The boy flushed.

"It is a rather stiff one, sir," he answered, with a laughing glance.

"I think that's playing for too high stakes, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman objected. "It is a little rough to put all the burden on Dick. Suppose we divide up the responsibility and foist half of it on Stephen? Let us say you will come if both boys make good in their studies and conduct."

Dick drew a breath of relief at the words, regarding the speaker with gratitude.

"That is a squarer deal, isn't it?" continued Mr. Tolman.

"I think so—yes," was Dick's response.

"And you, Steve—do you subscribe to the contract?"

"Yes, I'll sign," grinned Stephen.

"Then the agreement is clinched," exclaimed his father, "and it will be the fault of you two young persons if we do not have a jolly reunion at Thanksgiving time. Good-by Ackerman! Good-by, Dick. Good luck to you! We are pinning our faith on you, remember. Don't disappoint us."

"I'll try not to," the boy answered, as he stepped to the platform.

"Dick is a fine, manly young chap," observed Mr. Tolman, after the train was once more under way and he and Stephen were alone. "I have a feeling that he is going to make good, too. All he needed was a chance. He has splendid stuff in him. There isn't a mean bone in his body."

Stephen moved uncomfortably in his chair and a guilty blush rose to his cheek but apparently his father did not notice it.

"You liked Mr. Ackerman also, didn't you, son? Indeed there is no need to ask for he is a genius with young people and no boy could help liking a man of his type. It is a pity he hasn't a dozen children, or isn't the leader of a boy's school."

"He is corking at story-telling!" was Steve's comment.

"He certainly is. I caught some fragments of his Hudson River tale and did not wonder that it fascinated you. What a remarkable era that was!" he mused.

"There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask him," Stephen said.

"Such as?"

"Well, for one thing I was curious to know what happened after the steamers on the Hudson were proved a success."

"I can answer that question," replied his father promptly. "After the river boats had demonstrated their practicability steamships were built for traffic along short distances of the coast. Owing to the War of 1812 and the danger to our shipping from the British, however, the launching of these new lines did not take place immediately; but in time the routes were established. The first of these was from New York to New Haven. You see, travel by steam power was still so much of a novelty that Norwich, first proposed as a destination, was felt to be too far away. It was like taking one's life in one's hands to venture such an immense distance from land on a steamboat."

Stephen smiled with amusement.

"But gradually," continued Mr. Tolman, "the public as well as the steamboat companies became more daring and a line from New York to Providence, with Vanderbilt's Lexington as one of the ships, was put into operation. Then in 1818 a line of steamers to sail the Great Lakes was built; and afterwards steamships to travel to points along the Maine coast. The problem of navigation on the rivers of the interior of the country followed and here a new conundrum in steamboat construction confronted the builders, for the channels of many of the streams were shallow and in consequence demanded a type of boat very long and wide in proportion to its depth of hull. After such a variety of boat had been worked out and constructed, lines were established on several of the large rivers, and immediately the same old spirit of rivalry that pervaded the Hudson years before cropped up in these other localities. Bitter competition, for example, raged between the boats that plied up and down the Mississippi; and in 1870 a very celebrated race took place between the Natchez and the Robert E. Lee. The distance to be covered was 1218 miles and the latter ship made it in three days, eighteen hours, and thirty minutes. The test, however, was not a totally fair one since the Natchez ran into a fog that held her up for six hours. But the event illustrates the keen interest with which men followed the progress of American shipping; and you can see how natural it was that after the river boats, lake steamers, coastwise vessels and tugs had had their day the next logical step (and very prodigious one) was the—"

"The ocean liner!" ejaculated Stephen.

"Precisely!" nodded his father. "Now there are two separate romances of our ocean-going ships. The first one is of the sailing vessels and is a chronicle of adventure and bravery as enthralling as any you could wish to read. I wish I had time to tell it to you in full and do it justice, but I fear I can only sketch in a few of the facts and leave you to read the rest by yourself some time. You probably know already that whalers went out from Gloucester, New Bedford, and various of our eastern ports and often were gone on two or three-year cruises; and when you recall that in those early days there not only was no wireless but not even the charts, lighthouses, and signals of a thoroughly surveyed coast you will appreciate that setting forth on such a voyage for whale-oil (then used almost exclusively for lighting purposes) took courage. Of course the captains of the ships had compasses for the compass came into use just before the beginning of the Fifteenth Century and was one of the things that stimulated the Portuguese and Spaniards to start out on voyages of discovery. The Spaniards built ships that were then considered the largest and finest afloat, and probably Columbus caught the enthusiasm of the period and with the newly invented compass to guide him was stirred to brave the ocean and discover other territory to add to the riches of the land he loved. It was a golden age of romance and adventure and the journeys of Columbus grew out of it quite naturally. But in America shipping had its foundation in no such picturesque beginning. The first vessel made in this country was constructed as a mere matter of necessity, being built at the mouth of the Kennebec River to carry back to England a group of disheartened, homesick settlers."

He paused thoughtfully a moment.

"Even the ships of later date had their birth in the same motive—that of necessity. The early colonists were forced to procure supplies from England and they had no choice but to build ships for that purpose. At first these sailing packets were very small, and as one thinks of them to-day it is to marvel that they ever made so many trips without foundering. As for our coastwise ships, up to 1812 they were nothing more than schooner-rigged hulls."

"I wonder where the word schooner came from," commented Steve.

"The legend goes that the term scoon was a colloquialism used when skipping stones. When a pebble glanced along the top of the water it was said to scoon," answered his father, with a smile. "After the War of 1812 was over and our American vessels were safe from possible attack, and after the country itself had recovered somewhat from the stress of this financial burden so that men had more money to invest in commerce, we began to branch out and build finer vessels; and when it came to rigging them there seemed to be no name to apply to the arrangement of the sails. The story goes that one day as one of these new ships sailed out of Gloucester harbor a fisherman watching her exclaimed with admiration, 'See her scoon!' The phrase not only caught the public fancy but that of the shipbuilders as well, and the word schooner was quickly adopted."

"I never knew that before!" announced Steve, when the narrative was concluded.

"Slowly the models of ships improved," went on his father, without heeding the interruption. "Vessels became larger, faster, more graceful. Even the whalers and fishing smacks took on more delicate lines. Merchants from Salem, Gloucester, New Bedford invested their hard-earned savings in whalers and trading ships, and many of them made their fortunes by so doing. The sailing packets that went to Liverpool began to make excellent time records. Although the English were now using steamers for trans-Atlantic travel they had not perfected them to a sufficient extent to make their trips faster than those of sailing ships."

"About how long did it take them to cross?" inquired Stephen.

"The average time to Liverpool was from nineteen to twenty-one days," was the answer. "And for the return voyage from thirty to thirty-five."

"Whew, Dad! Why, one could walk it in that time!" exclaimed the lad.

"It was a long time," his father agreed. "But it is not fair to measure it by present-day standards. Think how novel a thing it was to cross the ocean at all!"

"I suppose so," came reflectively from Stephen.

"It was not long," continued his father, "before the English improved their engines so that their steamers made better time, and then our American sailing packets were left far behind. This, as you can imagine, did not please our proud and ambitious colonists who were anxious to increase their commerce and build up their young and growing country. Something must be done! As yet they had not mastered the enigma of steam but they could make their sailing ships swifter and finer and this they set to work to do. Out of this impetus for prosperity came the remarkable clipper-ship era.

"We shall probably never see such beautiful ships again," continued Mr. Tolman, a trifle sadly. "Youth and romance go hand in hand, and our country was very young, and proud and eager in those days. Our commerce was only beginning and the far corners of the world were strange, unexplored and alluring. It is like an Arabian Night's Tale to read of those wonderful ships built to carry merchandise to China, India and other foreign ports. Speed was their aim—speed, speed, speed! They must hold their own against the English steamers if they would keep their place on the seas. For in those days the methods of packing produce were very primitive, and it was imperative that such perishable things as tea, dried fruits, spices and coffee should be rushed to the markets before the dampness spoiled them. If they mildewed they would be a dead loss to the merchants handling them. Moreover as cable and telegraph were unknown there was no way to keep in touch with the demands of the public, or be sure of prices. Therefore every merchant hurried his goods home in the hope of being the first in the field and reaping the largest profits."

"More racing!" exclaimed Stephen.

"It was racing, indeed!" returned his father. "Ships raced one another back from China, each trying desperately to discharge her cargo before her rival did. Like great sea-birds these beautiful boats skimmed the waves, stretching every inch of canvas to be the winner at the goal. As a result the slow merchant packets with their stale cargoes could find no patrons, the clippers commanding not only all the trade but the highest prices for produce as well. Silks, chinaware, ivory, bamboo—all the wealth of the Orient began to arrive in America where it was hungrily bought up, many a man making his fortune in the East India trade. Of this fascinating epoch Hawthorne gives us a vivid picture."

"It must have been great to travel on one of those ships!" said Stephen.

"It was not all pleasure, by any means, son," Mr. Tolman replied. "Often the vessels encountered hurricanes and typhoons in the treacherous Eastern waters. Sometimes ships were blown out of their course and wrecked, or cast ashore on islands where their crews became the prey of cannibals."

"Jove!"

"It had its outs—this cruising to distant ports," announced his father. "Moreover, the charts in use were still imperfect and lighthouse protection was either very scanty or was lacking entirely."

"What became of the clipper ships?"

"Well, we Americans never do anything by halves, you know. When we go in we go in all over," laughed his father. "That is what we did with our clipper ships. We were so pleased with them that we built more and more, sending them everywhere we could think of. Many went around to California to carry merchandise to the gold searchers. At last there were so many of these swift vessels that they cut into one another and freight rates dropped. Besides, steamboats were coming into general use and were now running on all the more important ocean routes. The day of the sailing ship was over and the marvelous vessels were compelled to yield their place to the heralds of progress and become things of the past. Nevertheless, their part in our American commerce will never be forgotten and we have them to thank not only for the fame they brought our country but also for much of its wealth."

With a quick gesture of surprise he rose hurriedly.

"See!" he exclaimed. "We are almost home. We have talked 'ships and sealing-wax' for hours."

"It hasn't seemed for hours," retorted Stephen, springing to collect his luggage.

"Nor to me, either."

"Some time I'd like to hear about the ocean liners," ventured the boy.

"You must get Mr. Ackerman to tell you that story when he comes to visit us Thanksgiving," was the reply, "if he does come. That part of it seems to be up to you and Dick."

"I mean to do my part to get him here," Steve announced. "I hope Dick will plug, too."

"I rather think you can trust him for that," was the quiet answer.



CHAPTER XVI

AGAIN THE MAGIC DOOR OPENS

A change of trains and a brief hour's journey brought the travelers safely to Coventry where Havens met them with the automobile.

"This will be our last ride this fall," observed Mr. Tolman, as he loitered on the platform while the luggage was being lifted into the car. "We shall have to put the motor up in a day or two. It will not need much of an overhauling in the way of repairs this season, I guess, for it is comparatively new and should be in pretty good condition. There may be a few slight things necessary but nothing much. Isn't that so, Havens?"

"It is badly scratched, sir."

"Scratched!"

"Yes, sir—both inside and out. I wonder you haven't noticed it. Still you wouldn't unless you got it in just the right light. I did not myself at first. There are terrible scratches everywhere. You would think ten men had climbed all over it. Look!"

"Oh, it can't be so bad as all that," laughed Mr. Tolman good-humoredly, evidently not taking the chauffeur's comment seriously. "The car was new in the spring and we have not given it very hard wear. What little luggage we have carried has been carefully put in; I have seen to that myself. Only a short time ago I thought how splendidly fresh the varnish looked. In fact, I examined it just before you were ill. It can't have become very much defaced since then for we have not had the car out of the garage except for one short excursion."

Havens' brow darkened into a puzzled frown.

"I don't understand it at all, sir," he replied. "I could swear the scratches were not there when I went away. If you didn't tell me yourself the car hadn't been used much I'd stake my oath it had had a great deal of knocking about while I was gone. Look here, Mr. Tolman! Look at that, and that, and that—great digs in the paint as if people with boots on had climbed over the sides."

Mr. Tolman looked and so, with a sinking heart, did Stephen.

"Mercy on us! I never noticed all this before!" cried Mr. Tolman, in consternation. "What in the world—" he stopped as if he could find no words to voice his amazement. "Look at this!" He placed a finger on a broad, clearly defined line that extended from the top of the tonneau to the bottom. "You would think somebody had dug his heels in here and then slid down until he reached the ground! And this! What on earth has happened to the thing, Havens? It looks as if it had been used for a gymnasium."

Hot and cold by turns, Steve listened. The marks to which his father pointed told a truthful story. Somebody had braced his heels against the side and then slid to the ground; it was Bud Taylor. And that other jagged line indicated where Tim Barclay had scrambled over the edge and made his hurried exit. The history of the whole miserable adventure was etched in the varnish as vividly as if it had been traced there in words. Stephen gasped with horror when he saw how plainly the entire story stood out in the sunlight of the November day. Why, the most stupid person alive could read it! Every moment he expected that his father or Havens would wheel on him and ask accusingly:

"When was it you carried all those boys to Torrington?"

He could hear his heart thumping inside him and feel the beat of the blood that scorched his cheek. He had not pictured a dilemma like this. The affair had gone off so smoothly that he had flattered himself every possibility of discovery was past, and in this comforting knowledge he had basked with serenity. And now, behold, here he was at the brink of peril, and just when he had had such a glorious holiday, too!

"How do you solve the riddle, Havens?" he heard his father asking.

"I ain't solvin' it, sir," was the drawling answer. "Maybe Steve could give you a hint, though," he added slyly.

The lad stiffened. He and Havens had never been friends. They had been through too many battles for that. The chauffeur did not like boys and took no trouble to conceal the fact, and as a result he had been the prey of many a mischievous prank. It was through his vigilance that Stephen had more than once been brought to justice and in the punishment that followed Havens had exulted without restraint. As a retaliation the boy tormented him whenever opportunity presented, the two carrying on a half-bitter, half-humorous feud which was a source of mutual gratification.

Had not this been the case the confession that trembled on Stephen's tongue would doubtless have been uttered then and there. But to speak before Havens and afford him the chance to crow and rejoice,—that was not to be thought of. Therefore, drawing in his chin and holding his head a trifle higher than was his wont, he replied with hauteur:

"I've no solution at all to offer. How could I have?"

For the fraction of a second Mr. Tolman looked sharply at his son as if some new thought had suddenly struck him; then the piercing scrutiny faded from his eyes and he turned away.

"Well, I guess we shall have to drop the matter for the present, anyway, and be getting home," said he. "It will do no good for us to stand here in the cold and argue. We shall be no nearer an answer. Come, jump in, Steve!"

With a strange sense of reluctance the boy obeyed. He felt the door to confession closing with finality behind him; and now that he saw all chance for dallying on its threshold cut off, he began to regret that it should so completely close. Once again the opportunity to clear his conscience had come about in an easy, natural manner; confession had been gently and tactfully invited and he had turned his back. Never again, probably, would he have such a chance as this. Without any ignominious preamble he could have spoken the few words necessary and been a free man! But alas, he had hesitated too long. His father followed him into the car, banged the door, and they shot homeward.

Perhaps, temporized the lad as they rode along, he would say something when they reached the house. Why wasn't it better anyway to wait until he and his father were quiet and alone? Who could blame him for not wanting to confess his misdemeanors before an audience? His father would understand and forgive his reticence, he was sure. Having lulled his conscience to rest with the assurance of this future reparation he sank back against the cushions and drew the robe closer about him. There was no use in letting the ride be spoiled by worry. He did not need to speak until he got back, and he needn't speak at all if he did not wish to. If no favorable opening occurred, why, he could still remain silent and wait a better chance. He had taken no vow, made no promise; nothing actually bound him to act unless he chose.

It was surprising how his spirits rose with this realization. He even ventured to talk a little and make a joke or two. These overtures received only scant response from his father, however, for Mr. Tolman's brow had settled into a frown and it needed no second glance to assure Stephen that the happenings of the past half-hour had put the elder man very much out of humor. How unfortunate, mused the boy, that this mood should have come upon his father. It would take more than an ordinary measure of courage to approach him now. Why, it would be braving the lions, actually tempting fate to go to him with a confession when he looked like this. Would it not be much wiser to wait?

With a sharp swerve they turned in at the gate and rolled up the long driveway; then the front door burst open and from it issued not only Mrs. Tolman and Doris but with them the girl with the wonderful hair, Jane Harden, whom he had seen at Northampton. A hubbub of greeting ensued and in the interchange of gay conversation all thought of confession was swept from Stephen's mind.

Nor in the days that followed, with their round of skating, hockey, snow-shoeing, and holiday festivities, did the inclination to revert to the follies of the past arise. The big red touring-car was sent away without further allusion to its battered condition and with its departure the last link with the misfortunes that tormented him seemed destroyed. Once, it is true, when he overheard his father telling his mother that the bill for repainting and varnishing the car was going to be very large, his conscience smote him. But what, he argued, could he do? Even were he to come forward now and shoulder the blame it would not reduce the expense of which his father complained. He had no money. Therefore he decided it was better to close his ears and try and forget the entire affair. His father had evidently accepted the calamity with resignation and made up his mind to bear the consequences without further demur. Why not let the matter rest there? At this late date it would be absurd to speak, especially when it could not alter the situation.

In the meantime letters came from Mr. Ackerman and from Dick. The latter was very happy at the New Haven school and was making quite a record for himself, and it was easy to detect between the lines of the steamboat magnate's epistle that he was much gratified by the progress of his protege. Thanksgiving would soon be here and if the Tolmans still extended their invitation for the holidays the two New Yorkers would be glad to accept it.

"I'll write Ackerman to-day," announced Mr. Tolman at breakfast. "The invitation has hung on Stephen and Dick, and I am glad to say they each have made good. How fine that that little East Side chap should have turned out so well! I don't wonder Ackerman is pleased. Everybody does not get appreciation in return for kindness. I know many a parent whose children repay what is done for them only with sneaking, unworthy conduct and utter ingratitude. Dick may not have been born into prosperity but he is a thoroughbred at heart and it shows in his actions. He is every inch a gentleman."

At the words Stephen's blood tingled.

What would his father think of him if he knew what a mean-spirited coward he was? Well, it was impossible to tell him now. It would upset the whole Thanksgiving party.



CHAPTER XVII

MORE STEAMBOATING

The night before Thanksgiving Mr. Ackerman and Dick arrived at Coventry and it was difficult to believe the change wrought in the New York boy. Not only was his face round, rosy and radiant with happiness but along with a new manliness had stolen a gentler bearing and a courtesy that had not been there when he had set forth to school.

"Why, you must have put on ten pounds, Dick!" cried Mr. Tolman, shaking hands with his young guest after greeting the steamboat magnate.

"It is eleven pounds, sir," laughed Dick. "We have bully eats at school and all you want of them."

The final phrase had a reminiscent ring as if it harked back to a time when three ample meals were a mirage of the imagination.

"Well, I am glad to hear you have done justice to them and encouraged the cook," was Mr. Tolman's jocular reply. "Now while you stay here you must cheer on our cook in the same fashion. If you don't we shall think you like New Haven better."

"I guess there is no danger of that," put in Mr. Ackerman. "Dick seems hollow down to his ankles. There is no filling him up; is there, boy?"

"I couldn't eat that third ice-cream you offered me yesterday," was the humorous retort.

"I hope you've saved some room for to-morrow's dinner," Mrs. Tolman interrupted, "for there will be mince pie and plum pudding and I don't know what not. And then there is the turkey—we ordered an extra large one on purpose."

Dick and Steve exchanged a sheepish grin.

"Well, it is jolly to see you good people," Mr. Tolman declared, as he ushered the visitors into the living room, where a bright fire burned on the hearth. "Our boys have done well, haven't they, Ackerman? I don't know which is to win the scholarship race—the steamboats or the railroads."

"We could compare marks," Stephen suggested.

"That would hardly be fair," Mr. Ackerman objected quickly, "for the steamboats did not start even with the railroads in this contest. Dick has had to put in a lot of hours with a tutor to make up for the work he missed at the beginning of the year. He has been compelled to bone down like a beaver to go ahead with his class; but he has succeeded, haven't you, sonny?"

"I hope I have," was the modest retort.

"Furthermore," went on Mr. Ackerman, "there are other things beside scholarship to be considered in this bargain. We want fine, manly boys as well as wise ones. Conduct counts for a great deal, you know."

Stephen felt himself coloring.

"There have been no black marks on Dick's record thus far. How about yours, Steve?" asked the New York man.

"I—er—no. I haven't had any black marks, either," responded Stephen, with a gulp of shame.

"That is splendid, isn't it!" commented Mr. Ackerman. "I wasn't looking for them. You have too fine a father to be anything but a square boy."

Once more Stephen knew himself to be blushing. If they would only talk about something else!

"Are you going to finish your steamboat story for us while you are here?" inquired he with sudden inspiration.

"Why, I had not thought of doing any steamboating down here," laughed the capitalist. "Rather I came to help the Pilgrims celebrate their first harvest."

"But even they had to come to America by boat," suggested Doris mischievously.

"I admit that," owned the New Yorker. "And what is more, they probably would have come in a steamboat if one had been running at the time."

"What was the first American steamship to cross the Atlantic, Ackerman?" questioned Mr. Tolman when they were all seated before the library fire.

"I suppose the Savannah had that distinction," was the reply. "She was built in New York in 1818 to be used as a sailing packet; but she had side wheels and an auxiliary engine, and although she did not make the entire trans-Atlantic distance by steam she did cover a part of it under steam power. Her paddle wheels, it is interesting to note, were so constructed that they could be unshipped and taken aboard when they were not in use, or when the weather was rough. I believe it took her twenty-seven days to make the trip from Savannah to Liverpool and eighty hours of that time she was using her engine. Although she made several trips in safety it was quite a while before the American public was sufficiently convinced of the value of steam to build other steamships. A few small ones appeared in our harbors, it is true, but they came from Norway or England; they made much better records, too, than anything previously known, the Sirius crossing in 1838 in nineteen days, and the Great Western in fifteen. In the meantime shipbuilders on both sides of the Atlantic were studying the steamboat problem and busy brains in Nova Scotia and on the Clyde were working out an answer to the puzzle. One of the most alert of these brains belonged to Samuel Cunard, the founder of the steamship line that has since become world famous. In May, 1840, through his instrumentality, the Unicorn set out from England for Boston arriving in the harbor June third after a voyage of sixteen days. When we reflect that she was a wooden side-wheeler, not much larger than one of our tugboats, we marvel that she ever put in her appearance. Tidings of her proposed trip had already preceded her, and when after much anxious watching she was sighted there was the greatest enthusiasm along the water front, the over-zealous populace who wished to give her a royal welcome setting off a six-pounder in her honor that shattered to atoms most of her stained glass as she tied up at the dock."

His audience laughed.

"You see," continued the capitalist, "the ship came in answer to a circular sent out by our government to various shipbuilders asking bids from swift and reliable boats to carry our mails to England. Cunard immediately saw the commercial advantages of such an opportunity, and not having money enough to back the venture himself the Halifax man went to Scotland where he met Robert Napier, a person who like himself had had wide experience in shipping affairs. Both men were enthusiastic over the project; before long the money necessary for the undertaking was raised, and the British and North American Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, with a line of four ships, was awarded the United States Government contract. These ships were very significantly named: the Britannia in honor of England, the Arcadia as a compliment to Mr. Cunard's Nova Scotia home, the Caledonia in memory of Napier's Scotch ancestry, and the Columbia out of regard to America. And in passing it is rather interesting to recall that in homage to these pioneer ships it has become a tradition of the Cunard Line to use names that terminate in the letter a for all the ships that have followed them. For, you must remember, it was this modest group of steam packets that were the ancestors of such magnificent boats as the Mauretania and Lusitania."

"There was some difference!" interrupted Stephen.

"Well, rather! Had you, however, told Samuel Cunard then that such mammoth floating hotels were possible he would probably not have believed you. He had task enough on his hands to carry the mails; transport the few venturesome souls that dared to cross the sea; and compete with the many rival steamship lines that sprang up on both sides of the ocean as soon as some one had demonstrated that trans-Atlantic travel was practical. For after Cunard had blazed the path there were plenty of less daring persons ready to steal from him the fruits of his vision and courage. From 1847 to 1857 the Ocean Steamship Company carried mails between New York and Bremen, and there was a very popular line that ran from New York to Havre, up to the period of the Civil War. Among the individual ships none, perhaps, was more celebrated than the Great Eastern, a vessel of tremendous length, and one that more nearly approached our present-day liners as to size. Then there was the Collins Line that openly competed with the Cunard Line; and to further increase trans-Atlantic travel, in 1855 Cornelius Vanderbilt, ever at the fore in novel projects, began operating lines of steamships not only to England and France but to Bremen."

Mr. Ackerman paused a moment.

"By 1871 there was an American line between Philadelphia and Liverpool. In the meantime, ever since 1861, there had been a slow but steady advance in ocean shipbuilding. Although iron ships had gradually replaced wooden ones the side-wheeler was still in vogue, no better method of locomotion having been discovered. When the change from this primitive device to the screw propeller came it was a veritable leap in naval architecture. Now revolutions in any direction seldom receive a welcome and just as the conservatives had at first hooted down the idea of iron ships, asserting they would never float, so they now decried the use of the screw propeller. Indeed there was no denying that this innovation presented to shipbuilders a multitude of new and balking problems. While the clipper ships had greatly improved the designs of vessels the stern was still their weakest point and now, in addition to this already existing difficulty, came the new conundrums presented by the pitch, or full turn of the thread, in the screw propeller; also the churning of the current produced by the rapidly whirling wheel, which was found to retard the speed of the ship very materially. Valiantly engineers wrestled with one after another of these enigmas until they conquered them and put shipbuilding on the upward path where it has been ever since. In time steel ships replaced the cruder vessels of iron; finer types of engines were worked out; the wireless and the many electrical devices which herald approaching foes and announce the presence of icebergs have been invented; until now the ocean liner is practically safe from all perils except fogs, icebergs and submarines."

He stopped a moment with eyes fixed on the glowing logs that crackled on the hearth.

"Meanwhile," he went on, "comfort aboard ship has progressed to luxury. Better systems of ventilation, more roomy sleeping quarters, more windows and improved lighting facilities have been installed. The general arrangement of the ship has also been vastly improved since the days when the high bulwark and long deckhouse were in use. Now iron railings allow the sea to wash back and forth in time of storm, and in consequence there is less danger of vessels being swamped by the waves. Then there are watertight doors and bulkheads, double bottoms to the hulls, and along with these more practical advances have come others of a more healthful and artistic trend. The furniture is better; the decoration of the cabins and saloons prettier and more harmonious; there has been more hygienic sanitation. When the Oceanic of the White Star Line was built in 1870 she had a second deck, and this novel feature was adopted broadcast and eventually ushered in the many-deck liners now in use. The Servia, built in 1881, was the first steel ship and the advantage of its greater elasticity was instantly seen. Builders were wise enough to grasp the fact that with the increasing length of vessels steel ships would be able to stand a greater strain. Little by little the gain went on in every direction. Nevertheless, in spite of the intelligence of the shipbuilders, it was long before trans-Atlantic navigators had the courage to trust themselves entirely to their engines and discard masts; although they shifted to steel ones instead of those of iron or wood, they still persisted in carrying them."

He smiled as he spoke.

"When the twin-screw propeller made its appearance it brought with it greater speed and there was a revival of the old racing spirit. Between the various shipping lines of all nations the contest for size and swiftness has raged ever since. Before the Great War, Germany had a very extensive collection of large and rapid liners, many of them built on the Clyde, that fought to surpass the Cunard ships. The White Star Line also took a hand in the game and built others. In the contest, alas, America has been far behind until gradually she has let other countries slip in and usurp the major proportion of ocean commerce. It is a pitiful thing that we should not have applied our skill and wealth of material to building fine American steamship lines of our own instead of letting so many of our tourists turn their patronage to ships of foreign nations. Perhaps if the public were not so eager for novelty, and so constantly in search for the newest, the largest and the fastest boats, we should be content to make our crossings in the older and less gaudy ships, which after all are quite as seaworthy. But we Americans must always have the superlative, and therefore many a steamer has had to be scrapped simply because it had no palm gardens, no swimming pools, no shore luxuries. We have not, however, wholly neglected naval construction for we have many fine steamships, a praiseworthy lot of battleships and cruisers and some very fine submarines. I hope and believe that the time will come when our merchant marine will once again stand at the front as it did in the days of the clipper ships. Our commerce reaches out to every corner of the earth and why should we rely on other countries to transport our goods?"

"I suppose there are no pirates now, are there, Mr. Ackerman?" asked Dick, raising his eyes expectantly to the capitalist's face.

"I am afraid there are very few, Dick boy," returned the elder man kindly. "I suppose that is somewhat of a disappointment to you. You would have preferred to sail the seas in the days when every small liner carried her guns as a defence against raiders and was often forced to use them, too. But when international law began to regulate traffic on the high seas and the ocean thoroughfare ceased to be such a deserted one pirates went out of fashion, and every nation was granted equal rights to sail the seas unmolested. It was because this freedom was menaced by German submarines in the late war and our privilege to travel by water threatened that our nation refused to tolerate such conditions. A code of humane laws that had been established for the universal good was being broken and we could not permit it. For you must remember that now there are almost as many laws on the ocean as on the land. There are rules for all kinds of vessels, of which there are a far greater variety than perhaps you realize. Not only have we steamships, cruisers, and battleships but we have schooners, barques, brigs, tugboats, dredgers, oil-tankers, turret ships for freight, cargo boats, steam tramps, coalers, produce ships, ice-breakers, train ferries, steam trawlers, fire boats, river boats, harbor excursion boats, coasters, whalebacks, steam yachts, launches and lake steamers. Each of these is carefully classified and has its particular traffic rules, and in addition to these is obliged to obey certain other general marine laws to which all of them are subject, in order that travel by water may be made safe."

"Don't all ships have to be inspected, too?" asked Stephen.

"Yes; and not only are they inspected but to protect the lives of their passengers and crew, as well as preserve their cargo, they must adhere to specified conditions. The number of passengers and crew is regulated by law, as is the amount of the cargo. Ocean liners, for example, must have aboard a certain number of lifeboats, rafts, belts, life preservers, fire extinguishers, lines of hose; and the size of all these is carefully designated. There must be frequent drills in manning the boats; the fire hose must be tested to see that it works and is in proper condition; and in thick weather the foghorns must be sounded at regular intervals. There is no such thing now as going to sea in haphazard fashion and trusting to luck. Everything that can be done for the safety of those who travel the ocean must be done."

He paused a moment, then added:

"And in the meanwhile, that every protection possible shall be offered to ships, we have been as busy on the land as on the water and have established a code of laws to govern our coasts, harbors and rivers. Government surveys have charted the shores of all countries so that now there are complete maps that give not only the coast line but also the outlying islands, rocks and shoals that might be a menace to ships. It is no longer possible for a State bordering on the sea to put up a low building at the water's edge and set a few candles in the windows as was done back in the year eighteen hundred."

Both the boys laughed.

"We can laugh now," assented Mr. Ackerman with a smile, "but in those days I fancy it was no laughing matter. Even with all our up-to-date devices there are wrecks; and think of the ships that must have gone down before charts were available, lighthouses and bell buoys in vogue, wireless signals invented and the coast patrol in operation. I shudder to picture it. Sailing the seas was a perilous undertaking then, I assure you. Even the first devices for safety were primitive. The Argand lamp of 1812 was not at all powerful and the lenses used were far from perfect. Foghorns were operated by hand or by horse power and were not strong enough to be heard at any great distance. Bell buoys were unknown although there were such things as bell-boats which were anchored in dangerous spots and rung by the wash of the waves. There were lightships, too, but more often than not their feeble light was obscured or unnoticed and they were run down by the ships they sought to protect. Altogether there was room for improvement at every point and slowly but surely it came. After the Daboll trumpet, whistle and siren had been tried finer horns operated by steam or power engines supplanted them until now all along our coasts and inland streams signals of specified strength have been installed, a commission deciding just what size signals shall be used and where they shall be placed. There are lighthouses of prescribed candle power; automatic flashlights and whistling buoys; coastguard stations with carefully drilled crews; all regulated by law and matters of compulsion. If men and ships are lost now it is because it is beyond human power to help it."

"There are facts about the water that are impossible to modify," interrupted Mr. Tolman, "and I suppose we shall never be able wholly to eliminate the dangers growing out of them. There are for example silence zones where, because of the nature of air currents or atmospheric conditions, no sounds can be heard. Often a foghorn comparatively near at hand will belch forth its warning and its voice be swallowed up in this strange stillness. Many a calamity has occurred that could only be accounted for in this way. Man is ingenious, it is true, but he is not omniscient and in the face of some of the caprices of nature he is powerless."

Mr. Ackerman rose and stood with his back to the fire.

"And now," went on Mr. Tolman, addressing Stephen and Dick, "I should say you two had had quite a lecture on steamboating and should move that you both go to bed."

Quickly Mr. Ackerman interrupted him.

"I should amend the motion by suggesting that we all go to bed," laughed he. "I am quite as tired as the boys are."

The amendment was passed, the motion carried, and soon the entire Tolman family was wrapped in sleep.



CHAPTER XVIII

A THANKSGIVING TRAGEDY

Perhaps had Stephen known what was in store for him on the morrow he might not have slept so soundly. As it was, he and Dick had to be called three times before they opened their eyes on the Thanksgiving sunshine. A heavy frost had fallen during the night, touching the trees with splendor and transforming the brown earth to a jewelled sweep of gems that flashed like brilliants in the golden light. The boys scrambled into their clothes and, ruddy from a cold shower, descended to the dining room where amid the fragrance of steaming coffee the family were just sitting down to breakfast.

"Well, what is up for to-day, boys?" inquired Mrs. Tolman, after the more formal greetings were over. "What are you planning to do with Dick, Stephen?"

"We're going skating over to the Hollow if the ice is any good," was the prompt response. "It was fine yesterday and unless somebody has smashed it all up it ought to be good to-day."

"That plan sounds rather nice, doesn't it, Jane?" Doris suggested to her roommate. "Why don't we go, too?"

"I'd like nothing better," was the answer.

"The youngsters have sketched a very alluring program," Mr. Ackerman said. "If I had any skates I should be tempted to join them. I have not been on the ice in years but in my day I used to be quite a hockey player."

"Oh, do come, Mr. Ackerman!" cried Steve eagerly. "If you used to skate it will all come back to you. It is like swimming, you know; once you have learned you never forget how."

"But I've nothing to skate with," laughed the New Yorker.

"Oh, we can fix you up with skates all right, if you really want to go," Mr. Tolman said. "I have a couple of pairs and am sure you could manage to use one of them."

"So you are a skater, are you, Tolman?" the capitalist observed, with surprise.

"Oh, I am nothing great," Mr. Tolman protested, "but I have always enjoyed sports and muddled along at them. Coventry is quite a distance from Broadway, you see, and therefore we must get our recreation in other ways."

"It is a darn sight better than anything New York has to offer," commented the other man soberly. "Good wholesome out-of-door exercise is not to be mentioned in the same breath with a hot theater where a picture show is a makeshift for something better. Give me fresh air and exercise every time!"

"Well, since that is the way you feel about it we can comply with your request," Mr. Tolman rejoined, with a smile. "If you do not mind hobbling back to New York lame as a cart-horse you can certainly have your wish, for we have the ice, the skates, plenty of coats and sweaters—everything necessary. Suppose we all start for the Hollow at ten o'clock. It is a mile walk but as we are having a late dinner we shall still have a long morning."

"That will suit me all right," returned Mr. Ackerman.

"By the way, Henry," interrupted Mrs. Tolman, addressing her husband, "Havens is waiting to see you. He has some message for you."

"Where is he?"

"In the hall."

"Ask Mary to tell him to go into my den. I'll be there in a minute."

What a merry party it was that chatted and laughed there in the warmth of the sunny dining room! For the time being the elders dropped their cares and became as young in spirit as the boys and girls. Jokes, stories and good-humored banter passed back and forth until with one accord everybody rose from the table and sauntered into the library where a great blaze of logs glowed and crackled.

"If you will excuse me I will see what Havens wants," remarked Mr. Tolman, as he lighted his cigar. "Probably the garage people have unearthed some more repairs that must be made on that car. They seem to have a faculty for that sort of thing. Every day they discover something new the matter with it. I shall have a nice little bill by the time they finish."

Shrugging his shoulders, he passed into the hall. It was more than half an hour before he returned and when he did a close observer would have noticed that his face had lost its brightness and that the gaiety with which he took up the conversation with his guests was forced and unnatural. However, he tried resolutely to banish his irritation, whatever its cause. He went up to the attic with Mr. Ackerman, where the two searched out skates, woolen gloves and sweaters; he jested with Doris and Jane Harden; he challenged Dick to a race across the frozen ground. But beneath his lightness lingered a grave depression which betokened to those who knew him best that something was wrong. Yet he was evidently determined the cloud should not obtrude itself and spoil the happiness of the day. Probably some business annoyance that could not be remedied had arisen; or possibly Havens had given notice. Such contingencies were of course to be deplored but as they could not be helped, why let them ruin the entire holiday?

Therefore nobody heeded Mr. Tolman's mood which was so well controlled that his guests were unconscious of it, and the group of skaters swung along over the frosty fields with undiminished merriment. The Hollow for which they were bound lay in a deserted stone quarry where a little arm of the river had penetrated the barrier of rocks and, gradually flooding the place, made at one end a deep pool; from this point the water spread itself over the meadows in a large, shallow pond. Had the spot been nearer the town it would doubtless have been overrun with skaters; but as it was isolated, and there was a larger lake near the center of the village, few persons took the trouble to seek out this remote stretch of ice.

This morning it lay desolate like a gleaming mirror, not a human being marring its solitude.

"We shall have the place all to ourselves!" exclaimed Mr. Ackerman. "There will be no spectators to watch me renew my youth, thank goodness!"

Quickly the skates were strapped on and the young people shot out into the sunshine and began to circle about. More cautiously Mr. Tolman and his guest followed.

"I wouldn't go into the quarry," shouted Mr. Tolman, "for I doubt if it has been cold enough yet to freeze the ice very solidly there. There are liable to be air holes where the river makes in."

"Oh, we fellows have skated in the quarry millions of times, Dad," Stephen protested. "It is perfectly safe."

"There is no way of telling whether it is or not," was the response, "so suppose for to-day we keep away from it."

"But—"

"Oh, don't argue, Stevie," called Doris. "If Dad doesn't want us to go there that's enough, isn't it?"

"But half the fun is making that turn around the rocks," grumbled Stephen, in a lower tone. "I don't see why Dad is such a fraid-cat. I know this pond better than he does and—"

"If your father says not to skate there that ought to go with you," cut in Dick. "He doesn't want you to—see? Whether it is safe or not has nothing to do with it."

"But it's so silly!" went on Stephen. "Why—"

"Oh, cut it out! Can it!" ejaculated the East Side lad. "Your dad says No and he's the boss."

The ungracious retort Steve offered was lost amid the babel of laughter that followed, and the skaters darted away up the pond. Indeed, one could not long have cherished ill humor amid such radiant surroundings. There was too much sunshine, too much sparkle in the clear air; too much jollity and happiness. Almost before he realized it Stephen's irritation had vanished and he was speeding across the glassy surface of the ice as gay as the gayest of the company.

He never could explain afterward just how it happened that he found himself around the bend of the quarry and sweeping with the wind toward its farther end. He had not actually formulated the intention of slipping away from the others and invading this forbidden spot. Nevertheless, there he was alone in the tiny cove with no one in sight. What followed was all over in a moment,—the breaking ice and the plunge into the frigid water. The next he knew he was fighting with all his strength to prevent himself from being drawn beneath the jagged, crumbling edge of the hole. To clamber out was impossible, for every time he tried the thin ice would break afresh under his hands and submerge him again in the bitter cold of the moving stream. Over and over he tried to pull himself to safety but without success. Then suddenly he felt himself becoming numb and helpless. His teeth chattered and he could no longer retain his hold on the frail support that was keeping his head above water. He was slipping back into the river. He was not going to be able to get out!

With a piercing scream he made one last desperate lunge forward, and again the ice that held him broke and the water dashed over his ears and mouth.

When he next opened his eyes it was to find himself in his own bed with a confusion of faces bending over him.

"There!" he heard some one say in a very small, far-away voice. "He is coming to himself now, thank God! It was chiefly cold and fright. He is safe now, Tolman. Don't you worry! You'd better go and get off some of your wet clothing, or you will catch your death."

Mr. Ackerman was speaking.

"Yes, Henry, do go!" pleaded his wife.



As Stephen looked about him in the vague, groping uncertainty of returning consciousness his glance fell upon his father who stood beside his pillow, shivering nervously. He put out his hand and touched the dripping coat sleeve.

"What—" began he weakly.

Then with a rush it all came back to him and everything was clear. He had been drowning and his father had plunged into the water to save him!

A sob rose in his throat and he caught the elder man's hand between both of his.

"Oh, Dad," he exclaimed, "I've been so rotten to you—so mean—so cowardly. I'm ashamed to—"

"Don't talk about it now, son. I know."

"You know what I did?"

"Yes."

"But—" the boy paused bewildered.

"Don't talk any more about it now, Stevie," pleaded his mother.

"But I've got to know," said the lad. "Can't you see that—"

"Let me talk with him alone a moment," suggested Mr. Tolman in an undertone. "He is all upset and he won't calm down until he has this thing off his mind. Leave me here with him a little while. I'll promise that he does not tire himself."

The doctor, Mr. Ackerman and Mrs. Tolman moved across the room toward the window.

"You asked how I knew, son," began his father with extreme gentleness. "I didn't really know. I just put two and two together. There was the scratched machine and the gasoline gone—both of which facts puzzled me not a little. But the proof that clinched it all and made me certain of what had happened came to me this morning when Havens brought me an old red sweater and some school papers of Bud Taylor's that the men who were overhauling the car found under the seat. In an instant the whole thing was solved."

"You knew before we went skating then?"

"Yes."

"And—and—you jumped into the water after me just the same."

Mr. Tolman's voice trembled:

"You are my son and I love you no matter what you may do."

"Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry!" sobbed the boy. "I wanted to tell you—I meant to. It was just that I was too much of a coward. I was so ashamed of what I had done that I hadn't the nerve. After it was over it all seemed so wrong. I knew you would be angry—"

"Rather say sorry, son."

"Well, sorry. And now that you have been so white to me I'm more ashamed still."

"There, there, my boy, we will say no more about it," his father declared. "You and your conscience have probably had a pretty bitter battle and I judge you have not been altogether happy since your adventure. People who do wrong never are. It is no fun to carry your fault to bed with you and find it waiting when you wake up in the morning."

"You bet it isn't!" replied the lad, with fervor. "But can't I do something now to make good, Dad?"

Mr. Tolman checked an impulsive protest and after a moment responded gravely:

"We will see. Perhaps you would like to earn something toward doing over the car."

"Yes! Yes! I would!"

"Well, all that can be arranged later. We—"

"Henry," broke in Mrs. Tolman, "you must go this instant and get into some dry clothes. You are chilled through. The doctor says Stephen is going to be none the worse for his ducking and that he can come down stairs to dinner after he has rested a little longer. So our Thanksgiving party is not to be spoiled, after all. In fact, I believe we shall have more to give thanks for than we expected," concluded she, making an unsteady attempt to speak lightly.

"I think so, too," echoed her husband.

"And so do I!" added Stephen softly, as he exchanged an affectionate smile with his father.



CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF THE HOUSE PARTY

As they were persons of strong constitution and in good athletic training neither Mr. Tolman nor Steve were any the worse for the narrow escape of the morning, and although a trifle spent with excitement both were able to take their places at the dinner table so that no cloud rested on the festivity of the day.

Certainly such a dinner never was,—or if there ever had been one like it in history at least Dick Martin had never had the luck to sit down to it. The soup steaming and hot, the celery white and crisp, the sweet potatoes browned in the oven and gleaming beneath their glaze of sugar, the cranberry sauce vivid as a bowl of rubies; to say nothing of squash, and parsnips and onions! And as for the turkey,—why, it was the size of an ostrich! With what resignation it lay upon its back, with what an abject spirit of surrender,—as if it realized that resistance was futile and that it must docilely offer itself up to make perfect the feast. And the pudding, the golden-tinted pies with their delicate crust, the nuts; the pyramid of fruit, riotous in color; the candies of every imaginable hue and flavor! Was it a wonder that Dick, who had never before beheld a real New England home Thanksgiving, regarded the novelty with eyes as large as saucers and ate until there was not room for another mouthful?

"Gee!" he gasped in a whisper to Stephen, as he sank weakly back into his chair when the coffee made its appearance. "This sure is some dinner."

The others who chanced to overhear the observation laughed.

"Had enough, sonny?" inquired Mr. Tolman.

"Enough!"

There was more laughter.

"I suppose were it not for the trains and the ships we should not be having such a meal as this to-day," remarked Mrs. Tolman.

"You are right," was Mr. Ackerman's reply. "Let me see! Fruit from Florida, California and probably from Italy; flour from the Middle West; coffee from South America; sugar probably from Cuba; turkey from Rhode Island, no doubt; and vegetables from scattered New England farms. Add to this cigarettes from Egypt and Turkey and you have covered quite a portion of the globe."

"It is a pity we do not consider our indebtedness to our neighbors all over the world oftener," commented Mr. Tolman. "We take so much for granted these days. To appreciate our blessings to the full we should have lived in early Colonial times when the arrival of a ship from across the ocean was such an important event that the wares she brought were advertised broadcast. Whenever such a vessel came into port a list of her cargo was issued and purchasers scrambled eagerly to secure the luxuries she carried. Pipes of wine, bolts of cloth, china, silks, tea—all were catalogued. It was no ordinary happening when such a boat docked, I assure you."

"I suppose it was a great event," reflected Mrs. Tolman, "although I never half realized it."

"And not only was the advent of merchandise a red-letter day but so was the advent of travelers from the other side of the water. Picture if you can the excitement that ensued when Jenny Lind, the famous singer, visited this country! And the fact that we were now to hear this celebrated woman was not the only reason for our interest. She had actually come in a ship from across the sea! Others would come also. America was no longer cut off from the culture of the old world, an isolated country bereft of the advantages of European civilization. We were near enough for distinguished persons to make trips here! Charles Dickens and the Prince of Wales came—and how cosmopolitan we felt to be entertaining guests from the mother-country! Certainly the Atlantic could not be very wide if it could be crossed so easily and if we could have the same speakers, the same readers, the same singers as did the English! Our fathers and grandfathers must have thrilled with satisfaction at the thought. The ocean was conquered and was no longer an estranging barrier."

"What would they have said to crossing the water by aeroplane or bobbing up in a foreign port in a submarine?" put in Doris.

"And some day I suppose the marvels of our age that cause our mouths to open wide and our eyes to bulge with amazement will become as humdrum as the ocean liner and the Pullman have," Mrs. Tolman remarked.

"Yes," returned her husband. "Think of the fight every one of these innovations has had to put up before it battled its way to success. The first locomotives, you remember, were not only rated as unsafe for travel but also actually destructive to property. The major part of the public had no faith in them and predicted they would never be used for general travel. As for crossing the ocean—why, one was welcome to take his life in his hands if he chose, of course; but to cross in an iron ship—it was tempting Providence! Did not iron always sink? And how people ridiculed Darius Green and his flying machine! Most of the prophets were thought to be crazy. History is filled with stories of men who wrecked their worldly fortunes to perpetuate an idea, and but too frequently an idea they never lived to see perfected."

During the pause that followed Mr. Ackerman leaned across the table and as he sipped his coffee asked mischievously:

"Well, Steve, having now heard both stories, have you come to a conclusion which one you are going to vote for?"

"No, sir," was the dubious response. "I'm farther away from a decision than ever. Just as I get it settled in my mind that the railroads have done the biggest things and conquered the most difficulties along come the steamships and I am certain they are six times as wonderful."

"And you, Dick—what do you say?" questioned the financier, smiling. "Surely you are going to stand up for the steamboat."

But to his chagrin Dick shook his head.

"I feel as Steve does," replied he. "No sooner do I get settled one way than something turns me round the other."

"So far as I can see we shall have to leave the matter a draw, shan't we, Tolman?" observed the New Yorker.

"It would be a jolly subject for a debate, wouldn't it?" put in Stephen. "Sometimes we have discussions like that at school and the next time we do I believe I'll suggest this topic. It would be mighty interesting."

"It certainly would," his father echoed. "But it also would be a very sorry event if you could not demonstrate that the railroads had the supremacy for were their prestige to be threatened I might have to move out of town."

"In case Connecticut did not want you, you might come to New York where you would be sure of being appreciated," put in Mr. Ackerman. "And that is not all talk, either, for I want you and the whole family to give me a promise to-day that you will come over and join Dick and me at Christmas. I've never had a boy of my own to celebrate the holiday with before, you must remember; but this time I have a real family and I am going to have a real Christmas," he continued, smiling affectionately at the lad beside him. "So I want every one of you to come and help me to make the day a genuine landmark. And if I'm a little new at playing Santa Claus some of you who have been schooled in the role for many years can show me how. We can't promise to stage for you such an excitement as Stephen got up for us this morning, and we never can give you a dinner equal to this; but we can give you a royal welcome. You can come by boat or come by train," added he slyly. "No guest who patronizes the railroads will be shut out, even if he is misguided. The chief thing is for you to come, one and all, and we will renew our friendship and once again bless Stephen, Dick, and my lost pocketbook, for bringing us together."

FINIS

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The first volume in "The Invention Series"

PAUL AND THE PRINTING PRESS

By SARA WARE BASSETT

With illustrations by A. O. Scott

12mo. Cloth. 218 pages.

Paul Cameron, president of the class of 1920 in the Burmingham High School, conceives the idea of establishing a school paper, to the honor and glory of his class. So The March Hare comes into existence, and Paul and his schoolfellows bend all their energies to making it a success. They have their difficulties and Paul in particular bears the brunt of their troubles, but The March Hare lives up to its reputation for life and liveliness and becomes not only a class success, but a town institution. This is the first volume in "The Invention Series."

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LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS

34 Beacon Street, Boston

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THE END