Tip oP WEEKLY

“An ideal publication for the American Youth

Entered as Second Crass Matier at the N. Y. Post Office by STREET & SMITH

No. 145. Price, Five Cents.

 

 

 

 

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“AN IDEAL PUBLICATION FOR THE AMERICAN YOUTH.”

Tire Top WEEKLY.

’
> Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class j.attier at the N. Y. Post Ofice. SrRunY & SMITH, 81 Fulton
St., N. Y. Entered Aceording to Act of Congress, in the Year 1898, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

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No. 145.

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S DISASTER; or, The Hand of the Law. - = = = = = |

APPLAUSE - - - . : ‘
* CORRESPONDENCE - - : ; ¥

Frank Merriwell's Disaster

OR,

THE HAND OF THE LAW

By BURT L. STANDISH

ee

CHAPTER I.
TIME CHANGES ALL.

“No, Frank,” declared Elsie, “I cannot

play any more. I must have rest. I am ill.”

“But, little sweetheart,” protested Merry,
“how am I to get along without you?”

“There’s Cassie Lee, Mr. Havener’s sweet-
She has been playing the part

”

 

since
“Since you were led into that trap at Ace

High, when you attempted to run away from

me. To think you should do such a thing,

Elsie!”

“Don’t, Frank—please don’t reproach me

that way,” pleaded the pretty, pale-faced girl.

You cannot understand my feelings. Oh, I

was driven to it!”

— “Inza——”

NEW YORK, January 21, 1899.

Contents of This Number. | ,

‘maintained a feeling of resentment and anger

and had received so little credit for he own

Price Five Cents.

 

  
 
  
    
  
   
 
  
  
    
   
   
        
 
         
       
 
   

Page.

“Don’t mention her!” cried Elsie, her white
hands suddenly clenching and two spots of
color appearing in her cheeks.”

“You were friends.”

“Once.

Frank frowned. It was difficult for him to

Not now—never again!”

understand the change that had seemed to
come ovér Elsie, once so gentle and forgiv-
ing. She did not seem at all like her old self,

and he wondered at it. Toward Inza she
that seemed utterly foreign to her nature. & 4
_ He could not know how her
spirit had been tortured till it rebelled. She
had sacrificed her own feelings till her very
She had seen self-
thought and selfishness so much in others

forgiving

soul turned in revolt.

  

 
 
   
 

gentleness that at last in desperation she
threw aside her better impulses and permit-
ted herself to be swayed entirely by the pow-
erful and unreasoning impulses of her heart.

Elsie loved Frank Merriwell. He was her
ideal in every way, and for him she had been
ready to do anything in her power. Her love
had been broad and noble and unselfish un-
til the time came when she could bear the
Strain no longer.

Now she was ill, her nerves having been
completely tunstrung by her terrible experi-
ence in Ace High, where she had been made
a captive by brutal men and confined in a
dark pit, after running away from Frank and

_ the company. 3

Cripple Creek had been reached, and “John

Smith of Montana” was billed for the Grand
- Opera House. Cripple Creek was alive and
hustling, and Merriwell expected to do a
big business there. The place had been well
billed, and the press had been worked for the
_ very best of the sensational notices which

Frank knew how to get up so well.

Merry did not fancy losing Elsie from the
cast. After playing Kansas City he “had

sired until after getting into Colorado. He
had attempted to get dates at the Broadway
‘or the Tabor in Denver, but open time was
not to be had when he wanted it, and so Den.
ver had been left out, much to his disap.
pointment. :

Blair, a new town off the railroad, had
sought an attraction to open the new theatre
there, and “John Smith” had been booked for
a week. Moving the special scenery required

expensive and troublesome, but the result
had justified the judgment of Ross Havener,
who had urged Parker Folansbee, the backer
oo the company, to go there. ©

_ One night’s performance had been missed

  
 

during the week, but the other five nights

been unable to secure the “bookings” he de-_

for the piece from Ironton to Blair had beeri™

 

2 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

were “corkers,” and the company left Blair
in high spirits to make the “jump” té Cripple
Creek.

Ouray, Gunnison and Grand Junction were
to follow, and then they were to “jump” to
Salt Lake City.

In California arrangements had been made
to play San Francisco, Los Angeles, Stock-
ton, Oakland and one or two other places.
It seemed certain that “John Smith” was on
the road to big business in the best cities and
theatres on the Pacific Coast, and, conse-
quently, everyone appeared happy with the
exception of Frank, who was worried over
Elsie.

And now, at the hotel in Cripple Creek El-

sie announced that she could not play any
more, although Frank had expected that she
would return to the stage.

Elsie declared that she and Inza could not

be friends again.

“T am sure Inza was very sorry for what
happened,” said Frank,

“Don’t speak of it!” cried Elsie. “I don’t
wish to talk of her.”

Merry bit his lip.

“Don’t be unreasonable, Elsie,” he urged.

“Frank, I am ill, and I can’t bear to talk

about her now. I have to think about her,

and that is enough!”

“All right, Elsie, we will not talk about
her; but you cannot know how disappointed
I am to hear that“you will not take your old
part again.”

“Perhaps I may, Frank—sometime.”

“Sometime! That word makesit seem far

away.”

“Cassie Lee will fill my place. She can
do it.”

ae

“Why, what do you mean?”

“No one can fill your place.”

“Cassie is an experienced actress, brought
up in the business, and you know La

ee Ne een anSeL nett ene one
3 7% 4 \ .

    
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
  
  
   
   
   
     
   
   
 
        
  
   

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y

but little more than an amateur.
she can fill my place.”

“She can fill the part, but she cannot fill
your place, Elsie.”

He took her hand and looked tenderly into
her eyes, which drooped before his earnest
gaze, for at last she understood what he
meant.

“T hope not, Frank,” she murmured.
“No one can do that,” he declared.

9

“Not even

 

“No, Elsie, not even the one of whom you
are thinking, but do not name. No one can
fill your place.”

“It’s good of you, Frank, to say that, and
I am sure you mean it, but I have learned
to doubt.
thing and everybody, but a change has come

over me, and I find myself full of doubts and

Once I had confidence in every-

fears.”
“You would not doubt me, sweetheart.”
“T do not doubt your sincerity, Frank, but
time works many changes in us all. I can

see that.” I can see that as we grow older our

3?

 

views may change, and

Merry leaped to his feet.

“Then it is yourself you doubt!” he cried,
“You believe that time will change your feel-
Already you see that a
I see it, tool

ings toward me!
change has come over you!
Now, I begin to understand!”

Elsie made a weary gesture.
“You understand me less now, Frank, than
you ever did before,” she asserted. “In one

way I shall never change. That conviction is

_deep down in my heart.” |

“But you do not care for me as you did
once.”

3 “No ”

“You confess it?” he exclaimed, aghast.

“T do,” she said, with bowed head.

Frank stood still and looked at her. He
did not pose, and when he spoke, his voice

was quiet an steady.

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

Of course,

really wished Cassie would not.

  

3

“T did not think it would come to this!” he
said. :

She looked up at him, and there was some-
thing of the old roguish look in her blue
eyes.

“Yes, I confess I do not care for you as I
did once,” she said. “I was a very young
girl when I first met you, and I loved you as "
I might a big, handsome, noble brother. I
do not care for you that way now.”

Her meaning dawned on him.

“I’m a fool!” he exclaimed, under his
breath.

“Elsie!” he exclaimed, and he was bend-
ing over her in a moment, her hand clasped
in both of his.

“No, no, you bad fellow!” she faintly

“Elsie, forgive me!”

smiled. “You do not deserve it. You really

 

thought

‘Never mind what I really thought. You
fooled me, Elsie. I would not have you care
for me as you did then, but

 

Her eyes were drooping again, and she
waited for his next words, with parted lips
and fluttering breath.

Rat, tat, tat! came a knock on the door,
which was standing slightly ajar.

With a muttered exclamation of annoy-
ance, Frank straightened up and called:

“Come in.”

Cassie Lee entered.

 

CHAPTER II.
CHEERFUL NEWS OF A DEATH,

“Oh!” exclaimed the newcomer, stopping

suddenly. “Beg pardon! I didn’t know you
were here, Frank.”
“Never mind, Cassie,” said Merry. “Come

right in.”
“But 1 don’t want to interrupt you; so-I
think I’d better make myself few.” —
“No, come in,” urged Elsie, although she :

ces.

   

  
     
 

 

  

“T just called to see if you’d be ready to
fill your part to-night, Miss Bellwood.”

“No, Cassie, I am not going to play it any
more.”

“What?” cried the newcomer. “Oh, come
off! Excuse the slang. It will slip out somie-
times, best a feller can do. You don’t mean
you’re not going to play it at all?”

“Yes, that is what I mean.”

“Well, you must be daffy! Why, that
part’s out of sight! It’s the slickest thing I
ever struck. I’m not saying that because
Frank wrote the play, but because I really
think so. You created it, Miss Bellwood,

and you are the one to stick to it. They say
you do it in great shape. Why, even Ross

says I can’t touch you in it, and that’s pretty
plain for him, seeing that he and I are such
good friends.”

“Mr. Havener is too complimentary. You
know I have not had much experience as an
actress, and I am sure you can do the part
better than I do it, for you have been on the

stage a long time.”

“Ever since I can remember,” nodded Cas-
sie, coming in and sitting on the edge of the
bed. “The theatre’s been my home all my
life. I never feel so much at home anywhere
as on the stage; but that don’t make me a
great actress by a jugful. I can play sou-
brette parts, dance, sing and all that; but the
audience would throw things at me if I
should try Portia, Rosalind, Desdemona, Ca-
mille, Leah or any of the rest of Shake-
speare’s stuff.”

“But Shakespeare did not write Leah and
Canuile, you know.”

“Didn’* he? Why, I thought he did.” |

“Dumas wrote Camille.”

“Never heard of him.”

- “And Augustin Daly wrote Leah.”
“Did he? Well, it’s great stuff when it’s
well done, though I don’t care much for that

sort of thing myself. No singing and danc-

 

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY. ee

ing in it. If they’d introduce a skirt dance,
a Dutch comedian or two like Weber and
Fields, and get in an effect like Merriwell’s
sawmill scene, I think Leah’d be all right.
It ain’t up-to-date. In order for a play to go
now it’s got to have a tank in it, a load of
hay, a fire engine, a horse race, or some-
thing like that. People will pay their good
money to go see a load of hay on the stage,
when they can see it out in a field for noth-
ing. And every chap who can do a Yankee
part well enough so the audience won’t egg
him off the stage wants to star in a hay-
seed play. Bet a dollar Gallup’ll get the fever.
‘Josh Whitcomb’ and “The Old Homestead’
has been responsible for four hundred and
ninety-eight of the five hundred hayseed
plays that have tortured people all over the
country. Jest as long as people will cough
up the coin to see that stuff, that is the stuff
to give ’em. But there’s a limit.”

Cassie was scarcely aware of the depth of
her philosophy, or of the rare sarcasm of her
remarks about Leah.

Frank appreciated it all, however, and he
laughed quietly. :

“Augustin Daly has ‘modernized’ the most
of Shakespeare’s plays,” he said. “Perhaps,
if you were to suggest it, he would ‘modern-
ize’ Leah by introducing a fire engine, horse
race, or something of the sort.”

“No use talking,” said Cassie, with a wag
of her head, “fellow who writes a play now-

a-days has got to put some kind of a me-—

chanical sensation into it to make it go.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Don’t? Why, didn’t you put the saw-

mill into ‘John Smith’? And ain’t that what

makes the play go?”

“True, I put the sawmill in, but I do not
think that is what makes the play go.”

“No 2)

“Surely not. It makes a fine climax for

 

    
 
    
  
     
 
    

 
 

 

  

the third act, but wouldn’t the play be in-
tensely interesting without it?”

Cassie was forced to admit that it would.

“And I am writing a play now,” said
Frank, “in’ which there is not a single me-
chanical sensation.”

“What? Writing another play?”

Ses.

“As quick as this?”

Sure.”

“What for?”

“Emergency.”

“What sort of emergency? Why, you’re
making a barrel of money with this piece, and
I don’t see why you want another play now.
Take time to write it during your summer
vacation.”

“I am not planning to take a vacation this
summer.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Work, keep at it, keep on the road.”

“Why, you can’t make anything.”

“T believe I can.” 4

“Where?”

“At Down East summer resorts, in the Ad-
-irondacks and around the Great Lakes. I
think there is a good thing in it.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I was down in Maine last summer, and
I caught onto the fact that the section was
being worked. by repertoire companies, and
they were doing fairly well, though most of
them had old pieces or pirated plays. A first-
class company, with a raft of good paper
and some top-notch plays, can make money
down that way in the summer, unless the peo-
ple have been disgusted by being fooled by
the cheap companies that have toured the
State every year.”

“And you are writing another play so that
—what?”?

“Well, I hope to make a piece equally as
- good as ‘John Smith.’ If I am not molested
_ with ‘John Smith,’ I shall have two pieces,

   

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY. 6

both new, with which to work the summer
resorts. I shall try to pick up one or two
more good things to play on royalty, so that
we can stay three or four nights in a place.”

“You might work in ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’
‘East Lynne,’ and some of them old stand-
bys.”

“Not much! The people have had those
‘old stand-bys’ till they are more than sick
of them.”

“Oh, I don’t know.

slow. Why, the local managers where we

‘Uncle Tom’s’ not so

used to play told us lots of times that they
had to put ‘Uncle Tom’ in once a year to
get even with the people who wouldn’t pa-
tronize good shows when they came along.
‘Uncle Tom’ always drew. That is, it always
did till we struck a section of the country
where there wasn’t any money, so the people
couldn’t come.” — |

— "You may be right, Cassie,’ laughed
Frank, “but I think I’ll leave ‘Uncle Tom’
off the list, and try to give them something

’

new and fresh. But that is not the principal
reason for rushing my new play.”

“What is your reason, then?”

“Well, something may happen to ‘John ~
Smith.’ ”

“Something? What?”

“Well, I have seen a storm coming for
some little time. It seems that the sawmill
business has been used in another piece and
is properly protected. If that is true, I may
bunt up against a wall when I strike some of
the larger places.”

“Bet it’s a big bluff. How’d you get onto
at ,

“Well, my piece made a big hit in Kansas
City, you know, and, of course, it was re-

ported in the Eastern dramatic papers.

Straightway, out comes the manager of this
other play and says I am infringing on his
rights with my sawmill scene. He threatens _
suit, and all that.” |

     
   

“But he hasn’t done anything yet?”
cao.
“He won’t. Don’t worry. Bet he never
thought of the sawmill business till he saw
the report of your piece, and now he thinks
he'll swipe it, which he can do, if you ain’t
Vhad it patented, or copyrighted, or some-
thing.”

“Well, I have engaged an Eastern lawyer
to investigate this man’s claims, and I am
expecting to hear from himsany day.”

“Know the lawyer?”

NGS

“Look out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lawyers are crooked. Mebbe he'll go to
the other fellow and tell him he'll knock you
out for so much. You'll be sold out by your
own agent.”

“The man I have employed is well known
as a square lawyer, thoroughly honest and
reliable.”

“That kind don’t grow.”

“The one I have engaged is too prominent

to be dishonest in a matter of this magni-
tude.”
' “Well, that may save you,” admitted the
pessimistic Cassie. “But don’t you pull ‘John
Smith’ off till the law steps in and makes you
do it. Even then, if you see a ghost of a show
to win, you fight it out.”

“That advice is all right,” smiled Frank,
“and I shall take it.” :

“But Miss Bellwood must go back to her
old part.
and take it away from ier.
want me to do that—I know he wouldn’t.”

Ross wouldn’t

“Tt is fortunate you.came on as you did.”
declared Elsie. ‘You saved the show from

disaster, for my nerves were so unstrung by —
my fearful experience in the hands of those

 yuffians that I have been i in no condition to
x play since that time.”

        

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

It ain’t right for me to come on
g

“You'll come outall right, if you brace

9

up.

“You do not seem to think of yourself,
Miss Lee. If I play the part, what will you
do?”

“Oh, never mind me. I can get along

somehow. You know Ross and I are going
He thinks

his wife is dead, for he can find no trace of

to get married as soon as we can.

her, and he has not heard of her for four
years. If we was sure, we’d hitch to-morrow.
He’s been hiring a lawyer, same as you,
Frank, and the lawyer thinks he can find
positive evidence that Mrs. Havener is dead.
If he finds that

There was another knock on the door, and
He held a letter

in his hand, and his face was beaming.

 

Havener himself entered.

“She
has been dead for two years! We’ll be mar-

“T’ve got it at last, Cassie!” he cried.

ried right away!”

"SCHAPTER ATE

MEETING A RUFFIAN. ,
“Ross, is it true?” cried Cassie. “There
ain’t any mistake?”

“No. The lawyer says there is no doubt
of it. She was killed.” 3

“Killed?”

“Yes, in that wreck on the, B. & O. two
years ago. Here is a newspaper with her
name in the list of dead. It’s strange I never
saw it, but I don’t believe I read the list over
at the time.”

Cassie seemed overcome.

“Let me congratulate you both!’
claimed Frank, sincerely, “Fate has kept you

apart, but now—well, shall we have a wed-

ex-

ding to-day?”
“To-day?” gasped Cassie, growing pale.

“No, no—not so soon!”
“Why not?” urged Havener,

waited long enough?”

“Haven’t we

 

 

 
 

 

 

    
   
  
  
   
 

 

    

 

TIP TOP

“Yes, but—you see—you know—I am not
ready.”

“Nonsense! You know we would have
been married long ago but for the fact that
we did not know I was a free man.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps! Why, what do you mean? You
know we would.”

“No, I do not know it,” said Cassie, whor
had risen to her feet and seemed strangely
agitated. “There was another reason. You

_ know of my habit-—Frank knows of it.”

“But that is all past now.”
Cassie’s agitation increased.
“You

know I was taken back to a hospital, and

“No, Ross!” she finally exclaimed.

they they had to give me the stuff again.
They injected morphine in my arm to allay
the pain. Then they gave it to me in doses.
I had to have it.
She choked and stopped.
“Now

; “Well, I’m using it again—that’s all. I

”

 

And now—now

” said Havener, huskily.

 

swore I’d never marry you till I had rid
myself of the habit.
it this time.”

“You nearly did it once; you can do it

Perhaps I can’t break

again.”

“That came through Frank’s aid and ad-
vice. He told me to pray for strength to
break off the habit. He told me God would
hear my prayer, just the same as if I wasn’t
an actress. I prayed, and my prayer was
heard. I know it!”

“Do you think Gad would listen once, and
refuse to listen a second time?” asked Frank,
gently.

“But it’s too much to go to Him again.
What right have I to keep bothering Him

~ with my little troubles? He has other things

to look after, and He can’t waste His time
on me.” E
“Cassie, you are wrong in your under-

standing of God. No matter how many times

1

   

WEEKLY. q

‘you come to Him ‘in sincerity and in truth,’

He will hear you.”

“That sounds all right, but what have I
ever done for Him that He should do so
much for me?”

“That makes no difference. Read your
Bible, Cassie, and you will find He is loving
and kind and all-forgiving.”

“I did read the Bible when I was ill in the
hospital, and the more I read it the more
I realized how thoughtless and bad and
wicked I had been all my life. It made me
ashamed, and now I haven’t the nerve to get
down on my knees and ask favors of God any
more.”

“Your feelings do you credit, but still I
am sure you are making a great mistake.”

_ ‘Perhaps so; but not till I am sure I can
break the habit entirely will I get married.”

“Now, Cassie,” urged Havener, in des-
peration, “think what a position you are put-
ting me in! You won't let me help you any
more, and you have no money and no en-
gagement. Summer is coming on, and you
must get through the summer somehow.”

“T should be a burden to you,” protested
the girl, weakly.

“Nothing of the sort; you would be an
encouragement and a help. I have been do-
ing well since we started out with this piece.
Frank has seen to it that I was paid for my
work, and, in return, I have done everything
in my power to make the piece a success.”

“You have, Havener,” nodded Merry. “It
has been as much by your efforts as anything
else that we have done so well. You have
rehearsed the company and drilled them till
every bit of business is perfection and every
one of the cast can repeat the lines back-
ward. I appreciate what you have done.”

“And I have been able to put aside some
money. I shall put aside some more, and
Frank says he will keep through the sum-

mer; so you see, it will be all right. You

   
  

§ TIP TOP WEEKLY,

must marry me, Cassie! I will not take no
for an answer! I have waited long enough!”

He was masterful now, and, although she
continued to refuse, he talked as if it were
settled, so that she saw that he really meant
to have her anyway and that without delay.

Not infrequently that is the way to win a
-woman. It proved to be the proper way to
handle Cassie. She began to give in a little
at a time, and it was not long before they
were making plans.

“The marriage shall take place in the par-
-lor of this hotel,’ said Havener. “Merriwell
shall be best man.”

“And you, Miss Bellwood,” said Cassie,
before she thought just what she was say-
ing, “will you be bridesmaid? Will you be
able?” ;

Frank looked at Elsie entreatingly.

“Yes,” said Elsie, “I think I can do that.
I will.”

“Merriwell,” said Havener, who seemed

to fear that Cassie would change her mind
if there was any delay, “go get the minister
at once. Tell the members of the company
what is going to happen.”
“Wait,” urged Cassie.
time. Let me change my dress.”
“No. Don’t do that. I like that dress. Be-

sides, we want to do this thing quietly and

“Give me a little

without any display.”

Her objections were overruled, and
Frank started for the minister without de-
lay. As he left the room, Havener said:

“Get a justice if you can’t get a minister to
come. Don’t come back without somebody
who can do the job.”

“All right,” laughed Merry.

He ran down the stairs and out of the ho-
tel. As he bounded down the steps, a rough
looking man seemed to turn out of his way
and deliberately bump into him, giving him
a hunch with his shoulder. .
Frank was nearly knocked down. « Indeed,

‘ »

he staggered and barely recovered his euilib-
rium.

“Wal, who yer runnin’ inter?” fiercely.de-
manded-the man; glaring at Frank.

d

“T did not run into you,’ was the imme-
diate retort, “but you seemed to take pains
to deliberately place yourself in my way. If

you were a gentleman, you would apolo-

gize.”

“Hey?” snarled the fellow. “Apolergize—

apolergize to a dressed-up monkey? Wal,

that makes me laff!”

Frank saw the ruffianly rascal was spoiling
for trouble, and so he decided to go on at
once and avoid an encounter; but when Mer-
ry started to do this the man blocked his
path.

“Vou

chaps who ‘wear store clothes seem to think

“Hold on,” he ordered, insolently.

vou own the earth and no common man has
any right on it.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” said Merry,
quietly. “I believe in equal rights, and I re-
spect any man who is a gentleman, whether
he wears store clothes or overalls.”

He might have added that he had worn
overalls himself and worked among ‘“com-
mon men,” being in every outward appear-
ance at the time one of them, but he did not
say anything of the sort.

Spectators began to gather, but they stood

aloof and looked on, as if they did not care

to get into trouble by interfering.

Bart Hodge came out of the hotel and —

stood on the veranda, his hands thrust into
his pockets, calmly watching and listening.
It was plain that he was not at all concerned
but that his friend could take care of him-
self, for all of the ruffian’s savage appear-
ance

Instead of being soothed by Frank’s quiet
words, the fellow evidently thought Merry

was frightened, and he became all the more —

insolent. |

Seasons

 

 

 

   

 

   
    
       

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

  
 

  

“Who cares what you believe?” he cried.
“You makes me tired, you does.”
“Please let me pass,” said Frank. “I am
in a hurry.” .

“Oh, ye are. Wal, I allow you said some-
thin’ about ’polergizin’. You kin git right
down on yer knees an’ do that yerself, an’
yer wants ter be mighty lively about it, or
I'll shoot yer full of lead!’

With this threat, the ruffian produced a
revolver and pointed it straight at Frank.

“Drop that!”

The stern command seemed to come from
directly behind the man, causing him to
_ Start and look around.

Frank had not forgotten his tricks of ven-
triloquism, and so he had thrown the man
off his guard. .

With a leap, Merry was on him. Clutch,
wrench—he had the revolver, having twisted
it from the man’s hand.

Backward sprang Frank.

“T think I will do a little shooting myself,”
he said. '

Then he seemed to fire straight at the

man,

CHAPTER IV.
LUCK AND PLUCK GO TOGETHER.

To the spectators it looked as if Frank had
fired with the deliberate intention of shoot-
ing the man down.

But the man did not fall.

_ Instead, a button flew from the fellow’s
clothes.

Shot followed shot, and the buttons flew
with every one. {

‘The man danced and howled, putting up
an arm, as if to ward off the bullets.

On the veranda Bart Hodge stood, his
“hands thrust deep into his pockets, a quiet

look of satisfaction on his stern face.
. fe

 

IP 'TOP WEEKLY. 9

The other witnesses of this remarkable
scene were more than astounded.

Five shots Frank fired, and then he
paused, with the revolver held ready.

He had clipped five buttons from the man’s
clothes.

“There is a bullet left in this gun,” he
said, speaking with the utmost coolness. “I
shall not bother to pick off a button with it.
If you force me to shoot again, you alone
will be to blame in case I. put the lead
through your body. Down on your knees
and ask my pardon.”

The fellow hesitated.

“Down!” rang out Frank’s clear com-
mand; “down, or by the Lord Harry, I shall
shoot!”

The ruffan was somewhat dazed, but he
realized that a person who could pick off
buttons with bullets in that fashion was ca-
pable of sending the next bit of lead to a
vital spot.

“Don’t shoot!” he gasped, flinging up his
hands.

“Down on your knees!” ordered Merry.
“This is the third and last call! Get down
and apologize!”

Down the fellow dropped.

“Don’t shoot!” he begged once more. “I

apolergize. I didn’t mean northin’ nohow.
I wuz jest foolin’ with yer—deed I wuz,
pard! I'll swaller evrything I said.”

The muzzle of the weapon pointed straight
at the man as he cowered there. It was ele-
vated the least trifle, and then there was a
spout of smoke, a sharp report, and a yell
from the frightened wretch.

Down on his face fell the man, his hat
flying off. : oe
“Murder!” he howled. “Help! Save me!
Murder!” , i is
With a short laugh of contempt, Merry

flung the revolver at the prostrate coward © 4
i -and bully, and then quietly walked past him —

    
  

   

10 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

and away, never once turning his head
to look round.

A man who had been watching it all met
him and said: |

“It was kind of tough to shoot a critter
when he was on his knees, but I reckon you
have done a service to this place, young
man. Ben Baxter never was any good,
and he ought to have been hung long ago.
He has made trouble enough here, and I’m
But I
reckon you'll pay the expenses of the plant-

glad somebody snuffed him out.

ing? It’s your cadaver.”

Frank laughed.

“My dear sir,” he said, “Mr Baxter is not
injured in the least.”

“What? Why, there he lays on his face,
howling like a kicking dorg! I allowed
you'd shoot him clean through.”

“Nothing of the sort.
* few buttons off his clothes in the first place

I simply clipped a

to show him that I could shoot, and then,
with the last shot I put a bullet hole
through his hat, that he might remember
me. He is entirely untouched.”

“Well, may I be kicked!” exclaimed the
“T thought by the
howl he let out when you popped at him

_ disgusted spectator.

the last time that you had done him sure.
I don’t think you have a right, young man,
to raise such hopes in the hearts of the
peaceful citizens of this place unless you fit-
ish the job.”

His manner showed keen disappointment,
forcing Frank to laugh again.

“T believe you would have been better sat-
isfied had I finished Mr. Baxter.”

“T certainly should. I object to being
fooled in this manner.”

“Perhaps I'd better go back and complete
the job,” observed Merry, jokingly.

“T think it would be an excellent idea,”
nodded the citizen, gravely.

“But it’s a trifle too much, you know,.. A ;

man’s conscience would trouble him if he
shot such a cringing cur as that.”

“T rather think you are right in that re-
spect,’ admitted the citizen. “You should
have finished him when you first took the
gun from him, and then the coroner’s jury

would have cleared you by saying he came to |

his death accidentally.”

“Accidentally ?”

SES es

“How could the jury have rendered such
a verdict if I had shot him?” |

“Well, you see, it would have been a clear
case of self-defence on your part, and no-
body would have wished to cause you the
least trouble.
cident so far as Baxter was concerned, for
he would have let you alone had he known
what was coming.”

Frank laughed still more heartily.

“That is plain enough. I see I might
have rendered a great service to Cripple
Creek, but it is too late now, so I think the
citizens of the place will have to forgive me
for failing to shoot Ben Baxter instanter on
getting his gun.” |

“You seem to be a very self-possessed

young man. Might I.ask your name?”

“Tt is Frank Merriwell.”
_ “Then you are connected with the show
that is to be in the Opera House to-night?”

EN irs tet

“T see your name on the bills. Well,
young man, a show tenderfoot who can meet
and do up Ben Baxter is worth seeing. I
shall come to your show to-night.”

“And so shall I!”

“Same here!”

“Me, too!”

Three other men had approached while

Frank and the citizen were talking, and they |
announced their intention of seeing Frank

across the footlights.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Merry, bow-

iy}

It would have been an ac-.

 

 

 

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Sapi eapleny

 

 
  
    
    
 

 

 

  
 
 

   

-. sought’a man came out.

  

é
j

* TIP TOP WEEKLY. ss ad

ing tothem. “TI shall be pleased to have you
come, and I think you will be pleased to be
there. If you do not say ‘John Smith of
Montana’ is all right after the final curtain I
shall be happy to refund the money to you
at the box office.”

“That’s the talk!”

“You're all right!”

“He’s a dandy!”

“Hooray for Frank Merriwell!”

The four swung their hats and cheered,
and others at a distance took it up.

Ben B xter rose to his knees and looked
round to see what it was about. He drew a
deep breath of relief, picked up his hat,

looked at the bullet hole through it, snatched

his revolver, jumped to his feet and hurried “

away.

Standing on the hotel veranda, Bart
Hodge smiled grimly.

“Luck and pluck seem to go together,” he
mutteréd. “It took pluck to face that ruf-

fian, and the luck follows, for it was a great

piece of advertising, and we will have a

packed house to-night.”

 

CHAPTER V.
A PERSISTENT FOE.

Frank decided that it was best to see a jus-
tice to find out about the marriage laws of the
state, and so he inquired for the office of one.

Just as he reached the door of the office he
Frank recognized
the individual instantly, and he was instantly
recognized, —

It was Philip Scudder, the man who had
stolen Merry’s play in St. Louis.

Scudder stopped and regarded Frank with
an insolent stare. 5

The young actor-playwright, would have
passed on without a word, but Scudder spoke.

“Hello,” he said, sneeringly. ‘So you’ve

arrived.”

with rage.

“After your experience in Blair, I didn’t
suppose you would stop running till you were
out of Colorado,” said Frank, cuttingly.

“Oh, I didn’t run so far.”

“You ran far enough to escape from the
You

were more fortunate than your friend Lock-

men who were after you with a rope.

well.”
*‘Lockwell!”

stroyed him!

cried Scudder. ‘You de-
You are responsible for the
poor fellow’s death!”

“You know that is not true, Philip Scud-
der. You are the one who is responsible for
all that happened to Percy Lockwell, and
you should have been in his place when the
men of Blair swung him to the limb of a
tree! He was your agent. You sought re-
venge on me because you failed in your at-
tempt at St. Louis to rob me; you did so
even after I let up on you for the sake of your
unfortunate wife, and did not prosecute you.
You urged Lockell to do me an injury. He
tried it after getting into the company, but
failed and was exposed. The fellow was not
well balanced, and he became insanely en-
When

I exposed him in his attempt to cheat Parker

raged over the failure of his efforts.

Folansbee at poker he seemed to lose his
head entirely. After that he wanted to mur.
der me. I have no doubt but he was insane
No one but an insane mai would
have tried the things he attempted. He fol-
lowed me from place to i lace like a Nemesis,
but he made a fatal mistake when he at-
tempted to disfigure Elsie Bellwood for life.
That act set the young men of Blair on his
trail, and they did not stop till they had
strung him to a tree. You were fortunate to
get away. I consider you a greater rascal
than Lockwell, although you have not the
nerve to go to such extremes as he did.”
“Well, are you done croaking?”’ asked
Scudder, insultingly. “If you are, I have a _
few words to say.” .

 

  
       

12 TIP TOP

“Nothing you can say will interest me.”
“Oh, I don’t know! You may be inter-
ested later on. You have just about reached
the end of your rope. I know something
that will happen before many hours that will
bring you up with a round turn. Your gay
career on the road ends right here in Cripple

Creek.”

“You are not the first man who has tried
to bring my career to an end. I don’t sup-
pose you will be the last.”

“Oh, I am not the only one in this business

here. There are others. It will be a sure
job this time.”

“You are trying to put up a big bluff, but
bluffs from such men as you do not go with

9

me. :

“You will find this is no bluff.”

“Well, go ahead and do whatever you can,
but be careful, for there is law in Colorado as
well as elsewhere.”

“Vou are right, and this time you will find
the law against you.”

“What are you driving at, man?”

Scudder wagged his head and winked.

“Oin, you'll find out later,” he said, signifi-
cantly» “The tour of Frank Merriwell, the
great actor and play writer, will come to a
sudden termination.”

“So you say.”

“So you will know before long. You have
made considerable talk about my trying to
steal your play. How about the things you
‘have stolen and put into your play? Ha!

That hits you! I knew it would!”

cat

Scudder showed his teeth in*a triumphant —

; ; \
grin.

Frank remained perfectly cool, although at
last he fancied he understood what his enemy
“was driving at in his insinuations and hints.

Scudder was aware of the fact that another
play writer and manager claimed that Merry
was infringing on his rights. It was likely

‘ Merry.

WEEKLY.

that he had seen the other fellow’s notice
in the Eastern dramatic paper.

“It is easy enough to talk about such
things,” said Frank, “but it is rather more
difficult to prove the claims.” |

“Oh, it can be proven that you are a pla-
giarist, a thief, a robber. You
know it!”

“You lie, Scudder!”

Frank did not lift his voice in the least, but

I know it!

there was plenty of emphasis in his words.
Scudder and his hands
clenched convulsively.

turned pale

“T’d like to ram the words down - your
throat!” he grated.

“T‘d like to\have you try it,” declared
“It would give me great pleasure.
As a rule, I try to avoid scrapping, but I
think I would enjoy giving you the thrashing
you deserve. Won't you be kind enough to
try a little ramming?”

“Oh, Tl be concerned in some ramming
that you won’t like! But I wouldn’t soil my
hands by putting them on you!”

“Too bad!

with gloves?

Can’t you cover your hands
I would enjoy it very much if
you would do something to give me a reason-
able excuse for knocking you down.”

“Oh, you crow loud, but your comb will
be clipped before long.”

“You will not be able to clip it, Scudder.”

“T’ll have a hand in it, be sure of that.”

“Then it will be some sort of a crooked
game, for I don’t believe you ever had a
hand in anything that was square and honest
in your life.” : gga

These stinging words from Frank’s lips
caused the fellow to fairly writhe, but he

_ knew better than to assault the ex-Yale ath- . -

lete, although he longed to smash him.
“You are a fine fellow to talk about hon-
“You have been tray-

?

esty!” he spluttered.

eling around posing as a great play writer,

but you haven’t brains enough to write a

 

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Ce ee ee

 

ac’ iil lac a

 

 

 

       

 
 

 

 

 

  
  

  
 
 

- I would give not a little to know just what

successful play, and so you steal the work
of some other man’s brains.”

When
you are at loss for words, you fall back on

“That is all you can say, Scudder.

that, and you know full well enough that
there is no truth in it. I am here on busi-
ness, and I shall waste no more words with

you.

Frank was about to pass on, when, mean-
ing it as a parting shot, Scudder flung at him:

“You are not the only one who will get
into trouble.
are booked for jail—one in particular.”

“I have heard quite enough of your mean-
“Keep out of my
I shall pay no

ingless talk,” said Frank.
way in the future, Scudder.
attention to you, unless you force me to
-knock you down by your insolence. You
are not worth wasting words on.”

“You will find I am not wasting words.
Both you
and one of your chief pushers will be under
arrest before night. ‘John Smith’ will not be
played in Cripple Creek. As for that matter,

What I say means something.

it will never be played anywhere again.”
Frank smiled and walked on into the office.
Just inside the door he paused and looked
round. Scudder was hurrying across the
street toward a man who seemed to be wait-
_ ing for him. That man was dressed in a blue
uniform and wore a badge on his breast. It

was the chief of police of Cripple Creek.
As Scudder reached the officer he took a
paper from his pocket and placed it in the
man’s hand. The chief opened it, looked it

over and nodded. A brief but animated con-

versation took place between the two.

“Now,

mean?” speculated Merry.

I wonder just what that does
“Somehow, I

, really believe that fellow is trying to injure

me by legal means, now that he has failed
in every other way.

Some of your chief associates,

feeel uneasy.

I must be on my guard. 3

   

TIP TOP WEEKLY. 18

he is up to, for then I might be able to
thwart him.”
A veiled woman came down the street and

approached the two men. Scudder seemed

to introduce her to the chief of police, who

lifted his helmet. Then the conversation was
continued by the trio.

“This grows still more interesting,” mut-
tered Frank.

what part does she play in the game?

“Who is that woman, and
Some-
thing is in the air, for I can feel it. There is
a storm coming.”

Despite his nerve, Merry was beginning to
It seemed evident that some
kind of a plot was being worked up against
him, and, not knowing exactly what it was,
he feared he would not be in condition to
checkmate the move. 7

After a few seconds the two men and the
Frank ~

watched them till they entered a doorway and

veiled woman moved up the street.

disappeared from view.

“Hodge is right in claiming that Scudder
“He is
relentless in his hatred for me, and he will go _

is a thorough rascal,” said Merry.

to almost any extreme to hurt me.”
Then he entered the office.

 

CHAPTER VI.
AN INTERRUPTED MARRIAGE,

A man who had been talking with the jus-
tice rose to his feet as Merry came in and
turned to leave. He was about thirty years

old, smartly dressed, red-headed and had a a

well-trained, sandy mustache. As he passed —

out this man gave Frank a sharp and curious

stare, seeming to _patise as if to speak, imme-
diately changing his mind and going on.

As the door closed behind the man Frank 2

spoke to the foxy-faced individual who had
risen to greet him.
“Are you Mr. Downs, the justice?”
“T am, young iat: ai ee that individew oe

  
 

14 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

al, rubbing his hands together as if he were
washing them. “What can I do for you?
This is an tinusually lively morning. Busi-
ness is coming on the rush.”

“Would you mind telling me who the gen-
tleman was who just went out?”

“His name is—er—ah—Randolph Wes-
ton.”
“Belong in town?”

“No. He is from New York.

come West.”

Lately

“On business?”

“Ah—er—yes, sir.” ;

Frank felt that he would like to know the
nature of Mr. Weston’s business, but he re-
frained from asking any further questions
about the man.

However, he had no scruples in asking
about: Scudder.

“There was another man who left the of-
fice a few moments ago—Scudder by name.
I presume he had business with you?”

“Oh, yes.
have been fixing up.”

Then he has legal business in

He called for some papers I

“Papers?

; Cripple Creek, and he is also a stranger

ey

here.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, I regret to say that I do.” »

“Regret? He seemed to be a very pleas-
ant gentleman.” *

“T presume he is capable of making a good
appearance when he tries. Is his business a
secret?”

“Well, yes—ah—er—it is. You see, it

would not be right for me to say anything

about it.”

“T understand. ’Very well. I have some
=
business to transact with you.”
Frank made some inquiries about the mar-

riage laws of the state, and then asked the

address of a minister to perform the cere-
mony. 4
“T can attend to that,-sir,” assured Mr.

Downs. “You do not need to look further.”

“But I believe the parties desire the service
of a minister.”

“T have filled the pulpit myself.”

“You?” cried Frank in surprise.

“Yes, indeed.”

“But you are a justice now.” :

“TI found the law paid better than the min-
istry, young man, and so I abandoned the
pulpit.”

This was rather amusing for Frank and he
could not repress a smile,

“Perhaps you will do as well as anybody,”
he said. “It will save delay, at any rate.”

“Very true, very true, sir. Will you bring

2 9

 

the parties here to my office, or shall I
“The ceremony is to take place in the hotel
where we are stopping.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Downs, catching up
“My
fee will be twenty dollars, strictly in ad-

his hat and clapping it on his head.

vance.”
“Your fee?

allow the groom to give such a sum as he

I believe it is customary to

chooses.”

“It may be’customary in some places, but
not in Cripple Creek, especially in) dealing
with strangers.”

“Don’t you think twenty dollars rather ex-
orbitant?” :

“Not in the least.”

“Well, I think I will look for a minister.”

“Oh—ah—er—in case you may not feel
like paying so much,” Mr. Downs hastened
to say, “I will accept less, performing the
ceremony as a favor.” |

“We do not care to have it performed as a
favor—by a justice. If you perform it, it
will be a matter of business, and you will

receive ten dollars—not a cent more.”
T’ll have to

“Oh, well, I'll accept that.
charge you ten dollars for counsel.”

“What?” ;

“T believe you sought my advice in this

  

 

ms aa Pa Si

 

 

       

 

 
 

 

N wy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

matter, and I answered some questions in ref-
erence to the laws of the state. Ten dollars,
please.”

Frank was forced to laugh.

“You are determined to have twenty dollars
out of it, I see. Well, all right. I presume
that is the way you do business. When you
can hook a sucker, you work him for all there
is in it. It is a rule many men go by; but I
do not wonder that you abandoned the min-
istry and went into law.”

Frank passed over ten dollars, for which he
demanded a receipt.

Mr. Downs hastily scribbled one on a piece
of paper, stating that the money was received
in payment for legal counsel.

“Now give me another receipt for ‘ten
more,” said Merry, “which is for performing
a marriage ceremony.”

The paper was filled out and handed to
Frank in exchange for a crisp bank note.

“Tf business would keep up as it has begun ,

this morning I’d have money to burn in a few
months,” chuckled Norton Downs, stowing

the bank note away.

Then he picked up a book and announced
that he was ready to follow Merry.

They went out, the justice locking the door
of his office behind him.

At the hotel, although Frank had notified
none of the company, they found the report
had been circulated that Havener and Cassie
were to be married, and all were anxious to
know when the ceremony was to take place.

It was not long before an expectant party
gathered in the parlor, awaiting the appear-

ance of the bride and groom, with the at-

tendant bridesmaid and best man.
There was very little delay. Havener and
Cassie appeared, accompanied by Frank and

Elsie.

It is probable there were very few in the
room who did not note the contrast between
the two couples. Although she was pale,

e

    

16

Elsie looked very sweet and charming as she
clung to the arm of the handsome star of
“John Smith.”

“By Gosh!” Ephraim Gallup whispered to
Hodge, “anybody’d think Frank an’ Elsie
was the ones to git merried. They might
do it, an’ make this air a double weddin’!”

“Not much!” hissed Bart. “Frank Merri-
well ain’t that big fool! If he gets married
inside of six years, I'll shoot him!”

“Thutteration!
yeou when he shell git merried

I don’t s’pose he'll ax
!” gurgled
Gallup, flushing. “Yeou ain’t his guardeen
by a darn long sight!”

“He'll need one if he gets married before
he’s twenty-five, and that will be nearly six
years from now. I don’t take stock in youth-
ful marriages.”

“Oh, yeou don’t take no stork in north-
ing!” Gallup almost exploded. “Yeou’re al-
wus turnin’ up your nose.”

Everything had been done without loss of
time, and so there was no delay now. How-
ever, when Norton Downs stood up to per-
form the ceremony, with Havener and Cas-_
sie before him, he heard the name of the
groom for the first time, and he seemed
startled.

“What name did you say?” he asked
Frank in an aside.

“Havener—Roscoe Havener,” answered
Merry.

The justice seemed confused, hesitated and
then suddenly began to feel in his pockets,
producing a ten dollar bill; which he held
toward Frank, saying:

“Take it back, young man.”

“Why, what does this mean?” asked Merry
in surprise.

“T cannot perform the ceremony.”

Can't?

“No, sir.”

Havener was glaring at Downs.

“Why can’t you perform the ceremony?” —

  
    
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
   
  
  
 

  

16

he demanded. ‘What sort of a trick is this?”

,

“No trick at all, sir,” assured the foxy-
faced little man, rubbing his hands together.
“There is a reason why I cannot marry you
to the young lady.”

“Then state it,” commanded the stage
manager of the Midland Dramatic Company,
“Out with it.”

“Excuse me; I’d rather not.”

almost fiercely.

“Well, you must. Think I’ll put up with
this kind of nonsense? Come, sir, state your
reason for refusing to marry us, and be sure
it is a good reason, too.”

“It is a very good reason,” declared the
justice, who was extremely agitated.

“Out with it!” Havener again commanded.
“Why won’t you perform the céremony?”

“Because the marriage would not be le-
gal,” was the answer that astonished every-
body.

“Not legal?” exclaimed Merry. “But you

”

told me

 

“Everything I told you was straight,” as-

9?

 

sured Downs, shaking; “but—but

“But what?’

“There is another reason why it would not
be legal.”

“Stop beating about the bush and come
to the point at once,” said Havener, grimly.
“What is that reason?”

“Perhaps I had better tell it to you pri-
vately,” faltered Mr. Downs.

Havener suddenly grew pale.

“No,” he said, “tell it here before every-
body. Why wouldn’t the ceremony be le-
gal?” j

“Because—because you already have a
wife!” 3

“Tt is not true!” Havener cried. “My wife
is dead, and I have the evidence of her

death!”

“You are very much mistaken, my dear,

slippery hubby!” said a female voice, and into
the room stepped the mysterious veiled

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

woman whom Frank had seen talking with
Scudder and the chief of police, who now

followed her closely. “I am very much

alive, as you will confess.”

She flung back her veil.

Havener stood there as if turned to stone.
Not a word, not a sound escaped his lips.
He stared at her in unspeakable horror.
After some seconds he gasped:

“It is my wife—alive!’’

“Very much so,” mocked the woman.
“Officer, there is your man.
Arrest him?’

You have the
warrant.

CHAPTER VI.
SCUDDER’S TRIUMPH.

The chief of police advanced on Havener,
placed a hand on his shoulder and sternly
said:

“You will have to come with me.”

“Hands off!” burst from the man’s white
lips, “Hands off, or by the gods e

"The chief made a rapid move, but Frank
stepped in, saying:

“Steady, Havener!
fix this thing.”

“But it’s an outrage!” protested Havener,
hoarsely. :

 

We'll

Don’t resist.

The woman who claimed to be his wife
laughed. She had a coarsely handsome face

and there was rouge on her cheeks. Her

laugh was like a blow in the face.

“Oh, he cringes!” she said; “and he talks
about an outrage! He who was about to de-
ceive this unfortunate girl by marrying her.
I have saved him from committing bigamy,
but he shall pay dearly for his neglect of me
all these years.”

“Woman!” cried Havener, his face corru-
gated with passion, “how dare you appear
and make such a charge against me?”

Again she laughed.

“Any one would know you were an actor

 

 

 

 
   
       
      
       
          
         
     
TIP TOP WEEKLY. 17

just to hear you say that,” she said. “You

can’t deny that you failed to support me.”
“Why should I support such a woman as

You betrayed me—you were false to

You deserted me for another man, and

you?
me.
I suppose he, in turn, deserted you.”

“How can you try to put up such a weak
bluff? You

tired of me and threw me over.”

You must know it won't go.
“Woman, you ~

“Steady!” again came Merry’s cautioning
voice. “Be careful what you say, Havener.”
—“Tt’s a lie!” panted the man. Then he
turned to Cassie, whose eyes were fastened
“You do not: believe
YO"

on the accusing wife.
her, do you?” questioned Havener.
do not believe her, Cassie?”

“No,” said the little soubrette, quietly.
1 know she is lying, Ross. I can see it in
her face.”

“Thank heaven for. your confidence!” he
“This—this is the bit-
terest moment of my life!”

“You do it splendidly, old boy,” cried the
false wife, with mock admiration. “I be-
lieve you can act better than you used to, and

muttered, hoarsely.

you always were pretty good.”

Strangely enough, at that moment Frank

Merriwell thought: :
“Here is a situation from life that would
make a strong climax for an act of a play.
Don’t forget it. Make a note of it at the first
opportunity. It is the very thing you have
been wanting for a certain situation in your
new piece.”

The faculty of observing and mentally re-
cording strong situations in actual life, which
every author and play writer acquires, was
developing in him.

It is a remarkable thing that, no matter
what happens, an author almost invariably
thinks of it as “‘material.’’ Often he will find
himself calmly viewing and analyzing the

most tragic events of his own life, and he will

say, “I must not forget this, for it will be
simply great if I handle it right.” He may
do this at the very moment when the tragedy
is taking place. Unconsciously he seems to
stand apart from himself and the others with
whom he is associated in the action and look
on as if he were .a dispassionate observer.
If he is suffering intensely, the thought may
come to him that he must not forget how he
feels at that moment, for he may desire at
some future time to depict the feelings and
emotions of an imaginary character in a simi-
lar position. Even though his life may be
in deadly peril, the thought will come to him
to remember exactly every sensation that as-
sails him so that, if he escapes and survives,
he may be able to tell how another would
feel in such peril. And it is almost certain
that one who has not lived and lived, been
happy and suffered, struggled and conquered,
been tempted and triumphed, cannot suc-_
cessfully depict the sensations that come to
human beings who pass through the vicissi-
tudes of life.
these various emotions may attempt to de-
scribe them in fiction, but his characters will
be wooden and lifeless. The mirth will ring
false, the pathos will be bathos, the despair

will be a mockery.

A person who has not felt

Many a youthful writer of fiction wonders
why his stories do not meet the approval of
editors. In many cases it is because he had
not lived and experienced. The emotions he
attempts to describe are not the emotions he
has really and truly sounded to their depths,
but he is trying to describe them as he has
read of them in other stories. He must live,
he must observe, and he must let nothing es-
cape him that may serve as “grist for his
mill.”

The one who has seen hardships and pov-
erty can best describe such wretchedness.
The one who has heard the wolf gnawing at

his door never forgets the eerie horror of it.

 
   

   

18

a

The one who has seen the skeleton faces of
hunger and despair peering in at his window
always remembers the ghastly dread that
lacerated his soul. If loved ones depended
on him and he saw no way to protect them
from the crushing hand of want, the memory
is all the more acute and vivid.

Cine who has experienced all this can best
paint with words the despair of it. And per-
haps, strangely enough, in the midst of all
his suffering, he has thought that some day
he might be able to work it all up into “good
stuff” that some editor would want!

So it is not strange that, in the midst of
this thrilling scene that was taking place there
in the hotel, Frank Merriwell thought that
it would make a good “situation” in his new
play.

In the wife who had deserted Havener
Frank saw a powerful character for his play.

He studied her then, he made mental note of ©

her looks, her gestures and her words.

He saw that she had been handsome once,
in a certain way; but beneath the surface
there had been a coarseness that was grow-
ing more and more apparent with passing
years. She was dashing now, but her face
wore a brazen look. Some men would have
been attracted by her, but she would have
been respulsive to any man of refinement.

Frank pitied Havener, for he saw that the
man was suffering intensely, having fully be-
lieved that his wife was dead till the very
moment when she appeared in that room.

The woman gloried in the scene and the
sensation she had created. She felt that she
was the central figure in the little drama in
real life, and she was happy.

But Frank had not forgotten Philip Scud-
der. His eyes sought for and found his ene-
my. Scudder was. standing near the door,
watching Frank, and there was sneering tri-
umph on his face. He grinned as Merry
soked at him, saying:

“This is the beginning, Mr. Merriwell.
It’s pretty warm now, but there is more to
follow.”

“So you had a hand in this!” exclaimed
Merry. “Well, I understand some of the
talk you made to-day. But I don’t think you
will make much out of it in the end.”

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

“Oh, you don’t know what’s coming.”

“Is this his job?” grated Hodge, at Frank’s
elbow. “Did he put the woman on track of
Havener?”

“Without doubt he did,” answered Frank.

“Then let me get one crack at him!” whis-
pered Bart, pleadingly. “I'll agree to give
him a mark that he’ll carry for a while.”

“It won’t do—now,” said Frank. “The
fellow deserves something worse. Still it is
a good thing for Havener that the woman
appeared in time to prevent this marriage.
He has escaped committing bigamy.”

“T thought her dead!’;groaned Havener.

The woman heard him.

“That is a good bluff,” she said, “but it
won't go down, old fellow. I-suppose that’s
what you told the girl.”

“Your name was in the list of killed in
the B. & O. wreck two years ago. I have
the paper. My lawyer reported that there
was no doubt of your death.” ~ Oe

“Your lawyer was a chump. I was in
the wreck, but they mistook one of the stiffs
for me. I came out without a scratch, so I
couldn’t even sue the company, and so I kept
Stig: 2

“You see how it was, Cassie,” said Hav-
ener, desperately. “I had every reason to
believe her dead.”

“Ves, I see, Ross,” said Cassie.

“And you still believe in me?”

“With all my heart, Ross!” cried the little
soubrette, flinging her arms about him.

“Here, here!” cried the woman. “Quit
that! That man is my husband! How dare
you! Ha! ha! ha!’

“How dare 1?” flung back Cassie, defiantly.
“Because I love him! You have no right to
him! He is mine!”

And then, standing on her toes, she kissed
him. —

“What a sight for a loving and devoted
wife!” mockingly cried the adventuress.
“How it wrings my heart! .Take him away,
officer!
support me in the future!”

“T’ll stand by you, Havener,” assured Mer-
riwell. ‘‘Rolansbee has money, and we'll
have you out on bail right away. This
woman can’t sustain her charges. You will

Lock him up! We'll see if he will

ita ht

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
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get your divorce, and you shall marry Cassie.
Keep a stiff backbone.”

“Thank you, Merriwell,’ said Havener,
huskily, as Frank grasped his hand and gave
it a warm pressure. “You are a true friend
—a friend worth having.”

Then he was led away.

CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT PLEASED EPHRAIM.

Scudder paused to cast one more sneer at
Frank.

“How do you think you will get along
without your stage manager and best man?”
he asked, triumphantly. “Oh, you won’t

‘cut much ice in Cripple Creek!”

Hodge clutched Merry’s arm convulsively.

“Please, Frank—please let me thump
him!” pleaded the passionate fellow. “T’'ll
do a good job.” 3

“And be arrested for assault,’ said Merry.
“Without doubt, he hopes to provoke one of
us to assault him. He is trying to break up
the show to-night.”

“Te has succeeded already. It can’t be
any worse, and I’ll pay my fine if I’m arrest-
ed. I’d willingly give fifty dollars just to
hit that son of a gun one good soaker!”

“T tell you it won’t do! The time will
come to hit him, and I hope to give him a
blow that will be heavier than a blow from a
clenched fist. Hold yourself down, Bart.”

“Oh, you two may whisper’and glare at
ine!” cried Scudder. “I am not afraid of you
both. You’ve got it where the chicken got
the axe! But don’t forget that there is more
to follow. I have struck my blow, but you
will have some personal dealings with the
law, Mr. Frank Merriwell. The day is not
over. and I happen to know what is in store
for you.” a

Frank turned away and, with a last tri-
umphant laugh, Scudder followed the ad-
venturess from the room.

_ Elsie was doing her best to console Cassie,
who seemed to have collapsed, now that Hay-
ener was gone. The members of the com-
pany gathered about in a sympathetic group,
even Leslie Lawrence expressing his regrets.

Lawrence had been keeping pretty quiet

   

TIP TOP WEEKLY. 19

for some time, and the fate of Lockwell
seemed to have cowed him completely.

Now he drew Douglas Dunton aside and
said:

“T have seen that woman before.”

“What woman?” asked Dunton.

“The one who claims to be
wife.”

“Who claims to be! Why, he didn’t deny
that she was his wife! Don’t you think the
man knows his own wife?’

“Ves, but she is an adventuress.”

“That don’t make it any better for Have-
ner. He married her, and the poor devil is
in a bad fix, although I don’t believe she
will be able to make him support her. Just
the same, he is hitched to her, and he can’t
marry Cassie till he gets a divorce. This fel-
low Scudder, a friend of your former friend
Lockwell, has brought about Havener’s ar-
rest in order to knock the show out. If he
knocks the show out, you are knocked out,
and I believe you have been getting your cold
cash regularly every week. You see what
such friendship amounts to. You will get
left, along with the rest of us, if Scudder suc-
ceeds.”

Lawrence saw that, and it made him feel
sore. He had no sympathy for Frank, but
he was thoroughly aroused by the danger of
losing his own salary. Entirely selfish, he
saw that he must suffer if Frank suffered,
and, all at once, he began to feel sorry that
Scudder had succeeded so well in his little
game.

“Scudder may get into trouble himself,”
said Lawrence, in a meaning way.

“How?” asked Dunton.

“Oh, I know,” was the answer.

“If you know anything that will get Have-__
ner out of this scrape, take my advice and
make use of your knowledge in a hurry.”

“T am not sure,” said Lawrence; “but I
have an idea. I'll have to find out if I’m
right.”

“Well, you want to find out in a hurry.”

Frank had been speaking with Elsie and
Cassie. Now he looked around for. Hodge,
but Bart and Ephraim were gone.

“Go up to the rooms with the girls, Miss
Harrison,” said Frank, to the leading lady. |

Havener’s

  
   

   

20 TIP TOP WEEKLY,

“I must get Folansbee and see what can be
done for Havener.”

Lilian Bird and Hattie Harrison accom-
panied Cassie and Elsie from the parlor. The
men of the company were left there, and they
were able to express their. feelings in lan-

guage that would not have sounded particu-

larly polite before the ladies.

Parker Folansbee came in from the office,
wiping his lips with his handkerchief.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “I was
forced to go to the bar for a bracer. This—
ah—unfortunate affair completely upset my
nerves. What are we to do, Merriwell?”

“We must get Hayener out on bail,” an-
swered Frank. “We must play in Cripple
Creek to-night.”

“That’s right,” agreed the backer of the
company, “for we are bound to have a great
house. At the bar they are talking of the
way in which you shot the buttons off the
clothes of one Benjamin Baxter with the said
Benjamin’s own revolver. It seems that Mr.
Baxter is what 1s regarded in this town as
a ‘bad man,’ and your little feat has covered
you with such glory that it is said the whole
town will want to see you in the play. We
can’t afford to miss the performance  to-
night.”

“Not if you have to fill Havener’s place,”
said Frank. ~

“Oh, Lord!” gasped Folansbee, turning
pale. “I couldn’t do it to save my life!”
“Then we must get Havener out of the
cooler.” |

“That’s right.”

“You have the rocks to do that.”

“It is probable that we shall be forced to
find a resident of the place to stand the bail,
and I will have -to secure him. I have no
property in this town, and so I can’t become
a bondsman here.”

“Well, will you see what can be done?”

Pe ees

“Go to the proprietor of the hotel. You
may be able to make arrangements with him, .

or he may direct you to somebody who will
help us out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“ “T am going to get Cassie and follow Have-
ner to the cooler.” _ :

“What for ?”

“There is no telling what Havener may
think of doing. If there was a way he
might.end his own life in despair, now that
his wife has appeared and he feels that he is
in a hopeless fix. _
and Cassie is the one to do that.”

“You are right, Merriwell. You always
seem to know the best thing to be done. I'll
do everything I can to get him out. Tell him
that. Tell h.m we'll have him out as soon as
possible.”

“All right,” nodded Frani:
is Hodge?”

At that moment Bart came sauntering into
the room, his hands in Lis trowsers pockets,
a peculiarly satisfied expression cn his stern
face.

Ephraim Gallup followed, and the Ver-
monter seemed ready to burst with sup-
pressed laughter.

“What is the matter with you, Ephraim?”
demanded,Frank, rather sharply. “I don’t
see anything to laugh at just now.”

“T don’t jest naow,” drawled the Yankea
youth; “but I did jest a few minutes agao,
b’gosh!”

“What was that?”

“Wal, I saw Hodge knock more’d seven-
teen kainds of tar aout of Mr. Philup Scud-
der,” shoutel Gallup. “Oh, haw! haw! haw!
It was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a hull
year! Oh, haw! haw! haw!”

He pressed his huge hands to his stomach,

“Now where

and his mirth ee doubled him up like

a jack- seme

CHAPTER IX.
A DESPERATE GIRL.
“What’s this?” demanded Frank, looking
at Bart. “You didn’t have a fight with site
der, did you?”
Bart shook his head, still looking perfect
ly satisfied and contented.
“No, I didn’t have a fight,” he answered,
“That’s right,” cried Gallup.
a fight. Bart didn’t give him time to fight
none. He jest done Scudder up in no time.
Oh, haw! haw! haw! Frank, yeou’d never
got over larfin’ if yeou’d bin thar to seen it.”

4

He must be encouraged,

 

“Tt wasn’t

FERPA? TE
3

 

SLR PT

 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

  

 
      
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

youth.

_ shape,”

 

“But I told you
ing to Bart.
“I know you did,” confessed Hodge. “I
couldn’t help it. I had to hit the fellow.”
-“Now you will be arrested.”

 

” began Merry, speak-

~ “Let um arrest,” said Gallup. © “They can’t
prove nothing by me, an’ I was the only one
to see it.”

“How did that happen?” asked Frank.

“T simply followed him till he turned up
between two buildings,” explained Bart, “and ©
then I went in after hm in a hurry, and
gave it to him.”

“Without warning?”

“Warning!” cried Hodge, in disgust.
“Who would warn a snake!”

“Oh, he turned araound and saw Hodge
comin’,” chuckled Ephraim. “He put up his
hands to fight, but he might jest as well have
kept um daown. Before he knowed it—biff!

_—Bart soaked him in the eye, and he cum

nigh turnin’ a back somerset, b’gosh! Haw!
haw! haw!”

Frank was forced to smile.

“I didn’t think you would do it aftcr what
1 said,” he declared, looking reprovingly at
Hodge.

“T had to do it,” protested the dark-faced
“T couldn’t help it, Frank. Asa rule
I do as you wish me to, but this time I was
obliged to do as I wanted to.”

“And yeou done it in darn beautiful
nodded the Vermonter. “Scudder
he give a howl and jumped right up, but he
didn’t no more’n git onter his pins before
Hodge soaked him a sockdolager in t’other

eye, an’ slam he went daown ag’in.”

_ “What did you do?” asked Frank. “TI hope
you did not take a hand in this assault ?”

“Nope, but I did want to take a fut in it.

I’d given more’d two cents if I ele kicked
that chap.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Didn’t gr HO chaince till it was ail over.’
“Then—
“Wal, yeou see

 

>

 

Ephraim looked embarrassed.
Frank looked grave again.

“This is too much!”

he declared. “TI might

have forgiven Hodge. but for you both to

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY,

     

21

jump on the miserable wretch=- well I didn’t
think you would do it.’

Ephraim didn’t touch Scudder while I
was at him,” Hodge hastened to declare.

“Honest Injun I didn’t,” said Gallup, hur-
riedly.

“But afterwards—after Hodge had
knocked the poor rascal down repeatedly—
then you kicked him?”

“Wal, yeou see Hodge had soaked him in
both eyes and knocked aout a tooth, while I

_hadn’t even got one little teenty crack at

him,” explained Ephraim, dolefully.

Frank scowled.

“T am sorry,” he said. “If Hodge had
given the fellow a thrashing, I should have

forgiven him; but for you both to assult
him rs

 

—“T warned Gallup to keep back and let me
do it,” said Bart.

“And didn’t I keep back all the time yeou
was thumpin’ him?” exclaimed the Vermont-
er. “I never done a thing but holler, “Thump
him! soak him!*punch him! That warn’t
wrong, was it, Frank? I couldn’t help hol-
lerin’ that an’ larfin’ to see Hodge do it.”

“That was all right, but what did you do
after Hodge finished ?”

“Wal,” confessed Ephraim, ‘Scudder
scrambled past Bart on his hands an’ knees
arter he’d bin knocked daown five times, and
then he up an’ run aout past me inter the
street. It was an awful good chaince, an’ I
couldn’t help doin’ of it. Jest as he went by
on the jump I put boots to him, an’ my old

ee
left foot made that jump of his kerry him —

more’n nine foot further than it would. It

kainder h’isted his heels inter ther air, an’ he
come daown all sprawling. Larf! Why, [d
larfed ef I was dyin’! Oh, haw! haw! haw!” ;

Ephraim exploded again, being utterly un-
able to hold in, and his laughter was infecti-

ous, for Frank joined in, despite all his ef-— =

forts to keep from doing so.
Even Hodge smiled broadly.

“Well, Ephraim,”

been an awful temptation as Scudder ran —
past.”

at was,” Gallup hastened to say. “I done

  

said Frank, after a while. a
“T don’t know that I blame you. It must have
22 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

4

it before I knowed whut I was doin’. It was
all over in a minute.”

“What did Scudder do after that?”

“He got up as quick as he could, and yeou
couldn’t see him fer ther dust he kicked up
goin’ down the street. He hollered blue
murder till he was aout of sight.”

“And then we came back here,” said Bart.

“Well, I shall not say anything more to
you about this affair,” said Frank. “If you
are arrested es

“T didn’t see northing,” the Vermonter
quickly declared. “I dunno haow Scudder’s
goin’ to prove a darn thing.”

“If he had no witnesses, he may not try
ae

“Well, he had none,” assured Hodge. “No
cne saw anything till he was out in the street,
running for his life, and howling at the top of
his lungs.”

“T ruther guess he'll think he’s bin mon-
keyin’ with ther wrong folks araound here.”

“But all this will not get Havener out of
his fix,” said Frank. “Come; Bart, we'll go
get Cassie, and then we'll go to the lock-up
and have a talk with Havener.”

Hodge followed Frank up stairs, and, in
Elsie’s room they found the two girls.

Cassie had completely broken down, and
Elsie was doing her best to cheer the little
soubrette up.

“Oh, what’s the use!” cried the unhappy
girl. “Nothing is worth living for now!”

‘Don’t say that!” urged Elsie., “It will all
come out right.” :

“No! It has cgme out all wrong—all
wrong! This is the end! All mty hopes are
blasted. Oh, think of it! Think of the
_ shame and disgrace of it!”

“Tt is not as bad as you think. When you
have had time to think it over, you will see
that it is not.”

“You are saying that to comfort me, but

_you are wasting your breath. Why should -

I fight*against my temptation now? It will
make no difference if I take an overdose of
the stuff! I shall go to sleep, and it will be
better if I fail to wake up!”

Elsie cried out with horror, for she real-
ized the desperate condition of the girl’s

mind, Once she, in utter despair, had stood

on the brink of self-destruction, and now her
very soul shuddered at the thought of what
she had suffered then.

Frank and Bart paused at the door, which
was a bit ajar. Elsie looked up and saw
them, and she urged them to come in.

“Cassie,” said Frank, quietly, “I trust you
will not be foolish.”

“Don’t talk to me—don’t talk like that!”
almost screamed the girl, starting up, her
eyes red from weeping and her face full of re-
sentment. “I will do as I choose! I will kill
that woman, and then [ll kill myself!”

“You have no right to do either,” asserted
Frank, calmly.

“Yes I have a right! She has come be- |
tween me and Ross! She has wrecked our
lives! If she lives, she will ruin and destroy
him. I have a right to kill her! I will kill
her! I swear I will Kill her!”

Elsie shrank back, her hands clasped over
her throbbing heart, while she stared in fas-.
cination at the furious girl.

Frank remained perfectly calm, but he
closed the door, so that Cassie’s excited words
should not draw unwelcome listeners.

“You have a duty to Ross Havener, Cas-
sie,” he said. ;

“That is my duty,” declared Cassie. “TI
shall do it.”

“No; it is your duty to stand by him now,
as he stood by you when you would add to
his disgrace and assure his destruction. He
has said that he could not and would not live
without you. You are his anchor and his
hope.’’

“Tam nothing to him now! That wretched

woman has come between us. She must be |
removed !”
‘“And the law must remove her. Stand by
Havener now, and all. will be well in the end.
If you do something rash, you will destroy
him, as well as yourself.’’

“That is true,” said Hodge, solemnly.

Cassie was beginning tobe impressed. She
flung herself face downward on the bed and
lay there some moments. All at once, she
sat up and looked at Frank. A great change
had come to her,

“It was you who told me of God!” she said,
soberly. “You have always given me good

 

 
TIP TOP WEEKLY, 23

advice, Frank. When I have followed your
advice I have never done wrong. I feel that
I should. follow your advice now. Tell me
what to do—oh tell me what to do!”

“T will, Cassie,” he said. “I will tell you
what I believe is best for you. Havener will
be depressed when he finds himself alone in
' the lock-up, and he, too, may become desper-
ate. We will go to him, we will tell him that
we'll not desert him. You can give him new
hope and life. I’ll tell him that Folansbee is
doing everything in his power to get him
out.”

“But what if Folansbee gets him out? He'll
still be bound to that woman!”

“Not for long. He will get clear of her
when his case is brought up in the divorce
courts.”

“Who knows!
any sort of lie.”

“But Havener has witnesses and evidence
enough to win his case. This is but a tem-
porary set-back, and it will serve to make his
triumph aJl the more certain in the end. Come,
Cassie, shall we go to him?”

She got up from the bed.

“T will do whatever you say, Frank,” she
said. “I will trust everything to you.” °

“No one else could have brought her to her
senses,” thought Hodge. “It’s wonderful
what an influence Merriwell has over almost
everybody.”

This woman will swear to

CHAPTER X.
AN UNEXPECTED OFFER OF AID.

So they went to see Havener, found him
despondent, but left him more cheerful, for
Cassie promised to stand by him to the end,
no matter what happened.

The visit did the girl a great deal of good,
and she said so on her way back to the hotel.

“You were right, Frank,” she confessed.
“For Ross’ sake I must not do anything rash.
He has been awfully good to me, and I’d be
‘doing him dirt not to help him any way I
can now. You needn't worry about me,
Frank.”

“T am glad to hear you say that, Cassie,”
Merry said, in relief. “Now I feel free to
leave you and do what I can to get Havener

out of the jug. I hope Folansbee has done
something.”

When the hotel was reached, he sought for
and found Parker Folansbee.

“T believe 1 have a man who will stand bail
for Havener,” said the backer of the com-
pany. “He will let me know within an hour.”

Leslie Lawrence was hanging around. He

seemed seeking an opportunity to speak to

Frank, and yet he hesitated when the oppor-
tunity came.

Merry noticed this. He had not forgotten
that Lawrence was his enemy, but he spoke
to the man.

“What is it, Lawrence?” he asked.

Leslie cleared his throat.

“Pretty bad scrape,” he said.

“Yes,” nodded Merry; “but Havener must
be gotten out of it.”

“It would bother us if he wasn’t?”

“T should say so! It would be a stag-
gerer.”

“And might knock us out completely ?”

_ “Yes, it might,” admitted Merry, who was
wondering what the fellow was trying to
say.

“T haven’t any particular love for Have-
ner,’ said Lawrence. “Still he’s not a bad ©
fellow.”

. “Havener is a man.”

“Look here, Merriwell,’ said Lawrence, as
if he had suddenly made up his mind to do
something, “I believe I can get Havener out
of this scrape.”

Frank did not trust Lawrence, but still he
was curious to know what sort of a game the
fellow was playing, if any.

“How can you get him out?” he asked.

“Tf I do the job, I presume you will give
me credit for it?”

“Of course I will.”

“All right. I’ve found where this. woman
who claims to be Havener’s wife is stopping,
and I’m going to call on her. I want you to
go with me.”

“So that is your game!” thought Merry.
“There is some kind of a trap for me, and you

want me to walk into it. I wonder how much

you are paid to do the trick.”
On second thought, however, Frank began —

to wonder why Lawrence should be con-

 
i TIP TOP WLEXI:.

cerned in such a game, for it was certain that
Scudder could not remunerate the man, and
the actor would be knocking himself out of
a good job by such an act.

Although these speculations flashed
through Merry’s mind in a moment, Law-
rence seemed to read a doubt on the face of
the young actor-playwright, and he hastened
to say:

“This is on the level, Merriwell—I give
you my word that it is. I suppose you have
the best or reasons for doubting me, but you
must acknowledge that I am not fool enough
“to work against my own interests, and I
should-do that if I did you any damage now.”

“But why do you wish me to accompany
you on a visit to that woman?” asked Frank.

“So that you may hear whatever conversa-
tion takes place between us.”

“Do you know her?”

Yes,” a

“You did not speak to her when she came
here.”

“No. I do not think she recognized me. I
didn’t want her to, and so I kept in the back-
ground as much as possible. I also know the
man who calls himself Philip Scudder.”

“Who calls himself that! Isn’t that his
real name?” .

“Not much.” |

“Then what is his name?”

“Tt is Preston Flack.”

“Why does he call himself Scudder?”

“T am not aware of the real reason why he
changed his name, but I think I can guess.
He always was into crooked games, and it is
probable that Preston Flack was ‘wanted’ for
some kind of shady deal, so he became Philip
Scudder.”

'?

“This is decidedly interesting!

exclaimed
_ Frank. “Now if we knew just why he
changed his name, we might ee an end to
his scheming.”

“Tf you will accompany me, I think we'll
put an end to it anyway.”

_ “L-will go,” Frank decided. “Wait till I go

up to my room and get my pistol. I may

~ need it.”

“T do not think you will,” said Lawrence ;

es “but it won’t do any hurt to carry it.”

He did not attempt to persuade Frank not
to take the weapon.

Merry ran up the stairs. It seemed re-
markable to him that Lawrence should come
to his assistance at this time, but he had ob-
served in the past that it is the unexpected
that almost invariably happens in an emer-
gency.

By this time he was convinced of the sin-
cerity of Lawrence, but he knew there were
some dangerous “dives” in Cripple Creek,
and he fancied it would be well enough to
take some precautions, and so, meeting
Hodge, he stopped on the stairs to say:

“T am going out for a call, after getting my
pistol, and I would like to have you follow
me.”

“Follow you?” questioned Bart, in surprise,

“Yes, I want you to do it without letting
my companion become aware of the fact,
Note where we go. If I disappear and do
not show up as soon as — think I should,
notify the chief of police.”

“All right,” nodded Bart.

He saw that Merry did not mean to say ~

anything more, and he refrained from asking
questions.

Frank ran up the stairs, entered his room,
secured his revolver, made sure it was loaded,
and then hastened to join Lawrence in the
office. : .

A minute later, this strange pair were

walking down the street.
Hodge followed them.

CHAPTER XI.
BETRAYED BY A WOMANS TONGUE.

The afternoon was on the wane.

“Tf anything is done for Havener to-day, it

must be done in a hurry,” said Frank, as he
walked along by the side of Lawrence.

“That’s just why I am taking you to make .

this call. It is the quickest way of doing
something,” declared the actor.

On their way, they met the chief of police.

“The very man we want,” said Lawrence.

“Officer, it will be worth your while to come.

with us.’
“What’s up?” asked the cher

“You may have a chance to make two ar-

PEE eRe REN FT mete
ih iil Ni al ce a Ree ee ee

 
fn a a i

TIP TOP WEEKLY. 26

rests,” said the actor, not a little to Frank’s
surprise.

“Then I am with you.”

Straight to a certain hotel in Cripple Creek
proceeded the trio. They entered the parlor.
At one side of the room was an alcove, which

was curtained off by some heavy portieres.

“T have been here before,” explained Law-
rence, “ so I knew all about this place. This
alcove suits my purpose. If you gentlemen
will step in there behind the curtains, I think
you will be able to hear something of interest

in a short time.”

The chief of police hesitated.

“What kind of business is this?” he asked.
“I thought you brought me here to arrest
somebody.”

“So I did. If you do not make an arrest,
I'll see to it that you are well paid for your
trouble.”

“But I don’t fancy this kind of business.”

“Here,” said Frank, offering the officer a
five dollar bill, “this will pay you for your
trouble whether you make an arrest or not.”

The man hesitated, glanced around to make

sure no one but Frank and Lawrence saw

him, and then took the money and thrust it
into his pocket, saying gruffly:

“Well, have the business over as soon as
possible, for my time is valuable.”

Then he and Frank stepped behind the cur- |

tains, which Lawrence had arranged to hide
effectually.

When this was done, the actor went to the
cffice and requested that word be sent up-to
Mrs. Havener and Mr. Scudder that there
was a gentleman in the parlor who wished
to see them on important business.

Lawrence was not forced to wait long.
There was a swish of skirts, and the woman
came sailing into the parlor. He rose at once,
advanced to meet her, and said:

“T am delighted to see you, my dear Mrs.
Flack.” ;

She stopped, as if turned to stone, and

_ there she stood, staring at him.

“T think you have made a mistake, sir!” she
exclaimed, after a moment. “I am Mrs.
Havener.”

“You may have been Mrs. Havener at one
time, or you may be that now, but you were

Mrs. Flack,” said Lawrence, coolly. “Don’t
you know me?”

“Tam sure I do not!”

“TI am sure you will, if you take a good
look at me in a fair light. I was present at
your wedding with Preston Flack seven years
ago the nineteenth day of last month. I pre-
sume I have grown somewhat older, but you
have aged scarcely a day. I would know you
anywhere.”

“Sir, you have made a great blunder. I—
never—saw—you 2:

She stopped, staring at him steadily. He
laughed a little.

“Now you recognize me, Lottie,” he said.
“How is Pres. ?”

“Good Lord!’ she cried. “It’s Leslie
Bugby !”

“No,” he declared, “not Leslie Bugby.
Bugby is a plebeian name, and I am an actor
now. My present name is Leslie Lawrence.
Don’t you think Lawrence sounds much bet-
ter than Bugby?”

She laughed, catching the hand he held out,
to her.

“Why, if you’re not the last person in the
world I expected to see!” she cried. “Where
have you been keeping yourself all these
years?”

“Oh, I’ve been knocking around the
world,” answered Lawrence, off hand. “But
how in the world did you happen to change
your name to Havener? Did you do that be-
cause it sounds better than Flack?”

“Oh, no. You see I ran away from -Pres.
after we had been married a little over a year
—got tired of him, you know. I struck a
fellow by the name of Havener and tied to
him.”

“Oh, you were. divorced trom Prés 02s: oe

“Divorced! Ha! ha! ha! Well, hardly!
I didn’t take the trouble! Too much bother,
you know.” one

Lawrence laughed.

“Oh, I understand. This Havener was a
good thing, and you froze to him. Ben mar- —
riage was a sham?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was on my
uppers. Times were hard, and I had to pull —
through somehow. Havener was a_ soft
thing. He fell head over heels in love with

 
26 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

me. It was near the end of the season, and
T didn’t have anything for the summer. He
had a snug little roll in bank. He said hitch,
and we hitched.”

“Lottie, you are a reckless one!’ cried
Lawrence, with real or pretended admiration.
“T shouldn’t have thought you would dare.”

“Oh, what was there to dare? Pres. got to
being pretty gay before I quit him. and I
knew he wouldn’t make much of a kick if he
got onto it. I pulled his leg for all I could
while I stuck to him, and I knew I couldn’t
go back to him, so I just hitched up to this
man Havener.”

“And you were not in the least afraid of
being brought up for bigamy? Well, you
take the first prize! But what did you do
with Havener?”’

“Skipped him when I had wrung him dry, |

same as I skipped Pres. He was a regular
goody-good. ‘He stuck around me all the
time, and never gave me a chance to have any
sport, I believe he would have settled down
into a staid old family man if I had stuck by
him and permitted him to do so.”

“But how does it happen that you are here
with Pres? I saw you with him, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve been living with him some since
I left Havener. You know he was soft to
start with, for you and I pulled him into the
matriage; but he’s out for dust now, first,
last, and all the time. He’s forever working
schemes. That’s why he changed his name
to Scudder. He’s wanted as Flack in Chica-
go for a little piece of business. He had to
scud, and so he became a Scudder. Ha! ha!
ha! Well, Leslie, old fellow, I’m dead glad
to see you! Pres. said he would come down
as soon as he got fixed up.”

“Fixed up?- I hope he isn’t changing his
clothes ?”

“No; he’s patching up his face.”

“Patching his face? What happened to
re ;

“We've been working a little game here in
Cripple Creek. He has it in for a chap named

Frank Merriwell, who is starring in this
‘John Smith’ piece, and we’ve had Havener,
who was his stage manager, arrested for
‘bigamy. Think of that! I appeared as the
‘deserted wife, and we nipped the fellow just

as he was about to hitch up to another girl.
It was rough on him, but Pres. said he’d get
at Merriwell by putting Havener in the jug,
so we worked the riffle. Poor Havener!
‘Lhink of jailing the poor fellow for bigamy
when he was never legally married to me in
the world!” ‘

The woman went off into convulsions of
Icua laughter.

Behind the curtains Frank Merriwell
found it difficult to hold himself in restraint,
His exultation knew no bounds.

Havener was not married to the woman!
The ceremony had not been legal! He was
free to marry Cassie!

It is safe to say that the chief of police was
som~what surprised by what he heard.

“But that don’t explain why Pres. is fix-
ing up his face,” said Lawrence.

“Oh, a gang of this Merriwell’s friends
got at him and knocked the stuffing out of
him. They did him up beautifully! Gave
him a pair of black eyes, knocked tv’o teeth
out, and damaged him otherwise. He is a
holy spectacle. Here he comes.”

Philip Scudder, badly battered and dam-
aged, entered the room. :

“Here, Pres.,” said the woman, “don’t you
know your old friends? This is Lesli¢é Bug-
by. We have been talking over matters, and
I’ve been telling him all about our little
racket here.”

“Bugby!” cried Scudder. “Well, I’m glad —

~ to see you, old man. But you people should

not talk over things here. Somebody might
hear you, and that would be a scrape!”

“Oh, we, we’re all alone,” laughed the ad-
venturess, “and it’s not the first time we’ve
been alone together, eh, Les.?” Not a soul but
ourselves heard a word we said.”

“You are very much mistaken.”

Frank Merriwell was the speaker, and he
stood between the parted curtains.

The woman uttered a scream, and her hus-
band gave vent toanoath,

“We have heard enough to place you both
behind the bars!” declared Merriwell, in a
ringing voice, as he stepped out, tollowed by
the uniformed chief of police.

“Ten thousand fiends!’ grated Scudder,
pale and shaking. “The jig’s up!”

%

 
TIP TOP WEEKLY. 27

“Yes, you rascal!” cried Frank; “your
game is played out, and you have lost just
when you thought you had won. The cell
that holds Roscoe Havener now soon will
open to receive you! Officer, do not let them
escape!”

CHAPTER XIT.
CHECK.

An hour later Havener was free. The man
was bewildered beyond measure when he
learned that he had never been legally mar-
ried to the woman he supposed his wife. It
was joyous news for him, however, for he
was free—free to marry Cassie.

But Scudder and his wife were let go on
condition that they would get out of the place
at the first opportunity and would never again
molest Havener or Merriwell. Havener had
no time then to prosecute the man or woman,
even if he was inclined to do so.

Scudder remained sullen. In parting with
Frank, he said:

“You got the best of me in 1.:y deal, Merri-
well, but I’m onto something that you know
nothing of yet. The hand of the law will stop
your career. You wil! not get out of Cripple
Creek with your old show.”

Frank thought this the last despairing bluff
of the man, but he found out differently later
on, for, before sunset, he was served with an
| injunction to prevent him from playing ‘John
Smith’ in Cripple Creek.

Joseph Arthur was the complainant,
through his agent, Randolph Weston, whom
Frank had seen that day in the office of Nor-
ton Downs, the justice.

Weston served papers on Merriwell, for-
bidding him to play the piece in Cripple Creek
or elsewhere, and setting forth a long list of
causes for the action.

Frank studied the paper carefully, Every-

thing in it was sworn to, of course, and from.

it be learned that Joseph Arthur’s piece had
been copyrighted and produced before “John
Smith,” and that the play contained a saw
mill scene that was almost exactly like the
one in Frank’s piece. This arrangement was
' protected by patent by Arthur, and Frank

could be prosecuted for infringing on his
rights.

Randolph Weston stated that Arthur
would not prosecute if Merry would with-
draw his play and sign an agreement not to
play in it again or permit it to be played by
others.

Of course Frank would not sign such an
agreement till he was certain he would not
be throwing away his own rights by doing
su. He asked for time and was given until
the next day.

But the Grand at Cripple Creek was dark
that night, and a multitude of disappointed
people were turned away, while those who
had bought seats in advance received their
money back at the box office.

The calamity that Frank had feared and
dreaded for some time had fallen at last.

That evening Merry received a note from
Scudder, delivered by a boy. This was what
he read:

“How do you feel about it now? Didn't I
tell you that you had reached the end of your
rope? I happened to be around to hear a few
things in the office of Norton Downs this
noon, and I knew Weston meant to jump you
to-night. I wanted a hand in the game, to
make doubly sure of you, and so I worked
the job I had planned against Havener. I
thought I might be able to make a dollar out _
of that, too., I failed to make anything, but
I have the satisfaction of knowing that your
career as a star is over. You got the best of
me in St. Louis, but I was in at the death and
witnessed your downfall. I am satisfied.

“Philip Scudder.”

The people of the Midland Dramatic Com-
pany were a despondent lot that night, with
the possible exceptions of Havener and Cas-
sie. Of course they felt bad for Frank, but
the happiness that had come to them seemed
to overshadow everything else.

Bart and Ephraim found: Frank in his

room, still studying the papers that had been

served on him.

“Come in,” he called, almost cheerfully, in
answer to their knock.

‘They entered. Bart stood with his hands 4

in his pockets, while Ephraim dropped Eerie
on the bed. Both looked blue.

 
     

28

“Well, boys, what is it?” asked Merry.

“It’s a cursed shame!” exploded Hodge.
“That’s what it is if you’ve got to quit with
this piece! But you are not going to quit, are
vou?”

“Yes, Hodge,” nodded Frank, “I find I
must. Everything is set forth plainly here,
and I find that Joseph Arthur got ahead of
me. It is hard luck, but I’ve got to lay
down.”

“Well, that is tough!”

“Gol darned ef it ain’t!” snuffled Ephraim.
“Tt makes me humsick! I wish I was to hum
om the farm, b’gosh!”

“What will you do, Frank?’ asked Bart,
anxiously.

“T haven’t decided yet,” was. the answer;
“but you do not want to forget that I have
been making plans for this for some time.”

“But your career as the star of one of the
best plays on the road is ended. Oh, it’s
bum!”

“Tt suttainly is!” agreed Ephraim. “I never
thought I’d make much of a go on the staige,
but by Jimminy! I seemed to do fust rate in
that piece. Naow, I expect I’ll hev to stop
an’ go to hustlin’ fer my feed and clothes.”

“TI had hoped to be able to work for you,
Frank,” said Bart, “and earn enough to pay
my debts at college.”

“Don’t let those debts worry you, Hodge,”
‘smiled Merry. “They are paid—every one of
them.”

“What?” exploded Bart, in amazement—
“what’s that?”

“Those debts are paid,” said Frank, quiet-
is
“How are they paid?”

“T paid them.”
Youn?’

Nv es:”

“When?”

“When Browning returned to Yale. You
know I offered to let you have the money to
pay every cent you owed?”
es,

“You refused it.”
“Of course I did!”

we

wv
W
W

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY,

     

“Well, I was determined that your record.

should be cleared, and, without your consent,

I send the money by Brownig to pay every

debt. I have your I. O. U.’s here.”

Frank took some strips of paper from his
pocketbook and passed them to Bart, who
took them and stood staring at them in a
dazed way for some moments.

“You had no right to do this!” Hodge final-
ly exploded, his eyes flashing. :

‘There, old chum,” smiled Merry, rising
and putting an arm round Bart, “hold it down
to-night. I am sure you will not be angry
with me now. I think I have enough to
shoulder.”

Bart melted instantly.

“Oh, Frank!” he cried, “why were you so
foolish? Now see what you have done! You
had that much toward getting back to Yale,
but it is gone, and your career is ended.”

“The money is gone,” said Frank, “but
your debts are paid, Hodge. My career is
not ended. I have made one success as a play-
wright, and I can make another. I have a
play well blocked out, and I shall rush it
through to completion. Parker Folansbee
will back it, and we will have it on the road

ina hurry. It has no mechanical effect in it,

like the saw-mill scene, but I think it will be
a winner just the same. Oh, I am still in the
ring.”

“Will yeou hev a part for me in the new
play, Frank?” eagerly asked Gallup.

“T shall have parts for both of you, written |
If. you

with the express idea of fitting you.

stick by me, we'll soon be on the road again.”’
“Will we stick by you?” cried Ephraim.
And then, in unison Gallup and Hodge ex-

claimed : |
“You bet we will!”

(THE END. )

The next number (146) ofthe Tip Top
Weekly will contain ‘‘Frank Merriwell’s

Fortune; or, The Legacy of the Skele- —

ton,’’? by Burt L. Standish.

   

 

 

4
Py

 

   
  
   
   
 

 

 

 
     
       

 
‘Frank is sure to give a

TIP TOP WEEKLY. a9

IP IOPWEEKLY.|

“AN IDEAL PUBLICATION FOR THE AMERICAN YOUTH ”

 

 

 

NEW YORK, JANUARY 21, 1899,

 

Terms to Tip Top Weekly Mail Subscribers.
(POsTAGH FREE.)
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All letters intended for this publication should al-
ways be addressed Street & Smith, 81 Fulton St.,
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If you have not already seen notice about the
badge don’t fail to look for it on last page of this
issue. Every reader should have one and wear it
conspicuously in honor of Frank Merriwell.

APPLAUSE.

I am a regular reader of Frank Merriwell, and I
don’t feel as if I could say enough in praise of it. I
think it a fine paper for a boy to read. I look for-
ward for Saturday to come so that I can get one. I
hope you will soon let Elsie appear again.

: A CONSTANT READER.

Richmond, Va.

A boy’s judgment is often the truest test of good
reading. Your opinion is very welcome. No doubt
Elsie will appear again.

<

 

We have read nearly all the Tip Top Weeklies.
We all think it is the best paper published for young
men. It gives them good advice and many other
good things. Who once reads one will never stop.
Of what we have read we think tne best stories
are where he is at Yale, and hope that he will soon
Fae his old friends at Old Eli. The stories. could

ardly do without Hans and Bruce, for Hans’ talk
is the joy of the book. Old Eli cannot play football
without Frank. We hope the Frank Merriwells

‘ il] never end.
= JOHN F. HEAPS,
WILLIAM ROBINSON.
MATHEW FLAHERTY.
EVERETT W. PARSONS.
Gloucester, Mass. é

Your judgment is very good, but, of course, indi-
vidual tastes. differ as to which story is “best.”
ood account of himself
wherever fate may place him. Many thanks for
your good opinion.

©

We have read the Tip Top Weekly from No. 1 to
the present issue. At first our parents objected to
our reading them, but after they had read one them-
selves they said that they were all right. Of the
many publications for boys the Tip Top leads. We
hope that Frank’s play will prove as great a success
as Shakespeare’s ‘‘Hamlet.’’ We are glad to hear
that he is going back to Yale, and will meet his
college chums. We also hope that he will marry
Elsie. We have organized a Tip Top reading club,

and it is a success.
JOHN. SIMPSON.
ROY CONRAD.
WILLIE MATHEWS.
MEREDITH HEATON.
LYMAN SMITH.
VERNIA STANSBURY.

Tecumseh, Neb.

Your parents show keen discrimination and ex-
cellent judgment. Frank has recently visited Yale,

and will soon return there as a student, but the fu-
ture must determine whom he is to marry. Success
to the Tip Top Reading Club. ;

I see by the last page in your weekly that the boys
are giving their opinions about the Tip Top Weekly,
and, being an admirer of Mr. Frank Merriwell, and
also a continuous reader of the Tip Top, I thought
I would write a few words. Il have read the Tip
Top Weekly from No. 1 to the present number. I
enjoy the stories very much. Although I am too old
to be a youth, a person is never too old to learn.
Frank Merriwell has taught me many things worth
knowing, and I shall continue to read about him
as long as the weekly is printed. I shall not of-
fer any suggestions about anything, as Mr. Standish
knows his business a good deal better than I do, and
will surely please all readers in time. I am waitin:
patiently for the next number to come out. I wis
the Tip Top Weekly and Frank Merriwell a long and
happy life. U. T. KNIGHT.

Cleveland, Ohio.

Many of our pleasantest words come from our old
friends, and we are very glad to have your kind and
intelligent approval of the Tip Top Weekly. It is
very satisfactory to know that its lessons are ap-
preciated by those who are no longer young, but
are not too old to learn. In regard to your remarks
about Elsie and Inza, you have doubtless already
noticed replies to others.

We, a large number of readers of the Tip Top
Weekly, have formed a club, known as the ‘‘Weav-
ers’ Delight.’’ We would like Frank to return to
Yale and be a leader among the athletes. We are

with you till the last.
FRANK CRUMLEY.
CHARLEY WELDE.
THOMAS CANE.
MAURICE ROCHE, s
MICHAEL O’DONNELUL.
Ashton, R. I.

We salute the ‘‘Weavers’ Delight’’ Club, and as-
sure its members of our best wishes for its long
and successful existence. The future will determine
if your hopes are to be realized, but certain it is
that Frank will never be satisfied with any but first
place.

We, the undersigned, wish you to know that we
think the Tip Top Weekly is the best boys’ paper
published, and we wish to so state. We have formed
a club, and call it the ‘‘Combine,”” meaning the
Frank Merriwell combine. We wish the Tip Top.
Weekly success, and wish it came out twice a week
instead of once. ROCHESTER BOYS.

Rochester, N. Y. .

Your opinion is the general one. In regard to pub-
lication twice a week see reply to Fort Wayne boys
in this issue. Your interest and good wishes are
very welcome, and we wish your combination suc-
cess and long life.

I write to congratulate you on such a splendid
weekly as the Tip Top. I am reading it, and think it
is splendid for the American youth. I hope Frank
will meet some of his Yale friends and Elsie Bell-
wood and return to Yale. HARRY HART.

Austin, Ill.

What Frank’s future will be time alone can tell,
but you can rely pe age is retyrn to Yale again,
where he will meet his friends. hank you for your
congratulations. P ; eee

~
+

 
- friends also.

30 TIP TOP WEEKLY.

As secretary of the Good Literature Club of this
city, I am bidden to write you a letter expressing the
appreciation by the club of your Frank Merriwell
series. We all think the history of Frank’s ad-
ventures are calculated to uplift all who read it, as
it sets before them a grand and noble ideal of Ameri-
can manhood, which they should ever strive to reach,
No one could read of Frank’s generosity and courage
without being the better and nobler for it. We espe-
cially enjoyed the last one, ‘‘Frank Merriwell, Ma-
gician,’’»so full of delightful humor. The style is as
good as we have ever read. Masterly, indeed. We
hope that Frank, our hero, will soon succeed in put-
ting out of the way that dastardly sport, Harris,
coward and ruffian that he is. We would like to
know (1) Is Frank to meet Elsie again soon? (2) Is
Frank’s company a real one, and will it come
through Texas this Winter? (3) How old is Frank
now? (4) Some of us claim that Frank is of French
descent. Is he? (5) When will Frank meet his
father again? We hope to have answers to these
questions if convenient. Thanking you in advance,
and again expressing our appreciation of your in-
teresting and instructive series, we remain, very
truly, GOOD LITERATURE CLUB.

Austin, Tex,

We are very glad to have your intelligent and ¢criti-
eal appreciation of the Tip Top Weekly. The Good
Literature Club knows what its name implies. In
answer to your questions: (1) We must leave it to
Mr. Standish to develop the future. (2) He alone can
give the details of the theatrical company, which
is doubtless modeled from life. (3) About 18. (4) No,
(5) As soon as circumstances bring them together.

I am a boy of only 13 years, but I read the Tip
Top Weeklies, and I think they are first rate. Frank
is a ‘“‘beaut,’’ and ought to have a medal. Is he
going back to Yale, and will he be in Hodge’s class?
I wish his father would. come back loaded with

“gold.” “How. old is Frank?
Canaan, N. H. RALPH BURNEY.

Frank will soon have a medal, or at least one

that will represent him. We are always very glad
to hear from younger readers. Frank is 18 years of
age. We cannot foretell the future, but there.is no
reason why Frank or his father should not meet
with the best of luck. ;

We are constant readers of the Tip Top Weekly,
and find it the best paper we ever read. We would
like to hear from Frank’s father, and Bartley
Hodge and Jack Diamond and the rest of Frank’s
friends at college, and we sincerely hope that Frank
will go back to college again and lead Yale in all
her athletics. We wish the Tip a long life.

THOMAS BOYLE.
ee ee WEAVER,
JISEL.
LIAM SHERWOOD. :
Montour Falls, N. Y. ;

Frank is bound to go to Yale soon again, but his
future career is, of course, dependent on circum-
stances. No doubt you will hear from all the old
friends again. Thank you for your good wishes.

We girls thought it wasn’t more than right that
we should write and pass our opinion on Frank Mer-

We have read almost every one of the Tip
Tops, except some of the first. They are of a good,
moral character. We would like to hear from
Frank’s college friends. I like Bart Hodge the best.
How and Elise and Inza? We wish the Tip Top Week-
ly and Frank Merriwell all kinds of good luck.
VIOLA APRILL.

MAY JENNINGS.
NELLIE CLOGSTON.

riwell.

Buckley, Wash.

We are always glad to have the judgment of the
young ladies on our hero. Their point of view is
somewhat different from that of the young men.
Thanks for your kindly words.

_ I have been a steady reader of your Tip Top Week-
ly, and like it very much. Just finished No. 185, and
was pleased to find that the company came o9ut all
ight in the entertainment which drew such. a
crowd. Hope to hear from some of Frank’s other
I wish you and the Tip Top Weekly
-guccess forever. ¥ B.. Bo Ty
Providence, R. G

No doubt you will hear from many of Frank’s
friends in the future. The approval of our regular
readers is what we want, and is very gratifying.

4

I have read all of your Tip Top Weeklies as far as:
No, 1386, and think they are ‘tip top.’ I have read
quite a number of other weeklies, but they are not
‘in it’? with the Tip Top. I would like to hear about
Frank meeting his father in his travels, and also
something more about Frank’s old enemy, Sport
Harris. I wish the Tip Top Weekly great success.

Meriden, Conn. CAS

You will undoubtedly have your wish in the fu-
ture. We acknowledge your good wishes.

We are reading your Tip Top Weekly, and enjoy
it very much. I would like to hear from Elsie Bell-
wood, Bruce and Bart. I intend to leave for the
navy, but my brother will send me the Frank Merri-

well every week.
WILLIE VIENT.
FRANK JEFFERSON.
Attica, No Y¥.

“You will have your wish in good time. We wish
you success in the navy. ;

IT have been reading Frank Merriwell for the last
two years. I am glad to hear that Frank is going
back to Yale, but before he goes I would like to
hear of his repairing his magical outfit and giving
a few more exhibitions. In his present position as \
a theatrical manager I hope that he will make a suc-
cess,.and out of the fragments of Darius Conrad’s
estate he may be able to recover his fortune... If
he should ever visit Fardale again, I would like to
see, or rather hear, of Bart Hodge, May Blossom and
others meet. What has become of Elsie, Inza, Bart, —
Miss Darling, Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond, Harry
Rattleton, Larry, the fireman, the unknown who
helped him at Boonville, and the Harvard man, who
lost his fortune like Frank, and went to work in the
woods of Maine? By the ist of December I hope to
hear of Frank at Yale, and would like for it to be
possible for him to go into the class that his chums
are in. I remain an admirer of Frank Merriwell and
Tip Top. HERBERT FAUNCEY.

Portsmouth, Va.

You will, no doubt, hear of all the old friends in
good time. Your suggestions will be carefully con-
sidered. We are glad to have your good opinion.

I have read all of the Tip Top Weeklies from num-
ber forty, and a great many of those before that.
I wish to say that I think the Tip Top is.the great~-—
est paper of its kind on earth. I also wish that the
readers of the Tip Top would let the author write
to suit himself. I know that so far he has done the
best that could be done, and I think that if they
will let him write as he sees fit everything will turn
as it should. Elsie Bellwood is my favorite of all
his girl characters, and I believe she is the favorite
of the majority of the readers. I think that
Frank’s career in the theatrical profession is very
interesting, and am very anxious to find out what
he will do after finishing his college course. I am
sure that his life after that will be a noble and in-
teresting one. The badge that was spoken of in a
former paper I think would sell readily.

Sheridan, Ind., Dec. 21, 1898. BART HODGE.

Mr. Standish certainly knows best what Frank
will do, but perhaps his friends’ interest in his wel-
fare is quite natural. The badges will soon be ready.
We are glad you like the Tip Top.

I have been a reader of your weekly for a long
time, and I think it the best magazine ever pup-
lished. JI have two friends here whose parents ob-
jected to their reading any kind of novel, and classed
your Tip Top as such. The mother of one of the
boys caught him reading one, and said to him;
“Come here, Eddie; let me see what you’re reading;”’
and upon reading a few chapters she was so inters
ested as to remark: ‘‘They’re all right.. Get some
more.’ The other boy’s father would not let him
read them until his pastor, having read one, said:
“Let him read them. They'll do him good.’’ I agree
with you in that a large number of Tip Top readers
will hold a contrary opinion to the correspondents
from Morristown, Tenn. I think there are a thou-
sand girls like Inza, but few like Elsie. Hope to
see our hero happily married to her yet. Hope to
hear more of Brother Hartley’s plan for a_ badge.
Long life to Frank, Elsie and Tip Top Weekly.

Greensboro, N. C. W. 8. HARRINGTON.

The approval of parents is always given to the Tip ~
Top when they will take pains to examine it. In-
formation about the badges is given in this issue. —
Thanks for your kind wishes. i pe

 
TIP TOP WEEKLY,

I have read your Merriwells from start to finish,
and I think they are undoubtedly the finest grade of
literature ever published. I was very sorry indeed
to learn of Frank’s misfortune, as I would like for
him to finish his career at college, and I hope he
will soon return and meet all of his old friends. I
would like very much to know if Frank will find
his father before he retuins to Yale, and whether
or not he will receive a small fortune from his father
if they should meet? I suppose this is your first cor-
respondence from Kirksville, but we all appreciate
the Merriwell stories, I assure you. I have all the
numbers of the Tip Top but one, that is No. 82. I
cannot give the Tip Top as much credit as it should
receive, but I wish it success and a long life.
Kirksville, Mo. FRED MIXON.

In the latest numbers you have learned of Frank’s
meeting with some of his old Yale friends and the
incidents connected with that action. You are very
generous in your appreciation of the Tip Top, and we
are pleased with your expression of it. Frank has
no middle name. You can get any back number of
the Tip Top by ordering from this office.

Having read your books from 56, I thought I would
tell you how well I like them, and wish them every
success. I have not seen many letters from girls,
but I think they are just as nice for girls as for
boys. I wish they were published twice a week, or
else have longer books and charge ten cents. I am
going to send the money and get the back numbers,
I think they are the best books published, and hope
they will live for ever. I think the name suits it
well, for it is ideal LETTIE M. NOONAN.

Canandaigua, N. a

We appreciate your desire for ‘‘more,’’ but there
are practical difficulties in the way of more frequent
publications. The back numbers will bé sent you
eS on receipt of price. Thanks for your kind
words. .

We all work in a large importing and jobbing
house in this city. We have formed a circulating
library, of which our foreman is one of the most en-
thusiastic members, and each week, in turn, one of
us buys a Tip Top Weekly, which we pass along as
s00n as we have read it. We wish the Tip Top
Weekly a long life and great success.

8. L. THURMAN, Foreman.
MONTGOMERY ALLEN.
BOSWORTH G. WENDALL, SR.
WILLIE OSTENTAKER.
WAYDE P, AUSTIN.
R. W. H. LEAVITT.
WM. R. T. SORGHUM.

Boston, Mass.

You have a very pleasant and instructive method
for making the Tip Top valuable. We are very glad
of your appreciation.

I lately saw a letter from San Jose in your paper
from Jack Carlyle, and I thought I would write one,
too. Your paper is better than other papers because
of the good literature in it. I am especially inter-
ested in Frank’s college life, and think that he does
ust right in every case. Out here in California base-

all is at present the leading sport, and you would
think so if you could see the crowds that turn out to
witness the games. There are also quite a number
of junior teams here, and they really play very good
ball. I hope to see Frank on the diamond or grid-
iron soon, or in college. F. GANZELL.

San Jese, Cal., Nov. 20. ,

No doubt Frank will grasp every opportunity to
engage in sports of all kinds. Your letter is very in-
teresting and appreciative.

Received your card this morning and will send the
money at once, for f think the Tip Top Weekly is
just fine. My mother didn’t want me to have it at
first, for she thought it was “trash,” but she has
changed her mind since. I would rather have Frank
continue his adventures out in the world than go to
college. I think it teaches more of a lesson to boys
who have to look out for themselves when he is
doing so. But I will leave that to Mr. Standish, who,
by the way, must be a fine fellow. I inclose 65c. in
stamps for ,another three months’ subscription.
Long live Tip Top. SCOTT 8S. HILL.
Detroit, Mich, Nov. 12, 1898.

_ Mothers’ approval is always the best, and your
mother has shown excellent judgment. Whether in
the world or in college, which is only a smaller
world, Frank is certain to have interesting and ex-
citing experiences. Mr. Standish appreciates your
kind words. Ss j

f . ‘ d

Correspondence.

EK. W. E., Utica, N. Y.—You can undoubtedly ob-
tain the book you require by writing to the American
News Co., Chambers st., New York City.

Tod Sloan, San Francisco, Cal.—The quicksilver
will gradually wear off your ring. We do not ad-
vise you to join an Eastern detective force.

H. Y¥., Ypsilanti, Mich.—Considering your height
and age, you should weigh about 140 pounds. Write
for catalogue to the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

KF. L, and EB. S., Syracuse, N. ¥Y.—You both seem
to be very well proportioned. But why desire to be
“sprinters’’?

U. S. G. B., Des Moines, Ia.—It depends entirely
on where you intend to go for your long bicycle ride.
Write us further particulars and we shall- be glad
to give you any information we can.

N. R. H.—You can obtain all the back numbers
of the Tip Top Weekly and also the quarterlies.
Write to Street & Smith, stating what .you want,
and inclosing price of same,

L. H. C., San Francisco, Cal.—The stories you
mention will not be published in book form. Car
wheels made from paper are now in general use. We
do not know that car rails have ever been made of
paper.

G. B. W. S., Muskegon, Mich.—For a map of the
roads of Michigan, write to the American News Co.,
Chambers St., New York City. No; do not attenfpt
to ride between the tracks of any railroad. It is
altogether too dangerous.

G. C. and Others, Portland, Ore.—You have prob-
ably already seen that Frank has met his old col-
lege friends. We will consider your suggestion and
forward it to the author. Many of the incidents in
gue “Frank Merriwell’’ stories are founded upon
acts.

G. S&S. R., Syracuse, N. Y.—We cannot answer your
questions as to Frank’s future at. present, for no
one can tell just what will happen. Read the Tip
Top, and you will certainly be satisfied. We con-
gratulate you on the success of the Merriwell foot-
ball team. Nine victories and not a defeat is cer-
tainly a splendid record.

M. J. J.. New York City.—Where goldfish are
kept in vessels in rooms, they should be in spring
water. The water will require to be changed, ac-
cording to the size of the vessel or the number of
fish kept therein; but it is not well to change the
water too often. In a vessel that will hold a com-
mon sized pail of water, two fish may be kept by
changing the water once a fortnight; and so on in
proportion. If any foodtis supplied them, it should
be a few crumbs of bread dropped into the water
once or twice a week,

R. BE. B., Zanesville, Ohio.—Guns and rifles may
be easily cleaned as follows: If a muzzle-loader,
stop up the nipple or communication. hole with a
little wax, or if a breech-loader insert a cork in the
breech rather tightly; next pour some quicksilver
into the barrel, and put another cork in the muzzle,
then proceed to roll it up and down the barrel,
shaking it about for a few minutes. The mercury
and the lead will form an amalgam, and leave the
barrel as clean and free from lead as the first day
it came out of the shop. The same quicksilver can
be used repeatedly by straining it through wash-
leather, for the lead will be left behind in the
leather, and the quicksilver will be again fit for use.

Esolina S., Denver, Col.—The following is an ex-
cellent method of making coffee. It is the favorite
recipe at Delmonico’s. Heat the grounds hot in a
pan, one tablespoonful for each person, and one for
the pot, or kettle; then pour on boiling water, one
cup for each spoonful of coffee. Cover tight. and
stand where it will keep hot for fifteen or twenty
minutes. The coffee should never be boiled., Re-
member that ‘coffee boiled is coffee spoiled: To
make good bread prepare a yeast of a pint of pared,
boiled and mashed potatoes; put a half pint of flour
in with them, then pour on about a pint of the water
in which they were boiled; stir this together and
then add a pint. of warm water, if the weather is
cold, and one pint of yeast. Keep it in a warm
place to rise; take one pint of this with flour enough
to make a sponge, or rising, as some people call it;
it will rise in about two hours, and this much will
make up six pints of flour; make it up tolerably
stiff, knead it well, and you will have good bread ~
if it is baked properly. : + ge

ah

 
  

 

The Tip Top League Member’s Badge

HALF PRICE TO OUR READERS ONLY.

In response to the urgent request of a host of Tip Top readers, the publishers have carefully considered a number of
designs as badges of nembership in the TIP TOP LEAGUE, finally adopting one which is an artistic gem of excellence.

This organization is composed exclusively of and open only to Tip Top readers as members.

The picture which will

appear in next week’s issue shows the design chosen, but it does not give you an adequate idea of the exquisite beauty

of this elegant ornament.

Solidly and substantially made, finished in gilt and beautifully embossed.
lots of 1,000 or less wonld cost at least $1.00 each.

Such a badge in

The widespread desire for this badge gives us so much faith in the

enterprise that we have ordered 60,000, to secure the lowest possible rate, and are therefore enabled to offer it to our
readers at a very low figure, viz.: T'wenty Cents (TEN CENTS in cash or stamps and Ten Cents in Coupons). This

barely covers the cost to us,

3) CONDITIONS

 

Each coupon is worth five cents when accompanied by five cents in stamps or coin. TWO COUPONS AND TEN

CENTS SECURES YOU THE BADGE,

coupons.

You can get a8 many badges as you desire at the same rate by use of the extra
Badges without coupons will cost fifty cents each. The coupons are free to Tip To
this method to prevent others from getting the badge at the special rate given to our patrons.

readers, and we adopt
F YOU ARE A READER

OF THE TIP TOP YOU ARE A MEMBER OF THE LEAGUE, AND ENTITLED TO WEAR THE EMBLEM OF THE ORDER—and
our word for it, you will be more than pleased when you receive it.

 

 

‘TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

= STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MENMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be aceepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEN.BER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEN BER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

An Exact PIcrurE

OF THE

LEAGUE »««

xk BADGE

@

Will appear in this
space next week...

The engraver was not able to com-

plete it in time for insertion in this
issue as promised,
is now ready.

The Badge itself

e

- DESCRIPTION.
The badge consists of

a circular disc, overlaid
on a Greek Cross, and
pendant from a bar bear-
ing the legend “Tip Top
League.” The circle
bears the password of the
League, “True as Steel,”
and a raised medallion
head of Frank Merriwell.

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEMBER’S COUPON

This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.

STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

 

TIP TOP LEAGUE

MEN.BER’S COUPON
This Coupon and FIVE CENTS
will be accepted for ten-cents
towards the purchase of the
League Badge.
STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

 

vee e THE

(Care STREET & SMITH)

a The offer formerly occupying this page (College Badges) is. omitted for lack of
coupons will be accepted in connection with the offer as

To secure the promptest attention, address all letters on this subject to o

LEAGUE.... —
81 Fulton Street, New York. —

space, but one of the above League

TIP TOP

blished.

    

©

   

ormerly p

  

   

 
  

   

  

 
  
  
   
 

     
  

 

 

 

 

   

 
   
    
     
 
    

  
  
 
72
13
74

15
76
17
18
79

80

For Sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, Postpaid, on

CATALOGUE OF FRANK MERRIWELL STORIES IN TIP TOP WEEKLY

Frank Merriwell; or, First Days at Fardale.

Frank Merriwell's Foe; or, ‘*Plebe” Life in Barracks.

Frank Merriwell’s Medal; or, ‘‘Plebe”’ Life in Camp.

Frank Merriwell’s Rival; or, By Fair Play or Foul.

Frank Merriwell’s Fault,

Frank Mervriwell’s Frolics; or, Fun at Fardale,

Frank Merriwell’s Mysterious Ring.

Frank Merriwell’s Fag; or, Fighting for the Weak.

Frank Merriwell’s Furlougch.

Frank Merriwell on His Mettle,

Frank Merriwell's Fate; or, The Old Sailor's Legacy.

Frank Merriwell’s Motto; or, The Young Life Savers.

Frank Merriwell in New York; or, an Unknown Foe.

Frank Merriwell in Chicago; or, Meshed by Mysteries.

Frank Merri well in Colorado.

Frank Merriwell in Arizona; or, Mysteries of the Mine.

Frank Merriwell in Mexico.

Frank Merriweil in New Orleans.

Frank Merriwell’s Mercy.

Frank Merriwell’s Friend; or, Muriel the Moonshiner,

Frank Merriwell’s Doubles or, Fighting for Life.

Frank Merriwell Meshed; or, The Last of the Danites.

Frank Merriwell'’s Fairy.

Frank Merriwell’s Money.

Frank Merriwell's Mission

Frank Merriwell’s Mysterious Foe; or, Wild Life on
the Pampas.

a i ab well a Monarch; or, The King of Phantom
sland,

Frank Merriwell in Gorilla Land; or, The Search for
the Missing Link.

Frank Merriwell’s Magic; or, The Pearl of Tangier.

Frank Merriwell in France; or, The Mystery of the
Masked Unknown,

Frank Merriwell’s Feat; or, The Queen of the Bull
Fighters.

Frank Merriwell in London; or, The Grip of Doom,

Frank Merviwell’s Venture; or, Driven from Armenia,

Frank Merriwell in India; or, Hunting Human Leop-
ards.

Frank Merriwell’s Vow; or, After Big Game in Ceylon.

‘Frank Merriwell in Japan; or, The Sign of Avenger.

Frank Merriwell’s Dead Shot; or, Roughing it in
Australia,

Frank Merriwell in the South Sea; or, Cast for Life,

Frank Merriwell at Home Again; or, The Mystery of
Ethel Driscoll.

Frank Merriwell at Yale; or, Freshman Against
Freshman.

Frank Merriwell’s Match; or, The King of the Sopho-
mores.

Frank Merriwell’s Victory; or, The Winning Oar.

Frank Merriwell’s Finish; or, Blue Against Crimson.

Frank Merriwell’s Game; or, Snaring the Sharper.

Frank Merriwell’s Run; or, Trouncing the Tigers.

Frank Merriwell’s Even Up; or, Squaring the Score.

Frank Merriwell’s Queen; or, Blow for Blow.

Frank Merriwell’s Find; or, The Waif of the Train.

Frank Merriwell’s Racer; or, Birds of a Feather.

Frank Merriwell’s Nerve; or, Game to the End.

Frank Merriwell’s Shadow; or, The Mysterious Stran-
ger.

Frank Merriwell's Dash; or, Yale Against the Field.

Frank Merriwell's Bicycle Boys; or,'The Start Across
the Continent.

Frank Merriwell’s Ride for Life.

Frank Merriwell’s Great Capture; or, Bicycle Against
Horse.

Frank Merriwell to the Rescue; or, Through Fire and
Water.

Frank Merriwell’s Close Call; or, The Tramp's Token.

Frank Merriwell’s Unknown Friend; or, Old Friends
in New Places.

Frank Merriwell Among the Rustlers; or, The Cattle
King’s Daughter.

Frank Mervriwell's Desperate Drop; or, Wild Adven-
tures in the Rockies.

Frank Merriwell in the Mines; or, The Blind Singer.

Frank Merriwell Among the Mormons,

Frank Merriwell on the Desert; or, The Mystery of
the Skeleton.

Frank Merriwell’s Underground Search.

Frank Merriwell in California; or, The End of the
Great Tour.

Prize Plot Story; Frank Merriwell as the Star.

Frank Merriwell’s Yacht: or, Chase Down the Coast.

Frank Mervriwell’s Combination; or, The All Arouud
Athletes.

Frank Merriwell’s Red Rival.

Frank Merriwell’s Texas Tournament; or, Sport
Among the Cowboys.

Frank Merriwell’s Nine; or, Surprising the Southern
League.

Frank Merriwell’s Shot; or, Out With the Gun Club.

Frank Merriwell’s Flyer; or, The Winning Wheel.

Frank Merriwell’s Thoroughbred; or, Honesty Against
Crookedness.

Frank Merriwell’s Enemy; or, Rivals of Blue Ridge.

Frank Merriwell’s Crew; or, The Champions of the
Potomac.

Frank Merriwell’s Hunt; or, Tn at the Death,

Frank Merriwell’s Blow; or, Unmasking a Rascal.

Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale; or, The Mystery
of the Examination Papers.

Frank Merriwell as “Anchor;” or, The Winning Pull.

Futron St., New York.

 

81 Frank Merriwell’s Initiation; or, The Secret Order.
82 Frank Merriwell’s Sign; or, The Secret of the Silent
Student.
838 Frank Merriwell as Full Back; or. True to His Colors.
84 Frank Merriwell’s Duel; or, A Point of Honor.
85 Frank Merriwell’s Mark; or, Subduing a Bully,
86 Frank Merriwell’s Secret; or, A Friend in Need.
8? Frank Merriwell’s Revenge; or, Aroused at Lust.
88 Frank Merriwell’s Capture; or, The Black Schooner,
89 Frank Merriwell’s Chui; or, The Hand of a Friend.
90 aa Merriwell’s Double Shoot; or, Winning in the
OX,
91 Frank Merriwell’s Danger; or, Shadow of Disgrace,
92 Frank Merriwell’s Wager; or, Bound to Win.
98 Frank Merriwellin Training; or, The Mystery of the
Midnight Prowler.
94 Frank Merriwell's Courage; or, Loyal to the Last.
95 Frank Merriwell at Fardale Again; or, Yale Lads at
_ the Military Academy.
96 Frank Merriwell in Camp; or, Frolics with the Far-
dale Boys.
97 Frank Merriwell’s Fardale Friends; or, Old Foes.
98 Frank Merriwell's Yale Chums; or, The Jolly Dogs
of Fardale. -
99 Frank Merriwell’s Choice; or. Fair Rivals of Fardale
100 Frank Merriwell’s Fardale Racket.
101. Frank Merriwell’s Courage; or, Nerve Against Bluff.
102 Frank Merriwell's Faith; or, The Shadow of a Crime.
103) Frank Pret Celebration; or, Last Days at
Fardale.
104 Frank Merriwell Afloat; or, The Cruise of the White
Wings.
105 Frank Merriwell Under Megunticook; or, With the
Knox County League.
106 Frank perce Mystery; or, The Monster of Devil
Island.
107. Frank Merriwell’s Disappearance; or, The Secret of
the Island.
108 Frank Merriwell Aroused; or, The Bicycle Boys of
Belfast.
109 Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit; or, The Chase of the
Stolen Yacht.
110 Frank Merriwell’s Catch; or, The Canoe Boys of Lake
Sebasticook.
111 Frank Merriwell’s Guide; or, Sport Around Moose-
Head Lake.
112 Frank Merriwell's Peril; or, The Smugglers of the
Border.
118. Frank Merriwell’s Drift; or, With the River Drivers.
114 Frank Merriwell’s Daring; or, Elsie’s Sacrifice.
115 Frank Merriwell's Fist; or, Bound to Know the Truth
116 Frank Merriwell's Masquerade; or, The Belle of Hur-
ricane Island,
117. Frank Merriwell’s Misfortune: or, The Start of a New
Career.
118 Frank Merriwell, Engine Wiper; or, At the Foot of
the Ladder.
119 Frank Merriwell, Fireman; or, First Step Upward,
120 Frank Merriwell'’s Opportunity; or, The Ghost of
Black Gorge.
lvl Frank Merriwell’s First Run; or, Chance of His Life
122 Frank Merriwell. Engineer; or, The Turn of Fortune
123 Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck; or, A Ship on The
Ladder.
124 Frank Merriwell’s Advancement; or, Engineer of the
Mountain Express.
125 Frank Merriwell Held Up; or, The Robbery of the
Mountain Express.
1296 Frank Merriwell's Protege; or, Lending a Helping
Hand.
407 Frank Merriwell on Strike; or, Saving the Enemy’s
Property.
428 Frank Merriwell as a Ferret; or, Tracking the Train
Wreckers.
129 Frank Merriwell Accused; or, Reaping the Harvest.
130 Frank Merriwell on the Road; or, The All-Star Combi-
nation, '
131. Frank Merriwell's First Part; or, The Start as an Actor,
182 Frank Merriwell in Advance; or, Adventures Ahead
of the Show.
133 Frank Merriwell Magician; or, For Fun, Fame, and
Fortune, ]
134Frank Merriwell’s Own Company; or, Barnstorming
In the Middle West.
135 Frank Merriwell Stranded; or, The Fate of the First
Venture. i
136 Frank Merriwell’s New Venture; or, The Finding of
Elsie.
137. Frank Merriwell’s Play; or, Putting on His Own
Piece.
188 Frank Merriwell’s Fame; or, The Road to Success,
139 Frank Merriwells Father; or, The Man With Money
to Burn.
440 Frank Merriwell’s College Chums; or, Bart Hodge's
Wonderful Shot.
141 Frank Merriwell’s Understudy; or, Helping an Old
Friend. . ‘
142 Frank Merriwell Puzzled, or, the Mystery of Tnza.
143 Frank Merriwell’s Problem; or, Nhe Vanishing of Elsie
144 Frank Merriwell Missing; or,On the Brink of Disaster
145 Frank Merriwell’s Disaster; or, The Hand of the Law.
146 Frank Merriwell’s Fortune; or, The Legacy of the
Skeleton.

receipt of Price, by STREET & SMITH, Pustishers, &!