NEW — KyCents 1Z6 No. DECEMBER26,1914 Hi % c w zr 7] al © FI a a E : i © eo o 0 =f 4 F 5 3) AA % Oe Lt t ven SIS eee ey * noauerw nga — ES eee ower. en Lp PO RT A rr gee (LP We An Ideal Publication For The American Youth => dssued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office, according to an act of Congress, March 8, 1879. Published by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York. Copyright, 1914, by STREET & SMITH, O. G. Smith and G. C. Smith, Proprietors. Terms to NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY Mail Subscribers. (Postage Free.) Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each. How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order, regis- tered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk ifsent by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter. SUMMIIEUN CutGa. 6 vive i. cvan Jade's G5C, ONC YOAT ..--+ceecne ceases cesses $2.50 Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper 4 MONEDS, «-0-06 ceeceeaseensees B5C, 2 COPIES ONE VEAL «+eeeee ceceee se 4.00 change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been 6 Months. ...... s....5..09406--$1.25 EP Copy two yea;>rs.....-..+-..+00+ 4.00 properly credited, and should let us know at once. " r * o No. 126. NEW YORK, December 26, 1914. Price Five Cents. Frank Merriwell, Junior’s, Girl Friend; / Or, TRICKS OF A TRAMP. By BURT L. STANDISH. CHAPTER I. OMAHA OLIVER. Two characters, Colonel Carson, of Carsonville, near Fardale, and the colonel’s unworthy son, Bully Carson, are well known to readers of these stories. The colonel. had money, and thought that he also Jhad standing. Bully Carson had neither, except when he was able to make connection with his father’s roll, or secured money in some nefarious manner, for he would not work enough to hurt himself’ at anything that was honorable. Lately it had been said of him that he had even descended to burglary, but that charge had not been sustained. That he had been arrested on the burglary charge rankled in the mind of Bully Carson. And the poison Of his) hate was now directed chiefly against Chip Mer- _riwell.. For he had heard that Chip had given informa- tion to the constable which had led to his arrest. This was true. Yet if it had not been for certain efforts that Chip had- put forth to aid Bob Stanley, who was himself at the moment under a very dark cloud of sus-\ picion at the academy,. Bully Carson would have made the close acqttaintance of the inside of a jail.* Bully did not believe this, however; so harbored his grudge against Chip Merriwell, and sought means to “get even.” j Bully was lately giving his father a good deal of con- cern and trouble. He was seldom at home, and where he was and what he was doing Colonel Carson did not know, except when, now and then, Bully got into trouble of some sort, and had to call on his father to help him out. On the particular night in which this story opens, Bully Carson was in the village of Fardale, prowling about like an evil dog, rather lazily hoping for something to turn *See No. 125, “Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Fardale Visit.’’ up, and quite ready to turn it up himself, if it promised money or loot of any kind, with a reasonable chance that he could get away with it. The flaming raiment he usu- ally wore was conspicuous by its absence. At the moment, he happened td be down by the freight yards, which were not extensive, but where he some- times found good pickings. Now and again, something small enough to carry off would be left lying where Bully could put-his thieving fingers on it. In addition, the railway was always suggestive of a larger -world out- side, where there must be, he thought, larger possibilities for a fellow of his sort. Having been snarled at by the freight agent, who sus- pected and disliked him, and threatened by a brakeman of the freight train which lay on the siding, Bully was turning away, when he was halted by seeing the sliding oor of one of the freight cars move suspiciously. “Somebody’s in- it, stealing something,” was Bully’s thought, and he moved on the door of the car, thinking he would ‘shake down the thief and make him divvy his plunder. Bully saw that his surmise was correct, when the door slid a little wider, and the man inside dropped out softly into the snow by the track. Bully’s hand came down on him almost instantly. “What luck, bo?” he said, noting, even in the darkness, that the man was of the tramp variety. The man that he, had collared turned on him with a snarl, but he was so shrinking in his manner that Bully was encouraged. > “I reckon you're my meat,” said Bully savagely, “un- less you choose to come across. Divvy the swag.” The cringing man stared heavily at him. “Wot.ye mean? Dere ain’t no swag. Jest stealin’ a ride, And now I’m froze. Take me to der jail, er any- a Pea 2 where, jest so’s I can git warm, Br-r-r! Me f’r a stove— anywhere.” Bully’s hand fell away. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Dat don’t matter.’ Lead me to a fire—I’m stiff wid de cold. Br-r-r! I'd ’a’ been in de sunny Sout’, where der bluebirds aire singin’, if I hadn’t got a term on der island. Only trouble—it wasn’t long enough; it’s a crime ter send a man up fer only sixty days, wid a hard win- ter ahead of him! Yisterday dey let me out—pushed me out. And when I stowed in dat car, t’inkin’ it’d take me south, it switched round and come in dis direction. Br-r-r! Show me where's a fire.” “I reckon you're the kind that. would do anything fer a dollar,” said Bully; “what did they make you do time for?” “I jest lifted a coat I found layin’ loose. Th’ weather was gittin’ cold,.and—say, if you ain’t going to show me where’s a fire, I’m goin’ to tackle the station agent. If dat don’t work der trick, I’m goin’ to slam a brick t’rough de fust plate-glass winder I come to, and git myself pulled. Sixty days more in some good warm jail’ll put me clost to spring.” “Come along, bo,” said Bully, in changed tones; reckon I can find a fire somewheres,” Conducting the half-frozen tramp to a cheap-looking house on a back street, Bully Carson led the way into it, omitting even the ceremony of knocking, To a frowsy woman who appeared he handed a dollar, and remarked: “Found this man in the snow, and am going to take him to that room to warm him up. He’s about all in. I wonder could you furnish him something hot to eat. Anything, so it’s hot?” There was a battered stove in the room to which Bully Carson went with the tramp, but there was’ no fire in it. “Br-r-r! Dis is as old as de car,” grumbled the tramp, as Bully lighted the tin lamp he found on a shelf. "Tl have a fire going in a minute, bo; then the lady will bring you something hot to melt that ice out of you. ’Tis cold to-hight. But you can always expect it to be. a_bit cold in this climate along about Christmas, same’s you expect it to be hot in August.” With the lamp lighted and resting on its shelf, Bully began to cram wood into the old stove, and he soon had a “fire roaring.. The frowsy head of the woman epneared in the door- way. “Would you “want somethin’ to eat yerself, Mr. Car- son?” “she asked. “Yes, bring enough for two. We'll be sociable.” When she had disappeared, he remarked, with a wink: “What I don’t eat you can have. Her charges ain’t high. And I reckon I can get you a bed here, if you ‘want it. It’s tough to have to be outside in a night like this, No Christian way of treating anybody, ’specially round Christmas.” Bully was adopting the genial and philanthropic lay, The tramp was hugging the stoye, his chair close against it, his arms almost around it; he was too cold to do much talking. “T’ink of ’em sendin’ a man up f’r no longer’n sixty days fer burglary, right at de beginnin’ o’ winter! W’y, dat was a crime.” “Burglary? I thought you said it was for -lifting a coat,” ' “Ty NEW TIP TOP WEERLY. The tramp mumbled an indistinguishable answer. “Y’ ain’t come across with your name yet,” Bully re- minded, “You heard mine, when the lady spoke to » me, “When I mark it up wid chalk on walls and de like, I write it Omaha Oliver, So long sense I heard my real name that I’ve fergot it. Jest say Omaha, er Omaha Oliver, and it'll git me. Br-r-r!” He seemed to have no curiosity regarding Carson. “Got a jail in dis place?” he asked. “Lockup,” said Bully, and wanted to say “Br-r-r!” like the tramp; for he had heen in that lockup so recently that it was still a most unpleasant bur in his memory. “Tt’s a hole, too,” he added. “Any plate-glass winders t’ smash? I got t? do some- pin. Tog late in de season to steal anything aff a clo’es line, for women doin’ washin’ dries all de clo’es in de house now, But I c’d burgle a house, mebby, I got t’ git back in prison some’eres, and quick, ’r I'll git pneumony and die. Chee! ‘Dis fire feels good. Dat was a shame, shootin’ dat car off here, ’stead o’ sendin’ it south. What place:is dis, anyhow? Didn’t look t? me, what I seen of it, big- ger’n two by twict.” “This is Fardale. Jever hear o’ Fardale Academy ; bang- up military school? Well, there wouldn’t be any Fardale if *twasn’t f’r that academy.” “Fardale! Fardale!” “Oh, you’ve heard of it?” “Seems t’ me I ’eard dat name some’erés.” “Not many people that ain’t heard of it. Famous insti-_ tution.” The slattern appeared again. . This time she had a pot of steaming coffee and a liberal supply of warmed-over food on a dirty tray, The tramp sniffed the coffee and looked at the food ‘hungrily, “Chee! But youse is de fine lady, an’ dis young gen’elman is it.” “Wrap. yourself round this grub, and you will” eel better,” Bully invited, in his most gracious manner. ‘Hot vittles !” “They look good ta you?” “Good? .’Ere’s.ernough ter warm me. f’r a week, I ain’t a-goin’ t’ fergit dis kindness, lady,” a The “lady” turned and disappeared with:a sniff, “She a was. not pleased.. Bully. Carson’s money came in handy, but she felt that this was the limit, him, so had served the coffee and the food. Bully slinked in here when he was in Fardale, and, d when he was flush, he had overpaid with reckless gen- erosity. Bully was a worthless fellow, she knew, but his money paid her bills as well as that which she re- ceived from her more regular “boarders.” ; She was not out of the ill-kept room, before Omaha Oliver was attacking the food with an appetite made ravenous by fasting and the cold. Bully Carson poured himself some of the coffee and nibbled at some of the unsavory stuff the woman had served. As he did so, he eyed the tramp, and recalled: what he had said. Here was a desperate fellow, he thought, — who would be willing to do anything for a bit of food 5 ; and ‘shelter and a little money, k Omaha Oliver did not: stop eating until the last scrap of the food v was’ gone. ad He -had brought many ~ peculiar and. disreputable characters there,-but never. be= fore a genuine tramp. Still, she could not‘afford to offend © now and then, ~ s* tt a ¥ - Fa “Chee!” he said, in a thick voice. “Dat makes a new man o’ me. Pardner, I ain’t goin’ t’ fergit dis.” The food and warmth of the room, following the starvation and the cold, were making him sleepy al- ready. He rubbed his eyes, and looked at the cots, of whieh there Were two in the room. “Tt’s great t’ git in were it’s warm,” he gurgled; “dat’s wot makes a jail sfem so nice an’ dandy, w’en youse lése yer travelin’ ticket t’ der sunny Sout’. But t’ give a man on’y sixty days, and a hard winter comin’ on——” He looked at his patron, heavy-eyed. “Dis about Fardale?” he said. “I’d as lief crack a crib in dis burg as not, and right now. Got t’ git put away some’eres where ’t’s warm fer der rest o’ der winter, yer see.” Hé was taking it for granted that Bully Carson was more or less a kindred spirit, though he was not a tramp, otherwise he could hardly understand why Car- son had been willing to help him. Also, Omaha Oliver had a discerning eye, that saw Bully in his true light. “Y’ ain’t goin’ t’ put up der dough f’r me long, 0’ course,” he said, inviting a declaration, “f’r ’tain’t t’ be expected. Kind o’ youse t’ do wot ye’ve done. And if déere’s any way | c’n make ’t right, 1 will, 0’ course.” He looked at the cots again. “Chee!” he gasped. “I’m sleepy.” “Turn into that cot over there,” said Bully. “I guess you need sleep.” The tramp threw himself down on the bed, and was soon asleep. Bully Carson sat looking at him. “L wonder if I could use him?” he was thinking. CHAPTER II, CARSON AND HIS COUSIN. There were two apparently contradictory characters in the make-up of Bully Carson. What he liked best was to be a flashy sport, and, until recently, he had heen able to act that role pretty much all the time. His taste in dress was so atrocious that he made a purple patch wherever he moved. The Fardale fellows said his clothes were so loud you could hear them a mile. Yet now and then Bully got close to his “uppers.” That was~when he had had a row with his sporting dad, and the colonel’s pocketbook had closed against him like a clam. It was after one such row, when the colonel had liter- ally turned him’ out of the house, that Bully had gone swiftly along the highway which leads to the peniten- tiary. As le would not work or make no more than a pretense at working, he had tried to eke out a living with his win- nings at gambling, and, when not enough funds came across in that way, he descended to thievery, and some of it of a very petty kind, and in one case he had ventured a burglary. That was when ‘he had broken into Hankins’ store and robbed the moth-eaten safe of three hundred dollars. The pursuit of the ferret-eyed constable, and Bully’s sub- sequent arrest on another charge, had made him afraid to try that kind ‘of work again. There had been a good many burglaries in the various little towns round about Fardale, and by some people, NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 3 ‘after his arrest and acquittal, Bully was believed to have been connected with ‘all of them. This was not true. A gang of local burglars had been at work, and Bully, dipping into that line at an unfortu- nate moment for him, got the credit, or the blame, for crimes he knew nothing about. After Bully’s father had come to his support, and secured his release, there had been a ‘patched-up truce between them, and the colonel had furnished his son with a little money. As this fact was known, it enabled Bully to bring forth his secreted hoard—the three hundred dollars he had got in that burglary, so that once more he was able to blossom out in clothing that had all the colors of a spring-clad tulip bed. Thus arrayed, he made an evening visit to his ‘cousin, Bob Randall, one of the Fardale students. He. found access easy, because of the relaxed rules of the holiday season. It cannot be said that the rather proud young South- erner relished this visit frofm Bully Carson. Randall considered himself a gentleman, and he was quite sure that Bully was not. In addition, Bully was now in very bad odor. “Y’ ain't glad to see me,” said Bully, noting Randall's frowm He helped himself coolly to a ¢hair. “I §’pose that’s because I got pulled. But they didn’t have any-~ "Twas all Merriwell’s lies.” “I thought he rather helped you—tried to get you out of it,” said Randall. “That the way he puts it up. The old Merriwell dope, y know. That kid is the (biggest four-flusher — that ever came down the pike.” thing against me. He eyed Randall curiously, and wondered that he did not comment on his new clothing. Also, he was won- dering if Randall had really changed much, except out- wardly, for it was Bully’s secret belief that Randall was in every way as bad as he was himself, only he had been clever enough to screen it from the general public. It must be admitted that Bully Carson had some ground for this belief, too. It was not so long ago but that he could remember it quite clearly, when Bob Randall had entered with him into a most despicable game to injure Chip Merriwell. That was when Colonel Carson had some heavy bets laid against the success of the Fardale baseball team. Bully had‘ worked on Randall’s dislike of Chip so suc- cessfully, then, that the Southerner had actually tried to drug Chip’s drinking wé@ter, so that he might be kept out of the game. It was true, that, since those eventful days, Randall had become Chip’s friend, and that a good deal of water had flowed under the bridge. Chip had been away, hav- ing a lot of adventures, Bully had heard, while Ran- dall had remained in Fardale, boning at his studies and taking part in various games, As it was so difficult for Bully himself to change in- wardly, éven a little bit, he was not ready to believe in any effectual change on the part of any one else, and, least of all, in Bob Randall. “Merriwell’s four-flushin’ worse than ever, since he came back,” Bully’ observed; “bein’ out in the wild-and- | woolly country ain’t done him a mite o’ good. Yet I spose you're taggin’ along behind him, like the other Pee KICI 4 NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY, fellers, throwin’ up your cap and hollerin’ every time he looks at ye.” “What’s the point?” said Randall. “Y’ain’t glad to see me?” “Why—of course,” “Well, I won’t tarry long. I just came up to get some information about this hockey match with Franklin, that I hear about. It’s goin’ to be a queer thing, ain’t it?” “Queer in what way?” said Randall. “Well, it ain’t the Fardale team, and it ain’t the Frank- lin team, yet it’s Fardale against Franklin. I wanted to know who’s goin’ to be on the teams. As I heard that you was to play with Fardale, 1 allowed you would know.” “They're pick-up teams,” Randall explained. “Here and / at Franklin, most of the fellows have gone home for Christmas. So, while, in a general way, the teams that are to play are called Fardale and Franklin, they aren’t, really. For instance, Chip Merriwell is to play for Far- dale, and he hasn’t been at Fardale this half year.” “Yah!” “Some of the Franklin players are from the town, in- stead of the Franklin school. That’s the way it is, you see. No claim is made that the teams represent Franklin and Fardale academies. They’re just pick-up teams that are going to play, so as to have a hockey game.” “Course they couldn’t get along without Chip Merri- well! Yah! I hate that feller. The way you came under his yoke, after you had been so hot against him, makes me sick when I think of it.” “Don’t think of it, then. But I didn’t come under his yoke.” “Oh, yes, you did! Just like all the other molly- coddles. You ain’t got any iron in yer blood—no sand in your crop.” Randall’s eyes began to glitter. As usual, when his anger rose, he began to slip back into his old method of speaking, slurring his “r” and using expressions that he had been learning to avoid. “I don’t like yo’ tone, Cahson,” he said. “Just be- cause I’m trying to be a gentleman up heah, and it seems you cain’t be: one yo’self, you think I’m truckling to Merry, but you ah mistaken, Cahson.” _“Vou’re his friend.” x “Suah. And why? Because, Cahson,’ he treated me white. He had a chaince to throw me down hahd that time, and you know it, and he didn’t do it; he treated me white, though he knew foh suah that I drugged that water.” “Vah! And I was the one who drank that water!” “You cain’t say that I was responsible foh that, Cah- son. I drugged it foh Merriwell, and, by chaince you drank it.” “Yah! Jl never forget it. Let’s talk about same- thing pleasant. I came up here to get the names of those players—all of them.” He took out a notebook and a stub pencil. “I'll put ’em down here as you call ’em off to me.” Randall called them off. After he, had written them down, Bully sat looking ‘at him curiously. “Can I trust you to keep a:secret, if | give it to you?” he said. “I hope I know how to keep my mouth shut,” Ran- “But if you’re planning up you'd better cut it dall answered, a bit crisply. any dirty work against Merriwell, out, take it from me.” “I’ve got some plans against that feller,” “Can ’em,” Randall advised. “But what I want to know is, will you blow on me if I mention ’em to you? You oughtn’t. We're cousins, you know.” “T don’t like yo’ ways, Cahson, and that's the faet. As to ouah being cousins-——” Bully boasted. “There’s money in this for you, if you'll go into it with me,” said Bully, in what he hoped was a tempting tone; “good money.” “Betting? You cain’t get up any bets on that hockey match.” Bully winked knowingly. “That’s all right, Randall. Want to play the game with me—for good money? You once wereri’t 36 squeamish. Good money looks good to you, same’s it does to me, and I know it.” “Count me out of it,” “Oh, all right!” “Besides, Bully,” and this was in a changed tone, “T cain’t risk my reputation by even going round with you, since that affair. Hope you won’t feel hard at my say-.. ing so, You're getting yourself in bad everywhere. the tough streaks! I don’t want to reach the point whey I'll have to say that I’m not even acquainted with you.” Bully arose, red-faced, stuffing his list of players into his pocket. said Randall loftily, “T don’t need your advice, Ran,” he growled. “You're going to try some trickery work against our ~ hockey team?” “T don’t have to say—now.” ; ‘i He turned toward the door. ; “Just another word, Cahson. You were up here in my room the night that old overcoat and wig was missing — from Clancy’s room; but I suppose you didn’t take “em? That constable testified, you know, when he showed that old overcoat, that he pulled it off yo’ back.” “Yah!” Bully growled again, touched on a sore spot. “T never saw that old ovércoat until the constable pre- duced it at the trial, And they didn’t fasten ayes on me there, just remember.” He disappeared through the doorway. CHAPTER III. HORSE HAIRS. For various reasons, there was no good feeling be- tween Chip Merriwell and Bob Stanley. The chief of these reasons was a hidden jealousy. Mrs. Winfield, keeper of the select boarding house where Chip was stopping, having a woman’s keen intui- tion, understood this state of concealed enmity, and its cause, without a word being spoken by any one, and” she voiced her thoughts in muttered words when she saw pretty Rhoda Realf talking, in an animated. way, with Stanley before the door, as Chip turned in through the gate from the street. “She is learning the art early,” “The way to make a fellow think him fear he may lose you. said Mrs. Winfield, a lot of you is te make It always works. But f wonder how Rhoda learned it so early? It’s a knowledge of oe Can’ b Sal ts NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. that must have been born in her.. I hope, though, that she will not develop into a flirt. I dislike a flirt.” _ Mrs. Winfield’s sympathies, were probably with Bob Stanley, as shé was his aunt. Chip’s face darkened as he saw Rhoda and Stanley to- gether before the door and heard their merry words and laughter. How the girl could see anything attrac- tive in Stanley was a mystery to him.. No doubt, Bob Stanley had some good points, but they did not seem to bé conspicuous, and, as for looks, Chip was sure that Stanley was anything but handsome, for he was large, to bulkiness, had a coarse and heavy voice, and a florid face, in which his light-blue eyes seemed flat and colorless. Forcing a pleasant smile and a nod, Chip lifted his hat to Rhoda, and passed on, and“ up to his room. But he came down in a minute, having seen Stanley go out at the gate and turn toward the academy buildings. “You looked so cross when you went by me,” said Rhoda, meeting him in the hall. . “Did I?” he said. “Well, if I did, perhaps it’s because I was afraid you were making arrangements to go out somewhere with Stan, and that would interfere with an arrangement I hoped I could make. What do you say to a sleigh ride this afternoon? The roads. are great now.” . “Mr. Stanley was—speaking of a sleigh ride,” ‘mitted; “but he set no time.” _ “Then you can go with me? she ad- There’s a dandy sleigh at the stables in Fardale, and I’ll phone to have it brought ip here. What do you say?” a! hat will give me time to get ready! I'll be delighted gt 0 go, “Mr. Merriwell. T do love a sleigh ride.” As she fled to her room to make her preparations, and ‘ Chi turned to the telephone, he was hoping that in some “manner he could induce her not to go sleighing with Stanley at all. Though how to bring that about was a 7 | _ The roads were as fine for sleighing as Chip said they were, as Rhoda discovered when they’ drove forth, to the merry jingle of sleigh bells. She felt very happy and contented, wrapped in her warm furs, sitting beside Chip Merri- well, listening to that musical jingle, while the snowy land- scape slid by. More than one person whom they passed turned to look at her piquant, bright face and blue eyes peeping out of those furs, and at the manly young fellow who was - with her. “Is there any particular place you want to go?’ Chip asked. “No, just anywhere. All these roads are fine. I do love a ‘hilly country, don’t you; it’s so flat in Cam- met i” Their talk was not very enlightening, nor interesting, Bias Reivapt to themselves. They were just boy and girl to- gether, having a good time. And it seemed a part of _Christmas—to have a good time. -\ Chip drove over the familiar roads about Fardale. What they talked about he hardly knew, even afterward— he was too conscious of the presence of the girl at his side, but he gained some idea of her home life, of her mother—he had not known certainly, before, that her mother was living—and of her brother, whom Chip had in Santa Fe and disliked. they had gone but a short distance on their way, in the sleigh, an incident occurred which came back to Chip with sus- picion and force later in the drive. A man of the Weary Willie type arose suddenly by the roadside and stumbled out into the toad, so that if Chip had not drawn in his horse suddenly he would have run the man down. “That was your fault,” said Chip; “you must have heard us coming. You couldn’t help hearing the bells.” The tramp looked at him heavily, in a manner that frightened the girl. “Drive on, Mr. Merriwell,” she urged. The man still blocked the way. “Merriwell?” he said, “Did I ketch that? Your name Merriwell ?” “That’s my name,” said Chip, a bit ungraciously; like to pass, if you please.” “Merriwell, of Fardale? Seems t’ name!” He looked at Chip as if studying him. mebby I’ve read about him.” 9 “we'd me J has ’eard that “Or, “TE you ever read about any Merriwell, of Fardale,” said Chip, “it was probably my father.” “Dick Merriwell ?” “Frank Merriwell, Dick Merriwell’s brother. youll let me pass, it will be a favor.” Rhoda Realf was snuggling close against Chip, in fear. “Nice hoss you got ere,” commented the tramp, coming along by him, letting his rough hand slip over the horse’s well-groomed coat; “nice hoss, An’ a nice an’ proper young feller y be. So you aire a Merriwell?” He felt of the horse’s legs and looked at its feet, let- ting his hand slide along as if he really loved a good animal, but seldom had a chance to be near one. “Nice hoss and a nice boy; al-so a nice gal.” “Stand out of the way,” said Chip, feeling Rhoda trembling. The tramp looked him straight in the face. “And a Merriwell!” Under the touch of Chip’s whip, the horse sprang on, and the tramp, ducking back to escape the runner near him, was left standing in the snowy road. Now, if “And him a Merriwell!” he said, with a quaint touch in his tones. Chip thought little enough of him, though it had been annoying, until he was driving homeward, The return was not made rapidly. Chip, was in no hurry to bring that pleasant drive to a close, was one reason; the other, being that now and then the horse > had gone lame. But the lameness, which seemed increasing, was for- gotten by the horse when a big-dog jumped out before — it into the road in pursuit of some small animal. The dog gave a snarling yelp as the horse struck it. This frightened the horse, and he began to try and run away. Rhoda screamed and clutched Chip’s arm, which ham-— pered him in his effort to get control, and when the horse clamped the bit between its teeth, the pull on oe reins had little effect. There was only one way to break that grip of the teeth, and that was to saw with the reins. This Chip was doing, when the horse flung sideways on the edge of a steep hill, and horse and sleigh went over re . i crash. The next instant hy found himself ne in a ‘snow: 6 NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. drift, with the reins tightly wrapped round his hands, and the horse kicking and struggling in the harness. It was not only a humiliating end to a pleasant drive, but an alarming one. Naturally, Chip’s first thought was of Rhoda. She had been hurled into the drift near him, and was half buried in it, but, apparently, she was not hurt. She was even trying to laugh, as she began;to dig herself out of the snow. —~ The struggling horse demanded attention. It was fling- ing and kicking itself farther round, and into a ferice of barbéd wire. Chip slipped the reins off his hands and scrambled to the horse’s head. But as it was now down on its side and throwing its head ‘about, at the same time lung- ing in an effort to rise, it was not an easy thing to get hold of the bit, and remain uninjured. Chip accomplished it, and steadied the horse so’ that it could struggle to its feet. The sleigh had been overturned snapped. By the time that Chip had the horse up, Rhoda Realf had pulled herself out of the drift, and gained the road, on whose rim she now stood looking down, while she watched Chip’s efforts and tried to give advice. “The horse has cut itself on that wire!” she said. Chip gave attention to this cut on a hind leg, after he had the horse and the sleigh up the slope and back into the road. As he examined the slight wound and ran his hands over the leg to make, certain there were no other injuries, he made a discovery. His hand struck something so different from the smooth hair in which it was imbedded that it seemed like wire. “Thats” queer,” he thought, and stopped to look at it. The girl’ had already been warning him that he would ‘be kicked, and she warned him again now. / “There is something queer here,” said Chip, “and I want to see what it, is.” “The horse may kick you, and run away again.” Its fall and snowy flounder seemed, however, to have tamed the animal, and it did not try to run away again, but stood trembling. Then it flinched in a half leap, as Chip jerked his hand suddenly away from its leg. In his hand he held up three stiff short hairs that were evidently from the tail of a horse. “See that!” he said, and his voice had an odd ring. “These hairs were in the horse’s leg there, just as if they had been sewed through with a needle and then clipped off.” “That tramp did that!” she said, her face pale. “Don’t you remembér how he put his hand down on the horse’s leg? And that’s what made the horse go lame!” - _. Chip recalled the scene, clearly. He looked at the stiff hairs and at the horse’s leg from which he had pulled them. _ “The tramp?” he said. “I worlder if there are any more there?” A close inspection failed to find any more. ' “Why would the tramp do that?” he asked. “Just for meanness,” she declared; “he had a horrid face! It scared me just to look at him. Don’t you re- member how he insisted on talking, and put his hand on the horse’s side, and then down on its legs? And once the horse flinched—don’t you remember ?” “But why should he want to do it?” Chip repeated, as and a brace had f he had not heard her, and was asking the question of ‘in beside her, after a glance at the broken brace. himself. “2 can’t see why he would want to do it. hadn’t harmed him! We had never seen him before.” The girl’s starry-blue eyes were thoughtful. “He kept saying, ‘Is your name Merriwell? You re- member that. At first he heard me speak to you, and so heard your name. Before that he wasn’t interested in you, but his manner changed as soon as he heard your name. I’m sure of that. Gould any one have paid him to in- jure you?” “No, I can’t think of any one. I haven’t any enemies here—no serious enemies, unless——” “You’ve thought of some one!” “Perhaps I oughtn’t mention him, but there. is Bully Carson. He has never liked me, and since he was arrested he says that I was the cause of it, and has been loudly proclaiming his innocence and his intention to get © revenge.” Chip stood at the head of the horse, to make sure the animal could not break away, while Rhoda got into the - sleigh. He came back, with the lines in his hands, and elimbed Rhoda was anxious and a bit nervous, as was but natural, see ing the horse might bolt again. ‘ Chip had wrapped the stiff hairs in a bit of paper and tucked them into his- pocket. - “lve heard,” he said, as he drove on, “that iockent and gamblers sometimes sew hairs through a horse’s le; in that way, when they want him to go lame and los race. It’s a thing that can be done easily, without mu danger of detection, if they can get at the horse.” He was soberly thinking this over, in connectia their curious experience, as they continued their ‘They seemed almost to have proof that the h produced the lameness, for the horse went bette hairs had not made the horse bolt. The dog ha that. ; : would wait to plan to have his horse go lame whit e was with it out in the country, unless it was to hu him in the presence of Rhoda Realf. Bully Carson would hardly do that—would not even think of it. But if he did, how could he know that Ch > was to drive out, and what horse he would take? “He might have been at the stable when I phoned for the horse,” was Chip’s answer to that question. bent Yet the explanation was not satisfactory. es Finally Chip came round to a name that he had per- sistently driven into the back of his head whenever » *r arose in his mind for attention: Bob Stanley! Would Stanley do that? vans if he would, how co i he hav¥e done it? : “Here we are, at last,” Chip cried, as he drew rein b fore Mrs. Winfield’s. “I hope we can have anot sleigh ride soon, and better luck.” When he had helped Rhoda out of the’ sleigh, an seen her disappear into the house, he turned the about, and drove down to the village and the intending to tell his story of the accident and sho bristly hairs he had drawn out of the horse’s leg, If Bully Carson had been at the stables, the gr 0 stableman did not mention it, nor attach import it. But he gave the hairs close attention, and j ‘ NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 7 he had heard of such things being done, though he could _ not imagine why it had been done in this instance. At times he seemed almost to doubt Chip’s word, and showed much more interest and anxiety about the cut made by the barbed wire. CHAPTER IV. A TALK WITH THE TRAMP. Curiosity and anxiety about the horse took Chip Mer- riwell back to the stable. If the horse was seriously injured, he would have to pay the veterinarian’s bill, or more, the stableman had said to him, and he would have to stand the expense of the repairs to the sleigh. If, through his unguardedness, he was to blame for those queer hairs that had got into the horse’s leg, he was willing to pay—if anything serious developed from them, and, of course, he expected to pay the veterinarian for attending to the cut in the horse’s leg, but he felt that he really would like to ask that veterinarian a few questions. The principal one was: Could the tramp have inserted those hairs as he, apparently with easy touch, ran his hand down the horse’s leg? As Chip thought the incident over, that seemed to him almost an impossibility, for, in addition to driving a needle holding the hairs through the flesh there, he would have been compelled to clip the hairs short, for they had been clipped short, so that they did not project above the thincoat of hair on the leg. Chip had located them only by chance. By the sense of touch, his fingers had struck them as he passed his hand along while in- specting the cut made by the wire. Chip found the veterinarian in the stables. He had taken a couple of stitches in the cut, and was ready to leave, when Chip put in his appearance. The hairs, left with the stableman, had been shown him. “So you were the young man who was in the sleigh, driving?” he said. “Go over that story about the tramp, will you? There is some swelling at the point where the hairs are said to have been, but it doesn’t seem seri- ous. Just what did the tramp do?” Chip gave him a full description. “You don’t think that was what made the horse run away?” “He bolted because the dog scared him. “Then he fell, as he flung round on the steep slope.” The veterinarian looked at the horse again. “His shoes aren’t sharp enough for the ice and snow of.the roads now, and that’s why, in turning, he slipped and fell down.” He got out a magnifying glass and looked at the swelled place from which Chip had extracted the hairs. “In my opinion,” he said, “the tramp didn’t ‘do that. I think I may safely say that if you were looking at him, it would have been impossible for him to drive those hairs through and cut them off as short as they are, without you secing him do it, That trick requires time, and some care.” He turned ‘a the stableman. “Didn’t you see any one in here at all, Bill, who might have done that} some time earlier, while the horse was in its stall? .That’s a jockey trick.” » “There’s fellows goin’ in and ‘out a good deal,” said the stableman; “I wouldn't want to say, or think, that any of ’em would do it. do it?” “Well, we can’t tell, of course. you saw?” Besides, why would they want to Who were the fellows The stableman ran over half a dozen names, among them the name of Bully Carson. Chip heard the name with a queer feeling. “Were any of those fellows in here when I telephoned to you?” he inquired. “You asked my name, I remem- ber, and I told you; and I think you repeated it back over the phone to be sure you had it right. Any one in here then might have heard you speaking my name into the phone.” The stableman regarded him curiously, “Well, s’pose some one in here at that time did hap- pen to hear your name. You weren't preparin’ to enter a hoss race with that critter! So I don’t just get ye.” “It’s a queer thing all around,” the veterinarian. com- mented. “Well, ’tis,” the stableman admitted. He looked at Chip as if he were almost wondering if Chip,. for some unknown reason, had not framed-up that singular. story. It need not be said to readers of hes stories that Chip had the quick wit of the Merriwell. - Bully - Carson had been in the stable, and doubtless heard his name, and discovered that he was to take that particular horse out, and had “doctored” the horse, to get Chip into rouble. This was Chip’s deduction. : The general reason might be Carson’s hatred of him. It «might have seemed to Carson a neat trick, to’ make the horse go lame while Chip was driving it. Chip might have to pay the stableman something for laming the horse, and if the horse went lame when Chip was far out in the country, there was the possibility thay he would have to spend the ‘night out there. But Chip was looking for some special reason, and he found it in the coming hockey game. If Chip was marooned somewhere with a lame horse, the chances were big that he would become chilled before he could get back to Fardale, and that might mean a severe cold, or worse. That of itself would gratify Bully’s hate, and it might take Chip, entirely out of the hockey game, os Once when a ball: game was to be played, Chip had been captured through the efforts of Bully’s father; at*a time when ‘the sporting colonel. had some heavy’ bets laid on the opposing’ nine, and, at other ‘times, “Bully and’ his father had tried to throw Chip down and thus ‘cripple teams Chip was playing on, simply ‘that dh ee win bets,* Bully had not changed, except for the worse, nor, sO far as Chip knew, had there been any change in Bully’s — father, They were the same betting and scheming pair. So it did not seem to Chip that he could be far wrong ‘in suspecting that Bully Carson, and, perhaps, the elder” Carson, had started in to engineer some scheme against — the success of the hockey team. that Owen Clancy was whipping into shape to go against a team from Franklin. “T’ve got to put Clan wise,” Chip was thinking as he left the stable. “That was a trick of. the mean kind. that would appeal to a fellow ‘like Bully Carson. “If I’d been marooned away out in the country alone, it ercernlyaliginnte *See Nos. 95, 96,. 97, int Tir Tor ‘Weeg.y. wouldn’t have been so bad, but there was Rhoda. Luckily, it didn’t happen.” While Chip was waiting about, not hurrying his re- turn to the academy, he chanced to behold the tramp he had encountered in the highway. Apparently, the tramp had been begging a meal, for he had a wedge of pie in his hand and a sandwich. His shoes were bound round with old rags, giving them shapeless bulk. He stopped by the end of the~ freight platform, and sitting down on the snowy boards, pro- ceeded to eat his slice of pie. ‘“’Ello!” he greeted, as Chip came up to. him. back wit’ de calico, did ye?” Chip frowned. “So, youse is a Merriwell!” “That’s not important,” said Chip; “the important thing is that 1 found some bristly hairs driven through the leg of the horse I was driving, and he went lame.” “Wot er shame! Who’s de bloke wot would do a t’ing like dat?” “You've no idea?” “W’y should I?” “That's what I want to know.” , “Well, I wouldn’t do it. I like a good hoss, though Al never gits. t’ drive one. So I wouldn’t hurt one f'r \money.” “You ran «your “hands over. that horse’s legs.” ; -. “Yes, I likes.a good hoss. He was.a good one. Feels like silk: an’ satin: an’ sealskin,.de coat of -a good hoss does, an’ I likes t’ stroke it. I was ’ployed in er liv’ry stable onct; w’en I didn’t know no better.” He shifted to an easier position on ‘the snowy ace as he talked, and, through.a hole that gaped in the rags covering one of his feet, Chip made the discovery that the tramp had on a new pair of shoes, so- he asked him why he had the rags bound round them “Dem rags is my overshoes, see? Dey keep de wet out.” - “Tsn’t it because you want to make people think you're a hobo, when you’re not?” Chip asked. “That’s so that you can beg?” “Dis from a Merriwell!” said the tramp. “Der blow it *most killed father! I didn’t Vink it, from a Merri- well!” “What do you know about the Merriwells ?” Chip. ) y Sort you want to know, you ast ae Merriwell about Omaha Oliver! Jest put it up to ’im. Say to ’im: “Who is Omaha Oliver?’ And see wot Me gays." “I can’t do that very well, as he’s far from here.” “Were is he? I'd like t’ see ’im.” “He is out West.” “Well, der juice is goin’ over der telegraph wires all der time. You jes’ wire ’im, at my expense: ‘Who is Omaha Oliver?’ And see wot he sends back to ye.” “Where did you ever meet Uncle Dick? You can tell me, as well as he can?” . “Got said “Tever ear o’ New Haven? Jever ’ear 0’ West Point? I seen him dem places. He was de Yale coach. And I was hand in glove wid ’im at dem places; w’en Yale Sie der Carlisle Indians and hung deyre scalps, ter ry on de old Yale wigwam, and den down in West Point, when de Yale ‘warriors charged de West Pointers and put ’em to-rout. You ast Mr. Dick Merriwell if. ole Omaha Oliver wa’n’t sellin’ de goods right dere on. de a NEW. -TIP TOP .WEEKLY. ground floor, and see wot he freight.” Chip was looking earnestly at the tatterdemalion, who returned the look with interest, winking now and then as he commented and munched his wedge of pie. “Baseball, football, any ole game, hits me hard—hits me right w’ere I live. Batter up, de bases filled, two men out, arid it’s t’ree balls an’ two strikes—say, don’t it make youse tremble t’ tink of it? And den de batter lams out der spheroid, and it seems dat de worl’ is comin’ to an-end. An’ me lookin’ t’rough a knot hole in der base- ball fence! Chee! Dat’s w’en I’m livin’!” Chip could not help laughing at the tramp’s earnest- his lank cheeks glowed with color, his eyes says to ness, for glittered, and he seemed to be living that memory over in imagination, and forgetting the snow and the cold, his tattered appearance, even the hunger he was trying to satisfy. ; “An’ youse asts me does I know anyt’ing about Dick Merriwell! ‘“W'y, he’s der baseball king! If he’s yer uncle, youse has a right ter feel proud.” Yet Chip could not but recall those shiny new shoes hid under the rags. Unless he had stolen them, which seemed not improbable, the tramp had bought them. That meant he had. money. ‘Still, he might have stolen the “money. “Omaha Oliver seems a good friend of the: Merriwells,” thought Chip; as he: took -his departure. . “If ‘it: didn’t seem such a foolish thing to do, I’d wire Uncle Dick for confirmation of his story.” ‘Yet: he. did not, in view of tthe. fact that his expenses were piling. up in. a way that did not please him. CHAPTER V. “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” Owen Clancy’s work of whipping the pick-up -team into shape to meet Franklin’ was proceeding so successfully that his hopes rose hourly. He was depending on Chip very strongly, In fact, When he could get at him, Clancy was talking over the coming game with him, making studies with him of formations and plays to be used, and getting Chip’s advice generally. Chip was quite as enthusiastic as Clancy. His fears ef dirty work by Bully Carson. were passing. He began to think, that, whatever the “doctoring” of the horse meant, Bully Carson had no hand in it. In the practice work for the game, Chip had continu- ally to meet Bob Stanley, for Stanley was on. the team, but he managed to conceal his jealous dislike of Stanley under a smiling and pleasagt exterior. He recognized the faet that Stanley was a mighty good player, and he knew that Clancy was depending a good deal on Stanley’s work in the game. Chip’s desire to make the practice work as near per- fect as possible induced him to forego the pleasure of another sleigh ride with pretty Rhoda Realf the next day. There would be some practice on the ice, which, in view of the game, he could not honorably miss. So of course, he said nothing to Rhoda about his thoughts of a sleigh — ride. Hence, his surprise was great, when, as he was set- ting out for the ice with skates and hockey stick, he beheld ye. I'll pay de : i his: belief in Chip Merriwell was unbounded, . we - Stanley drive up to Mrs. Winfield’s in a fine sleigh, and then saw Rhoda come out, arrayed in her furs, and take a seat in the sleigh with him. -hip would not let them see that he observed this, and walked on, his face burning suddenly hot and his heart beating quickly. {t was, apparently, as important that Stanley should be in the practice work that afternoon as that Chip should be, yet Stanley was abandoning it for a sleigh ride with Rhoda. Chip crowded back the words that surged to his lips. He did not look round, but he heard the merry jingling of the bells as the horse and sleigh took the highroad and passed on and away. “Where’s Stanley?” sembled. Chip did not answer, and, apparently, he was the only one who-had seen Stanley in thé sleigh. When Stanley. did not appear, the practice went on without him, and Chip would have had an enjoyable afternoon if he could have forgotten what he had seen. ? Clancy asked, as the players as- Instead of returning to Mrs. Winfield’s after practice, Chip went with his friend Clancy to the latter’s room, where for an hour or more they talked about the game and its prospects. Clancy still had high hopes, though he admitted that he was not pleased at Stanley’s absence. “If I could afford to drop the fellow,” he said, “I'd do it. But we are going to need him to-morrow, when we go up against Franklin. I understand that they’ve collected a lively bunch—players that have got the pep; and they’re already boasting.” Chip took supper at the academy, as a guest of Clancy, and did not get back to his boarding house until late. Mrs. Winfield met him in the hall. “I’m so..worried about Rhoda,” she said; “she went sleighing early this afternoon with Stanley, and should have been here hours ago. have happened to them?” The blood left Chip’s face. might have happened. [ wonder if anything can Any number of things “Stanley may have met with a mishap,” he said. “Lamed his horse, or something of the kind. When I was out with Miss Realf the horse went lame. Or they may have taken a notion to get supper at some farmer’s and drive home after dark. Stanley may know some of the farmers.” |” “But Rhoda wouldn’t have consented to that, I know. Really, Mr. Merriwell, I’m becoming dreadfully wor- tied. See how late it is. It’s nearly nine o’clock.” At Chip’s suggestion, she telephoned to the stables in the village, to learn if the' horse and sleigh had been heard of, and receiyed the disconcerting information that the sleigh and horse had been returned to the stables hours before. : “Why, what does it mean?” voice. f Chip did not know, and admitted it frankly. He thought of the tramp. and of Bully Carson, but would not mention this to her. Stanley’s sister came into the room while they were she said, in a scared talking. But Mrs. Winfield knew that she could give no information. She was not as alarmed as Mrs. Win- field. NEW TIP “TOP WEEKLY. “T think they’ll come in by and by,” she urged; “why, they'll have to!” Yet she could not explain why they had not appeared, since the horse had been -returned with the sleigh to the stables so long before. Chip would have agreed with Nellie Stanley that there was really nothing ir the situation to cause worry, if it had not been for his thoughts of Bully Carson and the tramp. Putting on his hat, Chip went outdoors. So far as he knew, there was nothing that she could do. He could find no warrant, except, perhaps, an excuse that he was assisting Mrs. Winfield, for starting any line of inquiry. While Chip stood out by the door, mulling the thing over, Owen Clancy made an appearance. “Glad to find you. mooning here,” said Clancy; “it shortens my-steps. Chip, I’m. afraid we're in a hole. He took. Chip’s arm, and they walked. along , together, away from the house. Glancing back to make sure that he was far enough not to be overheard by any one, Clancy began to pour out his story. “T know now,” he said, “why Stanley didn’t show up this afternoon. The fool is on a “drunk. He came stumbling in just after you left, and it’s lucky for him that I was right there to steer his wabbly steps. I’m not dead sure we escaped being seen, but I made a desperate stab to run the gantlet with him. -He is-in his room now, drunk as a lord, and shoring like a steamboat.” Chip felt stunned. “Drunk ?” he said, as if he could not believe it. “Well, he used to sling the rye a little, you know, on the sly, but I thought he had cut it out.. The Christmas seasoning, as-Villum calls it, has been too much for. him, I guess. This weakens us for the game to-morrow, un- less Stan comes round all right before then... Did you ever see such. rotten luck? -Here I’ve been sweating blood in my anxiety to have everything shipshape for that hockey fight, and now to have one of my best men in that condition. If it gets to. Colonel Gunn,. it’s the end of Stanley. The hlack cloud. that’s Aanging over him will simply come down and extinguish him. But. it. will serve him’ right.” Clancy’s monologue ran on, for Chip was too dazed to say a word. ' Chip stopped in his walk. “Clan,- P’ve: got to tell. you something,” -he said. “I ‘knew this afternoon-why Stanley wasn’t on hee ice.” “You knew he-was drunk then?” “No: . Wait-a minute. -I knew he-had- gone sleighing with Miss Realf, the girl from Cambridge that. -you’ve seen here at Mrs. Winfield’s. I didn’t want to speak of it, that’s all. They drove away together as I started for the ice, and it was nearly time then for the practice game. appeared here yet, and Mrs. Winfield has been wild about it. And now Stan turns up drunk! The horse and sleigh were returned to the stables hours ago. But where is Miss Realf?” Clancy stood looking at his friend as if stupefied. Then his face cleared. “Oh, ,she’s at a_ friend’s lage.” “But she has no friends here, outside of the Stanleys and Mrs. Winfield, By that I mean she’s a stranger here. somewhere, down in the vil- They didn’t return—that is, Miss Realf hasn't, — She came here as the guest and friend of Stanley’s sis- ter. So I don’t see where she can be right now.” “Do you mean that Stan got full, chucked her out of the sleigh somewhere, and' then drove back to the stables ?” “Certainly not. I don’t mean anything. Only, [ don’t happened.” “T guess that’s right,” Clancy admitted, genuinely con- cerned. “Still, she must have picked up some acquaintance here, and is with her, That’s my guess.” “T ought to speak to Mrs. Winfield about this, and I don’t know what to say. She’s Stanley’s aunt, you know!” Aitter a turn or two up and down the pavement, in which he took time to think it over, Chip acquainted Clancy with the things that had occurred which had made him suspect Bully Carson and also Omaha Oliver. “Say,” said, Clan, and his yoice rose, “you don’t sup- pose Stanley has been doped?” “It doesn’t seem likely, but I hadn’t thought. of it.” “Well, you remember when Bully Carson got Randall, who is his cousin, to drug your drinking water? Dope is one of .Carson’s tricks. And if he is against us in this hockey game “Yet that wouldn’t explain about Miss Realf!” “I thought I had explained that. She is with some girl friend .she’s got acquainted with here. Stanley left her at that friend’s, as I see it now, and took the horse and. sleigh back to the stables. Then he tuned up/ with a few drinks for Christmas, or he fell in with some one in the pay of Carson, and was drugged. Oh, say, that makes | me——” . “IT can see him, if we go over to the barracks now. It isn’t too late, and you’ve got to go back, so I'll trail along with you. If Stanley isn’t too dead to the world to talk, I want to ask him some questions.” “Questions won’t do any good now. I want to boot him.” After Chip had followed Clancy into the barracks and up to his room, they went on to the room occupied alone by Stanley, since his roommate had gone home. Loafing round in the upper hall until sure no gne ob- served them, they entered Stanley’s room, the door of which was unlocked. was breathing heavily, and he had. the appearance of intoxication. ? “Tf old Gunn. gets onto this!’ Clancy. whispered, and closed the door carefully behind him. “You ean see that if things. weren’t running on low gear, I’d never been _ able to get him up here. Soaked! He doesn’t know he’s living. And if I’m caught here giving him comfort and consolation, there’s a redhead sure to be canned.. And to-morrow we play that game |” - Clancy ended with a groan, and dropped into a chair. Chip Merriwell shook the sleeper on the cot. “Wake up, Stan,” he urged; “wake up!” _ Finally Stanley roused and opened his eyes. _“Wha’s masser?” he demanded. “Wake up! We're to play that game to-morrow, you NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. know what to think about it. There’s no. telling what. ‘Stanley was lying on his cot. His face was flushed, he Stanley roused up still more, and stared at him. “?’TL.o, Clan! .Who’s ’fraid Franklin?” “Do you want us to get beaten to-morrow?” said Clancy _ sharply, though, for prudential reasons, his voice was not raised. “You're going to be in bad with the. colonel, too, if he hears of this.” “Mer’well goin’ tell ’im? Jus’ like Mer’well. Smash ’*s face ’f ’e does.” Chip could not wait longer for Clancy’s slow. prog- ress. “Where is Rhoda Realf?” he asked. “Mrs, Winfield is wild about her. She went out in a sleigh with you this afternoon, and she hasn’t returned.” A look of jealous dislike contorted the flushed face on the cot. “You Mer’well? Who cares f’r Mer’well?” “But where is the young lady you took sleighing?” Chip demanded. “Mrs. Winfield wants to know.” A cunning gleam came into Stanley’s eyes, “Sall right, ol’ man; ’sall ri’; ’f I know where she is tha’s my bizness—see?” “But do you know where she is? _ Your aunt wants to know about it.” “Whether I know ’r do’ know, do’ make no—no dif- f'ence; ’sall right. I do’ wan’ n-nothin’ t’ do with, you, Mer’well.” He threw out his hands drunkenly. “I’m th’ough ‘ith you, see? You think you’re grea’ stuff, Lem- me tell you my "pinion you, Mer’well! You're a firs’-class fraud. That’s what you are, Mer’well. I do’ haf tell you nothin’, see?” “You're drunk!” said Clancy, in a harsh tone. *! SGN. xi, Cliath f 1 ik “And that game with Franklin to be played to-mor- row!” “Tl be ’ith past Good’s gold, Iam! Knock th’ puck ove’ th’ moon. We goin’ beat F-Franklin hands down, Clan, Min’ what I say. Hands down! ‘Y’re all ri’, Clan! But Mer’well—I ain’ got no use f’r Mer’well; he thinks he’s th’ whole thing.” “You won't tell where you left Miss Realf?” said Chip. “T do’ haf tell you anything, Mer’well.” It was an unpleasant thing for Chip to have to deliver that bit of news to Mrs. Winfield, and he felt sO unequal to it that he induced Clancy to go with him and do the talking. It ‘was so late when Clancy got back to re barracks that he was expecting to be barred out for the night, but he wasn’t. “The Christmas seasoning,” he said, chuckling, as he went on through the hall, But when he was in his room and getting ready for bed, his ‘thoughts turning to Bob Stanley, he sat scowling. “The fool!” he said. 7 / CHAPTER VI. “WHERE IS RHODA REALF?” Mrs. Winfield made such inquiries as she could that night. She was much distressed. Very naturally, she felt that. she was responsible for the safety and conduct of the girls entrusted by their parents to her care. Toward Stanley she felt angrily hurt and disgusted. He -was her nephew. She knew he was a bit wild, but she had not expected this to happen. In disgracing himself, < AS Qo rt —e wn of ee _ he disgraced her, too. ~ give him, — She thought she could never for- She knew she could never do so, if, through his getting intoxicated, harm had come to Rhoda Realf. “T’'ll have a talk with him in the morning, and he will answer me, or [’ll know why!” was her thought. Yet she failed to get that satisfaction. When she went to the barracks, and, after receiving permission, went up to her nephew’s room, he was in no condition to talk with anybody. She could not even arouse him so that he could understand her questions. Frightened by. his condition, she sought aid from Clancy, whom she found in his room, Clancy could do no more than she had done. He shook Stanley and half roused him, but could get no really intelligible answers out of him. “This is more than intoxication,” said Mrs. frightened; “he has been drugged, Mr. Clancy.” Clancy was almost of that opinion himself, until he had hunted round and found in the room an empty bottle that had held whisky. This Clancy eyed suspiciously and sniffed, “Pure old rye—that’s what it says on the bottle. And it also has on it the name of the man who sold it to him. Stanley’s under age, and you could put ‘that man through for it. I guess Stan sampled the rest of the stuff this morning. It’s no use to try to wake him.” “Do you think I’d better get a doctor?” ' “T wouldn’t, Mrs. Winfield,” Clancy advised. “You know what is hanging over him now. The doctor would be sure to tell Colonel Gunn, and then it would be all up with Stan. Tl watch over him, and do all I can to keep it dark, and so will the others. But it’s a shame, Mrs. Winfield.” “Tt is a shame,” I feel disgraced.” “We'll get him through it, and none will be the wiser,” said Clancy hopefully. He stood looking at the disgusting sight on the bed —a lusty young fellow turned into a beast. “What grinds me the worst, Mrs. Winfield,” he con- “is that he was to play in the game this after- noon. We’ve got a hard fight, and this weakens us. I don’t understand how a fellow could do.a thing like that—throw down his captain and team just for drink. And no reason under the sun! There has been some talk among the fellows, I know, but I think he was trying to keep straight lately. Beats me!” Winfield, she declared. “Just brute intoxication. fessed, Clancy was so genuinely distressed that he almost~ sobbed. ) Mrs, Winfield, in a peculiarly unenviable position, knew not what to do. She felt that she ought to wire Rhoda’s parents. Yet she feared and disliked to do that. It might alarm them unduly, when there was no actual occasion for alarm. Locking the door on Stanley, Owen Clancy accom- panied her through the halls and to and beyond the outer doors. They talked it over there again, in low, strained voices. “Tt’s my opinion,” he said, “that she got mad at Stan~ flared up, and went home. She might have noticed that he was drinking.” / “But she wouldn’t have gone home without telling me or Nellie,” Mrs. Winfield objected. “She is too much of a lady+to do a thing like that.” Clancy rubbed his nose, hesitating and skeptical. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. Lz “Um-huh! I suppose you’re right. But—girls are funny. You can’t tell what they’re going to do.” “IT think I'll wire to her mother. If she has gone home, I want to know it, and get this load off my mind.” Clancy watched her gloomily as she went on across the snowy grounds. “I feel like going back and thumping Stan,” he mut- tered, “and if he was evsu nalf sober, I don’t know but I would. Say, this is awful!” Chip was over at the boarding house, when Mrs. Win- field received this answer to her telegram to Rhoda’s mother: “Rhoda not here. What is the matter?” So had telegraphed Rhoda’s mother. Mrs. Winfield was much agitated when she brought the telegram to Chip Merriwell. “Something dreadful must have happened to Rhoda,” she said. Then she informed Chip of her visit to Stan- ley, as she put the telegram in his hands. “Stanley is so intoxicated that he can’t even speak, and he came back from that sleigh ride intoxicated. I don’t know what to do.” Apparently, there was nothing to do, except to tele- phone in all directions. It was a humiliating thing, yet Mrs. Winfield, in.tears, kept her telephone bell ringing. Chip went quietly down to the station, and getting a horse and sleigh, he drove out over the road he had seen Stanley take the day before. Except that it gave him the feeling that he was sar to do something, there was no result. Chip had been unwilling to believe that Bully Carson would do anything so desperate, yet it began to seem that he had. Chip could not surmise just how it could have been done, but, judging by the surface indications, Carson had contrived to get Bob Stanley intoxicated, with liquor. that was probably drugged, and had then > seized Rhoda, and. was holding her somewhere. It seemed a recklessly insane thing for even so con- scienceless a fellow as Bully to do. For it meant a prison term for him, in all probability. But, of course, thought Chip, if Bully Carson was himself intoxicated, his fear of prison would not be great enough to restrain him. As Chip saw the situation now, Bully had no doubt made some bets on the success of the Franklin team in that game to’ be played at Fardale in the afternoon. And to assure the success of Franklin, he had drugged Stanley, one 6f the best Fardale players, and had kid- naped and was holding Rhoda for its shattering. effect on Chip’s nerves. | This was admitting a great deal of knowledge on Car- son’s part of Chip’s state of mind, and it indicated, too, that Carson thought Chip one of the mainstays of the Fardale team. “Swelled head?” thought Chip. “I hope Stanley wasn’t right, nor, anywhere near it, when he said I thought I was. the whole thing!” Chip flew into a fighting rage when he beheld Bully Carson, as he returned the horse and sleigh to the stables. Carson was standing in front of the stables, which seemed to be one of his loafing places. “T’d like to see you a minute, Carson,” said Chip, “his face ominous, as he came out where Bully was sunning himself. “Just step round at the side here, will you? I’ve got something I want to ‘say to you.” he Bully Carson flicked him a glance, narrow-eyed and suspicious. “Say what you want to here,” he growled. Chip glanced about. No one was in hearing. “You've been betting on Franklin in the afternoon game?” he asked. “Well, if I was makin’ any bets, I wouldn’t put my money on your crowd,” said Carson surlily; “and I'll tell you now, you ain’t got the ghost of a chance of winning.” “What makes you so sure of that?” Chip demanded. ‘“Ts this some more of your crookedness, Carson? If it is, ’'ll warn you that I'll take satisfaction out of you.” “Yah!” Carson snarled. He was larger than Chip by a good deal, yet feared him. ‘““Now tell me this,” said Chip aggressively : furnish liquor, or anything, to Stanley?” Carson’s eyes glittered. “Knocked out, is he? That’s good!” He had risen, and backed against. the stable wall, as if he expected a blow. “But I didn’t give him any liquor,” he said apologeti- cally. “Yet, I admit, that if he’s drunk, and out of the game, it suits me,” “What else have you done?” Chip asked, so threaten- ingly that Bully lifted his arm as if getting ready to ward off a blow. Chip did not want to mention Rhoda’s name. “Ain’t done a thing, Merriwell!’’ Carson eclanisk “Don’t git gay with me, see! Your high airs don’t go with me,” \ “You haven’t kidnaped any—of our men?” “Aw, come off! Think I’d take the trouble? ’Tain’t necessary to do anything to warrant that Franklin’ll lay your crowd out dead: cold this aft, Think it over. I don’t know what you're talking about.” _ Chip knew that his anger, combined with his anxiety, was about to get him into trouble, and, discovering that the stableman was approaching the door, he beat a re- treat. On his way from the stables he looked about, hoping to see the tramp. ! ; “Did you Then Chip saw him, as by chance, at a spot well out from the village, as he was making his’ way back to his boarding house. CHAPTER VI. THE CAPTURE OF KESS. Villum Kess had not heard of the tramp, and was gen- _ erally in the dark as to the many things boiling just under, the surface that day in Fardale. Hence he had no reason _ to be suspicious when the tramp beckoned to him from the door of an old. house out on the road that led to the station. Villum was taking a constitutional, One of his fears was that he would some day die of fat, if he did not exercise a good deal. So Villum took his daily consti- tutional out on the road that led to the station, and exer- _ cised prodigiously in the gymnasium, played on all the athletic teams that he could “make,” tried to pound the cover off of some good league balls, kicked the pigskin, and did all the other things that were so greatly the vogue at Fardale., NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. The surprising thing about it all was that Villum m good so often. And because he so often made good — was pretty generally given his chance, when, if abilities had been judged by the eye alone, he would ha been ruled out as ‘too much of a fat elephant to do. anything. Villum was to ‘be in the hockey game that afternoon, and was duly conscious of the fact. He had practiced diligently under Clancy’s coaching, and he fully expected to cover himself with his due meed of glory. Villum was thinking of the hockey game as he strode along, shoulders back and his chest thrown out. in /regu- lation military-academy style. “Vot do I vant mit him, I vonder?” he brveetbarind when he beheld the tramp beckoning. “Uff he dook a shower bat’ on his face it vould surbrise idt.” Nevertheless, he went over to the house, that stood at a little distance from the road. “Dere’s a feller in dere wot belongs on der hockey team wot wants to speak wit’ you,” said the tramp. “Der haus in? He saidt Villum Kess?” Before an answer was given, Villum had projected him- self through the doorway, and the tramp, coming in after him, dréw the door shut, and locked it. behind him. Villum turned slowly round, staring. Only the tramp was in there with him. “Vot iss-idt mean?” he said, with sudden suspicion. “Set down,” ‘of wood that did duty as a stool. Franklin ?” “Vell, vot uff I am, und vot uff I tidn’t? Whose piz- ness iss idt yedt already?” demanded Villum. “Dat’s all right, cull.” “T am a brisoners?” “Don’t git excited. It'll make ye sweat, and den you'll take cold, see? If a feller as fat as you takes cold ’n’ gits de pneumony, he’s a dead un. How’s dat game comin’ erlong, d’ye t’ink?” é “Youse is playin’ wit’ “Idt iss not vor you to ask me dot kvestion! But ve vill peat ’em.” “Hot stuff, youse aire! Set down, and git c’am.” ‘Do I haf to fight you to git me oudt?” “No. Set down. Aire you acquainted wit’ dis. young Merriwell ?” ‘ “Vell vot a kvestions! How couldt I blay mit his team on uff I tidn’t?” “Oh, it’s his team?” 7 “It’s Glancy’s. Dot iss vot I mean. Merriwell blay mit me.. Now, you oben der door und ledt me go. Aber — you ton’dt, I shall smash your face in. Dhis foolish- ness——” al me all about it,” the tramp begged, aehrupiine: ’ see, I got fifty cents bet on dat game, and I got to know de chances. where I can look on an’ see de playin’. My sportin’ blood’s comin’ up. Did youse ever play baseball? Dat’s de stuff! ‘Yere she comes in—slow ball, wit’ a drop. Bim! Der batter nails it on de trade-mark. Wow! It’s a Uree-bagger. Everybody’s goin’, an’ me lookin’ t’rough a knot hole in de fence. I can look at dat game t’rough dis aft?” “ “Tdt’s all a knot hole; yoost standt on der hill und i: look, ” “All open—all outdoors. Wow! Ain’t dat great? Chee! : I’m goin’ t’ be dere. Just tell me de names o’ de players, the tramp invited, pointing to a block Also, I want t’ know if dete’s a place Is dere any knot holes up dere | V: ' th ap vi th in hi ro bias of AAS th ees grazy ! Nn ne ncn reaecc ccna eeaeereaee ee aa yery Se ae eee fy i 7 f re fi . et (2 SE se, Sat Say ane a Se a he See ie passed, but Chip did not see it. “Suits me! see? But wot I wanted t’ ast ye was, did you wire him, _ “You were-talking with that tramp just then!. word with him, eh? but we're beginning to feel sure that he has slugged, or . done something, to our missing players. at Franklin—was there yesterday afternoon, and again this morning. This morning, as I told you, three of. our men disappeared. sumstances—oh, well, CHAPTER IX, READY FOR THE GAME, Chip Merriwell lingered at Mrs. Winfield’s, hoping for some word, arid did not get duwn to the ice becatse of it until ‘the time had almost come for the game with Franklin. He had dressed for the game in his room, and carried his skates and his hockey stick. Sports of all kinds were always popular at Fardale. As a consequence, there was a crowd, even though the greater number of the Fardale students were gone from the academy. The spectators came from the station and from the counfry round about, with, of course, a big contingent from Franklin. . It did not help Chip’s mental state of mind to see that Bully Carson was there, clothed in the garish colors he admired. Carson was talking with some kindred spirits, and laughing loudly. Farther up the slope, on a projecting bowlder which he had cleared of snow, sat Omaha Oliver, the dis+ reputable-looking tramp. He tipped Chip a wink as he Under his tattered coat ‘Omaha Oliver was now wearing a warm sweater. A moment later Chip discovered that the tramp had slid off the bowlder and was following. He saw that __. Omaha Oliver meant to speak to him, and stopped, pre- ferring to be spoken to there. “Game’s goin’ t’ be called in a little wile now,” said the tramp, a pleased grin spreading his hairy mouth. Any ol’ kind uh game hits me w’ere I live, “Who is Omaha Oliver’ ?” “I didn’t,” said Chip. “I hoped ye did, f’r I wanted t’ hear what he’d say.” “What did you, mean,” said Chip, “by locking Villum Kess up in that old house? You were paid to do that?” “Sure I was.” “You acknowledge it?” < “Why. not—at dis stage o’ de game? On’y, I didn’t keep ’im, and so didn’t earn der good money wot I got tr .’t.. Seer” : “Who paid you that good money ?” The tramp winked again—a sly, foxy wink, “Ast me later.” “Wasn’t it Bully Carson?” “Ast me_ later.” When Chip reached the ice, he found Clancy and the other members of the team engaged in a wordy war with Dunbar and some of the fellows from Franklin. Dunbar turned, snarling, on Chip, » “That was proof of it, Merriwell!” he said. “Proof of what?’ Chip queried. Final We haven’t collected alk the proof, He has been We don’t know what has become of them. And now you stop out there, and have a few words with him, Out with it, if. your conscience is guilty ! We're going to play, anyway, without them.” “That’s an insult,” said Chip, “and under other cir- he’s right up there; go and ‘ask NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 15 him what we were talking about. I have nothing to, conceal.” Forthwith, on the tramp. “Wot do I know? Wot did I say? ‘Wot has I done? Youse fellers kin ast more questions dan a Philadelphy lawyer,” the tramp declared. “Give me time t’ draw my breat’. I don’t know nutti , an’ I ain’t done nuttin. | An’ all I was sayin’ t’ Mer’well was dat I likes er game— any ol’ game, but specially baseball. T’ree men on de bases, two out, de batter wid t’ree balls ‘and two strikes,, and den he hammers der ball over der fence, an’ de stars aire fallin’! And me wid my eye stuck t’rough a knot hole. Chee! dat’s joy! Dem’s de words I was. sayin’ to him.” “I think you’re lying!” Dunbar snarled at him. “Dem kind‘ 0’ compliments don’t butter nobody’s bread. I ain’t quarrelin’ wid youse. I can’t afford to. But der . air is free here, and so long’s my eyesight is good, I kin enjoy de game f’um dis rock as well as anybody.” “We're going to have you pulled just as soon as this game is over. Then we'll learn a few things, I think, that look dark now. If yon re Ne to talk now, we'll not put the officer on you.’ “Send ’im along,” said the tramp, with the uifnost cheerfulness. “I’m lookin’ fer ’im. Dere’s more’n two mont’s o’ hard winter ahead o’ me, and I’d like to go t’ jail f’r about sixty ’r seventy days, see? Dat’s wy I hid yer . men. Kidnapin’ is good f’r about sixty days in de county jail, an’ I’m wantin’ it.” “Oh, you did that? You admit it!” “I heard you chargin’ me wit’ dat, so dat’s wy I’m admittin’ it. If you’d said burglary, I’d admit dat. Any- ting, jest t’ git in jail f’r der nex’ mont’ er two, an’ be where it’s warm f’r der rest o’ de winter, see? But I want t’ see dis game first. If me sentence reaches out till about baseball time nex’ spring, dat’ll suit me all der better. I can start ter follerin’ der ball teams round den, same as I do reg’lar. So send on de off’cer. But please let me see de game first.” Dunbar and his associates went away feeling how im- possible it was to do anything with a man like that: It was time for the teams to take their places on the ice. The game was starting late, and the referee was not in favor of delaying it, for the winter days were now very short. The names and positions of the players had been handed in, as follows: getting nothing out of Chip, they swarmed FARDALE. FRANKLIN. Kess, goal. Beck, goal. Randall, point. Hart, point. O'Neill, cover point. Billy Mac, forward. Clancy, forward Barnes, forward. Merriwell, forward. Brighton, cover point. Seeling, forward. Pike, forward. ti Duffy, forward. é Dunbar, forward. Barnes occupied the position that would have been filled by Bob Stariley, if Stanley had been fit for. the game, and though he was a fairly good player, he was not in the same class with Stanley, who was swift and quick . on skates, and great with a hockey stick, The team had been very much weakened. by Stanley’s failure. a On the other hand, it was seen that edbas had scrapéd together a quick and excellent team, and that if Fardalée. won the game they would find it no child’s play. 1h 16 NEW. TIP TOP WEEKLY. “We're all depending on you, Chip,” said Clancy, just before the game opened, “and we know that you can deliver the goods.” “No better, if as good as my old friend Owen Clancy,” Chip asserted. He felt that Clancy was really more fit for the coming fight than he was himself, for Clancy had no mental load to worry and weaken him. Then, as suddenly as the sun breaking through clouds after a storm, Chip’s heart warmed and his face brightened, for, in looking round, he saw that Rhoda Realf was stand- ing in the crowd beyond the ice, accompanied by Mrs. Winfield, They caught his glance, and both Mrs. Winfield and Rhoda waved their hands to him. Rhoda was Smiling. “Thank Heaven!” were the words that sounded in Chip’s heart. There was no opportunity to learn where she had ‘béen, nor’ what had befallen her, but. she was there among the spectators, bright-faced and- unharmed. That “was enough. “We're going to give these Franklin fellows the fight of their lives,” Clancy was saying. “Sure!” said Chip buoyantly. ‘They can’t ‘beat us!” . “Never!” Chip declared, in a that hé meant it. tone which showed CHAPTER X. THE GAME IS ON, There was ringing’ handclapping of the supporters’ of the teams as the vulcanized was at last “faced” in the center of the playing field between. the sticks of the forwatds, Chip Merriwell and Dunbar. Clancy’s eyes were on Chip. He great faith in ‘Chip’s ability as a hockey player, and had ‘put him in a rubber puck had position that he believed would call out Chip’s ‘skill and help in winning the game. That Clancy, for it mattered little to him who carried off the was the thing with individual honors, if only his team won. It was this feeling on Clancy’s part that had made him so sore against Stanley. fellow of no honor, in Clancy’s opinion, for a bit of liquor, would imperil the success of his team, Clancy regarded as the cheapest of the cheap. Omaha Oliver was standing on the top of his bowlder His mouth was spread, and he was. bellowing something, though no one knew what, and few paid any attention to him. Stanley had proved himself a A fellow, who, now, and had an excellent view of the field of play. “Play!” said the referee. With lightning quickness, back to one of his men. Dunbar scooped the puck Clancy would have groaned at this failure of Chip to get it, if he had had time. He heard the tramp yelling: “Wot’s de. matter wit’ you, Merriwell? ér let dat\happen.” Franklin’s forwards had the puck, and were forcing it toward the Fardale goal, where Villum Kess stood crouch- Dick wouldn’t ing and watching, ready to block it if they shot it there. Seeling, of the Franklins, pushed it to Pike, and Pike to Duffy, and Duffy drove it toward the Fardale: flags. “Wow! Stop it, somebody!” yelled the tramp, hopping up and down on his bowlder. “Hold it, can’t ye? Drive it back!) Drive it back!” It came again, with a vicious drive at the Fardale flags. Kess seemed almost falling down on himself, but his protected legs blocked it, and he sent it flying on the ice toward the Franklin goal. “Wow! Did ye see dat? De fat un’s on de job?” There were yells of “off side” from some of the specta- tors, as the opposing players came together. . Seeling got the puck and tried to send it again toward the Fardale flags, Chip being in front of him. But Chip’s stick caught it, and put it between the Franklin goal posts. The tramp fell off his bowlder while, apparently, trying - to do a cakewalk that would express his hilarious delight. And the Fardale friends tuned up with cheers and a rat- tling volley of hand-clapping. “Good for you, Chip!” Clancy was breathing; “I knew you'd be there,’ The puck was again faced in the center of the field, between the sticks of Chip and Dunbar. And, as Dunbar had so cleverly secured. it before, Chip :-was . watching now to see that he did not turn the trick again, There was-a painful, strained silence. “Play!” said the. referee. Dunbar made a‘lightning scoop at the puck, as he had done before. This time, however, quick’ as he ‘was, he was not quick enough; Chip’s stick moved it and. shot tt across the ice. It was stopped by Pike, who sent it »back. Claney stopped it this time, and began to dribble it for” ward, Seeing that he was in.danger of losing it; he made a quick’ pass: to Chip. + ie Billy Mac was in a better position to receive’ it, -but even in the whirlwind of the play, Clancy was quitk enough -to see that it would put Chip off. side, and, he- sides, he believed that Chip could handle it: better. than Mac. Apparently, in this, Clancy was wholly right. drove the puck between the Franklin goal posts again, and made another score. “Dat’s de stuff!” Chip heard the tramp yelling. As he flung the tramp a glance, Chip saw, at. the same time, that Rhoda Realf was burning her hands for ‘his encouragement. Again the playing was on, and the Fardale team -was working for another drive. But Dunbar now got possession of the puck, and began to rush it toward the Fardale goal’ posts. And though there was a wild dash to prevent this, Dunbar shot a safe goal. Kess groaned at his failure to stop it. After another two minutes or so of play, this was re- peated. “Aber I ton’dt sdop me der nexdt dime——” “Kill some o’ dem Fardale players,” the tramp was shouting; “wot’s de matter wid ’em? Has Merriwell gone ter sleep?” No one heeded him. . The battle was-on again, hot and furious, with the fight moving now toward the Fardale goal. Dunbar drove the puck. But Kess was there, and his fat, well-padded legs stopped | it this time. Chip’s stick pulled it out of the ruck, and sent it skipping toward the other end of the ice field. For Chip pet as x Yrive lags. his the ecta- ward hip’s goal ying ight. rat- new 1eld, nbar hing had _ he shot ame his was pan ugh afe vas vell ind lale ed | ing: ais seni ™“ ™& i . A Mithe Fardale flags. n goal, for O’Neill slipped, in making a quick turn, and fell. There was a quick.grinding and rush of skates, that made the ice dust fly in showers. The Franklin for- wards tried to get the puck as it flew past them; cover point and cover tried to stop it. Yet after all it did not.get between the. goal posts. Beck, the Franklin goal keeper, blocked it. The hammered rubber jumped toward the middle of the field, and another whirling fight followed for its pos- session. “Chee !” it’s goin’ t’ melt de ice. the tramp was gurgling. “Dat’s such hot work Wow! See dat!” Dunbar was declared off side. Thereupon, the puck was taken back to the center, and faced for a renewal of the playing. And the battle raged again. As Chip drove the puck toward Franklin’s goal, it was stopped by Seeling, who, in trying to send it back, made a stroke which sent it skipping out of the field. When it was brought on, the fight raged again, and Chip secured it. “Drive it!’ Omaha Oliver was yelling, as he danced on his bowlder to the flapping of his tattered coat. . “Drive it 1% ; And straight as an arrow from the bow, Chip Merriwell drove it between the Frankling goal posts. “Wow! ‘T’ree f’r Fardale, an’-on’y two. f’r de. odder side. Now you’se has got ’em goin’..' Hustle it, now.” °if Bully Carson was. paying any heed to the words and antics of Omaha Oliver, he must have observed that Whe tramp was yelling for Fardale. "Keep ’em goin’!” the tramp -bellowed,: as the puck was faced and the playing began again. ’But Franklin began to rush the puck headlong. toward Franklin came near. making a quick This left the puck uncovered for the fraction of a second. lt was long enough for Duffy to get it. Du‘ty tried to send the puck between the Fardale posts, but Kess blocked it, and sent it back. *Good f’r youse!” the tramp howled. “Dat’s de stuff!” Beck, the Franklin goal, stopped Kess’ drive. Then there was another turn of luck, and Dunbar drove goal through the Fardale posts. ‘The whistle of the time keeper sounded. The first half of the game had ended, and the score -was tied. CHAPTER XI, THE GAME CONTINUED. It was certain now that Bully Carson had seen that Omaha Oliver was cheering for’ the Fardale seven. Finding an opportunity, he went up to him. “What d’ye mean?” he demanded, in a low growl. “Dat’s all right, boss,” said the tramp servilely. “I’m jes’ doin’ dat t’ keep ’em frum suspectin’ me, ‘see? I don’t want ’em ter ketch on dat you an’ me is pards. So I’m bu’stin’ me lungs f’r Fardale.” “Pards!” away. That stuck in Bully’s throat, as he turned Chip Merriwell glanced again in Rhoda’s direction, in the interval of the playing. But at that moment Rhoda was talking animatedly with Mrs. Winfield, and did not eatch his glance. eel “Tl! know, of course, soon, where she has been, and NEW: TIP TOP. WEEKLY. 17 all about it, or, I hope so,” was his thought, yet it did not still his impatience to have that information. Once more, when the puck had beer? faced, and the referee called “Play!” Dunbar secured the first scoop of the puck. He sent it toward the Fardale goal posts, and his team tried to rush it on. Awkward Kess, seeming to fall all over himself, yet managed to block the drive, and the puck skipped to one side. It was in position for another drive at the Fardale goal. Billy Mac made a desperate effort to get it, and failed. Pike drove it past Mac, with a grinding lunge that came Then Barnes, whose had not been brilliant, cracked it heavily, and the fighting near throwing him from his feet. playing players for its Chip covered himself with glory by Franklin flags. The cheering and the handclapping of the two teams rushed. away after it, possession. got the rubber, and shot it to Clancy, And Clancy driving it between the of the spectators, and the yells of Omaha Oliver, rose.in. a din, Dunbar had gone into the game with the grim determina- tion of winning it. He believed. that the Fardale fellows had put up an unprofessional. and highly dishonorable trick to weaken his team. The fact that. a trick of ,the kind he had suspected had been used against Fardale once upon a time for the benefit of Franklin was the thing that helped him to be sure of this. His interview with Clancy had angered him and still further stiffened ‘his resolution. He was crouching with the readiness of a cat to spring, as he and Chip stood opposing each other again when the rubber There. followed a tense moment. “Play!” Chip’s stick moved the puck. But.he could not drive it. It went down to Brighton, the Franklin cover - point. Brighton whirled it back., Barnes smashed at it, and it skipped along. Hart, the Franklin point, stopped it, and there was an exciting scrimmage. Out of the welter of grinding skates and flailing hockey was. faced. sticks it flew toward Fardale’s goal. Hart sectirred it and dribbled it on. Fearing to lose it, he sent it to Brighton. The latter shot it off to Seeling, and Seeling, amid cries of “off side,’ drove with it for the Fardale goal. ' Randall and Kess both tried to stop it, and failed. Another goal had been counted for Franklin, and the score stood four to four. “Wot’s de matter wit’ youse Fardale fellers?” Omaha Oliver was howling. “Somebody go up there and kill that tramp,” Clancy growled. Dunbar began to see the coveted victory coming his way now. In spite of the loss of three players, he had been able to substitute others..who were quite as good, and believed he had a stronger team than Fardale. Besides, he had resolved to win, and he meant to do it if his own work could bring it about. He had been fighting with apparent coolness, but with a grim fierceness under it all. He was wonderfully quick, could skate fast and slow, could turn almost like a spin- ning top, and was not easily thrown off his feet by interference. In every, respect, as a hockey player,. he was a worthy opponent of Chip Merriwell. In the next two minutes of play, so fierce and hot was the fighting of Franklin, inspired by the fiery energy of Dunbar, that the Franklin seven got another goal. “Five f’r Franklin, four f’r Fardale!” yelled the tramp. “Wot’s de matter wid you Fardale fellers? Wait till t’-night t’ go t’ sleep.” ;The rooters for Franklin were howling like wild men, almost drowning out now the yells of Omaha Oliver and the cheering of the friends of the Fardale players. 4 Those victorious cries from his friends, and the grow- ing hope of victory, flushed the dark face of Dunbar, eA the Franklin captain, and keyed him up to attempt still ‘ better work. The constantly increasing interest in the game was draw- ing the spectators closer and closer to the players, so that it was with difficulty that some of them could be kept out of the field of play. . Omaha Oliver came down from his bowldet to the edge of the field, and, at one end of the line of spectators, he looked in, yelling his comments. Fortunately for him, perhaps, the spectators were too much interested in the game at this time to notice him, otherwise some one would have ordered him away, for he was not the pleasantest person in the world to be near. Omaha Oliver had apparently forgotten his rags and dirt, forgotten that he was only a poor old hobo, and yelled with the loudest and danced round in his excite- ment like a stiff-legged sparrow. The hot hockey battle was going on again. Franklin forced the puck to the Fardale flags and made a desperate try to get it through. Villum Kess smashed, kicked/ fell down on himself, and struggled up, kicking and smashing, and, with the ap- parently blind. luck that seemed ever to hover over his German head, he blocked the skipping rubber. Some day it might.dawn on the Fardale players and spectators that Villum was not jso “worse” in his play as he geemed at times, and as they thought; for something more than blind luck was needed to account for the fact that Kess so often “delivered the goods.” Franklin’s imen made another effort, and Dunbar sent the puck between the Fardale flags with a high shot. There: was an instant protest. The decision was given at once that no player could -faise his hockey stick above his shoulder, as Dunbar had raised his. Dunbar had not done it intentionally—it had been the excitement and the quick work that had caused it. In a game like that, waged quickly and desperately, one can- not always be sure that he is not violating a rule. . He apologized, with lips that were trembling. His, eyes were burning with eagerness. He knew he might be ruled , off the ice, and he felt sure that would give the game to Fardale. _ But this was not done, for no one, apparently, believed the had violated the rules with the intention of gaining an undué advantage. _ Chip Merriwell now began to push the rubber toward the other end of the field, twice sending it for goal, though each time ‘his drive was blocked by the goal keeper, _ At the other end of the field, when the puck flew there, Villum Kess was equally on the job, a thing that to many of the spectators seemed remarkable. For the position of, goal is not by any means an easy one to fill, NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. Again the rubber was rushed toward the Franklin goal. Chip Merriwell now found an opening, and drove the puck between the flags. Again the battle went on, with the time of play drawing toward its close. Dunbar fought pluckily. But the Fardale players were alive and inspired by Chip Merriwell. Clancy was captain, but instinctively they had come to look to Chip as the leader. The musical ring of the skates, the quick, flying move- ments, of the skaters, the flashing of steel, the shower- inglike spray of the ice dust, the cries and cheering and handclapping: of the crowding’ partisans, all made a most animated picture. Every foot of advance made either way by the puck was fiercely contested. Now and then, in the excitement, there was some inconsequential off-side play, not inten- tional; but the keen-eyed partisans always saw it and howled “off side! off side!” At times the spectators could hardly tell in which direc- tion the puck was going. : Once Chip saw Dunbar advance the puck with his skate— a clear violation. Chip would have protested loudly, but the puck had been checked and driven back toward the Franklin goal; there was no time to protest, and no real advantage had been gained by Franklin. Doubtless, desperation had caused Dunbar to make that skate drive. And the officials had not seen it, Billy Mac got the puck, and was\about to drive it towa ed the Franklin goal, but it was skipped away by Dunbat’s: stick, ata, Dunbar now shot the puck to Seeling, lio tried hard to send it farther along. Ee But Clancy got it, and started down the ice with it, © dribbling it just ahead of him. But when he tried to lift it past the cover point, it was stopped, and came flying back. ; O’Neill ‘secured it and sent it with a crash against the shins of the Franklin goal keeper. Then, after more hot work, it came into Chip’s pos- session again. Dunbar skated in to prevent this, but failed to do so. Chip pushed the puck with a quick flirt. past Dunbar and between the posts, and another goal had been made for Fardale. The time keeper’s whistle blew, f Fardale had won. ; Omaha Oliver did another cakewalk while the air was shivered by the cheering of the friends of Fardale. CHAPTER XII. AFTER THE GAME. Chip Merriwell could not hurry off the ice and rush upon Rhoda Realf for an explanation of her singular | disappearance from Fardale. Suppressing his impatience ,and hiding it under a smiling and jovial demeanor, he met and talked with the various people who sought to, reach him and congratulate him i his brilliant playing and the success of the Fardale seven. . One of the people that Chip had a few words with was the young player who had fought him all through with such worthy perseverance, Dunbar, the captain of © the opposing team. Dunbar, as Chip had seen, had done i? an: n e g y - y es | A? 4 ae \ 4 Aa , 4 { | “and when he congratulated Dunbar on his exceedingly zgod work, he meant it. . “I'd like to see a hockey seven playing, if they were made up of as good players as you are, Dunbar,” he de- clared> “You had us going ali the time, and once it looked as though you would get us.” Dunbar’s dark face brightened. “T want you to believe one thing, Dunbar,” Chip urged; “and that is, if anything was done by any person to injure your team, / had nothing to do with it, and no knowledge of it.” “T’ll be glad to believe it,” said Dunbar; “yet I’m cling- ing to the opinion that some one did that very thing— hocked three of our players—just to help your side. | think now that there has been some gambling on this game, and, perhaps, that accounted for it. The betting was on Fardale winning.” “That may be,” Chip had to admit; “but we knew noth- ing about it.” ‘“What’s become of that tramp?” said Dunbar, looking round. The spectators were streaming away, ‘and the tramp had gone from sight. “I’m suspecting that he was hired to do something—I don’t know what,” said Dunbar. “Did you ever know any one to be so interested in seeing you fellows. win? I hoped to get a tall with him.” “You'll be able to see him, likely, as he seems to be hanging round here,” said Chip. As soon as he could do so, Chip got away from his friends and went on to his room at Mrs. Winfield’s. When he came downstairs there, he encountered Rhoda Realf. “Truant!” he said, laughing. “You nearly frightened* us all to death.” “But it wasn’t my fault,” she declared. “Mr. Stanley is wholly to blame. For he was with me, down at, the station, when papa’s telegram came, asking me to run down to Carsonville and meet him. And I sent word by Stanley to Mrs. Winfield as to where I had gone, and why, and when I probably would return. He simply failed to : \ ” . deliver my message. “Stanley!” said Chip. There was hot color in the girl’s fair face. “You know what happened!” she said. “Mrs. Winfield ‘has told me. And I’m done with Mr. Stanley.” ? Chip covered up as well as he could his amazement. He did not ask leading questions. But he accepted, with almost unconcealed eagerness, all the information that Rhoda Realf seemed at the time willing to give him. It was not much, ~~ ; One thing had been made clear: Stanley was not to blame for Rhoda’s disappearance. She had simply gone down on the train to Carsonville to meet her father, who, finding that he was to pass through that point, had thought he would like to see her. She had remained with him until*he had proceeded on his journey, then had returned to Fardale. Late in her stay at Carsonville, a telegram had come to Mr. Realf from his wife, inquiring about Rhoda, and it had been answered. Sy Then Rhoda had wired to Mrs. Winfield, and that lady, after meeting her at the train, had come down to the ice with her, and witnessed with her the hot fight between the rival hockey teams. 19 “Stanley is a low dog,” Chip was thinking, “to refuse to deliver that message to his aunt. That wasn’t alto- gether because he was intoxicated. I think he did it to spite me more than for any other reason. He knew that if he told Mrs. Winfield, she would tell me. He wanted to give me a few unpleasant hours, and was willing to injure his own aunt to do so. That’s a low thing to do.” It was not until later that Chip gained a rtal insight into why Bob Stanley had, by indulging in liquor, made a fool of himself and. jeopardized his position at the academy. There had been some words between him and Rhoda that had angered her, and because of that she had “thrown him down hard” and demanded to be driven straight back to Mrs.. Winfield’s. On their way there they reached the station. There a telegram was handed to Rhoda; and it was the one from her father. Stanley, instead of going back to the academy, or to Mrs. Winfield’s, at once, had sought to plaster his hurts with whisky. He had given way on more than one occasion to his desire for liquor, and whenever any trouble came his way ~ he was inclined, the first, thing, to drown it in drink. This break with Rhoda was to him a very serious trouble, for he had admired her greatly, and he began to “drown his trouble in drink.” The result has been seen. ' If it had not been for the kindness of Clancy and Billy Mac his stupid state of intoxication would have beer discovered at the academy, and he would doubtless have been expelled without much ceremony, for Colonel Gunn set his face like flint against drinking. There was another revelation of an interesting charac- ter that was delayed a little. That was the revelation of why three of the Franklin hockey players had dropped out on the morning of the game and could not be found. _ They were rather ashamed of it, hence made no loud talk about it, for, in a very clever manner, they had been, outwitted by Omaha Oliver. Worse than that, from their standpoint, they were apparently to blame. ‘They had seen the tramp hanging about in and near Franklin, and had encountered him on one of the lonely roads, a short distance out. There they began to “guy” him, asking him how much his new suit cost him and where they could get suits like it, and how it happened that he had lost his cake of soap and his hairbrush. This seemed to throw Omaha Oliver ihto a rage. He raved at them: in his choice and picturesque language. The more he raved and raged, the funnier they thought it was, and the heavier they piled on him their peculiar brand of humor. . Suddenly, as if his ragé\had driven him to it, Omaha Oliver had leaped at one of them and struck him in the face. It was a stinging blow, that brought the blood. As soon as he delivered it, the tramp turned tail and ran. And they, angry now, gave chase. He ran straight off through the woods, with the, three fellows in hot pursuit, until he came to an old log cabin once used by hunters, and now in a dilapidated condi-- tion. Swinging the, heavy door open, he dived into it, and, . \ ; / thinking that now they had him, him. When they got inside, he sprang out past them from behind the door, and before they could turn, he had drawn the door after him and turned a heavy key in the lock. Then he stood outside, and berated them. They could not get out. The door was the only means of exit. There was window, not even a chimney. And the walls were of logs, the roof of heavy slabs. As soon as they realized their predicament, they tried to make overtures to the tramp, but discovered that he had suddenly decamped. They were in there a number of hours, and the time seemed so long that it held the anxiety of a week. Finally their shouts reached some one passing along the distant road, and they were released. _ But they were too late for the hockey game. By and by it began to dawn on them that perhaps the tramp had engineered the whole thing; perhaps he had tempted them into playing into their hands; had pretended anger he did not feel, and had struck one of them for the very purpose of making them chase him, and then had led them to and into the cabin—to keep them out of the game. It can be seen why they did not want to talk about it, and why very little definite information could be se- cured, for they were humiliated by the fact that they had been overreached, imprisoned, and held out of the game by a man of the type of Omaha Oliver, a hobo they had scorned and laughed at. hen they had their talk with Dunbar, their captain, and put the things he told them with the things they knew, they were almost sure that Omaha Oliver, in some one’s pay, just whose, they were unable to find out, had out- -generaled them. There was one other thing never cleared up perfectly, and that was the mysterious laming of the horse. Chip Merriwell was sure that it was the work of Bully Car- son, but so far as positive proof was concerned of this there was none. The alternative to this theory was that the stableman had an enemy who had sought to injure the horse to secure a petty revenge. One thing quite as pleasing as the winning of the game itself was the belief, later developing into knowledge, that Bully Carson really had wagered a sum of money on the success of the Franklin team, and, of course, he had lost it. \ é But Bully, flaunting his glad rags, case-hardened and scornful, never acknowledged that he had lost anything. no CHAPTER XIII. J CHIP’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT, A Christmas tree, glittering with lights and brilliantly festooned, loaded down with presents as a heavy-bearing fruit tree is loaded with fruit, is always an attractive ‘thing. % and fascinating sight whenever the turn of the year meee round again the joyqus Christmas season. _ Fardale Academy had its Christmas treats, its Christ- “mas joys, and its Christmas tree, for the students whom a hard fate had not permitted, for various reasons, to be in their own homes; some of them, a few, even had no they dived in after In nearly every part of our country it is a familiar NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. and peanuts, Not only was the Fardale Christmas joy and good things for the marooned Fardale boys, but for all others, young and old, who wished to come in and enjoy Christmas with them Colonel Gunn was eccentric in some of his ways; he was often corisidered harsh, and some people did not think very highly of him, this list including a few students; but under all his bluster and apparent harshness, “old Gunn” really had a warm heart. He liked to see the shine of the Christmas tree as. well himself as if he were but a boy. And he liked, when the proper time was at hand, for every young per- son, and, in particular, every Fardale student, to have a good time. So Colonel Gunn, on this occasion, had his academy Christmas tree, which he helped to load with: the presents purchased by himself, and gladly added to these any other presents that were sent in. On this Christmas Eve, Colonel .Gunn’s round face benevolently beamed forth from the very shadow of the tree itself. He made the welcoming speech, delivered a little discourse on the meaning of Christmas, and an- nounced, with his best benevolent smile, that the people of Fardale and all round had been generous’ in sending in ptesents for the tree, to help him out. There was, of course, the Christmas exercises and the Christmas singing. Chip Merriwell’s cup of happiness was, this Christmas Eve, brimming over. Rhoda 'Realf sat by his side, as pretty as a picture, brightly smiling, atid the whole room was permeated with the warmth and cheeriness that is so infectious that it fills all hearts with the spirit of the occasion. : Chip was not expecting any presents, unless he got one from Clancy or Kess or some of the fellows, and it) was as likely to turn out to be of a humorous, joking kind as anything else. Of course, he would get something from the general store of the tree—an apple, a bag of candy, which he could share with Rhoda, while they listened to what was taking place. They had their treats of that kind. At last, with Chip’s name called by Colonel Gunn, a little roll of something was taken down from the tree, and one of the boys who passed the presents, came hurrying . down the aisle with it, to Chip. Chip looked at it rather suspiciously. and the string looked as if it had been white once, and then dragged through the dirt until it was of a coffee color. He was almost afraid to open the package. “But I want to see what it is,” insisted Rhoda; “I want to know what you’ve got.” Chip cut the soiled string, unrolled the soiled paper, and drew out another sheet of paper, on which there was a lot of writing, done in a. scrawl with a lead pencil. Amazed, then amused, he began to read; and Rhoda Realf, bending over, read with him: +45 “Mister Cure Merriwett: I’m ‘sorry u didn’t rite to your Uncle Dick and ast him Who is Omaha Oliver. But awl I told u so that time was so. Me an’ Dick was at New Haven an at West point, and I seen him there, when Yale beat. Them wase grate games. ‘match i was give twenty-five dollars by Bully Carson to. do tricks to make it so u couldn’t win. But as soon as I node u was a Merriwell, I said to myself, Nixie; I don’t go back on nobody that is kin to Dick Merriwell, fer he homes ‘to visit at that time, for homes are often broken up. It was grimy, As to this hocky SV n¢ to th se ca aa STI sn ramp inna ~~ Massa etatansncae ts silos Dayenn teenies an oat Cie = soon om oO at aries me Sai i aia anti lie i ae “¢ oO sy oo ne hi cil Bi aie ~ oOo | aa gi ato Btn test fb _~ nM WwW — i wD CD “Oo CO mw WD QD “Ss — ~~ 7,828 See - a Sa Soo eh. a. a a ee an is trew bloo, an’ i stands by him ferever. But i made * out to Carson I wood. But i worked fer Fardale right --along. [ thought yoré dutchman was on Franklins side, ! let him git away when I node better; I give him “a chanct to climb out the winder. And I framed-up a quarl with them Franklin fellers an made ’em chase me, an then I locked em up. If Carson node this he’d kill me, | but he dont no it; he thinks I worked fer him. Well I’m ; glad you won. It was a great game. If youre playin ball . i : nex summer I hope I can be wit you and see some of it. Rite now its me fer the Sunny! Sout. I hits the first car out o this burg to-night; and I ain’t goin’ to ride no brakebeams, bleeve me; I’m goin to ride in a seat in a coach same as a genelmun fr wonst. I got the money— wots left out of the twenty-five after buyin shoes an ‘ sweater. It'll land me where de blue birds air singin. So no more this time.) I’m goin tb give this to some one to hang on de Chrismus tree'fer ye, see? Hope you'll like the news that’s in it. And next summer I hopes i can see youse playin’ baseball. “Hurrah fer de Merriwells. Yours to de end, “OmAHA OLIVER,”* That night, Omaha Oliver, more wholesome in appear- ance than he had looked in many a day, and with sprightlier step, came swinging up to the station when the south- | bound train was nearly due, singing, with great cheerful- : ness: “Wen de midnight choo-choo leaves f’r Alabam!” *See old Tip Tor WEEKLY, Nos. $37, 838, for — of Omaha THE END, t “Frank Merriwell, Junior, and the Ice Masquerade; or, The Turning of the Tables,” is the title of the story that you will find in the next issue of this weekly, No. 127, i out January 2d. This story concludes this particular series of adventures of Chip at Fardale. A WAVE OF REFORM. Litty Johnny—“I won't be kept after school for whis- pering to Tommy Dodd any more.” Mother—“I am glad of that.” | “Yes'm. Tommy sat behind me, and I had to turn my id head to whisper to him, and the teacher always saw “You don’t do it any more, I hope.” “Nome. I’ve got a seat behind Tommy, and now he'll have to turn his head.” WHAT THE SHARK SPARES. It is hard to believe that the greedy and cruel shark “spares anything dead or alive, but sailors declare that “it flies a feather.” The fish follows ships from sea to sea, and will swallow all sorts of articles—even knives—that may be thrown overboard. Seamen say, however, that it will not touch the pilot fish—a small fish, with the look of a mackerel, that is— _wrongly—supposed to earn the shark’s gratitude by guid- ing it to its prey—or a fowl, living or dead, In short, the shark avoids sea gulls, petrels, and every feathered thing, This is what sailors tell us from their own observation. NEW TIP TOP WEERLY. 20 WILL O’ THE WISP. By W. BERT FOSTER. (This interesting story was commenced in No. 124 of the NEW TIP Top WEEKLY. Back numbers can be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.) CHAPTER YI. FROM THE FRONT. “A wagon!” ejaculated Kemp, rising also, “Hear the wheels creak? An ox team, by the sound.” © They: heard the driver shouting to the slow-moving cattle. At a sign from his mother, the boy opened the door, and the lamplight from the kitchen shone out into the still- dark outer world.. The high, penetrating voice continued, and now Kemp recognized the sound as the irresponsible babblings of a delirious man. Hughey darted out of the door, but his mother sat stiffly at the table with such a look of frozen horror on her countenance that Kemp could not bear. to gaze upon her. She had recognized the high-keyed voice, and when her son and the driver of the ox team staggered from the road to the farmhouse door, bearing between them the struggling, but helpless, figure of a man, she remained as though lashed to her chair. Kemp, filled with pity, aided in bringing in the wounded man. He would never have’ recognized this attenuated and ragged wreck of humanity as Joseph Langdon. His head and face were swathed with bloody bandages, and the fever of his wound had quite turned his brain, Behind hobbled a neighbor, one leg bent up and held in a sling, while he rested his weight upon a pair of make- shift crutches. They had ridden miles over the heavy roads in the ox cart,‘there being no other means of regain- ing their homes. Mistress Langdon stifled the verbal expression of her feelings, but her face made Kemp’s heart ache as she went to the assistance of her husband. They carried him upstairs, and laid him upon a bed, wid she set about removing he blood-soaked bandages, ah the wound sorely needed dressing. It was a bayonet stab, the man with the wounded ies whispered to Hughey and Kemp. Both men had belonged to. the garrison of Fort Washington, which, after White Plains, should have been immediately abandoned. “Had it not been for Gin’ral Greene, who commanded Fort Lee, Colonel Magaw would ha’ got us well away from the trap,” he declared, between mouthfuls of the hot food which Hughey had supplied for his need. “There was no chance of our holding out aga’n’ the red- coats, and his excellency and Gin’ral Lee was for with- drawing us to the west bank of the river. No! Gin’ral Greene was obstinate, an’ stay we did till the enemy at- tacked us on four sides—Knyphausen, Rahl, Cornwallis, and Percy. ’ “We fought as well as we knew how, but it was useless, They say his excellency, who viewed the battle from the roof of Morris’ house with Gin’rals Greene, Putnam, and Mercer, wept when he seen the butchery. “Butchery? Aye! Such it were!” declared the returned volunteer, in answer to an exclamation from Kemp. “Never think otherwise, sir. Them devil Hessians itiareei us when we'd flung nk our arms and cried for Ns nae NEW ter. I was wounded just before the charge, but Joseph received the bayonet in his head after we had sur- rendered. “And they let us lie there to rot,” dark poor “only it came and some friendly farmers got Joseph and me across the river. Joseph was not light-headed till last night, but the bumping wagon and our lack of food and proper care made him flighty. his wound, an’ with proper care and quiet he may yet pull through—though belike the doctor did not know his Out army lacks much the attendance of sur- geons of ability, and needs as well hospital stores and a force to attend the wounded.” “But the army is scattered now?” suggested Kemp. “True. We had to scatter to escape the redcoats. They say Gin’ral Washington is already at Newark with the remnant. The enemy but we are not conquered! Were all our leaders like his excellency—or he went on, I got a surgeon to look at business. is victorious now, had Congress clothed him with more power might never have been necessary.” “Do you really believe Washington will offer battle again?” asked Kemp earnestly. “Will he dare?’ : “Dare!” cried the wounded patriot. “Let me tell you, Master Kemp, that no man who knows General George Washington ever questions his personal courage. What he may do within the next few weeks with his broken forces, no man can tell. But I prophesy this, sir: Some desperate venture will be undertaken soon which shall change the fortunes of the war. Were I not wounded, [ would rejoin the army at Newark immediately. As for you, Master Kemp—— I understand, sir, that you have been out of the country all through this struggle?” “T have,” admitted Kemp. “Then, sir, the quicker you get acquainted with your country’s leaders and your country’s needs, the-better for you and it! We can ill afford the lack of a single able- bodied citizen—and I remember that you are a trained militiamen and was captain of a Morristown company be- fore your departure for England. ‘ Go to his excellency, sir, and offer him your sword. History is in the making, T tell you, and your bleeding country calls you!” In his excitement the neglected the food before him, forgetting his creature wants while he labored with man Kemp. Hughey had slipped out, but now returned, and beckoned the young man, “The hawse is behind th’ barn, Master Roger. It'll be light mighty quick now, an’ then the redcoats will be on the move.” “Pll go,” Kemp declared, Newark way. “And I do not, forget your words, my man,” he added, » wringing the hard of the wounded soldier. He shook Hughey’s ‘hand as well, and left the house quickly. Above in the chamber the delirious man. still babbled and screamed, and Kemp hastened his steps to distance the sound. rising hastily. “I shall ride / : \ Once astride the horse, he rode away with scarcely a backward glance at the farm where he had been sheltered from his foes, But his mind was chiefly occupied by what le had seen and heard there. Above all, the advice of the wounded soldier and the urgent words of Mistress. Langdon’ were repeated again and again in his mind. His country called lim! These men who fought so desperately against King George were his own folk. Per- PEP, OP + WehdsY: this retreat | ‘ colonies “move, and old Barnaby Lamson’s letter narrating the to the neighborhood—must be set aside; he could no longer be neutral in a war for which so many were sacri-~_ From this moment,’ ficing all they loved and held dear. Roger Kemp was enlisted in the struggle for what Major Favor had pronounced “that will o’ the wisp, Liberty!” Once out of sight of the Langdon premises, however, he brought his horse down to a walk. It was a sorry beast Hughey had found for him, beside the. well-conditioned animal he had bestrode when he approached the Lawe aansion the evening. before. He would be obliged to settle with the lawyer for the loss of that steed, and already his personal finances were at a low ebb. What had brought him back to America more than aught else was the condition of his exchequer. The elder Kemp left his son some small properties, and, as these estates had brought in little or no rentals since the out- break of the rebellion, he had come back with the deter- mination of selling them. Master Carney, knowing the condition of affairs in the much better than his client, disapproved this death of Michael Lawe had urged Kemp to the postpone- ment of further discussion with the lawyer. Now, as he pursued his way, he was reminded that some months previous to his departure for England, on a certain “training day,” Squire Perrine had persuaded him to visit his home—had, in fact, fairly dragged him out of Morristown to Perrine House, after,the close of the mil tary exercises in which Kemp had taken part with his, company. Mistress Sylvia had been particularly vexing on the joc- easion of that visit, and finally the young man: had gone over to Lawe House in a huff, never returning, or even ending for his sword and accouterments. Because of his present determination to join the rem- nant of the American army at the town of Newark, and offer his services to that leader who seemed to inspire such veneration and love in the hearts of all classes of Whigs and patriotic Americans, Kemp’s mind naturally turned to the sword which he had once worn with so much pride. His company was, of course, long since disbanded; per- haps many of its members were serving in the patriot army. Kemp had taken up miilitary tactics with the same earnestness that characterized his other studies, and, al- though he might have to-enter the service of the Conti- nental army as a private, he believed that, should the war endure, he could be of some value if put to the test. Perhap$ there was joined to this thought a desire to solve the mystery of the night before; Sere he trode immediately to the Perrine house. , The trick of the words written in itahone! on the wall of the great room at Lawe House, and his guidance across the swamp by the dancing light, was quite in keep-_ ing with Sylvia Perrine’s reckless love of adventure. Yet if the Perrines were royalists, why should she be in the confidence of Barnaby Lamson, and willing to save him, Kemp, from the clutches of -Fayor and his friends? CHAPTER VII. A MORNING CALL. The fog had disappeared, and the falling temperature improved the road, which had been a mire the night be- fore. The ring of the horse’s hoofs upon the rapidly sonal affairs—the matter which had brought him hotfoot S — as eh Se =a _ = as I h tc hi e¢ tit Se ee ne ti- ire pe- ily \gateway of the. Perrine estate, and when halfway up avenue the young man sighted the squire himself on his tranda, peering under his hand to identify the approach The sun was just rising, and its level rays interfered even when Kemp set his greeting, with the old gentleman’s view; horse at a brisk canter, and waved his hand in it was plain that the squire did not know him. Not until he drew rein before the steps, and turned squarely to look at his old acquaintance with his custom- ary smile, did Perrine’s frosty countenance melt into a cordial expression. 4 “T declare if it ain’t Roger Kemp!” sAviateed the mas- | ter of the house. “And I thought ye well off in Eng- 1 q i " land. Come in! Come in! You’re in time for. break- 4 fast.. Heard the old man was dead, I s’pose, so ye come | with the rest of the crows to see if there were any pick- i ings for you on his bones? He, he! Yovw're all sold, I } understand. This ’ere English officer, John Favor, is come to seize the estate by law—if he kin find law enough in this colony to establish his rights. Come in! Come in! Glad if to see ye, Roger.” By this queer mixture of cordiality and depravity old Perrine clearly showed his nature. He was as hospitable as any old country squire, priding himself on keeping open house after the English custom; but his guests usually paid for their entertainment by enduring the unkind chatter of their host. : Kemp, however, long since used to Perrine’s carping eo. tongue, only smiled over this welcome, and, leaping off his horse, shook the old man warmly by the hand. a “T have come on a small errand, and am in haste, Mr. Perrine,” he said. “As for breakfast—well, I have already eaten; but I will keep you company at table for old- time’s sake. You look hearty, squire.” i “An’ so I be,” declared the old man. “Though I’m two years older than’ was Michael, ye see I outlast him—I ) outlast him! Come in, come in! T’ll send the maid to ) hurry Sylvia down. You and she were always quarrel- i ing, Roger. Had ye been friendlier, like enough old Michael’s, property would now be yours. He wanted you i an’ my Sylvia to mate—that bee was ever buzzing in his { u " i te tn nt bonnet,” -“T am afraid, Master Perrine, your little girl would scarcely have agreed to the arrangement,” Kemp said, striding into the house behind his host. “If I remember rightly, the last time I saw Sylvia she boxed my ears, and called me a ‘bumptious calf’—or such like pleasing name. I presume she is quite grown up now?” “Grown up? Gad, she's a woman, and bosses us all. She’s even got her old dad by the nose,” declared Per- rine. But that did not so much impress Kemp, for he knew that little Mistress Sylvia had held sway over the household and every soul in it from her cradle, They entered the long morning room, where a solemn ‘black man stood behind the squire’s chair at the head of the table—a servant in rich livery, a powdered wig _ twice the size of the squire’s own, and with silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes. Although the old gentleman was dressed not only plainly but. carelessly himself, his » household had little about it that was simple or demo- ere. Kemp found no opportunity of stating ‘his particular reason for visiting his old acquaintance, for the . squire NEW TIP TOP WEERLY. ran on about this and that, to his guest to partake of interspersing his -invitations the viands which the servants brought on, with sharp comments upon persons with whom Kemp had been acquainted before he left the country. “And I suppose you have come back to join in this play-war that has cursed us for months past—though, in truth, ’tis about over now?” the old gentleman sug- gested. “Our loyal young men are winning smiles from the women and easy glory in fighting these miserable ruf- fians who have overturned the peace of the colonies, and who would throw aside their allegiance to his majesty— Heaven preserve him! I understand that my Lord Corn- wallis is close on the heels of that scoundrel Washington and his army of malcontents. Do you join him, Roger?” Thus brought to a plain avowal of his intentions, and knowing the irascibility of the old gentleman, Kemp hesi- tated. But before Perrine could repeat the query, or be made suspicious by the young man’s hesitancy, the door of the room opened, and there swept in a person whose appearance quite precluded the possibility of Kemp’s reply- ing to the squire’s speech. . In the past Sylvia Perrine had seldom appeared before Kemp except in the guise of a harum-scarum girl, who tore her frocks, played with the boys, and was warranted to prick the bubble of his dignity. She mimicked him, and made him ridiculous, affronting him in innumerable ways, until Kemp declared her to be quite the most objection- able child he knew. But this dignified—even haughty—young lady took away his breath. She would always be a doll-like creature; but she did not need height to give her dignity of bear- ing. Kemp was fairly overwhelmed, and found himself stammering and blushing over the hand she gave him when he rose from the table to greet her. “Hi, hi!’ cacklediold Perrine. “I told ye she’d grown out of all rememb’rance, Roger. Don’t look much like the young/’un ye useter see flyin’ about nee on pony back, eh?” “Father!” admonished Mistress Sylvia, and it was actu- ally Kemp who showed confusion because of the squire’s propensity to recall old times, instead of the girl herself. She welcomed him with a ‘polite aloofness which did not add to Kemp’s self-possession. Nor did his frank amazement and admiration melt her heart. She knew. he was comparing her present woman- hood with her former self, and that alone was sufficient to afford her a wicked delight in making Roger Kemp as uncomfortable as possible. He could scarce believe that the little hoyden who once caused him such annoyance had bloomed into this exquisite and beautiful creature. Her blond hair was still riotous, framing her face with a tangle of curls, and the smile which curved her lips now and then bore still some relation to the roguishness of her old expression. Aside from -these attractions and her “petite figure, there was nothing to femind him of the Sylvia Perrine that was. He was truly amazed, and could not keep his gaze from her. His admiration heightened the color in her cheek; but her treatment of him was chilling. Kemp could not realize that the proud little lady and the girl whom he had once likened in his mind to an Indian squaw were one and the same. If she had been piqued in the past. by his neglect of her, she took ample satisfaction for his crime’ now. , % And she might easily punish him, for Roger Kemp _ interest come into Sylvia’s countenance. She 24 NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY: There must be recompense for most If Kemp had ignored Sylvia as capitulated instantly. things we do, or suffer. a child, she had it in her power to make him suffer for it now; and she proceeded to mete out this punishment lav- ishly. Her coldness and brief replies to his most ingeni- ous speeches finally brought the old squire himself to Kemp’s rescue. “Mistress Sylvia is in an icy mood this morning, Roger, he cackled. “Best let her be. Women are kittle-cattle there’s no understanding them. Come, boy! Tell us some’at of yourself. What brought ye home when the Will ye try for military glory, ” country’s in such turmoil? which seems the fashion now ?” “IT. must adimit that some such, hope is in my mind. You have my sword, good Master Perrine, and I have come for it.” : “Aye, so I have,” cried the squire. “According to all I hear, the rebellion is already put down, so ye’ll have little use for the weapon if ye do not wear it soon.” And he laughed again. to his daughter. “You know where this famous sword is kept, I have no. doubt?” Her eyes “Come, mistress !” For the first time Sylvia showed confusion. sought Kemp’s face for one littlke moment; but he was too abashed by now to look directly at her. Nor would he have understood her glance had he observed it. The girl recovered her composure instantly, called the black man from behind the squire’s chair, and gave him some instructions in a low voice. Meanwhile the old man con- tinued hammering at the unresponsive Kemp, with the hope of making a spark fly somewhere. “Whom do ye join, great friends ye must have made in England did none give ye letters to my Lord Cornwallis? They tell me Roger?” he asked. “Among the some of his horse are already in our neighborhood. Yes terday it was the ragamuffin Continentals who marched by, and I had my servants out with arms, guarding the place. To-day I expect the king’s troops will pass. One of the boys declare there is a party at Lawe House al- ready. Have ye been there, Roger?” Kemp admitted, that he had spent the previous evening with old Barnaby Lamson, meanwhile watching the girl to see if she would show any consciousness, but her coun- tenance was quite. placid, “Hal” exclaimed the squire. . “And has this Major John Favor arrived?” “He has.” “Ho, ho!” cried the old-man. “Now I see why ye are hurrying away from the.neighborhood again. Ye. found the British officer a Tartar, I’ve no doubt.” “We did have some little misunderstanding,” said Kemp gravely. The old man’s eyes snapped, and he ceased eating to watch his guest intently, while his ruddy face, flushed a deeper crimson. “Aye, aye,” he cried. “And is that the bottom o’ this desire of thine for the sword, Master Roger?