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tae es Ie ee CN Re eee Le Re a OW es i es ay ee |

 

ON: EVERY. ane

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-Office.

Pact ect OOM eh OOo et ete tae tar es aetna shh sl Sal het MO Tat Mat Nae ee teeter tent ae ns esas netnst net aera Tat Mat Meee tetas aetann™
oP nO My oO MeO eres Ro On Met Ne ~ Cl el ie el hdl tell tale el eh ee ee ee ee eee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee

Vol. 11. ob ose Sereene ig ier roe New York, “Taly 6 1895. nugeo per "Year No. 270.

 

 

 

 

THE NEXT INSTANT TOBY LEAPED FORWARD, AND WITH A QUICK MOVEMENT,
CAUGHT THE BRIDLE.OF THE HORSE CLOSE TO THE BIT.

ROBY ANID TO

| A STORY OF THE CUBAN REBELLION

 

BY WILL LISENBEE.

{TOBY AND ToM” was commmenced last week.]

CHAPTER IV. nized the intruder in the cabin as Ben Gas-
ton, and for a moment he stood as if rooted
THE HERMIT’S STORY. to the spot. Then realizing that a dreadful

crime was about to be committed, and that
E will now return to Tom Buford, i it was his duty to prevent it, if possible, he
whom we left peering in at thej uttered a loud cry, and at the same time
window of the hermit’s cabin on|threw himself against the door. But he
Briggs’ Island. |found that it was fastened, and would not

It is hardly necessary to state that Tom yield.

SCARCELY HAD TOM CROSSED THE THRESHOLD WHEN HE RECEIVED A
STINGING BLOW THAT SENT HIM REELING AGAINST THE WALL, was filled with amazement when be recog-' Seizing a small bench that stood by the

    

 

 
 

 
  
  
   
   
    
    
   
   
  
    
  
    

  
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
    
   
  
    
  

 

 

 

  
    
  

   

gaz

GOOD

 

wall, he dashed it with all his might against
the door. It flew open, and he entered, but
the light had been suddenly extinguished,
and the room was in darkness.

He heard a low groan come from the
other side of the room, and he stepped
quickly forward, armed with the heavy
bench with which he had broken in the
door; but scarcely had he crossed the
threshold when he received a stinging blow
that sent him reeling against the wall. The
next instant he saw the dark form of a man
disappear through the open door.

Tom stood leaning against the wall, dizzy
and bewildered. The wooden bench had
fallen from his hand when he had received
the blow, but he did not stoop to pick it up,
as the miscreant had already fled from the
building.

Again a low moan came from the other
side of the room, and this served to arouse
Tom to a realization of the situation. He
moved in the direction of the sound. The
room was in darkness, but a few coals
smoldered in the fire-place, and kneeling
upon the hearth, he soon fanned the coals
into a blaze. Then lighting a candle which
he found on a rude pine table, he glanced
quickly about him. A chilling sight met his

e.
Lying at full length upon the floor, his
face covered with blood, which trickled
from an ugly wound in the head, was
Briggs, the hermit!

Ina moment Tom was kneeling by the
prostrate man’s side. He was unconscious,
but still breathing. Life was not extinct.
Tom nuted this with a feeling of infinite re-
lief and thankfulness. But might not the
would-be murderer return to finish his
work?

As this thought came to Tom he arose
hurriedly, and closing the door, fastened it
securely with an iron poker. He then hung
his coat across the small window. When this
was done, he lifted the unfcrtunate man
from the floor, and by a succession of efforts
succeeded in placing him in a bed that stood
in the corner of the room.

He brought some water, and washing the
blood from the injured man’s face, was re-
warded by seeing him recover.

‘*What’s the—the matter?’’ he asked, sit-
ting up insbed and staring about in bewil-
derment.

‘*Some one attacked you and struck you!
but I happened along in time to prevent
your life being taken,’’ said Tom.

‘*Where is—is Ben?’’

‘*H@ is gone,’’ replied Tom. ‘‘See, I have
fastened the door, and I don’t’ think he will
try to bother you again. Lie down and let
me dress your wound,’’

The hermit clasped Tom’s hand in his
own, a gleam of moisture in his eyes.

‘*T thank you for what you have done for
me,’’ he said. ‘‘ You have saved my life—a
life that hasn’t been worth much to any one
but myself—and not much to myself. How
strange,’’ he continued, as if to himself,
fixing his gaze on Tom, ‘‘it is very strange
—it is the hand of Providence——’’

He lay back upon the pillow and closed
his eyes, Tom brought some strips of cloth,

’ and after nee the wound, which was

not serious, he brought a stool and seated
himself by the bed.

Presently the old man opened his eyes and
laid his hand on Tom’s arm.

‘*My dear boy, you are wet to the skin,’’
he said. ‘‘You will find an old suit of mine
there in the corner. Put it on; it may not
be the best of fits, but it is dry at least.’’

‘*Thank you,’’ replied Tom. ‘*A change
of these wet garments for dry ones will be
most acceptable.’’

When he had made the change, he re-
plenished the smoldering fire and hung his
clothes in front of it to dry.

‘*T have never seen you on the island be-
fore,’’ said the hermit. ‘‘How strange that
a should come at this particular time.

ow did it happen?’’

Tom explained, giving a brief account of
how his boat had* been wrecked on the
island, and how he had come to the hut for
shelter, arriving just in time to interrupt
the murderous assault on the owner.

‘*Well,’’ said the hermit, when Tom had
finished, ‘‘your being here all seems to have
come about naturally enough, but I can’t
help believing, knowing what I know, that
your saving me from the murderous hands
of that man was, as I have said before,
nothing less than the hand of Providence.
Maybe you will think as much by and by,
when I have told you something of the past
life of Ben Gaston. But let that go now. Of
course you must remain all night with me,
and as doubtless you have had no supper,
and must feel hungry after your unlucky
bath, I will ask you to just open the cup-
board there in the corner, where you will
find something to stay your hunger.’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Tom. ‘‘I believe I am
a little hungry.’’

“Tt isn’t very polite of me to ask you to
wait on yourself,’’ went on the old man.
‘*but I guess a boy of your age won’t stand

‘on ceremony when he’s hungry.’?

‘*Not where there is anything to eat in
the question,’’ replied Tom, with a smile.

‘‘And if you don’t mind,’’? added the
hermit, ‘‘you may just hang the kettle on
the crane, and we will have a cup of tea to-
gether.’’

‘*With all my heart,’’ responded Tom.

 

The hermit, who had arisen and was
seated on the side of the bed, now got up
and crossed the room and seated himself in
a large wicker chair in front of the fire,

He was a man of sixty or thereabouts,
small of stature, with streaks of white
sprinkled plentifully through his thin locks
and beard. His deeply set eyes were of the
darkest blue, and there was something
pleasing in his bronzed and wrinkled face.
At least Tom thought so as he paused to
glance at the kindly countenance of his host.

‘*] am feeling much better now,’’ said the
old man, in answer to Tom’s inquiry. ‘‘I
guess it wasn’t much of a hurt after all,
though I felt pretty weak at first.’’

As they sat sipping their tea in front of
the blazing fire, the startling events of the
night gave Tom much food for serious ‘re-
flection. That Ben Gaston, whom he had
always looked upon as an honest man, and
with whom he had made his home for years,
should be a robber, was a severe blow to
him,

Then there were the hermit’s strange
words about Ben Gaston’s past life. What
did he know of it, and would he reveal the
secret, as his words implied that he would?
These, and many other thoughts of a similar
character, passed through Tom’s mind as he
sat by the blazing fire, listening to the fall
of the rain on the roof.

At first Tom had been much alarmed lest
Ben should return to finish his work, but as
the minutes flew by without bringing any
sign of the wiscreant’s return, he gradually
became convinced that his fears were
groundless.

Tom felt reasonably sure that he had not
been recognized by Ben, else the latter
would not have beat such a precipitate re-
treat. But now that Ben was aware that his
assault on the old man had been witnessed by
another, would he dare remain in the neigh-
borhood? Tom thought it hardly possible,
but in any event he was resolved on one
point, he would never again make the cabin
of Ben Gaston his home.

His reflections were at last interrupted by
Briggs, who said:

‘*Did you ever learn why it was that Ben
Gaston took you to his cabin to live?’’

‘*Why, I don’t know as I ever learned any
particular reason,’’ Tom replied.

‘*Of course, 1 might know he would never
tell you,’’ said the hermit. ‘‘There is no one
who knows the secret but him and me. To
be sure he would be the last person to reveal
it. Well, it’s a long story, but I’ll try and
tell it to you in as few words as possible.

‘‘Tt was some fifteen years ago,’’ went on
Briggs. ‘‘1 was then second mate aboard the
Delta, a large schooner plying between New
Orleans and the West Indies ports. The
Delta was a lubberly craft, and had seen
her best days long before I had ever set foot
on her deck, but for all that, I could not
help feeling a touch of sorrow when she
went to the bottom near the end of my
second voyage in her. But I must not get
ahead of my story.

‘*How did she come to go down? Well, it
was a mystery at first, and it was not till
some months after the disaster had taken
place that I learned that she had been scut-
tled by a sailor by the name of Ben Gas-
ton.’’

Tom uttered an exclamation of astonish-
ment.

‘*Yes,’? went on the hermit, ‘‘she was
scuttled at sea by Ben Gaston, and it was
from his own lips that I learned the truth.
We got out the boats, and every man aboard
escaped. We were picked up the next day
by a passing ship and taken to New Orleans,
where the loss of the Delta was duly re-
ported to the underwriters, who very re-
luctantly paid over the amount of the in-
surance.

‘*T suspected at the time that Captain
Hawkshaw, who was the owner of the ves-
sel, was not greatly grieved over the loss,
but I had yet to learn that she had gone
down at his own instigation. And whether
or not ill-got gains bring disaster to the pos-
sessor, it is true that Captain Hawkshaw
did not live long to enjoy his, for within a
week after his arrival in New Orleans, he
died of a fever.

‘Ror the next month or two I remained
in New Orleans, hoping to find another
berth, but I met only with disappointment.
One evening as I sat on the veranda of the
hotel, seriously considering whether or not
I should return to New Bedford and seek a
berth in a whaler, who should pop up but
Ben Gaston. He was looking pretty seedy,
and from his manner, I was led to believe
he had been drinking.

‘‘After greeting me ina rather effusive
manner, he informed me that I was the
very person he had been looking for, and
that he had something of importance to
communicate. Wondering what the fellow
had to tell, I invited him to come to my
room. There he told me a story that filled
me with amazement. The substance of his
story was this—leaving out some of the
minor details: While the Delta was lying at
Havana on our last voyage there, Captain
Hawkshaw went ashore to visit an acquaint-
ance, an American, who resided in Havana,
and who was contemplating a trip to New
Orleans with his family. The name of the
American was Joseph Dibbin, and——’’

‘‘Why, he was my uncle!’’ cried Tom, in
amazement,

 

NEWS.

 

‘*You are right,’’ went on the hermit;
‘‘he was your uncle. Well, Dibbin came
aboard the ship, bringing with him a large
sum of money, over seventy thousand dol-
lars, which he placed in the captain’s care
for safe-keeping. You see, Dibbin had be-
come mixed up some way with the Narciso
Lopez conspiracy a few years before—in
1851, I think—and he feared trouble if he
remained in Cuba. ;

‘‘The Delta was to sail three days later,
and Dibbin and his wife and child were to
take passage in her for New Orleans; but
they never came. Joseph Dibbin left early
the next morning for a trip into the interior,
and falling in with a band of insurrection-
ists, with whom he had strong sympathies,
he was shot and killed in an engagement
with a company of Spanish troops. The
news was a dreadful blow to Mrs. Dibbin,
and she went into a death-like swoon, from
which she never recovered,

‘‘Meantime, the Delta had sailed from
Havana, intending to touch at Bahia Hon-
da, where she was to take on some addi-
tional cargo. But now a daring scheme en-
tered the mind of Captain Hawkshaw. It
was to make way with the treasure con-
signed to his care by Joseph Dibbin, then
scuttle the ship atsea. In order to carry
out this plan, he takes into his confidence
Ben Gaston, who is to assist in the*work,
and receive ten thousand dollars for his
services.

‘*So, before the ship reaches Bahia Honda
she is ordered by the captain to drop anchor
in a little bay, just off San Menos Point,
for the apparent purpose of taking on a
supply of fresh water. But while the crew
was engaged in the work of filling the casks,
the captain and Ben conveyed the treasure
ashore and concealed it in a secluded spot
near a ruined mission building.

‘*When this was done, the Delta continued
her voyage, and the programme of scuttling
her at sea was carried out. Of course, the
main object in this was to give out the idea
that the treasure had gone down with her.
But once ashore, Ben and the captain began
to lay plans to return for the hidden treas-
ure. But the sudden death of Hawkshaw
frustrated their plans, and left Ben the sole
possessor of the secret. Ben was without
money, and the magnitude of the affair
made him shrink from undertaking the task
of returning for the money alone,

‘*Thus it happened that he came and con-
fided the secret to me, promising me an
equal share with himself if I would assist in
getting the gold safely away from Cuba,
and furnish the expenses of the journey.

‘*T was much amazed at his story, and
was inclined to discredit it, but I soon be-
came convinced that he told the truth. I
will not deny that the prospect of so speedily
acquiring a fortune dazzled me, and in the
fever of excitement, hardly taking a thought
of what I was doing, I gave him the desired
promise, thus linking myself with a crim-
inal.

‘*Having taken the first step, I tried in
every way to justify my acts. If I had re-
fused his offer, I reasoned, some one else
could have been easily found who would
jump at the chance of aon in so splendid
a fortune; and had I handed Ben over to
the authorities, nothing could have been
proven, and the secret of the treasure’s
whereabouts would not have been revealed,
unless Ben had chosen to do so.

‘*A week later we sailed for Havana, but
on our arrival there, we found the island in
a fever of excitement over the last revolu-
tionary outbreak, and strangers, Americans
in particular, were looked upon with sus-
piciop, and we realized the difficulty we
would have in carrying out our plans in
securing the gold and conveying it from the
island. However, Ben was not to be swerved
from his purpose, and insisted that we
should visit San Menos Point, and bring
back a part of the treasure at least. The
next day found us on our way to the place.’’

CHAPTER V.

‘‘t WANT YOU TO START FOR CUBA. TO-
MORROW.?’? ,
Sa close watch was kept along the
<, coast,’’ continued the hermit, ‘‘and
fearing our presence in a boat might
“* excite suspicion, we made the jour-
ney on horseback. We stopped at a little
village near San Menos Point, and waited
for nightfall; then visited the place where
the gold had been hidden.

‘*We did not dare bring away but a sinall
portion—about four thousand dollars apiece
—for fear we might fall into the hands of
the insurgents and lose all. Concealing the
gold about our persons the best we could,
we returned to Havana, but we very nar-
rowly escaped being captured by a squad of
rebels who chased us for a dozen miles.

‘‘We remained in Havana two days, and
during this time I learned, upon inquiry,
that Mrs. Dibbin bad died shortly after the
death of her husband, leaving an only child
at the mercy of strangers; Harry Dibbin—
they called the child Harry—was less than
two years of age, and had been taken by a
servant of the family, a Mrs. Nancy Conner.
She left Havana soon after, and her where-
abouts no one seemed to know.

‘‘Not desiring to remain longer on the
island, and being anxious to return to

 
  
 

America, Ben and I took passage for Bos-
ton, where we arrived in due time, and
after remaining there a short time, we came
to Brighthaven.

‘*But I was far from satisfied with myself

when I reflected on the part I had taken in
the affair with Ben Gaston, and I resolved
to make amends if it were possible to do so.
I went to Ben, and tried to induce him to
join me in restoring the fortune to the
rightful heirs, but he rejected my overtures
with the bitterest of oaths, threatening to
take my life if I should ever breathe the
matter to a living soul. Alarmed at his
manner, I said no more on the subject. But
I was resolved more than ever not to use a
cent of the money that my first dishonest
act had brought.
‘By cautious inquiry, I learned that
among the papers of Joseph Dibbin, which
I forwarded to your father’s lawyers, was a
document ‘stating that he (Dibbin) had dis-
posed of the interests purchased for your
father at a slight loss, and that the proceeds
had been placed on board the Delta, along
with his own fortune, for transmission to
America, so you will see that a large por-
tion of the hidden treasure belongs to you,
while the remainder is the inheritance of
Harry Dibbin, if he be alive.’’

‘*How wonderful it all seems,’’,said Tom,
‘tand how strange that Ben Gaston has not
gone back and secured the remainder of the
treasure.’’

‘*It is not entirely his own fault that he
has not,’’ went on Briggs. ‘‘When I found
that he could not be induced to restore the
treasure to its rightful owners, I sought to
delay his returning for it as much as possi-
ble, hoping that something might transpire
to induce him to alter his.determination ; so
having a small nest-egg, in the way of
money of my own, I bought this little patch
of ground and made it my home, earning
my living the best [ could. Ben soon went
through with his money, and finding that I
would not yield to his demands to return for
the gold, he became very bitter toward me.
But at last I effected a kind of compromise
by offering if he would provide you with a
home, to see that he did not want for any-
thing. Besides this, I was to allow two
hundred dollars per year for your clothing
and board, out of my part of the treasure.
As the money was to go to its rightful
owner, I considered this but just.

‘*T kept putting off going to Cuba the best
way I could, but at last Ben grew desperate,
and would have gone off alone had I not de-
clared my intentions to expose the whole
scheme if he should. This kept him quiet,
and so the years went by. But at last he be-
came violent in his demands, and tried to
take my life, as you have seen to-night.

‘‘That is the story, and while I am not
blameless in what I have done, I hope to
atone by restoring the treasure to those
from whom it has been so unjustly held.

‘*T have a large part of the gold brought
from Cuba buried in the corner of my cabin,
and it was to rob me of this that Ben Gas-
ton came here to-night. But he failed in his
attempt, thanks to your timely arrival. But
he took nearly a hundred dollars from my
pocket and escaped with it, and that is what
gives me the most concern.
money’s sake, but now that he has sufficient
funds, I have no doubt that he will be off
for Cuba at once.”’

‘‘What do you mean to do? Let him go?’’
asked Tom.

“‘That’s what I’m coming to,’’ returned
the hermit. ‘‘I want you to start to Cuba
to-morrow !’’ ,

CHAPTER VI.
TOBY MAKES A FRIEND.

Fy HEN Toby heard the words of the
stranger declaring his intentions
to strike a light, his heart sank

within him, and he felt that dis-
covery was inevitable.

‘‘Give me a match, Reddy,’’ repeated thé
man. ‘‘T must have a light.’’ a
‘*A light! Have you lost your senses?
said the other, with an oath. ‘‘Don’t you
know better than to go poking around her?
witb a light, and that house over there 1
full sight?’? a

‘*Then the money can go and be blowed!
exclaimed the tall man, following the othe!
to the stairs.. j

Toby felt a sense of infinite relief and joY
as he heard the steps descending the stal
but he did not dare to move just yet, le®
the noise should attract the attention of th?
two.

When the evil pair had descended the steh®
they paused for a few moments in the sba
ows of the old mill, conversing in low tones

Presently they walked to a pile of lott
rocks—an old’ tumbled-down wall, be!
covered with creeping vines—and begat d
make an excavation. When this was finish@ 4
they deposited the bags of coin therein, th
carefully replacing the rocks, they hurr?
away.

Toby had watched the men’s move™
through a crack in the building,
they disappeared from sight, he arose
his cramped position. ;

He picked up the coin that lay at bi
and placed it in his pocket. dap I

epts
fro!

s feet

 

‘*It is stolen mouey,’’ he thought, © ¢ful
may be able to return it to its righ

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owner. Who is Captain Ferguson, I wonder?
I am going to find out if I can, and tell him
where the thieves have hid his gold. I won-
der if it would be right for me to hide it in
a new place where the thieves won’t get
it?’’ he went on musing, but he quickly dis-
missed the idea. He might get into trouble,
and then the thieves might return and dis-
cover him in the act.

He descended the stairs, and pausing a
moment to make sure that no one was in
sight, he hurried away. He soon struck the
old coast road, and turning into it, he
walked at a rapid rate.

By daylight he had traveled many miles

and gained a part of the country that was! (
Having little fear of en-, got hold of the bridle,’’ replied Toby, color-

strange to him.

 

broken Joose at the bit and lay useless across
the dashboard, The next instant he leaped
forward, and with a quick movement,
caught the bridle of the horse close to the
bit. The animal plunged wildly, dragging
Toby several yards, but he clung desper-
ately to the bit, and finally brought the
frightened beast to a stand-still.

The man leaped out and ran to the boy’s
assistance. He refastened the line, and
stroked the horse gently, and soon had the
animal pacified.

‘*That was a brave act, my boy, and was

| perhaps the means of saving my life,’’ he

said, turning to Toby.
‘‘It wasn’t very hard to do when once I

countering the dreaded Simpkins now, he | ing at the stranger’s words.

stopped at a farm-house about eight o’clock
and asked for something to eat. The lady of
the house, the only person visible about the
place, invited him into a large kitchen,
where some milk and bread, cold meat and
potatoes were placed before hin.

The woman eyed him suspiciously as he

te.

‘*Where are you traveling to?’’ she asked.

‘‘To New Bedford,’’ he replied, thinking
it just as well to name that point as any
other, for he had about made up his mind
to go there.

‘*Where are you from?’’ she asked.

‘‘From Brighthaven,’’ he answered, after
some hesitation.

‘‘Have you run away?’’ she asked, looking
at him critically.

Toby did not 1eply immediately. He did
not wish to tell her he had ran away, nor
did he desire to tell a falsehood. He pre-

tended not to hear.

She repeated her question:

‘tYes,’’ said Toby, ‘‘l’ve run away.”’

‘*T thought so; from your parents?’’

‘‘No; from a man have been
with: Roger Simpkins. ’’

‘*T suppose you know it’s my duty to
report you and have you sent back?”?

‘¢Ves’am,’’ said Toby, growing pale, **I—
I guess so.”’

‘*But I’m not compelled to,’’? she went
on. ‘‘Tell me all about it—why you ran
away.’’

Tobey obeyed, showing the marks on his
arm and shoulders.

The woman’s sympathy was aroused.

‘*He ought to be punished for the way he
has treated you,’’ she said, ‘‘But it’s a bad
thing for a boy to run away.’’

Toby finished his breakfast in silence,
vaguely wondering whether or not the
woman would seek to have him sent back.
He took the dollar which Tom Buford had
given him from his pocket and offered to
pay for his beakfast. But she declined to
take pay.

He thanked her, and turned to go, when
she said:

‘‘T had a notion to call my husband and
have you sent back to Brighthaven, and I
want to tell you why I did not do so. When
I asked you if you had run away, you owned
that you had. That impressed me in your
favor. Had you told me a falsehood, I think
I would have known it.’ But as you was
truthful in the first, 1 was inclined to be-
lieve the story of your treatment. Always
stick to the truth if it hangs you. That’s
my advice.’’

‘‘T thank you,’’ said Toby, deseending the
kitchen steps and walking toward the road.
The woman’s words rang in his ears: ‘‘Stick
to the truth if it hangs you.’’? He hoped it
would never hang him, and somehow it
brought back to his mind the men he had
seen in the old mill. Should he tell the
Woman? He hardly knew what todo. The
man had spoken of a Captain Ferguson—the
one from whom, it appeared, they had stolen
the money. It would do no harm to ask if
She knew Captain Ferguson.

He stopped and turned toward the house.
The woman was still standing in the door.

‘*What is it?’’ she asked.

‘‘Do you know Captain Ferguson?’’ he
asked.

‘*Captain Ferguson? No; never heard tell
Of him. Butif there is such a person he
May live in Bedford.’’

Toby walked on. He had now made up his
Mind to go to New Bedford, and wondered
if he would reach the city that day. He was
Not sure that he was on the right road, but

€ intended to inquire farther on,

His thoughts turned to Tom Buford as he
Tudged on. He wondered if Simpkins had
ad him arrested. The thought troubled
Oby not a little.

Soon he meta man driving a cart, and
Tom him he learned that he was on the road’

living

| to New Bedford. He trudged on, wondering

What fortune or misfortune would befall
bim in the place he was going to. His re-
Sctions were suddenly interrupted by the
Sound of rapidly approaching wheels, and
Slancing back, he beheld a buggy coming
Swiftly down the road. The man in the

Yehicle had evidently lost control of the

Orse, for the animal was plunging from one
Ide of the road to the other, viciously
Sta ening to upset the buggy at every
e

here was a deep ravine just ahead,
anned by a rather shackly, bridge, and
Sby was quick to perceive the danger the
Tanger was in, The terrified horse was

 

a coming at a yallop, and as he drew
Sar, Toby saw that one of the lines was

‘‘There are few men who would have
dared do what you have done,’’ went on the
man; ‘‘it was a dangerous undertaking.
You have torn your clothes, too,’’ he added,
noticing a wide rent in Toby’s coat, where
it had been caught by one of the shafts and
been torn.

‘*That don’t matter,’’ said Toby. ‘‘It’s
an old one, and the weather is still warm.’’

The stranger smiled, fixicg an approving
look upon the boy,

‘*You seem to be a philosopher as well as
a hero,’’ he said. ‘‘Do you live near here?”’

‘*No, sir; I have been living at Bright-
haven,’’ replied Toby.

‘*Brighthaven? That’s quite a distance
from here. Have you come all the way to-
day?’’

2 I—I starved yesterday—I am on my way
to New Bedford.’’

‘*Now that’s lucky; I am also on my way
to the city, so I shall be glad to have you
ride with me.’’

‘*Thank you,’’ responded Toby, again
coloring at the stranger’s words. He had
never before been treated with such kind-
ness and consideration, and he hardly knew
how to reply.

As he seated himself in the buggy he ob-
served that the man was of middle age. He
was well-dressed, and carried a heavy gold
watch, which he consulted as he took bis
seat in the vehicle,

‘He must be a man of importance,’’ Toby
thought, as he noticed the beautiful time-
piece and the gold seal that dangled from
the chain.

The man shook the lines and the spirited
animal went forward at a brisk trot.

‘*Are your parents living?’’ he asked.

‘*No, sir,’’ replied Toby. ‘‘They died some
years ago.”’

‘*Have you friends or relatives in the
city?’’

‘*No, sir; I am going there to find work,
or maybe I shall go to sea.’’

‘*Did you say you lived in Brighthaven?’’

‘‘Yes, sir—that is, 1 did live there, with a
family by the name of Simpkins, but——’’

He paused.

‘*But what?’’ asked the stranger.

‘*T couldn’t stay any longer.’’

The man looked at the boy critically.

‘*And you ran away?’’ he-said, at length.

‘*VYes—I ran away,’’ replied Toby.

‘*You are frank to contess it. Don’t you
think it is wrong to go off in this way?”’

‘*No, sir—because I couldn’t stay any
longer.’?

‘‘Then you must haye good reasons for
running away?’’

‘*T did, sir,’’

‘*Will you tell me all about it?’’

‘*Yes, sir,’? and Toby related the circum-
stances of his going’ to Simpkins’ to live; his
life and treatment while there, and the
events that led to his running away.

The stranger was silent for some time
after the boy had finished. At length he
said;

‘Do you think this man Simpkins will
follow you?’’

‘*T hope not; but I am afraid he will.’’

‘*Would you be willing to go back if he
should?”’

‘*No, sir; I shall never go back—if I can
help myself.’’

‘*Then you may need my assistance,’’ said
the stranger. ‘‘If you should, come and see
me, or send me word,’’

He drew a card from his pocket, and
thrust it into the boy’s hand.

Toby glanced at the card and read:

?

9 ‘*Isaac WALLINGFORD,
‘* Attorney-at-Law,
**137 M—— street,
‘*New Bedford.’’

Toby murmured his thanks as he put the
card carefully, in his pocket.

An hour’s drive brought them to the city,
and Toby gazed about in keenest interest as
they dashed along the well-paved streets.
He could not remember having ever been in
so large a city before, and he was charmed
and interested at the scenes of bustle and
activity, and a great thrill went to his heart
as he caught sight of the tall-masted ships
that Jay in harbor beyond the town,

Presently they drew up before a large
stone structure in a busy quarter of the
city.

‘*Here we are; my office is on the second
floor,’’ said Mr. Wallingford; as they
alighted from the vehicle, and the lines
were thrown to an attendant.

‘*‘Now, my boy, I have some important
cases to look after, but hope to see you at
my office whenever you choose to call; but

NEWS.

4307

 

I want to thank you again for the service
you did me. You may need something to
|help you along till you find work,’’ he
| added, ‘fand to get some new clothes in the

 

| place of the ones you ruined in stopping my |

| horse. Good-by.’’

He took Toby’s hand, and as he did so,
thrust something into it. Then he was gone.

Toby stared in wonderment as he saw that
| it was a fifty-dollar bill which the lawyer
| had placed there.
| ‘Well, this beats all,’? he muttered, as he
stood staring at the money. ‘‘I—I wonder
| if I ought to take it?’’
| He looked again for Mr. Wallingford, but
|he had disappeared. Then seeing that he
| was attracting the attention of some street
hiokitns who were loitering near, he thrust
| the money into his pocket and walked away.

It was noon by this time, and after get-
ting his dinner at a cheap restaurant, he
turned his steps in the direction of the
| docks,
He saw many things that interested him
|as he walked along the busy street, and so
absorbed was he that he did not notice the
figure of a man hurrying from the opposite
|side of the street toward him. Suddenly a
rough hand was laid on his shoulder, and a
| familiar voice sounded in his ear. He turned
|to find himself in the clutches of Roger
Simpkins!

 

(TO BE CONTIN YED.)

 

“FOUND DROWNED;”

OR,
DEATH ROOM NO. 5.

>

THE STORY OF A DETECTIVE.

—_—-————

WA R. HERRON,” said my old chief,
M ‘‘as you are doubtless aware, hardly
Ypore} a morning passes without the notice
—<“Se> of ‘Found Drowned’ is in one or
another of the daily papers, and nvutwith-
standing the fact that the coroner stamps
| them all as ‘suicides,’ I begin to doubt his
| judgment. The evening papers announce
that another person has been ‘Found
Drowned.’ ”’

‘‘Suicides, eh? Oh, yes, they’re plenty;
or, if not all suicides, perhaps something
else,’’ I answered.

‘*Too true,’’ he returned; ‘‘but would it
not be well to trace. the mystery of these
floating bodies, so as to know the truth,
rather than to allow a pig-headed coroner
to class them all as self-slain? I also notice
that many of the victims are branded ‘un-
known,’ indicating them to be strangers to
the city—strangers who come here to drown
themselves, eh?’’—and he laughed. ‘‘No,
Herron. The fact probably is, that one-half
of these unknown dead are thrown into the
river, even if the other half do jump in.”’

‘‘T think you are right,’’ I replied.

‘‘Then you believe,’’ said the chief,
‘‘that many of these men—for I have no-
ticed that they are mostly all men—have
| been murdered, and their bodies disposed of
in this manner?”’

‘That is just what I do think—killed in
some way that leaves no sign—poisoned or
suffocated, and then thrown into the river.’’

The result of that interview was, that I
received a special commission to ferret out,
if possible, the source of sources whence
came these unknown dead.

The task set before me was a difficult one,
yet, as it showed the confidence my superior
placed in my ability, I accepted it with a
feeling of pride, and a determination that,
if it lay in man’s power to do so, I would
accomplish it.

Two days later the papers announced an-
other mysterious death.

The article was headed:

“WAS IT SUICIDE OR MURDER?”
It ran as follows:

‘‘This morning the dead body of Brace
Cloyd, a well-known gambler, who occupied
Room No. 5, in the C—— Hotel, North
street, was found dead in his bed on the
third floor of the house. He had retired late
in a pretty sober condition and apparently
in excellent health. His window was se-
cured, and his door was not only locked,
but bolted. When he was searched by the
coroner, no trace was found upon him, in
his bed, or in his clothing, of a roll of bank-
notes that he was known to have had the
day before, but it is naturally supposed that
he had lost it in a run of bad luck at some
gaming table before going to his room. The
police are investigating, and it is hoped that
the mystery will be fully cleared up before
the coroner’s, jury, which will assemble to-
morrow to decide as to the real cause or
causes of Brace Cloyd’s death.’’

Something in the article prompted me to
visit the locality—which was in an unfash-
ionable and rather rough part of the city—
to satisfy myself, beyond the possibility of
the slightest doubt, upon a vague suspicion
which the perusal of the article had awak-
ened in my mind,

Accordingly, at nine o’clock that night, I
went to the suspected house, disguised as a
boyish-looking person, with silky black cur!s
falling over my neck, and my fate was so
artistically painted that the ravages of dis-
ease could be plainly traced.

 

 

 

 

    

‘*‘What shall it be, my friends?’’ said I,
as I stepped up to the bar connected with
the hotel. ‘‘Life’s too short not to make it
merry when we can, and as I’m thrown
into your company for to-night, and just to
show your good-will toward a stranger,
order your drinks.’’

The heart of the crowd was touched, and
Iwas taken into general: confidence when
they saw what a generous ‘‘bumper’’ I
tossed off on the heels of a distressing cough
which followed my speech.

‘‘My friends,’’ said I, after a pause,
‘*!’ve been a wild sort of a fellow in my
time, but I’ve weakened, and have set out
to undo the wrong I’ve done toa certain
party, and have got together what coin I
can raise, and am trailing him up to give
back the money. Of course, it an’t the half
of what I took, but 1 had a streak of luck
at cards over at Squire’s that swelled the
sum considerable.?’

There was an inspiration in my last words
which checked the feeling of constraint
which might have followed upon my con-
fession.

‘‘Let’s have a little game, then, just to
help you on your way,’’ suggested one of
the men.

Of course I was willing.

From the time I entered the room and
now, as Isat down at the gaming table.
that racking cough, which I flatter myself I
imitated very cleverly, had run its distress-
ing accompaniment, and I made it notice-
able that when I put my handkerchief to
my lips it came away with a crimson stain
—the stains, however, were paint.

‘“Yes,’’ said I, carelessly, answering the
look I detected in the surrounding faces,
‘*1’m booked for the next world.’’

Finally the game began, and, for a little,
I won, for it was a pure fleece game, where
the rascal who played against me could
bring good luck or ill to his opponent, as he
might wish; but as the night advanced, and
the liquor which I appeared to drink, but
did not, apparently rose to my head, I saw
that my luck had turned, until at eleven
o’clock I had lost a considerable amount.

When this point was reached, I refused to
play more, although I announced I had
twice the sum I had lost yet remaining, and
swore that I would go to my bed and try it
again when blessed with better luck.

Presently a servant appeared who was to
show me to my room.

‘‘Take the gentleman to Room No. 5,”’
said the man I had played against. ‘‘He’ll
sleep sound there, and there’s a good lock
on the door, so that he will feel safe when
once inside. Good-night,’’ he continued to
me, with a grin. ‘‘You’ll feel better in the
morning.’

Growling a reply, I followed my guide, a
villainous-looking negro, to the third floor,
and through a long hall toaroom at the
end of the house.

He flung the door open, and placed a
candle on the table.

‘*Night, massa,’’ said the darky, turning
to go. ‘‘Hope you will sleep soun’. Mos’
gemmen do in this room.”’

‘‘Who spoke to you, you black rascal???’
said I, with simulated anger. ‘‘Get out. I
won’t sleep till I have had a smoke sound or
not.’’

And I produced a cigar and lit it at the
candle.

The darky vanished.

I closed and bolted the door behind him.

‘“‘Now to examine my apartment,’’
thought I.

I began at once to do so.

It was a rather small room, with two
windows and a cupboard.

The cupboard had, evidently, at one time
afforded a way for ingress and egress by
means of a door communicating with a
narrow back stairway, but now that was
slightly fastened by a few nails driven
through its edges into a frame.

I pulled out several of the nails, how it is
needless to state.

I observed that there were cobwebs in
such positions as to show conclusively that
the door could not have been opened for a
long time. .

And the door between the cupboard and
the room hada stout Jock upon it, witha
key in the lock that worked perfectly.

Clearly an occupant of the room could
have no fear whatever of an attack from
that side.

Nevertheless, I explored that stairway be-
yond the cupboard, and there I discovered
that it was boxed in and closed by another
door that was also loosely nailed.

I readily drew the nails, opened the door,
and went down more stairs.

At the,.foot there was another door, also
hastily nailed, which, upon being opened,
revealed a small iron balcony.

The door [ had first opened I set down as
a ‘‘blind lead,’’ and made further investiga-
tions. :

I took up the carpet of the room—the cup-
board had none—and searched the floor and
sounded the walls for a trap-door, but there
was none.

Suddenly I began to be aware of a strange
odor floating in the air, and now, as I stood
by the open window, I could not at first de-
termine whether it originated within the
room or came from without.

But little by little it grew stronger, and
then, as I gazed into the semi-darkness, I

; wt

FPN SIERRA SR

eapermmiags sais

 
 

 

 

 

       
   
    
  
   
      
   
  
   
  
  
   
    
   
  
   
 
  
   
   
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
  
    
  
     
  
 
 
    
 
   
 
   
  
   
 
    
 
  
   
  
   
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
     
  
   
       
  
  
    
 
   
     
  
   
    
     
   
     
    
   
    
    
     
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
     
    
   
   
    
   
   
      
 
   
      
   
        

4308

 

GooyD

 

smoke arising to
at last over my |

saw wavering wreaths of

float in and out and drift

head through the window.
Was the house on fire?

 

me, and |

A sudden fear shot through
half-raised myself to shout from the win- |
dow, when, with a more dense puff of

smoke, there came a suffocating fume, and |
at that very instant, even as I heard the|
sudden batter and crash of my men, whom |
I had stationed outside before entering the |
den—though I didn’t say so before—the
truth shot through me.

They were trying to poison me—to suffo
cate me with the deadly fumes of char
coal blown into the room by some secret
means.

There is little else to relate.

The police captured the house and all its
inmates, and from one who turned State’s
evidence, learned the story of the den.

It was owned by an Italian, who, well ac
quainted with this mode of death, had
adopted it as a quiet and certain method of
ridding himself of customers who either
won or lost too much.

The Italian occupied a room directly
above No. 5, and he had made a peep-hole
in the ceiling of the latter, through which,
by removing a loose board in his uncarpeted
floor, he could see the inmate of the room
beneath and govern his actions according to
circumstances so observed.

Next he had arranged a one and a half
inch tube or hose in the wall behind the
laths and plaster, its lower end fitted to a
knot-hole in No. 5, and its upper end, when
not in use, concealed under the floor of his
room,

This tube was about ten feet long.

When in use its upper end was connected
with a small and ingeniously constructed |
charcoal furnace, which would, when a fire |
was started in it, and the connection made,
pour a steady flow of deadly carbonic acid |
gas down the tube and into the room _ be-
neath.

The gas, being heavier than the air, would
descend like water, and gradually fill the
death-chamber below, so that a person
slumbering there would never awake again
if the Italian so willed.

The murder having been done, how was
the Italian to reap the fruits of his crime?

That was easy.

The boxing of that narrow, disused stair-
way formed one side of his room, and he
had so fixed two of the boards that he could
at will put them aside and pass out upon the
steps.

At the top of that apparently firmly-
nailed cupboard door, there was cunningly
contrived a concealed spring.

Now, by pressing that spring on the out
side, that door, with its frame, could be}
made to swing back upon hidden hinges on |
the side opposite the ostensible lock, the |
frame being actually double.

When his victim was dead, all he had to
do was to glide down the stairs, operate that
door and enter the cupboard.

Then, if the door to the room was locked,
he opened it with a pair of key-nippers.

A board all along one side of the cupboard
had been fixed so that he could raise it,
making a bioad outlet for the carbonic acid
gas to flow out, at that lowest level, down
into the hollow wall of the building, and so
become disseminated.

When enough had been thus drawn off to
permit him to enter the rcom safely, he
would go in, rob the corpse, and then
quietly drop the body into the river through
the trap-door in the'cellar.

I was the first man who for over a year
had passed a night in Death-Room No. 5 to

 

 

awaken in this life, nor would I have done
so had I not unwittingly opened my window.
~~ oe ae
SPOTTED.

Clapp was a shrewd detective, and a most
excellent judge of human nature. He could
tella rogue as far off as he could a black
man, and he never made mistakes.

An instance of his readiness in reading
character occurred one moruing in court.
A case of considerable interest was being
tried, and the gallery was crowded with
spectators,

Two or three reporters were sitting near
the door when Clapp, stooping over, whis-
pered :

‘Don’t look at once, but please observe
that nice-looking man with the white
cravat, in the front seat of the gallery in
the middle.’’

We looked.

**Now,’’ said Clapp, ‘‘I’ll send that man
flying out of the court on the double-quick
in less than five minutes, nor will I leave
the room or send him any message.’’

While we were wondering how the feat
was to be accomplished, the veteran quietly
beckoned to a_police-officer, and, taking a
pair of handcuffs trom his pocket, directed
that officer’s attention to the party in the
gallery, and apparently gave him some
directions.

The man made his way toward the door,
and at the same instant the gentleman with

the white cravat bolted like lightning
through the crowd to the door and disap-
peared.

3 a) Fe AND
How To Bo THINGs.|

EDITED BY DAVID PARKS,

HOW TO ENLARGE NEGATIVES.

N response to requests from Amateur |
3 Photographer, New York city; L. C.
4) D., Xenia, Ohio, and Don Kirk, Con-
‘S> cord, N. H., I will tell you this week
how to enlarge negatives.

The first thing to be done is to convert |
your dark room, or any room, for the matter
of that, into a virtual enlarging camera, by
cutting off all entrance of daylight except
that which passes through the negative and
lens, thereby throwing an enlarged image
of the former upon the dry plate or bromide
paper prepared to receive it.

The room should have a northward and, if
possible, an open lookout, and the more
diminutive the window is, the better. But |
none of these conditions are asbolutely im-
perative; they are certainly preferable, and |
should be sought for if necessity does not |
bind us down to Hobson’s choice; but their |
absence will not put an end to our hopes of
producing a good picture.

It will be readily obvious that there are
more ways than one of darkening the win
dow. For example, a pair of thick curtains
may be hung before it, or each pane
may be separately blotted out by attaching
a gummed sheet of opaque brown paper to
the glass; or, again, a light wooden frame
work with some material stretched upon it
impervious to light may be constructed to
fit into the window frame. ‘This latter con-
trivance possesses such convenience and cer-
tainty in comparison with any other method
that [ shall take its adoption for granted, |
and proceed on that basis. If the window is |
about or above the ordinary dimensions, it |
is better to have a couple of frames, one for |
the upper half and the other for the lower; |
if itis of small size, one will suffice. For
the sake of simplicity in description, let us
imagine the latter is the case.

The framework should be made of roofing
or slating laths, which are sold very
cheaply, and may be procured at a lumber
yard. Their width is one and one-half

Vil
)

 

|

 

| inches, and their breadth one-half an inch.

As I am speaking of no specified window—
of one whose length, width and peculiarity
of setting are unknown to me—I cannot, of
course, go into the question of the dimen-

sions of the framework; but it must. be

| large enough to fit, not too tightly, into the

window frame for which it is destined, Cut
off, therefore, four suitable lengths of lath-
ing, and nail the ends together, the width
of one length facing the width of the op-
posite length, adding to the security and
rigidity of the whole by struts—pieces of
lath about eight inches long nailed across
each corner.

About a foot from that part of the frame
which is to be the bottom, and parallel with
it, nail another length of lath; and connect
the two by a couple of pieces of the same
material, a shade more than four and one-
quarter inches distant from each other. The
position of these last in relation to the sides
of the frame is determined by the rule that
no bar of the window must cross them to
obstruct the light. These perpendiculars are
in turn connected with each other by a piece
of lath a shade
quarter inches distant from the horizontal.
Thus we have constructed a frame within a
frame—a little one, just large enough to
admit a quarter-plate negative.

Lay the work so far completed on one
side while you ‘‘anatomize’’ a cigar-box or
two. Out of the wood construct an endless
box eight inches long, four and one-quarter
inches wide, three and one-quarter inches
broad, outside measurements. One end of
this should be glued and inserted into the
little frame to the extent of one inch, so as
to leave a recess for the negative to lie in,
for such is to be its position during enlarge-
ment. This box, or rather shell, of course,
projects into the room. Make an inner case
for this shell seven inches long, to work out
and in freely but closely, like the tube of a
telescope, having that end farthest from the
framework closed. Cut a hole one and one-
quarter inches in diameter in the center of
this end, and another in a piece of board
one inch thick, and glue the two together,
the latter inside, so that the two apertures
coincide. Blacken the interior.

Then procure some sheets of opaque brown
paper, run over one or more with glue, and
stretch over the framework, on that side
farthest from the wooden tube arrangement.
When it is comparatively dry, trim the
edges and cut out that portion which comes
before the negative recess. After that, tack
strips of thick felt all round the framework
where it comes in contact with the window.
Though apparently simple, there is a wrong
and a right manner of doing this operation.
The felt should be about four inches wide;
one edge of a length should first of all be
tacked to the edge of the framework facing
outward when it is placed in the window; it
is then brought over the width of the lath,

 

‘*Gentlemen,’’ remarked Clapp, ‘‘I never
saw that man before in my life.’’

afew more tacks inserted, and the other
edge is finally secured near the first. Thus a

| sixteenth inches
| ciently
| a . . :

enough substance to fit firmly into the hole |

|a hole three-eighths of an

more than three and one- |

NEW S.

bulge of felt is created which effectually fills

up interstices. This being done, we slip the |
frame into the window, close the door of |
the room—tacking felt around it if not light-
proof—and closely examine both it and the
tubes for any defective parts which permit
the entrance of light. If the joints of the
tube portions are not satisfactory, strips of
brown paper may be glued over them, and |
velvet may be secured at the mouth of the|
inner box if there is danger of the enemy
finding a loop-hole to enter by in that

All needful corrections having been made,
cut out a little window, say one foot square,

| quarter.
|

| at some convenient point in the brown paper

of the framework, and glue a piece of ruby
or canary fabric over it. This will give the
illumination necessary during the pinning
up of the bromide paper, developing, etc.
A’ square of brown paper of adequate size
should be arranged as a shutter to cover the
window, being glued on its upper margin to
form a hinge, so that it may be raised and
lowered when necessary. A loop of tape
should be attached: to its lower border to
slip over a nail driven into the frame above
to keep it open, or some other expedient for
the same end.

The lens you already possess in your hand

: y I n )

camera; that is to say, one of six inches
focus will do very well for enlarging pur- |

poses. }

Make a tube of glued brown paper, one
and one-half inches long, one and one-
inner diameter, 7. ¢., suffi-
contain the lens, and of

wide to
made in the end of the sliding box, for that |
is its destination. Glue a strip of card-board
one inch wide around the inside of one end
of this tube, one-quarter of an inch from |
the edge, and insert the lens at the same |
end with the convex face outward, pushing |
it in till stopped by the card-board | ring.
Another strip of card-board against it will
secure it in this position. Next cut a disk of
opaque card-board one and one-sixteenth
inches in diameter, for a diaphragm; make
inch in diameter
in its center, and slip into the other end of
the tube as faras it will go, having first
carefully blackened both it and all the in-
terior. Glue one surface of a strip of brown
paper one-half of an inch wide, and wind it |
| around the diaphragm end of the tube. Slip
the smaller end into the aperture of the|
sliding-box and proceed to make a light-
tight cap to fit over the other and outer ex-
tremity. To do this, we cover one side of
another strip of brown paper of the same
width as before, viz.: one-half an inch, with
glue, and wind it loosely about the tube,
with the glued surface outward, till a proper |
| degree of thickness is attained; then trim it, |
| fit a disk of card-board into one end, glue
another strip three-quarters of an inch wide
| once round, its edge lying with the inner
|edge of the cap; cut V-shaped nicks in that
|margin which projects on the other and
closed side, and bend them.down in contact
| with the disk to keep it in position and ren-
| der the joining light-proof.
| Turn now to the framework. Place a
| negative in the recess made for it, and drive |
}a couple of little nails in the wood above—
the roof of the recess, if one may so term |
it—close to the glass, to insure that portion |
being properly up to (register. A piece of |
cigar-box wood long enough to fit tightly |
between the sides of the recess will suffice to |
for

 

 

secure the same desideratum the lower
end.

In order to diffuse the light which passes
|through the negative, fasten either a sheet |
of ‘ground-glass or a square of fine tissue
paper to the pane opposite the negative.

Squeeze the framework into the window |
recess. Now, if the ruby or canary fabric
be covered by its shutter, and a flat board
with a sheet of white paper gummed to it
be held opposite the lens, an image of the |

|

 

 

negative will be projected upon it—an image
which grows in proportion to the distance
which separates lens and screen. But it will |
be found that to get the picture in focus any |
and every change of the latter requires also
a slight alteration in the position of the
former, having to be drawn out a little
with each enlargement of the image, and
vice versa. Now, if a piece of bromide paper
or a dry plate is substituted for the paper
on the board, and given a certain exposure,
we secure the desired enlargement.

We must next contrive some manner of
stand to hold the bromide paper or plate, or
rather the board to which it is attached. If
a makeshift is not objected to, and the dis-
tance from the lens to the ground permits,
the board may rest upon a table of proper
height, being retained in an upright position
by some object, such as a box, placed be-
hind it, to which it may be fastened. If
exception is taken to this method, then a
stand may be constructed. Premising that
the enlargement desired does not exceed ten
inches by eight inches, we procure a piece
of smooth and plane boarding, about one-
half an inch thick, twelve inches long, and
ten inches wide. To this we attach a stake
one inch thick, three inches wide, and of

| upward, and pour over the developer.

| water.

a good formula:
No. ]

Neutral oxalate potash - -
Warm water
Bromide ammonium - - -

The following is
>

4 oz.
16 oz.
5 grains.

Filter.
No. 2.
Sulphate iron - - - = 4 oz.
Warm water - - - 12 oz. ;
Sulphuric acid - - Ydrachm,
Filter.
When cold, add one part of No. 2 to six
parts of No. 1—not vice versa, for. this

would cause a precipitation. Lay the ex-
posed paper in the dish, sensitized surface
If
the exposure is correct and the temperature
of the developer normal, the image should
make an appearance in about half a min-
ute’s time, and be fully out in from two to

two and a half minutes. Then, without
rinsing, immerse in a clearing solution

composed of twenty ounces of water and
one drachm of sulphuric acid. It is advis-
able to repeat the clearing bath. Wash well
for about ten minutes in several changes of
water, for fading of the print will result if
all the acid is not removed. After this place
in the fixing bath, hyposulphite of soda, one
pound, avoirdupois, and eighty ounces of
Fixation is complete in quarter of
an hour. Let the print lie in running water,
or water frequently changed, say, seven
times, for two hours. Then remove and lay

{on a sheet of clean paper, face upward, to

dry naturally.

Asbolute cleanliness of hands and utensils
is necessary during the various operations,
to avoid staining the print.
> 0 >
[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.)

LOYAL TO NAPOLEON:

OR,

THE YOUNG SPY OF FOUCHE.

 

BY ALFRED ARMITAGE,
Author of “With Crusader and Saracen” and
‘In the Days of the Gladiators.”

{ ‘LOYAL TO NAPOLEON”’ was commenced in No. 265.
Back numbers can be obtaiued ot all News Agents. )

 

CHAPTER XVI.

JULES ST.
JUSSERAND.

AFTER MAUR AND

COUNT

CHASE

THE

O doubt Jules St. Maur, knowing
that other travelers were waiting
behind him, had looked back merely
from curiosity. He certainly saw
Lucien’s face, and the rapidity with which

his own vanished seemed to indicate that he

had recognized his old companion.

The confirmation of his suspicions, though
not unexpected, was none the less a shock to
Lucien. He drew his head in and closed the
door. Then he sank back on his seat,
agitated and alarmed, to a degree that he
had never experienced before.

‘Is it Master Jules?’’ Spado whispered,
hoarsely.

‘*Yes, it is he,’’? Lucien replied. ‘‘He is
actually here in Paris. He must have sailed
a day or two after we did, and on a faster
vessel than the Arcola. But what can havé
brought him to France?”’

‘*Master Henri sent him to find
Spado suggested, in a shrill whisper.
will take us back to Martinique.”’ y

‘*No, he did not come for that purpose,”
said Lucien. ‘‘Depend upon it, Spado, he ®
more afraid of us than we are of him. Bul
his arrival at such a time will upset oul
plans entirely, unless something is done.
wish Fouche knew this. If Jules reaches th?
Pension before us we will not dare to 8%
there at all. His very presence in Paris, 0?
matter where he lodged, would make my
task dangerous and impossible.’’

Meanwhile the forward carriage started:
and the one behind had moved up to th?
gendarmes. There was no delay in this cas®
On the contrary, the formality was hurried
through with unusual haste. The driver W#
provided with the necessary passports.
exchanged a few words with the officer, whe
handed the papers back after a brief insp®
tion. 0

Then the carriage rolled through th
barrier, the gendarmes gazing curiously

 

’
us,’

‘+He

the window as it passed them, and the D@)
instant the horses’ hoofs clattered on
cobble-stones of the boulevard. pe
Lucien was in a fever of anxiety. of
realized the danger that threatened, M0
could not see his way clear to avert it. yd

opened the door a couple of inches, 9%,
peeped cautiously out. The other carriah
was about fifty yards in advance, and! f
ing rapidly along the broad and well-ligh™,
boulevard. He fancied he saw a head *\

 

sufficient length to bring the center of the
board level with the lens when the stand is
completed.

For development we require a developing
dish large enough to contain the sheet of
bromide paper in a flat condition.

 

pear and vanish on one side, as though
ing back, but he could not be sure of it ji

Lucien closed the door and presse® | of
hands to his head. He was on the vere op:
despair. At the very outset he was jod:
fronted by the utter failure of his mj

 

 

 

 

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Morey
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minist
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He thought of Josephine’s displeasure and
of the emperor’s wrath.

‘Something must be done,’’ he muttered,
fiercely, ‘‘and at once. But what? No half
measures will do. The Pension may be very
near, and it would be madness——’’

He stopped abruptly, as a sudden thought
occurred to him. For a brief instant he
hesitated, stirred by an impulse of pity for
his old companion. He knew that if his plan
succeeded, Jules would be deprived of his
liberty—at least temporarily—and perhaps
involved in serious trouble. For Count
Jusserand it did not matter, since his title
and the fact that he was with Jules, indi-
cated clearly that he was a royalist.

But a feeling of loyalty to the emperor
quickly banished Lucien’s scruples. He
sprang across to the front seat and kneeled
upon it. With eyes and hands he searched
hurriedly overhead. Almost immediately he
discovered what a keen instinct had led him
to expect—a little glass door set in the roof
of the carriage.

He tapped on it loudly, and then called.
The slide was quickly drawn back, admit-
ting a rush of cool air, and the bearded face
of the driver overhung the opening.

‘“‘What do you want?’’ he demanded,
sharply.

‘‘A word with you on a matter of urgent
importanze,’’ Lucien replied. ‘‘Are you in
the service of Monsieur Fouche—do you
share his full confidence? I have good
reason for asking.’’

‘*‘Would I be here if it were otherwise?’’
the man replied, in a tone that indicated a
superior education. ‘‘Speak freely, Monsieur
Bellair, as you would to Fouche himself.’’

Lucien was satisfied.

‘‘Tt concerns the carriage that preceded
us,’’ he said, hastily.

‘Ves, monsieur, and Iam keeping sight
of it for good reasons. The loyalty of Count
Jusserand has been long under suspicion.
Morever, this vessel, the Queen of the
Indies, was expected to land at Havre. The
minister of police was watching for it—as
he does for all vessels—and in going instead
to Boulogne it would seem that some of the
passengers on this ship wished to land
secretly.’

‘‘Such is the case, Iam sure,’’ replied
Lucien. ‘‘You know that these travelers
are going to the Pension Chambord?’’

‘* Yes, monsieur, and 1 advise you to make
their acquaintance. But perhaps you already
know the young gentleman from Port Royal,
who gives himself such insolent airs?’’

‘‘T do, sir,’? exclaimed Lucien, ‘‘and he
must not go to the Pension. That must be
prevented at all hazards. Listen, I will ex-

lain. You heard the conversation at the

arrier?’’

‘‘Bvery word of it, monsieur.’’

‘‘Well then, this Maxime Rouvier is
traveling under a false name, nor does he
come from Port Royal. He is none other
than Jules St. Maur, the son of the Martin-
ue planter whose ward Iam supposed to

6,7?

The driver uttered an exclamation of

“astonishment, and turned away for a mo-

Ment to urge his horses to a faster speed.
Then his head appeared again at the hole.
‘‘The carriage must not escape me,’’ he
‘‘This is a serious matter. For once
Fouche has been overmatched. But are you
Sure of what you say, monsieur?’’
. ‘“‘Absolutely,’’ Lucien asserted. ‘‘There
IS no doubt of it. So you understand the
danger that threatens Monsieur Fouche’s
Plans. They cannot be carried out if Jules
t. Maur and his companion reach the Pen-
Slon—if they are permitted even a few hours
of liberty in Paris.’’
‘‘But was the recognition mutual? Did
Onsieur St. Maur discover your identity?
8 he aware that you discovered his?’’
“There is little doubt of it,’? said Lucien,
Tiefly giving his reasons for thinking so.
“In that case,’’? replied Fouche’s agent,
pie travelers will not venture to go to the
Snsion. They will make every effort to
8lve us the slip—ah! you are right; they
“re turning off the boulevard.”’
‘In thé direction of the Pension?’’ cried
Lucien.
‘No; in the opposite direction. Now for
’ chase. I must get word to Fouche, and I
Tust we may procure the assistance of some
Sendarmes. But if it comes to the worst,
°nsieur, I shall rely upon yourself and
of wPanion to aid me. You will find a couple
ri Swords beneath the padding of the car-
46 on the right-hand side.>’
th ® glass slide grated shut, and at once
® horses broke into a gallop that made the
Siecle bump and jolt over the cobble-
Nes. The pursuit had begun.
oi Ucien found the two swords, and gave
te to Spado. The thought of taking an
bi, ¥® Part in the arrest of Jules was terri-
perp ePugnant ‘to him, but he resolved to
ao his duty faithfully. He glanced out

a9

j Nothi,. window, but of course he could see

hg of the fugitives. The carriage dashed
Y around corner after corner, now
ts wat lit streets of eae sei
*:. ow plunging into a gloomy an
Aualid éighborhood” .
Win denly the horses drew up before a
©-cabaret, blazing with light behind its
4 “lined windows. Lucien heard the rum-
Of wheels close in front, and then a
Whistle from overhead brought a
_-°W faced young man to the door of the

ave

z£

cabaret. He hurried to the curb and held a
brief conversation with the driver.

Lucien listened, and caught occasional
framents of sentences:

‘*_-send word to Fouche at once—find
him at Tuileries or—watch the Pension—
gendarmes from the Rue—have them follow
ug——??

Then a whip cracked, and the carriage
was off again at full speed. The delay was
too brief to have given the fugitives much
start. Lucien suspected that the sallow-
faced man was the proprietor of the cabaret,
and one of Fouche’s numerous police spies.

The next half-hour was a trying one. At
a furious and incessant speed the carriage
swung from street to street. The neighbor-
hood grew more lonely and squalid, and
there was never a sign of a gendarme.
Lucien could see nothing of the chase. He
could only guess how matters were going,
and hope for the best.

Another turn, and now the horses were
perforce compelled to slacken their speed.
This street was narrow and dark, and the
paving was vile. The carriage swayed to
right and left as it bounced over deep ruts.
An upset seemed imminent. In that case
the fugitives would escape.

Lucien could endure the
longer. He grasped the door excitedly, in-
tending to throw it open and look out. But
he was arrested by the sudden grating of
the glass slide overhead.

‘Be, ready, monsieur,’’ cried an eager
voice. ‘‘We have the rogues at last. Their
blockhead of a coachman does not know
Paris, and he has Jed them into a trap. Just
ahead the street is being repaired, and the
workmen have thrown a barricade across.
They cannot pass—no, the fools are going to
try it. They are mad——’?

By this time Lucien had recklessly opened
the door and poked his head out. Looking
forward, he saw a sort of breastwork of
timbers stretching across the street, a pale
light gleaming at either side. The carriage
of the fugitives was plunging straight at it.

Crash! the frightened horses reeled back
from the quivering barricade, kicking and
rearing. The carriage swung around, slipped
into a rut, and fell heavily on its side. The
driver leaped into the air, landed on his
feet, and cleared the barrier at a bound.
An instant later two figures scrambled out
of the overturned vehicle, ran to the left,
and vanished in the darkness.

But Lucien had carefully noted the spot
where the fugitives disappeared.

‘*Come on, Spado,’’ he cried, as the car-
riage stopped within a few yards of the
scene of the accident. ‘‘Hold fast to your
sword !’?

99

CHAPTER XVII.
HOW LUCIEN AND SPADO HELD THE PASSAGE.

OTH lads sprang to the ground, and
Fouche’s agent jumped down_ beside
them at the same moment. In one
: hand was a huge pistol; in the other

he held his whip, the end of which was
weighted with lead.

‘There goes one of the rogues,’’ he ex-
claimed, pointing to a dark figure that was
running up the street beyond the barricade.
“Tt won’t do to let him escape, and yet we
can’t overtake him—ah, I will shoot him
when he comes under yonder lamp-post. A
ball in the leg will cripple him.’’

He raised his pistol, and lowered it as
quickly.

**It won’t do,’’ he muttered. ‘‘I should
alarm the neighborhood, and a crowd in
this quarter of the city might give us
trouble.’’

‘‘Better let him go,’’ said Lucien. ‘‘Be-
sides, he is only the coachman. It is not
likely that he knows anything about his
passengers. ’’

‘The coachman? Are you sure of it? Then
where are the others? I could not keep an
eye on them when I stopped the carriage
just now, for I had to watch out for these
holes in the paving. It is a miracle that we
did not upset.’’

‘*But saw them,’’ exclaimed Lucien.
‘*Jules and the count sprang out of the
carriage, dashed across the pavement, and
vanished right there—where the house is in
deep shadow. They are either crouching
low, or else they gained admittance to the
house. ’’ ;

‘“No house there, Master Lucien,’’ de-
clared Spado, who could see like an owl by
night. ‘‘That looks like another street. ’’

With an exclamation of doubt, Lucien
burried across the pavement to the patch of
deep shadow. Instead of a house he found a
dark and narrow passage—evidently a side
street. It was impossible to see a yard with-.
in—so impenetrable was the gloom.

‘‘They have escaped!’’ the. lad cried.
‘*Quick, monsieur! there is no time to lose.
They have at least a minute’s start of us.’’

The driver was now at Lucien’s elbow.

‘‘No; they are caught like rats in a
trap,’’ he whispered, triumphantly. ‘‘I
know every nook and corner of Paris. The
rogues blundered in here, believing it to be
a street with an outlet. But it is a cul-de-
sac, Monsieur Bellair—a short passage ter-
minating at a blank wall.”’

‘“‘Then we have them?’’ Lucien exclaimed,

 

 

joyfully.

‘Yes, we have them tight. We are well

suspense no |

rid of that blockhead of a coachman, for he
knows nothing. And now to effect the cap-
ture of our prisoners. Ah! I would give
much for a couple of gendarmes. These
royalists can show their teeth when cor-
nered.’’

‘“Try them with a demand for surrender,”’
suggested Lucien, who was anxious to avoid
bloodshed.

‘‘It would be useless, monsieur,’’ was the
reply. ‘‘They know too well the penalty for
traveling under a false passport.’

Just then a dull pounding was heard at
some distance down the passage, and a mo-
ment later a second-floor window in the
right-hand side of the-wall was cautiously
raised. A faint light revealed the head and
shoulders of a man.

‘‘In the name of the emperor, put down
that window !’’ Fouche’s agent commanded,
sternly. ‘‘I am an officer of the law, and
these men in the passage are criminals. I
warn you not to interfere.

‘*No use to call on any of the neighbors
for assistance,’’ he added, in a whisper, to
Lucien. ‘‘They are all rogues and cut-
throats in this quarter. 1 shall be more than
satisfied if they let us alone.”’ ~

‘But what are we going to do, monsieur?’’
Lucien asked.

‘“Take our men,’’ was the reply. ‘‘Do you
and your servant stand guard here at the
passage while I hasten to yonder barricade
and fetch one of the workmen’s lanterns.
Watch sharply, and do not hesitate to use
your weapons if the rascals attack.”’

By this time numerous windows opening
on both sides of the street had been thrown
up, and with the instinct of the Paris can-
aille the people suspected what was going
on below. They saw the carriages and they
noticed the absence of soldiers or gendarmes.
It was easy to guess the truth.

‘Fouche is at his dirty work again,’’ they
clamored. ‘‘Be off, monster; do not defile
our street.’”’

‘‘Down with the renegade priest !’’

‘*Curses on the chief spy of the empire!’’

‘Hear the cowardly dogs,’? muttered
Fouche’s agent. ‘‘Let them snarl while they
can; they will whine under the guillotine
one of these days.’’

With this he hurried off to the barricade.

Lucien and Spado stood side by side be-

swords ready to check a possible rush on
the part of the concealed fugitives. They
hardly expected it to come, but the driver
had scarcely left them when they heard
quick footsteps advancing.

The lads drew back a couple of paces, and
that instant they were confronted by Count
Jusserand and Jules St. Maur, each armed
with a shining blade.

With a shout, Spado struck valiantly at
the count. There was the ring of steel, and
then the negro’s foot slipped on the stones
and he went down on his back. The fall
probably saved his life, for he was no match
for his antagonist. The count sprang over
him, and gained the street.

Meanwhile Lucien had checked Jules and
engaged him ina hand-to-hand combat. The
lads were good swordsmen, and under other
circumstances might have been equally
matched. But Jules was too angry to be
prudent. He struck wildly, and gave his
opponent more than one opportunity for a
fatal thrust.

Lucien, on the contrary, aimed merely to
hold Jules in check or to disarm him. As he
skillfully parried blow after blow he heard
a scuffle behind him, and suspected that the
driver had returned in time to intercept
Count Jusserand. He could also hear the
cries of the rabble at the windows, and the
noise of an approaching vehicle.

But he did not permit himself to be
thrown off his guard for an instant. He
fought on, coolly and warily, and at last his
chance came. By a clever thrust he sent his
opponent’s blade spinning in the air.

‘*Now, surrender, Jules,’’ he exclaimed.
‘*Tt is no use—you can’t escape.”’

Jules stood motionless for an instant, his
face pale with rage and fear. Then he made
a quick leap forward.

**T will kill you, Lucien Bellair!’’ he
snarled. ‘‘Take this for meddling.”’

Before Lucien could lift his sword he was
overpowered and borne to the ground.
Fortunately, he grasped Jules by the right
wrist, thus preventing the maddened youth
from using the short dagger that he held in
his hand.

Over and over they rolled, now one upper-
most, now the other. Lucien held on tightly.
There was a roaring in his ears, and as
though at a great distance he heard shouts
and the clatter of horses. Then the lads
were suddenly lifted to their feet and forced
apart.

For a moment Lucien’s eyes were dazzled
by the glare of a lantern, and as soon as he
could see clearly he understood what had
happened. A third carriage was standing
before the passage. Two gendarmes were
binding Jules’ arms behind him, and Spado
was watching the operation with evident
delight. Count Jusserand, pale and bleeding,
was standing between two more gendarnies.
Fouche’s agent was talking in whispers to a
tall, slim man who was wrapped in a
traveling cloak:

A moment later the scene changed. The

 

man in the cloak hurried to the overturned
carriage, accompanied by one of the gen-

 

darmes. He iniperiously summoned half a
dozen curious idlers who had ventured out
of their houses, and compelled them to put
the vehicle on its wheels. He stepped inside
and closed the door. The gendarme mounted
the box, turned the horses about, and drove
rapidly down the street.

The carriage that had lately arrived was
quickly taken possession of b¥ the remain-
ing gendarmes and their prisoners. As the
horses started Jules pressed his face to the
glass, and scowled at Lucien.

‘We shall meet again, traitor!’’ he cried.

‘‘Not for a long time, at all events,’’
Fouche’s agent said, grimly, as he conducted
Lucien and Spado to their carriage. ‘‘This
has been a good night’s work. Fouche will
be well pleased with your share of it, mon-
sieur.”’

‘<T hope so,’’ replied Lucien. ‘‘But pray
tell me who was the man with the long
cloak. And how did he and the gendarmes
chance to arrive so timely?”’

‘‘That was one of Fouche’s spies, mon-
sieur. It seems that he followed the count
and his companion from Amiens. He was
close behind us at the Barriere de 1’ Etoile,
and when he observed the chase he suspected
what it meant, and followed. He nearly
lost us several times: As for the gendarmes
—he wisely picked them up at the barrier.’’

‘*And where are we going now? To the
Pension?”’

‘‘T think so, monsieur. It depends upon

|instructions that I shall receive on the

}

 

| way.’’

He closed the door on the lads and
mounted to his seat. A moment later the
carriage was rattling out of the dingy street
that had proved so fatal to the travelers
from Boulogne.

Lucien was silent and thoughtful during
the long ride. The hour was late, and there
was little to see, as the streets gradually be-
came more imposing and respectable. Vistas
of lamp-posts flashed by, tree-lined avenues,
splendid and towering buildings—and finally
the placid Seine stretching right and left.

A little later, in a neighborhood that
looked attractive, the carriage stopped ata
dark street-corner. A man in the garb of a
priest spoke a few words to the driver and
strode hastily away. As the vehicle rolled

| on, the slide in the roof was opened.
fore the mouth of the passage, holding their |

‘“Monsieur, it is all right.
learned so from Fouche.”’

‘“‘That was not Fouche?’’ Lucien ex-
claimed, incredulously.

‘*It was Fouche himself, monsieur. Mon-
sieur Fontaigne—our friend in the traveling
cloak—reports that Jules St. Maur kept his
identity a secret from the time he left Port
Royal, and that he and Count Jusserand
held not converse with any person between
Amiens and Paris. Therefore no _ peril
threatens the success of your mission at the
Pension.”’

The slide grated shut, and five minutes
later the carriage drew up before a plain,
three-story building of, red brick, similar to
its neighbors on both sides of the street.
This was the Pension Chambord, a modest,
but fashionable, lodging-house, situated on
the outskirts of that aristocratic quarter of
Paris called the Faubourg St. Germain.

Evidently guests were not uncommon be-
tween the hours of midnight and dawn, for
when the driver dismounted and pulled the
bell the door was quickly opened by a man-
servant.
then Lucien and Spado, with their trunks,
were deposited in a narrow hall. The door
closed, and the rumble of the departing car-
riage faded away.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE PENSION.

I have just

HE servant showed the new arrivals

Pr into a dimly-lighted apartment on one

"a\ side of the ball, and left them alone

for several minutes. He presently re-

turned with the proprietor of the house,

who had evidently not yet retired for the
night.

Monsieur Bertillon was an elderly man,
with the manners and features of a gentle-
man-born; he was dressed in black, with
ruffes and a white waistcoat. With a
courteous bow, he took the letter which
Lucien handed him by way of introduction,
opened it with profuse apologies, and read
it carefully under the light of a swinging
lamp.

Then his formality and slight stiffness
vanished, and his face beamed with friendly
interest and pleasure.

‘*A thousand welcomes to the Pension
Chambord, my dear Monsieur Bellair,’’ he
exclaimed, offering his hand to Lucien.
‘*You may believe that it gives me great
pleasure to make your acquaintance. had
the honor of meeting your guardian, Mon-
sieur St. Maur, many years ago,’’ tapping
the letter, ‘‘and I am gratified to learn that
he remembers me. His confidence in sending
his ward to niy humble house shall not be
misplaced.’’

‘‘T amt sure of that, sir,’’ replied Lucien.
‘You are very kind.’’

‘¢The kindness is on your part, monsieur,’’
said Monsieur Bertillon. ‘‘I am indeed hon-
ored by your visit, and I also extend to you a
welcome in the name of the other residents
of my house. They are all loyal gentlemen
here, and many of them are old friends of

There was a brief colloquy, and .

 

   
    
   
  
   
  
    
   
   
    
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
    
   
    
    
    
   
      
   
    
   
   
  
   
    

  
  
    
 
   
   
   
    
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
   
    
   
  

           
          
        
          
             
      
        
       
    
   
       
    
     
     
      
        
   
      
      
     
     
        
      
      
    
         
    
      
           
   
   
           
       
          
         
 
         
         
      
 

4310

CrioOord

 

 

MonsieursSt. Maur. As his ward, they will
be delighted to do you any service in their
power.’’

Lucien bowed, not knowing what to say.
He was fairly staggered by Fouche’s cun-
ning and audacity in forging a letter from
the planter of Martinique. He caught a
glimpse of the- writing, and it actually re-
sembled the penmanship of Henri St. Maur.

‘‘A thousand pardons for detaining you,
monsieur,’’ Bertillon rattled on, glibly.
‘‘You have hada long ride from Havre.
You are tired and worn out. And Paris by
night gives one such a chill welcome! But
in the morning, when the sun rises, you will
see our city with different eyes. Come, by
this time ‘your apartments are ready. They
are the best of the vacant rooms in the
house.’’

The servant had been sent away with in-
structions several minutes before, and when
Lucien and Spado followed their host toa
front room on the third floor a cheerful
wood-fire was already blazing in the grate.
This was Lucien’s sleeping apartment, and
it was furnished with simplicity and taste—
cherry-wood chairs, a table with a gray
marble top, and a bed with curtains as
white as snow.

A little sitting-room, containing easy
couches and chairs, adjoined; from the rear
of this two doors opened, one leading toa
closet-like nook that held a bath-tub, the
other to a small bed-chamber for the use of
Spado.

The servant brought the trunks up stairs
and deposited them in their proper places.
Then Monsieur Bertillon, seeing that his
guests were sleepy, and being assured that
he could be of no further service, very con-
siderately retired.

Lucien sent Spado off to bed—a command
that was willingly obeyed—and drawing a
chair close to the fire, he sat down. More
adventures than fall to the lot of an
ordinary man in. a lifetime had _ been
crowded into the past two nights, and the
lad sat thinking of them for a long while.

Scarcely twenty-four hours before he had
been riding with Lieutenant Jouillard from
St. Germain to Versailles, happy in the
hope of a glorious future. Now he was a spy
of the minister of police, lodged in a house-
ful of royalists, and with a task before him
that required craft and intelligence of the
highest degree. Moreover, whether he
achieved success’ or failure, he was threat-
ened by a peril to which he had no clew—
by an enemy who would strike in the dark.

‘‘Well, there’s no use in being down-
hearted,’’ Lucien reflected, as he rose to his
feet. ‘‘Here Iam, and here I’m going to
stay until I get to the bottom of that plot.
I must succeed. Napoleon’s life is threat-
ened, and to avert a peril from him I am
more than willing to play the spy. And
Monsieur Fouche may relent because of the
service I have done him to-night. He knows
well that hjs plans would have been upset
had I not caused the arrest of Jules St.
Maur and this Count Jusserand. Yes, it is
likely that he will now abandon his inten-
tion to involve me in disgrace. But, all the
same, I won’t trust him; I will be as watch-
ful and vigilant as though he were an open
foe.”’

Lucien walked softly to the door opening
on the hall, bolted it, and returned to his
chair by the fire. He took from his pocket
the letter and the purse that Fouche had
given him. His eyes glittered when-he ex-
amined the purse; it was stuffed with gold

ieces and bank notes of high denominations.
te hastily counted his wealth, and found a
total of six thousand francs—more money
than he had ever had in his life.

Then he opened the letter; inside were
two sheets of paper covered with fine and
legible writing. Monsieur Fouche’s instruc-
tions were as follows:

‘‘First—Do not talk loud in your apart-
ments.

‘‘Second—Make no advances to any per-
son. Those’ who will be introduced to you
will all be royalists. Cultivate their ac-
quaintance in a tactful manner, and coin-
cide with their opinions.

‘“‘Third—On the first morning of your
arrival at the Pension rise and dress before
eleven o’clock. Remain in your room. You
will receive a visit from the Chevalier de
Florin, who is probably the chief conspir-
ator. Letters have already been conveyed to
him purporting to come from Henri St.
Maur. De Florin is an old friend, and in
these letters the planter expresses his wish
to return to France and aid in the restora-
tion of the monarchy. He states that he has
sent you, his loyal ward, to Paris, in order

‘to ascertain for him if the time is ripe for

his return. He also states that you may be
trusted fully, and that you will lend per-
sonal aid and money to any royalist plans
that may be in course of conception.
‘*Fourth—The chevalier will suggest that
you take your meals at the cafe Lion d’Or,
This will lead to your meeting with his
fellow-conspirators. With shrewdness, the
rest will be easy, and you will be invited to
join the conspiracy. Remember to play your
part well. Show yourself a fervent royalist.
Express the sentiments which you were ac-
customed to hear in the household of the
planter, and be prepared to answer any
questions concerning him, ‘You will under
stand that the letters from Henri St. Maur

 

to the Chevalier de Florin were brought
from Martinique to Paris by one of the offi-
cers of the ship Arcola.

‘*Fifth—Bear in mind the relations of
master and valet that exist between you
and Spado. Monsieur Bertillon will give the
negro his meals in the house.

‘*Sixth—Be liberal with your money, and
give the Chevalier de Florin to understand
that you have drafts for a large sum on the
Imperial Bank, of Paris.

‘‘Seventh—Twice a day you will report
progress to meas follows: You will find a
jeweled snuff-box in your trunk. Every
morning and evening write down what you

have learne1, place the paper in the box, |

and take it to the tobacconist at No. 6 Rue
des Pyramids, around the corner from the
cafe Lion d’Or. You will see the name,
M. Coquin, on the window. Wait until he is
alone, and then hand him the box without a
word. He will disappear for a moment, and
then return you the box. Never open it
until you are in your apartments, for it
may contain instructions from me.

‘*Kighth—Commit the: above to memory.
Then burn these papers. Remember that the
accomplishment of this task will earn you a
brilliant reward, and that you are working
for the emperor.’’

Lucien rose and paced the floor for several
minutes. He was astounded by this revela-
tion of Fouche’s powers of trickery and
depth of cunning. What a wonderful man
Bonaparte’s minister of police was! A man
to be feared and dreaded, to be watched
with unceasing vigilance! Little marvel
that the evil-doers of the empire shunned
him as they would a pestilence! He wasa
hydra-headed monster, with eyes and ears
constantly alert in every nook and corner of
Paris, in all the principal towns, and even
in the far distant colonies of France,

Lucien sat down again, and when he had
memorized the instructions he threw the
papers upon the fire, watching until they
were consumed to ashes. It was now within
an hour or two of daybreak, and he could
hardly keep his eyes open. He hastily un-
dressed, blew out the candles, and climbed
into bed. :

He fell asleep at once, but not to rest
peacefully. In dreams he lived over again
the adventures of the night. He fought with
Jules in the passage, and when he had dis-
armed him he faded away mysteriously and
Fouche appeared in his stead. They crossed
swords, striking quick and fiercely. Lucien’s
weapon spun out of his hand, and he was at
the mercy of his antagonist. Fouche ad-
vanced, an evil smile on his face, and his
glittering blade thrust out for the death
stroke——

Here Lucien awoke suddenly, his forehead
wet with perspiration. Daylight was shining
in the window, and Spado was standing by
his bedside.

‘‘Hush! don’t make any noise, Master
Lucien,’’ the negro whispered in a tone of
excitement. ‘‘Come this way, quick!’’

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
———_ ~+- 0 -e -—-—

A CAT WITH FOUR MASTERS,

 

Four men, partners in business, bought
some cotton bales. That the rats might not
destroy the cotton, they purchased a cat.
They agreed, in a spirit of fun, that each of
the four should own a particular leg of the
cat; and each adorned with beads and other
ornaments the leg thus apportioned to him.

The cat by an accident injured one of. its
legs. The owner of that member wound
about it a rag soaked in oil. The cat, going
too near the stove, set the rag on fire, and
being in great pain, rushed in among the
cotton bales, where she was accustomed to
hunt rats. The cotton thereby took fire and
was burned up. It was a total loss.

The three other partners brought an ac-
tion to recover the value of the cotton
against the fourth partner, who owned that
particular leg of the cat. The judges (it
was in an Eastern court) examined the case,
and decided thus:

‘‘The leg that had the oil rag upon it was
hurt; the cat could not use that leg, it held
up that leg and ran with the other three.
The three unhurt legs, therefore, carried
the fire to the cotton, and are therefore
alone culpable. The injured leg is not to be
blamed. The three partners who owned the
three legs with which the cat ran tothe
cotton will pay the whole value of the bales
to the partner who was the proprietor of
the injured leg.’’

“CLUBS IS TRUMPS.”

In a certain town in Kansas lived a good
deacon of the Methodist Episcopal church,
who had two sons, aged respectively thirteen
and fifteen. Going to the barn one day, he
heard chattering in the hay-mow, and,
listening, detected such expressions as ‘'I
pass,’’ ‘‘Down she goes,’’ ‘‘Make it spades,’’
etc. Rightly divining that his boys, in com-
pany with some neighbors, were engaged in
his abomination, a game of cards, he se-
cured a good-sized cudgel, and quietly
mounted the ladder. Just as he stepped
upon the mow one of the hopefuls asked:

‘*What’s trumps?’’

The old gentleman answered, as he laid
about him with the cudgel:

‘Clubs is trumps, and it’s daddy’s deal!’?

NEW S.

 

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

THE COPPER DISK:

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF A GOOD NEWS
TRAVELING CLUB.

esti aieeecseitecat

A STORY OF THE PACIFIC COAST.

 

-

BY ENRIQUE H. LEWIS,
| Author of ‘Sword and Pen,” ‘‘A Young Free Lance,”
“The King of the Island,” etc.
(“THe CopprR Di1sK’’ was commenced in No. 263.
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.)

CHAPTER XXII.
AN INTERRUPTED AMBUSCADE.

EL and Morris did not hasten with
their repast, but ate with the knowl-
edge that full two hours would have
to elapse before they could proceed to
the little bay in which were anchored the
whale-back and the schooner.

From where they lolled back in calm en-
joyment, to the beach was at least three
miles. Hach felt entirely secure from dis-
covery, little dreaming that Masters or his
confederate, Chow Soy, would take the pre-
caution to scour the country surrounding
the bay before engaging in the work of
transfer.

But that is just what the Woca’s passenger
concluded to do. Leaving the yacht, he had
called at the Li-li, and, together with the
giant Celestial, carefully proceeded to search
the vicinity of the beach for possible spies.

By the merest accident they had come
across the detective and his young com-
panion at the foot of the knoll. Watching
their chances, they crept within hearing dis-
tance, and just in time to catch a remark
dropped by Sel in regard to the smuggling
plot.

For a moment Masters—who was armed
with an ugly-looking revolver—acted as if
he intended to kill the unsuspecting speaker.
He raised his weapon, then, after a second’s
thought, lowered it again, and motioned the
Chinaman to follow him.

Chow, impassive of countenance and ap-
parently indifferent to his companion’s rage,
promptly obeyed. The precious twain edged
their way to a safe distance, and then set
out at their utmost speed toward the bay.

In the meantime Sel and Morris had fin-
ished their lunch. After a short delay they
started westwara, neaning to walk slowly
until darkness fell. The sun had already
dipped one rim below the purple fringe of
trees crowning a distant range of hills, and
the twilight promised to be of brief dura-
tion.

‘*By the time we reach the water those
scoundrels will have commenced their
work,’’ remarked Morris, as they trudged
along. ‘‘We will embark in the yawl which
ai so thoughtfully ordered the crew to
eave ashore, and then it will not require
much maneuvering to watch them transfer-
ring the dope.”’

‘There is one thing I can’t understand
about this affair,’’ said Sel. ‘‘How in the
duse does Masters expect to conceal the
presence of the stuff from me? There must
be quite a number of. cans, and surely he’d
think that I would run across them on
board.’

‘*Not necessarily, my boy. A very valu-
able cargo of dope need not occupy much
room. That is one of the advantages at-
tached to the smuggling of opium. You can
stow away enough in a small place to make
your fortune. Let Masters alone. He is an
expert at the business, and I’ll wager he
can hide the cans under your very nose.’

‘‘What about the crew? Won’t they be
apt to tell?”’

The detective latghed. Drawing a gold
piece from his pocket he held it np so a ray
of the evening sun glinted from its polished
surface,

‘‘See this?’’? he asked. ‘‘There is power
enough in such metal to make seven men
out of ten forget their conscience. Your
crew is not better than most sailors—nor
worse, for that matter. But it is safe to say
that a little gold will effectually blind
them.’’

Sel could not but acknowledge the truth
of the remark. Even in his young life he
had seen many evidences of the power of
money. He knew that it was simply the
greed of it that had started his uncle in a
nefarious business.

‘*T guess that you are right, Morris,’ he
replied. ‘The lust for gold is responsible for
a great many things in this world. It is the
cause of our being here on Vancouver Island
at this moment. And if all goes well, it will
bring more than one scoundrel to justice be-
fore the month is over.’’

They plodded along in silence for a while.
The ravine led in a straight line directly to
the little bay. At last they came to a small
ereek which ran diagonally across their
path and disappeared ina crevice in the
sides of the hills.

The waters lay as placid as a lake. It was
shallow and easily forded. Beyond its banks
was an open space where the valley had

 
 

 

 

widened. It formed a miniature meadow
with high grass partly overgrown with
clumps of bushes.

Here and there towering beeches stretched
their foliage-covered limbs from side to side,
and in the distance could be seen the vague
simmering of water, proclaiming the near
vicinity of the land-locked bay.

Sel stooped down to drink before fording
the stream. When he straightened up he
glanced carelessly ahead. Something moving
in one of the trees caught his eye, and he
looked more keenly.

‘‘What in the duse is that?’’ he said,
pointing with one hand. ‘‘1t’s an animal of
some kind, isn’t it?’?

Morris glanced in the direction indicated,
then grasping the lad’s arm, he whispered,
excitedly :

‘It’s a wild-cat, and one of the largest I
ever saw. Sh-h! don’t alarm it. We may
get a shot.’’

Both carried revolvers. Sel was also armed
with a Winchester rifle, which he quietly
proceeded to unsling from his shoulder.
Then slipping toa place of better advantage,
they prepared to kill the beast. Suddenly
the detective paused with an exclamation
of curiosity.

‘*What can the brute be up to?’’ he mut-
tered. ‘‘It appears to be watching some-
thing behind that clump of bushes.’’

The wild-cat, which was of enormous size,
and, from its appearance, ferocious with
hunger, was crouching on the lower branch
of a beech tree Its lean, lithe body, a dull
brindle in color, showed startlingly clear
against the background of green foliage.
The cat-like head was turned away, but the
tip of its tail, visible above a mass of
leaves, waved incessantly from side to
side.

‘*Shall I shoot?’’ eagerly whispered Sel,
fingering the trigger of his rifle.

‘“*No; wait a moment. I’d like to know
what the cat is watching. Perhaps it’s a
man.’?

‘*Who could it be? There are no settlers
around here, are there?’’

‘No, but it might be some one from the
yacht or schooner. Come on; we'll skirt
around the edge of those bushes. Step
lightly and make as little noise as possible.’’

Morris started along the bank of the
creek, closely followed by the young cap-
tain of the Woca. Foot by foot they ad-
vanced, until at last a place concealed from
the center of the ravine was reached. Here
an old tree—a fallen monarch of the forest
—partially spanned the stream. /

Slipping across it, they warily crept to
a clearing in the undergrowth. The detec-
tive, who was in front, peered from behind
a sheltering elder, and then with a start of
amazement, threw himself flat upon the
ground. His example was instantly followed
by Sel.

‘‘What is the matter?’’
queried the latter.

‘*Matter enough,’’ was the laconic reply.

‘*Raise your head and look across the clear-
ine.
The lad obeyed. What he saw was enough
to draw the breath from him in a hissing
gasp. Crouched back of a bush, and intently
watching the ravine, were two familiar
figures— Masters and Chow.

The latter clutched a long rope, fashioned
like a Mexican lasso, in his left hand, and,
from the pose, he was in readiness to hur] it
at a second’s notice. This much Sel caught
at a,glance, then, just as he was in the act
of turning to Morris, a shrill scream startled
him.

There was a rustling of tree branches, a
swish of a heavy body, and the sinewy out-
lines of the wild-cat flashed through the air,
landing with a thud squarely upon the giant
Chinaman’s shoulders. Man and brute fell
to the ground together, and rolled over and
over amid the debris of decaying leaves and
branches.

Quick as thought, Sel sprang to his feet-
Another instant and, the butt of the Win-
chester was at his shoulder. Then came 4
sharp report, a puff of smoke, and an awful
screech of agony. With the last sound the
ferocious animal fell limply from Chow’s

breathlessly

ody.

Quickly the Chinaman scrambled to his
feet, and together with bis companion looke
eagerly in the direction whence the shot ba
come. In the meantime Morris, seeing that
Sel’s humane act had revealed their pres
ence, had also risen.

For a full moment the two smugglers and
their antagonists stood face to face
silence, then Masters strode forward wit
an evil smile on his lips.

CHAPTER XXIII.
STIRRING EVENTS.

6x2; ELL, my bold hunters, what doe
WyAGY> this mean?’ he sneered. ‘‘How *
it we find you here instead of wit?
=~ your companions in the interior”
‘*¥or probably the same reason that Xol
are in the vicinity,’’ coldly replied oi
‘We were chasing game. I suppose you
offer the same excuse?’’ be
‘“Yes, we also were chasing game—t
legged game. And we would have caue’,,
some if it had not been for that cursed cave
Both the young leader and the detec
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arrived at the same conclusion—that it
would be useless to continue the farce.

‘*Tt will be open warfare from now on,”’
whispered Morris. ‘‘I am sorry the expose
came before we had them safe in the United
States, but it can’t be helped now. Keep
that rifle in readiness, lad. Don’t let them
get the drop on you.’’

With a quick movement, the detective
tore the false mustache and imperial from
his face, then leveling his revolver at Mas-
ters, he called out, briskly:

‘Suppose you throw up your hands, my
good fellow. No fooling, or I’ll put a bullet
through you quicker than my young friend
did the cat. Hands up, I say!”’

The Woca’s passenger gave a start of pro-
found amazement. His face turned to a
greenish pallor, and he staggered as if about
to fall.

‘*You, Showers?’’ he gasped.
what—how did you come here?’’

‘tOn the whale-back, the same as your-
self,’’ was the cool reply. ‘‘ You are a little
surprised, eh? What did I tell you the last
time I saw you in Frisco Bay? I said I
would bring you up with around turn if
you didn’t quit monkeying with the law.
Thought you had a snap this time, eh? Well,
Iam onto you with both feet, and don’t
you forget it.’’ ‘

This speech with its wealth of slang seemed
to act like the cut of a whip upon the dis-
comfited smuggler. He writhed and twisted
asif in physical agony, but he promptly
elevated both hands as requested.

‘‘You haven’t any case against me,’’ he
replied, hoarsely. ‘‘This is not the States,
nor am I doing anything *contrary to the
law.’

‘‘That’s true, I am sorry to say,’’ ac-
knowledged Detective Showers, regretfully.
‘‘Still, Ihave a card to play. I know the
man at the other end.’’

Masters turned paler than before, if that
could be possible.

‘*You lie!’’ he shouted, lowering his arms
and making a clutch at his belt. ‘‘ You do
not know him.’’

Both Sel’s rifle and the detective’s revol-
ver were aimed at the infuriated man in the
twinkling of aneye. Before either could fire,
Chow—who had been standing in placid in-
difference—suddenly became active. Raising
his hand with a cunning twist, he sent the
lasso whirling through the air.

The looped end struck Sel first. and curl-
ing around his neck like an angry serpent,
sent him reeling headlong against Showers.
The shock of contact threw both to the
ground. Even placed at that disadvantage,
the astute detective was not conquered.

Wriggling free from his young companion,
he brought his revolver into range and sent
several shots in the direction of his antag-
onists. None took effect, but they served to
disperse both Masters and Chow. The twain
turned and disappeared behind a group of
trees in much less time than it takes to de-
scribe it.

“Quick! Hustle out of here!’’ hurriedly
exclaimed Showers. ‘‘Slip beyond that
rising ground before they have a chance to
pepper us.”’

Suiting the action to the word, the speaker
gained the shelter indicated, with a couple of
agile leaps, Sel was not far behind, but he
had barely succeeded before the sharp crack
of a revolver sounded. The bullet zipped
past his head and buried itself in the bark
of an adjacent oak.

‘*What—

‘‘A close shot,’’ commented the lad,
coolly. ‘‘I wonder who it was, Masters or
Chow?’’

‘‘] guess you will have the former to
thank for it. I don’t think the Chinaman
Was armed except with that confounded
lasso. A pest on the thing. If it hadn’t been
for the rope we would have those scoundrels
in our power now.’’

‘“No use of crying over spilt milk,’’ re-
pliéd Sel, cautiously peeping toward the
Open meadow-spot. ‘‘We ought to be glad
that we are still living. Humph! he has
forgotten to take the lasso with him. Reckon
he was in too great a hurry.”’

Out in the natural clearing which was
Still renderéd visible by the last rays of the
Setting sun, two objects could be seen. One
Was the hair rope recently used by Chow,
and the other, an almost shapeless mass, was
the fast stiffening carcass of the wild-cat.

Beyond, where the clump of trees marked
the retreat of the smugglers, a waving
branch, close to the ground, indicated that

he enemy were still alert. While the lad

»Watched, the brim of a’ cap appeared in

View, then the smooth-shaven face of Mas-
ers was exposed for a moment. Sel reached
for his rifle, but before he could bring it to
4n aim the face disappeared.

‘““What is the matter??? asked Showers,
Noting the action. ‘‘Did you get a sight?”’
. ‘Yes; it was our passenger. He vanished
time to save himself, though. Wonder
What they intend to do. This game of hide
4nd seek may last a year without casualties
0N either side.’’

‘‘We can’t do anything just yet, lad.

‘There isn’t any sense in risking our lives by

©Xposure to their fire. Wait until dark. It’ll
© as black as a stack of singed cats around
6re inside of an hour.”’
he detective’s rather peculiar comparison
Proved true, In about the time specified
tarkness settled like a heavy pall over the

land, Sel and Showers waited until objects

 

  

NEWS.

4311

 

 

were indistinguishable within reach of their | about the locality occupied by the schooner.| way. You had better start inland, lad.

hands, then, at the latter’s advice, they
quietly shifted their quarters.

All was silent when they left the vicinity
of the meadow. Each realized that it did

not indicate a decrease of watchfulness on |

the part of the smugglers, however, and
they did not relax their caution.

‘‘That Chinaman is as sly as Old Nick
himself,”’? muttered the detective. ‘‘I

wouldn’t care so much if Masters, or even |

a dozen white men, faced us, but I confess
that [am afraid of that be-queued scoun-
drel.’’

‘*T wonder how they happened to be
watching for us?’’ asked Sel, after be had
comfortably settled himself against a fallen
log.

‘““That’s a mystery. Perbaps they have
had their suspicions aroused in some way,

and thought it best to scout around this part |

of the island. It’s a back-set for us. It has
spoiled all chances of nipping them red-
handed. All we can do now is to prevent
the shipment of the dope.’’

‘It is a pity we couldn’t have caught

Uncle Joshua,’’ replied Sel, rather vindic-

tively.

|
‘*You have it in for your relative, I see.

Has he been doing anything besides this
smuggling?’’

The lad was silent for a while. He was
pondering whether it would be wise to con-
fide in his companion. Finally he decided in
the affirmative. The former cook of the
Woca had proved too good a friend to ‘be
suspected of treachery.

‘*Tf he is not worthy of confidence, I don’t
know who is,’’ murmured the lad; then he
added, aloud:

‘*You remember Deb and me _ talking
about a will in the pilot-house this morn-
ino???
os “Yes.”

‘*Well, I want to tell you something about
one, When my father died in Shanghai,
seven years ago, he left a fortune, amassed
in the importing business, of some five hun-
dred thousand dollars. Mother had died
three years previous, and I was left alone
with Uncle Joshua. I was ten years of age
at that time, but I well remember the ex-
citement and wonder caused among our
friends when father’s will was found to con-
tain a codicil, leaving everything to his
brother Joshua except a few minor legacies.”’

‘*‘Whew! that was rough on you,’’ com-
mented Showers. ‘‘By Jinks! it hardly
seems possible. Was the will genuine, or did
that scoundrelly uncle of yours cook it?”’

‘*N-no; the will was all right. Father’s
signature was proven to be correct, but——’’

Sel paused and fingered the stock of his
rifle in an abstracted manner. His compan-
ion remained silent, rightly feeling that he
would resume in his own good time. After
dispelling the flood of memories, painful and
otherwise, called forth by the subject, the
young captain continued:

‘‘The signature was correct, but it is my
solemn belief that father left another will.
For some peculiar reason he was under the
influence of Uncle Joshua during the last
two years of his life, and I am sure he was
intimidated into making such an unjust
will. I am so sure of it that I believe I can
worm the truth from my uncle if I can only
get him in my power.’’

 

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SHOT IN THE WOODS.

= DON’T doubt but what you are right,
I my lad,’’ replied the detective, slowly.
‘Tt don’t seem natural for a parent to
=> neglect his own child in this manner. I
guess Joshua Bruce is capable of doing
almost anything. About a later will, how-
ever, it will be mighty hard to find one with

such uncertain proofs as you have.”’

‘‘But what about this smuggling plot?
Couldn’t I use it to compel Uncle Joshua to
confess?’’

‘‘What! That man confess anything that
will wring gold from him? Not much. I'll
wager a turnip against a grasshopper that
he would rot in prison during the rest of his
life before he’d give up a rusty cent. No.
You will have to work some other scheme.
However, I hope you will find another will,
my boy. If there is anything [ can do, you
can count on me after I wind up this little
affair.’

Sel silently reached over and grasped the
hand of his faithful friend. During the next
few moments little was said. Finally Show-
ers proposed that they leave their hiding-
place and try to reach the bay.

‘‘T can’t remain here all night and not
learn anything. Come on.’’

Slowly, and with the greatest precaution,
they crept from their refuge. Skirting the
bank of the creek to the other side of the
ravine, they walked through the soft grass
with careful steps. The night bad set in so
black that it was impossible to see the
ground. From time to time obstructions
were met with, and it was fully an hour
before the faint sounds of .waves beating
against the beach proclaimed the vicinity of
the bay.

A cool breeze blowing from the sea
brought to the ears of the twain certain
peculiar sounds familiar to both. It came
from the rowlocks of more than one boat.
Presently a couple of lights appeared in

| After a while the lights moved slowly,across
| the water. The meaning was plain.
| ‘*They are transferring the dope,’’

softly
| murmured Showers.

‘*Isn’t this exasper-
ating? Confound it! I feel as helpless as a
wooden-legged cow. I would give a cool
thousand dollars if I had a good revenue
cutter here manned by a dozen of the boys.”’
| Sel easily realized their impotency.
‘*Can’t we do something?’’ he demanded,
| ruefully.

‘No; not a thing yet. They have all the

boats, and it wouldn’t do us any good to
|swim. It is over a hundred miles to the
|nearest telegraph office, which is at Nan-
|aimo, the terminus of the railway running
| from Victoria. If we do anything we must
| first get control of the whale-back. And the
| question is how can we manage it?’’
‘‘] wish we had Deb and Chunk here.
| They are well armed, and would add a little
| to our forces. As for Charlie and the Chi-
| nese guide, we could easily fix them. What
do you think? Hadn’t I better start inland
for them? You can stay here and watch the
smugglers until we return.”’

‘‘It isn’t a bad idea,’’ slowly replied
Showers. ‘‘But I don’t like to see you at-
tempt the trip alone and at this time of
night.’’

**‘T am not afraid. I have this gun and re-
volver. If I should run across any animals
I can protect myself.’’

‘No doubt. Still I think we had better
hang together until daylight.
get lost in the woods, and then we would be
worse off than we now are. We will remain
around here till morning, then I can keep
watch while you rush inland to find the
boys.”’

Selecting a retired spot a short distance
from the ravine, Sel and the detective set-
tled themselves for the night. They had
much to talk about, and the time passed
rapidly during the first part of the evening.
The boats continued at the evident work of
transferring the opium until a late hour,
then silence fell upon the little bay, only
broken by the monotonous beat of the waves
on the shore, or an occasional call from
some denizen of the forest.

‘*Now that I have an opportunity to think
it over,’’ remarked Sel, after a while, ‘‘it
strikes me that Chow is not a very grateful
Chinaman. If I hadn’t shot that wild-cat
he might have received severe injuries. In
repayment the rascal attempts to down us
with the lasso.’’

‘*You will meet with disappointment if
you ever expect gratitude from persons of
his class,’’ sagely replied Showers.

Lighting his pipe, he gave several medita-
tive puffs, and continued:

‘‘T have been in this business for almost
ten years, and during that time I’ve met all
sorts of criminals. I speak from experience
when I say that there is little honor among
them. The best emotions of human kind are
absent.. When a man begins to break the
law he steps aboard a toboggan and starts
down a mighty slippery slide with the in-
fernal pit at the bottom.’’

‘“*T guess that applies to Uncle Joshua.
Fancy a man with plenty of money mixing
with a business like smuggling. He deserves
all the punishment he can get. By the
way,’’ Sel sat up and clapped one hand
upon his thigh, ‘‘I had forgotten a most im-
portant remark made by that man Masters
the night I was in Frisco. During a quarrel
with my uncle, he threatened him with ex-
posure concerning some will in Shanghai.
At the time, I didn’t think much ot it, But
now I see that it must apply to my father’s
will. By George! if we can’t wring the
truth from Uncle Joshua we may be able to
from Masters.’

‘‘Ah! you may have some show with
him,’’ agreed Showers. ‘‘He looks like a
fellow who will ‘split’ if he is cornered. I
guess you are on the right track at last. If
we can capture him and dangle a long
sentence in the penitentiary before his eyes,
he’ll surely squeal. But the question is, how
are we going to lay hands on him?”’’

‘We will find a way,’’ confidently replied
the lad. ‘‘Right is bound to triumph some
time. I feel it in my bones, as the saying is,
that we’ll succeed in regaining the yacht
and in capturing the smugglers.”’

With this pleasing anticipation before him,
Sel curled up and slept the sleep of the just
until after midnight. Then he stood watch
while the detective slumbered, At the first
sign of day the lad awakened his companion.

Both glanced eagerly across the bay. Out
in the shadows lay two vague hulls, still
almost indistinguishable. Presently the light
became stronger, and they recognized with
a sigh of relief the familiar outlines of the
whale-back and the Li-li.

On board the latter craft the figures of
half a dozen sailors could be seen, attending
to some ship duty. Smoke issuing from the
funnel of the Woca indicated that the fires
were being kept up. This brought feelings of
uneasiness to the young captai{ and Show-
ers.

‘*By George! I hope they won’t try to
pull out,’’? he exclaimed. ‘‘I wonder if any
of the crew know how to run an engine?’’

‘‘One of the stokers might,’’ replied the
deteetive, reflectively. ‘‘I hope not. If the
two craft should leave the bay we would be
in a duse of a fix. It would mean defeat and
a tramp of over a hundred miles to the rail-

 

 

 

Make as good time as you can.’’

After a short consultation, it was decided
that Showers should conceal himself behind
a rock-crowned eminence several hundred
yards from that part of the beach where the
boats had landed. Here he was to watch the
smugglers and to wait for Sel’s return.

Taking a couple of hitches in his belt in
lieu of breakfast, the lad set out inland at a
swinging trot. He carried the rifle slung
over his shoulders, and his revolver in his
hand prepared for action. The detective
called after him to kill any game he might
run across.

‘‘We’ve got to look out for grub now,’’
he added. ‘‘We can’t rely on the -yacht’s
larder any more. Good-by, and God-speed!”’

Sel waved his hand and struck into the
forest. He traveled nearly six miles before
aught occurred to interrupt his journey.
While passing through a dense forest of oak,
he caught sight of a small clearing with the
simmer of water in its center.

Browsing on the edge of the brook, and
apparently eating the tender shoots of water
grass, was a red deer. Its slender, graceful
body was in plain view, and the youthful

| hunter eagerly brought his rifle into action.

Taking careful aim, he fired point blank at
the animal’s exposed breast.

The bullet sped true to the mark. Witha
convulsive shudder, the deer bounded up,
and then fell prone and lifeless. Sel was on

|the point of rushing forward in triumph
You might |

when he heard the unmistakable report of
another rifle to his right. Following came
the crashing of brush. It indicated the ap-
proach of some one, and the lad discreetly
dropped behind a near-by log.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

——— 2

A CONJURER’S DILEMMA.

 

OBERT HOUDIN used to tell this
story about himself:

One evening during a performance
ve I had borrowed a hat to make an om-
elette in. Those who have seen the trick
are aware that it is chiefly intended to pro-
duce a laugh, and that the object borrowed
runs no risk. I had got through the first

| part excellently, consisting in breaking the

eggs, beating them, throwing in the salt
and pepper, and pouring it all into the hat.
After this I had to feign the frying of the
omelette. I placed the candle on the ground,
then holding the hat sufficiently high above
it to escape the flame, I began turning it
gently round, while making some of the
stereotyped jokes adapted to the trick. The
public laughed so heartily and so loudly
that I could scarcely hear myself speak: but
I could not suspect the cause of their
hilarity. Unfortunately, I detected it too
soon. A strong scent of burning made me
turn my eyes on the candle—it had gone
out. I looked at the hat, the crown was
quite burned and stained. [had kept on
turning the hat round unsuspectingly until
I at length put it on the top of the candle
and covered it with grease. Quite dazed by
the sight, I stopped,-not knowing how to
escape. Fortunately for me, my alarm,
though so truthful, was regarded as a well-
played farce, to heighten the effect of the
performance. My only chance was to gain
time, so I continued the trick, with a toler-
ably easy air, and produced to the publica
splendidly-cooked omelette, which I had
enough courage left to season with a few
jokes. Still that quarter of an hour of
which Rabelais speaks had arrived. I must
restore the hat and publicly confess myself
a clumsy blockhead. I resigned myself to
this, and was going to doso with all the
dignity I could muster, when I heard An-
tonio (his assistant) call me from the side.
His voice restored my courage, for I felt
assured he had prepared some way for my
escape. I went up to him and found him
standing with a hat in his hand.

‘*Look here,’’ he said, exchanging it for
the one I held; ‘‘it is yours. But no matter;
keep a good face. Rub it as if you were re-
moving the stains, and handing it to the
owner, ask him gently to read what is on
the bottom.’’

I did as he told me; and the owner of the
burnt hat, after receiving mine, was going
to betray me, when I pointed to the note
fastened in the crown. It ran as follows:

**An act of carelessness caused me to
commit a fault, which I will repair. To-
morrow I will do myself the honor of ask-
ing your hatter’s address. In the meantime,
be kind enough to act as an accomplice.’’

My request was granted, for my secret
was honestly kept, and my _ professionl
honor saved.

——_—____~> ++ —_____

A NEW COMPLAINT.

 

A countryman saw for the first time a
school-girl going through ber gymnastic ex-
ercise for the amusement of the little ones
at home. :

After gazing at her with looks of interest
and commiseration for some time, he asked
a boy near by if that girl had fits.

‘‘No,’’ replied the boy, ‘‘them’s gym-
nastics. ’’

‘*Ah, how sad!’’ said the man. ‘‘How
long’s she had ’em?’?’ .

 
    
  
   
   
    
    
     
   
  
  
      
  
       
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
    
   
  
  
    
   
    
   
  
  
    
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
  
  
    
 
   
  
  
  
     
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
    
  
  
   
 
   
 
   
  
    
 
  
     
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  

ERECT 2S

ote ets

 

ghee a

 

 

ce.
ites

  
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
    
        
         
       
     
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
     
   
   
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
    
   
 
   
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
    
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 

 

 

 

 

ISSUED WEEKLY.

 

NEW YORK, JULY 6, 1895.

 

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- Contents of this Number.

SERIAL STORIES.

“Toby and Tom,” by Will Lisenbee.

‘Slack-Wire Zip,” by Victor St. Clair.

“Loyal to Napoleon,” by Alfred Armitage.

“The Copper Disk,” by Enrique H.
Lewis.

“Jungles and Traitors,” by William Mur-
ray Graydon.

“The Boy Cattle King,” by Harry Danger-
field,

‘Fresh Frank,” by **Joe.”?

SHORT STORIES.

“Found Drowned.”

“A New Game for Good Swimmers.”

‘‘Wayside Will,” by W. W. Tremaine.

“A Train of Fire,” by Henry Clarke.
REGULAR DEPARTMENTS.

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

‘How to Do Things,” by David Parks.

“Mail Bag,” “Exchange Department,”
“Club Notices,” ete.

 

 

NEST WEEE.

Oe

A splendid detective story, showing how
abright boy, to save his own reputation,

ferreted out a crime.

FOR HIS HONORS SAKE:

The Richest Boy Detective in New York,

BY
WALDEN F. SHARP.

—_+-—_—_

Look out for story of summer sports !

—————---—~> ©--o___-—_—_
SAVING THE DOG.

A Chicago manufacturer of a brand of
cigarettes has trained a small dog to go
about the streets wearing a business card
for the house and carrying a cigarette in his
mouth. The dog, after passing an admiring
crowd of people recently, started through
an alley, when an old negro, who carried a
rag-bag, looked at him and said:

‘*Hol’ on dar er minit.”’

The dog stopped.

‘‘What you doin’ wid dat thing in yo’
mouf, hah? An’t you got no better sense
den to go roun’ yere wid dem things in yo’
mouf? Doan’ you know dat all de doctors
dun said dat folks killin’ darselves wid dem
things? Does you want to pizen yo’self right
yere? Gimme dat thing’’—taking the cigar-
ette out of the dog’s mouth. ‘‘Now you go
on. Reckon I’m gwine stan’ by an’ let you
run yo’self inter danger dis way?’’

He struck a match, lighted the cigarette,
and puffing it, added:

‘*Dese yere things is fur ole folks. Go on
*bout yo’ bizness now, I doan’ kere if you
is er stranger ter me. I an’t gwine see you
*stroy yo’se’f.”’

CHOOD

| A NEW GAME FOR GOOD SWIMMERS.

ee Genes

TRY IT YOURSELF THIS SUMME

HOULD any boy reader of Goop
News ever go to the old city of
Strassburg in the summer time, he
may perhaps be lucky enough to see

a new kind of outdoor sport; and if he does
not find it exciting, and does not dream of
introducing it in America when he returns,
he will be a queer boy.

On the river, if it is toward evening, he
may catch a glimpse of red and blue boats,
and see a crowd of people along the river
wall. If he asks what is going on down
there, he will be told that it is the Ganse-
spiel, the goose-game.

The stream is. broad and straight for a
distance of two or three hundred yards.
Both banks are lined with people. Just op-
posite is a little boat-landing, crowded with
bare-headed young fellows, talking and
gesticulating as if they were disputing over
an empire. The game is about to begin.

A dozen boats, each with a crew of four
and a passenger, push off from the landing,
half of them pulling up stream fifty yards
or so, and then turning, while the other six
go down stream, and turn in the same way.

The boats now face one another. Project-
ing over the stern of each there is built a
small platform, three feet long by two in
width, originally designed for the use of
fishermen in hauling their nets. It looks
like a spring-board fastened there to dive
from.

The moment the boat turns, the passen-
ger, who ‘has been crouching in the stern
with what looks like a long pole across his
lap, rises and steps out upon the platform.
It is a perfectly smooth board, and the bare-
footed passenger. clad in a bathing suit,
moves very carefully along.

Slowly he settles into position with his
weight well forward upon the left foot, and
then raises to his breast the pole with which
he has been balancing himself. You see now
that it is not a pole, but a stout lance some
eight feet long, with a cross-piece near the
butt, and furnished with a leather tip about
as large as a tennis-ball. The young Alsa-
tian is a knight of the tourney.

From the landing comes the sudden crack
of a. pistol, and from opposite ends of the
course two boats shoot forward, each with
its motionless, upright figure in the stern.
As they near each other there is a low word
from the captains, and the oars are shipped.
The crowd on the shore is hushed with ex-
citement.

The boats glide past each other in front of
the landing, and just as their bows overlap,
the upright figures lean forward a. little;
the lances touch, cross; that tall knight in
the red boat gives the slightest turn to his
wrist, and the tip of his lance slips in the
twinkling of an eye past his opponent’s
guard.

There is a delighted cry from the watch-
ful Alsatians on the bank, and the knight of
the blue boat, pushed from his balance by
that neat touch upon his breast, throws up
his arms in a frantic effort to recover him-
self, and tumbles ingloriously backward into
the water.

In a couple of seconds he comes up splut-
tering, and when you'see the style in which
he shakes the water out of his eyes, swims
round for his lance, and climbs laughingly
to his platform, you will understand why
people say that the Alsatians are born web-
footed, and why they call their favorite
game the ‘‘goose-game.’’

Crack! goes the pistol again, and » another
air of boats speed forward. That little fel-
ow in a red shirt seems not more than half

the size of his jaunty antagonist, but what
a pose he has as he settles himself upon his
narrow, slippery standing-place!

The wind laws his black hair down over
his eyes, and he has barely time to dash it
back with his right hand before the other
boat is upon him. But he succeeds, and—
hello! that was pretty !

He caught the tip of his opponent’s lance
fairly on the tip of his own, seemed to
stiffen his left arm an instant, and the other
fellow went over like a nine-pin, while the
crowd roared with laughter, shouted. all
sorts of congratulations in mongrel French
and Strassburg German, and chaffed the
discomfited combatant so thoroughly when
he came to the’surface again that he looked
as if he would have preferred to stay at the
bottom for the rest of his days.

—__-_ > +> ___-_—_
MISSING FROM KILLARNEY.

Jane O’Flaherty she had in her arms two
babies and a Jersey cow all white with a
plaid shawl on and a high comb and black
spots all down her back and was always
giving twenty quarts a day whoever will
give inform&tion to the distracted husband
will be forever mentioned in his prayers
may the heavens be his bed and peace be to
his soul.

Psat st ln Relational

‘*See here, Harry,’’ said the boy’s father,

at five o’clock in the morning, ‘‘don’t make
so much noise. Nobody can sleep.”’

 

  

NEWS.

>

SHORT TALKS ==

(a9

With THE Boys.

Cannas Gitoteenan

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL.

 

L. T. D., Boston, Mass.,. writes: “I want to
become an inveutor, but I have not the means
to go to college. What do you think I had bet-
ter do? TI havea good common-school educa-
tion, and am sure that I have some mechanical
ability. Iinvented a combined nail and screw,
but when I tried to get it patented, I found
some one else had got ahead of me. [ am busy
over two inventions now, butI can’t get them
to work properly.”

To be an inventor it is not necessary to be
specially educated. An inventor, like a poet,
is most emphatically born, not made.

We by no means underestimate the value

of an education. In fact, it is the very best
basis for success in any walk of life that a
boy can have, but some of the most valu-
able inventions have been made by men of
most imperfect education. As we have inti-
mated, the inventive faculty isa gitt from
nature, and cannot be acquired by any
amount of study.
But no boy of the intelligence indicated
by your letter will be willing to stop ata
common-school education. You are now
well equipped to obtain the very best part
of your education; the knowledge which is
self-acquired is nine times out of ten the
most valuable.

We think. that perhaps the best plan you
could follow would be. to select some spe-
cialty in which you think you would be suc-
cessful, and then follow that specialty ex-
clusively.. For instance, if you have a
fondness for electricity, secure employment
with some electrician, and ‘make your life-
work the study of that science. Then, again,
there are opportunities in mechanical engin-
eering which are constantly being opened to
young men, and with intelligence, perse-
verance and ‘study, one is bound to come to
the front.

It is as true now as it ever was, that there
is plenty. of :room at the top of the ladder,
and this especially applies to inventors. Not
half the secrets of science. have been as yet
discovered, and, if you have the divine gift,
there is no reason why you should hot be
the one to discover some of these secrets.
‘‘Hitch your wagon to the stars,’’ as Emer-
son says, or, in other words, the higher you
aim, the higher you are likely to reach.

The first principle of all success must be
grounded upon ambition. To make up one’s
mind not to be satisfied with what comes in
one’s way, but to strive to improve upon
circumstances, and by diligent perseverance
attain the desired goal, should be the life
rule of every honorable boy. . -

‘You speak of your disappointment in one
case and of your inability to perfect your
inventions in others. Do not let this dis-
courage you.

On looking into the history of all success-
ful men, one is often apt to be. led away by
certain facts in. their lives which may be
termed ae hits,’’. but here again those
events are only the consequences of various
previous trials and frequent failures, which
may have cost years of patient toil, thought
and study. We often hear of Some successful
invention or discovery which is the result of
an accident, but this necessarily entails that
some work must have been going on at the
time, and the finder has been endeavoring
to obtain something which was not known
of before, and the success is the result of
the failures more than anything else.

To you and to all of our boys who have
their own way in life to make, and who are
just’ upon the threshold of their career,
whatever direction that career may take,
we would lay down the stepping stones to
success as follows: !

1. Ambition.

2. Study.

3. Perseverance.

4, Patience.

5. Hilary.

These, if adhered to, with health and
strength, will enable a lad to rise to pros-
perity and fame, and, although, the road
may be long and dangerous, and difficulties
may beset your path, keep on your course
with set purpose, determined to rise superior
to every occasion and to make use of every
advantage that may offer.

Cc. F. L., Vevay, Ind., writes: “I have been
a reader of your paper ever since it started.
I am eighteen years of age, and.am working in
a printing office at present, but would like to
become a pilot. Of course, there are drawbacks
to all trades, but I fancy I would like being a
pilot. Could you tell me how to commence to
become a pilot, who to apply to for a chance?
I live in ariver town, where boats are numer-
ous, but do not know who to apply to. Would
you kindly give me such information as would
lead to the securance of such a position ?”’

To become a pilot you must go through
the usual experience of making your way up
from the lowest rounds. You had better get
an introduction to some captain of a pilot-
boat, and ask him to give you a chance.

You would probably not get much for the

to be examined as to your ability by a
board appointed by the Pilot Commissioners.
We do not imagine that there would be a
very bright future for a pilot in your town,
and if you are determined to become one, it
would be by far your best plan to come to
some coast city.

There is an excellent living for pilots who
are hard workers, and there is probably as
much money in it as in any branch of sea-
faring life.

There is no regular salary for a pilot.
They usually make from two thousand to
five thousand dollars a year. It all depends
upon the rumber of vessels they bring into
port.

F. C., Green Bay, Wis., writes: ‘‘I am 19 years
of age and am somewhat interested in civil
engineering. I think I would like that occupa-
tion, but am unable to go to college on account
of circumstances. Is there any way by which
Imay learn without much expense? Where
could I get a few books relating to it to study
while at home?”

Civil engineering is a profession in regard
to which we have frequently written in
these columns, and you will find full details
in previous numbers of Goop Nrws:.-
Suffice it to say here that it is an excel-
lent calling, and one in which there is the
brightest of futures for a clever young man.
As you cannot study the profession in
some college or some institute of technology,
your best, in fact your only course, is to
obtain a position in the office of ‘some good
surveyor, and supplement the practical
knowledge you gain there. by the study of
books at home.

The number of works which have been
published on civil engineering is legion. If
you havea civil engineer among your ac-
quaintance, ask him to direct your reading,
or go to the. best bookseller in Green Bay,
who will undoubtedly furnish you with a
list, from which you ought to be able to
make your own selection.

SPECIAL NoticeE.—Many communications,
improperly addressed to this department,
are answered in the ‘‘ Mail Bag.”’

—_——_—_>— 0 —__——
DESERVED REPROOE.

The stories of ventriloquism are strange
and wonderful, even though certain people
are always telling us there is no such thing
as throwing the voice to any distance and
having it still natural in sound. A civil
engineer says that while he was overseer to
a gang of men who were hauling loads of
stone, a friend of his, a ventriloquist, came
up and stéod by his side, watching the men
at work,

Presently a horse driven by a large, red-
headed and fiery-tempered Irishman jibbed
in front of the spot where the two lookers-
on were standing. The Irishman soon lost
his temper, and began to belabor the animal
with his whip. Now and then the horse
would turn his head and look reproachfully
at the Irishman, but still refused to,budge.

‘Now just watch the Irishman,’’ whis-
pered the ventriloquist in his friend’s ear.

At that moment Pat, losing all patience,
gave the animal a tremendous kick in the
ribs with his heavy boot.

The horse turned his head, and, looking
the Irishman in the face, opened his mouth:

‘*Don’t you do that again!”’

The voice sounded as though it came direct
from between the horse’s lips. ;

The whip dropped from the Irishman’s
hand. For a moment he stared at the beast,
and then, without uttering a word, he
whirled about and bolted down the street
as fast as his two legs could take him.

7-0 e.—~
A TERRIBLE THREAT.

It is a well-known fact that certain vaga-
bonds desire nothing better, especially when
the. cold weather comes on, than to be ar-
rested and locked up, in order that they
may be taken care of—at least, for a while.

One of this fraternity succeeded in getting
himself arrested for vagrancy, and on the
way to the lock-up he was so much over-
joyed at the prospect of not having to sleep
in the open air, that he behaved somewhat
boisterously.

‘“‘Keep quiet, will you?’’? shouted the
policeman, ‘‘If you don’t, I’ll let you go!”

——__—_3—-e-—_——__—_-
THE BEST MAN.

day with his eyes blackened, his clothing
torn, and in a generally used-up condition:
‘Where have you been?’’ he was asked.
‘‘Shure,’’ he said, ‘‘and I have been to #
wedding.’’

‘You mean you have been to a wake.”’
‘‘No, it was a wedding. As I went in
met a man with a long-tailed coat and @
white waistcoat and lavender trousers. ‘Wh?
are you?’ saysI. ‘I am the best man,’ says
he; and after events proved that he told th?

truth.’’

 

oe eo ———_
‘“Your'son is an actor, you say, Mr. Mé@
ginnis?’’
‘*Faith, he is.’’

 

 

 

‘*But I must, papa; it’s part of the game.
I’m playing I’m an alarm clock.”’

first year. It will take you some years to
learn the business, and then you will have

‘¢ And what roles'does he play?’’ 5
‘‘Rolls, is it? Faith, he rolis up the
tain.’?

 

 

An Irishman appeared at his work one

 

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TOOD

NEWS.

4313

 

[This Story Wil) Not be

SLACK-WIRE

Published in Book-Form. |

Bik:

OR,

THE UPS

AND DOWNS OF

AN ACROBAT.

BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR,

Author of “Little Hickory of the Mountain Express,”

 

(“SLACK-WIRE ZIP” was commenced in No. 267.

CHAPTER XI.

‘(rae TENT IS COMING DOWN!’’

     
   

RIES of horror left the lips of the
=€ spectators, as they saw the boy acro-
2\/ bat slip and fall head-first toward the
~~ sawdust ring twenty feet below.

Zip felt that he must be crushed to death,
but even in that brief space of time taken
by his unwelcome flight he did not lose his
self-possession, and with a mighty effort he
succeeded in turning in the air, so he
alighted squarely upon his feet. Save fora
severe shaking up, he

 

“Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer,’ ‘The Young Stone-Cutter,”’ etc.

Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.)

made many bitter threats under their
breath.

Honeycomb scowled as he saw that the
trouble was over almost as quickly as it had
begun, and the attention of the crowd again
turned to the boy performer among the

ropes and bars of the top of the tent.

coming into the ring mounted on a piebald
horse, which pranced around the course with
great pomp, while its rider ‘sat as erect on
its back as a clothes-pin.

Shaking his plumed cap right and left,
Tommy Flyer rode round and round the

 

 

his fall.

Thus he turned smil-
ing to the audience, and
bowing low while every
one cheered lustily, he
was about to, return to
his dizzy perch when
Honeycomb, witha
smile on his dark feat-
ures, found opportunity
to hiss in his ear:

‘As big a bungler as
ever !’’

“It was not my
fault,’ replied Zip,
sharply. ‘‘The bar has
been greased by some
one, so it is not possible
to hold upon it.’’

‘‘A likely story,”’
sneered the ex-ring-
master. ‘‘Perhaps you
would like to tell that
to the boys who put it
up.”’

Without replying, Zip
ascended the ropes to
the lowest cross-bar,
where he resumed his
bewildering feats as if
nothing had happened
out of the usual order.

The boy acrobat had
barely begun his second
performance when loud
voices near the tent
door arrested the atten-
tion of all.
~ *T tell you, podner,
I’m purty sure 0’ com-
in’ in here ef I an’t got
th’ ducats. An’t thet
air pars ’nough, I sh’d
like to know?’’

*“*Your pass is noth-
ing but a shipping
tag,’ the ticket-master
was heard to reply.
**Keep back, you and
your gang, or I’ll call
the officers to help
maintain the peace.’’
‘*Mainten th’ speace?’’
muttered the other. ‘‘I
reckon I’m ’bout all th’
officer you want. Git
back so I can hev elbow
room.”’

‘*Git out o’ th’ way,
ol’ duffer, or you’ll git
run over!’’ cried a
medley of voices, and a
great confusion began.

‘‘What’s .up?’’ de-
manded Mr. Wilder,
rushing toward the spot

The Flyer Brothers followed Zip, Tommy |

 

| the dust from his clothes, a man tumbled
from no one could have told where into the
arena, falling at the feet of the angrywing-
master.

The unsteady new-comer staggered to his
feet, and see-sawing about for a moment,
held out his hand to the ring-master, ex-
claiming, in a maudlin tone:

| ‘*Look here (hic), Mister Man! Lemme try
| (bic) th’ creetur.”’

‘*Put him out of the ring!’’ cried Mr.
| Wilder, starting toward the speaker. ‘‘I
| haven’t time to fool with such as he.’’
| ‘*Jess yo’ ’tend yer bizness, mister. Yo’

no bizness here. Lemme ride thet (hic)
quidruped.’’

‘<Perhaps he can do it, Wilder,’’ said the
ring-master, with a knowing wink to his em-
ployer. ‘‘He’ll make fun for: them, any-
way.’’

‘Yes, make cartload funny fun fer ’em.
Boost me higher, mister.’

The tipsy stranger did get such a ‘‘boost’’
that be went flying heels over head to. the

|ground. The next time he slipped from the
| animal’s haunches to the sawdust.

‘Mighty (hic) slip—slippery to-night,
*pears to me,’? he grumbled, as he picked

 

The equestrian was none other than our
{old friend Marvel the Matchless, who had
| not forgotten his skill in this direction.
|- Marvel. was in the midst of one of his
astounding feats, when a piercing voice
cried above the tumult of the scene:

‘*Look out! The tent is coming down!’?

CHAPTER XII.

   

A CRY FOR HELP.
ILDEST excitement imaginable
followed.
Men and women cried out with
we fear, and made frantic rushes

toward what they imagined safety.

Mr. Wilder shouted orders to the crowd no
one heard, much more obeyed.

The falling of the canvas was worst on the
side of the audience, though the dastardly
wretches who had done the infamous work
had done it with a thoroughness worthy of
a better cause, and it seemed that every
rope had been cut away.

In the center, however, the support had

 

not been -meddled with, so there was an open
space around the arena,

 

nT ti ij
Hi

 

whither those who could
sought safety.

Of course, the greatest
danger lay in the head-
long struggle of the
mob, trampling each
other under feet in the
mad attempt to get
clear.

Marvel, in the midst of
his performance, sud-
denly stopped the fly-
ing bay, and sweeping
the scene with his keen
vision, took in the situ-
ation at a glance.

Seeing the canvas
coming down slower on
the quarter toward the
ticket-stand, he urged
the horse swiftly in that
direction, reaching the
place ahead of the
throng.

Thus he was enabled
to hold up that. side to
an extent that a pas-
sage was obtained to
the place of entrance
near the ticket-stand.

It was left for Zip to
perform the crowning
feat of the exciting
scene.

One of the first to dis-
cover the collapse—if it
could be called such—
of the canvas walls, he
also saw a man’s hand
appear for a moment
near one of the stay
ropes on the side of the
tent:

The flash of. a knife-
blade for an instant
shone in the semi-dark-
ness, and as it went out
of sight the whole quar-
ter of that part of the
tent began to fall.

Ever quick to see what
should be done in case
of an emergency, and
equally as quick to act,
he sprang forward and
catching hold of the
severed end of the cord
he threw his whole
weight upon the line.

The result was that
that side fell so much
slower that the Flyer
Brothers succeeded in
going to bis assistance
in season to avert the
worst of the calamity.

Of course the disaster

 

\\\

A \IN

 

 

just in season to be
dashed backward to
the earth by the incoming mob of roughs.

‘*Where’s our preserved seats?’’ asked the
leader, a coarse-featured, brutal-looking
wretch, who glared fiercely about the scene.

Toa man of Mr. Wilder’s excitable tem-
Pers this was too much, and, regard-
ess of the consequence, the circus manager
Sprang to the side of the bully, seizing him
by the collar and waistband and tossing him
head-first through the doorway.

Though some of the intruders were as
large as he, the exasperated showman did
hot stop ‘with one victim, but before the
others could rally to defend themselves, he
had thrown them all from the tent, while
the spectators roared with laughter.

*“T call upon the constables present to help
me maintain the peace,’’ cried Mr. Wilder,
as soon as he could make himself heard
above the applause, ‘‘I am anxious every
person. who pays his money shall see our
Show, but no man can enter here who has
hot a ticket, let alone roughs and prize-
fighters.’’

The old showman’s language was no better
chosen than. his course of action, but for-
tunately several officers were present who
took a hand in the affray, with the happy
result of quieting the rioters, though they

ring, until it seemed as if that was the sum
‘of his exploits.
It was about all he could do, but Tommy
| bad one feat he always kept to the last, per-
| haps because he always made a failure of it.
| The act was to throw a somersault in the air
| and alight on the back of his moving steed
as if nothing had happened.

At the proper time he rose on his feet, the
ring-master snapped his long whip; away
dashed the spirited horse, and down came
Tommy to the ground with a dull thump!

The audience roared with glee, the piebald
steed had already left the ring, and the dis-
comfited rider had only to follow it.

Wat Flyer by this time was rushing upon
the scene, as if borne on the wings of the
whirlwind, and now something marvelous
was expected.
| Coldstream cracked one of his best jokes,
|the horse, a beautiful bay, sent his heels
into the air, and down went Wat rolling
over and over in the sawdust like a foot-
ball.

And that. closed the performance of the
Flyer Brothers.

Expecting all this, Mr. Wilder had planned
to bring in a sutprise immediately after this

 

THE TIGHT-ROPE WALKER DROPPED STRAIGHT DOWN TOWARD THE BOILING TIDE, HOLDING ZIP BY THE ANKLES.

himself up and attempted to mount for the
third time.

By dint of fearful scratching and the
assistance of the ring-master, he gained the
patient steed’s back, but facing the rear!

‘‘Turn round, you fool!’’. exclaimed the
angered ring-master: ‘‘How do you thiny
you can see where you are going in that
way?”?

‘‘How’s yo’ know ,w’ich way (hic) I’m
goin’?’? and scarcely had he spoken when
the horse shot pene the track at a tremen-
dous pace, the terrified man holding on for
dear life, while he shouted for some one to
stop the runaway.

This pleased: the audience hugely, and
though the horse kept on at its flying gait,
it failed to throw the rider to the ground,
the latter tumbling about like a great frog,
but sticking wherever he chanced to alight
like a fly.

Then the coarse garb worn by the un-
known began to fly in every direction, until
the bold rider stood bolt upright on the bay’s
back, dressed in the spangled suit of the ring,
immediately beginning feats of horsemanship

 

farce, when, as the last rider was wiping |

| that held the spectators spell-bound, as soon

|as their cheers over the trick so cunningly
played upon them had died away.

completely broke up the
show, and as fast as the
crowd got clear of the circus grounds the
majority started for their respective homes,
with many bitter imprecations for the hap-
less showman, who was not really to blame
for the unfortunate turn given affairs.

Others stayed about the place, demanding
the return of the money they had paid for
their tickets, and abusing everybody con-
nected with the circus roundly.

Amid the medley of jostling, fault-finding
people there was one person who was ex-
tremely happy.

He was Jerry Honeycomb.

“‘T calculate Jont Wilder’s show is busted
now if ’tweren’t before,’’ he said to Cold-
stream. f

‘‘And you are glad of it,’’ replied the
clown, sharply. ‘‘Zounds! I believe you had
a hand in the doing.”’

‘*Who said I did?’’

‘‘Don’t need for anybody to say it. Hark!
what is the rumpus outside?’’

‘(The officers have caught some of the
men who cut down the tent,’’ declared a
bystander. ‘‘They say it was done by the
gang who wanted to come in without any
tickets. I guess they’ll have to smart for it.”’

Honeycomb seemed to have important

 

business elsewhere just then, for, with a

 

 
 

4314

CHOOT

 

swift glance about him, he glided out of the
tent through one of the openings made by
the wreck of the canvas.

No one else noticed bis abrupt exit but
Zip, who lost no time in following him,
passing out of an opening a short distance
to the left of the ex-ring-master.

Honeycomb had barely gained the outside
before he was accosted by a man who must
have been lying in wait for him.

‘*Wall, did thet suit you?’’ demanded the
stranger, in a tone plainly heard by Zip.

‘¢Hush!’? said Honeycomb. ‘'This isn’t
any place to talk. What are they doing at
the front of the——’’

‘‘They’ve nabbed some of th’ boys. I
mus’ light out o’ this in a jiffy. Give me
the money you promised for th’ job.”’

‘‘But I wasn’t to pay you. Nick——’’

‘*Nick’s caught. Lemme hev it, an’ J’ll
hand it to him.’’

‘*You can’t fool me that way. Waita
minnit and I’ll give you your part.’’

‘*An’ cheat us out o’ the res’? Not for
Joe! Hand over th’ whole wad, an’ I’ll see
th’ boys get theirs square. Quick! they are
comin’ this way.’’

‘*T an’t got it all with me,’’ expostulated
Honeycomb. ‘‘Here’s what I’ve got. Take
it and get out of the way.’’

The other bad caught him by the arm,
and holding upon him with a grip he could
not well shake off, cried, with more earnest-
ness than caution:

‘‘Give me th’ whole on’t. Quick, or Pll
call for help. It’s th’ whole hog or none
with me, an’ the devil take th’ hindermos’ !’’

Zip had heard enough for him to know the
part Honeycomb had taken in the trouble,
and without stopping to consider the cost,
he darted around_ the corner of the tent to
meet one of the officers who had just helped
to make the arrests of three of the trouble-
some party.

‘*There are two of them behind the tent,’’
said Zip. ‘‘Quick! and you can get them.”’

Signaling to one of his companions, the
ee asked Zip to point out the couple to

im.

Honeycomb had not got clear of his
precious confederate when Zip returned
upon the scene, accompanied by the officials.

‘You are my prisoner !’’ said the foremost
of the latter twain, laying his hand heavily
on the ex-ring-master’s shoulder.

‘Not by a long shot!’’ cried the latter,
breaking from the speaker’s hold, and flee-
ing for his life.

With a cry of terror, his confederate fol-
lowed his example, the precious couple
quickly disappearing into the night.

‘* After them !?? commanded Officer Burtt.
‘*Don’t let them escape, Dunn.’’

By this time the others had been aroused
by the confusion, so a dozen or more started
in pursuit of the fugitives.

Among the rest, Zip rushed upon the heels
of the pair, his light steps quickly enabling
him to outdistance the officers, though three
or four men were close beside him.

The village of Burton was small, so the
collection of houses were soon left behind,
and the ‘pursuers entered upon a sparsely
settled country road.

Confident that Honeycomb was going to
escape, and.even if he was overtaken, know-
ing he could do little or no good in effecting
his capture, Zip very sensibly concluded that
the best thing for him to do was to return
to the circus grounds, where he belonged.

Accordingly, he started back ata more
leisurely pace, soon finding himself alone.

He was approaching the village, whence
he could still hear excited cries, when a
faint entreaty for help reached his ears,
causing him to stop and listen for its repeti-
tion.

A moment later a second appeal, louder
than the first, rang out in a childish treble.

Zip uttered a low cry as he recognized
the voice.

It was Little Fairy! :

CHAPTER XIII.
THE HUMAN ROPE—A FEAT UNPARALLELED.

IP’S surprise was only equaled by his
“ desire to go to the Infant Wonder’s
rescue, but at first he was puzzled to
tell the direction whence the cry had
come.

The third supplication soon followed, when
he realized that it came from the distance
on the right, and without further delay; he
ran at the top of his speed in that direction.

After going a few rods he came to a sort
of lane, at the farther end of which he saw
the dim outlines of a covered carriage with
a horse attached.

The cry again ringing out on the night
air, he was certain it came from this
vehicle, and he sped toward it with in-
creased speed.

Now that he had got away from the glare
of the lamp-lights, Zip could see about him
quite plainly. He saw that the carriage he
was approaching was a stoutly-built affair,
evidently intended for some sort of peddling.

He noticed that the horse, which was a
strong-limbed animal, was not hitched, and
that, as he drew near, it gave a low whinny.

Beyond this he did not give the surround-
ings a second glance. Another cry caused
him to increase his speed, anda moment
later he had reached the side of the carriage.

Expecting that Little Fairy was inside the

 

covering, he sprang upon the forward end
of the wagofi body, and up to the high seat.

It Was too dark within the sheltered top
for him to see anything, but he heard some
one move, so he asked:

**Ts that you, Little Fairy?”’

A quick reply came in her voice, though
her words were not intelligible.

‘‘T have come to save you,’’ said Zip,
climbing over the back of the seat, to find
himself among a lot of rubbish, the nature
of which he could not tell.

‘‘Here!’? gasped a faint voice at the
farther end, and he heard a body move.

Zip quickly reached the spot, when his
hand rested on the helpless Little Fairy,
who gave expression to a low cry of glad-
ness.

‘* Are you bound?’’ he asked.

‘*Ye-es.”?

Zip had no knife, but it would be but the
work of a moment for him to remove the
ligatures, as he imagined.

Before he had accomplished this, however,
he heard foosteps outside, and from the
sounds he knew that some one was coming
that way ata cone pace.

Anxious to make his presence known if it
was a friend, and more anxious to know if
it was enemy, Zip started to regain the seat.

But before he could do so, the form of a
man rose in front of him, and a sharp voice
commanded the horse to be moving.

It was Honeycomb!

‘‘T must get out of this!’’ he exclaimed,
aloud. ‘‘Get up there, Tom! and don’t you
Jet any grass grow under your feet to-night.
Blue blazes! there they come!”’

In his excitenient Honeycomb had not
stopped to look around him, Even had he
done so, it is doubtful if he would have seen
Zip, who had instantly dropped down
among the various articles in the bottom of
the wagon.

Zip was at his wit’s end to know what to
do.

It was impossible for him to pass the other
without being discovered by him, and to
risk a hand-to-hand encounter with him
would. be to put himself completely in the
villain’s power.

So he kept perfectly still, hoping an oppor-
tunity would soon come when he could es-

cape.

He knew that Honeycomb was being
closely pursued, as he could hear the cries
of the party near at hand.

In fact, these outcries seemed to come
nearer and nearer, which truth puzzled him,
until he understood that Honeycomb, in
following the lane, was really approaching
them, and must until he had reached the
highway.

Perhaps he would be overtaken at the
place where the cross-way met the other.

Honeycomb evidently feared this, for he
exclaimed:

‘*If they stop me somebody is going to get
hurt. Get up, Tom!’’

A moment later the wagon lurched as if it
was going to be overturned, and then from
the louder rattling of the wheels, Zip knew
that the road had been reached.

Renewed cries from the pursuers, now
close at hand, rang on the scene, while the
fugitive plied the whip furiously upon the
horse, which was already crowded to its ut-
most speed.

Zip could hear the hoof-strokes of horses,
so he knew the pursuers were mounted.
Would they overtake the fugitive, and thus
save Little Fairy and himself from the
other’s power?

His hope began to fail him, when after a
few minutes he realized that the sounds of
the oncoming party were growing fainter.

Honeycomb’s hopes were evidently in the
ascendant, as he became less excited and
used the whip more sparingly upon the
poor overdriven animal.

‘*Let me get across the river,’’ he mut-
tered, ‘‘and I can snap my fingers at them,
the hounds!’’ Then he added, witha chuckle
of delight: ‘‘I shall be out of the State, and
they won’t have any warrant to touch me!’

Of course, Zip had no way of telling how
far they had gone, but he judged it must
have been three or four miles, when Honey-
comb stopped the horse he was driving with
an abruptness which threw the creature flat
upon the ground.

‘*Blue blazes!’’ cried the excited fugitive;
‘‘this is a purty go. Hilloa, toll-keeper!
Where on earth are you?”’

Looking cautiously up from his retreat,
Zip saw that they had reached the bridge
crossing a river of considerable size, accord-
ing to the thunder of the rushing waters,
and that their way was stopped by a barrier
across the road.

As Honeycomb’s words had indicated, it
was 4 toll-bridge, though the keeper was no-
where in sight or hearing.

Honeycomb’s horse, in its frantic struggles
to get clear, was getting woefully tangled
in its harness; but the rapid approach of
his pursuers made the fugitive forget his
horse, as he looked about for a way of escape.

‘‘That fool has balked me!’’ he groaned.
‘‘Here, you little imp, we have got to run
for it now. Where are you, Ava?’’

He was reaching back into the wagon, and
Zip knew only too well he was asking for
Little Fairy to come to him.

‘‘T an’t got any time for fooling,’’ he ex-
claimed, plunging head-first toward the ob-
ject of his search.

 

NEWS.

 

His hand caught upon Zip, who instantly
seized hold of him, resolved to resist him
the best in his power.

With his advantage, the boy acrobat for a
time held his own with the ruffian, but
superior strength soon told against him,
when he was half-dragged from his conceal-
ment, while the other exclaimed:

‘*T should like to know who in earth you
are? Why, it’s that runaway pauper!’’ as
he brought our hero into the starlight so he
could recognize him. ‘‘How came you here?
I'll fix you!’’ leveling a blow at Zip’s head.

But the young acrobat was too agile to be
hit easily, and he dodged the blow, at the
same time managing to topple Honeycomb
over backward from the wagon.

Keeping his hold on Zip, the two fell ina
heap by the roadside, not far from where the
horse was just springing to its feet, nearly
overturning the wagon in its struggles.

‘“Rollered me, did you?’’ demanded the
hunted man. ‘‘I reckon you won’t go any
farther with me,’’ and Zip felt the other’s
grasp close on his throat until his eyes
seemed to be starting from their sockets and
his head swam. ‘‘Take that!’’ adding an
oath and a blow, the latter robbing Zip of
his senses.

The next he knew there was a confusion
of sounds in his head. A body of horsemen
seemed to be riding over bim, while sharp,
piercing cries filled his ears.

In a moment he had recovered enough to
understand that some one was bending over
him and saying:

‘Are you verv much hurt, my boy?’’

‘*Is that you, Marvel?’’

‘It is none other. Where has the rascal
gone?”’

‘*He was here the last I knew—he and
Little Fairy. Oh, Marvel, she must be
saved !’’

‘Here he is!’’ shouted a voice a short dis-
tance away. ‘‘He has jumped into the river
and is swimming across.’’

It seemed that in the brief interval be-
tween the overpowering of Zip and the ar-
rival upon the scene of the pursuing party,
Honeycomb had fled with Little Fairy in his
arms. Then, unable to go very far in the
direction he had started, he was trying to
swim the stream, still carrying his captive.

Honeycomb realized that he was under-
taking a dangerous risk, but he little knew
how desperate was the chance he was taking,

‘‘Be ready to meet him as soon as be lands
on the other side,’? commanded the sheriff,
‘*He has jumped into our very hands.’’

‘‘1f he can stem the current of the stream
so as to get across,’’ said one of the specta-
tors. ‘‘Look! he is being carried down
stream as fast as he can.’’

It was light enough for those on the bank
to watch the progress of the swimmer as he
endeavored to stem the swift current of the
river.

Something of the desperate Honeycomb’s
peril may be understood when it is known
that there was a fall in the stream of nearly
twenty feet directly under the bridge. The
water, as it was drawn over the precipice,
was lashed into foam, while the roar of the
cataract was so loud that the men had to
shout to each other to be heard.

The little party seemed to haye been un-
conscious of anything in their power to
rescue the swimmer and his charge, while
they watched him with feverish interest.

‘*He is going over the falls as true as you
live!’’? cried the sheriff. ‘‘It serves him
right.’’

‘*The girl—Little Fairy !’’ exclaimed Mar-
vel. ‘‘She will be lost! We must do some-
thing to save her.’’

‘‘If we had a rope,’’ some one suggested,
but that would have been of no real avail,
and the little knot of spectators looked on
the scene with white faces.

Honeycomb now showed that he was
frightened, and once or twice his voice was
borne faintly to their ears.

He was carried swiftly toward the fatal
spot, where the white-capped waters poured
over the abyss with a power no man could
battle against.

‘They are lost!’’ declared Sheriff Burtt,
turning away as if he would shut out the
awful spectacle from his gaze.

‘*We must save her!’’ cried Marvel.

Then, seeing that Zip had risen to his
feet. he added:

‘*Rollow me, my boy.”’

Without stopping to see if the boy acrobat
obeyed, the tight-rope walker ran swiftly to
the rescue which seemed beyond human
power.

The ‘bridge was a wooden structure, with
a covering.

With light steps, Marvel rushed along the
outer edge of the upper side, Zip following
close upon his heels, while the amazed
sheriff and his posse looked on with speech-
less wonder.

Like two cats, as it seemed, the acrobats
reached the middle of the bridge, when they
descended the network of timbers forming
the support of the structure.

When Marvel paused at the lower ex-
tremity he still found himself several feet
above the angry waters.

He could see Honeycomb and his charge
almost down to the fearful brink. What was
done must be done instantly. He shouted to
Zip:
‘*Down here, and let me hold you over
the water while you pick up Little Fairy.’’

 

Without stopping to hear the last of Mar-
vel’s command, the boy acrobat descended
with lightning-like rapidity to his perilous
post.

The tight-rope walker had caught upon
the nearest bridge brace with his feet, and
dropped straight down toward the boiling
torrent, holding Zip by the ankles, so that
he almost touched the foaming flood, as it
swirled and tossed and plunged over the
awful brink.

Honeycomb, born on toward his frightful
doom with such terrible swiftness, seemed
to realize the desperate attempt made at the
rescue, for he threw up one hand, and for a
moment held Little Fairy above the surging
tide.

The next instant the current swept | them
away to the right, when, with a piercing
ery of despair, they disappeared beneath the
whirlpool of waters!

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

THE BOY CATTLE KING.
A Story of the Great Colorado Combine,

———

 

 

BY HARRY DANGERFIELD,
Author of ‘‘The Boy from the West,’’ etc.

oe

(“THE Boy CATTLE KING” was commenced in
No. 259. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents.)

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE UNMASKING OF A VILLAIN.

t WEN NORTH instantly placed him-
self between the sheriff and Don,
saying:

as ‘*Wait a bit longer, Mr. Curtis. I
told you this boy’s name is not Donald
Glyndon, and I have convinced you I spoke
the truth, for he has had it legally changed
to Donbry Kirk.’’

‘‘But, sir,’? returned Curtis, ‘‘you must
acknowledge that Mr. Seely is right in say-
ing that did not change the boy. Donald
Glyndon or Donbry Kirk, whichever he
may be called, is still Garvice Seely’s
nephew, and Garvice Seely is still his only
legal guardian.’’

‘“That’s right! that’s right!’’ modded
Seely, washing his hands in invisible water
and grinning triumphantly. ‘‘Mr. North
can’t deny it.’’

‘‘T have no intention of denying the rela-
tionship, although Donbry Kirk is not at all

roud of it, and I do not wonder; but I said

would undertake to show you that Garvice
Seely has no right of guardianship over the
boy, and that I will do.’’

The big officer looked surprised, but said:

‘*Well, go ahead; but I don’t.see how you
are going to do it.’

‘*He can’t do it—he can’t!’’ cried Seely,
excitedly.

‘*T can, and will. In the first place, I
have proof positive that the man treated
Don in a most inbuman and brutal manner
at the time when the boy was in his power
—he beat, starved and imprisoned the lad.
Such a man is not fit to be the guardian of
any boy.’’

‘*Lies!’? snarled Seely, his oily manner
instantly vanishing—‘‘all lies! All the proof
he has is what that ungrateful boy has told
him! And it’s all lies!”’

‘*You are very much mistaken, sir,’’ de-
clared Owen North, quietly, but with a sort
of grimness that struck a chill to the scoun-
drel’s heart. ‘‘I have the proof. In behalf
of Mr. Kirk I have made a rigid investiga-
tion, and I have affidavits from citizens of
Danbury, where you lived, that you treated
the boy inhumanly. The papers are here,’’
and he suddenly produced them. ‘‘They are
signed by such men as Rufus Jiles, post-
master of Danbury; William Cross, first

selectman of the town, Colonel Drake,
Isaiah Norcross, and others. Some are
vehement in denouncing you. It was be-

lieved in Danbury, after the vanishing of
your nephew, that you had driven the un-
fortunate boy to take his own life, and pub-
lic opinion was so strong against you that
you were forced to dispose of what property
you had in the place and get-out.’’

‘*Bah! bah! bah!’’ almost screamed the
accused man, in a perfect tempest of fury,
shaking his clinched fists at the lawyer. ‘‘It
is a conspiracy! But it won’t work! I deny
everything, and I will take that boy with
me, Grasp him, Mr. Curtis!’’

‘Hold on,’’ said the big sheriff, placidly.
‘*Tf these stories are lies they are not liable
to harm you, for their falsehood can be
proved, Iam interested to hear what moré
Mr. North has to say ”’

‘‘T have this to say: Donald Glyndon’s
father left a fortune of nearly one hundre
thousand dollars, which was criminally ap-
propriated by this false guardian and placed,
as he supposed, where it could never bé
found. At the same time,/he led the boy
and all who knew him, to believe that Mr-
Harvey Glyndon had died in debt, a penn
less pauper. This was deliberate robbery !
And this wretched scoundrel, this greedy
thief, this oily, hypocritical, canting creab

 

 

 

 

 

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ure, without heart or feeling, pretended he
was befriending the lad—posed as a kind
and benevolent uncle and guardian! That is
the kind of a man he is! Man! Did I call
him that? Then I owe an apology to man-
kind in general.’’

In denouncing Seely the lawyer bad un-
consciously assumed the language of the
court-room, but he was none the less sin-
cere; and his words were effective, for Seely
cowered like a whipped cur, flushing, paling,
trembling with anger and fear.

The eyes of the sheriff seemed to take in
everything. He noted the aspect of the law-
yer, the boy, and the accused man. Some-
thing like a look of disgust crept over his
face as he saw Seely cower and shrink, with
guilt written on his face.

The rascal was not crushed entirely. He
recovered, braced up, his mendacious face
assumed a look of indignation, and he cried:

‘*T’1]l make you prove those words! I am
a just and honorable man, a church member
and a Christian, and you shall pay dearly
for this blackguardism !’’

Owen North snapped his fingers.

‘“‘That is the bluff of an exposed scoun-
drel,’’ he said, with sudden calmness that
contrasted strangely with his vehemence of
a moment before. ‘‘I can prove everything
I claim. This boy put bis case into my
hands months ago, and I have been working
in his behalf ever since. I have unearthed
a piece of villainy that is disgusting and re-
pulsive.”’

Then there was a moment of silence,
broken by the muffled sound of many mut-

amid the crowd out there laughed hoarsely,
and the sound seemed to put new life into
Garvice Seely, for he snarled:

‘‘T came here to take that boy, and I’ll
take him, for all of your lies! [ have the
men to do it! They are anxious to - fight,
and we’ll lay waste this building and de-
stroy every human being in it if we are
resisted.’’

‘*Now you show your true nature,’’ ob-
served the lawyer. ‘‘The reprobate and
ruffian stands forth. You believe you have
the power to devastate and destroy, and so,
regardless of law and justice, you would
bring about a scene of carnage and blood-
shed. But Iam not done with you—I have
not told you all my detectives found out.
There is more——’”’

‘‘T refuse to hear your lies!’’

‘«Still I think I will tell you a little story
about a man falsely accused of forgery, con-
victed by evidence concocted by one he be-
lieved his friend—imprisoned and held for
the very crime that false friend committed.
His name was Felton Travers. Now you
tremble—now you cower! for you find I
know you as you are—a scoundrel, a thief,
a forger, a jail-bird!’’

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE FEARS OF A GUILTY CONSCIENCE.

WEN NORTH had not wasted his
ammunition, and that his final shot
struck home was plainly evident, for

“<A” Garvice Seely’s legs seemed to melt
beneath him, and’ he sank limply into a
chair, his face drawn, his eyes staring,
gasping for breath. A great fear seized
upon him, for his past sins and long buried
crimes seemed rising before him in all their
accusing blackness, summoned from their
concealment by the necromancy of the law-
yer. A cold sweat started out on his fore-
head, and the hand that he lifted to his face
shook like that of an aged man, for all of
his mighty effort to control his shattered
nerves. d

Owen North saw he had triumphed, but
he resolved not to let the man recover till
the last crushing stroke had been adminis-
tered. He bowed, with a strange smile on
his face, saying:

‘‘Now, Mr. Garvice Seely, if you see fit
to take away this boy by force you are at
liberty to do so. It will be your last move
in a career of crime—your last move, for
another day shall see you under arrest.’’

Seely opened his mouth to say something,
but his tongue was dry and stiff, and no
sound came from his blue lips. His heart,
that had been thumping loudly in his breast
a few moments before, now. seemed to lay

- cold and still like a dead thing.

‘“You have made some
charges, Mr. North,’’? said the sheriff,
gravely. ‘‘I presume you are sure of your
position—you can sustain them all?’’

‘*My dear Curtis,’? was the cool reply,
‘vou know a little something about me.
Am I in the habit of making charges I can-
Not sustain?’’

‘*Well, hardly. But how do you happen to
know about this Felton Travers and the
forgery???

‘For some years Felton Travers lived in
this part of the country, where he was

hown as Enos Dingle.’’

‘*Dingle the sheep-herder?’’

‘*Yes. By chamce Dingle befriended my
Ward, and, when he died, he left everything
he owned and had acquired to Don. The
Only condition was that the boy should in-
vestigate the forgery and do his best to
Clear Felton Travers’ name of the stain
upon it. Don came to me and told me the
Story as he had heard it from the dying
man’s lips. I was instructed to investigate

very serious

Some one |

 

the matter, regardless of cost, and I have|

followed my instructions. I employed de-
tectives, and they have spent months in get-
ting at the truth. At last they have all the
evidence needed to complete the case against
Mr. Garvice Seely.’’

‘*And you intend to push it through?’

‘*Certainly I do.’’

Mark Curtis turned to the man with whom
he had entered the house.

‘*Well, Mr. Seely, what are your instruc-
tions?’’

The pale-faced man roused himself with |

an effort, clearing his throat raspingly.
‘*My instructions?’’ he repeated, in an un-

natural voice. ‘‘Oh, yes—1 suppose—well—

perhaps this matter may be compromised. ’’

‘*Compromised?’’ said Owen North, with |

apparent eagerness, as if ready to grasp at
such terms. ‘‘What do you mean? Make it
clear to us, Mr. Seely.’’

Still the EHasterner hesitated, as if he
knew not just how to approach the matter.
He saw their eyes were on him, and he sud-
dexnly blurted forth:

‘‘Why, it’s like this: I am the legal
guardian of this boy, and I have brought
the force to take him, Of course I can do it
—you know that. Now, if I agree to go
away and let him alone—agree to relinquish
all claim upon him, have I your assurance
that this other matter will be dropped?’’

‘*Please be a little clearer, Mr. Seely.
What other matter do you mean?’’

‘‘Why, this matter of Felton Travers.
You say the man is dead. What’s the good
of digging up that old affair? As for the
boy, his father left a little something, which
it has always been my intention to give him
when he came of ‘age. I will see that he has
it all now—lI will deal justly with him in
ease this Travers affair is not stirred up.’’

The lawyer turned to Don, asking:

‘*What do you say to that?’’

‘Pll make no compromise with that
man,’’ was the immediate answer. ‘‘I gave
my word to Felton Travers as he was dying
—I promised to clear his name of the stain
upon it, and I will doso if it is within my
power, no matter what it may cost me.’’

‘*You have your answer!’’ cried North,
wheeling fiercely on Seely. ‘‘It is the an-
swer I should expect from such a boy. You
have. let the mask slip from your face, ex-
posing your true character in all its hideous
repulsiveness, By offering to compromise on
such terms you have openly confessed your
guilt. Compromise! Not much! Now what
do you propose to do?’’

Seely got upon his feet, giving the boy a
look of deepest hatred, as he muttered:

‘“You, you—I owe it all to you! I won’t
forget you! Oh, no—I won’t forget!’’

Then, overcome by a sudden terror, he
almost screamed :

‘*Let me out! Let me out! Don’t you dare
try to stop me! I’llstrangle the man who
tries to put a hand on me! You can’t arrest
me here—you can’t arrest me now! Open
this window—let me out, I say !’’

He rushed at the window by which he had
entered, tearing at the heavy bolts with his
quivering fingers, his rasping breathing fill-
ing the room. The horror of arrest and im-
prisonment was on him, and he fancied the
hand of justice hung ready to fall and
fasten to him with an iron grip.

Owen North made a signal to the man
nearest the window, and that man shot back
the bolts, flinging open the shutter. In his
frantic haste, Seely fell out headlong, and
then he went scrambling on his hands and
knees across the veranda, pulled himself up
by the rail, stumbled down the steps and
ran blindly into the midst of the horsemen.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
A TURN IN FORTUNE’S WHEEL.

HAT settles this matter,’’ said the

E sheriff, with an expression of scorn

and disgust on his face. ‘‘That man

is a contemptible coward, as well as a

villain. Let me congratulate you on es-
caping from his power, young man.’?

Curtis extended a hand, and Don grasped
it readily.

‘*T scarcely fancied you would support
him when you found out what kind of a
creature he really is,’’ declared Owen
North.

‘‘Support him??? exclaimed the officer.
“Td like no better job than to put him
under arrest. Just let me attend to that
when the time comes, will you, North?’’

‘‘T presume Mr. Kirk will have no objeg-
tions.’ ‘

‘¢None in the world,’’ assured Don.

‘And you had better work lively if you
want to catch him,’’ advised Curtis. ‘‘If
you don’t, you may not be able to find him
when you want him.”’

‘¢You think—just what?’’

‘*From the way he scrambled to get out
of this house he is scared bad enough to
staf running and never stop until he has
crossed the Canadian or Mexican line.’’

“‘T scarcely think he will run away for a
day or two,’’ said North. ‘‘The greater part
of his money is in cattle and real estate,
and he’ll try to realize from the property
before he skips out. He is too greedy and
grasping to abandon the fortune for which
he has stained himself so deeply with
crime.’’

‘*Well, you may be right,’’ admitted the

GoonDp

 

NEWS.

4315

 

 

sheriff; ‘‘but his kind take odd freaks some-
times. Ill git now.”’

He shook hands with Owen North, bade
them good-day, and then stepped out by the
window. Down to the waiting horsemen he
went, spoke a few words to them, where-
upon they seemed much _ disappointed,
mounted his animal, and led the party
away.

‘*Well, that is what 1 call a close shave,”’
said Owen North, as he and Don watched
the retreating horsemen. ‘‘It looked as if
there would be bloodshed, and I took the
only means to avoid it.’’

‘*But you made Garvice Seely aware of
his own peril.’

“‘T had to. It was the only way to avoid
a fight.’’

‘*That is true, and J must thank you for
your skill in putting the matter before him
so it would prove effective. You nearly
frightened the wretch to death.’’

‘*T intended to scare him if he could be
frightened in such a manner. But row he
is warned of his danger, he will make
preparations fer what is coming. No time
must be lost in getting out a warrant and
arresting him. A cousin of Travers—the
nearest relative I could discover—is on his
way to Denver now, and he will prosecute.
I must be in the city to meet him, and I
will get back there without delay.’’

An hour later the lawyer took his de-
parture, and Don was left to think over and
speculate on the events that had just taken
place. At last he felt that he was free from
Garvice Seely forever, and he need no
longer fear the man who had been his
greatest enemy in life.

‘‘If I eould dispose of the Cattlemen’s
Combine as easily as I have shaken off Gar-
vice Seely this day, I might be well satisfied
with what I have accomplished since coming
West,’’ he thought. ‘‘But my struggle with
the Combine is not over. Warren Beau-
champ and his son are still my bitter
enemies, and they will neglect no oppor-
tunity to strike me. I must be constantly
on my guard.’’

Little did he expect what was soon to fol-
low. On the second day after Seely’s visit
to South Fork Ranch a messenger brought
a sealed letter to Don: The boy started
when he saw the handwriting on the en-
velope.

‘“It is from Garvice Seely !’’ he exclaimed.
‘*T wonder what he has written to me?”’

The envelope was a long, legal-looking
affair. Don hastily tore it open and drew
forth its contents. There was a legal look
about the principal document contained in
the envelope, and the young rancher gave a
start of astonishment as he read these words:

‘(Last WILL AND TESTAMENT. OF GARVICE
SEELY.’?’

As he excitedly opened the document, a
note fluttered out. Picking it up, he read
as follows:

 

‘‘My DgAR NErHEW:-~Inclosed will, as
you will find, leaves everything I possessed
to you, to whom the property rightfully be-
longs. It is true that your father left nearly
one hundred thousand dollars, and it is also
true that I criminally appropriated it with
the intention that you should never receive
a dollar of it all. Itis also true that I
forged the draft that caused Felton Travers
to be arrested and imprisoned, and I sup-
plied the evidence against him. The sum of
the draft was ten thousand dollars. Out of
the property I leave to you, you can make
such restitution to Travers’ relatives as you
see fit. I can no longer escape the conse-
quences of my criminal acts, and the world
has seen the last of Garvice Seely. From
this day I am a dead man. It will be useless
to look for my body, as it can only be found
at the bottom of the quicksands at Black
Hole. Farewell. I do not suppose it is pos-
sible for you to ever think of me kindly,
but, for all of anything I have done in the
past, you must acknowledge my last act on
earth was not that of a scoundrel.

‘‘GARVICE SEELY.?’

That was all. An inspection of the will
showed Don the man had actually left him
Three Star Ranch and a large sum of money
that was banked at Denver.

No wonder the boy was astonished and
excited. White Spring was the nearest post-
office. He resolved to ride thither without
delay and send word to Owen North. He
was burning with a sort of fever, and he
felt that a dash across the open plain would
allay the throbbing in his blood.

In a short time Don was mounted on his
favorite horse and dashing away, taking no
companion with him. The shortest cut to
White Spring took himvacross Warren Beau-
champ’s land. It was necessary to cut the
top strand of the wire fence, but this he did
not hesitate to do, as he could send out a
man to repair it on his return.

Not far from sunset he was riding within
half a mile of the wretched dug-out where
he had spent his first dreary night after
being beaten so cruelly by Aubry Beau-
champ. His thoughts went back to that
time, and a sort of wild exultation possessed
him as he contemplated the change in his
condition since then.

Suddenly up out of the grass before his
horse something rose, causing the animal to

 

stop and start backward with a snort of
alarm.’ The slanting rays of the sun fell on

 

the face of a human being, frightfully
flushed. A pair of wild, despairing eyes
looked up at Don, and a moaning voice
called :

‘‘Water! water! I am dying for water!”

**Aubry Beauchamp!’’ shouted the lad on
the horse, astounded. ‘‘Is it possible? What
is the matter with you?”’

“‘'m dying!’’ was the reply. ‘‘I can’t
expect anything from you, Kirk. Oh, fora
drink of water—a swallow—a drop!”’

‘“*How came you here? What is the mat-
ter?’?

Don prepared to dismount.

*“Don’t come near me!’’ Aubry suddenly
shrieked. ‘‘If you do you will die too! T
have smallpox !”’

One moment Don Kirk shrank back, shud-
dering with horror; the next moment he
was off his horse and kneeling by Aubry
Beauchamp’s side!

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

—_—~>_ +» _____
[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.]

JUNGLES AND TRAITORS:
The Wild bnimal Trappers of India,

BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON,
Author of “The White King of Africa,” ‘The
Camp in the Snow,” “From Lake to
Wilderness,” ete.
j“JUNGLES AND TRAITORS” was commenced in

No. 261. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents, }

eee

CHAPTER XXVIII.
OLD UGLY AND THE PANTHER.

KAS LMOST before Marco rolled off the
back of the rhinoceros to the deck
his companions on batch and cabin
were shouting confused orders to
him. More than one rifle was pointed at the

 
 

| brute, but no one pulled trigger.

The lad sprang to his feet with a nimble-
ness that showed him to be uninjured. He
turned and made for the hatch. Old Ugly
turned as quickly, in a fine rage, and the
brief race that followed was nip and tuck.

The snorting of the beast magnified the
danger to Marco’s ears. He leaped upon the
hatch in such eager haste that he could not
check himself. He stumbled over Jafar’s
crouching figure, missed Matlock’s out-
stretched hand, and plunged head-first into
the yawning depths of the hold.

There was_a_ simultaneous cry of horror
from all. Old Ugly stopped short, evidently
not knowing what to make of it.

But Marco had happily alighted upon a
bale of grass-fodder.

‘*Don’t worry,’’ he called up to his com-
panions. ‘‘I’m not hurt a bit.’’

‘*Be careful, lad,’’ replied Matlock. ‘‘It’s
not safe to venture out now. Wait until the
brute goes to the rear-deck.’’

‘We had better end the siege with a rifle
ball,’’ exclaimed Hofstein. ‘Things are get-
ting serious.

‘“‘Stop—no you don’t,’’? he added, as he
caught Gooloo Singh’s arm.

The Hindoo wanted to join the lad in the
hold, and it was with extreme difficulty
that Hofstein induced him to abandon the
rash intention.

Indeed, it would have been simple suicide,
for Old Ugly was now prancing between
hatch and cabin, alternately butting them
with his horn.

Meanwhile Marco seized the opportunity
to look about him. It wasa scary place,
and he naturally felt rather nervous and
timid.

The animals in the surrounding cages were
uttering all sorts of rasping cries. The bul-
locks. were partitioned off by themselves.
Many of them were loose in the pen, and al]
were bellowing loudly.

Marco’s eyes had scarcely gained power
to penetrate the gloom when he stepped on
something soft, and was greeted with a
ferocious yell.

He sprang clear off his feet, horribly
scared. Then he laughed as the little tiger-
cat, still tangled in the net, rolled away
from him, snarling and spitting.

‘Say, lad,’’ called out Matlock, ‘‘1’m
coming down. I want to see if we can’t
block the entrance to the hold. If Old Ugly
gets in there again he’ll play the very
devil.’’

‘‘We might do it,’’ replied Marco.
‘‘There’s' an empty cage here, and some
stout planks.”’

Matlock lowered himself over the edge of
the hatch, and dropped lightly beside the
lad. Had they started the proposed under-
taking at once they would probably have
spared themselves some very troublesome
times.

But their attention was drawn to the
tiger-cat, and by the aid of a strip of can-
vas, they grabbed the little beast at both
ends, and dumped it into its cage. The
latter was hastily made secure by nailing a
couple of planks over it.

Meanwhile Old Ugly had been prowling
about the fore-deck in a very sullen humor,
which found vent in occasional attacks on
the hatch and cabin.

™®

oe
We

SIA REPRE EERIE Mt ~

  
   
   
     
    
   
     
    
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
   
   
    
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
     
 
  
    
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
     
   
   
     
  
   
  
 
    
    
   
   
   
     
   
   
    
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
   
  
 
   
    
    
    
   
  
  
   
  
   

      

    
 

 
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
    
    
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
 
   
   
    
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
   
   
   
    
  
   
   
   
   
      
  
  
   
   
   
    
  
     
   
  
   
  
  
    
   
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

 

   
      
   
  
   
  
   
 

    

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4516

Suddenly it occurred to his wicked mind

to investigate the noises in the hold, and off | thought of something.

he went in that direction.

‘*Hold on!’’ exclaimed Marco. ‘‘I’ve just
Perhaps I can save
him for you, and put an end to thé siege.

Knowing that his friends were in deadly | There’s shallow water all around us, you

peril, Hofstein took a hasty shot.
to kill, but the bullet merely grazed Old
Ugly’s fore-shoulder, and threw him into a
terrible rage.

The report of the rifle and the clamor of

their companions gave Matlock and Marco |

all too brief a warning of what was wrong.
The next instant the rhinoceros came pound-
ing down the plankway into the hold, with
passion in his glittering little eyes.

‘‘Dodge him,’’ yelled Marco.
one side.’’

“This way, lad,’’ Matlock shouted.

He clambered upon the empty cage—which
was conveniently near—and hauled Marco
up beside him.

Crash! came Old Ugly’s horny snout, and
the cage reeled under the shock.

The fugitives sprang quickly to the ad-
joining cage, in which was confined a huge
black panther. Fortunately the edge of the
hold was now within reach overhead, and
with a little dexterity they reached the
deck.

* The escape of his intended victims turned
Old Ugly’s rage in another direction. With

. ashrill snort he charged with tremendous

force at the black panther’s cage.

Thump! thump! down fell the cage from
its wheeled truck. For an instant the noise
of splitting timbers and blood-curdling yells
was deafening. Old Ugly’s snort of triumph
rose above it all.

Then the black panther leaped cléar out
of the hold at the rear end. He struck the
deck just as the five sweep-men, who had
profited by Old Ugly’s absence to seek more
comfortable shelter, rushed forward with
Marco and Matlock.

Tho two latter, with three of the sweep-
men, took refuge on. the roof of the cabin.
The others climbed the already overcrowded
hatch.

The next act in this impromptu drama
was destined to be an intensely thrilling one.

The panther was now squatting on deck
mid-way between hatch and cabin. He
was in a frightful rage, and that meant
considerable for a beast of his muscular,
squat dimensions.

His restless tail thumped the hard boards,
and he turned his flaming eyes from side to
side as though debating where to attack.

‘*T value that fellow more than the rhi-
noceros,’’ said Hofstein, ‘‘but I’m afraid
we'll have to shoot him. He’ll likely jump
among the men on the hatch.”’

‘‘Wait—don’t fire yet,’’ exclaimed Mat-
lock. ‘‘Let’s try the net first. We have one
up here.’’

He rose to his feet, and Hofstein did the
same. They took the net between them, and
hastily gathered the ends in their hands.

But just when they were ready to make |

the throw a pounding and snorting was
heard, and Old Ugly galloped on the scene.

The battle opened without a second’s de-
lay. The rhinoceros grunted viciously, and
charged. The panther sprang to one side
with a rasping cry, and Old Ugly’s head
struck only the side of the cabin.

The larger animal made three more
charges in quick succession, all equally
futile. He was now boiling over with wrath.

The panther was just as mad, and showed
no desire to retreat. In cunning and agility
he was far more than a match for his
enemy. He crept around and around the
rhinoceros, dodging charge after charge.

Then the opportunity came, and it found |
| while re kept the ropes drawn taut the
e

the panther ready. He flashed through the
air, and landed on Old Ugly’shind quarters.
With his sharp claws he drew blood from
the tough hide.

The big brute plunged and pranced, and
snorted with rage and pain. All at once the
panther lost his hold, and slipped to the
deck.

He was quickly out of reach of his enemy,
and for several minutes the drawn game
went on—the rhinoceros charging and the
panther dodging.

The spectators looked eagerly on, indiffer-
ent to all else but the thrilling and fasci-
nating sight before their eyes.

But the end was very near. By a switter
rush than usual, Old Ugly drove his enemy
against the cabin. Thus cornered, the pan-
ther escaped impalement by leaping fairly
on the head and neck of the rhinoceros.

There was an instant of fearful squealing
and grunting, and struggling. Red drops
trickled down on the planks. ‘

Then, by a vigorous effort, Old Ugly
shook his assailant off. The panther struck
the deck with a thump, rolled over twice,
and plunged tail first down the open trap
leading to the store-room.

A couple of wailing cries were followed
by silence. Either the beast was injured, or
he had no inclination to renew the fight.

Qld Ugly stared about him, evidently
puzzled by the unlooked for disappearance of
his enemy. Then it seemed to dawn upon
him that he wasa victor. Anxious for more
conquests, he shook his clumsy body, spat-
tering the deck with drops of blood, and
anes slowly toward the entrance of the
hold.

‘‘Good gracious! that will never do,’’
cried Matlock. ‘‘He will smash every cage
we’ve got. I must kill the rascal.’’

He lifted his rifle and took careful aim.

He aimed | know.

|
|
|

|

 

|

|
|

 

|

|

 

Wait, I’ll show you.’’
Before his companions could check him
ihe lad dropped lightly down from the

cabin-roof. Snatching the door, which hung |

by one hinge to the shattered frame, he
dropped it over the trap leading to the
store-room, thus safely imprisoning the
panther.

Then, paying no heed to the entreaties of
his companions that he should return, he

‘‘Jump to} dashed after the rhinoceros, who was just |

turning down the plankway to the hold.

At a distance of ten feet he stopped short.
He shouted, and waved his hands.

Old Ugly changed his mind at sight of the
daring lad. He wheeled about, and charged
with an angry snort.

Marco turned, and ran like an arrow to
the extreme end of the fore-deck. Then,
within a foot of the rail, he faced his pur-
suer, who was lunging straight forward.

A simultaneous cry of horror went up
from the spectators on the hatch and cabin.

But Marco had all his wits about him. He
had never been more cool and collected in
his life. He knew just what he was doing.

When the rhinoceros was only five feet |

away the lad jumped nimbly to one side.
The daring ruse was a perfect success. Old
Ugly could more easily have taken wings

and flown than checked his mad rush at such |

short range. With adismal snort, he smashed
into the rail, swept it aside like an egg-shell,
and went plunging down to the murky
waters of the Bramahputra.

The tremendous splash that followed fairly
shook the barge.

CHAPTER XXIX.
AN ANXIOUS CONSULTATION.

   

HERE,”’ cried Marco, with pardonable
pride, ‘‘1 thought I could do it.’’

His companions came leaping down
words of

\ J
ue
(A). : ;
7 from cabin and hatch with
warm praise and congratulation.
**“VYou have ended the siege,’’ declared
Hofstein.

‘*And came pretty near ending yourself,’’
added Matlock. ‘‘It was a most daring
thing to do.”’

** All’s well that ends well,’’? said Marco,
laughing. ‘‘And now for the rhinoceros. We
don’t want to lose him.’’

Everybody crowded to the rail and looked
down. In the dim light they could see Old
Ugly swimming clumsily toward the shore.
He was grunting and splashing, and seemed
in no wise injured by the fall.

Ata distance of ten feet from the bow of
the barge he struck shallow water, and be-
gan to wade slowly.

‘*Tf we are quick we'll get him,’’ cried
Matlock. ‘‘Launch those two boats. Lively,
men; there’s no time to lose.’’

The boats were hastily lowered, and a
crew of six dropped into each. Matlock and
Hofstein were in charge of one, and Marco
and Gooloo Singh of the other. Both parties
had an ample supply of ropes.

By the aid of lanterns the two boats were
pulled into position at an equal distance of
eight feet above and below the rhinoceros,
and in a very short. time the brute was
securely lassoed from both directions.

The cold bath seemed to have cowed him,
and he submitted to capture very gracefully.

Three natives from each craft now
jumped out into the shallow water, and

boats pulled back to the barge.

The entrance to the hold, luckily, faced
the ‘shore, and the gangway—which was
more than ordinarily long and heavy—was
lowered from in front of it. Three of the
heaviest sweep-men climbed partly down,
so that the lower end rested on the bottom
of the river.

While this was being done under Mat-
lock’s supervision, Hofstein and Marco
hastily repaired Old Ugly’s cage, and
wheeled it into the required position.

The next step proved less difficult than
was anticipated. The six men in the river
wheeled Old Ugly around, and dragged him
toward the barge. His clumsy body was
cleverly guided onto the gangway, and
thence up to the deck.

Several minutes later the vicious brute—
now as gentle asa lamb—was safe behind
the bars of bis cage.

‘The worst is over,’’ exclaimed Matlock,
in a tone of great relief. ‘‘The panther
comes next.’’

He gave orders to prepare nets and ropes,
and heat. irons.

‘‘The animal’s cage is too badly smashed
for use,’’ said Marco.

‘““Then we'll take the empty one,’’ re-

'| plied Hofstein.

When the necessary preparations were
completed, the door was lifted off the trap,
and the panther was seen crouching at the
foot of the ladder.

Jafar instantly cast a noosed rope about
the animal’s neck, and a dozen strong arms
pulled him to the deck, where he was
quickly netted.

The hot irons were not required, since the
panther was. too nearly suffocated to make
much of a struggle. He was easily dragged
into his cage and locked up. ‘

CHOOT

NEWS.

 

| Then the work of restoring the barge to
| ship-shape condition again was rapidly pro-
ceeded with. The natives tossed the mangled
body of the tiger-cat into the river, and
scrubbed the desk.

Marco and Gooloo Singh repaired the gate
| leading to the hold, and put a new rail on
the fore-end of the barge.

Matlock and Hofstein tinkered at the
badly-shattered cabin, and succeeded in
making it look quite respectable.

Morning dawned shortly after the tired
men ceased work. However, not a craft of
any kind was in sight up or down the river.

Matlock lost his temper at the prospect of
further delay, and used some language
which very likely made the absent Garcia’s
ears burn.
| But at the moment when the situation
| looked blackest an unexpected piece of good

fortune changed gloom to rejoicing.

The murky waters of the Bramahputra
assumed a deeper yellow tinge, and the
current was seen to flow more swiftly.

| Owing to the sudden swelling of its tribu-
tary mountain streams—which was a com-
; mon occurrence at this time of the year—
the river was on the rise.

| ‘Hurrah! we’ll soon be free,’’ cried Mat-
|lock. ‘‘*This is rare good luck.”’

‘Don’t be too sure,’’ replied Hofstein.
‘*The flood may not rise high enough to lift
us off.’’

‘‘The sahibs need have no fear,’’ confi-
dently declared Gooloo Singh. ‘‘I know the
signs. This is only the beginning.’’

The Hindoo’s prophecy was _ verified.
Higher and higher crept the yellow waters.
Their rise could be plainly noted on the
sides of the barge and along the jungle-clad
shore.

An hour after daylight the barge began
‘to creak and tremble, and a minute or two
later it slid off the bottom with a crunching
| noise, and drifted rapidly down stream.

Amid the glad confusion and cheering
Matlock’s voice rang out distinctly in rapid
words of command.

The sweep-men hurried to the oar-blades,
and worked with a hearty zest. They swung
the Assam Tiger clear around, and soon had
it well out on the broad bosom of the
Bramahputra.

Then breakfast was prepared for the
hungry men, and the bullocks and beasts
were fed and watered.

Gooloo Singh assumed the duties of pilot,
and mounted the bridge where Gunga Ra
had planned his diabolical treachery.

But there was little need for such a post
now. Theriver was broad and deep, and
passing vessels were very infrequent.

Long before noon Rangamati hove in
sight, and the barge was moored at one of
the town wharves. This, it will be remem-
bered, was the place to which Matlock and
his companions had come by rail, and where
they had commenced their water journey to
Goalpara.

Matlock and Hofstein went into the town,
and after purchasing a quantity of supplies,
and ordering them to be sent to the barge,
they visited the police authorities and
warned them to be on the lookout for Garcia.

The English inspector promised to do all
in his power. He expressed the opinion that
the ruffian would make his way to Ranga-
mati, and try to get down country by rail.

By two o’clock in the afternoon the Assam
Tiger was once more adrift. Before evening
it passed the right-angular bend of the
Bramahputra, and was borne due south on
the swollen yellow flood.

For a week there was little to break the
monotony of the journey, save passing
steamers, and the tie-ups at night along
shore. Gooloo Singh shared the duties of
pilot with his companions, who quickly
‘learned the ropes.”’

This part of the Bramahputra was wild
and lonely. In a distance of one hundred
miles there were only one or two squalid
settlements of half-savage people.

Meanwhile the river had been growing
wider and wider, and on the sixth day thé
barge entered that lower portion of the
stream which assumes a different name, and
is called the Megua.

Here, in the increased current, much
better speed was made. Instead of tying up
at night, the Assam Tiger boldly pursued
her course, displaying an ‘abundance of
warning lights fore and aft.

On the ninth day after leaving Goalpara,
the barge was drifting down mid-stream.
The Megua was now fully twenty miles
broad, and the shores to right and left, each
ten miles away, were but dimly visible.

Here and there on the waste of waters
was the white sail of a budgerow, or the
smoking funnel of a steamer.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and
on the fore-deck sat Matlock and three com-
panions.' For the time being no pilot occu-
pied the bridge.

Matlock held a well-thumbed chart in his
hand, and it was evident that a consultation
of a serious nature had been taking place.
A greater or less degree of perplexity was
marked on every countenance.

‘‘As I understand it, then,’’ said Hof-
stein, ‘‘we are now only forty miles from
the Bay of Bengal, and that forty-mile
stretch is attended with a certain amount of
danger.’’

‘*Danger unless we are taken in tow by a
steamer,’’ added Marco.

 

 

‘‘Exactly,’’ replied Matlock. ‘‘We shall
need the steamer anyhow, since there is a
sea voyage before us of nearly two hundred
miles, from the mouth of the Megua to
Calcutta. I confess I did not calculate upon
needing it so soon.’’

‘*But you will, sahibs,’? declared Gooloo
Singh. ‘‘Ido not warn you idly. I know
something of this lower part of the river.
Storms are frequent, and a very bad one
will wreck the barge upon the shore, or
drive it far out into the bay, where tremen-
dous waves will make an end of it.”’

‘*It is hard to believe in storms under such
a sky,’’ said Marco.

‘*And yet I can feel in my bones that one
is coming,’’ replied the Hindoo. ‘‘The air
tells of it—this perfect calm. And look,
sahibs, not a vessel is in sight. The native
pilots are wise, and nbte the signs ”’

‘*Then we will make for the lett/shore at
once,’’ said Matlock, decidedly, ‘‘and find a
safe harbor where we can lie in wait for one
of the tug-steamers that come up from the
bay.’

‘*Tt will require hours to swing across ten
miles of current,’? muttered Hofstein.
‘*Can wo beat the storm?’’

‘‘Who knows, sahib?’’ replied Gooloo
Singh as he strode to the rear-deck to give
the necessary orders to the sweep-men.

A moment later he was perched aloft on
the bridge.

CHAPTER XXX.

SWEPT AWAY.
ae T was, as Hofstein had said, a most
if laborious task to propel such a clumsy

craft as the Assam Tiger diagonally

across a ten-mile stretch of rapidly
flowing water—for the current of the Bra-
mahputra had grown much more swift in
the past few days.

The barge slipped down stream two. miles
for every half-mile that was gained in the
direction of shore. Moreover, the river
seemed to be constantly widening as it drew
near the Bay of Bengal.

Four o’clock found the great expanse of
water still deserted. There was a shudder-
ing calm in the air, and the sun was fear-
fully oppressive—even under the awnings.

An hour later the distant shores were en-
veloped in a murky, pearl-colored haze.
The sky had a strange, weird look that was
reflected on the surface of the river.

That these signs meant something terrible
could no longer be doubted. Down in the
hold the bullocks lowed hoarsely, and the
wild animals uttered restless cries,

The sweep-men jabbered ominously to one
another as they shuffled to and fro at their
work. Gooloo Singh sat on the bridge like
a piece of bronze statuary. He rarely moved
except to glance up at the sky.

Matlock and his companions anxiously
paced the deck. There was nothing for them
to do but watch and wait. They realized the
helplessness of the situation.

Just at sunset the great change came—so
swiftly and violently as to strike terror to
every heart. A purple darkness blotted out
the shores and the sky overhead, and strode
rapidly over the water from all directions.

The gloom of midnight fell on the barge,
and the very lanterns seemed to shed a
bluish light.

There was a brief moment or two of this
condition, and then a pelting shower of rain
fell, mingled with flashes of forked light
ning. :

‘“The wind will be next, sahibs,’’ Gooloo

Singh shouted down from the bridge.
‘*Make ready for it.’’

So Matlock collected all hands except
the relay of men at the sweeps, and led
them into the hold. They hurriedly lifted
all the cages off the trucks, and arranged
them as securely as possible.

Then they came upon deck, and fastened
all the hatch-covers down, and stretched
oil-skins over the entrance of the hold to
keep the water out.

‘*Where are we?’’ exclaimed Matlock,
trying to peek into the gloom.

‘Half a dozen miles from shore at the
least,’’ replied Hofstein. ‘‘We can’t make
it. We must trust to——’’ ‘

The rest of the sentence was drowned in
an awful roar, and that quickly the hurri-
cane struck the barge.

At the first blast those on the fore-deck
threw themselves flat, to prevent being
blown away. Gooloo Singh, who had lingered
too long on his perch, made a quick jump,
and landed on the hatches just as the ruins
of the bridge clattered about his ears.

He gained the deck, and crawled over to
Matlock and his companions.

“Stick fast, sahibs!’’ he shouted. ‘‘It is
an awful storm. One of the sweep-men was
blown overboard. I saw him by a flash of
lightning.’’

This news was received with less horror
than it would have been under other cir-
cumstances. The barge was now pitching an
reeling dizzily, and great waves were slap-
ping its sides.

| It was a fearful thing to lie there on the
exposed deck, and listen to the creaking;
whistling fury of the destructive gale.

Rip! rip! Away went the . awnings;
ae aloft like so many huge flapping

irds.

Bang! jingle! One by one the lantern§

 

 

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led
fted
ged

ned
‘hed
1 to

ock,

the
jake

d in
rs

deck
eing
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imp,
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picmin D> ie

flash lit up the scene.

were blown into the river, or dashed to
fragments on the deck. Nota light was
left. Inthe purple gloom the outlines of
hold and rail could be faintly seen.

The rain had ceased, but the lightning
flashed an accompaniment to the wailing of
the hurricane.

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash,
and the cabin, rent to fragments, vanished
from the deck, carrying a section of the
rail with it.

The cook had foolishly taken refuge there,
and his agonized face was visible for a brief
instant in a glare of lightning. Then he
disappeared forever.

Matlock uttered a loud cry, and warned
his companions not to move. He could
scarcely be heard, for the roar of the tem-
pest. was mingled with a hubbub of shrill
noises from the poor beasts confined in the
hold.

‘Surely this can’t last long,’’
Hofstein.

‘*No, sahibs,’’ shouted the Hindoo, ‘‘these
storms are seldom of great duration. But
the worst peril is yet to come. The river
will be lashed into mighty waves. They
will rise higher and higher, and may sweep
over the barge.”’

‘:That’s a pleasant prospect,’’ cried Mat-
lock. ‘*There are life-preservers in the
store-room. We ought to have them.’’

He started to crawl forwafd, but Marco,
who was nearest the trap, stopped him.

‘‘Stay where you are,’’ he shouted. ‘‘I’ll
get them.’’

The plucky lad crept to the ladder, and
the moment he was below deck and out of
the gale, the feeling of relief was tremen-
dous.

He quickly found the life preservers, and
after putting one on himself, he carried
three loads up the ladder and threw them to
his companions.

Then be crawled back to his place beside
Gooloo Singn.

For a few minutes the hurricane increased
in violence, and the two boats were blown
off the deck.

Finally the wind abated a little. Matlock
loaded himself with life preservers, and
crept from one end of the deck to the other,
distributing them to the scattered crew.

‘*Tt looks as though the worst was over,’’
he said, when he came back. ‘‘We have lost
two men—the cook and one of the sweep-
fellows. We can’t do any more steering,
though. Both the sweeps are gone.’’

‘*That don’t matter much,’’ replied Hof-
stein. ‘‘It is all the better that we are far
from shore. The main thing now is to
weather the waves.’’

‘*T hope we can do it,’’ resumed Matlock.
‘‘Tt would be terrible to lose another con-
voy of animals. Lut the Assam Tiger is a
stanch craft. I think we’ll pull through.’’

Gooloo Singh said nothing, but the ex-
pression of his face showed that he was far
from sharing the confidence of his com-
panions.

During the next hour the wind fell more
and more, while the violence of the river
increased in the same ratio. The barge
plunged and careened in every conceivable
direction.

Matlock and his companions made _ their
way to the hold, and clung in an upright
position to the raised end. At every flash of
lightning they could see the dusky figures of
the crew standing in similar attitudes all
along the hatches.

Once a shrill whistle and a puffing noise
were heard close by. Some vessel was in thé
vicinity, but nothing could be seen of it
through the inky darkness.

Several minutes of dreadful suspense fol-
lowed. All waited and listened for the
deadly collision that they feared. At Mat-
lock’s suggestion they shouted half a dozen
times.

But the crash did not come, and after a
while the whistle was heard faintly at a
great distance.

The chances ngw looked far brighter, but
the calm proved to be only a forerunner of
the dangers that Gooloo Singh had pre-
dicted.

The gale increased, and cyclonic winds
shrieked on all sides, spinning the barge
about in half circles. The waves rose
higher, and their white tips broke over the
deck in swirling pools of foam.

Then drenching torrents of rain pattered
down, and forked lightning blazed over the
inky sky.

Nor had the storm yet reached its limit.
Each ravenous wave was larger and more
violent than the last. Every now and then a
sharp snapping noise told that the rail was
going piecemeal.

Water rolled over the deck, and dropped
sullenly down into hold and store-room.
The figures clinging to the hatches were
knee-deep half the time. The spray con-
tinually slapped them in the faces with
stinging force.

Suddenly the fore-end of the barge rose
high up, and at the same instant a grinding,
splashing noise was heard from the stern,
accompanied by shrill cries,

‘*TLook!’’ yelled Hofstein, as a lightning
‘*A great wave has
washed over the rear-deck and swept away
some of the poor fellows.’’

‘*Heaven help us!’’ cried Matlock.
cant bold out much longer.’’

shouted

‘*We

 

}

A moment later the position of the barge back!

CPO OT)

was reversed. The bow settled deep down in
the angry river, and before it could rise a
veritable mountain of water was seen roll-
ing forward from the left.

‘Here it comes,’’ warned Hofstein, ina
shrill voice. ‘‘Hold fast for your lives!’’

Fearing that Marco’s slim form would be
swept away, Gooloo Singh clung to the
hatch with only one arm, while he threw
the other about the lad’s: waist.

It was a fatal change. The monstrous
wave rolled clear across the deck, and when
its fury was spent, Matlock and Hofstein
found theniselves alone.

A cry of despair came to their ears from
far out on the black river.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

WAYSIDE WILL;

OR,

RIGHTED AT LAST.

BY W. W. TREMAINE.

eh SS oe

ye
HE caravans of a circus were making
their way along the winding lanes
\ leading to the village of Camden, on
the edge of which stood the academy.

It was just getting dusk, but still the
boys, as they crowded to the school win-
dows, could see the speckled horses, carry-
ing ladies in varied attires, the gaudy
chariots, driven by ‘‘Roman charioteers,’’
the two elephants, and the other perform-
ing animals, which, with a few minor ac-
cessories, constituted Warlaby’s Grand
Show.

Their youthful hearts beat high with ex-
pectation, for they knew that, unless Doctor
Birchford was very much changed from his
usual genial self, they would be allowed
next evening to pay a visit to the show, and
see the elephants firing off pistols, the
clowns disporting themselves in the arena,
and the wondrously attired young ladies
dashing round on bare-backed horses, and
leaping through hoops and so forth.

The performance little varied year after
year, but was ever acceptable to the boyish
mind,

Doctor Birchford himself had been up to
the village post-office, with one of the older
scholars, Tom Preston, and was just turn-
ing in atone of the front gates, when he
was startled by a deep groan.

‘‘Bless me! what is that?’’ he cried, and
stopping, he looked round him in the dusk.

There was a wide carriage-sweep in front
of Camden Academy, and between the gates
wasa large growth of laurel and other trees,
which formed a dense mass where one could
hide successfully from all observation.

The worthy doctor could see nothing.

‘‘What could it have been?’’ he continued.
‘‘T’m certain I heard a groan.’’

“‘So did I, sir,’’ said Tom, a fine athletic
lad, about seventeen, with dark hair, and
bright, ingenuous eyes. ‘‘Hi, there! where
are you?’’

‘‘Here, sir, Oh! pray don’t send me back
—pray don’t send me back!’’

And with these words there crawled from
beneath the laurels a boy about fifteen,
dressed in the costume of a clown.

‘‘Why, what on earth are you doing
here?’’ cried the schoolmaster. ‘‘ You belong
to the circus. What are you hiding there
for? Stand up, and let me have a look at

ou!??

‘*T will, sir,’? replied the boy, ‘‘if the
young gentleman will just help me to get on
my feet. 1’ve sprained my ankle, and can’t
struggle up.”’

Tom Preston at once sprang forward’ and
helped the lad up.

‘*Bring him in,’’ cried Doctor Birchford,
‘‘into the little ante-room, and let him give
an account of himself.’’

And so, to the great amusement of the
scholars, the principal of the academy let
himself into the building, followed by the
young clown, leaning on Tom Preston.

A pleasurable flutter of excitement per-
vaded the school-room, where the boys
gathered in knots 'to discuss the extraordi-
nary event, and to wonder what would be
the result of it all,

Doctor Birchford did not take long to
decide.

‘*Now, my boy,’’ he said, when the three
had entered the. little ante-room, and were
seated by the fire, ‘‘tell me what this
means. [ find you wounded and concealed
under the laurel bushes, and you say ‘Don’t
send me back.’ Who are you, and to whom
are you afraid of being sent?’’

The boy did not hesitate a moment.

‘*T’ve been with Warlaby’s circus ever since
I’veknown anything; but I’m no relation to
any of them, for they’ve told me soa hundred
times,’? he said. ‘‘I don’t know how I got
there, but I do know that I’ve been kicked
and cuffed about, and made to work when
my body’s been all over bruises; and when
I came by the school and saw the happy
faces of the boys, I, seemed fo lose my head,
sir.

‘‘T sprang off the van and sprained my
ankle, and as no one saw me, I just crawled
in aoe the bushes and hid myself. And,
oh! sir, Ido beg of you not to send me
I am strong, and I can work hard.

 

NEWS.

I’d show myself grateful, indeed I would, if
you’d only employ me.”’

‘*But you are bound to the circus pro-
prietor in some way, I suppose—apprenticed
to him?’’

‘*No, sir. I’m not bound to him in any
way. He couldn’t take me back legally even
if he knew me to be here, and he doesn’t
know. No one saw me.”’

He was wrong.

There was one who had seen him leap
from the van, and crawl in among the
bushes—a girl of about fourteen, attired in
pink tights and short muslin petticoats, who

 

would never for her life have told anything
to do him harm.

She would be sorry to part with him; but |
she had seen how cruelly he was used, and |
if she didn’t know where he was, he would
know that she was with the circus, and
would seek her out accordingly, whenever
he had good news to bring her.

‘*Well,’’ said Doctor Birchford, ‘‘I really
don’t know what to do. Surely this Warlaby
is amenable to reason?’’

‘*Oh! don’t go to him, sir,’’ interrupted
the boy, with a spasm of pain and horror,
which showed even through the thick paint
on his face. ‘‘If you can’t help me, sir, and
find me something to do, pray let me run
away, and hide myself in the town. I can’t
go back to Warlaby. His brutality would
soon kill-me.’’

‘*T will think the matter over,’’ said the
kind-hearted. doctor. ‘‘Tom, take him up
stairs, and let him wash his face, and put
on some other clothes. Some of Ned Costin’s
left-off things will just about fit him.’’

Ned Costin was a boy who had left the
previous year, and would not be likely to
claim .his discarded belongings.

When the young clown reappeared, in
ordinary attire, and without the paint on
his face, the doctor at once took a fancy to
him.

Despite the life he had led, he was hand-
some, ingenuous-looking, and the light of a
bright intelligence shone in his eyes.

One look at him was sufficient to tell the
experienced schoolmaster that the boy was
to be trusted.

He made up his mind at once.

‘*Very well,’’ he said, ‘‘you can stay. Of
course, if you’ve told me a falsehood, and
Warlaby has any claim upon you, I must
give you up, if he comes for you. If any-
thing wrong happens through my taking
you in—well, I must take all the responsi-
bility.’’

But there seemed little chance of anything
wrong happening, if his character could be
judged by his appearance, for he looked a
perfect young gentleman, and Tom Preston
became his chum at once.

Will Weston, as it was decided he should
be called, had his duties quickly assigned to
him.

He was to bea kind of general help, and
as he was eager to learn, it was‘arranged
that he should be taught.

There was only one of the scholars who
took a prejudice against Wayside Will, as
they nicknamed him, and this was a lad
named Harry Clayton.

This boy was the ‘‘swell’’ of the school,
and the idea of consorting with the clown
of a circus was to him intensely irritating
and humiliating.

The other boys ‘‘chummed”’ with Will at
once.

He was a jolly companion, and, whenever
he could escape from his duties, he would
send the lads into roars of laughter by en-
acting his clownish antics and repeating the
jokes which had amused many a circus au-
dience.

“The horried cad!’’ cried Harry, on one
occasion, when Wayside Will was standing
with knees together, his feet turned in, his
hands in his pockets, his head cocked on one
side, and one eye winking at Clayton. ‘‘Just
fancy his being a scholar at Camden Acad-
emy !”’

The young clown clinched his hands, and
his face turned pale.

He seemed for a moment as if he were
about to spring upon the one who had in-
sulted him.

But he restrained himself by what seemed
to be a mighty effort, and said, laugh-
ingly:

‘The entertainment, in consequence of
interruptions in the gallery, is postponed
until to-morrow.”’ °

It was but a mild insult, alluding to Clay-
ton as the ‘‘gallery,’’ but the swell took it
to heart, and theaffair at) last culminated
in what had been secretly expected by all.

A little impromptu game of ball was go-
ing on in the field at the back of the play-
ground, and suddenly a ball was sent from
Will’s bat which caught Harry in the
stomach and doubled him up.

He looked a most comic object, his eyes
starting, his hands pressed to his body, his
mouth wide open.

A general laugh went the round of the
boys, and at this Harry Clayton lost all
command over himself.

He rushed across the field, and, before
anyone could prevent him, or, indeed, tell
what he was about to do, he caught Way-
side Willa stinging blow behind the ear,
crying, in a voice half-choked with rage:

‘*Take that, you cad!’’

The boys all stood round, wondering what

 

Will would do, and a little bit scared to

ce Nie Ope er sara ea BRAND

4317

uhink what would be the consequence of any
desperate action on his part.

But Wayside Will never waited for con-
sideration of any kind.

He had been kicked and buffeted about at
the show, and had stood it because Warlaby
was a big bully of a man, and was aided
and abetted by other bullies as bad as him-
self.

But here was a lad, a little older than
himself, it was true, and bigger, with a
form rendered tough and strong by athletic
sports and good living, but no matter what
might be the result, he was determined to

| try conclusions with him.

He put up his hands in a truly scientific
manner, and: before Harry knew where he
was, he was lying on his back on the grass.

He was plucky enough, however, and,
springing up, he went for his adversary
gamely.

But he was no match for Wayside Will.

Again and again he was sent to the
ground, ultimately with black eyes.

He gave in then, though far from grace-
fully, being well nigh roused to madness by
the cheers which greeted Will’s victory.

As he rose, he looked at his antagonist,
with hate sparkling in his eyes.

‘“You’ve got the best of me this time!’’
he cried; ‘‘but I’ll have my revenge!’’

‘“‘Happy to accommodate you at any
time,’’ cried Will, recklessly, and as he
glanced defiantly at his conquered foe, fire
still gleaming in his eyes, the boys could not
help remarking how much alike they were
in all but the expression of the face.

There was a great disturbance about this,
as may be supposed, for Harry Clayton was
the best scholar in the school, and the best
paid for.

Will was lectured severely by the doctor,
although the latter confessed that as Clayton
had struck him first, he deserved all he had
got.

Clayton vowed dire vengeance, and
threatened to ask his father to take him
away. a

But he did not carry out the threat, and
things went on so quietly, that every one
imagined the past was forgotten, when sud-
denly Harry took a fancy for solitary
wore and it was a puzzler to everybody
why.

Had he been followed on these occasions,
the secret of his liking for pedestrianism
would soon have been discovered.

Chancing one evening to make his way in
the direction of the village post-office, he
saw, standing near what was known as the
Kissing Gate, a familiar form—that of
Wayside Will.

He was not alone.

With him was a young girl, dressed ina
trim and dainty fashion.

This was none other than Lettie Holland,
the little tight-rope dancer, who had been
the only one to see him leap from the van,
and crawl, disabled, to hide himself in the
front garden of the school.

The circus was coming back along the old
route, and Lettie had escaped, for the pur-
pose of trying to find Will.

Having discovered that he was at the
academy, there was no difficulty in getting
a letter to him, and then the rendezvous
was the consequence.

She told him that Warlaby had been furi-
ous at first.

‘*We all had to suffer,’’ she said, ‘‘and he
scoured the country in search of you. The
very place where you were, he never
thought of. He’s quieted down now.’’

‘*Who’s taken my place?’’

‘“Young Jack Warlaby does your clown-
ing.’’

It was just at this moment that Harry
Clayton came up, approaching them noise-
lessly along the soft turf.

He crept away just as they were about to
part, but not before he had heard an ap-
pointment made for three days later at the
same spot.

When the time came, he was there, too.

In fact he was there first, and hidden be-
hind a clump of trees, he heard all that

assed.

He heard how Warlaby was about ‘to en-
camp at Camden, and give a performance—
how a mysterious stranger had called at the
circus and inquired for Will—and how the
showman had been in a great state of mind
about it, and had promised to do everything
in his power to find the young clown.

‘“Tcan have my revenge now,’’ thought
Harry, ‘‘and have it I will. The school shall
be rid of the cad before I’m many days
older.’

That very evening he posted a letter to
the showman.

But days went on; and grew into weeks.

Warlaby made no reply.

The circus vanished from the neighbor-
hood, and Harry began to be furious and
despairing.

Balked of his revenge in one way, he
sought out another.

On one occasion he had seen a rough-look-
ing lad meet Will at the Kissing Gate.

It was only Tim Prescott, one of the
stable boys, who had brought a note from
Lettie to say she could not be there that
evening.

But it suggested a cowardly notion to
Harry Clayton.

He would first bint to the school that Will
was in the habit of consorting with bad

 

 

   

i

 

  
    
  
 
   
     
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
    
    
   
    
  
 
    
    
   
   
    
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
    
  
 
     
  
   
  
 
   
      
    
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
    
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
      
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
   
   
 
 
   
  

 

 

4318

CGrOoODp

   

NEWS.

 

characters; then he would suggest that the | did, and divide their loyalty between

trunk he had bought should be searched,
having first put some marked money in it
himself. A

The despicable scheme was put in motion
at once,

The accusation was made.

Though Doctor Birchford never for one
moment believed it, he felt bound to inves-
tigate the truth.

He would not disgrace Will before the
scholars, however, until he was proved
guilty, and accordingly accuser and accused
were confronted in his private apartment.

Will was pale, aghast, trembling.

If the schoolmaster had not understood
what his feelings must be under the circum-
stances, he would have at once declared him
to be guilty.

But he knew the boy’s forlorn position,
and resolved not to blame him unless the
charge against him could be proved.

‘Tf you will search his trunk you’ll find
I’m right,’’ cried Harry. ‘‘I have lost so
much pocket-money, that I’ve lately marked
it, and no doubt I’m not the only one.’’

Doctor Birchford felt uncomfortable.

He himself had lost a few odd things.

Could this terrible thing be true?

He was about to quit the room, whena
knock came at the door, and in anwser to
the master’s ‘‘Come in,’’ Tom Preston ap-
peared. .

‘‘Bxcuse me for intruding, sir,’’ he said,
‘tbut I know why you are here, and George
Barlow, Jack Frampton, and I, have come
to speak for Will Weston. We’ve seen Harry
Clayton going about in a mysterious way,
and we saw him put the money in Will’s
trunk, with some spoons and other things.
He’s done it for revenge.’’

Harry tried to stammer out a denial,
but his words would not come, and it was
while he was standing there, pale and trem-
bling with rage and shame, that the servant
announced Mr. George Clayton.

‘*Couldn’t have come at a better time,’’
said the schoolmaster. ‘‘Ask him to step in
here. Will Weston, and you others, kindly
leave the room. Harry, remain here.’’

Mr. Clayton was astonished to see the
pale and agitated features of his son, and
astonishment gave place to anger when he
heard of his accusation against an innocent
boy.
‘What makes it worse for you, Harry,’’
he said, ‘‘is the fact that the one you have
tried to traduce is your own cousin.’’

‘“My cousin?’’

‘‘Yes, and heir to the property which you
have looked upon as yours. We shall now
be comparatively poor. I have always
sworn to do justice to my brother’s child,
if I found him, and the chance has come at
last. It was my wife who induced her
lady’s maid to abduct the babe; but her
death-bed confession has made all clear.
Let me see him at once, Doctor Birchford.
As for you, Harry, you had better retire to
your room. I don’t suppose you will care to
face your cousin after your defeat and ex-
posure.’’

Will Weston, or rather, Clayton, went
away with his uncle that night; but after
remaining with him for three months, he
came back to finish his education at the
school where he had been taken in from the
wayside by Doctor Birchford, and treated
with such exceptional kindness.

Harry was transferred to another acad-
emy.

It caused some surprise when Wayside
Will married little Lettie Holland, the tight-
rope dancer.

Hearty were the cheers that greeted them
both when they came to pay a visit to Doc-
tor Birchford and the boys of Camden
Academy.

Will was rich now and prosperous, but to
those of the old boys who remained, he was
still the young clown who thrashed Harry
Clayton on the base-ball ground, and their
cheers were for Wayside Will.

—_—_—__~>_+~+—__—_
FOREIGN NAMES FOR THE BICYCLE.

 

When a new thing is introduced into com-
mereé and ordinary use, a new word has to
be found for it or an old one borrowed.

Until recently, the word ‘‘bicycle’’ was not

contained in any English dictionary, and
whether it was rightly pronounced ‘‘by-

sickle’? or ‘‘bi-sigh-kle,’’? no one could be

sure. The word is now well established and

authorized by the lexicographers. In the
French language the word for the same

thing has had a hard time in becoming es-
tablished. It was variously called a ‘‘celeri-
fere,’’ a ‘‘velocifere,’’ a ‘*bicycle,’’ and a

‘*bicyclette,’’ the last word being commonly
applied to the machine which we call a
safety bicycle. But the word ‘‘velo,’’ a
contraction of one of the others, has come
into very common use, and threatens to
supplant the others. It is used much as
English-speaking bicyclists used the word
‘“wheel.’? The French also have a word of
unknown etymology,’‘‘becane,’’ which they
apply to the bicycle. The Germans, when
the bicycle came into use, set about making
a name for it which should be purely Ger-
man. They called it a ‘‘Fahrrad,’’ or
traveling-wheel; and this word they have

‘‘velocifero’’ and ‘‘bicicletta’’ or ‘‘bici-
cleta.’’ Even the Chinese must have a name
for the wheel. They employ their usual
figurative style of speech, and call it a
‘“‘oaugma,’’ or ‘‘foreign horse,’’ or ‘‘foi-
chai,’’ flying-machine. The Flemings, or
Belgian people of Teutonic speech, who are
zealously purifying their language of foreign
terms, have had the utmost difficulty in
settling upon a word for this machine. Some
called it a ‘‘snelwiel,’’? some a ‘‘voetwiel,’”’
some a ‘‘trapwiel;’’? but the real scholars
among them insisted that it should be called
by a word of pure Flemish origin which
really described it. This word is as fol-
lows: ‘‘Gewielsnelrijroettrappeudneusbreker-
gestel.’? In spite of their loyalty to their
native speech, even the most conservative
Flemish. wheelmen never use this word
when riding over a rough road.

a a a

A TRAIN OF FIRE.

commeiartienedip coinepenend

BY HENRY CLARKE.

epocesnibnatthuaniaial

 

WO or three summers ago I was run-

> ning an oil train on the M. C. and B.

:), Railway.

Ae The M. C. and B. is a double-track
road, two hundred and fifteen miles long,
and my run was from Bostwick to Stan-
hope Junction, a distance of over sixty
miles.

I used to leave Bostwick at nine o’clock
in the forenoon, and was supposed to get to
the Junction by half-past twelve. And we
got there, too.

Then we used to leave there at two o’clock,
and return to Bostwick in about the same
time.

From Bostwick east to Charlotteville was
forty-two miles, and from there to Stan-
hope Junction it was eighteen miles, and
from Bostwick to Charlotteville it was down
grade more or less all the way.

We had a good engine, and Old Ben Fred-
ericks was running her, and when we
couldn’t make our time, it was no use for
any one else to try it.

Old Ben was a jolly old rascal, and he
was just as plucky as he was jolly, too.

One morning we pulled out from Bostwick
on time, as usual, and in a few minutes
were rolling along at our usual speed toward
Charlotteville and the Junction.

And it was a hot morning; no mistake
about it. The sky was perfectly cloudless,
and the sun boiled down hot enough to have
roasted a mess of eggs.

When we pulled out from Bostwick I no-
ticed that Old Ben didn’t seem to be as
jolly as usual, and lasked him what was
wrong.

At first he wouldn’t say; but by and by
he told me that he was afraid we were go-
ing to have trouble of some sort that trip.

Y asked him why, and he said because two
‘tniggers’’ crossed the track in front of his
engine before we started.

Old Ben was an awful superstitious man,
and he had signs and tokens for everything.

I laughed at the idea, but I didn’t feel by
any means comfortable, all the same, for I
had seen Ben’s expectations fully realized
more than once.

‘*You can laugh,’’ he said, ‘‘but you just
hear me. I’m afraid there is trouble ahead
for us this trip.’’

Well, we started, and fora time every-
thing went on all right.

When we were about half-way between
Bostwick and Charlotteville, I went for-
ward to the engine, and as I walked over
the train, I noticed that the tops of the oil
tanks were so hot that I could not hold my
hand over them.

You see, the sun had fair play at them all
the time.

When I reached the engine I spoke to Old
Ben about it, and he at once shook his head
ominously.

He was thinking of fire, I knew, for when
oil is warm it don’t take much to make it
flare up.

Soon after that we passed a freight train
going west, and about two minutes later I

wrapped in flames.
It must have caught from a spark from
that freight train.

on the hind end, and put on the brakes;

my brakeman had done.

them,

cars were one mass of flame.

roasted alive’

 

since abbreviated into ‘‘Rad,’’ or simply | man and I—were in a mighty tight place,

‘‘wheel.’’? The Italians and Spaniards fol- :
lowed much the same path that the French Charlotteville, and had a clear road, and it

We were then about fifteen miles from

looked back at our train, and found it

In a case likes that the first thing to be
done. is to cut off as many cars as possible

end when I looked back that was just what

I had twenty-five cars in the train, and
they had cut off and saved fourteen of

When I first looked back the fire was on
four or five of the cars, and about three
car’s length away from the engine; but in
less than half a minute the whole eleven

And hot—whew! Why, Old. Ben had to
pull the throttle wide open, and run just as
fast as he could to keep us from being

The brakeman and the flagman were all
right, of course, for they were on the cars
they had cut off, but we—the engineer, fire-

was lucky for us that we had, for it was
impossible for us to stop.

If we had tried to stop, the blazing oil
would have been upon us in an instant.
There was nothing for us to do but keep in
motion, so that the air would force the
flames away from us, and we ran just as
fast as we could.

Old Ben opened the whistle, and kept it
blowing, as a warning for everybody and
everything to get out of our way.

On, on, we flew, past fields and woods,
and through little towns; and I tell you we
did astonish the natives, and no mistake
about that.

And so we went for ten good miles.

We passed two freight trains going west,
and I guess the men on them thought they
had met the ‘‘hot place on the wheels.’’

The flame stretched out behind the cars
for fifty feet or more, and we left a streak
of black smoke behind that a mile long.

But things were coming to a head pretty
soon, and something had to be done,

In the first place we were between four
and five miles from Charlotteville, which
was quite a little city; and to run that
train of fire there, might be the means of
burning the whole place.

And then, about the time that we would
get there, an express train on the west-
bound track would be due, all the windows
of which would undoubtedly be wide open;
and to run past it with our train of flame
would perhaps set that train afire.

It was down grade, too.

‘*Ben,’’ says, I ‘‘something has got to be
done!’’

‘*You’re right,’’? he answered.

‘*We can’t stop?’’ said I.

‘‘Nary a stop,’’ he agreed, ‘‘unless you
want to take a bath in burning oil.’’*

And that we didn’t; it was hot enough as
it was. The very paint on the back of the
cab was smoking and blistering then.

‘‘Then,’’ said I, ‘‘there is only one chance
for us.’

‘‘| know it,’’ said Ben, ‘‘and I’m getting
ready to cut loose from the tender and pull
out for Bascom’s Siding now.”’

It was our only hope, and both of us had
hit upon the same plan.

About half a mile west of Charlotteville
there was a little side track called Bascom’s
Siding, it having been put in there to ac-
commodate a man of the name some years
before, and it was now seldom used, if
ever.

If we could get to that place and stop in
time to throw the switch, we could run our
burning oil cars onto that siding and ditch
them beautifully; for the end of the side
track was right over a big sand-pit.

‘*But,’’ I quickly asked, ‘‘will you have
enough water to carry us there?’’

You see, as soon as we cut loose from the
tender, we would cut off the supply of
water,

‘*Yes,’’ Ben replied; ‘‘I’ve got the injec-
tors working, and I’m filling her up chock-
full?’

‘* All right, then,’’ said I; ‘‘say the word
when you’re ready, and we’ll cut loose.’’

We ran on a little farther, and then Ben
said he was ready.

I got.down pa lifted up the apron, and
the fireman leaned over and pulled the pin,
Ben shutting off fora moment to give us
the slack, and then away we went.

And after us came the train, running so
fast that at first we didn’t seem to gain
very much.

It looked funny, too, to see the engine
dashing along with no tender, and to see the
tender following us at the head of that big
streak of fire and smoke.

Old Ben kept the engine right down to her
work, and after a little while the space grew
wider and wider between us and the train,
and we had hopes that we would soon gain
enough to make our point.

We had to make that point. If we didn’t
we would be in a worse fix than ever; for
our engine wouldn’t go many miles farther
without water, and then we would be at the
merey of our fiery pursuer,

Old Ben kept trying his gauges, and be-
fore long he reported one gauge of water
gone, And then pretty soon there was an-
other one gone.

The whistle was still kept open, and it
gave out one continuous wild shriek that
was enough to waken the dead.

By and by Charlotteville came in sight.

If nothing happened to hinder us from
getting the switch open, we would soon have
the game under control,

I told the fireman to be all ready to run
right on and signal the express train with a
flag, then I got down on the step to drop off
at the switch.

When we came near, Old Ben shut. off
steam, and slowed up, and off I jumped.

And then, in about ten seconds by the
watch I had the switch wide open for the
reception of the burning cars.

The engine was allowed to run a little
ways beyond, and then stopped, and the
fireman ran down the road to stop the
coming express.

Old Ben had run his engine almost bone-
dry, and unless he got the fire out of her at
once, she would burn,

Well, we hadn’t long to wait, for about

ning a full fifty miles an hour if she was
running one.

I got well out of the way to look on, and
just as the tender of the engine came to the
switch, | yelled out:

‘*Good-by !”’

And ‘‘good-by’’ it was.

Into the side track the cars went, and in
the wink of an eye they were all piled up in
a heap in a sand-pit.

And then, as one tank after another ex-
ploded, you would have thought it wasa
young earthquake.

Haif the people of the town came out to
see the fire, and the story of our adventure
flew as fast as had the train of fire itself,
Old Ben soon got another engine, and
after towing the other down to Charlotte-
ville, we went back after the train.

We did not have to stop the express at
all, as she happened to bea little behind
time, and——

But that’s all.

—- <>.

TOO FAR APART.

 

 

Sambo was a slave to a master who was
constitutionally addicted to lying.

Sambo being strongly devoted to his
master, had, by dint of long practice, made
himself an adept in giving plausibility to
his master’s stories.

One day when his master was entertain-
ing his guests in his customary manner,
among other marvelous facts, he related an
incident which took place in one of his hunt-
ing excursions.

‘**T fired at a buck,’’ he said, ‘‘at a hun-
dred yards’ distance, and the ball passed
through his left hind foot and through the
head at the back of his ear!’’

This produced considerable doubt in the
minds of his guests; he called upon Sambo
to corroborate him.

‘*Yes, massa,’’? said the almost dum-
founded slave, after a moment’s hesitation,
‘‘me see de ball hit ’im. Jess as massa lif’
up de gun to his eye, de old buck lif’ up
him foot to scratch his ear, and massa’s ball
went clear t’rough ’im foot and head at de
same time.’’

The guests were. pertectly satisfied with
the explanation, and swallowed the story
without hesitation; but when the guests
were gone Sambo ventured upon his mas-
ter’s good humor so far as to remonstrate.

‘‘For goodness’ sake, massa, when you
tell anudder such a big lie, don’t put ’em so
far apart; me have offul bard work to get
’em togedder.’’

HOW A TOAD GOES SHOPPING.

Toads are not attractive animals, but they
are more intelligent than most people give
them credit for being. My garden: was a
resort for many toads, and we had become
well acquainted with each other, although I
thought them rather a stupid lot.

One evening I observed a toad coming to-
ward me along the path. A few mfnutes
later I saw him on the graveled walk lead-
ing to the front of the house.

I paid no attention to him as I came up
with him, Suddenly he made a leap toward
the edge of the path and vanished from
sight. I was puzzled at his strange disap-
pearance. I took a step forward and stooped
over the spot where he had landed. The
toad was there, but the fat body seemed
literally pasted to the walk,’ and was
scarcely discernible from it, It looked as if
it might have been run overy by a cart-
wheel, so perfectly flattened was the body.
As I looked there was a lightning change.
Like a flash the toad threw himself at the
grass border. I saw a darting tongue, and
then he leisurely hopped back to the walk.

Again and again was that marvelous flat-
tening process repeated, as he caught sight
of objects to me quite invisible. Again and
again he launched himself like an arrow
into the air or ata tuft of grass, and I do
not believe that he onc@ missed his prey.
Instead of being a slow-moving animal, he
was cunning ag a cat and twice as active.
That was the way he went marketing, and
carried home his provisions in his interior.
—>-o--o—

A CAVALRY ORDER.

 

An old cavalryman says that a horse will
never step ona man intentionally, It isa
standing: order with cavalry that, should a
man become dismounted, be must lie down
and keep perfectly still. If he does so, the
entire troop will pass over him without bis
being injured. :

A horse notices where he is going, and 15
on the lookout for a firm foundation to
plant his feet on. It is an instinct witb
him, therefore, to step over a prostrate
man,

The injuries caused to human beings by @
runaway horse are nearly always inflic
by the animal knocking them down, a0
not by his treading on them

a a

THE following is the reply of an Irishma?
to a boot-seller who had sent him a pill:
‘‘Oi niver orderec the boots; ef Oi did, Y®

 

half a minute or a little more after I opened
the switch, down the oil train came.

 

And she was coming, too, She was run-

niver sent ’em; ef ye sent ’em, Oi niver ge
Jem: an’ ef Oi did, Oi paid for ’em, an’ ®
Oi didn’t, Oi won’t.’’

 

 

 

 

 

  

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GOOD NEWS.

4319

 

AMON G
(Ds Ss §xo
Goop J iGLUBS.

(SPECIAL Novicgr.—‘’his column is for GOoDb
NEWS Clubs only. No notices will be inserted
excepting such as are genuine GOOD NgEws Club
notices, aud nothing in the shape of an advertise.
ment will be allowed. Every club notice should
have the names of the president and secretary of
the club attached, For information concerning
GooD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad.
vertisement on last page.

hea
CLUB CHAT.

Claude Farnsley, 1419 W. Walnut street, Louisville,
Ky., would like to hear from all local stamp collectors
in reference to forming a stamp club.

The National Goop News Club of America has
disbanded, on account of the inability of the presi-
dent and treasurer to act in their official capacity. H.
E. Bokman, secretary.

What is now the Corn Palace City Goop NrEws Club
of Sioux City, Iowa, will hereafter be known as the
Goop News Fidelitv Corresponding Club of Sioux
City, lowa. E. F. Molen is secretary. All old mem-
bers will be retained.

 

gt Lat
CLUB NOTICES.

Po not postpdéne for to-morrow, that which you can
do to-day, is what every stamp collector should say
when reading this notice, and not only say and think,
but do. Weare aware of the fact that on account of
the many Goop News stamp clubs you want special
inducements to join, and to keep abreast of the times,
the Goop Nrws Philatelic Club of New York will
make same. We will give an agricultural stamp
worth three times the initiation fee, on the entire and
original communication, to all joining after this date.

bers -on all stamp topics, valuing and examining
stamps as to theirgenuineness. All corresponding
members can send stamps to our weekly auction sale,
to be sold with or without reserve; and last, but not
least, our exchange department, which has some 3,000
different specimens to exchange for stamps not in our
active members’ collections; truly above is of some
benefit to all ardent collectors, and as before stated,
you should write now to join. The best morsel is
served last, which, with us, is the nominal initiation
fee, 10 cents silver, and a 2-cent stamp for postage wn
the agricultural communication. We will cheerfully
comply with further information ifstamped envelope
be inclosed. John Henderson, president; Charles W.
Heins, secretary, 4t 1335 Broadway, New York.

The club for you to join is the Goob Nrws Corres-
ponding and Exchange, Club of Wilton, Conn. This
club has members all over the United States and Can-
ada that wish to correspond and exchange with you.
We want your name in our new list of members, which
will be issuedin July. It will contain the names ofall
our members, and will besent to all free. The in-
itiation fee is only 10cents. Ladies, foreigners and
officers of other clubs, free. We will give to the first
person joining after this notice appears one dozen
ecards with yourname neatly printed on in script
type. All will receive our large list of members, ex-
change list, membership card, the receipt for making
five different kinds of ink, The Bulletin, ete. Address
all letters to E.S. Benedict, Wilton, Conn.

Free! Free! Free!
be admitted free.
and we will make you a member of the Goop News
Young People’s Club, and send you one week’s les-
sons on any subject on our list. We get these lessons
from a correspondence school at $3 per term, and
make copies for our members. After this week we
will charge 10 cents per week for each subject. We
give five lessons each week. Our list at present con-
tains physics (embracing light- heat, sound, dynamics,
and electricity), chemistry, geology, natural history,
drawing, United States, English, Roman, and Grecian
history, besides the common branches. Others will be
added upon application to John Saulsbury, secretary,
100 Main street, Batavia, N. Y.

Now is the time to join. The Goop Nrws Sporting
Club of Saco, Maine, is right on deck, and wants a few
more members at once. This is one of the best
clubs running, and the initiation fee is only 10 cents,
dues 5 cents per month; ladies and foreigners free of
charge. Join! Join! Join! and correspond and ex-
change with boys and girls everywhere. Every per-
son joining this week will receive a fine novel, besides
a pretty card of membership and list of members.
Join at once. H, Charles Black, president; E. L.
Deane, treasurer; George T. Deane, secretary, Box
805, Saco, Maine. Persons joining in the West address
our assistant secretary, Gus W. Gaul, 294 South Water
street, Chicago, Ill.

Boys and girls, here is something new. Join the
Goop News Fireside Reading and Corresponding
Club of San Francisco, and obtain the following: Each
boy joining receives one novel per month; each girl
joining receives one comical paper per month, All
members have a chance of winning a handsomely
bound book, which is given away every month. Join
now. and correspond with the boys and girls all over
the world. Initiation fee, 10 cents (silver); dues, 8
cents; ladies and foreigners (initiation fee), 5 cents;
dues, 2 cents. Willie O’Connell, Tiburon, Cal., presi-
dent; John F. Makouski, 617 York street, San Fran-
cisco, Cal., secretary. IN. B.—Address secretary for
further particulars.

Goop News readers of St. Louis, give me your at-
tention, and hereby some plain facts to you I'll state.
Goop N®ws Memorial of St. Louis, wants more mem-
bers, therefore you should join it ere it is too late. Our
motto is “Onward and Upward.” The secretary
would like to hear from resident readers, who are in-
terested in puzzles. We hold meetings every Thurs-
day evening, where every member has a chance to
exercise his knowledge of parliamentary law.  In-
itiation fee, 10 cents; dues 15 cents a month. Only
resident gentlemen desired. For further information
all on or address the secretary, Arthur F. Heykamp,
8004 St. Louisavenue John Hoffman, president.

Say, are you having any fun thissummer? Well, if
you are not, the best thing for you to dois to join the
Goop NEws Lone Star Corresponding Club. Then you
Can have fun corresponding with the already happy
Ones, A person that cannot have any fun had just as
Well be dead. Don’t you think gs0, too? Ifyou send
in your name this week you will receive fifty foreign
Stamps, fifty stamp hinges, and a novel, besides the
handsome membership card and list of members.*Join
this band of jolly good ladiesand young men, It isonly
10 cents for boys, ladies and foreigners free; no dues.
Address all correspondence to the secretary, W. O.

Ones, 713 S. Jefferson street, Paris, Texas.

Come on, boys and girls, and join the Goop Nrws
Corresponding Club of Chicago, Il. We want 100
More members, andin order to get them will give
00D News from No. 3. to 25 to the first one joining
after this notice appears. Weare going to get a good
chub paper ina short time, and all of our members
Will receive it one year, free of charge. This is a new
Club which has been in existence only a month. Do
hot be afraid to join this club for fear of its busting up,
for it is too well conducted for that. Initiation fee, 5
cents; dues, 5 cents for three months. Leon E. Ro-
Soski, president. Address the secretary, Arthur H.
Wild, 167 Lewis street, Chicago, Ill.

 

seg i y, 1895.
The object of this club is to correspond with its mem- | Gil July, 1895

 

Those who jom this week will |
Send your name on a4 postal card, |

 

Unnamed and unknown. What? A corresponding
club. Do we intend to have it unnamed and unknown?
Of course we don’t. First, we’ ll name it; second, we’ll
make it known. How do we intend to nameit? We
intend to have the members namejit. Each member,
upon joining, is requested to send in a title for the
club, and then on the 15th of July, 1895, each member
will receive a list of the titles that were sentin that
they may vote for a title for the club. Come, boys and
girls, andjoin. Now is the time to join while it costs
nothing. For full particulars, send stamp to Ralph
W. Murphy, secretary, 3 Richard court, Rochester,
Niwx,

Well, well, boys, as summer has come, and you
want something nice to read, you should join the
Goop NrEws Reading Club of Rankin, Pa., and receive
a good novel, 5 stamps, our new membership card,
tour page list of members. This clubis up to date, and
is growibg larger every day. You will do well by
joining one of the best reading clubs in Pa. The ob-

 

|
|

 

ject of the club is to supply its members with the best |
of reading matter. Admission fee, 10 cents; dues 2-cent

Stamp monthly. Ladies admitted for a2-cent stamp.
Address the secretary, J. M. Crom, Rankin, Pa.

Join the Goop News Friendship Club of Chicago»
Ill. Initiation fee, 10 cents; dues, 10 cents for three
months; ladies free. All gentlemen joining will re-
ceive one set of Hungary 1888 stamps(1 to 50 kr.),
seven varieties. Hurry up and join so as tohave your
name in our first list, to be issued in about a week.
We have members in Australia, all parts of Europe,
and United States and Canada. For full particulars
address Adolph Boehm, 575 W. 25th street.

Say, boys, get in line by joining Goop Nrws Musi-
cal Club. ‘There are all kinds of clubs, but if you want

certain cases, by a surgical operation. 2. If you have
any musical ability and apply yourself diligently, you

|

STAMPS.—George C. Crowley, 13858 Lexington ave-
nue, New York city, will give five stamps, all dif

ought to be able to play the guitar in about six months. | ferent, for every stamp paper in good condition; not

3. Please write, giving us full information and names, |
| time.

and we will look into the matter.

Don Kirk, San Francisco, Cal.—l. The Bowery is a

famous New York thoroughfare, which has borne at
times a rather hard reputation. 2 Harry Dangerfield
writes exclusively for Goop News. 3. If you mean
the play called *‘The Rivals,’’ its author was Richard
Brinsley Sheridan.
a A., Key City, Iowa.—l. Nassau street, New
York city. 2. Probably. 3. It would be difficult to
explain clearly without actual demonstration. 4,
There are about two hundred players in the league.

Jack Ferdham, Grand Forks, N. D.—1. Yes, but that
is not his real name. 2. Early in the sixties. 3..‘‘Left
in Chicago,’’ is by Enrique H. Lewis.
school story in preparation.

Don Kirk, Rochester, N. Y.—1. Thanks for sugges-

 

|
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|

{

less than five, nor more than twenty-five, taken atone

Reading matter in exchange for stamps.
MISCELLANEOUS. — A. A. Scott, 423 Ringold

street, McKeesport, Pa., has magic lantern, with 126

| views, horizontal steam engine, stereoscope, Indian

clubs, and boys’ papers, to exchange for a magic lan-
tern with notlessthan three-inch slide, or for best
offer.

PRINTING PRESS.—William M. Hays, 1030 N.
Wolfe street, Baltimore, Md., has a No.5 Baltimorean
printing press to exchange for camera, electric motor,
or best offer.

READING MATTER. —T. Banta, 11 Carmine
street, New York city, has three bound books by W.

4. We have a| H.G Kingston, two bound books by R. M. Ballan-

tyne, some Goop NEws, and other boys’ papers, some

| monthly books, and 600 picture cards, to exchange for

tion, which we will consider. 2. You probably mean ;

‘*Messenger No. 48,’’ which was begun in No. 105and
ended in No. 120.
A. F. H., 8t. Louis, Mo.—We think that the vast

| majority of our readers are not interested in such a de-

a strictly up-to-date club in every respect, you can do |

no better than to join us. The space in Goop News is
too valuable to use in telling you all about it, but if
you write to the secretary, and inclose a stamp, he’ll
tell you all about it. Or, better still, send in your
initiation fee at once. It’s only 10 cents. C. J. Mc-
Kinley, secretary, Anita, Iowa.

World for only 10 cents, silver. Dues will not start
One novel, one back number of Goop
NeEws, and the Club Reporter to all joining. Address
the National Goop NrEws Club of the World, Allen C.

| Hatch, secretary, 211 Monroe avenue, Rochester, N. Y.

a 0

Qur Mail Bag.

——— @

 

(Questions on subjects of general interest only are
dealt with in the “Mail Baw.” Medical or legal
questions not auswered. Goop Nrws goes to press
two weeks in advance of date of publication, and there-
fore answers cannot appear until two or three weeks
after we receive them. Coniumunications intended for
this columu should be addressed Goop NEws “Muil
Bax,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.]

algae

Chunk, Amarillo, Texas. — 1.
Haines is now writing a story for us. It will be begun
late in thesummer. 2. Itis quite probable. 3. There
is no premium on the dime of 1842, 4. Clarence Con-
verse is acousin of Frank Converse. 5. To make
crackers, take 1 qt. flour, 4 oz. of butter or lard, %4
teaspoonful of soda, and the same of salt; sweet milk.
Rub the butter thoroughly into the flour and salt; dis-
solve the soda in the milk, and enough more to take
up the flour, which should be made into a very stiff
dough; the more the dough is pounded, or kneaded,
the better the crackers; roll out to the desired thick-
ness, 14 of an inch, and bake quickly. 6. We do
not know the ginger snaps made by the Kansas City
firm you mention, but the following is a good receipt:
1 pint of molasses, 1 lb, sugar, *4 lb. of lard, 44 oz. 1
ger, and 1 tablespoonful of cinnamon. Work the lard,
molasses and sugar together, and add flour enuogh to
make a stiff dough. Rollout thin, cut with a round
xake-cutter, and bake quickly. 7. To make chewing
gum: Take of prepared balsam of tolu, 2 0z.; white
sugar, 1 0z.; oatmeal, 3 0z.; soften the gum in water
and mix in the ingredients; then roll in finely pow-
dered sugar, and form sticks to suit. 8. To remove
what is called indelible ink, apply a strong solution of
cyanide of potassium and rinse well. 9. Yes. 10. We
shall have a story by Lieut. Lounsberry during the
summer, 11. You are above the average. 12. It would
take too much space to give the contents of the various
volumes of GooD NEWS.

E. W. J., Burlington, Vt.—The Natural Bridge of
Virginia is in Rockbridge County. It is atthe ex-
tremity of a deep chasm, in which flows Cedar Creek,
across the top of which, from brink to brink, there ex-
tends an enormous rocky stratum in the form of an
arch. <A public road passes over the top. The breadth
of the bridge is fully sixty feet. There are many
names carved on the abutments of the bridge, among
them those of George Washington and James Piper,
the latter a student, in 1818, in Washington College. He
climbed from the foot to the top of the rock. It is
stated that a plumb-line, dropped from its center down
the vertical face of the rock, swings clear at the depth
of forty feet, which is the thickness of the crown of the
arch,

W. T., London, Ont.—There is really some reason
for English braggadocio, as she stands first among the
naval powers of the world. We think, however, that
before many years the United States will.surpass her.
The United States at present stands third, with over
seventy vessels, not including tugs, small steamers
and school-ships. The rank of the various Kuropean
countries as naval powers is as follows: Great Britain,
France, Russia, Italy, Germany, Spain, Austria~-Hun-
gary, Netherlands, Sweden and Norway, Denmark,
and Portugal.

Questioner, St. Louis, Mo.—1l. ‘‘The foung Ranch-
ers’ began in No. 142, and ran through twelve num-
bers. They will cost you five cents apiece, as will the
numbers containing the other stories you ask about.
2. “White Horse Fred’’ began in No. 35 and ended in
No. 49.. 8. No, join first, aud get them afterward. 4.
Clarence Converse has written for Goop News ‘‘Jack
Ferdham,”’ “Captured at Sea,’ and ‘Dick Oakley’s
Adventures.” 5, Harry. Dangerfield wrote ‘‘The Boy
from the West.’”’ 6. No. There is no premium.

M. A, R., San Antonio, Texas.—The relative rank
in the two branches of the service, army and navy, is
as follows: The admiral with the general, the vice-ad-
miral with the lieutenant-general, rear-admirals with
major-generals, commodores with brigadier-generals,
captains with colonels, commanders with lieutenant-
colonels, lieutenant-commanders with majors, lieuten-
ants with captains, masters with first lieutenants, and
ensigns with second lieutenants.

A. C. R., Lynn., Mass,~1. The 2ist of March, 1879,
fellon Friday. 2. Lieut. James K. Orton and Emer-
son Bell both write for Goop News. Theothers mep-
tioned no not at present. 38. Your writing is remark-
ably clear and plajn. 4. Your best plan is to consult
the club columnYand select the one that you think
would suit you the best. 5. Many thanks for your
kind wishes, which we most heartily reciprocate.

Lucien, Hartford, Connf—The only receipt we know
of for silyer-plating without the aid of a battery is one
ounce nitrate of silver dissolved in a quart of rain or
distilled water, and a few crystals of hyposulphite of
soda are added, which form a brown precipitate, solu-
blein aslight excess of hyposulphite. A sponge dipped
in the solution and rubbed over small articles of steel
or brass gives them a coating of silver.

W. B., Paterson, N. J.—1. We know of no way by
which a person’s legs can be straightened, except, in

Henry Harrison

}

partment. Thanks for your kind offer, however.

_ H. C. G., San Francisco.—Gum camphor dissolved
in sweet oil is an excellent liniment, and especially
valuable for strains, sprains, or bruises.

A. T. L., Hull, Mass.—Your town is too small. Let-
ter carriers are employed only in large towns. They
must give bond with security.

L. C., Helena, Mont.—We are sorry, but we cannot
answer medical questions in this column. Better con-
sult a physician.

W. P. and C. W., Detroit, Miech.—Read the club col-

  

| umm, select the club you like the best, and write to the

secretury.
Black Bird, Washington, D. C.—No premium, There

2 , 7 | is nothing rare about the five dollar bill.
You can join the National Goop News Club of the | J

 

 

A. H., no address,—1l. No, it is not necessary. 2.
Mr. Graydon lives in Harrisburg.

H, W., Baltimore, Md.—You do not say what you
have toexchange. Write again.

H. M. D., Pullman, Il.—May 4, 1878, fell on Satur-
day.

{Several communications left over to be answered next

week. |
na te

g

EPARTMENT.

a a

 

{ImMpoRTANY.—'L his column is freeto all our readers,
We will not be responsible for transactions brought
about throigh notices in this column, All offers must
be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any
“for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arnis,
explosives, dangerous or worthless articles. If exchange
notices do not appear in a veusonable time, it may be
understood that they were not accepted. Address alJ
comuinnications for this column to “Exchange De-
partment.”]

MISCELLANEOUS.—Joseph Reiter, 33 Jefferson
avenue, Chippewa Falls, Wis., has 60,000 1c. and 2c.
United States stamps, 2,000 Columbian Ic. and 2c., 200
Columbian above 2c., 350 story papers, 275 litho-
graph pictures, 60 photographs, about $6 worth of
books, and many other goods to exchange for a 5x744,
or larger, printing press, or best offer.

GOOD NEWS.—L. J. Carr, 30 Fountain avenue,
Somerville, Mass., has Vols. 1 and 2 of Goop Nrws to
exchange for Vols. 3, 4and 5 of Goop NEws.

STAMPS.—P. R. Wood, Box 572, New Brighton,
Beaver County, Pa., will exchange one picture card
for every three United States, or four foreign, stamps;
also 100 foreign stamps for 100 United States stamps;
will exchange stamps on sheets for same.

READING MATTER.—L. E. Moore, Moorefield,
Ark., has novels, story papers, and other books, to ex-
change for a bicycle. Do not fail to send for list, and
make an offer.

READING MATTER.—Harold 8S. Kirkpatrick,
7304 Perry avenue, Chicago, I1l., has $22 worth of read-
ing matter to exchange for typewriter, camping tent,
or bicycle articles.

CAMERA.—L. M. Libbey, 6 Holland street, Somer-
ville, Mass., will give a4x5 leather covered camera,
with lens, and six double plate holders, for best offer
in stamp collection. Camera cost $20.

MISCELLANEOUS.—H. Mason McLean, 24 James
place, Chicago, Ill., would like to exchange for United
States stamps, excepting the ones and twos of the last
and present issues, books, papers, stamps, and rubber
type forstamps. Alwaysopen for a trade in printing
presses and type.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Harry Mills, Sheridan,Mich.,
has a brass B tenor trombone, a jointed fishing rod,
and reel, 200 different stamps, a pair of ice skates, size
914, and Goop Nrws from 215 to 265 inclusive, to ex-
change for C cornet or,a banjo. All letters answered,

NOVELS.—Ralph /M. Brown, 830 Spring street,
Burlington, Iowa, will give one new 25-cent novel for
every six good 5-cent novels, and will pay half the ex-
press charges on the goods, and send his express
paid, providing more than twenty-five novels are ex-
changed.

PICTURE CARDS.—Adolf Boehm, 575 W. Twenty-
fifth street, Chicago, Il., bas 300 picture cards to ex-
change for best offer. Stamps off sheets preferred.

STAMPS.—F. A. Ewald, of Tidioute, Pa., has 175
stamps, all different, of which 65 are United States
stamps, to exchange for best offer in Columbian
stamps. Stamps for stamps.

STAMPS, ETC.—Will Graef, 60 Wilson street, New-
ark, Ohio, has 880 varieties of United States and for-
eign stamps, valued at $25.85, mounted in a Scott’s In-
ternational $2.50 album, Scott’s standard catalogue,
large size, album and catalogue of 1894, new and clean;
700 foreign and 127 United States stamps, 122 foreign
stamps catalogued at from 2 to 5 cents each, including
three 10c. green of 1851 and two le, blue of 1851, cata-
logued at 75c. and 25c. each, to trade for a, safety
bicycle. This is a bargain to the right party; also has
tin tags, picture cards, flags of all nations, and arrow
heads, boys’ papers, and other reading matter, to ex-
change.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Walter Brooks, 32 Doremus
avenue, Paterson, N. J., will give a 75-cent foot-ball,
Glen camera, and part outfit, and fifty foreign stamps
for a good guitar bag, or best offer.

GOOD NEWS.—J. R. Hampson, Kipple, Blair
County, Pa., has Goop News from 186 to 266 inclusive,
to exchange for a Kombi camera in fine condition.

GOOD NEWS.—W. D. Wynkoop, Denver Mills,
Col., has Goop News from Nos. 63 to 84, inclusive, to
exchange for Goop NEws Nos. 22 to 41 inclusive, or
any numbers in Vols. 4 to 7.

ALLIGATORS, ETC—Fred Steensgaard,Fort Myers,
Fla., has alligators, large and small, alive and mounted,
and large stock of Florida curios; will exchange for
kodac or first-class banjo.

PICTURE CARDS.—William Lavaroni, 1510 Mason
street, San Francisco, Cal., cure of G. Caselli, has to
exchange 600 picture cards for five 50-cent novels, or
best offer in 25-cent books. All letters answered.

i
|
|
|

|

camera, or best offer.

READING MATTER.—Robert Ives, 903 N. Sixth
street, Burlington, Iowa, has Goop NEws from 196 to
date, novels, and six comic papers, to exchange for
best offer in Goop News, or other reading matter or
newsboy photos.

NOVELS. — Arthur Brietenstien, 1339 Angular
street, Burlington, Iowa, has 5-cent novels and other
reading matter to exchange for newsboy photos.

| State how you will exchange for each novel.

 

READING MATTER.—E. Shuchert, 1014 Elm
street, Toledo, Ohio, will exchange the life of Daniel
Boone, Davy Crocket, Kit Carson, and Buffalo Bill, in
one book, for Vol. 7 of Goop News. All letters an-
swered promptly.

STAMPS.—Edward Stern, 2250 Jefferson avenue,
Fordham, New York city, has 2,000 2c. Columbians to
trade for higher denominations; will give 20 for every
8c. and 6c. Columbians, 50 for every l5c. Columbian,
100 for every 30c. Columbian.+ All letters and postals
answered.

COINS AND STAMPS.—Bernard Stern, 2250 Jef-
ferson avenue, New York city, will give a foreign
— for every 3c., 6c., or 8c. Columbian stamp sent

im.

MISCELLANEOUS.—John Saulsbury, 100 Main
street, Batavia, N. Y., has one scroll-saw outfit, one
hektograph pad and bottle of ink, one London flute,
17,000 different post-marks mounted ina fine album,
one Scott’s stamp catalogue, one Gallon battery and
jar, one Leyden jar, Goop NEws from 273 to date, and
several books, to exchange for best offer; camera pre-
ferred.

STAMPS.—Charles A. Caskey. 64 Sandusky street,
Allegheny, Pa., will give 25 fine foreign stamps for
every 100 common United States stamps of any value.

GOLD WATCH.—Edgar Lehman, Goshen, Ind.,
has a gold watch to exchange for a pneumatic-tire
safety.

OO
A SPIDER FARM.

A syrup bottler bas improved upon the
prison lesson of Bruce. He has taken the
spider into partnership in the working of
one of his most important departments.
Flies, cockroaches and other insects, at-
tracted by his sweets, and encouraged by
the genial] atmosphere of his bottling-room,
used to interfere with his work, get into his
bottles, steal his goods, and ‘‘worry him to
death.’’ He has recruited the spider against
his foes, and vanquished them.

Some six thousand spiders now make their
home on the ceiling and walls of his bottling
department. Their webs are everywhere,
and they behave themselves with great in-
telligence. .

Said the bottler to an interviewer:

‘‘These creatures know more than a great
many people. Spiders do not care for sweet
things, and never drop into my vats or get
into my bottles. I never disturb them ex-
cep‘ to feed them occasionally. They appear
to know my call, and will come out and
feed from my hand, or take a fly from my
finger.

‘*They shut themselves up during most of
the wiuter months in the little nests you see
stuck like daubs of mud about the ceiling.
When winter comes I brush away ail the
webs; they prefer to weave new ones every
spring.

‘* ach May they reappear ready to unravel
the silken fabric that is stored in their little
bodies. It is just about then that the flies
have hatched their first young. If the
spiders appeared earlier, the crop of flies
would soon give out.

‘(T have been only running this spider
farm for two years, but I find my little
partners indispensable: they will not endure
in the place a single fly or insect that isa
plunderer of sweets and syrups.”’

_— lO 8 --
THE FOWL’S TIP.

 

An Trish hen-woman went into the
market to sell a live fowl, which had most
unfortunately lost an eye in warfare.

While exposing the bird for sale a man
offered her fifty cents for it,

‘*Be off wid ye!’’ exclaimed Biddy.
‘*Rifty cents for a fowl like that!’’

‘‘Well,’’ said the man, *‘it has only one
eye.’’ :

‘*Wan eye, did you say?’’ roared Biddy;
‘‘can’t ye see the intilligent crater is only
giving me the wink not to take yer offer?’’

A iene eee See ee
THE YOUNG BRUISER.

A friend has a ‘little boy who has just
reached the age when he is interesting.

The other afternoon he was found sitting
on the steps of the veranda looking very
much downcast, and his mother asked him
what the trouble was.

‘*We’ll have to move away from here,’’
he said.

‘*Why?’’ asked bis mother.

‘*Oh, I’ve fought every boy in the neigh-
borhood, and there an’t any more fun
here.”’

Li

EERIE  TRNSILOWE

   
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
   

aged po
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on cy

 

 

 

  

  
 
 
  
    
  
   
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
    
    
  
 
  
  
    
   
  
    
   
  
    
  
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
    
   
   
    
 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
     
   
  
   
   
   
  
  
    
     
     
    
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

  

 

 

    
  
   
 
  
    
     
     

Author of

CHAPTER IX.
FRANK’S NEW PLACE.

inside, Fresh Frank jumped about as
quickly out of the dress-front shroud.
No sooner that, than he had his hat
on, having left it where he could easily pick
it up, and just as J. Baldwin Bobbs came
tearing in, as mentioned, grabbed up a
hammer.

‘*You doddety-dodratted young scamp!’’
cried the undertaker, making a rush at him,
‘twhat did you do a thing like that for? I
am going to——’’

But he didn’t. He stopped.

Frank was whirling the hammer around
his head in a dangerous manner.

‘*Don’t you touch me, Mr. Bobbs,’’ he
eried, ‘‘or [ll let ’er drive right through
that plate glass! What are you mad about,
anyhow? I only did what you told me to
do, and——”’

‘*I told you to do that, you monkey? I
never told——’’

‘‘Keep back!’ cried Frank, holding the
hammer as if he certainly intended to let it
fly straight at the big window. ‘‘You told
me to draw a crowd, didn’t you?’’

“Yes; but——”’

‘*And didn’t I draw one?’’

‘¢YVes; but——’’

‘*Then what are you mad about?
obeyed orders.’’

: Bobbs was almost frothing at the mouth,
: but he dared not attack the boy, for fear
that he would throw the hammer.

And not only that, but people had surged
into the store after him, and he heard more
than one man speaking up in the boy’s
favor. If he had obeyed orders, then he was
not to blame.

‘*What am I mad about?’’ screamed the
infuriated undertaker. ‘‘Did I direct you to
paint a sign like that? Did I tell you to get

into that costly casket and make a fool of
yourself and me, too? Say, you monkey,
did I tell you to do those things? Did I tell
ou to——’’ Y
*“*You left it all to me,’’ said Frank, in
his meek, innocent way. ‘‘You told me to
do something that would attract notice to
your window, and I did. I guess I don’t
want to work for you any longer, Mr.
Bobbs; you. are too hard to please.”’
‘*Work for me any longer! You! After
what you have done! I won’t have you in
my shop another minute! [——”’
‘‘T have resigned the position, sir, and
9

1 jumping out of the window, on the

  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
   
  

T only

  
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
    
    
  
 
   
  
 

  

‘*Resigned! You are discharged, sir! Do

  

s7 you understand that? You are discharged,
Sah and I want you to get——”’
cl ‘*Yes, Iam going to get, as soon as there

is room to get out. Don’t you come any
nearer, unless you have got a big insurance
policy on that window; I have done my
best to please you, and——”’
‘*You have done your best to ruin my
business, you mean! You——”’’
‘*Ta-ta, Mr. Bobbs; I’m off!’
ea] The crowd had made a passage for the
fats ee boy, and as he spoke he made a run for it.

4 As he did so, Bobbs lifted his foot after
him behind, caught him under the jib of his
bint coat, and materially assisted his departure;
Aas while the crowd enjoyed a huge laugh.
ies ae ‘*That boy is too fresh!’’ the undertaker
exclaimed. ‘*Who would have thought of
his doing a thing like that? Why, he has
almost created a riot here on this peaceful
street. A sleeping beauty, indeed!’’ as he
s caught up the placard and (glared at it

giles ferociously. ‘‘I wish he would fall into a

trance and never come out of it!’’

The crowd gradually dispersed, the street
assumed its wonted appearance, and the
white-winged goddess of peace once more
settled down upon her pedestal—figuratively

speaking.
t i . . Frank was not seen again that day.
Hi On the following morning, however, he
was out bright and early.

He was neat and clean, and looked the
goody-goody boy that he—ought to have
been but wasn’t.

We will do him the justice to say that he
had no real intention of creating any further
sensations that day, but if temptation came
in his way could he help*that? And he cer-
tainly could not resist!

  
 
   
  
  
  
  
       
  
    
      
     
  
 

  

 

 

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a

 
  
 

  
   
  
  
   
    
  
     
  

  

  

 

 

  
 

  
    

  

  

A aay
aN \
SSCA )X.
Oey

OR,
FUN ALIVE ON OLIVE STREET.

Bx As Ou,
“Jolly Jerry.’

In passing the dentist’s, what was his sur-
prise to see this sign:

BOY WANTED.

Frank tripped nimbly up the steps, took
down the sign, and sat down upon the top
step to await the coming of the dentist.

Other boys passed up and down the street,
but there was nothing in the way of a sign
to draw their attention, and Frank hada
cinch upon the vacancy, if he could con-
vince the dentist that«-he was the boy he
wanted.

In due time the dentist arrived.

He recognized Frank, of course, and he
did not look pleased tremendously.

Frank had got upon his feet, and he
tipped his hat respectfully and said good-
morning in his best manner.

‘*Where is my sign?’’ asked the dude den-
tist.

‘‘T took it down,’’ answered Frank.

‘*You took itdown! What did you do that
for?’? s

‘“Well, you wanted a boy, and I wanted a
job, and as I was the first on the ground I
thought 1 would corner the market,’’

The dentist had to smile in spite of him-
self.

‘*Well, come in,’’ he said. ‘‘ You have got
brains, and if you will only exercise them in
the right direction, 1 may be able to make
something out of you: A boy who would
think of a thing like that is no fool.’’

‘“‘Thank you, sir,’’ said Frank. ‘‘I think I
am just the boy you need here, then, don’t
you?’?

The dentist looked at him hard, but Frank
never smiled.

‘*T’ll see,’’ he said. ‘‘You made a good
deal of trouble for the butcher and the
undertaker——.’’

‘‘It isn’t hardly fair to blame me for
that,’’ Frank protested, ‘‘Could I help it if
the ice-box went shut? Didn’t I get help
right away to open it again? And at the
undertaker’s I only did what he told me to
do."

‘‘Well, it was an unfortunate business,
anyhow. If I employ you, there must be no
funny business attempted in this establish-
ment; do you understand that?’’

‘“*Yes, sir; I will be just as good as I
can.’?’

‘*Well, I must have a boy, and I will hire
you. I have just received a telegram calling
me away, and I am glad I found you here.
Now, I will tell you just what I want you
to do while I am gone.”’

SPOR. Sir? ?

‘“You will clean up the office a little, and
set the chairs straight,\and then you may
read any of my books and papers. Should
any one come in, tell them I have gone
away, but will be here at two o’clock this
afternoon, sharp. Do you understand me,
my boy??’’

‘Yes, sir; that is plain.’’

‘‘Here is the key; lock the door when you
go to dinner, and be back here again
promptly at one.’’

That was all, and as the dentist was ina
hurry and had to obey the summons he had
received, he left Frank in charge and made
a hasty departure to catch a certain train.

‘*Well, this beats the Dutch!’ exclaimed
Frank, as he surveyed his new surroundings.
‘*Yesterday morning a butcher, then an
undertaker, and this morning I’m a dentist!
What next on the programme, I wonder?
Hello! here comes a customer, sure as I
live!??

The door opened, and into the room
shuffled Chin Chop, the Chinese laundry-
man, a bandage tied around his head, and
his face wearing an expression of keenest
toothache distress. He looked around for
the dentist, and Frank looked upon him
with something of commiseration. Must he
let the poor fellow suffer until two o’clock
sharp? It seemed a pity, but what could he
do? We’ll see.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
0
Tommy—(at the .beach)—‘‘What are th

waves saying, mamma?”’
Mamma—-‘‘I’m sure I don’t know.’?
Tommy—‘‘Well, I do; they are saying
they wish little Tommy Jenks would come
in swimming.’’

NEWS.

 

 

MARRIA GE PAPER with 1,000 ads. and photos

of marriageable people, many rich, lists of rare

books, ete., free. GUNNELS’ MONTHLY, Toledo, Ohio.

Mention Good News.

at hidden mysteries; 80-page book of true

life, containing 20 interesting pictures, sent

sealed in plain wrapper, for 10 cents in

stamps, or silver. A. J. HENDERSON, Drawer W.,
Kansas City, Mo. Mention Good News.

     
 

unceeualasaiay
CTPA Red
Fema iceh Sag LY

 
    

hour. YOU can make money with it, A fontot
pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type Holder, Pads
and Tweerers. Best Linen Marker : worth $1.00,
Sample mailed FREE for 10c. stamps for postage on
outfit and large catslogue 0f1000 Bargains.

R.H. Ingersoll & Bro, 65 Cortlandt St, N.Y. City
Mention Good News.

EVERY YOUNG MAN

Should read the book entitled

HOW TO DO BUSINESS,

This book is a guide to success in life, as it not only
tells how to do business, but how to succeed init. In-
teresting chapterson Fundamental Principles, Kinds
of Business, Qualifications for Business, Choice of a
Pursuit, Mercantile Pursuits, How to Get Customers,

    
 

 

 

Manufacturing, Mechanical Trades, Causes of Failure,
Book-keeping, Commercial Forms, Business Vocabu-
lary, etc. This book will be sent, postpaid, on receipt
of TEN CENTS. Address MANUAL LIBRARY,
29 Rose Street, New York.

0 j Giving all of the
arsman § anila most valuable

Shints for the
ractice of this sport. Both amateur and pro-
essional. Written by a well-known expert. To |’

those about to learn and those already proficient
in the manly sport, this book will be found very

 

WALL (apedap efede da ppd nul bess 2
~

 

useful. It teaches Coaching, Reach, Finish,
Feather, Recovery, Grasp, Use of the Legs,
Sliding Seats, Sculling, ete. The book is illus-
trated, and will be sent, postpaid, to any address
on receipt of 10 cents. Address, MANUAL
LIBRARY, 29 Rose St., New York,

Good News Binder

Price 50 Cents.

Answers tle purpose of a bound volume. Holding
fifty-two copies comfortably.

 

 

 

 

It is, without doubt, the finest binder ever offered

| even for double the price we ask, and is indispens-

able to those who are keeping their papers, as it
not only preserves GOOD NEws for future reference,
and from being lost, but keeps them clean, and in
good order. Itis both useful and ornamental.

Tt has a durable black embossed cover with
flexible back, and a gold stamp title on the outside
cover, It opens flatas any book, and each week’s

paper can be inserted as soon as received. Full |

directions for inserting the paper accompany each
binder. .

We will send the Good Nrws binder, and a pack-
age of binder pius, postpaid, to any address on re-

ceipt of 50 cents.
Mention Good News.

CARD PRINTER FREE |

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an |

 

 

 

This cut is the exact
size and style of the
GOOD NEWS Club Badge,
The badge is nade of a
high grade of German
Silver; artistic in desig
and something every
reader will be proud to
wear. Any reader send-
ling us 10 cents in stamps
or silver will receive a
badge.

Electrotypes for print-
ing the badge on letter
heads, cards, etc., will be
sent post-paid on receipt
of twenty-five cents.

Ten cents is all that is required to secure this
handsome badge. Address Goop NEws Corre
sponding Club, 29 Rose street, New York.

Amateur’s Manual of Photography,
S. & S. MANUAL LIBRARY, No. 6.
PRICE, 10 CENTS.

   

 

 

A hand-book of practical instructionsin the arto
dry -plate photography. Itisa complete guide to this
fascinating art. Fully illustrated. Tells from how a
camera is made to the finish of a first-class picture.
Photography is a clean, light. and pleasant occupation,
suitable for any young lady or gentleman, and within
the reach of all.

For sale by all Newsdealers, or willbe sent, postpaid
upon receipt of price, ten cents, by the publishers.
MANUAL LIBRARY, 29 Rose Street, N.Y.

BOUND VOLUMES OF GOOD

5 NEWS.

We have issued volumes two, three,
four, five and six, bound in an attrae.
live heavy paper cover. Twenty-six
numbers constitute a volume. The
papers are cut aud trimmed and

bound with as much Care a8 an expensive cloth
binding, and the prices are

Vols. 2 and 3, $1 Each.
Vols. 4, 5 and 6, 85c. Each.

These volumes contain serial stories by
Edward S, Ellis, Horatio Alger,
Jas, Otis, Edward Stratemeyer,
Harry Castlemon, Wm, Murray Graydon,
Walter Morris, Oliver Optic,
W. B. Lawson, Lieut. Lounsberry,
And others equally well known,

Address Subscription Department Goop NEws,
29 Rose street, New York.

Volume One out of print.

 

B OA S HOW TO MODEL, SAIL
i s AND BUILD A BOAT.
Everything relating to boats is fully illustrated
and explained in plain terms with an avoid-
ance of technical words. Complete chap-
ters on modeling a boat, ship building,
rigging of ship,etc. Among the illus
trations will be found: model for
deck of cutter, diagram of forma
of boat, form of stern, model
of schooner, sheer plan of
ship, half breadth plan,
body plan, the keel-
son, planking, cat-
head, knots and
splices, step-

 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ping a
mast,
etc,
6
Water Line. : ;
Rat i y|
Sel
| Berle Veteebeeetar tase ; i j
} 4 fags based, i , laches

This valuable book, entitled Boys’ Own Book of Boats, will be
sent postpaid to any ad- ] Cc Address MANUAL LIBRARY,
dress on receipt of price, ® 29 Rose St., New York,

Be sure to use **Mrs. Winslow's
Soothing Syrup” for yourchildren
while Teething. 25 cents a bottle.

 

 

ONLY A FEW LEFT.

While they last we will send the following books to any address, on receipt of

10 CENTS EACH,

 

 

 

o& 8 ROR 25 CENTS:

 

There will be no reprint editions.

AFLOAT WITH A CIRCUS; .
OR,
THE DIAMOND-SEEKERS OF NATAL.
By Henry L. Brack.

BOY CARIBAU-HUNTERS ;
f OR,
THE TREASURE-TROVE OF HUDSON BAY.
By CuHas. B. Cross.

 

 

WESTWARD HO;
OR,
THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING.
By Henry L. Biack.

ARTHUR HELMUTH.

BY
EDWARD 8. ELLIs.

 

 

 

Early orders requested.

WORKING HIS WAY;
OR,
THE BROOKVILLE BOY’S CLUB.
By DwieHt WELDEN.

 

ALL ABOARD;
OR,
THE RIVAL BOAT CLUBS.
By WELDEN C. CoBeE,

 

CAMP AND CANOE;
OR,
THE RED JACKETS IN FLORIDA.
By St GrorGE RATHBORNE.

 

THE RAJAH’S FORTRESS.
BY
WM. MuRRAY GRAYDON.

 

{ e
You may never again have such a good opportunity to secure stories by these celebrated authors at th
remarkably low price of TEN CENTS EACH, OR THREE FOR TWENTY-FIVE CENTS:

Address STREET & SMITH, 29 Rose Street, New York

 

 

 

a

‘IZ