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Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1896, by Stree Smith, in oe Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.
Entered as Second-class Matter eo the New York, N.Y., Post-Offce.
V STREET & SMITH, Publishers, N sf k J 9° 896 Subseription Price
ol, 13. 29 Rose Street, New York. CW OrkK, une 2 : 1 . $2.50 per Year. No, 321
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‘‘wkrE HAVE CALLED OURSELVES THE BAYPORT BICYCLING CLUB.’’

KING OF BIKE AND BAT:

OR,
JACK SEABROOKE’S RUN OF LUCK.

BY HORACE G. CLAY.

 

 

CHAPTER I. ! morning. She’s to return on this train with
her friend, Cassie Cobb. You’ve heard me
INTRODUCES TWO IMPORTANT CHARACTERS. | speak of her. Cassie’s mother and sister ex-

pected to leave on the City of Paris at noon

 

a

— A O, Jack!’ to-day to spend the summer in Europe, and
Te] ‘*Hullo, Archie!”’ the young lady herself will pass the inter-
(Come, for the mail, eh?’’ val with us.’’
wy ‘*Yes,’ Jack grinned, butggmade, no reply.

Jack Siahonete got off his bicycle, stood ‘*Why didn’t you" come to the meeting
‘ the wheel against the depot platform, and | after school to-day?’’ queried Archie.
NE o joined his friend, Archie Dutton. ‘‘What meeting?”’
¥ THE GIRLS IS OVERBOARD!’’ CRIED JACK. THE NEXT MOMENT HE TOOK A “Expect somebody on the train?’’ he said. ‘‘*Oh, come, now, you know it was ar-
HEADER INTO THE SWIFTLY RUNNING WATER, ‘Yes. My sister went to Brooklyn this'ranged to start our bicycle elub this after-

 
a

 

noon. We can’t afford to let the Institute
fellows crow over us right along without
making an effort.’’

‘<That’s so,’ said Jack, ‘‘we can’t.’’

‘‘Hver since that unlucky game of ball,
two weeks ago, they have a most exasperat-
ing way of guying us. I tell you, Jack, it’s
more than I can stand; and the boys all
agree that we must recover our lost laurels,’’

‘¢We’ll do that next Saturday when their
team tackles us in the second game of the
series,’’ said Jack, decisively. ‘‘The reason
I didn’t stay for the meeting is because Mr.
Grice told me this morning to hurry back
directly school was out, to tend store while
he went over to Woodland. That’s how I
put in the afternoon.’’

‘‘Well, it’s allright. We organized with
thirty members, and have called ourselves
the Bayport Bicycling Club. You’ve been
elécted treasurer.’’

‘‘No??? said Jack, incredulously.

‘‘Fact. Vote was unanimous.’’

‘‘That’s very good of the fellows, consid-
ering——’’ and Jack paused,

‘‘Considering what?’’

‘‘That I’m not as well fixed as the rest of
the boys, you know.’’

‘“‘Oh, pshaw! That seems to be a standing
bugaboo with you. You know, or ought to
know, that you’re the most popular fellow
in the academy.”’

‘¢Nonsense, Archie.’’

‘¢There’s no nonsense about it. You’re the
captain of our ball nine, aren’t you?’’

‘Why, yes,’?? admitted Jack.

‘‘You were captain of the foot-ball team
last winter, weren’t you?’’

6¢Wes,??

‘‘Now you’re treasurer of the bicycling
elub.’’

‘*So you say.’’

‘‘Well, it’s a fact. Now, do you s’pose all
these honors would fall to your share if you
didn’t deserve them and weren’t the best
liked fellow in the academy? I guess not.
Besides, you’re my chum, and my people
are mighty particular who I pick up for a
friend.’’

‘“‘Well, I’m much obliged to the boys for
electing me to the office. I’ll do my best to
fill the bill. But until I get a decent wheel I
shall feel that I am disgracing the club. I
ride well enough, but I do feel like a guy
on that antiquated bike that Mr. Grice got
me to carry the mail to and from the
depot.’’

“‘But you expect to win one of those ‘Out-
ing’ roadsters offered by Goop NEws,”’’ said
Archie.

‘*] hope so.”

‘‘How many coupons did you send in?’’

‘‘Something over seven hundred.’’

‘‘Phat ought to fetch one.’’

‘*T don’t know,’’ said Jack, doubtfully;
‘‘there must be hundreds of boys after those
thirty wheels. I shouldn’t have stood the
least chance if our fellows hadn’t taken the
thing in hand and made it their business
to collect as many coupons as possible for me
among their friends who take the paper.”’

‘‘Doesn’t that prove your popularity? We
consider you the captain of the school; and
it’s really a matter of pride with the boys
to have you well mounted. With a little
more practice on the wheel you’ll be one of
our cracks. Mr. McCorker said so. He’sseen
you ride my bike on several occasions, and
he told me you handle yourself like an
expert. Let me tell you, Jack, Mr.
McCorker’s opinion is worth something.”’

~**T always try to do my best at whatever
I undertake.’’

‘““Phat’s why you always succeed. If all
our boys would only act up to the principle,
I guess there wouldn’t be any question as
to the superiority of Doctor Hazard’s Acad-
emy over Colonel Wadley’s Institute.’’

‘‘T mean that we shall take a fall or two
out of them before the term closes,’’ said
Jack, positively. ‘‘As soon as the colonel
gets his bicycle track in shape we’ll go over
and corral a few prizes. That’ll take some
of the conceit out of the institute crowd.
I’ve already settled it that the base-ball
championship is coming to the academy this
year. That pennant will feel right at home
flying above our new stand.’’

‘<Tt’s too bad we lost the first game,’’ said
Archie. ‘‘Mr. Grice is responsible for that.
If he hadn’t sent you: to Brooklyn on the
day of the match the team wouldn’t have
been handicapped. The institute nine is
afraid of you in the ‘box,’ since you were
coached by ‘Dad’ Clarke.”’

‘*We'll see\what that amounts to next Sat-
urday. One thing is certain, however, I’ve
improved in my hitting over last season.’’

‘‘T?m sure you have.’’

‘*T paid strict attention to Mr. Clarke’s
instructions in that particular, and I guess
you and the rest of the team are conscious
of improvement since I started to drill you
i the practice of placing a batted ball.’’

‘‘That’s a fact. You’re an Al coacher,
Jack. The institute team sent out spies to
watch us practice. They’re trying hard to
get onto our signs. Rather mean, don’t you
think??’’

‘*Don’t let that worry you, Archie. I take
it as a compliment. It’s the best evidence in
the world that, in spitg of the fact that they
won the first game, tligy’ve a wholesome re-
spect for our prowess.”’

From the foregoing the reader will easily
see that a hot rivalry existed between Doc-
tor Hazard’s Academy and Colonel Wad-

.

 

ley’s Institute, both located at Bayport,

The academy was by far the older of the
two, having been established many years.
Its reputation was unquestionable, though
the school depended on local support—not
over twenty of the students coming from
any distance.

On the other hand, the Bayport Institute
was, comparatively speaking, quite a recent
addition to the neighborhood—the present
term year being the second of its existence.

It was founded by Colonel Wadley, presi-
dent of the Bayport National Bank, and a
gentleman of wealth and political promi-
nence in the community.

The colonel was a man of progressive
ideas. He advertised his school extensively,
sent out a shoal of tempting circulars, and
was proportionately successful in building
up a large scholarship.

If the institute was more cosmopolitan in
its general features than the academy, in
one respect it was clearly a unit. This wasan
uncompromising opposition among the stu-
dents to, and rivalry for precedence over,
Doctor Hazard’s establishment.

Colonel Wadley himself gradually became
imbued with the same feeling of antago-
nism toward his rival. He left no stone un-
turned in order to encourage this spirit of
competition; which was perfectly fair and
justifiable so long as it was carried on with
the proper spirit.

But we are sorry to say that excess of zeal
on the part of the institute boys—headed by
Dick Wadley, the magnate’s son—often led
to their adopting aggressive measures of a
nature not at all defensible, and the usual
result followed—the occasional exhibition
of ‘‘bad blood’? between the two factions
when they met.

Doctor Hazard, in the interest of har-
mony, once appealed to Colonel Wadley, and
pointed out certain features in the conduct
of his scholars which he thought the colonel
ought to restrain.

Colonel Wadley, however, received the
communication rather haughtily, pooh-
poohed the suggestion, and—did nothing.

The two lads just introduced to the read-
er’s notice were chums, though their posi-
tions, socially, were widely different.

They both attended Doctor Hazard’s
Academy.

Jack Seabrooke was a prepossessing boy of
seventeen years, with dark, regular feat-
ures, and blue eyes. There was something
proud and self-contained in his habitual ex-
pression that marked him as one possessed
of more than the average nerve and pluck.
He certainly gave evidence of having sprung
from good stock.

That he was a natural leader had long
since been demonstrated. His companions
were quick to perceive and appreciate his
ability as an organizer and director. That’s
why he was tacitly looked upon as the cap-
tain of the school, and his manly, forbear-
ing nature made him deservedly a favorite.

The one dark point in his young life, and
a matter that always troubled him, was the
obscurity which hung about his origin. His
parents he never knew. His earliest recol-
lection was associated with Peter Grice,
and there were features in Mr, Grice’s
career the boy was ashamed of.

Archie Dutton was the son of Major Dut-
ton, a wealthy resident of Bayport. He was
a handsome, curly-headed youth of sixteen
—a great favorite among his companions.

Major Dutton’s business interests, which
were extensive, kept him away from the
family roof-tree the greater part of each
year; but he employed a man of business—
a certain Mr. McCorker—to look after the
affairs of the estate, so that Mrs. Dutton
was quite free to attend to the education of
Archie and his sister.

Among Archie’s many possessions was a
thirty-foot centre-board yacht, called the
Fairy, in which he and Jack Seabrooke were
accustomed to make frequent cruises about
Manhansett Bay. Indeed, it was our hero’s
expertness in handling a sail-boat which
cemented their boyish friendship.

While we have been making this digression
the train the boys were looking for came
into the depot, Bayport being the terminus
of the branch line.

A number of passengers alighted from the
cars, among them being Alice Dutton and
Cassie Cobb, and Archie, bidding his chum
good-by, hastened to meet them.

Jack got the mail bag and dragged it over
to his bieycle. There being nothing further
to detain him, he mounted his wheel, and
taking the bag up before him, started down
the street toward the post-office.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH MR. GRICE RECEIVES UNEXPECTED
VISITORS.

T would perhaps be difficult to find a
|: town more charmingly Jocated than

| Bayport, It was a curions place, and
*= once upon a time had been noted for its
ship-building interests.

The beautiful bay that formed its water
front, the wide, shady streets that inter-
sected the village proper: the neat cottages
peeping out from amid foliage of the deepest
green; the substantial residences and well
laid-out grounds that dotted the environs of
the town, and stretched along the bay shore

GOooD NEWS.

 

 

on either hand—all conspired to make this
place one of the most picturesque spots
imaginable,

When Jack Seabrooke reached the shabby
little frame structure which was his home,
and where Mr. Peter Grice, on the ground
floor front, presided as postmaster, general
storekeeper and ship-chand|&™ he tossed the
bag on the counter, aud then passed through
the little parlor beyond to the kitchen to eat
his supper, which was waiting for him, leav-
ing Mr. Grice to sort the mail.

That important individual was at that
moment dickering with a seafaring man over
the price of a coil of rope. The trade con-
cluded, his customer left the place with his
purchase, and Mr. Grice turned his atten-
tion to the mail bag.

He was a spare man of five feet six or
thereabouts, with a thin, sallow face. Keen,
dark eyes that glanced from under their
beetling brows after a crafty fashion. His
hair was thin in front, coarse of texture,
and iron-gray in color. His manner was
cold and unsympathetic. His age probably
fifty.

Once upon a time he had kept an unsavory
kind of sailors’ lodging-bouse in San Fran-
cisco, and our hero’s first conception of life
was picked up among the habitues of that
delectable resort.

Something occurred at Mr. Grice’s estab-
lishment one night, however, which caused

| him to purchase railroad tickets for himself

aud his protege, as he called Jack, and va-
cate the Golden Gate with unusual expedi-
tion.

He settled ,down eventually at Bayport,
which in thé days of bis advent was less
fashionable and more business-like than at
the time of our story.

Whatever was Mr. Grice’s failings, he
treated Jack well upon the whole; much
better, in fact, than people who were prone
to judge the man felt disposed to give him
credit for.

Across the way from the store a small
wharf projected out into a pocket-like inden-
tation of Manhansett Bay, and as Mr. Grice
kept several row: boats and a centre-board
sloop for hire, it was no uncommon thing
for him to have visitors, of many grades
and conditions, from the opulent pleasure-
seokers in the summer time, to the tarry
salt at all times, in his little back parlor,
arranging for the use of his marine property.

Mr. Grice likewise had a spare room above
which he occasionally rented to some Jack tar
ashore who had stranded in Bayport; and
Peter’s influence in maritime matters soom
procured a berth for his lodger in some
coast-going craft.

Before Jack Seabrooke had finished his
meal his ears told him that Mr. Grice had
visitors in the little parlor.

Presently Peter thrust his head into the
kitchen and rather gruffly ordered our hero
to go into the store.

‘“There’s two or three people out there to
be waited on,’’ he said.

‘All right,’’ said Jack, swallowing his tea
at a gulp.

Passing through the parlor, the young
man caught a glimpse of the occupants, and
it was not a reassuring one. Jack had seen
some tough-looking customers in his time,
but he was willing to award the palm to the
pair who occupied Peter Grice’s attention.

He mentally assured himself that their
room was far bettey than their company,
and he would ratherybe excused from meet-
ing them alone on a deserted highway either
by day or by night.

And to say the truth, villainy was legibly
imprinted on both their countenances. The
face of the burlier of the two seemed to be
afflicted with a perpetual scowl, while his
companion, who was a low-grade Mexican,
had a slight cast in one eye, and a dirty
strip of court-plaster athwart one of his
weather-beaten cheeks.

Peter Grice’s experience with all kinds of
ruffianly characters had been so extensive
that the mere external appearance of any
man, however forbidding, never ruffled him ;
but on this occasion he was manifestly dis-
turbed, which showed that something out of
the ordinary existed under the surface.

As soon as Jack passed through into the
store Mr. Grice took the unusual precaution
of bolting the glass door after Him.

‘“You shall not stow yourself away so close
that we not find you, eb, Peter?’’ said the
Mexican, with an evil leer.

‘‘T should say not, Garcia,’’
larger ruffian, with an ugly laugh.

‘*Well,’’ said Mr. Grice, ‘‘now that you
have found me, what do you want? You
didn’t come here for nothing, I suppose.”’

‘‘You hear, Darkeye? ‘You tell him, eh?
what we shall want,’’ said the swarthy ras-
cal, shaking his earrings.

‘7711 tell him quick enough, never fear,’’
growled the other scoundrel. ‘‘It’s ten
years, Peter, since we lost sight of you—
Garcia and me put in five of that at San
Quentin for that job at North Beach. How
did we spot you, eh? The cap’n’s kid did the
business. We’d just come ashore when we
piped him on a bike. He’s grown out of my
recollection, but Garcia, bere, has got eyes
like a hawk, and he knew him at once. We
come up here on a bit of bus’ness, not
thinkin’ we’d find you about the diggin’s;
but seein’? we have, why of course you’re

said the

, goin’ to do the proper thing by us.’’

‘*What do you call the proper thing?’’ said

Mr. Grice, eying his visitors with an
unpleasant look.

‘‘What do we call the proper thing, Gar-
cia?’’ said Darkeye, grinning. a

‘‘He shall be glad, I think, to see us—old
friends. He has a bed—food—brandy. It 1s
what we need before——”’ :

‘‘You hear, Peter,’’ said Darkeye. ‘‘We
want a lodgin’, a bite of somethin’, and 4
bottle. I’m as parched as a dried codfish. ”’

‘*‘Diablo! My throat is so dry as a chip,
said the Mexican.

‘*Ts that all?’’ said Mr. Grice.

‘‘That’s all for the present.”’ Y

‘*It shall be enough for just now,’’ said
Garcia, trying to look pleasant by serewiNg
his countenance into a grin like a hyena.

N ‘You shall have what you ask, though
your room is better than your company,
said Mr. Grice, ungraciously.

‘‘That’s not the way you used to talk,
Peter,’ said Darkeye, sourly. ‘Looks as if
you wanted to shake your old friends.’’ |

‘Things have changed,’’ said Mr, GTiee,
shortly. ‘‘And the less I know of old times
the better.’’ ;

‘‘Oh, ho! that’s the way the wind blows:
One would think you’d turned ,parson to
hear you talk. What if I took a “notion to
whisper a word or two in the boy’s ear, @B*
Idare say, Peter, he’d be glad to know,
what I could tell him.”’ aN

Mr, Grice had been laying out some cold
eatables in a grudging manner, anJ was d
the act of opening a small corner cupboal
where he kept a stock of liquors, when the
rascal’s significant words cut his movements
short. tints

‘You wouldn’t do that, Jim,’’ he said, ”
a scared tone.

‘‘T wouldn’t, eh, Peter? Well, you’re the
doctor. Garcia and me know when there $#
good thing in sight, and I guess we Cea
have to go farther than this room to fin
Des :

‘‘Would you ruin me?’’ gasped Mr. Grice,
in a choked voice. a9?

‘‘Not unless you act rusty, eh, Gara@

‘Yes, y6u shall be right in that.”’ 9

‘‘You hear what Garzia says, eb, Pare
Now, tip us your ear. But 1 say, where
the brandy? What’s the matter with
Look at his face, Garcia; it’s as white if
bit of chalk. Ha, ha, ha! Stir yourse™
Peter!’ : Jes

Mr. Grice’s hands shook so that the bott
rattled in the cupboard. Then he plac
decanter, partly full of liquor,
before his visitors, and fetched

The rascals, who were now very
filled themselves a stiff portion, and tos
it off, smacking their lips with a relish. by

‘““You’re pretty well heeled, eh, Peter ¢
this time? Vhat with the cap’n’s nest-e6

_ ? R

‘No, no,’ Jim—you’re wrong, 1’™ not
well off at all. Only moderately——’

“It won’t do, Peter. You’re a sly a
but you can’t bamboozle us. Garcia au 42”?

are too wideawake. Where do you keeP,}

‘*T tell you I’m only moderately— t.
‘‘Bah! Garcia and me know better’? tha

The two rascals, who had just SW {. one
another glass of liquor each, looked 4”
another, and burst out laughing. ‘ke to

“‘T say, Peter, how would you hi
make a cool thousand cases, eh?’’

‘*What!’’ exclaimed Mr. Grice.

‘¢Don’t come in your way every day;
itt? Y low

‘‘No, it don’t,’’ said Mr. Grice, 19 #
voice. E btp

‘‘Well, then, it’s a chance you 0Ug
let slip.”’ per

The pair of rascals tossed off aporied
dram, and then, with one accord, @P
themselves to the cold meat. ent

Mr. Grice watched them for a WOM" to
two, then he took a chair and drew
the table. wi

“Youve got something in the
Jim,’’ he said.

‘You're dead right we have.”’

‘¢And you want me——’’ was col-

“To take the place of a pal who ,
lared two days ago in Bridgeport:

‘And the job——”’ “id some

Darkeye leaned over and mutter
thing in a low tone.

Mr. Grice sat eee:

does

"'t to

nd,

CHAPTER III.

op RATES
WHEREIN OUR HERO DEMONSTR*
STUFF HE’S MADE OF:

on 8
ACK SEABROOKE was seated, ¢ ie
case of biscuits figuti®® oy ream
chances of the academy . the gee
against the institute nine, 0m
ond of the three scheduled gamonel
championship flag offered by ae! pis
ley, in the fond anticipation its to
were to win it, and which game i g ee
place on the academy grounds d the
Saturday, when Mr. Gri¢e open” store:
door and poked his head into the Jack oy
‘‘T sha’n’t need you for a while airs ®
said. ‘*You can go out and.ge
—you neédn’t hurry back.’
Jack was surprised at the

que

 

poy®
take
mins
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he was dismissed from duty cet offs

he was only too delighted to

a ; ; ter
You’re not one of the spendin’ sort, ¥e
You’re hidin’ it somewhere.’’ “
‘‘Did you come here to rob me? Pe
66 $2?
Rob you! allowed

  

  
 

 

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He snatched up his cap and hurried out
of the store. It was-growing dark fast, so
there was no chance for practice that even-
ing.

lie took the road which followed the curve
of the bay in the direction of the Sound.
He knew Archie was expecting him, and
Was probably waiting his arrival at the
private wharf on the Dutton property.

He passed the silent grounds of the Bay-
port Academy, and looked longingly
through the trees at the white diamond
Marked off so plainly on the green turf, and
his fancy pictured the neat little grand
Stand which had lately been erected by Doc-
tor Hazard, as it was expected to look on
the ensuing Saturday, bright and gay with
pretty girls, visitors and residents, of Bay-
port and vicinity.

Well, he wouldn’t have been a true boy if
his blood failed to quicken with anticipation
of victory for his nine.

t was only half a mile to the great iron
ate that guarded the carriage-way into
wajor Dutton’s place. A small gate along-

Side was for the use of pedestrians. Both
8ates were locked, but the head gardener,

Who occupied the lodge with his family, was
Sitting in his shirt sleeves outside the door
Smoking.

He admitted Jack.

Our hero hurried up the path, cut across
the lawn, skirted the mansion, and de-
Scended the grassy slope toward the wharf.

At the head of the wharf was a small one-
Story cottage occupied by an old sailor
Named Tom Cox. A superannuated veteran
of the briny deep, and a pensioner on the
estate,

He had been a boatswain’s mate in the
avy, and during the war, when aland and
Naval demonstration had been made at Pim-
lico Sound, he had saved Major Dutton’s

ife at the cost of his own usefulness.

The major never forgot the service, and
. k Cox into his employ at the close of the

ar,

As the old man was disabled, his duties
Were purely nominal. He looked after the

ats and assisted the gardener.

._ 4t was now dusk, and quite a breeze was
Tustling the tree-tops.

rehie Dutton was standing in front of
the cottage talking to Tom, who was seated
1 a three-legged stool at the door.

Mr. Cox looked very neat and trim. He
had discarded his working rig for a loose-

‘ing coat and trousers of dark-blue vloth.

18 shirt was of the same color, and open at

® throat, around which was looped a black

Neckerchiet, secured by a curious ornament

&shioned from the bone of a species of fish.

bair of particularly bright eyes twinkled
ee beneath the rim of a japanned hat,
Which headgear Tom was inordinately

Proud, for he sported it in all weather,

‘unter and summer alike.

«gullo, Tom,’’ said Jack, advancing.
tH Same to you, my hearty,’’ said the old
8n, in a cheery voice.

Was just wondering how long it*’would
Kg before you turned up,’’ said Archie.
(cue SOt something to show you.”’
crmtat is it???

‘This,? replied Archie, producing an en-
be. “*What do you think it contains?’’
Couldn’t guess.”?

Challenge. ”’

24 Challenge!’ echoed Jack,
fers mh And you’ll never guess what it re-

wy >
(then tell me quick. I’m eager to know,.”’
‘ead it yourself.’’

Tote passed over the letter.
tis C ®pistle was signed by Richard Wad-
be Clone] Wadley’s son, and purported to
y Challenge for a race between the sloop
acht Phant ‘oper f the writer

h om, proper ty of the writer,
Archie pucoP yacht Fairy, belonging to
ou th utton. The contest to take place
dow, Fourth of July, on a straight course
ling ® bay, starting from an imaginary
Dosit;.° be indicated by the judge’s boat, the
Qo10°2_of which was to be determined by
~Olonel yw ,
ing ty), adley and Mr. McCorker, round-
Wher € bell buoy off Deadman’s Rock, near

® the ae ot the Sound flowed into
.» 4nd returning to the starting point,
(sthing like six chile,

thinngls”” said Archie,

ia
Way tink,» said Jack, quietly, ‘‘that Dick
‘my 1s bothered with a swelled head.”
Clone)” £ exactly my idea. Ever since the
he’s; Purchased the Phantom for Dick
hey 5°82 bragging about what he can do in
«
the a ©an’t have had much experience with
Saiq Jaceecment of boats that I know of,’’
ag .

‘“what do you

New ¥ ‘but his father isa member of the

*ooke, TK Yacht Club, and owns the Sky-
fleet, . he of the fastest schooners in the

(y)And ns has been away on several cruises,
Puticay woe picked up a smattering of

knows ite nowledge, I guess he thinks he
Jug all.

&

Ee rat the like him; but. you know, Archie,

Anton lone! never lets him go out in the

Proc Unless one of the crew of: the
St is with him to oversee and teach
lenge § of Seamanship. If you accept this
a 8Xpery? we must expect to cope against
‘(py Tt hand at the helm.??
‘not afraid, Jack. With you to handle
k Weak her reputation against any
adley can bring forward.’?

i

 

 

 

‘¢Well,’? said Jack, with sparkling eyes,
‘‘T’l) do my best. I know the bay pretty
well, I guess, and I’ve handled the Fairy
often enough to know what’s in her under
ordinary canvas, but I’ve never tried her,
you know, with her racing duds aloft ’’

‘*We’ll take Tom along, and Bob Oakley;
that’ll be crew enough. That’ll do, won’t it,
Tom???’ said Archie, turning to the ancient
mariner.

‘*Lord bless your eyes, yes,’’ said the old
sailor. ‘‘Jack’s as good a skipper as you
could put your hands on.”’

‘‘The moon’s coming up, and there’s such
a smacking breeze, | vote we take a trip
down the bay,’’ said Archie. ‘‘Will you
come, Tom?’’

‘*Q’ course I will, if you says so,’’ replied
the old mariner, blithely.

**Come along, Jack.’?

Our hero needed little urging. Mr. Grice
had told him not to hurry back, so time
and himself were on easy terms,

Mr. Cox followed the boys as fast as he
could, carrying the pair of oars belonging
to the yacht’s tender, which was secured by
its painter to a ring-bolt at the end of the
private wharf.

A few yards out in the bay was anchored
a thirty-foot sloop yacht, her beautifully
proportion hull painted white, with a nar-
row band of red running fore and aft.

The name, Fairy, appeared in raised gilt
letters on her stern.

Jack cast off the painter, drew in the
tender, the three embarked, and a few lusty
strokes with the oars brought them along-
side the dainty craft. They clambered on
board, and secured the boat astern.

Tom cast of the strops on the mainsail,
then he and Archie went forward, and, lay-
ing hold of the halliards, hoisted the sail;
but Archie was a bit too expeditious with
his part of the job, and jammed the hoops
around the mast, thereby obstructing Mr.
Cox, who was more leisurely attending to
the throat halliards.

‘*Slack away a bit, Archie,’’ said Jack,
who perceived the difficulty. ‘‘That’s
enough; now hoist away—belay. Now go
over and take in the slack while Tom swings
off the throat halliards.’’

The ropes having been made fast, Jack
called Archie aft to tend to the jib sheet,
while Tom was taking the gaskets off the jib.

‘*Now let go your downhaul and run her
u a

The jib was set in a twinkling.

The yacht was lying head to the wind.

‘*Prim down flat on the port jib sheet,
Archie. I’m going to pay her off on the
starboard tack.”’

The anchor was hove up by means of a
small windlass which turned a drum around
which the cable was coiled as it came
through the hawse-hole.

‘Haul aft the port jib sheet, Archie.’’

Mr. Cox hobbled aft and pushed the boom
out to starboard, while Jack put the helm
to port.

‘*Shove down the centre-board, Tom. Let
go the jib sheet, and trim down to star-
board, Archie. That’s right. Now we’re off.”’

It was a lovely night, and Manhansett Bay
fairly sparkled in the light of the rising
moon as the breeze capered over its surface
kissing countless wavelets into life and
motion.

Inclosed by two mighty spurs of precipi-
tous rock and low-lying sand-hills that pro-
ject for some distance into the Sound, this
charming sheet of water, with the good old-
fashioned town of Bayport in the back-
ground, is one of the prettiest spots on the
Long Island shore,

The yacht heeled gently to the breeze,
which puffed out her jib and mainsail, a
few inches of her copper sheating rising out
of the water and flashing back the moon-
light.

er, Cox sniffed the air with evident rel-
ish. He produced his pipe and’ tobacco
pouch, and was soon leaving a trail of smoke
in the Fairy’s wake.

‘*This is tip-top,’’ said Archie, enthusias-

tically.
' **She’s a hummer,’’ said Jack. ‘‘You’d
better take the tiller, Archie. Keep her just
as she is. Now-hold the main sheet well in
hand, and don’t spill the wind out of the
sail. Keep that light yonder in line with the
weather rigging.’’ :

They made a long leg toward the opposite
shore, then Jack took charge again and
made a short run on the port tack, when he
brought the Fairy round again on her former
tack.

In a short time the southern point of Hog
Island was close aboard. This was a pretty
spot in the summer, with its grassy slopes,
picturesque nooks and marine prospect—an
ideal resort for picnic parties.

The yacht was kept away toward the
northern end, which poked its nose into ,the
Sound. Here Nature wore a wild and unin-
viting aspect. The rocks rose gaunt and
bare out of the water, and the prospect ‘for
a landing was most unpromising.

‘‘Hullo!’? exclaimed Jack, suddenly;
‘*there’s the Phantom yonder as sure as you
live. What the dickens are they up to?’’

He pointed to a pretty black yacht about
half a mile distant, which was catching the
full force of the breeze} and was acting in a
strange manner.

The craft, as she came about, taking the
wind abeam, seemed to be badly handled.

   
   

GooD NEWS.

 

  

3

 

**As Colonel Wadley is away on a cruise,
I guess Dick has seized the opportunity to
cut loose from leading strings and is run-
ning the craft on his own responsibility,’’
said Archie.

‘*Well,’? said Jack, with a look of disgust,
‘‘if that’s a specimen of his ability to ma-
neuvre a sail-boat, it don’t speak well for
the training he’s been receiving.’’

‘*Good gracious!’’ cried Archie, as the
Phantom heeled far to the leeward. ‘‘I
thought she was going over that time. We’d
better run down to her. Dick’ll capsize her
in a few minutes if he doesn’t look out.’’

‘*It’s pretty rough out there,’’ said Jack.
‘*Dick is a fool to take such desperate
chances.’’ ;

‘*Those lubbers oughter taken a reef in
the mains’! afore this,’’ growled Mr. Cox.

‘*Yes, it’s always well to be on the safe
side and do it in time,’’ said Jack.

Of course, our little party could not tell
why this precaution had not been resorted to
by those on board the Phantom when they
found the wind too stiff for their experi-
ence; but one thing was pretty clear—they
were in a fair way to go overboard from the
present indications.

This fact was so evidently on the tapis
that Jack held his course for the other
yacht.

‘*'There’s four aboard of her as well as I
can see, and I’m sure two of them are
girls,’’? said Jack, excitedly.

The Fairy was swooping down on her
dark rival like a bird, when Jack saw the
Phantom heel quickly over under a sudden
blow. As those on board of her scrambled
to the windward, a wild shriek came whirl-
ing down on the breeze. The boom was seen
to swing out at right angles with the boat,
beating the water in a savage manner, while
the mainsail flapped violently.

Having lost the steadying influence of the
sail, the yacht began to roll heavily in the
choppy waves.

‘*One of the girls is overboard!’’ cried
Jack, kicking off his shoes and throwing
aside his jacket.

‘*Good gracious! she’ll be drowned !’? ex-
claimed Archie, excitedly. ‘‘You’ll never
reach her in time!”’

The next moment Jack Seabrooke took a
header into the swiftly running waves.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

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

Campaigning With Braddock:

FIGHTING ALLIED FOES,

A TALE OF COLONIAL DAYS.

(clang

BY WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON,
Author of ‘The Lost Opal of Mysore,” “In Bar-
racks and Wigwam,” “The White King
of Africa,’’ ete.

sein cider

 

(“CAMPAIGNING WITH BRADDOCK” was commenced
in No. 309. Back numbers can be obtained of all
News Agents.)

CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONCLUSION.

OGER was not in the least hurt,

though the bullet had taken a lock or
\\ two of his hair away with the cap.
~e) ‘ He landed squarely on top of the
dead Indian, and by clutching a tuft of
strong grass to one side of him, he saved
himself from rolling off the ledge.

He clung there for a moment, while his
nerves grew steadier, and then, shuddering
at the contact of the savage, he pulled him-
self to his knees.

‘*T had a narrow escape,’’ he muttered,
‘both from the bullet and from tumbling
to the bottom of the gorge. But who could
have fired at me? It was surely not Sir
Rawdon Marriott—no, I’ll never believe that
of him after I just saved his life. It must
have been a chance shot from the hillside.’’

Overhead there was a lively rattle of
musketry, mingled with hoarse clamor and
Indian warwhoops.

‘‘I’m needed up yonder,’’ the lad re-
flected. ‘‘Iit’s not likely my friends have
missed me, and I don’t want to be left
behind.”’

_He was about to rise cautiously to his feet
when the bushes directly above him moved,
and a soldier in the red uniform of the Brit-
ish regulars appeared on the very edge of
the ravine. The man was David Kirk. He
still wore a beard, but his shrunken features
had filled out sufficiently to reveal him for
what he was—the assassin of Giles Berkeley.
For an instant the eyes of the two met, and
they looked hatred at each other.

‘*You?’? gasped Roger. ‘‘So it was you;
who tried to kill me, you blackhearted
scoundrel! You can’t deceive me any
longer. I know you,*Martin Pring.”’

‘‘And much good that will do you!’’
sneered the ruffian. ‘‘You’ve led me a
pretty chase, my lad, and many’s the time
you’ve slipped through my fingers as by a
miracle. - But now I?ll do the work right,’’

 

As he spoke he fumbled at his belt, and
whipped out a huge, brass-barreled pistol.
He dropped to one knee, leaning partly éver
the brink of the ravine, and leveled and
aimed the weapon. His evil, grinning face
was so close that the lad could almost have
reached it, and he laughed mockingly as he
pulled back the hammer.

For a brief second Roger’s heart seemed to
stand still, and he gave himself up for lost.
Then a slim chance of escape flashed inte
his mind, and was no sooner conceived than
carried out. Letting go of the tuft of grass,
he made an upward spring. Had his pur-
pose missed he must have toppled to the bot-
tom of the gorge with a bullet in his head.
But the leap was a sure one, and his hands
fastened on Pring’s throat before the latter
could pull trigger or dodge the assault.

Doubtless Roger hoped to get a footing on
top of the ravine, hurl the ruffian back, and
there finish the struggle. But in this he was
disappointed. Pring lost his balance, and
pitched forward with his assailant clinging
tightly to him. Both struck the ledge,
bounded off the body of the Indian, and
went flying swiftly down the steep slope.

Over and over they rolled, holding fast to
each other, and fortunate it was that no
rocks or big trees were in the way. They
sped from one clump of bushes to another,
crashed through thin saplings, and tore fur-
rows in the thick grass and fern. The mad
plunge lasted but a fraction of a minute,
and then the two broke apart at a patch of
pine shoots.

Rolling around it at opposite sides, they
dropped half a dozen feet farther into a
little glade at the very bottom of the ravine.

For a few seconds Roger lay still, stunned
and dizzy. At last he managed to get to his
feet, and staggering to a tree close by, he
rested his back against it. He remembered
what had happened, and his first impulse
was one of gratitude when he saw Martin
Pring lying in a heajften feet across from
him. There was blood on the ruffian’s out-
stretched hand, and from his attitude he
seemed to be dead.

The lad himself» had suffered only a few
bruises, and hesoon discovered that no bones
were broken. But he was weak and trem-
bling, and felt as yet incapable of climbing
out of the ravine, or even of stirring from
where he stood. Far overhead, he heard the
sound of voices and a few straggling shots.
Then he detected something else—a crashing
and rustling in the undergrowth far up the
hillside, The noise drew nearer and nearer,
and seemed to proceed from separated points.
Evidently one or more persons were hastily
descending the ravine.

‘*Who can they be??? Roger muttered,
anxiously. ‘‘Friends or foes?’?

At that instant, while the lad was gazing
up the slope, a low, mocking laugh fell on
his ear. He looked around to make a discov-
ery that chilled his blood. Martin Pring was
on his feet, and one hand clutched the nistol,
which he must have held fast to during the
plunge down the gorge. He wasa_ horrible
sight, with his left arm dangling loose and
broken, and blood pouring down his cheeks
from a deep gash on his forehead.

**So I’ve got you after all,’’ snarled the
ruffian. ‘‘There’s no escape, my fine fellow
—die you must.”?

He crept closer across the glade, limping
heavily, and swaying from side to side with
pain and weakness, But his right hand was
steady enough as he aimed the pistol, unerr-
ingly at the lad’s breast.

Roger shuddered, realizing that it would
be useless to beg for mercy. For an instant
he stood still, while the murderer drew
nearer. He might have turned to run, but
he kiiew that his first move would be the sig-
nal to fire. He was dazed by the certainty
of death.

Now Pring was six feet away, and he knew
better than to come any closer. The nistol
was rigid in his hand, and one finger was on
the trigger.

‘*T’ll give you five seconds to pray,’’ he
said, brutally. ‘‘Then you’ve got to go——”?

Roger suddenly remembered the noise up
on the hillside, and with the recklessness of
despair, he uttered a loud shout. To his
amazement and joy, the appeal was in-
stantly answered by a hoarse cry, and out of
the bushes and into the glade dashed Sir
Rawdon Marriott.

‘Stop! stop!’? he exclaimed, eagerly,
throwing himself between the two before
the ruffian could pull the trigger. ‘‘Thank
Heaven I came in time!’?

With a snarl of baffled rage, Pring lowered
the weapon and scowled at Sir Rawdon.

‘‘What do you mean by interfering?’’ he
demanded, fretfully. ‘‘Have you lost your
senses???

For an instant Sir Rawdon stood gasping
for breath, unable to speak. His face was
pale as ashes, and his handsome uniform
was stained and disheveled.

‘‘T mean this,’’ be exclaimed, finally. ‘‘I
have played the scoundrel too long, and now
J intend to make what amends are possible.
I saw what you did up yonder, Pring, and
I came after you as fast as I could. This
brave lad must not be harmed. He saved
my life a short time ago——”’

‘*That shows he didn’t know you,’? cried
Pring. ‘‘Man stand aside. It’s too late to
interfere.’?

‘*No,’’ Sir Rawdon said, doggedly; ‘]T
mean what I say.”’
A

‘‘Then you are stark mad,’’ yelled the
ruffian. ‘‘Do you realize the consequences of
sparing the lad? Do you know that you
will be a pauper—that your name will be
disgraced and dishonored? And worse than
this—the law may swing you from a gal-
lows.’?

‘‘} care not, Pring. I am resolved, at any
cost, to rid myself of this burden of
crime——’’

‘¢And I say you sha’n’t. It takes thetwo
of us to make the bargain, and I’m not go-
ing to lose all I have worked for, and run
the risk of the gallows at the same time.
Besides, I have private grudges against the
lad. Stand aside, if you are too chicken-
hearted tu see the deed done+-—”’

‘Stop!’ cried Sir Rawdon. ‘‘It is too
late! Others are coming to help me—don’t
you hear them in the bushes yonder? Escape
while you have time, Pring! I will face it
all.”’

Just then a loud shout was heard, and
Pring glanced toward the hillside. What he
saw there brought a terrible oath to his lips,
and with a sudden movement he shifted his
position so as to fetch the lad within range.

‘‘T’m not to be cheated. out of my re-
venge,’?’ he snarled, as he leveled the pistol.

Sir Rawdon threw himself forward.

‘‘Don’t shoot!’? he cried, huskily. ‘‘For
God’s sake——’’

Too late! Bang! went Pring’s weapon,
and the ball intended for the lad pierced
Sir Rawdon’s chest. With a groan, the
stricken man reeled and fell. Roger caught
him in his arms, but could not hold him, and
both slipped gently to the grass.

The ruffian, infuriated by his mistake,
drew a knife and rushed toward the lad.
But before he could reach him there was a
shrill shout close by, a crashing of bushes,
and Red Moose leaped to thespot. His tom-
ahawk flashed in air, and then sank deeply
into Pring’s skull. The wretch tossed up his
arms and fell dead. Long-delayed retribu-
tion had overtaken him.

Directly behind the Mingo came Captain
Trent and Herbert Ludlow. They tenderly
released Sir Rawdon from the lad’s arms,
and propped him against a tree. Roger rose
to his feet, shuddering as he saw the ghastly
corpse of Martin Pring.

‘¢He won’t trouble you again,’’ said Cap-
tain Trent; ‘‘he’s met his deserts. As for
him,’’ pointing to Sir Rawdon, ‘‘why, it’s
a pity. He told us what danger you were in,
and that’s how we come to be here.’”’

‘‘Tf you had only come in time to save
him!’? exclaimed Roger. ‘‘I fear he is mor-
tally wounded, and the secret of my life will
die with him. Do you think he can be
moved???

‘‘Impossible, lad,’’ replied Trent. ‘*He’s
not got long to live, and we couldn’t take
him with us, anyway. I’m thinking we’ll
be hard pressed to save ourselves. The fight
is over up yonder, and any minute the enemy
may come swarming around us here. I dare
say the regulars and our own men have
pushed on without us.”’

‘‘Then go, and leave me_ here,’’ said
Roger. ‘‘I must question Sir Rawdon before
he dies——’?

Just then Herbert Ludlow, who was kneel-
ing at the side of the wounded man, called
the others to him. They hastened to the spot
—Captain Trent, Roger, and Red Moose.

It was only too evident that Sir Rawdon
Marriott was near his end. The cruel bullet
hole was visible on his blood-stained jacket,
and he was breathing hard and painfully;
his face was white, and there was a glassy
look in his eyes.

‘*T can’t die till I have confessed—till I
have made amends,’’ he said, hoarsely.
‘‘God forgive my sins, for they weigh heavy
on my guilty soul! Gentlemen, you won’t
leave me till you have heard all? You will
stay with me to the end?”’

‘Yes, we will stay,’? promised Captain
Trent. ‘‘But speak quickly—your time is
short, and our lives are in danger,.’’

‘‘T will be brief,’? said Sir Rawdon.
‘‘When my story is told I will die content.
Where is Roger Berkeley?’’

‘‘Here,’? replied Roger, stepping a little
nearer.

Sir Rawdon fixed his glazing eyes on the
lad, and in that look there was heartfelt
remorse and yearning affection.

‘‘My boy, do you know who you are?’’ he
asked.

Roger shook his head.

‘*You are Sir Ralph Marriott, heir to an
ancient barony of England—and you are my
own nephew.’’

‘*Your nephew?’ gasped Roger; and Cap-
tain Trent and Herbert uttered exclamations
of surprise.

‘‘T am telling the truth,’’ declared Sir
Rawdon. ‘*You shall hear the whole black
story, if my strength holds out, and I pray
God that it may. But I must make it very
brief——’?

He paused for a moment, gasping for
breath, aud then resumed, in a weaker
voice:

‘“‘T will begin with the year 1741. There
were two brothers of us—Ralph, the elder,
and I, the younger. I was the bad one, and
Ralph the good. I envied him because he
had the title and the estates. My father bad
left me a large sum of money, but I had
squandered it. Ralph had married, and
though his wife was dead, he had a son three
years old. You were that child, my boy,

 

Cro OT)

and you stood between me and the title and
property—for Ralph was in bad health, and
not likely to live long. In hopes of prolong-
ing his life, he emigrated to the colonies,
taking you witb him, and bought a planta-
tion on the Potomac, not far below Alexan-
dria.

‘“‘The next year—in 1742—I came over to
visit Ralph, and found him but little im-
proved. I had left many evil and dissolute
companions in England, and to one of these,
aman named Martin Pring, I owed a large
sum of money. He was the son of a Hamp-
shire squire, and had himself run through a
small fortune. He followed me to America,
and pressed for payment of the debt. The
amount was so large that I was ashamed to
ask my brother for it, and then it was that
Pring proposed the fiendish crime which was
subsequently carried out. I was sorely
tempted, and, to my eternal sorrow, [
yielded.’

Sir Rawdon stopped, and asked to be lifted
higher.

‘My strength is going fast,’’ he said. ‘‘I
must shorten the story. You, my boy,’’
fixing his eyes on Roger, ‘‘were abducted
by Martin Pring and turned over to a wan-
dering trader of no good repute, who agreed,
for a sum of money, to kill you. Your
father was made to believe that you had
been slain by a panther, and as proof he was
taken to a lonely place in the woods and
shown blood and parts of your clothing. In
his weak health the blow was more than he
could stand, and a Fos later he died. I
was now Sir Rawdon Marriott—the owner
of my brother Ralph’s title and property.
Without delay I returned to England witb
Martin Pring, first selling the plantation to
a gentleman named Carter——’’

‘‘Do you mean Fairhaven?’’ Roger inter-
rupted, eagerly.

‘‘That’s the place, my boy.”’

‘¢ And the oil portrait which hangs in an
upper bedroom——”’

‘<Tt is a likeness of your father,’’ said Sir
Rawdon, ‘‘and a good one.”’

‘¢‘Y was sure I had seen it before,’’ ex-
claimed Roger. ‘‘Ah, I remember now—my
early life is coming back to me! I recall the
plantation, and the river, and my father
taking me with him on horseback.’’

‘¢And I robbed you ofall that,’’ said Sir
Rawdon, bitterly. ‘‘What a vile wretch I
have been! But listen, my boy—if it please
God to let me finish my confession. For
years after the crime Pring and [I lived in
England, indulging in riotous dissipation on
the estate in Hampshire and in London.
Pring shared all I had, for I was bound to
him by our terrible secret. Then, nearly
two years ago, a letter came from this
trader, Giles Berkeley. He said that you
were alive and with him, and that he had
accidentally learned all about your past. He
threatened me with exposure and punish-
ment unless I made full restitution. I was
willing to do this, but Pring—to whom I
showed the letter—would not hear of it,
since it meant ruin and poverty for both of
us. He declared his intention of going to the
colonies and killing you and the trader, and
I, weak fool that 1 was, yielded.

‘¢You know the rest, my boy. Pring mur-
dered Giles Berkeley, and made numerous
attempts on your life. I learned this when
I came over in search of him, having joined
General Braddock’s staff. But I had no hand
in the attempt on your life that night aboard
the Surrey Queen, nor did I know that Pring
had joined the regulars—he did this by the
aid of an officer who was an old acquaint-
ance. I sincerely believed that he had
sailed for England, and it was only a week
ago that I discovered his whereabouts. Since
then, by watching him closely, I have pre-
vented him on several occasions from carry-
ing out his designs against you——’’

Sir Rawdon stopped, exhausted by the
effort of speaking. His eyes were fast glaz-
ing, and blood was oozing to his lips.

‘*T am going,’’ he said, faintly. ‘‘I have
but a minute more to live. In his letter
Giles Berkeley spoke of a written paper—
have you got it, my boy?’’

‘‘If was burned up with the cabin,’’ re-
plied Roger.

‘‘Ah, I feared as much. But you shall
have your rights. A few days ag0, knowing
that I might be killed in battle, I wrote and
signed a confession. It is here in my bosom.
Take it——’’

He feebly indicated the spot, and reaching
his hand under the dying man’s jacket,
Roger drew out a folded document.

‘“Yes—that is it,’? gasped Sir Rawdon.
‘It means fortune and title—don’t lose it.
And now, my boy, will you, can you, for-
give me? I am asking a hard thing——’’

Roger knelt down and took his hand,

‘¢T do forgive you, sir,’’ he said, huskily.
‘‘T am not your judge, and you have made
atonement——’’

Sir Rawdon lifted his head a little...

‘‘Yes—I have atoned,’’? he whispered,
‘¢-_God—be—merciful——”’

Then a torrent of blood poured from his
mouth, and he fell back dead,

‘‘Amen!’’ Captain ‘Trent said, solemnly ;
and for a full minute there was silence,

Red Moose stood leaning on his musket,
stolidly eying the corpse of Martin Pring.
Roger and Herbert knelt beside Sir Rawdon,
both weeping softly, for they knew that the
dead man had been a weak tool in the hands
of the greater villain.

 

NEWS.

 
   

 

a bullet tore a feather from the
Mingo’s scalp-lock. Whoops and yells rose
suddenly in all directions. The little group
was instantly alert, forgetting, in the pres-
ence of imminent danger, the sad tragedy
that had just ended.

The outcry grew louder and came nearer.
Evidently the hollow of the ravine was
swarming with foes. An Indian showed
himself in the bushes, and fell dead with the
crack of Red Moose’s gun. A French soldier
appeared and vanished like a flash, and his
voice rang hoarsely through the forest.

‘* We are surrounded!’’ cried Captain
Trent. ‘‘There is no escape. Get to cover,
men—we will sell our lives dearly !’’

The little band darted for trees, or drop-
ped into the tall grass. A moment later
musket barrels were seen glittering here and
there, and then a voice called from close by :

‘‘Surrender, Englishmen! you are cut off
on all sides. Give up your arms, and I[ will
spare your lives!?’

‘‘Show yourself !’? shouted Captain Trent,
wishing to avoid needless bloodshed. ‘‘We
won’t fire!’’

Instantly a young French officer stepped
into the glade—a handsome and stalwart
fellow, with a face to inspire confidence. At
the sight of him Roger uttered an exclama-
tion of surprise and sprang forward.

‘*Jean le Caron!’ he cried.

‘My dear friend! the savior of my life!”’
said the other, in no less delighted tones.
‘It is indeed you, Roger Berkeley?’’

‘‘Yes, it is I,’? replied Roger. ‘‘We have
met again, and this time I am your pris-
oner.”’

‘‘It is the fortune of war,’’ said Jean,
‘* And yet that should matter little to you
and me—but tell me what this means, and
who are those dead yonder?”’

Roger partly explained in a few hasty
words.

‘‘And now lsuppose we must go with
you,’’ he concluded, sadly. ‘‘1'trust to your
honor to protect the lives of myself and
my friends——’’

‘‘They shall be protected,’’ exclaimed
Jean, ‘‘but not in the way you think. You
remember Fort Necessity, Roger? Well, I
now have the chance to pay that debt. I
am a lieutenant, and ten of my men are
yonder in the bushes, There are also a num-
ber of Indians here, but these I shall order
back. The pursuit of the English has been
abandoned, and I will escort you with my
soldiers as far as the river. They are trusty
fellows, and will not get me into trouble
when I tell them the circumstances, You
are free—do you understand?’’

Roger did understand, and so did his com-
panions. All came forward, eager to thank
the noble young Frenchman. But Jean
would not listen to gratitude, and urged the
necessity of an immediate start. So in a few
minutes they were off, leaving the body of
Martin Pring béhind, but carrying that of
Sir Rawdon with them in the arms of Cap-
tain Trent and Red Moose.

Lieutenant le Caron and his soldiers
marched in front and rear of the party, thus
protecting them from lurking redskins, and
went as far along the hollow as the bank of
the river. Here Roger and Jean embraced
and parted, the latter turning back with his
men. The fugitives pressed on, and soon
overtook the rear of the retreating column,
where they found the Virginians marching
in orderly ranks. The enemy did not appear,
and that evening an opportunity was found
to bury Sir Rawdon Marriott in the forest.

* * * * *

Bang!

Thus ended General Braddock’s ill-fated
expedition, and on the battlefield, in addi-
tion to the vast number of dead, were’ left
artillery, provisions, baggage, and private
papers—rich spoil for the French and In-
dians. Braddock himself died on the even-
ing of the fourth day of the retreat, and
was buried by the roadside near Fort Neces-
sity. Dunbar’s camp was reached a few
days later, and the news of the defeat made
him lose his head entirely. He destroyed all
his vast stores, and led the routed army
with all haste to Fort Cumberland, which
place was in turn soon abandoned for Phila-
delphia. The French were triumphant, and
deep gloom settled on the coloniese

When Roger’s strange story became known
in Alexandria, and it was learned that he
was Sir Ralph Marriott, he found himself
quite an important personage. By Colonel
Washington’s advice he determined to claim
his own, and in the spring of 1756, after a
sad parting with Captain Trent and Red
Moose, he sailed for England, accompanied
by Herbert Ludlow.

Sir Rawdon’s signed statement and confes-
sion paved the way, and with proper legal
assistance the lad soon came into his rights
—the fortunate owner of an old and _ proud
title, a large estate in the county of Hamp-
shire, and a yearly income of no small
amount. .

Sir Ralph Marriott—or Roger, as we shall
call him to the end—was not spoiled by pros-
perity. It is true that he remained in Eng-
land for some years, enjoying to the full
this new and strange life, and perfecting his
education. But he was still an American at
heart, and after the,close of the French and
Indian war he leased his property in Eng-
land and returned to the colonies. He pur-
chased his old home, Fairhaven, from
Colonel Carter, and settled down

the comfortable life of a planter, He was

like, up a little thorn branch

 

there to;

shortly followed by his friend, Herbert Lud-
low, who bought an adjoining estate with
money left him by his father. ;

Captain Trent spent much of his time at
Fairhaven, and Red Moose was often to be
found there also, though the wilderness had

greater attractions for him. Herbert and
toger enjoyed the society of these two faith-
ful old comrades, and during the years of
peace the four made numerous hunting trips.

What subsequently befell Captain Trent
and the Mingo is not on record, nor is much
information to be had concerning Roger and
Herbert. But it is known that both lads
enlisted under Washington when the Revo-
lution broke out; that they fell in again with
Jean le Caron, who came over from France
with La Fayette to help the colonies; and
that they fought to the end of the long and
bitter struggle. It is likely that in after life
they were not separated, since a Lieutenant
le Garon is buried near Alexandria; so there
is reason to believe that the three ended
their days in sight of the broad Potomac,
which must have been a constant reminder
to them of the stormy and adventurous
times of their youth.

(THE END.)
—-_> ee -—_——.

How To Bo Tunes

EDITED BY DAVID PARKS.
plete

WHAT CAN BE MADE FROM A
COCOANUT. :

NE of the simplest things of all is ®
hanging pot for either cut flowers 7
a growing plant. Takea good-sive

A> nut and do not remove the fibre, bU

score the shell deeply with a sharp ki a

so that when it is hammered it may brea

along the cut lines, which should not bé ue

the middle, but rather nearer to the end 0

the shell, which has been previously bore

to extract the milk. When the top has ar

taken off, scoop out the nut, and, W! 1

red-hot skewer, make three holes at ed

distances apart about half an inch from oa

edge of the larger piece of the shell. ; T a
will then, with the aid of three lengths ¢)

brass chain, or ribbon inserted in the holes ©

suspend it by, make a charming little ae

ing vase, and can be used wherever suc i

decoration would be suitable. It mays ©

liked, be hung from a rustic tripod
sticks, which should be wired’ firmly aa
gether. The whole might then be shee
and would form a pretty table ornaol or
filled either with a plant in a little pot,
cut flowers. 11 is
Another good use for a cocoanut she si
to cut it in half and use it for holding
ball of string. When the kerne] has beer pe

moved, take a hot skewer, and with it a 0

a number of holes about half an inch a are

apart along the edge of each half. hes WO
meant for the ribbon with which the” (os
halves are laced together, whem the P®°inne

string has been placed between ther. ough
end of the string should be passed thr d be"
le shoul? of

cy

the eye of the nut, and the who 3
suspended ae a nail or hook by an :
a loop of ribbon ending in a_prevu Je
This Pihbon may either be tied into 4 cont
of the holes made for the lacing, th e side
two specially made holes rather pad der may
of the top of the nut. The string be rough
either be polished, left in its natura aint.
ness, or painted with gold or silver Pee is tO
Another pretty way to use cocOaN..” gop a
take three, and hatite cut them eat neat
hanging pot, to burn a couple 0 each,
together a little way from the top |. you
and then to wire them firmly togethe and i2
now have the beginning of a flowe?)" | gads
three sections, but to make it firm virginia?
a base made of a nice piece © :
cork, to which it should
In the three shells place either pow J
ing ferns, or fill them with mo a
the ferns in thom. To add 60 © ic
effect, plant also some small cre@PS ? i¢
may be twined about the shells eo id He
Is
centre of the group of cocoanut she
means of wires. tt
Bvere’s
’

J. M.S., Keokuk, Iowa; R. C. Dee want —
Mass., and B, H., Wilmington, i 1c
to know Vv AN
HOW TO MAKE A CHEAP GAP

BATTERY.

1. Procure some sheet coppe!s a8
it cut into twenty circular piece
size of the old-fashioned coppe
also the same number of simi a 4 ou
zinc. The latter you can easly
a sheet of zine yourself. Ce ee
same number of pieces of cloth, on
be soaked in a solution of comm 4 co
water; or, what is better, 4 liqu
of one part of sulphuric acie,
acid, and sixty of water.
place one of the pieces °
saucer, and on it put one 2? viece 0
sheet copper; on this place & P's jg, coP
and so continue making 48 PL” 6d 08
cloth—until they are 8) 4ne sam
another, taking care to make ont

e piec a cOP”
uld have

giD
ec
the pi ¢c

rangement throughout. Th
which will be of copper, 82°

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per wire, which, for some experiments,
Should be tipped with platinum wire sold-
ered to it, and the lower piece, which will
be zinc, should be treated in the same man-
ner. From the ends of these wires a stream
of the galvanic fluid will constantly issue
until all the acid is absorbed from the pieces
-of cloth, and although the apparatus is on a
Very small scale, a variety of exceedingly
interesting experiments may be performed
With it.

2. Take a cylindrical vessel and _ put
another of porous porcelain inside of it; fill
the vessel with diluted sulphuric acid, and
the space between the two with sulphate of
copper (if you require to plate the article
With copper); if not, a solution of the salt
of gold, silver, etc., according to that which
you wish it to be; put a slip of zinc in the
Sulphuric acid, and attach a copper wire
to it, and the other end to the medal or
article you wish to plate, and immerse that
in the other solution, Your battery is now
complete. If you want the copper to be very
thick, you must put a few solid crystals of
Copper in the solution; where you do not
want it to come in contact, you must touch
it with a little grease; if you want to take
the copper off the article, you must do it
Over with a slight varnish.

N. B. P., Meriden, Conn., writes to in-
quire

‘HOW TO TAKE IMPRESSIONS OF
COINS.

Make a thick solution of isinglass in
Water, and lay it hot on the metal, let it
remain for twelve hours, then remove it,
breathe on it and apply gold or silver leaf
On the wrong side. Any color may be given
to the isinglass instead of gold or silver by
Simple mixture.

Gay Dashleigh, Piqua, O., desires

AN EXPLANATION OF RAILROAD
SIGNALS.

The varieties of the ‘‘toot’’ of the locomo-
Ive, and gyrations of the arms of the con-
ductors by day, or lanterns by night, are
about as intelligent to most people as first-
Class Choctaw. ‘I'he following will give a
Correct idea of their signification:

One whistle—‘‘ Down brakes.’’

wo whistles—‘‘Off brakes.’’

Three whistles—‘‘ Back up.”’
’ Continuous whistles—‘‘ Danger.”’

A rapid succession of short whistles is the

Cattle alarm, at which the brakes will
_ “Ways be put down.

A sweeping parting of hands on level of
€yes, is a signal to go ‘‘ahead.”’
downward motion of the hand, with
xtended arms, ‘‘to stop.’? A beckoning
Motion of one hand, ‘‘to back.’?
._ 4 lantern raised and lowered vertically,

48a signal for ‘‘starting;’’ swung at right

~

augles or crossways of the track, *‘to stop;’?
SWung in a circle, ‘‘to back the train.’?
red flag waved upon the track must be
Tegarded as a signal of danger. So of other
Signals given with energy.
10isted at a station, it is a signal for a
train ‘“to stop.’? Stuck up by the road-
Side, it isa signal of danger on the train
ahead,
Carried unfurled upon an engine, is a

K arning that another engine or train is on

a. 4 note win

 
  

a) to

LOOK aT THE STAR AND SEE THE
CHANGES THAT OCCUR.

®at little cards, printed upon which are
litte. es, are now all the rage. There is a
© Star in the centre of these cubes, and
Nn this star you are asked to bend your

Baze, The effect is magical. The cubes are

Tran ed * * 4
t » as in the accompanying cut, with
bree blogic on the bottom row, two on the
» 4nd one at the top.
ny Br, Steadily at the cubes a minute.
On 10%:
~* looking and there will be another.

Next

will notice a sudden change. Keep
First

  

be two cubes at the top, three in
. Be tit ane on “ gehen ag
—8nt nd in a place entirely differ-
| thee) that in the picture.
All yy 7° Seems to be able to explain it, and
meeare Seen it are in a deep quandary
at causes the peculiar change.

“wy, a ar mee A ae
fay 1S whistling in school?’’ said the

 

M ¥
know 7 Said the new scholar, ‘‘Didn’t you
/ 7, Could whistle?”

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

THE VALLEY OF MYSTERY ;

OR,

The Search forthe Flower of Gold.

A STORY OF VENEZEULA.
BY ENRIQUE H. LEWIS,

Author of “The Nameless Story,” ‘Yankee Boys
in Japan,” ‘The Copper Disk,” ‘Sword and
Pen,” “‘A Young Free Lance,’ eic,. ete.

(“THE VALLEY OF MysTERY”’ was commenced
in No. 317. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents.) fess 5 ‘

CHAPTER XIII.
CYCLOPS AND THE BOA-CONSTRICTOR—
FLIGHT OF THE TRAITORS.

HE sight which met the eyes of Thekla

and the natives when they peered past
the intervening bushes was tragic in
the extreme, Suspended from the out-
stretched limb of a gigantic greenheart
tree was a huge boa-constrictor.

Its scaly length stretched down to where
wrapped in its crushing folds crouched a
man. ‘The coils of the monstrous serpent
enveloped him from knees to shoulder.

One arm only was free, and, fastened to
the end in place of the hand, was a glitter-
ing steel hook. As the horrified spectators
looked the metal instrument was raised on
high, then descended upon the thick folds
of the constrictor with terrific force.

The point cut through the scaly coating,
and a torrent of blood gushed forth. Tighter
grew the coils, a terrible cry of agony came
from the victim, then, with an inarticulate
shout, Thekla sprang to the rescue,

He had not taken more than three steps
before he was grasped by the shoulder and
forced backward.

“Stop! I do that!’’ exclaimed a voice,
fiercely, and Quebracho’s lithe form dashed
past him. es

The native was armed with a keen-edged
machete which he wielded with the skill of
one familiar with the formidable Weapon.
Advancing fearlessly to where the boa-con-
strictor was slowly but surely killing its
victim, he aimed a blow at the writhing
body.

The head of the reptile darted toward him
with lightning-like rapidity, but Quebracho
nimbly leaped aside. Fascinated with hor
ror, Thekla and Wynne, the latter having
just appeared upon the scene, watched the
terrific combat.

They saw Cyclops’ face, distorted with
fear, turned in their direction. The old
sailor’s solitary eye glared at them with a
piteous expression. An old scar, received in
some by-gone fight, stood out in a livid
welt. The perspiration rained from his face,
and his scanty hair seemed glued to his
skull,

A shuddering ery came from him, and he
again brought his hook into play with a last
desperate effort. Quebracho showered blow
after blow upon the constrictor, and finally
the tenacious folds slackened.

In obedience to a call from the Indian, a
number of the natives sprang to his assist-
ance, and between them the snake, terrible
in its dying agony, was dragged from the
old sailor.

The sailor dropped to the ground appar-
ently lifeless. Quebracho bent over him,
and, after a cursory glance, said, grimly:

‘He no dead. He come to bimeby.’’

Water was brought from the river by
Wynne, but it was fully ten minutes before
Cyclops opened his eye. He gave a convul-
sive shudder, and leaped to his feet with,an
energy that sent those surrounding him
backward in surprise.

“Death of my peeper!’’ he
‘‘Brocky Sinn, Brocky——’”’

He abruptly ceased speaking, and glanced
sheepishly at the boys and the group of
natives, ; $

‘‘T_] didn’t know where I was. Is it ye—
I remember now—that sarpent, where—who
saved me from it?’’

‘‘Quebracho,’’ replied Thekla, solemnly.
‘You owe your life to him.”’ :

Cyclops turned to look for the Indian, but
the latter pretended to examine the dead
constrictor, and apparently failed to see the
old sailor’s outstretched hand.

The action was not lost upon Cyclops. A
dark frown crossed his brow, but only for
a second. He stepped forward, and, giving
the native a hearty slap upon the shoulder,
said:

‘“Ye’ve made a good friend, mate. I may
be crippled and one-eyed, but I’ve got a
sound heart. Ye kin command me from
now on.”’ :

‘‘You able to go with us?’’ coldly asked
the Venezuelan.

The old sailor carefully felt his ribs, and
; replied in the affirmative. A few moments
i later the canoes were again in motion. As

they hugged the bank of the river a scout
who had been sent ahead by Quebracho, ap-

se

roared.

 

 

peared occasionally with the report that
nothing was yet in sight.

‘How did you happen to run foul of that
dreadful boa-constrictor?’’? asked Thekla.
‘*And, by the way, why didn’t you wait for
us in the clearing?”’

**T’ll answer the last question first, lad,’’
replied Cyclops, with apparent candor.
‘‘After you left me 1 got ter thinking that
maybe Brocky Sinn was still hiding in the
vicinity. I reckoned that it would be a good
plan ter see, so I started up the bank with
that intention.

‘*T ‘hadn’t traveled a mile, when, sud-
denly, as I was passing under a tree, down
came part of a big snake. It had me in a
jiffy, and I felt that my old carcass was
about due in Davy Jones’ locker. While I
was fightin’ for dear life you came along.
You know the rest.’’

‘*]t was a narrow escape, and you, like
Wynne and me, are indebted to Quebracho
for your life. He is a noble fellow, and——’’

He was interrupted by a shrill whistle.
The warning sound came from the scout.
Stepping to the edge of the river, he ut-
tered a few native words ina guttural voice.

‘“‘We get them now,’’ Quebracho told the
boys. ‘‘Scout say they hiding beyond that
big rock ahead. They ready to shoot at us.
We fix them.’’

“*Can’t they be captured without blood-
shed?’’ asked Thekla. ‘‘I would rather send
them back to Georgetown than to see the
fellows killed.??

‘‘If ye say th’ word, I’ll parley with
Brocky,’’ spoke up Cyclops, eagerly. ‘‘He
played me a dirty trick, but I hate ter see
an old mate wiped out. What d’ye say,
Quebracho?’’

Before the Indian could reply, a warning
cry came from the native upon the bank,
then he slipped rapidly behind a group of
palms, A puff of white smoke showed at the
other edge of the jungle, and a bullet zipped
the surface of the water between two of the
canoes.

‘*Th’? blasted fools!’’ hoarsely exclaimed
Cyclops.

Quebracho leaped to his feet, bis rifle fell
into his hands, and he sent a shot hurtling
into the bush. A moment later the little
flotilla was sweeping up the stream under
the impulse of a score of paddles.

‘““That settles the question,’? remarked
Wynne, excitedly. ‘‘Brocky Sinn and his
mates are in for it now!”’

‘*Th’? blooming, blasted idjuts!’? muttered
the old sailor, bringing his hook down upon
the edge of the canoe. ‘‘Brocky Sinn ain’t
got th’ sense of a dead sand crab. He’s
ruined everything, blast him!’?

‘‘What’s that??? asked Thekla,
hearing was keen.

‘*I said that Brocky had ruined hisself,
and a blooming good job for us. Sarves him
right for being a traitor. Death of my
peeper! thar they go!’’

At that moment the canoes swept past a
bend in the right bank. Just disappearing at
the other end of the curve was the fugitive
boat. Standing erect in the stern and shak-
ing his fists at his pursuers was the late
owner of the Sindbad.

Quebracho uttered a fierce cry. His pad-
dle flew up and down with marvelous fapid-
ity, and the light craft shot ahead as if
propelled by machinery. The boys were
greatly excited. The spirit of the chase—
that old leaven hereditary in man since the
dark ages—set their blood tingling strangely,
and they grasped their revolvers as if eager
for the fray.

The only member of the party lacking in
enthusiasm was Cyclops. The old sailor
crouched in the bottom of the canoe with
his great head sunken between his shoulders,
and an expression of bitter disappointment
upon his rugged face, It was evident mat-
ters were not to bis liking.

On dashed the canoes—on, on, untikat last
they reached the point beyond which the re-
creant sailors had vanished. With his trusty
rifle ready for instant use, Quebracho stood
like an alert sentinel in the bow of the fore-
most craft.

The boys saw his hand go up with a sig-
nal of caution—then he turned to them with
a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders.

“‘T thought so. They scared. The bad white
men leave boat and run into jungle. Ha!
we soon catch them.”’

Lying broadside to the bank several hun-
dred yards in advance was the fugitives’
boat, but of Brocky Sinn and his evil crew
nothing was visible. They had evidently
sought safety in flight.

whose

CHAPTER XIV.
CYCLOPS PLAYS HIS PART.

HEN, a few moments later, the
\‘f- canoes surrounded the abandoned
craft, Thekla saw, to his exceed-
«ce ing relief, that nothing had been
disturbed. In the bottom were the various
stores, and piled in the bow were the two
tents the lad had purchased in Georgetown.
Lying across them was a Winchester rifle,
evidently dropped by one of the sailors in
their hasty flight. The young botanist
snatched it up with an exclamation of joy.
‘*Thank goodness they left this. A man
without weapons in this country is pretty
well handicapped.’’

 

‘*T hardly think it worth while to go to
the trouble,’’ hesitatingly replied Thekla.
‘‘Let them escape. They can’t do us any

‘*You boys stay here and we catch bad
men,’’ spoke up Quebracho. ‘‘ We find them
quick. They no run far in jungle.’’
more harm, and we’ll only be bothered with
them.’’

‘*No bother long,’’ significantly replied
the Indian. ‘‘You say so, and we no bring
them back.’’

‘*No, no! no needless bloodshed. It will
punish the scoundrels sufficiently to abandon
them here. They’ll have hard enough time
of it getting back to Georgetown.’?

‘‘That’s the proper spirit, lad,'’ exclaimed
Cyclops, flourishing his hook. ‘‘Therespeaks
the heart of ye. Forgive yer enemies, say I.
Brocky played me a scurvy trick; he went
back on his own mate, but I say let him go.”’

Quebracho reluctantly consented to give
up the chase, but it was\ evident he felt
considerably disappointed. His native allies
waxed highly indignant, but a few words
from their leader caimed them. A _ white
man bunt through the jungle was a sport
not to be lightly surrendered.

While Wynne, assisted by the old sailor,
overbauled the stores, Thekla took Quebra-
cho aside and asked him earnestly if he
could not be persuaded to accompany them.

‘*You know the interior thoroughly,’’ he
added. ‘‘You understand everything, the
best routes, the way to camp, the securing
of food, and not least of all, I feel convinced
that you can almost locate,the valley. Now
won’t you come with us? Il give you any-
thing you ask. You can have a good share
of the gold——’’

‘*T no want gold,’’ interrupted the Indian,
with a grim smile. ‘‘I find plenty, but I no
use it. White men fools: They die for it.
They come here, catch fever, starve, fight
like caymen, all for yellow dust. Humph!’’
' “That’s so,’? acknowledged the lad,
frankly. ‘‘But up where I live it means a
good deal. Without money—and gold is
money—we could not live. -But that is
neither here nor there. I want vou to go
with us. I sincerely like you, Quebracho,
and I know that you are an honest, brave
man. You saved our lives, and weare grate-
ful to you. Can’t I persuade you to accéom-
pany us?’’

The Indian hesitated. It was evident from
his manner that he had taken a fancy to the
lads. He admired Thekla for his manly ways,
and he felt a great pity for the little hunch-
back. Deformity of any kind was foreign to
him. The people of his race were free from
blemish, and it seemed to his untutored mind
that Wynne was deserving of special pro-
tection.

The very thought of the Valley of Death
caused his face to blanch with fear, how-
ever. The awful spectacle of his father,
scarred, aged, sightless, and dying, was as
vivid to his mind’s eye as the hour he had
staggered into view on his return from the
mysterious place.

‘‘No, no! I no go there!’’ he said, spread-
ing out his hands as if to repel some ghostly
vision. ‘‘I no go there.’’

‘*Come part of the way then,’’ pleaded
Thekla. ‘‘You can surely guide us within
easy distance of the valley. Do not refuse.?’

Quebracho pondered for several moments,
then he consented on condition that he be
allowed to take two companions.

‘*We take your boat and one’ canoe,’’ he
added. ‘‘I go to place one day’s journey
from'where I think valley is, then I wait for
you. If you satisfied we startright away.’

Thekla was overjoyed at his good Juck in
securing such a guide, and he hastened to
acquaint Wynne and the old sailor with the
intelligence. The little hunchback cordially
shook hands with their new guide, and
Cyclops was even more effusive in his
expressions of delight.

‘‘Death of my eye! th’ blooming expedi-
tion is as good as done,’’ he said. ‘‘With
yer to lead us, we’ve got ther gold in our
purses this very hour.’

Several minutes later, while the boats
wer’ béing prepared for the journey, the
old sailor slipped out of sight into the brush.
Hastily taking a pencil and a bit of paper
from his pocket, he laboriously indited the
following significant note:

‘‘DEER BROocKY—You’re a blasted fule
fur shootin’ that time and when I see yer
I’m going ter beat yer blamed head off’n
yer sholders. If it hadn’t bene fur that we’d
got them kids and now they got us, and we
leave rite away fur the vally, and they’ve
got the nigger to guide us, and we’re not in
it if yer don’t hurry back ter town and get
more boats and follow us. I'll try to delay
the experdition as much as possible. Next
time we git a chance we’ll slit the weasands
of them kids. No more at present from yer
old mate, CyrcLops McGrnnis.’’

Selecting a conspicuous tree, he fastened
the letter to the trunk with a thorn picked
from a neighboring bush.

‘*If the devil is with us, as I think he is,
Brocky’ll walk straight ter that note when
he sneaks back ter the water,’’ muttered
the old rascal, as he made his way to the
boats.

He found everything in readiness for the
departure. The two boys, Quebracho, and
another native boarded the larger craft,
leaving Cyclops and the remaining Indian to
the canoe. ,

  
   

S

TOO

 

Amid great hurrahing and flourishing of
arms the natives from the village escorted
the little expedition out into the middle of
the stream, when they turned back with a
farewell yell.

The party camped that night upon a small
island, and shortly betore sunset the follow-
ing evening the town where Cyclops had
expected to find a river craft was reached.
There were several of the crude, ungainly
boats at anchor off the miserable collection
of huts, and terms were made without delay
with one of the skippers.

At dawn the journey was resumed.
Quebracho’s canoe and the boat brought
from Georgetown were towed astern of the
larger vessel. The latter excited theold
sailor’s contempt, and he freely derided the
actions of the native crew.

‘<Tt?s about time honest sailors left their
business when such a nondescript thing as
this kin float,’’ he confided to Thekla and
Wynne. ‘‘Just look at that mast. Hub! it’s
stepped like the flag-pole of a backwoods
election club. An’ git on to them sails!
Ho! ho! they must have been cut with an
ax. I’ve been seafarin’, man an’ boy, fur
many a year, but my peeper has never been
sot on such a hooker before.’’

‘It is probably good enough for river
trade,’’ remarked Wynne.

‘‘T suppose so,’’ replied the old sailor,
dryly, ‘‘but 1’m thinkin’ the skipper’d make
more money showing his bumboat in a dime
museum.”’

The craft was hardly a clipper, but, as
Wynne said, it sufficed for the Mazaruni
Rivér traffic.. It was rudely constructed of
wood, and the hull probably measured fifty
feet over all. It was bluff inthe bows, and
cut off square astern.

The one mast was stepped almost in the
extreme bow. One huge sail made of woven
grass hung froma yard. The ratlines were
of hemp, and almost covering the entire deck
was a house open at the sides.

The steersman stood upon this, handling
a tiller at least fifteen feet long. Slow pro-
gress was made against the current, and
Cyclops grinned to himself as he reflected
upon the advantages thus offered to Brocky
Sinn and his crew.

‘‘f?¥e allus thought a sick snail was the
slowest thing on earth,’’ he joked, ‘‘but it’s
got ter take off its cap ter this hooker.
Whew! we’ll be past th’ need of gold before
we git up the river.’’

Favorable winds carried them to the head
of navigation by the third day, however.
Shortly before noon the much maligned
craft slowly rounded a bend and came in
sight of a collection of modern built houses
in the centre of which flaunted the colonial
flag of British Guiana.

It was the extreme outpost of the military
police.

‘Now fur the carryin’ out o’ my scheme,’’
muttered Cyclops, as his solitary eye fell
upon a group of men in uniform near the
little wharf. ‘‘If them kids don’t git
dragged back ter Georgetown before th’
weeks’ out, I’l] chaw my hook.’’

The boys were regarded with evident curi-
osity when the party landed. A tall, bronzed
officer, in a white linen uniform, evidently
an Englishman, met them, and, after an
exchange of greetings, politely asked their
destination.

‘‘We are making a trip into Venezuela,”’
replied Thekla.

‘“‘Your nationality?’’

‘¢ Americans.’?

The official lifted his brows suspiciously,’

and several of his companions, evidently
junior officers, exchanged significant glances

‘¢ Americans, eh?”’

‘“Yes; weare from New York.’’

‘‘When did you reach Georgetown?”’

‘(Hight days ago, sir.’’

The commandant excused himself and
stepped aside with a subordinate. There was
a brief consultation, and an exchange of
several official papers, then the boys were
politely informed that they must submit to
a search.

‘‘Why?’’? asked Thekla, rather indig-
nantly. ‘‘We are merely travelers bound
overland to Venezuela. We have done noth-
ing, and——’’

‘¢You must do as we wish or return to
Georgetown,’’ haughtily interrupted the
official.

‘‘T guess it’s because we are Americans,’’
blurted out Wynne.

‘‘No; it is because you may be spies,’’ re-
torted the commandant. ‘‘I have orders
from headquarters to search every person
attempting to cross the frontier, and I cer-
tainly intend to obey.’’

‘¢Very welly you will find nothing,’’ said
Thekla, contemptuously. ‘‘Go ahead; we
wish to proceed as soon as possible.’’

The baggage was first, examined thor-
oughly, then two of the police carefully
searched the pockets of Wynne and Thekla.
A third stepped forward to perform a like
service with Cyclops, but, to the unbounded
astonishment of the boys, the old sailor sud-
denly turned and darted down the bank of
the river.

‘‘After him, men!’’ shouted the com-
mandant. +4‘Catch the spy before he has a
chance to destroy any messages.’’

Turning to Thekla, he added, furiously :

‘‘Thought you would bluff your way
through, eh? I’m too old a campaigner to
be caught by a confounded Yankee.’’

 

CHAPTER XV.

A FLASH OF STEEL.

 
  

SHEKLA was too bewildered by Cy-
> clops’ unaccountable action to reply.

The old sailor was caught before he
“7 had gone far, and dragged back ‘to
the group of officers.

He was instantly searched by willing
hands, but nothing incriminating was dis-
covered. . By’ the commandant’s orders,
the vicinity was carefully gone over, the
ground thoroughly examined, but without
result.

‘What did you mean by your attempt to
escape?’’ he was asked.

Cyclops maintained a dogged silence.

‘“Why don’t you speak?’’? exclaimed
Wynne, angrily.

No answer.

‘*Tt certainly seems as if you are trying to
get us into trouble,’’ continued the hunch-
back.

The old sailor’s face was as expressionless
as his hook. His one eye was directed to the
ground, and he stood with his shoulders
bent and his arms hanging loosely—the
typical attitude of a stubborn man.

“Cyclops, you surely haven’t lost your
tongue,’’ impatiently exclainied Thekla.
‘*What do you mean by these peculiar ac-
tions? Why did you run away just now?”’

After a moment’s hesitation, the wily old
rascal heaved a sigh, and replied, in mourn-
ful tones:

‘‘J don’t blame yer for chiding me,
youngster. I hain’t fit to look yer in the
face. I’ve spoiled the game.”’

‘‘Spoiled the game!’’ echoed Thekla, in
amazement.

Cyclops nodded gloomily.

‘*Yes. We’re ketched at last. I told yer
we couldn’t hope to git past the frontier
police.’’

The commandant pricked up his ears. He
rubbed his hands grimly, and exchanged
glances with hissubordinates. The boys were
completely dumfounded.

‘‘Cyclops McGinnis, are you crazy?’
cried the young botanist. ‘‘What are you
talking about? What game do you mean?’’

‘‘This farce has gone far enough,’’ rough-
ly interrupted the commandant of the post.

‘*‘It is not a farce, sir. I do not know
what he means by his most extraordinary
actions. We have——’’

‘““Tut, tut! you are only wasting words,
young man. You may as well confess ‘that
you are on a spying expedition.”’

‘*1711 do nothing of the kind,”’
retorted Thekla.

‘*Tt?ll be all the worse for you, then.
We’ve heard from headquarters of the in-
terest the President of the United States is
taking in the Venezuelans, and I haven’t the
slightest doubt but that you were sent down
here as spies.”’

‘<The very idea is preposterous. We are on
our way into Venezuela, and we are mind-
ing our own business. ’?

‘¢*That’s a likely story.

hotly

Well, I'll let you

settle the question with the governor at |

Georgetown. And I may say in passing,
that a description of your man’s actions
will certainly cause him to deport, you from
Guiana. Take the prisoners to the guard-
house, men.’’

As a file of police stepped forward to seize
the boys, a startling interruption occurred.
During the spirited interview between the
commandant and the boys, Quebracho had
remained almost concealed in the shadow of
a little building near the shore end of the
wharf.

His presence had been ignored by the offi-
cers, who probably thought he and his com-
panions were part of the river boat’s crew.
As the commandant issued the order, Que-
bracho"quietly stepped out in front of him.

‘*How do, Captain Lloyd,’’ he said, ex-
tending his hand.

‘What! Why,’ bless my soul if it isn’t
Quebracho!’’ cried the officer, in evident
amazement. ‘'Where under the sun did you
come from?’’

‘‘T with these people. I guide for them,’’

‘‘Guide for them? Is it possible you have
gone back on me, Quebracho? I did not
think the chief, who has been my best friend
during my sojourn in this confounded jun-
gle, would turn guide for a party of spies.’’

‘They no spies, sir,’’ replied the Indian,
with dignity. ‘‘That bad white man with
crooked tand lies. He try to ruin them. I
know what boys doin Venezuela. They go
hunt for that valley I tell you about long
ago—the valley where my father get killed.”’

‘The Valley of Deuth!’’ exclaimed the
commandant, glancing at the boys wonder-
ingly. ‘‘Is it possible you are going on such
a fool’s errand?”?

‘Now that Quebracho has told you, I am
willing to confess that it is our destination,’’
replied Thekla, quietly. ‘‘I wished to keep
it a secret for certain reasons.”’

‘*Tt is a good thing for you the Indian was
notso close-mouthed. Iam inclined to believe
that you are telling the truth, young man.
Quebracho is my friend; I know him well,
and what he says goes with me. But what
about this one-eyed sailor?’’

The unexpected change of affairs had car-
ried dismay to Cyclops’ heart. The recogni
tion of the native and its results had given
the death-stroke to bis rascally plan. While
the commandant was speaking the old sailor

NEWS.

 

glanced furtively about, as if meditating
another break for liberty.

A stalwart sergeant at his elbow re-
strained him, however. He glared balefully
at Quebracho, and wriggled his hook, as if
wishing that he was in a position to use if
upon the native’s face.

Recent events had one certain result. It
convinced Thekla that Cyclops had been
sailing under false colors. He was prompt
to acknowledge that he had been mistaken
in his estimation of the old sailor’s char-
acter, and he lost no time in telling him so.

‘‘You are a miserable scoundrel after all,
McGinnis,’’ he said, hotly. ‘‘It has taken
me some time to find you out, but I know
it now. By your contemptible tricks you
have almost caused usa long delay. You
have played your part well, but your game
is up at last.’’

‘*We’ll see whether it is, blast ye!’’ roared
Cyclops, furiously.

‘‘You will go back to Georgetown, my
man,’?’ spoke up Captain Lloyd.

‘‘Not much. Ye haven’t enough men ter
send me back. An’ as fur these kids, we’ll
do ’em yet as sure as the sea is salt.’’

With a powerful twist of his arms, the old
sailor jerked away from the guards. Then,
raising his hook aloft, he dashed up to
Thekla. There was a flash of steel, and the
lad went down as if shot.

Quebracho bounded forward with drawn
machete, but before he could reach him,
Cyclops darted to the end of the little wharf
and sprang into the river with a cry of
defiance !

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Oe
[This Story will not be Published in Book-Form. }

GAY DASHLEIGH IN CUBA:

The Plantation of the Black Ghost,

BY ARTHUR SEWALL,
Author of ‘Gay Dashleigh’s Academy Days.”

snares

 

(“Gay DASHLEIGH IN CuBA” was commenced in
No. 311. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents.)

-

CHAPTER XXX].

THE POOL OF SNAKES.
ENERAL MAXIMO GOMEZ’S start-
ling accusation was as a clap of
thunder from a clear sky to Gay.
He stared at the infuriated man as
ifin a dream. He atraitor? He threatened
with a horrible death in the dread pool of
snakes for treacherously selling important
secrets? ;

It must be a joke—a piece of acting on the
part of the Cuban general. Gay smiled
faintly, and again saluted ina mechanical
manner. He even advanced with his hand
outstretched, but he was roughly seized by
an attendant sentry and forced back.

‘‘Take him away,’’ fiercely commanded
General Gomez. ‘‘Turn him over to Colonel
Bermudez for immediate punishment. ’’

‘*‘What does this mean, sir?’’ asked Gay,
at last finding power to speak.

‘“You will find the meaning soon enough, ’’
was the grim reply.

‘*But I amsurely deserving of an explana
tion,’’ insisted the lad, warmly. ‘‘You ac-
cuse me of being a traitor. That is abso-
lutely false, sir. It is absurd, and I am at
loss to understand——”’

‘‘Do you see this paper, young man?’’ in-
terrupted the general, waving a document in
the air. ‘‘It contains undoubted proofs that
you have proved a traitor to our cause.’’

‘*] deny it most emphatically,’’ replied
Gay, proudly. ‘‘If that letter says so it
lies.’?

‘*Brave words, but they are powerless
against proofs. Take him away, guard.’’

The soldier again laid his hand upon Gay,
but the lad flung it off contemptuously, and
advanced toward the group of officers. Halt-
| ing, he said:

‘In my country we would never condemn
|any one without a hearing. Even a mur-
derer receives a fair trial before condemna-
tion. Would you be more unjust, sir? Is it
asking much to request a brief explanation?’’

General Gomez hesitated, glanced irreso-
lutely from the paper in his hand to the lad
pleading so eloquently before him, then he
made a gesture of assent.

‘¢T will do as you wish, but it will be only
so much time wasted. This letter is from
our most trusted agent in Havana, the padre
of San Patricio.’’

‘“The padre of San Patricio?’’ echoed Gay,
in amazement. ‘* Impossible, sir, Why,
he——’

‘‘T said from the padre,’’ coldly inter-
rupted General Gomez. ‘‘He is the man to
whom you were sent by me, I placed great
faith in you, and I have my reward. You
protested sympathy for oppressed Cuba, and,
when you reached Havana, sold her to the
enemy. No, not a word; hear me, out. You
requested an explanation and you shall
have it.

 

 

 

‘‘In this letter the padre of San Patricio
says you led a party of Spanish troops to the
church and betrayed him. He was taken to

 

the palace of General Campos, and there
found you on friendly terms with the gov-
ernment officials. He says you are known
everywhere as a traitor to us, and that you
received a large sum for your baseness.’’

‘‘Tt is false, outrageously false, sir,’’ ex-
claimed Gay, with flashing eyes.

‘He says you told the captain-general
that I contemplated an attack on Havana
at an early daté,’’ continued General Gomez,
pitilessly, ‘‘and that you also gave a list of
our sympathizers in Cienfuegos and Matan-
zas. In conclusion, he states that you were
publicly accused of being a spy, and confined
in Morro Castle, from where you were per-
mitted to escape with instructions to return
to our army. For one-tenth of this, Senor
Dashleigh, you would be condemned to death
in any country on the globe.”’

‘‘What is the date of that letter, sir
quietly asked Gay.

‘The fifteenth of November, which is yes-
terday. It reached me not an hour ago, and
was brought by a special courier.’’

‘<Ts the man still here?’’

‘“No, he returned to Havana immediately:
Why do you ask?’’

‘*T would like to see him. General Gomez,
I see that you believe me guilty,’’ said Gay;
impressively; ‘‘but I am innocent of this
base crime. 1 went to Havana, as you di
rected. I told my story to General CampoS;
and was appointed an aide on his staff.

‘‘T was assigned to duty as inspector of
fortifications, and gained much valuable 1°
formation. In due time I went to the chapel
of San Patricio, and was seized as a spy-,
found the padre a prisoner and the Spanish
in full possession of all the facts.

‘‘T was taken to Morro Castle with my
servant, and condemned to be shot, together
with Professor Gasse, who had been CaP"
tured previously. The padre’s brother bribe :
the firing party, and we escaped & ter
great hardships. And that is the solemm
truth.’’ a

‘Where are your companions, then?”’ aske
General Gomez, with a sneer. “And the
good padre—where is he? In truth, you
should have brought them with you as pre?
of your pretty tale.’’ 3

Gay explained in detail their thrilling ae
cape from grim Morro Castle, and how t A
padre had disappeared after gaining his free
dom. He concluded by describing the S¢P®
ration from Professor Gasse and Ko-ko dur-

99?

‘ing the previous night.

As he talked he eagerly watched General
Gomez’s face, but he failed to read convie
tion or belief there. The commanderi%
chief heard him in silence, then he 8%
coldly : f

‘‘Té is your word against absolute pie
senor. lam personally qoqenln es with 4
padre of San Patricio. He isa good mie
He would not. tell a falsehood to save
soul from perdition.’’ f

‘“‘That may be true, sir, but he did not
write that letter,’’ exclaimed Gay.

‘Who did it, then?”’

‘‘One of my most bitter enemies,
Ferris, a lieutenant under Colone
Muerto. This letter was concocted a2
by Munson Ferris after all attemp
recapture me had failed.” lieve

‘“You surely do not expect me to: Der.
such a transparent story,’’ replied the do
eral, with an incredulous smile. eset
not give me credit for possessing even ~ od.
mon sense. No, my decision is une
You must suffer the penalty of y°
tardly crime.”’ 7

Gay bowed his head, He was discoury spe.
The tone of his accuser held out little nim,
He glanced at the faces of those aro mna-
and met naught save implacable ¢° "
tion.

‘Is my friend, Jack Dunham, here,
he asked, quietly. oan

‘‘No; he disappeared three days age he
have troops out looking for him also. oun-
is caught he will be driven from the e
try. We want no more of your eae go
professor may be honest, but he m
also. ¥ win

‘‘And my—my friend, Miss
some??? asked Gay, brokenly. a to the

“T will see that she is returne ing he
United States if we succeed in reseU
from Muerto’s band.’’ ting the

Gay was on the point of acqualp sion 2
general with the clew in his poser ange’
garding her whereabouts, but hover
his mind, :

‘(While there’s life there 1§
murmured to himself. ‘‘I’m 10
Who knows? I may escape, 42
rescue her myself.’’

‘“‘General Gomez, yo
away to a frightful fate,’ he 8° iy comes
in a clear voice; ‘‘but the time Tt youl

, y ill regre stools
and that soon, when you W1 ra trait t
action with bitterness. I am eka hE wee
and I never will be. No—not for
life itself.’’ is

The commander-in-chief folded ess i
and watched the guard len is
away. A moment later he W 0 ,
plans for a raid into the rich wester  afrous
inces. Grim var had taugh fale
néss. cade |

Two hours later a small cave ard a
troopers left ‘the camp bout jp 6
south. Securely fastened to A errible
centre was Gay. Despite }s ful fac® “jn
dicament, the lad wore a chee! é 1 ise
laughed and joked with the

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charge of the little party, to the unbounded
surprise of the stolid soldiers.

Fifteen miles from the insurgent camp a
straggling outpost of the enemy was encoun-
tered. After a brisk scrimmage the troops
in charge of Gay were forced to retreat.
They were relentlessly pursued, and it was
night before the Spaniards gave up the
chase.

After a brief rest, the march toward the
Zapata Swamp was resumed. The hilly re-
gions of the centre of the island were left

ehind, and narrow paths were followed
leading first through cane fields and then
along marshy lowlands.

At daybreak the party came to a halt on
the edge of a vast swamp. As far as the
eye could ‘see stretched a dismal forest of
trees with gnarled limbs and gray foliage.

uge creepers swung idly in the wind, their
twisted lengths fashioned like writhing ser-
pents.

At first sight it seemed as if the green,
foul-scummed water barred farther prog-
ress, but after a brief search a couple of
the soldiers found a path cut like a tunnel
through the pestilential jungle. The little
Party resumed the march with a trained
guide in the lead,

Gay’s heart throbbed with horror as he
Saw evidences of the fate he was destined to
Meet, The dank morass surged with living
Creatures. Loathsome alligators thrust their
Yrepulsive heads above the surface of the
Swamp and leered greedily at them. Slimy
Snakes crawled along the edge of the narrow
Toad. A multitude of insects filled the air,
Swarming in black patches over horse and
rider,

On either hand and overhead, dripping
foliage prevented the passage of the sun’s
Yays. The air was stifling hot, and steam,
thickly inyfregnated with the sickening odor
Of decaying vegetation, filled the throats and
Ungs of the party.

\ hile riding along the slippery trail, one
of the soldiers ventured too near the edge of
the bog. His borse stumbled, and, with a
shriek of terror, the unfortunate man was
thrown into the quagmire. He sank likea
Stone, and in an instant a score of reptiles
Were fighting for his body.

“That will be your fate, senor,’’ hoarsely
Whispered the colonel to Gay.

1 few moments later the cavalcade,
White-faced and horror-strjcken, rode out
Upon firmer ground, and halted upon the

ank of a little pool, whose dark waters

A®emed churned into an ink-like foam by a
Writhing mass of serpents.

t ‘Behold, the pool of snakes!’’ exclaimed
we Officer, dramatically. ‘‘ Senor Dash-
igh, traitor that you are, I am sorry for

Na Have you any request to make? Any-
hin I can do for you?”’

G. thank you, Colonel Bermudez,’’ replied

Min bravely. ‘‘If—if youf see my friends,
Iss Bessie Winsome, and—and Jack, and the

Test, tell them that | thought of them and
far old dad and mother in my last mo-

Gants. Make a quick job of it, please.
0od-by,?

sine? colonel saluted gravely, and made a

the to his men. They advanced and lifted

. ®lad from his horse. Then, with many

eae Passionate glances, they led him to the
88 of the horrible pool.

ith averted eyes, their superior officer

*aised his revolver.

dut en, when I fire one shot, do your

One. | he said, in a low voice. ‘‘Ready;
; two——??

Bang} ——

CHAPTER XXXII.

HOW JACK RODE TO THE RESCUE,

   

, CRY of mortal agony echoed through
\. the festooned arches, then, with a
ee shudder, one of the sol-
; iers holding Gay stumbled headlon
to the pool. 8 ay ( g
eyes, the lad stared around with startled
ro »& dozen masked figures rose from the
ane and surrounded the squad. Each
Bers 4 rifle, and an ominous clicking of trig-
Use Indicated theix readiness for instant
Volpuithe form, carrying a still smoking re-
4 voRppavanced, and called out, in a famil-
8°

row down that weapon, Colonel
“Anuder, and hold up your hands.”?
“Ta mg of joy came from Gay.
it inda » Jack; God bless you, old boy! is
eed you?’
Side. Youth left the circle and ran to his
Prisoners” 2S & flash of a knife blade, the
they th, 8 lashings dropped from his wrists,
like «7° *Wo lads fell to laughing and crying
cewchoolgirs,
Prougi t,,that done neatly?”’ asked Jack,
Very a. flatter myself that I arranged a
“An Aamatic picture.’’
a horripyn® that came very near ending in
Shudder le tragedy,’’ replied Gay, with a
ai You } How in the name of good fortune
Who told nage to reach this dreadful place?
‘ nt as
muaqeeven’t you a word for an old friend?’’
_ » 88ked a high-pitched voice behind

‘him
turned quickly and saw Professor
ne Peusive good: natured countenance
§ at him.” Beyond, stood Ko-ko,

Sig >
p , You, Mpender, or it will be the worse for

 

 

 

    

fairly radiant with joy, and, farther away,
was the Cuban, Ignacio. In the centre of
the opening were grouped the colonel and
his men, surrounded by nine well-armed
natives.

Playing with the masks upon the ground
was a wiry, yellow dog—the professor’s
redoubtable mascot. Gay fairly gasped with
amazement, then he ran forward and
warmly shook hands with all; not even
omitting the dog’s paw

‘‘Jumping Moses! Am I dreaming, or is
this really true?’’ he exclaimed.

‘*From the looks of things,’’ replied Jack,
with a shuddering glance at the swarming
mass of snakes in the black pool, ‘‘it must
be a nightmare. . Ugh! let’s get away from
this accursed spot. Explanations can come
afterward.’’

‘‘Tf you will permit me to speak,’’ called
out Colonel Bermudez, ‘‘I will say that I
surrender with the greatest of pleasure.
Senor Dashleigh, it may be against my duty,
but I heartily congratulate you on your op-
portune rescue. ’’

‘‘Thanks, colonel,’’ replied Gay, grate-
fully. ‘‘I knew all along that it was a most
unwelcome task, and to ease your conscience,
I will assure you that .General Gomez has
been deceived. I am nof guilty of treachery.
That letter was writtei by a bitter enemy of
mine for revenge.’’

‘*T believe you, senor. If you will accom-
pany me back to headquarters, 1 will ask
General Gomez to reopen the case.’’

‘‘T am compelled to refuse your kind
offer,’’? responded Gay, with a smile. ‘‘J
have something of greater importance to
attend to. However, I thank you heartily
for your proposal.’’

It was with a feeling of great relief that
the combined parties left the swamp. Many
deep breaths were drawn as the horses’
hoofs trod firm ground again. After a brief
consultation, Colonel Bermudez and hiscom-
mand were released, then Gay and his
friends took a trail leading to the east!

‘‘Now, Jack, Iam just dying with curi-
osity,’’ laughed Gay, as he reached over and
shook that youth’s hand for the tenth time.
‘Ror Heaven’s sake explain yourself. How
did you manage to reach me in time?’?’

‘*1t’s a good bit of a story, and I am
hungry about now. I see a plantation ahead;
suppose we get something to eat first and
talk afterward?’’

‘‘ Just like him,’’ sniffed Professor Gasse.
‘¢ Always thinking of hisstomach. Humph!’’

‘*Tf it were not for me you wouldn’t have
any stomach to think about,’’ retorted Jack,
with a wink at Ko-ko.

‘‘That plenty t-t-truth,’’ coincided the
Jap, gravely. ‘‘The p-p-professor him h-h-
have ym narrow e-e-escape last n-n-night.’’

Cy da attend to the dog and give that
twisted tongue of yours a’ rest,’’ exclaimed
the professor, angrily. ‘‘Servants should not
speak until spoken to. You forget your
place, sirrah!”’

‘‘Him g-g-got plenty b-b-bad temper,’’
remarked Ko-ko, placidly. ‘‘Bimeby um
h-h-have f-fit like s-s-sixty.’’

They found the plantation entirely de-
serted, but sufficient fruits and vegetables
were secured from the garden to make a re-
spectable meal. At its conclusion, Gay held

a consultation and announced his intention’

of proceeding to Bessie’s rescue without
delay.

‘‘Tonacio, can I rely upon you and your
brother Cubans?’’ he asked. ‘‘If you will en-
ter my service and assist me in this matter
4 will reward you beyond your greatest
expectations.’’

‘‘We ask nothing, senor,’’ replied the
man, with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘‘We are
only too glad to follow your commands.’?’

‘“P’ve fixed that all right,’’? spoke up
Jack, lazily, from where he had thrown
himself upon a pile of dried grass. ‘‘I en-
gaged the men for an indefinite period yes-
terday. Sit down, Gay, and I'll spin my
yarn. I feel better now.”’

“So do I,’’ replied the young leader,
solemnly.

He accepted Jack’sinvitation, and glanced
at the tossing palms and the serene blue
sky with the generous sun beaming down
from overhead, He drank in deep draughts
of life-giving air and laughed with the very
exuberance of youth.

‘How good it is to be able to enjoy this,’’
he said, in a low voice. ‘*When fancy
what might—ugh!—have been my fate if
you had not happened along, I could sing
with gratitude. Go ahead, Jack; tell me all
about it.’’

Professor Gasse seated himself with dig-
nity upon the trunk of a fallen tree, and
slowly lighted a pipe he had brought from
the yacht. Ko-ko foiled an attempt of
Mascot to chase a lonely pig by firmly
clutching his tail, and Ignacio drew near
with a respectful salutation.

‘To commence, you remember that you
told me to look for Bessie when you left on
you secret mission to Havana,’’ began Jack,
‘Well, I got a small squad of men from
Genera] Gomez and scoured half of Matan-
zas Province without finding the slightest
trace of Munson or Allibone,

‘‘T yeturned to camp, and was fitting out
another party when the professor here got

”

GOoonD NEWS.

‘victed of treason

 

fs

 

a dozen men and followed him as far as the
outskirts of Havana.

‘‘Feeling that I could not seize the city
with twelve men, I shed some tears and re-
luctantly withdrew. I was chased by the
enemy on three separate occasions, so it was
not until the second day that I again neared
the insurgent camp. While riding through a
forest we heard a great shouting and
laughing near the base of a gigantic ceiba
tree. Looking to our weapons, we crept to
the. spot and saw a most extraordinary
sight.’?

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE FIGURE UPON THE FLOOR.

   

O-KO commenced to giggle, and the
A+ professor suddenly rose to his feet
\\. and walked away. Gay saw that
—©~— his face was redder than usual, and
he smiled to himself.

‘In the centre of a little clearing were
five villainous-looking negroes, evidently
camp followers of the lowest description,’’
resumed Jack, with twinkling eyes. ‘‘They
were dancing around a little man with a
bald head and a scientific expression of
countenance.”’

‘* Professor Gasse,’’ said Gay,
chuckle.

‘Exactly. How did you guess it? It was
that erratic member of the Society of Sci-
ences. But in what a pickle! If his co-work-
ers in the field of chemistry had seen him at
that moment they would have blushed with
shame. Think of Professor C. Falstaff Gasse,
F. 8. 6.; P. D. Q.; N. G., dancing a reel,
and, by the way, a pretty bad one, too, in
almost a state of nature for the benefit of a
lot of drunken niggers. Wow!”’

**Dashleigh, I protest,’?’ came from a
near-by bush. ‘‘If you respect me, compel
that wretched boy to cease his remarks,’’

‘*T am sorry, but I must listen,’’ laughed
Gay. ‘‘Go ahead, Jack; it’s better than a
circus. The professor wasn’t—er——’’

‘*No; he had on a pair of cotton trousers
and his usual air of importance. But that
reel. My, oh, my! you would have died
laughing at the way he shook those spindle-
shanks of his. Every time he leaped into the
air one of the niggers sbot under his feet,
and the professor clawed at the wind as if he
was afraid to come down.

‘*The devils had Ko-ko tied to a sapling
with his neck in the crotch of a limb and he
was nearly choked. We didn’t do a thing but
sail in and teach the rascals a lesson. What
were left after the scrimmage were soundly
beaten with sticks and set free.

‘*T tell you the professor was glad to see
yours truly. He shook my hand until it

with a

nearly dropped off. But, alas ! when he
was clothed and in his right mind, he
speedily forgot his debt of gratitude. In

less than an hour he called me a silly scamp,
with a noddle full of compressed air.’’

‘‘And I meant it, too,’’ called out the
professor, viciously.

‘All right; just wait until you get into
another scrape,’’ retorted Jack, chuckling.
‘*Well, after we rescued Ko-ko and Professor
Gasse we struck out for the insurgent camp.
We met Ignacio in the vicinity, and he gave
us the startling news that you had been con-
and sent to the Pool of
Snakes.

‘‘Wow! it didn’t take us two seconds to
map out a plan of rescue. Nine of the troop-
ers I had taken with me from camp volun-
teered without the slightest besitation. We
secured fresh mounts and a guide acquainted
with the swamp, and rode in pursuit of your
party.

‘*We must have missed-you on the way as
we reached the edge of that devil’s spot
without sighting you. Knowing that Colonel
Bermudez would carry out his orders if it
took a year, we concealed ourselves near the
Pool ‘of Snakes with the results known to
you. And here you are alive and kicking,
instead of meeting the fate you probably
deserved.”’

Jack finished with a roguish smile. Gay
reached over and slapped him upon the back
with a force that made him wince.

‘‘Yes, old fellow, Iam alive and kicking
simply because I have the best friend in the
world. I owe you my. life several times
over. I hope some day that I will be able
to repay you.’’

‘‘You make too much of it, Dashleigh,’’
grumbled Professor Gasse, appearing from
behind the bush. ‘‘What is the young rascal
good for if it is not to help his master?
Umph! he ought to consider it an honor.’

‘‘Keep quiet, or 1’ll tell,’’ retorted Jack,
warnivgly.

‘Tell what?”’

‘*How you buncoed that old man in San
Pedro out of a bottle of Cuban brandy by
giving him a two-dollar Confederate note.”’

‘‘Dashleigh, I——”’

‘‘Tt t-t-truth,’’? chimed in Ko-ko, with a
broad grin. ‘‘Mum-mum-me see um. Him
professor ver’ b-b-bad man.”’

‘‘Dashleigh, I’]1 not travel another foot
with such wretched prevaricators,’’ fumed
the professor. ‘‘The money I gave the peon
was—er—a genuine bill. It may have been
a Confederate note, but it will pass current
in Cuba. Why, the man can—er—sell it to

>
#

himself surrounded by the enemy and cap-;a collector of curios for double its value.
tured, Notwithstanding our little differences| I think I overpaid him for his wretched
in the past, I could not remain idle and_ see | liquor.’’

him led off to a fitting—er—fate, so I took

‘*You are old enough to know better,”

 

 

laughed Gay. ‘*Fancy a man of your age
and respectability playing a flim-flam game.
It’s simply astounding. Tut! no more;
we’ll start now.”’

As they rode away from the plantation,
Gay outlined his future actions.

‘“‘No more fighting for me until I settle
my personal affairs,’? he said decisively.
‘*First comes Bessie’s rescue, then I intend to
solve the mystery of the Black Ghost.’?

‘‘And after that?’’ queried Jack.

‘*T am not certain. It looks as if I wasn’t
wanted by either party in this war. The
Spaniards tried to shoot me, and General
Gomez attempted to convert me into snake
diet. Heigho! it’s rather discouraging when
you come to look at it. I guess the fates are
against me.’’

‘‘That’s true. By the way, I wonder if
Mr. and Mrs. Dashleigh reached Jamaica all
right?’?

““Yes. I read of their arrival in an old
paper at Havana. I wanted to cable them,
but it was impossible. I suppose the dear old
people are almost worried to death about
Bessie. If I get a chance I’ll wire them from
some coast port.’’

Bright and early on the morning of the
second day the cavalcade drew rein in front
of the familiar gates of the Plantation of
the Black Ghost. Mascot frolicked about
and chased the field rats to his heart’s con-
tent as the tree-bordered lane was traversed.

‘Him know um _ hh-home,’’ giggled
Ko-ko. ‘That d-dog have p-p-plenty more
sense t-t-than some p-p-professors.’’

The ruins of the superintendent’s house
stood black and gaunt above the edge of the
main field. The ugly structure used asa
grinding-mill had been scorched by fire, but
its walls were still in place. The roof sagged
at one end, and several of the supporting
stanchions had given way.

Gay and his companions gazed long and
earnestly at the building, for it was within
its limits that the mysterious spectre had
made its presence known. Just beyond the
mill were grouped the huts forming the
laborers’ quarters. From one of the miser-
able dwellings—a trifle larger and more pre-
tentious than its neighbors—a- thin streak of
smoke eddied and wavered.

At sight of -it the young leader clutched
his reVolver. His face grew stern and im-
placable. Indicating the tell-tale vapor with
a wave of his hand, he exclaimed:

‘We will find them there. Look to your
*“veapons, men, and follow me.”’

As they approached the hut the little
party separated and extended its lines for
the purpose of surrounding thestructure. To
Gay’s unbounded surprise, no one appeared
to contest their advance. The silence was
ominous. Could it be possible Allibone had
taken Bessie away?

Rendered careless by anxiety, the young
leader rode boldly to the door and dis-
mounted. Followed by Jack, he passed the
threshold and stepped into the room. His
eyes fell upon the figure of a youth lying
prone upon the earthern floor. It was
Allibone, insensible and bleeding from a
dozen wounds!

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—~+ oo
TOO HONEST.

 

 

A good story is told of a prosperous
tradesman in a small town, who once’ prac-
ticed law, but who subsequently abandoned
it. Being met by an old acquaintance, he
was asked why he gave it up.

‘‘Didn’t it agree with your health?’’

‘*Oh, yes,’’ answered the tradesman.

‘‘Didn’t it pay?”’

‘¢First rate.’’

‘‘Meet with sufficient favor from
courts?’’

** All T could ask.”’

Phe, what was it compelled you to quit
it?’’

‘*Well, I’1] tell you—I was too honest.’’

A loud laugh from all the bystanders
aroused the speaker into earnestness, and he
repeated the strange statement, and empba-
sized it with a blow of his huge fist on the
shop counter. But the inquisitive cross-
questioner went on:

‘*When did you find this out?”’

‘“In my very last case.’’

‘“What was that?’’

‘*Qne in which I was retained to prosecute
a neighbor for killing a dog.’’

‘‘And he was acquitted? You lost the
case and gave up your profession discour-
aged???

‘*No; he was convicted.’’

‘*Then he was guilty?’’

‘*No; he was innocent.”’

‘“‘Didn’t the evidence prove his guilt?’

‘*Certainly it did.”’

‘*Then why do you say he was innocent?”

‘*Because I had killed the dog myself a
few days before for trespassing on my
poultry, and I came to the conclusion that
any business that would aid a man to con-
vict a neighbor of his own crimes wasn’t
the business for me, so I gave it up.’’

—_——_—_>—0——____

Little Brother—‘‘Mr. Johnson, won’t you
go and stand before the window???

Mr. Johnson—‘‘Certainly, my little man;
but why?’’

Little Brother—‘‘Ch, ma says she can see
through you, and I want to see if I can.’’

the

  
   

%

   

f Ro See
P~ By Sig > 4 oa
we BEST: STORES Prope eveny QUARTER”

ISSUED WEEKLY.

 

NEW YORK, JUNE 27, 1896.

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have them please send direct to this oflice and we
will supply them by mail on receipt of price.

 

 

Advertising rates, 50. cents per agate line.

 

 

Contents of this Number.
SERIAL STORIES.

“King of Bike and Bat,” by Horace @.
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.

‘Gad Electric,” by Barry Tallyho. ,

“Gay Dashleigh in Cuba,” by Arthur Se-
wall.

“Campaigning With Braddock,” by Wil-
liam Murray Graydon.

“Grimesy the Bell-Boy,” by **Peter.”

SHORT STORIES.
“Snatched from Red Indians,” by E, W.
Bridgenorth.

REGULAR DEPARTMENTS,

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

‘“‘How to Do Things,” by David Parks.

“Our Stamp Album.”

“Mail Bag,” ‘“Iixchange Department,”
“Club Notices,” etc.

 

OUR NEXT SERIAL
will be from the pen of that most popular
of writers for boys,

WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON.

” ‘This time Mr. Graypon has selected for
the scene of hisstory the Transvaal in South
Africa, of which we have been hearing so
much lately. The disturbances between
the Boers and the English furnish a magni-
ficent background for thrilling adventure,
and the characters are some of the most
interesting and lifelike the talented author
has ever drawn.

Remember, boys, that Wirn1am Murray
Graypon is under contract to write exclu-
sively for Goop News.

————_—_~+ 0» ____—_-
BIRDS THAT FEIGN DEATH.

‘One of the most remarkable devices re-
sorted to by wild things for their own pro-
tection is that of shamming death. A beetle
or spider wil] double in its legs or lie as if
dead. The reason for this is obvious. It
may then be passed over, mistaken for a bit
of leaf or stick. But itis more difficult to
account for this practice in birds.

‘' A moorhen or landrail will feign death,

vying in the hand perfectly limp, and to all
appearances unconscious. It has been sug-
gested that the idea is that, being already
dead, the captor will not trouble to kill
them.
More probably it is merely a ruse, in the
hope that by lying still they may be forgot-
ten, and crawl off presently unobserved.
Another reason is suggested by the fact that
cats and the cat tribe do not often touch
their prey unless it moves.

 

GOOD

 

DIDN'T WORK.

A conjurer was talking the other day of
some of the accidents that sometimes spoil
the effect of a sleight-of-hand performance.

‘‘If was in a large New England town,”’
he said, ‘‘that [I once experienced a real
knock-down blow. I was performing the
well-known trick of passing a marked coin
into the centre of an uncut orange. At
least, that’s what’ a good many people
thought I was doing. I used a half-dollar,
and emphasized the trick by passing the coin
into the pocket of some boy whom I had en-
ticed onto the stage. 1 will openly confess
that the boy had to be a confederate, and
that the marked coin had its fellow in one
previously prepared by me.

‘‘On my third—and last—night, as 1 was
entering the hall, f looked around for a
likely youth to aid me in my double deal-
ing. 1 picked a boy and promised to pass
him in if he would follow my instruction.

‘**T am the conjurer,’ I said. ‘I want you
to put this half-dollar into your right-hand
trousers pocket. I1’ll get you a seat in the
front row. When I ask for somebody to
come on the stage, you must come. Then
I will ask you to produce the coin.’

‘<The boy promised everything, and after
making arrangements for him at the door,
I left him. When I was ready for the trick
Isaw my young confederate sitting open-
mouthed in the front row. I had prevailed
upon another member of the audience to
lend me a half-dollar marked exactly as was
that I had given the boy.

‘‘T passed that borrowed half-dollar into
the orange, cut the fruit open, and out
dropped the coin, Then I went on:

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I will
perform a still more difficult feat. I have
passed the half-dollar into an orange. Now
I will ask some male member of the audi-
ence to step on the stage, and, without go-
ing anywhere near him, I will pass the same
coin, marked as you have seen, into his
right-hand trouser’s pocket.’

“True to his bargain, the boy stepped to
the stage. I stepped opposite him and asked:

‘¢ “Now, sir, have you ever seen me be-
fore?’

‘¢ *No, sir,’ was the answer.

‘*‘T have here a half-dollar,’ I continued.
‘Il am going to pass it into your right-hand
trousers pocket. One—two—three—go!’

‘‘T made the proper magician’s pass and
smiled confidently upon my audience,

‘« ‘Now,’ I said to my assistant, ‘put your
hand into your right-hand trousers pocket
and give me the half-dollar.’

‘‘The boy looked a bit sheepish, but he
dived his fist down. Then, to my unutter-
able horror, he produced a handful of
nickels and cents, and said:

‘©*T?ve only got thirty-two cents of it
left, sir.’ ’’

2 -0-e
CAN YOU MAKE THIS OUT?

English spelling is remarkable for its in-
definite variety. As long as ‘‘tisis’’ is spelled
‘‘phthisis,’’ the voice of the spelling re-
former should be heard in the land. Mr.
Turner, in the following incident, in view
of our present method of spelling, was en-
tirely consistent :

Jones met his friend Turner in the train.
They were both going to London, and stop-

ed at the same hotel. Turner registered

is name:
‘(K. K. Phtholognyrrh.”’

Jones, noticing it, exclaimed:

‘‘Here, what are you assuming such a
foreign, outlandish name for? Are you in
any trouble?’’ ..

“Not a bit of it,’’ replied. Turner; ‘‘and
I am not assuming any foreign name.’’

‘What kind of a name is that?’’? demanded
Jones.

‘That is my identical old name??? per-
sisted Turner, ‘‘and it is. English, too—pro-
nounced plainly ‘Turner,’ ’’

‘‘T can’t see how you get ‘Turner’ out of
those thirteen letters, and, besides, what is
your object in spelling that way?’’ asked
Jones.

‘‘Well, you see, nobody ever noticed my
name on the register when I wrote it Tur-
ner,’’ explained the latter, ‘‘but since I
commenced writing it ‘Phtholognyrrh,’ I
get them all guessing. They wonder what
pation I am from; what my name is. I can
now hear people talk about me all around,
It is as f said before—English spelling.
‘Phth,’ there is the sound of ‘t’ in ‘phthisis;’
‘olo,’ there is the ‘ur’ in ‘colonel;’ ‘gn,’
there is the ‘n’ in ‘gnat;’ ‘yrrh,’ is the
sound of ‘‘er’ in ‘myrrh.’ Now, if that
doesn’t spell ‘Turner,’ what does it spell?’’

—->_ +> _—___—-
A LITTLE HEROINE.

Little Janet, aged four, noticed the other
day at dinner the rest of the family helping
themselves liberally to the mustard.

Nobody offering her any, she waited until
something drew away the attention of the
others, when she lifted the mustard spoon,
liberally daubed a piece of bread which she
was eating with the fiery condiment, and
took a substantial bite.

Her hand immediately went to her burned
mouth; but bravely suppressing an outcry,
she put the bread away, remarking:

‘‘T think I’) wait till that jelly gets cold.”’

NEWS.

N93
AM

SuorT €ALKS —==—
With {ue Bovs.

EDITED BY ARTHUR SEWALL.

H. E. O., Menekaunee, Wis., writes: ‘Iam a
young man, nineteen years old, I have had a
fair grammar education, and was attending my
first year in high school, when under certain
circuinstances I was obliged to withdraw. I
am not in very favorable financial circum-
stances, but Ihave good prospects of earning
|$200 this summer, with which | intend to get a
| good business education. Is there any board-
ing school in Wisconsin, or in any of the States
surrounding it, where I could obtain such edu-
cation? Could I obtain a fair education for $200
at a Yoarding-school? What is generally their
charges per month or term at such institu-
tions? What would be the principal studies
that I would have to take ?”

There are many excellent boarding-schools
both in Wisconsin and in the neighboring
States, but, at your age, I would not advise
you to attend one. Frankly, 1 think such a
course would cost you more money than it
would be of advantage to you. You now
apparently have an excellent groundwork to
enable you to continue your education by
yourself. Decide on what you would like
your career in life to be; that is, what you
are best suited for both by inclination and
ability. Then attempt to obtain a position
which will help you practically; and map
out a course of study for yourself, which you,
with the education you have already re-
ceived, should be quite capable of pursuing
without a teacher. There are many men
who have reached prominence and wealth,
who have started with far less education
than you have.

Of course, if you intend to embrace a pro-
fession, such as the legal or the medical,
what I haye said does not apply. Under
such circumstances, a collegiate education
is essential.

You would find it very hard work to go
through a year at any college for your two
hundred dollars, unless you were enabled to
augment. your income by outside work.
Your tuition, books, and living expenses
would amount to considerably more than
that. For instance, a ‘‘college year’’ at
Racine, in your State, would cost you four
hundred dollars, and this does not include
clothing and spending money.

The so-called business colleges I have not
much faith in, although some of them are
excellent in their way. What I mean by this
is: If, for instance, a boy wished to learn
book-keeping, he could undoubtedly do so in
a business college, but he would do it just
as well, if not better, by obtaining a position
in some firm as assistant to the book-keeper,
and, moreover, he would be drawing a sal-
ary, even though a small one, at the same
time.

H. B., San Francisco, Cal., writes: “IT have
read your department with interest in the
Goop Nrws, and would like to get from you a
little advice. My ambition is to become an
author. Do you think it is a good profession?
Lam very fond of literature. Will you please
give me a littie advice on the subject.”

The road of literature is a hard and
thorny one. With very few exceptions,
which only go to prove the rule, those
authors who have made successes have had
disappointment after disappointment before
they have arrived at the goal.

To any young man who desires to make
literature his business, I would give the ad-
vice to connett himself with some newspaper
office, where he can acquire a knowledge of
preparing matter for the press and incident-
ally writing articles himself. Many of our
most distinguished authors have served their
apprenticeship as journalists in a more or
less minor degree,

Add to your education in every way
possible. nless you are able to write
grammatically, you certainly will not be
able to sell your writings. Read carefully,
with a view to style, all that is best in lit-
erature. A correct style, with a good knowl-
edge of composition is absolutely essential to
begin with.

Moreover, you must be possessed of a
strong imagination and a good general
knowledge. Be sure that you have some-
thing interesting to write about and then
tell it as tersely as possible. Remember, as
a rule, easy writing is very hard reading.
Thackeray reviewed his work again, and
again, and again, before he would allow it
to go to the printer. Dickens did the same,
and so did the vast majority of those whose
names are great in literature. One famous
writer I have in mind wrote story after
story and never submitted anything to a
publisher for several years after he had
tried what may be called his apprentice
hand,

I don’t want to discourage you, for you
may be a great artist in embryo, but, asa
rule, literature is not a well-paying profes-
sion. Some few authors make large sums
of money, but they are, men of ability and
fame. The vast majority just manage to
keep the wolf away from the door.

In conclusion, study bard, read diligently,
write as well as you can, then destroy what

 

 

 

 

you have written and write it over again.
Aim as high as possible, and even if you do
not reach the height of your ambition, you
are more likely to get near the top of the
ladder than if your objective point is on a
lower round. As Emerson puts it: ‘‘Hitch
your wagon to a star.’’

J. §., Chattanooga, Tenn., writes: ‘Some
time ago I wrote to you to inquire whether the
dentist business was a good profession or not.
You informed me that it was. Now, I would
like to ask you whether you think it a good
plan to learn dentistry and to practice 16 Im
some South American country. Could a gradu-
ate of an American college of dentistry have
the right to practice dentistry in south
America? Is there any book which I could
get to help me learn the Spanish language ?
have been told that it is very easy to learn. 18
this so?”

I do not think your idea a bad one at all, if

you are willing to expatriate yourself an
are strong enough to endure the tryms
climate of most of the South American
countries.

Yes, a graduate of a United States college
could practice dentistry there, after going
through: certain formalities. All over the
world the American dentists stand at the
very head of their profession. The most
prominent dentists in such cities as Paris
and St. Petersburg are Americans, and
should think there would be an excellent
field for a skilful practitioner in the primel
pal cities of South America.

Ask your bookseller to give you a_list of
You are

books upon the Spanish language.
right, it is by no means a difficult language:
You could probably learn to read it oa
without a teacher, but you could be enable
to speak it fluently only by intercourse W!
Spanish-speaking people.

F. B., Paterson, N. J., writes: “I am a reader
of your ‘Short Talks,”and derive much bene
therefrom. Would you please inform me D
your column about the prospects of the butcher
business, and the pay they receive in differen’
sections? I am now learning the butcher ee
ness; am seventeen years of age, 5 feet7 inche
in height, and weigh 145 pounds.”

Men must eat to live. Therefore such call-
ings as those of the butcher and the baker
must always be good ones. A first-class
butcher makes an excellent living, provide?
he is located in a good town and his shop ©
ina favorable situation. Of course, 0
successful, a man must understand re
business, how to buy and how to sell
advantage. sag

As a rule, a butcher binds his apprentt’
to serve for three years, and takes him i
his house to live. ‘The pay, under the a
cumstances, for the first year, is seldom
more than $30; for the second year it me
run from $75 to $100; and for the third fro r
$200 to $250. At the end of the third y°%
the pay is by the week, and ranges from
to $15. tice

Of course, the idea with each appre? a
is to set up shop for himself as soon
possible, and most of them carry it out,

Mascot, Carbondale, Pa., writes: h-
describe to me the process known ag 2120 og
And abo

ing? Is it a good trade to learn?
how much would I receive a week ?”
, Ci ae a
Zine etching is a very good trade, and ¢
good workman can always comman 4 lars
tion at from eighteen to twenty-five
a week, i itd of
The process is. as follows: A B sensi-

finely polished zine is coated with
tizing solution and exposed beneath | ink
tive. It is then rolled up with a spe@® vith
and placed in a shallow pan eet .
water. Where the plate is not expose ay
light the ink can easily be washed @''".

leaving a reversed print of the drawidé the
the zinc. The back and large spaces « by
zine plates are protected from the a ust

varnish, and the surface of the desig? d-

with resinous etching powder, the latter | t0
hering to the inky lines. Heat is @PP" 4 in

melt the powder, and the plate is prsnotio®

a trough where it is subjected to the i ba
of diluted nitric acid. When the a%, 75
bitten sufficiently the plate isremovers,
and again dusted with powder. The
powder not only protects the surface ing
line, but runs down the sides, protect This
bevels and preventing undercutting: relief
rocedure is repeated until sufficier put
is obtained, but it is customary 10 ©
a sinall relief and rout the large the
spaces in a router. The plate dy for
mounted on wood or metal, and 18 other
the press. The advantages of this OY" ative
cheery. processes are its com :
simplicity, cheapness, and spee®: 1
plate wik Mand: xan a greater pumbe tbe
impressions than an electrotyPe
process can be successfully applie aper i
all classes of work, including newSP
lustration on a large scale. h

SPrctaLt Notice.—Many commun
improperly addressed to this dep
are answered in the ‘‘Mail Bag-

¢i005
cement

cles oF
There is no end to the making % CF ade
to the ingenuity of inventors. picycles a
cycle, composed of two tandem inventor
ranged side by side, has just bee es °

: : d
in Paris to serve as a fire engine ™ ton, a?
emergency. It is worked by four es a’
is fitted up with the necessary Der, ened

fittings, which occupy the SP
tbe riders.

eesti geile ceili gts Sect

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|

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

NED PURCELL, THE BOY ENGINEER;

OR,

Tee BERO OF THE: -VALLEY- CENTRAL,”

BY HARVEY HICKS,

Author of ‘By Pluck Alone,” “The Tour of The Zero Club,” “Tom Truxton’s Schooldays,” etc., etc.

 

(‘Nep PURCELL, THE Boy ENGINEER,’ was commenced in No. 319.
News Agents.)

Back numbers can be had of all |

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Joe Purcell’s heart was bowed with its |
The Valley Central and the Northern are heavy load of woe. Never before had he felt |
rival railroad lines running from Swiftwater | the awful burden of sorrow weighing upon
to Montrose. Everything depends on which | him as now, and he slowly climbed the little
shall make the quickest time, and.Joe Purcell, | hill which led up to the gate, dizzy with ris-
the engineer of the Valley Central, has been | ing emotion, and fairly staggering as the |
ordered, at all costs, to beat the Northern Ex- | thought of his own sad predicament flooded
press. Just before they are leaving the Swe | his mind
Union depot at Montrose, the superintendent | ~- Pee eS : : Fg 34
of diedine Mr. Trowbridge, enters the cab of | No wonder that he staggered! No wonder
theenvine. As he does so, Purcell turns with | that his steps faltered as he drew near to the
a start, and a flask falls to the iron floor and | little cottage which contained all that he
breaks to pieces, sending an odor of whisky | held dear, for a gloomy shadow rested like a

; been

| approaching, just within the circle of light. |

| of inquiry and dread finished the sentence

(shook his head, and with her hand in his,

NEWS.

}
beset. Oh, Joe! Joe! Why don’t you |
come home; why don’t you come——?’’

She paused, for a step sounded upon the
walk near at hand, and raising her head with |
a start, she beheld the form of her husband

With a glad cry, she sprang down to meet |
him; her arms wide open to receive him, and
endearing words of greeting upon her lips.

‘‘Oh, Joe! where have you been?’’ she
anxiously inquired. ‘‘I feared that some- |
thing terrible had happened to you; that you
had slipped and fallen, or that——’’

She paused abruptly, while a-mingled look

which she otherwise would have spoken.
Seemingly the old engineer comprehended
the suggestive look, for he slowly but firmly

started for the house.

‘*You may be perfectly easy on that |
score,’’ he said. ‘‘I know what you would
say, but I have not been drinking.’’

He looked his faithful and trusting wife
squarely and steadfastly in the eyes, and for |

9

gether too straightforward to think of try

iing to. deceive her husband, but she had
hoped that no questions would be asked con-
cerning the absence of the boy. However,
she did not hesitate in making reply.

‘*Yes, Joe,’’? she answered. ‘I told him
to look for you, and if he found you to ask
you to come home, as I wanted to talk with
you. He is doubtless searching for you——”’

‘‘No, mother, I am here,’’ interrupted a
firm voice at the door, and the sturdy figure

|of the lad appeared upon the threshold.

‘*Hello, father.
me, I see?’’
He came in and closed the door, and then

You reached home before

| quietly hung his hat and coat upon the hook:

his father closely regarding him all the
while.

Joe Purcell had paled slightly as he lis-
tened to the words of his patient and loving
wife, but when vigorous, bright-eyed Ned

|thus suddenly entered the room, his ruddy
| cheeks all aglow with the heat of exercise,

the old engineer bent a piercing look of in-
quiry upon the face of his boy, for, some-

|a brief interval there followed a silence| how, a start of dréad thrilled him, lest
which was only broken when Mrs. Purcell] the lad had chanced to follow him to the

 

 

 

into the nostrils of the superintendent. Thelat-| thick pall about the unfortunate man; as he

ter is astonished and
angry, but before any-
thing can be said, the

train has started. An
exciting race follows,

and the superintendent
IS much alarmed, believ-
ing the engineer to be
drunk. Ata eritical mo-
ment, Purcell perceives
that one of the piston
Suides is perfectly dry
and must be oiled at
Once. Joe Purcell lives
in a cottage in Swift-
Water with his wife and
Son, Ned, a bright boy of
Sixteen. The latter is
kreatly interested in the
face of the rival trains,
and with his mother
Watches for their arrival
from a high bluff near the
Cottage. When he sees
that ‘01d 67,” his father’s
engine isin the lead, his
JOY knows no;j bounds.
He is about to rush down
® slope to the station,
When his mother stops
Im, saying: ‘* Please,
Ned, I wish you would
Not go to the depot now.
Will you stay with me
Instead? We are in a dan-
Serous situation.” There
18 great enthusiasm as
ld 67” comes thunder-
Dginon time. Superin-
tendent Trowbridge,
after a few words to the
€Ngineer, proceeds to his
Office, where he finds his
daughter, Edith, a lovely
Rirl of fifteen. Soon after
%€ Purcell comes in
and the superintendent
charges him for
Yunkenness. Joe pro-
pate his innocence and
“dith ‘believes him, but
1@ superintendent will
ot listen. Mortimer
hare ley, an old miser,
lolds a mortgage on the
posineer’s home, and
Urcell goes to see him.
Tayley threatens, if the
Oney is not paid, to ex
Sy some secret he
t alms to know regarding
© fate of a certain
lage Nesmith. Purcell
Toye and Brayley re-
Soon & board from the
hig Tand begins to count
6 ed. While he is thus
ig hewed a loud knocking
a. at the door. The
T hastily extin-

Sutish ‘
listens: the light and

 

 

CHAPTER VII.

N
ED PURCELI, MAKES A
DISCOVERY.
&

 

firmly replied:

 

UCT

LCE ALTE ATONE

LOTT =

tu a LTH |
nc

 

/ home of Old Brayley.

Certainly the old
miser had heard the
sound of some one be-
neath the window. Was
it possible that Ned had
been there—had he
overheard all that had
taken place within that
room, and was he in
possession of the dark
secret which had so long
overshadowed his
father’s life?

The thought caused
Purcell to shudder; for,
even though Ned was
his only child, and a
faithful, loving lad, yet
the engineer did not
wish to cast his own
burden of sorrow upon
the shoulders of
another.

Almost mechanically,
he took his seat at the
table, and in compara-
tive silence he partook
of the food which lov-
ing hands had prepared.

The meal finished, he
rose from the table and

Im took his customary seat
| hi | Il before the grate, where
| i Ned was already sit-
i ting, gazing thought-
al fully into the glowing
, | embérs.
‘‘What are you think-
V ing of, my boy??? he
} inquired, in a kindly
| | tone.
Almost immediately
MII, the answer came:

‘‘ITwas thinking,
father, of that run you
made to-day, and how
you clipped Jerry Tuck-
er’s wings——’’

The speaker paused.
Evidently there was
something else which
occupied his mind as
well, yet he did not per-
mit its utterance.

Joe Purcell suddenly
straightened up in his
chair, and glanced from
Ned to his mother.

‘‘] know what you
would say, my lad, and
I believe I understand
the whole matter now.
There is a plot to ruin
me, you are aware of
that, as well as I am.’’

Ned Purcell looked up
with a start, for, some-

CT HI

sn Tiny

\

 

NGINEER JOE
PURCELL had
taken the opportunity to quit the old
Miser’s abode, because of the emo-
Which filled his breast. His veins
fairly bursting with the intensity of
Citement, and the now thoroughly
€d railroad man feared lest he might
lon provoked to violence if hea remained
vide "In the presence of this strange indi-
A Who held him so completely under

tions
See

his ex
arousg,

ro
answer
the as ¢
but m4

t ser

hed the door without making any
hatever to Brayley’s repeated calls.
he old man stumbled ahd fell against
or, Purcell passed out into the night.
€sitated for a brief second of time,
No Soon as he was sure that Brayley had
Strodg lously injured himself by the fall, he
the Men ey! and without turning either to
the , 84t or to the Jeft, he rapidly crossed
towers now valley and hastened up the road

ard his home.

1S home!

Piety a a Shudder, he contemplated the awful
° Which those words presented to his
deneg porze—the picture of a home bur-
bong sd & mortgage which he could never

"epresa Yaise, for the debt, which that bond |
of blood ed, was the price of silence; a debt |

‘*CAN YOU FIRE FOR ME TO-NIGHT, NED?’’ HE ASKED.

| recalled the moment when he stood in the
| Valley Central office and heard Superintend-
lent Trowbridge wpeak the words which
struck like a knife to his heart.

He was no longer to be the favorite runner
| of the Valley Central express!
| *‘Old 67’? would no longer feel the touch
| of that master hand, and two scalding tears
|rolled down his cheeks as he paused for a
|} moment and

 

leaned against a friendly
tree for support, while he sobbed like a
child.

As the sorrowing man stood there in the
shadow of the trees, his heart fairly bursting
with the pent-up emotions, and tears which
he struggled in vain to check dimming his
eyes, the door of the: little cottage gently
opened, and the form of his faithful wife
appeared framed in the light which streamed
out past her, near to where he stood.

She paused for fully a minute upon the
step, ber form slightly bent in an attitude
of listening, and then there came distinctly
to Purcell’s ears the sound of a sigh, deep
and mournful, and plainly telling of the an-
guish which was rending her very soul.

‘*Poor Joe!’’ he heard her murmur, ‘‘I
wonder what awful calamity has overtaken
| you; by what terrible temptations you have

 

 

** Joe, I believe you. You don’t know how
thankful I am to see you home again. Come
in and have some supper, and tell me all
about your troubles. Everything may look
black and discouraging to-night, but I am
almost sure that something will occur to put
a new aspect; on the whole thing ere many
hours,’’ and she quickly placed the substan-
tial meal which she had kept so long in wait-
ing upon the table. ‘‘I wish you would tell
me all about your troubles. Iam sure that
I can help you,’’ she said.

Purcell had been closely regarding her
while she spoke, and he saw her glance once
or twice from the kitchen window, in the
direction of the distant village lights.

Presently he looked up at the hook where
Ned’s cap and coat were wont to hang, and
upon making the discovery that the boy’s
garments were gone, he quickly inquired:

‘‘Where’s Ned?’’

‘*Oh, he has gone. to the office. He will
be back directly, I think,’’ was the reply.

But Engineer Joe had a suspicion that
there was something a little mysterious about
the absence of the lad at this hour.

‘*Did you send him for me?’’ he asked.

Mrs. Purcell looked up quickly as this
query came to her ears, for she was alto-

NED LOOKED INQUIRINGLY TOWARD HIS FATHER.

how, his parent’s words
set a new chain of
thought into action, and
a look of hopeful interest filled his eyes.
The mother and wife paused near by and
ilstened attentively to that which followed,
which is here given, as nearly as possible,
in the engineer’s own words:

‘“You have just been to the village, Ned,
and, of course, you bave heard that I have
been discharged from the road. You have
doubtless also heard the current report that I
was intoxicated when I made that run _ to-
day. Thisrumor naturally makes you sad,
but you need not be, for it is false as the
people who originated the plot to complete
my ruin. I do not mind that which is being
rumored about me at the present time as I
do that which is sure to follow, but I do
want you both to understand that, 10 matter
what may transpire in the days that are to
come, I did not, nor bave | since the run
from Montrose to-day, so much as touched
a drop of intoxicating liquor to my lips, and,
in spite of every circumstance which goes to
prove the contrary, I have not broken the
rules of the road, and am entirely innocent
of the charge upon which I was dismissed
from the service of the Valley Central.’

‘*T believe you, father,’’ fervently an-
swered Ned Purcell, as he sprang from his
chair, and stood where the fire light played

 

 
10

GoonDp

 

brightest upon his handsome, resolute face.
‘*{ believe you to be innocent of that or any
other crime, and I will sustain and support
you, even though every person on earth
should condemn you!’?

The speaker’s eyes ‘kindled with enthusi-
asm. His well-developed form was raised to
its fullest height, and his breast heaved with
emotion, as he gazed steadfastly into the eyes
of his parent. j

Joe Purcell read there a depth of thought
and sincerity of purpose which thrilled him
at once with surprise and admiration for his
champion. He now began to fully realize
that the lad possessed even greater ability
than he had heretofore imagined; in fact,
had an intelligence that far surpassed the
average youth of sixteen—even approaching
maturity.

Ned’s impressive manner brought a_ tear
to his mother’s eye. She placed ber hand
affectionately upon his head, and with ma-
ternal tenderness, she gazed down into the
manly, upturned face.

For a number of minutes nothing wassaid,
and then it was the mother’s voice which
broke the silence:

‘‘You are tired, Ned,’’ she softly whis-
pered, as she stroked his forehead with gen-
tle caresses. ‘‘Had you not better go to bed
and get some rest?’’

Ned’s answer plainly showed his perfect
willingness to. comply with his mother’s
slightest request. Taking his lamp and bid-
ding his. parents ‘‘good-night,’?’ he went to
his room, but not to sleep.

While the low murmur of his parents’
voices came up to him from below, he lay
there thinking——

Of what was he thinking?

The reader may already suspect. Ned Pur-
cellhad traced his father to Old Brayley’s
house, and it was he whom the old miser
had heard beneath the window.

The lad had been listening to discover if
it was his father whom he could hear inside,
and thus he had been enabled to overhear
every word that had passed within that
room. He now possessed a portion of the
dark secret which had for years made Joe
Purcell’s life so miserable,

His father stood in the light of a mur-
derer! Yet Ned believed him entirely inno-
cent—in fact, he knew him to be!

It was to form some plan whereby the
truth could be revealed and bis father once
more restored, that Ned lay awake for
hours, thinking, thinking—until, at last,
tired nature yielded and the boy slept, but
only to awake suddenly with startling vis-
ions and horrible nightmares filling his brain
with terrible imaginings.

* * * * * *

‘*Yes, Joe,’’ Mrs. Purcell was saying as
the twain sat conversing long after Ned had
retired to his chamber, ‘Superintendent
Trowbridge came here last night, just before
the nine o’clock train was due, and ques-
tioned me about you. He inquired if I could
tell him whether you were, orever had been,
adrinking man. Yju know, Joe, without
my having to refer to the past, how hard it
was for me to evade him with a direct
reply.

‘‘T told him, however, that 1 did not be-
lieve that you had touched\a drop in several
years, and then he showed me a_ letter, the
author of which simply signed himself ‘a
friend,’ stating that you had prepared your-
self with a bottle of liquor for the race to-
day, and that you would probably hide it in
your box in the cab—as was your custom.

‘‘The superintendent was very much dis-
turbed, and although he was not fully pre-
pared to believe the contents of the note, yet
he told me that he should go up to Montrose
on the night train and satisfy himself it the
warning had been given him in good faith.
You don’t know how anxious I felt for you,
but when I heard to-day that you had been
dismissed, an awful dread filled my heart
lest you had yielded again to the cup~—’’

‘*Never!’’ firmly answered Joe Purcell.
‘‘As God is my judge, I do not know how
that flask came to be in my cab!”’

CHAPTER VIII.

NED PURCELL IS INSTALLED FIREMAN OF
AS Ousy 67.2

NE week passed.
q ‘‘Old 67,’’ with a new engineer at
the throttle, was coming into Swift-

4” water every day from five to ten
minutes behind her rival, and the manage-
ment of the older road was fairly storming
Superintendent Trowbridge with complaint,
resolves of dissatisfaction, and manifestations
of alarm,

Every day some new ‘‘order’’ was issued,
and every day—just as regular as clockwork,
the ‘Lightning Express’’ met defeat at the
hands of its superior opponent,

Matters were rapidly assuming a serious
aspect, and the division superintendent was
nearly frenzied with the perplexing problem.

It was perfectly evident to him that a
crisis was near at hand, The Northern com-
pany was jubilant; the Valley Central
people morose.

Superintendent Trowbridge could neither
eat nor sleep, but spent the anxious hours
in trying to settle npon some definite plan of
action whereby their old prestige could be
attained, and the flagrant and overbearing

 

claims of superiority which were constantly
being made by the new road successfully
overcome.

But plan as he might, the existing state of
affairs became worse rather than better. The
big Northern six-wheeler, with Jerry Tucker
at the throttle, came through day after day
on time and ahead of its competitor.

Chagrined, perple%ed, almost angered by
the continued failure of ‘‘Old 67’? to make
the run on schedule, the superintendent
finally determined to engage an old and
experienced engineer to take the place of
the man who had succeeded Purcell.

This suggestion met with the full approval
of the management, and consequently Tom
Bainbridge, an engineer who had become
gray in the service at the throttle, arrived
upon the scene and cheerfully undertook the
task which Purcell alone seemed able to
accomplish.

The very first trial, however, fully satisfied
the new engineer that, with the old locomo-
tive, the feat which was expected of him
was entirely out of the question. Four min-
utes behind Tucker’s train into Swiftwater,
he completed the run, and then he made his
report to his superior.

Trowbridge heard him with a trifling show
of impatience,

‘‘It has been done. Why can’t it be re-
peated?’’ he asked, but old Bainbridge slowly
shook his head.

‘‘f can try again, sir,’’? he said, ‘‘but I
ean only promise to do my best. If any one
could do it, [have courage to think I could.’’

‘*Joe Purcell did it——’’

‘‘Then Joe Purcell is a better man than I
am,’? was all the veteran said, and then he
went to his task with renewed determi-
nation.

On the succeeding day, when the rival en-
gines drew out of Montrose, Tucker mock-
ingly waved his hand from the cab of his
powerful machine, and called to Bainbridge
tbat he would ‘‘see him again at Swift-
water.’’

The gray-haired old engineer simply grit-
ted his teeth and mentally vowed, that Tucker
had got a big contract on his shoulders to
best him,

Nevertheless, when he pulled over the
bridge into Swiftwater Junction, just fifty-
two seconds behind the minute fixed upon
he time card, Engineer Jerry was there to
greet him, just as he said he would be.

‘‘¥You must have a new machine,’’ was
Tom Bainbridge’s announcement, as he con-
fronted the superintendent once again with
the fact. ‘‘l ran that old tub for every
ounce she would stand, and I repeat that no
man can hope to win with her,’’

After communicating this report tv the
directors of the road, Trowbridge was grati-
fied to learn that they had, unanimously
agreed to accept the same, and thus the new
locomotive was ordered—more powerful,
more elaborate and eyen heavier than was
the Northern six-wheeler, which was sup-
posed to be a model of perfection itself.

Anticipation reached fever heat as day
after day passed. \‘‘Old 67’? was still arriv-
ing second, and the day when the new en-
gine should come was looked forward to
with no little anxiety.

The Northern company, anxious to take
every advantage of their present success, had
gern to the courts for a settlement of
the disputed claim for right of way across
the big bridge.

Trowbridge and the Valley Central direc-
tors were in a state of fever, and demanded
that the judgment be deferred until a later
date, hopeful that the coming engine would
prove the right which they continued to
maintain.

It was perfectly evident that the future of
the Valley Central road hinged upon the suc-
cess or failure of that new machine. If she
was a winner all would be well. Should she
lose, then there would be a complete revolu-
tion in the business of the older road,

In the meantime, Joe Purcell had been
offered a situation upon the rival road, which
offer, to the complete surprise of many of his
acquaintances, the old engineer scornfully
refused to consider.

Although he had been discharged from the
services of the Valley Central, yet Engineer
Joe preserved a strict silence upon the posi-
tion which he maintained, irrespective of the
fact that some of his most intimate acquaint-
ances claimed that he had no real sympathy
for the new corporation, even if he had
little respect for the officials of the pioneer
line,

Some one whispered that there was a secret
in the old engineer’s breast, and that he
was biding bis time, knowing full well that
a climax was sure to be reached at no dis-
tant date.

So Joe plodded on, and all the while,
among his old associates, it was conceded
that he knew just what he was about, and
that the time was coming when he would
come out winner in the one-sided contest
with his old employers.

Popular opinion was rapidly taking a
sharp turn in favor of the Northern road.
Save for a few stanch friends and intimate
acquaintances of the division superiutend-
ent, it looked as though the support of the
Valley Central was weakening.

Business was rapidly going to the new cor-
oration, Freight and passenger traffic were
oth rapidly falling off with the pioneer line,

and the wiser class plainly saw dissolution

 

NEWS.

 

and the complete withdrawal of the Valley
Central from the fight, unless something
speedily occurred to bring about a change.

But what was to produce this much-
desired change?

Engineer Tucker calmly went about bis
duties, and as he became more thoroughly
acquainted with the new road and learned
the finer points of his magnificent locomo-
tive, the trip from Montrose to, Swiftwater
became easier than ever to make, and he
even went so far as to maintain that he could
make the run in two minutes less time than
he was now consuming, by following the
schedule.

‘‘T can beat any machine that the Valley
Central can put on,’’ he exclaimed to his
friends and admirers one night. ‘‘I don’t
care who runs it. Yes, I would like to try
conclusions with Joe Purcell again; per-
haps my engine wouldn’t prime next time,’’
he replied in’ answer to a query if he thought
Purcell able to do what others had thus far
fai ed to do.

But that very afternoon the boastful en-
gineer received an ‘‘order’’ from the division
superintendent of his line announcing that
in the future a small way station upon the
line, which was known as Tyler, would be
constituted a regular flag station for his
train, and he frowned as he saw trouble
ahead.

‘“‘T can’t make that stop and keep up my
running time,’’ he said. ‘‘The little station
is on one of the hardest grades on the line.”’

The answer which he received did not ma-
terially affect the original direction, and
Tucker went away dissatisfied with what
was likely to prove a trig to the wheels of
his success.

That very night the new engine of the
Valley Central steamed slowly into the yard
at Swiftwater, and the entire population of
the little settlement turned out to see the
beautiful machine. She was a magnificent
locomotive indeed, and many were the ex-
clamations of pleasure which were heard as
one after another came down to the stall in
the roundhouse and feasted their eyes upon
the colossus of engineering skill,

Tucker and his firenian had been among
the very first to visit the yard. ‘They spent
some minutes in a careful examination of
the superb machine, and then, after having
made several terse comparisons between that
and their engine, they left the building to-
gether, conversing in low tones, and looking
back as if to discover if they were followed.
Those who saw them came to the conclusion
that the acquisition of the Valley Central
road might prove a veritable Jonah to the
Northern corporation after all,

Among the last to visit the roundhouse
after the shades of evening had begun to
creep down the valley of the Ammanoosuc,
were the old engineer, Joe Purcell, and Ned,
the bright-faced lad who was now often
seen in company with his father at the rail-
road yards and near the locomotives, as
they moved from point to point about the
network of tracks which existed near the
depot.

“‘Isn’t she a beauty, father?’’ enthusias-
tically exclaimed Ned, after having feasted
his eyes for several minutes upon the mam-
moth new machine, ‘‘Certainly she can do
the business! I should think she was full
heavier than Tucker’s machine.’’

‘‘Heft doesn’t always count,’’ was the
quiet reply, and Engineer Joe slowly shook
his head, as he cast a sidelong glance in the
direction of the stall where ‘‘Old 67’’ stood,
steam up, for the coming run north with the
evening train. ‘‘There’s no knowin’, lad,’’
he said. ‘‘I think ‘Old 67’ there can beat
’em hoth; leastwise, 1 would bet on it to-
night.”’

**T would like to make the trip that would
decide it,’’ was Ned’s enthusiastic reply.

But the lad little dreamed how soon he was
to be gratified the wish, nor how much was
depending upon the result of the quiet in-
structions which his father bad been giving
him from day to day, as they spent the pass-
ing hours in and about the yards among
those ponderous machines,

Together they subjected the big engine to
a critical examination. Ned questioning his
father about certain points which puzzled
him, and his father cayefully explaining
every intricate part of the principal of con-
troling the locomotive.

‘‘She will steam easier than the old en-
gine,’’ Joe firmly announced, and as he was
explaining bis reasons for thinking so the
young locomotive expert who had arrived
from the manufactory with the new engine
approached,

‘‘T see you are an engineer,’’ he said.
‘“‘Perhaps you are to run her. I was in-
formed that the engineer was au elderly
man,’’

‘‘No, that duty will evolve upon me,’’
spoke Tom Bainbridge from behind the half-
open door, before Purcell had time to reply,
and in a trice the-speaker appeared in the
flickering glare of the torch which the young
man held. ‘‘Here is a message from Mr.
Trowbridge, the division superintendent, and
he will see you immediately after you have
given me the points necessary to my taking
this\engine up to Montrose ‘wild’ to-night,”’
and without so much as glancing at Purcell
and Ned, who had stepped back slightly into
the shadows, he turned to make his first in-
spection of the new engine, while a strange
light filled Joe Purcell’s eye, as he led the

 

 

way toward the stall where ‘‘Old 67’’ was
standing.

‘‘So it seems that they are going to take
the engine up ‘wild’ instead of running ber
upon the regular train and limbering up
her joints. I think that a piece of folly,”
firmly spoke the veteran engineer, as be
paused by the cab of the favoritre which
he had so long considered as almost a part
of his life on the road.

At that moment Joe’s old fireman ap-
peared, and the greeting between the two
men showed how firm had been their friend-
ship.

‘*What do you think of the new engine?”’
he asked, and then a puzzled look filled his
eyes, as Purcell made reply:

‘‘T would not be surprised if ‘Old 67’ could
outrun her to-night.’’

‘*Well, I only wish that you could take
your seat here, and pull us one more trip to
satisfy the ‘governor,’’’ quickly spoke the
fireman, as he raked down the fire and made
preparations for the trip, which might prove
the last. ;

Just then a messenger from the super)-
tendent’s office stepped up and handed the
fireman a sealed envelope.

‘What is in the wind now?’’ be mutr-
mured, as he tore open the missive.

Then his face took on a puzzled look, a
he read the few hasty lines:

‘‘Run the express to Montrose to-night.
Take an extra man to fire for you. Bain;
bridge will take up the new engine ‘wild
later.’’

The brief order was in the well-knowD>
hand of the superintendent, and instantly #
thought suggested itself to the fireman.

‘‘Can you fire for me to-night, Ned?’’ he
asked. ‘‘I have got to take up the express.

Ned Jooked inquiringly toward his father,
and then a quick gleam of satisfaction fille
his eyes, as he replied:

‘‘Nothing would suit me better.’’

And in a trice he was on the cab and Prch’
ceeded to don jumper and overalls W ich
were at hand, while the old engineer looked
on in contentment as he saw his son pre:
paring to become installed as the fireman °
the engine which he had so often rull. 4

It was the culmination of Joe Purcell’s
long-cherished hopes.

For the present he was content.

In the future Ned would be able to carvé
a way for himself. ;

The old engineer did not entertain the
slightest doubt about that, and how w® €
was able to judge the reader will, later,
privileged to discover.

CHAPTER IX.

A DASTARDLY PLOT.
(2

SAIVE minutes later ‘‘Old 67’’ steamed
out of Swiftwater with the nort
bound express in tow, and with ied
Purcell in the cab in readiness ne
his first run as fireman of his father's ©
machine. ae
The lad’s heart swelled with justifia t
pride as one after another of his chums @
the station saw and recognized him in bis 9
position. “
“See Ned! he’s goin’ up wid de vA
press!’? cried one, and be pointed aT
the cab, where the youth was busily ang
gaged, raking down the fire and gore ote
everything into good shape for the an
pated trip. Half a dozen of the young | tbe
man’s companions came running towa? the
forward end of the train, and them vag
whole party raised such a shout that eal
could not help listening, even thoug he A
busy with his own duties upon the OOO oy
‘Three cheers for Ned Purcell, the ore
runner !’? somebody cried, and they
iven with a will. 5 t
, Ned turned to recognize the complied
just as the starting signal came. he “old
train began to move, and in a MOnM, |. an
67” plunged into the big covered bri er uld
disappeared upon what was intended
be her last run with the ‘‘Li8
Express.”’ '
But how fickle are the plans of M&P age
Back in the roundhouse, Tom Bay ol
was receiving his last round of instr fully
from the young mechanic who had een pew
explained all the intricate points of 6
locomotive to its future drivel,
twain stood for a moment in converst @-
the side of the cab. They had not lon doubt
hind them, but had they done 0, it)

 

dark

ful if they would have discovered, they the
form of a man who was crouchiné ” iqcal
very rear of the stall. A look of CO al tbe
hatred and malignant villainy disto
hiding culprit’s face. fea

‘(If I can but do it,’’ he whisp® nwo men
watched every movement of me j
with cat-like eyes. ‘If I can but 49115
67? will show up better even thap
chine——’’ and then he paused 8° the ;
white-haired engineer accompany will bu
mechanic toward the door. ‘‘If a will 4°
give me a few minutes. Ab! T
it !?? ed

The two men went outside and clos :
big doors. ‘ way

“T am going to start her right aa ther
Bainbridge was heard to exclaim ng, tba b
as the twain passed from heat 6 shelley
silent, moving form crept fro ted the
of the tender and cautiously mou? ;
of the big engine.

    
   
 

coe rte

  

 

   

ile ee ea

ae

 

   

  
   
  
  

   

‘cone eel ek ee

a a * at eth * ee

=o’ a a

a eafsip~w?

   
3 3 Se Me ad Es

GOooD NEWS.

  

La

 

  

 

in readiness for the coming trip.

The unknown glanced at the water gauge
upon the head of the boiler, and then a mut-
tered exclamation of pleasure escaped him:

‘*Phree gauges in the boilers. They won’t

have to draw any more water to-night.
This is working perfectly. Now for the—
soap !”’ 3

ing beside the covered hole through which
the engine’s water supply is taken. Again
he listened. There was no sound to
the presence of any one, and yet——

He started and appeared nervous, hesita-

ting as though undecided.
i Muttering something beneath his breath,
however, he stooped and silently raised the
cover from its place. Without making the
ak slightest noise whatever he deposited it to
4 One side, and then he drew a large, square
package from beneath his coat.

With his knife blade he cut a small hole
in one corner of the package, and immedi-
ately he turned the bundle upside down over
the hole, and a grayish, white powder ran
Silently into the water, falling with a slight
Plashing noise. He started and looked around
to see if he was discovered.

The vile plotter seemed to fully realize the
enormity of the crime which he was com-
MIhitting. He began to grow impatient as the
oer clogged and failed to run as fast as

8 wished, and he prunes his fingers through
the aperture and quickly tore the cover
of the frail pasteboard box from centre to
circumference,

_ The entire balance of the powder dropped
Into the tank.

_With one quick motion the wretch again
7 lifted the cover and deposited it in its proper
Place, then he crept back over the side of the

‘ tender, and without having made the slight-
; ®st sound, disappeared into the darkness. A
iy dastardly plot had been concocted!

(T0 BE CONTINUED.)
on
(This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form. }

LAD ELECTRIC;

OR,

The Most Wonderful Boy in the World,

His Escapades, Escapes and Adven-

tures at Home and School] with
‘The Terrible Touch.”

 

 

 

 

BY BARRY TALLYHO.

4 . 7
(Lap ELECTRIC’ was commenced in No. 313. Back
numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.)

 

-

CHAPTER XXV.
UNDER THE LION’S PAW.

   

NHE thrilling shriek of the agonized

{2 mother rang through the tent in ac-

A.) cents that struck an answering throb
in every soul.

At her startling words, frightened people,
®eing madly for the exit, paused and looked
; a moment, with horror and compassion
their eyes.

Jn the; first awful moment, the mother,
piclding to the maternal impulse, would
lev’ cast herself into the clutches of the
ed to shield with her own body that of her

“arly loved child.

oe her husband’s circling arm restrained
nett though also almost beside himself,
ci ! retained possession of his senses suffi

aan to understand that such a sacrifice
“SUld ‘do no good.

et me go!’’ cried Mrs. Wackins, wildly.
vet me go! My child, my chila!”’
a Ush, you can do her no good in that
and: and your actions may excite the lion

id re him worse than he is at present, ”’

ea he doctor, soothingly. ‘‘Try to restrain
clself and be calm.”?
ae ® calm! Howcan I be calm? My child
/ He ollie is in the lion’s clutches !"’ -
Struct wild, heart-broken cry of despair

hy 4 sympathetic chord in every breast.
on ad risen from his seat, but had
Yet it attempted to make his way out as
+. -© Was not exactly in a hurry to leave.

of th was not so alarmed as the greater part

A ® audience, for he knew the circus at-
and +S Wohld take steps to secure the lion,
Bs inching jaturally reckless disposition rather

diq it. him to remain and watch how they
Seg Saad, therefore, hardly moved from his
4 thr €n the lion made his spring, and with
tr ul of horror, Lad recognized the pros-

fi

 

~

4 )

ae Mollie!’’ he exclaimed.

n ‘th Sugh spell-bound, he glued his eyes

rk ® motionless figure in white, and the

Pea ty mass standing over it. ;
Watched” half sick at the heart, he still
it Woul With absorbing interest to see how

~ Willin d come out. There was no lack of
, & hands or fearless hearts to rescue

     
  

j the
Umpottunate little maid.
Te, the lion tamer, was compelled to

   
  
  

denote |

Placeg 7™ on which his great paw was:

He moved with the silence of a cat, as he}
raised his foot and mounted the tender, paus- |

 

Steam was up and the ponderous engine| remain in his cage and watch the lioness,

for fear she might become infected with the
excitement and follow the other out through
the broken place.

He shouted his orders, however, and the
circus men made haste to follow thei.
While some of them endeavored to calm the
affrighted and demoralized audience, so as
to make their exit from the tent more or-
derly and so more rapid, the others waited
upon Umbric’s words.

Obedient to his instructions, they sur-
rounded the lion in a circle, and, each
armed with a pitchfork, held him at bay.

A cage was then backed into the ring,
within easy reach of the lion. The, rear

doors were left open, and a board was let |

down from the floor of the cage to the
ground, up which the lion might spring.

So far all had worked well, but now the
real difficulty arose,

The circus men slowly began to close in on |
the lion from three sides, with the object

of driving him into the cage.

As soon as he perceived their intention,
the beast uttered an angry snarl, and rais-
ing his great paw, dropped it again upon the
form of the prostrate Mollie, in a threaten-
ing way.

His attitude said as plainly as actions
could that he did not propose to abandon
his prey without a struggle.

The circus men paused, at a loss how to
proceed.

They dared not drive the brute to extrem- |

ities, as in such a case he would, in his
rage, undoubtedly frightfully mangle, if he
did not kill, the helpless girl in his clutches.

Nor would it do for his trainer to ap-
proach, since he would instantly recognize
him, and feeling that he came to take his
prey from him, make sure of it at once.

So mattersewtre for the moment brought
to a standstill.

The poor mother saw it, and intuition told
her the cause at once. ‘

‘*Oh, merciful Heaven!’ she cried. ‘‘My
helpless child! Don’t anger him, or he’ll
tear my Mollie to pieces! Oh, my child!’’

‘‘They* will be careful ofthat, my dear,’
said thé doctor, who, though almost com-
pletely unnerved himself, seemed to derive
strength from the ‘greater weakness of his
wife.

‘‘Do not be alarmed, madame,”’ said the
lion tamer. ‘‘We will not allow the little
girl to be hurt.’’

Alas! though he tried to speak in a tone
of confidence, for the mother’s sake, he
feared that he would not be able to pre-
vent it.

He proceeded to do his best, however, and
by his order, a large piece of fresh meat
was brought in, exhibited until the lion’s
attention was attracted, and then thrown
upon the ground, in another. part of the
ring.

The wily Gog, however, refused to take
the bait.

The rescuers were now wholly at their
wits’ end. They had no idea of what to do
next, yet the necessity of doing something
became every second more urgent.

There was danger that Mollie would re-
cover from the unconsciousness into which
her fall had thrown her, and on realizing
her terrible position, so scream with fright
or struggle to escape as to enrage the lion,
and bring the sickening end upon her at
once, 7

No matter how promptly the men might
then attack him, he would have plenty of
time to tear the poor girl limb from limb,
if he chose, ere they could get her away
from him.

‘*We shall have to try to drug him,’? said
the lion tamer. ‘‘Take a large rag, saturate
it thoroughly with chloroform, put it on the
end of a pitchfork, and one of you walk up
and shove it against his nose. He won’t be
afraid of one man, unless it is I.’?

‘There is no chloroform about,’’ said
Mr. Stillwell, ‘‘but we will send for some
at once,’’ suiting the action to the word.

‘‘T am afraid it will be too late,’’ said the
lion tamer, in a low tone, but not so low
but that Lad, who, in his interest, had left
his seat and advanced into the ring, dis-
tinctly heard him, ‘'Even if it is in time,
wé may not be able to drug the brute. By
moving his head about, he can avoid the
smell, though it may force him to retire.
Again if may enrage him, Still, it is our
only chance.”’

He called for an adjustable partition for
the cage, and after putting it in place,
thus confining the lioness securely in the end
away from the broken part, he descended to
the ground, and joined the circle about the
lion.

He advanced several paces toward him,
but at sight of his master the animal hastily
bent his head, and picked up the motionless
form of Mollie in his mouth.

The sight was too much for the poor
mother, and she uttered a piercing scream.

‘*Oh, come back, come back!’’ she cried.
**Don’t anger him, or he will tear my child
to pieces.’

‘‘Down, Gog!’’ cried the tamer, sternly,
hoping the animal at the sound of his voice
would obey as in former times. ‘‘Down, I
say 1? ;

But the lion, instead of obeying, swung
his head uneasily from side to side, as
though seeking an opening through which
to bolt.

 

 

Baffled, and fearing that he would only

The succeeding instant it was that the end

make matters worse, the lion tamer with-|of the steel bar came in coutact with the

drew, and Gog, placing his burden on the
ground again, set his paw upon it.

All thoughts were now turned upon the
return of the boy who had beén dispatched
for the chloroform, and the suspense became

| almost unendurable.

The spectators, which now included many |

of the fleeing audience, whose curiosity had
overcome their fright, breathlessly watched
the escaped animal, fearful lest at any mo-

attack his helpless captive, or that she
might come to and precipitate her fate.

Foremost among the lookers-on was Lad,
who was most deeply interested and moved.

Approaching the circle about the beast,
he found himself next to the lion tamer.

The latter held in is hand the slender bar,
with which it wag his wont to strike the ani-
mals when unruly in the cage, and as his
glance fell upon it, Lad saw that it was not
of iron, as he had supposed, but of polished
steel.

The discovery struck, a train of thought
in his mind that startled him, and which,
ever afterward, he could only account for
as providential.

For suddenly, all at once, with irresistible

| force, the idea seemed pressing upon his
| mind

that only one person could
Mollie Wackins, and he was that one.

He—only he—could rescue her from her
perilous position of almost certainty of hor-
rible disfigurement or death, by the means
of that marvelous electrical power he desig-
nated the Terrible Touch!

Here was a steel rod. Steel was the best
of conductors. By the use of this rod he
could shock the lion’ into inaction long
enough to enable them to snatch Mollie be-
yond the reach of those terrible claws.

He wondered if it were not impossible.
He asked himself if it were not folly. He
could overcome a man—but a lion. Yet he
had shocked Stagwind in New York, and
Stagwind was a human giant.

Yet a lion—had he not heard somewhere,
or was it only his excited imagination that
Stagwind once wrestled with a tame lion,
and threw him.

He could not get away from it. With
irresistible emphasis the idea was borne in
upon him—that he, and he alone, could
save Mollie Wackins from an awful fate.

The next moment he had snatched the rod
of steel from Umbric and with it extended
before him, was marching straight up to the
ferocious lion.

save

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LION AND THE TERRIBLE TOUCH.

OME of the most momentous events to
, mankind, occurrences on which the
course of the history of the world has
hinged, have been the result of im-
pulse, rather than any long deliberated,
carefully premeditated plan.

So it was inthe present instance with
Lad. Had he paused to reflect upon his ac-
tion, he might have become frightened, and
withdrawn from it. But he gave himself no
time for that.

The people who saw his strange action did
not at first know what to make of it. They
thought he must have gone out of his head.

‘*Here, come back! Whatare you doing?’
cried Umbric, as Lad, snatching his steel
rod, held it in front of him and advanced
upon the lion.

Lad returned no answer, but looking
neither to the right nor left of him, contin-
ued to march on.

‘*The boy must be mad!’’ exclaimed. the
lion tamer, rushing after him, followed by
two or three others.

But at the sight of the formidable array,
the lion bristled up and uttered a menacing
growl.

‘Back! get back!’’ cried the tamer, him-
self reluctantly suiting the action to the
word,

All drew back and watched the actions of
the boy with absorbing interest.

He was now almost upon the lion, which
was plainly puzzled at the course he pursued.

The animal expected him to come toa
stop a few feet away, and waving his arms,
shout at him, to terrorize him.

Lad, however, did not stop, but marched
straight on, until one end of the steel'rod
came against the tip of the lion’s nose.

Had a dynamite bomb exploded in the tent
it could hardly have created greater sur-
prise.

All eyes were bent on Lad, while the ob-
servers racked their brains in vain to guess
what he meant to do.

Lad knew very well himself, however, and
was in an agony of suspense with the
thought: ;

Would he be able to accomplish it?

In one moment he would know to a certain
extent. If the fierce brute did not at once
leap upon him there was hope. If it did,
well—— He began to realize the peril of his
attempt, and gave a momentary shudder,

Then, as he had never done it before, did
he apply the Terrible Touch.

Both hands were tightly clinched upon the
steel bar, and he strained every ounce of
electrical power in his body, while he set his
teeth together with a determination to do
or die.

 
 

tip of the lion’s nose.

Up to that time the brute had been over-
come with astonishment. Now he suddenly
experienced an altogether different sensa-
tion.

He uttered an angry growl at first, and
as the object touched his nose, raised his
paw to brush it aside.

Conscious that if this were done, it was

| all up with him and the helpless girl, since
ment he might take some sudden notion to

 

    

the following moment the lion would spring,
Lad set himself like flint, and strained his
every nerve.

The huge paw touched the bar, but it did
not knock it aside. Instead, the contact
communicated to the paw a shock of elec-
tricity, and it dropped again. The lion gave
voice to a roar that filled the tent, and half
rising on his hind legs, he swayed his head
from side to side, to get rid of the steel bar,
which instinct told him was the object that
was troubling him.

Lad was on the alert, however, and though
he allowed the bar \to swing from side to
side with the movement of the animal’s
head, he took caré that it did not slip from
its place.

At the same time he pushed upon it, and
this course had its result, for when the beast
dropped upon all fours again he was beyond
the prostrate Mollie, and Lad stood over her.

This the animal was as quick to see as he,
and in resentment his deep-toned roar again
echoed through the tent.

Now had come the critical moment.

Lad braced himself for a mighty struggle,
and clutched the bar in the grip of a vise.

Every atom of strength in his body he sent
pulsing into it. His very heart and life, it
seemed to him, were going out of him.
Every nerve was strained to the uttermost,
every muscle was exerted to the supreme
limit of human power,

Like a statue hestood. His limbs became
of the rigidity of marble. The veins stood
out upon his forehead like whipcords. His
eyes seemed fairly bursting fram his head
with the intensity of his efforts.

Then suddenly he saw that his object was
attained.

The lion bad grown strangely still. He
had sunk back upon his haunches, in a half-
crouching position, yet he seemed to have
no intention to spring. His eyes were riv-
eted on Lad’s with an enthralled expression.

Then Lad spoke:

‘“‘Now! Snatch her away quick!
hold out much longer !’’

So great was the strain under which he
was laboring that he bad hardly strength to
speak. His voice was barely above an un-
dertone, and only those nearest heard him.

For a moment all hesitated.

True, the boy seemed in some mysterious,
miraculous manner, to have mastered the
ferocious lion for a moment, ahd wonder at
his actions had given place to marveling as
to the source of his power.

Still, the beast might spring at any mo-
ment, it looked to them, and the whole affair
was so strange that men hesitated to risk
their lives, and held back.

All except Umbric, the lion tamer.

Seizing a weapon from the man nearest
him, he walked boldly up to the prostrate
girl, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the
lion, which, however, did not look at him
at ajJl, but continued to keep its gaze fast-
ened upon Lad’s face, he bent down quickly,
raised Mollie from the ground, and retreat-
ing backward, unmolested, deposited her in
her mother’s arms.

Then it was that a heartfelt sigh of relief
went up from every one. But still they did
not speak. All interest’ was now centred
upon the boy confronting the lion whom his
courageous action bad robbed of its prey.

Still keeping his eyes fixed upon the en-
thralled orbs of the animal, Lad withdrew
the bar of steel.

For a moment the animal remained per-
fectly motionless. Thgn it moved uneasily.

Lad did not flinch. Some inward intuition
seemed to tell him that he had mastered the
savage beast and had nothing ta fear from
it. e kept his eyes fixed upon the now
shifting orbs..

Suddenly the animal’s gaze lighted upon
the cage. It seemed to be what it was in
search of.

It made one movement toward the cage
in a staggering manner. Then, seeming to
recover, with three or four bounds, it had
crossed the intervening space, leaped up the
board and through the doorway, and
crouching down in the farthest corner, again
turned and looked at Lad.

With the quickness of thought, Umbric,
the lion tamer, sprang to the cage, swung
the door shut and bolted it, and the fero-
cious beast, which had been the cause of so
much trouble and anxiety in the last half
hour,, Was securely out of the way of further
mischief.

Then one loud, ringing, heartfelt cheer,
expressive of pent-up, overwrought feelings,
went up, burst the confines of the tent, and
soared away upon the air beyond.

Men wrung each other’s hands with the
warmth of a common thankfulness; women
wept for joy upon each other’s breasts now
that the suspense was over.

And the surging, excited crowd gathered,
with one accord, about ‘the hero of the
occasion, to bless and lionize him.

I can’t
 

CC IGo

 

‘‘Heaven bless you!’’ exclaimed Mr. Still-
well, the pruprietor of the circus, putting his
hand on his shoulder. ‘‘You cannot guess
what a lifelong agony you have saved me
from, for had Gog injured or killed thelittle
girl I should always have felt that I was
her murderer.”’

‘“‘The coolest, pluckiest, nerviest thing
that ever I saw in all my experience!’’ said
Umbric, the lion tamer, putting his arm
about Lad affectionately.

Lad seemed to wake suddenly as from a
dream. He glanced at the smiling, kindly
faces about him. Then his look traveled to
Mollie Wackins, safe and unscathed in her
mother’s loving clasp. A great load seemed
lifted from his mind.

Suddenly he was conscious that he was
very tired—very weak. He could hardly
stand. No, he could not stand.

What was this? The whole place, even to
the ground, seemed to be whirling over, and
turning him upside down.

‘6 ¥m—kind—of—tired. — I—guess—T?—
sit—down—a—little—while,’’ he managed to
say, in a gasping way, then his strength
gave out completely, and just before all
grew blank he fell back in Umbric’s and
Mr, Stillwell’s arms.

* * * * * *

Lad opened his eyes and looked about him
languidly. He was conscious that the pillow
on which his head rested was very soft, and
the bed on which he lay exceedingly com-
fortable.

His glance wandered idly from the snowy
counterpane to the tasteful furnishings of
the room. It was a large, pleasant apart-
ment with two windows, over sashes of
which, let down from the top a little, en-
tered the spring air and the melody of
feathered songsters in the trees outside.

Lad wondered vaguely where he was.
Certainly this was not his own room at
home.

How long had he been asleep?

He racked his brain for several minutes
before he recollected. Ah, yes, the circus
tent, and he had just said he was rather
tired, and something flew up and hit him in
the head.

He must have fainted, and they had him
brought here, and taken care of. But it
must have been rather a serious case of
fainting to cause him to be put to bed. And
where was he, anyhow?

In the midst of his meditations some one
entered the room and approached the bed
with noiseless steps. Some one large and
fleshy, with a fair, full, good-natured face.

Lad recognized her at once. It was Mrs.
Wackins. :

‘Oh, you are awake!’’ she exclaimed.
Then, coming up to the bedside, she
smoothed out the pillow and asked, very
tenderly:

‘*How do you feel?”’

‘Oh, first rate,’’ replied Lad. ‘‘Have I
been here long?’’

‘‘Something like twenty-six hours,’’ re-
plied Mrs. Wackins, with a smile.

‘¢Whew!’’ Lad involuntarily pursed up
his lips, and emitted a whistle of surprise.
‘¢ As long as that?’’.

‘‘Quite as long as that. It was about four
o’clock yesterday afternoon when we laid
you here. It is now almost six o’clock of
the succeeding day. So, you see, you have
had quite a nap.’

‘‘T should say so. I went off over there at
the circus tent, didn’t 1? Have I been closed
up like an oyster ever since?”’

‘‘Not exactly,’’ said Mrs. Wackins. ‘‘ You
came out of the faint, and opened your eyes
a few minutes afterward, but when they
tried to rouse you, you said, ‘Oh, I’m
tired; let me go to sleep.’ So we brought
you here.’’

‘“‘“Much obliged for your trouble, I’m
sure,’? said Lad. ‘‘How is Mollie?’’

‘She has quite recovered from the effects
of her fright. Thank Heaven, it was nothing
more serious than that! We owe her life to
you. The thought of my dear child being
mangled before my eyes makes me shudder
even now!”’

Bending over the bed, she put her arms
around his neck and kissed him twice on the
forehead with og feeling.

‘‘My dear boy, Heaven bless you for what
you have done for us!’’ she exclaimed,
buskily. ‘‘If ever you are in need ofa
mother’s love or care or counsel, come to
me at once and I will gladly give it to
you.”’ 5

Even Lad himself was considerably af-
fected.

‘‘Oh it wasn’t much,’’ he said.

‘‘Tt was the saving to us of more than our
own lives and happiness!- But [ will go out
now and let Doctor Wackins know that you
are awake. He was very anxious to be
informed when that happened.’’

She departed, with a cheering smile, leav-
ing Lad busy with conflicting thoughts.

‘*Wonder what the doctor will say?’’ he
asked himself, as he remembered their last
encounter.

Any doubts or fears he might have had
at his reception by the doctor, however,
were soon dispelled.

The docter entered almost immediately,
and advancing at once to the bed, grasped
his hand.

‘(My dear boy!’’ he exclaimed, squeezing
Lad’s fingers in his heartiness in a grip that
made that hero wince. ‘‘I am your debtor

 

to a greater extent than I can ever repay.
But if it ever happens that you have need
of my services, in any matter, little or

great, my fortune, even my life, stands at }

your call.’’

‘‘Oh, there’s no need of all that,’’ said
Lad. ‘*You people seem inclined to make
a great deal out of it, but I really don’t
think it was so much,’?

‘‘We beg to disagree with you, then,’’ said
the doctor. ‘‘We think it was much. Have
you seen Mollie yet? No? Then she shall
come in and thank you herself.”’

He was as good as his word, for but a few
minutes after he had left the room Mollie
came in.

Her pretty face wore a grave and thought-
ful expression, though in the depths of her
eyes still sparkled the jollity she could not
keep down, because it was part of her nat-
ural disposition, and would not be obscured
for any long period of time.

‘‘Papa told me you were awake,’’ she
said. ‘‘Oh, Iam so glad!”’

‘“‘T am glad, too,’’ said Lad. ‘‘Glad to see
that you were not hurt.’’

‘‘Wasn’t it awful? And to think that all
the time I didn’t know a thing about it!”’

‘‘Oh, well, it’s all over now, so it don’t
matter.’’

‘‘Yes, it dues; it matters an awful lot. I
told papa I wanted to come in to thank
you, but I don’t know how to do it. I just
can’t think of anything strong enough to
say.’’

‘‘Don’t try, then,’? said Lad ‘‘I would
have done it for anybody.’’

‘¢Yes, I suppose you would,’’ said Mollie.

‘‘But I would rather .do it for you than
anybody else,’’ he added, slyly.

‘Oh, you tease! What do you want to
say that for?”’

‘Well, I have to tell the truth sometimes,
you know.’’

‘‘T guess you are a good deal better, you
are as full of fun as ever. But, oh, I thank
you over and over again! I shall always re-
member whenever I look in the glass that
but for you 1 might have to go through life
with my face disfigured with horrible scars
and maybe a helpless cripple, too. Ob, you
don’t know how I feel about it!’’ exclaimed
Mollie, earnestly. ‘‘If I should stand here
all night, and do nothing but just talk
straight ahead I couldn’t half express how
grateful I feel. I’ve got a big scratch on
my back now, just at the waist, where the
lion put his foot, you know. I guess his
claws went in. I saw it in the glass, and it
made me shudder.’’

‘‘That’s bad,’? said Lad. ‘‘I wish I could
have prevented that.’”’

‘‘Don’t you dare to say such a thing, after
all you did. It isn’t much. Mamma had the
doctor bandage it, and it will soon heal.
But they say the scar will always be there.
I don’t mind, though. It’s better there than
on my face.’’

She paused a moment, then went on:

‘*But here, I must be talking you to
death. I will go and bring you up some-
thing for supper. Is there anything nice
you would like?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Lad, ‘‘bring up enough for
two, and let me have—a kiss before you

0.”?

‘‘Oh, you——’’ she began; then, ‘‘ Well,
if you risked your life for me, 1 ought to b
willing to do that.’’

She bent over the bed, blushing very pret-
tily, Lad thought, as he clasped her in_ his
arms, and pressed his face to hers.

There were a half dozen rapid smacks on
his part, a little struggle on hers, then the
cry:

**Oh, you burt my back!’
Lad instantly released her, whereupon
there was a laughing:

‘‘No, you didn’t, but I had to get away
somehow! You were worse than a grizzly
bear. Now, good-by till I bring up the sup-
per,’’ and she ran out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVII.

. THE BULLY OF THE SCHOOL,
TF FEEL like one of those old warrior
| chaps of the Middle Ages, when he had
been wounded after a fight,’’ solilo-
= quized Lad, as he lay awaiting Mollie’s
return. ‘‘What more could one of those fel-
ows want than to lie on a couch of ease and
be waited on by his lady fair? Quite poetic,
eh? But the reality of it knocks the poetry
all bollow. A nice little supper for two of
us? I think I am getting on.’’
He most assuredly was.
In a few minutes Mollie again made her
appearance, bearing a tray, on which was a
most appetizing repast. Two cups of steam-

ing chocolate were evidence that she had,

not neglected to ‘*bring enough for two.’’

‘‘That’s the ticket!’’ he exclaimed, ap-
provingly, ‘‘now then, ‘on with the feast,
let joy be unconfined.’ ’’

Mollie arranged the dishes tastefully,.and
‘¢did the honors’? of the occasion in a grace-
ful manner. The meal that followed was a
most enjoyable one, enlivened as it was
with laughter and pleasantry.

At the conclusion of the meal Mollie said:

‘You are becoming. famous rapidly.
Here is something to make you open your
eyes. I would have given it to you before,
only I didn’t want to hurt your appetite,
Mr. Lad Electric.”’

 

NEWS

 

‘Hullo!’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Who told you
anything about Lad Electric?”’

‘+ Look and see,’’ replied Mollie.

What she had handed him was the latest
edition of the local weekly newspaper, the
Shady Haven Sentinel.

On the front page, in the most prominent
place, were large display headlines, reading
as follows:

‘* RLECTRIFIED THE LION!

“‘Marvelous Feat Performed at Stillwell’s
Circus by a Boy Prodigy—Mr. Lad Elec-
tric, of New York—His Record and Ex-
ploits.’’

Then followed an article of two columns,
beginning, ‘‘A boy wonder is in our midst,”’
and containing an account of the exploit of
the previous day, and also of Lad’s encount-
ers in the city with Stagwind, the Strong
Man, and the two burglars.

‘¢Well,’? he said, ‘‘I see they’ve got it all
down. No use trying to get away from that.’’

‘‘Of course not,’? laughed Mollie. ‘‘You
can’t hide your light under a bushel. We
didn’t kuow what a famous person we had
under our roof, but we do now, Mr. Lad
Electric.’?

‘‘Don’t call names,’’ retorted Lad.

Mollie, with a laugh, took up the tray and
departed, to return shortly with several
weekly illustrated papers. Between these
and her lively chatter Lad passed a most
pleasant evening, until nine o’clock, when
his companion bade him good-night and left,
with a laughing injunction for him to go to
sleep.

He woke refreshed on the following morn-
ing, and feeling sufficiently recovered to get
up, proceeded to do'so, bis clothing having
been left by his bedside, in compliance with
a request.

Making his way down stairs, he found that
he was a little late, as, when he entered the
dining room, all the school were there be-
fore him, engaged at breakfast. As Lad
stood in the doorway, however, all eyes
were turned upon him, There was a mo-
mentary pause in eating aud lull in the con-
versation.

Then Chauncey Jay, standing upon his
chair, in the exuberance of the moment,
held up his hand and cried:

‘‘There cheers and a tiger for Lad Hare-
hurst, the pluckiest fellow in Shady Haven
Academy !’’

Promptly in response they were thun-

dered forth with all the vigor of two-score |

or more healthy pairs of lungs, while from
his place at the head of the table Doctor
Wackins smiled approvingly, and made no
effort to still the uproar.

Lad was then motioned to his old pl ce
beside Chauncey, and the meal passed off
pleasantly.

During the intermission that followed
breakfast Lad found himself on the campus,
the centre of an admiring throng.

‘‘This is a nice kind of a bunco game
you’ve been working on us, isn’t it?’’ said
Chauncey. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell us you
were Lad Electric?’’

‘That racket with the lion was great,’’
remarked Spencer.

‘We fellows all waited when Mollie fell
over into the ring, and we saw the whole
thing,’? added Halpin. ‘‘My heart was in
my mouth when you walked up to the lion.
I thought he’d make one jump, and it would
be ‘good-by Lad.’ ”’

‘¢Bah!?? exclaimed Lamner, the bully, to
whom attention or praise given to another
was gall and wormwood, as he came up at
that moment. ‘‘Is that all you fellows can
find to talk about? You make me tired.’’

‘*T’]] make you more so if you don’t clear
out of here!’’ retorted Lad.

‘*What?’’

‘*T don’t want to talk to you. Get out,
you sneak. Go and try to haze some other
fellow, and then run and peach to the doc-
tor when he dumps you in the water butt.’’

A laugh went round at this, for Lamner’s
despicable action had earned him the con-
tempt of all save a few sycophants and sat-
ellites like Sastley.

‘(What do you mean?’’ he demanded, an-
grily, bristling up, and clinching his fists.

‘“Dm a tanner,’’ returned Lad, ‘‘and if

ou don’t get out I'll go to work .on your

ide.’?’

‘¢Oh, you will, eh?’’? cried Lamner,
‘*You’re getting altogether too fresh, and
what you want is a good licking. I’m just
the boy that’s going to give it to you!”’

‘“<Oh, I wouldn’t fight with a cur like you,”’
retorted Lad.

‘‘No, you’re afraid—you’re a coward!’’
howled the bully, in a perfect rage. ‘‘But
you can’t get out of it. You’d better put
up your hands, for I’m going to give you
the worst pounding you ever got in your
life !’?

And pulling off his coat, he tossed it to
Sastley, and squared off at Lad.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—_—_+-e-»____-

Mother—‘‘So you have been) fighting, my
son???

Johnnie—‘‘I had to. Tommie Brown hit
me in| the face.”’

lof this story’s opening.
‘had been established about a year, anda big

'a distant ridge. ‘‘ Young Jack’d neve

SNATCHED FROM RED INDIANS.

WILL CRESWELL’S RIDE FOR LIFE.

ee

BY F. W. BRIDGENORTH.
OW clear out, you rascal! If I see
you about the fort again I’l1 shoot

 
  

you, assure as Heaven! Clear out!’’

U The cowering form of the Indian
slunk through the gates as the last word was
uttered, a fierce, vengeful look darting from
his small, shifty, sharp-looking eyes, as he
sullenly disappeared. 3

‘“You’d better put daylight through his
ugly carcase this minute, cap,’’ said a
rough-looking plainsman standing by. ‘*Red
Wolf won’t forgit to-day’s licking in @
hurry. Say the word, an’ I’ll drop him
afore he gets\to the creek !’’

toward the gate.
‘‘No, Dave,’? replied Mr. Creswell—or
‘¢‘Captain’’ Creswell, as he was called. or
guess he won’t trouble us again.’’
A few words will serve to explain the
position of affairs at Creswell’s at the time
The trading post

business was carried on between it and the
men of the mountains and the plains. Cap-
tain Creswell was aided in the enterprise bY
his son Jack—a young fellow of eighteen, 4
clever shot, and a daring horseman.
present he was away at Munder’s Corners
a white settlement one hundred miles south.
Another son, Will, aged fourteen, was sti
pursuing his studies under his father 5
guidance.

Red Wolf had turned up at the post two
months before, and had managed to hang
about it ever since, in spite of more than
one broad hint that he was not wanted. }@
had been proved guilty of several petty
thefts, chiefly confined to the alcoholic liquo™
comprising some of the stores; but the pur
ishments he received, though severe, were
evidently not deterrent. Spam

One day Jack Creswell discovered him 1
some flagrant act of dishonesty, and the
Indian had the unpleasant experience of
learning what a straight-from-the-shoulder
blow in the face is. The result was a0 a)
tempt on the part of Red Wolf to destroy
the fort and all it held. Captain Creswel
was just in time to prevent the disaster,
luckily, dropping on the villain as he W
firing a train leading to the gunpowder kegs.
At first, the captain was inclined to pre t
further mischief by means of a bullet; bu
later, thinking a flogging would prove 4
effectual, he caused one to be administere®s
after which the half-breed was ordered t0
quit the fort for good, as described. a

Scarcely had the Indian disappeared whe
young Will Creswell came running tow
his father. s

“Dad!” he cried, ‘‘Jack’s riding bom)
like mad, and his horse looks fairly done uP at

The captain sprang to the top of @ fig
of steps and looked in the directio ty
cated through his glasses, while some te
trappers and others gathered at the 840"
gazing anxiously across the prairie. |

“He's got bad news, boyst?? said as
Burr, as the horse and rider appeared ois a

beast like that fer nothing.’’

A few minutes later Jack Cres
into the stockade and flung himse
saddle. | yo at

‘‘Wather !’’ he gasped, ‘‘the Indians ough
Munder’s—all round the place. I got thr For
after a tough fight to bring the news
Heaven’s sake, send help!’’ father:

foma-

rell dashed
aif from the

‘You're wounded, Jack,’’ said his
; ne bit in the shoulder, from 4
awk. It’s nothing.’
‘* How mide txhatie) boy??’ asked Dovatt’s
“Over a hundred. They broke into” "the
homestead, set fire to it, and massacre out
whole family. The rest were holding ©.
bravely when I left.’’ proke
Oaths and other expressions of rage
from the hunters. put
‘“‘There’s on’y twenty of us hy tty one:
guess we'll go to Munder’s, eh?’* c®
“Go! you bet!”?
“I’m with you, boys, said Mr.
quietly.
‘‘And I,’’ exclaimed Jack. five, at
‘No,’ said his father. ‘*You and q whe
least, of our men must stay and gut ”
fort, You'll want rest with that a not pro-
Jack was disappointed, but woul
test against his father’s wishes. ition 8°
Arms were looked to, and an ng ye-
cured, the horses, meanwhile, beim shed
pared for a hard ride. The captal 4 gave
and bound up his son’s woun®, arising)’
him a few instructions, In a SUP a.
short time the party were mount across
word was given, and away they an rae
the prairie on their mission of F ese vetail al
There is no need to describe 1” far
that occurred at Munder’s Corners fis only
as the present story is concerne’'s),, roel,
necessary to say that Creswe).. pat

 

e ‘
meeting, by a lucky chance, ante fore

of whites, combined with the ed men:

‘But, my boy, you should have turned ing a strong body of experionen did ter pe

the other cheek.’’

‘‘T did and then he hit that; I couldn’t
stand it no longer, so I kicked the stuffin’
out of him in about two minutes.’’

 

| suing careful tactics, the hun

‘ ck upo?

ble execution by their first atten” cing day
redskins, and by noon of the a
had totally routed the painted

And, rifle in hand, the speaker took a step.

vent,

n indi-.

 

LITER BEE

  
 
   
  
   
 
  
     
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
 
  
    
 
  
 
  
     
  
  
  

  

 

 
 
  
 
 

Te Ne eee Oe een pee Oe ee

  
 

Gee a ool Cass

  
  
   

   
   
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
  

 

go Pe

eed

GE Sic EES
ede - z

wantin pei He

oP

 

 

 
    
   
  
   
  
    
  

   

 

 
    
    
    
   
  
    
       

    

facepss

bay’? Toughly awakened to find it day.

 

  

f : hors

   

Not until they had helped to put things
fairly straight at the settlement did Captain
Creswell and his companions set out again
for the fort. Four of their number were
Missing, but in spite of this the survivors,
Wounded though many of them were, felt
they had reason to triumph in the overthrow
of so large a body of the enemy.

The captain’sshare in this glad feeling was
80on to be damped, however.

‘Within five miles of home a’ horseman
Was observed approaching. He was recog-
hized as Tom Gorin, one of the employees at
the fort. A troubled look was noticeable on
his face as he rode up to his chief.

**Cap,’’ he said, bluntly, ‘‘I ain’t good
at breaking bad news.’’

‘What is it???

**Your boy Willie’s gone, and I reckon
that miserable half-breed’s kidnaped him.’’

Mr, Creswell paled and set his teeth hard,
but said nothing.

‘Any one picked up the skunk’s trail?’’
demanded Dave Burr,

‘*Ther’ ain’t no trail. The boy’s tracks
lead to the creek; that’s all we can see.
Young Jack Creswell’s out hunting for
Signs, ’?

**Forward, boys!’’ cried the leader, setting
Spurs to his horse; and the whole party fol-
lowed at a gallop.

As Captain Creswell entered the fort a
Canoe was speeding down the river into
which the neighboring creek flowed. Twenty
Miles separated it from the trading post. In
it sat Red Wolf, while at his feet lay Will
Creswell, bound and gagged. Nowand then
the vengeful half-breed gave.the helpless

OY a savage kick.

**Pale face chief flog Red Wolf; he shall
Suffer. Red Wolf will bring his heart to sor-
Tow, Ugh!??

Thus he spoke, and his trembling prisoner

Wondered what cruel fate awaited him.

Suddenly the Indian rose to his feet.

he sound of rushing waters was audible
ahead,

‘Coyote Rapids,’? thought Will, as the
Noise reached him. He had heard of, but
Never seen, them.

n a few minutes the canoe was rushing
down the incline of swirling, foamy water.
Red Wolf skilfully guided her nose clear of
t ® rocks, sometimes missing their sharp
Points only by a hair’s breadth.

A grunt of satisfaction escaped him as
they shot once more into the open stream,
‘Yesently, the current slackening, he steered
Cautiously to the right bank, and springing
ashore under the branches of a huge cotten-
Wood, fastened the canoe; then, seizing Will,

® threw him roughly down by the tree.

. Yog of a pale face!’’ he hissed, 'bran-
dishing his knife and making as though to
Plunge it into his captive’s body. The boy
beet his eyes, expecting each moment to

® his last. 7
get Wolf laughed—a guttural, blood-

Uursty laugh—and replacing the knife in his
8irdle, went to the cance, and returned with
* couple of lariats. With one he bound Will

© the trunk of the tree; with the other,
H ©r more feints with the murderous-look-
hg blade, he suddenly dashed away and dis-
@ppeared
th ight was falling; the long hours dragged

®mselves wearily away. Out of the dark-

' ae gleamed fiery spots—the eyes of raven-

rutes,
sh Prairie wolves!’? thought the boy, and
i Uddered. Feverishly, but in vain, he tore
his bonds.

a tlength a new sound reached him—the
und of a running horse. -

i Help! help!’? he shouted, but no voice

*sponded,

f ot the animal approached—the eyes
me he hungry coyotes vanished. Next mo-
da Red Wolf drew up by the tree. He was
faa a magnificent black steed, which he
ar »0 doubt, stolen. It was harnessed with
h Ude bridle, saddle, and stirrups. Will’s

Sart sank,

ou find your home if I let you go, pale

Mes

a -
Yes,?? was the glad repl
’ glad reply.
hatad the half-breed relented? The sudden
of 1...¥48 speedily shattered. With another
. i brutal laughs, the Indian, after kick-
8 his Captive, flung himself down and fell

 aslee

Wi

Detetian ee cave slept, foo, from sheer ex-

©n, for the next thing he knew aes
e
then 18 captor swallow a quick meal, and
wa the raw hide that held hinito the tree
8 loosened.
Ihights Wolf take you now to Big Eagle, the
destr Y chief of the\Sioux. His braves will
Wi toy the white chief’s stronghold; they
brot yee captive the white chief and your
turea 2? and you, little dog, shall be tor-
AL 4nd put to death before their eyes.’’

‘ the last words were hissed forth, the
Probage”, restive all at once. Some insect,
Was ft) had stung him. Red Wolf’s back

© the animal. He turned his head, but
op he iron-shod hoofs lashed out, and
4ught the half-breed with a sickening
the spine. Uttering a frightful yell,
Over—and was still.
Position was perilous.
Chania. whoa! steady!’ he cried, me-
Voiog Y, as it were, and the sound of his
A, 8cified the affrighted creature. fe
e

Wol 10” hone shot up in his heart.

Wil
“se Wh.

8Y motionless, his knife in full view.

 

CGroOD
Could it possibly be withdrawn? Will lost
no time in acting upon the idea.

Dropping to his knees and wriggling over
the ground, he managed to grasp the
weapon in his hands, which were tied behind
his back. The task he had set himself was
difficult, but good® luck attended him, and
after a long struggle he stood upon his feet,
free.’ A glance at the motionless form was
sufficient to tell even him that the half-
breed was dead. Red Wolf’s back was
broken.

As the boy turned toward the horse, he
saw something that sent the blood rushing
to his heart.

‘*—Indians!?’? he exclaimed. ‘‘Forty, at
least, and not three hundred yards off.’’

Determined not to fall passively into their
hands, Will Creswell, though stiff and sore,
clambered on to the horse’s back, cut the
lariat with which he was tethered, and the
next moment was flying over the prairie at
a pace that compelled him to hold on firmly,

After him came the redskins with yells
and screeches, On, on flew the black mus-
tang. Will glanced behind; only a few of the
savages were keeping the pace.

Mile after mile was covered. Three or
four of the Indians seemed to be gaining upon
the fugitive. :

He now began to suffer from his recent
experiences; faintness came over him; a mist
rose before his eyes. His steed was mount-
ing a ridge; on the top he tried to pull
himself together. Down the slope they
dashed, the foremost of the pursuers close
behind. Another wild whoop burst from
their lips. They saw something that Will did
not. Blindly they rode on till, with a pierc-
ing cry, the horse stopped dead almost
throwing its young rider. Up on its hind
legs reared the poor brute, and then Will
saw his danger.

They were on the very brink of a steep
cliff that descended to a river flowing eighty
feet below. With the strength of despair he
hung on to the reins. Ifthe horse sank to
its forelegs nothing could save them from
going over the cliff.

At that moment the loop of a lairat fell
over the boy’s shoulders, and was drawn
tight. Instinctively he let go the reins. A
strong jerk, and instantly afterward he lay
in a heap on the ground. Simultaneously
the mustang, screaming almost humanly,
disappeared over the edge of the bluff.

The Indian advanced toward his prisoner.

Bang!

A rifle rang out, and the redskin fell, shot
through the heart. Will wondered vaguely
what was happening, but he was not left
lohg in doubt. Another volley, then a ring-
ing cheer, and suddenly his father and
brother were beside him.

‘Thank Heaven you’re safe, Willie!’’ ex-
claimed the captain.

‘*Providence led us on the right track,

after all, dad,’’ said Jack, pressing his:

brother’s hand warmly.

When they lifted him up he saw a party
of trappers pursuing the flying Indians.
Then he fainted.

2 * * * * * *

It was at the fort that Will told the story
of his kidnaping. He had wandered down
to the creek and was looking over the bank
when he was suddenly pounced upon by Red
Wolf, and bundled into a canoe. What else
he had to tell we know.

‘*Well, that villain will never trouble us
again,’’ said Captain Creswell, fervently.

‘‘Ah,’? replied Dave Burr, ‘‘guess yer
e’rect, cap. The black hoss gave the half-
breed reptile what he desarved.’’

—_—————__>_ 0 o___———-

Qur Stamp ‘ALBUM,

{SprctaL 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. }

et

HE auction season is practically at an
end for this year, the catalogues of
all New York sales being already

> circulated. It has been one of the

most successful seasons every known, Both

in number of sales held and in high average

prices realized. This augurs fair for the

future of philately, and the stability of
stamps as a permanent investment.
* * * *

There is a stamp hospital in Paris, where
many American dealers send damaged
stamps of sufficient rarity to warrant for
repairs, and «ve have seen stamps so muti-
lated as to be of no value at all come back
repaired so skilfully as to appear like perfect
specimens.

* * * *

A number of parties who have been hold-
ing Columbian stamps as a speculation since
1893 have become disgusted with their bar-
gain, and have sold out at whatever price
could be realized. We recently saw a lot of
about $400 sold to a dealer for ten per cent.
discount from face value by a party who
bought them when on sale at the New York
post-office, and has held them eversince. A
Philadelphia syndicate tried to corner all
the 50 cents and $2 Columbians, and had a
standing offer of 60 cents each for the 50

NEWS.

cents in all the stamp papers, but they must
have bitten off a rather too generous mouth-
ful, as they have recently privately offered
them to several dealers in lots of $1,000 at
face value,

* * X* *
The latest country to issue postage stamps
is Uganda, in Africa. They are very primi-
tive affairs, and look as if printed on a
typewriter. The face value of the one we
have seen was ‘‘50 cowries,’’ but we believe
there are several other denominations.

* * * *

Many of the larger Russian towns and
cities issue stamps for local use on routes not
covered by the imperial post-office depart-
ment. There are several thousand varieties
of these really interesting stamps, and while
they are not collected to any great extent
in their country, owing to the extreme
rariety of many of them, a New York col-
lector has one of the finest albums of them
extant.

* * * *

M. C., Nashville, Tenn.—The 30c. Colum-

bian, canceled, retails at 60 cents.
* *

Granite, Vinal Haven, Me.—The large
copper cent of 1857 is worth 5 cents. The
half-dollar of 1876 with milled edge, not let-
tered, is worth $1. There is no premium on
the other coins you mention.

* * * *

F.C. 8. F., New York.—Stamp No. 1 is
United States officially sealed; No. 2 is
from Guatemala; No. 3 is French; No. 4 is
German; No.5 is Russian; No. 6 is from
Denmark; Nos, 7, 8, and 9 are from Belgium ;
Nos. 10, 11, 12, and 13 are English; No. 14 is
a German revenue, and No. 15 is counter-
feit. None of them are grilled. Grilling is
a design of small points impressed on the
backs of stamps, the object being to break
the surface of the paper and allow the ink
of cancellation to penetrate, thus rendering
it difficult to clean them. All your stamps
are of the commonest class of foreign, which
sell at 25 cents per thousand. We hardly
think your philatelic knowledge is sufficient
to enable you to deal in stamps successfully.

* * r *

J. W. B., West Point, Va.—Your stamps
are too common to have any selling value
in small quantities. Envelope stamps should
be cut square, with large margins, to be of
any use to collectors.

* a * *

T. D. Williams, Jerseyville, Ill.—The half-
cents you mention are worth 5 cents: each.
The cent of 1821 is worth 5 cents. There is
no premium on the other coins. The piece
dated 1804 with head of half-cent on each
side, is probably owing to its being fed into
the stamp before the previous one was re-
moved, thus giving it the impress of the
coin below on one side, and the same design
from the stamp on upper side. It is only
valuable as a curiosity, probably worth 50
cents to $1. The cent with ‘‘Feuchtwanger’s
Composition’’ inscription is a private piece
circulated as an advertisement before the
mint laws were so strict as at present.

—___+- ee» __—___
[This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form.]

CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD |;

?

HMighting for the Stuarts.

BY ALFRED ARMITAGE,

Author of * With Crusader and Saracen,” ‘In the Days
of the Gladiators,” ‘*Out With Robin Hood,” etc.
pie St
(CAVALIER AND ROUNDHEAD” was commenced in
No. 315. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents.)

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH A FIRE GAINS ME MY FREEDOM.

HESE angry words were no sooner off
my lips than I repented them—not
that I thought them too harsh for the
offense, but because I suddenly real-

ized what the loss of my self-control would
cost me. It were far better, for the sake of
my cherished hopes of freedom, had I borne
the insult in silence.

Vor an instant Gideon Cotton was so dum-
founded by my daring that he could ‘not find
speech; he gasped for breath, and his face
turned purple. Then his pent-up fury es-
caped in a torrent of abuse, and with his
brawny fist he struck me a blow between
the eyes that sent me on my back.

As quickly as I rose he knocked me down
again, and now, in bis insane rage, he began
to jump upon me. Finding that my life was
verily in danger, I squirmed to one side,
sprang up, and hastily got possession of a
wooden roller that was lying close to my
loom, By this time the shop was in an up-
roar, and the apprentice lads had abandoned
their work and were crowding forward with
excited cries,

As I stood on the defensive the wool stap-
‘ler came at me, but a wholesome fear of my
weapon halted him half-way. One of the ap-
prentices slipped an iron bar into his hands,
and with this lifted for a blow, he advanced
again.

‘*T will smash every bone in your body,

 

you ruffian!’’ he snarled.
‘Stand off, Master Cotton!’’ | cried. ‘‘If

  

iS

you attempt to strike me I will surely do
you an injury.’’

He snorted with rage, and aimed a blow
that would have killed me had I not evaded
it nimbly. I was desperate enough for any-
thing now, and before he could strike again
I let him have a tremendous rap on the head
with the roller.

He threw up his arms, reeled, and came
to the floor with a crash. The sight of his
bleeding temples sobered me, and I turned
toward the door, intent only on escaping.
But no sooner was my back to the apprentice
lads than they fell upon me, a dozen strong.
I made a gallant struggle for freedom, but
I was no match for the sturdy fellows. I
was roughly overpowered and held down,
and in the midst of the excitement in came
Mistress Cotton with two of the parish con-
stables at her heels.

These knaves took charge of me, and as
my wind and strength were used up, I sub-
mitted without protest. My hands were
manacled, and I was hauled out into Lead-
enhall street, and thence on to the Bridé-
well prison, which was situated between
Fleet Lane and the river.

There, in a dingy cell, I lay all of that
day and night, a prey to bitter and hope-
less thoughts. In the morning I was taken
for a hearing before two magistrates at the
Guildhall, where I found Gideon Cotton and
half a dozen of my fellow-apprentices. The
wool stapler’s head was bound up in blood-
stained cloths, and I was relieved to see that
I had not killed him.

The witnesses told the story of the assault
with much venom and exaggeration, anc I
was not permitted to speak a word in my
own behalf. The hearing lasted but a short
time, and then I was taken back to my
dungeon in the Bridewell.

I supposed that I was to be formally put
upon trial in the near future, but the days
passed into weeks, and the weeks into
months, and still languished in wretched
captivity. By this time I began to under-
stand my situation more clearly, and I
had little doubt that the affair had come to
Cromwell’s hearing.

‘He hates me as bitterly as ever,’’ I con-
cluded; ‘‘and he is using his influence to
keep mein prison. I may stay here for
years—until I am an old man.”’

As the time passed on I was the more con-
firmed in this belief. Escape from the Bride-
well seemed impossible, and yet I clung to
the hope that an opportunity of gaining my
liberty would present itself some day. This -
kept me from sinking into utter despair, and
it was the only ray of comfort I had.

While an apprentice under Gideon Cotton
I had managed to keep informed of the pro-
gress of affairs, but here 1 learned nothing
at all, and the attendant who came several
times daily to my cell-door refused to
answer even the simplest of questions.

It was a wretched life, and in looking
back upon it I wonder that I endured it as
patiently asI did. Think of spending day
after day in a narrow and gloomy cell, leav-
ing it but once a week for a few minutes of
solitary exercise in the prison yard! And no
one to talk to! Nothing to do but eat, sleep
and think!

But, strange tosay, I grew taller and
stouter. The food was plentiful, and though
it seemed coarse and unsavory at first Isoon
came to like it. I had feared that my health
would suffer, and the discovery that confine
ment was having an opposite effect did
much to cheer me,

So the wretched months went by, bring-,
ing no change to my monotonous life. I
often wondered what was happening in the
bright and busy world beyond the Bride-
well, and I made my plans for the future—
some of which were destined to be fuifilled.
I still sought to get information at every
opportunity, but always in vain. No state
prisoner in the Tower was ever more com-
pletely buried alive between dungeon walls,

But the time of my deliverance was closer
at hand than 1 believed, and an unexpected
event led to that for which I might have
waited long years. My imprisonment lasted
just fourteen months—from June of 1650
until August of 1651. In the early part of
the latter month, when I was more than
eighteen years of age, a fire broke out at
night in a mass of frame buildings close to
the Bridewell.

1 was wakened from a sound sleep by the
hoarse din of voices and running feet, and
was not a little terrified. Presently a part
of the a caught fire, and dense volumes
of smoke began to drift into the upper cor-
ridors. The attendants went hurriedly from
cell to cell, releasing all the inmates. I was
taken down to the Jower hall, where I found
several score of men and boys cowering and
wailing in abject terror of Catiae burned to
death.

Presently the governor appeared, and as-
sured us that the fire was under control and
that we were not in the least danger. The
prisoners refused to believe it, and in their
frenzied desire to escape the flames they
broke into a sudden riot, which was none
the less effective for being unpremeditated.

In a trice the maddened wretches seized
whatever missiles they could find at hand,
knocked down the governor, jailers, and
turnkey, and rebbed the latter of his keys,
With yelling and cursing, they opened the

 

inner aud outer doors, and surged into the
street.

  
1a

 

GooDp

 

Through very stupefaction, J had taken no
part in the assault, but I was ready enough
to grasp the opportunity of escape. Out I
went with the rest, and the first breath of
free air gave me hope and courage.

What became of my fellow-prisoners I do

not know, for I separated from them at once, |

The fire was still burning, and the streets
were filled with people. I gained the thick
of the crowd, and then made my way with-
out undue haste to the Strand. Here but
few persons were to be seen, and I was
lucky enough to finda cap that some one
had evidently lost while running to the fire.

It proved a good fit, and I knew that with
this on my head I was not likely to be sus-
pected of being one of the escaped prisoners
from the Bridewell. My first thought was
to get clear of London, and I struck off in
an easterly direction, turning to right and
left as often as I deemed it prudent. It was
past midnight, and except for a few watch-
men with lanterns and staves I met no one.

My mind was active as I went along, and
when I finally came to the open fields and
left Hampstead behind, I had settled on a
fixed purpose. This was nothing less than to

visit my grandfather, extort from him my , turn. I realized that 1 had no cause for self- |

father’s name by force or persuasion, and
then find means of getting passage to France.

} Cromwell, whom I justly blamed for turn-|

run through my limbs, and at that instant
the moon sailed out from behind a patch of
| black clouds. I glanced at the headstone,
and by the silvery light I read the following
simple epitaph:

| ‘¢Here lieth the mortal remains of Titus

 

| Oakwell, an honest yeoman and good Puri-
| tan of the parish of St. Ives. He was born
|on the 18th of March, 1587, and he departed
| this life on the 9th of May, 1651.”

So my grandfather was dead! I had come
| too late! I was deeply affected by this dis-
|covery, and I am not ashamed to say that
| I shed a few tears as I crouched down on

the grassy mound at the foot of the head-
| stone.
| In that moment of grief all anger and re-
|sentment died away. I
| grandfather had disowned me and cast me
}out. I remembered that he had heen kind
|and forbearing with me according to his
| lights, that he had given me a home and an
| education, and that with all his faults and
opinions he had been sincere and’ honest at
| heart.
After a time ny thoughts tvok a different

reproach, and I felt a burning rage against

 

forgot that my |

NEWS.

 

sprang to my feet, and tottered out in front
of bim.

‘¢Cyril! Cyril!’’ I cried, and with that I
broke down and wept like a child.

His three companions drew their swords,
but he stayed them by a gesture. He sprang
back, then caught me by the shoulders and
stared full into my face; his own was as
white as a sheet.

‘‘ Merciful God!’’ he cried. ‘‘Is it truly
yourself, Geoffrey? My old, old friend! My
half-brother! The dear companion of my
whom I swore to love while

childhood,
should last! Thank God!

breath and life
Thank God!”’

He could say no more. His voice choked,
and tears coursed down his cheeks. We er-
braced passionately for e moment, and then
looked with silent happiness into each
other’s faces. His comrades softly withdrew
to a little distance, respecting the sacredness
of our meeting.

‘«What brings you here?’’ I said at length,
in a husky voice.

‘*T came to seek you,’’ Cyril replied.

| landed from Holland but three daysago, and

It was a foolhardy plan, I admit, but it\ing my grandfather’s affection for me into |
was not without some reasonable excuse. In , aversion. Also I deplored the fact that the |

the first place, my grandfather might die at
any time—if he was not already dead—and
then the secret would be lost to me, since
only Cromwell would know it.

Again, the distance to Huntingdon ‘was
no more than fifty miles, and at the farm
on the Black Ouse J might be able to get
food, weapons, and a horse. I had no fear of
interference from the servants, for they had
always been good friends of mine.

Lastly, it was only a few miles from
Huntingdon to the north-western coast of
Norfolkshire, and there | stood as good a
chance of finding a ship as elsewhere—more,
perhaps, since the ports to the south were
likely to be closely watched.

Of course, I knew nothing what had hap-
pened in England during the past fourteen
months, but I was resolved to seek informa-
tion at the earliest opportunity. I realized
that important changes might have taken
place which would necessitate an alteration
of my plans.

Yhe more I thought over the idea the more |

stoutly I adhered to it. I pushed rapidly on
through the green lanes of Middlesex and
Hertfordshire, and at the first flush of dawn
I crept into a hazel copse to sleep.

—_——

CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH I ENCOUNTER A SAD DISCOVERY
AND A JOYFUL SURPRISE.

TF SHALL forbear to spin into a long
if tale what befell me on my wearisome

tramp to Huntingdon. That I reached

there in safety was due to a constant
vigilance that I had not expected to be nec-
essary. For the roads were so full of trav-
elers that I kept to the fields and woods en-
tirely, sleeping and hiding by day, and
trudging on between the hours of sunset and
sunrise.

From a distancé I saw men on foot, and
on horse, squads of Roundhead infantry and
cavalry, and all bound northward. Even at
night [ could hear the frequent clatter of
hoofs, and the noisy echo of voices. I had
uo doubt that these unwouted movements
were due to some important happening, and
my curiosity and impatience grew hourly.

Yet I found no safe means of acquiring in- |

formation. For the time being, both farm-
houses and inns seemed to be turned into
halting-places for the soldiers and travelers,
and I gave all alike a wide berth,

The only human being with whom I ex-
changed words was an old peasant who lived

in a lonély hut on the southern borders of |

Bedfordshire. He was rarely stupid and ig-
norant, and not a scrap of information could
I get out of him. But he had a kind heart,
and was easily prevailed upon to give mea
good meal and a little food to take with me.

Before and after that windfall I subsisted
on fruits and berries, and my stomach had
an empty feeling when I came in sight of
Huntingdon on the evening of the fourth
night after my escape from the Bridewell.
Of late, I had seen but few travelers and
soldiers, amd I was beginning to think that
either their destination was farther off to
the westward, or that I was wrong in sus-
otha, § the country to be stirred up over
some thrilling event.

So I ceased to think of the matter, and

turned my attention to what I had planned |

to do. I circled around Huntingdon, crossed
the Black Ouse by a boat that I found
moored in the reeds, and walked briskly
along ‘the road to St. Ives.

It wanted an hour of midnight when I
came to the little church and graye-yard
that belonged to my grandfather’s parish,
and were but a mile distant from the farm.
Here a strong and sudden impulse, for
which I could not account at the time,
prompted me to stop. I climbed the church-
yard wall, and crept slowly and reverently
among the graves, many of which had been
familiar to me in my childhood.

I came finally to a mound that had a new
look, and was sodded with short and scanty
grass. Herel paused, feeling a strange shiver

| chances of discovering my father were now
less than ever;
isecret, and I knew how tightly he would
| keep it.

| ‘*’Tis useless to linger here,’’ I said to my-
| self. ‘‘I am alone in the world, and there
are no ties to hold me fast to England. My
|aim must be to reach France, and offer my
| services to the prince. If my father is liv-
/ing, he, too, must be abroad. He was surely
|a Royalist, and would not have dared - to
stay in England after the death of his cause.

alive.’’

look at my grandfather's headstone, I made
my way back to the road, and plodded
soberly and thoughtfully on.

I knew that. I was the rightful heir to
| Titus Oakwell’s property,
equally well that I would never be allowed
to take possession while Cromwell and the
Parliament held rule in England.

But I was still determined to

dead but three months, and from them I
could obtain what I wanted,

The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds
when I came to the scene of my birth and
early life. I felt a man at vighteen, and the
past five years seemed almost a_ lifetime.
With a heart filled with sweet and sad mem-
ories, I crey:t up the garden path. The house
was dark and still, and when | had _ finally
mounted the steps to the broad porch, I
stood hesitating, fearing and yet longing
to knock for admittance.

How long my doubt lasted I don’t know,
but I was still undecided when I heard a
strange and alarming noise rising on the
quiet night air. The sounds came nearer,
until I could distinguish the muffled clump
of many horses, the faint rattle of arms,
and the hum of low-spoken voices.

I crept off the porch and hid myself in a
clump of shrubbery close to the steps. As I
peeped out from this shelter I saw a great
body of horsemen pull up in the road out-
side the gate. They made no noise or dem-
onstration, but four of the party at once
dismounted and came quickly up the garcen
path, their boots crunching on the gravel.

My first thought was that Cromwell, judg-
ing I would make my way home, had sent
a troop of cavalry to take me again. But
just then the moon came out, and as the
strangers drew nearer, I saw, with a thrill
of wonder, that they were not Roundheads;
they carried themselves too jauntingly,
and they were dressed with the richness and
taste of gentlemen.

The leader of the little party, who was a
few feet in advance of his comrades, came
first under my observation, and as he ap-
proached the shrubbery the silvery glow of
ithe moon permitted me to scrutinize him
from head to foot in a brief glance.

He was but a young man, and a_ hand-
somer and a more gallant I have never seen,
Silver spurs glistened on his top-boots, and
he wore breeches and a jacket of brown
velvet, copiously trimmed with delicate lace.
His broad hat, looped up at one side, was
adorned with black plumes and a silver
buckle, and: his yellow, curly hair hung
‘down on his broad shoulders.

 

 

But he was no dandified young fop, as I
saw by a quick glance at his features. Ah,
that face! A dimness comes over mj eyes
yet at the thought of it, and after long

years I recall it as I saw it that night—the
rave and winsome look of the bright blue
eyes, the golden hair clustering on the fore-
head, the bronzed and ruddy cheeks, the
proud and determined set of lips and
nostrils, and the tiny mustache twisted in
Cavalier fashion.

All this I noted briefly, and atashort dis-
tance. But when the gallant young genlte-
man’s strides had brought him opposite the
shrubbery where I lay concealed, I looked
again at close range. Lo! Five long years

 

it

I will never rest until I find him, dead or | Old home for

}
|

but I knew | what of the house? Who lives here now

visit the |
farm. The old servants were likely to be yet |
living there, since my grandfather-had been |

 

 

' fluence of the sober-minded
faded away, and I was face to face with the | byterians, and to gather around him /the
dead past. Trembling from head to foot, I followers of the true Royalist type, Crom-

came on in haste with my trusty fellows to
inquire of your grandfather where you might
be found. And thus readily have I found
you! I knew you at once, Geoffrey, old fel-
low, though five years. have altered you
somewhat. You are taller and handsonier,
but I like not the pallor of your face and the

Cromwell alone held the | grief that looks from your eyes.’’

‘‘For which there are good reasons,’’ said
, ‘‘and I will tell you them later. You, at
least, are all that 1 would have expected to
find you—tall, handsome, and with the
proud and courtly air of a true Cavalier.’’

‘*Hush! no flattery, dear old Geoffrey.
And so your grandfather has kept you safe
through all these years of misrule and op-
pression?’’

‘‘Not so, Cyril. To-night I have seen my
the first time in five long

years. I have not laid eyes on my grand-

I rose from the mound, and with a last father in that time, and never will again.

He died three months ago.”’’
There was a harsh ring in my voice, and
Cyril detected it.

‘*T am sorry,’’ he replied, simply. ‘‘And

99)

‘*T can’t tell you,’’ I said, ‘‘but no doubt
Cromwell has charge of the property. One
thing is certain—it is not mine, and never
will be.’’

‘‘Don’t be too sure of that, Geoffrey. You
swvon’t object, then, if my men take what
food, arms, and horses they can find?’’

‘‘Certainly not. But your men? What
does this mean, Cyril? I am just out of
prison, and the past fourteen months are a
blank to me.’?

‘¢You know nothing, Geoffrey?
can searcely believe it.
just a moment, and I will tell you all.’’

With this he summoned a dozen more men
from the party outside the gate, making
fifteen in all. Three of them were sent to
the stables, and six went around the house
to enter it from the rear. The remainder
mounted the steps, and after a brief and
thunderous knocking, a light appeared, and
the door was unbarred.

The men rushed into the hall, whence im-

Egad! I

mediately proceeded a din of angry voices. |

I would have followed them, but Cyril drew
me to a stone bench to one side of the door-
way. ¢

‘‘Here is where we used to sit when I
would come to see you on Saturday after-
noons,’’? he said. ‘*Do you remember how
coolly your grandfather treated me? Never
mind my men. They are trusty and shrewd
fellows, and will know just what to: do.
And now for the glorious news, Geoffrey.
Guess what it is,’’ :

CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH I AM MADE LIEUTENANT OF SIR
CYRIL RUDSTONE’S IRREGULAR HORSE,
Gs
i plied, excitedly, ‘‘but' I will make a
try in this case. The friends of the
‘25> prince have risen throughout England???

‘‘Partly true, but better than that,’’ ex-
claimed Cyril. ‘‘However, it were a shame

NEVER was good at guessing,’’ I re-

‘| to keep you longer in doubt, and also our

time is scanty. Know then, Geoffrey, that
Prince Charles landed in Scotland more
than a year ago——”’

“‘More than a year ago, Cyril?’

‘*Yes, in June of 1650. He signed a cov-
enant with the Scots, in consideration of
which they made him their crowned king,
and promised to do what they could to re-
cover for him the throne of England. The
Parliament at once appointed Oliver Crom-
well to the command of the army, and late
in July he was in Scotland with
thousand men. There was skirmishing for a
time, and in September of last year Crom-
well defeated the Scottish army of the prince
at Dunbar——’’

‘¢ Alas! our poor country !’’ I interrupted.
‘‘That ungodly man is surely in league with
the devil!’’

‘‘T have more to tell,’’ said Cyril.
‘<Wait till you have heard all, Geoffrey.
After this defeat, the prince went into win-
ter quarters witb his army at Stirling, and
from that time he began to shake off the in-
Scottish Pres-

  

 

But have patience |
| but some time after midnight a

sixteen :

 

well resumed the field last June, and failing
to take Stirling, he marched north to Perth,
which town surrendered to him after a brief
siege.

‘‘The prince now resolved on a bold ven-
ture, since Cromwell’s army was behind
him, and he was cut off from upper Scot-
land, So, ten days ago, he made a dash for
England, and is now coming southward
toward London by way of the north-western
counties. Couriers and heralds were sent 10
advance to urge all Royalists to flock to his
standard, I heard the news as soon as
landed at Aldborough, on the Suffolk coast.
What think you of it, Geoffrey? Is not this
glorious news? The people are sure to rise Up
every where, and England will be purged of
its tyrants.”’

‘*God save King Charles
cried.

Indeed, I was almost mad with delight,

the Second!’ I

and felt that my escape from prison at,

such a time was a direct interposition ©

| Providence. It seemed too good to be true—
ec ] j

the king marching south to London, the peo
ple flocking to bis standard, and Cromwell
and his army far in the rear! After long
years the star of the house of Stuart was
once more in the ascendancy ! 4

‘“And now tell me of yourself,’’? I said,
finally. ‘*You have been out of England,
then?’?

‘Yes, for a part of the time,’’ Cyril Te
plied. ‘‘But first, I would hear your story:
Geoffrey. You have made me impatient by
what few words you let fall. How have you
fared in the past five years?”’

As Cyril was bent on having his way, i
briefly narrated my adventures and suffer-
ings from the night that I lost him on the
wharves of Bristol. He listened with deeP
interest, and when I had finished there
were tears in his eyes. He leaned over
clasped both my hands in his. ty,

‘Tis asad and bitter story,’’ he said;
‘‘but I trust the future will be all happiness
and brightness for you and me, Cheer A
dear old Gedffrey, We will never be part
again, save by death. Together we will serve
the king; together we will search for Yar
father, avd if he lives we will find him.

‘<Tt is almost happiness enough to bee
found you,’’ said I. ‘‘No longer am
alone in the world. I loved you when “
were boyish comrades, Cyril, and time has
strengthened that love. And now let me
hear your adventures.”’ ‘gil

“They must be told “briefly then,’? CYT
replied.
The ship you saw going down the Avon hie
night was not the Good Venture. After t
riot that separated us Captain Duncan pyre
I searched the town forxyou until we We
weary, and then he took me to his nome.
We intended to seek further in the mornings

Roundhead soldiers came to the house oo
rest me. Some one in Bristol must have T@
ognized me, and given information. . tb
‘(Old Teazle, my father’s butler, was wee
us, and we fled together from, the rear it
the house. Teazle was killed in the purst¥»
but Captain Duncan and I gave the Re od
heads the slip and safely reached the One
Venture. We set, sail at once, and the et
tain took me to Holland, where I had ear:
relatives living. I found them in ae
dam, and there I stayed for more qead
three years, grieving bitterly for MY prey
father, and thinking much of you, 4e° mires
“Then I had the misfortune t0 slay
bragging Dutchman who had insulted n id
was a fair fight, but the authorities ooh 1e-

of me, and threw me into prison. peing
leased scarcely a month ago, and, way
ashamed to face my relatives, I slunk heard
to Haarlem. Here the first thing 00
was the news from Scotland, and 8
fortune I came across a loyal av pby-
Englishman by the name of willals r0-
He had plenty of money, and whep

nd
posed that we should return to Engl
and join the king, I readily agreed. pd 4
‘‘He chartered a sailing vesses |
storm drove us so far out of our cours :
we landed at Aldborough but three
ago. Here we heard that the king |
marching southward, and it was on folks:
matter to’enlist a band of loyal ee re; 2
Then I insisted upon first coming ,
that I might get word of you ir
grandfather. Willoughby did nel eae
nay, and as we came on through t ned
ties of Suffolk and Cambridge the Y® t
and gentry flocked to our stanc ar ~ wished:
not in such numbers as I could hare bis
‘‘Cromwéll’s army being in 5c2. mnanead
part of the country is free from Rok count:
soldiery, but yesterday noon W® pad
ered a party of Puritan yeome” ew more
armed to resist the king. We winloughby
than half of the knaves, but ag 008
was shot through the head and lung rade:
fellow, he was a brave and loyal ey: the
And now you have my story, Geoh of the
rest must be writ on the pase?
future.”? aly 8
‘And in letters of blood,’’ 8% titer tha?
truth, you have fared hardly Peat the U2
myself in these five years. Now be pose yer
fortunate Willoughby is dead, ! § P
command the foree?’’ jeade?
‘“Yes; the brave fellows cal ore worthy
though many among them are aad exp?
to\command ‘by reason of age ® at
said *

ence,”? i] ”?
“J won’t believe that, Cy?

] me

and

‘“Indeed, there is but little to tell.

 

      
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
   

 

  
    
  
 
  
  
    
  
  
   
   
     
  
  
   
   
  
   
   
   

  
      

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GOoonDpD

NEWS.

  

  

 

.

**You are equal to any, and then your rank
entitles you to lead. Why, I had quite
forgot that. You are Sir Cyril Rudstone.”’
**But never to you, Geoffrey, old fellow.
My men may call me that, for I am proud
to bear my father’s title. And while 1 com-
mand these trusty fellows, you shall be my
lieutenant. So now let us join them in the

plunder, and hasten to meet the king. One
great battle will likely win the crown, and
sre we are much older I will be in posses-
sion of Rudstone Hall, and you of your
grandfather’s property.’’

‘*May your words come true!’’ said I, as
We rose from the bench. ‘‘But I forgot to
ask if you ever heard aught of Marmaduke
Burley.?? ‘

‘‘Not a word,’’ replied Cyril, ‘‘nor am I
anxious to hear. He may have turned
traitor, or he may still be living down in
Cornwall. Ah, what an adventure that was,
Geoffrey! Do you yet have the locket and
chain given you by the prince?”’

“‘T have kept them safe to this day,”’ I
eet

put my hand to my neck, where they
Shugly rested, for I had transferred them
from the coat-lining as soon as I was out of
London.

Tt was with strange emotions that I paced
through the hall of the house, and into the
great kitchen, with its smoke-stained
rafters crossed overhead in the shadowy
8loom. Here Cyril’s men had collected no
Meagre store of Weapons, ammunition, and
food, and they were now seated around an
Saken table, devouring bread and cheese and
quaffing ale from leathern mugs,

4 the corner by the fireplace crouched
three terrified servants—two men and a wo-
Man—whose faces were unfamiliar to me. I
fasily persuaded them to tell me what little

ey knew. After my grandfather’s death,

Which was due to a lingering illness, Crom-
Well had acquired the property by will. His

tst step had been to turn out the old ser-
Yants, and install new ones to take charge
Of the house.

I could not ask as many questions as I de-
Sired, for Cyril was in a hurry. While I was
talking the three other men came to the

itchen door with six horses which they had
found in the stables. The greater part of the

Under was loaded on these animals, and a
Portion of the weapons and ammunition was
Sent out to some of the party who were
“provided.

_! chose for myself a sword, two brass-bar-
reled pistols, and a supply of powder and
“tain and it added zest to the transaction to

now that Cromwell regarded these prop-
ast as his. I wished badly for better
tOthes, but there was no hope of getting

®m here,
he was about two o’clock of the morning
®0 we left the house, and my heart was

ating fast with hope and happiness as I
r dimple myself at the head of Cyril’s body of

and astride of the best nag

,

1 egular horse,
4 my late grandfather’s stables.
thy © men were nearly two hundred in
la Mber, variously mounted and armed,
fara Tanging in age from eighteen to fifty.
Wo-thirds of them were farmers’ lads and
Peasants, and the rest consisted of sturdy
Yeomen, small land owners, and a good
Prinkling of the loyal gentry of Suffolk and
Orde eridge. They kept remarkably good
yo er, and one and all seemed to regard their
: Uthful captain with respect. This, I sub-
fp ivently learned was due in part to the

“inal that he was the son of Sir John Rud-
hag 7,224 in part to the gallant conduct he

CG displayed in the fight with the Puritans.
ibierc Was the last to mount, and as he
he ‘red his horse to the head of, the column
one € the word to start. Ona brisk trot
dao Ved northward on the road to Stilton,
enc, and ready to fight our way to the ad-
“ing army of King Charles ‘the Second.
(T0 BE CONTINUED. )
—___-_ o © -

 

a
XCHANGE Derarrmenr.

IMPORTANT NOTICE.

ing hater exchange notices containing the follow-
Pape €d articles will not be inserted, viz.: Story
{ticles re-arms, explosives, dangerous, or worthless

Rerg 8, Cigarette pictures, tobacco tags, soap wrap-
aren . Prize coupons bearing name of manufac-
Thi All offers must be strictly exchange offers,

: Suge column is free to all our readers, but nothing
*XChan ng ty advertisement will be permitted. If
it 8 notices do not appear in a reasonable time,

dare © understood that they are not accepted,
han is ll communications for this column to “Ex-
epartment.” ]

Moline {hS-—John ©. Benson, 1824 17th avenue,
0 + Will give 100 mixed foreign stamps for a
Teeei vg h cite Columbian stamp. Send stamp and
PMigenn. 1 return.
Adsti ELLA NEOUS.—Robert W. L. Bacon, 654
ne alee, Chicago, Tl, has two mouth harps,
Set oe at 50 cents, and@one at 25 cents; also one
Stamp sh Small cold chisels, and a lot of foreign
TAN xchange for foreign stamps or best offer.
; drege, Neo Carl Magni, Lock Box 339, Hol-
ates abouz 288 foreign stamps to trade for United
ae Teceiyy *., Orfor same off sheets. Send sheets
1g answeret by return mail. All letters and pos-
Ls c

Misc:

Stroy, “ELLANKOUS,—L,

mekeerg aCuse, N. Y., will give a brand new

Jerthy Postage stamp album (cost $1.50), a six

os, 399 “UOScription to Mekeel’s Weekly Stamp
fferent rare stamps, 700 mixed stamps

E. Merrell, 402 James

 

(good ones) and 1,000 gummed hinges for a $1 Colum-
bian stamp, or for best offer in 5-cent and 10-cent
libraries, or for a bicycle suit (fifteen-year-old size) ;
a $2 Standard cyclometer for a 200-yard silk fishing
line; or all of the above for a light canoe; twenty
copies of Mekeel’s Stamp News for eight 10-cent
novels or fifteen 5-cent novels.

STAMPS.—A.S. Mignot, 118 Main street, Kansas
City, Mo., will give a set of Columbian stamps from

: q | le. to 50c., complete, and five sheets of stamps for a
house. We must speedily leave here with our |

rubber foot-ball or punching-bag. Punching bag pre-

| ferred. Must bein good condition.
THEATRE PROGRAMMES.—Allan Thurlow,

2107 Eoff street, Wheeling, W. Va., has thirty-one
theatre programmes to exchange for best offer in
stamps or novels. All letters answered.

STAMPS.—S. M. Henderson, 418 Madison avenue,
Albany, N. Y.,,.has 200 foreign stamps, catalogued at
$3 to exchange for an electric battery. Do not send
Tess than four, and express charges must be paid.
The stamps are very good for approval sheets; 300
foreign stamps for a 3, 4, or 6-candle power incandes-
cent lamp.

READING MATTER.—F. Reilly, 709 Mound
street, Cincinnati, Ohio, would like to trade reading
matter for base-ball goods. Write for list.

PRINTING MATERIAL, ETC.—S. E. Mohney,
Reynoldsville, Pa., has several fonts of job type, leads,
cards, etc., to exchange for best offer.

MISCELLANEOUS,.—Leonard M. Spencer, Pleas
ant Hill, CassCo., Mo., has thirty-eight stereoscopic
views, worth 33, one 25-cent paper-bound book called
‘Drummer’s Yarns,’’ a paper-bound book containing
162 songs, With music, and one pair of ice creepers to
exchange for best offer. Would like to hear from
any one having a good snap camera and outfit, or a
good stamp album; also any one having Columbian
stamps above 10c.

STAMPS.—W. C. Lang, 309 W. 39th street, New
York city, has a collection of 300 varieties of unused
stamps, catalogued at $8 to exchange for printing
press or best offer.

PRINTING PRESS.—Ben lL. Morris, Bellaire,
Ohio, has an Excelsior printing press, self-inking
(24x34), four fonts job type, leads, stick, etc., to ex-
change for best offer in stamp papers.

NOVELS AND STAMPS.—Lee Spalding, 9 Otis
street, Batavia, N. Y., will give one 5-cent novel or
five old United States revenue stamps for every
bicycle button or pin sent him.

MISCELLANEOUS,.—Claude Ezell, Mexia, Texas,
has a varied collection of stones from Pike’s Peak
and Abiline Mountains, a piece of the Alamo, stones
from Leigh Hunt’s grave, and other stones; also
‘Bishop’s First Book of Law” and a catcher’s mitt to
exchange for sporting goods of any kind, such as run-
ning suit, ete. Send list and get his.

NOVELS,—Ralph Thompson, Lock Box 274, Cen-
terville, Lowa, has good 5-cent and 10-cent novels to
exchange for same. All postals and letters answered.

MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.—Frank Y. Leman,
25 Becket street, Salem, Mass., has good exchange to
offer for an autoharp, cornet, or guitar, with instruec-
tion book and outfit. Instrument must be in good
condition. Write at once, as all letters will be an-
swered, whether stamp is inclosed or not.

BOOKS.—L. Black, Dilworth street, 32d Ward,
Pittsburgh, Pa., has eight books, worth $1.50, to ex-
change for hand scroll saw and outfit in good condi-
tion, as books are the same. All letters answered if a
2c. stamp is inclosed. No postals.

STAMPS.—E. Preston, Rat Portage, Ontario, Can-
ada, has 100 varieties of foreign stamps on sheets,
catalogued at over $4, and one Excelsior Stamp Al-
bum, which cost $1.25 and is almost new, to exchange
for set of boxing-gloves or punching-bag.

TELEGRAPH INSTRUMENT.—C. LL. Woolson,
P. O. Box 192, Millville, N. J., has a 20-ohm telegraph
instyyment, giant sounder, nickel-plated key, cost
$4.50 when new, and battery, to exchange for a
camera and outfit ; size 44¢x6 preferred.

STAMPS.—F. J. Meldram, 226 Seymour street,
Syracuse, N. Y., will give sixty all different foreign
stamps in exchange for a 30c. Columbian in good
condition. Send stamp and receive the sixty stamps
in return.

MISCELLANEOUS. —Frank Devalon, 408 S. Madi-
son street, Bloomington, Ll, will give a printing
press, typewriter, magic lantern, fourapproval sheets;
five packets, each containing twenty-five different
foreign: five packets, each containing fifty different
foreign; two packets, each containing 100 foreign,
stamp catalogue, and 1,000 hinges for a $1 Columbian
in good condition, providing you pay half the postage
on the things.

ELECTRICAL GOODS.—Willie Hunt, care P. 0O.,
Paris, Texas, will give an induction coil and battery
complete, in a walnut case, cost $10 and is almost
new, in perfect condition, for a telegraph key and
sounder in good condition, avound to about 20 ohms;
also several electrical papers and special delivery
stamps for stamps or papers. Correspondence solic-
ited.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Earle J. W. Fink, Misha-
waka, Ind., has a 644x9 inches hand-inking printing
press to exchange for best offer in a smaller self-
inking press, with or without type; also has a narrow-
tired bicycle, banjo, and other articles to exchange for
best offers (printing presses or material preferred).

STAMPS.—Philip Vogel, 1206 Grundy street, Nash-
ville, Tenn., will give one Mekeel’s Weekly Stamp
News for every unused 3c. or 6c. Columbian stamp,
limited to five; will give one for every used I5c.
Columbian. Correspondence solicited with foreign
collectors.

TYPEWRITER.—M. W. Bennett, Watkins, N. Y.,
will give a good typewriter, in a black walnut case,
for a $1, $2, $3, $4, or $5 Columbian stamp, or a 24c.
(1869) United States, or 10c. (1847) United States stamp.
Would like to exchange United States stamps for
same.

STAMPS.—Edward Stern, 56 East 107 street, New
York city, has a number of entire United States
postal cards, catalogued at $2 each, to exchange tor
United States stamps, envelopes, and revenue
stamps. Particulars wanted. Will give one pean
the rate for every fifty cents’ worth of good Unit
States from sheets. Good duplicates taken.

MISCELLANEOUS,.—William Dodd, 2246 N. 21st

_street, Philadelphia, Pa,, has $50 worth of reading

matter, small circus and theatre, magic lantern, scroll
saw, French microscope, fourteen rolls of film,
twenty-five large pictures, $1.50 fife, pocket camera
and outfit to exchange for Columbian stamps or best
offer. Inclose stamp for reply.

STAMPS, ETC.—Mendel Cohen, 422 Broad street,
Nashville, Tenn., will give fifty mixed United States
stamps for every 6c. Columbian, and 100 for every 15c.
Columbian, and 500 United States, of old issue, some
very rare, for a 50c. Columbian, or a printing outfit
for a 50c. Columbian, containing type and press.
Write at once. All letters answered.

READING MATTER.—Bert C. Harris, 27 South
B street, Mattoon, f[ll., has the forowine books:
“Hunting in the West,’ and “Roéky Mountain Ad-
ventures ;’”’ also one year’s subscription to the Western
Poultry News, to exchange for printing press, chase
not less than 4x8.

Noricr.—Owing to the extraordinary number of ex-
change notices received, many are left over until next
week,

  

 

AMON Gr
a RD A
GOOD NEWS iGLUBS.

{SPECIAL NOVICE.—'This columu is for GOov
NEWS Clubs only. No notices will be inserted
excepting such as are genuine GOOD NEWS Club
notices, and nothing in the shape of an advertise-
ment will be allowed. Every club notice showd
have the naines of the president and secretary of
the club attached. For information concerning
GOOD NEwWs Club Badge and Electrotypes see ad-
vertisemeut on last page. }

——¢

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In response to requests from a very large number
of club members, we have decided to reorganize
Goop NEws clubs, giving a number to each. None
but genuine Goop 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
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We would also like to have the opinion of officers |

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Itis our wish to make Goop NEws clubs the most
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CLUB CHAT.

Girls, you will be admitted free as members of the
Goop NEws World Corresponding Club. See notice
below.

Geo. G. Burke, 116 Clarke street, Mankato, Minn.,
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The membership card of the Goop News Elite
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beauty. We have yet to see one that can beat it.

CLUB NOTICES.

If you want to join a good club, it will pay you to
read this notice. The Goop News Western Corre-
sponding Club is offering one foreign coin, ten foreign
stamps, and five choice United States stamps (worth
the initiation fee alone), list of members, membership
ecard, and beautiful badge. Every person living out-
side of the United States admitted free. The tenth
one joining will receive a three months’ subscription
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made represfntative. We mean business, so don’t
delay, but join to-day. Fee, 10 cents; no dues; no
extras. All ladies admitted free. Address FE. L.
Dwyer, secretary, 809 8. O street, Tacoma, Wash.

Hurrah! for the G. N. L. 8. C. C.,
It’san ‘up-to-date’? club, you know,
It wants you for a member, see!
If you have any ‘‘dough,”’

But it does not take very much ‘‘dough,”’ only 10
cents (silver) for boys, ladies and foreigners free, no
dues. Any boy sending ten members, at 10 cents
each, within seven days from to-day, will receive a
nice sweater free. The sweaters are brand new, so get
out and hustle so that you may all earn one. All
joining will receive a card and list of members besides
a package of stamps. Will O. Jones, 713 S, Jefferson
street, Paris, Texas.

The egg trick of Columbus is not a circumstance
compared to our trick of holding up the plane of the
’Doms advancement. No organization can live on
wind, and as we are no exception to the rule, we are
compelled to air our wants occasionally. Our main
want at present is new recruits, and every honest
officer, Maryland representative, and those desirous
of forming new clubs, are most heartily welcomed.
Full information always on tap, providing return
postage is inclosed, at the office of G. Edward Har-
rison, corresponding secretary Maryland Club of
Branch Officers, Room 708, Fidelity Building, Balti-
more, Md.

The Goon News Reading and Exchange Club
wants more members! You may join for three back
numbers of Goop Nrws (different, and in succession),
or for three numbers of any magazine or paper (1896).
This is good for only two weeks from date. Dues, 5
cents per month, and you get a bundle of reading
matter (when you return that you get another bundle).
Every tenth one will get a 5-cent paper every month
(as long as dues are paid), you also get a copy of our
club paper, The Clubite (monthly, written in ink);
join at once. Address, Doane R. Shaw, secretary,
1621A Sutter street, San Francisco, Cal. President,
C. Ryan.

The Goop News City Reading Club of Cleveland,
Ohio, will offer something in the club department of
the Goop NEws once every two weeks, and the offer
is good for two weeks only (offer No. 1, 100 well mixed
foreign stamps free to every one joining; 500 stamps
to.the 100th member). This club gives more away
than any other Goop Nrws club on earth; you are
furnished with all the novels, books, etc., that you
can read. Dues are 25 cents per month—no initiation
fee. For full particulars, etc., address, V.S. Benson,
secretary and treasurer, 174 Erie street, Cleveland,
Ohio.

Attention, newsites! All those who are interested
or would like to become a candidate for the vacancy
of vice-president of the Golden Gate Goop Nrws
Club are requested to send their names, addresses,
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will take place shortly, and the one receiving the
largest number of votes will be made vice-president.
All Goop NEws readers are entitled to one vote each.
For further particulars kindly inclose stamp and ad-
dress to George A. Dolan, secretary, 731 Harrison
street, San Francisco, Cal..

A handful of common sense is worth a bushel of
learning. So the wise men said. But that does not
concern us. We want all boys and girls to use com-
mon sense and join the Goop News Historical and
Corresponding Club of Lynn, Mass. All that are in-
terested in Cuban affairs should join. Upon joining
you get back numbers of Goop NeEws, and list as
soon as printed. Initiation fee, 10 cents; no dues.
Ladies admitted for stamp. Address all letters to the
sebretary, Albert J. Arroll, 730 Washington street,
Lynn, Mass.

The Goop News Corresponding Club of Boston,
Mass., would like to have more members. The first
one joining from each State will be made the repre-
sentative of that State. President, John J, Flaherty;
Vice-president, Richard Bowman; Secretary and
Treasurer, Edward F. Joyce. You may be sure you
will have a good time by joining this club. Initiation
fee, 10 cents (silver or stamps); dues 5 cents quarterly.
All letters to be addressed to the secretary, Edward
F. Joyce, Room 521, 23 Court street, Boston, Mass.

Join the Goop News Reading and Exchange Club
of Baltimore, Md. We have five different departments
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sponding, and collectors. We will for 12 cents make
you a member of all five departments, and send you
a large package of books, papers, stamps, etc., every
month for one year, also give you a handsome book
upon becoming a member. Full particulars for a

stamp. Address, 8. Carrick, 1732 N. Calhoun street,
Baltimore, Md.

 

I>

15
Qur Mai. Bac.

{Questions on subjects of general interest only are
dealt with in the ‘‘Mail Bag,” Medical or legal ques-
tions not answered. Goop NEwSs 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.

Soe te

N. D., Plainfield, N. J.—Monograms, initial letters,
or other designs, can be printed on such fruit as
apples, pears, or peaches by the action of the sun,
with very pretty effect, of either a light or dark color.
To do this, draw the monogram, letter, or design ona
piece of writing paper, and paste it with mucilage or
glue upon the side exposed to the sun, just before the

| fruit begins to color, and when the fruit is ripe, and

| peach with a red cheek,
} gold, surrounded with red.

} you should be ashamed of it.

 

the paper is removed, the design will appear in a

| lighter or different color to the rest of the fruit; as, for

instance, if the experimentis tried on a yellow-fleshed
the design will appear in

If the opposite effect is
intended, take a small oval or circular piece of paper,
and cut out or pierce the letters or design in it, and
paste on the fruit, which, when ripe, will have the
design in high color on a yellow or on a light green
ground ofthe shape ofthe piece of paper, and this
again will be surrounded by the brighter color of the
fruit.

Gay Dashleigh, Benning, D. C.—1. To remove ink
stains from printed books, procure twocents’ worth of
oxalic acid, which dissolve in a small quantity of
warm water; then slightly wet the stain with it, when
it will disappear leaving the leaf uninjured. 2. Let
the color of your hair alone. There is no reason why
In fact, red hair has
been greatly admired by some of the most eminent
poets and painters. 3. Mr. Graydon has recently
sailed for England, where he intends to remain for
some time. Send your letter to Street & Smith, and
we will forward it to him.

L. P. C., Cohasset, Mass.—To cement broken china:
Beat the whites of eggs well toa froth; let them settle;
add soft-grated or sliced cheese and quick-lime; beat
them well together, and apply a little to the broken
edges. This cement will endure both fire and water.
Another good receipt, and which is nearly colorless,
is the following: Dissolve half an ounce of gum
acacia in a wine glass of boiling water, and plaster of
Paris sufficient to form a thick paste, and apply it
with a brush to the parts required to be cemented to-
gether.

Nameless, Mankato, Minn.—l. We shall begin a
comic story in thisissue. 2. Enrique H. Lewis writes
exclusively for Goop News. 3. “Jack of Diamonds”
was begun in No. 282andended in No. 295. 4. To
make lemon sherbet: Disolve 1344 pounds of loaf
sugar in 1 quart of water; add the juice of 10 lemons;
press the lemons so as to extract both the juice and
the oi] of the rind, and let the peel remain a while in
the water and sugar. Strain through a sieve and
freeze like ice cream.

A. W.C., Evansville, L.—You can restore faded
writing by damping a piece of soft white paper; lay it
on the faded writing, press it down closely; put a
tablespoonful ofspirits of hartshorn in a tin vessel with
a candle or lamp under it. Hold the soft damp pa-
per over it, soas to receive the fumesof the harts-
horn; if the writing is not exhibited on the soft paper
plain enough, dampen it again and repeat the whole
process until it is plain enough.

Would-be Soldier Lad, Pasadena, Cal.—1l. You are
above the average in every way. 2. No, there is no
reason why you should get a new bicycle. ‘Your
present one, as you describe it, should last you for
some time tocome. 3, Thirty-eight out of a possible
fifty at seventy-five yards is excellent rifle practice.
4. Better not enlist. Read Arthur Sewall’s advice in
recent numbers. 5. Your penmanship is only fair.

Ko-Ko, Meriden, Conn.—A handicapis an allow-
ance of a certain amount of time or distance in start-
ing, granted in a race to a competitor possessing in-
ferior advantages, or an additional weight or other
hindrance imposed upon the one possessing superior
advantages, in order to equalize as much as possible
the chances of success.

Parvus Puer, Duluth, Minn.—1. The first announce-
ment wasanerror. 2. The stories by William Mur-
ray Graydon vou mention as having seenin another
publication are reprints of tales written long ago.
Mr. Graydon is under contract to write exclusively
for Goop NrYws for the next five years.

D.8., Forth Worth, Texas.—1. Perhaps the easiest
of Mr. Armitage’s stories to act would be ‘‘Loyal to
Napoleon.” 2. It would cost more than an amateur
company could pay to have “In Barricks and Wig-
wam,” dramatized by a professional playwright, Why
not try to makeaplay out of it yourself?

Cuban Sympathizer, Denver, Col.—1l. Cortes is the
name given to the Spanish Parliament. 2. ‘Itis im-
possible to predict at the present moment whether
Cuba will gain her freedom or not. 3. In “Gay
Dashleigh in Cuba,” the places are all described with
the greatest accuracy.

H.C. B., Augusta, Me.—It is impossible to cultivate
the voice for singing without a teacher. We should
think that, as you are conscious of the fact that you
sing out of tune, your ear must be true, and that by
much practice and bard work, you could overcome
the habit of flatting.

M. P. G., Beloit, Wis.—You ask which in our opin-
ion is the better story, ‘‘With Crusader and Saracen”
or “Out with Robinhood.” That is a difficult ques-
tion toanswer. As the Irishman said: ‘Each is bet-
ter than the other, and, bedad, I prefer them both!”

B. L. 7., Brooklyn, N. Y.—1. The National League
was organized ‘in 1876. 2. The Baltimore (lub is at
present the champion. 3. Yes, the Brooklyns were
the champions one year—1890.

F. A. V.. Minneapolis, Minn.—1l. You might be
able to make the trip, but we should scarcely advise
it. 2. Yes, but not especially big game. 3. You are
slightly above the average.

S. C., Baltimore, Md., H. W. F., Lowell, Mass.,
and others.—Your exchanges are contrary to our
rules. Read carefully the notice at head of exchange
column.

A. R. F., Concord, Mass.—The distance from New
York to Cape Town, South Africa, via London, is
11,245 miles. The passage occupies about 27 days.

Dave Selkirk, Easton, Pa.—The color of Harvard is
crimson, that of Yale, dark blue, and of Princeton,
orange ame black.

IL. V., Savannah, Ga.—The Salic law prevails in
Germany, that is, females are not allowed to ascend
the throne.

J. F., Chicago, Il.—The Mexican silver dellar is
worth about fifty-three cents in United States:money.

H. J. H., Galveston, Texas.—England acknow]l-
edged the independence of the United States in 1783.

Granite, Vinal Haven, Me —Your handwriting is
very good indeed for business purposes.

G. R. K., Webb, Mo.—We cannot answer medical
questions in this column.

[Several communications left over to be answered next
week. }

   
 

 
  
 
 

“@eererteeOonoon no OOd0 Ca aclO GO

POODSCDIVAADGCODOVD ONMDONDGDOH OOO HO COM GVOHOGODO OG G0 OLQ 0009 297000

GRIMESY-
THE BELL BOY.

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By

(7? ET ErF.”’’

CHAPTER I.

THE HAYSEED CAUSES A SENSATION.

Kot AJOR FRESHWATER QUILL-
Js PICK

committed the mistake of

his life when he took Grimesy into

sy his employ as bell-boy in his hotel.

The major, shy, cunning, pious, and hypo-

critical, was taken in by the sad eyes, many

promises of good behavior, and imnocent-
looking face.

Owing to an irritable temper and_a_ wife
that made it a point to always be on the
contrary side, the major had never been
very happy.

The continued management of the Slim-
fare Temperance Hotel had added nothing
to his spiritual comfort, and finally his en-
gagement of Grimesy as the bell-boy had
filled his cup of bitterness to the brim.

Nobody knew where the boy had come |

from. He apparently didn’t know himself;
when the major first questioned him as to
who he was, his answer was;

‘*Grimesy.”’

‘*Grimesy what?’’

‘‘No, not Grimesy What. Just Grimesy,’’
said the boy.

‘‘What is your first name?’’

‘‘Grimesy is the first name I ever had, and
the last.’’

‘Do you mean to tell me,’’ roared the
irate major, ‘‘that you came into the world
with nothing but that ridiculous name?’?

‘‘My impression is that I didn’t even have
that when I arrived, but got it with my
other accomplishments afterward.”’

‘‘Have you any idea how you got into the
world??? yelled the major, losing his temper.

‘*No, sir, unless somebody left the door
open and I blew in, The first I remember I
was here, and I’ve been round most ever
since.’’

‘“‘Humph!’? said the major. ‘‘This is the
drollest creature I ever ran across. I believe
you’re lying to me, boy; still there is some-
thing in your face that I like, too. Are you
honest?’?’

‘*So tar as I know, sir. I’ve never had
much chance to test my honesty; though
the last man I worked for gave me full
charge of his safe.’’

‘¢What kind of a safe?’?

‘*Match safe.’’

‘‘Oh!’? and the major looked in vain for
some indication of levity in the boy’s face.
It was as solemn as a pauper funeral.

‘*Well, I think I’ll try you,’’ said the rash
man. ‘‘But, remember, whatever you do,
never be guilty of any practical jokes.’’

“Don’t know anything about practical
jokes,’’ said the boy, and he was engaged.

On the first night of his engagement the
major told him that as it was late he would
not be expected to do much work till next
day.

‘*Boggles, the night-clerk, will take you
in hand.’? :

The bell of Room 35 was ringing, however,
at that moment, and Boggles told Grimesy
to answer it.

Grimesy dashed off at a two-fifteen gait.

The occupant of thirty-five was a fidgety
old chap, Silas Grubstump by name. He
lived in some little country village, and had
never stopped atva hotel with any of the
modern improvements before.

When Grimesy entered the room the smell
of the gas nearly knocked him down, not-
withstanding the old fellow had the win-
cows open.

Grimesy found that the gas was turned on
full force, and quietly turned it off,

‘*It takes you a gol darned long time to
get up here!’’ the old fellow bawled.

‘*Well, I’m here now; what do you want?”’

‘‘See what that is thet smells so. I can’t
find it nowhar.’’

‘‘You forgot to turn off the gas,’’ said
Grimsey. ; é

‘*No, I blowed the blamed thing out long
ago. Is that what smelled so?”’

‘¢Ves, sir. It’s a wonder you aren’t dead.’’

‘*Wal, I’ll be switched! is thet so?’

Grimesy went down, but in five minutes
was rung up to the old fellow’s , room
again, for some trivial thing, and so it
went every five minutes for the next hour.
Grimesy was tired and wanted to go to bed,
so the next time he went up he took a piece
of wire, and connected the hall wire with
the police call, messenger call, and fire alarm
wires, and went to bed.

( It had been very quiet in the hotel for
|/some time. Everybody, especially the night-
| clerk, was safe in slumber. Even old Grub-
stump in thirty-five had forgotten his fear of
burglars and fire long enough to doze off for
a while, and his bell had not dingled for
fully an hour.

But this state of things could not last
forever.

The old'chap had snored peacefully for
the space of an hour, when all of a sudden
he woke with a start, and heard an elevated
train lumbering by. In his dazed, half-sleep-
ing state, he couldn’t remember where he
was. He had a hazy notion, though, that he
was in his wagon and the horses were run-
ning away. Then, allof a sudden, it oc-
curred to him where he was, and he got to
wondering what it was that was making the
noise.

The more he thought of it the less he
could make out of it, so he concluded to call
up the boy and ask him.

He thought as likely as not the boy would
be asleep, so he gave the button a good long
push, and then laid down to await his
arrival,

The bell awoke Boggles down in the office,
and when he looked up on. the bell-board
and saw that it was thirty-five again, he
muttered something about a ‘‘measly old
idiot,’’ swore softly, and went back to sleep.
It was not the custom in that house to an-
swer bells after ten o’clock, and it was now
after twelve, so he thought to himself, ‘‘ Let
him ring and be blamed.’’

Boggles’ second nap was of short duration
however, forthe next moment a platoon of
a dozen policemen and a crowd of twenty
messenger boys filed into the office.

Boggles rubbed his eyes to make sure
that he wasn’t dreaming, but he had scarcely
time to satisfy himself, nor had the ser-
geant of the squad of policemen time to ask
why he and his comrades had been sum-
moned, when the streets on both sides of the
house were filled with fire-engines and hose-
carts.

The next moment the captain of one of
the fire companies dashed: in and wanted to
know what part of the house the fire was in.

‘*There’s—there’s no fire that I know of,”’
stammered Boggles.

‘*What in blazes did you turn in an alarm
for, then?’’ roared the captain. :

‘* didn’t turn in any alarm,”
Boggles.

‘““Somehody in the house did,’’ said the
captain, angrily.

‘Well, I don’t know anything about it,’’
said Boggles,

‘You'd bétter find out then,’’ roared the
captain.

Boggles was about to start on a tour: of
inquiry, but before he had time to move,
the bell of thirty-five rang again.

In two minutes more engines arrived, and
soon afterward more policemen and mes-
senger boys.

Up to that time the sergeant of the police
squad had had no opportunity to inquire
what he had been called out for. But when
he heard the clerk say that he knew nothing
about the fire alarm, he asked:

‘‘What’s the row here, clerk???’

‘‘Row??? said Boggles; ‘‘I don’t know
anything about any row.’’ .

‘*Burglary, then?’’

‘‘There’s been no burglary.’’

‘‘What did you call us out for, then?’’

said

 

‘*T didn’t call you out."’

‘“‘There was a call at headquarters from
this house for a quadruple force of police,
and the captain detailed us twelve.’’

‘*And we’ve just bad a second call for a
lke number,’’ said the second sergeant,
‘‘and the captain responded with us twelve.’’

‘Did you want some messengers?’’ asked
one of the boys.

‘‘No, I don’t want any messengers,’’ cried
Boggles, now bewildered worse than ever
‘‘What in thunder is the matter with all
you fellows, anyway?’’

‘Are you going to find out about that fire
alarm?’’ yelled the fire captain.

‘‘T wish you’d see who called: out the
police,’’ said the sergeant.

‘‘Gentlemen, my opinion is——

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, went thirty-five’s bell
again.

More engines arrived, soon followed by
more policemen, and more messenger boys.

‘‘f see how it is now,’’ said Boggles.

>

. ‘*There’s something the matter’ with that

GSooD NEWS.

| old idiot in thirty-five. He’s an old jay from
the country, and he has been ringing up the
bell-boy every five minutes since he has
been in the house. As likely as not, he has
been turning in the fire alarm, the police
and messenger call by mistake. ”’

‘‘Where did you say he rooms?’’ said the
sergeant.

**Room 35.”?

‘‘Well, Ill stop his racket in short order,’
said the sergeant. ‘‘Come on, boys.’’

And the twelve cops went up to the old
jay’s room.

When the police knocked at the old man’s
door he opened it, growling about the boy
being so long in coming.

The old jay was rather taken back at the
voice which answered him, and he came
closer and peered out into the hall. There
was light enough in the hall for him to see
who was there, and he jumped back and
tried to close the door.

‘*No, you don"t !’’ said the sergeant, push-
ing the door open and marching in with his
squad. ‘‘Now, what did you turn on that
police alarm for?’’

‘¢Wh???

‘‘Why did you call out the police???

‘*T didn’t call out no p’leece?’?’

‘Yes, you did, you old hayseed!’’ roared
the sergeant.

‘‘No, I didn’t; I jist rung for the boy. I
heerd a funny noise outside, an’ I wanted
ter ax ’im what it was.’’

‘‘Didn’t you know that you were turning
on the police alarm, the fire alarm, and the
messenger call all the time?’’

man, in dismay.

‘«Well, you were, and nearly the whole
force is here, besides a dozen fire companies,
and fifty messenger boys.’’

‘¢Wal, I swan!’’

‘*T ought to run you in, and it’s only
your ignorance that saves you, But don’t
you touch that bell again, or we’ll lock you
up.?’

Mewal, I won’t,’’? said the old fellow,
frightened to death. ‘‘Though I’d like ter
know what that thar noise was about; but
I guess I’1l wait till mornin’, and ax the
landlord.’’

**You’d better.’

And the sergeant withdrew.

. In the meantime the fire department had
whistled to indicate that it had been a false
alarm, and gone, and the messenger boys
had departed.

It is needless to say that. the old jay was
heard no more of that night, and Grimesy
removed the wire early the next morning,
so that nobody ever knew how it happened.

The next day a variety troupe arrived at
the hotel, consisting of tha usual song and
dance team, tumblers, gymuasts, serio-comic
and‘ballad singers, and musical prodigies,
and a juggler and sleight-of-hand per-
former, or ‘‘wizard,’’ as he styled himself,

The jwizard, Signor Dagoletto, a hand-
some man, with a waxed mustache, soon
became the favorite with all the ladies, both
of the conipany and the other boarders; and
he had been in the house but two days,
when, at the special request of the ladies,
the signor agreed to give a private enter-
tainment in the parlor.

When the evening of the entertainment ar-
rived, the invited guests, who filled the par-
lor, were astonished and delighted to behold
the signor’s table covered with a gold-em-
broidéred cloth, set at one end of the ‘room,
decked out with’various queer vases, fan-
tastic urns, and mysterious boxes.

The signor soon appeared, splendid in full
evening dress, and magic wand in hand,
made his low and stereotyped speech, and
began his performance.

Everything would have gone on all right
but for one fact. The signor’s confederate,
the fellow who is concealed under the table
to make the wonderful transformations,
changing articles from one box, or casket,
to another, was sick and could not perform,
and had permitted Grimesy to take his
place, instructing him in his duties.

Of course the signor, knew nothing of the
arrangement, supposing that his regular
confederate was assisting him,

Everything went on smoothly until he
came to the great handkerchief and dove
trick, which was to be the crowning act of
the performance.

The trick consisted in borrowing a lady’s
handkerchief, burning it to ashes, pouring
the ashes into a box, and then, after a time
opening the box, and taking out a beau iful
white dove.

When the signor got ready for the trick,
he stepped forward and said: :

‘*Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am _ about
to show you ze great Phoenix Trick. Ket eze
ze greatest performance weech ze human
brain have eavir conceive. Hef some lady
weel kindly lend me a handkosheef, I vill
show you ze trick.’’

A white cambris handkerchief was handed
him, and he said:

‘‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, you see I
shall burn ze handkosheef,’’ setting fire to it
and dropping. it onto a silver salver, ‘‘so.
Now,’’ said he, when it was completely
burned up, ‘‘I put ze hashes into zis casket,
so,’’ and he placed the casket upon the table,

It was then the confederate’s business to
take the casket (reaching up from behind

 

the table), and replace it with another ‘ex-
actly like it containing the dove.

‘‘No, I didn’t know that,’’ cried the old |

 

Grimesy took the casket from the table,
and replaced it according to instructions,
except that he had arranged the second
casket according to his own notions,

‘*Now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall open
ze casket,’ said the signor, ‘‘and you shall
see ze greatest transformation wich 2z@ art
of man haye conceive.”’

So saying, he opened the casket, and not
only were the audience surprised at the
transformation, but the signor himself was
more than surprised—he was paralyzed!

(TO BE. CONTINUED.)
—_—_____—~— 9 —e—___—__——-

‘‘Well, Billie,’? said Uncle George, ‘‘how
do you stand in school these days?*’ Vids

‘'In the corner mostly,’? returned Billie.

 

SPECIAL.—We will send
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pay for mailing and packing, #
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