"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 skeleton, 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.



CHAPTER XII.

THE PARTICULARS OF A SWINDLE.

"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.



CHAPTER XIII.

OFF FOR THE CITY.

"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.



CHAPTER XIV.

A SCENE ON THE TRAIN.

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 persuaded 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.



CHAPTER XV.

WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSIAH BEAN.

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.



CHAPTER XVI.

A MATTER OF SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.

"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 newsboy. "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.



CHAPTER XVII.

JOE'S NEW POSITION.

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 yo'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.



CHAPTER XVIII.

JOE SHOWS HIS MUSCLE.

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.



CHAPTER XIX.

ONE KIND OF A DUEL.

"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.



CHAPTER XX.

ATTACKED IN THE DARK.

"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.



CHAPTER XXI.

DAYS AT THE HOTEL.

"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 was 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!



CHAPTER XXII.

ABOUT SOME MINING SHARES.

"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.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FIRE AT THE HOTEL.

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."