"Well, Dare, dropped in to see me?" he said pleasantly. "Have a chair."

"Thank you, Mr. Joyce. Yes, I—I have come to see you," said Richard, hardly knowing how to begin. "I want your advice," he added.

"Yes? Well, you can have that, I'm sure. How are you making out at Williams & Mann's?"

"I was discharged this morning."

"What!"

Mr. Joyce's face betrayed resentment, anger, pity and curiosity, all in one.

"But believe me, sir, I am not to blame," went on Richard hastily. "I have done my work, and more, faithfully, and Mr. Mann would give no reason for discharging me."

"But there must have been some reason," exclaimed the leather merchant flatly. "No one sends away an efficient clerk without cause."

"Well, I can't make it out," replied the boy. "That's the reason I came to you. I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong, and I haven't been negligent."

Richard's earnest manner had its full effect upon Mr. Joyce.

"Well, tell me your story," he said. "Tell me every word of the plain truth. Unless you do that I can't help you a bit."

So Richard told of everything that had happened since he had gone to work—of his intimacy with the Massanets, his acquaintanceship with Earle Norris, the adventure at the Laurel Club, and all. Mr. Joyce listened in silence until the boy's story was concluded.

Then he put a number of questions, to make sure that nothing had been left out or covered up.

"I can't see how you are to blame," he said at the last. "You did wrong not to let some one know how this Norris had treated you, but you have done nothing, as far as I can make out, to warrant dismissal. I will go up and see Mr. Mann in a little while—just as soon as I finish my morning's work. Will you go along?"

"If you think I ought to. Mr. Mann wanted me to get out though, and talked as if he didn't want to see me again."

"Never mind. Everybody is entitled to a hearing, and Mr. Mann is probably laboring under a false impression."

In half an hour the two were on the way. Richard's heart beat quickly as they walked along, for in some manner Mr. Joyce's presence inspired him with confidence.

When they reached the store Mr. Mann had gone out for lunch. In a few minutes, however, he returned. He greeted Mr. Joyce with cold politeness, and then frowned openly upon Richard.

"Say, Mel, what's the trouble here?" began Mr. Joyce, diving right into the subject at hand. "My young friend says he has been discharged without warning."

"We have paid him his week's wages," replied Mr. Mann stiffly.

"So he says, but he wants to know why you discharged him. He says you acted as if something was wrong."

"Well, something is wrong," admitted the book-merchant; and then he added in an undertone: "I meant to send you word about it. I don't care to have the boy aware how much or how little I do know. Send him out, and I'll tell you the whole affair. The boy is not so innocent as he looks."

"Bosh! I told you before I knew an honest face when I saw it, and I'll wager he's as honest as the day is long. Dare," continued Mr. Joyce, turning to Richard, "just go outside in the store and wait for me."

"Yes, sir."

Richard went out as directed. In the short time that he had been with Williams & Mann he had come but little in contact with the clerks downstairs, and they hardly knew him, and now allowed him to stand around as though he was a stranger.

The dismissal made him feel strange, too. He wished he could go upstairs to Frank, but he did not know how soon Mr. Joyce might want him. He wondered how Frank was getting along, and who the firm would get to help him.

A short half hour passed. It seemed like an age to Richard.

Then the private office door opened and Mr. Joyce called for him to come in.

Hardly knowing what to expect, the boy entered. Mr. Joyce closed the door carefully behind him.

"Well, Dare," began Mr. Mann, "we have talked your case over pretty thoroughly, and while there are some things in your conduct that I don't like, yet I admit that perhaps I was hasty in judging you. I did not care to explain all I know for reasons you may learn later. You may go to work again if you wish."

"Thank you, sir," replied the boy, nearly as much surprised at this sudden turn as he had been at the first. "But I—"

"Never mind, now. I know there are many things you would like to know, and which, perhaps, I ought to explain; but for the present you will have to let that pass."

"I'm willing to, as long as it comes out right in the end," replied the boy. "Thank you, Mr. Joyce, for your kindness," he added, turning to the leather merchant, and then withdrew.



CHAPTER XXIII.

STRANGE DISCOVERIES.

Frank Massanet was surprised and delighted to have Richard come to work again.

"You have indeed a good friend in Mr. Joyce," he remarked when the boy had told him what the leather merchant had done. "One such is worth a thousand of the common sort."

During the afternoon Earle Norris had occasion to come up to the stock- room. He started back upon seeing Richard at work.

"Why, I thought you had taken a vacation!" he exclaimed.

"So I did—for an hour," replied Richard, and without further words went on with his work.

"Why, I thought—" began the shipping-clerk.

"What did you think?" demanded Frank, coming forward.

"Why I—I——" stammered Norris. "What business is it of yours?" he added rudely.

"You thought he was discharged," went on Frank. "You've been trying your best to get him discharged."

"Who says so?" demanded Norris, but he turned slightly pale as he uttered the words. "I say so. I don't understand your scheme, but that's what you are trying to do; and I warn you that you had better quit it."

It was seldom that Frank Massanet spoke in such an arbitrary way, yet it was plain to see that he meant every word he said.

"You're mistaken," returned Norris, hardly knowing how to reply. "But it's only natural that you should stick up for your mother's boarders. They help support the family, I suppose."

And with this parting shot the shipping-clerk hurried below.

In the middle of the afternoon Mr. Mann sent for Richard and asked the boy to accompany him to an office on lower Broadway.

"I wish you to keep our visit to the place a secret," he said. "I might as well tell you something is going wrong at our place. Goods are missing from several departments and we cannot trace them. They are taken by some one in our employ, but there must be a confederate outside."

"Did Mr. Joyce tell you about——"

"Norris? Yes; but I knew that. I thought you were in collusion with him, because you were seen in his company."

"By that detective, I suppose."

"Do you know him?" asked the book merchant, in much surprise.

"Not much; Frank Massanet told me of him."

And Richard related the particulars.

"But did not Norris try to get me out of a position?" he added.

"Yes—no—I don't know." Mr. Mann contracted his brow, and then a light seemed to break in upon him. "He did cast suspicion upon you, but I thought that was only done for effect—I couldn't exactly understand it."

"Perhaps he wished to get some one in my place—some one who would aid him—that is, if he is the guilty party. Who had my place before?"

"A tall young man named Springer. He was discharged for incompetency.

"Springer!" exclaimed Richard. "That was the name of the doorkeeper at the Laurel Club. He and Norris are great friends."

"Ah! Then I see it. Hold up! We received two applications for your position only last week."

"What were the names?" asked the boy, deeply interested.

"I have them here in my note-book," replied Mr. Mann, feeling in his pocket. "Do you remember the names of those you met at that club?"

Richard thought a moment.

"Harrison, Foley, Nichols and Springer, I think. I'm pretty good at remembering names," he returned.

Mr. Mann got out his notebook.

"Here they are!" he cried. "Andrew S. Foley is one, and Henry Nichols the other." He jammed the volume back into his pocket. "It's as clear as day. There is no necessity for your going with me now. You can return to the store; but remember, not a word of this, even to Massanet."

"I'll remember, sir."

When Richard returned to the stock-room, his friend, of course, wanted to know what was up, but the boy only replied that it was all right, and that Mr. Mann had requested him to keep silent.

Throughout the entire establishment there appeared to be the feeling that something was about to happen—what, no one knew.

As the two boys were returning home that evening, they met the street urchin Pep, who greeted them politely. He had a bigger bundle of papers than ever, and seemed to be prospering in his street trade.

Nevertheless, he had a sober, earnest look upon his countenance that caught Richard's eye immediately.

"What's up, Pep?" he asked kindly.

"Dad's worse, sir," replied the boy. "I don't think I can come up Sunday, 'ceptin' he gets better."

"Wouldn't you like us to come down, any way?" asked Frank.

"I would, yes; but he wouldn't. His head ain't right, and he don't want no one around 'ceptin' me."

"Well, will you come up to the house, and get some nice stuff I will give you? Some eating and the like?" continued Frank.

"Yes, sir; thank you."

"I'll expect you. Good-by."

"Good-by, sir. Good-by, Mr. Dare," cried Pep. "Oh, say," he added, running back, "I reckon I can give you that other dollar by Monday."

On Saturday afternoon, as they were starting home early, Frank unfolded his scheme of one day going into business for himself.

"I would like to see you do it," cried Richard, "and make a big success of it, too. You deserve it, Frank—such a good fellow as you are!"

A few minutes later a funeral of some old soldier passed. There were several coaches, and then a post of Grand Army men. The sight was a sad one to Richard.

"My father was a soldier," he said to his companion. "He was shot, too," he added, with a sigh.

"Yes?" said Frank. "Then your mother gets a pension," he added, after a pause.

"No, she does not. She ought to have one, but we cannot get our claim passed. My father let it rest so long that when he did try he could find no witness."

And Richard related the full particulars of the case. Frank Massanet listened attentively.

"I think, as your sister Grace says, I'd turn the whole country upside down before I'd give up the hope of finding a witness," he said. "Why, it would amount to several thousand dollars! A small fortune!"

"I'm going to try as soon as I get settled," replied Richard. "I haven't any money to do anything with yet."

"I'd advertise as soon as I could afford it," suggested Frank. "And I'd write to the secretaries of all these old soldiers' organizations, too, giving your father's full name and what he belonged to."

"That's a good idea," exclaimed Richard. "I'll do that this week. I have plenty of time in the evening, and can get the addresses from the directory."



CHAPTER XXIV.

PEP'S HOME.

Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Richard was naturally an early riser, but the unaccustomed sounds in the streets awoke him at an even earlier hour than he usually arose, and when seven o'clock came, and the Massanets assembled for breakfast, they found that their boarder had had quite a delightful walk.

By ten o'clock the Massanets were all ready and bound for church.

When the congregation was dismissed, Richard and Frank hurried home ahead, wishing to see if Pep had come.

They found the street urchin waiting for them at the door. He was very pale and nearly out of breath.

"I was thinkin' you'd never come!" he gasped. "I run all de way, and went upstairs, but couldn't find nobody."

"What's the matter?" cried Richard. "Is your father worse?"

"Yes, indeed; a heap worse. I was thinkin' he was goin' to croak last night."

"I'll go right down with you."

"Shall I go, too?" put in Frank hesitatingly. "I'll go willingly if you want me."

"I dunno," replied Pep slowly. "Dad don't want no visitors. I was only going to get Mr. Dare. But I reckon you can come. Dad won't know de difference. He ain't right here."

And the street urchin tapped his forehead significantly.

Rushing upstairs, Frank got out a basket and filled it with a number of things that Mrs. Massanet and Mattie had prepared. He was down again in a moment, and then the three, guided by Pep, hurried off.

It was far down on the east side, through streets that are narrow, dirty and notorious for crimes of all kinds, that the boy led them.

"'Tain't no nice walk to take," he said, "and you're dressed too good to go through here after dark. If you come ag'in put on yer old clo'es; da won't notice you so much."

"I'm glad that your sister isn't along," said Richard to Frank, with a shudder. "I never dreamed of a place as wretched as this."

"Mattie knows how bad it is," returned Frank. "In her mission class she has several children from the Italian quarter, and that's every bit as bad as this."

"Here we are," remarked Pep, as they came to a narrow court. "Dis is my street. Da calls it de Fryin' Pan, 'cause one of de houses took fire last year and ten people were burnt up."

On this Sunday morning the Frying Pan was alive with people, Jewish tailors and cloakmakers, who were enjoying a bit of needed rest. They filled the doorways and the steps, and down on the pavement the children ran around, shouting and playing games.

Picking their way among the latter and the heaps of dirt and streams of filthy water on all sides, the two boys followed Pep to the end of the court. Curious eyes gazed after them, and open remarks concerning their presence in that locality were not wanting.

But to these the two paid no attention, though both were glad enough to escape into the hallway of the tenement to which the street boy led them.

"Look out for de stairway," cautioned Pep, as they ascended the first flight. "It's mighty rotten, and you kin break a leg widout half tryin'."

Up and up they went, until finally they stopped at the door of a room on the top floor and in the rear.

"Here we are," whispered Pep. "Let me go in alone first, and see how he is."

The street urchin opened the door and went inside. In a moment he reappeared.

"He's asleep," he said. "You can come in."

The room was part of a garret, with a sloping side and a dormer window. Opposite was a large brick chimney with an open fireplace. Near it lay a mattress on the floor, and upon this rested a man.

He was apparently nearly fifty years of age. His face and form were terribly shrunken, and his untrimmed hair and beard and generally untidy appearance made him a repulsive object indeed.

"That's him," whispered Pep. "Glad he's asleep. Hope he don't raise no row when he wakes up."

Just then the man turned and moaned to himself.

"Water! Water!" he cried.

"Have you any?" asked Richard.

"Yes, but 'tain't fresh," replied Pep. "I'll get some."

And catching up a pail, he ran out of the room and down the stairs.

"That man has a raging fever," declared Frank, after a careful look at the sufferer.

"There ought to be more ventilation here," said Richard, "I'm going to open that window."

For the dormer window, the only one in the place, was tightly closed.

It was no easy job. The window had probably not been opened for some time, and stuck obstinately. Finally it went up with a bang, and a draught of fresh air swept into the place.

"It's a pretty stiff breeze," remarked Frank; "but too much is certainly better than too little."

The noise had aroused the sick man, and, opening his eyes, he stared at the two boys.

"Ah, I've caught you!" he cried. "Pep! Pep! Bind them—don't let 'em get away Where's the water?—

"Water, water everywhere, Upon the deep blue sea; Water, water, here and there, But not a drop for me!

"That used to be Doc's favorite song. Why don't you give poor Tom a drink? Where's Betty? She'll give her brother what he wants. Oh, Pep, Pep, don't leave your dad to die of thirst!"

Richard uttered an exclamation, and grasped Frank's arm.

"That man is Tom Clover!" he gasped. "He is Doc Linyard's lost brother-in-law!"



CHAPTER XXV.

TOM CLOVER.

For a moment Richard could not realize the discovery that he had made. Could this weak, delirious man be Doc Linyard's brother-in-law, the one for whom the old sailor had been searching so diligently and so unsuccessfully?

If such was the fact then his visit to Frying Pan Court would undoubtedly be productive of more than one good result.

"What makes you think he is the man?" asked Frank Massanet, with considerable astonishment.

"Because he mentioned his own name as Tom, and I know Betty is the sailor's wife's name," replied Richard.

"He doesn't look very respectable," went on Frank. "He isn't a relative for even a man like Mr. Linyard to be proud of."

"He may look better after he's shaved and washed and fixed up a bit," returned Richard; "that is, if he gets well," he added, in sudden alarm.

"Pep, Pep," went on the sufferer, "where's the water?"

"Here you are, dad, nice and fresh," and Pep entered with his pail full. "Whew! but he does drink a pile!" he added to the two, as he held a cup to his father's lips.

"I've brought something you can give him," said Frank, going to his basket and depositing the articles upon a rickety table that stood in a corner.

"And we'll send a doctor around here, too," he added. "You haven't had one lately, I guess."

"Not this week. He charged too much, and he wouldn't come if I didn't pay aforehand," replied the street urchin.

"Pep, what is your full name?" asked Richard abruptly.

The boy was silent.

"Why won't you tell me? I don't want to hurt you."

"Dad said afore he got sick he didn't want people to know it; that's why," exclaimed Pep finally.

"Why not? He's honest, I'm sure."

"Honest? Bet yer he is! But he don't want his old friends to know how he's come down."

"Oh!" exclaimed Richard, a new light breaking in upon him.

"Then you were better off once?"

"'Deed we were when marm was alive, and sister Mary. When they died dad went on a spree—the first and last one—and spent what money was left after the bills was paid. Then he sold our stuff and we came here, and I got into the streets."

"How long ago is that?"

"'Most three years. It's been tough times since then."

And Pep suddenly raised his coat sleeve to wipe away two big tears that had started to come down his cheeks.

"Did you ever know anything of an Uncle Doc?" asked Richard suddenly.

Pep gave a cry.

"What do you know of my Uncle Doc?" he exclaimed trembling. "Oh, Mr. Dare, did he—did he—"

"What? Send me here? No; but he is looking all over for your father. Then your name is Pep Clover?"

"Yes, sir. But how did you find it out?"

"Your father's talking led me to think so. I'm glad I found you for there is money coming to your father. How much I don't know, but quite some."

"Money coming to him?" Pep's eyes opened widely. Then suddenly his face fell. "Yer foolin' me."

"No, I'm not. It's money from an uncle in England, left to your father and your Aunt Betty."

Pep gave a whoop. "Hooray!" he cried, with a wild fling of his arms. "How much is it? As much as twenty—as fifty dollars?"

"Yes, a good many fifty dollars," replied Richard with a smile.

"And kin dad have a nuss and medicine? Maybe they'll let him in the hospital if he pays, hey? And I'll get some new clo'es, and then they'll let me come and see him."

Pep rattled on as if the idea of sudden wealth had turned his head.

"I'll go and tell your uncle," said Richard at length. "I know it will be a big surprise to him."

"Kin you find the way from here and back?" asked Pep anxiously.

"I don't know," replied Richard doubtfully. "I wish you could come along."

"I would, only—" and the urchin pointed to the mattress. "Go ahead," put in Frank. "I'll tend to him while you are gone, I don't think I'll have any trouble."

"Dad gets mighty cranky sometimes," returned Pep, with a doubtful shake of his head.

"Never mind; I'll manage it. You won't be gone over an hour, I guess," added the stock-clerk to Richard.

"I think not; that is, if we can find Doc Linyard. His place is no doubt shut up and he may be away."

A moment later Richard, accompanied by Pep, went down into the court and made their way to the street beyond. The urchin was all eager expectation, and if it had not been for Richard, for whom it was hard work to keep up as it was, he would have run the entire way.

In a few minutes they were down on the Bowery, and passing Park Row, the only lively spot in lower New York on Sunday, they crossed Fulton Street and so on down to West.

As Richard had anticipated, the Watch Below was closed. Doc Linyard did not keep his place open on Sunday, excepting for an hour or two early in the morning.

"I'll have to see if I can knock him up," he said to Pep.

And raising his foot he kicked several times on the lower portion of the door.

"Something like the first night, when I got lost," he thought to himself. "What changes have occurred since then!"

Richard repeated his kicking, and presently there were sounds of footsteps within, the turning of a key in the lock, and then the door opened cautiously, revealing Mrs. Linyard.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed. "Come in! I was afraid it might be some drunken man; there's so many here of a Sunday, trying to get in."

"Aunt Betty, don't you know me!" piped up Pep's voice, all in a tremble.

Mrs. Linyard turned and surveyed the street urchin eagerly.

"Mercy me! if it hain't Tom's boy!" she ejaculated. "Where in the world did you come from?"

"Mr. Dare brought me," replied Pep.

Mrs. Linyard caught him up in her arms.

"Who'd a believed it!" she cried. "Mr. Dare a doing of it. Why, you're as dirty as a pig! Where's your dad and your marm and sister Mary?"

"Dad's sick. We just left him. Marm and Mary are dead. Mr. Dare says you've got money for dad. I'm so glad, 'cause he's sick."

"Mother and Mary dead!" The sad news brought the tears to the woman's eyes. "Poor dear! Poor Tom!"

"Mr. Clover is very sick," said Richard. "He has no one to care for him but Pep. Is Mr. Linyard at home?"

"Yes; taking his nap on the sofa. I'll call him—or no, come up. My, what a surprise 'twill be for him! He'd about given up."

Taking Pep by the hand Mrs. Linyard led the way up to her "best room," where her husband lay sound asleep on a lounge.

"Get up, Doc!" she cried, shaking him vigorously. "Get up! Here's your nevvy; and Mr. Dare has found Tom! Just think of it—he's found Tom! Wake up, Doc! Was ever there such a man! To keep on sleeping with such good news to hear!"



CHAPTER XXVI.

A SCENE IN THE STOCK-ROOM.

But Doc Linyard did not sleep for any great length of time after his good wife began to shake him. A moment later he sprang up, rubbing his eyes.

"Ship ahoy!" he cried heartily. "What's up, what's the trouble?" Then catching sight of Richard and Pep: "Hello, visitors! How are you, Dare?"

"Here's Tom's son," repeated Mrs. Linyard. "Mr. Dare has found Tom."

"What!" The old sailor looked at the street urchin. "Bless my heart if it hain't Tom's son! Well, well, Dare; this is better than getting them letters back." And he took hold of Pep with both hands.

Richard had it on his tongue's end to say that Pep was the one who had taken the letters in the first place, but a second thought made him keep silent. It would do no good to tell, and he would be willing to vouch for the boy's honesty in the future.

Richard's story, as well as Pep's, was soon told, and then Doc Linyard and his wife prepared to accompany the two back to Frying Pan Court.

"I'm glad I've got a little money saved," said the old sailor to Richard, as they hurried across town. "Poor Tom shan't want for anything while there's a shot left in the locker. It's funny he wouldn't let us know his condition."

"He was allers sensitive," put in Mrs. Linyard, "and I suppose coming down made him more so."

It was not long before the little party reached the dingy garret room where the sufferer lay. Frank received them with a warning for silence. He said he had had quite a turn with the sick man, but now Mr. Clover had dropped back exhausted and was dozing.

Mrs. Linyard wept bitterly as she knelt beside the form of her sick brother. Yet she was thankful that he had been found, and her gratitude to Richard was outspoken and genuine.

It was decided that the sick man should be at once removed to one of the private wards of a neighboring hospital, where Mrs. Linyard might see him daily; and then have him taken to her own home as soon as it was deemed safe to do so.

Frank, who was somewhat acquainted with the methods of procedure, accompanied the old sailor to the institution and helped him to make the necessary arrangements.

Half an hour later an ambulance drove into Frying Pan Court. Tom Clover was removed with the greatest of care, the garret room was locked up, and Pep, like one in a dream, went off with his newly-found uncle.

It was nearly sundown when the two boys reached the Massanets' again.

"How long you've been!" exclaimed Mattie, who let them in.

"And we've had quite an adventure," replied her brother.

"Ees zat so?" put in Mrs. Massanet. "You must tell ett, Francois."

"I will, mother," replied Frank. "But Richard will have to help; it's really his story."

"Then both go ahead," cried Mattie. "Only do go ahead. I am dying to hear!"

Of course Mrs. Massanet as well as Mattie was highly interested in the boys' story, and both were deeply touched at the account of Frying Pan Court and the scene in the little garret room.

"I want to know little Pep," said Mattie. "He is too bright a chap to run the streets." "I guess Doc Lanyard won't let him do that any more," returned Richard. "Especially if he gets that money he's expecting from England."

"That sailor didn't lose anything by being kind to you," remarked Frank. "I declare you deserve a reward."

"If only some old soldier would turn up, so that you could get your father's pension," went on Mattie, "that would be better than a reward."

"You're right," replied Richard. "Even if we only got a thousand dollars it would help along wonderfully at home."

Monday morning found the two hard at work in the stock-room. About ten o'clock Mr. Mann came up, and beckoned to Richard to come to one corner.

"I want to find out about an order that was shipped on the tenth to Pittsburgh," he said, when they were alone. "There is something wrong about it. You were here by yourself on that day. Do you remember it?"

"To Pittsburgh?" repeated Richard slowly. "Yes, I do. Mr. Williams filled that order."

"Mr. Williams!" Mr. Mann looked surprised. "I don't understand."

"Mr. Williams came up here while I was alone and offered to help me. I said that the Pittsburgh order I couldn't read very well; so he took it and filled it. He will probably remember it."

"Probably he will," replied Mr. Mann, "and in that case the trouble is certainly all downstairs. You need not mention this occurrence to any one."

Mr. Mann went below; and there were no more interruptions for that day. But trouble was in the air, and on the following day the climax came.

Richard was alone in the stock-room, Frank having just gone below on business. There was a clatter on the stairs, and turning to see what was the matter Richard confronted Earle Norris.

The shipping-clerk was pale, but his manner showed that he was also angry, whether reasonably or not remained to be seen.

"You little greenhorn, you!" he cried. "What do you mean by getting me into trouble?"

"I don't know as I have," replied Richard, as coolly as he could; and, not wishing to engage in a personal encounter, he very wisely placed several cases between himself and his angry accuser.

"Yes, you have!" roared Norris. "You told Mr. Mann that that order from Pittsburgh was sent down all right, and that if any of the goods were changed they were changed downstairs."

"I told no one anything of the kind," replied Richard briefly, though he could readily understand the mistake under which Norris was laboring.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I did not."

"Oh, come, I know better. If you didn't, who did? Massanet wasn't here."

"That's true, too; but, nevertheless, I didn't tell Mr. Mann."

"You're a—" began the shipping-clerk passionately.

"Here! here! Stop that, Norris!" came a voice from the elevator; and the next instant Mr. Williams stepped into the room. "What do you mean by creating such a disturbance?"

"Dare is trying to put up a job on me," began the shipping-clerk. "He told Mr. Mann that that order for Pittsburgh was sent down 0.K. and—"

"And so it was," replied Mr. Williams calmly.

"No, sir; it was—"

"Hold up, Norris; there is no use of further words," said Mr. Williams sharply. "You were discharged half an hour ago, and you had better leave. It was I that told Mr. Mann that the order had gone down all right, because I filled it myself. I suspected you for a long time, and I wanted to find out the truth. Dare and Massanet are entirely innocent in the matter. I have much more information against you—and also a book-dealer who has sold you old books and bought your new ones—but we will let that drop. I have learned that your family is quite a respectable one. For their sake, as well as your own, I advise you to turn over a new leaf. You can go."

For an instant Norris hesitated. Then he turned, and without a word of reply hurried down the stairs.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone.

"I am sorry he placed you two up here in such a false position," said Mr. Williams to Richard. "Please tell Massanet of it, too. Neither of you shall lose anything by it."



CHAPTER XXVII.

A FIRE AND ITS RESULT.

As one proof of Williams & Mann's good intentions towards Richard, the boy found his salary on the following week increased to eight dollars, and Frank received a proportionate addition to his pay.

In the middle of the week a new shipping-clerk, a German by the name of Bretzwartz, was engaged, and, though everybody in the establishment found it hard at first to understand the young man's broken English, yet he was such a jolly fellow—as well as an honest and capable one—that he was soon on good terms all around.

During the evenings of this week Richard wrote a great number of letters to the Grand Army and other military organizations, in the hope of finding some one who had known his father during the war or immediately after it.

On Thursday evening Frank accompanied him to the neighborhood in which Mr. Dare had once resided; but, though the two spent nearly three hours in the search, no trace of any former acquaintance was found.

"You see it's different here from what it is in the country," said Frank, when they were returning. "Here you often find that people don't know who lives next door, or even in the same house with them. It sounds queer, but it's true. No one is introduced, no one is sociable, and the majority are continually moving, in the hope of finding a better dwelling or cheaper rent."

"Yes, I noticed that," replied Richard, with something like a sigh. "Out in the country everybody knows everybody else, and outside of a few prim people all are as sociable as can be. But I suppose if one wants to make money one must expect to give up some comforts."

"You're right there," replied Frank.

During the week Pep met them twice on the Bowery. He was cleanly washed, had his curly hair brushed, and wore a brand-new suit. In his altered appearance Richard hardly knew him.

"Dad's better," was the urchin's reply to the boy's question. "Uncle Doc is going to take him out of de hospital next week, so as Aunt Betty can nurse him herself. She's awful kind, she is."

"And how do you like the change?" asked Frank.

"I feel like I was dreamin'," was Pep's answer. "It don't seem natural— these clo'es and that nice home. It's like de times long ago."

"Are you selling papers yet?" asked Richard.

"No, sir. Uncle Doc says I'm to go to school in a week or so. He says I must have an eddication, and he's going to help dad get his money and invest it so it's safe, and all that. Here's yer dollar."

As Pep concluded, he suddenly dived into one of the pockets of his new trousers, and, after considerable difficulty, extricated a silver dollar.

"Never mind, Pep, you can keep it," said Richard, yet well pleased to see the urchin's evident desire to right the wrong he had done.

"No, no, it's yours," exclaimed Pep earnestly. "I won't keep it nohow. And say," he added in a whisper, "I'm awful glad you didn't say nothin' to me uncle of it. It's de first time I stole anything, and it's the last, too, and I wouldn't have Uncle Doc or Aunt Betty know it for de world."

"You can make sure they shall never hear of it," returned Richard, as, after more urging, he took the coin. "I can understand how desperate you felt that morning we met at the newspaper office, and we'll let the whole matter drop."

"Thank you, sir."

And Pep felt much relieved.

"You must come up Sunday," put in Frank. "Come up to dinner, same as you were going to."

"Thank you, Mr. Massanet, I will," replied Pep. "My uncle expects both of you down soon, too."

And they separated, Pep being on his way to Frying Pan Court to get a few treasured belongings that still remained there.

Early the following morning Richard and Frank started for the store together. It was a clear, but windy day, thick clouds of dust flying in all directions. As they passed the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, a fire engine dashed past, on its way down the street.

"Hello! there's a fire somewhere!" exclaimed Frank.

"Can we go to it?" cried Richard. He had not yet seen a conflagration in the city, and was anxious to see how such a thing would be handled. Frank looked at his watch.

"We've got twenty-five minutes," he replied. "Come on; if it's in the neighborhood we can take a look at it."

Both boys started off on a run. They reached Spruce Street, and followed the engine around the corner.

A dense volume of black smoke greeted them.

The crowd was thick, and the two had hard work making their way forward.

"It's our place!" cried out Frank suddenly. "And the whole store is afire, too!"

"Our place!" ejaculated Richard. "Oh, I hope not!"

But it was only too true, and in a moment they stood opposite the establishment of Williams & Mann, now all blaze from top to bottom.

"Stand back there!" exclaimed a burly policeman, waving his club at both boys. "Stand back."

"We work in the place," explained Frank.

"Can't help it," was the reply. "The insurance patrol has charge of the goods. You'll have to get out of the way. Lively, there!" added the officer, as a hook and ladder truck came dashing up the street.

So Richard and Frank fell back into the crowd, and were immediately joined by Bretzwartz, the German shipping-clerk.

"I guess the place is a goner," remarked Frank, as the flames shot out of the upper windows.

"Wonder how it caught?" said Richard.

"Der poiler in der pasement busted," put in Bretzwartz. "I chust come, and vos putting on mine odder coat ven I heard an explosion vich knock me mine feets off, and I rund out like I vos killed, and der whole place was on fire in two seconds already."

"Was Larry killed?" asked Frank.

Larry was the engineer and porter around the place.

"No, he vos out, getting a pite to eat," replied the shipping-clerk.

Despite the efforts of the firemen, the flames made rapid progress, and in an hour the "fireproof" building was known to be doomed. Both of the heads of the firm had been sent for, and Mr. Williams soon put in an appearance.

He was pale and excited, and shook his head sadly when his many employees offered their services in any way they could be used.

"We can do nothing at present," he said. "The insurance companies have entire charge."

"I hope you are covered, Mr. Williams," said Richard earnestly.

"Very nearly so," was the reply. "The stop to business will be our worst loss. There is no telling when we will be able to resume. I only trust the accounts in the safes are all right."

By noon the fire was under control. It had burnt itself out, and all that remained of the establishment was its four scorched walls, and the mass of half burned stock and fixtures within. Part of the stock had been saved, and this was transferred to an empty store near by.

The boys assisted in this work until late in the evening, and also all day Saturday.

In the middle of Saturday afternoon Mr. Mann came to them and paid them their week's wages.

"You had both better find other places," he said. "We have got into difficulty with the insurance companies, and it may be some time before our claim is adjusted. Besides, Mr. Williams speaks of retiring, and in that case I will probably join some other firm,"

This was dismaying news. Yet neither could blame Mr. Mann, though it threw them both out of employment without notice.

"You may help us here next week," went on Mr. Mann. "But next Saturday will finish the job. I will give both of you first-class recommendations, and if I hear of any openings will let you know."

And Mr. Mann went away to carry his news to the other clerks.

"It's too bad," said Frank, when he was gone. "It won't be an easy job to find another place."

"No, indeed," replied Richard. "Still, we can't complain of the way they have treated us."

Both of the boys wore sober faces that night. To Richard came the ever- recurring, thought, what next?



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A LUCKY RESOLVE.

"Well, Richard, we are gentlemen of leisure now."

It was Frank who spoke, and the occasion was the Monday morning following their final week with Williams & Mann.

"Yes; but it doesn't suit me in the least," returned Richard. "To be idle is the hardest work I can do. Have you anything in view?"

"Not a thing. I put in twelve applications last week to as many different houses, but as yet I haven't heard from a single one."

"What do you intend to do?"

"I hardly know. I don't think it will pay to make any personal applications."

"I'm going to try it," returned Richard, resolutely. "They can't say any more than no, and each no will save just two cents in postage if nothing else."

"When do you intend to start out," asked Frank, who could not help admiring Richard's pluck.

"In about an hour. It is too early yet to catch the heads of the firms."

"Going to start at any particular place?"

"Yes."

"Where?—or perhaps you don't care to tell," added Frank hastily.

"Yes, I do," replied Richard, smiling quietly. "I am going to try the stationer on the corner."

"Who? Martin? Why, he has such a small store I'm sure he doesn't need help. He and his son and a boy do all the business."

"Never mind. I made up my mind to stop at every place, and his is the first on the route; so I'll call, if only for the principle of the thing."

"That's an idea!" cried Frank. "You are bound to have a place if there is a single one vacant. Well, Dick, I trust with all my heart that you'll succeed," he added warmly.

"You had better start out, too, Frank."

"Oh—I—I don't think it's much use," said the other hesitatingly.

"Oh, yes, it is, and you know it. Now confess that it is only your lack of 'nerve' that keeps you from it."

Frank colored slightly.

"Well, I guess it is," he admitted. "I never was a good hand at approaching people."

"Then you ought to break yourself in at once. Just break the ice and you'll have no further trouble. I remember just how bad I felt when I first came to New York to look for work. But I'm over it now, thank goodness!"

And truth to tell in the past few weeks Richard had lost much of his former shyness.

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment.

"I guess I will," he said finally. "I'll start out and have the thing over at once. Which way do you intend to go—up or down?"

"I thought I would try down town first."

"Then I'll go up. We can compare notes at supper-time."

"So we can. I hope we both have luck," said Richard.

But he did not feel particularly elated over the prospects. His former search for employment had convinced him that desirable situations were rarely to be had—there was always some one on hand to fill a vacancy as soon as it occurred.

He felt, however, that he must obtain employment of some kind, and that quickly. The small amount of money he had in hand would not last him long, and though kind-hearted Mrs. Massanet might be willing to let him remain awhile without paying board, he knew that now, with her son idle, the good woman could not afford so generous a course.

Richard had not gone to see Mr. Joyce as yet. He hesitated for several reasons. In the first place the leather merchant had been so kind to him that the boy felt it would be encroaching upon good nature to solicit further aid, and in the second place, Mr. Joyce must know he was out of a place, and would help him if he could, without being bothered about it.

"I won't go to him until after I've done all I can for myself," had been Richard's conclusion. "I would rather show him that I can help myself."

Richard had written home about the fire, and had added that he would probably lose his place in consequence, but he had not sent word home that he was now idle, thinking it would be time enough to do so when he found himself unable to obtain another situation.

The store to which Richard had referred was a small but neat one, situated upon the corner of the street in which the Massanets lived and Second Avenue. It was kept by Jonas Martin, an elderly man, and his son, James. The stock consisted principally of books and stationery, although the proprietors also kept papers and magazines, for which there was a steady daily demand.

"I suppose there is hardly any use in striking him," thought Richard, as he entered the store. "But I said every place, so here goes."

He found the elderly Mr. Martin behind a desk, writing a letter. The storekeeper's face wore a troubled look.

"Good-morning," began Richard. "Is this Mr. Martin?"

"That's my name," was the reply. "What can I do for you?"

"I am looking for a place, sir. I worked for Williams & Mann, but they burned out, as, no doubt you know, and that threw me out of work. Have you anything open? I can furnish good recommendations."

Richard had carefully rehearsed this little speech, and now delivered it so that his hearer might understand every word that was uttered.

Mr. Martin looked at him sharply, and then rubbed his chin reflectively.

"What made you think I needed help?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know, sir. Every proprietor needs help at one time or another, and I've made up my mind to find a place if there is any open."

"You have recommendations, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

And Richard handed over those he had received from Williams & Mann.

Mr. Martin read them carefully.

"It seems to be all right," he said, as he handed back the paper. "If I thought you would answer my purpose I would look you up."

"Then you need help?" asked Richard, quickly, glad to think he had struck an opening with so little trouble.

"Yes, I do. My son James who helps me is sick in Philadelphia, and consequently I have only the errand boy to relieve me. It is too much for me and I must get a clerk."

"I would like you to try me," said Richard eagerly. "I would do my best to suit, even if the place was only a temporary one."

"It might be permanent. The business is growing. But of course when my son came back I could not pay a clerk so much."

"How much would you pay now?"

"How much do you expect?" asked Mr. Martin cautiously.

"I was getting eight dollars a week at my last place."

"I would be willing to pay that. But I want some one who is trustworthy and willing to learn. Have you other recommendations?"

"I can refer you to Mr. Timothy Joyce," replied Richard; and he wrote down the leather merchant's name and address on a bit of wrapping paper.

Mr. Martin looked at the neat handwriting.

"Come round to-morrow morning this time," he said. "I will look up the references this afternoon and if I find them satisfactory you can come to work at once."

"Thank you, sir. Good-morning."

By this time there were two customers waiting, so not wishing to detain the storekeeper longer. Richard nodded pleasantly and left the place.



CHAPTER XXIX.

FRANK'S IDEA.

"That's what I call luck!" thought Richard, as he hurried back to the Massanets' home. "I'm mighty glad I called on Mr. Martin. He seems to be a gentleman and will no doubt do what is right. I hope Frank has been equally fortunate."

Mrs. Massanet was surprised to see him returning so soon.

"What ees eet?" she asked, anxiously. "I hope you no deesheartened a'ready?"

"No, indeed!" returned the boy; and he told her of his good fortune.

"Zat ees nice!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman. "I hope you gits zee place widout trouble."

And then she gave a little sigh as she thought of her son's uncertain search.

"Maybe Frank will be as lucky," said Richard, who fancied he could read her thoughts.

"I sincerely hope so," returned Mrs. Massanet.

Not having anything special to do for the rest of the day, Richard sat down and wrote a long letter home. He intended not to send it until the following day, when he could add a postscript that the new place was positively his.

Five weeks in the great metropolis had worked wonders in the boy. He no longer looked or felt "green," and he was fast acquiring a business way that was bound, sooner or later, to be highly beneficial to him.

In these five weeks he had received several letters from friends and not a few from home, the most important news in all of them being the announcement of his sister Grace's engagement to Charley Wood, and baby Madge's first efforts to master her A B C's.

"I wish I could afford to bring them all to New York," had been Richard's thought. "Or else near enough so that I could go home to them every night. It would be so pleasant to have them around me. Perhaps some day I can afford to get a little cottage right near the city, which would be nicest of all; for I am sure mother would like to have a garden, even if it was a small one."

His letter for home finished, Richard spent an hour or more in the preparation of an advertisement which he intended to insert in one of the army journals on the following week. The advertisement gave his father's full name, company, regiment and so forth, and asked for the address of any one who had known him during the war, with promise of reward for information.

By the above it is easy to see that Richard was now in earnest about getting his father's pension money. Not only was he satisfied that they were entitled to it, but just now when his mother and sisters were struggling in Mossvale to make both ends meet, it was actually needed.

During the time that he had been working Richard had sent home every cent that he could spare. To be sure, the total amount had not been large—only a few dollars—but in the country this went a long way, and for it, as well as for the fact that it showed the son and brother's willingness to help, those at home were extremely grateful.

It was dinner-time when Richard had finished writing out the advertisement. Mrs. Massanet had prepared only a lunch, reserving a regular meal for the evening.

After he had eaten the time hung heavy upon Richard's hands. He put on his hat and sauntered down the street, and finally concluded to pay a visit to his friends at the Watch Below. He had not seen Doc Linyard since that visit to Frying Pan Court, and he was curious to know how Tom Clover was, and if the property in England had been heard from further.

It being the middle of the afternoon, trade at the small restaurant was slack, and Richard found both the old sailor and his wife glad to see him.

"Tom's mendin' fast," was the old sailor's reply to Richard's question concerning the sick man. "We are goin' to bring him down here to-morrow or the day after. He's in his bearings again—right mind, you know—and I think as how the worst is over."

"And where is Pep?"

"Pep's to school; I sent him last week. He's got to have an eddication, no two ways on it. Betty's goin' to manage it with Tom when he is well."

"I am glad to hear that. And how about your property?"

"Oh, it's safe. Last week I run afoul of an old lawyer friend of mine— saved his life onct in a blow off Cape Hatteras—and he's taken it in tow. He's written to the lawyers on the tudder side and we're to fix it up just as soon as Tom's strong enough to sign articles." "Good enough," said Richard, heartily.

During the course of the conversation which followed he told Doc Linyard of his hopes of finding some one who had known his father during the war.

"Tom is an old soldier!" exclaimed Doc. "He took to the army and I took to the navy."

"Is that so? What regiment was he in?"

"I don't know. He was in Boston at the time, and was drafted from there."

"My father went from here. But he might he able to put me on some sort of a track," added Richard, who was unwilling to let even the smallest chance escape him.

"I'll ask him about it when he's strong enough. How much would the pension money amount to?"

"Not less than a thousand dollars—perhaps twice that."

"Phew! It's worth workin' for."

"Yes, indeed!" put in Mrs. Linyard. "I hope you get it, Mr. Dare; you deserve it."

When Richard returned to his boarding-place he met Frank Massanet at the door. He could see by his friend's face that he had not met with success.

"I tried twenty-six places," reported Frank. "Every one had all the help needed. One man offered to put me on the road, selling goods on commission, but I was to pay my own expenses. The offer didn't appear good and I declined it. How did you make out?"

Richard told him. Of course Frank was surprised.

"It wasn't luck though," he said, "it was sticking to the principle you started out on. I trust it is a sure thing. It will give you an insight into the retail trade, so that you may start for yourself some day. I would start in for myself to-morrow, if I had the capital."

"Do you understand the retail business?" asked Richard, with much interest.

"Pretty well. Last year and around the holidays I tended during the evenings for a firm on Fourteenth Street, and I had a good chance to learn all the ins and outs. Besides, I was in the business when I went to school—carrying papers and parcels between school-hours."

"How much would you need to start?"

"I've got six hundred dollars saved. If I had twice that I wouldn't be afraid to hire a store and try it."

"Can't you raise the other?"

"I haven't tried yet. I would rather use my own money—or take a partner, if I could find the right fellow."

"I'd like to go in with you," said Richard. "I think we would get along first-rate together."

"I know we would," cried Frank, enthusiastically. "Can't you raise the money?"

"I don't think I can. I'll think of it though."



CHAPTER XXX.

MR. MARTIN'S CLERKS.

The idea of some day going into partnership with Frank Massanet was an attractive one to Richard. He felt that the stock-clerk would not venture into business on his own account unless he was moderately certain of success, and that would mean more money and a certain feeling of independence.

Richard was up early on the following morning and on hand at Mr. Martin's store long before that gentleman put in an appearance. He found the place in charge of the boy, who was busy sorting out the morning papers and folding them.

"I'm waiting for Mr. Martin," said Richard, by way of an explanation for standing around.

"Are you the new clerk?" asked Philip Borne, for such was the boy's name.

"I expect to be," replied Richard. "Did Mr. Martin say anything about me?"

"Said he expected to see you this morning. He'll be here in about half an hour. He's terribly worried over his son Jim, who's sick in Philadelphia. The doctors telegraphed last evening that they were afraid he couldn't live."

"It's too bad. I trust, for Mr. Martin's sake, they are mistaken."

In less than half an hour the proprietor put in an appearance. He looked even more worried than the day previous.

"I am glad you are here, Dare," he said. "I saw Mr. Williams last night and he gave you a good recommendation. But he was almost afraid you had not had enough experience in the retail trade to take charge, which just at present you would have to do, because I must go to Philadelphia by the first afternoon train by the latest."

Richard's hopes fell.

"I will do the best I can, Mr. Martin," he said, earnestly. "Although I'll admit I thought to come here only to help, and—"

"Yes, yes, I understand; and that is all right," interrupted the storekeeper, hastily. "I expected to stay, up to last night, but now I must go. If I could only get some one here besides you, some one who understood customers. Phil can help some, but he is too young."

"I know the very person!" exclaimed Richard. "He has had just the experience you desire, and I can get him at once, too."

And Richard told Mr. Martin about Frank Massanet.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Williams mentioned him to me. Do you think he can come to-day?"

"Yes, sir. I'll go at once and find out."

"Do so; I'll promise that you shall lose nothing by it," returned Mr. Martin.

In a moment Richard was on his way back to the house. He found Frank just finishing breakfast.

"Why, what's up?" asked the stock-clerk. "What brings you back?"

"Nothing only—I've got a situation for you," replied Richard as coolly as he could, although he could not suppress a hearty smile.

"A situation for me!" ejaculated Frank, in undisguised wonder. "Surely you don't mean it!"

"Don't I though? Just come along and see."

"Where?"

"At Martin's."

"But I thought you had accepted—"

"One position. So I have, but there is another for you. Come along, I'll tell you all about it on the way."

And Richard got Frank's hat and put it on his friend's head and had him out on the street almost before he could realize it.

At Mr. Martin's store a general explanation followed, and Richard and Frank were hired at a joint salary of sixteen dollars per week. They were to have entire charge of the business, and with the aid of Phil were to do the best they could until they heard from Mr. Martin again, which the storekeeper hoped would be in a few days. The proprietor spent an hour in giving all the instructions he could in that limited time, and then, half distracted, hurried off to catch an early train for Philadelphia.

"Well, this is a queer go, to say the least," exclaimed Richard, after Mr. Martin had gone. "It's more like a dream than anything else."

"He would never do as he has—leave two entire strangers in charge of his place—if he was not distracted by this bad news about his son," returned Frank; and he hit the exact truth.

"Well, now we are here, we must make the most of the opportunity," said Richard. "Let us consider ourselves partners and push our business for all it is worth."

Both boys started in with a will. The first customer was a little girl, and both Richard and Frank desired the honor of waiting upon her.

But the girl wanted a cent's worth of red chalk, and as neither could find the article in demand the would-be purchaser was turned over to Phil, who in turn handed the cash to Frank, while Richard gravely made the entry upon the daily sales-book.

But the two set diligently at work, and by evening had the stock fairly well located in mind and also the prices. During the day trade had been fairly brisk, and when closing up time came they found they had taken in twenty-eight dollars.

"I don't know if that's good or bad," said Richard. "We certainly sold goods to all who wished them."

"The thing is to sell to those who don't know whether they want to buy or not," observed Frank. "Still I guess twenty-eight dollars is fair enough for Tuesday."

Both were on hand early next morning. According to Mr. Martin's instructions the show-windows were emptied, and after they had been cleaned, Frank, assisted by Richard, dressed them again.

Now, Mr. Martin's window dressing had always been of the plain, old- fashioned kind, not altogether suited to the present times. He only put in a few staple articles and left them unchanged for a long time.

But Frank Massanet proceeded on different lines, and when he and Richard had finished the improvement was apparent. Nearly every class of goods in the store was represented, and anything new or special was given a prominent place.

"That looks hot," said Phil, who was given to slang. "Never saw it so showy before."

And the many people who stopped to gaze at the display seemed to justify his statement.

"How often should a window like that be cleaned?" asked Richard.

"At least once a week," replied Frank. "And twice a week is not too much, if you have the time to spare."

Both Richard and Frank worked diligently all day. Of course many things were strange to them, and they made some laughable blunders; but they invariably took things so pleasantly that none of the customers seemed to mind.

When night came they found that they had taken in five dollars more than the day previous.

"It's on account of fixing up the window," said Richard.

"Partly that, and partly getting used to customers and the run of stock," replied Frank.

They were soon on the way home. Richard had sent his letter to his mother the day previous, and was now expecting one in return.

"Here is your usual letter," said Mattie Massanet, appearing at the door.

"Thank you," replied Richard. "Excuse me if I look at it at once. I want to see if it contains anything important."

Richard tore the letter open and began to read. His eyes had glanced over scarcely a dozen lines when he uttered a cry of dismay.

And no wonder, for the communication contained the startling intelligence that fire had visited Mossvale, the Dare cottage was burned to the ground, and his mother and sisters were left without a home.



CHAPTER XXXI.

TOM CLOVER'S STATEMENT.

The news from Mossvale was certainly a cruel blow to Richard, and, as he read the letter written by his sister Nancy, his cheeks paled.

"What is it?" asked Frank, seeing that something was wrong. "No one dead, I hope."

"No, not as bad as that," replied Richard faintly; "but bad enough. Read it."

Frank took the letter and glanced at it hastily. The important passages ran as follows:

"It is awful news. Our home is burned to the ground, and I am writing this at Mrs. Wood's where we are all staying. The fire started in the barn (we think a tramp must have done it), and the wind carried the sparks over to the house, and in ten minutes it was all ablaze. It was one o'clock at night, and no one was around to help us. Mother, Grace and I saved all we could, but that was not much, because we did not have time, and it got so awfully hot. When the fire was out, Charlie made us all go over to his house, and sent a team over for what stuff we had saved.

"Mother is awfully excited, and Grace is sick over it. Madge is all right, and so am I. But I think it's awful, and I don't know what we are going to do. Mrs. Wood and Charley, are very kind, but we can't stay here very long, even if Grace is engaged to Charley.

"Mother says there is an insurance on the house and furniture for nine hundred dollars, but she hasn't been able to find the papers yet, and maybe they have been burned, too. If you can, come down right away. I suppose they don't like to let clerks off in New York, but they ought to make an exception in a case like this."

Frank handed the letter over to his sister Mattie.

"I'm sorry for you and your folks, Dick," he said earnestly. "Of course you'll go at once."

"How can I?" replied Richard helplessly. "Mr. Martin will—"

"Never mind Mr. Martin," interrupted Frank. "Your first duty is to your family. I'll get along as best I can, and I'll explain to Mr. Martin if he gets back before you do."

"But what will you do for meals? You must have time to get them?" went on Richard, anxious lest his friend should be assuming too much.

"He can take lunch along, and I'll bring him his dinner," put in Mattie. "You go, Dick; your mother and your sisters need you."

Richard needed no further urging. Whatever Mattie said must certainly be right. He glanced at the clock.

"Quarter to ten. I wonder when I can get a train?" he cried.

A consultation of a time-table showed that no train for Mossvale could be had until nine-thirty the next morning.

"It's too bad!" he groaned. "I could have taken one just an hour ago if I had known."

There was nothing to do, however, but wait, and so Richard retired with the rest.

He passed a sleepless night, thinking over what had happened, and trying to form some plan for the future. But he could arrive at no conclusion, and found that he must wait until he had talked the matter over with the others.

He was the first one up in the morning, and, having over three hours yet to wait, took a walk around to the store to see what Phil was doing.

"There is a telegram for you; just came," said the boy, and he handed it over.

"More news from home," thought Richard. "But we have no telegraph office. Wonder what it means?"

And he tore the telegram open.

It ran as follows:

"PHILADELPHIA, June 28.

"RICHARD DARE:

"My son is dead. Close store until further orders.

"JONAS MARTIN."

Richard had just finished reading the dispatch when Frank came up.

"You are ahead of me," said Frank. "What have you there?"

"Word from Mr. Martin. His son is dead, and we are to close the store until further notice."

Here was more sad news. Phil, who had known young Mr. Martin well, and liked him, felt it the most.

"It will break old Mr. Martin all up," he said sadly. "He thought a heap of his son. The two were alone in the world."

"I can get away easily enough now," said Richard, with a sorry little laugh. "I won't hurry back as soon as I intended. You must write me if anything turns up."

In less than an hour the store was closed up, a death notice pasted on the door, and then Frank accompanied Richard down to the ferry.

On the corner of Liberty Street they met Pep, who started back in surprise.

"I was just comin' up to see you!" he exclaimed to Richard. "My uncle wants you to come right down!"

"Wants me to come down?" queried Richard. "What for?"

"Don't know exactly. Dad's there, and they both want to see you. You'd better go right away; but maybe you was going," added Pep suddenly.

"No, I wasn't. I was going to take a train home," replied Richard. "Perhaps it's nothing in particular."

He had an hour before train time, and, accompanied by Frank, walked down to the Watch Below.

Doc Linyard greeted him cordially. He was surprised to see Richard dressed up, and grieved to learn of the cause.

"Well, I'm glad as how I ain't got no bad news to tell you," said the old sailor with a grin. "Tom Clover is upstairs, in his right mind, and wants to see you."

"What about?" "Never mind, just go up," replied Doc.

On a comfortable bed, in an upper chamber, lay Tom Clover. Good care and nursing had done wonders for the man, and when Richard looked at him he could hardly realize that this was the miserable wretch he had visited in the garret at Frying Pan Court.

"Here's Mr. Dare come to see you," said Doc Linyard, by way of an introduction.

Tom Clover grasped Richard's hand tightly.

"Betty and Doc have told me all about you," he said in a somewhat feeble voice. "I thank you more than I can put in words. Sit down; I want to talk to you."

"I would like to, Mr. Clover, but I've got to catch a train for home in three quarters of an hour," replied Richard. "I'll call as soon as I get back."

"Just stay a little while," urged Doc Linyard. "Tom's got something to say to you."

"Doc tells me your father was a soldier in the late war?" went on Tom Clover.

"Yes, sir."

"Did he once live in Brooklyn?"

"Yes, sir. But—" and Richard paused, while his heart beat rapidly.

"And was his first name John?"

"Yes, sir—John Cartwell Dare. But why do you ask, Mr. Clover? Is it possible that you knew him?"

Tom Clover raised himself up to a sitting position.

"Know him?" he cried. "We were bosom companions for eighteen months! Why, I caught him in my arms the day he was shot!"



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE FIRM OF MASSANET AND DARE.

Tom Clover's unexpected statement was a revelation to Richard, and subsequent questioning convinced the boy that all that Doc Linyard's brother-in-law had said concerning the acquaintance with his father was perfectly true.

It was a fact that Clover had been drafted in Boston, but during the second year of his service his time had expired, and then he had enlisted in a Brooklyn regiment, and become a member of the same company to which Mr. Dare belonged.

"It seems too good to be true," cried Richard finally. "Perhaps Doc has already told you of the pension we are trying to get."

"Yes, and I can witness the papers easily enough, and get several others to, too, if it's necessary. Have you got them here in the city?"

"No; they are home. But I can soon get them, and either bring them or send them on."

This was agreed to, and it was with a much lighter heart that Richard, a quarter of an hour later, bade Frank good-by at the ferry.

"Send the papers to me," said Frank at parting. "I haven't anything to do at present, and will attend to the affair with pleasure."

"Thank you, Frank, I will," was Richard's reply.

The journey to Mossvale was an uneventful one. When Richard reached the Wood cottage all the family ran out to meet him, and in a second his mother's arms were about his neck.

"I'm so glad you have come, Richard!" she cried. "We need you sadly."

Presently he was seated in the doorway, with little Madge on his knee, and the others gathered around, and there he listened to all they had to tell.

The insurance papers had been found, but Mrs. Dare was undecided whether to rebuild or accept the cash.

"We could not get back such a nice home as we had for nine hundred dollars," she said. "And, besides, Sandy Stone has offered me two hundred dollars for the land, and that's a good price, Mr. Wood says."

"Did you save father's pension papers?"

"Yes. But why do you ask?" inquired Mrs. Dare, her curiosity aroused.

For reply Richard told the little party all about his strange meeting with Tom Clover.

"He tells the truth!" cried Mrs. Dare. "I have heard your father mention his name. Thank heaven for having brought you two together!"

And that night, even with all their troubles, the whole Dare family rested without much worry beneath their kind neighbor's roof.

In the morning Richard sent the pension papers to Frank by the first mail. Then he helped get what was left of their furniture into shape, and took a walk over to what had been the old homestead.

Nothing remained but a heap of charred timbers and fallen stones.

"It's the ending of our life here in the country," he whispered to himself. "God grant it may be the beginning of a more prosperous one in the city."

At the close of the week came visitors—Frank, Doc Linyard, and a strange gentleman, who was introduced as Mr. Styles, the old sailor's lawyer friend.

"Mr. Styles says your claim is all right," said Doc Linyard, when introductions all round were over. "He says as how you'll get twenty-five hundred dollars afore three months are up."

It was glorious news.

"Sure?" asked Mrs. Dare, with tears in her eyes.

"Positive, madam," replied Mr. Styles. "I will buy the claim for two thousand dollars if you need the money," he whispered.

"No, thank you; I can wait," she replied. "But I will pay you well for what you have done for us," she added hastily.

"Avast there!" cried the old sailor. "Tom and I are going to settle his claim. We're going to get our money in one month—two thousand dollars each!"

A little while later Frank drew Richard to one side.

"I've heard from Mr. Martin," he said. "Since his son died he has lost all interest in his business, and he wants to sell out and go back to his family in England."

"Sell out?" repeated Richard in surprise. "It would be a good chance for us."

"So I thought; a chance that may not happen again in a lifetime. He has been established twelve years, and has a good run of trade. Last year his sales amounted to twelve thousand dollars. The rent is only seven hundred dollars a year, and he has a three years' lease."

"How much does he ask?"

"If he can sell out before the first he will do so at the cost of the stock—fifteen hundred dollars. Now, by hard scraping I can raise half of that, and if you can raise the other half, and a little extra besides, I believe it will prove a good venture."

Richard thought a moment.

"If my mother will advance the money I'll do it," he replied.

* * * * *

Two years have passed.

As Mr. Styles had predicted, at the end of three months Mr. Dare's pension money was in the widow's possession. Long before this, however, Mrs. Dare sold her land in Mossvale, and removed with her family to New York, having apartments adjacent to Mrs. Massanet, with whom she was soon on intimate terms. She advanced the necessary money to Richard, and he and Frank Massanet immediately bought out Mr. Martin's store and set up business on their own account.

Doc Linyard and Tom Clover now run a prosperous hotel and restaurant in the lower part of the city, where their old friends are always welcome. Pep attends school regularly, and thoroughly appreciates his improved condition in life.

Grace Dare has gone back to the country, and in her Charley Wood has found an affectionate wife and a good housekeeper. Next month Nancy is to become Mrs. Massanet. As for Mattie Massanet, she is often seen to blush when Richard's name is mentioned, and rumor has it that she will some day give her heart into the keeping of her brother's partner.

And Mr. Timothy Joyce? Only last week I met him at a Third Avenue Elevated Station, looking as stout and hearty as ever.

"Just come down on the train," he replied, in answer to my question. "Been making a call on Massanet & Dare, the stationers and booksellers. They are young friends of mine, Dare especially, and I take a great interest in them. Since they fixed up this spring they've got a fine store, and I know they're doing first-rate. They deserve it, too—working as hard as they do. They've got my best wishes for success."

And ours, too; eh, reader?

THE END.