Beadle's New York Dime Library (no. 1062) (1902 07)
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te Published Every Month, NEMO, KING OF THE TRAMPS; ? No. 1062. ————— The Romany Girl’s Vengeance. A STORY OF THE GREAT RAILROAD RIOTS. BY CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER, AUTHOR OF ‘‘DIAMOND DUKE,” “IRISH TAIN,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. TWO TRAVELERS. ad ae does not remember the riot summer of 77? How hot it was! For weeks not a drop of rain fell over half the Union. The white dust covered everything as with a vail, and the leaves curled up under their powdery covering, veg to look out till the falling of the night- ews, In‘the midst of this sultry season a slight handsome and delicate-looking boy, who seem CAP- Hh Hi i | M. J. VERS & CO., Publishers, (JAMES SULLIVAN, Proprietor), 379 Pearl Street, New. York. as if he might have been about sixteen, and whose dress indicated poverty if not want, plod- ded wearily along one of the roads that led from the coal regions of Pennsylvania toward Pittsburg. The sun was near the zenith, and the dust rose in little clouds at nf step taken by the young wayfarer, but he still pressed on; for he saw beforo him a forest, which promised him shade, coolness and rest. The country around was of that rich and smiling description which is apt to raise envy in the bosom of the poor man, as he casts his eyes on pleasant mansions in the midst of their fields and orchards, and contrasts it with his own dusty path. The boy in question seemed to feel this, for he uttered a heavy sigh, just ere he entered the wood, as he caught sight of the gleaming glass roof of a conservatory several miles away, at the side of a large and handsome stone house. ‘There is the place,” he muttered, half aloud; but for all the good it will do me, I might as well be in Siberia.” The house which he had noticed lay on the other side of the wood which he was entering, and he soon lost sight of it; but the refreshing Copyricut, 1881, By BEADLE & Apams. OLR EEE —— aay nd JuLy, 1902. “% GAME AS A FRIEND, OLIVER CALVERT, BUT AS A FOE YOU HAVE RECEIVED ME. LOOK TO YOURSELF!” ‘yet. 10 Cents a Copy. $1.00 a Year. Vol. LXXRI. coolness of the green beeches and oaks turned the current of his thoughts to pleasanter themes than his own poverty. . “ After all,” he said, aloud, baring his head to the light breeze that stirred under the trees, so different to the sultry calm outside; ‘after all. there is some pleasure, even in a tramp’s life.” “You jest bet your sweet life there is, sonny,” unexpectedly answered a voice near him, and the boy turned with a start to see a man of huge frame and rough appearance lying on his back under a tree, staring at him. There was no question as to the calling of this lazy stranger. From his fragment of a battered straw hat, his uncombed hair and beard, through all his rags, down to his bare, dirty feet, he was a perfect specimen of the true sum- mer tramp. ‘“Well, sonny, how d’yer like the road?” he asked, in a condescending tone. ‘‘ Hain’t been on it long, I see.” ‘* How do you know that?’ asked the other, a little sulkily. The tramp grinned in reply. “Cause o’ yer boots. You ain’t no real tram Likely’s not, yer’ve got some stamps Toft —hey, sonny?”
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2 —— “Tf I have, I know enough to keep them,” : situated the Tramp’s Paradise, alias ‘‘ Wander- | was the dry answer, and the boy was turning away when the big tramp rose quickly to his feet and gave a couple of strides, saying: ‘* We'll see about that, my gay rooster.” “Keep off!” angrily cried the youngster, as et aed advanced. ‘‘What do you take me or As he spoke, out came a little pistol from his pocket, which he cocked with a sharp click that meant business; and so the big tramp seemed to think, for he halted and began to laugh in an uneasy sort of way, saying: ‘Git out, pard, I was only foolin’. I wouldn’t hurt yer for ten dollars.” ‘‘T don’t intend you shall,” retorted the un- daunted boy, sharply. ‘‘ Who are you?” ‘Me? hy, sonny, I’m jest the nicest feller, when yer know me, as ever yer did know. That’s so. I’m Billy Barlow. The Boss of the Bummers, I am. hat might your name be?’ “It might be anything, but you can call me Jack if you’re anxious,” answered the boy, in the same sharp, suspicious way he had used all bes Bi y Barlow grinned quite amicably and ex- tended his huge horny hand. ; “Put it there, my gay rooster,” he. cried. “Fur a little cuss as you air, you hev a heap o’ ee Spunky Jack you air and shall be till— here be you goin’, pard?” The boy shrugged his shoulders in an impa- tient manner. ‘What does that matter to you? Where are you going yourself?” 43 Met hy, sonny, I’m a’most home. We've ot our reg’lar roostin’-place in these parts. Bich agang you wever seen, and sich a place, Didn’t yer never hear tell o’ the Wanderer’s Home?” ‘‘No,” answered the boy, more quietly, and putting away his pistol as he spoke. ‘‘ Where is i ‘Tn the middle of these woods. If you don’t live in these parts, but air a real true bummer, Tll show yer. None of these guys know whar it is, nor the cops nuther. Now, sonny, whar you from, and whar air you goin’ to? That’s iz,’ / “Where I’m from is no business of yours. Where I’m going to is myown. I’m on my feet, because I’ve no money for cars; and if you suspect me to be a spy, why, I can go my way alone.” ; The big tramp stared at the slight frame of the boy with mingled wonder and mirth. ‘““Waal, Spunky Jack,” he remarked, ‘ you air a rooster and no mistake. Come along, my little bantam, and we’ll show yon life in real arnest—”’ » ‘*Hush!” said the bo 2 suddenly lifting his hand. ‘‘ What’s that? Wheels coming?’ ‘© Oh, let °em come,” answered the tramp, dis- dainfully. ‘‘ We can’t git anything out of the folks what drives at this time o’ day. It’s the farmers as we tackles, pard.” The boy made no answer but to stare down the forest road, where a distant white cloud of dust could be seen coming rapidly on, through which gleamed the bright wheels of a carriage. Billy Barlow watched him with much curiosity, for such a tramp he had never seen before. Slender in frame and handsome in face, with long flaxen curls that almost hid the back of his neck, flowing from under a broad hat, his dress was a puzzle to the veteran tramp. He was well shod, and his brown velveteen jacket and light trowsers were of good cut, though old and worn. Still, there was a certain jaunty air to the whole dress, shabby as it was, that ill suit- ed Billy’s ideas of the true tramp; and visions of detectives began to flit through his mind as he looked. : But, meantime, the carriage came dashing on, and the boy continued to watch it with the same eagerness. It came from the direction of the great house with the conservatory he had noticed on the other side of the wood. Presently it swept by; a handsome open phaéton and pair, driven by a black coachman and in it sat a grand-looking, white-headed old mp eae with a richly-dressed young “ys! by side, while on the front seat was a stern- looking man, with a short black mustache. Billy Barlow watched the boy and saw his face Chaka’ as the carriage came nearer. He turned very pale and stared at the occupants with an intentness that showed that he recog- nized them. Then, as the vehicle within a few feet of them, he dashed out into the road with a sort of scream, and fired his little pistol at the man with the b mustache. It was all over in a moment. The tramp saw the flash; heard the s nm; saw the man ‘ throw up his arms fall back on the seat; heard the lady’s shriek and the startled cries of the occupants of the carriage; and then he darted ra Sees ~biaag plunging into e Bummers” knew that the ceased to be healthy for him; for he in the occupants of the carriage Benator vert, (Who owned @ quarter of the county in which was 5, The ‘ Boss of PO ae " A iN > ida el) uae oe ee Lege SC ken ne had than | | emo, King of the Tramps. both public and influential persons. Therefore he vanished into the thickest of the wood as fast as he could, fearing immediate pur- suit and recognition. As for the boy, he did not seem to be at all alarmed at the consequences of his actions. He stood there in the road, the smoke still curlin, from the muzzle of his Parry and laugh fiercely as he saw the driver, with frantic energy, whip up the horses and dash on at full speed. “ Drive on, Peter,” he cried, careless whether he was heard or not. “Mr. Oliver Calvert will carry my mark for awhile, I think. He can’t go fast enough to lose that.” Then he calmly blew the smoke from his pis- tol, threw away the empty cartridge, and in- serted a fresh one, after which he returned the weapon to his hip-pocket, and walked quietly into the wood, just as the carriage disappeared round a turn of the road. He had not gone far when he heard a voice calling out in a hoarse whisper: “Jack! I say! reas ack!” “Well, what is it?’ asked the boy, impatient- y. Out came big Billy Barlow with a pale face. ‘Waal, ac you’ve done it now. Where are they? Didn’t they follow ye?” ‘* Follow me! I should say not. Old Uncle Peter was so frightened he let his liorses run for all they were worth. I hit the villain.” ‘*You mean Jedge Calvert? Golly! Guess ye did, Spunky. Do you know him then?’ “Yes, i know him,” was the short answer. “T swore I’d be even with him, and I am. Come, Billy, where’s this Tramp’s Heaven you told about?” Billy Barlow was for the time completely con- a by the ascendancy of mind over matter. he great brute was naturally a bully, and had had serious thoughts of trying to take the boy by surprise, with a view torobbing him; but the quickness and ferocity with which this slender oungster had taken his own part had changed a tramp’s mind in that quarter, while the sud- den assault he had just witnessed satisfied him that his new crony could not be an officer of the law. “All right, Spunky,” he said, cheerfully. “Come along and I’ll show yer. Gosh! How yer did lay out that feller! Ain’t ye ‘fraid he'll set the cops on yer?” ‘Not he! He knows me too well,” answered the boy, in the fierce, scornful way he had used allalong. ‘‘He knew he deserved it.” ‘‘ Why, what has he done?’ asked Billy. ‘‘None of your business,” was the uncivil re- tort. ‘‘ Who are your friends out there?” As he spoke they could see, through the dim arches of the wood, wreaths of smoke and the forms of men and women moving to and fro. Billy Barlow made no answer, for he began to feel that he had stood the back talk of this saucy boy as long as he needed to do, and al- ready he was planning a little revenge for the youngster’s rudeness. When the question was repeated he answered in a dignified tone: “Them’s my pards. We're enterin’ the Wan- derer’s Home, You jest wait till you see our king, and he’ll make you keep a civil tongue in your head.” “ And who’s your king?” asked the boy, in a tone of more curiosity than he had yet ex- hibited. “‘He’s Lord Nemo, of Noman’s Castle, King of the Tramps,” replied Billy Barlow, proudly, “There air only one Boss of the Bummers— that’s me—and only one King of the Tramps— that’s him—and all the rest is frauds. So now, my gay rooster, we'll see if you don’t get your comb cut afore Sep many minutes older.” As he'spoke, he suddenly clutched the boy’s shoulder with a gripe like iron. CHAPTER I. THE TRAMPS’ RETREAT. Goop as were the intentions of Mr. Barlow in regard to seizing the audacious stripling who had shown so much, fearless independence, he had not calculated on the wary quickness of his companion. ‘ 5) Seni Jack,” as the tramp had named him, had taken care to Keep on the pape side of his neighbor, who thus seized him by the left arm; and before Barlow could clutch his other arm, out came the little pistol, and there was another flash and re , fellowed by an ma dpe pain from the big man, who in- stinctively released his hold. In the same instant the leaped back, re- cocking his little pistol, and then came a loud shouting and trampling, as a crowd of men and women came running through the woods to- ward the pair. Billy Barlow stood grinding his teeth and grinning with pain as he n one of his ears, which bled profusely; and the boy, as pale as death, but w a ion of de- termination on face, set his back PS te sp tree and seemed resolved to sell Y e A . In truth he had reason to fear, for the crowd of people coming toward him seemed made. up of desperadoes and viragoes of the worst type; and the hoarse cries with which they rushed on were enough to intimidate the bravest of men, In another moment they were all around the pair, shouting: ‘Who is it, Bill?” “What's the guy done, cully” ** Let’s mash him!” } ‘‘ Bu’st the young snoozer witk a rock!” These and other complimen phrases, de» livered from angry men ané shril/l-voiced wo» men, had no effect on the young stranger, sava to make him grasp his pistol more firmly, When two or three of the tramps made a mo- tion as if to attack him, he called out, in a clear, sharp voice: ‘** Keep off, bummers! I can drive a nail ey- ery time, and I’ve five shots left.” ‘Hit him with a rock! He’s a spy,” growled ; Biy Barlow, fiercely. $ Then the tumult recommenced, fiercer than} ever, though not a man ventured to come with- in twelve feet of the boy, but the women began to scream from the back of the crowd: ‘Smash the spy, cullies! Smash him!” ' THis, however, was what no one of the furious mob had pluck enough to do, and as there were no stones in the wood, it seemed as if hostilities must come to a pause, when—whiz!!—one of the women in the rear threw a stick of wood, which just missed the boy’s head, and the inci- dent started a fresh cry: **Clubs! Clubs! sh the snoozer with a club!” : They were just scattering on their amiable errand, in search of clubs, when a tall man with a huge beard came strolling leisurely up to the circle, at sight of whom the mob paused, while a number of voices began to tell Billy Barlow’s story, all together, in various forms. The tall man listened as he came on, and soon arrived in front of the beleaguered boy, when he spread out his arms and shouted in tones of under: ' ‘* Stop your noise!” The effect was immediate. The wildest ruf- fian in the crowd became silent in a moment, and not even a woman’s tongue wagged in the stillness. Then the tall man stalked to the front of the crowd, and advanced straight on the boy, look- 34, he in the eye. o the surprise of all, the lad, who had been so fearless before, did not offer to fire at the tall man. Instead, he lowered his pistol, and stood staring at the other in a dazed, bewildered sort of way. The bearded tramp stopped about three feet from the boy, and looked at him. Presently he spoke, in a deep, rich voice: “Give me that pistol, boy. ‘We don’t allow them in our camp.” The boy iced up in his face with a forced, painful smile. ‘ Will you take care of me?” he asked. ‘“No one shall hurt you,” answered the tall man. ‘lam Nemo, King of the Wanderers.” Without another word the boy uncocked the weapon and handed it to the King of the Tramps, who Kk it quietly, looked at it all over, and then thrust it under a recess in his own ragged garments, That done, he turned round and waved his hand with an air of authority. ‘““} answer for this boy,” he said. ‘‘ Who touches him will have to fight me.” The only ag pn who ventured to say a word was big Billy Barlow. ‘* Look-a-here, King Nemo,” he cried, excited- ly; “ you ain’t doin’ the square thing here, This rooster’s jest plugged a bole in my ear.” ‘‘ What did you do to him?” asked Nemo, in the same authoritative way. “That ain’t nothin’ to do with it. He’s a spy fur the cops.” ** You “That's so!” came from several voices. ‘* Well, then, I’m a wanderer, too, homeless and friendless,” cried the boy, in a shaking voice, ‘and I thought that here, where sos in the same way, I might find friends; but, as it is—” And his overstrained young nerves seemed to ive way at last, for he burst out in.a fit of sob- ‘As it happened, he could have done nothing wiser. tramps had been looking at his pal powiees o ao —_ its , dark eyes, lad ustaring curls, and more one w ’ When og naa ek d Ana out crying, a handsome, dark- faced Gipsy girl suddenly ‘ out of the
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. > % de — 3 ee A ee ae 4 a ns a ae He aie, erowd and threw her arm round his neck, cry- ing out: f ‘He shall be my kammer,* cullies. Stand clear for Gipsy Nan’s kammer. Come along, not a man in this crowd shall hurt yer, for ’m Gi Nan.” ‘he Gipsy’s favor seemed to turn the scale, for the boy could notice a great many Gipsy faces in the crowd, as he went off with Nan and a party of her wild comrades. His recep- tion Ramet to be at last assured, and there was no more trouble as he entered the spot which was denominated, by common consent, the *“Wanderer’s Home,” or ‘‘ Tramp’s Paradise.” All the crowd, that had at first surrounded him, began to saunter back to their fires, and he had leisure to look about him and examine the spot. The wanderers had shown a great deal of taste in their selection of a halting-place. Inthe midst of dense woods lay a green meadow of some five or six acres in extent, through which ran a brawling “peg ares in the sunlight. The grass was deep and soft, dry wood plenti- fulin the underbrush around, while blackber- ries and wild raspberries abounded in the vi- cinity. There were some hundred or so of tramps of both sexes scattered about, of whom near- ly a third were gathered in a camp by t selves, around some carts and tathiened horses. This was the quarter of the camp to which the boy was led by Nan, and it was easy to see that its inbabitants were Gipsies. Their dark faces and lustrous eyes would have told this, had not the superior air of comfort which they exhibited made it plain. They had not the haggard and desperate look of the others, and more than one tent had been pitched among them, stretched over arched willow wands, like @ wagon tilt, while the other tramps slept on the bare ground. : The presence of horses and a portable forge, in wwe middie of the camp, showed their occu- tion still plainer, for the Gipsies have been orse-jockeys and farriors, time out of mind. They held themselves a little aloof from the other tramps, and comfart reigned in their ‘quarter; for every fire had a pot swinging on a@/| the news of a be tripod above it, and a savory smell issued from every pot. “Well, my Betty Rye,”+ began Gipsy Nan, familiarly, as she led the boy into her camp, her arm round his neck, ‘‘ what’s your name?” **Oali me Jack,” answered the lad, simply; ** Pye no other name that I’ve a right to.” **Ole, Jack’s good enough for us,” said the Gipsy girl, gayly. ‘‘ Here, cullies, this is Hand- somo Jack. e looks like a Romanichalt, and if he only talked Romany as he ought he’d be no perdes.” ‘“ What's a perdas?” asked the boy, a little timidly, for all his daring seémed to have de- -serted him since he first beheld the tall figure of King Nemo. “A perdas is a stranger,” answered Nan promptly, ‘‘ one of the tramps as the Ryes call them. Vous a perdas now, but if there’s no Romany blood in you, Um a perdas myself.” ‘*‘ And what’sa Rye?’ asked Jack. ““ A Rye’s a gentleman, in your tongue.” **And you think ’'m a gentleman?” asked the boy in & meaning tone. ipsy Nan flashed her dark eyes at him sud- denly and gave him such a look that the young stranger flushed up to the temples, ere he was answered. Then she said, slowly: \ **'The Romanichal asks no questions, brother. Here’s the pot off the fire. Dip in with us and eat, if you’re not too proud.” Handsome Jack said no more, but followed her advice with good grace, for he was very hun y. Whi e they were all crouching round the a iron pot on the ground, the tall form of g Nemo passed by, and all the Gipsies rose sand saluted him respectfully. The boy stranger followed their vere seeming to be much confused, for‘he did not his eyes from the ground as he bowed. The, lordly-looking tramp with the queer name passed closed to Handsome Jack and said in a low tone: “Come to my hut as‘soon as you have eaten. I would speak with you.” emo, King of the Tramps. what life was till he turned wanderer and join- ed the Romanichal. He has sense. He can talk Romany, he can. Pity you can’t, my lit- tle perdas.” The boy made no answer; but stood gazing after the figure of Nemo in the afternoon sun- light. It was, as we have hinted, very tall and imposing, but there was something weird and singular about it. King Nemo stood over six feet in his bare soles, and had the slender, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted figure of a young man in his prime while his long hair and huge dark beard were very thick and curly. His costume consisted of a motley array of streaming rags of all colors, and it was hard to tell whether they had any shape and cohesion or not, though the fact that those above hung over those below argued that these latter were con- fined by a belt somewhere under the upper por- tion of his tatters. Such was his dress and personal appearance that crowds followed him whenever he went into a village, while the forest of hair that hid his face, from which shone out two great dark eyes, gave him still more the appearance of a maniac, It was after this figure, stalking into the re- cesses of the woods that Handsome Jack pres- ently followed, slowly and hesitatingly, as the King of the Tramps strode on. They passed out of the camp, where the lazy tramps were lying on their backs in the shade, munching the remains of stolen chickens and bigs, or smoking their black pipes, while the be- aggled women nursed their dirty babies; and soon found themselves before a rude shelter of boughs, built before a hollow tree. Then Nemo turned and said: ** Now, Jacko, what brings you here?” CHAPTER III. OLIVER AND THE GIPSIES. ‘“‘ THE palatial mansion of our honored Sena- tor,” as the Calverton Chronicle elegantly sing it; in other words the country house of enator Calvert was put into a perfect flurry of excitement that afternoon by the arrival of the master’s carriage with sweating horses, bearing daring outrage by highway rob- rs. To the people of Cabvert county the Senator with his wealth and station, had always seemed ‘to be a sort of demigod. To hear that his car- riage had been attacked in open daylight by a re of tramps seemed to them like a sacrilege. hey would not have believed it but for the mute evidence afforded by the condition of Oliver Calvert, the Senator’s nephew, who was brought back to the house, wounded by a pistol- ball, and as pale as if he had seen a ghost. It was true that the doctor, who was sené for in haste, pronounced the wound slight, a small- caliber bullet having gone through the fleshy part of the shoulder; but none the less the peo- ple round Calverton seemed to think the world was coming to an end. As for the wounded man, he seemed to be more cast: down by the as- sault than the nature of the wound warranted, for he remained of a dead white pallor all day, and started apprehensively at every sudden noise in the house, however slight. . ‘In fact, Oliver,” observed Miss Helen Ches- ter, his uncle’s ward, ‘‘ you seem to be a good deal woxse frightened than I am, and that’s needless.” Miss Chester was a proud, handsome girl whose fortune brought her many suitors; and rumor had engaged her to her distant cousin, Oliver, more than once, without her nowledge. He was lying on the lounge in the great cool drawing-room as she spoke, and the old Senator Mi talking earnestly to the doctor -in the Oliver Calvert turned his eyes on Helen with a pleading expression, very different from the stern glance he generally affected, and said; ““Youwalways are cruel to me, Helen, and yet you know I'd die for you.” ‘*You won't die for any one,” retorted the lady, sharply. ‘“‘If P’'d been a man, I’d have jumped out of the carriage and found out who those wretches were.” “Did you want me to be killed in earnest?” he expostulated, ‘‘Those two ruffians were bent on murder. I saw it in their eyes.” 3 “how you talk! Do you think we’re to sit down and fold our hands while these wretches take possession of the country? Oh, I wish Har- vey was here! He’d—” : he was interrupted by an angry cry from the old Senator. : “How dare you mention that name in my hearing, Helen?” The young voor tossed her head. “‘T don’t see why I shouldn’t mention Harvey Calvert. He’s my cousin, and I always liked him.’ The old Senator’s face had turned as white as his hair, and his very lips were gray; but his eye glared as he said in trembling tones: “Helen, I order you to be silent. I will not. bear that person’s name in this house. I for- bade it some years ago, and—” ‘* And then I was a child. Now I am a wo- man and I'll not be treated like a baby. Har-- vey Calvert’s your son, and you’re an unnatural father—yes, uncle Harvey, I say what I mean. He’s your son, and I won't hush for you.” The old Senator knew better than to try and stop his ward when she got into what the ser- vants called ‘‘one of her tantrums;”’ and Miss Helen’s tongue was notoriously bitter on such occasions. hen she had finished her little burst, he aftered his own tone to one of grave sorrow. > “‘T did not think, Helen, that you would com- 1 me to tear open my old wounds afresh, ou were too young to know what was the matter at the time. Let me close the subject now and forever. The person of whom. you speak robbed his own father, who loved him as tenderly as ever child was loved, and fled like a thief in the night, enticing with him to ruin a young and pure girl.” ‘I don’t believe it!” was Helen’s reply, and as she spoke she sat down and folded her hands on her lap. ‘‘ /—don’t—believe it, uncle. Is that plain ** Don’t believe it, Helen? Child, ask Oliver.” “T won't ask Oliver! He doesn’t know any more about it than you do. I teil you, sir, there’s a mistake somewhere. My cousin, Har- vey Calvert, never did the base thi you say he did. He was incapable of them. It was not in his nature, Was it, Oliver?’ She turned quickly round on Oliver, and found that person gazing at her with a strange apprehensive expression, ‘Was what, Helen?” he asked, confusedly. ‘Was it in Harvey Calvert’s nature to rob his father and betray an innocent girl? You know it was not.” “T don’t know, Helen. The evidence was too strong to be resisted. I wish I could disbe- lieve it,” replied Oliver, in his saddest tone. “ Heaven knows I loved my poor cousin, Har- vey; but it was too. plain that he carried off that unfortunate girl, Jacqueline Raynaud, at the very time the Senator was robbed of all those bonds.” Helen gave a short, bitter laugh. “Yes. I heard about that at the time. Poor Jacqueline! She was very fond of me, and I suppose that’s the reason they drove her out of Ae house, Every one / like gets into trouble ere. Here the old Senator interrupted her with a voice of much severity. “ Helen, I will not have this. Miss Raynaud was made your French governess out of charts to her father and mother, when she was not ol enough to teach you anything but the accent. She disgraced us and herself by eloping with a a who never darkens my doors again, and wish to hear no more of her or him.” As he spoke, the old gentleman, now flushed with impatient anges began to stride up and down the room, and finally banged the door be- hind him and went up-stairs. Helen had folded her arms and was tapping the floor impatiently with one little foot, her face looking set and defiant, when Oliver ven- tured to say: “Helen, why will 7 irritate the Senator in never leaye you a penny y this useless way? He at this rate.” She turned on him with her usual quick im- petuosity. “Oliver Calvert, I verily believe you know something about B yn Harvey and won’t tell. ‘¢ Which I couldn’t, rig. er back to them, | If so you're a—well, you know.” The boy bowed low, growing scarlet to the | But I only saw one who looked like a ruffian, “Why, Helen,” he answe in his roots of bis hair, and Nemo passed on. Gipsy | as wecameup. The other seemed to me to be | oily tones,‘‘ what a queer notion of yours! How Nan heard the words and gave a curious look at | a little boy.” should J know anything of poor Harvey—still ; her new hen co said nothing for some min- Oliver Calvert turned, if anything, a little | more of—?”’ int utes, till the King of the Tramps was out of ler as she spoke, but made no ; for, just “Of Jacqueline—I didn’t say you did, but I ¥ hearing. egal the Senator came bustling , Saying | believe it. ‘She used. to be with you a deal ie | Then she observed: cheerfully : more than with Harvey. So much I remem- a ‘ There’s a handsome 4 Rye for you. He’s fit) ‘ Well, Oliver, my boy, the doctor says you'll | ber.” . to be a king anywhere.” 3 be all right in a day or two, and I’ve sent word | She had turned her head away as she spoke, pit Ok, he is indeed, indeed!” murmured the | to the sheriff to have all those tramps turned | and was looking out of the window, so that she 2's bo , in a low tone, and yet he has seen such | out of our woods and arrested, so we can find | could not see the peculiar glance shot at her by eee ‘suffering. é out who it was shot you. I think I should know | Oliver. : Biren en er | apr teaies Ga rth aed laa f8'R| Renee eee de “4 ver lean eyes for a | sum or um. an A “Suffering!” she echoed. ‘‘He never knew | moment, and then said: heavy-jawed face looked as for as such b. “Tt will be no use, sir. They’ve fled the | a face could look. eee his voice was as smooth ; We Dk * Kammer or cummer, Romany-for lover. country before this, and we only get the | and oily as ever, as h ied: if . } + Beti Rai or Ryo, little gentleman. wrong people. Better let them alone. Bhey're a Toe are pantow. wna oe eth | 5 Ais", : ; a psy Romanichi y for her beau sprightly wa 7. 4 Maga. Signy wort tact ee nah ey Why, Oliver,” exclaimed Helen, amazedly ; ~ oy apa for me.” Pires : 4 a 4 Y ; ; te *. , a “i wr 4 Au s ] ht) 4, aoe a bh Site : : * 4 ‘ ; f ; t ' n t : 1 : J
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stvered: ty ‘*My dear cousin, the girl was deceiving you. Why, it was only the very next day she fied with Harvey.” “*T don’t know that she did flee with Harvey. You were awa zm “In Philadelj every minute of my time. into that matter fully when that wretched boy | disgraced us all.” ‘**T don’t know that he did disgrace us, Oliver. I know that uncle Harvey flew into a passion | and cursed his son without giving him an op- portunity to be heard after those bonds were missing. I know that you stood by and said nothing to help Harvey, and that we’ve never seen him since, and as for the rest, I firmly be- és lieve that my cousin Harvey Calvert is as good a fellow as ever breathed, and that some wretch, . I don’t say who, has put suspicion on him. So there!” P As she spoke, she got up and was sweeping from the room with the dignity of-an offended princess, when Oliver arrested her with the re- mark; “Stay, cousin Helen, there is no way of mis- understanding you. Probably you mean that I accuse Harvey.” **1 did not say who did it, sir.” “You don’t say so in words, but you mean it. ; Probably you think I ran away with Jacque- Fe * line, also?” if ** if you did; and then deserted her, you would ah have been thé meanest kind of a villain, Oliver ee |? Calvert.” | “@Granted—if. But, as I did neither, it seems : to me you're a little unjust to set on me like this, Helen.” a | ' “T suppose you think so,” she replied, in f the dryest of tones; ‘* but, I know what I know, t) Oliver, and as I don’t wish to argue the case with you, PU bid you good-morning.” And she swept out, with er head in the air, ny while Oliver Calvert lay gazing after her with a 3 dark, evil look, that was his habitual expression when not in the Senator’s presence. q “Tf wonder how much she does know?” he ie muttered to himself, as she disappeared. ‘‘ That oS fool swore she’d keep the secret, and she 4d wouldn’t dare to open communication with them now.” He relapsed into a fit of brooding, from which be was roused by the twanging of some stringed instrument, accompanied by the thumping of a tambourine, outside the window. With a slight grimace of pain, from his wounded shoulder, Oliver rose from the lounge and went to the large windows which opened out X _ yon the broad piazza. ; Outside the house on the green lawn which m was kept so, in that hot season, only by con- : stant sprinkling, stood a picturesque group of Gipsy girls, with a single man of remarkable appearance, Eenebding?y tall, his body covered with a motley collection of rags, his features hidden by a profusion of hair and bushy beard, this strange being had a certain wild dignity in his fre appearance that compelled respect even from : Oliver Calvert, harsh as he was, and domineer- 55, id Rega e had come to the window intending to or- der off the intruders; but he remained staring curiosity at King Nemo, for it was none. “other. The chief bore in his arms a sort of lute, ac- companied by two dark Gipsy girls of remarka- ble beauty, one of whom carried a tambourine, the other a triangle, while both were gayly at- ER (tired Kae ye leat black ny eae ed | += gneugh, but picturesque, and suiting their Hin- doo le and dark, mysterious eyes. Oliver Calvert hardly noticed them, so much was he attracted by the weird figure of the Gip- sy monarch, and it was in tones of some aston- ishment that he asked him: _ “Who in the world are you, and what do you want here?” “ih “Tam the Boro Rai Romanichal,” answered the wanderer, in a deep, musical voice of singu- _ lar power and beauty. ‘‘ Avata doovitano ju- wus giv gitty rikeno ranee.”™* ‘ _ Oliver stared at him and his natural imperi- - ous way came back to him as he saw that seve- ral of the helpers in the grounds had come near tostareattheragged monarch, ~~ __ **What do you mean?’ he demanded, an- ly. “‘Confound your gibberish! Talk Eng- monarch smiled as he answered, in : “Tam g Nemo, of the Wanderers. We come here only to sing for the pretty lady.” “What pretty lady do you mean?” was the pr ahs iM “Tm notalady. Just you clear ‘out and don’t let me see you round here again. Pr Serge aera ei.» yo i eer ee > 4 i are _— = 1 ) Here - boys, put these vagabonds out of the gate | and let the dogs loose on them if they come again.” Willingly enough the stablemen came up to execute the gentleman’s orders, for Oliver was | looked upon everywhere as the Senator’s heir since the exile of his missing son Harvey, but it | was with some caution that they advanced, for | any one could see that the Gipsy’ was a giant of strength and activity. , x King Nemo looked at them with his usual ap- near, when he suddenly handed his lute to one , too. | pearance of imperturbabée calm till they came | phia, Helen. Ican account for | Surely, we went | of the girls, and leaped like a tiger into the | midst of the men, sending them over like so many ninepins with straight lunges of his long arms, and parting them to instant and igno- minious flight. * That done, he stalked up to the edge of the piazza and said as quietly as if nothing had mp: “Tf came as a friend, Oliver Calvert, but as a foe you have received me. Look to your- self!” _ Even while he spoke Helen came running out of the parlor window, attracted by the noise, and paused spellbound before the weird figure of the Gipsy king, who, on his part gave a violent start and stared at her as if he were thunder- struck. Helen recovered herself first and asked: ‘Who are you, in Heaven’s name?” “Tam Nemo, nobody, a wanderer and an out- cast,” was the deep rep in English, and then the Gipsy king stretched out his hands as if in- voking a blessing on her. ‘‘ Madeval achipalesta tule, ranee*,” he said; then turned and left the spot without another word. CHAPTER IV. THE TRAMPS’ PLOT. Mr. Bartow, “ Boss of the Bummers,” as he probably styled himself, was not by any means unworthy of that title as he sat among his brother tramps under the shade of the ‘‘ Wan- derers’ Home.” The gentiemen of the road had had very good luck that day in their visits to the neighboring farmers. Chickens were plentiful in camp, and one party had succeeded in bullying a farmer’s wife (during her husband’s absence) into letting them roll off a barrel of apple jack, over which the camp was now holding high festival. In the center of this particular crowd, proud- ly seated on the summit of the barrel, was Mr. Barlow himself; and the redness of his face tes- tified that he had done his share toward empty- ing his throne of the refreshments it had but lately contained. : ‘Yes, pals,” the Boss observed, holdiag up his battered tin pannikin, “ here’s the last of it; and, if you’re fly to crack a crib,+ Pll show you where you kin all get so drunk you won’t know whether you're standin’ on your head or heels.” ‘** Ger long,” shouted an uproarious tramp, in tones of wild delight. ‘* Show us the crib, cul- ly, and we'll crack it.” ; ‘It’s a big beak’s crib as keeps a hull cellar of wines and sich, I seen it this mornin’ from the road,” explained the Boss of the Bummers, to which a gray-headed old virago, known as s Fire-faced Martha,” responded: “Ay, cullies, I know the beak. His name’s Calvert, and he owns the hull country round here. *T'won’t do to crack his crib, or we'll have all the cops in Pensiltucky arter us.” “What do you know about it?’ scornfully de- manded Billy Barlow. ‘‘We’re in his woods now, and he dasn’t turn us out. *Cause why? Cause he dasn’t. Hain’t you never heard how the people’s a-strikin’ for their liberties down in Virginny?”’ ; ‘Well, what’s that got to do with cracking old Calvert’s crib?’ retorted Martha, with a sneer. “Cause he and all the rest of the guys is so skeered ’bout the strikes, they dasn’t say a word to us tramps till i. re sure they’re over,” triumphantly answered the tramp. “I tell yer the railroad men has struck, and there’s gwine to be bloody times this summer, so we may as Well take our share of the swag while it’s a-goin’. Who’s in for it, cullies?_ Don’t Men’s our best holt. Who'll try it to-night?” At least twenty badge eagerly cried out that they were ready, and Billy Barlow commenced to lay out his plan of action at once. “ve been’round the place and spied it all out. They’ve got a nigger coachman, two Irish stablemen, a gardener and a lot of women ser- vants. There’s the old beak—him they call Senator—he sleeps in the house, and he’s no ppod Then there’s his nevy, the Jedge, him as P Jack plugged to-day, blast ! He ain’t got no more fight in Lint nor a sheep. Then there’s the gal i call Helen, and four more wimmin; that’s all.” _ ; “ But where do the men sleep?” asked a tramp, more cautious than his fellows. “*Over the stable,” answ: Buy. “Six o! us kin handle ’em with clubs, and’ the clear out the shebang?” Lay 5a las i { i Sear Thieves’ oe ‘ fa\' ‘7 want no women. | f weak om | ree the company ie ert side Peng. ei ce fiatee® er ns us @ ES SETAE NY There was a hum of assent among the tramps, till one of them asked: “Shall we let them in?” He spoke in a low tone, jerking his thumb to- ward the Gipsy part of the camp, which was, as usual, separate from the tramps. Billy Barlow looked disgusted. "In coorse not! They ain’t no good. Keep dark and don’t giveitaway. Likely’s not they wouldn’t help us. There’s Spunky Jack, blast his picter! be’s got grit, if he did plug me, Wish we could git Aam in with us. He’s got some grudge ag’in’ the folks thar. Don’t know what it is, but he’s thar all the time.” ** pose I go in among ’em and git him,” sug- gested a little foxy-faced tramp, who went by the name of ‘‘ Jim, the Faker.” No objection being made, the Faker lounged in among the Gipsies, and soon returned with the report that Spunky Jack was not in camp at all. He had disappeared, and none of the Gipsies knew or pretended to know where he had gone. Bill y Barlow swore a great oath. “ Blow my skin if the young varmint ain’t a cop’s spy, as I said he was. If I ketch him again, I'l] mash him,” ‘“*Him and Gipsy Nan went off together. I seen ’em,” observed Fire-faced Martha, tranquil- ly removing a black pipe from her mouth. * You cullies ain’t no good. to spot nobody. King Nemo was with ’em.” “Then, why in bloomin’ blazes didn’t you tell us so at first?” asked the Faker. ‘Cause you was goin’ to run this ’ere crib- crackin’ on your own Jay, my bloomin’ bum- mer,” responded the lady, in a tone of amiable disdain. ‘‘ Here they come now, if you've got any eyes.” She nodded her head toward the setting su and there, between the arches of the wood, cou be seen the tall form of King Nemo, advancing with two Gipsy girls by his side. ‘*Then Spunky Jack’s put out,” growled the Boss of the Bummers, discontentedly. ‘ That bloomin’ Gipsy pal of ourn ’s suld us out. I votes we moves camp and don’t have no more to do with King Nemo, blast his bloomin’ pic- ter!’ ‘* How d’yer know they hain’t dressed Spunky up like a galt” asked Martha, in the same cyn- ical tone. ‘‘He looked a bloomin’ sight more like a gal than a boy when / seen him.” The tramp made no answer, for King Nemo was passing by them, and there was something in his appearance so imposing that the roughes man in camp held him in awe. The monarch of tatters stalked by his sullen subjects as if he disdained to notice them, and the tramps peered eagerly into the faces of the girls as they went by, to see if either of them was the disguised boy, as Martha had hinted. There was, however, no mistaking the sex and appearance of the two dark and hand- some Gipsy girls. One was Nan and the other bore no resemblance to Spunky Jack. The boy had had heavy flaxen curls, while this girl was a veritable Gipsy, with her shin- ing black coils of straight silky hair and her dark face. She passed by, arm in arm with Nan, chattering Romany, which the tramps could not understand, and the three went into the Gipsy camp. Then said Billy Barlow with another oath: “The bloomin’ snoozer’s lit out. . Pais, we must crack that crib to-night, or the cops will be on us.” ’ CHAPTER V. THE ATTACK, Tue household of Calverton Manor was in that tranquil state of comfort consequent on a cool starlight night with heavy dews, after a rf with the thermometer at ninety-eight in the e. The lamps were all out, and the only light came from the myriads of fireflies that darted in and out of the open windows and among the branches of the eg mag 6 We say the only light, but in this we are not quite correct, for there were two gleaming points of fire near each other on the front piazza, marking where the Senator and his nephew were quietly enjoying an after-supper cigar, The servants gone to bed, and the white hi of Helen had vanished to the coolness of her own a ment; for it was past twelve o’clock, and the moon did not rise till near dawn. - “Well, Oliver,” observed the old politician after a ey pear “so you think it wouldn’t do to turn those tramps out of my woods?”. “Not just at present, sir. They’ll go on their own account very soon,” ** What do you mean?” ; “I mean that they'll gravitate toward Pitts- 8, sir oat. eat ae , sir, : - t for?” Kye _ “Well, you know, sir, we have inform that all the hands on'the combined roads of lvania Central are foin stop the trains next week. ] - to their ation
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j i i \ aber ; voc feds, “ieee tr) a rt Now, then, will you tell, or Nemo, King of the Tramps. eee weer ae SNR Ns Ee RAD S ~~ “That's right, Oliver. I’m glad the Gover- nor’s put down his foot at last. uis Napoleon knew how to manage them. Plenty of grape- shot—hey, Oliver?” The old gentleman chuckled as if he was al- ready enjoying tho slaughter of his fellow-crea- ures. “Tt’s those confounded Communists who’ve turned Enrope upside down, and now they want to do the same by us. -Give them—hail Co- lumbia, I say.” Oliver laughed an evil laugh. ‘We're all ready for them, sir. But, what I was going to say is that these tramps in your woods are sure to make for Pittsburg when the row begins, and we shall be rid of them for good. Trust me to deal with them when the troops come.” ‘“*Tf you think so, Oliver, all right, but I don’t want any more pistol-shots. I thought that fel- low must have meant me when he fired at us to- ‘**] fancy I know him, sir. He must be some ischarged employé of the road, who had a spite against me.” ‘Would you recognize him, Oliver?’ “T think not, sir.’ It was too dark to see his face, but his voice trembled slightly as he told the le. The fact was he knew only too well who had been his as- sailant, though no one else, not even Helen, sus- pected it. ‘“‘Tt must be a curious feeling that,” began the old Senator, musingly, ‘‘ to know that a des- perate fellow has a spite against you— Hallo, what’s that?” He broke off suddenly as some- thing came whizzing by his face and struck the wall behind him with a rap. In a moment both gentlemen were on their feet, and Oliver exclaimed in a tone of nervous ES vs that fell in. Th v’s that fellow row away your i. and let’s get inside.” ¢ suited the action to the word himself, and ‘was running into the house, when a voice from the shrubbery said, in low tones: “Don’t fear! Look at the paper.” ‘The paper? What paper?” asked the old Senator, testily; for his pluck was proof against ordinary terrors. ‘*The paper on the stone. Good night!” The voice was soft and feminine, but they could hear no rustle inthe bushes There was a screen of shrubbery by the house which might have hidden a dozen people, but. neither of the men felt exactly in the mood for going out to examine it, and the Senator observed: ‘* Well, thisis very strange. Givemea match, Oliver.” ‘Good heavens, sir, do you want to be shot?’ asked his nephew, amazedly. ‘‘No, L want to find the paper,” answered the old gentleman simply. ‘‘ No one will shoot me. You can go into the house if you will give me the match.” set ; ¢ “‘ Here’s my box of fusees, sir,” replied Oliver, hastily. ‘‘I/ligoin and geta gun. Idon’t like this sort of thing at all. We ought to ring up the men at the stable. There may be burglars around.” “Burglars! Humbug!” answered the stout old Senater, scornfully. ‘Why, the people would lynch them, if they laid a finger on me, Oliver.” ; ‘ As he spoke he struck a fusee, and Oliver vanished into the house, while his uucle pa searched the piazza, and found a piece of white pate tied to a stone, lying behind the chair he d lately occupied. ~ He picked it up; threw away the stone, and — then the fusee burnt his finger, so that he to throw that away, too, and unfold the Paper in the dark. e old Senator tried to make enough light to read the missive by puffing violently at his ci- ger, but he was obliged to light a second fusee efore he could decipher the scroll, which bore only these words: “Fasten the house and call the men : “A Prrenp.” For a moment the old man felt his heart stand still, for he realized that Oliver’s fears had not been misplaced. Then he turned to go into the house to rin the alarm bell, when there was a shufflin of bare feet, and a dozen dark figures Con upon the piazza from the of shrubbery. In another moment he was seized from behind, his arms pinioned, while a huge fellow, with a black vail over his face, clutched his throat. “Now, look a-here, boss,” growled this person, shaking him to enforce his meaning; ‘you jest keep a still tongue, and we ey 4 Basra you. We r travelers, we are, and its the peo- an ris Where's the key of ah » te : * 7? prickin’ yer with knives?” asked Billy, savagely, while his companions kept poking sticks into the old man’s ribs to give him an idea of what was in store for him. ‘*Tt’s no use to you. You haven’t the com- | bination,” gasped the Senator, as soon as he could speak. “Don’t you never mind that. Give us the key and we'll take the combination, too,” was the grim reply. ‘‘Tt’s in. my—desk—in the—study,” gasped | the old man, reluctantly; and in a moment the tramps had him hauled along iuto the house, where all was still as death, and carried him into the study, where they set him down on a chair, while Billy Barlow shut the door. Then the tramp struck a match and deliber- ately lighted a student-lamp that stcod on the | table, when he looked round the room and spied the large safe in the side wall, where Senator Calvert kept his valuables. The old man was satisfied to sit there and “gasp as if he were much injured to gain time, | for he expected every moment to_hear the alarm-bell, knowing as he did that Oliver was at liberty. But Mr. Barlow was too wise to let him es- cape long. Assoonashe had finished his sur- vey of the room, he came up to his prisoner, who was again seized by two of the tramps, when Billy asked: ‘* Now then, where’s the key?” “In that desk,” ieccnied. Mr. Calvert, as slowly as he could speak. The Boss of the Bummers went to the indi- cated place and pulled out drawer after drawer without seeing the key, throwing the contents of the drawers on the floor with that impartial brutality which disting@ished him. Then he did what he should have done from the first. Turning to the helpless old man who was still held back in the chair, he asked: ‘* Which drawer is it, boss?” , The Senator indicated the place and Mr. Bar- low soon produced the safe-key, with which he approached his prisoner. “Now then,” he said, grimly, ‘‘ give me the are or it’ll be the worse for your | skin. The old man shut his lips firmly and made no answer. Billy Barlow approached him closer and drew out of his pocket a knife, which he unclasped and flourished in the air. _‘*Give me the combination or I'll dig out your right eye. The old gentleman shuddered and turned pale, but stammered out: “‘T’ve forgotten it—I—I—wrote it down and —and—” “You lie, you old thief. Hold him tight, boys, and gag him so he won’t holler. ll have that combination or T’ll cut him into small pieces.” The tramps dragged the poor old man back over the chair and one of them crammed a | dirty bunch of rags into his mouth, while he straggled with aH his force and shouted for | help, . Bedok they could master him Billy had to | strike him a savage blow in the face, and when | they had him tied hand and foot on the floor the poor old gentleman swooned away in dead earnest, lying liké one dead. Mr, Barlow expressed his disgust at this con- | duct in the most forcible terms. He had only made his gouging threat in the hope of frighten- ing the old man, and it was clear they could not — combination from him till he recov- ered, | “The mean old skunk!” he muttered, as he | looked down on the senseless form of the Sena- tor. ‘We'll have to break it open, arter all, I'm afeard.” “ Mebbe the other cove knows it,” suggested Jim, the Faker, ‘‘ The boys must ’a’ got him by this time.” ‘* Good scheme,” answered Barlow, in a more satisfied tone. ‘‘Two of you watch the old snoozer while the rest of us for the other.” So saying he opened the door and almost in- stantly was greeted by the sound of loud shrieks from the upper part of the house, where as he knew the women servants lodged. ‘** Come along, cullies,” growled the Boss, hur- riedly. “ We've got to choke their pipes, or they'll have the hull country alarmed.’ He rushed up-stairs followed by the rest of the tramps and found lights gleaming in the Leen Leos § of the house, where four or five half-dre women were skurrying about with lamps calling to each other to “Get up. Mur- der, thieves!” and screaming in the intervals of talking. The cause of their terror was easil — icularly villain- ed by the presence of three ous-looking tramps, who s hesitating what to do before ‘ women. . Billy Barlow was not so wan Growling out fe in decision. jous curses and brandishing id not specify what produced the effect he * Sere thas oo “i eR LN NA - in the ; screams of the: | his knife be rushed at the women and told them: to abe their noise or he’d do something terrible His ferocious aspect and that of his’ followers intended, for the fright ' ad “f ae Whos = Suri * se, 2, - » 4 ened girls became silent and were soon driven © | into a dark lumber-reom in the middle of the | house, where they were locked in. | Then the tramps commenced a search of the | house for the missing Oliver, whom they knew | to be somewhere about and found at last one | door locked on which they battered in vain \ill one of the tramps sent it flying from its fasten- ings and let out a blaze of light. hen they paused in amazement. There was Helen Chester standing in the middle of the | room, with a revolver in her hand while beside her was none other than Spunky Jack himself, the missing boy leveling a double-barreled gun at Billy Barlow. CHAPTER VL. SPUNKY JACK. “KreEP off, as you value your lives!” cried the boy, as the masked tramps made their ap- pearance at the door. ‘‘I know who you are, | and help’s coming.” The sight of the lad whom they knew to be so | determined caused the tramps to recoil out of range, and Billy Barlow growled out: ‘*T knowed it. I knowed hewasa spy. How did he git in here?” Jim, the Faker, drew his leader aside. ‘* Let’s draw his fire and rush him,” was the Sagacious tramp’s advice. ‘‘Git the old man up and shove him in, while some of us gits in at the window. The counsel suited Mr. Barlow well, for he did not relish — his own carcass to the aim of the dare-devil Spunky. The tramps scattered, leaving two of their number to watch the door while the others searched every room in the house, without suc- cess, to find Oliver Calvert. Then they pro- ceeded to the study, where they found the poor Senator opening his eyes, and mercilessly henl- ed the old man up-stairs to the door of the be sieged room. Watching their opportunity, all uttered a simultaneous volley of oaths and rushed into the room, holding the helpless Senator up before them as a shield. But, what was their amazement to find the room 8 Spun ack and his fair partmer had van- ished,and the open window showed whither they had fled, for it opened on a railed gallery that ran all round the house. 3 In another moment Bill Barlow was outside, followed by his companions, and met the other party that had been appointed to go this very way to take the beleaguered ones in the rear. But no one, inside the house or out, had seen the fugitives. “Then there’s a age inside, and that bloomin’ spy’s in the house still,” cried the Puss, angrily. ‘‘Come on, cullies; he can’t keep ont of the way long.” , Such was his ee to punish the spy, that Mr. Barlow had almost forgotten the matter af the safe key combination, till he found the poor Senator lying bound on the floor of Helen’s room, all alone. 7 Hastily ordering him to be watched, the tramp commenced a vigorous search of the room, and soon discovered a side door, which opened on a little stairway up into the loft. It was locked, but readily yielded to force, when the party rushed up and found themselves in a dark loft, used as a lumber-room, to all seeming untenanted by living beings. Into all the corners they rammaged, and were séon rewarded by a fresh discovery, though uct the one they sought. : Spunky Jack and Helen were not in the loft, but some one else was. Crouched up in a cer- ner, behind some old broken bedsteads, was the Honorable Oliver Calvert, pale as death; and he offered no resistance as they hauled bim out, hurried him down-stairs by the middle stairv ey, before unnoticed, and took him into the librery. “Never mind Spunky. We've got the cully who ’ll blow the gaff now,” observed the Boss, triumphantly. “Now, then, stranger, whet’s the combination of this "pee Tell us quick, or we'll jest rip it right out of you.” Up to this time Oliver had not said a word, — but now he gasped out: : ; “Bing st, “Don’t, it we. Poe ie your sowed ‘It’s 8, 5, 8, 7. . 3 The tramp repeated the numbers after him slowl , as see — safe. hag ery well, my bloomin’ snoozer jest them numbers ‘ you.” which they had fo: him, and the Boss of the Bummers ed to open the safe, which ha effected out further heavy iron door swinging open, they raised a out af i tand rushed tu the ’ say A gy ore of papers. t, before they could do more than. them, crack! went a pistol-shot, and Mr. clapped both bands to the seat of his pa: in and fear. e next moment, at the open window ar tered in among the tra * “2 we Rg 2 tie Fe ASal r pron i , you'll find it pretty hot for ~~ Oliver made no reply as he sat on the chair to trouble. As soon as the tramps heard the clang of tha e, which — ae loc a = —what remained of them—and uttered » howl ~ Ae oe ave at Ae ees th one Boi Su he aT "in hte = a> "<< es “4 a. a
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6 neous stampede. In the same instant, in at the window dashed a tall figure, upsetting the lamp, and followed by several more; there was | the sound of fierce blows of sticks on heads, a scattering rush of bare feet in the passage; and then Mr. Oliver Calvert found himself sitting alone in tbe dark, paralyzed with fear. The change from the lighted lamp to total darkness was so complete that for some minutes he could see nothing. He thougot himself quite alone, but presently he heard the safe door | Nemo, King of the clang-to, while some one was whisperivg over | | do you mean? How did you know we were in the numbers of the combination, He listened and heard the key gently turned and withdrawn, when the same person brushed / past him in the darkness and stole out into the | passage, whence the distant noise of scuffling | still proceeded, as if a fierce struggle were going | on. After awhile it died away, and he dared to t up and look about him. The house seemed fo be deserted and silent; the burglars had van- ole Quaking inwardly, he stole along the lower passage, then out on the gerry and walked slowly and cautiously round the whole house, expecting every moment to see some dark figure make its appearance. But not a soul was to be seen, and he became satisfied that the robbers, whoever they were, had left the place. — Then his courage began to return to him, and he went into the house and began to explore it more thoroughly. A light gleamed down the stairway, and when he mounted it he perceived that the glow came from Helen Chester’s room, which he found illu- minated by more than a dozen wax candles, burning plca'y creged away. In the middle of the room, bound hand and foot, lay poor Senator Calvert, his hard, painful breathing attesting the inconvenience, not to say torture, he was suffering; and when Oliver cut his bonds and raised him up, it was some minutes before he could do anything but gasp: “‘Thank Heaven! I was nearly gone!” Oliver assisted him to rise and placed him on a lounge, brought him some water and rubbed his chafed wrists, till the old man presently asked :. ‘ “‘ How did it happen, Oliver? Did you get the men and beat them off?” ** Yes, sir, they’re gone,” was the unblushing answer. ‘I fear they’ve carried off the safe- key but that’s all.” ‘Tt won’t do them any good without the com- bination, Oliver,” whispered the old man, tri- umphantly. 5 | thought they’d have tortured it out of me at one time, but, thank Heaven, I stood it.” Then, as he looked round the room, he seemed to realize for the first time where he was, and anxiously asked: ‘““Where’s Helen? Great Heavens, can those villains have harmed her?’ He was so much excited by the idea that he staggered up, holding Oliver’s arm, went out into the passage, and began to call: “Helen! Helen!” His ward did not answer, but a voice from the room opposite exclaimed, in smothered : “Oh, sir, please, sir, let us out, We're all choking in here.” The Senator unlocked the door, and was greet- ed by the pale faces of the frightened, half- _dressed servants, who came flocking out, asking: “Oh, sir, have they gone?” ; “ Yes, they’re gone,” replied the Senator, in a crusty way; ‘‘ but, where’s Miss Helen?’ “Oh, sir, I’m sure J don’t know, sir,” was the cook’s re ly, as spokeswoman, ‘‘Miss Helen: she had her door locked, and we heard them bu’st it open, sir.” } The judge staggered and clung to Oliver, shuddering and mutterin ~_ “My God, is it pemibie’ She must have been . > i ah pen carried off. Even while he spoke, they heard voices on the lawn, outside the house, and the trampling of boots on the piazza. Then some one shouted up-stairs: **Who’s there? Is it you, jedget We've sent the varmints flyin’, thanks to Miss Helen and the boy.” The party above hurried down to meet the - sae tol whose voice they recognized, and ‘ound him, with the stable-boys, coachman and porter, at the foot of the stairs, when a hurried lanation was in order, he gardener’s story was, that he was roused from. sleep by hearing a pistol-shot, and found Miss Helen shaking him by the shoulder to make him get up. That she had with her a boy, and told them that burglars were breaking into the house; whereupon he hurriedly got his gun and down-stairs, where he met the other men armed with pitchforks and corn-cutters, That Miss Helen posted them, and presently they Saw a crowd of men running by, whom they chased and scattered. That was all. ‘*And where’s Miss Helen?” asked the old Senator, anxiously. i “She stayed behind with the boy, sir? Here ‘she comes, now,” was tne reply, Sure enough, 2 moment later Helen, in her *own proper person, came in at the hall door, s ' ‘ . \ Pi ‘ j \ ‘ + i as 4 \ 2 Bio) el ae Fer TN Pr ON APIER KY MMT Aneat e fle dressed in a dark wrapper, with her hair still | loose and disordered, but otherwise looking as calm as if she had just risen from breakfast. “Helen, are you quite safe, child?” asked her | guardian, anxiously. ‘Quite, sir,” was the rather frigid reply. ‘‘I found it was time I did something, if I didn’t | want the house to be plundered. Those wretches caught you; and as for cousin Oliver, he was nowhere.” ‘‘Why, child, Oliver beat them. off at the risk of his life,” exclaimed the Senator. ‘* What danger?” “Very easily, sir. My window was open; it was too hot to sleep; so I sat on the roof of the piazza looking into the garden. Isawa figure hiding in the shrubbery, and heard you talking about the stone he threw. Then I saw the tramps sneaking up to attack the house,.and the boy who had warned you ran round to the back, climbed up one of the veranda posts and came to me. We had only time to get your gun when we heard them fighting with you on the piazza, and some one ran up-stairs and hid in the loft.” “But, Helen, I don’tunderstand. Whois this boy you speak of?” asked the Senator, bewil- dere. “Oh, he’s one of the Calverton boys in my Sunday-school class,” replied the lady, in an in- different tone. ‘‘He happened to be near by when the tramps were plotting the burglary, and came to warn you, but got here too late.”® ‘* And where is he now?’ asked the old gen- tleman, eagerly. ‘‘He must be properly re- warded.” ‘* He's gone, sir,” was the answer. “Gone! Well, it can% be helped. What did you do together?” ‘‘The boy took your gun and I my own little revolver, and we waited till they burst open my dodr. We frightened them off, and then, when they had gone, we slipped out, and he showed me how to climb down the post. So we got to the stable and woke up the men, just as we heard the shots at the house.” ‘Ah, yes, that was Oliver, I suppose,’ ob- served the Senator, in his innocence, at which Belen shot a rapid glance over to where Oliver wa biting the ends of his mustache, and said ‘Indeed! Was it?” *“Té was lucky he was here,” pursued the Senator. ‘‘ He drove them off, all alone.” ‘Did he?” asked Helen, in the same dry tone. “Not but what you did a very heroic act, Helen,” pursued the did gentleman. ‘‘ The fact is, I am proud of both my nephew and his cousin, “ Are you?” repeated Helen, more dryly than ever, ‘ ag well, sir; then with your permis- sion I think I will retire. I suppose you and Oliver are competent to do what is necessary now. And without vouchsafing a single word to Oliver, who still stood there, chewing his mus- tache in silence, the haughty beauty swept up- stairs. CHAPTER VIL THE TRAMPS’ EXODUS. Next morning an unusual stillness brooded over the grounds of Calverton Manor, for the inmates were tired out with their vigils of the revious night; but the country-side made up or it, soon after the butcher had made his usual morning call, by going wild over the “audacious attempt.” The news spread like wildfire before noon, and the Senator was overwhelmed with visitors to know if he was hurt, while the richer of his neighbors began to talk about getting up a ‘*tramp-killing bee,” as they called it, to drive the intruders from Calvert county. Oliver Calvert had his share of the fame that had fallen on the Calvert mansion; for the Senator had got the idea firmly into his head that his nephew was a hero, and toldeverybody so without cessation, while the artless young man himself said not a word one way or the other, but allowed the impression to go abroad that he had really discomfited the rob As for Helen Chestey, she had suddenly be- come, from a very grant agar oung lady, re- markably reticent; evading all questions/as to her conduct on the night before, and even re- fusing to answer her guardian as to the name of the boy who she said had saved the house. She never spoke to Oliver, nor tried to inter- rupt his praises, when they were sung before her; but she looked at him in a strange way once or twice when they were momentarily alone, and he always avoided anything like an interview with her. Lunch-time came and there were over a dozen strangers at that meal, in the course of which a boy arrived at fwl gallop from the town of Calverton, with a telegram for Oliver Calvert, marked ‘‘Immediatey’ ‘*Where’s this from?’ asked Oliver, in a hasty toue as he tore open the envelope; and all the table waited for the reply, for aoe knew t Calvert was a magnate of wealth and influence. tga nt ane i+ Ve Dyas - ft Ab) yy ae ee as re Lyi gta f+ oi) 4) | Tramps. | “* Pittsburg, sir,” was the reply. Then there was a hush of expectation, for every one had heard of the railroad strikes in West Virginia; and their extension to Pitts- burg had been predicted for some days. Oliver read the telegram and handed it with | aslightsmile tohisuncle. . | “{ think we've got them this time,” he ob- served in a sort of general way to the whole ta- ble. ‘‘The men have struck at Pittsbur, ladies and gentlemen, and propose to stop trains passing through till their demands are comphed with.” ‘“‘Dear me,” exclaimed one lady, ‘‘isn’t that terrible! think you?” “They will, if the company lets them, madam,” interposed the old Senator, whose eye had been kindling as be read the telegram; “but I judge they don’t intend to do anything of the sort. Just listen to this.” ‘ As he spoke he smoothed out the folded pa- per and began to read aloud; the whole com- pany, except Helen, listening ea erly. As for iss Chester, she seemed perfectly indifferent to the whole thing, and sat playing with her fork and looking out of the window. Then the Senator read out: ‘*How,. OLIVER CALVERT, Calverton, Pa. : “Come on at once. Men struck an hour ago. Have wired Governor, and troops are on the way. Will be in to-night. Orders are to open road at all hazards and send to Washington for regulars if found to be necessary. All quiet yet. Suenpy.” “Take an answer back,” said Oliver to the waiting messenger; and as he ke he wrote rapidly for a few moments. ‘‘ Would you like to hear what I say?’ he asked; and there was a universal cry of assent, at which he smiled in his most superior manner, for he was not averse to posing as a hero. “Here goes, then,” he said, and read out: “Prastus P, Spenpy, Superintendent Air Line Road, Pittsburg, Pa.: “Tell Colonel Scott I'll be in by sunset. Get ra-~ tions for the troops, and tell them to mow the ras- cals down like’stubble, No quarter to Communists, “OLIVER CaLYERT.”” The old Senator thumped the table, and sev~ eral rich land-owners cheered the sentiment vigorously, as the railroad President folded up and sealed the telegram. Helen Chester lifted her long lashes and cast a single seornful look on Oliver, which he caught, and under which he colored slightly, but she said nothing till the boy had gone, when she observed in her iciest tones: ‘“‘That telegram may cost you dear, if the hon ied the upper hand of the troops, cousin ver. ‘*Oh, but they won't,” he replied, scornfully. ‘« Troops nowadays, with breechloaders, can af- ford to despise mobs. I’m glad the contest has come the way it has, for we shall just exter- minate the mob spirit in our midst.” ‘* Tt’s a thousand pities we’ve not got a strong overnment like they have in Europe,” said the enator. ‘‘I’d like to see all these scoundrels blown from the mouths of cannon.” “They might turn the tables some day and Pe that operation for the magnates of alvert county,” retorted Helen, who seemed to be in a contradictory mood, at which there was a general outburst of horror, and the Sena- tor exclaimed: “Helen, I do wish you would not utter such have you turning Com- sentiments. phe sha b munist next, I suppose. “No fear of that, sir,” she replied, in the same independent tone. ‘‘My father, rest his soul, left me property, so I have something to lose, and the motto of our modern society is, keep all you've got. But even Communists are not beasts to be shot down.” Oliver Calvert rose from the table with a profound bow to Helen, saying: *“T suppose that fling is meant for me, Miss Helen; bat for my I think they’re worse than beasts, because much more dangerous. I'm sorry you don’t approve of my course. Perhaps you’d like me to sit still and let the strikers stop all our trains and ruin the com- pany. Much obliged. Meantime I must act as my judgment dictates, and leave your enter- taining company. Farewell, Miss Chester, Uncle, will you drive to the station with me?” So saying he retired from the room with the Senator, in a metaphorical blaze of ~lory, hay- ing quite extinguished Helen in the estimation of the company. The lady herself took it very coolly, bow- ever, not ig ote notice the departure of her cousin; and the little company at lunch soon broke up, while the Senator and Oliver got into a buggy to drive down to Calverton tation. No sooner had they gone and the house be- come quite clear of company, than Miss Chester | threw off the absorbed and indifferent air she had hitherto worn: | Going to the piazza, she called up the coach- man and told him to order tp her horse ‘‘im- aa ra she was going for a ride.” | “Oh, de Lord, Missy Helen,” protested the | old negro; “dat ain’t safe nohow, an wicked tramps a-roamin’ ‘bout«dle country, seek: 4 petty ide ba ors <. iat Fo TS eee Be ORT ASAN Ee eee oas bs ST ae eae Te Saas Se eh 4 Will they really do it, Mr. Calvert, | d dem... ~ yf el ae Y= Pisa oa 2 ae Ne a es: eee nee ne RR eS cin See 8 a =." ea —~ SS ee ee ee Cee
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in’ whom dey maydevour. Better let two ob de boys go wid ye, honey.” ‘I’m not afraid of all the tranaps in Pennsyl- vania,” retorted the girl, in a tone which showed Helen, after considering it to see if she could make anything of it. ‘‘What’s Rummy peck no dor?” The old man laughed heartily. Nemo, King of the Tramp S. 7g old ruined castle by the banks of the Rhine, - with moonlight effects on the water. Now the audience settled back into their seats and fanned themselves in a vigorous man she meantit. ‘‘ I’ve wherewithal to make the ** That’s flash talk, Miss Helen. It jest means | ner, for they knew that the feature of the even- worst of them as quiet as a lamb. Look here, | ‘Good grub on the road.’ They ain’t keerful to | ing was at hand, the ‘“ Ballet-Divertissement of 7 Peter.” ll ‘road? right.” the QUEEN OF THE ZINGARI, or, THE Gipsy’s y As she spoke, she put her hand into her Helen studied it again. .| VENGEANCE, with the Countess Cachuca in the puil-back skirt, and whipped out a nickel-plated, “What's Beak’s caboose, and this mark?” she | title réle,” according to the programme. | ivory-butted revolver, which had a dangerous | asked, finally. The orchestra in front played a few chords, look about it. ‘Guess that means your uncle’s house, miss. | pizzicato, “tum-TuM! twm-TUM!” and then “There, Peter,” she said. ‘‘ You didn’t know | He’s a big-bug, what they calls a ‘beak,’ you | ceased; while the chords were taken up by in- Td been practicing with this little tool for the | know. Thct’eré mark jest means N. G.” struments behind the wings of the theater. t six months. I can take the bull’s-eye every ‘“N. G.,” she repeated vaguely; for Helen was The music behind the scenes grew louder; eat ten paces. Hold out a penny, Peter, | unused to slang. some clear soft flutes or Ma og joined in; and and I’ll send it spinning out of your fingers.” “*No good,’ miss, It’s a warnin’ to other | then, out into the moonlight stole a band of ““Much »’bliged, Missy Helen, but I’d rader | trampsto keep clear of it, and I guess they will, | Gipsy girls, slender and graceful, dark-eyed and not hold out no pennies,” was the dry reply. | arter last night. They ey Jedge Oliver jest | dark-haired, as unlike the traditional stage } *T'll bring up de hoss, missy.” laid ’em out, amazin’; and, I mast say, I didn’t | Gipsy as possible. When Peter returned with the animal, aslight | think he had it in him.” ‘or once the show-bills had told the exact bay thoroughbred, he found Helen just coming Helen laughed. truth when they described the corps de ballet out of the hall in a close brown habit, which “‘Never mind Oliver’s heroics, Mr. Davis. ‘I | as being ‘belles of the Romany tribe, real un- seemed to afford no hiding-place for that little | could tell you a story, but—” aduiterated children of the wanderers.” Even revolver, though Peter could hardly doubt it The old man closed one eye and gaveaso- | the rude countrymen who had flocked into the was there in some place or other. norous: city to see the Countess Cachuca could realize The girl sprung to her seat from the horse- “ Fimmmmm !” that these girls were not of the common jigur- bieck; oped gayly away down the avenye “T think as much,” he muttered, in a tone of | ante order. of beeches that led to the woods where their | confidence; ‘‘ but, mum’s the word, Miss Helen; | They were so lithe and _eagooinn in every tI iage had been assaulted the day before; and | I won’t give it away.” |} movement, gliding about like thers, and rode straight on to the very place where she **Then tell me what this last line means, Mr. | their arms were so full and rounded, that they fet, knew the tramps had then made their camp. Davis — Grubstip luffo swag. I understand | were evidently not professional ballet-girls. It seemed a mad and reckless thing for any | Pittsburg, but what does luffo swag mean?” Out they came on tiptoe into the moonlight, ; girl to do, and the peril might well have de- ‘* Lagfo is jest ‘ full of? miss, and swag, every | shaking their little tambourines at intervals to ig ferred manya man; but Helen Chester was one | one knows, is plunder.” mark a cadence in. the music, in a bushed, mys- fr the following fashion. ew York, miss.” feats in time to the music. Some threw back \ Thus it ran: The constable stepped back and gave a swift, | somersets over their little lutes, playing all the wei ar Grubsti “en i, mht ig hy glance around him. elen’s eyes | while, others would leap on their neighbors’ ty oe followed his, and she noticed that a group of | shoulders and stand there, playing, and every Enog yawa poorly-dressed men, looking like workmen out | feat was rendered peculiarly gracefuland daring yf} Rummy peck no dor of pag teeta were watching her furtively | by being executed in exact time; for these i from the other side of the street. Gipsies seemed to have an intense feeling for = [= } i Full of conflicting thoughts, she rode away | rhythm and cadence. A homeward and found her guardian getting out n and out around the men wound the gir ei Beak’s caboose + of his buggy at the door of Calvert Manor, | waving their tambourines, and the music w (| tar Grobetip Latte Swag “cq | 90kdng grave and anxious roe hae ip SS mae ep i Helen stared at this singular document in CHAPTER VIUL. of each other, till there was a sudden clash of somé amazenient. She turned it upside down COUNTESS CAOHUCA. als behind the wings, a shrill whistle, and tes and pored over it, for several minutes, without Tue. Pittsburg Opera House was crowded, | out with a bound came the renowned Cachuca <} pone ay deciphering it, and finally left the | despite the fact that it was the middle of sum- | herself, in yellow satin and black lace, with a “A ert with the still unsolved mystery in her | mer and hot weather, to see the sparkling di dem on her head and castanets in { hand. ; “ UNEQUALED COMBINATON her eye s, giving 9 mn wf —- in the 4 we be alvestics fait Oh cmatecleg mo ta: the “or. tered in aright mad. wanthed, loaving: tasie 8 | nati of is talionadioel, aber or fecal “ Stupendous Talent ; Tragedy, Comedy and Ballet, qucen alone. & i € | to think of any way to interpret it. ‘“under the auspices of the renowned There i poi cu mapa d in the center, her f and arts (robably a signal of tome sort te ties | “CouNTEss Cactoca, Paentiers Dansouss 0 foenossinto the parqiict, every line of face any ih who might come after them to a well-known “His Majesty the King of Spain.” figure a defiant challenge to any person bold oy haunt, she felt certain; bos how to getat the | So the bills said; and, as is well known, play- | enough to refuse her worship, while a storm of Se facts she did not know till she had entered the | bills can always be relied on to show a - ns groan shook the house, to which she returned - town of Calverton, and saw before her the genial | ing modesty in announcing their attractions. not even the courtesy of a nod. ’ face of the old town constable, who had known ihe Countess Cachuca had been heralded for There was a sort of curl on her red lips, a : her since she was a child. Then a _ thought | several days by notices in the papers, hinting | haughty poise to her little head, that said as of those free, courageous girls of good health and strong nerves, who, having never known occasion for fear, are less prone to it than those who.have been cory cowed, Into the woods she rode, as if she knew the ere well (as indeed she did, for the tramps made it a halting-place every summer) and ht toward the romantic spot known as the ‘‘ Tramp’s Paradise;” but no curling smoke nor moving figures met her eyes as she came into the opening, and it was with a little sur- prise that she found the place entirely deserted. The ashes of dead fires, bones and feathers, half-burnt sticks, rags of all colors, a couple of crows, and the naked skeletons of the late Gipsy “Then the tramps have all gone to Pittsburg ee expect to rob it,” she observed, thought- ully, “So it seems, miss.” “Then cousin Oliver was right, and we shall be rid of them in these parts.” ‘P’r’aps, miss—if they don’t come back worse’n ever.” ‘**Why, what do you mean, Mr. Davis?’ The veteran constable came close to her horse and said, in a low tone: “Tf I was you, Miss Helen, I’d take a little trip to Philadelfy or New York, soon’s ye kin. There’s goin’ to be trouble in these parts of the liveliest kind.” terious sort of way, asif they feared the clash of the little bells might disturb some one who was asleep near by. Not a word was spoken, and yet the girls managed to convey this impression by look and gesture, as they stole out, looking apprehen- sively around, and at last filled the stage and commenced a sort of dance, in which the arms and bodies swayed to and fro, while there was - little motion of the lower limbs. They were beckoning to some one to come on waving their tambourines, 4nd every now an then giving a little click of the castanets, a stamp of the right foot and a soft clash of beils, as much as to say: tents, such were the only remnants of the ‘‘What do you mean?” ‘**Come on! What do you fear?” spon) ot sojourn in Calverton W, “‘T mean that they’ve ordered out the malishy, A moment later, with a muffled patter of e ds. y must have been frightened out after the failure of the robbery,” said the girl to her- self, half-aloud. ‘*They did well to run away. But, where’s my poor friend gone, I wonder?” She rode slow y round the camp, carefully exploring every trace of the missing ones, and ee spied a paper stuck into the side of a with a long pin. Riding toward it she pulled it off the pin, and found on it a singular scrawl, rudely traced in _ Ted paint of some kind. It bore some symbols unintelligible to her, mixed up with words in struek her, and she rode up to him and showed him the r, saying: “4 Ploase, Mr. Davis what does this mean? I found it in the tramps’ camp, in our woods.” The old fellow took it and looked at it closely. Then he grinned as he gave it back to her. * “Ths jest a si nal to the tramps as comes arter them, Miss ‘Helen he said. “ Part of it’s back slang. That's what the English tramps does. There’s somé thieves’ patter, but most of it’s back slang.” ‘And what’s back slang? What does the paper mean?” she asked, as much bewildered as ever. “ Back slang is jest spelling things backward: that’s all, miss. I'll jest_read the paper, aud you'll seehow easy ’tis. These hands in the cor- ner, and the three bigger ones shoWs the camp's been moved. ‘ Znog yawa’ is jest nothin’ but M raed away,’ pee back, sg Papier ye is ey ain’t partikler spell an beter nee the law allows, miss.” if et sss SES en and that the boys round here allows the strikers is right, miss. And I’m told they’ve sent for the saree! 4 boys to whip ’em; and if they tries it on, them city ots is goin’ to get handled kinder rough. JTlldo my dooty, miss; but I must say I don’t altogether hold with the way things is workin’. That’s all, miss.” “Then you think there will be a riot and danger to us in the country?’ **T know it, miss. I hain’t been town con- stable twenty-seven year for nothen. You nas rit, so I tells yer what I thinks. You go to that she was a phenomenon of no mean order. Some said she was Lola Montes herself, come back to life; others her daughter; but all agreed that she was a prodigy of beauty and grace, who had broken the hearts of princes and dukes without number, and had refused proffers from crowned heads in Europe. Mr. Orlando Romeo Stentor, the first dian of the ‘“‘Cachuca Combination,” was an old favorite in Pittsburg, where he had played Macbeth for many seasons; but the audience was evidently in no mood for tragedy; for their applause was faint in the dagger scene, and there was much stamping and pounding of canes when the curtain came down, though the management only gave one act of the play ‘*among other attractions,” Then the orchestra—slender and local—began to discourse some mournful music in waltz time, through most of which the stamping continued, | till the ‘‘ ting!” of the eg tas bell brought a hush over the scene, and the curtain drew up bare feet'on the stage, came bounding in a band of lithe young fellows, with ugile limbs, dark, , fierce faces, and coal-black hair and eyes. Tliey - were all dressed alike, bare-legged and bare- footed, in gay scarlet and yellow jackets and trunks, with streaming sashes into which long knives were stuck. All bore musical instruments of some so and the whole party instantly began a sort o coquettish dance, in which the men alternate] advanced and retreated, while the women tried to provoke them to execute all sorts of athletie plainly as possible: “You dare not say I am not a goddess. Down on_ your knees, all of you!” n,as the applause died away, cnecould hear the Gipsy music, as if softened by distance, pl. ing the same languid, voluptuous Spanish airs which the Zingari had just been dancing, and a smile stole over the features of the Gipsy queen, as if pleasant thoughts were bbaoee her. A moment later, with a soft, gliding motion, she began to dance, and all the previous efforts of the Gipsy ballet’ were as nothing in compari- son. The countess frequently seemed as if she had turned into a serpent, so lithe and sinuous were her motions, while at other times she exe- cuted the most marvelous bounds and pirouettes, accompanying the whole with a wild and ex- ahaa Pag pantomime that spoke as plainly as words. The Queen of the Zingari was in love and her lover had deserted her. There was rage, de- spsir, determination for revenge, a deep-laid ee Ion oe “But, what in the world is the rest?’ asked amid perfect stillness, disclosing the familiar scheme by which she should accomplish it, and . ne “a pgs atk P Veh. ere it : Pe Ut * i ‘ Pe) yTieTy bs : | . La j ; Ts ie aos | SS pl”. Sar ae, af n ) ‘ ers wag t * ‘ , . ' ’ t ¥ ) i \ ae Metis — Tee eee ia oe. wih i; 2 ¢, f Vass ? F tb ab ) ret hi See i eee ey wong : Ue A A j Abhi Waa } aa. 4
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eame t( the elang of the cymbals, bounding and wreathing round the queen as if they implored pardon for having waked her by their unseemly | merriment and were trying to propitiate her by Meir antics, She waved her hand for them to be still, and | then explained in pantomime what they were to do to please her. A stranger was coming, a man big and strong, haughty and cruel, who had done her aninjury. He must die. There was a loud hiss among the Gipsies, and y out flashed all the men’s knives. There was no need to explain that pantomime. But the queen waved them away. She must Ke have him bound and a prisoner. No one but f herself must kill him. 1. 4 : = na ad They put up their knives and produced cords with which to tie the victim. She nodded as if well pleased, and at that moment the cymbals clanged again. . y, Before the sound had ceased to vibrate the The fact was that the actor, either by chance ‘er design, had made himself up into the exact resemblance of so well known a person as ie Calvert, President of the Air Line Rail- : The people appreciated the humor of the | thing, the more so that Judge Calvert had al- i ways borne a character of the most unimpeach- Rt able respectability, being a church-warden at . St. Philip’s Church, member of the Y. M. C. A. : and a dozen other equally virtuous societies. Public interest was centered on him, too, be- 4 f be heard 4 ie x be ° causa it was known that he had just arrived in Re town, that all the employeés of his road were Ne on strike, and that he had publicly announced | re his determination not to yield an inch. . ia Finally, they knew he was in the house, for they could see him in the right-hand box close to the stage, with some dozen city magnates a around him enjoying the ballet. a; Pittsburg, on strike, and just before the ee ‘riots, had nothing todo but kill time, and the Reel" theaters were , Spite of the hot weather. It as was the lull before the storm. ia The actor, who was personating the stranger , _ $0 much like Calvert, quietly advanced in the | Bn pompous manner that always distinguished the ae railroad magnate, grounding a golt-headed 2 é cane at every second step with a decided swag- ie As soon as he reached the center of the stage he paused and looked around him, as if con- oe templating the house, in the course of which r Cpiemtiatl hia eyes met those of his original, who sat staring at him with an expression of cen- centrated indignation. Instead of wilting, the mimic judge cleared his throat in the same pompous manner fainiliar to all with his prototype, and stood swinging ) his cane to and fro, the picture of self-import- | whe ance. meee Presently out came ene of the Gipsy girls, dis- ae aed as a beggar, and sesmed to ask alms in | a umb show of the mimic Calvert, who forth- | with struck ker with his cane and drove her BS away with a hectoring swagger. Se As she was going out in seeming terror, in | er _ darted one of the Gipsies with a stout cudgel, | ae before ‘when the minsic Calvert instantly a pss and retreated, while the Gipsy, flourish- ie . ing his stiok, compelled him in dumb show to | Pe ~ go down on kis knees to the beggar girl aud | J offer his purse, at which the Gipsy laughed | seornfully and kicked him. ___.__ This brought out a roar of laughter, in which iia the inmates of Calvert’s box alone did not joi, | a and the railroad magnate had the mortification _ of seeing himself caricatured before bis eyes as a pompous bully and coward,- while all the spectators enjoyed it immensely. te __ The way in which the joke was received sat- i? ___ isfied him that he was not so popular as he had _» thought, which was indeed the case. Pittsburg, a Ge ing a railway center, was largely under Se iar tatasnes ) almost 1 © sor gam ee ne hd oe ~—~—,s almost universallyg sympathized with the Calvert, was not popular, and the reception accorded to '% Pr his double on the stage showed this. \ . 7 ips flourished aloft a dagger, supposed to be drip- ping with his blood, As the curtain fell there was a loud buzz over the theater, in which all thought of calling out the actors seemed to be lost. There was some- | thing so repulsive in the story of bald revenge, and so singular in the likeness of the actor on whom it was taken, that people were more in- terested in watching the real Calvert in the box than the mimic scene on the stage. ; They all wanted to see how he behaved under it, and well di he take it to all appearance. His pale face had become set like marbie from the moment the scene began its course, and he never took his eyes off till the curtain fell. His sg haart, in the box showed more feel- ing than he did, for they all scowled indig- nantly at the stage; but he only siniled, as dis- dainfully as he could, when Shelby, the Super- intendent of the road, said emphatically: ** Well, Catvert, if you don’t have those im- pudent strollers arrested for this, you are not the man I take you for. lodged in jail at once.” ‘Let them go, Shelby,” was the outwardly calm reply. “ They know what they’re about. We must wait till the strike’s over. Then—we shall see.” But the indignant Shelby was not to be paci- fied, and the whole party finally determined they would go round to the stage door in a body. CHAPTER IX. BEHIND THE SCENES. THE irruption of a party of strangers at the stage door of the opera house, while the # yet as The formance was still on in front, produce Shelby had anticipated, a disturbance. ballet was to be followed by the farce of ‘‘ Poor Pillicoddy,” and the stage carpenters were dressing the scene as rapidty as they could shift the flats, when a dozen of the solid men of Pitts- burg, headed by the indégnant Shelby, opened the stage-door, regardless of the doorkeeper’s timid expostulations, ran up-stairs and came through the wings in a body, all tabking to- gether and flourishing their canes. ‘*Where’s the insatent villain who insulted our party?” cried Shelby, and he was followed by Alderman Bullard, another solid man, who roared: ; ‘** Show us the scoundrel, and we'll give him all he wants.” Nobody answered their appeal, the stage car- penters going on with their work as if they did- u’t hear, and presently a little, mild-faced man with close-cropped light hair, a smooth face and general consumptive appearance, came up and observed blandly: *‘Tt’s against rules, gentlemen, for any one to be on the stage but the professionals. You'll have to goaway. The manager is very strict.” ‘** And who the devil is the manager?’ thun- dered Alderman Bullard, red in the face, ‘* Show him to us, and we'll let him know what itis to insult our friends.” “You'll find him im the box-office, gentle- men, counting the ‘house,” was the pacific re- ply. ‘* Please to retire, for the curtain rings up | ih five minutes.” ‘Let her ring!’ was Shelby’s angry reply. “We don’t stir off this stage till we’ve found somebody responsible for this outrage.” * You'll have to talk to the manager about it, gentlemen. I’m only the prompter,” answer- ed the little man, in the same quiet way, ‘“‘If you won’t go, I shall have to call up the Gipsies from the green-room, and they’re a rough set. They'll put you out in a minute.” .“Let them come!” replied the alderman, vountingly. ‘1’d have you know, young man that I’m one of the men that runs this city, and it I say this show can’t go on, why it can’t. That’s all.” Here there was a stamping and clapping of hands in front of the curtain, and the prompter shrugged his shoulders. ; “Very well, gentlemen, if IT must, I must. Will you go or not?” ‘* No, sir, we shall not, till we’ve had satisfac- | | | They ought to be | a “Don’t you worry, Calvert. I ain’t the man to let the company be insulted witnout takin it out of somebody’s hide. They sha’n’t bur you, and it’!l show those roosters in front that we ain’t afraid of ’em.” @itver said no more, fer he knew that he had - a reputation for determination, acquired through iong habits of safe bullying; ard he always folt like a different man with his friends round him. A moment later, out came the little prompter, the incarnation of quiet resolution, just ex.» tumult in front of the curtain recommenc:.... ‘Now, gentlemen,” he said, “for the 4. time, will you go out?” “No!!!” roared Shelby, shaking his stick. “Very well, then,” was the reply. The prompter turned to the back of the stage and called out in sharp, clear tones: “* Bounce the guys, culties !” In an instant the party was literally over- whelmed by a swarm of active Gipsies and stalwart carpenters, who dashed on them froin front and rear, some out of the wings, oth«rs out of traps from below, or sliding down ropes from the flies. Where a moment before were only two car- penters, hanmmering at a scene, now there were some forty men of all sizes, who clutched the invading magnates from all sides, wrenched away their canes, working together in perfect silence, and trundled them across the with more swiftness than dignity, to the head of the stage-door stairs, where they were pitched over, neck and crop, through the open door into a od Benes tae | of vile odor, when al heard the door bolted and barred behind em, | Then the Superintendent of the Air Lize Road sat up on his broadest end, and looked around with a rueful countenance for his hat, while Alderman Bullard gave vent to his feelings with much fervor and force of language for about three minutes by the watch, durin which the rest of the company silently siateall damages and pieked up their hats. Then they discovered for the first time that nobody was much hurt, but that Oliver Calvert was not among them. Their clothes were ruined, for not a whole coat had survived the rough handling of the Gipsies; and sbuttons on vests and pantaloons had burst by the dozen, while hats‘ were smashed out of recognition. But, beyond a few bruises, received in tumbling down-stairs, and a bleeding nose for the fighting alaerman no one was injured, though all their sticks bad been taken by the enemy. But Oliver was cone, and it was with a mor- tified countenance that Shelby exclaimed: “* Well, boys, this is a kind of a rough deal on us. I guess those roosters can do a little crow- ing about it. We'll bave to talk sweet to en, to get Calvert out.” ere Alderman Bullard spit out a mouthful of blood and groaned: **'lo think sich a durned crowd of -painted jumpin’-jacks should ha’ bounced us like that! We're disgraced, gentlemen. We'll have to git = boys in and lay them out, now, any- 10OWw, “Don’t do nothing of the sort,” was Shelby’s earnest reply. “ Let’s go to the box-office und see the manager.” ' “But, where’s Calvert? We can’t leave our friend,” objected Bullard, who was game to the backbone, with all his rowdyish manners, f “We can’t get him by fighting—that’s cer- tain,” was Shelby’s sensible answer. ‘I'm as game as any man, but ’m notatfocl. Let’s go renin to the box-oflice, and we cau get triends there.” Bullard made no further objection, and the discomfited party, adjusting their clothe-~ to present as respectable an appearance as possibie, but looking decidedly disreputable for all that, went round to the front entrance of the thea- ter, where the first person who met their gaze was Oliver Calvert himself, placid and unrufiled in dress, but rather pale, standing in the lott y, in conversation with the lessee of the theatea! & well-known Pittsburg man, called Colonel Brown. hp cola, Sige 6 tho. od unknown,) was evidently apologizing to the e as they came up, and they heard his last words: Z “Tassure you, judge, I had no hand in this. tion for this outrage on our esteemed friend, , The company are all perfect strangers to oi Judge Calvert,” replied Shelby, firmly; and Al- | and they paid in advance for the theater. I’ dermen Bullard, O’Mahoney, i ing all echoed the sentiment, while their heelers, to the number of eight, began to turn up their sleeves, ‘The aldermen had all belonged to the volun- teer fire department, and were on their muscle; Shelby was a hard, resolute fellow, used to deal- ing with sullen men; and altogether they look- a dangerous crowd to tackle as they stood there in the middle of the stage, while the little rompter went off bebind the wings. y Oliver Calvert began to feel nervous, is own ' teeth firmly as he said: , Schneider and ; no idea they intended to caricature you, and this is the first I’ve heard of it. I can’t tarn them out, but you can get an injunction on them as soon as you please.” ‘‘And do you see the way they’ve treated us?” asked Alderman Bullard, exhibiting his gory shirt front. ‘We went bebind there, jest as civil as you please, and axed for the : Manager, and they set on us with knives and pistols, and nigh killed us, I’m them out of this shebang afore ten minutes, if the boys has to raise the roof to do it.” ss The irate magnate was rushing into Sig shes ter, intent on vengéance, when Colonel wh be ante | 4 _ Now, alderman! Now, I say, alderman listen to reason, @ moment. It won’t! rt 2 as 4) ap : yy v5 LS & Dis ve goin’ to have ai my \ : 43 a SE SS, SS es, . =... - — 4 7 a 0 Absa Ge vn ies? al i a ee
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PEPE POAT ME TR RIF AIT EPS DS PARR I gor 3 | f . : XY ; . A N people to smash my house, and that’s all you'll do if you raiséariot. They don’t own a stick here; it’s all mine.” “Then why don’t you bounce ’em?” asked Shelby, fiercely. ‘I would if [ was you, and ‘i they’d insulted one of my friends. You ain't Y ‘no good, Brown.” A ; **But, my dear sir, they’ve paid their rent in advance,” urged the eolonel. ‘‘I can’t bounce them. Besides, they haven’t hurt Judge Cal- vert a bit. Look at him. Ask him.” “How did you’ get out, Calvert?’ asked Shelby. ‘‘We were coming round to rescue you, and here you are, as cool as if you hadn’t een touched.’ “They didn’t touch me,” was Calvert’s re- sponse, in a rather faltering voice. ‘The rompter took my arm and led me out, warn- ing the rest not to hurt me; and he let me into the theater by an inside door. That’sall. You needn’t have been handled so roughly, if you’d taken his advice.” ° : Alderman Bullard turned away to the door of the theater with a bitter scowl. ** Well, I swear,” he muttered to bis friend, O’Mahoney: “if 'd knowed he was sich a tame, mean-spirited cuss as all that, darn my skin if I'd ’a’ gone in there to helphim. Why, he ain’t » got no more grit nor a rabbit.” And the alderman, in the plenitude of his dis- st, spat on the steps with great vigor and orce. But Colonel Brown took the matter in a dif- ferent light. “You were quite right, judge,” he said. | “There’s no use in fighting these variety people unless you do it the right way. J don’t care what you do. Tve got my rent, and that’s all Pm after, you know. I don’t want any show given in my place to offend an ge i in Pittsburg. It hurts the reputation_of the theater and that don’t pay. You go to Judge Ebenezer—he ain’t me to bed yet—and clap an injunction on those ellows before they come on to-morrow night. That’s the way to fix them.” “Good scheme,” observed Shelby, in a Led thoughtful way. ‘Those roosters infront don’t know anything of what’s taking place; so keep . ee. mouth about it, boys, and let’s get out of 8. “ And without ' gettin’ any satisfaction for this ere?” asked Alderman Bullard, indignantly, pointing to his ruined clothes. “What satisfaction do you want, sir?” at this moment asked a voice behind him, and the whole party turned with a start, to see a till man, with very beavy beard and long hair, who had just entered from the street, carrying a , bundle of canes under his arm. ; This tall man was dressed in a close blue frock and light-trowsers, wore a new silk hat and dogskin gloves, while there was about him the jaunty air ofa professional sporting man, a character favored by his sparkling diamond =a col haere ’ = we ——-— oS aan a oe —— ~ rime Seber: Pas 24% x, ring. Phat satisfaction do you want, sir?” he re- ted sternly to Bullard. ‘“‘ My name is Trev- ac,‘and J am the advance agent of the Cachuca Combination. I have’just learned that a party of Pittsburg ruffians has made a brutal assault on our prompter, Mr. Graves. Do any of these canes belong to you, sir?’ Alderman Bullard was for a moment discon- certed at the tone of the stranger; but he an- swered promptly: . **'Yes.. That with the gold head.” Take it then, sir,” responded Mr, Trevlac, handing it to him. Then and observed: “Pick out your own, gentlemen. We don’t want to commit anything so mean as petty lar- ceny, and I judge these canes are worth about ’ nm i ah cents apiece. Now then, you, sir, ‘what do you want,for satisfaction?” ad Bullard as if picking him out pa the most belligerent of the party, and the alderman justified the selection in a moment, by answering: ‘“‘Té you’re the rooster as'runs that show in there, I want satisfaction for the way your bullies pitched onto us, ten to one. You've in- sulted our ty, and I’m going to take it out of some one. § in, he wants.” boys, and give this fellow all So saying the doughty alderman raised the heavy ebony cane with a gold head that he had just received, and made a furious blow at the stranger, who carried a fine stick himself. The tall stranger coolly parried the blow and leaped back into the street whither he wag in- - stantly ed by the whole crowd, thinking hah «care rey at last. 0 their surp out of the darkness came i a score of rough men with sticks, at ght of whom all but nig paused. : ) intent on ven ce, pressed oer, who took his assaults on the stran with g coolness, and presently caught a rap on the temple with the end of his : ee ler which Bullard staggered back, dizzy ger in turn advanced on him, 1) E hare. a emo, King of the Tramps. 6 threw down the bundle on the floor’ ning bei rely the hands aa who sat down in the reading-room and began other side sent poor Bullard’s stick flying in the | air, 3 | ‘* Now, sir,” he observed blandly, “ I’ve given | you satisfaction. Go home, or you'll get another | thrashing such as you deserve.” CHAPTER X. PITTSBURG BY NIGHT, Tue irate alderman was with some difficulty persuaded by his friends to abandon the field to | the enemy, though he was ardently desirous of | raising a riot in the theater, and so getting the | help of ‘* bis crowd.” But the cooler heads of the party persuaded | him that it was hardly the thing for a city mag- nate to breed a tumult, and Shelby observed; ‘Oh, come along home, Bullard. We've got | the worst of it this time, and there’s trouble enough coming to-morrow, without borrowing | itto-night. Wait till we get a fair chance.” So the alderman consented to be led away, vowing vengeance on ‘‘ that tail rooster before | I’ve done with him. You jest bet your sweet life on that, my covey.” The rough men who bad come so suddenly to the help of the tall agent, did not offer to mo- lest the party as they went away; but Oliver Calvert, who had lingered behind, went up close to the stranger and said, in a low tone: ‘* What have I done toinjure you? Why do you persecute me?” ’ The stranger looked at him for a moment, and then observed, blandly: ‘‘Mvy dear sir, who’s persecuting you? We have no intention of persecuting any one, I as- sure you.” ‘Then why do you turn me into ridicule be- fore all these people?’ asked Oliver’, still lower. ‘“*Oh, you mean the ballet. It’s curious we should have a fellow so like you in tiie com- pany, isn’t it? That was’ the countess’s idea, that make-up. It seemed to take with the people.” Oliver Calvert flushed up'at the placid im- pertinence of the other, and answered, bitterly: “You may not find it such a joke, to-mor- row. As for that painted—” “ Hush!” interrupted the tall man, in a deep voice of singular sweetness, and laying one powerful hand on his shoulder. ‘‘ You should be the last to reproach her for anything, Oliver Calvert. Go home and look to your own safety, for bad times are coming.” For some reason or other, Oliver did not make any answer. He stood looking into the dark orbs of the otber as if be were fascinated, and when the tall stranger turned away, the rich railroad President left the theater as quietly as if treading on eggs, and went to his hotel in thoughtful mood. It was a very hot night, and as he passed through the streets he came across more than one group of men lying out on the sidewali, apparently seeking coolness not to be found in the houses. He gave them no particular notice till the phenomenon became so frequent that he began to look at them, and then he saw that they were almost all in rags and barefooted. They did not belong in the houses, for these were gen- erally shut up close, spite of the beat, and he realized that they must be tramps. This gave him no particular concern, for he had predicted an irruption of tramps into the city in expectation of strike riots, but he never- theless hurried his pace, for some of the re- cumbent mep were looking up at him as if they wanted to summon resolution enough to way-— lay him, and he was unarmed. : Heould not help seeing that the inhabitants of Pittsburg felt some fear of these tramps, on account of the close way in which they had shut up their houses; and not a single police- man was visible on the street as he went along, till he got to the hotel, where they were clus- tered in i as if awaiting orders. He asked the clerk at the hotel what the were doing there, and the man answered, wit! a smile: ‘I'm afraid you’re the cause of that, Mr. Calvert, along with Colonel Séott and Jay Gould and the rest of you.” “What do you mean?” asked Oliver. Mars that the chief of police has had to draw all his men in near the dep6t to protect the property of the road, in case there’s any at- tack on it.’ “But they won't attack it,” said Oliver, a little contemptuously. “Perhaps not, sir, Here’s some letters and a, tend for you,” returned the clerk, con- edly, and he handed the bundle to Oliver, : to con them over. : ; He wae the rena oe or wpe ay ceded ues e ex é men wt "3 but to his Surprise he found al ng 3 ea | un ' was unwonted poe Ain the of a repair sh and yards of the junction, ia lt had | found time to go to the theater along with the Superintendent of the road, The sight of the tramps lying about the streets, the concentration of the police around the dep6t had begun to create uneasiness in him now. His company was only one of seve- ral which operated in Pittsburg Junction, and he did not know what the heavier capitalists that represented the large roads had done since he left the hotel. , The first note in his bundle was a pencil scrawl, dated an hour before, from the Pitt | House, in the handwriting of a brother railroad magnate; “Dear CaLvert: We have news that the track- men, engineers and brakemen will strike to-morrow morning and stop the trains. Come over And see us here at once, ‘ee Then there was a telegram from Philadelphia from his unele: “Seen the adjutant-general. Troops are all ready to go at a moment’s notice. Helen is here with me. Thought it safest. May come on myself if troops come. Keep up spirits RVEY CALVERT.’ The next was another pencil note from the Pitt House, saying that the Directors were go- ing to hold a special meeting in the morning. Would he attend it at 9 A. M.? ; ‘Lhe last in the batch besides newspapers was t a soiled, dirty envelope directed in rea ink; “Hon. O. CALVERT, ‘* Brooks House, “ Pittsburg.” : He opened it listlessly and found a scrawl without signature. It ran thus: “You think yuresafe. You never was in more * danjer. The boys is boundto win. If sojers comes, we kin whip sojers, for we’ve smelt powder our- selves. Army or Potomac.” This note made Oliver feel quite sober and thoughtful as he went over to the Pitt House, where be found quite a grave assemblage in the room of the magnate who had written him the note. ‘Is that you, Calvert? Where have you been?’ asked the heaviest owner in the place, Colonel Magnus. Calvert told him and gave a short account of how the people at the theater had caricatured him and how the streets were full of tram sleeping on the sidewalks. . “Yes,” said Magnus, gravely; ‘‘and they’re likely to stay there, now the hot weather’s come, till they’re driven out, which they’re not very likely to be. Have you heard the news?”, ‘What news?’ “ About the trackmen striking?” ‘Only from your note.” “We had a deputation in from them not an hour ago, very civil and quite respectful, but firm, They say they want an advance of ten = ae or no more trains go through till they get #.” ~ : “But they won’t stop the mails, will they?” “Oh, no, They know better than that, for that would render them liable to the U. 8. laws. They propose to let through the mail-car alone, and stop everything else.’ ‘“ And they begin to-morrow morning,” said Mr. Plutus, another magnate. ‘* And how are they to do this?” asked Calvert, ‘By the rule of force I suppose.” “And what are we to do, or rather what have you done?” “*Telegraphed the adjutant-general. The Gov-_ ernor’s away, off in the West somewhere, on a trip. He says we shall have troops, a whole division, by noon.” ' ‘“‘Good,” said several members, in tones of satisfaction. ‘‘A division? That’s near ten thousand men, ain’tit, colonel?’ asked another director. joan ‘ everlastingly we will give it to those fellers ow try to stop the trains.” ' olonel Magnus shook his head gravely. “That’s not the trouble. We must get men to take their places, and the road will be out of order, no one knows how long. It will be a clear loss of I don’t know how many thousands of dollars to all of us, even if they don’t destroy a single thing.” “Then the best thing we can do, us,” observed Oliver Calvert, who never felt so brave as when in a room surrounded rich men, “is to nip this thing in the bud.” “How?” asked Magia ; _ “Why you see, the trouble in sn Rigen vee at they’ve | ith —— y’ shee phe tt Owly, persua e strikers, til » troops come up, thus cae three or four days any- — o Well, that’s unavoidable. It’s the penalty bv (6. for keeping our ve in it. I believe in we have bel ‘ troops and now, haven’t you ' a « Yes, but we can’t depend on them, There — are two regiments of count niliti than half of them are relatives of iT conpcuraat mas the rascals down, as I said in my telegram to we going to mow them down?” A
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bia) ie **Do you know how many men they’ve got in that division?” * 1 don’t know; five thousand at least.” The old railroad man counted on his fingers. ‘“*There’s a major-general and staff, two brigadiers and staffs, two colonels and staffs, about a dozen majors and staffs, six bands, and Jess than six hbridped men all told.” Oliver’s face and those of the whole party lengthened perceptibly. “*That’s not much.” “Tt’s not enough, and I’ve sent to Washing- ton to ask for help. If we get that we’re all right. I’d sooner have one company of regu- lars than all we've got.” “Why?” asked Mr. Plutus. terrible fighters, the regulars?” Magnus grinned humorously. “Not exactly that; but they represent the nation, and these fellows all think of Fort Sum- ter, and_hesitate to touch a regular.” ‘* Well,” said Oliver Calvert, decidedly, ‘I’ve made up my mind. Either we must mow the rascals down, or we must give in to them.” “To-morrow will tell which,” observed Mag- nus. ‘*‘ Meantime, Calvert, I suppose you're aware that there’s a good dealof feeling against you personally here.” Oliver turned pale, “Me? Why? What?” “About that telegram of yours on ‘mowing the rascals down.’ The papers all had it out this morning with some comments not very flattering to you, and I’d advise you to keep among the rest of us here to-morrow. You're not safe at the Brooks House. I wonder you were not attacked to-night.” ** Some men did look at me ‘pretty hard,” ob- served Oliver, falteringly; ‘‘but no one told me that—” ‘You were in danger. Well, you are. If once the mob gets up, and we don’t really mow the ras¢als down, yowll be sorry you ever said those words, if they eatch you. Come, I’m oing to bed. It’s the last sleep I expect to get or some days.” And the cynical old financier went off, leay- ing Oliver Calvert dumb with amazement and beginning to wish he was anywhere safe out of Pittsburg. ** Are they such CHAPTER XI. ‘' THE CALM BEFORE, Bur little sleep visited the eyes of Oliver Cal- vert that night. The cynical warning of Colo- nel Magnus, to the effect that he was in danger on account of his telegram to ‘‘mow the rascals down,” had filled him with apprehensions on his own account, and he did not dare to go back to'the Brooks House. He stayed where he was, in the same hotel with the other railway managers, and sent a porter secretly for his baggage, registering 1imself under the assunied name of Mr, Smith, so as to elude inquiry. Long \ before sunrise, as soon as the first streaks of dawn showed over the smoky city of Pittsburg, he was up and looking out of his window, which afforded a view into the rail- road junction, dep6t and round-house, car- Shops and engine-houses, soon to become so no- torious. Then he was surprised to hear a low hum atin from below, and to see all the space around the hotel black with people, hiding the gleaming lines of rails and surging to an around the depdt. He had taken a room high up near the roof, in the vague idea that so he should best escape ‘notice, and was too far off to hear more than the hum; but it gave him a sense of vague dis- quiet. ft was not xo five o’clock, and he knew that none but freight trains were likely to be stir- ring at that time of morning, but he heard the hiss of escaping steam from a number of loco- motives, and, looking over the roof of the de- dt to divine the cause, saw that the track was locked for a considerable distance with freight- ears that had arrived in the night. On both sides of the dep6t and on all the switches, trains of cars were standing, and only one line in the center was left open, save for the crowd of peo- fro le. e Presently he heard, far away in the west, the whistle of an approaching train, and it was an- swered by a hoarse shout from the people be- lew, who began to run toward the depdt. Then he recollected that the night express from Chicago was due there at five o’clock, and be- gan to wonder whether it would get through. He gatry _ pee se) ict of smoke far away bey 6 cu coming nearer and nearer, and heard the engineer sounding his whistle and again, as if he saw o c- tions on the track. High up as he was on the ninth story-of a lofty hotel, he had a fine view all round for ; the whole city being spread out below country hin, with the to the river- banks and beyond. paths, iting 4 are. fase att, Ehret etna. Sel schoo 28 train coming nearer and nearer, the engineer uttering his hoarse notes of warning and slack- ening his speed as he came; but there seemed to be no positive impediment toits passage, and at last it rumbled in under the glass roof of the station, an engine with nine cars behind it. It was an ominous sign to him that it was re- ceived with a great roar of triumph, and that the track on the other side of the depdét re- mained as full of people as ever. While he was looking, he could hear a great tumult going on inside the depdt, repeated rounds of cheers and yells, followed by inter- vals of silence, as if some one was addressing the crowd, which applauded the speech. Then the light increased, as the sun rose through a lurid mist of fog and smoke, pre- saging a hot day, and he heard another whistle from the east, announcing the coming of the New York express, due ten minutes after the others This time the yelling and hooting below rose to a perfect tempest, and the black ‘crowd ran surging along the track in the new direction, where the whistles became loud and frequent. But he noticed that this time the narrow line of track in the middle was left open, as if the crowd wished to entice the on-comers to enter it, and so provoke a collision of ‘the two trains. Five minutes later, the eastern train came rumbling along the track with seven cars be- hind it, the engineer whistling and ringing as hard as he could, every note answered by de- fiant yells from the crowd, till he came to a full stop in front of the depot. Then Oliver Calvert saw what the crowd were at. Hardly had the engine stopped when it was boarded by a throng of men; he saw the en- gineer and fireman come down from their places and fraternize with the men around them, showing that they had joined the strike; and then he heard a rap at his door, with the voice of Shelby, saying: “Get up, Calvert; the strike’s begun, and you're wanted.” He opened his door quickly, for he had not undressed himself all night, and found the Su- perintendent of the Air Line Road looking grave and troubled. “The whole city seems to be into this thing and we sha’n’t get through without a fight,’ Shelby said, hurriedly. ‘There are two regi- ments of those country louts lying .on the hill behind the depdt, and they’ve stacked their arms and don’t seem disposed to do a thing to help us. The strikers are in with them, and they’ve been setting drunk together all night.” ‘‘What are we to do?” asked Oliver, with a pale face. ‘‘ I wish we were out of this, Shelby.” ‘Not worse than I do,” replied the Superin- tendent. ‘‘It’s only a matter of salary with me, but you’ve got all your property at up in this strike. If I was a Director I’d vote to raise the men’s wages, and so get out of the serape.” “We can’t, Shelby,” protested Oliver. “We're not making ten per cent. on our capital as itis. No; that’s out of the question. If I were only safe in Philadelphia, I'd Jet the thing go. The State is‘ liable for any damage these fellows do us.” “But, we ain’t in Philadelphia, and it’s my belief we couldn’t get out of Fore if we tried,” was Shelby’s cross answer. ‘‘ I wish f hadn’t given that telegram to the papers, yesterday.” ‘What telegram?” asked Oliver, paler than ever. “Why, yours about ‘mowing the rascals down,’ It caused a great deal of feelingg You'll have to keep among the rest of us to-day, and alter your dress. If they were to see you out- side, and recognize you, there’d be the devil to ay. ee What on earth made you give, that mes- sage to the papers?” asked Calvert, falteringly. ‘It wasn’t my fault. All the boys were bent on fighting yesterday, and your telegram chimed in with them exactly. But the papers set them off on the other tack, and now you hear these eursed Pittsburgers talking strike every where.” : ** And what am I to do?” asked Oliver, begin- ning to shake. “You're to come along with us, and we'll to get you off in a hack on some country road. Then we'll set them all after you on another road and try to draw off as many as we can that way.” ‘ ‘‘ But they might catch me,” was the natural objection. ‘Well, if you don’t like to try that plan he be have to stay with us and run the risk o ng recognized. They’ve had ‘spies in here already, looking over the register, and they’re hunting you up in every hotel in the city.” Oliver Calvert was not a very brave man, as we know, but there was enough in this intelli- gence to a him, had he beenahero, Mob violence is, like Indian ‘tortures, a terrible in- strument of death, and the vast crowds of ple round the hotel cut off all hope of es- cape for one of Oliver’s remarkable personal Ce, | "FRilently, and revolving in. his mind all sorts Knees f ea ; : NA at RR Ls Waite 8 ates | Aa | Baw He saw the white smoke of the approaching | of schemes of escape, Calvert went down to ew ” <a a ey meet his partners in misfortune, who received him with that coldness which meets any man who contributes toward the conimon danger. Every one of these railway men in conversa- tion had expressed the same sentiments: as Oliver, but none of them had allowed them- selves to get into print on the subject, and all were ready to repudiate him, now that the dan- ger had become great. They said nothing to him on the subject di- rectly, but he felt that they were not in sym- pathy with him, for he was spoken rudely to by a more than one. ; Colonel Magnus, who stood by the open win- dow looking down into the’ crowd, was short and snappish with every one, They had hada telegraphic instrument set in the corner of the room which they eo to make their head- quarters during the troubles, and the ‘‘click! . click!” of the sounder was going on all the time, while the Directors were talking in low tones. ‘ Every now and then the crowd below would give a cheer, and the sound of loud talking and, coarse laughter showed that the strikers were in good spirits. . Presently they heard the loud ‘‘ Tchh! Tehh! Tchh !” of the engine before the depdét, in mo- tion, followed by cheers from the crowd; and Mr. Plutus observed: ; “*They’re going to let ’°em through, after all!” Then they crowded into the window and saw the eastern train steam slowly into the depdt. But Mr. Plutus was soon undeceived as to the cause of yielding. Several voices shouted from below, as the well-known figures of the railway magnates ap- peared in the window. “Three groans for the tyrants of Pittsburg!” These were givén with fearful vigor and earnestness, and another called: “We'll let the mail-car through, but not a 2 darned wheel besides.” : And, sure enough, very soon after, the eastern train, shorn of all but a single car, went back to New York, while the Chicago train was dis- patched in a similar way, the two having ex- changed mail bags. Presently a delegation of strikers was an- nounced to see Colonel Magnus, and Oliver Cal- vert, who had been trying to eat a mouthful of breakfast with but little appetite, hastily walk- ed into an inner room, whence he could see with- out being seen. Then into the room came a party of grave, decent-looking men, all dressed in their Sunday clothes, and were met by Colonel Magnus, who demanded: “Well, boys, what is it? Do you come to propose a compromise?” “No, sir,” answered the spokesman, a veteran track-walker who had been in the employ of the road forsome twenty years. ‘‘The boys sent us up to know whether you’re ready to advance our wages, that’s all,” ‘We can’t do it,” was the firm reply. ‘‘ We're not making money as itis. We'd sooner close up the road.” ; Then the road’ll be closed up, cunnel,” an- swered the veteran, dryly. ‘‘ For the boys has struck hands that no trains goes over it till the bosses comes to our’ terms. ‘Times is hard, we know; but we’ve got to live, and we can’t do it since the last cut-down. We might as well die fighting as lie down and starve.” “You can die any way you please,” retorted Magnus; ‘“‘but you can’t get blood out of a stone. We can’t and won't raise the wages. Now look here, Sweeney, you boys are not act- ing wisely. We're bound to beat you in the end, and if we do, any man that joined in the strike will be sorry for it. I don’t mind payin something handsome to each of you fellows if he'll talk reason to the rest. You sha’n’t lose by it, any one of you, but we can’t come to your terms, and you might as well know if first as last.’ He made his offer of bribery very adroitly, and knowing the necessities of every man in the delegation; but old Sweeney shook his head. if “Couldn’t do it, cunnel. The boys has made 4 their minds. What shall we say to ’em? J at yourefuse?” » ‘Tell them we can’t do it, Sweeney, but that if they’ll go to work now nothing shall be said about what has happened.” —e “All right, cunnel. We'll bein again every hour to ax if you’ve changed! your mind; but pk ee don’t pass except the mail cars; that’s settled. The delegation left the room, and the man- agers looked at each other with troubled faces. Just.at this moment the operator at the in- strument handed in a telegram to Magnus, who hurriedly perused it | a look of relief. ‘“Word from the adjutant-general; he says the troops have left’ ‘Harrisburg and Philadel- The greet reilway men in conclave looked at each ¢ | th pale faces aid beating h It wisan-v thing for most of them to have’ anv?!) to de with violence, ard they matu- raliy crcaded the shedding of blocd. ye? m { E A a ie ’ "7 “a "
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Nemo, Oliver Calvert, who had come out of the inner room, and had been stung into aggressiveness to sneers of his colleagues, bitterly observed this juncture: ““You may find it necessary to mow the ras- cals down after all, Magnus, despite the horror you profess for it,” Magnus flushed a little. “There’s a time to talk and another to shut be If I have any mowing to do I don’t talk about it or write to the papers; I just do it. You haven’t, as far as I know, done any yet.” ““Wait till the troops come,” was Oliver’s vaunting answer. ‘I'd have you know!l’m one of the Governor’s staff, Colonel Magnus, and able to do my duty if need be.” “Then you'd better put on your uniform and #0 out to join the troops when they come in,” retorted Magnus. ‘‘ You'll be safer there.” Oliver started and smiled. “* By Jove, youre right. Inever thought of it. Ill do it, and some of you handy gentle- men may be glad to see our boys in blue, when | we drive these ruffians away from here.” Magnus made no reply, and Oliver went up his room to get out his uniform, for he thought to himself that it might be the most ef- fectual disguise he could have. In common with a great many other ee of ample means he had long possessed the rank of colonel and aide-de-camp to the Governor of the State, with the privilege of putting on the most gor- geous of uniforms when he wished, and order- ing about militiamen, with the most infinitesi- mal amount of actual duty to perform, Now, he thought to himself, this would give him the opportunity of getting in among the troops, and once there he would feel compara- tively safe. ‘ CHAPTER XII. OLIVER’S ESCAPE, Own his way up to his room Oliver passed one of the black waiters in a dark passage, slipped a half-dollar in his hand, and told him to come up with him. The man eagerly followed him, and by close questioning Calvert learned the ition of affairs in the city. Pittsburg seemed to be as quiet or quieter than usual—the man said—except around the railroad, where the crowd had gathered for about a mile on either side the depdt, and seemed to be idly awaiting the marcly of events. The stores were open as usual all through the city, except near the depdét; but nobody was do- ing much business, and the streets were com- paratively deserted. A He learned that there was a livery stable at the back of the hotel, opening on a very narrow street, and that this led into the quietest part of the city. ‘Can you get me a buggy and. fast horse with a driver, and can you take me in by any back way, so that I am not recognized?’ was Oliver’s next question. The man, who evidently knew him, winked and replied in a tone of familiar confidence: “TI can, if I’s paid for it, boss. I don’t want to risk a beating for any man for nothing, and if they find us out they'll want to climb right over us.” ‘Vibgite you ten dollars when I’m safe in the buggy,” responded Oliver, eagerly. “It’s worth fifty, Mr. Calvert,” was the un- expected reply. ‘‘ They’ve got spies all through the hotel where you wouldn’t expect ’em. They'd spot you in a moment.” “Tl give you fifty,” was the answer, and the waiter briskly said: ‘* All right, boss. Ican trust the word of a gentleman, but you’ll have to put on a wig and beard,” : ** Where can you get one?” asked the railroad President. ; _“ There’s a theatrical gent in the next room— him as is agent for the Cachuca Combination, boss—he’ll Tend one to save a gentleman like you from being tore to pieces.” Oliver turned deadly pale. **In the next-room? That man? Then he’s betrayed me, or will.” “Not a bit on it, boss. Mr. Trevlac, he’s a real gentleman, he is, and there ain’t nothen mean about him. He ain’t up yet, and ain’t likely to be till ten. These theatrical folks is dreadful lazy in the morning.” ** Don’t say a word to him on any account,” urged Oliver, hastily. ‘‘I wouldn’t trust him. He’s an old enemy of mine.” The man stared and shrugged. “Very well, boss. I’s do the best T can.” So saying, he left the room, and Oliver hur- riedly assumed his uniform, put on a pair of linen trowsers and a duster over it, to hide it; assumed a revolver under the duster; wra his sword along with an umbrella; put a fora, eap in his tee A and asoft hat on his head; and thus armed and disguised at the same time, “What do you mean?” faltered Oliver, who felt all his terrors come back. “Some of the hands think they seen you in the Directors’ pa.lor, and they’ve had a com- mittee in to search. They’re shouting: ‘ Bring out Calvert! Hang the mower!” The big, powerful man trembled like an aspen at the news, and the waiter continued, encour- a ye. Come along with me and you’reall right.” He led Calvert out in silence into the dark passage, and just then the door of the next | | and gave the horse one or two sharp cuts. room opened, and out stepped the tall agent of the Cachuca Combination, as bland and weil dressed as ever, his shining wealth of black hair and beard carefully oiled and scented. ‘*Ah, Judge Calvert, happy to see you,” he began, in the most matter-of-fact way. ‘‘I saw you registering last night, and was glad to hear you roomed next to me. How does the strike progress, sir? I fear it will hurt our business to-night, but we poor devils on the road are used to misfortunes. Hope you don’t bear malice over our little joke last night, sir?” ‘** No, no,” answered Oliver, in a low voice, and very hurriedly. ‘‘The only favor you can do me now is not tomention to any one you’ve seen me.” ** Aha!” observed thestranger. ‘“‘So they’re after you for that ‘mow down the rascals’ busi- ness, are they? Very imprudent, Mr. Calvert, very. Never brag beforehand, It’s not safe. Going to join the troops?” Oliver began to sweat. He had suspected this man to be an enemy of his, though he could not place him; but he had seen him under circum- stances that left no doubt in his mind on the subject. ‘For God’s sake,” he muttered, desperately, ‘don’t betray me. I don’t know that I’ve ever injured you—” ‘“‘ Indeed,” retorted’ the other, in a peculiar tone. ‘‘Mr. Calvert has a very treacherous memory, methinks. When we meet again, I may find means to refresh it. Meantime a pleasant and safe journey to you.” He nodded carelessly, brushed by the astound- ed waiter, and sauntered off, whistling; while Oliver, in a tumult of conflicting emotions, fol- lowed his conductor down the servants’ stair- ease to the stables, and thence into the reeking alley behind them, where he found the buggy. ‘The alleyway in which these stables were situ- ated was closed toward the depdt, and they could only hear the shouts of the mob very faintly on the other side of the buildings that barred the way. The opening of the alley was toward the part of the city where little busi- ness was done, and not a soul was to be seen passing across it. The buggy was a strong, country-made ve- hicle, with a handsome, rakish-looking nag, and a dark-faced man on the box, whose keen black | eyes and curly dark hair gave him a foreign ap- pearance. “Ts this the man that’s totake me out?” asked ioe af Coa ants gingly: “*Don’t be scared, boss. They sha’n’t burt | | that language. ii for his pistol, when the driver wheeled sharply to the mght and dashed away off up the oppo- site street, leaving the crowd behind him. Several stones flew after them, of which one | struck the back of the buggy, and Oliver heard | for the first time the shout of which they had - told him: “‘ Calvert ! Calvert! Hang the mower !” The hoarse furious accents in which the ery was uttered told of the exasperation of the mob, and made the ficeing millionaire shiver with terror, but the dark driver’s face showed no sign of fear, save that he set his teeth close The animal, thus excited, was now gallopin: wildly away, and soon left the crowd behind ~ him, so that at the next crossing they wereable to resume their original direction, and after half an hour’s hard driving had left all traces of the rioters behind, and were bowling along a~ | country road, the horse white with foam; but still going gamely. Then the dark driver pulled up to a walk; let the reins fall on the dashboard, and carefully~ wiped his face with a handkerchief, observing: “The Rye’s safe. We can walk.’ Then Caivert for the first time began to won- der at his talk. *““Why do you call me a Rye?” he asked. ‘© What language is that?” “Romany,” was the Jaconic reply. ‘‘ Ma hi | atraish, fear not; Peter Griengro won't leave the Rye.” Oliver was. still more puzzled, for he had never been much of a reader. “Romany ?’ he repeated. ‘I never heard of 2 Where do you come from, and what’s your name?” “T am Peter Griengro, what the house- dwellers call Peter the Jockey. My people come from the East, and will go back there some day.” ** And what do the house-dwellers call your _ people?” asked Oliver, a little suspiciously. ‘ “* Gipsies,” was the reply, and in the very ut- terance Oliver gave a violent start and hastily eT eae mai nt “* Then doesn’t this bu: belong to the live stable, Peter?” nia 43 oe Peter Griengro stroked the back of his horse with the end of his whip, and smiled proudly. ‘I never drive other men’s gries, brother. The Romanichal are.all griengros born.” “‘Then what induced you to help me out of this trouble?” asked the railway magnate, still more astountied, “Boro Rai Nemo told me to take the Rye to his friends, and bid him stay there,” answered Peter Griengro, still staring at his horse’s and, as the animal had cooled by this time, they began to jog along again. But Oliver had become silent and thoughtful, and if was not till they had passed over another mile that he observed, inquiringly: ‘“This Boro Rai Nemo is the one they call the King of the Tramps; isn’t he?” ~ The house-dwellers call bim so, brother,” Oliver, of the waiter, a little apprehensively; | replied Peter Griengro; ‘‘ but, to us he is Boro for he noticed that the driver did not so much | as look at him, but kept staring out between his horses’ ears. . ‘* Yes, boss, that’s the man, knows all the roads in the country,” answered the waiter, | glibly, holding out his hand for the promised ing reund here, you know.” his was enough to hasten Oliver, who slipped the promised reward into the negro’s hand, climbed into the buggy and said to the man: ‘‘ Where are you going to take me?” “Where you want to go?” was the counter question, with a peculiar rapid intonation, but in a soft, melodious voice. _**Out to the eastern line and to the next sta- tion to meet the Philadelphia train,” answered Calvert. ‘Don’t drive near the track till we're out of town; but get me there, quick.” oe take the Rye as quick as the Gri can jaw,* was the reply, which Oliver did not un- derstand, and then the dark man laid the whip on the horse’s back and went off at arapid pace, shooting down one of the main streets of Pitts- burg and Pr within a block or two of the crowd that still Tined the track. At first they did not seem to attract much at- tention, but a shout followed them as they dashed across one of the side streets, and they could hear it caught up along the track, so that it opened fiercely on them as they came to the next street, where a crowd of trampscame run- ning up toward them. Oliver to feel the old flutter at his heart, and the dark man laid the whip sharply on the horse, which broke into a and dashed on faster than before. At the next turning the crowd was much closer to them, apy) that the was be- ing passed on, and at the third street: they saw | you along, because all the gajosin the ker bill. ‘‘ Best be lively, boss; they might be com- | Rai Romanichal, what you call King of the Gipsies.” ‘And he saved me?’ asked Calvert, in the same thoughtful tone. ‘*He told me to hitch up, brother, and take gries- kero were atraish. I mean all the fellows in the stable were afraid to take you away, for fear of the dasto, the crowd outside. And the Boro Rai told me to take care of you with my life, brother. Noone must kill you while Ilive. Calvert was completely puzzled. Who this King of the Tramps was, he could not, for the life of him, tell, though it was evident that the stranger understood much about his own life that he did not wish to be ere known. But he had not seen the familiar form of King Nemo in Pittsburg, and wondered how he gotthere. _ ‘“Where is King Nemo?’ he asked Peter Griengro, suddenly. ‘‘I didn’t see him any- where.” “The Boro Rai is everywhere,” was Peter’s evasive reply. ‘‘ Yonder is the station, brother, but the train has not come there yet.” They were somewhere about six miles from Pittsburg by this time, and could see before them, at the end of the d road, the little white cottage station, where Oliver had intended. to stop and await the coming of the troops. It was ey deserted, and, as they drove up to the door, they saw that it was clesed up. e people inside had probably joined the strike, Oliver hastily dismounted, tried all the i and finally smashed in a window and eff his entrance that way, when he went straight to the h ote 4 He un Eewncod the Morse alphabet well en waited anxiously for the return of the waiter. | a streaming mass of le within fifty feet of , the sounder was clicking away It was a half-hour before that worthy | the road on which eae tack while groups were | at a furious rate in the deserted ofive and a tapped at the door, and he looked pleased and | making their ap in front. long strip of paper was hanging to the revister, mysterious, Oliver real that they would soon be cut | covered with the dots and dashes of the um F ‘It’s all right,” he whispered. ‘‘I’s get you | off at this rate, and began to fumble nervously ed messages. ; f ia eeepc ets timely and no one won't never a could pier, Nae words as thev cama over Fai, T hy no % ng boss. they’s going on awful * © Gent as the horse ” e@ sounder. an soon assumed ; he a hy Zig about you in front.” Gipay words mized with Wictais oan 8%) form. : 4 ‘ Pythay hs a K, | : | oe 4s Sf *y : ie ‘wall: =x br Bite dake oll As ied Ss broths a mel ji Saws Away oy sal doe Pieae Care Pee ae er igh 22 43> ike me had id ee; 4% - P ie =e e
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ee eer ee es et tly, oleae ey atime ty ties ae aaNet gs 4 eee ene CHAPTER XIII. ee: Nig a ms ‘ Pre ud here the engineer began to ring his bell, | FEE MUMTTA, | and the soldiers flocked into the cars, which *_. DICKENS are you? Why don’t you an- | soon moved away toward Pitisburg, the engine swer?”’ clicked the sounder, and tender full of generals, watching the track “General wants to know what mob doing? abead and discussing ‘‘ the thrashing they were Troops be there ten minutes. Is it safe go | going to give the mob,” town?” The only thoughtful person in the crowd was | Here it stopped, and Oliver put his finger on Oliver Caivert; but then he had seen the mob, | the knob of the Philadelphia bell, which soon | and the nearer he drew to the ¢ity the more he | brought a responsefrom the operator. began to regret that he had come. ““Who’s there?” asked Oliver, clicking off the ‘he influence of vanity and esprit de corps question on the sounder. were as strong with him as with many others, " “General ——,” naming the chief of staff. | and held him up to his work as long as he was ae ** Who are you?” surrounded.by the generals, but he felt a flut- oe , Oliver gave his name, and proceeded to click | tering at his beart as the smoke of the city | off a short account of the riots, ending in a re- | came in sight and black dots became visible on | quest to stop the troops at his station, so he | the track ahead. couid go on with them. These dots became more and more numerous | _ Nemo, King of the ‘Tramps. * The signal “all right” soon came back, and | every moment, and resolved themselves into the Philadelphia man proceeded to inform him | crowds of people lining the road; but the that his uncle, Senator Calvert, had come on | closest scrutiny with a field-glass failed to re- # with the troops by special request, as it was | veal any obstacle laid on the track as they had thought his influence might be useful toavert | reason to expect. trouble. | The train ran on at a low rate of speed, and Even while this message was coming over the | the engineer blew his whistle frequently to ; wires, he heard the distant aoe of the ap- | warn people off. o perger ing, troop train, and hurriedly tore off his | | The warning was obeyed, but the officers in | uster and made his appearance in full dress. front, having a clear view, noticed that the ‘ Unbolting ali the doors, and bursting open , idlers closed in again as soon as the train had | those he could not otherwise unlock, he soon | passed, and came running after the rear cars, | Rect \ - had the station ready, and looked around for | while the sounds of ironical cheering and yell- ay Mr. Peter Griengro; but the Gipsy had driven | ing from those in front and at the sides in- " away; and he could see him, far off on the road | creased every moment. Ag. to Pittsburg, going at a brisk pace. At last, on the outskirts of the city, the i ‘To tell the rioters how the troops are com- | crowd. became so dense on the road ahead that ] ing,” thought Calvert, as he watched him, | even the doughty major-generals thought it ad- on “ Strange how he should have been sent to help | visable to stop the train and disembark their | a me, when he evidently belongs to the other | men, which they did amid many tokens of dis- , party.” .. | like from the crowd, who began to’shout all a But his reflections were cut short by the near | sorts of offensive epithets at them. ‘ snorting of the train, which would be likely to The strikers did not, however, offer to molest | ‘ pass the station unless he signaled it, so he | them, as they formed into a column, facing out | led out the red flag from its receptacle and | on all sides, and marched along the track, with | ran out into the road, waving it violently, a company of dismounted cavalry in front, As he had expected, it was the troop train, | _ By this time all the generals had stopped which drew up in front of the station; and | bragging and become unusually silent, as they much amazed and encouraged were the militia | walked along ina group in the center of the to see Oliver out there in full uniform. When | column, with the common soldiers, whose lives | they found who he was, he was surrounded by | were not counted of so much value, outside, a flock of major and brigadier-generals, who al- | next to the mob. most shook his hand off, congratulating him on | Oliver behaved better than might havo been | having done: | | expected. His present oe roy was, at any | tate ‘* A deuced plucky thing, sir, to come out all rate, preferable to that of a few hours ago; for i . alore in uniform, with those rufftans howling he was no longer alone and defenseless. i after you.” | Moreover, he had one great source of vigor Then one of the major-generals, a young man | beside him, in the person of his'venerable uncle, | in gorgeous raiment, with the yellowest of | who had disembarked with the troops, and now sashes, asked: strode along, erect and dauntless, the incarna- ‘* How far can we go on this road, colonel, be- | tion of pluck, his white hair and beard looking fore it’s blocked?’ Sota under a broad Panama hat, while he was ‘‘ Not more than a few miles. We'd better buttoned upin precise black, spite of the heat halt near the city and march down the track.” | of the day. “ Very good advice.” This old gentleman, who had never smelt And the young major-general, with another | powder in his life, looked more like a soldier who was elderly, began to tell him how they | than any man there, and Oliver did not dare to had determined to ‘‘stand no nonsense.” disgrace himself before him. ~The men have got forty rounds apiece, and They marched along the track toward the de- by Jove we'll use them all up on these scoun- | pot, ‘which they could see looming up before drels but what we'll keep the road running,” | them, about a quarter of a mile off; and, as | seid the elder major-general, while two briga- | they advanced, the crowd became more and | diers chimed in: more dense. ‘*Those West Virginia greenhorns"let the mob The ironical shouts‘and cheers swelled into a | ‘ride right over them, but we'll show them a _| perfect roar all round them, and they began to, ag thing or two—eh, colonel? They’ve not seen | realize that there wereat least twenty thousand | ees i, eg troops yet.” or in the vicinity, men, women and chil- hen the colonel of one gorgeously-attired | dren; some hostile, some derisive, some curious, regiment, which numbered fifty officers and | but no one friendly to this handful of strangers about a hundred and fifty privates, began to | from glen ewe y pam i tell how his boys had taken the palm from all | The column looked like a small boat in an an- the regiments atthe Centennial, and how he’d | gry sea as it moved on, the men getting ale _ show these New York fellows how Philadelphia | and excited, the officers talking to them in low - boys could clear out any country mob that | tones. The gallant militiamen were beginning eyer showed its face. ¢ to get frightened, and with good reason, for Oliver looked around him at the gorgeous | they had found more than they bargained for uniforms and glittering rifles of his friends, and | when they left Philadelphia. bat his courage began to rise to fever-heat. They They had expected to confront a mob of rail- ae looked so trim and soldierly, these smart citi- | way men, unarmed and ready to stampede; in- N, zen soldiers, that he never doubted they would | stead of this they had found an angry city that clear out all the crowd in Pittsburg. evidently looked on them as foes, despicable but Then he beard his own name called, and saw | impertinent. the handsome white head of old Senator Calvert efore they had gone fifty Pg ey the young looking out of the car window, major-general gave the order load the rifles. liver passed it along one side of the line, and there came an ominous clicking of breech- loaders, as the men slipped in their cartridges. There was something in that clicking, s and metallic as it was, that pierced through a the roar of the crowd, and produced a mo- mentary hush. The mob had been edging in closer to the tha y, I think we've got How did you get ous e F **Come on to welcome you in, sir,” was the af- y careless reply. ‘‘We’ve had a hard : 'y gay are no good. | troops on the flanks up to time, in a dense look on and let the mob stop the | mass of humanity, those behind pushing on | had a littl those in front. Nowit recoiled fora space, and eb to fF outs thing, | the little column resumed its march. _ The soldiers pressed on for a hundred more, till they came to a deep cutting, black with people; and here the trouble was renewed. - Men on the front of the crowd were shoved forward fro hind, and there was a great i in et age of laugh- ) ether. | w foan’t he were rash, Oliver,” said the old iringly. ‘‘Don’t expose your- h to-da boy.” 't, sir. it’s absolutely neces- ‘ — EL ‘*Sojer, would ye work? No, I'd rather sell me shirt.” ‘** Ah, look at the Philadelfy thieves, comin’ to rob honest men of their bread.” ** Rush ’em, boys!” ‘Snatch the guns from ’em, and give ’em | what they want!” a Such were the eries that began to echo round them, each more menacing than its predeges- sor; and Oliver Calvert, who was near the front company, thought he saw symptoms of a rush coming and quivered all over. Then he shouted out in desperation the fatal order: “Fire on them, men! down !” Up went carbine and musket, and the yells of the crowd were drowned in a roar of file-firing. Pittsburg riots had begun. CHAPTER XIV. THE STORM BEGINS. From the moment Oliver spoke, there was a confused fire from all sides of the little square of militia, rolling and rattling on without cessa- tion for several minutes, men and officers wild with excitement and eager to avenge the insults they had endured. As for the crowd, the effect of the fire was\ terrible at short range in that closely-packed mass of humanity. A few pistol-shots and stones were returned, but the great mass of the people scattered and fled in the wildest confu- sion, the women shrieking, men cursing, chil- dren crying with terror, while the groans and screams of the wounded of all ages and sexes, strewed over the side of the cutting, were hor- rible to hear. ; More than a huhdred were killed and wound- ed by the first file that fired; and by the time the generals, rushing around, had managed to stop the slaughter, the whole of the track and cutting were strewn with dead bodies and wounded pe crying for help. Then followed a dead silence, only broken by the groans of the unhappy wretches shot down, and the little column of men took up their march toward the depot over an empty track. The major-generals begon to breathe again and Oliver Calvert was proud at the apparen Mow the rascals | success of his policy. ‘*T told, you it was the only way,” he said. ‘¢ Mow the rascals down, and the rest will run every time. We've settled them for good, and now we'll go on to the Pitt House and get tho ears running again. Won't Colonel Magnus be glad to see us?” But nd one made him any answer. They had to all appearance won a. victory# for the crowd scattered before them as they came, and hung irresolute, about two hundred yards off, a low murmur being the only sign of life visible. But on the track itself the stillness became intense, and one could hear the voices of the officers saying, in low tones: ‘Close up, there! Closeup! Catch the step, ei Left! left!” hey spoke as if they were afraid to hear the sound of their own voices. They had begun to realize that even unre- see slaughter has its drawbacks as an amuse- ment, Every now and then the men had to open out to avoid stepping on a dead body, or heard the voice of a wounded man praying for water. Oliver Calvert started and uttered a nervous ery at one place. He had almost stepped on the dead body of a little child. There it lay, a tiny thing not four years old, dirty-faced and curly-headed, its little brown legs hanging limp over arailin the track, its blue eyes wide open and staring blindly up at the sun, the gray pallor of death gathering over the infant face. A red, ragged hole in its breast, a dark pool slowly trickling on the ground at one side, showed how it had metits death, and the sol- diers passed it with averted faces. After they saw that, the officers said less than ever; Oliver became silent, and Senator Calvert yoo to get pale and sick. - he next was the body of a great brutal-look- ing tramp, who still clutched in his stiffening hands a ey horse-pistol. He had possibly . deserved his fate; but the men could not get out of their heads the pinched face of the litt] child, and one’ of them muttered: “Poor fellow !” ; A moment later came a scream of Pena sion from almost under their feet, and a young girl, her hair falling over her face, the blood streaming from one arm as she nursed it with the other. r creature. ‘I’m shot in two places, gen- Yemen. Don’t kill me, for God’s sake.” ’ ~- They told her as gently as they could not to fear, and one of the generals said; ya ek ou ought not to have been out in- crowd, m ‘1. See what you’ve got by it.” sh green os 7 moaned out: Salil Se “T couldn’t help it. I was FF arg on, Oh, how shall I ever get home Then, as they . OD . th a ne here lay — “Don’t trample on me, please,” moaned the i ie Me A ie 4 Way,
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Nemo — | i aa “This is bad, Calvert. I didn’t think they had women and children in that crowd.” But-Oliver, who had been trying to harden | liimself, replied: “Tt can’t be helped. They'd have killed us if we hadn’t done it.” They went on to the front of the dept, where they began to hear shouts and cries in the dis- tance, and presently ‘“‘clang/ clang! went a number of large bells all over the city. The generals began to look round them in an apprehensive way, and the clanging became londer and more incessant, while the shouts and cries came nearer and nearer. But the crowd, which had fallen back in dis- may after that first volley, still hung in the dis- tance in a great circle, and they could see that the bodies down the track were being carried away. . Oliver looked up at the Pitt House in hopes of . seeing Colonel Magnus and his friends; but the balcony in front of their room was empty, and there were no signs of people in the room. Being now in front of the house, he passed through the ranks and went into the office and lobby down-stairs. Both were entirely empty. Not a waiter was to be seen; the clerks had fled, and the guests with them. As with the Pitt House, so with the rest in the vicinity. Every one had fied, and the militia had the place to themselves. : They had won a victory and looked for wel- come, but found instead a silent isolation that was ominous of the future. But this silence was not to last long. They hardly expected it. 4 The bells kept on clanging, and the shouting : had extended to the crowd in the neighborhood, i which still hemmed them in, at a respectful dis- ~~... - a | — ae SS ee eee nce. Presently it swelled into a roar of triumph, and ‘“‘ bang! bang! bang !” went three muskets from the bare hill at one side of the depot, where stood the Round House, soon to become so mournfully memorable. A ery of pain from one of the soldiers showed that the shot had told, and Calvert exclaimed: ““They’ve broken open the arms-shops. We shall have to give them another thrashing.” Hardly had he spoken, when from all quar- { ters opened a lively dropping fire, the s of smoke among the crowd showing that the riot- ers had secured arms in quantity. The beleaguered militiamen, not waiting for orders, returned the fire, and the old major- general began to look nervous again. He was the senior officer present, and had the nominal responsibility of everything. The country regi- ments that had been lying idly on the hill all the morning were supposed to be a part of his command, — Presently, in a pause of the firing, one of the brigadiers came to Oliver and said in a low me: 4 ‘Colonel, I’m afraid we're sold. Those coun- try regiments have joined the rioters and -they’re firing State ammunition at us. Look there.” He handed Calvert a field-glass, and the other could see, here and there among the crowd, the erossbelts of militiamen, with more than one % military cap, though the wearers had generally Sirs thrown away their uniform coats. : Then Oliver began to feel a sort of sickly sen- sation rising into his throat, and he muttered oarsely : “ What shall we do?” The young brigadier, who seemed to be a plucky fellow, answered: ; ‘We'll have to charge them and drive the brutes off. We've done it once, and can do it ain. : __ Oliver handed back the glass and made no re- ‘Na, ly. He began to see that fighting was a risky iness, even in the case of militia against mobs, \ ¥ He sauntered over with affected coolness to where the two major-generals stood, conversing in low tones and looking grave; and one of re how ba 4 onel, what do you suppose has become of all these railway men, wilone property we came to protect?” **T don’t know, general. It’s the puzzlin art of the whole business,” Calvert was force admit. i Senator Calvert, who had been growing ac- customed to the tumult round him, had now quite recovered the use of his nerves, and was as firm as ever. “T think,” he observed, in his most bitter tones, ‘that the gentlemen are afraid and have runaway. That’sall. If Z were in command here L should make a maneuver of some sort.” “But what maneuver would you make, Sen- ator?” asked the older general, desperately. “Tm quite open to advice. I only wish some one else was in command here. What would ‘you advise?” Nob being a military man, I don’t care to give advice,” retorted the Senator, ‘ But you ought to make a maneuver of some sort. ‘We shall be kilied, if we stand here to be n ee] a Yo wi Bd oy The Senator's ideas of maneuvers were hazy; bc RAs Pig 3 cs a Mi ) Siete AS but he saw that something was wrong, for three or four men had already been hit. The young general interposed with a new notion. “‘Tt’s no use leaving the men here all ex- ier general. Let’s charge the crowd over »y the round-house; get inside and fortify our- selves. We don’t seem to have any friends here, and we want a place to put our wounded.” The old general eagerly accepted the advice; for he was at his wits’ end what to do; and Oliver seconded the endeavors of the chiefs so zealously that the men were soon formed into compact lines and moving steadily forward on the round-house. : The crowd in front, seeing them coming, scatteréd before them, but the crowd behind set up a yell of triumph and came charging af- ter them, firing as rapidly as their arms per- mitted. Then the soldiers got excited again, and be- gan to run, firing as they went; and thus it was Provera very like an armed mob in uniform that finally dashed up the hill, rushed into the round-house and slammed tothe great doors be- hind them, leaving the greater mob outside howling for their blood, and firing useless shots at brick walls and iron doors. The justice of the young general’s advice was shown by the fact that their assailants ceased to persecute them as soon as they entered the round-house. The building was a great brick barn or store- house for the reception of dilapidated cars, and had plenty of small windows about five feet from the ground, from whence the sol- diers could fire in safety at their exposed foes. The crowd seemed to realize this as soon as the beleagured men from Philadelphia; for very soon there was not a man to be seen with- in gun-shot, and all attempts to annoy the militiamen ceased for several hours, till the shades of dusk slowly descended over the city. But the men who had come that morning from Philadelphia, with only an early and light breakfast; most of them with no haversac and none of them with more than a single meal in their stomachs, began to look gloomy and despondent at their situation, and the Officers were not a whit behind them in mbling. One or two began to talk about surrendering and.going back; and only the energetic be- havior of the younger general prevented a spread of this idea. He made a speech in which he reminded them that they had no mercy to hope from the mob if they gave up their arms, and that if they stayed where they were, they must soon have help from the regulars and the rest of the State troops, who were ordered up. Then he called for volunteers to go out as soon as it was dark and see the city authorities, with a view to getting rations for the famishing men. Two of the negro water-carriers, who had come along from Philadelphia, volunteered to go; and the question arose how to get them out, unobserved, with a letter. While they were in the midst of a discussionfon the subject, dark- ness closed in, and ae | soon after the bright blaze of a bonfire glared through the windows, while a hot fire of musketry opened! on the round-house, under which the glass windows went all to smash. 7 Presently came two loud reports close by, and a couple of round shot came crashing through the brick walls, strewing the débris over the ap- palled soldiers. The rioters had procured artillery ! Then Oliver turned pale in good earnest, as he had a right to, for if seemed as if night and danger had come together, and the cry went up from the beleagured men: ** Where’s the general? He’s run away!” tree the youvesc eg es to Oliver with a face of great anger and disgust, saying: “The old coward had Uhiisen’a clothes on ad der his uniform. He’s left us to our fate, and escaped.” ‘Bang! Crash!” ; Another shot tore through the round-house as he spoke, ° CHAPTER XV. THE SIEGE. Mr. Binty Bartow, the Boss of the Bum- mers, stood on the top of the bare hill near the round-house, with a smoking musket in his hand, Jim the Faker was near him, and all the colony of tramps that a few days before had taken up their abode in the ‘“ Wanderer’s Home” at Calverton, were scattered about in the crowd, most of them carrying weapons in their hands. Besides the tramps, there were a number of rough-looking men in their shirt-sleeves, who talked of the strike in a way that showed they were personally interested; and it was easy to see that these were railroad men, from their curt, determined way ef speech and their ener- getic manner of acting. v These were mostly hard-working fellows, | Mim families, used to the rapid rush of railway ite, quick and prompt at expedients and ac- ua % \ = Nesom ants sata Ss. 13 as customed to see obstacles disappear before them. ; Some of them had lost friends, relatives, chil- dren, in that unbappy collision of the morning; { and these seemed especially determined on re- " venge. For the time being they fraternized ; | with the tramps, who had flocked into town, ate ‘ 6 ew SE 8 Re gig et Re EET SEES = EE EE ES aS Ie eS PN ee nN ee eS ee eee a Se eS Cen secreting the plunder; and all seemed ready to fight side by side to avenge the slaughter of the morning. ; It was a strange crowd that had gathered on { that Pittsburg bill that sultry night. Besides the tramps and railroaders, there was a jarge number of young and old men, some respec t= ably, others. shabbily dressed, men of ail ceit- ings and trades, citizens of Pittsburg, for the ‘ time being ‘bitter foes of the beleaguered mili- tiamen. Local pride, that most sensitive of foibles, bad been roused in them and carefully fanned by railroaders and tramps, who saw their advantage in it. The very regiments of militia that had been called out first to rs, igs the riots had for the time being practically disbanded, and one might see plenty of uniforms scattered here and there among the mob. A small knot of men with bare arms was gathered round two six-pounder brass guvs i that had belonged toa local militia battery, and were now turned against the city troops in ihe round-house. ‘Well, cullies,” cried Billy Barlow, vaunt- ingly, ‘‘guess we’ve got them city roosters where we want ’em at last. Them’s the Fila- delfy fighters that was a-goin’ to clean out us boys from the country like shavin’s, Oh, yes. Think I see ’em.” **They was blowin’ so loud you couldn’t hear yourself,” was the comment of a grizzly machi- nist, all black with powder smoke. “Bee how yer like that, my covies.” ; And he discharged a State rifle at one of the ‘ round-house windows as he spoke. ‘* We'll have the wall down in two or three more licks,” cried Jim the Faker, exultingly, as the men round the cannon began to sponge out for another round. ; ‘Get ready to rush in, boys,” said a veteran railroad man at this juncture, coming round, gun in hand. ‘‘When the wall comes down we've got ’em.” 4 “*Kill every durned rooster in the crowd,” , cried Billy Barlow, savagely. ‘‘ Remember tl:e ‘i gals they shot to-day.” + He could have said nothing better calculated 7 to inflame the passions of the crowd; for the 7” bitterness of feeling over the morning’s slaughter SJ was intense. Uttering savage cries, the rioters opened a hot fire upon the round-house, and the men at the cannon got their pieces loaded and pointed, cursing all the while. | The light of a huge bonfire, made of lumbe ( hastily torn from the sheds that abounded rouiwl! ! the company’s- yards, gave ample light to s-e ; the round-house, while the surrounding ob- scurity afforded cover for those of the crowd who had been kept at a distance during the diy. ee All this while nothing had been heard from er the defenders of the round-house, who had ; ceased shooting in the afternoon as soon as they et found their fire was not returned. 3 ae “Now, all on a sudden, just as the rioters my were preparing to send them a third round frm, the artillery, a spitting fusillade came from one p= of the windows, and down went several of the a) volunteer gunners, wounded or killed, whi! a } loud cheer burst from the imprisoned militia- ees men. : “Blast their picters!” growled Billy Barlow, vindictively. ‘We'll pay ’em for that, pre- sently. Go it, boys!” As he spoke, out ran several men from che railroaders to take the place of the disabled gunners, who had not yet fixed the friction tubes in their places. The new volunteers had picked up and were trying to insert the tubes, when the rifles of the besieged once more spoke out, and the new men dropped, while a shower of bullets came hissing into the midst of Billy Barlow’s companions, who forthwith scattered and fled over the crest _ of. the hill. The railroad men were the last to go, and not without one more trial at firing their guns; but again the deadly aim of the imprisoned men cut down the adventurers. ; Then came a lull in the battle, while the ring- _ leaders of the mob hastily consulted together what was to be done to e out the enemy.» “They don’t act like they didin the mornin« ” observed Jim the Faker, thoughtfully. “ like they’d had some h from the other sidc., Can a cove get in there?” =o ‘* Yes,” said one of the railroaders, a wat ey Spunky Jack to be retorted Jim the | he was here,”
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ee Ay elena boy had the most grit of aay little feller ever I Seen, and he was as quick with his pistol as greased lightnin’,” ** Who’s seen King Ne‘no sence we’ve been in Grubstip?” asked another tramp. ‘I hain’t seen hide nor hair of either on ‘em; and the cussed Gipsies ain’t been nigh us.” ** What do they car about the rights of man?” asked Billy Barlow, indignantly. ‘‘ Them Gip- sies ain’t got no fig? t in’em.” “When did they leave you?” asked one of the | railroad men who overheard the dispute. **There’s a lot c/ Gipsies a-dancin’ and singin’ at the Opery House, as might be yourn.” Billy Barlovs seemed surprised and asked him, whereup mn the man told him how he had been at the (heater the night before, and all about the ca ricaturing of Oliver Calvert. Jim the Faker shook his head. “That crn’t be our crowd. They didn’t have ne Count/ss Cachuca with ’em. Besides, they wouldn’t /eave King Nemo, and didn’t have no money. vhs Hor d’yer know that?” asked Billy Barlow, conterptuously. ‘* They allers had a mort of wageias and hosses, and was a-jabberyy’ their Gips7 lingo, that no Christian kin understand. For all you know, they might be the same cu)iies we knowed. They went ahead of us on tra road.” Here conversation was broken off by the ap- jroach of a buggy, driving down the side street and up over the open ground on which they were, followed by a crowd of people cheer- The buggy contained a lady and a man, and they could see by the light of the bonfire that the lady was very beautiful and handsomely dressed, while the gentleman was a man of great size, with long black hair and beard. *““Cachuca! Cachuca! Three cheers for the queen of the stage!” shouted one enthusiastic youth, who had recognized the fascinating dancer, and the enthusiasm spread among citi- zens of all grades as the lady drove by, bowing ad smiling, while she scattered little hand- “The Countess will play as usual to-night, gentlemen all,” cried out the tall man, ina werful voice. ‘‘ We don’t intend to. let this ittle business disturb us, and if any of you feel inclined for a rest after the day’s work, follow us. Three cheers for the Pittsburg boys!” The cheers were given with a will, and the buggy drove boldly on over the hill in full . view of the round-house as if defiant of danger, followed by a dense crowd of people. Not a shot came from the imprisoned militia- men, who seemed only anxious to be let alone, and the triumphant prcpsssion crossed the track and passed on through the streets of Pittsburg, where the crowd seemed as great as usual, now that the night had come. The gas was lighted; shops were open, people were talking to each other, the hotels:were full, and no one would have suspected that a few hundred yards away a tragedy was in course of enaction, of which the end was not yet. The prevailing sentiment among the people of Pittsburg seemed to be anger against the Phila- _delphians for a wanton slaughter, and. satisfac- -tion that they were likely to get their deserts for it. The sound of the firing had died away; and if an occasional dropping shot was heard, it was drowned in the roar of the street. . Mr. Trevlac, as the waiter had called Count- ess Cachuca’s tall agent, kept his keen eyes con- stantly roaming about him, and observed to his companion in alow tone as they passed the Pitt House: ‘The railway kings have fled the city, Jacko; not before it was time.” . - The lady addressed by this singular name smiled disdainfully. “They were pretty fellows to try and be kings. Calvert is a fair specimen of them, I ieee ‘Not entirely. He had less daring and pru- dence than some others. They saw it was no use stemming the tide, so they quietly faded away. He thought he’d be safer in uniform, and now he’s shut up in the round-house with the other fools.” “Are you sure of that?” she asked, earnestly. _“T don’t want him killed, you know—” + “Singular!” he observed, dryly. ‘‘ You don’t want any one but yourself to kill him, I sup- pose you mean.” “T mean nothing of the sort. I mean that he must live to do justice to all he has wronged.” Mr. Trevlac stroked his black beard and Rave a slight impatient groan, ‘Forever dreaming, Jacko,” he said, ‘ Let bygones be bygones. You will never accom- it. You failedir your first attempt, and t was sane and lucid compared with this mad scheme. But here we are. at the theater. We shall have a full house,” ‘“* Heaven grant it!” she exclaimed, fervently. “We need money—much money—to deal with that villain; but we'll triumph yet; see if we don’t.” He jumped out and lifted her from the buggy at the entrance of the stage-door alley, and ‘then drove slowly away to the Pitt House, where he found Petcr Griengro at the stabies, Nemo, King of the Tramps. ——_——~. waiting to take the horse which had saved Oli- | ver Calvert’s life that morning. The Gipsy saluted him respectfully. Harvey stepped out, saying: “ Sareshen, Peter 2” (How are you?) great lord), answered Peter, with a low bow, and he took the horse away and was going to the stable, when Treylac asked: ‘‘Have you been over to see the fighting, Pe- ter?” ** Avo, boro rai.” (Yes, great lord.) “ And who gets the best of it?’ “The yaug-engre . (fire-fellows or railway men) have driven the kurum-engre (soldiers— the polyglot answer of the Gipsy jockey. “ee been over among the rioters since dark, and that they were preparing to set the lumber yard on fire to burn out the soldiers, as they could no longer fire the cannons. He further said that he had pereos into the round-house himself, and could see the whole _ interior through a chink in the masonry. He had seen the Rye he had rescued in the morning, inside, in uniform, looking much dejected, and talking to an old man in black, the only one not in sol- dier clothes. ‘And what was this one like?’ asked the agent. ‘‘Did he look like a policeman or a railway man?’ ““No. He was a Rye; a gentleman,” an- swered Peter, earnestly ; ‘‘ and his hair was like snow, and he wore a long beard, and was dressed all in black with a broad white hat, and carried a cane with a gold top that bore an eagle’s head with jewels for eyes. Such a cane Peter had never seen before.” Trevlac had listened to his account with evi- dent perturbation, and when the Gipsy had fin- ished he asked in rapid, excited fashion: “Ts it the same man that had the house rob- bed by the perdas?” (tramps.) ** Avo,” (yes) answered Peter, laconically. “Then come with me, Peter,” the tall agent cried, spi ey gresping the Gipsy’s arm. ‘*We must get him out of that or he’ll de killed. Call all the Romanichal, Peter, for we have work at hand.” CHAPTER XVI. \ THE ROUND-HOUSE. MEANTIME the defenders of the round-house felt very gloomy and despondent. The defec- tion of the old major-general, who had slipped out, no one knew when, through the lumber- yard, leaving his uniform behind him, had been a great discouragement, for they had trusted to his local knowledge to get them out of their troubles at the last extremity. The command thus fell to the young Phila- pa, jpone general, who had in his favor youth and energy, and who speedily silenced the can- non, as we have seen, by the use of his best marksmen, \ But after the rioters had been driven, from their artillery, keen anxiety still remained. The besiegers had drawn out of the firelight, but they were still hanging round the building in the circle of darkness, and no one knew how near they were. Every now and then they found out to their cost when some incautious exposure of a party before a window in the glare of the bonfire brought down a fusillade froma corner pre- vious aM dark and quiet. Still, on the whole, a decided lull had come in the conflict, and nothing but a confused hum told of the operations of the rioters, Once a vehement burst of cheering caused them to run to the side next the bonfire, and they saw the crowd rush over the hill and go streaming down to the track, following a buggy, in which was seated a lady and gentile- man. : At first the men were for firing at them, but the officers were able to restrain them, for the object of the movement did not seem to be per- sonally hostile to them. Dat ‘What a handsome fellow that is,” observed the young major-general, for the glare of the bonfire was full on the tall form and magnifi- cent beard of the Cachuca Combination’s agent. ‘*T wonder who he is, and who that lady is, er pone must have lots of pluck to sit there so cool. One of the men near them saluted in the free and easy militia style, and answered: ‘* Guess [ know, general. I’ve seen the lady before, but not. the man. She’s a variety ac- tress, and they call her the Countess Cachuca. I’ve seen her dance in Louisville, Cinginnati, all over in fact.” This militiaman was by trade a_ commercial traveler, and had come up from Philadelphia in the dull season with the militia compauy to which he belonged. ; ‘Oh, that accounts for it,” said his chief, rather adiniringly. ‘‘It’s a little advertising dodge, I suppose. That man must be her Sarnt at and a smart fellow too. He'll draw a house to-night. What do you think of t Senator?’ “‘ Kashto devas, boro rai,” (Good- evening, | | fighting-men) into the boro-ker (big house) and | jah te kashiaf leenge (go to burn tkem),” was | Vhat do you mean, Peter?’asked Trevlac | in Romany, and Peter told him how he ‘had | Senator Calvert, who had been watching the passage of the buggy with quiet curiosity, nod- ded absently. “Very smart trick,” he answered, der where I’ve seen that woman before? figure looked familiar.” “Hope you’ve not been running to variety balls, Senator,” maliciously suggested . the “ drummer.” The old gentleman favored him with a look that silenced him; for Senator Calvert had as imposing a presence as could be found any? ““T won- Her | where, and then turned to Oliver, who had not said a word during the talk. He had in faet recognized both the buggy | and its occupants, and had been revolving in his mind all the strange circumstances surround- ing the day just over. ** Oliver,” said the Senator, ‘‘did you ever see that woman before?” ‘Yes, sir,’’ was the reply, uttered as if sur- prised out of the speaker. ‘‘That is—once— astnight. Iwas at the theater, and she danced with a lot of Gipsies. I believe she’s a Gipsy herself. That’s all I know of her, sir.” He spoke hastily and confusedly, as if he were defending himself from some accusation, and the old mansighed slightly as he answered: “Well, never mind, but I thought she looked like some one—never mind—it must have been my fancy, or you would have noticed the like- ness too.” “‘T didn’t see any, sir,” answered Oliver, still more hurriedly, ‘‘ unless it was to any other variety actress. They’re all made up so, you can’t recognize them twice over.” The Senator nodded in the same absent way. and said no more, but he turned his back and strolled away to the other end of the building as if buried in deep thought. Then the defenders had peace for about the space of an hour, and many of the men la down on the bare earthen floor of the round- house and tried to sleep, while the officers con- sulted in low tones about how to get the mes- sengers out through the lumber-yard, There was a small door‘at the side which led to this yard, and everything was so quiet in that quarter that they began to hope it had es- caped the notice of the rioters and that they might let out the messengers and receive help by that road. Just as they had made up their minds to try the experiment, and while the general was - writing a note in pencil to the Mayor of Pitts- burg, came a sudden renewal of the fusillade all round them, with tremendous shouts, and the men jumped up and ran to their posts full of ardor. There, in the light of the bonfire, a crowd of men were rushing to the guns; and, spite of a rapid fire from the windows, they managed to fire one more round, the shot crashing through the upper part of the round-house, and sending a shower of bricks down over its defenders. So fierce and menacing were the assaults of the mob at this moment that they thought an immediate close conflict on that side the round- house was inevitable; and did not notice any- thing on the other side till the sudden cry arose: “Hire! Fire! They ve set the lumber-yard BaP ah pis ‘ his appalling news came from old Senator Calvert, who had been in the rear of the build- ing; but the old man behaved with coolness and pluck as soon as he had given the alarm, He came toward them, the tallest man in the round-house by several inches, his grand white head and beard shining like a star, and shouted, in the stentorian tones of an old stump-speaker: ‘Keep cool! I’ve been watching them. It’s only pulling down the piles of boards and charging the villains. eep cool, general! Keep cool, boys!” ’ ‘An their coolness was needed here, and as a rule the poor beleaguered Philadelphians show- ed that their brief experience of danger had steadied them wonderfully. The officers did their duty bravely, and the men were. divided, a part keeping the rioters from their guns, while the others dashed out of the little door, scattered the enemy out of the vicinity of the lumber-yard by a fierce volley, and began to a down the loose piles of lumber up which he flames were slowly creeping. But it was not done without a fierce struggle, in which both parties came within striking’ dis- tance of each other, while a confused melée reigned in the lumber-yard for the space of half an hour or more, in which shots, shouts orders, the sound of blows and the rattle of falling timber made a veritable pandemonium for awhile. d It was in the midst of this scene, while the brave old Senator was working like a Trojan pulling down lumber piles, that a large party o the rioters, headed by a man of gigantic stature, dressed ina motley mantle of streaming rags his face hidden by a shaggy forest of hair an beard, rushed into the lumber-yard, the men wielding clubbed muskets, and drove the militiamen back into the round-house, shout- ing: i Names ! Nemo! Boro Rai! Boro Rai]” The assault was so sudden and vehement, that the soldiers were entirely disconcerted, the
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a ia wate more so that they had just fired a volley and were caught with empty guns. They ran iato the round-house in confusion, and opened a hasty and aimless fire from the door at a crowd of rioters who seemed to spring | up from the ground on all sides; but when they | had slammed to the door and recovered their coolness, they discovered that the old Scnator « Was Missing. The young general noticed it first, and called oust iiurriedly-to Oliver Calvert: ** Your incle’s him! Who'll follow.” The men all shouted assent, for they had grown %o respect the grand-looking old man, and they were rushing for the door when Oliver cried out: “Take care, general. It’s a trap. They won't hurt him. He’s not in uniform, They'll tear us tu pieces if we go out.” And, in fact, the next moment they heard the rapid crash of timber against the small door, that told how the rioters were barricading it risoner, We must rescue | against any more sallies, while the crackling of | flames showed that they had succeeded in their design ot firing the lumber. Now, indeed, the trials of the poor besieged Philadelphians began in earnest, The lumber was soon in flames, and only the great size of | the brick building rendered it possible to stay | there a moment. As it was, the heat drove them to the other end of the building, where they lay huddled, pantius, in heaps, genera]; and privates suffer- | alike. Waddened by the heat and smoke, even Oliver | Calvert lost his timidity; for a coward in a corner will fight hard. It was he who pro- posed, and finally led,a sally out of the large doors, in which they dashed up to the fire, which was-now deserted by the rioters, and suc- ceded in pulling down the blazing lumber and sav.n the building for the time. Strange to say, the rioters did not offer any serious opposition to this movement, and their fi iacked spirit; but this was easily accounted f by the scarcity of ammunition, and the fact of the darkness which covered the land. After that last effort, the poor beleaguered citizen-soldiers, who had reached Pittsburg so | gayly twelve hours before, were left compara- ‘tively unmolested, and before morning the firing had entirely ceased, for the rioters, like them- selves, were tired out and sleepy. Nemo, King of the Tramps. last companies showed that they were trying to beat back the rioters. No more bullets were flying near the fugitive Calvert, and he began to recover his coolness. foreover, the instinct of self-preservation told him that, with his uniform on, he was safe no- whert except among the troops, who seemed to have recovered their order, and were now com- ing along at only a moderate pace. herefore Oliver halted and did what he | | ought to have done in the first instance: drew | his sword and tried to stop the fugitives, who readily obeyed his voice now that the imme- | diate danger was over. He got them into some sort of order before the rest came up, and, true to his instinct of bluster when all was safe, put on his most valiant air and began to hector his fe‘low-run- aways for leaving their regiments. He was the more inclined to do this because he saw a iarge brick house near him, which he remembered to be the United States arsenal, and spied a stout, red-faced man in the undress of a regular officer, standing ata gate ina brick wall, staring down the road, his hands in his pockets. Looking back himself, he could see that the rear guard had almost ceased firing, and judged that the danger was nearly over. Therefore he turned and went up to the stout officer, to whom he said, with a melancholy face: ‘*We have had a hard time of it, major. Those fellows were too much for us.” ‘So I perceive,” said the stout man, with the dryest of accents. *'Phis is the arsenal, I presume,” continued Oliver, sweetly. “It is, sir.” The stout officer was stiff, not to say repel- lent. ‘* And you are the commandant, major?’ He called the stout man ‘‘ major,” because he | perceived gold leaves on his blue shoulder- es, po ‘“T am, sir.” “T suppose we can halt here a little while?’ | asked Oliver. ‘€ In the road, sir? No one hinders you.” ‘‘No, Imean inside. The fact is—” ‘No, sir. This is Government property, and no one comes in without a permit.” ‘¢¥rom whom, major?” Oliver was growiug bolder, for his friends Lagging and slow wore on the dark hours of | were coming nearer. that fatal night, and gloomy were the looks of } | “From the secretary of war, the general the knot of officers who gathered in a corner of commanding the department, or myself.” the round-house to discuss the situation. ‘* But surely you'll let our poor fellows have Outside all was quiet, buf they had had | some rations?” said Oliver, pleadingly. ‘“ We enough experience of the, savage rioters to doubt that the attack would be renewed at day- light. They had not been able to send outa single messenger, and not a syllable of comfort had reached them from outside. Even the eat railway Directors they came to help had eserted them, and they felt like outlaws, with all society against them and none to help, “Tye made up my mind, gentlemen,” said the general, ‘that we ought to retreat as soon as it’sdaylight. The rioters will be going away to get something to eat about that time, and are likely to be less watchful. Once in the open country, we can cover our retreat ty. the fences, and this is but a small city, afterall.” The advice was eager y taken; forthe boldest irits there had had their fill of fighting, and 1 were willing to encoanter danger if any hope of succor lay beyond. a, herefore, in the darkness and silence before dawn, the order of march wasarranged, the few wounded assigned to the center, and all waited anxiously for the first peep of day. : It came at last, reddening, the east, and shin- ing on the black remnants ot the fires made by the rioters. Notasoul could be seen as they rs os the doors, and the column marched rap- y and silently out.on the side away from the depdét, and burried up aside street toward the open country. They passed the abandoned six- pounders, all deserted, and made the best of their way out of Pittsburg for nearly a block, when they heard shots and the whistle of bullets from their rear. They were discovered. * Worward! uble Oliver Calvert, ina panic, and away went the head of the column in a wild rush, all order lost for a moment or two. A vengeful shout behind them, a pattering of shots, and the whole street was black with pur- suers. Pittsburg riot was over; Pittsburg races had begun, » ha CHAPTER XVIL PITTSBURG RACES, At the desperation that had sustained Oliver Calvert when there was no way of escape, van- ished the moment he saw open country before and heard an angry foeman bebind. He forgothis uniform; the presence of others; shame; everything; and led the stampede for several hundred yards, till his breath failed Then he found himself almost alone, part of the column strung ous behind him, bué the mid- nite compact, while a rattling of whitesmoke from the dle and rear tusillade and uick, march!” yelled | ee ee o were ordered out yesterday morning, and have not eaten since.” “There areno rations here. This is a store- house for arms.” The stout officer was more repellent than ever. ‘* At least we can find shelter here from the mob. Wecanhelp you to defend the place,” pen Oliver. he stout officer gave him a look of intense disgust, and pointed to the weary, dirty militia- men, who were coming up, all disordered from their hurried march. “That mob defend this place!’ he snarled, bitterly. ‘The rioters would burnit over your heads before noon. _Good-day, sir.” Without another word he went in, slammed the iron gate and bolted it behind him, and then stood glowering at the draggled column as it filed slowly and dejectedly past. Oliver was for once completely disconcerted and could do nothing but §° and report to the young eneral, who smiled bitterly and cursed sd major for an old curmudgeon as he plodded ong, There was'not a attale horsein the command, and all had to march in the hot, dusty road with the cheerful accompaniment of occasional distant hooting and shots behind them to quicken their steps if they lagged; and the con- sequence was that there were very few strag- glers, and that all of these were ahead. The rioters came after them for two or three miles, when they abandoned the pursuit; and the poor hunted creatures came to a halt at last on a hill, about five miles from the city, whence they looked back to see a black pall of smoke hanging over it. The whole of the railway buildings and part of the town seemed to be on fire; for they could see the flames shooting up against a black back- ground of smoke, distinct even in the sunlight. But here at least they had rest, and, thanks to the tender hearts of the women of Pennsyl- vania, they were able to procure food at some of the numerous farm-houses that now studded the country. ‘ Many were the curious questions and much the simple wonder of the country folks as they heard the tale of the preceding night; but they were full of moral lessons, even while they handed out the big loaves of home-made bread to the starving men. Frequent was the comment: | | Pittsburg. “ If he comes back an Ms | “Not but what they’re a-goin’ too fur, meb- | -be,” observed one patriarch to Oliver, as the brilliantly-clad officer sat at his table, eating | his first hearty meal for two days; “‘ but we | ean’ blame ’em when they seen the children shot down, No, capting.” Oliver made no reply; for he was ashamed of | his own share in the transaction, now he had time to think of it, ** And if I was you, capting,” continued the sage, I’c’ get rid of them soger close, soon’s | the Lord’a let me, They ain’t safe round these arts.” “Why not?” asked Oliver, with a little start. “Well, ye see, there’s a power of tramps | round here, and they’re a-comin’ in all the time, | fresh. And I’ve heerd ’em a-tellin’ how they | was goin’ to kill every blamed soger they could | find. I didn’t b’lieve they meant it will last | night, ‘cause they used to be afeared of sogers, but now they’ve whipped ye so bad, they ain’g | no tellin’ what they’ll do.” | Oliver had listened to him with an attention that became more and more iixed, and when he | had finished he asked: “Do you think there’s any—any more dan- ger? I thought it was all over now.” “Lord bless ye, capting, it’s only jest begin- ning, Where do you live to hum?’ ““Calverton sometimes, other times Philadel- phia,” was the answer. “Then you’d better take the fust train to Philadelfy, capting, if so be you hain’t got to | stay, and don’t come back here till this fuss is blowed over.” “Do you really think so?’ asked Calvert, | wistfully. “T reely think so—ah—what might your name be, capting?” “ Calvert,” answered the other, not thinking what he said. “Calvert,” echoed the farmer, in a tone of horror. vert!” “T don’t know,” answered Oliver, feeling very thirsty and not daring to drink. ‘*Be you the Calvert as sent the message to ‘mow down the rascals?” asked the farmer, sternly. Oliver stiffened up enough to say: “No, no, of course not.” His lips were white as he uttered the lie and saw that the farmer knew it to be a lie. ‘* Well,” said the old man, slowly; ‘if you ben’t him, all right, but if you be, Lord have | mercy on yeif they ketches ye anywheres this side of Altoona.” ‘“ Why?’ asked Oliver, hoarsely. “Cause I’m told all the strikers and tram has swore a oath on the Ten Commandments roast Calvert the Mower over a slow fire if they ever lays hands on him,” was the solemn an- swer. Oliver wiped his brow hastily, and rose with tottering steps to walk to the window. The militiamen were scattered about the road- | side, finishing their hearty meal, and there was not much semblance of order among them, while many had thrown away their muskets. He saw one man deliberately take off his uni- form by the roadside, and dress himself up in an old blue shirt and trowsers, with a battered straw hat to match, after which he scrambled over a fence and disappeared across the fields, A great many ragged figures were going the same way, and the soldiers m the road, instead of trying to stop them, called out joking mes- sages after them, as if to old co es. Then Oliver turned to the old farmer with a troubled face. “The men are deserting,” he said. ‘Sensible fellers,” was the composed reply. “This ain’t no fittin’ place for any man in sojer close. You put that down, capting.” ‘*Where’s the general, 1 wonder?’ muttered Oliver, watching the long stream of deserters. ‘“‘Gineral? Our gineral—bim as ordered out the regiments round here—he’s gone home to Squantum, He warn’t meant to be no man’s fool, and I’d ’a’ done the same in his place,” re- plied the patriarch, in the same sententious manner, watching Oliver keenly; and then he sidled up near him ‘and said in a confidential tone: ‘Say, capting, ve got a mighty nice little hoss a3 °d take you over to Roxtown Center, where the cars goes to Philadelfy, in half ’n hour, if you'd like to buy him.” 7 Oliver felt the sweat trickle down his back as he answered: “Tt wouldn’t be any use in. these clothes, Pd be recognized as a runaway, and my name be in all the papers. I’m one of the Governor’s staff. I must stick to my duty.” ’ The old farmer laid his hand on his shoulder. “The hoss is jest as good fur a officer as a citizen, and there’s a soot of my boy Dan’l’s close up-stairs as ’d fit you amazin’ well.” “And where is your boy?” asked Calvert, bags knowing what he said in his agita- ion. “Over thete,” said the farmer, pointing to ds you “You see, if you city boys had only staid | here, he may bring the boys down on ye.” home, you wouldn’t have got into this trouble. The strikers is all right.” » ’ + 1 n ees ee oe Sime Hunted into his corner, Oliver turned. “How much do you want?” he asked, desper- ‘“Not him they calls ‘Mower Cal- -
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Fy A amen oe 16 I et ar A I etiataite ee 2 6 a ately. how much?” ; The slow farmer became transformed in an instant to a shrewd man of affairs, as he éx- claimed: “That’s biz. close.” Calvert hesitated. ““T’ve only a hundred dollars in my pocket,” he said. ‘Give me a check,’ was the brisk answer. * “Tf you’re Oliver Calvert you’re good for the q * mone ” pours tt right,” replied Oliver, eagerly. ‘‘ Give _* mea pen and paper, and get the things quickly.” The bargain seemed to have put quicksilver into the limbs of the patriarch, for he whipped out pens and paper from a desk in the corner of the parlor, set the writing materials before ran up-stairs to the absent Dan’l’s room, whence he soon reappeared with Dan’l’s brown moleskin working suit—probable value five dollars or less when new—which he dumped Oliver, and Se on the floor. “ Want a razor?’ he asked, in a brisk tone. Oliver started. ig ** Yes, of course. Never thought of it. How 4 I wish you had a wig.” ““Dan’l’s got a play-actor’s wig, as he got off a song and dance man in Pittsburg for a loan of j fifty cents,” was the accommodating answer. in. It’s red as carrots.” fast ‘All right,” was Oliver’s much relieved re- Ply ‘Bring it along, and here’s your check.” 6 venerable rustic took and examined the check with much satisfaction, and toddled off to get wig and horse, while Oliver hastily drew down the blinds, shed his uniform, and drew on the shabby clothes of the absent Dan’l with a sense of relief that he could hardly explain. Once dressed, he shaved off his black mus- tache with a trembling hand, looked into the glass, and thanked Heaven his black hair was / cropped close to his head. Then he waited with much impatience for the old farmer, who ? ~ soon came in, carrying the wig and a battered soft hat of gray felt with a hole in the crown, which he handed to Calvert. Never did a young lieutenant in his first uni- : form survey himself with more pleasurein the Es glass than did Oliver Calvert behold his trans- 7 mogrified reflection in the red wig and seedy # clothes. } ‘*No one would know me,” he thought; “and | Tl find the Governor when it’s all over, and make my peace with him.” ; -To the farmer he said: Dd “Now then, where’s that horse, and where’s ag the road to Roxtown?” i ‘ “This way, capting,” said the sage, in his most confidential tone; and he took him out into the back yard where an old gray mare raw-boned and pot-bellied, country grass fed from her crown to her bare hind feet, stood ‘# hitched to a _ ‘ SR Rusticus showed him a lane through his fields i and a distant church spire. - “That’s Roxtown, and the way’s across the ‘fields. Put up the bars when ye get through, capting, so the tramps ’ll find it harder to foller ye. Good-by.” _ Oliver swung himself into the dilapidated saddle with a joy as great as if he had been mounting a thoroughbred, and ambled off in the direction indicated, at a sort of “dot and an one” gait. The old mare had a string- CHAPTER XVIII. SENATOR CALVERT. oy LEAVING the valiant colonel and aid-de-camp ae eed his gory way over Pennsylvania's ae _ fields in the direction of Roxtown, let us return to | = ~—s- the professional man of peace, Senator Calvert, ‘tae when he was separated from the belea ered troops in the round-house and surrounded by a furious mob who seemed to be thirsting for oe berg he had Ty fe he psies eed he ceased to strug- ew it was useless, and ieve any one the excitement of AS Sure bnougb, Le was tot in the. slightest de- _ gree injured 4s scon as they once had him in hos blanket, but was carried rapidly eway from Aree y bh is Phe as Pe bad “Don’t palaver any more, but tell me Youw’re Calvert, the Mower. Two hundred and fifty for the hoss, fifty for the “T won’t be mean, capting. We'll throw it seal, 7 ear: ‘We're friends. Lie still till you’ve counted a hundred, and then come out. Go toa hotel.” He heard the sound of rapidly fleeing footsteps and threw off the blanket from his head, regard- less of the injunction to count a hundred. He found himself in a dark alley which open- ed out at one end into a broad gaslit street, and four dark figures were running round the cor- ner as fast as they could go. erably in the lumber-yard fracas, and finally | ut on his hat, which he found lying beside him in the alley, and walked into the street. Then he found himself once more a private | citizen, a strangér in a great city, with nothing | in the world to distinguish him from any one | else in the town. | “And whoever did this thing knew me!” | thought the Senator. ‘‘Those rioters can’t be such very bad fellows after all, and I don’t won- der they were exasperated ver the killing of | that child and the woman.” . He came out into the street and saw that he was close to the front of a theater, which bore on its bill-board, in monstrous letters: “GRAND CACHUCA COMBINATION! 1!!!” followed by a description of the wonders of the Gipsy ballet. mething recalled to the old man’s mind the face of the woman he had seen in the buggy, and he remembered the words of his fellow- prisoner in the round-house. ‘‘ She’s a variety actress, called the Countess Cachuca.” ‘‘Tll go in and see,” muttered the old Sena- tor. ‘‘I may be mistaken, but I feel as if I could swear to her face among a thousand.” He went in and bought a ticket at the office. The lobby was empty, and the ticket-taker stared at him as if he thought it a queer time to come in, for it was nearly eleven o’clock. However, he said nothing, and the Senator walked into the house and stalked down the center aisle toward the orchestra seats, just as the Gipsy Queen was placing her foot on the neck of her victim, who looked so like Oliver or Nab and flourishing her gleaming knife aloft. The old gentleman walked straight on to the orchestra rails, his tall heavy figure and grand white head attracting universal attention, in- asmuch as the house was only about three- quarters full. As he came he stared fixedly at the Gipsy Queen, and her eye caught his, An instant flush showed that she knew him. 4 ‘* Ting!’ went the prompt bell and down came the curtain; but as it fell, Senator Cal- vert kept staring, and the Gipsy Queen stared back, as if neither could resist the fascina- tion. As soon as the curtain was down, the old gentleman nodded and said to himself aloud: “I thought I was not mistaken. Oliver has no memory af all.” ‘* Why, Senator,” said a voice close to him, “how did you get down here? I thought you were at Calverton.” The Senator turned to see the face of an old political friend, who caught him by the hand and continued: “TI thought I was dreaming when you came down the passage, How did you get into Pitts- burg with the road blocked?” “T came in with the troops,” was the severe reply of the Senator; “the same that you peo- le here are now trying to murder. Where’s the stage door of this theater?’ His friend was so much astounded by the first part of his speech that he forgot to answer the second. ; ‘*Came in with the troops!” he echoed, in a tone of amazement. ‘Why, how did you get out of the round-house? I heard they were go- ing to kill you all.” ‘And you seem to have cared a good deal whether they did or not,” retorted Senator Cal- vert, bitterly. “I tell you what it is, my friend: this little night’s work won’t do you peorls any good in the end, You may kill a andful of men, half starved, by sheer num- bers, but you can’t kill the State of Pennsyl- vania. here’s the stage door of this theater? Can’t you tell me?” 1 He asked the question so snappishly that the other answered hastily: ‘*Round the corner in the alleyway,” point- ing to the side from whence the Senator had al- a Cn ee eee ee And the stout old man stalked away up the aisle, followed by a low murmur of comment from the spectators (for face and figure were both well known), and passed out into the lobby and street. _Once outside he had no trouble in tracing the’ alleyway in which he had been left, where he be about for the stage door, which he soon un , a But, though he knocked again and again, it was fu fen tainutes before the Page! 2 OE ! } ty af Me Be The old gentleman picked himself up, adjusted | his tumbled clothes, which had: suffered consid- | opened to him, and then only bya crossold man who snapped out: ““What do you mean by getting in front when you're wanted here? It’s against the or- ders to be running backward and forward all night, and you know it as well as I do.” The old Senator interposed as soon as he could get in a word: a ‘ “My good man, I don’t belong to your troupe, ; “Then you can’t come in,” snapped the olf man, still more angrily. ‘‘Do you think I’ve nothing to do but keep a lot of guys gabbing? I’ve got to be up-stairs, shifting scenes, and looking after that blamed calcium, and here you are taking up my time—” He stopped suddenly, as the Senator, who was a man of the world, held before his eyes a | crisp bank bill, without another word. ‘*Oh, that’s different,” muttered the old man, in an altered tone. ‘Who do you want to see?” ‘The Countess Cachuca—at once,” be, pc Calvert, stepping boldly inside the charmed pre- cincts. “*She’s in her dressin’-room,” was the reply, confidentially delivered. ‘‘Shall I give any name, sir?” ‘Show me the room,” said the Senator. **She’ll see me or I mistake much.” The doorkeeper led him up-stairs to the regions behind the curtain, whence the Pittsburg mag- nates had been so rudely ejected the night be- fore, and he found the stage set for Poor Pilli- coddy, with a few painted persons chatting solemnly with each other in low tones before the rising of the curtain. They regarded the Senator with looks of sur- prise as he stalked across the stage; but he paid no attention, and followed his leader to the wings, where a narrow little staircase led up to @ door. ‘** That’s her door, sir.” , \ The Senator nodded, while the doorkeeper vanished to his other multifarious duties, Then the magnate of Calverton slowly as- cended the stairs, pausing at almost every step, his face very. pale, and his breath coming in labored gasps. He hesitated before something ys or other, and the curtain had been rung up be- fore he finally knocked at the little dressing- ; room door, When he did, he was greeted by a soft, clear voice, saying: “Come in, Peter, I’m dressed now.” The old Senator opencd the door and stood in the presence of a dark, beautiful woman, fash- ionably attired, who por him with a cold, haughty stare, and asked: “Who are you, sir? How did you enter ss here?”, The old man was not taken at all by surprise at this inquiry. He closed the door behind him, and rested two hundred and fifty pounds of solid flesh against it, before he made any reply. Then he said, solemnly: * Jacqueline Raynaud, where is my son?” The actress returned his steady gaze with in- terest out of her dark eyes, and curled her Jip. “Are you in your senses, sir? Who are you and who is your son?” “‘T am Harvey Calvert, whose son robbed him and fled with you to a life of infamy and shame,” said the Senator, slowly. “Jacqueline, you were not treated so il in our house that you cannot recognize its master, Tell me where he : is, and Iwill forgive you—ay, bless you.” The dark lady sbrugged hér shoulders, “Tm sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” she answered. ‘‘I never saw you before till you stared me out of countenance from the pit; and allow me to say that if this is your style of making love, it is both impolite and useless. Good-evening, sir. Please to go out,” But the Senator had not put himself to all this trouble to be browbeaten out of his advan- e. . « Harkye, Jacqueline,” he said, raising his finger to emphasize his words. ‘I recognized oe | you the moment I saw you with that bearded man in the wagon. Oliver didn’t know you, but 1 did at once—” ‘4 He paused, surprised at a singular smile that a Sommer on the lips of his fair antagonist, and asked: s “Why do youlaugh?” ae ‘At your tirade,” was the ready reply. “I never saw you before, and you pretend to rec- ognize me off the stage. If yon will not leave the door I must ring the bell for help. I wish to go home, sir.” / 5 6 old Senator never stirred. ae ‘Ring, if you please,” he said. “I amwell ~- , known here, and you cannot frighten me off, — Jacqueline. Tell me where is my boy, and i will go at once,” eee This time she laughed openly at him. , ‘*What do I know about, you or your boy? You should look after your own boys, — and keep them at home: then you phetes 94 have to hunt for them in the dressing-rooms of __ There was something pecul: mocking and © sardouic itr her tones she id this, and the old e Senator was for a moment . Then he an- i< swered, huskily: ; uate" aaa ; 10 espa «og rs : we a * 0 rh 1 Lee OP es:
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Fit a ee ae 5 — ee . fullyf 7 with vines, looking. ~ He Ca his lips firmly and frowned as he turned away his head; but the woman’s keen glance detected a tear glittering under the bushy white brows. When he spoke again, it was with a humble, pleading accent, very unlike his former tone. “* Jacqueline Raynaud, for the last time, will vou tell me where is my son?” She shrugged and smiled. *“You are tiresome, sir,” was her only an- swer. Then he nodded his head slowly twice, gighed heavily, and opened the door to go out. ‘*T deserve it,” he muttered. ‘‘ Good-night, mademoiselle.” **Good-night, monsieur,” was her reply, in the same tones of mockery. ‘‘T hope you may ' find your son, if you look for him long en- sant P) hen the Senator went away. CHAPTER XIX. A WALK IN THE PARK, _ Miss Heien Ck&ESTER, alone and unattended, was taking a walk in Fairmount Park, Philadel- phia, just about the same time that her cousin Oliver was executing his masterly retreat from ag vasniva Yo Dan’l’s clothes. _ ' It was hardly the proper thing for. @ fashion- able ra 2 lady to do even in free America, but Helen had been brought up in the npc at joved fresh air and had a contempt for conven- tionalities that led her to do unusual things, Her guardian had hurried her off from Cal- verton to Philadelphia on the morning when ‘she had found the tramp’s letter pinned to the tree, and had left her at her aunt Mary’s house, _a quiet little mansion not far from the Park, in one of those cosey little alle Hy so delight- uent on the north side of hiladelphia Aunt Mary—otherwise Mrs, Chester—was.a iet old Quaker lady, who, being a cousin of enator Calvert, had married Helen’s uncle, and, being a widow, had taken great interest in ' the orphan heiress, who hada confusing way of ‘calling all her older relatives ‘‘ uncle and aunt,” including her guardian, who was really only her second cousin. The old lady had never made much effort to control Helen and only urged the feeblest ob- jections to her niece’s lonely rambles in the ark in the unsettled state of things consequent on the riot summer, Helen had, however, no fears on the subject. | Since her adventure with the burglars, the girl had developed a wonderful amount of self-confi- dence and control, and had frightened her Quaker aunt half to death the very first day of her arrival by nome her a neat little revol- ‘yer which she carried in a pocket under’ her pull-back skirts and could use well at need. Mrs. Chester was in despair at this fresh va- ary of her niece. i ’ “Why will thee be masculine, Helen? Thee doesn’t surely think of shooting any one, does thee?’ , “No, aunt Mary, but I don’t see why a wo- man shouldn’t be able to take care of herself if she’s going to be alone all her life, and I shall probably die an old maid, so I want to begin | early.” ; “Bat what does thee want with a pistol, Helen?” . “To take care of myself against any stray tramps, aunty. I know a girl who can shoot as well as any man and who has owed her life and safety to it, many a time.” me oe ‘“‘Then she must be a very strange girl, Helen,” responded her aunt, severely. “Sober, decent girls don’t run into. scrapes that require a pistol to save them, Thee knows that as well as I do.” ‘Helen flushed and replied with more heat than she usually showed to her dovelike relative. ‘The poor creature, like me, was a mother- less girl, and misfortune drove her into danger. You talk like the rest of the world, aunt Mary, and I hope you'll repent it some day.” So pacge aad elen went out of the room with something very like a flounce, and put on her things ef up the ne... There, in a nook among thickets and neglect- ere Helen took her seat and ide down. b= itn Nemo, -—a great lady. Any one will believe Sure enough, after half an hour’s more or less impatient waiting, steps sounded on the walk, and a bright red patch could be seen through ‘oe leaves of the adjacent thicket mov- g along. Rison Chester closed her book with an air of vexation and murmured to herself: | ‘*Tt’s some one else, after all. Can she have disappointed me?” The next moment the light, graceful figure of a girl in a scarlet cloak tripped into view and came straight toward the arbor where Helen sat King of the Tramps. ? Gipsy Nan smiled. hen wrong isvright and truth is told; the lost son will come to light, and all will be happy. So she says, and I can say no more.” Then the Gipsy dropped a courtesy and left the arbor at a rapid, springy walk, Helen watching her in a mute reverie as she took her way out of sight, when the young lady slowly followed her. Nan crossed the park and went over the rail- way bridge to the station, where she stopped just as a stream of passengers came out. The Gipsy watched them keenly with the in- This girl was as dark as an Indian, with large | stinct of her class, under a manner of assumed black eyes and clustering curls of ebony hue framing her oval face under the red hood. She had a pleading smile on her red lips, dis- closing teeth like rows of pearls between them, Her figure was lithe as that of an antelope, and her little feet and ankles were fully re- vealed by the short striped skirt she wore. Physically she was perfectly beautiful in her dark style, and it was with the sweetest of voices that she said to Helen: ‘* Won't the pretty lady cross the poor Gip- sy’s palm with silver and hear her fortune told? Helen curled her lip. t “* What _do you know about fortune?’ she asked, ‘‘I don’t care for your silly prophecies, | Go ih The Gipsy girl looked at her with a myste- rious air and answered: “T know all about fortunes. I am Gipsy Nan, and my Duroken Lil never makes a mis- take.” ‘“« And what’s your Duroken Lil?” asked Helen, skeptically. ; ‘*My book of magic,” answered Gipsy Nan, in a hushed sort of way. ‘‘ Don’t talk ill of it, for it’s unlucky. I know what you came here for to-day.” “Well, what?” asked Helen, her color begin- ning to rise. ; f , ‘You came to meet one who is not here, for the reason that she is. far away with the Ro- manichal,” Helen turned scarlet. ‘‘ How dare you say that?’ she asked. ‘‘ Who are youand what do you want with me this morning?” “T want to tell the aheyel lady what will happen to her, if she will let me see her hand,” answered Nan, with the same coaxing smile. Helen could not help laughing at her perti- nacity, and held out her hand to the Gipsy girl, who looked at it intently. Presently she said, in her most mysterious way: | fortune and happiness are far off from the beautiful lady now, but they will come to her if she has the courage to wait and work as she will tell her. There isa tangle ‘to unravel, a snake to be drawn from his hole, a wrong to right, a man to punish, a woman to save. She sends you this.” She dropped Helen’s hand and left therein a small note which the girl eagerly clasped, ery- ing: e You area messenger from her or him. Why did not you say so before?” ye ‘ Nan only smiled in her old mocking myste- rious way as she answered: } ‘‘ Will the pretty lady cross the Gipsy’s palm now?” “ Certainly.” And Helen dived for her pocket-book and gave Nan a new bill, to the Gipsy’s great de- light, while the young lady eagerly read the note, It was very brief. “T cannot come to-day, and send Nan, She knows all. Tell her all. Jacko.” Helen raised her eyes to Nan. - ** Where is Jacko?” she asked. The Gipsy laughed. “She’s a queen now. “Money plenty. What shall I say to her?” “Tell her I will follow the advice she gave me at Calverton to the letter. Why could she Be a PONE ® 1s far away,” replied Nan, in an evasive way. “She told mae total you to watch him you know of, and get his secret.” : Helen smiled. ‘‘Hasier said than done, I hate him, and he knows it.” ; ' “That's nothing,” answered the Gi dently. ‘A Romaniche would gorgio to geta secret any time.” ‘“And what’s choomer a gorgio ?” asked Helen, wonderingly. ; bay ‘‘ Kiss a stranger. Any man will tell a secret “Then you mean lam to make love to him to get his secret from him?” said Helen, inquir- Gir Nan laughed. “(Get hissecret. Jacko got it, but no one will believe her. You are: Ranee—a boro Ranee when they would hunt a Romaniche out of the y, confi- choomer a | for love.” © tell me when { sh ’ ee aT ea, et ne = bist ” " , eee,” said Helen, siowiy, ‘Tl thin ote Nanny. In the meantim 8 / see him whom Jacko and I know? — oa indifference till she suddenly started despite her self-command as a tall, red-haired, slouchy- looking countryman ina brown moleskin suit, worn and dirty, came shambling out of the dep6t and walked toward Market street. Phere was nothing so very uncommon in the looks of this person, save one item that Nan in- stantly noted. He was wearing a red wig. She spied a lock of black air on the nape of his neck, andinstantly jumped to the conclusion that he wasa detective, or some such person, t any other time Nan would have given such a persona wide berth, but those were times when her class were particularly bold, and she resolved to see him a little closer. She had come from Pittsburg herself on the | very day of the riots, in the last train that was allowed to pass, sent on a secret errand by the chief of her band, and was going back at once, when she. met this man. A moment later she was in front of him, beg- ging and staring up in his face all the while. ‘* Please, kind, gentleman, let the Gipsy tell your fortune.” “Go to the devil!” was the sullen reply. ** Keep out of my way, or Vil call a policeman, you brazen baggage. ; But Gipsy Nan had seen and heard all she wanted. She knew Oliver Calvert in a mo- ment, spite of all his disguise, from the tones of his voice and the expression of bis face, the | same she, had seen on the lawn at Calverton, a few days ago. She fell back with affected timidity to allow him to pass, and then followed him up at a little distance. She noticed that he looked ashamed, and shambled along the street as if trying to avoid. observation. ‘ ) Not only ;was this the case with him, but there were other men, roughly dressed, but with pale faces, and soft, white hands, whe went sneaking off from the cars, and vanishing down side streots, as if desirous of hiding themselves, At first she thought them tramps, but she was undeceived a little later by hearing ‘thé news- boys shouting: ‘““Extry Zimes! Got the total defeat of the Filadelfy malishy the troops killed!” “Oho!” said Nan to herself with a triumph- ant air: ‘‘So the tramps have had the best of it this time, and those gorgios have run away in other people’s clothes. Now the Ro- mabdichas will have justice.” ; So saying, Nan slipped off her red cloak, put down the hood, turned it inside out, showing a dark, plain lining,.made a few rapid changes in her .personul appearance, by letting down a looped-up skirt, and then boldly started down the street, quite transmogrified into a sober, uiet working-girl in a long brown dress, who shadowed Oliver Calvert like a spirit till she traced him into the Continental Hotel, where he finally disappeared, though not till after a visit to a clothing store, of which more hereafter. Then she turned and went back to the cars, which, half an hour later, were on their way to_ Pittsburg, or as near there as they could get. Nan was going back to make her report. CHAPTER XX. HELEN’S PROMISE, } WHEN Oliver Calvert reached the Continentat _ Hotel, where he was well known, he took the opportunity to dash off his red wig, in the first dark passage, before he went up to the desk. and thus made his appearance before the clerk we | partially changed. _ ; «| everthéless, that individual . ae ‘el i him, and was much surprised when, the fugitive aang spoke to him in a low voice, and asked him for a room to change his dress. pat h the clerk who was his inly _ Just come back ‘Certainly, judge, from Pittsburg, I suppose “How do you turning red. “Had a lot of refugees in to-day to their clothes, and most of uniform in their bags. Then, as the perce tion gradu dawned on jer was bis vi tor, So Bjosmtieanal: rs time, judge; I mean colonel?” | Wwe ‘* Hot enough,” replied Oliver, trying to loo! the men bad to retreat at last, m and in the han my escape in di up that pel with t land orde ods ? « #5 L £43 ray x “% ! Pittsburg in flames! All | ’em had some sort of ih All agreed the rioters had killed the rest of the regiment. Hadahot _ 7 know that?” asked the other, «? »- Pr .. + 4
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SebbciNeN Night enntae a ve show Olif-r to a room, but there was a sort of grin on his face as he did so, that was only the | reflection of that on many another face in those | days, especially if the wearer had not been in Pittsburg, and did not belong to the militia. .. It was unmistakable and supercilious scorn, ymnuch of it undeserved, under which the vic- } tims of the round-house were doomed to suffer for many weeks after. Oliver Calvert and those who had sneaked off for this feeling, but many of the others were not, for they had only-done their duty. However, the ex-colonel in mufti made no par- ticular note of the clerk’s grin, but hurried up / » to his room to resume a respectable appearance. ia His object was to so cover his tracks, that he house in any disguise; and with that object in purchase a ready-made suit, which he hastily a donned while consigning the absent Dan’l’s gar- ry ments to the safe seclusion of the locked valise. When he was once more respectable he went down-stairs again, and sallied out to find bis —) story. He found the city wearing much of its usual appearance, though there were a good many groups at the street corners, men discussing the news from Pittsburg, while the sale of papers was flourishing. On his way to the Chesters the escaped colonel] ’ bought an extra, and learned, for the first time, " that the rioters had burned the round-house and dep6t, and that a large part of Pittsourg was then in flames, while the exploits of the Phila: delphia troops were set forth,as prodigies of valor, and the regular army major was over- whelmed with obloquy for his retusal to assist the beaten militiamen, This paper made Oliver feel more tranquil ir his mind, for he had hitherto telt very much - ashamed of himself; and the look of the clerk | had been far from flattering. He took a horse-car in a side street, and went i Bg, oo the park, whence he soon, reached Mrs. Chester’s neigkborhood, and was nearing . ker house, when, in turning a corner, he came _ directly on Helen, leisurely strolling elong un- - der her parasol. His first impulse was to go the other way, for he dreaded the sarcastic tongue/of bis brilliant cousin; but she had already seen him, and met him with a bright smile and extended hand. _ * “Why, Oliver, where did you come from ‘and what made you shave off your mus- . ache?” _ _-He stammered and colored, “Oh, nothing. Hot weather, you know.” “But I thought you were in Pittsburg. Uncle Harvey said you had gone there to quell the riots. Did you see him? He went along _ with the soldiers.” | ss ** Yes, Helen, I did see him, and a hard time - Weallhad, Haven’t you read the papers?” -_ *T don’t care to read them generally.» Ther- i aos ea al - + , - } = Sen cs ss "ve too stupid. I saw one. yesterday evening, that told how the soldiers had fired on the riot- - segs and driven them off in confusion, Were -\ -you there, cousin Oliver?” By A dhave you seen nothing since—nothing f ~ _. She Jooked surprised. Wags st rt a a s - and we live very quietly. “Then look at that.” ; And he handed her the extra which described _. theclosing of the battle, by which Helen learned for the first time of the disaster. iy -_ She ead it been tn her face getting paler , d more serious as she went on, and then sud- faced on him with the question: ‘suncle Harvey? Did you leave him . killed? The paper doesn’t say a word I oe and L know he was there. Where oesn’t read the papers, aay with excitement while she @ was very fond of the old man, lways been kindtoher. iver put on his most protecting and con- Pho nghd 5 ve well ves me to aunt Mary’s, tell you, Helen. Ihave seen the Senator we were both together in that dreadful -round-house, but we were separated in one of attacks, and I fear he isa prisoner in their ‘hen he is killed,” was all she said, in a of despair, ‘‘and he will never know—” did not finish the sentence; but com- her lips firmly and walked on, for Helen sual If-control and hated to be seen 1d beside her for some minutes and then gently Sea ‘probably safe, Helen, The save age en in uni ia with him in the same manner were fair subjects | might not be compelled to call at Mrs. Chester’s | view he had stopped on his way to the hotel to | cousin Helen, all prepared with a plausible | Nemo, King of the Tramps. lea | “Tadmitit, Helen; but I could not let them see I was afraid.” Helen regarded him with a singular glance of | covert contempt. A few days earlier, she would have breken | out in some bitter speech; but something re- | strained her now, and she said nothing till they | came to Mrs. Chester’s house, where the first | person they saw on the steps was a telegraph boy, ringing the bell. Telen’s eyes lighted up and she hurriedly ad- dressed the boy. ‘* Where is that from?’ | _ ‘* Pittsburg, ma’am, as near as they could get. | Wires are down for five miles out.” ‘* Who’s the message for?’ ‘Miss Helen Chester, ma’am. lady ?”’ ; a Yes, yes.” \ And Helen snatched the telegram from the | boy’s hand and tore it open, while Oliver signed the receipt-book. The message ran: ‘**The Senator is safe, Remember my advice. Jacko,” Sse crushed it up in her hand and turned to the boy with a sweet smile, saying: **You’re a nice boy. Take this.” ..And she slipped a dollar bill into his hand; for Helen had always had plenty of money and was @ little inclined to be extravagant. The boy touched his hat and went off radiant, wee Oliver fidgeted, and at last ventured to ask: “ Who was that from, Helen?” “Oh, no one—a friend of mine in Pittsburg, to say uncle Harvey is all safe. Come in, Oliver.” . And nothing more could be got out of her after they were in the house, for she fluttered about trom one subject to another with a vi- vacity all her own, engaging him in all sorts of disputes with aunt Mary,.who sided with the rioters and did not believe in military measures’ of any kind, “They that take the sword shall die by the sword, Oliver. Thee’s found that out by this time,” observed aunt Mary, placidly, knitting away. ‘‘I’m sorry thy men were hurt, of course; but if thee asks my opinion, I must say I think they deserved what they got., Did thee come home in uniform, Oliver?’ — ‘*No, aunt; I was captured and going to be murdered, when I managed to slip away in 'the dark by taking the clothes of a dead riocer,” The old lady shuddered. ** And wasr’t thee ashamed to spoil the dead, Oliver?” « , “It was neck or nothing with me then,” he | answered, coolly. ‘You know we soldiers can’t stick at trifles.” He did not see the humorous twinkle in Helen’s eyes, because at that moment she was arranging some flowers ina vase behind him, and her voice was as soft as the cooing of a dove |’ as she observed: ‘Poor Oliver must have had a very hard time, aunt Mary. It’s a sbame to abuse him. For my part; I feel quite proud of his escape. But-he must be very hungry after all this. Let me order lunch.” ‘Certainly, child; thee knows where to find Rebecca.” : And most assiduous were the cares bestowed by Helen onthe dejected hero of the riots all that afternoon, by which she soothed his self- love, flattered his vanity, and encouraged bis hopes to that extent that he soon forgot all about the mysterious telegram, and’ became more devoted to his handsome cousin than he had ever been before, which was needless. For first time in several years, Oliver Cal- vert began to nape that Helen was growin kind tohim. He bad paid assiduous court to her for all that time, for the sake of her wealth and beauty, but had never hitherto been able ’ Are you the Fear sothing. ntly said, when she had — eS **Could you?” she asked, playfully. “But suppose 1 couldn’t care for you, Oliver? Where would my happiness be then?” : ‘‘T’d make you love me. You couldn’t help it long.” ‘*But suppose I loved some one else, cousin Oliver?” “Twouldn’tcare for that. P’d end by making you forget him.” **'You’re very confident, sir.” ‘*Tam, because I’m very much in love. yes, and you'll never repent it, Helen.” - Butif [ said yes, I should make a condition, aiver. “Make any conditions, and I swear to fulfill them all,” he answered, eagerly, for he began to think she was weakening. Helen’seyes had a strange glitter in the dark - ened room as she looked down in his eager, im- passioned face. a : ** Will you swear on your faitl: in all that fs holy, t6 do anything I tell you, if 1 will prom- ise to marry vou, Oliver Calvert?” He gave a slight start’and looked 2t her doubttully for a moment; but then he com- pre-sed his lips and answered: ‘*‘L swear it on my soul, Helen.” Then she stopped waving her fan, and her Mea treinbled ever so slightly as she said to im: ** Bring back Harvey Calvert ta his home and reconcile him to his father, and I wil make no further opposition.” The words had, as she knew they would have, ' a great effect on him. ou e sat still a moment, seeming to shrink inte himself, and then moved away to te other end , of the settee, whence he stared at hér in si- LY au lence, aN re For a little space not a word was spoken, and then Oliver asked in kusky tones; ’ “Bring back Harvey? How caz, Helen? I don’t know where he ‘¢ He stopped with a sort of gasp. Say - —- Seta a tt do ite — bard a “nu less—? ' ; # “Very well,” she replied, quieuy, ‘then we need say no more about tie matter, Oliver.” , Softly she rose from her seat, gathered her ey an dress round her and was about sweeping trout me "E the room, when Oliver rose in his turn and lai¢” mary 4 his hand on her sleeve to detainher. . | Shoat on ‘Don’t go yei, Helen,” he said, pleadingly. is “Tll do anything in my power ‘o please you, : but how can I perform what is impossible?) \ « ‘*The man that wins me must laugh at im- possibilities,” answered Helen, haughtily, “i Ne have made my condition. Till it is fulfilled, ‘ press me no more.” ; ‘* Stay one little moment,” he said, huskily. ‘Tf L—I—bring him back to his father, will you perform your fen? of the agreement? will you marry me, Helen?” “{Y have said what I mean once,” she an- he swered, slowly. “ Bring him back,and J wilh not oppose you,” Ae Then she left the room. CHAPTER XXI. ety ee GIPSY NAN, ; Wuen Gipsy Nan finally left the care, shé found herself at the station where O liver - vert had first met the soldiers, ‘The train ran no further, and indeed they could not get that far; for the whole line from Pittsburg on both tracks was choked with strings of freight cars. in a solid, unbroken Eereeon: stretching several hundred Mere eyond the station at which Nan stopped. _ 4 = ‘The Gipsy was, as we have seen, an adept at ¥ mr disguise, and noone would have thought her : mays is no gpg but a quiet, rather stupid en | hat Oh Sede ok "0 brown | ee |e -'% girl, as she stepped out of the train ina dress and a gray shawl, carrying a bandbox, which held her red and brown reversible cloak, with some other toggery. f i } She had even taken the precaution to powder ts” her dark face and hide her black hair under a scrubby brown wig, with a very loud country se se: to Perr itead a ( a. an was already a ski etective, and had | taken with hedoe #0 the service on Which she — was that day employed; though she did not. realize its full importance, having merely re- peated words with which she was charged. She was not afraid of a six-mile tramp, or she behind been no ae feel sro so she set off on the dusty road ittsburg, ewinging her bandbox and singing as she went, as soon as she got alone where no one bag hear her, t for Nan was given to naughty Romany bal- lads, that she didn’t care to let a gorgio hear. _ : gorgio Nar Like most of her people she was pr
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-— - Ps we ———__ —-—__ —-—-_--- —- ————— ————_— -- she went along, and sung the second verse at | I didn’t know you at first. the full pitch cof a sweet and powerful voice, which she possessed in common with many of her race. Me kamava miro kam, miro kone kamlidir, Miro kone kamlidir kone choomava man, Ava giv, Romanichi! Ave giv, Romanichal! Choomer kone kashtidir, miro kan,* The song was like herself and all her race, light, voluptuous, and living in the present alone; but Nan sung it with such birdlike sweet- ness to a soft Romany air that it captivated the attention of one listener at least, who rose up | from under a tree where he was lolling at full an as the Boss of the Bummers. Mr. Barlow had made a great change for the better in his personal appearance as far as length and exposed to view the well-known face | F iwere of Mr. William Barlow, better known | - ; See what a soot 1 got. clothes went, for he was appareled in the most | shiny of black broadcloth, and had on his feet a pair of enormous patent leather, boots; but the effect of this raiment was marred by the fact | that he had on a shirt not large enough for him, and so had neglected to button it at the | neck, or to put on any collar,.though he sported a grand diamond pin in the middle of his breast. Otherwise Mr. Barlow was the essence of pon- derous respectability in his attire, and sported a watch in each of his vest pockets, with the most gorgeous of chains depending therefrom, while he was lazily fanning himself with a large and beautifully mounted fan, a delicate toy of ivory, satin and gold To complete the unlooked-for features of his equipment, Mr. Barlow rested his hand on a musket, while some belts and a pouch lay un- der the tree beside him. “Well, my gal, it you ain’t the, piece I’ve been lookin’ fur all day!” he exclaimed, a broad smile lighting up his dirty tace, For, with ail his fine clothes, the Boss of the Bummers had neglected the little ceremony of washing as below his dignity. ““Here ve been a-sweatin’ under that ’ere tree all the mornin’, a waitin’ fur a nice little gal to come along and take a crink with me; and here you come as pritty asa picter and as sweet as—oh, jiminy!” His feelings were too much for Mr. Barlow, and he smacked his lips and bugged the air with his armas ashe danced about in the road before Nan, barring her further progress toward the city. The girl had one advantage over him, that she knew who he was, while she herself’ was thoroughly disguised. oreover, she could see from his gestures and general appearance that the Boss of the Bummers was a little more than half-seas over, a conclusion confirmed py the presence of two empty bottles lying in the road near Mr. Barlow’s late couch. “Who are you, anyway?” he went on, try- ing to come near her with steady steps and failing in the attempt; and what were that you was a-singin? Eyetalian or Dutch, or what? Say! Hain’t ye got no tongue?” Nan had been watching him with the cat- like vigilance, quite unmi with fear, of her hardy, self-reliant race, and now she curled her red iit and retorted: “What's that to you? Get out of my way, or it’ll be the worse for you. Do you hear? “Yes, I hear, my charmer,” replied the amorous Boss of the Bummers, staggering to and fro to intercept her. “I ain’t no tramp now, I want you to un’stan’. I’m a gemman— agemman, by Jiminy! Ilives on my stamps, and all I want’s a nice gal to make me’s happy’s aking. Look ahere, ole gal!” : And with a drunken howl of exultation he dived into his pockets, throwing down his gun for the purp»se, and hauled out two great roils of bills, which he shook in her face with a maud- lin sees ‘** Look a’ that ’n’ smile!” he said, after a while, in a tone of severe gravity. ‘“‘ That’s fur the gal as is good to me. I’m the king of A ig I am, and dam the man I can’t ck. ; _Nan would have been no true Gipsy if_the sight of the money had had no effect on her. At first she had been very much disgusted to find Billy Barlow in her way; for like most Gipsies, she had a great contempt for tramps of any other race; but now-she saw he was drunk and unable to do her any serious harm if she reserved her distance, Therefore she suddenly changed her manner to one of og sweetness, and exclaimed: “Why, Mr. Barlow, is that you? I declare *A fair specimen of the tone and manner of the Gipsy songs, when they are not more openly licen- tious. ; T love my love, my dearest love, And my dearest love loves ine. 1 will kiss him all the day, i will kiss him-alll the night, And my dearest love will kiss me. I love my love, my dearest love, My dearest love who, kisses ine, Rane, sing,.yo Gipsy ninids' Nome. ting, ye Gipsy lads! What bet. cr than a kiss, oh my love? t 7 4 hs u eT ee ee ee ee a Why, how do you do?” The Boss of the Bummers stared at her in a stupid kind of fashion for a minute, and then burst out: “Well, bu’st my bloomin’ skin if she ain’t one of us arter all! Say! who are you, any- way? You've be’n goin’ through some one to gét all those store clos.” *““Who did you go through to get what you have on?” asked Nan, coolly, in her turn. “Me! Oh, taters and hogs’ tails! Ive b’en through hat? the stores in Grubstip, I have; and we've b’én just havin’ a heloftime since we whipped ‘the sogers. Why, -we gets all the liquor we wants, and the stores is left empty, and half the town’s a-burnin’ away like sixty. *Tain’t cool, like my old one; but, Jiminy Moses! ain’t it handsome! Look at them watches. I bu’sted an old cove in the snoot in his own shop, and tuk ’em afore his eyes, and he dasn’t say a word. Teil you, sis, the people’s a-gettin’ their rights now, if they never did afore.” ‘Well you don’t want both those watches, Bill. ’Twould be real nice in you to give me ,one,” said the Gipsy girl} artfully, and as she spoke she came close to him, Mr. Barlow began to smile with drunken fa- tuity. “Oh you coaxin’ little devil,” he said; “you know how to come it over old Bill. Blow my bloomin’ daylight ’f I wouldn’t take the shirt off my back to’blige a nice gal. Take which on’ ?em ye likes. Keep it on both chains, and they’s stem-winders also, Bu’st. me if he didn’t say so, the old thief, just arter I dropped him. Nan had not the slightest scruple in playing Delilah to this dirty essen in new clothes, and she knew him well enough in all his moods to feel quite safe, while she pretended to coax him and stay pear him, With perfect impartiality she examined the watches, selected the handsomest—a jeweled stem-winder of Breat value—and then as tran- quilly picked Barlow’s pocket of the other, while he wasstroking her brown wig and call- ing her all sorts of pretty names. hen she observed quietly: ‘Ts that real money you had just now, or is it only flash flimsy ?” (counterfeit bills.) The hint was enough for Mr, Barlow, who forthwith dived once more into his trowsers’ pockets and fished out two double handfuls of bills more or less worn, “‘ Cracked the Grubstip Bank only Jast night,” he said, proudly. “See what I got for my share. Want tolook at’em?” “Ay,” said Nan, in the same careless way, and the drunken tramp actually poured the money into her lap as she sat down under the tree, the better to lull his suspicions, while he threw himself down beside her and clasped his arms round her waist, “Go along with you, Bill,” she said, in affect- edanger. ‘ Youdon’t leave me alone till I can count the money. There’s enough here to take us out of this and live an honest life where no one will know us. Let me count it, afore you begin to fool with me.” “ All right,” said the tramp, solemnly, and be rolled over on hisother side. ‘ Hurry up with the countin’ and tell us what’s there.” Nan smoothed out the bills with her hands and began to count aloud to keep his attention on them, till she had the packege nicely folded. Then she suddenly leaped to her feet, ran othe un Barlow had dropped in the road, snatched t up, and started on arun as swift as her well- ‘trained limbs could carry her. As she went she looked back over her shoulder, saw the victimized Boss of the Bummers scram- ble to his feet and come staggering after her, and laughed back a shrill defiance at him. Preseiitly she began to come into the more uented roads and saw before her in the dis- tance the blackened ruins and curling smoke that showed where Pittsburg had lain, hand- some and picturesque, whea h Be left it the day before. The mob had truly glutted its thirst for vengeance, But Nan knew well enough from the escape she had just had from Billy Barlow that she could not hope for safety any more in her quiet country girl’s dress. As a@ decent character she was subject to insult from every tramp she met and Mr. Barlow’s attire and revelations show that the tramps had the upper hand in Pitts- burg at that time, Only by getting back to her own band and re- suming her Gipsy dress could’she hope for safety, and in a twinkling Nan had climbed over a stone wall and burried over a few inter- vening fields to an old stone quarry, which she remembered to be ‘in the neighborhood, where she quickly changed her dress to the short skirts of the Gipsy ballet girl; and, thus lightly | as the sergeant threw up bis gun to his sh Nemo, King of the ‘Tramps. 19 —- CHAPTER XXII. LAW AND ORDER, As soon as Nan found herself in Pittsburg she paid a visit to the theater, where her people had been performing in the Gipsy ballet under the mysterious Countess Cachuca, with the tail agent who was as the reader doubtless sur- mises none other than King Nemo, with his hair combed and his body in good clothes. Luckily for Nan, the opera house had escaped the flames which had ruined a large part of Pittsburg, and she had no difficulty in finding her cgmpanions and asking for the Bore Rai, as the Gipsies always called their chief. They told her he was out with the men, work- i ing to stop the fire; for by this time Pittsburg had begun to rouse up to a conviction that things had gone about far enough. . The militia had all been driven out of the city, the police had taken off their uniforms an disappeared, the mayor and aldermen had hid- den themselves, tramps and all sorts of des- peradoes were openly swarming the strects, en- tering the houses where there were none but women, and bullying the peaceful inhabitants out of anything they wanted. For a brief périod there was a perfect reign | of terror in Pittsburg; and society looked on at its own disorganization with sullen apathy, Gipsy Nan entered the city just at the end of this period, and found the feeling to be one of glutted verigeance, ‘* We licked those darned Filadelfy galoots,” she heard one man say. ‘*They won’t come here dictatin’ to us what we shall do, and now I don’t care what happens,” Such was the general feeling of the Pitts- burgers just after the defeat of the Philadelphia division and Shening of the railway buildings. They sympathized with the strikers against the io i magnates, and felt delighted at the losses of the latter. They cheered as they saw the flames burn up dep6t, cars, machine shops and all the rest, and said to each other: “Serves ’em right for taking the bread out of poor men’s mouths.” But when the rioters began to take hold of the city itself, the peceie vegan to reflect for the first time that there might be two sides toa question, and they were in this state when Nan arrived at the opera house. Her mistress was nowhere to be seen, but Pe- ter Griengro told her with a wink that the “‘ Ra- nee layum rehamgas todevas”—that is, that the Countess had assumed male attire (lit. ‘‘ taken the breeches to-day ”) and was with the men at the fire. So Nan set off with Peter to find her; for Pe- ter had long been her recognized lover in the band and was by no means loth to escort her any where. : Presently, as they went along the streets, they saw a crowd before them coming from the railway and moving along with silence unusual in Pittsburg in those days. Peter drew Nan back into the entryway of a deserted house, and they watched the crowd pass. At the head was a rabble of curious boys such as generally attends a military procession, and in the middle marched a solid column, four abreast, of quiet, serious-looking men, who gen- erally wore old army blouses, and all bore mus- kets and belts of one pattern. They seemed to be under the command of a ray-headed man whoavore a shabby old uni- orm coat with faded shoulder-straps, an army hat of twenty-year-old pattert?, and a faded crimson sash arranged over his shoulder and crossing his breast, down to his old-fashioned. infantry sword-belt, As this veteran, quiet and resolute, advanced a great silence came over thestreet. He looked. about him, motioned with his hand and spoke in a composed, determined sort of way to 4@ few tramps who were staring at him. “Come, boys, you must get out of that. If you live in the town, go home, If you don’t, clear out as quick as you can go, ere’s no more milish here,"and we want all the tramps out of the city.” Nan noticed that the tramps did not hesitate | long after the veteran spoke to them, but moved ' on. One burly fellow made bold to ask; “'Who'n’elareyouanyway ?” The words were hardly out of his mouth when a tall man in an old Confederate uni- form, with the stripes of a sergeant on his arms, came rushing at the big tramp with a cocked musket in his hand and the look of a, fiend in his thin face, hissing out: “Don’t you hear what the officer of the a | aaa says? Get! or by the bones of; ott Stonewa Jackson, Till go through ye like a dose of salts!” The tramp stared one little moment, and then, oulder, equipped, mace her way into Pittsburg without ; the bully turned and fled down the street like a any further molestation, ~ n the way she spied Mr. Barlow movin with devious and uncertain steps down a roa on which were some female tramps far ahead, and Nan laughed to herself as she thought how cleveriy’ she had tricked him out of watch, money an! gun at oue fell swoop, pees . hunted deer with all his friends, while the ser- geant smiled in a grim sort of fashion, un- cocked his piece, and fell back into his place on the flank of the column. The effect of the passsage of this quiet, reso- lute body of men was very Marked on the street after they had passed through it. — - ¥ ~< b ‘ _—
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Spa” a IIS SLOVO AP Pe RIE TIN, EI TE a a A a AE —_—— eee wore —— ee —_ . pews ee ee ee es ee igs noes etal nem rt -_— _ tanec femasion ED ping his sentences in short, abrupt jerks, from time to time, } “I went behind the scenes to her room, and met her face to face,” he said, presently. ‘* Yes, dear?” Helen put in, softly. ‘“‘Yes, She pretended not to know me.” “Not to know you?” At first it was left empty and silent, but in a ‘* Never mind, aunty, till we see who the visi- few minutes Nan saw windowsand doors opened | toris, Ihear him in the— Why, uncle Har- } in houses that had been closed up before, and‘wo- | vey, isit you? How glad I am tosee you!” men began to come out and talk to each other. And Helen hugged the old gentleman with ef- t Then Peter said to her: fusion, for he was the only father she had 4 **That’s what the gorgios call the Committee | known since she was two years old. of Safety. They used to be soldiers when we ““How does thee do, Harvey? Thee looks were babies. The gray men and the blue men | tired and worn,” said aunt Mary, sympathetic- “Yes. She had grown handsomer than ever Peet were enemies then, and now they fight side by | ally; as hesunk into a large cane rocker with- | she thought of being as a girl; in fact, she’s side.” out sayingfanything. | ; , wonderfully beautiful: Ah! 1 could have for- 4 And Nan, who did not understand much ‘“‘T am both, Mary,” was the low answer. | given the boy, if he had not seduced her and about it, said: ‘Where is Oliver?” robbed his father.” “*T hope they’ bring the tramps to order, or “He left us several days ago to see about his Again he paused a little, and when he resumed , we shall have no house to-night. Let’s gqon.” | business at Pittsburg, Friend Harvey. Was | his voice was more tranquil. Tana They went on until the clouds of smoke and the | thee in those dreadful riots, too?” 3 “If I had not recognized Jacqueline unmis- ; i scorching heat of sun and fire combined, made “Yes, Mary.. When did he say he’d be | takably, her assurance would have staggered a theth hesitate before going nearer to the burning | back?” me. She pretended to think I came there as a B buildings, where the clanging of the engines, He looked preoccupied and as if he had for- | lover, and though I asked her again and again ; and the hoarse shouts of firemen at work made | gotten all about the riots, and the old lady an- | where was Harvey, she laughed at me.” , las a great contrast to the quiet now controlling the | swered, hastily: ‘* Did she, dear? That was very rude.” ‘He said nothing. Has thee not seen him?” “But she said something that made me feel my rest of the city. * “Not since the round-house night. Did he | I’ deserved it all, tothe effect that if ’'d looked Here, also, they found the members of the ubiquitous Committee of Safety, some in old, | not tell you how we were separated there?’ after my own boy, I might not be hunting for faded uniforms, more in civilian dress, but all **Yes, I believe he did. But Helen knows | him now. os ergy about her uwude we sus- decent in general appearance, and performing | where he’s gone, don’t thee, Helen?” pect he must be near her, and I hunted all over - ‘Me, aunt! How should I know ?” “Why, thee said—” Aunt Mary stopped, Quaker though she was, for she-saw Helen behind the Senator’s chair’ making motions for silence, and even a Quaker- | boy. I want to ask him face to face, ‘Harvey ess does not cease to be a woman and secretive | did you steal those bounds? If he says ‘ Yes’ t by nature. : believe it will kili me, but the boy won’t suffer Being a Quakeress, aunt Mary would have | byit. I’vo rigs Fs: my will.” scorned to tell a lie even of the whitest descrip- | “I don’t know that I understand you, uncle.” tion; but, being a woman, she changed the con-| ‘“‘ Well, after he went away in that myste- versation by asking: rious manner, | made a will, leaving all I had ‘“* And was thee really taken Ds gecve se by tne | to Oliver on condition that he could induce you rioters, Friend Harvey? How did thee escape? | to marry him—” aut, the city in a sort of hope of discovering the boy ; but in vain.” ‘*Well, dear, what shall we do?” “I don’t know, Helen. I want to see the sentry and patrol duty with a stern vigilance that permitted nothing to escape it. The decency of Pittsburg had roused itself and assumed the control of its own order in the most effectual manner. F Within an hourfrom the time Nan beheld the Vigilance Committee of veterans patrolling the streets, order was reéstablished in the city; the police had reappeared, with the aldermen and mayor, who had disappeared on the day of the eat riot, shops were opened, business resumed its flow, and the fire was under control and burning itself harmlessly out, surrounded by a i SOE ee Pe i blackened open spaces. ; : Was thee in great danger?” Mig « ery me !” interrupted Helen, excit- f _ Then at last Nan found the ape d King. no “Ob, never mind, Mary,” he answered, | edly. “Uncle! What right—?” She stopped, ee : longer in his rags, but in the réle of Mr. Har-| wearily. ‘It’s not worth the telling. I’ve seen re with all tho anger of an insulted wo- - iy! _ vey, with the men of his band all round him, | a good dealin Pittsburg that has changed my | man; but tho Senator only waved his hand * working manfully beside the firemen. mind as to the rights of the rich against the | wearily as he answered: ; “a ; As soon as he saw the girl he left his men and r. It’s bad to see babies killed with musket- ‘‘Never mind now, Helen. There was no con- i came to meet her, asking eagerly, in a low tone: | bullets. Don’t talk of it, please. I deserved all | straint on you. If he could not fulfill the con- q , . ** Did you see her?” ‘ the danger J ran into. Helen, have you any idea | ditions, the money would have gone to you. hy Nan told him the result of herstoleninterview | where Oliver is now?’ You would have enjoyed your old home in any ie with Helen, and then asked: ‘* No, sir,” she answered, steacily. event. I did not mean to be cruel to any one.” bi ' “Where is my lady?” ‘Pm sorry. I want to see the boy very much As the old man Jet fall these words in the a Nemo nodded toward the firemen, and there, | indeed.” same matter-of-course way, Helen’s anger turn- He drooped his head on his hand as if in | ed to gratitude, and she said: thought, and sat looking at the carpet in si- ‘You were very kind, dear; but I could not lence. have taken it. I should have giverit back to—” Aunt Mary, who was nothing if not h ““To whom, Helen?” b pitable, softly slipped from the room in sear: Her face flushed again in the darkened room ; of Rebecca, to procure something for the Sena- | as she answered: jet tor, and then Helen went to his side, leaned ‘To him that has a right to it.” over his chair and asked in her gentlest tones: The old Senator nodded his head slowly, “What is it, uncie Harvey? Tell me, dear, “You were always a good girl. I would to with his rakish-looking velveteen jacket slung s over one shoulder, his fair curls waving in the 4 { light breeze raised by the fire, stood Spunky Jack, the old antagonist of Mr. Barlow, re- J vealed by Nemo’s speech as a woman. aa Nan went up to the boy-girl and said to her, in alow tone: ‘“*T saw the man you hate. He is safe in Philadelphia. He went there in disguise, but I : ox ‘knew bim at once.” won't you?” Heaven he had fancied you, instead of running ae vn Spunky Jack flushed a little, and asked: The old man turned a pale and weary-looking | after that French Gipsy, with her snaky grace Bi. “Did you give her my message?” face toward her. and languishing eyes. But it’s no use frettin . a “‘T did; and the Ranee said she would think now. I’ve burned that will, Helen, and shall ie: bay mc he said, ‘‘ I begin to find I’m grow- sing old, : ; “Yes, dear? Well, that’s nothing. We all do that.” “1 saw something in Pittsburg that has % not,.make another.” TA " ers and what does that mean, uncle Har- 4 vev? . ‘* Only that I shall die intestate, >md Harvey haunted me ever since.” Nios will inherit all [ have. i suppose he doesn’t de- “* And what was that, dear?” serve it, but I can’t find if in my heart to be “Tt was a little boy, a ragged, curly-headed, | hard on the boy, no matter what he does.” bare-legged mite, not four years old. He ha There was a short silence in the room and been shot through the heart by a ball as big as | then Helen observed: his own poor little fist, which left a great red “‘Harvey would rather have his character ragged hole in his breast; and there he lay, | cleared than inherit all your money; if he is staring up at the sky with his glazed eyes, just | like the boy I remember. “> as-—” The Senator sighed heavily. The old man stopped and shuddered vio- ** T fear there’s no way to clear it, Helen, The lently. evidence was too clear and overwhelming. Do Helen waited for his emotion to subside, and | you think I, his father, who loved him as my then asked: ‘) own soul, would have disowned him as I have, ae ‘Just as what, dear?” had he not hurt and disgraced me in my ten- The Senator nearly gasped, as he said in a | derest point? To think that a boy of mine Lt eee over it. She wants to see you and him you Bhai? ‘both know of very badly.” ‘She shall in good time,” answered Jack, eo sami page and then the head fireman came ' round to tell them that there was no more need cee ts of their services that day, so that the members of the Great Cachuca Combination went back to the opera house to rehearse a new ballet. - That night the theater was packed to see the Countess and the Gipsies who had made them- selves so honorably conspicuous by their good behavior during the siege. Pittsburg had redeemed itself after a fiery trial and felt proud of every one who had stood by it in its troubie, so that it seemed as if the Cachuca Combination was likely now to reap a shining harvest for all its past labors. “ The papers overflowed with the most gorgeous notices next eh tyrone) with accounts of the ar- EE EE a TE I ET a = - rs pe ns 5 Z POS ASE LS SRE SERS CTR. ee ee > a = “ws “iy ae tn —— s ae’ fr ae . rival of the U.S. troops, the Governor of the | hoarse low tone: . should be a thief and seducer! Ah well, let it | , State;-a real U. S. major-general, and who ** Just as Harvey did when he had that fall | pass, let it pass. I shall not feel it long.” , ae ae knows how many other gorgeous persons. as a child.” He sunk his face between his hands asif in ve | ss = _—- For another week Pittsburg was full of bustle He hid his face in his hands a moment more, | deep dejection, and_just at that minute aunt in repairing damages, while the Cachuca Combi- | and something very like a sob esca: him. | Mary came in with Rebecca, the single servant r “4 When he looked up again he was m calmer. | of the house, the latter bearing a tray of cool ; oe ok Cs Mey eae pits weir tis Salt P<) ool oll ; : J si hati ty aa RN ae ae be
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eet ail om p 7 > : io o : i? fa Nemo, ting of the Tramps. ———-- ‘gt after Dye told you. tf warrant you. God help ) i showed me the numbers in a cipher of his us ali! there’s nothing to be said for him. Do own, ‘* He was notin the slightest degree flurried and read them out with perfect correctness, Had he pretended have forgotten, I should “Oliver, of course. I knew his road kad been in trouble about some defalcations in the ou think if there was J’d pot have urged it, | accounts of one of their cashiers, and I own | ong ago?’ that at first my suspicions went in his direction. | The feelings of the poor father were evi- | It seemed to be impossible that my own boy, | dently racked to the utmost as he said this; but | who bad never known an ungratified wish, who ) have at once taxed him with the theft; but his his listeners kept silence and presently he began | seemed the soul of all that was open and manly, | innocence was too apparent for me to doubt / his story. would stoop to such pitiful meanness. | him then. “But 1 was doomed to be convinced against ‘*] said nothing directly about the loss of the a CHAPTER XXIV. my will. bonds, but I piiea him wéth questions that if he 2 THE SENATOR’S STORY. ‘Helen, I wronged Oliver at that moment by | had been guilty he never would have been able ae “You al] remember Harvey,” said the Sena- | my suspicions, and it has been my study, ever | to answer without confusion. Among’ other ; tor, slowly. ‘It seems to me sometimes he has | since, to atone for my injustice. “He, poor fel- | things, I asked him if he hada list of my bonds. v never grown to be a man at all. low, was innocent as a babe, and a noble proof | I had asort of memory that I had once made ‘When I hear his name, I always remember | he gave me of the integrity of his character. several copies and given him one to put in his a little toddling boy in skirts, with curly hair **You shall hear all.” safe. : if " and dark eyes. It requires an effort to think of | _The Serfator could not see the expression of ‘“‘He thought an instant, then went to the * ; : him as growing up. x Helen’s face, on account of the fan she was | very place and handed me the list. “That boy was tome more thanason. He | holding before her, else he might have wondered “IT compared it with the one 1 had just made, % was not only my other self; but all that was | at the contemptuous smile which crossed it as | and found thé missing hundred numbers marked ay left me of poor Julia, your cousin, Mary. he eulogized Oliver, and have wondered whether | as ‘ Package 25.’ : ‘“You know she was subject to heart disease; | it was meant for himself perchance. He paused “‘T pointed out this to him and watched him . 4 q and when aber brought in the little fellow, | alittle to collect histhoughts and then went on: | closely as I said: _ f A that day he fell out of the window, she thought ‘Of course, my first idea was to find out what ‘*** Oliver, this hundred is missing.’ - a) he was dead, and the shock killed her. bonds were gone; and, with this object, I looked “He started up in in his chair, turning pale. ; ““T seemed at one stroke to have lost all that | in another part of the ‘safe for the paper list ‘** Missing! Impossible! No one could have y was precious in life, for we never thought the | containing the numbers. got the combination here, for they don’t know rf cu.ld would recover from the fall. “To complete my suspicions, the list was | my private cipher. Did any one else know the e | | ; _ ‘However, time heals all things; Harvey | gone! numbers? e) b: ‘ lived and grew strong and well again, and ‘‘ Then I could not doubt who had done this *** Nobody but Harvey,’ I said, and then he , Tt was happy in him. thing. started and said not another word on the sub- : itl ‘“Oh how I loved that boy! Hé was so ““T sat down patiently and took a list of all | ject, save to ask me if I wanted to get some of , \, handsome and spirited, so strong and active, so | the bonds that were left, with a view to dis- | the railway detectives to work on the case. quick to learn, so generous and—” cover if they followed a regular order. My “*T told him not about the robbery but they a nD The old man stopped, with a breaking voice. | memory told me that part were in a series and | might try about the elopement. aa The father was triumphant in his sorrow over | part consisted of odd and broken numbers.” _ _**He promised to let me know as soon as pos- a: the narrator. “*T said nothing to any one but locked myself | sible, and that very evening I was waited on by a 4 After a little he resumed. up in my study, engaged at this work, which | a man in plain dark clothes, who told me he fs) a “You both knew him after he grew up; but | took all that day, had found the runaways. ; a perhone don’t know how he really brought “When I had counted them over, I found “‘They were both in Baltimore, where they; on acqueline Rayneud into our house. that the original partial series was quite com- | were egg se money in the most reckless; ~ ‘* Her father was Harvey’s fencing-master at ix The thief had taken a part of the | style, the woman being a stage dancer, while - i) college, and when he died all on a sudden, Har- | broken series, and I had no means of telling | the young man was drunk all the time. _ vey undertook to protect the orphan girl. He | which. ; ‘Now utterly broken-hearted at the news I wrote to me, telling me the whole story, in his| ‘‘ When I had made the list complete I went to | took the next train to Baltimore along with the impulsive, warm-hearted way; how old Ray-| dinner, and then heard for the first time that | detective. He promised to show me the house) naud had married a Spanish Gipsy girl for love, | Miss Raynaud had left the house in the morn- | where they lived, ay g and how he had educated his only child to be a ing and had not come back. “He did so only too faithfully. Ina side” : wonderful singer, musician and dancer, while ‘It was then dark. street of questionable reputation, lights shone her French accent was perfect. “T was a little vexed at her imprudence in | from behind closed shutters through thevchinks, | “The end of all was that he begged me to | staying out so late, but thought no more of it | music was sounding from the parlor; and into take poor Jacqueline into our house as Helen’s | save to resolve to give her a scolding when she | this house—into this house—I saw—” governess in French and Spanish. came back. He stopped as if gasping for air. ‘ “‘ Little did I dreamiof the vile uses to which * But, as you know, she never came back. ““What did thee see?” asked aunt Mary, a he would put my weakness in the matter, to “Tnstead of that, came a boy from Calverton | whose curiosity was fairly roused at last. our disgrace. ‘| Station with a note from her, in which she “ Well, Jacqueline came, and you know what | coolly told me she had become tired of her CHAPTER XXV. followed.” Fes place, and had left it to be married to a person THE SENATOR'S STORY CONCLUDED. *‘ Indeed I don’t, uncle Harvey,” said Helen, | near and dear to me, who had thought beat to ‘Into that den of infamy I saw a man and a sharply. ‘All you've told—except about Har- | make it a secret till. it was all over, as he was | woman enter. The woman was Jacqueline vey’s letter—I know, but what followed is just | dependent on me. Raynaud, the man was—my son.” what f don’t know at all. All J know is that| ‘This note, taken in connection with the rob- He sunk his head down between his hands, as , one morning Jacqueline left the house to go to | bery, quite staggered me. Only one person | if utterly prostrated; and both his auditors co the station, at a time when Harvey and Oliver | who was dependent on me could marry Jacque- | were silent as death, looking at each other with My 2 were both away; that I never saw her again; | line, and that was Harvey. I imagined that, | scared white faces. that you went away in a great hurry next day | boy-like, he had thought it romantic to elope; At last aunt Mary ventured to ask: 7. oS a as A _ T's be ab * g = Sn RRR eee — - E ‘ - oy a eta: ae - 7 ag i and came back with Oliver; that you sent for | and I had sufficient proof of the passionate, in-| ‘‘Is thee sure it was Harvey with her? Is + me and laid your orders on me never to men- | triguing nature of Jacqueline to know that the | thee sure it was a wicked house?” \ +e tion the name of either Harvey or Jacqueline boy would be as wax in her hands. “‘The detective knew the house, and 7 knew’: i, a again. You told me Harvey had stolen a great ‘But still, 1 did not connect the two things | my son,” was the reply, in a hollow tone. * But Ae deal of money from you and bad run awa together. / \ 33 that was not all, orl might have doubted yet. ; with J: sa ae and that’s all I’ve heard till “*T had no idea that the bond robbery was a | Many a lad has gone into bad company in mere i y to-day + INOW then, uncle Harvey, what fol- | prologue to the elopement. ; lightness of heart, never dreaming of what 4 lowed?” t “T said nothing to you, Helen, because you | will: be the consequences. Besides, I could tf He sighed heavily. _ | were a young girl; but I hurried off to Boston | not reconcile this place with the avowal in 1@. “T may as well go over the whole of the | and Cambridge the very next day. Jacqueline’s note that she was going tobe mar- > 4 story;ywhile I’m atit. What I said was true, “T was so concerned about my son that I | ried, and I determined to be sure of what I was ee i “ Here are the proofs, forgot all about my loss in money. I fairly | doing.” % 1 “One day, soon after Harvey had gone off.to | trembled with anxiety all the way, for fear ‘‘My influence was great with the chief of | college for his graduating term, I made the dis- | should be too late to keep Harvey from bein, Sent and inside of an hour from the the time Ah covery that my safe had n robbed. the tool of a designing Gipsy adventuress, as saw my son enter that house the doors were Ph “Burglars could not have done it, because | called J acqueline in my anger, forced, and every person found was arrested. » | there were no signs of violence, It had been ‘“‘ And yet, I was too late. ‘“ When the people inside saw the uniforms of © ee. fpence with my key, by some one who knew ‘“When I reached the college and hunted up | the police they were strickeA with terror, and 15 16 combination. Harvey’s tutor, I found to my dismay that the | some of the men tried to escape by jumping out . ae “The manner and extent of the robbery | boy had left the place without mest cy Saar of the windows in rear. A few did so, and i} a pointed in the same direction. A single pack-| absence to any one, and had been gone t Harvey must have been one of them, for he _— pate of thousand-dollar U. 8. bonds had been days. was not found in the house, te taken from a number of similar packages, that ‘Then I was thunderstruck indeed. ‘“* Jacqueline was in her room, ali dressed as” AGS filled a compartment of the safe, and the rest; ‘‘Where had my boy gone, and how should I | if for going out in the street, and when the po- ie had been put back so_that I should not have | find him? lice came in at the door she shot three of _. found the fraud had I not counted the pack- “In my anxiety, I still forgot all about the | with a little pocket-revolver and tried to es- vs Y3- ; robbery, and naturally thought first of Oliver, | cape. so ageign 2 ‘Then I began to consider. as my best assistant in the search. ‘Luckily for the men, it was winter, and “Whoever took those bonds knew the ar-| “T hurried to Philadelphia, where I found | their thick clothing and the small caliber of the ~ = of my safe and the combination of | him just as much amazed as myself. He would | bullet saved their lives, only one of the shots ==—- my lock. ‘ | not believe that Harvey had fled at first. inflicting a serious wound, though all three were: : et ‘Who knew these sai “T showed him Jacqueline Raynaud’s letter, | full in the middle of the breast. ig te “Only two people besides myself. and he admitted that it looked asifshehad in-| ‘The girl was arrested and her room ~s And those two were my sonand my nephew, prion tre siting to run away bony her, in ho 3 ay a Part of the missing bonds we iver, of obtaining my forgiveness iving me the | found in her trunk, witha ome | fe ing age where I kept the key, and I had | irrevocable to p Asi neat and a se of my son! ore oth of them with the last combination | “But Harvey was are Hage ages and ~ as that. used, : minister or justice wo e cou’ “The package stolen contained a hundred | unless they committed } jury. 7 bend talking to Oliver about ro mds. Then, while I w. “Rither Oliver or Harvey had robbed me of | the elopement, I suddealy remembered the a hundred thousand ad tot 7 gi “ Those were the bald facts that stared me in bery, and v the face when I counted those packages and co | given him; but it was but too clear he even married her, I could ha sented hee any to lead a life of infamy : E ; “? “man sat silent for a minute or | 1 ‘ask him if he had « na | ey k to Philadelphia to s arr ; that I could get int« wn | and told oe To m
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ne. 22 had told him all about hisintrigue with Jacque- line, and how they were going to deceive me.” Here Helen interrupted him, with flashing eyes. “T don’t believe a word of it. What you saw, you saw, uncle; but I don’t believe Har- vey Calvert ever made a confidant of Oliver. He didn’t like him well enough.” The Senator looked surprised but made no comment, and instead, resumed his story. ‘*T went back to the college, and there was Harvey, come back. af walked straight to his rooms and found them al? confusion. And he, my son, unshaven and pale, weary looking and haggard, was the most confused of all when I stood in the doorway. “Guilt was, in every line of. his face. He flushed and paled, his lips parted as if he were panting for breath. For the first time in his ife he was afraid of me, his own father, who would have shed my blood, drop by drop, to the last to make him happy. “* He was stooping over a trunk as I came in, and seemed to be unpacking something. As I looked at him he rose up, faced me, trembling all over, and let fall from his hands a package of papers back into the trunk. “IT said not one word. I stood in the door- way and looked at him. I recognized in that package part of my missing bonds. ‘*He, too, seemed unable to speak for a mo- ment; but at last he smiled a sort of writhing curl of*his white lips, and whispered: , “«¢ You here, sir? I beg your pardon, How you startled me! Are they all well at home? ‘Tt went forward, still saying nothing, to where he stood by the trunk. ‘‘To my surprise he interposed before it and slammed down the lid. ° “Then at last I spoke. *** Harvey,’ I said, ‘I want to see that pack- age you just dropped. Open your trunk,’ ‘He turned whiter than ever and answered, in a husky voice: ‘** Please excuse me, sir. honor.’ ‘“« Harvey,’ I said, and I well remember how my heart beat as if it would stifle me, ‘I have , lost something which you may have packed by mistake in your trunk. Open it, my boy, in God’s name. Don’t force me to command you.’ “**T cannot do it, sir,’ was all the answer he made me. ‘My honor is compromised.’ “Then I felt it was all over, and my anger rose at his brazen effrontery in talking of honor. ‘** Harvey,’ I said, ‘my safe has been robbed by a person who knew the lock combination. I have lost a hundred thousand dollars. Only you and Oliver knew the combination. - I saw you drop a package of bonds as I stood in the doorway here. Stand aside from that trunk.’ “* As before, he only said: *¢T cannot do it, sir. I entreat you not to ask me,’ *“*T do not ask you, now,’ I said. ‘I order ‘you, as my son, fo stand aside from that trunk.’ “He turned so white I thought he was going to faint, and only answered a third time: “**T cannot do it in honor, sir.’ “ What could I do then, Mary? Helen, what could I do? **Nothing short of descending to a personal struggle with my only son would have given mé access to that trunk, unless I called in the authorities and proclaimed my own disgrace. He would have resisted me, even to the extent of violence, I saw it in his pale, desperate I cannot do it, in ace. ‘‘Then [ knew he was guilty. *‘T tried one last effort. Standing there, as he did, overwhelined with disgrace, he seemed to.me more and more like his dead mother. “ 5 Re <t Bigs ee pi uly 3 i JS "Oy —-s rn ) we a Si *
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ing arm-chair before the desk, looking up at him in a cold, inquiring manner, that was very forbidding. Oliver Calvert was not, however, the man to be daunted by any coldness, as long as he was in a civilized place. Physical violence pa ers him, but he had any amount of moral audacity. He took a seat, therefore, with a coolness all is own, and said: « This is Mr. Trevlac, I suppose?” ; * The same, sir.” ‘‘ Manager of this company ?” 6° 'Yes, sir.’ | ‘* T wish to see the Countess Cachuca,” . . rise to receive him, but lay back in his revolv- ; ; a ** With what purpose, sir?” “T can only tell that to herself, sir.” “‘Then I fear you cannot see her.” 6¢ Why not?” ** Because she is engaged,” ** At rehearsal, I suppose. Very well, I can wait till it is over.” ** Not in this room, sir.” Thank you. I don’t wish to, But I am de- termined to see the Countess.” “ And she is equally determined not to see yu.’ Oliver felt his temper rising at the cool sar- easm of the other’s tone. ‘* How do you know that? Do you know who T am?” he asked, all his pride of purse swelling in his voice and figure as he rose. ' Mr. Trevlac smiled. “Perfectly’ well. You. are Oliver Calvert; nephew and supposed heir of the Hon. Harvey Calvert, State Senator; President of the Air- Line Road, and colonel, aide-de-camp on the Governor’s staff. Have I described your titles eorrectly ?” “Then, sir,” retorted the railway magnate, frowning on the other, “‘ you ought to know that Jam not the person to be treated with in- solence by the manager of a variety show.” ‘‘ Exactly,” was the calmly insolent reply. ‘Nor is Mr, Calvert the person to try and force himself into the presence of one of my ac- ’ tresses, when [ tell him she won’t see him.” ‘*But I tell you I must see-her,” exclaimed Oliver, angrily. ‘‘She and her crowd of tramps keep on trying to make me ridiculous before all the people, and I want it stopped.” Mr. Trevlac laughed slightly. “She has nothing to do with that,” he said. * She acts the part she’s cast for, and gets her money for it.” ; ‘Then who is responsible for this outrage?” asked Oliver. : Mr. Trevlac smiled and tapped his breast with his forefinger. ay You 277 ‘‘Myselé. Have you any remarks to make on the subject?’ Oliver stared at him in amazement. “Why, what have you against me? T never me: saw you in all my fife, before I met you in me Pittsburg?’ ‘Are you sure of that?” asked Trevlkc, keep- fe ing his dark eyes fixed on those of Oliver, who 2 stared at him harder than before. “T think not,” responded Calvert, after a pause for consideration. ‘‘ You seem to know me, and to have studied me long enough to x counterfeit my face and form, but who you are know no more than a baby. What have i b done to you that you should persecute me thus?” Saey Mr. Trevlace rose, and the sneering smile ; which had marked him during their interview left his face, ** You asked me that question once before at Pittsburg,” hesaid. ‘‘T told you then that you should know in proper time, “That time is com- ing fast. Do you know me yet?” ‘How should I know you?” asked Oliver, snappishly. “ You talk in some species of rid- dle I am too lazy to try and unravel.” 1 “Very good,” said Trevlac calmly, ‘‘I sup- pose you know the Countess? , Oliver flushed ever so little, «Yes, I know her.” ‘Pray, who is she, then?” “Her true name is Jacqueline Raynaud, She | ran away from my uncle’s house seven years ‘ ago, and was traced toa house of questionable reputation in Baltimore, where she was found in possession Of a number of bonds that had in been stolen from his safe. Pe v4 “Who traced her there?’ asked Treylac, ] . . - . % shar 4 of my detectives, if you want to know f particularly. . es What became of him afterward? Where is bs, he now?” : ‘ ’ Oliver looked surprised at the rapid ques- ta tioner, and un, y replied: 4 ‘« He got into trouble.” a rome et with the sheriff,” retorted the mi other, bitterly. ‘‘That’s the sort of men you * have for detectives; thieves out of a profi i job. His name was Barlow.” ta “Who in Heaven’s name are you that take .. 7 so much interest in my affairs?” asked Oliver, a 3 yeu find. out in time,” was the aj Sical answer, ‘Suffice it that Iam the d i “ey of Jacqueline Raynaud, and that you hffve ; au we / : ot 4 ty pes. i ‘ Pie ey" bn Sine 4 wronged her. I will tell you.. We began, and will go on, till you execute justice, and right the wrong you alone can right.” Oliver drew himself up and looked a model of dignity. “*T am unable to understand you, sir,” he said. ‘I have wronged no one that Iam aware of; and if you wait till J move in this matter, | you may wait a long time.” ; “ Perfectly true,” said Trevlac, blandly; ‘and | I’m that is the reason we continue to show you your coming fate on the stage. It takes hard thrusts to pierce a rhinoceros’s hide, Oliver Calvert.” ‘Then Iam to understand that you mean to persevere in this outrage?” asked Oliver, putting on his hat, “Tf you mean the Gipsy’s Revenge Ballet, you are correct, We shall keep it on while it draws.” - “And. you intend to caricature_me every night, too?” : “We call it a portrait; not a caricature. We intend that Mr. Griengro, who takes the char- acter, shall keep the likeness as faithful as pos- sible. I see you shaved off your mustache at the riots. He shall play it clean-shaven to- night.” liver turned pale with anger at the calm im- pudence of the threat. ‘*¢ And do you suppose that I will stand that?’ he demanded. ‘How will you stop it?’ asked the manager, in the same smiling way. “By getting an injunction on you, sir,” cried the now thoroughly irate Oliver. ‘No, you will not.” The retort was cool as ever. ‘“‘ And why not, pray?” “ Because if you do I shall make a speech to the audience from before the curtain.” ** And what will you say?’ “‘T will read them a few pages from the his- tory of Mr. Oliver Calvert, from the year 1870 to the year 1877, with disquisitions on the man- agement of railroads and manipulations of the stock market. Does that touch you, Mr. Cal- vert?” Oliver sneered openly. ** What do you know about my affairs? Idefy you to say anything you can prove against me as regards stocks. Go ahead.’ “‘'That does not touch you, I see. Very well, then, suppose we try a little chapter about com- bination locks on safes, and how to use them. Would that hit any nearer the mark?” Oliver’s face whitened *pereeptibly, and he said nothing, as Trevlac barqued: ‘*7’'m told some people are not safe to be trusted with the-combination of a lock. Ifa few bur- glars get hold of them, it can be scared right out of them., I wonder whether it wouldn’t do to put- Peter Griengro into a colonel’s uniform, and have a’ scene in the’ ballet representing Pittsburg riots, with the colonel running for his life.” Oliver could stand this open raillery no longer, and turned to leave the room, At the door he paused. . ““Mark my words, Mr. Treviac,” he said, ‘‘I neither know nor care who you are; but this I know, that I'll step your show to-night, or my name’s not Calvert.” Mr. Trevlac only laughed. “Try it, if you dare.” Then Oliver vanished in dudgeon. Hardly had he gone when the Countess Ca- chuca walked in at a side door, exclaiming: ‘**T heard it all. What do you think, now?” *“‘ Just what I did before, Jacko. Bluster is all very well, but he keeps on his guard all the time. We shall never surprise his secret.” ‘“And I say we,shall,” she retorted. ‘‘ You failed, being aman. It’s my turn to try, now. I’ve cause enough, God knows.” And Jacqueline laughed bitterly, CHAPTER XXVII. MR. BARLOW’S LITTLE GAME. OLIVER CALVERT marched away from the door of the theater swelling with schemes of vengeance. He had made up his mind to fight and took his way sraigts toward the office of te counsel to prepare for an injunction on the t eater. He had to walk some distance up Chestnut street, and while be was nearmg Mr. Jackman’s office he became aware of some one who was fol- lowing him, and endeavoring, in a covert man- ner, te attract his attention. As soon as he: became conscious of this, he turned to face the new-comer, and realized at once that he was a vagabond of some sort, Not that the stranger was either paged. oF hungry-looking; on the contrary, he was in a suit of black, with the shiniest of new hats, and a gor 8 pin in the black satin scarf that covered his shirt-front, if be had any, which was uncertain. Fe nc isis idea Uatine wher rs the idea that he was not among the relinoniaes members of table society. His black clothes were very a looking as if he had come frem vend ty LF RS ger ie huge boots he wore were innocent of . You ask why we persecute you? ) | | | ) ) rr ee OO 23 ee There was, moreover, a furtive, sneaking look about his face, like that of a cat in a strange garret, which showed that the stranger did not rightfully belong either to the city or his clothes. No sooner had Oliver turned his face toward this personage, than the other, seeming to take courage, stole softly up alongside and began, in an i, tk gies sort of way: f “Don’t want to disturb ye, boss; but, fact is, jest about b’usted, and haven’t had a square meal of vittles sence yestidday mornin’,” “Well,” answered Oliver, coldly, ‘‘I’ve no change to.spare, at present.” = - And he walked on. His follower, to his surprise, came up beside him, eating Set for step, and went on speak- ing asif he had received no repulse. “Don’t want to beg any axing boss; but, fact is, £ do want a square meal, Mr. Calvert.” ** Who the devilare you, anyway?” asked Oli- ver, facing round angrily at the sound of his own name. He took a closer look at the features of the stranger, red and bloated with sun and dissipa- tion, and did not seem to be able to tell who he, was. The stranger grinned under his tangled and matted beard. “‘Guess you’ve furgot me, boss,” he an- swered, coolly. ‘‘ Best come in out of the sun, if you want to talk tome, Here’s one of them nice little parks as we’re so proud of in Fila- delfy. I likes to sit in the shade hot days.” Something, he could hardly say what, in- duced Oliver Calvert to follow his unprepossess- ing guide into the cool, shady square, where the seats were covered with strolling tramps who had strayed into Philadelphia since the sup- pression of the riots. The strange man in dusty black stalked in, swinging his arms in an independent fashion, very different from that he bad shown while in the street, and threw himself on a vacant bench. ‘*Set down, boss, set down,” Re said, patron- izingly. ‘I thought you didn’t rightly remem- ber me, Mr. Calvert. My name’s Barlow, and I used to be a private detective in your cone pany. That’s what's the matter.” r. Barlow—for it was none other than the Boss of the Bummers—threw his arm over the back of the seat, drummed with his fingers and stared hard at Oliver, as who should say: ‘* Now, then, I think you'll be civil,” Oliver Calvert, who had remained standing, leaning on his cane, turned a little paler when he heard the name and saw the defiant manner of the eae ‘ ; “Well, Barlow,” he said, “I didn’t know you. . You’ve changed greatly.” “*T have,” was the frank answer. ‘I hain’t shaved for three years, nor slep’ in a house sence they let me out of jail. You know what I went there for, and who was to blame.” Oliver hurriedly put his hand in his pocket as he said; “Well, Barlow, I’m sorry to see you in this plight on account of old associations. You were a pretty good detective in old times. Take this, and get something to eat.” A He slipped a coguntey bill into the grasp of the tramp, who stealthily pocketed the money so that his comrades.could not see it, in case they were watching his interview with the well- - dressed Oliver. But his manner was as coolly defiant as ever as he remarked: “‘Wery good, indeed, boss; but I ain’t arter the casual biz, jest now. I wants a steady job. You don’t want a private succreteery now, 1 s’pose? I could fill that place amazin’ well.” Oliver looked at him with eyes that began to flash, while he shut his teeth tight. ‘* What do you mean?” he asked, “‘T mean that I’ye found out sev’ral things sence I were in Grubstip, as I didn’t know afore. I seen the chap they calls Spunk te ~ me Jack fire at ye, that time, and I kin ye who he is, too. Im jestin that sort of ele- gant position that if one party don’t want to come to my terms, I kin 59 to the other and make a clean breast of all I know.” , He spoke the last words with a iar em- phasis, staring straight into Oliver’s eyes all the time. } Calvert flushed with anger and shame as he looked at him, and then he shook his finger at the tramp. ‘‘Hark ye, Mr. Barlow,” he said, in a low tone, ‘‘you don’t know me yet. I had pity on you, remembering you to have once been in the service of our company, but I remember that you were sent to the penitentiary for Sengtery six years ago, and that your word is not wort a mone bm ae Suet bon’ worst, and take care I don’t give you in charge to a policeman, if you follow me any more.” oa was leaving the , reat nae Bi , when Mr. Barlow called after him: rs Sia Calvert, I seen your wife this m The hail did as Billy had jntended it should do; it the President of the in bieteacke eee He came back to the tramp deadly pale, with i As cast iike Hh si ve poise 2 yy - EES CR RS ee ar
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a dangerous look on his white face, hissing out: ‘* What do you mean, you insolent vagabond ? Do you want to get into jail again?’ But Billy Barlow had not tackled his former employer with any thought of evading the con- sequences, They were not in the streets now, ZS and there were none but his own friends, fur- tive- gored tramps, all round him. Mr. Bariow accordingly rose up and faced Calvert, looming up as big as the railroad mag- nate, or larger, and retorted: ig Say, Calvert, I ain’t no vagabone, and I want you to take that back, D’ ye hear?” As he spoke he stripped off his coat and turn- ed u the sleeves of a red flannel shirt. : ou’ll take that back,” he repeated, ‘ or rl q eas you stiff in a minnit. You hear me?” 4 For a moment Oliver thought of fighting, but q when he glanced round him and saw the com- pany he was in, he felt that it would not do, on \ account of the notoriety that would inevitably =i come of it. i, **T was wrong, Mr. Barlow,” he said, hur- z riedly. ‘I don’t mean to insult you, but you ny irritated me. Now, what do you want?” { “A steady job,” replied Mr. Barlow, laconi- 4 \ Eat turning down his sleeves and resuming b 18 ¢ Z pag all, IT can put ote in as a trackwalker or an,” observed Oliver, hesitatingly. iz *Them’slow jobs. IL want good pay and less | ns work. Make me a detective again, and you'll be talking,” was the sulky repl y- he ig | ie about it. ButI can’t stay talking to you here.” abe ha come to your honor’s house any time you ‘say, sir,” answered Mr. Barlow, growing insin- cerely obsequious in a moment. *{T have no house here. I’m in the—in a es hotel,” said Oliver. “Then I kin come to the hotel, or meet your honor anywhere you say, sir.” S Oliver considered a moment. ,. **Do you know Feirmount Park?” “Do I know me own nose? Yes, sir.” ‘* Meet me there this evening at sunset, in the mustic summer-house that stands second from the water-works, and I'll see what I can do.” **T’ll be there, your honor.” a? Then Oliver went off to prepare his injunction against the Cachuca Combination, and Mr. Bar- : low beckoned to a few of hiscronies, who eagerly t followed him to the cool seclusion of a beer in vault, where they spent the rest of the after- ndon in swilling ‘‘schooners” of beer at five os cents a pint, and tried their best to get glori- a ously drunk out of Oliver Calvert’s five-dollar Several of them succeeded as well as could _ be expected, despite the disgust of the bar- keeper, who thought his five dollars dearly earned by the invasion of such a crew; but Mr. is Barlow himself was too well seasoned a veteran ia to be so easily overtaken. oa The Boss of the Bummers had: not obtained his title without earning it in mah any a stout de- bauch, and all the beer in Philadelphia was in- adequate to pananeense te im to any appreciable ‘ extent sa It ax at least a quart of whisky at a sitting to do that job. Consequently, when Mr, B, turned his pock- ets inside out, as a Sac gr signal to his mates that he had nt all his money, he was as _ steady as a church, and walked off to Fair- mount Park, erect and independent in bearing, able to keep to his own sideof the pavement. His brethren in bacchanalism remained be- hind in the cellar, with the object of beating the establishment out of a few more “schoon- ers,” but without success. _. Mr. Barlow, pursuing the even tenor of his ‘way, arrived in time at the railway bridge at the end of .Market street, where he paused for ae a little while to enjoy the exhilarating pursuit hs a seg into the water. en he turned into Fairmount Park, and I Me if, was making straight’ for the trysting-place Bay ae he saw before him something that cau him to stop, move aside into a belt of shrub- and «a nm orpmen ma Gosh ae the object that brought this little exclama- from the Boss of the Bummers was nothing ep than ae in a red — Babige meen is capo a regular n ce, who was triphies sg slong, g to herself. would have been nothing to Mr. Barlow, for he was used to the sight of r aiaialen; but for the fact th that he remem both air and voice tly of oa ame 1 who had tricked him riots out of two s johes and feraea h os & dollars of stolen was Nan Nan herselt, elt, Wiking, ae away in a soft tty (song): ee pecoesin miro Kono feapitidir; 3 | He followed softly after Nan, , MasPAng on the | gres8, and gradually catching up with to see that she was fast getting into the more lonely part of the grounds, where he would not ) be likely to be disturbed in executing his ven- | geance. He did not dare to run at first, for he knew that the Gipsy girl was swift of foot, while he himself was of a lumbering make. Presently he was not twenty paces bebind her, when she heard his step, looked round, saw | who it was, and instantly took to her heels like | a frightened chicken. Mr. Barlow started after her with a will, but | gave it up asa bad job after a dozen steps, in which time Nan had taken at least twenty. He saw that he could not bope to succeed on that tack, for the girl had the heels of him all the time. He slacked up and allowed her to go on, when she in her turn came down to a walk, looked back and called out archly: “Why, Billy Barlow, is that you?) How you scared me!” “You hain’t no cause to skeer that I knows on,” replied the Boss, with a grin of amiability that sat ill on his lowering face. ‘ Why don't ye come back and say good-evenin’, likes if ye’d had some bringing up?” ‘* And you won't hurt me®” asked Nan, with affected innocence. ‘You looked so savage jest now, I thought you was going to knife me, sure. | Cicnife be be eras Come here, I tell you,” retorted Billy, in his most w heedling tones. ‘I wobn’t hurt ye (‘more’n ye deserve,’ he mut- tered, under his breath.) Come along, I say.’ Thus urged, Nan allowed him to come close up Ye her, when he stopped and ‘started vio- lently. The Gipsy had her arms folded under her cloak, and the glittering muzzle of a little pistol was peeping out of the folds of her mantle, aimed at him. “Why, Mr. Barlow,” said Nan, with her careless laugh. ‘ What cils you? I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me !” CHAPTER: XXVIII. EAVESDROPPING. Mr. BARLOw’s schemes of revenge came to a swift termination at sight of that little tube pointing at his breast, and moreover he was puzzled by the transformation in Nan’s face and figure. When he had seen her in Pittsburg she was a country girl with a sedi B brown wig and a freckled face, now she was bis old friend, Gipsy Nan, and he began to doubt her identity. - Why, Nan,” be said, ‘‘ what are ye p’intin’ that thing at me fur? I hain’t done ye no harm, have I?” “T don’t intend you shall,” was Nan’s com- posed answer. ‘Do you want to speak to me?” “Yes,” he answered, slowly and dubiously, “¥ did. What have you done with that rhino of mine and them two. tickers?” ; Nan smiled satirically. “Why, Billy Barlow! Have you been get- ting drunk again?” No, Lain’t been gittin’ drunk at all. You fooled me out of them tickers and flimsies at Grubstip, but I ain’t goin’ to be fooled twice. You hand ’em over.” Nan began to back out, keeping him covered with the reyolver in her hand. “You're as drunk as a fool now,” she pro- tested. “Inever saw Pipe in Grubstip or any- where else, since we left the Wanderer’s Home. Keep back, or ’ll give you what Spunky Jack gave you, to teach you manners.” Bigs ren, Jack be darned,” he growled. ‘‘ Do you think I don’t know he’s a gal? 1 wouldn’t tech him on that account.” “And you don’t touch me neither,” retorted Nan, fiercely. ‘‘Now what do you want with me, you drunken fool?’ h, nothin’, if you ain’t the gal as stole my tickers; but if you air, or if ever I ketches her, Tu ee ig her into small ieces, so I will.” Mr. Barlow Fes his hands into his Re per and glared fiercely at the girl, who, on r onie laughed back her answer. P ben may catch her, Billy. I ng gee oe too P Geo wae you was too drunk er. “*T warn’t no sich thing,” he retorted, sulkily. ““T were a little ut as fur bein’ Iscorns the aos ere be you a-goin’ now, Nan?” He tried to =e Barlow, BEE peed you, when ver, you meet replacing the pst in raped er, glad | th FRET Dan oe st was just = a é Nemo, King of the Tramps. — —__-$ --- _—_-_ - — —— of ‘lacitos' 6 that had served her weil so often, slipped into a clump of bushes, put on the shoes | and stockings she had been carrying under her cloak with true tramp’s impatience of their use in hot weather; let down her skirts; turned her | cloak brown side out, and emerged from the other side of the clump a decent and sober working-girl, out for a stroll in the park. Striking off so as to come on the river ata point high above that which Mr. Barlow had | taken, she was shortly joined by a man who had watched her interview with the Boss of the Bummers from a safe distance, quite unseen by the latter. This man was none other than Mr. Peter Grien- gro, with a false beard and wig, and a fashionable suit of clothes, swinging his cane with the air of a dandy: Nan came up and took his arm with easy fa- miliarity, observing: * Diulo perdas na jinyum mande,” (the fool of a tramp didn’t know me). ** All the better,” replied Mr. Griengro, cheer- fully, in the same tongue. ‘‘He’s gone down to meet the Black Lord,” (so the Gipsies called Oliver). ‘I saw the black one go into the arbor, down yonder.” He pointed toward the river bank, about a quarter of a mile away, where the arkor was plainly to be seen, and Nan asked: “What shall we do?” ‘“We must find what he’s after, for the Rance. She told me to watch the Black Lord day ang night; and there he is. Let’s go there.” “ But, they’ll see us,” objected Nan. Mr. Griengro, who was an English Gipsy by ae and consequently an old poacher, laughed at her. “Stay here and watch me, or come with me and see what I do,” was all he said. Nan, who was very fond and proud of Peter (for he was her acknowledged lover and she had given him all the money and watches out of which she had tricked Billy Barlow) at once in- timated her intention of following him, to bees ag Mr. Griengro made no sort of objec- oThey walked openly down to the river, in full view of the occupants of the arbor, if any were there; keeping their distance and turnin inte in another direction till they had passed which hid them from view, and were ihe to the water’s ed Then Mr. Griengro took the cane he was car rying, and improvised a fishing-rod out of it in short order by shooting a couple of joints for- ward and attaching to the last a fishing-line and hooks, which he produced from his See Nan laughed at his rig, but Mr. Grien coolly proceeded to dig for worms with knife, after which he baited his hogk and strolled down to the water’s edge. The river was low at this point and had a cut bank, under the shelter of which Mr. Griengro had no difficulty in ie ae unseen by any one above, pretending to fish { the time, till he came cloke under the arbor into which he had seen Calvert and Barlow enter. oe followed him without any ed nee close to the bank; and both of them trod so softly that they were unnoticed by the people in the arbor. As they arrived under it, they heard voices as a “I told ye : ,wanted a steady job, and what I - says I means,’ Well, Dodie I’ve told you that the com- pany has appointed all its asics on the detective force for the year, and I have no power unless a vacancy occurs. ‘Then make a wacancy.” - “T can’t do it.” ‘*Why not?” ue Beokces all the men Ihave are 128 men, reliable and steady.” “Put up a job on one of ‘em.” dd no “And why not, Mr. Calvert?” “* Because, as soon as the ‘Directors found out who I had @ otaied, such a 2° pamae would pee on me that I’d have to put you out in the co “You mean about the prison affairr Well, a 6 ° 8 ie" — Suing got the benefit of that, I’ s’pose, “Hush! Don’t talk so loud,” ‘* Tl talk as loud as I’ve a mind to, Mr. Cal vert. You know who got the money fur them eT kin antl and who hired me to burn ’ena PF I lit about that job, if you sonee me o it wouldn’t ee a bit, carn 80 you might as well talk e man. No one would believe pele te Ro after the of = conviction hag ty aed seg is it? You, the man dat got the , ‘ain't, Gochany and I ’ your to be — ae aes ear on. ee down his rod and ere ike threats with re Mr. ‘gf aes OF ee am , \ “T couldn’t do it. Besides, it would do you
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N emo, Ki of the Tramps. He saw Oliver Calvert confronting the big tramp, standing erect with one hand in his pocket, while Billy Barlow was evidently ag to muster up courage to spring on m. Mr. Griengro looked at them in his scrutiniz- ing way, and then sunk down below the level of the bank, whispering to Nan: “Na koorum. Dooi atraish.” (No fight. Both afraid.) Mr. Griengro was right. There was a short silence in the arbor above, and then they heard Billy Barlow again. Not two hours after the papers appeared on the streets, a knock came at the door of Mr. Juckman’s office, and the boy who opened it spied a lady, richly but plainly dressed, and closely vailed, standing on the mat. ‘‘Ts Mr. Jackman in?” queried the lady. ‘No, mum. Want tosee him personally, or is it about the ad?” ‘“‘Tt’s about the advertisement in this day’s Advance.” ‘“‘All right, mum. Walk in. Gent’s in the ack office, waitin’.” Without more words the vatled lady followed ** Well, boss, it’s all right, I s’pose. I’m down | her coiiductor to the back office, where he tap- abeut as low asl kin get, and . the rest. I’m goin’ to the district attorney to turn State’s evidence, and I kin make it hot enough for you. So good-by.” There was a crunching on the gravel, and then Oliver’s voice was heard, saying: ‘¢ You'd better be sensible and listen to rea- son, Barlow.” ‘* Talk reason and I'll listen,” was the sullen answer. “1 told you what I did just now, to show you that you couldn’t extort money from me by any \ threats,” returned Calvert. ‘‘ Wecan do better as friends than enemies, Ican put you on the pay-rolls as a track-walker at two dollars a day and give you leave of absence on full pay, till I can do better. Would that satisfy you?” ‘*What do you mean by doing better?” ‘Well, I’ve got some work for you to do, for which I'll ay handsomely.” “ What do you mean by handsome?” “Say five hundred dollars.” “Not enough. I’ve done your work before, and it cost me two years in the jail. 1 want ten thousand to run another sich risk.” “‘There’s no risk in this. It’s only stopping a woman’s tongue.” ‘¢ Your wife’s, I s’pose.” “Hush! Yes. No. I’ve'no wife, and you knowit. The woman you mean was only a mis- tress.” “P'Paps. Anyway wecan’t stop her tongue, boss. She shoots amazin’ quick, and draws as fine a bead as most menIseen.”) “You're totake her by surprise, in bed, and { chloroform her.” 1 66 Easy said.” “Basy done. I’ve had her shadowed, and she’s in the same hotel where I am.” ? ‘*Can’t do the job, boss. They’d spot me in a minnit in any hotel in this place.’ ; ‘“Not asmyemployé. You're to turn waiter for a little. Will you try the jobif I pay you five hundred down and another when it’s done?” 4 “JT daresn’t. It would be hangin’, and you ow it.” x “Fool. I don’t want to kill her, but only to earry her away till I’ve done something I wish. Will you do it?” “Tf you promise—” “Sure! Now then, how many men can you cae of? How many do you want to belp ou We Six are enough, if it’s only takin’ away a al. I’ve got’emall. But I want more money or expenses,” “You shall have all yon want. Meet me here to-morrow night, and I'll show you how to go to work, Bring your men, sober and dressed decently. Shaveand cut yourhair. You know . what I mean?” ‘*Sartainly, boss. You mean we’re to become espectable folks all to once.” “Gxactly. You've been a tramp long enough.” ‘*Then hand over the stamps, and I’m your man, boss.” m= ‘“‘T don’t know about that. How if you and the rest go off on a drunk and cheat me?” “You know if I ever cheated you, Mr. Cal- vert,” returned Billy Barlow, in a tone of in- red feeling; for the tramp was really touched vie a tender point, and Mr. Griengro, looking over the bank, saw Oliver in the act of handing fxim a roll of bills. ; “There, Barlow, I didn’t mean to doubt you,” “he said, more kindly. ‘Be here to-morrow night, and I'll set you to work. Good-by.” hen Mr. Griengro saw the railroad President stalk away, while the Boss of the Bummers, after hiding his money inside his shirt, went hing after. : ae igcked at Peter, and Peter looked at Nan, “We must tell the Rance at onee,” said he. “| wonder who is this wife of the Black Lord they are to carry off or kill?” Nan laughed as she answered: “Tote diulo miro kam (thou’rt a fool, my dear.) It’s the —— herself. Come, let us be Bick before the doors are open. . bare away they went to the theater, CHAPTER XXIX. | WHAT’S IN a Philedelphia a4 THE afternoon papers 0 n day contained the fol owing advertisement: “If Harve of | a | seen or heard of ‘ter parted from vailed ady. don’t keer fur | ped at the door, opened it and said: ‘“*Party about the ad, Mr. Calvert,” Then the Jady entered the room, and Oliver Calvert turned round from the desk at which he was writing, rose from his chair, and bowed with a rather puzzled air to his visitor. The lady, on her pet did not offer to remove her vail, bat simply held out a folded paper, asking: ‘Did you insert that advertisement, sir?” “T did, madam; but I hardly—” “Expected an answer so soon? True, you see, here I am.” “*But you are not Harvey Calvert.” ‘*“Nobody said I was,” returned the lady, segs ‘Then, madam, may I ask what object you had in coming here?” ‘**'To see what you meant by ‘hearing of some- thing to his advantage.’ ” was the composed re- ly. . biiver felt pazzled. For a moment he had thought that his visitor was Jacqueline, and that she had come un- awares into the net he had spread for her in other places, but there was something in .the sharp way of speaking of the unknown that con- vinced him he was mistaken. “Before Lanswer you madam,” he said; ‘let me ask if you know Mr. Harvey Calvert?” “‘May be I do, may be I don’t,” retorted the ‘Tf I don’t, it’s no use my coming But, here.” “Did he send you here?” asked Oliver, as a feeler for news. SONOS SINE? The reply was as cool as if the lady felt no embarrassment. “Then who are you, madam? Whosent you to this office?” “T sent myself, sir. I want to know what has turned up to Harvey Calvert’s advantage?” “Then I can say nothing, madam, till I know who you are.” “You can’t know wholam. ‘You never saw me before,” I happen to know a person who is this matter, and I came for that person’s benefit.” ‘‘ Who is this person of whom you speak?” ““'That’s tellings,” Oliver stared at his brusque visitor in amaze- ment. It was evident that some sort of a queer character had got into his office, “Very well, ma’am,” he said, stiffly. ‘If you can keep your mouth shut, so can I. Good- Gay. He went to the door, opened it, and pointed out. **Good-day, madam.” But, still more to his amazement, his visitor composedly sat down on a lounge in the office, and loosened her vail preparatory to putting it up, observing: ‘*-You needn’t be in such a hurry, I ain’t go- ing just yet.” Oliver could hardly explain, even to himself, the motive which induced him, just at this oint, to reclose the inner door and turn the ey. It was not exactly an unlawful longing that had taken possession of him, though the manner of his visitor was so free as to be provoking but he began to see there was something behind all this, and he did not wish the boy to hear anything. 6 stood before the lady, who quietly un- vailed, disclosing a dark oval face of undeniable beauty, with a small pouting mouth, brilliant ck eyes, and rich olive complexion. But, if beautiful, it was also perfectly strange ba Oliver, who stammered in his embarrass- ent: a Who in Heaven’s namo are you?” As I told you before, it does not concern you. What do you want to say to Harvey Cal- vert?” returned the lady, dally, 4 ud ne can 1 tell four. {don’t know whether r dea i Howse T ko ees sai iver, desperately. 4] "0 i er, seven years before, aboy ef twenty. Could i be poss his girl . eihon cs ty. mat t © possible this LL = ) Helen, and here was a possible opportunity. | He decided to trust his visitor. “Well,” he said, ‘I'll tell you what I want | him to know. Tell him that if he will call on | me I will be the means of reconciling him to his gather at once. Is that plain?” | “Yes,” said the lady, *‘ that’s plain enough for any one. He shall know it. He’s to come here, and you’re to take him to his father—is that it? “That's it, exactly.” “* Very weil,” said the lady, rising and putting on her vail, ‘‘ then I’m off,” : So saying, this beautiful but free-mannered person walked to the door, and would have passed out when Oliver interposed, ** Not so fast, my dear.. Where is Harvey Cal- vert now? I’ve told you what you wanted, now tell me what J want.” The lady stopped a moment, and her eyes flashed at him through her vail as she said: ‘* Stand aside from that door or I'll make you repent it.” liver smiled and advanced to seize her, when he in turn recoiled as quick as had Billy Barlow. on the previous evening, before the bright ring of a revolver, coming out over Gipsy Nan’s } bow and under her light summer silk cape. | Without another word he moved out of the way, and the disguised Gipsy quietly shook her cape over the pistol again, unlocked the door and passed out. For a moment Oliver felt too much mortified to follow, and then he snatched up bis hat and went down-stairs two steps at a time, in hopes of catching her in the street, where he thought she would not dare to draw a pistol on him. As he-bolted out he saw her figure gliding rapidly round the corner at a little distasns! off. Quickly turning, he beckoned to a man who was lounging on the other side of the street, ap- parently out of profitable employment, and pointed to the fleeing girl. The man nodded and set off after her at a dog-trot, iia Oliver went to his hotel to pre- pare for his great coup of the evening. He had made up his mind to’ stroke since he came from Pittsburg; for he had seen his uncle, had found out bow the old man had been shaken by the riot scenes, and how he longed to see his son once more. Oliver had private reasons, which will be de- veloped in the course of this story, if the reader has not already suspected them, to wish to get Jacqueline Raynaud out of the way before he made any attempt to restore Harvey Calvert to his father. } What had become of the impetuous boy he remembered so well he could not imagine; for neither sound nor sign had come of the absent one in all these years, but there were certain’ passages between himself and Jacqueline which made his recognition of her as the Romany Ranee decidedly disquieting. Her bold and open persecution of him, by means of a stage caricature, was equally sur- prising to him, and made him dread that she was in possession of some facts, to him as yet unknown, which enabled her to defy him. Therefore, he had resolved to quiet her in her hotel, passing through the streets or at the theater; and with that object had his spies and’ detectives out.on_all sides, under the capable leadership of Mr. Barlow. ; » He had not the slightest idea that all hi plans were already known to his enterprising and Nan the roe: He went to dinner at his hotel, and saw the beautiful actress sitting at a distant table, ac- companied by her tall and particularly hairy agent, who seemed to be always near her in public, though he did not sleep in the hotel. liver took his own seat so as to watch them, but noticed nothing in their demeanor save for- mal politeness and be was puzgling his brain as to who in the world this tall agent could pe bet one of the waiters slipped a note inte his and. ‘““Gemman said ‘twere ar to ae you, sah.” ver nodded and med the handed to him. ben Mr. Barlow, and ran: ae “We've tracked her d She’s one of sies at the theater, pbrdraa ip on B. ll | “TI thought so,” muttered Oliver, to himself. rage oe : er know dere nag See in, snl s o they at’s w that agent, Tre meant, with his I wonder where hazard a bold — some Way, by kidnapping her, either in bed at enemy, thanks to the talents of Mr. Griengro very pressing, sab. the deuce that boy is now? These people have the hepe the eater; and at} ‘ / It came from the estimable fe
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26 He overtook her, just after she had passed gut of the door in the dark part of the interior ge, and was about to address her when a tall figure started out from a recess in the wall and offered his arm with a bow to the lady. Oliver smothered a curse under his lips as he turned away. ‘‘That infernal Trevlac again,” he muttered, to himself, as he watched the couple walk down the passage and disappear in a corridor that crossed it a little further on. Then something in the name, for the first time since he had heard it, attracted his at- tention and made him repeat it over again and again, as he stalked moodily along the corri- or to his own room ina distant part of the otel. “Trevlac, Trevlac?, Where have I ever heard sucha name? It sounds as if it were Cornish at first, but the end’s French, Trevlac, Trelaw- ney! No, that’s notlike it. Trevor? No. The ‘lac’ is French. all over, Mersac, Cavaignac, Co-:nac. J wonder where the fellow can have come from?” As he spoke, he opened the door of his room ead went in. Some one—probably the cham- bermaid—had put a handsome lithograph of the Cachuca Combination into his room, hung up against the door. He had seen them in the shop-windows with- out noticing them closely, but now he was forced to admit that it was a very artistic per- formance that was put out by the Combination. The plate represented the Gipsy Queen’s Re- venge in its moment of triumph, and contained Lis own portrait, more conspicuous than ever, a the person of the villain crouching at the faet cf the queen. With an angry growl he turned his back and went to the wash-stand, to prepare for the visit to the theater which was to endin stopping the ballet. As he was washing his hands, he happened to look up into the mirror, and saw the abominable picttre still staring him in the face. It seemed as if he could not get rid of it, and he found himself trying to spell out the legend beneath the picture in the mirror, while he was still washing. It ran thus: NEEUQ YSPIG “REGANAM ,CALVERT.” He started suddenly, ran back to the print, and read underneath: “Gipsy Queen. 1 ““Trevlac, Manager.” Then back to the looking-glass, where the name ‘‘ Calvert” stared out with fatal distinct- ness. ““My God!” ke muttered, “‘what a fool I’ve been. Trevlac must be Harvey Calvert him- self. He’s only spelled bis name backwards.” In the midst of his cogitations came a sharp rap at his door, ow ay CHAPTER XXX, IN THE WINGS. **ComeE in,” said Oliver, nervously; and into the yy stalked Mr, Trevlac himself, in propria rsond, Oliver said nothing; for the shock of his dis- covery was still fresh upon him, and he knew not how to receive his visitor, if he really were Harvey Calvert. He stared at him as if in the hope of recog- nizing one feature of the lost young man, but was unable to detect it. Harvey Calvert had been a thin, pale, con- sum ptive-looking youtl, built like a thread per, with a downy pair of side-whiskers and e hellow eyes. This man had the frame of an athiste and the hirsute honors of a Samson. Therefore Oliver, not knowing what to say, held his peace while be dried his bands and al- lowed his visitor to take a seat-unopposed. It was Trevlac, who opened the conversa- tion. ** You told me yesterday that you were going to put an injunction on us to-night. Have you changed your mind yet?’ *No—that is—I don’t know,” was the hesi- tating reply. ‘‘ Have you changed the bill?” ‘No, sir, and intend to keep it on,” - “*Very wellthen. { must stop it.” ** You'd better change your mind, Oliver Cal- vert.” “Why so?” ‘ Because T hear that your unele has already so his Oliver started nervously. “What do you mean?” “That he has burned his will. You are no longer his heir,” ghost. iver turned as pale as a ‘* How do you know that?’ * te told a friend of mine as much, and the mee told me. Has he not informed you Aiso | “No. I saw him only to-day,” answered Oliver, in his most agitated tones. ‘He never let drop & hint of it all.” he rl % My i i 4 f ~ f at bj ¥ EI TR Page NS 7a a Ni ORR ae Pa a hs hi adit as vain lites, | | , 4 wn ro $5 Mr. Trevlac smiled, ‘*Perhaps he begins to suspect the truth at last. You might as well make ano sion before it is too late, Oliver. No one else can right the wrongs you have done.” Oliver stared at his visitor with a haggard look. ‘*Who are you that speak thus?’ he asked, huskily. Nemo, King of the Tramps. n confes- | | “T told you that £ would let you know wiien | the time came,” said Trevlac, quietly. ‘‘ Itmay be that it is not necessary now. know/me already. Is it not so, Oliver?” The President of the Air-Line Road moistened his diy lips with his tongue before he could an- | swer in a low tone: “T think Ido. You are Harvey Calvert.” The other shook his head gravely but went on: “You advertised for Harvey Calvert this af- Y think you | ternoon, and one of my ladies in the company | ‘ é | the theater, and arrived there in time to hear a went down to see you about it. wanted to see him.” Oliver lonked at kim in the same haggard way, as if at a joss what to say, and Trevlac eoutinued: ‘* What do you propose to do? vertisement merely another ingenious plan to forestall the ruin that must come sooner or later, or’was it honest?” She said you * Indeed, Harvey, it was honest,” said liver, | earnestly, and speaking in a manner that ex- hibited much humility. ‘‘I know I didn’t treat Was that ad- | you well, seven years ago, old fellow, and that | you haye much reason to be incensed against me; but you know there was no reason why eg should not have saved yourself at the time oa 7 ” y telling your father— : 3 “What?” asked Trevlac, as Oliver paused in his smooth flow of words. ‘* Well, the truth—as much as—” ‘“ What?” asked Trevlac; for Oliver hesitated | again. As much as he need have known. There was no need of throwing away ail your pros- pects in life for the sake of a woman who—” ‘*Who did what?’ asked Treviac, in the same deep, passionless tones he had used throughout the interview. ‘Iam curious to hear what she did, according to your story.” ‘* Well, who tried her best to ruin us both, by | robbing my uncle’s safe. Harvey.” ‘* And who gave her the combination to open the lock?” asked Trevlac. Oliver flushed as he answered: ‘** Not I, certainly.” ‘*‘Whom did she flee to meet?’ asked the other, as quietly as before. ‘* Not me, certainly.” ** Who promised to marry her?” “Not I, merges 8 ‘“*Who induced her to send back the stolon bonds?” “*Not—” Oliver paused abashed. “You are right,” answered the visitor, rising. | “TI see that you are still intrenched in your armor of self. Now talk quick. What do you propose?” ‘““To take you at once to the Senator; tell him al) the story you ought to have told seven years ago; lay the blame on Jacko—it’s true, you know, she did steal the bonds; and ask him to let bygouwes be bygones, He'll do it quick enough, never fear. The old man was a good dea} shaken up at the riots, and can’t last long. In fact, he’s getting into his dotage fast.” ‘** And this is al) you have to propose?” asked Trevlac, ina liar tone, “Yes. Isn’t itenough? You'll be put back into your proper station, and no one will know but what you’ve been traveling all these years.” ‘*] have been traveling,” replied Trevlac, gravely, ‘traveling as you never yet traveled, Oliver. But let that pass. What is to become ot your wife in all this arrangement?” “My wife? I have none,” cried Oliver, an- pail. “What put such an idea into your ea Treviac put on his hat and walked to the door, where he turned, with his hand on the handle, to speak for the last time, saying: ‘“ When you aro prepared I am ready to help you. a and then it will be too late. Good-even- ng. He left the room as the slowly settling twi- light began to pale; and Oliver sat down minate over the plight in which he was left. You know she did it, | ee ee our a te Oliver’s great profit, as powerful as bands of steel to restrain ante who should bave been his foes from bringing bim to open shame. Would that band break now? He shivered, in spite of the heat, as he thought over the pos- sible consequences if it should. It might mean to him lossof his post as presi- dent (for it was near annual election time); Joss of Helen’s precnised hand; loss of a possible for- tune; loss of reputation; loss of everything which had made him enjoy life.so keenly for the last ten years. As he sat thinking there, the darkness closed in on him and the clocks began to toll the hour of eight, all over the city. Then be started up, for he suddenly remem- bered that the marshals would be at the theater to stop the raising of the curtain. He was as anxious now to stop the injunction, as he had been to stop the play before. Hastily putting on his hat, away he went to great noise going on inside, from which he re- alized that the audience were grewing impa- tient at the delay ip raising the curiain. Round to the stage door he went, and found one of the deputy marshals there, whom he passed and went upon the stage. As he had expected, he found the whole com- pany gathered excitedly round the marshal’s posse, while high words were passing. The marshal had already drawn his pistol and was swearing to shoot any one who interfered with him, while the Gipsies were talking and gesticulating in their excitable way, jabberiny Romany to each other, and evidently incline to try physical conclusions with the law officers, Mr Previac, the only cool person on the stage, was leaning composedly against one ef the wings; while the Countess Cachuca, in her illu- sion and spangles, was pacing up and down near him, with an action that forcibly reminded Oliver of a caged leopard; a simile that was made more striking by her dark, brilliant beauty and lithe motions. Into this scene of confusion came the Presi- dent of the Air Line Road, with the best air of dignity he could put on for the nonce, and the disturbance ceased for a moment. ‘Please Iet the performance go on, Colonel Jones,” he said, hurriedly, to the marshal. ‘TI have compromised with the manager of this show, ana he has promised te remove the ob- jectionable feature.” “*Oh, very well, judge,” was the reply, rather sulkily; ‘‘if you don’t wish to press the matter | we can get out, but these Gipsy galoots can’t do justice to all, | {If you do not make | haste others may take the work out of your | | | | the bounce me and my men, I want them to under- stand, every one of ’em.” ‘ Then he put up his pistol, called off his men, | and left Oliver alone among the Gipsies, who stared at him with undisguised wonder; for, just at that moment, Mr. Griengro, made up in the most artistic style to present the exact double of Calvert, walked out on the stage and faced him with the remark: “How de do, brother? We ain’t on, in the first scene, and prompter wants stage cleared.” Oliver walked over to where ‘Treviac still stood, and said, in a low voice: ‘Spare me this humiliation at least, if you are the Harvey I remember,” The tall agent made no reply, affecting not even to hear him; but the Coit teas Cachuca said in Romany something to Griengro, who bowed and left the stage. Then the prompter’s bel] sounded; the Gipsies cleared the stage as if by magic; and in another moment Oliver found bimself in one of the wings beside the Countess Cachuca, watching llet from behind the scenes, while Mr, Trevlac had disappeared into the mysterious ip > under the stage. e tried to say a word here, and began: “Jacqueline! Why should we be enemies?” She turned and gave him one flash out of her dark eyes, “Talking is not allowed behind the scenes,” she remarked, coldly. ‘The stairs are at the side next the prompter.” “T don’t want to goout. I want to see and speak to you, Jacqueline,” he pleaded, earn- estly. “Pve wanted it ever since you shot at me. Why should we be enemies?” : Shé turned her back on bim and called out in Romany to Mr. Griengro, who just then came back up the green-room stairs, What she said Oliver could not of course un+ ru- | derstand, but Mr. Griengro, now made upin a manner very dissimilar to that which he had The discovery that Trevlac was really his | assumed before, came near and tapped him on cousin, Harvey Calvert, (though the bearded agent had not aJmitted as much save by impli- cation, and had even shaken his head when asked if he were not the man) had upset all his calculationsabout the stopping of the play. He po did not dare-to do what he had threat- en He ssed certain items of secret knowl- edge which made him hesitate before the possi- bility that Harvey Calvert might, as he knew he could, expose kim. Only one thing had saved him from ruin all these years, through such an exposure. That thing was the word of a gentleman. Something impalpable; and oe ay oy oF) fib ht Py Lot Ub adhe Dtewckie pia lpeg erel poe of it had proved, ' e sat down md oe Be way ot aN 2 UY *s. ba cae Peta tee! MARTE ie ot vie iP pee Ld ate Ls nt ibd the shoulder. “Come, brother,” said Peter, coaxingly. ‘No use making a row here. You'll be cleaned out before you can doa thing. Sitdown and watch ’ematit. You see I’m different to-night.” In fact Mr. Griengro had been dressed up in the short interval during which he had disa peared, into the likness of an old-time ge doctor of the seventeenth century, with long black robe, velvet trunks and black silk stock- ings, etc., etc. HRA: liver said no more, but did as he was bid, for he had a wholesome awe of the ‘‘ bouncing i the Gipsies. ify.) ; A on a stool and wateled the pv0- y 4 os eae eee eaten) et | West i Angdbe 2) ae '€: & ETN ki é eins alii a
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gress of the ballet; saw the Countess Cachuca bound down to the footlights; heard the thun- ders of applause with which she was greeted; and eould not help watching her with admira- tion himself, as she went through, with dramatic grace, the pantomime of the Gipsy Queen’s Revenge. He found himself leaning forward and clap- Ping with might and main at one or two specially. brilliant places, and was so much ab- sorbed that he noticed nothing else till he heard the voice of Mr. Trevlac close beside him, say- ing to him: * A man might.do worse than have such a wife as that, Oliver Calvert. Do your duty and you'll never be sorry for it.” He looked up and saw Mr. Trevlac beside him, looking out over the stage with folded arms as if he had not seen Calvert. Oliver seemed to shrink into his clothes as he listened, and made no answer. r. Treylac seemed to expect none, for he remained watching the stage till Mr. Griengro had gone on and suffered the vengeance which looked so terrible before the curtain and so prosaic behind it. Then as the rustling folds came down and blotted out the audience, Mr. Trevlac said: “Come, sir, it’s time you were out of this. Good-night.” CHAPTER XXXII. KIDNAPPING. Wuen Oliver Calvert went home that night from the theater he felt very gloomy and un- eomfortable. It seemed to him as if the net that he had been spreading for others was clos- ing in around himself, and he began to doubt his ability to escape exposure. But the last thing he suspected was the fact that Helen Chester was in communication with either Jacqueline or Harvey Calvert, if indeed Trevlac were that person. While he was cudgeling his wits for some way out of his difficulties, he was suddenly ac- costed by Mr. Barlow, who met him in the dark street in the stealthy way habitual with that worthy person, and said in a low tone: ‘““We’ve got her now, boss, if you give the .word, The Gipsies has gone home and she’s a-comin’ on alone,” Oliver caught at the news eagerly. “Are you sure she’s alone? Isn’t that big agent with her?” “No, He went off with one of the boys in his gang, and she started out by herself. My men ere close on her,” ‘Take her then,” said Oliver, his heart beat- ing joyfully. ‘‘ You know the place to go.” "All right, boss. Little house in German- town. Is the old woman there?” ‘¢Yes, Give her the word ‘Jacko,’ and tell her to lock her up. Look out for her pistol.” “All right, boss. We'll double-bank her, so she won’t have no chance to use it.” Away went Mr. Barlow at a dog-trot, and Oliver Pollowed him more leisurely till he turned a corner. The railroad President knew that Jacqueline could not be far off, and sure enough, on turn- ing into the next street, he was just in time to see a dark confused group of men at the other end rush on a female figure and carry it off bodily to a close carriage that was waiting near ite saw them bundle her in, swiftly and si- lently ; slam the door of the carriage; and then the vehiclé drove away at\a rapid pace, keeping in the dark streets and taking the direction of Germantown. - As they passed Oliver, Mr. Barlow made him a silent signal from the box where he sat by the driver, and the tified conspirator kept on his way to the ante, feeling as if a load had been lifted from his heart by this success. As he turned into Chestnut street he was overtaken by a man who touched his cap and said: ‘“We took her easy, boss. Came the bag trick on her.” ‘What do you mean by the bag trick?” asked Oliver. ‘‘Clapped a bag over her from behind afore she knowed anything, and had her shut up afore she could squeak.” “Very good. I'll see you get your pay for the job,” said Oliver, hurriedly. “ Don’t be seen talking to me in public.” * All right, boss. Good-night.” ‘ And the man shambled away in the furtive manner peculiar to ba and spies, while Oliver pursued his way to the hotel in peace. When he got there the flow of spirits conse- quent on his first triumph had begun to fade away. Ha began to think over the possible conse- quences to himself if this proceeding were dis- covered by Trevlac; and the more he thought, the more uneasy he got. ‘ He dreaded to meet Treviac, and found his heart beating so fast with excitemént that he had to goto the bar, ca!] for whisky and take a deep drink, before he could steady bimself. As he cme ont ofthe bar, in walked Treviac, Nemo, King of the Tramps. boyish-looking young fellow, with light curly hair and a large silky mustache, nearly white in color, This youth had weak eyes to all appearance, for he had to wear blue goggles, but he strutted ing his little cane as if he were anxious fo pro- voke a quarrel. But Oliver was not in a fighting mood that day, and declined to notice this intrusive young Calvert went up-stairs to his own room, packed up his things,came down again to the office, paid his bill, called a carriage, and drove away. He was bound to hide his tracks if he could. The young man who had behaved so rudely Mr. Trevlac, almost in the words of Gipsy Nan to Mr, Griengro a few hours before: “ Odiulo na jinava mande.” (The fool does not know me,) Mr. Trevlac smiled. ‘**It is not best that he should, just now. Will Nan stand the trial, think you?” ‘Ask Peter, was the reply. **She will keep the Kalo Rai (Black Lord) in the dark,” said Mr. Griengro, respectfully; ‘‘and they dare not hurt her, for two of my kinsmen are with the men who took her.” Mr. Trevlac nodded and went up to the bar, where Peter took a regular Gipsy drink (dee and strong); while the curly-headed yout lighted a c gar, after which they sauntered out into the bi view of the hotel office. The curly-headed youth took his post by the door, aching the office, while Mr. Griengro and the agent began to play billiards, or rather pretend to play; for they seemed to pay more attention to the hotel desk than the balls. The youth at the door made a little click with his tongue when Oliver came down to the desk, and the two men atthe table continued to watch him furtively, while they played on. They saw the porter take his valise and pre- cede him out of the hotel, and when the door slammed the curly-headed one ejaculated: ‘* He’s gone away. What must we do?” “Do? quietly. ‘* George Masengro is outside, and will go with him.” Curly-head turned to Trevlac with a smile. ** You think of everything,” he said. “‘T have need to,” was the quiet reply. “I have something at stake; more than even you have, Jacko.” Then he laid down his cue, pad for the un- finished game, to the great satis awning marker, who forthwith put out the ghts; when the three left the hotel and walked down Chestnut street toward Fairmount Park. They had gone about ten blocks at a leisurely pace, when they saw the lights of the hotel car- riage coming back, and Mr. Griengro stepped outin the glare of a gas-lamp and raised Poth his arms in a peculiar manner to attract atten- tion. The carriage slacked up and a man came down from the box toward them, after which the vehicle drove on. The new-comer was instantly recognized as George Masengro (the Butcher), the stoutest Gipsy in the band, and he touched his hat re- spectfully to Trevlac, waiting to be questioned. “* Where have you been, George?” asked Trev- ac. “To the Rikeno Ranee’s beti ker,” was the an- swer. (Pretty lady’s little house.) Mr. Trevlac started. . ‘*There! Are you sure?” **T am sure, boro rai,” ‘“* And who went there with you?” “The Kalo Rai (Black Lord).” “But is there no one there to watch?” “Avo, boro rai (yes, great lord), I left my kinsman, Jasper Berengro (the Sailor), before the house. And Mr. George Masengro touched his cap as he concluded his report and waited for orders. ‘Go back to the house with Jasper, and brin me any news that he may have to send,” sai Trevlac; and then he turned away and went back to the hotel with his companions. Once there, he said to Peter Griengro, who was looking gloomy and uneasy:* “Go quickly. 1 know where you would be, Take care of ber you love.” Mr. Griengro’s face lighted up ina moment, and he darted away into the darkness, after rapturously kissing Trevlac’s hand; while the manager of the Cachuca Combination said to his curly-headed friend: “Go to bed, Jacko. nev's.” “What news do you expect?” asked’ the youngster, quickly. ‘News from her. If seven years have not changed Helen Chester greatly, I shall hear from her to-night.” “But I ought to hear, too,” objected the other, pleadingly. “You shall, in the morning. Just now you need rest from excitement. Do asI wish you, and you shall not repent it. Ihave taken this matter into my own hands to-night,, Remom- I'll stay and wait for past Oliver in a consequential manner, swing- | person, who passeii on into the bar-room, while | to him laughed when he went out, and said to | faction of the zy ——w “Then get your key and go to bed.” Curly-head got up, obediently enough, and went off; while Treviac lita cigar and remained in the lower corridor of the hotel, waiting patiently. The clocks of Philadelphia struck twelve, and | the porter was putting away loose chairs for the night, when Mr. Masengro walked in, touched his cap respectfully, and handed the watcher a note. He tore it open, and read: “Oliver Calvert has begged aunt Mary’s hospital- ity. Heis herefor a night or two. Uncle Harvey will retire to Calverton to-morrow. I go with him. If you can be there when we are, I think all may be made right at once. Oliver seems much disturbed about something, but tells me he has great hopes now. HELEN,” Trevlac nodded to Masengro. “You can go,” he said. ‘Tell the men we ull up our stakes to-morrow, and roam again, ‘he Romanichalor will return to their tents.” Mr. Masengro’s face lighted up with intense satisfaction. “ Parakra Madeval, parakra tote, boro rai,” (Thank Good, and th you, great lord) he eja- | culated. Then he went swiftly out of the hotel into the | street, and began to turn handsprings in the ess of his delight at the prospect of leavin liard room, which commanded a | the town and returnit prospe g the town and returning te the wandering ways of his forefathers. The ik ype had stood the confinement of stage work very well while they were in Pitis- burg, where there was plenty of excitement during the riots, but since they had entered on a course of peaceful prosperity in Philadelphia they had bs_n growing more restive every day. Used as ng f were to open air life, and only coming into the townsin the winter, it was a severe task to them to remain in dusty, brick- paved Philadelphia, while the birds were sings ing in the parks, and they knew that the hares and chipmunks were chasing their comrades in 0) , | the country. ind where he’s gone,” said Trevlac, | Mr. Trevlac read his note over twice, and | then softly kissed it and hid it away in his breast-pocket. Then he wer.t up-stairs to his own room, and nothing more was seen or heard of him till next day, when he strolied down Chestnut street to | take \ round of the newspaper offices. That morning a big painted sign was hung up in front of the theater, reading as follows: *“CLOBED FOR THE SEASON, ‘*Wint Reopen Sept, ist WITH THE EMINENT TRAGE- “DIAN, “MR. CASSIUS OTHELLO JONES.” The afternoon papers contained notices to the effect that ‘the sudden illness of the Countess Cachuca had necessitated the closing of ber en- + ovens and that the distinguished danseuse had been advised by her physician to seek the rest and retirement of country life for a time,” _ Great regret, was expressed at her determina- tion, and hopes that she would soon revisit the City of Brotherly Love. liver Calvert, walking up Market street, an his way to the Germantown Road, bought a Paper, read the news, and chuckled to himself, e had quite recovered his equanimity by this time, and fancied he saw in this sudden move the demoralization of his enemy’s force produced by the sudden capture of their He took the horse-cars to Germantown, got out at the terminus, and walked on till he came to a large, old-fashioned brick housé in the midst of some neglected. looking grounds. The place seemed deserted, and all the shut- ters were closed as he knocked at the door which was opened to him by an ancient hag of Villainous looks. ‘*Ts she quiet?” asked Oliver. “ She’s as quiet as chloroform can make her,” was the answer as he went in. CHAPTER XXXIL A FAMILY TALE. THE doors and windows of Calverton Manor were once more thrown open to the breeze; the house was full of bustling servants, and Mi Helen Chester, in the capacity. of hostess to aunt Mary, was doing her best to make the old lady comfortable; while the neighbors poured in to pay,their duty calls and satisfy their curigsisy about riot news. Senator, bland and er aes as ever, received his guests with his usual urbanity, but was very reticent about his share in the riots which had by this time been quelled in all parts of Pennsylvania. The tramps seemed to have about disappeared from that part of, the country, and t was thé relief of the farmers who had ered from them in the past. The country seemed to have recovered its normal tone, and le went par Fanon , peop: about their avo- vr oa j SS ae | ggg | . _ = ‘ - « > Z @ ee a ee ee n company with Mr. Criengro and a slender, ne i } ; ve r be ity fel ye at nde 1 - Poe. oe ‘ee a: - er ee a ee | 7 i ‘ Pare ‘A J Dt ae ee rn Py eih es) Sp ee iN a) ae VT Say? et v2 ine, en es tas ee r £ Saat 7 ber that the Countess Cachuca has kid- | The Senator’s family had occupied their coum 7 ay 5 - 4 eee P aie ett ea roe acy
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try home about a week, when one morning Miss Chester followed her guardian into the library \ and said: ‘io “Uncle Harvey, I want to speak to you.” He looked up in surprise from his morning % paper. a ‘ What about, Helen?’ ready to swear to it. There is now no reason why eerie should not come home, him, I claim your promise, ti ** About my cousin Harvey, sir.” ‘! The old man’s face lighted up. ; “Any news? Have you found any evi- ia dence? i “Not yet, sir; but I received this note from es Oliver to-day.” " She handed hima letter which he read slowly and carefully. ee ys It ran thus: "i “Dear HELEN: P5 “I have made a discovery and a capture, Jacque- es line Raynaud stole the Senator's bonds, and I have e her a prisoner. She has written a confession and is f] I have written to ae * OLIVER CALVERT. hi **P. §.—I shall be in Calverton to-night with my . prisoner penitent.”’ . : The Senator seemed hardly able to realize the th * meaning of the letter till he had read it several R. times over, and then he said, in a confused, ‘ helpless sort of way: ye **1 don’t see why Oliver did not find this out a before. It wowld have saved us seven years’ $ ony. ; ‘**T suppose he did not know it,” was Helen’s vs indifferent reply, as she stood looking out of 'G the window, apparently more interested in the robins on the lawn than the matter in land. i **But he says he has found her and written s to Harvey. Where is my boy? Why does he “ti not tell us?” en.» ‘* Possibly he wishes to surprise us by bring- ing Harvey here, sir.” he old man looked again at the letter. “Jacqueline has made @ confession of the eft. But how then—” e paused as if in deep thought and Helen did not venture to rouse him from his distrac- tion till he suddenly broke out: } “Oh, I wish to Heaven that artful jade had - or never entered my house.” sna ‘Why not, sir? “Tseeitall. She never went away to marry any member of my family as she said. It was all a lie from first to last. She stole the bonds, made love to Harvey; and he, poor boy, was forced into keeping er secret, She. tempted him and he fell. ey Helen again made no answer, and his mood its changed to cheerfulness ‘as he returned to the tter. “What a smart fellow Olivér must be to have found this out so quietly. He will be here to- night with his ‘prisoner penitent.’ That’s quite a pretty alliteration. Oliver was always tond of his joke.” “Yes, sir, especially at other people’s ex- ense,” ** At other people’s expense? “How so, Helen?” “At all of our expense, sir. It is hardly a subject for jokes.” Oh, I don’t know that. I feel as #f a moun- tain had been lifted from my heart and I could laugh at any folly. Harvey is coming home to his father before he dies, and Oliver will be the means of restoring hia to me.” ’ Helen smiled ina bitter, cynical sort of wa tag as she continued to look out of the window, an ‘Se ie the old man said fretfully: ms ‘*But. you never would do justice to Oliver. ‘You always hated him. And yet you are the ' first person he writes to, in his joy.’ : Again Helen made no answer, and the Sen- ator turned to the letter, as if seeking there the _ consolation she denied him. a _“ What does he mean by saying he claims ews es. ? _ @ “To marry him, sir.” a The Senator jumped upfrom his chair in an «| excited manner, eae “Tomarry him! You! Helen! Marry Oliver! ‘Why, what for, in the name of common sense?” ‘an Boca use I promised to do so, in a certain ———s« @onntingency, sir.” ; The old man ) geasaie down as she spoke, and stared at her with great amazement, When he spoke again it wasin a voice, trem- with sons hidden emotion, bak y “And what was that contingency, Helen?” > ae “That he should reconcile you and Harvey, | gecomplish tha é mh “He asked me, as he had so often before, to marry him; and I told him that if he could -_- reconcile Harvey and you, I would not oppose 7 wishes any longer. That is the whole story, you promised to marry him if he could aad aman What promise have you made | swer them ; | ness; I am a horse-dealer;.I dare do anything | take for that horse?” N emo, King of the Tramps. — ‘Nothing is proven yet, sir.” ** But when it is, I shall owe it all to you?” Helen made no answer. The Senator eyed her sharply for a moment and then burst out: “* Helen, you’re a—well, I won’t be extrava- gant—but, you’re a good girl. You shall not lose by it. I promised you that if you proved my son’s innocence you should have all my for- tune at my death. You shall, and more than that. On the day I can honorably embrace my son, be it to-morrow or not, I will make over half my fortune to you. You and Oliver shall have something to enable you to live peaceably together. What do you think of that?’ “T think you are very kind, sir.” Her tone was constrained; so much so that the Senator noticed it and said, kindly: ‘Don’t take it to heart so, Helen. Love- matches are not always the happiest, and love is sure to come after awhile, when the husband is such a noble fellow as Oliver. Ifit were any one else I would protest against sacrificing you to a man you dislike; but | know you are nyo ainst Oliver because you don’t now him as I do; and that you'll end by loving him as devotedly as any wife in America.” “Perhaps so, sir,” said Helen, coldly. ‘* Now T’ve told you the news, I suppose I can go out for a ride alone.” ‘1 don’t know, Helen. The country may not be so safe as we think yet. There may be tramps lurking about in the woods.” ‘Constable Davis says the whole country is clear of them, sir. He was in the kitchen this mores and I told the cook to give him break- ast. ‘*You’d better take one of the boys with you, Helen. I don’t like this riding out alone.” ‘Very well, sir.” Helen bowed, vanished, and went straight to the stable bell to order out her horse; but gave no intimation whatever of obeying the Sena- tor’s wishes in the matter; for when she rode out it was through the back way, alone and un- attended by any groom, even at the regulation fitteen paces’ distance in the rear. Now the back way of Calverton Manor led into the farm which adjoined the grounds round the house, and down a shady lane into some quiet country roads, overshadowed by great locust and elin trees, which bordered the way for miles into Calverton woods. elen rode gently on till she neared the woods, when she saw in the distance an ap- _proaching horseman. Then she quickened her pace and soon met a slender boyish youth with fair curly hair, a drooping flaxen mustache and blue goggles over his eyes. This youth wore a light and fashionably cut riding suit and rode asiender sorrel horse, with the wiry nervous look of good blood about it. The rider's hands and feet were very small and elegantly shaped, and he rode with the ease and grace of an old equestrian. Helen looked with some little curiosity at this youth as she passed him; but kept on the other side of the road, as not wishing to converse with a stranger. The young man with the curly hair, on his art, bowed ceremoniously as he passed, and elen rode on, thinking she had seen the last of him and wondering a little who he was, for he was evidently not a resident of that part of the country. Presently she heard the quick hoof-beats of a alloping horse behind her, and looking round in some astonishment, beheld the curly cavalier coming after her. For a moment she fell startled and terrified; for there was no one on the road within sight but her pursuer; but the next moment her courage returned. Ae She had noticed the slight figure of the stranger, and judged him to be haif a head shorter than herself, she being a tall, robust girl, and he a very small, dapper sort of : outh. - She had im her saddle-pocket, as usual, her lit- tle pistol, which she always carried in the coun- oy when riding alone, herefore, instead of startin into a faster gall up her horse op, she checked him to a walk, sab up straight in her saddle, and looked as cold- ly severe as a statue of Minerva, as the auda- oa stranger dashed alongside and pulled up s horse. ba she turned on him with flashing eyes, asking: ‘What do you mean, sir? Who are you? How dare ?” Curly-head smiled with an air of great amuse- ment as he retorted: ‘*Three questions in one breath. What do I mean? W = ye I? Howdarel? Well, Dll an- all as well as I can. I mean busi- in the way of business, How much will you sell, ’ As te » ** Well, miss, if I can’t buy your horse, what will you give for mine? I’m always open to an offer, buy or sell. What will you givet Come.” Now thoroughly angry at his persistent in- trusion, she turned round in her saddle and lifted her riding- whip. ** ll give you this, if you don’t cease annoy- ing me,” she cried. “If you’re a gentleman, you'll leave me.” The little man laughed again. “Tm not a gentleman,” he said, in the coolest manner. ‘‘I don’t profess to be anything but what 1 am. Take a card, miss. Happy to oblige you any time you want a mount. Tul give you three fifty for yours, or take five hun- dréd for this, There’sa fair offer. You won’t? Well, here’s my card. Any time you want me, youknow. Good-by.” With the cool impudence that had character- ized him all through, he stuck his card into her saddle-pocket, on the gallop as both horses were, and then wheeled his animal androde off, leaving Helen further unmolested. CHAPTER XXXTIL. , THE GIPSY CAMP. In the midst of that charming nook in the woods of Calverton, that went by the name of » the ‘‘Tramp’s Paradise,” was gathered a pic- turesque little camp of Gipsies; very different from the motley gang of roughs that had pro- faned the place a few weeks before. Kind Nature, thanks to the rippling stream and the suns of July and August, had eovered ‘over the traces of the tramps with a protect- ing mantle of grasses and ferns, so that the place looked as beautiful as ever. The Gipsies, with their horses and wagons, their arched tents and booths, contributed a ro- mantic air to the scene, as the girls flitted about in their scarlet cloaks from fire to fire. The men were scattered about, making baskets and cordage, mats and brooms; Mr. Andrew Yag- engro, (fire-fellow,) the blacksmith, was clink- ing away on his little traveling forge, while Mr. Masengro was cutting up a pig in a remote corner, under the trees. The Gipsies all looked happy and well satisfied to be away from the cities and roaming the greenwood again; for the Arab is rot truer to his desert than the Romanichal to the wandering life of bis tribe. Mr. Peter Griengro was industriously cleanin a compact little black horse, whose coat af ready shone like satin, humming to himself, meanwhile, the mournful refrain of a Romany love song which described the loss of the loved one, when he heard the tramp of a horse’s feet among the underbrush, and spied a young lady riding toward the camp. He paused in his work long enough to say, aloud: “* Rineno ranee, Ave, raplior ; regandro du- roken lillor,” Helen heard the words, which were to her un- meaning gibberish, but the Gipsy girls under- oe the summons better, for Mr, Griengro had said: ) ‘‘A pretty lady. Come, girls, bring in the fortuns-tellin books.” er: : The cam ok no apparent notice of the stranger; the men continued at their various — avocations without looking up or speaking; the . old women went on stirring the banging ket- tles; and only the little children stared at the graceful figure in the riding habit that came slowly into camp on the handsome bay horse, It was Helen Chester, who checked her pace. halted at the outskirts of the little camp, and looked on with pleastre at the pretty picture i¢ resented; it was Jenny Griengro, a sister of eter, who came smiling and wheedling for- ward to the horse’s head, saying: 7 ‘*Won’t the pretty lady have her fortune told? Jenny, the Gipsy, can tell her whom she’ll marry, if the pretty lady will cross her - hand with a piece of silver.” Helen smiled. ** And how if I cross it with gold?” ‘*The better the money, the better the tale,” replied Jenny, unblushingly, “Til take more trouble and tell you more,’ “But it won’t be any truer, will it?” asked Helen, still smiling. — , Jenny drew herself up as if offended, “The Romanichi never lies pwd lady. I oye “ our fortune now, if fan is ut I don’t want my hag retorted Helen. ‘I came here witha different purpose. You are the people who were at the theater with Jacko, the Countess Cachuca, I mean, I want toseo her. Whereis she? Jenny stared at her in undisguised amazement ook came over her dark face. “T am not in the horse-dealing line,” eeptied and then a crafty | the lady, in her most sarcastic tones. ‘I don’t | | “Why, don’t you know they took her away ] want to sell. Iwant to be lett alone, Good- | i ja?” Him they call the Black Lord, he took her.” Co Ae bh?” s) be . eas ‘ g “ ’ wAy i t ; . , 7 re ', ae ll Seon
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———— — EEE AE says he did, but I don’t believe him. Isn’t she here now?” ‘Oh, no, my lady,-certainly not,” was the glib reply from Jenny’s Madonne-like lips, as easy as lying. ‘‘ We’ve not seen her for ever so long.” ; “Tm sorry,” said Helen in a ne tone. ‘1 thought—but never mind. You say | she is not here?” ** No, my lady.” Helen hesitated a few moments, and then | turned rosy red as she asked in a low voice: ‘* Where is your king, Nemo?” Jenny looked up at her with a roguish twinkle of her black eyes. “*Gone too.’ ‘‘Gone where?” *“To look after the Ranee Jacko.” With a pettish exclamation, Helen turned away her horse’s head and was about to depart, when she heard a shrill whistle in the woods at some distance off, which produced a decided stir in the Gipsy camp. Scveral of the men jumped up from the tasks at which they were engeaed and dashed off through the woods as if their lives depended on it. “What's the matter?’ asked Helen in some surprise. ““A message from Boro Rai,” said Jenny quietly. ‘‘He has found Jacko.” | “Then I must see both of them,” was Helen’s comment; and she rode off through the woods after the Gipsies, whom she soon found grouped around the identical impertinent little horse- jockey she had met on the road. Something in this fact made her remember « that she had his card in her saddle-pocket, - where he had so unceremoniously left it, and she pulled it out to see what his name was. She found a small neat card, on which was prin in clear Roman type, the following in- scription: “JOHN RAYNOR, “(GONTRACTOR AND DEALER IN LIVE STOCK OF ALL KINDS. * Commission Business a Specialty.” But even Helen, though not an expert in busiuess affairs, noticed that there was no ad- dress on the card, and came to the conclusion that Mr. John Raynor’s business was only a blind. ' Seeing him hail-fellow-well-met with the Gipsies, settled his status in her mind; and with- out further curiosity she rode away back to the Toad, and so toward Calverton. — She was much disappointed in the result of her visit. She had expected to find Jacqueline in the camp; for, ever since the night of the burglary, when the disguised girl had saved her from tie clutches of Billy Barlow, Helen had been in constant secret communication with her old friend and governess, so long lost to view. She knew that Jacqueline had in some mys- terious manner acquired a great control over the Gipsies, and that she was always with the still more mysterious king, Nemo, whom Helen had only seen once, but whom she nevertheless suspeoted to be none other than the vanished cousin Harvey she remembered so well. She had no confidence in Oliver Calvert’s let- ter, and at first fully believed he lied, inasmuch as J acqueline had told her a ee! singular story ‘on the night in which they had foiled the burg- lars at Calverton Manor. It was on the strength of that story that the warm-hearted girl had been working ever since, planning scheme after scheme to right her cou- gin, who had been her hero of romance seven ears before, when she wasa school-girl of thir- n, and whom she had enshrined in her heart ever since, with a worship of which the wo- men, Helen, did not so m as suspect the real nature. Now, as she rode away, she felt very low in irits, for she began to think Oliver might be right after ail, and the remembrance of her promise to marry him came like a leaden weight on her mind. ‘What shall Iydof What shall I do?” said the poor girl to herself, as sbe rode along. “1 do not love him; I even hate him, and Fa I must marry him if he reconciles Harvey to his father. And uncle Harvey is so crazy for joy that he thinks of nothing but himself. I hope I shall not live long after it’s all over. I think I could die happy if-I only saw Harvey home again, but I’m sure I can never live happy with : so earnestly L Ga tboughin that rhe was unconsciously speak- ing aloud, pacing along in the dusty road with the reins on her gs neck. } i with a nervous start that she heard som 8 one say: : ~ hat wretch? I hope you don’t think mea h, miss.” . : Ww Reddoning with anger at the rude intrusion, Helen turned in h Nemo, iting of the en Te ee ; I'll teach you not to insult a lady in this man- | ner,” She gathered up her reins, clutched her whip and wheeled ber horse to ride at him with cas- tigatory intent; but the Little jockey ‘‘pas- saged”’ away across the road with a speed that kept him out of danger, as he cried out, still laughing: ““Why, you know me well enough. I’m Jack Raynor. If you won’t trade horses, here’s a letter for you from a friend of yours. Id have given it you before, but you wouldn’t stop.” He held out a note as he spoke, but Helen was too suspicious of his easy impudence to be- | lieve him at once. ‘Who is it frota?” she asked. reply. ‘“‘I met him in Philadelphia, and he charged me with this to you.” Helen flushed and paled, for Jacqueline had told her on the night of the burglary how they were going to take a variety show to Pittsburg and P iladelphia, and how the Gipsy king was to take the name of Trevlac. The very sound of this peculiar name had strengthened her idea that he was Harvey Cal- vert, and the messages she had received in the city through the various Gipsies of the band had completed the chain of evidence. “Give me the letter then,” she said, a little more graciously; and Mr. Raynor rode up be- side her, his air now perfectly respectful, and handed her the letter of which he spoke. Helen opened and began to peruse it, Soon she grew so absorbed in its contents that she forgot everything, let the reins fall on her horse’s neck and read eagerly on. Thus ran the letter: “ Heien:—But for youl should never in have come near my father’s house, and but for you I might have still been happy in my self-imposed exile. I wished~to see my little girl-pla. e, grown a woman, and I found her an angel. For your sake alone I will do what youask. I will come ome and be there when Oliver comes. Whatever the issue, God bless you. Nemo.” She let the paper fall on her lap and sat idly gazing up the road, when that impudent little jockey, ohn or Jack Raynor, suddenly threw is arms round her neck before she was aware of his intent, half-dragging her out of the saddie, and plumped three loud smacking kisses full on ber lips, with the exclamation: “Helen, you’re a darling. Good-by!” In another moment he had pushed her back, scarlet with shame and indignation, while he dashed in his spurs and shot away like an arrow, leaving Helen alone in the road, so beside herself with ry that she actually reached for her pistol to kill this insolent little wretch. The smallness of his size made his impudence only the more pidge, Helen’s anger was not mixed with fear, an eduid she have found her pistol she would have fired after him. But, still more to her mortification, it was one, and she came to the safe conclusion that ir. Raynor had taken it while she was reading her note. In this she was rightno doubt, and after a little burst of angry tears she made up her mind to get even with Mr. Raynor at some future time, and so rode home peaceably, CHAPTER XXXIV, OLIVER ARRIVES. Tar afternoon Senator Calvert received a telegram, saying: “Tlome on 6:45 train. Jacqueline and detective a OLIVER.” The old gentleman was instantly in a fever of excitement, driving quiet aunt Mary nearly out of her wits by his nervous ways, and squabbling with Helen at intervals because she kept so cool and looked so gloomy. ° , hen she refused to drive to the station to meet Oliver he was considerably nettled, and angrily observed: “Tf you had as much at stake as [I have, you 0 ’b be so careless, Helen. I sometimes think you have no feeling for any one except your own self. ening, Miss Chester.” And the indignant Senator, shooting this Par- thian arrow of sarcasm to rankle in Helen’s bosom, stepped into the wagon and was driven away. Aunt Mary looked troubled and timid as she stood on the piazza with Helen; but the girl only smiled somewhat sadly in answer to the anxious looks of her relative. ‘*He doesn’t know, aunt Mary. He'll be ‘with me. Send two wagons to meet us. sorry for this when he thinks over it. Uncle Harvey is quick-tempered, but he doesn’t mean to be cruel.” “No, no, Helen; not cruel; but thee knows men never und nd us rightly to the last. Most men, that is.) My poor N: iel, in the 8 was different. And t these many om thee think wicked French girl has Harvey thus to be found innocent without seek- gee prove it!” ‘ Vos Lint Magy "That is a goo pi R at is a good “Will you excuse me a e : on, unless I lie Tramps. confessed at last? What a triumph for young | * ‘a rt . + iad - 2 Sapte Dee her “He kept his worc noeenies ‘Yes, and | did he g for “Certainly, Helen. Thee needn’t use cere- mony with me.” So Helen went up to her own room, locked the door, and then, instead of lying down, as she had declared she was about to do, threw herself into a rocking-chair and indulged in a long and | bitter fit of er; ing. The ordeal was at hand, and she felt she would have to face it. It was not in Helen’s resolute nature, how- ever, long to give way to despondency. “I must do it,” she finally said to herself, “and if I must, [ will, No one shall say I did not keep my word at any cost.” So she attired herself in her richest garments as if for a festival, and came down-stairs, sper “From a gentleman called Trevlac,” was the | and placid, taking a seat on the piazza wit aunt Mary, who was already dozing away in her great cane rocker in pursuance of the mild fiction that she was waiting to receive the travelers. The sun went down, and just before his red disk touched the western horizon they heard the long scréam of the train coming in. Helen turned white at the sound, set her teeth ~ hard, and tapped ber foot nervously on the ground, but showed no further emotion. | Aunt Mary awoke with a gurgle and sniff, rubbed her eyes and exclaimed: k *““Why, Helen, is thee there? I must have been half asleep, for I didn’t hear thee. They’re not coming yet, are they?’ “The train’s just in. The drive will take twenty minutes,” said Helen in a hard metallic tone. “I must go up-stairs again. My head begins to ppin me once more.” “ Thee’d better take a walk on the lawn in the cool grass,” said aunt Mary, sympathizingly. “The sun is nearly down now.” “T think I will. : And Helen walked off into the grounds, pacing nervously to and fro on the grass among the firs and spruces, and trying to work off her ex- citement so as to meet Oliver calmly. Had she been a man, she would have taken a drink to steady her nerves; but, being a lady Helen was denied the male consolation, and had to rely on her powers of self-control. After awhile, when she was off among the shrubbery, she heard the dull rumble of wheels and hid herself to watch. First came the Senator, in the two-seated drag, driving his own span of grays, with Oliver Calvert, bland and smiling, beside him. In the hind seat was a big fat man, witha . clean-shaven face and a general air of new clothes about him, and by his side cowered, rather than sat, a slender female figure, closely vailed in spite of the heat. The second.vehicle was a light spring wagon full of baggage. Helen watched them drive up to the honse. and saw Oliver salute aunt in his most randiloquent manner, while the big men and the vailed woman were hurried into the house, Then she saw Oliver look round him in an in- quiring sort of way and realized that he was asking for her. With a slight sigh she gave to the winds the. last semblance of emotion and walked up the steps as cold and unimpressionable as a statue moved by machinery. ““Good-evening, cousin Oliver,” was all she said, as he hurried forward to grasp her band with both his. “Helen, it is I,” he answ in a low, fer- vent tone. ‘‘I have cleared ev. Have you nothing more to say to me than that?” = ™. ‘““Where is Harvey?” she asked, in the sanie cold, stony manner. ** He will be here soon,” he answered. ‘‘ There will be no more trouble about reconciliation; so I claim your word.” ‘“* I will keep it, sir!” Her tones were perfectly icy as she snatched her hand away from his with a sort of shiver and went up to her guardian. “Uncle Harvey, have you heard all?” The old man was radiant with joy and ex- citement. “Yes, ’ve heard all. The boy wasa fool, but not as-bad a knave asI thought. Ican forgive . him the rest.” jee ““What do you mean, sir?” it ‘Oh, henever promised to marry that jade. She doesn’t say he did. Her letter to me was only to throw dust in my eyes. She was fond of change, and threw herself at poor Harvey’s head. can’t blame the boy, for she was a woman of the world who could just wind ¥. ‘ey him round her finger. He was fool enough to leave college and meet her in Baltimore, where he first the way she had robbed me. Then she had the impudence to persuade him to go traveling with her tospend all tbat eae se why didn’t he tell you, sir, when you saw ; “2: “ Because the artful fade had made him give — de | his word of honor not to tell any one. ae > ~ mee I would never prosecute my own son,
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30 was. ButIdon’t care now. I can forgive him all, for he is my own flesh and blood.” Helen nodded Her head slowly and turned away, while the old Senator resin f up and down the piazza, looking toward the gate. ** When did you say he’d be here?” he asked Oliver, in the pause of one of bis walks. ‘An hour after sunset, sir. He writes in a mysterious manner.” “Where from? How did the letter reach you?” ‘*From Philadelphia. I suspected he was Harvey, from the moment I spelled his name backward and found it made Calvert. The letter 1 sent bim went through his hotel, and the answer came to me by a Gipsy called Griengro.” ‘Whe is that man with Jacqueline, up- stairs?” a “ The private detective of the company. He found and arrested her. I could trust him any- where.” “* What’s his name?” “Barlow, sir.” “Ts he an old hand?’ “Yes, sir. He used to be with us a lon time ago, but has not done much work til ares Bh “How did you get her to write out that con- fession?”’ “The detective altogether, sir. He got her frightened into telling the truth and wouldn’t let me see her at all. Very arbitrary, those de- tectives.” “Then do you mean you’ve not said a word to Jacqueline yet?” *‘Oh, no. I spoke to her on the train long enough to be satisfied that she was not fooling as all with a sham story.” Here the old Senator, who had been looking out toward the gate of the grounds, gave a ner- vous start. “Gracious heavens! what’s that?’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘ Look, Oliver!” The President of the Air Line Road looked round, and saw in the faint gloom of the twi- light a motley crew of tramps and vagabonds, » in all sorts of rags, coming up the gravel walk in a body toward the house, headed by the -tall form of King Nemo. The old Senator a few weeks before would have been indignant at this intrusion on his privacy, but the Pittsburg riots seemed to have put a great deal of the milk of human kindness into his heart. The King of the Tramps, in all his glory of streaming tatters and+wild hair and beard, came silently over the oe to the foot of the steps, followed by a single boy in a suit of rags as pitiable as his own. he rest of the tramps staid bebind, but King Nemo held out a wooden bow! and,cried out in his deep, musical tones: ‘‘Alms for the sake of the lost! Charity to the wanderer who has no home!” The Senator put his hand in his pocket and dropped some silver, in the bowl, as he said kindly: “There, there, my poor fellow. Take that and please go away. [expect my son here ev- ery moment, and don’t want to be interrupted in our meeting.” ** Are you sure you’ll know your son when he comes?’ asked Nemo, in a sententious. sort of way. The Senator looked at him in haughty sur- prise, retorting: * What's that to you?” King Nemo bowed low in a quiet, apologetic sort of way. “Nothing, of course, I thank you for your alms. Will the beautiful ladies drop one coin in the box of Nemo the Wanderer?” Helen Chester, who had been looking earnest- ly at_ him, suddenly swept* forward beside her guardian, seized the box from Nemo’s fingers land dashed it sore eh ann Ma the ground, ' Then, in a regular feminine burst of emotion, she turned first to one, then the other, crying and laughing as she spoke: “Don’t you see who it is, uncle?’ For shame, Marvey, that a cousin of mine should come to his father’s house in such a guiseas this. Throw away those dreadful rags, and show yourself the gentleman you are! Oh, uncle ey, how could you be so blind? Your own son begs of yeu, an fallen, but ie a pillar on which oe leees for support, as he ar gro- tesquely frightful figure {he King of the N cass vad nothing. At last the Senator raised one hand, trembling wits God's name,” b said, “ may $s name,” he “are you my son, Harvey Calvert?’ : ; “ ohare was the unexpected reply, in deep, nes. ‘ mon “Then who are you?” ** Nemo tho Lost, King of the Tramps. You havenogson.” |. ~ The Senator gasped for breath. i Ne CHAPTER XXXV., ROUNDING UP. A DEEP silence came over the group on the piazza as the King of the Tramps made his solemn asseveration that Senator Calvert had no son, Oliver Calvert especially seemed to be over- whelmed with astonishment, for he stood star- ing at the other as if utterly at a loss what to say. Bat Helen, with her acute woman’s wit, saw that something was behind all this, and broke the spell by saying: “Unele Harvey, ask him what he means, dear? I know I’m not mistaken.” Thus urged, the Senator asked: ** Tell me what you moan, Harvey?” “Seven years ago,” said Nemo, in his deep, hollow tones, ‘‘ you told me you had no son. obeyed you. I ceased to be your son. None can restore me to my rightful place but the man who can give me back my honor.” Here Oliver eagerly interrupted: ; “T have done it already, Harvey. That wretched girl has made a full confession to the detective. Your father has seen it, and your honor is safe. Throw away those rags, badges of your degradation, I implore you, and resume your station.” Nemo threw back his head with a gesture of regal dignity that sorted well with his title, and ennobled his wild attire. “These rags are my mantle of freedom,” he said, proudly. ‘‘No dress so well becomes him who has no name, no family, nothing but his own right arm and an honest heart.” Then turning to the Senator, he said more gently: “You meant well. You were deceived. Ap- pearances were against me and I could not speak m honor. My secret was another’s. It was all for the best. ‘Your son was an invalid, pnite under excess of care. Since the day arvey Calvert ceased to be, Nemo has become strong. For the frescoed ceiling he has had God’s blue sky in change; for the down bed. the hard earth. The road and the greenwood have put vigor into his limbs and blooa into his heart, and here he stands to-day, thanks to the decrees of Fate—a man!” ‘But I tell you Harvey Jacqueline has con- fessed,” aveed. Oliver. “There is no reason why you should not be reconciled to your fa- ther.” “ Nemo laughed, a short, bitter laugh. ‘*She has confessed, has she? What?” “That she stole the bonds, tried to"make you run away with her, and made all the mis- chief.” ‘She lies, then, if she said any such thing,” returned Nemo, quietly. The old Senator, who had been mutely listen- ing, eagerly interrupted: ** What do you mean, Harvey?” “That she has confessed nothing, and he knows it.” Oliver started back in Saeer and amazement. ““Confessed nothing? Why, she is in this house now, and I can produce her in a mo- ment.” “She is not!” The answer was asclear and strong as Oliver’s asseveration. Again Helen’s keen wit began to see some- thing behind all this. ‘*Bring her, out, Oliver,” she said, briskly. “We'll soon see if you’ve been deceiving us, sir.” Oliver, nowise loth, darted off into the house for his captive, and Helen continued, speaking to her unele: : “Tt grows dark. Can we not finish this dis- cussion in the house?’ “Tt cannot be,” said King Nemo, softly. “Nemo never enters that house till Harvey Calvert’s name is cleared of stain. Bring lights on the lawn if you will. I will come.” He bowed and retired into the darkness, which had now completely closed in, and the Senator ejaculated: “Tt is mo fibe I.am sure, now. But, oh al! changed! He I te) with two servants Sarre Chinese lanterns, in strings, on light poles, suc hted and stuck in a circle e watchers looked round for the tram To Tiassa they had disappeared en- tirely, and Oliver was coming from the house with Mr. Billy Barlow, leading between them the vailed woman. Then Oliver advanced inte the cwcle of light, where the Senator, aunt Mary and Helen were nee. er ing d, speak out and ow u ud, out an say whether you wrote Sis cotcenien or no?” on the lawn, when Ay, ay,” said Mr. Barlow, affably. ‘ U’ll swear she did, ’cause I made her do it myself.” ‘Silence, fellow!” interru the tor, irritably. ‘Who asked you speak? Jacque- answer. vailed female bowed her head and mut- _ es mo, King of the Tramps. a ————— — —— —————————— . by 4d ; : } ‘ by ; ] i ig ae they did not understand under er vail. Mr. Barlow’s ears seemed to be finer, for he volunteered to say: ‘Lady feels ashamed of the row she’s made in this here family, and wants to make a clean breast of it, if you'll let her off easy.” “Oh, she needn’t fear,” answered the Sena- tor, scornfully. ‘‘She’s made more trouble, now, than all the punishment we could give her would avenge. Let her speak out. She shall go free.” The frame of the vailed lady was shaken by a perfect paroxysm of sorrow, and Billy patted her softly on the back, to cheer her up, saying: **Don’t take on now, marm. Gent’s very kind, I’m sure. It'll all be right in a little time. But, the more he patted, the more she shook; and matters seemed to be at a standstill, when ' Helen suddenly uttered a cry of mingled aston- ishbment and anger. Out of the darkness in the shrubbery, walk-' ing full into the circle of light came Mr. Jack ' Raynor, swinging a esis! little cane, and | whistling as he walked, while behind him was the tall figure of Mr. Trevlac, in his neat and careful attire, resembling the rags of King Nemo in nothing whatever. But Helen knew it was the same man, and her maidenly anger, at the sight of the auda- cious jockey, rose to fever heat at the prospect of getting even with him. Forgetting all about the case before them, she ran to Mr. Trevlac, hung on hig arm, and said, pointing to the dapper httle man: ‘*Cousin Harvey, that wretch insulted me to-day. I want you to punish him at once, for me. Mr. Trevlac looked down with a twinkle of amusement under his dark eyelashes, asking: ‘*Tnsulted you?—how? What did he do? Did he cajl you any names?” Helen turned as red as fire. “T tell you he insulted me. him or not?” ‘‘T didn’t insult her. I only called her a dar- ling and kissed her,” observed Mr. Raynor, in the coolest manner. ‘‘ Come, Helen, don’t be ridiculous. You’re stopping the business.” As he spoke, im a tone of very great sig- nificance, he took off* his blue goggles and looked into her eyes with a pair of brilliant black orbs, that contrasted strangely with his fair red and white face, flaxen curls and white mustache. Something in the look of those eyes caused Helen to cool down almost instantly, and before, long one might have noticed her furtively! squeezing the hand of Mr. Raynor, as if they) had been sworn lovers, The little incident had caused a momentary ripple of excitement, but it died away as Trev- lac spoke with ee dignity. “Mr. Oliver Calvert's explanation is in order now. Let him produce his witness.” Senator Calvert looked at the tall fi his banished son with a sort of longing vey pathetie. te stretched out his arms, “Harvey, my son, can you not forgive your poor old father?” Trevlac’s face changed slightly and turned perceptibly pale, though his beard hid the work- ings of his features. “There is nothing to forgive, sir,” he said. ‘““You never wronged me. I could not have told you, and we both had to suffer for another’s wrong. Let that pass, One is here who can right the wrong.” f “Ay,” said the old man, bitterly. ‘‘ There she eh ah the shameless jade! Let her speak uickly. y Treviac shook his head. ‘*Be not too hasty, sir. You may be niis- taken. Oliver Calvert, produce your witness,” Thus urged, Oliver, whose face had been working strangely during this conversation, said to the vailed female: “ Jacqueline, unvail and tell your story,” His voice trembled as he spoke, and he seemed to be penetrated by some secret anxiety. The vailed woman put aS hands with a quick, nervous motion; Mr. Barlow tay 2 back with a + nary ere grin on his greasy face; and in a t ing off came hat, vail, cloak, and skirts, with the loosening of a single string, Will you punish re of at was when, presto! out stepped the trim figure o: Gipsy Nan in her pict ue attire. nn right, Mr. Calvert,” observed Nan, in her ga -tones; ‘I'll tell the whole story at once. Then, turning to the Senator, she went on oy: m Gi Nan, your honor, and this gen- tleman had me kidnapped for Jacko last week. I didn’t say anything, because several of my people were in the secret, and we to fool this man between us, after we had it over Billy Barlow. Billy did the. business, and k him from seeing me. Mr, Calvert wrote ont a confession which he wanted me_ to Sign, and romised me a good living as a lady if I'd do it. didn’t mind doing anything in reason to oblige a gentleman, so here I am. That’s all, your honor. Oliver was the picture of mortification while \ h : ; wink Sik pany ? PEPE Os ig Tk Lik gu aoriiaedetn BSS ine Hut hs er ae Ga ee I OED Me, a Dae dear oe r 9) “a e J ‘3 = re i. . ‘ 4 by
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sere 8 ae he wp” FS Nemo, Ki ah ) emo, King of the Tramps. of the tramps and recognized i a a BR ; RT ee gee aioe Tremere rs Harvey Catvert. ‘Thon, = igh athe Aa MS Fide’ catia Hates made his appearanco 103 Mrrur, ram Murinerr. Col. P. Ingraham.. 102 i Meee cha ties winehisl I had domes head 4° ag f as ‘ gotay ey. and Tele deftr sold out bis 4 \ONTRZUMA. THE Mercitess. By Ingraham- 30¢ eine fram those li ; at ’ b | Interest in the Air-uine Road, tukiug to gam- 105 Dan Brown OF Denver. By Jos. E Badger.. 1( $e. shame wat Bak aover ee — pee my | blingin faro- chips instead of stuc a Ag are- 105 SaHamus O’Brrex, By Col belie Sata Po ibe M34 cng ar said a harsh word to me | sul Foil cima faci mocleer it tid Sate 107 Ricnarp Tansor or C SNABAR. By Aiken, . fa my punishment. In that moment I took my | of : pacha MATOS REN PECMAS the course 193 ‘THz Duxe on Dancin By Fre Py itt pati dept Pet by me histice 4 : y a year and no one knew what becameofhim. 1) G prati Kyp. By ups, by Fred: Whittaker, 206 God, I have d 5 om ice done, and now, thank No one except Billy Barlow 110 T 3 goat ag Ade po * Ma ig eek ee } aun fous ttl PCM, pias Pp ene fe 10 faa Siuent RieLeMan y. L.. W, Herber WD iaieteae deao thowkline The veteran Bossof the Bummerscame across 111 lm: Saucarer Caprain. By Ned erties bt “ ’ g- him on the road thre ars later, a drunk (2 Jos Paamix, Privare Derr iker ‘ H ; a ee ese ie road three yeers later, a drunken 1!2? Joo Paayix, Privare Detrotive. Ky Aike i faltered laa ory ou forgive me?” he | tramp of his own heactted order... 113 Taz S2a Supper. By Prof. J ii invfabae i0c ndee am prouder of my ; © first fought each 114: Pera Gtewreeean eno Pick. Dy Pa wane 10 ¢ pote son than ever bears. ‘Toxgive mo, bay’ | forward gt aronktowetbor, Is metter of com. Tire Seveaen Hean. By Capt. Whittaker, e | e e stalwart form of his ‘shook all ove \ « together, is metter of com- 415 Brack Phumm, Tat DEVIL oF TRENEA. Col bed : , is son shook all over | mon histor ; fos ae SLACK PLume, THe Devi or 1HESEA. By Col ; wi t re ray Hh story among the “Atlantic seaboard ert peor so : fey ith emotion as he asked in a husky voice: tramps, who are all agreed on one point, that bade teataaeeT it Srldnr Danae = i Havel kept my werd sir?” the B y Wwe £ point, tha 117 DAsuine Danpy. By Major Dangerfield Burr, 10¢ oe Gene Nave acted ‘ike’s rant of EW cle ) z Oss of the Bummers got the best of “Slip- 118 THe Burcnar CAPTAIN. By J.H. Ingraham. 10e en time and I glory inmy son,” cried the old pery Noll,” as Oliver was nicknamed, 119 AvanaMa Jog, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr... 10¢ #." Roaitty,, entis claened the fo oe oe man, | But the same authorities are all further 120 Tee Texan Srv. By Newton M. Curtis. 10¢ : te hin beaker patie ae a is son close / ee that 1877 was their beyday and that oH — Sea CADET. soe} Prentiss Ingraham 10¢ r i’ ney ‘have never had any luck si 22 Sauw $ ABBERDAY. y Ned Buntline ess even | ngon Dior. By Albert W. Aiken \ aoe «(163 Ben Brion, THE 'TRA PPER CApratn; or, RED- ‘ now, before it is too late. All here are | 8? Hirn, tHe HoncEbac ‘ Abingon.... 10¢ SATE, THE, & Venee — tobinso to forgive you, even Jacqueline ; for these 8 38 VELVS HAND. RY A = *. iter 10¢ 164 Tar Krxa’s Toon, "By & D. aoe Ot ioe ‘ men are all the same.” | 39 THe Rvsstan Spy. ‘By Frederick Whittaker. 1c 165 Joaquiy, THE TerRIBLE, By Jos. E. Badger. 10c ‘Oliver! said Jacqueline, softly, ‘‘I did not 40 Tus Lone Haren ‘Parps.’ J. &. Badger, Jr. 10e 166 Ow: er, THE Ropser Prince. By Septimus i wish your wife disgraced. Serie de an aa 41 Goto Dan. By Albert W. Aiken, ys Ie gay oe, UERan Bat 5 2 Ove eine = 9 LSE |e oy Sote ieee 10¢ q per dear I am not guiltless. t will uy ‘6 rs Dak aL ee Segre me Sy Bis Ae 168 Wit “7 - ae Tis Pit dates b na . 5 S. Dakora DAN. By Ol) Coomes age 1638 Wiep Brot, tHE Priston Dean Sor. By Col , make you happy.” | 41 Ou Dan RAcKpack. iy Oll Coomes Joe f,, Prentiss Inpr-ham.. og. oa. TES 100 | : But; Oliver's only answer was a contemptu- 45 OLp Buts’s Rye, By Jos, KH. Badger, Jr S106 169 Corporal Cannon. By Col. Monstery...... We f ous sneer. Then he turned to his uncle. | 4 Bowrn-Kxue Bex. By Oil Coomen "joe 170 Swaer Wiutiam. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr ... 100 se ‘And you intend to condemn me o1 the per- 17 Pacirie Pere, By Jos KE. Badger, Jr....-.,.-. We 171 Trav. Dick, THe MAN or THE Tron Harr. * jured evidence of a thief and a jail-bird iixe this | 49 Tar Wour ete x By Alpert W. Atiken.” =~) 106 479 Tite GLACE TeaAta, By Col ingrahkim..... ie vit | af Wee Denow, . By Albert W. Afken... 72 THE CK Pirate. ol. Ingraham. .... 4 Sh ES seca i 4 50 Jack RAsBiT. By Jon E, Min ae whet : 173 CaLiurorniA JonN. By ‘Albert Wo siken, San ‘00 \ ; =f ed cold and stern as he an- | 51 Ke Ron, rae Boy Roap-Acrnt. Oll Coomes,. ive 144 Puanrost Kniarrs. By Capt. PF, Whittaker. . 10¢ ZF mn swer ed: - | b2 DEATH T RATLER, By Wm. I’, Cody * 4c 175 Wi.p Brrw’s Trump Carp. By Major Burr. 10¢c ak Oliver, Ihave been deceived a long time but | 8 Stver Sam. By Col, Delle Sara... We 176 Lapy Jicuar. By Capt-Mark Wilton... . 100 aif ">. “Jean not bind forever. Your wife shall be my | 54 Atwavs ox HAND. | By Pisin My Reid 100 117 Dox Dranvo. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.. 109 1 ae 4 special care, in that sho has given mo back m 155 Tae Scatp Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 0c 103 Dark Dasmweoop. By Major 8. §. Hall. .. . ie i” Eh Sou. «Wor yourself hevebderkéas ry doors auth } bs tre INDIAN Mazitera. By Albert W. Aiken.... 10¢ i ogi oy By nan a 8. Gildersleeve, 10¢ j & i" urse dar én 1-y doors again | 57 Tae Sivent Huwrer. iy Percy B. St: John... 10¢ 180 OEP ae ey ieee ms Jadger, JY... ... i By po “aoa popes her. if you do either, that | 63 Smvnr Kxure. By Dr. J. Hi Bobinsotne, 22 100 131 Tat SCARLET SCHOONER. By Col. Ingraham. We F “F With ry will como up against you. Gol | 59 Tue Man rrom Texas. By Albert W. Aiken 10¢ 192'Hanps Ur. By Wim. R. Fryster... . -... 10¢e m ithout another word Oliver left the place | 00 Wipe Awake. Py Frank Dumont......... ce 133 Giuserr, Tar Guipr. By C. Dunning Clark. 10¢ and ras seen no more that night. | &t Cxpraim Seamate, sy Ned Buntline.......... 10¢ bs oo fi cncel ar. ay Col. P. Ingralenn., 106 . tke dee von, aie.” “eonatned the’ old 3? Lovan. Haart. By Gustave Aimard,... .... Ce to m4™ prper. By A. P. Morris... .. . ..2. «106 sal 1 se 63 Tae Winarp Waar. By Aibert W. oooe te 6-186 Tae Back Bravo. By ci as od Sei senenet g > bie Foxe 1) ght hifi Sree — | 64 DounLe stant. By Jos, i. pulgon aly aie a 197 Tae Dearn’s-Hrap Coe tanreees Wheeler ibe ; “pose you have forgotten h A t ba ati Tsup- | 65 fur Rep Rasan. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker 1ce 18% PHANTOM Mazepra, Major Dangerfield Burr. 10¢ i st » forgotten how to obey me. 66 Tae Specrer Bargue. By Capt, Mayne Retd... 1c 189 Wiup Briv's Gorp Tram. | By P. Ingrahans. 10 a: “ me, sir,” was the quiet answer. | 67 Tu Boy Jocxry. By Joseph B. Badger, Jr.410c 1% Tne Toren Guarpswen. By Alex. Dumas.. 10¢ va “Will you do anything I tell you?” asked the | 68 Tae Fiona Trarrer, By J. B.C. Adams. 10¢ 11 THe Terriin Toxkaway, By Buckskin Sam. 10c- ey Senator. ~ | 69 Tae bese Capra. By Capt. F. Whittaker, 10¢ 192 THe Licutxrxa Sport, By Wm. R. Eyster. 10c 4 “ Anything in my power, sir.” ; | 70 Hyorapap. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. .. 10¢ 1% Tae Manin Rep, By Capt. F. Whittaker. 10c .. 20 26 Tae Gaueame = teare. By Col. F. inerabans. 100 2 a | Gipsies such a feast in the kitchen as they 82 Iron Wrist. By Col. Thomas H. Monstery., 10¢ 208 ON Eve. The ane eLtip & Whittaker. . 10¢e * es never had in their lives!” _ 83 Gouy Buuuer Spor. By Buffalo Bill .,... 10e Si ie pee HEAD. By Philip 8. Warns: 35.0206 ig | . | 64 Howrep Down. By Albert W. Aiken...’ 10c 208 Tra Wrrre Cuizr. By Capt. Mayne Reid.. 10¢ ; ts igoioes ourstory but little remains to be told. | = — on + etl By Ot een tie 3; ‘Ie a0 ee enn Dues. Be Een Baby mee i at ~ Mr. fg th : - | 86 Ta Ter. Autbor of ‘Silent Hunter.” 10¢ oe __ By Prentiss Incraham... 10c eee Sienant wes saad to Gipsy | 8 THe Scanner Capratn. By Col. Delle Sara,... 1¢ 21! THE UNENows Sport Py Capt. Whittaker. 10c ‘Na n Spe enue y Harvey vert mar- ‘BE. Badger, Jr....... j0c 2.2 THE Brazos Tigers By Buel skinSam.. . 10c ried ester. graham.... 10c 213 THE | AR Trai. By Copeate Mayne Reid.. 10¢e 25 PH 10¢ 214 Tus Two Coot Sports. Wm. R. Eyster. 10¢ 10¢ 215 Parson Jim. By Captain Fred. Whittaker, 10c A Romany nore cits me around Calverton _ where the rovers ed down, as the majority — of Gipsies do in the United States, whenever they get a chance, and became basket-mak cutlers, horse-trainers, weavers and all sorts 7 @ wom: life over, — 10¢ wt RirLEMAN. By Oll Coomes .. .. 10c Rc a New Yon. By 8, Aken ioe ROM NEW x rt vy A.W. en, Bann, By George L. Aiken,... 10¢ ’ “ + ne. . Rae x = ning, Cy dept # skin Sam. 1 218 Tur Witp Huntress. By Capt. Mayne Reid. i 219 THe ScorPion_ BROTHERS. Wilton. 10¢ 220 Tax Specter Yacur. By Col, P. é 10¢ sale by all Sa er