Beadle's New York Dime Library (no. 91) (1880 04 07)
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771 U4 c : AIH Ae ! ! Hi ! Wht bis \ TRUM. >. = > ORI iS te WITTE im ENTERED AT THE POsT OFFICE AT NEW YORK, N. Y., AS SECOND CLass MaTTER. Published Every Two Weeks. cLpeadle 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., April 7, 1880. A Story of Boston and of Cambridge, of the College boy of Harvard, of the great bat- race, of woman’s love, man’s treachery, and sisterly devotion. BY ALBERT W. AIKEN, AUTHOR OF ‘“‘THE POLICE SPY,” ‘‘ OVERLAND kIT,” “ INJUN DICK,” ‘“‘ WOLF DEMON,” ETC. CHAPTER I. THE BLACK SHEEP. OF all the pretty cities in New England—al- most as renowned for handsome towus as the old England from whence it takes its name— not a singlé smiling hamlet can surpass fair Cambridge, which, with its thirty odd thousand people, is yet as truly a rural vilage as in the ten thousand. As faira suburb, too, as old Boston can boast, Brookline and the Highland District to the con- trary notwithstanding; the site of | eye Har- vard college—the home of a full thousand of eminent men, renowned in scholarship, in com- merce, and in politics: yet to the boys of Har- vard the pretty town owes most of its renown; and of these lads of Harvard—the wearers of the crimson handkerchiefs, which they have bravely carried to the front in many a hard- fought race—we are about to relate a story so weird and strat.ge, so improbable, at the first lance, that, if we did not know the incidents to be truth itself, we should hesitate to commit the facts to ever-living print. On a certain bright May morning, in the ear— _ Well, never mind the year; perhaps it is as well not to deal too closely with figures; but the stirring «vents which we are about to chronicle are still so fresh in the memories of the world at large that any one who peruses this recital, and isat all familiar with the his- tory of the contests between Yale and Harvard ¢ Adams, Publishers, - A Ee ti IS@So,BY BEADLE & ADAMS. Ten Cents a Copy. $2.50 a Year. No. 91 for the championship of the waters, will surel be able to fix the date as accurately as though had written it—a tall, good-looking, well-dressed fellow got off a railway train at the little sta- tion on the Brighton road, which used to be called Cambridge Crossing, but is now dignified by a more sounding appellation, and walked slowly down the road which led into Cam- bridgeport (as the lower t of the town is called) by means of a bridge over the Charles river. This structure is generally known as the Brighton bridge, the second one spanning the river as you ascend it from the broad Lay be- low, the first one being known as the Cottage Farms bridge. As we have said, this young man was a tall, well-dressed fellow—in fact, a little too well-~ dressed for good taste; he displayed altogether too much jewelry; diamond studs glittered in his shirt-front, a costly pin of the same brillie: m held together the folds of his scarf, a sma ! ortune in diamonds he wore in the shape f rings upon his slender, white, aristocratic fin- gers; e watch-chain that ornamented the t of his snowy-white vest was as thick WITH THE REGULARITY OF CLOCKWORK THE EIGHT OARS ROSE AND FELL, THE STROKE-OAR KECPING A VIGILANT EYE UPON TEE REST,
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2 server would have seen that it, too, was richly adorned with precious Zems—a tiny little bit of exception of the nose, which was slightly curved ; the lips were rather thin and bloodless, and there was a hard, cruel expression about the eyes and mouth which could hardly be perceived at first, but to a close examiner it would have been per- ceptible, aes ig the man took the greatest care to conceal it. A perfect actor was this in- dividual, although no stage player, and from an early age he had trained his features to con- eeal, and not to betray, the feelings of his heart. ; Of good old blue Boston “‘ cultus” blood came this gentleman, and yet his enemies said that he . > black sheep if ever‘there was one in this world. He was called Harrison Grahame, but in the sporting world, where acute ‘‘ sharps” most do congregate, he was far better known as Harry Gray, for thus he abbreviated his name when ‘Son the turf.” He had wit enough to under- stand that it was no creditable thing for a blue- ‘blood Boston gentleman, ‘a, Beacon-Hillite born abil red, to appear inthe public prints as the sporting gentleman, the high-spirited ‘‘ Co- rinthian,” who found the money to back the ‘‘ Dublin, Mouse” to box. the ‘‘ Pittsburg;Chiek- en,”, or had his. daring deeds chronicled. as, the plueky sport, who broke the Twenty-third street faro-bank in an eight hours’ sitting. ‘4 Oh;,no! the honored name. of. Harrison, so dear, to Massachusetts annals—or Grahame, re- membrance of ancient.Scottish chivalry—must not be,soiled in such a;manner; but Harry Gray |. _-nwhy, Harry Gray could do anything, and. no one of the fashionable circle in which he moved would be, the wiser for it... Carelessly flourishing the light gold-headed alee bp [Cntr iat, he 9 ‘ along . ham a e y. stride, apparently at. peace wi - welfand all the Won: and yet there was a look upon. his face,.every now and. then, that would have betrayed to.a) close observer that he was far from being in his mind... . It did not take Mr.,Harry Gray Jong to cover sees Tae open te art way ion an ridge over the Charles river; and as fe aaroanled the, bridge the mysterious actions of a man on the upper side of the structure,arrested his attention, This person was wellon in years; with a bard, wiry face, ornamented with a huge nose, very red at the tip, a pair of shrewd little gray-green eyes, a bristling iron-gray mustache, and small side-whiskers of the same hue. He was dressed riage na hea d a sort of a military strut, so used to the manner and style of oldarmy officers e man to be a veteran would have pronounced Mate bie srt he carried a light cane orna- ~— — 4s: little cord and tassel; no modern e en from . What attracted. the attention on the new- comer was that the old gentleman had a field- glass in his hand, and was busily engaged in By of the river. 1 hit te i fit 3 veteran!” Grahame ex- rap et came on; ‘‘ but, what on earth is p to?” but estion he w hardly had he asked the when the answer ' to him. _‘‘ What an _ idiot I am!” he continued. _“ This is the train- Yale boys in their training. 1 wonder which bet on? Id ey haps I might be able to bring scheme I have in view; he’d be no bad assistan ag woe as cunning as a fox and as heartless as wk! : By this time Grahame had reached the bridge and as his footsteps, he attention of the old man, hé carelessly put z his glass in his pocket, and adjusting a pair of eyeglasses upon his nose turned to get a look at © interloper. Sb Hallo, general!” exclaimed the young bem as he came up to him, ‘ what brings you here You're about.the last man I expected to see!” “Same to you, dear boy; atte to you!” re- ag the old gentleman, g his cane he air and executing a military salute with it. “Oh, I’ve some relatives residing in the town yonder, and I’ve just run on from New York for a visit,” Grahame answered, shaking hands with the old geritleman, an operation on toe port of may sounding on it, attracted: Oar Pilie Po REPS a sae The writ ng looking old gentleman who is destined to play quite an important part in the story which I am about to relate, He was popularly known as General Lycurgus McShouter, and among a certain class was about as widely acquainted as any man in the coun- try. Few race gatherings were there of any importance, from New Orleans to Boston, that were not honored by the general’s presence in the ‘‘quarter-stretch,” as the noted locality next to the judge’s stand, and sacred to the heavy bettors, horse-owners sockeys etc., is termed. Not a genteel blackleg in the country _ but knew the general, and there wasn’t a color- ed guardian to the precincts of King Faro in the land but would at once display his ‘‘ ivories” at the approach of the old gentleman, and gladly without parley, admit him to the rooms sacre to the goddess of Fortune. Tn fine, the general was an old sport, and was about as keen-headed and as unscrupulous an — scamp as the country could very well pro- ce. How he came by the title of ‘‘ general ” no one knew, although there was a ition—we say a tradition, as for the last twenty years the gen- eral had not altered apparently in the least, and no one knew anything more about him then than at present—that he was formerly an officer in the army, and had been cashiered- for some questionable practices. The general when questioned upon the point, , always insisted that he was.one of the veterans of the war of 1812 and that he had won a gen- eral’s grade in that struggle, and when asked as to his age, replied with great gravity that he was one. hundred and ten years old, and that he fully expected to live to be a hundred and fifty at the least. , ‘* Some relatives, eh?” the general remarked. ‘Yes, but what brings you here?” ', ‘“‘ Oh, friends, in Boston—friends in Boston!” the, general replie1, lightly swinging his switch in the air. : * Yes, but what are you doing on this bridge?” ‘Merely taking the air,” _ “ With a field-glass, eh?’ bserying the scenery, that’s all, d nd you are not watching the rew?” “Oh, what an idea!” ‘*See! here they come now!” and Grahame pointed up the stream, and the general instantly turned his keen, hawk-like eyes in the direction. _“ ] take a great deal of interest in this crew.” ** Ah, you do?” hl . \.«f Yes; the stroke oar is my..cousin, Otis Law- rence, or ‘Bub’ Lawrence as he is generally termed.” — CHAPTER II. ; A VILLAINOUS SCHEME, “TwpEED! you astonish me, dear boy!’ the ral exclaimed. conversation was cut short by the ap- boy ” vard “ Pi te Pp , _erew. -|~ Down the stream and around the slight curve in the river came the Harvard boat, the light ‘| racing shell manned by its eight hardy, plucky oarsmen and its little per coxswain; for this year, after the English fashion which the Har- vard bees brought back with them from their visit across the water to Albion’s shores, the race with Yale was to be rowed with coxswains contrary to the usual American cus- tom. With the regularity of clockwork the eight oars rose and fell, the stroke-oar keeping a vigi- lant eye u the rest of the crew and instruct- ing an individual member every now and then in re to his pulling; in fact, acting as “coach ” to the crew, contrary to the English custom where the ‘‘coach,” an instructor of the crew, Sereny runs at full speed along the bank of the river thus keeping up with the boat and shouts his instructions at them. As for in- stance: “Steady! No. 3! you bend your back too much, No. 5, too long in your recovery. No. 4, put more power in your elbow. Now give it fae he all together!—quicken! hit her up, hit up!” The crew were not rowing in downright earn- est but were only paddling alcng, so to speak, for they well knew that vigilant, watching eyes were them, and it was not part of their policy toshow exactly what they really could do untilthe day of the race came, when, side by side with beng Say paul they waited for the PRP you y, gentlemen? Go/” of the udzge, And then, too, after passing the lower bridge there was a broad stretch of water, a couple of tiles at the least, where the could exert. their powers without danger of bei so closely watched as in the narrow stream above. Although merely playing at rowing, as it were, yet the long light shell shot under the bridge at a rapid pace—the college boys stripped naked to the waist, their skins tanned by the rays of tue sun as brown almost as a In- diat’s, and their heads surmounted by the crim- eam pares son handkerchief which so often had led the way, in many a hard-fought race, past the judge’s stand. nder the bridge darted the boat, emerged on the other side, and went flashing down the river, the four pair of oars moving with the reg- ularity of time itself; past the old powder-house and its little dock on the Cambridge side, past Gipsy Grove, the old-time swimming place of the Boston boyson the Brookline shore, where in thehalcyon days of our boyhood, my broth- er George—now in the silent tomb, his busy pen condemned to the rest which in this life he never gave—and myself learned like the ancient Ro- mans, ‘‘ to rise victorious over the wave;” under the Cottage Farms bridge and out into the broad bay beyond went the boat. J'urning and leaning their backs against the rail the two men from their point of vantage watched the boat until it disappeared under the Brookline bridge. The general by means of the field-glass hed watched the crew very narrowly indeed, and as the boat disappeared from sight he closed the = up and with a half-sigh returned it to his pocket. The young man with his shrewd, cunning eyes had watched the old man narrowly and he fancied that, despite the astuteness of the old fox, he could detect what was passing within his mind. “Well, what do you think of the crew?” he asked; ‘‘a deuced good one, isn’t it?” ‘Yes, dear boy, a very fine crew, indeed; the best crew that I have seen for many along day. They are only just paddling along—just playing at oe you know—and yet they arermaking about thirty strokes to the minute.” _ And then for the first time the young man no- ticed that the general: had his watch out and that he had-been timing the boat. “Well, that’s pretty ” Grahame ob- mate's as the general returned the watch to his e ‘Pretty good, dear boy!” exclaimed the old man, elevating his eyebrows: ‘*well, I should say that it was pretty good! _ That crew, sir, on the day of the race, when pushed can make from forty-two to forty-six strokes to the minute, and put power in them, too. Did you notice how their stroke takes hold of the water, and what a splendid recovery they have, too! By the eternal Jove, sir! I don’t believe that there is a crew in the world that can beat them in a fair race!” ‘*Tt’s a pity that you have bet heavily against them,” Grahame observed, carelessly. “Eh!” cried the general, sharply, turning in qu know that?’ surprise; ‘‘ how did “ Mf Oh, guessed it, that’s all,” answered Gra- hame, ‘‘[’m in the same boat; I stand to lose ten thousand dollars if the’ Harvard crew wins the race.” “eee deuce you do! Dear boy, you-astonish me! “Yes; got pais up on the extraordinary odds offered. In one of the New York clubs [ heard an old Harvard man boldly offer to bet three to one on crimson handkerchiefs, thirty to ten. I had seen the Yale crew at work and knew that they were a very fine crew, and I had heard, too, that the Harvards bad only an indifferent set of men in their toat this year, so I jumped at the offer and booked it there and then, and a precious fool I was, too.” “That is truth, dear boy, these dark horses are terrible things to bet against, sometimes. 1] got picked up the same way. The odds offered struck me as being.ridiculous, and so I invested; two thousand dollars, too, just think of it! That’s a nice sum for aman of my age and ex- perience to get fooled out of! After I had mado the bet it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I was a little too haety and so I took a run on here to look at the crew.” “Well, what do you think of your chance now?” “Dear boy! that two thousand dollars is gone!” the general replied, with a solemn shake of the head. ‘To use the old sporting saying, it is Lombard street to a China orange that these oat at win. They can’t lose except. by acci- ent, ‘““We had better ‘hedge,’ then, by betting now that Harvard wins, and by laying sufficient money we may be able to save ourselves.” “4 very bright thought, dear boy, and one that occurred to me yesterday, and | instantly telegraphed on to New York. This is the an- yf — ty noes Pg! Fo oe ag g a rom poc an t to Greharie. The young man read it aloud: “Odds four and five to one; no takers; no good.” “You see, my dear fellow, we are regularly let in for it,” the general remarked, witha dole- ful air. ‘‘ But you canstand it; ten thousand is a trifle to you, while two thousand is utter ruin me, : Grahame made a wry face. ‘*My dear general, since it is probable that you and I have to act together in this r : ‘- er I may as well confess to you that 7 ec n't = a thousand dollars in the world tose vo my ite. 2 =
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a | ! The Winning Oar. “You astound me!” ‘‘Tt’s the truth; I’ve been terribly unlucky of Jate; lam very deeply involved, indeed, and I relied upon this bet to help me out. Hark ye, general, I’m in a pretty bad box, and I’ve just made up my mind the Harvard crew have got to lose this race !” ‘“ Difficult, difficult, dear boy,” cried-the gene- ral, with a wise shake of the head. ‘‘ These col- lege chaps have got such queer notions of honor aud all that sort of thing. You can’t buy ’em, you know, to ‘throw’ the race, like you can these common oarsmen, once in a while.” “ By fair means they can’t lose and so by foul means they must/” Grahame replied, a deter- mined light shining in his eyes. ‘Oho! I think I understand,” the general said, with a knowing wink, after a moment’s pause; ‘‘ this stroke-oar, your cousin, Bub did you say his name is? You can do something with him. He could manage the matter easily enough. Thirty thous’! ake him an offer to stand in with him; give him half the swag; fifteen thousand dollar: ain’t to be sneezed at. “Tt would be as much as my life is worth to even hint at such a thing, for Bub is as fine an athlete as there isin the country, and he most surely would try to strangle me on the spot. A million in gold wouldn’t buy him to ‘ throw’ the race, ‘Dear me, dear me!” exclaimed the general, reflectively; ‘‘a remarkable man—and they are | | that I could get out of him, except the informa- so scarce, too!” ‘* No; whatever is done must be done by cun- ning and by trickery. Bub bas one weak side, like all these muscular, big-hearted men. He is as simple and trusting asa child. He likes me, and believes me to be the best friend that he has on earth, when, in reality, I have hated him from boyhood as bitterly as possible. His very birth was a grievous wrong to me. five years his senior. were brothers; my uncle was a rich man anda confirmed old bachelor, as all supposed, while my father was a poorman. Bub’s father always liked me from my birth, and cften said that I should be his heir, and then all of a sudden he took it into his head to get married. Bub was born, and of course that put m Iam some | His father and my father | nose complete- | ya out of joint, although the old fellow when he | ed had the decency to leave me twenty thou- sand dollars, but what was that paltry sum com- red to the half million which Bub and his sis- r, Helena, came in for?” “ Oho! dear boy, go for the sister!” “That is exactly my game and that is partly vhy I came here now. [ have been payin wurt to Helena for some time; she’s a shy girl, cut I rather think she favors me. she will not go against her brother if he advises her to accept. So, upon his decision all depends. If he says yes and accepts me as Helena’s future husband, all will be well. Ill make a clean | from the ave She has always been a great favorite of Bub’s; being brought up together they have always been like a brother and sister. ell, now, the last time I was on here I noticed that, there was a slight change in the manner of the pair to- ward each other, and I instantly suspected that there was a sort of a love-affair between them. I joked Bub on the subject, and as, he became quite grave over the matter, I feel tty cer- tain th::t I had guessed pts order.to sound the doctor I hinted slightly in regard to the matter, but you can judge of my.surp’ when he became terribly excited, declared: that I must be wrong, that they only regarded -e€ach other as brother and sister, and that a marriage between them was utterly impossible, and beg- ged that I would never mention such,a thing, to anybody. Here was mystery number one, “ And the second love-affair, confided to me in strict confidence by this Harvard. student whom I met in New York, takes in a girl named Kitty Googage. She is the Bt of. an,old couple who keep a sort of; an English ale-house called the Woodbine Inn situated near Harvard Square, a great resort of the ollegians. | father 1s an old English oarsman, who Acts as odd. about -her.. ‘ thing not ,just on the square,’ this young fellow said, but that was all tion that there was a tion going _ on between Bub and, the girl,.and there’s mys- tery number two.” ‘Deuced interesting, my boy!” “Yes; well, I’m going to.meet Bub.at this Woodbine Inn and atthe same time Ican take, a look at the girl. 1 rather flatter myself that I shall be able to find out the mystery that is) connected with her, but as for the other one, the old doctor's niece, I confess Lam, puzgled.” / ‘* Ah, well, time may reveal it. The further conversation. that took place be- tween the two is not worth detailing, being of, little interest, until they reached their des tion. The Woodbine Inn was .a plain little, white, cottage surrounded by a large; nm. fills shrubbery in the midst of whith arbors. were constructed wherein little Satins aare| placed for the accommodation of the c It was a charming rural retreat, so American bar-room, was little wonder that it was, well i y | the college boys. At any rate, | Entering one of the arbors Grahame rapped upon the table, and the summons Was answ by a big, burly, middle-aged man, whose general | build and broad face betrayed at the first glance breast of how I stand and borrow some money | _earried the Union Jack of Great B of him to meet my debts; but if he refuses—” “ And you think he will,” added the general, shrewdly. “I’m afraid so,” Grahame replied, with a lowering brow. do my best to ruin him and make his crew lose | | a Well, if he refuses, then I’ll | this race, He is mixed up in a love affair now | with two girls—” “Pwo? exclaimed the general, in astonish- | ment; ‘‘ by the beard of my grandfather! would- n’t one be enough at a time?” ‘* Well, it’s an odd affair, and I’ll explain it to you as we walk along. Come with me up to old Cambridge. Iam to meet Bub at five this after- noon at acertain place where the students re- sort, and after my interview with him, we can lay our plans, if I fail in my suit, as I think I will, despite Bub’s friendship for me.” CHAPTER IIL THE WOODBINE INN. “Go ahead!” cried the general; ‘Iam with | you, dear boy, in anything to save my leetle — two . ne 11 walk,” Graha ‘We may as well w r ine Wiggs, as he led the way from the bridge; “‘ we'll have lenty of time to get there before the crew come et and we can talk the matter over as we walk along.” ‘ Grahame, acquainted with the town, con- ducted his companion through the cross streets antil they reached the main thoroughfare, the 3lm-shaded Main street, up which they walked soward the colleges. ‘* Now to begin. at the beginning I'll explain bow I came to be so weil ted in regard to Bub and his doings. One of his love affairs he himself confided me and the other was told me in strict confidence byone of the collage boys whom I met in New York last week. In regard to the first love affair, Bub boards in the house of a certain Dr. Artemas Peabody, a dis- tant-relation,of our family,.a scholar o knowledge but.of limited means. ‘When father died he made this doetor a guardian over Bub—who was not of ter, who has just. reached) her majority. In fact, the ola gentleman has acted as eversince he was old enough to learn anything and has been to. him more like a father than anything else. Now, the doctor has a danzlter —a pretty, fawmlike girl, named Winifred. e then—and of . his sis- | b’s tutor | that he was a son of Albion’s isle—one,0! brawny, beef-fed, beer-drinking Britons whose stout arms and brave hearts have. tri t} around the world and caused that. flag to be.re- spected in every clime and by every. nation. “ That's age himself,” Grahame observed to the general as the host em: from the the host, ducking his part head as .he came up to the arbor; ‘“‘ you're quite a stran- ger!’ Googage spoke with an English accent as broad as his person, and his round, healthy beamed with good-nature as.he looked: upon. the young gentleman, for was -not his guest t e cousin and particular. friend of ‘‘ Bub” Law- rence, the stroke-oar of the:Harvard,crew?. and as Googage always declared, with great energ, the finest amateur oarsman.that ever foot within a boat or feathered. a;pair . —the best man that Haryard.college had ever rsa or any other college either, for that. mat- r ‘“* Yes, I’ve just taken a, run.on to see Bub.” “He’s with the crew on the river fora spin, but he’ll be back soon.” - ‘‘He’ll stop in here on the way home, I pre- eee Pe **Oh, yes, he always does, an rest of ’em, too; they allers wants a glass of my ginger ale to wash the dust out of their throats,” .— ‘ Bub’s crew is DB poet sure to win this time, eh?” Grahame asked carelessly. “ Sure to win? Why, bless my. soul, it’s a horse to a hen on them!” cried.the old man, en- thusiastically. “Bus they say the Yale crew is the hest.one that nallege hashad for years,” the general ob- serv “ “It don’t.matter the weight. ofa pin,.sir,” the old man ‘declared, with ee Pa Pe the head; ‘‘ Bub’s crew -will-beat ’em all to pieces.” “Well, I hope:so,” ‘Oh, you can bet on it, and you don’t stand | no show whatsumever'to'lose.”” 4 Grahame and the general exchanged ces : at.this:bold eeolabation sxchanewe ele “Yes, sir,” the old man continued, ‘if I warn’t a member of the church, and hadn't given up all those sinful practices, there isn’t a 1a | oy Englishman li | 1 | Bu, Batata cy 3 dollar that I could raise in the world that I wouldn’t_ put on that crew.” **] guess we'll try a glass of that famous gin- ' ger ale of, yours while we. are waiting,” Gra- /hame said, and the old man, first ducking his head, hurried away to procure the article. ___ “Tf Bub goes back on me, as I’m sadly afraid | ‘that’he will,.in this matter of his sister, why | then we'll have to set our wits to work to defeat this wonderful crew; b means or foul we must fix itso that the Har boys sha’n’t win -the race.” , “Yes, dear boy, that is our leetle game.” The bost returned with the ginger ale, placed the sparkling beverage before the two gentle- Tels received his money, and then again with- rew. _The two plotters partook of the beverage and discussed, as they waited, many a wily scheme to work harm to the Harvard crew. ‘Hell ‘soon be here,” said Grahame, at last, | copsulting the little jeweled timepiece he wore. “You jhad. better get out so that we can speak freely. Tee, ; “Oh, yes, certainly ;.I’'ve got a newspaper in a pate and Pit just. take possession of one of tose arbors at the back of the yard so as to within. hail when you watit me. Push it | wi home to him, dear boy, for if. you don’t get the girl én it’s good-by to your ten thousand dol- lars.tnless we can devise some way to beat the Harvard.crew,,.and I’m afraid that will be no matter.” Re will tell,” Grahame replied, laconic- >. Xia then the general strolled off, and just in time, too, for,a party of ‘browa-faced young men. came into the n. and fina Peel or oe. OMpO Runt party, and . @ precimeny o ed, healthy, man ge the ; hardly a. man of Thoin all that < not. haye stripped as a model for a Young. ercules or a godlike Apollo. , themselves at a circular,table, under | foes 8 e ofa buge cherry-tree, they called loudly for their ginger ale, and then chaffed the be when he é leader of the party was a tall, well-pro- with | portioned youth, standi least five feet ten, Ses Fo esl een he ward, to use the oeeiee gps cope ai blue, blonde Le fe ven young rentleman, with . as finely iad Be nb fread ei ever Bat on bu- man seeeiiliers The features were prominent and regular, and there was a good, frank ex- e Pp 0 face that would be certain to win f wae’ Olle first Sa iagp nies Ss Was. wrence, a descendant of one ot the old t-and richest New England fatnilies —a..race, who ‘could ce back its line right to the aay of the tan fathers, a set of godly men, but, withal, a narrow-minded, tyrannical set of bigots as ever existed. Yo Lawrence—he was only three-and- ung 4a ty, —was the heir to a prine+ly fortune; a hat saiition of dollars well a fate re 1 appertain to-a noble manhood; frank a yr pae e, quick ‘to aid a friend, slow to ot an i he was a very prince of good-fellows, and from his. great flow. of ng always abe pinay nd as. 0 roper appellation. neal With Many «goo hetared Pyaar rf laugh the party drank their ginger ale, and then thar uth rian war waltine ee ha hant* URS roee at otic’ te eat a hoi" pay it watt 1 eden You ep. J and then bowing Gienie ia aor knows,, t “black yen ne? great |, Harrison, I'm glad to see you!” Bub eeclaimed, ‘taking the chi the der push- ed toward hin. ay 8 eae a run over to have a look at the crew? You were always a great ttti ee | t you bav vested heavily oh t Ss ao id # “ ) ars.” | Bub i dle Ti oloneed whistle . nts al !” he exclaimed, in astonishment, aa ste ink a tr Geman dele ; nk that thi u ollars is a large sum to. sta RGA what, after all, is a de- Pick We the Swiutng. crew sat we pol ? Art ‘ftew. we pu : Madge’ boat whd. the deciding gun is ~ he stroke-oar_ never coubted n instep’ is coun, Bad. Rakes De “pone ihe the ed him -to a Bink oe: Tate ca a his’ poush ie
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4 arge a sum. *“Oh, well, I felt so confident about the re- sult,” the other answered, carelessly. “You, thought the race was all over except the shouting, eh?” Bub suggested, with a laugh. ‘** Well, not quite so bad as that.” “The Yale boys have a good crew, they say,” the stroke-oar observed, thoughtfully. *“And you have a good crew, too.’ ““Yes, as good as ever pulled, an oar!” cried Bub, in warmth. “And if you were a betting man you would back your side largely, wouldn’t you?” “Yes, with every dollar that I could raise!” ae nd. ‘yt you blame me.” . rrison, but if isn’t prudent, you know; Pm always too hasty and let my enthu- siasm_run away with my judgment,” Bub re- plied, slowly. ‘‘Bet a couple of thousand if vou like; but take my advice and don’t risk thirty; it is entirely too much; and, excuse the question, Harrison—can you afford to lose any such sum in case we fail to win? An accident, you know, may defeat the best of crews. One of our men may go amiss on the very day of the race, an oar may break, or some gsi Fone booby may run a boat in our way; a hundre things may happen to snatch victory from our Staab even at the very moment of success.” “Well, Bub, of course you know how I am situated,” said the other, affecting to be deeply interested by the remarks of the stroke-oar. “Of course I can’t afford to lose two thousand, let alone thirty.” “Ah, Harrison, a man should not venture what he has not got! It is bad enough to lose money but honor is far more precious.” _“ Well, I'll take your advice, and hedge so as to stand safe whichever way the race goes.” “Do, and you'll take a weight off my mind!” cried Bub, his face lighting up, and he bestowed upon the other a warm grasp of the hand. ‘*But how about the other matter that I hint- ed at in my letter?” Bub’s face became quite grave. 2 Yop meas in regard to my sister, Helena?” 7 ee “Well, Harrison, I hardly know what to say; you place me in a very wr Senger 9 posi- tion. Helena is hardly more than a child; she is not old Prong to think of marriage yet.” 4 She is eighteen.” es, a rus abe eng had a half £ ries ssinyag 8 e- “eady, but perhaps you prefer this youn - ! rinian, Mr. Richard Randolph Peyton, or Dicky wlph, as the college boys call him, to me? He’s the coxswain of your crew, isn’t he?” ** Yes, but that idea is all nonsense!” Bub ex- claimed, impatiently. ‘‘ Dicky is only a boy.” a ig couple his name with your sister’s, though. Tey t is because he boards at the doctor’s, and isa N indig friend of mine. He loves me like a er. Of course, Peyton is rich and I’m poor—” _‘* Harrison, can you think so meanly of me as to believe that that would have any influence over me if there was no other reason?’ Bub cried, impetuously, ‘Oh, there is another reason, then?’ _ “Yes, and I might as well speak plainly. You know that I stand in the light of a father to Helena, and I regard it as my sacred duty to see her happily bestowed in life, Her husband _moust be a man against whom the breath of sus- _picion has never been directed.” “That is as much as to say that I am not that kind of a man,” Grahame observed, his face Lshetle pale and his eyes beginning to shine w . - , Heaven knows. that I would _ gladly evade this task if I could,” the stroke-oar eplied, with a troubled voice, his whole manner =, wishes: the agitation under which he bored, ‘‘ for I like you, Harrison—like you as well as any man that breathes the breath of life this day, but the faults that I can pardon in you as a friend I cannot overlook when ou appear as a suitor for the hand of my sis- “ What do derstand you. : Harrison’s manner was quite calm, aimaze- ment apparent but no trace of any other feel- a 5 the fact that rage was burning n his heart, and stirring every pulse in his being. bh Wy, Harrison, you know that you left e ’ you mean? I confess I do not un- like @. g this ai eable subject forever.” “e haga you don’t know me at all if you think for a content to rest silent under any accusation!” Harrison replied, spiritedly, and endeavoring to assume an fo, J arena of great frankness; and _ he succeeded very well, too, for the man was an excellent dissembler. ‘ And as for the men of my class—well, we didn’t get on together at all. The fact is, Bub, I always hated co!lege.” Tae Wo. ay . or. y ~ bia, a : ‘* Harrison, the college returns the sentiment,” | the stroke-oar replied, quietly. A slight flush appeared upon Grahame’s pale | cheeks as he winced under the well-directed shot, and for a moment he showed his white teeth viciously. “Well, I presume that there isn’t any love lost between the college and myself,” he said, after a slight pause. ‘‘I will own that I was ne- | ver much of a student, and that I had very lit- tle sym class. cards a great deal.” “Yes, they do.” - Well, I suppose I must plead guilty to that. I confess that while I was at college I did have a regular mania for card-playing.” “But that isn’t the worst o Bub observed, quietly. “What more do they say?’ “They say that you played cards too well.” “They mean that I cheated, eh?” cried Harri- son, eons very pale indeed. “No, they don’t say that openly, but they say that you always used to win, and that your antagonists generally were men who had money and yet didn’t know enough to take care of it— mere DOYS; in fact, no match for you in any it, Harrison,” way. oy Well, that’s an ugly report about a man, isn’t it?” Harrison cried, sarcastically, endeav- oring to force a laugh; ‘‘and all because I used to have a poker party in my rooms once In a while, and the foolish louts who bantered me to | play whined when they lost their money. Oh, thy or association with the men of my | presume they say that I used to play | m a regular gambler, I presume, a first-class / blackleg, and I make my living by picking up | and fleecin money than brains.’ ‘© Oh, no; not so bad as that!” ‘*Do they say anything else?” ‘‘ Isn’t that quite enough?” ‘*Qh, no! I didn’t know but that they would unsuspecting youth with more | | matter, will you have the kindness to + xplain ‘Perfectly miraculous!” the general added. ‘*For Heaven’s sake do not betray me!” the girl repeated, rising slowly to her feet and gaz- ing wistfully into the faces of the two men. ‘Well, I am astounded!” ‘* Dear boy! you could knock me down with a feather!” the old man cried, like an echo, putting: on his eye-glasses and assuming a theatrical at- titude, indicative of intense surprise. “You are the very last persons that I expect- ed to see,” the girl went on, still glaring with an air of apprehension upon the two, “ Believe me that wit ye justice I could make the same remark,” Grahame replied, re- moving his hat and making Wo peer bow. The general at once followed his example. ‘Yes, my dear young lady, in point of fact we are completely flabbergasted!” ‘*But I should bave recognized you, though, | at once, although I nfiss the tawny hair of the bewitching siren who has played the deuce with so many young hearts,” Grahame continued. ae ree | old hearts, too, dear boy!” the general added, quickly, with a gallant bow to the lady. be: piéad ilty to the soft impeachment. I fel} over head and ears in love with you at the first lance. Ah, who could withstand those match- ess eyes?” “A truce to this raillery, gentlemen!” the irl exclaimed, evidently annoyed. ‘Can I st _ to keep my secret?” “Oh, certainly!” Grahame replied at once. “You can depend upon us; we will be as dumb as oysters! the thumb-screws—the rack — the torture could not tear your secret from our breasts!” The general was nothing if not extra- vagant. “But, in order to completely understand the to us exactly what and who you are—that is, | I mean, at present, for of course any one who make out that I used to pick pockets in the | class-room, or play highwayman on the college campus. They might as well have made a good story while they were about it.” Harrison was decidedly sarcastic. ‘Old fellow, I am sorry that I was forced to tell you this, but it could not be avoided.” “On account of these stories, then—these ly- ing Sato you would object to my marriage with Helena, even though she desired the union?” “But, Harrison, she don’t,” Bub replied, uietly. ‘I hinted to her about the matter to- y, and she said enough to convince me that she likes you as a cousin only.” “Well, I’m sorry; it’s quite a disappointment to me; but let the matter pass. 1 trust that it will not sever our friendship?” ‘“‘ Not a bit!” cried Bub, Inetantl , giving the other another hearty gripe of the hand, ‘for I like you, Harrison; you’re a deuced good felluw, anyway. But you must excuse me now: I see the boys are off. Come up to the house and see us. -by!” and then Bub hurried away to join his companions, and they all quitted the garden together. ' The general came from his corner and found Grahame glaring with angry eyes and a face white with passion after the young men. There was hardly need of a question, for the shrewd old man understood at once that the day had gone his companion. ‘Well, well; you didn’t make it, eh?’ ‘No, curse him; he has heard that I make a living by card-playing—” “What of that?’ cried the general, in pro- found astonishment; “is it possible that he ob- jects to that? Why, he plays!” “Yes, for the fun of the thing. There is a t difference, you know, between men who play for amusement and money and regular card-sha: like ourselves. There’s only one thing to be done; the Harvard crew must be made to lose this race. We must entrap this stroke-oar in some way!” “Dear boy, I saw the very instrument for our purpose in the house just now—the girl, the old man’s daughter, this Kitty with whom your cousin is infatuated. And no wonder! She’s an old acquaintance of ours, and I rather fancy that we have got her under our thumb. The old man has gone out; rap on the table and she undoubtedly will come, and then you shall see what you shall see!” Grahame obeyed at once. , A slender, delicate, ladylike girl, with jet; black hair and wonderful dark eyes, plainly, came tripping from the house, but the moment she behe Af the : ir acry of alarm came | from her lips, and she fell imploringly upon her | “ec 4 : ” For Heaven’s sake, do not betray me!” she cried. CHAPTER V. THE INNKEEPER’S DAUGHTER. It was quite a striking tableau; the girl on has once looked upon your beautiful face and been charmed by your ated in the sphere in which you gener y move would never be able to forget you,” the young man observed. “Never!” cried the general “the dear boy is right; it would possible to eat a oy ig “My name is Kitty Googage, and I am the daughter of the old couple who keep this inn, the girl confessed. “The innkeeper’s daughter, eh?” ‘Precisely; quite a romance, dear boy!” “Yes, I am the innkeeper’s daughter.” ‘‘But I do not understand,” Grahame persist- ed; “if you are Kitty Googage, the daughter of this old couple, how comes it that we know you under another name and in a far diff rent walk of life? Your hair, too, is jet-black, and yet when I bad the extreme pleasure of making; your acquaintance almost a year ago, you were a most bewitching blonde.” ‘“‘T can explain all ina few words!” the girl responded, evidently dag ow egitated. “TIT lead a double life. Here in this rural retreat I am Kitty Googage, old Ben Googage’s daughter, nud no one who knows me even dreams for * single instant that I am an te but a plain end simple country girl. hat I am in New York you already know.” “Yes, yes; but I do not comprehend why this thing should be,” Grahame urged, a puz zled expression upon his face, “ What is the meaning of this double life?” “The riddle is easily read,” the girl replied a spice of bitterness recente in her tone. ‘3 rew up a foolish, silly girl; chance brought me n contact with some persons whose flattery and advice turned what little brains I possessed: they urged me to cultivate the gifts with which Heaven had endowed me; they said that it was a shame I should remain here in seclusion, when by going out into the world I could acquire 4 fortune. I was vain—what young girl is not, unless she is plain to ugliness? knew that silks and satins would become me better than calico—that my fingers would look prettier adorned with diamonds than when hooped witl lain gold. I became crazy upon this ove idea hy should T remain here in humble poverty and toil all my life for a bare crust, when, bs going out into the great, giddy world I could secure a fortune?’ ‘Not to be thought of for a moment! Th. seek is perfectly absurd!” the general interpola- ’ emphatically ; be morally im- “ oat or waking the idea was always ia my mind,” the girl continued. ‘I thought at first that I could persuade my parents to let me , but one day when I just hinted of such a ing, the proposal was received by them with horror. Both of my parents are church mem- bers of the strictest Fina, although only N aned and humble people, but they believe in the faith that is in them and live up to it in the strictest manner. I was not pre for the utter dis- approval which the idea met with. ‘No, no, _ lass,’ said my father—he is an old countryman, her knees, her features convulsed with agita- | tion, and the two men gazing at her in profound astonishment, “TTnon my life this is really wonderful!” Gra hame exclaimed. and speaks — when excited—‘I would rather see thee in thy grave than to have thee earn thy bread in such a manner.’ My mother said nothing, but she cried as if her heart wcul:) break. I saw that it was useless to say anything more. My rlen must be either given up or eles carried out without my parents’ knowledge, fur ae
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em — — The Winning Oar. os oe I plainly understood that it was a hopeless task to attempt to gain their consent.” ‘* But you were determined not to give it up though?’ Grahame pressed his inquiry. “Deuced lucky, too; wouldn’t have believed that you had it in you!” the general exclaimed, cutting the figure eight in the air with the point of his light switch. ‘*My evil genius urged me on,” the girl re- plied, with a bitter accent. ‘I was mad to go, and since I cozld not obtain my parents’ con- sent, [ determined to go without it, but I could vot bear the thought of acting in open disobe- dience to their wishes, for no father or mother could have been kinder to a child than they had been to me; soI determined todevise some plan by means of which they would be kept in igno- rance of my bold adventure. Times were very hard with us then; my father had just started this little inn, and it was not prospering; he had about made up his mind to give it up and so lose all that he had invested in it, when I sug- gested to him to let me go to New York and get a place. I was very skillful with my needle, could make all sorts of fancy-work, and I told him that Iwas sure that I could make good wages, and that I would be able to send him some money every week. He hated to let me go and fought against the idea for some time, but, as affairs here did not improve, at last he consented, and I went to New York. I succeed- ed in my attempt, and what I am there now you know as wellas Ido. Ten months in the year I am _ in the city, the other two, July and Au- gust, I spend here; but this year I came home a month earlier than usual—an unlucky chance, since it has betrayed my secret, but I trust that it will be safe in your care.” Oh Pe may depend upon it.” ‘‘ Wild horses, dear girl, couldn’t drag it from us!” the general asserted. “But what do your parma think that you are doing in New York these ten months in the year?’ Grahame asked. He had a deeper mo- tive than mere curiosity in putting the question, but the girl never suspected it, and so she an- swered frankly: ‘“‘T am supposed to be the forewoman ina large millinery store on Broadway and get quite a handsome salary, nearly all of which I send home to my ents. It is terrible to lead this lying life!” the girl cried, suddenly, with a passionate outburst, “ and my parents, i know, would sooner starve than touch a cent of the money if eer only knew how I earned it.” ~ ‘ah, people be so foolish*sometimes!” the sonra exclaimed, with a wise shake of the hea ““T only wish that I had a daughter, or two or three of them for that matter, who could ick up a cool hundred dollars a week as you Bo” and the old man sighed mournfully at not being possessed of such a treasure, “You have your letters addressed to this mil- linery store then?’ Grahame asked. ‘‘ You see what an interest I take in your stery by my curiosity.” . ‘Yes; the proprietor is a personal friend of mine.” ‘‘But, suppose either your father or mother should take it into their heads to come on to New York without giving you notice and so surprise you with an epi visit?” “Yes, yes, that would deuced awkward, eh, dear girl?” **Oh, no! it is very unlikely that such a thing should happen; but, even that is provided for, the girl replied, quietly. ‘‘ Any one going to the store and asking for me will be conducted at once to the proprietor, and she will say that I have been unexpectedly called down South to attend to a valued customer, so you perceive that there 1s very little chance of discovery.” “ Beautifully planned!” the general cried. Grahame was silent for a moment, watchin, the girl in his cool way, and then he delivere the blow over which he had been cogitating. “Do you know, Miss Kitty, I bad a great cu- riosity to see you, although, of course, I had no idea that you would turn out to be an old ac- quaintance?” . ‘*'To see me?” in surprise. ‘“Yes, I wanted to see what sort of a girl it was who had taken the fancy of niy handsome cousin, Bub Lawrence, old Harvard’s winning oar.” CHAPTER VL THE VIRGINIAN. Oven the pale face of the girl swept a burn- ing blush; her bosom heaved with tumultuous emotion; ber whole frame trembled with agita- tion. Not a trace of this excitement was lost upon the two keen-sighted plotters, and they ex- changed glances peach “Yes, yes, I had quite a curiosity to see you,” Grahame continued; “and now that I do see you, Ino longer wonder that Bub has been fas- cinated by soy beauty.” ‘* He wo have resisted such charms, by Jove!” the gene- ral echoed. ““You are speaking in riddles, gentlemen!” the ir] exclaimed, in confusion. ‘ it!” | = i i=] wa “Oh, no, not the slightest use, dear girl,” ‘You know very well that Bub is ycur de- voted admirer.” “ Adores the very ground you walk on, in point of fact!” “Oh, gentlemen, you are jesting with me!” and she was terribly agitated. “We wouldn’t be guilty of such a thing!” ‘* A thousand dollars would be no temptation for a to beso rude!” the general protested, gal- lantly. The girl shook her head. ‘‘I am no child,” she said; ‘‘no silly girl, to allow my head to be turned by a few flattering words. ‘Your cousin isa ba wealthy gentleman, while I am only a xr girl— “You forget the deathless fame which you have already gained!” prey ic the general. ‘Genius is always a match for wealth,” Gra- hame added. Again the girl shook her head. ‘Ab, gentlemen, you are pleased to flatter me! Great as is my fame, aigheciiay as is my genius, yet my parents, who are only poor, plain and unlettered people, would not. touch a penny of my earnings if they knew how I gained my money.” hame’s answer. ‘‘The world has grown much wiser and much more liberal in the last twenty years; your parents are relics of a bygone age; Bub, on the contrary, is a man of to-day. Al- ready he admires you, knowing you only in your present character of innkeeper’s daughter, a simple country maid; how much more strong- ly, then, will you impress him when he discov- ers that you are a genius at whose feet the great ones of the world are delighted to kneel!” ‘He will be transported with admiration, of course!” the general cried, enthusiastically, ‘‘T know him like a book, dear girl! I would willingly bet a thousand dollars to a two-cent orange that immediately after he makes the dis- covery be will place his hand and fortune at rour feet!” Again the quick, vivid blush swept over the yale face of the maid. It was quite plain that he flattery was delicious to her ears, but her sober common sense rebelled against it. “You are making a jest of me, gentlemen!” and she betrayed her impatience; ‘‘and I pray you to forbear. The subject is distasteful to me, One favor I crave at your hands—keep my secret; do not breathe a word to any one that you have ever met me before, and, least of a under another name and in another walk of e, “You may on upon our discretion!” Gra- hame replied, with an appearance of great frank- ess. “Oh, yes, dear girl, your secret will be per- fectly safe in our hands, As my esteemed friend here has remarked, you may rely upon our discretion.” ‘Not that I care for any one in the world ex- cept my parents, but from their peculiar ideas the discovery that I earned money ina public capacity would surely be a most terrible blow.” ‘** But are they not likely by some accident to discover the truth?’ Grahame asked. “It is not at all probable,” she replied. “There is not gold enough in the world to tempt my parents to set foot within any place of amusement; they live rigidly up to the rules of their church.” “‘T perceive that there is very little danger. Well, we will not betray you; make ycur mind easy upon that point; and since we must look upon you as being opt ie innkeeper’s daugh- ter, will you have the kindmess to bring us a little ginger ale?” ‘“ Which will be transformed into nectar when served by such a Hebe as yourself!” cried the general, with a gallant bow. ‘Certainly, at once,” and the girl hurried away, not sorry to bring the rather unpleasant interview to a termination. ““ Well, what’s your plan, dear boy?’ asked the old man, the moment that the girl was out of earshot. ** Really, you are too much for me at present, gouere Grahame confessed. ‘‘I do not think here is any doubt that I can use the girl to im- mense advantage now that I know her secret, but the exact use I shall make of her I can’t very well explain at present, for in my own mind [ am uncertain.” ‘By Jove, dear boy, do you know that I think the girl looks better in this plain, rustic garb that she now wears than when adorned with silks and satins, blazing with costly gems; ‘ fit for an emperor’s ransom,’ and with her flow- ing locks bleached like an English blonde?’ ‘Hush! here she is.” _ The girl returned with the ale, securely cased in little bottles, placed two clean tumblers upon the table before the two gentlemen, and then with a dextrous and practiced hand, decanted d have been more than mortal to | the beverage. ‘* Aha!” chuckled the general, ‘if I were to tell about this in New York, the world would never believe it. You are a most accomplished bar-maid!” h, it is no use for you to attempt to deny ceane tossed a silver quarter upon the ta- e. ‘ Ah, that’s the old-time prejudice!” was Gra- 5 ‘* Never mind the change,” he said, laughing; ‘“‘ that’s the usual sort of thing, I believe.’ The fu laughed in return,dropped a souatfas nes ‘Thank you!” i...d then retreated into the ouse, Grahame watched her with sparkling eyes. ‘“* You are right, general,” he answered; ‘‘ this plain attire does become her wonderfully. It is not at all strange that Bub, who has. always been .an extremely ,soft-hearted fellow where women are concerned, should take a fancy to this girl, but before I can commence to scheme to turn the affair to my advantage I must find out exactly how the matter stands.” ‘* And that will be a difficult job, I take it.” “Oh, no, I see that you don’ ow my cousin as wellasIl do, Heisas frank and open-hearted. with meas achild. The very next time 1 meet him I shall turn the conversation upon this girl, and [ll bet you what you like that he will make a frank confession.” ** And. when do you intend to see him again?” ‘This very night.” ‘* So soon?” “Yes; there is no time to be lost; I must get the threads, of the affair in my hands as soon as possible.” “Right, dear boy, right!. There is nothing in this world like striking when the iron is hot. ‘‘ Well, finish your tipple and let’s be off. We must select a head-quarters. I know. of a nice, quiet house, right off of Harvard square wheic we can get a furnished room and.where the peo- ple attend to their own business and we will le free to come and go without being spied upon.. It.will be no-easy job, this task that we have taken upon ourselves, but it can be, and must he accomplished, The Harvard crew must lose this race, and when tbe sun goes down that day at New London, you and I, old fellow, must be sundry thousands of dollars ahead.” ‘‘ That will suit me exactly,” the old sport ad- mitted. Then the two rose and strolled out of the gar- den; but leaving them to pursue their way to the square, we will follow the footsteps of the stroke-oar of the Harvard crew. After parting with Grahame. in the garden Bub joined a party of the students who were waiting for him at the gate and they, sauntered OTe tho oa th separated, Bub t the square the compan eg and a companion striking off to the north, tak- ing the road leading by the lower end of. the Fresh pond. F And as the companion of .‘‘ Harvard’s win- ning oar,” as Bub was commonly termed, from his success in single contests, with the ‘‘ spruces,” - will play que a prominent part in our narra- tive, we will describe him. Richard Randolph Peyton he was called—a Virginian by birth, and as his name would indi- cate to any one familiar with the Mother State, a descendant of two of the best-blooded, fete that all the Southern land can boast of. But by his college chums ci hag was rarely honored by his own name: Dicky Dolph he wes usualy called. , In stature he was a pocket-edition of a man,- very boyish in appearance, slightly-built, but as neat and dapper a gentleman as one could well find in all this big world. Peyton was the coxswain, the steersman,. of the Harvard crew, for, after the English fashion, the race with Yale was to be rowed with eight oars anda coxswain. A very warm friendship indeed existed he- tween ly that. Dicky was not only a great friend of the Roo but na mirer of the pretty Helena Lawrence, Bub’s sister. Of ccurse Bub had been joked upon the sut - ject, but he had always replied, just as he had replied to Grahame’s remark upon the matter, that Peyton was only a boy; but, as well as any one living, Lawrence knew whet an honorable, manly heart beat within the breast of the young Virginian, and that, although he had not yet reached his twentieth year, he was far more o! a man than many of the student lads of Har- vard who could boast of riper years: A “right” handsome fellow Peyton was, too, to use the common Virginian expression, with his jet-black eyes, ebon locks curling tight to his head and frank, expressive face. CHAPTER VIL. , THE TRAMP. , THE two friends strolled on together for quite a little while without exchanging a word, a « then Peyton suddenly began the Sen vorneent'. ‘*Bub, I’ve got rays Fed sage t Jb wish to say to you,” be sai ruptly. oke-oa ather astonished -et this somewhat mtias Sean ing, one from se tone, too, in which Peytor spoke, he ped | ile. trichd fele emb a10 x ‘‘ What is it? Go ahead!” ” ae Yes?’ “* And there is a lady in the case.” The stroke-oar looked rather jumped to the conclusion that arrassed ‘« Well, it’s.a ratber delicate subject.” to ‘‘ Oh,” and Bub looked just a trifle annoyed,
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; , 6 The Winning Oar. “Tt’s about this girl, Mus : “Well, what of her?” the stroke-oar asked, avoiding the gaze of his friend and looking with a fixed glance straight before him. : * Isn’t there a flirtation going on between you and her?’ The question wes p ly put and yet Law- rence, usually the most’s tforward of men, evaded it, “A flirtation—why should you think so?” **Oh, come, Bub! you know that there is!” “Suppose there is, whose business is it?” re- plied Lawrence, just a little sharply. “That?s a very natural question under the circumstances,” Peyton returned, quietly, both face and toue grave, ‘and I an perfectly well aware that, as a” rat rule, such an affair is nobody’s busitresS but the principals’; but, Bub, you and I are friends I believe” Pic xen Yaa that!” thé stroke-oar ex- imed, heartily. ;, “Well, pas A wouldn't it bea friendly act for me if I saw you walking ‘into a gult to extend my. hand and endeavor to your footsteps?” “Oh, you look at it in that light, eh?” ** Yes, I do.” ve “9 ell, Ill own, frankly, that, in a measure, I am infatuated with the girl.” “And yet, Bub, isn’t there a love affair be- tween you and Wi A dark look came over the face of the stroke- oar, and his strong, brown hands clenched ner- vously. 4 And you love her, don’t. you?” Peyton con- tinued, finding that Bub did not reply. “Love her!” cried Lawrence ebraeey: a yes, better than I do anything else in “world!” * And yet you confess that you aré infatuated with this other girl.” acd 4 ‘Yes, it is the truth.’ I know’that 1 am act- ing like a weak fool in the matter, and I am really ashamed of myself. Winifred is an an- gel, and as such TI love her; but when I am in e presence of this ofher girl she exerts an in- fluence over me that'I cannot account for.” “She fascinates: you, in fact,” Peyton sug- “ Yes; fascinates; that is the word. When I am away from her the charm loses its power, but when I am with her, then, in some mysteri- ous'manher—I confess ? cannot explain it—the memory of Winifred seems to fade away and I am ready to throw myself at the feet of this worlan and swear to her that she is the onl girl whotn I have ever really and truly loved.’ “Tt is a fascination indeed,” Peyton remarked “and as I have beer: watching the growth and acve ment of it for some time, IT ae the friendship which exists between us ; Cao, a you in regard to the matter, just as I shoutd consider it should suildenly tak that you were rapi of course, that the c that you will be offended; but as your friend it is thy ‘duty to. speak; honor leaves no other course open to me.” ; Laivterice silently extended’ his hand and gave the’: Le ays de ‘palm a hearty gripe, but he spoke not.’ “You are not offended ‘thén, old fellow?” Peyt queried, anxiously. “Oh; no; why should I be?” duty to warh you if you going to the bad. I know, And Lam not’ the only one. pA know, who | has noticed that you and the are extremel intimate.” qr gir . eee oaks ‘ abou ts, € “ ow “And what do they say?” “That you mean the girl no good,” replied Peyton, firmly; and as the words fell upon the ears of the stroke-oar he started as though he an hha upon a crested serpent coiled in the patn:'” ais Hat that; do they?’ he cried, im i , a ‘low, deep’ tone, and*hbis strong, rown ‘hands involuntarily doubled themselves up: 3 rs “What elsé can they say, Bub?” Peyton re marked. “What else’ can they imagine? Con- a own position and ther look at hers! ow of one of the’ old Boston’ families— the last male descendant of* a. line’ which has always prided itself upon its blue blood and the panes of its connections, and this girl—what is e “The daughter of the keeper’ of ‘an Efiglish ale-house;” Bub’ answered, bitterly. “A girl whom ‘my mother would hardly have considered fit to ‘tie the lacings of her shoes.” ““Acd Helena,” asked Peyton, ‘how would she regard this girl?” Shook bis head dismally.’ * “You don’t think that she would gladly wel- come Her'as'a sister?” FOF “ Not at first; she would be horrified’ at the’ very idea; the fact that’ she was'the daughter of old yaxe, and waited upon the guests who sought refreshment at her father’s inn, would be quite a for Helena,” “But in time, if , the doctor’s ‘daugh- k advan~ ‘drink and’ T should see’ ces are a hundred to one’ /ward—two ‘as pretty girls as all New came to the conclusion | that she was really a lady at heart, despite her low position, you think that she might be recon- ciled to the idea?” “Yes, perhaps; but I am afraid thut it would take a very long time, though.” “And now, Bub, do you wonder that people speak ill of you.and the girl when they notice how intimate you are with her—when, accord- ing to your own statement, your sister, whose idol-you are, who looks up to you as being the best. and wisest of men, would look with horror upon the p of your uvion with this girl?” “ You are right—right!” Bub exclaimed, ‘‘ and I have acted like an infernal idiot in the matter; worse than an idiot, almost like a villain; al- though, Peyton, I trust that you will believe me when I say that I have meant the girl no wrong, She fascinated me, and I have enjoyed the pleasure ‘of her society without reflecting upon the pia fed ‘Oh, I fully bélieve you; but now that your eyes are open, I trust that you will avoid the snares of this enchantress. A man like you Bub, blessed with the love of such a perfect girl as ‘Winny, ought not to seek strange gods.” “T will not! Inthe future I will avoid the presence of this siren,” aud Lawrence spoke with marked decision. “By the way, wasn’t that your cousin, Gra- hame, that I saw you talking with?” the Vir- ginian ‘asked. ‘Yes; Harrison is a deuced good fellow, al- though he has his faults, but he’s not in your | good books, though, I believe?” ab bay flushed up slightly, and the stroke-oar laughed as he noticed it. : ‘Well, to tell the honest truth, I don’t like your cousin; not for the reason, though, that you may imagine. My dislike for him has noth- ing todo with Helena. I don’t like the man; I don’t trust him; I don’t believe that he is any friend of yours, either, Bub, although you have such great faith in him.” “By Jove! old fellow, you're giving it to me right and left to-day !” the stroke-oar exclaimed. | all “ First you attack the we | of my adoration, and then you demolish the friend of my child- hood. ith the unhappy French king I must exclaim: ‘Leave me something to love!” ‘Oh, i’m not so bad as all that!” “ By the way, have you any idea where we | are going “Not the slightest. I presumed that you had come tnis way merely for the sake of the walk. ‘“Well, then, there’s a treat in store for you!” Bub. announced, gayly. ‘Helena and Winny are out for a wal 1 and we will intercept them on their way home.” The look. of delight upon the pleasant face of pA Sarg showed ‘how the information was a ving thetwo friends to pursue their way, let us proceed at once to the willow-skirted road running by the lower end of Fresh pond, along which the two ladiés'referred to by the stroke- ‘oar were wal ‘The two had been for qttite a long stroll, and now, with their hands full of captured treasures, wildflowers and leaves, ‘were proceedin Sats nglan could boast, and that “is saying a great deal, were the friends, Helena Lawrence, Bub’s sis- ter,,and Winny Peabody, the old doctor’s datighter. There was quite a contrast between the two, for ‘Helena was tall and stately in carriage, a pure blonde, with glorious blue eyes; Winifred, on the contrary, was rather petite in size, with soft brown: hair, violet eyes, and a shy, fawn- like expression. The one impressed you at the first glance; the other won upon you gradually. The two had just descended the slight hill be- yond the pond, and had entered upon the low ea where the willows, cut back, and thus ormed: into‘ pollards, to’ use the English term, grew extremely dense, completely shad- ing the road. the ‘two ladi+s entered-‘upon the gloomy way, almost unconsciously they slackened their pace and glanced nervously around them, “ How very gloomy,” Helena remarked. ‘Yes; very lonesome, too.” * Just the spot for an evil-minded rogue to lay in wait for unsuspecting travelers, eh?’ “Oh, don't, Helena; you make me nervous!” and Winny gave a little shiver of alarm. “But, luckily, there isn’t any danger of such Tat in this neighborhood.” ly had the words left her lips, when ont from the willows ste a rather undersized unsavory -looking, pe dle-aged fellow, dressed roughly and with a ‘huge stick under his arm, and planting himself in the very center of the road he grinned at the startled ladies. CHAPTER VIII. ‘A’ MODEST REQUEST. THE two ladies were terribly startled by the sudden appearancé of the man; and no wonder, for he was a rank specimen of the genus tramp as one would be apt to meet during a long day’s journey amid the slums of a big city. A Tittle below the medium size, but broad- shouldered and stockily built, it was evident | es that he would prove a troublesome customer if his courage was equal to bis muscle. There was a sort of hang-dog look about the fellow; bis chin was unshaven, his face disco- lored and scarred, and he wore the close, tight- fitting cap common to English costermongers or street-peddlers. Fine types of these fellows can always be found in any of our large seaboard cities, and all imported articles, too, for as yet our country is too young to produce the breed. He ducked his head and tried to assume a pa- thetic expression. ‘“* Dontee be afeared, ladies,” he whined; ‘I’m only a poor cove, a-tryin’ to get a honest livin’, I’m a dorg-fancier, I am; don’t you want to buy a dorg?’ and then from one of the huge pockets of the overcoat-like garment which he wore—it could not with justice be termed an overcoat, as the owner wore no coat under it— he produced a diminutive black-and-tan ter- rier, a most unhappy and miserable-looking lit- tle beast, as all these unnaturally stunted dogs generally are. He held the dog up for the ladies’ inspection. : “Jest you look at that ’ere dorg!” he ex- claimed. ‘There ar’n’t a dorg in this blessed country that can compare with this here ani- mile, although I seys it wot shouldn’t; I’m the most truthfulest man that ever stepped; I couldn’t lie to save me! This here dorg is a beauty—a rale beauty, and if I wasn’t down on my luck I wouldn’t part with bim for his weight | in diamonds; but I’m in hard lines, ladies, and I’ve got for to make a raise some way, so I'll sell im cheap—twenty dollars, miss, for a puppy that is honestly worth a hundred every time! Rats? Bless you, miss, he don’t make no more account of a rat than I would of a’skeeter; he jest nips ’em in the small of the back and settles em at asingle crack! Twenty dollars, ladies for a dorg wot a hundred wovuidn’t buy if I hadn’t bin misfortunate at my business and a- reduced to want through no fault of mine, at The fellow stood right in the center of the road and completely: blocked the way. ere was cause for alarm on the part of the girls, for, although the fellow spoke civilly en- ough, yet there was a wicked look in his eyes— a certain leer about his mouth—a peculiar swag- ger in his bearing, which betrayed that he con- sidered the two ladies to be at bis mercy. It was a lonely road, no one in sight in either direction, some little distance to the nearest house, too, while the dense willow trees com- pletely shielded the spot from observation. Helena was naturally the bravest of the two, for Winny was of a shrinking, timid, fawn-like nature—one of those gentle, loving girls, who do not seem fitted to endure the souuh blasts of this world; so Miss l= wrence took it upon her- self to speak: “No, sir; we do not wish any dog!” decidedly. * But, ’es dirt cheap, marm,” the tramp per- sisted, ‘‘ and ’e’s clean grit too—gaane to the back- bone! Look-’er here!” and then the wretch took the puppy by the tail and dangled him in the air, a proceeding which the unfortunate animal submitted to without wincing. ‘*Oh, stop, you horrid creature!” cried He- lena, shocked at the cruelty of the action. “ Please don’t hurt the little dog, sir!” Winny pleaded, earnestly, tears standing in her soft, violet eyes. “Oh, bless yer, ’e don’t mind it; it’s mother’s milk to ’im, you know!” the tramp replied, but obeying the request of the girls and removing the Puppy from the uncomfortable position, “You had better buy him, one on you; you'll never ’ave sich a chance ag’in.” ‘““ We're very much obliged to you, but we don’t care tio purchase any dogs, and will you please stand aside so that we can go on?” ‘“Who’s a-hindering yer, I’d ike to know?” the fellow retortcd, impudently. ‘“ Ain’t the road wide enough for all on us, without you axing a pore beggar like me for to git out of the way! And you ain’t going, I ’opes, without leaving me a trifle to remember you by, mea 4 as how you won’t buy this here dorg whic would be dirt cheap at double the money?” And then the tramp replaced the PUPPY in his pocket and leered impudently into the faces of the two ladies, It was an ugly situation, and as the easiest way to get out of it both of the girls came to the conclusion that it would be better to give the fellow a smal] sum and so get rid of him, and so at once their hands sought their pocket: books, a proceeding which was viewed with un, bounded satisfaction by the vagrant. . “'That’s right, ladies!” be cried, in glee: “sive a poor cove a lift up on the hill of life! You’)l never miss it, two rich female nobs as you are!” The pocketbooks were produced and then, oh, horror! the ladies discovered that neither one of thein possessed a single coin; the books were empty! he quick eyes of the tramp made this dis- covery aJmost as soon as the girls did, and an ugly look: came over his hard features. ‘Well, blow me tight! if this here ain’t a rum go! he muttered. ‘‘ Neither one of you has got enough tc) buy a poor man a pint of beer, and to ~—=
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4 in ¥ look at yer fixings one would be ready to take his oath that you could stand a basket of :cham- pagne if you had a mind to!” ** We really haven’t anything, sir!’ Helena exclaimed, annoyed and yet med at the threatening manner of the man. “And to think of my wasting my time a- tryin’ to sell you that valuable dorg!” the fel- low eried. “ Ain’t you kind of ashamed of yourselves to go gadding about the country with all this fine harness on, jest as if you had an in- terest in the Bank of England, and yet not even to have the price of a drink of beer in your pockets? to go and h’iste up the feelin’s of grati- tude in this here bosom of mine with a-thinkin’ that I was going to make a stake out of ye, and then to go back on me in this here awful way?’ and the vagabond shook his head, mournfully. Then, suddenly, his keen little eyes caught sight of a five-dollar gold piece which Winifred wore attached to her watch-chain. ‘““Whatever is that?’ he cried, in pretended astonishment. ‘‘If my eyes don’t deceive me it’s a jolly good bit of stuff, but mebbe it ain’t the real thing.” ‘Oh, you mustn’t take that, sir!” Helena ex- claimed, in alarm; ‘it’s a gift to this lady, and she prizes it very highly!” “* And who is a going to take it?’ he almost shouted, indignantly. ‘It’s a blooming shame if you are a-going to take me fora highwa robber, right to onst! May I be jiggered if it ain’t a five-dollar piece though! Now, miss seeing as how I’m so hard up—lI ain’t had a good square meal for three days—if you war to gust lend me that little bit of stuff for a few days— jest for about: a week, you know; I wouldn’t spend it, but jest make a raise on it, and then when [ get my remittances from ’ome, across the waters, you know, I’m one of the bleeding aristocracy, you bet, why then Id bring it back to you. Jest think, miss, you might save a poor man like me from starvation. In course I could take and rip it right off of you, and hit yera smashin’ blow in the face, maybe, that would spile that beautiful nose of yourn,” and the ruf- fian doubled — his fist and shook it menacingly at the alarmed girls, who clung to each other in terror, ‘‘’cos thar ain’t anybody around to in- terfere, for this is a werry lonely place, but 1 ain’t that kind o’ man; I wouldn’t do that, not unless you provokes me to it, ’cos I’m jest as gentle as a kitten, when I ain’t crossed and everything goes jest as | want it to. So, miss, if yow’re willing for to lend it to me for to kee me from starving or from a-cuttin’ somebody’s throat, why, in course, I’/ll take it, and Tl call down ’eaven’s blessing on your head, so I will! You'll lend it to me, won’t yer? Yer wouldn’t drive a poor cove to despair and make him do something which he might be sorry for ever afterwards?” And as he finished hisspeech the man came a step nearer to the girls and extended his hand, almost clutching the gold-piece. “ Yes, yes, take it!” cried Winifred, terribly alarmed, and endeavoring, wita trembling hands, to unfasten the gold-piece, ‘“‘ Sha’n’t I help you, marm?” the tramp asked, with elaborate politeness. ‘‘Sha’n’t I take it off? Those beautiful white fingers of yours will never be able to do it.” “Yes, yes, take and welcome,” the girl stam- mered, so thoroughly affrighted that she would have paid almost any price to have gotten rid of the ruffian. Asingle twist of the tramp’s fingers and he snapped the gold-piece from the chain, ‘““Pm only a-borrowin’ of it, you know,” he said, as he marched around the ladies and duck- ed his head in what was intended to be a grate- ful bow. ‘‘I couldn’t think of keepin’ it, you know. Inside of a week I'll give it back to you. (ll find out where you live, and I'll bring it to you. Don’t you be alarmed about it! It will as safe as though you had it yourself, bless your sweet little heart! Gvood-day, ladies, ('m jest awfully grateful, 1 am. Ta, ta!” and then, turning his back upon the town, he march- ed off up the road toward the brick-works, and 300n disappeared around the bend of the road. “The horrid wretch!” Helena cried, ‘* I do be- lieve that he would have taken it by force if you hadn’t given it to him, but what will Bub say?” The five-dollar gold-piece was the stroke-oar’s gift to Winifred. CHAPTER IX, A BATTLE ROYAL. ‘On, I don’t know; I expect that he will be terribly angry,” the other replied, in a helpless sort of way, '‘ but I don’t see how I could very well have avoided parting with it.” “The wretch was determined to have it; how very unlucky that we should have come out without any change in our pocket-books!” ‘Yes; I will never do so again.” “But perhaps he would have insisted upon | having the gold-piece anyway?’ Helena sug- | “Tt is very likely.” “Let us hurry along home; 1 don’t know what on earth to say to Bub. there'll be a dreadful time!” * Yes, I suppose so, i / ! ; | { I hope that he won't | whew I was blame me, for I couldn’t help it, could. I, Helena?” “No, you r little puss, of | course you couldn’t, Why, the fellow frightened ‘me, and [am not easily frightened; but det us: hurry along, for he might take it into his head to come back.” They acted upon the suggestion at once, but they had hardly turned the slight bend in the road when they came face to face with Law- rence and Peyton. Bub’s keen eyes noticed the traces of agita- tion so plainly apparent upon Winifred’s face, and his anxiety was at once aroused. ‘““Why, what’s the matter, Winny? You are as pale as a ghost,” he exclaimed. “Oh, a horrid man, Bud!” Helena explained nse tramp—just gone up toward the rail- ro: +] ** And did he trouble you?” “*T should think he did!” and Helena proceed- ed to relate all that had papeee: ‘Then, when he insisted-upon the gold-piece you gave it to him?” asked Otis, when she h finished. ‘* Yes; and, Otis, don’t be angry! He really was a terrible creature!” ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. » Peyton, you attend to the ladies. I’m off for that man and that money !” “Be careful, Bub; he’s an ugly fellow!” warned Peyton; but the stroke-oar only laughed and hurried up the road. Five minutes’ brisk walk brought Lawrence in sightof the tramp, who was leisurely stroll- i ong. ub quickened his pace, but took icular care to walk quietly, so as not to excite the at- tention of the fellow, and so successful was he in this that he got within ten yards of the man before the tramp was aware of his presence. And then, the moment that the fellow turned his head, Bub accosted him: ** Hallo, you fellow; Il want that five-dollar gold-piece!’ “Wot five-dollar gold-piece?’ replied the | tramp, defiantly, turning squarely around so as to face the young man, as if he fully realized | that flight was impossible and that he must face: | it out. “The gold-piece you took from that young lady down im the hollow,” said Bub, advancing to within easy ‘ reaching ” distance~of the fel- | low. The man took a good survey of the stroke-oar before he made reply, and an excellent judge of the human form divine was this same unsavory tramp, as far as muscular force and action were | concerned. In his time, in merrie England, he: had assisted at many a beac encounter upon the green sward, and was reputed to be a tolerably good judge in that sort of thing. And now, as he took stock of this you apparently ‘‘ meant business,” he fully compre- | hended that if the new-comer knew anything of the ‘‘noble art” of self-defense, he would turn out to be a pretty tough customer to handle, and although he was “an ugly one” with the fists himself, yet the young man had the advan- tage in size, weight, length of reach, and, above all, in the freshness which youth alone can give. And so, as he couldn’t run, and concluded that he had better not risk a fight, there was nothing to be done but to lie out of it. “So help me!” he cried, ‘‘ I don’t know noth- ing bout no gold-piece! You've picked up the wrong chicken, pees feller, I guess you're ar- ter a stoat-built chap, werry roughly rigged, that jest run up the road a minute ago. He was a-hurrying along as if somebody was after him, and I sed to myself, sed I, when he went by, ‘ Old chap, you ain’t be’n up to no good!’” ‘* No nonsense, you rogue,” Bub eried, sharply; “Tve no time to waste with you. Hand over that gold-piece!” ‘Don’t you believe a cove when he tells you! that he ain’t the chap?’ the tramp growled ina sullen tone. “Of course I don’t believe you, you vaga- bond!” “Well, I ain’t the man and I ain’t got no time | to stand talking here with you; I’ve got a busi- ness ap’intment up yonder, so I’ll jest toddle | along,” the tramp said, in a sulky way, pretend- | ing to turn but at the same time being careful | to keep his face toward the young man—not to | be taken by surprise if he knew it.” “You hand out that gold-piece and then you cm “ae just as soon as you like!” Bub cried, sternly. ‘‘T guess you won’t stop me from going!” the man replied, insolently. ‘‘Who be you? an’ | ioe i wot’s yer authority. anyhow?” | Bu “This is my authority,” the stroke-oar re- plies, and he held up a big brown fist which ooked to be as hard as iron, ‘“Oh, two can play at that game, my nibs!” | the tramp cried, throwing himself with the ease | of a practiced boxer into a defensive position. | “ And now, as a friend ! warn you, don’t you aggravate me, ’cos I’m an ugly men when f get | a-goin’; I'm jest.as gentle as a kitten when I | ain’t crossed, but if Pm aggravated;:why, m= abad lot! You don’t know: me, cove. | Old Greenbacks they call me on the-road; but | a Birmingham boy at ’ome, there — man, who |. | busy attaching the coin to the chain; | edits wasn’t many of the kids wot could put up their dooks with Jerry Mulligan, and that’s me! Did you ever hear of Tom Sayers?—well, I’d ’ad the gloves on im. » Wot do you think of that?’;and the tramp cut a caper as he spoke. “For the last time I ask you for that,gold- iece!” the stroke-oar cried, a dangerous light/in is éyes. ‘“Oh, you go to blazes! and that’s the kind of man I am!” The strong right arm shot forth, aimed full a+ the: head of the tramp; up went the arms of the man to ward off the apparently powerful blow; but it was only a feint, for, quick asa flash, the left fist. shot.out, and taking the tramp on the unguarded chest, just over the heart, floored him as if he had been shot. ff It was an awful downfall. The concussion with the earth as well as the effect of the power- ful blow knocked the wind out of the man and for a minute or so he lay flat: on his back, gasp- ing for breath, and then he rose slowly to his feet, pretty well shaken up. ‘‘Have you got enough, or do you want an- other tap before you give up the gold-piece?” Bub demanded. “IT ain’t throwed| up the sponge yet,” Old Greenbacks growled, and then, with a careful pan he approached, the -stroke-oar, thirsting or revenge. i | ““You fool, you are determined to make me hurt you!” Bub exclaimed; ; For reply the tramp aimed a wicked blow at Bub’s head; but ‘the g arms of the student easily brushed the stroke aside and then cgain: the terrible left fist struck! the fellow a stunning blow; this time right-.between the eyes, and again he went over, headlong. This stroke settled the matter; the fight was all taken out of the man, and as soon ashe re- covered sufficiently to sit up he took the gold- piece out of his pocket and flung it at, the student. i : ‘““Take the blasted: thing!” he cried. ; oT | wouldn’t stand upag’in’ you ag’in for a hundred of ’em!” Bub picked up the:coin and strode away with hardly a glance-at the conquered man: CHAPTER X THE AV OWAL. THE stroke-oar returned: at once to the ladies, who, escorted: by Peyton, were watking: slowly along toward the town. xf The battle with the tramp had really not oc- cupied asi much time as'has been required for the narration of the incident. After | Bub’s abrupt departure the girls had’ expressed some little anxietyin regard to the issue of the interview, but the Virginian had laughed at their featse, + «imi gu yin ‘Don’t be alarmed, ladies! Bub will get’ back the token, and I would be willing to wager a trifle that he doesn’t have much trouble about the matter, either.” j “‘T hope so; but the tramp isa wicked fel- low,” Helena observed, ' “Yes, a perfect wretch!” assented Winny,. ‘“Your brother, Miss'Helena, has a very con- vincing way with him sometimes,” Peyton ob- served, lightly. OW 7 ; And the girls, never dreaming of the double meaning that there was to the sentence, accept- ed the speech literally. No doubt Bub would be able to persuade the man ‘to return the gold- piece—give him a trifle maybe to induce him to give it up. : Hardly five minutes had after Law- rence’s departure ere he came striding along the road again. ; : ‘*Here’s your gold-piece; Winny !” Bub ‘said, as he came upto the party, and he proceeded to fasten it onto the chain again,a grateful look peomnne the while in the soft, violet eyes of the girl. ‘““Did you have much trouble with the man?” Helena asked. ** Oh, no, not. much,” ‘‘He was inelined to listen to reason, then?’ Peyton cbserved. “Yes, the first argument didn’t fetch him, but the second did,” Bub: replied, dryly, pre- tending to be still busily engaged in fastening the coin to the chain. ‘Well, he didn’t seem to me to be the’ kind of man that you could argue with at all,” Hel- | ena remarked, innocently. ‘‘ Appearances are deceptive. Some of these fellows that tramp about are regular lawyers,” Peyton said, with a perteckty aaae face, hu- moring the joke; although understood. as well as though he had witnessed the affair that b had not: obtained the coin until he had thrashed the ruffiam s¢ ° : ‘Go ‘on; don’t wait; Pi, have it fixed in'a © minute,” Bub remarked, still, preten to be was to obtain a tete-a- dd yey * a sly device on his part nd Peyton, equally as desirous om his’ part: to enjoy sie siaheoesrist Miss. Helena’s so- ciety, lost no time in presenting his arm:to:her;: and »they’ strolled off in: the direction of the town. HIOo ¥Gq Bub waited until they had hat a couple -of hundred yards off, then declared that the yold-
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| | j . j j 8 piece was securely attached to the chain, pre- sented his arm to the blushing girl, and they followed in the footsteps of the others. Since the brief conversation that Bub had had with Peyton in regard to the two loves struggling within his heart he had reflected so- berly and scriously. - As he had honestly confessed, the pretty daughter of the English ale-house keeper had fascinated him, but a marriage with her was utterly out of the question; such a thing could not be thought of seriously, for a single mo- ment. There was only one way to crush the foolish fancy, and that was to bind himself firmly and finally to Winifred. Ho was certain that he loved her as well as he could love any woman, and when he had once pledged himself to her he was confident that she would act as a ian angel and keep him from the spells that the dark-haired siren was striving to weave around him. He had faith enough in himself to believe that if he plighted his word to one woman no other creature of the female kind would have power over him. For a few minutes the pair walked on in silence—the girl es happy in the society of the man she fairly idolized, and Bub medi- tating how to commence operations, for the ticklish moment having arrived he began to Ser that he had taken upon himself no easy ob. ‘‘Tam very glad indeed that I happened to come up when I did,” he began, ‘‘for if you had lost my keepsake I should have regarded it as a bad omen.’ ‘Oh, yes; it would have been dreadful,” the girl replied, simply, never having the slightest suspicion of the important avowal toward which the young man was tending. She was not unconscious of Bub’s love for her, but had never considered it in the serious light of mar- ’ riage, and although Helena, once in awhile, to joke with her in regard to the influence which she possessed over Bub, yet in her simple, “_ heart the idea that some day she might tho wife of Lawrence never came. “Pm afraid that you don’t set much value upon my littlo gift, or else you would not have with it so easily,” he continued. The girl looked hor. at the idea. “Oh, Mr. Lawrence, you must not think that!” sho replied, quickly, end in a very ear- nest tone. ‘*The man terrified me so - fully that I hardly knew what I was es ' ‘Oh, you silly little puss, did you think that I was earnest?” he exclaimed, laughing. ‘Oh, no! I understand that you wouldn’t part with my token if you could help yourself.” f Oh, no, I should be very sorry indeed to lose it,” and the girl looked with her great mild eyes trustfully up into the face of the stroke- oar, unsuspicious of the declaration which was so rapidly approaching. a Pad why would you be sorry?’ Bub asked, his tone involuntarily deepening, and his man- ner growing more and more earnest; and now, as he looked into the sweet, mild eyes of the retty maid, all remembrance of the fascinat- ing siren, tho dark-haired Kitty, vanished from is rrenlves, His lixiug for her was a delusion, due to the charms ut a howitebing face, but bis feeling for ee was pure and ardent love: so he rea- son The question confused the girl; she blushed, cast down her eyes, aud hesita “Why would 1 be sorry?’ she answered. ‘“What funny questions you ask! Wouldn’t any one be sorry to lose anything that they prized, given by one they—they liked?’ “Then you do like me, Winny?” ___ The deepand earnest tone in which the ques- tion was put caused the heart of the girl to tirill as it had never done before; for the first ae n oe life she was fully conscious of a e. ‘Like you—why, yes, of course,” she replied, hesitatingly. Her woman’s wit told her that it was no idle question, and while for certain rea- sons she feared tho coming disclosure, yet not for worlds would she by word or deed have pre- vented it; the draught. was too sweet—the plea- sure too heavenly, although her sober common sense Soe her that the words had better be left unsai “Pm glad of that, Winny,” he said, very gravely, and yet with a tone full of tenderness —‘ very glad of it indeed; and I hope that ina very short time your liking will turn into a stronger feeling.” “ A stronger feeling?’ she repeated, mechani- —_ hardly knowing what she said. ‘Yes; for, Winny, I not only like you, but I love — with all my heart and soul! h, Otis!” she murmured, and great tear- It is not a fable that sometimes in this life we poor humans ery for joy. “Yes, Winny, I love you, love you as well as a mancan love a woman, and I want you to promise that one of these days you will become my wife. t, ” the girl softly, as happy as happy could with all th happy, ould be al yoy with all the parr a eee eee tears, It was a good and sufficient answer, and the heart of the student beat fast with joy. “My own dear little girl!’ he murmured; ‘all my future life shall be devoted to your rye aro ah y this time the pair had reached the suburbs of the town, and as they walked on, unconscious of all else but love’s delirious dream, around the corner of a side-street came a stately, portly figure face to face with them, and, suddenly roused from their abstraction, the pair looked up and saw the usually placid face of Doctor Peabody, now aghast with surprise and horror. CHAPTER XI. THE DOCTOR SPEAKS. Tue doctor, in his astonishment, had halted right in front of them, and so, completel blocking the way, brought the twain to a stand- still. Winny crimsoned as red as a rose in conscious ilt; but Bub, with a defiant smile upon his ace, drew the arm of the girl still tighter within his own and calmly faced the old gentle- man. “Good gracious! is it possible?” the doctor ex- claimed, completely surprised by the unexpected meeting, the more so that for the first time he suspected the intimate relations which existed between the two young people. Doctor Artemas Peabody was quite a charac- ter in his way; a very tall man, very portly in build, with his long, white hair brushed careful- ly back of his ears, his smoothly-shaven, florid face, large blue eyes, extremely mild and placid in their look, almost always hidden behind a pair of old-fashioned glasses, the doctor’s con- stant companion for the last twenty years, his bc a figure calculated to excite attention any- where, As a scholar the doctor stood high; few men in Cambridge, that renowned precinct of the all-learned ‘' Hub,” were better learned than he, The doctor had been Bub’s guardian ever since the death of his father, which event had taken place when Bub was but a child, and in fact had been much more of a parent to him than his real father ever was, for Otis had been too young at the time of his father’s death to realize the extent of his loss. The mother of the stroke-oar had died when he was only three years old, and of course of her he remembered nothing. “Well, well,” muttered the doctor, so utter- ly bewildered by the sudden and astounding dis- covery he had made that he was completely dumbfounded. It was an awkward situation, but Bub with his usual cleverness thought of a way to get out of the dilemma. It was quite plain to him that for the first time the old doctor had awakened to the con- sciousness that there was a love-affair between himself and Winny, and that the knowledge had utterly astounded him. An explanation must come some time, and as Bub was a firm believer in the old idea of taking the bull by the horns, he determined to settle matters at once, “Winny, won’t you excuse me for a few minutes, so that I can have some conversation with the doctor?’ he said, “Run on and join Helena and Dick. The doctor and I will soon catch up with you.” “Certainly,” responded the girl, not at all sorry to be released irom the embarrassing situa- mn. The doctor and Bub, left alone together, surveyed each other for a few minutes in silence. ‘* Well, well!” the old gentleman murmured at last, with a solemn shake of the head. “What is the matter, sir?” asked Bub, as cool as a cucumber. ; “Tam a stupid old donkey not to have mis- trusted this before!” the doctor exclaimed, with another doleful shake of the head. ‘Not to have mistrusted what, sir?” “Oh, you know well enough, young man; I have been blind not to have seen that some such —— as this was almost certain to happen. It is all my own fault; I can hardly biame either of you, for it is only human nature. I am the one who should bear the blaine.” “The blame of what, sic? Pray explain.” “ Answer me a question first,” said the old mtleman, quite abruptly. ‘What had you n saying to Winifred when I encountered you just now?” “Sir, I will answer the question as frankly as it has been asked,” the stroke-oar replied with na honesty. ‘‘I had been telling the young that I thought she was the dearest and best in this world, and that I loved her and ould never be happy until she consented to be- come my wife.” The old gentleman fairly groaned aloud at this extremely frank avowal. ‘* How is this, sir? You don’t seem to like it,” Bub questioned. In truth he was rather astonished at the dismay so plainly written upon the fuce of the doctor. ‘**Oh, it is sheer madness!” the old gentleman cried; ‘‘ such a union cannot be!” t ‘Excuse me, doctor, but it will be!” Bub re- plied, firmly. “Oh, no, my dear boy, you must not think of such a thing!” the doctor exclaimed, evidently laboring under deep excitement. ‘I know that you t: ink you love her—” ‘Think, sir!” Bub cried, my persis “Yes, yes, I know; you feel sure that you love her and that you will never love any one else,” the doctor continued, imposing silence with a wave of his hand. ‘‘That is the way we all are when youthful blood runs riot in our veins. I know how it is myself; but, you will get over it. Ido not blame you; it was all my fault in brin ing you together; I looked upon Winny as a child; I did not dream that she was going to turn into a woman so soon. I have been blind, but now I wake to a consciousness of my. folly. But, my dear boy, you really must banish this idea from your head—for my sake you must.” “* Doctor, it is impossible!” “Yes, yes, I know that you think so now; but in time you will get over that idea.” “Doctor, I shall never get over it; and why do you make such a difficulty about the matter? What objection is there to my marriage with Winny?” The agitation of the old gentleman visibly in- creased. He took his old-fashioned silk hand- kerchief from his pocket and mopped his face with it; the perspiration was streaming from every pore. ‘“‘ My boy, why do yo force me to an expla- nation?” he murmured, evidently suffering deep- ly. ‘Is it not enough that I tell you the union cannot be?” “No, sir, it is not enough,” Bub replied, re- spectfully, for he pitied the agitation of the old gentleman, and yet ly, for his was not a nature to give up a cherished object without good and sufficient reasons. ‘This question concerns the happiness of my whole life, and unless you give me some good reason why I should not seek Winifred’s hand in marriage, most assuredly I will persist in my suit.” ‘*But just consider what a terrible situation youare placing me in!” the old gentleman cried; “IT am your guardian; I have cared for you since you was a child; you are the heir toa large estate—a man of fortune and of family, and what is my daughter? Just think of it! what is she? the child of a penniless old man— of an obscure man who depends upon his daily toil that_he may live; will not tie world say that I—I your tutor—your guardian—deliber- ately plotted, to Herow > you into a marriage with my child that I might profit by “legal wealth? Yes, all the world will wt it; all the world will believe it, and I, in my old age, will be coverea with shame!” The good man was laboring under strong ex- citement, but to Bub’s experienced eyes it was plain that in some measure the agitation was forced, ‘“Ah, Dector Peabody, you are not treating me honestly now!” his tone was one of reproach, ‘This is not the true reason why you object to my marriage with your daughter. There is something more than this. I know you too well to believe, even for a single instant, that you care two straws about the opinion of the world when your own heart 5 or you of all wrong- doing. How often have I heard you rail at the vile and unjust verdicts that the world’s juries often give? How often have I heard you say that the upright man kept on in the even tenor of his way, unmoved ly the clamor of popular opinion, and that in the end justice would be done him? Doctor, for some reason you are de- ceiving me. This reason that you have given is not the true one,” ‘“My dear boy, why should I deceive you?” the vd gentlemen plead, wringing his hands in an ’ “I do not know, sir, but I feel confident in this matter that for some reason you are not treating me frankly; you are hiding something from me.” “No, no, you mast not think so!” the old gen- tleman persisted. é " bsg will not satisfy my curiosity upon this point “But, my dear boy, you must not think there is anything—I mean that you must not think that—” and then completely confused, his «ld guardian broke down and mopped his face with his handkerchief more vigorously than ever. Bub regarded the doctor for a few minutes in silence, but from the look upon his features it was plain that he was not at all satisfied. “You wish me to give up all idea of marry- ing Winny?” he said at last. ‘Yes, yes; you must give it up.” bbs Simply because I am rich and she is poor?” “Yes, yes.” : ‘“‘ Well, doctor, I sha’n’t do anything of the a
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The Winning Oar. er ee Sees sort!” Bub exclaimed, firmly. ‘‘I love Winny, here little place? Was there ever a drunken and I think that she loves me, and I am deter- mined to have her if it is possible!” ‘But, it is not possible, my dear boy; you don’t know the obstacles—the shameful secret— but there, you are forcing me to utter words which I have no business to speak!” The old gentleman was now more agitated than ever, and Bub really sympathized with him, although he was utterly unable to compre- hend the re ison, * But then, for the present, let us say no more about the matter,” the doctor continued. ‘I will take an early opportunity to question Winifred and ascertain exactly what her fee!- ings are in this matter; and now let us go home.” Si ‘e by side the ee Bub puzzled and the doctor distressed. CHAPTER XI A FAMILY COUNCIL. Tr sunset hour had come, and the innkeeper, old Googage, with his better-half, Mrs. Mary Ann Googage, a stout, we:l-preserved, motherly - looking woman, having finished their tea, sat under the shadows of the cherry trees in the lit- tle front garden of the ale-house. It was too early yet for customers, for the college boys rarely honored the ‘* Woodbine ” with their presence until the shades of night had covered in the earth. ; The old man was sige, Be 0 and the good dame was busy with her knitting, while from the kitchen at the rear of tae house came the clatter of dishes, and ever and anon the clear voice of the innkeeper’s daughter warbled a bit of song as melodiously as a bird. “I tell ’ee, old woman, she’s a rare ’un!” Goo- gage exclaimed, taking the pipe out of his mouth for a moment, and nodding in the direc- tion of the gin]. “Yes, she is, old man; she beats any canary that I ever heard,” the dame replied, with con- scious pride. ’ “And che'’s a beauty, too, although I say it that shouldn’t, but it’s the truth. I tell you what, wife, she can hold up her head with any on’em, although, mebbe, she hasn’t got sich fine togs as some of the gals in the big houses.” Well Ben, I’m sure our Kitty aliers dresses like a lady, and she looks like one, too, and she could dress herself a great deal better if she choosed—that is, I mean, she could wear richer and more costly clothes, but she don’t seem to caro for ’em.” ‘*Mebbe she gives us too much of her money?” the innkeeper suggested. ‘‘I don’t really know what would have become of us if it hadu’t been for her. Jest to think of Lera-starting out into the world ali on her own hook and a-making enough wages for to help us bold on to this lit- tle place. Ah! in those days the Woodbine had a touch time of it, but now that I’ve got in with the college boys, we’re beginning to pr a? “ And, speaking of the students,” the old lady remarked, an anxious expression upon her face, “do you know that I’m afraid that it isn'ta very good idea to let Kitty get acquainted with all these wild young men?” “ Why not?” asked Googage, almost gruffly. “ Well, old man, you know that boys are boys, and girls will be girls. Now they pay Kitty all sorts of compliments, enough to turn any ir)’s head, and—’ : " What of it?’ It was quite evident from the tone of the old man that he did not relish the re- marks of his ‘‘ partner for life.” ** Well, you know it ain’t likely that any one of these young gentlemen can have any serious intentions in regard to our girl,” the old lady replied, ‘and I’m afraid that she'll get ideas in her head that won’t do her any good.” “Why shouldn’t an of ’em have an intentions, as you call’em?’ demand n, forcibly. i me Now, don't get angry, Ben; you know I’m only speaking for the best. It ain’t a likely thing, you know; they’re all young gentlemen of property, and of good faMily, and all that sort of thing, while we’re—” _ “Well, what are we? Spit it out, old_wo- man!” Googage exclaimed,sarcastically. * Ble~s my stars! if I didn’t think that in this here country one man was jest as good as another, if not sometimes a little better, but if you go on, like you is a- going now, bless me! if you won’t make out that we’re regular tramps, all on us!” Mr. Googage was evidentl offended. ‘Oh, I knows, Ben, that there ain’t anybody in the world as has call to say a single word ag’in’ us,” she answered. “Well, 1 should say not!” he blurted out; “ and if anybody did, although I am a member of the church and a Christian man, I ’opes, I think that I wouid be apt to backslide for a few minutes and jest let ’em see the style in which I used to knock the coves around when I wasa waterman on the Thames, in hold Hengland.” “Well, I knows, Ben, that we can ’old our Yerds up with hanybody, for the matter of oh : ““! think we can!” puffing out a great cloul of smo’e. “Don’t I pay my taxes? Doves any Loi;.bur find fault with me for keeping this serious the old man seen around kere?’ Was there ever a quar- relin the Woodbine? Do any loafers come here at all? Not much! MHere’s one saloon in the city of Cambridge where you can’t buy any- thing stronger than ale if a man was to offer its weight in gold, and the people know it, anda mug of good ale never hurt anybody yet; and now, wife, don’t you go to running the family down. We've livid here ten years, and no nia can say that I ever wronged a mortal out ofa farthing, and now, just use you’re afraid that some one of these young college chaps may take a fancy to our girl, you’re a-going on-and a-trying to make out that we ain’t as good as anybody else. Why, old woman, our Kitty is a match for any man im the land, I don’t care who heis! Why, the on of the President him- self, and [ think that he’s one of the nobs, if there is any, might be proud to win such a lass. She’d be an honor to any man in the land, that’s what J say!” And having thus relieved his mind by this free and frank expression of his sentiments, the innkeeper again devoted his attention to his pipe, w hich had nearly gone out. rs. Googage shook her head soberly for a moment. “Ah, Ben, that’s allers the way with you,” she said. ‘ You allers flies in a passion instead of listening to reason. Now, Ben, what I wants to. say is this. I’ve noticed lately that this Mr. Lawrence and our Kitty have a good deal to say to each other.” ‘What of it?’ exclaimed the old man, dog- gedly. ‘“‘Mr. Lawrence is a gentleman; he won't do the girl no harm!” ‘* Nobody said that he would,” the dame re- pee just a little spitefully. ‘‘ But, what is r. Lawrence, tell me that, please?’ ‘* What ishe? Why, he’s as fine a gentleman as the Lord ever put on the earth; there ain’: a square inch of meanness on his whole carcass!’’ ‘* He’s a gentleman, isn’t he?” ‘* Of course he is! What a question!” ** Awful rich, too?” J “Yes, s’pose so: I’ve heard that he is.” “ , Ben, do you think that he’s a-going to marry our Kitty?” The old woman put the question plumply, and leaning forw: looked the innkeeper square in the face. **Dang it! who said that he would?” he cried, bringing his hand smartly down upon his knee. ‘You say so when you let the flirtation go on and don’t tell the girl to mind what she is about,” the dame replied. ‘There ain’t a flirtation atween ’em!” ‘Yes, there is! I’ve seen it! I’m not blind if you are.” ‘‘He might get a worse wife than our Kitty.” ** Oh, no doubt about that!” the old lady ex- claimed, with conscious pride. ‘*She’s good enough for a duke or a prince!” “We don’t ’ave ’em in this country, you know.” 3 ““Never mind; she be good enough for ’em if they was here. But now, Benj Googage, I jest want = to give your attention to t ere subject. I don’t want that girl to get any ideas in her head that ain’t going to do her the Jeast bit of good. If this here Mr. Lawrence, who is a perfect gentleman, as I knows well enough, means to marry Kitty, well and good—” ‘And how do you know that he doesn’t?” in- terrupted the old man, abruptly. = girl—a ladylike girl and she had a good ringing up. She can like an angel, play on the piano—can talk with a college professor, and there ain’t anybody that could meet her and tell without a knowing of her that she was- n’t the daughter of one of the greatest nobs in the land.” ‘“‘ That’s all true enough—there ain’t anybody as could say that isn’t true! but, Ben. Googage, he don’t mean it!” When the better- half of the innkeeper desired to be ees emg 3 impressive she always called him by his name, “How do you know that he don’t?” The old man was obstinate, To tell the truth he had no- ticed the growing intimacy between Kitty and the stroke-oar, and the wish was father to the thought that Lawrence would take a fancy to the girl, and, despite the difference in their po- sitions, make her his wife. ‘* Oh, I know well enough,” the dame replied, with a warning shake of the head. ‘“ What's the use of trying to blind ourselves with our own hands? The young gentleman is all well and honest enough. Kitty is a pretty girl, and she’s a ladylike girl, and a *un, too; any- body can see that with half an eye; it’s cole natural that he should take a fancy to her; mebbe he does think that she’d do for a wife, but just wait till he lets on to his people and then see what a row there'll be!” “He ain’t got any!” Googage remarked, Boney “both his father and mother are ead. ** Well, then he’s got uncles and aunts,” sisted the dame, not at ail put out by the intel- ligence. “‘ And if he ain’t got uncles and aun then he’s got friends—nobs in_ his own walk lite, and a pretty time they'll make abont it. Yon jest see! No doubt he means well enongch, bus when the pinch comes le’ll back out, aac “ Kitty is a- . then what kind of a child should we have on our hands? Kitty would go crezy, I know!” “Oh, bother, mother! You're allers borrow- ing trouble,” the old man retorted, sulkily. He was annoyed at having his bright day-dream so rudely destroyed, and ig he could not help ac- knowledge—to himself, though, not to his wife —that there was reason in her words. “Better borrow it afore than be troubled with it arterward,.” she replied, sagely, “‘but you jest talk to Kitty; jest drop a few words, you now. : ‘*T sha’n’t do anything of the sort,” he return- ed, bluntly. ‘‘She’ll be going back to her work in a few days now and that will end the matter, but I’ll keep a look-out for her until then.” ** Well, that will do; and now I will go in, for the dew is commencing to fall.” Quite satisfied the dame withdrew into the house, leaving the old man to his reflections, which were anything but pleasant. These reflections were soon in- terrupted by a man whc sauntered up to the fence and leaning on the pickets looked. over at the innkeeper. CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. Tue innkeeper was not in a very good humor and therefore when he looked up and saw that the new-comer was arough-looking fellow, with a dirty, unshaven face, and that his garments were much the worse for wear, he accosted him quite rudely: “‘ Well, what do you want?’ For tramps the sturdy Englishman had an in- veterate dislike, for it was im ible to con- vince him that there wasn’t work for every man in this world if he sought for it diligently and in the right way. ““How are you, boss?” responded the men, ducking his head, and affecting a jovial asp: ct; “have you | ng the price of a pint of beer in your pocket At once, from the peculiar form of the man’s 8 bh as well as from his manner, the host con- cluded that the speaker was an old cuuntry man a discovery that immediately annoyed him, anc if he had put the cause of bis annoyance into words, he would have exclaimed: “ One of the blarsted hounds that has to eut and rnn from ecross the weter, and cor es over here to disgrace the country that had to kick him out!” ‘“Why don’t you go to work and earn your beer?” Googage responded, in enswer to the in- quiry. ‘* And where’s a man to git work when there ain’t any?’ demanded the tramp, for such he evidently was. “T guess that all the bunting after work that you have ever done vever Lurt you much?!” ike innkeeper exclaimed, sarcasticaily. ‘* Well, wot sort of a man are you, anyway?’ cried the tramp, his manner suddenly ones and becoming insolent. He had «aught sigh of the modest sign of the Woodbine Inn. ~ “ You had better travel right along or mebbe you'll find out what kind of a man 1 am!” Goo- gage cried, rising in wrath and shaking a rawny fist in the face of the tramp. “Do you keep this here ginahopr queried the fellow, prudently retreating a step so as to get beyond the reach of the old man, \ ‘Don’t you call my place a gin-shop or Pll come out there and d you, you loafer!” cried Googage, oe b ‘ Well, sell gin, don’t you?” the tram retorted, defiantly, ‘ and a precious nice article you are for to about work; you work, don’t you? Oh, yes, a-selling of p’ison for to take away the brains of sich gentl’men as I am e “Move on, move on!” Googage exclaimed: ‘you'll get nothing here but a thrashing!” ‘* Not a move, you old _ bloke!” respon the tramp, defiantly, ‘*for I’m a-coming in for to’ atronize your establishment. ‘I’m a good Resiéaritae: I am! I returns good for evil; you're hard-’earted enough to refuse a poor cove a oe beer, so I’m going to buy it, jest likea no Rs. 2 ae want your custom! Your roam is an your company; you jest and take your eo somavuhaie ise. . 4 *t my money good?” ‘*No, not here.” “ And why not?” “Never you mind; jest you tramp on, will ou?” blow me tight!” cried the fellow, ab- ruptly; for the first time he had taken a look at the innkeeper. ‘‘ Well, I never! If it isn’t! Who would have thought it! "ang me if I ain’t knocked all into a cocked hat!” looked at the tramp in astonish- ment, “Oh, you don’t know me, of course! When a man is down on his luck nobody knows him!” “IT never saw you before!” the innkeeper re- plied, ‘quite ly. Oh, no, of course not!” cried the tramp, with an air of lofty disdain. “1 didn’t lvave Easton rincnta§ odd years ago with « wife and a bably my fortune in this here country jest’ be- to ave a dispute with a ker cows in rerard to a Mokor: lo he pive me the Wee Cus TP pulvo sin sales le niver jest in.
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{ { oe s went and lodged information ag’in’ me and swore I rob him of it, and so, as I‘didn’t want to _ ther perlice to any trouble, seeing as how I had sold the ticker, l emigrated. Oh, you don’t know me, in course! ain’t Ben and I ain’t your lawful ? cousin, Jerry n? ‘* Well, well, it ain't possible!” the innkeeper cried, in astonishment. 1" “« Wish I may die if it ain’t!” . ‘*T thought that you were dead, long ago.” ‘*Oh, no; I’m one of the kind that allers turns up like a bad penny.” ‘* Well, you allers was a bad. egg,” Googage remarked, with a solemn shake of the head. ‘‘ Ah, that’s the old ery!” Milligan.exclaimed, indignantly; ‘‘ give a dog a bad name and then hang him. ess I ain’t any worse than the rest of the world, only I —— to be found out; that’s what’s the matter!” ‘* Where's the wife and babby now?” **Gone, both on ’em; much better off, too.” X%e8; I should say so,” Googage observed, grimly. ‘“‘ Well, what you driving at? No good, I suppose.” “There now is ree where you’re out; I’m no tramp, I ain’t, although I have done my sharé in that line, but I’m here now on business.” | ‘* Business?” the innkeeper, remarked, suspi- rd with a look at the seedy clothes of the other, “Yes, sir; that’s my game, and I reckon that I’m playing a lone ‘hand for all it’s worth, as a Western would say.” ‘‘And what business might you have to at- tend to, ’'d like to know?’ It was plain that the old innkeeper did not have a very high opin- ion of his relative. The tramp put his tongue into his cheek in a very knowing way, and then winked cunningly at Googage. “Don’t you be to curious, old man,” he re- sponded; ‘‘all I care to say at present about my business is that I’m going to make a ten-strike afore I’m four-and-twenty hours older.” ‘ “A ten-strike!” exclaimed , dubious- y: ““That’s my leetle game; jest you mark it now, and then arter that operation is performed, Pll tog up a little. I ain’t in jest the rig now to at a first-class hotel.” “No, I should think not.” ‘‘ But now, I. say, Ben, ain’t you going to stand summat? A drop of beer and a bit of y bread and cheese, and if yer too stingy to give ':6 to. yer own flesh, why, I guess I’ve got the blunt about me somewhere to pay you for it,” —— said, half cringingly and half defiant- y: ) “Oh, come in, man; you’re- welcome to a bite of the best that there is in the house, for blood is thicker than water, renga you are, and al- lers have been, a precious bad lot,” he tramp grinned; he regarded this remark as a sort of a com ewe: a age open e gate and the fellow came Pin se in. The old man led the way to the kitchen, which was unoccupied, the mother and = ars having betaken themselves up-stairs. The per set out a plate of cold meat, and some bread and cheese, before his visitor, peo then went to the bar and drew him a mug of ale,, ’ When he returned, he found that his long-ab- - sent relative had turned up. the light upon the kitchen table, which the prudent old lady had regulated so as to just keep the flame alive and that was sa ge he was rear 4 the food: in a manner which plainly indicated that he had not care to a ‘‘good square meal” for some e. “ Aha, Ben, my tulip, that’s the stuff!” he ex- claimed, his eyes glistening at sight of the foam- ing mug of * 6. ‘‘ That’s the sort of ‘tipple for yours As old e@ set the ale down before the tramp, for the time he got a good view of his face, and he stared in astonishment at it, for not only was it rough and unshaven, but there was a discolored lump on: the forehead right dhe eyed Vebhapedagy Diviieced tsdhanorens 8 eyes, whic token ee “> enced of the innkeeper that some owerful had been taking liberties with Mr. Milligan’s frontispiece. ff ! whobave you been running against?” Googage asked, as he sat down on the opposite side. of the table. iit ‘Benjamin, you are too much for me,” Milli- van replied, with his mouth full; and then'he { ook a great swallow of the ale, ‘‘It/was a oung cove wot I picked up for a duffer, jest / sutside the town. You know I was allers ver nandy with my dukes, and I jest cheeked this) teller ’cos I thought that I d maul ’im if) he up to the scratch. I took ’im for one of» at the wrong door, but I must go for’im az’in, end then he jest flattened me right out. Id gratitude-like, and then, when he got sober, he | put up my mauleys with a good many of ’em, our name The Winuing Oar. rom ‘om Sayers downwards, but this chap was the smartest of ’em all.” ‘One of the college boys, I suppose; you ought to have had better sense; mame all the students know how to handle themselves, jest like the Oxford boys at’ome.” ** Well, I got all I wanted; I ain’t difficult to satisfy.” By this time the fellow had made quite a sub- stantial meal, and then, with one long pull, he finished the ale, setting the mug down with a sigh and a wishful look. ‘Will you have another one?” asked the inn- keeper, rising. In his heart he thoroughly de- — his unworthy relative, yet he yielded to the sacred claims of hospitality. . ‘No, thankee,” responded the tramp, reluc- tantly, and the refusal evidently cost him a struggle. *You’re quite welcome to it, you know,” Googage remarked. ‘ [ can’t say that I’m glad to.see ye, cos that would be a lie, for I ain’t; you never was good for much, except for get- ting into trouble and dragging in everybody else that tried to help you, but still I ain’t a-go- ing to refuse a bit to eat or a sup of ale while I have it.” “Pm wery much obligated to you,” Mr. Mil- ligan replied, rising and bowing with statel Oliteness, ‘‘and I guess that there ain’t muc ove lost atween us; you’re an honest worm, while I’m a soarin’ eagle—” ‘‘And your wings have been cut many a time,” Googage added, dryly. **Tll. fetch my mark some of these days, when my luck turns, see if I don’t; and now I must be off. Do you ’appen to know, Benjamin, a lip, ag a certain Doctor Artemas Peabody ives The innkeeper stared at the question. CHAPTER XIV. AN UNEXPECTED MHETING. ‘* DoctoR ARTEMAS PraBopy?” asked the inn- keeper, slowly. >. ‘t* ‘“That’s the name, and he’s the pippin I want.” ‘What do you want with him?’ The tramp laid his og alongside of his nose and then he winked, slyly. ‘Jest as if I should tell you that, you know.” ‘Oh, of course it’s no business of mine, only [ was rather taken aback at the idea of your | wanting to see the doctor.” a ‘“* He’s the gentleman as I’ve got business with, and a precious long way I’ve come to see him, too. No doubt you’re staggered at a poor cove like me a-having business with a nob like him, but. it’s the truth for all that, and I'll bet you a trifle, Ben, that. I make a raise out of the doctor afore I get. through with him.” “Oh, youw’re going to make a raise out of the doctor, eh?’ Milligan looked at him suspiciously for a mo- »ment, before he answered the question, as if he was afraid that he had said too much. ‘* All in an honest way, you know; no black- mail or anything of that kind. The fact is, Ben, I don’t mind telling you; you know; I let the doctor have some valuable property about six- teen years ago, and now I’ve come to get it back. ‘You let the doctor have some valuable pro- perty?” cried the innkeeper, in astonishment. ‘Oh, yes; you wouldn’t believe that I ever had sich a thing, would you, to look at me now?” ‘No, I shouldn’t.” ‘It’s a fact though, and I think that the doc- tor will fork over pretty lively; he’s bleeding rich, ain’t he?” “What makes you think so?” asked Googage, evasively. ““ Why, ’cos he was pretty weil off then, and that’s a matter of seventeen or eighteen years ago,” and the tramp looked anxiously at the innkeeper as he spoke, a lurking suspicion in his mind that the doctor’s condition financially might not be as good as he could have wished. “Well, Jerry, if you’ve waited all these years to make a stake out of the doctor, all I’ve got to say is, that I’m afeard that you'll have your labor for your pains.” “You don’t tell me so, now?” cried Milligan, in surprise. “Fact! he was pretty well off, but about eight or ten years ago he went into a real estate speculation over in Somerville and when _ the panic of 73 came it completely brokehim They say that he’s taking every cent that he can earn now except jest enough to live on, to pay off old debts. ‘ ‘*Well; mine is an old debt, a = tet old debt,” Milligan remarked, thoughtfully, ‘* but if he ain’t got the stamps of course my little game won’t work.” “No, not much.” “Do yous’ that he could raise a thousand dollars?’ the p asked, reflectively. . Googage indulged in a prolonged whistle. “ A thousand dollars! and are you going for a stake like that?” _“Oh, bosh! that ain’t nothing!” Milligan re- lied, contemptmously. ‘‘If he had the stamps could strike him fer five thousand!” OS _—— ‘‘Five thousand!” cried the innkeeper, in amazement “Or ten, maybe; yes, he’d go ten thousand dollars if he was well fixed. His wife—how iz she? ain’t she got the stamps? When these rich nobs fail, you know, their wives generally make a big rake out of it.” ‘Bless you, man! his wife’s been dead for these ten years!” The under-jaw of the tramp dropped. ““The old woman dead!” ‘Yes, ten years ago.” “* Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” ‘* Does that bother you?’ “‘Rayther! Well, l’lltoddle along; there’s no good of my standing here and talking to you about the thing. But it’s bleeding hard, you know, when a man has made provision for his old age and comes for to go for it and finds that it ain’t there, it’s a blooming shame, you know! Well, I'll see you ag’in, Ben; so long!” The tramp marched to the door; but on the thresh- old suddenly paused. “There! if I wasn’t a-going without finding out where the old bloke lives! ‘‘Putnam street,” responded Googage, and then he gave the fellow the necessary directions in regard to finding the house. Mr. Milligan departed, leaving the old inn- keeper in a state of great amazement, “Ten thousand dollars,” he murmured, ‘‘ and where in this world did Jerry Milligan ever get anything worth ten thousand dollars. or the hundredth part of that sum?’ And the old man sat down and wrestled in his mind with this puzzle. As for the tramp he proceeded straight to the house of the doctor, and, as it was not) far off, - some eight or ten minutes he stood before the oor. ‘‘This must be the place,” he muttered, ‘‘a brown house with a mansard roof and a la»).p- post in front of the door—plenty of big trees in the yard. This is the werry identical spot. And the Doe is broke, eh?’ he continued, medita- tively, leaning over the fence and trying to peer through the trees into the i sg windows of the house, which sat quite a distance back from the street. ‘‘ Well, now, if that’s the truth the jig is up as far as he is concerned, and I'll have to come down on the other, and that’s a precious sight more troublesome, I hate to have to do anything with women, anyway, but if the doc- ; but first tor is gone up, why, it can’t be helped let me see if "Tve "got that leetle document ali correct.” Turning and leaning his back against the te, so as to have the benefit of the light of the amp, he fished out a tin tobacco-box from an inner pocket, and opening it took from it a fold- ed paper, yellow with age. bis he opened carefully and by the light of the lamp perused it; at the bottom of the paper was the bold, clerkly signature of Doctor Arte- mas “ornate g “There, | think that there ain’t no mistake about this here leetle document!” he exclaimed, with a chuckle, as he carefully folded it up again, replaced it in the box and then consigned it to his pocket again. “T guess that the Doe won’t deny that, ’ere big signature of his’n!” ut hardly had the triumphant. speech passed his lips, when a sudden idea occurred th hitees an idea that made him scowl and glare around him at the darkness. *S’posen she’s dead!” he muttered; ‘the Doe’s wife is gone, and mebbe she’s slipped off the handle, too! Well, that would be a Jeft- handed lick in the jaw! What an ass I was that 1 didn’t ask Ben, but then he might have suspicioned something; he was a-worry ing ‘bout what I wanted the doctor for; but what harm would it havedone? If she’sa cold corpus, why then I'm dished, and it’s a bleeding shame if it is so! Then again the tramp turned his attention to the house. ‘“*T think I can see women’s dresses through them windows,” he muttered. The creeping vines clinging to the pillars ¢ { the veranda, and the bushes in the grounds i: front, obstructed the view so.that it was almo: ‘ impossible to distinguish clearly. the figures of the occupants of the parlor. “Shall I-walk up boldly and ring the frox door-bell like a precious nob, or shall I skirmish round the house and see ’ow the land lays afore I pitches in?’ meditated Mr. Milligan. 6 latter course was decidedly more to his liking, as, through all his life, his way had ever been a devious one, and he was about to put the een in execution when the approach of a gen. leman up the street attracted his attention. “Tl wait until this | bloke passes, ’cos he might suspicion that 1 wasn’t after no good,” i n muttered, and so he crossed the side- walk and leaned mene against one of the trees which lined the str t, taking care to get in the shade so as to avoid observation. But the new-comer had the eyes of a lynx, and he at once recognized the tramp, : “ Hollo, Milligan, is that ol and where cid you come from? I thought that you were bung, or in jail for the rest of your natural life, long ago!”
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Lhe Winning Oar. The tramp turned, for a moment dumbfound- | if I can get her without his consent, then, b | ed by the frank and not over complimentary | Heaven! I will take Winny away from him if I | salutation, but as soon as he caught sight of the face of the speaker, his countenance changed. ‘“Why, if it ain’t Mr. Harry Gray!” he ex- claimed, ducking his head in broad grin appeared upon his features. The new-comer was indeed the stroke-oar’s cousin, Mr. Harrison Grahame, or, as he was known in the sporting world Harry Gray. He and the tramp were old acquaintances, for on a certain occasion he had picked up Milligan as the man to do a piece of dirty work, which pretty near cost the tramp his life, although Gray made a ‘‘ pot” of money by it. At one of the Western races Gray had bet largely against the favorite horse in a particu- lar race, and he had employed Milligan to ‘‘ get at” the horse, or, in plainer words, to poison him so that the speed would all be taken out of him. Milligan contrived to do the job by get- ting into the confidence of the boy who watched the stable at might; he got the boy —the boy, by the way, was a stalwart young fellow of two- and-twenty—drunk, and then ‘‘ doctored” the horse, and so skillfully was the job performed— Milligan had learned the trick in England—that no one had any suspicion that the horse was amiss until the race was over and the favorite had finished nowhere. Then, of course, there was @ great hue-and-cry raised, but nothing could be proved and the plotters reaped a rich harvest. The “boy,” though, had his. suspi- cions, although he was careful to keep them to himself for fear of being blamed, but the next time he met Milligan he nearly pounded the life out of him. “Youre the very man I want; I’ve got a job on hand tor you!” Gray exclaimed. ‘* No more hoss business, for I get all the kicks and you all the halfpence!” “ What are you doing here?” “Pye got a ee‘le trifle of business in the ’ouse yonder.’ ‘‘Who with—Doctor Peabody?” **Do you know him?” asked Milligan, ea- eonly. “Oh, yes, intimately.” “Is be well fixed?” ‘*No, poor as a church-mouse.” Milligan heaved a sigh. “But [m in a hurry; I'll meet you in the square at seven to-morrow morning, right in front of the car-office. Are you broke?’ * Regularly cleaned out.” “‘ Here’s a five for you; don’t fail to come, for | it will be money in your pocket;” then after giving the bill, a fem ag CHAPTER XV. THE LOVERS. ‘* WELL, now, if this here ain’t wot I calls a streak of luck!” the tramp exclaimed, carefully stowing the bill away in an inner pocket. ‘ Jest as { see’d the hull bottom a-tum’lin’ out of this here little trick that I've pin a-counting on for the last ten or twelve years, this precious sharp, Mr, Harry Gray, turns up, and he’s asharp ’un, he is! There ain’t any of the nobs wot kin give him p’ints! What he don’t know ain’t worth knowing! He’s up to some game, in course; he never does anything fair and aboveboard, but he plays to win every time, and wot’s the odds?” Milligan now turned his attention to the house again; all was quiet, and so he opened the gate | noiselessly and stole caytiously toward the man- sion over the lawn, taking particular care to avail himself of the shelter of the trees so as to mass himself from observation if any one ehanced to be looking out of the lor win- dows, which were large ones, extending clear to the floor, and as the night was warm, they were all thrown wide open. And as the tramp stole on, as cautiously as a thief in the night, toward the house, with eyes only for the prospect before hiin, he had no sus- icions that a dark form, whicn had teen skulk- ing along on the other side of the street, evi- dently watching him, had crossed the thorough- fare, and, entering the garden, was stealing = hind him as cautiously as a red Indian in the depths of the great primeval forest tracking a f oe. } This watcher was Mr. Harry Gray. The few words that the tramp had spoken had axcited his curiosity, and ke had determined to | keep a watch upon Milligan and ascertain, if possible, what his business was with Doctor Ar- temas Peahod Gray was alanine for a great stake now, and | he did not propose to lose a single move in the game if he could help it. . The tramp, shabby and ha ecg could have no honest business with the old doctor, and if by some accident he did have, why was he skulking like a thief through the garden in- stead of walking boldly up to the front decor? ‘‘No, no, my friend,” Gray muttered, as he tracked the fellow through the garden, “‘ there’s some mischief afoot, and though I may not care to have a finger in the pie, yet I am determined to. find ont. all, about it. Whatever concerns Doctor Peabedy probably concerns Bub and most certainly concerns Winifred, and since Bub will not give me Helena, and it is doubtful utation, while a | |}can. I like her a deuced sight | other girl, anyway! It’s only. the fortune of Helena that attracted me; personally she’s not uties.” And now, leaving the tramp skulking through | the shrubbery, intent upon finding some secure | nook from whence he could command a view of | the doctor’s parlor, and Gray tracking him like | his shadow, we will see what the inmates of the tter than the | my style; I don’t admire these cold and haughty Harrison Grahame house—all so unconscious of this double espion- | age—were about. |. The parlor was a double one—two rooms, | front and rear, connected by large sliding doors. | The doors were about half open, just far enough | to enable the watchers in the garden to detect | that there was some one in the rear room when they moved about, but not enough so that they could command an unobstructed view of the apartment. Helena and the young Virginian had been sit- ting in the front parlor, but the girl had gone | into the back room in search of a book, and the | young man had followed. | “IT wanted to show you the book, she said ; searching fruitlessly for it in the bookcase; “7 | forget the name, but it’s one of the new English novels, and in one chapter there is such a spirit- | | ed account of the great college boat-race.” ‘* Ah, that is something that lies beyond the | genius of the pen to paint!” he replied; ‘‘ words | are too weak to describe such a thing; it must | be seen; it cannot be imagined.” | ‘And yet very wise men have declared that i ination is far stronger than reality,” she | Observed, with a smile, seating herself within | the embraces of a huge cushioned arm-chair. , “Tn some cases perhaps it is the truth, but not always,” he answered, seating himself on an ottoman by the side of the chair wherein the girl reclined. ‘Now, don’t sit there, Mr. Peyton!” she ex- claimed, just a little impatience in her tone. 4s And why not?’ he asked, in wonder. | ‘Why, because — because — well, because, | that’s why! Don’t you know, Mr. Peyton, that you never ought to ask a woman for’ her rea- son?” ** Because she never has any, eh?” Helena contracted her pretty eyebrows and shook her finger warningly at the young man. | “Take care! don’t you say rude things, or I sha’n’t like you.” “* Well, I’m very much obliged for the candid | confession that you do like me; I was never cer- tain of it before,” he said, with perfect coolness, “Youre a naughty boy to twist my words around, and I shall have to complain to the doc- tor; you’re entirely too forward.” vt t is a merit sometimes; but come, tell | me honestly, why do ve wish me to rise from | this extremely comfortable position?” : ‘*Why—can’t you guess? What asilly fellow you are!” ‘“Yes, I suppose that I am, as faras you are concerned,” the Virginian replied quickly. Helena made a wry face and tossed her head impatiently. In these word encounters she rarely got the best of the young man and yet she was continually provoking them. “Suppose any one should come in and find you sitting here—what would he think?” “Oh, I could easily explain the matter.” wide in astonishment. ‘““A suitor at the feet of the goddess he adored!” pepties Peyton, coolly. “Oh, well, if you won’t get up I must!” He- lena exclaimed, springing up from the chair, a slight blush crimsoning her cheeks. ** No, no, no, stay where you are!” cried Pey- ton, rising quickly. ‘Ill get a chair and seat myself at a discreet and respectful distance.” And suiting the action to the word he placed a “How?” and the girl opened her big, blue eyes | ' all,” the girl answered, coldly. | Peyton remarked, honestly, “for SRR “* Can’t you guess?” ae No. » “Harrison Grahame has arrived.” Just a little bit of a cold look came over the beautiful face, and the well-poised head assumed a prouder carriage. |, “* Well, what of it; pwhat has the arrival of Mr do with you? Why should it affect you in any way?” ‘‘And he had a long interview with your brother.” se Yes ?? ‘*Can’t you guess what he comes after?’ ‘*T-do not understand how it concerns me eat ‘“‘Why should [ care to guess anything about it?’ ** Because he comes after you!” ““ After me!” ‘* Yes: he is a suitor for your hand.” ** He may - pond himself the trouble,” Helena meet haughtily. e face of the Virginian brightened up. It was the first time that he had ever heard the girl express herself so decidedly. ‘Tam very glad indeed to hear tbsp say £0,” have been sorely afraid that you would favor him. The influence he has over your brother is wonder- “ Yes; I do not understand it,” Helena ob- served, thoughtfully. ** Otis believes and trusts | in him fully.” | | ‘** But you do not join with him in this trust?’ Peyton asked, eagerly. ‘No, Ido not. You see,” said the girl, smil- ing, ‘that I answer your question ‘as frankly as you ask it. I will’ own honestly to you th: t there is something: about Grahame that Ico not like at all, although in reality, though he ‘s my cousin, I know very little of him. Of cotise I’ve heard ugly stories that’ he does not ler d | quite the life that a gentleman of his position in | society ‘should lead; that he ison intimate tern s with men whom the world at large looks on | with suspicion; but Otis trusts him; Otis bc - lieves in him, and’ more than once I’ve heard him say that Harrison’s errors were all of the head not of the heart.” ‘Ves, itis really astonishing the influence he has over your brother, and at one time I feared shat Otis might be swayed by him in regard to you.” ““Oh, no; you must not think that?’ Helena protested. ‘Otis is too good a brother to at- tempt to influence me in any degree.” chair against the very wall of the apartment | , and sat down in it. | Helena resumed her seat and for five minutes | , at least neither one spoke. The girl was the first to break the silence. ‘“What splendid company you are!” she ex- | claimed, ‘One would never grow tired if you | were near to amuse them.” ‘* Tt has been a very fine day,” sententiously. ** Oh, what do I care about the weather?” ‘“ We need rain, though.” **Oh, bother! what do I care?” ‘* There’s fifty more students this year in the college than were there last year.” ‘What on earth do you suppose I care for that?” " “ Well, suggest a subject and I will converse about it to the best of my ability.” **You need not sit quite so far off!” she said, abruptly, a shy light shining in ber eyes and a demure smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Gladly Peyton came out of the corner and placed his chair so that he could lean his'arm on the cushioned support which upheld Helena’s charming band, “Nor get so near, either.” ‘Ah, there is no pleasing you!” | Harrison Grahame, bot ; / ‘Tell me, Dick, what bas made you act so | strangely to-night? You seem all out of sorts,” | ‘‘Thanks for that assurance!” Peyton er- claimed, quickly. “Ah! Helena, you hav: taken a weight from my heart.” . “Why, what has it to do with you ?” the gii: asked, with a charming smile. * Ah, Helena, you know that I love you to distraction!” the Virginian iby dpe gts pe OE rising and leaning over the back of = ’s chair. ‘“ You know that, sleeping or wakitg, your image is ever before me; that—” A light footfall interrupted the speech, and looking up Peyton beheld the doctor who had entered the room, unconscious that it was occu- pied CHAPTER XVI. THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS. ‘“WouLpn’t I make a good actor, doctor?” cried Peyton, with ready wit. ‘Miss Lawrence doubted my abilities, and I was just giving her a specimen of my talents in that line. “Ob, there’s no doubt about your histrioric genius,” the old doctor replied, with never a smile on his mild, benevolent face. “If you had not explained I should. have thought that, unwittingly, I had interrupted a love scene.” “Oh, doctor, how could you?’ exclaimed He- lena, rising in confusion and preparing to beat a retreat. “Tf you are going up-stairs, tell Winny that I wish to see her, please,” the doctor said, thus opening a line of retreat for the embarrassed girl. ‘* Very well,” and Helena took herself and her blushes out of the room. Peyton, perfectly satisfied, with all the blind- ness of youth, that he had succeeded in pulling the wool over the doctor’s eyes, to use the old saying, took out his cigar-case and offered it to the doctor. " apes “Tm going to try a cigar on the veranda; it ee 0, t you, at present; w 1s Otis? has he gone out?” the doctor questioned. “J think not; he was up-stairs when’ 1 came down.” Then, taking a chair, Peyton went through one of the open windows to the veranda, si‘ down, lighted his cigar and abandoned himse!f to that dreamy pleasure ‘which comes from a good cigar enjoyed with a contented mind and nepey heart. ade ? he Virginian little dreamed that this move- meént on his 4 eae ok, with ty he ust by two indivi of whose proximity he had tag idea—the tad and his watcher, Mr. of them concealed in the shrubbery hardly thirty feet away. But, lichting his cigar and tilting his chair till-the top-rail rested against the wall behind’him, he gave himself uptodreamy meditation, For the
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nn 12 The Winni first time Helena had allowed him to see, not only that he had nothing to fear from his rival, Mr. Harrison Grahame, but thatshe herself was not indifferent to his suit. A pleasing ar ha truly, and it was no won- der that, as Peyton sat and smoked, he felt a holy calm stealing over his soul. ** Ah! there’s nothing half so sweet in life as The doctor, seating himself in the chair which Helena had vacated, gave himself up to reflec- tions which were far from being pleasant. “This is the second couple of young lovers that I have stumbled on to-day,” he murmured. “(Is there any peculiar atmosphero about this house which conduced to this sort of thing, [ wonder?’ And he smiled sadly to himself at the conceit. ‘‘Ak,no! Itis the natural affinit, that these young hearts have for each other. mistrusted that there was a love affair between these two, some time ago; but Otis and Wini- fred, blind dreamer that I am, I never suspect- ed it until to-day; and yet, Imight have known that for them to fancy each other was the most natural thing in the world. Winny is a very jewel of a girl, while Otis isa fine, handsome, pam fellow! What an excellent match it would be but for the one thing, and I must keep that secret. I must let these children, both of whom I love better than I do any other two people in the world, believe that I am heartless and cruel—that for a mere whim I separate them. I must not—dara not speak! I can only wait and pray that Heaven in its own time may mercifully remove the barrier that separates them; but, oh! if these two children love each other as well as I think they do, what misery they will suffer until that time comes! And it may never come! And then, again— ad it come and passed without my owing anything about it? “On one weak, frail human life the happiness or misery of this poor child depends. For years I have not h a word, and yet often am I haunted by the thought that suddenly and un- expectedly the wretched object may rise like a specter from the tomb and demand a reckon- ing.” The old gentleman heaved a deep sigh and for a few moments he was silent, buried in deep thought; then again he spoke. ‘Suppose I let this affair go on without at- tempting to stop it? Suppose I yield to the be- lief that the grave hides the old-time secret, as _ love’s young dream!” . perhaps it does, for all that I do know; then { these children will be happy and—no no!” cried the doctor, suddenly, and shaking his head just as if he was carrying on a conversation with some one, ‘‘I cannot take upon my soul the re- sponsibility of such a deception, If it should not be true—it Shylock came and demanded his peond of flesh, the terrible discovery would kill he poor child. No, a few hours of joy would be too dearly bought at such a price. I must pursue the path which I marked out for my- self; ‘I must be cruel to be kind; Otis is, I fear, too deeply committed to listen to reason, but Winny, I trust, is not so much involved.” A light footfall in the entry and the rustle of a woman’s fleecy robes interrupted the doctor’s meditatioms, and soon the young girl came into the apartment. Walking straight up to the old gentleman she seated herself on the footstool by his side, as she spoke: ‘‘Helena said that you wished to see me, father?” “Yes, my dear, itis my purpose to have some wera geerese conversation with you.” ‘““With me, father?” a look of astonishment upon her face. Not often the troubled, for by nature he was one of the most pacid and genial of men. I wish to talk to you ‘Yes, my dear child upon a very serious subject indeed, You re- member when I met you and Mr. Lawrence walking ig to-day ?” A deep blush swept rapidly over the ’s face; for the first time she comprehended the nature of the subject that the doctor wished to about. She dropped her gaze shyly and plainly manifested the ymbarrassment which she “‘ Until that moment I never dreamed of the danger to which, unwittingly, I have exposed you, my child.” “ Danger, father?’ Winifred asked, looking up in astonishment into the old gentleman’s face. ‘Yes, danger, my poor girl; thatis the proper word. I must put the case strongly so that you | will fully comprehend it,” the doctor replied, ‘both his tone and manner plainly betraying how deeply affected he was. ‘If I am not deceived in ny Mr. Lawrence is in love with you.” A the girl hung her head, vainly shite to hide the blushes which crimsoned her cheeks. “Itis the truth, is it not, Winny?’ the doc- tor continu finding that the girl hesitated to e reply Thi Jes told you Cst:me tows ou?” © maiden answ yly, rest- ing her burning face upon the cushioned arm of chair. “ And, Winny—I’m going to ask you a ques- den Wom reich ‘all fhe hapinem of the ress of your future life may depend. I won’t say to vou te answer we truly; J know that you will eetow looked grave and | be sure that you do not | make any mistake. Do you care anything for Mr. Lawrence?” Gravely, solemnly the old gentleman put the question, and with an ea:er ear listened for the nse. Still the bowed head kept its place; still the cheeks burned: still the heart throbbed tumultu- ously, and it seemed to the agitated girl as if her lips would never unclose to answer the ques- tion; but at last, after a mighty struggle with her maiden] modesty, she spoke. ** Yes, father, I do.” Low and faint was the whispered reply, but it sounded in the ears of the old man as loud as the trump of the great angel will be on the Judgment Day when it wakes even tho sleepers in the tomb. “Heaven help you then, my poor child!” he murmured, after a very long pause, en cem | with his trembling hand the silken locks whic crowned the maiden’s shapely head. ‘‘It is all my fault. Iam a weak, miserable old man. I t never to have allowed you to come to- gether!” ‘But is it so great a sin, father?’ she asked with childish simplicity, lifting her beautifu eyes, wherein the tear-drops were now glisten- | ing, and gazing with all the innocence of child- hood into the old doctor’s face. bid eA child, ~ must drive this love out of your heart!” he exclaimed, earnestly. ‘ Any | union between you and Mr, Lawrence is utterly im ble!” “T know that, father; that is what I told him to-day when he asked me to love him,” she said with a great effort restraining her tears. “ t told him that 1 was only a poor girl, and that I was no match for so wealthy a gentleman as he “Of course he would not listen to that reason- ing for a moment}” ‘Yes, he said that it didn’t make any differ- ence.” ‘“‘ He is a noble fellow!” the doctor exclaimed} ‘any man might be proud of such a son-in- law!” ‘« And, father, are there really such obstacles in the way of our union if Otis is willing—he has no one, you know, to object—and you give your consent?” she asked, timidly, looking up with pleading eyes in the face of the old gentle- man, The doctor saw that he had made a false step, as immediately proceeded to repair the blun- ' er. “Ah! my dear child, but I cannot give my consent,” he replied, hurriedly, and in great confusion. ‘* You must remember the relation- ship in which I stand to Otis. I am his guardian —I have had the care of him and of his fortune; shall I have the world say, then, that I conspired to entrap him into a marriage with my penni- less child? that I, his second father, thirsted after some of his wealth, and, not being rogue enough to cunningly abstract it after the man- ner of our modern trustees, devised this union so that I and mine should profit by ‘t? Would you have the world say this of your father?” CHAPTER XVII. AN EXPLOSION. IMPULSIVELY the girl threw her arms around | the old doctor’s neck. “Oh, no! noons would dare to say that of my good, kind, noble father!” she cried. “Oh, yes, they would, my child; and, with | the fact of the union, how could I dispute it?’ | ‘*You wish me then to give up all ideas of | Otis?” she asked, with a dreamy, despairing | look in her beautiful eyes, unclasping her arms | from around the old man’s neck and again sink- ing back to her seat upon the ottoman. “Yes, my dear child, it is for the best that you should do so,” responded the doctor, in a roken, trembling voice. ‘‘For my sake try | and conquer this passion; Otis will soon goaway | —be will mingle with the world—p!unge in the | cares of business—he will get over it. Love is | not with a man as it is with a woman; it is not the whole of his life; it is only the episode of a | day. z Ah, father, you don’t lessen my misery when you tell me that my lover will soon forget me,” | tbe r child murmured, with tearful eyes. “‘Heaven forgive me, my poor stricken one, hcg a single word I woun ped already lacer- ated heart! Cheer up; it will be a single, terri- ble struggle and then all will be over.” “Yes, I am afraid that all will be over for | me, in this life,” Winifred replied; ‘all happi- | ness,” she continued, ‘‘for I know that I shall never know happiness hereafter.” “Trust in Heaven, child!” exclaimed the doc- tor, solemnly; *‘trust in Heaven and in time— time that great consoler of all mortal griefs.” Winifred, with her handkerchief, wiped her tears ae: ee and janet as was the girl, apparently, yet she possessed a strong and stub- rn will, and now when her tatharte weiss indi- cated to her the path of duty, she resolved to tread it with firm and unyieldin ae. This calmness alarmed the old gentleman; he rior he believed, ‘‘Give sorrow vent; the grief which does not speak whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.” At this stage of the conversation an important interruption occurred. Bub came striding into the room, evidently laboring under great ex itement, which in vain he was striving to repress, followed by his sis- ter, whose large eyes looked bigger now than ever, dilated as they were by amazement. Otis had come “tearing” into her room, asked where the doctor was, and if she had seen Winny, and when informed by her that both father and daughter were down-stairs, he de- clared that he had something important to say to them and that he required her to be present at the interview. Amazed, and altogether too astonished to say anything, she had followed him in silence down- stairs. ‘* Ah, Doctor Peabody! You're the very man I want to see!” Lawrence exclaimed. The doctor had risen at big approach, and Winifred, her face pale and by turns, had also sprung to her feet. “* And where is Peyton?” Bub continued. ‘TI want ail of our little household as witnesses!” ‘** Hallo! who wants me?” cried Peyton, from the veranda, suddenly recalled from bis dream of peace by hearing his name pronounced, **T do; come in here!” Bub answered, The Virginian by this time had finished his cigar; so he flung the stump away and entered tke house, The tramp, who had listened to the summons, and watched the departure of the young mah, improved the opportunity to get under a bush that grew right at the edge of the veranda, so that he could overhear any conversation within the house, carried on in ordinary tones, Grahame, being quite near the window, did not move from his place of concealment. He could overhear very well where he was. From Bub’s tons he had an idea that something of importance was about to transpire, and he thanked the lucky stars which had brought him along the street at the opportune moment to encounter the tramp and so suggest the idea of watching him. ‘Now, then, that we are all assembled,” the stroke-oar said, after Peyton had entered the room, ‘‘ Doctor Peabody, before all here, I want to ask you a question.” The doctor anticipated easily enough what the question was likely to be, and he vainly attempt- ed to postpone the scene which he saw was likely to ensue. ‘* Otis, I do not wish to answer any questions now!” he exclaimed, imploringly. ‘‘Come to my study—alone—and we will talk the matter over. “No, doctor; what I have to say to you must be said in the presence of my sister, and in the presence of this lady,” he answered, pointing to Winifred, who leaned upon a chair, pale and trembling with emotion, a very lily of a girl. “Some other time, Otis, 1 beg!” “No, no; now, doctor!” the young man re- plied, frmly. “ No other time will answer like the present.” “Why, what is the matter, Otis?” exclaimed Peyton, in astonishment. “ Brother, what is the matter?’ Helena de- manded. “In a very few words I will explain. Now, Doctor Peabody, in the presence of all I ask you why do you object to my suit for your daugh- ter’s hand?” At this bold declaration, Winifred, unable longer to bear the scene with calmness, sunk in- to a chair and hid her face in her handkerchief, while Helena flew to her assistance. “Otis, I cannot answer yeu, and you must not ask me!” the doctor replied, helplessly. “ Ah, but you must answer me, doctor!” Otis persisted, impetuously. ‘‘ You are not treating me right—you are not treating Winifred right!” “Otis, if you have any respect for me—any love for the old man who has tried to be like a second father to you, be satisfied with what J have already said to you and do not press the matter further!” “But I am not satisfied!” Lawrence fern in was touched by the old gentleman’s appeal, yet wes not moved from his purpose. ‘‘ Doctor, if this was any other subject but the one it is, if my heart—the future of my whole life were not interested in it, 1 would not imsist upon au explanation; but as it is, I must. It isa duty | owe, not only to “oes but to that poor, weep ing child yonder. ou must give me a reason, doctor, why I cannot make your child my wife, if she be willing.” ; ‘Oh, doctor, don’t be cruel!” exclaimed He- lena, who was on her knees comforting Winny “Tm sure that this dear girl will make Bub ever so happy! Now be good, and give mu Winny for a sister!” ‘It is impossible!” exclaimed the old man 11 | agony of mind. ““Why is it impossible?” Bub demanded; “be. cause I am rich and she is poor?” “Yes, yes!” ‘‘Doctor, you know that is no reason at all!” would much rather bave seen her give way to | Lawrence exclaimed, impatiently. a wild burst of tears, With the Scottish war- * No, no, it is nq reason!” Helena cried, “ Be- ;
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sides, I’ve got plenty of money of my own and I will willingly ye Winny half of ali I’ve got, and then she'll rich enough to marry any- body!” With a fervent kiss and a warm embrace, Winifred thanked her friend for the generous offer. “By Jove! Miss Lawrence, you are a perfect paragon of a woman!” Peyton exclaimed, in admiration: , : The doctor only sighed deeply. “Come, doctor, what do you say to that?” asked Bub, utterly at a loss to understand the | strange agitation of the old man. ‘‘Tt is no use: the union is impossible!” ‘* [mpossible!” cried Lawrence, incredulously. ‘Oh, no, doctor, not im ssible!” Helena ex- claimed. don’t take Winny I know I shall never get a sister who will be half so dear to me!” ‘* Oh, yes, doctor, come! Let the course of true love run smooth for once!” the Virginian smile. Winifred said nothing; she ouly hid her face in her handkerchief and sobbed. “Heaven knows, my dear children—for you are as dear to me as if you were-my own and blood—that right gladly power to promote it but for one thing—” ‘Because Iam rich and she is poor?’ Law- | rence interrupted. ‘* What other reason should I haye—what oth- | er reason can there be?’ cried the unhappy old gentleman. ‘‘T eannot believe it, doctor!’ Bub protested, | vehemently. ‘‘The reason is so utterly un- worthy of you. Your whole course in this mat- ter isso different from what I have a right to expect!” * And, doctor, haven’t I offered to make Win- ny rich?’ demanded Helena. ‘‘I’m sure you ought to consent, for I know Bub will never be happy with any other girl.” “Come, doctor, yield and make a lovers happy!” Peyton adjured. “ you will never signe your action, and if Win- ifred feels any delicacy about taking a fortune from Helena, because she is Bub’s sister, why, I’ve three s lendid farms down in old Virginia and she shall have her pick out of the lot. She need have no hesitation about accepting the gift for ’'m no relation to Bub now, whatever I ; may, be in the future.” elena was all ready to thank Peyton for his generous offer, but the unexpected conclusion of the speech caused her to blush to the temples ae to busy herself quite industriously about inny. ir of true CHAPTER XVIII. AN IMPORTANT DISCLOSURE. ‘Ox, my children, it must. not—it cannot be. {€ I could unseal my lips and reveal to you the | fatal secret—” “Secret!” cried Lawrence, in astonishment, as the old gentleman paused in his abrupt confu- sion. And the exclamation was echoed by Peyton | and Helena, while even Winifred raised her head from amid the folds of her handkerchief | and gazed at the doctor in astonishment. ‘¢ What secret?” continued Bub, as soon as he | had recovered from the amazement which the doctor’s words had excited. “‘T do not know what I am saying!” the old man returned, confused; ‘‘I am ‘in such a state of mental excitement that I am really not re- | sponsible for my words.” “T ’opes Lain’t disturbing of a family party?” suddenly cried a strange, hoarse voice, and all within the room, turning, beheld the seedy tramp advancing into the room through one of the front windows. ‘‘T made bold to come through one of the windys, 7e know, seeing as how they were open and I disturb the whole aa ouse by a-ringing of the front door-bell. And then as the tramp finished and made a | survey of the little party assembled within the rlor, a sudden recognition took place. The two girls recognized in the man the ruf- flan who had robbed Winny of her watch-chain that afternoon, and as for the fellow himself, he | Bub the muscular young man who | recognized in But had taken such liberties with his person on the highway, that very day. ‘Tf it isn’t the wretch who robbed us this af- | ternoon!” cried Helena; ‘“ put him out, Bub!” The stroke-oar advan at once to execute the command; but the tramp, retreatin, and putting both hands up to shield cried out: “Hold on and hold hard; let a chap speak when he comes on business, can’t you? And as for you, mister man! [ don’t want no more of you, I don’t! Look at my heyes, now! Ain’t I a nice-lookin’ nob for to go inter the society of sich first-class ladies as these here two duchesses, with both peepers in mourning?” “Let him alone, Mr. Lawrence, please, until we find out what he wants,” said the old doctor, is face, ‘¢*Now you must consent, forif Bub | esh | would I not only | give ag hgreaees’ to this union, but do all in my | } | | | know that | thought that I wouldn’t go for to | a step | The Winning Oar * who had been surveying the man with a steady, earnest gaze, and the scrutiny evidently trou- bled him. “That's the talk, governor! Let a cove alone | till he spits out his business; and in regards to | you two ladies, l’umbly ’opes you'll look over | the trifling mistake that I made this here after- noon; the fact is, I’ad been takin’ a drop or two | too much of beer, and when I gets my skin full | of beer, I allers tries them larks; it was a lark that’s all, bléss yer! I’d ’a’ brought the piece of chink back within half an hour; anyway, with- ont troublin’ this here yourig man, who is so handy with his fist, for to punch me in the smeller, and ornament me with this here pair of beauties,” and the wretch winked his b'ackened eyes facetiously. j very grave expression indeed upon his face, and any one well | ° his moods wo' ave been apt to imagine that , he had recognized the man and expected trouble | added, and Helena thanked him with a gracious | i m him. ‘Furst and foremost, is this the house of Doc- | and boisterously. “Yes, sir, that is my name.” “'You’re the Doc, then?’ “T am the doctor, sir.” “‘And see here, fellow, more respect- piee when addressing that gentleman!” Peyton exclaimed, annoyed at the man’s arrogant way. “Sha’n’t_ for dently. ‘I rec for to know how to address another gentl’man | without being told by any sich a little whipper- acy i" as you are!” ‘Why, you scoundrel!” exclaimed the Vir- ginian, enraged, advancing, but Bub’s strong arm restrained him. po !* cried the tramp, impu- said. ‘‘ Now then, go on; say what you have to say and begone, and, harkye! at the first inso- lent word I throw you out of that window!” “T didn’t mean no harm,” Milligan growled sulkily; ‘‘I was only a-jokin’, that’s all; and i say, my fine young gentl’man, I ain’t got an gated to you indeed if you’ll keep your ’ands off of me in the futur’!” “Keep a civil tongue in your head, then,” | Bub admonished. | “Your business, sir? You wish to see mef” the doctor queried, impatiently. | “Tf you are Doctor Artemas Peabody, you’re | the man for my money. Jest be kind and con- | descendin this bit o | } it?” And as he spoke the fellow fished out the tin tobacco-box, of which we have previously spo- ken, took out the folded paper and handed it to the doctor. All within the room watched the scene with eager curiosity. hey wondered to see the doctor turn pale as | his eyes fell upon the paper; they were amazed | that his hand should tremble as he opened it and | were startled at seeing great drops of perspira- tion ooze forth, like so many little waxen beads, upon his forehead. | ** Well, governor, is that all O. K.?” the tram | asked, watching, with a cunning leer, as the ol | man read the paper. | The doctor responded to the question witb a heavy sigh and the paper dropped from his nerveless hands, The tramp sprung forward and picked it up. ‘“* Too precious i perty!” and then, looking around him, triumph- antly, he noticed the amazement depicted upon the faces of all. Some way, there was not one within the room | but had an instinctive idea that some terrible disclosure wasathand._ , _ “Oh, you needn't stare, my fine nobs; nor ou, too, you two beautiful duchesses!” he cried, ope and with the accents of a devilish joy in his voice. ‘‘ Mebbe you think that it is only | nobs wot has got property, but there’s some | things that we eed iene can Own as well as the gentry. P’haps you’d like to know what my property consists of; jest open your ears then and [’ll astonish yer. J uly 10th, sighing hundred and—’ well, that ain’t particular, we'll skip the year,” he began, while all within the room listened with breath- | less interest, the doctor excepted the old gen- tleman threw his arm over the back of a chair, which happened to be near him; and if seemed | asif he would not have been able to keep his feet but for the support. ae d of London, England, a female child, eight months old, which I hereby agree to bring up and care for as my own; andI er agree to deliver said child mand, at any time.’ | *'That’s the document, and ain’t it a beauty? | Could any lawyer chap ’a’ writ it better? Not if 1 knows myself! I guess I’ve figured enough in the law-courts in my time to be able to write a | receipt that no lawyer kin pull to pieces; and now, whieh one of these two is it?” and the “What do you wish, sir?’ asked the doctor, a uainted with the doctor and | uld hi | tor Artemas Peabody?” cried the fellow, loudly | on that one gentl’man ought | ‘**Let me deal with this fellow,” the stroke-oar | quarrel with you, and Tl be very much obli- | enough for to cast your eyes over | paper and tell me if it’s your hand- | | write and your signature at the bottom onto | be lost!” he cried, with a grin. *! “Well, now, governor, I’ve come arter my pro- | Hem! ‘Cambridge, | “ Received from Jeremiah Milligan, late of the | to its father, the aforesaid Jeremiah Milligan, on de- | is tramp, turning, surveyed the two girls with » sickening leer. | ‘Oh, merciful powers!” cried Winifred, tho truth suddenly flashing upon her, and but for tho | supporting arms of Helena she would have fall- | en to the floor. “Oh, it’s you, is it?’ the tramp exclaimed, in triumph, “ and to think that I should have made your acquaintance so promisce’us-like to-day, by a-going for your valuables! Blessed if 1 ever heerd of sich a lark! A father fur to rob his own darter, ho, ho, ho!” ‘You infernal villain!” cried Bub, wroug] up almost to frenzy by this awful discovery, and, flying at Mr. Milligan, he took that indi- | vidua) by the throat in a way that meant harm. |. **Ah—choo—hoo, goo!” the wretch gurgled, half-strangled in the iron gripe of the stroke- oar. “‘For heaven’s sake be calm!” the good doc- | tor cried, restraining the impetuous young man. “Yes, be calm, wrence; there must be | some horrible mistake about the affair!” aver- | red Peyton, adding his efforts to the doctor's, and with such success that Bub released his | grasp of Mr. eae windpive, but not until | that interesting individual had become black in | the face. “ Blow me tight!” that vagabend gasped, as _ soon as he recovered his breath, ‘“‘do yer want | to killa cove? Yer better treat me well if yer going to be sweet on a, a “Your girl!” cricd Bub, in a fury, and but _ for the doctor and Peyton, who both clutched | him, he would have treated the tramp to anoth- | er dose of strangulation. ‘“Yes, she is my gal!” replied the tramp, de- fiantly, but at the same time taking the precau- ud, to get behind a chair; “‘ it’s so, ain’t it, doc- r “Tf you are Jeremiah Milligan, undoubtedly she is the child you intrusted to my charge,” the | doctor answered, sorrowfully. “Tf I am aay, Milligan!” cried the fellow, | scornfully. ‘‘ Well, I guess that there ain’t | much doubt about that! Furst and foremost, | there’s the receipt! that’s all right ain’t it?’ The doctor nodded. ‘‘Oh, you can’t go back on Kiva own pot-hooks and hangers, you know, as they used to say when I was a babby. Then, if you’ve got any doubt abcut me, the warden of the State-prison at Charlestown knows mec; Chief Bates down at the City Hall jail here can identify me; officer Parks on the Post beat kin swear to me; any of the perlice either here cr in Charlestown, or in Boston, would be pretty apt to pick me out if I was ‘ wanted,’ and if yer arter more respec’able witnesses, call on any of! the police justices for thirty miles around; all of | em knows me like a book, and what more do | you want?” } CHAPTER XIX. THE DECISION. .‘*My poor child, can you forgive me for the terrible deception that I have practiced upon | ou?” the good old doctor asked, approaching he 5 yay girl and bending over her. , this is terrible,” she murmured, sobbing as if her heart would break. | ‘*Heaven forgive me! I thought that it was for the best!” the old man plead, cut to the rt by the grief of the girl. “It was my wife's | idea, in the first place. Fate had never blessed | us with children, and when this man, years ago, | came begging from door to door with you, then _a mere babe, in his arms, your beauty attractcd the attention of my wife. We questioned this man about you and he told a pitiful story of bow he had but recently arrived in this coun- try, having lost his wife on the voyage, and that he didn’t know what to do with the child, but was in hopes that he would be able to find some charitable folks willing to adopt it. The hearts of both myself and wife warmed to the r babe, and we determined to take and care or it as though it was our own. “‘The man gladly agreed to let us have the child provided we paid bim a certain sum of money, and that I would sign a document . agreeing to give up the child on demand; he said that he was going to California, and that :2 he made a fortune in the mines of course he should want to share it with his child. Foolish- | ly I agreed to this, and signed the document t this man now holds. It did not trouble me then, for I did not believe that I would ever see | or hear from him again; but for the last few years, as I have watched you grow SPs increas- ing in beauty, in talent, and in goodness, each new day, then the thought of this man, and ti. power he over your fate, has haunte:’ |me like a hideous nightmare. I have bee _afraid that this fatal hour would come—thr ' this wretched man who coolly sold you, an il. fant, to strangers, would appear and tear you | away from your home to follow his miserable , fortunes.” : “Hullo! hullo! Draw it mild, governor!” the _ tramp exclaimed, indignantly. ‘‘ Don’t you go for to make the dissatisfied with her own | natural flesh and blood!” A visible shudder passed over Winifred’s ten- der frame as she listened to the coarse words, “T tried to do all for the best,” the doctor continued, never taking any notice of tha
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on A. tramp’s expostulations, ‘and it was my knowl- edge of this terrible secret and my fear that some day this wretched man would step for- ward and claim y.u that made me horrified hei I discovered that you had learred to ove. “*T say, governor, don’t abuse a feller now!” Milligan cried; ‘‘?’m a_ pretty decent sort of chap, as you'll all find out, afore long. Of course it’s only natural for a daddy to want his gal wos he ain’t had no good on for so long, but you kin argument with me; I ain’t sp’iling for affection, anyway. I’ve managed for to git along without my beauty there for a good many years, and I ess I would manage to live through it if I didn’t git her now. Jest talk to mie the right way and I’m yer man for a trade, any time!” “You are a thorough scoundrel!” exclaimed the doctor, in righteous indignation. ‘‘ Your only object then in making this visit is to extort money!” The fellow grinned and put his tongue in his cheek in a knowing sort of way. **Wot’s the use of a gal if yer can’t make Pepe out on her, I’d like to know!” he re- pied, Lawrence caught eagerly at the idea. ‘Name your price!” he cried. ‘‘ How much do you want to take yourself out of the way and never let us see your ugly face again?” ‘*Aha! now you are a-talkin’!” Mr. Milligan chuckled, rubbing his hands together in glee. ‘*But I ain’t on naming a sum in lump, you know, that ain’t my leetle game! I’m gitting old, Lam, and a-gitting tired a-tramping arounc the country and a-trying to git fat, living on nothing. I wants a regular income jest like a nob, bless if I don’t! So much every month, you know, paid inter my bank where I keeps my account, so I kin draw my check onto it like a gentl’man, and no stingy swag willdo for me, either. That gal is a beauty! you might hunt from here to China and not find one nicer nor she is! Now, fair and honest, I want bout four hundred dollars a month for the rest of my nat’ral existence for her!” “And now, fair and honest, not one single penny shall you get for me!” cried Winifred, abruptly, rising, statue-like, with her colorless, marble-hued face. ‘‘And you, Otis—what a miserable, degraded wretch you must think I am to suppose for one instant that [ will be a party to any such shameful bargain! What right has this man to sell me like a slave even if ‘fam his child? Ina very short time I shall at- tain my majority and then I shall be free of ‘is control, and nntil that time I will go with iim If he requires me to do so, work for him, but not sell myself for his enrichment!” “Oh, what a blarsted idiot!” cried Mr. Milli- gan, in supreme contempt. ‘‘Ileaves it out to you, all on you ladies and gentl’men, if you ever heered sich awful trash? ““Winny, you are mad to in this way!” Lawrence urged. ‘* Whatcare I if chance made you the child of this wretch? Iam rich; I can easily give him ,the sum he asks; I shall never miss it, and we can be as happy as if he had never existed.” ‘Tn course you kin! Whosays ye can’t!” cried the tramp, eager after his stake. ‘Bless yer life! I won’t trouble yer, jest as long as yer ponies up the rhino on time. Why, you kin be jest as ’appy as two turtle-doves a-singing in a cage! ut the weak, childlike girl had suddenly be- come a cold, resolute, stern-faced woman. “No, no, Otis!” she cried, despairingly and. yet with iron-like firmness, “the knowledge that [ have gained this night erects forever an unsurmountable barrier between us. Do you think that I would permit you to marry me knowing now as I do the heritage of shame that awaits me? My father, when he comes to claim me, igh his identity by running over the number of prisons wherein he has served his time. You are mad when you dream of making me your wife! The secret will out—it will not down and die, but some chance will be sure to reveal and blazon it to the world! This man is satisfied now with a certain amount of money in payment for his silence; but, let us once wed and who shall set bounds to his demands? You must comply with what he asks, or else he will oublish the terrible secret to the world, and ‘ow would vou bear such a threat as that? You of the grand old family which for two hundred years at least has borne itself proudly, and kept o, stainless name before the world! And do you , ink, now, that I would be the means of fasten- ing this human vampire upon you? Never! I ‘ould die by inches in the most miserable cel- wv or garret in the world, perishing by slow ay before I would see you so humili- “bed | ‘“Did anybody ever heer sich blarsted non- conse?” cried the tramp, in a fury, the moment xe had finished her passionate speech. ‘“ And o think of her a-standing there and a-calling of her own nat’ral flesh and blood parent sich aw- ‘ul names! Do I look like a wampire? Blow me ‘ght if I ain’t aman of my word! I wouldn’t do sich a think as she talks about fer the world] Vd take my ’davy on it, any time!” * Otis, Winifred is right,” the doctor now in- The Winning Oa r. terrupted; ‘it would be utver madness for you to attempt to silence this man with money; his appetite would only grow on what it fed. The four hundred a month would soon increase into a thousand. For the present, be guided by me and give up the idea. We cannot tell what the future may bring forth.” ** Aha! you want to bilk me out of my stake?” cried the tramp, ina rage. ‘ You says to your- self, yer do, that I’m an old man, and that I won’t last long, and then you kin have your fun without a-pay ing forit; but ’m a tough old cus- tomer, and I’m ote for ten years ha and mebbe twenty; Pll jest ’old on to life for to spite yer, see if I don’t.” ‘“ Winifred, I will be entirely guided by you,” Lawrence said; ‘‘ whatever you decide shall be as law to me.” “Take him, you idiot!” snarled Mr. Milligan wickedly; “don’t let the chance slip; you’ never git sich another!” “Otis, at the present I can only say good-by,” she replied, with a sad, sweet smile, extending her hand, which her lover eager! acs ‘oa : “Wat are you a-saying good-by for?” growl- ed the tramp, surlily; ‘‘where do you suppose you are going?” Wl with you; haven’t you come to take me? “Well, I reckon I ain’t one of the nobs a- walking around with a big pocket-book, chuck full of greenbacks, for to pay young women’s hotel bills with; and, I say, old chap, since you kept her so long can’t you put up with her for a few days longer?” “She is welcome to stay so long as I have a home,” the doctor responded, promptly. “That’s the ticket! So stay where you are, and mind, don’t try any monkey shines, for to try and hide her away from me, ’cos they won’t work! I jest want her to stay here for a few days ’til I gets time to turn myself around and see where I am, and then as soon as I gets a place for her—a place fit for a young gal I'll come arter her. Take care of yourself all on you; see ou ag’in, and mebbe we kin make a trade; so ong! And then Mr. Milligan retreated through the window into the garden again, and slowly made his way to the front gate, opened it, and passed into the street. “Curse these women!” he muttered, fero- ciously, as he slouched along; ‘‘ you never can’t do nothing with them. If she had only ‘tum- bled’ to the ‘racket’ and played her points the right way, I’d be independent for life and so would she; but, as it is, the best little game I ever worked is completely sp’il’d!” “Oh, no, not at all!” said a voice at his elbow, and as Milligan turned, both alarmed and as- tonished, he discovered that the speaker was Harry Gray. ‘Let me in for a share, old man, and Ill en- gage that it shall be the biggest thing you ever tumbled into in all your life!” CHAPTER XX. MR. GRAY’S LITTLE GAME. Gray, from his place of concealment in the yard, had overheard all that had passed within he room, and his quick wits at once had de- vised a plan to turn the matter to his own ad- vantage. He was considerably astonished at the discov- ery of the relationship that existed between the old tramp and the eet Winifred, for he had had no suspicion at all of the thing. A mere whim of the moment had impressed him with the design of playing the spy for the purpose of discovering what the tramp’s business was with the doctor; but he bad had no idea when he en- tered upon the thing that it would so turn that he could use it to advantage. But with the revelation of the mystery there flashed a scheme into bis head whereby he could profit materially by the unexpected events. And so he had fol’owed the old vagabond up closely, when he left the garden overheard his muttered words and accosted him as we have related. Milligan turned in alarm. ‘* Eh, wot’s that; wot do ye mean?” he cried, not exactly knowing what to make of it. “Just what I say, Jerry; let mein fora share and Tl make a good thing out of it for both of us. ‘Wot do you mean? Blame me if I under- stand wot you are a-driving at!” Milligan was a pretty old bird, and not to be easily caught. f course from Gray’s manner he suspected that he knew something of what had trans- pired, but had no idea that he had overheard every word. “Oh, you know very well,” Gray answered, in his careless way. ‘‘ You’ve got a good thing, but you don’t know how to handle it.” Milligan was very much inclined to be sus- picious. “Wot is it you’re arter? Blow me tight, if I know!” he declared. ‘““Why, Pra after a share of that whack of four hundred dollars a month which you didn’t succeed in getting, and which you’ll never get without some better head to manage the job than that noddle that you’ve got on your shoul- ders, my friend.” “Say, how did you come to know anything *bout it?” the tramp asked, astonished at the in- formation of the other. ‘‘ Why, when you told me you had business with the doctor, you excited my curiosity, ana therefore I ‘ piped’ you off, and, snugly hid un- er a bush in the beh I saw you enter the ovtor’s parlor and overheard every woru that ? ‘“Well, may I be blessed! if that wasn’t a smart trick!” exclaimed the tramp, in admira- tion. ‘““Oh, I’m up to a thing or two, once in a while.” ‘“* And you think that I can’t manage the job?” “You big idiot, you!” cried Gray, in con- tempt; “didn’t you make a nice mess of it to- night?” “*T did the best I knew how!” ‘** And that was bad enough!” Gray retorted, in contempt. ‘‘ Now, let me show you how the ground lay and how you went to work and spoiled the nicest little pie that I’ve seen for some time.” “Tt wa’n’t no pie to me,” Milligan growled. “Because you didn’t know how to cook it. Listen, while I explain: Sixteen or eighteen years ago you left your child with the doctor. e, like a fool, ignorant of the well-established fact that men of your stamp always turn up when they are least expected, brings up the gir/ in the belief that she is his own daughter. She ws up pretty and interesting; my cousin, is Lawrence—” ‘Wot! is that iron-fisted fellow your cousin?” cried Milligan, in amazement. “Aha! he was the student, then, that orna- mented your face this afternoon?” “He handles his dukes like a bruiser!” the tramp growled. “*T should think so; he is admitted to be the best amateur boxer in this section of the coun- try, and has plenty of muscle to back his skill.” ‘He hits like a horse’s kick, curse him!” ‘He is the stroke-oar of the Harvard crew, and the best man of his inches that ever strip- yee But, to return to our mutton: my cousin, ‘is—Bub, as he is generally termed—who is in- dependently wealthy, falls in love with your ehild, is ready to marry her at a moment’s warning, and she is equally set upon him. The old doctor tries to dissuade them because he knows the secret of the girl’s parentage, and he has a sort of an impression that you will turn up some time, and that, in the character of a father, you will be no credit to the girl. You do turn up, and exactly as the doctor expected. He’s more sense than I gave him credit for, for these scholars are generally fools where prac- tical affairs are concerned, as is plainly evident by his ip yon he turn over the child to you, instead of making you surrender it legally to him in the first place. As I said, you appear: ou come in through the window, like the in- ernal old idiot that you are! dressed like a tramp, looking as if you had come straight from the work-house or the chain-gang, you bluster and threaten, act like a ruffian, and pignien the life out of the girl with your fool’s talk about the Warden of State Prison, jails and police courts; and the upshot of the matter ir that you have so disgusted the girl, and so im pressed her with the idea that you are the big- gest scamp unhung, that she wouldn’t marry any decent man, no matter how much she loved him, while you are anywhere around. And now, old man, own up; hav’n’t I put the case exactly as it is? and don’t you think that you are the biggest idiot that ever walked?” Milligan scratched his head thoughtfully after this uncompliment speech. ‘* Mebbe I hav’n’t handled it as it ought to be done,” he admitted, dolefully, ‘* but I ain’t used to play sich games,” ‘You can ‘ doctor’ a horse better, can’t you?” This little reference to the job he had once so cleverly performed for Mr, Gray, made the old scamp wince. Never would his bones forget the pummeling they got on that occasion. “Well, what do you say, do you want me to take a hand in thir thing and see if I can’t fix things so that a big stake can be made out of it?’ Gray continued. “Well, I dunno,” remarked Mr. Milligan re- flectively. **You don’t see any chance to make a raise out of it, do you?” ““Nary chance!” confessed the old tramp, with a 7 “Well, Ido; Isee from five to ten thousand dollars in the affair.” Milligan stared. ‘*My heyes! You don’t say so?’ “ Honor Leb ri but I want a good whack—] want balf, and in order to make my leetle game succeed you must obey my orders to the letter and without question.” “Tt’s a in!” “Allright. Now, in the first place, you want money—have you got any?” ‘Only a little besides the five you give me.” “Oh, that won’t do; you’ve got to be al) togged out in a decent suit of clothes and then you can throw these old rags away; then you will want money for travelingexpenses. 1’Il be your bauker. for ft will take couple of han-
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dred before we can begin to make con ge out You can keep sober, I sup £ “Oh, yes, asa judge, when I’ve got any busi- ness on hand.” “That’s good; now the racket that we’re to play is this: You’re to dress yourself up in a decent suit of clothes, get yourself shaved and fixed up, then call upon the girl to-morrow and request a private interview with her. This granted, tell her that_this appearance to-night in rags and dirt was all a device on your part to try her and the old doctor; that you are, and have been for some time, engaged in my service na; master of my training-stables; the mention of my name wil) give confidence; say that you are making a good, fair living, and that you have cot a little house in upper New York all fitted-up for her reception; say that you heard indirectly that there was a sort of flirtation oo- ing on between herself and my- cousin, Otis; that you were not acquainted with him, except by reputation, but you did not think that it was a very good idea, as he was a very wealth young gentleman and she was only a poor girl, and’ that you were afraid it was. an infatuation which in time he would get over, and that ‘you hoped she would give up all idea‘of him: Then say that you are ready to start for New York as soon as she can prepare herself, and hint that you would like to get back to your duties as soon as possible. ow, do you my idea? You take the fe away and ‘you her from my cousin. nat, of course, will make hinv just erazy to find her, which, oe my-aid, in time, he will do, Your continually harping son the theme that he is a rich man, and you do. not believe that he means honest by the girl, will, in due ‘season, arouse in her’ breasta desire: to prove to you that he does, and the first thing ou know, she’!l run off and get married to ‘him. ou see, I will be in my cousin’s confidenceiand will engineer the whole thing, and I shallsay to him that the best way to keep you quiet. is to give you a certain sum down and a regular in- come payable monthly, but without the knowl- edge of his wife. The sum paid down I take; the income, you ‘take; and’ now what do you think of the * plant 7g ** Beautiful!” cried Milligan, enthusiastically. “Ah! Mr. Gray, you ‘ave got a’ead on your shoulders!” “Yes, I fancy that I wasn’t born yesterday,” Gray replied, complacently, ‘Oh, it will work; there’s no doubt about it!” “‘ Not the slightest, as long as we get the jail- bird idea out of the girl’s mind and excite her’ be oy obstinacy in regard to the! man she oves. By this time the two had arrived at Harvard uare, *‘ Instead of meeting me here to-morrow,” Gray remarked, ‘meet me in Boston on the steps of Faneuil Hall ‘at eight:in the mornin and then I'll have you out. Good-ni B And then the twain , to meet in.on the morrow to prepare to carry out Mr. Gray’s leetle game. BeBe CHAPTER) XXII. CARRYING O82 Tu® conspirators met at t e agreed n. Milligan had already visited a barber, Team shaved, had his hair cut and in part enjoyed.a general “ titivating ” up. “Hallo! you look like a different; man) al- ready!” Gray exclaimed, as he surveyed ‘his tool Gray had selected an early hour and a spot where he would not be apt to meetany seqnedadt ances fora meeting-place; besides, there wasian abundance of cheap, ready-made , clot: stores in the immediate vicinty where Milligan could be refitted. The part that the arch plotter:had assigned to the old man was not a difficult one and it fitted him;/a plain, common man, but no tramp or crititaaly the head of a training stable,a man likely to be a little rough in. ‘and manner; such a character the old tramp could ms along with very well, and Gray had little fear that the simple girl would de the cheat. Besides, the very fact that the man pretended to be in bis service would be sure to lull suspicion. A deal of trouble Mr. Harry Gray was tak- ing and for quite a small stake, one acquainted with the man would have remarked, nor was the s: orting Beacon-streeter at all the sort of atleman that one would suppose could be mpted to enter into a partnership with such an unsavory wretch as Jerry i But Harry Gray was a shrewd fellow as men go, nowadays, and, as a general rule, he al- ways had more than one string to his bow. ‘o one scheme he had devoted himself with eat determination, and that was, by either ‘air means or foul to compass the defeat of the Harvard crew in the coming race with the Yale boys; good reason had he to work, for both for- tune and reputation 7 upon it. If the crimson handkerchiefs that spanned the heads of the Harvard men, came first over the win- ning line, he was a ruined man; but if, on the aaleer , the blue of Yale led the way past the a so) t, with anew fortune and an upright ead tie might try a fresh deal in the gameof i lite. oie - C—O The Winn His “first move in the desperate plan to ‘throw ” the race and insure that Yale should win, no matterif the Harvard crew was by far best, was to remove Winny from Bub’s sight. ub was the stroke-oar—the winning oar, as he was proudly called by his admirers—and there were many—of the Harvard crew; if Bub was tampered with—we do not mean in a mo- ney: sense; for Gray knew his cousin well enough to understand that there wasn’t gold enough in ng Oar. | the world to tempt the stroke-oar to a dishonest | action—but if by some accident—some trick he could be removed from his place in the Harvard boat on the day of the race, and the crew be forced to put another man in his seat the chances were ten to one that Harvard, rowing at such a disadvantage, would lose the race. This was a difficult task, but this was the task that Gray had taken upon himself—the task which he ‘had sworn to accomplish if it was within the power of mortal man to do it. The second move was to induce Bub to follow | the girl to New York; by so doing he would be obliged to ms aa his training and so endanger the success of his crew. The third move )we shall see anon, and: this was to be the ee of all, With Gray’s money Milligan purchased a neat, dark ‘suit of clothes, a new ‘shirt, collar and neck-tie, stockings, shoes, hat;—in fact. a com- ee outfit from top ‘to tee, and when he had iscarded his rags and».donned his new ‘‘ togs,” , from me; but'l’lL baffle the as he termed them,‘he made a very: respectable | appearance, ‘ Now we'll heackright for Cambridge,” Gray | said, after the transformation was completed. andthe disreputable-looking tramp-had, by the aid of the great miracle-worker, plenty of money, been made over into. quite a decent-looking man. ‘*T want to get the girl onxer while Bub is: ab- sent,” Gray explaineds »‘‘ You can say to her that, as the ing will be apt to be very pain- ‘re oes think it will be better for her to write to mm. : ‘* But then he'll know where she is?’ Milligan suggested. ‘You fool! won’t you have the posting of the letters?’ Gray asked, tartly. f My stars! what a head you've i Botle On the way to Cambridge in 4 which ed by the way. to be sparingly pa- tronized, Gray took particular care to: drill. the again into the which hé was:to play, | / tram and the old seamp,:being quick to learn mischief, like ali his elass;soon convinced. the .master- | mind, thatyhe would not fail im his ‘‘ trick,” And: so about, ten o’clock tha good ‘doctor, when, he heard the door-bell, sound and went to admit the visitor, was. decidedly astonished to recognize in the well-dressed, well- appearing stranger, the unsavory old tramp whose a on the previous evening: : ‘* & leetle ijoke o’ mine,” he lained, grave- ly, to the astonished) doctor... ‘‘ Thank ’eaven, sir, am able'to care for the gal as she ought to be cared for.” The doctor hastened to tell Winny of.the won- derful change Milligan, -her long-absent father, and. the girl upon entering the parlor where the old man, sat his best to look respectable, was really: surp although she h the change by the doctor’s statement. | Briefly, and as potitely: and gentlemanly. as he possibly, could, the old villain. related to her the yarn which the wily Mr. Harry Gray had eoncoeted; and, the girl accepted it, of course, for literal truth, A weight was taken off her mind: when she discovered that the author of her being was not really a wicked, miserable tramp, the compan- ion of pulcterbinee and: felons, 2: man.who had. | 6 tasted the hospitalities of nearly every jail in the county. To her mind there.was no.disgrace in honest eevee and when the old man explained that te) r years he had. beén connected with training | stables devoted to the preparation of fast horses for racing purposes, she no longer wondered at his sometime uncouth sayings, for she under- stood enough of the world, y as she was, to know that the horseman fraternity almost have a language of their own. a and delicately as possible—just as he had been instructed by Gray—he spoke of the stroke-oar, and hinted that: he did not believe in the admiration of that young gentleman, and that as far as —— i ligan, nee concerned, Pp if ‘that gentleman kept himself to himself and troubled not the abode of the Milligans with his presence, hep 4 did not attempt, to defend her lover’s pee | though in her own mind she would as soon e that the sun would sink some day, never to rise again, as to believe that Bub was not the very soul of honor and truth. The future, too, now looked a great deal brighter to the girl, for since her father had turned out to be quite a decent sort of man, and there was no taint w her name, who could tell what the ectning dag ht bi forth, if Bub was the honest and tru lover which she believed him to bet » ce had; kicked upsuchia bobbery ‘in the ‘appearance of | Jeremiah, been prepared for | | with an air of disappointment, seated himself at morning the | ee Fe SE es er pe ve but, after consulting the doctor, took is advice and concluded to go. As he explain- ed to her: ‘‘ Under the circumstances it is just as well that you should go at once, perhaps a great deal better. You can write, you know.” To tell the truth, the doctor was anxious to see how Lawrence would act. In his heart the old gentléman was somewhat afraid that Bub was inclined to be a little flighty, and that he didn’t know his own mind as well as he might; rumors had reached the doctor regarding Bub’s flirtations with the innkeeper’s daughter, and though he placed little credence in the reports, still he thought that the departure of Winny would give the young man a fine chance to make up his mind, if he did waver at all, between two rival fair ones, And so Winny departed from the house which; had sheltered her for so many years; went forth into that wide world from whence the charity of the good doctor and his wife had snatched her'so many years ago. A poor little lamb,consigned to the care of as remorseless a wolf.as ever lapped human blood. When Bubreturned home to dinner and found Winny gone, he stormed terribly. “It is all a trick,” he cried, “ to take Winny plot; Dll put detee- tives.on the track:at once!” But the doctor persuaded him out of this course by representing its folly. ‘‘ Wait patiently for .a'few 1 tn then she will write; say bow she is situated, and you can go and see her, if you like.” Bub finally.came to the conclusion that this was the v isest plan, but. in. regard to the won- derful transformation of. the old tramp he was utterly incredulous. “It is some trick!.some. trick!” he kept re- peating 5 ‘that fellow is a villain and a thief! idn’t I have to knock bim down twice on the highway before he would give up the gold-picce whieh he. stole, from: Winny? and they were no love-taps, that I.gave him, either! I heard his ribs crack, the time; but. he was game enough to come for a second dose.” In vain the doctor explained to Bub what Mr. Milligan had explained:to him, thanks to crafty ry Geer seunnne brain, that the attack on the — vay was only a device to persuade the two girls that he was nothing but an old tramp, so that ‘be: would be iin A and recognized as such when he came to the house, and that he knew the ladies all the time. But, to use the language dear to the heart of the police-reporter, the stroke-oar “ wouldn’: have it at all.” ‘* No, no!” he kept exclaiming ; ‘* wait and sce that fellow is a rascal! thereisn’t an honest bone in his body}; If I didn't feel. sure that Winny is a strong, self-willed,..resolute girl when roused, and capable.of taking care of herself, I would go in search of her at once!” And -while) the stroke-oar was fretting over the girl’s.d never dreaming that it was a blow aimed. at himself, Mr. Harry Gray made another move. CHAPTER XXII. WEAVING THE WEB, Asour ten ,o’clock on the next morning Mr. Harry Gray sauntered into the garden of the Woodbine took a good look around him as though he e to see some one, and then, one of the tables in the little arbors. The old man-came forth to wait upon his guest. | cag. mg to see Bub here,” Gray explained. ‘He has not been here this morning, yet.” ~ “T suppose, that Jam a: little early fo the young man 7emar) earelessly. ‘Yes; Mr. Lawrence don’t often get here as wien Mr. Googag ld Kk “By the way, Mr. fe, could you coo! me a chop? I was up.rather late last night and Lhad.no, appetite for breakfast.” The old man|shook his head ope tee Grahame, you ought to take care of yo , and, begging. your pardon, was Mr. Lawrence with you?” The old man appeared to be Selle eniengcn this point: ‘* Yes; why do you ask?” ‘ Because it’s against orders, Mr. Grahame,” replied the old man, evidently annoyed. ‘ Against orders?” ‘Yes, sir; he’s in training now—in training, you know, for the race.” ‘Oh, a night’s fun now and then won’t do him any harm!” Gray exclaimed, laughing as if the matter were rather a good joke than other- se. Again the old trainer shook his head very gravely. : ‘Ah, that sort of talk has cost many a good man pretty dear. Why, . Harrison, the training is everything. t a man in the ring that ain’t fit—that’s either overtrained or under- trained; or ona sk for a race; or in a boat, where for twenty minutes, or so he’s got to use every pound of strength that he’s got; the few ounces of good flesh that he’s lost, or the few ounces of useless fat that he’s got on him will be r him,” ene apt to fix him so that his backers will b look sick afore the thing is over. No, Mr. Har- Winny demurred at first at the sudden de- ' rison, don’t you run away with the idea that it
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Se —— Soc he a ee 16 don’t make any difference if a man does let up in his training now and then; it’s jest the ruina- tion of the professional man wot is a-depending | on his muscle and his wind for to pull him Hrd 8 and, Mr. Grahame, you would be a-do- | ing of Mr. Lawrence a service if you were to just to hint to bim that this all-night work is the worst thin stroke-oar of the crew, you know, the best man that sits in the boat, and if on the home-stretch he gives out, owing to bad training, why, then the Harvard cake will be all dough.” ‘* Well, I hope not, for I stand to lose about thirty thousand dollars if the right boat don’t come in ahead,” Gray remarked, in his lightand airy way. ~ “Thirty thousand dollars!” the innkeeper cried, indulging in a prolonged whistle, indica- tive of great amazement; ‘‘ why, you don’t mean to tell me that you’ve got that much money on the race?” “And why not; isn’t ita sure thing?” **Oh, no, . Grahame; there ain’t anything sure in this world except death. I’ve seen so many sure things bu’st up that ve come to the conclusion that it ain’t safe to holler till the event is pulled off.” ‘** But there is no doubt that the Harvard crew are much the best,” Gray urged. ‘‘ Everybody says so, and then, look at the odds that they command in the betting.” “Yes, that’s so; and I don’t blame the men that’s putting up their money to back tbeir opinions; but then, you know, Mr. Harrison, an accident might upset the hull thing. The crew are as good a one as ever sat in a boat, but then s’pose any one of them should a to be taken sick, and a fresh man put in, of course the two substitutes are good men, but if Bub don’t come to the scratch, where’s the man to fill his place?” ‘* Well, now that you put it in that light, I don’t know but that you are right,” Gray said, seriously, and inz as if he had never re- flected upon the subject before; he was a per- fect master of the art of dissimulation. **Of course I’m righ!” old Goo; exclaim- ed, earnestly, ‘‘ and, Mr. Grahame, if you don’t want to hazard the loss of your money, for Heaven’s sake advise Bub not to neglect his training, but to leave no stone unturned for to get himself fit to row for a man’s life on the day of the race.” “ All right; I will; you can depend <= me! I suppose you have got considerable invested upon the race?” ‘Oh, no, Mr. Harrison, not a cent,” replied the innkeeper, with a regretful air as if he la- mented that such was the fact. ‘““You astonish me! I had an idea from the opinion that I knew you possessed regarding the crew that you would invest about all you could raise on the event.” **T’'m a member of the church, Mr. Grahame and I tries to live up to it, and I’ve given up all sich deviltry a long time ago. It ain’t no harm for to coach the lads a bit and give ’em a hint pot but as for betting. Oh! I’m dead ag’in’ The young man laughed. “Well, every man to his thinking, but I say, — burry up that chop; talking has made me hirsty as well as hungry, and bring me a bot- tle of your ginger ale, too.” * Yes, sir, directly; Pll set Kitty to work on the chop, right away; she’ll serve it, sir, as I hope you'll excuse me, seeing as I’ve got to go down to the ’port on a leetle matter of busi- ness?” ‘“* Certainly.” This was exactly what the astute Mr. Gray wanted. He had no expectation whatever of meeting Bub at the Woodbine Inn, but he had ee expressly to get an interview with the He had started the old tramp on his errand to remove one of the girls who had attracted the fancy of the stroke-oar, and now he himself was about to try a certain plan upon the other. The tramp business was move No. 1, and this was move No. 2. “She'll serve it in a jiffy!” And then the old man hurried into the house to give the neces- orders. “ Everything on splendidly !” Gray mut- tered to himself, complacently. ‘‘I shall suc- ceed, I am sure of it! This girl must get out of this. I want her in New York where she can serve my purpose as a lode-stone to attract my dear cousin, old Harvard’s winning oar, as they term him, but I'll beta trifle that in his next race, whether he sits in the boat or out of it, his me ae not come in perros 7 t= ld Googage again eme m the — “You'll be served in a few minutes, sir, and 1 hope you'll excuse me?” he said. ‘Oh, yes.” The innkeeper departed, and hardly had he disappeared down the street before the girl came from the house with the ginger ale. ‘* Will you have your chops here, sir!” she asked. “Yos, if you please, and are you going to cook it?” A Yes, sir.” ‘ They would never believe this in New Yerck in the world for him. He’s the | The Winning Oar. | if I were to tell them, would they?” he ex- _ claimed. A shade of annoyance passed over the pretty face of the girl. “ Ah, but I hope that you will not tell them,” she replied. ‘‘I trust that you will keep my secret there as well as here.” i ‘*Oh, you can rely implicitly upon my discre- ion. ‘‘ But Isay, wouldn’t you like to have Bub know your true position in the world?’ the tempter asked, insidiously. The girl colored up for a moment; the bare mention of the stroke-oar’s name always brought the tell-tale blood into her cheeks, ‘“Why, what difference should it make to me?” she asked. ‘*Oh, come! why do you beat about the bush?” he replied. ‘‘Do you think that I am blind—do you think that I hav’n’t known of the flirtation which has been going on between you and my cousin? Why it is all over town that he is over head and ears in love with you.” ‘‘In love with Doctor Peabody’s daughter, you mean,” she retorted, two bright pink spots appearing in her cheeks, ‘‘and what chance do I stand—I, the innkeeper’s daughter, against that young lady?” The girl spoke bitterly, and she glanced down with a scornful air at the common print dress she wore. “ Aha! I see that you hav’n’t heard the news.” ‘What news?’ she asked. ‘* About the youn lady who was supposed to be the doctor’s daughter.” “Su to be! Why, is there any doubt about it?” “Well, ye rather, considering thatan aged tramp, who rejoices in the name of Jerry Mil- ligan, has made his appearance, and claimed the girl as his child!” ‘Why, it is just like a story!” she exclaimed. ‘*And does the doctor admit that the man’s claim is correct?” “Oh, yes; and, what is more, he has yielded the girl to his care, and by this time she is on the way to her new home.” “ And where is that? do you know?” was curious regarding her rival. ‘Oh, yes; Boston, I believe, is where the old wretch lives; and so, you see, at one sudden and unexpected blow poor Winifred is hurled to poverty and disgrace. ss ‘ ‘ 1 The girl “Yes, that is the Labs word; this new-found father is a re old rascal; no first-class scoundrel, you know, who has thrived by bis roguery, but a mean, vulgar, old tramp, who has probably seen the inside of more prisons than he has fingers and toes,” The girl was silent fora few moments, evi- dently meditating deeply upon this startling and unexpected news, and Gray watched her nar- rowly, a cunning look in his shrewd eyes. “It must have been a dreadful blow to the eB abet she said, at last. es, it was, and a dreadful blow to Law- rence, too.” ‘‘ And—and what does he think of it?’ she asked. ‘‘I should thought that if he cared for her he would have at once volunteered to take her away from the life of misery to which she is evidently doomed unless some friendly hand is outstretched to save her.” ‘*So he did, and the old tramp eagerly jumped at the chance to sell the girl, but she, as proud as a vse 4 queen, spurned the offer. She plainly told Bub before all of us there that there was now a gulf between them that could not be nned, and that henceforth they would be as rangers to each other.” “Is it possible?” exclaimed Kate, in wonder. “Yes, and now comes your chance! guid- ed by me, and I'll engage that in less than a month Bub shall be at your feet!” CHAPTER XXIII. BUB’S DECISION. Tue interview at this point was suddenly in- terrupted. Bub came strolling along up the street, both hands in his pockets, and with his eyes bent upon the ground. ‘“‘There he is now!” Kitty exclaimed, her quick eyes catching sight of the handsome stroke-oar. ‘* And he’s coming to see you, too! I'll laya hundred dollars to an orange that he won’t pass without coming in.” ‘Oh no; he never comes here in the morn- ing!” francs the girl, with trembling lips, her face alternately turning pale and red as the hot blood coursed Ae er veins. ‘The other woman being gone he comes to yous but, be off with you! It won’t do to let im even suspect that we are on such intimate terms.” The girl obeyed the command at once and hastened into the house, a prey to conflicting emotions. Was it really true then that the handsome young fellow cared for her—he, one of the first of the Boston gentlemen and she so far below him in the social scale? ** Ah! if he only knew who and what I really am!’ she murmured. “If he only iknow o. the ee ee ee ee ee a a See, ition and the money that I have gained sole- y through my own unaided efforts! but, per- haps, like my parents, he would regard my struggles and success as being more of a dis- grace than anything else.” She seated herself in the kitchen by one of the windows which commanded a view of the little arbor wherein Grahame was seated, drew the blinds together, so as to conceal herself, and then through the crevices watched for the com- ing of the man whom she liked with a feeling akin to idolatry. Grahame chuckled quietly to himself as the girl retreated in such hot haste. ‘* Puppets all! creatures made of straw!” he exclaimed, prontunnoldd weet “and how the dance at my command, and yet these poor foo, think that they have brains!” And after this reflection he proceeded to at- tack the chop, ne 2 ignoring the near +? proach of Lawrence, for it was no part of game to let the stroke-oar suspect that he was on the watch for him. In truth when Lawrence quitted the house of the old doctor after learning of Winifred’s de- pamenty it was with no settled purpose; his rain was in a whirl, and he only desired to get out into the air. Mechanically he had turned his steps in the direction of the Woodbine Inn, and no thoaghts of the innkeeper’s daughter were in his mind. He was restless and unhappy, and, like all vigorous minds, he chafed against the misfor- tune which had overtaken him, and could not bear to sit down in quiet and think the matter over. No, be must have exercise; be must be up and doing or else the suspense would be too much for him to bear to ‘ “That old wretch, her father?’ he had mut- tered a hundred times as he paced along. ‘‘It is not possible. Winny is a lady—a perfect lady; like produces like; arene grow not upon thistles: there is some horrible mistake about the matter. The doctor has been deceived in some way, but I will learn the truth!” As we have said, for a hundred times at least he had muttered this resolution, and at the end of the speech every time he had raised his eyes and glared around him as though he expected to find some one to combat his idea; and this time as he looked defiantly about him, his gaze fell upon Grahame, busily engaged in di ing of the chop and 5 sper utterly unconscious that . any no ae acquaintance was in the neigh: ' borhood. ‘Hallo! there’s Harry!” the stroke-oar ex- claimed, ‘‘He’s a sharp fellow. I’ve a good mind to ask his advice about the matter.” Bub halted and surveyed the premises. ‘“*T wonder if Kitty is anywhere about?’ he murmured. ‘‘ Perhaps this blow that has fallen upon me is a judgment because I allowed my foolish fancy to rest upon the girl when I was really about as good as engaged to the other one. Well, the punishment is severe enough. I can’t understand the fascination that this Kitty exercises over me when I am in her pre- sencé. WhenI am away from her it doesn’t exist. She is no more to me then than an other girl. It’s lucky for me, perhaps, that this love for Winny is so strong within my heart or else some day I might be tempted to makea fool of myself on account of this batenaid Hang me! if I ain’t sometimes ‘as weak and unstable in my fancies as a love-sick girl!” And while Bub was muttering these reflec- tions to himself he had halted by the gate and had rested his hand upon the fence. Kitty, from her ambush in the window— which also commanded a view of the front gate, being situated in the little ell of the cottage— had watched the movements of the stroke-oar with feverish impatience. ‘* Will he pass by, or will he come in?” she muttered. “Oh, what a fool lam to love this man asIdo!” Then she cried, enraged at her- self: ‘‘ And the chances are that he does not, nor ever will, care anything for me; but he must—he shall !” The words came with fie her lips, and her eyes spark] in her body quivered. The girl was terribly excited. ‘Do not pass!” she exclaimed, ‘‘do not pass! if you love me, come in! yield to the power which, with all my heart, 1 am striving ex- ercise over you!” Of course the invocation was not uttered in tones loud enough to reach the ears of the young man, and was merely the outburst of the moment, but it seemed as if some good, or evil genius—it was difficult to say which—had car- ried the meaning of the excited speech to the stroke-oar, for he suddenly placed bis hand on the latch of the gate, and litting it, entered the vehemence from while every nerve garden. : O. r the heart of the girl came a great swell of joy. a He does love me!” she cried, still commun- ing with herself. ‘‘He is not deaf to be = peal and I shall yet win him, despite Cy world!” In truth it was a strange coincidence, but it was the presence of Harrison Graban.e in tke Lo. ‘en, Tatler than any subtle power j
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over him by the love-sick innkeeper’s daughter, which impelled the stroke-oar to act as he did. Just as the girl spoke he had caught sight of his cousin ensconced in the arbor, and in his present mood he craved company. . Man is a gregarious animal and invariably secks another one of his species to share either his joys or his sorrows. Bub proceeved directly to the summer-house, of course totally unsuspicious of the presence of the girl behind the window-blind, who was so eagerly watching. ; rahame had kept a corner of his eye upon the stroke-oar, and he, too, had muttered an in- vocation as he noticed the young man halt at the garden gate. : ‘Come in, old man,” he muttered, ‘‘come in and walk blindly into the snare which I have so cunningly laid for you. Come in, you who are so superior to me in all the gifts that men count as great in this world! come in and see how, with the cunning which the devil has planted in my heart, I will overthrow you, great and gift- as youare! See how I will despoil you and deliver you, bound hand and foot, into the pow- er of the Egyptians!” The frank and open-hearted stroke-oar had very little idea of the true sentiments of the black sheep, whom he pee liked despite his knowledge of his questionable practices. Men with the peculiar nature of the stroke- oar are always large in char When Bub got half-way up the walk Grahame lifted his head and pretended to see him for the first time. ‘ “Hallo, Otis! is that you?’ he exclaimed. “Yes,” responded the Harvard lad, and help- ing himself to a chair he sat down on the other sido of the table. ‘What's the matter? you look out of sorts,” Grahame inquired. ‘¢ Well, I feel deucedly bad!” “You look it,” Grahame rejoined; ‘‘ but, old fellow, what is out of joint? Any of the crew gone amiss?” ““Oh, no, fortune be thanked, they are all right; it is a private matter which concerns my- self aJone.” ‘‘ Ab, ‘a fell grief due to some single breast,’ ” “Yes; do you know one J orey: Milligan?” “Very well indeed,” the other replied, as- suming a look of surprise which was extremely natural, “Well, Harry, that old scoundrel has turned out to be Winny’s father!” ‘¢ Oh, impossible!” “Indeed it’s the truth; let me tell you all about it.” And then Bub related in detail all that had transpired upon the previous evening when the old tramp had claimed the girl for his daughter, and Grahame listened as eagerly as though ev- ery single ee of the tale was new and nge to him. ‘ } “Well, what do you think of it?” Bub asked, asheconcluded. ; : “T can hardly believe it!” was the trickster’s extremely natural reply. ; ‘‘Oh, there’s no doubt about it at all, and he has | taken Winny away with him to New_York. What sort of a manis this Milligan? He pro- fesses to be in your service.” “He never was, except for some rather dirty ieces of work that a better man wouldn't have one. Youknow if you go on the turf, Otis, you must do as the turfites do,” he said, in eon- clusion, as if toexcuse his acquaintance with the | We oO yes, I understand all about that, and it has always been a puzzle to me how you ever got mixed up with such rascals!” the stroke-oar exclaimed, bluntly. ; Grahame rather winced at the plain-spoken speech, “Well, there are a great many gentlemen | connected with it, too, you must remember.” “Yes, I presume so, buf Ican’t understand it; but about this Milligan; he’s a regular old scoun- | isn’t he?” 7 on Well, yes, that is about the reputation that ? he bears. 7 e7 And to think that Winny, younss pure and | innocent, has gone with him, blindly trusting | to this wretch! ‘s Why not go after her?” Grahame suggested, | eraftily. ; ““ By Jove, I will!” Lawrence cried, jpmping | at the idea. ‘‘ Will you come with me “ Certainly, old fellow!” CHAPTER XXIV. STARTING THE MACHINERY. “We will start at once!” Bub was as eager to get off as the hound tuggling at the leash with | the scent of game in his nostrils. “ Give sy an bonr, or an hour,” Grahame said. ‘I’vea little business to arrange in Boston. But, I say, can you go to New York now? How about your training?” ‘Oh, that’s all right. The crew leave for New London to-morrow, and I can run up from the | city every now and then.” / rahame shook his head gravely. y “Take care, old fellow,” he said; “‘you 5 The Winning Oar. | else I shall go crazy. mustn’t do anything to endanger the race; your crew must win, you know.” “‘Oh, that’s all right!” Bub repeated, impa- tiently ; like all strong, willful men he was not disposed to be turned from hag 430-500 and was always inclined to be more headstrong than usual and less liable to listen to reason when his ood sense told him that he was acting heed- essly. Gratis was anexcellent judge of character , and then, too, for years he had made it his busi- ness to study his cousin likea book, because, for a very long time he had cherished a resentment against him and had waited patiently for the moment to come when he could catch the pros- perous, lucky, happy stroke-oar upon the hip and then feed fat the ancient grudge he owed him. The wily trickster saw that Lawrence was de- termined to follow the absent girl to the city, and he knew Bub’s nature quite well enough to | understand that a few timely words of remon- strance would only serve to make him still more determined in his Purpose, and at the same time the oarsman would be impressed with the | belief that the speaker was really and truly a friend. ‘*Very well, you know best, of course,” Grahame remarked, “but not for the world would I see you do anything to putin hazard | the race. I don’t speak in this way because I have invested heavily upon the result, but be- cause I want to see your crew win.” ‘Of course, of course!” Lawrence exclaimed, firmly believing that the words of the speaker were free from guile, ‘‘I know that, heart and soul, you are for the crimson handkerchiefs; but don’t be afraid; we'll win the race; there is | no doubt at all about it; but I must go to New York. I can’t stay here; there are reasons which I can’t explain very well—” and here the speaker hesitated and glanced toward the cot- tage—‘‘ reasons which compel me to go.” ow plain it all was to the wily Mr. Harrison Gray! He understood it all just as well as though the stroke-oar had unburdened his heart employed in a millinery store on and made him a confidant of its secrets. He was afraid to remain in Cambridge now that Winifred had gone away, because he dread- ed the fascinations of the innkeeper’s daughter. Strong, resolute and self-willed among men, yet in regard to these two girls he was as weak and unstable as wax. He knew his weakness, and was determined to conquer it by fleeing beyond the siren’s influence, And the plotter chuckled in his sleeve when he reflected that, thanks to his machinations, the flight to New York instead of averting the danger to which the oarsman felt that he was ee ens would only carry him straight into the toils of the temptress. ‘“There’s an express at one or two this after- mor suppose we take that?’ Grahame sug- gested. “All right. Ill meet you at the depot ata | quarter before one; we can easily kill time for | an hour if the leaving time is two.” “Very well; that will suit; I'll be there.” Bub rose to depart. “Tt will give me plenty of time to go around and see the boys and explain matters to them. | I srpent that they will be annoyed, and possibly think that I am hazarding the success of the | race; but itisof nouse! I can’t stand the sus- pense! I must go off—I must do something or Take care of yourself!” and thus abruptly the stroke-oar took his de- parture, much to the disappointment of the girl | | who, with eager eyes, had watched every move- c ' honorable and gree y sensitive man. has paid this girl marked attention—” | quickly. | I do not dare to let even my own _ how I gaina living! They imagine that I am | hame re lied. rue ather, and the old lady, your mother | I should have e | just such views, | life, and not possessed | cation, when they get religion generally get it | bad, and their faith is of that peculiar nature | doesn’t think exactly as they do. Your bi | always the blindest and most obstinate of men. | But now, you must consider the difference be- | tween your parents, with their narrow, shallow | drawn than in our ment of the handsome fellow whom she loved with the strength of a passionate woman’s de- votion. With a quiet smile upon his face Grahame saw the stroke-oar depart. ‘‘ Puppets all—puppets all,” he muttered. ‘I ull the wires and they dance. The crimson cousin, and after the struggle is over, with one accord the world will say that it was all your | fault.” By this time Bub had disappeared from sight, and Kitty came eagerly from the house; she found it impossible to restrain her curiosity. Grahame understood what the girl wanted. “ He is going to New York,” he answered at once. ““To New York!” The intelligence fell upon her like a blow. ** Yes, after the girl.” “* After the girl!” Kitty murmured, mechani- Pop! , a look of blank despair upon her beautiful ‘ace. “Yes, just for the moment he is ony after her, and nothing will content but a wild-goose chase to the city.” “ And she is not there, is she?’ Kitty cried. _ “You told me that she had gone East.” “So she has,” Grahame replied, unblushingly. Y = he thinks that she is in New York?” andkerchiefs will not win this race, my gentle | rence remarke } “ And if he goes there he will not find her?” | “Exactly.” “But, what does it matter to me?” the | supper they _ and lighting their a joined the throng whu very queer articles,” he replied, with his light, | mocking laugh. | after this girl, and he is determined to find her ‘Just now he isreally crazy and so he runs off to New York; and then there is another reason why he flies from Cambridge, and you are mixed up with that.” “1!” exclaimed Kitty, in wonder. “Yes; for the last few weeks-—-in fact, ever since you came to Cambridge and Bub made your acquaintance—his heart has been a baitle- ground, whereon your influence and hers con- tended. When he is with you he likes vou the, best; when he is with her, he forgets ycu; now that she is gone he is afraid to remain here lest your spells prove too powerful for him.” “Why should he be afraid if, as you say, he cares for me?” she demanded. - My dear Miss Kitty, just consider the differ- ence in your positions,” Grahame said, in his coolly easy way. “Ves, yes, I know that! Iam a fool ever to forget it! but this girl, the daughter of a miser- able old tramp, is she any better, or is she as good as I am?” ‘“*No; at present you have the ether 4 most decidedly. And that is where the trouble comes in at present. My ousin is an ee e “And so he has me!” interrupted Kitty, * But of course I understand; there is a vast difference between whispering compli- ments in the ears of Doctor Peabhody’s daugbter and saying the same thing to Kitty Googage, | the child. of the man who keeps the Woodbine Inn.” “Yes, but if he knew you in your true station —in the ewer which you have so brilliantly won with no aid except the genius and the gifts which nature has bestowed upon you—” “Ah, but would he think any better of me? | Would he not yield to the prejudices that the world has borne ever since the dark ages? Why parents know roadway, and I am sure that they would rather starve than touch a penny of my earnings if they knew how I gained them.” ‘You don’t astonish me in the least,” Gra- “From what I know of your ected that they would hold ersons in the lower ranks of of much culture or edu- that leads them to think evil of everybody who ; got is views, and such a man as Otis Lawrence— broad-minded, cultured and refined. Look over the history of the talented women of the old world! See how many of them from a poor and lowly station ye their way, not only to fame, which is easily acquired if the demand is just, but to a high social position, which is more | difficult to gain, and across the water the social lines are much more strongly and distinct] Republic. How many bril- liant women have won coronets and titles!” The girl fixed her eyes sharply upon the speaker for a moment, and the crafty Mr. Gray instantly perceived that he had awakened her suspicions. ‘““Why do you interest yourself in this mat- ter?’ she asked, abruptly. “Aha! you are suspicious!” he exclaimed, laughing. ‘“‘ Well, then, listen to my confession: I want my cousin to marry you, for / want Winifred myself!” ‘* Ah!” e girl believed the statement. “‘T will help you and so help myself, but you will not win, for you have a most difficult game to play, unless you follow my instructions to the letter.” ‘*T will do so!” she replied, promptly. “Well, then, away with you to New York: assume your other character and prepare your- self to be introduced to Bud.” “T will go to-night.” “Good! and within a week I'll engage that you shall see that success is certain.” A few more words of light import and the in- terview terminated. The machinery of the plot was fairly started. CHAPTER XXV. THE QUEEN OF SONG. In New York the two young men went to the same hotel, the palatial Fifth Avenue, and after roceeded to the main entrance . a were lounging in and around the Cake & “What a bu pie this New York is?” Law- - diy, his eyes wandering over the apparently unending stream of people pass- ing up and down, but it was plain from the ex- ression upon his features that his thoughts were ‘ar away. rl “Yes, and by the way, I have an appoint- exclaimed, despondently, ‘‘ whether he finds her | ment this evening,” Harrison observed, abrupt- or not; his heart is devoted to her.” ‘“‘Ah, my dear Miss Kitty, men’s hearts are | ly. ‘It nearly slipped my memory.” Mie An appointment?” x.
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—~—-- § are of the sun of public approval, are talked about more or less. It is a price that they must pay for the fame and vvealth which they acquire so easily and with so little toil.” ‘Is she pretty?” . x beauty!” Grahame exclaimed, enthusias- tically. * And talented?” ‘She has the voice of an angel!” ‘“‘T am not very well acquainted with that sort of thing,” Bub remarked, quietly. ** Just wait until you see this girl, ‘and if you don’t bow down in idolatry before her then I iniss my guess.” Bub’s lip curled slightly, and_an incredulous look came over his handsome face. Just then the image of his lost Winny was fresh in his memory, and he doubted the power of woman- kind to efface the impression. One siren only had he ever met in this world, and he did not believe that another existed. Kitty Googage, . ie innkeeper’s daughter, was a siren indeed ad when he was in her presence he found i »lmost impossible to resist the spells which she vast over him, but she was far away, and with sence the charm faded, He had crossed the tonin weet, which, as in the ancient legend, Oke the ee Chatting together in a bantering fashion the | ‘oir soon reached Thirtieth street and turned o it from Broadway. In the center of the block Grahame halted be- ' »a ahandsome brown-stone front house. “This is our destination,” he said; ‘‘and now, vord before we enter the charmed portal. oposing that you fall under the spells of this vvelous beauty you are not to blame me, ad, for I have given you fair waTTiOe “Oh, I will hold you blameless,” Bub re- ied. “ Ts quite a serious matter introducing such et ee The Winning Oar. song. Who knows what serious consequences may result from it?” “Oh, nonsense! go ahead!” “T warn you, remember!” ‘Oh, on my head be it!” Bub replied, Mently- The stroke-oar little guessed the nature of the tangled path into which his feet were straying so recklessly. Grahame advanced up the steps and rung the bell, Bub following close behind. An elderly colored man answered the bell and from the look upon his face as he perceived Gra- hame it was plain that the Bostonian was no stranger to him. “Ts Mademoiselle Paulina at home, Jim?” he asked. ‘*'Yes, sah.” “‘Carry up my card, please,” and Grahame placed one of his pasteboards in the hand of the servant. ‘Yes, sah; walk in, gentlemen, to de parlor.” The servant ushered the twain into the recep- tion-room and then departed. The parlor was nicely furnished and only dif- fered from the usual reception-room common to similar housés of its class in having the walls peofurely. adorned with portraits of all the ar- istic celebrities of the day. Lawrence examined them with considerable curiosity, and Grahame, who was well acquaint- ed with all of them by sight, and with the great- er part personally, took upon himself the task of enlightening his less learned companion. Bub listened patiently as Grahame descanted first on one picture and then on another, enliv- ening his discourse every now and then with some choice bit of scandal regarding the origi- nals of some of the pictures. “You are well posted,” Bub observed at last. “Oh, yes, ’m up to all that’s going, as the saying is,” Grahame replied, complacently. he rustle of a woman’s dress sounded in the entry Ph ad then; the young men turned; a tall, beautiful girl with lustrous, golden hair, mag- nificently dressed, came sweeping into a epere ment, and then came a sudden and ling tableau. No sooner had the lady caught sight of the faces of the gentlemen than a cry of astonish- mnt came from her lips and she started back utterly amazed. And as for Bub Lawrence, u Grahame’s whispering in his ear, ‘‘ Here she is,” he had in curiosity turned to see the famous siren, but the moment bis aes fell upon her face he re-echoed the cry which had been forced from her lips by the sudden and unexpected encounter. Grahame was the only one of the three that was not completely taken by surprise, although he followed suit and pretended to be. This woman—this magnificent creature—this Mademoiselle Paulina, who with her wonderful voice as well as by the grace of her person and the exceeding beauty of her face, this queen of genius, rich in all the giftsthat fame and wealth could give, was no other than the innkeeper’s daughter, plain Kitty Googage. No wonder that the stroke-oar was amazed at the wonderful and unexpected transformation! Never before in all his life had he been so thor- oughly and utterly astounded. or a moment he could hardly believe the evi- dence of his eyesight, and he blinked and stared like an owl suddenly brought from the darkness of an obscure nook into the light. But, there was no mistake; Kitty Googage the pommel: y et and the sweet-voiced siren, Ma- demoiselle Paulina were one and the same, CHAPTER XXVI. PAULINA’S STORY. ‘“*Hauwo! hallo!” cried Grahame, in apparent amazement; “‘are you two people acquainted with each other?” The exclamation in a measure recalled the pair to their senses, ‘“Yes, I have had the pleasure of seeing the lady before,” Bub replied, very ill at ease, and his mind still in a fog as to the wonderful trans- formation whicb had changed the poor and low- ly innkeeper’s daughter into this gorgeous lady, brave in silken attire. ‘Oh, [ see!” Grahame exclaimed; ‘‘ you did not recognize an old acquaintance by the name, for I shrewdly guess, mademoiselle, that your name is but a nom-de-theatre, eh?” * Yes,” the girl replied. “Tt is really an odd thing, when you come to think of it,” Grahame continued. “TI brought Mr. Lawrence up here on purpose to give him the pleasure of making your acquaintance and here you suddenly recognize each other as old friends, Well, well, it is odd!” The stroke-oar cast a searching glance into the face of the other. Was it possible, he thought that Grahame did not know that this queen of song, this lady who, on the mimic stage, had fascinated both old and young New York, was only the bar-maid of the village ale- house, old Ben Googage’s daughter? It might be so. Grahame rarely visited apg, and the chances were a hundred to one that he had never happened to sce the girl. He must be careful, then, not to Letray her secret: And Kitty, to», on her part, had favored the @ dashing blade as yourself to this queen of ' arch-plotter witu an earnest look. She under- stood only too well that Grahame knew who and what she was, and now she asked herself the question—Why and for what object had he brought Bub Lawrence into her presence and thus rudely torn away the vail of secrecy with which she enshrouded herself? For no good purpose, she was sure, for in her heart she dis- trusted the wily and smooth-spoken ‘Harry Gray,” although to save her life, she could not have ee good and sufficient reasons for the odd feeling; but women are creatures of in- stinct; they ield blindly to a whim and do not seek to fo: itty their actions by logical reason- in But Grahame, with a smile ‘that was child- like and bland,” beamed upon them both, and if he had dark and deep designs buried within his prod no trace of them could be discerned in his ace, “By Jove! it is about as odd a thing as lever remember!” Grahame continued; ‘‘and since you are old acquaintances, I trust you will both excuse me for a.few minutes while I run up- stairs to Signor Bilatka’s sanctum. The signor is the coming pianist of the age, Bub, and I take a wonderful interest in him. I'll be back in fif- teen minutes — adieu!” And then Grahame bowed himself out of the room, much to the ‘fe- lief of both of the others, for in truth they were terribly embarrassed, and in the presence of a third party an explanation was not possible. After the departure of Grahame the girl sunk into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief. Bub for a moment remained motionless, a be- wildered look upon bis face. Omae again he was in the presence of the siren whom he had sworn to avoid; once again he was exposed to the fascinations of the woman who exercised such a strange influence over him. Was that influence to be for gocd or evil? Ab! that remained to be seen, and yet there was a subtile suspicion lurking within the young n an’s heart that his hme with the girl could re- sult in nothing but evil. As we have said, fora moment he stood mo- tionless as a rooted tree and gazed earnestly in- to the lovely face of the girl. He had thought that she was a charming creature when dressed in the plainest attire, as became the bar-maid of the Woodbine Inn, the daughter of old Ben Gco- gage; but now that he beheld her tricked out in all the finery dear tothe heart of womankind— robed in silks and laces—diamonds adorning her delicate ears—her tawny hair looped here ard there with precious gems—her person «mbellish- ed with all the tricks and devices ccmmon tothe belle of the period, he thought that his eyes had never beheld a more beautiful woman. Again the subtile spells of the charming girl were stealing over him, binding him bake and foot in a silk-like chain, a) noble as fragile as the airy web of the spider-king, ard yet in reality as strong as the massive links of the manacled prisoner’s chain. “You are surprised to see me, no doubt,” she said, looking straight into his face and smilingly inviting him to approach. “Yes,” he replied; and, unable to resist the charm, he advanced to her side and seated him- self so near to her that he had but to reach out his hand to touch her. “No more surprised, though, than I am to be- hold you. for ycu are the very last person in this world that I expected to see. “But explain this mystery: who and what are you?” _“Tam Mademoiselle Paulina, the bright, par- ticular star of the Alhambra Music Hall, in 14th street,” she replied, firmly, Lut with anxicus eyes fixed upon the face of the yourg man, ea- ger to witness the effect of the speech. “The Alhambra Music Hall?” be murmured. “Yes, where I nightly sing: I am a vocalist by profession and I command the highest salary given to any artist who treads the beards of a music hall, As you can plainly cee, 1 lead a double life:—when I am home with my parents, I am plain Kitty Gcogage, Lut kere, in New York, over a certain circle I reign as queen, with none to dispute my sway, and lem known as Mademoiselle Paulina.” ‘Lhere was an air of bravado plainly apparent both in the girl’s voice and manrer. Bhe feared the effects of the disclcsure, but she had resolved to make the best of it. In brief she intimated—I am so and so, I am not ashamed of it, although perhaps you may think that I have cause to be ashamed. To tell the truth Lawrence hardly knew what to make of the matter. He was so much cur- prised by the disclosure that he hardly knew what to think. He had not a very high opinion of the “bright particular stars” of the music halls. He had come in contact with two o1 ibree of them, and not one of them had impressed him favorably. ‘*My parents do not know what I am doing,” the girl continued, rapidly, determined that he should know the whole story. “They have a holy horror of the stage and all that belongs to it. Iassist them out of my earnings, but they would turn from the money in horror if they only knew how I gained it. In fact I really be- lieve that they would rathe: accept money gained hy downright theft than the gains of the stage, as Lbev cousijer it an abomination.”
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“How did you happen to enter upon this | Pg et gor don’t you know who this girl life?? Bub asked, his curiosity excited. ‘* Ever since I wasa child I had been noted for my excellent voice. by good judges that if I had had proper instruc- tions I would have made a great opera singer. | I have often been told | do | | 19 though.” : é Yes, I do,” Lawrence admitted, slowly. “Well, I won’t pry into the secret; only all My father was in difficulties; his inn was not | Pve got to say is that if you want the girl she’s paying and he expected to lose it and with it | yours; I feel satisfied in regard to that.” all his little savings which he had invested in it. T resolved to use the talents which Heaven had given me, secretly and unknown to my folks. I made the attempt, and succeeded. The public that I sing to is an easily satisfied monster, my audience do not demand cultivation so much as voice and style, both of which the world says I have. My folks think that I am the fore- woman of a millinery store on Broadway—that I receive an excellent salary, and that the money Isend to them is my surplus ere The cheat is not likely to be discovered, for this blonde hair and the glamour of the stage al- most defy recognition; and, besides, there is no sum of money in this world that would tempt either my father or mother to go inside the wa of a theater.” “This sounds more like a romance than re- ality,” Bub observed, thoughtfully. ‘* And is all the romanceot the world confined to the pages of the novelist?’ she exclaimed. “‘Do not believe it! The mind of man cannot invent wilder deeds than the will of man can perform. The romanceof fiction is weak indeed compared to the romance of society.” ‘Yes, that is truth itself.” ‘* Nonsense.” “Oh, it’s the truth, and you know it, old fel- low.” ** Don’t say anything more about the subject, it is distasteful to me.’ “ ri ht. ” And so the conversation ended. , The two went to the club, spent the evening there, and then returned to their hotel. Bub’s slumbers were restless and uneasy that night; and two fair faces haunted him, while | Grahame, on the contrary, slept like a top. His plans were rie ressing well, and he felt sure that he would ultimately triumph, In the morning Grahame excused himself to his cousin under the pretense that he had some important business to attend to, and immedi- ately sought the presence of the Jady who in such a strange manner played two such differ- ent roles in the drama o life. Grahame sent up his card and craved the favor of a private interview with the queen of me : e lady was at home, and immediately came own. Right in the rear of the main parlor was a The appearance of Grahame at this moment | little private one, and in it ‘‘ Mademoiselle Pau- interrupted the interview. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BLACK SHEEP’S PLAN. “THE signor is out of humor to-night!” Grahame exclaimed, in his gay, volatile way. | ‘Some of the critics have been scoring him with | a merciless D and he is talking wildly of pis- tols and coffee.” ‘‘The life of an artist is not always in the sun- shine,” the girl remarked, ‘* By the way, Otis, I have a little business at the club to attend to this evening, and so, with | your permission, I will tear myself away. The | affair had nearly slipped my memory,” Grahame announced. But the stroke-oar was in no mood to stay longer in the dangerous company of the siren. The charm was not yet complete, and he had strength enough to withdraw. “* [ will accompany you, Harrison, and at some future time will again have the pleasure of call- ing upon Miss—” Kitty, he was just about to say, but checked himself just in time. “Paulina,” added Grahame, laughingly, ‘“ I think that I can guess there is a little secret be- tween you two, but I will not attempt to share it!” A puzzled look i aera on the girl’s face for amoment. She did not understand Grahame’s ame; it was evident, though, that he wished to eep Bub in ignorance of the fact that he too knew her as Kitty, the barmaid of the Wood- bine Inn, in fair Cambridge town. The girl was somewhat annoyed at the de- parture of the stroke-oar, buf she skillfully con- cealed it and bid him farewell with her sweetest smile, and urged him, with almost unmaidenly persistence, to call again, and soon. The cousins walked gp the street toward Broadway, Lawrence dull and gloomy, a sense of impending evil hovering in his mind, while Grahame,on the contrary, was unu-ually merry. “By Jove! she is a superb girl, eh, * Yes, a very fine girl,” the stroke-oar re- | li na” received her visitor. ‘*No doubt you are py donee at my request for a private interview,” Grahame began, “‘ but I assure you that I desire to see you upon most important business,” : 3 “T am ready to listen, sir,” the girl replied, coldly. She had taken a dislike to this wily Mr. “Harry Gray,” although for the life of her she could not have told why. d ‘*Now I am about to speak upon a most deli- cate matter, and I beg that you will not be of- fended if I speak plain pl ‘Go on, sir,” she said, quietly. P “You are desperately in love with my cousin, Otis Lawrence.’ The girl started, crimsoned to her temples, for the ch was totally unexpected. “ And he, in a measure, is fascinated by you.” ‘Cease, sir, I beg!” Kitty exclaimed, rising in agitation. “‘Oh, but you must hear me!” Grahame cried. “T will not hear you!” she replied, vehe- mently. ‘“The happiness of your whole life depends upon it!” ** My happiness?” “Yes; you love Bub, and he can be made to love you! “To love me?” The girl was amazed. ‘Yes; Ican arrange the matter.” “1 cannot understand how that can be.” “*T cannot very well explain it now; all I can say is that I can arrange the matter.” ‘“You will excuse me, sir, if I doubt your power,” Kitty exclaimed, with quite a haughty accent. She resented the man’s interference. ‘Doubt all you like; I don’t object to that!” Grahame answered, in his careless way. ‘‘ All _I wish of you is to agree to do certain things ub?” be | nded, slowly, his face strangely sad for one | of his usual high spirits, _ . “Yes, sir, a superb girl! I’ve seen a great many in my time, but this charming creature is a cut above them all. Why, she has the air chess.” ote And et she is only—” the daughter of the keeper of a common drinking saloon, Bub was about to say, but checked himself just in time rve the secret. : i. Only asinging-girl, eh?’ Grahame continued, taking up the broken sentence. ‘‘ Well, that’s very true, but she makes a princely income out of her talents. Have you any idea what she makes in the course of a year? “Not the slightest.” And in truth the stroke- | oar a have added, neither did he care. “ We What do you think of that?” ““ A good income.” 4c Yos, but I say, Bub, I was quite astonished when I discovered that you and Mademoiselle Paulina had met before.” “Was you?” mares ‘Yes, and I say, old fellow—of course it is none of my business—but aren’t you and she prett well acquainted?” “ Til bet a trifle that there has been a love af- | tem fair between you two!” “Why should you think so?” Lawrence asked, rather annoyed at the idea. “ G 1, sir, not Jess than five thousand dollars! | provided that I bring you and Bub together.” “‘Oh, you are naka a bargain with me!” The girl's lip curled in scorn. “ Well, yes, it is something of that sort.” ** And supposing that I don’t agree?” ‘“* Ah! but you will agree!” “T will! You certainly have great assu- rance.” “tT know that you will agree, because it is for your interest to do so,” he calmly returned. ‘*And you think that I am ruled solely by my interest?” The girl was rapidly losing her emper. “Who is there in all this wide world who is not ruled solely by their interest?” he demand- ed, sarcastically. ‘From the highest to the lowest man woman or child, the idol, self, rules all the world.” “You will find that there is one in this world pe is not ruled by it!” the girl cried, spirit- edly. ‘You mean to imply that you will not doasI wish?” “You have guessed correctly!” she exclaim- ed; in lofty scorn, ; ‘But you don’t know what I wish.” *T do not care to know!” “Tn a week you will think differently, and until that time I bid you adieu.” Grahame bowed himself out. He had a | crafty scheme on hand. | | CHAPTER XXVIII A TERRIBLE BLOW. THE haughty lip of the girl curled in con- t, 2a This fellow is an arch scoundrel,” she mur- mured, “‘ but [ can defy his malice. Otis Law- rence can never be anything to me; to ——- a) uessed it from the way she looked at you,” in such a hope is ay to cast reason Grahame replied, laughing. eye to detect that sort of thing!” “Oh, I’ve a rare but, there is a fascina on—a charm in his so- ciety which I am not strong enough to resist, ish in the future; I will avoid him, although the struggle tears my heart in twain.” A brave resolution, and the girl fully intend- ed to carry it out, but in this world man pro- poses and fate disposes. Grahame’s face was dark and his brows con- tracted as he paced slowly down the street. “She will have it!” he muttered; ‘1 woula have spared her the blow, but she is obstinate, and, as I can’t bend her, she must break. Proud and willful after the fashion of her sex! Well, within a week I will undertake to humble her to the level of the dust.” But the shrewd Mr. ‘‘ Harry Gray” worked by wit and not by witchcraft, and wit depend- ed upon dilatory time; andso, for fully a week, nothing worth particular mention occurred. Bub visited his siren aol § again he was fast in her toils, and as for all ber mighty resolu- tions they vanished into thin air in fis presence, Heart and soul the girl was devoted to the stroke-oar, and at times there arose in her mind a wild determination to win him for her own, despite ali the obstacles that existed. e time for the race was fast approaching. Lured by the wiles of the siren, whose fatal fas- cinations had taken so strong a hold Spas him, Bub neglected his training and lingered in New York notwithstanding the remonstrances of the rest of the crew. ‘Oh, it’s all right, boys,” he replied. ‘‘I am in excellent health and am taking the best of care of myself. Don’t be alarmed about me; when the day of the race comesI will take my place in the t as fit and in as good a fettle as any man in the crew. I am detained in town by important matters.” The search after Winny he had given up; Grahame had taken the matter upon himself an after a pretended search had assured Bub that old Milligan had removed the gir] to some secret bid- ing- place, and that for the present it was impos- sible to trace her ; and Bub, with that fatal weak- ness, about the only blemish in his noble nature, tamely accepted the statement; he was quieted though by Grahame’s repeated declaration that if the matter was left in his hands he would most assuredly find the lost one in time, It was no part of Grahame’s plan to brin Bub and Winny a. ane He had remove Winny from Cambridge that she in New York might act as a lure to entice Bub away from the crew, but for bis master-stroke he had reserved the other girl. He had shrewdly calculated that, although Kitty was apparently much more high-tempered and proud than the meek and loving Winny, we those very qualities could be made use of to forward his designs. Just a week had elapsed since the day on which the interview between Grahame and the girl of double life had taken place, and Kitty, robing herself for the street in her dressing-room at the hotel, received word that a lady and gen- tleman wished to see her in the parlor. Totally unable to guess who her visitors were and rather astonished at the call, for she was little used to visits from strangers, she gave the finishing touches to her toilet, adjusted the diamonds in her ears and then descended to the reception-room. She entered, carelessly swinging the door to behind ber. The lady and gentleman rose to re- ceive her, their faces convulsed with emotion and, oh horror! Kitty recognized her father and mother! A wild cry came from the lips of the girl; she eugene back, her face as pale as the face of the dead, and but for the support of a friendly chair, which involuntarily ber trembling hand had ) she would have fallen prostrate to the floor. ‘* Father—mother!” she gasped. “You see, mother, I told thee naught but the truth!” the old man exclaimed, bis voice husky and trembling with emotion. A sob was the only reply of the old dame, and ae into a flood of tears she sunk down into a chair. ‘* Yes, this is the lass that we toiled for,” the old man continued, ‘‘the daughter that we thought we were a-bringing up to be a good, pious girl, the support and comfort of our old age. And now, how do we find her? a-flaunting it like a princess with diamonds in her ears and sin in her heart!” “‘Oh, no, father—mother, believe me, I am a good, honest girl!” Kitty cried, wildly, flinging erself down at the feet of the old man, “Don’t ’ee call me fayther! naught to do with ye!” he replied, sternly. “Oh, Kitty, to go and break our hearts this ’ere way,” the old woman sobbed. “* Wasn’t it enough that you shonld take the wretched wages of sin yourself without forcing us to have a part in ’em?” old Googage exclaim- ed, his voice trembling with on. ‘But, father, I haven’t done anything wrong: I only honorably use the gifts that Heaven has ‘* And where do you use’em?” the father cried: “in the devil’s house, the theater! I saw you given me!’ ‘ i I will havi.
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20 there two nights ago with my own eyes. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it, tricked out in silk and laces and with diamonds all over you! Oh, girl, girl, 1 would rather have seen you in your grave-clothes, dressed for your coffin!” A fresh outburst of sobs from the old lady: 4 in- terrupted the father’s speech. “But, father,” pleaded the agitated isl, ST am just’ as good a girl now as when I rst left the shelter of your roof.” “ And you lied to us, too!” the old man add- ed, fiercely. ‘‘We accepted your earnings—the money that we thought you had gained by hon- est toil, and that money kept a roof over our heads when, if it hzdn’t a-been for it, we should have been houseless, homeless wanderers in _ streets, maybe; but, we’re here now to pay it all back. [went home to the Woodbine arter I see’d you tricked out in your stage finery and I told your mother all about it ad she wouldn’t believe me; she thought that there must be some awful mistake about it, and so I brought her on here to this great overgrown city, for I wanted ber to see with her own eyes; and now she has seen; she’s seen your diamonds—your false yal- ler hair and all your fine fixings, and—” “Oh, Kitty: eo ve broken my heart!” the old woman so ‘“‘Father—mother, forgive me!” the girl im- plored, with streaming eyes. ‘‘I did it all for the best. I could not bear to see you toil so; I desired to help you along in the battle of life.” ** And to he ape pee have sacrificed your im- mortal soul!” the old man replied, solemnly. ‘Oh, Kitty, Kitty; think af the jud —_ in the world to come!” Mrs. Googage exc ‘My fault is not such a terrible one; aie am still a good, honest girl, and I defy the world to prove that Tam otherwise!” ‘* Oh, lass; we don’ go by the opinions of the vain, w Vicked world,” Googage opin “Tn our own hearts we judge you, and our j ent condemns you. ever more will mh you child!” ‘Oh, father, for Heaven’s sake have mercy!” the unhappy girl plead. ‘* Ask merey of the Heaven that you have outraged with your sinful wa; ays—with your dia- monds and your fine clothes!” answered the old man, sternly; ‘‘ but as for us, we are done with you forever. Wasn’t it enough that you should sat the bread of sin and shame in secret, with- out making us share it with you? And we took your money, Heaven forgive us for doing it but we thought that you had wrought for it an sained the silver by honest toil; we had no idea ‘hat it was the devil’s ware!” ‘Oh, the bread it bought ought to have choked us!” moaned the old woman. ‘But we’ve come to give it all back,” and old Googage produced his old-fashioned, capacious pocket-book as he spoke; then he undid the strap which bound it and took out some legal- looking documents. “Here’s a deed of the Woodbine Inn; and -here’s a bill of sale of ev- ery thing that’s in the house. We don’t want anything, neither the old woman nor I, except the clothes we stand in. We don’t know how much money you’ ve given us; we never kept no account of it, ’cos we never expected for to have to give a reckoning of it; but we’ll just give up everything and go, out into the world ugain as poor as we began.” “ Oh, father, for God’s sake, don’t talk this wa : you will break my heart!” the unhappy gir eried, in her keen agony. “ And what regard did you have for us or for our hearts?’ the enraged father demanded, sternly. ‘You made us eat the wages of sin, and we lived and thrived on it. Heaven’s curse fall on your head, you vile girl!” “No, no, Ben, don’t curse her!” cried the aged mother, interposing. ‘‘ Come away!” ‘“*Oh, "don’t leave me—take me with you!” and Kitt clung to the old man’s knees. ake you with us now that we know what you are! y, we would rather cherish a ser- pent in our bosoms, vile girl that you are.” And the father rudely cast her off. With a pitiful cry the unhappy girl fell faint- ing to the floor. e mother would have gone to her assistance, but the old ek forced her a, and hurried her from the house. en Kitty recovered her senses, she dis- covered Harrison Grahame bending over her. CHAPTER XXIX. A DIABOLICAL SCHEME. Eaaerzy she looked around for her pee but they had departed. For a moment she t eugit that ihe terrible tales through which she had just passed vas the baseless fabric of a dream, but the legal ipers lying by her side upon the carpet, whither “ne old man had cast them, was ample proof that all that had transpired was sober, stern reality. ** By Jove! Miss Paulina, you gave me a terrible an net” Grahame exclaimed, perceiving that the had recovered her senses. ‘I was afraid that y ou were dead,” ““\—a sudden faintness, that is all,” she replied, : ising to her feet as she spoke, assisted by the sym- thetic Mr. Grahame, then almost s ering fo a chair, so weak was she after the te’ le or- »1 thr “ough which she had passed. fi: eve are some papers—legal documents, ap- ly, which you have dropped,” Grahame re- “tke ed, picking up the folded Papers and present: linge 1 em to her. _ The Winning Oar. Onn A shudder aah, over the girl, anhiae her en- deavors to appear calm, as her fingers closed Loe the articles. ese paper bullets had wounded her terribly, and the shock had been so severe that the blow had dazed her. Of course she had not the slightest suspicion that oe ntleman who had come to her assistance knew t of the dreadful interview which had iecntied had occasioned her fainting spell. *Astoniahed indeed would she have been if she had known that it was solely to Mr. Harrison Grahame she was indebted for her parents’ visit! But it was the truth. In dark and devious ways this arch plotter worked. By sheer accident he had discovered that the old Ben G , Milligan, Fon a pomnais he Mya beeen en Googage, and, upon sounding the a; vagrant on the subject, he had learned that Milligan bore h $ prosperous relative no very great amount of love. A cunning scheme at once suggested itself; so he remarked, carelessly, to the old rascal that he knew a secret conce the Googage family which would trouble the old man very much if the facts came to his knowledge. Milligan was all ears, and earnestly he hesought Grahame to reveal to him the particulars, as he coarsely said: “T don’t owe him no love; he never did nothink for me wot he ought to. Wot’s a bit of bread an’ meat an’ a sup of beer when a man wants the ready chink? Blow me tight! if I wouldn't like to give him one for his nob!” This wretch really was ignorant of the meaning of the word gratitude. He envied and hated his rela- tive because by honest toil he had prospered. Finding that in the tramp he had a willing and ready tool to serve his purpose, Grahame revealed to him the secret concerning the innkeeper’s a h- fer ane and then suggested a plan by means of which he, Milli gan, could deeply wong the old man, The tramp gladly assented to the scheme; but, with re his low aan, Tag never for a moment ot that Grahame took any particular interest i fair. He thought that the astute Mr. one planned the trick simply to oblige him. Milligar wrote to old Googage that he had some- thing impurtant to tell him in regard to his daugh- ter; that she had grossly deceived him, and that if he valued her at all to come at once to New York or it would be too late. Of course, as was but natural under the circum- stances old Googage took alarm and hurried to great Gotham where Milligan met him as per agree- ment. He told the excited father of the life which hie daughter was leading. Googage was furious, and for a time refused to believe that the story pant be true, but Milligan swore that with his own es he had witnessed her performance on the e a dg ne ot A store was ted and Miss Kitty Goo- Pa for, and as had been paovigusly ar- Faneel, e answer was given that Mise Goo: age had gone out of the city to attend to an important cus- tomer, Ly father was staggered and terrible indeed was une agony he suffe until the night came and he visi the Music Hall where Mademoiselle Paulina held forth to admiring audiences, Although in a measure prepared for the shock yet the blow fell with terrible force when he discovered in the person of the sweet-voiced, yellow-haired siren, Mademoiselle Paulina, his own ‘idolized daugh- little acted more like a man whose senses were benumbed with liquor than anything else, and when the er vanished from the stage he bbed his hat and left the hall, closely followed b. ini an, who was considerably astonished by h relative’s silence. In the street, just as soon as they had got beyond the glare of the bright lights that illuminated the front of the Music Hall, Googage seized Milligan by the shoulders with a gripe that was like iron. mi be ee ye!” he cried, Re do ye know where the girl ves? s] an did; Grahame had informed him in shrewd antici dation of just such a question, and he at once imp: d the information to the questioner. “That's all I want to know!" Googage a rarmgee his voice husky, hoarse and unnatural, ‘ This is good turn that you have done me, but an evil pho and I think from an evil motive. rom this night, then, keep out_of my sight; don’t ’ee ever come near ag’in, or I'll break every bone in your skin!” And then the angry man strode away. Little did the villainous old tramp care for threats; he had done the mischief that he had planned—had wounded the honest heart of the man who had often befriended him, more cruelly than if He had planted a dagger in it, and now he gloated over the in he had wrought, all unconscious, blind fool that he was, that he had been only an uncon- scious instrument to aid in the carrying out of the deep-laid schemes of that prince of tricksters, Har- rison Grahame. St ht home the old orem went, told his wife of the terrible discovery which he had made, and the aged couple consulted together, with that grim Puritanicalism so strong a characteristic of the religious sect to which the ey belonged, determined at once to sever every bond which existed between them and their only child. The faith they professed taught them that it was only right to do so, and that their chance of salva- tion was periled if ‘they acted otherwise How strange the religion that teaches us that we can only gain heaven b — all earthly joys and stifling all human feelings! The old couple fully oars os their determina- tion, as the reader already > And now that we have fully explanted how the un- expected discovery was brought about, we will re- turn to the interview between the cunning schemer _ Ae beautiful girl whom he intended to use as s too In a mechanical sort of way she nf taken the pa- pers her cong 8 evidently far awa: ou are distressed my, dear Kitty,’ Gra- hame observed, abruptly ; rdon me if I address you by your own true appe lation rather than by ie fanciful stage name Yes, I—I am not well,” the girl replied, slowly. a conscious in truth of what she celts 80 great e agitation ences wn ie me labo! wie lt was a terrible discov | make, and yet I co not see how bole your pare find it 2 | thee nea hearts to treat you so ay he contin- u A look of an h swept a idly over the girl’s face, for she felé hurt and ted that the truth re m be anos “<4 any one. “ ppen pass: in the entry and just chance overheard ame es the iabereion es he ex: ed; ‘and I trust that you will pardon me if I played the listener, for it was with a good purpose, assure you, and solely to serve you.’ “To serve me?’’ the girl exclaimed, in wonder. “Yes; Iam aware that I am not rated very highly in your opinion, and I will own frankly that in serv- ing you this matter I am also Se, myself. You see, I am going to be honest with you “ Flow can you serve me?” “‘T can arrange it so that your parents will forgive you and agai Pap take you to their hearts.”’ The eyes of the girl sparkled and an eager look ap- peared upon her face. “Oh, don’t look incredulous; I can do all I say.” She shook her head sadly; she doubted. “Listen patiently while I explain my plan, but oar bey hl me a question or two. How do your eee my ce Otis Lawrence?” ee They t nk highly of him.” ppose Otis was to marry you—would not your tathor end and mother extend to his wife the pardon that the, deny to their own child?” es, | think they would.” “That marriage would redeem you?”’ “Yes; but it is impossible—impossible!”’ “No, it is not—I can arrange it!’’ he cried, quickly. “ Bub is madly in love with you, and each new day his passion increases. All that you need to do is to encourage him. Follow my instructions and I will guarantee that within a month he is yours forever.” “But why do A hon interest ae in this mat- ter?’ Kitty asked, suspiciou “Because I am in love wit ‘your rival, Winifred, and if you don’t win him, she will,” Grahame an: swered, readily. The girl’s suspicions at once vanished, for she saw that her visitor had indeed good reasons for his in- terference. ‘* But I fear that the task is a hopeless one,”’ she declared, in a manner that plainly betrayed her in- credulity. And I I am sure that it is not, if you will only fol- low my ene gh aterm ” he re lied, uickly. You must take a house by yourself so that pi can re- ceive and entertain him at all times; you must keep him continually by you, for the influence that you exercise over him is of the nature of a fascination, and absence breaks the spell.”’ ‘*Do with me as you like!” cried the girl, suddenly and passionately. ‘‘ No matter how great the cost— no matter how terrible the risk—how awful the toil, I will ge ap to anything so long as I win Otis Law- rence And so the compact was made. CHAPTER XXX. PEYTON FINUS A CLEW. GRAHAME was not a man who suffered the to w underneath his feet, one so the instant he en- the girl og his side he pushed matters ahead as fast as possible A cosey furnished house upon the west side of the city, was taken; a matronly housekeeper installed to play dy al and Mademoiselle Paulina moved her quarters to it It was Liberty Hall in the truest sense of the word; om apartment, carefully furnished, and adorned w ith ose little knick-nacks so dear to a woman's alk was placed at the stroke-oar’s disposal, and, as Grahame had shrewdly anticipated, Bub was ere in the presence of the siren who had be- And, on her part, the girl left nothing undone to complete her hold on the young man. She was play- ing for a great stake and she had determined to leave no means untried to win, and as she perceived how rh letely Bub seemed under the influence of her tions the wild hope which she had cherished e + witniug him for her husband did not appear to be altogether a delusion. Men in love had done far more foolish things, and Bub was but mortal after all. In fine, now that she had fairly entered pe = struggle, the goal did not seem so far off, a’ Grahame, too, seemed likely to succeed in his dark and deep designs, for Lawrence, conscious that he was not. acting reghtly in neglecting his training, and absenting himself from the crew right on the eve of the race, sought to drown the voice of conscience by indulging quite freely in drink. The veteran McShouter, too, had been introduced to the stroke-oar, and was a very frequent visitor to the west-side mansion; and so, on two or three oc- casions when Bub had been dr inking freely, and, as a natural consequence, with senses befogged, the veteran had proposed a social game between ‘him- self Grahame t an Lawrence, and the result of these social games was that at the end of ee two weeks, the bold McShouter held Bub’s I. O. U’s for the very tidy sum of five thousand dollars. Grahame had affected to remonstrate with Bub for playing so carelessly; he too was Speer enky a loser of a few hundreds, but the stroke-oar had laughed at the wa: ‘*Oh, bother!’ he cried; “what are a few hundred dollars tome? 1 don't doubt that the old rascal has cheated both of us, but he has done it acleneiices, and as long as we can’t detect it, and are foo aaa ee to play with him, we have no right to com- plain The stroke-oar had little idea of the important part that these little bits of Ae os whereon some cabalistic figures were insc followed by. his signature, would play in deciding the fortunes of the great boat-race. Innocent as a child he had no idea of the dark and wily schemes of his cousin, directed. a himself. He loyally trusted Harrison Gra: The Harvard crew had not borne the prolo absence of their best bere with patience. Latter letter had they written implo Bub to return nd not hazard the result of the race by taking his place in the boat in an unfit condition to row. ‘*T am detained,” he replied; ‘soon I will come.” But he came not, and at rowing restive under the delay, the crew dispatch Peyton to em deavor to perenade ther trnant te peor Sd
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knew that the young Wied grrr possessed id _ The Winning Oar. . 21 was quite a large sum to him; he only received six . They And against such a fatal fascination what charm te influence over the misgui stroke-oar, and could avail? Only one! for a whole week’s service, day and night. hey hoped that Bub would listen to and heed his re- Winifred, the girl Bub truly loved; her appear- “Come back, sir, in an hour and I'll find out for * quainted with Peyton, having struck up a friendship | now, blarst my bleeding eyes if you hain’t a trump! “This is my son, sir,” he said. ‘He carries the or him during revious visits to the city, for | Why, you're the very man I've u a-looking arter! | baskets for the theater—the artists’ wardrobes, you P>yton, like the stroke-oar, always stopped at the | Jest_you fix_the matter and I'll stand somethin’ | know, but the lady has moved and it was just by ac- Fifth Avenue. | handsome. It’s my gal’s happiness wot I’m a-look- | cident that he happened to know the man that “We don’t see much of Mr. Lawrence,” he re- | in’ arter, you know! ‘Ang me if I want hanythink | moved her trunks. e'll take you to the house, sir, marked, ‘though he does drop in once in awhile | else. I’m able to fight my own way in the world, 7 | and then you can give him the money. and generally at night, and Mr. Grahame—youknow | am! Oh, I’m a rough-and-tumble customer! I ain't The boy, who was a shrewd, sharp little lad, con- Harrison Grahame?” the Virginian nodded—“ well, | a-goin’ to drive any ‘ard peagain with the gent. Wot | ducted Peyton directly to the house of the siren. ho usually accompanies him.’ | do I want o’ money? Cay. est enough fur to live | Grahame, with all his skill and cunning, had not ““A bad sign,” Peyton muttered, “for that fellow | on, and sich a rich nob as he is kin spare a trifle and | calculated upon this; he did not for an instant is no friend of Bub.” | never feel it. I tell you, prune governor, I’m one on | imagine that any one would suspect that Mademoi- ‘“Well, they’re mighty thick, and from what I’ve | nature’s noblemen, lam! I’ma tough one to look | selle Paulina and the stroke-oar would have any seen lately, I should judge that Lawrence is drinking | at, but I'm a good one to tie to! Ax anybody wot | common interest. pretty freely.” _ knows me and they'll all tell you the same!”’ From the front steps one could look into the par- : The Virginian’s face darkened. This was a bad, “If I understand the matter rightly, Grahame | lor, as the window-curtains had not been drawn sign indeed. promised to e the affair so that your daughter |! down. ** Are you sure about this?” heasked. ‘Lawrence | and Lawrence should be brought togetlier.” “There she is,”’ said the boy, whose keen eyes had seldom used to drink anything.” |“ That's wot he did, young governor!” exclaimed | instantly caught sight of the siren within. “He's drinking now and drinking freely, too, and | the old tramp, eagerly. “Not a bit of a lie about Peyton looked, and at once recognized Kitty Goo- none of your common stuff, either; it’s brandyevery it; I'd take my davy to itin any court in the coun- pace despite the change in her appearance produced time. I know, because I’ve drank with them two or | ay! but he’s played me sharp, he has. He sed that | by the yellow hair she wore. Another form, too, three times.” | if I took the gal away from Cambridge, your friend ~ met his eyes, the manly, well-proportioned figure of Peyton thanked the clerk for the information al- . would foller arter. Oh! he planned the hull thing, | thestroke-oar, and a thrill of pain shot through his though the tidings annoyed him dreadfully, wrote _ but he s gas back on me, blarst ‘im! I know he has, | heart, for he fully comprehended that his friend was a brief note to Bub telling him that he, Peyton, had | and Ill even with him. No cove ever play fast in the siren’s toils. | arrived in town and desired to see him, left itin roots on me and made anythink by it, and that’s the Peyton gave the boy the promised money, dismiss- charge of the officia] and then sauntered to the porch kind of man Jam! ed him, and then rung the door-bell. of the hotel. | 4 “He has thrown your daughter overboard for the A colored man answered the summons. Bub, constantly in the company of Harrison Gra- other girl? ’ ; “You need not announce me,” the Virginian said, hame, and drinking freely; this was bad news in- | That’s wot I’ve been a-thinking, and I want a | in his coolestand easiest way. “I wish to give them deed, and instinctively the Virginian felt that his chance to square the think, Ido! Blow me tight! if.| a surprise.” friend was in danger. | Iwouldn’t put a knife right into him! That’s the The guardian of the door, although he had been What did it mean? What cil demon had taken _ sort of hairpin I’m made of!” And as he spoke the | warned by Grahame, in whose pay he was, to be 1 possession of the once honest and upright stroke- old rascal puffed out his cheeks and endeavored to | careful whom he admitted, was completely deceived, «4 On di ditation Peyton took little heed of | iy Peng oe atter t d Tu to beat one a oe i Bad Asiie h ra nt rad Portia ae / ra n me on Peyton e is) em rtome an engage 52) riend at once ed aside and allowed Peyton to the pasehig crowd, and never noticed that a plainly Mr. Harrison Grahame in this little game, clever as | pass. ial y / dressed, rather undersized man, had detached him- he is!"’ Peyton exclaimed, firmly. ; The Ninginiap advanced at once into the parlor, ’ self from the mass and was approaching him with | You re a une, yo governor, and no mis- | and immediately a most striking tableau was form- the evident intention of accosting him, ! take! Milligan cried, adm: ; . Bub had been lazily reclining in a large easy- Although the man was habited well enough yet | 1 will take a hand in the affair, not only because | chair, languidly puffing a cigar; this was Liberty there was that indescribable air about him which to Iam a friend to your daughter, but because I am a | Hall, be itremembered, and the yellow-haired music- the practiced eye of a police official, would at once true friend to Otis Lawrence and I know that Har- | queen was pacing restlessly up and down the apart- have suggested a vagrant and a thief. rison Grahame means to bring him into trouble. | ment, something after the fadhion of a caged tiger. Not to make a mystery about the matter we will Besides, I owe Grahame a grudge and I am not | for thestroke-oar, by a chance observation in regard reveal at once that the new-comer was the long-ab-. sorry to get a chance to pay it off. Do you know | to the stage and its votaries, had nettled her. sent parent of Winifred—old Milligan. where I can find this Kitty e?? “What would you have me do?” she had exclaim- i. “Well, blarst my blooming heyes, if it ain't!’ he “Blest if Ido!” the tramp replied, ‘‘Mademoi- | ed. ‘ Stay forever in Cambridge and rest content to exclaimed, upon coming face to face with Peyton. selle Paulina is wot she calls herself here, you know. | be simply the innkeeper’s daughter, with no better “How are you, doy governor? Well and ‘earty Mebbe you kin find out at the Music Hall, the Al- | ambition in life than to be the wife of some honest I ’opes, for you look it every time! You remember hambra, in Fourteenth street, you know.” country clown, and with no higher aim than to work me, don’t yer?” *“A good idea! I'll go there at once; and, by the pet Se ey to the bone in daily drudgery?” Peyton nodded, for the remembrance of the old i what is your address?” , e girl wasirritated. The careless remark of the and unsavory tramp was still fresh in his mind. e old man gave it, but as Peyton jotted it down | man whom she idolized had, upon the instant, open. “Well, now, dash my buttons! if I he ted to in his memorandum-book, he glared at him in a sus- | ed her eyes to the extent and depth of the awful, see ph here!” the man continued; “and where’s picious manner. gulf that existed between herself and the handsom * Mr. Lawrence, if I may make so bold as to ax?” “Tsay, young governor, you’re going to act square | stroke-oar. She had dared all to win him, and new, « “T don’t know; i am in search of him now.” with me, ar’n’t you? You won't go back on a cove, | when the seemed fairly in sight, a careless . “And you don’t know? Well, now, thatis wot I would you?” he cried, whiningly, and yet with a | word, heedlessly spoken, convinced her that slight . call a bleeding shame!” cried Milligan, re oeceee certain dogged, threatening air. indeed was the hold she possessed upon the man ** When I see’d you, young governor, I made bold “Oh, no, you ma, upon me,” Peyton replied. | whose love she coveted. speak to you ‘cos I wanted to know where Mr. “I will act’ honestly with you for Winny’s sake, if She had fascinated him; he had lingered spell- Lawrence was. He was kinder sweet arter my gal, not for yours,” bound in her presence megsecting the duties which you know—my gal, Winny i but, since we've come to And you'll let me know wot you find out, gover- | called him elsewhere; but bring him to that pitch the city we ain't seen hide ner ‘air of him, worse _ nor, as soon as you kin? 4 of madness necessary before he would forget all luck! for, mind you, young governor, I ain't gotany | * Yes, to-morrow, perhaps. social ties and make her his wife, ah! that event objection to love-making. Why! Lrayther likes it! | “Don't you lose no time, ‘cos this Mister Harry | seemed far in the dim future. s I was young once myself, and my gal—why, she jest | Gray is a rough and tough customer! Oh! I know | The entrance of the Virginian then, at this mo- loves the very ground that gentl’man walks on, only ‘im of old. If it’s got to come to a fight atween yer, | ment, produced a startling picture. in course she’s too modest and delicate for to jet on | get in the furst blow and let it be a stinger, or you’ Bub jumped from his chair and grasped him by . that she cared forhim; and youdunno where he is, come to Fret ; just you mind, now, wot I'm telling | the hand, while the girl glared at Fim with angry * yer, for I know ‘im of old, and he’s a rattler—as.| eyes. Had he come to tear her prize from her?” OF do et York somewhere, fant, he?” de”) | “Til he on my guamit never feat,” B APTER XXXII “He's in New York somewhe e e- Py on my ; never fear,’’ Peyton re- manded the tramp erly. | | plied. “If I learn anything of importance, I will on. , ** Yes, I believe that he d _ communicate with you to-morrow, or, at any rate, THE EVIL GENIUS. Rk “Say, young governor, you're a friend to my gal, / as soon as I can. Good-night,” and then Peyton Hao, old fellow! where did you spring from?” . ain't ye? You ain’t got nothink ag’in’ her? You | nodded adieu. Lawrence exclaimed. wouldn't go for to do anythink to hurt her, would | ‘Give it to ‘im strong, young governor—and ‘*From New London, where you ought to be!"’ Pey- . | quick!" Milligan cautioned, as the Virginian moved | ton replied, sternly. * Certainly not.” r away. “Come, come, old fellow; don’t scold me!’ the “And I say, if there was anybody a-tryin’ to keep | hs Aa went at once to the Music Hall in Four- | stroke-oar exclaimed, confused by the unexpected . Mister Lawrence away from my gal you'd let on to teenth street, It was easily found; such places gen- | answer. “I am good care of myself, and / me, wouldn't you, if you knew it? erally are. The Virginian rused the gau ily- when the day of the race comes I will take my place | Peyton surveyed the old man in astonishment, | printed bills which ornamented the front of the | in the boat as fit as any man in the crew.” hy, what do you mean? Idon't understand, | building, but was unable to discover the name he ‘The crew would feel more sure in regard to that . Have you reasons to suppose that anybody is trying _ sought, so he at once applied to the active young monstrance, if delivered in person. Peyton sought Bub at his usual head-quarters, the Fifth Avenue hotel, but found him not, although he still occupied a room there. g One of the hotel clerks perceiving how anxious the Virginian seemed about the matter, took upon himself the task of Meat gy. J a little of informa- tion i, regard to Lawrence. The clerk was well ac- . Lawrence away?” to Kero T don’t know,” and the his head, doubtfully. since I’ve had my ee. an’ I’m kinder certain wot.has_ live? Don’t know, Go to the e door; mebbe | now it is five to four on Yale.” promised to do certain thi and he ain’t a-done | they'll be able to tell you there, It will cost you “Take all the bets you can get, for we are sure to em, and blarst me if T as cet into the taind of the bear es bo: eV turned the om-| ""'¥ ay Bey ik e a tho ‘ urned awa: e offi- ss Like a flash cam ug Py peter edie 9 gets a y, es, sure to win if you are in your place and fit tramp shook | \ Pye seen a heap of deviltry | ance would break the spell. Hastily he eried: ‘Old fellow, I can bring Lawrence to see your daughter!” CHAPTER XXXI. HOT ON THE SCENT. “You kin!’ Milligan exclaimed, in delight; “ weil, a man who attended - the box-ofice f ‘Mademoiselle Paulina es; she ain't o this week; mebbe she'll be back next week, or the week after, Jist taking a rest now, Where does she you and have a pe! ready to show you the house.” ** All right, and the money shall be yours.” Peyton departed, and in order to while the time away, went into the Music Hall. The place was crowded and the hour soon “3 <¢% away. Returning to the stage-door he found thrt the oid back-door-tender was as good as his word, for he had a boy in readiness to act as guide. if they had you with them!"’ Peyton returned, warm- ware ourself—how you are injuring the crew, by remain- aa away from them. Do you know how the bettin stands now? It was six to four on Harvard, an you don’t know how you are injuring b | | s’picious by natur’. Virginian, a wild and whirling thought. . to row when we pull in front of the judge’s boat to Grab receive the word; but wil/ you be there— will ou be in trim to row if you are there?” “Another flat! Looks asif he'd ‘pan’ out we too. My stars! what a heap of money that gir i Milligan stared for a moment, and then, as if con- | could pick up if she chose to go for these fellows d who says that I will not be there?’ exclaim- vineed that Peyton might aid } Leh eg Pian ba ng ren Ad perv lage Bet go ed the stroke-oar, in nt Y- 4 “Yes, that’s the man, @ very prac- “No one man, but the world when it reverses the square thing by me. He sed that he'd fix itso tical individuals. the odds from six to four on Harvard to five to four At the stage door of the establishment Peyton met with an ext cold reception. variant The back-door-keeper was a surly old fellow and t Mister Lawrence would marry my and he | f«< oon ose te bring her on here, jest 50 fat Mister awrence would come on arter her, and he was to on Yale. Isn’t that plain proof that there is some- thing wrong, or that the world at large believes that . there is something wrong? Is there anything amiss / fetch him, but, blest if he has! ’ He’s playing roots | he resented the question in regard to the song-bird’s | about any man in the crew, yourself excepted?” . on me, I know that he is; and he’s a tool out | whereabouts as though it had been a nal insult, “Oh, this is all nicinenee’* Bab replied, flushing to of me, too, He got me to fetch old Ben on Don’t know an bout her!” he growled. 3 the temples. ‘It is only a trick on the part of the here for to see his darter out at the music and | | For a moment Peyton felt inclined to be indignant, | sharpers who are scheming to make money by bc t- Idid, never thinking no mischief, but, hang meifI | for the V was tolerably hot-blooded, but so- | ting on our race. The r the changes in the . ain’t’ been reflectin’ bout it, and I'll bet that it was | ber second thought told him that in such a case as odds the better chance for them to turn an honest | all for some little game of his own wot he did it. this he could not hope to gain anything by losing his | penny.” A Peyton gsve.s sudden start; the speech.of the oooh ot Bee ealiiea: ee ie aaa a Vireinitin bhadiy, pocctiving thet «duceaietine / eyes. . very anx- ree’ a : ' ra pena Kitty Googage here, in New Yorkt” | ious to find Mademoiselle Paulina. I know her in | watnocesesty, “they want s plainer pain “Well, you had better believe that she is! She's a = life; I have some important business to | question.” . singer at the Alhambra, in Fourteenth street, and with ne and I am willing to pay liberally for | “Yes?” and Otis released the hand of his friend, she calls herself Mademoiselle Paulina, all unbe- | information. I'll give ten dollars to her,” and | and walked over to the window, took a look out into ‘ ™ known to her dad, and wasn't the old man jest crazy | the Virginian took a ten-dollar bill from his pocket- | the street, and then, coming’ back, faced Peyton when he found it out?” book and held it up. He j od and judged wisely, | again. He expected something unpleasant, and was ‘ Kitty in New York—the siren whose had | that the signt of the bill wonld prove a great temp- | endeavoring to prepare himself for it. ‘“ Well, go ever proved too powerful for Bub to t! The | tation. on; you shall have a plain answer to a plain qucs- wae explained. | The eyes of (Le old man sparkled. Ten dollars ' tion.” secret of his delay, then,
Page 22
22 The Winning Oar. “ Are you coming back to take your place in the boat or shall the erew put another man in your posi- tion?” For a moment the stroke-oar turned as pale as death, and his erg’ right hand clutched convul- | sively the back of the chair upon which he was leaning. ‘Put another man in my place?’ he exclaimed, his voice hoarse and unnatural. ‘ ** Yes,”’ “ Another manin my place?” Lawrence repeated, | as though unable to believe the evidence of his own ears. “Yes, although by so doing we risk the loss of the race; but though defeated we still retain our honor. What is it that the world says of the college boys both here and in England? ‘They can’t be bought +o throw a race!’ é man who puts his mone upon the college regatta does so wi fait that, barring accidents, the best crew will win.” “T don’t understand you, Peyton; there is some dark meaning in your words—something hidden,” Bub remarked, slowly, his face white and his lips trembling. “You are the stroke-oar—the strong man of the crew, the man above all men who should leave no means untried to win; what is the world to think then when it is reported that you are neglecting M Ao training —that eg are lingering here in New York when you ought to be with the crew in New London? What can the world think when it is reported that our own cousin has laid large sums of money that e Harvard boys will be defeated in the race?” “You mean Harrison?” * Yes,’’ Peyton replied, Sag “But it is not true! He bet nearly thirty thousand dollars on our side.”’ “He told you this?” ‘Yes; I see by your face that you don’t believe it; but you don’t like Harrison, andIam afraid that you allow the dislike to bias your mind against | m,”’ “T only repeat to you what is current in every sporting circle in the town, sonal feelings to sway me a single hair’s b You absent yourself from the crew; you hazard the result of the race; your relative is betting largely | will ld think that your crew but one thing?”’ - ry say what that one thing is!” Bub cried, ex- citedly. lose ; what can the wor “T can’t bear it even from you, the man that I love like a brother. in this matter. I cannot go to New London yet awhile; I have given my word to remain in New York for a certain time.” “Skillfully planned!’’ Peyton cried, indignantly. “You have been hampe by a promise, so that ou will be forced to remain here and so hazard the oss of the race!’’ The stroke-oar cast a quick, s the girl, and in an instant the V an understood as wellas though the information been conveyed in words that the yellow-haired siren was the person to bso the promise had been aire Peyto “No, you are wrong; upon my life, Peyton, you are wrong! The promise which I have given thas jicious glance at nothing whatever to do with the , nor has the party to whom I have given it any interest whatso- ever in the coming contest, except a natural desire to see the crimson handkerchiefs of Harvard lead past the judge’s boat at the finish of the race.” The girl cast down her eyes, able mistress of her- self as she was and capable of controlling her fea- tures so that they would conceal and not betray the secrets of her heart, yet the honest faith so bluntly expressed by Lawrence in her integrity made her feel sore at heart, for she was betraying the stroke- oar into the hands of his enemies, is second panes had fallen into the hands of a modern De- In this life one false step almost invariably leads ® another unless a terrible effort is made to retrieve the error. Kitty had yielded her consent to Grahame’s wily lan; she had accepted his aid in her scheme to en- ap the man for whose love she hungered, as the unt miser does after the yellow gold. Then, af- r she had tajrty cptared upon the scheme, the cunning trickster represented to her that he had discovered that all of Bub’s fortune had been swal- lowed up in unwise speculations, with the exception of a small residue, every penny of which he had staked upon the college race. “Tf the Harvard crew are beaten,” this dark schemer had said, “ Bub will be abeggar. Now then which condition favors you? Lawrence with mone may hesitate to wed you; but Lawrence, Boor, u terly penniless, worse than that, owing debts of honor which he has no means of paying, for in his overweening confidence he has bet more money than he is possessed of, will he not in his despair, think more favorably of the woman who is willing to cling to him in evil fortune as well as when he is basking. the smiles of prosperity? You can ad- vance a thousand or two dollars to pay his debts of honor; will he hesitate then to repay the service? Oh, no; you know that Bub is as generous as the day; you will 1 ue! to him in the light of a guardian angel and he will not hesitate a mo- mens. 4 the Harvard crew lose the race Lawrence is yours!”’ true daughter of our common mother Eve Kitty listened to the voice of the tempter. She did more than listen; she acted upon his advice. In one of Bub’s unguarded mome she won from him a promise to remain in New York with her until a day or two before the e. Heart and soul she had entered into the service of the schemer, and little did she dream, wild with passion, almost frenzied with “love's delirious thrill,” that she was but as clay in the hands of the Finan and therefore when Lawrence expressed himself so bluntly in ard to the propriety of her course, it was but nal 1 that she should feel some stings of con- science, for the girl, her wild, mad love set aside, was really and truly honest,and she would rather have with a limb than done aught to work harm. to even a single hair of Lawrence’s head? Peyton east a quick and earnest glance at her as she sat with eyes bowed to the ground, and he could har liy bring himself to believe that she could be in- strumental in bringing the man she loved to dis+ grace, although from what he had heard he was in- dislike of th I wild not all i we coe islike of the man goes I would not allow m | i readth, Iam tied hand and foot | ee Ee ee ee eee clined to believe that she was Grahame’s accomplice. He determined to make one last effort., Bub looked at Kitty, but the girl made no sign. ** Tt is impossible,’’ the stroke-oar said, shortly. “Well, I have performed my mission in part, for the crew instructed me to give you four-and-twenty hours to think the matter over. To-morrow night, then, at this same hour, I will come for your answer, and until then, adieu.” Lawrence accompanied Peyton to the door, shook hands with him warmly, and with a whispered, “Don't blame me, old fellow; I can’t help it!” dis- missed him. Peyton retreated, baffled but not beaten, for he still one weapon left, Winny! Would Bub withstand her entreaties? CHAPTER XXXIII. PEYTON’S MASTER-STROKE, Arrer leaving the house of the siren, Peyton walked slowly down-town toward his hotel, medita- ting deeply as he went. “Six days only to the day of the race,’’ he mused; “whatever is done must be done quickly. I feel sure that Bub is the victim of a terrible plot, and I think that Harrison Grahame is at the bottom of it. Heaven knows that I don’t want to wrong the man, even in thought, but I really believe him to be capa- ble of almost anything if the end he has in view is of sufficient importance to justify it. There must be some powerful influence at work or elsé the state of the betting would never have aay te so suddenly and so violently. But Lawrence is blind; he will not see unless the evidence I present is so strong that, perforce, he must acknowledge its truth. And now, to obtain certain proofs that Grahame is betting against the Harvard crew. Even Bub, with all his blindness and his perfect faith in his cousin, will be apt to think that something is wrong if he has un- doubted proof that Grahame is betting that his | crew will lose.” Just as he arrived at this conclusion Peyton turned into Broadway, and, by one of those strange coinci- dences that so often happen in this world, he came face to face with the very man above all men whom he desired to see just at this particular moment. A shabby-genteel gentleman young, a man of birth and breeding, and yet, with that unmistakable = oan to the practiced eye, denoted the slave of ssipation. Cooperton he was called, a uate of Harvard College, a man of good family and fine gifts, and yet he had Pataclabany blasted all the prospects of a glorious life by his love for liquor, and now, instead of holding a good position in the world, as was his due, he picked up a bare subsistence as the keeper of a betting-room. If there was any man in New York who could pro- cure the information that the Virginian sought, ** Bill’? Cooperton was the man. After the usual tings—for Cooperton, despite his one besetting vice, still retained the good opinion of his acquaintances, that is those of the right sort who had sense enough to see that the fallen man had rich and rare manly qualities despite his lowly station and his evil habits—Peyton came at once to pr i and explained fully and frankly what he e ; At first Cooperton shook his head. “Harry Gray’ was no stranger to him, and as well asany man living he knew how difficult it would be to dis- | cover anything about him if it was to Grahame’s in- terest to cover up his tracks. “He’s no flat, saa gr he said; ‘tin fact, from what I know of him I think that he’s a mean, miser- able rascal without the least bit of a heart; I owe him a grudge, too, for, with one of his cunni tricks, he put me in the hole once for a couple o thousand; he took advantage of me when I wasn’t myself; and now, Peyton, if you say the word, to use the slang, I'll put up a job on him.” an bs fave hit fe tele When © dl with eagerly. * when con ing sush a hieconghneet rascal.”’ “From what you have told me, I haven’t the slightest doubt that he has bet heavily against Har- vard, and that he will do his best to to keep Law- rence here in New York until the last minute and so endanger the loss of the race. ._Now, what you want is absolute proof that he has bet that Harvard would lose the race?” “Yes, that is it exactly—proof about which there can be no dispute.” ‘*You shall have it if you have sufficient confidence in your crew to bet a thousand dollars that they will "vain! TH Jo thine gly. “Ce Lys t Oo a iy.” “Well, then, I think I can trap cunning gen- tleman, smart as he thinks himself. I’know a certain place where I am likely to find him, between now and midnight. Ill just lay in wait for him and tempt him by announ that I’ve a thousand dol- lars that has been left with me to bet, at even money, st Yale. The chances are that he'll at the offer, for of course he won't sus) any underhand gamefrom me. As the keeper of a betting-shop it is my business to arrai such things. I'll book the bet, and of course he’ll have to his name.”’ * But, do Pty think that he'll do that?” asked Peyton, quickly. * Yes, on the spur of the moment, for he will have ne suspicion that there is any use to be made of it. Then with his name to the bet, and my evidence in regard to it—for weak fool as I am, my word has never been doubted—I am sure that Bub will be con- vinced that his cousin is playing him false.” “Do you require the money now?” “Oh, no; your word is enough, but it had better be done through a second party, for the name must be signed. I had ma en that. Get the landlord to represent you. You are stopping at the Fifth Avenue as usual?” The Virginian nodded assent. ‘Suppose we fix the matter up, then, right away, and then I'll be prepared for my gentleman.” This agreed with Peyton's ideas exactly, so the two procsoaed to. the hotel, arranged the affair with the diord, and then the betting-man proceeded on his mission, and so skillfully and quickly did he work that at exactly ten minutes past twelve that night hé placed in Peyton s hand the evidence which clear- Vy arovedi beyond even the shadow of a doubt that ing race. This was work enough for one day, and so Peyton retired to rest quite satisfied. The conviction had been gradually growing upon him that, in the end, he would succeed in baffling the crafty schemer who was striving by such unfair means to compass the defeat of the Harvard crew. The Virginian was up early in the alg any made a hearty breakfast, and then, adjourning to he por tico of the hotel to enjoy a cigar, encountered the old vagabond, Milligan. This worthy had not been able to restrain his im- patience, and so he had come in search of the Vir inian to Metis if there was anything new upov e ca . In brief words Peyton told him how matters stood, and the indignation of the old fellow was something won erful. ** Bet ag’in’ the Harvard crew? Why, in course he has! and he told me, as a friend, that if I ’ad an stamps to invest that there was a fortin for me in it. An’ so he’s gone and thrown my gal overboard and fixed things for this other beauty! Wouldn’t I like to spile it for her neither!” and the ruffian doubled up his fist and shook it, menacingly. ** Yes, he used your daughter to lure Lawrence on to New York, and then, after he got him here, took him to the other girl!’ “Oh, blarst ‘im!’? howled Milligan, in righteous wrath; ‘“ wouldn't I like to get a crack at ’im! But Isay, young governor, you ain’t a-goin’ to stand it, are you? Didn’t you say as ‘ow you was a friend to = gal, and are you a-goin’ to see this other heifer e the man she hankers arter away from her in this here scaly manner?” “When can I see your daughter?” asked Peyton, paying but little attention to the lamentations of the old rascal, as he knew well enough that all Milligan cared for was his own precious self, and that he was only eager to bring his daughter and the stroke-oar together so that he might profit by it. Right away, young governor; just assoon as you like, and the sooner the better if so be as how you are a-goin’ todo anything fur to help my gal, and you ought to, for she’s an old spark of yourn, and what do P he care for this other one, anyway? and if ou kin the thing up right, and money is any ob- ect to you, why, blow me tight! if I wouldn’t stand a ish pile when I makes my little rake!” eyton restrained the strong impulse he had to kick the rascal, and signified that he was ready to | accompany him at once; so off the two went. The Virginian now was to set about his most diffi- | cult task. He did not underrate the amount of toil | involved in the attempt, but for the sake of the friend whom he loved he resolved, if it laid within the compass of his power, to save him from dishon- r or. In due time the two arrived at the door of the ae ae ee occupied by old Milligan and his a r. “ Have you any objection to my having a private | interview with Winny?” Peyton suhed. Yan | ‘* Wot do you want to do that fur?” rs cri taking the alarm at once. ‘ Why carn’t I hear wo ou're going tosay? It’s a bloomihg shame, you ow, if I arn't to know wot’s going on.” “T don’t think that I can do anything with the rl if you are around, and if I can’t arrange the af- | fair my own way, I might as well give it up,” and | the Virginian made a movement to retreat. ‘Hol’ on, hol’ on, young Sie mac BS the tramp | eried, in haste; ‘‘don't you in sich a precious hurry. I’m willing to listen to reason,I am! There | never was sich a reason’ble creatur’ as I am; so ge | ahead if so be as’ow you must; but Isay, young | governor, you’re goin’ to do the fair thing, ain’t you ou won't go fur to play any roots onto me?” “Tf you doubt me don’t trust me!’’ Peyton re- plied, sententiously. “Oh, go ahead; but it’s a blooming, bl shame if a feller can’t ask a question or two wher it’s his own gal wot’s the matter!”’ “Show me in and then get out!’ Peyton command: that the Harvard crew would be beaten in the com Milligan grumbled but obeyed. Winny had changed for the worse during the brief period of time that elapsed since she left Cambridge and the protecting care of the old doctor, but it wag with something of her old spirit that she arose and greeted the Virginian. Milligan eg the opportunity to putin a few parental words. **Listen to wot he seys, and do wot he tells yer for he’s the gentl’man wot knows wot’s wot. i yer eye and we'll win by a head, yet!”’ And then, after this ambiguous giving out, he de It is of little use to repeat in detail the scene that followed. Suffice it to say that at last, won by Pey- ton’s pleading, and truly anxious to save the man she so dearly loved from dishonor, Winny consented to do as the jan fay Same Like a player Peyton was about to match one queen against the other. CHAPTER XXXIV. A WOMAN'S LOVE. __ As fate would have it Grahame did not learn of Peyton's visit until the following morning; and then, when Kitty related to him all the particulars of the interview, the dark and err trickster was con- — annoyed. He meditated carefully for a few | moments in regard to the matter, and then spoke: “This visit means mischief; Peyton bears me no will and he will strain himself to the utmost to o me harm. And he told Bub that I was betting the Harvard crew?” **Yes; but Otis refused to believe it,” “I don’t really see what harm he can do,” Gra- hame observed, after a few moments of anxious thought. ‘‘Bub’s perfect trust in me is a shield against which Master Peytcn’s malice will fall in vain. How is Lawrence this morning?” **Moody and dejected; he is evidently ill at ease. He said this morning that he was a fool to give me | such a promise as he did, and that I was no true I friend to him. if I held him to it.” * And what did you say ?”’ eacaimed, with bit- im f. @ truth he will | despise me forever.” me wi me had wagered a thousand dollars | "Ab, but he wii uever learn the truth!"’ ~o, liad, “*
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~~ a The Winning Oar. the tempter, in his smoothest manner, “ unless you are foolish enough to tell it to him.”’ “ But will I gain the end I seek?”’ she cried, impet- uously. ‘‘Already I fear that he is beginning to tire of me. I think I can detect it in his manner, and after the race is over, and his crew is beaten, will he | not blame me for all his misfortunes?” 7 ‘Oh, no; on the contrary, humiliated and dis- couraged, he will seek in your society to find a. fulness and rest. He easly. leave this part of the country, and in some build up a new life. Hold fast and now, then most surely Bub will take the alarm, and wife, It is easy in this life to persuade us to take the | path toward which our inclinations lead us. The tempter was successful and the girl promised to stand firm. ~ Grahame then departed, his mind but a little re- lieved, for, instinctively, he scented danger. He prepared to offer a bold fight, though. To the colored servant who attended the door he gave stringent instructions. “If any strangers come send for me on the instant, | particularly if one of them be the young man who came last night.” Grahame had really no reason to suppose that an one would come, for Peyton had ie caeen, retired foiled in his quest, for the girl in her agitation had neglected to inform him that the Virginian had an- nounced that he would give Bub four-and-twenty hours to consider the matter. This, the most im- portant fact of all, she had neglected to repeat. Grahame was simply providing against contingen- cies—providing most wisely, as after events proved. All das precautions having been taken the schemer departed. ss Only a few — more of this terrible suspense,” he murmured, as he walked slowly down the street; “only a few days more, and then fortune will lan me a winner, or else cast me upon the shore, wreck- ed and ruined forever!” Leaving this pn trickster who was pla: Bsa and playing so ably—for his great game, to follow his own devices, merely premising that they were of little interest to the reader—we will return to the Virginian. Peytor repared his plan of attack Peyton having full, waited. patiently until the twenty-four hours’ grace promptly at the mo- should have expired, and thi ment, he ascended the steps of the modest dw within which the song-bird had taken refuge an where she had lured old Harvard’s winning oar. The colored servant answered the as usual and recognizing Peyton at once, hesitated to admit him. ** Hol’ on, boss!”’ he ejaculated, interposing his per- son so as to prevent the young man from ente s “who does yer want to see?” “Mr. Otis Lawrence,” replied Peyton, promptly, drawing himself together as he spoke and preparing to make good his position bg nee force, and, slight- ly built as he was, the Virginian was no mean antagonist, for he was extremely powerful and as spit, as a cat. e sound of Peyton's yoice reached the ears of the stroke-oar himself, who was pacing restlessly up and down the parlor, and he came at once into the entry. v “Come in, iy deion viously arra: A “Well, old fellow, you’ve come for my answer, I suppose,” Bub said, his manner nervousand his face excited. “Yes; the four-and-twenty hours are up now, you know."’ ‘Peyton, Lam bound to remain here, asI told you; » Ihave given my word. I begin to believe, now, that I acted ilies a fool in so doing, but I have done t, and the less that is said about the matter the better, I suppose.” Both the voice ona manner of the stroke-oar be- strong irritation. : rere not the party to whom you have given the pledge release you under the circumstances?” Pey- ton asked. ‘*He or she, man or woman, is no friend to youif the release is not freely given.’” The Vir- ginian felt perteney ate that it was the girl to whiom the promise been given, and he was de- termined not to spare her, but to boldly give utter- ance to the truth. “Tt is idle to speak about the matter!” Bub re- lied, impatiently. “It cannot be. A now I wish bo know what the crew intend to do? “What would you have them do under the cir- cumstances?” Peyton demanded. ‘Wait for me!’ Bub cried, implo “ Heaven's sake, wait for me! I am all t; take mince in Sine bogs 5n the day of the race, fit to row for a man’s life!” “‘ And would you do so under like circumstances?” the Virginian exclaimed. ‘Would you, as captain of the crew, allow any one man of the eight to ab- sent himself until the very eve of the race, and he result? Would you act. Lawrence, you are the of a plot; this romise has been extorted from you on to pee gl gg nar dag Hed BS a oe your co n your | friend, and yet only last night he bet a thousand | caes that Yale would win the race!"’ Peyton re- “Impossible!” cried amazed. “His own signature prove the truth of my accusation.” “ #eyton stepped to the window and tapped upon it; istant spot with your aid | ou will surely | win him; but if you betray the slightest uneasiness _ then, goodby to all your hopes of ever becoming his / | have raised then from the outer darkness came two forms, and the Virginian admitted them to the house. The | 1 ! | ar affairs which I do not anticipate.” first was Cooperton, the keeper of the betting- house; the second, a woman, closely vailed. ‘““You know Mr. Cooperton, and know that he is a man of his word,’’ Peyton said. ‘He will bear wit- ness that last night Harrison Grahame bet a thou- sand dollars against the Harvard crew.” ‘*T will, and here is his signature to the agreement,” | Cooperton remarked, stepping forward and placing the x thy ocument in Bub’s hand. The stroke-oar could hardly believe the evidence of his egeaiens. ‘*By Heaven! it is his signature!” he cried. ‘* And who denies it?” cried the voice of Grahame himself, and that individual stepped boldly and defi- antly into the room. “It is my signature, and did not you PE Aer ay Otis, urge me to hedge—to bet against Harvard, so as to be safe no matter how the race went?” “It is the truth,” Bub answered, staggered and un- decided. “I did urge him to hedge and make him- self safe, for he told me that he had bet a large amount—too large for him to lose—that Harvard would win the race.” **And I defy him to produce a single particle of evidence proving that he has wagered even a copper | | against their own brother if they thought they stood coin upon the Harvard crew!” Peyton cried. Page | am not aware that I am at all account- — gentleman for my actions!’ Gra- hame replied, insolently, He saw that the Virginian had entrapped him. ‘. ‘But you can produce the proofs, though, that ‘ou have..bet largely on Harvard?” Bub asked this man. “Of course can!” Grahame cried, at once; “and | ou shall see them, but, as my | be fereed to | after the race is over word is doubted now, produce them red to oblige this young ¢ pan here,” sand speaker nodded inso!.. ‘eyton. “Lawrence, it is not a question now of men’s do not intend to y at | words; but of proofs that can not be disputed,’ the Virginian observed calmly. “I here present to you the actual. evidence that this man has bet against the arvard crew. Now, then, is his bare word to avail ainst this undoubted proof? I tell you, Lawrence, ou are the victim of one of the vilest conspiracies | t ever existed. This man deliberately planned to | lure you to New York; then he part you in con- tact with this lady,” and he indicated Kitty. “And Ae miss, you are a tool in this conspirator’s hands; t was he that brought your father to see you at the Music’Hall. You can probably tell why he did so.” With a half-scream the gir sprung to her feet, a look of utter despair upon her face. CHAPTER XXXV. GRAHAME’S LAST BLOW. “Tr is a lie—not a word of truth in it!” the.trick- ster exclaimed, amazed at this sudden revelation, which he had not at all expected. “Tt is the truth!" retorted the vailed woman, firm- ly, removing her vail as she spoke and exposing the pale face of Winny. “ Gaga told me that he sent for his n, Mr. . at r instiga- tion, and then took him to ti re Music “all by your orde He also told me that it was you who.coun- seled him about taking me away from Doctor Pea- body, and'that he brought me to New York by your orders;.and ‘that Mr. Grahame, furthermore prom- ised him that.he would arrange it so that I could be married to this spoceman. | ~ It was a hard for the gentle and modest girl to speak out so bluntly, but was resolved to do all in her power to save the stroke-oar from the plots of his enemies, “Oh, merciful Heaven! what a ready, miserable tool I have been in’ the hands of this man!’ Kitty crted wild , her eyes. at. last. to the folly of w she had.been guilty. ‘‘ Otis, I give you back your promise, for it was vile man that persuad- ed me to extort it from you. You are free to de- part.at once if you choose to go; I will not hinder ou; and ipl wretch!” she turned violently upon ame as she spoke, “what did I ever do to you ‘that you should treat me in this terrible manner? Guided by oer evil counsel I have lost all thatI rized in this world!” ** And do you believe this absurd story?’ demand- ed Grahame, determined to brave it out. “Leave this house or I shall do you a mischief!” cried Kitty, imperiously. ‘You have turned my brain and made me mad.” Grahame hesitated for a moment; a bitter s was on tongue; but his customary p nce halted him. “Ta, ta, all of you! I'll see you again!” he ex- ge ee upon ° y Pe , wit 7 ton and Winny, alas Uithdrew., 7 ‘‘T will see-you at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, in half an hour,” Lawrence said, as they departed. Upon her bended knees the unhappy girl craved the stroke-oar’s on. “The tem on was great; my fall terrible! Oh, have mercy Be me!” she cried. ‘Wait until the race is over; give me time; I will do you justice if I can,’’ Lawrence, replied, soberly. And so they f Bub was as good as his word; he went ht mn the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he found Pey waiting for him. **Now, I am at your service,’’ the stroke-oar said, with a hve A . “Good! quicker we depart the better!" ex- ireinian, leefully. “Yes; the sooner the better. x “There is a train to-night; we have just about oe Bui word tc her?’’ Peyton asked. “*It would be better to leave it unsaid,’’ Lawrence replied, with bitter accent. “ rate us. Iam in honor bound now to marry Kitty.” 2 gud do you love her well enough for ‘hat ?" “No!” cried Bub, ickly, —~? — an air of loathing. ‘“ After passed very her is paint to me, but lam bound hand now. I will marry land hide myse!f end m7 despair forever.” foot anx- | ously. It was strange how he clung to his belief in | nny—do jyou not want to say a parting By my own folly I up a barrier which aust forever sepa- t of her, and then in some foreign a3 “You may change your mind,” Peyton suggested. “No, not unless some great change takes place in erceiving that he had fully made up his mind, Peyton understood that further words were useless, and so the two friends proceeded at once to the depot, embarked on the train, and an hour or two after midnight they arrived safely at New London. To de-cribe the joy of the crew as they’ crowded around and welcomed their captain would be no easy task; full of confidence were they now that the erimson would lead the blue in the coming race. Bub went at once into active training, and the shrewd betting-men who ran on to New London to watch the crews at their practice-work on the bosom of the smiling Thames, shook their heads shrewdly and predic that if the Harvard crew was beaten in the race the Yale boys must pul] over the course in less time than the same distance had ever been covered before. The betting to veer around; no surer sign than this of the — that public sentiment is tend- ing in regard to such events. From five to four on Yale, it went even money that Harvard would win; then the sporting fraternity began to offer odds; no friendly sentiment governs these wily gen- tlemen; they bet to win, and would lay odds tair to succeed. Finally on the day before the race the odds were two to one on Harvard. Nothing had been seen or heard of the scheming Mr. Grahame, and as far as a rances went that cunning gentieman had retired rom active life. Bub never spoke of him, for his cousin's treachery was a sore subject. The — before the race came. The Harvard boys in their quarters were just preparing to retire to rest, when suddenly the pre were invaded by three strangers, hangdog-looking fellows, who asked to see Mr. Otis Lawrence, and when that gentleman stepped forward, they coolly announced that they were constablés aid had a warrant for his arrest. At once then there was an uproar in the camp, and but for Buh and Peyton the intruders would, have been ree “No, no, boys, no. violence!” Bubecried. ‘If these men are acting under authority I will not vesist!’’ ‘The chief ‘of the intruders insta ntly produced his warrant, a requisition signed by the Governor of the State of New York for one Otis Lawrence, an ab- sconding debtor. t A debtor!’’ cried Bub, in wonder. man!” *“I- beg your pardon!” exclaimed the bold Mc- Shouter, appearing suddenly in the doorway, ‘ but ou owe me five thousand dollars, and I’ve got your O U’s for the amount.”’ The nature of the agine This was Grahame's work. illegal, and n Bub’s arrival in New York the whole - g as far as it affected his liberty would quashed, but the design was to remove him so that he could ‘not row. “It is a fraud! do not yield to it, Lawrence!”’ Pey- ton cried. And then through the door, followed by eight or ten rough-looking men, came Harrison Grahaine. risoner, and we're going to take him, alive or d 1”? he exclaimed. “Clean ’em out!"’ yelled one of the Harvard boys, excited alrfiost to. madness, and, suiting the action to the word, he gave the foremost constable a clamp in the face him as if he had been shot. The row at. once became general, but the crew would have fared badly, being outnumbered, had not a ‘of the natives, led by a woman, come rushing in to the rescue. There was the sharp, quick bark of a pistol, and then, panic-stricken, the foemen scattered. The rou? headed by Grahame, fled into the darkness; mcs iouter had disappeared at the first of the con- ct, ahd the rest, wonder-stricken, fazed down upon a bleeding and dying girl, for the deadly bullet had done di ly wor The girl was the e but repentant Kitty! ‘ her assistance and raiseu Bub fpruns forward her in arms. “The end has come, Otis,” she said, faintly, ‘‘ and I.won't trouble you any more with my love, That bad man — on;-1 to counsel and was lost. e intended to murder, or at least disable “T owe no once flashed upon all. Of course it was clearly you to- I bought the old villain over to my side and he betrayed and I have saved you, and id a price for it, too, but I don’t regret it; it is tter thus. Don’t forget me very quick, for oh, Bub, I love you so much!” With a powerful effort she essayed to wind her arms around bis peek, but the attempt was too much for her kK strength, and with a long-drawn sigh she yielded up her young life. There was not a eye in the room, CHAPTER XXXVI. THE. RACE. Tre morning broke bright and beautiful; no bet- ter day for the eventful contest could be desired. The race was fixed for two o’clock, just an hour betene high water,so that. the current was almost slac And then right in the wake of Yale came the Har- vard boat, the crew stripped to the waist and so tanned by the sun that they more resembled red In- Anothe Sous eat foll other shout went up, followed by the piercin college cry, “ *Rah—'rahi" so familiar to the yong 3) those who have ever seen the crimson handkerchiefs come the judge’s winners of the contest The boats were called up the word. “ Are you ready, geatiemen?’—Go!”
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ae And even with the word away they went, Yale the first to take the water and so secure alead. The pace was terrific, Yale pulling forty-two to the min- ute, but ar rged stroke and the shell rocking per. eceptibly, while Harvard on the contrary, was pulling The Winning Oar. Beadle’s Dime Library. BEADLE & ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS, 2 : , 1 A Harp Crown. By Philip S. Warne........... 10¢ + tether ty salina adadianeanae and nicely 88 | 2 ‘Tue Dare-Devi, By Col. P. Ingraham..... . 10c | Speakers. ough it was 0 ractice row. 8 kim Cl Te oeki ; The first mile is over and Yale holds her own, a ee mo g onaeepectng By Rs sya os | | BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their ios So half-length in advance; the race is straight away | 5 Tax Free Frenps. by A. Ps Morris. Je. ite | lowing: ghly oy) le a8 steaere ma -boo , without a turn. | 6 Wipcar Bos. By Edward L, Wheeler...... 10c |: Prepared expresely fox, schocle, familie, etc. . tae DY . volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, “Yale wins!” the ery went up, but the old boating- 7 Deatu-NorcH, THE DestTRoyER. Oll Coomes.. 10c open type, comprising the best collection of Dia- men present shook their heads. 2S: ; mne Reid.,.. 10c : nite ti ; “s She ain’t gaining, and they can’t hold out on | [fp yee By Bamuel er as .. 10¢c lognes,_ eames 7 Di ie ag ng he Baer that spurt!”’ so they said. | 10 Vinocg, THE FRENCH PoLice Spy. By himself. 10c - 1800 ne foe a tae a mab: pal t . ne At the end of the second mile Yale oraped to | 11 Mupsmipman Easy. By Capt. Maryatt ... .... 10¢ | 95) 5 Sapna lim TR an forty to the minute; then to thirty-eight—Harvard | 12 Tue Dearu-Suor, By Carr. Mayne Reid... . 10c | 1 ani lean 'S eae 18. School Speaker. ulling with the regularity of clock-work, gaining 13 Parwaway. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.. ... ... 10c | 9 National 8 om = 2 14. ludicrous 8 “ ker. ttle by little. 14 THAYENDANEGEA, THE ScouRGE. Ned Buntline. 10e | 3° patrioti Bocale P 15. Komikal 8 en x The boats were even; the Yale captain calls upon $45 Tyr TicrR Suaver. By Gustave Aimard.... . 10c 4, Con ic Si ae OF 16, Yo th’ s am = 96 his men, “ Hit her up!"’ and, with all their strength, 16 Tye Waire Wizarp. By Ned Buntline........ 10¢ | 5 Hlocutionist i 17 Eloe oat ah they respond; again they pull forty-two to the min- | 47 Nigursuape. By Dr. J. H. Robinson....... .10c} ¢ ceabviomater th ker. | 18. Hail Columbia Speak- ute, and then for the first time old Harvard’s Win- | 18 Tye Sra Banvit. By Ned Buntline.... ... 10c . peaker. . U . I y 3 .: 7. Standard Speaker. er. ning Oar speaks to her crew: | 19 Rep Cepar. By Gustave Aimard............10¢ | § Stump Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker ** Give it lo’em, boys! The race is ours!” | 20 Tue Banpir at Bay. By Gustave Aimard.... 10c | 9 Fuventle br aker 20. Select Speaker No quickening of stroke but simply more power | 2j Tue TrappeR’s DavenTer. Gustave Aimard . 0c | 40, § real Bacio aker | 21. Funny Speaker. thrown into the pull. : | 22 Werretaw; By Dr. J. H. Robinson........ . We | 44. Dime Debater. a 22° Jolly Saahaxer. : The prow of Harvard shows in front; despite | 23 Tux Rep Warrior. By Ned Buntline ...... - We | 12° Exhibition Speaker. | 23. DiaLect SPEAKER, Yale’s desperate efforts the crimson handkerchiefs go by the blue! Clear water between the boats—Harvard leads by a length—two lengths, three lengths—four, and by | the judges’ boat they go! Harvard wins, and in the best time ever made. Harrison Grahame, from the hillside, saw the re- sult, realized that he was irretrievably ruined, and fled from the scene, never again to be seen in the eastern country, although is anxious creditors this,’’ he explained. 24 ‘THE PRarrRie FLOWER. By Gustave Aimard., 10c 25 Tae GoLp GuipE. By Francis Johnson........ 26 Tue Deatu Track. By Francis Johnson .... 27 Tue Sporrer Derective. By Albert W.Aiken.. 10c | 28 THREE-FinceRED Jack. Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 10c 29 Tiger Dick, THe Faro Kine. P.S. Warne . 10c 80 GospEL GrorGE. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr . 10c 31 Tue New York SHarp. By Albert W. Aiken.. 10c These books are replete with choice pieces ior the School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, ete. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama- tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, em- brace twenty-three books, viz.: Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No, Thirteen. 3 : 82 B’nHoys or YALE. By John D. Vose .......... 1€c | searched eagerly for him, i i sf ) Just as the Yass ended and the pealof victory went | 83 Overtanp Kir. By Albert W. Aiken... ..... 10¢ | Dialogues Two. | Dialogues No. ahaa i up from a thousand throats, there was a commotion | 84 Rocxy Mouwram Ros. By Albert W. Aiken.. 10c | Disosues No: Four | Pialgcuce No, Sisteon | A So hly-attired old man, who had bet largely | 85 Kenrvck, Tae Sport. By Albert W. Aiken.. 10c | Dialogues No. Five, / Dialogues No. Seventeen. | against Harvard, pimped. tomer away, aes, he | 36 Insun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken .......... . 10c | Dinkoouce — ad ly ees a oe { gers. He was detained drew a knife and badly cut |” Hit, max Huncunack. By Ji. H. Robinson... 10¢ | Dialogues No. Eight. | Dialogues No. Twenty. M Sa of the country roughs with whom he was Sear 388 Vetver Hanp. By Albert W. Aiken. .. . 10¢ | Dialogues No. Nine, | Dialogues No. Twenty-one. b | reling. Be Bs F | 39 Tue Russian Spy. By Frederck Whittaker.. 10c | Disloouce he A all Dislooues Re twenty tos ia Of course he was hurried off to jail at once, and | : , |; Di . i 0. - i when he arrived there, after thinking what a hob- | erence apr een oot ts 2 vd B. Badger, Jr... We | Dialogues No. Twelve. | Dialogues No. Twenty-four. j ble he had got himself into, he sent at once for | 4! Goup Dan. By Albert W. Aiken.... ......... 10c Dialogues No, Twenty-five. Hi | Peyton, for the man was old Milligan. , | 42 Tue Cativornta Derectrve. A, W. Aiken, ... 10c | Pt to ce -— Dramas in cont boee al it “I want money and a lawyer to get me out 0’ | 43 Daxora Dan. By Ol Coomes... . -........., Wa | ep rene Recance pave: bees, Repent ie Somme Re | ‘al ’ ” “‘ , 7 | con tiene and now you'll have to pay it,’’ Pey 2 ae Buu's Eye. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.,.... 10c ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and The tramp stormed, but the Virginian was stern: wis-Knire BEN. By Oll Coomes......... - 10¢ | female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet +} then, utterly beaten, Mi made a bargain, and 47 Pactric Petr. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.......... 10c | offered to schools, at any price, contain so many i revealed & most maportest Soetehs .crtany wae, not | 48 Ipano Tom. By Oll Coomes.... . .......... . 10¢ | ae Pi useful dialogues and dramas, serious rm | is child, but a girl whose paren on | : ‘| “ahi raya rom Milan and ie | THE ovr Deter. By Abert W-Atken ae) “ae and Rendings ram adop er. . BD) . oe sa 2e th : } Milligan got his money and his lawyer andescaped | 51 Rep Ron, raz Boy Roap-Acent. Oll Coomes.. 10c 164 12mo Pages. ~” Cents. | with a slight a ow ag Stern justice can | 52 DearH Tratter. By Wm. F. Cody............ 10¢ For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am- on ' Bape cm blinded if we throw enough gold-dust 53 Stuver Sau. By Col, Delle 10c ea . e, Bags. neg Dh sing: ee re pinion 4 er g 5 - A, - ee eee eee ew eee A 9 ‘ an now ry ge ae se oe 54 Atways on Hanp. By Philip S. Warne...... 10c — oe og by: — write rs; a gen ne ae v nny same the wife 0 wrence, anc e fair 55 Tur Scatp Hunrers. By Capt. Mayne Reid... 10c an : ,» new and standard, © e eam BY hful - lebrity and interest. ; ussell, } vices, ah mae Tae for a ser. 8 Tae ts meg Mazer By Abe rtW. aiken... ie eelebrity rest. Edited by Prof, A. M. hy e close 0 r college career accompa- ‘He Sitent Hunter. By Percy B. St. John... i | nied Peyton to his Virginian home, and perceiving @ | 58 Sriver Kure; By Dr. J. H. Robinson........ 10¢ DIME HAND-BOOKS. Ls fine opportunity for energetic young men in the old |. | “mother ” State, jvined forces with Peyton, and the Tue Man From Texas. By Albert W. Aiken. 10c Yo People’s Series. a | sign, ‘‘Lawrence & Peyton, Attorneys-at-law,” can | 60 Wink Awake. By Frank Dumont........... . 10¢ nar P i | & — te J Pe Ric nd, by one who knows 61 Caprarn Seawarr, By Ned Buntline 10c beeper one - me a PEOPLE \ where to look for it. re 0 elgg es RE erent. ~ be cover a e range of subj , and are es THE END. 62 Loyan Heart. By Gustave Aimard,........ 10¢ | adapted to their Sad, They constitute at once the | 68 Tue Wincep Wuate. By Albert W. Aiken.... 10c | cheapest and most useful works yet put into the 7 wiathet for popular circulation i | 64 Dovsie Sieur. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr........ 10¢ | Tadies’ Letter: Writer. Bock 6? Gases. | | “You'll get neither from me; you owe the State The Saturday Journal. “The Model Family Paper 44 Op Dan Rackspack. By Oll Coomes......... 10c 65 Tue Rep Ragan. By Capt. Fred Whittaker.. 10c | 66 Tur Specter Barque. By Capt. Mayne Reid... 10c. 67 Tue Boy Jocxry. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr... 10c 68 THe Ficutinc Trapper. By J. F. ©. Adams.. 10c 69 THe Irish Caprarn. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 10c They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac- Fortune-Teller. Lovers’ Casket. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Book of Etiquette. Book of Verses. Ball-room Companion, Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty. Hand-Books of Games. BEADLE’s Dime Hanp-Booxks of GAMES AND PopuLAR | rt ne 70 HypraBaD. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.......... - 10¢ | 3 f subj + Most Charming of the Weekdes.” | 71 Carraty Coot Brave. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr., 10c | HAvnpooks cover a variety of subjects, and are es- tN —- 72 Tae Poantom Hanp. By Albert W, Aiken... 10c | ae k ne Croquet. Yachting = Rowing. ie | P ‘ / ess Instructor. Riding and Driving. | Ties nt nent ee ne | ETM ROUMGOR. cn cer sree ss sore, 100.) CHieket and Football. | Book of Pedestrians. illi ttractive. e to Swimming. Base- yer. brilliant and a 74 Cesar OF THE RIFLEA. By Captain Mayne ; Handbook of Winter Sports. Serials, Tales, Romances, Sketches, Adventures, Biographies, 7% GenTLEMAN GrorGe. By Albert W. Aiken... 10c 76 Tae QuEEN’s MuskeTerer. By Geo. Albony... 10c Manuals for Housewives. Brapie’s Dime Famity Series aims to supply a 77 Tae Fresu or Frisco. Albert W. Aiken..... 10c | Class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per- i | Pungent Essays, Poetry, 78 Tue Mysterious Spy. By A. M. Grainger... 10c | the eee “they, oe conmtlod vik ~ - Notes and Answers to Corr mdents, | 79 Jom Puenrx. By Albert W. Aiken ....... +... 10e | 1, Cook Book. 4, Family Physician, Spo: , } : < ie Wit and Fon— 80 A MAN or Nerve. By Philip S. Warne...... 10c | 3 Epcipe Book. aise 5. ss ga and Mi. \ 81 Tue Human Ticer. By Albert W. Aiken..... 10c | ~ aweenF es 1 All are features in every number, from such | 82 Iron Wrist. By Col. Thomas H. Monstery.. 10c Liv of Great America mY . . 88 Gotp Butter Sport. By BuffaloBill | ..... 10c | es ns, | ached. WEES ES 0 Page tet RE os Hes Dewey kind Ma set Are sayienten coetipiite and. anthen:ie blographies boast of. 85 Tue Creran Rover. By Prentice Ingraham.. 10c | Of man SR ig A luster’ to the i | What is best in POPULAR READING, that the | %6 Tan Bia Hunrrr. By the author of “ Silent ine eo mn o meee ses oe Kae an ; a a: A Diab TS | I,—George Washington, -—David Crockett. | paper always has; hence for Homs, Sop, Li- | 97 Tum Scanner Capra. By Col, Delle Sara.... 10¢ | T1.—Johmn Pau Jones. VIII.—Israe]l Putnam. it BRARY and GENERAL READER it is without a | 8 Bro Gronon, 1He Grawr or mun Guic. By | | Ty" mthan Allen |“ X’—Teeumeoh ah | 7 . f Joseph E. adger, Pp) Pee i. pee Me MR Ts 10¢c / V.—Marquis de Lafay- XIL.—Abraham Lincoln. rival; and hence its great and steadily increasing | g9 Tax Prrare Prixct. By Colonel Prentiss | XII.—Pontiac. a eirabintiia: In NE a a ei ee ee RORTEE 10¢ 1 90 Witp Wit, THE Map RancHERo. By Buck- The Saruxpay JOURNAL is sold everywhere skin Sam. Ae AE se ii TS ak IR 10¢ . 91 Tue Wrnntna Oar. By Albert W. Aiken. ©. 10c SONG BOOKS. by newsdealers; price sia cents per number ; or to | ette. VI.—Daniel Boone. i : ‘ 92 Burrao Bitt, THE BuckskIN Kina. By Major BEADLE’s Druze Sone Books, Nos. 1 to 38, | . subscribers, post-paid, at the following cheap | Dangerfield Burr. Ready April 21 ..... 10e | the ay popes eollection of copyright cings to ba i ae ae | 98 Caprain Dick TaLpot, K1nG or rae Roap. By found in the market, i rates, Viz.: Albert W. Aiken. Ready May 5 ........... 10¢ | d Four months, one dollar; one year, three A new issue every two-weeks. | MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS, i ' ‘ ; ’ Robinson Crusoe. Jim Crow Jok bt | dollars ; or, two copies, five dollars, Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all | Pocket Jéie Book, on dy Whack Joke Book. Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on Address BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, | oF a ee publications for sale by ¢1” : | J Fent, ct-pai i Popes, j 98 William Street, New York. | Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. ' ST DLE & wANS, 6 Woe eee ns — |