I. OUT IN A STORM. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . 1
II. A MYSTERIOUS
CONVERSATION. . . . . . . . . 9
III. A HOME IN RUINS .
. . . . . . . . . . . .19
IV. THE SEARCH FOR THE
BLUE BOX. . . . . . . .28
V. A NEW SUIT OF
CLOTHES . . . . . . . . . . .38
VI. AN ACCIDENT ON THE
LAKE. . . . . . . . . .47
VII. BLOWS AND KIND
DEEDS. . . . . . . . . . .55
VIII. THE TIMID MR.
GUSSING. . . . . . . . . .64
IX. AN UNFORTUNATE
OUTING. . . . . . . . . . .73
X. DAVID BALL FROM
MONTANA . . . . . . . . . .81
XI. A FRUITLESS CHASE.
. . . . . . . . . . . .91
XII. THE PARTICULARS OF
A SWINDLE. . . . . . 101
XIII. OFF FOR THE CITY
. . . . . . . . . . . 110
XIV. A SCENE ON THE
TRAIN. . . . . . . . . . 118
XV. WHAT HAPPENED TO
JOSIAH BEAN . . . . . . 126
XVI. A MATTER OF SIX
HUNDRED DOLLARS . . . . 134
XVII. JOE S NEW
POSITION . . . . . . . . . . 143
XVIII. JOE SHOWS HIS
MUSCLE. . . . . . . . . 152
XIX. ONE KIND OF A
DUEL. . . . . . . . . . . 160
XX. ATTACKED IN THE
DARK . . . . . . . . . . 169
XXI. DAYS AT THE HOTEL
. . . . . . . . . . . 178
XXII. ABOUT SOME MINING
SHARES . . . . . . . 187
XXIII. THE FIRE AT THE
HOTEL . . . . . . . . 196
XXIV. THE BLUE BOX AT
LAST . . . . . . . . . 205
XXV. JOE VISITS
CHICAGO. . . . . . . . . . . 214
XXVI. HOW A SATCHEL
DISAPPEARED. . . . . . . 223
XXVII. JOE MAKES A
DISCOVERY . . . . . . . . 232
XXVIII. FROM OUT OF A
TREE . . . . . . . . . 241
XXIX. THE FATE OF TWO
EVILDOERS. . . . . . . 249
XXX. CONCLUSION. . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . 258
A number of years ago
the author of this story set out to depict life among the boys of a great city,
and especially among those who had to make their own way in the world. Among
those already described are the ways of newsboys, match boys, peddlers, street
musicians, and many others.
In the present tale are
related the adventures of a country lad who, after living for some time with a
strange hermit, goes forth into the world and finds work, first in a summer
hotel and then in a large hotel in the city. Joe finds his road no easy one to
travel, and he has to face not a few hardships, but in the end all turns out
well.
It may be added here
that many of the happenings told of in this story, odd as they may seem, are
taken from life. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and life itself is full
of romance from start to finish.
If there is a moral to
be drawn from this story, it is a twofold one, namely, that honesty is always
the best policy, and that if one wishes to succeed in life he must stick at his
work steadily and watch every opportunity for advancement.
``WHAT do you think of
this storm, Joe?''
``I think it is going
to be a heavy one, Ned. I wish we were back home,'' replied Joe Bodley, as he
looked at the heavy clouds which overhung Lake Tandy.
``Do you think we'll
catch much rain before we get back?'' And Ned, who was the son of a rich man
and well dressed, looked at the new suit of clothes that he wore.
``I'm afraid we shall,
Ned. Those black clouds back of Mount Sam mean something.''
``If this new suit gets
soaked it will be ruined,'' grumbled Ned, and gave a sigh.
``I am sorry for the
suit, Ned; but I didn't think it was going to rain when we started.''
``Oh, I am not blaming
you, Joe. It looked clear enough this morning. Can't we get to some sort of
shelter before the rain reaches us?''
``We can try.''
``Which is the nearest
shelter?''
Joe Bodley mused for a
moment.
``The nearest that I
know of is over at yonder point, Ned. It's an old hunting lodge that used to
belong to the Cameron family. It has been deserted for several years.''
``Then let us row for
that place, and be quick about it,'' said Ned Talmadge. ``I am not going to get
wet if I can help it.''
As he spoke he took up
a pair of oars lying in the big rowboat he and Joe Bodley occupied. Joe was
already rowing and the rich boy joined in, and the craft was headed for the
spot Joe had pointed out.
The lake was one
located in the central part of the State of Pennsylvania. It was perhaps a mile
wide and more than that long, and surrounded by mountains and long ranges of
hills. At the lower end of the lake was a small settlement of scant importance
and at the upper end, where there was a stream of no mean size, was the town of
Riverside. At Riverside were situated several summer hotels and boarding
houses, and also the elegant mansion in which Ned Talmadge resided, with his
parents and his four sisters.
Joe Bodley was as poor
as Ned Talmadge was rich, yet the two lads were quite friendly. Joe knew a good
deal about hunting and fishing, and also knew all about handling boats. They
frequently went out together, and Ned insisted upon paying the poorer boy for
all extra services.
Joe's home was located
on the side of the mountain which was just now wrapped in such dark and ominous
looking clouds. He lived with Hiram Bodley, an old man who was a hermit. The
home consisted of a cabin of two rooms, scantily furnished. Hiram Bodley had
been a hunter and guide, but of late years rheumatism had kept him from doing
work and Joe was largely the support of the pair,--taking out pleasure parties
for pay whenever he could, and fishing and hunting in the between times, and using
or selling what was gained thereby.
There was a good deal
of a mystery surrounding Joe's parentage. It was claimed that he was a nephew
of Hiram Bodley, and that, after the death of his mother and sisters, his
father had drifted out to California and then to Australia. What the real truth
concerning him was we shall learn later.
Joe was a boy of
twelve, but constant life in the open air had made him tall and strong and he
looked to be several years older. He had dark eyes and hair, and was much tanned
by the sun.
The rowboat had been
out a good distance on the lake and a minute before the shore was gained the
large drops of rain began to fall.
``We are going to get
wet after all!'' cried Ned, chagrined.
``Pull for all you are
worth and we'll soon be under the trees,'' answered Joe.
They bent to the oars,
and a dozen more strokes sent the rowboat under a clump of pines growing close
to the edge of the lake. Just as the boat struck the bank and Ned leaped out
there came a great downpour which made the surface of Lake Tandy fairly sizzle.
``Run to the lodge,
Ned; I'll look after the boat!'' shouted Joe.
``But you'll get wet.''
``Never mind; run, I
tell you!''
Thus admonished, Ned
ran for the old hunting lodge, which was situated about two hundred feet away.
Joe remained behind long enough to secure the rowboat and the oars and then he
followed his friend.
Just as one porch of
the old lodge was reached there came a flash of lightning, followed by a clap
of thunder that made Ned jump. Then followed more thunder and lightning, and
the rain came down steadily.
``Ugh! I must say I
don't like this at all,'' remarked Ned, as he crouched in a corner of the
shelter. ``I hope the lightning doesn't strike this place.''
``We can be thankful
that we were not caught out in the middle of the lake, Ned.''
``I agree on that,
Joe,--but it doesn't help matters much. Oh, dear me!'' And Ned shrank down, as
another blinding flash of lightning lit up the scene.
It was not a
comfortable situation and Joe did not like it any more than did his friend. But
the hermit's boy was accustomed to being out in the elements, and therefore was
not so impressed by what was taking place.
``The rain will fill
the boat,'' said Ned, presently.
``Never mind, we can
easily bail her out or turn her over.''
``When do you think
this storm will stop?''
``In an hour or two,
most likely. Such storms never last very long. What time is it, Ned?''
``Half-past two,''
answered Ned, after consulting the handsome watch he carried.
``Then, if it clears in
two hours, we'll have plenty of time to get home before dark.''
``I don't care to stay
here two hours,'' grumbled Ned. ``It's not a very inviting place.''
``It's better than
being out under the trees,'' answered Joe, cheerfully. The hermit's boy was
always ready to look on the brighter side of things.
``Oh, of course.''
``And we have a fine
string of fish, don't forget that, Ned. We were lucky to get so many before the
storm came up.''
``Do you want the fish,
or are you going to let me take them?''
``I'd like to have one
fish. You may take the others.''
``Not unless you let me
pay for them, Joe.''
``Oh, you needn't mind
about paying me.''
``But I insist,'' came
from Ned. ``I won't touch them otherwise.''
``All right, you can
pay me for what I caught.''
``No, I want to pay for
all of them. Your time is worth something, and I know you have to support
your--the old hermit now.''
``All right, Ned, have
your own way. Yes, I admit, I need all the money I get.''
``Is the old hermit
very sick?''
``Not so sick, but his
rheumatism keeps him from going out hunting or fishing, so all that work falls
to me.''
``It's a good deal on
your shoulders, Joe.''
``I make the best of
it, for there is nothing else to do.''
``By the way, Joe, you
once spoke to me about--well, about yourself,'' went on Ned, after some
hesitation. ``Did you ever learn anything more. You need not tell me if you
don't care to.''
At these words Joe's
face clouded for an instant.
``No, I haven't learned
a thing more, Ned.''
``Then you don't really
know if you are the hermit's nephew or not?''
``Oh, I think I am, but
I don't know whatever became of my father.''
``Does the hermit think
he is alive?''
``He doesn't know, and
he hasn't any means of finding out.''
``Well, if I were you,
I'd find out, some way or other.''
``I'm going to find
out--some day,'' replied Joe. ``But, to tell the truth, I don't know how to go
at it. Uncle Hiram doesn't like to talk about it. He thinks my father did wrong
to go away. I imagine they had a quarrel over it.''
``Has he ever heard
from your father since?''
``Not a word.''
``Did he write?''
``He didn't know where
to write to.''
``Humph! It is
certainly a mystery, Joe.''
You are right, Ned; and
as I said before, I am going to solve it some time, even if it takes years of
work to do it,'' replied the hermit's boy.
THE old hunting lodge
where the two boys had sought shelter was a rambling affair, consisting of a
square building built of logs, and half a dozen wings, running to the rear and
to one side. There were also two piazzas, and a shed, where wood had been kept
for winter use.
``In another year or
two this old lodge will fall down,'' remarked Ned, as he gazed around him.
``It must have been a
nice place in its day,'' returned Joe. ``What a pity to let it run down in this
fashion.''
``The rain is coming
around on this side now, Joe; let us shift to the other.''
The hermit's boy was
willing, and watching their chance, between the downpours, they ran around to
another portion of the old lodge.
``It certainly is a
little better here,'' observed Joe, as he dashed the water from his cap.
A minute later the
rumbling of the thunder ceased for the time being, and they heard a murmur of
voices coming from one of the rooms of the lodge.
``Why, somebody must be
here!'' ejaculated Ned. ``Who can it be?''
``Two men, by their
voices,'' answered the hermit's boy. ``Wait till I take a look at them?''
``Why not go in?''
questioned the rich youth, carelessly.
``They may not be
persons that we would care to meet, Ned. You know there are some undesirable
characters about the lake.''
``That's true.''
Not far off was a
narrow window, the panes of glass of which had long since been broken out.
Moving toward this, Joe peered into the apartment beyond.
Close to an old
fireplace, in which a few sticks of half-green timber were burning, sat two
men. Both were well dressed, and Joe rightfully surmised that they were from
the city. Each wore a hunting outfit and had a gun, but neither had any game.
``We came on a
wild-goose chase,'' grumbled one, as he stirred the fire. ``Got nothing but a
soaking for our pains.''
``Never mind, Malone,''
returned the other, who was evidently the better educated of the two. ``As we
had to make ourselves scarce in the city this was as good a place to come to as
any.''
``Don't you think
they'll look for us here?''
``Why should they? We
were sharp enough not to leave any trail behind--at least, I was.''
``Reckon I was just as
sharp, Caven.''
``You had to
be--otherwise you would have been nabbed.'' Gaff Caven chuckled to himself. ``We
outwitted them nicely, I must say. We deserve credit.''
``I've spent more than
half of what I got out of the deal,'' went on Pat Malone, for such was the full
name of one of the speakers.
``I've spent more than
that. But never mind, my boy, fortune will favor us again in the near future.''
A crash of thunder
drowned out the conversation following, and Joe hurried back to where he had
left Ned.
``Well, have you found
out who they are?'' demanded the rich youth, impatiently.
``No, Ned, but I am sure
of one thing.''
``What is that?''
``They are two bad
men.''
``What makes you think
that?''
``They said something
about having to get out of the city, and one spoke about being nabbed.
Evidently they went away to avoid arrest.''
At this announcement
Ned Talmadge whistled softly to himself.
``Phew! What shall we
do about it?'' he asked, with a look of concern on his usually passive face.
Joe shrugged his
shoulders.
``I don't know what to
do.''
``Let us listen to what
they have to say. Maybe we'll strike some clew to what they have been doing.''
``Would that be
fair--to play the eaves- dropper?''
``Certainly--if they
are evildoers. Anybody who has done wrong ought to be locked up for it,'' went
on Ned boldly.
With caution the two
boys made their way to the narrow window, and Ned looked in as Joe had done.
The backs of the two men were still towards the opening, so the lads were not
discovered.
``What is this new
game?'' they heard the man called Malone ask, after a peal of thunder had
rolled away among the mountains.
``It's the old game of
a sick miner with some valuable stocks to sell,'' answered Gaff Caven.
``Have you got the
stocks?''
``To be sure--one
thousand shares of the Blue Bell Mine, of Montana, said to be worth exactly
fifty thousand dollars.''
``Phew! You're flying
high, Gaff!'' laughed Pat Malone.
``And why not, so long
as I sell the stocks?''
``What did they cost
you?''
``Well, they didn't
cost me fifty thousand dollars,'' and Gaff Caven closed one eye suggestively.
``You bet they didn't!
More than likely they didn't cost you fifty dollars.''
``What, such elegantly
engraved stocks as those?''
``Pooh! I can buy a
bushel-basket full of worthless stocks for a dollar,'' came from Pat Malone. ``But
that isn't here nor there. I go into the deal if you give me my fair share of
the earnings.''
``I'll give you
one-third, Pat, and that's a fair share, I think.''
``Why not make it
half?''
``Because I'll do the
most of the work. It's no easy matter to find a victim.'' And Gaff Caven
laughed broadly. He had a good- appearing face, but his eyes were small and not
to be trusted.
``All right, I'll go in
for a third then. But how soon is the excitement to begin?''
``Oh, in a week or so.
I've got the advertisements in the papers already.''
``Not in New York?''
``No, it's Philadelphia
this time. Perhaps I'll land one of our Quaker friends.''
``Don't be so sure. The
Quakers may be slow but they generally know what they are doing.''
More thunder
interrupted the conversation at this point, and when it was resumed the two men
talked in such low tones that only an occasional word could be caught by the
two boys.
``They surely must be
rascals,'' remarked Ned, in a whisper. ``I'm half of a mind to have them locked
up.''
``That's easier said
than done,'' answered Joe. ``Besides, we haven't any positive proofs against
them.''
The wind was now
rising, and it soon blew so furiously that the two boys were forced to seek the
shelter of the woodshed, since they did not deem it wise to enter the lodge so
long as the two men were inside. They waited in the shed for fully half an
hour, when, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm let up and the sun began to
peep forth from between the scattering clouds.
``Now we can go home if
we wish,'' said Joe. ``But for my part, I'd like to stay and see what those men
do, and where they go to.''
``Yes, let us stay by
all means,'' answered the rich youth.
They waited a few
minutes longer and then Ned suggested that they look into the window of the
lodge once more. The hermit's boy was willing, and they approached the larger
building with caution.
Much to their
astonishment the two strangers had disappeared.
``Hullo! what do you
make of that?'' cried Ned, in amazement.
``Perhaps they are in
one of the other rooms,'' suggested Joe.
At the risk of being
caught, they entered the lodge and looked into one room after another. Every
apartment was vacant, and they now saw that the fire in the fireplace had been
stamped out.
``They must have left
while we were in the woodshed,'' said Ned.
``Maybe they are out on
the lake,'' answered the hermit's boy, and he ran down to the water's edge,
followed by his companion. But though they looked in every direction, not a
craft of any kind was to be seen.
``Joe, they didn't take
to the water, consequently they must have left by one of the mountain paths.''
``That is true, and if
they did they'll have no nice time in getting through. All the bushes are
sopping wet, and the mud is very slippery in places.''
They walked to the rear
of the lodge and soon found the footprints of the two strangers. They led
through the bushes and were lost at a small brook that ran into the lake.
``There is no use of
our trying to follow this any further,'' said Joe. ``You'll get your clothing
covered with water and mud.''
``I don't intend to
follow,'' answered Ned. ``Just the same, I should like to know more about those
fellows.''
``I wish I had seen
their faces.''
``Yes, it's a pity we
didn't get a better look at them. But I'd know their voices.''
By the time they gave
up the hunt the sun was shining brightly. Both walked to where the boat had
been left, and Joe turned the craft over so that the water might run out. Then
he mopped off the seats as best he could.
Ned wanted to go
directly home, and he and Joe rowed the craft in the direction of Riverside. As
they passed along the lake shore the hermit's boy noted that several trees had
been struck by lightning.
``I'm glad the
lightning didn't strike the lodge while we were there,'' said he.
``It was certainly a
severe storm while it lasted, Joe. By the way, shall I say anything about those
two men?''
``Perhaps it won't do
any harm to tell your father, Ned.''
``Very well, I'll do
it.''
Soon Riverside was
reached, and having paid for the fish and the outing, Ned Talmadge walked in
the direction of his residence. Joe shoved off from the tiny dock and struck
out for his home. He did not dream of the calamity that awaited him there.
As Joe rowed toward his
home on the mountain side, a good mile from Riverside, he could not help but
think of the two mysterious men and of what they had said.
``They were certainly
rascals,'' he mused. ``And from their talk they must have come from New York
and are now going to try some game in Philadelphia.''
The hermit's boy was
tired out by the day's outing, yet he pulled a fairly quick stroke and it was
not long before he reached the dock at which he and Hiram Bodley were in the
habit of leaving their boat. He cleaned the craft out, hid the oars in the
usual place, and then, with his fishing lines in one hand and a good sized fish
in the other, started up the trail leading to the place that he called home.
``What a place to come
to, alongside of the one Ned lives in,'' he said to himself. ``I suppose the
Talmadges think this is a regular hovel. I wish we could afford something
better,--or at least live in town. It's lonesome here with nobody but old Uncle
Hiram around.''
As Joe neared the cabin
something seemed to come over him and, for some reason he could not understand,
he felt very much depressed in spirits. He quickened his pace, until a turn of
the trail brought the homestead into view.
A cry of alarm broke
from his lips and with good reason. The little shelter had stood close to a
large hemlock tree. The lightning had struck the tree, causing it to topple
ever. In falling, it had landed fairly and squarely upon the cabin, smashing it
completely. One corner of the cabin was in ashes, but the heavy rain had
probably extinguished the conflagration.
``Uncle Hiram!'' cried
the boy, as soon as he recovered from his amazement. ``Uncle Hiram, where are you?''
There was no answer to
this call and for the moment Joe's heart seemed to stop beating. Was the old
hermit under that pile of ruins? If so it was more than likely he was dead.
Dropping his fish and
his lines, the youth sprang to the front of the cabin. The door had fallen to
the ground and before him was a mass of wreckage with a small hollow near the
bottom. He dropped on his knees and peered inside.
``Uncle Hiram!'' he
called again
There was no answer,
and he listened with bated breath. Then he fancied he heard a groan, coming
from the rear of what was left of the cabin. He ran around to that point and
pulled aside some boards and a broken window sash.
``Uncle Hiram, are you
here?''
``Joe!'' came in a low
voice, full of pain The man tried to say more but could not.
Hauling aside some more
boards, Joe now beheld the hermit, lying flat on his back, with a heavy beam
resting on his chest. He was also suffering from a cut on the forehead and from
a broken ankle.
``This is too bad,
Uncle Hiram!'' he said, in a trembling voice. ``I'll get you out just as soon
as I can.''
``Be--be careful,
Joe--I--I--my ribs must be broken,'' gasped the hermit.
``I'll be careful,''
answered the boy, and began to pull aside one board after another. Then he tugged
away at the beam but could not budge it.
``Raise it up
Joe--it--is--crushing the life ou--out of me,'' said the hermit faintly.
``I'll pry it up,''
answered the boy, and ran off to get a block of wood. Then he procured a stout
pole and with this raised the heavy beam several inches.
``Can you crawl out,
Uncle Hiram?''
There was no answer,
and Joe saw that the man had fainted from exhaustion. Fixing the pole so it
could not slip, he caught hold of the hermit and dragged him to a place of
safety.
Joe had never had to
care for a hurt person before and he scarcely knew how to proceed. He laid the
hermit on the grass and washed his face with water. Soon Hiram Bodley opened
his eyes once more.
``My chest!'' he
groaned. ``All of my ribs must be broken! And my ankle is broken, too!'' And he
groaned again.
``I had better get a
doctor, Uncle Hiram.''
``A doctor can't help
me.''
``Perhaps he can.''
``I haven't any faith
in doctors. A doctor operated on my mother and killed her.''
``But Doctor Gardner is
a nice man. He will do all he can for you, I am sure,'' urged Joe.
``Well, Dr. Gardner is
a good fellow I admit. If you--can--can get him--I'll--I'll --'' The sufferer
tried to go on but could not.
``I think I can get
him. But I hate to leave you alone.'' And Joe stared around helplessly. He
wished he had Ned with him.
``Never mind--give me a
drink--then go,'' answered Hiram Bodley. He had often taken Doctor Gardner out
to hunt with him and liked the physician not a little.
Inside of five minutes
Joe was on the way to the doctor's residence, which was on the outskirts of
Riverside. He had left the hermit as comfortable as possible, on a mattress and
covered with a cloth to keep off the night air,-- for it was now growing late and
the sun had set behind the mountains.
Tired though he was the
boy pulled with might and main, and so reached the dock of the physician's home
in a short space of time. Running up the walk of the neatly-kept garden, he
mounted the piazza and rang the bell several times.
``What's the matter?''
asked Doctor Gardner, who came himself to answer the summons.
``Our cabin is in
ruins, because of the storm, and Mr. Bodley is badly hurt,'' answered Joe, and
related some of the particulars.
``This is certainly too
bad, my boy,'' said the physician. ``I'll come at once and do what I can for
him.''
He ran for a case of
instruments and also for some medicines, and then followed Joe back to the
boat.
``You act as if you
were tired,'' said the doctor, after he had watched Joe at the oars for several
minutes.
``I am tired, sir--I've
been rowing a good deal to-day. But I guess I can make it.''
``Let me row,'' said
the physician, and took the oars. He was a fine oarsman, and the trip was made
in half the time it would have taken Joe to cover the distance.
At the dock there was a
lantern, used by Joe and the hermit when they went fishing at night. This was
lit, and the two hurried up the trail to the wreck of the cabin.
Hiram Bodley was
resting where Joe had left him. He was breathing with difficulty and did not at
first recognize the doctor.
``Take it off!'' he
murmured. ``Take it off! It is--is crushing th--the life out of--of me!''
``Mr. Bodley--Hiram,
don't you know me?'' asked Doctor Gardner, kindly.
``Oh! So it's you? I
guess you can't do much, doctor, can you? I--I'm done for!'' And a spasm of
pain crossed the sufferer's face.
``While there is life
there is hope,'' answered the physician, noncommittally. He recognized at once
that Hiram Bodley's condition was critical.
``He'll get over it,
won't he?'' questioned Joe, quickly.
The doctor did not
answer, but turned to do what he could for the hurt man. He felt of his chest
and listened to his breathing, and then administered some medicine.
``His ankle is hurt,
too,'' said Joe.
``Never mind the ankle
just now, Joe,'' was the soft answer.
There was something in
the tone that alarmed the boy and he caught the physician by the arm.
``Doctor, tell me the
truth!'' he cried. ``Is he is he going to die?''
``I am afraid so, my
lad. His ribs are crushed and one of them has stuck into his right lung.''
At these words the
tears sprang into the boy's eyes and it was all he could do to keep from crying
outright. Even though the old hermit had been rough in his ways, Joe thought a
good deal of the man.
``Cannot you do
something, doctor,'' he pleaded.
``Not here. We might do
something in a hospital, but he would not survive the journey. He is growing
weaker every moment. Be brave, my lad. It is a terrible trial, I know, but you
must remember that all things are for the best.''
Joe knelt beside the
sufferer and took hold of his hand. Hiram Bodley looked at him and then at the
doctor.
``I--I can't live--I
know it,'' he said hoarsely. ``Joe, stay by me till I die, won't you?''
``Yes!'' faltered the
boy. ``Oh, this is awful!''
``I'm sorry to leave you
so soon, Joe--I-- I thought I'd be--be able to do something for you some day.''
``You have done
something for me, Uncle Hiram.''
``All I've got goes to
you, Joe. Doctor, do you hear that?''
``I do.''
``It--it ain't much,
but it's something. The blue box--I put it in the blue box--'' Here the
sufferer began to cough.
``The blue box?'' came
from Joe questioningly.
``Yes, Joe, all in the
blue box--the papers and the money--And the blue box is--is--'' Again the
sufferer began to cough. ``I--I want water!'' he gasped.
The water was brought
and he took a gulp. Then he tried to speak again, but the effort was in vain.
The doctor and Joe raised him up.
``Uncle Hiram! Speak to
me!'' cried the boy.
But Hiram Bodley was
past speaking. He had passed to the Great Beyond.
THREE days after his
tragic death Hiram Bodley was buried. Although he was fairly well known in the
lake region only a handful of people came to his funeral. Joe was the chief
mourner, and it can honestly be said that he was much downcast when he followed
the hermit to his last resting place.
After the funeral
several asked Joe what he intended to do. He could not answer the question.
``Have you found that
blue box?'' questioned Doctor Gardner.
``No, sir, I have not
thought of it.''
``Probably it contains
money and papers of value, Joe.''
``I am going to look
for it to-day,'' said the boy. ``I--I couldn't look for it while-- while--''
``I understand. Well, I
trust you locate the box and that it contains all you hope for,'' added the
physician.
As luck would have it,
Ned Talmadge's family had just gone away on a trip to the West, so Mr. Talmadge
could offer the boy no assistance. But Ned was on hand and did what he could.
``You don't know what
you'll do next, do you, Joe?'' asked Ned, as he and Joe returned to the wreck
of the cabin.
``No.''
``Well, if you haven't
any money I'll do what I can for you.''
``Thank you, Ned; you
are very kind.''
``It must be hard to be
thrown out on the world in this fashion,'' went on the rich boy,
sympathetically.
``It is hard. After
all, I thought a good deal of Uncle Hiram. He was strange in his ways, but he
had a good heart.''
``Wasn't he shot in the
head once by accident in the woods?''
``Yes.''
``Maybe that made him
queer at times.''
``Perhaps so.''
``I've got six dollars
and a half of my spending money saved up. You may have that if you wish,''
continued Ned, generously.
``I'd rather not take
it, Ned.''
``Why not?''
``If I can, I want to
be independent. Besides, I think there is money around somewhere,'' and Joe
mentioned the missing blue box.
``You must hunt for
that blue box by all means!'' cried the rich boy. ``I'll help you.''
After the death of
Hiram Bodley, Joe and two of the lake guides had managed to repair one room of
the broken-down cabin, and from this the funeral had taken place.
The room contained a
bed, a table, two benches and a few dishes and cooking utensils The floor was
bare and the window was broken out. It was truly a most uninviting home.
``Of course you are not
going to stay here, now you are alone?'' said Ned, after a look around.
``I don't know where
else to go, Ned.''
``Why not move into
town!''
``Perhaps I will. But I
want to find that blue box before I decide on anything.''
Without delay the two
boys set to work among the ruins, looking into every hole and corner they could
think of and locate. They pulled away heavy boards and logs, and Joe even got a
spade and dug up the ground at certain points.
``It doesn't seem to be
here,'' said Ned, after an hour had passed.
``It must be here,''
cried Joe.
``Perhaps it was buried
under a tree.''
``That may be true.
Anyway, I am certain it is somewhere around this cabin.''
After that the hunt was
continued for another hour, and they visited several spots in that locality
where Joe thought the blue box might have been placed. But it was all to no
purpose, the box failed to come to light.
At last the two boys
sat down on a bench in front of the cabin. Both were tired out, Ned especially
so. Joe was much downcast and his friend did what he could to cheer him up.
``The box is bound to
come to light some day,'' said Ned. ``That is, unless some of those men carried
it off.''
``What men, Ned?''
``The fellows who
helped to mend the cabin just before the funeral.''
``Oh, I don't think
they would steal the box. Bart Andrews and Jack Thompson are as honest as the
day is long.''
``Well, it's mighty
queer you can't find some trace of the blue box.''
The boys talked the
matter over for some time, and then Ned announced that he must go home.
``You can go with me if
you wish,'' he said. ``It will be better than staying here all alone.''
But Joe declined the
offer.
I'll stay here, and
begin the hunt again the first thing in the morning,'' he said.
``Well, if you want
anything, come and see me, Joe; won't you?''
``I will, Ned.''
Ned had come over in
his own boat and now Joe walked down to the lake with him. His friend gone, the
hermit's boy returned to the dilapidated cabin.
He was hungry but he
had no heart to eat. He munched some bread and cheese which a neighbor had
brought over. He felt utterly alone in the great worlds and when he thought of
this a strange feeling came over him.
It was a bitter night
for the poor boy, but when morning came his mind was made up. He would make his
own way in the world, asking aid from no one, not even Ned.
``And if I can't find
the blue box I'll get along without it,'' he told himself.
As soon as it was light
he procured breakfast and then started on another hunt for the missing box. The
entire day was spent in the search, but without results. Towards night, Joe
went down to the lake. Here he caught a couple of small fish, which he fried
for his supper.
All told, Joe had
exactly a dollar and a half of his own and nine dollars which he had found in
the hermit's pocketbook.
``Ten dollars and a
half,'' he mused, as he counted the amount over. ``Not very much to go out into
the world with. If I want to do anything in town I'll have to buy some
clothes.''
From this it will be
surmised that Joe was thinking of giving up his roving life around the lake and
mountains, and this was true. Hunting and fishing appealed to him only in an
uncertain way, and he longed to go forth into the busy world and make something
of himself.
He had two suits of
clothing, but both were very much worn, and so were his shoes and his cap.
Hiram Bodley had left some old clothing, but they were too big for the boy.
``I guess I'll get
Jasok the peddler to come up here and make me an offer for what is here,'' he
told himself.
Jasok was a Hebrew
peddler who drove around through the lake region, selling tinware and doing all
sorts of trading. It was time for him to visit that neighborhood and Joe went
to the nearest house on the main road and asked about the man.
``He will most likely
be along to-morrow, Joe,'' said the neighbor.
``If he comes, Mr.
Smith, will you send him over to my place? Tell him I want an offer for the
things.''
``Going to sell out,
Joe?''
``Yes, sir.''
``What are you going to
do after that?''
``Try for some job in
town.''
``That's a good idea.
Hunting and fishing isn't what it used to be. What do you want for the things?''
``All I can get,'' and
a brief smile hovered on Joe's face.
``I wouldn't sell out
too cheap. Jasok is a great fellow to drive a bargain.''
``If he won't give me a
fair price, I'll load the things on the rowboat and sell them in town.''
``That's an idea. Do
you want to sell Hiram's double-barrel shot gun?''
``Yes, sir.''
``I'll give you ten
dollars for it.''
``I was going to ask
twelve, Mr. Smith. It's a pretty good gun.''
``So it is, although it
is a little bit old- fashioned. Well, bring it over and I'll allow you twelve
dollars,'' answered the neighbor, who was willing to assist Joe all he could.
Joe went back for the
gun without delay, and received his money. Then he returned to the cabin and
brought out all the goods he wished to sell.
By the middle of the
next day the Hebrew peddler appeared. At first he declared that all of the
things Joe had to sell were not worth two dollars.
``Very well, if you
think that, we won't talk about it,'' said Joe, briefly.
``Da vos all vorn
out,'' said Jasok. ``De clothes vos rags, and de furniture an' dishes was
kracked.''
``If you don't want
them, I'll take them to town and sell them. I am sure Moskowsky will buy
them.''
Now it happened that
Moskowsky was a rival peddler who also boasted of the ownership of a
second-hand store. To think that the goods might go to this man nettled Jasok
exceedingly.
``Vell, I likes you,
Cho,'' he said. ``I vos your friend, an' I gif you dree dollars for dem dings.
``You can have them for
ten dollars,'' answered the boy.
A long talk followed,
and in the end the Hebrew peddler agreed to pay seven dollars and a half,
providing Joe would help to carry the goods to the main road, where the wagon
had been left. The money was paid over, and by nightfall all of the goods were
on the wagon, and Joe was left at the cabin with nothing but the suit on his
back. But he had thirty dollars in his pocket, which he counted over with great
satisfaction.
``I ought to be able to
get something to do before that is gone,'' he told himself. ``If I don't, it
will be my own fault.''
ON the following day it
rained early in the morning, so Joe had to wait until noon before he left the
old cabin. He took with him all that remained of his possessions, including the
precious pocketbook with the thirty dollars. When he thought of the blue box he
sighed.
``Perhaps it will never
come to light,'' he told himself. ``Well, if it does not I'll have to make the
best of it.''
Two o'clock found him
on the streets of Riverside, which was a town of fair size. During the summer
months many visitors were in the place and the hotels and boarding houses were
crowded.
There was one very fine
clothing store in Riverside, but Joe did not deem it best, with his limited
capital, to go there for a suit. In- stead he sought out a modest establishment
on one of the side streets.
Just ahead of him was
an Irish couple who had evidently not been in this country many years. The man
entered the store awkwardly, as if he did not feel at home. Not so his wife,
who walked a little in advance of her husband.
``Have you got any
men's coats?'' said she to the clerk who came forward to wait on the pair. ``If
I can get one cheap for me husband here I'll buy one.''
``Oh, yes, madam,'' was
the ready reply. ``We have the best stock in town, by all odds. You can't fail
to be suited.''
So saying, he led the
way to a counter piled high with the articles called for, and hauled them over.
``There,'' said he,
pulling out one of a decidedly ugly pattern. ``There is one of first quality
cloth. It was made for a gentleman of this town, but did not exactly fit him,
and so we'll sell it cheap.''
``And what is the
price?''
``Three dollars.''
``Three dollars!''
exclaimed the Irish lady, lifting up her hands in extreme astonishment.
``Three dollars! You'll
be afther thinkin' we're made of money, sure! I'll give you a dollar and a
half.''
``No, ma'am, we don't
trade in that way. We don't very often take half what we ask for an article.''
``Mike,'' said she,
``pull off yer coat an' thry it on. Three dollars, and it looks as if it was
all cotton.''
``Not a thread of
cotton in that,'' was the clerk's reply.
``Not wan, but a good
many, I'm thinkin','' retorted the Irish lady, as she helped her husband draw
on the coat. It fitted tolerably well and Mike seemed mightily pleased with his
transformation.
``Come,'' said the
wife. ``What will ye take?''
``As it's you, I'll
take off twenty-five cents,'' replied the clerk.
``And sell it to me for
two dollars?'' inquired his customer, who had good cause for her inaccurate
arithmetic.
``For two dollars and
seventy-five cents.''
``Two dollars and
seventy-five cents! It's taking the bread out of the childer's mouths you'd
have us, paying such a price as that! I'll give you two twenty-five, an' I'll
be coming again some time.''
``We couldn't take so
low as two twenty- five, ma'am. You may have it for two dollars and a half.
After another
ineffectual attempt to get it for two dollars and a quarter, the Irish woman
finally offered two dollars and forty-five cents, and this offer was accepted.
She pulled out a paper
of change and counted out two dollars and forty cents, when she declared that
she had not another cent. But the clerk understood her game and coolly
proceeded to put the coat back on the pile. Then the woman very opportunely
found another five- cent piece stored away in the corner of her pocket.
``It's robbin' me, ye
are,'' said she as she paid it over.
``Oh, no, ma'am, you
are getting a great bargain,'' answered the clerk.
Joe had witnessed the
bargaining with a good deal of quiet amusement. As soon as the Irish couple had
gone the clerk came toward the boy.
``Well, young man, what
can I do for you?'' he asked, pleasantly.
``I want a suit of
clothing. Not an expensive suit, but one guaranteed to be all wool.''
``A light or a dark
suit?''
``A dark gray.''
``I can fit you out in
a fine suit of this order,'' and the clerk pointed to several lying in a heap
nearby.
``I don't want that
sort. I want something on the order of those in the window marked nine dollars
and a half.''
``Oh, all right.''
Several suits were brought
forth, and one was found that fitted Joe exceedingly well.
``You guarantee this to
be all wool?'' asked the boy.
``Every thread of it.''
``Then I'll take it''
``Very well; the price
is twelve dollars.''
``Isn't it like that in
the window?''
``On that order, but a
trifle better.''
``It seems to me to be
about the same suit. I'll give you nine dollars and a half.''
``I can't take it. I'll
give it to you for eleven and a half. That is our best figure.''
``Then I'll go
elsewhere for a suit,'' answered Joe, and started to leave the clothing
establishment.
``Hold on, don't be so
fast!'' cried the clerk, catching him by the arm. ``I'll make it eleven and a
quarter.''
``Not a cent more than
the advertised price, nine and a half,'' replied Joe, firmly.
``Oh, but this isn't
the same suit.''
``It's just like it, to
my eye. But you needn't sell it for that if you don't want it. Mason &
Harris are offering some bargains, I believe.''
``You can get a better
bargain here than anywhere in this town, or in Philadelphia either,'' answered
the clerk, who did not intend to let his prospective customer get away. ``We'll
make it an even eleven dollars and say no more about it.''
Instead of answering
Joe started once more for the door.
``Hold on!''
``I haven't got time.''
``Make it ten and a
half. At that price we are losing exactly half a dollar on that suit.''
``Not a cent over what
I offered.''
``We can't sell suits
at such a loss. It would ruin us.''
``Then don't do it. I
think Mason & Harris have some good suits very cheap. And they are quite
up-to-date, too,'' added Joe.
``Our suits are the
best in town, young man. Take this one for an even ten dollar bill.''
``I will if you'll
throw in one of those half dollar caps,'' answered our hero.
``Well, have your own
way, but it's a sacrifice,'' grumbled the clerk.
He wanted to wrap up
the suit, but, afraid he might substitute something else, Joe insisted upon
donning the suit then and there and likewise the new cap. Then he had the old
articles of wearing apparel done up into a bundle and paid over the ten
dollars.
``You're pretty smart
after a bargain,'' said the clerk.
``I've got to be--when
I strike such fellows as you,'' was the reply.
``You got a better
bargain than that Irish woman did.''
``I did--if the suit is
all wool. But if it's cotton, I'm stuck,'' returned our hero, and with his
bundle under his arm he walked from the store.
He had left his rowboat
in charge of an old boatman named Ike Fairfield, and now he walked down to the
boathouse.
``Just in time, Joe,''
said the old boatman. ``Want to earn a dollar?''
``To be sure I do,''
answered our hero.
``A party of ladies
want a long row around the lake. You can have the job.''
``All right, Ike.''
``I charged them a
dollar and a quarter. I'll keep the quarter for my commission.''
``That is fair.''
``One of the ladies
said she wanted somebody that looked pretty decent. I think you'll fill the
bill with that new suit.''
``I didn't expect to
wear the suit out on the lake, but in this case I'll keep it on,'' answered
Joe.
``I find it pays to
keep well dressed, when you take out the summer boarders,'' answered the old
boatman. ``And it pays to keep the boats in good shape, too.''
``Where am I to get the
party?''
``Over to the dock of
Mallison's Hotel. One of the ladies is Mallison's niece.''
``Why don't they take a
hotel boat?''
``All engaged, two days
ago. It's a busy season. But I've got to be going. You had better go over to
the dock at once. They want to go out at three o'clock sharp.''
``Very well, I'll be on
hand,'' answered our hero.
JOE certainly presented
a neat appearance when he rowed over to the hotel dock. Before going he
purchased a new collar and a dark blue tie, and these, with his new suit and
new cap, set him off very well.
The boat had been
cleaned in the morning, and when the ladies appeared they inspected the craft
with satisfaction.
``What a nice clean
boat,'' said Mabel Mallison, the niece of the proprietor of the hotel.
``And a nice clean
boatman, too,'' whispered one of her friends. ``I couldn't bear that man we had
day before yesterday, with his dirty hands and the tobacco juice around his
mouth.''
The ladies to go out
were four in number, and two sat in the bow and two in the stern. It made quite
a heavy load, but as they were not out for speed our hero did not mind it.
``We wish to go up to
Fern Rock,'' said Mabel Mallison. ``They tell me there are some beautiful ferns
to be gathered there.''
``There are,'' answered
Joe. ``I saw them last week.''
``And I wish to get
some nice birch bark if I can,'' said another of the ladies.
``I can get you plenty
of it.''
Joe rowed along in his
best style, and while doing so the ladies of the party asked him numerous
questions concerning the lake and vicinity. When Fern Rock was reached, all
went ashore, and our hero pointed out the ferns he had seen, and dug up such as
the others wished to take along. An hour was spent over the ferns, and in
getting some birch bark, and then they started on the return for the hotel.
``I'd like to row,''
cried one of the ladies, a rather plump personage.
``Oh, Jennie, I don't
think you can!'' cried another.
``Of course I can,''
answered Jennie, and sprang up from her seat to take the oars.
``Be careful!'' came in
a warning from Joe, as the boat began to rock.
``Oh, I'm not afraid!''
said the plump young lady, and leaned forward to catch hold of one oar. Just
then her foot slipped and she fell on the gunwale, causing the boat to tip more
than ever. As she did this, Mabel Mallison, who was leaning over the side,
gazing down into the clear waters of the lake, gave a shriek.
``Oh, save me!'' came
from her, and then she went over, with a loud splash.
Joe was startled, and
the ladies left in the boat set up a wail of terror.
``She will be
drowned!''
``Oh, save her! Save
her, somebody!''
``It is my fault!''
shrieked the plump young lady. ``I tipped the boat over!''
Joe said nothing, but
looked over the side of the boat. He saw the body of Mabel Mallison not far
away. But it was at the lake bottom and did not offer to rise.
``It's queer she
doesn't come up,'' he thought.
Then he gave a second
look and saw that the dress of the unfortunate one was caught in some sharp
rocks. Without hesitation he dived overboard, straight for the bottom.
It was no easy matter
to unfasten the garment. which was caught in a crack between two heavy stones.
But at the second tug it came free, and a moment later both our hero and Mabel
Mallison came to the surface.
``Oh!'' cried two of
the ladies in the row- boat. ``Is she drowned?''
``I trust not,''
answered Joe. ``Sit still, please, or the boat will surely go over.''
As best he could Joe
hoisted Mabel into the craft and then clambered in himself. As he did so the
unfortunate girl gave a gasp and opened her eyes.
``Oh!'' she murmured.
``You are safe now,
Mabel!'' said one of her companions.
``And to think it was
my fault!'' murmured the plump young lady. ``I shall never forgive myself as
long as I live!''
Mabel Mallison had
swallowed some water, but otherwise she was unhurt. But her pretty blue dress
was about ruined, and Joe's new suit did not look near as well as it had when
he had donned it.
``Let us row for the
hotel,'' said one of the young ladies. ``Are you all right?'' she asked of Joe.
``Yes, ma'am, barring
the wetting.''
``It was brave of you
to go down after Mabel.''
``Indeed it was!''
cried that young lady. ``If it hadn't been for you I might have been drowned.''
And she gave a deep shudder.
``I saw she was caught
and that's why I went over after her,'' answered our hero simply. ``It wasn't
so much to do.''
All dripping as he was,
Joe caught up the oars of the boat and sent the craft in the direction of the
hotel at a good speed. That she might not take cold, a shawl was thrown over Mabel's
wet shoulders.
The arrival of the
party at the hotel caused a mild sensation. Mabel hurried to her room to put on
dry clothing, and Joe was directed to go around to the kitchen. But when the
proprietor of the place had heard what Joe had done for his niece he sent the
lad to a private apartment and provided him with dry clothing belonging to
another who was of our hero's size.
``That was a fine thing
to do, young man,'' said the hotel proprietor, when Joe appeared, dressed in
the dry garments, and his own clothing had been sent to the laundry to be dried
and pressed.
``I'm glad I was there
to do it, Mr. Mallison.''
``Let me see, aren't
you Hiram Bodley's boy?''
``I lived with Mr.
Bodley, yes.''
``That is what I mean.
It was a terrible accident that killed him. Are you still living at the
tumbled-down cabin?''
``No, sir. I've just
sold off the things, and I am going to settle in town.''
``Where?''
``I haven't decided
that yet. I was going to hunt up a place when Ike Fairfield gave me the job of
rowing out the young ladies.''
``I see. You own the
boat, eh?''
``Yes, sir.''
``You ought to be able
to make a fair living, taking out summer boarders.''
``I suppose so, but
that won't give me anything to do this winter.''
``Well, perhaps
something else will turn up by that time.'' Andrew Mallison drew out a fat
wallet. ``I want to reward you for saving Mabel.''
He drew out two
ten-dollar bills and held them towards our hero. But Joe shook his head and
drew back.
``Thank you very much,
Mr. Mallison, but I don't want any reward.''
``But you have earned
it fairly, my lad.''
``I won't touch it. If
you want to help me you can throw some odd rowing jobs from the hotel in my
way.''
``Then you won't really
touch the money?''
``No, sir.''
``How would you like to
work for the hotel regularly?''
``I'd like it
first-rate if it paid.''
``I can guarantee you
regular work so long as the summer season lasts.''
``And what would it
pay?''
``At least a dollar a
day, and your board.''
``Then I'll accept and
with thanks for your kindness.''
``When can you come?''
``I'm here already.''
``That means that you
can stay from now on?''
``Yes, sir.''
``I don't suppose you
want the job of haul- ing somebody from the lake every day,'' said Andrew
Mallison, with a smile.
``Not unless I was
dressed for it, Mr. Mallison. Still, it has been the means of getting me a good
position.''
``I shall feel safe in
sending out parties with you for I know you will do your best to keep them from
harm.''
``I'll certainly do
that, I can promise you.''
``To-morrow you can
take out two old ladies who wish to be rowed around the whole lake and shown
every point of interest. Of course you know all the points.''
``Yes, sir, I know
every foot of ground around the lake, and I know the mountains, too.''
``Then there will be no
difficulty in keeping you busy. I am glad to take you on. I am short one
man--or will be by to-night. I am going to let Sam Cullum go, for he drinks too
much.''
``Well, you won't have
any trouble with me on that score.''
``Don't you drink?''
``Not a drop, sir.''
``I am glad to hear it,
and it is to your credit,'' concluded the hotel proprietor.
SEVERAL days passed and
Joe went out half a dozen times on the lake with parties from the hotel. All
whom he served were pleased with him and treated him so nicely that, for the
time being, his past troubles were forgotten.
At the beginning of the
week Ned Talmadge came to see him.
``I am going away to
join the folks out West,'' said Ned.
``I hope you will have
a good time,'' answered our hero.
``Oh, I'm sure to have
that, Joe. By the way, you are nicely settled here, it would seem.''
``Yes, and I am
thankful for it.''
``Mr. Mallison is a
fine man to work for, so I have been told. You had better stick to him.''
``I shall--as long as
the work holds out.''
``Maybe he will give
you something else to do, after the boating season is over.''
A few more words
passed, and then Ned took his departure. It was to be a long time before the
two friends would meet again.
So far Joe had had no
trouble with anybody around the hotel, but that evening, when he was cleaning
out his boat, a man approached him and caught him rudely by the shoulder.
``So you're the feller
that's took my job from me, eh?'' snarled the newcomer.
Our hero looked up and
recognized Sam Cullum, the boatman who had been discharged for drinking. Even
now the boatman was more than half under the influence of intoxicants.
``I haven't taken
anybody's job from him,'' answered Joe.
``I say yer did!''
growled Cullum. ``It ain't fair, nuther!''
To this our hero did
not reply, but went on cleaning out his boat.
``Fer two pins I'd lick
yer!'' went on the tipsy boatman, lurching forward.
``See here, Sam Cullum,
I want you to keep your distance,'' said Joe, sharply. ``Mr. Mallison
discharged you for drinking. I had nothing to do with it.''
``I don't drink;
leastwise, I don't drink no more'n I need.''
``Yes, you do. It would
be the best thing in the world for you if you'd leave liquor alone entirely.''
``Humph! don't you
preach to me, you little imp!''
``Then leave me
alone.''
``You stole the job
from me an' I'm going to lick you for it.''
``If you touch me
you'll get hurt,'' said Joe, his eyes flashing. ``Leave me alone and I'll leave
you alone.''
``Bah!'' snarled the
other, and struck out awkwardly. He wanted to hit Joe on the nose, but the boy
dodged with ease, and Sam Cullum fell sprawling over the rowboat.
``Hi! what did ye trip
me up for?'' spluttered the half-intoxicated man, as he rose slowly. ``Don't you
do that ag'in, do yer hear?''
``Then don't try to
strike me again.''
There was a moment of
silence and then Sam Cullum gathered himself for another blow. By this time a
small crowd of boys and hotel helpers began to collect.
``Sam Cullum's going to
fight Joe Bodley!''
``Sam'll most kill
Joe!''
With all his strength
the man rushed at Joe. But the boy dodged again and put out his foot and the
man went headlong.
``Now will you let me
alone?'' asked our hero, coolly.
``No, I won't!'' roared
Sam Cullum. ``Somebody give me a club! I'll show him!''
Arising once more, he
caught up an oar and launched a heavy blow at Joe's head. For a third time our
hero dodged, but the oar struck him on the arm, and the blow hurt not a little.
Joe was now angry and
believed it was time to defend himself. He edged towards the end of the dock
and Sam Cullum followed. Then, of a sudden the boy ducked under the man's arm,
turned, and gave him a quick shove that sent him with a splash into the lake.
``Hurrah! score one for
Joe!''
``That will cool Sam
Cullum's temper.''
``Yes, and perhaps it
will sober him a little,'' came from a man standing by, who had witnessed the
quarrel from the beginning. ``He brought this on himself; the boy had nothing
to do with it.''
Sam Cullum floundered
around in the water like a whale cast up in the shallows. The lake at that
point was not over four feet deep, but he did not know enough to stand upright.
``Save me!'' he
bellowed. ``Save me! I don't want to drown!''
``Swallow a little
water, it will do you good!'' said a bystander, with a laugh.
``Walk out and you'll
be all right,'' added another.
At last Sam Cullum
found his feet and walked around the side of the dock to the shore. A crowd
followed him and kept him from going at Joe again.
``I'll fix him another
time,'' growled the intoxicated one, and shuffled off, with some small boys
jeering him.
``You treated him as he
deserved,'' said one of the other boatmen to Joe.
``I suppose he'll try
to square up another time,'' answered our hero.
``Well, I wouldn't take
water for him, Joe.''
``I don't intend to. If
he attacks me I'll do the best I can to defend myself.''
``He has made a
nuisance of himself for a long time. It's a wonder to me that Mr. Mallison put
up with it so long.''
``He was short of help,
that's why. It isn't so easy to get new help in the height of the summer
season.''
``That is true.''
Joe expected to have
more trouble with Sam Cullum the next day but it did not come. Then it leaked
out that Cullum had gotten into a row with his wife and some of her relatives
that night and was under arrest. When the boatman was brought up for trial the
Judge sentenced him to six months' imprisonment.
``And it serves him
right,'' said the man who brought the news to Joe.
``It must be hard on
his wife.''
``Well, it is, Joe.''
``Have they any
children?''
``Four--a boy of seven
and three little girls.''
``Are they well of?''
``What, with such a
father? No, they are very poor. She used to go out washing, but now she has to
stay at home to take care of the baby. Sam was a brute to strike her. I don't
wonder the relatives took a hand.''
``Perhaps the relatives
can help her.''
``They can't do much,
for they are all as poor as she is, and one of them is just getting over an
operation at the hospital.''
``Where do the Cullums
live?''
``Down on Railroad
Alley, not far from the water tower. It's a mite of a cottage.''
Joe said no more, but
what he had been told him set him to thinking, and that evening, after his work
was over, he took a walk through the town and in the direction of Railroad
Alley.
Not far from the water
station he found the Cullum homestead, a mite of a cottage, as the man had
said, with a tumbled-down chimney and several broken-out windows. He looked in
at one of the windows and by the light of a smoking kerosene lamp beheld a
woman in a rocking-chair, rocking a baby to sleep. Three other youngsters were
standing around, knowing not what to do. On a table were some dishes, all bare
of food.
``Mamma, I want more
bread,'' one of the little ones was saying.
``You can have more in
the morning, Johnny,'' answered the mother.
``No, I want it now,''
whimpered the youngster. ``I'm hungry.''
``I'm hungry, too,''
put in another little one.
``I can't give you any
more to-night, for I haven't it,'' said the mother, with a deep sigh. ``Now, be
still, or you'll wake the baby.''
``Why don't dad come
home?'' asked the boy of seven.
``He can't come home,
Bobby--he--had to go away,'' faltered the mother. ``Now all be still, and you
shall have more bread in the morning.''
The children began to
cry, and unable to stand the sight any longer Joe withdrew. Up the Alley was a
grocery store and he almost ran to this.
``Give me some bread,''
he said, ``and some cake, and a pound of cheese, and some smoked beef, and a
pound of good tea, and some sugar. Be quick, please.''
The goods were weighed
out and wrapped up, and with his arms full he ran back to the cottage and
kicked on the door.
``Who is there?'' asked
Mrs. Cullum, in alarm.
``Here are some
groceries for you!'' cried Joe. ``All paid for!''
``Oh, look!'' screamed
the boy of seven. ``Bread, and cheese!''
``And sugar!'' came
from one of the little girls.
``And tea! Mamma, just
what you like!'' said another.
``Where did this come
from?'' asked Mrs. Cullum.
``A friend,'' answered
Joe. ``It's all paid for.''
``I am very thankful.''
``Now we can have some
bread, can't we?'' queried the boy.
``Yes, and a bit of
smoked beef and cheese, too,'' said the mother, and placing the sleeping baby
on a bed, she proceeded to deal out the good things to her children.
IT was not until the
children had been satisfied and put to bed that Joe had a chance to talk to
Mrs. Cullum. She was greatly astonished when she learned who he was.
``I didn't expect this
kindness,'' said she. ``I understand that my husband treated you shamefully.''
``It was the liquor
made him do it ma'am,'' answered our hero. ``I think he'd be all right if he'd
leave drink alone.''
``Yes, I am sure of
it!'' She gave a long sigh. ``He was very kind and true when we were first
married. But then he got to using liquor and--and--this is the result.''
``Perhaps he will turn
over a new leaf when he comes out of jail.''
``I hope he does. If he
doesn't, I don't know what I am going to do.''
``Have you anything to
do?''
``I used to wash for
two families in town but they have regular hired help now.''
``Perhaps you can get
more work, if you advertise. If you'll allow me, I'll put an advertisement in
the Riverside News for you.''
``Thank you. I don't
see what makes you so kind.''
``Well, I have been
down in the world myself, Mrs. Cullum, so I know how to feel for others.''
``Did you say you used
to live with Bodley, the hermit?''
``Yes.''
``My folks used to know
him. He was rather a strange man after he got shot by accident.''
``Yes, but he was
kind.''
``Are you his son?''
``No. He said I was his
nephew. But I never found out much about that.''
``Oh, yes, I remember
something about that. He had a brother who lost his wife and several children.
Are you that man's son?''
``I believe I am.''
``And you have never
heard from your father?''
``Not a word.''
``That is hard on
you.''
``I am going to look
for my father some day.''
``If so, I hope you
will find him.''
``So do I.'' Joe arose.
``I must be going.'' He paused. ``Mrs. Cullum, will you let me help you?'' he
added, earnestly.
``Why, you have helped
me a good deal already. Not one in a thousand would do what you have
done--after the way my husband treated you.''
``I thought that you
might be short of money.''
``I must confess I
am.''
``I am not rich but, if
you can use it, I can let you have five dollars.''
``I'll accept it as a
loan. I don't want you to give me the money,'' answered the poor woman. She
thought of the things she absolutely needed, now that her husband was gone.
The money was handed
over, and a few minutes later Joe took his departure. Somehow his heart felt
very light because of his generosity. He had certainly played the part of a friend
in need.
But he did not stop
there. Early in the morning he sought out Andrew Mallison and told the hotel
proprietor of Mrs. Cullum's condition.
``I was thinking that
you might be able to give her work in the hotel laundry,'' he continued.
The hotel man called up
the housekeeper and from her learned that another woman could be used to iron.
``You can let her come
and we'll give her a trial,'' said he.
It did not take Joe
long to communicate with the poor woman, and she was overjoyed to see work in
sight, without waiting for an advertisement in the newspaper.
``I'll go at once,''
said she. ``I'll get a neighbor's girl to mind the children.'' And she was as
good as her word. As it happened, she proved to be a good laundress, and Mr.
Mallison gave her steady employment until her husband came from jail. Then,
much to his wife's satisfaction, Sam Cullum turned over a new leaf and became
quite sober and industrious.
Joe was now becoming
well acquainted around the hotel and took an interest in many of the boarders.
Among the number was a
young man named Felix Gussing. He was a nice individual in his way, but had
certain peculiarities. One was that he was exceedingly afraid of horses and at
every possible opportunity he gave them as wide a berth as possible.
``Don't like them at
all, don't you know,'' he said, to Joe, during a boat ride. ``Can't understand
them at all.''
``Oh, I think a good
horse is very nice,'' answered our hero.
``But they are so--so
balkish--so full of kicking,'' insisted Felix Gussing.
``Well, I admit some of
them are,'' answered Joe.
There were two young
ladies stopping at the hotel and the young man had become quite well acquainted
with both of them. One he thought was very beautiful and was half tempted to
propose to her.
On the day after the
boat ride with Joe, Felix Gussing took the ladies to have some ice cream, and
during the conversation all spoke of a certain landmark of interest located
about three miles from Riverside.
``I have seen it and it
is--aw--very interesting,'' drawled Felix.
``Then we must see it,
Belle,'' said one of the young ladies, to her companion.
``Oh, I'm not going to
walk that far,'' answered Belle, with a bewitching look at the young man.
``You might drive
over,'' suggested Felix, without stopping to think twice.
``Oh, yes, I love
driving!'' cried one of the girls.
``And so do I!''
answered the other.
``I will find out what
can be done about a conveyance,'' answered Felix.
Being a good deal of a
dude, and dressing very fastidiously, he did not much relish visiting the
livery stable attached to the hotel. But, early on the following morning, he
walked down to the place, and ordered a horse and carriage, to be ready at ten
o'clock.
Now it must be known
that Felix did not intend to drive the carriage. He thought the young ladies
would drive for themselves, since both had said that they loved driving.
Unfortunate man! he knew not the snare he had laid for himself!
Punctual to the minute
the carriage drove up to the door.
Felix was on hand,
standing on the steps, with politeness in his air, though with trembling in his
heart because so near the horses. He assisted the ladies in. Then he handed the
reins to Miss Belle.
``Do you wish me to
hold the horses while you get in?'' she asked sweetly.
``Till I get in!''
ejaculated Felix, taken aback.
``Certainly! You don't
think we are going to drive ourselves, do you? Of course you are going with
us.''
Poor Felix! He was ``in
for it'' now, decidedly. It required a good deal of moral courage, a quality in
which he was deficient, to resist a lady's demand. His knees trembled with fear
as he scrambled in. Joe, who was standing not far away, looked on with a quiet
smile on his face. He realized what was passing in the dude's mind.
``He'd give ten dollars
to get out of it,'' our hero told himself.
The boy who had brought
the turnout around looked at Felix Gussing earnestly.
``Take care of that
horse, mister,'' said he, warningly. ``He's young and a little bit wild.''
``Wild?'' gasped the
dude. ``I--I don't want to drive a wild horse.''
``Oh, he'll be all
right if you keep an eye on him,'' went on the stable boy.
``Young and a little
bit wild!'' thought Felix to himself. ``Oh, dear, what in the world shall I
do?'' I never drove a horse before. If I get back with less than a broken neck
I'll be lucky! I'd give a thousand to be out of this pickle.''
``Hadn't we better
start, Mr. Gussing?'' asked one of the young ladies, after a pause.
``Oh, yes--certainly!''
he stammered. ``But --er--you can drive if you wish.''
``Thank you, but I
would prefer that you drive.''
``Won't you drive?'' he
asked of the other young lady.
``Oh, no, not to-day.
But I'll use the whip if you say so,'' she answered.
``Not for the world!''
cried the unhappy Felix. ``He is a bit wild already and there is no telling
what he'd do if he felt the whip.''
At last the carriage
drove off. Joe gazed after it thoughtfully.
``Unless I miss my
guess, there is going to be trouble before that drive is over,'' he thought.
And there was trouble, as we shall soon learn.
FORTUNATELY for the
unhappy Felix the horse walked away from the hotel in an orderly fashion, and
soon they gained the highway leading to the resort the party wished to visit.
Had the dude left the
horse alone all might have gone well. But he deemed it necessary to pull on
first one line and then the other, which kept the carriage in a meandering
course.
``I don't think, Mr.
Gussing, that you can be much used to driving,'' said one of the young ladies,
presently.
``That's a fact,''
answered the dude.
``Why don't you keep to
the right of the road?''
``Well,--er--the fact
is, this horse is a very difficult one to drive. I don't believe I ever drove
one which was more so.''
As this was the first
horse Mr. Gussing had ever driven, this assertion was true in every particular.
``Oh, I can't travel so
slow!'' cried one of the young ladies, and seized the whip, and before Felix
could stop her, used it on the steed.
The effect was magical.
The horse started up like a racer, and tore through the street as if trying to
win a race for a thousand dollars.
The dude clung to the
reins in the wildest terror. To his frenzied imagination it seemed that his
final hour was approaching.
``Whoa!'' he screamed,
jerking on the lines. ``Stop, you crazy beast! Stop, before we all get
killed!''
But the horse only went
the faster. And now, to increase his alarm, he saw a buggy approaching from the
opposite direction. It contained one of the town lawyers, Silas Simms by name.
``We shall run into
that buggy!'' screamed the fair Belle. ``Oh, Mr. Gussing, be careful!''
A moment later the two
turnouts came together with a crash, and one wheel was torn from the buggy and
the town lawyer pitched out headlong to the ground. Then on went the carriage
with the dude and the two young ladies, at a faster pace than ever.
``Let me jump out!''
screamed one of the ladies.
``No, not yet! You'll
be killed, Grace,'' answered Belle.
``Then stop the
carriage!''
Alas, the poor Felix
was already doing his best to stop the horse. But his jerkings on the reins
only added to the horse's wildness.
Not far along the road
was a good sized brook, spanned by a neat wooden bridge. As the carriage neared
the bridge, Felix pulled on the wrong rein once again. The horse turned from
the road proper, and descended full speed into the stream itself.
``Oh, now we'll be
drowned!'' shrieked Grace.
But she was mistaken.
The stream was easily fordable, so there was no danger on that score. But the
rate at which they were impelled through the water naturally created no
inconsiderable splashing, so that on emerging on the other side the dude, as
well as the young ladies, were well drenched.
To the great joy of
Felix the contact with the water cooled the ardor of the steed, so that he
resumed the journey at a far more moderate rate of speed.
``Wasn't it just
glorious!'' cried Belle, who, after the danger seemed past, grew enthusiastic.
``What a noble animal!''
``Glorious?'' echoed
the dude. ``I don't care much about such glory. As for the noble
animal--I--er--I wish he was hung! That's the best he deserves.''
The dude spoke
bitterly, for the spell of terror was still on him. Had he consulted his own
wishes he would have leaped from the carriage and left the ladies to their
fate.
But the thought of the
bewitching Belle made him keep his seat, and he resolved that if he must die he
would do it like a martyr.
The horse went on, and
at last they neared the end of the short journey. But here a new obstacle
presented itself. There was a big fence and a gate, and the gate was tight
shut.
As they could not enter
the grounds without opening the gate, the dude got down out of the carriage. He
did not hand the reins to either of the ladies but laid them over the
dashboard.
The instant the gate
was swung open the steed darted forward, and brought up with a jerk against a
post that happened to be in the way. Here he reared and plunged, causing the
young ladies to scream ``murder'' at the top of their voices.
``Oh, my! Oh, dear
me!'' bawled Felix, and took refuge behind a neighboring hedge. ``The horse has
gone crazy! He'll bite somebody next!''
The cries reached some
men who were not far off, and they came running to the assistance of the party.
One caught the steed by the bridle and soon had him quieted down.
``I'll never drive that
horse again!'' said the dude. ``Not for a million dollars!''
``How are we to get
home?'' queried Belle.
``I'll drive you,''
said one of the men. ``I know this horse. He used to belong to Bill Perkins. I
know how to handle him.''
``Then do so,''
answered Felix, ``and I'll pay you two dollars.''
The man was as good as
his word, and to Felix's astonishment he made the horse go back to the hotel
without the slightest mishap. Then the horse was put in the stable, the dude
paid the bill, and the party separated.
``I shall never drive
again, never!'' declared the dude to himself, and it may be added that he kept
his word.
``I hope you had a nice
drive,'' said Joe, when he met Felix that evening.
``It was beastly, don't
you know,'' was the answer. ``That horse was a terribly vicious creature.''
``He looked to be
gentle enough when he started off.''
``I think he is a crazy
horse.''
``By the way, Mr.
Gussing, Mr. Silas Simms was looking for you.''
``You mean that lawyer
who drives the spotted white horse?''
``Yes.''
Felix gave a groan.
``He says he wants
damages.''
``It wasn't my fault
that the horse ran into him.''
``Well, he is very
angry about it, anyway,'' said our hero.
Early the next morning
Felix Gussing received a communication from the lawyer. It was in the following
terms:--
``MR. GUSSING. Sir: --In
consequence of your reckless driving yesterday, I was thrown from my carriage,
receiving a contusion on my shoulder and other injuries. My carriage was also
nearly ruined. If you choose to make a race-course of the public highways you
must abide the consequences. The damage I have sustained I cannot estimate at
less than one hundred and fifty dollars. Indemnify me for that and I will go no
further. Otherwise, I shall be compelled to resort to legal action.
Felix read the letter
several times and his knees shook visibly. He did not want to pay over such an
amount, yet it struck him with terror when he thought he might possibly be
arrested for fast driving. He went to see Mr. Silas Simms.
``I am very sorry,'' he
began.
``Have you come to
pay?'' demanded the attorney, curtly.
``Well--er--the fact
is--don't you think you are asking rather a stiff price, Mr. Simms?''
``Not at all! Not at
all, sir! I ought to have placed the damages at three hundred!''
``I'll give you fifty
dollars and call it square.''
``No, sir, a hundred and
fifty! Not a penny less, not one penny! Look at my nose, sir-- all scratched!
And my ear! Not a penny less than one hundred and fifty dollars!'' And the
lawyer pounded on his desk with his fist.
``All right then, I'll
pay you, but you must give me a receipt in full,'' answered the dude.
He had to wait until
the bank opened, that he might cash a check, and then he paid over the amount
demanded. The lawyer drew up a legal paper discharging him from all further
obligations. Felix read it with care and stowed it in his pocket.
``And now let me give
you some advice, Mr. Gussing,'' said the lawyer, after the transaction was
concluded. ``Don't drive such a wild horse again.''
``Depend upon it, I
never shall,'' answered the dude. ``It costs too much!'' he added, with a faint
smile.
``Are you well
acquainted with horses?''
``No.''
``Then you had better
leave them alone altogether.''
``I have already made
up my mind to do so.''
FINDING that Joe could
be depended upon, Mr. Mallison put him in charge of all of the boats at the
hotel, so that our hero had almost as much work ashore as on the lake.
During the week
following, the events just narrated, many visitors left the hotel and others
came in. Among those to go were Felix Gussing and the two young ladies. The
dude bid our hero a cordial good-bye, for he now knew Joe quite well.
``Good-bye, Mr.
Gussing,'' said Joe. ``I hope we meet again.''
``Perhaps we shall,
although I generally go to a different place each summer.''
``Well, I don't expect
to stay in Riverside all my life.''
``I see. If you make a
move, I hope you do well,'' returned Felix.
On the day after the
dude left, a man came to the hotel who, somehow, looked familiar to our hero.
He came dressed in a light overcoat and a slouch hat, and carried a valise and
a suit case.
``I've seen him before,
but where?'' Joe asked himself not once but several times.
The man registered as
David Ball, and put down his address as Butte, Montana. He said he was a mining
expert, but added that he was sick and the doctors had ordered him to come East
for a rest.
``I've heard of
Riverside being a nice place,'' said he, ``so I came on right after striking
Pittsburg.''
``We shall do all we
can to make your stay a pleasant one,'' said the hotel proprietor, politely.
``All I want is a nice
sunny room, where I can get fresh air and take it easy,'' said the man.
He was willing to pay a
good price, and so obtained one of the best rooms in the house, one overlooking
the river and the lake. He ate one meal in the dining room, but after that he
had his meals sent to his apartment.
``Is he sick?'' asked
Joe, after watching the man one day.
``He certainly doesn't
seem to be well,'' answered Andrew Mallison.
``It runs in my mind
that I have seen him before, but I can't place him,'' went on our hero.
``You must be mistaken,
Joe. I questioned him and he says this is his first trip to the East, although
he has frequently visited St. Louis and Chicago.''
On the following day
the man called for a physician and Doctor Gardner was sent for.
``I've got pains
here,'' said the man from the West, and pointed to his chest. ``Do you think I
am getting consumption?''
The Riverside physician
made a careful examination and then said the man had probably strained himself.
``Reckon I did,'' was
the ready answer. ``I was in the mine and a big rock came down on me. I had to
hold it up for ten minutes before anybody came to my aid I thought I was a dead
one sure.''
``I will give you some
medicine and a lini- ment,'' said the doctor. ``Perhaps you'll feel better
after a good rest.'' And then he left.
That afternoon Joe had
to go up into the hotel for something and passed the room of the new boarder.
He saw the man standing by the window, gazing out on the water.
``I'm dead certain I've
seen him before,'' mused our hero. ``It is queer I can't think where.''
Doctor Gardner wanted
to be taken across the lake and Joe himself did the job. As he was rowing he
asked about the man who had signed the hotel register as David Ball from
Montana.''
``Is he very sick,
doctor?''
``No, I can't say that
he is,'' was the physician's answer. ``He looks to be as healthy as you or I.''
``It's queer he keeps
to his room.''
``Perhaps something
happened out at his mine to unsettle his nerves. He told me of some sort of an
accident.''
``Is he a miner?''
``He is a mine owner,
so Mr. Mallison told me, but he never heard of the man before.''
The stranger received
several letters the next day and then a telegram. Shortly after that he took to
his bed.
``I am feeling worse,''
said he to the bell boy who answered his ring. ``I want you to send for that
doctor again. Ask him to call about noon.''
``Yes, sir,'' answered
the boy, and Doctor Gardner was sent for without delay. He came and made
another examination and left some medicine.
``I'll take the
medicine regularly,'' said the stranger, who was in bed. But when the doctor
had left he quietly poured half of the contents of the bottle into the wash
bowl, where it speedily drained from sight!
``Don't catch me
drinking such rot,'' he muttered to himself. ``I'd rather have some good liquor
any day,'' and he took a long pull from a black bottle he had in his valise.
About noon a carriage
drove up to the hotel and two men alighted. One led the way into the hotel and
asked to see the register.
``I'd like to see Mr.
David Ball,'' said he to the clerk.
``Mr. Ball is sick.''
``So I have heard and
that is why I wish to see him.''
``I'll send up your
card.''
``I don't happen to
have a card. Tell him Mr. Anderson is here, from Philadelphia, with a friend of
his.''
The message was sent to
the sick man's room, and word came down that he would see the visitors in a few
minutes.
``He says he is pretty
sick and he can't talk business very long,'' said the bell boy.
``We won't bother him
very much,'' answered the man who had given his name as Anderson.
Joe happened to be
close by during this conversation and he looked the man called Anderson over
with care.
``I've seen that man,
too!'' he declared to himself. ``But where? I declare he is as much of a
mystery as the sick one!''
Our hero's curiosity
was now aroused to the highest pitch, and when the two men walked up to David Ball's
room he followed to the very doorway.
``Come in,'' came from
the room, and a deep groan followed. On the bed lay the man from Montana,
wrapped in several blankets and with a look of anguish on his features.
``Feeling pretty bad,
eh?'' said Anderson, as he stalked in. ``I am downright sorry for you.''
``I'm afraid I am going
to die,'' groaned the man in bed. ``The doctor says I am in bad shape. He wants
me to take a trip to Europe, or somewhere else.''
``This is Mr. Maurice
Vane,'' went on Anderson. ``We won't trouble you any more than is necessary,
Mr. Ball.''
``I am sorry to disturb
you,'' said Maurice Vane. He was a kindly looking gentleman. ``Perhaps we had
better defer this business until some other time.''
``Oh, no, one time is
as bad as another,'' came with another groan from the bed. ``Besides, I admit I
need money badly. If it wasn't for that--''. The man in bed began to cough.
``Say, shut the door,'' he went on, to the first man who had come in.
The door was closed,
and for the time being Joe heard no more of the conversation.
It must be admitted
that our hero was perplexed, and with good reason. He felt certain that the man
in bed was shamming, that he was hardly sick at all. If so, what was his game?
``Something is surely
wrong somewhere, he reasoned. ``I wish I could get to the bottom of it.''
The room next to the
one occupied by David Ball was empty and he slipped into this. The room
contained a closet, and on the other side was another closet, opening into the
room the men were in. The partition between was of boards, and as the other
door stood wide open, Joe, by placing his head to the boards, could hear fairly
well.
``You have the stock?''
he heard Maurice Vane ask.
``Yes, in my valise.
Hand me the bag and I'll show you,'' answered the man in bed. ``Oh, how weak I
feel!'' he sighed.
There was a silence and
then the rustling of papers.
``And what is your
bottom price for these?'' went on Maurice Vane.
``Thirty thousand
dollars.''
``I told Mr. Vane you
might possibly take twenty-five thousand,'' came from the man called Anderson.
``They ought to be
worth face value--fifty thousand dollars,'' said the man in bed.
A talk in a lower tone
followed, and then more rustling of papers.
``I will call to-morrow
with the cash,'' said Maurice Vane, as he prepared to leave. ``In the meantime,
you promise to keep these shares for me?''
``I'll keep them until
noon. I've got another offer,'' said the man in bed.
``We'll be back,'' put
in the man called Anderson. ``So don't you sell to anybody else.''
Then the two visitors
left and went downstairs. Five minutes later they were driving away in the
direction of the railroad station.
``This certainly beats
anything I ever met before,'' said Joe, to himself as he watched them go.
``I'll wager all I am worth that I've met that Anderson before, and that he is
a bad man. I do wish I could get at the bottom of what is going on.''
In the evening he had
occasion to go upstairs in the hotel once more. To his surprise he saw Mr.
David Ball sitting in a rocking-chair, calmly smoking a cigar and reading a
paper.
``He isn't as sick as
he was this morning,'' he mused. ``In fact, I don't think he is sick at all.''
He wished to be on hand
the following morning, when the strangers came back, but an errand took him up
the lake. He had to stop at several places, and did not start on the return
until four in the afternoon.
On his way back Joe
went ashore close to where the old lodge was located, and something, he could
not tell what, made him run over and take a look at the spot that had proved a
shelter for Ned and himself during the heavy storm. How many things had
occurred since that fatal day!
As our hero looked into
one of the rooms he remembered the strange men he had seen there --the fellows
who had talked about mining stocks. Then, of a sudden, a revelation came to
him, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
``I've got it! I've got
it!'' he cried. ``Mr. David Ball is that fellow who called himself Malone, and
Anderson is the man named Caven! They are both imposters!''
THE more Joe thought
over the matter the more he became convinced that he was right. He remembered a
good deal of the talk he had overheard during the storm, although such talk
had, for the time being, been driven from his mind by the tragic death of old
Hiram Bodley.
``If they are working
some game what can this Maurice Vane have to do with it?'' he asked himself.
He thought it best to
get back to the hotel at once, and tell Mr. Mallison of his suspicions. But, as
luck would have it, scarcely had he started to row his boat again when an
oarlock broke, and so it took him the best part of an hour to make the trip.
``Where is Mr.
Mallison?'' he asked of the clerk of the hotel.
``Out in the stable, I
believe,'' was the answer.
Without waiting, our
hero ran down to the stable and found the hotel proprietor inspecting some hay
that had just been unloaded.
``I'd like to speak to
you a moment, Mr. Mallison,'' he said. ``It's important,'' and he motioned for
the man to follow him.
``What is it, Joe?''
``It's about those men
who called to see that sick man, and about the sick man, too.''
``He has gone--all of
them have gone.''
``What!'' ejaculated
our hero. ``The sick man, too?''
``Exactly. But he
didn't go with the others. While they were here he was in bed, but right after
they left he arose, dressed himself, and drove away.''
``Where did he go to?''
``I don't know.''
``Do you know what
became of the other two men?''
``I do not. But what's
up?'' Is there anything wrong?'' questioned the hotel proprietor, with a look
of concern on his face.
``I am afraid there
is,'' answered Joe, and told his tale from beginning to end.
``That's an odd sort of
a yarn, Joe. It's queer you didn't recognize the men before.
``It is queer, sir, but
I can't help that. It flashed over me just as I looked into the window of the
old lodge.''
``You haven't made any
mistake?''
``No, sir.''
``Humph!'' Andrew
Mallison mused for a moment. ``I don't really see what I can do in the matter.
We can't prove that those men are wrongdoers, can we?''
``Not unless they tried
some game on this Mr. Maurice Vane.''
``They may have sold
him some worthless mining shares. That sort of a trick is rather old.''
``I think we ought to
make a search for this David Ball, or Malone, or whatever his name is.''
``I'm willing to do
that.''
After questioning half
a dozen people they learned that the pretended sick man had driven off in the
direction of a village called Hopedale.
``What made him go
there, do you think?'' questioned Joe.
``I don't know, excepting
that he thought of getting a train on the other line.''
A horse and buggy were
procured, and in this Mr. Mallison and our hero drove over to Hopedale. They
were still on the outskirts of the village when they heard a locomotive
whistle.
``There's the afternoon
train now!'' cried Joe. ``Perhaps it's the one he wants to catch.''
The horse was touched
up and the buggy drove up to the railroad platform at breakneck speed. But the
train was gone and all they could see of it was the last car as it swung around
one of the mountain bends.
``Too late, Mr.
Mallison!'' sang out the station master. ``If I had known ye was comin' I might
have held her up a bit.''
``I didn't want the
train, Jackson. Who got on board?''
``Two ladies, a man and
a boy--Dick Fadder.''
``Did you know the
man?''
``No.''
``What did he have with
him?''
``A dress suit case.''
``Was he dressed in a
dark blue suit and wear a slouch hat?'' asked Joe.
``Yes, and had a light
overcoat with him.''
``That was our man.''
``Anything wrong with
him?'' asked the station master.
``Perhaps,'' answered
the hotel proprietor. ``Anyway, we wanted to see him. Did he buy a ticket?''
``Yes, to Snagtown.''
``What can he want in
Snagtown?'' asked Joe.
``Oh, that might have
been a blind, Joe. He could easily go through to Philadelphia or some other
place, if he wanted to.''
At first they thought
of telegraphing ahead to stop the man, but soon gave that plan up. They had no
evidence, and did not wish to make trouble unless they knew exactly what they
were doing.
``I hope it turns out
all right,'' observed Andrew Mallison, when they were driving back to
Riverside. ``If there was a swindle it would give my hotel a black eye.''
``That's one reason why
I wanted that man held,'' answered Joe.
The next day and that
following passed quietly, and our hero began to think that he had made a
mistake and misjudged the men. He was kept very busy and so almost forgot the
incident.
Among the new boarders
was a fussy old man named Chaster, who was speedily nicknamed by the bell boys
Chestnuts. He was a particular individual, and made everybody as uncomfortable
as he possibly could.
One day Wilberforce
Chaster--to use his full name,--asked Joe to take him out on the lake for a
day's fishing. Our hero readily complied, and was in hot water from the time
they went out until they returned. Nothing suited the old man, and as he caught
hardly any fish he was exceedingly put out when he came back to the hotel.
``Your boatman is of no
account,'' he said to Andrew Mallison. ``I have spent a miserable day,'' and he
stamped off to his room in high anger.
``It was not my fault,
Mr. Mallison,'' said Joe, with burning cheeks. ``I did my level best by him.''
``That man has been
making trouble for us ever since he come,'' answered the hotel proprietor. ``I
am going to ask him to go elsewhere when his week is up.''
The insults that Joe
had received that day from Wilberforce Chaster rankled in his mind, and he
determined to square accounts with the boarder if he possibly could.
Towards evening he met
a bell boy named Harry Ross who had also had trouble with Chaster, and the two
talked the matter over.
``We ought to get
square,'' said Harry Ross. ``I wish I could souse him with a pitcher of ice
water.''
``I've got a plan,''
said Joe.
Stopping at the hotel
was a traveling doctor, who came to Riverside twice a year, for a stay of two
weeks each time. He sold some patent medicines, and had in his room several
skulls and also a skeleton strung on wires.
``That doctor is
away,'' said our hero. ``I wonder if we can't smuggle the skulls and the
skeleton into Mr. Chaster's room?''
``Just the cheese!''
cried the bell boy, enthusiastically. ``And let us rub the bones with some of
those matches that glow in the dark!''
The plan was talked
over, and watching their chance the two transferred the skeleton and the skulls
to the apartment occupied by Wilberforce Chaster. Then they rubbed phosphorus
on the bones, and hung them upon long strings, running over a doorway into the
next room.
That evening
Wilberforce Chaster remained in the hotel parlor until ten o 'clock. Then he
marched off to his room in his usual ill humor. The gas was lit and he went to
bed without delay.
As soon as the light
went out and they heard the man retire, Joe and the bell boy began to groan in
an ominous manner. As they did so, they worked the strings to which the skulls
and the skeleton were attached, causing them to dance up and down in the center
of the old man's room.
Hearing the groans,
Wilberforce Chaster sat up in bed and listened. Then he peered around in the
darkness.
``Ha! what is that?''
he gasped, as he caught sight of the skulls. ``Am I dreaming--or is that--Oh!''
He started and began to
shake from head to foot, for directly in front of him was the skele- ton,
moving up and down in a jerky fashion and glowing with a dull fire. His hair
seemed to stand on end. He dove under the coverings of the bed.
``The room is
haunted!'' he moaned. ``Was ever such a thing seen before! This is wretched!
Whatever shall I do?''
The groans continued,
and presently he gave another look from under the bed clothes. The skeleton
appeared to be coming nearer. He gave a loud yell of anguish.
``Go away! Go away! Oh,
I am haunted by a ghost! This is awful! I cannot stand it!''
He fairly tumbled out
of bed and caught up his clothing in a heap. Then, wrapped in some
comfortables, he burst out of the room and ran down the hallway like a person
possessed of the evil spirits.
``Come be quick, or
we'll get caught!'' whispered Joe, and ran into the room, followed by the bell
boy. In a trice they pulled loose the strings that held the skulls and the
skeleton, and restored the things to the doctor's room from which they had been
taken. Then they went below by a back stairs.
The whole hotel was in
an alarm, and soon Mr. Mallison came upon the scene.
``What is the meaning
of this?'' he demanded, severely, of Wilberforce Chaster.
``The meaning is, sir,
that your hotel is haunted,'' was the answer, which startled all who heard it.
``THIS hotel haunted?''
gasped the proprietor. ``Sir, you are mistaken. Such a thing is impossible.''
``It is true,''
insisted Mr. Wilberforce Chaster. ``I shall not stay here another night.''
``What makes you think
it is haunted?''
``There is a ghost in
my room.''
``Oh!'' shrieked a maid
who had come on the scene. ``A ghost! I shall not stay either!''
``What kind of a
ghost?'' demanded Andrew Mallison.
``A--er--a
skeleton--and some skulls! I saw them with my own eyes,'' went on the victim.
``Come and see them for yourself.''
``This is nonsense,''
said the hotel proprietor. ``I will go and convince you that you are
mistaken.''
He led the way and half
a dozen followed, including Wilberforce Chaster, who kept well to the rear.
Just as the party reached the door of the apartment Joe and the bell boy came
up.
Without hesitation
Andrew Mallison threw open the door of the room and looked inside. Of course he
saw nothing out of the ordinary.
``Where is your
ghost?'' he demanded. ``I see nothing of it.''
``Don't--don't you
see--er--a skeleton?'' demanded the man who had been victimized.
``I do not.''
Trembling in every limb
Wilberforce Chaster came forward and peered into the room.
``Well?'' demanded the
hotel proprietor, after a pause.
``I--I certainly saw
them.''
``Then where are they
now?''
``I--I don't know.''
By this time others were
crowding into the apartment. All gazed around, and into the clothes closet, but
found nothing unusual.
``You must be the
victim of some hallucination, sir,'' said the hotel proprietor, severely.
He hated to have
anything occur which might give his establishment a bad reputation.
``No, sir, I saw the
things with my own eyes.''
The matter was talked
over for several minutes longer and then the hired help was ordered away.
``I shall not stay in
this room,'' insisted Wilberforce Chaster.
``You need not remain
in the hotel,'' answered Andrew Mallison, quickly. ``You can leave at once. You
have alarmed the whole establishment needlessly.''
Some warm words
followed, and the upshot of the matter was that the fussy old boarder had to
pack his things and seek another hotel that very night.
``I am glad to get rid
of him,'' said the hotel proprietor, after Wilberforce Chaster had departed.
``He was making trouble all the time.''
``We fixed him, didn't
we?'' said the bell boy to Joe.
``I hope it teaches him
a lesson to be more considerate in the future,'' answered our hero.
Several days passed and
Joe had quite a few parties to take out on the lake. The season was now drawing
to a close, and our hero began to wonder what he had best do when boating was
over.
``I wonder if I
couldn't strike something pretty good in Philadelphia?'' he asked himself. The
idea of going to one of the big cities appealed to him strongly.
One afternoon, on
coming in from a trip across the lake, Joe found Andrew Mallison in
conversation with Mr. Maurice Vane, who had arrived at the hotel scarcely an
hour before. The city man was evidently both excited and disappointed.
``Here is the boy
now,'' said the hotel proprietor, and called Joe up.
``Well, young man, I
guess you have hit the truth,'' were Maurice Vane's first words.
``About those other
fellows?'' asked our hero, quickly.
``That's it.''
``Did they swindle
you?''
``They did.''
``By selling you some
worthless mining stocks?''
``Yes. If you will, I'd
like you to tell me all you can about those two men.''
``I will,'' answered
Joe, and told of the strange meeting at the old lodge and of what had followed.
Maurice Vane drew a long breath and shook his head sadly.
``I was certainly a
green one, to be taken in so slyly,'' said he.
``How did they happen
to hear of you?'' questioned Joe, curiously.
``I answered an
advertisement in the daily paper,'' said Maurice Vane. ``Then this man, Caven,
or whatever his right name may be, came to me and said he had a certain plan
for making a good deal of money. All I had to do was to invest a certain amount
and inside of a few days I could clear fifteen or twenty thousand dollars.''
``That was surely a
nice proposition,'' said Joe, with a smile.
``I agreed to go into
the scheme if it was all plain sailing and then this Caven gave me some of the
details. He said there was a demand for a certain kind of mining shares. He
knew an old miner who was sick and who was willing to sell the shares he possessed
for a reasonable sum of money. The plan was to buy the shares and then sell
them to another party --a broker--at a big advance in price.''
``That was simple
enough,'' put in Andrew Mallison.
``Caven took me to see
a man who called himself a broker. He had an elegant office and looked
prosperous. He told us he would be glad to buy certain mining shares at a
certain figure if he could get them in the near future. He said a client was
red-hot after the shares. I questioned him closely and he appeared to be a
truthful man. He said some folks wanted to buy out the mine and consolidate it
with another mine close by.''
``And then you came
here and bought the stock of Malone?'' queried Joe.
``Yes. Caven made me
promise to give him half the profits and I agreed. I came here, and as you
know, Malone, or Ball, or whatever his name is, pretended to be very sick and
in need of money. He set his price, and I came back with the cash and took the
mining stock. I was to meet Caven, alias Anderson, the next day and go to the
broker with him, but Caven did not appear. Then I grew suspicious and went to
see the broker alone. The man was gone and the office locked up. After that I
asked some other brokers about the stock, and they told me it was not worth
five cents on the dollar.''
``Isn't there any such
mine at all?'' asked Joe.
``Oh, yes, there is
such a mine, but it was abandoned two years ago, after ten thousand dollars had
been sunk in it. They said it paid so little that it was not worth
considering.''
``That is certainly too
bad for you,'' said Joe. ``And you can't find any trace of Caven or Malone?''
``No, both of the
rascals have disappeared completely. I tried to trace Caven and his broker
friend in Philadelphia but it was of no use. More than likely they have gone to
some place thousands of miles away.''
``Yes, and probably
this Ball, or Malone, has joined them,'' put in Andrew Mallison. ``Mr. Vane, I
am exceedingly sorry for you.''
``I am sorry for
myself, but I deserve my loss, for being such a fool,'' went on the victim.
``Have you notified the
police?'' asked Joe.
``Oh, yes, and I have
hired a private detective to do what he can, too. But I am afraid my money is
gone for good.''
``You might go and
reopen the mine, Mr. Vane.''
``Thank you, but I have
lost enough already, without throwing good money after bad, as the saying is.''
``It may be that that
detective will find the swindlers, sooner or later.''
``Such a thing is, of
course, possible, but I am not over sanguine.''
``I am afraid your
money is gone for good,'' broke in Andrew Mallison. ``I wish I could help you,
but I don't see how I can.''
The matter was talked
over for a good hour, and all three visited the room Malone had occupied, which
had been vacant ever since. But a hunt around revealed nothing of value, and
they returned to the office.
``I can do nothing more
for you, Mr. Vane,'' said Andrew Mallison.
``I wish I could do
something,'' said Joe. Something about Maurice Vane was very attractive to him.
``If you ever hear of
these rascals let me know,'' continued the hotel proprietor.
``I will do so,'' was
the reply.
With that the
conversation on the subject closed. Maurice Vane remained at the hotel
overnight and left by the early train on the following morning.
``JOE, our season ends
next Saturday.''
``I know it, Mr.
Mallison.''
``We are going to close
the house on Tuesday. It won't pay to keep open after our summer boarders
leave.''
``I know that, too.''
``Have you any idea
what you intend to do?'' went on the hotel proprietor. He was standing down by
the dock watching Joe clean out one of the boats.
``I'm thinking of going
to Philadelphia.''
``On a visit?''
``No, sir, to try my
luck.''
``Oh, I see. It's a big
city, my lad.''
``I know it, but,
somehow, I feel I might do better there than in such a town as this,--and I am
getting tired of hanging around the lake.''
``There is more money
in Philadelphia than there is here, that is certain, Joe. But you can't always
get hold of it. The big cities are crowded with people trying to obtain
situations.''
``I'm sure I can find
something to do, Mr. Mallison. And, by the way, when I leave, will you give me
a written recommendation?''
``Certainly. You have done
well since you came here. But you had better think twice before going to
Philadelphia.''
``I've thought it over
more than twice. I don't expect the earth, but I feel that I can get something
to do before my money runs out.''
``How much money have
you saved up?''
``I've got fifty-six
dollars, and I'm going to sell my boat for four dollars.''
``Well, sixty dollars
isn't such a bad capital. I have known men to start out with a good deal less.
When I left home I had but twenty dollars and an extra suit of clothes.''
``Did you come from a
country place?''
``No, I came from New
York. Times were hard and I couldn't get a single thing to do. I went to
Paterson, New Jersey, and got work in a silk mill. From there I went to Camden,
and then to Philadelphia. From Philadelphia I came here and have been here ever
since.''
``You have been
prosperous.''
``Fairly so, although I
don't make as much money as some of the hotel men in the big cities. But then
they take larger risks. A few years ago a hotel friend of mine opened a big
hotel in Atlantic City. He hoped to make a small fortune, but he was not
located in the right part of the town and at the end of the season he found
himself just fifteen thousand dollars out of pocket. Now he has sold out and is
running a country hotel fifty miles west of here. He doesn't hope to make so
much, but his business is much safer.''
``I'm afraid it will be
a long time before I get money enough to run a hotel,'' laughed our hero.
``Would you like to run
one?''
``I don't know. I'd
like to educate myself first.''
``Don't you study some
now? I have seen you with some arithmetics and histories.''
``Yes, sir, I study a
little every day. You see, I never had much schooling, and I don't want to grow
up ignorant, if I can help it.''
``That is the proper
spirit, lad,'' answered Andrew Mallison, warmly. ``Learn all you possibly can.
It will always be the means of doing you good.''
The conversation took
place on Thursday and two days later the season at the summer hotel came to an
end and the last of the boarders took their departure. Monday was spent in
putting things in order, and by Tuesday afternoon work around the place came to
an end, and all the help was paid off.
In the meantime Joe had
sold his boat. With all of his money in his pocket he called at the Talmadge
house to see if Ned had returned from the trip to the west.
``Just got back
yesterday,'' said Ned, who came to greet him. ``Had a glorious trip. I wish you
had been along. I like traveling better than staying at home all the time.''
``I am going to do a
bit of traveling myself, Ned.''
``Where are you
going?''
``To Philadelphia--to
try my luck in that city.''
``Going to leave Mr.
Mallison?''
``Yes,--the season is
at an end.''
``Oh, I see. So you are
going to the Quaker City, as pa calls it. I wish you luck. You'll have to write
to me, Joe, and let me know how you are getting along.''
``I will,--and you must
write to me.''
``Of course.''
On the following day
Joe rowed along the lake to where his old home dock had been located and made a
trip to what was left of the cabin. He spent another hour in hunting for the
blue box, but without success.
``I suppose I'll never
find that box,'' he sighed. ``I may as well give up thinking about it.''
From Andrew Mallison
our hero had obtained his letter of recommendation and also a good pocket map
of Philadelphia. The hotel man had also made him a present of a neat suit case,
in which he packed his few belongings.
Ned Talmadge came to
see him off at the depot. The day was cool and clear, and Joe felt in excellent
spirits.
Soon the train came
along and our hero got aboard, along with a dozen or fifteen others. He waved a
hand to Ned and his friend shouted out a good-bye. Then the train moved on, and
the town was soon left in the distance.
The car that Joe had
entered was not more than quarter filled and he easily found a seat for himself
by a window. He placed his suit case at his feet and then gave himself up to
looking at the scenery as it rushed past.
Joe had never spent
much of his time on the railroad, so the long ride had much of novelty in it.
The scenery was grand, as they wound in and out among the hills and mountains,
or crossed brooks and rivers and well-kept farms. Numerous stops were made, and
long before Philadelphia was gained the train became crowded.
``Nice day for
riding,'' said a man who sat down beside our hero. He looked to be what he was,
a prosperous farmer.
``It is,'' answered
Joe.
``Goin' to Philadelphy,
I reckon,'' went on the farmer.
``Yes, sir.''
``That's where I'm
going, too. Got a little business to attend to.''
``I am going there to
try my luck,'' said Joe, he felt he could talk to the old man with confidence.
``Goin' to look fer a
job, eh?''
``Yes, sir.''
``Wot kin ye do, if I
might ask?''
``Oh, I'm willing to do
most anything. I've been taking care of rowboats and working around a summer
hotel, at Lake Tandy.''
``Well, ye won't git
many boats to look at down to Philadelphy!'' and the old farmer chuckled.
``I suppose not. Maybe
I'll strike a job at one of the hotels.''
``Perhaps. They tell me
some hotels down there is monsterous--ten an' twelve stories high. Ye don't
catch me goin' to no sech place. In case o' fire, it's all up with ye, if
you're on the twelfth story.''
``Are you going to
Philadelphia to stay, Mr. ----''
``Bean is my
name--Josiah Bean. I'm from Haydown Center, I am. Got a farm there o' a hundred
acres.''
``Oh, is that so!''
``Wot's your handle,
young man?''
``My name is Joe
Bodley. I came from Riverside.''
``Proud to know you.''
And Josiah Bean shook hands. ``No, I ain't going to stay in Philadelphy. I'm a
going on business fer my wife. A relative left her some property an' I'm
a-goin' to collect on it.''
``That's a pleasant
trip to be on,'' was our hero's comment.
``I'll feel better when
I have the six hundred dollars in my fist. I'm afraid it ain't goin' to be no
easy matter to git it.''
``What's the trouble!''
``I ain't known in
Philadelphy an' they tell me a feller has got to be identified or somethin'
like thet--somebody has got to speak for ye wot knows ye.''
``I see. Perhaps you'll
meet some friend.''
``Thet's wot I'm hopin'
fer.''
The train rolled on and
presently Joe got out his map and began to study it, so that he might know
something of the great city when he arrived there.
``Guess I'll git a
drink o' water,'' said Josiah Bean, and walked to the end of the car to do so.
Immediately a slick looking man who had been seated behind the farmer arose and
followed him.
THE slick-looking
individual had listened attentively to all that passed between our hero and the
farmer.
He waited until the
latter had procured his drink of water and then rushed up with a smile on his
face.
``I declare!'' he
exclaimed. ``How do you do?'' And he extended his hand.
``How do you do?''
repeated the farmer, shaking hands slowly. He felt much perplexed, for he could
not remember having met the other man before.
``How are matters up on
the farm,'' went on the stranger.
``Thank you, very
good.''
``I--er--I don't think
you remember me, Mr. Bean,'' went on the slick-looking individual.
``Well, somehow I think
I know your face,'' answered the old farmer, lamely. He did not wish to appear
wanting in politeness.
``You ought to remember
me. I spent some time in Haydown Center year before last, selling machines.''
``Oh, you had them
patent reapers, is that it?''
``You've struck it.''
``I remember you now.
You're a nephew of Judge Davis.''
``Exactly.''
``O' course! O' course!
But I can't remember your name nohow.''
``It's Davis,
too--Henry Davis.''
``Oh, yes. I'm glad to
meet you, Mr. Davis.''
``I saw you in the seat
with that boy,'' went on the man we shall call Henry Davis. ``I thought I knew
you from the start, but I wasn't dead sure. Going to Philadelphia with us?''
``Yes, sir.''
``Good enough. Mr.
Bean, won't you smoke with me? I was just going into the smoker.''
``Thanks, but I--er--I
don't smoke much.''
``Just one mild cigar.
That won't hurt you, I'm sure. I love to meet old friends,'' continued Henry
Davis.
In the end the old
farmer was pursuaded to walk into the smoking car and here the slick- looking
individual found a corner seat where they would be undisturbed.
``I expect to spend a
week or more in Philadelphia, Mr. Bean,'' said the stranger; ``if I can be of
service to you during that time, command me.''
``Well, perhaps ye can
be of service to me. Do ye know many folks in the city?''
``Oh, yes, a great
many. Some are business friends and some are folks in high society.''
``I don't care for no
high society. But I've got to collect six hundred dollars an' I want somebody
to identify me.''
``Oh, I can do that
easily, Mr. Bean.''
``Kin ye?'' The farmer
grew interested at once. ``If ye kin I'll be much obliged to ye.''
``Where must you be
identified?''
``Down to the office of
Barwell & Cameron, on Broad street. Do ye know 'em?''
``I know of them, and I
can find somebody who does know them, so there will not be the least trouble.''
``It's a load off my
mind,'' said Josiah Bean, with a sigh. ``Ye see, the money is comin' to my
wife. She writ to 'em that I was comin' to collect an' they writ back it would
be all right, only I would have to be identified. Jest as if everybody in
Haydown Center don't know I'm Josiah Bean an' a piller in the Union Church down
there, an' a cousin to Jedge Bean o' Lassindale.''
``Well, they have to be
mighty particular when they pay out any money in the city. There are so many
sharpers around.''
``I ain't no sharper.''
``To be sure you are
not, and neither am I. But I once had trouble getting money.''
``Is thet so?''
``Yes. But after I
proved who I was the folks were pretty well ashamed of themselves,'' went on
Henry Davis, smoothly.
So the talk ran on and
at the end of half an hour the old farmer and the slick-looking individual were
on exceedingly friendly terms. Henry Davis asked much about the old man and
gathered in a good stock of information.
When Philadelphia was
gained it was dark, and coming out of the big railroad station Joe at first
knew not which way to turn. The noise and the crowd of people confused him.
``Have a cab?
Carriage?'' bawled the hackmen.
``Paper!'' yelled a newsboy.
``All the evenin' papers!''
``Smash yer baggage!''
called out a luggage boy, not near as tall as our hero.
Looking ahead, Joe saw
Josiah Bean and the slick-looking individual moving down the street and without
realizing it, our hero began to follow the pair.
``He must be some
friend,'' said our hero to himself.
He wondered where they
were going and his curiosity getting the better of him he continued to follow
them for half a dozen blocks. At last they came to a halt in front of a
building displaying the sign:
JOHNSON'S QUAKER HOTEL
MODERATE TERMS FOR ALL.
``This hotel is all
right and the prices are right, too,'' Joe heard the slick-looking man tell the
old farmer.
``Then thet suits me,''
answered Josiah Bean. ``I'll go in an' git a room fer the night.''
``I think I might as
well do the same,'' said Henry Davis. ``I don't care to go away over to my
boarding house at Fairmount Park.''
The pair walked into
the hotel, and Joe saw them register and pass down the corridor in the company
of a bell boy. Then our hero entered the place.
``Can I get a room here
for the night?'' he asked of the clerk behind the desk.
``Certainly.''
``What is the charge?''
``Seventy-five cents.''
``That suits me.''
The register was shoved
forward and Joe wrote down his name. Then he was shown to a small room on the
third floor. The building was but four stories high.
Joe was tired and soon
went to bed. In the next room he heard a murmur of voices and made out that the
old farmer and his friend were talking earnestly.
``They must be very
friendly,'' was his comment, and thinking the matter over he fell asleep.
Bright and early in the
morning our hero arose, dressed himself, and went below. He had breakfast in
the restaurant attached to the hotel and was just finishing up when the old
farmer and the slick-looking individual came in.
``Hullo!'' cried Josiah
Bean. ``What are you doin' here?''
``I got a room
overnight,'' answered our hero.
``We're stopping here,
too. This is my friend, Mr. Henry Davis.''
``Good morning,'' said
the slick-looking man. He did not seem to fancy meeting Joe.
They sat down close at
hand and, while eating, the farmer asked Joe half a dozen questions.
He spoke about his own
business until Henry Davis nudged him in the side.
``I wouldn't tell that
boy too much,'' he said in a low tone.
``Oh, he's all right,''
answered the old farmer.
Joe heard the
slick-looking individual's words and they made his face burn. He looked at the
man narrowly and made up his mind he was not a fellow to be desired for an
acquaintance.
Having finished, our
hero paid his bill and left the restaurant. He scarcely knew which way to turn,
but resolved to look over the newspapers first and see if any positions were
offered.
While in the reading
room he saw Josiah Bean and his acquaintance leave the hotel and walk in the
direction of Broad street.
A little later Joe took
from the paper he was reading the addresses of several people who wanted help,
and then he, too, left the hotel.
The first place he
called at was a florist's establishment, but the pay was so small he declined
the position.
``I could not live on
three dollars per week,'' he said.
``That is all we care
to pay,'' answered the proprietor, coldly. ``It is more than other
establishments pay.''
``Then I pity those who
work at the other places,'' returned Joe, and walked out.
IN the meantime Josiah
Bean and the slick- looking individual turned into Broad street and made their
way to a certain establishment known as the Eagle's Club.
Here Henry Davis called
another man aside.
``Say, Foxy, do you
know anybody down to Barwell & Cameron's?'' he asked, in a low tone, so
that the old farmer could not hear.
``Yes--a clerk named
Chase.''
``Then come down and
introduce me.''
``What's the game?''
``Never mind--there's a
tenner in it for you if it works.''
``Then I'm on, Bill.''
``Hush--my name is
Henry Davis.''
``All right, Hank,''
returned Foxy, carelessly.
He came forward and was
introduced to the old farmer in the following fashion:
``Mr. Richard
Barlow--of Barlow & Small, manufacturers.''
All three made their
way to the establishment of Barwell & Cameron, and then Henry Davis was
introduced under that name to a clerk.
As soon as Foxy had
departed the slick- looking individual turned to the clerk and called the old
farmer forward.
``This is my esteemed
friend, Mr. Josiah Bean, of Haydown Center. He has business with Mr. Cameron, I
believe.''
``I'm here to collect
six hundred dollars,'' said Josiah Bean. ``Mr. Cameron writ me some letters
about it.''
``Very well, sir. Sit
down, gentlemen, and I'll tell Mr. Cameron.''
The two were kept
waiting for a few minutes and were then ushered into a private office. Through
Chase, the clerk, Henry Davis was introduced and then Josiah Bean. All the
papers proved to be correct, and after the old farmer had signed his name he
was given a check.
``See here, I want the
cash,'' he demanded.
``Very well,'' said Mr.
Cameron. ``Indorse the check and I'll have the money drawn for you across the
street.''
The farmer wrote down
his name once more, and a few minutes later received his six hundred dollars in
twelve brand-new fifty-dollar bills.
``Gosh! Them will be
nice fer Mirandy to look at,'' was his comment, as he surveyed the bills.
``Be careful that you
don't lose them, Mr. Bean,'' cautioned Henry Davis, as the two left the
establishment.
``Reckon the best thing
I can do is to git back to hum this afternoon,'' remarked Josiah Bean, when he
was on the street.
``Oh, now you are in
town you'll have to look around a bit,'' said the slick-looking individual.
``You can take a train back to- morrow just as well. Let me show you a few of
the sights.''
This tickled the old
farmer and he agreed to remain over until the next noon. Then Henry Davis
dragged the old man around to various points of interest and grew more familiar
than ever.
While they were at the
top of one of the big office buildings Henry Davis pretended to drop his
pocketbook.
``How careless of me!''
he cried.
``Got much in it?''
queried Josiah Bean.
``Three thousand
dollars.''
``Do tell! It's a
powerful sight o' money to carry so careless like.''
``It is. Maybe you had
better carry it for me, Mr. Bean.''
``Not me! I ain't goin'
to be responsible fer nobody's money but my own--an' Mirandy's.''
``Better see if your
own money is safe.''
Josiah Bean got out his
wallet and counted the bills.
``Safe enough.''
``Are you sure? I
thought there was only five hundred and fifty.''
``No, six hundred.''
``I'll bet you ten
dollars on it.''
``What! can't I count
straight,'' gasped the old farmer, much disturbed. ``Six hundred I tell you,''
he added, after he had gone over the amount once more.
``If there is I'll give
you the ten dollars,'' answered the slick one. ``Let me count the bills.''
``All right, there ye
be, Mr. Davis.''
Henry Davis took the
wallet and pretended to count the bills.
``Hullo, what's that?''
he cried, whirling around.
``What's wot?''
demanded Josiah Bean, also looking around.
``I thought I heard
somebody cry fire.''
``Don't say thet! Say,
let's git out o' here--I don't want to look at the sights.''
``All right--here's
your money. I guess it's six hundred after all,'' answered the slick- looking
individual, passing over the wallet.
They hurried to the
elevator and got into quite a crowd of people.
``Wait for me here,''
said Henry Davis, as they walked past the side corridor. ``I want to step in
yonder office and send a message to a friend.''
He ran off, leaving the
old farmer by himself. Josiah Bean looked around him nervously.
``I guess that wasn't
no cry o' fire after all,'' he mused. ``Well, if there's a fire I kin git out
from here quick enough.''
The office building was
a large one, running from one street to the next. On the street in the rear was
a bookstore, the proprietor of which had advertised for a clerk.
Joe had applied for the
position and was waiting for the proprietor to address him when, on chancing to
look up, he saw Henry Davis rush past as if in a tremendous hurry.
``Hullo, that's the
fellow who was with the old farmer,'' he told himself.
``What can I do for
you, young man?'' asked the proprietor of the bookshop, approaching at that
instant.
``I believe you wish a
clerk,'' answered our hero.
``Have you had
experience in this line?''
``No, sir.''
``Then you won't do. I
must have someone who is experienced.''
``I am willing to
learn.''
``It won't do. I want
an experienced clerk or none at all,'' was the sharp answer.
Leaving the bookstore,
Joe stood out on the sidewalk for a moment and then walked around the corner.
A moment later he
caught sight of Josiah Bean, gazing up and down the thoroughfare and acting
like one demented.
``What's the matter?''
he asked.
``Matter?'' bawled the
old farmer. I've been took in! Robbed! Swindled! Oh, wot will Mirandy say!''
``Who robbed you?''
``Thet Mr. Davis I
reckon! He counted the money last, an' now it's gone!''
``I saw Mr. Davis a
minute ago.''
``Where?''
``Around the corner,
walking as fast as he could.''
``He's got my money!
Oh, I must catch him!''
``I'll help you,''
answered Joe, with vigor. ``I thought he looked like a slick one,'' he added.
He led the way and
Josiah Bean came behind. The old farmer looked as if he was ready to drop with
fright. The thought of losing his wife's money was truly horrifying.
``Mirandy won't never
forgive me!'' he groaned. ``Oh, say, boy, we've got to catch that rascal!''
``If we can,'' added
our hero.
He had noted the
direction taken by the swindler, and now ran across the street and into a side
thoroughfare leading to where a new building was being put up.
Here, from a workman,
he learned that the sharper had boarded a street car going south. He hailed the
next car and both he and the old farmer got aboard.
``This ain't much
use,'' said Josiah Bean, with quivering lips. ``We dunno how far he took
himself to.''
``Let us trust to luck
to meet him,'' said Joe.
They rode for a
distance of a dozen blocks and then the car came to a halt, for there was a
blockade ahead.
``We may as well get
off,'' said our hero. ``He may be in one of the forward cars.''
They alighted and
walked on, past half a dozen cars. Then our hero gave a cry of triumph .
``There he is!'' he said,
and pointed to the swindler, who stood on a car platform, gazing anxiously
ahead.
``SAY, YOU, give me my
money!''
Such were Josiah Bean's
words, as he rushed up to Henry Davis and grabbed the swindler by the shoulder.
The slick-looking
individual was thoroughly startled, for he had not dreamed that the countryman
would get on his track so soon. He turned and looked at the man and also at
Joe, and his face fell.
``Wha--what are you
talking about?'' he stammered.
``You know well enough
what I am talking about,'' answered Josiah Bean, wrathfully. ``I want my money,
every cent o' it,--an' you are a-goin' to jail!''
``Sir, you are making a
sad mistake,'' said the swindler, slowly. ``I know nothing of you or your
money.''
``Yes, you do.''
``Make him get off the
car,'' put in Joe.
``Boy, what have you to
do with this?'' asked the swindler, turning bitterly to our hero.
``Not much perhaps,''
answered Joe. ``But I'd like to see justice done.''
``I want that money,''
went on the countryman, doggedly. ``Come off the car.''
He caught the swindler
tighter than ever and made him walk to the sidewalk. By this time a crowd of
people began to collect.
``What's the trouble
here?'' asked one gentleman.
``He's robbed me,
that's what's the matter,'' answered the countryman. ``He has got six hundred
dollars o' mine!''
``Six hundred
dollars!'' cried several and began to take a deeper interest.
``Gentleman this man
must be crazy. I never saw him before,'' came loudly from the swindler.
``That is not true!''
cried Joe. ``He was with the man who lost the money. I saw them together
yesterday.''
``I am a respectable
merchant from Pittsburg.'' went on the swindler. ``It is outrageous to be
accused in this fashion.''
``Somebody had better
call a policeman,'' said Joe.
``I'll do dat,''
answered a newsboy, and ran off to execute the errand.
As the crowd began to
collect the swindler saw that he was going to have difficulty in clearing
himself or getting away. He looked around, and seeing an opening made a dash
for it.
He might have gotten
away had it not been for Joe. But our hero was watching him with the eyes of a
hawk, and quick as a flash he caught the rascal by the coat sleeve.
``No, you don't!'' he
exclaimed. ``Come back here!''
``Let go!'' cried the
man and hit Joe in the ear. But the blow did not stop Joe from detaining him
and in a second more Josiah Bean caught hold also.
``Ain't goin' to git
away nohow!'' exclaimed the countryman, and took hold of the swindler's throat.
``Le--let go!'' came
back in a gasp. ``Don't--don't strangle me!''
When a policeman
arrived the swindler was thoroughly cowed and he turned reproachfully to Josiah
Bean.
``This isn't fair,'' he
said. It was all a joke. I haven't got your money.''
``Yes, you have.''
``He is right, Mr.
Bean,'' put in Joe. ``The money, I think, is in your side pocket.''
The countryman searched
the pocket quickly and brought out a flat pocketbook.
``Hullo! this ain't
mine!'' he ejaculated.
He opened the
pocketbook and inside were the twelve fifty-dollar bills.
``My money sure enough!
How in the world did it git there?''
``This man just slipped
the pocketbook into your pocket,'' answered Joe.
``I did not!'' put in
the swindler, hotly.
``You did.''
``Dat's right!'' piped
up the newsboy who had brought the policeman. ``I see him do de trick jest a
minit ago!''
``This is a plot
against me!'' fumed the swindler.
``Dat feller is a bad
egg!'' went on the news- boy. ``His name is Bill Butts. He's a slick one, he
is. Hits de country jays strong, he does!''
At the mention of the
name, Bill Butts, the policeman became more interested than ever.
``You'll come to the
station house with me,'' he said, sternly. ``We can straighten out the matter
there.''
``All right,'' answered
Bill Butts, for such was his real name.
In a few minutes more
the party, including Joe, was off in the direction of the police station.
``Better keep a good
eye on your money, Mr. Bean,'' said our hero, as they walked along.
``I've got it tucked
away safe in an inside pocket,'' answered the old countryman.
The station house was
several squares away, and while walking beside the policeman the eyes of Bill
Butts were wide open, looking for some means of escape. He had ``done time''
twice and he did not wish to be sent up again if it could possibly be avoided.
His opportunity came in
an unexpected manner. In a show window on a corner a man was exhibiting some
new athletic appliances and a crowd had collected to witness the exhibition.
The policeman had to force his way through.
``Hi, quit shovin'
me!'' growled a burly fellow in the crowd, not knowing he was addressing a
guardian of the law.
``Make way here!''
ordered the policeman, sternly, and then the fellow fell back.
It gave Bill Butts the
chance he wanted and as quick as a flash he dove into the crowd and out of
sight.
``He is running away!''
cried Joe.
``Catch him!'' put in
Josiah Bean.
Both went after the
swindler and so did the policeman. But the crowd was too dense for them, and
inside of five minutes Bill Butts had made good his escape.
``What did ye want to
let him slip ye fer?'' growled the old countryman, angrily.
``Don't talk to me,''
growled the policeman.
``He ought to be
reported for this,'' put in our hero.
``Say another word and
I'll run you both in,'' said the bluecoat.
``Come away,''
whispered Josiah Bean. ``Anyway, it ain't so bad. I've got my money.''
``I'm willing to go,''
answered Joe. ``But, just the same, that policeman is a pudding head,'' he
added, loudly.
``I'll pudding head
you!'' cried the bluecoat, but made no attempt to molest Joe, whose general
style he did not fancy.
Side by side Josiah
Bean and our hero walked away, until the crowd was left behind and they were
practically alone.
``I'm goin' to count
thet money again,'' said the old countryman, and did so, to make certain that
it was all there.
``We were lucky to spot
the rascal, Mr. Bean.''
``I didn't spot him--it
was you. I'm much obliged to ye.''
``Oh, that's all
right.''
``Seems to me you are
entitled to a reward, Joe,'' went on the old farmer.
``I don't want any
reward.''
``But you're a-goin' to
take it. How would five dollars strike you?''
``Not at all, sir. I
don't want a cent.''
``Then, maybe, ye won't
even come an' take dinner with me,'' continued the old man, in disappointed
tones.
``Yes, I'll do that,
for this chase has made me tremendously hungry.''
``If ye ever come down
my way, Joe, ye must stop an' call on me.''
``I will, Mr. Bean.''
``Nuthin' on my farm
will be too good for ye, Joe. I'm goin' to tell my wife Mirandy o' this
happenin' an' she'll thank you jest as I've done.''
A good restaurant was
found not far away and there the two procured a fine meal and took their time
eating it.
``Have ye found work
yet?'' asked the old man.
``Not yet. I was
looking for a job when I met you.''
``Well, I hope ye
strike wot ye want, lad. But it's hard to git a place in the city, some
times.''
``I shall try my level
best.''
``Wish I could git a
job fer ye. But I don't know nubuddy.''
``I am going to try the
hotels next. I have a strong letter of recommendation from a hotel man.''
``If ye don't git no
work in Philadelphy come out on my farm. I'll board ye all winter fer
nuthin','' went on Josiah Bean, generously.
``Thank you, Mr. Bean;
you are very kind.''
``I mean it. We don't
live very high- falutin', but we have plenty o' plain, good victuals.''
``I'll remember what
you say,'' answered our hero.
An hour later he saw
the countryman on a train bound for home, and then he started once more to look
for a situation.
ALL of that afternoon
Joe looked for a position among the various hotels of the Quaker City. But at
each place he visited he received the same answer, that there was no help
needed just then.
``This is
discouraging,'' he told himself, as he retired that night. ``Perhaps I'll have
to go to the country or back to Riverside after all.''
Yet he was up bright
and early the next day and just as eager as ever to obtain a situation.
He had heard of a new
hotel called the Grandon House and visited it directly after breakfast.
As he entered the
corridor he heard his name called and turning around saw Andrew Mallison.
``How do you do, Mr.
Mallison,'' said our hero, shaking hands. ``I didn't expect to meet you here.''
``I've got a little
special business in Philadelphia,'' said the hotel man. ``I came in last night
and I am going back this afternoon. How are you making out?''
``It's all out so
far,'' and Joe smiled faintly at his own joke.
``No situation, eh?''
``That's it.''
``Why don't you strike
the people here. It's a new place and the proprietor may need help.''
``That is what I came
for.''
``I'll put in a good
word for you, Joe. Come on.''
Andrew Mallison led the
way to the office and called up a stout, pleasant looking man.
``Mr. Drew, this is a
young friend of mine, Joe Bodley. He worked for me this summer, --around the
boats and also in the hotel. Now that the season is at an end he is trying to
find something to do in the city. If you have an opening I can recommend him.''
Mr. Arthur Drew
surveyed Joe critically. The new hotel was to be run in first-class style and
he wanted his help to be of the best. He rather liked Joe's appearance and he
took note of the fact that our hero's hands were scrupulously clean and that
his shoes were blacked.
``I've got almost all
the help I need, but I might take him on,'' he said, slowly. ``One of my
present boys does not suit me at all. He is too impudent.''
``Well, Joe is never
impudent and he is very reliable,'' answered Andrew Mallison.
``I'll give you a
trial.''
``Thank you, sir.''
``The wages will depend
upon whether you board here or outside.''
``How much will you
give me if I stay at the hotel?''
``Four dollars a
week.''
``And what if I board
outside?''
``Nine dollars a
week.''
``Can you give the boy
a pretty fair room?'' asked Andrew Mallison. ``I know you'll like him after he
has been here a while.''
``He can have a room
with another boy. That lad yonder,'' and the proprietor of the Grandon House
pointed with his hand.
Joe looked and saw that
the other lad was gentlemanly looking and rather pleasant.
``It will suit me to
stay here, I think,'' he said. ``Anyway, I am willing to try it.''
``When can you come to
work?''
``Right away--or at
least, as soon as I can get my suit case from where I have been stopping.''
``Then come in after
dinner and I'll tell you what to do and turn you over to my head man. Randolph,
come here!''
At the call a bell boy
came up.
``This is another boy
who is to work here,'' said Arthur Drew. He will room with you.''
``Thank you, Mr. Drew,
I'll be glad to get rid of Jack Sagger,'' said Frank Randolph.
``What's your name?''
he went on to our hero.
``Joe Bodley.''
``Mine is Frank
Randolph. I guess we'll get along all right.''
``I hope so, Frank,''
said Joe, and shook hands.
There was a little more
talk and then Joe left, to get his dress suit case and a few other things which
belonged to him. By one o'clock he was back to the Grandon House, and just in
time to see Andrew Mallison going away.
``I am much obliged,
Mr. Mallison, for what you have done,'' said our hero, warmly.
``You're welcome,
Joe,'' answered the hotel man. ``I take an interest in you and I trust you do
well here.''
``I shall do my best.''
After Andrew Mallison
had gone Joe was shown around the hotel and instructed in his various duties.
Occasionally he was to do bell- boy duty, but usually he was to be an
all-around helper for the office.
``I think you'll like
it here,'' said Frank Randolph. It's the best hotel I've ever worked in. Mr.
Drew is a perfect gentleman.''
``I am glad to hear it,
Frank,'' answered our hero.
The room assigned to
the two boys was a small one on the top floor of the hotel. But it was clean,
contained two nice cots, and Joe felt it would suit him very well. Frank had
hung up a few pictures and had a shelf full of books and this made the
apartment look quite home-like.
``I'm going to buy some
books myself, this winter,'' said Joe. ``And when I get time I am going to do
some studying.''
``I'm studying myself,
Joe. I never had much schooling,'' returned Frank.
``Are you alone in the
world?''
``No, my father is
living. But he is rather sickly and lives with an uncle of mine, over in
Camden. He can't work very much, and that is why I have to support myself. Are
you alone?''
``Yes. I think my
father is living but I can't locate him.''
The next day and for
several days following Joe pitched into work in earnest. Many things were
strange to him, but he determined to master them as speedily as possible, and
this pleased Arthur Drew.
``That boy is all
right,'' he said to his cashier. ``I am glad that Andrew Mallison brought him
to me.''
``Jack Sagger was
awfully angry at being discharged,'' said the cashier.
``It was his own fault.
I cannot afford to have a boy around who is impudent.''
What the cashier said
about the discharged lad was true. Jack Sagger was ``mad clear through,'' and
he attributed his discharge solely to Joe.
``I'll fix dat pill,''
he said to one of his chums. ``He ain't going to do me out of my job an' not
suffer fer it.''
``What are you going to
do, Jack?'' asked the companion.
``I'll mash him, dat's
wot I'll do,'' answered Jack Sagger.
He was a big, rawboned
lad, several inches taller than Joe. His face was freckled, and his lips
discolored by cigarette smoking. He was a thoroughly tough boy and it was a
wonder that he had ever been allowed to work in the hotel at all. He had a
fairly good home, but only went there to sleep and to get his meals.
``Joe, I hear that Jack
Sagger is going to make it warm for you,'' said Frank, one Monday afternoon.
``I suppose he is angry
because I got his position, is that it?''
``Yes.''
``What is he going to
do?''
``I don't know exactly,
but he'll hurt you if he can.''
``If he attacks me I'll
do what I can to take care of myself,'' answered our hero.
That afternoon he was
sent out by Mr. Drew on an errand that took him to a neighborhood occupied
largely by wholesale provision houses. As Joe left the hotel Jack Sagger saw
him.
``Dere's dat country
jay now,'' said Sagger.
``Now's your time to
git square on him, Jack,'' said Nick Sammel, his crony.
``Right you are, Nick.
Come on.''
``Going to follow
him?''
``Yes, till I git him
where I want him.''
``Going to mash him?''
``Sure. When I git
through wid him his own mother won't know him,'' went on Jack Sagger,
boastfully.
``Maybe he'll git the
cops after you, Jack.''
``I'll watch out fer
dat, Nick, an' you must watch out too,'' answered Jack Sagger.
``Are you sure you kin
best him? He looks putty strong.''
``Huh! Can't I fight?
Didn't I best Sam Nolan, and Jerry Dibble?''
``That's right, Jack.''
``Just let me git one
chanct at him an' he'll run away, you see if he don't. But he shan't git away
until I give him a black eye an' knock out a couple of his front teeth fer
him,'' concluded the boaster.
ALL unconscious that he
was being followed, our hero went on his errand to a wholesale provision house
that supplied the Grandon Hotel with meats and poultry. He felt in good spirits
and so whistled lightly as he walked.
Arriving at the place
of business he transacted his errand as speedily as possible and then started
to return to the hotel.
He was just passing the
entrance to a factory yard when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and wheeling
around found himself confronted by Jack Sagger, Nick Sammel, and half a dozen
others, who had gathered to see their leader ``polish off'' the country boy.
``What do you want?''
demanded Joe, sharply.
``You know well enough
wot I want, country!'' exclaimed Jack Sagger.
``I do not.''
``You took my job away
from me, an' I'm goin' to pay you fer doing it.''
``Mr. Drew had a
perfect right to discharge you, Jack Sagger. He said you were impudent and he
didn't want you around any more.''
``You can't preach to
me, country! Do you know wot I'm goin' ter do?''
``No.''
``I'm going to make you
promise to leave dat job. Will yer promise?''
``No.''
``Den you have got to
fight,'' and Jack Sagger began to pull up his rather dirty coat sleeves.
``Supposing I don't
want to fight?'' went on our hero, as calmly as he could.
``Yer got ter do it,
country--or else make dat promise.''
``I'll make no promise
to you.''
``Den take dat!''
As Jack Sagger uttered
the last words he launched a blow at Joe's nose. But our hero ducked and the
blow went wide of its mark.
``Give it to him,
Jack!''
``Show him what you can
do!''
``Keep off,'' came from
Joe. ``If you don't, you'll get hurt!''
``Hear dat now! Jack,
pitch in, quick, before anybody comes!''
Thus urged Jack Sagger
struck out once more, landing on Joe's chest. Then our hero drew back and sent
in a blow with all his force. It took the other boy squarely on the chin and
sent him staggering against a friend.
If ever there was a
surprised boy that boy was Jack Sagger. He had expected that to ``polish off''
Joe would be easy and he had not anticipated such a defense as had been made.
He righted himself and gazed stupidly at our hero.
``Wot did yer hit me
fer?'' he gasped.
``You keep off or I'll
hit you again,'' answered Joe.
There was a pause and
Sagger sprang forward, trying to catch Joe around the arms. But our hero was
too quick for him and ducked once more. Then he hit the bully in the ear and
gave him another blow in the left eye.
``Ouch!'' roared Jack
Sagger. ``Don't! Oh, my eye!''
``Have you had
enough?'' demanded Joe, who was commencing to warm up.
``Pitch in, fellers!''
came from Jack Sagger. ``Throw him down!''
``Ain't you going to do
it alone?'' queried Nick Sammel, in wonder, not unmingled with a suspicion that
Joe would not be as easy to handle as anticipated.
``I--I've got a--a
heartburn,'' came lamely from Sagger. ``It come on me all at onct. If it wasn't
fer that I'd do him up all alone.''
``You're a fraud, and
you haven't any heart- burn!'' cried Joe. ``You're afraid, that's all. If you
want to fight, stand up, and we'll have it out.''
``Don't you call me
afraid,'' said Sagger, but his voice had lost much of its bullying tone.
``You're a big coward,
Jack Sagger. After this I want you to leave me alone.''
``Ain't you fellers
going to pitch in?'' demanded Sagger, turning to his cohorts.
``The first boy to hit
me will get paid back with interest,'' said Joe, sharply. ``I don't like to
fight but I can do it if I have to.''
One or two had edged
forward but when they saw his determined air they slunk back.
``Go on and fight him,
Jack,'' said one. ``This is your mix-up, not ours.''
``You said you was
going to do him up brown,'' put in another.
``Ain't I got the
heartburn?'' blustered the bully. ``I can't do nuthin' when I git that. Wait
till I'm well; then I'll show him.''
``If you ever touch me
again, Jack Sagger, I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had,'' said Joe,
loudly. ``Remember, I am not the least bit afraid of you. The best thing you
can do is to keep your distance.''
``Humph!''
``I don't want to
quarrel with anybody, but I am always ready to stick up for my rights, just you
remember that.''
So speaking Joe backed
out of the crowd, that opened to let him pass. Several of the boys wanted to
detain him, but not one had the courage to do so. As soon as he was clear of
his tormentors, he hurried back to the hotel.
``How did you make
out?'' asked Mr. Drew.
``It's all right, sir,
and they'll send the things to-night, sure,'' answered Joe. He hesitated for a
moment. ``I had a little excitement on the way.''
``How was that?''
``Jack Sagger and some
other boys followed me up and wanted to polish me off.''
``You don't look as if
they had done much polishing.'' And the hotel man smiled.
``No, Jack Sagger got
the worst of it. I guess he'll leave me alone in the future.''
``You mustn't fight
around the hotel, Joe.''
``This was on the way
to Jackson & Bell's, sir. I was bound to defend myself.''
``To be sure. Sagger
came to me yesterday and wanted to be taken back, but I told him no--that I
wouldn't have such an impudent fellow around.''
As the winter season
came on the hotel began to fill up and Joe was kept busy from early in the
morning until late at night, and so was Frank Randolph. The two boys were firm
friends, and on Sunday went to Sunday School together and also to church, when
their hotel duties permitted of it.
In the corridor of the
hotel Joe, one day, met the timid Felix Gussing, the young man who had once had
so much trouble in driving a horse.
``How do you do, Mr.
Gussing,'' said our hero politely.
``Why if it isn't
Joe!'' cried the young man, and smiled. ``What are you doing here?''
``I work at this hotel
now.''
``Is it possible!
Didn't you like it at Riverside?''
``Yes, but the place is
shut up for the winter.''
``Ah, I see.''
``Are you stopping
here, sir?''
``Yes, I came in an
hour ago. I have business in Philadelphia.''
``Maybe you're buying
horses,'' said Joe, slyly.
``No! no! No more
horses for me,'' ejaculated the dude. ``I--er--this is of more importance.''
No more was said just
then, but later our hero met Felix Gussing again, and on the day following had
an errand that took him to the young man's room.
``Joe, you are quite a
wise boy, perhaps I can confide in you,'' said Felix Gussing, after some talk
on other subjects.
``I'll be glad to be of
service to you, Mr. Gussing.''
``I have a delicate
problem to solve. Sometimes a young man can give better advice than an older
person,'' went on the dude.
``Don't flatter me, Mr.
Gussing.''
``I am in love,'' went
on the young man, flatly.
``Yes, sir.''
``I am quite sure the
young lady loves me.''
``Then I suppose you
are going to get married.''
``There is an obstacle
in the way.''
``Oh!''
``Perhaps I had better
tell you the whole story--if you'll listen to me,'' went on the dude.
``Certainly I'll
listen,'' said Joe. ``I've got a little time off.''
And then Felix Gussing
told his tale of woe, as will be found in the next chapter.
``HER name is Clara,
and she is the daughter of Major Thomas Botts Sampson, of the regular army,''
began Felix Gussing.
``Then her father is a
military man.''
``Exactly, and that is
the trouble,'' and the dude gave a groan. ``It is this way: When I went to see
Major Sampson he greeted me very cordially, until I disclosed the object of my
visit.
`` `Sir,' said he `This
is a matter which requires consideration. Have you gained my daughter's
consent?'
`` `I have,' I
answered.
`` `So far so good,'
said he. `But there is one thing more. Have you served in the army?'
`` `No,' said I.
`` `Or fought a duel?'
`` `No.'
``Then he told me to
remember that he had served in the army and that his daughter was the daughter
of an army man, one who had gone through many battles. After that he said he
was resolved that his daughter should marry only somebody who had proved
himself a man of courage.''
``What did you do
then?'' asked Joe, becoming interested.
``What could I do? I
am--er--no army man--no fighter. Evidently the major wants a fighter for a
son-in-law,'' and Felix Gussing groaned once more.
``You'll have to become
a fighter,'' said Joe.
``No! no! I am a er--a
man of peace!'' cried the dude, in alarm.
``Mr. Gussing, I think
I can arrange matters for you,'' said Joe, struck by a certain idea.
``What can you mean,
Joe?''
``I mean that I can
prove to Major Sampson that you are a brave man.''
``Do that, Joe, and I
shall be your friend for life!'' gasped the dude.
``Will you wait until
to-morrow, Mr. Gussing?''
``Certainly, but do not
keep me in suspense too long.''
``This may cost you a
little money.''
``I don't care if it
costs a hundred dollars.''
``Then I am sure I can
fix it up for you,'' answered Joe.
There was stopping at
the hotel a man named Montgomery. He had at different times been an auctioneer,
a book-agent, a schoolmaster, and a traveling salesman. He was just now selling
curiosities and Joe felt that he would be only too glad to do Felix Gussing a
good turn if he were paid for it.
Our hero had a talk
with this man, and the upshot of the matter was that Montgomery and the dude
were introduced on the following morning.
``I think I can help
you, Mr. Gussing,'' said the curiosity man, who, it may be mentioned here, was
a tall and important-looking personage. ``I was once in the army.''
``What can you do?''
questioned the dude, hopefully.
``Will it be worth
fifty dollars to you if I aid you in winning the consent of Major Sampson to
wed his daughter?''
``Decidedly.''
``This is also Joe's
plan, so you will have to pay him, too.''
``I don't want any
money,'' put in our hero.
``Joe shall have ten
dollars--if your plan wins out. But how is all this to be accomplished?''
continued Felix Gussing.
``We will take the
earliest possible opportunity to visit Major Sampson,'' said Ulmer Montgomery.
``Well?''
``When we are all
together, we'll get into some sort of an argument. You shall call me a fool and
I'll slap you in the face. Then you shall challenge me to a duel.''
``A duel! Why, sir,
I--er--I never could shoot you, and I don't want to be shot myself.''
``My dear Mr. Gussing,
you don't understand me. Don't you comprehend, the pistols shall be loaded with
powder only.''
``Ah, that's the
idea!'' exclaimed the dude, much relieved.
``Yes. You see it will
only be a sham duel so far as we are concerned, but will, in the most harmless
fashion possible, prove you to be a man of honor and courage. Major Sampson's
scruples will vanish, and you will have the pleasure of gaining his daughter's
hand in marriage.
``I agree, Mr.
Montgomery--the plan is a famous one. Is it yours or is it Joe's?''
``Joe's--but it will
fall to me to help carry it out,'' said the Jack-of-all-trades, who did not
lose sight of the fifty dollars that had been promised to him.
On the following day
Felix Gussing and Mr. Montgomery took themselves to Major Sampson's residence,
where the stranger was introduced as a curiosity hunter from Chicago.
``He wishes to look at
your collection of swords,'' said the dude.
``I shall be delighted
to show them,'' said the major, who was a person of great self-importance.
``Ah, this is a fine
sword from the Holy Land,'' said Mr. Montgomery, handling one of the blades.
``I don't know where it
came from,'' said the major. ``It was presented to me by a friend from
Boston.''
``That is a Russian
sword,'' said the dude. ``I know it by its handle.''
``That sword is from
the Holy Land,'' insisted Mr. Montgomery.
``Anybody is a fool to
talk that way,'' cried Felix Gussing.
``Ha! do you call me a
fool, sir!'' stormed Montgomery.
``Gentlemen!'' put in
the major. ``I think----''
``I am not a fool, sir,
and I want you to know it!'' bellowed Ulmer Montgomery. ``It's an outrage to
call me such. Take that, sir!'' and he slapped Felix Gussing lightly on the
cheek.
``Gentlemen, this must
cease!'' cried the major, coming between them. ``In my house, too!
Disgraceful!''
``He has got to
apologize to me!'' roared the dude, acting his part to perfection.
``Never!'' shouted
Montgomery.
``If you will not, I
demand satisfaction. I --I will fight you in a duel.''
``A duel!''
``Yes, a duel. Pistols,
at ten paces,'' went on Felix Gussing.
``Well! well!'' came
from the major in amazement.
``Can I do less?''
demanded the would-be son-in-law. ``My honor is at stake.''
``Then stand by your
honor by all means,'' cried the military man, who, at times, was as hot-blooded
as anybody.
During the talk the
major's daughter had come upon the scene.
``Oh, Felix, what does
this mean?'' she demanded.
``I am going to fight
this--this fellow a duel, pistols at ten paces,'' answered Felix, firmly.
``Felix!'' she gasped.
You will not, you cannot fight. For my sake, do not.''
``Clara,'' answered the
dude, smiling affectionately upon her. ``For your sake I would forego any
personal gratification, but I must not suffer a stain upon the honor.''
``Well said!''
exclaimed the major. ``Felix is behaving well. I couldn't have done better
myself. I admire his courage and I give him free permission to wed you after
the--the--''
``But father, if he
should be killed?'' faltered the fair Clara.
``Never fear, Clara;
``all will go well,'' interposed Felix.
More words followed,
but the dude pretended to be stubborn and so did Ulmer Montgomery. Both went
off to arrange about the duel, and the major insisted upon it that he must be
on hand to see the affair come off.
Matters were hurried
along with all speed, and it was arranged that the duel should take place on
the following morning at ten o'clock, in a country spot just outside of the
city. Joe was invited to go along, and carried the pistols, and two others were
let into the secret, including a doctor, who went fully prepared to attend to
any wounds that might be inflicted.
It did not take long to
load the pistols, with powder only. Great care was taken so that Major Sampson
should not suspect the truth.
``Major,'' said Felix,
in a trembling voice. ``If I--if anything serious happens to me tell Clara
that--that I died like a man.''
``Noble boy! I will! I
will!'' answered the military man.
``When I give the word,
gentlemen, you will both fire!'' said one of the seconds.
``Very well,'' answered
both of the duelists.
``Ready?
One--two--three--fire!''
Both pistols were
simultaneously discharged. When the smoke cleared away it was ascertained that
both parties were unharmed.
``Gentlemen, are you
satisfied?'' asked the seconds.
``I am,'' answered Ulmer
Montgomery, quickly.
``Then I shall be,''
put in Felix Gussing. ``And now that this affair is at an end, Mr. Montgomery
will you shake hands?'' he added.
``With pleasure, Mr.
Gussing!'' was the reply. ``I must say in all frankness I am sorry we quarrelled
in the first place. Perhaps I was wrong about the sword.''
``And perhaps I was
wrong.''
``Both of you were
wrong,'' put in the major. ``I hunted up the letter that came with the blade.
It is an old Spanish weapon. Let us all call the affair off, and Mr. Montgomery
shall come to Clara's wedding to Mr. Gussing.''
``With all my heart,''
cried Montgomery, and there the little plot came to a finish.
``JOE, the plot worked
to perfection!'' said Felix Gussing, on the day following. ``I have to thank
you, and here are twenty dollars for your trouble.''
``I don't want a cent,
Mr. Gussing,'' answered our hero. ``I did it only out of friendliness to you. I
hope you have no further trouble in your courtship.''
``Oh, that was all
settled last night. Clara and I are to be married next week. We are going to
send out the cards to-day. You see,'' went on the young man in a lower tone.
``I don't want to give the major a chance to change his mind, or to suspect
that that duel was not just what it ought to have been.''
``Does he suspect
anything as yet?''
``Not a thing.''
``Then you are wise to
have the wedding as quickly as possible.''
``When we are married I
am going to let Clara into the secret. I know she'll enjoy it as much as
anybody.''
``Well, you had better
warn her to keep mum before her father. He looks as if he could get pretty
angry if he wanted to.''
``As you won't take any
money for this, Joe, wouldn't you like to come to the wedding?''
``I'm afraid it will be
too high-toned for me, Mr. Gussing.''
``No, it is to be a
plain, homelike affair-- Clara wants it that way. The major has some country
cousins who will be there, and they are very plain folks.''
``Then I'll come--if
Miss Sampson wishes it.''
So it was arranged that
Joe should attend the wedding, and as he was in need of a new Sunday suit he
purchased it at once, so that he could use it at the wedding.
``You're in luck,
Joe,'' remarked Frank, when he heard the news. ``And that suit looks very well
on you.''
In some manner it
leaked out among the boys that Joe was going to the wedding, and two days
before the affair came off Jack Sagger learned of it. He immediately consulted
with some of his cronies, and it was unanimously resolved to watch for Joe
after the wedding was over and chastise him severely for the manner in which he
had treated ``the gang.''
``We'll fix him,'' said
Sagger, suggestively.
At the proper time Joe
took a car to the Sampson home and was there introduced to a dozen or more
people. The wedding proved an enjoyable affair and the elegant supper that was
served was one long to be remembered.
It was nearly eleven
o'clock when Joe started for the hotel again. He had thought to take a car, but
afterwards concluded to walk.
``A walk will do me
good--after such a hearty supper,'' he told himself. If I ride home I won't be
able to sleep.''
At the corner the
Sagger crowd was waiting for him. One gave a low whistle, and all slunk out of
sight until Joe had passed.
Several blocks had been
covered when our hero came to a spot where several new buildings were in the
course of construction. It was rather dark and the street lights cast long and
uncertain shadows along the walk.
Joe had just started to
cross a wooden bridge over an excavation when he heard a rush behind him.
Before he could turn he was given a violent shove.
``Push him into de
cellar hole!'' came, in Jack Sagger's voice.
``Stop!'' cried Joe,
and it must be admitted that he was greatly alarmed. But no attention was paid
to his words, and over the side of the bridge he went, to fall a distance of a
dozen feet and land in a pile of dirt, with one lower limb in a puddle of dirty
water.
``Down he goes!'' he
heard, in the voice of Nick Sammel. ``Wonder how he likes it?''
``You're a mean, low
crowd!'' cried Joe, as he stood up. He was covered with dirt and the cold water
felt anything but agreeable on such a frosty night as it chanced to be.
``Don't you dare to
crawl out of dat!'' said Sagger. ``If yer do we'll pitch yer in ag'in, won't
we, fellers?''
``Sure we will!'' was
the cry.
``De next time we'll
dump him in on his head!''
Growing somewhat
accustomed to the semi- darkness, Joe counted seven of his tormentors, all
standing on the edge of the cellar hole into which he had so unceremoniously
been thrown. Several of the youths had heavy sticks.
``I suppose I'll have
to retreat,'' he reasoned ``I can't fight seven of them.''
He turned to the rear
of the cellar hole and felt his way along into the deepest shadows. Presently
he reached a partly finished building and crawled up some planks leading to one
of the floors.
``He is running away!''
he heard Jack Sagger cry.
``Come on after him!''
said another of the crowd.
``Let's take his new
coat and vest away from him!'' added a third.
The entire party
dropped down into the hole and ran to the rear, in a hunt after our hero. In
the meantime Joe was feeling his way along a scaffolding where some masons had
been at work.
As it happened the
entire party under Jack Sagger walked toward the unfinished building and came
to a halt directly under the scaffolding. Joe saw them and crouched back out of
sight.
``Where is de country
jay?'' he heard one of the crowd ask.
``He's back here
somewhere,'' answered Jack Sagger. ``We must find him an' thump him good.''
``You'll not thump me
if I can help it,'' said our hero to himself.
Joe put out his hand
and felt a cask near by. It was half filled with dirty water, being used for
the purposes of making mortar. A tub of water was beside the cask.
``Tit for tat!'' he
thought, and as quickly as it could be done he overturned the cask and the tub
followed.
Joe's aim was perfect,
and down came the shower of dirty water, directly on the heads of the boys
below. Every one was saturated and each set up a yell of dismay.
``Oh, say, I'm
soaked!''
``He trun water all
over me!''
``Ugh! but dat's a
regular ice bath, dat is!''
``That's what you get
for throwing me into the hole!'' cried Joe. ``After this you had better leave
me alone.''
``I've got some mortar
in me eye!'' screamed Jack Sagger, dancing around in pain. ``Oh, me eye is
burned out!''
``I'm wet to de skin!''
said Nick Sammel, with a shiver. ``Oh, say, but it's dead cold, ain't it?''
Waiting to hear no
more, Joe ran along the scaffolding and then leaped through a window of the
unfinished building. A street light now guided him and he came out through the
back of the structure and into an alleyway. From this he made his way to the
street.
``I'll have to hurry,''
he reasoned. ``If they catch me now they will want to half kill me!''
``Don't let him git
away!'' he heard Sagger roar. ``Catch him! Catch him!''
``Hold on there, you
young rascals!'' came a voice out of the darkness. ``What are you doing around
these buildings?''
A watchman had come on
the scene, with a lantern in one hand and a heavy club in the other.
``We ain't doin'
nuthin,'' said one of the boys.
``Maybe you're the gang
that stole that lumber a couple of nights ago,'' went on the watchman, coming
closer.
``Ain't touched yer
lumber,'' growled Jack Sagger.
``We're after anudder
feller wot hid in here,'' said Sammel.
``That's a likely
story. I believe you are nothing but a crowd of young thieves,'' grumbled the
watchman. ``Every night somebody is trying to steal lumber or bricks, or
something. I've a good mind to make an example of you and have you all locked
up.''
``We ain't touched a
thing!'' cried a small boy, and began to back away in alarm. At once several
followed him.
``Here's a barrel of
water knocked over and everything in a mess. You've been skylarking, too. I'm
going to have you locked up!''
The watchman made a
dash after the boys and the crowd scattered in all directions. Sagger received
a crack on the shoulder that lamed him for a week, and Sammel tripped and went
down, taking the skin off of the end of his nose.
``Oh, me nose!'' he
moaned. ``It's busted entirely!''
``Run!'' cried Sagger.
``If you don't you'll be nabbed sure!'' And then the crowd ran with all their
speed, scrambling out of the hole as best they could. They did not stop until
they were half a dozen blocks away and on their way home.
``We made a fizzle of
it dat trip,'' said Sagger, dolefully.
``It's all your
fault,'' growled one of the boys. ``I ain't goin' out wid you again. You
promise big things but you never do 'em.''
``Oh, Jack 's a
gas-bag, dat's wot he is,'' was the comment of another, and he walked off by
himself. Presently one after another of the boys followed suit, leaving Jack
Sagger to sneak home, a sadder if not a wiser lad.
``PERHAPS those fellows
have learned a lesson they won't forget in a hurry,'' remarked Frank to Joe,
after he learned the particulars of the attack in the dark.
``I hope they don't
molest me further,'' answered our hero. ``If they'll only let me alone I'll let
them alone.''
``That Sagger is
certainly on the downward path,'' said Frank. If he doesn't look out he'll land
in jail.''
What Frank said was
true, and less than a week later they heard through another hotel boy that Jack
Sagger had been arrested for stealing some lead pipe out of a vacant residence.
The pipe had been sold to a junkman for thirty cents and the boy had spent the
proceeds on a ticket for a cheap theater and some cigarettes. He was sent to
the House of Correction, and that was the last Joe heard of him.
With the coming of
winter the hotel filled up and Joe was kept busy from morning to night, so that
he had little time for studying. He performed his duties faithfully and the
hotel proprietor was much pleased in consequence.
``Joe is all right,''
he said to his cashier, ``I can trust him with anything.''
``That's so, and he is
very gentlemanly, too,'' replied the cashier.
Ulmer Montgomery was
still at the hotel. He was now selling antiquaries, and our hero often watched
the fellow with interest. He suspected that Montgomery was a good deal of a
humbug, but could not prove it.
At length Montgomery
told Joe that he wa{s} going to the far West to try his fortunes. The man
seemed to like our hero, and the night before he left the hotel he called Joe
into his room.
``I want to make you a
present of some books I own,'' said Ulmer Montgomery. ``Perhaps you'll like to
read them. They are historical works.''
``Thank you, Mr.
Montgomery, you are very kind.''
``I used to be a book agent,
but I gave that up as it didn't pay me as well as some other things.''
``And you had these
books left over?''
``Yes. The firm I
worked for wouldn't take them back so I had to keep them.''
``And now you are
selling curiosities.''
At this Ulmer
Montgomery smiled blandly.
``Not exactly, Joe--I
only sell curiosities, or antiquities, when I am hard up. On other occasions I
do like other folks, work for a living.''
``I don't quite
understand.''
``I dropped into
selling curiosities when I was in the South and hard up for cash. I wanted
money the worst way, and I--well, I set to work to raise it. Maybe you'd like
to hear my story.''
``I would.''
``Mind you, I don't
pose as a model of goodness and I shouldn't advise you to follow in my footsteps.
But I wanted money and wanted in badly. So I put on my thinking cap, and I soon
learned of a very zealous antiquary living about five miles from where I was
stopping. He was wealthy and a bachelor, and spent no inconsiderable portion of
his income on curiosities.''
``And you went to
him?'' said Joe, becoming interested.
``I at once determined
to take advantage of this gentleman's antiquarian zeal. I will own that I had
some qualms of conscience--about imposing upon the old gentleman, but I didn't
know of any other way to procure the money I absolutely needed.
``Having made all of my
preparations, I set off for Mr. Leland's house. To disguise myself I put on a
pair of big goggles and an old- fashioned collar and tie.
`` `I understand, Mr.
Leland, that you are in the habit of collecting curiosities,' I said.
`` `Quite right, sir,'
said he. `I have got together some few,' and he gazed with an air of pride at
the nondescript medley which surrounded him.
`` `I have in my
possession,' I proceeded, `two or three of great value, which I had hoped to
retain, but, well, I need money, and so I must part with them, much as I wish
to call them mine. But I wish to see that they get into the proper hands, and I
have been told that you are a great antiquarian, understanding the true value
of such things, and so--'
`` `Pray, show them to
me at once!' cried the old man, eagerly.
`` `I have traveled a
good deal, and been a pilgrim in many climes,' I went on. `I have wandered
along the banks of the Euphrates and dipped my feet in the currents of the
Nile. I have gazed upon ruined cities--'
`` `Yes! yes! show me
what you have!' he cried, eagerly.
`` `Here is a curiosity
of the highest order', I said, opening a paper and showing a bit of salt about
the size of a walnut. `This is a portion of the statue of salt into which Lot's
wife was turned.'
`` `Is it possible?'
cried the antiquary, taking the salt and gazing at it in deep veneration. `Are
you quite certain of this?'
`` `I am,' I answered.
`It is a portion of the wrist. I broke it off myself. The hand was already
gone.' ''
`` `And did he buy
it?'' questioned Joe, in astonishment.
``He did, and gave me
fifty dollars in cash for it.''
``But that wasn't fair,
Mr. Montgomery.''
The seller of bogus
curiosities shrugged his shoulders.
``Perhaps not. But I
was hard up and had to do something.''
``Did you sell him
anything else?''
``I did--a walking
stick, which I had procured in Connecticut. It was covered with strange
carvings and he mistook them for hieroglyphics, and gave me ten dollars for the
thing.''
``I don't see how you
could have the nerve to do such things, Mr. Montgomery.''
``Well, a man can do
lots of things when he is driven to do them. I admit the deals were rather
barefaced, but, as I said before, I had to do something. Some day, when I am
rich, I'll return the money to the old fellow,'' added the impostor.
He left the hotel that
morning, and it may be said here that Joe did not meet him again for several
years.
Christmas came and went
at the hotel, and our hero received several presents from his friends,
including a pair of gloves from Ned Talmadge and a five-dollar gold piece from
Felix Gussing. Some of the regular boarders at the hotel also remembered him.
``And how do you like
married life?'' asked Joe, of Felix Gussing.
``We are getting along
very nicely,'' said the dude.
``Have you told your
wife about the duel yet?''
``No,--and I don't
think I shall,'' added Felix Gussing. ``You see she--er--she thinks me a very
brave man and--''
``And you don't want
her to change her opinion,'' finished Joe, with a smile!
``Why should I, Joe.''
``Oh, I don't know as
there is any reason, excepting that they usually say men and their wives should
have no secrets from each other.''
``Mr. Montgomery is
gone, I see,'' said the dude, changing the subject.
``Yes, sir.''
``Then you are the only
one who knows of this secret. You won't tell, will you?''
``No, sir.''
``We are having
troubles enough as it is,'' went on the dude. ``Both my wife and I find
housekeeping rather troublesome. It is hard to obtain proper servants, and she
does not care to do the work herself.''
``Why don't you go to
boarding?''
``Perhaps we will,
later on.''
With the new year came
a heavy fall of snow and soon sleighs big and little were in demand. Then came
a slight fall of rain which made the sidewalks a glare of ice.
``Got to be careful,''
announced Frank to Joe. ``If you don't you'll go down on your back.''
``I intend to be
careful,'' answered our hero. ``I have no wish to break any bones.''
That afternoon Joe was
sent on an errand to a place of business half a mile away. On returning he
chanced to stop at a street corner, to watch a number of children who had made
a long slide for themselves.
As he stood watching, a
man came along bundled up in a great coat and wearing a slouch hat and blue
glasses. The man was walking rapidly, as if in a hurry.
``That fellow looks
familiar to me,'' thought Joe. ``Wonder who he can be?''
He watched the stranger
cross the street. Then the fellow happened to step on the icy slide and in a
twinkling he went down on his back, his hat flying in one direction and a
bundle he carried in another.
``Hurrah! Down goes the
gent!'' sang out a newsboy standing near.
``Come here an' I'll
pick yer up!'' said another street urchin.
``You rascals, you
fixed this on purpose so I should fall!'' cried the man, starting to get up.
``Can I help you?''
questioned Joe, coming up, and then he gave a start, as he recognized the
fellow.
It was Pat Malone,
alias David Ball, from Montana!
``How do you do, Mr.
Ball?'' said our hero, coolly.
``Eh, what's that?''
questioned Malone, in amazement. Then he recognized Joe, and his face fell.
``I have often wondered
what became of you,'' went on our hero. ``Let me help you up.''
``I--that is--who are
you, boy?'' demanded Malone, getting to his feet and picking up his hat and his
bundle.
``You ought to remember
me. I am Joe Bodley. I used to work for Mr. Mallison, at Riverside.''
``Don't know the man or
the place,'' said Pat Malone, coolly. ``You have made a mistake.''
``Then perhaps I had
better call you Malone.''
``Not at all. My name
is Fry--John Fry.'' ``How often do you change your name, Mr. Fry.''
``Don't get impudent!''
``I am not impudent,--I
am only asking a plain question.''
``I never change my
name.''
At that moment Joe saw
a policeman on the opposite side of the street and beckoned for the officer to
come over.
``Hi! what's the
meaning of this!'' ejaculated Pat Malone.
``Officer, I want this
man locked up,'' said Joe, and caught the rascal by the arm, that he might not
run away.
``What's the charge?''
asked the bluecoat.
``He is wanted for
swindling.''
``Boy, are you really
crazy?''
``No, I am not.''
``Who are you?'' asked
the policeman, eyeing Joe sharply.
``My name is Joe
Bodley. I work at the Grandon House. I will make a charge against this man, and
I'll bring the man who was swindled, too.''
``That's fair talk,''
said the policeman. ``I guess you'll both have to go to the station with me.''
``I'm willing,'' said
Joe, promptly.
``I--I cannot go--I
have a sick wife--I must get a doctor,'' stammered Pat Malone. ``Let me go. The
boy is mistaken.''
``You'll have to go
with me.''
``But my sick wife?''
``You can send for your
friends and they can take care of her.''
``I have no friends--we
are strangers in Philadelphia. I don't want to go.''
Pat Malone tried to
move on, but the policeman and Joe detained him, and in the end he was marched
off to the police station. Here Joe told what he knew and Malone's record was
looked up in the Rogues' Gallery.
``You've got the right
man, that's sure,'' said the desk sergeant to our hero. ``Now where can you
find this Mr. Maurice Vane?''
``I have his address at
the hotel,'' answered our hero. ``If I can go I'll get it and send Mr. Vane a
telegram.''
``Bring the address
here and we'll communicate with Mr. Vane.''
Our hero agreed, and
inside of half an hour a message was sent to Maurice Vane, notifying him of the
fact that Pat Malone had been caught. Mr. Vane had gone to New York on business,
but came back to Philadelphia the next day.
When he saw that he was
caught Pat Malone broke down utterly and made a full confession, telling in
detail how the plot against Maurice Vane had been carried out.
``It was not my plan,''
said he. ``Gaff Caven got the mining shares and he arranged the whole thing.''
``Where did you get the
shares--steal them?'' demanded Maurice Vane, sharply.
``No, we didn't steal
them. We bought them from an old miner for fifty dollars. The miner is dead
now.''
``Can you prove this?''
``Yes.''
``Then do so.''
``Why?''
``I don't care to
answer that question. But if you can prove to me that you and Caven came by
those shares honestly I won't prosecute you, Malone.''
``I will prove it!''
was the quick answer, and that very afternoon Pat Malone proved beyond a doubt
that the shares had belonged to himself and Gaff Caven when they sold them to
Maurice Vane.
``That is all I want of
you,'' said Maurice Vane. ``I shan't appear against you, Malone.''
``Then those shares
must be valuable after all?'' queried the swindler.
``Perhaps they are. I
am having them looked up. I am glad of this opportunity of proving that they
are now my absolute property.''
``If Caven and I sold
you good stocks we ought to be kicked full of holes,'' grumbled Malone.
``That was your
lookout, not mine,'' returned Maurice Vane. ``Mind, I don't say the shares are
valuable. But they may be, and if so I shall be satisfied with my bargain.''
``Humph! where do I
come in?''
``You don't come in at
all--and you don't deserve to.''
``If I didn't swindle
you, you can't have me held for swindling.''
``I don't intend to
have you held. You can go for all I care.''
Maurice Vane explained
the situation to the police authorities and that evening Pat Malone was allowed
to go. He threatened to have somebody sued for false imprisonment but the
police laughed at him.
``Better not try it on,
Malone,'' said one officer. ``Remember, your picture is in our Rogues'
Gallery,'' and then the rascal was glad enough to sneak away. The next day he
took a train to Baltimore, where, after an hour's hunt, he found Gaff Caven.
``We made a fine mess
of things,'' he said, bitterly. ``A fine mess!''
``What are you talking
about, Pat?'' asked Caven.
``Do you remember the
mining stocks we sold to Maurice Vane?''
``Certainly I do.''
``Well, he has got 'em
yet.''
``All right, he can
keep them. We have his money too,'' and Gaff Caven chuckled.
``I'd rather have the
shares.''
``Eh?''
``I said I'd rather
have the shares, Gaff. We put our foot into it when we sold 'em.''
``Do you mean to say
the shares are valuable?'' demanded Gaff Caven.
``That's the size of
it.''
``Who told you this?''
``Nobody told me, but I
can put two and two together as quick as anybody.''
``Well, explain.''
``I was in Philadelphia
when I ran into that hotel boy, Joe Bodley.''
``What of that?''
``He had me arrested.
Then they sent for Mr. Maurice Vane, and Vane made me prove that the shares
were really ours when we sold them to him. I thought I'd go clear if I could
prove that, so I went and did it. Then Vane said he wouldn't prosecute me, for the
shares might be valuable after all.''
``But the mine is
abandoned.''
``Maybe it is and maybe
it isn't. I guess Mr. Maurice Vane knows what he is doing, and we were fools to
sell out to him.''
``If that mine is
valuable I'm going to have it!'' cried Gaff Caven. ``He can have his money
back!'' and the rascal who had overreached himself began to pace the floor.
``Maybe he won't take
his money back.''
``Then I'll claim the
mine anyway, Pat--and you must help me.''
``What can you do?''
``Go out to Montana,
just as soon as the weather is fit, and relocate the mine. If it's any good we
can find some fellows to help us hold it somehow. ``I'm not going to let this
slip into Maurice Vane's hands without a struggle.''
``Talk is cheap, but it
takes money to pay for railroad tickets,'' went on Malone.
``I've got the dust,
Pat.''
``Enough to fight Vane
off if he should come West?''
``I think so. I met a
rich fellow last week and I got a loan of four thousand dollars.''
``Without security?''
and Malone winked suggestively.
``Exactly. Oh, he was a
rich find,'' answered Gaff Caven, and gave a short laugh.
``I'm willing to go
anywhere. I'm tired of things here. It's getting too warm for comfort.''
``Then let us start
West next week--after I can finish up a little business here.''
``I am willing.''
And so the two rascals
arranged to do Maurice Vane out of what had become his lawful property.
ON the day following
the scene at the police station Maurice Vane stopped at the Grandon House to
interview our hero.
``I must thank you for
the interest you have taken in this matter, Joe,'' said he. ``It is not every
lad who would put himself out to such an extent.''
``I wanted to see
justice done, Mr. Vane,'' answered our hero, modestly.
``Things have taken a
sudden change since I saw you last summer,'' went on Maurice Vane. ``Perhaps it
will be as well if I tell my whole story.''
``I'd like first rate
to hear it.''
``After I got those
shares of stock I felt that I had been swindled, and I was very anxious to get
hold of the rascals. But as time went on and I could not locate them I resolved
to look into the deal a little more minutely and see if there was any chance of
getting my money, or a portion of it, back.''
``I should have done
the same.''
``I wrote to a friend
out West and he put me in communication with a mining expert who set to work to
find out all about the mine. The expert sent me word, late in the fall, that
the mine was, in his opinion, located on a vein of gold well worth working.''
``What did you do
then?''
``I wanted to go West
at once and look into the matter personally, but an aunt died and I had to
settle up her estate and see to the care of her two children, and that held me
back. Then winter came on, and I knew I'd have to let matters rest until
spring.
``Are you going out
there in the spring?''
``Yes,--as early as
possible, too.''
``I hope you find the
mine a valuable one, Mr. Vane.''
``I place great
reliance on what the mining expert said, for he is known as a man who makes no
mistakes.''
``Then, if the mine
proves of value, you'll have gotten a cheap piece of property after all.''
``Yes, indeed.''
``Won't those swindlers
be mad when they hear of this!''
``Most likely, my lad;
but they have nobody to blame but themselves. I bought their shares in good
faith, while they sold them in bad faith.''
``Is your title
perfectly clear now?''
``Absolutely so.''
``Then I hope the mine
proves to be worth millions.''
``Thank you, my boy.''
``I'd like to own a
mine like that myself.''
``Would you? Well,
perhaps you will some day.''
``It's not likely. A
hotel boy doesn't earn enough to buy a mine,'' and our hero laughed.
``If I find the mine
worth working and open up for business, how would you like to go out there and
work for me?''
``I'd like it very
much, Mr. Vane.''
``Very well, I'll bear
that in mind,'' answered the possessor of the mining shares.
``Why don't you buy up
the rest of the mining shares first?''
``I am going to do
so--if I can locate them.''
``Perhaps the owners
will sell cheap.''
``I shall explain the
situation and make a fair offer. I do not believe in any underhand work,'' was
the ready answer.
``Then you are not like
some men I have met,'' said Joe, and told about Ulmer Montgomery and his
so-called antiquities.
``That man will never
amount to anything, Joe--mark my words. ``He will always be a hanger-on as we
call them, in the business world.''
``I believe you, sir.''
``Honesty pays in the
long run. A rogue may make something at the start but sooner or later he will
find himself exposed.''
Maurice Vane remained
at the hotel for a week and then left to go to Chicago on business. From that
point he was going to Montana as soon as the weather permitted.
After that several
weeks slipped by without anything unusual happening. During those days Joe fell
in again with Felix Gussing.
``We are going to move
to Riverside,'' said the dude, if such he may still be called, although he was
a good business man. ``I have rented a house there--the old Martin place--and
if you ever come to the town you must visit us.''
``Thank you, I will,''
answered our hero.
``My wife thinks a
great deal of you and you must stop at the house during your stay at
Riverside,'' went on Felix Gussing.
A change came for Joe
much quicker than was anticipated. One night, late in the winter, he was just
preparing to retire, when he smelt smoke. He ran out of his room and to an air
shaft and saw the smoke coming up thickly.
``The hotel must be on
fire!'' he thought. ``If it is, I'll have to notify the management!''
He jumped rather than
ran down the several stairways to the hotel office. Here he told the proprietor
and the cashier. An examination was made and the fire was located in the
laundry.
``Go and awaken all the
guests,'' said Mr. Drew, and Joe ran off to do as bidden. Other boys did the
same, and before long the guests were hurrying through the hallways and down
the elevators and stairs.
By this time the smoke
was coming thickly, and presently a sheet of flame burst through at the rear of
the hotel. The fire alarm had been given and several engines and a
hook-and-ladder company dashed on the scene.
``Are your guests all
out?'' demanded a police officer.
``I believe so,''
answered Mr. Drew.
``I'm going to take a
look around,'' said Joe, and darted upstairs once more.
He visited room after
room, only to find them empty. From the rear of the hotel came the crackling of
flames and down in the street the fire engines were pounding away, sending
their streams of water into the structure.
On the third floor of
the building our hero came across an old lady who was rather queer in her mind.
The lady was also lame and walked with great difficulty.
``Oh, Joseph! what is
the trouble?'' she cried.
``The hotel is on fire,
Mrs. Dalley. Come, let me help you out.''
``On fire! Oh, I must
save my canary!'' And the old lady started back for her room.
``You haven't got time,
Mrs. Dalley. Come with me.''
``I cannot let my dear
Dick perish!'' answered the old lady, firmly.
Joe looked along the
hall and saw that the flames were moving swiftly toward the room the old lady
had occupied. To enter the apartment would be highly dangerous.
``You simply can't go
after the bird, madam,'' he said. ``Come with me!''
``My bird! my bird!''
screamed Mrs. Dalley, and tried to run, or rather hobble, towards her room, despite
the smoke that was now rolling over her head.
``You must come with
me!'' exclaimed Joe, and drew her back. She tried to struggle and then, without
warning, fainted in his arms.
The burden was a heavy
one, but our hero did not shirk the task before him. He half dragged and half
carried the unconscious lady to the nearest staircase and almost fell to the
bottom.
The smoke on the second
floor was so thick he could scarcely see. But he kept on and went down another
flight and reached the office. He could hardly breathe and the tears were
running down both cheeks.
``Hullo there, boy!''
came the call of a fireman, as he appeared through the smoke. ``Better get out
of here!''
``Help me with this
lady,'' answered Joe.
``A lady! Oh, all
right!'' And in a moment more the fireman had Mrs. Dalley over his shoulder and
was carrying her out. Joe came close behind. The lady was taken to a nearby
drug store where she speedily revived.
By the prompt efforts
of the fire department only a small portion of the hotel was burnt. But the
whole building was water-soaked, and all of the boarders had to move out, and
then the place was closed up.
``Out of a place once
again,'' thought our hero, rather dismally. ``What's to do next?''
This was not an easy
question to answer. He looked around for another opening but, finding none,
resolved to pay a visit to Riverside.
``I can call on the
Gussings, and on Ned,'' he thought. ``I know all of them will be glad to see
me. And maybe Mr. Mallison will be wanting to make some arrangements for next
summer. I suppose he'll run the boats as usual.''
``Going to leave
Philadelphia, eh?'' said Frank. ``Do you intend to come back, Joe?''
``I don't know yet,
Frank.''
``Well, I wish you
luck.''
``I wish you the
same.''
``If you go to work for
Mallison this summer, maybe you can get me a job too.''
``I'll remember that,''
answered our hero.
His preparations were
soon made, and then he boarded a train for Riverside. He did not dream of the
surprises in store for him.
AFTER calling on the
Gussings and being invited to remain there for several days, Joe took himself
to Ned Talmadge's residence.
Ned was very glad to
see him and had to give all the particulars of another trip he had made to the
West.
``I had a splendid
time,'' said Ned. ``I wish you had been along.''
``Then you like the
West, Ned?''
``Indeed I do,--better
than the East.''
``Perhaps I'll go West
some day,'' went on our hero, and told his friend of what Maurice Vane had
said.
``I saw some mines
while I was out there,'' continued Ned. ``I went to the very bottom of one
mine. I can tell you I felt a bit shivery, being so far underground.''
``I suppose the miners
get used to it.''
``It would be a joke on
those swindlers if that mine should prove of value,'' went on Ned, after a
pause.
``I hope, for Mr.
Vane's sake, it does prove valuable.''
``Now your hotel is
burnt out, what are you going to do?''
``I haven't made up my
mind, Ned. Perhaps I'll come back here, to work for Mr. Mallison.''
``Then we'll be
together again next summer. That will suit me.''
The boys had a good
time together and then Joe said he would like to pay a visit to his old home on
the mountain side. Ned readily consented to go along.
``But I don't imagine
you'll find much of the old cabin left,'' he added.
There was still a
little ice in the lake, but they rowed to the spot without great difficulty and
made their way to the tumble-down cabin.
It was not an inviting
sight and it made Joe feel sober to view the locality .
``Joe, you never heard
anything of that blue box, did you?'' asked Ned, after several minutes of
silence.
``No.''
``It ought to be
somewhere in this vicinity.''
``It's gone, and that
is all there is to it,'' said our hero, and gave a long sigh.
The boys tramped around
the vicinity for a good half hour, and then sat down on a hollow log to eat a
lunch they had brought along.
``Let us build a fire
beside the old log,'' said Ned. ``It will help to keep us warm.''
Joe was willing and the
two boys soon had some leaves and twigs gathered, and placed some good-sized
branches on top to make the blaze last. Then they began to eat and to warm
themselves at the same time.
``This log would make a
good hiding-place for some wild animal,'' remarked Ned. ``Can anything be
inside?''
``It's not likely, Ned.
The smoke would drive out any living creature.''
``I'm going to get a
stick and poke into the log.''
Both boys procured sticks
and began to poke at the log. Presently they felt something move and a
half-dazed snake came into view.
``There's your animal,
Ned!'' exclaimed Joe.
``Oh, a snake! Keep him
away!'' roared Ned, badly frightened.
``He can't hurt you--he
is too stiff from the cold,'' answered our hero, and quickly dispatched the
snake with a stone.
``Do you suppose there
are any more in the tree?'' asked the rich boy, still keeping at a distance.
``More than likely.
I'll poke around with my stick and see.''
``Be careful!''
``I am not afraid.''
Joe's stick had
something of a crotch on the end of it and with this he began to rake among the
dead leaves that had blown into the hollow log. He brought out a great quantity
but no more snakes showed themselves.
``I reckon he was the
only one after all, Ned.''
``The log is burning!''
said Ned, an instant later. ``See, the smoke is coming out of the hollow.''
``My stick is caught,''
said Joe, pulling hard on something. ``I guess--well, I declare!''
He gave a jerk, and
from the hollow came a square object, covered with smoking dirt and leaves.
``What is it?''
``Unless I am mistaken,
it is a tin box.''
``Oh, Joe, the blue
box?''
Joe did not answer for
he was brushing the smoking leaves and dirt from the object. As he cleaned it
off he caught sight of some blue paint. On one end the box was badly charred
from the fire.
``It's the blue box,
sure enough,'' said Joe.
``And we came close to
burning it up!'' groaned Ned. ``Oh, Joe, I am so sorry!''
``It's not your fault,
Ned, I was as much to blame as anybody. But who would look for the box out
here?''
``Perhaps some wild
animal carried it off.''
``That may be.''
Joe had the box cleaned
off by this time. It was still hot at one end and smoking. He tried to pull it
open, but found it locked.
``The contents will
burn up before I can open it!'' cried Joe.
He did not know what to
do, and in desperation began to pry at the box with his stick and his
jackknife. Then the box broke open, scattering some half-burnt papers in all
directions.
The boys picked the
papers up and also a small bag of buckskin. When Joe opened the bag he found it
contained exactly a hundred dollars in gold.
``That's a nice find,''
said Ned. ``Anyway, you are a hundred dollars richer than you were.''
Joe began to peruse the
half-burnt documents but could make little or nothing out of them. He saw his
own name and also that of a certain William A. Bodley, and an estate in Iowa
was mentioned.
``What do you find,
Joe?''
``I can't tell you,
Ned. The papers are too badly burnt.''
``Let me look at
them.''
Our hero was willing,
and the two boys spent an hour in trying to decipher the documents.
``It is certainly a
puzzle,'' said the rich boy. ``Why not let my father look over them?''
Joe was willing, and
after wrapping up the documents with care, and pocketing the hundred dollars in
gold, Joe led the way back to the boat. The wreck of the blue box was left
behind, for it was rusty and worthless.
``That evening Mr. Talmadge,
Ned and Joe spent two hours in going over the documents and trying to supply
the parts which had been rotted or burnt away. They were only successful in
part.
``I do not wish to say
much about this, Joe,'' said Ned's father. ``But it would seem from these
papers that you are the son of one William A. Bodley, who at one time owned a
farm in Iowa, in the township of Millville. Did you ever hear Hiram Bodley
speak of this?''
``Never.''
``We might write to the
authorities at Millville and see what they have to say.''
``I wish you'd do it.
They may pay more attention to you than to a boy.''
``I'll write at once.''
``Father, hadn't Joe
better stay here until we get a reply?'' put in Ned.
``He may do so and
welcome,'' answered Mr. Talmadge.
The letter was
dispatched the next day and our hero waited anxiously for the reply. It came
five days later and was as follows:
``Your letter of
inquiry received. There was a William A. Bodley in this township twelve years
ago. He sold his farm to a man named Augustus Greggs and then disappeared.
Before he sold out he lost his wife and several children by sickness. Nobody
here seems to know what became of him.
``Joseph Korn.'' ``That
is short and to the point,'' said Mr. Talmadge, ``but it is not satisfying. It
does not state if this William A. Bodley had any relatives so far as known.''
``I guess the
authorities did not want to bother about the matter,'' said Joe.
``Why don't you visit
Millville, Joe?'' questioned Ned.
``I was thinking I
could do that. It wouldn't cost a fortune, and I've got that hundred dollars in
gold to fall back on, besides my regular savings.''
``You might learn
something to your advantage,'' came from Mr. Talmadge. ``I think it would be
money well spent.''
``Father, can't I go
with Joe?'' asked Ned.
``No, Ned, you must
attend to your school duties.''
``Then, Joe, you must
send me full particulars by mail,'' said the rich boy.
``Of course I'll do
that, Ned,'' replied our hero.
It was arranged that
Joe should leave Riverside on Monday and Ned went to the depot to see him off.
``I wish you the best
of luck, Joe!'' called out Ned, as the train left the station. ``I don't know
of a fellow who deserves better luck than you do!''
JOE found Millville a
sleepy town of three or four hundred inhabitants. There was one main street
containing two blocks of stores, a blacksmith shop, a creamery and two
churches.
When he stepped off the
train our hero was eyed sharply by the loungers about the platform.
``Anything I can' do
for you?'' asked one of the men, the driver of the local stage.
``Will you tell me
where Mr. Joseph Korn lives?''
``Joe lives up in the
brown house yonder. But he ain't home now. He's doing a job of carpentering.''
``Can you tell me
where?''
``Up to the Widow
Fallow's place. Take you there for ten cents.''
``Very well,'' and our
hero jumped into the rickety turnout which went by the name of the Millville
stage.
The drive was not a long
one and soon they came to a halt in front of a residence where a man wearing a
carpenter's apron was mending a broken-down porch.
``There's Joe,'' said
the stage driver, laconically.
The man looked up in
wonder when Joe approached him. He dropped his hammer and stood with his arms
on his hips.
``This is Mr. Joseph
Korn, I believe?''
``That's me, young
man.''
``I am Joe Bodley. You
wrote to Mr. Talmadge, of Riverside, a few days ago. I came on to find out what
I could about a Mr. William A. Bodley who used to live here.''
``Oh, yes! Well, young
man, I can't tell you much more 'n I did in that letter. Bodley sold out,
house, goods and everything, and left for parts unknown.''
``Did he have any
relatives around here?''
``Not when he left. He had
a wife and three children--a girl and two boys--but they died.''
``Did you ever hear of
any relatives coming to see him--a man named Hiram Bodley?''
``Not me--but Augustus
Greggs--who bought his farm--might know about it.''
``I'll take you to the
Greggs' farm for ten cents,'' put in the stage driver.
Again a bargain was
struck, and a drive of ten minutes brought them to the farm, located on the
outskirts of Millville. They found the farm owner at work by his wood pile,
sawing wood. He was a pleasant appearing individual.
``Come into the
house,'' he said putting down his saw. ``I'm glad to see you,'' and when our
hero had entered the little farmhouse he was introduced to Mrs. Greggs and two
grown-up sons, all of whom made him feel thoroughly at home.
``To tell the truth,''
said Mr. Greggs, ``I did not know William Bodley very well. I came here looking
for a farm and heard this was for sale, and struck a bargain with him.''
``Was he alone at that
time?'' questioned Joe.
``He was, and his
trouble seemed to have made him a bit queer--not but what he knew what he was
doing.''
``Did you learn
anything about his family?''
``He had lost his wife
and two children by disease. What had happened to the other child was something
of a mystery. I rather supposed it had died while away from home, but I was not
sure.''
``Have you any idea at
all what became of William Bodley?''
``Not exactly. Once I
met a man in Pittsburg who had met a man of that name in Idaho, among the
mines. Both of us wondered if that William A. Bodley was the same that I had
bought my farm from.''
``Did he say what part
of Idaho?''
``He did, but I have
forgotten now. Do you think he was a relative of yours?''
``I don't know what to
think. It may be that he was my father.
``Your father?''
``Yes,'' and Joe told
his story and mentioned the documents found in the blue tin box.
``It does look as if he
might be your father,'' said Augustus Greggs. ``Maybe you're the child that was
away from home at the time his other children and his wife died.''
``Do you think anybody
else in this village would know anything more about this William Bodley?''
``No, I don't. But it
won't do any harm to ask around. That stage driver knows all the old
inhabitants. Perhaps some of them can tell you something worth while.''
Upon urgent invitation,
Joe took dinner at the Greggs' farm and then set out to visit a number of folks
who had lived in Millville and vicinity for many years. All remembered William
A. Bodley and his family, but not one could tell what had become of the man
after he had sold out and gone away.
``Maybe you had better
advertise for him,'' suggested one man.
``It will cost a good
deal to advertise all over the United States,'' replied Joe; ``and for all I
know he may be dead or out of the country.''
Joe remained in
Millville two days and then took the train back to the East. Ned was the first
to greet him on his return to Riverside.
``What luck?'' he
asked, anxiously.
``None whatever,'' was
the sober answer.
``Oh, Joe, that's too
bad!''
``I am afraid I am
stumped, Ned.''
They walked to the
Talmadge mansion, and that evening talked the matter over with Ned's father.
``I will arrange to
have an advertisement inserted in a leading paper of each of our big cities,''
said Mr. Talmadge. ``That will cost something, but not a fortune.''
``You must let me pay
for it,'' said our hero.
``No, Joe, you can put
this down to Ned's credit--you two are such good chums,'' and Mr. Talmadge
smiled quietly.
The advertisements were
sent out the following day, through an advertising agent, and all waited for
over two weeks for some reply, but none came.
``It's no use,'' said
Joe, and it must be admitted that he was much downcast.
In the meantime he had
seen Andrew Mallison and the hotel man said he would willingly hire him for the
summer as soon as the season opened, and also give Frank Randolph a situation.
``You had better be my
guest until that time,'' said Ned to our hero, when he heard of this.
``Thank you, Ned, but I
don't wish to remain idle so long.''
The very next mail
after this talk brought news for our hero. A letter came from Maurice Vane,
asking him if he wished to go to Montana.
``I am now certain that
that mine is valuable,'' wrote the gentleman. ``I am going to start West next
Monday. If you wish to go with me I will pay your fare and allow you a salary
of ten dollars per week to start on. I think later on, I will have a good
opening for you.''
``That settles it, I am
going West!'' cried Joe, as he showed the letter to his chum.
``Well, I don't blame
you,'' was the reply. ``I know just how nice it is out there. You'll be sure to
get along.''
Before going to bed Joe
wired his acceptance of the offer, and in the morning received a telegram from
Maurice Vane, asking him to go to Chicago, to the Palmer House.
``That settles it, I'm
off,'' said our hero, and bought a ticket for the great city by the lakes
without delay. Then he said good-bye to the Talmadges and the Gussings, and
boarded the train at sundown.
Joe was now getting
used to traveling and no longer felt green and out of place. He had engaged a
berth, and took his ease until it was time to go to bed. Arriving at Chicago he
made his way without delay to the Palmer House.
He found the hotel
crowded and had some difficulty in getting a room. Mr. Maurice Vane had not yet
arrived.
``I guess I'll leave a
note for him,'' thought our hero, and sauntered into the reading-room to pen
the communication.
While Joe was writing,
two men came into the room and sat down behind a pillar that was close at hand.
They were in earnest conversation and he could not help but catch what was
said.
``You say he is coming
West?'' said one of the pair.
``Yes,--he started
yesterday.''
``And he has found out
that the mine is really valuable?''
``I think so. Anyway he
is quite excited about it. He sent a telegram to that boy, too.''
``The hotel boy you
mean?''
``Yes.''
So the talk ran on and
Joe at length got up to take a look at the two men. They were Gaff Caven and
Pat Malone. At once our hero drew out of sight again.
``How can you get the
best of Vane, Gaff?'' asked Malone, after a pause.
``There is but one way,
Malone.''
``And that is?''
``Can I trust you?''
``Haven't you trusted
me before?''
``We must--'' Caven
paused. ``We won't talk about it in this public place. Come to my room and I'll
lay my plan before you.''
Then the two arose and
left the reading-room as rapidly as they had entered it.
``THEY certainly mean
mischief,'' Joe told himself, after the two men had vanished. He saw them enter
an elevator, but did not know at what floor they alighted.
Looking over the hotel
register he was unable to find the names of either Caven or Malone, or even
Ball. Evidently the rascals were traveling under other names now.
``They'll bear
watching,'' he concluded. ``I must put Mr. Vane on guard as soon as he comes
in.''
He gave up the idea of
leaving a note and took his station in the corridor of the hotel. After waiting
about two hours he saw a well-known form approaching, dress-suit case in hand.
``Mr. Vane!''
``Oh, Joe, so you're
here already! I'm glad I won't have to wait for you.''
``I'm afraid you won't
be able to get a room, Mr. Vane. But you can have mine.''
``I telegraphed ahead
for a room, Joe.''
``Do you know that your
enemies are here?'' went on our hero.
``My enemies?''
``Gaff Caven and Pat
Malone. But they are traveling under other names.''
``Have they seen you?''
``I think not, sir.''
Mr. Vane soon had his
room assigned to him and he and our hero passed up in the elevator. As soon as
they were in the apartment by themselves, Joe related what he had seen and
heard.
``They are certainly on
my trail,'' mused Maurice Vane. ``And they must have kept pretty close or they
wouldn't know that I had asked you to accompany me.''
``They have some plot,
Mr. Vane.''
``Have you any idea
what it is?''
``No, sir, excepting
that they are going to try to do you out of your interest in that mine.''
Maurice Vane and Joe
talked the matter over for an hour, but without satisfaction. Then they went to
the dining room for something to eat.
``We start for Montana
in the morning,'' said the gentleman. ``I think the quicker I get on the ground
the better it will be for me.''
Although Maurice Vane
and Joe did not know it, both were shadowed by Caven and Malone. The two
rascals had disguised themselves by donning false beards and putting on
spectacles.
``They leave in the
morning,'' said Caven. ``Malone, we must get tickets for the same train, and,
if possible, the same sleeping car.''
``It's dangerous
work,'' grumbled Pat Malone.
``If you want to back
out, say so, and I'll go it alone.''
``I don't want to back
out. But we must be careful.''
``I'll be careful,
don't fear,'' answered the leader of the evil pair.
At the ticket office of
the hotel, Maurice Vane procured the necessary tickets and sleeper
accommodations to the town of Golden Pass, Idaho. He did not notice that he was
watched. A moment later Gaff Caven stepped up to the desk.
``I want a couple of
tickets to Golden Pass, too,'' he said, carelessly.
``Yes, sir.''
``Let me see, what
sleeper did that other gentleman take?''
``Number 2, sir--berths
7 and 8.''
``Then give me 9 and 10
or 5 and 6,'' went on Caven.
``9 and 10--here you
are, sir,'' said the clerk, and made out the berth checks. Without delay Caven
hurried away, followed by Malone.
``We'll be in the
sleeping compartment right next to that used by Vane and the boy,'' chuckled
Gaff Caven. ``Pat, it ought to be dead easy.''
``Have you the
chloroform?''
``Yes, twice as much as
we'll need.''
``When can we leave the
train?''
``At three o'clock, at
a town called Snapwood. We can get another train two hours later,--on the
northern route.''
All unconscious of
being watched so closely, Maurice Vane and Joe rode to the depot and boarded
the train when it came along. Joe had been looking for Caven and Malone, but
without success.
``I cannot see those
men anywhere,'' he said.
``They are probably in
hiding,'' said his employer.
The train was only half
full and for the time being Caven and Malone kept themselves either in the
smoking compartment or in the dining car. It was dark when they took their
seats, and soon the porter came through to make up the berths for the night.
``I must confess I am
rather sleepy,'' said Maurice Vane.
``So am I,'' returned
our hero. ``I am sure I can sleep like a top, no matter how much the car
shakes.''
``Then both of us may
as well go to bed at once.''
So it was arranged, and
they had the porter put up their berths a few minutes later. Maurice Vane took
the lower resting place while our hero climbed to the top.
Although very tired it
was some time before Joe could get to sleep. He heard Maurice Vane breathing
heavily and knew that his employer must be fast in the land of dreams.
When Joe awoke it was
with a peculiar, dizzy feeling in his head. His eyes pained him not a little
and for several minutes he could not remember where he was. Then came a faint
recollection of having tried to arise during the night but of being held down.
``I must have been
dreaming,'' he thought. ``But it was exactly as if somebody was keeping me down
and holding something over my mouth and nose.''
He stretched himself
and then pushed aside the berth curtain and gazed out into the aisle of the
car. The porter was already at work, turning some of the berths into seats once
more. Joe saw that it was daylight and consulted the nickel watch he carried.
``Eight o'clock!'' he
exclaimed. ``I've overslept myself sure! Mr. Vane must be up long ago.''
He slipped into his
clothing and then knocked on the lower berth. He heard a deep sigh.
``Mr. Vane!''
``Eh? Oh, Joe, is that
you? What time is it?''
``Eight o'clock.''
``What!'' Maurice Vane
started up. ``I've certainly slept fast enough this trip. Are you getting
hungry waiting for me?''
``I just woke up
myself.''
``Oh!'' Maurice Vane
stretched himself. ``My, how dizzy I am.''
``I am dizzy too, sir.
It must be from the motion of the car.''
``Probably, although I
rarely feel so, and I ride a great deal. I feel rather sick at my stomach,
too,'' went on the gentleman, as he began to dress.
Joe had just started to
go to the lavatory to wash up when he heard his employer utter an exclamation.
``Joe!''
``Yes, sir!''
``Did you see anything
of my satchel?''
``You took it into the
berth with you.''
``I don't see it.''
``It must be somewhere
around. I saw it when you went to bed.''
``Yes, I put it under
my pillow.''
Both made a hasty
search, but the satchel could not be found. The dress-suit case stood under the
seat and Joe's was beside it.''
``This is strange. Can
I have been robbed?''
``Was there much in
that satchel, Mr. Vane?''
``Yes, those mining
shares and some other articles of value.''
``Then we must find the
satchel by all means.''
``I'll question the
porter about this.''
The colored man was
called and questioned, but he denied having seen the bag. By this time quite a
few passengers became interested.
``Has anybody left this
car?'' asked Maurice Vane.
``The gen'men that
occupied Numbers 9 and 10, sah,'' said the porter.
``When did they get
off?''
`` 'Bout three o'clock,
sah--when de train stopped at Snapwood.''
``I haven't any tickets
for Snapwood,'' said the conductor, who had appeared on the scene.
``Then they must have
had tickets for some other point,'' said Joe. ``That looks black for them.''
The porter was asked to
describe the two men and did so, to the best of his ability. Then another
search was made, and in a corner, under a seat, a bottle was found, half filled
with chloroform.
``It's as plain as day
to me,'' said Maurice Vane. ``Joe, I was chloroformed.''
``Perhaps I was, too.
That's what gave us the dizzy feeling.''
``And those two men--''
``Must have been Caven
and Malone in disguise,'' finished our hero.
``WHO are Caven and
Malone?'' asked the conductor of the train, while a number of passengers
gathered around, to hear what Maurice Vane and our hero might have to say.
``They are two rascals
who are trying to do me out of my share of a mine,'' explained Maurice Vane.
``I had my mining shares in that satchel.''
``If you wish I'll
telegraph back to Snapwood for you,'' went on the train official.
``How many miles is
that?''
``A little over two
hundred.''
``What is the next stop
of this train?''
``Leadington.''
``When will we get
there?''
``In ten minutes.''
A telegram was prepared
and sent back to Snapwood as soon as Leadington was reached. The train was held
for five minutes and it was learned that nobody had been seen at the station
there at three in the morning, as the night operator and station master were
away, there being no passengers to get on the train bound West.
Maurice Vane was much
disturbed and did not know what to do.
``To go back and look
for them at Snapwood may be a mere waste of time,'' said he. ``On the other
hand, I don't feel much like going on while the shares are out of my
possession.''
``If you wish it, Mr.
Vane, I'll go back,'' said Joe. ``You can go ahead, and if anything turns up I
will telegraph to you.''
This pleased the
gentleman, and he said Joe could go back on the very next train. The conductor
was again consulted, and our hero left the train bound West a quarter of an
hour later.
``Here is some money,''
said Maurice Vane on parting. ``You'll need it.'' And he handed over two
hundred dollars.
``Oh, Mr. Vane! will I
need as much as this?''
``Perhaps. If you see
those rascals you may have a long chase to capture them. Do not hesitate to
spend the money if it appears necessary to do so.''
Long before noon our
hero was on the way Easts on a train scheduled to stop at Snapwood. He went
without his dress-suit case and carried his money in four different pockets.
The train was almost
empty and the riding proved decidedly lonely. In a seat he found an Omaha
paper, but he was in no humor for reading. When noon came he took his time
eating his dinner, so that the afternoon's ride might not appear so lasting.
About half-past two
o'clock the train came to an unexpected halt. Looking out of the window Joe saw
that they were in something of a cut, close to the edge of a woods.
The delay continued,
and presently one passenger after another alighted, to learn the meaning of the
hold-up. Joe did likewise, and walked through the cut toward the locomotive.
The mystery was easily
explained. On one side of the cut the bank had toppled over the tracks,
carrying with it two trees of good size. A number of train hands were already
at work, sawing the trees into pieces, so that they might be shifted clear of
the tracks.
Joe watched the men
laboring for a few minutes and then walked up the bank, to get a look at the
surroundings. Then he heard a whistle and saw a train approaching from the
opposite direction. It came to a halt a few hundred feet away.
As the delay continued
our hero walked along the bank of the cut and up to the newly- arrived train.
The latter was crowded with passengers, some of whom also got out.
``Did that train stop
at Snapwood?'' he asked of one of the passengers.
``It did,'' was the
answer.
``Did you see anybody
get on?''
``No, but somebody
might have gotten on. I wasn't looking.''
``Thank you.''
``Looking for a
friend?''
``No,'' said Joe, and
moved on.
Without delay our hero
ran to the front end of the newly-arrived train and got aboard. As he walked
through he gave every grown passenger a close look.
At the end of the third
car he came upon two suspicious-looking individuals, who were gazing at a bit
of paper in the hands of one. Joe came closer and saw that the paper was a
mining share.
``Caven and Malone, as
sure as fate!'' he murmured to himself. ``What had I best do next?''
While Joe was trying to
make up his mind, Caven chanced to glance up and his eyes fell upon our hero.
He gave a cry of dismay and thrust the mining share out of sight.
``What's the matter?''
asked Malone in a low tone.
``Look there, Pat! That
boy!''
``No!''
``But it is!''
``How did he get on
this train?''
``I don't know. But
it's unpleasant enough for us.''
``Do you suppose Vane
is around?'' asked Malone, nervously.
``He may be.''
The two men stared
around the car. Only some women and children were present, the men having gone
out to learn the cause of the delay.
``Perhaps we had better
get out,'' went on Malone.
``All right''
They arose, and,
satchel in hand, started to leave the train.
``Stop!'' cried Joe,
and caught Caven by the arm.
``Let go of me, boy!''
ejaculated the rascal, and tried to pull himself loose.
``I won't let go, Gaff
Caven.''
``If you don't, it will
be the worse for you! I am not to be trifled with!''
``You must give up that
satchel.''
``Bah!''
``If you don't, I'm
going to have you arrested.''
``Who is going to arrest
me here?'' sneered the man who had robbed Maurice Vane. ``Don't you know we are
miles away from any town?''
``I don't care. Give up
the satchel, or I'll call the train hands.''
``I'll give up nothing,
boy! Stand out of my way!''
Gaff Caven gave Joe a
violent shove which sent our hero up against a seat. Then he turned and ran
from the car, with Pat Malone ahead of him.
``Stop them!'' cried
Joe, as soon as he could recover. ``Stop the thieves!''
Others took up the cry,
but before anything could be done Caven and Malone were out of the car and on
to the tracks. Both stared around in perplexity for a second.
``Come on, we can't
afford to waste time here!'' cried Caven, and ran for the bank of the cut, up
which he scrambled hastily, with his confederate at his side.
Joe saw them make the
move and was not slow to follow. Near at hand was a tall, western young man,
with bronzed features and a general outdoor manner.
``Say!'' cried our
hero. ``Will you help me to catch those two men? They are thieves and I want
them arrested. If you'll help me catch them I'll pay you well for your
trouble.''
``I'll go you,
stranger!'' answered the western young man, readily. ``You are certain of your
game?''
``Yes. That satchel has
their plunder in it. They robbed a friend of mine.''
``This suits me then,
friend. We'll round 'em up in short order.''
By this time Caven and
Malone had gained the woods. Looking back they saw Joe coming behind,
accompanied by the westerner.
``He's after us, and he
has got somebody to help him,'' ejaculated Malone.
``Well, I reckon we can
run as fast as they can,'' answered Gaff Caven. ``Come ahead!''
He led the way along a
trail that ran through the woods and came out on a winding country road. Beyond
was another patch of timber.
``This way, Pat,'' said
he. ``We'll have to take to the woods again. They are too close for comfort.''
``Can't we climb a
tree, or hide in a hollow?'' questioned the confederate.
``We'll see,'' said
Caven.
They pushed on harder
than ever, and passed in among some tall trees. Then they came to a tree that
was bent over.
``Up you go,'' cried
Caven, and gave his confederate a boost into the tree. Then he hauled himself
up.
``Now climb to the
top,'' he went on, and Malone did as requested. Caven followed suit, and both
hid themselves among the thick branches.
``They won't find us
here,'' said Malone, after ten minutes had passed.
``Don't make a noise,''
whispered Caven.
After that they
remained silent. From a great distance came a shouting, and the whistling of
locomotives. The trees were being hauled from the car tracks. A little later
they heard more whistling and then the two trains passed on their way.
``The trains have
gone,'' whispered Malone. ``Do you think the boy got aboard one of them?''
``No, I don't,''
answered his companion. ``He is too determined a lad to give up so easily. He
must be still looking for us.''
CAVEN was right, Joe
and his newly-made friend were still in the woods, doing their best to locate
the two rascals.
They had found the
trail but lost it in the patch of tall timber, and were gazing around when they
heard the trains leaving the cut.
``There goes our
outfit, friend,'' said the westerner. ``And there won't be another train along
for several hours.''
``It's too bad, but it
can't be helped,'' answered our hero. ``But I'll pay you for all time lost,
Mr.--''
``Plain Bill Badger is
my handle, stranger.''
``My name is Joe
Bodley.''
``What about these two
varmin you are after?''
``They were trying to
rob a friend of mine of some mining shares,'' answered Joe, and gave a few
details.
``Well, I vow!'' cried
Bill Badger ``That mine is close to one my dad owns. They say it ain't of much
account though.''
``Mr. Vane thinks it is
valuable. He has had a mining expert go into the matter with great care.''
``Then that's a
different thing. Were you bound for the mine?''
``Yes, and so was Mr.
Vane. We were on the train together when he was robbed.''
``I see. I was going
out to my dad's mine.''
``Then perhaps we can
journey together-- after we get through here,'' said Joe.
``I'm willing. I like
your looks. Shake.'' And the pair shook hands.
Although a westerner,
Bill Badger knew no more about following a trail than did our hero,
consequently they proceeded on their hunt with difficulty.
``Reckon we've missed
'em,'' said Bill Badger, a while latter. ``Don't see hide nor hair of 'em anywhere.''
``It's too bad if they
got away,'' answered Joe. ``Perhaps--What was that?''
The cracking of a tree
limb had reached their ears, followed by a cry of alarm. A limb upon which Pat
Malone was standing had broken, causing the fellow to slip to another branch
below.
``Hush! don't make so
much noise!'' said Caven, in alarm.
``Gosh! I thought I was
going to tumble, out of the tree to the ground,'' gasped Malone, when he could
catch his breath.
``They are coming--I
can see them,'' whispered Gaff Caven. ``Be as quiet as a mouse.''
In a moment more Joe
and Bill Badger stood directly under the tree.
``I think the noise
came from near here,'' said Joe.
``I agree,'' answered
the westerner.
At that moment our hero
looked up and saw a man's arm circling a tree limb far over his head.
``They are up there!''
he shouted.
``Sure?''
``Yes, I just saw one
of them.''
``Then we've got 'em
treed,'' came with a broad grin from Bill Badger. ``What's the next turn of the
game?''
``We have got to make
them both prisoners.''
``All right. Have you
got a shooting iron?''
``No, but I can get a
club.''
``Then do it, and I'll
use this, if it's necessary,'' and the young westerner pulled a pistol from his
hip pocket.
``I wish we had some
ropes, with which to tie them,'' continued Joe.
``Here's a good big
handkerchief.''
``That's an idea. My
handkerchief is also good and strong.''
``You do the pow-wowing
and I'll do the shooting, if it's necessary,'' said Bill Badger.
Joe looked up into the
tree again but could see nobody.
``Caven!'' he called
out. ``I know you are up there and I want you to come down.''
To this remark and
request there was no reply.
``If you don't come
down we may begin to fire at you,'' went on our hero.
``Oh, say, do you think
he'll shoot?'' whispered Malone, in sudden alarm.
``No; shut up!''
returned Caven.
``Are you coming down
or not?'' went on Joe,
Still there was no
reply.
``I'll give 'em a shot
to warn 'em'' said Bill Badger, and fired into the air at random.
``Don't shoot me!''
roared Pat Malone. ``Please don't! I'll come down!''
``Well, you come down
first. Caven, you stay up there for the present.''
After this there was a
pause, and presently Pat Malone came down out of the tree looking sheepish
enough.
``Up with your hands!''
cried Bill Badger, and confronted by the firearms the hands of the rascal went
up in a hurry.
Then Joe took his
handkerchief and stepped up behind Malone. The hands were lowered and crossed
and our hero tied them firmly together at the wrists.
``Now back up to that
tree yonder,'' said our hero. ``And don't you dare to move.''
``I'll do just as you
say,'' whined Malone. ``Only don't shoot me.'' He was a coward at heart.
``Now, Caven, you come
down!'' shouted Joe.
``I don't think I care
to,'' answered that rascal, coolly.
``If you don't come
down I'll come up after you with my pistol,'' broke in Bill Badger.
``Maybe I can do a
little shooting myself,'' went on Gaff Caven.
``I'll risk that.''
More words followed,
but in the end Caven thought it best to descend and did so. Yet his face still
wore a look of defiance. He was compelled to turn around, and his hands were
also tied behind him.
``Now I want those
mining shares, Caven,'' said Joe.
``I haven't got them.''
``Where is the
satchel?''
``I threw it away when
you started after me.''
``Down at the railroad
tracks?''
``Yes.''
``Don't you believe
that,'' broke in Bill Badger. ``At least, not unless he emptied the satchel
first.''
``Show me the way you
came,'' said Joe.
``Make him point out
the satchel, or make him suffer,'' went on Bill Badger.
``I've got an idea!''
cried our hero, suddenly. ``Perhaps he left the satchel in the tree.''
``That's so. Well, if
you want to climb up and look around, I'll watch the pair of 'em.''
``Don't let them get
away.''
``If they try it,
they'll go to the hospital or the graveyard,'' replied the western young man,
significantly.
``The satchel ain't in
the tree,'' growled Caven, but his tone lacked positiveness.
``I'll soon know for
certain,'' said our hero.
He climbed the tree
with ease, having been used to such doings when living with the old hermit. As
he went from branch to branch he kept his eyes open, and presently saw a bit of
leather sticking out of a crotch. He worked his way over and soon had the
satchel in his possession.
``How are you making
out?'' called up Bill Badger.
``I've got it!''
shouted our hero, joyfully.
``Got the papers?''
``Yes,--everything,''
said Joe, after a hasty examination.
``Hang the luck!''
muttered Gaff Caven, much chagrined.
Our hero was soon on
the ground once more. Here he examined the contents of the satchel with care.
Everything was there, and, locking the bag, he slung the strap over his
shoulder.
``Now, what's the next
move?'' queried Bill Badger.
We ought to have these
men locked up. How far is it to the nearest town?''
``Ten or twelve miles,
I reckon. I don't know much about the roads.''
``Why can't you let us
go?'' asked Malone. ``You've got what you want.''
``If I let you go
you'll be trying to make more trouble for Mr. Vane and myself.''
``Don't talk to them,''
growled Caven. ``If you want to lock us up, do so!''
He was in an ugly humor
and ready for a fight.
``We'll march 'em
along,'' said Bill Badger, and so it was agreed.
``ARE YOU going to let
them arrest us?'' whispered Pat Malone, as the whole party moved through the
woods towards a wagon road which ran nearly parallel to the railroad tracks.
``Not if I can help
it,'' Caven whispered back. ``We must watch our chances.''
Half a mile was covered
and they came out on the road. It was growing dark and there were signs of a
storm in the air.
``It's going to rain,''
said Joe, and he was right.
``See here, I don't
want to get wet to the skin,'' growled Caven. ``I'll catch my death of cold.''
``There is a barn just
ahead,'' said Bill Badger. ``Let us get inside.''
Joe was willing, and
soon all were in the barn. It was now raining at a heavy rate and they were
glad to be under shelter.
``With a barn there
ought to be a house,'' remarked our hero. ``But I don't see any.''
It grew still darker,
and the rain came down in perfect sheets. The roof of the barn leaked, and they
had to move from one spot to another, to keep out of the drippings.
While this was going on
Gaff Caven was working at the handkerchief that bound his wrists and soon had
it loose. Pat Malone also liberated himself. Caven winked suggestively at his
confederate.
``Watch me,'' he
whispered. ``When I give the signal we'll knock 'em both down and run for it.''
``But the pistol--''
began Malone.
``I'll take care of
that.''
In moving around the
old barn Caven spotted a club and moved close to it. Suddenly he snatched the
weapon up and hit Bill Badger on the arm with it. The pistol flew into a corner
and went off, sending a bullet into a board.
``Run!'' yelled Caven,
and leaped for the open doorway. Malone came beside him, and both ran off
through the rain as fast as their legs could carry them.
Joe was startled and
made after the pair. But at a groan from Bill Badger he paused.
``Are you badly hurt?''
he asked.
``He gave me a stiff
crack on the arm,'' growled the young westerner.
Joe ran for the corner
and caught up the pistol. Then he leaped for the open doorway.
``Stop, both of you!''
he called out. ``Stop, or I'll fire!''
``Don't you dare!''
shrieked Pat Malone, and ran faster than ever, behind the nearest of the trees.
Joe aimed the weapon, but before he could pull the trigger both of the bad men
were out of sight.
``Go after them, if you
want to,'' said Bill Badger. ``I'll go too.''
``You are not badly
hurt?'' queried our hero, sympathetically.
``No, but if I catch
that fellow I'll give it to him good,'' grumbled the young westerner.
Both now left the barn
and made after Caven and Malone. Once they caught sight of the rascals, moving
in the direction of the railroad tracks.
``They are going to
catch a train if they can!'' cried our hero. ``I hear one coming.''
``It's a freight most
likely,'' was Bill Badger's answer.
He was right, and soon
the long line of freight cars hove into sight around a bend and on an upgrade.
Far in the distance they beheld Caven and Malone scooting for the train with
all speed.
``They are going to
make it,'' sighed Joe. ``Too bad!''
They continued to run,
but before they could get anywhere near the tracks they saw Caven leap for the
train and get between two of the cars. Then Malone got aboard also, and the
freight train passed out of sight through the cut.
``That ends the
chase,'' said Joe, halting. ``They were slick to get away.''
``If we only knew where
they would get off we could send word ahead,'' suggested his companion.
``Well, we don't know,
and after this they will probably keep their eyes wide open and keep out of
sight as much as possible. Any- way, I don't think they'll bother Mr. Vane any
more.''
``It's not likely. I'm
a witness to what they were up to,'' answered the young westerner.
Both Joe and Bill
Badger were soaked from the rain and resolved to strike out for the nearest
farmhouse or village. They kept along the railroad tracks, and presently came
to a shanty where there was a track-walker.
``How far to the
nearest village?'' asked our hero.
``Half a mile.''
``Thank you.''
``How is it you are out
here in the rain?'' went on the track-walker.
``We got off our train
and it went off without us.''
``Oh, I see. Too bad.''
Again our hero and his
companion hurried on, and soon came in sight of a small village. They inquired
their way to a tavern, and there dried their clothing and procured a good, hot
meal, which made both feel much better.
``I am going to send a
telegram to Mr. Vane,'' said Joe, and did so without further delay. He was
careful of the satchel and did not leave it out of his sight.
They found they could
get a train for the West that evening at seven o'clock and at the proper time
hurried to the depot.
``I'm glad I met you,''
said Joe, to his newly-made friend. ``Now, what do you think I owe you for what
you did?''
``As we didn't land the
fellows in jail you don't owe me anything,'' said Bill Badger, promptly.
``Oh, yes, I do.''
``Well then, you can
pay the extra expense, and let that fill the bill.''
``I'll certainly do
that,'' said Joe, promptly.
As they rode along Bill
Badger told something of himself and of the mine his father owned, and then Joe
told something of his own story.
``Did you say your name
is Joe Bodley?'' asked the young westerner, with deep interest.
``Yes.''
``And you are looking
for a man by the name of William A. Bodley?''
``I am.''
``It seems to me I know
a man by that name, although the miners all call him Bill Bodley.''
``Where is this Bill
Bodley?''
``Out in Montana
somewhere. He worked for my father once, about three years ago. He was rather a
strange man, about fifty years old. He had white hair and a white beard, and
acted as if he had great trouble on his mind.''
``You do not know where
he is now?''
``No, but perhaps my
father knows.''
``Then I'm going to see
your father as soon as I can,'' said Joe, decidedly.
``Mind you, I don't say
that this Bill Bodley is the man you are after, Joe. I don't want to raise any
false hopes.''
``Did you ever hear
where the man came from?''
``I think he told
somebody that he once owned a farm in Kansas or Iowa.''
``This William A.
Bodley once owned a farm at Millville, Iowa.''
``Is that so! Then he
may be the same man after all. To tell the truth, he looked a little bit like
you.''
``Was he a good man?''
asked Joe, eagerly.
``Yes, indeed. But some
of the men poked fun at him because he was so silent and strange at times. I
liked him and so did father. He left us to go prospecting in the mountains.''
Thus the talk ran on
for half an hour, when the train came to a sudden halt.
``Are we at a
station?'' asked Bill Badger.
``I don't know,'' said
Joe.
Both looked out of the
window but could see nothing except hills and forests.
``We are in the
foothills,'' said the young westerner.'' ``Something must be wrong on the
tracks.''
``More fallen trees
perhaps.''
``Or a landslide. They
have them sometimes, when it rains as hard as it did to-day.''
They left the car with
some others and soon learned that there had been a freight collision ahead and
that half a dozen freight cars had been smashed to splinters.
``Do you think it can
be the freight that Caven and Malone boarded?'' came from our hero, on hearing
this news.
``It might be,''
answered Bill Badger. ``Let us take a look. Our train won't move for hours
now.''
They walked to the
scene of the wreck. One of the cars had been burnt up but the conflagration was
now under control and a wrecking crew was already at work clearing the tracks
so that they might be used.
``Anybody hurt?'' asked
Joe of a train hand.
``Yes, two men killed.
They were riding between the cars.''
``Tramps?''
``They didn't look like
tramps. But they hadn't any right to ride on the freight.''
``Where are they?''
``Over in the shanty
yonder.''
With a queer sensation
in his heart Joe walked to the little building, accompanied by Bill Badger. A
curious crowd was around and they had to force their way to the front.
One look was enough.
Gaff Caven and Pat Malone lay there, cold in death. They had paid the penalty
of their crimes on earth and gone to the final judgment.
``LET US go away!''
whispered Joe, and moved out of the gathering without delay.
``It was sure rough on
'em,'' was Bill Badger's comment.
``Oh, it was awful!''
cried our hero. I--I didn't expect this, did you?''
``Nobody did. It must
have come sudden like on to 'em.''
``It makes me sick at
heart to think of it. I--I hope it wasn't our fault.''
``Not at all. If they
hadn't broke away they'd be alive this minute. They'll never bother you or your
friend again, Joe.''
Our hero felt weak at
the knees and was glad enough to go back to the train, where he sank into his
seat. He scarcely said another word until the wreck was cleared away and they were
once more on their journey.
``I reckon you are glad
you got the satchel before this happened,'' remarked Bill Badger, when they
were preparing to retire.
``Yes. But I--I wish
they had gotten away. It's awful to think they are dead--and with such bad
doings to heir credit.''
Joe did not sleep very
well and he was up early in the morning and out on the rear platform, drinking
in the fresh air. He felt as if he had passed through some fearful nightmare.
``How do you like this
climate?'' asked Bill Badger, as he came out. ``Ain't it just glorious?''
``It certainly is,''
said Joe, and he remembered what Ned had told him. ``I don't wonder some folks
like it better than the East.''
``Oh, the East can't
compare to it,'' answered Bill Badger. ``Why I was once down to New York and
Boston, and the crowd and confusion and smoke and smells made me sick for a
week! Give me the pure mountain air every time!''
The day proved a
pleasant one and when he did not remember the tragedy that had occurred our
hero enjoyed the ride and the wild scenery.
At last Golden Pass was
reached, late at night, and they got off in a crowd of people.
``Joe!''
``Mr. Vane!'' was the
answering cry, and soon the two were shaking hands. ``Let me introduce a new
friend, Mr. Bill Badger.''
``Glad to know you.''
``Mr. Badger helped me
get back your satchel,'' went on our hero.
``Then I am deeply
indebted to him.''
``In that case, just
drop the mister from my name,'' drawled the young westerner. ``Joe tells me you
have a mine up here. My father has one, too--the Mary Jennie, next to the Royal
Flush.''
``Oh, yes, I know the
mine, and I have met your father,'' said Maurice Vane.
They walked to a hotel,
and there Joe and his young western friend told their stories, to which Maurice
Vane listened with keen interest. The gentleman was shocked to learn of the
sudden death of Caven and Malone.
``It was certainly a
sad ending for them,'' said he. ``But, as Badger says, they had nobody but
themselves to blame for it.''
Maurice Vane was
extremely glad to get back his mining shares and thanked Bill Badger warmly for
what he had done.
``Don't you mention
it,'' said the young westerner. ``I'm going to hunt up dad now. When you get
time, call and see us.''
``I'm coming up soon,
to find out about that Bill Bodley,'' said Joe.
As late as it was Joe
listened to what Maurice Vane had to tell.
``Now that Caven and
Malone are gone I do not anticipate further trouble at the mine,'' said the
gentleman. ``I am in practical possession of all the shares, and shall have a
clear title to the whole property inside of a few weeks.''
When Joe told him what
Bill Badger had had to say about a certain man called Bill Bodley he was much
interested.
``Yes, you must find
out about this man at once,'' said he. ``I will help you, as soon as certain
matters are settled.''
The next morning proved
a busy one and Joe got no time to call upon Bill Badger's father. He visited
the mine and looked over it with interest.
During the middle of
the afternoon he went back to town on an errand for Mr. Vane. He was passing a
cabin on the outskirts when he heard loud words and a struggle.
``Let me go, you
ruffian!'' cried a weak voice. Leave that money alone!''
``You shut up, old
man!'' was the answer. ``The money is all right.''
``You are trying to rob
me!''
Then there was another
struggle, and suddenly a door burst open and a man leaped into the roadway. At
sight of him Joe came to a halt. The fellow was Bill Butts, the man who had
tried to swindle Josiah Bean.
``Stop him!'' came from
the cabin. ``He has my gold!''
``Stop!'' cried Joe,
and ran up to Butts. The next moment man and boy tripped and fell, but, luckily,
our hero was on top.
``Let me go!'' growled
the man.
``So we meet again,
Butts!'' cried Joe.
The man stared in
amazement and then began to struggle. Seeing this, Joe doubled up his fists and
gave him a blow in the nose and in the right eye, which caused him to roar with
pain.
That's right!'' came
from the doorway of the cabin. ``Give it to him! Make him give me my gold!''
``Give up the gold,''
ordered Joe.
``There it is!''
growled Bill Butts, and threw a buckskin bag towards the cabin. The man from
within caught it up and stowed it away in his pocket.
``Shall I call a
policeman?'' asked Joe.
``I don't know,'' said
the man from the cabin. He wore a troubled face and had white hair and a white
beard. ``It may be--Wha-- where did you come from?'' he gasped.
``Where did I come
from?'' asked Joe.
``Yes! yes! Answer me
quickly! You are --you must be a ghost! I saw you in my dreams last week!''
``I don't understand
you,'' said Joe, and arose slowly to his feet, at which Bill Butts did likewise
and began to retreat. ``I never met you before.''
``No? It's queer.'' The
man brushed his hand over his forehead. Yes, I must be dreaming. But I am glad
I got my gold back.''
``So am I, but the
rascal has run away.''
``Never mind, let him
go.''
``What makes you think
you've seen me before?'' questioned Joe, and his breath came thick and fast.
``I--er--I don't know.
You mustn't mind me--I have queer spells at times. You see, I had a whole lot
of trouble once, and when I get to thinking about it--'' The man did not
finish.
``May I ask your
name?'' asked Joe, and his voice trembled in spite of his efforts at
self-control.
``Sure you can. It's
Bill Bodley.''
``William A. Bodley?''
``Yes. But how do you
happen to know my full name?''
``Did you once own a
farm in Millville, Iowa?''
``I had a farm in Iowa,
yes. It was Millville Center in those days.''
Joe drew closer and
looked at the man with care and emotion.
``Did you ever have a
brother named Hiram Bodley?''
``I did--but he has
been dead for years.''
``No, Hiram Bodley died
only a short time ago,'' answered Joe. ``I used to live with him. My name is
Joe Bodley. He told me I was his nephew.''
``You his nephew! Hiram
Bodley's nephew! We didn't have any brothers or sisters, and he was a
bachelor!''
``I know he was a
bachelor. But I don't know--'' Joe paused.
``He told me Joe died,
at least I got a letter from somebody to that effect. But I was near crazy just
then, and I can't remember exactly how it was. I lost my wife and two children
and then I guess I about lost my mind for a spell. I sold out, and the next
thing I knew I was roving around the mountains and in rags. Then I took to
mining, and now I've got a mine of my own, up yonder in the mountains. Come in
and talk this over.
Joe entered the cabin
and sat down, and William Bodley plied him with questions, all of which he
answered to the best of his ability.
``There was a blue tin
box I had,'' said he, presently, ``that contained some documents that were
mine.''
``A blue tin box!''
ejaculated Joe. ``Hiram Bodley had it and it got lost. I found it a long time
afterwards and some parts of the documents were destroyed. I have the rest in
my suit case at the hotel.''
``Can I see those
papers?''
``Certainly.''
``Perhaps you are my
son, Joe?''
``Perhaps I am, sir.''
They went to the hotel,
and the documents were produced. Then William Bodley brought out some letters
he possessed. Man and boy went over everything with care.
``You must be my son!''
cried William Bodley. ``Thank heaven you are found!'' And they shook hands
warmly.
He told Joe to move
over to the cabin, and our hero did so. It was a neat and clean place and soon
Joe felt at home. Then he heard his father's tale in detail--an odd and
wonderful story--of great trials and hardship.
``There will always be
something of a mystery about this,'' said William Bodley. ``But, no matter, so
long as I have you with me.''
``Uncle Hiram was a
queer stick,'' answered Joe. ``I suppose if he was alive he could explain many
things.'' And in this Joe was correct.
Let us add a few words
more and then draw our tale to a close.
When Joe told Maurice
Vane how he had found a father the gentlemen was much astonished. So were the
Badgers, but all were glad matters had ended so well.
It was found that
William Bodley's mine was a valuable one. The ore in it was about equal to the
ore in the mine owned by Maurice Vane, and this was likewise equal to that in
the mine run by Mr. Badger.
After some conversation
on the subject it was agreed by all the interested parties to form a new
company, embracing all the mines. Of the shares of this new concern, one-third
went to Maurice Vane, one-third to the Badgers, and one-third to William Bodley
and Joe. The necessary machinery was duly installed, and to-day the new company
is making money fast.
On the day after his
trouble with Mr. Bodley, Bill Butts disappeared from town. But a week later he
was arrested in Denver and sent to jail for two years for swindling a ranchman.
During the following
summer Joe received a visit from his old friend Ned, and the two boys had a
delightful time together. In the meantime Joe spent half of his time at the
mine and half over his books, for he was determined to get a good education.
For a long time William
Bodley had been in feeble health, but with the coming of Joe on the scene he
began to mend rapidly, and was soon as hale and hearty as anybody. He was an
expert miner, and was made general superintendent for the new company.
To-day Joe has a good
education and is rich, but come what may, it is not likely that he will forget
those days when he was known as ``Joe the Hotel Boy.''
THE END.
JOE, THE HOTEL BOY
Or, Winning Out by Pluck
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Illustrated, 12mo. Cloth, 60 cents
THIS is one of the last stories penned by that prince of all juvenile writers,
Horatio Alger, Jr., and is one of his best. It describes the adventures of a
youth brought up in the country by an old hermit. When the hermit dies the boy
obtains work at a nearby hotel and later on drifts to the city and obtains a
position in another hotel. There is a mystery concerning the lad's identity and
likewise the disappearance of a certain blue box, but in the end all terminates
satisfactorily.
BEN LOGAN'S TRIUMPH
Or, The Boys of Boxwood Academy
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Illustrated, 12mo. Cloth, 60 cents
THIS story was penned by Mr. Alger some NEW story was penned by Mr. Alger years
before his death but has never appeared in book form. Ben was a city newsboy,
rather rough but with a heart of gold. He did a great service for a good-
hearted farmer and the latter took Ben home with him. The lad had never been in
the country before, and his eyes were opened to a new world. Then the youth was
sent to a boarding school where he made his way to the front amid many
difficulties Mr. Alger's charm as a juvenile writer is so well known it is
needless to mention it here, and this story is in his best vein.
JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL
DAYS
Or, the Rivals of Washington Hall
Cloth, beautifully decorated. Illustrated, $1.00
YOU will love Jack Ranger--you simply can't help it. He is so bright and
cheery, and so real and life like. A typical boarding school tale without a
dull line in it.
JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL
VICTORIES
Or, Track, Gridiron and Diamond
Cloth. Illustrated, $1.00
IN this tale Jack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of
school games. There are numerous contests on the athletic field, and also a
great baseball game and a football game, all dear to a boy's heart. The rivalry
is bitter at times and enemies try to put Jack ``in a hole'' more than once.
But Jack knows how to take care of himself, and all ends well. As a picture of
boarding school life this is one of the best.
JACK RANGER'S WESTERN
TRIP
Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range
Cloth. Illustrated, $1.00
THIS second volume of the ``Jack Ranger Series'' takes the hero and several of
his chums to the great West. Jack is anxious to clear up the mystery
surrounding his father's disappearance. Before leaving the school he has several
amusing adventures, and while at the ranch and on the range more adventures of
the strenuous sort befall him. Jack is a jolly, lovable fellow as of old, and
all boys will warm to him from the first chapter.
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF
TO-DAY
DOROTHY is the daughter of an old Civil War Veteran who is running a weekly
newspaper in a small eastern town. When her father falls sick and the newspaper
property is in danger of going to pieces the girl shows what she can do to
support the family. She also aids the temperance movement in the town and helps
to solve the mystery surrounding the daughter of a wealthy drunkard who had
died. Any girl who reads this book will want to know more about Dorothy Dale at
once.
DOROTHY DALE AT
GLENWOOD SCHOOL
MORE prosperous times have come to the Dale family and Major Dale resolves to
send Dorothy to a boarding school to complete her education. At Glenwood School
the girl makes a host of friends and has many good times. But some girls are
jealous of Dorothy's popularity, and they seek to get her into trouble in more
ways than one. A girl's book with not a dull page in it.
THE YOUNG EXPRESS AGENT
Or Bart Stirling's Road to Success
Illustrated. 12mo.
Cloth. 60 cents
BART'S father was the express agent in a country town. When an Explosion of
fireworks rendered him unfit for work, the boy took it upon himself to run the
express office. The tale gives a good idea of the express business in general.
TWO BOY PUBLISHERS
Or From Typecase to Editor's Chair
Illustrated, 12mo.
Cloth, 60 cents
THIS tale will appeal strongly to all lads who wish to know how a newspaper is
printed and published. The two boy publishers work their way up step by step,
from a tiny printing office to the ownership of a town paper.
MAIL ORDER FRANK
Or A Smart Boy and His Chances
Illustrated, 12mo.
Cloth, 60 cents
HERE we have a story covering an absolutely new field--that of the mail-order
business. How Frank started in a small way and gradually worked his way up to a
business figure of considerable importance is told in a fascinating manner.
THE MOTOR BOYS
Or Chums Through Thick and Thin
IN this volume are related how the three boys got together and planned to
obtain a touring car and make a trip lasting through the summer.
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
Or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune
WITH the money won at the great motor cycle race the three boys purchase their
touring car and commence their travels. When in the West they hear of the
opening up of a new gold diggings and resolve to visit the locality in their
car.
THE MOTOR BOYS IN
MEXICO
Or The Secret of The Burred City
FROM our own country the scene is shifted to Mexico, where the motor boys
journey in quest of a city said to have been buried centuries ago by an
earthquake.
The MOTOR BOYS ACROSS
the PLAINS
Or The Hermit of Lost Lake
THIS is the latest volume in this highly successful series and takes the boys
through a variety of adventures. How they found Lost Lake, unraveled the
mystery surrounding the lonely hermit who dwelt there, and saved their precious
gold mine from falling into the hands of a band of sharpers.
FOUR BOY HUNTERS
Or The Outing of The Gun Club
By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
Illustrated. 12mo.
Cloth, 60 cents
A FINE, breezy story of the woods and waters, of adventures in search of game,
and of great times around the camp-fire, told in Captain Bonehill's best style.
In the book are given full directions for camping out, what to take along, how
to hunt both big and little game, and the like. It carries with it an outdoor
flavor that will prove appetizing to both young and old.
GUNS AND SNOWSHOES
Or The Winter Outing of The Young Hunters
Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated, 60 cents
A NEW book by Captain Ralph Bonehill is always hailed with delight by those who
have good red blood in their veins. In this volume the young hunters leave home
for a winter outing on the shores of a small lake. They hunt and trap to their
hearts' content and have adventures in plenty, all calculated to make boys
``sit up and take notice.'' A good healthy book, one with the odor of the pine
forests and the glare of the welcome camp-fire in every chapter.
THE DAREWELL CHUMS
Or, The Heroes of the School
A BRIGHT, lively story for boys, telling of the doings of four chums, at school
and elsewhere. There is a strong holding plot, and several characters who are
highly amusing. Any youth getting this book will consider it a prize and tell
all his friends about it.
THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN
THE CITY
Or, The Disappearance of Ned Wilding
FROM a country town the scene is changed to a great city. One of the chums has
disappeared in an extraordinary manner, and the others institute a hunt for
him. The youths befriend a city waif, who in turn makes a revelation which
clears up the mystery. A faithful picture of life in a great city to-day.
The DAREWELL CHUMS IN
THE WOODS
Or, Frank Roscoe's Secret
THE boys had planned for a grand outing when something happened of which none
of them had dreamed. They thought one of their number had done a great wrong
--at least, it looked so. But they could not really believe the accusations
made so they set to work to help Frank all they could. All went camping some
miles from home, and when not hunting and fishing spent their time in learning
the truth of what had occurred. A story somewhat out of the ordinary, with a
plot calculated to make anybody read on to the end.