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STORIES OF BOYS WHO SUCCEED

Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congressin the year 1906, tn the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C,
Application made for entry as Second-class Matter at the NV. Y. Post Office, by THE WINNER LIBRARY CoO., 265 West Fufteenth St., New York, NV. Y.

NEW YORK, AUGUST 18, 1906. Price, Five Cents

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In another moment Mark’s boat was also at the rim of the dam. He rose upright, guiding the
boat straight for the leap, like an Indian canoe=-man daring a rapid.

Aliant ern eat

aT STINT

 
 
Bie

  
  

       
 

 

JUST

 

 

LIBRARY
SIORIES OF BOYSWHO SUCCE =D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ee Weebly, ey subecrip tine, $2 50 per year. Galea according to Act of Congressin the vear 1906, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Pate ton D.C.

Application made for entry as Second-class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by THE WINNER LIBRARY Co., 165 West Fifteenth St., New York, N. Y.

 

No. 26.

NEW YORK, August 18,

1906. Price Five Cents.

 

 

 

LUCK;

MAKING HIS WAY TO THE TOP.

 

By “ONE OF THE BOYS.” a

 

CHAPTER. {.
e DISCHARGED,

Mark Minton and Maggie Caldwell had just left the office
of Cabeb Dicer, one of the richest men in the manufacturing
town of Millboro. Her employer had attempted to kiss
Maggie, and Mark incurred his anger by interfering in her
behalf. Old Man Dicer had discharged Mark for what he
considered presumptive interference, and the girl refused to
remain where she was apt to be insulted at any time.

“Well,” observed Mark, after they had walked some dis-
tance, “here we are, high and dry. It’s nearly two o’clock.
What are you going to do this afternoon?”

“T don’t know wat to do,’ answered Maggie.
home——”

Mark saw that at the done of going home and telling
her parents what had occurred Maggie’s courage was be-
ginning to fail her.

“See here, Mag,’ said Mark suddenly, as a bright idea
occutred to him. “Let’s stop thinking about our troubles
right here. We're both in no condition to start out to find
new places. Let’s go.some place where-we can take our
minds off this thing. What do you say if we take in a ball-
game? Pm sure we both did right, and it’s a good thing
we're out of that office.”

“And we'll believe that everything watt come out for the
best,” she said brightly.

“See there! Just the mention of a ball-game gives you a
change of thought and makes you feel better. I knew it
would. Shalbwe go?”

“Ves, I'll go,” she answered.
Mark, for thinking about it.
that typewriter work is awfully wearing!
I shall get another place, though?”

“If I go

“And I’m obliged to you,
I do love a ball-game, and

: game that had begun.

I wonder when |

“No more worrying about that,” he cried gaily. “For a
little while we'll drive dull care away. Now, come on, or
we'll be late.”

And together they turned toward the ball-grounds, where .

the Millboro Grays were to cross bats with a team from
Fairfield.

As Mark entered the gall-grounds, after buying his tickets,
and passed with Margaret toward the seats, he passed a
group consisting of Tom Dicer and his cronies.

Tom was the son of Caleb Dicer, and had shown his dis-
like for Mark on several occasions.

His cheeks burned as he heard Tom Dicer say, in coarse,
insulting tones:

“There goes the young puppy!”

Then Mark’s cheeks grew even redder, as some hand-
somely dressed ladies, hearing the remark, turned and stared
at him and Margaret.

He turned his attention to the diamond, anxious to forget
the insulting words which he did not care to resent while
Margaret was with him.

“There! See that!” he cried, instantly interested in the

of the box.”

And Margaret, who was, as she had said, a lover of

baseball, smiled gleefully as she beheld the runner tearing |

past the bases and saw the fielders sprinting after the ball.

Then the work waxed fast and furious, and both Mar-
garet and her escort, having found their seats, forgot en=
tirely their troubles of the afternoon; forgot that they were
out of work and had incurred the enmity of the powerful
Caleb Dicer, as they watched the progress of the playing.

As they passed out of the gate on their way from the
grounds at the conclusion of the match, they brushed against
two men, who were talking not far from the entrance. The
men had apparently met by chance after the game.

“A two-bagger, at the first crack out

  
   

 
  

 

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a
ft

   
‘MIGHT AND MAIN a,

“That settles it,” the men were heard to say. “We'll put
the building at the corner of Maple and Tewkesbury.”

“Did you hear that?’ Margaret asked.

“Yes; and I saw who the men were. Directors of the
First National. They must Have been talking about the new
bank building.”

“Mr. Dicer would give a hundred dollars to know just
what they said—what we heard them say. He has been
wanting to find out, for he thinks that money could be made
by getting hold of some business lots near where the bank
‘is to bes He had me write a letter to a real-estate dealer
on the subject only yesterday.”

“Well, I shall not take the trouble to tell him!” said Mark.

“No, nor I; not if he gave me the hundred dollars for _

ait, as much as I need the money.”

As they walked on and cleared the crowd that was pouring
out of the ball-grounds two ideas came into Mark’s head—
both promising; one while the game was in progress, and
the other after passing out of the grounds.

When he had escorted Margaret home, he hurried back
down-town and sought the office of Lombard Spencer, who
was a well-known business man and real-estate dealer.

Mr. Spencer had been kind to Mark on several occasions
and had given employment to Mark’s father, who was, in
a small way, a carpenter and builder.

“Would it be worth anything to you to’ know where the
First National is to be built?” asked Mark, when he had in-
vaded Spencer’s office.

“Well; that depends. -It may be, and, again, it may not.”

‘Lombard Spencer was a,bright-eyed man of middle age,
with a laughing smilé on his round, comfortable face and
a shiny bald spot on the top of his head.

“TI didn’t come to sell the information,” said Mark, fear-
ing he might be misunderstood, “but, as you have been kind
to  fathet ‘and to me, I thought if the information was val-

; r 4 Mable to any one you might “have ci

Then he informed Spencer of what he had heard near
the ball-ground exit.

“That’s all right, ” said Spencer, rising at once and reach-
ing for his hat; “that’s a good pointer.”

And he walked out of the office, leaving Mark to follow -

at his leisure.

“It will be a good thing to have Mr. Spencer’s friend-
ship,’ was Mark’s thought, as he turned toward home. “I
hope he can make some money out of that tip. And per-
haps he may know.of a position somewhere. I can get,
if——”’

Mark began to whistle to himself, as he pursued this fur-
ther line of thought, which had come to him during the
ball-game. _

“Tl see Phil about it,” he said to himself, “If-there’s
ever anything doing in the baseball line, Phil knows it.”

So, instead of going home, he took a side street, which
brought him to the residence of his friend Phil Worthing
ton, a black-headed, keen-eyed youngster, whom Mark found
bareheaded in the back yard, batting a ball up against the
high board fence,

mbeelio 1 said Mark, as he let himself through the gate.
Veweve ab iho

“Why, hello, Mark!”

And Phil let the ball roll through the grass as he turned.

to greet his friend, whose acquaintance he had made at the
high school.

“Glad to see you. Come and pitch for me while I bat,
or l’ll pitch for you while you bat. Crackajack game they
had at the ball-ground this afternoon! Did you see Mul-
larkey smash it into left for three bags? I noticed that you
were there with company!’ he added. “Old Dicer must be
getting generous! [| didn’t suppose he’d ever give an em-
ployee a halt-holiday.”

“I’m not working for Mr. Dicer now,’ * said Mark. “That’s
_ how I happened to have time for the ball-game.”’

Phil opened his eyes in mild surprise.

uit?” | |
i T didn’t quit: I was discharged.”
“But I want to know!” Phil insisted. . .
Whereupon Mark told him the whole stony, including. the
incident of Tom Dicer’s cruelty.

“Too bad you're out of a job, but I don’t blame you. Tae
fact, you did just right. Maybe, if I speak to father about —
it, he can scare you up some kind of work. I don’t want
to flatter you, Mark, but the ‘other day he spoke of what
a sensible and industrious sort of boy you are. He said you
were all right, and as square as a brick.”

The next morning Mark received a letter from ohare
Spencer, requesting iin) to call at. the: latter's real- estate
office. ;

He obeyed the summons, wondering what Mr. Spencer ‘
wanted, and connecting the call with the information in fee
gard to the bank site “which he had furnished. ce

VAn, lad to see: youl” was: ‘Spettcer's greeting, whee . :

Mark entered.

He turned to his desk fae took out a bank check: boule
Then rapidly wrote and signed a check and put it in Mark's
hands.

Mark stared at it. The Heck was payable to him: and it
was for two hundred dollars.

“Your commission,” said Spencer, smiling. “I can aford @ 7
it. I made a thousand dollars on that tip you gave me
yesterday. If I’d had it two days earlier I could have made.
double that sum. But a thousand isn’t .bad.”

“Do you mean that this is mine?’ Mark asked.

The thing seemed unbelievable. %

“Yours, to do with as you please. You earned it; and
if you can give me any more tips as good I’ll write ‘other
checks for you, and be glad to. Two ‘hundred won't come
amiss, eh?”

“It will come very handy,” said Mark, folding the check.

Even yet it seemed that he must be dreaming.

“How are you getting along at Dicer’s ? asked the real
estate man. x

“T’m not working there now,’ ’ Mark answered.

“So! How. is. that

ae Well, you see, we didn’t agree very welll”:

Spencer laughed in his way and rubbed the bald spot on.
the top of his head.

“There are easier men to get along with than Dicer ; 1
know that, for I’ve had dealings with him. I wondered _
why you didn’t give him that information instead of me,
if you were working for him. But I doubt if he'd handed
you out a check for it, even if you had. Dicer isa: bit
snug.”

Mark was turning toward thie door.

“Good day,” said Spencer. “If you have any ther ‘tips
on real estate, trot ’em over to me; I’ll pay you well for
them.”

“T shall be glad to,” was Mark’s answer. “And I thank
you very much for this check. I didn’t expect it.”

When he reached the street he seemed to be treading on
ait, ane

. “Two hundred dollars!” he whispered.

“Mark went to the bank on which the check was drawn,
where it was cashed for him without.question; then hurried |
to the home of Margaret Caldwell.

“Early in the day for a call,” he apologized, whee he
noted her surprise, “but perhaps you ll be willing to iach)
it when you know the reason.’

Then he brought out a large envelope in which he had
placed the money, and put into her hands ten aa. ten-
dollar bills.

She stared blankly at the money.

“A hundred dollars !’ !” she gacped.
Mark?”

- hat: ifs Oe cy cent oe ity?
at her confusion.”

“What do you mean, |

he replied, laughing

 
       
  

   

 
    
       
     
     
 

   
 
 
  
 

 

 

a
2

ee
Sie

 

   
  

 

--as commission.

down, flushed and trembling.

for our nine.

us a bit to have the good opinion of the paper.

For the moment he felt as if he. were some sort of fairy

godfather counting out untold wealth to a favorite.

“Mine?” she faltered. .
He showed her the hundred which i had retained for

p himself.

“Really, I don’t know but you ought to have more than
half of it,” he admitted. _ But I thought it would be all
right if we divided even.’

“Will you tell me a you mean?” she demanded. ee

: -haven’t done anything to earn a hundred dollars.”

“Oh, you haven’t?” Mark objected... “You heard those

men talking about the bank site yesterday as we came away
_ from the ball-game, and you understood what they meant
~. even before I did.

And didn’t you.say that Mr. Dicer
would give something handsome if he had that 7

ntien °°

“You didn’t take it to him?”

“No; I took it to Lombard Spencer; he made some sort
of a real- estate deal on the information—said he cleared a
thousand dollars by it—and he gave me two hundred dollars
And-half of it 1s yours, of course.’

“Nothing of the kind!” Margaret insisted, thrusting back
the money.

“You gave me the idea, which I worked out by going to
Mr. Spencer, though I told him I didn’t expect payor it.
But now that he has paid, you must take half the money.
It’s yours by right, and I should feel mean if I kept more
than my share.”

When the case was thus presented to here Margaret sat
The loss of her position at
Dicer’s had so distressed her that she had hardly slept
through the night. She had scarcely any money, and her
mother was not well. And worse, she did not know where
to look for work. Under the circumstances, the hundred
dollars would be nothing less than a godsend.

When Mark Minton left the house it was with a light
heart and a smiling face. Margaret, her mother having been
consulted, had at last, though with hesitation, accepted the
money; and Mark, with the other hundred tucked snugly

in a pocket of his coat, was indeed a happy boy as he took

his way homeward, with this glad news for his mother.

A couple of. days afterward Mark consulted with his
friend Phil Worthington in reference to starting a ball-team.

They organized a team, with himself and Phil as the bat-
tery, and Bob Leonard, the son of the editor of the Millboro
Eagle, as short-stop.

“Coming out to the practice-grounds one afternoon, Bob’s
father witnessed the work of the new nine with some sur-
prise, ‘especially the battery work, and took occasion, in the

next day’s issue of the paper, to make mention in a flat-

tering way of the new nine, and particularly of the pitching
of Mark Minton. :

“See here, fellows,” said Mark, exhibiting the report to
the boys that evening. “We’ve been puzzling over a name
Mr. Leonard has given us a good send-off
here, and Bob is one of us. I suggest that we name the
nine,after the paper, and call ourselves the Millboro Eagles.”

“And send a note to the paper about it,” said Phil, ac-
cepting the suggestion with enthusiasm.

“Right you are!” Bob Leonard agreed.

“The biggest idea yet!”

“The suggestion is a corker!”

Thus it was received by the members.

“And there is another thing,’ said Mark, who was cal-
culating and long-headed in a business way. “It won’t hurt
If we get
that, the paper will back us up and help to advertise us, and
so increase our money value as a playing-team. The Mill-
boro Eagles is a pretty name, anyway, and taking the name
from the paper will make the editor feel a sort of interest
in us, you see. And that won’t do us any harm.”

‘It was a great idea, in fact, and the other members of the
nine were shrewd enough to see it,

MIGHT AND MAIN

‘LIBRARY.

So the name of the Millboro Eagles was ado
Mark, who could “sling ink” a little, was selected to write
a note to the Hagle, stating how and why the name had

been chosen; and it appeared conspicuously in the issue fol-

lowing, with the added editorial comment that the paper
was proud of the boys who had elected to honor it in that
way, and that it would watch the performance of the nine

- with much interest.

Monday afternoon Mark came down to the practise-field

with a written challenge in his a
It read thus:

~ 10 ee Dicer, Captain of the Millboro Champions.
“You are hereby challenged to meet us in a game of ball
at the old ball-grounds—any date and hour you may name.

Winning club to take the gate-money.

“Marx Minton, Captain of the Eagles.”.

“Can you get the old ball-field?” asked Leonard.

“Yes, I’ve seen to that. Mr. Spencer controls it, and
when I spoke to him about it he: said we could use it at
any time. Of course, the grand stand and bleachers are

gone, but we can get along without them. The fences are

still there, and the gates. And I believe if we advertise the
thing in the Eagle we can get a big,crowd to come out to
see us. There is to be no professional game here for nearly
two weeks, and people will be hungry for a ball-game.” __

“If Dicer’s fellows accept,” said Phil.

“Oh, we'll make ’em accept!” young Leonard declared.
“We'll put the challenge in the paper, or a copy of it, and
they won’t dare to refuse to meet us. Ever since they got
a new pitcher they have been going round with a chip, on
their shoulders, daring anything and everything to meet
them. ‘We'll make them accept it, or make them ridiculous,’

“And we can down ’em, when it comes to a ball-game,”’
said Phil.
terday, and Mark can lay it over him any day in the week.
Dicer bought their outfit for them, I understand, and so
runs things.”’

It was decided to send the challenge, and then, if the
Champions showed a disposition not to accept it, to put. a
copy of it in the Eagle, and so force them to accept, or make
them ridiculous, as Leonard had said.

But before Mark could carry out this part of the pro-
gram he was given a gratifying surprise, while calling with
Phil at the latter’s home after the morning practise.

Phil’s father, who was a physician, came out into the
yard, where Mark and Phil were playing pitch and catch
with a ball.

“Hello!” he said, as his eyes fell on Mark. “I was just
thinking of sending Phil over for you, and here yeu are.
How would you like a job at Anderson’s grocery-store ?”

Mark had stopped, with the ball in his hands.

“Phil tells me that you lost your place at Dicer’s and
are out of work; so, when I learned this morning that they
wanted a boy at Anderson’s, I spoke to them about you, and
I think likely you can get the place.”

For a moment Mark looked hesitant and Phil almost
indignant. Their plans for baseball work seemed to be
promising so well, and their thoughts had so turned in that
way, that this suggestion on the part of Doctor vo
ton brought them up with a jerk.

Mark, now that he had some money of his own, was pay-

ing his board at home, thus helping to relieve pressing family -
necessities, and so had felt free to go on with his baseball -

plans.

But he only hesitated for an instant.

“T shall be very glad to get the place,” he said.
thank you for thinking of me when you knew of it.
over there right away.”.

He tossed the ball to Phil.

“But say?’ Phil objected.

“Business before pleasure,’

“And I
V'll go

said Mark, with a smile.

3

pted, and

“I watched the work of their new pitcher yes-

&

    

  
wAnd if 1. cae be lucky enough to get that place, per~
haps we can arrange to go on with our other plans,: too.”

Then he hurried away to Anderson’s grocery, where he
presented himself and stated the nature of his errand.

Mr. Anderson, tall and grizzled, looked him over with
curious little black eyes.

“We want a stout, honest boy,” said Anderson, eneakine
slowly. “You look all right. Doctor Worthington says that
you are as reliable and square as a brick. You will have
the handling of some cash.”

He bored Mark with the little black eyes.

‘Ves, sir; 1 will do the best 1 can.y

oA good deal of work and not very big pay—six a week
to start on. Saturdays till nine o'clock, other evenings until
six; but we'll give you a half-day off on Wednesday after-
noons. If it suits you, take that counter over there.”

The change in Mark’s plans induced him to send the
challenge for a ball-game to the Millboro Champions by the
hands of Phil Worthington, and the challenge contained a
stipulation, which Phil was to explain, setting the proposed
game on some Wednesday afternoon, as that was now the
only time that Mark would be at liberty.

To the surprise of both Mark and Phil, Tom Dicer snapped
up the challenge, “like a toad snapping at a fly,’ as Phil
said, and seemed pleased. with the idea of meeting the Eagles
in a match-game of ball at the old ball-grounds.

At the store affairs went on very satisfactorily. Mark
was quick and nae ag, endeavored to make himself useful,
and to keep his se ction of the store exceptionally neat in
appearatice. é
Because of this neatness trade began to gravitate toward
him, and in a little while it was discovered that the sales
at that particular counter had largely increased.

Anderson, the proprietor, made a note of it in his mental
_}/memorandum, and decided that Mark was a clerk worth
having and would soon render himself indispensable.

Because of the store work, Mark had now only Wednes-
day afternoons for ball practise and games, together with
the hour or more intervening between closing-time at six
o'clock and night.

On account of this Mark secured, through the kindness of
Dolph Anderson, the son of the grocer employing our hero,
-the use of a vacant lot not far from the store building,
where the Millboro Eagles, during the hour, or hour and a
half, after business each evening, gathered to practise, in-
stead of going to the vacant lot in the suburbs where they

__ had previously gathered, the suburban lot being far out and

taking much time to reach.

The next evening, when the store closed and Mark and
his nine began their practise on the new lot, Phil Worth-
ington, who happened to be looking toward the street, saw
an officer approaching.

The officer turned into the lot, and Phil was given a chance
to see a boy dodge back behind the nearest building.

The boy was Tom Dicer.

“Trouble coming for Mark!” was Phil’s thought.

Mark did not observe the officer until the latter was quite

near,
He was much interested in the practise, for in a few
| days the Eagles were to cross bats with the Champions, and
he was resolved that, so far as he was concerned, nothing
should be left undone which might give the Champions a
chance to win the victory.

Hearing an exclamation from Phil, Mark glanced toward
the street.

Then he saw the iden who was not in uniform, but
bore on his breast a badge showing the word “Constable.”

The constable was speaking to one of the players.
_*That’s him!” the player answered, and Mark saw that he
was indicated.

He straightened up, letting the end of his bat drop to
the ground, and looked at the constable as he drew near.

ae MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

CHAPTER ee

BUILDING UP THE NINE. tas ee

Mark looked with anxiety at the constable, as the latter A

advanced toward him across the vacant lot.
“Mark Minton?” the constable asked, as he came up.
“That is my name,’ Mark answered.

The constable took a legal-looking paper from his pocket.

“T am instructed to inform you that Mr. Caleb Dicer has
purchased this lot, and he has sent me to notify you, as

captain of your baseball club, that your nine will not be.

permitted to» practise here or use this lot in any way.”
This was a stunning surprise.
But to the other boys it was a knock-out blow.

“Why, we're not hurting the old lot!” Phil Worthington

grumbled. “It’s a bit of spite work against Mark.”

“He must have bought up the lot just to turn us out of

it,” sputtered young Leonard, whose father was the editor
of the Millboro Eagle.

“Tell the old guy there are other lots,’
Trask, a handsome young fellow of sixteen, with plump
round face and curly hair, who played second base in the new
nine.

‘Sure!
ous twinkle.

But when the constable had delivered his instructions and
walked away, the boys began to realize that the situation
was unpleasant, to say the least.

For one thing, they could not get in any practise one
that evening, and they felt they needed all they could secure
before the time of the coming game with the Che
the nine organized and run by “Dicer’s son Tom.

When the boys tried to get another lot anywhere near

the store where Mark worked, they found ay could not .

find one that was at all stable.
“We'll go out to the lot in the outskirts, which we had

before,” said Phil, talking the matter over with Mark in

the store the next day.

But when Phil went out to see about it, he iota that this ae
lot was also controlled by Caleb Dicer, ‘and that in future

they would be barred out of it.
“It’s too far out, anyway,” was the thought with which
he comforted himself, as he turned back into the town.

“Mark wouldn’t have time to get out there in the evening’

and do any practise worth while before dark. But we seem
to be up a stump.”

In consequence of this failure, there was no practise for
the Millboro Eagles that evening.

“As Mark came down toward the store the next day, he

encountered pretty Margaret Caldwell, who was journeying

in the same direction.

“You look as glum as an ele this morning,”
marked cheerily.

Mark smiled in answer.

Do be ter said 1 didn't “know, tt;
enough.”’

“Why shouldn’t Te she asked.
I tell you the news.’

“What is it?” asked Mark eagerly.

“Haven't you heard?
position of bookkeeper in his store. Dolph came up to the
house last evening and said that you recommended me very
highly, and that they would be glad to try me in the posi-
tion, if I would take it. Take it? I guess I shall i glad
to take it.”

Mark looked confused, though he was delighted.

“And you will, too, when

‘He had indeed spoken very highly of Margaret’s abilities,
in a conversation with Dolph, but he had not asked that

she should be given the position of bookkeeper.
“T didn’t recommend you,” he said, laughing.
“Oh, you fibber! Dolph told me ‘that you spoke highly of

-me. Of course I’m glad that you did, and I don’t see why :

you should Se it.’

 

 

said Wilbur

Lots of lots!” another chimed in, with a humor-

 

she re-

You look bright.

Mr. Anderson has given me the

        

 

 

 

 

   
  

 

 

 

   

 

 
  
  
 

    
   
   

   
  
    
   
   

     
     
    
  
 
  
 

    
  
     

 

 

 

 

 

 

me!

Then he explained to her what he meant by saying he

“Did you get a lot to practise in?” Dolph asked, when
he came to the store, a few moments after the arrival there
of Mark and Margaret.

“No,” Mark answered. ‘‘We can’t get one anywhere.”

“Good!” said Dolph enigmatically. “Oh, don’t stare -at
IT mean it. I know where there’s a lot that can be
had, but I’m going to bargain with you for it—see? Joe
Strang tells me he has to go away and can’t play first base

for you, and if you ll put me in his place I’ll tell you about

that lot. And we'll go out there and wind up things in
great shape this evening, What do you say?”

Margaret laughed, causing Dolph to flush hotly.

“Well, mow, I mean it!” he declared. “I know I’m not

“built like a greyhound, but I don’t need to be to play first.

_ And you'll find Tl! hold down that cushion all right.”

“But you're too lazy,” said Margaret mischievously. “If
a ball should come your way you'd be too tired to get it.”

She knew Dolph well, and so did not hesitate to guy him
a little.

“That's all right,” he said. “But you'll find I’m not so
slow when it comes to holding down one of the bases. I’ve
done it before, and can again. What do you say?” he de-
manded, turning from the laughing girl to Mark.

Mark had been studying him with a critical eye and trying
to recall what he had heard of Delph’s ball-playing.

“Tl do this, Dolph, and be glad to,” he said: “Show us

‘that lot, and we'll go out there this evening for practise;

and if you can satisfy the boys that you’re the stuff for first,
why, the place is yours.”

“Done!” said Dolph, turning over a sugar-scoop with a
great clatter in his delight. “That position is mine, and
don’t you forget it!”

Up to that morning Mark had not known that Dolph
‘Anderson was a baseball enthusiast. Now he discovered that

- Dolph thought of baseball by day and dreamed of it by night,

and that he had been industriously practising all summer,
whenever he found opportunity. «

And Mark knew, too, when he made that discovery, that
this liking for baseball was one of the things that had
caused Dolph to show a friendly spirit toward him.

Still, he did rather fear that, if Dolph were. taken on the
team, his constitutional “weariness” might seriously handicap
him some time when it would be important for every mem-
ber of the nine to be most actively alive.

‘But when Dolph led the way to the new lot that evening,
and there demonstrated that he was anything but a Weary
Willy when it came to baseball, Mark and every member of
the team felt that they would be fortunate in securing him.

The game is on! :

* 7 2K * * * *

There were no rows of bleachers to spring aleak in the
old ball-field of Millboro, but the crowd was there—a large
crowd—that had poured through the gates in a steady stream
while the nine were warming up; and Mark Minton knew,
whatever else might befall, that the people of Millboro were
willing to patronize amateur sport, as well as professional,
and that if his Eagles won that day there would be a nice
pot of money in the club treasury.

Win the game?

That was what he meant to do, and what every member

of his nine meant to do.

 
  

- them on.

But, on the other hand, the Champions, under the lead-
ership of Tom Dicér, were equally confident of success, and,
as a result, a close game was expected by the baseball fans.

Margaret Caldwell was in the crowd of spectators, to-

gether with a host of other pretty girls, eager and anxious

for the success of their favorites, and ready to cheer

As bleachers and grand stand had been long before re-
moved from the old field, the partisans of the Eagles stood

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY. oe 4

did not recommend:her, and they walked on to the store
_ together, in the happiest mood imaginable.

 

together on one side of the grounds and those of the ey
pions on the other.

That the spectators were chiefly boys and girls, young
men and young women, with a sprinkling of older heads,
rendered it certain that the fan work would not be of a
mild type. ’

The entrance-fee had been placed at the low limit of

twenty cents; and the conditions of the game were that,
after paying the field hire and for the services of a com-
petent umpire, and other necessary costs, the remaining -
money was to go to the winning club.

Caleb Dicer was in the center of the crowd on the Di¢er
side of the ball-grounds, crowding close up against the
ropes, looking encouragement to his son Tom, and glower-
ing his dislike at Mark Minton, which the latter minded not
in the least.

Then the game opened up, with the Champions at the
bat, and the players in the following.order:

. EAGLES.

Bob Leonard, ss.
Wilbur Trask, 2d b.
Mark Minton, p.
Dolph Anderson, st b.
Phil Worthington, c.
Archie Stone, cf.

Kent Conner, If.

Buck Daniels, 3d b.
Paul Clifford, rf.

CHAMPIONS.

Cecil Coudert, cf,
Morton King, p
Tom Dicer, c.
Ben Morgan, Ist b.
Earl Griggs, rf.
‘Irving Low, 3d b.
Raft Hobson, Ss.
Joseph Guild, 2d b,
Mat Davenport, If.

Cecil Coudert, the first man up, was given a pass to the
benches, without trouble by Mark, who held the position of
slabman; but the next man, Morton King, caught one of
Mark’s dirt-diggers and smashed a grounder to ‘third, then
sprinted like a red fox for first bag.

“Here is where I come in!’ grunted the fat first-baseman,
Dolph Anderson, as he saw Buck Daniels catch up the ball
and line it to him.

And Dolph forthwith proceeded to cover himself with
glory and justify the Eagles’ good opinion of him by hang-
ing on to that ball, thus putting King out.

“Good boy !” Mark shouted to him, while the fans who
sympathized with Mark’s nine gave Dolph a cheer.

Tom Dicer picked up the willow with eyes that flashed
determination.

Tom was not athletic-looking, being somewhat thin and
stoop-shouldered, but he was a good ball-player for all that,
and could run like a race-horse.

Two men were out, and, as he faced the boy he hated and
watched him “wind up’? the ball, his hate made his greenish-

-gray eyes glitter and filled him with a determination to

show that Mark was no great shakes on the slab, after all.

Mark signaled to Phil, and sent in a stem-winder.

It was a terrific ball, but Phil held it, and it was right
over the rubber. Z

“One strike!” said the umpire.

Tom Dicer paled slightly, clutched his club with a tighter
grip, and again waited.

This time he slashed at the ball, though it was another
stem-winder.

“Two strikes!” said the umpire, and the Baclke fans be-
gan to yell.

“Oh, he thinks I can’t get him, does he?” Tom snarled to
himself,

Once more the sphere hissed through the circumambient.

It looked to be another of those hot scorchers with double-
rotary motion. Tom smashed at it with all his might. It
twisted downward.

Smack !

It was not the crack of bat and ball colliding, but the
smack of the ball going into the catcher’s mitt.

Dolph Anderson, open-mouthed and eager, gave a yell
that might have been heard a mile when he saw that, and all

 
         
  

  

   
  
 
  
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
     
  
   
     
 
     
    
   
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
   
   
    
    

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Mark’s thought,

the Eagles came streaming in te the plate, cheering as they
came, while the rooters howled with delight.
“That's all right!” grumbled Tom, as he threw noun the

bat, though he could hardly understand how he had been.

struck out. “The game isn’t ended yet! We'll show you
fellows a few things beforé we’re done with you!”

Then, while the applause still resounded, Bob Leonard
was called to the bat, bringing a frown to the fleshy face of
the elder Dicer, who felt called on to hate the slight, yel-
low-haired boy immensely, because, as he believed, it was
through Bob Leonard that the Millboro Eagle was giving
generous support and recognition to the club that had been
named after it.

Mark Minton was studying the youth who had gone into
the pitcher’s box. That had been a place which he had cov-
eted at one time, before he knew that Tom Dicer was the
main spoke in the wheel of the Champions, but now he was
glad that it had not been given to him.

Morton King was a thin, sharp-nosed fellow, with a bird-
like face and an air of confidence. His baseball-suit hung
loosely on him.

“He hasn’t a very lively or limber appearance,” was
“but it’s well not to underrate him. Tom
Dicer would 1 never be willing to accept him unless he’s pretty
capable.”

“Here’s a little one, just to try you,” the slabman called to
the batter, as he sent in the ball.

It did look to be an easy one, but Mark knew it was likely
to have a deceptive shoot.

“Careful, there!” he warned.

But the confident. yellow-haired batter, finkine ‘ was
dead easy, smashed at it with such vigor that when he
missed it the jerk blow almost threw him from his feet.

A laugh ran through the Dicer crowd of fans, causing
Bob Leonard to flush hotly and look nervous.

“Steady!” Mark warned.

“Another easy one!” said King, thrusting out bie SBAFP
nose until it looked like the beak of a hawk.

It was not like the other. yet was a slow drop.

Again it looked easy, and again Bob fanned, bringing once
more a guying laugh from the Dicer crowd.

“Steady |” Mark watned, again, when he saw Bob’s in-
creasing nervousness.

Mark expected a change i in the style of the pitching, ed
was about to say so to the batter, when he saw the ball rise
for another slow drop.

“You can get it!” he whispered, and his words steadied
Bob’s shaking nerves.

The batter leaned eagerly forward, for the ball seemed
about to drop down on the plate; then

Crack!

“A homer!” yelled Dolph Anderson, slapping his fat panes

“Go on, you son of a tinker! Go on!”

The slabman looked surprised and disconcerted, and ran
down toward second, ready to receive the return ball, which
had been batted into center.

It was not a “homer,” as Dolph ee declared, for while
the fans on the right side of the field—the side occupied by
the partisans of the Eagles—were yelling to Bob to go on,
the center-fielder scooped up the ball and threw to second.

But Bob was safe on the bag at second before the ball
reached that point, though he could get no farther.

Then Wilbur Trask, the plump, round-faced, curly-haired
second-baseman, took up the willow, anxious to help on this
good beginning.

But the slabman, as if to redeem himself, now proceeded
to strike out the batter, at the same time keeping the runner
glued to the bag.

“Mark Minton at the bat!” was announced, and there was
a fire of hand-clapping from the right side of the grounds.

Mark selected a bat, stepped into aE and looked at
the pitcher.

 

“MIGHT AND MAIN. LIBRARY.

Tom Wicer the catcher, standing close behind him, sig
naled for a swift curve.

King threw the curve, ‘but it went high, and Mark, not~
liking it, and seeing it would be a ball, let it go by.

Again, in answer to Tom’s signal, the wees sent in
a hot curve. o

It was lower this time, and Mark reached for it, leapt
for first as soon as the bat and ball collided, while Bob.
Leonard, who had played off second rather daringly, sprinted
for the pillow at third.

It was a tremendous whack which the ball had been given,
and it was going like a comet toward the right-field fence,
with the right-fielder flying in lively pursuit. ~

“Over the fence!” some one yelled. .

It was a premature announcement. The ball struck the
fence and bounded back, thus passing again, by a bound,
over the head of the fielder, who leaped to get it, but missed.
~ Then how the fans in the right opened up! ‘Their howl-
ing could have been heard in the heart of Millboro, as Bob —
Leonard passed third and scratched gravel for the home
plate, and Mark Minton passed second, running like a race-
horse, while the coachers were throwing conttortions and —
shouting themselves black in the face.

“Go home!” howled Dolph Anderson, coaching at third, as
Mark passed him. ‘Go ho-ome! Go-o ho-ome! ite

Leas

A

And Mark, knowing that Dolph’s judgment was good, —

raced on like a Kansas cyclone, without once turning his
head to seé what had become of the ball.
The right-fielder had now secured it, but the throw | was
long. . os
Nevertheless, the ball mounted into the air, and those in a

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position to see discovered that it was hissing ‘straight for the.

plate at almost bullet speed.
It was a great throw, made by Paul Clifford,.the he
fielder, and showed that, while the make-up of the Cham-

pions was not admirable in many ways, the nine, neverthe- —

less, held some boys who knew how to play ball, and Paul _
Clifford was one of them.

_Tom Dicer threw himself into position to get the ball and

put it on the rtinner, and, as it was dificult for him to be —

fair about anything, he so placed himself that he would
prove an obstruction as Mark came to the plate.

It was now a race between the runner and the hissing ©
sphere, and for a moment or two no one could tell which
would win.

The excitement was feverish, and the cheering and yelling a

continuous and infectious. Everybody howled, and there
were those who said afterward that even Caleb Dicer was
seen to opén his homely mouth in a wild screech.

“Slide! Slide!” Dolph was shrieking to Mark.

Mark saw Tom Dicer in the way, and saw from his atti-
tude that the ball was near.

Therefore, instead of throwing himself head Moccniete in a
slide, he went at the plate with his feet.

Smack! sounded the ball, striking in Tom Dicer’s mitt.

At the some instant Mark’s feet shot across the plate, and,
striking against the feet of the catcher, they hurled Dicer
backward and away from the rubber, knocking the ball out
of his hands.

“Safe!” said the umpire, his announcement being almost
drowned in the uproar.

Instantly the Champions began a protest, crowding in
from their positions and gathering about the umpire to make
their protest more emphatic.

Tom Dicer scrambled to ‘his feet, pale and excited, ae
joined his voice to that of his friends. '

The umpire walked down toward the pitcher’s box, with
the Dicer crowd protesting and arguing, and insisting that

his decision was wrong, and that Mark Minton had not ~

scored.
Suddenly he turned on Tom Dicer,
among the protesters.

“Stop this!” he commanded. “Tm umpiring this game, —

who was joudest e

 

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1 saw you put
pied! in a position to interfere with the runner. You
tried to block him, yet he came in, all right.. Now, I’m tired

. of this, and if you don’t order your men to their places, and

go on with the game without more ado, I’ order you out
of the game for what you did, or stop the game right here!
Crooked work don’ t go with me ! meer”

Tom Dicer “‘saw’—he was wise enough for that—and,

Woneh there was much grumbling, and the umpire was

called a “cheat” by the Dicer gang, the Champions went
_back to their positions, and the game proceeded.

But two runs were all that the Eagles could pull across
the plate.

For three innings the Eagles continued their lead, then
the Champions gained a run, and in the second inning after-
ward another, thus tying the score.

It was now nip and tuck as to which nine would pull

In the next inning, the seventh, the Champions put
themselves in the lead, and in the eighth the Eagles pulled
two men across the rubber, and thus squared away again
for the winning- POLE ig

‘The score was now four to three, in favor of the Eagles.

_ Then the ninth inning opened, amid tremendous excite-
ment, with the Champions at the bat.

The spectators were certainly getting the worth of their
money, and it seemed a toss yet as to which team would
win.

There was blood in the eyes of the Champions as the ninth
began. They were resolved to win, and they were ugly;
they had more than once stoutly protested the decisions of
the umpire, though a fairer umpire never walked across a
diamond.

Morton King was first up. He was angry and belligerent,

and, as if this favored him, he opened up a batting streak

by driving a long line hit over short.

Archie Stone, the center-fielder, hustled for it like a
chicken after a grasshopper, but it passed his shoes, and he
chased it almost to the back fence, with the Dicer fans yell-
ing like maniacs,

King reached third on this hit, and hopped and crowed
there like a triumphant rooster.

As if this were not bad enough, Tom Dicer came up now,
and, after he had been given two strikes, and it seemed that

he would strike out, he hammered a wind-jammer into left,

which brought King home and put Dicer on second.

Then Phil Worthingtorf, made nervous perhaps. by these
achievements, overthrew to third, on Dicer’s steal from sec-
ond, and sent the ball high, thus not only letting Dicer take
third, but permitting him to come home.

‘The Champions were again in the lead by one run, and
not a man was out.

“This is the inning in which we do you fellows up!” said
Tom Dicer to the Eagles, as Ben Morgan, his reliable first-
baseman and slugging “batter, took up the timber and pranced
to the plate.

Mark, seeing that things were going the wrong way, tried
to “pull” Morgan, but, in so doing, threw rather wide, and
had three balls called on him.

Then Morgan hammered it.

He tried for a drive into right, but the ball shot like a

_ thunderbolt toward first.

It was within the diamond, and high, but Dolph Ander-

son, who through all the intense excitement had seemed un-
,moved, and even sleepy, made a tremendous high jump,

which caused him to look like a fast-flying frog, and when
he came down: he brought the ball down in his fat. right
hand.

A tremendous. yell banged to the sky when it was seen
that Dolph had put out the ereat slugger, Morgan.

And, as if to keep the thing going, Mark struck out Earl
Griggs in three pitches, thus anne two men in the limbo
of the has- ce

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

But things were not to go on this way. ae

Irving Low hit a hot bounder to short.

It was seldom ‘that the yellow-haired short-stop ever jug-
gled anything that came his way. On'this occasion, how- —
ever, he grabbed a handful of grass, instead of the ball, and |
the sphere shot under him.and again bounded toward center.

The center-fielder was playing close in, and fielded to sec-
ond without delay, so that Low was stopped on first; but the
Eagles had hoped to see him out, and the side out.

Never for a.moment dif the crowd cease to howl, and
cheer, and make all manner of noises, so that sometimes it
was difficult to hear the decisions of the umpire.

Raff Hobson came up, and Raff had made a hit in the
previous inning.

The Dicer gang were sure that he would do it again, and
they howled at him to “Line it out!”

He tried to obey, but as he tried to get the ball, which was
very close in, he was struck by it. ~

“That’s all right—just as good!” the Dicer fans screamed.

“Oh, we've got you guessing, and we've got you going!”
shouted Tom Dicer to the Eagles. The game is ours, and
don’t you forget it!”

Then, as if to make good the boast, Guild took the kink
out of one of Mark’s curves, and, because of a wild throw
from left field, Low was let in, and two bases were filled—
second and third.

Apparently, Mark and his nine were rattled, and the
Champion fans scented victory, and howled louder than
ever.

But Mark was no more rattled than was the fat hoy on
first, Dolph Anderson; luck had:simply been against hii,
as has often happeried to the best pitcher who ever put foot
on the slab.

' And this he now proved by striking out the next batter
in three pitched balls, a batter, too, who had made more than

one hit in the game and had brought in a run.

A great yell rose to the sky from Mark’s admirers as the
sides changed and the Eagles went to the bat to see what
they could do in their half of the ninth.

As the Eagles went to bat in the last half of the ninth
inning the excitement was at fever-heat.

Would the Eagles do as brilliant work in their
the Champions had just done?

The score was not a pleasant proposition to contemplate—
six for the Champions and but four for the Eagles.

The head of the batting-list had come round, and Bob
Leonard, he of the slight form and yellow hair, took up the
willow.

Morton King walked into. the pitcher’s box and thrust. out
his sharp nose lIfke the beak of a hawk, as he prepared to
deliver the ball. He believed that he could strike out the boy
with the yellow hair, and signaled to Tom Dicer, the catcher,
that he was, going to send it in “hot.”

“Take tou time,” Mark said te the batter.

Smack!

The sphere banged into Dicer’s mitt, but it was a ball, in-
stead of a strike, for in getting speed King sacrificed ac-
curacy. :

. Then there followed another ball, and after it a strike.
~ Yellow-headed Bob shook his stick impatiently.

“Put ’em over!’ he urged.

King put one over, fairly burning the air with it.

‘Leonard cracked at it, and it was a strike.

“Two strikes!’ said the umpire, and the spectators held
their breath as the next hot ball came whistling out of the
box.

King was a good pitcher, in a way. He could throw
swiftly, and, as a general rule, accurately, but he had not
the science shown by Mark, and those who knew that the
latter had been turned down by Tom Dicer’s committee won-
dered why it had been done.

That swift ball was a liner over the rubber, and. Bob
Leonard banged it out for all it was worth.

haltcas

  
 

° “A ‘corker!’”’ roared Dolph Anderson, when he saw the
ball flying into the infield over the head of the short-stop,
who jumped frantically to get it.

Dolph ran down toward first and began to coach.

His sleepy, lazy look was gone, and he was all fire and
animation as he sent Leonard on to second, while the fielder
and short-stop were butting their heads together ‘trying to
get the ball and field it in quickly.

“Trask at the bat; Mark Minton on deck,”

The rooters on the right side of the roped-in space were

throwing fits in their excitement.

Trask followed suit, after Leonard, and more than trumped
it by smashing a terrific high ball into right, which made
a fat old gentleman so far forget his dignity that he

screeched like a schoolboy, and declared that it looked as if,

the “kiter” would knock a piece off the pearly gates.

Two coaches were screeching now, and Dolph Anderson
was fairly turning somersaults as he howled like a wild
man at first.

How the runners sprinted!
could not get the ball!

Leonard scored, coming across the rubber with his yellow
hair flying like the tail of a comet, and Trask perched on
third bag, happy as a darky boy who had won at craps.

Then Mark Minton, just to keep things going, broke the
back of the slabman’s cleverest in shoot, and traveled like
the- wind to second, his front foot lifted to a point level with
his nose and his hind one seeming to kick along faster, while
Trask bounded across the plate as if-he were a rubber ball.

“Score tied!” yelled the fans at the right.

Another era of wild howling set in.

Tom Dicer purpled and fumed behind the bat, aad sig-
naled wildly to the pitcher.

“And here’s where we do ’em!” said Dolph Anderson, as
he picked up the willow.

Dolph was built like the six-horned Dinotherium, or what-
ever it was, that sat on the ground in prehistoric times and
ate its dinner off the tops of the trees.
and seemed so lazy, as he gripped the willow, that one pretty
girl was heard to say that it made Dolph tired just to carry
the bat to the plate.

Dolph did not appear a bit slow, for he let two strikes
_ be called on him, during which Mark stole the cushion at

third.

But, when the ball came again twisting over the rubber,
Dolph smashed at it as if he were trying to kill a grizzly,
and when he struck the ball, as he did this time, it went as
_if it never meant to stop.

‘Mark came in, thus winning the game; but Dolph, as if
this did not satisfy him, kept on round the bases, throwing
up great clouds of dust and scratching along as if the re-
sult of the match still depended on his individual exertions.
Dolph was wildly happy!

Before he crossed the plate—an unnecessary proceeding—
Tom Dicer was quarreling with the umpire. °

Tom knew the Champions were beaten, and beaten fairly,
but his rage and chagrin made him desirous to hedge, and
claim that the game had not been won in a sportsmanlike
way.

So he assailed the ears of the umpire with charges of
fraud, because certain “runs,” as he called them, had not
been given to the Champions, and those runs, if they had
been allowed by the umpire, would put the Champions still
ahead.

“Oh, don’t talk to me!” the umpire urged.

“But that run in the fifth and those in the seventh!”

“They weren't runs; if they had been, I’d have credited
them to you. Go cool off! You're beaten—what’s the use
to kick?”

And how the fielder ran, but

“You weren’t fair!’ Tom asserted more angrily, as his

friends gathered about him to back him up.
“You're a liar!’ said the umpire?,
- Though he knew that this was tue, Tom Dicer felt called

'»

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

He was big all over,

on to resent it as an “insult,” and, lifting his fist, he struck

  

the umpire, knocking him to the ground. of

Then pandemonium broke loose in the old ball- field at
Millboro.

CHAPTER. III,

A LIVELY TIME ON THE DIAMOND.

As the umpire tried to regain his feet, half the meinen

of the Millboro Champions sprang at him, kicking and
striking.

They were wild over their defeat, and their actual quali-
ties being like those of their leader, Tom Dicer, they wanted

to be revenged on sombody, and chose the umpire, because
of his alleged unfairness.

Mark Minton remembered his thers commands seaieee

fighting, but only for an instant did that hold him back.

He saw that it would be cowardly to let the umpire be —

kicked and pounded into a jelly merely because he had. done
his duty while umpiring the game.

With a leap, he was in the midst of the scrambling mass
of kickers and strikers.

The umpire was down and _ senseless,
seemed on the point of driving the spiked heel of his shoe
into the face of the prostrate young man.

“Back!” screamed Mark. “Stand back, you cowards !”

He gave a push which stopped Dicer’s kick and cleared
a space for himself with a swing of his fist and a lurching
lunge of his shoulders; then, standing over the umpire, he
faced the Dicer gang, with a cry of defiance.

“Stand up to ’em!” Dolph Anderson roared, in a voice of
a bull, as he crowded in.
~ Yellow-haited Bob Leonard tried to gain Mark’s side, be-
ng absolutely fearless, even if he was slight of form, and
for his efforts was rewarded by being knocked flat.

Trask sought to come in, and down he went, too.

Everywhere girls were screaming and men shouting, and
the mob of boys crowding into the diamond was like a
swarm of angry bees.

As said, the blow which knocked the umpire down let

loose a pandemonium.

“Back!” shouted Mark, bravely facing the Dicer crowd,
which had been augmented by many other boys of similar
“tough” propensities.

This tough element of Millboro had been the chief ele-
ment on the Dicer side of the ropes during the game, added

to it being many boys and young men, as well as older, who

thought it policy to “stand in” with the wealthy Dicers,
making thus, as can be seen, a strange conglomerate of self
ish and‘ reckless humanity.

Tom Dicer, enraged beyond measure at Mark’s
ence,’
fist at Mark’s head.

Mark knocked the blow aside as if it were but a feather.

“We'll do you, you scoundrel!” Dicer howled, . striking
again.

7 Tie overreached himself this fae for, in addition. to
knocking the blow intended for his face, Mark drove his

heavy fist into Dicer’s jaw, thus lifting him bodily from the —

ground and tossing him back into the arms of his fol-
lowers.
“Do him up!”-was wildly shrieked, as the mad mob surged

forward, pushing the foremost right up against Mark and >

Dolph. “Kill them both!” ae

There are people who are not downed easily, hoe and
Mark and Dolph were of that kind.

They. stood together like a stone wall, pushing and beat-
ing back the mob.

The umpire lay on the ground as if he wete dead, and
Mark began to fear his condition was serious.
him more determined to protect the helpless man.

Phil Worthington and Archie Stone drove through the

 

and Tom Dike

“interfer-
as he thought it, let a straight drive with his right

This made -

   
      

 
  
 
  

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

  
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
  
   
   
    
  

    
 
   
    

     

   
  
   
 

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| MIGHT AND

 

ee

‘mob like stones a a sling, and put Hoe. beside
Dolph and Mark, and others of Mark's friends were making
_ themselves intensely active.

Morton King, the hawk-nosed pitcher of the Champions,

tried to trip Mark, and went down with a blow from Mark’ s

iron fist.
_ Ben Morgan rushed in, and received a punch in the stom-

: ach from Dolph that felled him, howling.

Raff Hobson and Mat Davenport fared no better ; and,
having thus, with the help of friends, again cleared a space,
Mark tried to get the injured umpire on his feet.

As he did this, he was given a heavy blow across the

- shoulders with a ae bat-in the hands of Tom Dicer.

Turning like a lion, Nae seized the bat and tossed it far

beyond the crowd.

Then he caught Dicer in a grip of iron, and, holding the

struggling youth against his breast, he used him as a shield.
~ “Stand back there 1” he commanded, as the Dicer gang
tried again to get him;

“or. you'll wish you had!”
‘AS he said' this, he crushed Tom Dicer to his breast with
so tight a grip that Tom fairly writhed in pain.

“Order back those fellows!’ Mark hissed in his ear.

_ “Order them back, or I’ll break every bone in your cowardly

body !’”:

Tom writhed and flounced, but the grip tightened, while
the Dicer gang was held momentarily at bay‘ by the awful
look of threatening in Mark’s face.

Men on the outside of the crowd were trying to get in,
and Tom saw his opportunity for a “manly”. surrender.

“Officers!” he wheezed to his followers, beckoning in the
direction of the men. “Better cut out, fellows!”

There was a scramble, and the cowardly youths began
to melt-away, fearing arrest.

Mark loosened his grip.

Ler up!’ Dicer sbeeged.
eracking my ribs!”

Then the men broke through, and the Dicer hoodlums fled

"Letoup, will your You're

wildly.

“Here’s your prisoner,” said Mark coolly, indicating Tom
Dicer. “This is the fellow that assaulted the umpire.”

“Nothing of the sort!’ Caleb Dicer sputtered, also crowd-
ing in, now that the danger was ending. “Nothing of the
sort! I demand that Mark Minton be arrested as the ag-
gressor |”

Caleb. Dicer was powerful in. Millboro, because of his

- money.

That money, in the previous election, had assisted in giv-
ing this officer the position he now held. Thus, in a sense,
he was Dicer’s tool,

Nevertheless, he hesitated, looking from Mark to his mas-
ter, Caleb Dicer.

“Arrest him, I tell you!” Dicer thundered, pointing at
Mark with his cane.

Tom Dicer began to whimper, and bent himself double, as
if in great pain.

“He kicked me in the stomach!” he whined.
Pm awtully hurt!
down!”

“Arrest him!’ Dicer again commanded of the hesitating
officer. “I'll see this thing through, and I'l! put him behind

“T know
. And he stamped on me when I was

the bars, if it takes every “dollar P’ve got!”

The officer hesitated no longer, but stepped forward.

_A\s the officer mgved forward to arrest Mark Minton, the
umpire, who had returned to consciousness, as he lay on the
ground, roused himself and sat up.

_ “Stop!” he: shouted.

The officer stopped, and looked at Caleb Dicer. 4

“Arrest Mark Minton!” was Dicer’s angry order.

The umpire reeled to his feet, and blood was seen to drip
from beneath his hair.
S-4it you do, Mr. Dicer,’

He struck me and knocked me dewn.

he threatened, while his whole
form trembled, “I shall have your son Tom arrested, also!
Plenty of witnesses

MAIN LIBRARY.

&

a

can be found to prove it, and I shall push the case against
him to the limit, I don’t care who you are!”

Dicer’s face became ashen with rage.

“Do you dare to defy me?” he roared.

“Yes; and I dare to arrest your-son, and I’ll make it hot
for him and for you, if you try to have Mark Minton pulled
for what he did! He was protecting me from the gang of
hoodlums which your son calls his baseball-nine. Because
I dared to be fair in umpiring the game, they jumped onto
me like a lot of Bowery toughs; and now, because Mark
Minton kept me from being laid out by them, you ask for
his arrest!”

Dicer was not used to being bearded in this manner. He
had so long had his way in Millboro that he coulda not un-
derstand it. His money. had always enabled him to carry
his point. He saw now, however, that the time had come

‘to draw in his horns.

All about him he heard a buzzing of angry voices, as men
began to protest against the outrageous order for Mark’s ar-
rest, their courage strengthened by the manly stand of the
umpire.

“Let it go, father!” said Tom, paling before the umpire’s
outburst. ‘“What’s the use? You can see that a lot of fel-

lows here are only anxious to swear lies for Mark Minton.

and get me into trouble. They’re not worth noticing. We
know what we know.”

“We know that you’re a cheap rascal!” sputtered Dolph
Anderson, not able to hold in longer.
umpire down!”

Caleb Dicer glared at Dolph, and at the men whose buzz-

‘ing comfhents now stung him.

    

“It’s a conspiracy against justice!’ he fumed. “You're all
in a conspiracy! Mark Minton ought to be arrested and
punished properly for his conduct here to-day, and you
know it!” *

“We don’t - know it!” came a voice out of the crowd, for
the average American dearly loves fair play.

“It’s a conspiracy!” Dicer repeated.

Again he glared round, but the looks he pe) made: him
tremble.

“Come, Tom!” he said. “It’s no use to argue with such
cattle! But I’ve got same of them spotted, and they’ll rue
the day when they stood up together to defeat the ends of
justice against me!” f

A groan of derision came from the crowd, and to Tom

Dicer it sounded so threatening that he was glad to put him-
self at the side of his father and scurry away under his
protection. @

Then there was a rush of men, and boys, and girls, also,

to offer Mark Minton the congratulations which were due
him for the manly stand he had made against the Dicer
gang and their hoodlum allies.

Among the last to come forward was pretty Margaret
Caldwell.

The crowd was thinning out, and many people were going
home.

“It was just splendid of you, Mark!” she declared.
looked so fine and noble as you stood there defending the
umpire. J—I—think you were just fine, Mark!”

And it seemed for a moment as if the warm-hearted, im-
pulsive girl wanted to-throw her arms round Mark’s neck in
her admiration for his heroism.

Dolph Anderson came in for his share of praise, also, aa

so did the.others who had stood with Mark in the~defense
of the right, when the greater part of the crowd were afraid
to do anything because of Caleb Dicer.

“Aren’t there any young ladies to sob over me?” Dolph
asked, pretending to wipe away a tear with his fat hand.

“Oh, you’re awake, are you?” Margaret asked.
stand, everybody, Dolph Anderson is awake at last!”

“Say!” Bob Leonard cried, rushing up at this juncture,
apparently much excited.
“Say it yourself!” some one exclaimed.

“IT saw you knock the

“Vou

“Under-

  
   
      
~ Bob ao it.
“Our baseballs are gone, ae with ther every bat !

must have been stolen while the fight was going on!”
Seta : é

CHAPTER IV.
BUSINESS AND PLEASURE.

“Father will straighten the Dicers out in the next issue
of the paper,’ was Bob Leonard’s confident statemetit, as the

nine and their friends took their way homeward, when it.

was certainly ascertained that the balls and, bats were gone,
and could not be found.

By this, however, Bob did not mean to acctise either of
the Dicers with this theft. .

Young Leonard found himself somewhat mistaken, how-
ever, when the next issue of the Eagle appeared.

There was a very full account of the game, and of the
fight that followed it, witha brief mention of Mark Min-
ton's heroic efforts to protect the umpire, but the scotndrelly
work of Tom Dicer and his friends was laid at the door of
the hoodlum element of Millboro.

Even the Eagle, much as it loved justice and fair play,
could not tell the whole tr uth, because of its fear of Caleb
Dicer, who .controlled some rich printing contracts which
the Eagle coveted, ;
- Nevertheless, Mark was very well pleased with the way
matters had gone, and, understanding pretty well the power
of the Dicers in the affairs of Millboro, he had not. ex-
pected the, newspaper to give Tom Dicer the flaying he de-
served.

The Ragles had won the game against the Champions, and
Mark
to the pitcher who had been selected instead of himself by
the eae cor nmittee.

In addition, after all expenses had been paid, the gate re-
-eeipts, going to the winning team, had been beyond his most
sanguine expectations, and he was glad and able to turn
his share into the family treasury, to help his father, who
was out of work, and who feared further loss of work
through the enmity of the Dicers.,

Herice Mark réturned to the store with Dolph in a very
pleasant frame of mind, and proceeded to demonstrate his
capabilities there in a business way, to the complete satis-
faction of Mr. Anderson.

He surprised and pleased Anderson by writing some ‘neat
cardboard signs with the marking-brush, setting forth in at-
tractive advertising the qualities “and prices of* various arti-
clés for sale at his particular counter.

“T think I’ll have you write some of those cards for the
_ other counters,” said Anderson, after looking them over.
They’ re as clear as print, and you've a way of saying things
that will make people buy, if anything can.’

And Mark, pleased to know that his efforts were appre-
ciated, supplied the store, as he had supplied his own coun-
ter:

Mark wrote more signs of evenings, and the patrons of
the store began to enjoy the daily treat of these attractions,
for Mark had Something new and original to say every
da

The custom of the store began to grow.

“That boy’s got ability,” said Anderson, speaking to’ his
son in approbation, one day when Mark had gone to dinner.

“Yes,” said Dolph lazily; “there ain’t any doubt.of it; but
it’s an awful lot of work!”

It was a lot of work that Mark put on little extra things
which other clerks usual overlook, or which they think,
like Dolph, takes too much time and trouble, But taking
time and trouble, and showing a desire to be useful, are the
things that win in this work-a-day world.

“Mark,” said the proprietor to Mark that evening, “you've
got a happy knack or saying things. Try your hand at
“oe

They

had “shown to every competent observer his superiority -

And he gave to Mark some shecls of paper, on nic: he
had been laboriously writing out an advertisement for the
Eagle.
“See if you can straighten that up—fick: it into some-

thing better; throw in some of those queer little quirks oe

which you get on the card ads.. in the store, like, “These
fine Baldwins—never any better—will last only through the
day; better buy now!’ That cleaned out every. apple i in be
store before nodn. Try your hand at it!”

That night Mark tried his hand at advertisement-writing, Y
and succeeded so well in saying what ought to be said in a
happy and catchy manner, that when it appeared the next —
day in the Hagle the other grocerymen of Millboro seratched
their heads and concluded that the Andersons were waking
up, and that a hustle would» be needed to keep them from
building up a phenomenal trade. te

However, before ail these things had happened, the base-
ball ‘victory of the Eagles over the Champions was cele-
brated in a splendid way by the members of the nine and
their friends taking part in a big clam-bake out at Ocean
Cove, distant a few miles by trolley-line from Millboro. —

The clam-bake was a public affair, but, coming on a
Wednesday afternoon, the Eagles decided to make that aitele <
noon their celebration day..

Mark went out to Ocean Cove with Margaret, who was
now’ Anderson’s bookkeeper, and Dolph’ went along, also,
the elder Anderson saying that, inasmuch as they were to
celebrate a victory over the Dicer crowd, he would get along

somehow without them for a few hours, even if he had to

tutn away custom.

Millboro was hot and stuffy, for the time was now mid-
summer, but out on the beach at Ocean Cove the air was
like wine.

The clam-baking was af its height, and the fun and mer-
riment of the young people in full swing, when Mark dis-
covered that Tom Dicer and’some of his friends were in the
crowd on the beach,

Tom gave Mark and Margaret a look of stipercilious con-
tempt, as he swung by them on the sand, switching a tiny.
dog-headed cane and wearing an eyeglass. His outing suit.
was ultra in color and cut, and there could be no doubt that

Tom felt himself just about the proper caper for a swell

youth of wealthy parentage.

Margaret looked after him, with a smile.

“Por a rich fellow, who can have his own way,-and so
might make something of himself if he would, Tom Dicer is
about as cheap a lot as I ever saw,” she commented,

“When he turned, he looked as if he wanted to eat me!”
said Mark. *

The color came to Margaret’s face.
- “Do you know why?”

“Because he. doesn’t like me,”
then also coloring.

“T never told you how he oral to make love to me?’

“When you were in his father’s office?”

“Both then and before. He was persistent. He would
waylay me on my way home and insist on walking with me.
to the gate. I got tired of it by and by, and finally I told
him pretty sharply what I thought of his conduct, and or-
dered him to keep away from me. I expected he would te-
port something to his ee and-get me discharged, but he.
didn’t.”

“The ctr". said Merk hating Tom Dicer now more than
ever. “If I had known of it!”

Margaret laughed.

“Now, wouldn’t that have been a joke—two young fel-
lows quarreling, and perhaps fighting, just because one of
them insisted on walking to the gate with me when I came
home from the office !”

An hour afterward they saw Tom Dicer playing a short-
handed ball-game with some boys, who, they were sure, were
strangers to him, and, passing quite near t the Pee Mark’ a:
eyes fell on the ball Dicer was using,

answered Mark, hesitating, .

 
 
 
  
     
  
 

  

 

 

ee

+

- eastward was raging like a

 

 
    
  
 

 
   
   
    
    
  
  
  

 

 

    

¢

ie “One of the balls stolen from our nine during the fight!”

pounced on by a player and fielded in.

__ He looked sharply toward Dicer.

» “How did he get that ball?” he asked of Margaret. “It
_ shows that some of his gang were the thieves who stole our
bats and balls that day.”

Mark could not dream that that ball was to play an im-
portant part in a drama in which he and Tom Dicer were
to be the principals and only human characters before the
day. was over. :

« Drama? It was more nearly a tragedy!

 

CHAPTER V.
IN DEADLY PERIL:

The half-holiday was drawing to its close, and Mark Min-
ton, having become separated from Margaret by going back
for a forgotten lunch-basket, was hurrying along over sand

_ and through scrubby tree growths to overtake the crowds |

that were gathering at the beach station. ~

One of the fires used in clam-baking had ignited some
dry beach grass, and then some dry undergrowth, and the
stiff sea breeze fanning it had driven it along, until now
a portion of the trees and underbrush was wrapped in flame
that was extending rapidly.

“Whew!” said Mark, as the smoke beat into his face. “I
guess I’d better take a short cut, or I’ll be smothered before
‘I know it. The fire is gaining fast!”

Then he swung into a path that led through-the under-
growth and oyer some weed-choked ledges.

The smoke became even more stifling, and, to free him-
self from:it, Mark mounted to a bare pint of rock and
looked. about.

The few minutes he had been in the undergrowth had
_added mightily to the fire, which now to the southward-and
volcano. toe

“It will spoil the shade along the beach,” was his thought,
for he still had no fear of personal danger. ©
Seeing no way by which he could get through that of-

_ fered better facilities than the path, he returned to it and

hurried on,
_ He did not know that another boy was hurrying in the
-same direction along a parallel path, though some distance
ahead of him.

This boy was Tom Dicer; and, turning to look at the fire,
he saw Mark Minton on the high rock.

A look of terrible hate came into Tom’s greenish eyes,
while his stooped shoulders moved convulsively and his
fingers twitched.

“Oh, how I -hate him!” he whispered, striking in Mark’s
direction with the dog-headed cane.
pound his head in!”

But there was, no promising way. in which this might be
accomplished, so he walked on, gratifying himself by pic-
turing what he would do to Mark Minton if only he had the
opportunity and was not afraid of the consequences.

suddenly his face brightened, and he laughed. outright.
_.~ That would do the business!” he whispered, stopping
short. “I could give his pride a fall and make him look like
thirty cents! Perhaps Maggie Caldwell wouldn’t be so dead
stuck on him then! [Il do it!” It will be perfectly safe.
No one knows that I’m in this brush, and, even if I should
be seen, I couldn't be recognized any distance, because of
_ the smoke.”

_ Then he laughed again, and ‘coughed, because the smoke
choked his lungs, and, turning aside, he crept through a
tangle of undergrowth till he came to the path Mark was
following. .

Over this he proceeded until he reached a muddy ravine,
with rocks sprinkled plentifully in it and small trees, and
bushes growing on its sides.

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY. =<

‘he cried, and would have picked it up if it had not been

“How I ‘should like to <

 

~ “Tf I only dared to smash him on the head with this!” he
muttered, picking up a club from the side of the path. “I
believe I'l] risk it,” ;

But when- he heard Mark’s steps approaching hurriedly,
his fears overcame him, and he cast the club aside, then
crouched at the side of the path, not knowing now what to
do, for, when he abandoned the thought of striking Mark
on the head with the club, he had no other idea ready to
put into execution. -

It began to seem that he and Mark would meet in or near
the path, and that a fight would be, after all, the outcome,
or else a retreat on Tom’s part.

With something that was near akin to fright, Tom Dicer
now crouched back into the screen of undergrowth, as the

_ crashing sounds of Mark’s footsteps came nearer.

Mark was running. He did not want to be late at the
station, and, moreover, he did not like the looks of. the
fire. : ,

From the point of rock he had been given a much better
view of it than was possible to Tom Dicer lower down, and
its appearance was menacing. f

“Tl give him a mud bath, anyway!” was Tom's thought.

And, as Mark’ came hurrying along, Tom drew a ropy
grape-vine across the trail.

Mark reached the edge of the ravine, and was turning to
the log that here crossed it as a footpath, when the grape-
vine, which he had hardly noticed, was pulled taut suddenly,
striking his feet and legs and pitching him head foremost
into the boggy rock-strewn hollow.

There was a stunning crash as he fell, then silence.

A moment later a white, twitching, cowardly face ap-.
peared above the bushes and looked down into the ravine.

The white look became more pronounced when Mark Min-
ton did not stir, but lay as if dead.

“What have I done?” Tom gasped, putting up a hand as
if to shut out some vision from his inner sight.

Murder was an ugly thing, and in that moment he-almost_
believed he had committed that crime. |

Then, his fright increasing, like the coward as he was,
he drew back into the underbrush and sneaked away, de-
termined that if Mark Minton had been killed by the fall he
would say nothing about it, and so would escape punishment
or even suspicion.

“Ugh!” he gurgled suddenly, scarcely able to repress a

- howl, for he fell flat as he turned, and something twitching

at his outing jacket seemed to his excited imagination to be
the dead hands of Mark Minton pulling him back.

He had almost a feeling that those hands had reached out
of the ravine and tripped him; and, leaping up, he scrambled ~
blindly through the bushes until he gained the path he had
been following first, then raced away for the station.

Not until he was clear of the bushes did he become aware
of the fury and intensity of the beach fire, which was gath-

ering headway every moment and threatening destruction to

everything on the shore.

Then he saw-that Mark Minton, lying in the ravine, was
in the path of the fiery storm.

Mat Davenport, one of Tom’s closest friends, stepped up.

‘and tapped him on the shoulder, and the suddenness of the

touch caused him to leap as if shot.

~“Dud-dud-don’t do that again!” he chattered. “You al-
most sc-scared the life out of me!”
“You look as if you’d seen a ghost!” said Mat. ‘‘What’s

up? I saw you come out of the bushes as if the devil was
after you.”

“I—I sus-saw a snake!” said Tom, with ready lie.

“Well, it will get a hot old roasting!’

“Yes—it will!” Tom assented, his tongue forming the
words. mechanically and a horror growing in the greenish,
unpleasant eyes,

Then he started and shivered, for a long mournful howl,
like a wail for the dead, came from the heart of the brushy.

expanse toward which the fire was racing.

  

 

 
 

 

‘Tt was a dog’s howl which Tom heard, though a saan
‘feeling of superstition made him think it must be from some
other source.

Within the ravine Mark Minton still lay as if hé were
dead. His eyes were closed, and he was motionless.

The fall had been heavy, and, though he had not struck
against any of the stones in the gully, he had tumbled on
his shoulder and the side of his ‘head, and had been ren-
dered instantly unconscious.

Fortunately, the smoke was rising and the heavier air at
the bottom of the hole was comparatively free from it, so
that it did not as yet fill Mark’s lungs.

As he lay there, in terrible peril from the on-coming ine,
before which every living thing was flying, his handsome
_ setter, which he had left at home, but which had evidently
tracked him to the clam-bake, came trotting along the path,
also anxious to escape the advancing flames.

The dog was about to leap upon the log, when it de-
tected Mark’s presence in the ravine,

Instead of crossing, it leaped down, and, running up to

the unconscious body, it stood over him, licking his face

and exhibiting almost human concern.
Mark stirred, and the dog whined and barked joytully,

then began to tug at his coat, as if to arouse him, or pull.

him out of danger,

Mark started up with a stupefied look, but almost instantly
dropped back into unconsciousness, and lay as before.

Again the setter whined, and barked, and tugged at his
coat, but without again arousing him.

Then, as if puzzled and at a loss what to do, it lifted its
voice in a mournful howl—the sound heard by Tom Dicer at
the station. |

And, when Mark continued his lack of attention to its
endeavors, it sat down by. his side, licking his face now and
then and howling in those long, mournful notes, evidently
forgetful or regardless of its own peril in thus remaining
apy him.-

» Others heard the howling of the dog, and it began to
attract comment.

Some one spoke to Tom Dicer about it, and asked him if
he had seen a dog on the way by which he had passed.

“Nol? said Tom, with sharp nervousness.

_ The sweat came out in great beads on his face as the
dog continued to howl. He knew that if Mark was not
dead, but remained in the ravine, he would be burned to
death, and that seemed even worse than ordinary murder.

In any event, Tom Dicer felt himself a murderer, and he
went hot and cold ‘as he reflected on what the consequences
might be if the thing came to light, And thus thinking, he
began to wish thdt the fire would hurry, and thus destroy
all evidences of what he had done.

Mat Davenport, who was trying to talk to him, turned
to him at last, when Tom, gave only muttered and equivocal
answers.

“You're the queerest duck to-day that I ever saw!” he de-
clared... “You act as if you'd done something you're afraid
of, and I believe you have. Where is Mark Minton?’

“How should I know?’ Tom snarled. ‘Do I have to tag
around after him? Curse you! Do you mean to say that
1 killed Mark Minton ?”’

Davenport walked away, a curious look on his face.

Others were beginning to ask about Mark.

Among them was Margaret Caldwell, who had been under
the impression that he was somewhere with Phil Worthing-
tom). But now, seeing Phil alone, she knew this could
not be. :

She ran after Phil to make an inquiry, but lost him in the
crowd,

- “Oh, [’'m sure something has happened to Mark!”, was
her thought. “And that dog howling! It sounds like
Mark’s dog.” ;
Her face paled.
“Perhaps it is! He was crazy to come with us to- day! pi

MIGHT AND M/ IN LIBR RY.

    

face. ue
_ Then she sored toward the threatened undergrowth, run- s

 

  
  
 

Marea turned again toward ihe ae with horror- ile

ning, as it seemed, straight at the fire.

Phil Worthington saw her. He, too, had heard the de,
and had missed | Mark; and, unable to discover him in the
crowd, he leaped to the conclusion that’ Margaret knew that
Mark was in peril in the undergrowth, and was going toe
to aid him.

“Come along, fellows!’ he shouted, speaking to some.
members of the Millboro nine to which he and Mark be-
longed.
burned to death! To the rescue, fellows! We mustn’t let
Mark die out there like a trapped rat!”

The dog at Mark’s side howled again, but with a choking
note now.

Mark’s danger had bese most deadly, and the intelli-

gent animal seemed to know it.

Its own danger had also become very great, yet it re-

fused to leave the boy in the ravine.

Again and again it tugged at his coat, in an effort toi,

rouse him, looking occasionally up at the cloud of smoke
that was pressing down into the place.

The smoky cloud had grown fiery hot, and bits of hot
cinders and burning leaves fell into the ravine.

With frantic energy, the dog nipped at Mark’s clothing,
then set its white teeth in his coat, and tried ey, to drag
him.

It could not do this, and howled again.

A choking-fit seized the unconscious boy, and roused him.

He half-lifted himself and stared wildly about.

The ‘setter barked and leaped, and again howled, coaxing
him in an almost human way to follow, as it ran ‘back and
forth toward the incline. Mark realized in a dazed sort of

way that it was his dog, but how it came to be there he did ~ ae

not stop to reason out.

He stared at the smoke wreaths and coughed violeniy

His eyes had an almost vacant look. Evidently, he did
not know where he was or what had befallen him. :

A gout of fire fell from the rim of the tavine, and dropped,
smoking-hot, upon his coat.

He stared at it, brushed it away, and began to Sebi
to rise.

The dog became frantic with delight, though it, too, was 7

choking and coughing, and burning leaves dropped dawn
and singed its silky hair.

In a tush, full consciousness came to Mark,

“Oh, yes; the undergrowth is on fire, and I am—I am in
the ravine!”

He tried to stagger to his feet, and, reeling, fell.

The setter came back and tugged ‘at his sleeve, as if to

help him, and Mark, setting his fingers in its shagey coat,

was half-drawn to his feet.
But he fell back again.
He was deathly weak, and his head was spinning round ©

‘dike a top.
But he now had full consciousness, and so was aware oe

his danger.

“Gol” he said to the dog.
here alive with me.’

The setter looked at him, with an almost human expres-
sion.

It did not intend to abandon him, and he saw it.

Again he sank his fingers in its hair, and sought to climb
to his feet,’ the setter pulling toward the edge “of the now

“No need for you to be roasted

‘almost red-hot ravine.

Mark felt as if his flesh were shriveling. His clothing

smoked where the burning leaves and cinders fell on it, and | 4

eee began to spot his hands.
Holding onto the dog, he half-crawled and was_half-

-drawn to the beginning of the slope, and there made a brave

ee to pull his strength together and climb out.

  
 

“Mark is out there, I’m sure, and something hase
happened to him. Margaret is going out there, and shell be

 

   

    
  
 

 
 

  

 

 
  
 
 

 

 
   
   
    
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
  

       
   
    

 
 

   
  

 
 
    
   
    
 

  

 

 

   
  
  
   
  
 

    
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
 

  

VCincise to the ae he worked himself up, and up.
Then a hot blast swept like a fiery tornado down upon

him and the devoted setter.

It hurled him, with flaming hands, back into the 1 ravine,

y | where he lay, faintly gasping and struggling, yet unable to

‘help himself, though he knew dimly that the brave dog was
once more tugging at his coat.
Then blankness and blackness came again, and he fell

limp in the ooze.

In the meantime, Margaret Caldwell was plunging through
the undergrowth, her heart filled with an awful fear.

She heard the dog, and, finding a path that seemed to lead
in the right direction, she hurried on, hardly knowing what
she was doing, but resolved to do something for Mark,
whom she believed to be in great peril.

_It was a heroic thing to do—a reckless thing, many would
“have declared.

Trees and vines threw matted ropes across her path, bram-
bles tore at her clothing, the smoke and heat increased hor-
ribly, but Margaret heeded none of these things.

Fast as Phil Worthington and his friends followed, they

could not overtake her, for she ran like a deer, guided now

and then by the howling of the dog.

Burning leaves filled the air, and once she was forced to
stop to extinguish .her dress,

_ them.

It was a terrible delay, she felt, and she even tried to run
faster as she started on.

The smoke was now so acrid that it not only choked her
throat and lungs, but seemed to cut her eyes, and the heat
was becoming intolerable.

The dog howled, and it drew her on with unfaltering -

feet.

Then she came to the ravine, which seemed belted by
smoke and fire, where the dog still howled, and _ there,
through the smoke whirls, she beheld Mark Minton, appar-
ently dead.”

A succession of wild leaps took her to his side, where the
smoke was not so oppressive, and where, when she tried to
lift his head, the ooze in which he lay ‘felt gratefully cool
to her hands.

With superhuman strength, she now strove to rae Mark
to the slope, the dog nipping at his coat as if it would
help...

But she could not get the heavy form up the slope.

“Oh, heavens! will we die here?” was her despairing
cry.

And she cowered and dropped back as another fiery smoke
whirl belched downward into the ravine, its heat seeming
to crackle and sear her flesh.

Then a great joy leaped to her lips in a shout, for she be-
held Phil Worthington and the other boys appear on the
ledge above her.

They, too, had followed the howling of the dog, and had

reached the rim of the hollow through heat so great that

their faces were scorched by it.

In the midst of the whirling smoke, which seemed as
much flame as smoke, they beheld Margaret, with Mark and
the faithful setter.

Then Phil Worthington came down the incline like a fall-
ing stone, with the other boys at his heels.

“Whew, but this is hot!” panted Phil, undaunted, though
his very eyeballs seemed to be shriveling, and he felt as if
he were breathing fire.

“We must get him out of here, fellows!” he shouted im-
periously, knowing that not a moment was to be lost.

“I wonder how he got here?” some one asked. “Must
have fallen as he tried to cross the log.”

“Hello!” cried Bob Leonard. “See here!”

He held up a baseball, the one Tom Dicer had used in
play that afternoon.

It had dropped from his pocket as he fell in trying to
hasten away from the ravine.

- MIGHT — MAIN LIBRARY.

‘of those stolen from us.

which was set on fire by

  

“One
Mark must have found ‘it some-

Ours,” thought Bob, hee it into his pocket.

where.”

“Hot as hinges!” shouted Phil.
altogether !”

And they lifted Mark and staggered up the slope, and then
made a wild dash, with Margaret, along the burning path.

In a pavilion at the beach station Mark again opened his
eyes.

Margaret was lifting his head and a doctor was stand-
ing by.

iNeay at hand frisked and whined the setter. Phil and
other friends looked.down into Mark’s face, with expres-
sions of happiness.

“Where have I been?’”? Mark asked, for he had a feeling
that he had escaped some awful danger, while in his nostrils
there seemed to be a scent of heavy smoke, and his cheeks
felt blistered by heat.

“You have been in the very mouth of hell, young man!”
said the doctor, with strange soberness; “and, if it hadn't —
been for this dog and this girl, you wouldn’t have come out
of it!”

“Get a move on! Now,

 

CATT Ban VL
PROOF OF CRIME.

Tom Dicer had taken a car for home, but not before he
had discovered that Mark was not injured by the fire.

Drawn by the same inexplicable feeling that makes a
murderer revisit the scene of his crime, a feeling born no
doubt of a combination of curiosity and the fascination of
the horrible, Tom had even pressed into the crowd gathered
about the pavilion into which Mark had been carried, and
heard the words of the doctor.

The doctor’s statement seemed to point suspicion at him,
and almost to portend his arrest, and he was glad to get
out of the crowd and throw himself into the first car bound:
for Millboro.

But, as the buzzing trolley bore him farther and farther

‘from the beach, he began to tell himself that he was a fool

for losing his nerve, and that by doing so he had fairly be-
trayed himself, especially in his talk with Mat Davenport.

He switched at imaginary foes with his dog-headed cane,
and his nervousness was so great that he broke it in a slat
of the car seat.

“Tm a fool—a big fool!” he told himself, as he tossed the
broken cane away. “There’s not a thing which could be
proved against me. And, anyway, | did nothing criminal,
even if the ~worst was known. Just in fun, I tripped him
with that grape-vine, and he fell into the ravine.’ What .
could they make of that? Nothing. I didn’t set the brush
on fire,”

And thus considering, Tom Dicer began to get back his
courage.

Strange as it may seem, he even began to hate Mark Min-
ton more than ever.

- It is singular that when a boy or a man does a great
wrong to another, or even.contemplates one, he at once has
a growing hatred of that person.

That hatred grew and grew in the breast of Tom Dicer
until it burned like a flame.

“T'll humiliate him in some way. I'll find means to break
his pride. And V’ll make Margaret Caldwell sorry that-she
turned me down for an upstart, a beggar, like him, even
though I didn’t care anything for her in the first place, but
only wanted a little amusement. Yes; Tll settle him—both
of them—in some way!”

But he nursed’ the desire and his hate, as, day after day
after Mark’s recovery, he. beheld Mark and Margaret pass-
ing to and from Anderson’s grocery.

Mark had his own thoughts. With the exception of cer-

tain talks with Margaret and with Phil and Bob, he kept
them to himself, however.

  

  
 
 
   

 

ss

But the baseball which Bob had found in the ravine Mark
took and put away, with a feeling that he would have need
of it or could use it to advantage sooner or later.

And the business in the store continued to grow—slowly,
to be sure, for the summer-time is not a rattling busy season
—and Mark and his nine continued their practise in the va-
cant lot which they used as a temporary ball-field.

One evening, as Mark started to go home down-town, he
found Tom Dicer at the door.

Tom’s hand was lifted to the bell, and he was about to
ring, as Mark appeared.

 

“Hello!” he said, stepping back, in some surprise. “I was
going to ask for you, and here you show up, just as oe
“Just as I did after tumbling into the ravine! It’s a hablt

I have.”

Tom recoiled as if struck, and his flushing face betrayed
his agitation.

“What do you
that! If I had dreamed of your danger, I’d have gone in
there myself after you. But they tell me that your dog did
his part, and you must be proud of him for that! Got | any-
thing to do just now? I came up for a little talk.”

Mark gave him a keen look, then opened the door and led
the way into the house and up to his room, Tom tramping
nervously at his heels.

 

Not to be lacking in courtesy, Mark now placed a chair |

for him and took one himself.

“It’s this way,” said Tom, pulling out a sheet of paper.
“You are always ready and willing to do the square thing,
I know.”

He passed the paper over.

It was a challenge for another game of baseball between
the Champions and the Eagles.

“We've always made the claim that you beat us that day
because the umpire wasn’t fair in his decisions,’ he urged.
“So we want to try it over.’

_. Mark gave him a look of cool contempt, and passed back
“the paper.

“And we decline to play you again.”

“Why?” Tom fumed.

“We whipped you fairly. Every baseball man in Mill-
boro who knows anything knows that Borden is as square
an umpire as ever went into a diamond.”

“But we want to try it over. We can beat you, and we
know it. We'll do if, with another umpire.”

“We're not chasing round for a game in which we will
have to play against ten men, thank you!’ was Mark’s an-
swer. “So far as your team and ours is concerned, we are
the champions, if you do claim the name. Go get a record,
and then maybe we'll talk to you. Try the Tidewater Tigers,
and, if you defeat them, we'll play you.”

He rose and took a coat from a hook on the wall.

Tom Dicer was angry, and his face showed it.

“The Tigers? Why, they’re as good as professionals!
he declared. “We couldn’t handle them, and you know it!”

“Look at that, then,” Mark invited, with something like
triumph in his voice.

He tossed over a letter, which Dicer opened nervously.

He stared at it, and his face flushed.

It was a challenge from the Tigers, the crack team of
Tidewater, the town on the coast at the mouth of the river,
asking for a game with the Eagles.

Tom Dicer stared as he read that challenge. The thing
was unbelievable. He could not conceive that the Tigers
would:even look at an amateur team such as the Millboro
Eagles. Yet there was the challenge in black and white,

with the name of the Tidewater captain appended to it.
 “TIt's.a fake!” he declared, trembling with anger, as he
threw back the challenge.

Mark laughed easily. He felt that he could afford to over-
look the insult.

“Come out to the old ball-field next Wednesday. after-
noon, and see whether it is or not.

$9?

   

“MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

Yes; you were lucky, pulling out of .

The Tigers will be there, —

    

and so will the Eagles, a you can see them cross bats for
yourself, if you have the necessary twenty cents.” |

He restored the challenge to the coat sat: but kept the
coat in his hands.

“It’s a fake!” Tom reasserted.
He could think of nothing else to say, and was so angry
that he was forced to say something. od a

“See if that. is a fake?” !

Mark again put his hand into a pocket of te coat, and
produced the baseball which had been found by Bob Leon-
ard in the ravine.

Tom Dicer caught his breath; and his cheeks burned.

He had missed the ball, and had wondered wnt and
how he had lost it. :

He felt as if the room were reeling round him, ve pulled
himself together by a great effort.

+l caw’ see that it is a baseball,”
his voice.

“Did you ever see it ie c.

“I may have. I don’t know.” :

“Didn't you have a ball like that on the beach the cay. at
the clam-bake ?”

“Ll may-hatve had, but that isn’t it.”

Mark hung the coat up, with great deliberation, and then
sat down.

Tom Dicer, with his face flushing and paling, twisted in
his chair, and a look of fear came into his unpleasant, green-
ish eyes.

“See here, what are you driving at?” he demanded, pure
nervousness forcing him to speak, as Mark held up the
ball.

“That ball was found in the ravine when I was found—
at the time of the fire. You don’t forget that fire?”

“T don’t know what you’re driving at!” Tom stammered.

“Yes, I think you do! If you'll work your think- tank a
little, I am sure you'll remember this ball,”

“Tf it was found by you there, perhaps’ it’s sess
do I know?”

“Yes; it’s mine,” said Mark, with the same ying delib-
eration. “You had if on the beach that day, for I saw you
playing with it, and recognized it. It was mine—or, rather, ©
it belonged to my nine—and it was stolen, with some other:
balls and a lot of bats, the day you fellows jumped on the
umpire in a rage because we defeated you. Tm sure you
remember that !”

Tom rose, as if to go. He was trembling violently.

“Sit down!” Mark commanded, and he dropped back into
the chair.

“T may look a bit dull, Tom Dicer, and may be dull along
some lines; but I’m not so much so that I can’t puzzle out a
trail when it’s a plain one!” 2

“Wh-what are you talking about, anyway?” Tom chat-
tered, his. fear Browns into terror. “I don’t understand
your lingo! i .

“Tl make it clear, then,” said Mark. “Some of your fel-~
lows stole our bats and balls during the fight—what for, I
don’t know, as the great Tom Dicer, son of the wealthy ©
Caleb Dicer, ought to have money enough to buy bats and
balls for his nine, and so save his friends from becoming
thieves, as well as some other things I could name.’

“T won't stay to be insulted!” Tom fumed; “Vll——

“I think you'll stay till I get through!” said Mark a
and again Tom sank back into the chair.

“One of your friends gave you the ball, or you took it,
and, by accepting it, or taking it, you made yourself as much

a thief as the others. Sit down, Dicer!’

he said, trying to steady

Toa :

Again Tom dropped back into the chair.
“You waylaid, me in the path by the side of the ravine
- and tripped me.’

“You didn’t see me!” said Tom, giving himself away by
the very nature and tone of the denial. ;
“I felt myself tripped, felt something jerked violently
against my feet and‘legs, and so fell.

You tripped me there,

 

 

 

 

 
- if he meant to bolt.

_ MIGHT AND MAIN. LIBRARY. eae

‘Tom Dicer, in the path by the ravine, and you’re not to
_blame if I wasn’t killed. I’ve studied the thing out, and
_ know just what I’m talking about.”
Tom Dicer looked toward the open door of the room, as

“Tt’s no such thing!” he asserted.
ravine, and I didn’t know you were!”

“What about the ball?” holding it up.

“I don’t know anything about it, I tell you! I lost it on
the beach that day. Some one else tripped you, and lost the
ball where you found it.”

“See here, Dicer!” said Mark coldly and sternly. “I know
you pretty thoroughly by this time for a liar and a scoun-
drel! I know that you’re lying now, too! And I want you
_ to get the idea through your hair that I won’t stand any
more of your funny Doses | Ly you try anything more,
I shall—

“And I won't stand your insults!” Tom cried, flinging
himself out of the room and out of the house, and shaking
with something that was close akin to terror, a8 he hastened
eos the street.”

“I wasn’t near the

CHAPTER VII.
A’ TRAP FOR TOM DICER.

For“several days Tom Dicer kept himself pretty well out
of Mark’s sight.

He-had been given a healthy scare.

But even during this period of fright his crafty brain was
busy, and his hatred of Mark seemed to grow rather than
diminish.

He spent long hours of his idle and useless life in dis-
carding plan after plan which at first glance promised some-
thing in the way of humiliation or harm for Mark.

But he never wholly relinquished his base desire to “get
even” with his enemy.

As the Wednesday for the baseball-gcame between the
Eagles and the Tigers approached, Tom began to cast about
for some clever scheme by which he might compass the -de-
feat of the Eagles.

Even though he had felt at first that Mark’s nine would
have not a ghost of a chance in a cotitest with the team from
Tidewater, certain reports of practise matches brought him
by friends made him think he might be mistaken.

“The Tigers must whip them! How can I bring it about
without fail?”

He could hit on nothing more original than an attempt to
bribe the umpire, whose name he had learned.

It was a belief of the Dicer family that money will ac
complish anything, and that ‘ ‘every man has his price.”

So Tom tried to put himself in communication with the
umpire, for the purpose of obtaining a secret interview.

The afternoon of the day before that set for the gaine,
Mark Minton was approached by a boy as he was waiting’
on a customer in Andefson’s store, and an envelope was
put in his hands.

Before he could open the envelape or ask a question, the
boy hastened out of the store, and Mark, busy with the
customer, could not immediately follow him.

When he-had opportunity to open the letter, he found
it to contain this:

“Mr. Warp Durpin. -

“Will you meet me to-night at nine o’clock in the room
of the second floor at the back of Major Stanton’s office, on
Pearl Street? You are to be the umpine in to-morrow’s
game, and it will be well worth your while to meet me.
The room I name is now unoccupied, but I can get the key
and can furnish a light. Nine ao ee in it for
you, if you come!”

This was unsigned, and was written with a typewriter.
“Mark looked at it closely.

Z

marks of that flattened ‘

“From. Dicer’s office; no doubt about that! © “There's. the
* on Dicer’s typewriter.”
He stared out of the Sandon and whistled softly, while

Dolph busied himself in another part of the store.

“Yes, rio one but Tom Dicer would write a thing like

that from Dicer’s office, and he used the typewriter and lett: |

the note unsigned to hide his tracks, if the umpire chose not
to meet him. But the note wasn't intended for me.’

It was ‘quite plain to Mark that the boy who had been
entrusted with its delivery had mixed Tom Dicer’s instruc-
tions and had hurried with the note to the captain of the
Millboro nine, instead of to Durbin, who was to umpire the
game; and, as there was to be no answer, the boy had a
sténed away without discovering his mistake.

Mark stared thoughtfully at the note. He knew that Tom
Dicer had meant to try to buy the umpire if he met him at
the room mentioned that night.

Mark did not know Durbin, who was a stranger in Mill-
boro. He knew where he was staying, however; and, after.
thinking the matter over, he asked Anderson for a short
leave of absence and went out of the store.

Tom wants Durbin to get this letter, and Vll deliver it
myself.”

With which thought he hunted up the umpire; and when
they were closeted together he showed him the note and
told how it had come into his hands.

Durbin flushed and looked angry.

“The scoundrel!” he said. “He thought to buy me?’

“No doubt about that,” Mark answered. “Those Dicers
think any man will sell out, if only enough money is of-
fered.”

“Why, it makes me want to hammer his face in!
have some big bets up on the game.”

‘““He may have, for all I know; but what ’m sure of is
that he would do anything to get the Eagles defeated to-
morrow, just because he thinks it would hurt me. He
doésn’t like me, even‘a little bit.” :

Then, as it seemed necessary, he told the umpire some-
thing of ‘the trouble between himself and Tom Dicer.

“And I thought, if I came to you with the note,” he ex-
plained, “instead of withholding it, as I could have done very |
easily, you might be willing to help me to trap the rascal,
who surely wants to bribe you.”

Mark had not neglected to study Durbin’s character, as it
was manifested in words and actions, while the talk was
going on that led up to this, and this study had made him |
sure it was safe to trust the umpire. ‘

“What is it you want me to do?” asked Durbin.

“Help me to-trap him.”

“Have you a plan?”

“Yes; I thought of one coming down. I could go with |
you and listers outside with some friends of mine while
Tom was making his offer to you, and then we could show

He must

ourselves and let him know that we had heard everything.”

Durbin smiled.

“Not bad,” he assented,
an improvement on that.”

“Yes?” said Mark questioningly. -

“Tm somewhat of an amateur actor.
ourself ?” m

“A little. I used to belong to the Millboto Dramatic Club, ©
and we produced a few plays and sketches that weren't re-

“but I’ve got a better, or, rather,

Ever do any acting

— ceived so badly.”

¥Just the thing, then. We can work it.”

He went to a grip at one side of the room, and, opening |
it, produced some disgtises such as aré used by actors, con-
sisting of wigs, beards, and mustaches, together with
preparations of grease- paint for coloring the features and
marking lines on “the face and hands.

“Tom Dicer never saw me in the world,” said. Durbin,
as he produced the articles. ‘He wouldn’t know me from
Adam.. Now, my plan is to have you meet Dicer. I'll dis-
guise you so that he won’t know you, and I’ll go along as

 
    

  

46.

your friend, and, of course, he won’t know me; and then,
as Ward Durbin, the umpire, you can talk the thing over
with our bright friend.”

“And spring the surprise on him at the proper moment,”

would mean to Tom Dicer.
: “Just so,’ said Durbin. “He'll never dream of such a
_ trap, and he will walk right into it.”

 

CHAPTER VIII.
TRAPPED.

Shortly before nine o’clock, the time set by Tom Dicer for
his meeting with the umpire in the upper back room at
the rear of Major Stanton’s office, Mark Minton entered the
hotel where Ward Durbin, the umpire, was stopping, and was
conducted by the umpjre himself to the latter's room.

“How easy it would have been for Tom Dicer to meet
you here,’ was Mark’s comment, as he and the umpire
went into the room together.

“I’m guessing that he didn’t want to be seen by any one
who might know him,” said Durbin. “If I-meet him in the
back office, according to his plans, I will be the only one
to see him, and he thinks if I can’t be bought by him he
will be safe.”

He turned to the grip he had opened in Mark’s presence
that afternoon, and again took from it some grease-paint,
together with a thin black mustache.

He worked rapidly, showing he had experience, and in
a very little time Mark’s complexion was darkened and
his eyebrows and eyelashes tinted coal-black, so that when
the tiny, thin black mustache was applied to his face the
transformation was complete.

before Mark.

“I shouldn't know myself if I should meet myself in the
street,’ was Mark’s comment, as he stared into a looking-
glass. “But I don’t look a bit like you.”

“Tt’s not necessary; in fact, it wouldn’t be desirable that
you should, for I’m to go along, you know, and we don't
want to show up as twins.”

Then, having made a change of clothing, which the um-
pire produced, Mark Minton was ready to sally forth as

“Durbin, the umpire,” accompanied by the real Durbin as
a “friend,” for the purpose of meeting Tom Dicer and
learning how much he was willing to pay to have the game
of the following day thrown against the Millboro Eagles.

Having mounted together the stairway to the room in the
rear of Stanton’s office at the time set, Mark rapped Was
on the door.

Ee San,”

i keyhole.”

Tom Dicer opened the door and. looked curiously at the
disguised youth before him.”

“Durbin, the umpire,” said Mark, in a changed voice.

Tom was about to open the door, being thoroughly de-

whispered Durbin.

“background.
. “A friend I brought along with me,” Mark explained. “He
can be trusted not to hear anything he ought flot. to. hear.“
“But this was to be a private interview,’ Tom objected.
“I can retire,’ suggested the real Durbin, “if I’m not
wanted.”
“But we'll want to talk over details, you see, if our friend
and I come to an arrangement,” insisted Mark.
The hint that an “arrangement” could be made, thrown
fancied that “Durbin” understood thoroughly the meaning
ame.
“Tt will be all right, I suppose; come in!”
And he opened the door to a sufficient width to admit his

MIGHT AND MAIN

said Mark, his eyes shining at the thought of what that

“Ward Durbin, the umpire!” said the real Durbin, bowing

“T see a light through the.

ceived, when he caught sight of the real Durbin in the —

out as a lure by Mark, was snapped up by. Tom Dicer, who |

of his message, and had come prepared to sell out the ball-

 

         
   
   
   
         
     
       
       
         
   
      
      
  
 
    
 
   
   
 
   
 
  
 
     
    
     
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
     
       
   
 

RARY.

visitors without permitting much light to shine into the |
street. oe |
“Business first,” said Mark, when he nid “the lunges Te 4y
seated themselves. “I received your note all right. I think b
I have seen you somewhere?”
His changed accents were as Bose | as his: disguise, and ©
Durbin was astonished. : 24
“He’s a talented fellow,” thought the umpire.. “Really,
he would make his mark as an actor. This fellow Dicer”
is completely deceived. o
“T don’t think you’ve seen me—not to know me, at least,”
Tom declared. “And, if it’s just the same to you, Pll not |
mention my name. We can transact our business without |
it. 9 J
“Go on!” Mark invited, twirling his thin black mus-
tache.
Dicer hesitated, and lobked at Durbin.’ ie
“Well, it’s this way,” he said, at length, fo Mark. “I want
you to throw that ball- game to the Tigers to-morrow. I'll
make it worth your while.” ee
Mark seemed not at all surprised. sO AN
“T guessed you wanted me to throw the game,” he an-— 5
swered. “But I supposed, naturally, you'd want me to throw: qm
it to the Millboro team. You belong in Millboro?” aS
~ “Tt doesn’t matter where I belong. I’ve some big inter- Fr
ests at stake, anyway; and if you can throw the game to the
Tigers, T’ll pay you for it.” Ale
“How much?” 2
Again Tom hesitated.
“Say two hundred dollars.
the bargain.”
“But if I don’t know your name, how can I know: that.
Vil get the remainder ?”

“Here is an order for one hundred and fifty, signee by
Caleb Dicer and payable by himself to Ward Durbin. It’s
as good as gold. Dicer is a friend of mine, and he’s all
right. If the Tigers win to-morrow, that check will be paid
by Caleb Dicer. You'll see that he has safeguarded it by ~
making it payable only to Ward Durbin in person, and ay
himself.” :

“You're sure he will. pay it! Ss

“He will, if the Tigers win.’

“And if they don’t win?”

“Well, it’s reasonably certain that you won't want to ex:
pose yourself by making a row about its non-payment. Any-
way, he’s willing to take the chances.”

Mark seemed to be absorbed for a moment in thought.

“T’'ll take it,” he said, “with the fifty dollars in cash.” i)

The money was counted out to him and the signed order i
placed in his hands.

Mark rose to go, the real Durbin rising, also.

Instead of going, Mark took off his hat ‘and swept from his
head and face the false mustache and the wig.

_ Tom Dicer recognized him instantly. and fell back with
a startled cry.

“So, that was your game?’ said Mark, with a sneer.
“Now, permit me to introduce to you the real Ward Durbin, .°
who feels highly honored " your belief that he can be
bought so readily.” —

Tom Dicer felt like tearing i own hair, so great was ie
discomfiture. But all he did. was to stare and:mutter inco-
herently. He had turned as white as ashes, and it looked
as if he would faint.

But things as bad were even yet to come.

Ward Durbin had heard what seemed to be a chuckling
laugh behind a door at the other side of the room, and,
springing to it, he threw it open and -revealed Mat Daven- ee
port, one whom Tom had trusted as a tried and true friend. — i

Davenport looked supremely foolish as Durbin» dragged -
him out into the light. C3 : o

Mark saw at a glance that orn did not know Davenport _
had been in hiding in the ela for Tom stared in amaze-—
ment. a nh

   

Pll pay you fifty down to bind

Fee NT

a

 

   
     
         
       
 
       
      
         
         
     
     
         
    
  
 
      
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
    
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
    
 
 
    
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
    
         
 
     
 

 

 

“What were you doing in there?”
- Davenport squirmed, but was unable to throw Durbin off.
“Out with it, or I’ll choke you,” the umpire threatened.

“Yes, what were you doing in there?” Tom demanded,

«finding his tongue.
- Davenport screwed his face into a smile and looked at his

aid chum.

“I thought you’d have sense enough, Dicer, to cover mie,’
| he grumbled. “What was I doin’ in there? Well, I eae
to the fact that you were to meet the umpire here to- -night ;
so I just got into the room ahead of ie and hid in that
closet.”

“What for?” said Dicer, fairly reeling.

Davenport thrust out his tongue in a contemptuous way.

“You don’t guess? Well, I thought I’d drop to youE LttlS

game, whatever it was, and then I’d use it.”
“Use it against me? 2” said Tom, dropping Ceo into a

wehair.

He had not only sold himself out to the umpire and to
his enemy, Mark Minton, but in that moment he realized
that there was not even “honor among thieves.”

His best friends, as he had thought them, were ready and
willing to turn against him at any time if by so doing they
fancied they could put money into théir pockets.

7 dhere are your fifty dollars,’ said Mark, tossing the
money down. “But Ill hang onto this order ‘bearing your
father’s name; I’ve a witness as to how I got it —two wit-
nesses, in fact—and it may be any to have it in my pos-
session for awhile.”

Then he walked to ie door with Durbin, thrusting wig
and mustache into his pocket.

“Tll be even with you!” Tom fumed, in his rage and
humiliation. “Don’t think that I won’t. And with you,

_ Mat Davenport !”

“Aw, don’t get gay !” Davenport snapped, as he lounged
toward the door. “I guess that we fellows hold the whip-
hand just now, If you'd been quick enough and smart
enough to cover me, and say you had me in that closet for
a spy, why, ‘twould have been different. But~your old

“coco is as sappy as if it was filled with soap.”

Then he tumbled down the stairway, after Mark and the
umpire, leaving Tom Dicer to rave out his rage and fear
alone.

 

CHAPTER IX.

SCENTS A MYSTERY AND TROUBLE.

MARK

As Mark started to go down to the store the next morn-
ing, he was surprised to find Tom Dicer waiting for him
in the street.

Dicer was dressed faultlessly and swung a cane, but he was
still pale and clearly ill at ease.

“T don’t care to have any words with you this ovata i
said Mark, when Tom approached him.

“But. 1 wish to have a few words with you,’
swered, stepping along at his side.
“What is it, then?”

“What do you intend to do with that hundred- -and-fifty-
dollar order?”
~ “Hold. it.”

“What will you take for it?”

“I’m not offering it. for sale.”

“Of course, you know that father couldn’t go back on his
signature and would have to pay it, if the thing was forced
on him?” Tom hinted.

Tom had come to see that in turning over the order to
Mark he had tied himself up. Denials of what he had
meant would not avail in the face of the testimony of Mark
and the umpire.

’ Tom an-
“It’s important.”

- Tom’s father had seen the same, and had hustled Tom:

: MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

Tom tried to stammer a question, but failed, and it was
| voiced by Durbin:

hammer your head in.”

 

  

out thus early to get the order back, if possible.
been so certain the umpire would sell out that they had not
counted on a contingency like this.

“You mean your father would pay me the hundred and
fifty if I should take the order to him?’

“He would have to, wouldn’t he? How could he help it;
it’s the same as a sight-draft or note—payable on presenta-
ion.”

“Tt might be worth much more to me, if I choose to make.

if co

“T don’t think it; better be sensible about it. No matter
what you did, you ‘couldn’t get more than the face value of
it, “You can see that.’

‘Think so?” 7

Mark was wondering why the Dicers were so scared.

“T should deny giving it to you,’ Tom went on. “And
Mat Davenport would swear that he was with mé at the
hour you would have to name, and that I did not even see
you. Mat and € have fixed things up again, you see! My
word and Mat’s ought to be as good as yours and the um-

Dea ae,

-pire’s.

“I think you'd better trot on,” said Mark, his temper
rising. “We’re not likely to come to any understanding, and
we may get into a row. I’m not keeping that order because
I hope to make money by it. You’re simply measuring me
by your own yardstick. You and your father think there
isn’t anything else in the world but money.”

“See here,’ urged Tom coaxingly. “Is that your final
decision ?”

“Tt is; and we'll get along together better if you don’t
trouble me any more about it.”

For the first time, Tom Dicer showed his rage.

“Take that, then!” he said, as if delivering a blow, and
handed Mark a slip of paper.

It was a notice from Caleb Dicer that the hired house in
which the Minton family resided had become the property
of Dicer, and ordered its vacation at the end of the month.

For a moment Mark Minton’s boiling blood drove into his
brain almost uncontrollably.

“All right,’ he said, at last, choking out the words and
resisting the temptation to strike Tom in the face. “There
are other houses. But this dirty work doesn’t win the ball-
game for the Tigers. Now, you'll move along, or Ill

Tom Dicer moved along, for he saw that Mark meant it;
and Mark folded the note and thrust it into his pocket.

“T’ll not hand this over to father until noon,”
himself. ‘No need to give him a longer worry than is
needful. But there’s one thing dead certain: There’s some-
thing more than this enmity between Tom and me to make
Caleb Dicer keep up this sort of thing. Something more
than tle trouble I had with Dicer in the office. I wonder
what it is? I shall have to find out.”

He took out the notice, read it once more, and again
tucked it away.

“Dicer must want to get us out of Millboro. That letter
father got last night, telling him if he would move his
family to Riverview he could get all the contracting he
wanted—Dicer must have been back of that! I’m sure of
it

The letter had been hailed with delight by Mark’s father,
and he had talked of. acting on its suggestion, as it had
come from a prominent real-estate dealer of Riverview,
which was in an adjoining State.

“ll think it over,’ was Mark’s conclusion, as he neared
the store. “Why is Caleb Dicer anxious to get us out of
Millboro? It can’t be simply a matter of petty spite. There
is something under it all that I can’t see; but I shall find
out.”

Mark had not advanced any toward this discovery before
the arrival of the hour for the ball-game at the old ball
field, set for that afternoon.

Because of this he was not well prepared to play the

They had.

he said to —

    
"MIGHT AND. “MAIN LIBRARY.

“eame ol his life.” The distress of his father and mother,
when he gave them the notice to move which he had re-

ceived from Tom Dicer, cee as an unpleasant and

weakening memory.

Nevertheless, Mark tried to put all ‘these things aside, as

he prepared for the contest with the Tidewater Tigets.

Tom Dicer was there, making himself very conspictious
by pushing up against the ropes, somewhat to Mark’s sur-
prise.

Pretty Margaret Caldwell was there, having come out with
Mark.

And, as before, when the gare was between Mark's
nine and that captained by Tom Dicer, a large crowd had
come out to witness it.

The Millboroites liked a good game of baseball, and the
Eagles and the Tigers had spicy reputations for hot work
on the diamond.

Tom Dicer was looking over the Millboro Eagle, which
contained this list of the players, as the Eables began their

warming-up work:

TIDEWATER TIGERS. ; MILLBORO EAGLES.

Haskell Day, cf. rh ie Bob Leonard, ss.

Neil Kendall, p. Wilbur Trask, 2d b.
John Woods, Ist b. Mark Minton, p.

Tobe Evans, rf. Dolph Anderson, tst b.
Rockwood Brown, 3d b. Phil Worthington, c.
Basil Cathcart; ss. Archie Stone, cf.
Allen Cole, 2d b. Ken Conner, lf.

Gene Philips, If. Buck Daniels, 3d b.
Orr Linwood, ‘c. Paul Clifford, rf.

The warming-up work of the Eagles was greeted with evi-
dence of approval, for the Millboro people were proud of the
‘nine captained by Mark Minton.

Then the Tigers warmed up, putting in a lot of gtand-
stand display, and this, too, won cries of approbation.

“But it isn’t grand-stand work that wins, when the tussle
comes,” Tom Dicer grumbled, “and I want the Tigers to

- knock the eyes out of Minton’s nine. They can do it, alt

right, and on the square. But I wish I could have botight
that umpire. Curse the fellow! Who could have dreamed
that he would take Mark into his confidence and sell me
out that way?”

Tom seemed to have plenty of money that afternoon, and
he had distributed a good deal of it in the hands of stake-
holders, on bets made against the home team.

“I worider if he’s doirig that just because of confidence

in the visiting team, or if he has some card up his sleeve?”

was the query Dolph Anderson made to himself, when he
learned of Tom’s bettitig. “He’s a scamp that will bear
watching in any kind of weather.”

And Dolph prepared to watch Dicer, from his position
on first.

‘Yet Dolph, fat, lazy, with a roaring laugh ever on his
lips, was the last person any one would have credited with
shrewd discernment in a matter of this kind, and the last
to be expected to set himself thus on guard. —

The Eagles won the toss and took the bat, the Tigers

going’ into the field with a confident hurrah,

. They really had no fears that they could be beaten by the
_ Millboro boys, and had challenged for the game chiefly be-
catlise they had an unfilled date, and thought they would like
to rake the Millboro gate-money into their already plethoric
treasury.

Bob Leonard, with his yellow hair floating in the pleasant
breeze, and his slight form erect with determination, took
up a bat and stepped into position, as his name was called,
after the umpire broke the Spalding box and tossed the
clean, white ball to the pitcher.

“Play ball!” said Durbin.

na’ little Bob “played ball,’ startling the Tigers by

banging a hot double past the shott-stop_ at the first swipe.
Neil Kendall, chewing a wad of gum, came hear choking

himself, 80 great ‘was his. stitprise, for he had not ‘Raper
the batter to crack at the first ball, which he had purposely |
sent wide of the plate. a
The Millboro fans roared their delight, much to the dis: fe
gust of Tom Dicer, as Bob took second. ~~ \
“See if this ain’t a little different,” was the slabtat’s :
thought, as he brought his white teeth down on the gum ee
twisted in an air-burning cotner-cutter. ae
“Ah, I thought so!” he grunted, as the umpire. called a eo
sttike. “Your uncle can be monkeyed with once or twice,
maybe, but not every minute in the day. a
‘Then, as if to show the howling Millboro footers that ie
Tidewater Tigers were not sleepy, grass-eating sheep, Ken-
dall struck out Trask with three pitched balls; and On.
Linwood, from behind the plate, slammed a hot oe to third be
that made bag-stealing Bob Leonard hunt the benches with

_¢rimson face.

The Millboro rooters ceased to roar.

This wasn’t playing, they felt, this was thandletiguter
with two good men already killed.

And a pall of indigo-blue settled down on the: Millboro
side Bi the ball-field.

CHAPTER x. .
HOT WORK.

ae roar broke out again, when Mark Auton took ee the
willow.

The Millboroites, who were baseball wise, looked on Mark
as a run-getter, and a wizard of the stick who was not likely
to'‘make a funk of it when good work was needed.

But those air-burners came in, some of them straight and ~
hot, and others with queer little deceptive kinks, and three ©,
balls and two strikes were called speedily.

Was Mark going to strike out?

That was the question that hung on the breathless tbe
of the friendly fans.

Tom Dicer believed that he was, and stood ready to yell
with the loudest of the Tidewater adherents when the strike-
out came.

But

Crack!

“Deep center!’ roared Dolph, leaping up on his ee fat
legs, and fairly dancing a Scotch reel. “Oh—wow! See it
gol ute cand get it) he cant pet atl”

And he continued to roar and howl, as Mark tore along
the bases, though his howls were now drowned by the roar=
ing of the Millboro fans.

“Third base!” shrieked Phil, running down along the
base-line to coach his captain.

“Now, it’s tip to you, Old Fatty!” said Buck Daniels, the
ctack third- baseman, as Dolph took up a bat... iM
Dolph laughed, and, as usual with a fat boy’s laugh, it
was contagious, :
Vif Ledon't smash it, ‘Til knock such a hole in the air-
trying that we'll all die for watt of breath before the
vacuum closes!” he puffed, putting up his bat in. readiness
for the ball.
Phil began to clatter away near third, hoping. to rattle
the slabman quite as much as he hoped to coach Mark —

safely across the rubber.

Kendall did not like the look in the eye of the fat batter
nor the aggressive lift of those heavy shoulders. Besides, —
he was just a little nervous, made so by that great three-
bagger. .

So he simply put the first ball where Dolph could not hava’
hit it if he had been provided with-a persimmon-pole in-
stead of his long wagon-tongue.

“Put 7 em down!” Dolph grunted, motioning with his’ bat.
“Put ’em down! D’ye think I want to waste Strength on
comets ?”

Phil was nee, like a crazy magpie, . and the ‘slabman ‘

was ore Mark on third,

 
ee

~ Ken Conner.

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY. | ee

The next was so low that it scraped the eround:

But it suited Dolph.

He lifted it.

“Gee-inger! Right-field fence!” screeched a spectator
hanging over the rope.

But the roar of the Millboro rooters stilled as they saw the

i. right-fielder. sprinting to get under it.
» Mark ran toward the plate from third, for there were
7 «two out.

Dolph had dashed to first.

Mark saw the fielder put up his hands.

Then, as the ball struck, the fielder seemed to turn a
somersault ; the ball shot off sideways, and Mark crossed

; ) the rubber, while Dolph went to second, and took third be-
") fore the ball reached the pitcher.

“Yow!” yelled Dolph. “Talk of Tabasco sauce! Isn’t

; ‘this hot ?”

He was sweating like a hippopotamus, but stood ready to

(9 make the run in at the first chance.

“Look out, you old elephant!” screamed the coacher, now
“Don’t play off reckless, or you'll get killed.”
Phil had gone to the bat.
He bunted a little one down in front of the base and flew
for first; and when the pitcher slipped, as he started for the
ball, Dolph, who had a good lead, tried to score.

Scratching gravel like an energetic hen, the pitcher

reached the ball, grasped it, and rose on one knee.

“Slide! Slide!” the Millboro fans were howling.

The catcher was right over the plate, with hands extended.

Dolph tore up the earth and sand and mowed down the
grass like a: plunging avalanche, as he hurled his huge
bulk at the plate.

The pitcher made a short-arm throw without rising.

Thump—whack !

The ball was on the leviathan.

And the leviathan was on the rubber.

“Ou fe?
oe pate!”
_ Everybody was yelling.

The umpire, who had stooped behind the catcher to see
just what happened, rose, with masklike face.

SOutl he said,

And the Millboro Eagles were sent to the field.

“T wasn’t out!” Dolph grumbled. “I was ahead of the
ball, I tell you! J——”

“You are out now, anyway,” Mark reminded.
ball, whatever the umpire says, goes.”

Tom Dicer, his face flushed with delight, was screeching
- like a ferry whistle.

But Tom was celebrating a trifle early, for when Mark

' went into the box he astounded and bewildered the visiting
» team by striking out three men in succession.

Then the Eagles put two men on bases, both of whom
were retired by a beautiful double play, a a third man
was struck out.

Again Mark struck out a man; but the second banged the
sphere past short and through the fielder, and, being ad-
vanced to third by a sacrifice, was pulled over the rubber
by a liner to first, that Dolph failed to handle.

But it was the only gain.

In the next inning, Dolph at first and Buck Daniels at
third were a pair of bald eagles that gave the Tigers a
glorious razzle-dazzle by retiring two men, and Mark
yanked the third off the plate by some superb slab-work.

But the Eagles themselves had failed to score. ~

Then followed a great exhibition of pitching, a ae
pitchers’ battle being fought through two innings, with the
score one to one, and the fans screaming until it seemed they

. could scream no more.

This was followed by a dandy break, in which Buck Dan-
iels, with one man out, signalized himself by banging a great
liner to the center fence, making a home run; and Paul Clif-

“In base-

ford, pening a single, was advanced by Leonard's ee
and scored on Trask’s double.

But as Mark took the bat, and before a single ball came
in, Trask went out on an attempted steal; and, with two men
already out before Trask, the side was retired.
~ But it had been a great inning for the home team, and _
put the score three to one, which the Tigers were not able
to change in their half. :

Then Mark took first, with a lawn-mower through the

grass at right, and Dolph Anderson again came up with his

wagon-tongue..

Neil Kendall chewed fiercely at his wad of gum, as he
watched Mark and turned to throw to the plate.

Before the ball left the slabman’s hand Mark was run-
ning.

He felt sure the giant would bang out something, but the
only thing heard was a “plunk!” in the catcher’s mitt.

“Slide!” Phil yelled at him.

Mark was already running like a greyhound, and was near-
ing second, but he seemed to increase his speed when he
heard that word “Slide!” and pitched head first at the cush-
ion, with fingers outstretched.

He heard the ball whistle over his head, but he was clutch-
ing the bag.

“Vet his heart was hammering with the exertion of run-
ning and with anxiety, so that the “Safe!” of the umpire
sounded like sweetest music.

“Don’t do that again!” yelled Dolph, nervously shaking
the wagon-tongue at him. “That came. near giving me
heart-disease !””

Then Dolph swiped at the ball again, and again merely
plowed a good-sized hole through the circumambient.

- “Two strikes!”

Again Mark was leading off from the cushion.

“Three strikes—out!” signaled Dolph’s death-knell, which
the leviathan emphasized by slamming his bat on the ground
as if he wanted to do sore damage to the earth.

Then the slabman pulled Phil Worthington for two strikes
on deceitfully wide balls, and Phil, in his desperation, com-
mitted suicide with a high fly to third.

Two men out, and Mark was still on second.

Then Archie Stone rolled to the plate with the willow.
Kendall, chewing his gum with furious speed, soared in
a lovely slow drop.
It was the most tantalizing thing that Archie ever beheld.
It hung in the air, as it neared the plate, just like a halt-

ing, hesitating butterfly.

‘Archie thought it too’ lovely to let go by, and he reached
for it.

Swish!

He carved the air with his stick.

“One strike!” said the umpire.

The catcher jumped toward the drop like a toad hopping
at a beetle, for Mark was running for third with the speed
of a steeplechaser passing the quarter pole.

The Millboro rooters began to yell hoarsely.

Then the catcher lined the ball to third.

“He’s gone!” Dolph groaned. "

But Mark hurled himself at the bag as if shot out of a

un.
: The umpire squatted and put his palm above his eyes, that
he might clearly see the result.

For a moment the howling of the fans stopped, for it
seemed a race between the flying runner and the flying
ball.

Dolph almost ceased to breathe, and the sweat came out
on his round face.

“Gone!” he groaned again, as he saw the ball strike in
the baseman’s hands. The third-baseman held on to it, but
before he could reach down the sliding runner had touched
the bag.

“Safe!” announced the umpire, for again Mark had been
a trifle too quick for his opponents.

see
Hy sy
“ 8 ae

 
co eae AN iN

Such base-stealing had seldom been seen before, and a
roar of cheers greeted Mark as he rose and brushed the
dirt from his clothes.

Margaret Caldwell clapped her gloved hands, forgetful of
the crowd, then colored like a rose, when she beheld the

angry eyes of Tom Dicer fixed on her from the other side

of the roped space.
“But Mark got there!” was her thought.
hurt you to see it, too!”
Mark played well off third now, knowing it was a case
of do or die, with two men out and one strike called nen
the batter.

The ball left the pitcher’s hand, and Mark was running—
running like the wind!

Stone flourished his stick and cut an San swipe in the
air, in his desperate effort to connect with the slabman’s
ring-tailed curve. He hoped, too, if he could not hit it, he
could rattle the catcher.

At the same instant the catcher saw Mark coming toward
' him like a small cyclone.

Plunk!

The ball was in the catcher’s mitt, but, with his eager-
ness to clap the ball on the approaching runner, it fell from
his mitt and rolled away a few. feet.

With a cry, the pitcher dashed forward.

It was too late.

“Tt must have

Mark was throwing pe in a terrific slide, at the

plate,
The crowd stood up and held its breath as the catcher
picked up the ball and sprang toward the runner.

Quickly as he moved, however, he was not quick enough
for Mark, who had a full yard to spare as he lay at full
length on the base-line, with just the tips of his fingers
touching the rubber.

It was a stolen run!

The burst of cheers that greeted this brilliant play was
deafening, and Mark was half-carried and half-led to the
benches by the other members of his team, who were almost
too happy for words.

That Mark’s bold play was amply justified was proved by
the next ball pitched, for Archie Stone struck out.

Mark’s great work had put the Eagles in the lead by three
runs.

“Now, go in and even the score!” was yelled at the
Tigers by the Tidewater fans, as their team trotted in.
‘Don’t let these jays of Millboro put it over you! Pound
the slabman out of the box!”

But Mark Minton was a hard proposition to pound, and
he showed it by striking out the first batter up.

Then Gene Philips drove a liner hot over short, which
sent the short and the fielder hustling for it like chickens
after a grasshopper, and gave Philips second.

Again Mark pulled the stick-wielder for two strikes.

On the second one Phil Worthington lined the sphere to
' third from behind the bat and put out Philips.

At this juncture some one loosed or broke the ropes that
held back the crowds, and in their excitement the people
began to encroach on the players.

This surging forward of the crowd disturbed Mark, and
the consequence was that Orr Linwood smashed a terrific
one into, center.

It was an air-splitting wind-jammer, and seemed to a
a through ticket to the pale moon.

Mark looked at it anxiously.

Kent Conner was the center-fielder, and he was trying
desperately to get back under that long fly.

Linwood was already tearing up the grass roots near
first bag.

Conner gave a tremendous high jump. for the ball as it
sped over “him, while Linwood, having turned first, tore
along for second.

For an instant Mark ee his fielder ben the ball; then

LIBRARY.

the saw that it had popped off Conner’s fingers and was’ T
ing on through the grass. : :
“Go home !” yelled the Tipeis’ coach.
And Linwood reached for third, and burned the bridges
behind him.

But the ball was coming to Mark, on a great throw from nan

deep center.

The Tigers’ coach saw it, but did not think Mark could Lee
get it and send it to the plate in time to accomplish any-

thing, so he did not howl at the runner.
Phil Worthington, who had been doing great work be-

hind the bat, stood with his hands on his hips in a listless _

and seemingly despondent attitude.

The runner could not look around, and, consequently, did
not thoroughly understand the situation.

Perhaps he would have been frightened if he had. ‘

Seeing the easy attitude of the catcher, he foolishly con-—
cluded he was safe.

Hence, just at the time of greatest danger and need, te
slowed up.

Instantly he was startled by the command of the cooehen

“Slide! Slide! You chuckle-headed son of a gun, slide !”

The change in Phil’s manner had been startling—from a
condition of calm repose, he had been transformed into a
writhing flash of lightning.

He had been’ playing to fool the runner, and he had fooled —
him.

Catching the ball and spinning right on around like a
top, Mark had lined it like a rifle- bullet to the catcher.

“Slide!” screamed the coach, in the wildness of his '
anxiety.
Whoo—ish! The runner obeyed.

Z-z-i-p—crash !

Before he could touch the rubber with his trembling
fingers, Phil had him with the ball.

The umpire’s tones heightened a little, though they were.
as slow as ever, as he said:

“Out ! $?

Three men were out—and the Tigers had not helped their
score-card in that inning. In short, they had found that it
was not easy, even for the proud Tigers, to tear wing feath-
ers from the Eagles of Miilboro.

Though the Eagles were still three runs in the lead, they
went to the bat to increase it; but the Tigers, grown des-
perate now, fought as if they were tigers, indeed.

One man went out on a captured fly, one bunted and was
thrown out at first, and the pitcher struck out the third.

Then, with a whoop and a roar oi determination, the
Tigers began to swing the timber.

It was the last half of the eighth inning, and they knew
that it was up to them to do something worth while,

Desperation gave them courage, and it ed also to
give them luck,

Mark, who had worked the slab like a hero, gave a man
a base on balls—the first time he had done that in the game.

Then Dolph muffed a liner at first, and not only per-
mitted first bag to be thus taken, but Tet the runner from
first gain second.

“Whoop | The tide has turned!” screamed a Tiger rooter.

The tide had turned, truly.

The Tigers opened a batting streak and began to ham-
mer Mark.

One man came bounding across the rubber, and was pro-

nounced safe by the umpire, in spite of Phil’s effort to touch ©
him out.
Then a scratch hit over second brought in another run.
The Eagles were but a run in the lead now.
Then sunny-haired Leonard, at short, let a ball go through
him, and another runner scored.
“Tied!” everybody roared.
“Wow! said. Dolph, at first. “‘What’s the matter with
the Eagles? Get together, fellows! Get together!’
The batting streak closed, and Mark struck out a man.

ae

 

 
 

 

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY. Cae.

te ack Daniels, at third, put out another on a great Sicu
_ from the plate by Phil

_ Then the hatting streak opened again, and almost before
the Eagles knew it the bases were filled.

“Wow!” squeaked Dolph. ‘Wake up, there, fel——”

_ A liner to first cut short Dolph’s remarks.

Dolph fumbled it, let it get by him, and, though he threw

| to the plate, he was late, and another run had come in.

“Four runs in this inning!” said Tom Dicer to himself,

with wild jubilation.

“We're pulling the tail feathers of the Eagles now ! uy
_ screamed the Tiger coacher. “Yank the wings off of ’em,
- fellows! Whoop!”

The crowd encroached more and more upon the diamond,
and soon, in spite of the commands of the umpire and
‘others, whenever a fielder sprinted to one side aiter a ball
he had to plow his way through an opening lane of excited
humanity.

‘Then Mark began to get strikes.

Pine strike:

“Two strikes !”

The runners were trying to steal, and the Tidewater fans
were keeping up an incessant yelling.

oe it will be three strikes and out! !” thought Dolph.

ut

Bang!

The fans opened up.

They were premature.

Thwack !

The hissing sphere, white-hot off the bat and going like

cannon-ball, was caught—and held—by Mark Minton.

a he Tigers were out.

But they were one run in the lead.

Then the ninth inning opened:

“Pound him off the slab!’ Dolph wheezed, as Buck Dan-
iels went into batting position.

Buck pounded—the air.

Again the ball came in, and, though Buck was known as
one of the safest, as well as heaviest, batters in the nine, he
ripped another hole in the atmosphere.

“This won't do!’ Buck said to himself, as he set his teeth
hard and stared at the gum-chewing slabman, whose kinks
and curves were so puzzling. “I must get it!”

And he did get it—a terrific, smashing drive into left.

_ The crowd pressed in, so that it was difficult to see
whether the fielder secured the ball or not, but the umpire
drove a hole through it and saw that the ball was muffed,

“and Buck went to second before stopping.

' Paul Clifford drew two strikes, then bunted, which es
him first and advanced Buck Daniels to third.

“Buck will score now!” said Phil, who was coaching at
third. “You can do it, Buckram, old: boy! There goes the
slabman’s hand up! - Now, pull out!”

Crack!

Yellow-haired Bob drew a hit at the first crack out of the
box, and went down to first like a comet, while Buck scored
in a whirlwind of cheers.

The teams were again tied, and the score was four to
four.

Wilbur Trask now came to bat. He was trembling with
excitement, but, try as he would, he could not connect with
the ball, and went out on three strikes.

Then Leonard, the yellow-haired, who was on second,
made a play that took the crowd off its feet.

-He started to run toward third, and then fell in his tracks,
apparently by accident.

Although Clifford was on third, the catcher thought he
had an excellent opportunity to throw Leonard out, and he
sent the ball whizzing to short-stop, who was between ane!
ard and the second-base bag.

“Look out, there, Leonard!”

\

“What are you doing ?” shouted the Eagles.

At the same instant Clifford started for home, while
Leonard picked himself up and dashed toward third. .

Cathcart, the short-stop, threw to thitd, heading off Leon-
ard, and he started back.

“Go back!”

“Come on!”

A chorus of shouts filled the dir.

Though all this occurred in a few seconds of time, Clif-—
ford was speeding toward home as fast as his legs” could
carry him.

Everybody was on tiptoe again, holding his breath to
watch the result of the play.

“Come on, Paul!” cried Mark, as he caught on to what
Leonard was doing. “Slide!”

The third-baseman hesitated just a second, apparently un-
decided whether to throw home or to second base.

That second was one of the most precious in the game,
for, when he threw, it was toward the home plate, to catch
Clifford.

He had to throw the ball fairly high to avoid -hitting the
runner, and in another memorable slide Clifford sailed
through the air and was safe on home, with his arm stretched
through the catcher’s legs. +

“Hurrah!”

“Great work!”

“Bully for you, Paul!’ shouted the crowd.

In the meantime, Leonard had taken third, where he
danced with glee on the bag.

The spectators’ cheers broke into prolonged laughter, as
they saw him there’ and realized and appreciated the clever
ball-playing they’ had just witnessed.

Before the excitement subsided, Mark Minton came to
bat.

Tom Dicer, white-faced and haggard, was trying to get
some of his friends to evoke a riot, which he hoped would
save the. bets he now began to think would be lost, but his
cronies seemed to lack the necessary sand.

Mark let one ball go by; then hit a lovely fly between
second and third, which the short tried vainly to get. But
Leonard dared not start for home on the hit.

Then Dolph came to the bat.

He was red-faced, and he puffed like a porpoise, but there

was determination in the glint of his eye.

“Tust see me smash it!” that eye seemed to say, and he
smashed the ball out into deep left.

It was a swift one, but the left-fielder, who was playing
deep, managed to get under it and choked it into lifeless-
ness, and the run-getting was ended.

But Bob Leonard’s clever work had put the Eagles one
run in the lead. It was a narrow margin, but it was
enough, if they could hold down the Tigers.

“You must strike them out now, Mark!’ whispered Mar-
garet Caldwell, as Mark stopped to exchange a word with
her before going to the pitcher’s box.

And Mark,,as if those words had given i a. nerve of
iron, did begin to strike them out.

“One out!” called the umpire. ©

“Two out!’

“One strike! Two strikes! Three—foul ball! Three
strikes and out!” cried the umpire, as the third batter went
down before Mark’s: delivery.

The game was over; the Eagles had won.

And the score was six to five, in what everybody voted
was the greatest agiateur baseball-battle ever seen in Mill-
boro.

The score by innings:

I
Millbora Bagless ov. oes I
Tidewater Tigers ..... Cres O

g ba
2—6

o—-5

23.4 5/0 8
OE OOO Gee oO
Poe: OO 4

 
  
 

CHAPTER XI.
“MARK MINTON’S HEROISM.

That night Mark had a long talk with his father about the
letter which had been received by Minton from the real-
estate man at Riverview, urging him to move, with his fam-
ily, to that point.

In this talk Mark told his father of his suspicions against
the Dicers, and both were agreed that something more than
a’mere desire to humiliate and annoy the Minton family
must be at the bottom of Caleb Dicer’s actions.

But what it was, neither of them could guess; and, be-
cause they could not guess, the elder Minton was almost in-
clined to think that they exaggerated the hate of the Dicers.

Mark knew better, however, and left home the next morn-
ing in a more than usually thoughtful mood.

‘After going down to the store, he was sent across the
river into West Millboro by Mr. Anderson to see a cus-
tomer.

Returning by the lower route, after an hour thus spent,
Mark came out on the river shore just above the big dam
that gave power at that point to the Millboro Cotton Mill.

Here some bushes grew close down to the shore, screen-
ing the mill and the river dam from the view Qf persons
approaching from the west.

For this reason, Mark did not oe that any one was
on the river there until he came out of the path and stood
on the bank.

Below him, drawn up on the shore, were some boats, one
of which he meant to use in crossing the stream.

Then he saw that Tom Dicer was in a, canoe, with a girl,
oaddling about in the smooth water above the dam.

Mark’s face flushed. .

He had been thinking of Tom Dicer all morning, and this
meeting was so unpleasant that, if he could have done so
readily, he would have retreated and gone back across the
river farther up, by the bridge.

But it was too late to retreat now.

So he walked calmly down to the edge of the stream,
released one of the boats, and prepared to push it out into
the current.

Tom Dicer saw him.

As if to tantalize his enemy, or else for the purpose of
making a display before the girl, he pulled sharply across the
stream, a movement which threw the boat dangerously near
the swiff current that rushed over the dam.

Mark concluded that Tom was trying to “show off,” and
he at first paid no attention to him.

But when the canoe swung nearer, and he saw that Tom
was recklessly driving it into danger, he sang out a warn-
ing:

“Better look out for that current, there!”
“Oh, that’s you, is it?” sneered Dicer, with infinite con-
tempt. ‘

His tone showed that he was in an ugly mood.

And this was not strange, for Tom Dicer, by his foolish
and heavy betting on the ball-game the day before, had lost
several hundred dollars, some of which he had taken from
his father’s safe without the elder Dicer’s knowledge, think-
ing he would win the bets, and could return the money to
the safe without its abstraction becoming known.

His losses he attributed to Mark Minton.

For had it not been Mark Minton’s ball-team that downed
the redoubtable Tigers, and caused him to lose the bets?

_And had not that been accomplished through the superb
leadership of the Eagles’ captain more than anything else?

It was foolish reasoning, to be sure, but it had weight
with Tom Dicer, so that, when Mark addressed him in that
way, it caused him to boil with rage, and as sent the canoe
even nearer the danger-point.

“Better look out!” Mark warned again, not heeding the
palpable sneer. >

MIGHT AND. ‘MAIN "LIBRARY.

“Will you attend to your own business, smarty?
tending to mine!”

The girl, frightened by Mark’s warning, clutched Dicer o
the arm.

“Let gol” he said almost savagely.
boat if you do that ym

“But he says we’re in danger!’

“He’s a fool!’ Tom answered.

I'm at-

“T can’t manage cs

Then, to show how superior he was with the oats a O

gave the canoe another swing into the pull of the current,
imparting to it a curving motion, and followed this by try-
ing to paddle out.

After giving that final warning, and seeing that both Tom

and the girl understood, Mark said nothing further, but re- ._

mained with the boat rope in his hand, his face showing
his anxiety.
Tom Dicer was a capable youth with a canoe, and,.even

though the current there was very swift and setting hard

toward the dam, he plied the paddle with such skill that the
oe Deegan to move away from the perilous margin.

ec!
“That fellow is just a swell-head, who wants to order" me
about in your presence to show you how much more he
knows than | do! We're all right.”

Then he dipped the paddle deeply and pulled with strong
stroke, for the tug of the current was just then something
fierce.

The obedient canoe shot forward.

“Steady, now!’ he said.

And again he dipped the paddle and pulled.

Snap—crack !

It broke short off in his hands.

Tom Dicer gave a cry of alarm, and the girl sees

“Sit down!” he shouted, as she tried to climb to her feet. e

“Voull turn the canoe over t”
The biggest length of the two-bladed paddle had dropped
into the water.

He tried to clutch it, but it eluded him; and, seeing that.

the canoe was being swept toward the rim of the dam, he
tried to use the part of the paddle that remained in his
hands.

But he-had lost time, and the current now gripped the -

canoe in its awful embrace.
Besides, the end of the paddle he had was short, and he
could not do good work with it.

Nevertheless, still harshly commanding the girl to stay in

her seat, he dipped and pulled with frantic energy.

But all the time his face grew whiter, and the canoe, in-
stead of ascending, as before, drew ever nearer to the mar--

gin, where the smooth water, gliding like curved glass, shot

in a great leap over the dam and fell in tangled sheets into

the stream below.
Mark Minton was alr eady in motion.

For a moment after seeing the paddle break he had hesi- a
tated, wondering whether it would not be better to hurry

round. the end of the dam.
He knew, however, there were no boats below the dam.

Then he pushed out his boat, sprang in, and with a sweep |

of the oars sent it flying toward the canoe.
It looked to be suicidal, but Mark saw it was the only. way
in which he could help.

As for himself, he trusted in his superior swimming pow-

ers, for it was ‘acknowledged (Hae a Heber (Sw inanien ee
never breasted the waters of the Sarapan River.

The canoe, caught now in the glassy current, rushed over
the dam, a wild cry of fear rising from both Tom and the
girl as it disappeared.

In another moment Mark’s boat was also at the rim of the
dam. :

. Mark rose upright,
like an Indian canoeman daring a rapid.

Then he, too, went over.

He felt himself and his boat turned straight out into the

I know what I’m doing!” he said to the girl..

ies the boat straight for the leap,

 

   

    

   

   
   
  
 
  

 

RRL
Sr 4 a

 

  
 

 
 

 

      
     

 

 
 

down, down, with the roaring waters closing over him.
He felt the suck and churn of the undertow, and when

he was thrown to the surface like a chip he was below the
yotalls:

* Flirting the water out of his eyes, he saw the canoe and
_. the boat swinging round in the eddy near the dam, and Tom
_’ Dicer some distance below. him, swimming for the shore—
alone. »

Where was the girl?

Mark saw her head rise to the surface near the mill-wheel,
then go down again.

He swam toward her, fighting the tow of the current.
The canoe and the boat churned round and round, knock-
ing against the logs and stones, sometimes drawn under, and
again thrust up, as by some powerful hand from beneath.
- But he did not see the girl until he was close to the
_ great undershot wheel, that here, taking a portion of the
_ fiver water. through a chute, ‘swung vertically round and
_ round, its heavy beams and timbers slimy with river ooze
and green with decay.

-More than once Mark was drawn under, but his swim-
ming powers did not desert him, and he pulled straight on
for the spot where he had seen that head disappear.

It came up again, just by the mill-wheel, and he feared
the girl had been hit by the timbers.

He could see the closed eyes and the white face.

Then he was at her side, grasping her in his arms.

The current drew-him under, and under again.

He saw that, with the weight of the girl on his arms, he
| could not swim eut of it.
oH Above him whirled the wheel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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i

Higher up, from the windows of the cotton-mill, came
-@ — voices, showing that he was seen.
“. There seemed but one thing to do.
ff He did it. (
"Holding the girl in his arms, he caught a slimy beam of

) the lifting wheel.

: Then the wheel hoisted them both up, up, out of that hell

@ ©=~——s-of churning water.

t ' But they were not saved, for they were now in danger
of being drawn to the top of the wheel, and there crushed
to death before help could come to them.

 

 

i ue CHAPTER XII. ‘
We THE WORK OF CROOKS,

With white face, and streaming hair, and clothing drip-
ping water, the girl lay on Mark Minton’s arm as: if dead,

churning hell of the river below the big dam.

While she was in the canoe with Tom Dicer, Mark had
seen that she was a pretty girl, and he recalled a personal
news item in the Millboro Eaglé to the effect that Mildred
Hammond, of Washington, was visiting the family of her
uncle, Caleb Dicer.

_. As the wheel hoisted him, Mark caught a glimpse of Tom
: Dicer, who had succeeded in swimming ashore and was now
running along the bank in his limp outing suit, yelling to the
people in the cotton-mill. ce

Up, ttp, swung the slimy beams of the great wheel.

And just overhead were projecting timbers, threatening a
fate more horrible than the river itself. sal

‘Mark felt that, with his fair burden, he was being hoisted
either to life or to death, and a very few moments would
tell which. : .

2 Up, up, until the timbers seemed to be descending upon
Phim

Unable to throw himself from the wheel, he was ready to
cry out in horror.
When———
Creak—grind—shudder—jerk !

    

  
  
  
 

 

 

 

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

air through a mist of blinding spray; then he was going

as the great undershot mill-wheel lifted them both out of the

 

23

The great wheel stopped. :
The river poured its water over the dam with rushing -

music, across the stream the trees waved in the warm sun-

shine and birds sang, near at hand excited voices were
screaming. ,

Mark felt weak from a sense of relief.

He knew he was saved.

Then men climbed out over the slippery timbers, and,
taking the unconscious girl out of his arms, carried her into
the cotton-mill, while Mark, trembling from the terrible re-
action, and feeling almost too weak to walk, now that the
danger was over, followed slowly.

Within the mill, where mill-girls gathered in excited
knots, Mildred Hammond was restored to consciotsness.

Mark stood near where the girl lay, with her head resting
on the shoulder of a wet-eyed woman, ready to extend any
further aid, if necessary.

She was so. still and so’ white that she looked almost
deathly.

But her voice had some strength.

“You saved my life!’ shé said, at last, looking toward
Mark. “Oh, I can’t tell you how I thank you! It was so
brave of you!” ‘

There were tears in her eyes and a choke in her voice.

“Please don’t mention it, Miss Hammond,” said Mark. “I
did only my duty.”

And then, though the mill people gathered about him, and
dozens insisted on taking him by the hand and congratu-
lating him on his pluck, Mark was glad to get away as soon
as possible and hurry home to exchange his wet clothes for
dry ones. ’

Tm late,” he told himself, “but Anderson will say it is all
right when I tell him the réason.”

As he went from the mill, he saw Tom Dicer moving to-
ward it, with hesitating step, having crossed the river in a
boat below the dam.

“He has cut a pretty figure this morning,
thought.

But there was in his heart neither triumiph nor bitterness
toward Tom Dicer.

Mark had been too near to death to feel anything of the
kind at that time.

His only thought was gratitude—a feeling akin to the
thankfulness in the soul of the girl.

After a change of clothing, he made his way to the
store.

As for Tom, instead of gratitude, which was a. thing
impossible to Tom Dicer, the hate in his heart increased
wagainst Mark.

But Tom had no time just then to work this hatred into
execution.

Two things kept him mentally and physically busy—the
effort to right himself in the eyes of Mildred Hammond, and
a study of how to restore to his father’s safe the money he
had taken from it before its loss was discovered.

“And to think,” he fumed to himself, as he stared from
his room at home out at the river which had witnessed the
deed of the morning, “that beggar, Mark Minton, has money
—more money than I have—just because he won that ball-
game yesterday! It’s enough to drive a fellow mad!”

A glitter came to his eyes.

“Not mad, but it may drive me to something else—some-
thing else!” ‘

He took his hat and went out into the street, and pro-
ceeded to look up his friend Mat Davenport, with whom he
had become reconciled.

“Davenport is a rascal, but he’s a fellow that I need just
now,’ he said to himself.

Having found Davenport, he proceeded to lay before him
a most “beautiful” scheme, whereby Mark Minton could be
irreparably damaged in reputation and their own pockets
could be filled at the same time. ‘

9

was Mark’s

  
24 : - 2 MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

“Mark i. put his part of the gate receipts of yesterday
into the bank, I suppose ? ” queried Davenport.

“T can find out,” said Tom confidentially; “that is, if he
has put it into the bank with which father is connected. I
say itis in Anderson’s store safe!”

When Tom and Davenport met again, by agreement, that
night, Tom was not able to report where Mark had placed
his money, but he was still of the opinion that it had been
put temporarily into Anderson’s safe.

“Got the things?” he asked nervously.

“Yes,” said Davenport.

And he shook a bag which seemed to contain tools, and
produced a coat, which Tom put on.

Then the two young scamps took their way softly to the
rear entrance to Anderson’s grocery-store; and wheh
O’Brien, the private night-watchman employed by several
firms whose stores were in that block, had passed, Mat
Davenport showed Tom how to get into a ‘store, or other
building, by unlocking the: back door with a skeleton key
and then boring a hole through the woodwork by which he
could insert a stick and lift the bar inside.

With the stick he deftly put a loop of cord over the bar,
and so lowered it to the floor without making any noise.

“Now, in we go!” he whispered, as*he swung the door
open.

Once inside, with Tom, he waited till O’Brien had passed
the store again, then lighted a small dark lantern and led
the way to the safe, where it was supposed that Anderson
kept such sums of money as he had not banked at the close
of the day’s business.

Tom Dicer was noticeably nervous, and almost shrieked
when a rat scampered over the floor. Ceo

He had done some desperate things, and was ready to do
more, but he was not yet hardened, like Mat Davenport. _

“Don’t be an idiot!” Davenport grumbled, under his
breath. “Ain't afraid of a rat, are your”

“No; but if we should be caught inv here: *

“You were howling round, saying you had to have money
or you were everlastingly ruined. Now, here’s your chance
to collar some swag. i’m standing in with you, ain’t 1?”

_ yes! !’ Tom panted.

“And do you know why I’m standing me
_ Because you want money, too.”
“Correct you are, in one way.:
want to be jugged, if we should be copped here.
playing the game with you—see?”’
“Why er
“Well, I’m calculating that, if we should get copped, that

I want money, but I don’t
And so I’m

dad of yours, seeing that you're in it with me, would get us |

out, if it took the whole of his fortune to do it. Now,
where’s that drill? Ah, here it is!”
“Stop!” whispered Tom, in sudden and terrible fright.
“Stop 2”
“Yes! There’s O’Brien at the front door!
1?

He must have
heard us, and he’s coming in!

CHAPTER XIII.
UGLY LEVIDEN CE.

The night-watchman had stopped at the front door and
looked in.

For a brief moment his form was outlined there, then he
went on, and they heard his steady tramp, tramp, up the
street.

“He didn’t suspect cything? ‘Davenport grunted, as he
lift ed the drill to begin work on the safe. “We're all right;
we've got the light well hidden, and he couldn’t see any-
thing.” os

Davenport put the drill down.

“You're scared!” he said.

“Yes, I am! I’ve a notion to get out of here!

P

Mark’s room this evening ate? dark, while his mether was
out of the house: re

“Yes; but

“And Tm risking it in my ordinary duds.”

“But that won’t protect me, if I’m caught!” |

“See here, if you want to pull out, when we've got the
swag right under our fingers, you can, and I'll go with you!
But you're a fool! If O’Brien comes back and shows any
signs that he’s tumbled to our racket, why, we'll make a
break; and, if he should see you, he’d think it’s Mark, just
asewe planned. S

“Go ahead!” Tom tremblingly coaceme
hurry !”

“Haste makes “waste, and it makes trouble!” Davenport
grunted. -

But he again set the drill to the’ safe. :

As he did so, the rear door, which they had left unlocked
to facilitate a speedy retreat, flew open, and the watchman
rushed in, with drawn club and revolver. .

“Surrinder |” he: shouted. “Surrinder, ye theca or * PH
bate yer heads off!” ;

Tom dashed to the open door, with a scream. eee

Davenport, more cautious, closed the slide of his lan-
tern.

"Oh, Eve sot yel7G’ Brien howled, clutching Tom, as he

tried to scud by. “Ye thafe, I’ve got you!”

It was Mat’s opportunity, and while Tom was struggling
in the hands of the watchman he reached the door, and,

“But be in a

- with a mighty bound, Mee himself outside, , clinging to the

drill and the closed lantern.

He heard a rush of feet behind him, and fancied that
O’Brien was at his heels.

He swung open a gate, and bounded into the sues that —
ran by the oe

Then he heard other noises, and a rush of heavier feet,
together with the watchman’s savage roar.

This was followed by the report of a revolver, and a bul-_
let cut through the boards of the fence.

“Wait for me!” a voice pleaded.

“Oh, it’s you, is it??? said Davenport, moderating his pace.

And Tom Dicer, “scared blue,”
after him, and the two raced together to the other end, ha--

» stened by a second pistol-shot.

Here they were able to bisect a lot; and, finding another
alley, they soon distanced the heavy- footed watchman.
Davenport stopped, panting, when. they had. run far
enough to feel safe.

The night was rather dark, and where they were hee .

was no street lamp, yet he could see fairly well.

“Hello! where’s -your coat?’ he asked.

“Left it! That’s how I got away! O’Brien had me, but
I wiggled out of the coat. It was too big for me, you know,
and slipped off easily.” .

Mat whistled. :

“Cricky!” he cried, slapping himself on the leg. “That’s
just about right! O’Brien’s got your coat! Of course, he'll
find out whose it is, and he’ll think that you were Minton.
Couldn’t have been better, unless we'd collared the swag.
That makes me blue, that does, for I'll bet that old safe
was full of mortey! ‘Anderson is doing a whaling big busi-
ness lately, since Mark went there.”

“And Mark will be pulled for this,’ Tom said gloatingly.
“Gee! that lets me out dead easy, aud puts him in the hole!
‘Rather clever of me to think of that baseball-coat, wasn’t
it! ??? a

“Tt will be cleverer if you'll hunt is bedroom in mighty
short order. Get into bed, and be sly about it; and, if any
one should call, pretend that you’ve been asleep for hours.
And I'll do the-same.” »

Then they separated, and Tom hurried toward home.

But all _ while he was s Picturing the Dae es and

ee

 

tumbled into the alley =

 
   

  

 

 

 

disgrace whic he believed were “about to descend on Mark

 

anyway?”

‘still swinging his legs.

OY Oe

Minton,
- Mark had discovered the loss of his coat aftef going home
for the night, and, though he looked for it in every place

where it was usually put, he could not find it.

He was about to speak of his loss to Dolph Anderson, on
reachirig the store next morning—Dolph had arrived there
first—when, to his surprise, he saw the coat lying on the
counter at Dolph’ s side.

“Why, I didn’t know I had that coat down here Wester:
day,” he said, in genuine astonishment. * “Did you find it
there .on the counter?” ‘

Dolph grinned in a queer way and looked Mark ee in

' the eyes.

“No; I didn’t find it on the counter.”
> Where, then ?”
Mark took it up and looked it over.
“Ts it your coat?” said Dolph.
- “Sure! Where'd you find it?”
“You noticed that I blew in here a little early this morn-
ing cs Didn’t wait for you to come down and open up
rst?”
eVes* a surprising ees too, for you told me you hated
to get up early.”
“Tell me where you saw that coat last?’ Dolph asked,

_ hoisting his heavy weight to the counter, and dangling his

fat legs.
“At home, in my room. And I can’t understand how it

- comes to be here in the store; but I .must have. brought it

here, and then forgot about it.”
“Any good way to get into that room?”
“By the door, of course.”
“Any other good way?”
“By one of the windows.”
“Could a fellow get in that way easy?”
“Why, he might! See here, what are you driving at,
“O’Brien gave me that coat,’ Dolph calmly announced,
Mark stared.
Ae OBrien 2’
I got up early this morning, for a wonder, and
was sitting on the back stoop, when up came O’Brien, with
that coat on his arm.”

“But where'd he get it?” :
“Just wait and Pll tell you. O'Brien said to me, ‘Dolph,
your clerk’s a thief and a burglar!’ and he added: ‘I pulled

i _ this off the back of Mark Minton last night, while he was in

 

sate,

. enough, and I said to him:

the store, with another feller, tryin’ to drill a hole in the
3 93

“He must have been drunk !*

“Not if: T know O’Brien.’

“What did you say to him? You didn’t believe it?”

“T looked the coat over, and saw it was yours, sure
‘O’Brien, keep this from dad,
will you? Mark’s no thief. .There’s something crooked
here, and I want to look into it.’ So I blew myself to the
store, as quickly as I could, and I’ve been waiting ever since
for you.’

Mark felt “spotted,” to say the least.

He realized that affairs for him had an ugly look, and

that, but for the belief of Dolph Anderson in his upright-
ness, he might even then be in serious trottble.

“And the safe’s got drill-marks on it,’ Dolph said, as he
concluded his story.
- “Was it?” exclaimed Mark.
it, first thing.”

ae went to the back of the sli together and look ed

“Well, well tie a look at

Bark was silent, perplexed and startled. He saw the pos-

‘sibilities for mischief to himself.

. “I’m more than obliged to you, Dolph,” he said, at last.
“You’ re a brick, old fellow! ‘But [Pve got to prove to you,

MIGHT AND MAIN ene

 

  

coat when it fell into O’Brien’s hands last night.”
“How’ll you do it?” Dolph asked.
“By finding out just who was wearing it then.”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
A STARTLING REVELATION,

Though Mark suspected Tom Dicer, he might never have
been able to gather any evidence against him but for an
incident that occurred that evening, which led, by a round-
about way, to the thing he desired, “and also brought to light
another thing that was even more startling.

After he had gone home, at the close of business, sorely
perplexed by the mystery of the coat, he received a note from
Margaret Caldwell, asking him to call at her home at once,

~as she had something of importance to see him about.

42?

“Queer!” thought Mark, when he got the note. “She was
at the store all day; I wonder why she didn’t tell me
there?”

But he went, and was introduced by Margaret to Mildred
Hammond, whom he had not seen since the rescue.

Her face was a rosy-red, as she rose to greet him, and,
as their eyes met, Mark saw that she was much agitated.

vt didn't come to thank you again for what you did,” she
said, “though I couldn't thank you enough.”

All this was embarrassing to Mark, who, answering as
well as he could, said that he was only too glad that he had
been able to be of service.

Mildred gave Margaret a look, and the latter rose to leave
the room.

“Excuse me a minute,” she said.

Again Mark flushed, when left alone in the room with
Mildred Hammond. What did she want to say to him?
But her easy manner quickly reassured him, for shé had,
for the moment, mastered her agitation.

“Uncle Caleb and Cousin Tom have not been treating you
and your father very well, have they?” she began, leaning
forward in her chair.

As he met Miss Hammond’s smiling glance, he wondered
how he could have felt any embarrassment in her pres-
ence.

“T haven’t been complaining,’ Mark answered sturdily.
“Tm getting along very well without their friendship.”

“Yes, I know you are; Margaret has been telling me.
But there are some things you don’t know. I feel guilty in
coming here to tell you, but I should feel even more guilty
if I did not tell you.”

Mark did not know what she was driving at, but he ead
nothing.

“You worked for uncle, I understand ?’’.

“Yes; a little while.” :

“And he discharged you. Margaret did not tell me that;
I heard it in another way. But I suppose you have no idea
why uncle employed you in his office in the first place?”

“Because he needed some one, and I applied for work.”

“You're wrong. He wanted to use you.”

Mark’s curiosity was aroused.

“Uncle has almost driven you and your father out of town
since you left his office,” she said.

“We haven’t gone yet,’ was Mark’s answer.
more, we’re in no hurry—at least, I’m not.”

“And do you know why?”

“Why your uncle and“ITom should want to get me out of
town? I suppose it’s because neither of them likes me.’

“That isnt: it."

“Not 9?

“That’s just the cover which they are beating under.
They’re only making a pretext of that.”

“V’ve thought lately there was something deeper than a
mere dislike,’ Mark agreed. “In fact, sometimes I’ve felt
sure of it.” ;

“And, what’s

a

and to your father and O’Brien, that I wasn’t wearing that

 

4

     
 
   
      
   
  
 
   
  
     
 
   
  
 
  
 
   
   
    
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
    
  
  
   
   
 
    
    
    
  
     
  
   
 
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
   
     
     
     
      
Se “1! MiGuT AND MAIN. LIBRARY.

“There is. It seems wrong for me to mention it; but,
after you had saved my life, as you did, at the risk of your

own, I felt that, in honor, I must tell you of it, after I had

learned it. I learned it only yesterday, and I’ve been ask-
“ing myself ever since whether I should tell you or not.”

She had grown more agitated, and Mark was more puz-
zled than ever, and was about to speak, when he was startled
by her asking:

“Has your father been expecting any large sum of money
from any place?”

“No,” said Mark; “not that I ever heard of.”

“Well, whether he expected it or not, a large sum of
money was sent to him—in charge of Uncle Caleb, A very
large sum—fity thousand dollars.”

“Holy smoke!” exclaimed Mark, starting to his feet.
cuse me, Miss Hammond, but ”

“T isten, ” interrupted Miss Hammond, “and you shall hear
all, I heard Uncle Caleb and Tom talking about it. They
were talking freely, and believed that they were not heard.
It was by a mere accident that I was where I could hear.
Your father had a brother, or an uncle, or something, who
went away somewhere, years ago, and hadn’t been heard of
for ever so long.”

“Yes, that’s right; father’s brother, my uncle. His name
was John Minton. He was a sea captain. He dropped out
of sight somewhere in the Far East a good many years ago.
He’s dead, I think, though father always said he would turn
up yet some day.

Tesh Nes doe ” said the girl. “He died, though not a
great while ago; and he, not knowing whether your father
was still living, sent the money to Uncle Caleb, to be by
him turned over to your father’s heirs, if he were dead.”

“He didn’t know the old scoundrel as well as I do, if that’s
so,’ was Mark’s conclusion.

But the whole story had such an air of romance that he
could scarcely credit it.

“T haven’t seen any of that money, nor has father,’ Mark
observed, feeling that more proof was needed to substan-
tiate the girl’s statement,

“No; and there’s where Uncle Caleb’s wrong-doing comes
in. It seems that he has kept the money, thinking he could

“EX-

do so without any one knowing it, aS your uncle is dead |

who. sent it to him.”

“Tf this is so, it’s the greatest streak of luck I’ve ever
had,” declared Mark, rising, “but it makes Mr. Dicer noth-
ing less than a fs

“Thief? Yes; I’m afraid so, though it sounds harsh, It
seems that he’s been in need.”

Caleb Dicer—the rich Caleb Dicer—in need!
not believe that.

“And so he was tempted, and kept the money; and, for
fear that you or your father might find it out in some way,
he has been working to drive you out of Millboro, so that
you'd never be likely to learn about it.”

Mark tried to think, but the very room seemed to be whirl-
ing round. Fifty thousand dollars! The thought of it made
him dizzy.

“But why. did Mr. Dicer want me in his office?” he asked,
pulling himself together.

“He wanted to get your good- -will and gratitude, and
some time he hoped to get you to sign some sort of paper,
or something, which would secure vila no matter what
turned up. I don’t understand itall, only I know that the
thing shocked me so when I heard it that I nearly fainted.”

She stopped, and looked tearfully at Mark.

“Tf it’s necessary, in order to right a wrong, I can say
these things publicly, Mr. Minton, but I’d rather not. You'll
understand why I’d rather not.”

“IT can see through that plain enough.”

“And if you could, in some way, leave my name out
of it?”

“But I can’t make it seem: true!” he protested. “Tm
afraid there must be some mistake.”

Mark could

“You'll leave my name ‘oe ‘ales it’s absolutely neces-
sary to use it? The disgrace will be bad enough. I shall.
take the train for Washington to-morrow. I wish I hadn't ~
come here! But that isn’t right, for then you might never
have known of this,
river I’d never have known you to tell you.’

She became thoughtful.

“Tf you hadn’t done that, eb should: have been dead, for
Cousin Tom——”

She hesitated, and her voice died away.

“Well, [ can promise you that your name will not be men-
tioned, unless, as you say, it becomes absolutely necessary.
So that? s the reason that Mr. Dicer has been. acting so sav-
agely toward father and me! Your statement explains a lot
of things, Miss Hammond, and I am more than obliged to
you for. telling me.’

On leaving the home of Margaret Caldwell; after that.
astonishing interview with Mildred Hammond, Mark went

straight to the residence of the Andersons, and asked for

Dolph.

Dolph came out into the and

“You seem excited,” he said. “Anything doing?’

It was so dark in the yard that he could not see Mark’s
face, but he detected the excitement in Mark’s voice.

a want you to go with me, and I'll tell you as we go
along. Your father doesn’t know anything about the coat
yet, and the attempted burglary?”

“Not a thing. He was: away from the store most all day,
you know, and I told O’Brien to keep his head shut till-1
saw him again. Anything up?”

Mark acquainted him with the story told by Mildred
Hammond, as they walked along.

“Now, [’m going straight to Dicer’s with you, and, with-
out using the girl’s name, I shall accuse him of that, and
ask him what he’s done with the money. We’ Il find es at.
his office, likely.” *

Dolph looked at his watch, by the street ene

“Tl bet he’s gone home, but maybe not. Say, I never
heard anything like that! Great Godfrey! it will make a
stir in old Millboro when it comes out!”

“Tf it’s true.” tag

“T wouldn’t put it past him. Old Dicer’d'do anything TOR a,
money. And his son would steal. Too bad that pretty girl
is kin to them. But I'll never mention her in the matter;
you can trust me.’

Mark knew Dolph could be trusted, or he would not have
told him the story.

“And say!" said Dolph, as they walked on. “Tom Dick
lost a mint of money betting against us on that ballgame.
If his old man is hard up, where’ d he get it to bet? Do you
know what I think?”

“T could guess 5 and my guess is that you're thinking the
same thing Tam.

“Tom had to abe some money, after losing these bets,
and, as he couldn’t get any from his dad, he tried to crack
our safe. He had one of his chums with him, for O’Brien
said there were two of them. But how’d he get your
coat ?P”

“That sticks me. He must have stolen it out ‘of my room.
But I think you’re right in your guess, and we'll accuse him,
first chance we get. Just now we must go for the old
man.’

“Correct!” said Dolph, swinging along on his fat legs.
“Say,' this is too much excitement for me. a puffing like
a porpoise. It will give me heart-disease.”

When they arrived at Dicer’s office, it. was dark; but,
hearing a sound and seeing a man creeping near the top. of
the outer stairs, they started to go up.

“That’s Dicer himself!” whispered Mark.

“What's he doing up there? Going to berelaiee his own
establishment ? a Dolph asked,

“We'll see,” said Mark, and ueleed e the steps, wae
Doiph creeping at his heels.

*

 

And if you hadn't saved me from the —
     
   
   
    
    
   
   
     
      
       
    
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
    
   
   
    
    
   
       
          
      
    
    
    
    

 
 
 
    
        
     

   
 
 

The man, who had stopped at the head of the stairs,

_ seemed to be listening at the door, which was slightly ajar.

- Then they heard a faint “scrape, scrape’—a most-peculiar
sound. :

“Something doing,” whispered Dolph. “It’s inside the of-
fice. Maybe our burglars have tackled Dicer’s place.”

“We can’t go any farther without being seen by Dicer.
I’m guessing it’s Dicer,” said Mark, laying a restraining
_ hand on Dolph, who showed signs of wanting to bound up
| the stairway. “Wait and see what’s up.”
| An instant later the man disappeared through the door-
'» way, and they crept hurriedly to the top of the stairs.

_ The scraping had stopped, and they stood by the door, in
breathless expectation. oe

“Surrender, you villain!” they heard Dicer roar.

a This was followed by a crash, as some tool fell to the
floor.

Then there was a rush inside the office, a loud cry, and a
heavy fall.

“Murder doing, I guess!” said Dolph, pushing in after
» Mark.

“What's up?” Mark demanded, striking a match, for the
place was pitch-dark.

Caleb Dicer got back his voice.

“Somebody trying to open-my safe. I’ve killed him, I
guess! Ah, that’s right! Light the gas. I struck him with
“my revolver, as he tried to pass me!”

‘He was so excited he did not stop to inquire who the
-newcomers were.

And when the match flared up, and revealed the form on
the floor, he was so astonished and heart-stricken that he
had no thought for anything but the awful revelation that
- had come to him.
“Tom! Tom!” he cried. “‘My son Tom!”
Stooping, he lifted the insensible form. -
~~ Mark had touched his match to a gas-jet, and saw by its
. light Tom Dicer, with his head and body lifted in Caleb's
arms, and a bloody bruise on the forehead, where the re-
volver had struck. The revolver was on the floor.
There was something else on the floor—a burglar’s drill,
~ lying by the safe. ‘
-. Dolph closed the office door, thinking it was well that the
interior of the office should not be seen from the street.

Dicer was waiting over Tom, whom he thought he had
killed.
Mark brought a glass of water from the cooler, and, when
| Dicer had poured some of it between Tom’s teeth, and had
chafed his hands for a few moments, Tom began to strug-
gle, and soon opened his eyes.

~He stared -about, like a wild boy, at his father and the
others in the room.
- For the first time, Caleb Dicer took notice who his vis-
itors were.

For the first time, he beheld the drill on the floor, lying
not far from the revolver.
_ “There’s some mistake here!” he stammered; “some big
mistake!” Then, turning to Mark, he said: “What do you
want here?”

“We came up to talk with you and Tom,” said Mark.

“But this is no time for talk!’

“The best time in the world for us, Mr. Dicer.”
“ve no time to talk now!”

“We'll wait!’ was Dolph’s cool answer; and he dropped
his fat form into a chair. , ee

Mark sat down, also.

“Will you go?” Dicer commanded.
“Not till we’ve had our talk,’ said Mark. ‘Tom is all
right now. Too bad you hit him with the revolver, for there
are other things quite as bad as trying to crack a safe.”
~ Mark was sure that Tom Dicer, hard up for money, had
tried to break into his father’s safe, just as the night before
he had tried to break into Anderson’s.
What Mark did not know was that Tom had already,

 

oh
7
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i
A
Oy
4

ms —— SE

)

        
      
 
   
   
    
      
  

 

Ly

GH AND MAIN Dene

stolen some money from hhis father, and that, by breaking
the safe, he had hoped to pay that money back before its loss
was discovered.

Feeling himself in a desperate situation, Tom had at-
tacked the safe with a drill obtained from Mat Davenport,
after finding that the. combination had been changed and he
could not open it.

In doing so, his theory was that, if he succeeded, the work
would be laid to professional burglars.

Tom had now staggered to his feet, and stood as if dazed.

“What do you mean?’ Dicer demanded, puzzled by Mark’s
words. o

He felt himself ina corner, and was willing to temporize,
for Tom’s sake, and also because he had a feeling of per-
sonal guilt.

“T want that fifty thousand dollars that Uncle John Min-
ton sent to you to be turned by you over to father.” “

It was like a bolt from a crossbow.

Dicer fairly reeled into a chair.

“What do you mean, you young scoundrel?’ he de-
manded.

“Just what I said. I have information that Uncle John
Minton sent that sum of money to my father, in your care,
and you have never even spoken of it.”

‘It’s a lie!” panted Dicer.

But there was a hunted: look on his coarse, round face.

“TI have positive proof of its truth, Mr. Dicer, and if you
make it necessary, I shall, with father, take the matter into
the courts, and show you up for the villain you are!”

“I guess, Mr. Dicer, you'd better shell out!” said Dolph,
growing somewhat excited.

“This is a conspiracy!” said Dicer.
you arrested for blackmail!”

“Go ahead!’ was Mark’s serene answer.
that I’ve spoken but the truth. If you have me arrested, the
whole thing will come out, and that’s straight.”

“Where did you hear that nonsensical yarn?” Caleb asked,
mopping his forehead, which was now red and perspiring.

“T have the proof—the sure proof, Mr. Dicer,’ Mark de-
clared, rising. ‘“‘That is all, I came to say to you. It will
be no use for you to try to run away, for you can be brought
back. When you are ready to settle the matter, send for
father,’ and, without another word, Mark moved toward the
door.

Dolph rose, too, but avith hesitation.

Nevertheless, he followed Mark, as the latter passed out.

“T shall have both of

Dicer seemed stunned by the words he had heard, and stared _

vacantly after the boys as they passed out.

“Why didn’t you bring him right up with the thumb-
screws?” Dolph asked, when he and Mark were on the
stairs.

“There was no use staying in there any longer. to-night.

He doesn’t know where he’s at, between Tom and this .

money business. Oh, Pve got him! There’s no doubt about
that. The story is true, and he won’t dare to squirm out of
it. I saw that as soon as I made the accusation. Did you’
see him wilt?”

“Well, I guess yes!
an August drought.”

“T’ll hear from him soon. We’ve got two things against
him. He won’t want the public to know that Tom tried to
rob him, and he’s dead sure not to want that big swindle of
his to get out.”

He went down like a bean-stalk in

 

CHAPTER: XV.
CALEB DICER’S SURRENDER.

Mark was right.

The next morning Mark received a message from Caleb
Dicer, asking him to call at the Dicer home.

He went, taking his father with him.

if
“You lnow;
aoa

 

He was now cool enough himself, but his father was in a
state of great excitement.

Mark feared a violent scene when the two men met.

Tom was nowhere visible when Mark and his father were
admitted to the Dicer residence.
- A servant showed them to a back room in the rear of the

house; evidence, as Mark thought, that Dicer wanted to talk .

in a place as far removed from the street as possible.

“Look at this handsome furniture!” said Mr. Minton, as
he followed the servant. “And this rug, and that statuary,
and those draperies! And——”

Mark pressed his father’s arm.

“Best not to say anything before the servant,” he urged.
“We can bring Dicer to time better by promising-to keep
the thing a secret. If we drive him into an open fight, he
will probably have all his property put out of his hands.”

“But we can land him in the penitentiary!” said the
father.

“Yes; but what we want is the money, isn’t it?”

This silenced Mr. Minton, but when they were shown into
a room where Dicer sat, awaiting them, he seemed again
about to break out into wild raging.

Caleb Dicer was in a condition of flabby fear.
face had lost its reddish hue, and was now as white as chalk,
and his greenish, piggy eyes shifted uneasily.

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” he said, in fawning tones, as
he dismissed the servant.

“You know what we've come for!” Mr.
imperiously.

Minton began
“For a talk,” answered Dicer, shifting nervously. “Your
son has made some charges against me, which e

“Are true!” Mr. Minton said sternly.

“Permit me to explain, please,” Dicer begged, rubbing his
trembling chin. ‘We'll come to an understanding better by
an explanation.”

Mark pressed against his father’s arm in a warning way.

“Let him say what he wants to,” he urged. “It will be
better.” .

“Your son has made some charges which are—very hard
to bear.”

Mr. Minton was about to break out again. The temper
he had more than once punished Mark for possessing he
was showing in a remarkable degree now himself. He
looked as if he wanted to fly at Dicer and throttle him.

“Very hard to bear,” Dicer went on, in a struggling way.
“It is true that I received a sum of money from your
brother, Mr. Minton.”

“And

“Bear with me a minute.

“Oh, you didn’t!’

“And it was not so large a sum as your son has said. It
was only twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“It was fifty thousand!” asserted Mark, who did not in-
tend to have the proper sum halved in that way.

“I received it only a day or two ago, and have been taking
the preliminary steps looking toward turning it over to
you, Mr. Minton. And this morning I’m ready to do that.”

“How much?” Minton demanded.

“The sum I named.”

 

 

I did not intend to keep it.”

“We have pe that it was. fifty thousand,” said Mr.

Minton.

4 be

MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

His coarse |

  

“From whom ??-asked the cringing man.
of this?”

“We will produce all the proof you will want to hear,
you force us to go into the courts with it,’* said Mark.

“Gentlemen, let me tell you, what you can ascertain by _

examination, that I am now practically a bankrupt. I cannot
pay fifty thousand dollars, even if-that were the amount.”

“What about your stocks and bonds, your houses, your
cotton-mill shares, and all the other things?” Mr. Minton

demanded.

“They are all hypothecated—mortgaged. I have had seri-
ous business reverses lately. Some of my speculation went
against me. And, really, fifty thousand-

“The whole sum,” said Mr. Minton sternly, “or into the
courts it goes; and that means that you will do time for this
in the pen!”

“Not when I meant to turn it over to you,” winced Dicer.
“I meant to turn it over to you; I never had the least in-
tention of keeping a cent of it.”

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“Not a cent of it, I assure you,”

 

the hypocrite declared.
“And you didn’t try to run me and my family out of Mill-

boro, so that you’d be safe in your stealings?

mean to do that?” Mr. Minton thundered.

“T assure you, I never dreamed of such a thing!” Dicer

asserted, though this new charge caused him renewed agi-
tation.

“And you haven’t hounded Mark and me, too, till we've
had no peace here?’’-

“T assure :

“Well, let that go; it’s past. But we want that money, and
we're going to have it, or we’ll put you behind the bars, and
the whole world will know about it.”

“Would a check for thirty thousand do?
large sum, and

 

 

“Stop right where you ‘are!’ Mr. Minton thundered. “It

will be the whole of it, or nothing !”’

Dicer took up a pencil, with trembling fingers, and. nerv-
ously bit at the tip.

“Tt will ruin me, gentlemen!” ;

“That’s not for us to decide, though, for myself, I don't
think it will.”

“If I do this—pay thi-this large Soya you agree that.

it shall not be known?” Dicer asked.

He was trembling so violently that Mark was sorry for
him.

“Dolph Anderson knows it, as you know,”
it will go no farther.”

he said. “But

“It may BS out,’ Dicer urged. “It will be known, any-
way, that you’ve come into a large sum of money. I see that
I shall have to leave Millboro.”’

“Just what you planned for us,’ said Mr. Minton ee
orably.
“This is very painful—painful,” said Dicer. “Gentlemen,

I will pay what you ask, for I must, to save my repens
and that of my son, who was seen——”
His voice wavered; then he went on.
“But, of course, must have a little time.
to-morrow. I haven’t that amount in the bank, and if I had

“Who told you [

 

You didn’t |

That’s a very

Give me until. :

 

       
         

  
  
  
  

 
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
   

PY)
a
ve

"

i

oe,

 

 

 

  
  
  

 

 

  
 

  
   
   
   

 

 

 
  

 

FP sort.

 

I should prefer not to pay it with 4 check. If you will come
here to-morrow——”

“To-day!” said Mr. Minton, who feared treachery of some
“Tt must be paid to-day.”
“Then, if you will come here this afternoon, at two o'clock,

 

ts

T will have some papers prepared, and will pay you the

money. All I ask is that you keep the matter from the
public.”

Mark rose to go, followed reluctantly by his father.

“We shall be here this afternoon at the time named,” he
said, as he turned to the door.

* * * * * * *

Dolph Anderson threw his hat into the air with a whoop
when he heard of it.

“T shall have to tell father,’ he said.
anyway; you can’t keep a thing like that.
town in a week.” :

“Not through me,” said Mark positively, “nor through
father. When we make a promise we keep it.”

“Yes, you do,” Dolph agreed, “You’re as straight and
honest as Hy make ‘em. And as for luck! Why, Mark
Minton, you’re the luckiest boy alive!”

“Just because father has come into property that belongs
to him?” Mark asked.

“Oh, in everything. Everything comes your way; it’s
just your luck.”

“I don’t think it,” said Mark. “Doing right is more than
being lucky, and it will win twice over in the long run.”

“But you'll get the money—and that’s luck. I have always
heard that if anybody got anything out of Caleb Dicer that
fellow. was lucky. But you'll get it. He won’t dare to do
anything else.”

Dolph was right in this, at least, as events showed,

“Tt will get out
It will be all over

~ Caleb Dicer, when he found he could do nothing else, paid
over the money he had tried to keep wrongfully.

And later, he got out of Millboro with his precious son

“Tom, and moved to a distant city; but not before Mark had
_ gotten from Toma written admission that he had taken
Mark’s coat from his room on the night of the attempted —

robbery of Anderson’s store.

This was shown to O’Brien, and, after a consultation with
Mr. Anderson, the case was dropped.

“Mark,” said Mr. Anderson, coming up to him the day

the money was paid, “I’ve-concluded to put you on the road

as a drummer for the house and see if you can’t work up

trade. I’d like to do some wholesaling, and if there’s a fellow

in the country who can make things go, you’re the one.”
“Oh, he’s lucky,” said Dolph.

He had not told his father how lucky.

“FHe’s simply a hustler, that’s all,” declared Anderson.
“T wish you had some of his snap, Dolph.”

Dolph grinned indulgently.

“Father,” he said, “the fellow who hustles all the time
may get on in the world, and all that; I suppose he does;
but I should think he’d be awfully tired all the time. I am,

_ and I don’t hustle.”

Mark did not directly answer Mr. Anderson's statement
that he. wanted him to go on the road as a commercial trav-
eler for the MBuse.
_ The next day Anderson broached it again,

‘MIGHT AND MAIN” LIBRARY.

 

 

2

In the meantime, however, Mark had been interviewed
by Lombard Spencer, the real-estate man who had given
him two hundred dollars for a tip some time before, at a

_ time when Mark greatly needed money.

“What do you say about that matter?” Mr. Anderson asked
of Mark. “I’d like to have you start out next week. I'll
pay you’ well on salary, or I'll tee you work on commission,
and I'll put up for the expenses.”

Mark colored with a sense of ‘gratitude.

“I almost wish that I could take the place, Mr. Ander-
son,” he said. :

“Almost wish you could?” Anderson stammered.

“It’s good of you to offer it, but I can’t take it, fon the
reason that I’m going into something else.”

Mr. Anderson was staring open mouthed,

“IT have entered into partnership with Mr. Lombard
Spencer, in the real-estate business here in Millboro.”’

“The real-estate business?’ Mr. Anderson gasped, won-
dering how he could spare so valuable a helper as Mark
and scarcely able to credit that he was about to lose him. __

‘Yes; father has come into some money from his brother,
who died recently in the Far East, and Mr. Spencer, who
heard of it some way, came to me and made me an offer
that I think, in justice to myself and my father, I ought not
tO: FOIECE L:

“Well, I declare!” was all Mr. Anderson could find to
say; but his mouth dropped open and his black eyes stared.

“You see, by going into the real-estate business with Mr.
Spencer, I shall be in a position to put father in the way of
securing all the contracts for building that he can handle,
and I hope, also, to do well by myself.”

“Well, this is a big surprise, Mark,” said Mr. Anderson,
as he took him by the hand, “but I congratulate you heartily.
Of course, you must go, I can see that; you ought to go.
But I can’t help regretting it, for my own sake. You've got
the qualities that bring success, my boy, and you’re bound to
get on in the world. And if I can ever help you in any
way I want you to let me know.”

“Same here!” said Dolph, and his voice showed emotion.

But no one, apparently, was more pleased by the change
in Mark’s conditions and prospects than pretty Margaret
Caldwell.

The evening after the money had been paid over to Mr.
Minton by Caleb Dicer, Mark, after leaving Anderson’s
store for the last time as an employee, walked home with her.

“Oh, I’m so glad, Mark, for you,” she said, while her eyes
swam with tears. “I shall stay at Anderson’s, of course;
they’re very good to me there. But even if you do go out
of the store we can still be friends, can’t we?”

“More than friends, Maggie, | hope, by and by.”

Mark’s prophecy was fulfilled.

To-day there is no more respected merchant in Millboro
than Mr. Mark Minton; and if one should drop in on him
in his comfortable home on Lake Street he would be sure
to receive a cordial welcome, both from Mr. Minton and
from his pretty wife, Margaret Caldwell Minton.

THE END.
The story next week in the Micut ann Marin Lisrary,

No. 19, is entitled “Loyal to the Core; or, The Rise of a
Young Iron-worker.”

   
MIGHT AND MAIN LIBRARY.

 

BOYS WHO SUCCEED.

THE ROLL OF HONOR,

~ Hyprrortan Nots.—Under this general head we purpose, in each issue
ef our bright weekly, to give a brief but interesting account of boys
who to-day are forging to the front through earnest application, honesty,
and integrity. We cordially invite our readers to assist us in making
this department a wholesome feature. If “you know-of some lad who is
surely climbing the ladder of success, no matter what his line of busi-
ness May be—messenger, mechanic, law student, or a scholar in school—
send us an account of what he has already done, together with what he
aims to accomplish, and we will be pleased to publish it. Try and en-
close a photograph when possible. Remember, this department is open
to all our readers, but it would be well to have the facts as given
endorsed by some responsible person in order to avoid mistakes.

No. 25.
HARRY ARBUCKLE.

The Northwest is a land of opportunities and great
enterprise. It is only in the last few years that that
section of the United States has been heard of to any
great extent in other parts of the country. Before the
‘Klondike discoveries the cities out there were, in the
estimation of the people of the East, nothing better than
frontier posts.. But the finding of gold among the vast
ice-fields of Alaska acted like magic on the struggling
towns which were hardly a name except to a person fresh

 

 

 

(lt
we tifpes ae ger
YWYWO MSS \

AN
AY

from his geography. Seattle, for instance, being the

nearest American city to Alaskan ports, became the start-
ing-point. for miners and prospectors. It was from here
they took steamer to Skagway and other parts along the
coast to reach interior points. Seattle became a hive of

industry. Everybody stopped there to get his outfit,

consisting of clothes, miners’ tools, etc.
After the gold excitement subsided, and things began

to settle down to normal conditions, the city of Seattle —

still received an influx of population. These late comers

intended to make the place their permanent home. Thou- _
sands and thousands of families migrated from the cities
and small towns of the Middle West, not only to the —
above place, but to neighboring cities in the State of —

Washington, like Spokane, Walla Walla, Tacoma, Olym- so

pia, etc. They were not attracted by the idea of mining
for gold, like most of the people who left their homes in
the early days of California’s settlement, but they saw
chances to make money fast in towns situated in a rich |
but undeveloped country, as soon as the soil was made
to give up its precious treasures. Many left the cities
after a short stay, and bought farm lands where they
could raise abundant crops. Of. course, all did not do ©
this. A great number remained in the cities, and started —
in business. , 26
Everybody was busy making money, and when peo- —
ple begin to make money they take a little more leisure. —
Having money to spend, they soon seek amusement. As ~
soon as such conditions begin to form in a community,
the theatrical manager realizes that his chance has come.
Of course, every town has an “‘opera-house,”’ generally
consisting of a small stage in the town hall, but it is
some time before a community gets large enough to ar-

rive at the dignity of a regular theater. And the city -_
must be quite large for a~ stock .company to. be ===

made a paying institution. While these cities we have
mentioned have had handsome and well-equipped theaters _
for a number of years, it is only recently that any of
them have had a permanent stock company. A stock
company, we will explain for the benefit of our readers
who might not know just what it is, consists of a number

and who appear in a new play each week. a
It is in a stock company of Spokane, Washington,
that a Micut anp Matrn follower is employed. He is
only fourteen years old, and his name is Harry Arbuckle.
It was two. years ago that he first appeared in a play in
that enterprising city. He made a decided hit the first
time he made his appearance before the public. He has
shown considerable talent as a child actor, and we ex-
pect to hear that he develops into a player of some prom-
inence later on. People who saw his work advised the
young man to adopt the stage as his profession. He got
right down to business, and began to study hard. In six
months’ time he was qualified for a more important part
in another production. Harry’s chance came unexpect-
edly one day when a clever young actor fell sick, and he
was asked if he thought that he could take the part. As
he had committed to memory all the lines of the play al-
ready, he was ready at a moment’s notice, and signified

of actors who are employed continually in one theater, __—

his willingness to try. He acquitted himself with honors, ~—

the audience being so pleased that they gave him several
encores. Some of the old-time actors in the company
said that it was the hardest part for a boy to take that _
they had ever heard of in all their vast experience. The —
manager was so pleased with the promise young Arbuckle
showed that he asked the boy to sign a contract to go on
the road with one of his companies playing “The Two

- Little Waifs.”

We hope to hear of Harry’s rapid rise his chosen.
profession, and that he will develop into a clever actor.

 
 
   
  

 

 

 

  
 

want to be interested.

   
 

the ladder by their own efforts. ©

   
 
 

 

: ae

 

Price

LARGE number of boys have become tired of that ““sameness’?”
about most five cent libraries.
especially for boys who want a big five cents’worth and still

PHOTOGRAPHS OF BOYS WHO SUCCEED

 

 

Might and Main is published

The stories in this line are at least one third ee than in any
other library and deal with the adventures of boys who reached the top of
A different story is published every
week, dealing with the adventures of a different set of characters.

We will publish one or more photographs each week of boys who
7 were successful in real life with articles telling just how they won out.

see Per Cop w

c For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by the publishers to any address upon receipt of ‘money or postage stamps

 

 

 

We Betcnained i Win; or, Rob Ranger’s Mining Ven-
ture. By Orie of the Boys.
2—Flatboard Frank; or, The Young. Cargo Contractor
eof the Mississippi. By One of the Boys,

ae
ola

 

  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 

_.. lionaire. By One of the Boys:
ee itty for Himself; or, The Wonderful Luck of
oe a Street Arab.’ By One of the Boys.
5—Out of Sight; or, The Boy with a Heart of Gold.
eee. By One-of the Boys.
-6—By Sheer Luck; or, Hal Vinton’s Dae os Dollars.
- By One of the Boys.

»—Bound to Succeed ; or, The Boy Who Owned a Che
“cus. “By One of the Boys.

8 Working His Way; or, The Great Azar Piavaalion
pee Company. By One of the Boys.

O- Eis Level Best; or, The Young Paymaster’ s Luck.
By One of the Boys.

Luck. By One of the. Boys.

_ z1—The Road to Success; or, A Great Corner in Wall
street. By One of'the Boys.

3—Turning the Tables; or; From Office: Boy. to Mile

10—Never Caught Napping; or, Burt Parton’s Blind

 

12—-Forging to the Front; or, The Young Mill Won-
der. By One of the Boys,
13—-Never Say Die; or, The Adventures of a Boy Jug-
gler. By One of the Boys.
14—Bound to Win; or, Jack-o’-Lantern, the Ferry: Boy.
_By One of the Boys.
15—Make or Break; or, The Young Prince of Wall
Street Brokers. By One of the Boys,
16—Capital, One Cent; or, Adrift in the World. By
One of the Boys.
17—Plucky Nat, the Young Prospector ; or, In Search
_ of Last Strike Mine.
18—Fighting To Win; or, Plucky Nat’s Bid ioe Bee
tune,
19—True as Steel;
Moguls.
20—Millions of Money; or, How Plucky Nat Won Out.
21—In Search Of Gold; or, Bob Badger’s Luck In
Mexico.
22—Clear Grit; or, Bob Badger’s Yaqui Chum.
23-—A. Million ‘At Stake; or, Bob Badger’s Great Nug-
get.
24—True To His Colors; or, Bob Badger’s Success. ©

or, Plucky Nat Against the Mine :

 

 

 

 

‘Winner Library Co,, 165

 

 

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friends and makes things mighty uncomfortable for his enemies.

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HERE ARE THE LATEST TITLES:

17—Bowery Billy’s Benefit; or, The Grandee of Grand
. Street.
18—Bowery Billy’s Best; or, A Chip of the Old Block.
19—Bowery Billy’s Blind; or, Thistle, the Tompkins
Street Trimmer.
20—Bowery Billy’s Set-Back; or,
Treachery.
21—Bowery Billy’s Dingy Dory; or, The Mystery of
Mr. Myrick.
22—Bowery Billy’s Bad Penny; or, The Double Deal
in Desbrosses Street.
23—Bowery Billy’s Blunder; or, Making Up For Lost
‘Time.
24—Bowery Billy, the Subway Sleuth; or, The Boy
Shadow Under the Streets,
25—Bowery Billy’s Police Patrol; or, The Disappear-
ance of Danny.
26—Bowery Billy’s Badge; or, The Police Spy’s Pro-
motion.
27—Bowery Billy’s Bunco Block ; or, Riddles, the Bank
Runner.

28—Bowery Billy’s Betrayal; or, Guessing at the Game.

29—Bowery Billy’s Blind; or, Marco, the Street Musi-
cian.

Thistle Tom's

 

Do not 7

30—Bowery Billy’s Breakaway; or, The Crooks’ Car- ~

nival.

31—Bowery Billy’s Street Spy; or, Philip, the Pave-
ment Pacer.

32—Bowery Billy, the Bootblack Brave; or, The Nevado
Sport in New York.

33—Bowery Billy’s Bond; or, The Poh From Ho- |

boken.

34—Bowery Billy on Broadway; or, Sandy, the Side-
walk Sifter.

35—Bowery Billy’s “Billy”; or, A Treasure Search
in the City Street.

36—Bowery Billy’s “Scoop”; or, The Reporter Detect-
ive to the Rescue.

37—Bowery Billy’s Queer Cruise; or, The Kidnaped |

Ne
“v

Millionaire.

38—Bowery Billy’s Give- and- Take; ot, Trapped- by

Wireless.

39—Bowery Billy’s Hippodrome Chase; or, The Leap ~ 4 |

For Life:

40—Bowery Billy At Coney Island; or, The Bunco |

King.
41—Bowery Billy’s Fair Play; or, Sandy to the Rescue.
42—Bowery Billy’s Friends; or, Marston’s False Move.

 

 

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OF FIVE-CENT LIBRARIES

 

 

 

 

 

tales can be imagined.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MIGHT AND MAIN

These are stories of the adventures of boys who succeeded in
climbing the ladder of fame by honest effort. No more interesting
Each number is at least one-third longer

than the ordinary five-cent library.

 

 

 

 

Buffalo Bill is the hero of a
thousand exciting adventures
among the Redskins. These are
given to our boys only in the
Buffalo. Bill Stories. They are
bound to interest and please you.

NICK CARTER. WEEKLY

 

 

We know, boys, that there is Fee. oes
no need of introducing to you aa cs
Nicholas . Garter, < the: ereatest
sleuth that ever lived...< Bvety
number containing the adven-
tures of Nick Carter has a peculiar,
but delightful, power of fascina-
tion.

 

 

 

 

BRAVE AND BOLD
aaa eran) | _ Every boy who prefers variety
in his reading matter, ought to
be a reader of Brave and Bold.
All these were written by authors
who are past masters in the art
of telling boys ‘stories. Every

 

tale is complete in itself.

ROUGH RIDER WEEKLY _

Ted Strong was appointed dep- | pare
uty marshal by accident, but he
resolves to use his authority and | [asa a DI
rid his ranch of some very tough||,.
bullies. He does it in sucha slick | bx= 277
way that everyone calls him |
“King of the Wild West” and he ||
certainly deserves his title. L

 

 

a

HT) DDT | The demand for stirring stories

a iNUA\E : :
a of Western adventure is admir-

(eR, Be Re |
Fiuagenntey Mingess Heres 2 | ably filled by this library. Every
} | a ey a is

sx JHE LONE BanDIT OF iy Sit es

| up-to-date boy ought to read just
| how law and order ate estab-

lished and maintained on our

Western plains by Diamond Dick;
| Bertie, and Handsome Harry.

 

BOWERY BOY LIBRARY _

The adventures of a poor waif [=
whose only name is ‘‘Bowery
Billy.” Billy is the true product
of the streets of New York. No
boy can read the tales of his trials
without imbibing some of that
resource and courage that makes
the character of this homeless boy
stand out so prominently.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ‘TIP’ TOP WHEKLY

Bovs, Frank Merriwell has opened a school of physical devel-
opment. He has gathered all of his old-time comrades about him
and their adventures are wonderfully interesting. These are cer-
tainly the best tales of athletic adventure.