It was easy to see that Bob Bangs was not suffering physically. He smoked half a dozen cigarettes, and applauded as loudly as anybody when a good play was made.

"Fine game," said a man sitting next to Randy.

"It is," said our hero. He looked at the man and saw that he was evidently a merchant. "Excuse me, are you from Catskill?"

"I am."

"Do you want to do me a favor if I pay you for it?"

"Well, it won't be a favor if you pay me."

"I may want your assistance and I may not. Do you see that boy there?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't look as if he was sick abed, does he?"

"Sick abed? What sort of a game is this?" and the merchant looked Randy over with much curiosity.

"That boy's father says he is sick in bed. I want to prove that it isn't so."

"What is the game, anyway?"

"He had an accident on the river and he wants damages from a man I work for. It is a put-up job."

"Oh! I've heard of such things before. I know a rascal who cut his foot with an ax and then went down to the railroad and laid the blame on a train. He got five hundred dollars, but, later on, was found out and sent to prison for the deception."

"Well, this isn't exactly like that. Didn't you hear about a sloop running into the Helen Shalley a few days ago?"

"Oh, yes, a friend of mine, a passenger on the boat, told me about it. He said the boy didn't know how to handle the craft."

"Well, that is the boy."

"Indeed!"

"Does he act as if he was hurt or suffering?"

"Not in the least."

"Would you be willing to testify to that fact, if it came to law?"

"Certainly."

"Will you give me your name and address?"

"Here is my card," and the merchant handed it over. He did not add that he occasionally sold Captain Hadley some goods and was glad to do the master of the steamboat a service.

The game was almost at an end when the ball was sent among the spectators. Seeing it coming towards him, Bob Bangs leaped up and tried to catch the sphere. It hit the tips of his fingers, stinging them greatly. Then the ball came towards Randy and he caught it and threw it back into the field.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Bob Bangs, as he caught sight of our hero.

"Watching the game," answered Randy, quietly.

"Humph!"

"Pretty nice game, Bob."

"Humph!" muttered the rich boy again.

"I see you are feeling fine again."

"I am not—I am real sick," answered the rich boy, quickly.

"Sick in bed, eh?" went on our hero, with a grin.

"I was in bed."

"Last night, I suppose. So was I."

"I'm sick yet."

"You showed it—by the way you were cheering and yelling."

"When did you come in?"

"Right after you."

"Humph! Have you been watching me?"

"Yes."

"You might be in a better business," sneered the rich boy.

"I don't think so. You need watching. You and your father want to cheat the steamboat company by pretending that you were hurt in that collision, and here you are as well and hearty as ever," added Randy in a loud voice, so that those nearby might hear.

"I ain't well—I'm sick."

"You said that before—but nobody will believe it."

"You're well enough to go to a ball game and yell and smoke cigarettes, anyway," put in the merchant sitting next to Randy.

A good play brought forth a cheer from the crowd which drowned out further talk. In the midst of the temporary excitement Bob Bangs sneaked from the stand and from the ball grounds.

"He feels sick over this," laughed the merchant.

"Well, he can't sue the steamboat company for that sickness," laughed our hero in return.



CHAPTER XXI

RANDY VISITS HIS HOME

As soon as he returned to the steamboat, Randy acquainted Captain Hadley with all he had seen and heard and gave the captain the card of the merchant.

"You have done well, Randy," said the master of the steamboat. "I fancy this will cook Mr. Amos Bangs's goose."

At Nyack, Mr. Shalley came on board and heard what our hero had to say.

"I am glad you have a witness," said he. "I have heard of Mr. Budmister before."

"A good business man," said Captain Hadley. "He will make a good witness—if the case comes to a trial."

But it never did come to a trial. Andrew Shalley received one letter from a lawyer, threatening the suit, and in return wrote back the particulars of what Randy had learned, and added that if he heard any more of the matter he would bring suit against Amos Bangs for conspiracy to defraud. There the matter ended.

The captain was so pleased that when Randy asked for a three-days' leave of absence, that he might visit his home, it was readily granted. The boy was also given some extra pay for his work at Catskill.

Randy's homecoming brought a warm smile to the faces of his father and his mother. His mother kissed him tenderly and his father shook hands.

"How are you feeling, father?"

"I am almost well, Randy. I expect to go to work next week."

"But not in a cellar," said the son, quickly.

"No, Mr. Jackson is going to build a wing on his house and has given me the whole contract."

"That is good."

"I will be able to make more money than if I was working for a boss," went on Mr. Thompson.

"Well, you won't be sorry for that," said Randy, with a smile.

He found matters on the farm moving along nicely. The late vegetables were coming in well and their neighbor, Jerry Borden, had given them a helping hand.

"Say, you're a-gittin' to be a regular sailor, ain't you?" said Sammy to Randy.

"Hardly a sailor," answered Randy, with a laugh. "I am a steamboat deckhand."

"It's about the same thing. Wish I was a sailor."

"Maybe if you sailed on the ocean you'd get seasick, Sammy."

"I wouldn't, nuther. I was readin' about Robinson Crusoe onct. I wish I was cast away on a barren island. It would be lots of fun."

"Especially if you had nothing to eat and to drink."

"Oh, I'd get something from the ship, as Crusoe did."

"If the ship didn't go down in the middle of the ocean."

"When I was on the island I'd sleep every morning as long as I wanted to."

"What would you do if the savages came after you?"

"I'd fight and kill them all—that is, all but one. I'd want that one for my man Friday."

"He ain't going to be no sailor," broke in Mrs. Borden, who overheard the conversation. "He is going out to hunt eggs an' he is a-goin' to do it right now, or I'll get the whip."

"I'll get the eggs," answered Sammy, and hurried off without further delay.

"That boy is crazy to go somewhere all the time," said Mrs. Borden. "He doesn't seem to like the farm a bit."

"Better let him look for work somewhere," said Randy. "Maybe it will cure him of some of his notions."

"Maybe," sighed the mother.

All too soon Randy's visit had come to an end. He remained at the little farm over Sunday, going to church with his father and his mother, and left for the Hudson River early Monday morning.

Several days passed quietly and once more our hero fell into his routine work. Jones was sick, so the deckhands had a little more to do than usual. Randy pitched in with vigor, much to the satisfaction of Malloy and Captain Hadley.

One day, while handling baggage at the dock in New York, Randy was surprised to see Amos Bangs and a stranger come aboard. He soon lost sight of the pair and did not see them again until the middle of the afternoon, when he discovered them in a corner of the cabin, talking earnestly.

"It is queer Mr. Bangs should use this boat—after his quarrel with Captain Hadley and Mr. Shalley," said our hero to himself.

He had occasion to pass the pair a little later and was surprised to hear the name of Mr. Bartlett mentioned.

"Don't worry; we'll down Bartlett easily enough," said the strange man, a fellow with bushy black whiskers.

"I hope so," answered Amos Bangs.

Curious to know what they could be saying about Jack's father, and remembering what he had heard in the past, Randy walked outside of the cabin and close to a window which was wide open. From this point he could hear what was said without being seen very readily.

"I don't like the way matters are standing," he heard Amos Bangs say. "We must make our position more secure, Tuller."

"I don't see how we are to do it," answered the man with the heavy whiskers.

"I wish I could get Bartlett to sell his stock and sign over all his interest."

"Can you do that without making him suspicious of what is going on?"

"Humph! He is suspicious already, that's the trouble."

"Does he know about the deal with Kastner?"

"I think not."

"It will be a blow, when he hears of it."

"I don't intend he shall hear of it just yet. If I had Robinson where I wanted him, I'd go ahead."

"Can't you get him?"

"Get him? I don't dare breathe a word to him." Amos Bangs laughed. "And the funny part of it is, Bartlett thinks Robinson is in with us."

"You are sure of that?"

"Dead certain."

"Then you must keep Bartlett and Robinson apart."

"If I can."

"What did you do with the papers you took from Bartlett's desk?"

"They are in my safe at home."

"Why don't you destroy them?"

"I will, some time."

"It is dangerous to leave them around."

"I am the only person who knows the combination of the house safe. The papers can't get out without me."

So the talk ran on for a good hour, during which time Randy heard many things which appeared to be of value to Mr. Philip Bartlett. Then the two men arose and went to the smoking room, and that was the last our hero saw of them until they left the boat, half an hour later.

The talk he had heard set Randy to thinking. Plainly Amos Bangs and his companion were a pair of rascals and were trying to defraud Mr. Bartlett out of some if not all of his belongings.

"I'll have to call on Mr. Bartlett and tell him what I have heard," Randy told himself.

"See here!" called out Peter Polk, striding up as Randy was going to the lower deck. "What are you loafing around here for?"

"I am going below now," answered our hero.

"You can't shirk your work that way, Thompson." The purser came closer. "Listen," he whispered. "After this you keep your nose out of my business."

"I didn't know I had my nose in your business, Mr. Polk."

"Oh, you can't fool me, Thompson. I know it was you went to Captain Hadley with the story of how I was treating my relatives."

"You mean the Clares?"

"Of course I do. After this you keep your mouth shut," pursued the purser. "If you don't—well, you'll wish you had, that's all." And Peter Polk went away in extremely bad humor.



CHAPTER XXII

MR. BARTLETT MAKES A MOVE

As soon as the boat had tied up at Albany, and his work was at an end, Randy attired himself in his best and took a street car for the residence of the Bartletts. It was a humble place on a side street, quite in contrast to the fine residence the family had occupied in Riverport.

"Hullo, Randy!" cried Jack, as he came to the door to answer our hero's ring. "This is a surprise. Walk right in. Did you send word that you were coming?"

"I did not, Jack. Is your father home?"

"Yes, he is just finishing his supper."

"I want to see him."

"Had your supper?"

"Yes, I got a bite before I left the boat."

"All right—otherwise I know mother will welcome you at our table."

Jack went off to tell his father, and presently Mr. Bartlett walked in. He looked rather care-worn and tired. Evidently his new situation was a hard one to fill and did not agree with him.

"How do you do, Randy?" said Mr. Bartlett. "Glad to see you. Jack says you want to see me."

"I do, Mr. Bartlett. Can I talk to you in private?"

"Certainly. Come into the parlor."

Mr. Bartlett led the way and closed the door. Then both sat down.

"I want to tell you something about Mr. Bangs and a man named Tuller," began Randy. "They were on the boat to-day and I overheard some of their talk."

"Tuller, eh?" said Mr. Bartlett, and his brow darkened.

As well as he could Randy repeated the talk he had heard. Jack's father listened with keen interest. He was astonished when Randy mentioned the papers which had been abstracted from his desk.

"So Bangs has them in his safe at home, eh?" he cried. "Well, I am going to get them, be the cost what it may. They belong to me, and I am going to take them no matter where I find them."

He was equally astonished to hear that a certain Mr. Robinson was not acting with Amos Bangs and certain other men, Tuller included.

"They gave me to understand that Robinson was with them," said Philip Bartlett. "If Robinson will only act with me, perhaps I can do a great deal."

"Then why don't you write to Mr. Robinson and find out?"

"I will go and see him."

"Oh, then he lives here."

"No, in Springfield. But our works are going to shut down for a few days, so I will have ample time. Randy, I am very thankful to you for bringing me this news."

"I hope it does you some good, Mr. Bartlett."

"I think it will. Perhaps I'll only be able to scare Bangs, but that may make him careful, so I can get something out of my stock in the iron works company."

"If you ever want me as a witness I will do what I can for you."

"Thank you, my lad; you are kind and I will remember what you say."

After that Mrs. Bartlett and Jack came in and learned something of what had brought our hero to the house.

"Good for you, Randy!" cried Jack. "Father, if I were you, I'd break into old Bangs's safe."

"Pray do nothing rash," pleaded Mrs. Bartlett. "Remember he is rich and has many friends."

"He is certainly rich," said Randy, "but I doubt if the family have many friends. All of them are too overbearing."

"Bangs broke into father's private desk and took the papers," went on Jack. "It would be only tit for tat to break open the safe and get the papers back."

"I shall see Robinson first and then make up my mind what to do," answered his father.

Randy spent a pleasant evening with Jack, and when it came time to go to the boat Jack walked half the distance with our hero.

"I wish father could get what is due him," said Jack on the way. "He can't stand the hard work he is now doing."

The next morning Randy sailed down the river on the steamboat. Twenty-four hours later Mr. Bartlett crossed the Hudson and took a train for Springfield. He hoped to find Mr. Robinson at one of the banks and he was not disappointed.

The bank official—for such Mr. Robinson was—listened with interest to all Philip Bartlett had to tell. He shook his head when Amos Bangs and Tuller were mentioned.

"I suspected as much," said he. "I was given to understand that Bangs had bought you out. I couldn't understand it either, for you once told me that you did not wish to leave the works. I have just gotten back from a trip to Europe and have a good deal to attend to here, but I will take this matter up as soon as I possibly can."

"And you will stand in with me?" asked Mr. Bartlett, anxiously.

"If you wish it."

"I do."

"Then we must act together."

"And what would be your advice regarding those papers in Bangs's private safe at his house?"

"Get out a search warrant and take a professional safe man along, to open the strong box," answered the bank official, promptly. "And do not delay either. He may take it into his head to burn the papers up."

"I will do as you say," answered Mr. Bartlett with decision.

Some of his old-time will power had come back to him and he lost not a moment in carrying out his plans. He visited a firm dealing in safes and from them got the address of a man who claimed to be able to open any ordinary safe made. Then he called on this individual.

"You open safes?" he asked.

"I do—if I have the proper authority," answered the man.

"Can you open a first-class house safe?"

"Yes."

"How long will it take?"

"From five minutes to three hours."

"What are your charges?"

"Ten to fifty dollars. I'll have to see the safe before I can set a definite figure."

"Will you be at liberty to-morrow?"

"I'll be at your service if you engage me now."

"Very well, you may consider yourself engaged. I wish you to meet me in Riverport at about noon."

"Your own safe?"

"No."

"You'll have authority to open it?"

"I think so. I've got to go to court to get it, though."

"Ah! a legal case, eh?"

"Yes. You don't object, do you?"

"Oh, no, I have many legal cases. Had to force a safe for some lawyers in Bridgeport only last week."

"You will not disappoint me?"

"Not at all, Mr. Bartlett."

With this understanding Philip Bartlett left the safe opener and took a train back to his home. But, as it happened, a certain man saw him leaving the safe opener's office. This man was none other than Tuller, the friend to Amos Bangs.

"Bartlett, eh?" murmured Tuller to himself. "What is he doing in Springfield?"

He chanced to know the safe opener, whose name was Westinghouse, and presently dropped into the other's office as if by accident.

"How is business, Westinghouse?" he said, indifferently.

"Fair," was the answer. "Had two jobs last week."

"Good enough."

"How is business with you?"

"Booming. I suppose you get jobs ahead, is that it, or do you go out on the run, so to speak?"

"Sometimes I get orders ahead, but most of the jobs come in on the run—safe out of order, or something like that. I've got to go to Riverport to-morrow."

"Is that so? Bank?"

"No, a private party, I reckon. Going to have a safe opened by an order from the court, I think."

"Is that so! Well, I wish you luck on the job. Good-day."

"Good-day!" answered the safe opener.

Once on the street Tuller's face changed.

"Bartlett must have given that order, and if so he means to either open up the safe at the iron works or else the safe at Bangs's house. I must see Bangs and warn him, so that nothing is found which will do us harm!"

At first he thought to telegraph, but then came to the conclusion that it would be too risky. A letter might not be received in time.

"I'll go myself," he said, and an hour later was on his way to Riverport.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE PAPERS IN THE SAFE

At Riverport the next day Mr. Bartlett called upon a lawyer with whom he was well acquainted and told to the legal gentleman all that he had learned and proposed to do.

"I wish your assistance, Mr. Soper," he said.

"You shall have it," was the lawyer's prompt answer.

"Can you get an order from the court to open that safe?"

"I believe I can. Come, we will go and see the judge at once."

Fortunately for Mr. Bartlett the judge was easily found, and when the matter was explained he issued the necessary papers and placed them in the hands of one of the constables.

"But how are you going to open the safe if it is locked?" asked the judge. "Constable Carley is not equal to it."

"I have engaged a professional safe opener," answered Mr. Bartlett. "He can do the trick for the constable."

"Very well."

Mr. Bartlett, the lawyer, and the constable waited until the stage came in. The safe opener was one of the passengers and at once joined the crowd and was introduced.

In the meantime Jasper Tuller had also arrived in Riverport. In the morning he lost no time in calling at the iron works.

"I want to see Mr. Bangs," he said, to the clerk who came to wait on him.

"Sorry, sir, but Mr. Bangs went out of town late last night."

"When will he be back?"

"Not until some time this afternoon—possibly not until evening."

"Where did he go? I must communicate with him at once."

"He went to Rochester, but I can't give you the exact address," answered the clerk.

Jasper Tuller groaned in spirit. Could he have telegraphed to Amos Bangs he would have done so, but the telegram would have remained at the office awaiting a call.

"I must make a move on my own account, if I can," he muttered.

He called a carriage and was driven to the Bangs mansion. A servant answered his rather impatient ring at the front door.

"Is anybody at home?" he asked, abruptly.

"Mr. Bangs has gone away, sir."

"I know that," he snapped. "Is Mrs. Bangs at home?"

Now it happened Mrs. Bangs had come home the night before, intending to go away again two days later. But she had given orders that she wished to see no one.

"I—I don't know," said the servant girl. "I can see. What is the name?"

"Jasper Tuller. It is highly important that I see somebody of the family at once," went on the visitor.

Mrs. Bangs was in an upper hallway and overheard the talk. She knew her husband had had some trouble with a book agent over the payment of a bill and took Tuller to be that person.

"A gentleman to see you, Mrs. Bangs," said the maid. "He is very anxious about it."

"I cannot see anybody," returned the fashionable woman, coldly. "Tell him I am not at home."

The girl went down into the hallway, where she had left Jasper Tuller standing.

"Mrs. Bangs is not at home, sir. You will have to call some other time."

"Is Mr. Bangs's son at home?"

"No, sir; he is away for the summer."

"When will Mrs. Bangs be back?"

"I can't say, sir."

"It is too bad. The matter is very important. I came all the way from Springfield to see Mr. Bangs. They told me at the works he had gone to Rochester. I wanted to see him or his wife on business. Have you any idea where I can find Mrs. Bangs?"

The girl hesitated.

"N—no, sir," she faltered.

Mrs. Bangs was listening as before and now realized that something unusual was in the air. She slipped down a back stairs and out of a rear door. Then she came around to the front piazza just as the door opened to let Tuller out.

"Mamie, who is this?" she asked, looking at the servant girl meaningly.

"Are you Mrs. Bangs?" asked Jasper Tuller, quickly, and, as she nodded, he continued: "I am glad you have come. I am Jasper Tuller, one of the stockholders in the iron works. Perhaps you have heard your husband mention my name."

"I have, Mr. Tuller. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to see you in private"—this with a side glance at the servant girl.

"Very well, step into the library, Mr. Tuller," and the fashionable woman led the way to that apartment. Then the door was carefully closed.

"Something is wrong," said the servant girl to herself. "I wonder what it can be?"

She was of a decidedly inquisitive nature and not above playing the eavesdropper. She tiptoed her way to the library door and listened intently, while at the same time applying her eye to the keyhole.

"Now, what is it, Mr. Tuller?" asked Mrs. Bangs, after the door to the library was shut.

"Briefly, it is this," said the visitor. "Your husband has certain papers in his safe—papers which belong to another man,—Philip Bartlett."

"Proceed."

"I warned him to destroy the papers but he has not done so. Now Mr. Bartlett is going to come here, force open your safe, and take the papers away."

"Come here—force our safe!" gasped the fashionable woman. "He dare not do it."

"He is going to do it legally, I presume."

"You mean he will bring an officer of the law here?"

"Yes. If those papers are found it will look black for your husband, for he has no right to have them in his possession."

"Oh, Mr. Tuller, what shall I do?"

"It is easy enough. Open the safe, take out the papers, and put them where they cannot be found."

"Yes, but I do not know how to open the safe!"

"Don't you know the combination? Your husband said something about that, but I felt there must be some mistake."

"I did know the combination once, but I believe I have forgotten it," went on the fashionable woman. She knitted her brows. "Let me see. It was three 9's, I remember—9, 18, and 27."

"Yes! yes! And what else. See if you cannot think. It is so very important—not alone for your husband, but also for myself and others."

"I am trying to think. Let me see—yes, there was a 2 and a 3 and then another 2,—I mean so many times around."

"I believe I understand, Mrs. Bangs. You mean twice around to 9, three times around to 18, twice to 27, and then off at 0."

"Yes, yes, that is it!" burst out the lady of the mansion. "How clever some men are!" and she beamed on her visitor, who chanced to be well dressed and not bad-looking.

"If that is correct, I'll soon have the safe open," said Jasper Tuller, and walked over to where the strong box stood, in a corner of the apartment.

The lady of the mansion hovered near while Jasper Tuller got down on his knees and began to try the combination. He had to work the knob all of a dozen times before the door of the safe came open.

"At last!" he murmured, as the contents of the safe stood revealed.

"Do you see the papers, or rather, do you know them?" asked Mrs. Bangs.

"I will know them—if I can lay eyes on them," was the reply, as Tuller began to rummage around in the safe.

The papers were sorted out in different piles and he went through each pile as rapidly as possible. Presently he found what he wanted.

"Here they are!" he cried in triumph, as he held them up.



CHAPTER XXIV

ANOTHER HIDING PLACE

Mrs. Bangs breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the papers.

"You are certain you are right, Mr. Tuller?" she asked, anxiously.

"Yes."

"Where did those papers come from?"

"Mr. Bartlett's desk at the iron works."

"As they were in my husband's safe I think you ought to give them to me."

"I will do so, Mrs. Bangs. But you must put them where they cannot be found."

"Trust me for that."

"The officers of the law may search the whole house."

"Dare they do such a thing?"

"Yes, but if everything is found square your husband can sue Bartlett for damages," and Jasper Tuller chuckled loudly. "It will be a good joke on him."

"There are no more of the papers?"

"I will take another look and make sure."

This was done, but no more papers belonging to Philip Bartlett could be found. Then the safe was locked once more.

"I will put these papers away at once," said Mrs. Bangs and left the library with the documents in her hand. She was gone all of five minutes and came back smiling quietly to herself.

"Now they are safe," she said. "Nobody can possibly find them."

"I am glad to hear it," answered Tuller. "Now I had better be going—before Bartlett appears. Don't say anything about my having been here."

"I will not."

"And another thing, Mrs. Bangs. Pretend not to know how to open the safe. That will compel them to break it open, and your husband's case against Bartlett will be so much stronger."

"I shall follow your advice, Mr. Tuller. But look, somebody is coming already!" went on the fashionable woman, as a carriage turned in from the road and came toward the horse block.

"I must get out of this! Can I go by a back door?"

"To be sure," said Mrs. Bangs, and showed the way. As Tuller slipped out and passed toward the back road where Randy had had an encounter with Bob Bangs, there came a ring at the front door.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Bangs," said Mr. Bartlett. "Is your husband at home?"

"He is not," answered the fashionable woman, coldly.

"I've got a search warrant for this place," said the constable, pushing his way in, and he proceeded to read the document aloud.

"This is an outrage!" cried Mrs. Bangs, with assumed dignity. "An outrage, and you shall pay dearly for it, Mr. Bartlett. My husband is no thief, to steal your papers."

"Perhaps not," answered Philip Bartlett. "Nevertheless, I am going to have his safe searched and also this house."

"Well, since you have the law on your side, go ahead. But you shall answer to my husband for this indignity."

The constable began his work, and the safe opener approached the strong box and inspected it.

"Can you open it?" asked Mr. Bartlett, anxiously.

"With ease," was the answer. "This is one of the old-style safes."

"How much will it cost?"

"Ten dollars."

"Then go ahead."

The safe opener was soon at work. He turned the knob around slowly, listening intently in the meanwhile. He worked thus for perhaps ten minutes, when the door to the safe came open without an effort.

Mrs. Bangs was disappointed. She had expected that the safe would have to be blown open in the most approved burglar fashion, and was wondering what bill for damages she could render.

"You must have known the combination," she said, tartly, to the safe opener.

"This is my business," was the quiet answer.

The constable, with Mr. Bartlett's aid, went through all the papers in the safe. Of course the all-important documents were not found.

"Well?" asked the lawyer, after a long wait.

"They are not here," replied Mr. Bartlett. He felt sick at heart over his failure to bring the papers to light.

"Not here!"

"No, they must have been removed."

The library was searched, and then a look was taken through the whole house. Mrs. Bangs followed the men everywhere.

"You shall suffer for this outrage," she said to Mr. Bartlett several times.

"I presume I shall have to stand for what I have done," he answered, meekly. "Of one thing I am certain, Mrs. Bangs. Your husband has those papers, or else he has destroyed them."

"You can say what you please, Mr. Bangs is an honest man and a gentleman," retorted the fashionable woman.

At last there was nothing left to do but to leave the mansion, which Mr. Bartlett did with reluctance.

"I am afraid I have made a mess of it," he said to his lawyer. "I was certain we would find those papers."

"I am afraid you have hurt your case, Mr. Bartlett," answered the legal light, bluntly. "Bangs will now be on his guard and will take good care to keep those papers away from you."

"Perhaps he has destroyed them."

"That is not unlikely, since it would do him small good to keep them."

"What do you advise me to do next?"

"You had better wait and see what develops," said the lawyer.

The safe opener and the constable were paid off and Philip Bartlett returned to Albany in anything but a happy frame of mind. A day or two later he called upon Randy, when the steamboat tied up at the dock for the night.

"My fat is in the fire," he said to our hero, and told of his failure to locate the missing documents.

"Mr. Bartlett, I am sure Mr. Bangs said the papers were in his safe!" cried Randy. "He must have taken them out when he returned home."

"You can be a witness if the matter is brought into court?"

"Of course. I remember very well all I heard."

"Well, that is something," answered Philip Bartlett, hopefully.

He went home and the next day received a strong letter from Amos Bangs denouncing him for the action he had taken. Part of the letter ran as follows:

"I should sue you for damages, only I do not wish to drag you into court on account of your wife and family. In the future you need expect no favors from me. I am done with you. If you want to sell your stock in the iron company I will give you the market price, not a cent more. Remember, I shall be on my guard against you in the future, and if you dare to molest me again you shall take the consequences."

"He will do what he can to ruin us," said Mrs. Bartlett when her husband read the letter to her.

"I suppose so."

"What is the market price of the stock?"

"It has no regular market value now. Bangs will buy it for about ten cents on the dollar."

"Oh, Philip, that is so little!"

"I'll not sell the stock," said Mr. Bartlett. "I'd rather lose every cent than play into Amos Bangs's hands!"



CHAPTER XXV

A VICTORY FOR RANDY

One day Randy was out in Albany buying a new pair of shoes when he met Rose Clare, who was also doing some shopping for her mother.

"Oh, Randy, how do you do!" cried the girl, running up and shaking hands.

"Very well, Rose," he answered. "You look well."

"Oh, I am feeling splendid."

"It did you good to get out of New York."

"Indeed it did, and mamma is ever so much better too."

"I am glad to hear that. Do you like it at Captain Hadley's home?"

"Yes, mamma and Mrs. Hadley have become great friends."

"Do you go to school?"

"Yes. And, oh, I 'most forgot to tell you. I got a letter from New York to-day. It was from another girl, one who lived in the house with us. She says Bill Hosker has come back to that neighborhood."

"To stay?"

"She says he is around every night."

"Then I am going to hunt him up."

"Oh, Randy, please don't get into any more trouble," pleaded Rose.

"He has got to give back my money, or take the consequences."

"You know what a ruffian he is!"

"I will be on my guard this time, Rose, and maybe I'll take a friend along," added our hero.

When he returned to the steamboat he told Jones about what he had heard. Jones was now feeling very well once again, and he readily volunteered to go with Randy and hunt up Hosker as soon as the boat got to the metropolis. Then Pat Malloy got wind of what was up and said he would go too.

"It's no use of going to the police wid such a mather," said the head deckhand. "We'll bring the rascal to terms ourselves."

It was a clear, cool night when the landing was made at New York. The deckhands hurried through their labors and then made off for the neighborhood where Randy had been attacked.

"Here is the spot where I was first robbed," said our hero, and pointed it out.

They walked around the neighborhood for nearly an hour, and were growing somewhat disheartened when Randy gave a cry:

"There he is!"

"You are sure?" asked Jones.

"Yes."

"Let me speak to him first. Then we'll know there ain't no mistake," went on Jones.

Randy was willing and he and Malloy dropped behind.

Bill Hosker had just come out of a saloon and was wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned down a side street.

"Hullo there, Bill Hosker!" cried Jones, pleasantly.

The bully and thief swung around on his heel and looked at the deckhand in perplexity.

"Who are you?" he asked, roughly.

"Am I right? Is this Bill Hosker?"

"Dat's my handle."

"Then you are the man I want to see," said Jones and beckoned for the others to come up.

When the street ruffian saw Randy his face changed color and he wanted to run away, but Jones grabbed him and so did Malloy. As both were powerful men, Hosker was as a kitten in their grasp.

"Youse fellers let me go!"

"I want you to give up the money you took from me," said Randy.

"I don't know you, young feller!"

"Yes, you do. Will you give up the money or not?"

"I ain't got no cash."

"Then you'll come to the station house with me."

"I bet yer I won't!" cried Bill Hosker.

He started to struggle when Jones hauled off and slapped him hard on the right ear.

"Now be good, or I'll shove a few of your teeth down your throat," said the deckhand. "This ain't no foolin' affair. Give up the boy's money and be quick about it. If you don't give up I'll maul you so your own mother won't know you!"

Bill Hosker was thoroughly alarmed. He did not mind going to the station house but he did mind a good drubbing, and he saw that those who held him were in no mood to be trifled with.

"Say, let us straighten dis t'ing out," said he at length.

"I want my money," answered Randy.

"Will yer drop de matter if I cough up de cash?"

"Yes."

"All right den. How much was it?"

"Four dollars and eighty cents."

The street ruffian pulled a small roll of bills from his pocket.

"Dare you are," he said, as he passed over five dollars. "Youse kin keep de change."

Randy took the bills and stowed them away in his pocket.

"I'll give the change to some poor person," he said. "I want only what is coming to me."

"Are ye done wid de rascal?" asked Malloy.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not," answered the head deckhand.

"And neither am I," added Jones.

And then both hauled off and let Bill Hosker have it, right and left. The street ruffian had one eye blackened and a tooth knocked out, and went down in a heap more than dazed.

"Let that teach you a lesson," said Jones.

"It's better nor a month in jug," was Pat Malloy's comment. "The state won't have to feed the blackguard."

Randy had already walked on and his friends joined him, and all hurried back to the steamboat.

It was several minutes before Bill Hosker got up. "I'd like ter kill dem fellers!" he muttered.

He hurried for the nearest saloon, where he tried to drown his troubles in drink. In the saloon were several who knew him, and one man jeered him because of the black eye. This brought on another quarrel, and as a consequence both men were pushed out of the drinking resort. They continued to fight on the sidewalk, until a policeman came along and tried to stop them. Then Hosker attacked the officer, and as a consequence was placed under arrest. The next day he was brought up in court and sentenced to a year in prison for his misdeeds.

"I don't think he'll forget us," said Jones, as the steamboat was reached.

"Maybe he will lay for us," said Randy.

"Well, we can kape our eyes open," put in Pat Malloy.

"I shall not visit that neighborhood again," said our hero. "Now I have my money back I am satisfied."

"New York has altogether too many such toughs," put in Jones. "The police ought to clean them all out. When I first came here I was attacked in my boarding place on the Bowery."

"Were you robbed?"

"The fellow tried to rob me, but he didn't succeed. I played a neat trick on him."

"What did you do?"

"I had a roll of bills and these I placed in an inside pocket. I also had an imitation bank-bill—one of these advertisements you often see. Well, I took a small roll of paper and put the imitation bill around it, and put the roll in my vest pocket. The would-be thief got the roll and ran off with it."

"He must have been angry when he saw how he had been duped," laughed Randy.

"I didn't see that fellow again for nearly six months. Then I met him on the steamboat where I was working. When he saw me he sneaked out of sight in a hurry, I can tell you."

"Did you follow him up?"

"I tried to, but I didn't see him again until we were making a landing. Then I tried to grab him, but he slipped me in a crowd and went ashore as fast as his legs could carry him," concluded the deckhand.



CHAPTER XXVI

NEW TROUBLES

On the following day Randy noticed that Peter Polk seemed unusually sour and thoughtful.

"Something has gone wrong with him, that is certain," thought our hero. "I wonder what it can be?"

He did his best to keep out of the way of the purser and succeeded until nightfall. But then, when he was carrying an extra heavy trunk, Peter Polk got in his way and made him stumble and drop the piece of baggage. The trunk was split open at one end and some of the contents fell on the deck. It was a lady's trunk, filled with feminine wearing apparel, and a good many passengers laughed.

"What do you mean by running into me, you blockhead!" cried the purser, in a loud voice. "Why don't you look where you are going!"

"It was not my fault," answered Randy, warmly, not liking the man's manner of address. "You made me drop that trunk."

"I did not. It was your own clumsiness."

"No, sir," said our hero, firmly; and a crowd began to collect.

"Don't dare to contradict me!" fumed the purser. "It was your fault, and the damage shall come out of your wages."

"Mr. Polk, it was not my fault and I shall not stand for the damage done."

"Ha! you defy me, eh, you cub! Go on about your work and I'll settle with you later."

"What is the trouble here?" asked Captain Hadley, coming up through the crowd.

"The blockhead of a boy dropped that trunk and broke it open."

"He ran into me and made me drop it," retorted our hero. He felt just reckless enough to stand up for his rights, be the consequences what they might.

"Put the trunk to one side, along with the other baggage," said the captain. "We have no time to waste on this just now. Get that other baggage ashore."

"My trunk!" shrieked the maiden lady, rushing forward. "Oh, who broke my trunk?"

"It was an accident, madam."

"And all my dresses spilt out, too! I shall sue the steamboat company for damages."

"We will settle with you, madam. I am sorry it happened," went on the captain, soothingly.

"It was a mean thing to do," said the maiden lady and began to weep. "Two of those dresses are brand-new."

"I guess they are not injured much."

Randy and the others had gone to work again. Our hero's thoughts were busy.

"I believe Polk ran into me on purpose," he whispered to Jones.

"Maybe he wants to get you discharged," answered the other deckhand.

"I don't see why."

"He's down on you because of that Clare affair."

"Do you think so?"

"Sure. He hated it worse than poison, for the captain now knows just how meanly he acted towards the widow."

The damaged trunk was passed over to a man on the dock and after some excited talk the maiden lady accepted ten dollars, with which to have the box repaired and her things put in proper order. It was more than was actually coming to her and she went off secretly pleased.

In the meantime one of the passengers, an elderly man who traveled on the line a great deal, went to Captain Hadley.

"What is it, Mr. DeLong?" asked the master of the vessel, kindly.

"I wish to speak to you about that trunk that was broken open."

"What of it?"

"I saw the accident. I was standing quite near at the time."

"Well?"

"I take an interest in that young deckhand of yours—he has done me several small favors from time to time. It was not his fault that the trunk was smashed, and I wanted you to know it."

"How did it happen?"

"Your purser got in the way and made the boy stumble. To me it looked as if the purser did it on purpose."

"This is interesting, Mr. DeLong. But I don't see why the purser should do such a thing."

"Neither do I, excepting he may have a grudge against the boy."

"Humph!" The captain grew thoughtful. "I will investigate this."

"Do so, and believe me, the boy is not to blame," said the elderly passenger, and withdrew.

As soon as the end of the trip came, and the work on deck was finished, Randy was called to the captain's office.

"Now what have you to say about that smashed trunk, Thompson?"

"I am not to blame, Captain Hadley," answered our hero, and told exactly how the incident had occurred.

"Do you mean to say Mr. Polk tripped you up?"

"He ran into me and made me drop the trunk. If I hadn't dropped the trunk I would have fallen down with the box on the top of me, and gotten hurt."

"This is a strange statement, Thompson. Why should Mr. Polk run into you?"

"He hates me, because through me your family learned how he had treated Mrs. Clare when he helped to settle her husband's affairs."

This threw a new light on the matter and the captain nodded slowly and thoughtfully.

"I did not think this of Mr. Polk."

"I think he hopes I'll lose my job," went on our hero. "He continually calls me a blockhead, just to get me mad. I think he'd like to see me lose my temper and pitch into him, and then he could get me my walking papers."

"I think I will have to put the damage to the trunk down to the regular expense account," said the captain at last. "In the future be more careful, and keep out of Mr. Polk's way."

"I will certainly be careful, and I'll watch him, too," answered Randy.

Evidently Peter Polk was surprised to see our hero go to his work whistling after his interview with the captain. He went to the master of the vessel himself a little later.

"Is that boy going to pay for the trunk?" he asked, sourly.

"No, you can put it down to the regular expense account," answered Captain Hadley.

"Humph! It was his fault."

"He says not."

"Did he blame it on me?"

"He did."

"It was his own fault."

"We won't argue the matter, Mr. Polk. Put it down to the regular expenses and let it go at that," and Captain Hadley turned again to the magazine he had been reading.

"Sticking up for the boy," muttered the purser, as he walked away. "Well, I'll get that cub yet, see if I don't!"

A day passed and Randy stuck closely to his duties. He saw but little of Peter Polk and gave the purser a wide berth. The purser watched the youth narrowly, but said nothing.

"He has got it in for you," said Jones to Randy. "Take my advice and keep your eyes open."

"I am watching him."

"He is a man I shouldn't trust nohow. He has got a bad pair of eyes. I don't see how Mr. Shalley trusts him with all the boat's money matters."

"Neither do I," answered our hero.

"He could walk off with thousands of dollars if he wanted to," said Jones, and there the talk was dropped.



CHAPTER XXVII

RANDY MAKES A DISCOVERY

The next day Randy wanted to change some of his underwear and went into his locker for his things. To his surprise he found in the locker a lot of wearing apparel that did not belong to him.

"Hullo, what does this mean?" he asked himself but could not answer the question.

He looked the articles over and made sure they did not belong to any of the other deckhands. Then as he was folding up an extra-fine outing shirt, he saw a letter drop to the floor. He picked it up and saw that it was addressed to Peter Polk.

"Can these things belong to Polk?" he asked himself. "If so, how did they get here?"

Curiosity prompted him to look into the envelope in his hand. Inside was a single sheet of paper on which was scrawled in a bold, heavy hand this brief communication:

"Peter Polk: If you don't pay me that commission of twenty dollars at once, I will go to old man Shalley and let him know how you are boosting up the expense account.

G. A. G."

Randy read the letter with great interest. It was postmarked New York and the date was four days back.

"There is some mystery here," he reasoned. "What can it mean? Can Mr. Polk be cheating Mr. Shalley in some way?"

Then he remembered how the purser purchased all the supplies for the steamboat and paid the bills, and gave a low whistle.

"I must see Captain Hadley about this, and at once," he thought. "But no, maybe it would be better to go and see Mr. Shalley direct."

He placed the letter in a safe place and then went out on deck. He had just started to look for Captain Hadley,—to tell him about the strange wearing apparel—when Peter Polk rushed up to him.

"Look here, Thompson, I want you!" shouted the purser, wrathfully.

"What is it, Mr. Polk?"

"I've got you, you young thief!"

"I am no thief," answered our hero, warmly.

"You are!"

"Who says Randy is a thafe?" demanded Pat Malloy.

"I do."

"And I say it is false."

"He has stolen some of my underwear," went on the purser. "Tell me what you have done with the stuff at once!"

"Your stuff is in my locker, Mr. Polk, but I did not take it."

"Ha! what a yarn to tell. Hand the stuff over at once!"

"You can get it if you wish," answered Randy, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I will. Malloy, come along as a witness," answered the purser.

He walked to the compartment where the deckhands slept and from our hero's locker hauled the articles that belonged to him.

"What do you say to that?" he cried, turning to our hero.

"I did not put the things there, Mr. Polk."

"If you didn't, who did?" sneered the purser.

"Perhaps you did yourself."

"Me!"

"Yes."

"You are crazy, boy! Why should I do such a thing?"

"To get me into trouble. You hate me and want to injure me, that's why."

"Nonsense. You stole these things, it is useless for you to deny it."

"But I do deny it. I am no more a thief than you are—maybe not as much of a one," added Randy, significantly.

At these words the purser turned pale for a moment. But he quickly recovered.

"I shall report this to the captain."

"I'll report too."

"I'll have you discharged."

"We'll see about that."

Taking his things, Peter Polk went to the captain's office and told his story. Captain Hadley at once sent for Randy.

"This is a queer happening, Thompson," he said.

"Captain Hadley, I am not guilty," answered Randy. "It is only another plot of Mr. Polk to get me into trouble."

"And you think he put the things there himself?"

"I certainly do. I wish you would give me a day off," went on our hero, after an awkward pause.

"What for?"

"I wish to see Mr. Shalley."

"He is in New York, on business."

"So much the better. I can call on him there, after we tie up."

"Do you want to take this matter to him?"

"Not this alone. I have something else of importance. I know he will want to see me."

"Well, you can go. I hope you are not going to run away," and the captain smiled faintly.

"I have nothing to run away for, sir. Mr. Polk is down on me and I am going to do what I can to show him up, that is all. But please don't let him know that I am going to see Mr. Shalley."

"You have learned something important?"

"Yes, sir."

"About the purser?"

"Yes, sir. But I can't speak of it just yet to you."

"Well, what about this clothing affair?"

"Won't you let it rest for a few days?"

"If you wish," answered Captain Hadley, and then he was called away to attend to some important duties.

Although Randy did not know it, Peter Polk was nearby and caught a good bit of the talk between our hero and the captain. His face grew deathly pale when he learned that Randy was going to see Mr. Shalley and about his own personal doings.

"What has that cub discovered now?" he asked himself. "What can he tell about my doings?"

He was so worried he could not attend to his work. He turned the matter over in his mind and suddenly remembered the threatening letter he had received. He had paid the claim, but what had he done with the communication? He searched everywhere for it, but without avail.

"Fool that I was, that I did not tear it up and throw it overboard," he muttered to himself. "If that boy has the letter it may lead to an investigation, and then——" He did not finish but clenched his hands in rage and fear.

He watched Randy narrowly, and after New York was reached saw our hero make preparations to go ashore. He did not know that Mr. Shalley was in the metropolis and could not comprehend Randy's move.

"Are you going ashore?" he asked of our hero, when he got the chance.

"I am."

"Where are you going?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Polk, but that is my private business."

"Did Captain Hadley say you could go?"

"He did."

"Well, come to my office a minute, I want to talk to you," went on the purser, in a lower tone.

"Very well," answered Randy, and followed the man to the office, which at this time was deserted.

"Thompson, I want to know what you found in your locker besides my clothing," said the purser, after he had made certain that no outsiders were around.

"I found a cigar holder and a match safe."

"And what else?"

"I must decline to answer that question."

At this blunt refusal the brow of the purser darkened.

"You won't tell me?"

"No."

"Did you find a—er—a letter?"

"Perhaps I did."

"I want you to give it up."

"I didn't say I found it."

"But you did find it. It is my property and you must give it to me."

To this Randy was silent.

"Do you hear me?"

"I am not deaf, Mr. Polk."

"I know what you want to do!" hissed the purser. "You want to get me into trouble. But I'll not let you do it."

"Maybe you'll get yourself into trouble."

"Bah! I am not afraid of a boy, but——" He paused and his manner changed. "See here, Thompson, you are a poor boy, aren't you?"

"I admit it."

"Well, some extra money will come in handy, won't it?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Polk?"

"I'll give you—er—five dollars for that letter."

"I haven't said that I had it yet."

"But I know you have it. Come, what do you say?"

"I say, I am going about my business," answered Randy, and started for the doorway.

"Not yet!" cried the purser, wrathfully, and flung him back into a corner. "You'll settle with me first, even if I have to call a police officer!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

OUT OF A TIGHT CORNER

Randy was surprised and dazed by the treatment he received at the hands of the enraged purser and for the moment knew not what to do. He rose slowly to his feet.

"Don't you do that again!" he cried, a dangerous glitter coming into his eyes.

"I will do it—unless you give up that letter."

"You shall never have the letter, Peter Polk."

"Ha! so you admit at last that you have it!"

"I do."

"Then hand it over or I will call an officer and have you locked up."

"Call the officer, if you dare," and our hero shrugged his shoulders.

"You stole more than the clothing and the letter," went on the purser, craftily. "You took fifty dollars in money."

"I took absolutely nothing, and you know it."

"Then you want me to call in the officer?"

"Do as you please," said Randy, recklessly.

Peter Polk was nonplused. He did not want to call an officer. Yet he wanted to get the precious letter.

"You will save yourself a lot of trouble by giving up that letter, Thompson," he said, in a more subdued tone.

"Well, I don't intend to give it up."

"If I have you arrested I can send you to state's prison for five or ten years."

"I will risk it."

"What do you intend to do with that letter?" said the purser.

"That is my affair."

"Going to Mr. Shalley, eh?"

"Perhaps."

"It won't do you any good."

Again Randy was silent. He had stepped close to the door. On the instant Peter Polk did the same.

"You are not going just yet," cried the purser, meaningly.

Randy looked through the little window of the office. He heard footsteps approaching.

"Hullo there, Jones!" he called out.

"What's wanted?" came from the other deckhand.

"Come to the office, please."

In a moment Jones appeared. He was carrying a bucket of water and a deck swab.

"Now open that door," said Randy to Peter Polk. "No more nonsense, please."

"You are not wanted here, Jones!" cried the purser, angrily.

"You are wanted," said Randy. "Open the door. I want to get out."

Jones set down his pail and pulled on the door. Seeing resistance would be useless, Peter Polk allowed the door to come open. At once Randy stepped out into the gangway.

"I'll explain this to you some other time!" he called to the other deckhand, and then ran off before Peter Polk could stop him.

"Where are ye goin'?" called out Malloy, as he crossed the gang-plank.

"I'm off on business," answered our hero, and then paused for a moment. "Tell Jones to keep an eye on Mr. Polk, will you, please? It is very important."

"I will," was the reply.

In a minute more Randy was hurrying up the street. He knew where Andrew Shalley was stopping and took a car to the location.

The place was a well-known hotel and in the corridor he met the steamboat owner, just ready to go out.

"Oh, Mr. Shalley, I want to see you!" he cried.

"What is it, Randy?"

"It's quite a story and very important."

"Then come to my room," and the steamboat owner led the way to the elevator.

As soon as they were in the room our hero told his story in all of its details and then produced the letter he had found. Andrew Shalley listened closely to the story and pondered over the letter for some time.

"Randy, have you any idea who this person who signs himself G. A. G. can be?"

"I've been thinking that over, Mr. Shalley, and I have found out that there is a head clerk who works for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers, whose name is George A. Gaffney. Gaffney used to come and see Polk once in a while."

"And we buy a great many things from Bann & Shadow," put in the steamboat owner.

"So we do."

"I will look this man Gaffney up at once."

With the steamboat owner to think was to act, and going below with our hero he consulted a directory and found that George A. Gaffney lived on West Twenty-sixth Street.

"I will call upon this fellow," said he. "You can go along."

They took a car on one of the avenues and got out at the corner of Twenty-sixth Street. They had to walk half a block. The neighborhood was not of the best, and Gaffney's residence proved to be a four-story apartment house. The man lived on the top floor with his wife and four small children.

George Gaffney was at home, sitting in his shirt sleeves by a front window, smoking a pipe. He was surprised to receive visitors at that hour.

"Is this Mr. George A. Gaffney?" questioned Andrew Shalley.

"That's my name."

"Are you a clerk for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers?"

"I am."

"I would like to see you privately, Mr. Gaffney."

"Who are you?"

"I am Andrew Shalley, the owner of the steamboat Helen Shalley."

"Oh!"

George Gaffney was taken aback and showed it plainly. His wife had come to a back doorway and was looking at the visitors curiously.

"Step in, sir," said the clerk, in a husky voice. "Mary, I will see this gentleman alone," he went on to his wife, who at once retired, closing the door after her.

Andrew Shalley was a good judge of character and he saw that George Gaffney was a family man of fairly good qualities. He was extremely nervous.

"I think I can get him to confess easily enough—if he has anything to tell," thought the steamboat owner.

"Please be seated," said the clerk, and Mr. Shalley and Randy sat down. Then there was a slight pause.

"Mr. Gaffney, I am afraid I have an unpleasant duty to perform," began Andrew Shalley, in a cold, hard voice.

"Why—er—what do you mean?" stammered the clerk.

"I refer to your dealings with my purser, Peter Polk."

"I—er—I haven't had anything to do with him—that is—we had some little business, but——" The clerk was unable to go on.

"You sent him a threatening letter the other day."

"Me? Who says so?"

"I have the letter in my possession."

The clerk winced and the steamboat owner saw that the shot struck home.

"This affair is a very serious one—you know that as well as I do," continued Andrew Shalley. "The fact of the matter is, it is a state's prison offense."

The mention of prison had the desired effect. George Gaffney broke down completely.

"Oh, sir,—I—I didn't mean to do any wrong—Polk said it would be all right. He got me to go into it—it was all his doings. All I ever got out of it was thirty-five dollars and that I will pay back. Mr. Shalley, I—er—I hope you won't prosecute me, for the sake of my wife and children!" And the clerk wrung his hands in despair.

"Didn't you get any more than thirty-five dollars?"

"No, sir, not a cent more, I swear it. And Polk said that was due to me legally."

"If that is true, I will not prosecute you,—but on one condition."

"Name it."

"That you tell me everything you know about Peter Polk's doings."

"I will do it, Mr. Shalley."



CHAPTER XXIX

GEORGE GAFFNEY'S STATEMENT

"I cannot tell you all Peter Polk has done," said George Gaffney, on beginning his story, "but I can tell you all so far as it concerns his purchase of goods from Bann & Shadow."

"That will be enough," answered Andrew Shalley, and brought out a book and a pencil, to take notes.

"He came to our firm three years ago and began to purchase various goods for the Helen Shalley. At first he met all bills promptly and never asked for any rebate or commission. That lasted for about three months."

"He must have been feeling his way."

"He was. At the end of six months he made a claim of a rebate on a bill for a hundred and fifty dollars and we allowed him ten dollars. Then he got ten dollars more on another bill, and after that he claimed a rebate of ten per cent. on everything he bought of us."

"You have all those bills on your books?"

"We have."

"Good. Go on."

"He gradually got bolder and wanted me to aid him in getting a commission elsewhere on regular steamboat supplies. I was willing to make a little extra money and introduced him to the firm of Leeson & Bronette. Leeson is an easy-going man and he promised Polk a big commission on all goods purchased. Polk bought hundreds of dollars' worth of goods from them, and got, I am pretty sure, from fifteen to twenty per cent. on every bill paid."

"Oh, what a rascal!" murmured Randy.

"Then I introduced him to another man, Aaron Denman, and he got goods from that man too and got his commission—how much I do not know. For introducing him to Denman I was promised that commission of twenty dollars. I saw Polk was making money hand over fist, and when he did not pay me I got mad and wrote the letter."

"And you are sure you never got a cent more out of him than thirty-five dollars?"

"Not a cent. Once in a while he treated me to a dinner and twice he sent me a box of cigars, and that is all. To tell the honest truth, I did not press him very hard, for I did not believe in what he was doing. I want to be an honest man, and I was led into this thing almost before I knew it," continued George Gaffney.

After that he went into a great many more details, to which Andrew Shalley and Randy listened with interest.

"I can get the actual figures for you from our books," said the clerk.

"What does your firm say to this?" asked the steamboat owner.

"Oh, they wanted the business, so they simply shut their eyes and didn't say anything."

"But that was dishonest."

"True—but such things are done every day," and the clerk shrugged his shoulders.

"If Peter Polk has been getting ten to fifteen per cent. on all goods he has been buying for me he has robbed me of thousands of dollars," said Andrew Shalley.

"It will be a hard matter to prove some of the transactions, Mr. Shalley. I guess he knew how to cover up his footprints pretty well."

"Well, if I can only prove some of them it will be enough for my purpose," answered the steamboat owner.

Before he left that night he drew up a long document containing the main facts of the case, and had George Gaffney sign it and had Randy put his name down as a witness.

"What do you want me to do, Mr. Shalley?" asked our hero, after they had left the clerk's house.

"You can go back to the steamboat. I am going to hire a first-class private detective to investigate this matter thoroughly. When I expose Polk I want all the evidence on hand with which to convict him."

"He will want to know what I did."

"That is true." Andrew Shalley mused for a moment. "Randy, you mind your own business," he said suddenly and sharply. Then he began to chuckle. "Now you can go back and tell Polk that I told you to mind your own business."

"I will, sir," and our hero grinned broadly.

"I will also give you a line to Captain Hadley," pursued the steamboat owner. "That will help to keep you out of further trouble."

The letter was penned, and a few minutes later our hero was on his way back to the boat. Andrew Shalley went in another direction, to hunt up a detective to work on the case.

It must be confessed that Randy felt much lighter in heart. He now knew exactly what kind of a rascal Peter Polk was, and felt that the purser could no longer drag him into trouble.

"He will soon come to the end of his rope, and that will be the last of him," said our hero to himself.

When he arrived at the boat it was very late and everybody but the watchman had gone to bed. He turned in without awakening any of the others and slept soundly until morning.

Much to his surprise Peter Polk did not come near him that morning, and our hero was kept so busy at one thing and another that he had little time to think about the purser and his nefarious doings. As soon as he got the chance he delivered the letter Mr. Shalley had given him to Captain Hadley.

The captain read the communication in silence. Then he uttered a low whistle and looked at Randy thoughtfully.

"I've been suspecting this," he said. "Randy, I believe you are to keep mum for the present."

"Yes, sir."

"I doubt if he troubles you any more."

"I'll be glad of it."

"Well, get to work, and some time we'll see what we will see," answered the captain; and there the talk was dropped.

It was a windy and cloudy day, and a majority of the passengers were glad enough to remain in the cabin during the trip up the river. About noon it began to thunder and the sky grew very black.

"We are up against a storm now," said Jones to Randy. "We'll have to take in some of the bunting."

The order was issued, and Randy set to work, with the other deckhands, to strip the decks. Soon it was raining furiously and all of the deckhands got pretty wet. All of the passengers had gone inside, so the decks were practically deserted.

Randy was folding up some bunting when he heard a quick step behind him. Turning, he saw himself confronted by Peter Polk. The purser's face was dark and full of hatred.

"Now, Thompson, I want to know what you did last night," snarled the man.

"I went ashore," answered our hero, as coolly as he could.

"To see Mr. Shalley?"

"Yes, if you must know."

"And you gave him that letter?"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to mind my own business."

"What!" For the instant Peter Polk's face took on a pleased look. "So he really told you that?"

"Yes."

"Humph! I reckon you didn't expect such a reception."

To this remark our hero made no reply.

"Is the old man going to investigate?" went on Peter Polk.

"You had better go and ask him."

"You answer my question, Thompson!"

"I have nothing more to say."

At this the purser grew furious. There were many occasions when his temper got the better of him and this was one of them. He suddenly grabbed Randy by the throat, bending him backward over the rail.

"You little cur!" he hissed. "You are trying to get the best of me! But you shan't do it!"

"Le—let go!" gasped Randy. He could hardly speak.

"I'll let go—when I am through with you. But first I——"

What further Peter Polk had to say was drowned out by a violent crash of thunder. Then came a perfect deluge of rain, driven over the decks by a wind that blew almost with hurricane force.

Randy struggled harder than ever, but the purser continued to hold him. Then the steamboat, caught by the blast, careened to one side, and in a twinkling the youth was over the rail. Peter Polk released his hold, and down went poor Randy, until, with a splash, he sank beneath the waters of the Hudson River.



CHAPTER XXX

A SWIM FOR LIFE

The shock came so suddenly that for the moment poor Randy scarcely realized what was happening. He went down and down and swallowed not a little of the river water.

When he came up, blowing and spluttering, he could see but little around him. Fortunately, he had gone off to the rear of the steamboat, thus escaping the danger of being struck by a paddle-wheel. All was so dark and the rain was so thick he could not make out the shore line.

"I've got to swim for it," he reasoned and struck out bravely.

It was no easy matter to keep afloat with so much clothing on. He listened, thinking he might hear the steamboat, but the roaring of the wind and rain drowned out every other sound.

Presently came another flash of lightning and then he saw the boat far ahead of him. No one but Peter Polk had witnessed his fall from the deck and nobody appeared to be coming to his assistance.

He kept his head well above water and at the next flash of lightning caught a glimpse of one of the river banks. Without further hesitation he struck out in that direction.

It was a long and exhausting swim and poor Randy thought he would never reach the shore. The current carried him far down the river, to where there was a small cove, lined with rocks on one side and bushes and trees on the other. He caught at some of the bushes desperately and at last pulled himself to a place of temporary safety.

For the time being our hero did nothing but try to get back his breath and his strength. In a general way he had an idea that he was some distance below the town of Catskill. What to do next he hardly knew.

"The first thing to do is to get out of this storm, I suppose," he told himself. "But that won't do a great deal of good, since I can't get any wetter than I already am."

Feeling a little bit rested, he presently got up and walked around the edge of the cove. Then he began to climb the river bank proper. It was hard work, but soon he came out on a river roadway and saw at a distance a hotel and half a dozen fashionable cottages.

"This looks familiar," he told himself. "Well, I declare, that place yonder must be the house at which Bob Bangs and his mother are stopping!"

Back of the house was a big barn and further to the rear was another building, used as a summerhouse and a place where oars and other things for small boats might be stored.

The summer storm was now letting up a bit. It was still raining, but the thunder and lightning had ceased and the wind had gone down. To get out of the rain and rest, Randy took himself to the summerhouse.

He was busy emptying the water from his shoes, when he heard somebody utter an exclamation and turning saw Bob Bangs standing near, umbrella in hand. The rich youth was staring at him in astonishment.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded, as he entered the summerhouse.

"From the river."

"You look pretty wet."

"I have been in the water quite some time."

"Oh! Did you fall overboard from the steamboat?"

"I did."

"You must be pretty careless," went on Bob, with a sneer.

"I certainly didn't fall overboard because I wanted to," answered Randy as lightly as he could.

"Say, I understand you are trying to get my father into trouble," pursued the rich boy, throwing himself on a bench.

"Who told you that?"

"Never mind. You are hand-in-glove with the Bartlett crowd."

"Well, why shouldn't I be, Bob Bangs? Jack is my dearest friend."

"Humph! I shouldn't care for him for a friend."

"And he wouldn't pick you for a chum," added Jack, quickly.

"I consider myself better than Jack Bartlett."

To this our hero did not answer.

"My dad is going to make it hot for old Bartlett," went on Bob. "He is going to sue him for defamation of character."

"When?"

"Oh, before a great while. Bartlett had no right to search our house and break open the safe."

"He had the law on his side."

"No, he didn't. Just you wait till my dad brings suit. It will ruin the Bartletts."

"I hope not."

"How do you like being a steamboat deckhand?" went on the rich youth, to change the subject.

"Very well."

"It must be a dirty job," and Bob Bangs tilted his nose in the air.

"It might be worse."

"When I leave school I am going to be a lawyer."

"I hope you make a success of it."

"I shall—I am going to be one of the greatest lawyers in this country," added the rich boy, boastfully.

"Are your folks here?"

"My mother is. Dad is at the iron works."

"They tell me he isn't doing very well there," said Randy.

"He is doing fine. He discharged some of the good-for-nothing hands, that's all. Bartlett used to hire a lot of sticks."

"I don't believe it. Mr. Bartlett knows his business."

"Humph!"

The rain was letting up and Randy prepared to walk to Catskill. As wet as he was, he resolved not to ask any favor at the hands of Bob Banks.

"Going, eh?" said the rich youth.

"Yes."

"Humph!" murmured Bob Bangs, and that was all he said.

Despite the steady rain, Randy walked rapidly to the town—doing this that he might not take cold. Once at the town he hurried to the steamboat landing.

"Hullo, where did you come from?" exclaimed the dock master, who knew him well.

"From a bath," answered Randy with a laugh, and then said he had fallen overboard from the Helen Shalley just before the landing at Catskill was made.

"Nobody said anything about it," said the dock master.

"I guess they didn't know it," answered our hero.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Telegraph to Captain Hadley and then stay in town until the boat comes back to-morrow."

"Better get dried off first. You can come to my house if you wish. It is not far off."

"Thank you, Mr. Ball."

Randy's telegram was a short one. It ran as follows:

"Fell overboard. Am safe at Catskill. Join boat to-morrow."

The telegram sent, our hero went with Mr. Ball to the latter's house. Here he was loaned some dry clothing and Mrs. Ball treated him to a late but satisfying supper. After the meal was over, and as it was now clear, he decided to take a walk around the town before retiring. Had he known of what that walk was to reveal he would have been very much surprised.



CHAPTER XXXI

NEWS OF IMPORTANCE

As was natural, our hero drifted down to the long steamboat landing. While he was standing around, he saw a ferryboat coming across the river, filled with passengers from the railroad station on the opposite shore.

As the passengers alighted he recognized Amos Bangs in the crowd. The rich manufacturer looked around anxiously, and presently caught sight of Mrs. Bangs, who had come to meet him in a carriage. Randy slipped out of sight.

"Well?" demanded Amos Bangs, as soon as he and his wife were together.

"Oh, Amos!" the woman cried, and could not go on.

"Is that all you can say, Viola?" demanded the husband, harshly.

"I can do nothing with the girl."

"And she knows where the papers are?"

"She does."

"How did it happen?"

"When Mr. Tuller called upon me she played the eavesdropper. She saw us open the safe and take out the papers, and when I went and hid the papers she followed me."

"But you said you were sure nobody knew where the papers were."

"I thought so at the time, but I was mistaken."

"How did it come out?"

"The girl did not sweep and dust the parlor to suit me, and I took her to task about it. She threw down her broom and said she would take no words from me. Then I told her to pack her trunk and leave the house. She grew more impertinent than ever, and said she would go, but I would have to pay her her wages regularly anyway. I asked what she meant. Then she told me to go and look for the papers I had hidden."

"And they were gone?"

"Yes. I was so overcome I nearly fainted," and Mrs. Bangs's face showed her deep concern.

"What next?"

"I went back to the girl and told her she must give the papers up or I would have her arrested. She laughed in my face. Oh, Amos, think of that horrid creature doing that!"

"She knew she had you," growled the rich manufacturer. "What did you do then?"

"Why—I—broke down, I couldn't help it. I asked her what she wanted for the papers. She wouldn't tell, and I said I would give her five dollars. Then she laughed in my face again. I wanted to drive her from the house, but I didn't dare."

"Did she say what she was going to do?"

"At last she said she would make a bargain—think of it—a bargain with a servant girl! She wants me to pay her wages regularly and also twelve dollars a month for her board."

"Will she work for you?"

"No, indeed, she says she will go and live with her married sister."

"Humph! Let me see, her name is Jackson, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mamie Jackson. Her sister lives over in Oakdale."

"Did she go to Oakdale?"

"I suppose she did."

"She must have the papers with her."

"No, I think she hid them, for she said we wouldn't find the papers even if we searched her and her trunk."

"I will have to go to Oakdale and see her," said Amos Bangs, after a pause in which he rubbed his chin reflectively.

The rich manufacturer and his wife had withdrawn to a corner of the dock while talking. Randy had kept nearby, behind some boxes and barrels, and had heard every word that was spoken. That he was immensely interested goes without saying.

"On the track of Mr. Bartlett's papers at last," he told himself. "Now, what had I best do about it?"

His one thought was to outwit Amos Bangs, and with this in mind he left the dock and walked rapidly toward the telegraph office.

"I wish to send another telegram," said he as he drew the pad of forms toward him.

"Must be your night for sending messages," answered the clerk, by way of a joke.

"I want this rushed through—it is highly important."

"All right, hand it over."

Randy hardly knew what to say, but soon wrote down the following, addressed to Mr. Bartlett:

"Papers taken from Mrs. Bangs by Mamie Jackson, a servant, now at sister's in Oakdale. Hurry if you want to get them. Address me at Catskill."

Having sent the message, there seemed nothing for Randy to do but to retire. This he did, and was awakened two hours later by a message from Mr. Bartlett, which was in these words:

"Coming down first morning train. Meet me at Catskill Station, Hudson River Railroad."

Having received this message Randy consulted a time table and found that the first Albany train would arrive at the station across the river at about seven o'clock. He arranged to be on hand, and then tried to go to sleep again. But the most he could do was to take a few fitful naps.

As soon as the train rolled in Philip Bartlett alighted. Randy rushed towards him.

"Are you going to Oakdale?" he asked, quickly.

"Do you think it worth while, Randy?"

"I do."

"Then I will go. You must come along."

"I will," answered our hero, and then Mr. Bartlett got back on the train and Randy followed him.

"I left word with Mr. Ball, so Captain Hadley won't worry about me," Randy explained when seated.

"Now tell me what this means?" asked Philip Bartlett, impatiently. "I have been on the anxious seat ever since I received your telegram."

"I want you to get in ahead of Mr. Bangs," said our hero, and then told all he had overheard.

"I will make that servant girl give me those papers," said Mr. Bartlett, with decision.

"Perhaps you can scare her just as Mr. Shalley scared a fellow who was aiding another man to rob him," answered our hero. "I will tell you about that another time. I am pledged not to say anything just at present."



CHAPTER XXXII

BROUGHT TO TERMS—CONCLUSION

They had to make one change of cars and then take a stage running to Oakdale, which was but a small village four miles from Riverport. When they arrived it was close on to midday.

Fortunately for them, one of the storekeepers of the village knew Mamie Jackson's married sister and also knew Mamie, and he told them where to go. It was a dilapidated cottage on the outskirts, surrounded by a garden filled mostly with weeds.

"Not very thrifty people, that is certain," was Mr. Bartlett's comment.

"I think I shall know the servant if I see her," said Randy.

They paused at the gate and saw the two sisters near the side porch. One was on a bench shelling peas and the other was lolling in a hammock. Each looked very untidy and both wore wrappers that were full of holes.

"That is the servant," said Randy, pointing to the person in the hammock. "And see, she has some papers in her hands!"

"Step behind the wellhouse," said Mr. Bartlett, and this both of them quickly did.

"Well, go ahead and read the papers, Mamie," said the woman on the bench.

"Ain't no use, Sarah, I can't make head nor tail of 'em," answered Mamie Jackson.

"What do you suppose makes 'em so valuable?"

"I don't know. But I do know the Bangses don't want that Mr. Bartlett to get hold of 'em."

"I think you made a good bargain with the Bangses—that is, if they pay up."

"I'll make 'em pay. Oh, Mrs. Bangs was scart, I could see it." Mamie Jackson laughed shrilly. "And to think she was going to discharge me!"

"Well, I guess you gave her a piece of your mind."

"So I did. She is too stuck-up to live," went on the former servant girl. "When I get my money I'm going to have a fine dress too—and I'll buy you one, Sarah."

"Oh, Mamie, will you? I want a blue silk so!"

"I'm going to have a green silk, and a parasol to match, and then—Oh, dear! look at them bees!" And with a shriek Mamie Jackson threw up her arms and sprang out of the hammock.

For the moment the papers were forgotten, and quick to take advantage of the situation, Randy darted forward and secured them. Then he turned the documents over to Philip Bartlett.

"Who are you?" demanded the woman of the cottage, rising in alarm.

"It's that Mr. Bartlett himself!" shrieked Mamie Jackson, forgetting all about the two bees that had disturbed her, and which had now flown away. "Oh, how did you get here?" she faltered.

"I came after my papers—and I got them sooner than I anticipated," answered Mr. Bartlett, and there was a tone of triumph in his voice.

"Are those your papers?" asked the girl, trying to appear innocent.

"You know they are."

"I do not. I—I found them."

"I know better. You took them from where Mrs. Bangs hid them."

"Well, she didn't have any right to them."

"I know that well enough."

"I—I was going to send them to you," faltered the girl. She scarcely knew what to say.

"Really," returned Philip Bartlett, dryly. "Well, I will save you the trouble."

"It's a shame to suspect an innocent girl like me," said Mamie Jackson, bursting into tears.

"My sister never did anything wrong," put in the other woman.

"As I have my papers I won't argue with you," returned Mr. Bartlett. "But when the proper time comes you may have to explain how you happened to get the papers."

"Are you going to haul Mr. Bangs into court?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, I will tell what I know about them, if it will do any good. Mrs. Bangs and a man named Tuller plotted to keep the papers out of your reach. They opened the safe and took the papers out just before you came with that constable."

After that Mamie Jackson seemed anxious enough to confess and told her whole story, omitting to state how she had asked Mrs. Bangs to pay so much a month to her for keeping silent.

"We may as well go back to the town, and take the stage for Riverport," said Mr. Bartlett to Randy. "I will then telegraph to Mr. Robinson to come on, and we will settle with Bangs, Tuller & Company in short order."

"Will you make him give up the control of the iron company?"

"Either that or have him arrested for fraud."

The journey to Riverport was quickly made, and the telegram sent to Mr. Robinson. The bank official sent word back that he would be on in the morning. Then Mr. Bartlett went to a hotel and Randy hurried home.

"Why, Randy, is it really you!" cried his mother as she kissed him. "This is certainly a surprise."

"I didn't expect to come home," said he. "How are you and how is father?"

"I am real well as you see, and your father is doing splendidly. He says he feels better now than for three years back."

"That is good news."

"But what brings you?"

"I will tell you," said Randy, and sitting down he told his story, just as I have related it here. In the midst of the recital Mr. Thompson came in, and he listened also to what our hero had to say.

"I hope Mr. Bartlett gets what is coming to him," said Mr. Thompson. "And I hope Mr. Shalley brings that Peter Polk to terms also."

The next morning Randy received word to come to the iron works. He went and there witnessed a stormy meeting between Amos Bangs on one side and Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Robinson on the other. Randy was called in as a witness, and what he had to say made Amos Bangs gasp for breath and sink into a chair.

"You are going to expose me—to ruin me!" gasped Amos Bangs, at last, addressing the two men who had accused him.

"We shall expose you unless you give up the control here and do as we think is fair," said Philip Bartlett. "As for ruining you, I think you have about ruined yourself."

"But my wife, and my son——"

"Mrs. Bangs does not deserve my sympathy after what she has done. As for your son, he can go to work, as my son has done."

"Bob! What can he do?"

"Work may make a man of him. He will never amount to anything if you bring him up in idleness."

"It is hard!" groaned Amos Bangs. "I—I shall have to go to work myself!"

"That is what I was forced to do," answered Philip Bartlett, dryly. "But you will not be so badly off, Mr. Bangs. Your stock is worth at least four or five thousand dollars."

"Humph! That is not much. Well, I suppose I am cornered and must do as you say," and he gave a deep sigh. Secretly, however, he was glad to escape arrest.

A lawyer was called in, and the best part of the day was spent in drawing up and signing various legal documents. The iron works were thereby placed in the control of Mr. Bartlett, Mr. Robinson, and a stockholder named Wells, and Philip Bartlett was made the general manager of the company. All of the books and accounts were placed in charge of an expert accountant, and in the end Amos Bangs had to make good a deficiency of cash. The former rich man had to give up his elegant mansion, and soon after he and his family moved to the West without leaving their new address behind them.

When Randy went back to the steamboat, two days later, a surprise awaited him. An accountant, assisted by a detective, had gone over Peter Polk's affairs and discovered that the purser had robbed Andrew Shalley of between eight and ten thousand dollars. Polk had taken time by the forelock and fled. He tried to get to Canada, but telegrams were sent out, and he was caught just as he was trying to cross the Suspension Bridge at Niagara Falls. Later on he was brought back and tried, and received three years in prison for his crimes. He had nearly six thousand dollars of the stolen money in the bank, and this was turned over to Andrew Shalley. Two hundred and fifty dollars went to Mrs. Clare as part of her husband's estate.

"Bringing Peter Polk to justice is due to you, Randy," said the steamboat owner, after the affair was a thing of the past. "I feel I must reward you for what you did."

"I don't ask any reward, Mr. Shalley. I am glad that I cleared my own name."

"Here is something for you, nevertheless," said Andrew Shalley, and handed a big document to our hero.

"What is it?"

"It is the deed to the farm on which your folks are living. It is made out in your name. I bought the place from Peter Thompson, your uncle. Now you have something that you can really call your own," and Mr. Shalley laughed pleasantly.

"Mr. Shalley, you are more than kind," cried Randy, warmly. "Do my parents know of this?"

"No. You can go home over Sunday and surprise them."

"I will, and I thank you very much, sir."

Randy went home, and there was a general rejoicing over the good news. But more was to follow.

"I met Mr. Bartlett to-day," said Mr. Thompson. "He says they want a first-class carpenter at the iron works to take charge of the repairs He offered me the place at a dollar a day more than I am getting."

"Good enough, father!" cried Randy. "That is just like Mr. Bartlett."

"He said he wanted to do something for us on your account. And he sent you this," added Mr. Thompson, and brought out a neat silver watch and chain. It was a nice present and pleased Randy greatly.