—- M . ~ ne uae Se ee FRANK MERRI YOUNG AVI # i bh rannstitaleeaaaae e i Vig ; TD AHH th HI WH i iH} HH } HI ! » I Lea . Ht HST aH 1 TPT ' a 7 ey i ae , i Hate ae b th HTH wee in i Hi Hi EN Hu Ui} ae ce E Cada Le tas ee WEEELY. E {the | Ariican Youth m [ Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second-class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 19-89 Seventh Age., NV. Y. ce Copyright, 1911, 6y STREET & SMITH. Frank Merriwell's Young Aviator; 4 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. By BURT L. STANDISH. oh - : CHAPTER I. awkwardly into things. His hair was decidedly - aoe ities sie eet latmics Ae i too long, obscuring his collar in the back and pro- - a E truding in an untidy mass under his hat brim, so as The discord between Otis Burton and Morgan Rudd z almost to cover the straight, black brows which nearly dated from the very day of their entrance to Farnham : 5 ies ? met over the bridge of his nose, and gave an odd, Hall at the beginning of the spring term. Just what caused it would be hard to determine. Perhaps the fact of their arriving on the same train sinister expression to his thin, narrow face. | His eyes were gray, and, except at rare intervals, they were almost expressionless. It was not the va- had something do with it. The journey was lon ic? ie Peter es J y s cancy of stupidity, but rather the look of a person — d somewhat tedious; and Burton was the kind of Geass / ae 1% Pee er eee whose mind is absorbed to an extraordinary degree by fellow who is never so happy as when displaying the ! at Ape oy , some secret thought. That impression was, in fact, brilliancy of his wit and the biting character of his borne out by everything about him; his prolonged fits -\ repartee, at the expense of some one else. uf : ij of absent-mindedness, the quick start he gave whenever Under the circumstances it was not unnatural that he should make Morgan Rudd the butt of his ridicule; for, of the five fellows who journeyed from New’ York to he was spoken to, the very way in which he slumped, — a down in his seat on the train and sat staring out of Bloomfield together, Rudd was by far the most unusual — the window for hours at a time without changing his in manner and appearance. ‘ position a particle. He was, to begin with, rather lank and loose- jointed, | Such a character was almost sure to arouse . Otis Vien a shambling sort of gait, and a habit of bumping Burton’s ridicule, and he did not fail to take advan= 2 TIP TOP tage of this opportunity for relieving the tedium of the journey, and at the same time establishing a repu- tation for a wit. - The other three boys, all younger than either Burton or Rudd, were thus pleasantly entertained, during the greater part of the ride, by the sparkling witticisims di- rected by Burton at the lone occupant of the opposite seat. ? He criticized the boy’s clothes, which, though of good cut and quality, had been carelessly put on and - showed signs of untidiness. He drew attention to the frowsy hair in terms of such cutting banter that his auditors were convulsed. He applied to the lanky _ youth such names as “Fido,” “Beanpole,” “Spider,” “Legs,” and others of a like nature, until the three un- _ sophisticated ones fairly shrieked with mirth and de- cided that he was the funniest fellow they had ever seen. | ~All this was very gratifying to Burton, ‘and for a _ time satisfied that craving for applause which was’ ‘one of the salient features of his make-up. Presently, _ however, the entertainment began to pall. In spite of the fact that his remarks had all been uttered in a per- cyte audible voice, the pitch of which had gradually increased, Mgrgan Rudd paid no more heed to them ae if he had been stone-deaf, 7 At first Burton thought the lanky chap was sham- ming; but at last he became convinced that there was. no fake about it. Rudd was manifestly so absorbed in his own thoughts that he heard not a single one of 4 _ the remarks w hich so entranced the other boys, - Burton was provoked and decidedly aggrieved, One “ih as well waste time and mental effort on a wooden : image as on this impassive youth who neither heard 3 ‘nor saw anything which went on. For. a time, Burton redoubled his sftorts and in- creased the opprobrium of his epithets, but to no avail. last, stung by the cessation of applause from es WEEKLY. series of contortions which were supposed to be a clever take-off on the lanky chap’s attitude and ap- pearance. He was in the midst of a peculiarly effective grimace wlten Rudd, suddenly and quite without warn- ing, turned and regarded him with a cool, calm, discon- certing gaze which so surprised the witty youth that he lost, for an instant, the use of his ready tongue. After a swift scrutiny of Burton’s face, the boy” ~~ with the scraggy hair glanced hastily around the car as if looking for some one. “Find him?” inquired Burton, with a grin, when the other had turned back. “Why, no,” don’t see anybody who looks like one.” Rudd answered mildly. “At least, I Burton frowned. “One what?” he demanded. Rudd smiled propitiatingly. “A keeper,” he explained. “*You'll excuse me if I’m wrong, but you looked so queer inaking those funny faces that I’ thought perhaps you wéren’t just—a— right in your———” | He hesitated, and Burton heard a suppressed snicker from the boys across the aisle, which brought the color flaming into his face and made, his eyes flash There is a vast angrily. difference between being laughed with and: laughed at. “What you need is a nurse to travel round with you, or you'll land in the bughouse yourself,’ he snapped, making the only retort he could think of at the moment. a | Rudd’s eyes widened. “Do you really think so? don’t suppose you’d consider taking the position, would you?” Burton laughed jeeringly. “Not on your life!” he retorted. ing for that kind ofa job.” “Too bad,” murmured Rudd, with a side glance at 2 the three small boys on the opposite seat. to have done so well with the kindergarten that. t ’ thought perhaps you might——’ a ee It was not necessary to finish the sentence. ” he asked seriously, “I. “I’m not look- | “You seem Burton Lae made the mistake of losing his temper, and, after a few scathing but rather silly remarks, to which the: ts =u Hy i ue rl naib iain IPs TOR lanky chap paid no heed whatever, he returned to his seat in a rage. From that moment he had it in for Morgan Rudd. and set about systematically to jeer and ridicule him every time he got the chance. He did not stop to think that he had brought down on his own head the gentle little retorts which had angered him so. He only remembered that he had been made a fool of before a lot of kids, a thing he could never forget nor forgive. He laughed at the boy’s clothes and his generally untidy appearance. He made fun of his spindly shanks and generally poor development, which was so apparent in the gymnasium work. He jeered at his ‘ce inability to play games, and called him “sissy” and other names of a like nature. He tried his best, in fact, to get the other boys down on him, even going . . / . so far as to insinuate that he was a coward and did not: go in for baseball or any other game because he was afraid of being hurt. He succeeded passably well in molding the opinion of a good many fellows; for Burton was the sort of ‘chap who throws a tremendous bluff and gets away with it. He had a pleasant and extremely adaptable manner, being hail fellow well met with his equals, slightly deferential and delicately flattering with those who were important in the school, and graciously con- descending to the small fry. In this manner, coupled with a certain amount of superficial cleverness, he sticceeded in creating the im- pression that Morgan Rudd was more or less of a fool. CHAPTER II. THE GOAD OF CURIOSITY. Perhaps Rudd himself was a good deal to blame for the half-tolerant, half-contemptuous manner with which he came at last to be generally regarded. He was, to say the least, a bit “queer.” He made absolutely no effort to become on friendly terms with any Othe fellows, Indeed, on more than one occasion, ~ he was short and brusque, repulsing their well-meant jue, repulsing te WEEKLY. 3 attempts to draw him out in a manner which did not encourage further advances. He did his work only passably well and spent the minimum amount of time possible in the gymnasium. During the periods of recreation, he had a way of disappearing from sight, sometimes going for long, solitary walks through the woods and surrounding country, but usually seeking his room as soon as pos- sible after dinner and not emerging until supper time. What he did there no one knew; and for a time his At last, however, the curiosity of various boys who had noth- movements were a matter of indifference. ing particular to occupy their minds became aroused. Egged on by Burton, who was always on the alert to find something new in the lanky chap’s behavior which would be productive of ridicule, a number of them would steal up to the corridor every now and then and take turns peering through Rudd’s keyhole, and listening at the crack in his door. Their efforts were quite futile and resulted only The line of vision through the keyhole was very limited, in- cluding at best only the back of a chair and a stretch of blank wall beyond. More than half the time, not even that much was in increasing their ardor for information. visible, Rudd having a habit of leaving his closet door open, thus obscuring everything to a tantalizing degree. The sense of hearing was productive of little more information. Occasionally the sounds of hammering came from the room, varied by scraping and snipping and other puzzling noises which made it appear that Rudd was engaged in making something; though what that something was no one could conjecture: : / _ The greater part of the time, however, the room was silent as the grave. Had they not seen its occupant go. into it, they would never have supposed any one to_ be there. “Tt get’s me,” Burton said irritably, one day, after they had spent an hour in futile endeavor and had : S 4 then retired discomfited, but with curiosity more keen than ever. “The fool’s bughouse, in my opinion.” “4 Ralph Shearman scratched his head in a, puzzled — os 4 manner. Le oy eae “He don’t seem as if he was off his nut,’”’ he ob-- 4 TIP TOP jected. “I got talking to him the other day, and he’s sensible enough when he takes the trouble to be.” “Oh, they jeered Burton. all have spells when they seem sane,’’ “Tf he isn’t nutty, what in thunder makes him shut himself up in his room all the time and do nothing?” anything ?” “How do we know he isn’t doing put in Christy Brown. “We can’t see a blessed thing through that keyhole.” “No, since the hammering and filing stopped last week, he nor hear a sound,” retorted Burton. “Ever _ might as well be dead for all the noise he makes. Now if you can give any good reason why a fellow would spend three or four hours every afternoon, and good- pe _ ness knows how many at night, just locked in his room e | doing nothing, I’ll admit that he’s sane, or anything | else you please.” ‘Maybe he’s boning,’ Brown suggested hesitatingly. Burton laughed scornfully. _ “That’s\ likely, isn’t it?’ he scoffed. “Why, he’s ‘the thickest thing you ever saw in the classrooms. Half the time he hasn’t looked at a book.” _ “That’s right,” admitted Brown. But I'd sure like to know what’s going on in there. “Well, I give up. ) ; Isn't there any way we can get into the room?” : o “He locks the door whenever he goes out,” man spoke up. Pe “How about the window re “T’ve tried it any number of times.” bie stuiggested Brown. - “Couldn’t we get a ladder and climb up there some 2 ‘evening ? roy “How are we going to manage that?” demanded Burton. “All the ladders about the place are locked : up in the basement at night.” | . There was a prolonged pause, which was broken by 3 a sudden exclamation from Brown, Hi “By Jove!” he exclaimed. | “vent our getting down from above on the end of a rope. Why, your room’s directly above his, Ralph. thing would be a cinch.” | “There’s nothing to pre- particularly like the idea of dangling in mid-air. Button, however, was instantly enthusiastic. “By George, | Chris!” he exclaimed. “‘That’s a pretty od idea of yours. Shear- The . “So it is,’ Shearman agreed dot: He did not (The ee :* of | us could manage it WEEKLY. nicely. ‘Two would be plenty to lower the other down and pull him up again after he has seen into the i ‘ down?” ‘ room.” “But who’s going to be the one to go Shearman inquired anxiously. tee “Why, Brown’s the lightest,” Burton answered readily. “He'd better do that part.” “Nothing doing,’ Brown put in hastily. “I don’t see why I should do it any more than either of you.” “You're the lightest,’ Burton explained propitia- tingly. ; “By about six pounds,” Siero eaegeeeteatet ae retorted Brown. ‘‘We com- pared weights in the gym last week.” | “Ralph and I are stronger, though, and could pull you up easy,” Burton protested. Brown doubled his right arm, distending the muscles, “Are you, though ?”’ “Feel of - that. No, we'll match for it, or I stay out.’ he said belligerently. Hard as iron. I reckon I can oo all you can. Finding that no argument could move him, ‘hie ng others gave in gracefully and proceeded with great caution to match coins for the undesirable position, When the * fell to Burton he had difficulty in restraining his annoyance. honor” He was no more anxious to make the descent than Brown, but he could not back At out very well at this stage of the game, so he sub- : mitted to the inevitable as gracefully as possible. “Oh, I do,” being let down and pulled up. well, it doesn’t make much difference which he said nonchalantly. “It’s a heap less work | Ve Let’s get started after | a rope. We want to pull this off to- night, if we can.” By considerable maneuvering they were able to boss a coil of stout rope out of the basement tool room, and | conveyed it at once to Shearman’s room, where it was _ hidden carefully in the closet. Having discussed in detail the manner of ite : for that evening, they departed for the football field, ee very much pleased with themselves, and looking for- ward with considerable satisfaction to the final solu- tion of the mystery which had bothered them so long. The moment the stroke of nine terminated the. even- ing study period, they made a bee line for Shearman’s i room and, having carefully locked the door, began their ‘The rope was brought out and a loo preparations. | Ee Seinen ~ ing them as a good substitute, curious ears came the faint sound of filing. ans ‘ tight away. “Be sure you let down slow,” he cautioned. ; in front. . T'll give two hisses. ee Not more than an inch or so at a time.” TIP TOP made at one end large enough for Burton to slip his arms through. “By gee!’ Brown exclaimed suddenly, as he watched his companion trying the effect. ‘You'll be sore as blazes with that rope chafing. What we want is a couple of small pillows to go under your arms and relieve the strain.” *“That’s so,” agreed Burton, somewhat chagrined that he had not thought of it. “Let’s have two small sofa cushions, Ralph.” But it developed that Shearman had nothing of the The bed pillows being much too large, and nothing else strik- sort, not yet having equipped his couch. Brown was forced to steal forth to his own room for the necessary articles. He returned safely without having encountered any one on the way. And. the preparations proceeded swiftly. : Glancing out of the window, Burton could see that ~Rudd’s room was still brightly lighted, and to his “He’s working at it again, whatever it is,” Burton “We'd better start Take a couple of turns around the corner announced, in a joyful whisper. of the bed, and then the rope won’t slip.” They did so and tested it by pulling hard. the bed began to move forward, and it was necessary to - shove,the bureatt over to hold it in place before they could proceed. 5 At last, however, everything was in good shape, and Burton slipped the rope under his arms, adjusted the . pillows carefully, and then walked to the window. “Lucky his window isn't right underneath this one, because tt come down alongside of it, instead of directly When I get so’s I can see in, I'll give-a hiss and you hold me there. When I want to come up, Remember now, 9 her go easy. The others Rance in low ey rn Burton pro- ee hesitated Instaritly : WEEKLY. 5 denly seized with a fear that the rope might not be as strong as it looked. He pictured to himself the parting of the strands, the sudden plunge and horrible landing on the ground below, crushed and mangled. In that moment he berated himself for ever having attempted such a thing. If there was only some way of getting out of it even now fs | “What's the matter?” demanded a voice impatiently, from the room behind him. “Why don’t you start?” “Tm going to,” he returned, in a whisper. It was too late to back out. With a shudder, he let go his hold on the sill and began to move slowly downward. Presently he breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as bad as he had expected. The rope held, with scarcely a creaking; and his downward progress was slow and comparatively steady—a barely perceptible slipping, so careful were the two bays above to do the thing right. He was much more comfortable, too, than he had expected to be, thanks to the pillows under his arms; and, before long, he quite overcame his fear and began to look forward with pleasure to the discovery which would come very soon. He had reached a point where his knees were about —_— on a level with the top of the window, when suddenly the lowering motion ceased, ‘ibid ‘nia deisbant dates the AS oe taut rope was jarred violently. Burton’s heart leaped into his mouth and he could — What had happened? Was the rope going to part and let him fall? Hardly suppress a cry of fear. With wildly thudding heart—for he was decidedly lacking in nerve, for lall his bluster—he hung there yu x waiting. Presently the jarringestopped, but an odd, — disconcerting noise like scuffling came from the room above, which continued for a moment, then ceased. Puzzled and not a little frightened, Burton waited a _ moment or two before twisting himself around and — glancing upward. The window above was quite empty, ie and the room he had just left was silent as a tomb, Q “Ralph!” he called, in a stealthy whisper. — “Chris What’s the matter?” es | pear Not a sound of ay sort came from es ' window, and a cold chill Seen tor run tp and | down : No answer. Burton's spine. ; 6 Cob whOr They They would never go away and leave He could not understand what had happened. must be there. him dangling helpless in mid-air. He called again, this time a little louder, but he did not dare raise his voice for fear of bringing Rudd to-his window and betraying everything. Still there was no answer ; and a horrid fear began to pervade the mind of Otis Burton that he had been deserted. CHAPTER IIL THE FELLOW WHO DANGLED. At first the helpless youth decided that “Peanut” Hall, the young and zealous tutor who was in charge of the corridor above, had, in some manner, discovered what was going on. 4 f | Instantly, however, he rejected the idea as impos- Had that been the case, the man would have been only too eager to see who was on the end of the sible. rope, that he might punish this infraction of discipline. The next supposition was that Brown and Shearman were playing a joke on him. The thought filled him with rage, which increased with the growing conviction that he was in no actual danger of being hurled to the ground by the parting of the rope. \ The rope, in fact, seemed only too strong. It bound | ‘him tightly under the arms and, though he presently conceived the idea of climbing back on it, hand over it p hand, he soon found that he could not even reach around and grasp it. | Furious by this time, he began to call again in sup- pressed tones, threftening the two fellows with. all ae sorts of dire penalties if they did not instantly pull him 4 . : up, and upbraiding them in terms which were distinctly more forcible thait polite. The effect was startling. Suddenly, from various _ windows near by, a chorus of mocking remarks floated out into the night. “Listen to the mocking bird!” “Oh, naughty, naughty!” _ “Ain’t he perfectly awful!” “He’s a real ba-ad man!” “Where'd he learn all those lovely words? » WEEKLY. “Who is he, anyhow ?” “Yes! who is he?” “What's he doing there?” “Can’t you see, you chumps? He’s practicing for the rope-climbing contest.”’ “Then why don’t he climb?” “Maybe he’s resting.’ “Oh, those arms. no! He doesn’t have to rest. Just loolg at Why, he’s got Sandow skinned a mile.” “Maybe he’ll give us an exhibition. Won't you climb for the lady, Willy? you do it?” “Too bad! Fairly foaming at the mouth with fury, Burton : . t ‘ Be nice and show us how I’m afraid he’s shy.” writhed and twisted and endeavored to get a hold on the rope, quite forgetting his former fear of falling. Unfortunately, the loop was a rather large one, and the knot was at his back, some distance above his head, so that his efforts were quite futile. | The j jeering voices continued to ‘sound from all sides ; but, though he was aching to retort, he did not dare say a word. Apparently they had not yet recognized him, and, if he could only escape from his unfor- tunate predicament, there was a bare chance that they might never know who he was. What had happened he could only guess. In some manner, the boys had become wise to what he was at- tempting, and either they had induced Shearman and Brown to join them, or else they had seized the two fellows and tied them up so that they could not in- terfere. Remembering the scuffling noise, he inclined to the latter supposition. But, whichever was the truth, he was in a most humiliating position. A’ prisoner here until his tormentors chose to re- lease. him, he had not the slightest hope that they would fail to discover his identity. him dangling at their own sweet pleasure, taunting him the while with the sarcastic jibes and jeers which were even now driving him almost frantic; and then, when € they were quite tired of their entertainment, they would draw him up to Shearman’s room, to find out just who Pp J it was that had afforded them so much amusement. He would be the - Burton shivered at the thought. They would keep | i (rae Riemer bons Neen . + ie Pe ee x ~~ AIP SOP laughingstock of the entire school, for such a chance as this of making fun does not often occur. He, who had enjoyed ridiculing others so much, would now suffer in his turn; and, as he realized what was in store for him, he felt that he would give anything he possessed if he could only escape it. He even seriously considered ‘cutting the rope and s taking his chances in a drop to the ground. It was not so very far, and almost anything would be better than being found out. But when he glanced downward into the shadowy darkness below he did not dare risk it. ies Sanit ia art So he hung there, struggling silently, now and then, Fae to grip that knot which the tips of his fingers could barely touch, maddened by the mocking voices from all aboftt, with cold chills of apprehension coursing up and down his spine, until, of a sttdden, there came that Bis? "jarring vibration on the rope again. His heart leaped into his throat as he glanced swiftly upward. rk eae n ers They were going to pull him up; in a mo- : & ment more everything would be discovered. As he is ie looked, two heads were thrust cautiously over the sill, hs and an instant later a reek Os!” It was Shearman’s voice, and a thrill of hope shot faint whisper came down to him. through Burton. Had they possibly managed to es- 5 e a4 , g cape? Was there yet a chance for him to get away “unrecognized ? _ He hesitated,a moment and then gave:two sharp hisses. He did not notice that the light in’ Rudd’s room had gone ott an instant before. To his joy, the response was instant. He began to m ascend at a speed which was far more rapid than his descent had been. Evidently whoever was at the other end of the rope realized the necessity for haste. tee mee he reached the window ledge, he gripped it with fi, both hands, and in another moment was in the room. . “We couldn't help——” began Brown excitedly. | Burton cut him short. Not an instant must be lost i in getting out of the room and down to his own, on the ext Hoorn) Ko ’ es “They don’t know Ps I am, “TE either of you tell, Tl kilt you.’ ‘Without another word, Ke chossed: the; ‘room. On’ the he gasped. ey ee en ee timacy with Shearman and Brown; but tiieeé! were es ran, ao See the door and tart into the hall, _ swered, — ae WEEKLY. 5 In another second he reached the top of the narrow stairway which led to his own corridor and. disap- peared into the darkness. _ He was not an instant too soon. ' Scarcely had he vanished when several’doors were hastily opened and shadowy forms made a concerted but noiseless rush to the scene of the little drama. To their disappoint- ment and chagrin, they found only the two boys whom they had trussed up, but who had managed, somehow, to untie their bonds. “Where is he?” demanded Jack Ranleigh, who was substitute quarter back, but who loved a joke even better than football. “Gone,” returned Shearman laconically. On the way to the window, some one stumbled over the rope and announced that the fellow had told the truth. When this fact had been made certain, Ranleigh. turned to the two boys who were regarding the in- truders with malicious satisfaction. e “Who was it, eae he asked ingratiatingly. “Come on and tell us.’ “Go to grass!” returned Brown. “Find out your- — self, if you’re so keen to know.” | And that was the last word from both of them. © Neither threats nor persuasion could induce them to | reveal the name of the fellow who had dangled fora good half hour. at the end of that rope; and the older a “a fellows were finally forced to give it up and return to” their rooms with the uncomfortable conviction that they _ had bungled, and that the joke was not altogether on the unknown. tO CHAPTER IV. THE LAUGHINGSTOCK OF THE SCHOOL. Next morning the story spread quickly over the en- tire school, and the question in every boy’s mouth was _ the identity of the fellow w vho had been the va of the: Burton was, of course, wueebintt on account of i in- dozen other boys on equally friendly terms with ‘the two, so that the question was very far from being an- 8 TL ee Indeed, Burton threw such a successful bluff as to having been one of those who sang out from his win- dow, and professed so keen a curiosity as to who the unknown might be, that suspicion was more or less diverted. : Nevertheless, he was thankful when the day had passed without any further evidence coming to light; and, by the followimg morning, he came to the pleasing conclusion that he was fairly safe. With this reassuring thought came a return of the desire to, carry out the scheme which had restilted so disastrously, and discover what Morgan Rudd was do- ing in his room. Through some intricate process of reasoning, Burton laid the blame of his humiliation at Rudd’s door, and this increased the grudge he held against the fellow, making him the more anxious to obtain additional ammunition for further assaults. Access to, Rudd’s room through the window being now out of the question, the door was the only ingress left. the taciturn chap was in his room or not; but the matter To be sure, this was always kept locked, whether of a key ought not to be insurmountable. The style was an ordinary one, and, though all the locks through- out the school were different, blank keys of the right size were to be had at the village locksmiths; or it might even be possible to secure one of the master ~. keys. The last method was rejected as being too risky. But early that afternoon, Christy Brown hastened to the village and returned as speedily as he om with Ae _a blank key. They had expected to wait till the next morning for > the operation; but when Rudd was seen leaving the building and striking off toward the woods, it was de- cided to go ahead at once. The key was carefully z coated with wax from 4 candle and, -when placed in the lock and turned firmly, a fair impression appeared, | which was at once attacked with a file. The process took some time. They filed in Burton’s - room and every now and then had to sneak out to see if it fitted, At last, to their joy, it turned stiffly, 3 " P . . « : and they hastened to slip into the room and close the _ door behind them. “The eager curiosity with which they looked about WEEKLY. can be imagined. The place was almost as bare as a barn. Not only had no attempt at “fixing up” been made, but it was one of the untidiest rooms any of the boys had ever seen. Clothes lay about here and there without order. Shoes and soiled linen were on the floor or banked against the closet door as if they had been thrown there and then fofgotten. In amazing contrast to the general disorder was the surpassing neatness of the table, which had been drawn over to the one side of the window and was covered with various tools, little stacks of w ell-seasoned wood, pieces of linen, and a number of other things, the use of which the boys could not even guess. “Gee! This is a great outfit,’ exclaimed Brown picking up a small file which was as delicateé*as a— jeweler’s implement. it for?” “I’m hanged if I know,” Burton answered, pawing here and there on jhe table. “I don’t see a darned 99 thing: ‘Look here, fellows—quick!” cried Shearman ex- citedly. He had been attracted by something bulky onthe } bed which was covered with a large sheet of paper. He had not hesitated to remove the paper, for further inspection. As the other two hastened to his side, they both gave exclamations of astonishment. The thing which rested on the white coverlet, and’ which had unquestionably been the cause of Rudd’s many days and nights of toil, was a small model of an_ “But what in time does he use poe aéroplane, the workmanship of which was so perfect _ that both Shearman and Brown were moved to com- ment upon it with considerable enthusiasm. Burton’s lips curled scornfully, however. see nothing good emanating from the hands of the boy he so disliked, and he at once proceeded t to throw ee water on his friends’ involuntary, praise. “ 3) bah “Bah!” he sneered. “That shows he’s crazy. Thine He could , . of any sane chap wasting all the time he has ona kid’ S_ i SO reo Raa “Tt looks better than that to me,” protested Brown, bending over to examine it more closely, “Everything about it’s perfect, even the engine. Why, I never saw anything like it in my life.” Ba "Rte ag see ORES rs pt cae pane Ake ee re _* agi Ciba tees een Ms ee Giciokek Cie oe j “You haven’t seen much, then,” growled Burton ill- i temperedly. “They sell things like that at all the toy a stores in New York.” ; “T'll bet they’re not like this,’ put in Shearman. « “Why, it looks to me as if the thing could fly.” “For about two yards,” sneered Burton. “Come on, and let’s get out. We don’t want to be pinched here. This proves I was right. The chump’s as loony as they make ’em. He’s wasted days and days making some- thing he could buy better for a couple of dollars.” Silenced, though not quite convinced, his compan- ions followed him out of the room and downstairs. It was later than they had thought, for the fellows were beginning to come in from the football field, and the main hall below was filled with laughing, joking See are ety: o. groups. * Hesitating on the last step, Burton’s eyes lit up with Eee a keen, malicious joy as they fell upon the figure of 4 Morgan Rydd just entering the door. Here was a chance which might not soon occur again to give his forward to meet the boy in the very midst of the mob. a “Hello, Rudd!’ he said loudly, and with a decidedly | g | contemptuous inflection. “Been doping out any more % _ flying machines lately ?” a ’ The lanky chap gave a slight start, and instantly his expression became watchful. “at . “T don’t think I understand what you're driving at,’ ¥ ah. he returned quietly. x ¥ “Hot ho!” laughed Burton. “Modest, eh? Surely 4 you're not ashamed of the great work.” He turned, grinning, to the near-by fellows, who were glancing curiously in his direction. “Didn’t know we had an inventor in our midst, ’ did you?” he chuckled. “Why, Rudd, here, has in- vented an aéroplane which is, going, to revolutionize the science. Before long you'll see him circling all over the place as easy as the rest of us walk. When are you going to start work on the real thing, Rudd?” The frowsy-haired chap made no reply, but con- tinued to regard his tormentor with a curiously fixed scrutiny which seemed to irritate Burton considefably, and made him drop his bantering tone. _ “Are you really fool enough to think you'll do any- enemy a dig before the whole crowd, and he hastened’ WEEKLY. 9 thing with that machine of yours?” the latter demanded scornfully. “T don’t know that it’s any of your business what I think,” Rudd retorted calmly. . Burton’s lips curled. “Humph!” he grunted. “I'll guarantee you'll never get off the earth in it.” A shadowy smile passed over Rudd’s thin face. “At least I won’t dangle in mid-air, and not be able to get down,” he commented, with a slightly significant emphasis. / It was as if he had struck Burton a blow across the cheek. his hands tightly. The color flamed into his face, and he clenched How much did the fellow know? © = How had he found out? Burton’s first impulse was to cut short the conversation instantly, and retreat with what grace he could. But, almost as soon as the thought came into his mind, he realized how impos- sible it was. Already the fellows around were prick- ing up their ears and crowding forward. The only way of escape was by brazening it out. “Ha! ha!” won't. he laughed loudly. “No, you certainly If you ever get up in the air you'll have to bé held there by a pole, or something.” Rudd’s eyes were still fixed steadily on his. They seemed calm and placid, but in their depths there lurked a glimmer of amusement which made Burton long to. strike him down then and there. “Even that’s better than hanging at the end of a rope, isn’t it?” he asked quietly,, ; Burton’s face grew redder, and he scowled fiercely. — he demanded belliger- “If you think that I-——” “What d’you mean by that?” ently. His voice was drowned in the concerted shriek of joy which went up from all around. ’ “Oh, you dangler!”’ “You rope climber!” “Hi, Bill! Romeo stunt the other night on the rope.”’ A Here’s the ‘alee that was doing the “Ts that straight?” “Sure! Take a squint at his face.” ; bing 4 “Whatcher blushing so for, Bertie?” )» “You bad thing!” 10 TiP OP “Those naughty swear words!” “He soap.” ought to ‘have his: mouth washed out’ with Burtoh glanced around at the circle of grinning faces in helpless fury. Instantly he realized the utter futility of denial. They would not believe him. He wanted to lash out at them with bitter, taunting words, but he managed, luckily for himself, to refrain. They would only welcome such an outburst, and return it tenfold. For a moment or two he stood speechless, his face taking on a purplish tinge. Then he whirled suddenly, and, tearing through the crowd, raced back upstairs, - the jeers and laughter ringing in his ears and the mocking words following him as he ran. When he reached the safety of his own room and turned the key, he stood for a moment panting slightly, his whole face working with the fury which possessed him. Rudd had brought this thing about, and he should suffer. He would be revenged if it took every min- -. ute of his time for the remainder of the year. He —he had ever meddled with what did not concern him. He did not stop to think that Rudd was only hitting | back ina perfectly fair manner. He did not consider ma _ that the chap had kept his own counsel for three days, and would doubtless have kept it forever, but for Bur- ton himself. He only knew that he had been made the laughingstock of the entire school, and he swore a solemn oath that he would be amply revenged. CHAPTER V. |THE RUINED MODEL, ! Mig Hodge, Merry’s s chief assistant, d¥opped into a = chair i in the office and folded his arms. : Sala s eee mare about this fellow eae, Martie raised his adtene “Tn wha way! ?” he asked, _ ‘ > ¢ ee jee ig crmphaicaly, would make that lanky scarecrow sorry—bitterly sorry | WEEKLY. do with in a long while. Have you paid much atten- tion to him?” Frank’s eyes twinkled, but his face was_ serious. He was used to Bart’s manner of looking upon the dark side in sizing up a boy. “T’ve noticed that he keeps a good deal by him- self, about it, because | was hoping he answered quietly. “I haven’t spoken to him he’d get over it of his own accord. It’s always better if they can overcome this shyness without any interference.” Hodge frowned. troubling him,’ “Tt isn’t shyness that’s he said darkly. “It’s something worse.” Bek pe aig LUM “Worse?” queried Merry. “Just what do you mean, Bart?” “He’s got something on his mind,’ Hodge said em- phatically. ‘Most of the time he goes around in a walking trance. His lessons are never more than half prepared, and in the gym he never does a stroke of work more than he actually has to, and does that in a half-hearted manner. Since he’s been here, he hasn't even gone near the athletic field, let alone evinced the. faintest desive to play anything. And you know that even the worst muffs toss a ball now and then, and al- ways show up for the games, if they do nothing else. Depend upon it, Frank, he’s brooding over something.” i Merriwell straightened up in his chair, now thor- _ Tt was just possible that’ there He him- self had noticed some of these pecliarities in Morgan _ . oughly interested. might be something i in Bart’s point of view. Rudd, but he had so far been too busy to make a care- ful study of this particular boy. “Have you any notion of what's on his inal 2” he asked. | , tae “Nothing exactly definite,” Hodge answered, “But from the way he behaves, I should think he might be» iM worrying over something he’s done. It might even he a theft, or something like that. What sort of a. char- acter did his people give him? Suppose you tod oR ike the correspondence and: see,” i ft emia _ There was no need toe Frank to look up, the ce however. That marvelous memory of his seemed to retain the facts concerning every boy in the school. “T don’t recall any question of his honesty,” he re-— —— en eee 5 TIP TOP turned slowly. “His father said he was lazy and shiftless, and couldn’t be made to study or take any exercise. He spent a great deal of time shut up in his room, or else taking solitary walks, from which he was quite as apt to return long after supper was over. He seemed to have no idea of time, and no sense of responsibility.” ‘Exactly as he does here,” Hodge said triumphantly. “He spends every afternoon in his room, or else off in the woods. He’s béen late to supper any number of times. Now, what does he do with himsel¥? And *) | what’s he got on his mind? That’s what I want to know.” Merry ‘That’s something we shall have to find out,” 2 said, smiling. “I’m glad you brought this up, Bart. ; I’ve been so busy with plans for the new building and | _a lot of other things, that I’ve had no time to give to the boys individually. Ill look up Rudd at once and see if I can get at the bottom of the mystery,” It thus happened that the next afternoon, as! the Z 4 lanky, dreamy-eyed fellow emerged from the dormi-’ ; tory directly after dinner, he found the head of the |. school just passing the door, apparently having come - from the gymnasium. “How are you, Morgan?” | Merry said pleasantly. “Going for a tramp?” “Ye-es, sir,” returned Rudd, much embarrassed by 4 theencounter. “I was going down—er—by the lake.” “Good! We may as well walk along together, then. I have to look at one of the shells which was broken yesterday.” Rudd acquiesced because there was nothing else to » y 4 do. however. The presence of the older man bothered him, and disturbed his train of thought. This fact was perfectly apparent to Frank; but he “ paid no attention to it, chatting with Rudd in an easy, , ~ natural est, and exercising to the utmost his SeRS EAS fac- manner about various thatters of school inter- t culty of putting a fellow at his ease. before long he found himself thawing to a degree of _ Which even he was unaware, -Merriwell realized it to He would much rather have gone his way alone, Presently Rudd began to feel more doihtoatie and i the full, however, and in that short walk he learned II WEEKLY. more of the boy’s inner nature than one would have supposed possible. By the time they reached the boathouse where the shells were kept, he had come to the conclusion that Hodge was wrong. Rudd was not brooding over any- thing disgraceful. He was intensely absorbed in some- thing ; but just what that something was remained, for the moment, a question. Leaving his young companion standing on the edge of the lake, Frank went into the boathouse, looked over the damaged shell, and decided that it could be repaired in the’school carpenter shop. He was gone nearly ten minutes, but when he returned, Rudd stood just where he had left him, his eyes staring out across the lake, where a brisk breeze had stirred the water into choppy little wavelets from which the sun glinted in dazzling, intermittent flashes. He did not seem to notice Frank’s approach, and the latter stood quietly beside him for several moments, wondering amusedly how long the boy would remain — in that trancelike condition. Suddenly, without so much as turning his head, the lanky youth spoke: “‘A’ mechanical stability device ought to make fly- ing about as safe_as automobiling.” Merry could scarcely believe that he had~heard aright. “What did you say?” he exclaimed, in utter as- tonishment. , Rudd gave a start, and turned round. “Oh!” he gasped, the color rising in his face. “I— I forgot. I didn’t mean to——” “Never mind that,” “Just tell me what you meant.” Merriwell put in, more quietly. The boy dropped his eyes, and fumbled with the top button of his coat in an embarrassed manner. “You'll—laugh, of course,’ he faltered. “I was They’d be—a lot safer if a device—was invented to—to keep them from tipping. thinking of aéroplanes. —something which would work automatically.” | Frank drew a long breath. Like a flash, he had realized that this was an answer to the thing which _ had been puzzling him. [ ve “Captain Baldwin once told me,” he said quietly, ri “that w vhen ie perfect engine was invented, and an Ly gf sf yee 12 SLR SLOP automatic stabilizing device, the conquest of the air would be complete.”’ Rudd threw back his head and darted a swift, ques- tioning glance at Merriwell. “You know Captain Baldwin?’ he asked excitedly “Thomas Scott Baldwin?” Frank nodded. “He and I are very good: friends,’ he smiled. “Cracky !” derful man in the world. exclaimed the lad. ‘“‘He’s the most won- I'd give anything, to see him some time. They call him the father of aviation, don’t they ?” *Y es. any other inventor in that line. He’s probably more liked and respected than His name isn’t so well known, perhaps, to the general public. as some others, for he never indulges in spectacular flights or all his time to the anything of that sort. He gives science of flying, working for the future more than for any present fame. A number of years ago, before *. he regularly took up the study of aéroplanes, he spent some time here in Bloomfield working on dirigibles Py for the government.” The boy sighed enviously. “Gee! you seen him since, sir?” ae bee iM, yes. ee . | Mineola. I wish I’d been here then,” he said. “Have I’ve visited him a number of times at In fact, we studied together, and all I know about aéroplanes came from him.” - “You've studied aéronautics?” Rudd burst out, his Bae ‘éyes sparkling and his whole face alive with interest. uy es,”? ‘Driven an aéroplane?” “Yes, several.”’ “Monoplane, or biplane re e Some men would have resented the boy’s curt, ’ brusq ue questions as lacking in the proper respect; but Frank realized the situation perfectly; The hoy’ s _Telative positions.. He was talking as one man to _another, thinking only of the thing he wanted to ger and without the slightest idea of being im- ; a, sign of this skepticism appear in his face or his manner. succeeded i in doing something which has so far baffled © - mind was so full of the subject which occupied every. waking moment, that he had quite forgotten their — WEEKLY. i | “By Jove!” sighed Rudd. “I wish-—~” . i He stopped abruptly, and his jaw dropped. For a 4 moment he stood there looking at Merriwell, with a the color flaming into his face. Then his eyes sought the ground. \ "T— 1 for [—didn’t mean to be “T-—beg your pardon, sir,” he faltered. got who—lIl was talking to. fresh.” Merriwell laughed lightly. ' “TI know you didn’t, Morgan,” he answered. ‘“What is it you wish?” Encouraged by the man’s tone, Rudd glanced up hopefully. . “T’ve got a model of a monoplane in my room,” he —~ explained. “I’ve been working on it for a long while. 1 I—think I’ve got something which will keep the ma- ute chine stable.” it To Frank, it seemed a sheer impossibility that a mere boy could haye made a discovery of such tre-— fendous moment in the science of flying; burt he let no “If you have done that,’”’ he said’ gravely, “you've ~ every inventor.” My we it sounds foolish, and all that,” * Rudd ads a ; mitted. “But I’ve gone over it and over it, and I can i : , e . MA: + ae it won’t work. If you would just look it) — > see why over é . 9” > oT; : : . ‘“ * A e “Of course I will,” Frank put in readily. “Suppose we do it at once. ~ I am most interested.” re eet To tell the truth, he was more than skeptical as to - the real value of the invention. He had seen too. often the wild enthusiasm and perfect faith of an. in- ventor over something he had discovered, whic later turned out to be quite worthless. — Rie ial But there was no question that he was interested in Rudd himself. During the discussion of aéroplanes,- the boy's face had become transformed. The dreamy, almost listless expression gave place to a look of keen intelligence. His whole face lighted up with the en- thusiasm which apneic him, and Merriwell felt és . saat EES NG A es at 2 Ee ie ech PRB Soren oe PEP. tte naar eee th The impression was strengthened as they walked briskly back to the school. Rudd was no longer silent and dull, but talked about his beloved hobby in a man- ner which was more than precocious, and which showed that his grasp of the subject was positively ¢ amazing. Together they entered the room, and, as the lanky. chap hastened over to the bed and dropped down on his knees beside it, Merry raised his eyebrows slightly at the dreadful. untidiness of the place. ‘The next in- — stant, however, his attention was distracted by a gasp wt from the boy, followed by a stifled exclamation of | i horror. 4] He had drawn a large pasteboard box, without the i cover, from under the bed, and was staring into it 4| _ with a kind of paralyzed despair. As Frank stepped % ? ~ Se 2% oats! 2 ‘quickly forward and glanced over the lad’s shoulder, he drew his breath swiftly. The box was filled with a mass of broken wood,and torn fabric. Bits of iron and pieces of twisted’ wire lay -all about in confusion. If the thing had ever It smashed into bits so completely that scarcely a square been a model, it was one no longer. had been “|. inch of the original remained to show what it might have been. CHAPTER VI. MERRIWELL’S OFFER, For a moment there was utter silence, as the two stood looking at the wreck. Then Rudd rose slowly to his feet and glancéd at Merry, his face white and the muscles of his jaw rigid as stone. The pupils of his eyes were scarcely larger than pin heads, Rak g “You see,” he said simply, but in a voice which _/was not quite steady. ; | ; Merriwell’s brows were contracted. “You left it all right?” Yes,” yas - liciously destroying a thing which has taken weeks to he demanded. ¢ io contemptible!” said Merry. “The idea of ma- > er together! Have you any suspicion———” 3 , He stopped abruptly and bit his lips. For a mo- hy, “ment or two theré was silénce, and, glancing at the boy WEE a great deal éasier to try out. KLY. 13 out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw in an instant that Rudd had, at least, a notion as to who was re- sponsible for the outrage. Wondering, he waited to see what the lad was going to say. “Tf you don’t mind, sir,” Rudd returned slowly, “I'd rather not tell you. I’m not sure, and so you see it wouldn’t do to give you the wrong idea.” Merriwell breathed a sigh of relief. he said. “I shall do my Meanwhile,” “T understand perfectly,” best, however, to get at the bottom of it. he glanced down at the box again and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m afraid this is quite ruined. Perhaps you can explain your device from the drawings you must have made of it.” Rudd’s face eee a bit. \ “Oh, yes, sir,” he agreed. “I’m afraid it won't be so easy to make it clear, though.” He led the way to his table, and Frank idwaualy commented on the contrast between the neatness here and the general disorder of the room. The plans which the boy presently produced were drawn with — exquisite skill and attention to detail, which showed that, at the bottom, he had an orderly mind. For nearly an hour they went over the device to- gether, and, at the end of that time, Frank was some- The thing was on entirely novel | what impressed. lines, and looked distinctly good. - Other similar Sx, ventions had seemed good, however, so he did not allow himself to be too sanguine or to bank a great deal on the success. There was no question in his mind, though, about giving the ingenious youth every faculty for continuing his work and CBRE a a new model. “There’s a small room off the pattern shop,” he said, after the plans were put away and he had seated himself, “which you may use for this work. ‘We will see that a good lock which can’t be picked | is placed on the door, to guard against a repetition of this affair. better make it about twice as large, Morgan. It ach take longer, but you'll have something which will be Suppose you make the plane spread six feet, and the other parts in propor Yhe matter interests me tremendously, and, Oo} Regarding the model, I should say you | had tion. 14 . TIP TOP may as well be. working on something like this as spending your time on more or less useless articles in the manual-training course. There’s just one condi- tion | want to make, however, He paused an instant, still studying the boy. eX You must not lose yourself in this work, Mor- gan,” he went on. “You must spend only a certain number of hours a day on it, and make a determined effort to put it entirely out of your mind the rest of the time.” Rudd’s face fell. “I don’t see how I can, sir,” he protested. “My mind’s so full of it that I’m always thinking it over.” “Exactly,” Frank agreed. “It must stop, however. Otherwise you'll very soon become hipped on the sub- ject. only one direct‘on. A man’s mind isn’t meant to be developed in It must be broadened and given variety or it becomes abnormal. When you are work- ing over your invention it is right and proper that you should think of nothing else, but when you are away from it you must forget it entitely. Mingle more with the other boys, play baseball ) “Gracious!” Rudd exclaimed, aghast. “I never played ball in my life.” “Then it’s high time you learned,” Merry smiled. “I’m afraid that side of your education has been en- tirely neglected. You simply must give your mind variety. Even Edison, hard as he works over his in- ventions, never spends all his time on one thing. When he finds himself becoming fagged, he drops one thing and takes up another of a totally different character. Since you are not interested in any other problems, you must do what is even better, attend to the de- velopment of your body, and learn to like the games and sports which every normal boy plays as a matter ty of course. The mere physical exertion, and the fact that you are pitting your brain against another’s, will do more toward broadening you than anything I can s ek, of. ; - Rudd nodded slowly. at oes, Oir, 1 suppose it does,” . going to be mighty hard to begin.”’ _ “Most habits are hard to break,” Frank smiled. “And this is nothing pat a habit. Now, suppose we ip x \ Doesn’t that sound reasonable: r he agreed. “Only it’s : - WEEKLY. lay out a rough sort of schedule for you to follow. The manual-training course calls for two hours’ work ‘That, model; and I think perhaps anotHer hour, taken the a day. of course, you will devote to your first thing after dinner, can be added to it. Taken in connection with your studies and gym work, that is all the time you ought to spend indoors.” “Only three hours?” Rudd said, in a tone of dis- appointment. “Not a minute more,’ Merry returned emphatically. “The rest of the afternoon you must be outdoors, building up your body and giving your brain some- thing else to think about. Go out to the field and start in by haying a catch with another boy. all the regular games, and you'll soon become enthusi- astic. Get in with the fellows, and learn to take an interest in everything which goes on at the school. Learn tennis, and go in for track work. build, you ought to be rather speedy.” Rudd sighed. “The prospect did not appeal to him in the least; but he was sensible enough to seesthat there was a good deal of reason in it. “When do you want me to start?” he asked. “You may as well go out this very afternoon,” Merry advised. “You mustn’t get discouraged if things don’t go smoothly at first.. Keep at it just as you’ve kept at the stabilizing device, and you'll make ‘good. What’s more, you'll find your brain fresher by a good deal when you go back to your model, and you'll be Xble to accomplish a lot more than you can now in three hours.” “All right, sir,” “T’'ll do as you say.” Rudd agreed, without enthusiasm. CHAPTER VII. THE AWAKENING OF MORGAN RUDD. * Probably the most difficult thing Morgan Rudd had ever done in his life was to walk out onto the field and find a boy who was willing to have a catch with him. Certainly it was the most unpalatable. Extraordinary as it may seem, he had never. held a. baseball in his hand before, save once or twice when he was forced to pick one up and return it to the Ja i son siz Hs i fit , Pe Fi Oe ee Oe NST aah _ fie Schnee Watch: With your | ; q % 7 4 i < t 1 | t { 1 } | : 3} %/ = er, r . ules ae ti tee “ So hi ERR ITER AGT AA ORES PA vere ra oi 4 < i ~s \ He Lys cites, Seinen , eer ‘ at a recerns han ti tanenaleutat: PO" he a St esate Helin Sa ps PREM wk casas Cem TS Re — nT Rag Thigh I ets tera: mt: ei Aj oy | me yl im e i ik _ tators who had with a bat. to one side of the diamond. TIP players, and then he had rolled it along the ground, instead of throwing it. He was one of those precocious youths who con- sider such things a waste of valuable time, without realizing that, in turning down everything in the na- ture of a pastime, he was missing something which he could never make up. He started from the school at a rapid walk, with the one idea of getting through with an unpleasant duty as soon as possible. But as he neared the field, and saw spread out before him from the slight rise on which he stood the kaleidoscopic mass of color and motion, he slowed down to a crawl, and finally stopped. Practically the entire school was assembled there. On the diamond the two nines were engaged in a brisk\ practice game, whicl{ was watched by a crowd of spec- shouts and nothing else to do. Their joshing criticisms reached Judd’s ears plainly, as did the sterner, more biting admonitions of the captain. Outside the diamond, all over the flat, grassy expanse, boys, more boys, and then some, were scattered. Dozens of picenatis rose and fell in beautiful curves. _ Here and there an embryo hitter was trying his hand Beyond, the tennis courts were all occu- pied, and several hot sets were in full swing. Boys who had nothing else to do occupied themselves in chasing each other about, or rolling one another aim- lessly over the grass in sheer, joyous abandon. With the shouts and yells and laughter ringing in , Rudd watched it all bewilderedly for a few He tried to tell himself that it was all foolish nonsense; his ears usages before he resumed his slow approach. but somewhere within him a responsive note was struck which made him feel a vague, regretful dis- quiet because he was not participating in this sport and frolic. It took him a long: time to find a boy with a ball which was not in use; but at last he spied one standing His request for a catch _ was met with amused astonishment, and declined with- out hesitation, " Undaunted, and, after several rebuffs, he ran into little the determined chap continued his ‘search, TOP WEEKLY. 5 the lanky fellow was in earnest, and they withdrew a _ Pewee Stubbs, his trowsers 8 pocket bulging with the coveted ball, a mammoth mitt dangling from one fin- ger, evidently also in search for some one to pass with him. He listened to Rudd’s reqttest with suspicion, evi- dently under the impression that some sort of a joke was on foot. At last, however, he was convinced that little from the crowd, to begin. Morg rgan Rudd will never forget the humiliation of that afternoon. The catching and throwing of a ball had seemed to him such a simple thing that he had anticipated not the slightest difficulty in the perform- ance. His chagrin may be imagined at the instant discovery -that there was a decided knack about it. At first he grew furious at his unspeakable awk- at the joyous mirth of little Stubbs wardness, and over the diverting exhibition, This only made things worse, and threatened to bring upon his companion an attack of hysterics. : He , but it was the cold, calcu- He vowed that At that, he cooled again, and gritted his teeth. was still angry at himself lating sort of anger which stimulates. he would get the knack or die. He did not get it that afternoon, but he improved so decidedly that Pewee assured him, patronizingly, that “he might make a third-rate twirler if he kept it — up a few hundred years.” : At/ i a odd moments he slipped around back of the gym and ea threw a ball, which he had bought, against the brick | He was at it the next day and the day after. wall. He went at the thing in much the same dogged ; al way that he would have tackled a difficulty in aéro- nautics, and in the end he succeeded. In le earning to throw and catch a ball, he Ae something which was. infinitely more important, and which had probably been in Frank Merriwell’s mind at the very beginning. He came to like being with the fellows out on the field. He came to ‘enjoy the com- panionship of the other boys, and he no longer ie. any desire to mope by himself. eran ana He liked-to feel that he was a part of that minia- o ture world, even if it was only a yery small, unim-— ons portant part. He-began- to share with his compar the awe and reverence which filled their souls at 16 mation bit by bit as he developed. Tae TOF near approach or notice from those great men who formed the school nine. He took an interest in the games, and became a loyal “rooter,” with a chronic hoarseness. He developed qseride of tidiness in his dress, be- cause he wanted to be like the other boys. He even fixed up his room for that same reason. He got so that he could hold up his end in the joshing game of give and take, and, possessing a quick wit, came at last to have quite a reputation in that regard—a reputation which was viewed with disgustful rage by Otis Burton. Burton’s enmity for Rudd had never ceased; he had lost no opportunity for sneering and backbiting. As the weeks passed into months, however, his efforts be- | Tolerated at first by the great mass of boys, Rudd began to rise in their esti- His life in the open air soon began to show in an erect carriage, a came less and less effective. firm walk, and a vastly increased animation of maniter. His cheeks, once rather pallid, now glowed with health, and his eyes no longer wore that dreamy, trancelike expression. He took to tennis like a duck to water, and gained the admiration of many by his _ remarkable ability as a swimmer. In proportion as Rudd blossomed out, Burton’s slurs and ianuendoes failed of their effect, and in that same degree the ill-natured chap’s hatred gained strength and venom. He felt that Rudd suspected him of having maliciously destroyed the model, and that ‘added to the flame of his anger until he became almost a “skewed” on the subject. - Rudd treated him with a calm indifference. His ready tongue was always equal to a verbal battle with Burton, and the latter was too much of a coward to resort to an open quarrel. All this took time—a great deal of time. April slipped away into May; and June appeared almost before Rudd realized it. infinite care, and he found that his interest never flagged, as it had sometimes done in the days gone Oa With cy orice healthy diversions which took up , | His model was progressing — - slowly, but. surely. He did not work rapidly, but with WEEKLY. entered that little room off the pattern shop with an) elastic tread*and sparkling, eager eyes. Merriwell came often to watch the progress. of the miniature aéroplane, and always he marveled at the boy’s expertness and invention. He had brought all the powers of his brilliant mind to bear upon the stabilizing device, and could find no flaw in it. Ex- traordinary as it appeared, he had at last to admit the possibility of success, and, thinking of all that success would mean, he grew.almost impatient for the com- pletion of the model. | ) As June neared the end, it was apparent tHat this would not come about until after the dismissal of the boys for the brief interval of two weeks which came between the end of school proper and the beginning of the summer camp. Frank was not especially sorry, for it would give them an opportunity for trying out the model in per- fect security from interruption. It thus came about that, when the other boys departed with much joyful clamor and horseplay, Morgan Rudd remained behind without a single regret. His chance was coming swiftly, glowed with gratitude toward the man who had made it possible. CHAPTER VIII. : THE FUTURE BRIGHTENS. ‘ “Finished !”’ : As he uttered the word, Merriwell advanced into the room and stood beside the boy who had just put the last touch to the exquisite model on the table be- fore him. It was a wonderful piece of work, but the perfection and delicacy of workmanship paled into insignificance before the surpassing importance of the device which had emanated from the lad’s brain. cessfully, a tremendous stride toward the conquest of the air would have been made. : The tiny but perfect gasoline motor had been made according to the specifications of the young inventor and paid for by the master of the school. Rudd’ s cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with errs - z ahs Z — and, whenever he thought of it, his heart If it worked suc- ates Os Re oe —_—_— 3 te a RIE. pitted : ‘levers gingerly, but it did not move. He examined something which looked like the spark and throttle device on an automobile, but was different in one or two respects. \ There were apparently no nuts which he could re- -» move, nor any other small parts the loss of which might injure the machine. Presently he bent over to examine a boxlike arrangement, and a moment later his finger pressed lightly on a button in the center. Instantly there was a jarring vibration, and, to his horror, the aéroplane began to move slowly forward. - With a ery of fear, he half arose to his feet, one hand clutching unconsciously at the spark and throttle explosions, to leap forward with a jerk that threw him back into the seat, white and panic-stricken. _ As he shot forward across the smooth grass, he gave another loud cry, which was answered from behind. : “Stop! Stop!” yelled Rudd’s voice frantically. Even He must jhave been i in the shed all the time. in the midst of his awful fear, Burton found himself | wishing desperately that the oo. he hated had stepped ” ing into this hateful, diabolical thing, which was run- | ning away with him. ‘Stop? He would have given anything he possessed to-do it, but he could not. ously among the bewildering mechanism, which was His fingers fluttered nerv- levers, causing the machine, with a rattling volley of, tention wherever he went. hee (So pte a little sooner, and had prey ented him from climb- - Sree at the schoo! an hour before. He tried to as incomprehensible to him as Greek. be calm and to reason. There must be some way of stopping it. Where was the switch which would shut off the current? Frantically he searched, but could not find it. There must be some sort of a brake. He had never heard of any moving machine without a break. Was it one of those other levers? His heart was thudding loudly against his ribs. Perspiration burst forth upon his forehead, and he turned actually sick with fright. He must stop it— he must! At last, he barely touched the hateful throttle lever again, and the aeroplane seemed to leap forward along which took his breath away the ground with a jolt and made him cry out once more. After that he lost his head. CHAPTER XI. THE HERO OF THE AIR. “Suppose we stop here a minute or two and see “T told Rudd we would Ehiied up at four, and, if you don’t He’s the finish of the game, captain,” Merry said. mind, I’d rather not get there ahead of time. preparing everything for a flight, and it would be too bad to drop in on him before he’s ready.” Captain Baldwin, the famous air man, acquiesced, without hesitation. He was not a youth, but there. was something about his big frame and smooth-shaven face, with those calm, level eyes, which attracted at- He had the look of man who has done things, and who possesses ability — far above the ordinary, without being in the least — conspicuous or peculiar. “Of course,” he agreed, with a pleasant smile which lit up his whole face. consideration, and we must not surprise him before he — — ‘is quite ready for us.’ They moved forward to the side lines, the saved a of boys parting instantly to make room for them, and. . one and all regarding the captain with the came'lively 3 interest which had followed him ever since he Aes “The young man deserves every TtP For a moment or two they watched the progress of the game, which had already practically been won by the home team, Frank with the keen interest a contest of that sort always and his com- panion with a palpable effort to drag his thoughts for a moment away from the thing which was ab- sorbing him. “You have a splendid lot of boys, Frank,” he said presently. “Fine, manly fellows, every one of them.” “They are that,” Merry agreedinstantly. “Appar- ent exceptions crop up now and then; but I have never found a boy who was incorrigible. They all have good qualities, if you can only get at them.” “That’s it, if you can get at them! ‘All men can’t. I venture to say that there is not one who does not leave here a better chap than when he came to you.” Merriwell laughed a little. “That’s what I’m here for,’ he returned. _ the object of the school in a nutshell.” aroused in him, “That’s The captain did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the field before him, where the Farnham Hall team was rushing the ball toward their goal, opposed des- perately but ineffectually by the rival team. Presently a touchdown was made, and the wild bursts of cheer- ing from the spectators made speech for a time im- possible. When the bedlam had somewhat died away, the older man turned again to Merriwell. “Do you know, Frank,” he said, “the more I think of this inventor of yours, the more incredible the whole thing seems. With absolutely no reflection on your judgment, I can scarcely believe that a mere boy has,succeeded where so many more mature, experi- enced men have failed utterly.” Merry smiled. “I don’t, blame you in the least, captain,’ he an- -swered. “I felt exactly that way myself. When Rudd first told me of his stabilizing device, I was perfectly ‘sure there could be nothing in it. I thought he might have conceived something ingenious which would ap- pear to be what he supposed it; but that he had ac- tually solved the great problem was incredible. Even after the model worked successfully, I was not con- _ vinced entirely.” _ “You are now?” queried the captain. Frank nodded. _ “Perfectly,” he said emphatically. “After our first _ flight, there has been no further doubt in my mind, _ and there will not be in yours an hour from now.” : %i Captain Baldwin drew a long breath. TOP EP a et WEEKLY. “I remain open to conviction,” he said good-hu- moredly. “Isn’t it almost four?” “Ten minutes of,” watch. “I think we may start over there.” The goal had been kicked, and, as they left the Merriwell smiled, consulting his crowd and started slowly across the turf, the teams lined up for the scant two minutes which remained of the last quarter. “Am I, to be allowed a seat during the first as- cen The captain broke off abruptly, and stopped short, his eyes fixed intently on the distant shed. The bark- ing of a gas motor drifted to their ears. “The monoplane is moving,” he said, in a puzzled tone. “I thought he was to wait until we came?” Merriwell’s face was bewildered. “That was the plan,” not taking his eyes from the winged machine, which was advancing rapidly toward them on its rubber-tired wheels, “I don’t understand this move. Rudd is not the sort for making a spectacular exhibition.” A sudden cry came faintly to their ears and gal- vanized both men into instant life. “Something’s wrong!” exclaimed the captain, as they started to run forward. Merriwell said nothing. His face was slightly pale, and in his eyes was a great dread. he said tersely, an instant after the moving machine, and then run forward and stoop for a moment over something on the ground. The next second he was mounted on a bicycle, and launched in swift pursuit of the aéro- plane. | “What is it?’ asked the captain, as he caught a glimpse of his companion’s face. “What’s*happened ? It’s. not running away. I see the boy in the driver’s seat.” “So do I,” Frank snapped back. “It’s not the right boy, though. Sonie one has meddled. Rudd is be- hind on the bicy cle.”’ “Great mercy!” of his calm. stop her!” Frank made no answer, but almost at once he ceased — running and stood still. gasped the older man, startled out The aéroplane was headed straight toward them, running now at a more rapid speed than before, ‘but still on the ground. r Merry recognized the white, frightened face ‘Of, Burton, and saw him frantically seeking with both hands to find some way of stopping the thing.” Be 4 i ai He had seen the, figure of Rudd rush wildly out of the shed, stare for “We must do poranipsg ) We must ati opti e Ne sce ESS Rig cay BEATS. bof ~ PELs Sea . wet < a om - a ta a ali Mw Fee ct ngs : = 3 = : Gers Ay re ane witness peut ing eh! RAE = ee Jas CS ae wf +i ete ‘ node ia, , otk 5 3 * a Pid ‘ Tie TOF hind, Rudd, on the bicycle, was rapidly gaining. If nothing happened, he would catch up with the ma- chine before it reached the two waiting men. “Burton!” “Sit still! Either the strong, gusty wind carried his words away, or the boy was too far gone with heed them, Merry shouted at the top of his voice. Touch nothing!” fright to With his heart in his throat, Merry saw those flitting hands move ceaselessly among the levers. At any second he might touch one which would ele- vate the plane and send him into the air. Like a flash, Rudd rounded one tail plane and shot inward. With a lithe’ spring he was off the wheel and leaping toward the framework. j An instant later, Frank’s sigh of relief changed to a gasp of horror. Rudd’s fingers had scarcely touched the side of the aéroplane, close to the empty passen- ger seat, when Burton yanked at something, and the great machine left the earth in a long, swooping glide, » which took it just over the heads of the two men. 4S" As they glanced swiftly upward, they caught a single glimpse of the boy clinging to the framework, _ his legs dangling without support. Then the mono- ac Plane shot onward and upward, and they gazed after it with white, despairing faces. © CHAPTER XII. 4" > THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. make it. | lence. For an instant they stood in helpless, petrified si- Then the captain groaned. “They'll both be killed!” he exclaimed. “He'll &Aever Look!” A sudden gust striking the apparently overbalanced _ machine, it tilted dangerously, one wing sweeping down, down, until the whole thing looked as if it were almost on edge. “Ts it touches the ground, he’s lost,’’ muttered the _ older man, little beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. “It'll crumple like a sheet of paper.” Frank uttered no sound, but the look on his face ‘and deaf to everything but the thing upon which his every sense seemed focused. the painful grip the captain had oy his arm. The moment seemed like an eternity. Then, slowly, like a wounded bird putting forth every effort of its the other depresesd itself to bring the whole back into balance. of, laa * showed how much he was suffering. He was blind He did not even feel strength, one great wing rose little’ by little, while. duaiieiakainciaiiad amas iomen WEEKLY. ae ad The breath whistled through the captain’s teeth, and his hold on Frank’s arm relaxed. Still neither of them spoke. The monoplane was agitated again and again, and they could see it veer from one side to the other under the great and unusual strain. Scarcely daring to breathe, they watched, hoping now against hope, that the boy might, aftes all, be able to master it. As the winged creature swept over the football field every voice was hushed, every sound quelled, until it seemed as if that whole great crowd of boys had been stricken breathless. Suddenly a low moan went up, more eloquent by, far than the loudest clamor, as one wing tilted dan- gerously again. But, as before, the device worked™ automatically to restore equilibrium, and a cheer, louder than any which had greeted the good work of the eleven, arose from the watching boys, as they saw that Rudd had managed to lift himself over the framework and reach the vacant seat. Then the aéro- plane was swept onward over the fringe of trees and out of sight. Then, and only then, did the tension relax. * With a deep sigh, Captain Baldwin took out a handkerchief and passed it over his moistened forehead. “Marvelous!” he ejaculated. “In my whole experi- ence with aéroplanes I have never seen anything like it.” With an effort, Frank turned from where he was staring vainly after the vanished monoplane, and looked at his companion. “The test could not very well have been more se- vere,” he said quietly. “I think they are both safe.” Baldwin nodded emphatically. “Absolutely,” he agreed. “A boy who has the nerve to do what he did will make small work of getting at the control.” * He hesitated an instant, his eyes gleaming with en- thusiasm. > ; “The perfection of the device is proved beyond a doubt,” he went on quickly. “There can be no possi-— ble question of its being automatic!” “None whatever. The boy in the driver’s seat. knows nothing about operating. He could not possibly have restored the equilibrium by anything he did.’ “Certainly not. That is out of the question. I wish they’d come back. I shan’t feel comfortable until a_ landing is made.” “Nor I,” Merry agreed, “though I have faith’ in 3 Rudd’s ability to manipulate the machine.” ea one afeatelt rapidly toward the field, and gers as } Lee v4 Pageant SRL Cees re Bi TOP 26 they reached the first crowd of upward-staring boys, a shout arose, and the aéroplane was seen above the treetops, headed in their direction. Swiftly it approached, buzzing like a monster hum- ming bird, ward ‘toward the field in a long, easy glide. came on, the speed was cut down. Perfectly steady, treacherous wind, it sailed over the field at an elevation of some fifty feet. Rudd sat in the his face calm and composed and glowing with a strange light. Behind him cowered the meddling Burton, pallid a sheet of paper, trembling like a leaf, and clutching the sides of the seat with a terror-stricken grip. Amid a tense, awe-struck silence, the machine passed, swooped swiftly down, and came to rest gently ‘on the open ground beyond, after running some dis- tance on the wheels. Then, as Rudd stepped from his seat and turned to help out his frightened passenger, a roar of delight and relief the field before, and, with-one accord, forward ina wild rush, Pell-mell they passed Frank and his companion. In an instant, they reached the young aviator, and, pay- ig no heed to his protestations, hoisted him up to their shoulders, He protested laughingly, but they would not let Instead, they turned back, and bore him down- As it and swooping over the trees and in spite of the gusty, driver’s seat, went up stich as had never been heard on the boys started him down. toward the spot where the two men stood, the air re- sounding with his name yelled from hundreds of throats. As they let him slip, at last, from their ‘hold, he stood for a moment with flushed face and slightly trembling lips, his eyes; bright with emotion, staring into those calm, level ones of Baldwin. For a second they stood thus, the man who had devoted his life to the conquest of the air, and had made his name famous the world over, and this strip- ling in his teens. Then Baldwin. stepped forward and held out his hand. “My boy,” he said, with his pleasant/ transforming smile, “I congratulate you. You have done some- thing which many men have so ,far striven in vain to _ accomplish, and which will make your name famous. - Better than mere fame, however, your genius has re- sulted in something which will infinitely lessen the risks. of aviation, and will surely revolutionize the con- ‘struction of aéroplanes.” Ee tt Paps Rudd gripped the hand in his, he had to catch his lips between his teeth to o Ieoep th mee ppm trembling, oo WEEKLY. It was a moment of happiness and triumph such as he had never dreamed of, but the excitement and ten- sion he had just been through made him unstrung, ‘“Thank—you, sir,” he stammered, with difficulty. “You are—very—good to say—that.”’ He saw the boy's nervousness, and divined its cause perfectly. “Not good—only truthful,” he returned pleasantly. “Eh, Frank?’ Fle glanced around at Merry, who had been stand- The captain laughed a little. ing a little behind him, his face reflecting the boy’s joy and triumph. eo “Exactly,” “Only truth- ful. Suppose you show the captain your device, Mor- 7) gan. I think he’s anxious to inspect it in detail.” = | Merriwell agreed, smiling. the wni- hastened to Thankful for something which would take versal attention away from him,\Rudd lead the way toward the aéroplane. ~He was not to escape so easily, however. The boys crowded around, | — him once more, and presently their voices were raised} in crashing bursts of sound: “Rudd! Rudd!” Rt Ya Taste There was a spontaneous enthusiasin in the sound which brought the-blood pouring back into the boy's” face and tingling in his finger tips. Such moments do ~ not come often, but they are well worth living for Rudd! Slinking over the field toward the school, head down and face still pallid, was another boy, to whom those © cheers were like so many knife’ thrusts. Strangely My enough, he felt no envy, only a bitter, intense regret, for those fewsdreadful moments had taught him a ster son, which would never be forgotten. THE END. PaaS A story to set tingling the nerves and blood of young } ‘and old is the one which will appear in the next issue g of this weekly—No. 815, to be published on November 25th. It is entitled “Frank Merriwell’s Hot-head; or, of appreciation for honest effort, sli te fair fair “o Be sien aie PR PINE ree By SE RPD marvels of bird flight: fifteen thousand miles. ~ ful—they accomplish in twenty weeks a round trip of twenty-two thousand miles between the Arctic and the Antarctic Oceans. TIP .TOP WEEKLY. oe lela ell cece ncaa ali nance ~ NEW YORK, November 18, 1911. TERMS TO TIP TOP WEEKLY MAIL SUBSCRIBERS. (Postage Free.) Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each. TROTIS ys ccccnnn cde tapcscdapes 65c. GMODTAG on cies a giousivcsenesae 85c. GTUONGHS® 5. de oc idedec ety wed tee $1.25 UG TROP Sask enka sas eka owe rr 50 2 copies one year.............. 00 1 copy two years.............. x 00 How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter. Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Ormonp G. Smrrn, Grorce C. Smitu, t Proprietors. ~~ — HOW BIRDS TRAVEL. Bird migration is an interesting study. Here are some of the The black-poll warblers, for example, which nest in Alaska, require a month, from April 30 to May 30, to reach northern Alaska from the middle of the United States. The cliff swallow, which nests in Nova Scotia, leaves the Gulf coast of Mexico March 15 and arrives at its destination’: May Io. Most of the birds that spend the winter in Central or South / America take the difect route across the Gulf, instead of going via Texas or by way of Florida, Cuba, and Yucatan. The aérial journey across the Gulf means a single flight of from five hun- dred to seven hundred miles, with no \lighting place. The rea- son why the winged travelers do not fly over Florida is no doubt ae insufficiency of food in that region. ‘One of the perils of the journey to the birds is the great safe- guard of human beings who travel by sea. tremity of Florida is the Fowey Rocks Lighthouse, with its fixed white light of the first magnitude. This and the lighthouse on _ Sombrero Key seem to possess an irresistible attraction for thou- sands of birds that make two journeys afQnually to Cuba. Of ‘some sixty species that reach the “Pearl of the Antilles” on the southward journey, not more than ten have the courage or the strength to go to South America. One of the greatest travelers of all seems to be the golden plover. It nests in summer on the arctic shores of North Amer- ica, whence it migrates to Labrador, and it begins at Nova _ Scotia a two-thousand-five-hundred-mile flight to South America. After a six months’ sojourn | there it comes back across the Gulf and up the Mississippi Valley, Its winter home is in Argentina. and when it is again at its summer home it has covered perhaps The arctic terns are even more wonder- - CANARIES A$ DETECTIVES. A cage containing a canary is indispensable on approaching a _ mine after an explosion. . : mals such as mice are, pYobably because of their extremely deli- Canaries and small warm-blooded ani- cate organisms, particularly sensitive to coal gas. Thus, a cage containing one or two canaries should always be taken with an advance exploration party; they are affected by minute quantities At the southern ex- ‘sweet patience—and all these things helped. blackness no star of hope could shi THE GIFT OF LIGHT. By GERALD MAXWELL. The days were growing very dark for George Graham. He had not known at first what it meant that black specks should so dance between him and the page he tried to read—that his eyes should ache so much—that all things should seem so strangely dim about him. It would have been better, no doubt, had he stopped work as soon as he felt these symptoms; but how could he? This was his last term at school, and if he passed this exam- ~ ination creditably, especially if he thoroughly mastered the book- Keeping he was trying so hard to conquer. he was to have a place in Deacon Solomon Grant’s store, with wages that would not only take care of himself, but greatly help his mother. His mother was a widow, and George’s love for her was a sort of passion of devotion. When he could scarcely talk, the first two words he put to- gether were “Pretty mamma,” and ever since then she had been the first and fairest of created beings to him. .He was very fond of Susie Hale, but Susie was only a nice girl to him—a dear, sweet, good girl, such as any fellow would like; but his mother was the lady to whom were due his love, his care, his uttermost duty. oe Graham was the kind of woman for a son to be romantic about She was only seventeen when George was born; and now, when he was sixteen and she was thirty-three, she was, so he thought, more beautiful than ever. She had been a pretty, rather helpless little creature all her life: —one of those women toward whom every man feels the instinct of protection. George’s father had felt it always, and had never allowed care to come near his dainty darling. His one great agony, as he lay dying, was that he must leave her almost unprovided for. That was when George was thirteen, and the boy would never forget how his father had called him to his bedside and charged him to take caré of his mother. “You are old enough to be her staff even now,” the dying man had said, clinging to his boy’s hand. “You.can be good to her in a thousand ways, save her a thousand cares, and in a few years more you can work for her, and keep her comfortably, as I have done.” George never forgot this trust for one moment. e plans he made in life were all for his mother’s niko te future was to be spent in her service and in her love. He wanted to come out of school at the time of his father’s ' death, and try by all manner of little industries to help take care of the household, but his mother was too wise to permit this. She developed a strength of mind and of body for which no one who saw her pink-and-white prettiness—the prettiness of a girl still, despite all her years of married life—would have given her credit. She saw clearly that if her boy’s education stopped at thirteen he would be held in check al! his life by his own ignorance—he must be drudge always, and never master. So she made him go to school three years longer. How she lived and kept up her refined little home puzzled all — lookers-on, and, indeed, she hardly knew herself. simply ; she was busy from morning till night. She sewed for one neighbor, she helped another through some season of sickness, she taught a naughty child who had worn out — its welcome at school, but who could not wear out Mrs. Graham’s It is true, it was very often hard work to compass the simple necessaries of life, — but she struggled on bravely. When George was sixteen he should come out of school, well trained, she hoped, for a business man, and then things would be so much easier. With this hope in view she never repined. | She kept her strength of soul and her sweetness of temper, her fresh beauty, her fresh heart. She kept, too, her boy’s adoration —an adoration which was, as I said, the romance of his life. When the days began to grow so dark for George Graham it was of his mother that he thou uel So far he had no ambitions, no hopes that were not centered in her. What if this growing dimness about him was to increase until — all was dark, until dense night shut him in, a night through whose ne? “What if he must be no . She lived. — SEN RAN See IE NN sae Alene ei sadre striae baste pans tien Ol: Rion DG yA 19 io hain cele 28 iP TOP help to his mother, but only a burden on her forever, a burden lasting through, Heaven only knew, how many helpless years? He rebelled against such a fate madly. He stretched out his hands toward heaven, he lifted the dumb prayer of his darkening eyes, but no help came. Dimmer and dimmer grew the world about him—more and more desperate the gloom of his hopeless heart. His scholarship had been so fine that his teacher hesitated to reprove his now continual failure; and George said nothing of the increasing darkness around him—nothing to his mother, for he felt that it would break her heart—nothing to teacher or schoolmates, for it seemed to him his gtief would be nothing to them. But one after- ‘noon the crisis came. His recitation had been an utter failure, and, at last, his teacher spoke in severe terms of the neglect which had become habitual. No one who was present that day—not even the smallest child— will ever forget the look of wild despair that swept over George Graham’s face, or the gesture of helpless anguish with which he stretched out his hands, as if to seek among them all some friend, as he cried: “Heaven help me, sir; I have been going blind; and now I can- not see one figure in my book—I can hardly see your face.” There was a silence after this, through which came no sound but the audible beating of George Graham’s tortured heart. Then the master sent away the others, for school hours were nearly over, and tried his best to comfort his stricken pupil. It might not be so bad as he feared—an .oculist might help him—perhaps it was only temporary. To all these well-meant consolations George listened in a sort of dreary silence. The words of the teacher, entered his ears, yet they did not reach *his heart or kindle his hdpe. ~ As soon as he could he went away. He did not go straight home. How could he face his mother and tell her what he must tell her now—what she would be sure to hear from others, if not from him. me ~ He kept thinking how she would take it. - Would not all the light go out of her face? Maybe she would faint away, as he remembered she had done when his father died. - He sat down on a bank a little removed from the roadside, a _ bank which overhung a swift and deep, yet narrow stream. cx An awful temptation came over himn—such a temptation as, ‘thank Heaven, comes to few boys of sixteen, with the young, glad fife running riot in their veins. He thought what if he should die, then and there? The river rushing’ down there below invited him with its mur- r. Should he seek refuge there, and let his mother hear that he was dead beforé she heard that he was blind? He bent for- - ward over the stream. - over him to-go home first and see his mother just once qore; and then an exceeding bitter cry burst from his lips: —, “See her! What am I talking about? Do I not know I shall - never see her again?” ‘ And a girl’s voice, soft, and cooling, and tender—an utterly un- my expected voice—answered him: ‘Re “Ves, you will see her again. Surely you will see her again.” The boy turned his face toward the sound, “How did you come here, Susie Hale?” he asked. “Don’t be angry, George,” the gentle voice entreated. “I waited for you. I could not go home till I had told you how sorry I was, and tried to comfort you.” | a “Comfort me!” There was a sort_of scornful bitterness in the ery. “How can I be comforted? Do you think what it will be never to see the green earth or the blue sky, or any dear face any ‘more, forever and ever?” “But you will see them,” she said gently. you must be reconciled to give up hope. I mean that you must take heart, and try to be cured. I have known people who could ef not see at all to be helped, and why not you? At least, you must + try. is Pi LO ah An evil mood was upon George Graham, and he answered harshly: isch ap aa are _ “Where is the money to come from, if you please? It has been all mother could do just to live, and she has struggled on in the “expectations of my being able soon to help her. She has no money for experiments. There is nothing for it but for me to rest a dead weight upon her hands or—die” 4. said the last word with a sort of gasp. Susie Hale shiv- She drew closer to him. She looked into his poor, tor-— ith her dark and tender eyes, and said, very quietly: “me you ought to go home. Would you like your. fst from some one else?” Then he drew back, for a longing came’ “T did not mean that ~ cured, Tt was curious that the mot! r was always hopeful | always despairing. At Tast if almost irritated him rete ed rm . * PR eee Sa TST WEEKLY. “ “You are right,” he said, “and you are a good girl. Good-by, Susie.” She did not try to go with him; she followed him only with her eyes. She was contented if she could but send him home in safety to his mother. His mother met him at the gate, When she took his hand in hers the poor fellow felt that she knew all. She was very quiet and self-controlled. f “Your feacher has been here,” she said, “and he has told me. My darling, why have you sat in the darkness, and shut your mother out from any share in your trouble?” “Oh, I couldn't tell you, mother,” he sobbed, with his head upon her breast, at last, “I couldn't. I,thought it would break your heart.” “Ah! that was because you did not know. If you should die and leave me alone in the world, ‘that, indeed, would break my heart; but, while | have you beside me, nothing can make me alto- gether miserable, and nothing must make you so. There is help somewhere, and we will find it; or, if not, we will bear what others have borne, and find a way to lighten the darkness.” Meantime Susie Hale had gone home full of an absorbing pur- pose. Somehow money mtst and should be raised to try what a skillful oculist could do for George Graham. Susie was the orphan niece of Deacon Solomon Grant, in whose store a place was awaiting George. She knew that she had a modest little fortune of her own, but it was all in her uncle’s hands, and without his consent she could — not dispose even of her slender income. persuaded to let her have enough of her own money to accom- plish her desire? ae She asked him, using her utmost power of persuasion to totch his heart, but he refused with peremptory decision. mind contributing moderately to a fund for young Graham’s help — —he would not even mind letting her have five or ten dollars of. her own for that purpose—but beyond that the duty of one neigh-— bor did not go. And Deacon Solomon shut his lips. together as _ tightly as he buttoned up his pocket. P Susie had in the world one treasure—a diamond ring, which had been her mother’s, with a stone white and clear as a dew- drop. This must, she knew, be worth three or four hundred — dollars. It was her very own. She had meant to keep it all her — life for her mother’s. sake, but surely this great need of George _ Graham’s justified her in parting with it. a i oa, She had one friend in Boston—an old teacher, in whose good faith and judicious management she felt implicit confidence, and to him she sent her mother’s ring, with a request that he would sell it as speedily and on as good terms as possible, and remit her the price of it in bank notes, not in a check, and keep forever. the secret that she had disposed of it. ibe Daa It was a week after George Graham had given up hope, when a most unexpected hope came to him. A neighbor, going by from ‘the post office, handed in at the door a letter addressed to him. Mrs, Graham opened it, for George’s vision had failed with every. day, and his eyes were utterly useless now. a PAM “George,” she cried, after a moment, in an eager, trembli . voice, “here are three hundred one-dollar bills, andythis is th w letter that comes with them: Pes “ Merriwell’s ‘Steadying Toe eee Merriwell’s Fairness. T85—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave. 555—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power Hand. 17—Frank Merriwell’s Pledge, 786—Dick Merriwell’s Perception. 556—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Push.” 639—F Lang Merriwell’s Record 718—¥Fr pre Merriwell, the Man of 787—Dick Merriwell’s Mysterious — 557—Dick Merriwell’s Running. Breakers. rit. Disappearance, 7 558—Dick Merriwell’s Joke. 640—Dick Merriwell’s Shoulder. 719—Frank Merriwell’s Return 788—Dick_ Merriwell’s Detective 559—Dick Merriwell’s Seven. 641—Dick Merriwell'’s. Desperate Blow Work. Be Nae ‘ - §60—Dick Merriwell’s Partner. Work. 720—Frank Morr iwell’s Quest. 789—Dick Merriwell’s Proof. ‘ 561—Dick Merriwell in the Tank. 642—Dick Merriwell’s Example. 721—Frank Merriwell’s Ingots. 790—Dick Merriwell’s Brain Work. | 562—F rank Merriwell’s Captive. 643—Dick Merriwell at Gale's Ferry. 722—Frank Mérriwell’s Assistance. 791—Dick Merriwell’s Queer Case. 563—Frank Merriwell’s Trailing. 644—Dick Merriwell’s Inspiration. 723—Frank Merriwell at the 792—Dick Merriwell, Navigator. i 564—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman. 645—Dick Merriwell’s Shooting. Throttle. Siecle ase Merriwell’s Good Fellow- 565—F rank Merriwell’s Horse. 646—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds... 724—Frank Merriwell, the Always pe { 566—Frank Merriwell’s@ntrusion. * 647—Dick Merriwell’s Red Comrade. Ready 794—Dic ke Merriwell’s Fun, oe 567—Frank Merriwell’s Bluff. 648—F rank Merriwell’s\ Hane h. 725 Frank Mérriwell in Diamond Te Ae Merriwell’s Commence- 4 568—Dick Merriwell’s Regret. 649—F rank Merriwell in the Saddle, ) ent. 569—Dick Merriwell’s Silent Work. 650—Frank Merriwell’s Brand. 726—F ane. ‘Merriwel!’ s Desperate 796—Dick, _ Meretwell at Montauk 570—Dick Merriwell’s Arm. 651—Frank Merriwell’s Red Guide. Chance. 571—Dick Merriwell’s Skill. 652—Dick Merriwell’s Rival. 27—F ee Merriwell’s Black Ter- 197_Dick Mentiwell, Mediator. 572—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism. 6) 53—Dick Mer riwell’s Strength. 798—Dick Merriwell’s Decision. a 573—Dick Merriwell’s System. 654—Dick Merriwell’s Secret Work. 728—Frank AMerriwell Again on the 799—Dick Merriwell on the Great 7 574—Dick Merriwell’s Salvation. 655—Dick Merriwell’s Way Sla akes “f ‘ §75—Dick Merriwell's Twirling. 656—F'rank Merriwell's Red V isitor. 7: 99-—-Frank Merriweltl s Hard Game. ee ‘Mersioyel Caught Naps aaa f 576—Dick Merriwell’s Party. 657—Irank Merriwell’s Rope. 730—lFrank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand. ae _§77—Dick Merriwell’s Backers. 6: 58—Frank Merriwell's Lesson, 731—F rank Merriwell’s Duplicate. 801—Dick Mefriwell in the Cae ates 578—Dick Merriwell’s Coach. 659—F rank Merriwell's Protection. 732—IFrank Merriwell on Rattle- Country. & 579—Dick Merriwell’s Bingle. 660—Dick Merriwell’s Re putation, snake Ranch. 802—Dick Merriwell Stra ped. Bes 580—Dick Merriwell’s Hurdling. 361+-Dick Merriwoll’s Motto. 7°8—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand. 803—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness. } \ 581—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work. 662—Dick Merriwell’s Restraint. 734—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure 804—Dick Merriwell’s Reliance. std . 582—Dick Merriwell’s Respite. 663—Dick Merriwell’s Ginger. Map. 805—Dick Merriwell’s College Mate, ' §83—Dick Merriwell's ERE Age: 664—Dick Merriwell’s Driving. 735—Frank Merriwell, Prince of 806—Dick Merriwell’s Young 584—Dick Merriwell Besct. 665—Dick Meriiwell’s Good Cheer. the Rope. Pitcher. ~ i 586—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust. 666—Frank Merriwell’s Theory. 736—Dick Merriwell, Captain of 807—Dick Merriwell's Prodding. | -587—Dick Merriwell, Lion Tamer. 667—I'rank Merriwell’s Diplomacy. — the Varsity. 808—Frank Merriwell’s Boy. | : 8—Dick Merriwell’s Camp-site. 668—Frank Merriwell’s Encour- 727—Dick Merriwell’s Control. 809 isoet arent Tiitertecs ox 589—Dick Merriwell’s Debt. agement. 738—Die k Merriwell's Back Stop. Ain 590—Dick Merriwell’s Camp Mates. 669——Frank Merriwell’s Great Work. ee ee _ ae s Masked En- 810—Frank " Merriwell’s Young f 591—Dick Merriwell’s Draw. 670—Dick Merriwell’s Mind. Warrtors. J - §92—Dick Merriwell’s Disapproval. 671—Dick Merriwell’s “Dip.” 740—Dick "Marvirell's Motor Car. 811—Frank Merriwoell’s Apprathal.. 5938—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery. 672—Dick Merriwell’s Rally. 741—Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit. 81 2—Frank Merriwell’s ENE oneee 594—Dick Merriwell’s Warm Work, 673—Dick Morrivrell’s Plier. 742—Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake. 813—Frank Merriwell’s Lads. ’ 95—Dick Merriwell’s “Double 674—F rank Merriwell’s Bullets. 7438—Dick Merriwell in.Court. 814—Frank Merriwell’s ‘Young a Squeeze oe —Frank Merriwell’s Cut Off. 744—Dick Merriwell’s Silence. Aviators. ” eet o 596—Dick Merr well s Vanishing. §676—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch Boss. 745—Dick Merriwell’s i 15—Frank Merriwell’s Hot-head. senate 597—Dick Merriwell Adrift. 67 Frees k Merriwell’s Equal. 746—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge. S16--Dick Merriwell, Diplomat. | 598—Dick Merriwell’s ROR 678— dick Merriwell’s De velopment. 747—Dick Mer Hivcii'e Bnigma. 817-—Dick Merriwell in Panama. _\ PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY ero you want any back numbers of our cannes and cannot procure them from your news-dealer, they can be obtained is pie ) from this office. Postage-stamps taken the same as money. _ STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS,