"I'll tell you something else that we fellows are growing a bit too old for, too, if you want to know," Dick offered presently, for the crowd still insisted on hanging out close to this usually fertile leader in fun.

"Fire away," groaned Spoff.

"Well, then, I mean the kind of tricks that destroy people's property. The fellow that shies a stone through the window of some one he doesn't like, or who carries off gates, or tramples flower beds is only a cheap penny pirate."

That was rather daring, for Dick's condemnation had touched rather closely some forms of mischief that boys always imagine as belonging to them on Hallowe'en night.

However, the general opinion was against quarreling with Dick. Without him and his chums on the streets, the Grammar School boys knew that there wouldn't be as much sport.

"You're trying to think up some good ones, aren't you?" asked Dave, as he and Dick were about to part on the homeward way at noon.

"Yes, of course; but I hope you other fellows have brains that are working faster than mine is to-day."

"Oh, you'll have something ready by to-night," laughed Dave.

"I hope so."

That afternoon the boys and girls in Old Dut's room did not appear to have their minds very much on their lessons. A man of Old Dut's experience knew why.

"I'll stay at home and sit tight on my place to-night," murmured the principal to himself. "Like as not I'm slated to be one of the biggest Hallowe'en victims."

When Dick reached Main Street that evening he found himself instantly the center of a crowd of at least twenty boys from the Central Grammar.

"What'll we do, Dick?" came the hail.

"Anything you like," agreed Prescott.

"But what have you thought up?"

"Nothing."

"Cut that!"

"Honest, fellows, I haven't."

"Never mind," sang out Dave. "We fellows will just roam around town for a while and see what is happening. Something will pop into our minds, and then we can have a bit of mischief."

"Hullo!" muttered Toby. "Say! Just look at Hoof!"

"Whatcher got there, Hoof?" demanded a laughing chorus.

For Hoof Sadby, looking more sheepish than ever before in his life, had appeared on the scene carrying a baby. It was a real, live one, too—his year-and-a-half-old brother, to be exact.

"Say, don't guy me too much, fellows," begged Hoof sadly. "I'm in a pickle, sure. Pop and mother are going to a sociable to-night. That is, they've already gone. And they said——" Hoof paused. "They said——" he tried again. Then, in final desperation he shot it out quickly. "They said I'd have to stay home, and—mind the baby!"

"Isn't that a shame?" came a sympathetic chorus, but a few of the fellows laughed.

"It's a boy, any way," argued Hoof, rather brokenly, "and a smart little fellow, too. Now, if he's going to grow up right as a boy the kid ought to start in early. So I've wrapped him up warm and have brought him out with me."

"What are you going to do with him, Hoof?"

"I'm going to tote the little fellow around to see the fun—if you fellows can stand having me with you," announced Hoof sadly, rather pleadingly.

"Why, of course you can come, can't he, fellows?" appealed Dick.

"If you're sure that the youngster won't catch cold," agreed Tom Reade. "A baby is a human being, you know, and has some rights of his own."

"Oh, I won't let the little shaver catch cold," promised Hoof. "See how warmly I've got him wrapped up."

As some of the fellows crowded about their encumbered mate, baby laughed and tried to reach them.

"He's a good fellow, if he is young," spoke up Greg. "Bring him along, Hoof."

So that was settled, and the crowd turned down one of the side streets. These darker thoroughfares, as all knew by experience, were safer for Hallowe'en pranks. The dark places were the easiest ones in which to escape when pursuit offered.

Nor had the Grammar School crowd been strolling along more than two minutes when Dick suddenly halted them by holding up one hand.

"What is it?" whispered several, mysteriously, as they crowded about the leader.

"There's Mose Waterman's house, and it's all dark there," murmured Dick. "And it's the same over at Mr. Gordon's. Now, you know, Waterman and Gordon have never spoken to each other since they had that law suit."

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, the warm weather lately has led Mose Waterman to leave his porch chairs out later'n usual. Now, fellows, suppose we lift the chairs from Waterman's porch and put 'em over on Gordon's porch. That wouldn't be far for Waterman to go after 'em, but do you think he'd do it? Never! He will growl, and swear that Gordon stole the chairs. And Mr. Gordon is too angry with Mose Waterman to take the chairs back. So it'll give us fun for a fortnight strolling by in the day time and noticing whether Waterman has his chairs back."

"Wow!" "Whoop!" "And you said, Dick"—reproachfully—"that you couldn't think up anything!"

Half a dozen figures moved swiftly and stealthily. In a twinkling the transfer of porch chairs from Waterman's house to Gordon's had been made. The young mischief-makers passed on, looking for more nonsense. But that joke became almost classic in Gridley. For days and days after that Waterman and Gordon glared at each other from their front windows, or whenever they met on the street. But neither would touch the chairs, and neighbors grinned every time they passed and saw the chairs still on the Gordon porch. One night, in November, however, Gordon took the chairs as far as the middle of the road. An hour later Mose Waterman slipped out from his unlighted house and carried the chairs back and into his own house. The neighbors had had their hearty laughs, however.

"Say, I'll bet that's the best thing done to-night," chuckled Toby Ross, as the "gang" pressed on to new scenes and new laughs.

But it wasn't quite the best thing done that night as later events showed.



CHAPTER XVII

THE NEWEST TRICK OF ALL

"Here's where old Miss Lowthry lives," muttered Ned Allen, halting before a gate leading into the grounds surrounding a cosy little cottage.

"It wouldn't be very manly to do anything to scare lone women, would it?" demanded Dick.

"She's an old maid," protested Toby.

"That's no crime," insisted Dick.

"She has no use for boys," breathed Ben Alvord, complainingly.

"From some things that boys do, I don't altogether blame her," chuckled young Prescott.

"And—say! Don't Miss Lowthry hate babies!" grunted Wrecker Lane. "You remember Fred Porter? His folks used to live in that next house. When Fred was a baby they say he used to cry something awful. Well, once in the summer, after Fred had cried every night for a week, and Miss Lowthry had to hear it all through her open windows, what did she do but go to the health board and ask that the Porters be ordered to make their baby stop crying. There was an awful fuss about it, and Miss Lowthry made some talk about all babies being brats."

"They are not," denied Hoof Sadby indignantly.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," went on Wrecker calmly. "That's why I have no use for old maids that hate babies. Now, there are some old maids that are really fine. But Miss Lowthry!"

"Wrecker, you live right near here," murmured Dick suddenly.

"'Course I do."

"Then come aside. I want to whisper something to you."

Then Dick talked in whispers with Wrecker for a few moments. The other boy was seen by the curious suddenly to double up with laughter. From that attitude Wrecker recovered, only to start off on the run.

"Say, what is it?" demanded a dozen cautious voices as Dick came back to the crowd.

"Now, see here, fellows, don't want to know too much. Just stay around and see what happens, and you'll all enjoy it as much as Miss Lowthry does."

"Then it's against her?" breathed Ben Alvord. "Good! great!"

"Now, you, Dave, stay here with me," Dick went on, disposing of his forces with the air of a general. "The rest of you fellows scoot across the lawn and hide in the bushes. Hide so that you can't be seen from the street or from the front door of the cottage, either. Then just wait and see what happens."

Tom Reade and Greg managed to get the crowd started. Then Dick called, softly:

"Oh, say, Hoof! I'll hold the baby for you a while. You must be tired."

Hoof started, and glared suspiciously. But he knew that Dick was "always on the square," and so, after swallowing hard, passed the tiny, bundled youngster over to Prescott's waiting arms. "Say, be careful what you do with him," pleaded Sadby. "He's a fine little fellow."

Then the crowd hid. How they watched and waited! Miss Lowthry's sitting room was lighted, and the boys could see her, seated in a rocking chair, reading a book.

It seemed ages ere Wrecker Lane returned. When he came he brought a basket. Some soft fragments of blanket rested in the bottom of it.

"Just the thing," chuckled Dick softly, placing the baby in the basket. "Now, skip over there, Wrecker, and hide with the fellows in the bushes."

Dick waited until Wrecker Lane vanished.

"Now, come along, Dave," chuckled Prescott. "You ring the bell just as I place the basket on the steps. Then we'll both hot-foot it to join the fellows."

A few moments later Dick and Dave scurried to cover, snuggling down among a lot of Grammar School boys who were holding their handkerchiefs wedged in their mouths.

Then they heard the front door open, saw Miss Lowthry peer out, and then heard her utter a shriek, followed with:

"Mercy me! Who has dared to leave a foundling on my step?"

And then, as she bent over and poked the pieces of blanket aside:

"Mercy! What a horridly homely brat!"

"It isn't!" exploded Hoof, in an undertone, as he snatched the handkerchief from his mouth. "Gracious! Wouldn't I like to pinch her!"

But Miss Lowthry must have recognized her duty as a citizen, for she picked up the basket and bore it into the house, slamming the door behind her.

"Wow! Oh, dear! oh, dear!" laughed a lot of mischievous youngsters hidden in the bushes.

"Look!" whispered Dave Darrin. "She has taken the basket into her sitting room. She's placed it on a table. There she goes to the telephone. Whee! See how she's working her arm, jerking that telephone bell crank!"

Some conversation that the young peepers, of course, couldn't hear passed over the telephone. Then Miss Lowthry hung up the receiver and thrust her forefingers into her ears as she turned to stare at the human contents of the basket on the table.

"The poor kid's hollering," muttered Hoof. "Can you blame it?"

All that followed, and which the boys could see through the lighted windows of the room interested them mightily. But at last they heard a heavy step on the sidewalk. Then one of the blue-coated guardians of Gridley's peace turned in at the gate, went up to the door and rang the bell.

"She sent for the police," chuckled Dick Prescott.

"Of course," grinned Dave.

The peeping boys saw the officer step through into the old maid's sitting room. Miss Lowthry pointed at the basket in a highly dramatic way. The policeman bent over to take a kindly look at the tiny youngster therein, then adjusting the pieces of blanket, he lifted the basket.

"Now, it's time to do your turn, Hoof," whispered Dick, giving young Sadby a nudge. "Slip over the fence and do it right."

Miss Lowthry followed the policeman to the door, opening it for him and letting him out.

"Boo-hoo!" sounded a heart-broken voice out on the sidewalk, in the darkness beyond. Then, as the policeman stepped down from the steps, Hoof suddenly let out a wail and darted into the yard.

"Say, Mister Cop, have you got it?" demanded Hoof eagerly.

"Got what?" demanded the policeman.

"My baby brother! You see, Mister Cop, some fellows took my baby brother and carried him off for a joke."

Then Hoof came into the pale light that was shed just past the open front door. There were tears in his eyes, all right, for an onion was one of the things that "Wrecker" Lane had brought from home. Hoof had rubbed a slice of the onion on the skin under his eyes, and the tears that he wanted to show were genuine enough.

"Is this your brother?" demanded the policeman, lowering the basket he was carrying.

The Sadby baby had begun to cry again, but at sight of Hoof the little fellow stopped suddenly, crowed and reached out with its little hands.

"After that do you have to ask if that's my kid brother?" demanded Hoof Sadby proudly.

"I guess it is, all right, Sadby," replied the policeman. "I know you. Well, if this is your brother, please take him off my hands—and welcome. You see, Miss Lowthry, it was nothing but the humorous prank of some boys. This is Hallowe'en."

"Boys!" sniffed Miss Lowthry, glaring. "Humph! I think I could eat a couple of boys, right now, if I could see them skinned alive and then boiled."

Hoof, once he had possession of the basket, raced away as though nothing else on earth mattered. This was good policy for, if he lingered, the policeman might begin to ask questions.

When the door had closed and the officer was gone, Dick and his crowd slipped out from concealment, joining Hoof and his baby brother.

"Oh, me, oh, my!" groaned Dave Darrin, stifling with laughter. "We must play this on some more folks."

"But say," warned Dick Prescott, "don't you think that, by the time we've played this on three or four more people, the policeman will begin to be suspicious of Hoof's wailing accents and his great joy at finding his kid brother?"

"Oh, we'll have to try it again, anyway," urged Tom Reade. "I know just the people to work it on. You know Mr. and Mrs Crossleigh? They live around on the next street. They haven't any children, and they're big cranks."



CHAPTER XVIII

CARRYING "FUN" TO THE DANGER LIMIT

The Hallowe'eners hidden across the street, and Hoof Sadby posted up the street, ready to come on the scene and do his part when needed, Tom Reade and Greg Holmes crept up to the front porch of the Crossleigh home, deposited the basket, rang and then bolted.

In a short time a dim light was visible through the stained glass of the front door. Then that barrier itself was opened, and Mr. Crossleigh, a man past middle age, and in dressing-gown and slippers, came out.

Seeing no one, and coming further out, Mr. Crossleigh almost kicked the basket. But he recovered in time, and bent down.

The peepers, not far away, heard him utter an exclamation of amazement. Then:

"Wife!" he called back into the house. "Come and see who's here!"

"Who is it?" hailed a voice from inside. "Cousin Jenny?"

"No; it isn't."

"Who? The minister?"

"No; you just come and see."

Then Mrs. Crossleigh came down the hallway and out on to the porch.

"Now, who do you think it is?" chuckled Mr. Crossleigh, lifting the basket.

"Henry Crossleigh, where on earth——"

"Don't ask me where it came from, wife. I found it here on the stoop when I answered the bell."

"Well of all the——" gasped the woman in wonder.

"Ain't it!" agreed her husband.

"It's—it's—why, I do believe it's a real cute little shaver," continued the woman hesitatingly.

"Fine little fellow, I should say, though I'm no judge," continued Mr. Crossleigh.

"And it isn't crying a bit. Do you suppose it's a foundling, left on our stoop, as we sometimes read of in the papers, Henry?"

"That's just what it is, of course. Folks don't leave small children around for a joke, wife."

"And have we got to take it in and keep it?"

"The law doesn't compel us to."

"But—Henry——"

"What is it, wife?"

"Do you suppose—we've never had any children. Do you think we could——"

"We can do whatever you say, wife," nodded



Mr. Crossleigh. "If you say that you want to——"

Here he came to a pause. The new idea was so wholly strange that he couldn't grasp it all at once.

Here Hoof Sadby, straining his ears from the distance, judged that it was high time for him to use his slice of onion. Then his doleful voice was heard as he came wailing along.

"Why, who's that out there?" cried Mrs. Crossleigh.

"Say, have you got my baby brother!" demanded Hoof, halting at the gateway, then running forward for a minute. "Some fellers——

"Is this the brother you're looking for?" asked Mr. Crossleigh, stepping toward Hoof, basket in hand.

"Yes!" snapped Hoof, giving a pretended gulp of joy. But, truth to tell, he felt so ashamed of himself that he was a poor actor at this moment. Had the Crossleighs been more suspicious they would have detected something sham in Hoof's beginning grief and his swift change to joy.

"Oh, thank you, sir," awkwardly sobbed Hoof, taking the basket. "I know the fellows that did this to me. They think this is a good Hallowe'en joke."

"I'm glad, boy, that you didn't have a longer hunt," remarked Mr. Crossleigh. "Good night!"

Then Hoof and the peepers across the way saw Mr. Crossleigh throw an arm around his wife's waist and draw her into the house, closing the door.

"Say, who said they were cranks?" demanded Greg Holmes, when the abashed Hallowe'eners had gathered a little way down the street. "Why, those folks would have been only too glad to take the little shaver in and——"

"Adopt it," supplied Dan Dalzell.

Truth to tell, Dick and all the Grammar School boys had seen the beginning of a scene that made their joke look small.

"If I ever catch any fellow trying to sneak the Crossleigh's gate," warned Dave loftily, "I'll give that fellow all that's coming his way!"

"They're the right sort of people," confessed Dick. "Fellows, we've all got to make it our business to see that the Crossleighs are never bothered again by fellows out for larks. Say, they showed us that playing a joke with a baby is only a clownish trick, didn't they?"

"I'm going home," announced Hoof. "This little shaver has been out long enough. It's time he was in his crib."

To this no objection was offered. As Wrecker Lane was near his home he ran off with the basket, which he tossed into the yard, after which he overtook his companions.

"What are we going to do, now?" Ben Alvord wanted to know.

"Let's prowl around and see what other Hallowe'eners are doing," proposed Dick.

Apparently there was enough going on. The Grammar School boys came across one party of grown young men who had climbed to the top of a blacksmith shop and had hoisted a wagon into place on the ridge pole. At another point they came across a group of High School boys who, with bricks done up in fancy paper, and with a confectioner's label pasted on the package, were industriously circulating these sham sweets by tying the packages to door-knobs, ringing the bells and then hurrying away. In another part of the town the Grammar School boys came upon a bevy of schoolgirls engaged in the ancient pastime of "hanging baskets."

In time Dick and the rest of the crowd found themselves down by the railroad, not far from the railway station. Lights shone out from the office where the night operator was handling train orders and other telegrams.

"What can we do here?" demanded Ben Alvord.

"I don't know," returned Dave.

"It's a bad place to play tricks," advised Dick. "Railway people are in a serious line of business, and they don't stand for much nonsense."

"Green is the night operator, and I don't forget the switching he gave some of us a year ago," muttered Ben Alvord bitterly.

"What were you doing?" asked Dick.

"Oh, just catching on and off a night freight that was being made up in the yard."

"And taking a big chance of getting hurt?" asked Dick. "I don't know that I blame Green much for taking the quickest course he knew of getting you out of harm's way."

"He had no right to switch us with a stick," insisted Ben.

"You're right he hadn't," spoke up another youngster. "I was there, and I got some of that switch across my legs, too. Whew! I can feel the sting yet."

"I guess it's about time that Green heard from us," insisted Ben.

"If I were you I wouldn't do anything around here," advised Dick.

"You're right," nodded Dave. "And I guess, Ben, you fellows didn't get a bit more than you deserved."

"I'll show old Green whether we did," snapped Ben.

"Don't you think of it," warned Greg Holmes. "It's a serious business to monkey with railroad property. Besides, anything serious might put in danger the lives of people traveling on the railroad."

"Oh, keep quiet and do some thinking," retorted young Alvord. "Any of you fellows that never eat anything but milk, and are 'fraidcats, can cut out of this. I tell you, I'm going to get hunk with Green, and fellows with sand, who want to see it, can stay. The milksops can go home and to bed."

Not a boy stirred away just then. It isn't boy nature to withdraw under taunts.

"Say, Ben, I'll tell you something you dassent do," dared one of the boys.

"It'll have to be something pretty big that I don't dare do," boasted young Alvord.

"Do you dast to pick up a stone and smash one of the red or green lights over there?"

The lights referred to were the signal lights for passing trains.

"Don't do that!" protested Dick Prescott sharply. "That certainly would be downright criminal!"

"Milksop!" retorted Ben. "I dast to do anything that I want to."

"I think I dare do anything that's decent," retorted Dick quietly. "But I don't pretend that I'm brave enough to commit crimes, if you call breaking the law bravery."

"Crime?" sneered Ben. "Bosh! This is only fun, and getting square with a man who has been mean to some of us."

"If you don't take Dick's advice, and cut out the trick, you'll be mighty sorry afterwards," urged Tom Reade. "Come on, fellows. Let's move along and find some fun that is more decent."

"Babies!" jeered Ben Alvord. "You haven't nerve enough to stand up for your rights and pay Green back for the way he treats the fellows when he loses his temper. You're babies! Go on. Those who aren't babies will stay right here and see what happens."

"You're talking boldly enough, now, Ben Alvord, but you'll be whining to-morrow, instead. Come on, fellows; let's have nothing to do with the scheme," cried Dick.

"Babies!" sneered Ben again. "You fellows who want to be classed with the babies can go. The fellows with nerve can stay right here."

"Come along, then," urged Dick, and he and his chums started away. At the corner, just before turning up the street that led away from the railway station Dick turned to see if others than his chums were coming along. But Dick & Co. proved to be the only ones who had left the scene.

There were others who wanted to go with Dick Prescott, but they didn't care to risk being taunted with being "babies." So they stood by Ben, though nervously.

"Do you s'pose we'll get in jail?" whispered one of Ben's followers nervously.

"Humph! You'd better run along with the babies," jeered Ben Alvord. "I guess it's time that some of you were in your cradles, anyway."

"Shut up! We're standing by you, aren't we?" Wrecker Lane demanded.

"Are you ready, then?" inquired Ben, glancing around at those who had stayed with him.

"Yes," replied Toby.

"Now, take good aim!" warned Ben, in a conspirator's tone. "Remember, we can't wait, this time, for any repeat shots. All you fellows ready?"

"Yes," came the response.

"When I say 'three,' then," ordered Ben. "All ready! One, two, three!"

Through the air whizzed a volley of stones.

Crash! Both the red and the green lights went out, the glass flying in splinters.

Guessing what had happened, Operator Green dashed out hotfoot in pursuit.



CHAPTER XIX

BEN WANTS TO KNOW WHO "BLABBED"

"Cheese it! Scoot!" sounded the unnecessary warning.

A crowd of boys, engaged in mischief, doesn't have to wait to be instructed in the art of vanishing.

By the time that Mr. Green, swift though he was, got out into the open, Ben and the other stone-throwers had scattered in as many different directions as there were boys in the party.

For a moment Night Operator Green halted, baffled, for every one of the fugitives had found safe cover.

"They've run down to the street, and are making off," decided the night operator, with bad judgment. "I'll catch some of them yet."

Whereupon he sprinted down to the corner and turned up the street. True enough he beheld a clump of boys, but they were gathered around one of their number and talking earnestly.

"Stop, you young heathen! Stay right where you are, if you know what's good for you!" yelled the angered operator.

None of the six boys moved more than was necessary in order for them to get a view of the charging operator.

"Now, I've got you;" roared Mr. Green swooping down upon Dick & Co.

"Well, Mr Green?" inquired Dick unafraid, as he had a right to be.

"I want all your names!" growled the operator. "Your right names, too!"

"I guess you know all of our names now, if you take a good look at us," smiled Prescott.

"Yes, I do," nodded Mr. Green grimly. "I wouldn't have thought it of any of you boys, either. But there's no telling what boys won't do nowadays."

"What are we supposed to have done?" Dick queried.

"You're the youngsters who threw a volley of stones and broke the railroad signal lights."

"Guess again!" suggested Dave.

"Aren't the lights broken, and didn't I catch you moving away from the scene?" glared Mr. Green.

"Yes; but didn't you hear some other boys getting away at the same time?" demanded Prescott.

"Um! I—er—suppose I did."

"Doesn't it strike you that the boys who broke your signal lights were the ones who ran away so fast?"

"Then you boys didn't do it!"

"We certainly didn't."

"Who were the boys, then!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Green, but you'll have to find that out for yourself."

"Who were they?" pressed the operator.

"As I said before, Mr. Green, you'll have to find that out for yourself."

"Then I guess I'll take you youngsters in on the charge. You know that I belong to the railway police, don't you?"

"Yes; and I also know," smiled Dick steadily, "that, if you don't succeed in proving your charge, you'll lay both yourself and the railroad liable to damages for false arrest."

Mr. Green looked a bit uneasy. This is a point of law intended to restrain officers of the law from making arrests without evidence.

"For the last time, will you tell me the names of the boys who threw the stones?"

"No," Dick rejoined, "for we don't know exactly what boys did the throwing."

"Name the boys you suspect, then."

"Nothing doing," Dave Darrin interposed, with emphasis.

"Then I'll have to take you boys in."

"That's your privilege—and your risk, as Dick has explained," laughed Dave.

Green fidgeted. He didn't want to make any mistakes, but he did wish that these Grammar School boys could be scared more easily.

"Will you come back to the station with me, without going in arrest?" asked the operator.

"Why?" questioned Prescott, pointedly.

"Because I'm going to send for the chief of police, and I shall want him to talk with you," Green answered.

"The chief of police knows where to find any of us when he wants to," hinted Darrin.

"If Mr. Green asks us to go to the railway station with him, without being placed under arrest, I don't see what harm that can do, fellows. What do you say if we accept Mr. Green's invitation?"

"All right," agreed some of the six. Even Dave consented.

Ten minutes later the chief of police was on hand. He inspected the broken lights just before the operator placed out new ones. Mr. Green stated what he knew of the affair. Then the chief turned to Dick & Co. He put many questions. Some of these Dick and his friends answered promptly. They even told how they had spoken against the proposed prank, and how they had left when they had found that the other boys couldn't be stopped. But as to the matter of naming the other boys all six refused.

"We're not tell-tales," Dick explained.

"Justice Lee can make you tell," warned the chief of police.

"Can he?" inquired Dick. "Can he make us testify as to our suspicions? And wouldn't warrants have to be issued for us before we could be taken to court?"

"No; the judge could issue summons for you all."

"But could he make us testify as to suspicions—things we didn't actually see?" propounded Dick Prescott.

The chief chewed the ends of his moustache.

"It's a criminal act to destroy the signal lights of a railway," the police officer went on. "You ought to tell us, to serve the ends of justice."

"Do you know what would happen to us?" Dick demanded.

"What?"

"Every other fellow in town would point his finger at us and cry 'tell-tale!' We'd get thrashed whenever we showed our heads outdoors."

"The police can protect you," declared the chief.

"Have you ever had policemen enough yet to prevent boys from fighting in Gridley?" challenged Dick, though his tone was respectful. "Besides, the thrashings wouldn't be anything to the scorn and contempt that we'd meet everywhere."

"You ought to tell us," insisted the chief of police. "You're helping to defeat the ends of justice."

"Aren't men clever enough to catch a few boy offenders, without demanding that other boys 'queer' themselves with every fellow in town?" insisted Dick.

"Justice Lee will make you tell, then," promised the chief, with a shake of his head.

"He can't!" spoke Dick with spirit. "I'll go to prison, and stay there, before I'll turn blab. So will my friends."

"That's just what we'll do," nodded Dave, his eyes flashing.

The chief chewed his moustache thoughtfully. At last he spoke.

"You boys can go now. I know where to find you when I want you."

Dick & Co. lost no time in getting away from this uncomfortable examination.

"Prescott and Darrin are regular little schoolboy lawyers, Green," laughed the chief. "We can't make them tell a thing."

"But the judge ought to be able to."

"Perhaps Justice Lee has the power, Green, but we'd only make heroes of Prescott, Darrin and the rest if we made martyrs of them in court. It would stir up a lot of bad feeling in the town, too, and after that every boy would feel that he had a grudge against you railway people. You'd be annoyed in loads of ways that the police couldn't very well stop. Prescott scored a hit with me when he said that a lot of grown men ought to be able to catch a lot of boy offenders. Green, the best thing to do is to put the case up to your railway company."

"The boys who threw the stones must be found and punished!" insisted the operator firmly.

"Yes; I agree with you on that point. But you'd better go about in a regular way. Wire your headquarters and ask that a railway detective be sent here on the case. My department will give your detective all proper aid in the matter."

One of the earliest trains, the next morning, brought Detective Briscoe. That official, however, worked very quietly. No one guessed who or what he was until he was ready to strike.

Ned Allen, Ben Alvord, Toby Ross, Wrecker Lane and Spoff Henderson were badly scared that same next morning. They met on the way to school and took blood-curdling oaths as to secrecy.

Then, in the school yard, Ben Alvord hunted up Prescott.

"Dick, you didn't give our names last night, did you?"

"No," Prescott replied.

"You won't name us, either, will you?"

"No, sirree!"

So the light-smashers felt more comfortable. By the day following they breathed easily—until they reached school.

The boys were in the yard, playing until the gong rang for morning session. A buggy drove up, and Detective Briscoe and two policemen in plain clothes got out.

"Trouble!" was the word whispered. Ben Alvord and his fellows turned pale. But the gong rang. Glad of any chance to bolt, Ben, Spoff, Ned, Toby and Wrecker fled to the basement to get into line.

Briscoe and the two policemen appeared in Old Dut's room. The detective drew some papers from his pocket, inquiring:

"You have boys here by the names of Allen, Alvord, Ross, Lane and Henderson, haven't you?"

"Yes," nodded Old Dut.

"Ask them to step forward, please."

Pallid and shaking a bit, the five came forward.

"Boys," announced Detective Briscoe, "I am sorry to say that Justice Lee wants to see you about a little matter on Hallowe'en. Get your hats and coats and come along."

An awed hush crept over the eighth grade room after the youngsters had left.

"I hope," declared Old Dut to his class, "that the young men haven't been doing anything very wrong."

Under Justice Lee's questioning the five broke down, one after another and confessed.

"Young men," said Justice Lee severely, "this is a more serious offense than probably any of you understand. Destroying railway signals is always likely to lead to destruction of property and even loss of life. I advise the parents of these young men to explain to them carefully and earnestly what a criminal thing these boys have done. If any of you young men are ever brought before me again, on such a charge, I shall send the offenders to a reformatory, there to remain until they are twenty-one. For this first offense I trust that the parents will act as my allies. On this occasion, therefore, I shall let the young men off with a fine of ten dollars each."

The fines were paid. Ben and his comrades reached school just as the afternoon session was closing. All five of the culprits were in an angry, defiant frame of mind.

"Whoop! There's Ben Alvord," shouted one of the eighth grade boys, as Central Grammar "let out." "Hullo, Ben! What did they do to you?"

"How long you got to go up for, Ben?" jeered another.

The five were quickly surrounded and eagerly questioned.

"That judge was too fresh!" declared Alvord wrathfully. "He called us criminals, and gave us a fierce scolding. He made our folks pay ten dollars apiece."

"That don't cost you anything," grinned one of the boys.

"Don't it, though?" Ben demanded angrily. "I had ten dollars and forty cents saved up for a bicycle. Dad said that, as long as I liked such expensive amusements, I could just pay the fine out of my bicycle money. So, now, I've got only forty cents left. And all because some fellows can't keep their mouths shut!"

"What do you mean by that, Ben?" demanded three or four fellows.

"I mean that Dick Prescott and his gang had to go and blab on us!" charged Ben Alvord. "There he is, now, the sneak!"

There was a great bobbing of heads. All eyes, and most of them accusing eyes, were turned on Dick & Co.



CHAPTER XX

DICK'S ACCUSER GETS TWO ANSWERS

Dick took a step forward, his face grave but his eyes steady as he faced his accuser.

"Ben, I know you're sore, but if you say that I, or any of my friends told on you, then you're going too far."

"You did!" asserted young Alvord. "You blabbed!"

"I didn't, and we didn't; not one of us."

"That's all right to say after you're caught," flared Ben.

"Then you call us liars?" flashed Dave Darrin, pushing his way forward, his fists clenched.

"You are, if you say you didn't blab!" panted Ben.

"Fight! fight!" chorused some of the boys.

"Get back, Dave, and keep cool," warned Dick, pushing his chum to the rear. "This thing started with me, and it's my affair first of all. Ben Alvord, look at me! I don't want to fight. I don't believe in fighting when it can be helped. I know you're sore, too, for you've just had a rough time of it after what you thought was fun on Hallowe'en. But you're going too far when you say we blabbed on you, for we didn't."

"Who did, then?" sneered Ben.

"I don't know. I'm not the chief of police. But, just because you can't think who told on you, you needn't come along and accuse us."

"I say you did tell—you or some of your gang!" retorted Ben.

"It sounds likely enough. No one else knew," muttered a boy on the outskirts of the crowd.

"Of course Dick Prescott or some of his gang told on us," insisted Ben Alvord angrily.

Dick took a step closer to his accuser.

"Then, Ben, you're a liar!" Prescott announced coolly.

"Punch him!" urged another boy, giving Ben a shove toward Dick.

"You bet I will!" snapped Alvord. "I don't allow a sneak to call me a liar."

"You can have a fight, if you insist on it," agreed Dick promptly. "You can have it right away, too, and it will last as long as you want. But this is no place. Let's go up to the field where we used to practise football."

"Whoop! Come on!" The crowd of Grammar School boys surged around the prospective fighters. A big procession started up the road.

"See here, this whole crowd can't come. So many will get us into trouble," shouted Dave.

"I'll name ten of Dick's friends, and Ben can name ten of his friends. No one else will be allowed to come."

Dave quickly called off his list of boys.

"Choose me, Ben!" "Choose me!" urged two score boys whom Dave had not named. Ben looked around, trying to select those whom he thought most friendly to himself.

Then the procession started again, containing only the chosen ones. Others wanted to go, but knew they would be driven back by the selected twenty friends.

The field was quickly reached. Ben Alvord was cooling, now. He would have drawn out of the fight, but knew that he couldn't get out without discredit. So Ben pulled off his jacket, took off his collar and tie and made ready.

Dick, who was almost wholly free from anger, made similar preparations. After a good deal of disputing Hoof Sadby was agreed upon as a referee satisfactory to both sides. Dave, of course, seconded Dick, while Alvord chose Toby Ross.

"Get your men forward," ordered Hoof. "Want to shake hands before you start?"

"No," growled Ben sullenly.

"Time, then! Get busy!"

Dick threw himself on guard. He was not an amazingly good boxer, but he had been through a few schoolboy fights.

"I'll knock your head off and wind it up!" blazed Ben, darting forward.

Instead of carrying out his programme, Ben received a blow on the nose that staggered him.

"No fair!" howled Ben, retreating. "I hadn't my guard up."

"Your fault, then," mocked Dick.

"All fair," chimed in Hoof. "Stop talking and mix it up."

Ben soon advanced once more, rather disconcerted by the wholly steady bearing of Dick Prescott.

This time Alvord tried to foul by hitting below the belt. Dick sidestepped and drove in a blow against Ben's left eye.

"My! That was a socker!" yelled some of the spectators.

"You're hitting too hard. It ain't fair," wailed Ben, backing off.

"If all you want is gymnastics you don't need me," mocked Dick. "Fight, if you're going to. If you're not, then get out of this."

"Mix it up!" ordered Hoof tersely, and the crowd took up the cry.

Ben suddenly let loose. For a few moments he kept young Prescott pretty busy. Not all of Ben's blows were fended off, either. Dick's face began to show red spots from the hard impacts of Alvord's tough little fists.

"Good boy, Ben! Go in and wind up his clock!" came the gleeful advice. "You've got him started. Keep him going!"

Just then a blow under the chin sent Ben down to the ground.

"Keep back, Prescott. Don't hit him while he's down," cried several. But this Dick had no intention of doing. Panting slightly, he waited for Ben to get to his feet. This Alvord soon did, drawing away crouchingly.

"Got enough?" hailed Dick.

"I'll show you!" raged Ben, rushing forward.

Dick met him half-way, in a leap. Now it was Prescott on the offensive, and he forced Ben all over the field, to the tune of encouraging yells. Ben tried to save his face, but couldn't. Then Dick hammered his body. Young Alvord lost all his coolness, and began to windmill his hands. That settled it, of course. Any boy who forsakes his guard to take to windmilling is as good as whipped. Dick watched his chance, then drove in a blow on Ben's jaw that felled him flat.

"O-o-oh!" wailed Ben, holding to his jaw with both hands.

"Do you give it up?" demanded Hoof.

"No!"

"Then get up and go on with the fight."

"I will when I'm ready."

"You will, now, or I'll decide against you," warned Hoof.

"That booby broke my jaw," groaned Ben.

"You wag it pretty well, for a broken jaw," jeered Dave.

"Get up, Ben!"

"If you don't you're thrashed!"

"Don't give up like a baby!"

"Get up and fight," ordered Hoof. "One!"

Ben lay on the ground, glaring about him in sullen silence.

"Going to get up?" demanded Hoof. "Two!"

"Oh, Ben, don't let Prescott whip you as easily as that," implored several of Alvord's backers.

"Get up!" commanded Hoof, putting the toe of his boot lightly against Alvord's body. "Three!"

Still Ben refused to stir.

"Dick Prescott wins the fight," announced Hoof judicially. "Ben refused three times to get up and go on."

As soon as Prescott began to don his discarded coat, Ben got to his feet.

"Now, I have something to say to you, Alvord," announced Dave, going over to the worsted one. "You insulted six of us and called us liars. Dick is only one. You'll have to fight the rest of us, one a day, or else apologize before the crowd."

"I won't apologize," glared Ben.

"All right, then. You'll fight me after school to-morrow," Darrin declared.

"And me the day after," challenged Greg Holmes. Reade, Dalzell and Hazelton all put in their claims for dates.

"You think you're going to bully me, don't you?" grunted Ben.

"No," Dave answered. "But when a fellow lies about me I'm going to make him fight or apologize."

"I don't know whether I will fight you, or not," snarled Ben.

"Then you'll get a thrashing just the same, and be called a coward by every decent fellow in school," flared Dave.

Ben quailed a bit inwardly. He had had all the fighting he wanted for the present.

"That Prescott fellow is no good, anyway," sniffed Ben, as he walked homeward with Toby Ross, the only one of the late spectators who had stood by him.

"Well, may-be he didn't tell on us," suggested Toby.

"'Course he did!"

"Dick has always acted pretty decently."

"Huh! If neither he nor any of his gang told, then who did?" demanded Ben, as though that settled it.

"Ben Alvord, what have you been doing?" demanded his mother, as Ben showed up at the kitchen door.

"Why?"

"Your face is all bruised. Have you been fighting?"

"Yes, ma'am. I had to. I thumped Dick Prescott for telling on us and getting us all arrested."

"Did Dick say that he told on you?" asked Mrs. Alvord.

"No, ma'am."

"Denied it, didn't he?"

"Yes'm."

"And I guess Dick told the truth. I know who did tell on all you boys," announced his mother.

"Who?" demanded Ben sullenly.

"Your little brother, Will."

Willie Alvord was only between four and five; not yet old enough to go to school.

"I got it all out of the baby this afternoon," continued Mrs. Alvord. "I saw him playing with a new baseball bat, and I made him tell me where he got it. It seems that Willie heard you and Toby, and the other boys talking about your Hallowe'en pranks yesterday morning before you went to school. Then, later, Willie was out in the street playing, when 'a nice man'—as Willie called him—came along and got to talking with him. The man talked about you, it seems, Ben, and he made believe he didn't think Willie's big brother was very smart. Then Willie up and boasted of your smartness down at the railroad. The 'nice man' took Willie to the corner and bought him some candy and a baseball bat, and kept on talking about you and Toby, and the rest, and of course Willie told the 'nice man' all he'd heard about the railroad business."

"That 'nice man' must have been the detective," growled Ben. "Oh, he's a real 'nice man.' If Willie was larger I'd take the baseball bat to him for talking too much!"

"Well, you won't," warned his mother dryly. "Willie is only a baby, and didn't know what he was saying. But you'd better go and apologize to Dick Prescott."

"Huh!" was Ben's undutiful retort. Then he went outside with Toby.

"So Dick didn't tell?" mused Toby. "It was your kid brother?"

"Don't you tell that to any one!" warned Ben Alvord, flushing.

"Why, you'll have to tell it yourself," protested Toby. "You'll surely have to beg Dick Prescott's pardon after what you said to him before the whole crowd. If you don't, then I'll tell myself. I'm not going to see Dick blamed for what he didn't do."

"If you blab to any one," warned Ben angrily, "I'll give you a good thrashing."

"Try it, and perhaps you'll get more of what Dick gave you this afternoon," Toby shot back as he walked through the gate.

Toby was as good as his word. He told the news at school the next day, and Ben Alvord's stock went even lower. After school that afternoon Dave Darrin made Ben apologize. So did Reade, Holmes, Hazelton and Dalzell. It was a bitter pill for young Alvord to swallow. The fights that the other chums had claimed were now called off. They felt Ben to be beneath their notice.



CHAPTER XXI

AB. DEXTER MAKES A NEW MOVE

"Did you hear the latest from Ab. Dexter?" asked Dave, as he met Dick one Saturday afternoon in November.

"No; nothing very good, was it?"

"That's hardly to be expected," laughed Dave, as the two chums came to a halt on a street corner. "Did you happen to remember that Dexter and Driggs were due to come up for trial in court this afternoon?"

"No; I had forgotten the date."

"Well, this was the day. Justice Lee, if you remember, bound them over to answer at court."

"Yes; I remember that."

"Well, neither of them showed up, and so the court declared forfeited the cash bail that Dexter put up for the pair."

"The money ought to be worth more to the county than both men put together," laughed Dick.

"I guess that's the way the court looked at it."

"I hope Dexter and Driggs are both a mighty long way from Gridley, and that they will stay. Mrs. Dexter isn't having any bother at all, these days, is she?"

"You ought to be the one to know that," teased Dave. "You're the one she sends for whenever she takes it into her head that she wants to reward us for some jolly good fun that we had in helping her."

"I had a note from Mrs. Dexter a few days ago," Dick went on. "Maybe I forgot to tell you about it. She wanted me to call on her, and I wrote back that I was awfully sorry but that my evenings just then had to be put in getting ready for the monthly exams. I haven't heard a word from her since then."

"She's a fine woman," nodded Dave, "but she certainly has the reward habit in bad shape."

"Feels some like snow, doesn't it?" inquired Dick, looking up at a lead-colored sky.

"It'll rain," predicted Dave. "It isn't yet cold enough for snow."

"I'll be mighty glad when the snow comes."

"Maybe I won't," uttered Darrin. "That's the best time of the year—winter."

"Unless you call summer the finest time."

"Of course in summer we have the long vacation and plenty of time to have fun."

"Better duck," advised Dick suddenly. "Here comes Mrs. Dexter now."

"Looks as though she'd been crying, too," murmured Dave, scanning the approaching woman.

"Then we won't scoot," advised Dick, changing front instantly. "It doesn't look very fine to run away from any one who's in trouble."

Strangely enough Mrs. Dexter didn't appear, at first, to want to talk with the boys. She nodded, smiled wanly and said:

"Good afternoon, boys! Are things dull to-day?"

"Just quiet, Mrs. Dexter," Dick answered.

Then Dave, with some of his usual impulsiveness, put in, earnestly:

"You look as though you had heard bad news, Mrs. Dexter."

The woman had started to go on her way. Then she turned about again.

"Perhaps I have heard bad news," she smiled wearily.

"It isn't anything that we could help you about, is it?" asked Dick. He felt that he was taking a liberty in putting the question, yet he could not hold his inquiry back.

"I—I am afraid not, this time," she answered slowly. "Besides, I don't want to see any of you get into any more trouble on my account."

"Then it's—it's Mr. Dexter?" hazarded Dave.

The woman swallowed hard, seemed to be trying to choke back something, and then replied:

"Yes."

"Has he dared to get troublesome again?" flashed Dick.

"N-n-n-o matter. Please don't ask me. You can't help me any this time."

Once more Mrs. Dexter looked as though she would follow her way, but some other instinct prompted her to add:

"Don't think I don't appreciate my excellent young friends. But you can't help me this time. No one can. Mr. Dexter is too dangerous a man, and when he threatens disaster, and says he'll wait patiently a year to bring it about, he means every word that he says."

"Whew! So he has threatened that, has he?" Dick inquired.

"Yes. I guess I may as well tell you the rest of it. Well, this morning I received a letter from Mr. Dexter. He wanted more money before. Now he puts his demand at thirty thousand dollars. He says that, if I don't arrange to meet him and turn over the cash, he'll wait patiently for a year or more, if necessary, but that he'll watch and find his chance to burn my home down and destroy Myra and me in it."

"Dexter threatened that, did he?" chuckled Dave Darrin, almost merrily. "Why Dexter hasn't the nerve to do such a thing. Excuse me, Mrs. Dexter, but all that fellow is good for is frightening timid women."

"I wish I could believe that," sighed the woman nervously.

"You have a special policeman still in the house, haven't you, Mrs. Dexter?"

"Yes. He's there, now, watching over Myra."

"Well, at the worst," pursued Dick, "hire a second man and put him on guard nights outside the house, and you'll never hear from Dexter—except by mail, anyway. But how does the man expect you to send him word about the money? Did he give you any address?"

"He told me to put an advertisement, worded in a certain way, in the morning 'Blade.'"

"And—pardon me—you've been up and inserted the advertisement?" questioned Dick.

"Ye-es."

"And have arranged to get the money?"

"Yes; I've seen Mr. Dodge at the bank."

"When are you to meet Dexter!"

"When he sees my advertisement in the 'Blade' to-morrow he'll send me word where to meet him."

"You ought to send a detective, instead," blazed Dave Darrin.

"If I did, Dexter would wait his time and then destroy my child and myself," answered the woman, her under-lip quivering.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" asked Dave.

"No; I know it."

"You haven't been to see a lawyer, have you?" inquired Prescott.

"No; I don't dare that, for a lawyer would advise, as you did, sending a detective to keep the appointment, and then Mr. Dexter would be put in prison. I don't want Myra to grow up with the shame of having a father in prison. I—I am glad that Dexter jumped his bail on the other little charge."

"I see just this much about it, Mrs. Dexter," followed Dick. "But—you don't mind my speaking, do you?"

"No; I like to hear you, for you boys have already saved me some heartaches."

"What I was going to say, Mrs. Dexter, is that, no matter how much money you give that man, he'll always keep bothering you as long as you have any left. A man who won't work can't be very brave, and a man who doesn't work can spend an awful lot of money. If you surrender to Dexter I'm sure you'll have to keep on giving in just as long as you have any money left."

"Then you think I ought not to give him the money, and that I ought to hire another good man to guard the house outside?"

"Yes; if you 're really afraid. It'll be cheaper to hire another man than to give all your fortune away."

"But I've put the advertisement in the 'Blade.'"

"There's time enough to take it out."

"I—I believe I'll do that," murmured Mrs. Dexter. Talking with the boys had given her a new little rise in courage.

"That's what I'd do if it were my case," added Darrin.

"Thank you! I'll go right up and take the advertisement out at once."

As though afraid that her courage might fail her, if she delayed, Mrs. Dexter turned and walked rapidly back in the direction whence she had just come.

"There flies a pot of money out of Dexter's window!" grinned Dave.

"I'm far from being sorry," returned Prescott.

Though neither boy had paid any heed to the fact a cab had moved slowly down Main Street past them while Mrs. Dexter was talking. The curtains were drawn just enough to make the interior of the vehicle a black shadow. Lolling on the back seat, with one curtain adjusted just so that he could look out sufficiently, sat a man, disguised somewhat, though none the less Abner Dexter.

"My wife has been up to the 'Blade' office and has put an advertisement in," muttered Dexter. "Now, she's talking to those two meddlesome boys. About me, I wonder? Blazes! There she is, turning about again. I wonder if she's going back to take that advertisement out?"

The cab turned a corner. Then, on directions from inside, the driver moved his horses along at a brisk trot. The same cab was passing near the "Blade" office when Mrs. Dexter went there for a second time.

The next morning Ab. Dexter and Driggs unfolded a copy of the "Blade" between them.

"I've got a misgiving that we won't find the advertisement," muttered Dexter gloomily. "No, sir. It isn't here, Driggs. Hang the woman, and twenty times hang those meddling youngsters! Driggs, I never shall win while those confounded boys are loose in Gridley!"

"We'll take real care of 'em this time," muttered Driggs, with an oath.

"We will!" confirmed Dexter. "We'll stop their troubling us!"



CHAPTER XXII

TRICKED INTO BAD COMPANY

The heads of fifty eighth grade pupils were bent over as many broad volumes on geography. It was study period; recitation would be called in five minutes.

Old Dut looked up from a report blank over which he had been poring, to shoot out this question:

"Why doesn't the tide rise and fall in inland rivers?"

It was a habit of Old Dut's to throw out questions like this in study time, for the purpose of waking up some of the intellects that needed rousing.

"Master Holmes, you may answer that," proclaimed the principal.

Greg started out of a brown study at hearing his name spoken. He had a vague recollection of having heard a question asked. But his mind was still far away, so he did not realize the enormity of his offense as he replied:

"I don't know, but I'll be the goat. What's the answer?"

A gasp of amazement sounded around the room.

"Master Gregory Holmes," uttered Old Dut sternly, "ten checks for that impertinence. And go and stand in the corner by the piano. Turn your back to the school that you've insulted!"

At that moment there came a rap on the door. Then a young man entered, handing a sealed envelope to the principal.

"Master Prescott, put your books away and come here," directed Old Dut.

The class looked on wonderingly, while Dick obeyed.

"Here is a note from your mother, which requests that you be allowed to go home at once, as your father has been injured in an accident. I hope, my boy, that it is nothing serious," said the principal in a low tone. "Your mother has sent a carriage in order that you may get home sooner. Go at once, Master Prescott, and may you learn that the news is not too bad."

Old Dut held out the note, but Dick barely saw it. Instead, he turned and ran to the coat room, caught up his coat and cap and sped downstairs. The messenger had already started downstairs.

"There's the rig," announced the messenger, as Dick appeared on the steps.

Alongside a surrey was drawn up. A rain curtain and side panels covered the rear seat, but the driver, a silent individual, who had a full, heavy red beard and wore smoked glasses over his eyes moved to make room for Dick on the front seat.

"How badly is dad hurt?" demanded Dick breathlessly, as he bundled himself in on the front seat.

"Can't say," replied the driver, in a low, weak voice. "I was only hired to come after you."

"Hurry!" appealed Dick. The driver nodded, and started the horse away briskly.

Young Prescott was fearfully worried. His mother was a woman of cool, calm judgment. She was not likely to send a driver after him unless his father's injuries were dangerous.

"I hope dad isn't going to die," breathed the boy to himself. "If he must, then I hope I get home in time before he goes."

So absorbed was he in his own gloomy thoughts that Dick gave no heed to the road that was taken. Nor had the surrey gone far when the rain curtain behind parted, but Prescott did not see that.

Yet he had no suspicion of foul play until a pair of hands from behind gripped him about the throat.

In a twinkling Dick was drawn over the back of the front seat. Then he vanished behind the curtain.

"Anybody in the street see that done, Driggs?" whispered the voice of Abner Dexter.

"Nary one," retorted Driggs, in a more natural voice than he had used before.

Though Dick Prescott was half strangled he heard both voices, now, and they sounded wholly natural to him. Driggs was disguised, but Dexter had taken no such pains.

"Now, you keep mighty quiet, or you'll be worse off than you thought your father was," snarled Ab. Dexter. He had Dick jammed down on the floor, the boy's head just above the man's lap. Dexter's fingers kept their fearful grip at the boy's throat.

Not that Dick didn't fight back. He fought with all his strength. Yet that was not for long. Dexter had taken a foul hold and had the boy at his mercy. The gripping at the throat continued until Dick's muscles relaxed and he was still.

"He'll come back to his senses, though, in a minute," uttered Dexter to himself. He drew out a big handkerchief and a bottle. There was an odor of something sickishly sweet in the air for a moment, as the handkerchief was pressed to the boy's nostrils.

All the time Driggs had continued to drive onward at a brisk trot.

"I've got to open up this curtain a bit, Driggs," called Ab. Dexter, in a not-too-loud voice. "I don't want to whiff in much of the stuff that I'm giving the youngster."

Yet, though some air was admitted to the rear part of the surrey Dexter took pains not to expose himself to the possibly too-curious glance of any passer on the street. At the same time the man bent over Dick, to note any signs of returning consciousness.

At last, seeing that second inhalation of the drug had rendered Dick wholly senseless, Dexter drew another handkerchief from a pocket, and with this he gagged the boy. Then, a moment later, he reached down and tied the youngster's hands.

It was in a direction very different from that of Dick's home that the surly, silent Driggs was driving. Before long he was out in the suburbs of the town, traveling up the back country into the hills.

"The cub will learn, this time," mused Dexter savagely. "If he doesn't, it will be because he's too stubborn to learn anything. And, in that case——"

After the first half hour the road grew wilder. After going some two miles up into the hills Driggs turned off at the right, following a road used only in winter, and then principally by wood-cutters. Thus on, farther and farther into the woods, and turning, now and then, off into branching roads.

Though given an occasional whiff of the stuff from the bottle, that kept him senseless, Dick was allowed to regain his wits after the surrey had branched off over the forest roads.

"Keep quiet and be a good boy," admonished Dexter grimly. "You don't want any more of the stuff, do you? Too much of it might wind you up for good. We don't want to go that far—if you've got sense enough to be of use to us at last."

"Where on earth are they taking me—and what for?" wondered Dick, struggling against the nausea that the inhaling of the drug had caused. "What's Dexter's newest piece of villainy, I wonder? Whew! But that was a slick trick! Anyway, dad can't be hurt at all. Mother would never pick them as the messengers to send for me! I'm glad dad's all right, anyway, even if I may happen to have a rough time ahead of me."

The messenger who had entered the schoolroom, it may be said in passing, was not in the plot, nor had he been aware that there was any one at all in the rear part of the surrey. That messenger had been picked up on the street, by Driggs, and had been offered a quarter to take the note upstairs to the principal's class room, "because," Driggs had explained, "I don't dare leave my horse."

"How on earth did this rascally pair ever manage to write a note that would look enough like mother's handwriting!" was Dick's next puzzle.

As this, of course, was beyond his fathoming, Dick's next and very natural thought was:

"What on earth do these scoundrels want of me? I don't believe they have brought me away just for vengeance."

"A nice ride like this, off amid the beauties of nature, is a whole lot better than spending your time over dull school books, isn't it?" Dexter asked mockingly.

But Dick could gain no idea as to the kind of country through which he was passing, more than that the surrey was moving over rough road. Jammed down where he was he could see nothing but the half dark interior of the vehicle.

At last Driggs began to whistle softly. That being a signal, Ab. Dexter again produced the bottle. There was the same sickening odor as a wet handkerchief was placed against Dick's nostrils. Then he lost track of what was happening.

"Whoa!" called Driggs and willingly enough the horse stopped. There was a ripping aside of the rubber side panels to the carriage, after which Driggs stood on the ground to receive the senseless boy as Dexter passed him out.

"Into the house, I suppose?" inquired Driggs.

"Yes," nodded Dexter.

"Go ahead, then, with the key, and open up."

The house stood at some distance from the road, and, in summer time, would have been hidden from the road. The house had not been occupied in a quarter of a century by any lawful tenant. It was a two story affair, and had been originally built for the superintendent of a lumber and milling camp. Beyond was a brook that had been dammed, furnishing good water-power for all the year excepting in the summer months. By the old water course lay the ruins of what had once been a saw-mill.

Running up the short flight of steps to the front door of the dilapidated old dwelling off in the forests, Ab. Dexter produced a rusty iron key and swung the door open.

"Where you going to put him?" asked Driggs.

"In the rear apartments, upstairs," answered Dexter, with a laugh.

Accordingly Dick was carried upstairs and into a roomy back apartment. There were inside shutters that Dexter swung open while Driggs dropped the breathing though unconscious Grammar School boy on the floor.

"Now, you'd better get that borrowed rig back in the part of the world where it belongs," advised Ab. Dexter.

"I will," nodded Driggs. "But—say!"

"Well?"

"That Prescott boy is young, but he's tricky."

"I know that, don't I?"

"Then, when he comes to, you won't let him play any trick on you that will give him a chance to bolt from here?"

"Not I," promised Dexter. "You needn't worry. There are too many thousands of dollars at stake. Run along, Driggs. I'll do my part, here on the scene."

Driggs went out. He had a long drive ahead of him. The point at which he intended to abandon the stolen surrey was nearly ten miles from the present spot. For the horse and surrey had been stolen from a farmer known to be away for the day with his family. Driggs meant to abandon the rig two or three miles from the farmer's home, and then return on a bicycle which he had hidden near the spot.

As soon as Driggs had gone, Dexter bent over, tying Prescott's hands more securely.

Soon after that Dick, still lying on the floor, opened his eyes.



CHAPTER XXIII

DICK MAKES HIS STAND FOR HONOR

Ab. Dexter's harsh voice jarred on the air.

"Welcome to our city, Prescott," he laughed.

Dick's first discovery was that the gag was gone from his mouth. He made an effort to use his hands, but discovered that these were more securely tied than ever.

"I hope you'll enjoy this little visit with us," laughed Dexter, changing his voice, which now sounded almost pleasant.

"I'd enjoy it a lot more," retorted Dick dryly, "if I had my chums here with me."

"I, too, wish we had them here," nodded Dexter. "But they'd be tied up, just as you are. You don't seem a bit curious as to why you're here."

"No," Dick admitted.

"Marvelous youth, in whom the instinct of curiosity is dead!"

"Whatever your game in bringing me here, I can guess that it's one that wouldn't interest honest men."

"Oh, you're going to turn 'fresh,' are you?"

Dick did not reply. Dexter drew a cigar out from a vest pocket, as he stood leaning against a decaying mantel, and lighted it. This imitation of a man smoked in silence for a few moments, during which Prescott did not offer to speak.

Going over to the table, and drawing a newspaper from one of his pockets, Dexter sat down to read. He did not take off his coat, for the room was chilly.

Dick did not move, nor did he offer to speak. In his present bad plight he would have been glad enough to talk with anything living, even with so despicable a human object as Ab. Dexter.

"But he'd only torment me, and try to scare me, too, probably," thought Dick. "I won't give him any chance that I can help."

It was wholly natural that the boy's obstinate silence, which endured for the next hour, should anger the man.

At last, after having consumed two cigars and read a lot of stuff in the paper in which he was not interested, Dexter rose and stepped over to the boy.

"Having pleasant thoughts, eh?" he demanded.

"Better than yours, I'm sure," retorted the boy dryly.

"Yes?"

"Yes; because my thoughts, at least, are clean and honest ones."

"Oh, you little saint!" jeered Ab.

"I'm hardly a saint, and am not sure that I'd care to be one. But at least I'm happier and better off than a bigger fellow who'd be a big scoundrel if he weren't too big a coward!"

"You mean that for me, do you?" snarled Dexter.

"You may have it if you like it!"

"You insolent little puppy!" snapped Ab., giving emphasis to his wrath by kicking him.

"I see that I was wrong," said Prescott quietly. "I intimated that you are a coward. I apologize. Only a brave man would kick a helpless boy."

The quiet irony of the speech made even Ab. Dexter flush.

"Well, I wasn't kicking a boy. I was kicking his freshness," explained Dexter, in a harsh voice. "And I'll kick a lot more of that freshness, if I have to."

"I don't doubt it. Women and boys are your choice for fighting material. And, if I had some of my chums here, you'd find kicking boys too perilous a sport."

"You won't have them here," laughed Ab. coarsely. "You're the only one of the six that I want, so the others can stay in Gridley."

"But they won't," declared Dick. "At least, not long, after they discover that I'm missing."

"They'll never discover you, unless you go back to town by my permission," jeered Dexter. "Here, I'll show you something."

Bending over, he seized the boy by his coat collar, next lifting and dragging Dick to a window at the rear.

"Look out, and tell me what you see," commanded the jailer.

"I see the woods, and a few other things," Dick replied. "And—yes, I know where I am. This is the house at Bannerman's old mill. I was up this way last year after nuts."

"You know, then, that you're a good way from where folks would look for you."

"Oh, I'm not so sure of that, Dexter. Dave Darrin and the rest of the fellows know all of this country. We've all tramped through here before. They're very likely to think of this place within the next day or two."

"If they don't get here before dark, and if you haven't done, by that time, what I brought you here to do, then they won't find you."

"No?" challenged Dick Prescott.

"Look again, and tell me what you see outside. Do you see that place where Driggs has been digging? Do you see the hole he started, and the shovel beside it? Can you guess how we could dig that hole deeper, and put something away in it?"

There was a derisive smile on young Prescott's face as he started to look. Then his expression changed. He did not start, cry out nor turn pale, but that smile vanished.

"You see it, don't you?" demanded Ab. Dexter, watching the boy's face.

"You want to scare me about that hole, I suppose?"

"Yes; if you haven't gotten around completely to my way of thinking before dark to-night Driggs may have to finish his digging."

"Does he need exercise?"

"You've guessed what I mean," declared Dexter, "although you pretend to misunderstand me."

"Humph!"

"Look out, Prescott, that you don't put us in an ugly temper."

But Dick had found his courage by this time. He laughed merrily, though it was forced.

"What are you laughing at?" asked the other.

"At the very idea, Dexter, of your having nerve enough to do a thing like that! Why, there are boys in the primary school in Gridley who have more real sand than you have."

For answer the scoundrel seized the boy, hurling him across the room. Dick tottered. Being unable to use his hands to aid himself, he fell to the floor and lay there.

"Do you know what you ought to be doing, Dexter?" inquired Dick, as soon as he had smothered his wrath a bit.

"Well?"

"You ought to be training puppies for the dog circus. Not by fear, you know, for you really couldn't scare anything. But, in training puppies by the golden rule you'd be at your best!"

"I'll train you before I get through with you," snarled the rascal.

"There's only one thing you need to make you rather funny," remarked Dick.

"What is that?"

"All you need to make you funny, Dexter, is a little more wit."

Ab. stepped over and administered another kick.

"Thank you," acknowledged Prescott politely.

"Much obliged, are you?"

"Yes; a kick from you is an honor. Only a handshake or a compliment would hurt."

Dexter's face showed his wrath. He would have retorted, but he felt his helplessness in a battle of wits alone against Dick Prescott.

For a moment or two Ab. left the room. Dick began immediately to test the security of the cords at his wrists. He found himself only too well tied. Dick glanced searchingly about, intent on finding something that promised help or escape.

But Ab. came back, carrying an oil heater and a book. Placing the lighted heater beside the table Dexter sat down and opened the book.

"I knew you had cold feet," laughed Dick. "I've been waiting for you to seek some way of warming up."

Ab. scowled, but went on reading his book. This time the silence was an extremely long one. It was not broken, in fact, until Dick had lost all track of time, and knew only that there was still some daylight left. At last a whistle sounded outside.

Dropping the book, Dexter made his way out into the hall, and thence downstairs. Again Dick began to tug at the cords around his wrists. Then Dexter came into the room, followed by Driggs.

"Well," asked Driggs, "has the young cub come to his senses yet?"

"I haven't tried him," responded Ab. sourly. "You can take him in hand if you want, Driggs."

"You hain't told him what we want?"

"Not a word," Ab. answered. "You can take him in hand. Don't stand any nonsense, either."

"It ain't exactly my way to stand nonsense," growled Driggs, who was a good deal more courageous than Dexter. "As a first step I'll untie his hands. The boy can't make any fight against the two of us."

Instead of untying, however, Driggs opened his clasp knife, and cut the cords at Dick's wrists, after which he untied the big handkerchief that had also been tied there.

"Now, get on your feet, Prescott."

Dick obeyed, taking his time about it. No matter what was about to happen Dick knew that he could take better care of himself standing up.

"Exercise your hands and arms a bit, if you want to," continued Driggs. "You may find that circulation has been stopped."

This Dick knew well enough. As his hands might be of extreme use to him in the very near future he followed the last bit of advice.

"Go get your writing materials," said Driggs, turning to Ab.

Dexter left the room, soon returning with paper, envelopes and a pen thrust down into a bottle of ink.

"Now, I'll tell you what you've got to do, boy," Driggs continued. "Or maybe you can tell him that better, Dexter."

"You're going to write a letter to Mrs. Dexter," stated Ab. "In that letter you're going to tell her that you're hopelessly in my power, and that you realize how foolish it is for her to refuse my demands any longer. So you're to advise her that the best thing for her—and the only hope of saving your life as well as hers—is for her to pay me that forty thousand dollars——"

"You've gone up ten in your price, haven't you?" asked Dick with a momentary lack of caution.

"So-ho!" muttered Ab. "Mrs. Dexter did tell you about my last letter when you were talking on Main Street last Saturday. And I suppose you advised her to go back to the 'Blade' office and withdraw the advertisement that my letter had frightened her into paying for."

Dick bit his lips in silence.

"Did you advise her that way, or didn't you?" insisted Ab. angrily.

"Whatever she and I may have said to each other is not going to be repeated here," Prescott answered.

"Oh, it isn't Mr. High-and-mighty?" sneered Driggs, going closer to the boy and laying a hard hand on him. "See here, youngster, you may have an idea that Dexter isn't very dangerous. You'll have a different notion about me, if I turn myself loose on you. Now, you get suddenly respectful. Answer straight, and do just what we tell you—or I'll take you in hand."

"I won't write any such letter as you order me to," retorted Dick stubbornly.

"You won't? I tell you you will!" roared Driggs, gripping Prescott by the collar. "Sit down at that table."

"I won't!"

"You will!"

Driggs lifted Dick fairly off his feet, shaking him roughly. A thirteen-year-old boy didn't have much chance against a brute of Driggs's strength. The latter slammed the boy into a seat at the table.

"Now, pick up that pen!"

Dick picked it up, but aimed it at the wall opposite, hurling it forcibly.

With an oath Ab. Dexter went over and picked up the pen.

"He's broken the nibs," growled Ab., coming back with the pen. "No matter, I have a pencil. If he breaks the point of that it can be sharpened again. Here's the pencil."

"Now, pick up that pencil," commanded Driggs hoarsely, "and write just what Dexter tells you to write. When you've written it you'll sign it. Then Dexter will enclose it with a letter from himself in which he'll tell Mrs. Dexter just where to meet him and pay over the money. If it ain't paid over, then slam you go into the hole that I've dug for you out back of here, and the dirt will go falling in on your face. Now—write!"

However slight a notion Dick might have concerning Dexter's nerve, he did not doubt that Driggs was really "bad." Here was a brute who might very likely carry out his threats. Yet Dick, in addition to possessing an amazing lot of grit for a boy of his age, had also a great amount of stubbornness about doing the right thing and not doing a wicked one.

"I don't know what you'll do to me, Driggs," the boy retorted, "and probably I can't hinder you any. But if you think I'm going to obey nasty loafers like you two, then you've made a poor guess."

"What's that?" roared Driggs. "I'll teach you!"

He caught Dick Prescott up with both hands, shaking the boy until it seemed as though all the breath had left the youngster's body. Next, Driggs held his victim with one hand while with the other he struck blows that all but rendered the Grammar School boy unconscious.

"Here, don't kill the boy just yet, Driggs," ordered Dexter.

"You mind your own business, now, Ab.," retorted Driggs, his face purple with passion. "Your milk-and-water way doesn't do any good. I'm in charge, now, and I'm sole boss as to what shall be done to this baby if he doesn't take our orders!"

Again Dick received a severe mauling. He tried to fight back, but Driggs held him off at arm's length. At last Driggs lifted the boy once more by his coat collar.

"Now, I'll finish you!" roared the brute. "That is, unless you holler out, mighty quick, that you're ready to write all that we tell you to write."

"That won't happen this year!" Dick flashed back recklessly.

"Oh, it won't, eh? Then so much the worse for you. I won't waste another second's time in coaxing you. Do you want to change your mind before I start?"

"No!" the Grammar School boy retorted doggedly.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

At heart young Prescott was frightened enough. Yet he was also aroused to a fury of resistance.

With an ugly growl Driggs started in to shake the lad once more. Just at this moment, however, Dick found a chance on which he had been doing some frenzied calculating.

As he hung from Driggs's outstretched hand Dick's foot was just about on a level with one of the fellow's knees. Dick drew his foot back like a flash, delivering a lusty kick.

The blow glanced. Even at that Driggs's knee-cap suffered. With a groan of pain Driggs let go and stood by to rub his injured knee.

"You young fiend!" hissed Ab. Dexter, grabbing Dick by the collar.

Driggs tried two or three limping steps.

"Anything broken there?" demanded Ab. anxiously.

"No; but I've got to have cold water to bandage it with, right away," replied Driggs. "Give me hold of the young pest's collar, and I'll hold him all right until you get in again. But hustle with the water."

By this time Driggs had sunk into one of the chairs. Ab. dragged the boy to him and the other ruffian took vindictive hold.

"I'll settle with you, you little varmint, after I get my knee attended to," growled Driggs. "If you try any more tricks I'll let even my knee go and choke the life out of you."

Dexter hurried from the room. Dick, who felt that seconds must be made to count now, turned like a flash, sinking his teeth in the wrist of the hand that gripped his collar.

"You young——" began Driggs, in a wild temper, starting to rise from the chair as the pain forced him to let go of Dick's collar.

But Prescott, moving only two steps, caught up the other chair, bringing it down on the head of the ugly rascal.

"Dexter! Dexter—quick!" roared Driggs. "The boy's getting away!"

It was dark now, in the lower hall, as Dick, darting down the stairs, made out the form of Ab. Dexter as the latter hastened in through the outer door.

"Out of the way, or I'll hurt you with Driggs's knife!" panted the fleeing boy.

In that instant Abner Dexter proved Dick's suspicion that he was at bottom a coward. Ab. drew up close to the wall, and Dick, with the speed of the hunted deer, dashed from the house.



"It may take Ab. a little while to find that I haven't got Driggs's knife," grinned the boy.

For more than a quarter of a mile Dick Prescott ran at the best speed that he could summon. Then, after glancing back, he slowed down to a walk, breathing hard. It was fortunate that he knew these forests so well, or he might have been at a loss to find the path leading in the most direct way to Gridley.

Finally he came out on a more traveled road. After keeping along for another half mile or so he heard a horse behind him and the sound of wheels as well.

"I won't take any chance on that," muttered the boy. Bounding over a stone wall he lay low until the vehicle came up. Peering between the stones of the wall Dick made out an unmistakable farmer.

"Hey, there!" cried Dick, leaping up and bounding over the wall. "Give me a ride, please, mister!"

"Well, I swan! Who are ye—dropping from the skies that-a-fashion?" demanded the astounded driver, reining up.

"Grammar School boy from Gridley," Dick replied. "Going that way?"

"I guess I've seen you before," murmured the farmer, as Prescott went closer. "Your pa runs a bookstore, don't he?"

"Yes. Are you going to Gridley?"

"Straight."

"Then please take me."

Not waiting for an answer Dick climbed up to the seat.

"How do you come so far out of the way?" asked the farmer, as he started the horse.

"I'd tell you, but for one thing," Dick laughed.

"What's that, son?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Wouldn't believe old Prescott's boy?" demanded the farmer. "Well, I would if the boy is half as square as his dad."

Thus encouraged Dick began to tell his story. Some past events the farmer already knew. This inclined him very strongly to believe Dick's strange tale.

Once in Gridley the farmer drove the Grammar School boy straight to the police station.

"Dick Prescott?" shouted the chief. "Boy, your parents are crazy over your disappearance. What part of the skies did you drop from? And I've four of my men out trying to track you! Tell me what has happened."

"I will if you'll walk around to the store with me," Dick offered, smiling. "But the first thing I'm going to start to do is to show my father and mother that I'm safe."

The farmer good-naturedly offered to drive them both around to the Prescott store. On the way Dick told some of his story. The rest had to wait until he had shown himself to his parents. Then Mr. and Mrs. Prescott heard the story, too.

"This isn't really a case for me," said the chief of police. "It's for the sheriff. I must get him on the 'phone."

The news spread with great rapidity. Dave Darrin, Greg Holmes and all the other chums of Dick & Co. were on hand by the time that Dick had finished a belated supper with splendid appetite.

"May I go out on the street with the fellows?" Dick asked his mother.

"Yes; if you'll keep on the lighted parts of the streets," smiled his mother. "Although I'm not very much afraid of any more trouble overtaking you when you have all your friends with you."

Later that night a party of sheriff's searchers came upon Driggs, not far from the old mill site. The fellow, fearing prompt pursuit, had endeavored to get away, but the pain in his stiffening knee had prevented his going very far. Ab. Dexter had started with his injured confederate, but had finally played the sneak and fled. However, Dexter, too was caught later that night, while endeavoring to board a train two stations away from Gridley.

Mrs. Dexter, of course, was notified as to what had happened.

For this latest outrage against Dick the rascally pair were not tried. This was for the very simple reason that Dick would have furnished the sole evidence for the prosecution, and the law would have required another witness to corroborate young Prescott's testimony.

However, both men were held as fugitives from justice, for having jumped their bail on their original trial. Both were now held without bail and were presently tried before the higher court.

Both were found guilty, of course. As it is the privilege of the court of resort to impose a heavier punishment than the original one appealed from, Dexter and Driggs were both sent to jail for a year—the highest penalty possible under the circumstances.

"That man will bother me worse than ever as soon as he gets out," complained Mrs. Dexter to Dick and Dave one day.

"If he finds you," added Dick, by way of a hint.

"If he finds me? What you mean by that?"

"Mrs. Dexter, you're not obliged to live in Gridley. Why don't you slip away from here, one of these near days, without letting a soul know where you and your little girl are going. With all your money you could go to Europe or to the Pacific Coast. At a great distance from here you can live securely. Dexter will never have any money if he has to earn it. Go a few thousand miles from here, and, even if Dexter found out where you were, he wouldn't be able to reach you. No—don't tell even us where you are going."

Mrs. Dexter followed that very sensible advice. She and Myra vanished completely one day not long after.

Before that good but timid woman went away, however, she did her best to provide some suitable reward for the Grammar School boys who had proved her staunchest friends and protectors, but they refused to consider any reward.

Dexter, when at last at liberty, must have known of his wife's flights to parts unknown, for he never revisited Gridley, and was not again heard of there.

Dick Prescott's last and greatest adventure placed him securely on the pinnacle of local fame. Where, in all the world, was there another Grammar School boy who had been through as much, or shown as much daring?

Even that shrewd and rather dryly spoken judge of boys and girls Old Dut, took the latest happenings as the text for a little address to the members of his class. He wound up by saying:

"In a few months more this present class will have passed on, some going to High School and many more to their life employment. This present class will be gone, and another class here in its place. Yet I believe I can say in all truthfulness that I shall remember this present class always with pride as the class containing the bravest and brightest boys—and the finest girls—of any class that has been graduated from the Central Grammar School."

It is not our purpose, however, to take leave of Dick Prescott and our other young friends. There was too much yet ahead of them—absorbing happenings that merit being recorded in other volumes. We shall meet Dick, Dave, Greg, Tom and all of the chums once more in the next volume, which is published under the title: "The Grammar School Boys Snowbound; Or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports." Here we shall find them amid stranger and even more thrilling adventures.

The End

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2 DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy "Youngsters."

3 DAVE DARRIN'S THIRD YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Leaders of the Second Class Midshipmen.

4 DAVE DARRIN'S FOURTH YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Headed for Graduation and the Big Cruise.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

The Young Engineers Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

The heroes of these stories are known to readers of the High School Boys Series. In this new series Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton prove worthy of all the traditions of Dick & Co.

1 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN COLORADO; Or, At Railroad Building in Earnest.

2 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN ARIZONA; Or, Laying Tracks on the "Man-Killer" Quicksand.

3 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN NEVADA; Or, Seeking Fortune on the Turn of a Pick.

4 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN MEXICO; Or, Fighting the Mine Swindlers.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

Boys of the Army Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

These books breathe the life and spirit of the United States Army of to-day, and the life, just as it is, is described by a master pen.

1 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE RANKS; Or, Two Recruits in the United States Army.

2 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS ON FIELD DUTY; Or, Winning Corporal's Chevrons.

3 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS AS SERGEANTS; Or, Handling Their First Real Commands.

4 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE PHILIPPINES; Or, Following the Flag Against the Moros.

(Other volumes to follow rapidly.)

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

Battleship Boys Series

By FRANK GEE PATCHIN

These stories throb with the life of young Americans on to-day's huge drab Dreadnaughts.

1 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS AT SEA; Or, Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy.

2 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS FIRST STEP UPWARD; Or, Winning Their Grades as Petty Officers.

3 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN FOREIGN SERVICE; Or, Earning New Ratings in European Seas.

4 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN THE TROPICS; Or, Upholding the American Flag in a Honduras Revolution.

(Other volumes to follow rapidly.)

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

The Meadow-Brook Girls Series

By JANET ALDRIDGE

Real live stories pulsing with the vibrant atmosphere of outdoor life.

1 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS UNDER CANVAS.

2 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ACROSS COUNTRY.

3 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS AFLOAT.

4 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS IN THE HILLS.

5 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS BY THE SEA.

6 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ON THE TENNIS COURTS.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

High School Boys Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

In this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck.

Boys of every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes.

1 THE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMEN; Or, Dick & Co.'s First Year Pranks and Sports.

2 THE HIGH SCHOOL PITCHER; Or, Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond.

3 THE HIGH SCHOOL LEFT END; Or, Dick & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron.

4 THE HIGH SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM; Or, Dick & Co. Leading the Athletic Vanguard.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

Grammar School Boys Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

This series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys, comes near to the heart of the average American boy.

1 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS OF GRIDLEY; Or, Dick & Co. Start Things Moving.

2 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SNOWBOUND; Or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports.

3 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN THE WOODS; Or, Dick & Co. Trail Fun and Knowledge.

4 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER ATHLETICS; Or, Dick & Co. Make Their Fame Secure.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

High School Boys' Vacation Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

"Give us more Dick Prescott books!"

This has been the burden of the cry from young readers of the country over. Almost numberless letters have been received by the publishers, making this eager demand; for Dick Prescott, Dave Darrin, Tom Reade, and the other members of Dick & Co. are the most popular high school boys in the land. Boys will alternately thrill and chuckle when reading these splendid narratives.

1 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' CANOE CLUB; Or, Dick & Co.'s Rivals on Lake Pleasant.

2 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER CAMP; Or, The Dick Prescott Six Training for the Gridley Eleven.

3 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' FISHING TRIP; Or, Dick & Co. in the Wilderness.

4 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' TRAINING HIKE; Or, Dick & Co. Making Themselves "Hard as Nails."

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

The Circus Boys Series

By EDGAR B. P. DARLINGTON

Mr. Darlington's books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting and exciting life.

1 THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life.

2 THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT; Or, Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark.

3 THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South.

4 THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

The High School Girls Series

By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.

These breezy stories of the American High School Girl take the reader fairly by storm.

1 GRACE HARLOWE'S PLEBE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Merry Doings of the Oakdale Freshman Girls.

2 GRACE HARLOWE'S SOPHOMORE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Record of the Girl Chums in Work and Athletics.

3 GRACE HARLOWE'S JUNIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, Fast Friends in the Sororities.

4 GRACE HARLOWE'S SENIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Parting of the Ways.

Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.

* * * * *

The Automobile Girls Series

By LAURA DENT CRANE

No girl's library—no family book-case can be considered at all complete unless it contains these sparkling twentieth-century books.

THE END