"I want to forget it myself," said Fred, "or it will spoil my enjoyment of Niagara."

"I wonder where Mr. F. Grant Palmer is now," said Frank. "I feel sure he is the real burglar."

"Then he has probably gone over into Canada," returned Fred. "It is unlucky for me that he left the watch and chain, but lucky for Mr. Carver, who will now recover them."

Meanwhile let us follow Mr. Palmer, whose movements are of interest to us in connection with the suspicion he has managed to throw on Fred. When he left the Lynch House he proposed, as a measure of safety, to go over to the Canada side, and indeed he did so. He made his way to the Clifton House, and registered there, depositing his valise at the office while he went in to breakfast.

"We have no room at present," said the clerk, politely, "but by the middle of the forenoon we shall undoubtedly have a few vacancies. Will that answer?"

"Oh, yes," said Palmer easily. "I am in no special hurry for a room, but will take breakfast and go out for a walk."

It did occur to Mr. Palmer that the valise, containing as it did the bonds stolen from Mr. Carver in Elmira, should be carefully guarded. However, it would surely be as safe in the care of the hotel clerk of the Clifton as in any hotel room, and probably even safer. So he ate breakfast with an easy mind, and then, purchasing a cigar, took a walk along the road which presents the best views of the Falls.

Mr. Palmer felt very complacent.

"It is a blessing to gentlemen in my profession," he soliloquized, "that Canada is so conveniently near. Here the minions of the law cannot touch us for any little indiscretion committed under the stars and stripes. I hear people talking of annexing Canada to the States, but to that I am unalterably opposed. I should have to retire from business, and I am not able to do that at present."

He was standing at a convenient point surveying the Falls, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Such was the force of habit that Mr. Palmer started violently, and turned round nervously.

It was a stout man with a smiling face that confronted him.

"Ha, Palmer!" said the new arrival. "Did you mistake me for——"

"How are you, Wellington? I am glad to see you."

"Instead of——"

"Oh, pshaw! A man naturally starts when he is tapped on the shoulder unexpectedly."

"I see. You were admiring the Falls."

"Yes."

"There is a good deal of romance in your composition, my dear Palmer," said his friend banteringly. "Anything new?"

"Well, yes," said Palmer, glancing around him cautiously.

"Made a strike, eh?"

"Well, something of the sort."

"What is it?"

"I managed to have a stroke of luck at Elmira, yesterday afternoon."

"How much did you get away with?"

"Hush! don't speak so plainly. Suppose any one should hear you?"

"My dear fellow, there is no one within two hundred yards."

"Well, there must be five thousand dollars in bonds and money."

"Very neat, upon my word! You are in luck!"

"How about you?"

"I made a small raise at Buffalo—a paltry three hundred dollars' worth. It was hardly worth the trouble of taking. Still, a man must live."

"To be sure!"

"Now with what you picked up you can live a year or two in comfort. Upon my soul, I envy you. Are you suspected?"

"I have managed to divert suspicion, I think;" and Palmer told his friend the story of his secreting the gold watch and chain in Fred's luggage.

"Very shrewd!" said his friend approvingly. "Palmer, you are a credit to our profession. I shall be content to take lessons of you."

"Oh, you are only joking," said Palmer, his expression showing, however, that he felt proud of the compliment.

They took a long and leisurely walk together, talking over their mutual experiences. They had known each other for ten years, having been fellow boarders together as far back as that at Sing Sing, since then neither had been caught, though both had been engaged in violating the laws. Their similar professions had given them a common bond of sympathy, and they found so much satisfaction in each other's company that the time slipped by insensibly, and it was half-past twelve before they found their way back to the Clifton.

Mr. Palmer stepped up to the desk.

"Have you a room for me yet?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir; I can give you No. 67. Here, front!"

A hall boy answered the summons.

"Take the gentleman up to 67," said the clerk.

"Any luggage, sir?"

"You may hand me my valise, if you please."

"Beg pardon; here it is."

"Come up with me, Wellington. We'll continue our talk up stairs."

Palmer merely glanced at the valise, and continued talking with his friend. The hall boy unlocked the door of No. 67 and led the way inside.

It was a pleasant room, and Palmer looked about him approvingly.

"I shall be very comfortable here," he said.

"Is everything right?" asked the hall boy, lingering.

Palmer smiled, drew a quarter from his pocket and put it into the ready hand of the young man.

"You take American coins, don't you?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, dear, yes, sir. Thank you!"

"That is all for the present. If I want anything I will ring."

Wellington scanned the valise with an eye of interest.

"So that holds the swag, does it?" he asked.

"My dear friend, don't use such vulgar terms!" said Palmer reproachfully. "It's not only inelegant, but it's imprudent. Suppose anybody heard you?"

"Your reproof is just, Palmer. I am rather a blunderer, I admit. I see you are traveling under a false name."

"What do you mean?"

Wellington pointed to a small card attached to the valise. It bore the name of Edmund Lawrence.

When Palmer's glance fell on this card, a quick glance of dismay swept over his face.

"That isn't my valise!" he said.

"Not your valise!"

"No. The clerk has made a mistake. I must see him at once!" continued Palmer, in an agitated voice. "He may have given my valise to this man Lawrence, and in that case I am ruined. Stay here till I return."

Palmer seized the satchel, opened the door, and descended to the office in breathless haste. As he dashed up to the desk the clerk eyed him in mild surprise.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Matter enough! You have given me the wrong valise."

"Is it possible?"

"See here; this belongs to a party named Lawrence—Edmund Lawrence. Give me mine at once."

The clerk looked troubled.

"I am afraid I can't," he faltered apologetically. "I gave Mr. Lawrence your valise—you will observe that they are very much alike—and he carried it away two hours since."

Palmer felt ready to drop. To think that after all his careful planning everything should be jeopardized by a hotel clerk's error.

"Do you know what you have done?" he said, in a hollow voice. "My valise contained two thousand dollars' worth of securities."

"I am terribly sorry, Mr. Palmer, but I don't think you will suffer any loss. This Mr. Lawrence looks like a high-toned gentleman. You can see him within an hour. He went from here to the International Hotel on the American side of the Falls. I advise you to go over at once, take his bag with you, and exchange."



CHAPTER XIV.

THE MISSING VALISE.

That he was imprudent in trusting himself on the American side Mr. Grant Palmer was well aware, but he felt that he was in danger of losing the entire proceeds of his skilful burglary, and to this he could not make up his mind. Besides the danger was not very great. Why should any one suppose that an ordinary valise contained stolen property? There was nothing remarkable about the appearance of his hand-bag. Hundreds of them are carried every day. If it were opened by a dishonest person, of course it would be doubtful if he ever got it back, but the clerk at the Clifton had said that this Mr. Lawrence seemed like a high-toned gentleman, who would of course scorn to avail himself of property not his own.

"Risk or no risk!" decided Palmer, "I must go over and reclaim my property."

Leaving him to cross to the American side, we will follow Mr. Lawrence, who, not at all suspecting that the valise he had received from the clerk was not his own, repaired to the International Hotel and engaged one of the best rooms in the house, for he was a man of ample means. He laid his valise on the bed and went down-stairs. Later in the day he went out to take his customary walk.

Meanwhile Fred and his two companions walked about in a leisurely manner, surveying the Falls from different points, and finally went to Goat Island. Here they sat down on a bench and surrendered themselves to the fascinations of the scene.

"Well, what do you think of Niagara, Fred?" asked Frank.

"It is even finer than I had supposed," replied the train boy.

"Some people are disappointed," said Mr. Ferguson, "because they expect too much. The Falls of Montmorency are considerably higher but not nearly as wide. There are some cascades in the Yosemite Valley of over a thousand feet descent, but they are only a few feet wide. For grandeur Niagara excels them all."

"I shouldn't like to be swept over the Falls," said Fred.

"It must be terrible!" said Frank, with a shudder.

"The reality is worse than any picture drawn by the imagination. Ten years since it happened to me to see a poor wretch drawn down to destruction over the cataract."

The boys looked eager for the story, and he proceeded.

"I may state," continued the detective, "that I was indirectly the cause of the tragedy. A defaulting bank cashier had got as far as this point on his way to Canada, which as now was a haven of refuge to gentlemen of his character. I was close upon his track, and he was in imminent danger of capture. There seemed to be only one way of escape—crossing the river above the Falls. By some means he obtained a row-boat, and being a fair rower set out on his dangerous trip, exulting in having outwitted me and made his escape. I remember very well how he stood up in the boat, and with a smile on his face waved me a mock adieu, as he impelled the little craft out toward the middle of the river.

"He was a strong, sturdy rower, but he had no conception of the strength and rapidity of the current. He battled manfully, but the boat immediately began to tend towards the cataract with continually increasing rapidity. At length he came to realize the fate that certainly awaited him. His smile was succeeded by a look of despair. I can see even now the expression of terror and desperation, formed upon the poor fellow's face when he saw that, struggle as he might, there was no help or deliverance, I am sure at that time he would have welcomed me as a friend and savior, and gone with me willingly to prison, if only he could have been rescued from the impending doom. Still, however, he plied the oars with desperate vigor and would not resign himself to his fate. I was painfully excited, and in the poor fellow's peril quite forgot that he was a criminal of whom I was in pursuit. The end came speedily. When six feet from the edge of the cataract, he dropped his oars, threw up his hands, and an instant later boat and man were swept down into the gulf below."

"Was his body ever found?" asked Fred.

"Yes, but it was so mangled as to be almost beyond recognition. Many a time when looking at the Falls I have pictured to myself the unhappy victim of that day's tragedy."

"I suppose," said Frank, "it is impossible to go over the cataract and live."

"Not if all stories are to be believed. There is a boy in the village here who is said to have gone over the Falls, and yet he does not seem to have suffered any injury. The same story is told of a cat, but cats are noted for having nine lives, and therefore the story is not so surprising."

After a little more chat the three left the island and returned to the mainland. They had hardly reached it when a telegraph boy approached Mr. Ferguson and handed him a despatch.

He opened it and read as follows:

ELMIRA, SUNDAY.

My nephew, Edmund Lawrence, is at Niagara. Communicate with him.

PHILO CARVER.

"This is your business," said the detective, handing the telegram to Fred.

"Let us try to find Mr. Lawrence," said Fred, after reading it.

"It will be the best way. Mr. Carver does not mention at what hotel his nephew is staying."

"Probably he does not know."

"Undoubtedly you are right."

"What will you do?"

"There is only one thing to do to call at the principal hotels, and look over the registers. We will go first to the International."

"Very well, sir."

Ferguson scanned Fred with a smile.

"You certainly don't act like one under suspicion," he said.

Fred smiled in return. "I find it hard to realize that I am a suspected burglar," he responded.

"So do I. Let us hope that you will very soon be cleared from suspicion."

The detective and the two boys turned their steps towards the spacious and attractive International.

"It seems a little ahead of the Lynch House," said Fred, "but probably the prices at the latter suit my pocketbook better."

They stepped on the piazza, and went into the office.

Mr. Ferguson opened the hotel register, and among the recent entries found the name of Edmund Lawrence.

"Is Mr. Lawrence in?" he asked the clerk.

"Yes, sir; he came in from a walk five minutes since."

"I will send up my card."

The detective wrote on a blank card:

OSCAR FERGUSON,

DETECTIVE.

Important.

This was handed to a hall boy, who took it up to Mr. Lawrence's room, and returned with a message that the gentleman was to come up at once.

"I think you will have to go with me," said Ferguson to Fred. "It won't do for me to give you a chance to escape."

"That is the last thing I have in mind," said the train-boy; "but I shall be glad to see Mr. Lawrence."

Edmund Lawrence, a pleasant-looking man of middle age, looked somewhat surprised when turning his eyes toward the door, he saw Ferguson enter, followed by two boys.

"You wish to see me on important business?" he said interrogatively.

"Yes, sir."

"And you are a detective?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hope that I have not fallen under any suspicion."

"Not at all. Have you heard that your uncle—Philo Carver, of Elmira—has been the victim of a burglary?"

"No! Tell me about it."

The detective told the story, and Mr. Lawrence listened with great interest.

"Is any one suspected?" he asked.

"A party has been arrested on suspicion," answered the detective.

"Indeed! who is it?"

"This boy!" answered Ferguson, pointing to Fred.

"Impossible!" ejaculated Lawrence, eying Fred with incredulous amazement.



CHAPTER XV.

MR. PALMER WALKS INTO A TRAP.

"Nevertheless it is true. I arrested him at the Lynch House this morning," affirmed the detective.

"Do you believe him guilty?" asked Mr. Lawrence, noting with perplexity Fred's open countenance and tranquil manner.

"No. Still, circumstances are against him."

"Please explain."

"I found your uncle's gold watch and chain in his bundle?"

"Is it possible?"

"It is quite true, Mr. Lawrence," said Fred calmly. "Mr. Ferguson will allow me to say that I was as much surprised as he to find them. The bundle was a small one and only contained a shirt and collar which I bought at Jersey City yesterday morning. I can only say that the watch was not in the bundle then."

"Perhaps," said Lawrence, who was favorably impressed by Fred's openness, "you have some theory as to the manner in which the watch got into your bag."

"Yes, sir, I have. I had for a room-mate a stranger—a man whom I only met last evening after the train arrived. We fell in with each other the way to the hotel. We were obliged to room together on account of there being but one room vacant at the hotel."

"What was the man's appearance?"

"He was rather tall, thin, and dark complexioned. Though it was late he did not go to bed at once, but sat up for a while finishing a book in which he was interested. When I awoke in the morning he was gone."

"You think he was the real burglar?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is your reason?"

"Because it must have been he that put the watch and chain in my bundle."

"With a view of diverting suspicion from himself?"

"Yes, sir."

"One question more. When were you in Elmira, last?"

"I was never in Elmira at all," said Fred promptly. "I have never been so far West before."

"What was your object in making your present journey?"

"I came to make money," answered Fred, smiling.

"That answer may go against you," said the detective.

"Not when I explain that I am the train boy. I have usually made short runs, but yesterday morning the superintendent told me I was to go to Niagara, and gave me permission to stay over Sunday to have a chance to see the Falls. I began to think I would not see them, after all, but Mr. Ferguson was kind enough to walk out with me, and let me have a view of them."

"Is this boy also a train boy?" asked Lawrence, indicating Frank Hamblin.

"No; he is related to the clerk of the Lynch House, and was kind enough to come up to my room and keep me company."

"Who has the watch?" asked Lawrence, after a pause. "I have," answered the detective, producing it. Lawrence took it from his hand.

"It is my uncle's watch, sure enough," he said. "I remember it a dozen years since. He sent to Europe for it."

"His name is in it," said Ferguson. "But for that I might not have recognized it as one of the articles lost."

"Do you know what was taken besides?"

"Money and securities, I am informed, but to what value I have not learned."

"You think the boy's room-mate has them in his possession?"

"There seems to be little doubt of it."

"Where do you think he is?"

"On the Canada side, no doubt."

"He went there this morning?"

"Yes."

"I was myself at the Clifton House this morning, and I now remember the arrival of a man presenting the appearance of this young fellow's room-mate. He is probably still at the Clifton House."

"Then he is beyond my jurisdiction," said Ferguson.

"Do you remember what luggage he had?" asked Lawrence, turning to Fred.

"He had a small valise, about the size of this," said Fred, his eyes resting on the satchel which Lawrence had brought from the Clifton, and thrown down carelessly. "Why," continued Fred, in excitement, "this is his valise. I recognize it by a dark spot on the side."

"What do you mean?" said Lawrence sharply. "This is my valise."

He took it in his hand, and uttered an ejaculation.

"The boy is right! This is not my valise."

"Do you mean to say this valise belongs to the man who roomed with you last night?" demanded die detective.

"Yes, I feel sure of it."

"Then—good Heavens!—it no doubt contains the property stolen from my uncle. Mr. Ferguson, shall we be justified in opening it?"

"I will take the responsibility," said the detective.

He took from his pocket a bent wire, and dexterously inserting it in the lock opened the valise.

All gathered eagerly about it, anxious to ascertain whether their suspicions were correct.

There were a few articles of underwear, which the detective took out hastily and laid upon the bed.

"Ha, here we have it!" he exclaimed triumphantly as he drew out two long envelopes, such as are employed for bonds and securities. "I will take the liberty to open them."

One envelope proved to contain two one thousand dollar railroad bonds. The other contained two U. S. Government bonds of five hundred dollars each, and miscellaneous securities all together amounting to three thousand dollars more.

"A very clever capture on my word!" said Ferguson. "Really, Mr. Lawrence, you have beaten me in my own line."

"I am entitled to no credit. It belongs to the boy who identified the valise. I assure you the wrong bag was given me at the Clifton most fortunately. I am content to lose the few articles which my own contained for the sake of recovering my uncle's property. It really seems like an interposition of Providence."

"I suspect the thief will feel very ill-satisfied with the exchange. I wonder what he will do about it."

There was little chance for speculation on this point. There was a knock at the door, and a hall boy put in his head.

"There is a gentleman below who wishes to see you, Mr. Lawrence," he said. "Here is his card."

Mr. Lawrence took from his hand a card on which had been written the name

F. GRANT PALMER.

"That is the man, Mr. Lawrence," exclaimed Fred in excitement. "He has come for his valise."

"Bring Mr. Palmer up in about five minutes," said Lawrence; "not sooner."

"All right, sir!"

"Now let us repack the valise," said the detective. "I always carry a large bunch of keys with me, and shall probably find one that will relock it."

The shirts, socks, and other articles which had been taken from the bag were carefully replaced, and Ferguson, as he had thought probable, found a key which fitted the lock. Then the valise was laid carefully on the sofa.

"Mr. Palmer must not see us, and particularly the train-boy," said the detective, "or he will think something is up. Where can you conceal us?"

"There is a bedroom attached to the apartment," said Lawrence. "Go in there, all of you, and remain till I call you. You can leave the door ajar, as you will probably be curious to hear what goes on between us."

"Capital! Couldn't be better!"

Ferguson, followed by the two boys, entered the smaller room, and waited impatiently for the entrance of Palmer.

A knock was heard.

"Come in!" Lawrence called out lazily.

The door opened, and F. Grant Palmer entered, carrying in his hand a valise which seemed to be a fac-simile of the one lying on the sofa. Palmer's quick eye caught sight of it as he entered the room.

"Pardon me for my intrusion!" he said suavely, "but I believe we exchanged valises—at the Clifton—this morning."



CHAPTER XVI.

PALMER'S MALICE.

"Indeed!" said Lawrence, in assumed surprise.

"Yes, mine was left with the clerk."

"And mine also."

"And he doubtless made a mistake in delivering them. Upon my word I am not surprised, as they certainly are very much alike."

"So they are!" said Lawrence, taking the valise from Palmer's hand. "And here is your name too."

"It is quite a joke, ha, ha!" laughed Palmer, his spirits rising as he saw that there would be no difficulty in effecting the exchange. "I suppose I may take mine?"

"You are quite sure it is yours? Pardon my asking, but you are a stranger to me."

"Oh, it's all right! You see this spot on my valise. Outside of that, there is really no difference."

"You are willing to swear that valise I brought over from the Clifton is yours?"

"Why, of course!" returned Palmer in surprise. "How can there be a doubt after what I have said?"

"You will pardon my caution. It certainly does seem like it, but I don't want to run any risk of giving it to the wrong party."

"Oh, that's all right!" said Palmer impatiently, setting down Lawrence in his own mind as a crank.

"Probably you have the key that opens it."

"Certainly."

"Then do you mind opening it, and satisfying yourself and me that it really belongs to you?"

"Surely not," said Palmer, really glad of an opportunity of satisfying himself that the bonds were safe.

He drew from his pocket a bunch of keys, and carefully selecting one inserted it in the lock of the valise. It opened at once, and Palmer eagerly scanned the contents. The under-clothing had been carefully replaced, and he did not discover that it had been disturbed, but when he lifted it to look for the envelopes containing the bonds, his face underwent a change.

"What is the matter?" inquired Lawrence, calmly.

"That valise has been opened," said Palmer, angrily.

"What makes you think so?"

"The most valuable contents have been removed. I hold you accountable for this, Mr. Lawrence," continued Palmer, fiercely.

"Please be a little more explicit. What is it that you miss?"

"Two envelopes, containing valuable bonds."

"This is a serious charge. Are you sure they were in the valise?"

"Of course I am. I put them there myself, and when I opened the valise this morning they were there."

"Wasn't it rash in you to leave articles of such value in your valise? Can you name any of the bonds?"

"Yes; there were two Erie mortgage bonds of a thousand dollars each, two government bonds of five hundred dollars each, some bank bills, and miscellaneous securities."

"You don't mean it? And you placed them there?"

"I did, and I am willing to swear to the statement. I demand of you, sir, where they are."

Mr. Lawrence rose from his seat, and on pretense of examining the contents of the open valise, managed to get in between Palmer and the door.

"A man in my employ had charge of the valise for a short time," he said. "He may have opened it."

"Where is he? He must be arrested before he can get away," said Palmer in excitement.

"Ferguson!" called Mr. Lawrence.

The detective, who had of course heard all that had passed, stepped out from the inner room. He assumed the tone of a servant.

"Did you call, sir?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I am at your service."

"This gentleman here claims the valise as his property. He says that some bonds have been abstracted from it. Am I right?"

"Yes," assented Palmer, with a fierce glance at the detective.

"He charges me with having opened the valise, and taken them."

"What does he say to that?" demanded Palmer in excitement.

"It is true," said Ferguson, calmly.

"You hear?" said Palmer. "Give me back those bonds, you scoundrel, and I may let you go free. Otherwise I will have you arrested, and you can guess what will follow. Don't let the fellow escape!" he added quickly, as the detective edged towards the door.

Lawrence upon this went to the door and locked it.

"What have you to say for yourself?" he demanded, turning to Ferguson.

"Only that I am a detective, and that I am specially deputed to search for and recover the bonds stolen from Philo Carver of Elmira, yesterday afternoon. I have reason to think I have found them."

"Duped!" exclaimed Palmer, sinking into a chair in dismay.

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, it looks like it. There is one article missing, a gold watch and chain."

"I don't know anything about them."

"We may find some one who does. Fred!"

At the summons the train boy stepped out from the inner room, followed by Frank Hamblin.

At sight of his late room-mate Palmer first showed surprise, and then anger.

"Did you put up this job on me?" he asked fiercely.

"It seems that you put up a job on me," said Fred, quietly. "The watch was found in my bundle."

"Yes, that was to be your share," answered Palmer maliciously. "Gentlemen, I suppose I shall have to surrender at discretion, but I am not the only guilty party. That boy is my confederate!"

"It is an outrageous falsehood!" burst out Fred indignantly.

"It is of no use your denying it. I am convinced that you have betrayed me, and I will have no mercy on you. Gentlemen, arrest me if you think best, but arrest him too. He is just as guilty as I am."

"You assert that he is your confederate?" said Lawrence.

"Yes."

"How long have you known him?"

"Ever since he was born. His mother was a cousin of mine," Palmer asserted unblushingly.

"Do you believe this, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Fred, quite overwhelmed. "I never saw this man till last evening."

"If he is your cousin, what is his name?" asked the detective, not answering Fred's appeal.

"Fred Fenton," said Palmer coolly.

"He has got my name right, but he saw it in the hotel register," said Fred.

"I presume you are right," said Ferguson.

"You seem interested in my young cousin," said Palmer with a malicious sneer.

"Do you mean to say that he was with you in Elmira?" asked Lawrence.

"Yes; he stood outside to warn me if any one came along, who was likely to interfere with me."

"And you both took the train for Niagara after the burglary was effected?"

"Exactly."

Lawrence was staggered by the positive assertions of the culprit. It must be considered that he was not acquainted with Fred, who, so far as he knew, might be an artful young adventurer.

"Why didn't you take the boy over to the Canada side with you?"

"It was understood that he was to come over later in the day. We passed for strangers at the Lynch House, and I thought it might excite suspicion if we both went away together at so early an hour in the morning."

"Mr. Palmer," said Fred warmly, "you know perfectly well that all these statements are false, and that I never met you or had anything to do with you till last evening."

"It won't do, Fred!" said the burglar. "You and I are in the same boat. You are a boy, and will probably get a lighter sentence than I. But you shouldn't go back on your old pal like this."

"Do you believe that man, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Fred with a troubled look.

"No, but I shall be obliged to hold you till I produce him in court to-morrow."



CHAPTER XVII.

TWO YOUNG LADY PASSENGERS AT ODDS.

Ferguson produced a pair of handcuffs and pinioned the wrists of his captive. Palmer protested against the humiliation, but Ferguson said quietly: "You are too important a prisoner for me to run any risk."

"Are you going to handcuff him?" asked the burglar, indicating Fred.

"No."

"Why not? Why should you treat him better than me?"

"I don't think he is guilty; but even if he is I am not afraid of his running away."

"You are deceived in him. He looks innocent enough, but he has been concerned in a dozen burglaries."

"I hear considerable news about myself," said Fred, "but the truth will come out at last."

As the party passed through the streets they naturally attracted considerable attention. Though a criminal, Palmer had for years evaded arrest, and he felt mortified at the position in which he was placed. He reflected bitterly that but for the mistake of the hotel clerk, he might be at ease with his booty on the Canada side. As it was, things seemed to have worked steadily against him, notwithstanding his clever schemes. A long term of imprisonment stared him in the face, instead of a couple of years of luxury on which he had counted. If he could only involve Fred in his own misfortune it would be partial satisfaction. To effect this he was prepared to swear to anything and everything.

Fred, though only nominally a prisoner, felt very uncomfortable. He was saved from the disgrace of being handcuffed, and was consoled by knowing that not even the detective believed him guilty of any connection with the burglary. Still he was not his own master, to come and go as he pleased, and it was not certain that he would be able to go back to New York the next day as he had planned. Circumstances thus far had worked against him, but there was to be a turn in the tide. As they walked through the streets on the way to the station house, where Palmer was to be locked up for safekeeping, they met a man whose dress showed him to be an employee of the Erie road.

"Mr. Ferguson," said Fred eagerly, "that is the conductor of one of my trains. He will tell you that I am the train-boy."

The conductor had just discovered and recognized Fred.

"You are staying over, like me," he said.

"Yes, I have permission."

"And so have I. I have a brother living here, and got two days off. Where are you stopping?"

"At the Lynch House. Will you tell this gentleman that I am an Erie train boy?"

"Certainly; but why is that necessary?" asked the conductor in surprise.

"I will tell you later. Mr. Ferguson, have you any questions to ask?"

"Was this boy on your train yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Did he get on at Elmira?"

"Certainly not. He came all the way from New York."

"It is false!" said Palmer.

"What does he mean, Fred?" asked the conductor.

"He committed a burglary at Elmira yesterday afternoon, and is trying to make out that I was connected with it."

"There he tells a falsehood," said the conductor bluntly. "I saw you on the train through the entire journey."

"A very good alibi, Fred," said the detective. "Mr. Lawrence, after this testimony it is hardly necessary for me to hold the boy. Are you satisfied that I should let him go free?"

"Entirely so. I felt from the first that he was innocent."

"Then, Fred, you may consider yourself at liberty to go where you please. I am as glad as you are that you are freed from suspicion."

"Thank you, sir. I will go with you as far as the lock-up."

Palmer scowled at him, but saw that it was useless to persist in his charges against the boy, and walked on with head bent, reflecting bitterly that he had not only lost the proceeds of the burglary, but his freedom besides. He could see now that but for his secreting the stolen watch and chain in Fred's bundle, he would probably have escaped scot free. As for the present, at least, we shall have nothing more to do with F. Grant Palmer, it may be briefly set down that after a speedy trial he was found guilty by the jury without leaving their seats. He was sentenced to seven years' imprisonment, and is now serving out his term at Auburn.

Daring the remainder of his stay at Niagara, Fred used his time to advantage, and it was with a thankful heart that he took his place on the through train to New York the next morning. Just before starting, Mr. Lawrence appeared on the platform, and handed him a small package covered with brown paper.

"Have you a pocket where this will be safe?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then put it away, and open it when you arrive home."

"Thank you, sir."

Fred's attention was taken up by his duties as train boy, and he gave no thought to the package, though he wondered at the moment what it contained.

The train left at 8:43, and was not due in Jersey City till 10:10 P.M. At Port Jervis a young lady came on board dressed in a very plain and quiet manner. In his rounds through the train Fred stopped at her seat with a pile of recent novels under his arm and asked her to buy.

"No, thank you," she answered courteously, and Fred observed that her face was very sad. If she had been dressed in mourning, he would have supposed that she had lost a near relative, but there was nothing in her dress to justify such a supposition. Being naturally sympathetic, Fred from time to time glanced at the young lady passenger, wishing it were in his power to lighten her sorrow, whatever it might be.

Sitting next to her was a young lady, handsomely dressed, who was evidently annoyed at the near neighborhood of one whom she considered her social inferior. It chanced to be the only seat unoccupied when the train reached Port Jervis, and the young lady was compelled to avail herself of it. But when she reached the seat she found it occupied by a fat poodle of uncertain temper, belonging to the fashionable young lady.

"May I take this seat?" asked the new arrival.

"Don't you see that it is occupied?" snapped the dog's owner.

"There is no other seat vacant," said the new passenger deprecatingly.

"Then you had better go into the next car." As the young girl stood in the aisle, undecided, Fred, who had heard the entire colloquy, and was naturally indignant, made up his mind to interfere.

"These seats were meant for passengers—not for dogs," he said.

"Boy, you are impertinent!" said the fashionable young lady haughtily.

"Where is the impertinence?" asked Fred composedly. "Do you wish this young lady to stand up in order that your dog may have a seat?"

"I will report you to the railroad company for insolence."

"Just as you like, but I will remove the dog in order to give this young lady a seat."

"Oh, I don't want to make any trouble," said the new arrival.

"Touch my dog if you dare, boy," said the young lady with a flush of anger on her face.

Just then the conductor entered the car, and Fred called him.

"Mr. Collins," he said, "this young lady refuses to remove her dog from the seat to make room for a passenger."

"Is this true, madam?" asked the conductor.

"She can go into the next car."

"Are you paying for two seats?"

"No," snapped the lady.

"I must take your dog into the baggage car. It is against our rules to have them in the regular cars, and they certainly cannot be allowed to keep our passengers from occupying seats."

"Don't you dare to touch my dog!"

"Do you go to Jersey City?"

"Yes."

"Then you can call for the dog there," and in spite of the remonstrance of the dog's owner, and the growling of the poodle, the conductor removed the animal to the baggage car, much to the secret satisfaction of the passengers, who had observed with disgust the selfishness of its owner.

"I am indebted to you for this," said the young lady, with a furious glance at the train boy.

Fred did not think himself called upon to make any answer. The young lady scornfully drew aside her dress to avoid contact with her unwelcome companion, saying audibly, "It is only in America that servant girls are allowed to thrust themselves in the company of their betters."

"I am not a servant girl," said the new passenger, "but even if I were I have paid my fare, and am entitled to a seat."

"Do not address me, girl!" said her seat-mate haughtily.

"I thought your remark was addressed to me."

"I am forced to sit beside you, but I don't care to converse with you."

The other took the hint, and left her undemocratic neighbor to herself.

Fred was naturally a little curious to ascertain the name of the young lady who had made herself so disagreeable. The mystery was solved in a way to surprise him.

On reaching the depot at Jersey City all the passengers left the cars.

The young lady looked about her evidently in search of some one whom she expected to meet her.

Greatly to Fred's surprise, his Cousin Raymond Ferguson turned out to be the party expected.

"Here you are, sis," he said. "Come right along. It is late."

"I can't go yet. My poor little Fido is in the baggage car. They wouldn't let me have him in the car with me. Go and get him, and I will stay here."

"Gracious!" thought Fred, "that must be Cousin Ferguson's daughter Luella. Well, I can't say I am proud of the relationship."



CHAPTER XVIII.

UNSATISFACTORY RELATIONS.

Miss Ferguson waited till her brother returned with the dog, who seemed to be in a bad humor.

"My precious Fido!" exclaimed the young lady, as she embraced the little animal. "Did they put him in the dirty baggage car?" Then, turning to Fred, who stood by, she said spitefully: "It was all your work, you impertinent boy. I have a great mind to report you to the president of the road."

Raymond's attention was directed to Fred by his sister's attack.

"Fred Fenton!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes," answered Fred, amused. "I was not aware that it was your sister and a relative of mine when I took sides against her."

"What does the boy mean?" demanded Miss Ferguson haughtily.

"It is Fred Fenton," explained Raymond deprecatingly.

"Does he claim relationship with me?" asked the young lady, looking disgusted.

"No, Miss Ferguson, I don't claim it, though I believe it exists," said Fred.

"A common train boy!" ejaculated the young lady. "This is altogether too much. Raymond, let us go!"

As they left the station the other young lady passenger who had listened eagerly to the conversation asked in a tone of almost painful excitement, "Is that the daughter of Robert Ferguson?"

"Yes, do you know him?" asked Fred in surprise.

"To my sorrow. When my poor father died Mr. Ferguson was appointed executor and trustee of his estate. It was not large, but we supposed it would amount to ten thousand dollars, and perhaps more. Last week my mother received a letter from him stating that he had satisfied all claims against the estate, and that only seventy-five dollars was left. This leaves us well-nigh penniless."

"Is it possible? Do you suspect that any fraud has been practised upon you?"

"My mother feels sure of it, but what can we do? We are poor, and the poor are always friendless," continued the girl bitterly.

"Have you come to New York to see Mr. Ferguson?"

"Yes; my mother wishes me to ask full particulars, and to appeal to him to do us justice. I fear it will be of no avail, but it is the only thing that we can do."

"Pardon me," said Fred, "but we had better be getting on board the ferry-boat, or we shall have to wait till the next."

"Thank you! I hardly know what I am doing."

Fred accompanied the young lady to the ladies' cabin and sat down beside her.

"Can I be of any service to you?" asked the train boy. "It is late for a young lady to arrive in New York."

"I supposed we should reach the city at nine. That is what a neighbor told me. I hardly know where to go," she added timidly. "Can you recommend a cheap hotel or boarding-house?"

"There would be a difficulty about obtaining admission to either this evening."

"Then what shall I do?" asked the girl, looking distressed.

"I think you had better come home with me for to-night. Our home is a very humble one but mother will take good care of you. To-morrow you can make other arrangements if you desire."

"Oh, how kind you are! I should like nothing better, if you really think your mother would not be annoyed."

Fred smiled.

"She is too kind-hearted for that," he said. "Just wait till you see her, and you won't feel any doubt."

"How fortunate I am to fall in with such a friend! I now see how unwise it was for me to take such a late train."

They walked to the Cortlandt Street station of the Sixth Avenue Elevated Road, and ascended the steps. In spite of her anxieties the young lady felt interested in the novel means of locomotion, and asked a variety of questions of the train boy. At Thirty-Third Street they descended, and walking a short distance up Broadway turned down a side street, and were soon at the door of Fred's modest home.

Mrs. Fenton was sitting up, and had come to feel anxious.

"How long you have been away, Fred!" she said.

"Not quite three days, mother."

"But you were never away before. Bertie and I have missed you very much."

"Mother," said Fred, "you don't see that I have company."

Then, for the first time, the widow observed the young lady.

"Who is it, Fred?" she asked, as a wild and improbable suspicion entered her mind. Could it be that Fred, who was only a boy in years, had contracted a marriage and brought his wife home?

"I shall have to ask the young lady to introduce herself," said Fred.

"My name is Ruth Patton," said the girl timidly. "I hope you will not be angry with your son for bringing me here. I am a stranger in the city, and indeed I did not know that the train arrived so late. Your son told me that it would be difficult to get into any hotel or boarding-house at this hour, and I have ventured to throw myself on your hospitality for to-night."

"You are heartily welcome," said Mrs. Fenton, ready to smile at her first wild suspicion. "Remove your wraps, and in ten minutes I can offer you a cup of tea and some eggs and toast. You will sleep the better for a little supper."

"You are a wise woman, mother," said Fred. "You have guessed what I was longing for."

"Let me help you, Mrs. Fenton," said Ruth, already looking more cheerful.

"Then you may toast the bread," said Mrs. Fenton. "I don't dare to trust Fred. I did once to my sorrow, and the toast turned out to be as black as my shoe."

"I can promise to do better than that. I have plenty of experience."

She set herself to the task, as if she felt quite at home, and soon they were able to sit down to a plain but welcome supper.

"Do you know, mother," said Fred, between mouthfuls, "Luella Ferguson was on the train."

"How did you recognize her? Did she speak to you?"

Fred smiled roguishly.

"She did. Shall I tell you what she said?"

"I should be glad to hear it."

"She said: 'Boy, I will report you to the railroad company for insolence.' She's a sweet girl, Cousin Luella!"

"But you were not really insolent?"

Thereupon Fred told the whole story, and his mother agreed with him that Miss Ferguson's conduct was very selfish and unladylike.

"What's more, mother, Miss Patton tells me that Cousin Ferguson has cheated her mother and herself out of ten thousand dollars. I'll tell you about it to-morrow. It is just striking twelve, and I can hardly keep my eyes open."



CHAPTER XIX.

RUTH PATTON CALLS ON MR. FERGUSON.

The next day Ruth Patton confided her story to Mrs. Fenton.

"My mother and I," she said, "in our grief for father's death, never dreamed that it would bring us destitution. Though he never furnished us particulars of his pecuniary condition, he gave us to understand that he would be comfortably provided for. Robert Ferguson we knew to have been a life-long friend, or perhaps I should rather say acquaintance, and we felt that as a trustee he would consider our interests. We were thunderstruck when a letter was received from him last week, stating that, in place of the ten thousand dollars on which we fully counted, a pitiful balance of seventy-five dollars alone remained to us."

"It was shameful!" said Mrs. Fenton indignantly.

"Nearly all of this sum will be swallowed up by small debts due in Port Jervis. You will understand now why I have come to lay our case before Mr. Ferguson, and see if he cannot give us more, or at any rate find me employment, for on me now rests the duty of providing for my poor mother."

"I wish I could encourage you, Miss Patton——"

"Don't call me Miss Patton. I look upon yon as a kind friend, and hope you will call me Ruth."

"So indeed I will, for I feel a strong interest in you, Ruth."

"And I will look to you for advice."

"Then I advise you to call this evening on Mr. Ferguson, and find out the worst."

"Meanwhile perhaps you can direct me to a cheap boarding-house."

"You will stay here till you have had time to form your plans."

"I will gladly do so if you will let me pay you."

"All in good time, Ruth. To-day you can help me if you will, and it will be time to pay board when you are earning something."

It was not till he sat down to an early breakfast that Fred thought of the package handed him by Mr. Lawrence at the Niagara Falls station. He opened it in some curiosity, and to his surprise discovered a roll of bills, accompanied by this note:

To FRED FENTON,

MY YOUNG FRIEND:—Though I have not yet had a chance to communicate with my uncle in Elmira, I feel authorized to act as his representative, and in his name ask you to accept the inclosed sum as an acknowledgment of your valuable assistance in bringing about the recovery of the securities stolen from his house, and incidentally as a recompense for the annoyance you experienced in being yourself suspected. Your conduct has been very creditable, and I feel that to you we are largely indebted for the recovery of the property and the conviction of the burglar. I infer that you are mainly dependent, on your earnings, which are probably limited, and I therefore take pleasure in handing you a substantial reward which I hope will be of service to you.

Yours sincerely,

EDMUND LAWRENCE.

Fred counted the bills, and alike to his surprise and gratification found that they amounted to two hundred dollars.

"Where did you get so much money, Fred?" asked his mother, entering the room as he completed his count.

"That letter will explain, mother," answered Fred radiant with delight.

"We are indeed rich!" said Mrs. Fenton joyfully. "This removes all anxiety for a long time to come."

"Yes, we can afford to snap our fingers at the landlord."

"I hope you are not going to carry all this money round with you, Fred. You might get robbed."

"I shall deposit it in the Dime Savings Bank this forenoon."

"But you will leave before the bank opens."

"No, I am to take a midday train."

At ten o'clock Fred went to the Union Dime Savings Bank fronting on Thirty-Second Street, and deposited the hundred dollars in gold left him by his mining friend, and one hundred and seventy-five dollars besides from his recent gift. The other twenty-five he handed to his mother.

"Mother," he said, "you need a new dress, and Albert needs a new suit. Take this money, and buy what you think best."

"I can go a little longer without a dress, Fred."

"But I don't want you to. We can spare the money well enough, and there is no better way to spend it."

Mrs. Fenton made no further opposition, but during the day asked Ruth Patton to accompany her to one of the large stores on Sixth Avenue, where the necessary purchases were made.

In the evening Ruth set out for her call upon Mr. Robert Ferguson.

She ascended the steps in a state of nervous agitation, for she felt that the interview was of momentous importance to her, and in a low voice asked the servant who answered the bell if she could see Mr. Ferguson.

"I will ask, miss," said the servant, surveying her plain dress with some disdain.

"A young lady to see me?" said Robert Ferguson in surprise. "Are you sure it is not my daughter she wishes to see?"

"No, sir; she expressly asked to see you."

Mr. Ferguson was a widower, and rather vain of his personal attractions. Perhaps the young lady might have been struck by his appearance.

"You can show her up," he said amiably, and turned to catch a further glance in a mirror just opposite. He straightened his necktie, and passed his hand softly over his hair to make sure that it was smooth, and then turned to the door to catch the first glimpse of his visitor.

Nothing thus far has been said of the outward appearance of Ruth Patton. Notwithstanding her anxious face she was unusually pretty, and her manners were refined and ladylike.

"Mr. Ferguson?" she said inquiringly, pausing at the door.

"Come in, my dear young lady!" said Robert Ferguson graciously. "I am pleased to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Pray sit down."

"He is much kinder than I supposed," thought Ruth. "I must have misjudged him."

"I wrote to you a few days since," she began.

"Indeed! I don't think I can have received your letter."

"But you answered it, sir."

"I answered a letter from you? What then is your name?"

"Ruth Patton."

"Oh!" returned Ferguson, his face darkening. He no longer felt inclined to be gracious, for he had a premonition that the interview would not be agreeable to him.

"My mother and I were quite overwhelmed by the news you sent us. We had no idea that my father left so little, and she wished me to come on and ask for some particulars."

"I have very little to tell you beyond what I wrote," said Mr. Ferguson coldly.

"My father led us to think that we should be comfortably provided for."

"Many men have very vague ideas of how they stand. Your father did wrong in not insuring his life."

"He did not think it would be necessary. He thought we should be sufficiently provided for without that."

"He had no right to think so," said Ferguson irritably. "You see how things have turned out."

"But what can have become of all the money?"

"I hope, Miss Patton, you don't think I have spirited it away?"

"No, sir. Don't be offended, but it seems so strange," faltered Ruth.

"The money was unwisely invested. A large part of it was in wild-cat mining stocks, which were not worth the paper they were written on."

"Father never spoke to us about any such investments."

"I presume not. Most men keep such matters to themselves. Well, the upshot is that but seventy-five dollars are left. I presume your mother received my check for this amount."

"Yes, sir."

"Then that is all I can do for you. I will in time forward a bill of particulars. A present I am busy."

At this moment Luella Ferguson entered the room. She recognized Ruth at once.

"You here?" she said in haughty surprise.

"Yes, I came on business."

"We do not want any servants. Papa, this girl was very insolent to me on the train yesterday. I hope you will send her away."

"I am going, Miss Ferguson," said Ruth with spirit. "Your father was the trustee of my poor father's property, and it was to ask about it that I came here. Good evening."

She left the house with faltering steps, for her last hope had been destroyed, and she felt keenly the cruel slight of Luella Ferguson. As she set foot on the sidewalk her brain reeled, and she would have fallen had not a young man who was about to ascend the steps sprung forward and supported her.



CHAPTER XX.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

Ruth Patton recovered herself by a great effort. "I won't trouble you any longer, sir," she faltered. "I think I can do without further assistance."

"Excuse me for doubting it. You look very weak. Take my arm. There is a drug store not far away where I can procure you a strengthening draught."

"I am sorry to trouble you so much," she murmured apologetically.

"It is no trouble, I assure you. I count myself fortunate in being on hand so opportunely."

Ruth for the first time, encouraged by his kind words, stole a glance at the stranger. He was a well made and unusually handsome young man of perhaps twenty-seven. His careful dress and something in his manner seemed to indicate high social position. The indication corresponded with the fact. Alfred Lindsay belonged to an old and distinguished New York family. Though his means were ample he was not content to be an idler, but after careful preparation at Columbia College and Law School, he had opened a law office in the Mills Building, and was already beginning to be known as a young man with a future.

His wealth and high social standing led him to be considered a "catch," in the matrimonial market. It is safe to say that at least half a dozen young ladies had set their caps for him. Among these was Luella Ferguson, and there were those who considered her chance of landing the prize the best. At any rate Mr. Lindsay, who had been employed by the elder Ferguson in some legal matter, became a frequent caller, to the great satisfaction of Luella Ferguson. It may not be considered a mark of taste on the part of the young man to have fallen a victim to the young lady's arts, but in his presence she was all that was amiable. She was not without a certain attractiveness of face, which, had it been joined to an equally agreeable disposition, might have proved a good excuse to any young man for succumbing to her fascinations. Never for a moment had he cause to suspect that she was otherwise than she seemed. Kind and sympathetic himself, the absence of these qualities, if known to him, would have rendered her repulsive to him.

He conducted Ruth to a drug store, and the druggist administered restoratives that soon brought back her strength and color, but not her cheerfulness.

"I am strong enough now to go on my way," she said rising. "How can I thank you, sir, for your kindness?"

"By allowing me to see you to your own door," and this he insisted on despite Ruth's protest.

"Would it be indiscreet," he asked, when they had set out on their way, "to ask if you can account for your sudden illness?"

"I had a shock," she answered.

"Of what sort? Are you willing to make me your confidant? I do not ask out of curiosity, but because it may be in my power to serve you."

"I have so few friends that I will not decline your kind offer."

"You were coming from the house of Mr. Robert Ferguson?"

"Yes, sir; do you know him?"

"Quite well. I was myself going there."

"Is he considered—an honorable man?"

"Why, surely. What can lead you to doubt it?"

In answer Ruth told her story. The young lawyer listened in pained surprise. Strictly honorable himself, he found it hard to believe that a man whom he knew so well could be guilty of the meanness of defrauding two women whose interests had been confided to him. Yet the story seemed probable. Moreover, even had matters been as Mr. Ferguson represented, his want of feeling seemed almost as bad as absolute dishonesty. He asked Ruth several questions in order that he might become fully possessed of all particulars.

"This, then, was the cause of your agitation?" he said at length.

"Not wholly. It was the treatment I received from Miss Ferguson that affected me most."

"Miss Ferguson! Do you know Miss Ferguson?" Lindsay asked quickly.

"I met her for the first time yesterday afternoon."

"Where—may I ask?"

"In the Erie train. I entered the cars at Port Jervis. She was already on board, but I do not know from what point she had come."

"I think I know. She had been visiting a school friend at Binghamton."

"You know her, then?"

"Yes. I met her at a party about a year since."

"If she is a friend of yours I will not say anything to her disadvantage."

"But I want you to tell me all there is to tell. I have a special reason for learning all I can about her. You say she treated you ill?"

"She treated me cruelly. She took offense in the cars because the conductor removed her dog from a seat in order to make room for me."

"Was there no other seat in the car?"

"None, or I would not have disturbed her. I did not like to stand all the way from Port Jervis to New York."

"Of course not. Please favor me with the particulars."

The young man listened attentively while Ruth in simple language—not exaggerating in any respect—told her story. Young Lindsay's brow contracted, for he felt indignant at the cold selfishness shown by the young lady who had hitherto attracted him. He felt that, if it were all true, he could never again look upon her even with ordinary friendship.

"She feigned to look upon me as a servant," Ruth concluded, "and sharply rebuked me for thrusting myself upon her. I would gladly have taken another seat had any been unoccupied, but the car was full. I heard from the train boy that it was on account of an excursion to Shohola Glen."

"I confess, Miss Patton" (Ruth had told her name), "I am surprised and pained by what you have told me. I never knew that Luella—Miss Ferguson—had such unlovely traits. To me she has always seemed kind and considerate."

Looking in the young man's expressive face, Ruth Patton felt that she understood better than he why Miss Ferguson had assumed to be what she was not. She was not surprised that Luella should desire to make a favorable impression upon one who seemed to her the most attractive young man she had ever met. But of course she could not give utterance to the thought that was in her mind, and remained silent.

"To change the subject," said Lindsay, after a pause, "may I ask what are your plans if you have any?"

"I must try to earn some money. If—if you would advise me."

"With pleasure. Let me ask, first, what you can do."

"I used to do some copying for a lawyer at Port Jervis."

"You are used, then, to copying legal documents?"

"I have done considerable of it."

"You do not use the typewriter?"

"No, I have never learned."

Alfred Lindsay paused, and his expressive face showed that he was busy thinking.

"I am a lawyer," he said at length, "and I have copying to do, of course. Would you mind calling upon me at my office to-morrow morning?"

"I shall be very glad to do so," answered Ruth, her eyes lighting up with new-born hopes.

"I think I can promise you something to do."

"Oh, sir, you don't know how your words cheer me. This is where I live. Thank you very much for your kind escort."

"Don't mention it. I will expect you to-morrow," and the young man took off his hat as respectfully as if Ruth, instead of being a poor girl in search of work, were a lady in his own set.



CHAPTER XXI.

LUELLA'S PAINFUL DISCOVERY.

"What business had that girl with you, papa?" asked Luella Ferguson, when, stung by her insolence, Ruth had left the house.

"She told you," answered the father evasively.

"Is it true that you were trustee of any property belonging to her?"

"Well, there is some truth in it. Her father was an old schoolmate of mine, though we were never intimate, and when he died, considerably to my surprise, he asked me to settle his estate."

"How much did it amount to?"

"After paying all bills, including funeral expenses, there was seventy-five dollars left."

"A fine estate, upon my word!" said Luella with a scornful laugh. "Really, the girl is a great heiress."

"She thought she ought to have been. What do you think she and her mother expected?"

"Something amusing, no doubt."

"They thought that they would realize ten thousand dollars, and be completely provided for."

"They must be fools!"

"We won't use so harsh an expression. Women know very little about business."

"Some women, papa. You will please make an exception in my case."

"Well, I admit, Luella," said her father complacently, "you do seem to have a sharp eye to your own interests."

"Why shouldn't I? I come honestly by it, papa, don't I?"

"Well, perhaps——"

"You have been pretty sharp yourself, eh, papa? I fancy you have a pretty good sum of money salted down—that's the term, isn't it?"

"Well, I have something, but I don't care to make a boast of it. There would be plenty who would want a share—for instance, Mrs. Fenton."

"That reminds me; her son is a train-boy on the Erie road."

"Did you see him?"

"Yes, he made himself very obnoxious by his impertinent intermeddling. He insisted upon my removing my poor Fido, in order to give that girl a seat."

"What concern was it of his?"

"None at all, but he made such a fuss that I had to do it."

"You need not have done so. The train boy has no authority in such matters."

"He called the conductor, and he took my poor darling into the baggage car. Papa, can't you get him discharged?"

"I have no influence with the Erie officials, my dear. Besides, if I deprive him of his chance to make a living, he and his mother will be importuning me for money. Better leave well enough alone!"

This was the sort of argument that weighed with Luella Ferguson. She was meanness personified, and would rather save money than be revenged upon Fred.

"Do you think you will have any more trouble with this girl who called to-night?"

"I should not be surprised if she called again to ask me to help her to employment."

"If she does, advise her to go out to service. She could get a position as chambermaid without difficulty."

"Remember, Luella, that in her own town she has held a good social position. She may have too much pride."

"Then let her starve!" said Luella, harshly. "It is preposterous for a pauper to be proud."

"She is not exactly a pauper," said Mr. Ferguson, who was not quite so venomous in his hatred as his daughter.

"I forgot—she has a fortune of seventy-five dollars. Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"If the girl comes again, turn her over to me."

"Very well, my dear. I shall be glad to do so. It will relieve me from embarrassment."

"I shall feel no embarrassment. I shall rather enjoy it."

"By the way, Luella, how are you getting on with young Lindsay?"

Luella flushed a little, and a softer light shone in her eyes. She had very little heart, but such as she had was given to Alfred Lindsay. At first attracted by his wealth and social position—for on his mother's side he belonged to one of the Knickerbocker families—she had ended by really falling in love with him. In his company she appeared at her best. Her amiable and attractive manners were not wholly assumed, for the potent spell of love softened her and transformed her from a hard, cynical, selfish girl to a woman seeking to charm one who had touched her heart.

"He comes to see me very often, papa," she answered, coyly.

"And he seems impressed?"

"I think so," said Luella, lowering her eyes, while a gratified smile lighted up her face.

"He has never actually proposed?" asked Ferguson eagerly.

"Well, not exactly, but from his manner I think he will soon."

"I hope so, Luella. There is no one whom I would more prefer for a son-in-law."

"I shall not say him nay, papa."

"Of course not. He is rich and of distinguished family. He will make a very suitable mate for you."

"Yes, papa, I appreciate that, but you too are rich and of high social position."

"Well, daughter, I stand fairly, but as to family, I can't boast much. My father—your grandfather—was a village blacksmith. I have never told you that before."

"Horrors, papa!" exclaimed Luella. "You cannot mean this?"

"It is a sober fact. I have never told you, for I knew it would shock you."

"Does any one know it in our circle?"

"No. Indeed, the only one who is likely to have any knowledge of it is Mrs. Fenton and her son."

"The train boy!"

"Yes."

"If it should get out I should die of mortification."

"Neither you nor I are likely to mention it. I only referred to it to show the advantages of marrying a man of high lineage like Alfred Lindsay. I have money, but I have never been able to get into the inner circle to which the Lindsays belong. Money will buy much, but it won't buy that. I hope yon will do your best to bring the young mail to the point."

"I will manage it, papa," said Luella complacently. "Do you know I have made up my mind to go to Europe on a wedding trip?"

"If Lindsay consents."

"He will do whatever I wish. I expect him to call this evening."

"Do you?"

"Yes, and—papa, something might happen," added Luella playfully.

"I hope so sincerely, my dear."

"Mind, if he comes to you, not a word about the blacksmith! I wish you hadn't told me."

"Forget it then, Luella. We will keep it a profound secret."

Luella left her father's presence with a smile upon her face. It was already eight o'clock. Half an hour passed, and she became anxious. Fifteen minutes more clipped by, and still the welcome ring at the bell was not heard. She was ready to cry with vexation, for she had made up her mind to lead the young man to a declaration that very evening if it were a possible thing.

She summoned a servant.

"Jane," she said, "Mr. Lindsay has not called this evening, has he?"

"No miss. If he had of course I would tell you."

"I thought perhaps there might have been some mistake. If he should come—and it isn't very late yet—let me know at once."

"Surely I will, Miss Luella."

"She's dead gone on that man," said Jane to herself. "Well, I don't wonder, for he is awfully handsome, that's a fact. But my! if he could only see her in some of her tantrums, he'd open his eyes. He thinks she's an angel, but I know her better."

Several days passed and still Alfred Lindsay did not call. Luella became alarmed. Was she losing her hold upon him? She was considering whether it would be proper to write a letter to the young lawyer at his office, when she chanced to make a very painful discovery.

About five o'clock on Saturday afternoon she was coming out of Lord & Taylor's up-town store when in a plainly dressed girl who was just passing she recognized Ruth Patton. Curiosity led her to address Ruth.

"So you are still in the city?" she said abruptly.

"Yes, Miss Ferguson," answered Ruth calmly.

"Of course you are very poor. I think I can get you a place as chambermaid in the family of one of my friends."

"Thank you, but I have a position I like better."

"What sort of a position?"

"I am in a lawyer's office, copying legal papers."

"Indeed! I suppose you are poorly paid."

"I receive ten dollars a week."

"That is ridiculously high pay. Of course you don't earn it."

"Mr. Lindsay fixed the salary—I did not."

"Lindsay!" gasped Luella, "what Lindsay?"

"Alfred Lindsay. He has his office in the Mills Building."

Ruth Patton passed on, having unconsciously given poignant anguish to the haughty Miss Ferguson.

"Where could she have met Alfred?" Luella asked herself with contracted brow. "I must get him to discharge her. I had no idea she was such an artful minx."



CHAPTER XXII.

MISS FERGUSON WRITES A NOTE.

It was indeed true that Ruth Patton had found employment at ten dollars a week. Her services were scarcely worth that sum to her employer, but Alfred Lindsay was not only rich but generous, and was glad to believe Ruth's anxiety by insuring her a comfortable income. She was still at Mrs. Fenton's rooms, being now able to contribute her share of the expense incurred. The widow was willing to accept only three dollars per week, so that Ruth had the satisfaction of sending a weekly remittance to her mother. She was very grateful for the change in her circumstances, and, notwithstanding the disappointment about her father's estate, felt that there was reason to hope.

Two days later Alfred Lindsay found a letter upon his desk addressed in a delicate female hand which he did not recognize.

"A lady client!" he thought. "What does she want—a divorce?"

When he opened the envelope he read the following note, written on a highly perfumed sheet:

MY DEAR MR. LINDSAY: Pray don't be shocked at my boldness in writing you, but it is so long since you have called that papa suggests sickness as a possible cause. I do hope that this is not what has kept you away. I confess that I have missed you very much. I have so enjoyed our conversations. You are not like the fashionable butterflies of whom we meet so many in society. One must tolerate them, of course but it is a comfort to meet a man who can talk intelligently about books and art. Apropos, I have a new collection of etchings that I want to show you. Won't you name an evening when you will call, as I want to be certain to be at home when you really do come. I should be desolated, as the French say, to be absent.

Now don't fail to answer this screed. Otherwise I shall certainly manage to have some law business that will give me an excuse for calling at your office.

Very sincerely yours,

LUELLA FERGUSON.

Alfred Lindsay read this note slowly, and there was a smile upon his face, for he fully appreciated Luella's motive in writing it. A fortnight since he would have been charmed, but his feelings with respect to Miss Ferguson had undergone a change. The revelation of her real character had shocked him, and served effectually to kill his growing attachment. Beauty of face could not make up for deformity of character. On the other hand, he was beginning to be attracted by Ruth. She lacked Luella's regular features and cold, classic beauty, but her sweet face revealed a disposition warm, kindly, and sympathetic; and when her deep, serious eyes rested upon him, he felt that she was far more attractive than her showy rival.

"What shall I do?" he asked himself as his eyes fell upon the note. He must of course answer it, but should he accept the invitation? Upon the whole he decided to do so. There was no reason which he could allege for declining, and, though it would be to sacrifice an evening, he would go armed against Luella's fascinations by the knowledge he had acquired. He drew out a sheet of paper from a drawer in his desk, and wrote as follows:

MY DEAR MISS FERGUSON: As I am writing in my office, you will understand and excuse the unfashionable business paper which I am using. I am flattered to find that you miss me, and still more at the reason you assign for preferring my company to that of the gilded young men who worship at your shrine. I am but "a plain, blunt man," as Shakspeare has it, and cannot vie with them in compliment. I shall no doubt find pleasure in examining the etchings which you hold out as an inducement to call. I will name Thursday evening, but should you have a previous engagement, don't scruple to notify me, as I can easily postpone my visit to another date.

Yours sincerely,

ALFRED LINDSAY.

Luella Ferguson read this note with mingled pleasure and disappointment.

"It is very cold," she murmured, "almost as if I were an ordinary acquaintance. I suppose men feel hampered when they try to express themselves upon paper. I will not believe that he is less friendly, or admires me less than he used to do. At any rate he is coming, and I must make myself as fascinating as possible. I have a chance to win him, and I mean to do it."

"Papa," said Luella on Thursday morning, "Mr. Lindsay will call here this evening."

"I am glad to hear it, Luella. I hope he is coming—on business."

"I don't know," she answered demurely.

"You know my wishes on the subject?"

"They accord with mine, papa."

When Alfred Lindsay was announced, he found Luella resplendent in a new dress, and bedecked with jewels. She intentionally made herself as attractive as possible.

"Really. Miss Ferguson, you are radiant tonight," he said.

"Do you think so?" she asked.

"There is no doubt of it. Are you expecting other company?"

"Only yourself."

"Then I am to consider it a special compliment to me."

"If you like."

"Then I must express my acknowledgments."

Yet as he spoke, his thoughts reverted to Ruth Patton, with her lack of ornament and severe simplicity, and he felt that her image was to him the more attractive of the two. It was fortunate for Miss Ferguson's peace of mind that she could not read his thoughts.

"Now, you bad boy," she said playfully, "you must tell me why you have stayed away so long."

"Perhaps to see if you would miss me."

"I have missed you so much."

"That is certainly a compliment to me as a conversationalist, As you wrote in your note you appreciate my sensible conversation I am afraid you overestimate me. I have a friend who is really brilliant, and can converse eloquently upon any subject. May I bring him with me?"

"Who is he?" asked Luella hesitatingly.

"Professor Grimes."

"What, the lecturer?"

"Yes."

"Why. he is grotesque in appearance. I heard him lecture once, and thought he wore a mask, so ugly was his face."

"You admit his eloquence, however?"

"Yes; but from such a mouth even pearls cease to attract. Pray don't bring him! He positively makes me shudder, I assure you."

Luella did not like the turn the conversation had taken. There seemed no chance for sentiment, and she wanted to bring all her fascinations to bear.

"You have some etchings to show me; Miss Ferguson?" said Lindsay, after a pause.

"Yes; but I want to show them to you myself. You will have to come and sit beside me."

"Willingly," answered Alfred, but his tone was conventional, and lacked the warmth it had formerly shown.

Together they looked over the collection. Luella saw, however, to her mortification, that Lindsay was calm and cold. It seemed clear that she had lost her power over him. What could be the reason?

"Can it be that girl, Ruth Patton?" she asked herself. "Is it she who is drawing Alfred Lindsay away from me? I must warn him against her."

"By the way, haven't you a copyist in your office named Ruth Patton?"

"How did you know?" asked Lindsay.

"I met her the other day on Broadway. Perhaps you don't know, but she is an humble protegee of my father's."

"A protegee?"

"Yes; papa has been very kind to the family. He took charge of their affairs on the death of her father, and, though there was not enough property to pay the debts, he paid them all, and sent a check to Mrs. Patton besides."

"That was certainly considerate!" said Lindsay; but from his tone it could not be discovered if he were speaking in earnest or ironically.

"As you say, it was considerate, but this Ruth is very ungrateful. She was actually ridiculous enough to think they ought to have had a fortune, and I believe blames papa for the way things have come out."

Alfred Lindsay listened politely, but did not express an opinion.

"She is a very good copyist," he said.

"I am glad she is earning a living, though I think it would have been better for her to remain in the country, don't you?"

"Really, I can't judge for others, not knowing all the circumstances."

"The girl is ill bred, I am sorry to say. She treated me rudely in the cars."

"She gives me no cause of complaint," said Lindsay shortly. He understood and despised Luella's attempts to prejudice him against the copyist.

When he rose to go, Luella was disappointed. She felt that she had brought him no nearer, and had not strengthened her hold upon him.

As the young lawyer descended the steps he met a man coming up whom he recognized as a dealer in worthless mining stock, who was looked upon by reputable business men with doubt and suspicion.

"What business can Orlando Jenkins have with Mr. Ferguson?" he asked himself.



CHAPTER XXIII.

ANOTHER RAILROAD ADVENTURE.

Six months have passed and brought with them some changes. At the end of two months Ruth Patton sent for her mother, who was feeling very lonely at Port Jervis, and engaged a suite of three rooms over those occupied by Mrs. Fenton and Fred. Though she was away during the day, the two ladies, living so near together, were company for each other. Ruth had now become advanced to twelve dollars a week, not out of charity, but because Alfred Lindsay's business had considerably increased and gave his copyist more to do.

Fred was still on the Erie road, but it was now winter, and the travel had so much diminished that where he had formerly earned seven or eight dollars a week he now averaged no more than four. He began to be dissatisfied, for his income now was inadequate to meet his expenses, and he had been obliged to spend twenty dollars out of the two hundred which he had received from Mr. Lawrence at Niagara Falls. He was now seventeen, and he felt that it was high time he had entered upon some business in which he could advance by successive steps. On the road, if he remained till he was thirty years of age, he could earn no more than at present. He answered several advertisements, but secured nothing likely to be an improvement upon his present place.

One evening toward the end of December he was about to leave the cars, when his attention was drawn to an old gentleman with hair nearly white, who did not rise with the rest of the passengers, but remained in his seat with his head leaned back and his eyes closed.

The train boy, concluding that he had fallen asleep, went up to him and touched him gently.

"We have reached Jersey City," he said.

The old man opened his eyes slightly and gazed at him bewildered.

"I—I don't know where I am," he murmured vaguely.

"You are in Jersey City, sir."

"I want to go to New York."

"You have only to cross the ferry."

"Excuse me; I am a stranger here. I am from Ohio. Where is the ferry?"

"Let me lead you to the boat, sir."

The old man rose feebly and put his hand to his head.

"I don't know what is the matter with me," he said. "I feel sick."

"Perhaps you are upset by your journey. Come with me, and I will take care of you."

"You are a very good boy, and I will accept your offer."

He rose and left the car, leaning heavily on Fred's arm.

"How long have you felt unwell?" asked the train boy sympathetically.

"Ever since we left Elmira. My head troubles me."

"It is the motion of the cars, no doubt. Here we are!"

They were just in time to reach the boat. They entered the ladies' cabin, as Fred thought the tobacco smoke which always pervaded the cabin devoted to men would increase the old gentleman's head trouble.

"Where do you wish to go when we have reached the New York side?" asked Fred, when they were nearly across the river.

"I have a nephew living on Madison Avenue. Do you know that street?"

"Oh, yes, sir, very well. I will go up with you if you will let me know your nephew's name."

The name was mentioned, and to Fred's surprise was that of a wealthy and influential Wall Street broker. It was clear that the old gentleman, though plainly dressed, would not need to economize.

"I think, sir," said Fred, noticing that the old man seemed to be getting more and more feeble, "that it will be well for you to take a cab, in order to avoid any walking. You seem very much fatigued."

"You are right. Will you call one? I don't feel able."

"With pleasure, sir."

Fred passed through the gate and beckoned a hackman, who drove up with alacrity.

"Where to, sir?" he asked.

Fred gave the number on Madison Avenue.

"Mr. John Wainwrignt lives there," said the hackman. "I sometimes drive him up from Wall Street."

"That is the place. This is his uncle."

The hackman touched his hat respectfully to the old gentleman, whom he had at first mentally styled a rusty old codger. His relationship to the wealthy broker gave him dignity in the eyes of the driver.

"Won't you get in too?" asked the old gentleman who had come to rely upon Fred as his guardian.

"Certainly, sir."

"I shall feel safer. I am a perfect stranger to the city."

He leaned back in the seat and partially closed his eyes.

The hack rattled through the streets and in due time reached its destination.

The hackman opened the door of the cab and Fred assisted the old gentleman to alight.

"Take my pocketbook and pay him," said the old man.

The hackman did not venture to ask more than his rightful fare, as it would have come to the knowledge of the broker, whom he did not care to offend.

The driver paid, Fred ascended the steps and rang the bell.

A man servant opened the door.

"Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" asked Fred.

The servant, seeing an old man in rather a rusty dress, was inclined to think that he was an applicant for charity, and answered rather superciliously:

"Yes, he's at 'ome, but I ain't sure as he'll see you."

"Tell him," said Fred sharply, "that his uncle has arrived."

"His uncle!" repeated the astounded flunkey. "O yes, sir, certainly, sir. I think he is at 'ome. Won't you step in, sir?"

Fred would have gone away, but the old gentleman still seemed to require his assistance, and he stepped in with him and led him into the drawing-room.

The servant promptly reported the arrival to Mr. Wainwright, who descended the staircase quickly and greeted his uncle.

"You are heartily welcome, Uncle Silas," he said. "I did not expect you till to-morrow, or I would have sent the carriage for you."

"I changed my mind, John, and decided to push through."

"Who is this young man with you?"

"He is a kind friend, John. I was taken sick—the effect of the journey, I think—and I shouldn't have been able to get up here but for him."

The broker smiled pleasantly and held out his hand to Fred.

"You are the train boy, are you not?" he asked, glancing at Fred's cap.

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you find it pays you well."

"Not at this season, sir."

"How long have you been in service?"

"Over a year."

"Thank you for your kindness to my uncle. He seems ill and requires my attention now. Can you make it convenient to call here to-morrow evening at eight o'clock?"

"Yes, sir. I will call with pleasure."

"Good night, then, and don't forget to call."

The broker shook hands with Fred again, and the train-boy left the house quite won by the pleasant and affable manner of the great broker.

"I never expected to know such a man as that," thought Fred. "I wish he would give me a position in his office. That would be much better worth having than my present place."

"Why are you so late, Fred?" asked his mother, when he reached home.

"I had to make a call on Mr. Wainwright, the broker," answered Fred.

"I guess you are only funning," said Albert.

"No, I am not. I am invited to call again to-morrow evening."

"What for?"

"Perhaps he's going to take me into partnership," said Fred in joke.



CHAPTER XXIV.

FRED'S GOOD LUCK.

Fred made a short trip the next day, and returned home at four o'clock. He was glad to be back so early, as it gave him time to prepare for his evening visit. Naturally his mind had dwelt upon it more or less during the day, and he looked forward to the occasion with pleasant anticipations. The broker's gracious manners led Fred to think of him as a friend.

"I would like to be in the employ of such a man," he reflected.

He started from home in good season, and found himself on the broker's steps on the stroke of eight.

The door was opened by the same servant as on the evening previous, but he treated Fred more respectfully, having overheard Mr. Wainwright speak of him cordially.

So when Fred asked, "Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" he answered "Yes, sir; come right in. I believe as you are expected."

The old man was descending the stairs as Fred entered, and immediately recognized him.

"Ha, my young friend!" he said. "I am glad to see you," and he held out his hand.

"I hope you are feeling better, sir," said Fred respectfully.

"Oh, yes, thank you. I feel quite myself to-day. It was the length of the journey that upset and fatigued me. I couldn't travel every day, as you do."

"No, sir, I suppose not now; but when you were of my age it would have been different."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"And I am seventy-one, the same figures, but reversed. That makes a great difference. Come in here; my nephew will be down at once."

The train boy followed the old gentleman into the handsome drawing-room, and sat down on a sofa feeling, it must be owned, not quite as much at home as he would have done in a plainer house.

"Did you make much to-day?" asked Silas Corwin (that was his name) in a tone of interest.

"No, sir, it was a poor day. I only sold three dollars' worth."

"And how much did that yield you?"

"Sixty cents. I have a commission of twenty per cent."

"What was the most you ever made in a day?"

"I took in thirteen dollars once—it was on a holiday."

"That would give you two dollars and sixty cents."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good indeed!"

"If I could keep that up I should feel like a millionaire."

"Perhaps happier than a millionaire. I have known millionaires who were weighed down by cares, and were far from happy."

Fred listened respectfully, but like most boys of his age found it impossible to understand how a very rich man could be otherwise than happy.

At this point Mr. John Wainwright entered the room.

"Good evening, my boy!" he said cordially. "I won't apologize for being late, as my uncle has no doubt entertained you."

"Yes, sir; he was just telling me that millionaires are sometimes unhappy."

"And you did not believe him?"

"I think I should be happy if I were worth a million."

"You might feel poorer than you do now. I knew a millionaire once—a bachelor—who did not venture to drink but one cup of coffee at his breakfast (he took it at a cheap restaurant) because it would involve an added expenditure of five cents."

"Was he in his right mind, sir?"

"I don't wonder you ask. I don't think a man who carries economy so far is quite in his right mind. However, he was shrewd enough in his business transactions. But now tell me something about yourself. Are you alone in the world?"

"No, sir; I have a mother and little brother."

"Are they partly dependent upon you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you make enough to support them comfortably?"

"I can in the summer, sir, but in the winter my earnings are small."

"How small?"

"Not over four dollars a week."

"That is certainly small. Do you like your present employment?"

"I am getting tired of it," answered Fred. "I should be glad to find a place where I can have a chance to rise, even if the pay is small."

"What do you think of going into a broker's office?"

Fred's heart gave a bound.

"I should like it very much," he said.

"Then I think I can offer you a place in mine. Come down on Saturday, and I will introduce you to the office employees, and on Monday you can begin work."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Wainwright."

"Before you know how much pay you are to receive?" asked the broker, smiling.

"I can safely trust that to you, sir."

"Then we will say eight dollars to begin with."

"My mother will be pleased with my good luck. I hope I shall prove satisfactory."

"We generally ask references from those about to enter our employment, but my uncle here insists that it is unnecessary in your case."

"I'll go security for the boy, John," said Silas Corwin.

"Thank you, sir," said Fred. "I will see that you don't run any risk."

At this moment a young girl of fourteen entered the room. She was the picture of rosy health, and Fred looked at her admiringly. She, too, glanced at him curiously.

"Fred, this is my daughter, Rose," said Mr. Wainwright.

"Is this the boy who came home with Uncle Silas?" asked the young lady.

"Yes, Rose."

"He looks like a nice boy."

Fred blushed at the compliment, but coming from such lips he found it very agreeable.

"Thank you," he said.

"How old are you?" continued Rose. "I'm fourteen."

"I am three years older."

"When I am three years older I shall be a young lady."

"I don't think I shall ever be a young lady," said Fred demurely.

"Why, of course you won't, you foolish boy," said Rose, with a merry laugh. "Papa, may I invite Fred to my New Year's party?"

"Yes, if you like."

"You'll come, won't you?" asked Rose.

"If your father approves," answered Fred, hesitating.

"Of course he does. Didn't he say so? If you'll tell me where you live, I'll send you a card. Do you dance?"

"Not much; but I will practise beforehand."

"That's right. You must dance with me, you know."

"Rose," said her father gravely, "are you under the impression that this is Leap Year? You seem to be very attentive to this young man."

Rose was the pride of her father's heart, as she might well be, for she was an unusually attractive child, and had been a good deal indulged, but by no means spoiled. Mr. Wainwright had no foolish ideas about exclusiveness, and was not disturbed by his daughter's cordiality to Fred.

"Do you play backgammon, Fred?" asked Rose, after some further conversation.

"Yes, a little."

"Then I'll get the backgammon board, and we'll have a game."

Fred was not a skilful player, and the young lady beat him three games in succession, which put her in high spirits. Her favorable opinion of Fred was confirmed, and when he rose to go she pressed him to come again.

"Thank you," said Fred, "I shall be very glad indeed to come."

"Rose," said her father, after Fred's departure, "it seems to me you have been flirting with Fred."

"He's a nice boy, don't you think so, papa?"

"I hope he will prove so, for I am going to take him into my office."

"That's good. Then I shall see him often."

"Really, Rose, I was a little alarmed lest you should make him an offer this evening."

"You needn't be afraid, papa. I will wait till I am a little bit older."

"And then shall you offer yourself to Fred?"

"Perhaps I shall if I don't see any one I like better."

"You must remember he is poor."

"That doesn't make any difference. You can give us all the money we want."

"A very satisfactory arrangement, upon my word! I am glad you don't insist upon getting married at once, but give me a few hours to get reconciled to the thought."



CHAPTER XXV.

ROSE WAINWRIGHT'S PARTY.

As Fred would make his debut in fashionable society at Rose Wainwright's party, he was naturally solicitous to make a favorable impression. He had for some time been intending to procure a new suit, but hesitated on account of the expense. Now with a new position in prospect, and a liberal salary he no longer delayed, but purchased a neat black suit—a misfit—for seventeen dollars, and a few small articles of which he stood in need.