the corner and
set up a tremendous shout; but when a
Western cowboy takes the ribbons to drive
he is bound to accomplish what he has in
view, so long as the boiler remains intact.

Through the narrow street they dash, and
debouch upon a wider one.

Here are people and vehicles, lights and
noise.

A little more confusion will not make
much difference, and there are so many
strange things occurring on this night that
people pay next to no attention to a vehicle
making mad speed down the thoroughfare.

Students and others are on a lark—the
police have orders to be lenient during car-
nival time.

Carl sends that miserable old quadruped
along in a marvelous time.

Even Rex is constrained to poke his head
out of a window, and, holding on for dear
life, shout:

“Hi, there, old fellow, I say, easy now.
I'm afraid the bottom of the old trap is
about to drop out. We're rattled nearly to
pieces. Hold Dexter in, Carl, my dear
friend, won’t you ?”

This brings Carl to his senses, and he re-
alizes that in all probability there is no such
need of haste, so he pulls the nag in, and
they proceed at a much more moderate pace.

Chancing to turn his head after a time, he
notices a vehicle with a white horse.

Carl thinks he noticed it as they emerged
from the narrow street—it was standing idle
then.

Some one has jumped into the vehicle and
engaged the outfit—it even looks as though
the white horse might be following them.

Again he whips up, but it is impossible to
outrun that white nag, which keeps at their
heels like grim death, until Carl sullenly
makes up his mind not to bother.

“We can manage him, whoever he is,” he
declares, in his quiet way.

Now they are drawing near the river, their
course having been downward all the while.
Carl, looking back, rejoices to see that the
pursuer has vanished. Perhaps, afterall, it
was a coincidence,

It is quite dark down here,

“He thought he knew just where to go, but
this gloom is somewhat different from look-
ing at the same thing in the daylight.

Afraid to go farther lest he drive off the
dock into the river, Carl pulls in his horse
and then jumps down.

“Rex !”

‘Here we are, captain, right side up with
care,” replies that worthy, popping his head
out. !

“It’s so dark I’m afraid to go farther. Re-
main here until I return. I'll find the boat
and my trusty Juan.”

“I understand. The horse will keep
still.”

“He wouldn't move an inch in three
hours if left alone, poor old crowbait,”
laughs Carl.

Then he moves away.

He is gone longer than he expected, so
that it is not far from ten minutes when he
once more reaches the yehicle.

“Rex, it is all right. I’ve found the boat,
and Juan is waiting. I came out of the
wrong street, but it don’t matter now. I
say, have you gone to sleep in there ?”

He springs to the door and opens it.

‘‘Nina—Rex—good heavens! what has
happened ?”

The ramshackle old vehicle is empty!

‘

——

CHAPTER VI.
THE RAGGED DON.

OWBOY CARL is a lad of action.

I He leaves the philosopher part of
the business to others; for him to
'- think is to act.
The fact of finding both Rex and Nina
gone gives him a terrible start, and a num-
ber of vague theories flash through his brain,
but he does not waste time with them,

|

   

  

Taking out a match he strikes it.

Sure enough, the vehicle is empty, but
Carl, who has lived on the border all his
life, immediately notices signs of disorder,
which may have been produced by a
struggle.

What shall he do?

While he is trying to form some plan of
action he hears a movement near by.

Hope flashes into his heart again; per-
haps, worried by his long absence, they
quitted the vehicle to search for him.

‘Rex !” he says, aloud.

A dim figure looms up in the darkness,

“Senor, perhaps I can assist you.”

The voice is strange, the words spoken in
broken English, with a horrible inflection.

‘““Who are you?’ demanded Carl.

“Only Vasquez—once it was’ Don Vas-
quez, but, senor, lam in the gutter now,
while he rolls in wealth.”

‘Who do you mean by he?”

“My brother, the great General Arroyo ;
who seized my property by the aid of the
law—-but I have him now—he is doomed,
senor. I shall prove him a revolutionist
and regain my own.”

‘“‘This family history is very interesting,
but what do you know of my friends, whom
I left here in this vehicle, but who have
vanished like a mist in the morning?” de-
mands Carl.

‘What do I know—everything connected
with their vanishing, senor.”

“You do--and you will help me find .

them ?”
“Si, senor, for aconsideration.”

“Hang the price—it shall be yours. Now
tell me.”
“Softly, senor. Allin good time. I can

lead you direct to where they have been
taken.”

‘‘Where is that?”

“To the house where I was born, the
house now owned by my illustrious brother
General Arroyo.”

“Confusion! Why should they be taken
there ?”

The man chuckles.

‘It is the fortune of war, senor.”

“But these are innocent parties—they
have nothing to do with the revolutionary
tactics of your illustrious brother and his
friends.”

“Por Dios ! you evidently do not under-
stand the desperate tactics of- these men.
They play a deep game. It is life or death
with them. Therefore, any one who spies
upon their actions takes his life in his
hand,”

“Yes, but Rex is no spy. Heis a young
American traveling for pleasure, with plenty
of money.”

“You may think so. I who know better
havé reason to believe he is deeper in the
mire. He has been seen talking to the
general in command of the forces in Madrid
when he visited Seville.”

“You don’t say—that was a terrible thing,
surely.”

“Again, he has had a secret consultation
with the head of the Seville police.”

‘That gives him dead away, of course,”
says Carl, with deep satire in his voice.

“It certainly does, senor,” continued the
man, without noticing the sarcasm, “at any
rate, I chance to know his name has been
brought before the secret tribunal of the
revolutionists, and it has been decided that
at the first chance he should be put out of
sthe way.”

“What?” roars Carl; ‘do you mean to
tell me these cdwardly revolutionists are so
afraid of their own precious lives that on
the slightest suspicion they would murder
a boy like Rex ?”

“Ah, senor, his age amounts to nothing.
A child could betray them. He will have a
trial, such as it is, but I am afraid he is
doomed.”

Carl is filled with indignation. /

“You can take me to this place, you say ?”

‘‘Always, fora consideration, senor. With
my brother out of the way, the estates will
return tome. Yes, I will take you there.”

“Then lose no time. With my friend is
a child, whom I call my sister. I will save
them if I have to brave all the revolution-
ists in Spain. But stay—I must speak to
my boatman. Come with me.”

He evidently does not wish this strange
character to get out of his reach, nor does
the man appear anxious to leave him.

’ Perhaps money to a man in his condition
is a desirable article.

They soon find the boatman, and Car?

gives his orders. He is to remain there un
til daylight, if it be necessary. _

“Now [am ready to go with you, Don
Vasquez.” ~

“What! you talk Spanish, senor ?”

“I was brought up on the border of Mexico,
and lived with many Spanish people.”

‘‘Are you not the hero of the bull-fight,

 

senor ?”

errr

 

Ke,

”

NE TPES

 
Ty

TRS oe :
¢ m

Pal

een, I

 

GooD NEws.

S648

 

“T was there and had a little exercise.”

“Come, you are too modest. All Seville is
talking about your feat. ‘The women adore
you and half of the men hate you. "Tis ever
thus.”

‘Can we not use this vehicle?”

‘Why not? It will save our legs. Cos-
pita! itis many a day since Don Vasquez
has riddenin a carriage. Will you drive,
senor?”

“Yes ; but you must sit up here with me,
in order to tell me the way.”

Carl is shrewd, and does not mean to give
the other a chance to leave him in the
lurch.

So the dilapitated Don climbs up beside
him, though he had thonght to spread him-
self by occupying the whole interior.

Through the dark streets they pass again.

Carl urges the animal on, but their pace
is far from being a reckless one.

Suddenly the whole outfit comes toa
stop, and not from any action on the part
of the driver. Indeed, so abrupt is this
stoppage that Carl and the Spaniard come
very near going over upon the back of the
animal.

A lamp burns dimly near by.

Carl, by the aid of this miserable illum-
ination, sees a man holding the horse’s
head,

‘‘What does this mean ?” he demands, in
Spanish.

“Senor, hand over your wealth !”

“Senor, remember the poor.”

“Senor, any small change you may have
about you will just fit my pocket.”

With these voices appear the several
owners, bobbing up on every side like so
many jacks in a box.

Carl catches on to the situation.

“Holy smoke! a hold-up !” he mutters.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—_—-> «> —___—_-
(This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.]

AMONG THE GYPSIES,

OR,

THE STRANGE LIFE OF MAT DUCRO

|

BY JOHN H. WHITSON.

—_—_+——

 

{“‘AMONG THE GYPSIES” was commenced in No,
217. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents. ]

 

+

CHAPTER XXXII.
A STRANGE PILLOW.

HEN Mat and Phil awoke, they
fy were astonished to find themselves
in a grave-yard.

Mat’s head had rested all night
against a grave; and acry came from his
lips, as he read the inscription on the head-
stone.

These words were cut into the small,
marble slab: /
In Memory of

MATIO DUCRO,
only son of
IGNATIO DUCRO.
Died September 19, 1s—, aged 2 years.

Certainly, this inscription was enough to
startle him. What did it mean?

‘‘T wish you’d come here, Phil!’’ called
Mat, in an awed tone.

Phil hurried to his side; somewhat ex-
cited, and .together they stared at the in-
scription. i

A queer, superstitious look passed over the
face of the gypsy boy. :

He took his eyes from the grave-stone, and
looked at Mat, in the same odd way.

‘‘Are you sure that you are Matio Ducro?
Only son of Ignatio Ducro, as it says there?’’

Mat started. This was a new suggestion.
Could he be absolutely certain of his own
identity? His thoughts whirled, and he put
his hand to his ee

“Tf I’m not Matio Ducro, who am I?’’
was his singular query. ‘‘And yet, Matio
Ducro was evidently Aphsled there! And
Matio Ducro, whose father was Ignatio
Ducro! Could there have been two Matios
and two Ignatios, son and father, bearing
that uncommon name?’’

He pointed a finger at the grave, as he
put the questions.

Phil was too much puzzled to reply, and
shook his head.

Fascinated by the myste

that seemed all
at once to envelop him,

at Ducro sank

down on the mound and wonderingly read

the inscription over and over.

He was trying to think; trying to get to-
gether the tangled threads of early recollec-
tion. 4 ,

‘‘No, I’m not absolutely sure that I’m
Matio Ducro!’’ was his declaration, as he
looked the gypsy boy in the face.

‘‘T told you that I used to live at New
Orleans. That was a jong time ago, and I
was only a little chap. I lived with an old
German woman, who has been dead for some

 

time, and I recollect that two or three times
an old negro came to see me.

‘Do you know, Phil,’’ and his voice be-
came more than ever awed, ‘‘I half believe
that negro was nobody else but Johnsing
Jones, the witch-doctor.”’

He put his hands to his head again, was
silent for a minute, and then went on:

‘‘T remember the German woman’s telling
me afterward, that until the negro man saw
me, she did not know my name.

‘*T don’t know where she got me—likely
from some orphan asylum.

‘‘Anyway, the negro saw me one day, and
followed me into the house. He seemed to
take a great interest in me, and he told her
that my name was Matio Ducro, and that
my father was named Ignatio Ducro. He
said, too, that my father was dead.

‘*Part of this I remember, but the most of
it the German woman told me. Of course,
I never doubted it.

‘*When I was nearly ten years old, as well
as I can recollect, she died; and I’ve been
knocking about the world ever since, most
of the time at sea.

‘*Now, am I Matio Ducro, or not?”’

He breathed hard, and the questioning
light deepened in his eyes.

‘‘You’ll have to ask me something
easier!’’ and Phil shook his head. ‘‘I
should say not, unless there were two Matio
Ducros. One of them died when he was a
baby. Let’s see; how old would he have
been???’

‘‘Just my age, if he’d lived till now!”’
Mat asserted, still more puzzled.

So fruitful was the subject, and so sug-
gestive, that they began to examine other
grave-stones in the vicinity; and soon came
to one erected over the grave of Ignatio
Ducro. '

According to the inscription on this, Ig-
natio had died a year earlier than the occu-
pant of the other grave. ;

The boys could make nothing of it all,
however, and were turning away, when
there came footsteps to startle them. |

Some one had entered the grave-yard, and

was hurrying toward them.

They looked up, to behold the colored girl,
M’ liss.

A highway ran near the fence, from which
she had espied them; and she seemed to be
advancing for the purpose of speaking to
them.

The sight of the girl considerably aston-
ished the boys, although they did not know
exactly where they were, nor how far they
had stumbled during the night.

Nor had they given much attention to the
surrounding landscape, being so much. en-
grossed by the mysterious head-stones.

‘*Ho? de Lawd, I’se glad to see yo’!”’
M’liss exclaimed, as she hurried up. ‘‘Been
wantin’ to see yo’ dis good while. Nebeh
*spected to fin’ yo’ heah!’’

hough she had recognized them without
great difficulty, she looked at them in won-
der, for the change in their appearance was
great.

‘*Been wantin’ to see yo’ dis long time,’’
she repeated. ‘‘My paw is got sumpin mighty
p’tick’lar to say to this young gem’man.
Sumpin dat’ll tickle him to heah!’’

She indicated Mat, as she spoke.

‘*He tol’ me fu’st time I see yo’ to ’press
on yo’ dat you mus’ come immejitly teh see
’im! I hopes yo’ kin come now!”’

Her manner was very earnest, even ap-
pealing. 4

Mat and Phil studied her face intently,
half afraid that another trap was being set
for them. But every lineament of it was
filled with perfect honesty. ‘

Observing their distrust, she reiterated her
appeal. ‘
- “It’s sumpin about some prope’ty what
Misteh Bolton’s got his han’s on, an’ what
b’longs by rights to dis young gem’man!
Sumpin like dat, is de contentment ob what
my paw is gwine teh say teh him!

teGenes Lee Bolton whup me in de woods,
my paw an’t got no so’t 0’ use foh him no
mo’; an’ so he wants teh see yo’, dat he

may tell yo’ sumpin monst’ous interestin’

*bout Bolton !’’

Mat Ducro called her attention to the
head-stone over the grave. ;

“Do you know anything about that?
About the boy buried here?’

‘‘My paw knows a good deal, I kin tell
yo’! Marse Tgnatio Ducro, dat boy’s paw,
was my paw’s marsteh, ’fo’ de wah. i My

w knows a mighty sight ’bout ol’ Marse
Roantis I kin tell yo’ !”’

She shook her head solemnly.

‘‘How far is it to your father’s?’’ Phil
questioned, at this juncture.

‘<Jis’ oveh yondeh, th’ough dem woods.
Dis is at de back 0’ de woods, so dat we
won’t hab teh cross de alligatoh bayou!’

Spurred on by her appealing injunction,
Phil and Mat set out with her across the
marsh land, and through the woods to the
home of the old witch-doctor.

They were anxious to reach the gypsy
camp, and to consult with Mother Ferola;
but what they had seen and heard made
them equally anxious to again call on John-
sing Jones.

A walk of less than an hour’s duration

|brought them in sight of the cabin and

fence, which had held for them so much of
excitement and peril during. their previous
visit.

The girl quietly lifted the latch of the

 

gate, and let them into the garden. As she
did so, angry voices reached them.

Phil and Mat started.

One of the voices was Mother Ferola’s,
and the other was Lee Bolton’s!

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A SAVAGE COMBAT.

TF AM here, also, to see about that boy!’

‘lk Mother Ferola was heard to declare.

& ‘*You’ve been carrying things on with
a very high hand, Lee Bolton!’?

Her voice was high-pitched and angry.

Mat and Phil stopped in dismay; and
M’liss did likewise.

None of the three had expected to find Lee
Bolton in the witch-doctor’s house. Much
less had they thought of finding Mother
Ferola there. ;

The boys were about to retrace their way
to a position of safety, when it suddenly oc-
curred to Mat that, as the words spoken so
nearly concerned him, it might be wise to
know what was being said.

Thus thinking, he moved nearer the house,
and under the protecting screen of a moss-
hung live oak. _

Phil and M’liss imitated this example; and
thus the three stood, thrilled with the live-
liest curiosity, not wholly unmixed with
fear, eagerly drinking in Mother Ferola’s
statements.

It was quite evident that Lee Bolton had
hastened to the witch-doctor’s to see him
about recapturing Mat Ducro; and Mother
Ferola’s words showed that her mission also
concerned the boy.

‘*T tell you, Lee Bolton, you’ve got to
drop this thing; and the sooner, the better it
will be for you! I’ve had spies in New
Orleans; and I know enough now to put you
behind the bars. And if you get there once,
you’ll stay there the rest of your natural
life |’?

‘*Don’t be a fool!’’ Bolton urged. ‘‘What’s
the boy to you? He and his property inter-
ests don’t concern you!’’ |

‘“‘They concern me so much that I tell you
you must stop! I’ve got enough to answer
for! So long as I thought the boy dead, I
just let things slide. I’m not going to do it
any longer.’’

‘*‘But how do you know this it she same
a Can you prove it?”’

: here was a sneer on his face, as he said
this.

‘‘In several ways. He’s enough like his
father, for one thing. You’ve shown that
you haven’t had any doubts as to who he is!

can prove it, when it becomes necessary !”’

Lee Bolton changed his tone.

‘‘What’s it worth to you, Mother Ferola,
to keep your hands clear of the whole busi-
ness? I guess that’s what you’re figuring
for! Name it; and if it an’t too much, I’ll
pay it!’’

At this, Mat’s heart sank; but the boy
was quickly reassured.

“It would be worth more than you could
ever pay, Lee Bolton. I’m getting old
enough to want to blot out some things I’ve
done in the past. I harmed the boy enough,
once; now I’m going to help him! Of course,
you know where he is?”’

‘*You want me to lead you to him and lay
his lily hand in yours? Well, I won’t. And
more than that, Mother Ferola, if you
trouble me in this matter, you'll have a long
time in which to wish you hadn’t!’’

_ His voice shook with anger. ,

At that moment, there came & bellow of
rage from somewhere in the interior of the
house,

The savage, animal-like sound came from
the lungs of the enraged witch-doctor.

He had held for Lee Bolton the liveliest
hate since the time M’liss had come home
covered with cuts and bruises, and with the
story of Bolton’s attack on her.

Before that, the witch-doctor had been
Bolton’s pliant tool.

As M’liss had stated, the old voodooist was
an ex-slave of Ignatio Ducro’s, and knew
the history of the Diep family. Moreover,
he had assisted Lee Bolton, and had been
well paid by Bolton for his silence.

Now he was burning to avenge the wrong
done M’liss. :

With a furious bound, he leaped into the
room occupied by Bolton and Mother Ferola.

He held in his right hand a huge rattle-
snake, which he hurled at Bolton’s head;
and then, drawing a big knife, he followed
this with a savage rush.

Mother Ferola screamed, as the snake sped
through the air; and dodged out of the room
by a rear door,

Bolton shook the snake off, with a bitter
curse, and turned to face the enraged negro.
The assault was an unpleasant surprise.

‘*What do you mean?’’ he vociferated.

“Take dat!’? howled the witch-doctor,
aiming a furious blow with the knife.

Bolton evaded the blow and stepped back-
ward.

The snake, which had been Kurled to tbe
floor, was throwing itself into a coil, and
commencing its angry rattle.

Again the witch-doctor advanced on Bol-
ton, brandishing the knife, and Bolton
reached for his revolver.

Neither of the excited men beheld the faces
now looking through the doorway. Curi-
osity had overcome the fears of the boys,

 

and they were peering in, while M’liss tip-
toed closely ‘behind them.

With a wild bound, the witch-doctor, who
was as agile as a much younger man, leaped
on Bolton, and struck the revolver to the
floor.

At the same instant, he attempted to stab
Bolton with the knife.

Bolton met this furious onslaught, and,
though somewhat unnerved by the loss of
the pistol, he planted a blow between the
witch-doctor’s eyes, thus hurling him stag-
geringly backward.

Bolton was in mortal fear of the rattle-
snake, which was now furiously sounding,
and he would have retreated from the house
had he been given opportunity.

But the witch-doctor, recovering from the
effects of the blow, got between Bolton and
the door, and again came forward with the
uplifted knife.

Though M’liss desired to advance to her
father’s assistance, she was so petrified with
fear that she was absolutely powerless.

She gurgled and gasped, rolled her eyes,
and two or three times started forward; but
be trembling limbs refused to do her bid-

ing.

Mat and Phil were almost as much terri-
fied, though in a different way.

Bolton had now no weapon except a big
pocket-knife, which he was trying to get at.

However, as the witch-doctor advanced, he
lifted a chair and furiously struck with it.

The witch-doctor threw off the blow with
his huge left arm.

Then the glittering knife descended.

Bolton was badly hurt; but he lifted the
chair again, and floored the witch-doctor
with it.

That last was a most unfortunate blow for
the old voodooist.

The chair hurled him backward against the

| rattlesnake, and quick as a flash, the ven-

omed fangs sank into his leg.

A howlof fear and pain instantly followed.

The pang of the wound, and the terror it
induced, almost congealed the blood in the
old negro’s veins.

With a savage cry, he shook off the snake,
then leaped away and disappeared from view.

That aroused M’liss from her state of help-
lessness.

She saw what had occurred, and knew
that her father was rushing to the woods to
get a remedy for the snake-bite.

The bruised leaves of a certain herb were
believed by the witch-doctor to be potent in
such cases.

Trembling and crying out in fright, the
girl followed her father toward the woods.

The strength that had upheld Lee Bolton
forsook him in that moment. He was badly
wounded, and he dropped with a moan to
the floor.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

——— 8
[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.]

LARRY THE WANDERER :

OR,

The Ups and Downs of a Knockabout,

 

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER,

Author of “Shorthand Tom,’ ‘‘Camera Bob,”
“Joe the Surveyor,” etc.

(“LARRY THE WANDERER” was commenced in
No. 223. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents. } %

cipememsenen

CHAPTER XVIII.

A LUCKY ESCAPE. ‘

SV10 the man with the danger flag it
yo looked as if the two in the carriage
~~) would certainly be killed.
Ij Rocks, bushes and limbs of trees
filled the air, and in the midst of them the
vehicle was raised up and dashed over on
its side, one of the horses being instantly
killed.

As the'carriage went over, Larry caught

“\
os

\

| Mrs. Kennington in his arms, and thus pre-

vented her head from receiving a serious
blow. The boy himself was flung, right
after this, on his back, and the heavy limb
of a tree landed across his legs.

The shock of the explosion nearly deaf-
ened Larry, and for the moment after he
could not actually tell if he was dead or
alive.

When he collected his scattered senses
he found the man with the red flag and two
other workmen bending over him.

“He don’t look like he was dead,” said
one of the trio. ‘See, he’s openin’ his
yes.” ;

‘I’m not dead by a good deal,” returned
the boy, although somewhat feebly. ‘But
—but is the lady all right?”

‘We can’t say yet. Here, Mike, take hold
of this limb and get it off his legs.”

The speaker took hold of the limb as he
spoke, and both Mike and the second work-
man began to assist him, The limb was

 
 

rather heavy, and they had all they could do
to rollitaway. Fortunately, the stump of
a branch on it had kept it from resting its
full weight on Larry’s lower members. Had
it been otherwise, both legs would un-
doubtedly have been broken.

It was with some difficulty that the boy
arose slowly to his feet.

“Any bones broken?” questioned the
bearer of the flag.

“T guess not,” was the slow reply.
I can tell you I feel mighty queer.”

“T don’t wonder. Why didn’t you stop
and turn around when you saw me with the
red flag ?”

“The horse wouldn’t stop.
he looks as if he was dead.”
“So heis. But the other is all O. K.”

Larry at once turned his attention to
Mrs. Kennington, who lay with her head
resting upon the tarriage cushion, which
had been thrown out of the vehicle during
the crash.

Her eyes were closed and her face was as
white as a sheet.

“Get some water!” he exclaimed to the
others. ‘‘I want to find out if she has only
fainted or if it is worse.”

He bent over her and placed his ear over
her breast. Her heart still beat, but, oh,
so faintly.

The water was soon brought, and Larry
sprinkled some of it in the lady’s face, A
faint color began to appear in her cheeks,
and presently she gave a long sigh and
opened her eyes.

‘“Where—where—Larry !”

“I’m here, Mrs. Kennington.”

‘What has happened ?”

“‘The explosion—don’t you remember ?”’

‘The explosion? Oh, yes! Wasn't it
dreadful? Are you hurt?”

“No, maam; that is, not enough to
count. But it was a close shave.”

“Tam thankful you escaped,” murmured
the lady, fervently.

‘How do you feel?”

“{—I think I am all right.”

**No bones broken ?”

“None; but the shock was fearful.”

“Yes, it was. It was bad enotgh to kill
Tom.”

‘Poor horse! he paid the penalty of his
heedlessness with his life. How is his
mate ?”

“All right, I fancy. There is one of the
workmen with her now.”

And Larry pointed to where the man was
leading the animal away.

‘We have had a narrow escape, indeed!”
said Mrs. Kennington, with a shudder.
‘Had we been a yard closer when the blast
went off we would both have been killed.”

“That's so, mum,” said the bearer of the
flag. ‘But Lhopes you don’t blame me. I[
ran out with me flag as soon as we lit the
fuse.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t come out before,”
returned Mrs. Kennington. ‘Perhaps
Larry could have stopped the horse if he
had had a little more time to do it in.
However, there is no use in speaking of
_ that now. I-—-I——”

Mrs. Kennington had attempted to rise,
but now sank back on the cushion.

“You had better keep quiet for a while,”
observed, Larry. “You are too weak to
move just yet.”

“IT suppose you are right, Larry. But
what is best todo?” |

‘What do you say if Isend one of the
men back to the house on horseback with a
message? I reckon you don’t care to go to
Carwell now.”

“No ; I will give up going to Carwell to-
day. You may send the man if you wish.

“But

Poor fellow !

Tell Murphy to borrow the Van Dyne car-

riage to bring me home in.”

Yo
Larry called one of the workmen, and the

fellow willingly set off onthe errand. He
said he knew Mrs. Kennington’s residence
well, and also knew the man of all work.

While he was gone the other men re-
moved the dead horse to the side of the
road, and also placed the wrecked carriage
out of the way. e

In the meantime Larry placed the cushion
in a shady spot under a tree some distance
from the scene of the explosion, and then
assisted Mrs. Kennington to this more com-
fortable resting-place.

By the time this was done half a dozen
men and boys had arrived, attracted by the
loud blast. They were greatly interested in
what had occurred, and they spread the
fre like wildfire throughout the neighbor-
hood. . ‘

When Murphy arrived with the neighbor's
carriage he was followed by fully a dozen
men, women and children. Those who
knew Mrs. Kennington were much pleased
to Snes that she had escaped such a great

peril.
“Sure an’ it’s the wondher yez didn’t both
git kilt !” exclaimed Murphy, with a broad

| private business.”’

CrooD NEWS.

 

smile on his honest face. ‘Tis good Inck | acted my business here,” returned Larry,

yez deserve an’ have, Mrs. Kennington.”

“Tt was the kind hand of Providence,”
returned the lady.

Larry and the Irishman assisted her into
the carriage the latter had brought.

‘Will you go with me, Larry ?”

“IT was thinking that I might go on to
Carwell,”’ replied the boy. ‘I suppose you
wish to send a message to your friend, do
you not?”

“J had forgotten about the trip.
would like to send a message.”

“Then [ll take it. I might as well go to
Carwell as any place. I might discover a
clew there,” he added, with a faint smile.

“Perhaps, but it’s not likely. Carwell is
an out-of-the-way place, and but for the car-
shops there it would not amount to any-
thing. Do you feel strong enough to go on?
Perhaps you had better return to the house
and rest.”

“Oh, I am used to being shaken up!”
laughed the boy. ‘‘I’ve got worse tumbles
than this'during my life. Why, once I went
down two flights of stairs in a tenement
house in New York, and never so much as
sprained a joint.”

“Your cheek is bleeding.”

‘It’s only a scratch. No; Tll go to Car-
well, unless you want me to stay here with
the wreck.” *

“No, no; that will be all right.”

Mrs. Kennington then gave him the name
and address of her friend, and asked him to
explain matters to her, and this he readily
promised to do.

Five minutes later Larry was on the way.

Yes, I

He met a farmer going in the same direc-,

tion, and this individual readily allowed him
to ride along on the empty hay rigging he
was driving.

The farmer stopped just this side of Car-
well, and; Larry, consequently, entered the
small town on foot. He found the place
quite lively, but soon discovered that this
was due to a strike which was in progress
at the car-shops.

The streets were filled with sullen-looking
men and half-grown boys, some of whom
eyed Larry suspiciously as he passed them.

Presently Larry found himself on a cor-
ner Mrs. Kennington had described to him.
The house he was to eall at was close at
hand, but its precise location was at that
instant a matter of conjecture.

As Larry paused on the board-walk and
gazed around, two boys and a rough-looking
man stepped up to him. ;

“Wot yer lookin’ fer?” demanded the
larger of the boys, a fellow about Larry’s
size. . 4

His insolent manner nettled Larry.

“What business is that of yours !” he re-
turned, sharply. ,

“Wot’s dat? Say, don’t yer git fresh,
now !” howled the big boy, and his two com-
panions edged closer.

‘Well, then, don’t ask me any questions.
It’s none of your business what I am _ look-
ing for.”

“Do yer want ter git in trouble?”

“No; but it seems to me you do.”

-“T’m on guard here; see?”

“On guard ?”

“Vos.” ag

“©What for ?” { /

«To keep such chaps as you out.” ~

“Out of town?”

“Dat’s it.”

“But Ireckgn I have a perfect right to
come into town.”

“Dat’s where you are away off, young
feller. We're on a strike, an’ we an’t goin’
ter let no outsiders slip in ter take our
places; see ?”’

——

CHAPTER XIX.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING,

Gar
@ ARRY at once saw through the mys-
3| & tery of the other boy’s actions. The

——d fellow was one of the strikers, and

he took all strangers to be outsiders
looking for chances to fill the vacated places
‘in the car-shops.

“So you suppose I came here looking for
work?” he said, with an odd smile showing
on. his face.

“Yer did,” returned the shop

quickly.
“You are quite mistaken ; I came on

boy,

“That's an old yarn,” put in the man. “A
fellow told me that story not an hour ago,
and then went to the office for a job.”

“Well, I don’t care what he did,” replied
Larry. “I don’t want to do any one out of
his situation.”

“Then the best thing you can do is to get
out of town,” went on the man.

“Dat’s it,” put in the smaller boy, and

 

the big boy nodded approvingly.
“T will not leave town until I’ve trans-

 

firmly.

He would have said much more, but he
saw that a crowd was collecting, and that
he would stand slim chances against a dozen
boys and men, many of whom were armed
with clubs.

“You'll get out of town if we say so!”
putin another man with a large and very
much inflamed nose. ‘*We won't have any
scabs here.”

“Tam not a scab,” said Larry, under-
standing by the term that the man meant
one who did not belong to their labor
organization. ‘‘And I am not here looking
for work.”

“You are!” howled the big boy who had
first addressed him. ‘‘Now skip der town,
an’ be quick, too !”

As he spoke he caught Larry by the
shoulder with his left hand and brandished

|a club with his right.

}

}
}

 

Larry looked at him squarely, and his
face grew pale and stern. ®

“Take that hand of my arm,
a constrained voice.

“Youll git out of town;
the big boy.

“Take that hand off, I say!” repeated
Larry, sharply.

His quiet but determined manner made
the other drop his hold. It was well that he

he said, in

see?’ blustered

| did so, for had he waited, Larry would have

knocked him down, no matter what the con-
sequences.

“Now we want an account of you, any-
way,’ said one of the men.

“T came here with a message for Mrs.
George Hotchkiss,” said Larry. ‘‘I believe
she lives near here.”

“Yes; in that yellow house with green
blinds over by the brook,” put in another of
the men.

‘Are you going there right away?” asked
another.

<SYiesn.1

“Who sent you?”

“Mrs. Kennington.”

“The one that lives down by Eagle Lake ?”

“Yes.”

, The men and boys began to talk among
themselves, and finally the leader of the
crowd confronted Larry.

‘‘Well, see here, you can go on-to Mrs.
Hotchkiss’ house and deliver your message.
But if we find you trying to get to the car-
shop office or tackling any of the bosses on
the street, look out, that’s all.”

And with this warning Larry was allowed
to pass_on.

It did not take the boy long to reach the
residence of Mrs. George Hotchkiss. He
found her anxiously awaiting Mrs. Kenning-
ton’s arrival.

She was much shocked to hear of the ac-
cident.

“I will drive over to Eagle Lake at once,”
she said. ‘It is too bad! Will you come in
and ride back with me?”

“No, thank you; I wish to remain over
for a while.”

“You will find matters lively here. They
are having a strike at the car-shop, and there
is no telling where the matter will end,”

“T’ve had a bit of warning already,” smiled
Larry, grimly.

‘How so?”

“They ordered me out of town.”

‘“They order every stranger out, I believe.
It is not right; but the men seem deter-
mined that no new-comers shall take theif
places.”

“What are they striking for?”

‘“‘Against a reduction of wages. ‘I'hey are
also bitter against Mr. Oldham, a foreman,
who has introduced some new machinery
which does away with some dozen men in
the cabinet department.”

Mrs. Hotchkiss offered Larry some re-
freshments in the shape of cake and fruit,
and soon after the boy left.

Once outside of the garden gate, he
paused, hardly knowing how to proceed. As
the town was in such a state of excitement,
would it be worth while to make search for
a possible clew to the robbery?

‘They look at me as a suspicious charac-
ter already,” he said to himself. ‘If they
find me prowling around they will feel sure
Tam here for no good, and they will follow
me up and make things warm for me.”

Nevertheless, Larry was not much fright-
ened, and at last he did turn toward the
center of the town, but took a different road
from that pursued in coming to the Hotch-
kiss residence.

_As he was passing a side road which also
‘turned into town he saw a man on horse-
back coming toward him.

Larry stepped to one side, and an instant
later the man passed him. :
The boy could not suppress a ery of as-
tonishment. The man was the same he had
rowed across Eagle Lake on the morning

 

following the robbery !

 

 

“Hi! stop! stop !’ cried Larry, before he
could think twice.

Had he reflected he would not have ut-
tered the command.

The man slackened the speed of his horse
and turned in his saddle. As he did this,
Larry ran up to his side.

‘What do you want?” began the man, and
then, as he recognized Larry, his face
changed color.

“T want to have a talk with you.’

“‘T haven’t time now.”

“You must take time. I want to know
why you were in such a hurry to get across
the lake that morning ?”

‘“J—J.—-who the dickens
way ?”’

“I’m Larry Curly, the boy who rowed you
across Eagle Lake on one morning—-—”

‘“Rowed me across Eagle Lake!’ ex-
claimed the man, in apparent astonishment,
‘You are way off, young man.”

“Off? What do you mean?”

“You never rowed me across Eagle Lake.”

‘Why, certainly I did!” cried Larry, in-
dignantly. ‘It was——”

“T haven’t any time to waste on you. I
was never rowed across Eagle Lake in my
life.”

“T can’t be mistaken,” said Larry, a puz-
zled look creeping over his face for an in-
stant. ‘May I ask your name?”

“Tt is Luke Boughton. I never saw you
before, my boy. You have made a mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, sir,” was Larry’s reply.

He had been studying the stranger’s face
closely. 5

‘Your make-up is a little different from
what it was then, but you are the same
man.”

‘Boy, you are crazy |” eried Luke Bough-
ton—for such really was the man’s name. “I
have no time to waste on you. Get out of
my way !”

“Not much !’ responded Larry, firmly, as
he planted himself directly in front of the
horse. ‘‘I want to have a talk with you. I
have a good mind to hand you over to the
police.”

“The police!” roared Luke Boughton.
“You must, indeed, be crazy. What have I
done to be handed over to the police ?”

‘“‘What have you done?” burst out Larry.
‘Don’t you know that on the night before
the morning I rowed you across the lake
Mrs. Noxwell’s house was robbed?’

“And do you insinuate that I was the
thief?” yelled Luke Boughton, his face dark-
ening.

“Yes, I do,” returned thé boy, bluntly.
‘And I want you to come to the police sta-
tion and clear yourself.”

He had hardly uttered the words when
Luke Boughton bent forward. In his hand
he held a stout riding whip, and with the
butt of it he struck Larry a cruel blow on
the head.

Larry slaggered to one side and then sank
down on a grassy bank.

He heard Boughton utter something in a
triumphant undertone, and then horse and
rider passed on.

As soon as he could, the boy sprang to his
feet again. There was a large lump on his
forehead, left by the whip, but to this he
paid no heed.

He gazed down the road. Luke Boughton
was just passing out of sight around a
street corner in Carwell.

‘Tam on the right track!’ said Larry, to
himself. ‘Let me catch that scoundrel and
I will have at least one of the men who
robbed Mrs. Noxwell’s mansion !”

,

are you, any-

 

CHAPTER: XX.
LARRY'S HARD LUCK.

MAN who was not far up the rode,

   

Larry, and now came running up,
asking what was the trouble.

‘That man on the horse is, to the best of
my belief, a thief,” explained the boy. “TI

Yar

‘| wanted him to go to the police station with

»

me and stand examination, and——-
‘“‘He knocked you down, eh ?”
ATOR. :

“Well, that looks as if he was afraid togo.

How’s your head ?”

“Feels rather thick, but that don’t matter.
Imust catch that man.” ‘

‘“What makes you so anxious about the
matter? Did he steal the stuff from you?”

“No, but I was arrested for the theft, and
I want to clear myself.”

“Are you out‘on bail ?”

“Yes.”

“Well, come én, perhaps I can help you
catch the thief. Who did he rob ?”

“Mrs. Amanda Noxwell,”

“What? Well, see here, I’m sorry for
you, but I'll be hanged if Pll do anything to
help that woman, She’s too mean alto-

had seen Boughton’s attack upon

 

 

 
rene, apne

!
4
|
|

 

aay ay See

ated

a

a ey

= 7 ae crave

_¥

43

sae

zo

ie boy.

 

2

 

gether to have even my sympathy. You'll
have to go it alone.”

And without another word the
turned on his heel and walked away.

“Well, I can’t say that I blame him
much,” thought Larry, as he hurried off in

the direction Luke Boughton had pursued.
*‘T suppose she had made him mad clear to
the toes, just the same as she did me,”

It was not long before Larry stood on the
corner, around which Boughton had dis-
appeared. He gave a long and searching
look down the street, and on both sides.
Horse and rider were not in sight.

‘Missed him !” groaned Larry. ‘‘And now
he’ll get out of Carwell just as fast as he
can.”

“See here, didn’t we tell you to quit this
place?” put in a voice at Larry’s elbow, and
he found himself confronted by the big boy
who had tackled him on his first appearance
in the place.

“Oh, give me a rest!” returned the boy,
impatientiy. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with
your shop or your strike, and I’m not look-
ing fora job here. I’m after a man who
was on horseback, and rode through as fast
as he could. Did you notice where he
went ?”

“The man that went through just now ?”

SOV eR W. ;

“Of course. He turned down the Spurn-
‘ham road.”

“Which is that?”

“Do you see that big oak over there ?”

SOY.

“Well, the Spurnham road is behind that,
to the left.”

‘How far is it to Spurnham ?”

*‘A mile and a half.”

“Thanks.”

Larry was off like a shot, leaving the big
boy standing in the road, his mouth wide
open in. wonder. ’

Larry was a good runner, and the oak
tree mentioned was soon reached. A wind-
ing road led past it, and along this he sped,
keeping a keen eye ahead for some sign of
the man he was after.

Bushes and trees grew on either side of
this new highway, and it was not long be-
fore Larry came in sight of a tumbled-down
shanty, where an old colored woman was
sitting in the open doorway, smoking a
clay pipe.

“Good afternoon, aunty,” said Larry.
“Did you see anything of a man on _horse-
back along here ?”

“Yes, sah, jess went by,” was the reply.

“Riding fast?”

“Tolable fast, sah.”

“All right. Thanks,”
Larry was on the run.

Fully half a mile was covered, and still
he had not come in sight of Luke Boughton.
Then another shanty appeared in view, in
front of which three half-grown children
were playing.

‘Say, did any of you see a man on a horse

o by?’ was Larry’s immediate question,
without hardly stopping for a reply.

All the children shook their heads.

“You are sure?”

‘Nobody went by for an hour,” said the
oldest of the children, a bright-eyed girl.

“You are sure of that?”

“Oh, yes, sir, I’ve been here by the fence
all the while.”

Larry stood still now, and a woman came
to the door.

_  €What’s he want of you, Jennie?’ she
asked of the girl.

«Wants to know if a man went by on a

_ horse.” \

‘No; nobody has gone by since Rogers
passed with his milk wagon a couple of
hours ago.”

“That’s queer. The colored woman told
me he passed her house.”

“Then, he must have turned off before he
got here,”

Larry's face fell just a bit.

“Could he do that?”

“Oh, yes, there are several roads run
down to the river just a way back.”

‘How far is the river from the road ?”

“Oh, not far.” af

“Quarter of a mile ?”

“Not as far as that.”

Larry thanked the woman, and gave a
smile to the children, and began to retrace
his steps. ;

it was not long before he came to a nar-
row road, somewhat screened by overhang-
ing bushes.

It led in the direction of the river, which
he could hear pouring over the rocks from
beyond, and in the soft dirt Larry could
distinguish fresh hoof-prints. 7
“He must have taken this,” thought the
“Now, the question is, what brought
him to such an out-of-the-way spot, and
will it be safe for me to follow into the
brush?” | t

The boy hesitated only an instant. Then

man

and once more

 

 

COW: Nw Ss.

he pulled aside the overhanging bushes and
proceeded along the somewhat darkened
pathway.

The roaring of the river, which at this
point tumbled over innumerable jagged
rocks, was now quite plainly to be heard,
and it was not long before he caught an oc-
casional gleam of sparkling water among the
breaks in the brush ahead.

Larry proceeded with great caution, and
when a slight cracking sound ahead reached
his ears he came to a halt instantly.

“T wonder what that could be?”
thought.

‘Whoa, there, Frank !” he heard, in Luke
Boughton’s voice. ‘‘Whoa, old boy, you are
all right here, I reckon, but I'll tie you up
and make sure.”

Larry instantly popped out of sight be-
hind a clump of bushes. Heheard Bough-
ton continue to speak to the horse, and a
moment later walk away toward the river.

Making sure that he was not being ob-
served, Larry followed the man almost to
the river bank.

Here stood an old saw-mill, now delapi-
dated by age. All the doors to the place
were wide open, and the windows were
broken out. The water-course also had
all but gone to pieces.

“This is lonely enough for almost any-
thing,” said Larry, to himself, with some-
thing like a shiver. ‘What in the wide
world brought that man here? I declare,
the mystery is growing deeper.”

Larry waited behind a rock until Luke
Boughton had passed inside the old mill.
‘Through the open doors he saw the man as-
cend the stairs leading to the upper floor.

Should he follow?

Larry well knew the risk he was running.
His recent encounter on the road had con-
vinced him that Luke Boughton was no
mild-tempered man to deal with.

“He might kill me if he caught me,”
thought Larry. ‘He could easily do it and
no one be the wiser.”

But once more the boy’s natural daring
urged him forward, and like a cat he
prowled on until the wide-open doors were
reached. Then suddenly he passed in-
side.

Hardly had he crossed the threshold than
footsteps sounded outside. Larry’s heart
seemed to jump into his throat, but he did
not lose his presence of mind.

He cast a hurried glance around for some
place where he might hide.

The old mill had been pretty well ran-
sacked when it had been abandoned, but on
the floor in one corner still rested a pile of
half-rotted boards and beams.

Like a flash Larry crossed the floor and
dodged behind the pile. He made not the
slightest sound, and, as the eyes of the new-
comer were not yet used to the gloom, he
was not observed.

‘Hullo, Boughton !” cried the man at the
doorway. :

“Hullo!” came from the upper floor.
“Did you just get here ?”

“Yes. Where are you, up stairs?”

“Yes. Come on up.”

“All right, just as soon .as I’ve tied my
horse.”

Larry listened to this conversation with
breathless interest. The voice of the new-
comer sounded familiar, and now he was
able to place the man.

It was the fellow Gregory Kennington
had had the trouble with in the old cottage
on Eagle Lake—Pete Lomax !

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
————_ + © -<e-_-_--_—_-
“IT CROW.”

 

Many a “star” might well envy the most
insignificant member of her troupe the su-
preme sense of importance and satisfaction
with which he performs his little duty, be it
only that of blowing out the candle through
a hole in the scenery when the hero aims his
deadly rifle at the flame and the cap ex-
plodes.

Think of the pleasure his performance ac-
corded this small boy, for instance:

First Boy—‘‘You ought to come to the
concert our music teacher is goin’ to give.”

Second Boy—‘‘You goin’ to be in ?”

“Yes. Iam one of the primmer donnas.
We are goin’ to give a cantata,”

‘“Wot’s that?”

“Oh, it’s all about sunshine, and storms,
and picnics, and all sorts of country things.
It’s great.”

“Do you sing all that?”

‘“N—o. I’m only in the first secene—
‘Early mornin’ on the farm.’”’ :

“What do you do?”

“T crow.”

vat gigi a
_ Prune pickers in California get 75 cents
a day and board, and hop pickers $1 per 100
pounds. —
\

 

he |

 

JACK.
A TRAPEZIST’S STORY.

BY RICHARD MEAD.

 

-

 

3645

rupture. Jack was not again, to our knowl-
edge, ill-treated, the hatred of Lorenza, as I
took it, being so centred upon Jem, that it
left no room for any other thought. Every
bit of rope or brass used in our business, and
upon which perhaps our lives depended, I
carefully examined each night before we
commenced our performance; the bad look

}and threat of Lorenza disturbed my mind,

and I knew not to what lengths he might go

0
Mis = . |

Co Y name is Joseph Hara, and my |
| \/\| profession is that of a gymnast. | to secure his revenge.
JVpote

Some years ago I entered into part- |

“ToS > nership with another athlete called
James Power, and since then we have been
known to the public through the medium of
circus bills as ‘‘The Brothers Morono, Mon-
archs of the Air.’’ Jem and I got along
very well together, for though my partner
was of a taciturn disposition, and as rough

heart of gold.

In 1884 we accepted an engagement ata
large variety hall in a Western city. The
entertainment given there consisted of comic
singing, dancing, conjuring and gymnastics.
Only two other acrobats were hired in ad-
dition to ourselves. They were a’man and a
boy; the man was named Lorenza, and the
boy was termed Midget; the company called
the youngster Jack. Lorenza was a dark,
sinister-looking fellow, with a vicious, cruel
expression; the lad, on the contrary, was a
fair, blue-eyed boy, the picture of honesty
and good temper. What relationship existed
between them no one exactly knew, but
Jack passed as the man’s nephew.

I believe my partner took a liking to the
boy at first sight.. Anyhow, as the days
passed on, and the lad’s sunny and agreeable
disposition showed itself, Jem, no matter
what went wrong with him, always had a
pleasant word and kind look for little Jack.
One morning, Jem made his friendship more
than usually manifest. We had come to the
hall rather early, in order to practice a diffi-
cult bit of business, which we intended tc
introduce at night. As we entered the cor-
ridor which led .to the public part of the
building, our ears were saluted by cries of
pain, preceded by cracks of a whip. Witha
flush of anger on his cheek, my partner
strode forward and swung open the door.

The scene in front of us was calculated to
rouse the indignation of the most callous.
Kneeling on the floor was the form of little
Jack, who had evidently failed in some part
of the rehearsal, and over him stood Lorenza,
holding a heavy whip. Undisturbed by our
appearance, Lorenza, in harsh tones, bade
the boy get up, and raised the whip for an-
other stroke. Before the blow could descend,
Jem pushed forward, and with an angry ex-
clamation, tore the whip from his grasp.

‘‘Where is your shame, man,’’ he cried,
hotly, ‘‘to strike a weak child with a thing
like that?’’ and curling the lash round the
stalk, he pitched it to the other end of the
hall.

‘‘How dare you interfere in my business?’’
replied Lorenza, his face convulsed with pas-
sion. ‘‘The boy is my property, and if he
fail in his performance, I have a right to
chastise him. He is a coward, and I want
to put some spirit into him. Give me back
the whip.’’

‘“Have a care, Lorezna,’’ answered Jem,
compressing his lips, ‘‘for I tell you, man,

if you have that whip again, it will only be |

across your shoulders. Think of your own
bones, and stop your cruelty to the boy.’’

‘*Out of my way, you fool!’’ exclaimed
Lorenza, livid with rage. ‘‘I will have the
whip. Ill cut the cub in pieces.’

With these words, he made a dart toward
where it lay. My partner raised his fist—
Jem had limbs upon him like an ox—when
it fell, Lorenza received a blow which
knocked him to the floor. He arose with a
nasty cut upon his cheek, from which the

blood was streaming; an evil look had come
into his eyes.
‘‘T will pay you for that blow, my cham-

pion,’’ he said, slowly; and then, without
again opening his lips, he walked from the

lace.
SaEDoinb over here, Jack,’’ called Jem,
kindly. ‘‘What is your trouble, my boy?
Missed your tip, eh?, Well, you must do
better the next timé. We are all apt to
make mistakes. Tears, my lad? Come, think
no more about it; uncle or no uncle, Lorenza
shall not ill-treat you while Iam here. But
stick to your business, my lad, and you
won’t want me to stand up for you.’’

Jack placed his small hand on the strong
arm of the athlete.

“‘T am not crying so much, Jem,’’ he

half-sobbed, ‘‘because he beat me, but be-

cause he told you I was a coward.
think me a coward, Jem?’’

‘*Bless the boy, no!’’ answered Jem, care-
lessly.

Jack stole a wistful, distrusting glance at
his face, and then, crossing the hall, he sat
himself down in a shaded corner and leaned
his curly head upon his hands.

‘‘Now, Joe,’’ cried my partner, roughly,
‘‘what are we waiting for? Are we to begin
this morning or not?’’

Whenever Jem was unusually brusque in
his manner, it showed that his feelings were
touched and he did not care to be spoken to;
so, without replying, I made a start toward
the attiring-room; there we quickly changed
our clothes for ‘‘tights,’? and soon after-
ward were busily occupied on the trapeze.

Things went on pretty smoothly after this

Do you

 

-reserved till the last.

 

 

The last week of our engagement we were

to take a benefit. Good houses had been the

;rule of the preceding days, and Jem and I
|anticipated a pecuniary success.

When I
looked round the hall, upon the night set
apart for us, I saw it was crowded.

After the singing and dancing had con-

’ 0 | cluded, Lorenza and Jack went on to finish
in his manner as a Polar bear, he had a|

their turn. Our trapeze performance was
The first part of it
came off satisfactorily, and then Jem pre-
pared to give his great descending act. He
was to ascend to the top of the lofty build-
ing, hang by his feet in two brass rings
fastened to the ceiling, and end by plunging
down head foremost into the net below.

The bell tinkled to get ready, and the
audience watched breathlessly the form of
my partner as he made his way to the roof.

I stood against one of the pillars at the
corner of the stage, following his progress
with my eyes. Jem had reached the rings,
and was putting his feet into them, when
my attention was withdrawn by a touch be-
hind’ me, and turning, I saw little Jack.

The boy was trembling like a leaf: his face
was blanched, and his eyeballs were staring.
He still had on his acrobat’s dress, but it
was torn and dirtied, and there were
scratches upon his hands.

‘Oh, Joe!’’? he gasped. ‘‘save Jem—he
will be killed! Lorenza has cut the net! I
saw him do it. He shut me up, and I only
now got out. Look! look! there he is, over
at the hack. See him??’’

My blood turned cold at Jack’s words, yet
involuntarily I followed his excited motion;
and at the other end of the stage, apparently
insensible to all around him, stood Lorenza.
His face was working with demoniacal
anticipation.

He was watching the movements of the
gymnast. .

My impulse was to dash the villain to the
earth, but the thought of my partner’s peril
subdued it.

I looked aloft; Jem was steadying himself
for the descent. In despair, I sent up a
frantic cry for him to stop; aroar of ap-
plause from the audience at_ the same mo-
ment drowned my voice. Then I gave up
hope.

Ah! what was Jack doing?

The lad, unnoticed by me, had seized the
long rope which led to the trapeze, climbed
it with the quickness of a monkey, and
leaped to the bar.

ere he was balancing himself when my
eye caught him.

Like a flash of lightning his purpose came
into my mind; the brave boy intended to
give his life for my partner’s. Jack meant
to throw himself into the net right under the
eyes of the suspended athlete, and by his
ore fate warn Jem of the danger awaiting

im.

My idea was correct. Giving himself a
swing, Jack bounded off the trapeze; his
small form was seen for an instant cleaving
the air, then it struck the net; there was a
crack, like the report of a pistol, as the
threads parted, and I shut my eyes and
waited, with a horror I cannot express, for
the thud of his body upon the floor.

I heard the cries of strong’ men and the
screams of women; then came a hush, and a
moment after shouts of excitement. I
opened my eyes, and beheld a’sight which
filled me with wonder and gratitude.

The net had rebounded with the shock,
and by a miracle shot the boy on one side.

The presence of mind bred in the acrobat
had induced little Jack to twine his fingers
among the secure threads, and there he
hung, safe and uninjured.

Ready hands were soon at work to release
him; and my partner, who had made his
way down directly he beheld the result of
the act, was almost as quickly as myself at
the brave boy’s side.

‘“‘Jem,’’ said Jack, in a whisper, a happy
expression on his face, ‘‘I tried to save you.
You won’t believe Lorenza now, if he calls
me a coward?’’

My partner, with a strange moisture
gathering in his eyes, made no answer; but
pressing the lad to his breast, he bore him,
amid such a roar of applause as seldom
fer the exploits of a gymnast, to the

ressing-room.

I think I should have pitied Lorenza if the
company had laid their grasp upon him that
night. With threats of vengeance, they
searched every nook of the building, but the
discomfited scoundrel had decamped, and I

have never set eyes upon him since.

My ner has retired from the profession
now; I think, somehow, the event of that —
night sickened him of the life he led. He is

a prosperous merchant at the time I write,
and his comfort and pride, both in business
and out of it, is a fine, manly young fellow,
whom he has brought up and educated, and
whom neither of us, for I very often visit
Jem, ever think of calling by any other
name than that of little Jack. |

 

 
3646

GooDp

 

THE COCK OF FAIRHAVEN.

BY W. W. TREMAIN,

*

non ;
n house constructed of red brickwork,

and built in the style that prevailed in
Queen Anne’s time.

This house was
School.

At the time the incidents occurred which
are now to be related, the school contained
about eighty boarders, and a fourth of that
number of day scholars, sons of well-to-do
people in the neighborhood.

Jack Downham was, according to the
school-master and his assistants, the worst
boy in Fairhaven School.

But with his school-fellows Jack was im-
mensely popular.

He was the son of a sea-captain.

Captain Downham had the misfortune to
be drowned on his homeward voyage about
a year after his son first went to Fairhaven,
or three years before our story opens.

Jack’s mother died of grief only two
months later, so Jack was most decidedly
an orphan.

Not a poor orphan, though. ‘

Captain Downham had contrived to put
by for the use of his wife and child a large
sum of money, which was now Jack’s,
though, of course, it was in the hands of
trustees till he should attain the age of
twenty-one.

Jack Downham’s guardians allowed him a
very good amount of pocket money, which
he, of course, spent with his chosen friends,

Jack Down’em was one of the nicknames
this youth had been given, because he was
such a desperate fighter. A week without a
battle was, in Jack’s estimation, so much
time wasted; any excuse was enough to send
his coat and hat flying into the arms of his
nearest friend, while his fists sought out
the prominent parts of his adversary’s face.

“Down you go!” was Jack’s favorite ex-
pression while delivering a regular floorer;
and as the adversary was generally knocked
off his pins, Jack got the name of Down’em,
and also the Cock of Fairhaven,

In other respects, he was not a bad boy;
even Barnabas Dove, M.A., the school-mas-
ter, was obliged to admit that. But Barnabas
hated fighting, no matter what the provo-
. cation, and said, consequently, that Jack
Downham was the worst boy in the school.

“Jack, is that lawyer in-the square a rela-
tion of yours?”

The question was put by Tom Andrews,
a lad two years younger than Jack.

“No relation of mine, Tom,”
sponded.

“J heayd some one ask him the same
question this morning,” ''om went on.

“Shut your ears, Tom; don’t listen to all
the idle gossip of Medbury, or you will be
crammed so full of false information you
won't be able to digest it all.”

“The lawyer for once spoke the truth,
Jack, for he gave the same answer to the
woman who asked the question, that you
have just given me.”

“A woman asking about me, eh? What
sort of woman ?

‘‘Middle-aged, red hair, disagreeable-look-
»

known as Fairhaven
n as F

Jack re-

ing.

‘Don’t know her,” Jack Downham re-
plied. ‘What happened then?”

“T heard her say that Lawyer Downham’s
eyes would be opened before long, and he
would take more interest in you.”

*T hope he won't, Tom, for I have se
Mr. Lawyer Downham at Medbury Chur
pretty regularly for some years past, and
doesn’tlook like a man I should care to
have interesting himself in me, or my af-
fairs.”

“You are not angry with me for telling
you, Jack?”

‘No, and to proveit, you shall come
down to old Smith’s, and we will have a
good lay-out of strawberries and cream.”

And the two boys moved off toward the
house of ‘‘old Smith,” a pastry-cook and
fruiterer, who had a big share of the custom
of the Fairhaven school-boys.

But before they reached the shop, Jack
had occasion, or fancied he had, to exclaim:

“Now, then, clumsy, where are you push-
ing? Do you generally walk along with
your eyes shut?”

The person addressed in this not very
courtly style was a young man about eigh-
teen years old, respectably dressed, having
the appearance of a clerk. eit

The push was unintentional, being caused
by the young man’s careless way of walk-
ing ; but hearing himself addressed in such
aerate style, he turned to Jack and
said :

eV. c oa . ;
N the right-hand side of the old road
€8 which runs through the sleepy little
town of Medbury, stands a large}

 

‘You'll get your head punched, young
feller, if you’re cheeky.”

‘‘Punch away !” said Jack, squaring up.

And the Cock of Fairhaven let fly at his
antagonist, who was three inches taller, as
well as three vears older, than himself.

“Bravo, Jack! Down him!” cried Tom
Andrews.

“Stand away, Tom! Leave him to me!”

And Jack, who was as active as a young
tiger, and almost as fierce and strong,
danced round his antagonist, and, to use his
own expression, let him have it all over.

One heavy blow reached Jack’s neck, but
only had the effect of making him angry,
and he pegged away till he saw a good open-
ing, and then—

“Down you go!” said the Cock of Fairha-
ven, getting home fairly between his antag-
onist’s eyes, and knocking him clean off his
legs.

‘Bravo! Hurrah for Jack Downham !”
cried Tom Andrews, clapping his hands de-
lightedly.

Jack himself gave a good imitation of the
crow indulged in by the bird from which he
took his nickname, in the moment of vic-
tory.

The vanquished one rose to his feet slow-
ly, and Jack once more put himself in
readiness for either attack or defense.

“My good friend, the adversary, looks as
if he had had enough,” he thought.

Jack’s guess was a good one.

“T won’t fight any more,” the vanquished
one growled. ‘But you shall know that
there is a law to punish assaults.”

*‘A fig for you and vour law! If you want
another round, come on and have it; if not,
get out of the way.”

The beaten one chose’ the latter alterna-
tive, and walked off growling.

“T know who that fellow is,” Tom An-
drews said, as they resumed their walk to-
ward the pastry-cook’s. ‘He is clerk to
your namesake, the lawyer.”

“Then they are a pretty pair.
along !”

Jack and Tom were soon indulging them-
selves with a good feed of strawberries and
cream, langhing the while at the late battle.

Lawyer Downham’s clerk was at that time
making his way to a cottage in which he
lodged, about a mile out of Medbury.

He meditated vengeance, but how to ac-
complish it was what puzzled him.

‘Is this the road to Medbury? Hallo,
young man, you've had it to a nicety !” said
a red-haired man of thirty, who met the
lawyer’s clerk in the lane,

“Yes, this is the way to Medbury, and I
don’t want any chaff,” growled Bob Jones,
the lawyer’s clerk.

“H’m! I suppose you will give the other
fellow a return match, though ?”

‘When I can do it safely.”

‘‘Doesn’t he fight fair ?”

‘‘T suppose he does.”

“Then what a fool you must be to think
of tackling him again,” said the stranger,
slowly. ‘‘Now, tell me who you are, and
who itis that has given you this whack-
ing.”

The lawyer's clerk could not withhold his
confidence from the stranger, whose ap-
pearance was certainly anything but fasci-
nating. So he told the man all about him-
self and Jack Downham; that is, all he
knew about the latter, ;

And thestranger gave a low, long whistle,
when the name of the Cock of Fairhaven
was mentioned. G

“My young friend,” said he, ‘you will
soon have a chance of getting even with
Master Jack Downham. Now tell me the
way to Lawyer Downham’s office.”

Jones told the man how to get there,
adding :

“It is no use your calling to-day.”

“Why not?” the wed-haired stranger
asked,

“Because old Downham has gone out to
dinner, and won’t be back before ten to-
night.”

“Then, gentle youth, I will callin the
morning, Adieu! A piece of raw beef-
steak applied to those eyes, would do’ much
to keep down inflammation, and lessen the
discoloration.”

Bob Jones went on his way, relieving his
mind by growling, and the red-haired
stranger wandered on into ’Medbury town,
where he took up his abode for the night at
an obscure little inn, in a street at the back
of the church,

“Tt is lucky that I met the lawyer's
clerk,” he soliloquized, as he went to his
bed. ‘He can, and will help to get this
school-boy, Downham, out of the way,
and then it will be a square tussle between
Lawyer Downham and myself, If I don’t
win the game, I must, at least, get some of
the stakes,”

* *

Come

* * * *

‘Lawyer Downham, or, to give his full! mentione

NEW S.

 

name, William Downham, Esquire, solicitor,
was indeed a cousin of Jack Downham’s
father.

3ut there had been no friendship between
William and Captain John Downham, for
many years, and the lawyer was alike igno-
rant of the death of the sailor, and the
very existence of our hero—the Cock of
Fairhaven.

At least, he had never heard of Jack
Downham, till that midddle-aged, red-
haired, disagreeable-looking woman, over-
heard by Tom Andrews, gave him the in-
formation, and much besides.

For instance, she told the lawyer that, if
young Jack were dead, he, William Down-
ham, would inherit all the money left be-
hind by the captain.

William Downham, though he dwelt in a
large house in the ‘‘square” of Medbury,
was not very popular with his fellow towns-
men.

Nor was his legal business very great, be-
ing for the most part the defending of petty
cases in the police court.

The morning after the fight just described
the lawyer was sitting in his office alone,

Jones, the clerk, had sent down a note,
pleading ill-health as an excuse for non-at-
tendance, so that when there came a knock
at the office door, it was Downham himself
who opened it, and said :

‘Come in !”

But no one entered, so he closed the door,
and resumed his seat, muttering :

‘“T am certain that was a knock,”

He had not been writing five minutes,
when the knock was repeated, but Downham
did not rise. ?

He contented himself with calling :

“Come in! Turn the door handle to the
left, and push.”

Even then there was no response,

“There are no ghosts here, I hope,” he
muttered.

A third time the knock was repeated ;
still Downham kept his seat, contenting
himself with calling out to the unseen per-
son to come in,

“Tf they can’t hear that, they are much
too deaf forme to have any conversation
with them, whoever they may be,” he added.

Then there was the sound of a human
voice speaking, the door handle turned, and
a man entered. j

‘How many times have you knocked ?”
Downham asked.

“Not at all. Your cat saved me the
trouble,” said the visitor, pointing to a
sleek-looking tabby, which stalked in.

Downham did not seem _ particularly
pleased at the sight of the face he saw be-
fore him.

“What doyou want here?” he asked.

“Some money, Will Downham,” was the
response.

“TI don’t see why you should come here
for it. I owe you none,”

“T think you will consider you are deeply
indebted to me when you hear what I have
to tell you.”

“Take a seat, then, Tom Hayes.”

The visitor, who was a dissipated-looking
young fellow, in shabby-genteel costume,
closed the door, and sat down.

‘“‘Now, then, out with your news,” said
the lawyer.

“Are we alone here?”
manded.

“Quite. My clerk won't be here to-day,
and no one can get in without knocking.”

“That is right. Iam sure you would not
care for any one to overhear what I am going
to tell you.”

“You mean that you would not like it. I
suppose you have been at some of your old
villainies again.” .

“T mean what I saw. My villainies have
nothing to do with this.”

‘‘Heave ahead, then, as the sailors say.”

And Tom Hayes told how the lawyer
might become rich, if only Jack Downham
were out of the way.

“Your mother told me this yesterday,”
re the other. “I’ve been thinking about
it.

“Ah! then you will need my assistance
to remove the boy ?”

The lawyer looked at him fixedly, and
then said :

“T will give any one five thousand dollars
dollars to sweep that lad from my path. I
did not know his father made so much
money.”

“You will give me the five thousand, then.
But put the bargain in writing.”

“That you may use it against me? Not
likely !”

‘Won't my name be on the document,
you ass?” ;

‘To be sure.”

And the lawyer, in a most cold-blooded
way, drew up a document to the effect that

the visitor de-

 

 

he would pay Tom Hayes the sum of money
, provided young John Down-

ham, of Fairhaven School, died within a
week,

And on another paper, Tom Hayes prom-
ised, under his signature, that John Down-
| ham should die within the time specified.

‘‘T want money to begir the business,” he
| said.

The lawyer handed him a hundred dol-
lars, saying :

“Don’t come here any more till it is over.”

Hayes nodded and departed, to consider
how he could best earn the remaining tour
thousand nine hundred dollars.

He and his mother had an old grudge
against Jack’s father, with whom Hayes, the
elder, had sailed as mate.

But the elder Hayes gave way to drink,
which brought on a fever, and necessitated
| his being left at a port in the West Indies,
where he died ; and then Widow Hayes and
her son accused Captain Downham of mur-
dering his mate.

Tom Hayes had not known till that morn-
ing that his mother was in Medbury, and he
was not anxious to see her.

He meant to have the money to be earned
-by crime all to himself.

He had not seen her for years, and did
not know that she had been for some time
acting as housekeeper to an old gentleman
living in the town.

Hayes unconsciously wandered along the
lane, where he had met the lawyer’s clerk
the evening before, and where he now again
met him.

He entered into conversation with Bob
Jones.

“You still want revenge, [ suppose?” said
he.

Jones nodded.

“Sit down here under the hedge, then,
and tell me something about the school.
Do you know the inside of the house ?”

‘Every room, every passage, staircase,
door and window. I was at school there
four years.”

‘How many boys sleep in a room ?”

‘About ten.”

“How many in the room where Jack
Downham is ?”

‘‘He has a room to himself. I had a good
mind last night to creep in through the
window and kill him.” ar

‘What! is the room so easily got at ?”

“Anybody could get in. He leaves the
window open.”

‘Have you the courage to go there with
me ?”

“Yes.”

‘‘And plunge one of these into his heart
as he sleeps?” ;

“Yes !” cried Jones, clutching one of two
long knives produced by Hayes.

‘Come on, then, and show me the place.”

“But what is your grudge against him ?”
Jones asked.

“I get money by his death.”

The two worthies walked off in the direc-
tion of Fairhaven, quite unaware that their
murderous little conspiracy had been over-
heard by no less a person than Jack Down-
ham himself.

The Cock of Fairhaven had been fishing
in a neighboring brook, and seeing his an-
tagonist of the previous day strolling down
the lane, he crossed the field to give Jones
a chance of getting satisfaction, if so in-
clined.

But when he reached the hedge, he heard
the lawyer’s clerk in conversation with a
stranger, and he paused, thereby overhear-
ing all.

Wondering who the stranger could be,
Jack went up to the school by another path.

He saw Hayes and Jones prowling round
the house.

“They mean it, then,”
‘But when is it to be ?”

He took Tom Andrews and two other
especial chums into his confidence, under a
pledge of secrecy. /

“We will capture those villains alive, and
give them over to the police,” said Jack,
anda plan of campaign was at once drawn up.

So, when the scholars of Fairhaven re-
tired to rest, Jack arranged a dummy figure
to take his place between the sheets, while
he stationed himself-behind the folding
doors of a wardrobe.

Andrews and his two companions were
outside in the passage, and all four boys
were well armed, Jack having a six-cham-
bered revolver.

Then all the lights were extinguished, and
the boys waited.

It was past midnight when Jack heard a ©
slight rustling sound as of some one climb-
ing up the pear tree, which was trained to
the wall outside, and he pulled a long string,
which was attached to Andrew’s foot, to
warn him to be in readiness.

Then the dim outline of a man’s head and
shoulders appeared at the open window,
and presently Hayes slid noiselessly into
the room, t

he muttered.

 

 

 
Oa VV SS

 

A few seconds later Jones followed.

They ranged themselves one on each side
of the bed, and each raised his right hand.

‘Now !” said Hayes, and two daggers were
buried in the dummy which Jack had placed
in the bed.

Then two chambers of his pistol rang out
their loud reports, and at the sound, Tom
Andrews and his two companions dashed in
with candles.

Hayes and the lawyer’s clerk were both
on the floor, severely wounded.

They were quickly disarmed and secured.

The report of fire-arms indeed alarmed
the whole school, and the masters hurried
to the scene, where they were greatly sur-
prised at the sight that presented itself.

Jack, however, ina few words explained
all, and Hayes and his foolish associate
were quickly in the hands of the local police.

But it was quite a week before they had
sufficiently recovered from their wounds to
be brought before a magistrate.

Mr. William Downham’s promise to pay
for Jack’s murder, of course, fell into the
hands of the police, when they searched the
prisoners, but that astute gentleman had
been clever enough to write the document
in a very different style of penmanship to
what he usually employed.

He denied all knowledge of the elder
prisoner, and could not imagine what had
induced his clerk to take part in such an
affair. ‘

So, he escaped legally ; but, already in
bad odor, he now found himself an object
of such intense dislike, that he gave up his
practice and left that part of the country.

Hayes and Jones were committed for
trial.

There was some difficulty about proving
the attempt to murder ; but as there could
be no mistake about their having burglar-
iously entered the school premises, they
were convicted on that count, and sentenced
to a long term of imprisonment.

And Jack got a worse character than ever
from the school-master.

He was told that he ought to have con-
sulted his superiors, put the matter in the
hands of the police, and so forth.

But he replied that, as it was his life at
stake, he guessed he had a right to think
and act for himself.

So said the townspeople, and so said his
school-fellows.

In fact, from that time till he left the
school, Jack Downham was more than ever
the Cock of Fairhaven.

—_—_~>>___

UQur Mail Bag.

—_e——

{Questions on subjects of general interest only are
Gealt with in the “Mail Bag.” Medical or legal
quéstions not answered. Goop Nerws goes to pee
two weeks in advance of date of publication, and there-
fore answers cannot appear until two or three weeks
aftey we receive them. Communications intended for
this column should be addressed Goop News “Mail
Bag,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.)
mf pelo Te

B. T. W., Findlay, Ohio.—1. Yes, your height and
weight are about right for a boy of sixteen. 2
Those dated 1877 and 1878 are worth quite a large
premium. The others are worth only their face
value. 3. Nopremium, 4. er time between now
and the,middle of October. 5. Your handwriting is
only fair. 6. It\is alla matter ‘of opinion. 7. Yes,
in learning to shoot, decidedly have some experi-
enced person for a teacher,

The Boy from the West, Honesdale, Pa.—1. No
premium on either coin. 2, Prussic acid. 3. We
saw the article, but have no further information
concerning the person described. We think it very
doubtful shat he is Edison’s superior 4. We can-
not say. Opinions of the bestjudges differ.

C. R., Cow Island,—1. On the whole, the Ameri-
can people. 2. All so-called fortune-tellers are
humbugs. 3, We have acircus story now ready,
but cannot tell just when we shall publish it, 4,
No, we do not buy coins or stamps.

Actor, Orange, N. J.--1. Miss Rehan is at present
abroad. 2, John Drew is starring in San Francisco.
3. Yes, in thelate autumn. 4. We do not consider
that there is any American eregodite now living
who is the equal of Edwin Booth. ,

Bobby, Oconomowoc, Wis.—1. Harvey Hicks
writes exclusively for GOOD NEWS. 2. ‘The com-
plete list of Oliver Optic’s books is too long to pub-
lish here. 3, Many thanks for your kind words,

#. A. R., Lexington, Ky.--France was the first
foreign country to acknowledge the independence
of the United States. ‘This occurred some years
before the close of the revolutionary war.

Roving Jim, Chicago, Ill.—It may possibly be
done, but we should not advise you to attempt it.
We believe the person named to be av arrant
fraud.

R. L. J., Newport, R.1.—The linv, “Music hath
charms to soothe the savage breast,’ is found in
Congreve’s tragedy of “The Mourning Bride.”

&. L, C., Concord, N. H.—It would be useless to
send us your manuscript, as we have enough
sketches to last us for some time to come.

Blue and White Sam, Burlington, Iowa.—We are
sorry not to oblige you, but it is our rule not to an-
swer medical questions in this column.

Hilary, Elmira, N. Y.-New York was named
after the Duke of York, to whom the country was
granted by his brother, Charles ITI.

C. H. B., East Toledo, Ohio.—-1. No premium on
coin described. 2, Write toScott Stamp and Coin
Co., New York. iA

‘Big Siz, Port Marion, Pa—Write again with
aoe care. Wecannot decipher your communica.

on. M

J, L., Milford, Mass.—We cannot publish your
exchange, as it has to do with fire-arms.

 

Martin, Los Angeles, Cal.—See ‘Short Talks” in
No. 225 of GOOD NEWS.
Jim, Seattle, Wash.— Yes.
{ Several communications left over to be answered
next week.)
——____—~ -¢--

AMON G

a td ii
GOOD. NEWS #GLUBS.

{SPECIAL NOTICE.—This column is for GOOD
NEWS Clubs only. No notices will be inserted
excepting suchas are genuine GOOD NEWS Club
notices, and nothing in the shape of an advertise-
ment will be allowed. Every club notice should
have the names of the president and secretary of
the club attached. For information concerning
GOOD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad-
vertisement on last page. ]

pene:

CLUB NOTICES,

The GOOD NEWS Club of Chicago has been organ-
ized, with headquarters at Room 28, McCormick
Block, with the following officers: William J. Red-
man, president; Henry Mensel, vice-president; B,
J. Hoyt, secretary and treasurer. The object of
this club is corresponding. To get many members
the officers have decided to give the first twenty-
five persons joining the most improved Odell type-
writer, which will do the work of a $100 machine.
All persons joining will also have a chance to win
some of the many prizes which are to be given
away every month to the best correspondent. Ini-
tiation fee, 25 cents: dues, 10 cents montlily, paya-
ble in advance. Address all cominunications to EF,
J. Hoyt, secretary and treasurer, office Room 23,
McCormick Block, Chicago, Ill.

How to get the most pleasure out of 10 cents.
Join a good corresponding club. If you live in
Maine or some other Northern State, would you
not like to know some one in Florida who would

tell you all about the way oranges grow? Certainly |
But you may ask: How can I doit? }

you would.
Why, just join the GooD NEws Corresponding and
Exchange Club of Wilton, Conn., which is one of
the best clubs of its kind. Itonly costs 10 cents to
join, and there are no dues. All joining receive
card of membership, list of members, etc, Address,
E. 8. Benedict, Wilton, Conn.

Ha! ha! Here is something good, What? Join
the Eclipse GooD NEWs Corresponding Club of
Leavenworth, Kans. ‘en cents’ worth of reading
matter, five foreign stamps, and a relic to the first
five thatjoin. Join quickly and getaprize. This
is a new club, and all should join and give us a fair
start. Card of membership and list of members
issued in six weeks from notice, Initiation fee, 10
cents; dues,5 cents; ladies free. Address, with 2-
cent stamp, F. A. Fenton, president, care Smith
Bros., Leavenworth, Kans. Walter E. Shouse, sec-
retary.

Exquisite! Charming! The GooD NEWS Mag-
nétic Corresponding Club of Red Oak, Ia., is going
to issue a fine list of members, and in order to swell
the membership to fifty, they have decided to lower
the initiation fee, for two weeks only, to 5 cents in
stamps; ladies, a 2c. stamp. . Representatives
wanted from all the New England States, and
from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Kentucky.
West Virginia, North and South Carolina, Colorado
and Washington.

Red Oak, Towa. |

Join GOOD NEWS Friendship Club of Chicago,
Till, and get our new list of members. Initiation
fee is 10 cents, and dues are 5 cents per month in
advance, Ladies free, A neat membership card
to alljoining. We have stamp collectors, coin col-
lectors, corresponding, puzzle, reading and ex-
change departments, List of members, the Golden
Monthly, and other things sent to members the
20th ofeach month. For full particulars, address
Adolf Boehm, secretary, 575 W. Twenty-fifth street,
Chicago, Ill

The Hawkeye State GOooD NEWS Eclipse Corre-
sponding Club of Red Oak, Iowa, has concluded to
extend the 2-cent rate for another two weeks. Re-
member that for a 2-cent stamp you are a member,
and will receive a nice card of membership and a
neatly printed 4-page list of over fifty members.
New lists out soon. Join now and have your name
appear thereon. Objects: Pastime and improve-
ment, Representatives wanted from North and
Sonth Dakota. Carl D. Cook, secretary, Red Oak,
Towa.

Now, don’t waste time thinking what correspond-
ing club you should join to get the most amuse-
ment, but come at once boldly to the front aud join
the Union GOOD NEWS Corresponding Club.
Because it ig the largest, and offers its members
more amusement and pastime in writing letters
than any other club now in existence. Come one!
Come all! Gentlemen, 10 cents; ladies free. Chas.
H. Black, secretary, 407 Belle avenue, od eetantaiag
Pa. Herbert E. Taylor, president, Blackstone,
Mass,

Ye amateur printers! come a-running, and join
the GooD NEWS Press anid Paper Club of the
United States. This is your last chance to join for
10 cents initiation fee, and 10 cents annual dues.
Exhibition of work every three months for prizes,
also advertising space for three times in club
paper free, Handsome membership card, list of
members, constitution and by-laws sent as soon as
initiation fee reaches us. Address Karl W. Hiller,
Jr., president, 2212 Bridge street, Frankford, Pa.

“We lead, but never follow.’”’ Why not try the
best, which is the GOOD NEws U.Y. P. A. of A.,
the liveliest and most popular branch of the club.
Our lists are of 4, 8, aud 16 pages each, and our cer-
tificates are fine. Objects: yaa ee col-
lecting, pleasure. Fee, 2 cents; nodues. A valn-
able premium given to those joining from Ala-
bama, Arizona, Indian Territory, Oklahoma, and
Florida, William Lee Chambers, secretary, Box
338, Plainwell, Mich.

The GOoD NkEWs Corresponding Club of Fort
Dodge, Iowa. Initiation fee, 10c.; dues, 5 cents
per month in advance, Ladies and foreign mem-
bers admitted for a 2c. stamp. No free ones go
these hard times. Lists issued in colors every two
months, Handsome colored membership cards.
Address, with stamp, G. W. Tremain, secretary,
Box 149, Fort Dodge, Iowa.

All stamp collectors should join the Goop News
Philatelic Society. It is a great help to young col-
lectors, Cones our auction sales and exchange
department. All whojoin get their names in the
Philatelic Directory. The dues are only 10 cents
yer year. Address W. Slocum, secretary, Box 133,

ong Branch City, N. J

Just organizing the GOOD NEWS Union Dramatic
and Concert Club. I want 500 members at once
also a branch club in every city ot the Union. All
managers must be twenty-one years old. Every
one willbe admitted to the club free. Write at
once. Address H. EH. Taylor, manager, Box 285,
Blackstone, Mass.

Join GOOD NEWS Ideal Correspondence and Read-
ing Club. Each member receives list of members

Miss Ethel M. Cook, secretary, |

Why? |

 

3647

 

every month,and a novel, hand-book or story paper
each week. Initiation fee, 10 cents; dues, 10 cents
per month, payable in advance; ladies free.

Peabody, Mass.

Come, boys, join the GOOD NEWS Reading Club
of West Philadelphia. Each member joining gets
a 10-cent book or two 5-cent novels anid fifty as-
sorted stamps. Initiation fee, 10 cents;
cents a month in advance. H, Kochersperger,
president, 4935 Prescott street, West Philadelphia,
Pa.

The Weatherford GOOD NEWS
Club has just issued a neatly printed list of mem-
bers. Send 10-centsin silver foroneofthem. Ad-
dress allcommunications to Walter T. Lee, secre-
tary, Box 292, Weatherford, Texas.

hy XCHANGE

by EPARTMENT.

{IMporranr.—This column is free to all our readers.
We will not be responsible for transactions brought
about through notices in this column. All offers mns3
be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any
“for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arms,

explosives, dangerous or worthless articles. If exchange |

notices do not appear in a reasonable time, it may be
understood that ne were not accepted. Address al)
communications for this column to “Exchange De-
partment.”)

+

INCUBATOR, ETC.—H. N. McBride, Waterloo,

Ind., has a 160-egg incubator with self-turning tray, |

egg tester, and combination brooder and yards, for
a high case parlor organ, or best offer of machinist’s
tools. ’

MISCELLANEOUS.—L. H. MelIlvain, Box 674,
Mt. Holly, N. J., has 2,650 mixed foreign stamps, a
collection of 600 foreign stamps, all different, valued
at $6, 15 picture cards, and @ small iron, combina-
tion safo, to exchange for a banjo valued at not less
than $6.

STAMPS.—E. M. Holland, care of Bargain Store,
Paris, Texas, has Columbian stamps to exchange
for old U. S. and Confederate stamps. All letters
answered.

STAMPS.—John Nobling, 95 Vanhouten street,
Paterson, N. J., has Scott & Co.’s large 1894 $1.50
album, and 350 stamps of all denominations to ex-
change for best offer.

PRINTING PRESS.—Will Tomerlin, 12244 Mary
street, Union City, ‘enn., has a 542x8 Baltimore
printing press with type, and a $15 World type-
writer to exchange for an electric motor, run by
storage battery.

READING MATTER.—C. H. Laughlin, Chris-
man, fll.,-has volumes of story papers to exchange
for a small sized trunk or novels and reading
matter. ;

STAMPS.—A. J. Heineman, 1613 Bush_ street,
San Francisco, Cal., will give a set of Ecuador
stamps valued at $1.50 for every Columbian stamp
50 cents or over; must be in good condition. He
has also 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 15, 30-cent Columbian stamps
to exchange for higher values,

MISCELLANEOUS.—Guy Mann, 7th _ street,
Buffalo, N. ¥., will exchange 1900 2-cent, 250 1-cent
Columbian stamps, 360 foreign stamps, 250 picture
cards, 1 catcher’s mitt, 1 set of drawing instru-
ments, and 1 20-inch 8-draw telescope for a Safety
bicycle or best offer. All letter answered.

TYPEH, CUTS, ETC.—Adolf Boehm, 575 West
25th street, Chicago, Ill., has6 fonts of type, and
6 cuts to exchange for stamps or best offer. 10
foreign stamps for every novel sent him. All
letters and postals promptly answered.

TY PRWRITER—Simeon Phillips, 73 East 109th
street N. Y., has a $1 tpyewriter to exchange for
best offer.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Chas. Woelfy, Indianapolis,
Ind., has Columbian stamps to exchange for best
offer in Columbian stamps; watch and papers for
best offer in GOOD NEWS or other boys’ papers ; 300
big pictures for best offer.

BICYCLE.—S. Tilbert, 1030 Upper 2nd street,
Evansville, Ind., has a $140 cushion tire Rambler to
exchange for camera and outfit, not less than 5x8, or
best offer.

NOVELS.—Geo. Bergman, Room 21, 97 Washing-
ton street, Chicago, Ill., has about $4 worth of
novels, and 3 25-cent books to exchange for best
offer in stamps, :

CAMERA.—P. R. Landermilch, 33 North Seventh
street, Lebanon, Pa., has one 34x44 leatherette
bellows camera, brass-mounted lens, with tripod
and whole outfit, to exchange for a self-inking
printing press, 4x5 or over. All letters answered.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Victor H. Morgenroth, 405
West Lombard street,’ Baltimore, Md., has a 14-
karat open-fave lady’s gold watch, 100 numbers of
GOOD NEWS, in good condition ; an exhibition poly-
opticon, five 50-cent libraries, a three-bar auto.
harp, and 500 picture cards to exchange for best
offer. All letters promptly answered.

STAMPS,.ETC.—Allie Hodgkiss, 3823 Eoff street,
Wheeling, W, Va., will exchange 2,157 United
States, 400 Columbian, 350 foreign, and 140 foreign
stamps on sheets, 300 gummed stickers, one glass
pen for a good canvas canoe.

MISCELLANEOUS.—George H. Hellegan, 174
Forty-sixth street, Pittsburgh, Pa., has two vol-
umes of story papers, forty novels, stamp dealer’s
outfit, stamp album, containing 285 all different
stamps, to exchange for a foot-power lathe. All
letters answered,

GOOD NEWS.—F. D. Zoll, 852 Liberty street;
Findlay, Ohio, has 223 Goop Nrws, in good condi-
tion, to exchange for either United States or for-
eign coins, All coins must be in good condition.
All letters answered.

GOOD NEWS.—Steve Bell, 510 Vine street, Cin-
cinnati, Ohio, has Volume 5 GOOD NEWS to ex-
change for reading matter, or best offer. City offers
only.

MISCELLANEOUS.—James C. Whaley, Box 420,
New Berne, N. C., has a $1 typewriter, a printing
outfit, a set of magic lantern slides, a book on dy-
namos and motors, a $10 solid silver watch, $5
worth of bound books, a $2 electric bell, and an
electric battery, complete, to exchange for an elec-
tric motor, adynamo, or a printing press of same
value.

STAMPS AND READING MATTER.—F. H.
Elston, 720 Peun avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa., has a
collection of 200 different foreign and United
States stamps, valued at $3.50, and $2 worth of good
books and other reading matter to exchange for the
50-cent and $1 Columbian stamps lightly canceled.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Ike Katz, 165 State street.
St. Paul, Minn., has 1,000 2-cent Columbian stamps
and 200 picture cards to exchange for GOOD NEWS,
other boys’ papers, any kind of novels, or best offer
in reading matter.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Ferdinand Alton, 726 Mc-
Clellan street, Philadelphia, Pa., has 38-bracket
banjo, mandolin, set Stoddard’s portfolios,
punching-bag (complete), a number of books, and

Ts
Putnam, president ang secretary, 10 County street, |

dues, 5}

Corresponding |

!

various other articles to exchange for a watch, or
| best offer of sporting goods. Will exchange the
whole or part,

MISCELLANEOUS .—Charles Welch, Galva, TIL,
has a volume of story papers, alotof marbles, a
: pair of ice-skates to exchange for catcher’s mask
jane glove. Also a good ball, a knife, a book on
| magic, six games, and a cloth-bound book for three
volumes of GOOD NEWS.
| MISCELLANEOUS.—Ralph M. Brown, 855
| Franklin street, Burlington, Towa, has 900 picture
| cards, fifty agate marbles, a lot of lead pencils that
sell at 5 cents each, and three 50-cent mouth organs
| to exchange for newsboys’ tags or newsboys’ pho-
Rel or best offer in boxing-gloves or iron dumb-
bells,

Ticklets..

BY CHARLES W. FOSTER.

>

Direct From Paris.
Mother—“My goodness! You might as well
wear tights as that rig. You certainly don’tin-
tend to go bathing in it.”
_ Daughter—“Bathing? Horrors, no! This
jisn’t for bathing. It’s only for bicycling.”

The Rivals.

Little Miss Mugg—‘Susie Stuckupp called on
me yesterday, so there!’’

Little Miss Freckles—“I didn't know she’d
got the slumming fad.”

Not Likely to be Intruded Upon.
Little Miss Newvich—‘We is very exclusive.”
Little Miss Brickrow--“‘Wat’s that?”

“We don’t have much company.”

“Oh! Maimmma noticed that.”

“Did she ?”’

“Yes, and she said you wouldn't have much
company, either, so long as you let your ser-
vants throw slops in the street.”

A Pretty Picture.

Little Girl—“‘Oh, Mr. Wheelman, do stop talk
ing to sister a minute, and come and see my
kitten. She looks too cunning for anything.”

Mr. Wheelman (reluctantly)—‘Um—what is
the kitten doing?”

Little Girl—‘‘She’s standin’ up so straight
and pretty a-sharpenin’ her claws on your
bicycle.”

Willing to Compromise.

Bright Boy—“‘The paper says there’s a doc-
tor in the city who makes long noses shorter,
big ears smaller, and I don't know what all.”

Father—‘*Well ?”

Bright Boy—''I guess you’d better send me to
him to have my legs shortened, if you can’t af-
ford to buy me a larger bicycle,”

Will Live Anyway.
Mrs. Malony—‘Phot do yez mean, a-tyin’ up
y’r little girl’s feet thot way?’
Wah Lee—‘Keepee her follow your chillens
undee trolley car.”

Knew His Audience.

Shocked Patron —‘Why do you allow boys to
go through the audience selling candy at your
symphony concerts t”

Orchestra Leader—‘‘Dey zells noddings but
big sour balls.” ;

“Whatof that?’ :

“Beoples mit dose dings in dere mouths gant
talk.” ‘

The Ruling Passion.

Mr. Binks (suddenly awakened)—‘*Who—
who's there?’

Burglar (with pistol)—“‘Don't yeh dare move,
or [’']l—~”

Mrs. Binks—*For mercy’s sake, don’t shoot!
You’ll wake the baby!” ‘

Neat and Neighborly.

Strange Childa—‘*Please, mamma wants to
know if you will lend her your dog?”

New Neighbor—‘Why does she want my
dog?”

“’Canse he has such thick, curly hair, you
know !”

“Really, I don’t understand.”

“Guess you must have lived where folks
wasn’t very partic’lar.”

“Perhaps.” =

“Yes. My mamimais awful partic’lar ’bout
‘keepin’ our house free from fleas, an’ there is
some there now—and you know fleas likes dogs
with thick, curly hair.”

A Willing Mercury.

First Boy—“Wot's the rush ?

Secoud Boy—‘I heard pa invite an old friend
to dinner, and I’m ‘hurryin’ home to tell
mamma.”

“Did y’r father send yeh?”

oN”

“Then wot you runnin’ y’rself to death for?”

“Cause, if mamma knows company is comin’,
we'll have a better dinner.”

Hard to Please.

Yachtsman (statting out)—‘Consarn those
workmen! They didn’t get the bottom of the
boat half smooth, [ know by the way she
sails. Just feel of her sides. They are as rough
as a nutmeg grater.”

Same Yachtsman (after an upset) —“Gee Wil-
licans! How in creation is a wan to hold on to
a slippery thing like this?”

——_——_—_-e-—e—__—__—_—
BIG COINS,

 

Annam, a French protectorate of Asia,
has a silver coin that weighs as much as
fifteen United States dollars. The largest
gold coin in circulation is the ‘‘loof,’’? which
also belongs to the oriental French gerd

mentioned above. This monster gold d

will weigh as much as three hundred and
twenty-five American gold dollars. The gold
piece which comes next in size to the ‘‘loof?’
is the ‘tobang’’ of ee coin containing
jor forty-seven dollars’ worth of pure
gold.

 

 
3648

Cat RD bo

 

_ NIBBSEY,

THE BOY WHO KNEW IT ALL.
BY SAUL WRIGHT.

ee ~~

LI.

NIBBSEY’S FIRST NIGHT AT THE FARM.

oy HEN old Mr. Pettengill came home

, late that night—that is, it was late

“Y\VY~ «for the country, being nearly nine
<c) o’clock—he was astonished to learn
that his wife had engaged the new ‘‘help.’’

‘*Yeou might hey waited till I got hum,”’
he growled. ‘‘Tew dollars a week is a pile
0’ money.’’

‘<I know ’tis, Ezry,’’ said the old lady,
**but I dew b’lieve the boy’s wuth it. He’s
mighty smart.’’

‘*Wa-al, he orter be tew ’arn that money.
Haow old did yeou say he wuz?’’

‘*?Baout fourteen or fifteen.’’

‘*When I wuz that age I couldn’t make no
tew dollars a week, b’gosh.’’

‘‘T know ’tis an awful lot o’ money tew
pay aout,’’ said Mrs. Pettengill, becoming
remorseful, ‘‘but ef he don’t turn aout tew
be wuth it we kin send him away, Ezry.”’

‘“‘Wa-al, I guess that’s ’baout what’ll be
done,’’ grunted the old farmer. ‘‘I wanter
see that there boy; where is he?’’

‘‘He’s abed, an’ asleep.’’

He wasn’t, though. He had retired to his
room half an hour before, but had sneaked
down stairs when he heard Mr. Pettengill
come in; and was, we regret to state, stand-
ing behind the hall door, listening to the
conversation between the aged couple.

**T’ll see him in the mornin’,’’ said the
farmer, ‘‘an’ ’twun’t take me long tew size
him up.”’

‘*T guess yeou wun’t say I made
mistake,’’ said Mrs. Pettengill, meekly.

‘‘Wa-al, I dunno,’’ replied the old man,
dubiously. ‘‘Ennyhaow, I’m tew tired tew
talk enny more abaout it tew-night.”’

‘*Hed a hard arternoon, I s’pose??’

‘‘T hev that. Ill sleep tew-night in spite
o’ the ghosts, ef there wuz a dozen on ’em.’’

At this, Nibbsey pricked up his ears and
listened intently.

‘*Don’t talk that way,’’ shuddered Mrs.
Pettengill, nervously. ‘‘I don’t b’lieve
there’s no ghosts in the haouse.’’

‘*T don’t, neither, but there’s lots o’ folks
that dew, an’ I got this haouse fer ’baout
five hundred dollars less’n et’s wuth on that
accaount.’’

‘‘T know it. They. dew say that a murder
wuz committed here, don’t they?’’

‘*Yes; but that’s all fule talk. Yeou can’t
skeer Ezry Pettengill with no sech stuff ez
that. Ef there wuz ever a murder done
here, it can’t hurt us none;~an’ 6z for
ghosts, let ’em come on—I’m ready fer ’em.’’

At this point Nibbsey gave a low, sepul-
chral groan
i The effect on the aged couple was start-
ing.

Mrs. Pettengill uttered a shriek that might
have been heard a mile, and her husband
exclaimed:

‘‘Great jumpin’ jingo! what wuz that?’’

‘“‘Revenge! revenge!’’ wailed Nibbsey, in
atone that sounded like the expiring moan
of a dying cat.

The old lady rushed into the next room,
yelling:

‘‘Murder! thieves! fire! help!’’

Mr. Pettengill was even worse scared. He
retreated into a closet, and slammed the‘door
after him.

Then Nibbsey, who was enjoying the mat-
inee immensely, in his artless, child-like
way, waltzed into the room, and locked both
the doors.

This done, he stationed himself in front of
the closet, and said, in a voice that would
have made boiling water run cold:

**Ezra Pettengill!’’ °

‘*T—I an’t here—I mean I didn’t do nuth-
in’,’’ quavered the old farmer. ‘‘Mr. Ghost,
please go away !”’

‘-Not till 2 have fulfilled my mission,’’
said Nibbsey. ‘‘There is a boy stopping with
you; a bright, intelligent lad, known as
Nibbsey, is there not???’

‘*Y-yes, I b’lieve there is.’’

‘‘He is the true heir to this estate, and I
command you to surrender it to him. I am
his grandfather on his uncle’s side. There is
a wart on the title to this house, which ren-
ders your claim to its ownership of no value.
Be kind and gentle to little Nibbsey, or fear
my wrath. Enough! I am called away!’’

And the youth tip-toed out of the room, a
broad grin on his face, leaving the old folks
to release themselves from their places of
imprisonment as best they might.

About five minutes later, a loud crash
in the kitchen told him that Mr. Pet-
tengill had burst the lock of the closet door
and freed himself. —

The listening boy next heard him release
his wife from her place of imprisonment;
then the. venerable couple began an excited

dialogue. he
‘“‘T guess I won’t listen,’’ reflected Nibb-
principle, to eaves-

no

sey. ‘‘I am opposed, on

dropping—it seems low and mean.

I am tired.’’ ly
So he closed and locked his

 

NEWS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Re

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AT THIS POINT NIBBSEY GAVE A LOW, SEPULCHRAL GROAN, THE EFFECT ON THE

AGED COUPLE WAS STARTLING.

 

 

FRE i Marriage Paper with 1000 ads of
Ladies and Gents, listsof Novelties,rare

books, etc, GUNNEL’S MONTHLY, TOLEDO, OH1O,

Mention Good News.
R K penses paid. If you want employment write
at once toP. O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine.

Mention Good News,

FOR ALL. $75 a month salary and ex-

BUY DIRECT AND SAVE DEALER’S
I $12, AND AGENT’S PROFITS.
Yr buy our Oxford Boss Bicycle, suit-
; A jable for either sex, made of best ma-
Le a Lo” terial, strong, substantial, accurately
adjusted and fully warranted. Write to-day for our
large complete catalogue of bicycles, parts, repairs, etc.,
freee OXFORD MEG. CO.
338 Wabash Avenue, - CHICAGO, ILL,
Mention Good News.

POPULAR BOOKS

BY

ALGER, JAYNE, ELLIS,
PUTNAM, GRAYDON.

“six BooKs ses” O06.

have secured from a sacrifice sale a small
number of books (averaging 300 pages
to each book) by
Horatio Alger, Jr.. Edward &. Ellis,
Lieut. Jayne, Arthur Lee Putnam,
Wm. Murray Graydon.

.

We

The volumes are bound in durable covers, and

 

illustrated. The titles are:

about thirty seconds was in the arms of the| without settling with the cashier, when he $500; or Jacob Marlowe's Secret.

late Mr. Morpheus, so to speak.

At five o’clock the next morning, Mr.
Mrs. Pettengill were up and dressed,
Nibbsey had not appeared.

‘“This wun’t dew,’’ said the old man,
had recovered from his fright, and was feel-
ing rather ugly. ‘‘Ef that there boy is
a-goin’ tew work fer me, he’s got. ter git uy
afore this. I’ll go up tew his room an’ pull
him aout o’ bed in a way that he’ll remem-
ber.’

«(Don’t be tew ha’sh with him,’’ said Mrs.
Pettengill, tremulously. ‘‘Remember what
the ghost said.’’

‘‘)?m a-runnin’ this here haouse, an’ I’m
a-goin’ tew run it my way, ghost or no
ghost,’’ said the old farmer, doggedly.

“But——"?

‘oTan’t no use tew talk tew me when I’ve
got my mind made up. I'll l’arn that boy
a lesson. Guess he wun’t lay in bed till no
five o’clock ter-morrer.’’

and
but

who

And Mr. Pettengill started up stairs four |

steps at a time.

He found Nibbsey’s doorlocked, and he
gave it a resounding thump with his clinched
fist, shouting:

‘*Yeou git up, naow!’’

There was no response.

‘‘Dew yeou hear me?’’ continued the old
man.

Just then he observed that there was a
slip of paper pinned on the door. He put on
his spectacles, and read the following:

“Back at eight o'clock. Please have break-

fast nice and hot for me. I would like broiled
chicken and buckwheat cakes. NIBBSEY.”’
AN IMPORTANT EXCEPTION.

An old man who entered the Meteorologi-
cal Office, the other day, said:

‘This ’ere’s where you give out weather
predictions, an’t it?” _ ,

The clerk nodded.

‘Well,’ continued the old man, “I
thought as how I could come up and give
you somé tips.”

“Yes,” said the clerk, politely.

“Yes; I’ve thought it out a little, an’ I
find that ye an’t al’ays right.”

‘No; we sometimes make mistakes.”

“’Course ye do. Weall does some time.
Now, I was thinkin’ as how a line that used

to be on the auction hand-bills down in our |

county might do first rate on your weather
predictions an’ save ye a lot of explainin’.”
“What was the line ?”
‘Wind an’ weather permittin’.”
He went off without waiting to say good-
by.

a
A CHEAP DINNER.

At many restaurants a metal check, very
much like a quarter, is given by the waiter
to the customer as a ticket of what he has to
pay. A simple-minded Irishman, who had
just arrived, going into a well-known restau-
rant, called for dinner. When the waiter
brought it he laid down the metal .check.

Paddy, astonished, said to himself:

“Be jabers, this is the land for me; when
a man asks for some dinner they give him a
bit of money besides.”

When he had swallowed his meal,

nh the de-
in’ lighted Paddy started to leave the restaurant

was stopped by the waiter with:

“Hullo! Where’s your money?
going without paying ?

“Why would ye be afther giving me the
bit of money at all if ye meant to take it
away again? ‘Take your dirty money! Per-
haps yell be afther wishin’ me to return me
dinner to ye again ?”

So saying, Paddy threw the metal check
down on the counter and marched off in a’
state of virtuous indignation, leaving the
waiter and proprietor standing speechless
with amazement.

rr
FRIED ICE CREAM.

Are you

Fried ice cream has become very popular
in Philadelphia. A small, solid cake of ice-
cream is enveloped in a thin sheet of pie-
crust, and then dipped in boiling water or
butter long enough to cook the outside cover-
‘ing toacrisp. If served immediately, the
ice cream is found to be as solidly frozen as
when it was first prepared. The process of
frying is so quickly accomplished, and the
pon, is so good a protector, that the heat

as no chance to reach the frozen cream.

oie:
cE ET

T THIS OUT and send it to us with your name
at aceon and we will send you this elegant watch
by express for examination. You examine it andif you
consider it a bargain pay the express agent our sample
price, $1.98, and it is yours. Fine gold plate Chain
and Charm FREE with each watch, also our written Quar-
antee for 5 years. Write to-da y, this may not appear again.
| THE NATIONAL MFC. & IMPORTING CO.,,
| 334 Dearborn Street, Chicago, Ill.

 

| ‘ This cnt is the exact |

| uipaas size and style of the
|. Agen ; , GOOD NEWs Club Badge.
The badge is made of a
high

reader will be proud to
: eh wear. Any reader send-
| yi \} ing us 10 centsin stamps
| or silver will receive a

badge.

Electroty pes for print-
ing the badge on letter
heads, cards, ete., will be
sent post-paid on receipt

, of twenty-five cents.
Ten cents is all that is required to secnré this
handsome badge. Address Goop News Corre-
sponding Club, 29 Rose street, New York. ;
C BOUND VOLUMES OF GOOD
NEWS.
four, and five, bound in an attractive
heavy paper cover. ‘Twenty - six
numbers constitute a volume. The
papers are cut and trimmed and
bound with as much care as an expensive cloth
binding, and the price is 7
EIGHTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.
These volumes contain serial stories by
Edward 8. Ellis, Horatio Alger,
Jas, Otis, . Edward Stratemeyer,
Harry Castlemon, Wm. Murray Graydon,
Walter Morris, Oliver Optic,
W. B. Lawson, Lieut. Lounsberry,
And others equally well known,
Address Subscription Department Good NEws,
29 Rose street, New York.

|

 

grade of German |
~ , Bi Silver; artistic in design |
\ i ; and something every }

We have issued volumes two, three, /

BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
ARTHUR HELMUTH,
BY E. S. ELLis,
THE RAJAW’S FORTRESS.
BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON.
PERILS OF THE JUNGLE.
BY LIEUT. R.
A NEW YORK BOY.

"BY ARTHUR LEK PUTNAM,

Hl. JAYNE.

TOM TRACY,
BY ARTHUR-LEE PUTNAM,

The supply is small, and will soon be exhausted.
We therefore advise all who desire a set of valuable
books for fifty cents, by favorite attthors, to send in
their orders at once. ‘The books average over 300
| pages each, and fi cents will secure the set of
| six. Single books will be sent on receipt of twenty
five cents. Address STRERT & SMITH, 29 Rese St.,
New York.

 

IT AND PAY FREIGHT.

proved High Arm Singersewing machine

tot finely finished, nickel plated, adapted to light

OYA 2nd heavy work; guaranteed for 10 ears; with
iv Automatic Bobbin Winder, Self-Threading Cytiné

4) der Shuttle, Self-Setting Needle and a coniple’

set of Steel Attachments; shipped any where on

80 Day’s Trial. No money required in 2d ‘ance.

15,000 now fnuse. World’s Fair Meda) awarded machine and: Atach:
ments. Buy from factory and save dealer’s and agent’s profits.
Cat This Out and send to-day for machine or large free

FRE catalogue, testimonials and Glimpses of the World’s Fair,

OXFORD MFG. CO, 242 Wabash Ave. CHICAGO, ILL,”
Mention Good News.

 

 

) Giving allof the |
arsman’s Mantal, =ost ‘vatuavte
hints for the

ractice of this sport. Both amateur and pro-
essional. Written by a well-known expert. ‘To
those about to learn and those already proficient

 

 

 

ee greg

It téaches Coe Reach, Finish,

Feather, Recovery, Grasp, Use of the Legs,

Sliding Seats, Seulling, ete. ‘The book is illus-

trated, and will be sent, postpaid. to any address

on receipt of 10 cents. Address, MANUAL
LIBRARY, 29 Rose St., New York.

Good News. Binder
Price 50 Cents...

Answers the purpose of a bound volume, Holding
fifty-two copies comfortably.

It is, without doubt, the finest binder ever offered
even for double the price we ask, and is indispens-
able to those who are keeping their papers, as it
not only preserves GOOD Nrws for future reference,
and from being lost, but keeps them clean, and in
good order. Itis both useful and ornamental.

It has a durable black embossed cover with
flexible back, and a gold stamp title on the outside
cover, TItopens flatas any book, and each week's

aper can be. inserted as soon as received. Full
directions for inserting the paper accompany each
binder, ; Fmt

We will send the Goop Nrws binder, and a pack-

useful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ceipt of 50 cents.

 

BANIMTTIDG Be sureana.use “Mrs. Winslow's
Soothing eyeuy" for your children
while Teething. 25 cents a bottle

contain stories of adventure and romance, and are

WIFE CANNOT SEE HOW YOU DO

Buys our 2drawer walnut or oak Im- ©

age of binder pins, postpaid, to any address on re-, ~

ag