y Ys 5 ~ Br a ee ie ee EC Oe OO eS” W HBB OLS! C43 m- . Y, IN ISS N t N N>. i 7 A a S C).- | 8 $] N } Ai 2 \ LA : East ff 0 GEER . if W; Tes ah ; EST 4 He N a S rH ee . “fe Y QUT Gy \ ~ \ i. « RN | | wer . re 1@ re). tee . < t CY Wy e/ ® . \° is [ eas : TKS DRG A } SG. y : ak Ax \,. TT Gs page gr A . she yy; & Re ‘a j Ki s ener —— Ne y + % | { ) { 5 PS EY SD oe A Y 5 &) iW es HY BF an oD Ma It, : PIMA > 3 ——— SS im, A A , ms : Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1895, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post-Ofjice ys, lis- oe EA oe » © Vol. 11. 1) Rone Bhrecty Mow York New York, May 4, 1895. geso pe Youn” No. 261. WH } | iM | Be, C+ ix he nd tb he enti IEE MARCO WAS SWIFT ,TO SEIZE HIS OPPORTUNITY. HE BOLDLY ADVANCED, AND STRUCK THE LEOPARD ON THE NOSE. JUNGLES AND TRAITORS; THE WILD ANIMAL TRAPPERS OF INDIA. BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON, Author of “The White King of Africa,” ‘‘The Camp in the Snow,” “From Lake to Wilderness,” etc. CHAPTER I. | ‘Our story opens in the native quarter—the | Black town of earlier times. On a narrow, HOW DAN STAPLEFORD PAID THE PENALTY. | foul and unpaved street stood a low hovel of p88 che inte yD Qo, | bamboo and mud, in no wise different from ST AN ought to come soon.”’ | hundreds of others in the neighborhood. : 5) It was a February night in the} The occupant of the hovel was a white lad far East. lof seventeen—tall and robust for his age. ; oH? CORA PIT The aoe _ blowing ee | a = ve table =? rae arude oe burned 1K! a aid a Yat “4 ; ; the province of Bengal, and its parched and ; dimly. n open book lay near by. ae CK! THRE OOPRA E ELL IN A MASE OF W RITHING COILS, SHOT Waina influence ays life a niaaies tothe| For hours the lad had been keeping vigil. ; CLEAN THROUGH THE HEAD. dwellers in the great city of Calcutta. | There was a look of strained expectancy on ‘a hs ” & His brown eyes were his tanned and handsome face. hair was disheveled; his hazel struggling against drowsiness. The furniture of the room was meager—a table, several chairs, a small oriental stove, and a shelf of dishes. On the floor was coarse and dirty matting. Finally the lad went to the door and glanced up and down the dismal street. No one was visible, save a native policeman. He closed the door and stood for a moment in hesitation. ‘‘T may as well go to bed,’’ he muttered. ‘*Tt is the same old story. Dan has broken another promise. It was before sunset when he took the rifle away to sell. Instead of bringing the money home he has spent it on liquor. No doubt he is lying in some foul drinking hole now. There is not a rupee in the house. What will bécome of us?’’ Taking the lamp, be opened a door leading to arear apartment. lt contained an Eng- lish bed, a small desk, and a shelf on which were a few books. As the lad crossed the threshold he heard a confused uprodr ata distance. His face turned pale. He roughly placed the lamp on the desk, and ran to the street door. Here the tumult was very distinct. Hoarse, angry cries and the patter of feet swelled louder and louder on the night air. Dirty and excited Hindoos swarmed out of the neighboring doors—men, women and chil- dren. Now, at the end of the street appeared a glare of “torches. The mob surged on with fierce cries. The object of their fury was a white man, whose long legs kept him well in advance of his pursuers. He wore a faded blue coat and dingy white trousers. He was bareheaded, and his iron-gray hair and beard streamed to the wind. His once handsome facewas bloated and haggard with dissipation. He plunged madly on mid a shower of stones and spears. Blood streamed from half a dozen wounds. With his fist he leveled a couple of daring natives who tried to inter- cept him from the front. As-the fugitive came opposite where the lad stood, he swerved to one side, and stag- gered into the hovel. He dashed the door sbut and dropped a bar across it. ‘‘Dan! Is it really you?’’ cried the youth, in a tone of anguish. ‘‘ What is the matter? You are wounded and bleeding.’’ ‘‘Only stone cuts,’’? panted the other. ‘‘But—I—I’m a dead man, Marco. A weapon, for God’s sake! Here they come! Don’t you hear the devils howling? They’re after my life blood!’ His face was distorted with terror as he dragged the lad into the rear room, and closed the frail door. In a trice the bed and desk were piled against it. Out in the street the mob were swarming before the hovel. Shouts of ‘‘Din! Din!’’? the Mohammedan battle-cry for the faith, rose shrill and loud. ‘‘A4 weapon, lad!’’ clamored the man. ‘*Surely there is one left.’’ His blood-shot eyes roved about the room. Marco shook his head sadly. ‘*You pawned the last pistol two days ago,’’ he replied; ‘‘and the rifle——”’ ‘* Ah! the rifle was my undoing, lad,’’ in- terrupted the other. ‘‘I got thirty rupees for it from the gunsmith on Circular Road. Then thirst made mea demon. I drank/‘and drank, until I was mad. Now this is the end of poor old Dan Stapleford. It’s a just pen- > alty. I deserve it. Hark! They are attack- ing. I won’t die until I spit a couple of the dogs.”’ As the house shook under arain of furi- ous blows, Stapleford tore one of the iron legs from the bed and stood on the defen- sive. ‘‘Don’t talk that way, Dan,’’ pleaded Marco, with tears in his eyes. ‘‘Surely the mob won’t dare to break in. The police and the soldiers will soon arrive.’’ ‘‘Not in time to save me,’’ cried Staple- ford, almost fiercely. ‘‘T tell you I’m a dead man!?? ‘‘But what have you done, Dan? Nothing to deserve death?’’ ‘‘Yes, a thousand times over, according to native laws. Hark, lad, and you shall know. I must spin the tale in a few words. I think I visited every rum shop in Calcutta to- night. IJ drank until I was stupid, and then started home. Of course | lost the way, and my cursed ill luck led me to a Mohammedan mosque——’’ He paused a moment as the shouts and pounding rose to a shrill pitch. Marco’s face was blanched with terror. He could guess how the story was to end. Already he real- ized his friend’s desperate plight. ‘*— blundered into. a Mohammedan mosque,’’? huskily resumed Stapleford. “When the priests came at me the drink made meademon. I killed one of them with his own weapon. .I knocked an idol over and smashed it. Then the liquor left my brain, and:I realized what I had done. Iran for life with the mob at my heels. I was sober enough then, and I’m sober now. I’ll die sober, lad.’’ Marco uttered a groan of agony. ‘*You sha’n’t die!’’ he cried. ‘*There must be a way to escape, Dan. Quick! before it is toc late.’’ His voice was drowned by a rending and splitting of frail bamboo walls. The mob had brokén in. streamed into the room. Over the debris leaped the maddened fanatics, brandishing flashing weapons, and yelling the watchword of Mohammed. Stapleford’s iron club split open the head of his foremost foe. He deftly dodged a big stone, and the missile struck Marco on the temple. Without a cry the brave lad fell back on the floor, white and lifeless. A second native went down before the terrible iron club. Then a keen-edged knife whizzed forward, and sank deeply in Staple- ford’s breast. He gasped, and threw up his arms. In the twinkling of an eye the mob were upon him with spears and daggers, and thus ended a brave but misspent life. Marco lay where he had fallen. Though the Mohammedans_ believed him dead, they would probably have mangled the body in their religious fury. But, luckily, something intervened to save the lad. Already the affray had turned into a for- midable riot. Alarm bells’were ringing in the European quarter of the city. From the street came the cries of ‘‘The police! The soldiers !”’ Hearing the tumult, the fanatics left Stapleford’s hovel as hastily as they had entered.” Outside they found the narrow street crowded with hundreds of Mohamme- dans, Hindoos, and outcast Eurasians. Without regard to race or caste this mixed mob gave eager battle to the native police, who had, by this time, arrived, and weré trying to force a way to the spot. The up- roar was furious and incessant. Finally three companies of Sepoy troops entered the street, led by English officers. This turned the tide. As the mob sullenly retreated, a fire, kindled either by accident or intent, broke out in one of the native houses. The wind quickly fanned the flames. When day broke a few minutes later, the Calcutta fire department was fighting the stubborn conflagration, and the Sepoys and police were chasing the dismembered body of rioters from street to street of the native quarter. , CHAPTER II. MARCO BEGINS A NEW LIFE. Soe ARCO was only stunned by the \ blow from the stone. When he JZOY~Y} came to his senses the gray light of — dawn was streaming through the ruined walls of the house. He sat up, and rubbed his aching head. He shivered with horror to see a brown, half-naked corpse lying across the broken desk. A sorely-wounded Mobammedan was huddled in the doorway, gasping for breath, and groaning in hollow tones. Then remembrance and the sight Stapleford came to the lad in a flash. threw, himself upon the disfigured body of the man who had been his only friend in all the wide world. He alternately sobbed bit- terly and uttered husky threats of ven- geance. Grief so stupefied Marco that he neither heard the tumult outside nor saw the smoke that was drifting into the room. A heavy hand on his shoulder roused him. He was in the presence 6f an English officer and two Sepoys. @ Before a word could be spoken, two new arrivals climbed over the debris into the room. One was either an Englishman or an American, He was tall and robust, with a bronzed face and a heavy yellow mustache. The other was short and stout, and his Ger- of man origin was plainly revealed in his smooth, round, good-humored face. Both wore high boots and suits of gray flannel. With an exclamation of sorrow, the taller man bent over Stapleford. ‘“‘The report was true, Hofstein,’’ he cried. ‘‘Here lies the poor fellow, stone dead.”’ ‘*A victim of his own folly,’’ interposed the officer. ‘‘But you men are intruding. It may be my duty to arrest you. Give an ac- count of yourselves.’’ ‘‘Certainly,’’ replied the tall stranger, with alacrity. ‘‘Iam Ralph Matlock, and my friend is Conrad Hofstein. We are agents for Richter, of New York, the importer of wild animals.’’ ‘*Ah! something in his line,’’ replied the officer, nodding at the dead man. ‘‘Exactly,’’? said Matlock. ‘‘Our business with Stapleford was professional. We have known him for years.’’ ‘‘Ach, yes, and a good fellow he was,’’ added Hofstein. Marco looked at the men in surprise. ‘Don’t you remember me, lad?’’ asked Matlock. poor Stapleford was in very different cir- cumstances. I have been in other countries since then, and only landed here yesterday.’’ Marco shook his head, and burst into tears. | ‘‘Dan! Dan!’’? he sobbed. ‘‘You’re the He | ‘tT saw you six years ago, when NEWS. {only one I had. The only one. You were always good to me.”’ | Hofstein wiped a drop of moisture from his eye, and turned aside to blow his nose. ‘¢Have you no friends in Calcutta?’’ asked Matlock, ‘‘in India?’’ ‘‘None any where,’’ replied Marco. all alone now.’’ ‘‘Come, come,’’ said the officer, not un- | kindly. ‘‘We must be moving. The quarter is on fire, and the flames are sweeping this | way.’’ | He was right. The roar and crackle of the | conflagration could be plainly heard. The house was filling with smoke. Marco looked around him wilderment. ‘‘For the present you are in my charge,”’ added the officer. ‘‘The authorities will re- quire your evidence. There seems to be nothing here worth saving. Did the mur- dered man have any papers?’ ‘‘Not a scrap,’’ replied Marco. ‘‘Those few books are the only things of value left.’’ ‘“‘The pawnshop swallowed the rest,’’ muttered the officer, in an undertone, as he examined the broken and empty desk. He peered into the wrecked front room. Then, spying a door at the rear of the house, he threw it open and entered a small, narrow court-yard, hemmed in by dingy walls. ‘*Stop!?’ cried Marco. ‘‘Come back!’ The warning was too late. With a clank- ing noise and a savage snarl, a great tawny leopard bounded to the end of his chain, lighted upon the officer’s breast, and bore him heavily to the ground. With rare presence of mind, the man did not stir. He uttered a low appeal for help. The animal’s open jaws were within several inches of his face. The Sepoys sprang forward with cocked rifles. Before they could fire Marco threw himself in front of them. ‘*Keep back!’ he shouted. leopard away.”’ The Sepoys ordered him. aside, but Mat- lock and Hofstein interfered in the lad’s be- half. Marco was swift to seize his opportunity. He boldly advanéed, and struck the leopard on the nose. ‘‘Back, Selim!’’ he cried, sternly. ‘‘How dare you misbehave? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself???’ For an instant the animal hesitated. Then, growling sullenly, he crawled back against the wall. ‘*Well done!’’ cried Matlock. ‘Ach, splendid!’’ ejaculated the German. ‘The lad is a born trainer.’’ The officer rose quickly to his feet. Save for a couple of scratches, he was unhurt. ‘‘Kill that brute,’’? he directed; and up went the Sepoy rifles. ‘ you about—it is no wonder that I take strong views on the subject of strong drink. The awful adventure I am thinking of took place on the fourteenth day of April last year. vacation on the tenth of the month, on the evening of which day I arrived safely home at my father’s house in Malden, Massachu- setts. Next day—lest they should forget it— I took care to remind*people that my birth- day was on the thirteenth. Till the dawn of that eventful anniversary time seemed to pass very slowly. I was chiefly concernéd as to what father was go- ing to give me. I had dropped some delicate hints about the improvement that a bicycle is calculated to effect ina boy’s health and spirits, on which his progress at school so largely de- pends. I mentioned specially that I had learned how to ride one well. But { couldn’t tell whether these hints had struck home. Some fathers can stand a deal of hinting. The eleventh and twelfth passed duly away. I got up early on the thirteenth, and hurried down stairs. I found that I had been very liberally treated in the way of birth- day gifts. There seemed to be something for me from everybody—except father. * I didn’t say anything, but I felt bad until I caught sight of a quizzing sort of look on his face. Then I[ guessed that it was all right, and went on with my breakfast with a better appetite. When we had finished, father said: ‘*Come outside, Jack.’’ I followed him gleefully into the garden. My wildest hopes were realized, for there stood father’s present in thé form of one of the finest bicycles I had ever seen. Every- thing about it was tip-top. A prince might have been proud of such a machine. With glistening eyes I expressed my gratitude and delight. Now parents, when they make a fellow a present, have, too often, a bad habit of bothering him with a lot of good advice at the same time, niingled with reproof. I call it taking a mean sort of advantage. My father was guilty of this fault upon the occasion I am speaking of. He began by saying that he hoped my next school report would be a better one, and proceeded to give me a regular lecture. Now I ask any candid mind, what was the use of talkiing like that toa boy whose legs were itching as mine were to mount that bicycle? I listened with all the patience I could command—namely, none. Then, the instant he had started off for business, I got the machine to the front of the house and went off for a spin till dinner-time. She was a ripper, aud no mistake—as good to ride on as to look at. 1 returned in a perfect ecstasy about her. That evening father took me to hear our new minister—who is also a celebrated lec- turer—hold forth on Total Abstinence. I didn’t feel much like going, but could scarcely raise any objections. This lecture forms, so to speak, the second stage of my story. It took a great effect upon my mind. The speaker described so graphically the horrors attending intoxica- tion, the fearful effects of drink upon mind and body, and told such frightful anecdotes by way of illustration, that I went to roost quite scared, and feeling almost inclined to look under the bed to'see if there were any stray snakes there. » , : He made everything so real that I had no taste for supper. > Several times I woke up in the night, dreaming that I had the delirium he said so much about? ,At last, however, I fell into a sound sleep, From which I woke up quite late in the morning. I wassorry for this, because I had resolved on havingya long day on my new bicycle. Lying by my plate on the breakfast table was a letter from my particular chum, Jimmy Bates, who wrote from Concord, asking me if I would like to come and spend the day with him. @2 | AM a pledged abstainer—a teetotaler of The munificence of -the offer dazzled the I instantly made up my mind to accept the invitation, and to start almost at once. School broke up for the spring | I would ride to Concord on my bike. Jimmy Bates little knew the surprise I would treat him to. He little knew that the great am- bition of my life had been gratified, and that I was the proud possessor of a brand-new bicycle. Wouldn’t he open his eyes when I dashed up to his house on it! It was past ten o’clock before I made a start, but, once on the way; I soon made up for lost time. It wasa bright, warm spring morning, and I felt remarkably jolly as I bowled along the broad street between Malden and Medford. I rode very fast, and every minute the sun seemed to grow warmer. I soon found myself remarkably thirsty. With every turn of the wheels I seemed to get thirstier and thirstier. Just ahead of me was a saloon. In gajd-colored lettering the window bore the inscription, ‘‘Cool Lager.”’ My thirst became uncontrollable, and also, so to speak, took a definite direction. That ‘‘direction’’ was toward a glass of cool lager. It seemed to me that nothing but a ‘‘drop of beer’’—just a drop—would satisfy my thirst. Ginger-beer and lemonade had no attractions for me. ‘Those words, ‘‘cool lager’’ had fascinated me. Suddenly I thought of the warnings of that lecturer the night before. But ‘‘Oh, | bother !’’ I said to myself, ‘‘he exaggerated frightfully. Besides, I’ll only have a drop. That can’t hurt me. I’ve ridden a mile or two, and I’ve got a good many miles ahead of me. I’ll have just a drop, to see what it’s like’’—for I’d never tasted beer in my life. To cut this part of my yarn short, I pulled up, dismounted, and went inside that inn. Marching boldly up to the bar, I demanded a glass of ‘‘cool lager.’’ Bright and foaming and tempting, it was put before me. I tasted it, smacked my lips, and finished the glass. As I remounted my bike, I felt a delicious glow beginning to suffuse me, and almost made up my mind to have another drop later on. In five minutes’ time I reached the long high road that leads to Arlington. I headed gayly on. I’d only gone a few hundred yards when I saw on the pavement to my left a white French poodle dog. You will say that there was nothing very remarkable in seeing a white French poodle dog, and I quite admit that there wasn’t. Only please remember that I did see, and happened particularly to note, that particu. lar white French poodle dog. There are four dogs in my story. That was the first. I wheeled on about a quarter of a mile, and then the second dog made his appear- ance. He ran across the road in front of me, from one side to the other. As my eyes fell upon him, I felt a sudden spasm from head to feet, and my hair seemed to be rising on end. . In three respects the. animal was like my description of the first—he was a dog, he was French, and he was poodle. But he was more. He was something that no other deg ever seen by mortal eyes had ever been —he was something weird, wild, unearthly, unnatural. He was green!—a green French poodle dog! Oh, that glass of beer! But who could have supposed that it would have such a fearful effect upon me, and so soon? The thought of the awful illustrations scattered through that teetotal lecture flashed into my mind as I made a convulsive effort to recover myself. My brain was in a whirl as I rode on—away from the spot where that green dog was wagging his green tail. ; I don’t know how long it was before the third dog appeared upon the scene. He was waiting for me higher up the road, seated on the curbstone of the right-hand pavement, ] shrieked when I saw him. That ‘‘drop of drink’’ had indeed done its fell work. My lingering hope that the green poodle was alone in the world as a supernatural animal vanished, for the creature on the curbstone was a blue French poodle dog—a bright blue, a vivid blue! All was blue! My feet slipped off the pedals, my fingers relaxed their clutch of the handles. My bi. cycle swayed and swerved, andI was almost run down by acab. Turning my horrified eyes form the blue specter on the pavement, I gazed shudderingly ahead. The next mo. ment I felt my hair turning white. Oh, the curse of drink! Ambling down the road—in the center of it—approaching me—was a pink French poodle dog with a yellow tail! Only one thought possessed me—just the wild delirious longing to get away before the street became a menagerie of colored canines. On—on—on! Riding like the madman I now knew my- self to be—all through that glass of beer—I neared Arlington. I turned my head, and gave one furtive, frightened glance behind me. They had all met each other, and were running up the road together—running after me!—the white French poodle dog, the green French poodle dog, the blue French poodle dog,,the pink French poodle dog. It was too much. My bike and I fell to the ground with a great crash, just outside a druggist’s shop. Into that shop I rushed. I grasped the counter with both hands con- vulsively, and held the druggist with my glittering eye—no, glaring. : ‘‘Give me something at once,’’ I cried. ‘*What’s the matter with you?’’ said he, 4164 Kae CO ‘¢ ‘Matter!’ What’sthe matter with me?’’ I yelled, indignantly. ‘‘How dare you mock | me by asking that, when the street is alive with colored animals! I’ve seen ‘em—a green dog, a _ blue dog, dog—running before my intoxicated eyes— wagging their brilliant tails, I’ve seen ’em. What but one thing can be the matter with | a boy who sees green and blue and pink French poodle dogs? I’ve seen ’em, I tell you—I’ve seen ’em.”’ ‘‘So have I,’’ said the druggist; ‘‘often. They belong to Mr. Sokes, the dyer. He has four of ’em. He colors three of ’em up like that in the dye tubs, and turns them out in the streets as an advertisement. ’’ I didn’t reach Concord that day. My beautiful new bicycle had been injured in its fall, and I left it to be repaired. I came home by train. All was explained. The mystery was solved. But I had had a fright. I had learned a lesson. I would regard those dogs as a warning. dose of my feelings that day. ‘*Where are you going, Jack?’’ asked my father as he saw me preparing to leave the house as soon as tea was finished. ‘‘Round to the new minister’s, father— who gave that lecture on teetotalism on the night of my birthday.’’ ‘*What for?’’ asked father. ‘*To take the pledge, sir,’’ I answered. —_——_-~+- oe» — XD =~ rn Ho fo Do ti ~ Cb EDITED BY DAVID PARKS. LEATHER WORK. 7~AHATHER WORK is very effective, (f) and any boy or girl will find that with a little care and attention they ‘an produce many handsome and useful articles at a comparatively small ex- pense. decoration of our houses, as it is suitable for panels, dados, screens, chairs, book covers, music cases, baskets, etc. The tools absolutely required for this work are very few—a couple of tracing wheels of CA: a pink-and-yellow | blotter or I resolved that it should be | tracer; forever impossible for me to have a second | painted in crimson, or violet, or | little gilding with success. 'jons, to experiment for themselves. |only disadvantage of this to amateurs is that the edges should be gilded, or else they do not look quite neat. A few lessons from a book-binder would be of service in this re- spect. Some of the leather work of the Six- | teenth century was appliqued with designs in velvet. Very beautiful boxes can be made of this work. Fair dames in the olden times used them as jewel cases, and they were often ornamented with Cupid’s emblems if they were a present from a lover. There is no reason why any one should not |} excel in this beautiful work if they will only give sufficient attention to details. The fore- going instructions are exceedingly simple, ;and when. success is attained in producing a small panel, there is no reason why they should not proceed to the more elaborate forms. The beautiful specimens of Vienna leather work seen in old prints were produced by having the designs stamped with a_ hot the groundwork was very often silvered, An amateur may very easily attempt a After the design is quite distinct, and, if necessary, burnt in lightly with a hot tracer, go over it with thin gold paint, and then apply very evenly a slight sprinkling of gold leaf, and when | perfectly dry, varnish. LIVING CHAIRS. The other day I was instructed in a i|method by which a, number of boys, mu- tually agreed, could make comfortable seats for themselves without any materials be- |yond their own legs—seats on which they | would experience no danger from damp | ground or grass. It is said the experiment |was found very effective by the French soldiers in one of their campaigns when ‘amping in swampy and marshy places. As Ihave not the opportunity of testing the directions myself, 1 can only set them down as they were told to me, and leave my readers, who may have plenty of compan- I cer- | tainly have never seen the dodge described This work can be used largely in the } in print, so I fancy it cannot be generally known. A. certain number of boys must stand in a circle, facing inward. The number of boys does not matter, only there should be about ' one foot to one foot three inches clear space different sizes, a dot wheel, an ivory or horn | paper knife, some stamps or mats, a pair of compasses, a hammer, a ruler, a pair of scissors, and a pencil will be sufficient for a beginner to produce a simple design. The skins can be bought from any leather merchant, and they vary in price according to the quality. piece of work whether a good leather or skiver is required. This last is made of split sheep-skin, and is inexpensive. It depends entirely on the. The tracing wheels can be fixed into a} dressmaker’s tracer; the first size should be about as large asa silver five-cent piece, and the second the size of a ten-cent piece. The dot wheel can be bought at a shoe- maker’s, } | agreed. It is better for amateurs to make , a few experiments before they begin to | work, and for thisa few scraps of waste leather will do well enough. Soak the leather in water (if it is very hard use hot water) for a quarter of an, hour, then dry by pressing it gently between towels. Get a strong seasoned drawing- board, and fasten the leather on to it with drawing-pins, but be careful not to pull the leather in any way. Have your design traced out on paper, and lay this over the leather, and with the fine wheel press out between each; of course the greater number of boys, the larger the circle. Now let them all turn either to the right or to the left, it does not matter which, so long as they all turn the same way. All that remains to be done is for them to sit down gently, when it will be found that each one is sitting on the knees of the boy behind him, | In theory the thing looks quite simple, but whether in practice it turns out well I must leave otners to determine, and the re- sults of any experiments should prove inter- esting. There is one thing against it I can see, and that is all the sitters must be It would not do for one to rise, for in that case the remainder of the circle would collapse like a house of cards. It would make the circle firmer if each mem- ber of it, as he sat down, were to splay out his legs a little below the knees, as this would give a broader base, and prevent wobbling. I cannot say more; an ounce of practice is worth many pounds of instruc- tions, and if any.of my readers should try the experiment, they may discover many dodges which will add to the comfort and | stability of their resting-places. | J. P.S., Atlanta, Ga., wants to know every line, and then remove the paper, | HOW TO MAKE’A WEATHER INDI- when the design will be found faintly traced out. Go over it all with the larger wheel, and then indent all the ground by using the mat and hammer; this is to leave the design | chalet-like CATOR. Nearly every boy and girl has seen the ‘tweather-house,’’ where one in relief. If the lines pull out, they must be} might suppose the clerk of the unreliable retraced, and then the dot wheel used for | elements to reside, and which is tenanted by finishing. |a gay old lady, who comes out when the sun If your work gets soiled in working it can | shines, and a military gentleman, who, dis- be cleaned with a weak solution of oxalic | regarding catarrh, parades in front of the acid and water. If the leather is in any way defaced or roughened, smooth it over evenly with the bone paper knife, and should it happen to be cut through, join the cut with a thin piece of skiver applied with a little gum. Very effective pieces of work can be pro- cottage whenever there is a rain cloud in | the sky. In this case the figures are held on | a kind of lever sustained by cat-gut; this, | being very sensitive to moisture, twists and shortens on damp days, and untwists and lengthens as the air becomes dry and light. A. simple weather indicator can be made of duced by having raised designs. These would | a piece of cat-gut and a straw. The cat-gut, be suitable for dados, screens, or the back | twisted, is put through a hole in a dial, in of a piano case. Leather is so very pliable | which a straw is also placed. In dry weather that when sufficiently soaked it can be|the cat-gut curls up; in damp, it relaxes; modeled like clay. in thin boards, and, after having soaked the | side or the other. Get the design cut out| and so the straw is turned either to the one Another simple weather- leather well in hot water, so that it is quite | gauge may be made by stretching whip-cord plastic, press it all over the pattern firmly, | or cat-gut over five pulleys. To the lower indenting the spaces well in order to leave | end of the string a small weight is attached, the design in relief. When dry, remove the and this rises and falls by the side of a wood pattern and fill up the hollows with ; graduated scale as the moisture or dryness plaster of Paris or putty, and then paste of the air shortens or lengthens the string. over a lining of strong brown paper or} Again, whip-cord, well-dried, may be hung holland. against a wainscot, a small plummet affixed For a large piece of work, larger tools are | to it, and a line drawn at the precise spot it required, as the lines should be bolder, and } falls to. The plummet will be found to rise it would waste a great deal of time to indent | before rain, and fall when the prospect with a small mat. Practice with a butter | brightens. There are two forms in which a print on waste pieces of leather, and if the| balance is used that are interesting from effect is satisfactory, the ground can be cov- | the natural laws that govern their motions. ered with similar designs at regular intervals, | In one a dry sponge that has been saturated and fill in the spaces with the smaller mats. ,in salt and water is nicely balanced against Another method of working leather in relief|a small weight at the apposite end. The is to cut out patterns, and applique them on sponge becomes heavier or lighter, accord- to the ground work with strong gum. The. ing to the presence or absence of moisture, and any variation in this respect may be noted on the gauge above, to which the in- dex finger on a dial points. The simplest plan of all, and as good as any, is to place in an accurate pair of scales on one side a one-pound weight; on the other, one pound of well-dried salt. This swells and grows heavier on the approach of rain; when brighter skies return, the one-pound weight asserts itself once more. R. J. E., North Adams, Mass., writes to ask HOW TO MAKE A HEKTOGRAPH. The invention known as the hektograph (form the Greek ekaton, bundred, and graph, to write) consists in making a pad or cake of gelatine, glycerine and water. This forms a stiff jelly, and if a sheet of paper having lines drawn or written with aniline ink is lightly pressed upon the jelly, a reversed copy of the lines or writing will be received thereon. The ink is absorbed by the jelly to such an extent that many suc- cessive copies of the lines or writing may be taken by simply pressing successive sheets of dry blank paper upon the inscribed jelly. It forms a most convenient and excellent method of duplicating letters, sketches, etc. An approved formula for making a hekto- graph is as follows:, THE COPYING PAD. Gelatine, by weight - - - 1 part. Glycerine - - - - - - 4 parts. Water - - - - - - - 2 parts. THE INKS. 1. Methyl Violet - - - - - 1 part. Water - - - - += - - 7 parts. Alcohol.- - - - - - - 1 part. 2. Rosaniline - - - - - - 2 parts. Water - - - - - - - 10 parts, Alcohol - - - - - - - 1 part. To prepare the pad for use, it is necessary to pass a wet sponge lightly over the face of the gelatine and allow it to nearly dry be- fore taking the first copy. If this precaution is neglected, the face of the pad will be ruined by the first transfer. {This Story Will Not Be Published in Book-Form. } FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM; OR, The Birth of the Stars and Stripes. BY J GIBSON PERRY, U S.N., Author of “Out With Commodore Decatur,” ete. ne (“FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM” was commenced in No, 249. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Ageuts, } CHAPTER XXXVI. PAUL JONES, JUNIOR. wm CRY of consternation came from the : Richard’s crew. A hundred voices \\ shouted hoarsely for the Alliance to 2 cease firing. By Captain Jones’ orders, three lanterns were placed in posi- tion as a signal that it was the Richard into which the frigate was pouring her broad- sides, but without avail. Sailing past with taut sheets, the Alliance raked her sister ship fore and aft, killing and wounding a score. Even the British sea- men on board the Serapis were shocked at Captain Landais’ perfidous conduct, and an excited marine in the main-top fired his musket after the Continental ship. . All on board the Richard knew that it could not be a mistake, there being the most essential difference between the combating vessels. Besides, it was moonlight, and the sides of the Richard were black, while the Serapis was painted a bright yellow. After working as much damage as she could, the Alliance passed on into the dark- ness. Several of her shots had struck Cap- tain Jones’ ship under water, and three of his officers begged him tosurrender. In spite of these facts, the intrepid patriot firmly re- fused, and directed the combat to be re- sumed. The fire from the Richard’s tops had cut down every man on the quarter-deck of the Serapis. The heavy guns had also damaged the foe’s mainmast so severely that it tot- tered and fell with a terrible crash, tearing down with it spars and rigging, and leaving the ship almost ‘a perfect wreck.: Flames were sweeping fore and aft, threatening with destruction those still alive of the English crew. Seeing this, Captain Pearson hastened aft, and with his own hands hauled down the British flag. “The victory was won, but at what a fearful cost! Paul was the first to discover that the enemy had struck her colors. Seeking out Captain Jones, he told him the welcome news with a voice falter- ing with emotion. Then what a cheer rang out from the worn-out crew of the Bon Homme Richard. Shout after shout, huzza upon huzza rent the air, and. even some of the injured—ay, those wounded unto death, feebly waved their hands in patriotic joy. Word was sent below to cease firing. When the heated guns were at last silenced, one of the most obstinate of naval conflicts came to an end, and one more victory was added to America’s glorious list. Little time was lost in taking possession of the prize. hurried examination of the Bon Homme tichard. She was found to be in a sinking condition, with the possibility of not floating three hours longer. After ordering the wounded removed to the Serapis, Captain Jones crossed over to the latter ship, fol- lowed by Paul and Stubbs. The scene of carnage on the Englishman’s deck was frightful. Fully one hundred men had perished, and double that number were under the surgeons’ care. Captain Pearson met the victorious commander at the gang- way. He was weeping, not with regret at the loss of his ship, but because so many of his crew had met their death. Drawing him aside, Captain Jones con- versed with him regarding the surrender, receiving his sword in token. Thé middy and the master’s mate stood near by waiting for orders. Suddenly a man whose blood- stained hands and uniform proclaimed him a surgeon’s assistant, hurriedly approached the group. Saluting respectfully, he said, to Captain Pearson: ‘‘Lieutenant Broadhead is below dying, sir. He wishes to see an American midship- man named Paul Jones, if he can be found.’’ There was‘a moment of silence, then, with a low ery of excitement, Paul sprang for- ward, “Tam Paul the man’s arm, Jones,’’ he cried, grasping ‘*Where is the lieutenant? Quick! Lead me to him. He knows the mystery of my past life. Oh, sir, where can I tind him¢? It may be too late.’’ Without stopping to explain matters to the captain of the Serapis, Captain Jones hur- ried forward with Paul and Stubbs. De- scending a ladder, they found the ’tween decks crowded with the wounded. Thread- ing their way between rows of ghastly figures, they came to a spread-out ham- mock, upon which rested an officer with crimson-dyed uniform. One glance told Paul that it was indeed Lieutenant Broadhead. Silently kneeling by the officer’s side he turned to him with an appealing look. The sufferer was almost-un- conscieus. Finally reviving, he held out one hand to the middy, and with a feeble smile, said, brokenly: ‘*You escaped, lad? Itis well. I am not so lucky, and in this gallant fight I have met my end. I have not led an altogether blameless life, and before the last hour comes [ am minded to do some one a favor. Why not you? You wish to know the secret of your past life?’’ ‘*Yes, yes,’? murmured the middy. Broadhead glanced from one to another of those surrounding him until his eyes fell upon Captain Jones’ grave face. Beckoning him to approach more closely, he continued, slowly: ‘‘What Lam about to say interests you, sir. You have won a brave fight this day, but there is more joy in store for you. A good many months ago the American ship Calypso left the harbor of Boston, bound for Havre, France. 1 was a passenger on board, having come from Halifax for that purpose: Among others on the clipper were tw; father and son. The former’s name was William Jones, and——’’ He was interrupted by an exclamation of amazement from Captain Jones. With feat- ures convulsed with emotion, the com mander cried: ‘‘William! My brother, my brother! I have not heard from him for more tha® twenty years. And this lad is——’’ re ‘*His son, Paul Jones, named after you, replied Broadhead, faintly. 4 Without a word, the gallant patriot folde the middy to his arms. Those standing near averted their heads. There were tears } t the eyes of all when the dying lieuten@” resumed his story. b ‘‘When almost within sight of the Fren¢ coast, a terrible gale sprang up. The ma% were carried away, and the ship foundere®s but not before many escaped in the boat Among the saved were myself and Willi@ Jones. During the storm your brother Ve managed to lash his son to the top — mizzen-mast, meaning to secure the Sa” refuge for himself. ted ‘‘In the excitement they were separa on and the lad ultimately found himself oat board the Yankee frigate Ranger. The ily containing William Jones and myself fina pe reached the English coast. I passe¢ ordeal all right, but your brother, form exposure, and heart-broken 4 supposed loss of his son, took to his where he now lies in the city of Londo? confirmed invalid. od ff ‘‘In the course of time I was orde! eeed the Drake, and during the combat bewe r her and the Ranger, was made a pris? the Managing to make my escape tro tbe prison in Dunkirk, I reported on boat" Serapis, and—and here I am dy—dy— fel! With a convulsive gasp the speake? “pe back, overtaken by grim death just : made the last restitution in his pore the evils of his life. With saddene ed 1 oy and the rest oo hit ane returD oe the upper deck. tubbs, who closely watching his friend, noticed that moved as if dazed. p, & ‘‘Something is going to happet The carpenters had madea . pee ———- ele +See Hie jt Ch ed fe OF wt heed Oe Oe Oe ls Sa — mae rw ™ = =. oO oOo ae we OS ct! ~ Po A a 2 tab] on ®, § (+O NEWS. 4165 my name is not Joyful Home,’’ muttered the faithful fellow. ‘‘This wonderful story is working on the lad’s mind and—— Death and wounds! There he goes!’’ . With a bound, the master’s mate reached Paul’s side just as the latter fell to the deck in a swoon. He was carried aft to the cabin and placed under the care of Doctor Pryle, the surgeon of the Richard. After working over him for a half-hour, the leech reported that he was in the first throes of brain fever. ‘‘Tt promises to be a long siege,’’ added the worthy surgeon; ‘‘but if he recovers— and may God grant it—the lad will be re- stored to his full senses; I will stake my reputation on that. °’Tis wonderful, the workings of the human brain.’’ All that day the middy wrestled with the delirium of a high fever. Many important things happened, but he knew not of them. The Bon Homme Richard, torn and sorely buffeted, plunged to her last grave beneath the waves before night. With the Serapis, patched up and feeble, Captain Jones sternly pursued the recreant Alliance. : After a long chase, she was overhauled near the English shore. On boarding her, it was found that Pierre Landais, Lieutenant Simpson and Midshipman Dick Haslett had managed to make their escape in a small boat. It may be stated right here that a well-deserved fate overtook them. On land- ing they were captured by a number of English yeomen, who, in their rage at the result of the naval battle, wreaked summary vengeance upon their prisoners. All three were shot down, and their bodies cast into the sea. The Alliance and the prize sailed for Brest at once. Paul was still suffering from the fever when they reached port. After attend- ing to his most pressing business, Captain Jones chartered a small vessel, and with Stubbs to assist him, managed to convey the middy to London.