oe oe Vol. Se eee oe r= ed AS eee ee ‘2 Aetled et Belts SO DIE EDT tho Sone iP Dae 3 ‘Sts IN CF Ge ES eee ON ae 2 ae it 7 ye? A N.. N N X y V, Vda a A / J ee if UY). “My WY), Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 18 by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. Entered as iii oaaes Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post-Offce. ame me nen ol mal et tate et Mat Mot Met Meet Maen Re ee ee nee essen ete Mahe at awh eta e tae tae oP aor me tne tac se ctee? 8s neh S ah lot 8st Selah tee I eh Mae een easel te sk eM eM? 0508 58 ear din 0159158368 not gees get setaseeMee asl 0e00 she 500508. %50% 0% n0% 50% ne” sg home tavect, Hew York. New York,-duly 20, 1895. ee ae ee No. 272. THE FRONT DOOR ABOVE TNT TT TIN WHT TTA li M I ig a) ma I i | seeknennets ee puk atten TP =| = ees SSS “WHAT, YOU!” GASPED WALTHROP, AND FELL BACK A PACE. FOR HIS HONOR’ S SAKE: THE RICHEST BOY DETECTIVE IN NEW YORK. BY WALDEN F. SHARP. [*FOR His Honor’s SAKE” was commmenced last week.] CHAPTER V. | quickly done, the child’s life would come to |a horrible and untimely end. ANDREW SAVES A LIFE. The other children screamed and sobbed, es : | but were utterly unable to give relief to ay, I did not take Andrew Darwin long to| their companion, who held out her arms to , I mn Andrew imploringly. ‘NE I -NABY W 3 aie en ‘he little girl’s long hair was all in| Without thinking of the danger and pain, OPENED, AND BARNABY WALTHROP CAME FORTH. (S flames, and unless. something was the youth caught the little girl by the \ N ; © : iy , | : t | + j i eh, 4338 shoulder with one hand. Then with the other he fairly grabbed the burning hair close to the roots and ran his palm down to the ends quickly. As he did so he looked about him for some water. Luckily, there was a tiny patch of grass to one side of the mansion next door, and upon this a lawn sprinkler was playing. He caught the little girl under his arm, and darting through the open iron gate rushed toward the lawn sprinkler, The water made short work of what little remained of the fire, and then Andrew turned to see if the little one was injured. He found that she had fainted away. The crowd of children had followed into the garden, still screaming loudly. Their cries attracted the attention of several grown people, including a lady who came out of the mansion at band. ‘‘My child! my child!’’ she ejaculated, and turned deadly pale. At the sound of her voice, Andrew turned quickly. Great was his astonishment to learn that the lady was Mrs. Clara Petell. ‘*Is she injured?’’ went on the lady, not recognizing Andrew in her agitation. ‘*T believe not,’’ returned the youth. ‘‘She has only fainted from the excitement.’’ ‘Poor Nellie!’? And in the intensity of her emotion, Mrs. Petell clasped the thor- oughly wet child to her breast and kissed the blanched face. ‘‘I will take her in. Won’t you come, too, please?’’ ‘*T will,’’ returned Andrew. And they passed into the mansion, out of the gaze of the curious crowd thaf*had col- lected. The little girl was made comfortable on a lounge, and a physician sent for. But long before he arrived she sat up, apparently as | well as ever. But the beautiful golden hair | was ruined, and would have to be cut off | close to the scalp. Almost immediately half a dozen of the neighbors came in, also some children, and | from the latter it was learned that little Nellie had unconsciously rested her head against a piece of burning punk lying on the railing of the steps. It. was some little while before the chil- dren and the neighbors left. In the mean- while “Andrew had found his way to the kitchen and put some flour on his blistered hand. When the doctor came he looked at the injured member and bound it up. It was but a trifle, and soon grew better. ‘‘And now I must thank you for your bravery,’’? said Mrs. Petell, when the two were alone. Andrew blushed. ‘‘You needn’t do that, Mrs. Petell,’’ he said. ‘‘Any one would have done as much.’’ ‘¢T doubt it. But you know my name, and it seems to mel have seen your face be- fore.”’ ‘*You saw me at my guardian’s offices— Mr. Walthrop.’’ ‘‘On, yes, I remember now.”’ face clouded for an instant. name??? ‘‘My name is Andrew Darwin.’’ ‘(So Mr. Walthrop is your guardian?’’ ‘*Yes, ma’am—or rather he was up to last night.’’ The lady looked curious. ‘*What do you mean by that?’’ ‘‘T left him last night—or rather, I was driven away,’’ returned Andrew, bluntly. ‘¢‘Mrs. Petell motioned him to a chair. He was in his shirt sleeves, his coat drying be- side the kitchen range, but she could not tail to notice his noble, handsome figure and good culture. ‘“You excite my curiosity,’’ earnestly. ‘*T will tell you my story,’’ he returned. ‘“To tell the truth, I had half a mind to call on you, only I didn’t have your exact ad- dress.’’ And sitting down, Andrew told the Southern lady of the sceuve in the library and of what had followed. But he did not mention the lands in Florida until the last. Mrs. Petell listened. with attention, and then heaved a lony sigh. “T imagine that is just like Mr. Wal- throp,’’ she said. ‘‘For my part, I am ex- ceedingly sorry that I ever placed my affairs in his hands,”’ “Then you are nots satisfied work?’?’ ‘“No, indeed.”’ ‘‘Will you tell me something of your hold- ings in Florida?’’ asked Andrew, with in- terest. ‘“‘T can tell you but little. For years I was told the lands were next to worthless, and I paid scant attention to them. Lately Ihave been told by parties who have been there that the land is picking up, as they say, but I can get no satisfaction from Mr. Walthrop.”’ ‘*T will tell you why you can get no satis- faction, Mrs. Petell,’’? said Andrew. And he told her of what he had heard, not only in tlfe library, but also at the offices at various times. ‘‘The wretch!’’ she cried, her Southern temper suddenly rising. ‘‘I verily believe he intends to cheat me out of that land!’’ ‘*Tt looks a bit that way. “You know this Lafferty is a land-boomer. If they got the property in their possession I fancy they could make a good deal of money out of it The lady’s ‘*And your she said, with his | as being quite so rich. CFOOD ‘*So it would seem, and yet——’’ Andrew | paused. ‘¢What?’? ‘‘Perhaps they weren’t stolen after all.’’ | ‘*Why, what do you mean?”’ ‘*Perhaps Mr. Walthrop simply hid them. By doing that he could kill three birds with | one stone.’’ | ‘*! don’t understand you.’’ ‘*In the first place, if the deeds were sup- | posed to be stolen you could not ask to have | them back; in the second place it would be | a good way to push Lafferty out of his | game, doing this by letting the whole matter rest for a year or two, and in the third | place, the loss of the deeds with the money was a good chance to throw suspicion on |} me, for he thinks to place me in prison and | thus remove me for the time being from his | path.’?’ Mrs. Petell gazed at the youth in astonish- ment, ‘*Perhaps you are right. I declare, An- drew, you ought to be a detective!’’ ‘*T would like to be a detective first-rate, ’’ was the rather surprising answer. CHAPTER VI. A STRANGE MISSION. HAT makes you think Mr. Wal- throp would wish to get you out of his way?’’ went on Mrs. Petell, after a pause, : ‘‘T can hardly put it in words,’ replied | Andrew, slowly. ‘‘It might be that I would not be treating him just right. But I—T| fancy he is not the guardian I ought to | | have.’’ ‘*Does he hold much in trust for you?’’ ‘‘When my mother died the estate was | said to be worth a hundred thousand dol- lars.’ The Southern lady elevated her eyebrows. She had not looked on Andrew previously ‘*That amount would be a great tempta- tion—especially to men like Mr. Walthrop.’’ She uttered the last words with peculiar significance, ‘So Il have thought.’’ ‘*‘What do you intend to do?’’ **T hardly know. Perhaps it will depend on what you intend to do?’’ went on An- drew, suddenly. ‘*Me? Well, I shall assert my rights.”’ ‘*To the deeds?’’ ‘*To everything. I will at once take steps to take all of my business out of Mr. Wal- throp’s hands,’’ ‘‘If the deeds are gone you can’t do any- thing in the Florida matter.’’ ‘“That is so? I will hire a detective——’’ ‘‘Let me be the detective,’’ put in An- drew, half to himeelf, ae VOREe,. 2 ‘*Yes.’? The youth sprang up. ‘‘Mrs. Petell, let me do this work. In getting back those deeds, I will be clearing my own honor.’’ ‘*But what will you do?”’ “J will watch Mr. Walthrop, also Lafferty, and if it is necessary, I will take a trip to Florida. Can you give me some idea about the land?’’ ‘Tt isa tract of fifty acres, situated not far from St. Augustine. More than that I cannot tell you, as I never paid much atten- tion to it.’’ ‘‘T wouldn’t mind a trip down there. I have always wanted to see something of that section of the country, and one thing is settled—I won’t go back to the Walthrops.”’ ‘*You will not?’’ ‘*Never!’’ and Andrew spoke firmly. ‘*He may force you td go.’’ : “lf he. tries to I will apply to the courts for an investigation of his accounts and for a new guardian.’’ ‘*Well, I don’t really know what to do,’’ sighed Mrs. Petell. ‘‘Let Andrew do for you just like he did for me,’’ put in little Nellie, who had been listening to the talk with big, wondering eyes. , ‘*¥ou dear!’’? The woman laughed. ‘‘Well, I am willing.’’ ‘‘Let the matter rest for a few days, will you?’’ asked Andrew. ‘‘In the meantime I will see what can be done.”’ ‘*f will do as you say. posing we have breakfast?’’ As the youth was bungry he gladly ac- cepted the invitation. During the meal they talked the matter over at a greater length, and became warm friends. ‘*You say you have no money just now?’’ said the lady, when Andrew prepared to leave. ‘*No; Mr. every cent.’’ And Andrew laughed, for he had never been so poor before in his life, and it was a novelty. ‘*T will let you have any amount you wish,’’ said the lady, readily. When Andrew finally took his departure he had fifty dollars in small bills on his person. To many this would seem a large amount, but he had often had much more in his pocket. Andrew’s next move was to continue his journey to the Cress home. Having the means to ride, he did so, and soon reached And now, sup- Walthrop cleaned me out of ‘your father at home | shooting their fire-cfackers. }on him and NEWS. ‘‘Thought you were never coming!’’ was Edgar’s greeting. ‘‘Hullo! how did you hurt your hand?’’ he added, quickly. Andrew told him. ‘‘And I can’t go to Manhattan Beach, Ed,’’ be added. | ‘*Why not??’.- ‘Come into the house and I’il tell you. Is |} 99) ‘*Yes; he never stirs away on the Fourth.’ ‘*T must speak to him.’’ They went in, and the three were soon closeted in the little front parlor, beneath the windows of which some children were Andrew’s story interested Mr. Cress ex- ceedingly, for he thought a great deal of the youth, outside of the fact that Andrew had helped him financially. ‘‘Oh, he is a mean man,’’ he said, refer- ring to Mr. Walthrop. ‘‘I have known that for years. He is not fit to be any one’s guardian.’’ ‘*What about that eight hundred dollars? You will not let him have it?’’ ‘¢‘T can’t now. He will have to sue, and I hardly think he will go that far. Of course (’ll have to pay up when the note is due, in three months, because, even if the money was what you had saved, he is entitled to hold it, as your guardian.’’ ‘*We’ll wait and see what three months brings forth,’’ said AnGrew, significantly. ‘“‘P’d cut his ranch!’? put. in Edgar, im- pulsively. ‘‘Don’t you go back under any consideration, Andy.’’ ‘*T’ll go back but for one purpose—to spy learn the truth of my affairs and Mrs. Petell’s.’’ ‘*You don’t know what he may do. A man who is mean enough to attempt to have you arrested unjustly is mean enough for almost anything.’’ ‘*T will be on my guard.”’ ‘‘T know that Lafferty,’’ ‘‘He is a thoroughly bad egg. a score of people, in a land Lochester.”’ ‘‘Can you give me his address in Brook- lyn?’’ ‘*Ves;’? and the stationer did so. ‘“*T’ll watch him, too. He and Mr. Wal- throp seem*to work hand in hand, although my guardian may be trying to get the best of him.’’ ‘*He’ll have a job getting the best of Lafferty,’’? laughed Gilbert Cress. The conversation continued for half an hour, and then Andrew arose to go. As he did so, the front door-bell rang, and the servant went to answer the sum- mons. ‘Does Mr. Gilbert Cress live here?’’ asked a harsh voice. ‘*Mr. Walthrop!’’ cried Andrew, in a low voice. ‘‘He has come to see you about that note.’’ ‘“‘Tf you don’t want to see bim you can hide, Andy,’’ returned Edgar, quickly. ‘*T will step into the next room and listen to what he has to say,’’ replied the youth, and he left the parlor by one door just as Barnaby Walthrop appeared on the threshold of another. said Mr. Cress. He swindled deal in CHAPTER VII. A BATTLE OF WORDS. ARNABY WALTHROP’S face looked sour and dark as he stepped into the room and greeted Gilbert Cress with “7 a stiff nod of his head. He came at once to the poifit, dropping into a chair without invitation. ‘*Well, Cress, I have found out the name of your intimate friend—the one who loaned you that eight hundred dollars,’’ he began. ‘*Yes?’’ returned the stationer, calmly. ‘*BExactly. It was my ward, Andrew Dar- win.’ ‘‘T do not deny it.’ ‘Do you know where he got that money?’?’ ‘¢He saved it up out of his allowance for several years.”’ ‘ + > ANIMAL HUMBUGS. In military stables horses are known to have pretended to be lame in order to avoid going to a military exercise. A chimpanzee had been fed on cake when sick; after his recovery he often feigned coughing in order to procure dainties. The cuckoo, as is well known, lays its eggs in another bird’s nest, and to make the deception surer it takes away one of the other bird’s eggs. Animals are consciouscof their deceit, as shown by the fact that they try to act secretly and noiselessly; they show a sense of guilt if detected; they take precautions in advance to avoid discovery; in some cases they manifest regret and repentance. Thus, bees which often steal besitate often before and after their exploits, as if they feared punishment. A naturalist describes how his monkey commited theft; while he pretended to sleep, the animal regarded him. with hesitation, and stopped every time his master moved or seemed on the point of awakening. Such, and many more well-known facts, may be due to fear of punishment, which naturally follows a misdeed, just as is the case with habitual thieves. —_—___—6-@——___.. Mrs. Brown—‘‘I thought you said it was the little boy next door who was making . all the noise?’’ ; Johnnie—‘‘So it was, ma. I was beating (a0 IN LO wv ——¢ ———— BY J. L. ADAMS. —_ -—— HAT a delicious morning it was! Cold as only a day in Northern \ Maine can be, but so pure, sodry, “a so brilliant, that the blood went leaping through my veins, and I could have laughed for mere joy. For miles and miles the frozen surface of the lake spread away, glittering in the early sun, like a vast mur- ror. ‘‘Sherwaun’’ the lake was called, after a tribe of Indians that had once dwelt upon its shores, but bad long since disappeared; | all, except one old man, Mokwa by name, who occupied a little hut some distance be- | low our house. A sturdy boy of fifteen, ‘‘tough as a hickory knot’’—so my father said—warmly clad in my suit of thick woolens with my mittens, and cap with ear-flaps, I ran down | the path which led to the lake, whistling and singing, breaking off now and then to send a wild halloo after a scuttling rabbit. My ice-boat, the Elfin, lay at the little stone pier, with her sails neatly furled, all ready for a start. A brisk wind was blow- ing, and soon I was spinning down the lake | at a great speed. I had made the Elfin myself, after a de- | scription I had found in an _ illustrated paper; for there were no other ice-boats on Sherwaun. Our few neighbors considered the Elfin a marvel, though the older people gravely predicted that I would one day come to grief with her. But she was strongly though roughly put together, and after a few harmless overturns, while I was learn- ing to handle her, I felt as safe as in my own bed at home, How gayly she swept along, her runners clanging like bells upon the ice, the sails pulling and tugging at the sheet line! How she leaped as she struck some uneven spot on the surface, like a spirited horse clear- ing a petty obstruction! How beautifully she minded the slightest touch of the helm; and how proud and excited I was! When I first started I had seen a dark ob- | ject on the lake at the foot of grandfather’s grounds, which joined ours. As I drew near I recognized the old Indian, Mokwa. He | was fishng through a hole which hethad cut in the ice. ‘‘What luck, Mokwa?’’ I eried, as I | brought the Elfin around with a swoop, and let her glide slowly up to where he crouched, while I inwardly hoped my grandfather would not observe the old man poaching upon that part of the lake, which he re- garded as his own especial property. For it must be confessed that my grandfather was a hot-tempered person and quick to take offense. Mokwa looked up with a scowl. ‘*No luck, for reason of you,’’ he growled. ‘“You make me just lose a fine pike with your mad fool’s howling.’”’ I did not like Mokwa; no one did, for he was an evil, bad-tempered old savage, who never had a pleasant look on his dark face, or a civi] word on his thin, cruel lips. He supported himself by fishing in the lake and hunting on the hills, selling what he did not need for his own use. Ati times he acted as guide to parties coming up from the city. But there were seasons when the old man | would have starved, or frozen, but for my mother’s goodness. She liked him no better than the rest of us; but all the same she sent him food, and fuel, and medicine when he was ill; and although Mokwa never ex- pressed his gratitude by word or look, I} fancied her kindness had made an impres- | sion upon him. On the morning [ am describing, I was in | too joyous a mood to heed the old Indian’s | sullenness, so I only cried out as I sailed on again: ‘‘Well, Tam off, Mokwa! Good-by!’’ I had the day before me, and thought I would run down and have a look at Lenewa Falls, which I had not seen since the lake was frozen. I was gliding merrily along, when, happening to glance back to where I had left Mokwa, I saw that my grandfather had evidently spied him out, for he was striding down the path toward the lake, his every motion expressive of wrath. ‘Grandfather is too hard on the old chap,’’ I thought, and at once prepared to return and see what I could do to settle matters between them, As I drew near, the Indian landed a large fish, probably the same pike that the Elfin and I had scared away a few moments ago. He placed it in a shallow birch basket at his side, rebaited his hook, and went to work agairf, entirely indifferent to the fact that grandfather was shouting at him from the bank: ‘Take yourself off, Mokwa. I won’t have you cutting holes in the ice before my door, ‘Tis on the other side of the lake where you belong. Do you hear?’’ Without so much as raising his head, the Indian drew from the hole another fish, and then began breaking away the edges of the ice to widen the opening. This was the straw too much. Grandfather hurried down toward Mokwa, his face flushed with anger. - ‘‘Don*t pretend to be deaf, you skulking rascal!’? he exclaimed, touching the Indian lightly on the shoulder; ‘‘but take youself 4339 ' off and fish in some other place. I won’t have you here.’’ Still Mokwa did not move, but deliber- | ately continued chopping at the ice. Broken | bits flew into my grandfather’s face, which epraged him so that, with a quick move- ment of his foot he sent the Indian’s basket | spinning toward me. It overturned and dis- |charged the fish, which slid farther along | the surface of the lake. While I was trying to restore the slippery things to the basket my little sister, who had been brought over to ygrandfather’s on a visit, came skipping down the bank, her yellow hair fluttering in the wind. ‘*Hugo,’’ she called, beckoning to me, ‘‘bring the fish back; poor Mokwa wants | them fur his dinner.’’ Grandfather caught little Beatrice, or | ‘*Bee,’? as we called her, up in his arms, and, while he lectured old Mokwa, stroked her hair tenderly trom time to time, for he | loved the child above everything else on earth, The Indian arose to his feet as I ap- proached and handed him his basket. ‘Now go,’’? continued my grandfather; ‘‘tuke your fish and march! I gave youa piece of ground on the other side of the Sherwaun, Keep to it, and don’t come over here again.’’ ‘*Give—you give!’’ exclaimed Mokwa, straightening himself up to his full height. ‘“‘The old white man cannot give what is ,not his. This, all this belonged to me,’’ and he threw his arms wide apart. ‘‘It belonged to my people before ever you'saw the light. It is not yours to give.”’ Mokwa was working himself up intd a | terrible rage. He dashed the basket I had offered him furiously upon the ice at his feet. The fish slipped through the opening he had made, and were lost to sight in an instant. Bee, alarmed at the scene, hid her face on grandtather’s shoulder and sobbed. ‘‘There, there, pretty one! Nothing shall harm you,’’ he said, soothingly. The look with which Mokwa regarded my grandfather almost froze my blood; it was | so full of cold, cruel malevolence. “*Come, go on!’’ exclaimed grandfather, who in his anger would not listen to my | entreaties, ‘‘and, remember,’’ he continued, ‘*T won’t bave you cutting holes before my |} house. If I catch you at it again, I will set | my dogs on you.’’ ‘*And 1,’’ returned Mokwa, ‘‘have dogs, too. I keep.them here,’’ striking his breast fiercely, ‘‘and one time they shall tear your heart from your body, old white man !’’ He bent and tightened the straps of his | queer, old-fashioned skates with round run- ners. The next moment he was gone, shoot- ing along over the ice, for Mokwa could | skate better and faster than any man I ever saw. Grandfather said something about ‘‘ Indian /rant,’? and turned back toward the house. Bee slipped from his arms, and, approach- |ing me, whispered: ‘Did all of the foor man’s fish go into the water, Hugo?’’ ‘‘He will catch more,’’ I said, for her lips were quivering and her eyes were full of tears. ‘‘But grandpa won’t let him come back,’’ she answered, wistfully. Then she added, | brightening up: ‘‘I’l] tell you what I will do. I will make a nice hook out of a big crooked pin, and I will put a piece of bread on it, then I will catch back Mokwa’s fish, and you shall take them to him.’’ ‘Very well.’’ I said, ‘‘go and talk to grandfather.’’ I wanted to be off, but I would not leave Bee on the ice alone. ‘“‘Come in, Bee,’’? called grandfather, from the bank above, and the child mounted the rough path and joined him. The old Indian’s revengeful face dwelt in my mind, and worried me a good deal. But I determined to drive away the thought, for I was out to enjoy myself. ‘““‘Now for the Falls,’’ I said, as I trimmed the Elfin’s sails. I had made a long tack, and was coming back on the wind, when I caught sight of a small figure fluttering along on the ice, close by my grandfather’s place. I knew at once that it was my little sister. I had scarcely time to recognize her when another object moved swiftly toward her. It was Mokwa, and he was swooping down upon her like a hawk upon a dove. Before I could utter a sound or change the course of my boat, he had snatched her up and slung her upon his back. I watched him for one breathless second, to ascertain what he meant to do. He seemed undecided, and moved like a dazed man, blundering hither and thither, with- out ary apparent object or knowledge of what he was about. I was sure now that he was laboring under one of those terrible ‘*spells’’? I heard spoken of as coming upon him at times, when he was utterly mad and capable of any ferocious deed. ; I shouted and hallooed for help at the top of my lungs. Mokwa, and Mokwa only, heard my cry. and the old savage, probably dreaming in his insane mood that he was once again on the warpath of his younger days, sent back a shrill, defiant whoop, the most blood-curdling, beart-chilling sound I have ever heard—a sound full of deadly menace and furious rage. 4340 GCcoDp He raised his hand and shook it at me, then he turned and, with the sweep of an eagle, sped down the lake. I knew what lay below there. The lake, compressed into a narrow chan- nel, rushed over the rocks and stones into the river below with a thunder to be heard a mile away. So violent and swift was the cascade—we called it Lenewa Falls—that it had never been frozen within my memory. The mad Indian was dashing straight to- ward the Falls, and in his frenzy I felt in- ‘ stinctively he would hurl my sister over to instant death, and perhaps himself with her. Heartsick and half-crazy myself with terror, I turned the Elfin’s head after the flying Indian, hoping in some way to stop him and save little Bee. if I could have driven right ahead I should certainly have been able to come up with Mokwa in a very short time, but the wind would not allow of this. I could only hope, by close calculation, to intercept him at some point on the lake short of the Falls, and, if possible, run him down with my ice-boat. The worst of the situation was that I could not keep the mad savage in sight all the time; and when my back was turned my apprehension was so great that I could scarcely think, or manage the craft. Mokwa skated on, his head and body thrust far forward, and his arms swinging rapidly. He had secured Bee upon his back with a leathern strap. The poor little dar- ling kept her face turned toward me, and I knew that she was crying. Again and again | shot up to the Indian and tried to bear down upon him, but each time he managed to evade me, and the Elfin’s sails would shake. and tremble, then flap loosely against the mast, and before I could fill the canvas again Mokwa was al- most out of sight. Now we were nearing the Lenewa; a heavy tremulous booming filled the air, and the Indian was making straight for the thick white ridge of ice looming ahead. The wind had risen, and bore me forward at a fearful rate. I was now in terror lest I should injure Bee if I carried out my first idea. But what else could I do? With one rapid glance backward I saw that a crowd had collected. Help was coming, but it would be too late. Mokwa watched me warily, and again, with.a tigerish yell, he dodged the Elfin as Ibore down upon him. Masses of frozen foam and hummocks of ice formed a great white bar from shore to shore, under which the volume of water poured down into the river below. Mokwa mounted the ridge of ice, and, pointing to the torrent, glanced at me. Then, for the first time, Bee shrieked, though her voice could scarcely be heard for the din and roar of the Falls that filled the air. The rough, uneven surface upon which the Indian stood was a treacherous foothold, and he slipped backward again and again. This gave me a chance, to sweep in between him and the Falls. ft brought the Elfin around close to him. Little Bee’s agonized face made me desperate. I sprang from the boat right at the Indian’s breast, and clung around his neck like a wild-cat, and tore at the strap which held Bee with my teeth. It burst asunder, and Bee slipped to the ground. ‘*Run, run for your life!’’ I had just time to shout, when down we came with a crash, and rolled over together. I struggled to free myself from his arms as the sound of water grew louder. I caught a glimpse of the surging, leaping gulf beneath us, then my senses must have left me, for I remembered nothing more until the welcome shouts, the ringing of skates, and the tread of many feet surrounded me, and I found myself re- I¢dased from Mokwa’s clutch, with Bee sob- bing against my shoulder, as Isat on the frame-work of the Elfin, bewildered and trembling. The first words I heard distinctly came from Gus Powers, a great, good-natured fel- low, one of my father’s field-hands. ‘‘He seems so set on getting into the drink,’’ he shouted, angrily, ‘‘[’m a good mind to chuck him over the rocks myself.’’ There was a hearty growl of assent and approval from the others. *‘Oh, dear! oh, dear!’’ cried Bee, running up to grandfather. ‘‘Please don’t let Gus throw poor Mokwa into the dreadful water.”’ ‘“That’s what the old savage was going to do with you!’’ growled Gus. ‘*But he was too mad to know anything,’’ sobbed Bee, ‘‘and you are not a:bit mad, Gus. You sha’n’t, I say you sha’n’t,’’ and she burst into tears. Mokwa sat on the ice, his head bent on his folded arms. He raised his’ eyes, and looked at Bee with a singular expression on his dark face. All the men, grandfather at their head, seemed bent on punishing Mokwa; but a feeling of pity for the lonely old Indian had suddenly taken possession of me, so, stagger- ing to my feet, I thrust myself in between him and Gus. ‘look here,’’? I shouted. ‘‘Let him off, will you? Mokwa was crazy ;,when he grabbed Bee. I saw that in his eyes. If I can forgive him, so ought you.”’ There was silence for a moment; then grandfather laid his hand kindly on my shoulder. ‘*Perhaps you are right, my boy,’’ he said. Then turning to the group of excited men, he advised them to let the matter drop where it was. This they finally consented to do, and presently I was alone with Mokwa. Advancing to where he sat, lyassisted him to rise. He gazed at me wonderingly, then, tap- ping his breast, he muttered: ‘*Yes, yes, young white brave right, Old Mokwa mad. Some day young brave be great chief,’’? and without another word he skated slowly away with his head bowed on his breast. The next day mother called me into the garden and showed mea pile of valuable pelts and a lovely little bark canoe. ‘*Old Mokwa left these this morning,’’ she explained, ‘‘for the young white brave— meaning you, I suppose.”’ I did not like to accept such a present from the old Indian, and at once determined tv take them back to his home in the wood. But when 1 came to look yfor him he had disappeared, and though we watched for him for several seasons, Mokwa never re- turned. a {ow To Bo Tunes. desis EDITED BY DAVID PARKS, Gi HOW TO TAKE A BICYCLE TRIP. pet 2 (- ELIEVE me, to a lover of nature, B there can be no more delightful way 7A of spending a holiday than a tour, “7S with its free and unconventional life, amid the beautiful scenery which almost every part of our country has to offer. I presuppose that my readers are alive to this fact, so that my object is not to kindle their enthusiasm for the beautiful in nature, but rather the more prosaic one of offering a few hints and suggestions that will enable them to make their tours with the greatest comfort and success. A certain general is said to have attributed his success to the fact that he looked after his soldiers’ shoe-buckles, doubtless intend- ing to donvey, in epigrammatic form, the idea that nothing connected with his men, and their comfort and health, was too in- significant for his notice. The general was unquestionably right, for careful attention to small matters is the surest road to success in great matters. This rule applies to touring, and if the intending tourist desires success and enjoyment to at- tend his tours, he will only secure them by the most careful preparation beforehand. Hvery. detail should be thought out and every contingency prepared for. My first suggestion is one that is often lost sight of by tourists, and yet it is impossible to overrate its importance. It is the absolute necessity of having an object. Touring, like life itself, should have a purpose, or it will be a profitless and useless expenditure of time. The purpose naturally varies with the character of the tourists. It must be dictated in every case by the idiosyncrasy of each particular tourist. One person will have a fancy for asketching or a photographic tour, one for a botanizing or geologizing tour, an- other will desire simply a holiday, touring for change of scene and rest of mind. Each of these objects will necessitate modifications of the general manner of carrying out a tour, and will need special preliminary arrangements. As these vary in every case, I cannot enter into details, but content myself with pointing out the fact as one important to be borne in, mind. It is necessary to remember that certain things must be carefully avoided if the tour is to be a tour in more than name. Perhaps the most fatal bar to proper enjoyment is to start with the idea of covering as much ground as possible. Distance should. never be an object, speed should be a matter of in- difference, and time should, in a measure, be disregarded. Coming to the actual preliminaries, the first question to be settled is the one of a companion or companions, and one cannot be too particular about one’s choice here. Those traveling together should have com- mon tastes and pursuits. Then, too, there must be something like an equal amount of strength. A young Her- cules and a pale youth with flabby muscles would not pair well; the flabby youth would be half killed, while the young giant would complain that he did not get exercise enough. Next in importance to the choice of a companion is the choice of a district for touring. Having settled the district, it. is wise to find out from gazetteers and guides and handbooks all that is likely to prove of interest in that district. Having thoroughly searched these books, and settled on the points of interest to be visited, the next step will be to acquire information about the roads. Maps.of a portable character should be provided. \Get those-which are of a con- venient size for carrying in the pocket, and are all on one scale. It is area to ex- aggérate the importance of this last point, because the eye becomes so used to measur NEWS. ing distances, that a glance suffices to give an approximate idea of the distance between two places. Whereas, if maps of different scales are used for different parts of the route, the tourist is constantly misjudging his distances. The reason is an obvious one —the eye becomes accustomed to judging distances by the scale of the map first used ; when the map on a different scale super- | sedes the first, the mind unconsciously uses | the first scale, and so misjudges the dis- | tances on the second map. | Having settled the district, procured all | necessary information, and studied the map | of the road, the tourist isin a position to determine the main outline of the route to be followed. I say main outline advisedly, because I do not advise any tourist to at- tempt to settle long beforehand the details as to distance and time. So many circuin- stances of an unexpected character arise during a tour, that a tour too elaborately arranged as to distance and time is sure to be upset before many miles have been tra- versed, These unexpected events constitute one of the greatest charms of touring, and should be welcomed, not anathematized, as they are likely to be wben they put out of gear a pian too carefully elaborated in all its de- tails of time and distance. It isa good plan to fix upon a central spot, and make that headquarters for a few rdays; and then, having explored the dis- trict, to ride on to some other central spot, making that in the same way a center from which to make excursions in the district around. The personal equipment next claims our attention. This varies a little with the sea- son; but we will suppose the tour is made in the summer or early autumn, when the weather is fine and settled. I should suggest for wear a thin, close-fitting undershirt of the finest woolen material, so as to cause no irritation to the skin, Then over that an outing-shirt or sweater, and for coat, a short jacket. For the legs, knickerbockers, and stockings, with cycling shoes. The matter of supreme importance is that nothing should be new, or discomfort in some form or other will be sure to ensue. Every one knows the misery of new boots, and every new garment is a more or less mitigated form of new boots as regards its attendant discomfort. As regards the whole of the garments worn, both outer and inner, the one rule to be followed in all cases is that every garment should be made entirely of wool; no linen or cotton, or canvas stiffening should be used. In addition to the clothes actually worn, some will have to be carried for a change after riding, and in case of a change of weather. I should recommend the following: One undershirt, a shirt, a pair of drawers (all of some woolen material); also a pair of thin compressible slippers. To these should be added a scarf of woolen material, which should be put round the neck at all halts except when the weather is very warm. A light mackintosh and leggings should be carried. Needles and thread, sticking-plaster and lint, anda pair of scissors, take up hardly any room, and may prove of .the greatest service. Then there arises naturally the question as to the best way of carrying the kit. The plan generally adopted is to affix a bag of some kind to the wheel, but Iam more and more convinced that it is a mistake to at- tach a bag to any part of a bicycle. In the first place, it is difficult to find a place, where the bag is nota good deal in the way; but my great objection is that the addition of the weight,of the bag alters the balance of the machine so materially that it is retarded in a manner altogether out of proportion to the mere weight of the bag. The fact is, makers build their machines in such a way that the rider is placed in that position wheré his weight throws the center of gravity of the bicycle into that spot which is most suitable for the easy running of the machine. Now, the addition of the weight of a bag either before or behind the rider alters the position of the center of gravity, and con- sequently throws it into a spot not the most suitable for the easy running of the machine. The majority of riders attribute the conse- quent retardation to the weight of the bag, and do not appear to be aware of the differ- ence that the altered position of the center of gravity will make inthe case of the running of the machine. I think the best thing is a knapsack. This only adds to the rider’s weight, and conse- quently does not carry the center of gravity either forward or backward, but merely alters its position in the vertical line. Riders generally have an objection to a knapsack because they feel it uncomfortable; but this is merely because they will not persevere until they become used to it. There are, of course, knapsacks and knap- sacks. Some are such instruments of torture that they never can be carried with com- fort; they are wrong in principle and faulty in construction, Buta knapsack with the patent yoke, which keeps the knapsack it- self off the back and allows free ventilation, is after a short time so comfortable to wear, and interferes so little with the,action of the heart and lungs, that without it is very heavily loaded, one is hardly conscious of its presence. Ic is not wise to go touring ona brand- new and untried wheel. A bicycle, like a pair of boots or a suit of clothes, needs some use before it becomes perfectly comfortable; the saddle needs adjusting, and it has to be tried in various positions before the exact place for it is found; the handle-bar needs raising and lowering until its proper posi- tion is ascertained. The pedals must be looked after and adjusted. All this should be done in connection with short experi- mental spins, and no long ride should be undertaken until this adjusting has been done and the machine’s peculiarities have been mastered. In the tool-bag should be placed, in uddi- tion to the usual oil-can and spanner or wrench, an old stocking or some cotton- waste for cleaning the machine, a strong pair of wire-pliers, a padlock and chain, for fastening the machine, some fairly strong copper Wire, some string, and a boot-lace or two, useful in case of a breakdown. The copper wire | recommend as the best form of tire-fastener in cases of emergency. In using it, first pierce the rubber tire with a sharp-pointed pocket-knife, making the per- foration as near the center of the rubber as the rim of the wheel will permit. Through this hole thread the copper wire, pass the two ends down toward the center of the wheel, letting them meet under the rim, and twisting the ends together with the wire-pliers. Three or four of these loops will keep the loose part of the tire in position until it can be properly cemented. It is well to be thus prepared for acci- dents, but the best preventive is a thorough and careful overhauling of the machine be- fore starting. If the intending tourist is himself not sufficient of a mechanic to take the cycle to pieces and examine the bear- ings, he will act wisely if he takes it to some first-class repairer and’ have it thor- oughly examined, and the bearings care- fully cleaned and adjusted. It will certainly save him from discomfort, and may save him from a serious accident, and will most assuredly save his machine. A few hints as to the rider himself will be all that I need add. Itis not well to start on a tour without some previous prepara- tion and training, particularly if the tour- ist’s ordinary occupation is a sedentary one. Merely to be out of doors for a long time, especially in the sun, is in itself fatiguing to any one the greater part of whose ordinary life is spent indoors, and if such a one plunges suddenly from a quiet, sedentary life into a life of violent outdoor exercise, he will not only not do himself good, he will do himself positive harm.” Theréfore by all means, for some little time before the tour commences, let the tourist take as much outdoor exercise as he can possibly get with- out unduly fatiguing himself, and let him, when he actually commences the tour, be content with quiet work and short hours, which may be increased and lengthened as he becomes gradually accustomed to thd change in his manner of spending his time. Riding within one’s strength, no exercise, in my opinion, can compare with cycling for its invigorating properties. Riding be- yond one’s strength, it at once becomes a most dangerous amusement. The golden rule is to leave off as soon as you are tired, and never to continue until you become fagged and feverish. Then comes the question of the hours for riding. This depends very much on the pre- vious habits and on.the constitution of the rider. Some people rise early, and need little sleep; others need much sleep, and find rising exhausting. I should advise each to follow his natural inclination and usual practice as to early-morning riding. I should, however, advise all to leave off in good time, for the pleasant evening after a thorough wash and change of under-clothes is one of the most agreeable parts of a day’s touring, and is altogether lost by a rider who continues riding till late at night, com- ing in just in time to partake of food and go to bed. Meals must be regulated by the tastes and habits of each rider. Though riding produces a great deal of thirst, it is not necessary to drink an im- moderate amount of fluid; if the moutb is occasionally rinsed out with cold water, the thirst, which is really at the root of the tongue, will be allayed. Tea and oatmeal- water make the best drinks. In riding day after day, the feet are apt to become chafed. If yourub your feet well, and-also the inside of your stockings with ordinary yellow soap, the soap, as the foot gets hot, acts as a.lubricant, and effectually prevents blisters and chafing. I ought, before concluding, to remind in- tending tourists that they will come in con- tact in their wanderings with living things, men and beasts, more especially horses. Now horses are nervous animals, so that a cyclist should always approach them in such a way as to startle them as little as possible. He should further observe carefully the rules of the road, and, above all, should keep a civil tongue in his head, for it has been well said that ‘‘good words are worth much, but cost little.’’ a a ONLY one man in 208 is over six feet iu height. BmUS 1 om _ ee ee ek ee ee (This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. } LOYAL TO NAPOLEON ; OR, THE YOUNG SPY OF FOUCHE. etn 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 obtained of all News Agents. } CHAPTER XXII, BETWEEN GRATITUDE AND DUTY. 2 ne DEC UCIEN was stunned and bruised by the fall, but nevertheless he made a sturdy resistance. Strong and muscu- G>” Jar as he was, however, he was far from being a match for his assailant. The ruffian knelt heavily on the lad’s breast, while he tried to chrottle him with his long, skinny fingers. In vain Lucien attempted to break the hold, and it was equally impossible to shout for help. His ears began to roar as he felt the agoaies of suffocation. He could see the dusky face of his would-be murderer peer- ing into his own. He struggled madly, des- perately. No use; he must die! Conscious- ness was leaving him—— But just then something happened. The slim figure of a woman darted noiselessly behind the ruffian. She caught him by the collar with both hands, and with a jerk dragged him clear of, his victim, and twisted him to one side against a tree. Lucien staggered to his feet in time to see the scoundrel rise, aim a futile blow at the woman, and then plunge out of sight in the darkness. He started in pursuit, but turned back when he realized his weakness. ‘‘Madame, you saved my lite,’’ he said to his rescuer, who was standing in the deep shadow of the trees. ‘‘How can | thank you?’’ ‘‘T am not madame,’’ the woman re- plied, in a voice of peculiar sweetness. ‘*Come, monsieur, it is not safe for us to linger here in the darkness.’’ As they walked on side by side, she added: ‘‘At this time of night and in this lonely neigh- borhood you should always be on the watch for thieves and murderers. It was impru- dent of you to venture here.’’ ‘‘But it was more imprudent of you to be on the street alone,’’ protested Lucien. ’ “(That is true, monsieur. I fear I was very thoughtless. But I live only a few doors away, and being troubled with a headeche, I came out for a little fresh air.’’ By this time they had reached the edge of a dull radius of light that shone from a near-by lamp. On turning to look at his companion Lucien could not repress an ex- clamation of astonishment. He saw before him a young girl of no more than his own age—a slim and beautiful creature with deep-blue eyes, a complexion like a peach, and masses of thick brown hair falling to her shoulders. From under the dark cloak that she wore peeped part of a snowy neck and bosom, and a corsage ef lace and satin. ‘¢Pardon me, mademoiselle,’’ he said. ‘‘I took you for a woman.’’ ‘¢ And are you disappointed, sir?’’ ‘‘On the contrary,’’ Lucien replied, ‘‘I feel that I owe you a double debt.’’ The girl smiled with pleasure. ‘‘It was nothing, monsieur,’’ she said. ‘‘T saw the ruffian assault you, and I could do no less than to come to your aid.”’ ‘‘And but for that assistance I should now be dead,’’? declared Lucien. ‘‘You saved my life. and I cannot tell you how deeply grateful I am——”’ ashes ‘¢Oh, I know you, monsieur,’’ the girl in- terrupted, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. ‘‘T know youncw. I have seen you walking with my father. You live at the Pension Chambord, then.’’ ‘“‘Yoar father?’’ “Surely not!’’ ‘‘Surely yes, monsieur. Iam Renee, the daughter of the Chevalier de Florin.”’ ‘The daughter of the chevalier!’ mut- tered Lucien, ina tone of dismay. ‘‘I did not know that he had one.’’ The girl clasped her hands, and looked appealingly at Lucien. ‘‘I fear I have been imprudent,’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘I have told you too much, monsieur. Listen! I will rely on your honor, for I know I can trust you. My father does not know that I am in Paris; he thinks me to be safe in England with my aunt. But 1 love him so much that I returned secretly to France in order to be near him. I am staying with a kind) friend close by here.’’ _ She paused a moment, and a tear glistened in her eye. ‘*You won’t tell my father that you have seen me, monsieur?’’ she implored. ‘‘He Would send me back to England, and I wish sO much to remain near him. It is true that IT cannot speak to him, and that I can see him only at a distance, but that little makes Mme very happy. And should he ever be in danger—I fear he has some secret purpose mm remaining in Paris—I may be able to Save him. You understand, monsieur?’’ exclaimed Lucien. ‘*Ves, I understand,’’ Lucien admitted, hesitatingly. ‘‘I will say nothing, made- moiselle—I shall make no mention of my adventure to the chevalier.’’ ‘Oh, thank you, monsieur; thank you a thousand times. You have a noble heart. But I must bid you farewell now. If we should be seen here— —’’ ‘*At least permit me to accompany you to your own door?’’ said Lucien. ‘‘No, monsieur. That would be impru- dent. But we shall meet again, I hope. Adieu!’ With a parting smile that showed her flashing teeth, Renee de Florin vanished down the gloomy street. Lucien gazed after her for a moment, and then walked slowly toward the Pension. There were no trees now, and the lamps shed a sickly light from house to house. ‘‘Better to have been throttled than to be rescued by that sweet and innocent girl,’’ he muttered, fiercely. ‘‘The daughter of the Chevalier de Florin! Was there ever such a luckless adventure? Little does Renee dream that she has just saved the life of one who is sworn to bring her guilty father to justice. If there was only a way to save the chevalier and at the same time capture his fellow-conspirators—but no, that is impos- sible, except at the cost of my own dishonor and disgrace. It would be useless to appeal to Fouche.’’ At the door of the Pension Lucien paused. ‘*‘What am I to do?’’ he said to himself. ‘‘Must I be merciless. and relentless—must I break this poor girl’s heart? Yes; there is no other course. Jam bound by honor and loyalty—by my devotion to the emperor and Josephine. I dare not—will not—swerve from my duty.’’ With Lucien, to make a steadfast resolve meant that nothing could tempt him from it. He had done that now, and with a troubled but inflexible heart he -entered the house. On reaching his apartments he was surprised to find a visitor waiting for him, and that visitor was the man of all others whom he least wished to see at that time— the Chevalier de Florin. His grave face in- dicated that he had something of importance to say. ‘‘T have been here a long time, Monsieur Bellair,’’ he began. ‘‘I feared you had met with some misfortune.”’ ‘*T have been seeing Paris by night,’’ ex- plained Lucien, ‘‘and if was late when I dined. But where is Spado?’’ he added. ‘‘T took the liberty of sending him to the boulevard on an errand,’’ the chevalier re- plied, in a meaning tone. ‘‘To be plain, I wished to see you privately. If I mistake not, Monsieur Bellair, you are as ardenta royalist as your guardian Henri St. Maur, and you have more than once expressed a desire to aid our cause in any way possible. Do you know what that means?’’ ‘“T do, sir,’’ Lucien replied, ‘‘and I repeat that offer.’’ His manifest pleasure and excitement were not feigned. He forgot all else in the thrill- ing discovery that the success of his task was about to be assured. ‘*You are young in years,’’ the chevalier went on, ‘‘but you have the strength and intelligence of a man. You have been under surveillance for a week, and the test has satisfied myself and my friends. With their consent I came here to-night. of the Pension Chambord need not be told in detail. Lucien was taken into the full confidence of the conspirators, but he was clever enough to see at once that they were more eager for the money that he was able to contribute than for his personal services. He played his part well, and made good use of his eyes and ears, thus mastering all the details of the plot. These were few, and not intricate. It will suffice to say that the emperor was to be assassinated while making one of his frequent journeys between the Tuileries and the palace of St. Cloud. Elaborate preparations had. been going on for some time. The place was chosen—a lonely spot along the. road—and every pre- caution had been taken to assure the escape of the assassins and the success of their crime. : A knowledge of the time fixed for Napo- leon’s next trip to St. Cloud was all that was now needed, and that promised to be forthcoming speedily. On Friday night at eleven o’clock—the next night but one—the conspirators were to meet in the cellar again, when they would be joined by a member who was absent on the present oc- casion. This man was a royalist spy in the service of the. emperor, whose secret plans he had means of knowing. Lucien also learned that the cellar had two modes of exit and entrance. The one was the staircase connecting .with the chev- alier’s apartments; the other led to a walled garden in the rear of the Pension, from which an iron gate opened on a dark and private alley. The lad was satisfied that Napoleon’s life would be taken unless the plot was promptly nipped in the bud. More than that he did not wish to consider, though he regarded it as very doubtful if the death of the emperor would restore the royalist party to power. He saw that the conspirators were a set of fanatics, relying more on the turmoil and confusion that would result from their crime than on any concerted plan of future action. Ata late hour the meeting broke up and the plotters dispersed, some by way of the garden, and others by the secret staircase. Lucien was of the latter number, and from the chevalier’s rooms he ascended to his own apartments. The moment he entered Spado hurried forward ‘to meet him ina state of great excitement. ‘‘What is the matter?’’ Lucien whispered, closing and locking the door. ‘‘Have you discovered anything?’’ ‘*Plenty, Master Lucien,’’ was the reply, ‘and [ have found something of value. But wait—let me tell you in my own way.”’ He sat down on a couch beside Lucien, and in a low, eager voice, he related his dis- coveries. ‘You know the Chevalier de Florin sent me to the boulevard to fetch him some cigars,’’ he began. ‘‘Well, I found the shop closed; sol came back. When I was near the house I saw a carriage stop at the door. I slipped Behind a tree and watched. The Englishman was inside, and as he jumped out he dropped something in the gutter. He did not miss it, and as soon as he had en- tered the house and the carriage had driven away, I ran to the spot. This is what I found.’’ * ‘Go on,’’ said Lucien,’ eagerly, taking the roll of papers that the negro had handed to him. ‘‘What else?’’ ‘‘T hurried up stairs and into the rooms without making a sound,’’ Spado resumed. ‘*T put the lights out, and went back to the wall of my bed-chamber. I had hardly crouched down there when the Englishman rushed down stairs to the street as though he had gone mad. He came back in a couple of minutes, and I heard him talking to Alphonse. He swore and stormed terribly. He said he bad lost some valuable papers in the carriage, and would never find them again because it was a hired vehicle, and he didn’t know the driver.’’ ‘“You did splendidly, Spado,’’ said Lu- cien, ‘‘and if these papers prove of any value to me I will see that you don’t lose by it. I will examine them after a while——”’ ‘*But I have not told you all, Master Lu- cien,’’ interrupted the negro. ‘‘I listened a long time and heard more.. The Englishman has another letter written to the emperor, but Alphonse begged him not to send it right away. So he promised t6 keep it until Sat- urday, and then he says he will post it for certain.’’ ‘‘Another letter,’’ said Lucien, half to himself, ‘‘and he will keep it until Satur- day. It will be on his person, of course, for he would not dare to leave it in his room. Here is a chance, if I can only decide how to use it. ‘*Spado, I think this information will be worth more than the papers,’’ he added. ‘You had better go to bed now, for I want to be by myself for a while to think. In the morning I may have something to tell] you. ~ J? | first, and a further investigation 4341 I don’t think we shall stay at the Pension Chambord much longer.’’ S, ado was more sleepy than curious, and he willingly went off to his room. Lucien entered the front apartment, saw that both doors were locked, and drew the window curtains shut. Then he pulled the lamp and table to the fire-place, sat down in an easy- chair, and proceeded with much curiosity to examine the papers that M. Barrington had - so carelessly lost. At the first glance he realized their value and importance. The documents were half a dozen in number, including several dis- patches to Talleyrand from Lord Whitcomb, the English Minister, and one for the latter from Talleyrand, evidently intended to be posted on the following day. All related to a secret and weighty affair of State, and in the hands of an enemy they could be em- ployed to cause great annoyance and incon- venience to Napoleon and Talleyrand—as well as Lord Whitcomb. Without doubt, M. Barrington had by some subtle agency stolen the papers that night from the residence of M. Talleyrand, whose reception he had attended. The object of the theft was probably to have a weapon with which to secure himself against arrest and punishment, in case his authorship of the slanderous letters concerning the em- press should be discovered. Lucien came to this conclusion from the of the documents led him into another train of thought. For an hour he pondered and puz- zled, rejecting old theories and taking up new ones. Occasionally he paced the floor for a short interval, droppiug into his chair again to stare at the dying fire with alter- nate frowns and smiles of satisfaction. In the end the difficulties smoothed them- selves out, and he decided irrevocably on a course of action—a plan so cunning, crafty and ingenious that it would have reflected credit upon a great statesman. ‘*T will do it,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘I see my way clear at last. Talleyrand and Fouche are enemies; these payers are of incalculable value to Talleyrand. By one stroke—if I succeed—I shall punish the maligner of the empress, do Napoleon a service. secure my- self against the malice of Fouche, and pay ithe debt of gratitude that I owe to Renee } de Florin.’’ 4 few minutes later the documents were locked in the trunk, the light was out, and Lucien was sleeping soundly. He was up in time to write his report to Fouche—neces- sarily along and important one—and after going to the Passage des Pyramids by a roundabout way he reached the Lion d’Or in time for breakfast. His reception was un- usually cordial and friendly, but the subject of the conspiracy was hardly touched upon. The chevalier was not present, and on learning that he was confined to his room, Lucien went after breakfast to see him. He found him suffering from the effects of a ‘slight chill, and stayed with him until other visitors arrived, when he left. Lucien dined at the cafe an hour later than usual that day, and consequently he was the last to leave. Now that the time he had fixed for the execution of his plan was at hand he did not waver. He went first to M. Coquin’s shop—taking the precaution to see that his movements were not spied upon —and when the snuff-box was handed back ‘o him he knew by the feel of it that it was not empty. On reaching a quiet street at some dis- tance from the Passage des Pyramids, he opened the box beside the lighted window of a wine cabaret, drew out a small bit of paper, and read the following: ‘Continue as you have done in the past. You are serving the emperor well. Report to me twice a day, as usual. On Friday night remain in your apartments until the Chevalier de Florin comes to lead you to the meeting place of the conspirators. When arrested conduct yourself as the others. Destroy this.’’ With a puzzled countenance Lucien re-read the paper. Then he put it into his mouth, and chewed it to pulp as he went along. Twenty minutes later he entered the court- yard of M. Talleyrand’s residence. CHAPTER XXIV. AN INTERVIEW WITH TALLEYRAND. N reaching the foot of the steps » Lucien observed several things that had escaped his attention when he “<4* hurriedly entered the court-yard. He stood still, and for a moment his heart failed him. He had not expected to find Talleyrand giving a reception again to- night, yet such was evidently the case. The windows of the house blazed with light, and dark shadows were moving to and fro behind the curtains. The hum of voices could be plainly heard. Out in the streets a line of empty carriages was drawn up along the curb. E Lucien’s hesitation was but brief. “It is now or never,’’ he muttered to himself, and with that he resolutely mounted the steps. f A The great doors seemed to open of their own accord, and two servants wearing hand- some livery ushered him into a wide hall lined with paintings and statuary. hire ae te se ike cS oe sollte 4342 Here another servant appeared, and favored the lad with a sharp and suspicious scrutiny. But being in evening dress, and looking every inch a gentleman, Lucien readily passed for one of “the invited guests, The attendant took his hat, and waved him forward. Lucien advanced a few feet to an open door-way on the right, and in order to gain “time for reflection he paused opposite one of the hanging curtains. From here he could see into the salon, a large and sumptuously furnished apartment. Under the soft glow of hundreds of wax candles a distinguished- looking throng of people were standing about in groups or moving to and fro. It was apparent at a glance that this.wasa diplomatic reception. The uniforms and court dresses of more than one foreign mingled together, faces of the men and women represented different types of nationality. Here and there was seen a marshal of France, ora blue-blooded but regenerate noble of the Faubourg St. Germain. country were Lucien was permitted but a brief glimpse | been | of this scene of splendor. He had standing by the curtain for less than a minute when a servant appeared before him. ‘‘By what name shall I announce mon- sieur?’’ he asked, politely. 3y no name,’’ Lucien replied. ‘‘I do not happen to be an invited guest. I wish to see M. Talleyrand privately.’’ ‘*It is impossible,’’ said the servant, sud- denly becoming cold and forbidding. ‘‘T must bid monsieur to leave at once, since he admits that he is an intruder.’’ ‘‘T must see M. Talleyrand,’’ Lucien re- peated, and no other time but this evening will do. Please say to him that——’’ ‘*What does this mean?’’ interrupted a stern voice, and a plainly-dressed gentle- man, with a clean-shaven and intelligent face appeared in the door-way. ‘‘I do not know you, monsieur,’’? he added. ‘‘Kindly give me your name and rank.”’ ‘‘T regret that I can give you neither, sir,’’? Lucien answered. ‘‘I am not here by invitation, but to speak with the Minister of Foreign Affairs on a matter of importance.’ ‘*Then you have chosen the wrong time and place, monsieur,’’ said the gentleman, ‘*You may obtain an interview with M. Talleyrand if you will present yourself at the Foreign Department at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning.’’ ‘*That will not do sir,’’ declared Lucien, ‘*My business is urgent, and by to-morrow it will be too late.’’ The gentleman seemed to be impressed by the lad’s earnestness. ‘*It is simply impossible for you to see the minister to-night,’’ he replied. ‘‘Under the circumstances, however, I will consent to act for him. [am the private secretary of M, Talleyrand, and you may speak freely to me.’ ‘*T am sorry, sir,’’ said Lucien, ‘‘but you won’t do. I must see M, Talleyrand him- self.’’ ‘‘And I have told you that is out of the question,’’? replied tbe secretary, in a low and angry voice. ‘‘ Yonder is the way to the street, monsieur, I warn you to leave with- out making a disturbance. ’? He pointed insolently to the door. ‘*Very well, sir,’’? said Lucien. ‘‘If this is your last word, I must go. But I repeat that I have something of the most vital im- portance to say to M. Talleyrand. When he learns what it is it will be too late to do him any service, and I assure you that the blame will then fall upon your shoulders, I wish you good-evening, sir,’ A sudden light broke on the seer etary’s face. He strode after Lucien and overtook him near the door. ‘‘One moment, monsieur,’’ he whispered. *‘T was but testing your sincerity. This affair of which you speak—cannot you give me an idea of what it is?’ ‘(Tt is impossible, sir,’’ said Lucien. ‘That may be told only to M. Talleyrand.’’ “Then come this way, monsieur. I will do my best to procure an audience for you.’’ Lucien had expected no other result, and with a smile of triumph he followed his guide to asmall room in the rear of the house, where not a sound from the gay crowd in the salon could penetrate. The apartment was lined with books and docu- ments, and contained bea.y chairs and couches and a massive table. It had three doors—one on each side, and one opening on the hall. With many apologies, M. Talleyrand’s secretary briefly searched Lucien to make sure that he had no weapons concealed about him. His eyes opened wider when he felt a roll ot papers in the lad’s pocket, but he did not venture to take them out. ‘‘Pray be seated, monsieur ”’ courteously, as he left the room. However, Lucien preferred to remain standing, and he had not waited more than five minutes when the famous Talleyrand entered by one of the side doors. He wasa handsome, haughty-looking man, in the prime of life, and was dressed with tasteful elegance. His stockings were of satin, and gold buckles glittered on his shoes. His long curly hair was parted in the middle, and fell to his shoulders on each side. He acknowledged Lucien’s bow by a slight nod, and scrutinized him curiously. ‘‘Tam told that monsieur has something he said, and -the} GroOnD of great importance to impart to me,’’ he said. ‘‘It must:indeed be urgent to excuse you for interrupting me at such a time—for compelling me to withdraw from my guests.”’ ‘*You will admit that it is, sir,’’ replied Lucien. ‘But first I wish to’ tell you my story. May I proceed?’’ ‘‘If you are brief, monsieur,’’ assented Talleyrand, glancing at his watch. ‘‘I can spare you but a get time.’’ Thus encouraged, Lucien rapidly explained the part he was playing at the Pension ie) hambord, and then went on to relate his | reasons for fearing treachery from Fouche, his adventure with the daughter of the Chevalier de Florin, and his discovery of the fact that the Englishman was the author of the slanderous letters concerning the em- press. ‘This is strange information, monsieur,”’ | said Talleyrand, ‘‘but I cannot doubt it. So | M. Barrington is the culprit for whom, the police have been seeking in vain. And you say he is carrying about with him another letter which he does not intend to post until Saturday?’’ ‘*It is most likely that he keeps it on his person sir,’’ replied Lucien. ‘‘He would hardly leave it in his room.”’ ‘* And why have you come to me with this information, monsieur?’’? resumed Talley- rand. ‘*By your own admission, you are in the service of Fouche.’ ‘‘T came to you for several reasons, sir, said Lucien. ‘‘I want you to undertake ia arrest of M. Barrington and his servant, so that in the event of my falling into a trap laid by Fouche you can testify that I have done the emperor a great service. Another reason is this: In consideration of what I owe to Mademoiselle de Florin, I beg that you will save her father, the chevalier, and do it in such a way that no suspicion will rest upon me-when the other conspirators are apprehended. To you this will not be difficult.’? Talleyrand stared at the lad in helpless admiration of his impudence and sang-froid. ‘“You amaze me, monsieur,’’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘Only terms of close friendship, or of past service on your part, would warrant you im making such a request as the latter one. It is different with the other, ITadmit. You did wisely to come to me in regard to M. Barrington. I will see that he and his servant are secretly arrested to- morrow, when they are absent from the Pension.’’ ‘*Then you refuse to save the Chevalier de Florin, sir?’’ ‘*‘T can do nothing, monsieur, except to give you this warning——’’ ‘But suppose I can do you a most valnu- able service?’’ interrupted Lucien. ‘'Would that alter your determination?’?’ ‘*Perhaps,’? was the cautious reply. ‘What is that service?’’ ‘‘Last night,’? answered Lucien, valuable documents were stolen from residence——”’ ‘¢Ves,’? exelaimed Talleyrand, showing sudden excitement, ‘‘they were stolen from this room. I will give fifty thousand frances for their recovery. Bring them to me, mon- sieur, and J will grant anything you ask,’? ‘¢Here they are, sir,’’ said Lucien, laying the papers on the table, ‘‘and M. Barring- ton is the thief.’’ Talleyrand eagerly seized the documents, and looked them over briefly while Lucien explained how they came into his possession. Then he walked to the end of the room, and seemed to be intently regarding a shelf of books. There was a strange glow of triumph and satisfaction in his eyes. hy hat a chance this is to pay off old scores!’’ he said to himself. ‘‘One for you, Monsieur Fouche, and one for you also, my Lord Whiteomb. And Napoleon! 1 shall so strengthen his gratitude that he will deny none of my projects. It is fortunate that I have quarreled with the English Minister, else I would not dare to arrest his cousin, M. Barrington, As it is, he shall pay the fullest penalty for his crimes. And this sharp-witted lad—his protection will be. to my interests. I see exactly how Fouche has ensnared him, and I will take good care that he evades the toils.’’ Talleyrand turned and walked back to Lucien. ‘‘Monsieur, you should be a diplomat,’’ he said. ‘‘I congratulate you on: your in- genuity, and I assure you that all things shall transpire as you wish. The English- man and his valet will disappear mysteri- ously to-morrow, and at the proper time the emperor will learn how you have served him. Have no fear that Fouche will accom- plish your disgrace; I will guard against that. As for the daughter of the Chevalier de Florin——’’ He bent his head,*and whispered for about a minute into the lad’s ear. ‘Tt seems impossible, sir,’’? -exclaimed Lucien, an angry flush flring his cheeks. ‘And yet I must believe you. Yes, I begin to understand.’’ ‘*Tt is very simple when one knows,’’ re- plied Talleyrand. ‘*Remember to do just as I told you. Steel your heart against pleac- ings and entreaties. Only hold out long | « enough, and you will learn——’’ Talleyrand paused abruptly as footsteps ‘*some your were heard approaching the door opposite to NEw Ss. With nervous hands he pulled out his watch, and stuffed the roll of papers into his bosom. ‘Go at once, monsieur,’’ he whispered, sharply. ‘‘I have been terribly imprudent in uae you here so long. Don’t delay; go, go——’? Too late! The door was thrown sud lenly open, and on the threshold stood the im- posing figure of Napoleon himself. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ae > ———— (This Story will not be Published in Book-Form,} THE COPPER DISK; R, THE ADVENTURES OF A GOOD NEWS TRAVELING CLUB. A STORY OF THE PACIFIC COAST, _ BY eee ree H. LEWIS, Author of‘ Sw ord and Pen,” “A Y¥ oung Free Lance,” “The King of the Island,’ "ete. - peeing (“Tab CoprpeR Disk’? was commenced in No. 263, Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CAPTURE OF THE SCHOONER. HEN the bow of the cutter struck the beach it was seen that the Chinese crew was led by the Ce- lestial who bad accompanied the hunting party as a guide. This was a source of satisfaction to the members of the am- buscade as each felt a personal grudge against the suave Chinaman. Jabbering and gesticulating in their un- couth manner, the four sailors unloaded the boat and began rolling the casks into the interior. Their objective point was evi- dently a small creek which trickled placidly through a portion of the woods within easy distance of the shore. To reach it they were compelled to pass within a few feet of a wind-fall consisting of several large beech trees and a mass of brush. It was behind this that Sel and _ his companions had taken their stand. Neptune had been effectually muzzled to prevent a premature alarm. The party back of the natural barricade were well armed. Sel carried a Winchester and a revolver. Showers was armed with a pistol, Deb had command of a shotgun, and the fat youth flourishéd a revolver and a huge hunting-knife. After seeing them in- stalled in sucha manner that egress was easy, the detective issued final directions. ‘When I whistle rush forth with your weapons ready for instant use. Each of you select a man and. cover him at once. And remember one thing, don’t hesitate to shoot if it is necessary. ‘Those scoundrels are des- perate men, and it is either their life or ours. Sh-h! here they come. Stand by!’? Totally unsuspicious of danger, the four Chinamen approached the spot rolling their casks. When they had arrived abreast of the ambuscade, Showers gave ashrill whistle and burst from his place of concealment followed by the boys. The former guide, who was in advance, staggered back and attempted to draw a curious-looking pistol from his belt, but Sel sprang upon him and placed the muzzle of his revolver to his head. ‘**Trop that!’’ he said, sternly. make another move I'll fire!’ At almost the same time Deb and Chunk singled out their men and covered them. The detective was not so fortunate. He had selected the last man in the crew. The fel- low gave a shriek of.terror on seeing the threatening weapons and fled precipitately toward the beach. Showers warned him to stop, and as he was not obeyed, he let drive at the fugitive with a thirty-eight bullet. The sharp report brought. the fellow to his senses, and he dropped prone upon his face in the grass, uninjured but badly frightened. He was instantly dragged back to his com- panions by the detective, who had handled such rogues before. In the meantime, by Sel’s directions, Deb and Chunk had com- monced the task of securing the prisoners, Their belts were utilized, and presently all were placed in security. ‘“A fine collection of birds these,’’ com- mented the young leader, eying the former guide, ‘‘What an ornament they would be’ to the interior of a jail! You didn’t expect this little surprise party, eh?’’ The fellow addressed maintained a sullen silence, but if looks could kill, the whole arty would have been instantly annihilated. The Chinamen were good specimens of their class—brutal, depraved, and ferocious to a degree. As it happened, the Celestial captured by Chunk was as rotund and fat-cheeked as the youth himself. In fact they were of about the same size and build. This was speedily noticed by Deb, and that fun-loving lad lost little time in turning the discovery to ac- count. ‘‘T say,’’ he called out to Sel, ‘‘look at ‘*Tf you Chunk’s pig-tail brother. I declare, if he isn’t a relative he ought to be. They have the one by which he had entered the room. the same appearance, the same embonpoint, portal, and similar rotundas. Chunk, can’t you in- troduce us?’ The fat youth’s face wore a foolfsh ex- pression, and he was at last. compelled to join in the laugh created by Deb’s remarks. ‘‘Never mind, my boy,’’ spoke up Show- ers, ‘‘I’ll warrant that slim chum of yours won't obtain such a comfortable fit as you when we exchange clothing with these prisoners. Wait until you see him in a blouse and capacious trousers.’’ ‘*You don’t mean to say that we are to exchange our suits for those worn by them, do you?’’ queried Sel, in disgust. ‘*No; not much. We will simply borrow their outer duds for a while. It is warm, so they won’t suffer.’’ Under the detective’s directions the cap- tives were speedily shorn of their coarse cotton garments. They obeyed the demands of their white companions with that peculiar placidity of their race. Their leader looked his hatred, but he remained silent. In due time the change was effected. As all were smooth-shaven, they bade fair to look their part at a distance. Deb proposed to cut the queues from the heads of their prisoners for the purpose of adding to their own disguises, but Chunk objected. ‘*T draw the line at a pig-tail,’’ he howled. ‘*What’s the matter with you, anyway? Seattle people may wear such things, but [’l1 be blamed if we do in Portland. We are civilized down there.’’ ‘‘What are we going to do with Nep- tune?’’ asked Sel, to change the subject. ‘We must not leave bim\ here??? Showers glanced around until his eyes fell upon the empty water casks. ‘*Why not place him in one of those?’’ he suggested. ‘*‘We’ll have to take them with us, anyway.’ The idea was adopted and the dog disposed of, greatly to his discomfiture. The: prisoners were sec urely fastened to four saplings and told that they would be rele ised in good time. Then, rolling the casks before them, the party emerged upon the beach, With their conical straw hats pulled down to hide their faces, they loaded the cutter and embarked. The weapons were placed, cocked and in readiness for instant use, on the seats. Showers, who was of similar build to the Chinese leader, took the tiller, and the others worked the oars. ‘*Can’t you start some kind of a song in that Celestial voice of yours, Chunk?’’ asked the irrepressible slim youth. *‘Sing us about your parent’s business in Hong Ki Portland like this: ‘*Me washee shirtee, socks, an’ For one bittee each all day. If no gottee ticket, you go an’ holler, For you no gettee washee, I say.’ collar ‘*Stop that noise, confound you!’’ com- manded Sel. ‘*We will soon be within hear- ing distance, and that tongue of yours would awake the dead.’’ When the cutter had covered half the dis- tance to the schooner, a man appeared above the after rail. By his gigantic size and gene ral appearance it was e¢ isy to recog- nize in him their most formidable foe— Chow Soy himself. He glanced carelessly at the approaching boat, and then vanished down he cabin companion-way. ‘*By George! I breathe easier now that he is gone,’’ ejaculated Sel. ‘‘If it comes toa hand-to-hand encounter, he will make it extremely lively for us.’’ ‘*A small piece of lead, if placed in the proper spot, is worth a dozen such men,”’ replied Showers, significantly. ‘‘If he causes us any trouble 1 won’t scruple to shoot him down like a dog. Now, when we run along- side, scramble on board and cover every one in sight.’’ Keeping their heads bawed, the boys rowed steadily to the gangway of the Li-li, luckily reaching there without attracting attention. Silently fastening the bow rope to an iron bolt, they slipped up the side lad- der and reac hed the deck. °° One rapid glance showed:that it was empty, with the exception of a solitary sailor seated near the main hatch. ' The fel- low was plaiting straw, and he did not even look up. Making a gesture of silence, Show- ers crept up behind him, and, with a_ skill- ful movement, bore the unsuspecting smug- gler backward to the deck. To gag and bind him was but the work of a moment. ‘Now scatter the schooner,’’ ordered the detective. you and Chunk take the forecastile. hesitate to shoot if necessary. Sel, look after the galley, and I’ll see to Chow Soy.’’ ‘“‘Just reverse ‘*Deb, Don’t you can Master the latter,’’? replied the young leader, quietly. ‘‘I’l] interview Chow myself. He and I know each other, and I think [ can bring him to terms without much effort.’ Before Showers could protest, ,Sel walked rapidly to the companion-way and descended to the cabin. CHAPTER XXIX, CHOW TURNS THE TABLES. SHORT flight of steps led down to the cabin door, which was standing partly open. The lad descended seleatosintee and, on reaching the peered through into the interior. and guard every part of ae SU of m as B Ww al ki ta cl Ww n¢ in m lis Ww se al hi cr tk he pe n Pi al Ww he gl sh He saw the burly figure of the giant China- man near a small center-table. Chow’s blouse was disarranged, and in front of him on the polished hardwood slab was a silken belt. Sel recognized the girdle as the one he had seen on his memorable visit to the Li-li. The lad’s glance instinct- ively wandered to the Celestial’s hands. He saw what he expected. Chow was holding the mysterious copper disk upon which he had set such a fabulous value. ‘‘By George! I guess he’s crazy on that subject,’? commented Sel. ‘‘He——’’ He was interrupted by a deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction which came from the China- man’s lips. Then the fellow spoke musingly as one will at times when the burden of thought is heavy. ‘Ah! the time Joshua draws near, Bruce,’’ he said, rolling each word as if it | were a delicate morsel. ‘‘A few more days and I'll settle a very old account. You are living in fancied security, but you will soon know the meaning of revenge. I could have taken your life years ago, but I let the chance pass, believing. that I could find a way to injure you more severely. I know now how to wring agony from each nerve in your body. I can touch you on a fatal spot, and | will. A few more days, a few more days.’’ ‘¢Jove! he has learned to speak good Eng- lish since yesterday,’’ muttered the unseen watcher. ‘‘It certainly looks as if he has been playing a part for some reason. He seems terribly sore against Uncle Josbua, and [ am not a bit sorry. Guess I'll capture him now before he makes any move to go on deck,’’ Slipping noiselessly into the cabin, he crept forward until he was within five feet of the Chinaman. The soft rugs covering the floor softened his footsteps. The lad’s heart beat loudly, and it must be confessed that he was slightly nervous. Leveling his revolver directly at his com- panion’s head, he called out, firmly: ‘‘Tbhrow up your hands, Chow.’’ The giant wheeled around like a flash. The movement brought him nearer to Sel, and it seemed as if his long arms were within a foot of the boy’s outstretched band. The expression on Chow’s face was one long to be remembered. ’ Its color, ordinarily yellow, blanched to a ghastly white; the mouth expanded intoa strained grin—which bore little of mirth in its meaning—and the broad nostrils quivered like those of a tiger when near its prey. Loud and with a hissing noise came the fellow’s breath, and he crouched down as if ready to leap forward. ‘Throw up your hands, Chow!’’ repeated Sel, but there was a tremor in his voice. ‘‘I have the drop on you, and I’ll surely pull the trigger if you make a move.”’ Not a word came in reply, but the sinewy arms slowly elevated themselves. The lad watched the movement until they were stretched to their full length, then he stepped toward the table. Seating himself on the edge, he motioned toward a divan and said, rather kindly: ‘‘*¥You can sit down there, Chow. Just keep your hands so that I can see them, and remember that IJ] shoot if you try any sharp trick. I want to have a talk with you. No; you needn’t look toward the companion-way. The schooner is in our pos- session, and my companions are. guarding your crew.’’ ‘How you do this?’’ was the sullen query as the Chinaman obeyed his captor’s com- mand. ‘‘Hasy enough. We laid for your boat’s crew and simply exchanged places with them. They are now ashore holding up trees. I saw you looking over the rail after we had left the beach. If you had used a spy-glass you might have made an interest- ing discovery.’’ ‘‘How you know we come here?’’ ‘*A little bird told us,’’ was the airy re- ply. ‘‘Don’t ask questions. We are bere, and have you in our power, so you might as well make the best of it. We missed the whale-back, but we have the schooner. As matters will probably turn out, it is just as ‘‘You no can catch yacht now,’’ said Chow, triumphantly. ‘‘Oh, yes, we can. Don’t worry about that. We’ll overhaul her soon enough. But, I say, what is the matter with your talking good English? You were speaking like a college professor a moment ago.’’ ‘*You hear me?’? 4 Y eg? ‘*What did I say?’ ‘‘You were explaining to yourself how much you liked my uncle, Joshua Bruce, I think.’? ‘‘Ah-h!’’ the Chinaman spat upon the floor vindictively. It was evident that the very mentioning of the importing merchant’s name was suffi- cient to excite his rage. Opening his left hand he exposed to view the copper disk. There was a lurid light in his slit-like eyes when he again glanced at Sel. ‘‘You see that?’’ he asked, hoarsely, ‘*Yes; it is that valuable piece of metal you showed to me yesterday,’’ was the careless reply. ‘‘What about it? Has it gone up an- other hundred thousand dollars?’’ Chow laughed—a dry, harsh sound more like a snarl than aught else. ‘*You make fun of it now, boy,’’ he said, grimly, ‘‘but the day is coming when you will get down on your knees and worship this piece of copper. See those signs on it? You would give your right hand for a translation, mark my words.’’ ‘‘Did you ever write fairy tales for the | Chinese juvenile papers?’’ laughed Sel. ‘‘To hear you talk one would think that you are the Celestial Hans Christian Andersen. So you believe I would give my right hand for it, eh? Not on your queue, my friend.’’ Chow shrugged his shoulders, and held up the disk as if for the purpose of examining it more closely. Suddenly the piece of metal fell from his hand to the floor. It struck the edge of a long rug which extended under the table upon which the lad was seated. Before Sel could offer an objection, the giant smuggler stooped over with the ap- parent intention of recovering his precious curio. He sprawled upon his knees, and then with a sudden and violent jerk drew the long rug to him. The result was inevitable. Sel and the table were overturned as quick as lightning, and with almost equal speed Chow pounced upon the lad. A swish of his silken belt, a few rapid turns, and the disc captain lay bound and helpless at his former captive’s feet. The Chinaman wasted little time in cele- brating his triumph. Shoving Sel behind the divan as if he was a sack of rice, Chow snatched up the revolver and crept stealthily toward the cabin door. Before he had time to reach it hurried steps came from the out- side and a man’s head was thrust through the opening. It was the detective. CHAPTER XXX. SEL MAKES A COMPACT. WHERE was a flash and a report; a bul- » let sang through the air, but it missed ‘ the head by a couple of inches. The eF. warning was sufficient. Without stop- ping to argue the question, Showers beat a rapid, if not dignified, retreat. A moment later his voice was heard marshaling his forces. Behind the divan Sel groaned in an agony of spirit. He was not in pain, but the hunuiliation of his position hurt more keenly than a physical injury. Flushed with the triumph of his capture, he had_ lorded it over Chow, and now—the tables had been figuratively and literally turned. In the depths of his shame he would have welcomed a shot from his own revolver. He tugged at the silken» bandage with all his strength, but the fabric had been woven with native cunning, and it resisted his efforts. For lack of something better to do, he raised himself up and watched the move- ments of the giant Chinaman. Chow had slammed the door after his un- successful attempt at marksmanship, and he was in the act of securing it on the inside. The smuggler’s face bore an expression of great determination, and it was evident that he intended to resist capture by all the means in his power, The state of affairs was rather peculiar. Part of the game had been played, and the honors were even. The detective with Deb and Chunk, held possession of the deck, but the commander of the Li-li retained the eabin, and, moreover, had in his power the senior member of the club. Still the forces above were in charge of the sails and noth- ing prevented them from hoisting anchor. ‘*T hope they do it,’’? muttered Sel. ‘‘If we fool around here we will surely miss the steamer, and then the game would be up. Confound it! why was I such a chump? If I get out of this alive I’ll retire to the back- woods for the rest of my days.’’ Presently a voice hailed the cabin from a safe distance. It was Showérs. ‘*Ahoy the cabin!’ Chow maintained a grim silence. ‘“‘T say, inside there, I want to parley with you,’’ continued the detective. ‘* You can’t lose anything by talking, and it might do you some good.’’ ‘*Well, what is it?’’ at last replied the smuggler, gruffly. ° *“*Can’t we come to an understanding about this matter? We have the best of you, yet we are willing to make terms. We con- trol the schooner, and can carry it into Vic toria or Seattle without prevention from you. What do you say?’’ ‘*What do you want?’’ asked Chow, but without traces of cordiality. In fact he seemed absolutely indifferent. ‘*If you will surrender, and give up your prisoner, I?ll promise you your treedom. We will turn the schooner over to you not later than to-night.’’ ‘*And if I refuse?’’ ‘‘Then we’ll find means to compel you to surrender. I don’t wish any bloodshed, but if you force it I’ll promise you that the decks shall run with it.’’ ‘‘The Chinaman laughed, mockingly. ‘‘That is it, eh??? he replied. ‘‘Well, you might as well commence. While you are at it on deck I'l] begin below here. JI havea prisoner within three feet of me now.’’ A cry of horror and indignation came from above. Sel recognized the tonés. It was evident that both Deb and Chunk were seriously alarmed for his safety. The lad was not unterrified himself. He believed “a omfited young | GOOD NEWS. | 4343 that Chow would carry out his intentions if, lead the way, as your friends might attempt pressed to the end. He resolved to try his| to shoot me.”’ powers of persuasion. The young captain gave a cheery shout to ‘You had better do as the detective; those above, and a moment later he was says,’’ he called out. ‘‘I’ll guarantee that! shaking hands with his chums and the detec- you wiil have possession of the schooner by | tive. Chow followed him, and after a brief to-night. What good will it do you to kill| explanation, was cordially greeted by all. me? You will only suffer for it in the end.’’ | The happy results of what had threatened The giant Chinaman walked to the divan/ to bea serious difficulty placed everybody and sat down within sight of the lad.. He/ in good humor. kept his pistol pointed toward the cabin| ‘‘I will go now and see my crew,’’ an- door in readiness for an attack. |nouxiced the giant Chinaman. ‘‘They do as ‘*Tell me your plans,’’ he said, quietly. Isay. This boy tells me that you wish to ‘*We intend to meet the Canadian Pacific | catch the Canadian Pacific steamer. The steamer, Empress of India, off the lower end | Li-li is a good sailer, and we can doso. I of the’ island,’’ frankly replied Sel. ‘‘By | will say one thing niore, however. When we doing so we can probably reach Victoria be- | meet the steamer 1 intend to go with you to fore the Woca arrives at Seattle. Then by | Seattle. 1 will leave the schooner in charge telegraphing we can have Masters and his| of my mate.’’ gang arrested at the wharf.’’ There being no objections to this, Chow Chow remained silent, evidently buried in| disappeared down the forecastle hatch. thought. His actions encouraged the young | After a brief interval, he returned to the captain, and he continued, eagerly: deck, followed by his men. Phlegmatic and ‘*You see that we have the upper hand. | impassive, they revealed no signs of interest You control: this cabin, but Showers can in affairs, but obeyed orders without ques- raise anchor and sail out to meet the|tion. A couple of sailors were sent ashore steamer without hindrance from you. Then} for the prisoners, and others were set to another thing: What have you to fear any-, work hoisting the anchor. In the course of way? You have brought a cargo of opium | an hour the Li-li was standing to seaward here, but you haven’t attempted to land it | under a press of canvas. in either the United States or in British When five miles off the coast, smoke was possessions. The law can’t touch you.’’ sighted from the southward. Sel, who hap- ‘*You don’t’ understand the case fully,’’| pened to be forward with a powerful spy- replied the smuggler, with awakened in-| glass, carelessly watched until the approach- terest. ‘‘I have not been paid inf full for the | ing steamer was within plain view. Then, dope. I bought it in China and paid six} with an exclamation of excitement, he ran thousand yen for it. Masters gave me half | aft, crying: the purchase money, and is to pay the| ‘‘Showers! Chow! that craft ahead! It is balance when he returns from Seattle. Do} the whale-back returning !”’ you think I care to lose it?’’ (TO BE CONTINUED.) **No,’? acknowledged Sel. Oe arrange the matter in——’’ He was interrupted by an impatient shout A HAND-SHAPED ORANGE, from the upper deck. ‘‘ Ahoy the cabin! Have you any answer to make to my proposition?’’ ‘Wait a while,’’ replied Sel. | ‘* All right, my boy,’’ was the cordial re- ‘*But can’t we Phe five-fingered orange is a queer thing. It grows in exactly the shape of a human hand, with a thumb and four fingers. It is 5 sponse. “Win him over if .you can. but be} © half open hand, that of this curious fruit, sponse, n Arce af ur ©! and the close resemblance to a lean, long- in a hurry about it. We . a time. ,,| nailed hand is startling. _Even the nails are tl naan ae. ‘a ve red 7 re eee | identical, hard-pointed and claw-like, tip- a me h ther ’ Oa TT ween ha conversa- | ping the orange fingers with a length equal ion with Chow, and I would do anything | jn some cases to three inches to prevent it, but I can’t see how to raise | It is no interloper in a well-regulated that amount. Of course I couldn t secure it | family‘of oranges, but a regular member, from Uncle Joshua Bruce. : | belonging to the osage variety. It has a S On mentee eee ee eee family name, and a Christian name of its 1e smuggler sprang restlessly to his fee artes Ree gin or and Goran rind cio and down the cabin. | 0” _ ee ee The *B tai cht li f hig | Orange: and nobody but the botanist cares ; si sont a 3 ; 1 young Captain caugo?’ a gumpse OF 418! to call it by the long one which means the face. It was wrinkled and distorted with | same thing Sra Chow was nti iene struggling | The tree itself is a ragged little shrub that “7 eae nopesmace s a ee i dail does not average more than five or six feet ' lick whi, ei ' id in hie-b ; a yo in height in its native Japan. It does not et c 2 “ais a aieey nt if a a ' th | grow straight, as a properly behaved tree is co on Sa of oo > he ace ful supposed to do, but is curved everywhere. inna Ficba Mid ene oc fie cela. i a“ ; | It would be very difficult to find two con- a aha x oan oa os i. patil th ‘| secutive inches in the entire tree whose line Vere, : : juestion that | of direction is the same. would influence his whole future was to be| pPyen the branches grow in spiral forms decided in that hour. ; . “Y yee Sarva Sk ttle witt _|so that the width of the tree is often as ou have an account to settle with my | preat as the height. The fruit itself is of a uncle,’? he pleaded, softly. 6 ava | & “‘T, too, have | fight yellow color, a pure lemon hue, grow- something to secure from him. certain—I need proof of a great crime, but ” } Tam not| ing greenish toward the stem. The size is immense, considered relatively to other | oranges or to the size of the tree, the largest ones measuring when mature fully ten inches from the wrist to the point of the middle finger, including the nail. The fruit is not edible—none of the osage variety is—but what it lacks in being un- able to tickle the palate it more than makes good in perfume. The strangest thing con- nected with the perfume is that it is the fruit and not the flower that is most odor- ous. The fruit when ripe is so redolent that its scent can be recognized a full mile from where the orange is growing. HOW WARS BEGIN. Chow turned and advanced swiftly toward | him. Bending over, he removed the silken | girdle and lifted the Jad to his feet free of bondage. ‘‘T release you on one condition,’’ he said, hoarsely. ‘‘I will make a compact with you. I know what you meant to say just now. You have a vague suspicion of the truth-—I know it fully. Will you promise to pay me the sum of fifty thousand dollars three months from to-day if you are in a position to do so???’ ‘*Pay you the sum of fifty thousand dol- lars!’’ echoed Sel, in bewilderment. ‘‘Why, man, I couldn’t pay one-hundredth part of it. I have nothing—not one cent I can call my own.”? ‘*Rather, how do nations get into war ‘‘I said if you are ina position to pay | with each other?’’ asked Tommy. it,’’? repeated Chow, imperturbably. ‘‘I will} ‘‘Sometimes one way, sometimes another,’’ take the chances, but you must write it|said the father. ‘‘Now, there are Germany down and sign your name. I will also add | and Spain. They came near getting into war that if you are not worth ten times that | because a Spanish mob took down the Ger- amount I’ll not ask for a cent. What do| man flag.”’ you say?’’ ‘*No, my dear,’’? put in Tommy’s mother, The lad impulsively grasped his compan- | ‘‘that wasn’t the reason.’’ ion’s arm. ‘*But, my darling,’’ said the. father, ‘¢You know something about my father!’? | ‘‘don’t you suppose I know? You are mis- he cried, eagerly. ‘‘Your words show that|takep. That was the reason.’’ you are in possession of a secret of great| ‘‘No, dearie, you are mistaken. value to me. Your acquaintance with Uncle | because the Germans——’’ Joshua; your hints about money, all tell me| ‘‘I say it was because——’ that you can help me in my quest.- The will} ‘‘Jobn, you know better. —what do you know about it?’’ trying to——’’ The smuggler’s face, which had been ani-| ‘‘Look here, madame——’ mated with conflicting emotions, became| ‘‘Never mind,’’ interrupted Tommy, ‘I stolid. He slowly shook his head. can see very easily how war begins.”’ ‘‘T have nothing to say—now,’’ he re- era : ‘Wait: , i 1) -v, Ti neh aay ow arte A DEFECTIVE DEFINITION. ‘“Yes, yes; I will do anything if you’ll ove only help me to secure justice. ’’ While lecturing to his disciples, Plato once Chow hurriedly brought forth paper and| hastily defined ‘‘man’’ as a ‘‘two-legged ink from a locker, then Sel sat down at the | animal without feathers.’’ Thereupon Dio- table which had figured so prominently in| genes, who happened to be present, slipped his discomfiture, and at his companion’s| out, and having caught and plucked a cock, dictation, wrote a promise to pay as|returned and presented it to the class, say- directed. i ‘‘This would not count in a court of law, as you are a minor,’’ commented the smug-| That philosopher then had to mend his gler, with a grim smile: ‘‘but I am satisfied.! definition by adding the words, ‘‘with Now we will go on deck. You had better broad, flat nails.’’ It was ’ You are only ’ ng: ; “To! there is Plato’s man.’’ ISSUED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, JULY 20, 1895. Terms to Good News Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) 3months - - - 65c.| One Year - - - ~ $2.50 4months - - - - - 85¢c.|2copies, one year- - 4.00 6months - $1.25 | Lcopy, two years - -, 4.00 Goop NEws AND N. Y. WEEKLY, both, one year, $4.50 How 10 SEND Monry.—By post-oflice or express | money order, registered letter, bank check or draft, | atourrisk. At your own risk, if sent by postal note, currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter. RENEWALS.—Lhe nuniber indicated on your address label denotes when your subscription expires. All subscriptions will be stopped promptly at expiration of time paid for. Recerers.— Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not cor rect you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. Yo CLuB Katsers.—Upon request we will send sam- ple copies to aia you in obtaining subscribers 4GENTS.—Our responsibility for remittances applies oily to such as are sent to us direct, and we will not waarantee the reliability of any subscription agency (x postmaster. All letters should be addressed to STREET & SMITIVS GOOD NEWS, 27 & 29 RoseStreet, N.Y. Back numbers of GOOD NEWS. can always be) obtained from your Newsdealers. If they do not have them please send direct to this office and we will supply them by mail on receipt of price. Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line. Contents of this Number. Bite gk Jad ¥ SERIAL STORIES. “For His Honor’s Sake,” by Walden F. Sharp. “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. ‘Fresh Frank,” by *‘Joe.” SHORT STORIES. “Mokwa’s Revenge,” by J. L. Adams. “‘A Picnic Experience,” by Max Adeler. ‘Drowning for a Joke,” by T. M. Francis. “The Shikari’s Artifice,” by George G. Farquhar. ; “Dutch Courage,” by F. M. Holmes. REGULAR DEPARTMENTS. “Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur Sewall. ‘“‘How to Do Things,” by David Parks. “Mail Bag,” ‘“Ixchange Departinent,” “Club Notices,” ete. NEXT WEEK We shall present to our readers the first in- stallment of an absorbingly interesting story, relating the haps and mishaps of a young athlete, and entitled BOATS, BATS AND BICYCLES: OR, Nimble Jerry’s Pluck and Luck, Linck? Y cdaeie ERNEST A. YOUNG, The popular author of “Blue and White Sam.” Be sure and tell all your friends of ‘STHE KING OF BOYS’ WEEKLIES.” : 9 -S——_—__—— HE WAS ANXIOUS. Mrs. Bingo—‘‘I caught Bobby with a box of cigarettes in his pocket to-day.’’ Bingo—‘‘You did, eh? So that boy has been smoking cigarettes. I feared it. I ex- ected that this would be the next thing:on is calendar of crime. Anything but this! Anything but to feel that a boy of mine in secret is undermining his constitution, learning to deceive his parents, and placing himself in the grasp of this awful habit! You took the box from him, of course?’’ Mrs. Bingo—‘‘Oh, yes.’’ there | where you live; and when you alight from (of mixed pickles gradually gets to weighing A PICNIC EXPERIENCE. + HE thing this country really wants,’’ 2 said Mr. Phipps to me, thoughtful- rh) ly, as he locked his fingers over “7 his knee, ‘tis a law making it a pen- itentiary offense to go to apicnic. What is a picnic?’’ inquired Mr. Phipps, pursuing the subject further. ‘‘I will describe it over to you. In the first place, you want to get the thermometer up to 109 in the shade, and to keep it there steadily, with not enough wind blowing to make a leaf tremble. Then you get in the cars, and go out fo some place a few miles nearer to the equator than the train you discove: that the picnic ground is right on top of an adjacent hill. There is no vehicle within reach, and so you start up the side of the precipice with a basketful of provisions upon each arm, anda bottle of mixed pickles in your coat-tail pocket. There is no shade upon the precipice, of course, and as you push upward you become hotter and hotter, until you feel convinced that the mercury must have crawled up to at least 520 degrees; and meanwhile the bottle a ton. ‘‘But you do react the top finally, and as soon as you are in the shade of the woods you sink down exhausted, and .gasp for a drink of water. Somebody opens your lunch- basket to get a cup, and then the discovery is made that the jar of raspberry jam has broken, and that the contents have crept all around the basket, until there is raspberry jam on everything, including your hair- brush and the clean shirt-collar that you brought along to wear home in the after- noon. ‘¢ At this moment some one ascertains that there is no water on top of the hill. The nearest spring is a full half-mile downward, at the bottom of the precipice, and the water has to be brought up in buckets. Lots are drawn to see who shall go for it, and you are ono of the victims. When you get your first two buckets up you are drenched with perspiration, and you feel pretty nearly ready to go into a hospital for repairs. ‘+ At this critical juncture one of the young ladies declares that it would be so nice if there could be aswing, and the leading male idiot of the party produces a fope from a bundle. You suppose, of course, that he in- tends to put it up; but on inquiry you are alarmed to find that neither he nor any other of the men knows anything about climbing trees. As you, on the trip up, have impru- dently boasted of your youthful feats in gathering chestnuts, there is no escape for you, and so, taking one end of the rope in your mouth, you embrace the trunk of the tree and begin. When you slip back two or three times the ladies laugh, and the men who don’t know how to climb make amus- ing remarks about the disordered condition of your clothing. ‘You reach the lower branches, feeling that the next time you want to have some real fun yqu. will attend a heart-rending funeral service of some kind; and then the men who were totally ignorant of tree- climbing, show by the advice they give you, that they know more about fixing swing-ropes than a man ought to be allowed to know in a free country. When the rope at last is adjusted, you grasp it and glide down with such rapidity as to remove the skin from the palms of your hands. ‘‘Next, the fattest young lady in the party, the girl who turns the scale at 211 pounds, asks if you will push her in the swing; but, of course, you are far too in- telligent for that, so you wander off a piece until you meet another girl who says you must dance with her, because they want one more gentleman to make up the set. If you had your choice between losing a leg by amputation and dancing a plain cotillon, you would prefer amputation; but there is no help for it, and so join the party. ‘¢ At half-past twelve lunch is ready, and you answer the call with the feeling that it is the only agreeable occurrence of the day. The cloth has been spread upon the grass; and you observe that the ants have gotten into the sugar, that some energetic spider has spun a web from the pickle-bottle to the lemonade pitcher, and that a colony of straddle-bugs is frisking about over the cold ham. I say nothing about the hop-toad that lights in among the sandwiches, or of the bumble-bees that haunt the preserve-jar so that you daren’t puta spoon within four feet of it. This kind of thing has to be, on a picnic, and we mustsubmit to it as a matter of duty. ‘‘ After lunch, you think it would be nice to go down the hill and take aswim in the creek. You undress, and really do have a nice bath. Just as you are about to come out, the fat girl and the girl who wanted you to dance come meandering along, and they sit down within twenty feet of your clothes, without perceiving them. They have come for a little chat; and they talk, and talk, and talk, as if they had made up their minds to have one final and conclusive conversation, so as to leave nothing to be GOOD NEw s. you resemble a boiled lobster, and although you clear your throat, and splash, in the noisest manner possible, they positively re- fuse to hear you. At last, however, they get up to go, just asthe picnic party is coming down the hill to catch the train. ‘“You jump out, and dress in furious haste, for fear you will be left; and before you can get your shoes buttoned you hear the whistle. You run for it, and get into the car, hot, wet, and miserable, only to find that your lunch-basket has been left up on the hill, and that your share of the ex- penses is exactly fifteen dollars. ‘‘Nice picture, isn’t it? Well, that’s our American picnic! That’s exactly the ex- perience I went through last Thursday week. If I ever do it again, [I want my friends to run me right into an-insane asylum, on the double-quick.’’ > Om SHORT @ ALKS === ‘With THE ‘Boys. EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL. A. E. C. K., Brooklyn, N. Y., writes: ‘‘I would like to become a jockey. I am 14 years old, weigh 81 pounds, and am 4 feet 9 inches high, and sound. Kindly let me know in your paper the best way to procure a position and to be- come one; also if my weight and age is right; also my height.”’ We cannot say that we approve of your ambition. The calling isa low one at the best—as horse racing stands in this’ country to-day—the surroundings are of the worst possible nature, the work is hard, and the pay uncertain. The best jockeys are those who have been brought up in a stable and know all about horses. To make a good jockey, one must have quick judgment, absolute fearlessness, lots of grit; and know exactly how to man- age a horse. There are but few who possess all those qualifications. You would have to start as a stable-boy first of all; then, if you show any special aptitude, you may obtain a position as a jockey. But, in any case, you will have to serve your apprenticeship first, and a very hard and disagreeable one it is. Your weight and height are allright now, but it is possible that in a few years you would grow too heavy. This seems quite probable, as you are rather above the aver- age of a boy of fourteen. If you are determined to adopt the life, your best plan is to get an introduction to the trainer of some one of the large stables. Failing this, advertise in one of the sporting papers. But, and this but is very emphatic, we strongly advise you to abandon all idea of becoming a jockey, and to turn your atiten- ‘tion in some other direction. XXXX, Perry, Mo., writes: “Would there be any chance for a boy of 16 years to get a posi- tion as clerkinany of the large business houses of St. Louis, and would there be any chances of advancement or not? What would the wages be to start on? Please tell me the best way to apply. Do I write a good business hand ornot? I think the Goop NEwsis the best boys’ paper published and would not do with- out it for twice the price.” There is no reason whatever why a _ boy of good natural ability should not be able to obtain a position in one of the large busi- ness houses of St. Louis, and his chances for advancement would depend entirely upon himself. The more valuable an employee be- comes to a firm, the higher are his services recompensed. Of course yougwould have to start in at the very lowest round of ‘the ladder, and your salary to begin with would probably not be more than three dollars a week. You would find it hard work to live upon this. Most boys starting in business live at homé, and, in fact, a large majority of business men exact that the boysin their employ shall do so. You may find this a stumbling block in your path, unless you have rela- tives in St. Louis, with whom you can make your home. ‘ If you have no influence to obtain thie position you desire, watch the columns of the St. Louis newspapers, and answer such advertisements as you think would suit you. If you are in St. Louis at any time, it would be a good plan for you to make a list of the houses in the line of business you prefer, and call personally. If you make a good im- pression, you stand a fair chance of sooner or later obtaining a position. You write an excellont hand for business purposes, although, since the typewriting machines have come into such almost uni- versal use, to write a good hand is not so important as it used to be. 8. B., Towa City, lowa, writes: ‘‘Wonld you please tell some of the names of the largest poultry men, or all the poultry men’s names; also if you think it would pay tostart a poultry yard? Please tell me through the Goop NrEws paper. I have read your paper for two years.” We do not think there is very much money to be made out of poultry raising, except on doubt if it would pay you; but on the other hand, as a side issue, you would probably succeed in making a very respectable little sum. Poultry raising can be combined very easily with some other business. To attend to asmall stock ought not to take more than two hours of your time each day, and the balance you could be working at some- thing else. You will need asmall capital to begin with. One hundred dollars ought to jbe enough to stock a small poultry farm. You will not require very much ground, but, un- lass you have enough land at home, you will have to rent this, of course. The only other expense will be the feed, and this you can procure at a very reasonable figure. We would not advise you to start in with- out some practical experience, or you are pretty sure to make a failure of it in the beginning, and pay dearly for the knowledge you obtain. Don’t go in at first for fancy breeds; the common variety of fowl will pay you better. It would be a good idea to investigate incubators, which are now very successfully used. Take some paper devoted to poultry raising and study it carefully. You will undoubtedly find a great deal in it that will be useful to you. We regret that we cannot give you the list of poultry men you desire. It would take up too much space. A. BUCKEY®, Toledo, Ohio, writes: ‘‘I am 18 years of age, and [I have been working in a chandelier factory for over two years at $3.50 per week. My health is poor, butI like the business. What do you think of the business? Is it a good business, and is it likely to last?’ We cannot see why the manufacture’ of chandeliers is not a good business, and there is every probability that it will last. Chan- deliers are required tor electric lights in private houses as well as for gas, and there is likely to be a demand for them for many years to come. If you like the business, by all means stick to it; that is, if it does not interfere ma- terially with your health. Health is the first of all blessings, and the one thing above all others to be considered, for no one can hope to succeed without it. If you are possessed of artistic instincts, we should think you could make yourself valuable to your em- ployers by the invention of new designs. Have you ever thought of this? At all events it would do no harm to try and see what you can do. SpreciaL Noticrk.—Many communications, improperly addressed to this department, are answered in the ‘‘Mail Bag.’’ i FIGHTING WITH A RED-HOT PEN. An old Australian tells a good story of the early days in Queensland. A big bush- whacker strolled into the store of a mining camp, and going up to the small clerk sit- ting at the desk busily footing up his ac- counts, announced that he had come to shoot him. It happened that the clerk had just sent his revolver out to be repaired, and he was without a weapon. He tried to palaver with the desperado and talk him out of. his pas- sion in order to gain time. But the more he talked the fiercer the caller became. Suspecting that the clerk was unarmed, he took a fiendish delight in holding his vic- tim covered with the revolver, and telling him that he had only sixty seconds to live. But the little man’s brain was working at a lively rate all the time, and while he talked he held his pen in the flame of the gas jet over his desk. Without the desperado suspecting what he was up to, he succeeded in getting the pen red hot—it only took a few seconds—and suddenly, and with such marvelous quick- ness, that, before the ruffian, taken off his guard by the supposition that the clerk was unarmed, could fire a shot, the little man had thrown one arm around the big fellow’s neck, and was stabbing his red-hot pen into his face at the rate of two hundred strokes to the minute. Imagine the wounds that big, sharp, red- hot pen must have made, held securely in @ strong holder, driven by the arm of a man fighting for his life. Think of the sufferings the desperado must have endured in the few brief seconds before his agony conquered his courage and caused him to throw the re- volver to the floor as a token that he gavé up the battle. The ruffian—he was intox1- cated on that .occasion—is now’ one of the best friends the little clerk has, though bis face is badly scarred from the wounds in- flicted on him. Over the desk of the store now hangs a pen, still covered with bloo stains its full length, and above it is @ placard, written in the blood that was formed upon it just after the battle: The pen is mightier Than the six-shooter. Little Johnny—‘‘I wish you’d ask papa t? get me a bicycle before you ask him for that bonnet you was talkin’ about.’’ Mamma—‘‘ Why ?’’ Little Johnny—‘‘ Because, if he buys the bonnet first, he’ll be too poor to buy me 4 Bingo. (anxiously)—‘‘Were left?’’ any talked about any more forever and forever. Meanwhile the sun is coloring you so that a large scale. If you intend to make your entire living out of hens and chickens, we bicycle, but if he buys the bicyele first, you'll get the bonnet just the same.’’ then he made a jump for his assailant so’ eee d- in 28 w Lis v6 i- he is n- re as to she > & st, cTOOD {This Story Wil) Not be Published in Book-Form, ] HOD AND Tae A STORY OF THE CUBAN REBETAMTOnNW BY WILL LISENBEE. “ToBy AND TomM’’ was commenced in No. 269. CHAPTER X. OUT OF ONE SCRAPE INTO ANOTHER. »~ Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents 4 | replied Toby. ‘*What’s the matter?’’ he asked, gruffly. ‘*7_-T want to see Mr. Isaac Wallingford,’’ ‘*Tsaac Wallingford !’’ said the officer, in OBY was stupefied with surprise and | some surprise, a smile coming over his face. 4 oH) in the hands of the officer. <7* ‘‘T have watched you prowling about the place,’’? went on the policeman, ‘‘so you must comé with me very quietly, or it will be the worse for you.”’ Toby attempted to speak. ‘Not a word!’’ said the officer, sternly. ‘You will have a ‘ chance to tefl your story to the court.’’ And Toby was led quietly away. It all seemed like a dreadful dream to him as he was hurried away to the station. Oh, why had he ever left Bright- haven? There he had one friend at, least. On his arrival at the station he was searched and his effects taken in charge by one of the officers. Then he was placed in a cell; the door was closed and locked with a dismal clanking sound, and he was alone in the dark- ness. He threw y himself prone upon the hard couch and wept bit- terly. How the night passed he never knew. When morning came a frugal meal was brought to him, but he did not touch it. He could hear some of the officers talking in the corridor with- out. The words came to him indistinctly, but he listened intently. ‘‘He’s a young ’un for the business,’’ said one. ‘‘Them’s the kind that can do the business without suspicion,’’ said the other. ‘‘If we can only get him to squeal on the other members of the gang we’ll be in luck.’’ ‘‘Did you say that some of the money taken from the captain a few nights ago was found on him??’’ ‘Yes, and there can be no mistake, for, as luck would have it, it was a marked coin— one with a name en- graved upon it.’’ ‘‘He must be a new one at the biz, or he would never have been carryin’ that around witb him.’’ ‘“‘That’s the way I put it—which makes it all the more likely that H;> terror as he found himself a prisoner | ‘*You want to see Isaac Wallingford? Well, | it’sJikely you’ll wait a long time before you see him—if you think he’ll take such a case as yours.’’ Toby understood the man’s insinuating re- mark, and something like a flush of anger mounted to his face. ‘*T am no thief,’’ il A ie wl he said, with a show of | NEW Ss. followed the officer through the corridor As they were passing the door of ana 1joO1In | ing cell Toby heard his name called, anc looking through the bars, saw the face of Howard Brock peering at him. He looke at Toby in extreme surprise. ‘*Bless my soul! you here?’’ he said. ‘‘Yes,’’ responded Toby, ‘‘but—but it has been done by a mistake The officer stopped suddenly one to the other. , glancing fron | ‘*Why, do you know this boy?’’ he asked, | addressing Brock, a look of suspicion coming |} over his face. ‘‘T happened to run across him yester- day,’’ Brock replied, ‘‘but look here, officer,’’ he added, ‘‘you may call me what you will, but that boy is as innocent as a lamb, though he can’t say as much for me, I must confess.’’ The officer regarded him closely for a mo- ment, then as he moved away, he said: **T’ll talk with you by and by.’’ Then they passed on. Toby could not help feeling a touch of pity for the young man as they left hin there leaning against the iron grating. ‘‘Here we are,’’ said the officer. \ il i i | | 4345 Simpkins, his meeting with Brock, and how he had been swindled out of the money; of his meeting with the landlady, her advice the coin, his arrival at Captain Fer uson s house, and arrest. When he had finished the story the lawyer sald: | ‘“Now w, my boy, you can give me the exact location of the old mill, as it will be neces- sary to dispatch some one to the place with out aelay. Toby*did as requested. ‘“Thank you,’’ said the lawyer. ‘‘Now we shall | soon have this affair straightened | out.’’? Then turning to the man at the desk, he continued: ‘‘l am going to take this | boy with me, and I will be responsible for nim | ‘‘Very well, Mr. Wallingford,’’? was the reply. ‘‘Shall you acquaint Captain Fergu- son with the information given by the boy, jor shall a messenger be dispatched to do ‘‘T’ll drop around there myself in the course of an hour,’’ said the lawyer, and then inviting Toby to accompany him, the two left the building. Entering « carriage that stood in waiting at the door, they were driven to Mr. Walling- ford’s office. Toby was much im- pressed as he surveyed the well-furnished of- fice and the evidence of activity among the busy clerks. To the left was a. door of ground glass which opened into Mr. Wallingford’s pri- vate office, and into this Toby was conducted. Bidding the youth be seated, the lawyer tock up some letters that had just been brought in and glanced hastily over them. When he had finished he arose and said: ‘*‘T must go down and have a word with the captain now. You can remain here, and I shall return in half an hour.’’ At the appointed time he returned, saying that he had seen Cap tain Ferguson and ex- plained everything,and that two men, one an officer, had been dis- \\\)_ patched to the old mill tl at Beache's Headland. | He also stated that the mi j names of the thieves, Mi «‘‘Doc’’ and ‘‘Reddy,’’ Hi) bad been recognized by the captain as belong- ing to two sailors who had been with him on his last voyage, and who had been dis- charged for dishonesty. ‘And now, my lad,’?’ said the lawyer, ‘‘you see everything is com- ing out as it should, and as soon as the men re- turn from the old mill, the captain is coming to see you and thank you for what you have done.~ At the request of myself and the cap- tain, the charge against you has already been dismissed; so your mind can be set at rest on that score.’’ Toby’s face was ra- diant with joy, but his heart was too full to give utterance to the i NH | | I i i Hii i Hi iN | ; | i he will confess and be- tray his pals.’ The officers moved out of hearing now, but Toby had heard enough to realize the dreadful situation in which he was placed. What should he do? Would his story, when told, be believed? If he only had some one} to consult. There was the landlady who had befriended him. He haa told her his story, | and could she not bear witness as to his | errand to Captain Ferguson’s house? He| would send for her. The thought gave him a ray of hope; and now the thought of another person who might help him in his distress flashed | through his mind—the stranger with whom he had ridden into the city, and who had given him the fifty dollars. Had he not said to come to him if help was needed? And— he was a lawyer! ‘‘He will believe my story—he will help | me—I ‘know he will,’’? breathed Toby, a| new light shining in his eyes. He thrust his hand into his pocket for the | card given him. It was gone! He had left | it, he now remembered, in his discarded clothes at the store. But the stranger’s name | —he remembered that—he would never for- | get the name of Isaac Wallingford. He called | to a policeman whom he heard in the cor | AS TOM ENTERED THE BUILDING HE SAW A FAMILIAR FIGURE PASS THROUGH THE CORRIDOR. ? resentment, but his voice trembled ‘in spite of his efforts to be calm. have word sent to Mr. Wallingford that I am here. He is the only friend J have——’’ A laugh from the policeman interrupted him. “Now, that’s youngster, what I call pretty good,’’ said the officer, surveying | Toby with a look of amused incredulity. | ‘*You an’t green enough to suppose that I | would believe that such as you is a friend of the greatest lawyer in the State. But never mind that—if you have any message to | send, I’ll see that it is sent.’ ‘‘Tell him that Toby Sparks, the boy that rode into town with him yesterday morning is here and wants to see him.’’ ‘All right, though I’ll warrant he won’t thank me for my pains.’’ And the officer walked away, whistling softly to himself. In half an hour he returned, but there was a different look upon his face, and he was more respectful in his manner. Throw- ing open the cell door, he said: ‘*Come with me into the office; Mr. Wal- lingford is there and wishes to see you.’’ Toby’s heart gave a great bound, and ridor, and the officer came to the cell door. | there was a bright light in his eyes, as he | ford. |} and ‘‘Doc,”’ | overheard ; And throwing open a door, Toby was ‘‘T—would like to! ushered into a large square room, lighted by a row of high windows, and furnished with ! | desk, and chairs, and other office furniture. IT WAS BEN GASTON! } | ' the vessels in the harbor.’ Two men were seated near the desk, but as | Toby came in one arose and came to meet him. ‘Mr. Wallingford!’’ cried, Toby, a glad | light coming over his face. ‘*Well, my boy, what does this mean?’’ said the lawyer, taking the youth’s hand. Toby attempted to reply, but burst into tears. ‘*Gome, come,’’ said Mr. soothingly. ‘‘That won’t do. I dare say we shall soon have this affair cleared up. Sit down here and tell me all about it.’’ Toby, much affected, sank into a seat by his side, but it was some moments he could trust his voice to speak. > Wallingford, before | —J feeling of gratitude that rose in his breast. ‘*‘T have some _ busi- ness at the shipping office,’’?’ Went on the | lawyer, ‘‘and if you will come with me, you ‘can have a good chance to take a look at ; Toby was only too glad to accept the kind invite tion, and while the lawyer was in the shipping office he strolled along the docks. He paused wher. he reached the quay where |a vessel was moored, and glancing at the all his name on the stern, perceived that it was the Penguin. He remembered, with a pang of .regret, that only yesterday be had fully expected to ship in this vessel as a sailor, and how fond expectations had come to naught. He stood surveying the ship for some mo- ments. Some of the crew were loitering about the deck in the forward part of the vessel, but no one else was visible aboard. Then he began at the first, and told of his | The tackle which had been used in lowering adventures since running away from Simp- kins, giving a detailed account of his jour- | hatchway. ney by night, his stopping in the old mill, the appearance of the two thieves, ‘‘Reddy’’ of the lost of the hiding of the gold in the old stone wall, and his journey to New Bed- coin, and what he } the cargo into the hold hung over the main Toby was about to retrace his steps when, glancing up, he perceived Roger Simpkins coming toward him at a brisk walk. The sight filled him with terror, and he was about to turn and beat a hasty re- treat when he realized that such a move Then he told of his encounter with | would reveal his presence, while by remain- 4346 ing where he was, behind a pile of goods on the pier, he might escape discovery. Crouching behind the bales of goods, he watched the approach of Simpkins with a wildly beating heart. It soon became evi- dent that he was coming to the very spot where Toby was concealed, and the youth glanced quickly behind him in the hope of discovering some place of retreat. As he did so his eyes fell on the Penguin, and the next moment he tripped lightly across the plank that led to the gangway. Once on board, he ran forward, intending to hide till Simpkins was out of the way, but so intent on escape was he that he did not see the open hatchway, and before he knew it he plunged downward and fell into the hold below! CHAPTER XI. A STOWAWAY IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. HEN Toby Sparks fell through the ( ‘ 2 e > ° y open hatchway of the Penguin he dropped into the lower hold, where, striking violently against some hard object, he was knocked senseless. When he recovered consciousness all was dark about him. He sat up, having only a confused mem- ory of what had occurred. He felt weak and dizzy, and there was a dull pain about his head. How long had he lain insensible? He could not answer the question. It might have been hours. Was it night? He glanced upward, but only the blackest darkness barred his vision. The hatchway had been closed ! His first thoughts, now that he had begun to collect his scattered faculties, was to make his way out of, the dismal hold to the deck of the vessel, but as’ he attempted to rise his head came in contact with some- ’ thing which proved to be a solid flooring of some sort. He tried to move it, but found that it could not be budged from its posi- tion. He beat upon it with all his might, shouting at the top of his voice, hoping that some one migbt hear him and come to his relief, but no answer came to his call. He listened intently, but not even the slightest sound came from above. Perhaps there was no one in that part of the vessel. He would wait and listen, for he fancied he would be able to hear the sailors walking on the deck by and by. There was no perceptible move- ment of the vessel, and this gave assurance that she had not, as yet, put to sea. Toby’s knowledge of the inside of a ship was of a limited character, but it was evi- dent to his mind, judging by the distance he had fallen, that he was in the lower hold. He now realized how difficult it would be to make himself heard by those on the deck above. He sank down and tried to think of some plan of action. The air *was close, and a dis- agreeable smell offended his nostrils, Coupled with the unpleasant reflections of his situation came another harrassing thought. What would Mr. Wallingford think of his strange disappearance? Not knowing what had befallen him, would it not be natural to infer that he had run away? And would not both Mr. Wallingford and Cap- tain Ferguson have reasons to suspect his guilt? These thoughts gave Toby no little con- cern, and he was resolved to lose no time in trying to find some way of escape from his ' prison. Once out, he would return to Mr. Wallingford and explain the cause of his dis- appearance and enforced absence, He began to move about in the darkness, but found himself so walled in by large butts and casks that lay about him that he could only move about in a narrow space. Was the roof above him the lower deck, or was it merely some huge cases of goods resting across the small aperture in which he found himself? Again and again he tried to remove the planks above, but without avail. The conviction that he was walled in by huge boxes of freight which had been low- ered into the hold while he lay unconscious now came to him, making him sick at heart. There seemed no way of escape, and a feel- ing of hopelessness and terror came over him as he fully realized his situation. What if he should never be able to get out, and should die of thirst and starvation? He had read of such appalling calamities falling to the lot of stowaways. He sat down weak and trembling, beads of cold perspiration upon his brow. How gladly he would, at that moment, have returned to Brighthaven, if by so do- ing he could have been free from the gloomy prison. Yes, he would have even returned to the hardships of his old life on the Simp- kins farm, and how glad would he have been of the chance. How many times did he regret running away! He sat foralong time huddled in the black darkness, a prey to the most gloomy reflections. But youth and health cannot long yield to despair, and presently his thoughts began to take another turn, and he began to rack his mind for some plan of escape. It was true. that he could not remove any part of the wall of boxes, or whatever it was that surrounded him, but he might cut his way through them. The thought came to him with sudden force, and he hailed it with a gleam of hope. GrooDp work, though it be hopeless, is better than inactivity. worn instrument, and selecting a wide plank, began to cut a groove across it. Not till after he had worked some time did he realize the difficulty of the task he had undertaken. might have progressed rapidly, but in the darkness he was compelled to confine him- self to the slow and tedious process of feel- ing his way. Besides he found that the posi- tion he was obliged to assume while at work great weariness, pausing to take a moment’s rest. efforts, and overcome with weariness, he fell into a long, deep sleep, When he awoke he felt sore and listless, the close air seeming like a weight upon his breast. His head ached and his lips were dry with thirst. He remembered the butts and casks piled behind him, and he groped back till his hands came in contact with one of the latter. The splashing of the liquid on the inside as he moved the cask sent a thrill of joy to his heart. But a sudden thought assailed him. What if the casks did not contain water, as he had supposed they did? He had hardly dared think of the consequence should his fears be realized. But he could soon know. He drew forth his knife, and began boring in the head of the cask. But he suddenly paused in his labors, for he now became aware of creaking sounds coming from different parts of the vessel, while there was the sound of lapping waves against the sides, accompanied by a gentle rolling movement that could have but one meaning. The ship had put to sea! CHAPTER XII. TOM ARRIVES IN CUBA. E must now return to Tom Buford, whom we left on his way to New York, where he expected to take HL passage for Havana. It is not our purpose to weary the reader with a detailed account of his trip to the city, nor with a description of his voyage, which was barren of incident worthy of record, Suffice it to say that the journey was an enjoyable one to Tom, who, having spent most of his life in the little village of Brighthaven, saw much that was, to him, strange and interesting. It is true, that having traveled but little, and being unfamiliar with the customs that prevail in the outside world, he made some blunders that might have excited the amuse- ment of the better informed, but he did not permit this to become a source of mental worry. He simply turned his mistakes to his own profit by noting how such were to be avoided in the future, To travel and to see something of the world had been with Tom a long cherished desire, and now that this desire was being gratified, he felt a joyous enthusiasm rising within him. If he had been pleased with the glimpse he had of New York, he was doubly so now from the deck of the ship he first looked upon the city of Havana, or more fully, San Cristobal de Ja Habana. in the vision of the variegated, flat-roofed gayly colored walls. On each side of the entrance to the har- bor, which is one of the finest in the world, bastions floated the royal standard of Spain. walls touched by the warm tropical sun. in astate of revolution. frustrating the plans he had laid. It island. the adherents of Spain. ing on his mission to Menos Point, He drew out his knife, a stout, but well-| upon the island, and Cespedes and his fol- With light to guide him, he| ‘not be dislodged from their retreat, and occasioned physical discomfort as well as} But he worked on; hour after hour, hardly | | damage At last exhausted by his long-continued | —he was deeply impressed and thrilled, as There was something strangely picturesque houses stretching pleasing perspective before the eye, with here and there rows of grace- ful palms, whose shadows were flung across rose the grim fortifications, over whose On the east stood Castillo del Morro and San Carlos de la Cabana, while from the west looked the Castillo de la Punta, its somber light of a Squads of the soldiery were moving hither and thither, bringing the fact with forcible evidence to Tom’s mind that the island was He realized that this state of affairs might go far toward is true that the United States was at peace with Spain, yet there were many of her citizens, who, sympathizing with Cuba in her struggle to throw off the Spanish yoke, had enlisted under Cespedes, and were fighting bravely for the liberation of the On account of these ‘‘filibusters,’’ as they were called by the enemy, it was natural that a certain amount of distrust of Americans who came to Cuba was felt by Tom saw that it might be necessary to spend several days in Havana before start- First of NEWS. He had not de- cided. He took quarters at the Hotel Ingles, Americans staying. From one of | learned much of the state of affairs in Cuba. Spanish troops were still being massed | lowers had been driven to the interior. Al- though it was considered that the struggle for independence could now only result in defeat, the little band of patriots fortified | in the hills and passes of the interior, could kept up a persistent warfare. During the warfare, which had _ been waged for more than four years already, much damage had been wrought. Many of the large sugar plantations had been laid waste in the eastern interior, as well as»the coffee plantations farther west. Irreparable was done to commerce, and it seemed as though Spain had set about to either subdue the rebellious hosts or lay waste the island. News had recently arrived that a large band of insurrectionists were operating on the river Cauto, and were advancing east- ward toward Ziarriba and Cobre, and were menacing the fortress Castillo Gerona at Manzanillo on the coast. 3ut the object of Spain’s apprehension were the laborantes, or sympathizer who worked secretly in the cause of the insurrec- tionists at Havana, Santiago, Mantanzas, and other strongholds of the Spanish forces. To prevent the hated laborantes from communicating with the patriots in the in- terior, picket lines were established on all ways leading from the garrisoned towns, and a close scrutiny was given to all who passed through the lines. ‘‘T must find Mr. Bird, and have a talk with him at once,’’ Tom thought, with some concern. ‘‘It looks as if it was going to be a difficult matter to get to Menos Point and return without exciting the sus- picion of the picket guards.”’ Horace Bird, the sailor, it will be remem- bered, had, when last heard from by Silas Briggs, the hermit, lived in the suburban village of Chorrera, where he kept what was known as the ‘‘Bird’s Nest’’ inn. Marly in the afternoon Tom visited Chor- rera, and had little difficulty in finding the ‘*Bird’s Nest’? inn. To his intense satisfac- tion, he learned that it was still kept by Horace Bird, and he lost no time in calling | till a larger part on and introducing himself to ‘that worthy gentleman. The innkeeper was a man of fifty, portly, easy-going, with a kindly, round face, lit by a pair of deep-gray_ eyes. There was something in his face that inspired confi- dence and good feeling, and placed the youth entirely at his ease. On introducing himself, Tom presented the letter given him by the hermit. The landlord took the letter and read it, looks of surprise and pleasure crossing his benevolent face. When he had finished, he led Tom into a little back parlor overlooking a well- kept garden, welcoming him with that cor- dial warmth which is characteristic of the dwellers in the West Indies. ‘‘Welcome, a thousand times welcome,’’ he said, taking Tom’s hand in his own. makes this old hulk feel to see a face fresh from my old New England home! So you have come from Silas Briggs? Poor Silas! it’s many a rough squall we’ve weathered together, and it’s many a jolly time we’ve seen together in the old days, before steam took the bread out of the poor sailors’ mouth and sent him a hodeing pertaters along with the landlubbers. But it’s a snug cove I’ve found here—with plenty to eat, and plenty of time for siestas; with a climate that does more work in a garden than it’s good to put in a pipe.’’ Tom was much gratified at the cordial re- ception given him, and when the kind but garrulous innkeeper had recovered, in ‘a manner, from the surprise the appearance of the visitor had occasionedghe gave a full account of the business that had brought him to Cuba. ‘Well, well,’’ said the landlord, rubbing his chubby hands together, and looking very much surprised, as Tom finished his story. ‘‘What a strange piece of business, to be sure. And so Ben Gaston scuttled the Delta? Well, I hardly thought that of Ben, though I can’t say that I liked him, for he was one of those sort that can never be understood. I was aboard the Delta when she went down, as Briggs told you, I reckon, but blow my eyes if [ thought she had been scuttled. The captain said she must ’a’ sprung a leak, as she was an old tub, and had seen her best days, and there the matter dropped. And so Briggs has sent you here to get the buried gold, and wants me to help you? Well, I’ll do it, blowed if I don’t! But where’s Silas Briggs? Living on that little island yet?’’ ‘*Yes,’’ replied Tom. ‘‘It was in his cabin on the attack upon his life T told you about.’’ was when 1 went back to get some property all, he must ascertain the whereabouts of Horace Bird, should he still be on tha, ran up to see Briggs, there, and found him ‘*Ah; my boy, you don’t know how glad it | keeper, and terbacker that does yer soul | island that Ben Gaston made the ‘tT han’t seen Silas for three years—that He had nothing but his pocket-knife to island. What would he do, should the old| living the life of a hermit, and I thought work with, and the planks were very hard {sailor be gone or dead? and seemed to be very thick, yet the task of | cutting through them might be accomplished | by persistent and patient toil. Then it would | where, much to his relief, he found some | give him something to do—it would be an | other effort toward regaining his freedom, and | these, a merchant from New Orleans, he | | longs to. kinder queer of it. And he saved his part of the treasure for you, did he? Well, that was like Briggs. He’s a good soul, but I allus told“him he lacked spirit. He ought to ’a’ give Ben Gaston over to the law long ago, | and ’a’ give the treasure to them that it be- But Briggs wasn’t the man for that—not him. He lacked spirit, did Briggs.’’ And he ran on, in his garrulous way, talking of this and that; indulging in little reminiscences of his past life, and what not, of the afternoon had slipped quickly away. ‘*Of course you will remain here until we are ready to start for Menos Point,’’ he said, noting that the sun was getting low in the horizon. ‘‘That will give us a_ better chance to talk over our plans. I have been | thinking the matter over, and have come to the conclusion that we had better make the journey on horseback, and start from here— let me see—how would to-morrow evening suit you?’ ‘‘ Any time you are ready,’’ Tom replied. ‘¢The sooner the better.’ ‘‘That’s quite right, my lad. I’ll see about the horses directly, and we can be ready to start by the middle of the afternoon to- morrow. That will carry us past the picket lines before night. Then we can continue our journey long after dark, for by doing this we will be less likely to run into a band of them insurgents.’’ ‘*Who are they?’’ asked Tom. Bird laughed, ‘‘That’s what we call the insurrectionists here in Havana,’’ he replied. ‘‘That’sa name Spain has given to them that want to get rid of her rule. Some call ’em revolu- tionists, some rebels, and others patriots. It’s all owing to the place a feller lives in. Now here in Havana it wouldn’t be safe to ‘all ’em patriots, so to be in fashion we says insurgents or rebels.’’ ‘‘Would they be apt to harm us if we fell into their hands?’’ ‘*A feller can’t tell. There’s good and bad among ’em, same as any other. Finding we are Americans, it’s not likely they’d bother us, for they look upon such as friends, but it’s best to keep out of their way, if we can, seeing that in a warfare of this kind there’s allus a lot of fellers that go into it for plunder.’’ ‘‘T hope we sha’n’t fall into their hands,’’ said Tom. ‘‘But I thought most of the revolutionists were in the eastern interior?’’ ‘So they are, the largest body of them, but there are scattering squads of them all , over the island wherever a hiding-place can be found.”’ Tom next mentioned his mission regard- ing the child of Joseph Dibbin, and added that he must make inquiries regarding the whereabouts of the’ woman who had taken the child after the death of the parents. ‘*‘Joseph Dibbin?—let me see,’’ said the innkeeper, reflectively. ‘‘I remember him now, but it’s been an age since I thought of him before. He was killed by a band of soldiers, now that I call it to mind, and if I am not mistaken, his wife died soon after. Yes, I am quite sure she died, for now I call to mind that there was a child, and after the death of its parents it was put in the Casa de, Beneficencia orphan asylum. Not long after it was taken by a woman by the name of Nancy Conner and adopted, I reckon,’’ ‘‘That’s the name,’’? said Tom. ‘‘Have you any idea as to where this woman is, or where | could learn of her whereabouts?”’ ‘‘Why, it was to Jarez that she went, and, by the way, that’s not far from Menos Point.’’ ‘*Good,’’ said Tom. inquiries while there.’’ So they continued to converse until supper time, when Tom was introduced to the other members of the family. Mrs. Bird was a kindly-faced woman, and gave Tom a wel- come not less cordial than her husband had done, He spent a pleasant evening at the inn, and he was called upon to answer many questions relative to affairs in the United States, and particularly of New England, and it was late in the night when he re- tired. Tom arose early on the following morn- ing, and as soon as he had eaten breakfast he returned to the hotel to get his bag- gage. As he entered the building be saw a familiar figure pass through the corridor. He stopped suddenly, a swift rush of sur- prise and fear coming over him. He had recognized the figure. It was Ben Gaston! (TO BE CONTINYED.) > ‘““Then we can make SOUND-PROOF. A gentleman recently employed a car- penter to partition off a part of his study, and particularly instructed the workman to make the partition sound-proof. The carpenter declared that he could do this effectually with a filling of sawdust. When it was finished, the gentleman stood on one side, and called to the carpenter 0 - the other. ‘‘Can you hear me, John?”’ left me by an unele who died in Bedford. I ‘‘No, sir; not a bit!’’ was the prompt reply. rw DA . car- 1dy ’ n to qd do tood ry OD | ympt [This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. ] SLACK-WIRE ZIP: The Ups and Downs of an Acrobat, BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR, Author of ‘Little Hickory of Ue Mountain Express,” “Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer,’ ‘The Young Stone-Cutter,’’ etc. (“SLACK-WIRE ZIP”? was commenced in No. 267. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XVIII. ZIP’S AERIAL VOYAGE. ON H, my life!’’ cried Professor Daring- € ton, wringing his bony hands and dancing about in a most excited “AX manner. ‘‘ They are lost! lost! lost!’’ The flight of an arrow would have been scarcely swifter than the ascent of the run- away balloon toward the upper regions. While the awe-stricken crowd stood speech- less and motionless, the air-ship had gained an altitude which made it appear like a mere speck in the sky. The figure of the boy acrobat had faded from sight, and no one expected ever to gaze on him alive again. Leaving his friends to speculate upon his chances of escape, let us follow him into the airy reigons. Zip had been the first to see Little Fairy’s peril, and standing near one of the dangling ropes he grasped it for all he was worth, to be snatched into midair the next instant at a velocity which fairly took away his breath. But preparing himself for the shock, he soon began to climb the line, hand over hand, as only an acrobat could. Thus by the time the balloon had disap- peared from the view of the anxious watch- ers he was hanging upon the edge of the basket. By this time Little Fairy had recovered from her fright, and she greeted Zip’s most strange and unexpected appearance with cries of joy. With her assistance, Zip was enabled to enter the basket, in the bottom of which he sank for a time overcome with the ordeal through which he had passed. His hands were already swollen, and they were soon twice their natural size. ‘“‘Oh, Zip!’’ cried Little Fairy, bending over him, ‘‘I am so thankful\you are here. You will save me, won’t you? Oh, Zip! Speak! You look so white you scare me!”’ When the boy acrobat opened his eyes and looked about him, he saw that the earth bad flattened out like a scroll beneath them, while the men and women looked like ere specks upon the ground. The balloon was. continuing to ascend, from the fact that the sun, shining brightly on the aerostat, had caused the gas to ex- pand. He was about to pull the valve, when Little Fairy, divining his intentions, said: ‘Tet us goa little higher, Zip, This is so delightful.’’ He needed no urging to accede to her re- quest. ‘‘T do not suppose there is any further danger,’’ he said. ‘‘l am so glad I did not miss the rope.”’ ‘¢{ do not understand it,’’ she said. ‘‘But I do not feel a bit afraid now that you are With me.”’ The sensation of the upward flight of the balloon was delightful, and while they Watched the receding landscape it ascended hifher and higher. Hills and valleys now looked alike to them, while here and there rivers and Smaller streams crossed the scene like so Many silver threads on a ground of green, or Some sheet of water sparkled like a jewel on the bosom of nature. Away to the south the horizon was marked with the sheen of the ocean, and here and yonder ships and Smaller craft. appeared as mere specks on the broad expanse of water. These dots were fading ‘from sight, telling them that they Were being borne in an opposite direction. The dwellings of Larkinton were no longer © be seen, though an occasional farm-house dotted the grandly beautiful panorama, nding life to the picture. *‘Tsn’t it lovely?’’ exclaimed Little Fairy. hy, I believe I could go on in this way Orever.’? ‘‘And bid farewell to the cireus life?’’ asked Zip. ‘‘I suppose they must be feeling 48nxious about us. _ Perhaps we ought to re- Urn now. I think this must be the rope to ® valve, and that by opening that we Shall begin to descend.’’ FO his surprise, the valve would not work! I shall get it yet,’’ he said, hopefully. wonder if the crowd was satisfied with the ascension to-day?’’ he added, to take his “Ompanion’s attention from the danger Ich he was beginning to realize sur- rounded them. t ‘Thad rather a hundred times be here han with that dreadful Mr. Honeycomb. Ometimes I think he’ will come after me ‘gain. Oh! what if he should?’’ ‘Don’t borrow any trouble, please. You % 6 ‘ how none of us would let him take you Way. Marvel is going to be made your GrooDpD guardian, then you will have nothing to fear.’’ ‘*‘T hope not. When he carried me off be- fore, how ugly he was; and after he had joined that other show, Mr. Minturn’s cara- van, he abused me fearfully. And when one day I could not go through my part, just because he was so drunk he could not assist me, he whipped me until I had cuts on my body that haven’t got well yet. Mr. Minturn would not have him any longer, and then he said he was going back to wreck Mr. Wilder’s show.’’ ‘*The wretch! Where could he have found you? And have you no recollection of a time before you lived with bim?’’ ‘Oh, just the tiniest bit, Zip. I remem- ber a beautiful woman carrying me in her arms through the sweetest garden you ever saw. The day was so beautiful, too, and then the next I remember was seeing that terrible man standing over me with a whip in his hand. I have tried to think of more, but I can’t. Who do you suppose I am, Zip?’ **Alas! LI wish I could tell. Perhaps we shall know some time.’? ‘*‘Am I nobody’s child, as he used to say, or have Ia mother somewhere, who is cry- ing for me?’’ Zip felt a thrill of horror at that moment, as the balloon, entering another and stronger current of air, shot off like a cannon-ball in an opposite direction. CHAPTER XIX, BALLOON CASTAWAYS. IP tugged in vain upon the line run- “ ning to the valve, while he felt that their situation was becoming perilous in the extreme. Though not seeming to be ascending any longer, the balloon was rushing on at a frightful rate of speed. ‘*There is something wrong!’’ cried Little Fairy, seeing the anxious look on his face. ‘‘Are we in so much danger after all?’’ ‘‘Let us hope not,’’ he replied, earnestly. ‘*We have entered a different current of air end are being carried on in an almost oppo- site direction from that in which we have beén going.» We can no longer see the ocean, but off to our left a mountain range lifts into view. We may land on it.’’ ‘‘How cold it has grown,’’ she said, with a shiver, Zip had noticed the change in the temper- ature, and he endeavored to make her as comfortable as possible. Thus, going they knew not whither, or to what fate, they were carried on and on, while the sun sought the western horizon, and long shadows fell across the face of nature. At last Zip made a discovery which sent a thrill of delight through his frame. ‘‘We are descending !’’ he said, joyously. ‘‘Have courage a little while longer, and maybe we shall make a safe return to the earth.”’ It soon became evident to Little Fairy that Zip was right, when she clapped her hands with joy. ‘¢Shall we reach the ground before dark?’’ she asked. “‘Tf we keep on at this rate. But I hardly think we shall. It would be better for us if we were going slower.’ The sun no longer shining upon the aerostat had caused the balloon to begin its descent, the rapidity of which began to lessen as it approached the earth. Continually on the watch, Zip bad a sort of shadowy view of the country over which they were being taken, the sight growing dimmer as the night crept on. Occasionally a farm-house dotted the shift- ing .scene, but he realized they were not over a populous country. Soon the silvery sheen of a large body of water shone on the landscape, and when this had faded out in the gathering gloom, only a vast wilderness reached farther than they could see, Then it became too dark for them to dis- cern anything with certainty, when their situation threw a gloom over their spirits they could not throw off. In the midst of this wild flight a loud sound of the rending of wood startled them, followed by a shock which nearly threw them from the basket. The anchor, which‘had been suspended a hundred feet below the car, had caught upon some object, and thus suddenly ar- rested the progress of the balloon, Quivering and shaking like a thing of life the huge silken structure rolled to and fro, while the seraping and tearing ndiso con- tinued below. ‘Hold fast!’ cried Zip. ‘‘The balloon has: caught upon some trees,’’ The next moment it seemed to regain its liberty, for it suddenly rose in the air. But its freedom lasted but an instant, for it quickly came to a sudden stop again, the grapnel having caught for the second time. Swaying furiously back and forth, the balloon descended, until Zip saw that they were not many feet above the earth. Catching Little Fairy in his arms, he cried: ‘*Quick! jump with me!’’ ~~ The next moment they were sent flying through the air, while the struggling air- NEWS. 4347 ship again staggered upward, the anchor dragging among the trees and rocks. Zip and Little Fairy were most fortunate in the time of their descent, and falling among small water bushes growing on the edge of a swamp, they were able to pick themselves up, with only bruises and scratches for the worst of their injuries. They could still hear the balloon keeping up its futile efforts to escape. Afoot in a trackless wilderness, as far as they knew, their situation was still far from pleasant, if not dangerous. ‘*We will try and see if we can find our way out of this,’’ said Zip. ‘‘If we fail in that we shall have to seek the shelter of some tree until morning.”’ They had not gone far before to their great joy they came upon a_ well-beaten path. ‘‘Some one must be living near here,’’ said Zip. ‘‘We are in luck.’’ After going a short distance the sound of running water fell upon their ears, which noise increased to a roar as they advanced. They had followed the path without much difficulty for about half a mile, when the sight of a light ahead gladdened their eyes. A minute later they came out into a small clearing in the wilderness, to see standing at one side a low-walled, dilapidated house, or hovel, more strictly speaking. At an opening answering for a window, the feeble light which had guided them to the place streamed out on the night with a genial glow, Advancing to the door without hesitation, Zip was about to knock for admittance when he caught a glimpse of the scene within that caused him to start back, say- ing: ‘*We don’t want to stop here. Let’s——’’ ‘*Hold on, my coveys!’’ exclaimed a gruff voice behind them. ‘‘l reckon you’ve gone too fur to turn back now,’’ Turning, with dismay, they saw three evil- fearured men beside them, CHAPTER XX. A BIT OF CIRCUS LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. pearance of the ruffians in the path- way, Zip recovered his presence of ““"' mind sufficiently to say: ‘‘Let us pass, sir. We do not belong here.’?’ ‘*Wal, I sh’u’d say es much, my little crower. Been spyin’, eb?’’ ‘*No, sir. We got spilled out of a runaway balloon near here, and we are trying to find our way to a road leading to some town. If you will kindly tell us where we are, you will do us a great favor.’’ ‘‘Ho! ho! hear him, boys,’’ appealing to his companions, the foremost stranger cried, with a loud laugh. ‘‘Yeair a glib one! Spilled out’n a berloon? Wot were sich chillun es ye doin’ in a berloon?’’ Zip realized that the men were ugly cus- tomers to deal with, and that the least said the better for them. Before he could reply, the burly figure of a fourth ruffian appeared in the door-way of the hut, having been at- tracted to the place by the speaker’s coarse laugh. “AVot"s up, Lem?’’ called out the man from the hovel. ‘(Some babes we run acrost peekin’ in th’ winder,’’ replied the other. ‘‘Spies?’’ demanded the former, with a show of alarm in his tone and manner. ‘“‘T s’pdse it’d amount to thet, though I don’t reckon enny one’d be much afeerd o’ sich little folks es this pair.’’ ‘‘Retch ’em inter the castle,’’ ordered the other, who was evidently the leader of the party. Zip tried to explain the situation of him- self and Little Fairy without effect on the ruffians, who bore them into the rude dwell- ing like captives. Two men in the hut sprang to their feet with cries of surprise at the entrance of their companions and the captives. The apartment contained but very little furniture, and that of the rudest sort. The occupants of the room were, or bad been, seated at a rough table littered with cards. ‘‘Holland!’’ exclaimed the leader, snatch- ing up the sputtering candle and thrusting it into the faces of Zip ahd Little Fairy, ‘‘they air young ’uns. Where air ye frum?”’’ Zip repeated what he had told outside the hut, at which the party burst into a fit of coarse laughter. ‘‘Hev to tell a stouter story’n thet,’’ de- clared the spokesman. ‘‘It won’t hol’ water® with us. Yesee we hev got our eye-teeth cut.’’ ‘‘We belonged to a circys,’’ said Zip, ‘tand we were showing at Larkinton——’’ ‘‘Where in blue earth is Larkinton?’’ broke in the other. ‘‘There an’t no sich place in my g’ografy, an’ I’ll ’low I’ve traveled a bit in my day.’’ ‘Tf you will tell me where we are now,’’ replied Zip, ‘‘l will try and tell you where Larkinton is.’’ ‘‘Hear the little calf!’’? exclaimed the ruffian. ‘‘He’s too innercent to be running ’round in this way. Hitch ’em up, boys, an’ in th’ mornin’ we’ll see wot’s bes’ to be done with ’em.”’ Then, despite Zip’s remonstrances, they were bound hands and feet, and taken into r on surprised by the sudden ap- A i an adjoining apartment and left under the watch of one of the gang. Used as she had been to’ ill-treatment, Little Fairy bore up under this indignity better than might have been expected, while Zip felt worse on her account than his own. ‘“They will let us go free in the morn- ing,’’ he said, in a hopeful tone, ‘‘when we can start back to find our friends,’’ though as he spoke he felt that their situation might be a serious one. He had noticed the baneful glances of the ruffians fixed on Little Fairy, and he heard one of them ask the leader: **D’ye think she’ll fetch a couple of hun- dred, boss??? ‘¢More’n thet, or I’m no judge. Look out they don’t give ye th’ slip. Thet boy isa harker, if I’m enny judge 6’ cunnin’.’’ That was a long night to Zip and Little Fairy, and though the last fell intc a sleep toward morning, our hero did not close his eyes. In fact, the boy acrobat did not think it safe for him tv sleep, so he maintained a watchfulness over their enemies, all but one of whom had laid down on the floér in the next room fo sleep. As soon as it was daylight the band was astir, and from the unsavory smell which reached his nostrils Zip knew they were pre- paring some sort of a breakfast. Finally he and Little Fairy were asked to eat with the others, a request Zip felt it best to obey, though he could see little to tempt the palate in the coarse mess the men had laid upon the bare table, as dirty as it was, for each one to help himself. ‘‘Don’t want to starve ye,’’ declared the leader of the uncouth gang, whose follow- ing in that out-of-the-way place puzzled Zip. He noticed that one of the party was missing, but if that absence boded them good or evil he could not tell, Little Fairy could eat nothing of the un- palatable food, while Zip merely tasted of a small portion. ‘*You’ll kem to eat when ye hev stayed with us a while,’’ declared the leader. ‘*Mebbe our fodder an’t so slick-looking as some, but it’s healthy. Ye said ye b’longed to a circus?’’ he continued, looking closely at the young acrobat, ‘*Yes, sir; Wilder’s World of Wonders.’’ ““S’pose ye ’form all sort o’ tricks an’ games so es to fool th’ folks?’’ “‘We performed many feats to amuse.the people.’’ ‘*Ye did, eh? Mebbe ye’d ’form to our ’musement, eh, younker?’’ ‘‘If it wasn’t for these bonds, I would show you some of the things I can do,’’ re- plied Vip, who felt that it would seem good to be free once more.’’ ‘‘Tt’l) ’commodate us, younker, while we air waiting. Only I want to ’vise ye in ad- vance thet it won’t be one bit o’ good fer ye to try to git away, ’cos if won’t.”’ Without further delay the chief ordered his men to free Zip’s limbs, and he -was told to perform some of the feats in which he had appeared before the circus’ audiences. The boy acrobat at once began to display his agility by turning somersaults, jumping and vaulting, while his handful of spectators looked on with open-mouthed wonder. ‘‘If you will let me have a rope,’’ said Zip, at last, ‘‘I will show you something worth seeing.’’ When a suitable cord had been found, with the assistance of a couple of the out- laws, he stretched a line from the trunk of one of the trees to the ridge-pole of the building, and ran swiftly up and down its length, while the men looked on with un- feigned amazement. ‘*The little girl comes in on this part,’’ said Zip. Then Little Fairy was quickly liberated, to begin her acting by springing lightly upon the boy acrobat’s shoulders, as she had done upon Marvel’s many times. CHAPTER XXI. THE DEAD ALIVE. LL this time Zip’s eyes had been wide open, while he looked about him for some avenue of escape. He had *» seen that a wide chasm ran past the lonely hut a short distance to its right, and extending farther than he could see. Thus, as he asked, or rather suggested, that Little Fairy be given an opportunity to take part in his performances, he had formulated a plan in his mind which he was resolved to carry out at all hazards. Accordingly, when he had walked the rope with her, he very unconcernedly re- ‘moved the line from its position, and formed | a running noose in one end, The chasm was thirty feet or more in width, but standing nearly opposite the hovel was the stump of a blasted tree, over which Zip calculated he could throw the rope after the manner of a plainsman lasso- ing an object. Without dreaming of his plan to_escape, the men looked on with intense interest, giving expression to a shout of pleasure as he succeeded at the third trial in dropping the noose over the stump. Then, securing the other end of the rope to a tree, Zip said: ‘‘What I have shown you is mere boys’ play, and requires no nerve atall. Now I i Hi % ae > 4348 am going to show you something worth your time. Watch me closely, while I walk this slender line over the abyss where to miss a step means certain death on the rocks fifty feet below.’’ A death-like silence fell on the scene as he glided swiftly along the swaying rope, and walked out over the yawning chasm. A cry of relief came from the lips of all as Slack-Wire Zip gained the opposite bank. Then, without delay, which might excite their suspicion, he returned to their side. “That is something worth while,’’ he said, proudly. ‘‘Now Iam going that one better,’? saying which he motioned for Little Fairy to ascend to his shoulders. ‘*By Jove, boyee!’’ cried the leader of the gang of ruffians. ‘‘You show th’ right stuff. Ye air wuth more to us’n we thought ye were. Don’t ye tum’le now.”’ Unmindful of the words, Zip again started on his perilous passage, the additional pres- ence of Little Fairy causing him to move with more caution than before. With high-beating heart, the boy acrobat approached the farther brink of the abyss, until, with a feeling of relief, he allowed Little Fairy to descend to the ground. “Quick!*? he whispered. ‘‘We must fly from here.’’ Before the outlaws had recovered from the spell thrown over them by the daring feat, Slack- Wire Zip had reached the summit of a ridge of earth running parallel with the chasm and half a dozen rods from its edge. “Here, you imp of Tom!’’ cried the leader of the gang. ‘‘Come back! Come back, I say, or we’ll shoot you both!”’ Knowing that their guns were not nearer than the inside of the hut, Zip ran on at the top of his speed, Little Fairy keeping by his side, and with the yells of the baffled crowd | ringing on the air, they disappeared over the ridge. ‘‘T don’t believe they can cross the chasm without going half a mile or more,’’ said Zip, ‘‘and during that time we must reach a place safe from their pursuit.’’ Following as direct a course as possible, Zip and Little Fairy threaded the cver-arch- ing aisles of the forest for what seemed to the latter a long distance. The cries of thei1 enemies were no longer to be heard, and Slack-Wire Zip began to breathe easier. “Tf we could only find our way out of this growth,’ he said, ‘‘I should have some hope of reaching civilization. Hark! I do| believe I hear the sound of wagon wheels.’’ It soon became evident that Zip was not mistaken, and after going a few rods farther they were gladdened by the sight of a road and the appearance of a team coming rapidly toward them. At first Zip thought it might be one of their pursuers, but a second look showed him that the driver was a farmer, and as he seemed like an honest person he hailed him for a ride. ‘‘Whew!’’ exclaimed that worthy, sud- denly checking the lumbering gait of his horse. ‘‘Who are you?’’. “Please allow us to ride beside you and I will explain all,’’ said Zip, boldly. ‘““Sartin; climb up here, both of you. Why, bless my eyes! what a purty gal.’’ Zip’s story was often interrupted with ex- clamations of wonder by the farmer, es- pecially when he told of the band of men in the woods. “I told Barker—Barker’s our deputy—lI told Barker that air gang weren’t a thou- sand miles from here. And here ’tis right under our noses. Jess as soon as I get home I'll tell Barker. They’ve done oceans of mischief. Why I can’t begin to tell half on’t. So you belonged toa ciieus. Never did think much of ’em critters. Better git ’way from ’em. By gosh! I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m goin’ to ’dopt you both! annah’ll be powerful glad to hev sich a likely gal to help her in th’ house; an’ I shouldn’t be s’prised if you could pull as many beans almost as | can.’’ Zip made no reply to all this, while Little Fairy pressed closer to him, whispering at the first opportunity : ‘‘T am afraid of him!’’ Zip tried to reassure her as best he could, and he was glad when the farmer announced at the end of an hour that they were near- ing his home. “1]] warfant Hannah is watching for me. I oughter been home an hour ago, I'll ‘low—yes, there she is in the door-way. But who’s him aside of her? I didn’t leave any one at the house.’’ Both Zip and Little Fairy had seen the angular figure of a woman standing on the doorsteps of a farm-house ahead. Almost at the same moment, too, they discovered a second person, who had a more familiar look to them. Then Little Fairy, the first to recognize the man, uttered a low cry of terror, as she exclaimed: ‘¢Tt is he! Oh, what shall I do?’’ Zip turned pale as he saw. that the man was none other than Honeycomb! (TO BE CONTINUED.) 7 roe OG In France, if a structural defect in a [This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.] 4uthor of “The White King of Africa,” “The | pomt of the island just as the boat landed. | c ward the left shore of the river. No. 261. Back numbers can be obtained of all eryy: News Agents. ] seen him? ‘2> my revenge is sure. I will burn you|at once.’’ alive. onies.’’ his finger's. bers all around the wood that covered the| brave chap needs attention right away.’’ lower part of Marco’s body. He peered closely into Marco’s face, and/ tion,”’ muttered Batley. until little red flames leaped up, crackling and hissing, in half a dozen places. mental agony of that moment was awful. | though.’’ Never had life seemed sweeter to him. He tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to stick fast to the roof of his mouth. light was streaking the outer blackness. Garcia suddenly discovered the fact, and it warned him not to linger. closer together, and satisfied himself that the flames had gained a good headway. you to die by inches. May you suffer tor- | tention before long.’’ ments until the setting of the sun. May yous cast a last look of hatred at his victim, | throat, he felt marvelously stronger. dashed out of the crevice, and disappeared. GooD NEWS. ‘Help! help!’’? shouted Marco, at the top| fF be of his voice. oO ] i A response floated back over the water, JUNGLES AN) TRAITORS and the oars were heard to dip faster. ° J Garcia realized that the game was up. OR, around the angle of the rocks. side of the rocks Garcia was already adrift | I and paddling furiously down the river. c The lad made his way back to the upper pina BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON, Two men, armed with rifles and revolvers, Camp in the Snow,” “From Lake to sprang out. One was clean-shaven, and the “JUNGLES AND ‘I'RAITORS” was commenced in | ‘‘ where is the assassin, my lad? Have you CHAPTER XXXIII. ‘ ment. STRANGE RESCUERS. the Assam Tiger,’’? exclaimed the smooth- @y ; 3 ; : ¥ + > —— THE elevator boy was airing his views to & passenger on the proper conduct of chil- dren, *“What do you know about it?’’ laughed the passenger; ‘‘you’re not married, are you?’ ‘Well, no,’’? replied the boy; ‘‘but I’ve brought up a good many families in my time,’’ and then he gazed up the shaft with 4n expression of fiendish delight. GooDpD DROWNING FOR A JOKE. BY T. M. FRANCIS, Qs ay SAY, uncle, will you promise not to be if angry if I ask you a question?’’ ‘*Depends a good deal upon what the question is, old boy. I’ve answered a good many scores of your questions without flying into a rage, haven’t [??’ ‘*Ye-e-s, but——’’ ‘*But what? Come, old- fellow, trot out your question. I don’t think I’m likely to get angry about it—and anyhow, I’ll prom- ise to give you fair warning if I feel the symptoms coming on.’’ ‘*Well, then’’—with a gulp—‘‘why did you get so mad when | ducked Harry Lee this morning? The sea wasn’t deep where we were, and he could easily have got into his depth with a few strokes, if he hadn’t been such a little duffer as to strike out for the open sea instead of making for the beach. As it was, | would have got hold of him, and slewed him around, only you came with a rush and lugged him ashore before I could do anything—and then you turned white with rage, and pitched into me as if I had tried to murder the kid, instead of just having a lark with him!’’ And the youngster looked as if, like good Parson Evans, he had ‘‘a great disposition to cry.’’ ‘‘T daresay I turned white, but it wasn’t with rage, my boy, though perhaps I spoke sharply ;-for I felt quite heartsick at the recollection of what once happened to me many years before you were born. I played very much the same trick as you did, and it nearly as possible cost two lives!’’ ‘‘How was that, uncle? You’ve never told me about this before; do let’s hear it!’’ “The story is not one that 1 care about telling, my boy, for it is not at all to my credit; but I will tell it now, both as a warning to you and to explain why I abhor all practical jokes which cause suffering or danger to the person on whom they are played. How many thousands of precious lives have been cut short by death, or blasted by sickness or insanity, for the sake of what we call a practical joke! ‘*Now let me make my confession. Many years ago, 1 was living with my parents in Stoneham. Not far from our house was a large pond, over a hundred yards square, and quite fifty feet deep in the middle. ‘‘The gentleman in whose grounds this pond was, had had piles driven to support a narrow platform going out about six feet above the surface of the water for a dis- tance of some twenty feet, and ending ina beautiful spring-board, from which one could take a header into about thirty feet of water. ‘‘For any one who could swim pretty well, fhis was about as jolly a bathing-place as could be desired. , ‘*It was glorious to hurl oneself headlong into the clear, cool water, knowing that the bottom could only be touched by hard swimming downward after the impetus of the plunge had ceased. The only drawback was that in. order to get back to shore, one had to swim to a landing-place, which con- sisted of a flight of broad steps, sloping down the bank into the water a few yards from the platform between substantial piers of brickwork. ‘*One morning I went to tlfis pond, accom- panied by my friend, Frank Stone, a young fellow of about my own age. ‘*He was a nice young fellow, and we had grand times together whenever he was able to get away from the bank in which he worked, and to pay my parents a visit. ‘‘We often went over to the pond fora swim, of which poor Frank was very fond, though he was about the most clumsy swim- mer [ ever saw. He made a great splutter- ing and splashing in the water, and it was as much as ever he could do to swim thirty yards at a stretch. ‘*However, he made up in zeal and enjoy- ment for what he lacked in skill, and was immensely proud when he took his first header from the spring-board, instead of wading cautiously. in from the steps. ‘*After this he used régularly to take a header, swim out for a few yards, and then flounder back to shore, rejoicing greatly in his exploit. ‘*One unlucky morning, Frank took his header as usual, and was ‘plouthering’ out for his little swim with prodigious splash- ing, puffing, and blowing, when a demon of mischief entered into me. ‘*T took a header as noiselessly as [ could, swam under water until I could see him sprawling and kicking above me, and then caught him by the ankle and pulled him under water with a violent jerk, which brought me to the surface as swiftly as it plunged him down. ‘‘Here I trod water, waiting for him to come up—and he came with a vengeance! Half his body shot out of the water, with a velocity which showed. how lustily he must have struggled to rise—and with a sort of bubbling yell, he struck out frantically to- ward the opposite shore, lashing the water into foam with his desperate efforts ‘‘T knew that this meant certain death; for he could never have swam that distance at the best of times, and in the state to es NEWS. en eee eer Lr ee ao 4349 which my joke had reduced him, it was ab- solutely certain that he would sink ex- hausted before he had got half-way across. ‘*T shouted at the top of my voice: ‘*Come back, Frank! Don’t be an.ass! It was only my fun!. Come back!’ ‘*But he continued his desperate struggle without paying the slightest attention to my cries. The poor fellow was perfectly frantic with terror. ‘‘T struck out after him at my utmost speed, intending ‘to get hold of him and slew him around.’ It was easy to overtake him and get hold of him—but the next in- stant he had got hold of me—and | knew for the first time what the grasp of a drown- ing man is! His arms and legs twined around my body like the coils of a boa-con- strictor; and in this terrible embrace I sank like a stone, as helpless as if I had been sud denly smitten by paralysis! ‘*Down, down, down we went, until with a tremendous effort I wrenched my right arm free. Then (don’t shrink away from me, nry dear boy) I struck poor Frank say- agely about the face and head, until his hold of me relaxed—and as we touched the bottom together, the deadly embrace in which he had held me fell from my body, and he collapsed, a senseless corpse to all ap pearance. ‘‘Then a terrible temptation assailed me! ‘‘It was as though the devil whispered swiftly in my ear: ‘* “You can’t possibly save him—it will be all you can do to save yourself—no one will ever know that you left him to drown—and besides, he tried his best to drown you, so it is not your fault!’ ‘*Those were the thoughts which flashed like lightning through my mind; but, thank Heaven! I had strength to resist the tempter. ‘‘Grasping poor Frank’s hair with my left hand, I struck my feet against the bottom with all my might, and struggling desper- ately upward, rose above the surface just at the moment when it seemed that I must give way, fill my lungs with water, and yerish with the victim of my practical joke. could not have been under water for more than a minute, but a whole eternity of anguish was compressed into that brief space of time! ‘The first gulp of air which entered my lungs seemed to send a fresh ‘tide of lite tingling through my whole body. ‘*T drew a few deep breaths, and then re- sumed my fight for life, striking out for the shore with all my strength, and striving to hold poor Frank’s senseless body so that the mouth and nostrils should be above water. ‘‘Our struggles had carried us so far away form the platform that I thought it better to strike out for the steps at once, as it was doubtful whether I should be able to cling to the piles and hold up the dead weight of poor Frank’s body until we were rescued. ‘“‘T looked eagerly around for help, but not a soul was in sight, and I did not dare to expend the remains of my strength in shouting. On one point, however, my re- solve was fixed—I would rether perish with the poor boy on whom my criminal folly had brought this danger, than abandon him to certain death. ‘‘Even to this day, the recollection of that terrible swim haunts me like a nightmare. ‘*Every muscle in my body was. strained to the uttermost, but, desperately as I strug- gled, we seemed to get no nearer the land- ing-place, which to my fevered fancy ap- peared to be actually drifting away from us! ‘Once I stopped swimming, and tried to feel for the bottom with my feet, in the vain hope that something might give me foothold and enable me to rest and gain strength for a final struggle—but the horrible bubbling and gurgling of the water in my ears warned me that I was still far out of my depth. ‘With a convulsive effort, I regained the surface and continued my hopeless struggle, while a sort of red mist seemed to come over my eyes, and both brain and heart throbbed as if they were bursting asunder. ‘‘Thank Heaven! as we began to sink my foot struck against something hard, and | found myself just able to stand with my nostrils above water. ‘‘T can dimly remember making one more struggle forward—and then the roaring of a mighty torrent seemed to echo in my brain, and a_blackness of great darkness came over my eyes, as life and strength ebbed away. ‘‘We were found lying half out of water on: the steps, up which I must have strug- gled with poor Frank by some mechanical effort of the body, after my mind had be- come a blank. Happily for us, the people who found us had the good sense to carry us at once to the hospital and put us in the hands of a skillful surgeon. I opened my eyes at last, to find myself in bed. Poor Frank lay on the next bed, to all appear- ance a corpse. By hisside stood Doctor P—— and another gentleman, who seemed to be pulling my poor friend’s body about ina most cruel manner, though in reality they were making every effort that medical skill could suggest, to bring back the fleeting spark of life. *‘All my senses were so confused that I lay still and dreamily watched the two doc- tors through half-closed eyelids, without taking count of time. At last there came the sound of a feeble sigh, followed by a joyful exclamation from Doctor P—— ina voice so hushed and low that I could scarcely recognize it as his. ‘**Thank Heaven! he’ll do now; every breath is stronger. Just see to the other youngster; he ought to be all right soon, for his heart was beating and his lungs working nicely. ‘“‘Then, as he caught sight of my half- dazed, wide-opened eyes, he exclaimed, in his usual jolly voice: ‘« “Well, Master Tom, you’ve given us a nice fright! Been larking in the water, hey? Don’t do it again, my boy—never do it again!’ ’?’ ‘‘] promise you, uncle, I never will.”’ - THE SHIKARI’S ARTIFICE. BY GEORGE G. FARQUHAR, Gatnimmininis dl a OTH Doctor Worrall and Louis Hen- ley were thoroughly fagged out when es) they got back to the camp that day. ¥ The toil of their ten hours’ stalk in the desolate region at the foot of the Hima- layas was in itself severe, but they would not have chafed at that so much had the quality of the ‘‘sport’’ adequately repaid their labors. Truly it was dispiriting, after traversing the whole of Sikkim—across terai, swamp and forest—to meet with noth- ing more worthy of their guns than jungle- fowl, pigeons and hill-partridges. In quest of bigger game, they had even ventured into the barren wildernesses of Bhootan, but with a meager success out of all proportion to the travel involved. The native shikari, whom they had secured at one of the villages, had promised them any number of wild yaks, with maybe a chance of a black bear, if they would trust themselves to his guid- ance. ‘‘Little way more, sahibs,’? the man would say, salaaming, ‘‘and plenty yak, plenty bear.”’ : They had gone that ‘‘little way more,’’ and a good deal farther, until they grew weary and morose’ with their. want of luck. Yes, it was exasperating. ‘*] reckon this trip is a downright failure, ’’ exclaimed Louis, irritably, as they sat in their tent that night. ‘‘I vote we give it up as a bad job and make tracks homeward.”’ ‘We've been unlucky, that’s all,’’ returned Doctor Worrall. ‘‘There are yaks about, for we came across their ‘spoor’ to-day up by the lake. Halloo, Louis, what’s that thing?”’ Louis had pulled out his chronometer as he was speaking, and the doctor’s eye chanced to catch the gewgaw that dangled from the chain. ‘*This?’’? replied Louis, nonchalantly. ‘‘Oh, it’s a little present I had from Pollard before he left Calcutta. Neither valuable nor very ornamental, but I keep it in mem- ory of him.’’ The object which Doctor Worrall now scrutinized with some degree of curiosity was a conical-shaped piece of green jade, about an inch in length; from the base of it projected a short strip of tarnished metal, and through this metal the hole had been bored by which Louis was enabled to ap- pend it to his watch-chain. Doctor Wor- rall looked long and carefully at the article. ‘‘Where did Pollard get it?’ he asked, a grave look on his face. ‘‘Well, he came across it in this very neighborhood, I believe. Perhaps 1 ought to say—putting the fact into plain English —he stole it. He it was who first told me of the glorious sport to be had hereabouts, and so fired my ambition——”’ ‘*Yes, but the pendant. come possessed of that?’’ ‘‘Oh, by some means or other he secretly obtained access to a Brahmin temple, in which an elaborately jeweled image of Siva was enshrined. The jade teeth of the idol were fixed into their sockets with golden screws, and Pollard, desirous of having a memento of his hazardous emprise, broke one of the teeth off, and carried it away with him. It was the act of an. iconoclast, a vandal, but——’’ ‘*You don’t mean to tell me,’’ cried Doc- tor Worrall, excitedly, ‘‘that this is the notorious Bharatra tooth?’’ ‘*Now you mention it, I recollect that was the name of the temple—the Bharatra tem- ple. But why notorious?’’ ‘‘It appears that the Bhootanese have a special regard for these teeth, certain scores or inscriptions upon them being attributed to Brahma’s own band. It was the double- triangle cut into the face of this piece of jade that caused me to question you re- specting it. A description of the missing tooth was circulated throughout the district, the Rajah of Waysnu offering a substantial reward for its recovery. If you value your comfort and safety, Louis, 1 would advise you to getrid of the stone at the earliest opportunity. Many a fanatic would not count the cost if he could only obtain pos- session of the tooth, and.many who are not fanatics would have little scruple about sticking a knife into you for the sake of the reward.’’ . ‘“‘T had no ideal was carrying such a dangerous article about with me,’’ rejoined Louis, with a laugh. ‘‘Here it goes back into my pocket.’’ How did he be- 4 1 iM ay putes Rn. 4350 GoOonD ‘‘Hark!’’ interposed the doctor, suddenly sitting up stiffly. ‘‘What was that?”’ He rose to his feet, strode past the tent- pole, and lifted the flap of the tent, Fora minute he looked keenly out into the night, listening. ‘‘T must have been mistaken,’’ he said, returning. ‘‘I thought I heard stealthy footsteps in the grass. But there’s nobody about.’’ all,’’? opined Louis, with a yawn. Worrall, I think [0 turn in. beat.’’ I’m dead ‘‘The wind among the leaves, that was | “*T say, | The doctor followed his companion’s ex- ample, and within half an hour the twain | How long Louis had | slept he knew not before he awoke with a | | Louis, assuming an air of confidence he little were in deep slumber. shiver, the cold air beating full upon his face. And no wonder—for there, not a yard from his head, the tent-cloth was dangling loose. While he was dreamily debating the means by which the canvas could be» re- astened with the least amount of exertion to himself, he saw a hand thrust into the opening. Louis gazed fixedly. The cloth was cautiously raised, and now the moon’s rays glistened upon a forearm, which, pro- truded into the tent, swept gently from side to side, in an ever widening semicircle. Louis rolled over noiselessly and clutched the groping limb with both his hands. The tug of war was violent but brief, for Louis’ fingers slipped down his adversary’s arm as if it were the body of an eel. The vigor he had used, thus unexpectedly released, shot him backward upon Doctor Worrall, who, alarmed at his friend’s hallos, had risen into | a sitting posture. Before they could ‘‘sort | themselves out,’’? the would-be pilferer—for | there could be no doubt that the intruder was upon plunder bent—had utterly van- ished into the night. Nor, although they roused the inmates of the camp—their Hin- doo bearers, porters, and attendants—could the slightest trace of the maurauder be dis- covered. ‘‘These Indian tent thieves are slippery customers,’’ remarked Doctor Worrall. **Literally, Imean. They smear their bodies with oil and grease, and then go about their nefarious business naked. We must keep a better watch in future. But I don’t think they’ll trouble us again—at least not to- night.’’ Nor did they. Next morning, while the hunters were imbibing their chota hazree, or early break- fast, the Bhootanese shikari, Chuta Sen, came running breathlessly into camp. He had already been to the top of an adjoining hill, from whence he had seen a herd of yaks grazing in the valley beyond. Would the sahibs start at once? Swallowing & hasty meal, the Englishmen shouldered their weapons and set off to the spot. For once, Chuta Sen had not deceived them. There, far below, they could discern a dozen or so of the wild oxen, mere brown dots on the plain, browsing placidly upon the sparse herbage. It became necessary to exercise the utmost caution in approaching the herd, and a course was accordingly shaped around a hummock of the hill to lee- ward, this detour bringing the hunters within gunshot. Singling out their animals, Doctor Wor- rall and Louis fired together. The alarmed yaks broke up in disorder, most of them stampeding up the valley, while three only— and one of these evidently wounded badly— burst away in the opposite direction. Doctor | | shikari |of the beetling crags, |narrow platform into space. As he spoke he turned wrathfully upon the shikari. The words choked in his throat. Half a dozen paces behind him stood Chuta Sen—half smiling, half scornful, wholly self-possessed—the loaded gun held at the “*present.’’ ‘*Heringhee,’ his voice, ‘‘I want tooth of Siva!’’ ‘*Ah!?’ ejaculated Louis, flinching be- fore the black muzzle. ‘‘That’s it, is it? So it was you who were prying round the tent last night: perhaps it was you, too, who attempted to rob us while we were asleep.’’ ‘*The tooth!’’ repeated Chuta Sen impa- > he said, a metallic ring in the tooth—the sacred | tiently. ‘‘Give me that and you go safe. If no, then I shoot and take it.’’ ‘Tt will be bad for you if you do,’’ said felt. ‘‘The noise of the sbot will bring my friends upon you, and your life will pay ceded? 9 ‘*Before they reach here,’’ interrupted the , quickly, ‘‘I shall be away—away. | 1 tell the whole story, and then they, not J, | have to run.”’ | The bantering tones in which Chuta Sen) spoke told Louis that he had not to deal with | | a religious zealot—indeed, the mere fact of | the man’s refraining from killing him with- | out scruple made that point sufficiently cer- | tain. No; clearly the shikari had in his mind | the reward offered by the Rajah to the re: | storer of the purloined tooth. This knowledge | inspired Louis with some degree of hope, It would be idle to expect aid from Doctor Worrall, who at that moment was probably miles away; and yet Louis did not relish yielding up his possessions without even the show of a struggle. Only one course re- mained—he must temporize with the fellow, and if possible outwit him. ‘*Look here,’’ he said, pulling the wedge of green jade from his pocket. ‘‘The thing’s of no value to me. You shall have it if you put down that gun.”’ ‘*No, no,’’ replied Chuta Sen, walriy. ‘‘Throw it to my feet, sol can pick it up. The sahib must not move till I reach the | top of the rocks, or I fire. There I cast the gun over the edge, and then the sahib may | catch me—if he can.’’ ‘*Very well,’’ said Louis, biting his ‘‘ Here it is.”’ The piece of jade dropped a couple of feet in front of the wily hillsman. Ashe crooked his back in order to seize it, the gun in his right hand was necessarily depressed for an instant, and in that instant Louis had flung himself upon the bent figure. The weapon fell with a clatter to the earth, and the two grappled in fierce conflict. To and fro they swayed in mad strivings, now on the verge of the dizzy height, and anon close pressed against the adamant face Suddenly the lithe shikari shook himself free. With a snarl of hatred, the light of murder in his eyes, he rushed afresh upon Louis with outstretched hands. The Englishman sprang aside deftly, aud Chuta Sen, unable to check his own im- petus, was launched over the edge of the There came the hiss of the falling body—a long-drawn wail—a sickening thud—and silence. Taking up his gun, his face pallid, his eyes wide with horror, Louis fired into the air. After an interval he slipped in another cartridge-and fired again. Soon he heard Doctor Worrall’s cries, and presently that gentleman, with his attendants, appeared upon the spot. Briefly, Louis related what lip. NEWS. DUTCH COURAGE. BY F. M. HOLMES. - ‘A OTHER, which way was Dick com- ing back?’’ ‘Over the cliff, he said.’’ “‘Then I think I will go and meet him; shall 1?’’ ‘‘Tf you like, Will; only don’t be late, we have supper early to-night.’’ Will took his hat from its peg and saun- tered forth. The evening was lovely and the setting sun painted delicate pinky hues among the pearly gray clouds and calm blue of the sky. ‘