PP eae be eas ae Ce ee ee Mae tastas ns moMnsrrsrns” Nar eut Sue us Wah et Nut ae an hae sne we ee ee ee ee ee ee et ee Vol 11 STREET & SMITH, Publishers, ° . 29 Rose Street, New York. =\{ SSS ay = ile Ota i ON is A i | i” an o | Me > = @-2 , i : ‘ Zz om he L w + - = ~ + ™ AS THE CHILDREN CAME RUNNING DOWN THE STEPS, ANDREW GAVE A CRY OF HORROR. A LITTLE GIRL’S GOLDEN HAIR WAS ONE MASS OF FLAMES! SX gg “So Pooce » AY < UMBES = Entered According to Att of Congress, in the Year 1895, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C, Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post-Ofjce. Ha O Mae eee e Tee eee Ree ne nee nat eR ere manne eee ee ete e teeta etes ea eer aster tet eee tet Meee erat tae neta em “New York, July 13, 1895. C> S Ds ’ = at 5 <-> thin man addressed. why not, Andrew Darwin?’’ “* Because I don’t think it would be right.’’ Do you mean tosay I would ask you to do something not entirely FOR THE RICHEST ANDREW SPEAKS HIS MIND. XCUSE me, Mr. can’t do what you ask.’’ Subscription Price, N 0. $2.50 per Year. CHAPTER I. Walthrop, = = ig x ; | | \ ui WANNWUUL ESE | His. HONOR'S SAK Be OR, BOY DETECTIVE IN NEW YORK. BY WALDEN F. SHARP. | ‘‘T don’t pretend it is not legal, Mr. Wal- throp. But is it morally right? Mr. Cress is in a bad way, and this will force him to the wall.”’ ‘‘And what doI care for that?’’ cried but r| Barnaby Walthrop, wrathfully. ‘‘I lent bim ‘*You caun’t?’’ exclaimed the tall, ar, money and now I want it back.’ ‘Nonsense, boy ! —ahem—legal?’’ ‘‘He says you promised the extention of time.’ **T did not.”’ Andrew Darwin’s face flushed slightly. ‘‘You must have forgotten the affair, sir,’? he said, calmly. ‘‘I was there and ‘*And pray 4322 heard you tell him you would wait. That was why he paid you the——”’ ‘*Not another word, boy! I won’t listen to you. He owes me the money and he shall pay it, or I will close him up.”’ **Tt is very unjust.’’ ‘Silence! Why, what is the world coming to that a boy like you should address me in this fashion?’’ stormed Barnaby Walthrop. ‘* And after all I have done for you, too!’’ Again Andrew Darwin’s face flushed, this time deeper than before. He was Barnaby Walthrop’s ward, and had been for six years. Previous to that time Andrew had lived in a fashionable section of the great metropo- lis with his mother, his father having died when he was but three years old. The Darwins had always been rich, and when Andrew’s mother died she left her only child a fortune of over one hundred thousand dollars, principally invested in stocks and railroad bonds. By the terms of her will Barnaby Wal throp was made her sole executor. In days gone by he had transacted Jegal business for Mr. Darwin, and the widow, being of a timid and retiring nature, knew of no one else to take the matter in hand. Whether her choice of a guardian for Andrew was a wise one remained to be seen. After his mother’s death, Andrew out of his own home and became a moved member "eat of Barnaby Walthrop’s .household, which consisted of Mrs. Walthrop and_ three daughters, besides the lawyer and _ stock- broker himself. Hor several years Andrew attended school, but at the age of seventeen his guardian took him into his offices in Wall street to learn the intricacies of the financial market, * Andrew knew that he was rich, but was in doubt of the exact amount which Mr. Walthrop held in trust for him. Several ! times he questioned the stock-broker about it, but got little or no satisfaction, Barnaby Walthrop putting him off by saying the amount varied with the rise and fall of stocks and bonds. : After Andrew became a clerk for his guardian it was not long before he dis- covered that Mr. Walthrop was not above making deals in stocks which, to say the least, were decidedly ‘‘shady.’’ This worried the youth, as he himself was , the soul of honor. Andrew Darwin would have cut off his hand rather than have done something of which his. conscience did not approve. It was this high sense of honor which led him into the many difficulties and perils { which form the basis of the present tale. ! et About three months before the opening of our story astationer, doing business in Broad street, not.far from, Wall, had applied to Barnaby Walthrop for a loan on a chattel mortgage. Homer Cress was the man’s name, and, as ; his reputation was good and his business valuable, Barnaby Walthrop readily lent the money needed, charging a good, stiff price for arranging the necessary papers and other details. The transaction occurred in Walthrop’s private office, and it was then and there : that Andrew overheard his guardian prom- wt : ise Cress an extension of time on the mortgage should business fail to pick up as anticipated. Now the mortgage was due and Barnaby Walthrop ignored entirely his promise. He saw a way to squeeze Cress to the wall and buy out the business for a personal friend, and he intended to go ahead, regardless of the stationer’s natural rights. All that Sn Barnaby Walthrop cared for in the matter ptt |S was to do things within the limits of the law. His conscience never troubled him, no matter how greatly his victims suffered. ‘ cet ‘*T do not see what you have done for me mi sei. that is so wonderful, Mr. Walthrop,’’ re- plied Andrew, after a slight pause. } ‘*T have given you a good home,’’ snapped ‘ hi ; the broker. va Cte ty ‘‘And you have been paid for it out of my estate.’’ gia ‘*T have given you great chances down in Ate : Wall street.’’ a Nihet s . ‘*And I have worked hard at the offices in consequence, ’’ ‘“You don’t seem to appregiate your ad- eacpt vantages, Andrew. Another boy would have—have got along much faster.”’ ; ‘*T do not care much for stock specula- tions, sir. To me the whole thing is nothing but gambling.’’ ‘*Tut! tut! It is a very respectable calling, : and—ahem—perfectly legal.’’ ‘‘It may be legal to get rich by bank- rupting some one else, but it’s not morally ee peat right, any more than it’s morally right to ny Pa drive poor Mr. Cress to the walle’? _~ tess ‘*Not another word about that, boy, I ; won’t have it!’? Barnaby Walthrop arose from. his chair,. ‘‘Here, take this letter to eee we hi Bik : ' Stone & Bartlett and ask them about Hous- ie ton and Texas preferred—they have some aay : stock to sell, I believe.’ isa! > 1, : The stock-broker handed Andrew a letter, Heath sie, which the youth took. A minute later An- ; drew was out on Wall street, hurrying to- aie t ward Broadway. The stock-broker gazed 1 24 { - Hoa hie after him and his brow darkened. iret? ‘*Getting almost too old to manage,’’ he muttered to himself, ‘‘I must be careful how I go ahead or I'll make a muddle of it aie sure.’? CFHOOD CHAPTER IT. ANDREW SHOWS A GOOD HEART. ws Andrew Darwin walked to the ? office of Stone & Bartlett his thoughts Ay" were busy with both the past and ~*~ the present. His life at the Walthrop home had been far from pleasant. We already know what the stock-broker was. Mrs. Walthrop and her daughters were no better. They were fashionable leaders, and knew nothing but to attend receptions, and the like, and drive 3arnaby Walthrop frantic with their’ big bills for wearing apparel. Nearly every day there quarrel at the broker’s home. drew .took no part, yet he was often unwilling listener. was a family In these An- an More than once the youth had theught of | asking his guardian to let him move to other quarters, but he hesitated, not know- ing exactly how to broach the subject. Yet he felt that he could not remain under that roof much longer. Arriving at Stone & Bartlett’s, the youth’s business was quickly transacted. As he was returning to Wall street he came face to face with aman whose face looked pale and disturbed. ‘*Mr. Cress!’? ‘‘Oh, Andrew, is that you?’’ and the stationer caught the youth by the arm. ‘‘Have you been to see Mr. Walthrop?”’ asked Andrew. ‘‘Not yet, I had a trip to make to Broad- way first. Did you—you- ‘*Yes, I spoke to him, Mr. Cress, just as I promised.’’ ‘* And what did he say?’ ‘*He won’t make an extension.”’ The stationer’s face fell. ‘*He promised it.’? ‘*T know it.’’ ‘It is not fair.’ ‘*Can’t you get the money elsewhere?’’ ‘*No; business has been so poor every one ’ , is afraid to loan the amount, although the} stock is fully worth it. I must assign !”’ And the stationer gave a groan. Andrew was touched. ‘There was that about Mr. Cress that he liked, and he was on warm terms with Edgar Cress, the man’s son. He hated to see failure staring his chum’s parent in the face. ‘*Mi. Cress, how much can you borrow??’’ he asked, suddenly. ‘*What do you mean, Andrew?’’ ‘*How much will some one else on a chattel mortgage?”’ The stationer thought a moment. ‘*Bathgate said he would go two thou- lend you | sand.’’ ‘*And you need eight hundred more?’’ OY Obit? ‘*T will lend it to you.’’ ‘*What, you, Andrew!’’ gasped the man, ag though he had not heard aright. eb Had ‘*Do you mean to say you have so much at command?’’ ‘‘T have that and a little more. My allow ance is really more than I require, and have been saving money for several years.’’ ‘*Edgar told me you were rich.’”’ ‘““My. Walthrop doesn’t know I have the money, and I will lend it privately, and you can pay me back whenever times pick up.’’ The stationer’s face brightened. ‘¢Andrew you are a—a—fine fellow!’’ he cried. ‘‘When can you let me have the money?”’ ‘CAny time.’’ ‘‘T will give you a note.’’ ‘That will do.’’ ‘*You have relieved me greatly,’’? went on Gilbert Cress,’ gratefully. ‘‘I will see Bathgate at once and then there will be no trouble when Mr. Walthrop comes for his money.’’ Andrew could not help but smile. He thought of how his guardian would be disappointed not to be able to foreclose on Gilbert Cress, but he said nothing on that point. After a few minutes more of conversation Andrew returned to his guardian’s offices. Little did he dream of the trouble the lending of that eight hundred dollars was going to cost him. Immediately after lunch Barnaby throp went out to Gilbert Cress’ store. He found Cress behind one of the counters. The man looked brighter than he had for two weeks. ‘*Well, Cress, I presume you know what I have come for?’’ began the stock-broker, Wal- shortly. ‘“To fix up that mortgage, I suppose, Walthrop.’’ ‘*Axactly..’’ ‘“Then you do not intend to stick to your promise to extend the time?’’ ‘*T never made such a promise,’’ replied the broker, boldly. ‘‘We talked about it, but that is as far as 1t went.’’ ‘*T disagree with you on that point. How- ever, it doesn’t matter.’’ Gilbert Cress spoke so confidently that Walthrop’s face fell instantly. ‘*You—ahem—intend to pay, then?’’ ‘*Yes, I will settle up to-morrow. morn- inte?” The broker drew a long breath. His friend would now be unable to obtain possession of the store. ’ NEWS. ‘‘May I ask you where you got money?’’ he asked, curiously. ‘I borrowed part of it from Bathgate on Nassau street, and the balance from an in- timate friend.’’ ‘*Hump!’? Barnaby Walthrop studied the situation for a full minute. ‘‘See ‘here, Cress, supposing I do let the mortgage run, what time do you want?’’ ‘*T don’t care to let it run—now,”’’ replied the stationer, briefly. ‘‘I prefer to deal with Bathgate and my other friend.’’ ‘*Who is this other friend?’’ ‘*| prefer not to mention his name.’’ ‘‘Oh—ah—suit yourself,’’ returned the broker, stiffly. ‘‘I will be here at eleven o’clock for my money.’’ ‘*That will suit me,’’ 5 ‘*Tt must be in cash—or a certified check.’’ ‘*You shall have cash, Walthrop.’’ There was no more to say, and feeling rather uncomfortable, without being ex actly able to explain why, the broker left the place. On the following day promptly at the time appointed he visited the store again. The money was waiting for him, and the chattel mortgage was liquidated on the spot. He did not mention the affair to Andrew Darwin, but it was easy for the youth to see that he was thoroughly put out. ‘‘And he would be more put out than ever if he knew [ had advanced part of that money and had a note for itin my pocket,’’ thought the youth. *‘But I won’t mention it to him,’’ CHAPTER ITI. THE MISSING DEEDS. MM N the very afternoon of the day Gil- €) bert Cress settled up,with Barnaby Walthrop, a rich lady, by the name of Mrs. Clara Petell, called on the stock-broker on business. Mrs. Petell was a widow who had come to New. York from the South buta few months before. She was Southern born and bred, and of a warm, sunny, and unsuspect- ing disposition. Mrs. Petell owned several large tracts of land in the South, one in Virginia, another in Georgia, and a third in Florida. The first two named tracts were con- sidered quite valuable, and she had given them much attention. The third—that in Florida—was hardly known. The lady now came to consult Barnaby Walthrop about these Florida claims, for the broker was the one who had transacted. all of her business for her since she had arrived in New York. The pair were closeted in private office for nearly an hour. When the lady came out she looked very much disappointed, She said not a word when Andrew politely assisted her to her chor Walthrop’s carriage, which stood in waiting at the curb. ‘““She has received bad news from Mr. Walthrop,’’ thought the youth, and then he gave the matter no further thought. But that night—the third of July—An- drew heard something which both surprised and astonished him, He went out in the evening to arrange for a day of pleasure on the Fourth with Edgar Cress. The two decided to put in Independ- ence Day at Manhattan Beach, where there would be fine music and a special display of fire-works, On returning to the Walthrop mansion he saw that the library was still brightly lit up, although it was after eleven o’clock. ‘‘Mr. Walthrop must be busy on some law case,’? thought Andrew, as he ran up the stone steps ‘and opened the door with his night-key. As he passed through the hallway he heard low talking in the library, and then vame the words, in a louder tone: ‘“‘Tf we play our cards right we can make a fortune. One cat easily twist her around one’s finger.’’ The speaker was Barnaby Walthrop. ‘“*That’s so,’?’ came in a second ‘*You have the matter entirely in own hands. ‘Don’t let it slide.’’ ‘Then you are in with me, Lafferty?’’ asked the stock-broker, meaningly. ‘‘Rvery time, Walthrop. Did I on that Philadelphia matter?’’ ‘*Hush! not so loud. Some one may hear,’’ ‘* All gone to bed, an’t they?’’ ‘*All but my ward. He is still out.’’ The man called Lafferty laughed softly. ‘Say, he’s a prett¥ soft snap for you, isn’t he?”’ ‘‘Don’t, Lafferty; he may come in and hear you,’’ cautioned the broker. ‘‘No, he isn’t a snap,’’ he added. ‘‘He is getting too smart.’’ ‘*But he doesn’t suspect—— ‘*Not yet. I haven’t done anything yet, you know.”’ ‘*That’s so. Well, now about Mrs. Petell’s land in Florida; where are those deeds?’ ‘*{ have them here, in my safe,’’ ‘*What do you think she will sell out for?’’ ‘*A mere song. Not just yet, understand, but soon,’’ ‘*{ suppose she didn’t like the report I made about the land being worthless.’’ ‘She did not,’? and Barnaby Walthrop gave a short laugh. Hearing his own voice. your fail you ” name mentioned had the | caused Andrew to remain in the hallway, | given ; safe, which not far from the library door. He was not to eavesdropping, but just now he considered himself justified. He was much puzzled by what had been said concerning himself. What could it mean? What did Barnaby Walthrop intend o do against him? Much interested, the youth drew closer to the library door. ‘*T would like to look at those said Lafferty; and now Andrew identified him as a land-boomer from Brooklyn. ‘‘We want to make sure of what there is in it be- fore we go ahead.”’ ‘‘It’s pretty hesitatingly. ‘*Never mind that. ‘To-morrow is.a day and you can sleep so much later.’’ Some talk followed, in lower tones, then Andrew heard his guardian go ta was built ina corner of library, under the stairs. ‘*Hullo!”? ‘*What’s up, Walthrop?’’ ‘*T can’t find the papers! ‘*What?’’ ‘“They are gone! partment. ’’ ‘*Perhaps they dropped down,’’ Lafferty, in deep concern. A rapid search was made. ‘*No, they are gone, just as sure as live!’’ groaned the stock-broker. **Stolen?’’ ‘*‘It must be.’’ ‘Is anything else gone?’’ Again there was a moment of silence. se Yes.’? “*What?’’ ‘*A thousand dollars in gold. It was paid to me only a couple of days ago, and I neglected to place it in the bank.’’ ‘*You must have had a professional burg- lar at your safe.’’ An excited conversation followed, and Barnaby Walthrop began to pace the room. ‘*Andrew Darwin wasin this room several times last evening and the evening before,’’ he said, half aloud. ‘‘ And the safe-door was open then. I am very careless about it.’’ ‘*What! do you suppose the boy took the money and the deeds?’’ cried Lafferty. ‘*T don’t know what to think.’’ ‘*Maybe a servant took the stuff.’’ ‘*Hardly. We only have two servants, and they are both old and have been with us for years. ”’ ‘¢But the boy——’’ ‘‘Is innocent, Mr. Walthrop.’ Both of the men gave a jump as they turned and faced Andrew, who stood in the doorway, his breast heaving with indigna- tion. ‘‘Andrew! Where did you come from?’’ ‘*T came in but afew minutes ago, and heard you cry out that something was miss- ing from the safe. I say I know nothing of the theft.’’ ‘*You have been spying on us!’’ ‘*Hardly, sir. I could not help but over- hear you talk, and it was not in my nature to keep quiet when you accused me to Mr. Lafferty.’’ ‘‘Humph!’’ Barnaby Walthrop mused for a moment. ‘‘Come in here.’’ The youth advanced into the library. At once the broker closed and locked the door behind him. ‘*You were in here last night, Andrew?’’ ‘*T was.?’ ‘* Also the evening before.”’ ‘*T admit it.’’ ‘*You went to the safe.’’ NO; sir.’’ ‘*T say you did go.’’ ‘*You are mistaken. I came in for .some books and did not go nearer than that book- case over there.’ deeds, ’’ late,’’ replied Walthrop, holi- and the the 9? L left them in this com- returned you ’ ‘“You knew I[ had that money in the house.’’ ‘*T did. I heard you ask Mr. Fremont for G37” ‘*A thousand dollars is a lot of money t0 get hold of,’? went on Barnaby Walthrop, suggestively. Andrew’s eyes flashed fire, and he ‘drew himself up to his full height. ‘‘Mr. Walthrop, you are the first persot in the world to insinuate that I am @ thief !’’ he cried. The broker winced under Andrew’s firm gaze, and Lafferty shuffled his feet uneasily: ‘‘You were in here,’’ muttered the broker; doggedly. ‘So were you, and your wife, and your three daughters. Why don’t you suspect some member of your family?’’ ‘“No impertinencé, boy !’’ . ‘You have no right to accuse me in this fashion before Mr. Lafferty; or any one elsé- [ will not stand it. You have made matter unpleasant enough for me as it is, without trying to tarnish my name,”’ f Andrew was warming up. The soul ° honor, he could not bear to be even unde suspicion. , ‘Will you. let me search you and your room?’’ suddenly asked his guardian. ““Certainly—if you will not take word,”’ ‘“T would rather make the search,’? ™@ turned Barnaby Walthrop, dryly. i He advanced and began to go through AD drew’s clothes. Then of a sudden the youu” remembered the note for eight hundred lars which he carried in his pocket. wy Ale i 8 ae MD SO eee me Le oe oe ee ae da & a me eS et he ~~ bes ae i — ay, not he een it end mM - 1ed ‘Ou nd for ey he 1a- ane ire [r. for At or ‘m ly: ar; u r ch 118 30. y's ut oe CHAPTER IV. A LITTLE GIRL’S PERIL. ), NDREW DARWIN stepped backward, and his face took ona troubled look. 5 - What would Barnaby Walthrop “AC say if the note was discovered? The broker saw the change and instantly became suspicious. ‘‘No backing out now, Andrew!’’ he cried, and caught the youth tightly by the arm. ‘*Let me go!’’ ‘‘Not much! Stand where you are! erty, help me hold him, will you?’’ ‘T don’t know about this, Walthrop—— replied the land-boomer, with a shake of his head. ‘It’s: all right. dian?’’ ‘*That’s so, I forgot,’’ and came to Walthrop’s assistance. Despite Andrew’s protestations, he held the youth tightly, while the broker con- tinued his search. Only a few dollars were found, and then Walthrop brought out the flat book contain ing half a dozen letters and the note. He gave a hasty glance at the note, then turned to the light, and reud it more care- fully. ‘*You rascal!’’ he ejaculated. ‘‘What is it?’’? asked Lafferty. Laff i) An’t I the boy’s guar- now Lafferty ‘‘So this is the way you intend to serve me, eh?’’?’ went on Barnaby Walthrop, wrathfully. ‘‘Steal my money to help along .4? that confounded’ Gilbert Cress! ‘*T did not steal your money, I—— ‘*You did—and lent Cress eight hundred dollars of it. Here is the note. So you are the intimate friend he spoke about!”’ ‘“‘The money I lent him was what I had sayed,’’ said Andrew, desperately. He fully realized how black seemed to look. ‘‘Bah! How can you expect me to believe that?’’ ‘* Believe it or not, it’s the truth ’’ ‘¢You tell a falsehood, boy. What have you done with the other two hundred dol- lars and the deeds?”’ And, comipg up close, the broker fairly shook his fist in Andrew’s face. With a vigorous shove Andrew Lafferty half the length of the room. Then he retreated to ohe of the long win- dows which opened upon the side alley-way. ‘‘Mr. Walthbrop, I have not taken your money nor the deeds, nor do I know anything of either,’’ he said, as calmly as he could. ‘*T say you have, and unless you confess Pll have you locked up!’’ shouted the broker, in a rage, Andrew grew pale as death. matters were reaching a crisis. ‘*You are unfair to me. Look at it reason- ably, sir. What use would 1 have for the deeds?”’ ‘*You wanted to take them to Mrs. Petell and tell her I was——’’ The broker broke off short. ‘‘ Never mind. A boy who will steal will play the spy, in fact, you were spying a while ago. I see it all now, Andrew Darwin, you are leading a double life—trying to under- mine me. But you sha’n’t do it!’’ Again the broker showed his rage. ‘‘I will throw you in jail this very night.’’ Barnaby Walthrop rushed over to where Andrew was standing. But as quick as a flash, the youth shoved up the window and leaped out into the alley-way. ‘*Come back, boy !”’ ‘*T will not—until you decide to act reason- ,? matters hurled Certainly able,’’? was the firm reply. And then, with his head in such a whirl that he could scarcely think, Andrew Dar- Win left the alley-way and hurried down the street, around the nearest corner. He covered ten long blocks before he thought to slow up. Every little while he would look back, but no one came in pur- suit. At last, tired out, he sat down on a stoop to think matters over. Here he was accused of being a thief, and he had run away from What was his rightful home to avoid arrest, ®8ven though he was innocent. Wisely or foolishly? ‘ 0m {This Story will not be Published in Book-Form, | THE COPPER DISK; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A GOOD NEWS TRAVELING CLUB. A STORY OF THE PACIFIC COAST. BY ENRIQUE H. LEWIS, Author of ‘Sword and Pen,” “4A Young Free Lance,” “The King of the Island,” ete. . (“THe CoppreR DISK’? was commenced in No. 263. Jack numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) - CHAPTER XXV. TWO ALARMING DISCOVERIES. 2 KL waited with some apprehension the appearance of the person advancing through the brushwood, but his anxiety was suddenly relieved on seeing a dog, followed by two lads, at the edge of the little clearing. It was Neptune, Deb and Chunk. Something prompted the young captain to remain in his place of concealment for a moment. He was repaid by seeing the ex- pressions of astonishment on the faces of his | chums as they caught sight of the deer. They cautiously advanced, and poked the earcass with the muzzles of their guns. ‘*Holy Moses! who has been shooting the poor animal?’’ exclaimed the fat youth. ‘*What a pity to kill an innocent brute like that. But, Deb, wouldn’t a nice juicy steak ‘*There you are, always thinking of that blooming rotunda of yours,’’ retorted Deb, gloomily. ‘‘It isn’t eating we must think about, but of finding poor Sel. If he hasn’t returned to the yacht with the cook, he| must be lost in the woods. What on earth | will we do if he’s lying stark dead some- | where???’ ‘‘Ugh! for mercy’s sake, quit croaking,’’ almost howled Chunk. ‘‘We’ll find him. He can’t be dead. Perhaps he fired that shot a while ago.’’ ‘*Didn’t I answer it at once, and there’s no sign of any one, except this deer. Come on. Let’s hurry back to the bay. It can’t— whoop!’? The exclamation was called forth by the sudden appearance of Sel, who rose from his hiding-place, with a grin of welcome on his expressive countenance, Both boys and the dog sprang pell-mell upon the young leader, and for a moment a series of in- coherent shouts and hoarse barking filled the air. When he finally emerged from beneath his chums, Sel asked instantly after Charlie | day. |of seeking out | **To think “They are gone—skipped last night before NEW S. dark,’’ replied Deb, with a knowing wink. ‘“‘After you and the disappeared, we searched the without finding any traces of you. Charlie and the pig-tail hung around the camp for a. while, then they sloped, without so much as asking our cook woods, | leave.’’ ‘*What’s the matter?’’? suddenly spoke up Chunk. ‘‘What’s the reason for all mystery, I say? You fellows have been backing and filling for three or four days about something, and I want to know what it is. Huh! an’t I worthy of confidence?”’ ‘*You shall know, Chunk, but before I tell you I want a bite to eat,’’ declared Sel. ‘*‘]? haven’t had any breakfast, and I am nearly starved. What have you in that bundle?’’ ; ‘*Part of the bread and canned stuff we brought from the yacht,’’ replied Deb. ‘*We left the tents near that creek, but we thought it best to bring the food.’’ ‘*Great head!’ exclaimed the young cap tain, with his mouth full of corned beef. ‘You acted wisely.’ After satisfying bis hunger, he sat down upon a fallen tree and explained the situa tion if detail to the fat youth, adding, for this | Deb’s benefit, the later developments of the | Chunk listened with growing excite ment, and, at the conclusion of the recital, sprang to his feet with the avowed intention Charlie Burr and wrecking summary vengeance on him. ‘‘The confounded chump!’’ he fumed. that he would play us dirt like this. And you say that Frenchy is really Morris, and that Morris:is really a Secret Service detective name Showers? this is better than reading novels. our innocent little trip becoming, eh?’’ ‘*Instead of calling it the ‘Good Traveling Club, we should have named it the ‘Good News’ Adventure and Anti- Smuggling Association,’’ chuckled Deb. ‘*‘Who would think that kids like us should stumble on such a thrilling series of inci- dents? When we get back to school we’ll have enough to talk about for the rest of the term.’’ ‘‘We havea lot before us yet,’’|said Sel. ‘* And by the same token we have little time to waste now. Chunk, take your hunting knife and cut off a We can bury the rest, but we must take some with us for present needs. ”’ Within ten minutes the boys were on the | march toward the bay. The utmost precau tion was observed, and to prevent any out- cry from Neptune, the faithful animal was muzzled and placed in leash. Nothing of interest occurred until the vicinity of the beach was gained. Sel walked in advance, and his companions followed in single file. Suddenly the young leader came upon a spot in News’ | Wough! | What's 4-323 what in the duse could have him to the interior of the island?’’ ‘*We will soon find out,’’? panted pointing ahead. ‘‘Il can see the through that clump of beeches. ’’ A few moments later the boys emerged upon the stretch of beach. They had pur posely taken a more northerly course in order to avoid Coming out near the boat landing. Sel was the first to obtain an un obstructed view of the bay. Ere his companiogs had caught up with him, he stopped, as if shot, and in a voice filled with dismay, cried: ‘‘Great Scott! the yacht! They are gone!’’ sent Chunk, water The schooner ! CHAPTER XXVI. THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE. ay, T was true. The small expanse of water, &}4 almost inclosed by foliage-crowned , headlands, was as bare as the tumbling sea beyond. The white-capped waves, racing in from the ocean, met with no ob struction in their course, and where the \os> | trim-built whale-back yacht and the schooner of the smuggling crew had tossed at anchor the night before, nothing was now visible. Sel and his chums stood as if rooted to the spot. Even Neptune realized that some- thing was amiss, and We watched his mas ter’s face with sympathetic eyes. For a while nothing was said. Chunk sat down close to the edge of the surf and stared dis- consolately at the deserted bay. ‘‘Did youever read that book about the fellows who were marooned on an island in the West Indies?’’ he finally asked, with a | hysterical chuckle. haunch from that deer. | the ravine that | showed undeniable evidences of a recent struggle. The grassy carpet covering the | ground was cutmp; a moist place near the | | center bore several confused foot- prints, and | }a small sapling nearby had | most in twain. been broken al ‘‘What in the duse has happened here?’’ exclaimed Sel, apprehensively. ‘‘It looks as if there had been a fight this very morning. I wonder——’’ He ceased speaking, and picked up a small | white object which his ready eye had espied lying close to a furrow in the sward. One glance proved that it was an euvelope. An uncanceled stamp was attached to one cor ner, and across the face was written in ink: Mrs. AMANDA SMITH, Washington, D. C. ‘‘Great Scott! it was the detective,’’ fairly shouted Sel. ‘‘Quick! look around and see if you can find any traces of him.’’ ‘‘What’s the matter?’’? asked Chunk and Deb, simultaneously. ‘‘Matter enough,’’ replied the young cap- tain, almost’ beside himself with excitement. ‘““This means that Detective Showers has been here within the last three hours. There has been a scrimmage, and I’ll wager any- thing he has been captured by those scoun- drels.’’ 3ut you said he was to wait for us near | the bay,’’ said Deb, in bewilderment. ‘So he was; but this envelope proves that he had struck inland for some reason.’’ ‘*Perhaps something had occurred, and he started off to meet us,’’ venturéd Chunk, whose eyes were protruding from his chubby face like those of an alarmed crab, ‘It is possible, Scatter and see if you can find any further traces of him.”’ The ravine and the hillsides were closely searched, but nothing was discovered. The mute evidences of the struggle in the center of the little valley was all. After satisfying themselves of this fact, the boys started off toward the beach at a fast walk. ‘*How do you know that Showers dropped the envelope?’’ asked Deb, as they scurried along. **Don’t you remember the letter he gave me to post when I left the whale-back in Bodega Bay? Well, it was addressed to this Mrs. Amanda Smith. I suspected Morris- as we called him then—so I took particular notice of the address. ”’ ‘“You didn’t think then that it play such a peculiar part, did you?’’ ‘*No; strange things will happen at times. I only hope that the poor fellow has not been injured by that villain. I wonder would ‘‘No: but Lintend to write one on the same subject and from experience some day,’’ gloomily replied Deb. ‘‘This is aw- ful, simply awful! What on earth does it mean, Sel?’’ ‘*It is easy to be seen,’’ was the short re ply. ‘‘It means that Masters and Chow, having captured the detective, have steamed |away for some northern port in the United States, where they will land the opium and skip without fear of discovery. ‘Can’t we do anything to stop them?’’ ‘*No; we are helpless. They are probably some distance down the coast now, and we couldn’t catch them if we had wings. . It is over a hundred miles to the nearest tele- graph office, and before we could travel that distance the scoundrels will be out of reach.’’ ‘*A hundred miles!’’ wailed Chunk, rising to his feet. ‘‘Wough! I can’t walk that far.’’ ‘*Wait a week, and we’ll write for an ele- phant,’’ said Deb, with sarcasm. ‘‘Tf I were as skinny as you, I’d grease my sides and wriggle across the island,’’ re- torted the fat youth. ‘‘Confound it! this is a nice fix to be in. I wish I bad that traitor, Charlie Burr, here. I’d punch his head for him.’?’ Picking up a stone from the beach, Chunk tossed it vindictively at a bottle floating in- shore. The missile struck it, and with a erash of breaking glass, the flask sunk from sight; but there remained floating on the surface a piece of white paper. ‘“‘That’s queer,’’ exclaimed the corpulent cargo of ” youth. ‘‘Bottles don’t generally contain papers. Hey! where are you going?”’ The last was addressed to Sel, who had , been a witness of his chum’s stone throw- ing. To the surprise of Deb and Chunk, the young leader had hastily doffed his shoes aud stockings. Then, as they watched in amazement, he waded out to where ,the paper still floated on the water. Securing it, he returned to the beach with equal promptness. ‘‘Tf [am not mistaken, there’s something in this,’? he said. ‘‘Messages have been car- ried ashore in this manner more than once, and—hurrah! I thought so. It has writing on it.’’ Spreading the flotsam upon his knee with trembling hands, the lad read the following, printed with a coarse lead pencil in a dis- | guised hand: ‘“The whale-back and schooner left the bay at seven o’clock bound for an island five miles to the south. There the schooner will stop while the yacht makes a flying trip to Seattle. If you find this message follow the coast at once.”’ ‘*Well, wonders will never cease!’’ ex- claimed Chunk, staring at the message in blank amazement. ‘‘Who in thunder sent that ashore?’’ ‘The detective, probably,’’ replied Deb. ‘*Whoever it is, he’s a friend of ours, and we mustn’t lose any time following his in- structions,’’ spoke up Sel. ‘‘Here, pick up your outfit and come a-running.’’ ‘Hold on; I see another bottle out there,’’ suddenly remarked Deb, pointing off-shore a dozen yards. ‘‘Perhaps it contains an- other letter.’’ . The water being shallow, Sel waded out and secured the new flask. An examination revealed another paper, but it contained a similar message to the first. ‘‘Our friend, whoever he is, probably thought that two would have a “better chance of reaching us than one,’’ decided the lad.- ‘‘He was shrewd. It was only by an act of Providence that we found them. We could have struck the bay some other place, or the tide might have carried the bottles out to sea instead of in-shore,”’ ' es, Sp cpectansg 24s Le Lait { fk de ‘“‘Tf I believed in omens, I would feel sure that we will ultimately defeat Masters and his gang,’’? said Deb, rather seriously. ‘Here we are in possession of important in- formation at a time when we were at our wit’s-ends.’’ ‘*We’ll never defeat them if we stand here talking about it,’’ replied Chunk. ‘‘Down in Portland we first work and then tell about what we have accomplished.’ ‘*Yes, but you devote more time to the latter,’’ retorted the slim youth, with a snort of disgust. Exchanging threatening glances, the boys followed after Sel, who had already started off at a rapid walk. Neptune bounded and frisked in front of them as if the expedition was organized for his special benefit. After crossing a range of low hills on the southern side of the bay, an open forest of trees with but little undergrowth was reached. The boys marched in single file, with the young captain in the lead. Deb and Chunk conversed in low tones, but Sel remained buried in thought. By virtue of his age and position, he felt personally responsible for their present predicament, and the burden was extremely heavy, as can well be im- agined. The disappearance of the detective was a sore blow. Showers was masterful, and a man of experience. With him in charge of the party, all would be well. Then the departure of the whale-back was a source of worry. It left the boys in a grave situation—abandoned, deserted in a strange land over a hundred miles from civilization. It was no wonder that Sel’s brow was marked with care. ‘*T know to whom this should be laid,’’ he muttered, clinching his fists. ‘‘If we get out alive, there will be a bitter reckoning for some one.”’ The lad was suddenly brought out of his reverie by a low growl. Neptune, who was several paces in advance, had come to a halt. The actions of the dog indicated alarm. He stood with one foot raised, and his long busy tail in a stiffened horizontal position. ‘*What’s the matter, Nep?’’ asked Sel, motioning to his companions to cease walk- ing. The intelligent animal growled hoarsely in reply, then crouching down, it began to crawl stealthily toward a_ brush-covered hummock some hundreds of yards in ad- vance. Anticipating danger, the young leader sternly bade Neptune return. **Quick! hide yourselves,’’ he added, in a low voice, to Deb and Chunk. ‘‘The dog scents something. It may be only a deer, but——”’ ‘“*Tt’s a man,’’ shrilly interrupted the fat youth. ‘‘l saw the top of his hat just then. Look! there it is again beyond that old beech tree.’’ Sel drew his revolver, and with a rapid motion fired a shot at the object indicated by Chunk. At the sound of the report Nep- tune broke away from Deb’s restraining hand, and rushed with loud barks toward the decayed tree. Before he could be recalled, a joyous shout came from in front, and the figure of a man appeared in view. It was Detective Showers! ‘*Hold on there!’’ he exclaimed, waving his hands. ‘‘Hold on, I say! Would you shoot a friend, you blood-thirsty young wretch? My! but you came near boring a hole through the top of my cranium. How are you, dear boys?’’ The speaker speedily found that they were quite healthy, by the vigorous shaking he received from three pair of sturdy hands, It is safe to say that the good-natured de- tective had never received a warmer wel- come. After he had dispersed the three boys and driven the dog to a safe distance, he asked, in an anxious voice: ‘*Have you anything to eat? For Heaven’s sake, don’t say no. I am nearly famished, and I feel as if I couldeat a yard of Nep- tune’s tail.’’ ‘*Lucky for him we have a little meat and a loaf of bread left,’’ replied Sel, pro- ducing the articles. ‘‘It’s all we have, barring those haunches of deer-meat, which we must! cook pretty soon. Now, before you do anything, just answer a few ques- tions.’? ; ‘*Fire away,’’ breathed Showers, with his mouth full of food. ‘‘What are you doing here, and with whom were you fighting a couple of miles up the ravine?’’ ‘*How do you know I was fighting with anybody?’’ queried the detective, pausing in the act of cutting a piece of meat to give the lad a glance of surprise. Sel held-up the envelope he had found at the scene of the struggle. ‘‘This is proof enough,’’ he said, triumph- antly. ‘‘You dropped this envelope not four hours ago. I know it because it bears an ad- dress similar to that mailed by me in ’Frisco,’’ ‘*You are right, my boy,’’ replied Show- ers, with a laugh. ‘‘It is circumstantial avidence. I was in the ravine this morning, and I had a rousing old scrap with the ugliest-looking black bear you ever saw. It happened in this way: Shortly after you left me Isaw the Woca raise anchor and steam over to the schooner. A rope was passed aboard, and I knew it meant depart- ure. The fact nearly worried me to death. I was powerless to do anything, and I couldn’t stand there and watch those scoun- GoOoDpD drels steam away, so I cut stick into the in- terior after you.’’ ‘‘T hadn’t traveled more than two miles when a rusty-looking bear ran into me with- out so much as a word of warning. He grabbed me around the neck, and I had the tallest tussle of my life getting away. I finally released myself, and—you hear me— [ didn’t stop to argue the matter. I scooted hot-foot, and at last managed to leave Mister Bruin out of sight. Then I found that I was lost. The only hope [ had was to reach the coast, and—here I am. What news have you?”’ ‘‘A whole lot,’’ replied Sel, revealing the mysterious document found in the bottle. ‘‘Just read that.’’ CHAPTER XXVII. A RAY OF HOPE, HE detective hastily scanned the roughly printed message, and then fy turned to his young companions with “<”" an exclamation of astonishment, ‘*Well, this beats my time,’’ he sdid, re- reading the words aloud. ‘‘Where in the name of all that’s wonderful did you get this?’?’ Sel explained the finding of the two bot- tles with their strange contents. ‘‘We thought they might have come from you,’’ he added. ‘‘It was our belief that you had been captured by the smugglers and were a prisoner on board. Now, who can be our mysterious friend?’’ ‘*T don’t know, without it is one of the crew,’’ replied Showers, reflectively. ‘*‘Why ecouldn’t it be Chow himself?’’ spoke up Deb, ‘‘You know Sel saved him from that wild-cat, and probably he takes this means to show his gratitude.’’ ‘*Not on your life, youngster. I know that Chinaman. You might as well expect gratitude from a_ boa-constrictor as from him. No; when fellows of his stamp com- mence to show any human virtues, you can look for an early call on Gabriel’s trum- pet.’’ ‘*Well, I can’t see what difference it makes who sent the blamed letter,’’ sud- denly remarked Chunk. ‘‘What’s the matter with you people, anyway? Here you are chinning like a lot of magpies when we ought to be hustling down the coast. By the» time you have settled the question the Woca will be in Seattle.’’ ‘*Well! well! Spoken like a little man,’’ retorted Deb, in mock admiration. ‘‘Who would think such wisdom could emanate from a head afflicted with fatty degenera- tion? All you need to become a counselor, Chunk, is a new set of brains and a pow- dered wig.’’ ‘*Stop your rowing,’’ interrupted Sel, be- fore the corpulent youth could reply. ‘*Chunk is right. We are. losing time. It is a good four miles yet to the island. If we don’t hurry the whale-back will escape us.’’ Without further ado, the party started at a rapid walk down the coast. The pace soon carried them within sight of a small point of land jutting out in a westerly direction. Beyond it a miniature island covered with trees could be seen, and, towering above one end, were three slender masts. ‘*It is the schooner !’’ said Sel, exultantly. ‘*Yes, and the Woca is there also,’’ ex- claimed Showers, pointing to a thin wreath of smoke hovering over the island. ‘‘We are fortunate, my boy.’’ Hastening along the coast, they finally reached a sheltered nook from where an un- obstructed view could be obtained of the anchored vessels. The whale-back was riding within a stone’s throw of the shore, and the sight of the graceful, white-painted steel hull sent a thrill of regret through the boys. She sat like a duck upon the water, and the gentle rise and fall of the waves caused her blunt prow to courtesy to her more ordinary appearing companion like some proud dame to an inferior. The rakish funnel reflected with a yellow- ish tinge the warm rays of the sun, and— crowning insult of all—the club pennant still floated from the forward mast. The flag flaunted bravely, too, bringing a wail of impotent rage from Chunk’s lips. ‘*Confound the brute!’? he exclaimed. ‘*He could have had the grace to lower it, anyway. I guess it is Charlie Burr’s doings. Wough! Wait until I get my hands on the traitor !”’ ‘*He’ll think that two hams have struck him,’’ giggled Deb. ‘‘It will be an awful punishment.’’ ‘*Tt will hurt him more than those skinny claws of yours, anyway,’’ was the prompt retort. ‘ ‘*Our unknown friend did not deceive us after all,’? remarked Sel. ‘‘I’d give a great deal to know who he is, Perhaps he’ll help us again.’’ ‘*l wish he could drop something in the yacht’s machinery that would disable ’‘it,’’ replied Showers, wistfully. ‘‘If she could be detained here we might be able to reach Nanaimo in time to have her intercepted.’’ ‘*Too late,’? exclaimed the young leader. ‘*They are raising anchor now,’’ The sullen clank of the winch came plainly across the narrow stretch of water. ‘The volume of smoke pouring from the funnel NEWS. increased in density, and presently the steel cylinder began to move slowly toward the open sea. A man and a boy stepped from the pilot-house and waved their hands to a cluster of Chinamen on the schooner. The distance was not too great for the little party ashore to recognize them as Masters and Charlie Burr. A mass of foam- ing water under the sloping stern gave evi- dence of the propellor’s tireless energy; the wake trailing shoreward broadened; the steel hull became smaller and smaller, and finally a rocky promontory hid the Woca from sight. Not until then did Sel or his companions move from the position they had taken at the moment of departure. A deep sigh came from the lad’s breast, and he turned a very troubled face to his chums and the detec- tive. ‘‘T feel as if our last hope is gone,’’ he said, mournfully. ‘*Not much,’’ Showers replied; briskly. ‘‘Don’t give up simply because the yacht is gone, my boy. We still have the schooner.’’ ‘Yes, and there is Chow with his five hundred thousand dollar copper disk,’’ smiled Deb, in an effort to rally his friend. ‘*What more do we want?”’ ‘Hi! I say, you fellows,’’ suddenly called out Chunk, who had strolled toward the beach, ‘‘the pig-tails are lowering a boat. Perhaps they are coming ashore.”’ Aft on the schooner’s quarter several Chinamen were at work launching a large cutter. When it had reached the water three or four casks were placed amidships, and a crew of four embarked. ‘* They are coming ashore for fresh water,’’ said Showers, exultantly. ‘‘Whoop! nothing better could have happened. ‘‘It’ll place a boat in our possession, and we can board the schooner.’’ ‘*‘What good will that do?’’ asked Sel. ‘‘We could never overhaul the whale-back, if we did seize the craft.’’ ‘*No, but we can do something else,’’ chuckled Showers, whose good-natured face had suddenly become wreathed with smiles. ‘‘T have a scheme, and it isa dandy. Sa-ay; those smugglers will have to rise with the owls to beat me at planning.”’ While speaking, the detective had produced a yellow railway; map from his inside pocket. This he spread out upon his knee, and scanned intently. After a while, he said, impressively : : ‘*This is a folder of the Canadian Pacific line. It gives the arrivals and departures of their steamships crossing the Pacific. I hap- pened to remember the schedule, and I know that their steamer, Empress of India, is due in Vancouver to-morrow noon. She niust pass within forty or fifty miles of here this afternoon. Now, if we can seize the schooner we may be able to intercept her 9 ‘‘And by transferring to the steamer reach Victoria in time to capture the smug- glers,’’ interrupted Sel, eagerly. ‘‘By George! it is a splendid idea. We must do it at-any cost. It is our only hope.’’ ‘*Tt is our only hope,’’ echoed Showers, rising to his feet. ‘‘There comes the means for our salvation. We must seize that cutter if we have to killevery member of the crew.’’ ‘*But what about boarding the schooner in the daytime?’’ asked Chunk, doubtfully. ‘‘The rest of the’ pig-tails will see us and keep us away.’’ ‘*We must disguise ourselves,’’ suggested Deb. ‘‘We can change clothes with the Chinamen, and possibly escape discovery in that manner.’’ The idea met. with instant approval, and preparations were made to carry out the project. Retreating to a place a short dis- tance from the beach, the party awaited the coming of the smuggling crew. (TO BE CONTINUED). So TOO MUCH FOR WASHINGTON’S GRAVITY. General Washington’s traditional gravity was once sadly disturbed by an anecdote related at his table by a certain Doctor John Thomas, a regimental surgeon from New England. Thomas was an excellent story- teller, and could take off the characteristics of the people of his section as no one else could. After the preliminaries of peace had been signed, he was invited one day to dine at headquarters. One of Washington’s aids requested that the guest might be allowed to repeat the dialogue that had passed be- tween two Yankee soldiers who had visited Count Rochambeau’s camp. Thomas had peer reached the conclusion of his story and Washington still sat unmoved, with his stately, impassive countenartce turned to- ward him. At last the doctor reached the point at which the two soldiers began to comment on the Frenchman’s idea of a hat, and he repeated what had been said: ‘‘What do you suppose Chambeau’s sol- diers call a hat?’’ said Jonathan. ‘‘Why, the tarnal fools they call it a chapeau; and why and be darned to them can’t they call it a hat and ha’ done with it?’’ This absurdity was too much for even Washington to listen to without yielding it the tribute of a hearty laugh; and this was almost the only instance of hilarity on his part during the entire war. I 4 ce Cin ow Fo Bo Tunes. EDITED BY DAVID PARKS, ees HOW TO MAKE A BULL-ROARER. ro \ —"ID you ever make a bull-roarer, boys? ¢ If you havén’t, now is the time to do it, if you want to have some- thing that will help you to celebrate the Fourth of July and add very materially to the general din of that glorious day. The following is the way this delightful contri- vance is made, although Lam afraid your parents will not thank me for telling you about it: Take a piece of hard wood, about an eighth of an inch thick, nine inches long, and an inch or so wide, and whittle the ends into a rounded point. Make a hole through one end, and pass through this hole a piece of string, to be secured in place by a knot, and the instrument is complete. It is used by whirling it rapidly round and round (the string being three feet or so in length), and the sound produced is strange and weird with tones of varying pitch. W. A. 8., Oneida, N. Y., wants to know HOW TO MAKE A CAMERA OBSCURA. The construction of a camera obscura will require no great amount of patience or in- genuity on the part of the maker, and will repay ten-fold the time and labor spent in the making of it. It adds greatly to the pleasure of a walk in the country, if one takes a camera obscura along, as a perfect panorama of surrounding objectsis shown in the most brilliant and delicate colors. Then, too, with its assistance, the young sketcher out of doors can get his perspective cor- rectly, and not only that, itisa help for drawing the interior of a room. The most beautiful cloud forms, too, can be traced on the ground glass beforé they can change, and the picture or sketch thus obtained can readily be enlarged by any ong. Proceed in the following manner: Make a box twelve inches in length, four in depth, and six in width. In the middle of one end of it bore a hole, in which insert a double convex lens, and at the other end, inside the box, place a piece of looking- glass, inclining it at an angle of forty-five degrees, or midway between horizontal and perpendicular, so as to reflect objects up- ward. Part of the top of the box must be made to.act asa lid or cover upon hinges, and the space beneath filled up by a piece of ground glass, upon which the objects or scenes are reflected with the greatest beauty and exactness. Tack thin leather or cloth on the cover and sides of the box to keep off as much of the cireumambient light as pos- sible. In some cameras, instead of a fixed lens, a sliding tube, with a lens at the ex- tremity, is employed. The inside of the box should be painted over with lampblack, or if that is not handy, it may be stained with ink. T. B., Xenia, writes to ask HOW TO STRING A TENNIS RACQUET. It is a very difficult matter to restring an old racquet satisfactorily, for the simple reason that the bow when originally strung is fully an inch in depth at the top, being fined down to three-quarters of an inch after being strung. It is then still strong enough to bear the all-round strain, but it is not sufficiently strong to resist the severe pres- sure of the commencement of the process without spoiling the shape. The stringing is commenced by leading the two pieces of gut down through the two center holes on the top of the bow, and through the two center holes in the handle-piece, and these strands are drawn tightly by being wound over @ round piece of soft wood, when they should be temporarily secured by a pin till the next strands are secured. The cross-stringing is commenced in the same manner, through the two center holes on the side of the racquet. After completion, the gut requires one or two coats of varnish, or French polish, applied with a camel-hair brush. In answer to B. L., Malden, Mass., and N. C. D., Wheaton, Ill., I will tell you now HOW TO CONSTRUCT PORTABLE ELECTRIC BATTERIES. Between two disks, one of copper and the other of zinc, are placed a number of rou pieces of blotting-paper. One-half of the roll is saturated with sulphate of copper the other half with sulphate of zinc. The ele- ments are arranged for tension in a casilg of hard rubber and about a commutator aD galvanometer, the whole being inclosed in 4 wooden box. When the apparatus is t0 used, the elements are immersed in the water, which, absorbed by the blotting- paper, dissolves the two sulphates it CoD” tains, producing the chemical action nece* sary toa current. The paper remains mols for a long time. In other forms, fine saW~ dust is used instead of the paper. —_—__ > + oe —-—- COLOR-BLINDNESS is far more comme? among men than women, eo ™ Ww it wmeQOiw =. 2 ee , Oe Pee ere oO ee a. ee =t Pa. ST. eS ee CeO) NEWS. 4325 [This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. } SLACK-WIRE: ZAP: The Ups and Downs of an Acrobat, Slt eine thes BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR, Author of ‘Little Hickory of the 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 XIV. SAVED—HOW WILDER RECEIVED THE NEWS OF HONEYCOMB’S FATE. Tr OOKING down into the foaming water g| */ of the rushing torrent, Zip saw Little P< Fairy flung from the hold of her cap- G-” tor far out into the boiling flood, to be drawn down into the maelstrom of the stream. Caught in an opposite current, Honey- comb disappeared in the cataract, to be seen a moment later by those on the bridge as he was borne over the brink of the falls. The next instant the slight figure of Little Fairy was tossed on the surface of . the yel- low waters so near the grasp of Zip that, by a mighty exertion, he swung far enough out over the space to catch her in his arms, at the very moment when she hung suspended on the brink. A wild shout from the onlookers told that the remarkable rescue had been effected, and that such help as could be given was forth- coming. Feeling for the first time his helplessness in that precarious position, Zip tried to re- cover from his startling situation in vain. ‘*Hold firm!’’ shouted Marvel; ‘‘and when I tell you swing in toward the right.’’ Those on the bridge, however, were al- ready coming to their rescue, and with such ropes as were brought them by the toll- keeper, who had appeared on the scene by this time, the imperiled ones were reached. Little Fairy was first taken up to those ready to receive her limp form, when she was quickly borne into the house of the toll- keeper, where the best of care was given her. Zip then received attention, and well-nigh exhausted after his fearful ordeal, he re- gained a safe position. Marvel’s rescue was now comparatively easy, and in a few minutes every one was breathing easier. **T never expected to see you and the boy again, let alone the girl,’’ said Sheriff Burt. ‘ feats on the back of the piebald steed, erstwhile ridden by Tommy Flyer. Coldstream’s jokes renewed their age, taking on a freshness quite unusual with clowns, as a rule. Marvel, the Matchless, in addition to his tight-rope walking, did some four-in-hand riding which astounded his rustic audiences. Even Professor Inkinbottle’s learned hog appeared to catch the enthusiasm of the new order of things. and fairly outdid itself. Then, when Little Fairy, brighter and lovelier than ever, rejoined the troupe, nothing was lacking to add to the charms of Wilder’s World of Wonders, unless it was the acting of Slack-Wire Zip, the Boy Acro- bat. I have purposely left mention of him until last, because I want to describe one of the many feats Isaw him do one mellow Oc- tober afternoon, while the World of Won- ders was exhibiting at the good old New England town of Sunbury. As has been seen, Zip showed a propensity from the first for rope walking, so that Marvel found him a most apt pupil in this direction, until the old expert himself began to give away to him. ‘I’m willing to allow when I’ve found my better,’’ he said. ‘‘f an’t found any one yet who can outdo the old man on a tight- rope, but the boy here is going to beat me. Why? Because he is going to do on the slack wire what I’ve done on one pulled as straight as a cold snap in January. SolI name him ‘Slack-Wire Zip.’ ”’ At Sunbury the others had gone through their parts with marked success, the Infant Wonder coming back three times to delight the audience with her fairy-like acting, when amid huzzas that filled the old tent, Zip appeared upon the scene. No one who had seen the pauper boy at Gebig would have recognized him in his spangled suit, bowing and smiling to the half-crazed spectators, while he ascended to his lofty and airy field of action. I can’t enumerate one-half he did. but finally a death-like silence fell on thé crowd as he was seen to walk the slender, swaying line stretched across the top of the tent. The rope looked like a cobweb to us, and his slight figure like a butterfly gliding along the silken thread. When about midway he paused, and we held our breath as we thought he was going to fall. Light as a feather, he dropped on that line, prone upon his back; and then, while we watched with we saw him toss something into the air that he had carried in his hands. [t was a foot-ball, sent it flying upward again with one of his feet, to repeat this time and again, main taining all the while his nicely balanced position on the wire. When he had played foot-ball with his feet | heads swam | in that dizzy manner until our watching him, he began to toss, one after another, glass balls into the space over head of him, until, besides keeping the ball in the air with his feet, he played a game of catch and throw of three balls with his hands. It seemed marvelous to us, and though our eyes never left him, I am sure not one of us could tell just how he ended, and suddenly stood upright on the wire to finish his jour- ney across its dizzy way. We didn’t recover our senses until it was all over, when we shouted ourselves hoarse. Though we had been pleased cr ihe description, I am sure we all breathed easier, and was glad when the fearful ordeal was over. It wasn’t characteristic of Mr. be satisfied, so while with a success it had never attained Professor Darington, the Aerial he styled himself, induced him to add the attraction of a balleon ascension to his other parts. The professor didn’t take him over fifteen Mr. Wilder’s consent, and circulars were distributed, glowing world’s unrivaled show. The professor was to give his first exhibi tion at a large town cé wlled Larkinton, where two performances were to be given, the balloon ascension to take place at the close of the circus proper in the afternoon. No doubt the balloon attracted a consider- able number of the spectators, for the crowd was unusually large. When the last act in the sawdust ring had brought down a round of applause, the ex- before, was a good talker, and it minutes to win setting forth in 7? ultant showman announced, in glowing language, that the balloon ascension was ready to take place on the circus grounds just outside the tent. Meanwhile, Professor awkward-looking man, gray locks, had been working anxiously to inflate the dome of silk, which was swaying back and forth, as it tugged at its fasten ings, when the expectant crowd surged to ward the place. At sight of the grand object the spectators shouted with glee, but the aeronaut’s cadaverous features wore a more than com- monly haggard look. The truth was the gas had been escaping at a rate which made it impossible for him to fill the huge sack to an extent making it possible for the balloon to raise a hundred pounds from the ground. He dodged to and fro in a most ridiculous manner, shouting orders to the two men, who were working for dear life to generate enough gas from sulphuric acid and iron filings to fill the leaky pouch, until the patience of the siketebots wore away, and they began to call upon him to fulfill his promise. Then he tried in vain to explain the situa- tion to them, stepping into the basket and Darington, a tall, with thin, straggling letting the huge thing free, when it was seen that it could not lift him from the ground. ‘“‘T am sorry to disappoint you, ladies and gentlemen,’ be said, ‘‘but 1 cannot help it. It will sometimes occur. If there is any one here lighter than I who cares to go upa short distance, I shall be pleased to have him, so we can show these good people a liftle how it goes. I will keep the balloon anchored, so there will be no danger of go- ing higher than would be pleasant.”’ Two or three offered to accept the privi- lege, and their brief ascension amused the crowd, and seeing that there seemed to be no danger, as the aeronaut repeated, three little girls entered the basket, and ascended a hundred feet to their unbounded delight. When these had descended in safety, “there were plenty of others who were eager to 6x- perience the sensation. ‘*Let the little girl wearing the spangled suit go up,’’? some one suggested, and Pro- fessor Darington was quick to agree to the proposition. Little Fairy had been watching the scene with keen interest, and gladly she stepped into the basket, w hen again the bird with- out wings rose swiftly into thé air. Women and chiidren clapped their hands, while the men shouted with delight, until suddenly a rending of wood and an exclama- tion of horror from the aeronaut checked all outbursts of merriment. The balloon had slipped from its anchor, and was soaring away into space, carrying its lovely occupant to dangers unknown! The helpless spectators stood as if riveted to the earth, while the runaway balloon rose higher and higher; and then, a cry of dis- may left their lips as they saw a second life in peril. Dangling in a mesh of ropes hanging from forthwith new | terms the added feature of ‘‘the| breathless interest, | and, as it descended, he | and Radcroft Academy, the boarding- -school Wilder to | his’ show was meeting | King, as | | ers had GroOnD | | i + } A FOURTH OF JULY STORY . . NO CELEBRATION! | BY W. W. TREMAINE. muh othinis \HE events lam about to narrate oc- r? curred some years ago, when schools did not close as early in the summer as they do now. It was the afternoon of the third of July, | | |} cf which Mr. Sinderling was the principal, | | was to break up for the summer vaeation | two weeks later. | Mr. Sinderling from his desk and | bent his eyes upon his pupils. ‘*Boys,’’ he said, ‘‘attention, please! I | have a few words to say to you. To-morrow is the Fourth of July, but I have decided that this year it is better to have no cele- bration.’ The very rafters of the old school-room | echoed with the groan that went round at this announcement. | sob Terry looked the most miserable. For some days he had _ been in terror of his life, in consequence of carrying about | | with him a perfect magazine of combustibles. | He had squibs, catherine-wheels, blue- lights, and fiery serpents all round him. Harry Heron was ina similar condition, as indeed were most of the boys. ‘*{ hold,’’. continued Mr. Sinderling, ‘‘that this yearly carnival with powder and fire-works is a dangerous one. So, instead of bonfires and fire-works, I have arranged for amagic lantern entertainment to be given in this room, on the highly instructive sub- ject of ‘ Life as it exists in great depths of the ocean.’ ”’ This was the last straw. Every boy felt it | to be a burden too hard to be borne, and | dead silence reigned in the temple of knowl- edge. | [f Mr. Sinderling had been a little wiser | in his generation, he would have allowed | matters to take their own course. | When the boys were dismissed, they looked as if they had been doomed tio some dreadful fate. Get the fellows rose together,’’ said Bob} Terry. ‘‘We must hold a meeting to con- | sider what is to be done with regard to this | tyrannical measure.’’ The trumpet of war was sounded, and as | soon as Mr. Sinderling and the other teach- gone, one of the class-rooms was packed with excited youths. Bob Terry was voted into the chair, and | implored his supporters not to press so closely upon him. ‘If JI should ‘go off,’’’ he said, ‘‘there | wouldn’t be a window in the place, and not | enough of me for a coroner to take any no- | tice of.’’ Then he hammered at the desk before him with a ruler, and called for order. ‘*Boys,’’ he said, ‘‘we are met to pass resolutions, not in defiance to our respected principal’s commands, but to condemn them.’?’ ‘¢Hear! hear!’’ cried Fiddy. ‘‘Down with magic lanterns! Who wants to know how whales and such things manage their domes- tic affairs under the sea?’ ‘*Tf you are not quiet——”’ began, when Fiddy silenced him dreadful threat. “Tf you say another word to me, he said, ‘‘I’ll drop a jhe andful of matches in your jacket pocket. ‘*And I'll drop this ruler on somebody’s head,’’? Bob Terry remarked. ‘‘How can this meeting be conducted unless there is perfect order?’’ ‘*Quite right,’’ ‘¢Turn him out!’?’ ‘‘Why don’t you try it yourself?’’ said Fiddy, turhing up the cuffs of his jacket. ‘‘Turn me out, indeed! Half a dozen like you wouldn’t stand a chance.’’ ' The chairman lost his temper, an old dictionary at Fiddy. The bulky volume missed the aim intended for it, but broke a window. ‘“You’ve done it now,’’ cried Fiddy. ‘‘Go it. There’s plenty of pocket-money about in this establishment. Order! Why don’t you order yourselves? You are all out of order.’’ Peace was at last restored, and Bob Terry, in an impressive speech, declared that, while Mr. Sinderling was decidedly in the wrong, they were decidedly in the right, and therefore it behooved every boy to cele- brate the Fourth of July as he thought fit. ‘Tf we are not allowed to have a display of fire-works in the play-ground,’’ said young Coles, ‘*we will let them off out of the win- dows.’? ‘‘That is rank treason,’’ said Bob Terry, ‘‘and I will not put such a proposition to this meeting.’’ ‘*T propose that we draw up a letter to Mr. Sinderling,’’ said Harry Heron, ‘‘and politely point out to him att? ‘‘There is no reason to write the letter, young gentlemen, since I am here to listen to what you have to say.’’ As the principal entered the room, the boys started so violently that it is a wonder the fire works did not explode then and there. Harry Heron with a ” exclaimed Lio Larkins. and threw the basket was the form of Slack-Wire Zip! (TO BE CONTINUED.) ‘“My presence,’?’? said Mr. Sinderling, blandly, ‘‘is quite accidental. My attention | Shaking -| peering through the key-hole. NEWS. was called to the smashing of gle ASS, and I returned to see what had happened. ’ The chairman looked very much inclined to get under the table. Two or three boys stole in a sheepish |fashion out of a side door, and those who |}remained looked as if they wished them- selves a hundred miles away. ‘‘T rather suspect,’’? said the principal, after a pause, painful to everybody but himself, ‘‘that some of you have fire-works in your pockets. If so, you will kindly hand them over to me.’’ There was no getting over this. Mr. Sinderling objected to being argued with, and very soon he was in possession of as many combustibles as would fill a peck basket. ‘*Very wrong!’’ he said, ‘‘Dear me! boys foolish—very his head sadly. are not like they were.’’ ‘‘You must confess that it is hard for us to have the fire-works taken away, sir,’? said Harry Heron. ‘‘Not at all. It is in your interest and mine. It appears that a number of volcanoes on the point of eruption have been walking about the premises. ’ With this, Mr. Sinderling marched haught- | ily away, and the meeting broke up. Here was a pretty state of things! Kire-works cost money, and boys’ purses are never too heavy. Instead of the Fourth of July being marked as a red-letter day in the annals of tadcroft, it was to be one of gloom and long faces. But wait, and you will see that it was not |so very dull after all. Mr. Sinderling placed the confiscated fire- works in an empty desk, fitted with an obliging lock, which could be picked with ian old nail, or opened with a pocket-knife. ‘*Tt’s a case of whether we suffer for a lamb or a sheep,’’ said Bob Terry. ‘‘We will have a display, after all.’’ This was rebellious, and the sentiment caught like touchwood. Mr. Sinderling flattered himself that he had put his foot on all dangerous experi- ments. The morning Of the Fourth dawned bright and beautiful. The desk in which the fire-works were placed was in a corner of the school-room. It was well known that the combustibles had been taken from the boys, but neither of the men of all work, Pipps and Goggs by name, who were employed at the sc Reet. | knew what had become of them. They soon made the discovery, however, in a remarkable manner. Before proceeding with our story, it is necessary to mention that both these men were new to Radcroft, and to the ‘‘child-like and bland’’ youths who were educated there. Now it so happened that Pipps and Goggs had been sent to the school-room to remove a settee in need of repairs, and their atten- tion was called to a number of boys who seemed to be greatly interested in a desk in a corner. Here was a chance for Bob Terry that he did not let slip. Throwing his voice into the interior of the desk, he made a peculiar squeaking noise. ‘*What’s in there?’’? Pipps demanded. ‘“‘That’s the mystery,’’ Bob .rejoined, ‘*Whatever it is, it belongs to Mr. Sinderling.’’ Here the squeaking resumed, and Pipps and Goggs drew nearer. ‘*T call it ashame to keep an animal in such a place,’’ said Goggs. ‘‘Mr. Sinderling ought to know better, and I don’t care if he hears me say so.’ . Pipps tried the lid of the desk, but finding it fast, requested that he might take his turn at the key-hole. Bob Terry gave way to him, and winked at his chums in such a comical fashion that they nearly went into fits of laughter. ‘*T can’t see nothing,’’ Pipps observed. Then he started and turned pale. For the moment his hair resembled the pushed-up feathers of an excited parrot. Something had hissed at him through the key-hole, and his very blood froze with terror. ‘*Why!’’ he gasped; ‘‘it must be some venomous serpent, or somethin’ of the kina.’ ‘‘More likely a_ bird,’’ wish we could see.’’ ‘*Perhaps,’’ said Bob Terry, ‘‘if you struck a match and put it a little way through the key-hole, you might get a view.”’ Pipps acted on this idea, piece of paper for a match. ‘*Now then,’’ said Goggs, warningly, ‘‘mind what you are up to! Don’t you see that a piece of the lighted paper has fallen off? Blow it out!’ Pipps did so, but ere he had succeeded, there appeared another light. It was a bluish, une urthly kind of illumin- ation, and, expanding suddenly, it turned to a bright and glaring red. Bang! Crash! The lid of the desk flew off. Goggs fell over Pipps, and the latter, stag- gering back into the fireplace, created such a clatter that people in the road beyond the play-ground stopped, and thought that a free fight was going on. The boys fled from the school-room, which said Goggs. ‘I substituting a was now the scene of a wild and frantic dis- play of fire-works. Squibs hissed and banged, Roman candles boomed, discharging balls of fire, crackers skipped and popped merrily, and blue-lights, fiery serpents, and gold and silver showers of stars expanded their glories in one seeth ing mass. The effect would have been no doubt very fine by night, but the daylight marred its beauty. Pipps staggered out of the room, down the first flight of stairs. By some means, the tongs had got across his shoulders, and the noise he made as he descended was terrific. Goggs had the presence of mind to open a window and to keep his head out while he roared fire, murder, and police! Mr. Sinderling was returning from a walk. As he saw smoke emerging in volumes from the school-room window, he stood mo- tionless and spell-bound. Suddenly he roused himself, and rushed across the play-ground, and into the house. Up the stairs he went, three at a time, until he came to a landing, on which stood a row of buckets, kept constantly full in case of an outbreak of fire. Seizing one he dashed into the school-room, and, finding it still full of smoke, hurled the contents of the bucket where he thought the smoke was thickest. That bucket of water went clean over Josiah Goggs, and as he was leaning well forward, nearly shot him out of the win- dow. By this time several of the boys to the principal’s assistance. The last squib was finally extinguished, a the smoke cleared away. Great was the principal’s wrath when the facts were laid before him. He could not sink his dignity so low as to punish Pipps and Goggs as he would have liked to, but he rated them soundly, and then retired to his study to meditate as to what sentence he should pass on the boys. ‘*The young rascals,’’ he said, ‘‘I suppose [ must forgive them, after all. They do not know that it was my intention to have a display of fire-works properly carried out by a professional to-morrow. Well,,/ well, no great harm has been done.’ With the evening there came to Radcroft a seedy, genteel man, dressed in a suit of black, which, for rustiness and wrinkles, might have belonged to his grandfather. With the stranger came a boy, staggering under the weight “of a huge magic lantern, and a monster sheet tied in a bu: adle. The seedy individual called himself Pro- fessor Francho, and addressed the boy, when nobody was looking, as a ‘‘varmint’’ and ‘little beast.’’ The youth paid no apparent heed to the names bestowed upon him; but he wasa thoughtful boy, and bided his time. ‘‘Joe,’’ said the professor, as they were waiting for Mr. Sinderling, ‘‘if I catch you snuffling before the school-master, or during the performance, [’l] pull your ears until they look like pigs’.”’ ‘*If youdo,’’ the gentle Joseph responded, *<7?1l walk round your shins in such a man- ner as will make you holler for a month. I’m practicing foot-ball, and ’specially drop kicks.?? The professor grinned much after the manner of an ape suddenly deprived of a biscuit, and Joseph, remembering that Francho could pinch like a vise, removed to the corner where he had deposited the bundle, and sat down upon it. Just then Mr. Sinderling arrived. He smiled at the professor, but looked ‘ather dubiously at Joseph. ‘‘T trust,’’? he said, ‘‘that your lecture will prove amusing as well as instructive. My boys—ahem!—have met with a slight disappointment, and though they have not behaved very well over it, I desire to make it up to them as far as I am able.’’ ‘“Leave it to me, sir,’’ said the professor, bowing. ‘‘ Wherever I go once, Tam requested to repeat my visit. Joseph, my dear boy, you must really have something for that dreadful cold in your head,’’ Judging by the way that he glared at the ‘dear boy,’’ the professor seemed to be meditating on curing the cold by the simple but efficacious method of chopping Joseph’s head off. : Mr. Sinderling escorted his visitors to the scheol-room. At one end was a platform, used on speech days, and it was just suited to the profes- sor’s purpose. By dint of much exertion, the sheet was stretched at one end of the room, and the magic lantern was got into position also. The professor then released Joseph, who and fell had come promptly fell into the bands of the Philis- tines. Harry Heron, Bob Terry and Lio Larkins, having secured their treasure, proceeded to make the best possible use of it. ‘*T say,’’? said Bob, ‘‘what is your master like???’ ‘“‘He’s‘a humbug, a rank humbug,’’ Joseph replied. ‘‘ All his lectures are written and printed for him, but he’s so ignorant, that he often starts on the wrong one. ‘‘We want to have some fun to- sieht Harry Heron said. ‘‘Can you help us??? Joseph rubbed the tip of his nose while bé@ thought the matter over. of A i mn és 1S Ye ‘‘T might,’’ he responded; ‘‘but, jiminy! what a row there would be after it.’ ‘‘Never mind that,’’ said Heron. ‘‘We will make it answer your purpose. And as to the row, we will help you out of it.’’ ‘‘Tt’s when the professor gets me alone, that the mischief is done,’’ Joe said. ‘‘Be- fore other people, he is all smiles, and as gentle as a lamb, but when things go wrong o1—well, I can’t bear to think of it.’? Some other conversation passed, and then the professor’s youth left the Radcroft boys radiant with smiles. ‘‘Why,’’ said he, ‘‘two dollars is a fortune ’ tome. I’d have done it for half the money.’? | Then he laughed, in a harsh voice, did that boy, and jingling the coins in his pocket, meandered to the nearest candy store, and filled himself up with every con- ceivable thing likely to lay in a life-time stock of indigestion. The afternoon passed away, and the even- ing came. All the lamps in the school-room had been lighted. The lamplight was, of course, only to be used during the time that the boys were taking their seats. At last all was ready, and the lights were lowered. ° There had been a good deal of chuckling and some whispering, for which Mr. Sinder- ling could not account. Knowing that the room would be presently plunged in darkness, he felt just a little un- easy in his mind. ‘But surely,’’ he thought, ‘‘the boys will not attempt to play any tricks in my pres- ence.’’ At last Professor Francho, standing at the side of the magic lantern, surveyed his audience. ‘‘Ladies—I mean gentlemen,’’ he began. The professor turned livid, when a voice, not unlike Mr. Sinderling’s, cried out: ‘*Who are you calling old women? Bah! why didn’t you get shaved. before you came here?’’ Thrown off his guard, the professor seized his chin, and then turned his eyes on the principal. Mr. Sinderling rose and glared about him, like a man walking in his sleep. ‘‘Mr. Francho,’’ he said, flushing crimson, “‘T cannot account for this interruption, and I can only hope that there will not be a re- currence of it.’’ Once more the professor began to talk. He said that, by the aid views, he would prove to his intelligent au- dience that every particle of matter floating in the ocean teemed with life. : Here the professor paused, and struck viciously at his cheek. ‘tTf must have been a wasp!’’ he gasped. ““Go on, old Tweedledum!’’ cried a voice; ‘*there are no wasps around here.’’ Mr. Sinderling fairly leaped to his feet. ‘“‘Turn up the lights,’’ be cried, ‘‘I will have no more of this. Who made that re- mark?’’ ‘‘'Tweedledee,’’ responded the same voice. It seemed to come from Goggs, the man of ail work, who had been admitted, and sat in a remote corner, looking very much like an overgrown Jack Horner. ‘““Goggs!’’ thundered Mr. Sinderling. ay ems STs” ‘‘Did you speak?’’ ‘‘Not me,’’? responded the man of all work. “This is disgraceful—abominable!’’? Mr. Sinderling said, ‘‘and, mark me, if I do not discover the culprit, I will flog the whole School.’’ ‘How nice,’’ said the aggravating voice. “Could’nt you throw in the professor and his boy Joseph? They look as if something of a warming nature would do them good.”’ Mr. Sinderling sat-down. He felt that he could not trust himself to Say any more, and, with a wave of the hand, mutely bade Professor Francho pro- ceed. But the lecturer had almost had enough of Something had stung him viciously on the Side of the nose, and the afflicted spot Smarted and burned, as if touched witha red-hot needle. But at last he proceeded to dilate upon the Wonders contained in a few grains of sand, magnified some hundreds of times on the Sheet, ‘‘Here,’? said he, ‘‘we have mountains, dales, valleys, hills, and—confound it! there’s another. It has bitten me on the ear this time.’’ Again Goggs was called upon to turn up the lights, and Mr. Sinderling, who scarcely knew whether he stood on his head or his heels, inquired what was the matter. “‘T hardly know,’’ said the professor. ‘‘I am being stung and bitten all over my face and neck.’’ ‘*More wasps!’’ suggested the mysterious Voice. ‘*Silence! order!’’ shouted Mr. Sinderling. ring a lamp here.’’ By the bright light, he examined the lec- turer’s face. ““T can certainly see a f@w marks, and here and there a red lump,’’ he said, ‘‘but I Cannot account for them.’’ _‘‘Nor can I,’’ Francho said. ‘‘The sensa- tions of pain come so sudden that they strike Sparks of fire from my eyes. Just now I ; thought I saw a tremendous rocket shoot across the room, take a turn, and fly up the chimney.’’ ‘*T wonder if it Larkins whispered. was one of mine?’’ Lio ‘*Well, what can be done?’’ the principal asked. *‘Oh! I will go on,’’ the lecturer cried, despairingly. ‘‘It won’t last long, and I have suffered almost as much from the hands of other boys.’’ ‘‘What! do you think my boys are ac- | countable for these strange——’”’ Mr. Sinderling said no more He grasped his nose, and then, clutchiug at his hair, appeared to be trying to-lift himself off his feet by it. ‘*Stop the performance,’’ he said. up the lights. I have had enough of this.’’ ‘*And so have I,’’ yelled the professor, ‘fand in the eye, too.’’ Mr. Goggs took matters calmly. He turned up the lights, in the most leis- urely’ manner, and then retired to his corner, as if he had made up his mind to enjoy life comfortably. Mr. Sinderling gazed at the boys, but they looked so innocent that he could not bring himself to believe that they had been accountable for the disturbance. ‘*Boys,’’ said he, ‘‘if any one of you has thrown anything at the lecturer, rise up, and say so, and I will forgive you.’’ As if with one voice, they all shouted that “Turn | | } } | | they had not done so, and Mr.-Sinderling | turned, in speechless bewilderment, to the professor. “‘T am lost in mystification,’’ he length. ‘*And my face is smarting as if I had gone to sleep in a bed of nettles,’’ the professor retorted, ‘*Well, under any circumstances, I must believe my boys. They have never deceived said, at me yet, nor do I believe that they would do | 8077" The professor turned up the tip of his in- flamed nose, and remarked that Mr. Sinder- ling might have a better opinion of his pupils than most people. ‘*Well,’’ said he, ‘‘I will take my money, and be off.’’ Mr. Sinderling was, however, not in such a hurry to part with his money, and he offered the professor just one-half the sum agreed upon. ‘*No,’”’ cri8d Francho; ‘‘sooner than I’d | take a cent less than the stipulated amount, of dissolving | 9 1 would——’ ‘*What?’’ demanded Mr. Sinderling. ‘*{ forgot what I was going to say. I’ve got it!’’ the professor said. ‘*Got what?’ Professor Francho opened his hand slowly, and there, in his palm, lay a pea. ‘‘This is the sort of article which has caused all the mischief and misery,’’ he cried; ‘‘and now all we have to do is to find out where the peas came from.’’ Mr. Sinderling looked, more in than in anger, at his pupils. ‘‘Can it be,’’ he said, shaking his head sadly, ‘‘that one of my boys has told mea deliberate falsehood?’’ Even as he spoke, his left ear was smitten in such a manner that he fairly skipped into the air. ; ‘*That,’’ said he, ‘‘came from behind me.’’ ‘*But there’s nobody behind you,’’ said the professor. The principal gazed up, gazed down, and gazed all around. Suddenly his eyes rested on a ventilator in the wall, and behind it he saw a pair of twinkling optics. But he held his own counsel, and watched. Presently, inch by inch, there came forth a pea-shooter, and from the shooter a pea, which made Professor Francho look as if the uttered toast he had eaten with his tea did not agree with him. Then Mr. Sinderling sounded the alarm, and, attended by Francho, rushed out of the room to the staircase. They caught sight of Joseph flying down the stairs. But'suddenly he came up. “‘Tt’s no use running away,’’ said he, ‘‘so I may as well take my dose of physic, and get it over. Lor’! what a lark it was to see you skip.”’ They proceeded to make him skip. But Joseph had more money to spend on the morrow, and though he was sore in body, he was glad in heart. Still Mr. Singerling was puzzled. Where did the voices come from? He did not know of Harry Heron’s powers as a ventriloquist. But he had no time to bother about the matter just then. He paid Francho out, saw him off the premises, and told the boys that the next night they should have a feast of fire-works. And he was as good as his word. But sorrow ” +0 > RUSSIAN OFFICIAL WIT. Official—‘‘ You try, sir.?? Traveler—‘‘Then I'll leave it.’’ Official—‘‘ Have you a permit to leave?’’ Traveler—‘‘No, sir.’’ Official—‘‘Then you cannot go. I leave you twenty-four hours to make up your mind as to what you shall do.’’ cannot stay in this coun- i) This was before the Declaration of Indepen- GooD NEWS. 4327 THE STARS AND STRIPES. THE STORY OF OUR FLAG. HE origin, history, and changes of the 2 national ensign have many peculiar ‘\ phases and details of interest. When ” the American colonies were under | British rule the flag of Great Britain was generally adopted, with some special em- jem upon it distinctive of the individual colony to which it belonged. When the peo- ple of the colonies determined upon throw ing off the British yoke they adopted certain flags for the patriots to rally under, and the designs and mottoes upon some of. them are still retained by some of the States. At the battle of Bunker Hill a flag with a red ground, a white field, with a St. George’s | cross, and a pine tree figured in the upper left-hand quarter of the cross. On the day after the battle it was pro- claimed that thé troops in the field had, by Congress, been designated as the forces of the ‘‘United Colonies of North America,’’ and General Putnam displayed a flag with a red ground, having on one side the Connec- ticut motto, ‘Qui Transtulit Sustinet”’ (He who brought us over will sustain us), and on the other side, over a pine tree, the words: ‘*An appeal to Heaven.’’ This motto was chosen by the people of Massachusetts | Bay, and was adopted as the motto for the signal flag for the American cruisers. The unfurling of this flag was attended with solemn ceremonies, prayers, and a general | salute of artillery. On January 2d, 1776, at Cambridge, Mass., | General Washington displayed the original of the present United States flag, consisting of thirteen stripes (seven of red and six of | white), but with the combined .crosses of St. Andrew and St. George (representing Scotland and England) in place of the stars in the field in the upper left-hand corner. dence had been signed, and the _ stripes represented the thirteen colonies, and the crosses of St. Andrew and St. George repre sented the British rulers. Another flag was called the ‘‘Rattle snake’’ flag. It was composed of thirteen stripes, with the form of a rattle-snake run- ning diagonaly across it, with these words underneath: ‘‘Don’t Tread on Me.’”? The original of this flag, which was the device of Captain Jobn Paul Jones, whom our} readers will remember in ‘‘Fighting for Freedom,’’ is in the museum in Indepen- dence Hall, Philadelphia. It was not until June 14th, 1777, thata distinctive flag to represent the United States was decided upon. The Continental Congress was then in session in the east room of the main building of Independence Hall, and General Washington was in Philadelphia on a visit and to receive instructions and give information to Congress. It was upon this oceasion that it was decided to have a national ensign which should be distinctive of the Ameriean people as a whole, and be recognized as such by foreign nations. The following resolution was then adopted: That the flag of the United States ‘be thirteen stripes, alternately red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white, in a blue field, representing a new constella- tion. The ‘‘new constellation’? or arrangement of the stars was to be in a circle, to sym- bolize unity and the perpetuation of that union thus represented by the flag. The thirteen stripes were to represent the thirteen States. The colors, red, white and blue, were also chosen as emblematical—the red to denote defiance and daring, the white purity of purpose, and the blue to represent eternal vigilance, perseverance in the right, and justice to all who should ackowledge fealty to the flag. It was under the personal direction of General Washington and a committee from Congress that the first United States flag was modeled. They visited a little upholstery shop in Arch street, near Second street, kept by Mrs. Betsy Ross, a relative of Colonel George Ross, a member.of the Continental Congress, and asked her it she could make a flag according to the design presented. She agreed to do so, but suggested that a five- pointed star would be more symmetrical than the six-pointed star as proposed, and to illustrate her idea, she folded a sheet of paper, and with one cut produced a pattern of the five-pointed star which was at once approved. The flag was made and ready to hoist on the next day. It was six feet six inches long, four feet four inches wide, and the blue field was made square and to the depth of seven stripes. The proportion of width being two-thirds of the length, is kept up in the making of flags to this day. This original flag was hoisted over Fort Schuyler, the lower end of Long Island Sound, on August 3d, 1777. Then Congress enacted the following amendment to the law: The entire length of the flag for army use is to be six feet six inches, and the width four feet four inches. The upper seven of | Vermont, |union be ;one hundred years to come.’’ the thirteen stripes, four red, and three white, to bind the square of the blue infield, | inclosing the stars; the stripes to extend from the end of the field to the end of the flag. The next or eighth stripe to be white, extending partly at the base of the field. The other five stripes, three red and two white, to run the entire length of the field. Mrs. Ross was designated by Congress as the manufacturer of the new flags for the Government, and she followed: this occupa- tion for many years, when she married a Mr. Claypole, and turned the business over to her daughter, Clarissa. The latter subse- quently joined the Society of Friends, upon which she gave up the profitable business of making flags for the Government, as it was | possible that her handiwork might be used in the time of war, to which the Quakers were professedly and decidedly opposed. The flag was not destined to remain con- tinuously in the form adopted in 1777. the fourteenth State, was ad- mitted to the Union on March 4th, 1791, and next, the bill admitting Kentucky was passed on February 4, 1792. Then Congress, on January 13, 1794, resolved, that from and after the Ist of May, 1795, the flag of the United States shall be fifteen stripes, alternating red and white, and that the fifteen stars, white, in a blue field. The bill was attacked by several members of Congress, it being declared that ‘‘at this rate we may go on adding and altering for The bill was finally passed, because it was feared that ‘fits rejection might offend the two new States,’’ but it was emphatically declared that fifteen stripes was ‘‘more than enough, the symmetry of the flag was thus de stroyed, and we will have no more altera- tions of this sort.’’? The people of this day | can appreciate the wisdom of this conclusion, and the prospect of a bewildering succession of stripes. But no member had the force of his opinion to move that the number of stripes should be permanent, but the wisdom of allowing each new State to have its share in the symbols upon the national flag has been recognized by everybody. The new flag, with its fifteen narrow stripes, and the stars arranged in three rows of five each, remained as the flag of the Union until 1818, and was borne on the ships of the navy and by the soldiers of the army during the war with Great Britain, from 1812 to 1815. In the meanwhile, five new States had been admitted to the Union, namely, Ten- nessee, June 1, 1796; Ohio, November 29, 1802; Louisiana, April 8, 1812; Indiana, De- cember 11, 1816; Mississippi, December 10, 1817. In 1817, Congressman Peter H. Wendover, of New York, proposed to make a change i the flag, in view of the fact that there were five States not represented on the flag.. A committee was appointed to consider the proposition, and Captain Samuel C. Reid, whose fame, in connection with his com- mand of the privateer General Armstrong, in her fight at Fayal, had made him widely known, was invited to suggest a design. Captain Reid recommended that the stripes be reduced to thirteen, to represent the original thirteen States; that the stars, representing each of the states, be formed into one great star, symbolizing the national motto, ‘‘# Pluribus Unum,’’ and that a star be added for each new State. The suggestion was accepted by the com- mittee, and a bill passed and approved by President Monroe, April 4, 1818, as follows: That from and after the 4th day of July next, the flag of the United States be fthir- teen horizontal stripes, alternate red and white; that the union have twenty stars, white, in a blue field. That on the admission of every new State into the Union one star shall be added to the union in the flag, and that such addition shall take effect on the 4th day of July succeeding such admission. The law, as passed then, remains in force to-day. The first flag, as designed by Captain Reid, was made by Mrs. Reid and her young women friends, and it was hoisted over the House of Representatives on April 13, 1818. Since then the following States have been admitted into the Union: Illinois, December 3, 1818; Alabama, December 14, 1819; Maine, March 15, 1820: Missouri, Au- gust 10, 1821; Arkansas, June 15, 1836; Michigan, January 26, 1837; Florida, March 3, 1845; Texas, December 20, 1845: Iowa, December 28, 1846; Wisconsin, May 29, 1848; California, September 9, 1850; Minne- sota, May 11, 1858; Oregon, February 14, 1859; Kansas, January 29, 1861; West Vir- ginia, June 19, 1863; Nevada, October 31, 1864; Nebraska, March 1, 1867; Colorado, July 1, 1876: North and South Dakota, No- vember 3, 1889; Washington and Montana, February, 18, 1890; Idaho, July 38, 1890; Wyoming, July 10, 1890. As was said above, the first national en- sign made for the army was six feet six inches long, the width being two-thirds that of the length. The official ensigns of to-day are of five sizes, the following being the dimensions in feet, together with the size of the blue field or union of each: Flag.——— ——--Union.—— Length. Width. Length. Width. 36. 19. 14.4 10.2 37.2 14 1-3 10 7-8 7 3-4 23.1 12 1-5 9 1-4 6 1-2 16.9 8.9 6 3-4 4 4-5 9 3-4 5 1-7 3 2-3 2 3-4 GoOnDpD NEWS. ISSUED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, JULY 13, 1895. Terms to Good News Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) 3months - - - - 65c.| One Year - - - - ~$2.50 4months - - - - - 8c. |2copies,one year- - 4.00 6months - - 81.25 | Lcopy, two years - -_ 4.00 Goop Nrews AND N. Y. WEEKLY, both, one year, $4.50 How to Senp Monery.—By post-ollice or express money order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk, if sent by postal note, currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter. RENEWALS.—Lhe number indicated on your address label denotes when your subscription expires. All subscriptions will be stopped promptly at expiration of time paid for. REcEIpTS.—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not cor rect you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ‘Lo CLuB RKatsers.—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 gaarantee the reliability of any subscription agency (x postmaster. All letters should be addressed to STREET & SMITE'S GOOD NEWS, 27 & 209 Rose Street, N.Y. Back numbers of GOOD NEWS can always be obtained from your Newsdealers. If they do not have them please send direct to this office and we will supply them by mail on receipt of price. Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line. Contents of this Number. — SHRIAL 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. “The Boy Cattle King,” by Harry Danger- field. ‘Fresh Frank,” by **Joe.”? “ SHORT STORTES, *‘No Celebration,” by W. W. Tremaine. “The Stars and Stripes.”’ ‘Hail Columbia !” ‘Jack Towner’s Debt,” by Henry Clarke. REGULAR DEPARTMENTS. “Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur Sewall. “How to Do Things,” by David Parks. “Mail Bag,” “Exchange Department,” | “Club Notices,” ete. HURRAH FOR THE GLORIOUS FOURTH! ANNOUNCEMENT. Week after next we shall begin a fine story | of summer sports, entitled BOATS BATS AND BICYCLES, I te ERNEST A. YOUNG, Author of “Blue and White Sam.” Be sure and read about the rival camping clubs, and what they did. —___~+-«-e __. —— NOT THE REASON. This morning a young lady passing a resi- dence on whose steps was a young man, and in front of which was a dog, trod on a piece of orange-peel. In a flash her feet went out from under her, and she went down on the pavement. The dog, in a playful mood, rushed to her assistance, while the young man, not at all embarrassed, asked: ‘*Did you fall?”’ ‘*Well, I should think I had,’’ said the young lady, rising and rearranging her hair. ‘‘Oh,’’ responded the youth, ‘‘I thought perhaps you sat down to play with the dog.’’ HAIL COLUMBIA! | APRHE song of ‘‘Hail Columbia!’’ was { y written for a special occasion and for ‘I a special object; and the prime mo- 7 tive for its production was wholly a mercenary one, without the least ingredient of patriotism, for it was composed for a theatrical singer for the sole purpose of gain, on his part. It was composed by Joseph Hopkinson, of Philadelphia, in 1798, and was adapted to the air of ‘‘The President’s March.’’ In the spring of 1798, when a conflict of arms between the United States and France appeared imminent, our people were in- flamed with a vehement war-spirit, and, at the same time, they were divided into two bitterly antagonistic factions—the Federal- ists and . Democrats. The excitement throughout the country was intense, and it was fed by oratory, military displays, pub- lic processions, and the utterances of the pulpit. It was at that critical time when Wig- nell, the manager of the Philadelphia the- ater, was having trouble with some of his performers, and the play-house had much diminished audiences, that Mr. Fox, a young singer and actor, was to have a “‘benefit.’? There was a prospect of a very thin house, and young Fox was uneasy. On the morning of the day before the one, the evening of which was to be devoted to his ‘‘benefit,’’ not a single box had been taken. He believed that a song, adapted to a favor- ite air, containing patriotic words in sym- pathy with the public feeling, would insure a full house. Several persons attached to | the theater undertook the task of producing a patriotic ode, or ballad, but failed, and it was concluded that it could not be done. As a last resource, Mr. Fox appealed to Mr. Hopkinson for aid. ‘Tf you will write me some_ patriotic verses to the tune of ‘The President’s March,’ ’’ he said, ‘‘I should feel sure of a full house. The stage people have tried it and failed; yet I think you may succeed.’’ Willing to oblige the young man, Hop- kinson retired to his study, and in a short time produced the following verse: “Hail, Columbia! happy land! Hail, ye heroes! Heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause, Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause; And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoy’d the peace your valor won. Let Independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies. CHORUS: Firm, united let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a*band of brothers join’d, Peace and safety we shall find.” Mr. Hopkinson submitted the verse and chorus to Mrs. Hopkinson, who sang them with a harpsichord accompaniment. The tune and words harmonized, and the poet soon produced two more verses in a similar strain of patriotic sentiment. Mr. Fox re- ceived them that evening. On the following morning the play-bills announced that Mr. | Fox would sing a new patriotic song. The house was crowded, and the profits of a ‘‘benefit’’ for the singer were assured. The song was sung—the audience were wild with delight, for it touched the public heart with electrical effect, and eight times the singer was called out to.repeat the song. When it was sung the ninth time the whole audience arose and joined in the chorus, On the following night (April 30, 1798) President Adams and his wife, and some of the heads of departments, were present, and the singer was called out to repeat the song several times. It was sung night after night in the theaters of Philadelphia and other places, and it became the common song of the boys in the streets. On one occasion a crowd filled the space in front of the au- thor’s residence, and suddenly, at midnight, the song of ‘‘Hail Columbia!’’ burst from the lips of five hundred singers. entree Sn omenrnscrtnnaiineiics A CORNER IN INK. All the ink with which the United States Government prints its paper money is made by one man. The father of the present manufacturer, a Mr. Eddy, invented the ink, but he never told any one how he did it until just before he died, when he let his son into the secret of its composition. Had a fatal accident happened to the in- ventor before he told his son about the ink, the Government printer would have been in a dilemma, for Mr. Eddy’s invention is the only kind of ink that will print on the peculiar surface of the fiber of which Government note- paper is made. The present Mr. Eddy employs only six men in the manufacture of his ink, and none of them are in the secret. Not one of them has yet seen Mr. Eddy in the interest- ing act of mixing the ingredients of which the ink is composed. He locks himself up in his own room two weeks in every year, and it is there and then that he mixes ‘stuff enough to supply the Government with ink for the ensuing twelve months, and receives for this $50,000 a year. fa Snort TALKS —=— Warn Tue Boys. NC “hs HE EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL. hassindbchal _ L. T. H., Minneapolis, Minn., writes: “I am thinking of joining the navy, which I think I could do wellin. Iam5 feet 6 inches tall, and weigh 135 pounds, or more. I[ am quite large for my age, which is fourteen years. I am very healthy and robust; I have not had a doc- tor over twice in my life. [ also would like to become an inventor and electrician. Which do you think would be the most profitable to me. Will you please tell me where 1 could be pre- pared for each.” In your case, as in that of L.A. C., everything depends upon your individual tastes. Other things being equal, you would be more likely to make a fortune as an elec- trician or inventor than in the navy. Those who follow the sea as a profession are not noted for their possession of this world’s goods. The salary, even of those who attain to distinguished positions in the navy, is not remarkably large. To join the navy, you can either obtain an appointment at Annapolis, or become an apprentice on board one of the training- ships. Any boy between the ages of fourteen me seventeen, who has the written consent of his parents or guardian, who is able to read and write, is of good moral character, and strong physically, can enlist in the United States Navy as an apprentice. You will find a full and detailed account of the Naval Academy at Annapolis and the naval apprentice training system in Nos. 220 and 221 of Goop NEws. In order to become an electrician, one of two courses is open to you. You can either enter some first-class school of technology, or secure a position in some large works having to do with electrical appliances. It is scarcely necessary to say that in the long run, the first plan is the better, for it is the theoretical man with a knowledge of the practice who is the most successful. We be- lieve that there is a great future for a clever electrician with the inventive faculty. You can not learn to be an inventor, by the way. It is something that can not be taught, but must be inborn. You are very large, indeed, for your age. L. A. C., Dorchester, Mass., writes: “Tam six- teen years old, and go to school; when I gradu- ate at the end of this year, I would either like to go into the Stock Exchange or a wholesale dry- goods house. Which would you advise, and would there be any chance of becoming a traveling salesman in the latter,if I was satis- factory? I have worked in a broker's office, and also in a large retail dry-goods store as stock, and office boy. Is my handwriting satis- factory?” As we have frequently said when asked to decide between two occupations, every- thing depends upon one’s natural tastes and aptitudes. We think, however, that fora boy who has his own way to make, in the world, the dry-goods business would afford better opportunities than stock-broking. The lattér requires capital, and there is not much chance for a penniless young man to rise beyond the position of clerk, that is, unless he shows rare judgment and far more than average ability. In the dry-goods busi- ness, it is different. ‘There one’s capital is his shrewdness in attracting and holding customers, and a good salesman can render himself almost indispensable to the house with which he is connected. We think, if you are the ‘‘right sort,’’ you would probably, after a time, be able to se- cure the position of a traveling salesman. By the ‘‘right sort,’’ we mean if you possess those peculiar faculties of which a salesman is made. Some men could not sell a cus- tomer the very thing he most wanted, while others could make him buy what he had no use for whatever. Beyond all other things, a traveling salesman must be possessed of tact; he must thoroughly understand his goods, and be gifted with a facile tongue, and be able to talk them up. Moreover, he must know how to make friends, and hold them. Friendship in business counts. It is natural for a merchant to prefer to give an order to a friend rather than to a stranger. Remember, too, before you decide, that a salesman’s life is at best a hard one. Most of your time is spent away from home, and the constant traveling soon becomes monot- onous and irksome. Then, especially when you first start out, you must be prepared to put up with all sorts of rebuffs and indig- nities. On the other hand, of course, a suc- cessful trip compensates for much that is unpleasant. Your handwriting for a lad of sixteen is very good. R. ©. J., Wilmington, Del., writes: “I would like to become a professional foot-ball player. I am sixteen years of age, and very large and strong formy age. Can youtell me who to apply to, to get a position?” There are no professional foot-ball clubs. in this country. The game is almost entirely confined, so far as the public is concerned, to matches between the various colleges, so we fear that your ambition is not destined to be realized. Wecan not say with truth that. we are very sorry for your disappoint- ment, if disappointment it proves to be. We are very strongly opposed to our boys adopting the life of a professional athlete, base-ball player, etc. The life is anything but a desirable one, and, after a few years, one is apt to become a back number, so to speak, and is utterly unfitted for any other walk of life. Turn your attention to something else, and, take our word for it, you will be the better and the happier for it. Cc. W. H., New York city.—The editor of this department is greatly indebted to you for your kind letter. He is more pleased than he can say that you ‘‘know cases where actual good was derived from the Short Talks.’? It is always his endeavor to give conscientious advice, even when, as is some- times the case, it is necessarily unpalatable, and to feel that he has been of some little benefit is a source of unmixed gratification to him. Your request belongs to ‘‘How to do Things’’ rather than to this department. Your communication has, therefore, been handed to Mr. Parks, and he assures us that he will tell you and your friends how to camp out in a very early issue. Specrap Noticre.—Many communications, improperly addressed to this department, are answered in the ‘‘Mail Bag.’’ ————__—-o- PROVIDENTIAL INTERPOSITIONS. There were periods in the Revolutionary War when the hand of Providence seemed clearly to be extended in behalf of the struggling patriots. Washington often recog- nized what he regarded as the interposition of the Almighty in the events that secured our independence. While General Howe, in March, 1775, was. preparing to attack the uncompleted American works on Dorchester Heights, a gale, followed by a tempest of wind and rain which lasted for three days, prevented the embarkation of his army in boats from Boston. This delay enabled Washington so to strengthen the Heights as not only to remove all danger of an attack from the British, but also to compel Howe to evacuate Boston. There was great danger, after the Ameri- can defeat at the battle of Long Island, that the British might destroy the vanquished army even within their lines at Brooklyn. Howe, however, delayed to follow up his success, and Washington was thus given time to evacuate Brooklyn and withdraw to New York. On the morning of the day of the evacuation, a dense fog prevailed over the wholé of Long Island, while the New York side of the Hast River was perfectly clear. Before the rising sun had dispersed the fog, the entire American army, with all their stores, artillery, and ammunition, had crossed in safety, and it was then that the British knew for the first time that their prey had escaped them. Similar seemingly Providential interposi- tions saved Gates’ army on October 11th, 1777, from an attack on Burgoyne’s position, under circumstances which might have proved disastrous, and preserved Greene’s army in his, retreat before Cornwallis through North Carolina in January and February, 1781. On one occasion, when the cause seemed most hopeless from the privations that the soldiers endured, Washington wrote to Con- gress, saying that the army was in rags, in want of clothing, and ammunition, and military supplies; that if attacked it had no means of resistance, and would probably . disperse, and that, surrounded by secret foes as he was, he had no money even to detect them or to learn the designs of the enemy. Congress was in despair, not being able to do anything to relieve the army from its embarrassments. The distinguished Robert Morris, the great financier of the Revolution, and a man to whom we largely owe the blessings of liberty, was present in Congress when this message was received. He left the hall, brooding over the evils that could not be remedied, repaired to his count- ing-house, and there, to his inexpressible joy, learned that a certain laden ship with soldiers’ clothing and military stores had just reached her wharf. The gratification caused by this arrival was all the greater because Mr. Morris had given up this par- ticular vessel for lost. Congress was soon informed of the welcome fact. That same day, too, the specie needed by Washington was forthcoming, and was dispatched to the chief. A rich Quaker-gave the sum needed, and took no other pledge for its return than the promise of Robert Morris to repay it. a - O - WHAT IS A TORY? A very happy definition of the term ‘‘Tory’’ (as applied to those Americans. who were traitors to their country during the Revolution) was given at a dinner- party in New York inthe year 1775. gentleman; present on the occasion, fre- quently used the word in conversation. Finally the host asked: ‘What is a Tory?’’ ‘‘A Tory,’’ wittily responded the guest, ‘tis a thing whose head is in England, wit its body in America, and its neck ought to be stretched.’’ Ph Oe ee i OD eS Whey wre oo cr eee Nw 8 CUE eS GooDp otis Fe an re pose NEWS. 4329 {This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form., ] BAI GAIN Ls TO NE, BY WILL LISENBEE. (“ToBy AND ToM”’ was commenced in No. 269. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER VII. TOM’S ARREST. MOM BUFORD could hardly credit the ‘2 evidence of his senses as he listened to oH) the hermit’s words. To him, whose 7" uneventful life had been spent in the quiet precincts of Brighthaven, the an- nouncement that he was to start for a foreign country within a few hours, was something to stagger him with surprise and amazement. ‘¢Yes,’’? went on the hermit, ‘‘I have been turning the matter over ‘‘To Tom :—Hav gon ter visit some friends in Burtville; may be gone a week. ‘‘Bmn.?? ‘‘That means he is off for Cuba,’’ said Briggs, ‘‘and the sooner you are on the road the better.’’ Tom busied himself in. gathering his effects, conversing at the same time with Briggs regarding his proposed journey. Tom was advised to keep the object of his visit to Cuba a secret as far as possible, eras ‘into. trouble. Then there is danger if they ; with a quick step. said. ‘* A STORY OF THE CUBAN REBELLLCON | said the hermit, ‘‘those Cubans are| picking up his valise; ‘ Suspicious of Americans, and might get you | with you.”’ i waiting-room. He had barely done so when Dick Simpkins entered. His eyes fell on Tom as he came in, and he walked forward ‘‘Well, you have come back, I see,’’ he I suppose you know that you are go- ing to be sent to jail?’’ **No; I don’t know it,’’ replied Tom. ‘“You will in a short time.’’ ‘*It’s good of you to come and tell me.’’ ‘*It will do me good to see you taken to jail,’’ returned Dick; then, as his eyes fell upon Tom’s valise, he exclaimed: **Oh, ho! you are about to run away | again, are you? Well, we’ll see about that,’? | and turning abruptly, left the room. | In a few minutes he returned with the} constable. | ‘*There he is!’’ he cried, pointing to Tom. ‘‘He was about to give us the slip, but I hunted him down.’’ The officer came up to Tom, and, laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder, said: ‘*T have a warrant for you, and shall have to arrest you.”’ ‘‘Very well, Mr. Mason,’’ ‘said Tom, | ‘Iam ready to go} As they left the station Dick Simpkins | Tom replied that he had not. Toby Sparks was present when the difficulty occurred, but he was now absent from the village. Tom observed with a feeling of pleasure that the magistrate was kindly disposed to- ward him, but having no witnesses to prove what he had stated, he realized his disad- vantage. The prosecuting witness was Dick Simp- kins, and when his testimony was given in it placed the blame clearly on Tom, and the trial resulted in his being fined ten dollars }and costs—$13.65 in all. An audible chuckle came from Dick, who occupied a seat directly behind Tom. ‘‘That means that you will have to go to jail until it is paid,’’ Dick whispered. Tom drew out his wallet, and taking out a twenty-dollar gold piece, laid it on the magistrate’s desk. A look of pleasant surprise came over that. gentleman’s face, while Dick’s under jaw dropped with amazement. ‘*Where did you get that?’’ he whispered, as Tom pocketed the change given him in return. Then he noticed that Tom’s pocket- book was well-filled with other gold pieces, his amazement and surprise overcame him. Rising to his feet, he said, in a loud voice: ‘*He’s got a pocketful in my mind, and have concluded* that it is necessary for you to start for Cuba without delay. Ben Gaston may already be on his way there, and we must not let him circumvent our plans. I am sorry I am not. able to go with you,’’ continued Briggs; ‘‘but I will ar- range everything for you, so you need have no fear of failure. The money I have here is yours, and you must use if without stint, for you will doubtless find many obstacles in your way, should those Cu- bans, by any chance, discover the errand that brings you to their country. 1 will furnish you with a carefully drawn map of San Menos Point, so you need‘ have no trouble in finding the spot where the treasure is hidden. Besides, I will give you a letter to an old friend of mine, Horace Bird, who lives in Chorrera, a suburb of Havana. He keeps the ‘‘Bird’s Nest?’ Inn, and will be easy to find. He is hon- est, and will help you all he can. It would be best for you to have him go with you and assist in bringing the treasure to Havana. ‘¢But this will be only a part of your mission in Cuba. The other, and what will, per- haps, be more difficult to accomplish, will be to find, or discover the fate of your cousin, Harry Dibbin. You will encounter many obstacles, and doubtless Zreat danger, but you must go prepared for these. Now that you are acquainted with the situation, will you Undertake the job at Once???’ ‘*T will!’ said Tom, is face shining with Snthusiasm and resolu- tion. ‘‘I don’t know how I can repay you for your kindness,’’ he added, clasping the hermit’s hand. “Tut! tut! Don’t speak of that,’’ said tiggs. ‘‘I have only done merely a part of my duty—what I ought to have done long ag0. Now that the matter is settled, let us turn’ in and get some rest, for we have Much to do to-morrow. I’m not prepared to ®ep visitors in very good style, but I guess We can both bunk in my bed. Now let’s see that the doors are fastened, and we’ll turn aes Tom did not fall asleep for a long time after he had retired, so full was his mind of Ne hermit’s strange story, and his prospec- tive trip to Cuba; but when his eyes were 4t last closed in slumber it was to dream of the buried treasures at San Menos Point, of ®"Neounters with swarthy Cubans, in which ©n Gaston was strangely mixed up. * * x * * # It was eight o’clock on the following Morning when a small row-boat containing "iggs, the hermit, and Tom Buford, put ashore at Brighthaven. Mooring the boat, ® two went directly to the cabin which ©m called home. Ben Gaston was not there, ut a scrap of paper was found on the table, ©n which was scrawled these words: oe learn of the hidden treasure, that the au- thorities will attempt to get possession of it, and perhaps confiscate it. So the matter will have to be managed with great caution.”’ The two remained an hour in the cabin in close conversation. Tom was to go by train to New York, where he was to take passage for Cuba. **You will have time while you are in New York,’’ said Briggs, ‘‘to purchase what clothing and other articles you will need for the journey, so you need not remain here to make affy preparations.’ On leaving the cabin they returned to the boat, and after a warm good-by, Briggs rowed back to his island, while Tom walked in the direction of the railroad station. He carried a small leathern valise in which he had packed the few effects he intended taking with him. Briggs had insisted that heshould go well provided with funds, and in addition to the amount he carried in his purse for present expenses, he wore a belt beneath his oe containing five hundred dollars in gold. It lacked nearly an hour of train time when he reached the station, and, after pur- chasing his ticket, he took a seat in the ‘‘THERE LIES MY VESSEL NOW, THE PENGUIN,’’ AND HE POINTED TO A TRIM, followed close behind, a look of triumph on his face. ‘‘Better put the handcuffs on him,’’ he said; ‘‘he’s dangerous—he tired to kill me yesterday.’’ ‘‘Don’t try to teach me my business,’’ said the constable, casting a glance at the precocious Dick, who immediately subsided, his -face coloring with suppressed anger under the rebuke. It was only a short distance to the magis- trate’s office, but Tom had time for many unpleasant reflections before reaching the place. This was the only time he had ever been arrested, and _ he felt keenly his humil- iating position. There was no one present but the magis- trate when they reached the office, and Tom was thankful for that. The charge, that of an assault upon the person of Dick Simpkins, was read, and when asked whether or not he was guilty, Tom replied that he was not guilty—as far as he understood the meaning of the charge. It was only to defend himself against Dick’s assault that he had done what he did. ‘‘Have you any witnesses that you wish to have subpoenaed?’’ asked the justice. CLIPPER-BUILT VESSEL. of them, and I believe they are counterfeit— every one,”’ ‘*We don’t want any- thing more from you,”’ said the magistrate, se- verely, ‘‘and it will be better for you if you will learn to let other people’s affairs alone.’ Dick grew red in the face under the rebuke, and slunk silently from the room. As Tom turned to leave the office he heard the train whistle blow, and he hurried away in the direction of the station. He had barely time to step aboard the train when it pulled out, and what was to be the most eventful journey of his life was begun, CHAPTER VIII. TOBY IS TOO CONFIDING. ‘HEN Toby Sparks found wi himself in a the clutch of Roger Simpkins,amaze- ment and fear for a mo- ment held him motion- less. ‘“‘T have got you at last,’’ Simpkins said, with a chuckle of in- tense satisfaction, ‘‘and when I get you back honie 1’ll make you pay for the trouble you have caused me!’? The dreaded voice of the man seemed to arouse Toby from his stupefied condition to a sense of the necessity of immediate action, and instantly a plan formed itself in his mind. Quick as a flash, he dropped down, disengaging the hand from his shoulder, then darted away, run- ning with all the speed he could muster. Simpkins was com- pletely surprised by the sudden move, and Toby was beyond his reach before he knew it. But he was determined to recapture the youth at all hazards, and he | started in pursuit, muttered imprecaticns upon his lips. But being the more nimble of the two, Toby easily distanced his pursuer, and, dodging down an alley, he doubled on his track, recrossing the street he had just left, and aiming for a quarter of the city | opposite to that in the direction of which he \s had first started. He ran on at a rapid rate of speed till he was Satisfied that he had successfully eluded his pursuer, then, dropping into a walk, he continued his course in a more leisurely manner, keeping a sharp lookout that Simp- kins did not come upon him unawares. ! Now that he had time to reflect over the |matter, he felt convinced that Simpkins | would notify the police, and put them on jhis track. A description of him would doubtless be given, and there was danger that he might be caught at any time. (As these thoughts were passing through his mind a sudden idea came to him. He turned down a business street and entered a store | where ready-made clothing was kept. A half-hour later he was clad in a new | suit of clothes, including hat and shoes. For these he paid $16.50, and still had $33.50 of I the $50 given him by the lawyer. | | | | | f . Ss / = ‘ Cig 4 : ip \ ‘ da : jie! i ite ik f ‘ * iit ht ‘ } ‘2 : 4330 When he had donned his new parapher- nalia, he glanced into a mirror, and was much amazed at the change that had been wrought in his appearance. ‘‘Why, old Simpkins wouldn’t know me if he should meet me face to face,’’ he thought. Leaving his discarded clothes in the store to be called for when wanted, he took his departure. As he left the building a young man of some twenty-three or four, and rather stylishly dressed, who had been pur- chasing a pair of gloves, joined him. As they came out the strange young man stooped down, and now held a silver quarter in his hand. . ‘ replied want to go to sea?’’ said the young man. ‘‘I was about your age when I went to sea the first time. It’s a jolly life, though of course there is;ssome hard work at first.’’ Toby’s eyes opened very wide. ‘¢ And so you are a sailor,’’ he said, ‘‘and you have been clear across the sea, I guess?’’ ‘Oh, yes, many times. I have made two voyages in a whaler; the firs#as a sailor be- fore the mast, the next as asecond mate. There lies my vessel now, the Penguin,’’ and he pointed to a trim, clipper-built ves- sel lying at the docks. She had evidently been overhauled and remodeled somewhat, for she showed a pair of new masts anda frésh coat of creamy-white paint, with the name Penguin painted in black letters across the stern. ‘‘Oh, isn’t she a beauty!’’ exclaimed Toby, gazing on the vessel in admiration. ‘‘She is so; but she looked different two months ago when she sailed into port. She was dingy enough then; her masts broken by a storm, and smelling of blubber. The voyage didn’t pay, and so she has been re- fitted for a merchantman, and will ply be- tween New York and the West Indies.’’ ‘‘Oh, how I should like to sail in her!’’ cried Toby. ‘(Let me see; I may be able to arrange the matter for you.”’ “Tf you only would, I’ll do my. very best.’ ‘*T think you would, and I shall see the captain and recommend you. Please give me your name and age.’’ Toby did as requested, feeling himself elevated to the seventh heaven. ‘‘Now then, thank you. My name is Brock—Howard Brock, second mate of the Penguin. Suppose we walk back to my room, now, and talk the matter over. The captain is busy at the shipping office, but will be at leisure in an hour or two.”’ They wheeled about and retraced their steps. Turning into a narrow street, Toby followed his new acquaintance into a dingy building of red brick. Ascending a flight of stairs, they passed through a long, dark hall, and entered a rather scantily furnished room. ‘Here we aré,’’ said Brock; ‘‘not a very elegant apartment, but snug and quiet enough. Help yourself to a seat there, and excuse me a bit while I go and see when the captain is coming back.’’ He went out as he ceased speaking, and Toby threw hiniself into a chair, and began to reflect upon his good fortune, But now another thought came to him. Would the captain of the Penguin be willing to take him if he learned of his running away? And then there was a chance of Simpkins putting in an appearance at any moment, and spoiling all his plans. He was not sure that Simpkins had any legal right to detain him, but he realized that the captain, being a stranger, might not care to involve himself in any difficulty over the matter. The thought served to bring about a re- vulsion of feeling, and he began to reflect that, after all, his bright prospects might be speedily swept aside. _ While these thoughts were occupying his mind the door opened and Brock re-entered ‘I have just seen the captain,’’ he said, as he came in and took a seat in front of Toby, ‘‘and we have been talking the mat- ter over, and upon my insisting he has de cided to allow you te go in the Penguin!’ An exclamation of joy escaped from Toby’s lips, and his face was radiant with enthusiasm. ‘*But,’’? went on the young man, ‘‘there is to be a condition, but I trust that will not interfere with your going. You see, the captain has had some trouble with boys who have gone aboard his vessel with the inten- tion of. becoming sailors, and he has decided to provide against this in the future, as far as possible, by exacting a small deposit from each who ship with him. Fifty dollars is the usual amount, and this is simply de posited with the captain as a kind of guarantee of good behavior, to be returned to the depositor at the end of the voyage.’’ Toby’s face fell. ‘*Why, I have not got said. ‘‘That’s too bad,’’ responded Brock. ‘‘As for myself, I would be willing to take you without the form of requiring a deposit, but the captain will not swerve from his estab that amount,’’ he lished rules. How much have you?’’ he added. ‘“A little over thirty dollars,’’ responded Toby. ‘“Thirty dollars—let me _ see,’? mused Brock; ‘‘that is but twenty short.’’? Then, lifting his head suddenly, he continued: ‘‘I have it now. I don’t want to see you disap- pointed, for I have taken a fancy to you, and if you will hand me the thirty dollars you have, I’ll just put in twenty of my own and make the deposit for you, and you can return it to me at the end of the voy- age.”’ ‘‘Will you?’’ cried Toby, clasping the young man’s hand. ‘‘Oh, if you only will ”? ‘‘Of course I will. I can easily spare the money, and feeling assured that your be- havior aboard the Penguin will be good, I shall receive my money back in due time, and be none the worse off for having done you a small favor.”’ Toby was much affected by this act of kindness, and there was a gleam of moisture in his eye as he drew forth the money from his pocket and placed it in the young man’s hand. ‘* And now,’’ said Brock, as he placed the money in his pocket, ‘‘I must be off and look after some business for the captain. It is just possible that I may spend the night aboard the Penguin, but in any case you had better remain here in my lodgings, so) I will not lose track of you. You are quite welcome to do so. I shall return early in the morning, if not before, and then we will go down and take a look at the vessel.’’ Toby was only too glad to accept the offer to remain in his friend’s lodgings, and after a few moments’ conversation, Brock took his leave. . Toby drew his chair up to the window and looked out, but found the view so ob- structed by a row of somber buildings as to afford no chance of a glimpse of the city. ‘«This, isn’t a very cheerful place to spend the afternoon,’’ he thought, as hé glanced about the dingy room; ‘‘but, after all, it’s a good place to be to keep out of the way of old Simpkins.”’ Having no other means of whiling away the time, he drew his wallet from his pocket, and counted the money he had left. There was just $4.25, exclusive of the coin picked up in the old wind-mill the night before. Taking the latter in his hand, he began to examine it. It was an old English sovereign, well worn, and, on close inspection, he ob- served that one side had been polished down smooth, and the word ‘‘Mabel’’ engraved thereon. ‘‘It must be a keepsake,’’ he thought, as his mind went back to the two thieves in the old mill. A feeling of guilt came over him as he reflected that he had made no effort to learn the whereabouts of Captain Ferguson. He must do so without delay, Perhaps Mr. Brock could give him the in- formation he desired. He wished now that he had asked him. Why had he not thought of it? He would speak to him about the matter as soon as he returned. The afternoon dragged slowly along. Once Toby was tempted to go out and make some inquiries about Captain Ferguson, but the thought that he might encounter Simpkins kept him back. Now that he had such a splendid chance to gratify his desire to go to sea, he did not wish to do anything that would be likely to deprive him of that chance, It was near sunset when there came a step at the door. Then it was opened by a tall, florid-faced woman, who came into the room, starting with surprise as her eyes fell upon Toby. ‘‘Well, youngster, what are you doing here??? she demanded, placing her arms akimbo, and surveying the youth with a close scrutiny. “Why, I am waiting for Mr. Brock to come back,’’ replied Toby. ‘‘He said for me to stay here——’’ ‘*Then you will have to stay till the crack 0’ doom, } reckon,’’ replied the woman, ‘‘or tid his term in the State prison is out, for oP] t he had such implicit Crh) IN Ew Ss. the police have got him—just as he was run- ning away, the young swindler !’’ Toby gazed at the woman pale:and aghast. ‘‘Tsn’t he the mate of the Penguin?’’ he asked. ‘‘Him mate? He an’t mate of nothin’ but the imp of darkness—one o’ them profes- sional swindlers; an’ just to think of it, he went off owing me ten dollars for his lodg- ings, an’ me a lone widder!”’ CHAPTER IX. TOBY HEARS OF CAPTAIN FERGUSON, | 2 e ro 2 | OBY SPARKS had arisen at the woman’s words, and stood leaning ‘) against the window casing, amazed ’ and stupefied. Not only had all his bright prospects been dashed ruthlessly to the ground, but he had been made the vic tim of a swindler. Could it be possible that | the young man who had professed such friendship for him—who had treated him | with such apparent kindness—and in whom | faith, could be a com- mon swindler? The very thought sent a and disappointment to Toby’s heart. It was | hard enough that he, homeless and friend- | less, should be robbed of nearly all he had, | but to lose faithein one he thought his friend aud benefactor was the severest blow of all. | He sank into a chair, and, covering his | face with his hands, burst into tears. ‘‘What’s the matter, youngster?’’ said | the woman, her face less hard at the sight | of the boy’s distress. ‘'He han’t been con- fidencin’ you, I hope?’’ ‘*Hle said he was mate of a ship,’’ faltered Toby. ‘‘He was going to take me to sea, and—and I gave him nearly all the money [| had——’’ ‘‘The ‘shameless scamp!’’ exclaimed the woman, with much feeling. ‘‘So he an’t| content with robbin’ poor widders, but must practice his villainy on children.’’ Toby sat in depressed silence, while the landlady stood regarding him with a critical gaze. ‘*Do you live in the city?’’ she asked. ‘“No, ma’am,’’ said Toby; ‘‘I came here to go to sea.’’ ‘*Where’s your parents?’’ ‘*Dead,’’ said Toby, with a sob. The woman’s face softened. ; ‘*Where have you been living?’’ she asked. ‘‘At Brighthaven, with a man named Simpkins,’ ‘*Did he send you away?”’ ‘*No, ma’am; I—I run away.”’ ‘*You run away! Law sakes! what is the youngsters comin’ to? What made you do that?’’ ‘‘He beat me,’’ said Toby. ‘* All children get whippin’s, and most of them need more than they git. Don’t you think you had better go back?’’ ‘*No, ma’am; I couldn’t stand the beat- ing.’’ ‘‘Did he hurt you much?’’ Toby bared his arm, and displayed the marks of a whip. A look of sympathy came into the land- lady’s face. ‘IT an’t the woman to encourage boys to run off,’’ she said, ‘‘but maybe this Simp- kins is worse than most men. Come down to the kitchen an’ we’ll talk it over.’’ She led the way, and Toby followed her down a flight of stairs and into a wide room, where a stout girl was busy washing dishes. Passing through an arched door- way, they entered another room, furnished with a row of tables. pang of sorrow | ’ ‘(Now,’’ said the woman, ‘‘you must eat | your supper while we are talkin’ this matter over. Jist take a cheer there by the nearest table, and I’ll soon bring you a snack.’’ Toby did as requested, and a substantial repast was soon spread before him, The landlady took a seat by his side, and while he ate, Toby gave a brief account of his life on the Simpkins farm, and the events that led to his running away. ‘‘He an’t fit to raise a child,’’ said the woman, with a show of feeling, ‘‘and I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. He had no right to keep you there, fer as I can seo. But what do you expect to do?”’ ‘“‘T don’t know,’’ said Toby. ‘‘I expected to go to sea, but now——”’ ‘Well, if won’t be hard for you to find somethin’ to do, and while you are lookin’ around, you can make your home here in my house. You needn’t pay anything unless you find work.’’ Toby was touched by the woman’s kind- ness. { 7 him. /in the old | like a story in a book. ‘tT have some money left,’’ he said, draw- ing the change from his pocket, and*placing two dollars on the table, before his hostess. ‘*T will want to stay here a while—till I look around a little, but I—I want to pay ” ‘* Very well,’’ said the woman. ‘‘I will let you know when this runs out. You can take the room that young Brock bad. You will find the key on the hook by the north win- dow.’’. " Toby was about to return to his room when he stopped, a sudden thought coming to him, ‘Do you know a man living here by the name of Ferguson—Captain Ferguson?’’ he asked. ‘‘Captain Ferguson? | He lives in a brick house, frontin’ the north, five blocks west of this. Is he an ac- quaintance of" yours?’’ ‘‘T never saw him,’’ Toby replied, ‘‘but have heard of him. Was his house robbed a few nights ago?”’ ‘*Indeed it was, and dollars in gold was took. what this world is comin’ to.’ ‘*Then he is the man I want to see,’’ said Toby. ‘‘It’s about the robbery that I want to see him.’’ ‘*Sakes alive! such doin’s?’’ Toby told her the story of his adventure wind-mill, what he had over heard from the two thieves and the hiding of the gold in the old stone wall. ‘*Bless my soul! Who ever heard the like??? said the landlady. ‘‘It sounds jist So you want to tell where he can find his about a thousand It’s a scandal, , ’ What do you know about Captain Ferguson gold?’? ‘*Yes,’? said Toby; ‘‘and I guess I had better do it right now.” The thieves might come back and get it.’’ ‘*So they might—so they might; you had better run over right away and tell him all about it.’?’ Toby left the house and walked rapidly along the street leading west. It*was quite dark now, and the numerous flickering lights of the city stretched in a bewildering maze about him. How different it was to Brighthaven! How he would like to live in such a city, he thought. He soon reached the house answering to | the description given him by the landlady. It was a modest two-story brick, with a plentiful supply of. shade trees scattered about the well-kept lawn. He stood survey- ing the structure for several moments be- fore he could muster up courage to go in. At last he passed in at the gate. But as he drew near the building he again came toa halt. Through the parted curtains he had caught a view of the interior, and perceived that several people were there—men and women in evening toilets, while the notes of a piano crashed on the summer air. ‘‘Some kind of a party, 1 guess,’’ he mut- tered, standing in the shadow of some ornamental shrubbery. ‘‘I wonder if I ought to go in,’’ he continued. At that instant the music ceased, then the door opened, two ladies came out and walked arm in arm across the lawn. Toby slunk back into the shadows of the shrubbery, feeling that he ought not to in- trude his presence on the gay company. He half wished that he had not entered the yard. For several moments he stood irreso- lute, then, as he was about to walk in the direction of the house, there was a step on the grass behind him, and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, while a stern voice said : ‘You are my prisoner !’’ He turned in‘terror, to find himself in the clutch of a policeman ! (TO BE CONTINUED .) + ee —-—-- THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. ] _— In war, as in other matters, the simplest chance may sometimes decide the most mo- mentous events. Thus was it in the case of the successful siege of Yorktown, the sur- render of which post by Cornwallis gave the patriots the victory in the struggle for independence. Some time previous to the siege several intercepted American letiters were taken to Sir Henry Clinton, command- ing in New York. Among them was a let- ter from Washington to Lafayette, who was then operating against the British in Vir- ginia, informing him of bis intended plan to attack New York, and leaving to him to decide whether he would take part in that attack or continue his campaign in Virginia. The contents of this letter naturally led Sir Henry Clinton to anticipate an attack on New York, and to divert his attention from Cornwallis in Virginia. About the time, however, that Washing- ton had written to Lafayette, the latter officer had sent a communication to Wash- ington, showing how, by the co-operation of Count de Grassé’s fleet, Cornwallis might effectually be hemmed in in Virginia. Washington abandoned his project against New York, marched to Virginia, and before Sir Henry Clinton suspected the truth, Cornwallis was besieged in Yorktown, and the French fleet, blockading the mouth of the York River, prevented both his escap@ I from that position and reinforcements reach- ing him from New York. The result was the early glorious termination of the war— a consummation largely due to the inter- cepting of a single letter. a COULDN’T TACKLE IT ALL. A countryman seated himself at a res- taurant table, and began on the bill of fare- After keeping three waiters employed for nearly an hour in bringing dishes to him, b@ called one of them to him, and heaved @ sigh, and whispered, as he spread the bill 0 fare before him and pointed with his fingers? ‘Mister, I’ve et to thar, and’?—movin8 his finger down to the bottom of the page— ‘tof it isn’t agin the rule, I’d like to ss! W’y, yes; I knuw from thar to thar,”’ “ 2 GoonD [This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form, | LOYAL TO NAPOLEON: OR, THE YOUNG SPY OF FOUCHE. BY ALFRED ARMITAGE, Author of “With Crusader and Saracen’ and “Inv the Days of the Gladiators.” + [‘*LOYAL TO NAPOLEON” was commenced in No. 265 : Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. } CHAPTER XIX. OVERHEARS A STARTLING VERSATION, LUCIEN CON- 9 WCIEN sprang out of bed, fully con- /*/ vinced that his association with Fouche was discovered, and that his G-” life was in peril. ‘‘What is: it, Spado?’’ he hoarsely. ‘‘What have you learned? we only had our swords! But we left in the varriage.’’ Spado looked at his master in amazement. ‘*No, no, itis not danger,’’ he replied. ‘“You do not understand, Master Lucien. The wall behind my bed is very thin, and when I got awake I heard people talking. If you put your ear close you may learn something that will help you.. That is what I came to tell you.”’ Lucien looked greatly relieved, and the color came back to his pale cheeks. He walked to the window and saw people and vehicles moving in the street below. Then he glanced at his watch, a silver time-piece presented to him at Havre by Lieutenant Jouillard; it was exactly nine o’clock. ‘‘You gave me a bad scare, Spado,’’ he said, ‘‘and you also woke me from a _ very unpleasant dream. But you did right to come. Itis time I was up, and what you tell me is worth looking into. Wait here un til I return.’’ Lucien hurriedly took a dressing-gown and slippers from the trunk, and put them on. With noiseless steps he passed through the sitting-room to the negro’s bed-chamber, and crouched down by the rear wall. The partition was indeed very thin. He heard occasional foot-steps, and a scratching noise like a pen passing over paper. He waitedyand listened, but for a long time he heard’ nothing else. Then, just ashe had concluded to retire, his patience was re- warded. . “The letter is completed, Alphonse,’’ said a petulant voice, very clearly and distinctly. “Take it now, and see that it is posted with the proper precautions. This makgs the tenth, and so far my labor has been wasted. Only four days ago I saw Bonaparte and Josephine riding through Paris, and they seemed as devoted and affectionate as ever.’’ Here the speaker paused. From his voice he was clearly a man of education and re- finement. ‘‘Parbleu! am I to be foiled of my re- venge?’’? he went on. ‘‘No, I swear not. If necessary I shall write a hundred letters. Are you sure that the emperor received them all, Alphonse?’’ ‘«Beyond doubt, monsieur,’’ replied Al- Phonse, who was evidently the other’s ser- vant. ‘‘I myself posted each one. But I hoped, that you ,would write no more. Surely Bonaparte will believe no ill of his Wife, unless he has certain proofs. By this time it is likely that the police are search- ing high and low for the author of these letters. We are both in great dangér.’’ ‘You are a coward, Alphonse. Would you ave me abandon my revenge? You, who how how basely I have been treated——’’ “Wait for a better opportunity, Monsieur arrington. These letters can) accomplish hothing. For the present let us do as you promised. Return to your relatives in Eng- and before it is too late, and I will serve Ou as faithfully there asI have done in rance. When the time is ripe we will come ack,?? There: was silence for a moment. So M. arrington was a native of England, and a Man with a bitter grievance, against Napo- €on and the empress. Lucien was fully &ware of his great discovery,,and his heart eat rapidly as he listened for more. ‘‘T have repented of that promise, Al- Phonse,’’ said the Englishman. ‘‘I prefer to Temain in France. It was this creole up- Start, Josephine, who persuaded the emperor © dismiss me from my position at court. I SWore to be revenged, and [ shall keep my Worgq——? . ‘‘Not so loud, I beg of you, monsieur. We May be overheard.”’ ‘Not the least danger, Alphonse. These Adjoining rooms are unoccupied. Besides, °ur neighbors are all royalists, That is why ~ “Ame here. If my present plans fail to in- Jure the empress I shall strike at her through €f husband. I will join the royalist cause, will take part in the conspiracy that I am sure Is being hatched——’’ Impossible, monsieur,’? interrupted Al- Dhonse, ‘Although these royalists suspect Sur hatred of Bonaparte, they assuredly exclaimed, Ah, if them ” ’ ‘*You are mistaken, Alphonse. You think so because I have purposely held aloof from them. At the first sign on my part I shall be received with open arms. You will see to take that course.’’ ‘*But you are forgetting the powers of the secret police, monsieur,’’ persisted Alphonse. ‘*Nothing can baffle the cunning of Fouche. If he is searching for the author of these let- ters—and there is no doubt of it—he will ferret him out in time. Every day that you remain in France adds to your peril—and | to mine.’’ ‘*You are wrong, Alphonse,’’ the English man exclaimed, angrily. ‘‘We are as ‘safe here as we would be in London. No one will dream of connecting me with the author of the letters. And why? Simply took the precaution to have it known at court that I was unable to write the French language with any facility. On the con trary, | can write itvas well as any native | | of France, as these letters show. Thus I am the last person in danger of being suspected. ‘*Moreover, my loyalty is not suspected. | | have powerful friends. I ama cousin to my Lord Whitcomb, the English minister. I have rendered more than one service to Talleyrand himself, Say no more, Alphonse. Be assured that we are in no danger as yet.’’ Alphonse held his peace, and the conver- sation terminated. A chair was pushed back, and foot-steps crossed the floor. But Lucien had heard enough. He returned to the front room as noiselessly as he had come, and with a strange light of triumph in his eyes. He briefly acquainted Spado with what he had learned, and by the time he had finished a door opened and closed at the rear end of the hall. stairs, talking loudly enough for recognize their voices. ‘“They are going now, Spado,’’ he said. ‘Return to your room and get dressed.’’ When the negro was gone Lucien dropped into a chair, and for some minutes stared night’s fire. is,’’ he reflected. ‘‘I can scarcely realize it slanderous letters to the emperor about Josephine. A double task confronts me now, for I must obtain convincing proof of Monsieur Barrington’s guilt. When the proper tinie comes he and bis valet shall be arrested. ‘‘Well, I shall keep this discovery to my self—at least, until 1 am assured that Fouche means me no ill. If he outmatches me by treachery, and gets me in the toils, then [ | will play M. Barrington as a trump card.’’ For some time longer Lucien sat. still, shrewdly planning out his course of action in regard to the discovery he had made, and realizing more clearly that he now possessed malice of his enemy—if Fouche was indeed that. Then he grew chilly, anda glance at his gy slipping away. A servant of the house knocked at the door, and when he was ad- mitted he began to make a fire in the grate. Lucien hurried off to the bath-fub, where he enjoyed acold plunge and a rubbing down. When he returned, hungry and in good spirits, he found the servant gone and a fire blazing in both the bed-chamber and the sitting-room. He made a careful toilet, putting on such clothing as seemed to him suitable for out- door morning wear. Then he amused himself for some time by standing at the window and watching the people passing on the op- posite side of the Rue Fayette. It was ten minutes of eleven o’clock when a rap was heard on the door of the sitting- room—which opened also on the hall, and Spado brought his master, the card of the Chevalier de Florin. On entering the ad- joining room Lucien found himself in the presence of the visitor, who was a tall and aristocratic-looking man of middle age, with features warped and soured by disappointed ambitions. His brown mustaches, and the pointed tuft of hairs on his chin, where tinged with gray. In bis eyes lurked an eX- pression of cruelty and unscrupulousness that forcibly recalled Henri St. Maur. But the Chevalier de Florin proved an ex- tremely affable gentleman, and his greeting indicated sincere pleasure. He tendered his services to Lucien, expressed a hope that he had rested well, and inquired what he thought of Paris. Then, for some minutes, he chatted about Martinique, and the family of the planter, and the voyage to France, drawing ready answers to his numerous questions from the lad. ‘‘T congratulate you, Monsieur Bellair,’’ he said. ‘‘Your spéech and the polish of your manners would do credit to many a young gentleman nurtured in the circles of the Faubourg St. Germain. Paris can teach you but little.’’ ‘*You honor me, sir,’’ replied Lucien, ‘and you honor my parents more. To them is due the education that I have received.”’ ‘‘And you owe soniething, perhaps, to your residence with your guardian,’’ said the Chevalier. ‘‘I have received the letters Ave no intention of taking you into their ®onfidence. ’’ for yourself if it becomes necessary for me | because l | Two persons: descended the | Lucien to | thoughtfully at the dead embers of last | ‘*What a wonderful stroke of fortune this | I have found the man who has been writing | a powerful weapon against the craft ands which France-was governed, of the newly- watch warned him that the morning was | in these times of national dishonor and grace. dis- I regret that he is not here now, for it is possible that before you return France | will be purged of-—-—’’ The chevalier paused abruptly. ‘‘T shall have much to say to you in the future,’’ he resumed. ‘‘At present I fear | am forgetting that you have not yet break- fasted. Your guardian commends you to my care, and I beg that you will accept my humble services. I shall be happy to intro- | duce you to our private room at the cafe Lion d’Or, where at this hour you will meet many who have the best interests of France at beart. You will also find there some old friends of Monsieur St. Maur.’’ ‘You are very kind,’’ said accept with pleasure.’’ ‘“'Then we will start at Lucien. ‘‘] once,’’ said the | chevalier, glancing at his watch, ‘‘And | during our absence your valet will ‘find a | plece ready for him at the servants’ table )? down stairs. CHAPTER XX. A FRUITLESS WEEK, HE cafe Lion d’Or was only a short distance from the Pension Chambord. On the outside it was unpretentious- looking, and the windows were cur- tained so as to hide the interior. The cheva lier led his companion into a narrow door, to one side of the main entrance, and up a winding flight of stairs. At the first landing stood a servant, who conducted them into a small room decorated with gold and_ plate- glass in the style of the period. A number of gentlemen, all distinguished- looking and most of them. elderly, were breakfasting at small tables. The chevalier introduced Lucien to each one in turn, and | they gave him a genial welcome. They had evidently heard of his arrival in Paris, and knew the object of his visit A table, in one corner of the room, seemed to be especially reserved for the chevalier, and here he and Lucien seated themselves. A dainty breakfast was brought, and the lad was so hungry that he did ample justice to the meal. He listened sharply to all that | ; was said, and whenever a question was put to him he | words | carefully but quickly pondered his before replying. He realized that he was sur- rounded by royalist conspirators, and that | his future success in gaining their confidence | and secrets depended to a great extent upon the impression that he would make at this first meeting. A general conversation was kept up by the party, but of course not a word was let | fall that could indicate the existence of a | plot against the emperor. It was evident, however, that this was a royalist gathering. | There were sharp and bitter criticisms of | Napoleon and the court, of the manner in | | | } | | created nobility and of the warlike spirit |that was dominant; nor was the personal | life of the emperor and Josephine spared. Lucien was careful not to introduce bis opinions, nor did he make the opposite mis- take of remaining silent. He cleverly and modestly joined in the conversation at just the right time, and his well-chosen words conveyed the impression that he was every whit as ardent a royalist as Henri St. Maur himself. He also managed tactfully to let it be understood that be was provided with funds, and that he was desirous of an oppor- tunity to aid the royalist cause. The breakfast party gradually broke up and dispersed, and finally the chevalier and Lucien, who had come last, found them- selves alone. The chevalier paid the waiter and lighted acigar. As he puffed at the fragrant weed he friendly smile. ‘“What do you think of your new friends, Monsieur Bellair?’’ he asked. ‘‘I assure you that you have made a favorable impression upon them.’’ ‘‘T hope so,’’? Lucien truthfully replied. ‘*It was indeed an honor to be received by them so kindly.”’ ‘‘Yes, and an honor that is extended to few,’’? said the chevalier. ‘‘You saw here this morning men in whose veins flows some of the oldest and proudest blood of France. It is not surprising that they hate the em- peror, for they have fallen low in these times. But for this Corsican upstart they would be in their rightful places, wealthy and honored. They would be the ornaments of a court as far different from the present fone as the gulf that separates the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Germain.’’ “Their lot is truly a hard one,’’ said Lucien, laying aside his knife and -fork, ‘tand I feel the deepest sympathy for them. But surely all of France cannot be under the Emperor’s spell?’’ ‘“Yes, the people are ground under his iron heel,’’ replied the chevalier. ‘‘The cowards dare no longer think or speak for themselves. And the fearless royalists are so few in number that they can do noth- ing.’’ ‘*Then their only hope lies in the death of Napoleon?’’ said Lucien, feeling his cheeks grow hot. The chevalier looked approvingly at the watched Lucien with a 4331 said. ‘‘Only the death of the emperor will free France from tyranny, and that time may not be far distant. To slay this Corsican who has stolen a throne would be just. and honorable. It is true that many attempts have been made on his life and have’ failed. But the next time——’’ The chevalier rose to finishing the sentence. ‘Pardon me, monsieur,’’ he added. ‘‘I see you have finished your breakfast. I re- gret that most of my day will be occupied with an engagement, but I will accompany you as far as the Pension. My presence will not be ne@essary to insure your future ad- mission here; the waiter understands that. We have dinner at five and supper at nine, and I will always be happy to see you at my table.’’ They descended the stairs to the street, and as they started toward the Pension they passed a tall, handsome man with a ruddy complexion and a heavy beard. ‘‘Did you notice that gentleman?’’ asked the chevalier. ‘‘Well, he is the only one of the lodgers at the Pension with whom I would advise you to have nothing to do. He is an Englishman, and his name is Barring- ton. He was lately dismissed from a position at court, and his object in coming to the Pension was either to seek revenge by join- ing the Royalist party, or to play the spy for Fouche. But he has made no progress in one way or the other. We have nothing to do with him.’’ ‘Do you think it possible that he can be a police spy?’’ said Lucien. ‘‘Some of my friends hold that opinion,’’ replied the chevalier, ‘‘but 1 differ with them. I have reason to know that the Englishman attends the receptions of Talley- rand, and it is no secret that Talleyrand and Fouche are bitter enemies.’’ Here the Subject was dropped, but Lucien remembered it to his advantage at a future time. They walked on to the Pension, and paused at the door. ‘*T hope to be of service to you in many ways, so far as the time at my disposal will permit,’’ said the chevalier, ‘‘and I regret that I can spare you so little of my time to-day. For the present, then, monsieur, I will say adieu.’’ He lifted his bat and walked down the street, making gestures to a cab that was approaching. Lucien entered the house and ascended to his apartments. He wrote down a minute report of what he had seen and heard, and placed the paper in the jeweled snuff-box, which he found in the bottom of his trunk. At three o’clock he summoned Spado. ‘*Did Alphonse, the valet of the English- man, breakfast with the other servants down stairs?’’ he inquired. ‘*He was not there, Master Lucien. There was no person of that name. And then I would know his voice if I heard it.’’ ‘‘He must take his meals outside,’’ said Lucien, ‘‘so there is no chance of your making his acquaintance, I don’t know that that would be a safe venture, anyhow. I am going out now, Spado, but first I want to give you some instructions. Whenever this Englishman and his valet are in their apart- ments listen at the wall of your bed-cham- ber. Make no noise yourself, and try to re- member any conversation you may over- hear.’’ : ‘<] will hear all,’’? promised Spado, ‘‘and they sha’n’t know that I am there.”’ Lucien left the house and took a long and aimless walk through the gay streets of Paris. He found mitch to interest him, es- pecially along the quays of the Seine. At half-past four he found himself lost. For a moment he was worried, but he quickly found a way out of the dilemma by hiring a cab and bidding the driver take him to the end of the Rue Fayette. At five o’clock he was set down within a block of the Lion d’Or, and, by a curious chance, at the entrance to the Passage des Pyramids. He found the tobacconist’s shop, and handed the snuffjbox to M. Coquin, as Fouche had directed. The box was returned to him empty, and he left the shop without a word. He went on to the cafe, the chevalier and his friends of the morn- ing. In the evening the chevalier took him to the Theater Francais to see. a Celebrated play, and they-returned to the Lion d’Or for a late supper. -Lucien went to bed that night intoxicated by the beauties and pleas- ures of Paris. The days that followed did not differ ma- terially from Lucien’s first day’s residence at the Pension Chambord. He took his meals regularly at the Lion d’Or, and, though he became very intimate with the Chevalier de Florin and his royalist friends, he heard not the faintest whisper of a plot. He did not know that he was undergoing a period of probation, as it were, and that his words and actions were subjected to a strict surveillance. The chevalier devoted much time to him, aud together they visited the show-places of Paris. One more night they went to the theater, but the chevalier was usually in- visible between the hours of dinner and supper. Often, late at night, Lucien was invited to the rooms of one or another of his feet without ’ and dined with lad, naturally mistaking the meaning of his blush. sent me by Monsieur St. Maur, and I note with pleasure his wish to return. to France ‘*You are right, Monsieur Bellair,’’? he his fellow-lodgers, where bottles of wine were drunk to the downfall of the empire Every morning and evening he carefully be a* id a Coe” a aie ' -avenue of this charming park, and mingled 4332 wrote his report to Fouche, and delivered it to M. Coquin, but the snuff-box invari- ably returned to him empty. He concluded from this that the minister of police was satisfied with the way in which he was carrying out his instructions. Evidently the Englishman quickly dis covered that the apartments adjoining his own were occupied, for he and Alphonse spoke in such low tones that Spado was un- able to hear a word. Lucien frequently met M. Barrington in the halls or on the stair- cases. On the first occasion the Englishman stared keenly and suspiciously at the lad, but after that he passed him carelessly and contemptuously. Now and then Lucien caught a glimpse of Alphonse, and received a courteous bow from the valet, who was aslim and evil- looking Frenchman, with glittering eyes and a turned-up mustache. Alphonse never failed to look back atthe lad, and some- times he shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. So a week slipped by without bringing to Lucien the full confidence of the conspira- tors. Then a series of thrilling events burst suddenly upon him. CHAPTER XXI. THE GARROTER OF THE RUE FAYETTE, NHE eighth day of Lucien’s residence ‘2 at the Pension Chambord was Wed- \ nesday, and when he sprang out of <7 bed at nine o’clock and saw the hazy autumn sun shining on the paving-stones of the Rue Fayette, he forgot his stern re- sponsibilities for a momentand thought only of getting out and mingling with the human tide of the great city. He felt no premoni- tion of the memorable events that were to cross his pathway before the dawn of an- other day. He breakfasted at the cafe at the usual hour, and then gladly assented to the propo- sition of the Chevalier de Florin that they should visit the church of Notre Dame and the Hotel des Invalides. They were accom- panied by the chevalier’s most intimate friend, M. Gaston Faye. He was aman of about forty, with handsome, but stern feat- ures, and he alone of all the frequenters of the Lion d’Or had displayed some hauteur and coolness in his relations with Lucien. The day being so fine, the three set off on foot. After lingering fora while on the island where stands the ancient cathedral of Notre Dame, they crossed the Seine and followed the quay to the Hotel des Invalides —the palatial home of old and crippled _ sol- diers who had fought with Napoleon in foreign lands. Then they recrossed the river and wan- dered among the shady paths of the Champs Elysees. They came finally to the main with the swarm of pleasure-seekers that were strolling up and down, or taking the afternoon air in handsome equipages. Lu- cien was dazzled by the prancing horses, the hum of voices, the beautiful and _ richly ‘*T know that it was a dangerous thing to do, but the provocation was so strong——’’ ‘‘Say no more, monsieur,’’ interrupted the chevalier. ‘‘I did not mean to be harsh. Iam sure you will be cautious in future. And now let us go, for I observe that we are attracting some attention.’’ They crossed the avenue, and shortly entered the crowded streets of the city. The chevalier halted a cab that was passing, and then turned to Lucien. ‘*Monsieur Faye.and myself must leave you for the present,’’ he said, in a tone of regret. ‘‘We have an engagement to keep that will probably prevent us from dining at the Lion d’Or. At this hour of the day you will find much to entertain you, if you prefer to stroll about the city. For a change, you might dine at one of the cafes on the boulevard, and return to the Lion d’Or for supper at nine.’’ Lucien heartily approved of this sugges- tion, and, when his companions had de- parted in the cab, he followed his own bent, wandering with the gay crowds from street to street. It was long after dark when he found himself in the neighborhood of the Tuilleries, hungry and tired. A short search led him to a modest-look- ing cafe in a street near the Louvre. He entered and took possession of a table in a remote corner of the room, which was not very full. After giving his order to the waiter he wrote his report to Fouche, hav- ing put paper and pencil in his pocket that morning. The dinner was a sumptuous one, and was served in courses. When he had finished, Lucien was surprised to find that it was nearly nine o’clock—entirely too late for him to think of taking supper at the Lion d’Or. He left the cafe, and hired a cab out- side the door, telling the driver to take him to the Passage des Pyramids. On the way the vehicle passed along a street that was lined with handsome resi- dences. At one place carriages were drawn up, and officers in uniform were hurrying into a house that was fronted by a court- yard and was blazing with lights. ‘*Who lives there?’’ Lucien asked of his driver. ‘‘Talleyrand, the minister of foreign affairs, monsieur,’’ was the reply. ‘‘He is giving a reception to-night. ”’ As the cab rolled by the house a fresh carriage arrived, and. Lucien fancied that he recognized the one occupant as_ the Englishman of the Pension Chambord; he did not have time to make sure. ‘‘T must ,Jhave been mistaken,’’ he re- flected. ‘‘Though M. Barrington mentioned Talleyrand’s name, I do not think he would venture there to a public reception. And so Fouche and Talleyrand are bitter enemies, if the chevalier spoke truly. There may be a possible source of advantage for me in that fact, though it is too early in the game to think of it yet. At all events, I will make sure of being able to find the house again.’? During the brief remainder of the ride Lucien gazed steadily out of the glass door, dressed ladies, and the gorgeous uniforms ot the marshals and other officers of the | empire. ‘*Let us cross over, messieurs,’’ suggested the chevalier, leading his companions to the edge of the foot-way. ‘‘It is time we were starting homeward.’’ But before they had taken half a dozen steps they were arrested by a warning shout. They drew back a little as an open carriage, drawn by four milk-white horses, and sur- rounded by a detachment of dragoons, came dashing toward them. In the gilded vehicle, looking neither to right nor left, sat Napo- leon and Josephine. A great shout of ‘‘Vive l’empereur!’’ instantly burst from hundreds of throats, and as Lucien caught sight of the dis- tinguished couple, for whom he sincerely felt the most unbounded devotion and affection, a flush of excitement mounted to his temples. He was sufficiently vigilant to keep his | expression from betraying his feelings, but | he could not hide the blush, As the carriage passed opposite him be became aware, by some subtle instinct, that he was being sub- jected to a close scrutiny by the chevalier and M. Faye. The lad trembled’ inwardly for an in- stant, realizing that this was a crisis which would likely determine the success or fail- ure of his task. Then a happy thought oc- curred to him. With flashing eyes, and with a well-simulated expression of anger and indignation, he looked after the vanishing carriage. ‘*Bah! that upstart!’’ he cried, hoarsely, clinching his fists. ‘‘The Corsican who has stolen a throne! An emperor from the gut- ters!’’ , The chevalier and his companion did not miss this clever piece of acting, though not a suspicion of its sincerity entered their heads, They exchanged meaning and ap- proving glances, and then the chevalier tapped Lucien on the arm. **Never do that again, Monsieur Bellair,’’ he said, sternly. ‘‘It was rash and impru- dent. Your sentiments do you credit, but this is not the place to freely express them. Suppose one of Fouche’s spies had overheard “Pray pardon me, sir,’’ replied Lucien, A's noting every street corner and every turn that was made. On arriving at the entrance to the Passage des Pyramids, he dismissed the cab and hurried toward the tobacco- nist’s, fearful lest the place should be closed. But a bright light streamed from the win- dow, and M. Coquin was leaning over the counter with a look of impatience on his face. He stiffened up and bowed when Lu- cien entered. ‘*Monsieur is late this evening,’’ he said, and there was aring of displeasure in his voice. ‘‘Unavoidably so,’’ replied Lucien, ‘‘I have been taking a look at Paris by night, and wandered too far away.’’ ‘‘It is a dangerous pastime,’’ remarked M. Coquin. ‘‘Being a stranger in Paris, monsieur would do well to take his strolls by daylight.’’ He disappeared with the snuff-box behind a curtain at the rear of the shop, and quickly came back. Lucien bade him good-night, and went out. He examined the box, found’ it empty, as usual, and put it into his pocket. Then he started off rapidly along the narrow thoroughfare, intending to go straight to his apartments, At this hour of the night, and in this resi- dential quarter of the city, pedestrians were few and far between. Lamps were even more so. The Passage des Pyramids was lonely and dark, and when Lucien turned the corner into the Rue Fayette he could see his way but indistinctly. It did not oceur to him to fear or suspect danger. He softly whistled a Martinique air as he went on toward the Pension, be- tween a wall of shuttered houses on one side and a row of chestnut trees on the other. He was half a block beyond the Passage des Pyramids when he fancied he heard a foot-step in front of him. He paused an in- stant, looking and listening. But all was dark and silent, so he went confidently on, believing that what had startled him was nothing more than the dropping of the dead leaves. He had just resumed his interrupted whistling when a pair of bony hands clutched his throat from behind, and/ jerked him heavily backward to the pavement, (TO BE CONTINUED.) C#OOD NEWS. [This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. } JUNGLES AND TRAITORS; OR, The Wild Animal Trappers of India. BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON, Author of “The White King of Africa,” ‘The Camp in the Snow,” ‘From Lake to Wilderness,”’ etc. |\“JUNGLES AND TRAITORS” was commenced in No. 261. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] atin Sp fae CHAPTER XXXII. THE BURNING VESSEL. FN that awful moment when they were I swept from the deck of the barge, Marco and Gooloo Singh held fast to each => other. The crest of the wave carried them far out, and then they seemed to shoot down to the bottom of the river. As they came up once more, chilled with cold and half-suffocated, a flash of lightning showed them the barge at a distance of sev- eral hundred feet. Then the thick black darkness settled down, and for five minutes it was a des- perate struggle for breath amid the angry waves. But for their life-preservers the castaways must have succumbed at once. Still clinging to each other, they were spun around like egg-shells, now high up on the crest of the billows, now deep down in a watery trough. They were soon bruised from head to foot, but after the first chill they did not feel the cold so much. The rain was making the water warm. The hurricane now seemed to have spent its fury. The violence of the waves subsided, and a.choppy rain beat down with stinging effect. ‘*Have courage, sahib,’’ said Gooloo Singh. ‘The worst is over.’’ “Tt don’t matter much,’’ replied Marco, despondently. ‘‘We’ve got to go to the bot- tom sooner or later. I’m giving out, Goo- loo, I feel a sort of a numbness coming over me.’?’ ‘‘T will save you, sahib,’’ declared the Hindoo. ‘‘See, I can hold you up. We will drift until morning, and then there will surely be vessels in sight.’’ **Morning!’’ gasped Marco. ‘‘Ah! that— is hours—away. It’s no—use—no use——’’ The words ended ina husky groan, and the lad drooped limply against the Hindoo’s breast. They drifted on and on, while the waves still spun them about and lashed them say- agely. The lightning played incessantly over the dark river, but no trace of the barge could be seen. Either it had gone to,the bottom or had been blown widely apart from the castaways, i But a more vivid flash than usual revealed something that was almost equally welcome —a small boat, tossing bottom up among the waves. The Hindoo waited eagerly for the next flash, and when it came he saw the craft within a dozen feet. More by chance than skill he managed to clutch the bow with his disengaged hand, and in this position he remained for a mo- ment, recruiting his exhausted strength. The boat was evidently one of the two that had been blown off the Assam Tiger. It must have drifted parallel with the barge for three or four miles. Finally the Hindoo managed to lift the only half-conscious body of Marco onto the bottom, and there he held him fast for nearly an hour while they rode on among the turbulent waves. ; By this time the rain had ceased, and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze. The darkness was as impenetrable as ever. Suddenly Marco lifted his head and looked akound. ‘*Where am I?’’ he muttered. ‘‘Oh! [ re- member now. Are you there, Gooloo?’’ ‘¢Yes, sahib,’’ replied the Hindoo. ‘‘Have no fear, Weare safe, and the storm is over.”’ He briefly went on to explain about the boat, ‘*Tt’s lucky we ran across it,’’ said Mar- co. ‘*The last thing I remember is an awful pain in my head while you were holding me up among the waves. Then it all seemed to fade away.”’ He rubbed his forehead with one hand, and then added: ‘‘No wonder I had a pain. There’s an ugly bruise over my left eye.’’ ‘*You must have struck the rail when we were washed off the deck,’’ suggested Goo- loo Singh. ‘*Yes, that’s just it. I didn’t feel the blow until afterward, and then it made me weak all of a sudden—— Hullo! what’s that, Gooloo?’?’ As the lad spoke the boat lurched forward on the crest of a wave, and the next instant there came a grinding shock. The castaways felt bottom under their feet, and saw a dark blot just in front of them. ‘An island!’’ cried Gooloo Singh, and taking hold of Marco, he dragged him onto firm ground. Then he plunged back into the shallow water and hauled the boat far out of reach of the waves. With thankful hearts the rescued ones scanned their surroundings as well as the gloom permitted. The spot on which they had providentially run aground was indeed an island in the middle of the Brahmaputra At the normal stage of the river it was probably of some extent, for in all direc- tions the tops of trees and bushes could be seen sticking out of the water. Now only the ridged top of the island rose above the flood. This space, however, was thirty feet long and half that in width. It was covered with low bushes, and in the very center was a great mass of bowlders. Between these rocks the castaways dis- covered a triangular crevice, plenty large enough to hold them both. ‘‘Very nice place, sahib,’’ said Gooloo Singh. ‘‘We will be comfortable here until morning.”’ ‘*1t would be a good deal snugger place if we had a fire,’’ replied Marco. ‘‘I have matches, but I don’t know that they will do us any good.’’ He took a little water-proof metal box from his pocket, opened it, and scraped a match on the lid. The tiny flame showed the rear end of the crevice to be choked with drift-wood that had lodged there during past floods, ‘‘Hurrah! here is fuel in plenty,’’ cried Marco; ‘‘nice and dry, too. Graba lot of it, Gooloo, before the match goes out.’’ The Hindoo quickly collected a double armful of the wood, and Marco was just about to apply the match to some of the smaller fragments when three sharp reports were heard in rapid succession. The sound came faintly down the river and died away in long echoes. Marco let the match fall, and the crevice was plunged in utter darkness. ‘*What was that?’’ he cried. ‘*Gun-shots, sahib,’’ replied Gooloo Singh. ‘‘They seemed very near, but they were really at a great distance. There is but little wind now, and sound travels far over the water.’’ ‘‘T wonder what it means,’’ muttered the lad, and as if in answer a blaze of red flame suddenly illumined the dark night. The Hindoo’s usual stolidity vanished at the sight, and he rose to his feet in great excitement. ‘* A vessel on fire, sahib,’’ he cried. ‘It is at least four miles up stream, and lies off toward the left shore.’’ ‘*It can’t be the Assam Tiger?’ exclaimed Marco, anxiously. ‘“No, sahib, that is impossible. The barge is by this time far down the river, and no doubt our friends are safe.’ ; ‘*Tt’s queer about the shooting,’’ said Marco. ‘‘The fire is more easily accounted for.’” The Hindoo shook his head gloomily. ‘‘Strange and terrible deeds are sometimes committed on the lower parts of this river,’’ he replied. ‘‘More than one vessel has been captured and sunk by piratical natives.’ ‘And do you think that is what is going on up there now?’’ asked Marco. ‘‘Who knows, sahib?’’? the Hindoo an- swered, mysteriously. ‘‘But look, the flames are going down.’’ He was right. Fainter and fainter grew the ruddy glow, in spite of the tongues of fire that occasionally leaped up as though loath to abandon their prey. At last the glare dwindled to a_ tiny spark, and then vanished altogether, leaving no trace on the dark night. ‘*It is over,’’ said Gooloo Singh. ‘‘The vessel must have sunk gradually.’? ‘‘Or else they managed to put the fire out with the pumps,’’ suggested Marco. The Hindoo shrugged his shoulders doubt- fully, and sat down. ‘‘Tf your view of the matter is right,’ resumed Marco, ‘‘some of the crew may have escaped in boats. If we light the fire now it will guide them here.’’ ‘“‘They will find the main shore much closer,’’ replied Gooloo Singh. ‘‘Still, we must have the fire for ourselves, sahib- And the light may shine through these rocks, and be seen by our friends down the river.”’ : ‘‘That’s so,’’ exclaimed Marco, eagerly. ‘‘When morning comes we’ll take the boat and paddle after the barge.’’ A moment later a blazing fire was crack- ling at the mouth of the crevice, and cAast- ing a red gleam far out on the swift waters: While the Hindoo pulled the boat highe? into the bushes, for fear of a further 1riS®; Marco gathered a great heap of dry w00 and stacked it neatly. Then they sat down with their backs against the rocky walls, and listened to_ € soft moan of the breeze, and the soughi® of the waves on the shores of the islan@ There was little trace left of the recent but ricane. val The warmth of the fire gradually drié their clothes, and then a feeling of inte? drowsiness stole over both. For a tint) without knowing why, they struggl against it. We Finally Marco’s eyes closed, and Bp slipped down from his rigid position. was sound asleep. oe a= «| tat Ks GoonD NEWS. 4333 Gooloo Singh placed fresh wood on the sinking fire, and crouched comfortably be- side the lad. slumbering. Little did they dream to what ill-omened voyager their blazing fire was proving a beacon of refuge. From far up river a boat was moving steadily toward the light—a small graceful craft, painted blue and bearing in white _ letters the name of Pearl of Delhi. In the stern crouched a hideous figure, paddling alternately from right to left with one oar. To all appearances he was a_ half-naked, bearded Hindoo. On each wrist was a heavy iron bracelet, and from each bracelet dangled six inches of chain. One eye was swollen half-shut, and on his left cheek was a raw, bleeding wound, looking as though recently ploughed by a rifle-ball. The man shivered in his wet blood-stained garments. The shiver may have meant cold or fear. Probably the latter, for he fre- quently glanced into the blackness behind him. .**Bah! what a fool I am,’’ he muttered. ‘*There’s no danger now. I’ve given them the slip neatly. The fire kept them busy, curse them! Why did they get it out? The steamer must be anchored. I suppose the water disabled the machinery. Well, 1 must make the most of my chance. If I’m caught now it means——’’ He broke off with a curse, and turned for another look behind. ‘*Murder,’’ he resumed, ‘‘and a_ bloody one, too. But it couldn’t be helped. The fool wouldn’t submit.’’ He paddled harder than ever, steering straight for the fire, which loomed larger and nearer every instant. ‘*Yonder light must be the shore,’’ he muttered. ‘‘Il can’t be deceived in that. And once safe in the jungle I defy capture. I'll have my revenge yet—ay, and the money that was bargained for. Then I'll slip away from this accursed land. But I’ll keep good track of him. He shall be my banker, and a generous one, too.’’ Ten minutes later the boat was so close to the fire that the rocks and bushes could be plainly seen. The stranger held the oar stationary, and swore fearfully under his breath. ‘*An island!’’ he hissed. ‘‘Sacre! it is my usual luck. And who can be there? Shall I stop, or go around it?’’ He hesitated a moment. Then he changed the boat’s course, and dipped the oar with noiseless strokes. He made a wide detour beyond the firelight, and swung in at the lower end of the island. A moment later the boat was grounded in the mud, and the stranger was creeping through the bushes toward the clump of rocks. A moment later he, too, was CHAPTER XXXII. THE ASSASSIN’S TRIUMPH. OOLOO SINGH slept the deep dream- less sleep of utter exhaustion, but it was otherwise with Marco, The painful bruise on his head, com- bined with all that he had suffered lately, filled his brain with troubled visions and suddenly he opened his eyes, and sat up. He was wet with perspiration from head to foot, and his heart was beating rapidly. He glanced at the Hindoo, and then at the fire. He was about to put some fresh wood on the still ruddy embers when he heard a sharp sound near by, exactly like the snapping of a dry twig. The lad instantly became alert and watch- ful. He was so anxious to discover what the noise meant that he dared not waken Gooloo Singh for fear of scaring the in- truder away. The sounds came closer and closer, and Whether made by man or beast, it was as Yet impossible to tell. Marco slipped behind a projecting rock On the opposite side of the crevice, where he could command a good view of the Opening without being seen himself. He had hardly taken this position when the stealthy foot-steps drew very near, It Was now evident that the unwelcome visitor Was human. Marco felt a sudden thrill of terror. He and his companion were absolutely unarmed ; there was not even a pocket-knife between them. A stone as large as his two fists caught the lad’s eye, and by an indefinable impulse he picked it up. , The next instant a shadow darkened the Mouth of the crevice, and the glow of the ®mbers shone on the stooping figure and ®Vvil, bearded face of the false Gunga Ra— of Senor Garcia. The blood fairly froze in Marco’s veins. or the moment he was powerless to move. s.the Portugese crept closer, peering Sharply into the space behind the fire, he i a long, keen-bladed knife from his Olt, The ruffian had now spied and recognized the Hindoo, and intended murder was_ writ- ten on his ferocious face. © slipped by the fire, and paused beside the slumbering man. The knife, clutched in 1S right hand, rose for the deadly stroke. | doo, buried in Gooloo Singh’s breast. But just then Marco leaned forward and threw the stone. His aim was as sure as his purpose. The missile hit the knife, and knocked it out of Garcia’s hand. Stone and weapon flew against the wall, and fell to the ground ‘on the farther side of the Hin- This unexpected attack was too much for the ruffan. He lost his head and bolted out of the crevice with a harsh cry. Out dasbed Marco likewise, shouting lus- tily to Gooloo Singh. The lad’s blood was up, and he was reckless with passion. Too reckless, perhaps, for he had gone less than ten feet when he plumped into the arms of Garcia, who had immediately wheeled around. The knowledge that his enemy was un- armed gave Marco courage to offer a valor- ous resistance. But, as on previous occasions, the wiry Portugese proved himself much the stronger of the two. : His tactics were merciless and swift, After partly throttling the lad, and beat- ing him on the face, he hurled him roughly forward. Another second would have seen the blade Garcia’s intention was to place the one enemy hors du combat, so that he might be | free to encounter the other. And he suc- | ceeded admirably. Marco tumbled into the boat belonging, to | the barge, and struck his injured forehead , violently on the gunwale. The ugly bruise | was split open, and the lad became utterly | helpless with pain and dizziness. This brief encounter had transpired in far less time than it takes to tell. Garcia had scarcely faced around when the awakened Hindoo burst from the crevice, boiling over with rage. There was light enough from the fire to show Marco’s ghastly, bleeding face peep- ing from the boat, and the sight acted on Gooloo Singh like a red rag on a bull. Unfortunately he had known nothing of the knife, and so he was unarmed. With a hoarse shout, he dashed at Garcia. The ruffian knew better than to come to close quarters with a man so much larger and stronger than himself. When his assail- ant was almost upon him he dropped sud- denly on all fours. It was a risky trick, and one that fails almost as often as it succeeds. But this time it proved all right—for Gar- cia. The Hindoo tripped over the kneeling body and landed half a dozen feet away. That quickly the ruffian was up, and speeding like a deer toward the crevice. He vanished between the rocks, and when he emerged an instant later the knife was in i hand, and a satanic smile wreathed his ace. By this time Gooloo Singh had risen, and was close to the crevice in pursuit of his tricky enemy. He saw the knife, and an instinct of prudence checked the reckless at- tack that he meditated. So the Hindoo turned, and ran toward the point of the island, looking vainly to right and left for stones, or anything else that would serve for defense. Garcia followed quickly and warily. As the Hindoo passed him, Marco stag- gered to his feet, but sank down again, overcome by pain and weakness. ‘‘Be careful!’’ he cried, faintly. out for the knife,’’ Gooloo Singh shot an anxious glance at the lad, and sped on. He reached the point of the island, and there he saw what he wanted—a stone four or five times as large as his head imbedded in the soil atthe water’s edge. It was enormously heavy, but it was that or nothing. There was no time to de-* lay. The Hindoo stooped, and tore the rock loose. As he turned around he lifted the heavy burden in both hands ‘straight above his head. Garcia was but six feet distant, with up- raised knife, ‘*Your time has come, fiend,’’ cried Goo- loo Singh. ‘‘See, I can crush your bones. Cast down the weapon and surrender.’’ The ruffian answered with a devilish snarl] that was more likea wild beast than a human being. He'slackened speed a little, but still came on, watchfully and savagely, creeping from side to side. Marco’s swimming brain only half com- prehended the situation, but he realized that a moment more would settle his own fate. Was it to be life or death? Gooloo Singh had the advantage, but he was destined to lose it in a very sudden and unexpected manner. Just as he was about to make an unerring cast the heavy weight overbalanced him, and dragged his arms behind his head. He tried in vain to recover himself. Then he reeled backward, and stone and man came down together in the shallow water with a mighty splash. The Hindoo staggered upright, submerged almost to the waist, and that instant Garcia was upon him with a bound like a tiger. There was a brief struggle in the water: there were snarls and curses, and panting cries. ‘‘Die—die, you dog,’’ hissed Garcia. **TLook The knife flashed briefly in air, and found lodgment in a human breast. The sorely wounded Hindoo threw up his arms, uttered a gurgling moan, and fell back among the waves. The current snatched him and whirled him swiftly down along the shore of the island. The assassin waded out on land, still clutching the blood stained knife. With a brief glance at the lad he ran along the water’s edge, and followed with his eyes the drifting body of his victim. When he saw it sink beneath the black waters at a point opposite the cluster of rocks he uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and turned back. By this time Marco was mercifully ob- livious to the fate that threatened him. With sickening horror and anguish he had witnessed the murder of his faithful friend, and after that he fainted away. It was but a brief respite, however. When the lad came to his senses, a few moments later, he was propped in a sitting posture against one of the rocky walls of the crev- ice. His arms and legs were tightly bound with ropes fashioned from his captor’s belt and blouse. His wrists were drawn overhead, and se- cured to a projection of the rock. A heavy slab of stone rested on his feet and ankles, so that it was impossible to move them. Worse still, a mass of dry wood—all that the crevice contained—was heaped on the | slab and around both sides of him. Worst of all, the Portuguese squatted in front of the lad, leering horribly at him, and glancing sideways at the still ruddy em- bers of the fire in a very significant manner. What these preparations foretold was easy to guess, and in spite of stupefying dizzi- ness and racking pain, Marco realized that he was doomed to be burned alive. He made a feeble attempt to break loose, but he could not move even a limb. (TO BE CONTINUED. ) NOT ON THE BILLS. On the night of January 8th, 1776, the British officers in Boston were treated to a little scene ‘‘not on the bills,’’ during a theatrical performance, which is worthy of mention. On that night a detachment of American troops had set. fire to some houses in Charlestown. While this demonstration was in progress a large number of officers, attended by their lady friends, were witnessing the per- formance of a burlesque, the author of which was said to be General Burgoyne, entitled ‘‘The Blockade of Boston.’’ In the course of this burlesque, General Weshington, represented by an ungainly, ridiculous figure, wearing an immense wig, and with a rusty, battered sword hanging at his side, is made to come on the stage followed by an orderly, bearing on his shoulder an old gun seven feet long. Scarcely had these two monstrosities made their appearance, to the great delight of the audience, when a sergeant of the regular army rushed on the stage, threw down his bayonet, and cried, excitedly: ‘*The Yankees are attacking our works on Bunker Hill!’’ The good-natured, loyal audience took this speech as a part of the meritorious per- formance, and laughed their approbation of the natural manner in which the sergeant had repeated his words. But suddenly their merriment was checked by a voice among themselves. It was the voice of General Howe, the commander-in chief. ‘‘Officers,’’ he exclaimed, rising in his seat, ‘‘to your alarm post!’’ In an imstant all was excitement, con- fusion, and dismay. Women screamed and fainted, and the British officers, growing pale as they recalled the slaughter at Breed’s Hill, on the 17th of June of the pre- vious year,-and disagreeably remirided of the tact that reality was rather different from burlesque, hurried away to meet the supposed attack. The alarm was a false one, but there was no doubt, about the genuineness of the British scare. —>_ o> ________ WASHINGTON’S COURTESY. Washington, who was no lessa gentleman than a patriot and soldier, once stopped for dinner at a farm-house in New Jersey, where a wounded officer lay. The condition of the wounded man was such as to render him exceedingly nervous and keenly alive to noise. Washington observed this, and while at dinner was particularly careful not to disturb him. The gentlemen of his suite, however, were not so careful and consider- ate, and when Washington left the room they began a conversation in ordinary tones. Washington heard them from the adjoining room, and, returning to the apartment, he walked on tiptoe to the mantel-piece and without speaking a word took from it a book, and then retired as quietly as he had entered. The lesson was too plain not to be understood by the others, and the sick man was left to his repose. -—s o-oe____—- THE ears of most defenceless animals, like the rabbit, are turned backward, because these creatures are in constant apprehension of pursuit. Hunting animals have their ears turned forward. [This Story Will Not Be Published in Book-Form. } THE BOY GATTLE KING, A Story of the Grea Colorado Combine, BY HARRY DANGERFIELD, Author of ‘‘The Boy from the West,’’ ete. . (“THE BOY CATTLE KING” was commenced in No. 259. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents, } CHAPTER XXXVII. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE COMBINE. G7 ERE, drink.” de] Don’s flask, which he always car- ct, - ried well filled when he rode across the plains, was pressed to Aubry’s lips. With a moan of joy, the cattle mag- nate’s son clutched at the flask, and would have drained it to the last drop had not the other lad restrained him. ‘*Easy,’’ cautioned Don, forcibly taking the flask away. ‘‘It is all Il have with me, and you will want more in a few minutes.’? Aubry sank back, supported by Don, at whom he looked in wonder. ‘*You were foolish,’’ he said, almost in tears. ‘‘What made you do it—what made you? Youcan’t blame me; I warned you. Now you will die, too!’’ **Don’t excite yourself,’’ warned the boy rancher. ‘‘You’re in a pretty bad way. Did you think me inhuman enough to leave you here to die alone?’’ ‘*But I told you I had smallpox. true.’’ ‘‘Well, what if itis? I’m nota brute to run away from you on that account, under such circumstances as these.’’ Still Aubry could not understand. ‘You must know what it isto have small- pox,’’? he panted, almost fiercely. ‘‘It is frightfully contagious—you can’t escape it now you have touched me! We’ll both die of it!?’ ‘Perhaps not. People who have smallpox do not always die. You were dying fora swallow of water, and I’d never forgiven myself if I had run away from you.’’ ‘“‘Tf we don’t die, we’ll be marked and scarred for life, and that is almost as bad,’’ moaned Aubry. ‘‘You might have thrown me the flask. What a fool you were! I’m your enemy; there’s no reason in the world why you should do anything for me. I don’t see why you did it. What are you going to do now? You can’t go home—you can’t go anywhere. What can you do?’’ ‘‘T can bring aid; but, first, Iwill take you to the dug-out.’’ 8 ‘*T spent the night there. I couldn’t get any farther, and I crawled in there. I don’t know what became of my horse. Oh, I thought I’d die before morning !’’ ‘*Where had you been?’’ ‘To Denver. Went over by rail from Muletown. When | got back to Muletown I felt this coming on. I didn’t know what it was then; but I remembered last night—I remembered all, and then I knew.’’ ‘‘Remembered what? How do you know it is smallpox you have?” ‘‘Denton, one of our men, died of it week before last. He was watching cattle down at Clear Creek. We didn’t hear anything of him for a long time. Father sent me down. I found him dead in his dug-out. I went in there where he was. Then I went home and sent down two men to bury him. They came racing back frightened nearly to death, for one of them had seen people who had died of smallpox, and he swore that was what had taken Denton off. So I have got it now, and I must die—and you, too!’’ ‘Well, we won’t die till we have to, and that will be when our time has come. That is what I believe. I’ll get you back to the dug-out, then I’ll go for help.”’ ‘*Help! Nobody will come to us—they won’t dare. How can you go fer help with- out giving it to others?’’ ‘Oh, Pll keep my distance. I can ride near enough to somebody to make them hear my story when I shout. Then they can go for a doctor, and they can bring food and leave it outside where I can get it and bring it into the dug-out. I'll nurse you as well as I can, and I reckon we’ll both pull through some way.’’ The wonder in Aubry’s wild eyes deep- ened. He shook his head feebly. **T don’t know why you do this for me. I don’t understand it atall. We were enemies ” It is ‘*The past is past. It is dead and buried; let it rest. I squared my account——’’ Aubry started up feebly, crying: ‘And served me right! I don’t blame you —I’d done the same if I had been in your place! I--—’’ ‘‘Never mind that now,’’ said Don. ‘‘I must get you back to the dug-out. How did you happen to leave it?’’ ‘Oh, I couldn’t die there all alone! I was trying to get as near home as possible, but I gave out here—and the sun has roasted me, and parched my tongue, and seared my brain, and made me mad! Water—more water !’’ Don gave him another drink from the flask. Then Aubry was assisted to arise, } t t | } ' ‘ i ty { , ie 4, fibive 4 m foie ' ° i Ls ni sil } i A ae i d 7 ¢ ; di : i $ ‘ j * « 43384 and, with great difficulty, the boy rancher aided him in mounting to the back of the horse. Don got up, and they rode away to ward the dug-out, Don sitting behind Aubry and holding him on. In this manner the hut was reached, and there the unfortunate boy was aided to dis mount. and assisted inside. The same old bed of dried grass was there, and Aubry lay down on it, moaning. Don gave him an- other swallow from the flask. ‘‘T can’t understand it,’’ the stricken boy again and again declared, his eyes on Don. ‘*‘Tt_ doesn’t seem possible any. one should do such a thing for an enemy—for one he must hate and despise. You are the last person in the world I could expect anything from.”’ He got hold of Don’s hand and clung to it, going on: ‘‘Tf I live—if we both live, I will not for get this day. I promise you that. You have made me ashamed of myself—you have made me despise myself. I wish I might live to prove to you that [am not the un grateful fellow you must believe I am. After this day, Don Kirk, I’d do anything for you—I’d fight for you—I’d die for you, if necessary! Do you believe me? Oh, | hope you believe me!’’ ‘tT believe you,’’ assured Don, soothingly. **Be quiet. I must leave you for a while now—I am going for a physician—for food and water. I'll leave my flask here by you, but you must be as sparing as possible of the water, as I cannot possibly return for some hours,’’ ‘*But you will, return—you me here to die alone?’’ cried piteously. ‘*] give you my word! will return as soon as possible—depend on it. Your father must know where you are and how you are. You must have medical aid as soon as pos sible.’ ‘*Tt’s no,use—I know I am going to die.’ ‘*Not if I can prevent it.’’ ‘*Tf I live, I’71] owe my life to you, and I won’t forget—no, I won’t forget.’’ ‘*Be as patient as you can. I’ll push my horse. The hours may seem long, but [1] surely return.’’ Then Don hastily left the hut. Listening with strained ears, Aubry heard the beating hoofs of a galloping horse, at first distinct, won’t leave Aubry, ? then growing fainter and fainter, till they died out in the distance. * * * * * * Aubry did not die. He did not have small- pox at all, but he had been stricken down by a malignant fever that was scarcely less serious. However, he was removed to Cross Bar Ranch, where he received the best medical attendance and nursing to be pro cured by money, and he recovered after a long and severe illness. Every day while Aubry’s life hung in the balance a méssenger from South Fork Ranch came to inquire as to his condition. When it was said the fever had turned and there was no longer any great danger, the messenger came no more. Don did not take the fever. -Neither was he molested by his enemies during Aubry’s illness. It was true Garvice Seely had disappeared utterly, and the most rigid search failed to reveal a trace of him. It was thought he had fled, but skillful detectives failed to pick up his trail, and it finally looked as if he had actually cast himself into Black Hole quicksands, which eternally swallowed up all things that came within their grasp. But there was nothing save the note he had sent to Don to prove such had truly been his fate. However, after a certain period, he was adjudged dead, and all his possessions became Don’s, according to the will. Don did not rest till full evidence of Fel- ton Travers’ innocence was made known to the world, and the concern that had been defrauded by the forgery was properly re- munerated. One day Aubry Beauchamp came to South Fork Ranth. He was alone, and Don met him on the veranda: Aubry looked wearied from his long ride, for he had not entirely recovered his strength, but there was a flush of excitement on his face as he hurried to- ward Don. The hands of the two boys met, they looked into each other’s eyes, and, for some moments, Aubry was quite unable to speak. It was with the utmost difficulty that he repressed an outburst of feeling, but the emotions he felt were depicted upon his face. From that moment the two boys, who had been such bitter enemies, were firm and devoted friends. At length Aubry said: **T told you I would not forget; I have not. My father asks what restitution he can make for any annoyance or loss he has caused you, and he has already resigned the presidency of the Cattle Raisers’ Combine and withdrawn from the organization. It is said in Denver that this move will result in the dissolution of the Combine. Are you ‘willing to let by-gones be by-gones?’’ For reply Don again pressed Aubry’s hand, and drew him into the house. a * * Suite In truth the resignation of Warren Beau- champ led to the breaking up of the power- ful Combine, which had thrived by might, in defiance of law and justice. The small rancher and sheep-lerder soon were able to carry on their business in peace, and they gave Don Kirk the credit for bringing such a state of affairs about. And Don? He became a ‘‘Cattle King’’ indeed, one of the wealthiest and most suc cessful in the West. Injun Pete stuck by him through thick and thin, and Owen North was ever a guardian and wise legal adviser. Miles Darlton was proud to be reckoned among Don’s friends, and many times he told of the boy’s heroic generosity in saving him, his enemy, from a fearful death by | fire. He always seemed rather proud of the | ugly scars on his face, and nothing suited him better than for a stranger to ask how rood Na ws. he came by them. Then he would begin: ‘Ever hear otf Don Kirk, the Boy Cattle King? Of course you have! Everybody’s heard of him. Well, sir, if it hadn’t, been | for that boy I’d never had theso sears. No, sir; and if it hadn’t been for him I’d been so beautifully roasted that I wouldn’t be here now to tell you how I got ’em.’’ With this introduction, he would go ahead oe tell the whole story from beginning to end. (THE END.) ——__- > 2 > — JACK TOWNER’S DEBT. BY HENRY CLARKE, + HAT debt was an affair of long stand- > ing, for it had been made years be ‘\ fore Jack Towner’s birth, so that it could not be looked upon as a strictly personal matter with himself. ¢ His father and Park Wright’s had, had trouble years ago over a piece of land down | near the swamps upon the flats below. The stream, which had been used as a} boundary line was really the innocent prime | cause of the mischievous burden, if they had | looked at it in that light; but they did not, | and when, after a big flood, the fickle stream forsook its old bed for a new one on the Towner side, the wrath of. Jack’s father | knew no bounds, because Paik’s father took advantage of its shifting, and laid claim, to | the fertile corner which had thus been | transferred to his side. Of course Jack’s father had felt himself | wronged, and he went to law about it; but | Park’s father won the suit, and the costs, as well as the loss, fell upon Mr. Towner. The bit of land was not worth the quarrel] and the hard feelings, but Mr. Towner con sidered his a righteous indignation, and he nursed it for a life-time. It grew, as such things will, until each family, feeling sure it was the aggrieved party, held only bitterness and hate for the other. Jack’s father had declared he would pay Jason Wright back for the theft, as he termed it, and so every opportunity for suits for damages was indulged in, sometimes with success upon one side, sometimes upon the other, but in each case with a growth of the bitter feelings; and the debt, in Mr. Towner’s heart, had a heavy weight of in terest added to it. It was too heavy, in fact, for two boys to shoulder, as did Park and Jack when their fathers died and they took up the cudyels of the old fight. Jack was thinking over it one late Sep tember morning, as he saw Park saunter by contemptuously, flinging a stone at his dog. | ‘*Poor Bruno!’’ said Jack. ‘‘EHverything | he does only adds to the debt. He thinks he can push me aside even in boating and base- ball; but I?ll be square with him yet,’’ he ended, fiercely, stalking gloomily back to the house. “It, would be better if’ we did not live | here,’’ said his mother, anxiously looking at him; ‘‘this old trouble has made you so cross dhd bitter. I wish you weuld let the | matter go.’’ ‘‘Let it go, as if it were all right?’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Never! When I have paid him back for it, I will let it drop, not before.’ ‘‘When you have donea wrong, it will not make it right,’’ she wearily answered. ‘tT wish ‘it were settled.’ ‘*Well, when I get a good chance, it will be,’’ he replied, determinedly, as he left the room. A minute later he looked in again. “Tam going down on the flat, snipe. Won’t be home till late,’’ and disappeared again. Neither he nor his companion, Jim Peters, had bagged a bird, after a couple of hours’ wading about over the marshy land, which the stream, swollen by late rains, had over flowed until it was a miniature lake, The only bird hit by them had fallen be- yond reach and was sailing down the cur rent. ‘*Gone down to lodge in that old I suppose,’’ muttered Jack. ‘‘We well go home,’’, Bang! went a gun just then from the op posite side of the marsh, \as it seemed. ‘*Most likely it is Park. He never hears my gun without getting out his. He’s down by the gorge, I expect. That bird has drifted right down to him, Everything seems to go straight into his hands now—but it won’t always be so.”’ hunting he said, willow, may as } hone too soon, Bang! The gun was fired again. ‘‘Game’s lively,’? remarked Jim: ‘But whoever it is, he had better be getting The water is rising mighty fast. Let’s | be going,’ back. Bang! bang! The reports followed each other in quick succession. ‘*Can’t be he’s killing anything. ‘Some- thing must be up,’’ Jack remarked. ‘*Yes; water’s up, and it’s going to be| higher. We'd better be getting’out of this before we have to swim.’’ Jim set the example by wading off to- ward the mainland, holding his gun out of the water. ‘*Current is setting in strong, too,’’ he| observed, as he stemmed along, Jack in his| wake. ‘“Those pieces coming down look asif there had been a fresh flood above,’’ Jack said, as | some fence boards were seen on the surface of the stream. Bang! bang! ‘‘Say, Jim, do you down the flats alone?’’ Jack ping abruptly. ‘*He’d better not be, the flood’s going to be much higher to-night. Come on.’’ Jack moved slowly. He knew these flats—what they were in slight floods, crossed as they were by a net work of ditches for drainage. [If anybody was down there and did not know how to swim, it would be a pretty tough matter getting back to the mainland. Bang! bang! ‘*Look here, Jim, you take my gun with you. I’m going back. I don’t believe any body’s foolish enough to hang about the marsh just for fun.’’ ‘‘And get caught yourself? We’re ont | I think. Father says Chester | dam is leaking, and I don’t want to be in its way if it breaks. If that’s Park, I should | think you’d let him look out for himself, He would you. Pay him back in his own coin.’? Jack hesitated. [It must be Park, and heré was a to pay him back. He took a few steps, stopped again, thrust his gun into Jim’s bands, and turned back. ‘*1’m curious to see who it is, anyhow,’ he said, as he waded off. ‘*Well, if that isn’t a foolish thing to do!”’ was Jim’s comment, as he hurried off the marsh. Jack knew his ground, and, carefully avoiding the deep ditches, he struck the logs which at intervals crossed them. It was quite a distance down the flat that he had gone, and the water was waist deep. Then bang! went the gun again, and the flash showed him where the gunner was—in the low crotch of the old willow, beyond what was known as the ‘‘ Deep Hole.’’ ‘*Halloa!’? Jack called. ‘*Halloal’’? eame back, quickly. “¢Who.is it??? ‘‘Park Wright,’’ was the answer. ‘‘IT am treed by the water. I don’t know my way out.’ Who is it?’’ he asked, in return. There was no reply for a moment. Jack stood on a submerged stump, look- ing at the willow and its occupant. He knew that Park could not swim, and here the fellow was, afraid to try and ‘find his way out because of the holes and ditches he must cross. “Hurry up, if you can helpa fellow out,’?’ cried Park. “It’s Jack Towner!’’ Jack reptied, in a half-exultant shout. He heard a despairing ‘‘Oh,’’ followed by ‘*T needn’t expect help, then.’ Of course Park needn’t expect help. Jack was master now, and Park might get out by himself if he wasn’t such a cow- ard. Here was a chance to pay—— ‘+ Bo-0-0-m !”? What was that noise? Was it Chester dam? It was a mile away; but that big pond would soon be down there. ‘*Hold on! I’m coming!’’ cried Jack, making a rapid circuit to the tree. ‘Climb down here. It isn’t over your head. Do just as I say, and don’t lose your senses. Hurry !”’ ‘The dam has broken,’’ Park said, faint- ly, as he stood trembling by Jack’s side. ‘*Never mind. Come on!’’ It was not far across the marsh, which narrowed here to what was called ,the gorge,’’ but it was deep, and the dull, rush- ing roar was growing louder. Grasping Park’s hand, Jack struggled on, slipping, but instinctively finding the old farm bridge across the first deep ditch. The current was increasing, but they scrambled on, now into another ditch, but up again, to flounder into new holes. The water was growing shallower, but just then it heaved suddenly about them, and almost threw them off their feet as they struck a bank, To struggle up it and on toa rocky ter- race above wasa task, but Jack did it, suppose anybody’s queried, stop- chance ? | after,’ | though, here. dragging Park after him, just as the widen- ing, deepening torrent swept by with a mass of trees and boards upon its surface. ‘‘Good for you!’ Jack exclaimed, above the roar, as they clambered up higher out of its reach, ‘*You kept right along at my heels first-rate,’’? he added, as a vent to his excitement. “Yes, with you holding me up,’ stammered. “Tt isn’t such a’ sweeping big flood as Park | some, but we’d stood a poor chance if it had caught us,’’ Jack continued. “Say, Jack Towner, what made you help me out?’’ suddenly asked Park, ‘*T—I’m not one to let any fellow drown, if I can prevent it,’’? was the evasive reply. ‘$Woa? : , ; Te) We'd better be getting homeward. Folks will be worried if they hear the dam is gone.’’ : ‘“‘All right i but I won’t forget was Park’s brief answer. And.the two found the road around the bluff, across the bridge and to their homes, in complete silence. lhe next morning Jack was giving his mother the details of his adventure, as they stood looking over the mud-covered flat, this,’’ when they heard Park Wright call ex- citedly : ‘‘Jack Towner, come down to the flat; I’ve something to show you.’’ Jack slowly obeyed, and followed him down across the marsh. An hour afterward he dashed into the room, followed by Park. ‘What do you think, mother?’’ he cried. ‘The stream has gone back into the old bed. The flood cut a channel just deep enough to stay there now.’’ ‘‘And whether it does or not, I’m going to have papers drawn up to-day, so that the stream won’t make any more trouble bhere- Park added, eagerly. ‘‘I’d made up my mind to that last night, but it got ahead of me. We’re going to drop the old trouble 9} The two boys clasped each other’s hand for a seal to the decision. ‘*So it is settled, and I am so glad,’’ said Jack’s mother, as Park left them. ‘‘If only your father and his could have thought so long ago—that it would be easier to drop it than to hold on to it.’’ ‘‘Yes,’’ mused Jack; ‘‘and I’m thinking, suppose I had paid,him back last night.’’ ‘*f think you did,’’ was her simple reply. ———--- > 0-e ANECDOTE OF *“*MAD ANTHONY WAYNE,” When General Wayne, in 1779, with 1,200 men, stormed Stony Point, on the Hudson River, garrisoned by 500 British, tho lat- ter received the advancing patriots with cries of ‘‘Come on, you d—— rebels—come on!’?’ ‘‘Not so fast,’’? answered Wayne’s men, as they rushed through the abattis under the heavy fire. ‘‘We will be with you’pres- ently.’ In twenty minutes the Americans had carried all before them and had entered the fort. Remembering the many outrages com- mitted by the British on their own defense- less comrades, under similar circumstances, they were about to put the garrison to the sword, but the cries of ‘‘Mercy! mercy ! dear Americans! Mercy! quarter! brave Americans! Quarter! quarter !’’ with which they were received on all sides, induced them to spare the lives of the vanquished. +> SOLD PUT’S” STRATAGEM. At the engagement of Noddle’s Island, in Boston harbor, in the month of May, 1775, General Putnam had exhausted his shot on the king’s schooner Diana, and in order to obtain a fresh supply of cannon-balls, he hit on the following ingenious plan: He directed several of his men to show themselves on the summit of a certain sandy hill near the scene of action, but out of reach of the guns of the man-of-war Somerset lying in the harbor. The Somerset, however, and other ships, began a heavy cannonade of the de- coys whom Putnam had sent out, but the shots all fell short and lodged in the sand. Having thus obtained a full supply of balls he awaited a favorable opportunity to dig them from the sand. They amounted in number to several hundred, and it was not long before ‘‘Old Put’? returned them to their owners with as much vim as they had been sent. —— +9 -0-e AFTER YORKTOWN. After the surrender at Yorktown the American generals, following the example set them by Washington, treated the cap- tured British officers with every civility and hospitality, This generous and polite treat ment, however, could not remove from thé minds of the latter the bitter memory ° their defeat. It was recorded that once, while in Washington’s presence, the Mar- quis Cornwallis, the British commander-iD- chief, was standing with his hat off. ‘*My Lord,’’ observed Washington, ‘‘yoU had better be covered from the cold. Pray resume your hat.’’ To which Cornwallis, touching his head with his hand, replied, in lugubrious tone: “It matters little, sir, what becomes of this poor head now.’? > 0 > TIME suspends his ravages in Egypts where the smallest marks,of a knife 00 ® piece of wood remain at the close of t¥? thousand years as distinct as on the day they were cut, and you can see after twice that interval where a chisel slipped upo? block of stone. Ne ee Oe ee ep PAT Pe JO er \S- he n- e- 1S, he y! ve ch ed 10t pty po 4 two day vice yn CroODp AMON CG oop News iGLuss. ~ (Ax Gu Cys [SPECIAL NOTICE.—This column is for GOOD NEV Clubs only No notices will be inserted excepting such as are genuine GOOD NEws Club notices, and nothing in the shape of an advertise- ment will be allowed Every club notice should have the names of the president aud secretary of the club attached. For information concerning GooD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad- vertisement on last page. | “4 - CLUB CHAT. The [ron City Goop Nrws Club has just been formed. Its first notice sounds very attractive. Our thanks are due to the editor for copies of the Amateur Standard of Ballston Spa, N. Y. The Stand- ard is one of the best amateur papers we have seen. We have received the first number of the Amateur Publisher, and read it with much interest. It is well edited and well printed. We wish it every success. CLUB NOTICES. Strictly speaking, are you literary in your tastes? Can you truthfully answer ‘‘yes?”” Have you proof? if you haven’t, simply cast your eye over the follow- ing: Many persons who have talents in the line men- tioned, do not know how to use them. ‘To do this, and | to show you the worth of literary talent, a club, which | is one of the many branches of the Goop NrEws Club, named St. Louis Goop News Amateur Publishing | “lub, has been organized. This club prints a paper; gives premiums, as other clubs do. Only in one thing it differs from other clubs—its dues are not so high, 5 cents a month regular dues, 2 cents for the coming week. We will charge only 2 cents for the persons wishing to join within seven days, after that 5 cents. You get our publication, a list of members, ete. We do this to get representatives in other States. Follow ing persons attend to our business in their respective States: Mr. James M. Campbell in Minnesota, Mr. Allan F. MacLean in Connecticut, Master H. P. Hal- bran in New York, Mr. V. W. Lyons in Texas, Miss H. B. Walkér in South Carolina, Mr. Ralph W. Wood- | ward in California, Mr. W. E. Bullisin Nebraska, and Mr. Thomas A. Martin in Washington, D. C. Sir W. Fred. Pritchard represents us in British America. We have atraveling delegate, Mr. F. A. Atkinson, who will undoubtedly visit any one of our members, if in his power. Now, come on, reader; you represent us—you, We want representatives in every locality. Send stamp (2-cent) and correspond with all of these dif- ferent members. Foreigners and Canadians free; ladies free. Clarence Prescott, president; Arnold C, Kruekmann, secretary and editor, Equitable Building, St. Louis, Mo. We are aware that(to use the expression of a certain bright amateur paper) as ‘‘the lazy, languid days of summer’ approach, the interest of club matters will be somewhat on the wane, owing (we again quote that organ) to the negligence of *‘lazily-reclining, hammock- swinging secretaries.” The Goop Nrws Philatelic Club, receiving from that article their cue, wish to liken their secretary to a club editor depicted in vivid pictures in that same journal, as a “‘perspiring in- dividual, with wildly disheveled hair, and a worn and weary look upon his features;’ by making a grand offer we thereby hope to simply swamp him with your applications for membership. This club is quite original, a weekly auction, where all members can send stamps to be sold, with or without reserve, a counterfeit detector,and an exchange department, with about 3,500 different varieties, being some of its features. The premium on agricultural stamp, worth three times the initiation fee, on a wrapper from an official government weather report, will be sent to all joining, and sending 10 cents for initiation fee.. The officersare John Henderson, president; George Enterprise, vice- president; Frank Scott, treasurer, and Charles W. | Heins, secretary, 517 East 70th street, New York. Look! Oh, look! Look at what? Why, look at this | club notice. You don’t see? Well, you just look on down this club notice, and you will see something that will almost take away your breath. Why, just think of it? Did you ever, in all your life, see anything that would beat it? This isthe Goop NrEws Marine Cor- responding and Exchange Club, of Duluth, Minn., that We are speaking of now. If you are the first to join this club from your State, you will be appointed repre- sentative of your State, and will receive a neat repre- sentative’s card, besides a membership list, member- ship card, application blank, and many other articles. Our membership list is increasing in size every week. We would like to have representatives for all of the following States, and they will be admitted for a 2-cent Stamp and dues: California, Nevada, Florida, Texas, and South Dakota. Don’t forget to join, or you will miss a thing of your life-time. The initiation fee is only two 2-cent stamps, and dues 5 cents per month, in ad- vance. Address James M. Campbell, secretary, Du- luth, Minn. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, you are in- Vited to join the Goop News Corresponding and Ex- Change Club of Wilton, Conn. We are the “old relia- ble” “king of the Goopo News clubs.’ Anything more? Yes, lots. We issue large printed list of mem- bers—our last list cost us ahout two cents apiece to have them printed. Our exchange department is free to members, and is also one of the best. Members can correspond with any of our bright young people that they please. This club is strictly up to date; has prize contests; also a club paper to keep the members posted. We will give to the first one joining, after this notice appears, one dozen cards, with name neatly printed On each. To all we give our large list of members, heat membership card, exchange list, foreign stamps, how to make inks, The Bulletin, etc. The initiation fee is only 10 cents; ladies and foreigners free for a Short time longer. Address all communications to E. 8S. Benedict, Wilton, Conn. St. Louis Goop N¥Ews readers, Something to you I'll say, Tn St. Louis we’re the leaders, So join this very day. The Goop News Memorial Club of St. Louis would like to have the names of all St. Louis readers on its ooks as members. If you desire to join a club that Will give you exercise in Parliamentary law, this is the one. " Meetings every Thursday evening. We have a supply of back numbers of Goop News: which Sat the disposal of all members. Initiation fee 10 Cents; dues 15 cents a month. For further informa- tion address the secretary, Arthur P. Kleykamp, 3004 St. Louis avenue; John Hoffmann, president. You all have no doubt noticed in Club Chat that the Jorn Palace City Goop News Club, of Sioux City, Ta., a8 changed its name, and will henceforth be known 48 theeGoop News Fidelity Corresponding Club, of Sioux City, Ta. All old members will be retained, and We invite new ones to join soon, to have their names On Our new list, soon to be printed. For a short time 1e fee will be 6 cents; no dues. Ladies admitted for 3 Cents, in stamps. Remember, the object of this club 1S: Correspondence, fun, improvement, and the fur- Nishing of wholesome reading to its members Sree. Address the secretary, E. F. Molen, Sioux City, Ta. A. P. Molen is president. Club is intended to become the best club on record. more? Initiation fee 14 cents; dues4cents per month, in advance for the first month; dues 2 cents per month later. Every member receives that well-known and much-praised club paper, Scraps and Patches, free one year. Every fifth one joining receives a nice present. Address the secretary, George F. Linguist, 1104 Rail- road street, Tacoma, Wash, Come, boys and girls, and help us get a title for a club that’s going to be one of the best in the organiza- tion. It costs you nothing to join, club friends. Why not join? You certainly can’t miss such a chance as this. All we ask of you when you join is to send in a title for the club, and then to enjoy yourself. What better could you wish? Ladies are especially invited to join. For full particulars, address the Fastern manager. Ralph W. Murphy, 3 Richard court, Roches- ter, N. Y., is Kastern manager, and Frank B.Sommer, 7138 North Campbell avenue, Chicago, Ill., is Western manager. Are you fond of acting? If so, join this club. The Goop News Knights of the Foot-Lights, a club made up mainly of youthful actors, request your member- ship. Our purpose isto dramatize and act some of the stories which have appeared in Goop News. Join avenue, St. Louis, Mo., supreme regent; Arnold C. conferred on all members. also admit you free into Good News Golden Star Dramatic and Social Club of New York city. You re | ceive card of membership, list of members, a 25-cent | Bulletin, each month one year, free. We want to get members all over the United States. First joining from | Ord, 4803 Penn avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa. All parties living West of the Mississippi River, and outside of Missouri, will be admitted to the Columbian Corresponding Club of St. Louis, Mo., on receipt of five cents (no stamps). This offer fora limited time | only, so join now. Allother persons will be admitted |} on receipt of fifteen cents (silver), also limited. For | further particulars address Edw. F. Suhre, secretary, | 2423 South Twelfth street. The Knights of Goop News have changed their | headquarters to New York city, and have elected Richard Wilson president Wewant more members at once, and upon joining you receive card of member- ship, list of members, etc. dress the president, Richard Wilson, 156 Broadway, New York, and |W. H. Greenfield, secretary. The Goop Nerws Reading Club of Rankin, Pa., wants members from all parts of the United States dues, 2 cents monthly; ladies admitted lor a 2-cent stamp. J. M. Crom, secretary, Rankin, Pa. en ee ere en oy Gr Y 2 4) XCHANGE AD eEPARTMENT. Os \ eX > (Impor'raNY.—Lhis column is freeto all our readers. We will not be responsible for transactions brought about through notices in'this column. All offers must be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any “for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arnis, explosives, dangerous or worthless articles. If exchange | notices do not appear in a reasonable time, it may be understood that they were not accepted. Address all cominunications for this column to “Exchange De- partment.) don tp qrorenmesd COMPASS SET.—Edward Stern, 2250 Jefferson avenue, Fordham, New York city, hasa compass set | (German silver), value $3.50, which he will trade for United States stamps. MISCELLANEOUS.—Ed. Croft, Geneseo, TIL, |} hasGoop News from No. 1, Volume 1 to date, a number of bound books by popular authors, and fifty libraries to exchange for wall tent, not less than ten by fourteen feet; also an eight keyed flute, a silver emery, etc.; atelegraph key, and a stem-winder watch to exchange for a baritone horn or violoncello. READING MATTER.—John Driver, 95 Armandine street, Dorchester, Mass., has 30 libraries, and 10 other novels; also about 15 different kinds of books, how to do magic, riddles and their answers, to exchange for useful books. Write and he will tell particulars. All letters answered. MISCELLANEOUS.—B. C. Nash, 100 Palmer ave- nue, Syracuse, N. Y., has books by Optic, Alger, dition; magic lantern, with six dozen slides; Paul FE. and others, to exchange for best offer in Goon Nrws, ete.; also has thousands of Columbian stamps from one cent to one dollar. Send list and receive his. READING MATTER.—Fred Gensel, 2111 Hunting Park avenue, Philadelphia, Pa., has Goop Nrws from 178 to 267; New York Weekly, Volume 48, No. 51 and 52; Volume 49, No, 1 to 38; over 50 other story papers, and 17 5-cent novels to exchange for punching- bag, or best offer. No stamps orcoins wanted. MISCELLANEOUS.—Ernest YV. I. Linn, New Brighton, Pa., has illustrated story papers, books, typewriter, foreign stamps, etc., to exchange for print- ing press and outfit. All letters answered. COINS.—Frank Kohlhoff, Perth Amboy, N. J., has an 1877 penny to exchange for a United States coin, All letters answered, BOYS’ PAPERS.—F. B. Bruce, care of J. B. Red- wine, 29 KE. Alabama street, Atlanta, Ga., has 30 copies of Goop News, and 50 copies of other boys’ papers to exchange for one set of boxing-gloves in good condition, or best offer in reading matter. READING MATTER,.—Arthur Delany, 3303 Cali- fornia street, Omaha, Neb., has the year of 1847 Tiustrated London News, bound and in good order; also Goop NEws for 1894, to exchange for best offer. Communications answered. STA MPS.—Chris, J. McCarthy, care of Wm. Reilly, 537 East 88d street, New York city, has 1,000 old and new United States stamps, and 40 Old Dominion coupons to exchange for best offer. Punching-bag preferred. GOOD NEWS.—George J. Korte, care of John Burkheiser, 142 Gratiot avenue; Detroit, Mich., has Goo1 Ews from No. 180 to date to exchange for foreign and United States coins: Must be in good condition. All letters answered. CONFEDERATE BILL.—Chas. Slawson, 1822 Pasin street, St. Louis, Mo., has a $50 Confederate bill to exchange for best offer. READING MATTER.—F. H. Thompson, Basnett, Marion Co., W. Va., will exchange the Life of Wild Bill and Kit Carson (cloth-bound and over 800 pages) for Goop News, beginning with No. 238 to 264, in good condition. Write first. BOYS’ PAPERS.—C. Ray Kugler, 1209 West Washington street, Maston, Pa., hasone year’s list of Goop News, also 50 or 75 other boys’ papers, all good Boys! Girls! Here’s your chance; don’t let it pass. he Goop Nrws Seraps and Patches Corresponding 1, reading stories, and a few detective novels, to ex- change for best offer. Our inducements are plenty and of the best, while our | stree initiation fee and dues are small. Can you ask for | light harmonica, with ivory sounder, cost 50 cents; one D M. Hohmer concert harmonica, cost 75 cents; now. Badge 38cents. Send piece of poetry or such for | admission fee. Frank 8. Purviance, 1240 Leffingwell Kruckmann, stage manager. Title of sir knight or lady | Join the [ron City Goon Nrws Club. This club will | book, and our club organ, The Club Informant and | each State made representative. Address Louis F. | For full particulars ad- | and Canada. A nice novel, five mixed stamps, a | handsome new membership card, and 4-page list of | members given to all joining. Admission fee, 10 cents; | plaiting and polishing outfit, battery, brushes, buffs, | Ellis, and others; volumes of magazines, in good con- ! Wirt fountain pen; also Dana’s Manual of Geology, | NEWS. 42335 ' | HARMONITCAS. t, Burlington, Ralph W. Brown, 838 Spring Iowa, has one C Brentano’s De one B M. Hohmer concert harmonica, cost 50 cents, and one A M. Hohmer harmonica, cost 30 cents, all in good condition, to exchange for 5-cent novels in before 168. GOOD NEWS. has Good News to exchange for best offer. STAMPS.—N. R. Lowry, 3306 King street, Austin, every novel, or copy of Goop NEws. change electric bell, battery, etc. has all sorts of electric things to exchange. Would like to correspond with other electricians. All letters and postals answered. NOVELS.—E. C. Hunter, Slippery Rock, Pa., has 1 5-cent novel for every 3,4, or 5-cent Colambian stamp; 1 10-cent novel for every 6 or 8-cent; 1 20-cent novel for every 10 or 15-cent; 1 30-cent novel for every 25-cent; 1 25-cent novel for every 4 or 5-cent; 1 50-cent novel for every 30-cent Columbian; bound books, | value $1, for every 50-cent stamp; also boys’ papers | for stamps. | i : ELECTRICAL GOODS.—Jas. T. Steen, 85 Main | Street, Greenville, S. C., has a 1-12 horse-power motor, and 3 cells of storage battery to exchange for an in- | duction coil, dynamo, or best offer. |} BOYS’ PAPERS.—T. W. street, Syracuse, N. Y., has 22 | pers to exchange for the best stamp or stamps. United | States or Confederate stamps preferred. WAR RELIC.—E. M. Albin, 54 Lewis lane, New London, Conn., would like to exchange one grape | shot, fired on Fort Griswold in the War of 1812, for the good condition, or best offer in GooD Nrws from 1, or Lawrence Cain, Hillsboro, Texas: | after we receive them every 25 stamp papers sent him; 30 foreign stamps for Egan, Jr., 228 Seymour | numbers of boys’ pa- | ur Matl Bag. [Questions on subjects of general interest only are dealt with in the ‘“‘Mail Bag.” Medical or legal questions not answered. Goop Nrws xoes to press two weeks in advance of date of publication, and hove fore answers cannot appear until two or three weeks Communications intended for this column should be addressed Goop NEws “Mail Baz,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.] Texas, will give 2-cent rose Confederate stamp for - Fresh Frank, Houston, Tex.—l. “Mat Merriman Abroad” was begun in No. 151 of Goop NrEws, and ELECTRICAL ARTICLES.—Joe C. Grellner, 1237 | ended in No. 163. 2. “Zig-Zag, the boy Conjurer,” was North 13th street, St. Louis, Mo., would like to ex- | begun in No. 192, and ended in No. 204. 3. “Between , for other articles; | the Lines’? was begun in No. 28, and ended in No. 44. 4. Goop NrEws was started in May, 1890. 5. ‘The soy from the West” was contained in Nos. 215 to 227, inclusive. 6. Some of the leading serials in Volume 1 were: “‘Where He Got His Money,” “Only an Irish Boy,” “‘A Sailor in Spite of Himself,’ ‘‘Enola,” ‘On Land and Sea,” “The Cave of the Island,” “‘Down the | Slope,” “‘Cadet Carey,” ‘“‘Guy Harris, the Runaway,” ‘Ransomed,’ “His Own Master,’ and ‘Midshipman Merrill.””. In Volume 2 appeared among others: ‘*The | Cave on the Island,” “Grit,” ‘Jim Ridley’s Luck,’ “Nothing But a Boy,”’ “‘White Horse Fred,” “Between } i the Lines,” “Lieut. Carey’s Luck,” and ‘‘The Slaves of the Circus.” Don Kirk, Cleveland, Ohio.—The national colors of Great Britain are red and blue; of the United States, Stars on the blue, with white and red stripes. The Austrian colors are red, white, and blue; the Bavar- ian, red; those of Denmark, red, with a white cross; | those of France, blue, white, and red; of the Nether- j} lands, red, white, and blue; of Portugal, blue and | White; of Prussia, white; of Russia, white with a blue cross; of Spain, black, yellow, and red; of Switzer- land, red with a white cross; of China, yellow, and of Mexico, green, white, and red. Would like to hear from amy one having stamps D. A. J., Hartford, Conn.—Almostevery typewriter, to exchange for reading matter. READING MATTER AND STAMPS.—Chas. B. | Adams, 2358 East Norris street, Kensington, Phila- | delphia, Pa., has Goop News, Goop NEws libraries, | novels, and stamps to exchange for best offer in | stamps, or banjo. List of books on application. In- close a 2-cent stamp. | i | | best offer in stamps within five days after this notice. | Lake Co., Col., has 3 bound books of travel and | adventure, valued at $2, to exchange for best offer in |; Good News. Bound volumes or running numbers | preferred. STAMPS.—R. H. Sankey, Greenville, Pa., has 400 common United States stamps, in good condition, to exchange for 10 comic libraries, in good condition. Write at once. All letters answered. MISCELLANEOUS.—Melvin B. Ellison, Box 161, Milton-on-Hudson, N. Y., has 100 curious shells, reading matter, ete., to exchange for best offer in Columbian stamps, or United States stamps above the 2-cent issue. NOVELS.—L. M. Libbey, 6 Holland street, Somer- ville, Mass., will give 10 new half-dime novels for the best offer in old English stamps. Send full descrip- tion of stamps. BILLIARD TABLE.—Harry Haigh, 108 Wall street, New York city, has a marble bed, rubber cushion billiard table, with fittings, cost $200, to ex- change for bicycle, or best offer; $4.50 scroll saw for foreign stamps. NOVELS.—Frank B. Sommer, 713 North Campbell | avenue, Chicago, Ill., has 30 5c. novels, all new, to ex- change for best offer. AJl letters answered. PICTURE CARDS.—Guy I. Griggs, 212 Windsor street, Atlanta, Ga., has 300 picture cards to exchange for base-ball (League) and mitt, or best offer. Write and receive answer before sending. MISCELLANEOUS.—R. V. Perine, Box 351, West- field, N. J., has 1 date printer, cost $2, large size type; Goop News from No. 183 to No, 247, inclusive, and a lot of Columbian and foreign stamps to exchange for best offer,Goop Nrws and boys’ books preferred; | also book entitled ‘Life of General U.S. Grant’ for Goop News from No. 245 to date. Make offer for one or all of the above, stating what you have. NOVELS.—L. Kubicki, 16 East Twenty-fourth street, Kansas City, Mo., has 20 25¢. books (new), will give 1 for every 15c. Columbian stamp sent him, 2 for every 30c.,and4 for every 50c; also Vol. 10 of Goon News for Columbian and U.S. stamps not in his col- lection. MISCELLANEOUS.—Edgar M. Garde, 13 East street, Providence, R. I., has 65 5c. novels, 10 25c. nov- els, over 250 boys’ papers, 25 theater programmes, and 1 large dark lantern to exchange for best offer in Co- lumbian stamps. All letters answered. OLD COINS, ETC.—Otto A. Hartmann, 2 Wilkin street, Rochester, N. Y., desires to correspond with parties having old coins and books to exchange for | story papers, picture albums, etc. Send for list. —_—___~>_¢ > _____- SERVING UNWELCOME VISITORS. During the Franco-German war a couple of hundred Uhlans arrived in a Norman village. One of the peasants hurried to a |neighboring hamlet to warn a_ well-to-do farmer that he might expecta visit from unwelcome raiders. The farmer was equal to the emergency. Calling his wife and ‘daughters, all went to work with a will. Torn quilts, tattered petticoats, dilapfdated gowns, were thrown over the backs of the cattle, enveloping them up to their horns, while their feet and their heads were bound with straw. Then the sheep and goats were treated in the same fashion; bottles of medicine were scattered about; a large trough was filled with water, and in its midst was placed a great syringe. Up came the Ublans, but at sight of the strangely attired animals and the monster squirt they hesitated. At last one of the troopers inquired what was the matter. ‘‘The rinder-pest,’’ said the farmer. He had to answer no more questions; his visitors turned their horses’ heads and galloped off at their best speed, to make requisiton elsewhere. a THE Chinese send three invitations to the guests whom they desire to see at their great repasts. The first is dispatched two days before the feast; the second on the day itself, in order to remind those they expect of their engagement; and the third just before the hour has struck, so as to show how impatient they are to see their friends arrive. BOOKS.—Roy Giles, 408 West 4th street, Leadville, | 4,000 stamps (many rare), 100 picture cards, $7 worth of sooner or later, has trouble with the eyes. The type- writing machine is supposed to save the eyes, but the effect is quite the contrary. The rapid jerking of the eye from one point to another on the little keyboard, soon tires the muscles, and makes the eyes, and some. times the whole head ache. The only way to save the eyes when using a typewriting machine, is to acquire | such facility that it is not necessary to look at the key- board. A. F. H., St. Louis, Mo.~-1. No. 2. Mr. Trowbridge isalive. Helives near Boston. 3. The first number of Good Nerws contained the first installment of “Where He Got His Money,” by Oliver Optic; “A Sailor in Spite of Himself,’ by Harry Castlemon; “Oniy an Irish Boy,” by Horatio Alger, and “Enola the Gypsy Captive,” by Edward 8S. Ellis. 4. ‘Loyal to Napoleon’’ is strictly in accordance with historical facts, as are all of Mr. Armitage’s stories. Sel Bruce, Portland, Ore.—An excellent cement for leather belting, or for cementing leather and wood, may be made by dissolving two parts, by weight, of gutta-percha in five parts of bisulphide of caroon and one part of oil of turpentine, and then adding two parts of powdered Syrian asphalte. After standing a few days the mass becomes the consistency of honey. The leather must be cleaned with benzine before ap- | plying the cement. M. St. P., Los Angeles, Cal.—l. Yes, he is a real character. 2. He was never married. 3. He is still alive. 4. Youarean American. 5. Theaverage height of a boy of 16is 5 feet, 1 or 2 inches, and he should weigh about 90 Ibs. 6. You should not think of adopting the stage before you are eighteen, at the very earliest. Poet, Cimcinnati, Ohio.—The humber of English words which have no rhyme in the language is very large—five or six thousand. Among other words to which there are no rhymes may be mentioned month, silver, liquid, spirit, chimney, warmth, gulf, sylph, | music, breadth, width, depth, honor, iron, echo. | J. E. H., Memphis, Tenn.—1. March 17, 1876, fell on | Friday. 2. The average height of a boy of 19 is 5 feet, | 4cr 5 inches, and his weight about 110 pounds. 3. No, the skater is J.S. Johnson, and the bicycle rider is L. H. Johnson. The former is from South Carolina, and the latter from New York. Slack- Wire Zip, Plainfield, N. J.—Growth does not cease until the age of twenty-five. Itdoes not, how- ever, follow that you will grow any taller, although you may a9 so, You cannot promote your height by exercise or gymnastics. R. M. H., Fort Wayne, Ind.—The most easterly point of the United States is Quoddy Head, Me.; the most westerly, Attoe Island, Alaska; the most nor- therly, Point Barrow, Alaska; the most southerly, Key West, Florida. T. M., New York city.—It is impossible to tell what the coins are from the meager description you give. Send rubbings of them with the inscriptions, and we will give you the information you desire. H. K., Pittsburgh, Pa.—l. Yes, there is such a thing as burned lead. It is used by plumbers for soldering: 2. You can get crystal of a jeweler. 3. There is no premium on the cent of 1826 or that of 1838. B. G. N., Syracuse, N. Y.—1. Probably you can get Volume 1 of Goop NrEws by inserting a notice in our Exchange Department. 2. The numbers you desire will cost you five cents apiece. Ignoramus, Selma, Ala.—The grammar of the French language can be acquired by diligence, in twelve months; the pronunciation requires the aid of an accomplished master. L. C. D., Utica, N. Y.—The mean distance of the sun from the earth is now given as 92,965,000 miles. It is measured by observations on the velocity of light. H. E. G., Deadwood, 8S. D.—We should say that the firm was all right. They have a good rating. CC, New York city.—The $500 Confederate bill is worth from five to ten dollars. {Several communications left over to be answered neat qweek. | —<+- °-->____- THE USUAL THING. The other day Lionel was at a matinee with his father, and, when a trapeze acro- bat failed to catch the object at which he flew through the air, and fell sprawling in- to the net, the little boy was greatly ex- cited. ‘“‘They are never hurt,’’ explained his father; ‘‘it is a regular trick to make such a miss once or twice to give the audience an idea of the difficulty of the feat, and there- by to intensify the applause when it has been successfully performed.”’ Lionel thought a moment, and, with a bright smile, said: ‘‘Do you think I could please my teacher by coming to the circus and missing my lessons now and then?’’ > + > - JAPANESE children are taught to write with both bands. 5S me arn pape AGS. <5 Sia a ees nee OR; FUN ALIVE ON OLIVE STREEHT. ee CD Mag ae Author of CHAPTER X. FRANK SHOWS MERCY. Chopsey! what’s the mat- G7 ELLO, Chopsey! g i — ter??? I So Fresh Frank greeted the China- Coy man, after a moment of mutual silence. ‘*Vil yi! Me gottee heapee muchee tloot achee. Where denty-man? Want gittee him yank out, heap quickee.’ “Got a toothache, have you?’’ ‘*VYap; achee belly muchee. sleepee all night.”’ ‘*Well, now, that is too bad, Chopsey, but it looks like you would have to grin and bear it.’’ ‘*No, no; me no standee him any more; must come outee! Where denty-man? Me givee him dolla’, spottee cash, allee same he pullee blame tloot out double quickee. Me had nuffee!’’ ‘‘That is just where the pain is—not your tooth, but the other pain,’’ said Frank. ‘‘P. Smithkin’ Baker has gone away, and he won’t be home till this afternoon at two o’clock sharp. If you can keep up the ache till he comes, Chopsey, I bet he will soon fix———?? ‘“*Yi!l yi! yi! Me no can waitee! go findee ’nothel denty-man!’’ ‘*Hold on,’’ said Frank; ‘‘that won’t do; we can’t let good dollars ‘pass like that, in this establishment. Here’s plenty of tongs 8; maybe you can pull it yourself. [ won’t charge you any more, if you can.’’ ; ‘*No, no; me no can pullee him; me tlied alleady, but makee no go. Tlied on stlong stling, made him belly muchee tightee, t’en tlied flati’on on to othel end of stling; and thlow flati’on like funnee. Hi! yi! Almost jerk blame headee off, but not pullee tloot.’’ Frank had to laugh at the novel descrip- tion. ‘*Well, these tongs won’t slip, Chopsey, you can bet your life on that; you had better give ’em a try.’’ ‘*No, no; me no can pullee him; you no can pullee him?’’ ‘¢Me??? ‘‘Yap!? ‘*Hadn’t thought of that, Chopsey, mebby Ican. Hate to see P. Smithkin Baker lose that dollar, and it ’pears as if the tooth won’t take a vacation on the ache till he gets here——’’ ‘No, no; he no stoppee; you no pullee him, me go——’’ ‘Hold on, I'll tackle it.’’ ‘*You tly it?’’ **Yes, [ll pull that tooth jor break my arm trying. Plant yourself in that big chair, Chopsey.’?’ ; The Chinaman, evidently suffering great pain, hastened to the chair, and sat down, and Frank went to the assortment of for- ceps to make a selection, picking out the largest and strongest pair he could find. ‘*Now, then, Chopsey,’’ rolling up his sleeve; ‘‘which one is it?’’ The Chinaman opened his Gapacious mouth, and indicated a long, yellow fang as the offending member. ‘*That him,’’ he declared. blame quickee!”’ ‘*All right; lay back your head.’’ Chin Chop obeyed. Frank applied the forceps, took a good grip, and pulled. The tooth did not come, but the China- man did; he grabbed Frank’s hand with both of his, and rose right out of the chair. ‘Vil yii!! yiii!!!’’ he yelled. ‘‘Stoppee! stoppee! You no can pullee him; you pullee blame head off! No goodee!”’ ‘Well, give me half a show,’’ said Frank, getting interested in the case. ‘‘I can’t pull it, if you are going to come loose like that, of course. Why didn’t you hold fast?’’ ‘*Holdee fastee?’’ “Yes; you followed me right up that time.’’ ‘You ’mos’ killee Chin Chop; bettee stoppee ; lettee me go findee n’othel denty- man. **No, sir-ee!’’ cried Frank. ‘‘We are open for business here, and that tooth is mine, and [am going to have it! Lay yourself back there once ymore, Chopsey, and give No muchee Must ‘*Pullee him * Jolly Jerry.” Frank looked around the chair at the various attachments, wondering if there was not some way to fasten his victim down. He tried one of the most prominent of the levers he saw, and, to his delight, a pair of clamps shot out and fastened themselves over the arms of the Chinaman, and he was thus effectually secured. ‘*Now we’ll see what we can do,’’ he ex- claimed, encouragingly. ‘‘We’ll see if we can’t fix that tooth between us, Chopsey, for it is too bad to think of your having to wait till two o’clock sharp, and of our losing the first chance at that dollar of yours. Open up, now.’’ Chin Chop opened his mouth again. Frank sprung up on the chair, and with one knee between the Chinaman’s legs and the other leg over the arm, and clapped on the forceps again. ‘‘ All ready?’’ he asked. A moan. Frank pulled with all the strength he had, and pulled out a saffron-hued yell a y yard long, but not the tooth. The tooth | seemed unwilling to come. Frank yanked | harder, but the forceps slipped off, and Chin Chop fell back yelling and kicking. ‘*No pullee! no pullee!’’ he cried. ‘Me gottee nuffee! Tloot feelee heap much bet- tee now; let me go; me pay dolla’ allee samee |’? ‘“*Can’t do it,’’ declared Frank. ‘‘That tooth has got to come. The reputation of this shop is at stake, and'when I begin a job I like to finish it. Open up once more, and I think T’1] have it.”’ ‘*No, no! “Yi! yi! yi! outee now !’’ ‘*Open up, I tell you!’’ Frank spoke sharply, and the Chinaman seemed to recognize in him a master spirit. He obeyed, anyhow, and Frank clamped on the instrument of torture for the third time, and, reaching over with his left hand, he got hold of the poor heathen’s pig-tail and pulled both ways. ‘*Hoong-a-loong-a-yunk-a!’’ screamed the poor Chinee. ‘‘ Yongayonkachinachinachun- kal!? ‘*Hold fast!’’ cried Frank, as he let up a little, but did not remove the ‘terrible tongs ; (Ow e’ll have it, you bet!”’ ‘You killee me! You killee me!’ ‘*No, you only think so, that is all; I wouldn’t’ hurt you for the world, Chopsey, old boy. Take a good long breath now, and I’ll bet we will fetch that tooth or pull your neck out till it will shame a goose! Are you ready?’’ ‘‘No, no, no! ,No pullee, no pull—hi! yii!! yiii!! Na Dh Frank had kwwinted the queue around his left hand, had clinched down extra hard on the forceps with his right, and this time he pulled with every ounce of strength he pos- sessed; and it would have been about even betting whether the tooth or the pig-tail would be the first to. start, “Pll have it, Chopsey, if I have to rupt- ure my suspenders to get it!’ cried Frank, letting go of the queue, but still holding fast to the tooth. ‘*Nuffee! nuffee!’’ the Chinaman tried to shout. ‘‘ Lettee ae lettee up! You killee me! you killee—~— Yiii—iiii—iii!!—'11”’ Frank had changed his position. He had swung around and grasped the forceps with both hands, and had braced both feet against the Chinaman’s chest, and the yell he pulled from his victim this time was of a brighter yellow than any that had pre- ceded it, and was spangled all over with stars, daggers, gold dragons and _hiero- glyphics. But the tooth still refused to come. Frank let out his strength to the limit, and then, of a sudden, came the terrible cul- mination! Me no wantee him (TO BE CONTINUED.) ooo THE FACE AS A QUIDE., In the man of average stature the height of the body is ten times the length of the face; the face from the chin to the hair is as long as the hand; the arm is four times the length of the face; the sole of the foot is MARR. AGE PAPER with 1,000 ads. and photos of marriageable people, many rich, lists of rare books, etc., free, GUNNELS’ MONTHLY, Toledo, Ohio. Mention Good News, HOTO camera with complete chemical outfit, 50c, Catalogue for stamp. CAMERA WORKS, 9 W. Broadway, New York. Me ntion Good News. at hidden my ste ries; 80-page book of true life ,containing 20 inter resting pictures, sent sealed in pee wrapper, for 10 cents in HE NDERSON, Drawer W.., stamps, or silver. Mes Bs Mention Good News. Kansas City, Mo. CAPT. WEBB’S Swimming Instructor, Containing all the practical swim- ming motions necessary. Al- most every ani- mal swims naturally on finding itself in water the first time, Price f 10 Cents. ee ae” Swimming, besides be- ing a use- ful sport, is also the most healthy. Anyone can learn the art by giving careful atten- tion to the rules laid down in this book. The following motions are fully described and illus- trated: Floating, Kick, Arm, Breast, Side and Racing Strokes, Swimming on the Back, Hand-Over- Hand, Swim. ming ‘Tricks, Plunging and Diving; also Parlor Practice, Artificial Aids, Bath Swimming, Cautions, Sea Bathing and Direc- tions for Restoring Apparently Drowned. This book will be sent, postpaid, to any address on receipt of 10 cents. Address, MANUAL LIBRARY, 29 een St., beat York. Good News Binder Price 50 Cents. Answers the purpose of a bound volume, fifty-two copies comfortably. 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It teaches Goashiig, “Reach, Finish, Feather, Recovery,.Grasp, Use of the Legs, Sliding Seats, Scnlling, ete. The book is illus- trated, and will be sent, postpaid, to any address on receipt of 10 cents. Address, MANUAL LIBRARY, 29 Rose St., New York. This cut is the exact size and style of the GOOD NEWS Club Badge. The badge is made of a high grade of German silver; artistic in design and something every reader will be proud to wear, Any reader send. ing us 10 centsin stamps or silver will receive a badge. Electroty pes for print- ing the badge on letter heads, cards, etc., will be sent post-paid on receipt of twenty-five cents. Ten cents is all that is required to secure this handsome badge. Address Goob NrWs Corre | sponding Club, 29 Rose street, New York. ‘Amateur’s Manual of Photography, S. & S. MANUAL LIBRARY, No. 6. PRICE, 10 CENTS. A hand-book of practical instructionsin the arto dry -plate photography. Itisa complete guide to this fascinating art. Fully illustrated. 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Volume One out of print. HOW TO MODEL, SAIL B OATS s AND BUILD A BOAT. Everything relating to boats is fully illustrated and explained in plain terms with an avoid ° ance of technical words, Complete chap- ters on modeling a boat,ship building, rigging of ship,etc. Among the illus ° trations will be found: model for o A deck of cutter, diagram of forma of boat, form of stern, model of schooner, sheer plan of 3 te ship, half breadth plan, f body plan, the keel- LA) He son, planking, cat- head, knotsand splices, step- J ping a mast, a . 2 etc. e ” Witter Line. $ eee x Lasel Japs tass Berl} eee 3 This valuable book, entitled Boys’ Own Book of Boats, will be sent postpaid to any ad- 1 C Address MANUAL LIBRARY, dress on receipt of price, . 29 Rose St., New York, MOTHER mg, fucken Be sure to use **Mre. Winslow's Soothing Syrup” for yourchildren while Teething. 25 cents a bottle. 10 CENTS BACH, or 8S ROR 2 NLY A FEW LEFT. While they last we will send the following books to any address, on receipt of 25 CENTS: There will be no reprint editions. AFLOAT WITH A CIRCUS; OR, THE DIAMOND-SEEKERS OF NATAL. By Henry L. Biuack. BOY CARIBAU-HUNTERS 3 OR, THE TREASURE-TROVE OF HUDSON BAY. By C#as. B. Cross. WESTWARD HO; OR, THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING. By Henry L. Brack. ARTHUR HELMUTH. BY Epwarp 8. ELLIs. one-sixth the length of the body; six times me one more try.’ The poor Coléstial obeyed. the thickness of the hand in the thickest place equals the thickness of the body. You may never again have such a good opportunity to secure stories by these celebrated authors remarkably low price of TEN CENTS EACH, OR THREE FOR TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. address STREET & SMITH, 29 Rose Street, New Yorks Early orders requested. WORKING HIS WAY; OR, THE BROOKVILLE BOY’S CLUB. By DwicgHT WELDEN. ALL ABOARD; OR, THE RIVAL BOAT CLUBS. By WELDEN C. CoBB. CAMP AND CANOE; OR, THE RED JACKETS IN FLORIDA. By St Grorer RATHBORNE. -» THE RAJAH’S FORTRESS. BY WM. MURRAY GRAYDON. at tbe