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FIGHTING THE KING OF THE WHITE CAPS.

BY JOHN H,. WHITSON,
Author of ‘Among the Gypsies.”

 

   

 

CHAPTER I. eS on the wet boughs, shaking down
| a shower of jewels at each movement of his
CLYDE AND CASPER BECOME ACQUAINTED. | ugly head.

; ; | The donkey’s bridle had been removed,
Vy WAYSIDE brownie, on a stone, } but there was a rope about his neck to serve
\ dropping big tears, was Casper Wein- | for a halter, and on his back rested a pack.
“AS brenner. Around him billowed the| The boy of fifteen gave the donkey hardly
<> ragged, rocky ridges of the Ozark|a thought. Certainly he saw nothing of the
Mountains. In front of him ran a road of | wild beauty of the hills. He was too utterly

sone = yellow clay, washed and gullied by the heavy | lonely and miserable to get any pleasure
CLypE CONNER, BY DINT OF MUCH SCRAMBLING AND SLIDING, FOUND HIMSELF, raip that had searcely ceased falling. from the bright sunlight and the shining
FINALLY OUT OF THE PIT. Beyond the road, a few yards, a donkey ! leaves.

 

 

 

 
  

2

Brownies are not supposed to have heart-
aches, and a weeping brownie ina weeping
world would be very much out of place.
But Casper Weinbrenner, in spite of his
chubby, roly-poly appearance, was a very
real boy, oppressed by a very real sorrow.

Suddenly a shot rang out some distance
away, followed quickly by another, and
Casper dashed aside his tears and stood upon
the rock to look and listen. He could see
nothing, but soon he heard a faint call in
the direction of the shots.

Leaving the donkey to care for himself,
Casper scrambled down from the rock, hop-
ped across the muddy road and scampered
through the post oaks, hearkening for a
repetition of the call.

It came again, directing his steps, and
quickening his pace. He replied with a loud
halloo; then ran on for a quarter of a mile
until he came to what he had thought the
top of the ridge.

Here the earth and rock seemed to have
been chopped clean away, leaving a pit. At
the -bottom of this pif, and unable to get
out, he saw a boy, who was perhaps a little
older than himself, and slender instead of
rotund. This boy held a shotgun, and at his
feet lay three or four gray squirrels.

‘‘However did you get in there?’’ Casper
asked, surveying the boy with much surprise,

In spite of his excitement, the words were
slowly and deliberately spoken, and a pecu-
liarity of accent quite impossible to repre-
sent in print told that Casper Weinbrenner
was a German, or of German parentage.

‘*Rasy en@ugh to tell that! I fell in—and
now | find I can’t fall out! I was trying to
get a shot at a squirrel, when my feet
slipped from under me and down I came
without being able to stop myself. I was
in here a_ half-hour before I found I’d
have to get help or stay, and then [ began
to shoot and call. I suppose you heard the
gun?’’

The uptutned face was openand pleasant,
the speech nervous and quick, the action
impulsive. The manner, as well as the at-
tire, suggested one accustomed to cities or
large towns, and the soft, white hands and
the handsome, Greener breechloader told
that he was a boy used to wealth and unused
to work.

‘*T got turned round this morning, while
I was gunning,’’ he went on. ‘‘The road’s
over there, isn’t it? Can you help me to get
out?’’

“T was just thinking about that,’’ said
Casper. ‘‘I haven’t any long rope, and if I
climb down there I will be like you!”’

He took off his hat and scratched his
yellow head.

‘*You just wait there a minute! I believe
J can fix it!’’

On his way thither he had seen a wild
grape vine, long and pliant, clinging to an
oak, and trailing down over the rocks. It
might serve for a rope.

He ran back to it, and with infinite pains
and a sore loss of time cut away a length of
fifteen or twenty feet. He found it very
heavy and unwieldy, and laid it on the
ground until he could fetch the donkey; so
that, when he got back to the edge of the
pit with the donkey and the vine, fifteen or
twenty minutes had elapsed.

“The face of the imprisoned boy cleared,
when he beheld Casper again looking down
at him. .

‘‘T was almost afraid you’d gone off and
left me; and I was beginning to think hard
things of you, but I’ll take them all back.
Do you suppose you can pull me out?”

‘¢Jim can do that. Any way, he can pull
and help you to climb out yourself. Jim,
he’s my donkey !’’

“Oh, he’s a donkey, is he? I thought he
was a man. Well, I wish you’d hurry him
up.”’

Casper drew back from the rim of the pit
and spent some moments in securing an end
of the grape vine to the donkey’s neck by
means of the halter rope.

Jim was very obedient and dacile; and,
after what seemed a long while to the boy in
the pit, the free end of the grape vine
writhed down the rocks like a snake and
rested on the bottom.

*‘Can you make a loop in it, for you to
put your feet in?’’

Casper sprawled himself out on the edge of
the cavity, with head and shoulders hang-
ing perilously over, and began to give in-
structions, with his charactgristic slowness.

/Though the vine cracked and shivered un-
der the contortions to which it was subjected
it did not break; and a loop was finally
made in accordance with Casper’s ideas.

“Tf I only had an ax or hatchet, it
wouldn’t be much trouble. I’d chop one of
these trees half through and let the top drop
into the pit; then you could go up the tree
trunk like a squirrel. I say, I don’t know
what to call you! What’s your name?’’

Casper grew quite voluble, and wholly
forgot the trouble ‘that had caused him to
weep so sorely only a short time before.

‘*Name’s Clyde! Clyde Conner! What’s
yours?’

Casper shouted the desired information ;
then, seeing Clyde strap his gun and squir-
rels to his back and set his feet in the loop,
he ran to guide the donkey.

This first effort, however, was a failure.
The taut vine cramped tightly against the
rim, and cracked threateningly, while the

rope cut so cruelly into the donkey’s neck

 

 

 

GooDpD

and shoulders that Casper felt forced to
desist.

‘¢Put the loop around your waist, bang on
by your hands and help yourself with your
feet and we'll try it again!’’ he called, when
the vine hung slack against the wall.

This plan brought better results. The
donkey tugged and strained, Casper alter-
nately commanded and shouted, and Clyde
Conner, by dint of much scrambling and
sliding, and at the expense of many
scratches and bruises, found himself, finally
out of the pif.

‘*] don’t know how I can pay you for
this,’’? he said, when he had got his breath
and brushed his clothing... ‘‘I don’t know
just what would have happened to’ me if
you hadn’t come to my help!”’

‘““That’s all right. 1 don’t want any pay!
Any boy would do that much !’’

‘Of course he would; but I’d like to make
it even, somehow. Where do you belong?’’

Casper’s face fell. The question brought
back to him his miserable condition.

‘¢J-T— well, I can’t say that I belong
anywhere! I’ve been staying with Mr.
Onderdonk, in the valley down there. Now
I’m thinking of trying to make my way
back to Iowa.”’

Clyde, who had seated himself on a fallen
log, gave a whistle.

“That’s a good ways from here!”’

‘“‘T know it is. I came from there with
Mr. Onderdonk. I haven’t any home, you
see—any father or mother. I lived for a
while with my uncle in Iowa, Mr. Seifker;
but I guess he got tired of me; for, when
Mr. Onderdonk moved to Missouri, last year,
Uncle Seifker sent me here, too!’’

‘And this Mr. Onderdonk has discharged
you, eh? Sent you adrift?”’

‘¢Ves,??

‘*Why did he do that?”’

The German boy flushed till his fat face
looked like a red moon.

‘‘Well, I tried to do everything he told
me to, to suit him with the work and to be
good to the children !”’

He hesitated, then laughed, though the
tears began to gather in his eyes.

‘‘We didn’t always get along the best in
the world. He drove his work awful hard.
Out before daylight and in after dark, six
days in thé week; with all the stock to feed
and the chores to ’tend to on Sunday! It
kept me going, though I was sleepy-headed
sometimes, for I’m pretty fat, you see—but
it wasn’t that!’’

‘¢No??? ‘

“(Tt all came about through Jim! Jim was
always more sleepy-headed than me. I don’t
think I ever saw him kick and run but that
one time!’?

Casper confidentially took a seat at Clyde’s
side.

‘“You see, it was just this way! Mr.
Onderdonk’s got a boy about my age, named
Sam, and we never could get along together
very well. Sam always shouldered the hard
work on me, which, of course, | didn’t
like.”’

‘‘Nobody would like that !’’

‘“‘That’s what I thought. Well, what I did
was done just in fun, for I didn’t mean to
hurt Sam, even though I didn’t like him! I
helped him to saddle and mount the donkey
yesterday, and in fastening the girth I
slipped a burr under it.

“Jim twisted and. squirmed a bit before
he was mounted; and, as soon as Sam was in
the saddle, he started off like a flash, jump-
ing and pitching just like a Texas pony.
thought he was going over the fence, but he
stopped short, and it was Sam that went
over the fence, head first into a patch of
briars.

‘¢He was scratched up pretty bad, and his
shoulder was hurt; and Jim broke the sad-
dle girth before he got rid of the saddle;
and—and——”’

Clyde could not help laughing at Casper’s
solemnly lugubrious face.

‘Well, Mr. Onderdonk was mad! He was
owing me, too. So he told me to take the
donkey for my pay, and to cut out of there
as quick as I knew how. Mrs. Onderdonk
gave me a little bread and meat—enough
for my breakfast this morning, and I
haven’t had a bite to eat since!’’

‘¢ And here it’s almost night !’’

‘*T stayed in a hunter’s cabin just beyond
the ridge al] through the rain, but where
Ill stay to-night I don’t know!”’

‘*And I stayed in a hole under a ledge!’’

Clyde looked at his watch, a handsome
gold time piece, and at the declining sun.

‘*How far is that hunter's cabin? There
are no settlers anywhere near, I think?’’

‘“There’s a Mr. Jobson, about five miles
up this road, and the cabin is about half a
mile !’”

Clyde stood up and looked thoughtfully in
the direction indicated.

‘‘T tramped farther than I thought after
these squirrels. What do you say to our
trying that cabin together to-night? I’ve
got some matches, and if we can find enough
dry wood for:a fire we’ll cook the squirrels.
Maybe, when we talk the thing over, you’d
like to go with me, instead of trying that
long tramp back to Iowa. I’m needing some
one. I was thinking of hiring a man; but I
don’t see why you wouldn’t do as well, if
you’d like the place!’’

‘‘What is it??? Casper eagerly questioned,

  

NEWS.

‘| without company.

 

as they moved together toward the donkey.
‘‘Why, you see, my father, Philip Conner,

is a broker and real estate dealer in Mem-
phis; and he got a lot of land out here, just
below Marey, in a trade, which he hasn’t
seen. He thinks there’s a good deal of min-
eral in it; lead, and stuff like that; and, as
I’ve been wanting a vacation for some
time, he told me I might run up here ona
hunting trip and look the land over, and see
if I thought he got cheated, as he didn’ thave
time to,’’

‘*T’ll be up here two or three weeks—five
or six, if I want to, and 1t’ll be too lonesome
The mountaineers don’t
count, you know! So, if you think you’d
like it, I'd be willing to hire you for that
long, and pay you well. The donkey would
come in handy, too, to bring down pro-
visions from Marcy !”’

It opened a new field of thought to Casper ;
and together they walked down the muddy
hill, with the donkey, and discussed the
question

CHAPTER II.
A RECKLESS UNDERTAKING AND ITS RESULT.

»*

“HE hunter’s cabin, to which Casper
| \? conducted Clyde Conner, was indeed
ft a poor affair; but the shelter it gave
7* was better than none. It was of logs,
and a hole in the roof, at one end, had let
in the rain and soaked a portion of the mud
floor, but the other end, which held the fire-

place, was comparatively dry.

The boys found some dry wood for kin-
dling, and soon had a grateful fire going.
In front of this fire they sat, as the night
darkened, while they toasted the squirrels
on gree: sticks and talked of the past and
the future. ;

Clyde had got off at a railway station
twenty miles away, that morning; and had
been brought by a wagon to the cross-roads,
five miles up the valley. Thinking to walk
the remaining distance to the land he was to
visit and inspect, he’ had cut across country,
for the purpose of hunting; had got lost, and
was now only about five miles from the point
where the wagon had left him.

‘*Tt must be about fifteen miles to that big
valley below Marcy, where you’re going,”’
said Casper, as he turned one of the squir-
rels on its stick. ‘‘The road’s up and down
a good deal, and mighty rocky and rough;
but we ought to walk it to-morrow without
any trouble.”’

“T don’t know about that. I feel powerful
sore. IL guess I bruised myself more than I
thought, when I fell into that pit.’’

Clyde felt of his stiffened muscles, and
siniled grimly,

Fatigue and fasting gave them such appe-
tites that they disposed of two of the squir-
rels, and could: have devgured more, even
though unsalted. Then they stretched them-
selves on the clay*floor in frontyof the fire
without covering. .

Late in the night Clyde heard an animal
leap into the branches of a tree near by and
heard its claws rattle on the bark. He ran
out with his gun, and got a shot at it; but
it sprang to the ground, as if uninjffred, and
disappeared in the darkness.

In the morning he found the prints of big,
cat-like feet in the wet clay, and Casper de-
clared that the visitor had been a wildcat.
Its tracks were followed with much eagerness
until they were lost in a rocky ravine,
through which tumbled a small stream,
swollen by the rain.

There was a placid pool a short distance
below the point where they struck the
stream, and Clyde, who had a line and
hook in his pocket, cut a slender pole for a
fishing-rod, got some angle worms.from
beneath a rotten log, and tried his luck.

The wild, free life intoxicated him and
made him forgetful of the weary miles to
be tramped that day. The sough of the
wind through the trees, the swaying of the
branches, the roar of the stream above and
below the pool, the glitter of the dew on
the grass spires, and the song of the birds,
filled him with delight. He felt that he
wanted to live forever in this Eden-like spot.

He found the pool too muddy for fishing,
however, and after a time rolled up his line,
cast away his pole and went back to the
cabin, where Casper was toasting the re
maining squirrels and getting ready for the
day’s journey, for it had been decided that
he was to accompany Clyde as a companion
and assistant.

Setting out after breakfast, with the don-
key, they struck a much larger stream,
shortly before noon, down which the clay
road ran toward the valley.

On the banks of this stream they got some-
thing to eat at the hut of a mountaineer,
for which pay was refused; and then plod-
ded on their way.

The rain had been a heavy one, Every-
where was the sound of singing waters. Into
this stream, which was called Mill Creek,
other streams roared and frothed, swelling its
volume until it became a raging torrent.
The road was rough and the clay sticky, and
Casper, as he waddled on, wiped the per-
spiration from his face and panted like a
porpoise.

‘It’s lucky we don’t have to cross this
creek !’? he declared.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t have any trouble!
You’re so fat and round you’d float like a
cork !”?

They had seen a bridge ahead which seemed

v-

 

on the point of being swept away, and

Clyde’s laughter was cut short by the crack-
ing of the bridge’s timbers, and the floating
off of some of the boards. ,

‘*There’s some one waiting to get across,
who’s too late!’ he exclaimed, pointing to
the opposite shore.

A girl, apparently fourteen or fifteen
years of age, had reached the bridge just at
the moment of the sweeping away of the
boards, and was now regarding the trem-
bling structure in much perturbation of
spirit.

She was seen to place a foot on a shaking
stringer and test it, and then draw back.
Other. boards were going all the time, torn
from their fastenings by the violence of
the waters, which had risen to the bridge’s
floor.

‘‘She’ll drown herself if she tries that
cried Clyde, and he waved his hat in some
excitement to warn her against the attempt.

She was deterred by a further fall of tim-
bers and ran back out of danger. Then the

ee

whole bridge collapsed, and was swept
down stream a short distance, where it

lodged against a fallen tree and formed &
‘*drift.”’

The girl looked dubiously after the float-
ing bridge; and, when it,lodged, she turned

up stream, as if she had given up the attempt

to cross.

The creek, even at its. widest, was narrow,
and, as she passed them on the opposite
shore, the boys saw her plainly. She was
slight of stature, with brown eyes, and clear,
dark features. Her dress was calico, of the
peculiar cut of the mountaineers, and sus-
pended by its strings from her neck hung @
‘‘slat?’ sunbonnet. She only glanced at the
boys, and hurried on with springy, buoyant
steps.

They were not left long in doubt as to her
intentions. Forty yards or so above them,
and on their side of the stream, a big oak,
which was so firmly rooted that the torrenb
could not affect it, stretched its boughs like
jong arms across the creek.

To a point opposite this oak she hurried;
then climbed to the top of a stump, and wit
a pole sought to draw one of the boughs ?
the oak down within reach of her hands.

The interest of the boys had so quickene
that they stood still in the muddy road, by
the side of the donkey, and watched het
movements.

A half‘dozen times was the bough prought
within-a yard of her outstretched fingers;
and each time it writhed from under the po? 6
in exasperating fashion and whipped ba¢
out of reach,

Then she caught the bough, dropped the
pole; and, before the boys could quite make
up their minds that she really intended t0
take such risks, she sprang from the stump
and sought to climb into the stronge?
branches. ’

Clyde shouted to her to go back, but his
words were too late.

Her weight brought the bough down ull
til her feet dragged in the water; and W iD
she sought again to draw herself up, it bega?
to crack. aes

‘¢Hold on!” Clyde cried, in much excite
ment, for he saw clearly that she was re
tined to fail in her rash attempt to cross x
stream. ‘‘Maybe we can help you if you ©
cling fast till we get there!’’

He raced up the stream, with
his heels. : ve

If she heard bis words, however, she 84
them no heed, but still tried to crawl
the branch to a place of greater secur} a
even though it cracked louder and Joude?s
and showed every sign of parting. teps

Before the boys had taken a dozen § a
the bough broke and split away at 4 -
and hurled her into the water. at

Instantly Clyde threw off his hat, bes”
vest and shoes, and plunged into the stret id
knowing that only by prompt effort Cy
she be saved. He heard her wild cry 8 ono
chilling waters closed about her ame jig
sank, and then he struck out boldly for
centre of the current. eit

Fortunately he was an expert swim.
The big Mississippi, which flows by Mem? not
had been his natatorium, and he bé a
neglected his opportunities. He wer oust
fectly at home in the water, and, #! nd
the current was strong, he breasted the
held bis head well up, looking £
unfortunate girl. t,

Casper stood as if paralyzed fora momen
then ran swiftly back to the don oo no
removed the rope from its neck. #@ t pelp
swimmer, but he thought he migh
by means of the rope. faces

‘Clyde \saw the girl rise to the wt @
struggling, and sink again, When § and,
up the second time, he was at her 5 h¢ to
grasping her by the shoulders, 8°02 per
support her and at the same time

Casper at

from clasping hit? and _ render t
helpless. ; y the
This was a difficult thing to do, JP wild

drowning girl threw out her hands Weevery
flerceness, and clutched frantically *
thing she touched. ipre-
Had she been in a condition #0 Could
hend and obey his instructions, cly _ but
have had little difficulty in rescuiné efforts:
her actions for a time baffled bis ge pead
However, he succeeded in holdin’ © oy iftl¥
above water, and thus they were”
swept down the narrow channel. the pavks
Casper, who was running along

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_ With the rope, anxious for an opportunity to
assist, now saw that they would be carried
beyond the road where the bridge had been
and down to the drift, if indeed Clyde’s
Pett proved sufficient to sustain them so
-long.

Boric: he ran at his best gait to the
lodged timbers of the bridge; and crawled
out on them, even though they were shaking
and quivering under the powér of the cur-
rent as if they meant to separate and float
away. :

From this point he shouted encouragingly
to Clyde, who was still trying to swim
ashore with the girl; and Clyde, seeing Cas-
per’s position and understanding his plan,

' Ceased his combat and allowed himself and

his burden to be floated toward the drift,
using only sufficient exertion to propel him-
self slightly toward the left bank near which
Casper clung with the rope.

With her head and face freed from the
terrifying and suffocating water, the girl’s
Mind had cleared, and, though she was still
immeasurably frightened, she had ceased
her struggles, and was doing her best to as-
Sist Clyde in his efforts. She clung to his
arms and shoulders with a grip that made
him wince, but she spoke not a word and
uttered no cry. Her lips and cheeks were
White as ashes, her brown eyes wide open
and scared, and her hair fell about her face
40 muddy wisps.

Casper’s face was as white as the girl’s,
though the whiteness was caused by anxiety
Tather than personal fear.

“Steady, now!’’ he called, as Clyde and
the girl drifted near. ‘‘Catch this rope
when I throw it. There, that’s good! Now,
hang on!”?

Clyde’s head went under, as_ he stretched

Out his hand and laid hold of the rope; but |
| now he broke in with:

It came up again in an instant; and he shook

® water out of his face, as he clung to the}

mre with one hand and to the girl with the
er,
Some skilful maneuvring was required to
Taw them ashore without breaking up the
drift, or permitting them to float under it;
ut Casper showed himself equal to the
Smergency. He crawled back, with an agil-
Aty that was really marvelous for one of his
‘ build, and then, gaining a securer place, he
Tose to his feet and towed them to the bank.
Clyde was so weak that he staggered and
fell as he tried to drag the girl up out of the
Water, and for a minute or two Casper was
®most perplexed boy in existence. His
Uanimity was restored, however, when

Bet
*) Clyde sat up and began to give orders.

“Oh, I’m all right, and so’s the girl.
You’re a noble fellow, Casper!”’

It was not vain praise, and Casper’s heart
SWelled with pleasure and gratitude.

CHAPTER III.
AT THE CABIN OF PINK PURKETT.

LYDE was corréct in saying that he

Ie and the girl were all right. The

girl recovered almost as quickly,

hi and tried to stand up. Clyde got on

18 feet, and he and Casper assisted her up

® bank, where they seated her on the

“Bround against a stoné. She was still some-
_ What dazed, as her actions showed.

tetddenly she started, and put a hand into

© pocket of her wet dress.

: the” look of relief that came to her face as

“ha hand closed on and drew out some
iicle was really comical.
hay 1 had lost that, Mother Purkett would
ave wanted to beat me!??
€n a little cry broke from her lips.
he ® held something tied up in a bit of
tho Paper, and the newspaper, which was
dan oughly soaked, was breaking, and in
eer of spilling its contents.
ceSper thrust his hat under her hand.
hei at have you got there?’’ Clyde
ther ds and then, as the paper split farther,
 Seeq Saw that it was a package of mustard
On
Better put them back in your pocket, if

You q , had
Adviger. © want to lose any of them,’’ Casper

look Obeyed without question, and then
s

As sh at the boys with increasing interest.
Peri} ® did so, a consciousness of the great
SWe from which she had been rescued
to et Over her, and she sprang, trembling,
a or feet,
don’t know how I can ever thank you
8 mn she staMmered, in English that
Migg 'Prismgly good fora child of the
(eur back woods.
Clyae” hot thinking anything about it,’’ said
ss ‘*You were a little foolish, though,
in that Say, for trying to get across the creek

hunpy9s, VY No doubt you were in a big
iy

ang , other Purkett wants that mustard seed,
it) €n she wants anything she must have

than rt. told me not to stay a minute longer

I came ro to. She was aching awful when

. Away !??

trentkious and perplexed, with her form

It seq Mg and her hair and clothing adrip,

Speq}, “°4 uncertain whether she meant to
ak op ery.

dro? 2e Was also as wet as the proverbial

Cagngct tat, and thoroughly chilled, while

, ay Was not altogether dry.
“You ,. 4k we'd better build a fire so that
Dow th, warm yourself, though I don’t
at there’s a good match left in my

 

 

 

case!’ Clyde suggested. ‘‘How far is it to
this Mother Purkett’s? I suppose that’s your
home???

‘*Just over there!’ and she nodded toward
the nearest hill, up whicha road ran, ‘‘Mr.
Purkett is gone and Mother Purkett’s all
alone and sick; and 1 must get back as quick
asI can. I don’t need any fire. I’m not at
all cold.’

She hesitated again and looked at Clyde.

‘*But you’re shaking like a leaf, and your
lips are as blue as indigo. If you’ll come
with me to the house you can warm yourself,
and I’m sure you need to dry your clothes.’’

Clyde got his vest and looked at his
watch.

‘‘How far isit to the valley—Grassy
Valley, I believe they call it—that lies below
Marcy, six or seven miles?’’

**You’re nigh about in the aidge of it,’’
she said, unconsciously drdpping into a
localism. ‘‘It begins over there a bit. We
live in the upper end of it.’?’

‘Then we're farther than we thought,’’
turning to Casper.

“Ts there an old cabin there?’’

‘‘Yes; about two miles from here.
gan’s Cabin, I reckon you mean.’’

‘‘Sure enough, that’s the name. I’d almost
forgotten it. And it’s two miles, you say?’’

‘“*Better go with me and get warm and
dry first,’’? she urged, anxious to do some-
thing to repay them for their exertions in
her behalf. ‘‘I don’t know what Mother
Purkett will say when she hears about me
falling into the crick!’?

‘‘We’ll say nothing about it, if you don’t
want us ta; though——’’

He looked dubiously at her wet dress and
soaked sunbonnet that hung limply by its
strings.

Casper was letting Clyde do all the talking;

Dug-

‘“‘T think you’d better go some place where
you can get warm, Clyde. You’ll catch an
awfulcold and maybe be sick if you don’t!’

So it was settled, and when Clyde had put
on his things, and the donkey was made
ready, they all started up the hill path
toward the Purkett cabin. ‘

The girl, who had introduced herself as
Jennie Scott, walked with them, and refused
to ride the donkey, though urged. She pre-
ferred to walk, she said, for that would
warm her and she was not used to riding.

Purkett’s cabin nestled in a cove-like ex-
tension of the valley, and was built of logs
that were chinked, and daubed with mud.
It was warm and reasonably clean, and
had two small rodéms below and a window-
less garret above. Jennie Scott hurried on
in advance, as they neared the place; and,
when she had entered the cabin, they could
hear the cracked voice of a woman rising in
angry inquiries.

“If I wuzn’t that he’pless that I cyant
move, I’d up an’ take the broom to ye, Jen
Scott, that’s what I would. Did ye fetch
me that air mustard? Fell inteh the river?’’

The last words were almost screamed.

Jennie Scott made reply; when the voice
dropped its high key and fellinto a mum-
bling, grumbling tone.

‘“Tell ’um to come in, then,’’ they heard,
and almost instantly the girl appeared .and
invited them to enter the house.

They were glad enough to do so, and glad-
der when the girl set the fire going and
heaped wood in the fireplace; for the even-
ing had grown raw, and they were well
chilled.

A woman, whom they knew to be Mother
Purkett, layon a bed in a corner of the
room, and they soon learned that she was a
helpless invalid, and had been so for a long
time. She was prematurely old and de-
crepit. Her face, however, which was un-
naturally white from lack of sunlight, was
not at all emaciated.

Her voice was sharp and -irritable, as if
from much scolding, and she peered at the
boys suspiciously as they advanced to the
fire.

“Mr, Pirkett he ain’t to home, though
he’ll be hyer bimeby. Jen, change yer
clo’es an’ put that air pot to b’ilin’, will ye,
an’ fix me that mustard. Seems lack’s ef my
side’s killin? me. Mebbe the mustard ’Il
dror out the pain. An’ git the boys some
o’ Pink’s ole cloe’s, if yu kin find enny that’s
fittin’, fer ‘um to wear!’?

Her commands flew thick and fast, and
the girl was kept in a constant state of bustle
and hurry to comply with them.

Some of Pink Purkett’s old garments were
brought from the garret and placed in the
back room, whither the boys retreated to
make the exchange. Clyde looked at the
things hesitatingly before shuffling off his
wet clothing.

‘“‘They’re not overly clean, but they’re
dry,’’ he whispered. ‘‘So, here goes. Beg-
gars mustn’t be choosers!”’

It is needless to say that neither the rotund
Casper nor the slender Clyde were fitted.
In fact, the clothes hung almost as loosely
on Clyde as if he were a pole, instead of a
boy, and he and Casper both looked like
caricatures in a comic paper.

Whey she had changed her own, their
wet clothing was hung out on the bushes by
the girl to dry, even. though the sun was
going down and night was at hand.

The tasks of Jennie Scott seemed multi-
tudinous, and when she finally took a bucket
and stool from a corner and said she must
go out and milk the cow, Clyde Couner’s

sense of what was proper and right would
not let him remain longer by the cozy
fireside.

He got up and went out, too, followed
shortly afterward by Casper.

The small and vicious cow, which was tied
in the shed near a pony, had kicked Jennie
Scott sprawling, and when Clyde came gal-
lantly to the rescue, and sought to do the
milking for her, he was bowled over in the
same fashion, much to his chagrin and
discomfiture.

‘*Let me show you how,’’ said Casper,
picking up an old rope that lay near. ‘‘Mr.
Onderdonk has some very bad cows, but I
always managed them,”’’

He-advanced cautiously, put the rope
around the cow’s body just forward of the
hip bones, and drew the rope tight. The
effect was magical. The cow was not tamed,
but she could not leap and kick; and Casper
taking the pail, milked her without trouble,
to the amazement and admiration of Jennie
Scott.

‘“*That air’s what [calls a mighty knowin’
trick. It jist air, an’ no mistake! Fu’st I
see you I taken you fer the Deeson boys, but
I see ye’re strangers in these hyar diggin’s.
Who might you-alls be, ennyhow?’’

They turned and saw in the open doorway
of the shed Pink Purkett, who was regard-
ing them with much curiosity.

 

CHAPTER IV.
CLYDE PASSES AN UNEASY NIGHT.

HE boys flushed under the questioning

gaze of.the mountaineer, which was
) bent so intently on the clothing they

wore; and Jennie Scott, coloring like
a peony, came forward to introduce them.

Purkett’s face underwent a sudden trans-
formation when Jennie Scott pronounced
the name of Clyde Conner, It was never a
handsome face, and now it took on a vicious
look that made it very unprepossessing.

Purkett was a man of medium height,
with long jaws covered with a shaggy beard,
aud eyes that now shifted uneasily. He
did not seem to be nearly as old as Mrs.
Purkett, though that might have been be-
cause she was an invalid, and he in good
health and strength.

‘‘That name ag’in, if ye please! Congdon,
did ye say?’’ giving Clyde a searching,
sidelong glance.

‘¢ Conner,’’ repeated the girl; ‘‘Clyde
Conner.’’

‘¢ An’ whur’ might ye hang out when ye’re
at home, ef [ may make so bold as to
inkwire? Not up the Springfiel’?’’

‘*Memphis,’’ said Clyde. ‘‘My father is a
broker there. He traded for some land in
Grassy Valley, which I’ve come down to
look at.’’

Pink Purkett pulled a splinter and picked
his teeth thoughtfully with it, striving to
hide his perturbation, while he listened
without -seeming to hear the story of how
the boys came to be at his cabin and arrayed
in his clothing.

‘*Of course you'll hatter stay with us over
night,’’ he declared, and still prodding at
his teeth with the splinter, he left the shed
and went to the house. ;

Casper finished the milking and the young
people soon followed Purkett,

After a supper of milk and corn meal
mush, with venison and bacon, which the
boys greatly relished, Pink Purkett tipped
his chair against the wal] and closely ques-
tioned them concerning their past history
and why they had come into that section.

His restless eyes glittered strangely while
Clyde was talking, but he refrained from
comment, and when the accounts were
finished he got out a battered fiddle.

‘*Would you mind singin’ fer the comp’ny,
to-night, Jen?’’ he asked, scraping the bow
across the strings and tuning the instrument.

Jen, from her corner, urged a headache as
an excuse, and, seeing that there was to be
no singing, the mountaineer’s fingers began
to caper and his bow to glide through the
strains of ‘‘ Money Musk,’’ and ‘‘The Arkan-
saw Traveler.’’ The old-fashioned music
fitted in perfectly with the surroundings,
and as Clyde looked out through the door-
way on the timbered: hill over which the
darkness was descending, he felt as if he
were thousands of miles from’ the world he
had so recently left.

‘*You two’ll hatter bunk in the garret,’’

Purkett announced, as he gave the fiddle a
final scrape, and put it carefully away in
its case. ‘‘You may find it a little clost,
but it air the best we kin do.’’
' As the boys were tired out and anxious to
get to bed, they thanked him for the offer,
though Clyde had many misgivings and was
on the point of backing out, when he had
climbed the ladder to the garret and saw
the place in which he was expected to pass
the night.

Purkett stuck a piece of candle on a _ box,
showed them the pallet they were to occupy
on the floor in the corner, andclimbed down
again without wasting unnecessary words.

‘*T don’t like the appearance of\this place,’’
Clyde whispered, as he surveyed it and re-
called the queer glances Purkett had given
him. ‘‘It looks too much like a trap!’’

‘It’s dry,’’ said Casper, disrobing as fast
.as he could. ‘‘I ain’t going to quarrel with
; a good bed and a dry roof.’’

 

Casper proved his assertion by falling

 

 

asleep almost immediately. .Clyde, however,
was not so fortunate. He rolled and tossed
from side to side, going over in memory the
events of the day, and hearing again and

| again Purkett’s suspicious accent and seeing

his questioning looks. He had left his gun
near the fireplace, but he had his watch and
seaked purse with him.

An hour or more passed in this manner,
during which Casper snored and chokingly
gurgled and tossed his arms and legsina
sd that was exasperating to the sleepless

oy.

At last, when he was falling into a half-
somnolent state, Clyde was aroused by
hearing his name spoken by Purkett. In an
instant he was as wide awake as ever.

‘‘What’s he hyer fer?’’ Purkett was sav-
agely demanding of Mrs. Purkett. ‘‘I have
felt the teeth of the old bear, an’ the cub is
purty shore to be like him. I don’t more’n
half believe that air story ’bout bim a-goin’
down -inteh Grassy fer to look at that lan’.’’

“‘Likely Phil Conner hev foun’ out some-
thin’? ’bout ’n you bein’ hyer,’’? Mrs. Pur-
kett grumbled, in a whining voice. ‘‘That’s
a thing yeh cyant never seem to git away
frum.”?

‘*Well, they won’t make ennything by
crowdin’ of me,’’ Purkett asserted, in the
same ill-humor. ‘‘They’ll fin’ they’re trom-
pin’ on dang’rus groun’, ef they try. I taken
a good ’eal off’n Phil Conner, in one way
’n another, an I ain’t goin’ teh take enny
more. This yer boy, with his pinky face an’
white han’s, ain’t got back teh Memphis
yit.”?

‘‘Now, you hain’t goin’ teh do nuthin’
des’prit with that air boy, be ye?’’ Mrs.
Purkett expostulated.

Clyde Conner was wild with -excitement.
He slipped softly to the floor and pressed an
ear to the board that he might hear better.
From the words, he could not doubt that
his father had in some way made an enemy
of Pink Purkett, and that his own life was
in peril.

‘*No killin’, mind ye that!’’ Mrs. Purkett
was saying. ‘‘No man ever drored a knife
er pistil on a feller human critter but what
he wuz foun’ out. You went t’hough the
mill one’t, Pink Purkett, an’ you kfow that,
*thout me a-tellin’ you of it.”’

‘*Who’s a drorin’ enny knives? I hain’t.’?

The faint moonlight sifted through some
crevices and showed the interior of the room
occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Purkett. The
only way out was through this room, and
the bed barred the passage.

Only a glance was needed to reveal this.

The voices became fainter, then rose again.

‘*Promise me that you won’t do that air,
Pink Purkett! I’m mos’ shore the boy didn’
come hyer meanin’ fer teh harm ye. Prom-
ise me you won’t do that air.’

“‘} ain’t makin’ ’enny sech promises,’?
Purkett answered; then turned his face
toward the wall and became quiet.

Clyde felt there was no more sleep for him
that night. His own clothes were outside
where they had been hung by the girl; but
he slipped into the voluminous garments of
Pink Purkett, and, sitting on the edge of the
low pallet, waited for the coming of day.

The hours were leaden winged. More than
once he was tempted to spring down the
ladder and fly out into the night and to
safety. But this course seemed so palpable
a show of cowardice that he put it aside.
Besides, he could not desert Casper, and he
doubted Casper’s alertness and stealth. /

The night grew so chilly that he finally
lay down on the pallet and drew a quilt over
him, though he was fully resolved to remain
awake and watch against treachery until
broad day.

In spite of his best endeavors, however,
he fell asleep. The light of early morn-
ing was shining into the garret through
some cracks when he was aroused by soft
footsteps.

They came from the farther end of the
garret, and seemed to be approaching the
pallet when Clyde opened his eyes and was
frozen with horror by what he saw.

Pink Purkett was stepping cautiously in
his direction, holding a glittering knife in
one hand and what seemed to bea club in
the other.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
me \
WHY THEY WERE THERE,

““T am here, gentlemen,*’ explained the
pickpocket te his fellow prisoners, ‘‘as the
result of a moment of abstraction.’’

‘‘And I,’’ said the incendiary, ‘‘because
of an unfortunate habit of making light of
things.”’

‘‘And I,’’ chimed in a forgér, ‘‘on ac-
count of a simple desire to make a name for
myself.’’

‘*And I,’’ added the burglar, ‘‘through
nothing but taking advantage of an opening
which offered in a large mercantile estab-
lishment in town.”’

But here the warden senarated them.

me

‘*Will the angels come down for me with
a chariot and horses when I die?’’ asked a
little boy of a Sunday school teacher.

‘“Tf you are a good boy,’’ said the teacher.

The little fellow’s eyes sparkled with an-
ticipation, as he eagerly exclaimed:
/‘*And, oh! do you think they will let me
sit on the front seat and drive?”’

  

     
 
  

 
 

GoonD

NEW S.

 

AY SS ay
To Bo THINGS.

EDITED BY DAVID PARKS.

HOW TO MAKE A SMALL ELECTRIC
MOTOR.

 

 

 
  
   

HERE exists a desire among most
~2 healthy boys—which is worthy of the

bh ‘\ greatest commendation—to construct
“> their models from start to finish with-

out external assistance, and this desire
should be encouraged in every possible way,
since a much more avluable training is ob-
tained when working with somewhat rough
materials, than when simply putting to-
gether so many numbered parts procured
from the model maker—a process which
hardly requires more ingenuity than the
piecing together of a child’s puzzle.

Tam quite aware that niany model makers
supply castings of small electric motors,
which require very little work to be done on
them further than the winding of the arma-
ture and field magnets, and a slight applica-
tion of the file. On the completion of such a
model you do not feel that you have done
the lion’s share of the work with your own
hands.

In making the motor, the construction of
which I am about to deseribe, we shall re-
quire the following materials: a short
length of 44 inch round iron rod, some sheet
brass about 1-16 inch in thickness, silk-cov-
ered copper wire, about 6 inches of brass
chain, a little tin plate (tomato cans cut
along the side and flattened out answer the
purpose admirably), some steel wire about
4% inch in diameter, a flat ring or washer of
iron, and a bit of board.

I shall assume that you possess a vise,
drill stock and bits, files, screw plate or
stock and dies, and that you are capable of
using these tools.

After this long preface we will set to
work on the first part of the motor—the flat,
irom ring*or wasber which serves as a keeper
or inductor to the revolving armature. I
should remark at this point that the motor
which we are about to make will revolve
about a vertical, not a horizontal axis. The
washer should be from 3-16 to 3 inch in
thickness, about 3 inches outside diameter,
and 2 inches inside diameter, thus forming a
flat ring 44 inch in width. This kind of washer
is used largely in carriage building, and
may generally be obtained from a carriage
maker. Otherwise try the invaluable old-
iron shop. There is no necessity for you to
adhere rigidly to the dimensions just stated,
which | have only given as a guide. Should
you get a washer of different dimensions,
you will simply have to change the size of
the other parts in proportion.

Whiten one side of the Washer with chalk
and mark it out with a sharp pointed steel
scriber in accordance with Fig. 1, which is
drawn to half scale. Remove with the file

 

 

 

Fig. 1.

the parts not shaded in the figure, taking
great care to keep the file at right angles to
the washer, and not to encroach on the
shaded part. For part of the work a_ half.
round file will be found most suitable, while
for the deeper slots round and flat files will
be necessary. Drill two }¢ inch holes as
shown in the figure, and countersink them
with a larger bit on one side, so as to receive
the heads of the wood screws, which will
be required to attach the washer to its
wooden base.

This base, which is the next item in the
programme, may be of any shape you fancy,
but by preference should be either square
or hexagonal. It should be at its narrowest
part about 1 inch wider than the outside
diameter of the flat ring, so as to allow
some margin. It may be from % inch to 1
inch thick, and’ should be of some wood such
as walnut or mahogany, which is capable of
taking a polish. In the centre of this base
sink with a wood chisel a square hole to re-
ceive a piece of brass sheet 8 inch square
and 4 inch thick, being careful to mako it
an accurate fit, so that when tapped in the
brass piece may be quite tight. If there are
any cracks left you can fill them up by run-
ning in marine glue or wax with a hot iron.
In the exact centre of the brass piece punch
a hole with your centre punch and drill it
out for a short distance, but not so far as
to penetrate right through. The object of

‘

’

 

this hole is to serve asa bearing for the ver-
tical spindle which supports the revolving
armature.

You are now in a position to attach the
circular brass pieces which serve as commu-
tators to the armature. They are marked,
C1, C2, C3, C4, in the figure. Cut and file
them out of sheet brass to the dimensions
‘shown in Fig. 2, and drill two holes in each

     
     

Cc.

"

O,, : 0

Cc
Cc,

 

 

Fia. 2.

to take in the shoemaker’s brass tacks
which will hold them in position. Sink re-
cesses for them in the wooden base, just as
you did for the square piece in the centre,
and fill up the cracks with marine glue or
wax as before. Be careful to get the surface
of the brass pieces quite flush with the sur-
face of the wooden base. ‘To the under side
of each commutating piece you must solder
a short length of No. 28 copper wire, and
then take these wires through holes in the
wooden base to the bottom side, the two
wires attached to Cl and C2 being taken up
again through another hole in the base to
one brass terminal T1, and the two wires at-
tached to C3 and C4 to the terminal T2.
These two terminals form the connection with
the wires from your battery. Brass ter-
minals can be obtained from most stores
that supply electric bell fittings. You can
now touch up the wooden base with sand-
paper and apply two or three coats of
rench polish.

The iron washer, which you have already
filed out to.the required shape, is now to be
attached to the wooden base, taking care to
get the intersecting dotted lines of the
washer over those of the wooden base. In
order to raise it above the level of the base,
and so give room for the bobbins on the
armature to clear, distance pieces must be
inserted between the washer and the base
These should be of hard wood, vulcanized
fibre, or other tough material. They should
be cut out and drilled with a hole of the
same size as those in the.washer, and placed
on the woodefi base. The washer can now
be put on the distance pieces, with the
holes in each corresponding, and screwed
down to the base with brass screws, which
give more finish than steel, and are not
liable to rust.

We are now in a position to set about the
construction of the armature. For this pur-
pose take a piece of 44 inch round iron bar,
and cut it with a cold chisel toa length
rather greater than the inside diameter of
the ring. Then with the file carefully re-
move material from the ends until it is just
1-16 inch shorter than the inside diameter
of your flat ring. It will now just clear the
horns or projecting parts of the flat ring
when pivoted in the centre. Find the middle
of the bar either by the rule or by a pair
of dividing compasses, and punch a hole with
your centre punch for the reception of the
drill bit. Drill a 4 inch tapping hole—7. e,
a hole about 8-32 inch in diameter—and tap
it with your inch taps. Take a length of
about 4 inches of % inch steel wire and
screw it) for about 14: inches at one end with
your screw-plate, or stock and dies, trying
it occasionally in the hole which you have
tapped in the round bar so as to get ita
good tight fit. File or grind the screwed end
ot the wire to a round taper point, and give
it a smooth finish by revolving it in contact
with emery cloth, inserting it for this pur-
pose in your drill stock instead of a_ bit.
Now screw the steel wire spindle into the
tapped hole in the iron bar, allowing enough
of the screwed end to come through the bar
to keep its plane of rotation in the plane of
the flat ring.

You require a bearing for the top part of
the spindle; to make this take. strip of 1-16
inch thick sheet brass, about 44 inch wide
and six inches long. Drill a hole exactly in
the centre, of such size as to allow of the
free rotation of the steel spindle therein,
and two holes, one at either end, te receive
the screw nails which will attach it to the
wooden base. Bend the strip carefully to the
form of a semi-circle, the diameter of which
is the width of the flat part of the wooden
base, and screw it on to the middle of two
flat sides of the wooden base with round-
headed brass serews; it will now form a
kind of arch over the base. ;

 

The only thing now left to be done is to
wind the armature; we want for this pur-
pose two bobbins, which you may either
make yourself or buy ready made. A very
effective bobbin can be made of tin plate in
the following manner: Cut out of tin plate
two flat rings to form the ends of the bob-
bin, the holes in the rings being slightly
larger than the diameter of the round bar;
the boles are most easily made by means
of a carpenter’s centre bifi which cuts a nice
clean edge. For the shell of the bobbin cut
out a piece of tin plate of such width as to
just go around the bar, and of such length
as you desire to make the bobbin—in this
case about & inch. Bend this piece of tin
around the iron bar, tapping it with a piece
of wood till all creases have disappeared,
and attach the circular ends with solder,
The outside didmeter of the ends should be
ahout 114 inches, so that the bobbin may hold
a good length of wire.

You can now start winding the wire on;
first paste round the bobbins a piece of thin
tough paper cut to size, wind on a layer of
wire, seeing that each turn is quite flat and
not on top of another, paste on another
piece of paper as before, and wind another
layer of wire, proceeding in this manner
till you have wound on sufficient wire. You
will in this way both effectively insulate
each layer of wire from the next, and ren-
der much easier the operation of winding
on the wire evenly. The most suitable
wire for this purpose is No. 28 silk- covered
copper, and the bobbin should be filled with-
in about 1-16 inch of the edge of the circular
ends. The exterior of the bobbins may be
painted with enamel paint of any color you
fancy, but the paint must be allowed to dry
thoroughly. Put the two bobbins which you
have now wound on the round bar, having
left two free ends of wire on each bobbin.
These wires must be cross-connected so that
the two coils help one another.

The easiest way to ascertain which is the
right pair of wires to join up is to connect
one wire of one coil to one wire of the other,
thus leaving one free wire in each coil; con-
nect these two free wires to the terminals of
your battery, and if you have joined up the
right pair of wires you will find that a piece
of iron will be strongly attracted by the
armature; but if you have joined up the
wrong pair, there will be little or no pull
on the iron. Having discovered the right
pair of wires to connect, twist them tightly
together and solder them, ‘To the two free
ends you must solder a piece of brass chain
of such length as to trail along the brass
commutating pieces, and so allow a current
from the battery to traverse the coils at the
right time. The two wires to which you
attach the chains should be secured to the
bobbins either by passing them through a
hole in the cheek or by inserting them in a
slit, taking the greatest care not to allow the
bare copper wire to touch the tin plate
ends.

You will notice that the current is only
passing through the coils when the brass
chains are touching the brass commutating
pieces; at the moment when the _ brass
chains are passing over the insulating parts
between the commutating pieces the cur-
rent is interrupted, but starts again directly
the chains reach the next pieces. ‘The object
of interrupting the current is to allow the
armature to pass the projecting parts of the
flat iron ring, since if you kept on the cur-
rent continuously the armature would be at-
tracted opposite these horns sand remain
stationary there.

The armature with the spindle screwed
into it can now be put into position, with
the taper end resting in the sunken hole in
the central brass piece and the top end pass-
ing through the hole in the semi-circular
bridging piece. The lergth of the pieces of
brass chain must be adjusted so that when
the battery is connected the current is inter-
rupted at the moment when the armature is
opposite the projections of the flat ring so
as to allow the armature to pass without
being attracted to these horns. When com-
pleted, the motor will have the appearance
of Fig. 3.

 

Fic, 3.

This motor has one disadvantage, which I
expect you will have discovered before this
—viz: that it has dead points when the
armature is opposite the projections on the
flat ring, because the current is interrupted
at these points. This fact does not interfere
in any way with the running of the motor;
the only effect it has is to prevent the motor
starting of itself should the armature hap-
pon to be just at one of the dead points. If,

owever, you prefer to possess a motor
which will start in any position, you must
make a slightly more complicated armature,

 

which, instead of consisting of one bar, will

be composed of two bars crossing 008
another, as shown in Fig. 4.

 

Fic. 4.

The neatest way to construct this form of
armature is to file up a piece of iron to the
shape shown in the figure in order to form
a centre boss for the reception of the spindle.
Drill a hole in the centre of each side, taP
it and put in a stud, 7. e., a short length of
screwed wire. \

The arms of round iron bar must be all
of the same length and must have a hole
tapped in their ends so as to admit of being
screwed on to the studs of the centre boss.
You must, of course, put a bobbin on each
arm, and cross-connect opposite coils, Jus
as you did in the single-bar armature.

You must also provide two additional
lengths of brass chain for the free ends °
the new pair of coils. With this form 0
double-bar armature the motor will be self-
starting in any position, as there will be 2°
dead points, one pair of coils always beil&
in action, and generally both pairs.

ae
A ZOOLOGICAL DIVERSION.

 

The elephant at Jardin des Plantes, at
Paris, used to play his visitors a t11¢*)
which could not have been thought of but by
an animal of much intelligence. His house
opened upon an inclosure called the
phant’s Park, containing a pond, in whic
he would lay himself under the water, CO*
cealing every part of him except the very
end of his trunk—a mere speck that wou
hardly be noticed by a stranger to
animal’s habits.

A crowd would assemble around thé
inclosure, and not seeing him in it wou
watch in expectation that he would soon
issue from the house.

But, while they were gazing about, ®
copious sprinkling of water would fall upoB
them, and ladies and gentlemen, with the!
fine bonnets and coats, would run for shelter
under the trees, looking up at the clear ef
and wondering whence such a shower €0U
come.

Immediately afterward, bowever,
would see the elephant rising slowly
his bath, evincing, as if seemed, au
ward joy at the trick he had played. “6

In the course of time his amusement he
came generally known, and the moment t
water began to rise from his trunk, h
spectators would take flight, at whic up
appeared exceedingly delighted, getting ad
as fast as he could to see the bustle he
caused.

 

4-0 me
THE EYE AS A CAMERA.
of the vpject see a
formed on the retina of the eye %% oa
tain; but whether the impression 1s etime
escent, or remains for an appreciable , b
after the object is removed was t a
ject of doubt. A  photographer—@ “de
tain Mr. Roger—is reported to have oa ng
some experiments recently by way of #5
this, with a remarkable result.

That an image

fully a minute at a quarter placed ow:

strong, white light; then, in a ¥
pee erick room, Scokud fixedly for jee
minutes at a sensitized plate. On deve OF is
the plate an outline of the coi wa
tinctly visible. ;
He thes in the presence of 4 wie
repeated the experiment, but substitu kod
postage stamp for the quarter.
at the stamp for one minute, and tl nutes
photographic plate for over twenty DN put
and development brought out a al
recognizable image of the stamp. co
This may be thought to lend some raered
tenance to the suggestion that a ™™ - the
man’s eye may retain an impression
murderer’s face, which a photograP ,
might be able to see and reveal.
, ——-—>-o--o————_—
A TRAMP’S GRATITUDE
La tbte 18
‘Tt is very kind of you, madam ne j
the tramp, ‘‘to give me such a fine .
‘*Don’t mention it, you poor man,
the kind-hearted woman. ‘ amps
‘‘But I will repay you,’’ said the at you
gratefully. ‘‘I’ll tell all my pals t ain’?
area flinty-hearted termagant ecents
never known how to cook no BY: and
so’s theyll give your house the g°
won’t never bother you.”’

‘

     

Ele- ;

He gazed

 

 
   

 

 

  
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
   
  
  
  

  
   
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 

  
  

        

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JA OO Aa fA <a -~«
   

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‘Way,

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Ww Ys

GooDpD

 

NEWS.

5

 

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

KING OF BIKE AND BAT:

OR,

| Jack Seabrooke’s Run of Luck.

BY HORACE G. CLAY.

"(Kine oF BIKE AND Bat” was commenced in
No. 321. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents. ) aid

CHAPTER XIX.

HOW THE TOWN OF BAYPORT IS THROWN
INTO CONSTERNATION, AND THE FRIENDS
OF OUR HERO ARE EXERCISED OVER HIS
DISAPPEARANCE.

OY . j

N Monday morning, at nine o’clock,

a great sensation was sprung upon

the unsuspecting inhabitants of Bay-

4A port. The County Bank had been
mysteriously entered, by burglars, and the

Safe of the institution cleaned out com-

pletely. Cash, notes, bills, bonds, securities

of every sort, had vanished.

The job had evidently been the work of an
6xpert. The instruments used to drill into
the safe, which was a stanch, but old-fash-
loned, affair, were of the latest pattern.

he burglars had left them behind as an
€vidence of their handiwork.

The watchman was found bound and
Zagged in a corner under one of the coun-
ers,

He said he was accustomed to make an
hourly tour of the premises. That on his
last round, at eleven o’clock Sunday night,

® had found everything secure, as usual.

he ponderous bolts on the front and rear

Oors were undisturbed. The iron shutters

‘On the windows as compact as ever.

Ten minutes iater he was suddenly set
Upon by two masked men, quickly overpow-
®red, gagged, bound, and placed where he
had been found. ‘To his mind it seemed in-
COnceivable that the burglars could have
effected an entrance into the building with-
Cut his knowledge, and in the face of such
difficulties; but that they had done so there
Was no question.

- The rear door of the bank was found ajar.
he bolts had been shot from the inside, and
® cracksmen had made their exit that
The mystery of it all was how had
they got into the bank?
ot a window bar had been forced. Neither
door had been tampered with. There was
NO means of entrance from above, and the

Ooring was solid flagging laid ona brick
Sundation.

Had there been connivance on the part of

© watchman? The officers of the bank
Scouted the idea. The man was perfectly
Tustworthy, and had held the -position for

Irty years. ;

@ loss was a complete and heavy one,
though the full particulars in this respect
Were not given to the public.

octor Hazard, the president of the bank,
Was hastily summoned, as were the other
8entlemen .who held the stock. A hasty
pouncil convened. The watchman was care-
u Y questioned, and the building searchingly
faamined, but the mystery seemed to be un-
athomable. Unless the securities and at
aoe & portion of the money were recovered,
® time-honored institution would go to the
Wall a hopeless wreck.
Was decided to notify the police of
klyn and New York, posta large re-
» and request the immediate attendance
arp detectives.
othing further could be done until the
©rienced thief takers arrived on the scene.
ee ® good people of Bayport and vicinity
thittinly had an absorbing topic for gossip
at day; while those who had money lodged
sh the affected
Beare over the sense of possible loss, and
Honeet the bank continually for informa-

T

Broo
War
Of s

8xp

institution shook in their

hongh the most absorbing, that was not
© only mystery in Bayport that day.

mi Ack Seabrooke was most unaccountably
ang we: He had not returned to the store,

A r. Grice was greatly disturbed.
rchie Dutton called ‘at the post-office
for pining on Monday morning to inquire
ee a: Jack had not been home all night.
stil} convinced Archie that Jack must be
his .p2 Hog Island, and he felt assured that
Chum had met with an accident,
Ww 8 rushed home and told Mr. McCorker,
Argh cided to go over to the island with
Beay 16 and Mr. Cox, and make a_ thorough
ch in the vicinity of the Pool.
tor “ster Dutton dispatched a note to Doc-
Schoo] azard explaining his absence from

for hat morning, and stating his fears

® Safety of his fricnd Jack Seabrooke.
Made icCorker and his two assistants
Spe. the trip without loss of time. They

a hours upon the north end of the island.
8vg Y foot of ground was gone over, and

Of thet of underbrush explored. The rocks

“hannel leading into the Pool were
®nsively viewed during the progress
Search. They looked down upon the
Sh Pot where Jack had fallen, but there
haq b Sign to tell them how near a tragedy

®Dpre h

befor" to consummation the evening

 

When the trio finally gathered for consul-

tation on the brink of the Pool, and gazed |

shudderingly down into its gloomy depths,
the one suggestion seemed to strike each that
here, if anywhere, Jack Seabrooke had van-
ished. If so, his death was certain, and his
body probably floated at that monient in
the Sound.

It was a dreadful thing to contemplate,
especially for Archie, who was very fond of
his stalwart chum.

‘‘Faith, can it be possible the boy went
down here in broad daylight?’ said Mr.
McCorker. ‘‘It isn’t in reason. Yet where
else could he slip off and not leave a trace
behind???’ .

The question was unanswerable.

‘*He couldn’t have left us more than fifteen
minutes when I started to hunt him up,’’
said Archie. ‘‘You know I told you I met
Mr. Byke coming round the rocks yonder.
He said he had seen nothing of Jack, and I
am sure he would have seen him if Jack had
come here, for this spot is distinctly visible
from where Mr. byke had been standing.’’

Archie’s statement seemed conclusive.

‘‘Upon me word I’m bothered entirely, so
I am. I can’t make head or tail of this
thing. As Father O’Tool, Heaven save him,
used to say, when puzzled over a sum in
the parish school. It’s a mystery, so it is,
I don’t see that we can do anything further
here.’

‘‘We might try in the direction of Sandy
Cove,’’ said Archie. ‘‘Tom can beat along
near the edge of the bluff, I’ll take the
middle course, and you can go through that
line of wood. We’ll come together at the
head of the creek.’?

This proposition was acted upon. ‘The
ground was carefully gone over, but of
course, they found no clew to the missing
boy.

It was now past one in the afternoon.
After a final consultation, the search was
reluctantly abandoned. Mr. McCorker,
Archie, and Tom Cox went back to the yacht
and returned to Bayport, when the first
tidings.came to their ears of the robbery of
the County Bank.

As Major Dutton had a considerable sum
on deposit at the institution, Mr. McCorker
hurried away to ascertain the extent of the
loss, while Archie ate his lunch in a very
sombre frame of mind, and then went to
the academy to spread the news of Jack
Seabrooke’s mysterious disappearance.

Of course this intelligence threw the
boys into a state of great éxcitement.
They were just going down to their bathing
stage—a swimming match being on the
tapis.

‘This beats all,’’ said Billy Watkins. ‘‘So
you couldn’t find the least clew???

‘*Not the faintest. If Jack had vanished
like one of those Hindoo adepts I’ve read
about, he couldn’t have disappeared more
completely.’’

‘«'There’s something very queer about it,’’
said Bobby Mathews. ‘‘I hope he hasn’t
fallen off the rocks,’’

‘*Pshaw! In broad daylight?’’
Archie.

Jack’s disappearance was a_ poser, '\ and
little else was talked about that afternoon—
even the bank robbery was overshadowed
for the time being.

A note had come to the academy for Jack
Seabrooke, from Colonel Wadley. Under
the circumstances, Archie thought it proper
to go over to the institute and see the
colonel.

The nabob was at home.

‘‘What!’? exclaimed Colonel Wadley,
when Master Dutton had laid the news
before him. ‘‘Seabrooke missing, you say?
Tell me all about it.’’

And Archie did, down to the minutest
detail.

‘This is most extraordinary !’’ exclaimed
the colonel. ‘‘ You say you met Mr. Byke in
the vicinity within fifteen minutes after
Seabrooke left your party?’’

$¢Ves,??

The colonel was very thoughtful for a
moment. Then he pushed an electric button
by the side of his desk, and a servant
presently appeared.

‘‘Send John to me.’’

The servant withdrew, and the nabob
wrote a few lines on a sheet of note paper,
sealed and addressed it.

‘*John,’’ he said to the man who entered
at that moment, ‘‘take this to the Manhas-
set House and wait for an answer.’

SPY OR Bit?

‘“‘T have sent for Mr. Byke,’’ said the
colonel. ‘‘I have reasons for wishing to
probe this affair to the bottom, if it be pos-
sible to do so. You have seen Mr. Grice, I
think you said. What has he to say about
Seabrooke’s disappearance?’

‘‘He is as much in the dark as we are
about it. He is certainly very much dis-
turbed. Then the bank robbery has also
upset him. All his savings were on deposit
there. I heard him tell bis misfortune to a
dozen people before J left. I feel sorry for
him.’

‘Yes, yes. It’s a mysterious affair. Your
principal, Doctor Hazard, will be largely
involved, unless the burglars are appre-
hended. They have sent for detectives to
go on the case. As this is a serious mis-
fortune, the First National Bank has,

said

through the directors, offered an additional |

reward for information leading to the cap-

| ture and conviction of the rascals. We have
| also telegraphed for a detective to work on
the case independently. I shall have a talk
with bim in respect to this Seabrooke mys-
tery, which appears to be as unsolvable as
the manner by which the burglars entered
the County Bank.”’

The conversation then continued in refer-
ence to the disappearance of Jack Sea-
brooke, and the colonel referred once or
twice to Mr. Byke in a casual way. He
spoke about the administration of the chloral
to the absent youth during the recent ball
game, and startled Archie by asking him in
a pointed manner if he knew of any one
whom he might suspect of entertaining ill
will against his chum.

At this point the colonel’s messenger
entered the room and said:

‘‘The hotel clerk told me that Mr. Byke
settled his bill and left for New York on the
early train this morning, sir.’’’

‘*Indeed !’’ remarked the colonel.
all, Jobn.”’

‘‘I’m sorry he’s gone,’’ said Archie, ‘‘I
would like to hear his statement.’’

**T will not say if I’m sorry or not,’’ said
Colonel Wadley, dryly, much to his visitor’s
astonishment. ‘‘His sudden retirement from
Bayport may, perhaps, when taken in
connection with other information in my
possession throw more light on the cause of
the disappearance of Seabrooke than might
otherwise present itself.’?

‘*‘How so??? said Archie,
interest.

‘*I prefer not to go into details at present.
Be assured that I take a strong interest in
your friend. He saved my daughter’s life
on two occasions, and I am grateful for the
service,’?

‘*He is a trump!’ said Archie, enthusias-
tically. ‘‘My people think very highly of
him.’?

‘*He deserves their good opinion,’ said
the colonel. ‘‘I am sorry to say a strong
effort has lately been made to hurt his
reputation.’

‘‘I did not know that,’’ said Archie, in
surprise. ‘‘From your words I guess you
suspect the person who is at the bottom
of it.’?

i GOpse

‘*Will you tell me?”?

The colonel regarded Archie intently.

‘*It will go no further,’’ he said.

‘*T will not breathe a word.”’

‘‘Then, in confidence, I will say that I
strongly suspect Mr. Byke.”’

‘*That’s

with great

—_—_—_—

CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH JACK MAKES A DISCOVERY.

HEN Jack Seabrooke recovered his
senses after his brief tussle with
the Mexican, in his fruitless effort
to escape from the cabin of the
sloop, he found himself in very dark,
cramped quarters.

His familiarity with boats of the Nancy
class enabled him to understand that he had
been thrust down into the small scuttle hole
in the bow of the sloop. This place was used
for the purpose of a galley. There was a
collection of half-charred pots and pans
hanging about on either side of a greasy
stove on short legs, perched upon an iron
plate and secured by bands to the vessel’s
timbers.

The scuttle lid was on above him, and the
only light was a stray sunbeam shining
through a fissure in the wood. It was hot
and close in the pen, and a tarry smell,
mingled with rancid grease and bilge water,
assailed his nostrils.

The sloop was evidently at anchor, for
there was no mction, except the occasional
jar as the vessel tugged gently at her
manilla hawser.

Our hero was lying on a piece of old sail-
cloth. The position was uncomfortable. So
be sat up and propped himself against the
curved timbers of his prison. His head was
still sore, but the sharp, racking pain of the
morning was gone. e reflected upon the
situation, and wondered how it would end.
The outlook at present was decidedly
unsatisfactory.

He pushed against the lid of the scuttle
and raised it about an inch above the comb-
ing, but it was held down by a hasp secured
by a piece of wood.

The sloop was anchored in a sandy creek,
and from the shadow cast on the deck by
the mast, Jack judged it to be about the
middle of the afternoon.

The water sparkled merrily in the sun-
light, and lapped the beach within an
average cable’s length of the sloop.

Jack thought that with the assistance of
the handle of one of the thin saucepans he
might be able to reach the peg which held
the hasp in place, knock it out and so free
himself.

While he was considering whether he had
better do this at once and make a break for
liberty, or defer the attempt for awhile,
until he could ascertain if any one was on
deck, he detected the murmured sound of
voices beyond the bulkhead.

Jack readily surmised that the two rascals
were in the cabin, and he was seized with a
strong desire to know what they were talking
about. Running his eye over the partition,
he detected a projecting knot. Touching it

 

 

 

with his fingers, he perceived that it was
loosely fitted in place, and with a little effort
came out into his hand.

The aperture thus at his servicé was about
two inches in diameter, through which an
excellent view was to be had of the cabin
and its occupants.

He was startled to find the Mexican’s
swarthy features within a yard of the knot
hole, and the lad thought the fellow never
looked so villainous and repulsive as he did
at that moment.

Jim Darkeye was seated opposite, with
the table between them. Jack was astounded
to see the mahogany board literally stacked
up with packages of money, largely crisp
new, bilis of various denominations.

‘*How much shall you make it, Darkeye?’’
said the Mexican, with a covetous gleam in
his eyes.

‘*There’s eighteen thousand dollars here,’?
said Jim, ‘‘and we let Peter have three
thousand in bills and all the coin.”’

‘*That is a good haul.’’

‘*There’s a good many thousands in them
bonds and notes and securities in the bag,
but they’re dangerous things for sich folks
as us to handle. But these sparklers,’’ and
Darkeye picked up a leather-covered box
and exposed a diamond necklace and brooch
and earrings to match, ‘‘we can raise some-
thing handsome on these by and by. They
must have cost a couple of thousand at any
rate. I reckon the whole thing at ten
thousand apiece, as Solomon will take the
papers at a figure.’’

‘“‘Santa Maria, that shall be a nice little
pile,’’ said the Mexican, showing his white

‘teeth and jingling his earrings.

‘*Better than the old lay, eh, Garcia? A
‘high-toter’ like me doesn’t waste his genius
long on unprofitable jobs. I fly higher than
that. The game must be fat. There’s blunt
enough here to stand us for a while.”’

‘These rascals have certainly robbed a
bank,’? thought Jack. ‘‘What a pile of
money, and a bagful of securities besides,
What scoundrels there are in the world!”’

But he was eager to hear more.

‘‘T’ll divide the ‘swag’ now,’’ said Dark-
eye. ‘*Get that canvas bag and shove your
share into it. Stuff your fogs on top.
There’ll be nothing suspicious in the look of
it when you go ashore after we reach the
city.’

Garcia got the bag in question and his
companion produced its duplicate. As the
packages of bills were sorted, each took an
equal share, and the table was soon cleared
of the valuable spread.

‘‘Now I’ll go into this,’’ and the burly
Jim yanked the carpet bag between his
knees.

‘These ‘Governments’ are all registered
and useless to us.’’

He shoved the pile of bonds one side.

‘‘These notes are dangerous. These are
Brooklyn city bonds, and these are New
York dittoes—they’re negotiable, and we
can make a deal with Solomon. I?ll take
?em.”?

They went into his bag, and Jack saw him
drop the leather-covered jewel box in along
with them.

‘“These certificates may turn out lucky,??
continued Jim, ‘‘but I don’t know much
about ’em. We'll have to trust ’em to
Solomon.’’

Darkeye rammed in a lot of clothes on
top, and his example was followed by the
Mexican. Both bags were tied at the mouth,
sailor fashion, and they looked very ordi-
nary, unsuspicious bundles when tossed upon
the cabin deck.

‘“We’ll run down to the city after dark,
and take the stuff ashore to Flash Barney’s.”’

‘*What shall you arrange about the boy,
Jack?’

““Swigsy ‘ll watch him till I fix it with
Barney for his keep. We'll hocus him a bit
—just enough to make him silly, then well
have no trouble gettin’ him ashore, He'll
be safe enough at Barney’s till we can make
the deal.’’

‘And then——’?

‘‘Drop him overboard of a dark night, or
into the sewer.’’

‘*Ha, you shall have it down fine. Itisa
smart thing that you think of the papers—
Peter shall catch no more golden eggs.”?

‘*I guess you’re about right, Garcia. He’s
had a good thing these ten years back. He’s
a foxy one, but he didn’t suspect we knew
so much. The cap’in’s money set him up in
that store of his. When we turntd up it gave
him a shock. He wanted to shake us;
wanted to forget old times ’cause he’s up in
the world, and we know how he came by
the money. He was afraid we’d tell the kid
a thing or two that would queer him, or he
wouldn’t have gone into the scheme to
crack the bank. And now we’ve got him on
the hip, eh, Garcia? We’ve got the papers,
and the boy, and we’J] use ’em bothb.”’

‘*T shall trust to you, Darkeye, but I’m to
have half. Then I shall go where the money
shall make it pleasant for me. It is a long
time since I’ve known what it was to take
things easy. It shall be what will suit.’?

‘*Get the bottle out of the locker, Garcia.
We’ll wet ,our whistles and turn in fora
snooze.”’

The Mexican got up and fetched a round-
bellied black bottle and a couple of glasses
from the receptacle.

Each tossed off a stiff drain, and then
without ceremony took off their coats and

  
S

GooD NEWS.

 

tumbled into their respective bunks, and in
five minutes their heavy breathing assured
their unseen observer that they were sound
asleep.

CHAPTER XXTI.

HOW JACK ‘TAKES POSSESSION OF THE
BLACK SLOOP.

ELL might Jack Seabrooke be as-
A tounded at the revelations of the
last half hour. He removed his

S eye from the knot hole after as-
suring himself that the pair of rascals were
asleep, replaced the knot and sat down to
think.

So these scoundrels had actually robbed
one of the Bayport banks. He did not need
to ask himself which one. It was all plain to
him now. The mystery of Saturday night’s
excavation in the parlor behind the store
was explained. And that night’s work was
but the continuation of other nights’ [abor
directed toward the same object.

He understood now why Mr. Grice was so
anxious that he should stay away. Why he
was allowed to dispose of his time as he
pleased. Why Mr. Grice had made that mid-
night visit to his chamber, lest he should
become cognizant of the wickedscheme just
on the eve of its culmination.

Jack was sharp and shrewd, and he readily
pieced together every suspicious circum-
stance which had latterly disturbed him, and
now the whole plot was as plain as day to
him.

Now Jack’ did not exactly have a very
fond regard for Mr. Grice. He remembered
when he had been very stern and harsh to
him at times. Yet, on the whole, he could
not complain of having been ill-treated by
his self-constituted guardian.

But still Mr. Grice had stood in the light
of a parent to him. He had housed and fed
him, and sent him to the academy, which
was a favor he could not overlook.

Therefore it worried Jack to know that
this man had gone into the conspiracy to rob
the bank, and was therefore as guilty as the
two ruffians in the cabin who had forced the
issue upon him.

Then the revelations concerning himself
excited and confused him to a degree. Mr.
Grice had all these years kept him in the
dark concerning his parentage, and now. the
lad was quick to realize, from the vague
hints thrown out by his captors, that the
postmaster had evidently been making cap-
ital in some unknown way out of his ignor-
ance in the matter, and through the posses-
sion of certain papers which undoubtedly
could throw valuable light on the case.

And now two factors, who evidently were
also acquainted with the secret of his life,
step upon the scene, use the information to
intimidate their old alley, and when they
had accomplished their object, steal the
important documents in particular, get him-
self, the objective part of the scheme, into
their power through the force of circum-
stances, and plot to trade the secret to some
unknown, but evidently interestéd party,
presumably the same who had been dealing
with Mr. Grice, and, to cap the climax,
actually arrange to murder the innocent
victim of the conspiracy.

Jack had ever been a lad of ready re-
source. He now felt that not only his
present safety, but his future prospects,
depended upon his ability to outwit the
cunning rascals in charge of the sloop.

How was he to do it?

How was he to overcome two strong and
desperate men and a stout boy?

How was he to obtain possession of those
important documents, which, once in his
hands, would doubtless enlighten him -con-
cerning his past?

How was he to get possession of the money
and securities stolen from the bank and
return them intact?

How, indeed, and he secured and compar-
atively helpless in the scuttle hole?

Jack had already decided in his own mind
that, owing to the looseness of the scuttle
lid, it would not be a difficult matter to
free himself.

He determined, first of all, to do so, and
with that idea, he took down a small frying
pan, bent the handle at an angle, lifted the
lid to the point of resistance and ingeniously
and without tinnecessary noise, knocked out
the wooden peg.

Then, with the utmost caution, he raised
the lid sufficiently to enable him to take a
survey of the sloop, and so ascertain the
whereabouts of Master Swigsy.

, That young rascal was stretched out upon
the roof of the cabin, fast asleep, his mouth

,wide open, snoring like a pig, and a score

of flies playing at tag across his dirty physi-
ognomy.

Escape to the shore was now easy for Jack
but he had a far mure desperate object in
view. '

He was determined to make an effort to
get possession of the precious documents
which evidently so vitally concerned him-
self.

He might have been pardoned if he had
shrunk from so hazardous an undertaking.
But our hero was made of sterner stuff than
the average boy. His courage and his tact
were equal to the emergency. Nothing ven-
ture nothing win was his motto, and his

¥

 

boyish successes in the past were built upon

the perseverance and determination of his
nature to conquer in spite of difficulties.

This boy’s nerve and pluck in the face of
discouraging situations ought to prove an
incentive to those who read this narrative,
tor in it they will find a lesson showing that
obstacles to success in life are often more
apparent than real—that they become less
formidable when firmly met—and dwindle
in proportion to the energy brought to bear
against them.

Jack released himself from his prison with
coolness and caution. He took off his shoes
and tiptoed his way to the standing room
of the sloop.

The slide was wide open, and he did not
hesitate to look in upon the sleepers, The
coat of each rascal was thrown carelessly
upon the deck of the cabin beside his bunk.

Jack paused to consider, What were the
chances that the papers he was determined
to possess were in a pocket of the burly
ruffian’s coat?

There was every chance in favor of such
a conclusion,

Had he the nerve to enter the lion’s den?

One or both of the scoundrels might waken |

at the critical moment and then—— The
peril was unmistakable, but the incentive
was proportionately strong.

Hesitation is often a practical surrender.
Jack boldly slipped in, advanced noiselessly,
and within a foot of Jim Darkeye’s head
picked up his coat and retreated in safety to
the standing room.

He felt a heavy object in one of the out-
side pockets. Ho drew it forth it was a re-
volver. That discovery raised his courage
a hundred per cent. He
means of defense and intimidation, if neces-
sary.

Our hero in great spirits went through the
inside pockets. His search was rewarded.
He poised a bulky Adams Express envelope
in his fingers. It was carefully sealed and
tied with a piece of red tape. ‘There was no
superscription.

At last then he held the precious clew he
had so long wished for. He could not doubt
it, though hewas ignorant of the envelope’s
actual contents. He felt assured, how-
ever, it must be the package referred to by
the ruffian who had stolen it. It was quite
natural that Mr. Grice should use such a
covering, as it was strong, convenient, and
durable, and Jack had seen just such
envelopes in the store time and again.

The Mexican and his partner in crime still
slept on, and so did the lad Swigsy. There
was nothing to preveut Jack from taking the
jolly boat and rowing ashore.

Should he do this and let the rascals get'

away with their spoil?

Prudence said yes.

The creek was lonesome and barren—a
mere inlet between two barriers of sand.
There was a considerable stretch of water
beyond the points of the cove, which he con-
jectured to be the Sound. He fancied the
sloop was not many miles from Willett’s
Point, as Darkeye expected to reach the city
before morning.

One thing he did know—he was miles and
miles to the westward of Bayport. The sun
was drawing close to the horizon. It would
be dark before long.

‘‘T?ll do it!’ exclaimed Jack, at length.
‘tT believe I can, and [ mean totry. Vl
take the sloop and all aboard into White-
stone. I know the place. If Il could but
secure those rascals the rest would be easy. I
can easily intimidate Swigsy.’’

To plan this bold move was one thing—to
execute it, another.

‘‘T might shut the slide,’’ he mused, ‘‘but,
unfortunately, there is no means of keeping
it closed from the outside. If they haven’t
a second revolvor, I could keep them below
at the muzzle of mine; but then I should
have to watch them and the sloop at the
same time. If I give it up and retreat
ashore I’m as likely to find myself in as
bad a pickle, if not a worse one. Besides,
it would look cowardly to abandon all that
money when a bold stroke might hold the
fort.”’

He looked into the cabin again.
enemies were still asleep.

A coil of thin rope on the floor - caught
Jack’s eye. Instantly came the suggestion
of a way out of the difficulty. There was a
handle upon the outside of the sliding door.
He could tie one end of this rope securely to
it, close the aperture and haul the line
taut and secure it by a turn or two around
the cleat at the rail.

He stepped down into the cabin, picked
up the rope and regained the standing room.
He had tied the rope andwas testing the
knot when Darkeye woke up.

The rascal jumped from the bunk as
quickly as a cat. Ina flash he recognized
the fact that our hero was at liberty. With-
out comprehending what occupied the lad’s
attention, he gave a deep curse, sprang for
the opening, and reached it at a bound.

Jack was taken by surprise.

‘‘You infernal imp, how did you get
free??? he exclaimed, grasping the lad’s
arm.

‘Hands off, please!’ cried Jack, recov-
ering his composure, at the same time
thrusting the muzzle of the revolver into the
rascal’s face.

Jim Darkeye recoiled with an oath,

(10 BE CONTINUED.)

His

had now actual |

 

 

; (This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. }

UNDER DIFFERENT FLAGS;

OR,

With Boer aud Britisher in the Transvaal.

mee

BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON,

Author of ‘Campaigning With Braddock,” ‘In
Barracks and Wigwam,” “The White
King of Afriea,” ele., ele.
(“UNDER DIFFERENT FLAGS’’ was commenced in
No. 323. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents.)

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM,

   
  
 

SHE very audacity of the lad so amazed
> the Boers that for a moment they
\ forgot to fire, though they came on as
7 rapidly as ever. Encouraged by the
cessation of bullets, Mark sped on, the
ground fairly flying from under his feet,.and
he was quickly alongside of Sukuni; in the
first brief glance he noticed blood on both
the Zulu’s forehead and left leg.

‘Come along, Sukuni,’’ he cried, as he
dragged him to his feet. ‘‘Make a rush for
it—we’ll soon be safe,’’

The Zulu, who seemed to be in a half
stupid condition, muttered something unin-
telligible. But he had sense enough to
realize what was going on, and as fast as his
limping gait would peymit, ‘he started
toward the house, leaning rather heavily on
the shoulder of his rescuer.

The whole affair had taken but a few sec-
onds, and just at this moment there was a
chance of the fugitives reaching shelter un-
harmed, handicapped as the lad was by the
Zulu’s weight. But, unfortunately, the
Boers were quick to recover from the sur-
prise caused by the gallant deed, and equally
quick to show that they resented more tban
admired it. As they came galloping on,
yelling fiercely, they opened fire again.

The enemy were far better marksmen on
foot than in the saddle, and herein lay the
slim hope that the fugitives possessed. But
it was a very slim one indeed, and the lad’s
heart sank as he staggered on over the turf,
with one drm supporting Sukuni. Faster
and faster he moved, though his urgent desire
to reach the goal made the pace seem but a
crawl. Louder rang the yells, and more rap-
idly cracked the rifles: Bullets were whist-
ling right and left, and when one tore the
cap cleanly from Mark’s head. he gave
himself up for lost.

‘‘Let me go, sare,’’ the Zulu whispered,
faintly. ‘‘ You run for house.”’

‘*No, Pll stick by you,’’ Mark panted,
‘‘but I’m afraid it’s all up with us—we can’t
make it, Sukuni.”’

Help was close at hand in this crisis, how-
ever, and the Boers were to learn what an
important factor they had forgotten while
enjoying their bloodthirsty little diversion.
For now, just when a dash of fifty feet
would have carried them into the space be-
tween the house and stables, there came a
puff of smoke and a lively report from the
front of the dwelling. That quickly one of
the horsemen pitched out of the saddle to
the ground, and the riderless steed wheeled
around and tore to the rear.

Crack! rang, another shot, this time aimed
unfortunately & little too low. Pieter Van
Houten’s horse rolled over and over in its
death agonies, and the Boer leader’s agility
was all that saved him from being crushed
to death. As it was, he got an ugly fall,
and he limped badly as he fled to the off side
of his comrades, The latter had by this time
ceased firing, and pulled up their steeds in a
huddled group, thinking more of the clever
marksman concealed in the house than of
the two fugitives speeding across the open.

Of course Mark was quick to see the op-
portunity thus presented, and though the
front of the house was not within his range
of vision, and the two shots fired from that
quarter were not to be detected amid the
general din, the downfall of the two Boers
and the panic-like confusion of the band
told him what was going on.

‘‘Hurrah!’’ he cried. ‘‘Brabazon is blaz-
ing away at the ruffians from the front.
Now for a spurt, Sukuni! Come on, we'll
make it all right.’

The words seemed to rouse the Zulu from
his semi-stupor aid put strength into his
limbs. He sped along faster, leaning less
heavily on the lad, and it waga joyful mo-
ment to both when the angle of the house
cut them off from the sight and fire of the
enemy. Brabazon was already at the rear
door, and, with a shout of satisfaction, he
pulled the fugitives inside. Then he slammed
the door shut, and barred and bolted it.

‘‘Thank Heaven!’’ he cried. ‘‘That was a
plucky thing you did, lad—I’ve known
soldiers to get the Victoria Cross for less.
Where are you hit, Sukuni? I hope it’s noth-
ing serious. But come along. Here we stand
talking when we may be needed yonder to
repel an attack.’’

As he aan he led the way to the front
room, Sukuni limping slowly behind. Braba-
zon and Mark glued their eyes to a couple of
loopholes in the wall that looked out from
the right side of the house, and what they

/

 

saw was, for the present, at least, a relief
to their minds.

rhe Boers had melted away, taking the
dead man with them, and had already

circled around to the far side of the stables. -

Here they were evidently dismounting
with a view to conducting a leisurely siege,
for by the glimmer of daylight that re-
mained the horses could be seen moving to
and fro in the stable yard. :

‘<We’ll have a breathing spell now,’’ said
Brabazon, turning away from the loophole,
‘‘but it’s not likely to last long, so we must
be ready for the next move. |

He spoke carelessly, but the smoky light
of the lamp revealed a look on his face that
Mark had never seen there before.

‘¢VYou came near having to hold the house
single-handed,’’ the lad replied. ‘‘I never
expected to get back alive. It was your
shooting that saved us.”’

‘*It was a close call,’’? said Brabazon.
‘¢When the firing began I knew right away
what it meant, and I ran to one of the side
loopholes here and looked out. It gave. me 4
good view of the rear’, and I saw Sukuni
drop and you run back after him. Then
hurried to the front ,loophole and let the
beggars get close on before I opened fire.
I’m only sorry 1 didn’t kill Pieter instead
of the other rascal. But what’s wrong wit
Sukuni? Where is he hit??’

‘‘Me no hurt bad, sare,’? the Zulu spoke
up. ‘‘First bullet hit me on leg—then oder
bullet hit here,’’ tapping his head. ‘‘Make
me see blind—not know where run. Brave
white boy save Sukuni’s life-—-me love bia
nearly like you, master.’’

Weak and bleeding as the Zulu was, he
knelt at the lad’s feet, aud pressed one °
the latter’s hands fervently to his own black
lips. ,
“Get up, Sukuni,’’? begged Mark, ‘and
don’t try to make me out a hero, Of coursé
I couldn’t leave you lying there woundé
when there was a chance to save you. Any
one would have done the same—if
nothing at all.’’

‘‘You’re mistaken, lad,’’ declared Braba-
zon, ‘‘though your modesty does you cre it.
It was the bravest deed I ever saw, au
you’ve earned the lifelong gratitude of the
Zulu. But that may not be saying much, 4%
things are now——’’

‘(Are we really in such danger?’’ inter
rupted Mark. ‘4
‘‘We couldn’t be ina much tighter place,
was the grim reply. ‘‘You see Pieter 1s G8
termined to get the gold—and something
else that I’ll tell you about later. He eve

dently hatched the plan long ago, @?
waited till trouble began to carry it out.
The rest of the Boers are evil characters like

himself—the scum of the Transvaal—a?
doubtless they know what Pieter is up 1
And they won’t be satisfied with anything
short of our lives, provided they succeed A
taking the house. In that event they’!l take
good care that none of us get a chance —

tell their own people how they used the yes
volt against British rule as a_pretex for
robbery and the paying off of old grudges:,,

“Then we’re in a mighty bad ways
Mark said, uneasily. ‘‘What are we going
to do about it? We can’t hold out long
against such numbers, and there’s no chaney
of help from Pretoria or any other plact

‘‘No, not a bit,’’ assented Brabazon. yy
must fight it out ourselves, and that we
do to the bitter end. But it’s too s0°
despair, lad, so cheer up and remember
we’re in God’s hands.’’

‘‘1¥m not afraid,’? Mark answered, P/U
ily. ‘‘And there’s a lot in our favol~ “\¢
house is strong, and we have plenty
weapons and ammunition.”’ - 99

‘But not enough men to use thems.
Brabazon muttered, as he turned to one
the loopholes. ds

He looked and listened for a few secoh™™
holding up one hand as a signal of silos

‘* All quiet yet,’? he said, finally- one
quite dark, and I can’t make anything “ine
The Boers are most likely gathered 1”
stable yard discussing their plans, 40 q the
it’s possible they’re lurking all aroun ust
house ready to begin their deviltry. "~ yen
prepare to give them a warm reception able
they come, lad. There aré three 0 us me
to handle a rifle—and that reuun 5
Sukuni needs surgical attention.”’

The Zulu, who was squatting tN jn-
haunches, vehemently asserted that va
juries were mere trifles. Buton examin’ igh
it was found that a bullet had passed thi
the fleshy part of the leg below th | jis
and that another had grazed one s1@@ noc!
head. The latter wound, the stunning, her
of which had disabled him f ;
flight at the time, required no at tly 3
but the hole in the leg Brabazon deftly

uickly bound up. . 99 fe
q Youll do for the present, Suku)» + an
said. ‘*You can hobble around in ed off
attack, but until you’re needed
your feet.’’ 5 a Mark

‘‘How is your other patient?”’ asker oop:
suddenly remembering the wounded the

He glanced at the bed, and saw. °* ith
lamplight that the man was lying
closed eyes and pallid face.

“‘J’m worried about Gifford,
zon,’ shaking his head ominousl¥; gone
poor fellow fainted before I was a ried f
setting his. leg, and» hard as ee tpab

“intern

n
that

‘ ba-
»» gaid BYinne

couldn’t bring him back. | I’m
fall into the kloof injured him 1”

     

 

 

 

   
 

 

 

  
 

   
   
 

   

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7

 

It’s just as well he’s unconscious, for he
couldn’t be of any assistance to us. And now
for a look about the house, lad—that’s the
next thing. Sit where you are, Sukuni, and
don’t try to follow us.’’

 

CHAPTER XIV.
A USELESS PARLEY,

   

HE house had been built in the early
2 days of the colony—long before it
#) came into Loyd Brabazon’s possession

» —and thus it was quite well fitted to
Stand a siege. It was constructed of heavy
timbers, solidly put together, and contained
but three rooms on its one floor. Two of
these were front, the first and larger being
the combined bed and sitting-room in which
the little party now were, and from which
opened the door and a window; next to it,
with one window front, was the sleeping
apartment formerly occupied by Mark and

irk.

A long room used for cooking and eating
purposes extended the length of the house
In the rear. The back door and two windows
Opened from it, and one end was roughly

partitioned off into a sleeping place for the
Zulu. There were no windows whatever in
the side walls of the house, but instead the
beams were perforated with a number of
convenient slits for rifle fire and observa-
the front and rear walls, as stated
efore, were provided with the same.

“It’s a snug and tight little place,’’ re-
Marked Brabazon, when he had finished a
thorough inspection. ‘‘The walls are solid,
and the doors and windows can’t be forced
With anything much short of a_battering-
ram. We have plenty of ammunition and a
fair amount of food and water. I’d enjoy
the prospect of standing these ruffians off

here but for one thing, and that’s the

mockery of it all.’’

‘*What?’’ asked Mark.

‘‘Why, there’s no hope of aid,’? Brabazon
answered, as he led the way to the front
Yoom again; ‘‘no hope of one of us slip-
Ping out and getting down to Pretoria. And
®ven if that were possible, I don’t believe a
rscue party could get through—the town
itself is likely in a state of siege. So, in the
end, we’ll probably have to choose between
Starvation and surrender.’

9 yand if we surrender the Boers. will kill
us?

**Yes, in cold blood,’’? muttered Brabazon.
He pulled the bed more to the corner of
N68 room, where it was not in the way of
any of the loopholes. ‘Poor Gifford,’’ he
added, ‘‘he’s in a bad way—still unconscious
and breathing hard. And how do you feel,
ukuni?”?

‘*Velly good, sare,’? was the reply. ‘‘Me
leg not hurt—me want to fight.’’

“You'll soon be gratified,’’ said Brabazon,
With a yrim laugh. ‘‘There is sure to be a
Move on the part of the enemy before long.

®t your weapons now, and fill your pockets
With cartridges.”

‘‘What do you suppose the Boers will try
to do??? Mark asked.

‘* Assault the doors and windows,’’ Braba-

- 20n answered, ‘‘but they won’t keep it up
Ong once they taste our fire from the loop-
Holes. And I’ve just been thinking, lad, that

We sicken them a bit so they fall back to
® Stables there might be a chance of one
fus bolting unseén in the darkness to Pre-
ria. And it’s barely possible that Falconer
fould reach us with a squad of troopers.’
‘Wouldn’t he try to come anyway,’?’ sug-
&ested Mark, ‘‘ when neither Gifford nor the
Test of us arrived after a reasonable time?
t seems to me he “would know something
Was wrong.’?
ied Jove, lad, you’re right !’’ exclaimed
thbazon. ‘‘What a duffer I was not to

Mk of it! We’re due at Pretoria now, as
me coner would reckon it, and by to-morrow

‘0rning he'll likely be on his way here. Of

A Tse, it’s doubtful, since Pretoria may be
Ssely invested, but at the same time we’ve

ee a big inducement now to hold out as

Na aS possible against these ruffians. And
8'll do it, by Jove!”

Ope is a wonderful power, and while it

Y not be more effective than despair to

‘ enalate men to fight, its cheering influ-

the’, tuly make it seem so, And such was

Pah Case now. Sukuni went limping about
ine Yoom forgetting the bullet hole in bis

full and Mark’s face was bright as he care

it wf examined his repeating rifle to see that

Ma
Sti

48 thoroughly loaded and in good work-
order,

slit tabazon peeped through several of the

*, >in the front of the house and on the
- toward the stables, whistling the while
hatch of a tune.

whi an’t see anything,’’ he announced, ina
oie: ‘It’s pitchy black outside, and it’s

Ing

lng 3 to be a dark night till nearly morr-

4
All Seems quiet,’’? said Mark.
®S, and that’s just what I don’t like.

p
‘ broynat afraid there’s some extra deviltry

nge— 9?

stiri he spoke a sudden thought seemed to
aa? Brabazon, and walking quickly to his

OL og ® unlocked it and took out two bags

uch, Vvas—that containing the gold anda

ms ‘ and tye one. The latter he held up,

Bente in his hand.
Wort, onds,”’ he explained; ‘‘and they’re
| a lot. I took them’ in trade for

 

another farm that I sold a few years ago,
and as it’s a convenient form of wealth, I
held on to them. It’s just occurred to me
that Pieter Van Houten knows I have the
jewels, and it’s a good plan to be prepared
for the worst and put them out of his reach
now. I have a secret hiding-place—I took
the stones from it only this afternoon—and
there they and the money shall lie safely.
Perhaps only for a day or two—perhaps
forever.’’

Brabazon dropped the diamonds in with
the gold, tied up the bag, and disappeared
with it in the rear room. A dull, rattling
sound was shortly heard, and then he re-
turned with a look of satisfaction on his face
—a look that assured)y would not have been
there could he have foreseen what his act of
precaution was to cost him.

‘‘That’s all right,’’ he said. ‘*‘And
there’s one thing more—I should
attended to it long ago.’’

He turned down the small lamp, which
was burning very dimly as it was, until so
tiny a glimmer remained that the occupants
of the room could scarcely. distinguish one
another.

‘«The rascals might creep up close to the
loopholes and fire ut us,’’ he explained,
‘tand it’s all the better for us to be——’’

Crash! a big stone hurled against the
front door of the house cut short Brabazon’s
sentence, and an instant later a gruff voice
called him loudly by name.

‘“That’s Pieter Van Houten, ” whispered
Mark. ‘‘I’d know his voiée in a thousand.
Better look out for treachery.’’

‘*T won’t be caught napping, lad,’ assured
Brabazon, creeping to the loophole nearest
the door and putting his mouth against it.
‘‘Who’s there???’ he demanded, loudly.
‘*What do you want?’’

‘‘Tt’s me—Pieter,’’ was the ungrammatical
reply. ‘‘Come out and have a talk, neighbor
Loyd. I mean you no harm.”’

‘*T?ll talk from here,’’ Brabazon answered.
‘¢ And see that you stay where you are, at
the gate. What do you want?”’ .

‘‘War has begun,’’ replied the Boer, after
a brief pause. ‘‘Our people have risen
through the Transvaal, and already they
have killed many British soldiers and taken
many towns. There will soon be not a red-
coat left. I have just heard the news—-—”’

now
have

‘‘Liar!’? Brabazon cried, angrily. ‘‘Do
you think Tam a fool? I know what has

happened, for I heard the truth from the
poor fellow you dastardly tried to murder
this morning. He is in the house with me
now, and for that foul deed you will yet
suffer. As for the war, as you call it, why
the Dutchmen of the Transvaal will be the
sickest fighters that ever took up arms in-
side of a month or two. But we won’t waste
time on those questions—again I ask you
what do you want?’?

‘Hot words and threats will do you more
harm than good, neighbor,’’ the Boer re-
plied, ‘‘nor do they meet the spirit in which
I come. But I will overlook them, since I
have but your welfare at heart. If you and
your companions will give up your arms
and surrender, you shall be free to go where
you choose.’

‘‘Do you think he means that?’’ asked
Mark, who could hear distinctly what was
being said.

‘“‘Of course not, the lying scoundrel!”’
muttered Brabazon. ‘‘It’s no use for you to
waste your breath, Pieter,’’ he added,
loudly. ‘‘I know your little game. You
want that bag of gold, and perhaps some-
thing else as well. And you havea few long-
cherished grudges that you would like to
pay off. Oh, no, my friend, we are not such
fools as to believe you. We would as soon
put ourselves in the power of a wounded
lion as to trust to your mercy and faith. So
go ahead and do your worst.’’

‘«Think ‘a little, neighbor,’’ the Boer an-
swered, in tones that were husky with pas-
sion. ‘‘We are too many for you to fight
against, and no aid can come to you from
outside. So if you are wise——”’

‘‘T have heard enough,’’ interrupted Bra
bazon, ‘‘We are not going to surrender, and
I warn you what to expect if you try to
force an entrance to the house.’? — :

‘‘Rools! dogs that you are!’? cried the in-
furiated Boer. ‘‘Yes, you are right. The
gold shall be mine, and the diamonds, too,
and if I have to take them by fighting, you
shall all die. But I will give you one chance
yet. If you surrender you shall go free, pro-
vided your hands are empty. What do you
say?’’

Ny say no,’’ declared Brabazon. ‘‘We are
going to hold out to the end—until the force
that is marching from Pretoria to our relief
arrives. That is my last word.”’

The. Boer laughed harshly.

‘‘Tiar of an Englishman!’’ he cried,
‘(know that not a single redcoat dares to
sbow his nose outside of Pretoria. Very well,
{ will give you no more chance. It will not
be long until you are begging of me the gift
of your wretched lives——’’

He ended the sentence with a fearful oath,
and scarcely a second later there was a
straggling discharge of rifles, and a patter-
ing storm of bullets against the stout
timbers of the house. ,

‘To your places, Mark, Sukuni!’’ cried
Brabazon. . ‘‘Let them have it—quick!
before they scatter !’’

All three were instantly at the loopholes,
thrusting their weapons out, and the shots

 

that they fired at random into the darkress
caused at least one yell of agony.

CHAPTER XV.
A MESSAGE OF DESPAIR.

—jOR some time the aimless fighting
continued, the Boers wasting lead on
the front of the house at close range,

t* while Brabazon and his companions
returned the fire steadily. The besieged
escaped injury, though balls frequently
pierced the timbers, but that the enemy
were less fortunate an occasional burst of
yells and curses testified.

It was a new experience for Mark, but he
behaved as Brabazon expected he would. He
was cool and self-possessed, loading and
firing with an untrembling hand. Fear never
entered his head, and he was chiefly con-
scious of a burning desire to kill some of
these ruffians who had hoped to carry out
their plan of murder and robbery without
resistance.

So tha bullets flew, and the rifles cracked,
and with every minute Pieter Van Houten’s
rage must have increased. In the room the
powder smoke grew thick and pungent, hid-
ing even the tiny glimmer of the lamp. And
amid all the outcry and confusion Gifford
lay as one dead, oblivious to what was tak.
ing place, and deaf to the sound of his name
when it was called by Brabazon in the lulls
of the fight.

At last the Boers seemed to have scattered
with a view to trying mew tactics, for a
staggling fusillade was opened from right
and left as well as from the front. Braba-
zon met this by ordering his companions to
defend those quarters, while he himself re-
mained at his old position, shooting as
steadily as ever.

So Mark and Sukuni, taking opposite sides
of the house, crept to and fro along their
row of loopholes, firing from each in turn.
They had several narrow escapes, Mark
feeling the whistle of a bullet by his ear,
while the Zulu was pelted with splinters
from a shot that struck inside one of the
slits. They could not tell what damage their
own fire was doing, but judged that it had
had some effect when the enemy’s rifles were
finally stilled.

However, this mutual truce was of brief
duration. An interval of blank silence—dur-
ing which the besiegers loaded their weapons
and took a fresh supply of cartridges—came
to a sudden and startling end. There was a
burst of yells and shouts, a rush of feet up
the garden walk, and then a quick and steady
shower of blows on the front door.

“It’s getting hotter,’’ cried Brabazon,
who was in the rear of the room atthe time.
‘The rascals have found a couple of axes,
and they seem determined to rush us——’?

‘‘Listen to the blows!’’ interrupted Mark.
‘«They’ll soon have the door through.’

‘‘Not a bit of it, lad. Come on, now, both
2 and take the loopholes to right and
eft.

By the time they reached the spot the
door was creaikng and groaning ominously,
and the sound of splintering wood could be
heard above the thud of the axes. But all
that was speedily changed. While Mark and
the Zulu blazed away from the loopholes to
right and left, Brabazon fired directly
through a tiny slit that fortunately hap-
pened to be in the middle of the door. There
was a heavy fall, followed by oaths and
shrill cries. Then the blows ceased, and the
clatter of feet told that the baffled Boers
were taking themselves out of harm’s way.

‘‘That was neatly done,’’ said Brabazon.
‘‘Don’t waste any more shots. The rascals
have had their lesson, and I hardly think
they’ll trouble us soon again.”’

‘“*Do you suppose they took the axes with
them??? replied Mark.

The question was answered almost as soon
as asked—and in a very unpleasant manner.
From the rear of the house came a loud and
furious pounding. The Boers had circled at
once around to the back door to renew the
attack.

‘‘T didn’t expect that,’’? Brabazon mut-
tered, anxiously. ‘‘Thescoundrels have more
pluck than I gave them credit for, and it
won’t be an easy task to drive them off. But
we’ll do our best—quick, now!”’

It was not an easy task, as the little party
of three realizéd so soon as they reached the
assailed spot. The axes were splintering the
wood at a tremendous rate, and this door
was pierced by no such advantageous slit as
the one at the front of the house.

From the near-by loopholes Mark and
Sukuni fired almost as fast as they could
pull trigger, thrusting the muzzles of their
weapons out as far as they dared, while
Brabazon shot repeatedly at the thick tim-
bers of the door itself. But the Boers per-
sisted in the face of the fire and the axes
kept crashing as steadily as ever. Such des-
perate work was bound to tell, and at last a
gleam of steel was seen through a slit in
the rent and splintered beams.

‘‘They’re through,’’? Brabazon cried,
huskily. ‘‘Here’s a break in the middle of
the door. We’ve got one chance left—poke
your rifles out the hole.”’

No sooner said than done. The opening in
the smashed door was large enough for the
purpose, and there was a ringing clash as
the three steel tubes yrs their muzzles into
the night air. Crack! cfack! went Braba-

 

 

zon’s weapon. Crack! crack !—crack!—
crack! Mark and Sukuni shouted as they
pulled trigger.

But a few shots were needed. The Boers,
met face to face by the deadly outpour of
lead, by the pungent smoke and red _ flashes,
dropped the axes and once more fled in a
panic. The muffled footsteps and angry
shouting died away, and the agonized groan-
ing of a dying man, who seemed to be lying
on the very stoop, was the only sound that
broke the stillness of the night.

‘“Thank Heaven!’’ exclaimed Brabazon.
‘Now bear a hand, comrades,’’ he added;
‘‘we must stop the gap up.’’

Mark and the Zulu lent him ready assist-
ance, and the heaviest pieces of furniture
that the house contained were quickly
dragged forward and piled in a _ barricade
against the shattered door.

‘“‘They won’t cut through that,’’ declared
Brabazon. ‘‘The spot is sounder than ever,
By Jove! I’m satisfied now that we can hold
out until help arrives—if any is on the way.
And even if Falconer can’t get to us we
may force the Boers to raise the siege.
We’ve killed or wounded at least four out of
the dozen, and though Pieter would stick on
to the bitter end, his companions won’t con-
sent to waste much time here when there
are other pickings to be had in the more
settled parts of the Transvaal.”’

‘*We kill four, sare,’? the Zulu laughed,
gleefully; ‘‘we kill more if they come.”’

‘*Suppose the Boers are reinforced,’’ sug-
gested Mark.

‘*Tt’s not likely,’’ replied Brabazon. ‘‘At
all events, I’m pretty sure there’ll be no
more fighting to-night, so we’ll have a bite
to eat and then take turns at sleeping and
mounting guard.”’

This was a welcome proposition, and his
companions did full justice to the repast
that Sukuni spread on the floor of the front
room, where the feeble glimmer of the lamp
could be utilized as much as possible. But
none of the three were in the mood for sleep,
and for several hours they sat crouched in
the gloom, talking in low tones. Sostill was
the night that it was difficult to believe in
the near presence of the bloodthirsty Boers.
The groans of the wounded man on the
stoop had long since ceased, and a restless
movement now and then from Gifford, who
was still unconscious, was all that was to
be heard.

‘“f?ve gotan idea,’’ Brabazon said, finally.
‘“‘T don’t like this silence, and I ‘want ‘to
know what it means. I’m going out——’’

‘It’s sure death,’’ interrupted Mark, in
alarm.

‘«.—out on the roof, lad. You don’t sup-
pose I’m such an idiot as to walk out of the
door. But,up there I won’t bein any dan-
ger, andas I can do the thing quietly and
without discovery, I may learn something
to our advantage. Lend me a hand with the
table, Sukuni.”’

In®the centre of the low and flat roof
overhead was a small trap-door, and under
this the table was noiselessly placed. Then
Brabazon mounted on top of it, having first
removed his boots. He lifted the trap back
with no more sound than a slight creak,
drew himself up, and disappeared through
the black opening.

The wait seemed painfully long to Mark
and Sukuni—far longer than it actually was.
The silence overhead was profound, and as
they sat intently watching the opening,
through which a couple of stars were visible
in the black sky, they dreaded to hear the
sudden crack of rifles. Gifford was growing
more restless, and he was evidently quite
out of his head with fever. At intervals .
wild and incoherent babblings fell from his
lips, and once his voice sounded like an
appeal for water.

Mark softly rose, gave the sick man a
drink, and crept back to his place beside
Sukuni. The excitement and suspense were
telling a little on the lad’s nerves, and he
felt afraid of he knew not what.

‘‘T wish Brabazon would come back,’’ he
whispered. ‘‘He’s been gone a long time,
and I’m worried about him. Do you think
he would venture to climb down. to tbe
ground?’’

‘*He no do that, sare,’’ replied the Zulu.
**You no worry—he come back safe. Boers
no see him up there. He listen both ears—
mebber hear much.’?

‘‘Yes, more than he wants to hear,’
whispered Mark. ‘‘When he comes back he’ll
bring bad news, I’m suré of it.’?

‘*How you know, sare???

‘tT just feel that way, Sukuni—I can’t
help it. I’ve got the blues, if you know what
they are, and I’m certain something is going
to happen.’’

‘¢You talk like black wizard, sare,’’ said
the Zulu. “‘Just so my own people’s witch
doctor talk——’”’

A slight creaking noise overhead checked
him, and an instant later Brabazon dropped
lightly to the table, and thence to the floor.
it was too dark to read the expression of his
face, but his voice, when he spoke, was
changedand unnatural.

‘‘T’ve got bad news,’’ he said, hoarsely.
“*Tt’s all up with us, and we must face the
worst. We are lost.’’

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
EE

Somer of the large crabs found in India
measure two feet in length,

  
  
 

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Contents of this Number.
SERIAL STORIES.

‘Heroes of the Hills,” by John H. Whit-
son.

“Gay Dashleigh in the South Seas,” by Ar-
thur Sewall.

“Under Different Flags,” by William Mur-
ray Graydon.

“King of Bike and Bat,” by Horace G.
Clay.

“Ned Purcell, the Boy Engineer,” by Har-
vey Hicks.

“The Valley of Mystery,” by Enrique H,
Lewis.

“Cavalier and Roundhead,” by Alfred Ar-
mitage. |

“Grimesy the Bell-Boy,” by **Peter.”

REGULAR DEPARTMENTS.

“Short Talks With the Boys,” by Arthur
Sewall. ; @
“How to Do Things,” by David Parks,
“Our Stamp Album.”
“Mail Bag,” ‘“IEixchange
“Club Notices,” ete.

Departiment,”

 

 

 

OUR NEXT NEW SERIAL

will be from the pen of that brilliant author,
who has established himself as such a
favorite among our readers,

HARRY DANGERFIELD.

This story is a sequel to ‘‘The Boy Boom-
ers,” and is even more delightful than that
fascinating tale.

We are sure, boys, that you will be glad
to renew your acquaintance with

JUD AND JOE,

as well as with the other inhabitants of

Red Horse.
a

HIS FIST BEAT CREATION,

Horace Greeley’s ‘‘copy’’ was a continu-
ous string of riddles for the, unfortunate
compositors engaged on the paper of which
he was the proprietor—riddles they often
solved in a way not exactly conducive to the
propounder’s serenity. If Horace’s own
people were severely exercised, his corre-
spondents suffered equally. hen he in-
formed the Iowa Press Association, ‘‘I have
waited, till longer waiting would seem dis-
courteous, and now decide that I cannot
attend your press meeting next. June as I
would do. I find so many cares and duties
pressing on me, that, with the weight of
years, I feel obliged to decline ary invita-
tion that takes me over a day’s journey from
home.’’ Out of this the recipients, in con-
sultation assembled, made, ‘‘I have won-
dered all along whether any. squirt had
denied the scandal about the president meet-
ing Jane in the woods on Saturday. I have
hominy~carrots, and R. R. ties more than I
could move with eight steer. If eels are
blighted, dig them early. Any insinuation
that brick ovens are dangerous to hams gives
me the horrors.’’

ape |

‘| creates all kinds of mischief.

 

GOooD

SHoRT {ALKS ===
With HE Boys.

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL.

——.—————

ee
if HAVE had such a large number of let-

It ters from boys asking how to exercise,
how to train for races, and so forth,

that this week I have determined to go
into the subject rather exhaustively.

I will first give a few common-sense words
of advice about the hygiene of the body.
Secondly, I will tell you how to get rid of
the trifling but troublesome complaints of
boyhood. Thirdly, I will give you the best
of advice about getting strong, and about
athletics.

About health. You are young now, you
know, so you cannot expect to be very
tough. What you want to get inside your
veins and arteries is pure blood, and enough
of it. Blood is made froni food, but over-
oating, or the eating of indigestible sub-
etances, will heat the blood and render it
impure.

In the remarks which follow I wish you to
believe yourselves going in for training.
Remember that no boy can safely under-
take a course of athletic exercises till he
has first and foremost prepared the body
for so doing, else he will go to the wall.
There is no secret about training, it is alla
matter of common sense; but for a boy who
does not enjoy robust health to jump up and
begin at once serious work with dumb-bells,
chest-expanders, clubs, or even a cycle would
be very injurious indeed.

As regards food. Fortunately, perhaps,
for you, others have the preparing of it, so
that you have really little option as to its
kind. Still there are a few things you must
bear in mind if you mean to train at all.

Breakfast, then, should not be taken im-
mediately after you come down stairs. Out
of doors with you, and take a quarter of an
hour’s walk, or do a bit of gardening for
the same time, or longer, if you can afford
it. Or take to mechanics of some sort,
and do half an hour’s good work before you
wash your hands for breakfast. Or, best
of all, if you havea cycle, take a spin on
that.

Eat slowly. The first part of digestion
takes place in the mouth. If you bolt your
food you will never get into any kind of
training.

For dinner do not have soup, let your
food be all as solid as possible; that is one
of the secrets of success.

Take time to eat, use vegetables in moder-
ation, bread in abundance, only a modicum
of salt, a very little pepper and mustard,
and no other condiment or sauce of any
kind. Wine or beer of any sort is poison to
a boy. Puddings and fruit are good, You
cannot go wrong if you follow this advice.
Do not jump up immediately after you have
done a meal. ‘At-all events, a little rest
should be taken, only it may be best taken
moving out of doors. Never eat between
meals. Get your meals as regularly as possi-
ble. Do not take late suppers, but if you
have had an early one, and feel a little
‘‘neckish’’ before going to bed, a cracker
with a little butter and half a tumbler of
milk will do good rather than harm.

A word about the bath. Ablution of the
whole body is most essential to health and
lithesomeness. A man or boy whose skin is
not in good working order cannot be said
to live, he only exists. Nor can his blood be
rt for the skin has to carry off from the

ody a vast amount of impurity which, if
retained, dulls the mind, blunts the facul-
ties, throws extra strain on the liver, and
Therefore, I
advise you to take a bath every morning.
You do not require to remain more than a
minute in the bath, but you must havea
good big sponge, sluish the head and face
before you go in, then the legs, standing,
then sit down and sluish the whole body
from each shoulder. Now jump up, and dry
with one towel and rub down with another.

I have as yet said nothing about drink,
yet many boys do not know what is best in
this way when thirsty in hot weather,
especially in the field during sports, or
while cycling. I am glad to be able to tell
them that the best of all drinks does not cost
anything—it is pure, cold water.
your cycle and bend your lips to a spring.

Next to cold water comes oatmeal water.
Put a tablespoontul of fine oatmeal into a
glass; fill up, stir and drink. Then—there
you are! You have quenched your thirst and
made a drop of good blood at the same time.

Clothing.—No boy who does not dress
with judgment will ever become strong.
Beware of sitting in a draught when your
clothes are damp; keep moving about, and
a will soon dry.

ear light clothes when exercising; heavy
clothing has to account for a deal of illness.
Sleep on a hard bed, with no'more bed-
clothes than will keep you warm at hight.

The bedroom should be very well venti-
lated, and in summer have the windows
open all night from the top—-not a little bit,

 

Get off,

 

 

 

but thoroughly down; a small slit means a
draught.

Out of doors keep the feet warm and the
head cool. A straw hat is better than any-
thing else in summer. Bicycling caps are
handy and light, but the sun beats on them
so. In very sunshiny weather put dock or
cabbage leaves in the straw hat; this pre-
vents sunstroke and headaches.

The neck should be as hardy asthe cheeks
or hands. Never muffle it up, therefore,
unless driving against the wind. The lighter
the muffler the better.

Exercise.—Before going in for athletics of
any kind you must take a course of regular
graduated exercise — graduated to the
strength, I mean.

Now, how and when are you going to do
this? That question is one for yourself to
answer. You may be engaged in business
all day, or during most of it, but surely
you can find an hour and a half to yourself
to spend moving about out of doors—not
mooning, mind you, but moving. Well con-
sider how best you can manage that.

Take a quarter of an hour’s spin before
your breakfast at the very least.

There is nothing like walking as a prelim-
inary training to athletics. But it is slow,
heartless work unless you get some one to
leg it with you. So I advise two to com-
mence training at the same time. The best
time of day is two hours after breakfast or
dinner (if the dinner be an early one). But
the exercise must be taken at precisely the
same time® every day. Begin with half a
mile there and half a mile back. I do not
know where ‘‘there’’? may be, and I do not
care, only it must be farther and farther
away every day, till at the end of two weeks
you are doing a nimble three miles there
and three miles back. Do not walk quick
for the first half mile, but when you find
you can do the whole six-mile spin well and
easy, heel and toe, you can take a spurt of
a quarter of a mile now and then, if it does
not distréss you. When you come back
home, it is a good plan to go and rub down
all over with a rough towel, and get inside
dry underclothing, placing that which is
damp where it can be well aired.

Take another good ‘walk, not so long,
some time before you go to bed. This will
enable you to sleep soundly.

Fatty food should not be partaken of to
any great extent while undergoing this pre-
liminary walking training. Butter is not so
deleterious, though it should be used spar-
ingly, and so should sugar. Milk, eggs,
cheese, and meat, with fish as a change, are
the best training foods. Even bread should
not be indulged in too much; it is fattening,
and it is not fat you want, it is something
harder and tougher.

Just a word about beer and tobacco. I
am addressing myself now to young men
over eighteen. I have only one word to say:
Neither are necessaries of life, and both re-
duce the staying power and injure the
nervous system.

Well, now, if you. have taken about three
weeks of good hard regular walking exer-
cise; if you have during that time taken a
cold bath every morning, and lived plainly,
avoiding excitement and excess of every
kind, your muscles, both internal and ex-
ternal, will be hard and usefulalready. At
all events, you may now feel perfectly safe
in adopting a more athletic form of exer-
cise. There are a great many different
kinds, and 1 will mention the best of these
presently. Let me first, however, note some
of the minor ailments and troubles that often
render boyhood’s days far from pleasant.

Here is a boy, called ‘‘Jack,’’ who is under
the impression he is suffering from heart
complaint. He asks if the heart beats fast
after excitement or running, does it indicate
heart disease? And if the heart is diseased,
should we not feel pain there? Well, he can
keep his mind easy. After running, and
during that exercise, the heart is bound to
beat faster, and in some forms of heart
complaint there is little suffering; but there
is nearly always distress of some kind,
either in chest or head. Nervous boys often
suffer from functional or emotional distur-
bances of the heart. The cure is obedience
to the laws of health and plain living.

‘*Roundback’’ comes next, complaining
of an inclination to stoop. Stooping habits
come from general weakness, added to a
slovenly way of leaning the body. Braces
should be worn, and the general constitu-
tional treatment I «shall now mention
adopted at once.

The constitutional remedies are those
which add tone and strengthen the blood
and system generally. But I may as well
tell you here, that in all such cases dumb-
bells and athletics of all kinds are out of the
question. Well, suppose you had a young
tree that the wind was blowing about. any-
how, but which you wished to grow up very
straight and strong, what would you do?
Why, you would do two things, of course:
You would brace it to a pole, and you would
supply it with plenty of growing manure.
Verily, young man, thou art the tree.

Wear the braces; sleep on a hard mat-
tress, with a low pillow. Sit straight at
table and at your books.

Walk straight, wherever you are. Eat
plain food; take the cold bath.
probably be a good plain also to take cod
liver oil for six months. Milk, cheese, meat,
etc., and plenty of moderate exercise. If

 

It would}

you do all this with great regularity you
will get all right and live to thank me.
But mind this, it is no good carrying 90
the treatment irregularly. If you miss days;
if you forget one day and remember the
next, you are only fooling yourself.

You will grow up delicate, and repent
when too late.

Heigho! the boy sighs, how can I grow
strong? How can I increase my stature
and look less puny?

But wishes are not horses, else beggars
would ride. In order to be strong and to

grow up manly you want good food, good -

sleep on a hard bed, with but little cover-
ing, fresh air, and all the exercise you cau
spare time for. As accessories, there are the
morning bath, or dip in*the river, and judi-
cious athletics. Following the bath must
come the rub, and if you chose to have
your splash in the sea, in the river, pool,
or even the mill dam, do not forget to take
with you a good rough towel and rub till
you are red,

If the fingers or hands get cold and blue
and numbed it indicates a feeble action 0
the heart, and you had better avoid outdoor
bathing for months till you are stronger.
Or, at all events, just take but one splash
and come out again.

What kind of athletic exercises are best
for boys? Why, their name is legion, 1
speak figuratively, and the choice of any
particular branch will depend, not only om

the condition of body a boy may be 10, .

but upon his situation and life and where-
abouts. ;

I would have you look upon mere calis-
thenics or gymnastic exercises as but pre
liminaries to the adoption of athletics
proper. You see, then, I make a division
and difference, and as an example of each,
I would name dumb-bells and cycling.

Let me impress this upon you to begin .

with, and I have given a like hint already:
There is no earthly good in commencing 8
course of gymnastic exercise with a view
of getting into form as regards muscle an
nerve, if you do not carry it out steadfastly
and regularly to the glorious end. Day
after day, at the same times, rain or shine,
nolens volens, you must go at it.

Join a class if possible.“ If there be 2°
class of the kind, why, form a little private
one. Get some hints in regard to dumb"
bells. Well, try those first. Do not have
the dumb-bells too heavy—only two pounds.

They ought to be light enough at first to
toss. Long dumb-bells are also good;
are used with both hands. *

I believe that with dumb-bells, regular
walking exercise, and most strict attention
to diet, etc., any boy can be brought inte
good form in about six weeks. ,

But, if possible, go in for other exercises:
Next to dumb-bells comes the Indian clubs
They are manipulated slowly and steadily,
swinging them, extending and elevating:
raising from the ground, etc. B

Having fairly hardened yourself by gyn
nastics, you will be fit to go in for any kin
of outdoor game or exercise, and the term
‘‘athletics’’ includes all these. i

Let me think of the names of a few—TU2
ning, jumping, vaulting with the Pp? e
wrestling, fencing, swimming, rowing; oe
cycling. Add to these the various game
and field sports, and you have plenty
pick and choose from. to

But, remember, I am not advising you at
hold by any one. You might be an adept
several, although you may not expec
become an Admirable Crichton. , ta

Fencing is a most useful exercise, bu
very much neglected one. th-
Wrestling is most excellent for strenB™,
ening almost every muscle in the body.
is very exhilarating, too, and during till
performance you are not likely to flag
on the ground, either above or below
‘*man.”?

Swimming every boy should learn. — ang
is no knowing how you may some day
yourself situated. 4 b

Rowing.—This is also good exercl body
muscles of arms and upper part of meSy
It should never be carried to ore ele
however, or a permanently enlarged urt
may be the consequence. Nor should sP
ing be much indulged in. “now

Cycling.—This isa sport which bas 72
completely got hold of the wore ;pioDs

se for t ‘

 

health-giving pastime is has, in my OP i
no equal, for it combines exercise
most scientific form with recreation.
WAITING FOR THE BIRD:
Be for

A small boy who hada great dislily tle
school returned home for dinner
earlier than usual. iy pav®

‘“Tommie, you naughty boy, yer! ‘e
been playing truant,’’ said his mov ‘and
little dicky-bird came in at the Wi?
told me so,’’

school as usual. During
mother heard a noise from the far” caw
the kitchen, and, looking roun
Tommie crouched under the table.

‘Tommie, you rascal, what are
there?’?

Seeing that he was discovered,
out, and, holding up a brick whic

ou doin

h he

 

by him, replied: 1
‘‘T was waitin’ tosmash that dicky

they.

he orale ‘

 

 

 

 
  

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Sa TO iat he a nar wera oy
~ ne ee Me eS

 

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aS Sk C.F O68 beled. Bb. boy re es Oe ee. be es cs cs Cc, em as ae ee a SS eee eee

  
   

 
  

   
   

 

 

GooDp

(This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.}

GAY DASHLEIGH IN THE SOUTH SEAS

 

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By ARTHUR SEWALL,

Author of “Gay Dashleigh in Cuba,” ‘

‘Gay Dashleigh’s Academy Days,’’ etc.

(“Gay DASHLEIGH IN THE SoUTH SEAS,” was commenced in No. 325. Back numbers can be obtained of
>

all News:

dealers.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, |

Gay Dashleigh, a young millionaire, charters
& yacht, the Hesperides, to sail to the relief of
the starving Pitcairn Islanders. His party is
to consist of his chum, Jack Dunham; his
S8Weetheart, Bessie Winsome; his former
teacher in chemistry, the eccentric Professor
Gasse; Ko-Ko, the stuttering Japanese, and a
Maiden lady named Miss Spooner. Gay has
been collecting diamonds for some time, and
Row has enough for a very handsome neck-
lace. Before sailing from San Francisco, Pro-
fessor Gasse very foolishly tells a reporter all
about the expedition and about Gay’s dia-
Monds. Munson Ferris
and Willis Allibone, two

‘‘Leave him where he is. He may prove
of use to take the yacht to Sidney,’’ replied
Cleary, gruffly.

Gay was hustled to his feet and foreed
through the pilot-house to the outer deck.
He saw Allibone and Munson stare at him
from aft as if they scarcely believed their
eyes. The former ran forward with a cry of
Oy.

‘‘Where did you catch; him??? he asked,
eagerly.

‘‘In the cap’ain’s room,’’ was the terse
reply.

NEWS.

Munson crept to the edge of the skylight
and leveled his revolver.

A cry of warning came from Gay.

**Look out, Jack! They are——’’

A brutal hand was placed over his mouth
and he was forced backward against the
starboard railing.

‘*Another word, and Ill throw you to the
sharks, Gay Dasbleigh !’’

‘*You are a miserable coward, Willis Alli-
bone!’ retorted Gay, hotly. ‘‘You do not
dare to face me on equal terms. You area
coward, a coward, a coward!’’

Stung by the contemptuous accusation,
Allibone raised his hand to strike. Before he
could carry out his intention, the door of
the cabin companionway was thrown open,
and Gasse stumbled across the threshold.

He was seized before he could recover
himself, and placed with Gay. A wildshriek
came from below, then the sounds of a
violent struggle became apparent.

Gay groaned aloud, and strained fiercely
at his bonds. The effort was useless, and
only provoked a scornful laugh from Alli-
bone and Munson. Presently the sounds be-
low died away. There was a tramping of
feet upon the cabin stairs, then Cleary
|} appeared dragging Bessie by the arm.

 

 

 

     

 

9

z

‘“What do you think they will do with us,
Dashleigh?’’ groaned Professor Gasse.

‘“‘There is no telling, sir. The mutineers
are enraged at our resistance, and they seem
desperate enough for anything.’’

“*But can’t you offer to—to buy them off?
Promise them a large sum of money, and

| perhaps they will spare our—our lives. ’?
| E 3 I

*‘Stop your jaw, you old fool!’’ snarled
Munson, giving the professor a prod with
the muzzle of his revolver. ‘‘You talked
enough when you taught us at Ebb Tide. I
swore then I’d get square with you some
day, and I’m keeping my word.”’

Further conversation was stopped by the
sudden appearance of Cleary, who rushed
from below with a jewel box in his hands,
The mutineer’s face was aflame with greed,
and he laughed boisterously as he stepped
out on deck.

‘“‘Hurrah! Oi’ve got th’ shiners!’’ he
shouted. ‘‘An’ they are beauties, too.
Worth a hundred thousand if they’re worth
a penny. Allibone, yez called the turn right
enough. Just look at ’em, will yez?’?’

The sailors, with Ferris and Allibone, sur-
rounded the Irishman, and peered covetously
ata magnificent necklace of diamonds he held
up. The stones sparkled with all the varied

colors of a rainbow in

 

Unprincipled young men,
Old-time enemies of Gay,

 

 

Tead the account, and

 

concoct a plot to obtain

 

@ jewels. The Hes-

 

 

 

Perides sets sail. There

 

 

 

 

are some turbulent spirits

 

among the crew, and,
atter about ten days, a
Mutiny breaks out. The
Captain is overpowered
and Gay is attacked. As
ay, having snatched a
elaying pin, turns to con-

Sailor named Cleary, two
Other figures appear upon
the scene—Allibone and
erris—who had stowed
lemselves away upon
€ yacht in San Francis-
_Gay is intensly as-
tonished to see his former

tonce from past experi-
ee that they must be
here because they have
homed some plot against
ey Then his heart al-
thee’ fails him at the
‘Ought of Bessie falling
ae the hands of those
‘Hans, He determines
18 shall never hap-
€n while he lives.
Prick as thought, he
as the pin at Cleary,
Nd, evading the others,
tetages to drop through
‘ Hi Skylight into the
*bin, Where are the rest
US party. He bolts
aay door, and they are
th ®for the present. But
y are unarmed. The
ie are all in a chest in
on Dilot-house. After a
throultation Gay drops
howe one of the port-
at’ swims round
JoOwsprit. He
ambers up on deck and
aches the pilot-house,

 

t Meare To his dismay,
chest is empty. While
ka. Standing there, not
eet oes todo ne
led tramping an

Patse voices show that
‘d ont. There is a
leading to the cap-
Stoom. Gay rushes
Th snd bolts the door.
Wonna certain, badly
Derwded, is lying in his
He telis Gay that
@ pistol in his
5 rawer, and the
Sion “8etly takes posses-
tine of it. At the same

taj n’,
in

the door, and is sue-

In the opening
1 a four or five men,

 

 

 

 

 

 

y Cleary. They
Upon Gay, and
é er fires, wounding
oungue mutineers. The

ed man staggers afainst Cleary, send-
Sprawling at Gay’s féet.. The latter
Tevoly mbly aside, but in the effort drops the
he itn &r. Cleary grasps the weapon, but, before
hin, “?everse the barrel, Gay springs upon

ance

ADs nj

* ls CHAPTER VII.
IN THE HANDS OF THE MUTINEERS.

HE ensuing struggle was brief. While
Gay and Cleary contested for the pos-
> Sssion of the weapon, ‘the other muti-
thems Neers sprang into the room and threw
tely ®lves upon the lad. He fought desper-
hig Sito ut the odds were too many. Despite
ete he was thrown to the floor and
oh bound with the bight of a rope.
hea Cody rat, I’ve a notion to blow
Aton; oe Where yez lay !’’ grated Cleary,
Yolvg ning the prostrate youth with the re-
» 8h? c;; ought yez could git th’ best av
bim t Oi’ll show yez a thrick or two. Drag
t, mates !??
Querigg ® ll_we do with old Fleming?”
®ne of the men, indicating the
with a jerk of his thumb.

\

&%

Yer

 

 

 

HEADLONG DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE ONCOMING SHARK!

Allibone gave Gay a brutal kick, and
exclaimed, viciously :

‘*You swam from the stern ports, eh? Lot
of good it did you. We’ve got you now, and
it won’t take long to capture the rest. You
little thought we would turn up in this
fashion, Dashleigh. Ha, ha! you’re not the
only smart kid on earth.’’

“Stow that gab!’’ interrupted Cleary,
roughly. ‘‘We’ve got no time ter talk. It’s
action now. We wants th’ shiners first, then
we’ll settle this bloke and his friends.’’

Munson Ferris grinned derisively as Gay
was dragged past him. A halt was called
near the open skylight. From where he
stood the prisoner could see Mascot frisking
about the floor of the cabin. He caught a
momentary glimpse of Bessie’s skirts for a
second, and he gritted his white teeth with
impotent rage.

Cleary and another sailor slipped aft and
lowered a couple of ropes over the stern of
the yacht. Their object was plain—they
indeed to attack the occupants of the cabin
from the rear. At the same time a couple of

After them came another mutineer carry-
ing the inanimate figure of Miss Spooner.
Finally, Jack and Ko-ko begrimed ° and
bleeding, were forced on deck by three
sailors who had evidently made their way
through the passage.

‘*Ah, Miss Bessie Winsome, I declare!??
exclaimed Allibone, with mock politeness.
‘*Delighted to see you again, Iassure you.’’

‘‘Me too,’? grinned Munson Ferris.
‘*What would the folks back in Milton think
if they saw us now, sweetheart? Ha, ~ha!
that caught you, eh, Dashleigh? Wouldn’t
you like te be free for ten minutes?’

‘‘I’d give ten thousand dollars for half
that time, you villain!’’ retorted Gay.

By Cleary’s advice, the prisoners were
placed under guard in the starboard gang-
way. Then, with a couple of mates, the
leader of the mutineers hurried into the
cabin.

‘‘Bessie, keep up your heart,’’ said Gay,
encouragingly. ‘‘Things look pretty black
but we are still living, and that is one bless-
ing. Iam sorry my plan failed, but I did

 

men began a tattoo upon the cabin hatch
with belaying-pins.

the best I could. Captain Fleming is still
alive. He isin his room,’’

 

THE VIOLENT EFFORT CAREENED THE FRAIL QUARTER-BOAT, AND BEFORE HE COULD RECOVER HIMSELF GAY WAS THROWN

 

Se

the sun’s rays, and cries
of* admiration came
from the spectators.

‘*T little thought they
would bring us to this
when I purchased
them,’’ said Gay, bit-
terly.

‘‘You are not to
blame,’’ said Bessie,
softly. ‘‘It was not pos-
sible to foretell this.’’

““Mum-mum-me hop
um diamonds’ll fetch
um mutineers to the
rope!’’? muttered Koko,
savagely.

‘Tt will do that right
enough,’’ replied Jack.
He added, disconso-
lately: ‘‘I’m mightily
afraid we won’t live to
see it, though.’’

“You are right
there !’’ wailed the pro-
fessor. ‘‘We are dead
and buried already, Oh,
why did we leave’ the
peaceful shades of the
East to come out here?
Dashleigh, your roving
spirit has kiJled us at
last.’’

‘‘T like that,’ re-
torted Gay. ‘‘You are
blaming me, eh? Who
was the most eager per-
son in the party?’’

‘* Professor Gasse,’?’
replied Bessie, prompt-
ly. ‘‘He couldn’t wait
until the hour of depart-,
ure. Professor, you are
ungrateful.”’

‘‘Here comes the
men !’’ exclaimed Jack.

Led by Cleary and
Allibone, the body of.
mutineers moved to-
ward the group of pris-
oners. There was an
expression of grim, de-
termination upon the
faces of all.

Allibone, Munson, and
the Irishman stepped
aside for a moment,
and held a whispered
conversation ; then they
joined the others.

‘* Dashleigh,’’? said
the former, with asneer,
‘‘we have decided your
fate, and I want to tell
you now that it is bet-
ter than you deserve.
Some of us were in
favor of dumping you
over the side without
further ado, but my
gentle spirit would not permit me to con-
sent.’?

Gay eyed the speaker contemptuously.
He knew full well that little mercy could be
expected from the fellow. e

‘‘I advocated mercy, and my comrades
have decided to follow my advice,’’ con-
tinued Allibone, with an unpleasant smirk.
‘‘We are going to give you a chance for
your lives.”’

A ery of joy came from Professor Gasse,
and he darted past Munson to where Willis
was standing. Tremulously placing one hand
upon his shoulder, he stammered:

‘‘] knew you wouldn’t kill us, Allibone.
You baven’t the heart to do that. You are
a bad boy, but you are not altogether
wicked. Release us, and Dashleigh will pay

’

 

 

‘*Get out, you sniveling old idiot!’’ Willis
exclaimed, harshly. ‘‘Get back to your
place, or.I’ll throw you to that shark
astern. I’m the teacher now. Ha, ha, ha,
Munson, what d’ye say? Shall we cane
him? Remember the time he had your hide
tanned at Ebb Tide Academy?”’

Highly pleased at the suggestion, Ferris

  

 
  

10

 

seized the professor with one hand, and
grasped the end of a rope with the other.

‘“T’l] pay you back now for many a
whack,’ he chuckled. ‘‘The last licking I
got on your account was for calling a
molecule a microbe. Now say that I was
right, or I’ll lick the everiasting daylights
out of you.”’

He raised the rope’s end, but before he
could bring it down Professor Gasse, taunted
into desperation, grasped him by the neck.
Both fell to the deck and rolled into the
scuppers to the great delight of the
mutineers.

The scientist was no mean fighter when his
blood was up. He kicked and scratched with
such good will that Munson soon raised a
ery for help. Allibone separated them and
sent the professor spinning back to the rest
of the prisoners with a cowardly kick.

‘¢Bnough of this fooling,’’ growled Cleary.
‘¢Mon, lower the quarter-boat. Shake a leg
about it, too. We’ve wasted toime enough,”’

‘‘The quarter-boat!’’ echoed Gay, uneasily.

‘¢Heavens! they must mean to turn us
adrift!’’ cried Jack, his face paling.

‘“‘That’s just what we intend to do,’’ ex-
claimed Allibone, who had overheard the re-
mark. ‘‘We have decided to be merciful.
We'll give you a chance for your lives.”’

‘Do you call turning us adrift in an open
boat out here remote from any land and
out of the track of vessels a chance?’’ said
Gay, hotly. ‘‘You area fiend, Willis Alli-
bone. Better kill us at once than to condemn
us to a lingering death.’’

 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
   
    
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
    
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
    
 
 
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
    
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 

CHAPTER’ VIII.
ABANDONED!

LLIBONE’S sneering face darkened.
Advancing toward Gay, he stood in
front of him and folded his arms.
He spoke, and his voice was bitter

with hate.

‘Gay Dashleigh,’’ he said, in a_ low,
tense voice, ‘‘I have waited many months
for this hour. The time has at last arrived.
While we were cadets at Ebb Tide Academy
you crossed me in every way. You usurped
my place as leader of the school, you
cheated me at the competitive drill, you——’’

“‘Stop!’? warmly interrupted Gay. ‘‘ Alli-
bone, you are not telling the truth, I did
not ‘cheat you, and you know it. The laurels
I won from you were earned honestly. You
are right in saying that I took your place
as leader of the cadets. Iam proud of it.
You lost simply because you deserved to
lose. Instead of devoting your time tostudy,

* - you preferred to loaf in the low groggeries
in the village. You are reaping the whirl-
wind, that’s all.’’

‘*Bravo!’? applauded Jack,

‘*Bravo! bravo!’’ echoed Bessie, her eyes
sparkling with excitement.

‘‘Hip h-h-hip, bullah!’’ ried Ko-ko.

. ‘*Y-vou t-tell um plenty truth.’’

‘‘Hvery word you-er—said is correct,
Dashleigh,’’ coincided Professor Gasse, reck-
lessly. ‘‘Give it to the scoundrel. Allibone,
you are a fraud and a—er—rascal. I scorn
to know you.’’

The scientist’s successful encounter with
Munson Ferris had evidently inspired him
with daring. Thus confronted and defied
with those completely in his power, Willis
Allibone became wild with rage. He gave
Gay a brutal blow in the face, and would
have carried his cowardly revenge to fur-
ther extent if Cleary had not interfered.

The Irishman, villain though he was, had
some sense of fairness. He grasped Allibone
by the shoulder and cast him aside.

‘That'll do!’? he exclaimed, roughly.
‘‘Oi have had enough of yer fooling. lave
thim alone, will yez? Mates, hustle thim
into th’ boat. Dashleigh, yer are a brave bit
of a lad, and Oi admire yer spunk. Oi’d
like to see yer better situated, but if can’t
be helped now.’’

‘“‘Cleary, I thank you,’ earnestly replied
Gay. ‘‘You have some manhood in you.
Wiil you see these helpless ladies condemned
’ to such a cruel fate? You are committing

this foul crime for a paltry sum of money.

Those diamonds will not bring you at the

most more than seventy-five thousand dol-

lars. If you will release us and take my
word for it, I’ll give you twice—yes, three
times that amount. And I’ll also promise
«you complete immunity from punishment. ’’
Cleary wavered. He was evidently im-
pressed by the offer.
if ‘You know the price mutineers have to
\ pay for their crime,’’ continued Gay, im-
pressively. ‘‘You cannot hope to escape.
Soon or late, your sin will find you out. In

‘these days suspicion——”’

‘‘Don’t you believe him!’’ harshly inter-
rupted Allibone. ‘‘He will fool you every
time. If you trust him you will bitterly
regret if.’’ ‘

_ We have something to say about this!’’
* poldly cried Munson Ferris. ‘‘Didn’t we

put you on the track of the diamonds,
Cleary? We know Dashleigh. He is not to
be trusted. He'll speak you fair now, but
when the yacht reaches port he’lLhave you
jugged as sure as you are alive.”

A murmur came from the other mutineers
who had gathered around the group.

‘(We ain’t a-going to run no risks, and
you can lay to that,’’ growled a sailor
named Gibbs. ‘‘We’ve done the trick, and
we've got ter stick by it.’’

os

 

 

 

 

 

GOOD NEWS.

 

‘‘Right yer are, mate,’’ spoke up another,

with an ugly leer at Bessie. ‘‘It’s a bad job}
to leave witnesses. Throw ’em overboard,
says I.’’

This opposition decided Cleary. Roughly
ordering the men to drag the prisoners to
the rail, he stood by to cut the painter. Miss
Spooner, who was still in a deep swoon, was
lowered first. Then Bessie entered the boat.

As Professor Gasse crawled over the side
Munson favored him with a hearty kick.
Ko-ko dropped nimbly into the bow,
followed by Jack. As Gay’s arms were
unbound he fearlessly faced the mutineers.

‘*Men, you will bitterly rue this day,’’ he
said, in a clear voice. ‘‘lt may prove the

end of us, but our fate will be as nothing |

compared to yours. .Murder will out, you
can rest assured of that. There never was a
successful mutiny in the history of the sea.”’
‘“‘Stow your gab and jump,’’ shouted
Gibbs, prodding the lad with a belaying-pin.
As Gay obeyed perforce, Allibone and

 

Munson appeared at the rail. Each bore

several bundles, which they proceeded to}

throw into the tossing craft.

‘“Take these with our compliments,’’
grinned the latter. ‘*We don’t want you to
peter out toosoon. Live and suffer, curse
you! That’s salt codfish in that bundle; the
other contains a keg of mackerel in brine.
For water you can have the whole blooming
ocean. Ha, ha!”’

Still chuckling at his cruel joke, Munson
signaled to Cleary to cut the rope, As the
frail boat drifted away from the side of tho
yacht a shrill barking came from the, after
deck, and a yellow object leaped® with a
splash into the water.

It was Mascot, faithful to the last.

Gay reached out and tenderly lifted him
into the boat.

‘“‘Good for you, old fellow!’’ he mur-
mured. “‘You are only a dog, but your
heart is better than that of many a man.’’

A jeering laugh came from the mutineers,
and several rough witticisms floated over the
water. Presently Cleary was seen to issue
an order, and the men crowding the rail dis-

appeared. “After a moment the leader of the |

mutineers mounted the bridge with the mate
of the yacht, an honest Down-Kaster.

 

A revolver pointed at his head proclaimed
the reason for his apparent connection with

the recreant crew. Suddenly a dense volume |

of smoke poured from the funnel, then the |

screw under the stern commenced to churn
the water.

‘¢They are away,’’
voice. ;

Bessie covered her face with her hands,
and Gay saw that she was crying. Her
brave spirit,had succumbed at last.

‘‘Cheer up, sweetheart,’’? he whispered,
softly. ‘‘Let us utes for the best. We may
be picked up, you know.”?

In his secret heart he fully realized the
futility of the chance. He knew well that
they were entirely out of the traveled ocean
routes. The observation of the previous
day had made their position 132 degrees 4
minutes west longitude, 12 degrees 234
minutes south latitude,

It was too far to the north for the
steamer lines running around the Horn to
Australia from England, and too far to the
southward for the lines between San. Fran-
cisco and Australia. The only vessels it
would be possible to encounter would be
either a stray whaler, or a trading &chooner
cruising from island to island.

‘‘And such craft are few and
between,’’? murmured the lad.

As the yacht steamed slowly away, Alli-
bone and Munson walked to the stern and
waved their hands at the oceupants of the
boat. The former made a great pretense of
tossing a rope over the after rail, as if with
the intention of giving the craft a tow.

Gay resolutely turned his head away. Jack
and Ko-ko followed his example, but the
professor refused to be comforted. His
lamentations roused Miss Spooner from her
swoon, and, as soon as she realized their
predicament, she mingled her shrieks with
Gasse’s outcries.

‘‘For goodness’ sake, keep quiet,’’ Gay
finally commanded. ‘All the wailing in the
world won’t better our condition. Instead
of wasting time howling and yelling, we
should see how we stand.’’

By mutual consent, nothing was done,
however, until the Hesperides disappeared.
Propelled by her powerful engines the grace-
ful yacht was speedily hull down in the
distance.

She finally. vanished from sight over the
rim of the ocean, and only a faint tracery
of smoke remained to tell the silent watchers
in the quarter-boat that they were not alone
on the vasty deep. That, too, disappeared
by and by, and a feeling of utter desolation
fell upon the abandoned party.

CHAPTER IX.
PERIL.

said Jack, in a low
&

far

GAY’S

HE steered to the southwest,’’ mut-
tered Gay, after awhile. ‘‘They must
be heading toward Australia.’’
&. ‘‘One of the mutineers mentioned
Sidney,’’ said Jack, ‘‘so it is evidently their
intention to call in there. I hope they do
and are captured and punished.’’
‘‘Amen to that!’ fervently cried the
young millionaire.

| Marqueses.

 

‘‘Now that we haven’t any troublesome
neighbors,’’ he added, with an assumption of
gayety, ‘‘we’ll see just how we are situ-
ated. Bessie, brace up, and lend us a hand.”’

The girl smiled at him through her tears.

‘‘T am all right now, Gay,’’ she replied
‘‘Tt was the—the first shock.’’

She turned her attention to Miss Spooner,
and finally induced that tearful spinster to
take an interest in affairs. Professor Gasse
gradually recovered himself, and in the
course of a half-hour the occupants of the
little boat were partially reconciled to their
desperate situation.

‘We'll overhaul the craft and see what
we have,’’? ordered Gay. ‘‘Ko-ko, what is
under that forward seat?’’

The Jap rummaged in the place desig-
nated and presently drew into view a small
cask. He shook it close to his ear, and then
passed it aft with a cry of joy.

‘*Tt h-h-have water or s-something, mum-
master. Hullah! we no dead yet.”’

‘‘Thank God!’’ exclaimed Gay, a moment
later. ‘‘It does contain water, and it is
fresh and sweet. The mutineérs forgot to re-

| move the emergency stores Captain Fleming
had placed in each boat after we left’ Frisco.”’

‘Then there must be a bag of bread anda
sail, too!’’ almost shouted Jack.

A hurried search revealed the bread, but
the sail had been removed. The joy of the
castaways at the discovery of the food was
intense. It meant at least a few days more
of life.

‘‘T am sorry we haven’t the sail,’’ said
Gay. ‘‘There is the mast under the port
gunwale, but it’s useless to us without we
manage to rig up a bit of canvas.”’

‘*Where could we steer to?’’ asked Bessie,
with great interest. ‘‘Are
land?’’

‘‘Tf | remember rightly, the captain told
me that a group of islands called the Mar-
queses lie to the westward about six hun-
dred miles.”’

‘¢Hamlet’s ghost! we could never make
that distance,’’ exclaimed Professor Gasse,

| disconsolately. ‘‘It would take a sailing ves-

sel with plenty of speed at least three days.
We couldn’t expect to do it under two
weeks, even with a sail and a fair wind.’’

‘‘How far away are the Pitcairn Islands?”’
asked Jack. \

‘‘T believe the nearest of the grouf i
Elizabeth Island. It is no nearer than the
There is little choice between
them.’?

Under Gay’s directions, an inventory was
made of the contents of the boat. Jack
jotted down the results with the stub of a
pencil he found in his pocket, and read the
list aloud. As made out by him, it was at
follows:

‘‘One keg of water
gallons, »

‘*One bag of pilot bread containing forty-
three biscuits.

‘‘One small keg of mackerel in brine.

‘One package, probably five pounds, of
salt codfish.’’

‘‘Hum! mighty small rations for six
hungry persons and a dog,’’ remarked Gay.
‘‘We must reduce the allowance to the
smallest possible proportions. ’’

‘‘At one biscuit a day for each, including
Mascot, it will mean six days,’’ figured
Professor Gasse. ‘‘Counting half a pint of
water daily for each, the fluid will last
eighteen days.’’ ;

“Cannot we live on half a biscuit with the
mackerel and codfish?’’ asked Bessie. ‘‘That
would bring the time to twelve days.’’

‘¢We will try sweetheart,’’ replied Gay,
cheerily. ‘‘We are not so badly off after all.
Fancy it; we didn’t expect to find even the
water and biscuit.’’

‘‘Mum-maybe we catch um fish,’’ sug-
gested Ko-ko. ‘‘And maybe it r-r-rain.’

Jack bent over and whispered something
to Gay. The latter looked startled, and,
picking up Mascot, fondled the intelligent
animal for a moment then he shook his head
at his chum.

‘‘] sincerely hope it won’t come to that,’’
he said, in a low voice.

The action was not lost upon the professor.
Turning to Miss Spooner, he said, with a
wry face:

‘‘Tf it comes to the worst, we'll have to do
it, I suppose.’’

“Do what???
piciously.

‘*Mat dog.’’

‘*You horrid thing. What do you mean?”’

The professor jerked his thumb toward
Mascot.

‘“‘Tf we run short of provisions it will be-
come necessary to devour that interesting
animal. It is lucky he is fat and in prime
condition.”’

Miss Spooner showed sigiis of a hysterical
attack, and Bessie drove the professor to the
bow. Jack put out the oars, of which there
were two in the quarter-boat, and started
to row,

‘‘We can do better than that, chum,’’ said
Gay. ‘‘I havea scheme. I read of a party
of sailors in about the same fix. They made
a sail out of their shirts and coats, There
isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t do like-
wiso.’’

‘‘Mum-mum-me put up m-m-mast,’’ vol-
unteered Ko-ko, eagerly. ‘‘Me t-t-think
wind c-c-come over there. Bimeby w-w-we
go plenty fast.’’ ;

He pointed to a rippling of the surface

containing eight

asked the spinster, sus-

we near any:

 

    

toward the eastern horizon.
quarter were a number of feathery clouds,
the only ones visible in the whole expanse 0
azure sky. It did not require a practiced eye
to tell that a breeze promised in that direc-
tion.

While the Jap arranged the mast, Gay
and Jack collected the shirts belonging to the
male members of the party, and by dint of
knotting and splicing contrived a make-shift
sail of irregular shape.

It was hoisted in time to catch the first
edge of the breeze, and the quarter-boat
soon gathered headway amid the cheers of
the castaways. The professor, especially,
was delighted. He capered about in such al
alarming manner that the frail craft nearly
capsized.

“Hurrah! this is simply glorious!’’ he
shouted. ‘‘]f this continues, we—er—we Wi
make a port in time to have those villains
captured. Dashleigh, it’s a pity Wwe
haven’t a little grog to—er—celebrate the
occasion.’?

‘¢Grog is the cause of our being here, con:
found you!’’ retorted Gay, severely. ‘If
you hadn’t filled up in San. Francisco those
rascals, Allibone and’ Munson, wouldn’b
have learned of the expedition and the
diamonds. ”’

‘‘That is so,’? chimed in Miss Spooner,
shaking her attenuated hand at ProfessoF
Gasse. '*We owe it all to you, sir, Your dis
graceful -weakness is responsible for our
dreadful situation. You ought to be ashamed
to look us in the face.”’

‘‘Tt’s certainly a punishment to look you
in the face,’’ muttered the scientist, un er
his breath. ‘‘One glance at that—er—mue
is worse than six months in jail.’’

As the morning progressed the sun’s rays ~

became almost unbearable to Bessie and het
companion, Gay placed them as much 12
the shade of the sail as possible, but it
afforded little relief.

At noon a very small portion of food and
water was doled out. All ate with g00
appetites, notwithstanding their dangerous
situation. During the afternoon various
details were arranged. It was decided
stand watch and watch during the night.

Shortly after dark the breeze freshened t0
such an extent that it was
to take a reef in the improvised sail.
sea, which had been comparatively calm,
roughened considerably, and the spray dash-
ing over the bow soon wet the occupants 9°
the boat.

There was little sleep that night. At day:
break, Gay, who had the last watch, stor,
up with his hand upon the mast, and ap
iously swept the horizon. He saw nothing
save the interminable stretch of blue an
green—the sky and the sea.

Suppressing a sigh, he

Bessie. i
‘Nothing in sight yet, sweetheart, ot
said, cheerily. ‘‘To tell the truth, I did 3
We are doine

expect to see a fleet of ships. ily
very well as itis. What if we had men:
been set adrift with nothing save the @5,;
fish and mackerel as those fiends intende by

‘‘We would have had a handy thirst)
this time—a regular Professor Gasse thu the
replied Jack, poking his head above
midship seat.

A groan from forward indicate
remark had awakened unpleasant Te
tions in one of the party. The scientls
erect and stretched his arms.

‘*You boys may laugh,’’
dolefully, ‘‘but I have been
night. I dreamed we were in San Fral
—the bar was open—but .invisibl
prevented me from entering—inside
army of:attendanis were mixing the
delicious drinks—and a little blue
perched upon the cash register mockery
efforts to enter—it was dreadful, dreae |i”

‘‘Served you right, you horrid 1" no
came in shrill tones from Miss Spoone? x60r'8
bad awakened in time to hear the pre ‘id got
lament. ‘‘If I had my way, you ef oes and
nothing to eat and drink except cod fis
sea water.’’ faces

‘«Ts it possible that such a ci
such soulful eyes, such a divine
harbor so much resentment,’ 4 Ko-ko.
Professor Gasse, with a sly wink os cannot
‘Really, my dear Miss Spooner, Y°
mean what you——”’ :

‘“There’s a Shark 1? suddenly inte ,
Gay, pointing astern. : ar’

Cleaving thie water within a dozen land
from the quarter-boat was & re came OF
shaped fin of a steely-blue color. Tt monste!
steadily until the outlines of 6” og tht
were plainly visible. The occupan™ por a
boat stared at their unwelcome 2e!6
if fascinated. 9”?

“Can't we drive the thing away
Bessie, faintly. 1 eo

Mascot sacktie upon the midship
barked at the intruder. As he 4
craft gave a sudden lurch, an‘
slipped overboard. aene ee S
startled cries; then Gay reac ce.
grasp Mascot as he rose to the sui q af

The violent effort careened the ap jmse
ter-boat, and before he could or ‘
Gay was thrown headlong directly

of the oncoming shark! oy
(TO BE CONTINUED,

~acollee-
reco! a

harming
form

yru pted

errors ree ; " Begor
Pat’s objection to the bicycle: feet OP
while 1 walk I prefer to have my
ground,”’

    

In the samen

 

found necessary —

turried to greet

 

d that his ©

 

 

 

    
     
      
           
     

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

THE VALLEY OF MYSTERY:

The Search forthe Flower of Gold.

A STORY OF VENEZUELA.

——_~e

 

BY ENRIQUE H. LEWIS,

Author of ‘The Nameless Story,” ‘Yankee Boys
in Japan,” “The Copper Disk,” ‘Sword and
Pen,” *‘A Young Free Lance,’ etc,. ete.
putes ees
(“Tor VALLEY OF MysTERY’ was commenced
in No. 317. Back numbers can be obtained of all News

Agents.)
SO et es

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE STRANGER IS INDENTIFIED.

 
  

YNNE’S actions and the sudden
(‘7 cry from the outer room caused
Thekla and Quebracho to exchange
glances of apprehension. The lat-
ter attempted to open the door, but it was
Immovable.

“‘What in the duse has happened now?’’
queried Thekla, anxiously.

Both listened eagerly. They heard a con-
Used murmur of voices, then the familiar
tones of the violin came to their ears. A mo-
Ment later the door was thrown open and
manne stepped into the cell followed by a

an,

His companion was the white stranger
whom the young botanist had identified, at
least: to his own satisfaction, as the writer
Of the cryptogram. A subdued light enter-
Ing through an aperture over the outer door

ell full upon his face.

By its aid Thekla saw that he was a man

-°f not more than forty years of age, al-
hough misfortune had seamed his brow with
Geep lines and sprinkled his hair and sweep-
Pp mustache with gray.
® appeared greatly excited, and entered
the cell with eager steps. Glancing from
Nebracho to Thekla, he suddenly grasped
® latter’s hand and spoke rapidly and
Passionately in the native tongue.
® was evidently making an appeal, but
the words were unintelligible to bis hearers.
hen he saw that he was not understood he
turned away with an expression of bitter
disappointment.

‘What the matter out there?’’ Quebracho

asked Wynne.
-, . When I opened the door I saw this poor
fellow struggling with the guards,’’ replied
® little hunchback. *‘I saw that he was
This to enter the cell, sol went to his aid.
t's a pity he can’t speak English.’’
8s; he could then tell us all about this

Valley.»

He looks like an American,’’

ri hekla glanced at the man. Wynne was

ht; he certainly resembled their own

“oUntrymen,

1 ére is some mystery about his

gustage,”” he said, decisively. ‘‘I feel as-

teed he is the American explorer who en-
_ ted this valley with Quebracho’s father.’’
fr And yéu think he sent that eryptogram
Mm here?>?
‘I do.”

Wynne shook his head doubtfully.
Rn If he is ar American he would speak
ho 8lish, and if he could speak that language
th Would not have used characters upon

at leaf. I am afraid you are mistaken.’’
Inain’”Y him in my tongue,’’ spoke up the

.

a thee uttered several guttural sounds, but

per, 8nger paid no heed. Thekla then ex-

Withented with a couple of Spanish phrases
‘owe like result.

‘2 ll have to give it up,’’ confessed the
v @ knows only this outlandish lingo.”’

ery nt could prove whether he wrote the

i Reram or not,’? said Wynne, quickly.
6% 5
ney Showing it to him.’?
and €kla glanced down at his white
‘ay ed out his hands. .

h are right, chum, but you see I
; ig gent It here. The photograph of the leaf
Rod or yc coat pocket. In your capacity of
You . ‘Ing Ape or whatever you are, can’t

coreet it for me???’
ipl try.»

Quep tre go tell us rest,’? spoke up

Sti}, “2Cho, whose curiosity was evidently

the, “Pappeased. ‘‘What people do after

<81V8 you clothes?’’

Theita” Spin the rest of your yarp,’’ added
Me a. “I’m dying to hear why you gave

this ,° Shake when I tried to speak to you

oy Orning.??

Chae.) 2s for your own good, dear boy,”

tiysaitt the fittle hunchback. ‘‘I flatter
® Teaco, “Ut you dead that time. But I had
“Ag my as you know now.
®hother | obey togged me out they led me to
Was Ling room much larger than this. Food

late theett, and I feasted royally. While
| Afraig te, crouched upon the floor as if

. thus a at I would strike them blind. I was

pied to myself for a while, and I

- Wa the time thinking.
tp o8ed n Sure of two things: My—ahem—
8 . semblance to that statue had caused

i
Wn fo

tunic

 

  
    
  

 

    

ae to think that I was a god sent
their special edificatien, and my

  

    

 

violin had strengthened the belief. I resolved
to take advantage of the situation and to
clinch the affair with as much music as I
could muster. In fact, I concluded to talk
to them with the fiddle and bow.”’

‘‘Tt has certainly succeeded.’

‘‘T wished to obtain news of you,’’ con-
tinued Wynne, ‘‘but I thought it best to lay
low. This morning the old chief motioned
me to mount that platform in the proces-
sion.. After Il reached the throne and you
were brought before me, I knew that I was
to judge you—to say whether you were to
die or not.

‘*T tell you it was a ticklish position. I
don’t know what I would have doneif I
hadn’t had a sudden inspiration. I was on
the point of jumping down to fight it out
with you when it occurred to me that life
meant quickness and death solemnity.’’

‘*Yes, and——’’

‘*When they brought you before me I
turned to the golden statue as if to ask its
opinion; then I struck into a rollicking jig.
Gee whiz! it worked like a charm, I saw
by the expression on the old chief’s face that
he understood my meaning, and that you
were safe, But you almost spoiled it by your
outbreak.’

‘*We couldn’t help it,’’
‘*We were desperate. We thought you had
gone back on us, and we didn’t care what
happened.”’

‘**Oh, thou of little faith,’ ’’ quoted
Wynne, reproachfully. ‘*I would be ashamed
to contess it.’’

‘‘What we do now?’’ asked Quebracho,
who had grown weary of much talk.

‘*We’ll try to arrange a _ plan’for,escape.
That is the yeason I made bold to come in
here. I intimated to the old chief that I
wished to sooth you, and he consented.’’

‘‘Tf we could only understand his lan-
guage,’’ said Thekla, glancing wistfully at
the stranger, who was standing in a discon-
solate attitude near by, ‘‘we might be able
to arrange a plan. Wynne, see if you can’t
find my cgat. Perhaps the photograph of the
cryptogram will accomplish something.”’

‘*Dll try to get it. But I don’t know how
I ean ask for a coat by playing a tune. I'll
start up in here to prepare them for my
august presence,’”?’

He struck up a ditty and left the cell. He
returned within five minutes with the photo-
graph.

‘*No trouble at all,’’ he explained, cheer-
ily. ‘‘I made a few motions, and the old
chief tumbled right away.’’

Thekla held the photograph under the ray
of light, and beckoned to the stranger. The
man advanced hesitatingly, but he had
barely taken one swift glance when his
manner instantly changed.

Snatching the picture from the young bot-

anist’s hand, he eagerly scrutinized it. His
excitement. was intense. He laughed and
wept, and then laughed again. He shook

hands with all three, and nodded his head
to indicate that he recognized the crypto-
ram.

: Asa further proof he pointed to the pho-
tograph and then to himself, and finally
made a motien asif he was writing. The
question ‘was settled. AJ] three felt fully as-
sured that he was the man they were seek-
ing. Theklalabored hard to learn if he was
the explorer who had entered the valley
with Quebracho’s father seven years previ-
ous. He pointed to the Indian, made a _mo-
tion as if falling from a great height, and
then held up seven fingers.

The stranger watched the pantomime
carefully, and at its conclusion nodded _ his
head vigorously. He made a sweeping ges-
ture with his hands to indicate the valley,
and also exhibited seven fingers. The iden-
tification was complete:

‘*We have found him at last,’’ exclaimed
the young botanist, joyfully. ‘‘He is the
American explorer, Quebracho, who en-
tered this place with your poor father.’’

‘‘T wish he talk,’’ replied the Indian, re-
gretfully. ‘‘Maybe ha tell who killed my
father.’’ He drew himself up and clinched
his hands, adding: ‘‘Maybe them murderers
still alive here.’’

‘‘Seven years is a long time.
think you could find them.’’

‘What puzzles me,’’ spoke up Wynne, ‘‘is
his ignorance of English. Gee whiz!. he
couldn’t have forgotten the language.”’

‘‘PBon’t thresh old straw, chum,’’ said
Thekla, impatiently. ‘‘He has proved to our
satisfaction that he is the explorer, and
that he sent the cryptogram. He can’t speak
English, or be would talk now. He is not
crazy—you can see that for yourself. Now
the question is, can he help us to escape
from this valley?’’

As if in reply, the explorer attracted their
attention by making his gesture to indicate
the valley. He then glanced wistfully
upward and moved his arms as if flying.

I hardly

 

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE STORM.

that,’’ exclaimed Thekla. ‘‘He asks us
in the plainest terms if we would like

‘*s~ to escape.’?
All three nodded their heads with great
promptness. During the following five min-
utes there was much gesticulation on the

1 does not require an expert to read
!

replied Thekla. |

 

GooD NEWS.

11

part of all. At the expiration of that time that. But I don’t know how. we can see

the occupants of the little cell were in
perfect accord.

‘*Now as to our plans,’’ said the young
botanist, in more hopeful tones than he had
used for several days.

‘*We must do something without delay,’’
replied Wynne. ‘‘I amin favor now, but
there is no telling how soon they will turn.”’

‘*Let me see; we have been in the valley
three days now. How long will it be before
your men have that grass ladder finished,
Quebracho?’’

‘“Ten days more,’’ replied the Indian.

‘“‘Gee whiz! that settles that part of it,’’
exclaimed Wynne. ‘‘I can’t stand the strain
that length of time.’’

‘‘It is our only hope as far as I can see,”’
admitted Thekla. ‘‘The explorer here
apparently can’t help us.”’

‘*If there had been a way to escape he
would have gone long ago.’’

‘*How he get leaf out?’’ suddenly asked
Quebracho.

The two boys exchanged glances. The
question had never occurred to them. The
bundle of sarsaparilla must have been cast
into some stream of water flowing from
the valley. But if that was the case, why
had he not attempted to esape instead of
sending a message?

‘*Confound it! why can’t he talk?’ ex-
claimed Thekla, despairingly.. ‘‘Ten words
from him would explain everything.”’

Resorting to motions once more, he tried
his utmost to question the explorer, but
without avail. It was painful to witness the
man’s attempt to grasp his meaning, and
the lad finally ceased.

Presently a murmur of voices outside
indicated that the old chief and his
companions were growing impatient. Wynne
became alarmed and whispered:

‘*‘T must leave you now. I’ll try my _ best
to Keep them ih order, and perhaps the trick
will work until the ladder is ready. Don’t
make any rash moves whatever you do.*’

‘“‘See if you can’t have us attached to
your bodyguard,’’ suggested Thekla, as his
chum moved toward the door. ‘‘It is advis-
able to keep together as much as_ possible.”’

“*T’ll try,’’ replied the little hunchback.

He left the cell, and presently the sounds
of his violin floated back. In the course of an
hour the explorer was called out by the. old
chief. He was evidently reluctant to leave
his new friends, but he was compelled to
obey the summons.

That afternoon several guards appeared,
and made signs indicating that the prisoners
were to follow them. Nothing loath, they
left the cell, but instead of being taken to
Wynne, they were escorted to the vast corn
field near where Quebracho had killed the
hound.

‘“Wynne has evidently failed,’? whispered
Thekla, considerably disappointed. ‘‘Con-
found it. I was in hopes we could be with
him.’?

They were given primitive utensils of
stone and ordered to dig in a newly opened
field. Four armed natives were placed over
them. All that day they labored without
rest. At nightfall they were takenback to
their former cell.

The following morning at daybreak found
them in the field. The work was hard and
unremitting. At noon they were givena
frugal lunch, and when the shades of night
brought welcéme respite they both felt the
strain of unaccustomed toil.

This continued without change for ten
days. During that time neither Thekla nor
Quebracho caught sight of Wynne or the
explorer. The former’s violin was heard at
odd intervals, generally with the evening
chant, and it was the only indication that
the little hunchback was still acting in ‘his
capacity of deity in general.

At noon on the tenth day while they were
partaking of their simple repast, Thekla,
who had spént the morning in brooding
silence, turned to his companion and said,
firmly:

‘*Quebracho, I can’t stand this any
longer. If we don’t make a break soon, I’)
do something desperate. Here it has been
over a week since we saw Wynne, and we
are still working like confounded slaves in
these fields.’’

‘*] think same as you abut it,’’ replied
the Indian. ‘‘I say to myself this day that
something must be done. Ladders may be
all right by now. My friends good workers;
they know we come back soon, and they
make ladders in hurry.’’ ‘

‘‘Then you think they are ready?’’ asked
the lad, eagerly.

‘*Ves, I guess they all fixed.’

‘*Then we’ll make the attempt to escape
to-night. ”’ :

‘*How you do it?’

‘The only thing we can do as far as I can
see is to make a dash for it.’’

Quebracho shook his head
disapproval.

‘*We try that once in big room,’’ he said.
‘*It is no use; we get killed in few minutes
by natives. They too many for us.’’

‘*Then what can we do?’?’

‘It better try tosee Wynne. Maybe he
know where guns and revolvers are. If we
get them we maybe scare people plenty.
Any way’’—the Indian’s voice sank to a vin-
dictive whisper—‘‘we get chance to kill lots
before we die.’’

‘‘There is certainly some satisfaction in

in evident

 

 

Wynne without we boldly demand it.’’

‘““That no easy with motions,’’ smiled
Quebracho. ‘‘We wait until night; maybe
something happen then.’’

‘*It promises to be a good evening for an
escape,’’ remarked Thekla, as they resumed
their work, ‘‘See that heavy mass of clouds
banking over the mountains.’’

‘*It look like big storm. Maybe rain and
thunder and lightning.’’

In the course of an hour the sky over the
valley, which had been an interminable
stretch of blue since their arrival, became
overcast. The day darkened rapidly, sombre
masses of vapor vailed the mountain peaks,
and at last occasional flashes of lightning
appeared in the eastern horizon.

The guards began to show uneasiness. It
was evident they feared the warring of the
elements. A full hour before the usual time
for quitting, a sudden crash of thunder sent
them scurrying toward the ‘‘cone-house’’
witly the prisoners.

When within several hundred feet of their
destination the storm broke in all its fury.
Vivid flashes of lightning shot athwart the
lowering sky; the thunderous roar of
Heaven’s artillery shook the earth; the rain
poured down with tropical intensity.

Just before the little party reached the
foot of the spiral gallery a forked bolt of
lightning flashed from the sky and. struck
the top of the cone. The terrific report that
followed,seemed to Thekla the very anni-
hilation of all things.

He and his companions were thrown vio-
lently to the earth. A moment later they
were brought to their feet by a terrible
crashing noise just over their heads.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE FLIGHT TO THE SUMMIT.

RIES of mortal fear came from the
guards. Looking upward, they saw
the shattered fragments of the colos-
’ sal statue which had crowned the
summit, crashing down the side of the
cone-shaped structure.

Although evidently terrified, Quebracho
managed to recover his presence of miud in
time to avert a disaster. Throwing his pow-
erful right arm around Thekla, he lifted
him bodily from his feet, and darted up the
gallery to one of the cell-like openings in
the side,

They were barely under shelter when,
with a terrible thud, a mass of stone struck
the parapet of the gallery not ten feet away.
Other pieces followed at rapid intervals
until at last the opening was almost choked
with the debris of the statue.

Once fully assured that the danger was
over, Thekla proceeded to put a newly con-
ceived plan in operation. Standing on tip-
toe, he shouted into Quebracho’s ear:

‘*Now is our chance to find Wynne.
the guards have disappeared.’’

The Indian nodded vehemently. Catching
the lad by the arm, ‘he scrambled over the
fragments of stone and started up the wind-
ing gallery. The route was familiar; they
had traveled it morning ard evening for
many days.

Both were wild. with excitement. The op-
portunity they had been longing for, pray-
ing for, had arrived at last. Everything
favored them now. The-storm still raged;
the night was coming on apace; the natives
were evidently demoralized.

**Tt is now or never!’’ muttered Thekla,
between his.set teeth, as he scrambled along
with the Indian.

Suddenly «his companion stopped and
pushed him into an adjacent doorway, but
not before the lad had caught sight of the
top of the old chief’s conical hat over the
sloping edge of the stone wall.

Both peered forth in time to see the chief
and a number of companions stride into
vigw. They halted and with hoarse cries of
excitement pointed np to where the vacant
platform at the summit told of the light-
ning’s dsadly work.

While leaning backward to avoid obser-
vation, Thekla felt the door behind him
move slightly. He instantly threw it open,
and the two stepped into a cell similar to
that occupied by them. They saw the shad-
owy outlines of another door at the opposite
end.

“Hurrah! it may lead into the great
room,’’ exclaimed the young botanist.

It did not require much time to prove that
his surmise was correct. The wooden panel
yielded to their touch, and the fugitives
found themselves looking into the colossal
chamber with its towering statue of gold.

To their delight they saw Wynne standing
near the marble throne. The little hunch-
back appeared greatly alarmed. He was
glancing confusedly about as if meditating
flight.

Thekla uttered an old familiar call for-
merly used by the boys and rushed for-
ward, followed by Quebracho. At almost
the same moment the explorer appeared at
the entrance to another cell.

The four met midway between the statue
and the side of the apartment. Wynne’s
face was suffused with joy.

‘*Thank Heaven you are here!’’ he cried.
‘‘There’s danger afoot.’’

‘‘What is the matter?’’ quickly asked
Thekla.

Ae
Ja

 

See!

»

   
         

 

‘stretch.

12

‘*The lightning has shattered the statue at
the summit, and the natives are crazy.
From the way they act I think they believe
it is a judgment against me. The old chief
actually shook his fist in my face, and
laughed at’the violin. We must——”’ |

He was interrupted by a hoarse shout, and
a mob of natives headed by the venerable
chief rushed through one of the narrow
entrances. The men were armed with their
primitive weapons, and it was evident they
meant treuble.

‘Wynne, do you know where our guns
are?’ hastily asked Thekla.

‘“‘They were placed in front of the statue
on the upper platform.’’

‘‘We must get them; it is
chance.’’

‘*Maybe they lost when statue fall,’’ said
Quebracho. .

‘¢We will look for them anyway. If we
can reach the platform before these fiends,
we’ll have some show for or lives.’’

During the hurried conversation the little
band of prisoners had instinctively retreated
to where the inner gallery began the ascent
toward the dome-shaped roof.

our only

Just as they gained the first incline a|

dozen natives burst through a door within
a few feet of it. With guttural cries of rage,
the new-comers sprang to the attack with
the evident intention of cutting off the
retreat.

They reckoned without the knowledge of
Quebracho’s fighting capabilities. The In-
dian’s long-smoldering rage was fanned
into a sudden blaze. With a yell of ‘defiance,
he dashed aside the weapon of the: man
nearest him, and, grasping him around the
middle, raised the fellow above his head.

There was a sharp cry of fear, the swish
of a heavy body flying through the air, then
five of the startled natives went down as if
mown by a machine gun.

At alfnost the same moment the energies
in the explorer, which had lain dormant for
seven long years, awoke. He uttered no
sound, but, springing upon the nearest
native, he seized his stone-pointed lance.
Drawing back his arm he sent the weapon
straight into the breast of another of the
enemy.

Now thoroughly aroused, the two men
would have continued the attack upon the
natives if Thekla had not uttered a cry of
warning. The lad’s sharp.eyes had discoy-
ered a significant retreat of the old chief and
his cohorts.

‘(Tf we want the guns, we haven’t any
time to lose,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘The chief and
his men have taken to the outer gallery.
They evidently suspect our purpose.’’

You right,’’ hastily replied Quebracho.
‘*We go now.’’

‘<Tt’ll be a race,’’ said Wynne, as he
nimbly ran up the incline. ‘‘Come on,
fellows.’’ :

The inner gallery wound around the in-
terior of the vast room four separate times
before it ended at the dome. On reaching
the second curve the fugitives caught sight
of several mon flitting past an opening in
the thick wall.

It was indeed a race, and the stake was
sweet life itself.

At the middle curve of the third gallery a
man appeared in one of the cell doors. He
glanced down and saw the four fugitives
not a dozen feet away. He disappeared with
a howl of terror.

On ran the two lads and their companions
—on, on, until at last they reached the final
Just in advance of them they saw
an oblong opening in the lower curve of the
dome, its outlines forming a darker blur in
the gloom of the interior.

As if by mutual consent, all four stopped
before reaching it. Looking déwn over the
edge of the gallery, they saw a surging
mass of natives surrounding the golden
statue. Flaring torches here and there cast
a ruddy light over the scene, bringing out
in bold relief the white tunics of the mob.

A hoarse murmur, increasing at times to
an angry roar, came from below, :

‘““They are pretty mad,’’ remarked
Wynne, quaintly. ‘‘l wouldn’t like to drop
in on them just now.”’

After a brief pause the little party hurried
through the opening at the end of the gal-
lery, and, after climbing a dozen stone steps,
they emerged upon the platform forming
the summit of tthe cone.

The storm had ceased. Through occasional
rifts in the clouds the last rays of the set-
ting sun illumined the valley. The light
was strong enough to enable the fugitives
to see that they were just in time.

As they hurriedly scrambled over the
fragments of the colossal stone statue of the
sacred ape, the old chief, accompanied by a
score of armed guards, appeared at the

. opposite edge of the platform.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
*—____~» - +» —___—__
PROVED HIMSELF SO.

Mike—‘‘Hollo, Pat, and phwat have you
been doing to yez eyes?’’

Pat—‘‘Oh, Oi got that done at a wedding,
me boy.’’

Mike—‘‘ At a foight, ye mane.’’
- Pat—‘‘At a wedding, Isay. Ye see, I
saw a feller wid a lot o’ bounce, and, ses I,
Who are you, me man?’ and says he, ‘I’m
the best man,’ and, bedad, he was, Mike.’’

 

 

GOOD

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

CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD ;

OR,

Fighting for the Stuarts.

BY ALFRED ARMITAGE, 4
Author of ‘With Crusader and Saracen,” “In the Days
of the Gladiators,’ ‘‘Out With Robin Hood,”’ etc.
(CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD” was commenced in
No. 315. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents.)

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONCLUSION.

EARLY nine years have passed since

the fatal battle of Worcester, and on
the morning of the twenty-ninth of
May, 1660, a prisoner sat on a stone
bench in one of the gloomy cells of the
Tower of London. His age was no more
than twenty-seven, though he looked much
older by reason of his beard and mustache,
and the whitish pallor of his face. Except
for the prison bleach, he did not show
traces of long confinement, having broad
shoulders, a tall figure, and limbs well filled |
out with flesh.

But his eyes told the story. There one
could read sorrow and bitterness, hopeless-
ness and despair, unwilling resignation to a
captivity that could only end with death—
ay, and at times a fierce and passionate
longing, as the man looked at a bit of blue
sky that was visible through a_ tiny barred
window high up on the wall. A rude table
stood before him, heaped with books and
paper, ink horn and quills.

That prisoner was myself, Geoffrey Dave-
nant, and in this dreary cell I had spent the
better part of the past nine years. The
reader will remember how I fell into the
hands of Dick Cromwell and his troopers on
that September morning of the year 1651.
What followed would make too long a narra-
tive were I* to tell all the incidents as they
happened. ;

I was taken speedily to Cromwell, and
after trying in vain to make me confess
what things I knew, he swore that I should
be hanged at the rising of the sun. But on
the next day he changed his mind, and sent
me under a strong guard to London. I lay
in the Tower for several weeks, and was
then brought to trial, convicted of treason,
and condemned to die by the ax.

That dread sentence, however, was not
carried out. Why, I know not, unless it was
because I was the grandson of so stanch
and loyal a republican as Titus Oakwell.
More likely the thing was Cromwell’s doing,
and he hoped to gratify his hatred toa
fuller extent by keeping me a life-long pris-
oner than by mercifully ending my suffer-
ings on the block.

So in the dreary Tower IJ stayed, dead
and buried to the outer world. Here I would
surely have gone mad in time, but for an
unexpected piece of fortune that came my
way.

From one year’s end to another I saw no
human being but my keeper, and this man
proved to have a kind and merciful heart.

I did not discover the fact for a time. He
kept the key of my cell, and at first his
manner was stern and forbidding when he
brought me my meals. Finally I persuaded
him to talk a little, and then to listen to the
eventful story of my life, and at the end of
a year a sort of spirit of comradeship had
grown up between us.

The keeper was a true and loyal repub-
lican, and knowing that what pity and
kindness he showed me were only because
of my youth, I was careful to say nothing
that might anger him. He did much for
me, and [I shall ever remember him with
gratitude and affection.

He served me with food that was of good
quality, and as much as my appetite craved
for. He interceded on my bebalf with the
constable of the Tower, and gained me the
privilege of taking several hours of daily
exercise in a courtyard beneath my cell.
He gave me writing materials, and from
time to time brought me books.

But I counted.it the greatest boon of all
that he conseuted to speak, at rare intervals
and very cautiously, of what things were
happening in England and abroad. There
was little comfort for me in this, save as
related to the king.

I learned with great satisfaction that his
majesty had embarked on a vessel after
many perilous adventures, and was now safe
at the court of France.

So the weary years of my captivity rolled
on. There was no possibility of escape from
the Tower, and no chance of freedom except
in an uprising that should overthrow the
parliament and restore the throne to Charles
Stuart. 1 counted on this for a time, but
with each year hope grew less in my heart,
until at last I yielded to almost utter
despair.

I never lost hope entirely, for I felt that
if I lived long enough the restoration might
come after many years. It was hard to be-
lieve that England would submit to the
commonwealth for more than a generation
oO

 

-stable of the Tower.

 

r two. $
So I did not go mad or die, as some would
Se

NEW S5.

have done under the circumstances. By
daily exercise and good food I preserved my
bodily health, and by reading, writing, and
studying, I kept my mind from brooding too
much on my bitter lot. A great part of my
strengti left me, but I grew taller and
stouter with each year.

Of course I spent many a bitter hour in
thinking over the past, and at such time, I
could neither read nor write. I paced up
and down my cell, longing for revenge on
those who had brought me to this pass. I
shed tears of grief for Cyril, my steadfast
friend and comrade, whom I believed by
this time had died at Worcester.

At long intervals news of the outer world
reached me through the keeper. I heard
with rage and indignation that Cromwell
had been made Lord Protector, and was now
the virtual ruler of England. From time to
time came word of the wars with Holland
and Spain. At last, in September of 1658, ]
was told that Cromwell was dead, and that
his son Richard had succeeded him in the
Protectorship.

Another year rolled by, and then asad
misfortune befell me, My friendly keeper
sickened and died of a fever, and the man
who replaced him was a grim and silent
fellow, whom [ could not melt into friendli-
ness. He brought me books and the same
kind of food, and took me for a daily airing
in the courtyard but not a word of the outer
world could I get from him, nor would he
permit the briefest conversation on any
topics whatever.

So, in utter ignorance and solitude which
I felt all the more keenly for the contrast—
my life went on until that morning of the
twenty-ninth of May, 1660, which I spoke of
at the commencement of this chapter. I
had risen at an early hour, andgafter break-
fast I sat down to read the ‘‘ History of the
World,’’? a most entertaining book written
by Sir Walter Raleigh while he was also a
prisoner in the Tower.

I did not dream of what this day was to
bring forth, nor was there aught to indicate
the stirring events then in progress, for no
sounds from the outer world penetrated the
walls of my dungeon. ;

It was close to noon when footsteps in the
corridor caused me to glance up sharply
from my book. The door grated open, and
into the cell strode my keeper and the con-
The latter was a stern
old general who had fought in the civil
wars against the king, but now his face wore
a kindly and benevolent look that aston-
ished me.

As I stood to my feet, trembling with a
sudden excitement, and wondering what this
visit might mean, the constable came straight
to me and tapped me on the shoulder.

‘¢‘Good news, Master Davenant,’’ he said,
drawing a parchment from his bosom.

‘*You are free. Here is a pardon from the
parliament. ’’

‘‘A pardon??? I cried.
be???

“‘The commonwealth hath ended,’’ he an-
swered, ‘‘and the king has come into his
own again. Long live his majesty, Charles
the Second !’’

How I took this news I can scarcely re-
member. I know that I very nearly fainted
for excess of joy, and that I then laughed
and wept together until I had to stop for
want of breath.

It was all true enough, as the constable
speedily made clear to me. I need not re-
peat the story here. It is a matter of his-
tory how the people tired of the common-
wealth and plotted and quarreled for the
restoration; how George Monk, Cromwell’s
old general, who’was in command of the
military forces in Scotland, secretly sided
with the king, and finally marched his army
down into England to be ready for the great
event; how Charles Stuart sent a message to
the parliament pledging himself to govern
wisely and well if he should be restored;
how the parliament called him back and
granted him moneys; how the country went
mad with joy, and the bells rang, and the
bonfires blazed, and the hated arms of the
commonwealth were torn down and
trampled upon.

All these things had lately happened while
I lay inthe Tower ignorant of them, and on
this very day the king had entered London
from Dover at the head of a grand proces-
sion, and amid the wildest joy and enthv-
siasm. 2

I was in a fever of impatience to be off to
meet his majesty—of whose welcome I felt
assured—and I could scarcely restrain myself
while ] was being shaved in the constable’s
private apartments, and fitted with new
garments suitable to my altered position.

But at last the trying ordeal was over,
and I was conducted beyond the walls of
the Tower. For the first time in nearly nine
years I breathed the air of freedom and saw
the beautiful: outer world. I gazed all

‘““How can that

around me for a moment, and then, as fast,

as my trembling limbs would carry me I
ran toward the city.

I was soon in the midst of the noise and
confusion, and by hard pushing, I forced a
way through the vast crowds of shouting
people. The head of the procession—with
his majesty, General Munk and the Duke of
Buckingham—had already gone’ by to White-
hall, but from a street corner where I was
checked for a time by the crush, I saw a
part of the king’s retinue—troops of noble-

 

men and gentlemen, city companies, train
bands, drummers, trumpeters, soldiers, and
the lord mayor and his aldermen.

Never before did- London enjoy such an
amazing sight, and I doubt if it will ever
again. Flowers were strewn everywhere,
and the streets were hung with gorgeous
tapestry. The bells were pealing loudly,
and the fountains flowed with wine.

The houses of the magistrates and the city
companies were decked with banners and
chains of gold, and every window and bal-
cony was crowded with fair ladies and band-
some gentlemen, who shouted incessantly
with delight, and made musie with trum-
pets and other instruments.

There seemed no end to the procession,
and when I could control my impatience no
longer, I forced my way onward like a mad-
man through the jostling throng, heedless
alike of blows and rebukes.

I came at last in sight of the palace of
Whitehall, and by a fierce struggle | gaine
the very doors. They were closely guarded,
of course, but the officer in charge was one
who had been with the Scottish Life Guards
at Worcester.

This man knew me at once, and well rée-

membered my past services to the king. He:

feared to bax me out, nor was he willing t0
admit me contrary to higorders. He finally
sent a messenger within to announce Me,
and word came back that his majesty
desired my presence at once.

With a throbbing heart and trembling
limbs, I entered the palace. Courtiers av
noblemen made way for me, and at the
end of the passage 1 saw a tall and hand-
some figure, glittering with jewels and rich
apparel.

It was the king himself, and as he ad-
vanced and took my hand I knelt before
him with dim and tearful eyes.

‘‘My faithful Geoffrey!’ he exclaimed.
‘‘Now is my day of happiness complete !”’

His voice—the tones of which sounded 80
sweet and familiar—was husky witb
emotion.

“Sire, no harpier man is in all London
than myself,’? I replied. ‘‘God has bee®

very good——’’ ’
A lump rose in my throat, and I could say
no more.

‘*] have mourned you for dead,’? the king
resumed, as he gently drew me to my feet.
‘““You have suffered, Geoffrey—I read it 1?
your face. Where have you spent these nine
long years? And how?”’ : d

‘In the. Tower, sire,’’ I answered, ‘‘a®

was released from there scarce an hour
ago.’?
£0. \
The king’s eyes flashed. for
“In the Tower?”? be cried. ‘‘And 10

nine long years? I shall make amends fot
all that, and, in truth, you are fortunate

have kept’ your head on your shoul om
But you shail relate your story at a mo?
fitting time--—’’ d

He turned abruptly to a handsome arn
richly dressed gentleman behind him, whee
I at once recognized as the Karl of Sit
ford, somewhat changed, though he wey
since our last meeting fifteen years befor

‘¢‘My lord earl, you remember this galler
fellow,’ said his majesty. ‘‘ "Tis Mas nd
Davenant, who saved me in Cornwall, @
was afterward a captain——’”’

‘‘Davenant?’’? exclaimed the earl,
start. ‘‘It was surely Dennet before.

‘‘By a mistake of mine, sir,’’ I ventu
to say.

The earl came closer, and I saw that
was trembliig. His eyes scanned me
head to foot. weyour

‘*A mistake!’’? he said, hoarsely- first
name is Dayenant, then? And your
name???’ ke I

‘‘Geoffrey,’’ I replied, and as I SP?
felt a sudden shiver come over mé-

The earl] turned pale. ;

‘Geoffrey Davenant?’’ he cried.
be possible——’’ ‘Wad

What means this mystery?’’ exclaim.
the king, in a jesting tone. ‘‘By my fa eed
crown, but there is a resemblance be’
you two. Ha, I have a suspicion——

‘Wait, your majesty,’’ implore
‘‘Who were your parents—your
he added, laying a hand on my
‘Speak quickly.’’ i gol-

“(My father was James Davenant, © ved,
dier in the royalist army,’’
‘‘and my mother was the daughter 0
Oakwell, a yeoman of——’’ ing ory

I could say no more. With a gasP? round
the Earl of Strafford threw his arms
me and pressed me fiercely to bis ee pad
needed ‘no words' to tell me tha
found my father at last. xed with

The earl released me, and 100
tearful eyes into my face.

‘‘You are my son—my
said, huskily. ‘‘ After all these yea7*
united——”’ as pave

‘‘And not in all England could y names
found one more worthy to bear Y Or pdes my
put in the king.. ‘‘Is this indeed
lord earl?’? : cope story

‘(It is, sire,’? the earl replied. x
may be told in a few words. 42

with 4
9

mpoulde™

» he

a foolish quarrel with my father ~ .. pave’.

« , n
as a soldier under the naime of os a

nant. At Huntingdon I married b
ter of Titus Oakwell, and a 80?
to us. Seven years later my ine Y
then I went abroad, As you father

turned barely in time to see MY

     
 

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ae
ti

fore he was beheaded, and in the times of
Strife that followed 1 found no opportunity
of seeking for my boy, though I made many
efforts to do so. And now thus strangely is
he restored to me! And truly he is a son to
be proud of—to bear my name and inherit

my estates. God hath been very merciful to |

me !’?

I had been standing in a stupor of joy
and amazement, and how I endured what
quickly followed I declare I hardly know.
For of a sudden there was a fresh stir amid
the groups of courtiers and noblemen, and
My name was called loudly and hoarsely.
A young and handsome man was coming
toward me, but his face was as white as the
Winter’ssnow. And when I had looked once
at him I staggered and nearly fellj for he
Was Cyril Rudstone.

“Geoffrey! Geoffrey!’’ he cried. ‘‘Is it
truly you—you for word of whom I have
Sought vainly during my years of exile with
the king in France?”

“*I—I thought you were dead,’’ I stam-
Mered, and then broke down.

“Tt was the innkeéper who saved me,’’
Cyril answered. ‘‘He nursed me_ back to

ealth, and hid me in a safe place from the

Oundheads. And later he aided me to
®Scape to France. Oh, Geoffrey, my dear old
friend, thank God!”

I could say nothing, but wept gently on
Cyril’s bosom.

# * * SS * *

_And here I may fittingly close my narra-
tive, which I trust may afford as much 'pleas-
Ure to my reader's, if it find any, as it gave
to me inthe writing. What followed after
he restoration is well known to the people
Ol these times! All loyal royalists and cav-
aliers were rewarded so far as lay in the

Simg’s power, and General Monk was very

Properly made Duke of Albemarle.
‘he Regicides—the evil men who were re-
Sponsible for the cruel death of Charles the
st—were tried, condemned, and executed.
Mong these was Sir Harry Vane, who
ad furnished the evidence that brought my
Paternal grandfather to the block.
nN the anniversary of the late king’s death
the bodies of Croniwell, lreton, and Brad-
Shaw were removed from Westminster
Abbey —too long dishonored by their pres-
Stice—hung on.a gallows at Tyburn and then
beheaded. I ain not by nature a revengeful
Man, but I confess that it gave me keen
Pleasure to see Oliver Cromwell’s head set
loft upon a pole.
© my beloved king came into his own, and

joy and peace reigned in dear England
8gain. I doubt if any man was so happy as

I— who had found a parent and a friend,
8nd had geen my highest hopes fulfilled after
Years of sorrow and suffering.

. Cyril and I were given posts of honor and
. dence at court, and his majesty’s liber-
h ity would have been boundless toward me
ae there been any need of it. But the Karl
at Stratford was immensely wealthy in his
rig. right, having estates both in London
bi the counties that were given back to
im after the restoration.

This boon I gladly accepted from the king.

1S Was Titus Oakwell's farm on the Black
ane and thither Cyril and I sometimes
ie cy to ponder over the eventful days of
‘youth and to spend a night under the

 T00f' that is hallowed by so many memories.

shi Y beloved father, of whose companion-
ie was deprived in early life, has now
Rar dead for some years, so that I am the
Still of Strafford in my turn. But his majesty
and lives, and I serve him as steadfastly
be «ally as I did of old. Long may he
Spared to rule England!
(THE END.)
——- + + o
AN ANT STORY.
AS Pretty ant story comes from Chicago.
hiean ty cook in that city found his shop
hight}, by a colony of ants, who feasted
tain Y on the delicacies deposited on a cer-
Gm volt. After cudgeling his brains for
time in order to discover a plan for
ingy ene the depredations of the active
n und} he resolved to lay a streak of treacle
d 6 tray containing the coveted food.
bongy’ time the ants came forth in their
their cnigyee were led toward the feast by
to - Teaching the line scouts were sent out
Comm, Vey, and eventually the ‘‘word of
the .224”’ was passed round, and instantly
Of eon body of the ants made for a part
wall where the plaster had_ been
ti y N by a nail. Here each snatched up a
Piece of mortar and returned to the
sit acated, where their burdens were
ang 4 ®d upon the molasses. By this means,
brig i ®r an infinite amount of labor, a
trmy Was formed, and the triumphant
fryii, Marched forward to partake of the
di of victory, the baker meanwhile
4g by filled with wonder.
Moth, —_—>--—.—__—-
offic ebay ell, did you get that situation
cilttle Son—‘‘No,?
Bt was the matter?’’
he askog’ know, The gent is a lawyer, and
tolq }°% Me if I was a good whistler, and I
cn apo : >. 3
was the best whistler in oui
ae he said I wouldn’t do. Suppose
Want a reg’lar professional.’’

As

 

‘Qur Stamp ‘ALBUM.

{SPECIAL Norice.—To insure the safe return of
Stamps sent to us for examination, correspondents
should inclose'them in separate stamped envelope,
bearing name and address. The prices quoted are
from current lists, and are subject to change. ]

Postmaster-General Bissell in his report
for 1893 states that the extra sales to collec-
tors of the Columbian series was
cient to pay the extra cost of manufacture.
* * * *

A stamp paper states that the 8c. of 1890
(without triangles) is likely to become quite
searce. We think they are mistaken, as in
searching for old stamps in post-offices all
over the country we find this stamp and the
8c. Columbian on sale at more places than
all other obsolete issues combined.

* se # *

The attempt to corner the 50c. and $2
Columbians seems to have fallen through,
owing to want of capital by the ‘‘trust.’’
After practically controlling the whole
available supply and running the prices up
until the 50c. were easily sold to dealers at
de. and the $2 at $4, they have unloaded a
large number, and they are now offered at
retail at 58c. and $2.50 respectively.

* * * *

It is a curious fact that the Mexicans
have to pay more for a post card tO send to
the interior of their country, 5c., than to a
postal union country, 2c., the latter fee
being regulated by the International Postal
Union.

* * * *

Postmaster Hesing, of Chicago, has had
thoroughly equipped post-offices placed in
several of the large department stores of
that city. This was done as an experiment,
and if the results are not satisfactory they
will be discontinued.

ok * * *

The portrait of Franklin, the first post-
master-general, has appeared on every
1-cent regular issue postage stamp made by
this government, and also on several other
values, while that of Washington has been
placed on the stamps most used of every
serios—10c. 1847, 8c. 1851, 1861, 6c. 1869, 3c.
1870, 2c. 1883, 1887, 1890, and 1894.

* * * *

Among the stamps which lose all or part
of their color by immersion in water may
be named: Afghanistan current issue, Bel-
gium current issue, Bhore, Canada 8c.,
Cashmere early issues and anna, brownon
yellow, Deccan official surcharges, Great
Britain recent issues, Russia early issues,
Soruth first issue, Tasmania current issue,
United States current postage due stamps.

* * * ee

A fine collection of stamps owned by Mr.
C. T. Burdette, purser of the Old Dominion
Line steamer Wvanoke, was lost when
this vessel was sunk by the U. 8. cruiser
Columbia,

* § * * *

Mauritius is to issue new stamps of the
value of $1, $5, and $10.

* * - * *

New Zealand has adopted the ‘designs for
a prize series of siamps. The colors are not
yet adopted, but the designs are as follows:
1 penny view of Mount Cook, the highest
peak in New Zealand; 2 pence, kiwi bird
and Maori canoe paddler crossed; 21¢ pence,
long rect. view of Milford Sound; 3 pence,
long rect. view of Mount Earnslaw and Lake
Wakatipu; 4 pence, mountain scene and
cabbage tree in foreground; 5 pence, moun-
tain lake, cabbage tree and canoe; 6 pence,
Maori hut and lake; 8 pence Mitre Peak,
Milford Sound; 1 shilling, two birds; 2 shil-
lings, long rect. Mount Egmont; 5. shil-
lings, the Pink Terraces, Rotorna (now
destroyed).

* * * *

R. W. 8., Greenwich, Conn.—The half-
dollar of 1853, without rays surrounding
eagle is worth $15. There is no premium on
the one with rays, or on the quarter-dollar
of 1853.

* ft * *

E. N., Stromsburg, Neb:—There is no
premium on the dime you mention.

* * * *

A. E. M., Columbia, 8S. C.—We have
marked vour stamps with date of issue and
value as requested. The large copper cent of
1824 is worth 8c. There is no premium on
the other coins you mention,

* * * *

Many young collectors have difficulty in
distinguishing the different issues of U. 8.
special delivery stamps, and for their benefit
we will describe the five varieties that have
as yet appeared. The first issue appeared
in 1885, and is easily distinguished, as the
inscription, which reads ‘‘Secures immedi-
ate delivery at a special delivery office.”’
In 1888, when the special delivery system
was extended to all post-offices the second
type appeared in which the inscription
reads, ‘‘Secures immediate delivery at any
post-office.’’ In 1893, owing to the similarity
between the lc. Columbian and the special
delivery stamp the color of the latter was
changed to orange. In 1894, when the Bureau

not suffi- |

GooD NEWS.

of Engraving and Printing began making
the stamps, to distinguish the Bureau’s print
from the previous issue, fine lines were
added under ‘‘Ten’’ and ‘‘Cents’’ and the
numerals ‘‘10’’? were shaded. The fifth and
last issue of this stamp is same as above,
but on the watermarked paper of the 1895
issue.
* * * *

H. E. P., Red Cloud, Neb.—The stamp
you send is the common 8c. rose of 1861,
worth about J0c. per 100.

* * * *

O. F. H., Chicago, Ill.—Of your stamps,
No. 1 is U.S. 3c. 1868, grill 9x13, catalogue
price, 2c.; No. 2 is 15c. 1866, price 50c.;
No. 3 is 3c. 1873, price 1c.; No. 4 is 2c.,
1883, 1c.; No. 5 is 2c. 1887, 1c.; No. 6 is 1c.
1887, 1c.; No. 7 is 6c. 1894, 5c.; No 8 and 9
are postage due 1891 claret, price 1c. each;

No. 10 is Prussia 2sgr. 1856, price 6c.; No.
11 is Prussia 1861 Isgr., price 4c.; No. 12 is

Prussia envelope, 1856 Isgr., price 6c. ; No. 13
is Switzerland 1867 10c., price 4c.; No. 14
is Switzerland 1862 20c3% price 10c.

* % he * ;

J. H., Pittsburgh, Pa.—There is no pre-
mium on the 1885 dime.

* * * *

A. D. 8., Butte, Mont.—The catalogue
price of the $2 Columbian stamp is $5, but
they are offered by parties here at $2250
each at present. Your 25c. bill 1s worth but
a few cents as a curiosity.

* * * *

F. G. G., Candor, N. Y.—The stamp you
send is the 2c. black of 1863 issue, which sells
at 5c. It is used asa revenue in your «case
through ignorance, as the government never
authorizéd them to be used that way.

* * * *

J. G., Lowell, Mass.—The Canada revenue
stamps you send are genuine, but the others
are counterfeit.

————-_~4 - o-e_

Trees Which Fire Cannon Balls.

—~-—_—_—.

OTH the old and the present revolu-
} tion against Spain in Cuba have
ee brought to the front many clever

2 devices in the shape of home-made
weapons. Almost everything has been pressed
into service which would suffice fora can-
non. Cannon in Cuba have been cast from
crude bronze, have been extemporized from
captured sugar mill steam pipes, and quite
serviceable ones have even been made from
wooden logs, wound with strips of green
raw hide.

There grows in the interior of Cubaa
peculiar tree with a windirg grain. The
wood is remarkably tough, and to split it by
ordinary means is almost an impossibility.
When wanced for artillery purposes the tree
is felled, a section some fivé feet in length
and one foot in diameter is selected and cut,
the bark is removed, and all knots and un-
even places on the surface dressed down.
The embryo cannon is then placed on rude
trusses, and a bore burned in it with white-
hot crowbars or round iron pipes from the
sugar mills. This burning out of the interior
serves to still further toughen the wood.
While the bore is being burned, green ox
hides are cut into long strips by commencing
in the centre and working toward the outer
edge, as one would peel an apple.

When all is in readiness, one end of this
raw hide band, which is about three inches
in width, is spiked to® the wooden cannon
near the breach. A lever or bar, is attached
to the butt. Two or three stout negroes
grasp the arms of the bar and slowly
turn the hollowed log on its supports. The
band of green hide is kept under a strain,
and in this way the cere of the cannon is
wound with one of the toughest materials,
wire excepted, in the world.

The first layer of hide is tightly wound to
the muzzle of the growing gun, and back
toward the breach, again to the muzzle and
back, until a number of successive layers
have thus been wound on and the promising
piece of artillery has grown several inches
in diameter. It is then placed in a draught
of dry, hot air and allowed to harden.
When the hardening and curing process is
complete, the persevering patriots have a
really serviceable weapon, which will stand
a greater strain than manufacturers of
modern artillery would readily believe.

One of these home-made combination wood
and raw-hide cannon is said to have withstood
one hundred and four charges of powder
before becoming ‘useless.’ The projectiles for
it were made of scrap iron, round stones
and fire-hardeéned clay balls.

8
HAD THE LITTLE ONE BY THE TAIL.

Little John saw asmall tug engaged in
towing a large shipy.and heard the tug
whistle loudly.

“‘Oh, papa,’? he exclaimed, ‘‘the big
boat’s got the little one by the tail, and it’s
squealing !”’

—_—-—_-- > © +> —-——

She (on her first voyage)—‘‘What is that
place down there?’?

He—‘‘Why, that is the steerage.’’

 

She—‘‘ And does it take all those people
to make the boat go straight?’’

  

 

13

{This Story Will Not Be Published in Book-Form.}

Ned Purcell, the Boy Engineer;
THE HERO OF THE “VALLEY CENTRAL,

BY HARVEY HICKS,
Author of * By Pluck Alone,” **The Tour of the Zero
Club,’ “Tom Truxton’s Schooldays,” etc.

(“NED PURCELL, THE Boy ENGINEER,” was com-
menced in No. 319. Back numbers can be obtained
of all News Agents.)

CHAPTER XXV.
THE ‘‘BOY RUNNER’’ TAKES HIS STATION AT
® THE THROTTLE OF ‘‘OLD 67.”’

>

   

UT Ned did not remain long where he

had fallen. Although the terrific rush
of smoke and flame had struck him
squarely in the face, yet he had by a
marvelous sense of forethought, held his
breath, and the injury which he had sus-
tained was very slight indeed.

His hair and eyebrows were badly singed,
but otherwise he was as good as new. He
picked himself up and dashed forward
again, for he could see the familiar pilot
of ‘‘Old 67’’ just through the line of smoke.
Whirling, roaring, seething and leaping over
and about the cab and tender of the big
machine was a perfect maelstrom of smoke
and flame that seemed to bid defiance to
the most sturdy attempt at rescue. Yet he
faltered not. Could he but reach the cab!

He knew that the steam was already up
in the boiler, and that a single touch on
that throttle would bring the engine from
its perilous position. If he could but-reach it!

The thought inspired him with new cour-
age and he bent low down and began to
crawl forward, holding his handkerchief
well against his face in order to shut out
any possible smoke that might reach him.
The roar of the devouring flames sounded
louder and louder with each succeeding sec-
ond, and the draught caught them up and
swept the fire out through the smoke-flues
at the apex of the roof.

-It was evident that the roundhouse was
doomed. To save the engine was the only
hope. The heat was something terrible to
bear, while it became hotter and hotter as
he crept forward, lying flat upon his face,
and wriggling like a snake toward the cab
of the seemingly fated machine. It was al-
most beyond the limit of human endurance,
and still he clinched his teeth and pushed
on, while outside the gathering throng
howled and shrieked itself hoarse as_ the
doomed structure gradually yielded to the
awful baptism of fire.

Ned kept upon the sheltered side of the
engine, and thus a portion of the heat was
beyond this shelter. He had reached the
step of the cab, and was raising himself
to spring to the footboard, when a blinding
sheet of flame seemed to whirl down and
about the tender as if it were some ferocious
beast struggling over its prey. But the
doughty hero never quailed. Still keeping
his face covered as much as possible from
the fire, he reached the throttle, and a sec-
ond later the throng upon the outside of the
building were startled to hear a wild shriek
from the locomotive whistle; another, and
they sprang back in amazement as they dis-
covered the big machine proudly poking her
nose through the smoke and flame, and then
rushing out across the table into the yard;
safe from immediate danger, and bearing
in the cab the well-known form of Ned
Purcell, the boy engineer.

A shout went up, and for a moment all
was confusion. Trowbridge arrived at_ this
juncture. He waved his arms and ran
toward the switch which led back to the
train sheds.

‘Back down and draw out those three
new Pullmans!’’ he cried to young Purcell.

And as soon as the switch had been turned,
and the superintendent could reach the door,
Ned was there with the engine.

In a trice they had pulled the beautiful
new coaches of the road from the blazing
structure—Ned had been the means of sav-
ing at least fifty thousand dollars’ worth of
property by his timely acts.

All this had transpired in the briefest pos-
sible space of time. The roundhouse being a
rough, single boarded structure yielded very
quickly to the flames, and in a very few
moments the entire structure was a mass of
glowing coals. The water-soaked roof-tops
in, the immediate vicinity afforded little
chance for the spread of the fire, and in a
very few minutes all danger from that”
source was passed.

Trowbridge sought to communicate with
the general superintendent of the road, but
the wires were down, and he found it im-
possible to report. About this time the train
from the south arrived. Jerry Tucker, at
his throttle, awaited the moment when the
starting signal should come. He coupled
onto the forward section of the train, and
two minutes later was spinning away in the
direction of Montrose, while Néd Purcell in
the cab of ‘‘Old 67,’’ with the still faithful
Todd as fireman, slowly backed down to
take up the rear section. His first official
run under the new license was about to be-
gin, and he felt a sense of justifiable pride
14

that the trip was to. be made upon his
father’s old machine. He had sent a respon-
sible messenger to inform his mother that
ehe could not come home that night, as h
must proceed tu Montrose with the engine,
and just as he was coupling to the express
the night foreman swung up to the cab.
‘‘Keep your eye peeled to-night, Ned,’’
he said, in a low tone. ‘‘You know it has

rained hard all day, and there might be},

such a thing as the road-bed being under-
mined.’’

There was an ominous significance in the
foreman’s words, and Ned looked inquir-
ingly into his face. But the man said no
more. He was known to bea firm and un-
flinching champion of the cause of Joe Pur-
cell, and, as such, was regarded as a friend
of Ned.

Our hero thanked him, and a few brief
seconds later he had received his qrders
from the train dispatcher; a warm pressure
of the' hand anda fervent ‘‘God preserve
you!’’ from fhe division superintendént,
then he waved a cheerful good-by to those
of his friends among the dark-browed strikers
upon the platform, and was gone.

The powerful headlight of the engine cut
the inky darkness like a knife, revealing the
rails for rods ahead, and as Ned leaned far
up over the big lever and fixed his eyes upon
the double line of silvery threads that
stretched away into the uncertainty beyond,
he felt a strange thrill of responsibility such
as he had never experienced before.

Slowly but steadily the big engine forged

ahead. Mile after mile was passed; Eagle
Gulch and its dizzy trestle was safely

crossed, the summit reached, and then, in

due time and without serious incident, the

night express pulled into Montrose on time

and the boy runner breathed freely once more.
* ** * 2 * *

Morning dawned wet and foggy. The
earth, fairly soaked with water, was steam-
ing, and the air filled with a dense and
blinding fog, while the clouds hung dark
and low above the northern valley, threat-
ening rain at any moment.

Ned and his fireman were early at the
roundhouse and spent fully two hours prior
to the starting time in cleaning up and
examining every portion of their machine.

Both knew that it was to be another try-
ing test of speed to-day, although
word had been spoken by either upon the
subject. It was raining quite hard when the
final moment came for drawing \out and
coupling onto the express, and Ned’s heart
throbbed a little when he swung open the
big doors, for, at the same instant, he saw
the rival engine backing down, all gaudy
and bright in her new coat of paint, like a
vain, proud girl on rolier skates.

But still the boy runner said never a
word, although"he quietly placed two large
supply cans of lubricating oil in the tender
before he mounted to the cab. Then he
quietly pulled out to take his position for
the eventful start.

The two engines had been coupled on, and
everything was in readiness for the start.
Ned was busy in the cab of ‘‘Old 67’? when
he suddenly heard a voice at the footboard,
and he looked around.

‘‘Say, Ned,’’ called Engineer Tucker, ‘‘is
this to be a race?’’

The youthful driver turned and answered
in a tone that sounded calm, almost to
chilliness : :

‘“‘T leave that to you, Tucker. I don’t
suppose it will be much but a procession.’’

Tucker’s face was stern and dark, and
there was a mysterious gleam in his eyes
which thrilled the lad and caused him to

start. Where had he seen that piercing
glance before? The question puzled him not
a little. There was something new and yet

perfectly familiar in that look, but he could
not explain it,

The boy runner’s answer seemed to puzzle
the Northern engineer, for he turned away
with a thoughtful expression on his face.

‘*A procession!’’ he articulated. ‘‘ Well,
I guess so myself,’’ and a moment later the
Grand Union train came steaming in.

It was perfectly evident to Ned as he saw
nine out of every ten of the south-bound
passenger's hasten on board Tucker’s train
that the influence and popularity of the
rival line were being very rapidly de-
veloped. Yet the young engineer smiled
grimly in spite of it all as he turned and
whispered to Fireman Todd:

‘We've got the advantage of them in one
respect. Tucker has got the load to haul;
we have only five passengers, and that
won’t load us down heavily.’’

Then they were off!

Neck and neck they sped down the valley ;
the two long, trailing lines of dense black
smoke behind marked their double wake in
the heavy atmosphere. ~

But Engineer Tucker observed one thing,
and that, too, with a growing sense of un-
easiness. Ned Purcell was setting the pace:

 

CHAPTER XXVI. /

A LOCOMOTIVE DUEL—SUCCESS OF ‘‘OLD

67.”

vy

    
 

LD 67’s’ just humpin’ this morning !’’
shouted Tucker’s fireman, as he bent
to the scoop. ‘‘The boy has got a

“4 jighter freight than we have, an’ he

is goin’ to make it warm for us.’?

 

not a’.

 

Jerry Tucker ‘‘let her out another notch,”’
and then he glanced anxiously across to the
Valley Central train to note the effect of
this new move upon his part.

They did not gain an inch. Seemingly,
Ned had forestalled him, for the light en-
gine was forging ahead with still greater
force, as though it had felt the boy hero’s
hand upon the throttle.

The new engine did not appear to be mak-
ing the usual amount of steam, Its ex-
haust sounded dull and heavy, and the
draught worked with lagging force.

Faster they flew; cutting the fog-laden
atmosphere Jike darts from high strung
bows, and as they sped along the passenger's
upon Tucker’s train plainly saw that a new
man was at the throttle of the Valley Cen-
tral engine. They began to comment upon
the manner in which the opposition was
drawing away from them, when one chanced
to catch a glimpse of the driver’s face, and
he quickly made the fact known that Ned
Purcell was in the cab, occupying the seat
which had onte been filled by his father.

This ate new interest to the
race, and ever pers on the train, man,
woman, and child, were closely watching
every move of the rivals, and _ several
wagers were laid upon the result of the trip.

As the two trains neared the curye where
they must separate, Ned was compelled to
look back over his shoulder from the cab
window, in order to see the rival engineer
at all. A bright gleam of satisfaction filled
his eyes, for he knew by the expression on
Jerry’ Tucker’s face that the manner in
which his locomotive was drawing away
from the Northern train was a puzzler to
the older engineer.

A demoniacal look of anger gleamed from
Tucker’s eyes. He grimly watched the lad
as the trains forged ahead, and a dark
shadow gradually spread over his face as he
muttered something about the near future.

‘“‘Now, Todd, let her have a little more of
that oil,?? remarked Ned, as they finally
rounded the sharp curve and swept into the
forest line which separated them from the ob-
serving eyes of the other line.

The fireman quickly raised one of the tin
cans and poured a quantity of oil upon the
coal in the tender, which, a moment later
he began shoveling into the furnace. The
fire-box was roaring with splendid effect,
but the result of this act -was very notice-
able indeed. The light explosion caused by
the ignited gases from the burning oil pro-
duced a sharp, quick exhaust that was wel-
come music to Ned’s ears, and which Tucker
had been unable to get. It was thus that
Ned, with the lighter train, had gained so
perceptibly upon his rival. Could he keep
it to the end?

Tucker and his fireman were not slow to
realize that they had no sinecure to hold the
position which they had thus far maintained
since Joe Purcell had been discharged. The
Northern engineer began to doubt his ability
to lead Ned into Swiftwater. He stormed
and cursed because the air was so heavy and
his draught consequently so poor. The fire-
man poked and shoveled as he had never
done before, but m spite of every effort
they could not make steam as usual.

To add to this very exasperating state of
affairs, Tucker quickly discovered that the
track in the woods was unusually greasy,
owing tothe great number cof leaves that
had been beaten from the trees by the violent
storm. In places the rails were fairly littered
with the damp patches, and thus the wheels
of the locomotive kept slipping, in spite of the
fact that he had the sand damper partially
drawn all of the timd on the grade.

In spite of all that he could do, Tucker
saw that he was not keeping up to schedule,
and the thought caused him to chafe and
perspire with nervousness. He determined
that young Purcell should not win the race
if it was in human power to prevent it, and
he hotly cursed the day that the lad had
been born. However, this did not affect Ned
and his fireman, who were diligently en-
gaged in the task of keeping their engine at
top speed. Although the track was in very
poor condition, yet they had less to draw
and therefore the drivers of ‘‘Old 67”
hugged the iron better than did those of the
Northern machine. ,

Never did an engine work prettier nor a
train feel the touch of every increase in
power more readily than it did under Ned
Purcell’s skillful guidance. The conductor,
who had nothing to take up his attention
except to talk with the brakeman and count
the flitting mileposts, looked at his watch
and smiled.

‘‘Barring accident,’’? he said, in a cau-
tious whisper, ‘‘we’ll make the run on time,
and I wouldn’t wonder if young Purcell did
Tucker up.’’

But the brakeman shook his head as he
slowly made reply:

‘We'll more likely bring up at the botomt
o’ Kaglé Gulch !’’ ;

But at Eagle Bridge, as at other points
pee ee line, the lightning express passed
members of the several section gangs, who
had been ordered out by the superintendent
to walk the track and keep a sharp lookout
for any attempt to wreck the train.

One after another these solitary guardians
waved Ned a swift and hearty ‘‘go ahead,”’
and the locomotive shot into the mist-laden
atmosphere like a veritable comet.

GOOD NEWS.

 

 
 

 

with each succeeding mile that they passed
—and yet he realized full well that the next
might seal his fate forever. Should they
leave the iron at the rate of speed at which
they were traveling there could be no result
but death to one and all.

Although the dense fog was speedily dis-
persing, Ned did not even pause to cast a
sidelong glance; his eyes were fixed on the
steel ahead. A wild, nerve-trying race in-
deed! Yet such a one as the boy engineer
fairly gloried in. His only fear was for the
condition of the road, and the possible at-
tempt to wreck his train. The thought
caused him to shudder, and at last his heart
fairly leaped to his mouth as he rounded a
curve and saw just ahead two men bending
low over the rail. Were they fixing a tor-
pedo? He seized the lever and was just in
the act of setting the emergency airbrake,
when he recognized them as members of the
section gang, and in another second the train
had swept past like a whirlwind, while the
young engineer heard them shout:

‘Go it, Ned! You are a sure winner at
that clip!’

Away down the valley a railway superin-
tendent was fairly burning with anxiety.
Superintendent Trowbridge could get no news
whatever from his train, as the wires which
had been destroyed on the preceding day
had not yet been repaired, and the telegraph
instruments were.so completely demolished
as to make it impossible to transmit a single
word. All that he knew was that the two
trains had left Montrose together and on
time, and the only consoling crumb of com-
fort left to him was the information from
the Northern record that Tucker’s train
was nearly forty seconds late at a point ten
miles south of the start. Trowbridge in-
stantly felt a thrill of hope. But his elation
was momentary. He knew that the delay of
Tucker’s train must have been due to the
condition of the road, and he instantly real-
ized that the Valley Central line was quite
liable to be in an equally bad condition.

He had taken every precaution to guard
against a wreck. His only hope now lay in
the thoroughness of the work of the section
gangs. If the track-walkers did their duty,
the rails should be cleared of such leaves and
debris as afforded any hindrance to speed.

There was little consolation in the fact
that Tucker wa$ reported one minute and
eighteen seconds late at the half-way
station. If Ned was making schedule time,
there might be some hope. But why ought
he to expect such a record of the lad? He
shook his head as he turned the thought in
his mind.

‘*T can only wait,’’ he murmured, ‘‘Ned
Purcell will come in a winner if any man
can—unless it be his father,’’ was the
supplementary remark.

What the result would be Superintendent
Trowbridge could not tell., His only consola-
tion lay in the hope that had sprung up in
his beart. With his hair ruffled, and his coat
and vest thrown over a chair, he paced rest-
lessly up and down the office floor, now
pausing at the window to gaze away toward
the distant forest line, and again striding to
his desk, only to repeat the operation time
and again—up and down, up and down like
a prisoner in his cell, or like a tiger chafing
in his cage.

Slowly indeed dragged the minutes. A
message from the Northern line informed
him that Tucker had made up ten seconds
upon the south grade. If he continued this
pace he would diminish his period of delay
very perceptibly. This was not particularly
cheering—to Trowbridge, but to the opposi-
tion it was very. gratifying news.

A crowd had gathered at the depot, com-
prising the greater portion of the inhabitants
of the little town, and expressions of every
imaginable character were heard upon every
hand, Sympathy with the old road was re-
vived, the cause of the strikers expounded,
and one after another aired his opinion of
the outcome, but one and all seemed to unite
in the general opinion that everything de-
pended upon the outcome of the trial which
was at that instant being made.

It was almost time for the train to arrive.

Anxious eyes ‘vere turned toward the
northern forest line, and every one seemed
anxious for the appearance of a train.

Finally the crowd became excited. Super-
intendent Trowbridge, in his office was as
nervous as @ criminal awaiting the sentence
of the court. He looked down upon the surg-
ing crowd below, and then away to the
north, and his heart suddenly leaped within
his breast, for above the dark-green foliage
there rose a curling puff of smoke that de-
noted the coming of a train. Was it Ned?

Another instant and he was fairly dancing
with joy. ;

CHAPTER XXVII.

“BRAVO, NED PURCELL! BRAVO, LAD! YOU
HAVE WON YOUR SPURS.’’

ST was the appearance of that puff of
if smoke that had so completely thrilled

the superintendent with delight. He
2° had watched at that window many a
day for the appearance of that same signal
of victory. But until now be had watched
in vain.’ He knew as perfectly the position at
which the curl of steam must appear to

The young engineer breathed more freely show the coming of his train as though it

 

 

had been stamped upon the distant land- 4

scape scene.

Those upon the platform below were but ~

a second later in making the discovery.

One shouted the information, and in @
trice heads were craned and voices blended
in general confusion.

‘*tt is Tucker's train!’’ crowed an enthu-
siast, but his exclamation was drowned iD
the chorus of opinion that was ventured to
the contrary.

‘‘Tt is the Valley Central this time, Can-
field,’’? spoke an old man who stood under
the window and pointed to a distant tower-
ing pine. ‘‘ You see the smoke comes from
the right of that tree there, don’t you?
Well, the Northern train comes down the
valley away to the left——”’

‘‘The Northern train’s left all right this
time,’’ interrupted a ‘woman, who, with
others, had joined the crowd upon the plat-
form. ‘‘As for me, I’m glad on’t, an’
hope Ned Purcell ’J1 win every trip he makes.
Recollect how he saved Edith Trowbridgé
from the water?’’

A general murmur of approval was thé
answer, and some of the foremost strikers
shifted uneasily and cast inquiring glances
upon those about them. Were the opinions
of women to be arrayed against them?
so, their case was sure to receive a death
blow.

The distant line of smoke curled up above
the trees in one unbroken line, and an eB
gineer who stood gazing at the scene was
heard to say that if Ned Purcell was hand-
ling that throttle he knew his business better
than any man on the line, for, said he:

“There isn’t a perceptible break in the
cut-off. See how perfectly the line of smoke
leaves the stack.’’ ;

It. was certainly so, and as the flying °*-
press came booming toward them they all
began to realize that Jerry Tucker had
indeed been outdone,

Just then a second column of smoke rolled
up away back in the timber belt. Tucker
was not far behind! Exclamations were rifé-

Every sort of a suggestion was a@
vanced. Every person present seemed to
have an idea. If Ned really beat the North-
ern train, would the strikers have a cause
continue their demands? :

It certainly looked as though Trowbridg?
had outgeneraled them, and some of he
least enthusiastic among them mentally T@
solved to return to the road if Ned came 1
a winner.

And it looked as though they would hav@
to return, for, a moment later, ‘Old | 67
came booming around a bend into sight,
nearly a mile up the river, and still some
two miles astern was the line of smo
which told of the coming of Tucker’s yi
Like a streak of light, that express glide
down the narrow valley. The little engine
seemed to bea part of the master mum

which so effectually controlled it, for 1

never had run so smoothly as now, oe
when Ned had reached a point just opps”
his home he could not refrain from grasping

the whistle-cord and giving three sharps.

shrill blasts, for he saw a handkerchief Mg
ing from the open doorway, and a fF
standing there which brought tears. of WA
to his youthful eyes as he recognize’.
mothers and somehow there came to his 64
the faintest echo of a distant shout:
‘‘Bravo, my boy! Bravo! bravo!”’ as
And then, a moment later, the shout MY @
taken up, and the old timbers of the a e
seemed to join in the ery as the train T°

across the swollen stream: our
‘‘Bravo, Ned Purcell! You have won y

spurs to-day !”? till
" 6 ¥ * stands
The panting engine came to a ‘Joshua

at the platform, and in a twinkling
Trowbridge was in the cab.

: d
“T am proud of you, lad!’? he cried, an

vais
he held his watch and pointed to the Oe
card. ‘‘You have not only won the ” tter

but you have gained three seconds—®
record than any one has ever done.
shall be rewarded.’’ 1” aD
“T have had my reward already, to
swered the lad. ‘It is enough for ™
know that I have done my duty.” |. goed
It was a record that any one might om.
feel proud of. Ned pulled his train OU) Jion
the station so as to let Tucker in, a” onto
he uncoupled and backed ‘‘Old 67
spur track, j
Congratulations were showered up ervic®
from every hand. Men gray in the, P theit
seized his hand with a genuineness in
grasp that fairly caused the boy i
quail; women acknowledged this 2 faces
of prowess with smiles and happy many
and it was plain to Ned that be 44
real friends among the kind-hea
of Swiftwater. he pad
But he had yet to learn tie hough he
uncompromising enemies as We 1, alt dispos”
was perfectly aware that a Jeni jg 0:
tion existed. Tucker did not acceP ae" and
feat with anything like go ar op
those who noted the dark scowl the
face remarked that without doub fully
for supremacy had not yet an how
tled. Later developments showe
right these prophets were;
pecan of the extreme ee pring
were to be employed in_ strivil d.
about the success “Of the Northern *orther®
Tucker ran his engine into ae tel¥ dis
roundhouse, and almost imme ts
appearéd. The superintendent °

on bin

rted peopl? 4

   
 

 
  
 
 
 

 
 

 

 

   

 

 
  

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GrooDp

     

NEWS.

  

15

 

ion sought for him in vain. No one

“knew where the man had gone, but at dark

he suddenly appeared, and in answer, to a
query said that he had been sleeping off a
Violent headache. Possibly, such was the
case; but when Ned Purcell heard of it he
sho@k his head.

“There is something besides aches in that
Man’s cranium,’’ he remarked. ‘*‘I don’t
believe Jerry Tucker has shown his full
hand in this game yet.’’

Ned visited the superintendent’s office at
&n early hour, and found the official busy
With a stack of orders and reports that had

een received as soon as the telegraph line
had been put into working shape.

Trowbridge looked up as he entered, and
4 quiet smile beamed from his eyes as he
auswered the cheery greeting.

“Read that,’’ he said, pushing a tele-
Slam toward our hero as he spoke.. ‘‘ You
Ought to feel pleased with that.’’

ed glanced at the somewhat lengthy
Message, and then as he read it ‘line by
line, his heart swelled with pleasure as he
Pérused the very complimentary words.
that portion of it which related to Ned is

given

“T note with pleasure that you have at

last found the engineer ‘that can run our

©xpress on schedule. Keep him by all means.
*H6 reward offered should be imniediately
Paid him, and his services retained at any
Cost,?? :

The message was signed by the general
Superintendent of the road, and, besides
What is here reproduced, it stated that the
Special car of the management would arrive
lM Swiftwater within a few hours, and the
Seneral manager would himself attend to

® matter of the strikers.

»A look of genuine pleasure filled Ned’s
yes as he quietly replaced the sheet upon

Yr. Trowbridge’s desk.

moment later the superintendent
turned and shoved a huge pile of docu-
Ments from the front of the narrow shelf.
®n he‘drew a check-book from a drawer
and quietly proceeded to write therein. For
fully a minute his pen glided over the
SMooth paper, and then he quickly tore out
® certificate and passed it to the boy
*ngineer with the remark:

‘There, Ned; I am ‘happy to fulfill the
terms of the reward, which the Valley Cen-
ral people offered, for an enginneer who
Would successfully compete with the rival
xpress. Take this and place it where it will
© of service to you in lafer years, and re-

Nethber while doing so, that it isthe first

F Shey you ever earned under. your new
fense as a first-class locomotive engineer,
Payne do you say? Will you keep the
. For a moment young Purcell could not
peak, so deeply affected was he by what
mo Just transpired. Thoughts of his father’s
oe and the mortgage which Old Brayley
‘ (upon it flashed through his mind—and
eld in his hand a check of ample amount

Th Meet the obligations of that mortgage.
in “Hy he saw a vision of his beloved mother
a background, and as his lips trembled

« 8motion he rose frem his chair.

,. ut. Trowbridge,’’ he said, ‘‘I can
Cely realize that I have ever done so
I have tried to do my duty
i“ lly, and am pleased to learn that I
will 8iven you satisfaction. You ask if |
the retain my position upon the engine of
T ®xpress. I can’t well refuse to do so, but
4ve a slight request to make of you,

Whi seine : ig
time? Perhaps, I ought to make at this

Seay
€h for you.

oe hesitated, Superintendent Trowbridge
@neq to divine his thought, for he bright-
(cy duickly.
" tate it; Ned. You shall have thorough
Dupo rence with every proper wish. I grant
yf quest in advance.’’
tion; tly it would be better not to men-
tr lt now——??
ly ingttainly you will state it now!’’ warm-
6rrupted the superintendent. ‘‘This is
me when such matters should be intro-

a turned and glanced toward the door,
hoy, ,Sitated as though he scarcely knew
toy a put the question that was struggling
aq terance. e tried to clear his throat,
Wag ,.°2 the color mounted to his cheeks. It
brign TY evident to Superintendent Trow-
Wage” that the lad felt embarrassed. What
Key ming? At first he fancied that he
> Sut Ned’s aétions puzzled him.
She Moment later the youth was about to
row) When he suddenly started, and Joshua
alth,. 8° sprang from his chair. A
the «_ footstep had sounded just outside
office door!
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
>
DUCATION CONTROVERSY.

 

Tar _

; Te gs PART *
to aay ot ‘‘Now, Patsy, would it be proper
: ee can’t learn me nothing?’ ’’
aor?
parcher— «why?
Atsy—iorc ne % 9
“Cause yer can’t.
——__~+- e-e
*r—‘T wonder what makes that dog
me? He always behaves as if he

Soni Was going to kill him.’’ 5
, I expect he’s seen you. whipping

 

Fe De COINS

| |
Goon News uns,
|

(SPECIAL NOYVICK.—This column is for .Goop
NEWS Clubs only. No notices will be inserted
excepting such as are genuine GOOD NEWs Club
uotices, aud nothing in the shape of an ativertise- |
ment will be allowed. Every club notice should
have the names of the president and secretary of
the club attached. For information concerning |
GOOD NEWS Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad. |
vertisement on last page. |

-

IMPORTANT NOTICE.

In response to requests from a very large number
of tlub members, we have decided to reorganize |
Goop N#ws clubs, giving a number to each. None |
but genuine Good NEws clubs will be accepted. We

|

ask the secretaries to communicate with us as soon as
possible, giving the name of the club, together with a |
list of the officers. ‘The numbers will be assigned in
rotation as the letters are received.

We would also like to have the opinion of officers
in regard to forming a committee which shall have a
general supervision of all the clubs, a sort of central
government, as it were.

Itis our wish to make Good Nrws clubs the most
desirable in all clubdum, and we shall gladly receive
suggestions as to means to effect that end.

seco atc e'
CLUB CHAT.

August Kaiser would be pleased to hear from
amateur publishers of club papers with a yiew to |
subscribing. Address A. Kaiser, 504 Neb. avenue, |
Kansas City, Kan.

To the Birmingham boys:—Come boys, wake up.
Would you like to form a Goop News Club in
Birmingham? If so, you should address J. A. Kil-
cullen, 1911 Second avenue, Birmingham, Ala.

Frank KE. Merritt, Jr., 58 Taylor avenue, Utica, N. |
Y., will shortly begin the publication of an 8-page
monthly magazine called Bits and Chips as successor |
to Forest and Field, and all who desire, can obtain
Sample copies by sending address.

B. W. Langsdale, 1212 Tracy avenue, Kansas City,
Mo., wants the name and address of any boy or boys
who want to go into a corporation and publish a club
paper, and all share the profits. This will prove of
much value to club officers. For further particulars
send stamp. P

CLUB NOTICES.

By this we know just what to do. The difference.
T@anyson could take a worthless sheet of paper,
write a poem on it, and make it worth $65,000—that’s
genius. Vanderbilt can write a few words on a sheet
of paper and make it worth $5,000,000—that’s capital.
The United States can take an ounce and a quarter of
gold, and stamp upon it an “Eagle Bird” and make
it worth $20—that’s money. A mechanic can take
material worth $5 and make it into watch springs
worth $1,000—that’s skill. A lady can purchase a
seventy-five cent hat, but she prefers one that costs
$27—that’s foolishness. A ditch digger works ten
hours a day, and handles several tons for $1,50—that’s
labor. The writer of this could write a check for
$70,000,000, and it wouldn’t be worth a dime- that’s
rough, Any one can join the Goop Nrws Fidelity
Corresponding Club, Branch 11, for only 6 cents a
year, that is equal to any other club with larger as- |
Sessments—that’s common sense. By the foregoing
I hope you will see that we are O. K. Remember
the initiation fee is only 6 cents in stamps; no dues.
Object: corresponding, fun, andimprovément. Each
member receives two nice colored and plainly
Printed list of members. More anon. Address E.
®, Moen, secretary and manager, Vine Place, Sioux
City, are

Do you want a rubber stamp free? If so, you
should join the Goob News Young People’s Union,
Branch 26, without delay, and receive all the follow-
ing, free, as a premium: One fine rubber stamp—
your name set up—one iilustrated novel ot adven-
ture, ten fine varieties foreign stamps. From the
club you will receive one large package of reading
matter, containing novels, story papers, etc., a four-
page list of members. Also a package of reading
matter and a new list every six weeks. Also hun-
dreds of papers, etc., from publishers to whom we
send the list of members. We have members (young
ladies and gentlemen) in all parts of the country who }
will correspond and exchange photos with you, Don’t
you think it wouid pay you to join? Admission fee,
10 cents; dues, 10 cents for six months in advance (sil-
ver preferred). Ladies free; but if they wish rubber
stamp must send 5 cents for postage, etc.,on same.
Send 20 cents to-day and become a member (and
have your dues ‘paid six months) of this lively club.
Address W. E. Taliaferro, secretary, South Atlanta,
Ga.

Why, how do you do, boys and girls? Why are
you not a member of the Granite State Goop Nrws
Corresponding Club of Portsmouth, N. H., Branch 7?
It is one of the best clubs established under Goop
News. We want members all over the United
States. We want to establish @ branch on the West-
ern coast if we can get ten members in one or more
States. Our dues are very cheap. Admission fee,
10 cents; dues, 5 cents quarterly, payable in advance.
We give a membership card, and reading matter to
all joining this week. We want representatives in
every State in the Union. We print a club paper as
soon as we get fifty members. All printers are
especially invited to join now and be a member of the
happy band of young peopleand have correspondence
with charming young ladies, Address all communi-
eations to secretary and treasurer, Harry Loach,
Box 692, Portsmouth, N. H. a

The Goop Nrws Reading Club, Branch 2, of
Rankin, Pa., has appointed Bert MeClermont, of
Goderich, Ont., Canada, to represent the above club in
Canada. All boys and girls from Canada serid your
name and address to him if you want to join our
club. The object of this club is corresponding, read-
ing, and pleasure. Now, if you wish of any of the
above why join right away, as this club jis one of
the leading Goop News Clubs in Pennsylvania, you
will not make any mistake in joining, for we have
over 150 jolly active members who are willing to do
anything for pleasure or fun. Wegive to alljoining
this week the following : Twenty-five foreign stamps,
three good novels, two cut-out pictures, piece of
music, and two pictures of art. The initiation fee is
10 cents; dues,2 cents a quarter in advance.. Send
all letters to J. M. Crom, secretary, Rankin, Pa.

Well, well; here we are again. What? The Goop
News Western Corresponding Club, Branch 17, and |
you are missing half your life if you'don’t join now. |
We only want a few more members, and we will
soon have them. Why? Because we are the best
club on earth, and give the most liberal terms to !
those joining this week. Wewant you to join, and
we will give you two foreign coins, list of members, |
membership card, and badge; also the first from each
State will be made representative. Young ladies
wake upand join the best club in the land; it will
cost you nothing, and you will have more fun than at
acircus. Join now, while there is time. KE. L.
Dwyer, secretary, 809 S. O street, Tacoma, Wash.

 

 

 

  

 

 

Goop Nrws Theatrical Club, Branch No. 18, or | Treasury, War, and Interior Departments for a 50c.

Baltimore, Md., wants members and correspondents
in the Western States.
each State west of the Mississippi River will be ad-
mitted free. Regular initiation fee, 5 cents; dues, 5
cents a month or 50 cents a year, payable in advance.
Kivery person paying fees for one year will receive a
year’s subscription to a bright club paper. hady
members wanted.
and foreigners fees and dues. For

free from all

| further particulars address Harry M. Suter, 1059 W.
| Fayette street, Baltimore, Md., or Louis H. Rice, 834

Harlem avenue. Baltimore, Md.

Wake up and join the Goop Nrws Excelsior Cor-
responding and Exchange Club, Branch 4, South
30ston, Mass., and receive membership card, two
novels, fifteen foreign stamps, amateur papers, and
a bundle of circulars. Initiation fee, 10 cents (silver);
no dues. Ladies and foreigners free. Members
wauted in California, Washington, Maine, Dakoto,
Colorado, and Tennessee. The second one joining
from either of these States will be admitted free.
William F. Gorman, secretary, 60 Gates street.

Hustlers wanted. One hundred hustling young
people wanted to join the Goop News Hustlers’ Club,
3ranch 9. Every one joining gets membership card,
list of members, a packet of foreign stamps, anda
roll of reading matter. Initiation fee, 12 cents.
Ladies, and officers of other clubs, admitted for two
2c. stamps; foreigners free. We intend to publish a
paper a§ soon as we get a few more members, so join
at once. Clarence Hoover, president. - Address the
secretary, Glenn R. Guernsey, Irwin, Mo.

Reorganized—Goop News World Directory and
Reading Club, of St. Louis, Mo. Officers, I. A. Reilly,
president; Ralph Reilly, secretary and treasurer. We
furnish members with reading matter, send our club
organ, insert name in Directory, etc. For further
information address the secretary, kindly inclosing
stamp, at 7816 Reilly avenue.

| Boys and girls, join the Goop NEws Reading and }
Exchange Club.

You receive every month a pack-
age containing novels, books, stamps, etc. Only
10 cents for twelve months. Special! Join inside the
next six days, and send 6 cents fortwelve months.
AddressS. Carrick, 1732 N. Calhoun street, Baltimore,
Md.

Join the GooD Nrws Elite Corresponding Club of
Newark, N. J., Branch 17, and receive bundle read-
ing matter, membership card, small printing outfit,
two novels,-pen-holder, by-laws. Dues, 10 cents
monthly. Miss Lizzie Weldon, vice-president and
secretary, 17 Elm street.

Wanted—Every Newsite who is looking for a good
club to join Branch No, 29, and receive a bundle of
weekly story papers every month, and, after they have
paid in a year’s dues, a real camera and outfit (takes
2\4x244 pictures). Wm. Dodd, secretary, 2246 N. 2ist
street, Philadelphia, Pa.

One hundred members wanted at once for list No.
4 of Branch 20. Upon joining you receive a beautiful
card of membership, a neat list of members, and 100
foreign stamps. Initiation fee, 5 cents;
Address Geo. Fettig, secretary, 249 West 81st street,
New York city.

4 f

EPARTMENT.

Stina antennae

Read This Before Sending In Your Notices.

{Hereafter exchange notices containing.the follow-
ing named articles will not be inserted, viz.: Story
papers, firearms, explosives, dangerous, or worthless
articles, cigarette pictures, tobacco tags, soap wrap-
pers, and prize coupons bearing name of manufac-
turer. <All offers must be strictly exchange offers.
This column is free to all our readers, but nothing
suggesting an advertisement will be permitted. If
exchange notices do not appear ina reasonable time,
it may be understood that they are not accepted.
Address all communications for this column to “Ex-
change Department.” }

BANJO.—H. E. Hill, Box 563, Richmond. Union

new, to exchange for an Eastman Kodak, or camera
taking a picture 314 inches square. He could not
learn on the banjo, and wants to exchange for a Kodak
or camera. Banjo not soiled a bit. None but those
who want to exchange need write. All postals and
letters answered.

York city, will give fifteen mixed United States due
stamps for every 10c. worth of good United States
stamps which he selects from your sheets. He hasa
good assortment of due stamps on hand. Revenue
Stamps preferred.

MISCELLANEOUS.—William Dodd, 2246 N. 21st
street, Philadelphia, Pa., has a bicycle (pneumatic
tires), $1.50 regulation fife, two magic lanterns and
outfits, pocket camera and outfit, camera takes 244x
2% pictures and outfit, camera takes 314x444 pictures
for best offer or offers. Inclose stamp for reply.

STAMPS.—Carl E.
avenue, Boston, Mass., will give fifty stamps for
every United States revenue sent him.

MISCELLANEOUS. —John R. Koch, Jacksonville,
Ohio, has one 10x15 Novelty foot-power hand-inking
press, with rollers; one telephone, one metelephone,
one magic lantern, one electric motor, one panto-
graph, one dry battery, and other goods to exchange
for an 8x12 self-inking rotary press.

STAMPS.— Paul Wichmann, 5128 Loomis street,
Chicago, T1., has 100 United States stamps, from 1870
to 1896, to exchange for every United States depart-
ment stamp senthim. All letters answered.

MISCELLANWOUS. — Lester A. Hanson,’ Saco
House, Saco, Me., has to exchange one Silver watch
($5), one mandolin ($25), one telegraph key ($2.50), one
telegraph sounder ($4), and lots of books for type-
writer—Smith, Hartford, or Remington preferred.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Hayes Durflinger, Box 1388,

Henry, Ill., has a Mekeel’s postage stamp album of
the gvorld, cost $1.50; a printing press, size of chase
2x41, with six fonts of type, leads, furniture, etc.,
to exchange for best offer in United States stamps or
bound books; 1,000 foreign stamps, good mixture, for
300 United States stamps above the 8c. value. All
letters answered.

READING MATTER.—Wm. Nordquist, Camden
Place, Minn., has reading matter to exchange for
stamps.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Glenn R. Guernsey, Irwin,
Mo., has four 10-cent and six 5-cent libraries, 150
different stamps, catalogued at over $2; a “Dime”
stamp album, and a 10-cent stamp catalogue to ex-
change, in whole or part, for any of the following
books: ‘Afloat with a Circus,” “Boy Caribou Hunt-
ers,” ‘““‘Westward Ho !’ “Arthur Helmuth,” ‘Work-
ing His Way,” ‘‘All Aboard,” “Camp and Canoe,”
“The Rajah’s Fortress,”’ “$500,” “‘Perils ofthe Jungle,”
“4 New York Boy,” *‘Tom Tracy 7” or will exchange
for best offer in printing material, baseball goods, or
boys’ reading matter. *

STAMPS.—W. Phillips, 85 Beech street, Indian-
apolis, Ind., will exchange one $1 U. S, Revenue,
two $2 U. S. Revenues, six varieties of United States
locals such as Pomroy’s, Allen’s, and Hussey’s, and
seven varieties/of United States officials, including

Lindelof, Jr., 616a Shawnee»

The first person joining from |

tead our ladies’ prize offer. Ladies |

Columbian, in good condition ; 65 foreign stamps for
every orange colored special delivery stamp.

MISCELLANEOUS.— Henry P. Fry, 138 .and 134
Richardson block, Chattanooga, Tenn., has $12 punch-
ing-bag, set of boxing-gloves (4), cost $7; 829 different
stamps, catalogued at $11.25; fifty books, by A. Conan
Doyle, Alger, Cobb, Dumas, Haggard, Stevenson, etc.;
collection of war relics, twenty-five magazines, to
exchange for best offer. Will exchange part or whole.
Offers solicited. All letters answered.

BANJO, ETC.—Frank Benjamin, Pontiac, Mich.,
will give one twenty bracket banjo for twenty-five
10-cent or forty 5-cent novels; send ten of the novels
and I willsend banjo, and if it isnot all right you
need not send the balance. One Imps enchanted
bottle for one 10-cent or two 5-cent novels.

MISCELLANEOUS.—E. D. George, Box 81, Staun-
ton, Ill, will exchange for bicycle lamp, cyclometer,
seat, handles, or camera, or anything useful the fol-
lowing articles: stamps, 5-cent, 10-cent, 20-cent, 25-
cent, and 50-cent novels; $1 and $2 books, type (sixty
a), press, memorandum books, scrap book, fort, post-
office, magic lantern, and nine-pound bundle of
reading matter.

READING MATTER, ETC.—Chas. Crowell, 502
South Fifth street, Goshen, Ind., has reading matter
valued at $15.50 to exchange for a mandolin or guitar
of equal value, 5x71; printing press for best offer. All
letters answered.

Norice.—Owing to the extraordinary number of ex-

| change notices received, many are left over until next

|

|

week.
— > 4

s> 5 Ad = 457
i) UR AIL BAG
{Questions on subjects of general interest only are

Jad

dealt with in the ‘“‘Mail Bag.’’ Medical or legal ques-
tions not answered. Goobd NEWS goes to press two
weeks in advance of date of publication, and there-
fore answers cannot appear until two or three weeks
after we receive them. Communications intended for
this column should be addressed Goop News ‘Mail
Bag,” P. O. Box 2734, New York City.

eecnagesS
Southern Reader, Augusta, Ga.—l. The area of
‘

Cuba is 45,700 square miles. the population is 1,521,684,

   

o ae

| and the three principal cities are Havana, Matanzas,
} and

Cardenas. 2. Augusta is situated
longitude 81 and 82 and latitudes 33 and 34.

between
3. 'The

| total debt of the United States is $1,717,481,779.90.

| Goop News “Only an Irish Boy,” “Grit,”

no dues, |

4. The letters S. P. Q. R. signify Senatus Populus
Que Romanus meaning the Roman Senate and
People. 5, Horatio Alger, Jr., has written for
“Frank
and Fearless,” ‘Plucky Paul Palmer,” ‘Frank
Hunter’s Peril,’ and ‘‘Adrift in the City.’ 6. You
are five inches above the average in height. 7. The
name ‘‘Old- Hickory” was bestowed upon Andrew
Jackson. 8. Your writing is good.

H. E. #H., Richwood, Ohio.—1. To make ginger
beer, take: White sugar, twenty pounds; lemon
juice, eighteen ounces; honey, one pound; bruised
ginger, seventeen ounces; water, eighteen gallons;
boil the ginger in three gallons of the water for half an
hour; then add the sugar, the juice, and the honey,
with the remainder of the water, and strain through
a cloth; when cold add the white of an egg and half
an ounce of the essence of lemon; after standing four |

days, bottle. This beverage will keep for many
months, 2 and 3. Wecannot give business addresses

in this column. 4.
Ohio is $8,000. 5.
House of Savoy.
M. N. J., Montpelier, Vt.—Heére is a good recipe for
chocolate caramels: Take three pounds of coarse
brown sugar, one-half pound of butter, one-half
pound of chocolate (scraped fine), one pint of milk or
cream. Melt all carefully and boil twenty minutes
or half an hour, stirring all the time. Just before
taking off the fire flavor with vanilla, and stirin a
teacupful of granulated sugar. Pour into a pan until
half an inch thick, and when half cool cut into pieces

The salary of the Governor of
The King of Italy belongs to the

 

| about an inch square.
County, Ohio, has a brand new banjo, cost $9 when |

Cyril Rudstone, Youngstown, Ohio.—The little
white spots appearing on the finger nails are due to
some subtle action of the blood, upon which all the
bones, sinews, muscles, and organs in the body are
dependent for nutrition. They sometimes disappear

| of their own accord, but there isno known cure, In
| reality they signify no derangement of the system,
STAMPS.—Edward Stern, 56 E. 107th street, New |

 

and therefore, as you enjoy good health, why allow
such a trifling and harmless matter to destroy your
equanimity?

A, RF. L., Newbern, N. C.—To cure round
shoulders, practice the following exercise several
times a day: Hold the arms atfull length in front of
the body, the hands touching each other; then throw
the arms backward quickly, .asif trying to make the.
backs of the hands touch each other behind the back
of the body. You should also procure a pair of
light dumb-bells and exercise with thém.

J. E. W., Seattle, Wash.—1l. The three balls over
pawnbrokers’ shops were originally the arms of
Lombardy, and were early adopted as a sign by
money-lénders. 2. No. The seal has notatail. It
has flippers which correspond to hind legs, and which
may be mistaken for a tail; and as certainly itis not
four-footed, though its flippers may be taken to
represent feet.

Constant Reader, Los Angeles, Cal.—l. There is no
premium on the half-dime of 1887. 2. You are con-
siderably above the average. 3. Yes, the vocation of
telegraph operator is somewhat overrun. Many
operators are women. 4. The best mile was run by
Salvator in 1 minute, 3534 seconds. 5. Zimmerman is
the champion.

Thekla, Davenport, Ia.—The term “Hub of the
Universe” is applied to the city of Boston. It
originated with Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes, who
wrote: ‘Boston State-house is the hub of the solar
system. . You couldn’t pry that out of a Boston man,
if you had the tire of all creation straightened out for
a crowbar.”

Puzzled, San Marco, Texas,—The twentieth century
begins on January 1, 1901. The first hundred years
does got end with the year 99, but with the year 100;
the second century, therefore, began with the year
101, and the twentieth century, as explained, will
begin with the year 1901.

Ko-Ko, Joliet, 111.—The sound of thundér may be
heard for twenty or twenty-five miles. With the
ear tothe ground much more. Lightning is reflected
for one hundred and fifty to two hundred miles.

D. D,.. Rockland, Me.—To remove tar from the
hands, rub with the outside of fresh orange or lemon
peel, and wipe dry immediately.

8. G., and J. B., Madisonville, Ky.—Your exchanges
are contrary to ourrules. Read notice at head of ex-
change column.

Duchey, Piedmont, W. Va.—Ammonia is the sub-
stance, with which ice is manufactured.

H. C. L., New York city.—In such a case, decidedly
take the rollers bow on.

I. C. B., Atlanta, Ga.—We may have another in
the autumn.

[Sevéral communications left over to be answered neat
week. }
GooDp

 

*PeesereOHDoacno OOD CAaGcCODO OD

By “PETER.”’

CHAPTER VII.

THE MAJOR AND GRIMESY TAKE A SOLEMN
JOURNEY.

FTER that the major concluded to
let the detective go.
‘Well, what’s the next number on
e the programme?’’ asked Merty, en-
tering his chum’s room the next day.

‘‘T dunno. We’ve been neglecting the
gov’nor a good deal lately. We'll have to
do something for him to kind 0’ remind him
that he’s living, and that there’s somebody
else in the world besides him.’’

‘‘Have you thought of anything?’’

‘‘Nothing definite, though I thought some-
thing of writing him a letter to let him
know that his rich uncle was dead, leaving
him a couple of millions.’’

‘“Has he any rich uncle?”’

‘Yes, he has an uncle down in Stamford
worth a couple or three millions, an old
skinflint that has nothing to do with any of
his relatives, much less the major, whom
he hates more than poison, and hasn’t
spoken to for twenty-five years. I think a’
letter from somebody up there stating that
the old gent had croaked and left his
money to the major, would surprise him.’’

‘*He wouldn’t live through it.”’

‘‘Oh, yes, he’s tough and can stand it; |
though if it was the other way—that he was
losing some of his money, I think the doctor
would have a contract right off.’’

‘Vos, or the undertaker.’’

‘Well, let’s get at the letter. Ill dictate
and you write, as the gov’nor might recog-
nize my fine Spencerian fist.”’

Grimesy got out his writing materials,
and Merty sat himself down to write.

In the course of half an hour, with hard
thinking and hard scribbling, the two boys
produced the following letter:

o

‘“STAMFORD, CONN., Aug, 6, 18—.
‘*My DEAR COUSINS:

‘You will be surprised and pained on
receiving this to learn that our dear uncle,
Reuben Quillpick, after a long and useful
life, has finally passed away.

“The sad event took place early Sunday
morning. Uncle preferred it that way, for
you know that if the dear old man had a
fault, it was over-economy; and by dying
early in the morning, he saved the price of
three meals by the operation, besides the
cent he would be expected to put into the
plate at church.

‘‘You will be surprised, though not
pained so much, to learn that uncle has left
the bulk of his property, amounting to over
two million dollars, to you and Cousin
Amanda, to the exclusion of his own chil-
dren and grandchildren.

‘There are some queer bequests in his
will, for you know uncle was an eccentric
man. For instance, he bequeaths his old red
socks, which he has worn for the last
twenty years, and which have been darned
more times than you ever lied, with more
colors than a dyer’s apron, to Aunt Susan’s
youngest daughter; while his tortoise-shell
spectacles he leaves to Uncle Ramsey, who
has been stone blind for ten years. The
brindle steers and shovel plow he leaves to
Uncle Si’s eldest.son, Bartholomew, who is,
a drug clerk in the city, and knows no
more about a shovel plow or steers than the
latter do about corrosive sublimate. He
also bequeaths his family Bible to you, which
is about as appropriate as the other bequests.

‘*But the most absurd of all his bequests
is the one to myself. He leaves me two pairs
of suspenders and a mustache cup. ‘hose
are fine presents for a widow with no male
children and no prospects.

‘“‘It was his last request that you, his
principal legatee, should attend to the
funeral arrangements, or rather the crema-
tion, as he desired that you should have him
eremated, and that you should have his
ashes put in a German silver snuff box, to
be carried in your breeches pocket the rest
of your life. His remains, therefore, await
your coming, which, as the weather is
warm, and ice dear, it is to be hoped will be
speedy.

‘‘Wurther details I will leave until your
arrival here.

‘*We are all well except myself, who am
suffering with rheumatiz, and hope this will
find you enjoying the same blessing.

‘*Your affectionate cousin,

‘sTapITHa SQUILLS.’’

Th DtLL BOY

* @©829900000 00000 00000 000 000 08d 0 O89 8000008 YeUI 0800 008

 

Cvesoe coe St eoeeeeoCcws

ecco

feo

Late in the afternoon of the next day
the major called Grimesy into his room.

““My boy, do you think you could get that
chum of yours to take your place to-morrow
as bell boy???’

‘“‘T think so, sir,’’? said Grimesy. ‘‘He’s
out of a job now.”’

‘*Will he be here to-night?”’

ae Oss: Bites

‘<Well, speak to him about it. I have got
to take a trip to-morrow on very sad_busi-
ness, and I want you to accompany me.’’

‘All right, sir. I would ask you the
nature of the business, dear major, but I
never like to intrude upon people’s grief,’’
said Grimesy, looking the picture of woe.

‘Tt is no intrusion for you to ask, my
dear boy,’’ said the major, wiping his eyes,
‘‘for IT know how deeply interested you’ are
in my affairs.’’

‘‘Yes, I lay awake nights thinking how I
can advance your interests, and increase
your happiness, dear major.’’

‘‘f have no doubt of it, my dear boy, and
your devotion affects me deeply. But to
the object of my trip.

‘‘T have just received a letter from my
cousin informing me that my dear uncle is
dead. I say dear uncle, for I loved him
dearly, although for many years he has been
estranged from me. But I can overlook that
now, as the poor old man is no more. I
attribute it to his eccentricity. He wasa
very eccentric man, my boy.

‘*AsT say, I have received a letter inform-
ing me of his death, also stating that he has
left me the bulk of his property, amounting
to between two and three millions, and re-
questing me to take charge of the remains.
L desire to start early in the morning.’’

‘‘Why not go to-night, and save time?’’

‘*T don’t know but that would be better.
I was thinking that I would make arrange-
ments for his cremation (he desired that I
should have him cremated), but, come to
think of it, it will probably be better to fetch
the remains over as early as possible and
attend to that afterward. We will go
to-night—to-night, my boy.”’

The major had the house in an uproar
from that time until he got started, and
you would have thought from the bustle
and preparation that he was going to Kurope
instead of merely to Stamford, Conn.

When they got seated in the train the
major said:

‘My dear boy, although I am going on a
very sad journey, I experience an inde-
scribable pleasure and relief in getting away
fiom the worry and cares of business, and
beyond the reach of those who take little
interest in me or any of my affairs further
than to harrass nie and make my life a
burden, and to be alone with you, whose
énly thought seems to be for my comfort.’’

‘*Yes, major, dear,’’? said Grimesy, with
a sad, sweet smile, ‘‘Il do try to make it
pleasant for you; although I’m afraid I
don’t always succeed.’’

‘Do not worry about your lack of suc-
cess in that respect, my dear boy. You do
the best you can, and who could be so
unreasonable as to ask for more??? 5

‘(Do I never give you pain, major, dear?’?

‘*Never. And that is why I love you so,
When I contrast your affectionate, self-sac-
rificing nature with my wife, who is cold
and selfish, and some others in the house,
who seem to think of nothing but playing
tricks on me, it seems to me that you are
something more than a common mortal.’’

‘*Oh, don’t talk that way, major, dear,
you will make me conceited.’’

In the seat behind them sat an old lady
with her back to them, while the next seat
back and facing the old lady, was occupied
by her husband and a half-grown, fat,
stupid-looking boy, presumably ber son or
grandson. All three were asleep, and the
old lady had dozed off in the midst of her
knitting, which she still held in her hands,
her hands resting on her lap.

They were evidently farmers.

Grimesy reached over and, after drawing
out the knitting needles and dropping them
into her lap, took the end of the yarn, and
drawing it over the back of the seat,
allowed it to gently fall upon the major’s
hand.

The major, feeling, the yarn in his hand,
took hold of it absent-mindedly ashe talked
and began to draw it along and let it fall
upon the floor.

He continued to talk and pull away at

NEWS.

 

| the yarn, all the time raveling out the old la frantic grab, catching the fat boy by the

lady’s stocking.

Finally, when be had raveled out about a
foot of the stocking, he got down to where
the old lady was holding it, and the yarn
got wound around her fingers, and stopped
it. The major, finding the thread would
come no farther, began to jerk, of course

| without realizing what he was doing, and
D> >?)

|

|
|

 

the old lady awoke.

She glanced first at the small bit of stock-
ing remaining in her hand in a dazed sort of
way, and slipped the yarn off her finger.
Instantly the major tightened upon it, and
commenced unraveling again.

The old lady was at first astounded and
then indignant, and when she followed tip
the yarn, and found where it was going, she
was simply furious. She turned and glared
at the major for an instant, but the major
didn’t see it and kept right on talking and
pulling away at the .thread. This infuri-
ated the old lady all the more, and she gave
him a sounding slap on the side of the head
that made his ear tingle for an instant.

The major could not have been more sur-
prised if lightning had struck him. He
jumped up and glared at the old lady, and
she glared®at him, and both were speechless
for a moment.

The major was the first to find his tongue.

‘‘What do you mean, ma’am!’?

‘(I mean to chastize yew fer a-stealin’
o’ my yarn, ye old varmint!’’ screeched the
old lady, in a thin, shrill voice.

This naturally attracted the attention of
every one in the car, and the major, feel-
ing rather than seeing that every one was
looking at him, was terribly embarrassed,
and blushed like a maiden.

He was speechless, and could not imagine
what he had done to incur the old lady’s
wrath. Still he knew that he must have
been guilty of some indiscretion, and _ his
eyes wandered instinctively to his hands,
which still retained a firm grip on the yarn.

From his hands his eyes ran along the
thread to the wasted stocking in the old
lady’s hands, and then back again to the
coil. of yarn on the floor, and then he
realized what he bad done.

To say that he was embarrassed is to put
it mildly. He was paralyzed for the major,
with all his faults, was always gallant to
the ladies, of whatever age or condition.

All this had occupied but a moment, and
the major did not have time to collect his
wits sufficiently to offer an apology, when
the old lady began a_ tirade of abuse that
made him dizzy.

He made several ineffectual attempts to
say something in extenuation of his conduct,
but the old lady, talked so fast and so loudly
that his words were swallowed up like a
bird’s song -in a boiler factory.

Finally, in the midst of his confusion, the
major stooped and picked up the tangled
coil of yarn which he had reeled off, and
tossed it over the old lady, and while he
was down he saw the ball of yarn, which
had rolled off the old lady’s lap when she
jumped up. So he picked it up also and
tossed it over.

The old lady was swinging her arms about
savagely, and she struck the ball, knocking
it spinning against the ceiling, from which
it rebounded and caromed on the old man’s
nose. The old man woke and sprang to his
feet with a yell and started to run, but the
fat boy waking at that moment, yawned and
stretched his legs,

The old man tripped over the fat boy’s
legs and took a_ header into the aisle, got
his feet tangled up with the old lady’s, and
down she went. And as she fell she made

 

hair and dragging him into the choice but
badly mixed heaps.

Before they could regain their feet the
train pulled into Stamford, and the major
made a stampede for the platform, only*too

lglad to get away from the storm of guys
/ and jeers that followed him from the balance
| of the passengers,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

SPECIAL.—We._ will send

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