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Entered According lo Act of Congress.
Entered as Second-ciass Matter ai the New

STREET & SMITH

29 Rose Sti

Vol. 10.

eet,

OR;

HARRY HALES ROAD PO SUCCESS.

BY HENRY HARRISON

{“UPRIGHT AND HONEST”

CHAPTER I\

THE CAPTURE.
VAN THIEF! Help!”
; ( Such were Harry Hale’s words |
jf ~ when he sprang upon the clever

e“~ trickster,
that the announcement and the appeal would
bring aid promptly to his side.

He was disappointed in his expectations,

and he confidently expected |

tion oO
Harry
| _ He

as 1

| coat,

quick
force,

e~ ..
ye

Publishers
New York.

UPRIGHT AND HONEST;

grasp.

The

nose.

HAINES.

| plished boxer could

co,
10 a TH ©)

“WITH ORUSADE R AND SARACEN,” BY ALFRED ARMITAGE.

 

 

 

 

 

| oy
. ae €

an East ye

 

in the Year 1894, by Street &d Smiih, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
Post- Office.

Ws hike

York,

he York: ‘November 10, 1894,

have done,

instructor had tau; ght | him. tough, but now Harry slipped
He ducked. |caught his arms in a firm grasp, and held
| The movement was made too late, how- | him: fast, despite his desperate struggles.
ever, to wholly evade the blow. An excited lot of people now pressed

He caught it with about half

force, on the side of his head,
made him stagger,

around. Then the thief

ee ee ee ee ee eee ee eee

{time to do something else which his boxing |

and even that
and turned him half-way | demanded a middle
turned,
to bolt through the confused mass of exc ited |

 

 

 

 

Washingion, D. QO.

Annan earns anttel tel ea"

Subscription Price,
$2.50 per Year. 0,

236.

being plucky as well as

He sg quickly,
behind him,

its direct around them.
}  ‘*What’s all

of

 

this about?’’ authoritatively
aged gentlem an, coming
and tried | from behind the railing

‘Are you Mr. Herbert?’’ asked Harry.

 

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  

people. Sh a mee
; Recovering himself, Harry leaped after ‘‘Ts this man in your employ?’
was commenced last weel.] |him, caught him around the body, gave| ‘‘No.’’
|} him ai . English ‘‘cross buttock,’’? and hurled} ‘‘I thought not, and yet he made Mrs
f affairs highly favorable to the rascal him, with immense force, to the hard floor. ! Dobson think he was, and obtained from her
had clutched by the arm. 7
had taken a firm grip, but the hold Wii:
ipon the loose sleeve of the fellow’s WN Anlh
and did not include the arm. Witha Bein
wrench, twisting about with great ' a
he freed himself from the boy’s pp
ey yi
n he hit out as straight as any.accom a

for Harry’s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

however, for the well filled office at once Taken off his guard, Harry did not have
became the scene of wild confusion, a condi time to block the blow, but he did have
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“YOUR'E A MIGHTY SHREWD BOY

TO SPOT SUCH A CLEVER GAME,”

SAID

THE POLICEMAN,
 

 

3762

the big envelope you had just given her,
saying that a mistake was to be rectified. |
think I saw the package peeping from his
inner coat pocket.’’
As Mr. Herbert opened the young man’s
, coat, the latter made a desperate effort to
break away.
‘‘Make another effort like that and [ll
lift you and dash you down on the floor!”’
sternly said Harry.
The fellow subsided.
Into one of his pockets went Mr. Herbert’s
hand, and forth came the valuable envelope.
**That settles it,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘This is
the package of money I handed to Mrs. Dob-
son less than five minutes ago, and it con-
tains something over two thousand dollars.
Mr. Ray, fetch a policeman,”’
But as one of the clerks started to obey
the order of the head of the firm, the burly
form of a blue-coated guardian of the peace
appeared in the doorway, attracted by the

crowd that the exciting occurrence had
assembled. .
‘‘What’s the trouble here?’’ asked the

policeman, and then he caught sight of the
fellow Harry was clutching so firmly by the
arms, and uttered an exclamation of sur-
prise.

‘*Why,’’ he cried, ‘‘it’s Nosey Green!’’

‘*And who is Nosey Green?’’ interestedly
inquired Mr. Herbert.

‘*Why, he’s one of the cleverest confidence
men in the country, and as slippery a cove
as ever twisted out of a copper’s hands,’’
returned the officer. ‘‘Hold him fast, my
lad, while I put the nippers on him.’’

“Oh, I’) go along all right,’’ smoothly
said Nosey Green.

‘““] know you will, when I get a good
twist of the nippers on you., You gave me
the slip once on a time, Mr. Nosey, and this
time J’l1l make sure of you. What’s the
charge, sir?’’

This was addressed to Mr. Herbert, who
briefly narrated what had taken place.

The policeman looked with admiration at
the boy who had captured the notorious
confidence man.

‘*How did you spot him, my boy?”’

In as few words as possible, Harry told
just how the whole affair had taken | place,
and as he concluded his story, one of the
clerks ran out and brought in the hat and
coat recently discarded by Nosey Green.

‘‘Well, this is a dead sure case against
him, and you’re a mighty shrewd boy to
spot such a clever game and checkmate it,’’
warmly said the policeman. ‘‘What is your
name?’’

‘*Harry Hale.’?’

‘*And your address?’’

Harry gave it to him.

‘‘Tf 1 am not mistaken,’’ said the officer,
‘‘Y think there is a reward out for this

arty, and if .so, you will certainly get it.
Now, young strong.arm,’’ to Harry, ‘‘if you
and Mr. Herbert will come along to the
police station and tell your stories at the
desk, I’ll be obliged to you.’’

‘*T’ll go with you as soon as I restore this

envelope to the rightful owner,’’ said Mr.
Herbert.
. He returned the valuable package to Mrs.
Dobson, with a few words of explanation to
that lady, and then he and Harry walked
along with the officer and the thief to the
police station. :

There they told their stories to the sergeant
at the desk, and after due entries were made
in the big blotter, they departed.

‘*Please come back to my office with me,’’
requested Mr. Herbert. ‘‘I want to talk
over this affair with you. That Mrs. Dob-
son is one of our best customers, and we
have had charge of all her city property for
years, renting, collecting and general man-
agement, She is a very worthy lady indeed,
but eccentric and uncertain, and if she had

suffered the loss of that money in such a
manner she would have unreasonably blamed
us, and we might have lost her patronage
through no fault of ours. Now,’’ putting
his hand in his pocket, and drawing forth a
plump-looking pocket-book, ‘‘if I could recog-
nize your brave service——’’

“Sir,’’ hastily interrupted Harry, ‘‘I beg
that you will not try to pay me for prevent-
ing a crime.’’

**You speak nobly, and I assure you that
I did not mean to offer a boy of your stamp
and appearance any money payment, but
thought you might permit me to purchase a
present for you, such as a bicycle, or a ring,
or some such trifle.’’

‘**It would still be taking payment for pre-
venting the commission of a crime,’’ firmly
said Harry, ‘‘and I could not think of ac-
cepting it.’’

_ ‘*Well, I honor you for expressing such a
noble and unusual sentiment,’’ said Mr.
ferbert. ‘‘But I still feel that 1 want to do
something for you.”’

‘“‘And so-you can,’’ rejoined Harry. ‘*You
can give me what I need—employment.’’

CHAPTER V.
GUSSIE HERBERT’S APPEAL.

      
   

UST as Harry made the request for
f employment, they arrived at the real
estate office.

c ‘‘Come into the private office with
me,’’ requested Mr. Herbert, ‘‘and we'll

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privacy of his personal office, and-then Mr.
Herbert, without saying a word, looked
long and intently at the boy.

‘You say you want employment,’’ he at
length said, with a little doubtful shake of
his head. ‘‘But here, even if we needed
anybody, only very moderate salaries are

paid. ”’
‘‘Mr. Herbert,’’ manfully said Harry,
‘‘just now you looked for two minutes at

this suit which I am wearing, and I think I
understand what makes you speak as you
do, for the suit cost seventy dollars, and
your employees would not purchase such
clothing. When I buy another suit, [ may
be glad to get a ready-made one for about
ten dollars. Yesterday I tossed a dollar to a
man who cared for my father’s team at the
base-ball grounds, but to-day I am seeking a
situation for a few dollars a week, in order
to support my mother and myself.’’

And then, while Mr. Herbert listened to
him with interest and attention, he told the
story of disaster.

‘*Ah!’? then exclaimed Mr. Herbert, ‘‘you
are the son of the Mandeville Hale, who—
who——’’

Disliking to wound the boy’s feelings, he
hesitated for a bland term.

‘‘Who ran away, Mr. Herbert,’’ bravely
added the boy. ‘‘Yes, [am his son, and I
have walked the streets all this morning
seeking honest employment.’’

‘*Which is highly creditable to you.
what do you understand?”’

‘‘Nothing in particular, but I learn easily,
and am willing to make myself generally
useful.’

‘‘But the salaries in this business are really
very small.”’

‘*Do you pay any employee what he makes
himself worth?’’ asked the boy.

‘Yes?

‘*Then it depends upon my own efforts to
make myself wortha big salury,’’ smartly
said Harry Hale. ‘‘To start with, however,
I’ll take enough to buy bread and butter.’’

‘*That’s well said,’’ smiled Mr. Herbert.

‘*But ve got no recommendations from
any previous employers.’’

**Your conduct this day is enough recom-
mendation for me,’’? warmly said the other.
‘*You are a smart, intelligent and upright
lad, and honesty is stamped on your face.
Now I will be frank with you: we really do
not need any extra help at present, so the
salary to start you must necessarily be
small.’’
‘‘Name it,’’ said Harry. ‘‘It must be my
business to warrant an increase.”’
‘*T will start you at five dollars a week.”’
‘*T will take it,’’ promptly said Harry,
and then he smiled.
‘*Why do you smile?’’ asked Mr. Herbert.
‘‘Why, I was just thinking that five dol-
lars is the sum I paid for a sweater last
week to use in bicycle riding. I didn’t know
the value of money then. Well, sir, will
you be kind enough to tell me my duties?’’
‘‘Well, you will have a large number of
small matters to attend to, but they will all
help to pick up the details of this business.
We handle real estate in all forms, buying,
selling, renting, collecting, etc., and—by
the way, you haven’t too much pride to take
a bunch of keys and show a floor or a house
to our customers, have you?’’
‘‘T haven’t too much pride to do anything
an is honest and respectable,’’ answered
arr
‘Well, you’ll have to show apartments,
collect rents, look after the insurances, write
permits,. and, in short, take part in all
branches of our business. ’’
‘*Very well, sir. When am I to begin?’’
‘When will you be ready?’’
‘Tam ready now.”’
“Very g Then you are engaged from
this hour, and your pay commences at once.
Let me see; it is just noon. Where did you
intend to get your lunch?”’
‘‘At home with my mother, who will be
pleased to hear that I have succeeded in ob-
taining employment.’’
‘‘Very well. Now, there are some papers
at my house which I desire to have brought
here this afternoon. I will give you a line
to my daughter, who will give you what I
require, and you can bring them here after
you have had your lunch.’’
He wrote a note, addressed it, and gave it
to Harry.
Away went the boy, feeling happy that
his quest for work had met with success.
‘*Five dollars a week isn’t much,’’ thought
Harry Hale, as he strode homeward; ‘‘but
if I am worth that without understanding
the business, then the question of more
wages in only a matter of time.’’
Quite enthusiastically, he burst into his
mother’s modest apartments, gave her a hug
and a kiss, and told her of his success.
And then she called him a man, and
laughed and cried in a breath, and after
that they sat down to a plain, substantial
lunch, which Harry ate with the keen appe-
tite that belongs to a growing boy.

Then he gayly ‘clined his mother good-by.
‘‘T’m off to work,’’ he cheerily said, and
started for Mr. Herbert’s house. '
He found it at the corner of an elegant
brown-stone row, rang the bell, and in re-
sponse to the inquiry of the servant who
came to the door, he handed over the note
addressed to Miss Gussie Herbert.

Well,

NEWS.

 

A few moments later he heard light feet
come tripping down the stairs, and then a
girl of fifteen appeared in the doorway.

‘*This is Mr. Hale, I sup——’’

The girl got just so far in a tone of in-
quiry, and then came to a sudden stop.

Her eyes grew large aud round, and the
rich color came into her cheeks.

As for Harry, although he prided himself
on his self-possession, he blushed like a girl,
and could not say a word.

The mutual embarrassment of the young
couple is easily explained.

In Gussie Herbert, Harry recognized the
pretty blonde admirer who had thrown him
the bunch of flowers on the ball-field, and
the girl, of course, had recognized him.

The girl was the first to find her tongue.

‘‘Why, you are the young gentleman I saw
at the Prospect Park ball-grounds, are you
not?’’ she asked.

‘*T am,’’ replied Harry.

‘*And you work for papa?’’

esT do.’?

‘*Why,’’ wonderingly said Gussie, ‘‘I saw
you drive away with a team which my
friends said was your own, and I thought
you—you-——’’

And then she checked herself, and blushed
redder than ever.

Harry Hale held up his head proudly.

‘*You thought I was a rich young gentle-
man, I suppose?’’ he said, quietly, but with
an air of dignity.

‘*Yes, I did,’’ responded the girl.

‘““So.I was,’’ rejoined Harry. ‘‘In one
day all the wealth of my family was swept
away, and I was compelled to seek employ-
ment in order to suppert my mother and
myself.’

‘*That’s all right,’’ she said. ‘‘Money isn’t
everything in this world. How strange,
though, that you should have found employ-
ment with papa. He says in his note to me
that you rendered him a great service.’’

‘‘He is really too grateful over such a
trifling matter,’’ said Harry.

‘*What was it?’’ asked Gussie.

Modestly, and in clear terms, Harry told

clever confidence man.

Gussie Herbert was a girl of spirit, and
her big blue eyes fairly sparkled as she
listened to the exciting tale.

‘‘That was grand,’’ she cried. ‘‘I wish I
could have seen it. I can see that you are

a certain matter from just such a person.
Mr. Hale, can I look to you?’

our hero, ‘‘and you may command me. But
I am only sixteen, and would prefer to have
you call me Harry.”’

“Very well, Harry,’’ replied the sweet-
faced blonde, with a little laugh.

have you call me Gussie.”’

‘tT agree,’’ smilingly responded the boy.

The girl’s face grew grave, and, with a
little quiver in her voice, she said:

‘*The matter in which I earnestly ask your
aid is this:

‘‘T have a brother, Frank, two years my
senior.
‘‘Frank is a good-hearted boy, and I love
him dearly, but he is not the good boy he
used to be.
‘‘He is not very resolute; he is very fond
of all sorts of dissipation, and he keeps me
worried from morning till night.
‘‘Papa is a good man, but there is one
little defect in his character, which makes |
it hard for poor Frank. He is either too in-
dulgent, or else too severe in the matter of
correction. Consequently, he has helped to
spoil Frank, and yet my brother fears him.
he result of this is that they are drifting
apart, and that’s a bad thing for a father
and a son.
‘‘Papa knows that Frank has been carry-
ing on wickedly of late, drinking, gambling,
staying out late, and dissipating generally,
and he has talked harshly to the boy.
‘‘Now, Harry, more than once I have seen
an expression on Frank’s face which made
me think that he felt like putting his arms
around papa’s neck and confessing something
to him, but papa’s countenance was alto-
Lateral too forbidding. I can read my

rother’s face, and 1am sure that there is
something on his mind which he would like
to say to his father, but he lacks the cour-
age.
‘‘Why not try to make him open his mind
to you?’’ suggested Harry, much interested.
‘*T have tried, and he only gives me eva-
sive answers. ’’
‘‘He probably wants to ask pardon of your
father, and promise ‘to reform,’’ said Harry.
The girl shook her head mournfully, and
tears stood in her eyes.
“T’m afraid it’s something more than
that,’’ she said, sadly. ‘‘Listen:
‘*My brother’s most constant companion is
a man named Arlington Mace, ten or fifteen
years older than Frank.
‘“‘This man leads Frank into all sorts of
dissipation, and I have heard enough fall
from their lips to convince me that he has
some sort of hold on Frank. My brother is
completely under his control, and this man
is leading him from bad to worse.

 

 

 

talk further.’’
A moment later, they were seated in the

 

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He was shown into a side room, while the
note was taken to the person addressed,

  
 

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the secret of this man’s power over Frank,
and also try to reclaim him?’’

‘*T certainly will if I can,’’ replied the
boy.

‘* And, above all, try to save him from the
effects of my father’s anger,’’ pleaded the
girl. ‘‘My father is terrible in his wrath,
and I am afraid he could be bitter enough
to prosecute even his own son. You will do
what you can for Frank??’

‘‘T promise you,’’ simply returned Harry.
‘*But I do not know him.’’

‘*You will probably meet him here or at
papa’s office. If I have any chance to bring
you together, I will do so.’’

Then she gave him the package required
by her father, and when she said good-by
to him, put her hand in Harry’s with an
impulsive movement that brought the color
to the boy’s face.

‘‘T hope you will call whenever you feel
like doing so,’’ she said, and then Harry
bowed himself out, and walked away, ina
state of feeling which he could not describe
even to himself.

‘‘How exceedingly pretty she is,’’ he
thought, as he strode along with a light step.

CHAPTER VI.

HARRY’S SUSPICIONS.
2~9O>
5 OWN to the real estate office went
fs) Harry Hale, and there met Mr. Her-
fe </ bert, to whom he handed over the
=> package given him by Gussie.
The other members of the firm were there,

}and Harry was introduced to them by Mr.
| Herbert in highly complimentary terms.

Gussie Herbert glanced approvingly at
| him.

They patted him approvingly on the back,
and.told him they were glad to have such a
brave, energetic boy in their service.

 

older

the story of the morning adventure with the |

Harry was still blushing frorn the compli-
ments they paid him, when Mr. Herbert
‘alled in the two clerks, Charlie Dayton
and Percy Ray, young men, some years
than our hero, and introduced the
plucky boy to them.

Baggs, the janitor, came last, and having
been formally presented to his _ fellow-
workers, the general utility clerk was at

| once set to work at one branch of his busi-
| ness, which was to learn how to fill in the

brave, strong and honest, and I need help in }

blank forms of ‘‘deposit’’ receipts.

Then ‘he was given a bunch of keys and
sent with a gentleman and lady who wished
to look at a handsome flat.

Harry showed them through the rooms,

;and being a smart, brainy boy, quick to
| grasp the details of his occupation, told them

“T am at your service,’’ gallantly said |

‘*T will | the
do so on condition that you will remember | month’s rent on the spot, and went away to
that I am only fifteen, and would prefer to | engage a moving van.

|

; smiled his employer.

 

‘Oh, Harry, I love my brother dearly,
and I tremble for him. Will you try to learn

 

in a few words the advantages of the flat,
dwelt somewhat on the fact that the front
windows faced the west, and would always
provide them with a breeze in fair weather,
and, in short, made them so charmed with
apartments, that they paid him a

Quite elated with his success, and feeling
some pardonable pride, Harry marched
briskly to the office.

‘*Well?’’ inquiringly said Mr. Herbert.

‘““There’s a month’s rent, sir,’’? returned
Harry, laying the money down,

Mr. Herbert laughed loudly.

‘‘Why, Dayton and Ray, and even my
partners, have been trying to rent that flat
for the past two months,’’ he said. ‘‘How
did you do it?”’

‘‘Merely pointing out the various advan-
tages of the place.’’

“It never seemed to have any. before,’’
‘*‘Now go to Mr.
Strong, and he will show you how to make
out a lease.’’

So some three or four days passed by, the
boy rapidly acquiring the details of the
different branches, and winning constant ap-
proval from his employers.

His mother seemed resigned, and that was
a great relief to Harry, who had feared that
ae might pine and sicken under her afflic-

ions.

He had been nearly a week at work, and
was just returning from an errand up town,
when not more than half a block from the
office he came upon two boys clad in the
well-known uniform of the American Dis-
trict Telegraph Company.

One had just struck the other as Harry
came up, and, as the day’s work was done,
and he only had to report to the office, he
halted for a moment out of mere curiosity.

‘*What are yer hittin’ me fur?’’ denianded
the boy who got the blow, squaring off.

“Ter make yer give up,’’ replied the
other, in a rage.

‘*Give up what?’’

‘*Half o’ ther money.’’

‘*What money?’’

‘‘Ther money yer got from ther x
give yer dat telegram.’’

‘“‘Why, an’t it all mine?’’

‘*No, tan’t, and yer know it. Was the biz
reg’lar?’?

“Why wasn’t it?’’

‘‘Cause it wasn’t, an’ yer know it.

’an what

He

comes up to yer and tells yer to put ther

aren in yer book, an’ deliver it, and
he’ll give yer half a dollar. An’ yer does
it, an’ he forks over the half, an’ I say yer
ought to divide with me.’’

‘*Suppose I don’t?’’

‘‘Then I tells the manager.’?

‘Oh, well, what’s the use o’ kickin’ about
twenty-five cents?’’

      
         
   
 

    
      
 
 
      
         
     
 
        
       
   
 
      
 
      

   
 
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
    
    
    
   
    
     
   
     
  
   
     
  
  
  
    
 
  
    
 
   
  
  
  
  
      
     
   
   
    
   
 
  
    
    
   
  
  
    
    
    
   
   
   
    
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
     
   
  
   
   
   
     
     
   
  
    
    
   
   
  
   
      
   
    
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
    
   
    
   
    
    
   
    
   
    
    
   
    
    
   
  
    
     
    
   
     
  
  
   
  
 

etaiarnsens

“You give up an’ then the!
any kick; see?’’

“ All right,’’ grumbled the ot!
the two messengers walked awa
ing up their quarrel. .

“They’ve been doing somethi
to the rules of the compan
Harry, as he passed on, ‘‘and |
honest persons, they are quar
the spoils.’’

Just then he reached the door
and was almost knocked down |
Baggs, who, satchel in han
coming out. f

A strong friendship had sj
tween Harry and the porter, ¢
the latter was evidently in a gr
came to a moment’s halt and
hand to the boy.

‘‘Good-by, Harry,’’ he said
again ina day or two, Just ti
train to Albany, where—here, ©
' story.’’

And thrusting an envelope
hand, he darted away.

Harry opened the envelope, a1

it contained a telegram.

lt was an ordinary communic
on the familiar yellow blanks
graph company.

It was from Albany, addre
Baggs, in care of Herbert,
Strong, and was signed Peter |

The message contained these

“Come home first train and see
she dies.”’

There was nothing so very u
this death-bed summons, and y'
tinued to gaze thoughtfully at‘

He was, as the reader kno1
and an observer.

For a couple of minutes he s
deep thought, and then wal
office.

‘‘Ray,’’ he said to that cler!
a telegram a little while ago, d

“Yes.”

‘‘How long ago
5 ‘‘ About fifteen minutes. ’’
i ‘¢Who took it from the mess¢
“Baggs himself, who hap
standing near at hand.”’

4 ‘‘Did he sign the receipt boo
1) ‘““Wes,’? returned Ray, ‘‘I kr
cause he borrowed my pencil t

‘Did the messenger boy h
white plaster on the bridge of

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Thanks. Is Mr. Herbert i
office?’

‘¢Yes; just finishing up.
half an hour.’’

‘Ray, will you please ask
not to go away until | return?
in about fifteen minutes.’’

‘‘What’s up, Hale?’’

‘Tl tell you later. Tell M
return in fifteen minutes.”’

And away darted Harry at:

Straight to the nearest teleg
went, and looked sharply arou

Several uniformed boys wer
did not see the one he was loo!

Harry walked to the little
he saw the telegraph operator
laid down the card of the rea!

“Tf a telegram should come
out of town correspondent, /
stance, would it come throu;
office?’’ he asked.

‘‘Yes,’? was the reply.
ceived on the through wire fr
headquarters, and then teleg
' We then send it out by mess
done because it is the quickest

‘Well, have you received
within the past hour addre
named Baggs, and in care OL
: ‘¢(No.”?
a ‘‘You are the only operato1
ri AY emi’?
e ‘¢And you didn’t receive th

And Harry showed him tk
had been handed him by the
|! said good-by.
| The operator glanced curiou

of yellow paper. ae

“No, I didn’t receive it, no

operator,’’ he said. ‘‘It loc

you, I suppose, but I can s
_ bogus telegram.’’ :

“You are sure of that?’’

“Certainly. Why, there is
receiving office on it, and tl
the sending and receiving 0]
serve as checks or tracers, ar
me, and I know all the loc
It is a bogus telegram, beyon
ay Harry’s eyes snapped triun
$ “T supposed as much,’’ |
himself, regarding the bogu
some excitement. ‘‘This 1
a which removes Baggs, is the
| ‘intended crime, which I can |
and which, single-handed,
prevent !’’

9)?

 

 

6)

 

   

 

 

 

(TO BE CONTINU:
eee ge

‘*Don’rT be so reckless, Pat
to one of his hod-carriers. ‘*
ful going over that scaffol
and get killed.’’

‘No danger of thot, sor,
Confidently. ‘‘It’s meself a:
Msured only last Chewsday.’

        
 

 

   

      
  
  

ver Frank,
replied the

n from the
leaded the
his wrath,
ter enough
‘ou will do

ied Harry.

here or at
e to bring

e required
d good-by
S With an
t the color

r you feel
en Harry
way, ina
t deseribe

is,’’? he
light step.

lice went
Mr. Her-
over the
sie,
ere there,
m by Mr.
ermis.
the back,
ve such a
e.
e compli-
Herbert
3 Dayton
ne years
uced the

id having
tellow-
was at

his busi-

ll in the

keys and
1o wished

8 rooms,
quick to
old them
the flat,
he front
d always
weather,
ned with

him a
away to

d feeling
marched

bert.
returned

ven my
that flat
‘* How

$s advan-

before, ’’
to Mr.
Oo make

by, the
of the
tant ap-

hat was
red that
r afflic-

rk, and
p town,
rom the
d in the
an Dis-

s Harry
is done,
fice, he
osity.
manded
fF .

ied the

n what
the biz

it. He
it ther
it, and
er does
say yer

about

   

 

 

‘You give up an’ then there
any kick; see?’’

‘All right,’’ grumbled the other, and then
the two messengers walked away, still. keep-
ing up their quarrel.

“They’ve been doing something contrary
to the rules of the company,’’ thought
Harry, as he passed on, ‘‘and like other dis
honest persons, they are quarreling about
the spoils.’’

Just then he reached the door of the office,
and was almost knocked down by the porter,
Baggs, who, satchel in hand, was _ just
coming out.

A strong friendship had sprung up be
tween Harry and the porter, and although
the latter was evidently in a great hurry, he
came to a moment’s halt and extended his
hand to the boy.

‘‘Good-by, Harry,’’ he said. ‘‘Be back
again in a day or two. Just time to catch a
train to Albany, where—here, this tells the
story.’’

And thrusting an envelope into Harry’s
hand, he darted away.

Harry opened the envelope, and found that
it contained a telegram.

lt was an ordinary communication printed
on the familiar yellow blanks of the tele-
graph company.

It was from Albany, addressed to John
Baggs, in care of Herbert, Wainright &
Strong, and was signed Peter Baggs.

The message contained these words:

won’t be

“Come home first train and see mother before |
she dies.”

There was nothing so very unusual about
this death-bed summons, and yet Harry con
tinued to gaze thoughtfully at the telegram.

He was, as the reader knows, a thinker
and an observer.

For a couple of minutes he stood there in
deep thought, and then walked into the
office. |

‘‘Ray,’’ he said to that clerk, ‘‘Baggs got
a telegram a little while ago, didn’t he?”’

ws Yes. ”?

‘‘How long ago?’’

‘‘ About fifteen minutes.’’

‘‘Who took it from the messenger boy?’’

‘‘Bages himself, who happened to be;
standing near at hand.”’

‘‘Did he sign the receipt book?’’

‘“Yes,’’ returned Ray, ‘‘I know he did, be- |
cause he borrowed my pencil to do it with.”’

‘*Did the messenger boy have a piece of
white plaster on the bridge of his nose?’’

 

‘*Yes, he did.’’
‘‘Thanks, Is Mr. Herbert in the private

office?’’

‘*Yes; just finishing up.
half an hour.’’

‘‘Ray, will you please ask Mr. Herbert
not to go away until lreturn? I'll be back
in about fifteen minutes.’’

‘‘What’s up, Hale?’’

‘‘T7]]1 tell you later. Tell Mr. Herbert I’ll
return in fifteen minutes.’’

And away darted Harry at a brisk pace.

Straight to the nearest telegraph office he |
went, and looked sharply around.

Several uniformed boys were there, but he
did not see the one he was looking for.

Harry walked to the little window where
he saw the telegraph operator standing, and
laid down the card of the real estate firm.

‘‘Tf a telegram should come for us from an |
out of town correspondent, Albany, for in-
stance, would it come through this branch
office?’’ he asked.

‘‘*Yes,’? was the reply. ‘‘It would be re-
ceived on the through wire from Albany, at
headquarters, and then telegraphed to us.
We then send it out by messenger. This is
done because it is the quickest way.’’

‘‘Well, have you received any telegram
within the past hour addressed to a man
named Baggs, and in care of our firm?’’

‘tNo.”?

‘‘You are the only operator?’’

6s Yes.”?

‘¢And you didn’t receive this?’’

And Harry showed him the message that
had been handed him by the porter when he
said good-by.

The operator glanced curiously at the piece
of yellow paper. :

‘No, I didn’t receive it, nor did any other
operator,’’ he said. ‘‘It looks all right to
you, I suppose, but I can see that it isa
bogus telegram.’’

‘*You are sure of that?”’

‘Certainly. Why, there is no mark of any
receiving office on it, and the signatures of
the sending and receiving operators, which
serve as checks or tracers, are unknown to
me, and I know all the local telegraphers.
It is a bogus telegram. beyond doubt.’’

Harry’s eyes snapped triumphantly.

‘‘T supposed as much,’’ he muttered, to
himself, regarding the bogus message with
some excitement. ‘‘This false summons,
Which removes Baggs, is the first step In an
intended crime, which I can faintly surmise,
and which, single-handed, I shall try to
prevent !’’

We'll

close in |

 

;
:
|
|

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

—_—-2-e—

‘Don’t be so reckless, Pat,’’ said the boss
to one of his hod-carriers. ‘‘Be a little care-
ful going over that scaffold, or you’ll fall
and get killed.’’

‘*No danger of thot, sor,’’
Confidently. ‘‘It’s meself as
Msured only last Chewsday.’’

replied Pat,
had me loife

 

| spoken without warmth or friendly meaning.

} slowly open.

| pardon for delaying you a moment.”’

| in full daylight, but on such a night as this

THE |
|
|

DUNGEON UNDER THE RIVER. |

A TALE OF THE

.

CRUSADES.

Wy,

Zin NE night when the wind was blowing
(3) in angry and fitful gusts over the an-

cient city of Norwich, and the rain
was beating against the houses, an
aristocratic looking man, leading a lad by
the hand, passed over Bishop’s Bridge, and
stopped under the gate guarding that por
tion of the city.

‘*Are we near our destination?’’ the boy
asked, looking up at the other’s face, ‘‘and
must you leave me so soon?’’

‘* Honor and duty call me to the Holy Land,
Arthur,’’ the man replied, speaking through
his teeth; ‘‘and it is well that I saw you in
safe custody ere I want.’’

‘*‘But why not leave me at Hellesdon |
Castle, or with the good fathers at St. An
drew’s Priory?’’ the lad urged. ‘‘I would
be happy at either place. I do not like this,
Sir Henry. Your glances frighten me, and
the grip of your hand is nota friendly one.’’

‘“‘Tush, boy! Hold your tongue,’’ said Sir
Henry Cleremont. ‘‘What harm should [
think .of doing? Your father was mine,
though we were born of different mothers.
Yet we are brothers, so let me hear no more
of these idle fears.’’

Arthur Cleremont shuddered in spite of
these words of encouragement, for they were

an

Sir Henry roused the keeper of the gate,
an old man, who came forth with a lantern,
and held it up to the stranger’s faces.

‘‘Whither go you?’’ he demanded.

‘To the watch-towers at Carrow,’’ Sir
Henry replied. ‘‘Haste! open the gate, for
time is precious. See?’’ he added, throwing
open his cloak, and displaying a_ splendidly
embroidered tunic, ‘tI have a right to come |
and go as I wish.’’

The keeper said no more, but fitting a
ponderous key to the lock, pushed the gate

 

‘‘My eyes are dim,’’ he muttered, ‘‘but I |
know you now, Sir Henry. 1 crave your |

‘Tt is granted,’’? Sir Henry Cleremont re

across his chest. ‘‘You did naught but your |}
duty to challenge strangers at such an _ hour |
as this. And as an earnest that I think as
I speak, take this piece of gold.’’

The old man chuckled, and mumbled his |
thanks.

The gate closed with a crash, and the two
travelers stood within a few paces of a path
that ran by the river-side.

The rain was now descending in torrents,
and the wind had increased to the strength
of a hurricane.

On the right the stream was churned and
billowed by the force of the storm, and on
the left gaunt trees bent like reeds, bowing
down over a hollow, afterward known as
the Lollards’ Pit, where many men and
women suffered at the fiery stake for their
faith.

It was a grewsome and weird place, even

its horrors were ten-fold, and Arthur, as his
half-brother almost dragged him along,
gazed around him in terror.

There lay the cathedral, as if dead asleep
amid the mirk and gloom, and beyond
loomed, black and grim, the mighty castle,
oncé a Roman fortress.

Sir Henry and his half-brother stumbled
along for about three-quarters of a mile,
and then halted before a round, flint-walled
tower, standing on the brink of the river.

On the opposite bank, the machinery of a
drawbridge rose like a shapeless specter, and
Arthur Cleremont, shrinking instinctively,
struggled to get free.

3ut Sir Henry held him firmly by the
wrist, and uttered acry which brought a
man to the entrance of the tower.

It was an iron-studded door, so low that
he had to crouch almost on his hands and
knees,

‘*So you have come, Sir Henry?’’

‘*Wos, Randolf, we are here.’’

‘‘T had almost given ‘you up,’’ Randolf
said, in a growling tone of voice. ‘‘The
hour, is past midnight. Enter. What a
night it is! Iam here alone, and yet have
had company, for the wind has seemed to be
possessed of a thousand voices.’’

As yet, Arthur could not see what the
man was like, as he had shown no light, and
the interior of the watch-tower appeared to
be plunged in dense darkness.

But once inside, the lad saw a faint glim
mer, and presently beheld a lamp standing
on a rudely made table.

‘‘Arthur is tired,’’ Sir Henry said. ‘*Con-
duct him to his bed-chamber. He needs rest
sore, and, for that matter, so do I.’’

Randolf, who was a thick-set man, with
repulsive features, and a bushy, red beard,
looked steadily at the lad.

‘*Has he supped?’’ he asked. ‘‘If not——”?

‘Yes, yes,’’? Sir Henry Cleremont inter-
posed, hastily. ‘‘I tell you he requires no
more than to divest himself of his wet cloth-
ing and to close his weary eyes in slumber.’’

GoOoD NEWS.

| carry me

 

‘* Brother, ’’

‘«He is but the watchman of the tower,’’

pleaded Arthur, ‘‘I pray you ,
do not leave me alone with that man.’ 5

     

Sn eer TO

3s7S3

 

.

Sir Henry replied, laughing. ‘‘To-morrow
you will see better company.’’

The boy looked as if he were inclined to
shed tears, but he checked them, and a firm
expression settled on his face.

‘‘Come what may,’’ he said, ‘‘I will not |

tay here longer than to-night.’’

‘t will answer for that,’’ Randolf re-
turned. ‘‘In such troublous times as these,
this is no place for weaklings. Take the
lamp yourself, and ascend the staircase.
You will find everything in readiness. Stay,
let me light another lamp from yours, and
then begone.’’

The apartment which had been assigned to
Arthur was at the top of the watch-tower.

No: sooner did he reach it and- begin to
throw off his soddened garments, than the
door was secured by Randolf, who had fol
lowed him, stealthily and unseen, up the
spiral staircase.

The watchman of the tower then descended
noiselessly, and drawing a stool to the table,
sat down, and faced Sir Henry Cleremont.

 

‘*‘T have been thinking of our last meet
ing,’’ Randolt said; ‘‘and what you asked

me to do means great risk.’’ |

‘‘Where gain is sought there must be|
risk,’’ Sir Henry returned. ‘‘You have|
heard\that I quarreled with my father, and |
that, before he died, he |
and left all to Arthur.’’

‘*Otherwise, the lad would not be here to- |
night, I trow,’’ Randolf said.

**But should he die, or not be present to ,
claim the estate when he reaches the age of |
twenty-one, all will be mine,’’? Sir Henry
continued. ‘‘I join the Crusade to avoid
questions that I might find hard to answer.
And, besides, I have heard of the great

disinherited me,

wealth accrued by many of the knights who |

have returned from Palestine.’’

‘*‘Many more have left their bones to
bleach in the sun,’’ said Randolf, smiling.
‘‘Well, it is a bargain, providing you have
brought the——’’ \

Sir Henry Cleremont stopped him by
throwing a heavy bag across the table. .

‘‘That should silence all scruples,’’ he
said: ‘‘and now I have little more than will
to the seat of war.
years before I return, but, when I do, I
must know that there is nothing to hinder

 

;
i
}

| me from what I justly call my own.’’

‘Go in such peace as you can,’’ Randolf |
plied, throwing the heavy folds of the cloak | replied. ‘‘The river gives up its dead, blood | his eyes.

eries aloud for vengeance, but 1 have an-
other method. See here.’’

Sir Henry started back as the watchman
seized an iron ring in his hand, and raised a
large, square slab of stone from the floor.

By the feeble light of the lamp, he could
see a narrow flight of stone steps.

‘‘Where does that lead to?’’
breathlessly, and keeping his distance from
the aperture.

**Tt leads under the river,’’ Randolf re-
plied; ‘‘but no living man, save myself, has
traversed it. Three iron doors, of which I
hold the key, block the way, and midway
there is——”’

‘*Enough,’’ interposed Sir Henry. ‘‘You
need not tell me more. Let me go forth.
The air of this place is close and stifling. I
cannot breathe it.’’

‘‘What, chicken-hearted?’’
contemptuously.
nobles that men like me are born. Take this
flask of wine with you, Sir Henry. I
untouched, and it will give you new life.
Return, not by Bishop Gates, but by those
of St. Catherine.’’

‘‘Tt is a long way round,’’ Sir Henry
Cleremont remarked.

‘Twere better to walk double the dis-
tance than raise one thought or murmur of
suspicion,’’ Randolf replied.

‘‘There is wisdom in your words,’’ Sir
Henry said. ‘‘I will go. How the wind
roars !’’

‘‘Ay, and there was lightning to-night,
an unusual thing for this time of the year.”’

So saying, the watchman of the tower
pushed open the little door, and, in a mo-
ment, his base, false-hearted patron was
gone.

Randolf returned to the table and opened
the bag.

It was filled with shining gold.

‘*4 good price for so little work,’’ he
said, as his eyes gloated over the precious
metal. ‘‘And that work will be soon done.
What is it after all? One push, the closing
of a door, and then silence forever.’’

It was not yet daylight when Arthur
Cleremont awoke, but he counted the strokes
delivered on the bell of an adjoining watch-
tower, and knew that it was six o’clock.

To his surprise, his clothes had been taken
away in the night and dried.

He was a light sleeper, and the slightest
sound would usually wake him, but his
slumbers had not been disturbed.

Arthur had just finished dressing himself
when Randolf appeared.

‘*Your breakfast is ready,’’ he said,
gruffly ; ‘‘and, when you have finished it, I
will conduct you to those with whom you
are to stay until Sir Henry returns.”’

‘‘T have no appetite,’? Arthur replied,
eying the man with disgust. ‘‘Take me
hence without delay.’’

‘*Then follow me,’’ said Randolf, taking a
key from his girdle, and removing the rust
with his horny fingers. ‘‘You judge me un-
kindly because Iam rough in appearance,
but let me tell you, young sir, there are

;

cried Randolf,

he asked, |

 

many men fair of face and smooth of speech,
whose hearts are blacker than mine.’
Arthur Cleremont made no reply, but fol-
lowed the watchman of the tower to the
lower chambers.
As Randolf removed the slab, Arthur gave

| vent to a ery of horror.

“Why cannot I cross. the
drawbridge?’’ he demanded.

‘*Because I have willed it otherwise,’’
Randolf replied. ‘‘Come, no nonsense,’’ he
added, seizing the lad by the shoulder, ‘:de-
scend with me. In a few minutes we shail
be on the other side, and glad enough shall
I be to part company with you.’’

At the termination of the steps, twelve in
number, was a door, which was quickly
opened by Randolf.

A few yards farther on was another, and
then a third.

As the last one was passed, Randolf
paused, holding the lamp over his head with
one hand, and the other resting lightly on
Arthur’s arm.

‘‘Why have you stopped?’’ the lad asked.
‘‘Surely, we cannot be more than midway.
[ see no steps to denote that we are on the
other side of the river.’’

‘“*There are two ways,’’
‘‘and this is the nearer.’’

As he spoke, he opened a door, and push-
ing Arthur headlong through it, closed it
with a bang, and hurried away.

At first the lad was too horrified and be-
wildered even to cry for help.

He was in a narrow and loathsome cham
ber, so pitch-dark that the damp and awful
atmosphere seemed to cling to him likea
damp garment.

Arthur rushed to where he supposed the
door to be, and to his surprise felt a current
of air blowing upon his face.

A bolt at the top of the door had pre
vented it from closing, and Randolf, in his
hurry, had turned the lock ineffectually.

The lad shed tears of joy, scarcely able to
believe in his good fortune.

But what kind of reception would await
him on the other side?

As he pondered between hope and fear, he

river by the

Randolf replied,

It may be} heard a rumbling noise like thunder over

head.

It was the drawbridge being lowered, and
hesitating no longer, he sped along the dark
passage until a welcome gleam of light met

Again fortune was with him.

A grating, separating a door above, was
so old and rusty that it almost fell away at
the touch of his hands.

He knocked at the door, and a startled
voice answered with:

‘*Who is there?’’

‘*One of Randolf’s friends,’’ Arthur re-
plied, cautiously. ‘‘While he was breaking
his fast I incautiously wandered under the
tower, and lost my way.’’

‘Tt is a mercy that the foul air did not
kill you,’’ said a man, as he opened the
door. ‘‘Why, what is this? A boy of gentle
birth! ‘You are no friend of Randolf!’’

‘‘Ask me no questions now,’’ Arthur re-
turned; ‘‘but take me to the open air. I
am faint, and sick at heart!’’

*The man, wondering at the strange ad-
venture, did as he was bidden, and no sooner

“Tis well for some of you| was Arthur out in the air than he fled as if

pursued by some wild beast.

It is |
|} said the man, as he watched the fugitive.

 

‘*Randolf must be questioned as to this,’’

‘‘By my faith, I did not know that he kept
company with youths who wear arms em-
blazoned on their tunics. There is more in
this than meets the eye.’’

Arthur Cleremont ran at
speed toward the city.

The gates were just being opened free to
all in-comers and out-goers, and it was not
until he passed beyond the immense walls
then completely environing the ancient place
that he stopped to take breath.

Me litating, in a sad and angry mood, on
his half-brother’s villainy, for he now plain-
ly saw through the plot which had been laid
to take his life, Arthur Cleremont held his
course until he reached the parish of St.
Andrew.

His first impulse was to beg for shelter
within the walls of the priory dedicated to
the saint, but on second thoughts he deter-
mined to seek the advice and protection of
Sir Paul de Mer, whose house was near at
hand, and who had been a firm friend of his
late father.

Sir Paul listened to the lad’s story asa
man.might listen to a fable of impossibilities,
and then he broke into a towering rage,
vowing that Sir Henry should be degraded
from his knighthood, and die the death of a
common caitiff.

‘*Yet there is another way,’’ he said,
when he had become a little calmer. ‘*My
eldest son, Hubert, is making ready to join
the Crusade, and will leave with the second
detachment furnished by Norwich. You,
Arthur, shall attend him as his esquire. If
Heaven so wills it, you will meet your un-
natural brother, and I trow that the sight
of you will harm him more, and give him
greater pangs than if every blade of Saracen
steel were buried in his body.’’

* * * * * *

A guilty conscience needs no accusing.

From the time that Sir Henry Cleremont
left England to the moment that he arrived
in Palestine, peace of mind was denied him.

Arthur’s face haunted him continually,

the top of his

      

      
 
 
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
      
 
 
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
     
   
 
    
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
    
  
   
   
   
     
     
 
    
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
      
  
    
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
    
     
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
     

 

 

 

 

ee er P

= aes

 

oeptnrcaasseporniveg

i
i
ie
-

waiting for the signal to fire.

and often at night he awoke with a start,
bedewed with clammy perspiration, and
shrieking for mercy.

Some of the men hinted darkly that he
was tormented by fiends, who gave him no
rest.

He became the mere shadow of his former
self. His face fell away, his eyes became hol-
low and glassy, and his friends shook their
heads, and declared that Sir Henry’s days
in this world were numbered.

Yet he fought, and bravely, too, before
the walls of Acre.

He loved most the call to arms, and in the
excitement of the
him a name of renown.

But no sooner were arms and armor laid
aside, than he became a changed man.

Listless and miserable, he wandered from
tent to tent, seeking to drown his miseries
in the revelries of the camp.

One evening a reinforcement of Crusaders
arrived, and were welcomed by loud shouts.

‘*Hubert, son of Sir Paul de Mer, is here,’
a knight observed to Sir Henry Cleremont,
‘“‘and, by the bones of St. Peter, he has the
most handsome esquire I ever saw. The lad
has golden hair and blue eyes, like some
fair maiden.”’

‘*Comes he from Norwich, too?’’ Sir Henry
lemanded, as his pale face flushed.

‘*I know not,’’ the knight replied; ‘‘but
hither comes Hubert de Mer, and he will
answer for himself.’’

Hubert de Mer saluted Sir Henry coldly,
and would have passed him by, but the
latter barred the way, and spoke:

‘*What handsome stripling is this you have
brought to scorch in this burning sun??’’ he
asked.

‘tT have a message for you, Sir Henry,’

;

Hubert replied, ‘‘and J will send my esquire |

with it to your tent. You will be able to

judge for yourself whether he is not likely

to prove as courageous as he is good-looking.’

An hour later, Sir Henry was sitting
alone in his tent.

He heard footsteps approaching, and
roused himself from the deep reverie into
which he had fallen.

“‘News from Norwich,’’ he murmured.
‘**Perchance it comes from Randolf.’’

As the entrance of the tent opened, he ut-
tered a cry of horror, and started back.

Before him stood his half-brother,. holding
a scroll in his hand.

‘‘The dead has come to life!’’ he shrieked.

*“‘No,”? Arthur replied. ‘The living has |
come to forgive—ta implore you to repent-
ance, and to point the way to a_ better
land.’’

Sir Henry sank upon the couch, and buried
his face in his hands.

‘*You forgive me?’’ he moaned, in the
bitterness of his heart. ‘‘Is it possible,
after my baseness? Have you forgotten that
I would have taken your life?’’

“TI have forgotten and forgiven every-
thing,’’ Arthur replied. ‘‘And here on this
scroll it is written. Brother—for, in spite
of all, you are my brother—take this hand
of mine. Bury the past forever, and live in
the future to do right before man and
Heaven.’’

Sir Henry grasped the proffered hand, and
pressed it to his lips.

‘“Go, now,’’ he said, ‘‘I dare not trust
myself to speak more to-night.’

In the morning, one of Sir Henry’s men
went to rouse him from his slumbers, and
presently reappeared from the tent crying
out that the knight was dead.

_ Yes, Sir Henry Cleremont’s spirit had
fled; but the hand of thé angel of death had |
touched him lightly, and he lay with a
peaceful smile upon his face.

Randolf was imprisoned until Arthur re-
turned, and then met a well-deserved ‘death.
_ Arthur Cleremont lived to a good old age,
but he never forgot ‘‘The Dungeon Under
the River.’’

——— 0
DIDN’T WANT TO BE HONEYCOMBED.

Down in my neighborhood, once upon a
time,’’? said Congressman John Allen, of
Mississippi, recently, to a friend, ‘‘there
was bad feeling between two lawyers. A
challenge was sent, and duly acknowledged.
The hour was appointed, and the two men
met in a secluded spot. One of them was a
great sufferer from St. Vitus’ dance, the
other was cool and collected. As they faced
each other, the afflicted man began to trem-
ble from head to foot, while his pistdl de-
scribed an are with varying up and down
strokes. His opponent stood firm as a rock,
Before it
came, however, he laid his pistol on the
ground, walked into the woods, and cuta
limb off a tree, with a fork in the end of it.
This he brought back and stuck in the
ground in front of his antagonist. Then,
turning to the second, he said:

‘* ‘T must request you to ask your princi-
pal to rest his pistol in that fork.’

‘* ‘What for?’ asked his opponent’s second.
« *¢ ‘Well,’ replied ‘the other, ‘I have no ob-
jection to running the risk of one shot, but I
certainly do decline having one bullet make
a honeycomb of me. If that man was to
shoot while his hand is shaking the way it is
now, he would fill me full of holes at his
first shot.’ ,

‘‘This was too much for the seconds, and,

fray, did deeds that won |

?| ners of doing things which have been arrived

GoOOonD

EDITED BY DAVID PARES.

HOW TO MAKE A PORTRAIT BUST.

VERYTHING is easy when we know
how it is done;

 

-> after we have learned the way in
which a thing i
| gain expertnes

  
  

in the doing of it.

Shakespeare, the hand has to be dyed in the
| thing it works in before it can become thor-
| oughly expert.

But the hand and the eye soon acquire ap-
titude when the method of proceeding has
once been learned.

Until that secret has been penetrated,
however, the simplest matters are apt to
have an air of mystery, as in the case of the
apple dumpling, which greatly bothered
George III. to know how the apple got in.
He, poor man, had not the pleasure of
lingering in the kitchen, and seeing his
mother, or sister, peel and core the apple,
carefully inclose it in the dough, and then
| put it in the pan to boil, and so could not be
expected to know how it was done.

Pextiniis some boys, even though they had
| not seen the operation, might have thought
|the matter out, as they may think a great
| many things out, if they put their minds to
it, and do themselves much good by the ex
ercise.

gut in the arts, and in th
branches of science, there are a great many
| things that it is well to know.

In other words, there are ways and man-

 

 

at by the experience of many men, perhaps
of many generations of men, and they repre-
;sent the simplest and most convenient
| method of doing these particular things.

Thus there is a particular way in which a
portrait bust .is made, or built up, as I
should term it, and I propose in this article
to describe the method, so that a boy, if he
has any fancy in that direction, may set to
work and make a bust of his father or
mother, or any one else.

It is very commonly supposed that, in
making a marble bust such as we see in art
galleries and museums, the artist takes a
piece of marble and goes to work on it with
a hammer and chisel until he fashions it
into a likeness; and I once heard a father
tell his son that a bronze bust was done in
much the same way.

Such, however, is not the method in which
these things are done.

To say nothing of the fact that a false
stroke, or a slight error of judgment, might
spoil dollars’ worth of marble, there are
other reasons, which will presently appear,
why a portrait could not be obtained in that
way.

The chief work of the sculptor consists in
working in clay; therein lies the main por-
tion of his art, and there are those at the
head of their profession who rarely handle a
chisel, and then only to give a final touch
here and there after their carver has finished
his work. Moreover, there are many more
busts made in bronze and in terra cotta than
in marble; but the initial procedure of
building up is the same in all cases.

The first thing a sculptor does in setting
about a bust is to fix a square, upright peg,
or support, about twenty inches in length,
into a wooden platform eighteen inches
square. The platform, in order to prevent
warping, should be made of two pieces of
board so joined as to have the grain of the
one running transverse to the other.

The peg is generally furnished with a bar,
like a Latin cross, and is provided at the top
with what is called an armature, that is,
two peer of lead piping looped over the
peg, from side to side, so as to form, as it
were, the outline of a head.

The ends of one piece are nailed to either
side of the top of the peg, and the ends of
the other to the back and front of it; or the
armature may consist (as some sculptors
prefer that it should) of a ‘‘loop’’ of lead-
piping, fixed to a large nail, with what is
called a ‘‘butterfly’’ attached.

The transverse, or cross-piece, is fitted
into a slot cut in the upright, and is in-
tended to support the shoulders of the bust,
the armature serving as the skeleton, so to
speak, of the head. Being made of lead, the
armature can be bent this way and that,
and twisted about, even after it has been
covered with clay. ;

This is a very important matter, as a por-
trait frequently consists as much inja char
acteristic pose of the head as in the exact»
representation of features, and the pecu-
liarity of habit of the one whose bust is to
be made cannot always be perceived at the
first sitting, everybody attitudinizing more
or less at first when about to have a likeness
taken. But after a while, the sitter is sure
to forget himself; then the natural pose
comes, and the sculptor bends his armature
this way or that, and secures the right ex-
pression, in so far as the turn or ‘‘cant?’? of
the head is concerned.

 

 

by mutual agreement, a truce was patched

up, and no shots were exchanged.’’

Having thus prepared his skeleton, the

‘How fo Bo THunGs.

or perhaps [I should |

say comparatively easy, because, even | over night.
state that it may be passed through a coarse |

s done, it takes some time to | sieve, and so the rough particles be got rid

In other words, to use the wise phrase of

different |

NEW Ss.

important matter of modeling. But first of
all, he has to see that his clay is all right.
The clay commonly used
| the china clay of the potter; but at a pinch
jany clay will do, and I know of more than
| one sculptor, who, in his impecunious days,

| has been obliged to turn to the common clay |

The essential thing is that it should not be
rotten, but rather elastic, spreading easily,
|}and cohering well.
When the clay is too dry it is put in water
In the morning it is in sucha

|
} . .
fn the brick field.

|}of. Then, when it has dried until of the
| consistency of putty, it is ready for use.
The sculptor now takes four or five largish
lumps and rolls them with his hands into
long strips, from half to three-quarters of a
foot in length, and of the thickness of a
good-sized ruler. He then takes portions of
| these strips and applies them, bit by bit, to
j}the armature and the transverse bar, thus
| gradually building up the general shape of
| the head and shoulders.
Care has to be taken from the first to
| have an eye to the features and contour of
| the head that is being modeled.

It is not necessary that the model should
keep seated in the same attitude all the
time. If required to do so, he or she, as the

| case may be, is apt to acquire a very stiff
| pose, with the result that the stiffness may
| be transferred to the bust. The best way is
| to let the sitter, converse freely, and assume
a natural position. By this
habitual expression is seized, and a
likeness is more likely to be the result.
| When a general rough outline of the head
has been secured, it is then time to begin

good

expression. This the artist does by putting
on a bit here, and taking off a bit there. All
this is done with the fingers and thumb.
Occasionally, it may be necessary to use a
tool, but rarely.

The best sculptors work mainly with the
instrument nature has provided them withal,
the hands.

With his fingers the artist has more free-
dom in handling his material, and in com-
municating to it that life-like expression
which is the aim and object of his art.

No tool yet invented by man enables him
to enjoy such fineness of touch, or to give so
much breadth or such delicacy of detail to
his work, as that which he naturally com-
mands in the use of his fingers.

Of course, a \bust is not modeled in an
hour, nor in a'day. A good seulptor will
finish one in four or five sittings, of an hour
or an hour and a half each; others will re-
quire a dozen or more. Everything depends
upon the facility of the artist in seizing
upon expression. This will be the difficult
part with the beginner.

He may, after a while, get the general
outline of the head and face of his sitter,

for this purpose is |

means, the}

work for exactitude of feature and facial!

[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. |

OR,

IN SIAM WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION.

— anne eecinemmees

By ENRIQUE H. LEWIS,

Author of “The King of the Island,” ‘Left in

Chicago,” ete.

(“A YOUNG FREE LANCER” was commenced in
No. 225. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents. ]

CHAPTER XXXIV.
HOW LESLIE REFUSED THE TERMS,

7 ITH a cry of warning, Leslie
leaped to one side. Charlie fol-
lowed his example, but one of the
natives, terror-stricken by the
danger, was caught by the mass of stone
and crushed to death.

Again glancing up, our hero saw a num-
ber of the enemy actively engaged in rolling
other and similar missiles to the edge of the
precipice. It was apparent that Lieutenant
Lestrange’s fertile brain had conceived this
plan for driving them from the natural fort.

Taking advantage of the darkness, he had
sent natives around by the road, with in-
structions to climb the mountain to a spot
directly above the band in the ravine. It
was a bold scheme, and seemed certain of
| success.
| Confronted with this new danger, Leslie
;found himself in a quandary. To remain
where they were meant ignominious death.
|'To leave the shelf was to throw themselves
| into the very arms of the foe. Annihilation
| awaited on either side.

‘*We will choose the latter, Charlie,’’ he
said, finally. ‘‘It is better to die fighting
than to meet death caged like a rat in a
trap. Charlie, dear friend, we may not
have another chance to say good-by. Here,
shake hands, and say that you forgive me
for bringing you to—to this. If I had.
not——’’

‘‘Hold, there!’’ interrupted the lad
‘You are nowise to blame. I came of my
own free will. I wanted travel and experi-
ence. I have found it, and there is no more
|to be said. I guess we are goners. Well, I
| have lived seventeen years, and had lots of
fun. In all that time since my mother—God
bless her!—died, you have been my only
friend in the full meaning of the word.
You——’’

Leslie suddenly grasped his. arm, and
pointed up the ravine. Approaching the
little fort were several persons, among whom
our hero recognized Lieutenant Lestrange.
He bore a white flag in one hand, which he
waved in the air as he advanced.

 

 

 

and feel utterly helpless to go farther. But
then is the time to exercise patience. Michael
Angelo did not become a sculptor in a day, |
nor yet in a year.

When the tyro feels that he cannot go|
farther, it is generally, because he does not
see farther. Of course, he sees that his por-
trait is not like; but he has not yet learned
to see in detail, in minutize. That he must
now begin to do by observing every wrinkle,
wart, hair, and so forth. And then, what
his mind has learned to take note of, his
hand will soon learn to imitate.

All the time the work is in progress the
clay must be kept moist, otherwise it will
crack and fall to pieces. This is commonly
done by spraying it with a garden syringe,
and covering it over.at night with wet
cloths,

When the bust is finished, if it has to be
cast in bronze, or reproduced in marble, a
cast of it is taken in plaster of Paris; but if
it is intended to fire it, and make a terra
cotta bust of it, the operation of hollowing
it is necessary. This is effected by slicing
off the crown of the head with a piece of
thin wire or thread, and then scooping out
the inside until a uniform thickness of about
an inch and a half is left. When this is
‘done, the bust will be easily freed from its
peg and the armature attached to it.

The next thing is to set it aside to dry.

, This takes some time, and only when it is
quite free from moisture is it ready to be
taken to the kiln to bake or fire. The kiln
in which it is fired is the ordinary one of
is complete.
the potter. This having been done, the work
If the bust has to be reproduced in bronze,
the plaster cast must be taken to the bronze
casters, where the transformation will be
effected.
The process of making an exact reproduc-
tion in marble is generally done by the
sculptor himself, or by his assistant, and is
more or less a mere mechanical operation,
the carvers working by points, as they are
called, mathematically accurate, by means
of which he is enabled to make an: exact
ee of the cast.

hen this is done, the sculptor goes over
it carefully with his chisel, and gives some
final touches by way of finish, and to add
to the vividness and life-likeness, so to
speak, of expression. '

~~ ¢ <>

 

 

sculptor is now ready to begin with the more

 

GOLDFISH are of Chinese origin,

‘‘A flag of truce!’’ exclaimed Leslie, hope-
fully.

‘*Yes, so it is,’? replied Charlie, in the
same tone. ‘‘I wonder what the beggar
wants?”?

‘*He has evidently signaled to the men up
there to cease bombarding us with the
bowlders. See! they are now waiting. Well,
I don’t put much faith in the scoundrel, but
it will be a little respite, anyway.’’

Suddenly, the advancing party stopped.
They were still at a safe distance, and had
evidently considered it best to wait for some
indication that their flag would be respected.

‘*T guess they think we might have a shot
left in one of our guns,’’ said Charlie.
‘*They needn’t be alarmed. We couldn’t kill
a mosquito, except with a creese.”’

**We may as well hear what they have to
say,’’ said Leslie, waving is thooknow (a
native shirt). ‘‘It will give us a few min-
utes of grace, and in that time much can
happen.’’

Charlie gazed wistfully up the ravine.
The love for life was strong within him, and
he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of
aught giving hope of possible aid. —

The rocks and trees and waving grass were
silent. The mountain peaks loomed clear
and distinct in the morning sun. One of
them looked down upon the little village of
Kham-Nale. Had the disastrous news been
told in its shadows by the faithful Rama?
Time only could prove.

teassured by the answering signal, Lieu
tenant Lestrange approached within easy
speaking distance of the little fort. 8
seemed to be in the best of spirits, and
smiled, in a confident way. Raising his
hand in a careless salute, he said:

‘*Good morning, Cousin Leslie !’’

Our hero simply nodded, glancing down
with utter contempt at the man thus pro-
claiming relationship. Charlie elevated his
eyebrows in surprise. He had not anticipated
such a revelation.

‘‘Ah! you are not so free with your words
now as you were in the camp of the Foreign
Legion several nights past,’’ continued the
lieutenant, jauntily.

‘‘What do you want, scoundrel? What
terms do you wish to propose, for that is
why you are here, I presume???

‘“You have guessed it at the first trial.
You are in a pretty bad box, my revered
cousin. Death above you, and death in
front. Yon friends of mine upon the bluff
are simply awaiting a signal to crush you

      

    

      
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
   
   
   
  
   
 
  
       
  
  
     
   
    
   
  
    
   
   
    
    
    
   
 
    
    
    
   
  
 
    
   
 
  
    
  
   
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
    
  
   
 

i
~
=
5
oO =

2
S

"

 

  
    
      
        
       
        
 
       
       
      
  

 

  
      
      
   
     
      
      
        
      
     
       
     
     
   
 
     
      
     
         
     
    
      
     
       
   
    
        
   
    
         
     
      
      
     
     

 

  
    
   
 
  
  
  
 
    
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
    
 
  
  
     
   
   
 
  
   
   
   
     
     
  
   
   
    
   
   
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
 
    
    
   
     
   
   
     
    
    
   
    
   
    
    
  
    
     
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
   
    
       
     
    
   
     
   
  
 
 
    
 
 
 
  
  
   
    
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
    
  

 

n Book-Form.

-ANCGE:

N LEGION.

 

VIS,
ad,” ‘Left in

oOmMmmenced in
tained of all

TERMS,

ling, Leslie
Sharlie fol-
t one of the
en by the
ss of stone

saw a num-
din rolling
edge of the
Lieutenant
ceived this
atural fort.
1ess, he had
ud, with in- © }
ntoa spot /
ravine. It |
certain of

ae

nger, Leslie
To remain
ious death.
themselves
nnihilation

harlie,’’ he
ie fighting
-arat ina
> may not
by. Here,
‘orgive me

If I had.

the lad
une of my
nd experi-
is no more
s. Well, I
ad lots of
other—God
my only
the word. |

arm, and
ching the
long whom
Lestrange.
, which he

aslie, hope-

lie, in the
he beggar

he men up

with the
ing. Well,
ndrel, but
1)

<<

stopped.
+, and had
t for some
respected.
ave a shot

Charlie.
aldn’t kill

y have to
oknow (a i
few min-
much can Me

9 ravine. |.
him, and
slimpse of

 

 

rrass were
ned clear

One of
village of
ews been
ul Rama?

 

1al, Lieu
hin easy
ort. 8
irits, and
ising his

ity

7

ng down
thus pro-
vated his
ticipated

i

Ne
ur words ;
» Foreign
nued the

1? What
w that is

ifs

 

   

rst trial. —
r revered
death in
he bluff
rush you

lengths to his shoulders.

from that stronghold, and 1 have at my

beck down here an equal number of savages | up.

anxious to tear you limb from limb.’’

‘‘That is all acknowledged,’’ replied Les- | not jerked him erect with brutal force.

+3

lie, calmly. ‘‘What do you want?
‘“*T think you can But I haven’t
finished my description of your situation.

guess.

Last night you sent forth a messenger for | youth.

aid.’’
Leslie clinched his hands in suspense.
‘(He was captured before he had gone
dozen meters.’’
‘You lie!’’

‘‘Thanks. You are complimentary. Do
you wish proof? Would you like to see,him?”’
Fg

‘‘He is not a very pleasant object now,’’
said Lestrange, carelessly. ‘‘He was turned
over to the men, and they amused them-
selves with him. Which part would you
prefer to identify, his head?’’

‘*Don’t Leslie,’’ hoarsely whispered Char-
lie. ‘‘I—I couldn’t bear to see poor Rama.
Heavens! this is too much to stand. Let’s

kill him, and then sell our lives as dearly as |

possible. ’’

‘‘No. The flag of
spected.”’

‘““That villain would not respect
second if the case was reversed.’’

‘‘Do you wish to see the remains of your
ally?’’ called out Lestrange, impatiently.

‘No. We will take your word for
Now, what do you want of me?”’

‘“‘The rings, boy. What else should I be
after? If you will surrender the three rings,
I will permit you to go free at once.”’

‘‘Why do you make such an offer? Why
did you not earry out your intention of kill-
ing us? Then the rings would have been
yours.”’ ;

‘*You may have hidden them,’’ cunningly
replied the lieutenant. [

‘‘True. You are certainly wise there.
But what surety will we have that you
won’t betray your promise if I consent?’

‘“My word.’’

‘Bosh !”?

Lestrange flushed darkly, and made
movement as if todraw a pistol. He thought

truce. It must be re-

it fora

it.

better of it, however, and showed his teeth | shelf,

in a snarling grin.

‘*T am extremely sorry, my dear coz, that
you have such poor faith in me, but you
will have to take 1t or stand the conse-
quences. Will you give me the rings on
those conditions?’’

‘‘What conditions?’’ asked Leslie, more for
the purpose of gaining time than anything

else. He still had a lingering hope that help
would come, and he resolved ‘to temporize
until the last moment.

‘You trifle with me,’’ exclaimed the lieu-
tenant, angrily. ‘‘I will tell you once! for
all. If you will give me the three snake
rings—you know them well—now in your
possession, I will set you and your men
free.’’

‘* And Vincent?’’

‘*And heialso.’’

‘‘You will permit us to withdraw, and
will not pursue us?’’

“Vous *?

‘‘Nor your,men?’’

‘No, I tell you. I will guarantee your
escape.’’ 2d

‘‘Oh, yes! like you did in the camp that
night.’’

‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘You know what I mean. You promised
me that you would see me safe from camp,
and, like the treacherous dog that you are,
you sent hired thugs to kill me.”’

‘‘Sapristi! then you refuse?’’

_**Yes, yes! a thousand times, yes! Do
your worst, you miserable scoundrel! Call
your men, and we will fight them until we
drop. Signal the natives up there to con-
tinue their cowardly work. I defy you,
villain and cur! I would not accept mercy
from your hands. But remember, the rings
will never be yours. What they represent
will never bring ease and wealth to you. I
will lose my life, but with me will rest the
secret. Now do your worst.’’

CHAPTER XXXV.
HOW HELP CAME AT LAST,

7 ESLIE’S bitter words had a terrible
¢| (¥% effect on the lieutenant. He stood
] <4 as if turned to stone for one brief
G+” moment. Then, raising both clinched
hands in the air, he shouted, in an intensity
of passion:
“You will die ten thousand deaths for

this, you spawn of an outcast! I have a

way to torture you. I know how to make
your blood turn to water, and to make you
crawl to my knees for mercy. You will
‘See.’? eee
Turning to a native standing at his side,
he uttered some command, in a fierce voice.
The fellow darted away, and presently re-
turned with others, leading a young man,
whose bound arms and faltering step pro-

_ Claimed hima prisoner.

He was clad in rags, and walked bare-
headed in thesun. He had a generous and
Manly face, much like Leslie’s, and his
brown hair fell in tangled and untrimmed
~ On seeing him, our
‘ero clasped Charlie by the hand, and ex-
claimed, with a world of sorrow in his voice:

‘‘My Heaven! what will he do? It is Vin-
cent, my brother Vincent!’’

}

a | this,’’

 

a|face, knocking him down.

}
|
;

 

Cr OOm

 

At that moment the young man glanced
On seeing our hero, he staggered, and
would have fallen if one of the natives had

‘

‘Leslie, brother! You here?’’ he
in supreme astonishment.

‘*Yes. Iam here, Vincent,’’
‘*Hasn’t that scoundrel
my coming?’’

‘‘No, I reserved it for a little scene like
said Lestrange, with a grim chuckle.

‘‘Mother. Is she——’’ The poor fellow
could not finish the question.

**She is well,’’ replied Leslie.

‘Thank God!”’
‘Much good the knowledge will do you!”’
exclaimed the lieutenant, brutally. ;

‘*What do you mean?’’

‘“Why, you will never see her again, or
any one else on this earth very long.”’

**Would you murder me in cold blood?”’
passionately demanded Vincent. ‘‘ You have
the two rings. What more do you want,
man?’’

‘*But I haven’t the rings.’’

‘*You haven’t the rings! Then——’

‘*Yes, your whelp of a brother isin pos-
session of all three, but he won’t enjoy them
very long!’’ said Lestrange, savagely.

Turning to Leslie, who had been listening
intently, he added:

‘‘T am going to give you one more chance.

The youth glanced anxiously at _ his
brother, and asked:

‘‘What is it? What villainy are you up to
now?’?

“‘Tf you do not give me those rings by the
time I count. three I will have your affec-
tionate brother killed before your eyes, and
by the worse torture I can devise.’’

‘*“No, no! anything but that!’’ cried Les-
lie, imploringly.

‘Ah! I have touched you, eh?’’

(ST ee a

*‘Courage, brother!’’ cried Vincent.
not yield to him.’’

Uttering a fierce imprecation, the lieuten-
ant turned and struck the young man in the |
Wild with-rage, |
Leslie attempted to leap over the edge of the
but he was restrained by Charlie.

“*Stop!’’ cried the latter. ‘‘You wouldn’t |
last a second among those natives. Tempor-
ize. We may have a chance yet. If it
comes to the worst, then we will both down
him.”’

Vincent slowly rose to his feet. Looking
full at Lestrange, he again called out, but
this time in a Voice choked with rage:

**Do not yield to him, Leslie. Do

listen to his threats.’’
‘‘T’ll show you that I mean something by
y threats,’’ harshly replied the lieutenant.
_ Calling to one of the natives, he bade him |
stand by with his creese.

‘*Now, if you do not consent,’’ he added, |
to Leslie, ‘‘I will order this man to cut your }
brother to pieces—slowly, and inch by inch.
One!”’

‘*Monster! You dare not do——”’

‘*T wo!’ said the pitiless voice.

‘*Hold! One question!’’ cried Leslie.

‘*What is it?’’

“Tf I give you the rings, you will release
all, without exception?’’

‘*Hvery one. Do you consent?”’

(Ves.

‘‘Good! I thought I could persuade you,’
said Lestrange, laughing triumphantly.
‘«Throw all your arms down here, and then
descend.’’

Leslie explained to the few men still re-
maining the terms of surrender as well as he
could. It was with visible reluctance that
they obeyed. They knew the merciless nature
of their ehemy, and had little faith in
promises.

One at a time, the brave band left the
fort that had served them so well. Leslie
was the last to go. Together with Charlie,
he walked up to where the lieutenant and
Vincent were standing.

The former held out his hand impatiently.

‘The rings,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Where are
they?’’

‘*You know the terms of the will?’’

‘*Then they are on your person. Ha! the
time has come,’’

Lestrange wheeled around, and was just
on the point of sounding a whistle he had
placed between his teeth, when, with a
bound, Charlie sprang upon him. The two
went down together, the lad uppermost.

‘Treachery !’’ Charlie gasped. ‘‘Defend
yourselves !”’

In an instant the narrow ravine was filled
with a mob of natives, who, issuing forth
from numerous lurking places, fell upon the
handful of men forming the remnant of
Leslie’s command.

The latter were not entirely unprepared.
Their previous experience of warfare, as
practiced by the Siamese,.had taught them
to be ready for treachery at all times.

At the first sign, a number of them had
darted toward the pile of creeses lying in
front of the natural fort, and it was but a
second, when, armed for'the fray, they again
faced their enemies. :

In the meantime, Leslie had not been idle.
When he heard Charlie’s ery, he ran to
where the lad was struggling on the ground
with the lieutenant. Dodging several natives,
he made a desperate snatch for Lestrange’s

istol, succeeding in wresting it from his

eried,

replied the
told you of

’

9

"To

 

not |

m

| the muzzle toward the owner’s head.

| baffled rage, the lieutenant did as requested.

| @ peremptory order.

NEWS.

Ne ee eee

3765

 

Then,
with eyes ablaze, Leslie shouted:

‘‘Order your men to fall back, or I will
pull the trigger.”’

Sullenly, and in a voice hoarse with
One of the leading chiefs of the tribe, a
white-haired old warrior, sung out a few
guttural phrases.

At first the natives engaged in a hand-to-
hand combat with the men from Kham-Nale
paid no heed. A second command caused
them to hestiate, then they withdrew to the |
opposite side of the ravine, where they stood
glaring after the manner of wild beasts de-
prived of their prey.

At the commencement of the scrimmage—
which had not occupied more than two min-
utes—the men on the bluff had sent several
huge masses of stone tumbling down the
sides of the valley. In their excitement,
they had forgotten that such an act would

 

endanger their comrades as well as the
enemy.
[It worked havoc to both. One piece of

great weight landed directly in front of a
squad hurrying to the assistance of their fel-
LOWS.
ly around.

ment came upon them, killing half their |

number.

Brought to a halt, they stared stupid- |
An instant later another frag- |

[This Story

in No. 233.
News Agents. ]

caves ran down

Will Not be Published in Book-Form, |

IN THE HEART OF THE EARTH:

OR,

The Seerets of An Extinct Voleano.

-

By EMERSON BELL,

Author of “The Flectric Air and Water Wizard,”

“Beneath the Waves,” ete.

(“IN THE HEART OF THE EARTH” was commenced

Back numbers can be obtained of all
CHAPTER X.

THE MONSTER OF THE CAVE.

P)

>

f

5

yy, 1 seemed that Dick Clayton had spoken
‘|; the truth—that the little party on the

ij} Mystery had come to their doom at

‘S=> last.
They could not retreat; how could they go

ahead into that country of fire?

flowed out of the
fire, and was dis-

had
the

that
into

The stream

| solved in steam, which rose in a dense cloud.

The crash of the missiles as they struck |

the bottom of the ravine, and the ensuing
confusion, caused Leslie to glance in that
direction. It was a fatal mistake. Before
he could again turn his attention to the lieu-
tenant, a lithe form darted from the crowd
of natives, and sprang upon him.

|

|

‘‘Hadn’t you better hold up, Ned?’’ asked
Dick. ‘‘It must be dangerous to go nearer.’’

‘“‘The Mystery is fire-proof.’’

‘*But what if the heat overcame you?’

‘‘Well, I will not go any nearer—now,’’

said the young pilot, as he. brought the air-
| ship to a stop, and held it suspended while

Vincent had seen the danger, but not in| he gazed at the broad spread of fire before
time to warn his brother. Completely taken | him.

by surprise, Leslie pitched headlong to the

The inflection on that final word, how-

ground, and was immediately made a pris- | ever, indicated he had no notion of abandon-

oner.

;

ing the idea of approaching nearer some

A dozen hands grasped Charlie, and pulled | time.

him from the lieutenant.

Springing to his |

Making sure the ship would remain in a

feet, Lestrange first gave the lad a vicious | stationary position, Ned hurried forward

his attention to Leslie, when a most start-
ling interruption occurred.

From far up the ravine, a peculiar noise
crept into being. It was low and muttering,
like the first notes of a gathering storm.

Then it swelled into a.chorus remarkably |

like the chant of a host of men.

Its effect on the natives gathered near the |

bend was remarkable. They paused in their
preparations for a’ renewal of the combat,
and glanced at each other in wild excite-
ment.

Suddenly the old white-haired chief issued
The seattered, groups
of natives immediately massed themselves
around the three white prisoners, and began
a hurried retreat down the valley.

‘‘What does this mean?’’ demanded Les-
trange, in French.

The reply sent a thrill of hope to ‘the
hearts of the captives. It was given by the
old man in a few significant words.

‘*Men come from Kham-Nale!’’ he said.

Just then a similar sound to that heard
from up the ravine came from the opposite
direction. Loud and shrill it was, and, as
the strange cries echoed through the valley,
the retreating natives halted, and huddled
close together.

‘*We are surrounded !’’ cried the old chief.
‘<They are coming in force from both sides.”’

Lestrange uttered a fierce imprecation.
He glanced hurriedly around, then, with
one rapid jerk, tore Leslie’s thooknow from
his back. Hanging from the youth’s neck
was a small chain, to which was attached
three rings, fastened after the manner of
coiled serpents. Snatching these from their
guard, the lieutenant rushed toward the
rocky shelf near the bend.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
el
PER RETURN POST.

The following amusing incident is reported
to have occurred shortly after the introduc-
tion of the electric telegraph to this country.
A simple old woman, who had lived all her
life in an obscure country village, and had
never, in fact, seen a railway, wished to
send a new suit of clothes to a son who had
recently gone abroad. Accordingly, the
dame made her way to the nearest high-
road, where telegraph wires had been
erected; but without the slightest conception
of the manner in which the clothes would be
transported. For some moments she stood
at the foot of one of the sts, gazing
vacantly at the wires overhead. Suddenly,
a brilliant idea occurred to her; and to a
passing tramp she handed her precious
bundle, and a dime, and requested that he
would hang the bundle on the wires. With
alacrity, the sly tramp performed his mission
by ‘‘shinning’’ the post, and the old lady
went on her way rejoicing.

3ut by the time she hed turned the near-
est corner, that rascally roadster had _pos-
sessed himself of the bundle again, attired
himself in the new suit, and thrown his
own filthy rags into the wires above. Next
day the simple old dame returned to the
spot, to see that her bundle had been duly
forwarded, and beheld the tattered garments
of the tramp fluttering in the breeze.

‘*Well,’’ she exclaimed, ‘‘these here tele-
graphs is wunnerful. John’s got his new

 

 

It was but the work of a second to turn

clothes already, an’ has sent his old uns
back to be mended.”’

/

| kick, and then was on the point of turning | and crept up into a little room in the very

bow of the strange craft.
There he removed a metallic cap from
something, to which he applied his eyes.
That something was a powerful glass set

| in the ship, but, in his eagerness and excite-

j
|

 

ment, the lad had forgotten to remove the
aluminum plate that protected it, and he
could not see anything.

Uttering an exclamation of impatience,
he pressed the button that caused the plate
to slip aside.

Once more applying his eyes to the glass,
he was able to look out across the fiery ex-
panse.

Disappointment awaited him, for all he
could see, as far as the glass would reach,
was a mass of fire blazing up from the
earth. 5

‘*Let me look.”?

Ned was startled by the sound of Dick’s
voice close behind him. He moved back
trom the glass and gave the other. boy a
chance.

Still panting from the heat, Dick dragged
himself up to the glass and peered through
it.

A groan was wrung from his lips.

‘‘Just as I expected!’’ he said, buskily.
‘‘Nothing but fire, fire, fire! We must go
back !”’

As soon as Dick got away, Ned recovered
the glass with the metallic cap, and pressed
another button that slid the aluminum plate
into place. Then he led the way back to the
pilot-roqm, where Ethel and Black Juan
were. ck
‘‘Tell me, brother !’’ cried the girl, hurry-
ing to him, ‘‘can we go no farther?’’

‘*Not a foot!’’ answered Dick.

‘“Yes, we can—and we will!’’
lutely from Ned’s lips. z

‘‘What’s that?’? screamed the dark-eyed
boy. ‘‘You are mad! You can’t mean you
think of passing thr ugh that furnace?’’

‘‘J mean that we can get nearer if we

came reso-

try.’
‘‘What folly! See how hot it is here!
What is the good of going nearer?’’

‘‘Remember, we cannot go back.’’

‘*We can try.’’

‘‘The crater of the volcano is blocked—we
could not get out.’

‘‘There may be another way.’’

‘*You know there is not one chance in ten
thousand of ever getting back by any other
way,’

‘*You said it yourself.’’

‘‘To keep your courage up, Dick, for you
were inclined to flunk.’’

A look of rage crossed the face of the
dark-eyed boy, and he clenched his hands,

ating :

‘“You have brought us all to death, Ned
Austin! It was a scaly trick, and——’’

‘*You are forgetting you almost forced
yourself on me, Dick,’’ sternly -returned
Ned. ‘‘You are talking like a child!’’

“Child or not, I will not allow you to
take me any nearer the furnace that lays
ahead of us!’’

Black Juan took his place at Dick’s side,
snarling:

‘Iam wid you in dat, young senor! I
deed nevar ask to come; I be take to these

lace widout ask. Now I say turn back!

at ees raight!”’ 5"

The teeth of the master of the Mystery
came together with a click, and his brown
eyes blazed.

“T scarcely thought this of you, Dick

   

 

           
        
     
     
       
       
         
      
        
          
        
       
     
      
       
 
        
     
            
     
    
         
           
    

   
   

 
  
 
   

37S6

   

CGrooDp

 

    
   
 
 
   
  
   
   
 
     
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
     
  
  
    
  
  
 
     
   
  
  
  
   
   
 
   
     
   
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
   
   
  
    
   
      
   
 
  
    
  
  
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
   
   
   
  
    
   
  
   
    
  
 
  
 
 
   
    
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
    
 
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  

Clayton!’’ he cried. ‘‘You have pretended

to be my friend.’’
you destroy us all by your madness.’’
‘You seem
have a good ally there at °
scarcely thought this of you,’’
watching the others closely.
‘“‘Why make all dis talk?’’

your

he repeated,

   

bandit. ‘‘We are two—him but one, an’
boy at dat. We make jump—down him
queek !’’

‘*Will you turn back, Ned?’’ demanded
Dick.

‘‘No—not till I get good and ready! You

are two against me, but Iam master
Stand back!’’

From a place of concealment he whipped
forth one of Black Juan’s own revolvers.
Click, click—the weapon was cocked, and
the muzzle menaced Dick and the Mexican.

The dark-eyed boy uttered a gasping cry

 

attitude. ‘‘Is that loaded?’’

**You bet!’’ Ned shot back. ‘‘It is loaded,
and——’’

“‘It may go off!’’

‘‘Right you are. If it does go off, some-
body will feel a bullet. My blood is up, and
I want you to understand I run this craft.
I am captain here, and I have no sympathy
with mutineers. If I say go on, we go on!’’

Like a cat, Juan tried to creep forward,
inch by inch, his object being to leap sud-
denly on the undaunted lad.

Ned was not caught napping. He saw the
movement of the bandit, and the revolver
was turned squarely on the fellow, while the
young pilot sternly declared:

“If you advance another
shoot!’’

**Leetal fool!’’ grated the baffled rascal.

inch, I shall

is growing fearfully hot here. Look at Ethel.
Have pity on her, if——’’

The girl had been sitting on a chair,
watching, with wide-open eyes, all that
passed, but she now started to her feet,

interrupting Dick with a cry.

‘*Yes, brother, let’s go back and start—
start over—again! It is so—hot—and I
ean’t breathe—— QOh!”’

Prone upon the floor
fainted dead away.

For a moment, the three spectators seemed
dazed, and then Ned leaped forward and

she fell, having

thing else in his anxiety for her.

Fancying he saw his opportunity, Black
Juan caught up the revolver that had fallen
from Ned’s fingers, reversed the weapon,
came softly behind the kneeling boy, and
prepared to deliver a blow that would have
stretched the brother by the sister’s side.

Dick saw this.

‘*No you don’t!’ he shouted.

Forward he sprang, out shot his fist,
smack it caughtthe bandit fairly on the
ear.

Over went Black Juan in a heap, the re-
volver flying from his fingers, to be quickly
secured by Dick.

When the Mexican sat up, he saw the
weapon again turned toward him, but held
in Dick Clayton’s hand this time.

Juan showed his white teeth, and uttered
some very violent words, but everything he
said was in Spanish.

“Turn back, Ned!’’ cried Dick.
is overcome by the heat.
back for her sake.’’

The other boy sprang to his feet.

‘*T will,’’ he said, as he took his place at
the wheel, and set the machinery in motion.

Gracefully the-air-ship turned beneath the
guidance of its perfector, and it was soon
darting back toward the dark, cool depths
of the great caves.

Dick kept his eyes on the baffled Mexican,
who was rather sullen and sulky, but offered
to make no further trouble.

Into the first cavern sped the Mystery,
and the great reflectors threw out their
lights once more, as the craft sailed on ‘into |
che underground recesses.

**Don’t go too far,’’? said Dick, who was
giving his attention to Ethel. ‘‘Stop as soon
as we are beyond the ‘strong heat of the
fire.’’

Before the pilot brought the ship to a
halt, and allowed it to settle lightly beside
the stream the girl had recovered from her

swoon and was sitting on a comfortable
chair.

It was still extremely warm within the
Mystery, and Ned cried:

‘*Let’s get out as soon as possible and ob-
tain a breath of fresh air.’’

He assisted Ethel toward the door, and
the others followed, Dick still keeping his
eyes on Black Juan.

The minute the door was opened they drew
in a deep breath of air, which seemed to
give them new life.

Ned and Ethel descended the steps to the
ground, and Dick followed Juan down.

The heat of the fire served to make the
cave warm and comfortable at that point,
and when they had drank from the brook,
antl plunged their hands and faces ‘into its
cool depths, they were much refreshed.

‘‘Thank goodness! we still live!’’? came

‘Ethel
You must turn

to prefer starvation, and you |
side! L |

snapped the |

here! |

ie of mingled surprise and fear.
. ‘‘Look out!’’ he shouted, ducking his
head, and lifting one arm in a guarding |

**You are crazy, Ned!’’ panted Dick. ‘‘It |

dropped at his sister’s side, forgetting every-

for the wonderful country fcr
started is ended. We have com:

search
we

Our
| which

‘IT am still your friend, but I cannot see down into the earth and found the scientists

|. were right in thinking the interior a fiery
mass.’

‘*l am not so sure of that,’
turned the other boy.
{found fire here, but
something besides a
| cavern.’’
| **What???
| **Did you not see when you looked through

the glass that there seemed no end—no wall
|—no limit to the expanse about us?’’
| ‘**T saw it. What of that?’
‘*Instead of a great cave, we have found a
I have been pretty confident all

doggedly re

we have
mere underground

| country.

ithe time that we would discover something

Along the entire course of the
passage through which we came we found
| fresh air—comparatively. It was not hot,
as it often is in mining shafts far beneath
the surface of the earth. That was enough
to convince me the passage led to something
besides a cavern.’’

‘‘But it has not brought us to the land of
two-faced men.’’

‘‘T am not sure of that, for there may
be—— Hark!’’

of the sort.

Through the cavern rang a strange, weird |
ery that chilled the blood of the listeners. It |

| was like the moaning wail of some mighty
| bird or beast, and the nooks and angles of
| the rocks took up the sound and sent it shud-
| dering along in a hundred awesome echoes.

|

Ethel claspéd her arms about her brother’s |

neck, and pressed her face down on
breast, as she heard the quivering echoes of
the ery go throbbing away into the vast re
cesses of the underground chambers, be
coming fainter and fainter, until they died
| out in the distance.

| The silence that followed was more terri-
| ble than the mysterious cry.

| Black Juan was on his knees, and Dick’s

| face was ashen.
}some further demonstration, and they were
| not disappointed.
, The cry was repeated near at hand, sound-
|ing more terrible than before.

Then came a rushing swish of wings, and
they saw some huge black monster sweeping
}toward them from the impenetrable dark-
ness of the cavern’s heart!

CHAPTER XI.
THE

 

OUT OF CAVES.

SILLED with a nameless horror, ex-

  

{4 demon of the. darkness, the little

~<** party of adventurers crouched by the
stream.

Near at hand the Mystery lay on the
ground, and the light of her great reflectors
was shot across the cavern in two directions,
falling on the rocky, uneven walls, and
throwing everything thus exposed into bold
relief.

Directly through one of these broad bars
of light swept the monster of the cave.

The eyes of Ethel and Black Juan were
covered, but. both Dick and Ned saw the
creature that had so startled them with its
weird cries.

‘*Great Scott !’’ gasped Dick,

‘*Found!’’ cried Ned—‘‘found at last!’

Then the creature dropped close by the
stream, folded it’s broad wings, and began
to advance toward them. ‘

Wildly, the Mexican called on the saints to
protect and save him; but Ethel lifted her
face and asked:

‘*What is it, brother?’’

‘‘A horse with wings!’’ was the fairly
shouted reply. ‘‘Hurrah! We must be near
our destination !’’

‘*That’s right!’’ agreed the dark-eyed boy,
rousing himself and showing his delight.
‘This is really a winged horse, and so that
mysterious land must be close by! Hurrah!
hurrah! hurrah!’’

At this, Black Juan ventured to look up,
but the appearance of the singular little
horse frightened him more than ever, and
he continued crossing himself and calling on
the saints.

‘‘! wonder if the creature is ugly?’’ said
Ned, as it stopped near by and stood regard-
ing them.

‘*T don’t think so, brother,’’ declared the
girl. ‘*‘Look how thin and hungry it ap-
pears???

In truth the wonderful little horse had the
appearance of a creature that was _ half-
starved. It’s flesh seemed drawn tightly
over it’s bony frame, and it’s round eyes
protruded like glass balls.

‘‘By George!’’ came from Dick’s lips. ‘‘I
fancy the beast, or bird—whichever it is—is
nearly perished of hunger.’’

“It seems as if you are right,’’ nodded
Ned. ‘‘I think it is lost.”

‘*Lost?’’

6h'Vesn,??

‘‘What makes you think that?’’

‘‘I do not believe it belongs in this cavern,
and outside the cave is the land of fire.’’

“Then you think this horse is shut off
from the country where it really belongs??’

‘‘Just that.’’ ;

‘‘And that country is——’’

‘Somewhere beyond the land of fire.’’

 

from Dick’s lips. ‘‘We must have perished
by this time had you insisted on your crazy
scheme to advance nearer the fire, Ned.

/

| right!

‘Jupiter! I don’t know but you are
’

‘To be sure, we have
discovered |

his |

They all seemed expecting |

pecting to be attacked by this awful |

NEw S.

; ‘*But how did this horse come here?’’
; ‘‘Flew here over the fire.’?’

‘*No, that——’’

‘‘Remember, a creature like this made it’s
way up the passage and came out of the
voleano. It carried one of the double-faced

| inhabitants of this country, but both died
on the mountain. ’’

‘‘That is true, Ned. By gracious! I be-
lieve you are right--I believe the country
we seek is beyond the fire out there!’’

‘‘That’s the talk!’’ came enthusiastically
from the master of the air-ship. ‘‘Now you

are coming to your senses, old man!”’

‘But how will we ever get over there?’’

‘‘The same way this horse got over here.’’

‘*Which is—how?’’

ALN a

Pe) 2

The boys looked at each other, then looked
at the horse, which was standing near, re-
garding them steadily, but seeming fearful
of approaching nearer.

‘Remember the heat,’’ said Dick.

‘‘T remember; but I think we ought to be
able to cross if this creature of flesh and
| blood could do We will be protected
within the ship, and I will rise high over the
fire and send the Mystery at top speed.’’

‘*How fast is that?’’

‘‘Near one hundred miles an hour, if
father made no mistake in his calculation.’’

‘‘Tt does not seem possible this fiery land
can extend straight away for a distanee of
one hundred miles. ’’

‘*T do not believe it is possible.”’

‘“*Then we may cross it.’

‘*You are willing to try?”’

‘*We had better do that than stay here and
| starve to death.’’

so.

‘You have come to your senses at last,
| Dick! I feel sure we will cross in safety,
Pe reach the country for which we are
}

bound. And there, sister mine, we may find
! the uncle who has been lost to us so long!’’
With the exception of Juan, the party was |
|now in high spirits, for they began to be
lieve there was a prospect of finding the land |
for which they had started,

Ethel arose and tried to make friends with
the strange winged horse, but the creature
was shy, and would not let her approach
very near.

‘*You poor, dear pony!’’ she cried. ‘'‘I

 

 

fused to cool, but ran, bubbling and writing,
over the face of the land.

| Black Juan prayed and groaned. He was
| the first to be oyercome, and he sunk in a
| heap, feebly snarling:

‘*We all do die! Boys ees fools!
They did not heed
staring into the mirrors.

Mile after mile flew out beneath the Mys-
tery, but still, as far as they could see, the
land of fire lay beneath them.

The seconds seemed intensely long, and the
minutes were like hours. Although they
had ‘not been long in motion, each one felt
that hours must have passed since the start
from the cool depths of the cave.

Uttering a moaning cry, Ethel staggered
to a chair and fell upon it.

Ned was cut to the heart by his sister’s
suffering, but he stood “like a rock at the
wheel, never once taking his eyes from. the
mirrors.

‘‘Are we making the best speed possible?’’
panted Dick.

‘*The best speed that can be made with
safety,’’ was the reply.

‘‘What if you increased the pressure?’’

‘‘The chances are something would break,
and that would end it all for us.’’

‘*T believe it is ended, anyway, if we do not
turn back. Turn, Ned—turn, turn!?’

‘*Never !’’ was the explosive retort. ‘‘What
do you take me for? Everything depends on
going ahead !’’

‘‘We might get back to the caves——’’

‘‘Look back! What do you see???

‘*Nothing but fire.’

«‘‘Right. We have already left the caves
far out of sight. We might not be able to
find them if we turned about. Our one hope
is to go ahead.’’

Dick groaned.

‘‘You have brought us to death, Ned! I
am playing out now! This is the end!’’

The other boy made no answer. He did
not even glance at Dick Clayton, for he
could not spare time to take his eyes from
the mirror that told him what lay in ad-
vance.

A blood-red haze began to dance before
his eyes, and he tried to brush it away in
vain. There was a strange roaring in his
ears—a throbbing sound, like the pounding
of a great drum! ;

Yah!’
him; they were still

 

?

 

do wish I had something to feed you on!”’

‘*The creature must find something to live |
on,’’ assured Ned.

‘*But it can’t find much,’ Was the retort.
‘*T don’t see how it finds anything.’’

‘‘It is plainly very old, and that is one
reason why it looks so poor and thin. It
may have been on this side of* the fire
country for a long time.’’

‘*Maybe for years.’’

The adventurers rested, ate and slept, for
they wished to be in the best condition pos-
sible to endure what they felt certain they
must pass through.

Hours slipped away before they were ready
for the start.

When Black Juan knew what they intended
to do, he was enraged, and uttered a string
of protests, declaring they would all perish.
He even swore he would not be taken along;
but when Ned coolly told him he might stay
behind, he changed his mind.

The winged horse lingered near, but still
declined to let any one approach him.

Finally everything was ready for the
| start, and they all entered the Mystery, al-
| though the Mexcian did not do so without a
| protest.

‘‘Bid good-by to the cavern!’’ cried Ned,
as he removed his hat and coat and took his
place at the wheel. ‘‘We may never come
back here. ; Now we are off !’’

Into the air rose the Mystery, apparently
without an effort. Out of the cavern it
sailed, and close behind flew the winged
horse, uttering wild screams, as if it feared
being deserted.

' “Here goes!’’ exclaimed the pilot, as he
put on full speed, heading straight over the
fiery land.

From the heart of the air-ship came a
murmuring whirr, that told the machinery
was working at high-pressure.

Like a dart, the Mystery sped through the
air. Below were the leaping flames, behind
lay the dark caves, ahead was—what?

 

CHAPTER XII.

CROSSING THE LAND OF FIRE.

   

HE winged horse was soon left behind.

2 Shrieking mournfully, it turned back

: -) from the fire and fled toward the dark
caves.

Those within the air-ship paid no atten-
tion to the unfortunate creature that had
tried to follow them, for all were eagerly
staring into the reflecting mirrors—looking
ahead.

Swiftly the heat grew intense. They
pantec and gasped, but still they stared into
the mirrors, hoping, hoping!

How the wonderful ship cleft the air! Be-
neath them the racing flames seemed speed-
ing away, making it appear that they were
standing still, while everything else was in
motion.

There were lakes and rivers of fire, the
sight of! which filled them with awe, for it
seemed that near at hand some great volcano

 

 

‘*Of course I am,”’

must be sending forth red hot lava that re-

| to his
burst from his temples.

Although he knew it not, this sound was
the beating of his own heart.

The terrible heat brought the pulsing blood
face, and it seemed threatening to

Far away he seemed to hear a faint voice
saying:

‘*Good-by, Ned! I’m dying! We are all
lost! It was a_ fool-hardy thing to try.
Good-by !’’ i

He knew it was Dick who spoke. Follow-
ing the words came a thud, as of a falling
body. ‘

Still the Mystery sped on over the land of
fire, with the young pilot clinging to the
wheel.

‘“My senses are going!’’ thought Ned. ‘‘I
am weak—so weak! If { fall, the Mystery
may diverge from a straighf course, and
that would be fatal.’’

Bracing up with a mighty effort, he
quickly produced a cord, and proceeded to
lash the wheel, so the air-ship could not turn
from its course.

His strength was barely sufficient for the
task. When it was completed, he stood
clinging to something for support, staring
into the mirror, but seeing nothing save the
crimson haze. j

Every breath he drew seemed to come
from a furnace, and he fancied he could
hear a fiendish, gleeful sound from the
flames below.

‘*Laugh!’’ he muttered, thickly, his tongue
bulging from his purple lips. ‘‘Even though
we all die, the Mystery may carry our
bodies beyond your reach.’’

Strange visions began to flit before his
eyes; distant music sounded in his ears.

‘This is death!’ he whispered.

Then his fingers sought a tiny lever that
he threw over, muttering:

‘‘Highest pressure! If everything goes to
smash it matters little. We are—we—are—
doomed !??

On flew the Mystery, its speed almost re-
doubled, while the thrcbbing of its perfect
machinery made the air-ship quiver in every
part.

But not a soul on the ship knew anything
of this, for stretched on the floor near the
wheel lay Ned Austin, the last to succumb
to the terrible heat. ;

‘* x * * * *

‘‘What is this? What has happened???

As he had been the last to lose conscious-
ness, so Ned was the first to recover.

It was still like a furnace within the air-
ship, but the heat could not be as intense as
when he fell by the wheel.

With a mighty effort, he partially raised
himself, looking around.

On the floor were stretched Dick Clayton
and Black Juan, motionless, apparently
dead. Ethel lay silently in the chair where
she had fallen, and her face was purple, as
if she had suffocated.

‘‘This is horrible !’’ thought Ned. ‘‘I am
the only one living! The others have per-
ished !”’

Still he could not bear to think his sister
was dead. He got on all fours and crept
toward her.

 
 

 

 

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| staggered
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uld break,

if we do not
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depends on

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9?

the caves
be able to
r one hope

b, Ned! I

end!’
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eyes from
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it away in
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sing blood
itening to

aint voice

fe are all
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Follow-
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gz to the

Ned. ‘‘I
» Mystery
urse, and

ffort, he
eeded to
not turn

for the
he stood
t, staring
‘save the

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rom the

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aver that

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rot ES

 

Reaching her side, he lifted himself until
he could listen for the beating of her heart.

‘*She lives!’’

He almost shrieked the words.

What could he do?

‘¢ Air—we must have air!”’

With renewed strength, he got upon his
feet, and struggled to open one of the venti-
lators. This he finally succeeded in doing,
and the breath that came in gave him new
life.

‘‘The Mystery is no longer in motion,’’ he
said. ‘eTt must have alighted sormmewhere—
and that somewhere is notin the land of
fire! We have crossed !’’

He felt sure of this, because the air which
came in by the ventilator seemed pure and
fresh.

‘*More air! I will open the door!”’

To the door he rushed, now feeling as
strong as he ever did in all his life. The
door was cast open in a moment, and then
Ned saw something that sent him staggering.

The air-ship was truly no longer in mo-
tion. It was resting on the ground, and
surrounding it was a perfect little army of
dwarfish human beings.

The bodies of the dwarfs were covered
with long hair, and on their wonderfully
broad shoulders were set two heads!

‘‘Great Jupiter! we’ve got there!’’ shouted
the boy in the door.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

—__—_~> + + —_____

A QUIET SUPPER PARTY.

BY W. W. TREMAIN.

——+———.

NE morning after the post had come
in, Bob Terry was discovered rolling
on his back.

4 twas thought at first that the

poor boy was in a fit, but this was an en-

tire mistake. 5

Bob’s father had written to say that he

  

|
|
|

 

 

‘*T can only let you have von portion of
ze room, and ze oder part I must keep for
my regular customers. ’’

**All right,’’ Bob replied. ‘‘We shall not
fall out about that. This is Tuesday, and

you may expect us on Thursday at four |

o’clock, punctually.’’

Cavanni Barluna made so many bows that |

it seemed as if he would never leave off.

Bob was quite overwhelmed with the pro-
fuse display of foreign politeness.

Even when, on reaching the end of the
street, he turned his head, there was the
dapper little man standing on the doorstep
of the shop, and still bowing.

Bob spread the news about Radcroft, and
invited as many boys as possible.

Those who were left out did not feel very
much aggrieved, for they knew that the
founder of the feast had done his best, and
everybody in the school liked Bob Terry.

When Mr. Sinderling gave permission to
the lads to be absent from four to eight on
this particular Thursday, a fact did not
occur to him,

It was market-day, and large numbers of
people from the outlying districts swarmed
into the town.

Had the head master given a single thought
to this, Bob Terry’s ‘‘high’’ tea would have
certainly been postponed.

The boys were perfectly aware that is was
market-day, and trembled lest Mr. Sinder-
ling should think of it and put a summary
end to the proceedings.

All went very well to the very hour when
we were to sally forth as Bob Terry’s guests.

Mr. Sinderling addressed a few words to
us, saying that he hoped we should return
looking as happy and wise as we departed.

‘*Tt 1s just possible,’’ he said, ‘‘that I may
look in about six o’clock. I—er—have been
wondering why you required so much time.’’

‘*Well, sir,’’ said Bob, ‘‘you see that we
can play draughts, chess and dominoes after
tea.’’

‘‘Very harmless and instructive. games,”’’
the head master returned.

had come into a fortune, through the death | boys, and I hope you will thoroughly enjoy
of a distant relative, and to commemorate | yourselves. ’’

the event he inclosed his dutiful son a fitty-
dollar bill.

The deliciously crisp slip of paper was to
be cashed, and a portion of the money-ex-

ended ina banquet, or something of the
ind, to Bob’s chums.

Bob was in such a jubilant state of anind
that he became chummy with everybody.

It is wonderful what a little money will
do, and how much it is capable of giving
many people.

Bob was a good fellow at heart, and after
the spasms of his joy had come to an end,
he began to think seriously how to lay out
his mine of wealth to the best advantage.

‘‘We can have a stunning supper,’’ he said
to Harry Heron, ‘‘and I’ll get’ Mr. Sinder-
ling’s permission to order it in the town.’’

Mr. Sinderling looked a little grave when
the all-important question was put to him.

He knew what boys were—no man. bette
—and he had his doubts as to what would
happen if he gave between twenty and
thirty of his pupils permission to stay out an
evening.

The feast would begin well, he knew, but
how would it end? and what would happen
when the boys were coming home?

‘‘T should be pleased to grant your re-
quest,’’ he said, ‘‘but I regret fo say that
many of the Radcroft boys are looked upon
by the tradespeople with disfavor.’’

‘*We will be very good, ’’ Bob pleaded, ‘‘I

will keep them in order.

Mr. Sinderling nearly laughed outright.
The idea of Bob keeping order anywhere was
too ridiculous, and the head master, after
saying that he would think the matter over,
ran to his study to have his laugh out.

Mr. Sinderling was as good as his word.

He did think over it, and what was better,
came to the conclusion that he would let Bob
have his way.

So Bob sallied forth, but he met with many
rebuffs.

The landlord of one hotel said he could
not understand how his establishment had
been taken for a menagerie.

Another remarked that he would rather
have a wild bull in his best room than a
score of noisy boys.

A third pointed sternly to the door, with-
out deigning to utter a word.

Bob ‘Terry was in despair; but suddenly
he remembered a restaurant which had just
been opened by an enterprising individual
from Switzerland. %

He called himself Cavanni Barluna, and
declared that he was a true and highly-born
Italian.

To Signor Barluna then went Bob, and
found a ready listener in the restaurant
keeper,

‘*Ah! yes,’? he said. ‘‘Isal do you ze
supper in first style, for vat you call von
dollaire a head. But zere is von leetle diffi-
culty in ze vay.”’

‘What is that?’? ;

‘“Vy, sare, I haf only von pig room.’’

Bob Terry’s face flushed with indignation.

‘Pig room!’ he said. ‘*Do you mean to
call us——’?

‘‘Ah! I see,’? Barluna interposed. ‘‘I
make von mistake, and you anoder. Ven I
Say aig, I mean great, large.’’ :
axon! I understand now,’’ said Bob.

Well, what about that?’

’

|

 

As we passed along to our destination,
many sour looks were turned upon us.

‘‘There they go,’’ said the tailor. ‘‘I
wonder what the game is? Mr. Sinderling
ought to be ashamed of himself to let such a
lot loose.’’

This was very unkind, but we bore it.

As Bob Terry had to do the honors, he led
the way to the restaurant. .

Everything was ready.

The spacious room behind the shop was
divided into two parts by a curtain, which
Cavanni Barluna held up to let us pass.

And the way the little man bowed, was
something wonderful to behold.

He outdid himself.

The tables were spread.

There Were cold chickens mutely implor-
ing to b6 cut up and eaten, juicy hams,
tongues covered with beautiful devices,
stacks of thin bread and butter, and pastry
of every description.

Even Bob, who ought to have kept his
head cool under the circumstances, was
overcor’e at the glorious sight.

It was the proudest moment of his life,
and he smacked his lips, and grinned.

Though it was not a dinner, we said that
the proceedings would fall flat unless we had
achairman, —

So Lio Larkins was voted into the chair,
and Heron officiated as vice-chairman, but I
regret to say, paid more attention to a big
pie than anything else.

A cloud of steam, a clatter of cups and
saucers, and Cavanni Barluna, and a waiter,
hired expressly for the occasion, began to

| hand round the tea.

Suddenly there came aloud knocking at
the other end of the room.

‘““Coming, sar,’’? said Barluna.
attend you in von moment.’’

‘‘Coming! So is Christmas,’’ bellowed a
voice. ‘‘If I am not worth serving as well
as a parcel of boys, I know where I can go,
and get civility for my money.’’

‘“*Villiam,’’ said Barluna, under his
breath, ‘‘go and serve zat man. It vas Mis-
tare Grunter.’’

We had found that out already, and re-
joiced in the discovery.

Bob Terry passed the whisper round for
all of us to be very quiet.

Mr. Grunter was not alone,

Three stout, red-faced farmers were with
him, and they seemed to have been engaged
in a heated argument, which was soon con-
tinued.

“**Waiter,’’? said Grunter, ‘‘let us have
four steaks, chipped ’taters, and tea.’’

As the waiter was gliding away, he
thought he heard Grunter say:

‘“Smother mine well with cayenne before
you put it on the fire.’’

‘*He looks hot enough without wanting
cayenne,’’ thought William. ‘‘But there’s
no accounting for taste. I’ll see that the
steak is hot enough. Ha! ha!??

‘*1’d rather,’’ cried Grunter, bringing his
fist down on the marble-topped table, ‘set
fire to that hay and stand and see it burn,
than sell it at the rate of twenty-five dollars
a load.’’ ee

‘‘T never said anything about twenty-five
dollars,’’ said one of the red-faced farmers.
‘tT offered you twenty dollars.’?

Mr. Grunter looked at the man with whom

ST Wd

‘*Go now, my |

      
   
 
    
     
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
    
   
    
   
  
     
   
    
     
   
     
  
  
     
    
   
    
    
 
    
  
  
    
  
 
   
  
   

NEWS.

| he had been trying to make a bargain, and |
| groaned reproachtfully.
‘‘Joe Watson,’’ he said, shaking his head,
‘‘T always took you for a truthful man.”’
| ‘*And what do you take me for
Mr. Watson demanded.
| ‘‘?'d rather not say,’’ Grunter replied,
cautiously. ‘‘My thoughts are my own|
| property, and I mean to keep ’em.”’

now??? |

:

‘*Well,’’ said Watson, ‘‘1 don’t think I}
j}ever went back from my word, and I am /
not going to begin now. Twenty dollars a |

|load is my price, and I don’t care whether |
you’ve few or many to sell. Yes, or no!”’
| Before Mr, Grunter could form a reply,
|in which he intended to state that such an
}arrangement would completely ruin him, a
| voice shrieked through the doorway:

*‘Oh, you brute! that’s the way you enjoy
yourself when you’re out, is it?’’

Mr. Grunter changed color.

His expansive face looked like an arrange- |
| ment of mottled soap at that moment.

into the town,’’ he said, with a feeble at-
tempt to smile.

‘*Will you come out, you wretch, or shall
I fetch you?’’ demanded the shrill voice.
|} ‘I’m a-comin’, my dear,’’ said Grunter;
meekly. ‘‘It an’t very lady-like to carry
on in this way before other people. ’’

“Pll lady-like you if you an’t quick.”’

Mr. Grunter was as quick as he possibly
could be. ’

When once he got fairly settled in a chair,
it took him some time to get out of it.

At last, he waddled to the door.

He expected to find his wife somewhere
near it, but he beheld nothing but a very
small boy, who was engaged in the pleasing
occupation of flattening his nose against the
window, and eating an apple.

‘*Well, I’m blowed!’’ Grunter gasped.

‘‘What are you blowed about?’’ the boy
asked. ‘‘I shouldn’t think it would take
much to blow you right uv.’’

Mr. Grunter swelled visibly with wrath.

He aimed a kick at the boy, and missing
him, staggered back into the restaurant, as
if a brick had taken him unawares.

 

 

| into the street like a man in a dream.
Who could the lady be, if she was not his
| Own wife, and where was.she?
| Mr, Giunter returned to the table.

‘“‘T never knowed that I was given to
dreamin’ in the daytime,’’ he said.

‘“‘] never knowed that Sairy had come |

Recovering his balance, he stood and stared |

a ee ae eee

es - , Re oe ae

37S7

‘‘l think pe have stood enough of this
kind of nonsense,’’? Bob Terry said. ‘‘It is
positively disgraceful that the comfort of
thirty people should be upset by one fat
man. Send for the police.’’

Mr. Grunter dropped heavily into a chair.

It was one of the spindle-legged kind, and
not constructed to receive violent shocks.

The legs snapped like reeds, and Grunter
came down with terrific force.

The concussion acted as an explosion.

It shook down bottles of preserves, which
fell into the window, to the destruction of
several glass dishes of pastry.

Cavanni Barluna screamed
in his rage.

‘*Villiam,’’? he cried, ‘‘run for ze bolice.
Bring ze whole force. I vill have zis man
vat you call run in.”’

Tuxford, the policeman, was near at hand.

He had been gazing pensively down an
area, in which was a window, and on the
blind now and then, flitted the shadow of a
plump cook.

He heard the crash, and turned slowly on
his heels.

Tuxford was never in a hurry.

In his youthful days he had been set the
task of writing, ‘‘The more haste the less
speed,’’ and he had never quite forgotten
the maxim.

‘“‘If the gasworks is bu’st,’’ he said, ‘‘I
can’t mend ’em.”’

But all his doubts were put to rest by the

like a woman

| appearance of the waiter.

*‘Come over ‘the way,’’ William gasped.
“Mr. Grunter is carryin’ on awful. I
think he must have got the delicious trim-
mings.’’

‘‘What’s them?’’ the officer asked. ‘‘ Any-
thing good to eat?’ 3

“‘No,’’ William replied; ‘‘the delicious
trimmings are brought on by a superflooity
of sperrits and sech like.’’

When the policeman and waiter reached the
restaurant, things were a little mixed.

Cavanni Barluna had taken refuge behind
the counter, and armed himself with a cake-
knife.

Grunter had upset the teapot, and another
farmer, driven to desperation by the boys,

| had thrown the bread and butter and chipped

potatoes all over the place.
‘Il know what I’m
roared,
‘“‘And so do I!’’ said Tuxford, collaring
him. ‘‘Come out of this! Here’s a nice

about!’’ Grunter

 

‘We heered the voice,’’ remarked one of
the farmers. ‘‘It’s wery curious.’’

‘**So curious,’’ said Grunter, ‘‘that I begin
to think there must bea ghost about. Well,
what about the hay?’’

‘*Let’s have the steaks first, for here they
come, ”’

So nice and appetizing did they look, that
Mr. Grunter smacked his lips and rolled his
eyes in expectancy of the feast.

But no sooner had he taken a mouthful—
and he had a capacious receptacle for any-
thing in the eating line—than the expression
of his face changed.

His eyes still rolled, but not merrily, and
now swam in tears.

His cheeks grew red, and there came from
his throat a curious sound like the winding
up of a piece of clockwork.

Seizing the milk-jug, he emptied it at one
gulp, and rushed madly into the street.

It so happened that a man bearing a huge
basket of cabbages on his head, was passing
at the time, and a dire collision took place.

Grunter, in his anxiety to save the man,
laid hold of him, but too late to do any good.

The mischief was done.

The farmer, the man, and the cabbages,
shot wildly across the street, and fell, with
a mighty crash, into a grocer’s shop.

Mr. Grunter was on his feet in an instant.

With a hop, a skip, and a -jump, he
reached the restaurant, and began chasing
William, the waiter, round the tables.

The boys leaped to their feet, and Cavanni
Barluna, thinking that the farmer had gone
mad, crawled under a table.

‘“‘Order! order!’ cried Lio Larkins.
‘*Turn those noisy fellows out. Why should
we be disturbed in this disgraceful manner?’’

‘‘What have I done?’’ gasped William,
dodging about as if the soles of his boots
had turned red hot.

‘‘Done?’” Grunter roared. ‘‘Why, you
scoundrel, you’ve almost burnt my tongue
out of my head.’’

‘It was your own fault. Didn’t you tell
me to order your steak to be plentifully
sprinkled with cayenne pepper?’’

Grunter stopped, and glared at the waiter.

‘‘What?’? he yelled, ‘‘I told you to
sprinkle the steak with cayenne pepper?’’

‘“Yes, you did, and I’m ready to take my
appledavy of it in any court of law.’’

‘‘It seems to me,’’ said Mr. Grunter, a
little nervously, ‘‘that there is something
wrong with this establishment. Where’s the
proprietor?’’

‘*T did drop my snuff-box, and I vas look-
ing for him under the table,’’ said Barluna,
emerging from his retreat.

The little man was very white, and trem-
bled so that when he placed his hand on the
table, the cups and saucers danced and clat-
tered.

‘*Is that man wrong in his head?’’? Grunter
demanded, pointing to the waiter.

“‘T did never hear zat his head vas in ze
wrong,’’ Barluna replied; ‘‘but you people
vas all very droll.’’

 

state for a respectable man’s shop to be in.’’

| But Mr. Grunter did not intend to give in
withgut a struggle.

: Dismal visions of a dark cell floated before

| his eyeS, and, seizing the policeman around

|the waist, he began to wrestle mianfully
with him.

They were well matched.

Policeman Tuxford lost his hat.

But he did not lose his head.

He was somewhat at a disadvantage, ow-
ing to the farmer being so corpulent, but he
meant business.

At the very moment when the policeman
had got Grunter over his shoulder, with the
amiable intention of dropping him on his
cranium, and.when the boys were shouting
their approval of the struggle, Mr. Sinder-
ling appeared.

The head master was so_ horrified, that he
stood still, which was, to say the least, an
indiscreet thing to do, for Tuxford and
Grunter rolled over him, and flattened him
out.

The learned gentleman’s hat flew across
the floor.

But he retained his umbrella, and _ getting
it into a useful position, he prodded Mr?
Grunter in the ribs with the business end,
until that much afflicted gentleman squeaked
like Punch.

This put an end to the fray. J
Explanations ensued, half-dollars changed
hands, Tuxford went away, and Cavanni
Barluna sheathed the cake-knife in a drawer.
* * * * * *

‘There will be no more supper parties,’’
said Lio Larkins, as he iitadten into bed
that night. ‘‘I say, Terry, I think you car-
ried your ventriloguial powers a little too
far.*"

__ “Very likely,’’? Bob responded. ‘‘But, on
the other band, I think that our supper
party was a gigantic success.’

And so said the rest of us.

> +>
POISONED.

 

A tall ‘‘eullud ge’mman’’ entered in a
state of great distress.

He held’ one hand over the middle button
of his vest, dropped heavily into a chair,
and gasped, in agonized, excited tones:

‘*Oh, doctah, doctah, gib me er anecdote
ter pizen, or er ammatic ter kill pizen!
Some one’s done dosed me fo’ suah!’?

The druggist adjusted his spectacles, and
looked closely at the darky.

‘‘What have you been eating?’’ :

‘Oh, nuffin’, doctah—nuffin’. I had er
hunk er watermillion, an’ er few slices er
cowcumber, an’ er peaclf or two, an’ den I
went out fer s’m ice cream wid mah young’
lady. Arter I’d swallered de ice cream
was dat cramped dat I looked like a double
bow-knot. An’ when I’d had er little
lobster-salad I knowed by de feelin’ dat de
watermillion had be’n pizened fo’ suah. Oh,
doctah, gib me sumfin’, quick !’’

 

 

 
   
  
  
   
   
      
 
   
 
  
  
    
   
   
  
    
 
   
   
     
    
   
  
   
    
 
  
 
  
    
    
  
   
     
   
   
   
  
 
  
     
    
  
 
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
    
     
 
    
  
  
   
   
  
   
   

 

  
 
          
 
        
    
          
          
     
   
     
   
   
          
 

‘i j
a Nagi ede:

Neel

37S8

 

ISSUED WEEKLY.

 

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 10, 1894.
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és Contents of this Number.

SERIAL STORIES.
“Upright and Honest,” by Henry Harri-
son Haines.
“In the Heart of the Earth,” by Emerson
Bell.
“Friends or Foes,” by Lieut. Lionel Louns-
berry.
‘**The Schooldays of Fred Harley,” by Ar-
thur M. Winfield.
“The White King of Africa,” by William
Murray Graydon.
“A Young Free Lance,” by Enrique H.
Lewis.
“‘Nibbsey,” by Saul Wright.
SHORT STORIES.

“The Dungeon Under the River.”

“A Quiet Supper Party,” by W. W. Tre-
main.

“Richard of England and the Crusades.”

“How Captain Stanchion Did His Duty,”
by Robert Overton.

“Sturgis’ Scare,”by Bertram Mitford.
REGULAR DEPARTMENTS.
‘Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur

Sewall.
‘‘How to Do Things,” by David Parks.
*“Ticklets,’ by Chas. W. Foster.
‘Mail Bag,” ‘Exchange Department,”
“Club Notices,” etc.

 

 

NEXT WEEK.

A splendid story of adventure, in times and
amid scenes new to the readers
of Goop News.

With Crusader and Saracen:

OR,

SQUIRE TO RICHARD THE LION-HEARTED.
By ALFRED ARMITAGE.

See special article in next column,
A MILD REPROOF.

The other morning Jones turned up at the
office even later than usual. His employer,
tired of waiting for him, had himself set
about registering the day’s transactions,
usually Jones’ first duty. The enraged mer-
chant daid his pen aside‘very deliberately,
and said to Jones, very sternly indeed:

** Jones, this will not do!”’ ;

‘*No, sir,’’ replied Jones, gently, drawing
off his overcoat as he glanced over his em-
ployer’s shoulder, ‘‘it will not. You have
entered M’Kurken’s order in the wron
book. Far better to have waited till

 

came!?’

GOOD

Richard of England and the

Crusades.

-

As we are to commence the publication
next week of a new serial, entitled

WITH CRUSADER AND SARACEN;
or,

SQUIRE TO RICHARD THE LION-HEARTED,
we have thought that, before beginning this
fascinating and thrilling story, our readers
might like to have a short sketch of the time
in which the scene is laid.

In the records of the centuries that have
rolled away, the middle ages, perhaps, stand
out most picturesquely, and the most ro-
mantic and thrilling part of their history
deals with the Crusades.
ious wars, between all of the known Chris-
tian world on the one side, and on the other
the Moslem invaders and conquerors of
Palestine.

From an early period in the history of the
church, pious pilgrims were wont to visit
the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, and other
spots consecrated by the Saviour. The
Arabs, who conquered Palestine in the
seventh century, generously did not inter-
fere with these rites. But after the second
conquest, in the year 980, by the Fatimides
of Egypt, the pilgrims were, to some extent,
badly treated. Worse befell in 1065, when
the Holy Land was subjugated by brutal
Turks from the Caucasus, who murdered or
drove away both the resident and visiting
Christians.

After long delays, Europe was roused to
action by Pope Urban and Peter the Her-
mit, and a vast army was recruited to rescue
the Holy Land from the infidels. The badge
of the soldiers was a cross, croisade in
French, and hence the name Crusade.

To the third Crusade attaches more inter-
est than to those before or after it, for its
leading spirit was the heroic Richard the
Lion-Hearted, who became King of England
on the death of his father, Henry the
Second, in 1189. At this time the Holy Land
was in possession of the famous Saladin, and
all over Europe the monks and priests were
urging the people of Christendom, both high
and low, to march against the Moslem in-
vader.

Richard had previously arranged to go on
a Crusade with Philip of France, and no
sooner was he crowned king than he pro-
ceeded to carry out the plan. He was act-
uated, no doubt, by a craving for glory and
fame, and by his, natural love of fighting
and adventure. He left the conduct of
affairs at home in the hands of his mother,
two regents, and his brother John. The
latter was a very tricky and unprincipled
man, as the reader knows, and wanted badly
to be king himself.

Richard prepared for the Crusade on a
most magnificent scale, and he raised the
vast sums of money needed for his fleet and
army by means that would be called corrupt
in these days.

However, students of history cannot but
admire many traits of Richard’s character.
Much must be pardoned him because of the
rude times in which he lived, and the exam-
ples that were: set him. He was a brave,
impulsive man, true to his friends, and often
unwisely lenient to his enemies. By nature,
he was passionate, and when roused to anger,
he did cruel and rash things of which he
would afterward repent.

In June of 1191, after a long journey by
sea and land, the combined forces of Richard
and Philip reached Palestine, and joined the
other army of Crusaders that had been for a
long time besieging the fortress of Acre.
The garrison was finally starved out, and a
year of campaigning followed, during which
the Crusaders were twice in sight of Jeru-
salem. Richard performed wonderful feats
of personal valor, and won the admiration
and respect of the noble-hearted Saladin,
who, at various times, sent him costly gifts.
But he quarreled with Philip, and with the
Duke of Austria, making them his bitter
enemies.

In the fall of 1192 a truce was negotiated
with Saladin, and Richard sailed for home.
But his vessel was wrecked, and while travel-
ing on foot and in disguise through Ger-
many, he was captured by the Duke of
Austria and turned over to the German
emperor.

For a long time Richard’s place of im-
prisonment was not known, but it was finally
discovered by his faithful squire and trou-
badour, Blondel, who went from castle to
castle singing the king’s favorite ballads.

Philip of Frances and Prince John of Eng-
land did their best to keep Richard in cap-
tivity, but he was released in 1194 upon
payment of an immense ransom collected by
his devoted subjects. He pardoned Prince
John, but sought to punish Philip. for his
perfidy by a long and stubbornly contested
war.

The exciting incidents of this third Crusade
Mr. Alfred Armitage, a most accomplished
writer, has woven into a story of absorbing
interest and made of Blondel a splendid
hero, whom no boy ¢an help admiring.

Be sure and read ;

WITH CRUSADER AND SARACEN.

These were relig- |

 

%

SuorT Tf

 

&

‘With THE ‘Boys.

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL.

—

BE STRICTLY HONEST.

(255

y r ON’T be startled at this advice. Per-
x is) haps you already are honest, and
J feel somewhat indignant that any one

such advice. On the other hand, you are
far more likely to have heard of the men

a good deal of money, that they are the
worst scoundrels alive.

[ am afraid it is true that some
are rich did not come by all their money
honestly. Some of them have

sent to Sing Sing; nevertheless, judges, law-
yers, and newspapers agree that the men are
scamps.

It seems rough that rascals should roll in
wealth, while some honest men are so poor
that they would think themselves in luck
had they a single thick. woolen blanket to
roll in; still, it is a fact that in rascality, as
well as in everything else, brains will tell,

 

“=> should think it necessary to give you |

who most are talked about as having made |

 

|

men who |

had their |
business overhauled in court, and found that |
there was no law whereby they could be|

| and the really smart rascal can make money |

| very fast, sometimes.
| But don’t give way to the notion, which
is becoming too common among young men,

get rich. ee
It is a fact that there are several million-
aires in New York, whom nobody but their

ceptions to the general rule.
If you will look at some of the published

dollars each.
you, for you never before heard their names.

Once it was my business, for a few days,
to look into the history of these rich people
who seemed so little known, and I learned
that, as a rule, they were quiet, plodding,
straightforward, honest men and women.
They never had done anything out of the
way; that was the reason they were so sel-
dom heard of.

On the other hand, there were several
names very prominent a few years ago, that
never are heard of now. They were ‘‘kings’’
of Wall street, or the produce exchange, or
oil market, or real estate, or something, but
now they are mere nobodies, and have very
little money with which to keep out of the
poorhouse.

They ‘‘experienced reverses’’—that is
the proper way of putting it; they lost all
their ill-gotten gains.

Other men

occasionally come to grief through some un-
foreseen misfortune; but the honest man
generally gets upon his feet again, while the

no one who will trust him enough to help
him.

Within a week, I have heard a fellow,
once famous, complain that while in old
times he could get a hundred thousand dol-
lars as easily as he could turn his hand over,
he now couldn’t raise a hundred dollars to
save his life.

‘‘No,’? said a plain-spoken acquaintance ;
‘*folks know you better now than they did
then.’’ Then the plain-spoken man went out
to help another man, nowhere near so smart,
get upon his feet after a thorough failure.
But the other man was honest.

Perhaps you think you never will need
any help in business. My dear boy, there
isn’t in all this world a man so rich and _ in-
dependent that he will not at times need the
help of other men—not necessarliy in cash,
yet in something that will greatly affect his
fortune. Then is the time that honesty will
tell.

I shall continue
But now I must
written to me.

this subject next week.
see what the boys have

-

T. B., Buffalo, N. Y., writes: “I am a boy
fifteen years of age, and would like to ask your
advice about a trade, as I am anxious to learn
one. I should like to be a machinist or an en-
gineer. Do you think they are rising trades,
and would you mind stating five good trades
which will be good in years to come as well as
now? Ihave good health, but am not one of
the strongest boys.”

In selecting a trade or profession, your in-
clination should naturally have some weight.
You state that you would like to become
either a machinist or an engineer. These
trades are very similar, and both are .well-
paying, as a rule.

To learn one, you must of necessity gain a
certain knowledge of the other. A thorough
engineer, either of a stationary engine or of
a locomotive, is a machinist to a certain ex-
tent, and a machinist can run an engine at
a pinch.

ou have not stated which branch of the

 

engineer’s profession you prefer. If your

tax-lists, you will find the names of many |
dozens of people worth more than a million |

Some of them will surprise | : ae
| regular apprentice system is in vogue, and

man whose ways have been crooked can ‘ind |

that nowadays it is necessary to be a little |
crooked—perhaps a good deal—in order to |

| life of a

|

liking tends toward the ‘‘iron horse’’ of the
railways, you must serve a long apprentice-
ship before reaching the height of your am-
bition. Applicants are generally placed at
‘‘wiping’’ in a round-house for several
months. The duty of a ‘‘wiper’’ is to clean
the various exposed parts of an engine after
arun on the road. It is really a most dis-
agreeable and dirty position, and does not
pay more than a dollar and a quarter to a
dollar and a half a day.

After a certain period spent at this work
(the length of which depends upon the apti-
tude of the learner) you would be placed at
‘‘firing’’ a shifting engine. Then, in due
time, you would be considered able, at the
discretion of the master mechanic, to feed
the fire-box of a freight locomotive, and
finally, after perhaps three years upon the
road, you would be promoted to the proud
position of fireman on a passenger express
engine.

Now, mark you, as yet you have not
served one-half of your apprenticeship, and
the glad time when you can throw open the
throttle, and feel the marvelous mass of
delicate machinery speeding alung the nar-
row ribbons of steel at your bidding, is far
in the distance.

The next step in the line of promotion is
the position of ‘‘hostler,’’ an engineer whose
duty it is to run the locomotives from the
station to the round-house after a trip over
the road. From the ranks of ‘‘hostlers’’ are
recruited the engineers of the shifting loco-
motives; from these are selected the engin-
eers of ‘‘freights,’’ and from the latter those
of the ‘‘passengers. ”’

Quite a long ladder to be mounted, is it
not?

The pay ranges from a dollar and a
quarter to six dollars a day, and is very poor
considering the amount of work and the
great and ever-present danger attending the
locomotive engineer. To be suc-
cessful, you must possess, in addition to in-

wives will believe on oath, but they are ex- | telligence and steadiness, perfect health and
‘ha ( | strength.

A boy showing little promise of
the latter attributes should ‘certainly not
adopt the profession of enigneer.

The machinists’ trade is learned in shops
where various engines are manufactured. A

the time required is from three to six years.
At first the pay is nominal. Expert machin-
ists earn as high as six dollars a day.

There is such a vast number of trades, and
they.include so many different branches of
labor that it would be difficult to select five
of interest to you. Carpentry, iron-work-
ing, masonry,, plumbing and engineering
may be named.

FATHER NO NAME, New York city, writes:
“Two boys, eighteen years of age, have taken
a notion to publish an amateur weekly paper.

| They think they have brains enough, and the
| following is the plan they have outlined : Kight
| pages, sixteen columns, pages 5x8; to contain a

| column, Goop News club notes,

continued story by an amateur writer, editorial
1 , exchange,
and three or four other interesting columns,
besides humorous talks, etc.; also a column of

| weekly happenings taken from the daily press,
f | Which they think might interest some of our
: have had reverses—there is no |
business in which a prosperous man may not

Western cousins. Asareader and admirer of
Goop NkEws, although I am an old chap, I ask

| your advice on the above question, providing

 

it will not take too much space of the paper
you have correctly named ‘The King of Boys’
Weeklies.’ ”’

You have selected rather an expensive
amusement for yourself, but if you can com-
mand the. money, there is no reason why you
should not publish an amateur paper on the
lines you mention.

There is only one department we are in-
clined to criticise, and that is the column to
be devoted to ‘‘weekly happenings taken
from the daily press,’’ tor the edification of
your ‘‘Western cousins.’’

Why you should think the youth of the
West would be interested in such a depart-
ment is hard to understand. They have
ane ope there, quite as good as those
published in the East, and, as a rule, the
boys read them. It would simply be a waste
of - valuable space to introduce such a
column.

Pay particular attention to your club
notes, and exchange notices, and also see
that your editorials are of interest to your
class of readers, not long-winded articles on
dry subjects. :

We will be pleased to see a copy of your
first issue.

SpeciaL Noticy.—Many communigations,
improperly addressed to this department,
are answered in the ‘‘ Mail Bag.’’

rr oo
A LEFT-HANDED EXCUSE,

 

A servant girl who always attended divine
service, but who also could not read, had,
from constant attendance, got the service
by rote, and could repeat it extremely well.
But a few Sundays previous to her marriage
she was accompanied in the same pew by
her beau, to whom she did not like it to be
known that she could not read; she there-
fore took up the prayer book and held it. be-
fore her. Her lover wished to have a sight
of it also, but, unfortunately for her, she

held it upside down. The man, astonished,

said: '
‘Good heavens! Why, you have the book
upside down.’’
‘*T know it,’’ said she.

‘*T always hold it
so, for I am left-handed.’’

EN ~™

 

 

 

 

ie.

~~ ~~ 1

ano

.

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oh, no!

{This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.}

FRIENDS

OR FOES?

OR;

THE YOUNG BLOCKADE RUNNER OF CHARLESTON.

BY LIEUT. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY,

uthor of “Cacet Carey.” “Won at
d fs

[*RIENDS OR FOES?” was commenced in No. 231

CHAPTER XVI.

A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

oe aah ;
( 5) ILL JENKS had a grudge. Natu
ally a suspicious man, and one
Ip) tre
(

ve

who
treasured up grievances, he did not
J easily forget the blow given him by
Goliath during the memorable trip ashore

The explanations given by the negro and
the little affair of the

West Point,”

‘“‘Ensign Merrill,’ ele., ete.

Back numbers <¢

, as he started toward the companion ladder

‘*Stop! Don’t ve do that, sir.”? protested
| Bill. ‘*‘You will spoil all if ye do ‘that.
They’ll surely say it isn’t so, and it'll only
be my word ag’in their’s. Wait ontil mid

night, and catch them in the act:
have the proof of your own eyes.”’

‘But I can’t believe that you heard
aright,’’ said his young companion, irreso
lutely. ‘‘I couldn’t bear to wait all day,

then ye’ll

| neath the surface of the water.

NEWS.

Goliath ‘You done look flabbergasted fo’
suah.’’

‘I have reason to, I think. Iam:
Sterling has wind of our intention t

 

very strangely, and
, S

Harry escape He acts
dead a moment ago.
‘How could he have larned h’it We

ilmost cut me

 

’uns wuz up heah makin’ de plans, an’ dere
wuzn’t no one in sight. I guess you ’
ned it.’? ;

‘No, I don’t think so insisted Arthur,
anxiously. ‘‘There is too much at stake for
us to take chances. I wouldn’t have Harry

Hosley

ple down here for

turned over to the mercy of the pe
anything. We

must ado

 

 

everyt’ing prepared fui

§ 1d Goliath, musingly. ‘‘De

boat am ready ter be lowered. De pro
visions, an’ de compass, an’ de sails an

dere, an’—hub! yer shinin’ debbel, yer

cotched me nappin’, eh!’’

The negro made a grab for his line, which
he had released in his abstraction, but it
whizzed over the rail and disappeared be

The

 

rocket had not shaken
his belief that both Go

liath and Arthur were
traitors and spies
‘By jinks ! Vu keep

my blooming eyes open,
and watch them coves
sharper than a cat
watches a mouse,’’ he
muttered, when he
turned out of his bunk
that morning.

Then he added, with
a strong tinge of con
tempt in his voice:

‘““That air young fel
ler wot’s
packet is too blooming
soft, and he lets them
pull the wool over his
eves in a way that’s
surprising to see. The
trouble is, his heart is
bigger than his commo!
sense. But Bill Jenk
an’t the covey wot’
stand by and let a youn
feller be

boss of this

  

bamboozled:
Bill, ye just
keep them peepers of
yourn open, and yer
ears ready for business,
and ye’ll l’arn
thing.’’

And he did

Shortly aiter the
hands turned to,
the mate put him to
work repairing a dead-
light under the
castle deck. While mak
ing an examination of
the damages, Bill heard
voices just above his
head.

His trouble with the
negro was still rankling
in his mind, so when he
recognized Goliath’s fa-
miliar tones, and knew
that he was one of the
speakers, he ceased
work and listened in
tently. It was not long
before he heard
thing that caused him
to grin with expectant
triumph.

‘‘Den you is boun’
tuh do h’it?’’ came to
Bill’s ears.

‘‘Of course,’’ replied
the negro’s companion,
Arthur. ‘‘Sterling is
determined, and wil]
surely send him ashore.
Why, 1 wouldn’t allow it
to happen for anything.
I’d confess all first.’?’

‘‘Doan’ do dat, massa,’’ emphatically ex-
claimed Goliath. ‘‘We kin git him away
dead easy. De bes’ plan is tuh——’

The speakers had evidently shifted their
position, as the words faded away until only
an occasional sound reached Bill Jenks. He
had heard enough, however, and instantly
started in search of his young employer.

Sterling received his surprising informa
tion incredulously, but Bill was so positive,
and insisted so.strongly, that he at last bade
him secure further proot

This Bill did, as related in the last chap
ter, by stealing up behind Arthur and
Goliath on the forecastle. Armed with the
new information—which fully bore out his
previous suspicions—he hastened to the after~
cabin, and placed Sterling in possession of
the facts.

 

‘

Hl i

some

were

fore-

some

 

‘‘Do you mean to tell me that they have
decided to help the midshipman escape
asked the young owner, with growing

anger

‘‘That’s wot they said, sir. And it’s the
kid wot’s going to do it, not that blasted
nigger. Didn’t I tell ye they was spies? Bill
Jenks is too old a chicken to be fooled by
the likes of them. They—where are you
£oing?’’

CROUCHING

 

 

 

 

aE

DOWN OUT OF

and be compelled to meet’ Arthur, feeling
that he is a despicable traitor and spy.’’
‘*Ye’ll have to play ’possum a little if ye
want to catch that slippery kid,’’ replied
Bill, dryly. ‘‘He and that nigger are work

ing a strong game, and they’ll put you in a}

hole if you don’t watch out.’’
‘*] think I can take care of myself,’’ re

plied Sterling, haughtily. ‘‘I am thankful
to you for your information, and believe |
that you mean well by it, but nevertheless,

[am sure there is a mistake somewhere.
However, say nothing about it, and we will
let the matter rest until midnight. A little
before that time come to my state-room.”’

Bill saw that he had gone too far, so he
made an awkward salute and
the deck, leaving the young blockade-runner
in a state of great perplexity.

After a while, Sterling was summoned to
the pilot-house because of some duty con
nected with the repairs to the Flying
Wraith. On his way there he encountered
Arthur, and for the life of him, could not
help showing a coolness to that youth.

This was bad policy, as Arthur instantly
noticed the change. It aroused his sus-
picions, and he sought Goliath at an early
opportunity. He found the negro placidly

“5 confront them, and see if they can deny | fishing from the forecastle deck.

the truth of your story,’’ replied Sterling,

   

‘*Whad am de matter now, massa?’ asked

SIGHT, THE YOUNG OWNER WATCHED THEIR MOVEMENTS WITH

returned to |

disap- |

 

3s7SO

 

 

He avoided Arthur as much as possible,
scarcely speaking to him when they met at
ti _ his sudden coolness did not seem

} very much. In fact, he

emed to be in g humor, and even joked

ith Captain ster, to that taciturn mar-
ler lis mtort

Befo fe his state-room, Sterling

sited the prisoner—who had been confined
na small apartment near the pantry, in the
orward « and found him apparently
LS ‘

i keep a close watch dur-
ins nig ; vner returned aft

  

t nour

mpatiently until the midnight

 

and the coming of Bill Jenks. During the
lay, Sterling had almost lost confidence in
he sailor’s story, but a careful review of
the various incidents that had occurred since

Charles again aroused his sus

 

 

ves to be a spy, as

both and this man Jenks
clai be a sore disappointment to
me,’’ he mused, while stretched out upon his
bunk me reason I have taken a
great liking to him—in

fact, I think more of
Arthur Winters than I
do of my newly discov-
ered relative; although
he is a pretty good fel-
low also—for a Yankee.

‘{ heartily wish that

 

 

Nit

 

 

BATED

| pointed fisherman eyed the eddying circles
|for a moment, then he chuckled, good
| naturedly :
| ‘*Dat’s a omen, Massa Arthur,”’
| ‘*H?it’s a sign fur we ’uns tuh obey.’
‘*‘What do you mean? This is no
| for trifling
| ‘*Why, cyan’t yer understand
|means that we mus’ foller dat fish’s ex-
ample, and act at an onexpected moment.
[f yer t’ink dis young feller suspects us, den
we mus’ kind er fool him, dat’s all.”’

Glancing from the pilot-house window
later, Sterling saw Arthur and Goliath
quietly fishing from the bow, apparently
deeply interested in the sport. Bill Jenks
was standing near by coiling a rope, but he
had his trouble for his pains, as not a word
was passed between the two. Their plans
were already laid.

The day dragged slowly along—to Sterling
each hour seemed an infinity—but at last
| night came, finding everything in readiness
| for an early start at daybreak on the follow
ing morning. Several times during the long
afternoon the young blockade-runner was on
the point of unceremoniously sending his
supposed cousin ashore, but he put it off until
darkness arrived, and then kept to his for

he said.

,

time

dat? H’it

;mer resolution of waiting until a moment |

| before sailing time.

 

BREATH.

i sternly.

\rthur was my cousin
instead of the other fel-
low.’’?’ he added, wist-
fully.

‘‘That is; if he
don’t turn out to bea
spy. Heigho! I wish it

 

was midnight.’’

Unable to remain
quietly in his room,
Sterling slipped into the
outer-cabin, and slow-
ly walked forward. A
his watch told
him that it was barely
eleven, and that another
hour must pass before
he could expect to catch
the spies at their ne-
farious work.

With no particular
destination in view, he
sauntered forward be-
tween decks, finally
reaching the vicinity of
the apartment in which
the supposed Arthur
Wayne was confined.

\ lamp swinging from
a carline-beam cast a
flickering light over the
narrow passage and the
wooden-latticed door,
and brought out in faint
relief the recumbent fig-
ure of a sailor stretched
out just beyond.

It was the guard!

Thinking the man had
fallen asleep on post,
Sterling was on the
point of awaking him
when he heard a noise
at the far end of the
passage.

He barely had time
to draw back into the
shadows, when Arthur
and Goliath appeared,
creeping stealthily
along the deck.

Crouching down out
of sight, the young
owner watched their
movements with bated
breath. He saw them
stumble over the guard,
and start back, with
low cries of amazement.
He saw Arthur hasten
to the latticed door and
try the knob. Hesaw it
open at his touch, and
then he heard Arthur exclaim, excitedly:

‘Goliath, for Heaven’s sake! what does
this mean? The prisoner is gone!”’

elance at

CHAPTER XVII.
STERLING ASKS A QUESTION.

SOR a moment, Sterling remained in
concealment, perplexed beyond meas-
ure by this new development. He
-<™Y thought rapidly. It was plainly evi-
dent that Winters and the negro had ap-
proached the little room bent on some under-
hand work.

The prisoner had disappeared, but not by
any efiort of theirs. Their surprise was evi-
dently sincere. Who could have assisted the
young middy to escape?

With this question uppermost in his mind,
Sterling emerged from the shadows and
confronted Arthur and Goliath. Although
they seemed disconcerted for a second, yet
his sudden appearance did not affect them as
much as he had anticipated. In the mean
time the negro had hastened to the door
with the lantern. As Sterling advanced, he
caught a glimpse of the state-room’s interior.
It was empty.

‘‘What is the meaning of this?’’ he asked,
‘*What are you doing here, sir?’’

 

 

      
  
   
   
   

  
 
  
 
 
 
     
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
   
    
  
    
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
    
  
 
  
   
    
  
   
 
 
   
   
    
  
     
    
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
     
  
   
   
    
   
 
   
 
   
    
  
   
   
    
   
    
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
    
   
    
    
 
  
   
   
     
      
   
     
    
   
    
   
    
   
   
  
   
    

 

 

 

ing Harry Hosley.

they did so, Captain Foster bustled into the

3770

‘‘The prisoner is gone,
evading the last question.

Then he added, eagerly:

‘‘Did you have him removed to some other
part of the ship?’’

‘‘T did not. My cousin was in that room
not two hours ago. You say that he is
gone. He could not have escaped unaided.
Arthur Winters, I consider your presence
here very suspicious. Information was given
me to-day that you had conspired with Go-
liath to set the prisoner free at midnight. I
was waiting to catch you in the act, but}
fortunately [ left my room a moment ago,

|
|
|

 

 

|
|
|

and just in time, it seems, to convince my- | *
| out the steamer, and no person

self of your true character. What is the
matter with that guard? Is his condition
”

the result of your treacherous work?’

 

Arthur folded his arms, and defiantly |
stared his accuser in the face. For a full |
minute he stood thus, then he replied, |
proudly :

‘«T have no wish to conceal the reason for
our’ presence here, Sterling. I came to re-
lease your cousin, if possible, and I am will- |
ing to stand the consequences.’’

“‘You are certainly bold in thus boasting |
of it.’’

‘‘It does not require boldness to confess
that I was on the point of doing you a
favor.’’

‘‘Doing me a favor?’’ echoed Sterling,
looking his astonishment. ‘*Why, what under
the sun do you mean?’’

Goliath, standing back where the gloom
was deepest, gave a prodigious, but fleeting
grin. It was a tribute of admiration to the

oung officer’s astuteness and diplomacy.
The negro was quick-witted enough to see |
the drift of Arthur’s words, and he favored
that youth with an encouraging wink.

‘¢ Yes, I felt that in your secret heart you
did not wish to see your cousin doomed toa
living death in some war-prison. I knew
that your sense of duty would not permit
you to set him free, so Goliath and I re-
solved to do it as a partial return for your
extreme kindness to us. The prisoner has
escaped in some mysterious way, but our in-
tention cannot be denied. If you consider it
just to punish us, we are ready.’’

Sterling fairly gasped with amazement.
Such a view of the question had not oc-
curred to him, To claim that the prisoner’s
release would be doing him—Sterling—a
favor was certainly putting the case very
strongly. But could it be true? Did Arthur
and Goliath really look at it in that light?
It was possible. When the young owner
again spoke his tone had softened consider-
ably. ’

‘*Well, we will discuss that part of the
question later on,’’ he said. ‘‘One thing
certain, my cousin has escaped, and it is my
duty to ascertain whether he is still on board
the steamer. Goliath, run on deck and tell
Keelson—who. has the watch—to call all
hands at once, and to search every part of
the Wraith for the fugitive.”’

When the negro had disappeared, Sterling
and Arthur examined the guard, and found
that be was unconscious, 6 was breathing
heavily, like a man in a stupor caused by
some strong drug.

‘This is very queer,’’? said Arthur, mus-
ingly. ‘‘This could not have been done by
Har—that is, the prisoner. Who on earth
has helped him to escape, and where has he
gone?’’

‘*Those are questions that I will have an-
swered if possible,’’ replied his eompanion,
emphatically. ‘‘I confess that you have a
more or less plausible excuse for your actions
to-night, but the person or persons that have
assisted Arthur Wayne to regain his freedom

 

did so because of their sympathy with the
North. Of that I am assured.’’

Arthur made no reply. In fact, he did
not know what to believe. He and the
negro had visited the state-room with the in-
tention of overcoming the guard, and free-
A boat, secretly pre-
pared by Goliath, was in readiness under
the stern. Then, with their plan nicely laid,
they had suddenly made the astounding dis-
covery that the middy had vanished.

For a moment the perplexed youth thought
that Sterling had removed Harry to some
hiding-place, and intended to keep his action
a secret, but one glance at his frank, open
face disproved such an idea.

While still pondering over the question,.a
number of the crew came rushing down the
forward ladder. With them was Bill Jenks.
The sailor seemed to be greatly excited, and
lost no time in joining Sterling and Arthur.

‘*Did ye catch ’em?’’ he asked, in an eager
voice. ‘‘Wasn’t I right? Didn’t I tell you
they was spies?’’

Sterling checked him with a look, but not
before Arthur had heard the words and real-
ized their meaning.

‘*Ah! you are, the eavesdropper and tell-
tale, eh?’’? he muttered, beneath his breath.
“All right, Mr. William Jenks, we may
square accounts some day.’’

He made a pretended examination of the
state-room door, as if he-had not heard the
sailor, and a moment later Sterling sent
Jenks forward. Several of the crew carried
the unconscious guard to the forecastle. As

assage. He was partially undressed, and
ooked as if he had just left his bed.

‘*What’s this [ hear?’’ he shouted. ‘‘Has
the prisoner escaped? Who helped him?”’

‘The midshipman has disappeared,’ ex-

 

 

CQO DT » TN BWV eS

found out yet who opened the door for him.
It

aiso hailed the Gadfly.’’

‘*Haven’t ye any idea who the blasted
traitor is?’’ asked the skipper, with a sig-
nificant glance at Arthur.

He then bent his head and whispered some-
thing to Sterling.

The latter flushed slightly, but did not re-
ply. This little by-play was not lost on
Arthur, but he wisely decided to pay little

is

| attention to the implied accusation,

A thorough search was instituted through-
was more
eager in the quest than Goliath and his
young “companion. Forward and aft, in
cabin and forecastle, in the coal-bunkers,
the engine-room, and even in the spare
boats, the seekers went, but not asign of the
fugitive could they find.

He had disappeared as completely as if he
had never existed. It was almost daylight
when the search was finally abandoned, and
by that time every part of the Flying
Wraith, with the exception of the hold, had
been thoroughly examined. Sterling was
for carrying the quest among the cargo of
cotton also, but Captain Foster explained at
great length how impossible it would be for
any one to open the hatches without being
seen. by the anchor watch.

‘*Why, I relieved Keelson for an hour
around ten o’clock,’’ he added, ‘‘and [ am
sure that not even a blooming mouse could
have crossed the forward deck without 1
knew it. No, the feller is gone, and good
riddance to bad rubbish, says I.’’

Shortly before daylight, Sterling sent for
Arthur. The latter found the young owner
in his state-room. After inviting him to
take a seat, the former said, gravely:

‘‘T would like to have an understanding
with you before anything else is done.’’

‘‘T am all attention. What is it you wish
to say?’’ replied Arthur, secretly wondering
what was going to happen.

His companion hesitated a moment, and
nervously toyed with a paper-weight on his
desk. Finally he turned round, and said, a
trifle sternly :

‘‘Now, Iam going to ask you a serious
question. Don’t think me inhospitable, for

am not, but I would like to know why, if
you are Arthur Winters, and live in Wil-
mington, North Carolina, you do not take
advantage of this opportunity to return
home instead of going with us to Nassau?’’

CHAPTER XVIII.
‘sir IS THE STARS AND BARS.’’

   

HE question was so entirely unexpect-
2 ed by Arthur, and, moreover, had
such a serious meaning, that for a
; brief space he could only sit upright
in his chair and stare blankly at his com-
panion.

His confusion did not last very long, how-
ever. It has been seen that the plucky
Yankee middy possessed great control over
his emotions, and that he was equal to al-
most any emergency.

In the present case, he was, to use a com-'
mon expression, almost ‘‘stumped,’’ and it
required all his astuteness to find a way out
of the difficulty. Strange to say, it had
never occurred to him that in his disguise of
Arthur Winters, be should have been eager
to return home from the Georgia port. He
saw it now, and he groped. blindly for an
excuse to offer his companion.

‘*You are right, Sterling,’’ he finally said,
with just a suspicion of reproach in his
voice. ‘*You are certainly right. I must
go home at once. I—I am only sorry that
It was left to you to remind me of my tres-
passing upon your-——’’

‘‘Now, don’t say that. I beg of you, don’t
say that,’’ interrupted the Southern youth,
all his natural sense of hospitality rising in
arms at the threatened accusation. ‘‘Con-
found it! you know that you are as welcome
as the day, my friend. But, in all fairness,
you will acknowledge that it certainly does
look suspicious. It hurts me to say it, Ar-
thur, but remember my responsibility, and
the numerous attempts that hare been made
to betray the Wraith.’’

‘‘T acknowledge that you have good rea-
sons to suspect me,’’ meekly replied the
middy, rising to his feet. ‘I don’t blame
you in the least, I would do the same if I
was in your place, Please accept my thanks
—my sincere thanks—for your kindness to
me. I would like to hear from you when
you return to the United States.’’

‘*What do you mean?’’ demanded Sterling,
springing erect. ‘*Where are you going?’’

‘‘Home. 1 must make my way back to
Wilmington at once.’’

The young owner reached the door with
one bound. Placing his back to it, he ex-
claimed, vehemently : ;

“*You shall not leave this state-room until
you promise me that you will accompany
us to Nassau. I will not let you go away
thinking that I do not desire your compan-
ionship. I—I like you, Arthur, and it was
only the worry and excitement under which
I haye been laboring that caused me to
speak in the manner I did. Forget it, old
boy, and promise me that you will make
the trip with us.’?

The strong light from a lamp screwed to

is probably the same person that dis- | ling.
charged the rocket night before last, and | peared

'
’” replied Arthur, | plained the young owner. ‘‘But we haven’t | the bulkhead near him fell full upon Ar-

thur’s face. It’s pallor was almost start-
Something curiously like a tear ap-

in his eye, but he brushed it away
| with a hasty gesture, and said, hoarsely :
‘*Sterling, let me go. Don’t ask me to re-
|main aboard this vessel. Open that door,
| please. ’’

‘‘No. You must give me your promise
| first. I really want you to go with us. Why
do you refuse in this strange manner? Are

you so deeply offended by my words that
you can’t forget them?’’

Arthur was greatly agitated in truth. He

to acknowledge. His one desire now was to

| He was on the point of again begging Ster

was heard just outside.

‘‘Massa Arthur! Massa Arthur! whar is
you? De gyard has done come tub his
senses, an’ he wants tuh ’splain matters.’

‘‘We will go and see what he has to say,”’
spoke up Sterling. ‘‘Now, Arthur, say you
will stand by me for the balance of this
trip, that’s a good fellow.’’

‘‘No. I must return to Wilmington. The
Stars and Bars has been captured, and my
father is on his way to a Northern prison.
He thinks me dead, as you know.’’

‘*You can .write to him. You could not
get through the lines, anyway, so you might
as well come with me. I positively will not
| take a refusal.’’

‘*Massa Arthur, whar is you?
comin’ out tuh see de gyard?’’

‘*Goliath !’’ called out Sterling.

‘('Ves. sah.’’

‘*Tell Captain Foster to hoist the anchor
at once.’’

‘*But I
thur,

‘*You must do nothing,’’ interrupted the
young owner. Then he added, toed

‘‘Goliath, carry my message at once, do
you hear? Tell the captain to raise anchor,
and prepare for getting under way. Make
haste, now!’?

‘‘All right, sah. I is gwine now, sah.’’

“Sterling, you know not what you do,”’
exclaimed Arthur, as the negro was heard
moving from the door. ‘‘I will remain, but
remember, in time to come, that I wished to
leave the Flying Wraith, and stayed only
because you insisted,’’

‘‘Very well,’’ carelessly replied Sterling,
not understanding the hidden meaning of
his companion’s words. ‘‘Come, now, we
will see what this guard has tosay. He
may be able to give us a clew. In my opin-
ion, the person who released my cousin is
the same culprit that tried to betray us to
the Yankee gun-boats.’’

Arthur knew better, but he did not say so
They hurried forward to the forecastle and
found the guard sitting up in his bunk. As
it happened he had little to tell after all.
While walking up and down the passage he
had noticed a tin of rum on the floor at the
far end.

Thinking it had been. left by the first
guard by mistake, he had quaffed the con-
tents as a joke on his mate. A few mo-
ments later he. became so drowsy that he
was compelled to lie down, and almost be-
fore he touched the deck he became uncon-

 

Han’t yer

must——’’ hastily spoke up Ar-

scious.
Nothing further could be learned from
him. He had neither seen any person nor

heard footsteps while'on post. He found the
rum and drank it, and he was duly penitent.

‘*The man who placed the rum there must
be well acquainted with the crew,’’ observed
Sterling, ‘‘as he knew just what bait to use
with this fellow, Well, the mischief is done,
and it can’t be helped. The midshipman

tain.’?

‘‘He had friends aboard, asa boat con-
taining provisions and other articles neces-
sary for a cruise, was found a half hour ago
under the stern,’’ said Captain Foster, ‘'I
don’t think it was any of the crew what did
that.’’

‘‘How do you know?’’ asked the young
owner, sharply. ‘‘Have you any reason to
believe that it wasn’t? If so, speak out, and
I’l) investigate the matter.’’

‘‘No—I just supposed that none of them
would do such a treacherous trick. I an’t
suspecting nobody.’?

‘*Well, get the Wraith under way as soon
as possible. I want to have this voyage
ended. I sincerely hope we will see Nassau
without further trouble.”’

Arthur hastily scribbled a couple of letters
as a blind, and sent them ashore just before
the blockade-runner left her anchorage. <A
multitude of small boats filled with men,
followed the gallant craft a short distance
down the Sound, and gave her a_ hearty
cheer as she passed from sight. Sterling had
been liberal with his rewards for their serv-
ices and the men of Darien bore him good-
will.

News from the Heads, received just before
starting, had been favorable concerning the
absence of suspicious sails, but shortly after
the Flying Wraith left the coast, a trace of
smoke on the northern horizon was seen by
the lookout. /

At first, Sterling was inclined to put back
to Darien again and wait until night, but

 

he finally resolved to crowd on all sail and
steam and chance it. Word was given Jack-

| ling to permit him to go when Goliath’s voice |

managed to get away somehow, that’s cer- |

| claimed Sterling, running

}

 

 

son to increase the speed, and presently the
stanch hull was plowing through the waters
of the Atlantic at a sixteen knot gait.
During the following two hours all went
well, then just as the warning smoke had
finally disappeared, a tremendous: crash
sounded in the engine-room, and the screw
instantly ceased revolving.
‘‘What on earth is the matter now?’’ ex-
ing-tube.
He shouted for Jackson, and demanded an
explanation at once. A murmur of words
came from below, .then the young owner

was not acting now. His cousin’s words and | turned to the occupants of the pilot-house a
actions bad affected him more than he cared | face convulsed with rage.

‘*More treason!’’ he cried. ‘‘Some one

| leave the blockade-runner and return North. | has thrown a bolt into the machinery and
| crippled the crank-shaft!’’

‘‘Good heavens! The smoke we sighted—
it may be a gun-boat!’’ hastily replied Ar-
thur, forgetting in his excitement, his real
position.

‘True. It may be,’’ said Captain Foster.
‘*If such should be the case we are gone up
sure. With the breeze this way we can’t ex-
pect to make more’n three knots under all
sail.’’

‘‘Arthur, run aloft with a spy-glass, and
see if the smoke appears again,’’ directed
the young owner. ‘‘It- may be heading to
the eastward.”’

A few moments later the middy was
perched in the main cross-trees intently
scanning the northern horizon. His search
was speedily rewarded. A faint tracing of
vapor at the edge of the water steadily grew
in volume until it proclaimed the undoubted
presence of a steamer.

Oblivious of the stir and bustle of making
sail around and below him, Arthur kept his
glass at work until he was able to make out
the hull of the approaching vessel, the drab-
colored sides and the sharp run proclaimed
its identity.

It was a blockade-runner.

Still Arthur watched it with eager eyes.
Then, when the oncoming steamer had ar-
rived within several miles, he closed the
glass with a snap and hastened to the deck.
Goliath was waiting to meet him. The
negro’s face wore an anxious expression, and
he attempted to ask a question, but the
words failed him. At last he managed to
stammer :

‘*H’it an’t de—de——”’

‘“*Yes,’’? interrupted Arthur, hurriedly.
‘‘T am afraid we are caught this time, Go-

liath. That steamer is the one of all others
I would rather not meet. It is the Stars
and Bars!’’

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
(This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.]

The Schooldays of Fred Harley ;

RIVALS FOR ALL HONORS,

BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD,
Author of “Missing Money.” ete.

- >
(“THE SCHOOLDAYS OF FRED HARLEY” was com-

menced in No, 229. Back numbers can be obtained
of all News Agents.)

a @ coe

CHAPTER XXIV.
AN UNEXPECTED WITNESS.

OR the instant Fred was so taken
aback by Mr. Wallace’s accusation
Ui that he could not utter a word. Like
“¥ a flasb, he saw the truth of the mat-
ter—saw how Dawson and Henderson ha
plotted to ruin his fair name.

‘It is disgraceful!’’ went on the head
master of Maplewood School. ‘‘I did not
think one of my boys would be guilty——’’

‘Stop, Mr. Wallace!’’ cried Fred, finding
his tongue at last. ‘‘You are making a mis-
take. I did not touch the boat you men-
tion.’’

‘*But I have proofs. Your jack-knife was
found on the floor of the boat-house.’’

‘‘T have not been in the boat-house since
yesterday morning.’’

‘‘Did I not see you there late last night,
sir?’’ demanded Mr. Wallace, sternly.

‘*You saw me around the boat-house, but
not in it, sir. I was only walking along the
river looking for Leroy Favor, as I men-
tioned to you.’’

‘*You mean to deny that you were in the
boat-house, Harley?’’

‘*T do deny it most emphatically, sir.’’

‘*But your knife?’’

‘*‘T do not know how the knife came there.
I thought it was in my pocket.’

A shadow of doubt settled across Mr.
Wallace’s face. Fred’s bold denial had made
some impression upon his mind.

‘““That boat has. been ruined,’’ he said,
slowly. ‘‘If you did not do the deed, who
did?”’

‘*T can tell you, sir.’’

‘*You can?”?

‘‘Dawson and Henderson did the deed
themselves !’?

‘*What?”?

Ss
ie

 
  

 

‘‘That is my belief, sir, and I feel sure I

am right.’

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CGrooDp

 

‘‘But this is absurd, Harley! Why would
they ruin the very boat in which they are to
race to-day?’’

‘“‘J don’t know, unless they were afraid
of being beaten. Henderson is in bad form,
and Dawson is not what he might be.’’

Mr. Wallace shook his head.

‘‘T cannot credit your theory.

‘*There is something more to tell, sir.’’

‘‘Something more? What?’’

For reply, Fred related how he had dis
covered Dawson and Henderson at the boat-
house the evening before, and what he had
heard them say. The master of Maplewood
School listened with keen interest.

‘¢And so you think they hatched out this
plot against you?’’

‘sT-do, sir.’’

‘‘They are not friendly to you, then?’’

‘*Far from it, sir.
to get square with me ever since we had our
fight, and Henderson is his tool whenever
there is any underhand work to be done.’’

Mr. Wallace mused for a moment.

‘‘Come with me,’’ he said, presently, and
led the way out of his private room and into
the hallway.

Here he met one of the other scholars.

 

Dawson has been trying |

|
i

‘‘Beck, have Mr. Mollycod send Dawson |

boat-house at
‘*Come. Har-

and Henderson down to the
once,’’ he said, to the boy.
ley.’’

The two were soon on their way to the
boat-house. They had hardly arrived there,
when Dawson and Henderson came in, fol-

lowed by Mr. Mollycod and half a dozen
others, all eager to know what was the
trouble.

It soon leaked out, and many were the ex-
clamations that went up.

‘‘The double shell is ruined,
Harley did it!’’

‘That shell was worth nearly a hundred
dollars !’’

‘‘Won’t he catch it, though, for this!’’

‘¢T don’t believe Fred did it!’’ exclaimed
Leroy. ‘‘*This is somebody else’s work.”’

‘‘But his knife was found here!’’ put in
Jack Raven.

‘‘That makes no difference,’’ said Spring

and Fred

ley. ‘‘Fred didn’t do it, Ill bet all [I’m
worth. He isn’t that sort of a fellow.”’
‘‘Oh, pshaw!’’ burst in Sam Bixby. ‘‘Of |

course Harley did it. He’s the meanest boy
in the school!’’

‘‘T say he didn’t!’’ burst out a number of
Fred’s friends.

‘‘Silence!’?’ commanded Mr. Wallace, and
the talk broke off abruptly.

‘*Dawson,’’ the ter. address
ing the bully, ‘‘Harley denies he injured the
boat——’’

‘*T supposed he
bully.

‘‘Wait. He not only denies it, but says he
knows the guilty parties.’’

Dawson gave a slight start, but did not
change color.

‘He says that you and Henderson ruined
that boat, for the purpose of injuring , his
name and getting out of racing.’’

“Tt an’t so!’’ burst out Dawson.

‘“‘Of course it an’t!’’ put in Henderson.
‘¢He must think we’re a couple of fools.’’

‘‘He says he saw you in this boat-house
last evening——’’

‘‘Who saw us?’?
another start.

‘‘Harley.’’

‘He is telling an untruth. I wasn’t
the boat-house after five o’clock.’’

‘‘Neither was I,’? added Henderson, with
a dark look toward Fred.

‘You are sure of this?’’

‘* Yes,’? returned both boys.

Mr. Wallace looked more perplexed than
ever. He turned to Fred.

‘¢You hear what they have to say, Har
ley???

‘¢Yes, 1 hear it, Mr. Wallace. All I can
say is that they are not telling the truth——”’

‘*Look here, you sha’n’t talk about me in
this way !’’ blustered Dawson, striding up to
Fred, with clenched fists.

‘“‘Stand back, Dawson,’’ returned Fred,
bravely. ‘‘ You know I speak the truth, and
you also know that I am able to defend my-
self.’’

‘Here, here, boys, none of this!’’ inter-
rupted Mr. Wallace, more sternly than ever.

‘‘Well, he needn’t say I was near the boat-
house when I wasn’t!’’ growled Dawson, as
he dropped his hands to his sides.

The master turned to the crowd.

‘‘Boys, can any of you testify to the
truthfulness of Harley’s statements?”’

There was a dead silence.

Dawson and Henderson looked
lieved. ;

‘They can’t testify because it’s false,’’
said Henderson, triumphantly. ,

‘‘When did this happen, Harley?”’

‘‘You mean when did I see Dawson and
Henderson, sir?’’

‘Yes 9

‘‘ About quarter to eight o’clock.’’

‘‘Dawson, where were you at quarter to
eight last night?’’

‘¢T—-T was up in the dormitory.”’

‘‘What were you doing?’’

‘*Mending my rowing suit.’’

‘Where were you, Henderson?’’

‘‘].-T was with Dawson, sir.’’

‘* Also mending your suit?’’

‘*No, sir, 1 was reading a newspaper.

‘‘Dawson, what was the trouble with your
suit???’

vent on ma

would,’’ broke in the

demanded Dawson, with

near

much re-

9

 

;
;

 

‘*There was a—a tear in the back where I
caught it on a nail.’’

‘* And you spent the time sewing that up?’’

‘6 Yoa. sir.”

‘‘Where is that suit now?”’

At this question, Dawson turned suddenly
pale, and gave a quick glance to one of the
boat-house lockers which he was in the habit
of using.

‘Is it in that locker?’’

‘*No—no, sir. I—I threw it away.’’

‘*Threw it away?’’

‘*Yes, sir. You see, I made such a botch

job of the mending that I threw it in the |

rag-bag. I was going to borrow
suit for the races.’’

‘*Humph !’?

‘‘The fact that you saw Harley around
here, and that his knife was here ought to
be proof that he did the cutting, sir,’’ went
on Dawson.

‘‘Mr. Wallace, I doubt very much if he
can produce that suit he says he attempted
to mend,’’ put in Fred.

‘‘He has a suit that’s nearly new,”’
Springley.

‘*T haven’t!’’ growled Dawson. ‘‘I threw
the suit away, as I said. If it is not in the
rag-bag, then Harley or somebody else took
it out.’’

‘*Thank you, but I

re)

am not fishing stuff
out of the rag-bag!’’ retorted Fred, warmly.

‘‘Stop, boys!’’ warned the head master.
‘‘Mr. Mollycod, will you please send Gregg
here?’

‘*Certainly, Mr. Wallace.’’

The assistant went off, and soon came
back, accompanied by the man of all work,

Bixby’s |

NEWS.

the school-room yesterday afternoon. I can’t
remember using it after that.’’

‘*Didn’t you lay your knife on the desk?’

‘*Yes, I did!’’ burst out Fred.
it beside my arithmetic.”’

Frank turned to the head master.

‘‘T saw Henderson pick Harley’s knife up |
from the desk, sir. I remember it distinctly,
sir, because I thought Henderson meant to
worry through thinking the knife
was lost, and I was going to tell him on the
sly not to mind,”’

‘‘T never picked up any knife!’’ burst out
Henderson.

‘You did!’

‘I didn’t!’’

‘*Silence, boys!

Mr. Wallace faced Dawson and Henderson

‘*T placed |

Harley

oe)

| sternly.

put in |
‘‘T noticed it particularly yes- |
| terday afternoon.’’

| stand it,’’

who gazed at the anxious crowd in astonisb- |

ment.

‘‘And what is it you’re wanting of
sir?’’? he asked of the head master.

‘““Gregg, what time did you lock
last night?’’

‘*A bit after seven o’clock, sir.’

‘*Did you let any one have the key after
that?’’

‘‘No, sir; but they took the key, sir.’’

‘Took the key? What do you mean?’’

‘‘T have it hanging on a nail back of the

me,

up here

kitchen door, sir. Last night while I was
sitting back by the window reading, one of
the boys slipped in and took the key. He

brought it back in ten or fifteen minutes.
No harm, I hope, sir. I thought be only
wanted to get something in the boat-house,
although I didn’t know that any of ’em
knew where I kept the key.”’

‘*Who was the boy, Gregg?’

‘‘It was——’’ The man of all work
stopped, and grew red in the face. ‘‘I hope
I an’t a-gitting any of the young gents in
trouble, sir.’’

‘*Answer my question,
Mr. Wallace, sharply.

‘*It was Master Dawson, sir.’’

Gregg,’’ replied

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BOAT RACES.

REGG’S announcement that Dawson
was the scholar who"had taken the
key produced a profound sensation.

The bully himself grew first red and
then pale.

‘‘What a mean thing to do!’’

‘‘And then to blame it on Fred Harley !”’

‘*He ought to be expelled !’’

“It’s a lie!’? burst out Dawson, facing
Gregg. ‘‘I never took that key !’’

‘*T hope I haven’t got you into trouble,
sir,’’ returned Gregg, anxiously.

‘‘You are sure it was Dawson, Gregg?
put in Mr. Wallace.

‘‘Well, now, I—you see—-
the man of all work.

‘‘Out with the truth, Gregg. Do not hesi-
tate to speak. I intend to get at thé bottom
of this affair.’’

‘‘It was Dawson, sir; I am sure of it,’’

‘*He’s an impudent——’’ began the bully,
but the head master clapped his hand over
the boy’s mouth.

‘‘Silence for the present, Dawson. You
saw him take the key, and saw him put it
back?’

oe Reet.

‘*What time was this?’’

‘*A bit before eight o’clock, sir.’’

‘*Was Dawson alone?’’

‘*VYes, sir—that is, he took the key and
brought it back. Henderson was along,
though.’’

‘*No, I wasn’t along!’’ shouted Henderson,
who was in a cold sweat, and trembling vio-
lently.

‘*Well, he stood close to the door when
Dawson got the key,’’ said Gregg. ‘‘And he
walked back with Dawson, for I saw him,
air”?

At this instant, Frank Martin pushed his
way through the crowd, having just heard
what was taking place.

‘‘Mr. Wallace, I think I can clear up part
of this matter,’’ he said.

‘“You, Martin! Were
house last night?’’

‘Oh, no, sir. But I think I know
thing concerning Fred’s jack-knife.’’

‘‘Ah! What do you know???

Frank turned to Fred.

‘‘When did you use your knife last?’’

‘*}’ve keen trying to think,’’ returned the
country boy. ‘‘I sharpened a lead-pencil in

 

stammered

you at the boat-

some-

”?
|

’ went
Harley,

‘*There is no use in believing him!
on Henderson. ‘‘He’s a chum of

| tered

| came

OT ee

river, telling that the time
close at hand. Henderson and Dawson en
the shell and rowed off, followed by
Mr. Wallace | other gentlemen in
one boat, and the schoolboys in several other
craft.

From

for the race was

;
and sever:

 

the Parker
and

boat-house
shell, and

Academy
Leeks Mack, in their

| five other boats, besides the two steam tugs.

and would say anything.’’
‘Iam above telling a falsehood,’’ cried |
Frank, angrily. ‘‘They ruined that boat,

Mr. Wallace, so they would not have to race
in it. Henderson is afraid he will be beaten;

| and finally,

I overheard him talking to Bixby about it.’’ |

‘*He never said so!’’
brazenly.
‘‘Well, I

retarted Sam Bixby,

must confess I cannot
replied the head master of Maple-
wood School. ‘‘Henderson, you wish to
row, do you not?”’

‘*Certainly, I do, sir. We would have won

{had the boat been untouched.’’

‘*And you, Dawson?’’

under- |

‘Of course, we both want to row, sir. It’s |

a crazy idea that we want to call the race
off.’’
‘*Well, you shall not be disappointed. I

The two shells came up
about thirty feet apart.
be down the river for half
stake-boat, and to.the starting line.

‘All ready?”

‘*Ready !”’

There was a second’s pause.

Bang! spoke the pistol of the starter; and
the rivals were off.

Leeks and Mack caught the water first,
and soon brought themselves into the swing
of a long, powerful stroke, that told greatly
in their favor.

Dawson and Henderson made a bad start,
when they did get into unison,
pulled a short, jerky stroke, which was not
nearly as powerful as that of their rivals.

‘*They’ll lose that race, just as I thought,’’
said Springley. *‘Why, Leeks and Mack can
walk clear around them.’’

‘‘Dawson pulls well enough,”’
Martin. ‘*But Henderson seems
out of his wits.’

‘‘] dink I vos row as goot as dot myself,’’
put in Carl.

Fred nothing; but he was as
interested as anybody.

‘*Pull, Parker, pull!”’

side by side, and
The course was to
a mile, around a

 

said Frank
frightened

said

much

came the cry from

| over the water.

will have Bates, the boatman, bring down a

shell just like this for use to-day.’’
At this announcement, the face of Hender-

| son fell.

 

‘I—we can’t do anything with a new
boat,’’ he said, faintly.

‘Bates has a boat exactly like the one that
was cut. Iwill have him bring that. If
some outsider has ruined this boat, you and
Dawson shall not suffer, and if you did the
deed you
suffer defeat. I will not
such questionable work in
Maplewood School.’’

This unexpected speech upon Mr. Wallace’s
part brought forth a shout of approval.

‘*Good! Make them row!”’

countenance any
connection with

| yet.

shall row, anyway, evenif you|

‘*Yes, make them prove that they wanted |

99

to race!

‘‘As for this miserable piece of
here,’’ went on the head master, pointing to
the ruined shell, ‘‘there is not time fora full
investigation this morning, as I promised to
let you all off by eleven o’clock. But on
Monday morning, immediately after break-
fast, I want you, Dawson, Henderson, Har-
ley and Martin, to come to my private

study. Do you understand?’
‘‘Yes, sir,’? came ina rather subdued
chorus.

‘* All the scholars will now repair to their
class-rooms.’’

And thus the crowd was compelled to dis
perse.

‘*Don’t you be afraid,’’ whispered Leroy
to Fred. ‘‘You’ll come out all O. K.”’

‘*T trust so,’’ returned the country boy.

Lessons that morning were rushed through,
and promptly at eleven o’clock the tower
bell rang for dismissal. Five minutes later
the boys were on their way.to the boat-
house, and to other places of vantage along
the river. Some few stopped behind for
lunch, but most of them were too interested
in coming events to think of eating.

The news of the races had reached Maple-

| wood and Parkerville, and as a consequence,

quite a crowd of townspeople came down to
see what was going on. All the available
craft were out on the water, each decorated
with, flags and bunting.

Mr. Wallace had kept his word, and at
the boat-house float rested the shell that was
the exact counterpart of the one which had
suffered injury. The boat-house was filled
with the pupils, who had just finished tack-
ing up bunting, and were now preparing to
run up the big school flag.

On the opposite shore, the boat-house
owned by the Parker Academy pupils was
also crowded. They, too, had a big flag up,
and also a stuffed eagle. They had engaged
two steam launches, besides several sail-boats.

‘*Tt’s going to be quite a big affair,’’ said
Springley. ‘‘But I must say | can’t enthuse
for a cent. ‘

‘‘Nor can I,’’ replied Leroy. ‘‘ Although
I suppose we ought to wish our side success,
just for the sake of the school.’’

Fred was with them, but he said nothing.
He was thinking of what bad passed, and
what the examination on the following Mon-
day morning would bring forth.

Presently Dawson and Henderson came
out in their rowing costumes, with their
blades over their shoulders. Dawson looked
defiant, while Henderson seemed very much
worried.

The two stood around for a long while be-
fore they entered the shell.

‘‘We might have won if we had had our
own shell,’’ muttered the bully of the school.
‘‘But as it is, the odds are against us.”’

‘*The shell is just as good as the old one, if
not better,’’ said Leroy. ‘‘If you lose, it’s
your own fault.’

At last there was a shot from across the

?

work |

;

| out Leroy.

 

‘<Pull, Maplewood, pull!’’
ing shout.

‘‘Maplewood an’t in it!’’
‘‘Wait and see! The race an’t finished

was the answer-

‘Go it, Mack! ”

‘“Wake up,

Jawson !’’

‘‘There they go around the stake-boat!”?

‘*Parkers are three lengths ahead!’

‘*Here they come!’’

‘*Mack and Leeks are crawling away from
them !”’ :

‘They are gaining a bit!’?

It was Bixby who uttered the last ery,
and it wastrue. On rounding the stake-
boat, Dawson and Henderson had put on an
extra spurt, and thus they somewhat lessened
the distance between themselves and their
rivals.

But now a shout of warning, and then of
horror, went up. In attempting to follow
the leading shell, one of the steam launches
had gotten in the path of the other shell.

There was a crash, and the shell was seen

Go it
Henderson!

Leeks!

Poke him one,

to slide under the water and then turn bot-
tom upward.

‘*Boys, look at that!

‘*Dawson and Henderson have been run

down!”’

‘*Where are they?’’

‘Can they swim?’’

‘‘Why don’t somebody.go to their assist
ance?’’

These and a hundred other cries rang out.

‘‘They are tied .fast in the shell!’’ burst
‘‘] saw therh fasten the straps!
Unless some one goes to their aid they will
be drowned like rats in a trap!”’

CHAPTER XXVI,_
‘“THE

Vv

a)

WORK OF A TRUE HERO.’’

HEN the dreadful catastrophe men-
tioned above occurred, Fred was
not very far off. The boat he was

  

ol in had followed the racers almost
to the turning point, and now the shell oc

cupied by Leeks and Mack had just shot
past, bound for the homestretch.

As the shell containing Dawson and Hen-
derson went over, the country boy realized
all in an instant the grave peril to which
the two oarsmen would be subjected. ' He
had seen them very foolishly tie. themselves
fast to their sliding seats, with their feet
twisted in the leather straps. Unless some-
thing was done, and that quickly, one or the
other, perhaps both, would be drowned.

At that supreme moment, Fred. showed
the sort of stuff that was in him—that ele-
ment that has made me select him as the
hero of this story. He threw aside the
thought that Dawson and Henderson were
his bittter enemies, and started in to do
what he could toward saving them.

Hardly had the shouts from those in the
surrounding boats rent the air than Fred
was up in the bow of the- boat. He flung
aside his coat and vest; his cap and shoes
followed, and then, marking the spot under
the upturned. shell where Dawson and Hen-
derson must be, he made a swift dive over-
board.

‘*He’s gone after them!’

‘*Who was it?’’

‘*Fred Harley !”’

‘*What a fine dive!

‘‘He can do nothing under the water.
It’s impossible to turn the shell over in fhat
way.’’

‘*They’ll catch hold of him, and he’ll be
drowned, too!’’

Once under water, Fred did not close his
eyes, but kept them wide open. The river
was fairly clear, and he could see several
yards before him.

?

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A dozen quick strokes brought him
where Dawson and Henderson were strug-
gling madly to free themselves. Both boys
had their mouths tightly closed, but were
taking in water through their nostrils, for
the race had all but exhausted them.

As Fred reached them he put his left hand
in his pocket, and drew forth his jack-knife
—that knife that had played so important a
part in the mysterious doings at the boat-
house.

With his right hand he opened the blade.

Then he swam in boldly between the two
boys.
Dawson saw him coming, and clutched

him madly by the shoulder. Fred twisted
himself free, and then, with two dexterous
slashes of the knife, cut the cords which
bound Dawson.

By this time the country boy was almost
exhausted for the want of air. Yet he real-
ized that if he went to the surface and came

down again, it would be too late to save
Henderson. What was to be done must be

done now.

He turned around in the water, and moved
toward the almost unconscious youth. Hen-
derson had freed one foot, but the other
was not only tied, but twisted about the
rope.

Fred caught the captive foot in one hand,
and slashed at the rope with the other.
Three cuts were needed, and then Henderson
was free.
' By this time Dawson had managed to
reach the surface of the water. Henderson,
however, was too far gone to make any
movement, and to Fred it looked as if he
would go to the bottom.

The country boy caught the unconscious
youth by the arm, and with one sturdy
effort pushed him upward. Then he allowed
his own body to rise.

His eyes were almost bulging from their
sockets from the strain he had endured, and
he could do little more than gasp for breath.
He dropped his knife and put up a feeble
hand for assistance.

By this time several boats, including the
steam launch which had caused the accident,
had gathered round the spot. Willing hands
drew Dawson and Henderson out of the
water, and Fred was as quickly rescued.

‘‘Have—have they got them?’’ he gasped.

‘*Yes,’’ replied Leroy, who had been the
one to take Fred’s hand first.

‘‘’m glad—glad of it,’? murmured the
country boy, and then he dropped back over
a seat, through sheer exhaustion.

Of course, the accident brought the races
to an abrupt close. The gentleman who had
charge of the steam launch that had done
the damage took both Dawson and Hender-
son on board, and steamed with them to the
nearest landing.

Here a doctor was summoned, and several
boys and men, including Mr. Wallace, and
Leroy, and Frank, went to work to recusci-
tate the half-drowned lads. In the mean-

time, Springley and Carl did what they
could for Fred, who lay back on the grass,
as limp as a wet rag.

It was fully an hour before Dawson and
Henderson were pronounced out of danger.
Even then they were still unconscious, and
did not know who liad rescued them.

A carriage was procured, and both boys

were taken back to Maplewood School, and
made comfortable on their cots. Fred re-
turned a little later, being brought in a
turn-out the gentleman from the steam
launch had procured.

‘**T shall never forget you for this,’’ said
the gentleman to Fred, as he accompanied
the boy to Maplewood School. “Had those
boys been drowned, I would have felt like a

_ murderer !?’
‘*T’m glad they are alive,’’ was all Fred
could reply.
' *You’re a brick, Fred!’’ cried Springley,
enthusiastically. ‘‘To save Dawson: and
Henderson after what they did against
i you!’

**Yes, Fred, you vos a double brick al-
retty!’? put in Carl. ‘‘Dot vos more as von
poy out of den dousand vould do!’?

The gentleman looked astonished, and
Springley was compelled to tell the partic-
ae Clays of what had previously occurred.

‘‘The work of a true hero!’’ he cried, as
he grasped Fred’s hand. ‘‘You have heaped
edie ot fire upon their heads truly !’’

te The gentleman’s name was Malwick, and
he stopped to talk to the boys for quite a
while, and then went off to interview Mr.
_ Wallace.

_ Fred changed his clothes, and by that time
had almost recovered, although he still felt
weak in the legs.

Presently, old Gregg came in to see him.

‘Mr. Wallace says for you to come down
in the parlor, if you can,’’ said the man of

- all work.

‘*All right, I'll go,’’? returned Fred, and
he went.
He found the master of Maplewood School
pacing up and down in deep meditation.
There was a peculiar smile upon his face.

‘‘Ah, Harley, Iam glad to see you have
recovered,’’ he said, as he placed a kindly
hand on Fred’s shoulder. ‘‘I have just come
from Dawson and Henderson——’’

‘‘How are they?’’ questioned the country
boy, eagerly.

“Doing nicely. They both want to see

to

COO ID

‘THE WHITE KING OF AFRICA;

OR,

THE MYSTERY OF THE ANCIENT FORT.

onesie

By WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON,

“The Camp in the Snow,’ “From Lake

Author of
to Wilderness,” etc.
-

{‘*THE WHITE KING OF AFRICA” was commenced
in No. 226. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents. }

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE FIGHT ON THE FORT.

 
 
 

HPDIHE loop-hole commanded a view across

iy the valley in the direction of the lake,
: and the light of moon and stars would
have sufficed to make far away objects
visible without artificial help.

Out from the black hole in the rocky cliff
—the exit of the water passage—a procession
of flasbing, flaming torches was streaming.

Already several score were visible, and
the number was fast increasing.

And by the torch-light the narrow sheet
of back water was seen to be jammed with
canoes, many of which were discharging
their swarms of blood-thirsty negroes on the
sandy beach.

Lights were flashing in the village, too,
and the startled Karibegs were rushing, with
fierce yells, to meet the invaders.

To the little party far up on the fort it
was a thrilling and terrible scene, and for a
minute they could only gaze in mute despair.

Then Lucius Fanshawe staggered back,
and wrung his hands in helpless grief.

‘‘God help us!’’ he groaned. ‘‘We are
lost—lost. Oh! why could not this blow
have been delayed a little longer?’’

‘‘There is still hope!’’ cried Bunbury.
‘*Your plucky fellows will fight like fiends.
Hark! they are at it now. They may beat
the enemy back.’’

‘*Impossible!’’ exclaimed Fanshawe. ‘‘It
is a general revolt. Hundreds of cannibals
have already got a foothold in the valley,
and hundreds more are probably coming
through the passage. They will butcher
every man, woman and child, and then at
tack the fort.’?’

‘‘Tf there had only been time to prepare,
muttered Bunbury. ‘‘With the aid of your
body-guard, we could have held the passage-
mouth against an army.’’

‘“‘Too late to think of that now,’’ said
Fanshawe. ‘‘There has been treachery some-
where—foul treachery. Every man of my
spies must have turned traitor.’’

‘Or else they were found out and killed,’’
suggested Bunbury.
‘* Yes, that is more likely,’’? Fanshawe ad-
mitted. ‘‘At all events, the storm has burst
from a clear sky, and it means ruin to our
hopes.’’

As he svoke the tumult below assumed a
change that admitted of no misconstruction.
Clash of arms and yells of rage and hate
mingled with the’ frightened screams of
women and children.

The cannibal invaders were storming the
kraal, and the slaughter had begun.

Nero paced restlessly up and down, roar:-
ing furiously at intervals. He seemed to
understand that his master and his master’s
friends were in danger.

‘‘Can’t we cut the balloon loose now???
cried Roden. ‘‘Look how inflated it is,’?
‘*There ought to be enough gas in it to
last for several hours,’’ added Arthur;

‘‘We will make the attempt, my boys,’’
exclaimed their father, hastening toward the
spot. ‘‘It is the last chance. Anything is
preferable to staying here to die. Here, help
me with the basket,’’ he added. ‘‘We must
attach it to the ropes at once.’’

Bunbury had been looking critically up at
the balloon, and now he made a dissenting
motion to Arthur and Roden.

‘*My friend,’’ he said, laying his hand on
Fanshawe’s shoulder, ‘‘what you propose to
do is impossible just yet. We must continue
the manufacture of gas for at least an hour
longer.’’

‘**But the balloon is nearly full,’’ cried
Fanshawe. ‘‘Do you see how it bulges out?
And there is scarcely a wrinkle visible.’
‘The car is quite a weight in itself,’?? Bun-
bury calmly replied, ‘‘and there are four of
us here—four able-bodied men. The lion is
full-grown and heavy, and Tombo may ar-
rive at any moment.’?

‘*Tombo is dead!’’ cried Fanshawe. ‘‘If
he were alive, he would have been here by
this time. And Nero shall be left behind if
necessary. I will gladly sacrifice the poor
brute to save my boys—my own flesh and
blood.”?

‘‘But even then the gas is insufficient,’?
said Bunbury, in a compassionate tone.
‘*Even if we should bniition Nero and the
car, and stick to the ropes, the balloon could
not rise above the high circle of mountains.
It would drift against the rocks and dash us
to the ground,’?

Fanshawe reluctantly let go of the basket,

or)

 

 

 

you. Come with me.’’
iG (TO BE CONTINUED. )

{This Story Will Not Be Published in Book-Form. |

NEWS

‘‘We must have more
gas. (Quick! every
They are still fighting down _ be-
grant that they keep it up for an

hoarse tone of agony.
gas—more
precious.
ow. God
hour yet.’’
With feverish energy, he seized a bunch of
thatch in each hand, and held them over the
still burning vessels of oil.

His companions did the same, and for
nearly ten minutes the smoke and flames
generated small quantities of the sorely-
needed gas.

Meanwhile, the battle raged fiercely down
in the kraal, and the shrill sounds of deadly
conflict drifted nearer and nearer the fort.

But, as yet, strange to say, no fugitives
had come up the cleft—no messengers to tell
the white king what was happening, or to
summon his aid to drive back the cannibal
invaders.

Gradually, and almost imperceptibly, the
sounds changed, until the agonized cries of
stricken men and the clash of weapons was
no longer heard.

Instead, there rose a hoarse continuous
roar from hundreds of throats. The sound
swelled on the night air, and grew louder
and louder. Now it seemed to be under the
very walls of the fort.

‘*Can it be possible that your fellows have
driven the cannibals back?’’ exclaimed Bun-

second is

bury. ‘‘The fighting is certainly over.’?
‘*It seems so,’? replied Fanshawe. ‘‘J

don’t know what to make of it.’’

‘‘If they had won a victory they would
be shouting with triumph,’’ said Arthur
|‘‘but they are yelling now as though they
| were angry.’’

 

| Roden dashed to the loop-hole, and _ re-
turned almost instantly breathless and
frightened.

‘‘The space in front of the fort is black
with negroes,’’? he panted “They are

screeching like wild-cats, and I believe they

these words, and then a scuffling, rattling
noise close by ended in the sudden appear-
ance of Tombo’s head and shoulders in the
mouth of the cleft.

It required an evidently painful effort for
him to climb the last couple of steps. Then
he fell forward on hands and knees, rose

 

anxious little group.

They stopped feeding the oil-vessels, and
| shrank back in horror of his appearance.

The negro was breathing heavily, and
with a rasping sound.
with clotted blood, from a knife-slash across
his forehead, and his lion skin tunic hung in
tatters. Here and there on his abdomen,
and lower limbs, were bleeding cuts, and in
one hand he grasped a broken spear.

‘“You are badly hurt, my poor fellow,”’
exclaimed Fanshawe. ‘‘What news do you
bring? Quick!’’

‘*Much bad,’’ Tombo answered, hoarsely.
‘‘Cannibals come plenty—fight hard—kill
many people. Den king’s men go mad _ be.
cause white king no come help—no put evil
spell on cannibals. They say white king no
more be good—they stop fight—good Kari-
begs be friends,with cannibal Karibegs ay

‘‘Jove! that’s terrible,’? exclaimed Bun-
bury. ‘‘They’ve all fraternized together.
The game is up, comrades. We’re, bound to
be cooked and eaten.’’

‘*Him speak true,’’ added Tombo, nodding

 

at Bunbury. ‘‘Karibegs come quick up
fort—they no more b’lieve miracle—they

say white king means-go off in air-ship.’’

Fanshawe uttered a deep groan, and wrung
his hands in agony.

‘*So they have discuvered our purpose,’
he cried. ‘‘It is terrible—terrible. But we
won’t give up yet. We must defend the
cleft. We must hold out long enough to in-
flate the balloon.’’

He ran into the tower, and brought out
two long, heavy spears. He kept one him-
self, and gave the other to Tombo.

‘“You are armed,’’ he said to his compan-
ions. ‘*Your weapons are worth a score of
spears.’?

‘*And we know how to use them, father,’’
was Roden’s grim reply.

He and Arthur pulled out their revolvers,
and hastily loaded every chamber.

It was a thrilling and fearful moment.
The howling of the Karibegs indicated that
they had begun the ascent of the cleft. They
were inflamed with rage and bloodshed, and
their long-dormant appetites for human flesh
were once more whetted.

‘‘Be ready !’’ cried Fanshawe. ‘‘They will
be here in two or three minutes. And no
mercy need be expected if they once gain a
foothold on top of the fort.’’

“There are plenty of loose blocks of
masonry bere,’’ ‘said Arthur. ‘‘We might
roll them down the steps.’’

‘‘That is worth trying,’’ cried his father.
‘“Yonder is one that must weigh a hundred
pounds. Let us start it at once, and——’’

‘‘Hold on!’ interrupted Bunbury. ‘‘It is
madness to fight against such odds. We will
try the balloon, comrades. There is a faint

hope of its rising to a level with the moun- +
tain tops. If not, we can’t be worse
Of?

He had scarcely laid hold of the ropes to
haul the balloon down when half a score of
the cannibals swarmed out of the cleft, ut-

 

and stared up at the swaying balloon for a
moment.

‘“Yes, you are right!’’ he cried, in a

 

are coming up.’?’
An instant of alarmed silence followed |

slowly to his feet, and staggered toward the

ing indicated that the
distance down.

It was a trying blow to come just as Bun
bury’s words had given his companions fresh
hope, but the little band grappled nobly and
speedily with the emergency.

With Fanshawe and Tombo in the lead,
they dashed forward and attacked the foe.

Every man of the Karibegs belonged to
the royal body-guard, and even hatred could
not overcome their superstitious fear of the
white king.

They halted and wavered when they saw
his great bulk charging upon them, and_be-
fore they could rally one of their number
had been run through the heart by Fan-
shawe’s spear.

Tombo transfixed another, and then Bun-
bury and Roden each brought down a man.
Arthur fired too high, and missed.

The sharp reports of the revolvers terri
fied the remaining six cannibals, and they
fell back to the edge of the cleft.

Here Fanshawe and Tombo engaged in a
hand to hand struggle, and quickly com-
pelled three of the wretches to leap down
upon the path.

The other three fought like demons, parry-
ing every blow with wonderful skill.

For the time being, Bunbury and the boys
were helpless; they dared not fire for fear of
hitting their friends.

It was.a critical moment, and worse was
to come. When the little handful of defend-
ers saw a line of black heads mounting into
| view at the top of the cleft, and heard the
| ferocious yells of those who were pressitig up
from behind, they abandoned hope. :

The knowledge that their friends were at
hand incited the three cannibals on top of

rest were yet some

 

| the fort to still more desperate valor.
| By a quick upward thrust, one of the
|ruffians broke Fanshawe’s guard, and

knocked the weapon out of his hand.

He was about to transfix the defenseless
white king, when Tombo, who had seen all,
rushed between the two, and the faithful
negro received the deadly blow in his breast.

Fanshawe uttered a cry ot agony as he
saw Tombo stagger. The latter quickly re-
covered himself, and tore the spear from the
gaping wound.

Then, with his last strength, he sprang at
the Karibeg assassin, and clutched him by
the throat. They staggered for an instant
on the brink, and then they reeled down into
the cleft, locked fast together.

This tragedy was followed by another, so

|swift and terrible, that it seemed as though
His face was hideous

Providence had chosen to avenge poor Tom-
bo’s death. ;

Above the yelling of the cannibals. a dull,
sliding noise was heard. It grew rapidly,
like the roar of an avalanche, and finally
ended in one awful crash, accompanied by
heartrending cries of agony.

A brief and thrilling silence succeeded.
The two Karibegs remaining on the fort
were Overcome with terror.

They dropped their spears, and crouched
tremblingly on the flagging, evidently be-
lieving that what they had just heard was a
manifestation of the white king’s super-
natural powers.

Fanshawe and his companions knew better.
When they saw that the swarm of black
heads which had been in sight but a mo-
ment before, had now vanished, a glimmer
of the truth dawned upon them.

Timidly they crept to the side of the cleft,
and looked down. One glance told them all
showed them how miraculously they had
been saved. '

The pathway of steps had utterly van-
ished. The earth and masonry, weakened
and decayed by the lapse of centuries, had
given way under the tread of the climbing
cannibals, and gone grinding down in a
swift and mighty avalanche

The victims that lay buried under it were
probably to be numbered by the score, and
among them was Tombo. It was a fitting
tomb for the brave and unselfish Zanzibari,
who had given his life to save his beloved
master.

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE FATE OF THE BALLOON,

 
  

AHE effect of the catastrophe upon the
2 surviving cannibals was one of pure
\ rage.

’ After the first shock was over, and
they realized what had happened, they
screeched and yelled so loudly as to drown
the cries and groans of the mangled and yet
living victims, who were only partly buried
in the debris.

It was a blood-curdling volume of sound,
but it no longer had power to terrify the
little party up on the fort, as they looked
down the cleft at the sea of savage faces,
gleaming in the torch-light.

“Thank God!’’ cried Lucius Fanshawe,

lifting his hands toward the sky. ‘‘He has
saved us in time of need.’’
‘“‘Ay, it was a. Providential accident,’’
said Bunbury. ‘‘It can’t be accounted for
otherwise. And the slide has destroyed all
means of communication. Yonder, where
the last r came up, is now a sheer drop of
fifty feet down to where the pile of ruins
begins.’

“Tt is unscalable,’? said Arthur. ‘‘The

 

tering exultant cries. They must have noise-
lessly preceded the main body, for the shout-

walls are smooth and straight.’’
‘‘!'m sorry for the poor wretches who

reer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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were

must |
**Se

‘It. w
dered '
served
dead—
spear.’
With
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face wi

His

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recollec
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Little

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bitterest

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During

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avalanch

crouchin,
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Slowly
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and drev
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were enal
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tance was
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be assassin

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and spun
his left shc
ping.

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straight at
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The boys
taken quit
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With the
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Roden to tl

The Kari
was just «
when Rode
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struck it wi
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By this ti:
and Bunbur
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lying close t

Then he li
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gun to rise, ;
and dizzy.

Bunbury
pulled the tr
lowed; the e

Then Arth
caused him t

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echoed by F
expected to
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And just tl
for a most w
Cumstance.

Nero, whos

during the 1
denly came tc

  
 
  

 
  
 
 
 

  
      
  
      
  

urgently need
With an an;

eight feet of

Upon the Ke
about to drive
Man and b

‘or an instant
j companied by

‘erocious snar

   
 

   

Then the 1

  
    
      
 
   
   
  
    
  
   
    
  
  
    
   
    
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
   
   
    
   
  
   
  
   
   
     
  
  
 
   
   
 
 
   
   
   
    
  
  
 
     
   
  
 
   
  
    
      
   
   
   
  
   
  
     
    
    
      
    
    
   
   
    
    
  
    
   
     
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
       
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
     
  
  
 
  
   
    
   
    
    
  
 
  
   
    

fet some

as Bun
ms fresh

obly and

She lead,
he foe,

nged to
‘ed could
wv of the

they saw
and be-
number
by Fan-

hen Bun-
na man.

rs terri-
and they

red in a
kly com-
ap down

is, parry-
l

the boys
or fear of

orse was
f defend-
iting into
1eard the
essing up

Is were at
on top of
or.

e of the
ird, and
d.

efenseless
1 seen all,
» faithful
is breast.
my as he
uickly re-
‘from the

sprang at
1 him by
n instant
down into

nother, so
as though
poor Tom-

ils, a dull,
w rapidly,
ind finally
panied by

succeeded.
1 the fort

crouched
lently be-
ard was a
x's super

iew better.
. of black
but a mo-
a glimmer

f the cleft,
d them all
y they had

tterly van-

weakened
turies, had
e climbing
lown in a

der it were
score, and
as a fitting
Zanzibari,
his beloved

ON.

e upon the
ie of pure

; over, and
ened, they
s to drown
‘Jed and yet
irtly buried

. of sound,
terrify the
they looked
vage faces,

Fanshawe,
, ‘*He has

accident,’
counted for
estroyed all
nder, where
neer drop of
ile of ruins

‘hur. ‘‘The

retches who

 

 

 

were killed,’?? exclaimed Roden.
must have perished.”’

‘“Serve them right,’’ muttered his father.
‘It was a just penalty. They have mur-
dered Tombo
served me all these years, and now he is
dead—dead. He purposely intercepted that
spear.’

With a bitter groan, Lucius Fanshawe sat
down upon a block of stone, and covered his
face with his hands.

His companions sympathized

‘*Many

with him.

They, too, were deeply moved by the vivid |

recollection of Tombo’s tragic death.

‘‘We should be thankful that his sacrifice
was not in vain,’’ said Bunbury. ‘‘We are
as safe as though we were miles away from
that blood-thirsty rabble below. They can’t
reach us without
sheer wall on all sides.’’

‘“That’s true,’’ replied Roden; -‘‘and the
cleft is impassable. We can go quietly on
with the gas-making now.’’

‘*And cut the balloon loose in an hour, or
two at the most,’’ added Bunbury. ‘‘Howl,
you bloody cannibals, howl till your throats
split. You can’t do any more!’’

He leaned forward, and shook his clenched
fist at the yelling mob far below.

Little did Bunbury and his companions |

dream of the fearful blow that fate had in
store for them—which was even now about
to fall, and change their fond hopes to the
bitterest dregs of despair.

They had failed to reckon with an element
that was close by—an element that they had
forgotten, in fact.

During the past couple of minutes—for no

. : . . |
greater time had elapsed since the fall of the |

avalanche—the two caunibals had _ been
crouching, in a sort of frightened stupor, on
the brink of the cleft.

Slowly it dawned upon them that they

were cut off from their friends—that they |

were isolated beyond help, on the summit of
the fort, in the power of four hated enemies.

First they peered into the dizzy chasm,
and drew back, shuddering. Then, after
exchanging a few low-spoken words, they
sprang suddenly to their feet, uttering hor-
rible cries.

This was the first intimation to the white
men of the danger they had blindly over-
looked, and it found them unprepared.

It was more by chance than skill, that they
were enabled to meet successfully the mur-
derous attack of the two Karibegs.

One ruffian cast his spear straight at Fan-
shawe’s stooping figure. Furious rage must
have impaired his aim, for though the dis-
tance was but ten feet, the weapon merely
grazed the white king’s shoulder.

Fanshawe sprang up, with a startled cry,
and at the same instant Bunbury lifted his
revolver, and took a snap-shot at the would-
be assassin.

It hit the fellow, but not in a vital part.
He stopped short, with a screech of agony,

and spun round several times, clawing at |

his left shoulder, from which blood was drip-
ping.

The second cannibal meanwhile had dashed
straight at Arthur and Roden, with his long
spear poised in one hand.

The boys were in imminent danger, being
taken quite by surprise; they, had no time
to even whip out their revolvers.

With the instinct of preservation upper-
most in their minds, they tried to get out of
the way. Arthur dodged to one side, and
Roden to the other.

The Karibeg swerved after the latter, and
was just about to make the fatal thrust
when Roden tripped on a projecting flag-
stone, and sprawled on hands and knees.

It was a lucky accident.. The spear hit
only empty air, and the madly-rushing negro
was unable to avoid Roden’s body. He
struck it with a violence that pitched him
over head first, and landed him in a heap.

By this time, Arthur had wheeled around,
and Bunbury, with his smoking revolver still
in his hand, had turned to see what was go-
ing on.

Their help was

sorely needed, for the

fallen Karibeg quickly jerked himself to his |

feet, and snatched his spear, which was
lying close by.

Then he limped toward Roden, as murder-
ously inclined as ever. The lad had just be-
gun to rise, and was evidently a little dazed
and dizzy. a

Bunbury took a quick, keen aim, and
pulled the trigger. But only a dull snap fol-
lowed; the cartridge had missed fire.

Then Arthur shot, but his trembling hand
caused him to miss.

He uttered a cry of horror, which was
echoed by Fanshawe and Bunbury. They
expected to see Roden killed before their
eyes.

And just that would have happened, but
for a most unforeseen and unexpected cir-
cumstance.

Nero, whose presence had been overlooked
during the fight and its excitement, sud-
denly came to the conclusion that help was
urgently needed.

With an angry roar, the lion shot through
eight feet of space, and landed squarely
Upon the Karibeg just as the latter was
about to drive his spear into Roden’s back.

Man and beast went down together, and
for an instant there was a lively scuffle, ac-
Companied by heart-rending screams and

erocious snarls,

Then the lion seized the still struggling

the dear, good fellow who has |

wings, for the fort is a}

Gar O 2): a ES

| with him across the fort to the deep shadow
of the parapet.

| The pitiful cries were heard fora few
seconds longer. Then there was a fearful

 

roar, and one agonizing scream—and all be- |

came still.
| The spectators of the little tragedy were
| stirred to sympathy for the victim, but it
| had all transpired so quickly that they had
| no chance to help him.
| Now it mattered little that another episode

claimed their attention—since the unfortu-
|nate fellow had only too plainly received a

finishing stroke from Nero.
| This other episode was to prove the last
}and final part cf Fate’s crushing blow, and
it came about in this wise:

The surviving Karibeg, whose shoulder
| was broken by Bunbury’s pistol-ball, had
fallen down in a quiver of agony.

Now, after witnessing the fate of his com
rade, he staggered to his feet, and reeled
toward his spear, which lay several yards
| off. His brutal face was distorted with rage
j and hate.
| Bunbury saw the movement, and by a
swift dash, he grabbed the weapon just as
the negro was in the act of stooping for it.

Thereupon the baffled wretch gave a fero-
; cious yell, dodged to one side, and sped like

a deer toward the tower, evidently bent on

seeking refuge in the interior chambers and
| passages of the fort.
| Bunbury did not think of this. He scented
| danger to the balloon, and plunged instantly

after the fugitive, followed closely by Fan-
| shawe and the boys.
Then happened a terrible thing. The
| Karibeg, running blindly, did not observe
| the vessels of burning palm-oil until he was
‘right on top of them.

He jumped across two, and landed on the
edge of the third, tipping it over, and fall-
ing down flat in the midst of the fiercely
| blazinig fluid, which was spreading its flery
| trail in all directions.

With screams of agony that made his
| hearers’ blood. run cold, the luckless negro
rolled and squirmed like a snake, upsetting
the contents of three more vessels.

Twice he stfuggled to his knees, and
| twice he fell over again in the fiery lake.
| The third time he got to his feet, com-
| pletely soaked with oil, and blazing like a
| torch from his ankles to his bushy mop of
) hair.
With maddened cries, and with the flames
| streaming behind him, the tortured wretch
| danced straight forward—which, as he had
turned about, happened to be toward his
pursuers,

They jumped aside in mute horror, and as
they followed the human pillar of fire with
their eyes, they saw it reel on the brink of
| the cleft, and then vanish from sight. <A

wail of agony, a crash—and the awful
| tragedy was over.

The brief and shuddering stillness that
| came next was broken by a hoarse cry from

| Fanshawe, and when his startled companions

| turned their heads they were tongue-tied
|and rooted to the spot with the appalling
| shock of what was before them.

They saw the lake of burning oil spread to
the great stack of dried thatch, and wrap it
in a volume of dense smoke and flame; they
saw the basket-car take fire, and burn with
a snapping, crackling noise; they saw the
red tongues of flame leap up the ropes.

Then, as the blazing column mounted
higher, they saw the balloon take fire, and
burst open with a stifled report, and fall in
flaming fragments of silk into the hissing
pool of oil.

}

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—o—-0-——__———
CLOSING A POST-OFFICE.

In the course of some mining experiences
of mine in the far West I came to the new
settlement of Pony. At the time referred
to, the town had about forty people. Of
course they needed a post-office, though no
one could be found willing to take the re-
| sponsibility. There was no money in it, and
the office would be a decided nuisance to the
postmaster. However, a saloon-keeper, who
was niore public-spirited than his fellow
citizens, took the office. The office consisted
of an old tea-box, in which all the letters
were dumped. The citizen would sort over
the lot and take what belonged to him,

One day a gentleman came along, and,
after glancing at the system, turned to the
postmaster.

‘Don’t you know that it is illegal to
allow people to pick out their own letters
like that?’’ he said.

‘‘Well, stranger, I don’t know as it is any
of your business how this office is run,’’ re-
plied the postmaster.

‘‘But | am a United States Post-office
Inspector.’

‘*Well, in that case,’’ said the postmaster,
‘we will: finish up this post-office in Pony
right now,.”’

And he took the tea-box and placed it in
the middle of the road, and, with a good
run, came down and kicked it clear across
the gulch.

‘“There,’’ he said to the officer, ‘‘now you
go back to Washington, and tell the admin-

 

 

istration that the accounts are closed up,
and the postmaster of Pony has resigned.’’

and yelling negro by the neck, and bounded |

NS.

 

How Captain Stanchion Did His Duty.

BY ROBERT OVERTON.
x4 — :

(7=> OB STANCHION was
2 captain of the revenue cutter Scor-
BB pion, in the days when smugglers still
“7S carried on business at
on the coast. Bob was always a wild and
reckless, though never a bad-hearted, sort of
fellow.
almost always away, the boy’s early train-
ing had missed the restraint of his strong
hand. Bob’s mother was a good woman,
but she lacked strength of will to curb her
son’s rash impulses. From his earliest days

as

the son of the}

|

certain places |

The fact was that, his father being |

3773

 

 

gave a rapid account of how he came
to tumble into the water, and again ex-
pressed his gratitude to his preservers.

A thoughtful took bad settled on Watch’s
dark face. He was a man of notoriously
evil character, being, in fact, the leader
and chief of the most desperate gang of
smugglers along the whole coast. For a long
time he had had his eye on Bob Stanchion,
whose wild pranks and thoughtless escapades
were almost all well known to him. If he,
the son of the captain of the dreaded Scor-
pion, could only be induced or entrapped
into joining the gang, what a valuable re-
cruit he would be. His daring, fearless
nature was the very thing to fit: him for
their lawless and adventurous work, irre-

| spective of the value of the information he

he was always getting into mischief, and his |

happy knack of. getting out of it again only
encouraged him to fall into fresh mischief.
At sixteen, he was a strong, fearless, dare-
all lad, who seemed unable to settle down
steadily to anything.

Captain Stanchion’s home was close to a
fishing
wild part of the coast. Soon after Bob’s
sixteenth birthday, the captain made a stay

(and smuggling) town, on a very |

at home of a good many weeks, and during |
this time he learned just what kind of a boy |

his son had grown into.
impulsive, generous, thoughtless disposition
was already leading him into various tempta-
tions. He objected strongly to a number of
acquaintances Bob had made in the village.
He did his-best to knock some ideas of disci-
pline into the boy’s head. He talked to him,
and warned him. Bob appeared to take it
all in good part, and promised to amend his
ways in several directions. For atime he
kept his word, but before his father had
been long away again, he ‘‘broke out worse
than ever.’’ His love for loose company in-
creased, and in various ways he caused such
grief to his gentle mother’s heart that at last
she wrote to Captain Stanchion, and told
him of her growing fears for their only boy.
The truth was that at this time Bob was in

more danger of ‘“‘going wrong’’ than he}
But his awakening |
| with his men.

himself had any idea of.
was soon to come.

Late one afternoon, he was riding along
the low-lying cliffs that stretched for several
miles on either side of Granby, the fishing
village I have referred to. He was riding a
horse which he had borrowed because it was
known to be a vicious brute, which had done
no end of damage. He had been almost
thrown several times during the afternoon,
but now, in the early dusk of the November
gloaming, he was trotting quietly and stead-
ily home. Too quietly and too steadily for
his headstrong nature, so he gave the horse
a sudden and sharp cut with his heavy
riding-whip. That did it. The animal had
borne a great deal, and was in no mood to
stand any more. Ina moment it was un-
governable. It plunged, and reared, and
bucked. Bob stuck to his seat sturdily, but
that was all he could do. To bring the horse
again under restraint was beyond his power.
At last the bridle-reins got twisted, and in a
frantic attempt to wrest the animal’s head
away from the edge of the cliff, Bob pulled
it nearer. He felt the earth slipping and
crumbling beneath the infuriated creature’s
feet, and knew that they were struggling on
the very verge. Then over they went in the
darkness—horse and rider. Bob had the
presence of mind to kick his. feet free of the
stirrups, and he struck the water below some
feet from the spot where the horse fell. The
latter was soon carried away out of sight
and hearing, but the boy managed to keep
afloat near where he had made a hole in the
water. The height from which he had fallen
was not great, and before long he found his
voice, and shouted lustily for help.

Lough voices hailed him in the darkness,
and he heard the welcome sound of a_ boat
approaching him, though where it could
have come from he was at first at a loss to
conjecture. That, however, mattered noth-
ing. A boat was coming, sure enough, for
now he could hear the rumble of the oars in
the row locks. Just as he realized that he
couldn’t keep himself above water for many
seconds longer, the boat reached him. He
clutched the gunwale, and strong hands
pulled him in. The man who was steering
bade him: lie down at the bottom of the
craft, and ‘‘bale some o’ the water out o’
him.’’ The boat’s head was immediately
turned round, and the oarsmen commenced
to pull her back in the direction whence she
had come. After a short distance, how-
ever, had been traversed, the order was
given to ease up, and she again stopped.

‘*Pull him up, and let’s have a look at
him,’’ said the man at the tiller; and Bob
found himself hauled, not very gently, into
a sitting position on one of the thwarts.

Finding his voice for the first time since
his rescue, he began to sputter his thanks,
but was told to_ be silent ‘‘till they’d had a
look at him.’’ Then one of the men lit a
lantern, and, while they looked at him, Bob
looked at his rescuers. There were three of
them. Thé. steersman, Will Watch, Bob
knew by both name and sight; the other
two he knew by sight only. But, evidently,
they all knew him, for when Will Watch ex-
claimed : ;

‘“Why it’s young Stanchion!’’ the other

 

two ejaculated:
**So it is.”

He saw that his |

 

would always be able to spy out as to the
intended movements of the revenue men.
And now here he was in the smugglers’ own
boat, owing his life to the three members of
the band who were also in it,

‘‘The chance has come,’’ muttered Watch;
and then, louder, he said:

‘*Give way for the cave. It’s all right,”’
he added, reassuringly, as though in answer
to a questioning look on the faces of the
other two. ‘‘He’s game.’’

In darkness and in silence, save for the
sound of the dip of the oars, and the swish
of the boat, they sped over the water.

‘*Where are we going?’’ asked Bob.

‘*To a safe place,’’ was the answer.

After a very short time the smugglers
headed in for the shore, at a place where the
cliff took a sudden rise. They evidently
knew their way, even in the darkness, for
just as Bob expected the boat to grate upon
the beach, she shot under the cliffs instead,
through a narrow and winding channel,
right into the smugglers’ cave. She was
made fast, and the three men sprang nimbly
from her to a slippery ledge. Bob was
ordered to follow them, and all four walked
forward. The next minute he found himself
in the midst of a large group of men, most
of them armed in some way or another. A
number of lanterns lit up the cavern.

Bob was stood a little apart, while Will
Watch talked earnestly for a minute or two
Then the leader of the smug-
glers turned to him, and said, heartily:

‘*Well, lad, yoy know who we are?”’

‘*Yes,’’ said Bob,

‘‘That’s right. Now, look here. I know
you’re a plucky sort, and made of the right
stuff, and I’m not afraid of trusting you,
especially after just saving your life. Join
us, and take your turn with us now and

again, and your pockets. will never be
empty. You’ve got your first chance to-
night. Our cutter’s standing in now with

the best cargo we’ve rune for years, and
we’re going out to meet her to arrange
about running her barrels in here before
morning. You shall come with us, share in
the work, and have your part of -the
plunder.’’

‘*Never!’’ cried Bob, ‘‘Let me go. You
have saved my life, and because of that I
will never betray you. But I’ll die before I
join a gang of such cut-throats as you are!’

Angry shouts and threatening gestures on
the part of almost all the smugglers followed
this reckless speech, but Will Watch only
laughed, and said:

‘‘Leave the youngster to me.
dry your clothes, boy.’’

e led him away, and made up a fire,
where Bob dried his clothes and rubbed him-
self down. All his demands to leave the
cave were laughed at, and at last he flung
himself down before the flames and fell fast
asleep.

He awoke two or three hours later.
Watch was standing over him.

‘*The boat has gone to meet the ecntter,’’
said the latter, ‘‘and we shall start running
in her cargo in about an hour’s time.”’

He renewed his attempts to entrap Bob
into joining the gang, but only with the
former result. Then he altered his tone.

‘“You know too much now,’’ he said, ina
low, determined voice. ‘‘If you refuse still,
I shall drown you in the very water from
which I hauled you a few hours ago.’’

Come and

Will

* * 7 * a * *

All day long the revenue cutter Scorpion
had been beating and tacking toward Gran-
by. Arrived within some half a dozen miles
lower down the coast, she hove to till dark.
Then, lighting no. lamps, she continued on
her way; and, the wind having veered to
fair, made such good progress that before
the smugglers had dispatched their boat to
meet their own vessel, their dreaded enemy
had anchored off the coast line about a mile
from the cave.

Captain Stanchion—a stern, resolute-
faced man, between fifty and sixty years of
age—sat in his little cabin. Cap in hand,
his first officer stood before him.

‘‘Mr. Wood,’’ said Stanchion, ‘‘I am
ordered to perform a special duty to-night,
and I’m going to do it. We are all on special
duty, and we’re all going to do it.”’

‘‘Ay, ay, sir,’? responded the officer,
cheerfully.

‘‘Information on which we can rely,’’
continued the captain, ‘‘was sent me a few
days ago as to the movements to-night of
the worst gang of smugglers on this or any
other coast. They are expecting a contra-
band cargo to-night. We are to trap them
in their own hiding-place, of which I have

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
    
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
    
   
  
  
   
 
    
  
      
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
     
     
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
     
  
    
  
   
    
  
    
  
  
  
   

S77&

the exact bearings. The entrance to the}

eavern is dry at low water—about an hour’s
time. With the exception of the necessary
guard, who will remain in charge on board,
the entire strength of the cutter will
ashore here.

These rascals,’’ concluded the captain, ‘‘

wreckers as well as smugglers, so in case of |

is

word ‘no
recessary ar

any refusal to yield, the
quarter.’ You will make
rangements at once.’’

the

Mr. Wood’s eyes glistened as he proceeded | ‘

done |
: . . . : |
quickly, silently, joyously, and in due time, |

to carry out his orders. All was

almost the entire crew of the Sc fully
armed, landed on the beach. An inimediate
forward was made

pion,

move
cave.

Ba * k Bd

‘‘Row him out into deep water,’’ ordered
Will Watch, ‘‘‘and don’t come back till
you’ve seen him drown. Our lives are in
the young dog’s hands.’’

Roughly some of the furious men ,seized |
3 t . . |
Bob, and commenced to drag him out, but |

even quicker than they had seized’ him, did
they loose their hold, as a loud voice rang,
sternly and clearly, out:

‘<Surrender! in the name of the law !’’

And into the dimly-lighted cave rushed
the servants of the law.

In a Aanoment, the
grasped the situation.

“ Hight!’ yelled Watch.
fight !’’

There

trapped smugglers
‘tor your lives,

was no parley on either side. A

ZO
I shall lead the attack myself. |
are ; rest—

for the smugglers’ |
|
|

|

desperate struggle began without another |
word. ‘he revenue men were better armed, |

but were largely outnumbered. Swords and
cutlasses clashed, and the smoke of fire-arms
filled the air.

‘*Drive them back!’’ shouted Captain
Stanchion. ‘'Drive them back! Corner
them !’’

Bob found himself in the midst of the

fighting smugglers, who were gradually be-
ing forced rearward. He struggled to push
his way through them im order to join and
fight on the other side, but this he found to
be impossible, for he was hustled back and
hemmed in by the men around him.

‘Strike hard, lads!’’ roared the skipper of
the Scorpion again.
they’re giving way.’’

So they were, but suddenly the attacking
party were themselves unexpectedly attacked
in the rear. The boat which had rowed
the incoming eutter had returned, and from
her had landed seven or eight of ‘‘the
enemy.’’ These rushed pell-mell into the
cave and into the fray.

The din and confusion
scribable.
smugglers would win. They fought with
the ruthless determination of men who knew
that their all was at stake. Bob seized a
cutlass which had fallen from the hand of a
wounded smuggler, and laid about him right
and left. Will Watch saw him, and witha
bitter oath, fired a pistol point-blank at his
head. Bob dodged the shot just in time, and
putting all his strength into the blow, cut
his would-be murderer to the ground. See-
ing that their leader had fallen, a moment’s
hesitation seemed to seize on his gang. It
probably lost them the fight, for the other
side were quick to take advantage of it.
With a rushing charge, they drove all before
them. In afew minutes the smugglers had
been driven far back, and cornered, Bob
perforce among them.

“In the name of the law,
shoot down every man as he stands.’’

Sullenly, they obeyed Captain Stanch-
ion’s shouted command.

“Mr. Wood, disarm

secure them.’’
_ This was soon done, and Captain Stanch-
ion, who, for the first time, felt that he was
slightly wounded, walked to the entrance of
the cave. Mr. Wood followed him.

‘*You will march the prisoners to Granby
Jail at once, Mr. Wood.”?

There was a strange look on Mr. Wood’s
face, and his voice trembled.

‘Captain Stanchion,’’ he said, in

tones, ‘*your son Reobert’’ (he knew
~ well) ‘‘is one of them.’’

Captain Stanchion started as though a
sudden blow had been dealt him. A spasm
of agony seemed to quiver through his body,
and his bronze face blanched. He thought
of the letter he had received from his wife—
had her forebodings been so horribly real-
ized? Her thought of his son's recklessness
and willfulness—the bad companionships he
‘had formed. And so all had ended in—this!
He turned aside, and shook from head to
foot. :

Then he faced round to his waiting officer.

‘You will march all the prisoners to
\ Granby Jail at once.”’ ‘

Mr. Wood’s face was almost ashen pale.

‘*Sir,’’ he said, ‘‘blood has been spilt.

This is a matter of—death. I took your son
with arms in his hand.’’
, Only God heard the stifled cry that broke
from Captain Stanchion’s white lips as
again he turned aside, For the third time
he spoke:

‘‘My duty was to give you your orders. I
have done it, Your duty is to obey them.
Do it.”’

Mr. Wood touched his gold-laced cap, and
retired. Captain Stanchion stood back as
the prisoners were marched out, and saw his

were now inde-

the prisoners and

low

Bob

yield—or I’ [1 |

 

GooD NEWS.

| son among them. Then he fainted—for the
| first time in his life.

* Kk ob * k * #
| Bob was discharged from custody as soon
as he had told his story. Two of the other
| prisoners—a shade less villainous than the
corroborated it, and told how he had

| sided against the smugglers in the fight.

 

taught him the lesson he needed.

‘‘Father,’’ he said, as they grasped hands,
‘T know how you did your duty. Please
God, all my life long now, I'll try to do

mine.’’
- 0

STURGES’ SCARE.

OF INDIA.

+

A STORY

BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CA LL right, havildar?’’
" ‘* All right, sahib.

  

3ut—be care-

Ae ful,’’ pursued the sergeant of police.
YX ‘ Pathan—awful thief—clever thief.
Steal little money as easily as much. You

had better bring little money over to the
chokee, sahib, and place it with the big.’’

‘‘Oh, no. Not worth while,’’ was the airy
reply. ‘'I shall require it the first thing in
the morning.’’

‘* As the sahib pleases,’’ replied the havil-
dar, with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘‘Only—
Pathan very clever thief.’’

Sturgis laughed airily as he turned away
to seek his own quarters. The lakh and a

>

The adventure brought him to his senses— |

 

| Pathan, come Khyberi, or all the deftest | through the witness of this marvel—then

 

half of rupees, representing current working |

expenses connected with the construction of
the Motiharipur line of railway, did not
strike him as an overwhelming responsibility
—besides, was it not safe in the police
chokee, custodied by a sergeant and four
menfr

The matter to which the above warning
referred was a sum of eleven hundred rupees
which he had kept in his own quarters for
immediate use, and this trifle, he estimated,
would. be every atom as safe with him as

| with the professional guard, even if, which

|

‘*Horee them back; |

to |

hardly seemed probable, it tempted the mid-
night marauder to incur a certain and most
deadly risk.

Sturgis strolled back to the mud
wherein he had taken up his temporary
abode—owing to the coolness of the weather
he preferred it to a tent—and, seated in

front of the same, proceeded to discuss an |

excellent dinner.
Then, puffing his fragrant manilla, he sat

| watching the red sunset merge into purple

It seemed almost certain that the |

|smoke from

 

above the tree-tops, and his reflections were
as rosy as the sunset; as, indeed, why should
they not be?

He had an excellent digestion, ample pay,
good prospects, and a congenial profession.
The evening became more than cool, and the
the cook-house tent and the
police chokee hung in mid air, a peculiar
flattened line-like cloud—sure precursor of
cold weather. Sturgis shivered.

‘‘Bhola,’’ he called to his bearer, ‘‘light
the lamp and shut the kirki. I shall turn
in. It’s getting terribly cold.’’

The native, a tall, slim young Punjabi,
salaamed and went into the hut; and ina
trice the interior, with its cheerful lamp-

| light, looked snug and inviting.

‘*Pathan awful thief, sahib!’’ murmured
the bearer, as he secured the fastenings of
the kirki—or small square window—‘ ‘clever
thief, too!’’

Sturgis stared. Why this fellow was ex-
actly echoing the words of the havildar.
Was there meaning in them—anything afoot
in the shape of a plot, for instance? Nota
bit of it. They had only been! chattering
together—and had come to the same conclu-
sion.

‘‘Tt would be a mighty clever thief who
got through that window—shut or open—and
a mighty cleverer one who managed to get
back while I was inside,’’ he replied, with a
laugh. ‘‘And now, Bhola, I sha’n’t want
you any more to-night—therefore you can
hook it.’’

The native salaamed and withdrew, leav-
ing his master alone. The latter, having
secured the outer door, proceeded leisurely
to undress. :

While thus engaged, his eye fell upon the
small treasure chest in the center of the
floor, and somehow or other, the sight set
him thinking.

Eleven hundred rupees did not represent a
large sum, certainly, when compared with
that lying under armed guard at the police
hut, a hundred yards or so away. But what
did the fellows mean?—first the havildar,
then his own bearer—by croaking in such
well-matched concert? :

And side by side with this thought, came
the recollection of the parting warning of

‘Blades, his predecessor.

‘‘Keep your eyes skinned, my boy, for
these hill Johnnies are cute enough to get
them out of your head without waking you,
or to lift a bullion chest from under you,
even if you made your very bed upon it.’’

The words seemed somehow to strike him
with force to-night. ‘‘Even if you made.
your very bed upon it.’’ This was just what
he would do, or the next thing to it.

He would make his pillow of the treasure
chest, and with it supporting his head, come

hut |

 

thieves of India rolled into one, and let them
take it without waking him!

Acting on this idea, he dragged the chest
from the
charpoy. Then covering it with a rug and
pillow he lay down; laughing at himself a
trifle, it must be confessed, for if there was
one thing upon which Sturgis prided him-
self, it was his own phenomenal smartness.

Old Blades he regarded as the representa-
tive of a shrinking and effete order of things,
whereas he himself personified modern alert-
ness in its most aggressive phase.

Nevertheless, to-night he remembered old
Blades’ warning, and acted upon it.

On a line connecting the door with the

window, Sturgis had rigged up a beli, and |
this the slightest attempt at entrance would |

immediately set ringing.

Now he got out a bull’s-eye lantern from
among his baggage, and having carefully re-
filled and trimmed it, and tested the working
of the slide, he lighted it, and set it up on
the corner of the treasure chest at the head

| of his bed.

Then placing his revolver under the pillow,
he turned the slide, and the hut was in dark-
ness.

He was asleep in a moment.

Most people are, ina greater or less de-
gree, familiar with that eerie, creepy feeling
contingent upon waking suddenly to the con-
sciousness of an unknown living presence in
the room, a something or a somebody which
has stolen in during sleep, which is stealthily
moving in the darkness, unseen, even un-

heard, but yet of whose being they are as |
| surely aware as they

are of their own ex
istence,
Such a feeling came over Sturgis, as he

awoke from uneasy dreams of rumbling

earthquakes, and the roaring of a gathering |

flood, threatening to engulf him; awoke sud-
denly, and in the full and alert possession of
every faculty.

He could swear that somebody was in the
hut.

Yet how could it be? The walls were at
least two feet thick. The noise of boring
through them would infallibly have roused
him, for he was a light sleeper.

But there was no aperture either in them
or the thatch to let the cool air in upon the
interior, which was still warm, and almost
stuffy—nor had the bell on the door-hasp
rung.

Still he could swear that somebody was
within; though how on earth they could
have got there was more than mysterious.

The feeling was the reverse of a pleasant |
g I
The midnight robber might even be |

one.
standing right over him, prepared to plunge
the assassin’s steel into his heart with the
first sign of waking.
light might be the signal of his instant
death,

For once in his life, at any rate, Sturgis
was badly scared.

Even his normal assurance was not proof
against the brooding horror of the moment,
the sense of what unknown and ghastly

form of peril might be hovering over him in |

the darkness.
Many a tale had he heard of the sinister
feats of midnight desperadoes of hill tribe

growth; feats so marvelous and incredible |

as to’ seem well nigh supernatural—some,
indeed, believed them supernatural. Was he
going to witness such a manifestation now?

In the silence and darkness, Sturgis could
hear his pulses going like a hammer. The
perspiration stood out upon him like water.
This prolonged apprehension tended to eradi-
cate whatever nerve remained to him, and
with the consciousness of this he stole his
hand beneath the pillow to grasp his re-
volver.

It was not there!

Had it id under a fold in the sheet?
Had it actually been removed while he slept
—removed right from under him?

It seemed so. With a thrill of desperation,
he realized that he was unarmed—at the
mercy of the midnight assassin.

But his, very desperation aided him. As
his ear caught the sound—ever so slight as it
was—of a stealthy movement in the center
of the hut, he sprang up, and, seizing the
dark-lantern at the head of the bed, threw
open the slide.

The powerful glow filled the interior, and
framed within its dazzling disk this is what
he saw:

Upon the floor, cat-like, crouched a lithe,
sinuous figure—a human figure. Startled,
disconcerted by the sudden glare of the
lantern, it had dropped as though instinc-
tively to flatten against the ground, and
from the head, half drawn back beneath the
left shoulder, a pair of beady, snake-like
eyes stared with an expression in which
terror and the dangerous desperation of a
cornered wild beast about equally mingled.
Save for a dagger hung round its middle,
the body of the midnight intruder was desti-
tute of clothing or adornment. It glistened
as though newly-oiled, and even the head
was clean shaven.

For just a fraction of a second the pair
regarded each other motionless.

Then Sturgis sprang forward to seize the
marauder,

But the latter seemed actually to melt
from his grasp—to disappear into the very
earth,

A waye of superstitious horror surged

center of the hut to the head of his |

To attempt to show a |

gave way to another emotion. The midnight
|robber had indeed disappeared—all but his
| feet.

All but his feet. There they were, those
|two black feet, and ankles raised in the air,
as though they grew out of the ground.

The mystery became plain.

The intruder was beating a retreat by the
way he had entered—a freshly bored tunnel,
to wit.

There was the gaping hole, the kicking,

 

struggling feet stili protruding. In a mo
iment, they too would have disappeared,

Sturgis, recover
gripped both

when, quick as thought,
ing from his amazement,
ankles.

The light, the discovery, the retreat of the
marauder had occupied barely half a minute
of time, and now Sturgis, whose strength and
staying powers were about equal to those of
the average well-built and fairly athletic
young man, felt that he had undertaken a
job of far greater magnitude than he would
have believed possible.

There was a wiry strength about the re-
sistance of his would-be capture which defied
all efforts to drag him forth—a muscular
force in the protruding legs almost equal to
that in the legs of a horse, as the ankles
were snapped viciously together, as though
to crush and jam his hands from their
grip

Still he held on, and the ground quivered
and heaved beneath the desperate struggles
of the buried thief.

There was more resistance, too, than
should have been offered by any one man—
}and that a native—however wiry and power
|ful. Surely this one must have accomplices
| assisting him.on the other side of the hole.
Yet Sturgis would not give up.

It had become a veritable game of ‘‘pull
aera pull baker,’’? that which was being
|

 

played in the fiery circle of the bull’s-eye
within that hut in the small hours of the
night.

It could not go on forever, though.

Sturgis was beginning to realize that his
strength was leaving him.

He was too exhausted even to shout for
assistance. He would be forced to let the
villain go. His muscles cracked, and his
eyes were starting frombis head. His breath
ia in labored gasps. He tugged and

 

tugged. He was conscious of a sudden
slackening in the resistance.

Ha! The fellow was weakening.

One more superhuman effort—one more
tug, and he staggered back against the wall,
almost falling, in the sudden release of
tension.

But his grasp slackened not.

A final heave, and the thief was jerked
triumphantly into the room, and the chuckle
of exultation became a gasp.of curdling
horror.

Heavens! the thing was without a head!

Framed in the glowing disk of the bull’s-
eye, Sturgis stood petrified with horror and
;}amazement, gripping, as the result of his
desperate struggle, the ankles of a headless
trunk, whose limbs were twitching convul-
sively.

With a cry of appalled dismay, he flung
the horrid thing from him, and tearing open
the fastenings of the door, sprang outside
| and shouted for his people.

Then, having recovered from the fright
and disgust inspired by the repulsive inci-
dent, accompanied by the police, Sturgis set
to work to investigate.

And this was what they found. An under-
ground passage, just wide enough to admit
the body of a man, had been tunneled from
without, and this had ‘been effected during
the few hours that he himself had slept.
But for his idea of moving the chest, it
would almost certainly have been carried
off, and the sole explanation of its disap-
pearance would have been the gaping hole,
staring him in the face next morning. But
the thief—who had beheaded him?—and
why?

A few words from the police sergeant
cleared this up.

Realizing that escape was impossible, that
they could not drag him forth, the robber’s
accomplices had cut off and carried away
their comrade’s head, thus destroying all
trace of his identity, and rendering it im-
possible to fix their own as his probable
associates. ~

‘‘Pathan awful thief !’’ chuckled the havil-
dar, as he stood contemplating the headless
body, which lay, a hideous sight, stretched
out upon the floor of the hut beside the gap-
ing mouth of the tunnel, which had proved
to it indeed a tomb. ‘‘ Awful clever thief !’’
he repeated. ‘‘Steal little money as easily
as much!’’

———_—_ > o> —-—

'

INFORMATION AT FIRST HAND.

A country schoolmaster thus delivered
himself :

‘Tf a carpenter wants to cover a roof
fifteen feet wide by thirty broad with boards
five feet broad by twelve long, how many
boards will he need?’’

The new boy took up his hat and made for
the door.

‘‘Where are you going?’’ asked the master.

‘To find a carpenter,’’ replied the boy.

 

us fellers.’’

    
   
    
  
  
   
   
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
   
   
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
  
    
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

‘*He ought to know that better than any of

          

  

(~~
4700
Ci

[| SPKCL
NEWS C)
excepting
notices, a
ment will
have the
the club
GOOD NE
vertiseme

EB. S. B.
members!
editor sen

We tla
making h
oue of the

The Qc
Louis, M«
menibers
nervous Oo
provided 1
of residen
Lages ; sen
nnd corres
Join at on
coustituti
Resident}
tend the n
committer
1919 Cougr
resident, ¢
Dues, 10 «
and 5 cen
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Morguer, |

Fake?
Golden Ga
one. Init:
atives wai
tenth one,
nir of the (
but take a
muy be tl
from each
thereof.
elubs adin
to the see
street, Sau

Now is y
can GOOD
Club is the
from the
free, and
Georgia, |
California,

join free
president ;
ation fee, 1
stamp; no
New port, "

Goop NE
all parts of

you like t
diced to 12
elegant ce
(book form
“lite” dir
83 ladies an
United Sta
Lee Cham
Mich.

Ha! ha! }
the Corn P
City, Ia.?
nice packay
ing. Amat
in the pac
nice novel
no dues.
Molen, 2114

Have yon
not, join th
change Clu
one, beside:
menibershi
You are sui
club. The
are no due
Address Ea

Boys, do }
If so, join tl
kin, Pa. T
stone State
neat list of
10 cents; la
secretary, J

Boys, you
this wéek f
fine membe
the secretar
Rochester, :

H

A young
political sy
the audien
embarrass!
he should
during the
Should hav

The nigh
gan to stal
Second row
ing of the
that was ¢
about to fa
next to the
He at once
in two min
Said to the

“*Gentiler
you are. 1
and doubt
gor pose of
riend’’—p
form— ‘ fr¢

The crow
kicked him

_ Gown two |

A sTeam
in German:

  
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- 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
      
  
  
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
    
  
  
    
      
  
    
    
 
  
   
    
    
  
   
   
  
    
     
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
    
   
       
  
   
  
   
  
   
    
    
    
     
 
  
   
   
  
 

 

 

NIBBSEY
I ED Ek ee
THE BOY WHO KNI IT ALL
BY SAUL WRI
xX
MR. PETTENGII FIND.’
PETTENGILL’S sudden disap
pearal through the kitchen floo1
‘reated unbe vunded dismay and con
ternation among the guests

Nobody knew what to make of it

That is, nobody but Nibbsey and he
looked more pained and shocked than any
one else.

‘This is awful, awful!’’ he wailed. ‘‘ Does
he have these spells often, Mrs. Pettengill?’’ |
While three or four of the assemblage are
rushing down cellar to see what has become |
of the luckless farmer, we will explain to
the gifted reader the secret of the singular

accident.

: Pettengill homestead was built upon
the foundation of an old house that had been
burnt to the ground many years before, and
the old well was directly under the kitchen. |

Mr. Pettengill had hada trap-door con
structed, and had used the well until it sud
denly ran dry. It had then been filled up,
and a bolt placed under the trap.

The reckless Nibbsey had drawn this bolt
when he went to the cellar for biden and
the result we have seen.

The door had not been opened for several
years, and had remained in pla hough
several persons had walked over it until
Mr. Pettengill commenced his. energetic
dance.

3e it understood, we offer no defense ol
Nibbsey’s conduct; on the contrary, we re

gard it

in the

as

hig he

ST degre @

reprehensi

  

CHOCO LD

 

 

  
  
  
  
     
  
   
   
    
  
    
   
     
   
  
      
   
   
  
    
    
   

TS

NEW

 

 

BOOKS
BY

ALGER, JAYNE, ELLIS,
PUTNAM, GRAYDON.

POPULAR

above

i ‘SE 7. OF by the 50
| SIX BOOKS authors, c
| We have secures rom icrifice sale a small
} number of books (averaging 300 pages
to each book) by

Horatio Alger, Jr., Edward Ellis,
i Lieut, Jayne, Arthur Lee Putnam,

Wm: Murray Graydon.
Che volumes are bound in durable covers, and

stories of adventure and romance, and are
;

eC The titles are

or Jacob Marlowe’s Secret.

Ccoute Tan

$5003

 

| BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
| ARTHUR HELMUTH.
EK. S. E..is.
|THE RAJAH’ S FOR TR ESS.
LLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON
PERILS O! THE JU NG LE.
R. H. JAYNE.

|A NEW YORK BOY.
TOM TRACY.
BY ARTHUR

Che supply is small, and will soon

therefore advise all who desireas
books for fifty cents, by favorite authors, to send in
their orders atonce, The books average over 300
pages each, and fifty cents will secure the set of
8ix, postage prepaid. Single books will be sent on
receipt of twenty- five cents. Address STREET &
SMITH, Rose St., Ne W York,

NICE LANTERNS)

ARTHUR LEE PUTNAM

Vol.

LEE PUTNAM
be exhausted
We et of valuable

1

   

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
   

a
+ ee SEIZE sie ST" 1 i} CROW LRT } O} THI OOR [KI \ LOCK Ol] ,
m eae meat and eo DT zn a aT e z 7 7 " , nd STEREOP TiC ses. Views illustratin
SHEEP, ROARING WITH LAUGHTER PUB NS "EXHIBITIONS, & ~
oF 4 el iness for a man with a mall capita Also S |
: . — ‘or ‘Hon Amn ent 265 page Cat alogue re
< R, Mfe Optician, 49 Nassau St ste
to me, and I will drag the scoundrels to the FREE ! Marriage Paper with 1000 ads of McALLISTE ay ae
. ») sadies and Gents, listsof Novelties,rare Vention Good News,
very Loot ol the gallows. ‘ books, ete. @ v NNEL’S MONTHLY, TOLEDO, OHIO. E ; eee ae ot
[he hayseeds were fairly bewildered by Mention Good News. BOUND VOLUMES OF GOOD
| Nibbsey’s flow of language. FOR ALL. $75 a month salary and ex NEWS.
Some of them were inclined to think that WORK pénses paid. If yo waotemployment write :
he was crazy, but the majority were ol : Mf 7 spende toP. O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine. We have issued volumes two, three,
. F : oO ¢ } " ¢ } ; wD : ¢ 20 r ~ r
opinion that he was a remarkably bright fention Good News. four, and five, bound in an attractive IN WH
: ’ heavy paper cover. ‘Twenty - six
lad—for the simple reason that they could MUSTACHE © ictor Hair Grower. Will Sitin Hara constitute’ ard aiinie:. ane
; i : ba be a mustache in2 weeks; a ;
| not understand a word he said. p ; papers are cut and trimmed and
; : Full beard in 3 weeks ample | 10 cts. Address | . y
‘Wa-al broke in one of the £roup, | VICTOR MEDICI N CO. P.O. Box 94 P ila. Pa ) Mina hd th uae on oy SSP erm xe ee
: : Fie: tie ; 9 pete 74 wk s . ’ ee ee nding, and the price is
rathe ri éy tem mi LT t we a-goin’ tew Mention Good News cB a RATE: EIGHTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.
open 1at 1ere Chist? | | These volumes contain serial stories |
Tg i pa MG CANNOT SEE HOW YOU DO | pais ris att Ad Sa ie
At this Mr. Pettengill struggled to his IT AND PAY FREIGHT ldward 8. Ellis, Horatio Alger, part of |
feet, forgetting all about his injuries—which |} b set .. Jas. Otis, Edward Stratemeyer, the nig!
° : ¥ Suys our 2 drawer walnut or oa m- ‘ ° : “re ‘
were, in reality, trifling ie ys) = $ proved High Arm Singers ri ng machine Harry Castlemon, Ww m. Murray Graydon, moat, a
We be. an’ roht naow he said ‘Mar- | $I ly finished, nickel plated, adapted 'to light Walter Morris, Oliver Optie, stone bs
bri cp C rt : : . ‘ and heavy work; guaranteed f + 10 Years: with | W. B. Lawson, Lieut. Lounsberry, sned t
thy, ring me an ax | Automatic Bobbin Winder, Self- Threading Cylin- ; And others equally well kuown, on
The ax was brought, and two or three| a q@ der Shuttle, Holt-Gotting Needle and a complete Address Subscription Departuient GOoob NEWS, Here
ee eg Pe, ad j } tn set of Steel Attnehments; shipped any where on | 29 Rose street, New York. Pay m
powerful blow hattered the lid of the} & 80 Day's Trial, No money required fa advance. | " ee o1 , th
chest. | 75,000 now in use, World’s Fair Meda) awarded machine and attach } otume ne out of print, —
!

The jays crowded round it with wide-open
mouths.

Seth Parker yanked the broken lid off,
revealing the fact that the chest was filled
with—not gold or diamonds, but stones

Mr. Pettengill’s jaw fell until it half con

| cealed his shirt-front.

| for

|
| sent another

ble. But our duty as a historian compels us
to chronicle the events exactly as they oc
curred.

Mr. Pettengill’s neck might have been
broken, and every one felt sure it was.

Mrs. Pettengill sat shrieking and wringing
her hands, and all the women present joined |
her in lamentations

In fact, every one present seemed ‘‘all
broken up’’ except Nibbsey, who sat with
his chair tilted back, and calmly remarked
to a lad next him:

‘IT guess he’s all right; it isn’t so easy to
kill off these old jays. ,

Mr. Pettengill appeared at this juncturt
at the cellar-door, supported by two of the
neighbors.

‘Guess he’s all right, Mrs. Pettengill,’
said one of them. ‘We faound him settin’

- on the suller floor, ez ca’m an’ kerlected ez
ef nuthin’ hadn’t happened.’’

“T an’t all right, neither,’’ snapped Mr.
Pettengill, who was not willing to have his
case disposed of in this summary, off-hand
way. ‘‘I don’t b’lieve I’ve got a hull bone
in my body.’

‘Yis yeou hev, tew, Ezry,’’ said Mrs.
Pettengill, becoming more composed se]
guess yeou an’t hurt much, arter all.’’

‘An’t, hey! roared the old man, in great
wrath. ‘‘Wa-al, I cale’late ef yeou wuz
hurt jest abaout half ez much ez | be, you'd
hev all the doctors in the caounty called ij
I shouldn’t wonder ef I didn’t live ten mie
nits. I’ve broke lots o’ bones, an’ I’ vesus
tained infernal injeries.’

‘Internal injuries, yeou mean SUGZES oc
one of the women.

‘Wa-al, an’t that what I said?’’ snherted;
Mr. Pettengill. ‘‘One thing I’d like Yew
know, he added, ‘‘an’ that is haow #hat}

there bolt got drawed.’’
At this Nibbsey pranc ‘ed forward.

‘*Ah,

Mr. Petten; vill,’

he said, ‘

ore

‘you have
That

hit the nail right square on the head.
is the point that demands the most searching

investigation, and it shall have it—1l, Nibb
sey, the child detective, swear it!’

“Say, be yeou crazy, boy?’’ gasped the
old farmer.

‘No, sir; but I am filled to the neck with

zeal in your
tery to its uttermost depths.
to ask you

behalf. I

a few ques

will

tions:

last officially inspect that bolt:

with my
think very hard,
second

‘*Wa-al,

66

you

whisker's,

eye,

well now
‘Boy,
‘Exactly !

that

‘* Now
you,

you do to trip her up. Of course, you follow
nte, Mr. Pettens gill ’

‘Wa-al, |

‘You surprise me, indeed. Why, that ped
dler, who you acknowledge aroused your
suspicions, was but an emissary of the arch
plotter who drew the bolt; his purpose be
ing to produce a forged will on your death,
and claim the estate. Don’t you see? But
you and [ will talk this matter over when
we are alone Don’t be worried, leave all

Te
just so
theory.

! That
Now
for

imp

Ah,

and most
at
and
loitering about the
be fore you an
I ;
!?? howled
the
not
will

made
it
justice

1S

triur

L am about

any time see a peddler
a slight impediment in his left |
premis ses?

plaster
all as clear

harmonizes
collect you

1
ortant

he)

SsSwer.

Nibbsey. i
in the

uph,

pert
self

put my
question ,
with

ir
4)

na

e

probe this mys
Now allow me
When did you

ctly
and

Did

| medicine to an ailing

| dose of

hemp |

V

I

Consider

o1ce

ceiling crack
as day
matter

tell

what

| interrogating the boy of

|

One of his neighbors broke the silence
with a loud laugh.
oe LW ! haw! haw! that’s what yeou wuz |
dig fer, is it, Ezry? Wa-al, b’ gosh,
that? s one on yeou! Haw! haw! haw:

Similar comments and peals of
arose from the others, until the enraged and

| disap pointed farmer could bear no more
“Git aout, all o’ yeou!’’ he yelled, ‘‘or
Pi make yeou ae yeou had.”’
As he seized a big stone, the crowd started

the door like a flock of sheep, roaring
with laughter

Mr. Pettengill let the fly, his wife
after the visitors, the shy and
Nibbsey followed their example,
neighbors were driven out amid a

big and little stones

stone

retiring
ang the
fusillade of

laughter |

that did a |

B00 | deal more damage to the. house than to |

fhe individuals at whom they were aimed.
>>
THE NEGRO AND THE HORSE.
There is a time for everything, and the

success in life lies in doing things
just the right minute.
A veterinary surgeon had
struct a colored stableman how to administer
horse. He was to get
tin tube—a bean blower—put a
the medicine in it, insert one end of
the tube into the horse’s mouth, and blow
vigorously into the other end, and so force
the medicine down the horse’s throat.
Half an hour afterward, the colored
appeared at the surgeon’s office,

secret ol
at
occasion to in

be}

a common

5

man
looking

very much out of sorts.
‘What is the matter??? inquired the doc
tor, with some concern.
‘Why, boss, dat hoss, he—he blew fust!
- > oo -
ROOM FOR DOUBT.
She was a very fidgetty old lady, and was

the elevator.
‘Are you quite sure it is safe?’’
‘Oh, yes, mum,’’ said the boy.
‘Has there ever been an accident?’
‘No, mum

‘Well, suppose there should be

she asked.

an acci

| dent, then where should | be?’

‘Well, mum,’’ responded the boy, rather
|grimly; ‘‘I suppose that depends pretty
much on the sort of life you’ve led!’’

{ ‘Ollapse of old lady.

| Everyday Cook Book.

| The Young Gymnast,

The Hunter and Angler. The International Cricket Guide.
Dunn’s Fencing Instructor. Complete Training Guide for Amateur and Pro-
Prof. Muldoon’s Wrestling. fessional Athletes.
The Complete Checker Player. Riding and Driving.
Backgammon and Bagatelle. Callahan’s Easy Method of Ventriloquism,
Capt. Webb’s Swimming Instructor, The Complete Angler.
| Poe’s Foot-Ball. Aquatic Guide; or, Yachting and Sailing.
Campbell’s Lawn Tennis.
FORTUNE TVELIrN Cc.
Zola’s Fortune-Teller Imperial Fortune-Teller.
Napoleon’s Book of Fate. Zola’s Dream Book.
Cupid’s Dream Book.
TRICE Ss.

The Way to Do Magic. Herrman’s Black Art.
Heller’s Hand Book of Magic. Herrman’s Tricks with Cards.
RECITATION S AND READINGS.
The Peerless Reciter. Select Recitations and Readings.
The Young Elocutionist, The Standard Reeiter.

These books will be sent prepaid upon receipt of 10 cents each. When ordering, please be par
ticular to send the full title of the book desired, also your full name and address. The books are ten

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Cat This Out and send to-day for machine or large free
FRE catalogue, testimonials and Glimpses of the World’s Fair.

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vhile Teething. 25 cents a bottle

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Corre-

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FOR EVERYBODY.

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The following list of books will be found useful. entertaining, and full of instructive information for
all, They are handsomely bound in attractive covers printed on good quality paper, illustrated, and are
marvels of excellence These books have never before been offered at such a low figure. The

price 10 cents each includes postage.

Useful ana Instructiwve Information.
Album Writer’s Assistant. The Book of Knowledge.
Amateur’s Manual of Photography. Women’s Secrets; or, How to be Beautiful.
How ‘to Do Business. Mill’s Universal Letter-Writer.
Short Hand for Everybody. Good Housekeeping.
The Taxidermist Manual. People’s Reference Sook.
The Marriage Mirror; or, Love and Courtship.
Own Book of Boats.

CAMES AND SPORTS.
Riddles and Their Answers.
Amateur and Professional Oarsman’s Manual.

Boys’

Out Door Sports.

   
 
  
 
 
     

    
   
 
     
   
       
  

 

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