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Frank Merriwell |
Junior's Ordeal

‘

 

 

 

 
 
 

_ AnIdeal Publication For The American Youth

tssued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office according to an act of Congress, March 3,1879. Published by
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if: _ No. 56. NEW YORK, August 23, 1913. Price Five Cents.

Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ordeal; —
Or, THE HAND OF FATE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

By BURT L. STANDISH.

CHAPTER I. e m Rodno. This matter had been satisfactorily adjusted by
Sie means of a bit of heroism on the part of several of the
Athletes who had taken long chances in rescuing Penn
from a burning hotel, But it was impossible, as Horton
humorously put it, to have a conflagration every time Penn
went into a tantrum, just to smooth his fur the right way.
The cowboy had always to be handled with gloves, and
it was due largely to Merriwell’s tact that there had been
harmony and good feeling between Penn and his team-
mates for several weeks. And then, Monday morning, the |
good feeling had been twisted suddenly to the breaking —
point. i:
That was the day of the so-called “carnival of sports,”
which had been staged by the Phoenix Amateur Athletes. —
The local team contested various events with Merriwell’s
rovers, and among these events was a running high jump. ©
' Early in the morning Frank had made the discovery —
--of the Athletes’ private car. Always, before going to bed, that Norris Coddington, the rovers’ third-sacker, was a -
_ the captain and the manager of the athletic team dis- phenomenal jumper. He had immediately promised Cod-
ee saied ae ots pavers : # ee dington that he could enter the lists for the visiting Ath-
in their minds. To-night Merriwell was thinking of Arlo : é : : BEES
- Pennyworth, and he was thinking hard and anxiously. eee ee ohare me si eae
The last roystering good night had come from the other An hour later, Penn proffered a request that he be
members of the squad nearly a half hour before, and  ajtowed to jump against the Pima. The Indian, it seemed, —
now, out in the berth section of the Cleansport, all was was an old-time rival of Penn’s, and the cowboy was anx-
dark and quiet. Only the two gn the stateroom were joys to make a showing against him. Penn was angered
_ awake, and they were talking in low voices so that no one when he learned that Coddington had been selected for
else might be disturbed. the high jump. cae
_ Pennyworth had rounded up with the Athletes in Bly- Merry, as the easiest and most satisfactory way out of —
_ field. He had come to the team from the cattle ranges the dilemma, had had Penn and Cod try the bar, and
; nd had proved a star backstop as well as an excellent Cod had proved himself the better jumper, In a burst
batsman. But he had a quick temper, and certain queer of rage, as uncalled for as it was.unsportsmanlike, the
ideas which he held to with savage persistency. cowboy had packed up his belongings and departed from
the Cleansport. :

A TIP FROM LACEY.

“Nothing from Pennyworth, Rufus! Not a word!”
. Young Merriwell’s heart was heavy. His sunny na-
_ ture, for the moment, was overcast with sadness and re-
oueret:
: “Don’t worry about Penn, Chip,” answered Rufus Hor-
ton. “He has made his own bed and must lie in it. You've
_ done all, and more, in this wretched Pennyworth affair
_ than could have been expected of you. Wipe Pennyworth
out of your recollection. He hasn’t come back, and he
'hasn’t seen fit to communicate with either of us—and that
proves he isn’t worth fretting about.”
It was Tuesday evening, the evening after the hard
ten-inning game between the Athletes and the Hassa-
yampers, and Merriwell and Horton were in the stateroom

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

Merriwell was grieved by this show of temper on the
part of Penn, but he was captain of the squad, and he met
the rebellious action of the backstop with a firm front.
_ Frank felt sure that after Penn had cooled off a little he

would see things in a different light, and would come back

to the team and apologize for his chuflish behavior.
But Penn had not come back. Monday afternoon with
its carnival of sports had passed, and Tuesday, with its
gruelling ball game, had come and gone, and still Penny-
worth had not been seen nor heard from. Next day, at
noon, the Cleansport was to be picked up by a passenger
train and hauled away from Phoenix. So it began to
look as though Penn had no intention whatevet of rejoin-
ing the Athletes. This was what worried and saddened
the captain,
“T’d like to have
after a period of thought.
- make a mistake, now and then, and his foolish pride may
keep him from acknowledging it. If I could have a little
 heart-to-heart confab with that cranky cow-puncher, I be-
lieve I could fix things all right with him. I. know I’ve
- taken the right stand in the matter, but, hang it! I hate
to ‘leave this part of the country without taking Penn
_ along.”
“You haven’t any idea where Penn is, Chip,” returned
- Rufus quietly, “so it’s not possible for you to have a talk
“with him. Don’t bother your head any more about the
fellow. We're leaving a better lad than he behind us—
one who hasn’t such an ugly temper, and who is a bigger
loss to the team.” .

Frank smiled, while a look of affection crossed his face.

“Ah, John Glory!” he murmured; “good old Glory!
But there’s no hard feelings about Glory’s leaving the
team. He healed a breach in the Glory family that began
_ fifty years ago, and now he’s cock of the walk out at
Bonita Place. But why the deuce hasn’t John been in to
see us? He knows we're scheduled to leave Phoenix
pretty soon now, and it’s mighty queer he wasn’t at the ball
game, ot that he didn’t show up here at the car this even-

a talk with Penn, Rufus,” said Frank,

 Frank’s smile faded into an expression of bewilderment.
- “Well,” excused Horton, “Tolliver Glory is sick—~and
the may have been worse to-day. Tolliver, we know, won't
let John get out of his sight a minute,”

“7 had it tipped off to me that the old gentletnan is all
right again; and Glory said he’d be around to give us the
glad hand and say good-by.”

_ “There’s plenty of time yet.

to-morrow noon.”

- John Glory had made for himself a warm place in the
affections of all the Athletes. He was a manly youngster,
an outfielder of remarkable ability, and he had joined the
team under circumstances that were intensely dramatic—
almost tragic—but which proved his mettle and his ait eat
rity in no uncertain manner.

ae ‘Losing both Pennyworth and Glory would detest the
team badly. In their place the Athletes had only the new
recruit, Reuben J. Whittaker, “Home-run” Reuben, the lad
who had claimed to possess an enchanted swat stick.
Whittaker had been thoroughly cured of his foolish no-
tions regarding the swat stick, but, apart from being a
_ Phenomenal hitter, he was pretty raw as a ball player.

21 Pe enn’s unreliable Sarmpet caused him to eee in com-

We don’t leave town until

“*

‘account,

“Every fellow is liable to

form.

than Penn’s. But Glory’s going had been inevitable.
was to his interest to leave the team—there was no other
way—and, while the lads were sorry, yet they could wish
him good-by and good luck, and not have the same feel-
ings that they had in Penn’s case.

Merry, therefore, was greatly disturbed on the cowboy’s
He wanted the cowboy to come back, to show
that he was sorry for his churlish conduct and to re-
trieve himself in the eyes of his teammates. a

“What’s that?” queried Horton suddenly, starting bolt ~
upright in his seat. “If I’m not mistaken, Chip,” he added,
“some one walked past the stateroom windows.”

Frank listened intently. He heard distinctly the sound
of crushing footsteps in the Bred along the siding.

“T’ll go otit and see who it is,” he mutmured, a faint
hope pulsing through his breast. “Maybe it’s—it’s——"
“Oh, no,” cut in Horton, “it isn’t Penn, Chip. The cow- —
boy would have been back before this if he was coming ~—
at all. It’s just as well to see who the fellow is, though.”
Merriwell’ passed through the car, unlocked the rear
door, and stepped quickly out upon the observation plat- re

A dark figure was standing between the tracks and
leaning against the brass hand rail that bordeted the plat-
form. The man had both hands on the rail and seemed _
to be thinking about climbing aboard. ae

He was not a skulking prowler; that was evident eee
he held to his place as Frank opened the door and emerged
from the car. Ai

“That you, Horton?” came a voice. ve

“No, this is Merriwell,” Frank answered.
here, though.” !

“Right here,” the Yale man answered, stepping out. on
the platform behind Frank. “Who are you,” he ae
“and what do you want?” ie

“Horton’s :

“T’m Lacey, from police headquarters,” said ‘Ae man.
“What was the name of the lad who left your athletic
team yesterday?”

“Glory-———”

“No, I don’t mean Glory; the other one,”

“Arlo Pennyworth.” i hee

“That's. it! That’s the fellow! I got on the track. of
him, a little while 280, and thought maybe. you'd like to
know where he is.” Ke ;

“We. would, Lacey!” exclaimed Frank, ‘much wisaned
with the thoughtfulness of the officer. “Penn’s in- town?”

“Yes. -Right this mintite he’s ‘bucking roulette at Over:
myer’s Place, in Washington Street. He’s trifling with the
little ball in a way that’s neither good for his. morals no
his pocket. Thought maybe you'd be glad to know. © He

won't count against you one way or another. Still
doesn’t look well, and it doesn’t sound well to hear |
throwing the hooks into you fellows.
grouch.”

“What he says eer amount to mich,” grunted Fort

“Pm going over there to have a talk with him, Rufu: < 3
“Tt won’t do any good, Chip,” Horton demurred. . ~
“Strikes me it’s somethitig I ought to do.”
“Ww ell, if that’s. the “3 you tel about it, I’ll go alk

Frank and Rufus went hdc to the diaterobin ‘ae

| their - BADS, then. gon closed ne rear door nf Of sa

LS dN EERO SAN OR IR HRCA GS LAE RR NRL SPAR MOS om FARO: FLIER SL Arbo SEA aes Sle i Dae .

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. | Vg

sport, locked it on the outside, and proceeded into town
with the officer.

The Yale man was not in sympathy with this move of
Frank’s. He did not consider Pennyworth entitled to so
much trouble, or worth running after. Penn, in Horton’s
mind, was a poor sportsman, and by gambling and talking
against his former teammates in public he was acting more
_ like a cad than Horton had thought possible.

CHAPTER II.

OVERMYER’S PLACE.

‘The Goddess of Chance seems to love gaudy surround-

ings. Overmyer thought so, at least, and the walls of his
_ gambling resort were lined with mirrors, and artificial
palms and rubber plants were scattered about the one big
room. The proprietor tried to make his “place” an imita-
tion tropical paradise, and he invoked the spirit of music
to help.

_ From behind a hedge of make-believe rubber plants, an
- automatic piano, fed with a roll of punctured paper, tried

its best to imitate the performance of a real musician.

The employees of the place wore hollow, insincere smiles,
and even the patrons at the various tables masked their

_ true feelings as best they could.

In such an establishment, where everybody, proprietors
and patrons alike, are seeking to get something for noth-
- ing, all is sham and mockery. And every person who is
foolish enough to follow the fortunes of the cards, or of
the rolling ivory ball, before long becomes himself a sham
and a mockery. The trail of the Goddess of Chance is
strewn with human wrecks.

In the front ranks of a crowd clustered about a roulette

layout stood two lads, their eyes bright with the greed
z of gain and their cheeks flushed with excitement. They
seemed to have pooled their capital, so that one did the
_ playing for both. A winning had just been made, and the
youth who was doing the playing stood chinking five
twenty-dollar gold pieces in his hand.
“Put it on the red to win, Arlo,” whispered the “silent”
partner in this gambling transaction.
- “Red’s come up three times, hand running, Ethan,”
Arlo murmured, “and the other color’s about due.”
ee the black, then. Get two for one, old man, and
we'll divide up and quit.”
“All bets down!” droned the croupier, as he fingered the

Arlo dropped his money on the black.
_ “You come from a lucky bunch, kid,” said the croupier,
- grinning at Arlo as the wheel whirled. “This Merriwell
outfit is sure the good thing for the come-easies!”
“TI don’t belong to that bunch,” snapped Arlo. “Merri-
well fooled me, and I found him out and pulled the pin
myself. This Merriwell’s a two-faced juniper, ‘who

plays favorites and turns his back on a friend; and the
gang behind him thinks the sun rises and sets on his

y-So. I’m done with ’em for good!”

‘The wheel stopped turning, and the nervous little ball
me to a standstill.

“Red wins!” announced the gentlemanly croupier, and

ked in the five twenty-dollar gold pieces. |

‘Darn it!” grunted Ethan.

“Get out your hammer, by

“Now, if you'd played the |

all means, and begin to knock. You're a good sport—I _
don’t think! We're trimmed! How does that hit you?”

Anger showed in Arlo’s face. He whirled savagely on
Ethan. Then, at that moment,-a hand dropped on his
shoulder.

“Penn, old chap, I want a word with you,”
a voice in his ear.

Pennyworth looked around. ‘The next moment he had
flung the hand from his shoulder and jumped as from a
rattlesnake.

“Well,” he cried fiercely, “I don’t want a word or a
look from you, Chip Merriwell. Rise to that? Leave me
alone, that’s all I ask of you and your outfit of dude
sports.”

At Frank’s side stood Horton. Pennyworth flashed a
resentful, defiant glance at each of them, then whirled,
elbowed his way through the crowd, and vanished through
the swinging doors that led to the street.

Ethan made haste to follow the irate cowboy. Frank
also started, but Horton caught him by the arm.

“Leave him alone, Chip,” advised Horton. “He’s crazy —
mad, and hasn’t any use for you.” ,
“I’m. going to talk with him, Rufus,” returned Frank
resolutely, “if I have to take him down and sit on him

while I do it.”

With that, he pulled away and went on to the street.
Lacey, the officer, looked at the Yale man and smiled.

“Merriwell is bound to have his way, eh?” Lacey queried.
“IT admire the young fellow’s spirit, anyhow.”

“That’s his kind, Lacey,” said Horton.

possessed, and Chip is foolish to bother with him.” J

“It’s rather.to his credit, though, that he keeps his ltem-
per and does bother with him. Did you see the snap and
sparkle in Merriwell’s eyes? The lad felt keenly what
Pennyworth said, and if somebody else had talked about
him as Pennyworth did, there’d sure have been ructions.”

“Well, ’'m going to trail along and see what happens.
If Penn slams Merriwell too hard, I’m going to step in
and say a few things on my own hook.” 3

Greatly perturbed, Horton pushed his way to the door
and stepped out on the brilliantly lighted walk in front. —
In the glow of electric light, Chip, Pennyworth, and Ethan ©
could be seen near the edge of the sidewalk. Ethan, hands
in his pockets, was leaning against a post, watching Mer-

riwell curiously. The cowboy faced Frank, with doubled ~

fists and truculent air. But Frank was - cool and thor-—
oughly master of himself. ‘ b
“What’s come over you, Penn?” Frank een in even,
friendly tones. aa ‘
“You know blamed well what’s come over me, and
why!” rasped Penn. “Coddington’s your pet. They say
you made a man of him months ago,” and there was a.
sneer in Pénn’s voice, “but now that en ve made a man
of him you can’t make a monkey BS me.” ee
Frank stiffened. *
“Look here, Penn,” went on Frank, his voice low, “you're
going all to pieces just because you’ve taken the wrong
tack in the matter of that high jump. Cod’s no pet of
mine, and I hadn’t much to do with making a man of him.
He had sense enough to see where he was making a mis-
take; and, when he. had discovered that, he had grit enough
to leave his foolishness behind him. In your own heart

you know mighty well I haven’t played favorites. °

 

acaeoe oe

“Pennyworth is
showing a side of his character that I never dreamed he
NEW TIP TOP

earnestness—“and everything will be just as it was if
you'll take a different stand—the stand you know you
ought to take. The Cieansport leaves Phoenix to-morrow
noon, and we all want you to go with us in the car.”
“You go to blazes and leave me alone!” flared Penn.
He spun around on one heel and started to walk away.
Merry put out a quick hand and caught him by the sleeve.
Penn wheeled, and, with a hoarse cry, struck at Frank
with his fist.
But Frank was too nimble, and the blow spent itself on
thin air, Ethan interfered.
“Here, Penn,” remonstrated Ethan,
deuced far!”
_ “Glory, you keep hands off!’\ warned the cowboy chok-
ingly. “If he pesters me, after fair warning, he’ll have
to take his medicine.”
“You can’t do anything with him, Chip,” murmured Hor-
_ ton in Frank’s ear. “You don’t want to have a fight with
him, do you?”

“vou’re going too

_ “Pm going to give him something to think about,” Merry

- answered, hurt but resolute. “Is your name. Ethan

Glory: ?” he asked, addressing’ Penn’s companion.

“That's the label,” was the somewhat pDant response.
“When did you reach town?

“I don’t know as that’s anything to you.”

“It may mean a lot to your brother. Why don’t you go
- out to Bonita Place and see John? Why do you stay
in town, going the pace in these gambling dens with Pen-
_nyworth?”

“Oh, splash!” grunted Ethan Glory, turning his back.

“Come:on, Ethan,” growled Penn. “Let’s hike. We'll

ss see if we can’t make a touch somewhere and stick up
_ that roulette layout for what we’ve lost.”
The two were about to start away together when Mer-
riwell, with a lightninglike move, threw himself forward,
- caught the cowboy by the wrists and pushed him against
_ the post. Penn talked wildly and struggled furiously, but
_ Merry held him.

“T’m trying to be a Pend of yours, Penn,” continued

ue Frank, ‘ ‘and I’m putting up with a whole lot more from
_you than I’d take from a good many fellows. I know
you've got a good deal of sense, and that down in your
heart you mean. well and want to do right. You are
foolish to hang on to this grouch. Your place'on the
team is waiting for you, and we're all anxious to let by-
gones be bygones and have you back, Think it over. We
don’t leave Phoenix till to-morrow noon.”
“You're no friend of mine,” stormed Penn. “You're a
two-faced juniper, and you're talking with a double
tongue. If you’d been a friend of mine you'd have given
me a chance against the Pima.
rl begin using my feet!”

ey iL let you go,” Frank answered, “just as soon as I tell
you what I think of you. You can trail. around and be

just as foolish as you want to, but don’t you dare drag
John Glory’s brother into any trouble. You were with
us when we helped John help Ethan—and you were John’s
friend, then, right from the drop of the hat. Now John
s making his peace with Tolliver, out at Bonita Place,
ee making peace for. himself and for Ethan, too.

trouble you as long as you ea” If you can be a
1, come ‘back ’ ‘to the Cleanspori and you will be wel-

1e5 ff you can’t be a man, hen we'll. ae pone af

Let go of my hands or

WEEKLY.

room a whole lot more than your: company,
You leave Ethan Glory -alone!”

Frank was white to the lips, but a resolute light burned -
in his eyes. As he finished speaking, he jumped away —
from Pennyworth. The latter laughed harshly and de-,
fiantly, faced the other way, and moved off. Ethan Glory
went with him. | ee

Frank and Rufus, standing among the curious people
who had collected, watched the two disappear along the
crowded, brilliantly lighted street. ‘ee

“T knew it would turn out like that, Chip,” said Horton’ oe
kindly. “You've done your best, and haven’t any cause |
for regret.
but I never thought it was. in him to act like this.”

“How did Penn and Ethan Glory get together?” mut-
tered Frank. “That’s what I’d like to know. Here’s _
John, out at Bonita Place, fighting a good fight, and here’s
Ethan, roistering around Phoenix with Pennyworth. pies
can be as foolish as he pleases, but he ought to have a
little consideration for John, and leave Ethan out of it.”

“Let’s go back ta the car. The hand of fate seems to
have taken hold of things, and you can’t get the bette, of ‘
fate, my boy.”

Chagrined, baffled, and filled with doubts and ae cena
Frank turned away and walked with Horton back to-
ward the railroad yards. Finding Ethan Glory with Arlo
Pennyworth had complicated matters, Ethan was a lad

John had diane!
“T’ve got to do something, Rufus,”

his set teeth; “I’ve got to.” ;
“What can you do, my boy?” 3 Re
That was a question which Frank could not answer. —

CHAPTER III.
STARTLING NEWS,

Ethan Glory had been a Sen evAge fs a wholesale grocer
neuen in ee PERI

his Georcaee of aoe a NS he had ‘ost ais ‘
Tighter and tighter closed the gambler’s grip on ‘Ethan,
Discovery, ruin, and disgrace seemed imminent when Joh
Glory learned. of his poate @ trouble. :

the latter cout Cati what he had taken sone
from his employers. But this did not settle Ethan’s* ace
count with Lattimer. The gambler had a due bill for ‘one
thousand dollars, signed by Ethan, and he was = ing
for payment. A

pares due bill See Ethan's jean at ae

a sobbed him blind. In spite of this, however, that
of paper, in Lattimer’s hands,
Ethan.

The gambler threatened, in case the money to take

before Ethan’s employers.
fortunate youth, loss of position, shame, and thaidl
The pride of the Glory name was at stake. ‘That

Tics of Y ancestors, a preserved | cara a
Re aN

 

What’s come over Penn is more than I know,
NEW TIP

The. great-grandfather of John and Ethan had found
a patriot’s death with Day y Crockett, in the historic Alamo,
fighting the hordes of Santa Ana. The grandfather of the
lads had laid down his life for his country at Lookout
Mountain, and the father had died in Cuba, one of the
first victims of the Spanish-American War.

The history of the “fighting Glorys” was a long record
of honor and patriotism and sacrifice; and to see that
proud name humbled and trailed in the dust by one of
the last of the line was like a knife in the breast of
young John.
his nature, he fought his brother’s battle.

How well John Glory fought, and against what odds,

Frank knew. And Horton. And even Penn. The Glory
of the Alamo, of Lookout Mountain, and of San Juan
Hill had no cause to blush for the way John upheld the
traditions of his family.
The lad did not face bullets, nor did he storm a hill
- at the cannon’s mouth. There are other tests of courage
in this life, and John Glory faced them and won a vic-
‘tory. The victory was for his brother; yet, while it
_ snatched the name of Glory from shame and disgrace, it
not only helped Ethan, but every member of that noble
- Hine from which he had sprung.

John wrested from the gambler that due bill for one
Odoricia dollars. Pennliess, half starved, yet with
_ strength and courage undiminished, John Glory fought his
battle, and he won. It had been the privilege of Frank
‘and Rufus to be of aid to the lad in the final stages
1 OF his struggle, and they considered it a high privilege
and held it in happy memory.

Until that night in Phoenix, neither Frank nor Rufus
had ever seen Ethan Glory. They supposed: that, freed
of all danger of disgrace, he was still working for the
wholesale grocery house—a lad who had learned a hard
lesson and was profiting by it. Then, like a bolt from a
clear sky, Ethan had been found in Overmyer’s” place,
_gambling—treading the same treacherous ground whose
quicksands had so nearly engulfed him in San Francisco!

_ It was clear that Ethan had not learned his lesson. The
i itede of his name, the courage and the sacrifices of ‘his
brother, were not enough to keep him in the straight
‘path of honor and duty. He was flippant and headstrong
and reckless. He was still traveling the trail which, for
him, spelled destruction—and Pennyworth was helping
him on!

In Frank’s breast a fierce resentment arose against the
_ cowboy. What ailed the fellow? Had he suddenly gone
daft? Was he—could he be--himself?

In far-away Blyfield, Pennyworth had admired John
Glory and praised his work for his brother in unstinted
terms; but here, in Phoenix, he was helping that easily
led brother along the downward path, and undoing (all
John’s work. No wonder Merriwell failed to understand
‘Penn, no wonder his heart burned with resentment against
him.

- There is ustially a weak place in the armor of the best

f us. The vulnerable point in Ethan’s armor was a weak-
‘ness for gambling.

_ Frank had cause to realize all that this might mean.
The itch for the green cloth and the devil’s ca nia

“was. 1% ‘desire witck could fea on and on to ‘abe Hiadieaue
depths, © ae for the older F rank, this was the stifteet

So, resolutely, and with all the energy of .

. we may as well go a little farther.

TOP WEEKLY. ; $y

battle of his long and notable career; but he had won.
And the younger Frank was displaying the same mettle,
winning. After all, success or failure in
is only a question of will power and right

and was also
such a matter
ideals.

On the way back to the Cleansport with Rufus, Frank
turned these various matters over in his mind.. He was
eager to do something—something more for John Glory °
by being of aid to Ethan—but what was there he could do?
Frank’s heart sickened with the thought that all. John’s
sacrifices for Ethan were to go for nothing.

“How the deuce does Ethan Glory happen to be in
Phoenix?” Merry queried.

“Very likely John sent for him,” returned Horton; “pos-
sibly Tolliver told John to wire the boy to come on.”

“If that’s the case, what is Ethan hanging around
Phoenix for? Why doesn’t he go out to Bonita Place,
where he belongs?”

“While we're guessing about what’s happened, Chip,
Ethan has not gone
out to Bonita Place because he happened to fall in with
Pennyworth.”

“But how——

“The ‘how’ of those two getting together is a mystery.
But they met, and it was an unfortunate thing for Ethan
Glory that he encountered Penn while the cowboy was in —
his unhappy frame of mind. Penn was ripe to indulge
all the worst traits of his nature. He was angry at you,
at himself, at everything, and when a fellow knows he’s
in the wrong and still nurses a grouch, he’s bound to be
reckless.”

“It’s a confounded shame, Rufus,” said Frank, with
spirit, “that Ethan acts as he does. If Tolliver Glory finds —
it out, he’ll have no use at all for the fellow. That will
undo a lot of John’s work at Bonita Place.”

“It’s the way of life; Chip,” answered the Yale man, a
little sadly. “I don’t see how it can be helped.”

By that time they were crossing the vacant lot sae
the spur on which the Cleansport had been sidetracked.
The moon and stars bathed the squalid surroundings of
the railroad yards in silvery light, etching the station,
the private car, the “empties” on the spurs, the distant
trees in shadowy outline against a glittering background)

As Frank and Rufus came like specters across the lot,
they became aware of some one or something re
about the vicinity of the Cleansport. .

“Wonder if it’s Hop Wah’s burro?” qneried Franke

“Hop sold the burro last night,” said Horton, “and the
new owner took possession a little while before we went
with Lacey to Overmyer’s place. No, Chip, it isn’t the
burro.” = ae

“Tt’s. a man, Rufus,” remarked Frank, straining his
eyes; “two men,” he added, as a couple of dark pa
emerged from the shadow of the car.

“And one of the fellows is Clancy,” declared Horton, a
moment later. i

“Chip!” called the voice of Merry’s red-headed ‘chum
just then, “where the mischief have you been?”

“Rufus and I have been into town on a little business,
Red," Frank answered.

3een looking all around for you. Bide door lock
key Steet: Ber what was up. r came oF

3”?

“W hat’s Werte: Ww ho’s the other chap?”
“Sam Weathers He’s just in from Bonita Pits

 
- } one of them was there when I left.

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

wants to see you in a rush. Already he’s been waiting
here fifteen minutes. I heard him walking around the
car, and got into a pair of canvas shoes and came out.”

That Clancy had left the car in haste was proved by
the fact that he was still in his pajamas. Merriwell turned
to Weatherby and put out his hand.

“Howdy, Sam?” said he. “What’s the matter with John
Glory? I didn’t see him at the game this afternoon.
We're leaving to-morrow, and John said he! d be around to
say good-by.”

“He'll not be around, Chip.” There was a catch, al-
most a break, in Weatherby’s voice. “He can’t come.”

“Why not?” demanded Frank quickly.

“There—there’s been an accident out at Bonita Place,
and——” .
“Accident?” repeated Frank. “Old Tolliver hurt?”

“Not Tolliver. It—it was John who got hurt. Tolliver
might have been killed, I guess, if it hadn’t been for the
boy. Bravest thing I ever seen! It was like this, Merri-
well: John, he——”

But Weatherby’s voice was shaking. He could not com-
mand. his feelings. There came a choke in his throat, his
words ran together, and he broke off abruptly, turned
away, and lifted his eyes to the stars. Lifting one hand,
he drew it across his eyes.

“Great Scott!” gasped Merriwell. “Is it serious, Sam?
You don’t mean to say that good old John has been badly
hurt?”

“Yes,” went on Weatherby, “it’s pretty bad. A couple
of doctors have been out there for all the afternoon, and
I guess both doc-
tors are up in the air about the outcome. John’s partly
out of his head. He don’t say much, Merriwell, but
when he does gasp out something it’s ‘Chip, Chip, old
-man——’” Weatherby choked up again.

Deep silence had fallen over the others. Weatherby,
_ getting: command of himself once more, went on:

“Tolliver is pretty near crazy. The old*chap just walks
‘around the house, throwing his arms and muttering to
himself. Doctor allowed I’d better come for you, Merri-
well. John told me, time and again, you were the best
- friend he ever had. I’ve come in with the buckboard.
_ Can you go—right now?”

“Of course I'll go,” said Frank promptly. “Clan,” he
added, “hustle on your clothes and come along.”

_ Clancy hurried back into the car. Horton tried to get

some further information, but could sectire little. Weath-
-erby had been struck hard, and did not seem able to con-
trol himself.

_ Fifteen minutes later the team and buckboard were pro-

_ceedfng at a rapid pace along the road to the Indian school.
_ Frank sat on the front seat with Sam, and’Owen was in
the seat behind,

CHAPTER IV.
2 JOHN GLORY’S BRAVERY.

That road to the Indian school was a beautiful. one by
day, and much frequented by the motorists of Phoenix;

by ip however, ‘it was doubly beautiful, with starshine

Sam, who was usually good-natured, would now and >
again’ rise up in his seat, mutter fiercely under his breath,
and strike the spirited team savagely with the whip. Al-
ways, after he had done that, it- was necessary for him to
fall back on the lines and saw at the bits to prevent a
runaway.

“What're you hammering the team for, Sam?” queried
Frank. “The horses are doing well enough.”

“’d like to kill those murdering cayuses!” Weatherby
answered. “I can’t help it because I feel that way. It’s
this team, that did the trick for John.”

“You hayen’t told us about that yet.”

“Haven’t much heart to talk about it.
brutes !”

Again Weatherby lifted the gad to bring it down in a_
stinging blow. Merriwell reached forward quickly and
grabbed the whip out of Weatherby’s hand.

“There’s. nothing to be gained by that, Sam, said
Frank, “You take care of the lines, and I'll keep ‘the
whip. What’s the trouble out at Bonita Place?”

Weatherby muttered, and sank back in his seat. Fora
few moments he was silent, and then slowly eS began to
tell what had happened at the ranch.

“The trouble started this morning, Chip. Right after
breakfast a man came out from town. He had a talk
with Tolliver, and Tolliver called John. John was out by
the corral with me, at the time.
his sick spell\as suddenly as it came on him, and. he had
been up and around since. before breakfast.

Confound the -

”

-fI was fixing the harness, out by the corral, and fice y

was helping me. We were all planning to come into
Phoenix for the ball game, in the afternoon, and John :
‘was talking about you, and Horton, and all the other
fellows on the team of athletes. Say, you’d be-surprised —
how John loved that bunch of ball players! He was tell-
ing me what they’d all done since he was takén on at: Bly:
field. But to him Chip Merriwell was the biggest and >
best one of the lot. You-—”

“Glory and I were pards,” cut in Merriwell. “We seared’ g
to hit it off right from the start. Never mind that, though.
Just go ahead, Sam, and tell me about the accident.”

“It’s hard to talk about it,” went on Weatherby, “but
you've got’ to know, and it will be better if you know
before we reach Bonita Place. I’m getting to the point,
but I’ve got to come up to it by degrees.
all that I do. /

“This fellow from town, Haskins, came while jehatand
I was at the corral. Haskins is an old friend of Toll
ver’s, and Tolliver has told him a lot about what hap-
pened here when Bixler was proved to be a scoundrel, and —
had to let go his hold on the old gent’s pocketbook. Know-
ing that, of course, rather put Haskins next to the breach
in the Glory family, and the way John, with your help,
got the family united again. Well, Haskins came, hitched
his rig, and went in and talked with Tolliver. By anc
by, Tolliver came to the kitchen door and yelled real shat
for John. I could see the old man was mad about som
thing. He was. shaking all over, and his face was red as a
beet: John dropped the harness he was working on and
went into the house. |

“T could hear Tolliver’s voice, now and then, pitc ed

‘high. The old fellow was excited a heap, but I couldn

hear what he was saying. I could hear John talking, t
but he seemed to be doing his best to _smooth veg

 

Tolliver had got over —

Then you'll know ne
 

 

a a I eI apres Ae nee

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. has 7

soon, he had a look on his face as though, without mean-
ing to do it, he had started a cyclone. I asked him what
was tp, but he wouldn’t say.

“All morning long Tolliver and John were talking.
Once in a while Tolliver would come out on the porch
and go stamping around with his cane, all het up and
wild. He'd go back into the house, and the talking would
go on. ‘Two of three times John came out on the porch.
He looked haggard and worn, and he'd brush his hand
across his face and look, sort of helplesslike, along the
drive toward the road. I don’t know what he was look-
ing for, but, whatever it was, he was disappointed. He
didn’t come near me, although I was fair ‘crazy to find
out what had caused the shake-up. Well, I didn’t find
out, and I don’t know now.

“At dinner, Tolliver was as mum as an oyster, and
never said a word. He looked, though, as if he was a
powder mine, and it wouldn’t take much to make him ex-
plode. John was kind and respectful to the old man, like
he always is, but Tolliver was snappy, and crabbed, and
crossways, but he’d hardly glance at John, and wouldn’t
say a word to him—that is, he didn’t speak until the
dinner was about through. Nobody ate much—all of us
kind of thought something fierce was going to happen. As
I got up from the table to leave, Tolliver says to me:
““Satn, you hitch up to the buckboard, I’m going to
town right off.’

“We're all going, Mr. Glory,’ I says to him. ‘There’s
‘ the ball game, you know, and you said we could all be
there and see it.’

““'m goitig to town alone,’ rapped out the old man.
right shatp, ‘and the rest of you are to stay here.’

“Unele,’ says John, ‘you’re going to take me with you.
You won’t leave me behind.’

“Watch and see,’ growled Tolliver, more offish than
ever.

““But you can’t drive the horses, John goes on, ‘it ain’t
safe for you to try. If you won’t take me you've got to
take: Sami.’

“‘T'm goitg alone!’ says the old man, savage. ‘Mark
that. I'll attend to this business without anybody’s
put-in?

*“But——’

- “But Tolliver wouldn’t listen to John at all.
winds up to me, ‘you get the rig ready at once,’

“Well, I hitched up, wondering like Sam Hill what was
in. the air.
a heap, and they were right up on their hind legs while I
was putting them to the pole. I knew it wasn’t safe for
Tolliver, past seventy and feeble as a kid, to try to handle
’em. But his mittd was\set on it, and there wasn’t a
thing I could do to budge him. Jtist as I got the lines
ready, along comes Tolliver, leaning hard on his cane and
shaking as though he had the ague. He had fire in: his
ey¢, though, and I could see he was_set like the rock of
Gibberaltar.

“*They’re right frisky this afternoon, Mr. Glory, T says,
‘and I think you'd better let me go ’long,’

“Shut your head!’ he says. ‘Hold ’em while I get in
and get the lines. You and John act as though I'd never
drove a team before. Why, consarn it, I was handling
high-steppers before you and John were born.’

“Well, he downed me. I just hung onto the bits while
the old gentleman fell into the buckboard. The horses
were darncitig all over the drive that led to the front of

‘Sam,’ he

The cayuses, drat ’em! were feeling their’ oats .

the adobe and on through the gate into the road. I won-
dered where John was, but I couldn’t see him around the
house.

“*Let go!’ called Tolliver, and I dropped the bits and
jumped back.

“The team plunged right up in the air, starting with a
jerk that almost threw Tolliver over the front wheel.
The lines wete jerked out of his hand quicker’n you could
say scat. Then, by gorry, things began to happen.

“The cayuses was off like a shot, lines dragging on the
ground. I grabbed for the tail of the buckboard as it
shot past me, but I might as well have tried to catch the
Empire State Express between stations. The buckboard
whizzed around the corner of the house and into the road,
just scraping half a dozen trees and missing the carriage
block at the kitchen door by an inch. The old man was
game, though. He never let out a peep, but held to the
seat with both hands, and waited for the wreck which we
both allowed was bound to come. Say, Chip,” and Weath-
etby drew a sleeve across his forehead, “I wouldn’t have
given a copper cent for that old man’s chances just then,
and I don’t guess he’d have given even that. I yelled
like all possessed, and rushed after the runaway.

“T thought my howling would bring John on the double-
quick from the house. But he wasn’t in the house, He
had put on his hat and strolled down to the gate, at the
road. The gate was open, and. from the porch I- could
see John standing there. I guess he was planning to get
into that buckboard, no matter what Tolliver said, when
the old gentleman drove through the gate. He was going
to see that no harm came to Tolliver from the pesky team,
but the trouble started before John expected it, I guess.
Anyway, there was John, right in the middle of the open
gate, with the team rushing down on him, the buckboard
in the air most of the time; and Tolliver crouched. down
and hanging to the front seat. The rear seat had been
thrown against the porch as the team rounded the-corner
of the house.

“I could see John brace himself to do something. J
wondered if he’d tackle that flyin’ death—I wondered, I
say, but only for a second. I might have known he was
a Glory, and that he wouldn’t—that he couldn’t—step- out
of the way. The old man, for the first time, began to
yell. |

““Get out of the way, John!’

“That was all he said. You see, he was thinking how
his own folly had-put him in that fix; and he didn’t want
to have his own cantankerousness' result in injury to-the
boy.

“But John wasn’t taking orders from anybody just then.
I—I saw the team come down on him, pointed straight-to
go through the gate, and I saw John jump at their heads,
and then a flurry of dust hid the whole proceeding.- I
woke up, amd rushed for the gate. When I got there the
dust had settled a bit, and I. found the team with their
heads pushed into the fence. They had been stopped, all
tight, and Tolliver was down on the ground trying to pull
John out from under the wheels.

“*Kill them brutes!’ howled the old. man; ‘kill ’em—and -
then come and help me with my boy!’

“Well, I didn’t kill the cayuses, although I felt mighty
like it. I hitched ’em to the fence, and> we pulled John
out from: under the buckboard and toted him into the
house. He was all limp:and bloody, and—and he didn’t
say nothing, but just moan a little bit. Some of the other

 
_ fragrance of oleander blossoms.

as we can and put back to town.

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

hands came to stay with Tolliver, and I put out for town
to get a doctor. That’s—that’s all, and 1 %

Weatherby’s words died huskily in his throat. And
then, with a savage wrench, he twisted the cayuses to the
right, and the buckboard passed through the open gate and
along the tree-lined drive toward Tolliver Glory’s old
adobe house.

Merriwell said nothing. Nor did Clancy. Both
were strangely thrilled by John Glory’s courage—and) sad-
dened because of the sacrifice it had demanded of him.
But, as Horton had said, it was the hand of fate.

lads

CHAPTER V.
ONE CHANCE IN¥A THOUSAND.

Merriwell and Clancy got out of the buckboard in front
of the house and mounted a short flight of steps to the
wide porch. It was well after midnight, by that time, and
the boys were under a weird spell for which the hour,
the place, and the circumstances were responsible. Frank
had been at Bonita Place before, but it was Owen’s first
Visit.

The drive between the gate and the house was lined
with umbrella trees and pepper trees. Standing on the
porch, the two lads looked down the gloomy, funereal ap-
proach to the adobe and a clammy hand seemed elutching
at their throats and choking them.

The air was heavy with a dank, almost overpowering
Clancy drew a labored
breath and turned back toward the doorway of the house.

“This is getting on my nerves, Chip,” he whispered.
“Poor old Glory! Let’s get this call over with as soon
I can’t remember that I
ever felt like this before. Somehow I’m getting a mighty
hard wrench.”

“Tt’s awful, Clan,” returned Frank, in a low voice, “to
think that Glory, after the game fight he’s made, has to be
put down and out like this. Let’s sit down here and

wait for Sam. I’ve got to get a better grip on myself
before I go in.”
is The front door was wide open, and the entrance was

Figs by a screen. A dim light burned in the hall. The

&e.

_ house was deathly still, and. a faint odor of drugs was

__wafted from its shadowy. depths.

-. Merriwell and Clancy sank into, a couple of chairs. Si-
_lently they waited for Sam to finish caring for the horses
and to rejoin them.

It seemed to Frank as though it had been to more than
two or three hours since he and John had come along that
tree-lined drive for the first time. Then they had come
resolutely, almost hopelessly, to do what they could to
save Tolliver Glory from the schemes of Bixler.

_ Bixler was a schemer and a fraud. He had woven a
cunning net of deceit in which the aged veteran of the
‘Civil War had been entangled.

Frank’s thoughts ran back along the course of recent

events to the moment when John Glory first encountered
‘Tolliver in the street in front of Pardo’s corral in Phoenix.
‘That meeting had been in the nature of a startling sur-
prise for both of them. John had known that Tolliver was
a wealthy man, and had a’ranch somewhere in the South-
‘west, but the boy had never dreamed that he was located
rt Phoenix. |
John had given a shout, and had started toward the
uckboard. in which Tolliver was being driven past the

“corral.

The old man had turned and looked at the lad,
and then coldly he had faced the other way and had told
Sam sharply to drive on. Fifty years before, a barrier
had been raised between two branches of the Glory family. —
During thé long, long years that followed, Tolliver had ob- —
stinately refused to be reconciled with the nephew and,
grand-nephews of his name,

He had seen and recognized John in front of fthe cor-
ral, but the obstinate old veteran would have nothing to
do with him. The spirit of the Glorys was as high and
proud in young John as it was in old Tolliver, and the
lad, hurt to the very soul, declared that if Tolliver wanted —
the barrier to stand, then, for all of John, it should stand.

But Sam had brought to the car the sordid, mercenary
story of the “spook” doctor, who was stealing Tolliver’s —
money, and was preparing to take his ranch and the very
roof from above his head. Sam had appealed to John,
in the name of duty, to do something to save the obsti-
nate old man from the schemes of Bixler. As a duty,

therefore, John had gone to Bonita Place, and Frank had

gone with him.

How the, boys had fought the desperate sharper under
the very nose of Tolliver, how they had forced the sup--
posed “spook,” Red Feather, to cast off his Indian trim-
mings and declared himself a humbug, and how they had
made the credulous old veteran understand that he was
being victimized, had all occurred so recently that it was
still very clear in Frank’s-mind.

And then had come the reconciliation between John and
Tolliver. From dislike, the old man’s feelings had changed
suddenly to the most intense admiration and deepest affec-.
tion for young John. A few days before, he would not —

allow young Glory’s name mentioned in his presence, but _

after the unmasking of Bixler, Tolliver ae not bear
to let the boy out of his sight.

Pocketing his pride and thinking only of his duty, John
had thrown himself into a hard fight to save his aged
relative. Against long odds, and with Frank’s friendly —
aid, he had won; and he had not only saved Tolliver but oe
had also secured the old man’s respect and affection.

What could have happefied, the preceding afternoon, to
change Tolliver’s attitude toward John? Frank could not
imagine, While he was moodily turning these matters
over in his mind, Sam came walking around the corner of
the house and mounted the porch. He peered through
the gloom at the two forms seated in the chairs. x

“What're you waiting here for, fellows?” Sam inquired. —

“Just to get ourselves in hand, old chap,” replied Frank,
“before we went in. What you told us about the accident
was a bit unsettling.” j

“Don’t wonder. If you want to, we'll go in now.” '

Sam pulled open the screen door and led the way into —
the dimly lighted hall. He stopped at the door of the
study—a room piled high with books, and which had been
the scene of some thrilling experiences on the occasion —
of Frank’s first visit to Bonita Place. Sam, drawing asid
the curtain at the door, looked, and then quietly motioned

-for his companions to look.

Tolliver sat at a,table in the middle of the room.. His |
arms were on the table, and his gray head was bowed in
them. Back of him hung a flag, the Stars and Stripes,

trailing its red, white, and blue folds over a tier of books.

ane ve man was stricken with grief. His form trem-

 

 
him; more so, Frank thought, than ever before.

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY,

_ But Tolliver heard them, and lifted his head. Adjusting

his glasses with a shaking hand, he peered through them

at the three in the doorway. The next moment he arose

hastily and came unsteadily forward, both hands out-
stretched,

“Merriwell! The best friend John ever had—he told
me so himself. I’m glad you are here, boy.”

Frank took the trembling hands in his’ and pressed them
_ sympathetically.

FOL courseql'd come, Mr. Glory,” he answered. “All
| Sam had to say was that John wanted me. This is my
chum, Owen Clancy, one of John’s teammates.”

_ “A friend of yours and John’s is a friend of mine, al-

ways,” said the veteran, “An awful thing has happened,
and I’m to blame. It’s the hardest blow that has ever

come to me, Merriwell. Why couldn’t it have been me
_ that went into that smash at the gate? I’m an old hulk,

-and about done for, while John is young, an honor to
oN, the family, and with his whole life before him. It isn’t

right, it isn’t right! But he jumped into it when I or-

dered him to keep away—I told him to keep away and he
wouldn’t listen to me!”

_ The thin voice quivered, and the old man dropped into
acchair. The infirmities of age were very noticeable in
He grew
hoes because John had disobeyed him—had preserved him

from harm directly in the face of his orders to the con-
trary.

“That's the Glory of it,” mumbled Tolliver, apparently
forgetting his grief for the moment. “He’s as obstinate
as I am, and I might have known he would be. It’s dia-

mond cut diamond when John and I come together.” The
thought seemed to amuse him and he cackled mirthfully.

‘Merriwell, do you mind how John hung on here when

ordered him away? He stayed, bless him, and he showed
up Bixler in his true colors. Oh, I owe a lot to John, yes

T owe a lot to John!”

_ Tolliver reached for his cane, took it between his knees,

and | leaned heavily on it. He seemed in a” reminiscent

“All the Glorys have been bullheaded and obstinate,”
he wert on. “There was Spencer, my Brother Spencer,
‘John’s grandfather. He went with the South, during the

var, while I followed the old flag,” and Tolliver flung a

lance at the Stars and Stripes while love of the banner
glowed for an instant in his dull eyes. “That sure pried
the Glorys apart, Merriwell. I had no use for my Secesh
brother, and he hadn’t any more use for me. Why, Spence
came with a militia company of Rebs to arrest me and
put me in jail, but I dug out between two days and they
didn’t get me; no, by Jerry, I was too sharp for Spence,

nd he didn’t get me.”
he old man laughed to himself; and then his withered
ace grew sober as he proceeded,

“The firing on Sumter split the Glory family right in

wo. I fit all through the war and came out without a

catch. Spence fell at Lookout Mountain, Secesh to the

but a brave man and a Glory, even if he did gd

‘ong—Spence, John’s grandfather. Then John’s father,

ephew, he fought for the old flag in Cuba. He tried
¢ up with me a heap of times, but I couldn’t for-

2. anid I wouldn’t hav a to do with my nephew
n’s father. Sin Fuad ill took care of him. J was

+ .
\for ‘you,

fighting Glorys—it’s in our blood to be loyal according |
to our lights, Merriwell,”’ and Tolliver’s head went up
and his shoulders went back, and a flame of pride crossed
his thin face. ;

“All the bitterness is pretty nigh tie ’ he continued,
“since the rebellion. I hung on to mine till John came
here and showed me what a fool I was. The boy’s a
Glory, through and through, by Jerry! I was building on
him, Merriwell, to keep up the old traditions of our
house, and now look what a miserable end he’s come to!

~Doctor Blake says he has a chance, one chance in a thou-

sand, and—and——”

The gray héad bowed suddenly forward over the cane
and the thin shoulders heaved.

Merriwell did not want to stay longer in the room.
He cast a significant glance at Sam and started silently
toward the door. Tolliver heard the movement, however,
and looked up. . :

“John’s a fine lad, Merriwell,” said he, “but his brother
——” His face clouded, his voice choked with rage and
he lifted his cane.and shook it menacingly. “His Brother
Ethan,” he added, “is a disgrace to the family.
black sheep, a sneaking scoundrel——”

Just then a voice echoed through the house—it was —
sharp and high. “Chip, old man! I say, Chip!”

The echoes died uncannily away. Tolliver halted ia
tirade against Ethan, and drew a hand across his eyes. |

“That’s my boy calling, Merriwell,” he whispered. “He’s
wanted you, and that’s why Sam went to town. One
chance in a thousand, Blake says; that’s all, one chance
in a thousand. I’m a selfish old fool for keeping you
here. Go on and see the boy, Merriwell. If you can do —
anything for him, in Heaven’s name——

Tolliver Glory could not finish, Once more his head -
bowed over his cane and he seemed lost to all that went
on around him,

Frank and Owen, sited by Sam, left the study and
quiefly made their way along the hall.

”

CHAPTER VI.

JOHN GLORY’S HARDEST FIGHT.

Farther along the corridor there was a partly open door. K ee

Through this opening came the odor of jodoform, pungent —
and strong. Sam halted and would have pushed the door —
farther open, but it was drawn to its widest at just that x
moment and a smooth-faced, professional-appearing man,
stripped to his shirt and with sleeves rolled up, stepped
out into the hall. He was brusque and businesslike, ant.
softly closed the door behind him. —

“This is Merriwell, doctor,” said Sam. ;
“You don’t have to tell me that,” smiled Doctor Blake. ?
“I was present at the carnival of sports yesterday, and
saw Merriwell wrestle with Sonora Sam. Fine bout, 1

must say.”

He put out his hand to Frank, and then Frank presented
Owen.

“Know you, too, young fellow,”
Clancy. “I’m sorry, boys,” he added,
old teammates has come to this. Glory has been asking
Merriwell, but he’s wandering in his mi
There’ll not be much satisfaction in seeing him, I’m afraid.”

“Isn’t he conscious?” asked Frank.

“No, and he hasn’t been since the accident happened,

The horses beat him down with their hoofs and ran over
: , aS F

said the adake to.
“that one of your

 

He’s a
oa. | NEW TIP
him. Bonide the injury to his head he is hurt internally.

If it had not been for his superb physical development—
his training on yotir team—and for his remarkable consti-
tution, he: wouldn’t have lived an hour.”

“You're going to pull him through, though, doctor,” said
Sam, with ¢onfidence. “Tolliver said he’d give you five
thousand dollars if you’d pull him through,”

“Money can’t do everything in this world, Sam,” re-
turned Blake wearily. “What I want to do now is to
bring John around so he'll see and know what’s going
on. That will be something. Possibly Merriwell can
-help—I don’t know. It’s a strange case and anything is
likely to happen. Just walk in, Merriwell, and take the
chair at the head of the bed. Sam, you and Clancy had
better keep in the background.”

The door was softly opened again and. the doctor led
the way into young Glory’s room. A lamp) its flame turned
low, stood on a table. In its faint glow sat Al, one of
the hands employed about the ranch. When John first

. came.to Bonita Place, this same Al had been his enemy;
but now it was more than evident that he was his friend:
_ The two windows of the room were open, Through
the vines that covered them came a faint breath of air.
Al smiled and nodded to Frank, and the latter . passed
to the bed and sat down.

Glory’s head was swathed in bandages, His arms and
hands were free, however, and he was moving them about
as though reaching for something in the empty air.

“It was that one-handed catch that. got me a place on
the team, eh?”

_ This, in a half whisper, fell from Glory’s lips. Frank
leaned over. and looked full into the lad’s face. His
eyes were wide open, but there was no reason in them,
merely a vacant stare.
“Ym here, John,” murmured Frank, “That was sure a
great catch you made, You are a crackajack outfielder,
old man, You've been asking for me, haven’t you?”

No light of understanding dawned in the vacant eyes.
Glory’s glance was on Merriwell’s face, but it was plain
“that it took no note of him,

- After a moment Glory laughed softly.
-**Great times we had on the Cleansport!” he muttered.
“Happiest times I ever had in my life. Great bunch,
_ that outfit of Athletes! Every one of ’em a prince—even
old Mose. But Chip Merriwell’s the kingpin, and after
Chip comes Rattus: Never knew what a friend was till
they stood by me.” :
“Don’t you know me, old chap?” continued Merriwell,
mets it hard to give up his fight for recognition.

_ Glory did not seem to hear. In his clouded mind he
was reviewing his experiences while a member of Merri-
well’s Athletes, The various members of the team passed
before him, and his pale face wreathed with smiles as
he talked. It was all very real to Glory, no doubt.

- “Reddy Clancy at first—he’s a star. And Billy Dill, at
short, is a regular bear. Pickles and his rhymes!” Glory
uckled.  “He’s got a verse for every occasion, even for
Hop Wah when the Chinaman rode Handsome Dan, the
bt Let’s see, how did that go? Oh, the burro he
h pped with Hop, and he spun in the air like a top, but

facet shake Hop with nary a be Rare I

TOP ‘WEEKLY.

amateur backtsop I ever saw, and one of the best chaps: on
the turf, to boot.” ,
Frank’s nerves tingled at this mention of Penn.
Glory could know how the cowboy was acting?
Presently the wandering fancies dropped the team of
Glory seemed to think he was talking to Tolliver.
Tol,” he begged. “Don’t —

What ge.

athletes.
“Give Ethan a chance, Uncle
take Haskins’ word for all this. Let me have Ethan out
here so he can speak for himself. Ethan’s a Glory, don’t.
forget that. If he hasn’t come out to Bonita Place it’s ‘
because something important has detained him in town. —
I know he’s quit the gambling—I know it. He’s had
his lesson, and he’s not foolish enough to keep fooling ie
with the cards. Give him a chance, Uncle Tolliver!” ee
A glimming of the differences that had recently mani -
fested themselves between young Glory and the veteran
was beginning to dawn in Merriwell’s mind, Ethan Glory 2
was the cause, and back of that*cause stood the evil in- —
fluence of Pennyworth. A frown came to Frank’s face. —
“Chip, old man, I want you to straighten this out.” Glory —
was not talking to the real Merriwell, but to a shadowy —
Merriwell conjured up by. his wandering fancies. “You
can do anything when you set your mind to it. That's
right. I want you to get hold of Ethan and bring him out —
here. Be easy with him. I’m up against my hardest fight,
old man, for Tolliver is savage. He doesn’t know Ethan
as I know him, Say, Chip, you do this for me, will you?” —
In the intense desire to have Merriwell give his nid
Glory’s voice strengthened and he tried to sit up: 7
bed. Al came quickly aeross the room, and gently but

‘ firmly held him down on the pillow.

“Chip!” cried Glory, struggling; “I say, Chip! i"

Frank was desperately anxious to convince Glory that
he was there, in person, beside the bed; he was hungry
to awake a spark of realization, and to give to the trou-
bled niind a soothing reassurance that he would do what
he could. :

“Listen, John,” he aie “T hear you! I’m right here
Sam came to the car, told me you wanted me, and I came —
out to Bonita Place at once, I’ll do what I can for Ethan,
You know that.” , ra

“Oh, Merry!
back on me now!
you come?

Doctor Blake took Frank by the arm and drew him away.
from the bedside. Frank’s eyes were moist and his fa
was white,

“No use, my lad,” said the doctor, shaking his ios
“You see, he hasn’t the slightest idea that you’re here.
This isn’t doing either of you any good, Come out fate
the hall a minute.”

Merry!” called the other. “You'll net ae
Why don’t you listen? Why don’

went on, “He wants Merriwell, and he wants his broth
Now that Merriwell is here, Glory doesn’t know it—can’t
realize it. I doubt if ‘he'd recognize his ee
there’s a chance that he might.”
-“T'll go to town, doctor,” said Frank determinedly,“
T’ll. get whan

ago,”

“Good !” a vi his head

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

been a clash of some kind between Tolliver and John—
_ Sam told me about it, although he couldn’t /give me the
ins and outs of it. But from what young Glory says,

Ethan was mixed up in it. Possibly, if you can get

Ethan, he can accomplish something with his brother. It’s

a slim chance—but all the chances are slim so far as

John Glory is concerned. You think you can find Ethan

and bring him here?”

“IT know I'll find him—and he'll have to come.”
“That’s the spirit! I’m going to stay right here, al-
though there isn’t much that I can do. Tolliver wants
_ me around, though, and he lacks a good deal of being
himself. He won’t tell me anything about his row with

- John.”
Pll bring up the team and buckboard, Chip,” said

Weatherby. “I didn’t take off the harness, and it will only
- take me a minute to hitch up.”

“All right, Sam,” returned Frank,
be ready when you are.”

_ Weatherby hurfied off, Doctor Blake wished Merriwell
~ luck in his undertaking, and Merry and Clancy went out
on the porch. As they passed the door of the study they
- looked in. The old man was lying on a couch and seemed
to be asleep. | :
“This is a pretty tongh situation to face, Chip,” said

_ Clancy, much depressed, when he and Frank had seated
.themselves on the porch once more. “It has got me all
_ worked up. I wish to thunder we could do something, but
_ —but—it looks so darned impossible.”

“We're going to do something,” declared Frank.

It was a trying ordeal for Frank. To hear Glory call-
ing on him for help and unable to realize that he was
there and going to do what he could, was hard enough;
but there were other things—Glory’s desperate condition,
Ethan’s behavior, and Penn’s responsibility for much that
had been going on—all these pressed hard on Merriwell’s
_ self-control.

- “T wish,” said Frank slowly,
_ happened between John and the old gentleman, on Ethan’s
account.”

“I didn’t know you saw Ethan Glory in town.”

Frank explained that part of it to Owen—and he gave
him all of it, including the part that dealt with Pennyworth.
Owen was indignant and angry. ~
 “Penn’s showing himself up in great shape!” he ex-
claimed. “Is the fellow crazy? I never knew he had such
a yellow streak in him.”

ts “He’s nursing his grouch—that’s all the matter with
ee Penn.”

“He ought to have his head punched, Chip, and I’m sur-
: rised that you didn’t do it when you had the chance.

You”

Some one came out on the porch and the boys turned

© see who it was. It proved to be Tolliver Glory.
 “T want to tell you something, Merriwell,” said the
veteran, taking a chair close to the lads. “It’s about this
black sheep of the family, Ethan. It won't take long, but

*ve got to tell you.”

nodding. “We'll

CHAPTER VII.

LOOKING FOR ETHAN.

oo after all. Or, if he had been asleep, the voices of
boys must have aroused him.

x
“that I knew just what had

“Ethan,” began the old man, “is no more like John than
black night is like the broad, full light of day. I’ve had
nothing to do with either of the boys until during the last
few days, so it hasn’t been long since I found out just
what sort of a rogue Ethan is. At first,” and the veteran
leaned back in his chair on the gloomy porch, “I .thought
John and Ethan were trying to make up with me just to
get a little of my property. I knew they were poverty —
poor, and I couldn’t see how anything but my money had
any attraction for them. I still think that about Ethan,
although I have a different opinion about John.

“As soon as that scoundrel Bixler was shown up by
John, and by you, Merriwell, I had Ethan telegraphed
for. I wanted both youngsters with me. Ethan should
have been here at Bonita Place Monday morning. But
he didn’t come. John couldn’t understand it, and he wanted
to go to Phoenix and look for his brother. I wasn’t well,
though, and I wouldn’t let him go. This morning Has-
kins, who has a hardware store in town, and is a friend
of mine, came out here and told me a few things that
made my blood boil.

“Ethan Glory did get to town Monday morning, and
Monday afternoon and evening, instead of coming out to
the ranch where his brother and I were waiting for him,
he put in his time running around with a young good-for-
nothing and playing games of chance in the gilded gam-
bling dens of Washington Street. That’s what the young
cub was doing!” and Tolliver’ banged his cane angrily
down on the porch. “But that wasn’t all Haskins told
me—that was only a small part of it.

“Haskins has friends in a town called Blyfield—in fact,
he came from Blyfield to Phoenix, some years ago. He
gets the Blyfield papers right along. Some months ago he
saw a notice in those papers about a certain John Glory
who had joined Merriwell’s Athletes. That interested him,
for he knows a little of my history. He wrote his friends —
in Blyfield, and in their replies they told him things about
John that never got into the papers.

“Tt seems that John was helping Ethan out of trou-
bles he had got into with his employers in San Francisco.
John beggared himself to send money to his brother to
save him from disgrace and prison. Haskins didn’t. tell
me anything about this till this morning. He learned by
chance that Ethan was in Phoenix and going the devil’s

pace, and when he came here to let me know of it, he —

told me everything he had discovered. I was wild. John
hadn’t said a word about Ethan’s folly, and that fact helped
to make me out of patience. It looked as though John was 3
trying to deceive me about that brother of his. We had

hot words, and I made up my mind to start for town, find —

Ethan, and send him packing back to San Francisco.” —
Tolliver paused. For the moment he had forgotten the

lad who was tossing deliriously in the old adobe, and eg

anger and indignation smothered the words in his throat.
“Haskins was going to find out where Ethan was stay-_
ing,” Tolliver continued finally, “and when I came to town -
he was going to take me to the place. Well, I was bound |
and determined to go alone, but the horses ran away, and
—and——” A wave of grief overwhelmed the old man,
and he bowed his gray head.
Just at that moment Sam drove the buckboard to the
front of the house. Merriwell and Clancy, without —_ :
ing, started down the porch steps. 3
“Where are you boys going?” asked Tolliver, aroused
by the pounding of hoofs and the grind of wheels, eh

.

A

 
NEW TIP

answered

while, Mr.
veteran know the real

“Back to town for a little Glory,”
Frank, deeming it unwise to let the
nature of their errand,

“But you'll comé out here again, Merriwell?”

“Yes—

The
front seat with ¢
shadowy drive,

“T know now,” spoke up Irank,
had cleared the gate and was in the country road,
caused the trouble

“What was it?” queried Sam.

“Ethan Glory—John’s brother—was back of it. Haskins
told Tolliver that Ethan isn’t the sort of youngster he
should be, and Tolliver thought John had been deceiving
him,” '

Clancy, on the back seat, sputtered angrily.

“Why shouldn’t John protect his brother?” he demanded.
“He has always stood up for Ethan, and why shouldn’t
he stand up for him now?”

“John did what he thought was the right thing, Red,”
‘Frank answered, “and if Ethan had come jright to, Bonita
‘Place as soon as he struck town—if he hadn’t met Penn
and begun visiting the gambling houses with him—every-
thing might have been all right. When a fellow gets to
going wrong, his friends suffer a lot more than he does.”

“Tolliver will be hot when we come back with Ethan,”
mused Sam; “that is,” he added, “if we
~ back,”

“It’s for John’s
say a word, Another thing, Sam:
back—that’s all there is to it.”

“But you don’t know where to find him, Chip! Hunt-
ing over the town for a stranger, at this time of night,
ie is liable to be a long job, and a hz ind one.’

_ “We've got a clew. I picked it out of what Tolliver
was telling Clancy and me. Haskins, the hardware man,
was to look Ethan up so he could take Polliver to call on

him. We'll leatn what we want to know from Haskins.”

“That's easy,” said Sam. “I’ve been to Haskins’
a dozen times and we'll go right there.”

- Tn less than an hour the buckboard drew up before a

_ dark and silent residence on First Avenue. Frank jumped
from the vehicle, opened a gate and made his way to a
‘veranda between two shadowy lines of palms.

Just as his knuckles dropped on the door,
the courthouse plaza struck the hour of two.
unusual time for making
sity.

Again and again Frank knocked, and finally he succeeded
in arousing the inmates of the dwelling. A screen was
opened at a window on the second. floor and a head was
thrust out,

“Who's there?” called a voice.

“Mr. Haskins ?” teturned Frank.

_ “That’s my name.’

“Well, I’m from Bonita Place, and I’m ina hurry to
find Ethan Glory., Can you tell me where he is?”
“Ts Tolliver with you?” )
oy “No,”

“T can’t imagine what he wants ” Ethan Glory.

ou'll find him at Chiswick’s boarding house. How’ s every-

"thing out at the ranch?”

ie as bad as it can be! You heard that John Glory

(’ll not be gone jong.”
into the

sam, and the rig whirled away down the

boys climbed buckboard, Frank on. the

when the buckboard
“what
at Bonita Place.”

do bring him

Tolliver hasn’t

We're
{

good and any right to

to bring Ethan

house

the bell in
It; was an
a call, but it was a case of neces-

TOP

But |

W EEKLY,

\
“Sure, I Too bad, too.

for him?”

heard about that. Any hope

“Looks doubtful now. Much obliged to you, Mr. Has-
kins.”

Frank did not wait for any further conversation with,
but hurried back to the
in. Clancy and Weatherby had heard what Haskins said,
so there was no need of Frank’s repeating it.

“Chiswick’s, eh?”

Haskins, buckboard and climbed?*

muttered Sam, as he started the horses.
It’s just

“

"Bout as tough a joint as there is in town.
at the edge of the Mexican quarter.”

The boarding house proved to be a squalid old building
in a dubious neighborhood, Back of a tumble-down porch
was a door, and through a window in the upper half of —
the door came a faint gleam of light.

Sam suggested.
no telling what sort

“Reckon I better go in with you, Chip?”
Chiswick is a roughneck, and there’s

“ce

of a reception he'll give you.”
“You stay
“Clancy
know later.”
hes ; ey hia
Suppose Ethan objects to coming?
“When he learns about John he
and

with the Sam,’ Frank answered.

If we need you we'll let you

team,
will go with me.

If he.
come

won't object.

does, though,” Frank’s voice hardened, “he'll

just the same.”
” declared Clancy, with emphasis.

The two chums jumped out of the buckboard and went
up on the old’ porch. There they pounded on the door
until a shuffling of feet from beyond informed them that. -
their summons had been heard and was being answered.
The door opened and a red-faced man in shirt, trousers, —
and carpet slippers, and carrying a lamp, was revealed.

“Come in,” “Sf ye want’ to stop. Rates is ai

“You bet he will!

said the man,

"a dollar a night, an’ I’ve got jest.a couple o’ beds left,”

Frank led the way into the shabby hall. As soon as they
were inside, and the door closed, the man with the lam;
had opportunity for appraising his callers at short range. —
He looked them over and gave vent to a low whistle. They
were not the class of patrons to which he was accus-
tomed. :

“Are you Mr. Chiswick?” Frank asked,

“Surest thing you know,” was the reply. eee

“Well, we don’t want to stop here. All we want is
to see a fellow who, we are told, is putting up with you.
His name’s Ethan Glory.”

The hard, red face of Mr. Chiswick grew harder and
redder.

“f don’t disturb no guests o’ mine at this hour for n A
body,” he returned.

“But this is important,” Frank insisted,

“Who are ye, younker?”

ae name’s eeetteres.

out 0’ ‘three ? cut in Chiswick, with a camebie ‘T seen
that, kid, and you’d sure make a good ‘pug’ Ever je
any of the prize ring? I’d like to train ye for the
ring.” oe

“No, I’m no bruiser,”
Ethan Glory’s room?”

“He and the feller with him allowed particular the
wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“But it’s necessary, Chiswick. Glory’s brother, out at
Bonita Place, has been badly hurt, and we were sent =
get him.” ys ee

“Kain’t ae ‘it if. everybody at Bonita Place. is ‘lle |

said Frank ba “Where - 1S

 

 
NEW TIP

1 sah bother them two kids. Come around in the
mornin’?
,.. There.-was a stairway a little farther
and Frank started for it. Owen followed him.
“Here, you!” cried Chiswick “This is my
house, and I ain’t goin’ to allow——’”
“Want us to call an officer, Chiswick?” demanded Frank,
looking around.

This veiled threat caused the proprietor of the board-
ing house to see matters in a different light.

“Oh, well, if that’s the way ye stack up,” he grunted,
“Vil show ye to the room—but it’s dead ag’inst orders,
and I doubt whether them kids will let ye in.”

Taking the lead, Chiswick started up the stairs.

down the

hall,

savagely.

CHAPTER VHT.
A FEW PLAIN FACTS.

Dhia first difficulty, which had promised to be formidable,
aed faded away like a good many other difficulties when
resolutely faced. Chiswick halted before a door and tapped
on it with his fingers.
“Who's there?” asked a muffled yoice—a voice which
_ Frank and Owen recognized at once as Penn’s.
“Young Merriwell is out here and he wants to see Ethan
Glory,” answered Chiswick.
~“You tell Merriwell to go to blazes!” called back the
_ cowboy emphatically. “I don’t want to cross trails with
him, and neither does Ethan.”
“Penn,” spoke up Frank, his eyes flashing, “you’ve got
‘no business standing between me and Ethan Glory. There’s
lot you’ve got to answer for, and you'd better cut. out
the grouch.and be sensible.”
ses por to your pets,” came from Penn, in a surly
one Tm done with you, and I’m going to look after

- Without wasting further words, Frank lifted a foot and
planted it neevily against the dear, close to the knob.

‘Blast it !” pee Chiswick. “I won't end for no hreak-
cwn doors, like that! If you want a rough-house
; “Let. me take the lamp, Chiswick,” cut in Frank calmly,
and t took the light out of the hand of the dazed proprietor.
11 needn’t wait,” he added. “When we get through,
wick, we'll leave quietly.”

half a Sante: Muttering to himself, Chiswick turned
Frank and Owen stepped into the room.
enn, in his pajamas, had scrambled out of bed. With
hed face and doubled fists he stood looking at Mer-
: Ethan was awake.
he sat ‘up in bed and stared.
“Get out of here!” ordered the cowboy.
rank looked around at the poor accommodations in the
In a waslhibow] on a stand were a number of half-
\
‘ou ‘ve ‘certainly hit the bigeat. Penn,”
whole lot harder than I had thought. You started
ur gambling in Camberwell—against your will, you
- but that taste of it seems to have been more than
ould stand. You’ve gone in for the Turkish dope,
too, eh? That’s pretty near the limit. But I’m not here
eee aes a Ethan’s the fellow I’m after.” |

etn cate eee

TOP

He wore a startled look as

" said Frank,

» train.

WEEKLY. Ce See

“Penn’s a friend of mine,” began Ethan, a bit uncer-

“and whatever he s

tainly, says"
Merriwell sharply.

as his own.

“Forget it!” Suteiiiad “Penny-
worth is your worst enemy—as well He’s a
sore head, and his instincts of clean sportsmanship are
about on a par with those of an Apache Indian. Penn’s
locoed. When he gets through playing the fool he’s going
to admit it himself. I know him. If I have to knock
him down in order to talk with you, Ethan, then’”—and
Frank’s cool glance rested on the cowboy—‘“I’m going
to do it.”

“You can’t wind me around your finger, same as you
do the rest of that outfit of yours,” fumed Penn.

“Oh, pickles!” grunted Clancy, in deep disgust. “A little
more of that kind of talk, Pennyworth, and I'll tie
you up in a bow knot and throw you into a corner.”

Frank put the lamp on the washstand. The next mo-
ment he whirled around, and, before Penn and Clancy
could come together, had jumped in between them. With
a quick move he grabbed Penn and‘hurled him down on
the bed. {

“Stay there,” he ordered sharply, “and cut out the
talk. I’ve got something to say to you as well as to
Ethan, and you'll be quiet and hear it.”

The cowboy was choking with rage, but he knew that.
Merriwell never talked for effect. Possibly he had never
before seen Frank in just such a mood, and, while it
aroused his savage resentment, it nevertheless overawed
and quieted him.

“Ethan,” and Frank turned to the lad who was sitting —
up in the bed, “why have you been hanging out in Phoenix?
You got here Monday morning, and your brother and
Tolliver Glory were expecting you out at Bonita Place.
Why didn’t you go?”

Guilt and embarrassment showed in Ethan’s face.
picked nervously at the bedclothes as he answered:

“I was afraid of old Tolliver. He never was a friend
of mine, and I didn’t believe John had patched up the
family troubles as fast and sure as he thought he had.”

“Why didn’t you go out there and see? Do you want
to leave all the work for John? That's what you’ve been
doing, right along. When you fell into the clutches of |
Lucius Lattimer, it was John who had to square your ac-
count with the wholesale grocery house, and then save you
from jail and disgrace by getting that I O U for a thousand —
dollars from the gambler. If you had a spark \of grati-
tude, or an ounce of affection in your miserable body for
the brother who’s done all this for you, you wouldn’t have
stayed in Phoenix when you knew you ought to be at
Bonita Place.

‘Ethan’s face went white. He opened his lips and tried
to talk, but no words came. Frank went on relentlessly. ©

“When you came to Phoenix you fell in with Penny-
worth. Penn had a grouch and he was hating everybody
and wanted to be reckless. So you and he went the rounds
of the chance establishments on Washington Street, smok-
ing and gambling and trying to show just how tough —
and low down you could be. How did you paren: ban
fall in with Penn, anyhow ?”

“He was leaving your private car when Tt ica on the
I thought he’d just reached town,'same as. me, for.
he had a suit case. We walked together up the street
from the depot, and I told him who I was, and he let me
know a few facts about himself, That’s how we € got
together, and: we've stuck together ever since.” xs

He

 

What do you think of yourself, anyway?” as
.

es -a chance for John to pull through!

Penn,”

is out at the ranch,

\be that he’s badly hurt. He

~ “The doctor thinks, Ethan,” Frank answered,
‘ v ’

_ That’s why Clancy and I have come for you.

‘erby with the team and buckboard is waiting outside.
_ Hurry and dress, and we'll see how quick we can get back
to Bonita Place.”

Tan, just how low down I have been!
‘this Glory family, and I’ve never been worth my salt, but

Merriwell’s lips curled as he listened to’ the slow-spoken
words,

“While you’ve been in town, high rolling around with
he went on, “John has been fighting hard for
you out at Bonita Place. A friend of Tolliver’s spotted
you and carried word to the ranch about what you were
doing. John hadn’t said a thing regarding your gambling
and your other troubles, but Haskins let the cat out of the
bag. That was this morning—or, rather, Tuesday morn-

‘ing. Tolliver was bound to come to Phoenix, read the

riot act to you, and send you back to San Francisco. John
tried to keep him from carrying out the plan, said there
was some mistake, and that you’d surely come to the
ranch as soon as you reached town. But Tolliver was
bound to come, and to come alone. The horses ran away
with the old man—they’re spirited animals, and he is
feeble and unable to handle them. John stopped the team,

and now he’s lying back there at Bonita Place all swathed

”

in bandages, out of his head, and—and calling for you
Like a flash Ethan bounded out of bed. He was breath-
ing hard and his face wore an expression of wild anx-
iety and regret. \
“He’s not—he’s
smothered tone. ‘
“The doctor says he has about bue chance in a thou-
sand. Ethan, are you going to stay here when your brother
in that condition?”
The boy was half crying and
“John—my best friend—

not—badly hurt?” he queried, in a

“No!” was the answer.
groping around for his clothes.
I—I didn’t know. I’m going out there. Which way is
the ranch? I’m going to start right now. John! It can’t
always stood by me, and—
and—Merriwell,” and Ethan rushed at Frank and caught
him by the shoulders, “it isn’t so bad as you say, is it?
Tell me!”

Frank, just then, was sorry for Ethan Glory. He was
- pitiably weak and easily led, but no one could look into his
white facé and misty eyes without realizing the depth of
his affection for his brother.

“that you
may be able to help if you’re at the ranch with John.
Sam Weath-

“But he'll pull through?” sobbed Ethan. “Tell me there’s
How—how could I
ever get along without good old John! I'd be in jail this
minute if it hadn’t been for him. He helped me, he fought
Son me, he—he-—— Oh, I know just how much of a/skunk
I’m a misfit in

John has always held me up and kept me going, and——”
Frank, in a kindly way, smothered the tide of self2re-

‘ Rnkcts

“Never mind all that, Ethan,” said he. “The thing to
Bo. now is to get out to Bonita Place. Buck up, old.chap!
We all of us sidestep the right thing now and then, but we
always have a chance to square ourselves. You're getting
your chance now. Hustle into your clothes and we'll be
going. Maybe this won’t turn out so badly, after all.”

Sete sat up on the edge of the bed and watched

NEW TP TOP "WEEKLY

to the cowboy. “I guess you didn’t know what all this —
roystering in Phoenix meant to peor Glory. But you
know now. Take a brace, can’t you? Go back to the
Cleansport. It’s your last chance. We're pulling out at
noon,” é

There was no anger, no flippant air of self-confidence, —
about Arlo Pennyworth now. He seemed in a trance, in
a waking dream—and the dream was not pleasant. But
he gave Merriwell no answer, merely sat.on the edge of
the bed and peered at Ethan Glory.

“Now, Merriwell,” whispered Ethan huskily, after slip-
ping into his coat, “let’s go! Every minute we lose may
mean something—may mean a lot. I want to get out to
the ranch., Tolliver may try to kick me off the place, but
he can’t keep me from seeing John. Nothing can keep
me away from John now!”

“Where’s your grip?” queried Frank. “You're not com-
ing back here, even if you do have to leave Bonita Place.”

“Oh, hang the grip! That doesn’t matter—nothing mat-
ters now but getting out to my brother and—and——”
His voice choked and died:in his throat. ;

Pennyworth got up from the bed, walked to a corner
of the room, closed an open suit case, and handed it to
Merriwell. Even then he had not a word to say.

“Go back to the car, Penn,” again suggested Frank.
“This little flurry will soon be forgotten. You're a good
chap, down at bottom, and all the fellows know it. Take
my advice, will you?” 3

But Penn did not say whether he would or wouldn't, —
He was staring at Ethan as ‘Clancy took the lad by the
arm and walked with him into the hall, and he was still
gazing at the door, white and dazed, as Frank looked back —
on leaving the room. ,

‘Got him, did you?” queried Sam Weatherby as the heyays
a few moments later, began climbing into the buckboard.
“He ought to be lashed up by the thumbs and pos
with a rope’s end,”

“Easy with that kind of talk, Sam,” remonstrated Franie *
in an undertone. “The boy’s taking it pretty hard, so_
don’t crowd him. See how quick you can get us back
to the ranch.”

CHAPTER IX,
DRIFTING BACK TO EARTH.

Sam Weatherby drove the cayuses as they had never |
been driven before. The mettlesome animals flung madly |
along through the night, and the buckboard ter and
lurched and swayed at their heels.

But swiftly as they traveled, the pace was too sts fore“
the impatient Ethan Glory. “Faster, faster!” he urged,
crouching forward and clinging to ‘the seat with both —
hands. “Aren’t we ever going to get there? It seems as
though we’d been an hour on the road.” oy Ne

To Ethan, anxious as he must have been, the way sedrince
longer than it was in reality. As a matter of fact, the
distance between Phoenix and Bonita Place had never\
been covered so swiftly by a team and buckboard as e
had that night.

Weatherby took a vengeful pleasure in forcing the cess
to the limit. He was a masterly driver, and could give
the horses their heads without any fear of their getting
away from him. ‘

“Here we are!” exclaimed Clancy, as, the Tig turned “3
into the tree-lined drive at the ranch.

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nae oe

. “Where was it John stopped the runaway team?” queried
Ethan.

“Right here at the gate.”

Ethan arenes around him through the gloom and. shiv-
ered.’

“It must have’ been awful,’ he murmured,
by the hoofs of frightened horses like that!
like I was still at Chiswick’s, and having a bad
dream. I can hardly realize what’s happened, or where
I am.”

Weatherby drew up at the porch, and his three passen-
a gers tumbled out.

“Merriwell !”
. Merriwell?”

“Yes,” Frank answered. “Take Ethan right into the
house, Clan,” he added to his chum, in a whisper. “There’s
‘no use having a scene with Tolliver if we can help it.
I'll talk with the old gentleman while you get Ethan to
John’s room.”
‘Frank had hoped that Tolliver would be in bed and
asleep by the time he and his companions got back to
Bonita Place with Ethan Glory; but there was to be no
sleep for the veteran that night, and he had resolutely
kept his place on the porch and dozed in his chair while
awaiting the return of the boys.

-“Who’s with you, Merriwell?” demanded the thin, sharp
‘voice of Tolliver. “Who have you boys brought back
from town?”

Frank discovered then that Tolliver had drawn his
chair up in front of the door. It was impossible to get

into the house without first having the old fellow move
-out of the way.

“Come over here, Mr. Glory,” said Frank, ES: to-
ward the end of the porch, “and I’ll tell you all/ about it.”

. “You're deceiving me—everybody’s deceiving me!” cried
“ Tolliver, in a yoice of angry reproach: “You went to

town after that young ne’er do well, Ethan! By Jerry,
you've brought/him out here—here, to this house of mine!”

“beaten down
Seems almost
back

came the voice of Tolliver. “Is that you,

_/ Ethan stepped forward, showing a firmness and cotirage
of which Frank had not thought him possessed.
*T'm

“Nobody’s deceiving»you, Mr. Glory,” said he.

here to see my brother.”

“You're mightily concerned about your brother all at
once,” was the sneering answer. “Why didn’t you come
out to the ranch before? Why were you loafing and gam-
bling in Phoenix for two days when John’ was expecting
‘you every minute at Bonita Place? You're a contemptible
young cub, that’s what you are, and I should feel myself
disgraced if I allowed you under my roof, Get away from
here!”

Tolliver Glory arose wrathfully from his chair and shook
‘ia cane menacingly. Ethan stood his ground and never
_ flinched.

_. “I’m more sorry than I can tell,” he returned, in a trem-
‘bling voice, “for staying away from this ranch when I
ought to have been here. But I’m sorry on John’s ac-
- count, Mr. Glory, not on yours. You're a hard-hearted,
obstinate old man, and I knew very well John hadn’t
patched up the breach in the Glory family. He thought he
had, but I knew better. You're to blame for what hap-
pened to John. I'll never forget that—never, to the long-
est day I live. If you had let John go along with you,
e one ree meee the Meee a ng thers apa are

hindrance and an injury to John all his life!

Fenn went on. “He's

anybody else what ought to be done, and so John had to
save you by sacrificing himself,”

The old man stood listening to this accusation.
no attempt to stop Ethan, and was apparently stricken
dumb by his plain speaking. After a moment or two he
recovered the use of his tongue,

He made

“That’s about what I might expect from the black sheep
of the family,” said he bitterly. “You have no respect
for age or gray hairs, and you are trying to shield your-
self by finding fault with me. I am to blame for what
happened to John, am I? What about you, eh? John —
stood up for you, right in the face of the information
I had that you were in Phoenix, and had been there ever
since Monday morning, gambling and disgracing yourself
and everybody else. That’s where John and I differed,
and that’s why I was going to town alone to give you a
piece of my mind. If you had been honest and square,
you'd have come straight to Bonita Place as soon as you
got off the train. Then everything would have been all
right—and John wouldn't be where he is now. You get —
off this porch, young man, and foot it back to town! You
can’t stay here!”

“I’m going to see my brother!” declared Ethan, between ~
his set teeth. ¥

He started to,pass Tolliver, as he spoke. The old man ee
whirled his cane. With as little violence as possible, Ethan
caught the cane, wrenched it from the shaking hands, and —
dropped it on the porch. Then he pulled open the screen
door and stepped into the hall.

“Show him where to go, Clancy,” said Frank,

The red-headed chap followed Ethan. ,

“I'd like to know,” stormed Tolliver, “who owns_ this
place—whose word is law around this house! The impu-_
dent young upstart! T’l—I’M—— Take your hands off
me, Merriweil!” ;

Tolliver was fumbling at the screen door, trying to get —
it open and follow the two lads who had just passed into
the hall. Frank caught his arm and gently but firmly drew
him back, ~ a
Glory,” he
“If you make a scene now you'll always be sorry

“I want to talk with you a moment, Mr.
begged.
for it.”

“You can’t tell me my business,” snapped Tolliver. “You
went to town and brought that young good-for-nothing
out here. I'll put up with a good deal from you, but |
can’t stand that. Let me go, I say!”

The old man struggled feebly, and Frank‘ restrained. hima
with very little trouble.

“Haven't you any regard for John?” demanded Frank
“Do you want to help him, or don’t you?”

“What has John to do with this?’ panted Tolliver: ,

“He wanted us to get his brother. Doctor Blake. ig
that if we brought Ethan it might help John. That's why
we went after him, Now that we’ye brought him, Mr
Glory, you ‘ought to think enough of John not to it
terfere.” | : +

“Help John? That young scoundrel? Why, he’s been
John ha
had to fight to keep him out of trouble—to keep him ou

.of jail—to save the family name from being dragged

the mire. Blake doesn’t know what he’s

talking about,’
“Blake is trying to restore John to conseionsn ‘
been d¢lirious ever sitice the. ace

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

; dent, and hasn’t realized what has been going on around
him, He asked for me—but when I came he didn’t rec-
ognize me, didn’t seem to see me.

_ for, Mr: Glory, was to get Ethan and help make peace
between Ethan and you. That’s all that’s fretting John
Glory. If you'll be a little kinder, a little more generous,
you'll help John get well. Ethan isn’t a bad sort-——”

“He is!” insisted the wrathful old veteran. “He’s about
as poor a specimen as you could find anywhere. I know.
Haskins told me all about him.”

“Ethan has had his lesson,” continued Frank. “If you'll
give him a chance he'll prove to you that he is a Glory.
_ This accident to John will make a big change in Ethan.”
“Don’t talk.to me! I’m going into the house. If you
won't let go of my arm, Merriwell, you'll have to come

along.”

Tolliver’s voice was pitched high, and Frank was afraid
it would carry to the sick room. It was impossible to keep
the old maniback any longer, so the two passed into the
house and along the hall.

+ The door of John’s: room was open, and Tolliver and

Frank stopped at the threshold and looked in. Ethan was
on his knees beside the bed. John’s: arms were about his
brother, and clutching him tight. /
_ Doctor Blake stepped out into the hall and drew Tolli-
ver and Merry a little to one side of the door.
“Merriwell,” said the doctor approvingly, “you have
p done well. The moment Ethan spoke, his brother recov-
ered consciousness, Having Ethan here is a great thing
' for John Glory!”
_ “Blake,” returned Tolliver,
wool over my eyes?”

“I’m not trying to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes,”
answered Blake testily.
‘it’s time you did the same thing, Glory. You're an obsti-
nate old man, and your temper is carrying you too far.”

“Don’t you talk that way to me!” piped Tolliver.

“ll tell you the truth,’ went on Blake, “no matter how
hard it hurts. If you want to make John Glory happy—
if you want to repay the lad a little for the big sacrifice
he has made for you—y6u'll walk into that room and take
Ethan by the hand. You'll tell Ethan that you'll do for
him just what you were planning to do for John-—and
what you'll never be able to do for John—now.”
_ “What’s that, what’s that?” Tolliver flung back his

tay head and peered with startled eyes at the doctor.
“Who says it’s impossible for me to do for John what
T’'ve planned? Blake! What are you telling me?”
_ Blake had had a long vigil at John Glory’s bedside.
He was tired, and the pitiful little drama, drawing so
swiftly to a close, had pierced his professional veneer and

yuched his heart. His face was gray and drawn, but it
held a hopeless expression which left no need for words.
A’ stifled cry came from the old-man’s lips, for he remem-
bered then what Blake had said hours before about John’s
having “one chance in a thousand.” Even that one chance
was slowly fading.

“Go in, Tolliver,” whispered Blake gently. “Go into that

om and do what I told you. This isn’t a time to cherish
animosities ; it’s the hour when bygones must be bygones,
if ou ee to have any comfort or peace of mind in the

t
Parry

What he wanted me -

“are you trying to pull the’

“John has come to’ himself—and

Merriwell’s heart was like lead. He would have turned
away and gone out on the porch had Blake not caught
him and drawn ‘him into the room.

“You'll want to be here, too, Merriwell,’ he murmured.

CHAPTER X.
A LOSING FIGHT THAT WON.

John Glory’s face was thin and haggard. That con-

- sciousness brought with it a lot of suffering was plain.
And yet there was a serene, happy smile about young

Glory’s lips that brought a quick, hard wrench to Merri- es
well’s heart. te

Al, the ranch helper, who had been on watch for hours,
sat by the table leaning his face on his hand. He was a
burly fellow, and he was trying to hide the erict that iy
twisted deep lines in his sun-browned face. ;

Clancy stood) leaning against the wall and peering fcGie
a window into a dark mass of tangled vines. Sam Weath-—
erby, who had entered the room a moment before Frank >
and the doctor, sat in a corner with his head bowed.

Ethan was still on his knees beside the bed. The tears
stood in his eyes, and he held one of John’s hands in both ©
his own. ee

A silence, disturbed sity by the labored breathing of
those in the room, and by the faint ticking of a clock \in —
the hall, had fallen upon the little group of watchers. a“
seemed to realize the solemnity of the moment.

The night had been one of trying ordeal for Frank. Spi pe
long as there was something to do he ‘had kept going, | ‘3
but now that there was no more to be done he felt his |
hold on himself gradually slipping. *With a fierce effort,
he got the whip hada of his feelings.

“Chip, old man,” said John Glory, his feverishly bhigtee .
eyes resting on Frank, “I’ve been wanting to get a look |
at you. I might have known yeire be here, though, if it
was possible for you to come,’

He reached out his hand. Frank stepped to the ‘side’ of}
the bed and took the hand in his. 7 tye

“Sure I’d come, John,” he answered. “How are you
feeling?” : PAS

“Fine,” was the reply, “since Ethan got here. Seems like
I’d been asleep, sug had just woke up. Uncle Tolliver’s .
right, they say.”

“Yes, John,” said the old man, emerging slowly, from *
dark corner of the room, “I’m all right. I told you to keep ~
away from in front of those horses—and you wouldn't
do it.” some

“T wasn’t going to let you get hurt, if I could help it Ba

“It would have been better if you had let me alone.”

The doctor pushed forward with a glass of medicine,

“Drink this, my boy,” said he. .

Frank and Ethan, between them, lifted John up so ee
could swallow the contents of the glass. ,The medicine
Was a stimulant and its effect was noticeable qhoost at
once. /
“You know:what sort of a tribe the Glorys are, Uncle.
Toll,’ went on John, laughing a little. - “Whenever they
think something ought to be done they’re pretty apt to. ik
ahead and do it.”-

“That’s so, John,” ariswered Tolliver, “that’s always been i
the case. But I’ve been ats and stubborn, and I esa

 
- know it, but you'll find I’m a good loser.

NEW TIP TOP

A troubled expression crossed John’s face, but only for
a moment.

“It's a great thing to have a family you can be proud
of,” said he, “but I guess it’s a bigger thing to make a
family like that proud of you. I'll never be able to fight
for the old flag, same as the other Glorys did. This war
business is a good deal of a back number. But the itch

to stand up for something really worth while—to fight
for it in the last ditéh, if necessary—has always been in
my blood. But war, I reckon, isn’t the only thing that
, calls on a fellow to show his grit. There are other kinds
of fights~a lot of other kinds.”

He turned his' eyes to Merriwell.
“You and I know about -that, Chip,” he continued.
“While I was one of the Athletes we put up some game
battles, eh? Remember Spingarn and the Whipsaw War-
-riors? That was a good, clean fight from start to finish.

And then there was that Camberwell crowd—the struggle
with that bunch was fast and hard, but it was fine! I

don’t think you knew, Chip, how those battles thrilled me.
_ The instinct of the fighting Glorys was always on tap.
You and the Athletes taught me how to be a good winner
and a good loser. I’m losing a fight now, old man. I
Just watch me,
and see. It’s the finest thing in life, Chip, not to be afraid

of yourself when you pao you are up against something
that’s too much for you.”

Ethan dropped his face in the blankets to smother a
sob. John laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Ethan,” said he, “now’s the time to remember that
you're a Glory. And, anyhow, this losing fight of mine is
going to be a winner. I guess that sounds like a conun-
drum, doesn’t it? Well, it’s plain enough to me.”

_ He shifted his gaze to Tolliver Glory.

“Unele Toll,” he proceeded, “we might as well look this
thing square in the eyes. You and I had a difference of
opinion regarding Ethan. But I feel sure that difference
_—like that other disagreement that kept the Glory family
/apart for fifty years—is going to be settled right here and
now to stay settled.”
~ “T was an old fool, my boy,” said the veteran.

tubborn old fool, and——”

“You can’t call yourself names, Uncle Toll. I’d fight if
anybody else tried to do that. I want you to be friends
with Ethan, and I want Ethan to show you that he’s en-

itled to your friendship. How about it, Than? Look up
here, old man, and give it to Uncle Tolliver straight.
; What are you going to do, eh?”

Ethan lifted his head. His eyes were red, but their

lance was steady.

“All I ask of Uncle Tolliver, John,” said he, “is a chance

o show him what’s in me. I guess, with you for a pat-

ern, I can show him that I’ve got a little of the family
pride and spirit.”

“That’s the talk!” murmured John.
“to hat, Uncle Toll?”

_ There were tears streaming down the old man’s face. He
nie around the foot of the bed. Ethan got up and Tol-

‘liver took his hand.

_ “Bygones are going to be bygones, John,
teran..

“Just try me, Uncle Toll,” said Ethan earnestly,
try me!”

“T will, boy. You and John are going to be’ with me

rom now on. The roof that covers my head is to be

“T “‘was-a

“What do you say

” whispered the

“Just

Comes.

WEEKLY. Pee

home to. you; and when I’m done with what little I’ve
got in this world, it’s going to be passed on to the last of
the Glorys.”

Happiness shone in John Glory’s face.

“That’s what I meant when I said I was winning a
ing fight,” said he.

“T can’t see where you lose, John,” spoke up Weatherby.

“You'll see that later, Sam, but never mind that part
of it now. Chip,” and’John gave his attention to Frank,
once more, “I wish every one of the team was out here.
I was going to come to town and say good-by to the fel-
lows, but you'll have to do that for me. The happiest
time of my life was when I was traveling with the Ath-
letes. You and Rufus stood by me—I could never forget
that. I’m tired, now, and I want to turn over and get a
little sleep. Beats all how a couple of bronks could batter
a fellow up like this, eh?”

Frank shook hands with his old teammate once more,
and then Owen came forward and did the-same thing.
When the two chums left the room, John Glory had taken
an easier position on the pillows and was dozing off into
slumber with the smile on his face.

Out on the porch, Merriwell and Clancy dropped into
chairs and were silent for a long time. Finally Clancy
aroused to remark:

“By thunder, Chip, John Glory is going to pull through!
I feel it in my bones. He’s got too much Glory grit to
let a couple of cayuses get the better of him.”

“Shouldn’t wonder if you’re right, Red,” returned Frank
hopefully. “He seemed a whole lot better, didn’t he?
His voice was strong and he gave my hand a good grip.”
He drew a long breath. “I’m about all in,” he added,
“and I could go to sleep in this chair and not half try.”

“It’s been a hard night, and that’s a fact. I’m dog-
tired, myself. But I can’t sleep, Chip. I feel as though
I had to talk. What John said about the team has given
me some ideas I ‘never had befove.”

“In what way?”

“Why, the best kind of a fighting spirit comes out in
the contests of the diamond, the ‘grid’ and the track. A
battle in any line of sport, if it’s clean and honest and
carried on in the right way, is about the finest thing that
ever happened,”

“Of course,” Frank agreed. “A good fighter is a good |
sportsman. Dad always said that. And it’s a finer thing
to be a good loser than a good winner. I’ve got a notion
that I'll have the fight of my life on my hands next
September.” c

“How’s that?”

“Why, when I go to Fardale.”

“When we go to Fardale, Chip. I’m in on that deal,
and you couldn’t pry me loose with a crowbar. But what
the mischief do you mean by having the hardest fight of
your life there? According to my notion, it will be the —
smoothest kind of sailing for you. Your father, and your
Uncle Dick, have left behind them a record which Far-
dale remembers with pride. The school will welcome an- —
other Merriwell with open arms. I'll bet,” and Clancy —
chuckled, “that they'll meet you at the station with a band,
and the band’ will be tooting, ‘See, the oe Hero

x,”

los-

“You’re wrong. I don’t want any soot of that sort,

and there won’t be any. Glory has lived up to the tradi-

tions of his family. If I do the same thing, can’t you see
what a job I’ve got on my hands? Everybody will be ~

 
‘NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

‘Young Merriwell ought to do this, that, and the
his unele, did it,’ and
’'m standing on my
own feet and | know I’m going to make mistakes, but
you can bet [’ll hang on and try to do my best. It’s going
to take nerve and headwork, though, to make any kind
of a showing.” i

“Oh, bother!” answered Claney. “You'll make good
with ground to spare. I guess you’ye dozed off and are
talking in your sleep. I-———’

Clancy cut his words short and hoisted up in his chair.
Leaning forward, he peered along the dusky drive to-
ward the gate.

“What's biting you?” asked Merriwell,

“Ts that some one coming this way?” returned Clancy,
pointing. “Looks as though some one or something was
moving around in the shadow of the trees.”

Frank saw the shadowy form, It was advancing slowly,
erratically, along the drive and was only visible in the
faint starlight that struggled through the overhanging
boughs.

Silently the two lads watched. The form presently. re-
solved itself, beyond all doubt, into a human form, and
advanced to the porch steps. There it halted, apparently
undecided whether to climb to the porch or to turn and

retreat.

“Ts this—is this: Bonita Place?” a familiar yoice asked.

“Penn!” gasped Clancy, in amazement.

“Yes, Penn,” answered Frank, “this is Bonita
Come up here and take a chair.” d

saying,
other thing because his father, or
some one is going ‘to be disappointed.

’

Place.

CHAPTER XI.
A NEW DAY.

Frank was as astonished as Owen at this sudden meet-
ing with the cowboy. Frank, however, adapted himself
quickly to the circumstances. The first shock of surprise,
when it passed, left Owen frosty and forbidding, Penn
had made a fool of himself, and Clancy was showing him
plainly that his behavior was not forgotten.

Merriwell, on the other hand, was more than willing to
- meet Pennyworth halfway in effecting a reconciliation.
_ That little drama now being enacted in the sick room at
Bonita Place had broadened Merry’s mind in the hard
business of life,

The cowboy climbed wearily to the porch and sank into
the chair which Frank pushed oyt for him. For a few
moments no one spoke. Frank was first to break the
silence.

“Did you walk out from town, Penn?”

“Yes. I got some information as to the way to go
from Chiswick, but after I started I didn’t meet a soul,
_ and I was which and t’other as to whether I'd landed in
the right place or not, How’s John?”

“Seems better.”
_ “Ethan in there with him?”
aie ae

“Maybe I shouldn’t have comé,” mused Penn, “but,
somehow, I just couldn’t keep away. What do you think
of me, Chip? What do the rest of the fellows on the
team think of me?”

_ “They think you’ve acted like a bushel of sour grapes,”
_grunted Claney.

are that’s all, I reckon I can stand it,’

kn Ww Te made a foal of myself-——-”

’ said Penn. « “I

,

“You're a little
better late than

cut in Clancy.
but—well,

“Well, that’s something,’
late getting the right idea,
never.”

“Think I’ve made things hard for John,
Penn turned and put the question to Chip.

out hete Me

“John’s got a hard fight on his-hands, Penn,’ Frank an- 7)

sweted, “but I don’t know that you, or any one>else, is se
responsible, Fate seemed to have a lot to do with it. I
guess that what’s happened couldn’t be helped. And, any- —
how, John seems to he pleased over the outcome.” ;
“I’ve been hating myself a heap ever since you and —
Clancy came to Chiswick’s and took Ethan away. All you —
said, Chip, I’ve remembered.. It bore down on me pretty —
hard.” a
“IT was trying to make you sabe a few things, Pogn:
Maybe I was too hard on you-—”
“Not a bit of it,” interrupted Clancy.
it to him hard enough.” , ag
“Tl reckon Red has got it about right,’ observed Penn,
showing a spirit that rather took the breath of his two
listeners. “I’ve made a bobble of everything, seems like, ~
ever since I ducked away from the Cleansport. I was
sour on everything, Meeting Ethan Glory was like drop-
ping in with a friend. He had had his troubles, and I was
having mine. We hooked up, and he told me all about
the telegram he had received telling him to come on to
Phoenix. He was afraid, though, that John was looking

“You didn’t hand

, at things, here at Bonita Place, in too rosy a light.

vowed he wouldn’t come out to the ranch until he could
see John in town and have a talk with him. So we
flocked together, both feeling pretty well down -in the
ing roulette. Ethan was waiting for John to show up in
town. Hanged if I know what I was waiting for—maybe
it was for you, Chip, to come and grab me by the nec

and tow me e back to the Cleansp ort. * V’m ‘Boing to bi) a

days. It “will be a hard fight, but it’s sdothings more th
what's coming to me. What do you think ofthat pro
gram, Chip? I’m tired of, fussing around and we
goat.” ;

“Bully for you, Penn!” Merriwell exclaimed, with a
heartiness and a satisfaction there was no mistaking. “I
felt, all along, that you’d come back to the team. |
fellows will be tickled out of their ahoes,”

“Clancy doesn’t seem to be overjoyed,”

At that, the red-headed chap thawed.

“That’s where you're wrong, Penn!” he declared.
forget what are ene the nat two days.

“Well

tiie goes tiene’ life without ‘edited any pe ‘
he’s—he’s—-well, old’ man, he’s too good to be true, tha
all,”

Penn drew a long breath is relief.

_ “Now that that’s over,”

with him.”
“He’s asleep,”
“Bring him in, anyhow,’
Blake, from the doorway.
~ How long Blake had been standing there, Péasith j
know, None of those on the porch had heard him
to the eno eee

‘said Frank. ;
’ spoke up the voice of

 

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

Al stood near the entrance to the room. He was dab-
bing at his eyes with a red cotton handkerchief.

“He—he lost the fight, all right, Merriwell,” Al mur-

mured, “I reckon the boy knowed what was—what was
~ comin’.”

-Ethan sat by the ‘satis hotead over with his face in
his arms. Blake motioned for Frank, Owen, and the
cowboy to approach the bed.

Yes, John Glory was asleep. The smile was about his
lips, just as it had been’ when Frank and Owen had left
the room, a little while before. He had lost one fight, but
he had won another.
The three lads stood peering down on the silent form
of their old teammate. His cheery voice had rung out
over the diamond for the last time. He had come in from
the field with fewer errors than most players in the game
of life have marked against them.
' Sam Weatherby tiptoed into the room, He brought the
flag that had been hanging in Tolliver’s study.
_ “Tolliver wanted us to lay it over him,’ murmured Sam.
“You fellows help. Just a notion of the poor old man’s,
Chip, but he’s entitled to have a few things his way now,
-T reckon.”
- With gentle hands Frank, case Penn, and Sam spread
the flag. It was a fitting place for Old Glory, Frank
_ thought.

_ The cowboy iin’ away, with a quivering lip. His eyes

fell on the bowed figure at the table. For a moment he

_ The latter looked up. At first, his face hardened as
tia: eyes rested. on Penn’s features ; then the hardness

I was a coward. But that’s past
I’ve got to show what’s in me. I promised

fi ne dies to know, pard.”
<He turned away and went back to the porch. Frank and

The sun was just rising over the umbrella trees. The
round ball comes up quickly in the Southwest. Golden

s were flying along the drive, and all the ominous
‘shadows that had lurked there were gone. The fragrance

t's hard to realize that Totes is gone, Chip,” said Penn.
hen a good fellow steps out it doesn’t seem to make
difference with the way the universe is run.’
‘Everything keeps on just the same,” spoke up Blake,
ng out on thé porch with his medicine case, “but
te changes, for all that. When you are as old as
' and have seen as much of life, you'll understand.
-a new day, my lads. Make the most of it.”, |
went slowly down the steps, and presently Al
with the buckboard. The doctor was going back
n, and Merriwell, Clancy, and Pennyworth went

)

,games for the next three days.

‘CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION,

There was not much talk among those in the buckboard
during the drive back to Phoenix. Doctor Blake was put
down at his office and Penn got out of the wagon at
the place nearest the Mexican quarter and Chiswick’s ©
boarding house.

“I’m going after my stip, " he explained,
get it I’ll come to the car.”

“Wonder if he means it?” murmured Clancy,.as “Al
drove him and Merriwell in the direction of the railroad
yards. 7

“Of course he means: it,” Frank answered. “After
what’s happened out at Bonita’ Place, Clan, how would it
be possible for Penn to say something he didn’t mean?
The fellows on the team must be square with him.”

“T guess they will, Chip. They'll be so broken up over
what’s happened to John Glory that they won’t have much
time for. Penn and his troubles.”

“Don’t say anything about Penn’s skylarking around
Phoenix with Ethan,” cautioned Frank. “It wouldn’t do
any good, anyhow.” \

“Tl keep mum about that.”

The Athletes had had their breakfast, and a number
of them were out on the vacant lot near the tracks playing
ball. They were in jolly mood, for they had had a pleas-
ant time in Phoenix and were confidently expecting to.

“As soon as |

win fresh laurels for the team in the next geet on’their

playing schedule. :
- Clancy dropped off the buckboard to carry the news of
recent events at Bonita Place to the lads on the lot, while
Merry went on to the car. He found Rufus in the state-
room, reading a morning paper.

“What’s the matter with you, Chip?” the Yale man in-—
quired, glancing up anxiously. “Look as though you’ve
been having a hard time of it.”

“T have,” Frank answered. “John Glory died a this —
morning, Rufus.” ;

“No!” exclaimed the manager, astounded and ‘ane
affected. He threw aside his paper. “It hardly seems
possible, Chip. Tell me about it—all about it. 4

Frank, in a few words, gave Horton the substance ofes
all that had happened since he and Clancy had left the —
Cleansport with Sam Weatherby. While he was talking) —
the shouting died away on the vacant lot and the Athletes _
could be seen grouping excitedly around Clancy.) :

“This is too bad, too: bad,” murmured Horton. “But
John Glory left a clean record. Do you remember when
he first came to us in Blyfield, Chip? How proud he was
when he/told about the grandfather who had laid down his
life on Lokal Mountain, and about his father who had
fallen in Cuba, and his great-grandfather who was with
Crockett at the Alamo. Those patriotic ancestors have
no occasion to blush for John Glory. The boy went down
doing his dutyy just as his forefathers did. I’m go--
ing, out to Bonita Place, just as soon as I can get a car,
or a rig of some kind. ‘And I’m going to take every
member of the team.” \

‘ \ . . ,
“But you won't have time, Rufus. We're leaving here
at noon.” ;

“T think, Chip, that we are justified in cancelling our
As a tribute to John

Glory I believe that | is what we should do. a was a Be

'

 
nae TIP TOP: WEERLY:

lad, and is entitled to what little his old teammates can

do for him.”

“Rufus,” said Frank,
“you're one of the best fellows that ever breathed.
eouldn’t do anything that would please our fellows more.
John said the happiest days of his life were spent with
the Athletes. I wish you could have heard him talk about
the team!”

“T can imagine how he felt. He was practically friend-
less when we took him on at Blyfield—friendless, and
fighting hard to save his brother. I am glad that we helped
him. And I-——’

Horton’s words faded on his lips.
the window.

Frank, following Horton’s glance with his own, saw
Arlo Pennyworth coming down toward the vacant lot,
swinging a heavy suit case. What the Yale man was think-
ing was also taking shape m Frank’s mind.

How would Penn’s teammates receive him? Would they
be as frosty as Clancy had been, and give the returning
wanderer a chilly reception, or would they show a true
spirit of sportsmanship and welcome him cordially?

“The boys out there have been saying hard things about
Penn,” murmured Horton. “I wonder if they'll forget
what he has done, or tf they’!l remember it, and cut him?”

eV EE they could have been at Bonita Place,” put in Frank,
“and ‘if they could have heard John/Glory talk, there

wouldn’t be any guesswork about what they’d do, Rufus.”

“Well, let’s watch and see what happens.”

Before Penn reached the group of Athletes his ap-
proach was noted and every eye turned in his direction.
He came on steadily, ready to face anything that might be
offered him. No doubt there were serious misgivings in
his own mind.

But there was no cause for misgivings. The group of
lads’ broke up, and every one of the “youngsters rushed
toward Penn with outstretched hands.

Horton drew a long breath as he sank back in his seat.
. “I’m proud of this team, Chip,” said he.

_ And Frank, although he did not say so, felt that he had
te baa to be.

emotion,
You

his voice husky with

He was staring from

THE END,

An ‘aéroplane plays an important part in the story that
will be found in the next issue of this weekly, No. 57,
out August 3oth. And the use to which the big mechanical
bird is put by Frank Merriwell, junior, and an officer of
the United States army is.a novel one. Don’t fail to read
the story and find out how the aéroplane and Chip’s gift
of ventriloquism help to save the day. The title of the
story is “Frank Merriwell, Junior, on the Wing; or, The
ae of the Shooting Star.”

{

ABOUT LOBSTERS.

ae Lobsters feed on clams, mussels, and other shellfish,
which they are very adept at catching. They lay eggs

of gum to the hairy feet under the body of the mother
ihe they are hatched out. The young ry the female

no matter how hard it tries it cannot escape. Fish and
as bait, and the pots are sunk in deep
water, their locality being by wooden floats or
buoys fastened to them by a rope. These traps are usually
drawn up every day, and the catch secured in floating boxes
until ready for shipment.

meat are used
marked

THE SUNSET EXPRESS.

By FRANCIS MARLOWE.

CHAPTER XXVILI.
MAN TO MAN,

Sullivan, of the Freight Patrol—Big Sullivan, as the men
called him,
leaned against the side of a box car in the South Side ©
freight yards, He was puzzled, and was thoughtfully
wrestling with the situation that had given rise to his
perplexity. ih

He was making his nightly round of the freight yards,
always a troublesome and risky business, when he was
brought up short by the amazing discovery that two of.
the patrolmen were missihg.

Impatient at this slackness, Sullivan stepped to a box ear
and rattled the door. This was his usual signal to his men,
and in the ordinary way it would have been immediately
followed by the appearance of the freight guard.

A growl of anger expressed his feelings when another -
minute passed and he still found himself! alone. Rh

A second and very peremptory rattle of the door sieves
that Sullivan’s patience was rapidly failing him; two!

more minutes of futile waiting exhausted it, and he strode.

determinedly into the gloom ahead of him, chewing his
wrath.

“By the piper! Some one will siiffer for this,” he ‘mute
tered.

He was convinced now that some extraordinary incacles
of discipline had occurred, for he argued that nothing
less than a raid by train pirates could account for the
absence of two men,

In such an event, shots should have been fred, shes
these would have brought the two patrolmen from the:
other end of the yards, half a mile‘ distant. 4

It was when his utmost efforts to find the missing man 3
had proved unavailing that he leaned against the box
car and tried to solve the mystery of their disappearance.

Unwilling though he was to admit it even to himself,
Sullivan was forced to the conclusion that the men had e
proved unworthy of the trust he had placed in them, and
had deserted the patrol—perhaps after robbing the cars
themselves.

To prove that his theory of desertion and robbery was
correct there should be a looted car among the freight in
his immediate neighborhood, /

This would be indisputable evidence, and he detersniieil
to suspend judgment on the missing men until he had found
it. To make ready for the search, he unbuttoned his coat
and drew out the electric lantern he carried beneath it.

He flashed this once to make sure that it was in or
der, then he shifted his feet so as to face the cars and hea
his iRaReCON, of them,

 

for his giant frame and mighty strength—
TIP

NEW.

there was a quick, muffled movement on the top of the car
against which he had been leaning. - ;
_ $ullivan’s ready ears caught the sound, and as he stepped
- back and looked up to find the meaning of it, he whipped
‘his hand to his revolver. But his hand did not reach
the weapon, for a soft, thick cloth or blanket suddenly
“descended on his head, and, while he clutched it with
both hands and struggled wildly to free himself from its
folds, he heard a low whistle, and a heavy body crashed
on top of him and hurled him violently to the ground.
~ Sullivan made a mighty effort to fling off the man who
had dropped on him from the roof of the car, but the
clinging folds of the cloth that enmeshed him hampered
his limbs.
~ In an instant he was pinned to the ground by two
men, and, though he struggled furiously against it, the
cloth was wrapped round his head.

He struck out wildly, but his terrible blows were spent
on the air; he writhed and kicked madly, but his blind
attacks were easily dodged by his captors.

Deprived of air, and almost strangled by the tightened

loth, lights flashed violently before his eyes, and he fell
with his captors on top of him, his strength expired.

The thick covering on his head was’ loosened a moment

ater, and with a heave of his great chest he drew in a
welcome gulp of fresh air.

_ But already his arms were bound fast, and if he would

lave tesisted he could not, but he looked up with unflinch-

ng eyes at the man who faced him.
The mask was no concealment to his shrewd eyes. He

oo not mistake sa tall, peeste Aare of me leader

A prod in the ribs from the other man’s seats warned
ullivan that he was expected to walk on, and the threat-
ing expression on Black Michaels’ face gave him wisdom
obey rather than be shot like a dog.

So they progressed. through the gloomy freight yards,

ssing ae a mystery to which | be believed Black
ic ers held the ee

“T’ve trapped two

‘yon to-night ;/ rl take the rest aioe I want them.”
In pite of his own perilous case, Sullivan was distinctly
eved to find that his suspicions of his men’s loyalty
poendes. He wer not blame therh for being cap-

vanished, Instanily he knew tht meaning of it,

TOP

WEEKLY,

It was the glow from the fire of an engine, shown for a
moment while the fire was being stoked.

But the hope was short-lived, for as they approached
he saw that the engine was in the hands of two masked
men—members of Black Michaels’ gang,

“This is where we want your help,” he heard Michaels
say. “The driver of this engine was foolish enough to
resist us, and he got hurt. We want to take a couple of
cars of freight about twenty miles along the line, where
we can unload them without bother. You'll drive the en-
gine for us.”

“V’ll see you in Timbuctoo before I do!” cried Sulli-
van hotly.

“You'll drive the engine,” said Black Michaels calmly.

“T’ll not,” snapped Sullivan, setting his jaws obstinately.

Black Michaels approached Sullivan threateningly.

“Get into the cab,” he ordered sharply; “we'll cut your
arms free there, and you'll get to work on the engine
or be shot.”

“Save Sullivan, still defiant.
“T’ll not drive that engine for you, so you can get on with
your shooting. I thought you were a man, but you're
just a poor skunk.”

“Say that
teeth,

“T will. You're no man. You dropped me once with
ao hand, but I’m a better man than you, and you eae
it, or you wouldn’t fear to face me without a gun.”

Sulliv an saw that he had at last pierced Black Michaels’
indifference to his taunts, and he was playing desperately
to irritate him still further. ,

Instinetively, he felt that he had struck: the right chord
in the man’s nature, for, like many strong men, the train
pirate was inordinately proud of his physical prowess,
and angrily resented any aspersion on it. His lips twitched
with ill-concealed rage as he listened to the Irishman’s
tirade.

“Cut loose my arms, and stand up to me like a man,”
yelled Sullivan. “I'll bate the head off you in two min-
utes. If I bate you, your men can carry you off, but if
you are the better man Ill drive the engine to wherever
you like to name,”

your. breath,’ answered

again,” said Black Michaels, between his

“D’ye mean that?” interjected Black Michaels, his eyes

flashing fiercely. “You'll drive the engine and take what's

coming to you after if I show you I’m the better?” ;
“That’s it,” said Sullivan scornfully; “but you daren’t

risk it.” a
Black Michaels’ reply was prompt., He handed his re-

volver to one of his men, then with his own hands cut

Sullivan’s bonds and stood before him unarmed.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE FIGHT.

A flat, cinder-strewn piece of ground about tem yards
to the side of the tracks was selected for the fight. Then, —
naked to’ their waists, they faced each other, while the
three train thieves stood by the lantern, watching them |
with fierce eagerness. a

Sullivan, maddened. now by the lust of fighting, was
the first to take the aggressive. With a crouching move-

_ment he drew toward the train pirate and feinted at his

head, meaning to follow up this move with a ae ahi:
blow.

 
22 NEW TIP

out, Black Michaels made no effort to avoid it, but sprang
at him with the swiftness of a tiger, caught the right-arm
blow with his left, and struck him with terrific force on
the chin.

It was a precisely similar blow that had knocked him
over in the South Side yards, and, though he did not fall
this time, he staggered back, and his arms flew up wildly.

Luckily his right arm diverted the blow with which
Black Michaels followed up this attack, and the Irishman
danced away, shaking his bearded head with pain.

With -his eyes gleaming like live coals, Black Michaels
darted after him, but Sullivan had had his lesson, and,
though his pride suffered in doing it, he nimbly retreated
and contented himself with merely guarding his head until
he recovered his shaken senses.

Presently he ventured to make a stand, but already his
ribs were feeling sore from the blows the train pirate had
showered on them.

Black’ Michaels, breathing heavily with his exertions,
was taking matters easily for a moment.

Sullivan, whose mighty shoulders shone with ivory
whiteness in the wan, uncertain moonlight, watched his
opponent keenly.

Flitting back and forward through the lantern rays in
his peculiar crouching attitude, he circled’ round Black
Michaels with light, springy steps.

Twice he got through his guard, and landed stinging
blows on the train pirate’s ribs, but, with an elusiveness
that made Black Michaels set his jaws viciously, he slipped
out of reach .of the returns. :

He was cool and cautious now, sobered by that first
dreadful blow, and was waiting watchfully for a repe-
tition of the lightning rush that had caught him napping
then. Soon it’came, and with it a howl of frantic excite-
ment from the men who watched.

He had thrown out a lure of counterfeit carelessness,
and in a flash Black Michaels leaped for him and shot out
’ his right fist for the mark he had reached before.

This time the Irishman was not there; he had side-
stepped craftily, and as his terrible opponent swept past, he
struck him under the heart with all the strength he could
command. His blow was shrewdly delivered, and as he
felt it land he yelled with wild elation.

A gasp of agony burst from Black Michaels; witlr his
arms hanging limp, he lurched sideways and fell in a heap.

As Black Michaels collapsed, two of his gang rushed at
Sullivan, and it seemed then that his victory had served
him little. .

But before the infuriatedthieves reached him, the crack
of a rifle rang out, and a bullet whizzed across the lantern-
lit space. A shout that followed this told Sullivan that
help had come to him at last.

Dismayed, but loyal to their chief, the train pirates
ran to Black Mithaels and lifted him in their arms. One
of them smashed the lantern with a kick and extin-
guished it.

Ten seconds later, when Robert Payne,and three others
of the Freight Patrol arrived on the cinder-strewn patch
of ground, they found Sullivan alone, calmly putting on his
shirt and coat.

While Payne hastily explained how he and his com-
rade had been bound and gagged within earshot of where
Sullivan was trapped, and how they \had eventually got
free and followed him, the Irishman, fromthe tail of his

 

TOP WEEKLY.

eye, was watching certain black patches that were reced-
ing through the gloom.

It went hard with him to see Black Michaels escape,
when at last he had him in the hollow of his hand, but he
had given his word that his men could carry him off if he
were beaten. It was a fair fight, man to man, and for
that night a truce must be observed.

3ut the fight had a more serious result than Black Mi-
chaels’ escape, for Jim Harvey, taking his lieutenant
to task for letting the gang leader get away, managed to
offend the hot-headed Irishman so seriously that he then
and there resigned from the patrol, and, disdaining Jim’s
attempt at reconciliation, banged out of the office.

By a curious twist of his mind, Sullivan had grown to
regard the war on the freight thieves as a personal feud
between himself and Black Michaels, and he looked on
it that to go back to his engine while Black Michaels
was still at large was to acknowledge himself beaten. He
found offense even in the suggestion, and thrust it from
his: mind with disgust.

“He'd think I was afraid of him,” he muttered.

When he left Jim Harvey’s office, Sullivan was firmly
determined to cut himself adrift from the patrol, but
when he realized that he could not honorably reconcile
himself td taking this step he was in somewhat of a
quandary.

Ignorant of Jim’s actual feelings toward him, he could
not make up his mind to knuckle under by reporting that
evening at headquarters as if nothing unusual had hap-
pened, and yet he could hit on no way of evading this sacri-
fice of dignity unless by deserting the patrol. He was still
seeking an escape from this dilemma when he hesitated at
the choice of two roads, and then came the inspiration that
sent him hurrying southward.

Why not try to track down Black Michaels single-
handed?

CHAPTER XXIX,
SULLIVAN ON THE TRAIL.

It was this thrilling thought ‘that made Sullivan forget
all else and set his blood tingling with the hope that luck
might help him to some daring coup which would place
Black Michaels at his mercy and enable him to emerge
in a blaze of glory from his temporary eclipse.

He remembered it was rumored that Black Michaels was
in hiding on the South Side, and it was there that he
meant to look for him. It was probable, almost certain,
that the man moved freély among the low tenement
dwellers of the neighborhood, secure in the knowledge that
his spies would warn him of any threatening movement
on the part of the police.

Sullivan knew well how almost impossible it was to ar-
rest a criminal in this district, where at the first show
of official force the evildoers took alarm and ran to their
dens like rabbits scampering to their burrows; but he
had strong hopes that he could venture alone into this
thieves’ sanctuary without attracting particular attention to
himself or arousing suspicion of his errand.

If all went well he might track Black Michaels to his
lair, or, better still, catch him unprepared for resistance,
and drag him from his. stronghold at the point of his
revolver. It was a desperate venture, and Sullivan knew
that he carried his life in his hands in attempting it;
but he saw a chance of success in the very: boldness of

 

 

 
a stumpy, black pipe.

be fatal to his chances of

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. | 23

his design,
_ by odds.
When he reached the outskirts of the. tenement district
that was supposed to harbor Black Michaels, Sullivan
flung away the end of his cigar and drew from his pocket
He paused to ‘fill and light this, and
rakishly

and it was not in his nature to be deterred

when he resumed his progress his cap was canted
over his left eye, his hands were stuck in his coat pockets,
and he was walking with a rolling, shuffling gait that
_ Was appropriate to the neighborhood.
A reckless, lawless ruffian he looked as he shouldered
his way carelessly through the mean, ill-paved, malodorous
streets of outlawry. .
Lest he should betray himself, he dared make no in-
- quiries; he knew that the faintest breath of suspicion would
success. His only hope was
that luck might befriend him and enable him to gather a
hint of Black Michaels’ movements.

- But neither in the saloons, where he freely biiattit drinks
for thirsty scoundrels, nor in the streets and alleys, where
he sometimes leaned idly against a wall amid a group of
loafers, did he pick up the smallest ‘crumb of information.
Beyond a piece of waste land ahead of him he could
see the ten-foot wall of the freight yard.
streets behind him, and the only habitations in front of
him were the row of tenements on the east side of the

These houses lay between him and the wall, and he had
to Pass them and rat a considerai ble distance to get onto

© hceves intent on a raid
climb the wall.
The row of tenement houses was, on his right hand
when he got within a hundred yards of the wall. As he
rew abreast of them he glanced casually along the front
the houses, and noticed indifferently that the only human
beings in sight were two men who were standing outside
a house near the middle of the row.
e would have passed on without giving them further
attention, but that, as he was shifting his glance from
rem, a third man emerged from the house they stood hy
id joined them.
_ As this man pores into sal ew Sullivan gave a sharp

To save time i atk to

, ah wis ‘Black ‘Michadls,
pearian was so astounded that for several actonde he

fter a brief parley the men turned and walked eee
his direction, but wien oe were not more than a score

bet ey ies by inv Giintaate exposing his head or
noulder beyond the projecting wall.

his perilous indecision his ears sav ed him from biun-

RS He could stall hear the men aug and he quickly

sa Ae sashes alertness, and then, while he lis-

He had Jeft the ,

tened, he realized with dismay that there was only one man
approaching him,

Two distinct sets of sounds were carried to his ears;
those growing louder each moment were the steps of a
solitary man, while the others were the receding steps of
his companions.

The man swung round the corner of the house, saw Sul-
liyan, and took a hasty pace to the right to avoid collision
with him, As he did so he glanced incuriously at the lazy-
looking figure against the wall.

Sullivan returned the idle scrutiny with a careless gaze.
He knew already that the man was not Black Michaels, and
he was anxious to be rid of him, ‘but as his eyes met the
other’s he saw the casual glance become sharply purposeful
and the pupils of the eyes dwindle almost to pin points.

Instantly he knew that he was recognized and that
nothing but prompt and desperate action would prevent
the neighborheod being raised about his ears. In a
twinkling he flung out his right arm, and before the man
could utter a sound the revolver butt had crashed onto
his head and laid him at Sullivan’s feet with a cracked
skull,

CHAPTER XXX.
THE LAST STAND.

Sullivan stood threateningly over the prone figure until
he realized that the man was no longer a menace to him;
then he glanced swiftly about to make sure that he was
still unobserved, and, leaying the unconscious thief to take
his chance of being discovered by his friends, hurried: for-
ward in chase of Black Michaels.

He saw the train pirate and his remaifing companion
walking slowly to the wall of the freight yard; already
they were more than halfway across the tract of waste
land that divided the wall and the row of houses. }

3lack Michaels’ companion was already at the top of
the wall, and Michaels himself was in the act of climbing
it, when Sullivan’s voice rang out ‘in the harsh command :

“Hands up, Black Michaels!”

As the ominous’ words cleaved the still air, the train
pirate fell from the wall like a stone, landing on the
ground in a crouching position.

As he rose he spun round, a little splash of flame darted
from his right hand, and Sullivan felt a hot stab of pain
in his left shoulder. Michaels had chanced a alent
and found a mark,

Forcing back a cry of pain, Sullivan pressed the trigger
of his revolver, but his wound, slight as it was, had shaken —
his aim, and the shot was wasted. A second shot from
his enemy whizzed dangerously past his head; again he
fired, but missed, and the soft-nosed bullet sprayed against
the wall, driving Black Michaels’ henchman to shelter 2 ‘
the freight yard. : .

Before he fired again, Black Michaels sprang like a cat
for the wall, and in a second was astride it. A bullet
shattered his left hand against the stone he gripped, but
before he dropped out of sight he thrust out his gun
again and aimed steadily for Sullivan’s running figure,
and the patrolman tumbled headlong, almost to the base
of the wall, with a bullet through his left thigh.

For a moment or two he lay babbling ont his raging dis-

appointment like a crying child, when suddenly the erack-

crack of a couple of pistol shots beyond the wall cut

short his bitter lamentations, for in a flash he remem

 
  

‘rather go back to my engine.

 

24

bered the patrolmen on duty there, and he was gripped
by the wild hope that they had brought Black Michaels
to bay. .

The thought nerved him to desperation.
terrible pain he suffered, he strove to reach the wall.
by inch he dragged himself forward; at last one of his
hands touched the wall, and with the reserve of his flag-
ging strength he raised himself until he stood erect. The
worst of his desperate task was before him, for the ten-
foot wall that still stood in the way of his desires was,
in his maimed condition, almost an insuperable obstacle.

If it had not been that the wall at this point had suf-
fered from the inroads of the freight thieves, so that gaps
and projections made it ladderlike, the thing he had set
himself to accomplish would have been impossible.

With unconquerable resolution, he saw that his re-
volver was safely bestowed in his belt; then, while he
supported himself against the wall; he raised his arms
until he found a grip that enabled him to draw his right
leg to a foothold.

Foot by .foot he worked his way to the top, his teeth
gritted to suppress his groans, and his brow dripping the
sweat of agony.

Shouts and a pistol shot as he looked over into the
freight yard told him that the conflict was still in prog-
tess, but the noise of these was almost drowned by a
train of empty freight cars that was rattling through.

Lying almost at length on the stonework, his rapidly
dimming é¢yes sought Black Michaels. To his right he saw
a wounded patrolman vainly trying to struggle to his feet.
Not far from him a second patrolman was engaged in a
fierce struggle with one of the thieves.

As his eyes’ still wandered despairingly in search of
Black Michaels, he saw that two other men of the patrol
were running swiftly to the scene of the fight; and then,
at last, he saw his terrible enemy.

It was plain that Black Michaels had also seen the
approach of reénforcements, for at the moment that Sul-
‘livan caught sight of him he was dashing for one of the
open cars of the freight train that was passing.

He reached the car, and with his right hand gripped it.
While he prepared to swing to safety the last shot of the
fight rang out. It was fired by Sullivan in his last con-
scious effort.

The bullet struck Black Michaels in the right shoulder.
The outlaw grasped blindly at the car, swayed inward,
and fell, to have his life crushed out under the heavy,
grinding. wheels.

Until long afterward Sullivan did not know ‘that his
despairing shot had ended the war between the train
pirates and the Freight Patrol.

As he pressed the trigger of his revolver, he fell from
the top of the wall, and was picked up by the patrolmen,
inert and unconscious, with a broken collar bone added
to his injuries.

Two months in hospital set him. on his feet again, but
when Jim Harvey offered him the command of the Freight
Patrol he refused to accept it.

i “Not for me,” he said, but there was no bitterness or
ill feeling in his words. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d
Now Black Michaels is
gone, there'll be pothing but routine work for the boys;
but, by the piper!” he added, with a reflective gleam in
his eyes, “he was a fighter and kept us busy when he was

Despite the
Inch

alive.”

NEW. TIP TOPY WEERLY,

To Robert Payne then came proraotion to the vacant
command. Jim Harvey was wanted elsewhere; a new
superintendent of motive power was needed on the line,
and the general manager could find no better man to fill
the position than Jim Harvey.

Jim had been through the mill and proved himself,
and now at last the way was clear to the goal of his
ambition.

THE END.

THE CLIFTON MORTGAGE
By HORATIO ALGER, JUNIOR.

Mrs. Clifton had just finished ironing, and seated her-
self at her sewing, when there was a,sound of feet on the
graveled walk, and in a minute or two there was a loud
knock at the door.

‘She lay down her work, and, going to the front door,
opened it.

She saw before her Nathan Burton, commonly known as
Squire Burton, who lived in the large brick house next to
the church,

“Good morning, Mrs. Clifton,” said the squire.

“Good morning, sir. Won’t you walk in?’

“Thank you, I believe I will. I have a little matter of
business with you.”

They went together into the little sitting room, plainiy
but neatly furnished, and Mrs. Clifton drew forward the
rocking-chair in which the squire seated himself.

He was a little man, somewhat inclining to stoutness,
with a cheek.the color of parchment, and a wily look in
his face, which did not impress those who met him favor-
ably.

Mrs. Clifton sat in silent expectation, waiting for him
to communicate the business upon which he had come.

“Ahem!” coughed Squire Burton, “I suppose, Mrs. Clif-

ton, you are aware that I hold a mortgage on this house to
the amount of a thousand dollars.”

“T am aware that you did hold such a mortgage, but my
husband paid you six hundred dollars upon it but a short
time before he died.”

“Please to repeat that remark, Mrs. Clifton.”

She did so, looking at him in some surprise.

“T am very much surprised to hear this—very,” said the

squire. “You are under a strange mistake.”

/ “What do you mean?” demanded the widow quickly.

“T mean that your husband never made me any such pay-
ment. The mortgage remains undiminished.”
“Squire Burton,” said Mrs, Clifton slowly, looking him
steadily in the face, “what your object in making this as-
\ sertion ig, I will not inquire. I will only say that I know
my husband paid you six hundred dollars the week before
his death.”
“Do you mean to accuse me of intended fraud?” ejacu-
Jated the squire, blustering,

“T accuse you of nothing. Call it a mistake—call it for-
getfulness—but my husband paid you that money?”

“Did you see it paid?” ’

“No.”

“How then are you so confident?”

“Because I knew of my husband going to your house
on that errand. I saw the monéy which he counted out

in my presence. When he returned he told me it was paid.”
: ;

 

lt Ai

 

fr FF Tm Ss = —_

 
“No,” said. the widow reluctantly. “He did not.”
7" And at a very good reason,” sneered the squire.
“had none.”

“Didn’t you give him any?”

“IT should if he had paid the money, as a matter of

+

“He

“But he did pay you the money.”
~ “You are mistaken. I will thank you not to say that
again.”
“But I shall say it and reiterate it,” said Mrs. Clifton
warmly. “What could he have done with the money if he
had not paid you, I should like to know?”
“T am sure I cannot say,” said the squire carelessly.
‘You probably know bétter than I do.”
' “Why should he say that he had paid you?”
“That is more than I can tell.”
“T suppose you have come for something else besides
ving me this information,’ said Mrs. Clifton. “If you
lave anything more to say, I will hear it.”
-*T have this to say, that I have the right to foreclose
he mortgage the first of next month,” replied the squire
shortly. f
“Do you intend to do it?”
_“T don’t want to be hard upon you. I am willing to take
this cottage off your hands.”
“You are very kind,” said Mrs. Clifton bitterly.’
“At the most, it is not worth over fifteen hundred dol-

s to yourself. No doubt you would have a difficulty in

ing the thousand dollars, and at auction you would be

pelled to sacrifice your property. I don’t care much
out the house, but I will make you a fair offer for it.”
And shall you be willing to accept me as a tenant, when
louse has become, yours?”
hy, ahem! I have partly promised to let it to a
hew of mine who is going to move into town in the

3 ‘Tt seems to me, Squire Burton, you are a little pre-
: pitate i in letting a house that doesn’t belong to you.”
jought you would feel disposed to accept my offer. —
must have time to think about this. The blow is
- unexpected,” said Mrs. Clifton.
‘Oh, certainly, any reasonable time. Only I can’t gait
ter he time expires. Of course, if you can raise the
nd dollars, I shall not object to receiying it.”
Presume not, as in that case you must have no re-
ce. ut to accept it.”

;

ks ca! Mrs. Clifton searched the house over for

i ‘receipt, but could not find it. It was a great
She could not believe that her husband would

portance. Yet where was ‘it? Tt Was easy to ask
on, but hard to answer. She could only conclude
had lost bs and Squire Burton had found e

heart disease, and being attacked in the street was carried

insensible into Squire Burton’s office—where medical aid
was called. But he was then past help. :

It was the night before the day on which the squire
would have the right to foreclose the mortgage, and still
Mrs. Clifton was unprepared to meet it.
dent in the little- sitting room, when there was a hurried
knock at the door. The visitor proved to be Christopher
Davenport, a youth of seventeen, who was employed in
Squire Burton’s office.
~ “Will you come in, Christopher?” said Mrs. Clifton.

“Thank you, I will. I want to ask you one or two qtes-
tions. Does Squire Burton hold a mortgage on this
house ?”

“He does,”

“For how much?”

“A thousand dollars.”

“Has any of it been paid?”

“He says not, and threaterls to foreclose to-morrow.”

“But your husband did pay a part—did he not?”

“He paid six hundred dollars, but I have no proof of it.”

“Then, Mrs. Clifton, I am glad to say that I can give
you such proof.”

“You can!” exclaimed the widow, joyously and eagerly.

\ ‘Yes, here it is,” and Christopher drew from his pocket
a receipt in form for six hundred dollars, duly signed by
Nathan Burton, and made out to Mr. Clifton.

“Where did you get this, Christopher?” asked Mrs. Clif-
ton eagerly.

“Mr. Burton gave me some letters to answer, and in the
envelope of one I found this receipt. It must have ,got in
through some carelessness of his.
to it, and I brought it to you.”

“You have done me a service I can never forget,’ oe
topher. Have you told any one of this?”

“Only my father, and he bids me say he will send you
the balance of the money to pay the mortgage.”

“God bless him and you! You have saved me \from
much misery.”

* * oo

ome

* % we

She sat despon-

IT knew he had no right —

The next day Squire Burton paid another, visit to the

cottage.

“Well, Mrs. Clifton,” he said,
offer?”

“have... <:

“And will ‘accept it?”

“No.”

“Then you have the thousand dollars ready.”

terest.”
“That won’t do, ma’am.”
“Tt must do. My husband prid you six hundred dottheat
and I am not disposed to pay it to you twice.”: :
“This is all folly, Mrs. Clifton.
evidence of that.”
“What do you call that, sir?”
Squire Burton started back in dismay when thie widow _
quietly produced the receipt.
moment to deny his signature, but a moment’s uri

convinced him that this would be folly.

_ “Where did you find this?” he starnmered,
“Where you did not intend me,” she answered coldly.»
Squire Burton wiped his forehead with his handker=

chief.

“have you thought of my

“T am ready to pay you four hundred dollars with_in- |

You know there is no ~

‘

It was in his mind for a

 
 

 

26 i NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

“This has been an awkward mistake,” he said, at length.
“I—I believe I am growing forgetful. I hope you will not
think -

“T had better not tell you what I think,” said Mrs.
Clifton coldly.

“Don’t trouble yourself about the four hundred dollars.
It can remain on mortgage at present.”

“I propose to pay it to-day—thenceforth, Squire Burton,
there can be no business relations between us. And now,
ds this house is wholly mine, I must ask you never again
to enter it.” :

Squire Burton left the house angry and discomfited. To
this day he does not understand how the lost teceipt found
its way into Mrs. Clifton’s hands.

 

a

FICTION AND REALITY.

Some years ago a short story was published which had
as its leading feature the mysterious killing of a Parisian
artist in his own sttdio. A web of circumstantial evi-
dence led to the arrest of a model who had been in the
habit of posing for him. But through a fortunate chain
of circumstanaes the tragedy was found to have been
caused by the discharge of a firearm through the force of
capillary attraction.

The firearm was used by the artist as a studio accessory,
and was hung in such a manner that he was directly in
line with it. Its discharge occurred when he was alone in
his studio.

This story, a vivid effort of the imagination, has re-
cently foutid a parallel in fact. An American law journal
tells of the arrest of a man upon the charge of killing his
cousin. The dead man was found lying upon a lounge
with a rifle ball in his brain. The cousin, who had an in-
terest of one hundred thousand dollars in his death, was
alone with him in the house at the time.

The discovery of the real cause of death was due to:

the lawyer of the accused who took the fifle from which
the ball had been fired, loaded it, and hung it upon the
wall, and then marked the form of.a man-upon a white
sheet, and placed it upon the lounge where the man had
been found.

There was a glass jug of water upon a shelf above. The
temperature was ninety degrees iti the shade. The jug of
water acted as a sunglass, and the hot rays of the sun
shining through the water were reflected directly upon the
cartridge chamber of the rifle. Eight witnésses were in
the room, and a few minutes after three o’clock there was
a puff and a report, the ball struck the outlined form behind
the ear, and the theory of circumstantial evidence was ex-
ploded.

THE MOST CURIOUS WEAPONS OF WAR NOW
IN USE.

These are to be found in Australia, Patagonia, and India,
where the boomerang, bola, and chakra are the weapons of
war used by the natives respectively. The Austtalian
boomerang is a most formidable weapon, much more so
than it looks, It is made of hard wood, in a curve, and
is from two feet to two féet nine inches long, by from
two to three inches broad. It has one side convex, the
other flat; with a sharp edge along the convexity of the
curvée.. The curve varies greatly in different instfuments.
The thrower can hurl it with great force in any required

/
direction, even making it return and fall behind him. A
writer recorded having seen a dog killed on the spot, and
nearly cut in two by a stroke from the weapon,-and in
another case a brass spur was cut off the heel of a horse-
The Patagonia bola
consists of two and sometimes three balls at the end of

man by a boomerang in its flight.

hide thongs. The balls are made of stone, and sometimes
of iron and copper, and are about the same size as base-
balls. Each thong is from six to eight feet in length, and
is made of two pieces of raw hide, which are damped
and then twisted together. The thrower whirls the weapon
over his head till it has gathered enough centrifugal force
to separate the balls, ard then it is launched against the
object aimed at. The chakra, or war quoit, used by the
Sikhs, in India, is a missile weapon thrown in a manner
somewhat similar to the Australian boomerang, but is
hooplike in shape, less than a foot in diameter, is made of
thin steel, and is sharpened to a razorlike edge on the out-
side. The mode of casting it is to spin it on the forefinger,
and then to hurl it. It is generally aiméd at the face of
the adversary, and a skillful warrior will hurl four or five
in stich rapid succession that it is scarcely possible to avoid
being touched by one of them, and having the face laid
open, or the nose or lip absolutely cut off; and sometimes
if it misses the face, it is said that it will even cut off a
limb.

 

SMALL-HEADED PEOPLE.

Small-headed people have reason to be grateful to Pro-
fessor Virchow, the eminent German scientist, for relieving
them from an unflattering stigma. There has always been
a popular belief that the size of the brain is in proportion
to that of the skull, and that large-headed people are, there-
fore, endowed with a greater amount of intellectual ap-
paratus than those whose heads are small. Professor
Virchow disposes of this theory by pointing out that the
Greeks, one of the most intellectual of nations, are also one
of the smallest-headed of races,

 

LIFE BELTS FOR SWIMMING.

An excellent and cheap life belt for persons leatning to
swim tay be easily made by taking a yard and three-quar-
ters of strong jeans, doubling and dividing it into nine
compartments. A space of two inches should be left after
each third compartment. Fill these divisions with very
fine cuttings of cork, which may be made by slicing up old
corks, or the material can be purchased from a dealer.

Eyelet holes should be worked at the bottom of each
compartment to allow drainage for the water that will soak
through. The neck band and waist strings for securing it
to the body should be. of stout webbing or broad tape, sewed
on strongly with flax thread. Another method consists
in placing a layer of cork or cork cuttings in the lining
of a vest, quilting it at intervals to prevent bunching. This,

.

of course, will require a double lining in the back. ial

SIMPLE FIRE EXTINGUISHER.

A siphon of soda is an excellent fire extinguisher, as the
carbotic-acid gas in the soda water helps to stifle the
flames. The siphon can be tilted, and the fluid will carry
to a considerable height, such as the top of a blazing curs
tain, et cetera.

Bes

 

a

 

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Sree wes

 

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hy

tec

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

NEWS ITEMS OF INTEREST.

 

Haitian Navy Now Thing of the Past.

At last the Haitian navy is destined to serve some prac-
tical purpose. Either she will be torn asunder and sold to

junk dealer or she will be cut down to the requirements

f freight-barge purposes. After holding the gunboat yacht

errier up for sale before the whole world for more than
a year, the dusky West Indian republic has sold the vessel
to a New York firm.

“ce

About a year ago the Haitian cabinet decided on “a
reater-navy” policy, and Captain Bill drew up the plan.

‘He declared that the navy needed a new rudder, an engine

hat would work, no matter which way the wind blew, a
1eWw blade on the propeller, and at least one breech-loading

Captain Bill and his nine men took the Ferrier to the

iladelphia navy yard, where the crew deserted, and the
nited States government was asked to estimate on re-
airs. The government wired to Haiti that it would cost
50,000. . :

“You can have her, and the crew, too,” wired back the
aitian Congress, after it had recovered from the shock.
“Who pays me?” demanded Captain Bill.

Silence followed, and for six re months Captain Bill

Start on Ocean-to-ocean Walk.

With the cheers of 5,000 persons ringing in their ears, ’

rgeants Louis A. Mohr, of the One Hundred and Ninth
ast Artillery ets and Karl Rittman, of the ie

It is expected that the: ie: will: beau the road a year.
| night they will pitch their tents and sleep in the open

Fashion Deforms Fait Feet.

‘ashion is responsible for all the ingrown toe nails
hat women have,” declared Doctor E. G. Waddington, of
roit, when addresssing the annual convention of the

chigan. Eclectic Medical and Surgical Society. “High-
Shoes are oe for nearly all the trouble women

y r wore % as a uniform a ‘blue blouse, with brass but-
‘blue skirt, and a sailor straw hat. They were ap-

‘Miss Jeanette Buchanan,

pointed at the request of the Newport Civic League, and
it is planned to have them on duty all summer, patrolling
the beach and giving especial attention to women in need
of assistance.

Oné of the new additions to the beach police force is
a school-teacher, and the other
is Miss Minnie Smith, who has been doing social- -settlement
work.

Their duties were nominal, and they made no arrests.
One promenaded the beach with a parasol partly conceal-
ing her brass buttons, whil® the other swung a mesh bag
as she walked along. They have not been made members
of the regular.city police force as yet, though Mayor Mac-
Leod has expressed a willingness to make the formal ap-
pointments at the request of the beach management.

The beach is owned by the city, and is patronized largely
by excursion parties. Mayor MacLeod said that the man-
agement believed the convenience of women patrons of
the bathing and amusement features of the beach would be.
met more fully by having women officers to whom they
could tell their troubles more freely than they could to an
ordinary policeman.

Man Coughs Up a Fish or Two.

Paul Nickols, of Benton Harbor, Mich., a farmer, is a

human aquarium.

For weeks he has been suffering from a serious stomach
ailment. Recently he was seized with a violent coughing
attack and emitted a four-inch fish.. Other-coughing spells
have been attended with like results. Attending physicians
say Mr. Nickols. swallowed tiny minnows, which lived and
grew in his stomach. He is recovering rapidly.

He kept the fish, and has it in a glass jar. He calls it
“Jonah,”

The Merit System, —

Secretary Bryan let it be known recently that he is
friendly to the merit system of appointment, promotion,
and tenure in the consular service.

In the public utterances made while he was still a private |
citizen, but based upon personal contact with the American
consular officers in various parts of the world, Mr. Bryan
has not hesitated to express his admiration of the service
as a whole and of the personnel.

Now he has announced he i is inclined to have regard for
civil-service principles, so far as the consular service is
concerned, and that consuls who entered the service in ac-

cordance with these principles are Feigeed to be, dis- —

turbed.

Dies from Eating Baseball,

Six-year-old Annie MacAntee, of 2822 Van Pelt Street,
which, faces Shibe Park, Philadelphia, is dead at her home —
from inflammation of the:stomach from eating the rubber _
of an American League baseball that had been sassy j

over the fence of the Athletics. ae
So many balls have been knocked over fhe Fence re-

cently in the Athletics’ batting mélées that the children

have grown tired of preserving them as trophies, and one

knocked over recently is believed to have been picked up

 
 

28 NEW
by the child, who cut it open and! chewed the rubber that is
placed around the cork-centered sphere. The little girl
swallowed part of the rubber, and Doctor Lewis, who at-
tended her, ascribes her death to this fact.

Pulmotor Saves “Blue Baby.’

A pulmotor brought life to a new-born “blue baby” re-
cently in Lebanon Hospital, New York. He was the child
of Mrs. Ida Nathanson, of 481 East One Hundred and
Sixty-ninth Street, and weighed six pounds.

The baby was born with collapsed lungs, the physician
said, and could not breathe.

Doctor Abraham Bongy, of the Jewish Maternity Hos-
pital, who was in the building, suggested that the pulmotor
be tried. ‘The infant is said to be doing well.

It is the first time, the hospital physicians said, that a
pulmotor has been used on what is called a “blue baby.”

Girl Gets Wireless License.

Alice McConaughy is the 13-year-old Cincinnati, Ohio,
girl whose work as a wireless operator during the big
Ohio flood was told in newspapers throughout the country.
Alice is the first operator of her sex to be granted a wire-
less license in Ohio. The little girl installed a wireless out-

fit in her mother’s. kitchen, and during the flood she re- .

ceived many messages from stricken cities, and saw to it
that aid was sent.

Lightning Has Good Time With This Man.

Lightning struck a pitchfork in the hands of George
Dowdy, of Savannah, Tenn., a farmer, who stood on top
of a load of hay, burned the gloves off his hands, tore
the crown off his hat, and his left shoe from his foot, but
did not injure him in the least.

Sheep Decrease Despite Tariff.

The size of the sheep herds in this country is apparently
little affected by the tariff on wool. In 1880 there were
2,000,000; in 1890, 40,000,000; in I900, 39,000,000, and in
1910, 39,000,000. These figures do not include lambs... In
all these years, except the three or four of the Wilson
tariff, there was a high tariff on wool, and yet the num-
ber of sheep decreased, while the population nearly doubled.
In New England the number of sheep decreased from
1,362,000 in 1880 to 306,000 in 1910. In the middle Atlantic
States the decrease was from 3,600,000 to 1,260,000. In the
north central States the decrease was from 10,566,000 to
6,534,000.

In the west-north central States there was a slight in-
crease between 1880 and 1910, from 3,000,000 to 3,500,000.
In the south Atlantic States there were 2,500,000 in 1880,
and 1,500,000 in r1o10. In the east-south central States
there were 2,308,000 in 1880, and 1,500,000 in 1910. In the
west-south central States there were 4,000,000 in 1880, and
1,660,000 in 1910, In the Pacific States there were 7,000,-
000 in 1880, and 3,778,000 in 1910, The mountain States—
Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, Ari-
zona, Utah, and Nevada—had 7,000,000 sheep in 1880, 18,-
000,000 in 1900, and 19,500,000 in IQIO.

There is no future for sheep raising for wool in this
country except in the latter group of States, and, perhaps,
in western Texas. In the remainder of the country sheep
should be. raised for mutton, with wool only as a_ by-
product.. Mutton is neglected as a food supply in this
country. This causes beef and pork to rise in price, while

TIP TOR “WEEKLY.

In England and Can-
ada mutton is exceedingly popular, as it should be. But
the English and Canadian mutton is high class and com-
pares favorably with the best beef.

The removal of the duty on wool will not kill sheep rais-
ing in America. There is no unlimited supply of wool for
the world’s markets. But it would enable the American
people to wear wool instead of cotton shoddy, and mixtures
of wool and cotton. The duty on wool is an indefensible
imposition upon the American people in the supposed in-
terests of a few owners of large sheep herds.

mutton is scarcely to be had at all.

| Pays $150,000 for Horse.

The sum of $150,000 was paid recently by the govern-
ment of Argentina for the horse Craganour, who was first
past the winning post in the Derby, which was run in
England, in June, but who was disqualified for bumping.

The condition was made that his owner, C. Bower Ismay,
should not permit him to race again.

The horse is to be used for breeding purposes in Ar-
gentina.

Train is Halted by Army of Catetpillats.

Thousands of caterpillars crawling along the rails of
the Montauk division of the Long Island Railroad in a
wood near Montauk Point, stopped a train for several
hours, according to George Paul Englehardt, member of
the department of botany in the Brooklyn Institute, who
was on board the train with a party of specimen hunters.
Englehardt said that while the train was passing through
the wood the wheels failed to grip the rails, and the result
was a standstill.

All of the foliage on the trees, he said, had been eaten
away, and the caterpillars evidently had taken the rails in
an effort to reach near-by greenery. It was not until the
crew threw sand on the rails for a distance of nearly two
miles that progress was made away from the caterpillar
belt.

Last of Mohicans,

The “last) of the Mohicans” is the distinction claimed
for Andrew Harrison, of New Britain, Conn., said to be
the only full-blooded survivor of the famous Indian tribe.
Although Harrison is 80 years old, his hair is ‘black as
coal, and there are few gray hairs in his beard. He lives
in New Britain in the winter and works his farm at Berlin
in the summer. He is a Civil\War veteran, having served
on land and sea, and receives a pension. He was born at
Middlebury, Conn.

“My father was an Indian slave in a Long Island fam-
ily,’ Harrison said the other day. “He wa called Jack,
and,/as was, customary in those days, I was called Jack’s
son, or Jackson. When I enlisted in the navy I took the
name of Andrew Harrison, and it has stuck to me.

“My gtandfather fought with the colonists in the Reyo-

lution, and out of respect to his memory I enlisted for the *

Civil War. After serving on board of the North Carolina
and the Vermont, I was, assigned to the Kingfisher, a small
vessel commanded by Captain Dutch. There I almost lost
my life.

“We had been at anchor in Black Creek, just north of
Hiltonhead, N. C., for three months, when orders came to
ruin into the open sea, as a Confederate vessel with heavy
equipment had located our position. We raised the mains’l
and started from our moorings. But the rudder had be-

 

 
 

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we we

roy oa

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wi rea a

 

 

NEW TIP’ TOP’ WEEKLY. 29

come wedged, and the helmsman and the combined crew ~

were unable to turn the wheel. The first thing we knew
we had gone across the creek, and were hard and fast in
a bank of quicksand. We had barely time to leave and
the water was then up to the gunwales. An hour afterward
the Kingfisher had disappeared. That was the closest call
I eyer had.”

Young High-school Pupil.

Not yet eight years old, but qualified to enter high school
next fall, which he will do, Ralmon Ray, of Roswell, N.
M., is the wonder of the educational world.

Without a single day in the public schools, trained at his
mother’s knee since he was a babe of a few months, Ray
has already. stood the tests required of the average boy jor
girl of fourteen, with six or seven years of study in
school.

The child reads, writes, and talks German and Spanish,
in addition to English, and is now about to take up Latin
as a regular course.

His record equals and almost excels that of Herbert
Wiener, of Harvard University, the famous son of Doctor
Leo Wiener, of Harvard University, who will receive his
degree as doctor of philosophy in June, though but eighteen
years old. If he maintains his present rate of progress he
may be qualified to. enter college when ten years old. Wie-
ner matriculated at Tufts Collegé when he was eleven.

The mother of this boy, who has been his only tutor
from the very earliest day that he could learn, attributes to
him none of the characteristics of a prodigy, or, perhaps,
of a genius, He has been taught how to think, how to
concentrate his mind, and this training has enabled him to
develop a remarkable memory.

See Boat Near Scene of “Titanic” Wreck,

Almost on the exact spot where the ill-fated Titanic
foundered a little more than a year ago, the lookout of
the North German Lloyd steamship Eisenach, which docked
at Baltimore recently with 1,502 immigrants, sighted a
barnacle-covered lifeboat. The derelict was seen floating
keel upward, and the officers of the Eisenach said that
from its appearance it must have been at the mercy of
the waves for at least 12 months.

Device Protects Travelers’ Lives.

The Paris-Lyon-Mediterranean Railway, which is one of
the most enterprising in France, is about to experiment
with an automatic signal alarm on a larger scale than any
yet attempted on the Continent. It will comprise 268 sig-
naling points on a system of double-track lines extending
Over 300 miles, A frog is placed in the middle of the track
at each important signal post, and when the signal is
taised the frog also rises, both being operated by the same
lever from the signal box.. Any locomotive then coming
along will be in touch with the frog on the track, <A special
device for that purpose is under each locomotive.

The contact, made by means of a. wire brush, works
an automatic safety whistle, and in case the driver has not
sten the signal he is sure to hear the whistle. The elec-

tric current is supplied by a battery carried on the loco-

motive.

The company long hesitated before introducing the ap-
Paratus.. The chief objection was not its reliability, which
was pretty certain, but the danger that drivers might be-
come negligent. Instead. of paying close attention to the

 

 

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Piet bied te ibe (yds 3” ie, <3 pS bat Said o>
i ES ne 4 Bee et og tae kh EE Me ie

signals, they might be tempted to rely exclusively on the
automatic warning or to the whistle. It was suggested
that they should be compelled to keep a sort of log of
the position of all the signals, and then it would be
quickly discovered whether they maintained a close look-
not. However, this would have complicated their
work to such an extent that it might have become an-
other incotivenience. The best thing was, therefore, to
trust to their sense of duty, as well as self-preservation, as
they were the first to be exposed to danger if anything
went wrong.

out or

Cake of Soap is His Visiting Card,

Both the city and metropolitan police are chuckling over
a recent incident which occurred within the city limits
of London, England. <A respectably dressed) man was ar-
tested for drunkenness, and on being taken to the sta-
tion persisted in saying that he was a member of Parlia-
ment.

The station sergeant was incredulous, but on a search
being made, no fewer than four cakes of Hotitse of Com-
mons soap were found on him. The telephone was used,
and it was established that the soap merchant came in
from St. Stephen’s, and he was at once released,

The peculiar thing about it is that the police in other
parts of London know this member well, and always when
he is so unfortunate as to encounter them lumps of
House of Commons soap are found on him. The authori-
ties regard the soap as his visiting card.

Fifty Drowned as Ferry Sinks,

About fifty people were drowned by the sinking of a
dilapidated ferryboat while crossing the River Tcheptsa,
Russia, on the Russian Ascension Day. The people were
proceeding to the town of Glazov, ninety-eight miles from
Vyatka.

A riot ensued among the populace of the district owing
to their indignation about the laxity of the police super-
vision of the ferry.

New League for Boys Launched.

Through the incorporation of the Boys’ League of the
District of Columbia, a number of men prominent in
public life hope to establish a nation-wide organization
for boys which will combine the features of the Boy
Scouts, the Y. M. C. A, and the Junior Republic. - The
intention is to make the local league a model on which
similar organizations may be patterned.

The main feature is to be a summer camp in which the
boys will be self-governing, and in which community
problems will be worked out. The league is not de-
nominational and boys between the ages of 10 and 18 years
are to be eligible for membership.

Wyoming Snakes Steal.

The naturalist who said snakes possess a very low order
of intelligence will have to revise his book as a result
of a circumstance that recently came to light at Meeteese,
Wyo. Warm weather “thawed out” a bunch of copper-
heads under a straw stack on the Bar-O Ranch, solving
the mystery of the disappearance of several articles from
the near-by cook shack.

William Rhodes, a cow-puncher, discovered two of the
snakes coming from under the stack, and dispatched them
with shots from his revolver. He then probed the straw

 
 

 

,
rs

30 NEW TIP ‘TOP WEEKLY.

stack witha stick and brought forth an old pair of
trousers. Peeping from the pockets, front and rear, were
three forked tongues of as many copperheads. These
three, also, were executed.

Rhodes then dug into the stack, with the intention of
getting down to the ground. Down at the bottom he un-
covered what had remained of a snake’s nest—a well-
furnished domicile above ground, and not a hole. The nest
was constructed of bits of red blanket.

While poking around in the rags the: cowboy found a
monster copperhead, adorned midway of its body with a
silver napkin ring, into which the snake had evidently
slipped early in the winter, finally becoming too fat to
slide out again.

Feats Monopoly in Beef from Argentina.

Investigation of the interests of American beef pack-
ers in the cattle industry of Argentina was sought in a
resolution introduced recently by Representative O’Shau-
nessy, of Rhode Island, who asked the House to direct
Secretary Bryan to report on the development of American
corporations or interests there since 1905. The resolution
was referred to the foreign affairs committee. In a state-
ment accompanying his resolution, Mr. O’Shaunessy ex-
plained it was introduced because of reports that Ameri-
can packers were preparing to monopolize the Argentina
cattle supply with the passage of the tariff bill putting beef
and probably cattle on the free list.

Farmets Blamed, for Rotten Eggs,

Convinced that means could-be found to overcome the
loss of seven millions of dollars a year in the egg industry,
the department of agriculture has just completed an ex-
tensive inquiry into the causes for bad and addled eggs. In
a statement issued recently the investigators fix the blame
on the farmers and poultry men.

“The greatest part of the loss is due mainly to ignorance
or indifference on the part of the farmer and producer,”

says the report, “and only a small part is caused by care-

lessness on the part of the buyer_and shipper.”
The department urges the observance of five simple

rules in the conduct of the egg industry, as follows:

Give the hens clean nests.

Gather eggs at least once daily.

Keep eggs in a cool, dry place.

Market eggs at least twice a week.

Kill or sell all mature male birds as soon as the hatching
season closes.

Bulldog Gave Clew.

A bull pup owned by John Bisdee, Big Four telegraph
operator, at Danville, Ill., was recently the means of un-
earthing a big freight robbery after bloodhounds and de-
tectives and railway specials had failed.

The pup was found chewing a brand-new tan shoe in
the front yard of Bisdee’s home. The shoe was taken
away from the animal. Later the pup had another new
tan shoe of different size from the first. Bisdee had heard
of the freight-yard robbery and notified detectives. Chief
Walker then arrested George Johnson at the home of
his mother-in-law, in Chicago, on a charge of robbing a
department store.

‘Johnson had a pair of tan shoes and they were found to
be of the same make as those found by the bull pup. A
search of his brother’s premises disclosed thousands of

dollars’ worth of loot, most of which was taken from
freight cars. Johnson admitted that he lost the shoes
found by the pup, but claimed he purchased the two pairs
from a stranger.

Bloodhounds called to trace the department-store rob-
bers were unable to do anything because cayenne pepper had
been, scattered about the premises.

How Hannes Kohlemainen, Finnish Runner, Trains.

This is how Hannes Kolehmainen, champion runner,
goes about keeping himself in trim:

Eats no meats.

Cooks his own meals.

Arises at 6 o’clock and walks two hours.

Takes rub and stows away his breakfast.

Goes to work and sticks till 3 o'clock.

Runs a couple of miles.

Keeps his muscles always warm.

Has careful massage according to his own scheme.

Wears woman’s stockings up to his thighs on cold days.

Goes to bed early and sleeps.

Aftaid to Yawn,

Edward Riedel, of St. Louis, cannot indulge safely in
a yawn. He has tried it five times during the last four
years, and upon each occasion he has dislocated his jaw.

“The first time I dislocated my jaw was about four
years ago,” said Riedel recently. “I went to yawn, and

when I got my mouth open I couldn’t shut it; Four times ,

since then I haye had a similar experience. I went to a
physician and he told me that I must not yawn under any
circumstances.

“Now, when I go to a picture show I have to be care-
ful. After a person looks at the pictures for a while he
usually gets drowsy. Well, here’s one person that doesn’t.
If I feel the least bit sléepy I immediately leave the show
or hold my face in my hands so I can’t open my mouth.
Many an interesting picture I’ve missed because I was
afraid to take a chance with my face.

“T want to yawn all the time. I don’t notice such signs
in other people. I suppose I want to gape just because
I can’t. The desire at times is almost overpowering.”

Watns Kansas Maids,

Owing to the unfortunate and groundless publication in
some newspapers that the Philippines were full of bache-
lors drawing $2,000 gold and more a year, hundreds of
letters are being received by officials and others from lonely
maidens who desire to cast their lot with the possessors
of these fat annual salaries,

It remained, however, for a Kansas woman to endeavor
to organize a private Philippine matrimonial bureau. With
this end in view, she addressed a letter to a Manila news-
paper.

While the excellence of Kansas girls as wives is well
known throughout the world, there is not the dearth of
marriageable maidens nor the great overplus of high-
salaried bachelors in the islands as recent publications might
lead one to suppose. As a matter of fact, most of the high-
salaried men are married, and those who are not have made
their plans to become benedicts on their return to the
States. '

Even including the army, whose officers of the grade
of first lieutenant and above receive salaries of $2,000 or
more, the list of unmarried men,in the Philippine Islands

 

 

 

- FOO!

Fee A pe

 
NEW TIP TOP

only a few hundred, and it is to prevent some trusting

maiden being made a fool of or kept wearing her heart

ut writing letters in a correspondence whose end would

e her humiliation that efforts are being made to counter-
act the influence of the unfortunate publications.

Instances have occurred in the Philippines where some

oung women have been led through promises of marriage’

to take the long trip across the ocean, only to be left
iting at the dock for the suitors who failed to appear.

How He Mastered Slow Ball.

many days I worked on the delivery,”
“I know there were countless times at first

‘Tt has been said that Clark Griffith taight me the
lelivery. That isn’t’ true. I worked it out myself, and

nth after month I practiced it, aiming to get the same
I

1 Iori, but last year with Detroit I had it going at its
best. Many persons think I use it numerous times’ during
a game. I don’t. If I use it five or six times I am re-

American League who
di Naturally,
it ones upon the delivery when facing men I know

once, and that ‘tend it was ies by Neal Ball, of
Boston Red Sox. He caught it for a double, but I can
with pardonable pride that there were times. after
when Ball was helpless before the delivery.

Tris Speaker hit it the hardest. W e were playing the .

= bat that it was ticketed for a home run.
slow ball is the hardest delivery of any to master.

ais appeared x the county court “house ie tis. 3 sworn in
_tnembers of the Portland, Ore, junior police pore

and too yours. At first ‘hey shaded to be allowed
‘demonstrate their fitness, assuring Chief of Police Slover
u they could “lick any fellow in the crowd,” and when
was: oes they retired, many of them in tears.

s setting forth their grainedtionl? Although

these differed in many respects, every

WEEKLY. ee ae 31

one contained the
statement that he “knew of many bad boys.”

Little was accomplished by Chief Slover and Juvenile
Officer McIntosh in the way of organization, owing to the
unexpected number of applicants, which, it is now expected,
will run, when the force is completely organized, to over
1,000. Nearly every youngster spoke of from one to three
friends who, unable to be present personally for one rea-
son or another,’ requested that without fail he “be sent a
star.”

The stars were not distributed. In the first place there
were not neatly enough to go around, and in the second
place Chief Slover decided to change the plan of appoint-
ment, basing the selections to a large degree upon recom-
mendations of principals of the public schools.

The boys were sent home after being given a general
lectute on what was to be expected of them, and told
that stars would be provided later. The “no-star’ an-
nouncement was not met with any great démonstration of
approval by the future “limbs of the law,” but it seemed
to furnish no little glee to the small boys who had been
tuled out.

Ege-breaking Industry,

Egg breaking is the business of a new plant in Sedalia,
Mo., which recently commenced operations. In one room
of this factory thirty-two white-clad girls break eggs all
day long, and they break 144,000 eggs daily.

The factory is that of the Murray-Schmidt Poultry &
Egg Co., which is pioneering in the egg-breaking industry.
Yolks and whites of the eggs are separated as the shells
are broken and then frozen separately in thirty-pound cans.
The surroundings are said to be perfectly sanitary, and the
product is used by bakers and confectioners in preference —
to eggs kept and broken in their own kitchens. The
room in which the eggs are broken is kept at a tempera-
ture of 60 degrees summer and winter.

‘Seaton a Coming Star.

In the first twenty-seven innings he pitched this season,
Tim Seaton, of the Philadelphias, had but two runs scored
against him. He resembles Kid Nichols, the former Bos-
ton star, in his delivery. Furthermore, he believes that
pitchers’ effectiveness depends largely in putting the ball
over the plate, thereby having the batsman constantly in the
hole. Seaton also has unbounded confidence in himself, —
which is at least half the battle.

Seeks Segregation of Negroes in United States Service.

Representative Aswell, of Louisiana, introduced a bill
recently at Washington to separate white government clerks
and employees from negroes.
there shall be no discrimination in favor of or against
employees of equal efficiency on account of race, white
clerks shall not be required to occupy the same offices in
the government departments with negroes, nor be under —

orders of negroes, and that, except in cases of emergency,

white clerks in the railway mail service shall not have
to serve in the same mail car with negro clerks.

:

Wants Umpires to Train,

The usual criticism of the umpire’s work is rampant
again. Both players and fans are finding fault with the
arbitrators’ decisions in the major leagues. The argu- ¥
ments arising over these disputed verdicts have led to an

 

It would provide that while
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

interesting suggestion from a veteran follower of the game.
This thirty-third-degree fan proposes that the umpire be
required to participate ir the spring training in the same
manner as the player is obliged to do in preparation for
the pennant race.

“If they were obliged by rule to go South and train
their eyes and endurance during the regular spring prac-
tice, I think that there would be far less grounds for
disputing their decisions in the early part of the pennant
races. So far as I can see there is no real ground for
objecting to such a procedure. It should work out well for
both the umpires and players. My idea is to send the
American League umpires to cover the National League
training camps, and vice versa. The expense would be
small and could be borne by the league treasuries without
causing any noticeable deficit. The plan would accustom
the players. to disinterested umpiring during the spring
practice and do away with a cause for enmity between
players due to personal arguments and disputes which
have been known to disrupt a team’s play in the past.”

Anatchist Taken in Priest’s Dress.

Cocuzza, a Neapolitan anarchist, was arrested in the
Italian Chamber of Deputies, in Rome, Italy, after having
got in disguised as a priest. The anarchist twice before
succeeded in entering the Chamber, in 1906 and tg11, and
on the latter occasion insulted Premier Giolitti before he
was taken into custody.

Cocuzza said he simply wanted to renew his acquaintance
with Premier Giolitti. He praised the officer who had
recognized him, saying he was deserving of promotion.

Naval Maneuvets to be Like Warfare.

Admiral Boue de Lapeyrere, commander in chief\of the
First French fleet,. has declared that the coming naval
maneuvers will form an exhaustive test both of the crews
and of the material, and will afford much information on
the maximum .measure of work which can be performed
both by the officers and crews.

The admirals will be allowed complete freedom of ac-
tion, and. if necessary the ships will be driven at the
highest possible speed they are capable of developing.

Squadron commanders will act on their own initiative,

Strict war routine will be observed, and ships will navigate

with lights out at night.

A Jack-tat Ball Player.

From Uncle Sam’s navy t6 a major-league baseball club
is some jump, but that’s what Charles Flanagan, of the
cruiser Maryland, made by breaking into the big brush
July 4. He’s been sold to the St. Louis Browns by Owner
Dick Cooley, of the San Diego Bears, of the Southern
California Baseball League.

Flanagan is 21, and has been playing professional base-
ball only a few weeks. But he has been some player,
with emphasis on the “some,” for several years. His star
began to shine locally when he became captain of the
cruiser Maryland’s baseball team. Dick Cooley, who has
a long baseball head, saw him play and signed him up for
the San Diego team; that was before his term of enlist-

-- ment, which ended June 20, expired.

Flanagan couldn’t travel with the team bs os it was on
the road, but he put in some hard licks at home, and Cooley
began to receive telegrams from big-league managers back
East, Chance, of New York; Huggins, of the Cardinals;

Tinker, of the Reds, and others being interested. The St.
Louis Americans got him for $3,500—a record price for a |
lad of his experience. 4
Flanagan is a big fellow physically, and his chief posi- -
tion is catcher. He has played in almost every other posi-
tion in and out of the diamond, and Cooley thinks St.
Louis has a rising star.

“Movies” Tell Secrets.

“See Kentucky society do the turkey trot.” .

Such is the advertisements of moving pictures of the ©
“Lebus society races,” held recently at the farm of Clarence —
Lebus, near Lexington, Ky. The signs which are placard- —
ing the motion-picture theaters of Louisville and central —
Kentucky are raising all kinds of protests from persons:
who attended the one-day race meet.

During the progress of the entertainment the moving-
picture men were everywhere, but when the fact became
known that the rights had beén purchased to exhibit the
pictures all over the country, especially throughout Ken:
tucky, protests were raised. But the protests came too late, —
as the movies already have been shown in Cincinnati and
Lexington. There are 800 feet of film. They cover practi- —
cally every part of the entertainment, including the ar-
rival of the distinguished guests, the races, and the dance
at night.

The pictures are unusually clear, and it is easy to recog-
nize those who participated in the various events, especially
in the dance. 3

Considerable objection has been raised to that portion of
the films which showed the sack races, but the greatest
protest was against the dances, with which the entertain-
ment concluded.

There has been widespread indignation among the gucitle
over the fact that the moving-picture company has been

able to secure rights to give the public an exhibition o

the private entertainment.

Kansas Clean-up Law.

Kansas desires to be classed hereafter as the ‘ ‘spotles
State,” the State that enforces a clean-up law that is th
strictest in the Union.

The Kansas legislature, composed entirely of men, ena
ing that the women get a vote at the next election, w
careful to do almost everything the Kansas women wanted,
and one of the things the women ees was a oles
law that had teeth in it. .

that feacolistbility would be fixed and with a jail acntecgh
and a fine attached to make dirty people think twice befo
deliberately refusing to comply with its provisions.
the law was passed,

It makes it the duty of the county and city health

by Captain Petites Caliardo, the national director of tl
te The start is nap ge to be made soon, @

 
 
SOME OF THE
BACK

NUMBERS OF

W TIP TOP
WEEKLY

SUPPLIED

 

 

678—Dick Merriwell’s Development.
679—Dick Merriwell’s Eye.
680—F rank Merriwell's Zest.
681—F rank Merriwell’s Patience.
683—F rank Merriwell’s Fighters.
684—Dick Merriwell at the “Meet.”
685—Dick Merriwell’s Protest.
686—Dick Merriwell in the Marathon.
687—Dick Merriwell’s Colors.
688—Dick Merriwell, Driver.
689—Dick Merriwell on the Deep.
690—Dick Merriwell in the North Woods.
691—Dick Merriwell’s Dandies.
692—Dick Merriwell’s Skyscooter.
693—Dick Merriwell in the Elk
tains.
694—Dick Merriwell in Utah.
695—Dick Merriwell’s Bluff.
696—Dick Merriwell in the Saddle.
697—Dick Merriwell’s Ranch Friends.
698—Dick Merriwell at Phantom Lake.
$99—Frank Merriwell’s Hold-back.
700O—F rank Merriwell’s Lively Lads.
701—F rank Merriwell as Instructor.
702—Dick Merriwell’s Cayuse.
703—Dick Merriwell’s Quirt.
704—Dick Merriwell’s Freshman Friend.
705—Dick Merriwell’s Best Form.
706—Dick Merriwell’s Prank.
707—Dick Merriwell’s Gambol.
Dick Merriwell’s Gun.
Dick Merriwell at His Best.
fa Dick Merriwell’'s Master Mind.
—Dick Merriwell’s Dander.
2—Dick Merriwell’s Hope.

3—Dick’s Merriwell’s Standard.

—Dick Merriwell’s Sympathy.
5—Dick Merriwell in Lumber Land.
—Frank Merriwell’s Fairness.
—Frank Merriwell’s Pledge.

—F rank Merriwell, the Man of Grit.
j—F rank Merriwell’s Return Blow,
\—F rank Merriwell’s Quest.
1—F rank Merriwell’s Ingots.
22—Frank Merriwell’s Assistance.
723—Frank Merriwell at the Throttle.
724—Frank Merriwell, the Always Ready.
725—Frank Merriwell in Diamond Land.
726—Frank Merriwell’s Desperate Chance.
727—Frank Merriwell’s Black Terror.
728—F rank Merriwell Again on the Slab.
729—F rank Merriwell’s Hard Game.
730—F rank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand.
3 ‘rank Merriwell’s Duplicate.
32—Prauk Merriwell on Rattlesnake
Ranch.
733—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand.
a gpm rank Merriwell’s Treasure Map.
735—F rank Merriwell, Prince of the Rope.
736—Dick Merriwell, Captain of the Var-
sity.
737—Dick Merriwell’s Control.
738—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop.
739—Dick Merriwell’s Masked Enemy.
740—Dick Merriwell’s Motor Car.
741—Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit.
742—Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake.
743—Dick Merriwell in Court.
744—Dick Merriwell’s Silence.
745—Dick Merriwell’s Dog.
746—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge.
747—Dick Merriwell’s Enigma.
748—Dick Merriwell Defeated.
749—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Wing.”’
750—Dick Merriwell’s Sky Chase.
751—Dick Merriwell’s Pick-ups.
752—Dick Merriwell on the Rocking R.
753—Dick Merriwell’s Penetration.
754—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition.
755—Dick Merriwell’s Vantage.
756—Dick Merriwell’s Advice.
757—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue.
758—Dick Merriwell, American.
759—Dick Merriwell’s Understanding.
760—Dick Merriwell, Tutor.
761—Dick Merriwell’s Quandary.
762—Dick Merriwell on the Boards.

Moun-

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.

news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office.

763—Dick Merriwell, Peacemaker.

764—F rank Merriwell’s Sway.

765—Frank Merriwell’s Comprehension.
766—F rank Merriwell’s Young Acrobat.
767—F rank Merriwell’s Tact.
768—Frank Merriwell’s Unknown.
769—Frank Merriwell’s Acuteness.
770—Frank Merriwell’s Young Canadian.
771—F rank Merriwell’s Coward.
772—Frank Merriwell’s Perplexity.
773—Frank Merriwell’s Intervention.
774—Frank Merriwell’s Daring Deed.
775—Frank Merriwell’s Succor.
776—Frank Merriwell’s Wit.
777—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty.
778—Frank Merriwell’s Bold Play.
779—Frank Merriwell’s Insight.
780—lIrank Merriwell’s Guile.
781—Frank Merriwell’s Campaign.
782—Frank Merriwell in the
Forest.
783—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity.
784—Dick Merriwell’s Self-sacrifice.
785—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave.
786—Dick Merriwell’s Perception.
787—Dick .Merriwell’s Mysterious
pearance,
—Dick Merriwell’s Detective Work.
789—Dick Merriwell’s Proof.
790—Dick Merriwell’s Brain Work.
791—Dick Merriwell’s Queer Case.
792—Dick Merriwell. Navigator.
793—Dick Merriwell’s Good Fellowship.
794—Dick Merriwell’s Fun.
795—Dick Merriwell’s Commencement.
796—Dick Merriwell at Montauk Point.
797—Dick Merriwell, Mediator.
798—Dick Merriwell's Decision.
799—Dick Merriwell on the Great Lakes.
800—Dick Merriwell Caught Napping.
801—Dick Merriwell in the Copper
ny.
802—Dick Merriwell Strapped.
803—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness.
804—Dick Merriwell’s Reliance.
805—Dick Merriwell’s College Mate.
806—Dick Merriwell’s Young Pitcher.
807—Dick Merriwell’s Prodding.
SOS—F rank Merriwell’s Boy.
809—Frank Merriwell’s Interference.
810—F rank Merriwell’s Young Warriors.
811—Frank Merriwell’s Appraisal.
812—Frank Merriwell’s Forgiveness.
813—Frank Merriwell’s Lads.
814—Frank Merriwell’s Young Aviators.
815—Frank Merriwell’s Hot-head.
816—Dick Me rriwell, Diplomat.
817—Dick Merriwell in Panama.
818—Dick Merriwell’s Perseverance,
819—Dick Merriwell Triumphant.
820— Dick Merriwell’s Betrayal.
821—Dick Merriwell, Revolutionist.
822—Dick Merriwell’s Fortitude.
823—Dick Merriwell’s Undoing.
824—Dick Merriwell, Universal Coach.
825—Dick Merriwell’s Snare.
826—Dick Merriwell’s Star Pupil.
827—Dick Merriwell’s Astuteness.
828—Dic’: Merriwell’s Responsibility.
829—Dick Merriwell’s Plan.
8830—Dick Merriwell’s Warning.
8: st—Dick Merriwell’s Counsel.
832—Dick Merriwell’s Champions.
8833—Dick Merriwell’s Marksmen.
834—Dick Merriwell’s Enthusiasm.
835—Dick Merriwell’s Solution.
Dick Merriwell’s Foreign Foe.
837 rl Jick Merriwell and the
Warriors.
838- —Dic k Merriwell’s Battle for the Blue.
~Dick Merriwell’s Evidence.
-Dick Merriwell’s Device.
841—Dick Merriwell’s Princeton
nents.
29—Dick Merriwell’s Sixth Sense.
Dick Merriwell’s Strange Clew.
- aT lick Merriwell Comes Back,

National

Disap-

788—

Coun-

Carlisle

:

Oppo-

845—Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Crew.

846—Dick Merriwell Looks Ahead.

847—Dick Merriwell at the Olympics.

848—Dick Merriwell in Stockholm.

84$ ick Merriwell in the Swedish
Stadium.

850—Dick Merriwell’s Marathon.

NEW
New Tip Top Weekly

1-—Frank Merriwell, Jr.
2—F rank Merriwell, Jr.,

>

SERIES.

in the Box.
3—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Struggle.
4—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Skill.
5—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Idaho.
6—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Close Shave.
7—Frank Merriwell, Jr., on Waiting
ders.
8—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Danger.
9—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Relay
thon.
10—Frank Merriwell, Jr., at the Bar Z
Ranch.
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
4—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Scrimmage.
Frank Merriwell, Jr., Misjudged.
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Star Play.
Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Blind Chase,
-Frank Merriwell, atae Discretion.
Frank Merriwel, ’s, Substitute,
Frank Merriwell, , Justified,
21—F rank Merriwell, ai Incog.
22—F rank Merriwell, Jr., Meets the Issue.
Bu. Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Xmas Eve.
4—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Fearless Risk.
-
_

Or-

Mara-

s, Golden Trail.
s, Competitor.
8, Guidance.

Frank Merriwell, Jr., on Skis.

Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ice-boat Chase.

—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ambushed
Foes.

ank Merriwell,

ank Merriwell, Jr.’

26

9:
2
9
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oF

.

Jr., and the Totem.

s, Hockey Game.

s, Clew.

s, Adversary.

Timely Aid,

, in the Desert.

Grueling Test.

Special Mission

Red Bowman.

Task.
Cross-Country

ank Merriwell, Jr.’
‘rank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
23 ye

—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
35—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s,

—K
oy
IP
—rF
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rank Merriwell, Jr.’
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‘ank Merriwell, J1

86—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
87—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
88—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
face.

89—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s,
40—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
4 1— —Frank Merriwell, Jr.,
42—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Teamwork.
43—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ste p-Over
44—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Monterey.
4!

4

Four Miles.
s, Umpire.
oa tracked.

Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Athletes.
6—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Outfielder.
47—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, “Hundred.”
48—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Hobo Twirler.
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Canceled Game.
—IFrank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Weird Adven-
ture,
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Double Header.
-I"v¢ oy Merriwell, Jr.’s, Peck of Trou-
yle
—lFrank Merriwell, Jr., the
Doctor.
54—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Sportsmanship.

Dated August 16th.
55—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ten-Innings,

Dated August 23d.
56—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ordeal.

Dated August 30th.
57—Frank Merriwell, Jr., on the Wing.

Dated September 6th.

58—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Cross-Fire.”

and Spook

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